#the initial shock has worn off i think

[wildfairies]

oof. it's been a long time since i felt this depressed this many days in a row.

[dark-fics-4-you]

Number One Fan ch. V

Dark!Stepbro!Rafe Cameron x f!Reader

Warnings: noncon (rape), incest (step siblings), implied noncon, forced kissing, forced oral (m!recieving), fingering, semi public sex, drug mention, manipulation, controlling behavior, gaslighting, blackmailing, fainting, reader has ptsd like symptoms,

Previous Chapter

Your pulse thundered in your ears as you sat in Ward’s study, finding it much easier to look at your shoes than meet the eyes of your angry step father.

“Are you going to tell me what really happened yesterday? Because Rafe already did, and now I want to give you a chance to explain yourself, Y/N.”

Unwanted memories flashed through your mind.

Watching your brother slam his fists into JJ’s face, the way it felt when Rafe had pinned you to the bed, and how your head had spun when he slapped you. You shuddered as you recalled the feeling of him forcing himself inside of you for the first time and how awful it felt went he kissed you.

You didn’t want to think about the sticky feeling of his cum oozing out of you after he pulled out.

You could only lie on the bed in shock when it was over. Rafe had to carry you to the shower, holding you up as he washed you and you tried to ignore how his hands wandered across your soapy body, squeezing your tits and ass while your numb tears mixed with the water from above.

Before that night, you had loved falling asleep next to your step brother. You loved the sense of comfort, safety, and peace that he always gave you.

Yesterday night, however, you felt terrified and tense as you lay next to the man who had just broken your trust and assaulted you. Rafe had insisted on sleeping naked, leaving you on high alert, so scared that he was going to try to initiate something that you couldn’t relax.

Even worse was knowing that if you did fall asleep next to him, he might force himself onto you anyways.

Every time he shifted in his sleep, every time he pulled you closer, or wrapped his strong arms around you tighter, your heart rate spiked, sure that he was awake and had decided that one time wasn’t enough.

After an almost sleepless night, you cracked your eyes open and felt Rafe stirring beside you.

“Good morning, Y/N/N,” he mumbled, his voice lowered from just waking up.

You had started shifting away from him when his arm wrapped around you, pulling you in to his warm chest. His hand found your chin, tilting your face towards his before his lips captured yours.

When you struggled against him, you felt his lips curl into a small grin and he chuckled before covering your lips with his again, this time sliding his hand to hold the back of your head in place.

His other hand found your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek, and you were disgusted when you felt yourself getting wet.

Rafe broke the kiss, staring into your eyes for a few moments before he slowly sat up in bed and started grabbing his clothes.

“We should probably start heading back. Don’t want Ward and Rose getting too suspicious.”

You breathed a silent sigh of relief at his words, anxious to return to land and get far away from your step brother.

Rafe’s eyes burned into your back as you dressed quietly, putting on the outfit that you had worn the day before, already formulating plans on how you could burn the clothes.

You didn’t want to be reminded of last night every time you looked at them.

Before Rafe could finish up in the bedroom, you quickly exited, walking up the stairs to the main deck and leaning on a railing to watch the rising sun reflect off of the water below you.

How could you possibly have a normal life after this?

How could you go on about your day, knowing that the brother you had always trusted, the one who had lived just down the hall from you for 10 years, was capable of so much cruelty?

Sensing a presence from behind, you spun around to face him as Rafe hooked his arm around your back, holding you against his chest before grinning wolfishly and leaning down to smother your lips with his own.

With the railing at your back along with his arm locked tight around you, there was nowhere to go as you squirmed helplessly in his grasp.

Rafe’s tongue forced its way into your mouth and you almost gagged. He held you in place for what felt like an eternity before finally releasing you.

The blond grinned down at you wickedly before wrapping his fingers around your wrist and tugging you towards the bottom deck. He glanced at his watch, clicking his tongue before chuckling darkly.

“Just enough time for a quickie.”

When you finally got back to Tannyhill, feeling sore and used, and utterly repulsed by your step brother, you couldn’t get out of his truck fast enough.

Thankfully, you didn’t see anyone as you came in and you quietly, but quickly, rushed up the stairs before entering your bedroom, locking the door, ripping your clothes off, taking a scorching shower as you tried to wash the scent of your brother off of you, and then collapsing onto your bed in exhaustion.

You must have slept for several hours however, because when you were finally awoken by a knock at your door, the sky outside your window was growing orange and red as the sun began to set.

“Y/N? Are you in there?” You recognized Sarah’s voice and you sat up in bed.

“Yeah, one second,” you forced your hoarse voice to project enough for her to hear, climbing out of your bed and walking to your dresser to grab a change of comfy clothes.

You opened your door with a timid smile that Sarah worryingly exchanged.

“Are you okay? What happened last night?”

You anxiously looked down the hall to see if Rafe was lurking nearby before sighing and fidgeting with your fingers as you attempted to find your voice.

“Um.. I’d rather not talk about it, Sarah.”

Your step sister looked confused as she tried to get a read on your face.

“But, um, is JJ okay?” You asked nervously.

“Rafe broke his nose and he’s bruised pretty bad but he’ll be okay. He’s been asking about you nonstop, all the Pogues have. They were really scared when we told them what happened.”

You looked down at the ground feeling guilty. You knew that Rafe was the one who had initiated it, but JJ wouldn’t have been jumped like that if you hadn’t been talking to him. Rafe fought with the Pogues all the time, but last night was different.

“Hey, are you okay?”

Sarah’s question surprised you, and you realized there were tears welling in your eyes.

“Um…. Could we go to your room to talk?”

Sarah’s room had always been a comfort to you before you and Rafe got super close, and you did enjoy your sister’s company a lot.

“Sure, of course, Y/N.” She pulled you into a hug, which you returned, enjoying the lightness her presence was bringing you.

You tensed however when you cracked your eyes open to see Rafe emerging from his room behind her.

You averted your eyes immediately, heart rate picking up as you released Sarah and she turned to see Rafe.

“Fuck you, Rafe. I really do not understand your problem with JJ at all,” she spat at him turning to you and expecting you to join in.

Rafe’s eyes fell on you and you watched the corner of his lips threatening to pull into a smirk of amusement.

You swallowed dryly, remembering the sensation of his backhand whipping your head to the side and the dizziness that followed.

“I really wanted to make this special for you,” his nasally voice taunted you.

Your breath grew faster and harder to catch as your vision grew fuzzy around the edges.

“Y/N?” Sarah’s voice was muffled, like she was speaking to you through a tunnel

You felt lightheaded and sick, and you were lucky that you were standing by Sarah and not Rafe because she was the one to catch you when your knees buckled beneath you.

The two of them had a short argument that you couldn’t hear above you before Rafe’s arms wrapped around your limp body and carried you to Sarah’s room.

You tried to ignore the feeling of his fingers brushing over your exposed skin as he lay you down on Sarah’s bed. Sarah’s face appeared in your line of vision and she said something that you couldn’t hear before both of them left the room.

The last thing you saw was Sarah returning a minute later with a cool washcloth that she pressed to your warm forehead.

She was talking to you again, and you tried to grasp at her words, to understand any of them, but your body felt weighed down and you fell into the black abyss of sleep quickly.

…

You woke to the sound of an argument on the other side of the door. Sarah, Rafe, and Ward were screaming at each other.

“She wouldn’t do that, Rafe!”

“Don’t act like you know her so well! You’d be surprised.”

“Both of you just calm the fuck down!” Ward yelled and they became silent. “Sarah go see if she’s awake yet.”

The door to her room cracked open and light from the hall made you sit up in bed.

“What’s going on?” You met Sarah’s tear filled eyes first, then the angry eyes of Ward, your confused mother’s eyes, and then finally Rafe’s, who was standing behind all of them wearing a vindictive smile only you could see.

“Get out of bed and come to my office right now, Y/N,” Ward sternly commanded you.

Your heart leapt to your throat, confusion pulsing through your veins.

What the fuck is going on right now?

Without a word, you followed Rafe, Sarah, Rose, and Ward to his office, where he gestured for you to sit down before staring you down in silence.

“Ward?” You nervously asked. “Rose?”

“Are you going to tell me what really happened yesterday? Because Rafe already did, and now I want to give you a chance to explain yourself, Y/N.”

You tensed, anxiously looking over at Rafe who was watching you with a small smirk.

He wouldn’t have told them about what happened yesterday, that would have been insane, right??

“I- I really don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Your step father sighed before reaching into his pocket and pulling out three small bags of coke.

“Do you want to explain to me why Rafe and I found these in your room today, Y/N?”

Your heart stopped, jaw dropping open in disbelief as you stared at Ward.

“Th-those aren’t fucking mine! Ward you know I don’t do that!” You would have laughed if you didn’t feel so sick right now.

“Rafe was the one who told me, he said you asked him for some, and when he wouldn’t give it to you, you went to the Pogues.”

“Dad, I already told you, none of the Pogues use or sell coke!” Sarah shouted at him and he silenced her with a furious look.

“They aren’t mine, Ward! Rafe probably just got too high and forgot where he stashed his!” You threw a pointed look at your brother who was just behind Ward and Sarah, watching on with a mirthful smirk.

“If it was mine, don’t you think I would’ve just, I don’t know, taken them?” His casual tone made you want to scream. “Why would I hide it in your room?”

“Maybe because you’re a fucking cokehead,” you spat at him.

“Takes one to know one,” he shot back and you huffed in frustration. He looked at his father and Rose before faking concern, “She’s probably high right now.”

“God! Ward, please, Rafe nearly killed JJ yesterday! He would have, if I didn’t push him off of him. He’s lying to you!” You looked over to Rose, who met your eyes with sadness. “Mom, tell me you don’t believe this too!”

“I wouldn’t have done that if he hadn’t been selling to my little sister.” Rafe sniped.

You bit your tongue as you glared at him, trying to not let your anger get the best of you. Tears burned at your eyes before slowly starting to fall past your lashes.

Looking at Ward and your mother again, you took a deep breath to calm yourself.

“Ward, I swear to you, that coke isn’t mine. I promise that it’s not mine. JJ is just my friend, he’s not a dealer. Rafe planted it there! You have to believe me.” You were crying harder now despite your efforts to stop.

Ward just shook his head in disappointment, “You just fainted earlier today out of nowhere! What was that? I’ve heard this a thousand times. You sound exactly like Rafe the very first time I caught him. Rafe? I’ve come to expect this of him. But from you? Y/N, I thought you were better than this.”

You didn’t miss the scowl that crossed Rafe’s features at Ward’s words, and you realized that, even though you were the one on the receiving end of Ward’s criticism instead of Rafe for the first time, Ward still couldn’t help but put his son down too as he scolded you.

“From now on I will expect you to cease communication with all of those Pogues and you’re to be back in this house by 9PM every night. No exceptions. I can’t have you going out to god knows where.”

Your heart clenched at that, frustration threatening to bubble over into rage.

“Dad, come on, you’re being completely unreasonable!” Sarah shouted. “Y/N is not getting drugs from our friends!”

“Be quiet, Sarah, I wasn’t done.” Ward snapped at her. “I don’t want either of you hanging out on the Cut with those Pogues. And that goes for John B too.”

His gaze fixed on yours again, “give me your phone.”

“What?!”

“You’ll get it back tomorrow, don’t worry, but I need to have your location at all times. I can’t trust you after this, Y/N. You know how it is with…” Ward stopped himself from finishing his sentence, but everyone in the room knew exactly who he meant and you saw Rafe’s jaw tick in annoyance again.

Ward dismissed you and you ignored Rose and Sarah when they tried to talk to you in the hallway, instead choosing to rush to your room, slamming your door and grabbing a pillow to scream into.

When you arrived at the dinner table the next day and saw the only empty seat available, your heart sank.

Taking a deep breath, you steeled yourself before taking your seat next to Rafe, trying intensely to find interest in the otherwise ordinary pot roast on your plate to avoid looking over at your step brother.

Ward and your mother were already in the middle of a conversation and Sarah gave you a sympathetic smile when she noticed how uncomfortable you looked next to Rafe. Wheezie, who was completely oblivious to your argument with Ward, asked Sarah a question, diverting her attention away from you.

Rose turned to you, somewhat awkwardly, and inquired about your next semester. “Do you already know what classes you’re going to be taking?”

Despite the obvious tension that was still thick in the air between all of you, you appreciated your mom making an effort at least.

“I think I’m registered for Photography 3, Art History 3, Math, and a writing class. Maybe one more Gen Ed that I’m forgetting right now.”

“Ooh Photography is going to be fun for you, I bet! Remember when you used to take photos at Rafe’s football games? I always thought that was so cool,” Rose cheerily said.

“Um. Yeah, well we’ll see about his upcoming season. Maybe.”

“You and your friend, Mary used to go all the time didn’t you? Oh you two used to be so close.”

“Yeah well ever since she moved to-” you cut yourself off with a small gasp when you felt Rafe’s fingers grip your upper thigh before inching between your legs.

You couldn’t believe how brazen he was to do this at the dinner table in front of the entire family.

You squirmed uncomfortably, lightly slapping his hand quietly before clearing your throat, “Ever since Mary moved to New Orleans for college, we haven’t been talking as much.”

Your older step brother seemed determined to get a reaction out of you however, brushing past your silent protests to fit his hand between your legs. Your eyes widened and you shifted in your seat again as Rafe’s fingers danced past the fabric of your shorts and panties. When he dipped the tip of his finger inside of you, you had to bite your lip to stop from whimpering.

“Y/N?”

You realized that Rose was looking at you with a puzzled expression and she must have asked you another question.

“Um, what?” Your mouth felt dry, mind racing as you squeezed your thighs together, trying to get Rafe’s wandering hands off of you without raising the attention of your family. Your cheeks felt so hot, you were sure they could notice.

When you felt him push his finger deeper, forcing himself inside your slick walls past his knuckle, and beginning to stretch you out around his ring, a whimper slipped past your lips and you quickly coughed trying to cover up the sound.

“What is going on with you, young lady?” Ward asked, his patience with you clearly waning at your outbursts.

“Yeah, Y/N/N, you’re acting weird,” Rafe’s teasing tone was lost on everyone but you. And you loudly cursed when his finger twitched, curling inside of you to get more of a rise out of you.

“Fuck-!” Your chair scraped loudly as you pushed yourself away from the table and stood up.

Your entire family was staring at you now as you tried to correct your uneven breathing.

“I- I think I’m gonna be sick,” was all you managed before you stumbled from the dining room before running up the stairs to your room.

For a moment your family stared at each other in shocked confusion.

Rafe was the first to break the silence.

“She’s probably just going through withdrawals, lemme see if there’s any way I can help.” He stood from his chair, leaving his plate on the table.

“Should we come with you?” Rose offered, getting ready to stand before Rafe waved his hand, ‘no’

“Nah, I think she just needs her brother.”

Rafe put an ear to your door, opening it quietly and stepping inside after hearing a retching sound coming from your bathroom.

He closed the door behind himself, locking it gently, before following the faint light from the cracked door where the sounds had stopped and been replaced by you scrubbing down the inside of your mouth with a tooth brush.

When he knocked on the door, he heard you sigh before spitting out the rest of your toothpaste.

“Sarah, I don’t want to talk-” you had opened the door a bit, but you suddenly paused when you saw Rafe, tensing and shrinking in on yourself.

You tried to close your bathroom door, but Rafe’s hand shot out, easily outdoing the all strength you had put behind trying to keep him out. He pushed the door open and you backed up against the counter in fear.

When he shut the door behind him and locked it, your stomach lurched.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, Rafe?” You hissed before lowering your voice for your next words, “why are you doing this now? When any of them could catch us?”

Your older step brother smirked, taking a step towards you and enjoying your distress at him bursting into your room.

“I think that would be your fault, sweetheart.”

He moved so fast you barely had time to react, pressing himself against you before both hands came to your shoulders, shoving you to your knees. You hit the ground painfully, letting out a whimper before meeting Rafe’s eyes as he loomed above you.

“Y’just can’t keep that pretty mouth shut, can you?” One of Rafe’s hands tangled into your hair, holding you beneath him, as the other found the button and zipper of his shorts, fumbling to undo them as quick as possible before pushing them down to his ankles.

“No, Rafe, please don’t!”

His boxers were next to go, and your pleading was cut off when he tugged you forward by your hair and forced his cock between your lips.

The salty taste made you want to gag, and you had to stretch your lips more to accommodate his size, flattening your tongue to the bottom of your jaw.

Startled, you tried to gasp for air, giving him access to slowly push himself deeper, his cock nudging the back of your throat, staying there and choking you until your pleading eyes went wide, tears beginning to build up along your waterline.

“You can take it, Y/N/N,” he whispered and you were confused when his encouragement made your clit tingle and butterflies fluttered in your stomach.

Rafe tilted his hips back, sliding himself out enough to allow you to take a much needed breath, but your relief was short lived when his grip on your hair tightened and he pushed his cock to the back of your throat again.

His thrusts were steady at first, and every time you choked or gagged on his cock when he pushed you too far, he let out a soft groan, fingers twitching in your hair as he played out his sick fantasies with you.

Despite already stealing your virginity away from you, watching you pathetically crying on your knees and choking on his cock was just another level of degradation. The fact that he was taking yet another first from you made this all the more thrilling for him.

The initial panic had worn off inside of you, all you could do now was focus on breathing through your nose and trying not the throw up from the feeling of your step brother’s dick sliding across your tongue and kissing the back of your throat.

His speed picked up and Rafe ignored you when you slapped at his leg in a desperate attempt for him to slow down.

Tears were steadily rolling down your red tinged cheeks now along with some spit that had escaped the corner of your lips due to Rafe’s brutal pace.

A sudden knock at the door made Rafe freeze, and he rolled his eyes and let out a quiet groan of frustration when he heard Sarah’s concerned voice.

“Y/N? Are you doing alright?”

“We’re fine!” Rafe snapped at her dismissively.

“I want hear that from, Y/N.” Sarah replied.

Rafe sighed before sliding his cock out of your mouth and leaning down to order you quietly.

You quietly caught your breath, pulse racing as you desperately willed Sarah to come in and help you.

“Tell our dumbass sister what a good job I’m doing cheering you up and then tell her to fuck off,” he hissed into your ear, his hot breath made you shiver.

You hesitated before Rafe yanked on your hair again and you bit back a yelp.

“I’m fine, Sarah, r-really. Rafe is um- helping me take care of it.” You struggled to keep your shaky voice under control.

Sarah was silent for a moment before her voice came from the other side of the door, “are you sure? You don’t sound okay.”

“I’m f-fine, I promise. I was just throwing up a bit.” You despised lying to her right now, especially considering how much help you actually did need in this moment.

“Yeah, she’d appreciate some privacy, Sarah,” Rafe snipped.

“Okay, Y/N, if you’re sure..” her voice trailed off and you knew she had left when you heard your bedroom door close.

Rafe wasted no time in grabbing your chin and forcing your mouth open before shoving his cock past your plump lips.

You slapped his thigh and he grunted, fingers lacing through your hair and sliding your lips back and forth on his cock as he stood still.

“Fuck-” he breathed through gritted teeth, his hips starting to move impulsively, thrusting forward when he pulled you in and forcing himself deeper down your throat.

When his fingers pulled at your hair again, holding you in place as he frantically fucked your throat, you knew he was close.

You took a gasping breath when he pulled his cock out. His hand wrapped around his length, stroking himself until white burst from the tip, splattering your face.

You closed your eyes as ropes of cum painted your lips, cheeks, and chin. The sticky sensation made your skin crawl and you felt like you were going to throw up again.

Disgust and humiliation boiled in your gut. You just wanted to disappear.

The sound of a camera lens snapping made your eyes split open.

Rafe chuckled when you registered the phone in his hand, turning the screen around to show you the degrading picture he had just taken.

“Y’ know,” he sniffed, looking over his shoulder at the closed door behind him. “I uh, wouldn’t tell anybody about this if I were you.”

Your stomach dropped at his words. You could feel any last chances you might have of rescue from your step brother slipping through your fingers.

“I’d just hate it if you decided to mess up your future over this.” You couldn’t stand the way he was speaking as if he was giving you any kind of choice in this situation. “You understand, right?”

Staring at up at your older brother from your knees as you watched him nonchalantly pull his shorts back up and discuss blackmailing you, as if this was all just a petty fight over nothing made you want to scream.

But you bit your tongue, not seeing any other choice but to agree with him.

“Yeah… I understand.”

Rafe’s eyes flicked over your defeated face, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips at seeing your pretty face painted with his cum.

“You should probably clean yourself up. Sarah’s still waiting on you.”

[innerfare]

Scars - Sabo  

Summary: Sabo has been feeling a little insecure since he met you; a short drabble

Genre: A little fluffy, a little angsty

CW: None // SFW

Word Count: 890

———

Sabo never felt insecure about his scars before he met you. 

Scars were badges of honor, something to be worn with pride. They were a sign that he had stared down foes and persevered, that he had fought and lived, that he had experience under his belt and was a man to be respected. And the scar on his face, in particular, was something to be proud of, given to him by a Celestial Dragon. Not many people could claim they had survived an encounter with a World Noble, certainly not when they were a mere child. 

Sabo was young, but he was a battle-hardened revolutionary soldier under the tutelage of Monkey D. Dragon himself. He had run away from home at a young age and trained alongside some of the most fearsome pirates of his age in the wilderness. And yet, he stared into the mirror with a forlorn look on his face, a boy uncertain of himself. 

He didn’t have acne- he was lucky in that regard- and Ivankov always told him he was a pretty boy, something he had disdained initially but was now grateful for. Or was that wrong? Did girls like pretty boys? Did you? Or was he right to scorn the nickname? 

He ran his fingers through his blonde hair. It was soft, and blonde- did you like blonde? His lifetime of training had left him lithe and muscled, and even though his face was pretty, his shoulders and hands were quite masculine. Was that enough? Did you like that? 

He let out a heavy sigh, thinking it didn’t matter. No amount of prettiness or manliness would get rid of the scar on his face, and a lifetime of training had not prepared him to stand on his own two feet when you were in the same room as him, when you made eye contact with him across the table and offered him that soft smile, when you said his name to get his attention. 

His meltdown in front of his bathroom mirror had been triggered by you giving him half of the chocolate chip cookie you had been eating with your afternoon tea. He’d barely choked it down, not because it tasted bad, but because his stomach was flipping with what he could only describe as inadequacy. 

The fear of you secretly disliking it when he was in the same room as you, detesting the lopsided smile he always threw back at you, and despising the sound of his voice when he said your name made his piping hot blood run as cold as ice. 

He scrubbed his hand over the scar as if it might wipe off. He had many more beneath his collar, but at least he could hide those beneath clothes. The one on his face was visible for all to see and, unfortunately, permanent. 

Suddenly, there was a knock at his bedroom door. 

Sabo jumped, knocked out of his thoughts by the sound. With a huff, he stalked out of the bathroom and went for the bedroom door, pulling it open. “Yeah? What?” 

“I’m sorry to bother you,” came your sweet voice. 

Sabo blinked down at you in shock. Every ounce of annoyance left his body at the sight of you standing there with his jacket in hand, shifting back and forth on your feet as though uncertain, probably because he had opened the door in such a mood. 

“You left this behind. I thought you might want it back.” 

He stared at the jacket in your hand, thinking how foolish he’d been to take it off in the meeting room. You had been in the meeting room, after all; what if he had rolled up his sleeves without thinking twice and flashed some more of his scars? A grim expression settled onto his face, the stress of it all dragging his lips down into a frown. 

“Sabo?” You asked. “Are you alright?” 

He noticed your expression sinking, too, though with concern rather than frustration. It made him want to die again. 

“Fine,” he ground out. 

“You don’t seem fine,” you said, still holding the jacket out to him. 

“I’m just… I’m just a little tired.” He accepted the jacket and noticed immediately that it smelled a bit like you. 

“Oh, well. It works for you.” You pushed your hands into your pockets. 

“What do you mean?” Sabo asked. 

“I mean you look cute when you’re tired.” 

The words left his mouth before he could stop them. “Even with this scar on my face?” 

You looked genuinely shocked by what he had said. “Especially with the scar on your face. It’s one of the best parts about you.” You offered him that small smile of yours. “Anyway, I still have some work to get done. I’ll see you at dinner.” With that, you turned on your heel and walked away, not having any clue what you had just done. 

Sabo closed the door as quickly as he could without slamming it. As soon as it closed, he jumped for joy, a grin spreading wide across his face. He felt like a balloon about to pop. It’s one of the best parts about you. He collapsed on his bed and stared up at the ceiling, that same, dumb smile on his face. He didn’t think he’d ever scowl again. 

———

Hope you enjoyed it! If you want more, you can check out my masterlist here!

[adverbally]

Too Sweet

Written for the @steddie-spooktober day fifteen prompt “baking” | wc: 867 | rated: T | cw: none | tags: established relationship, romantic gesture, domesticity gone wrong, a little bit of a fight, minor burn injury, happy ending

———

Steve has a clear routine when he comes home from work each day. Straight down the hall to the bedroom to change into sweatpants and one of Eddie’s threadbare old t-shirts, a detour to the bathroom to wash his face, then a stop by Eddie’s office to say hello before Steve starts making dinner. He is a creature of habit– boring in his old age, Eddie teases– and it relaxes him to shed his “work self” and settle back into the comfort of the home he shares with Eddie.

Today, though, Steve walks in the front door and is greeted by the acrid smell of smoke wafting into the foyer from the kitchen.

“Eddie?” he calls, a little alarmed.

There’s no response, except for the shrill beeping of the smoke alarm. Steve drops his backpack by the door, grading immediately forgotten, and runs into the kitchen.

There he finds Eddie, frantically waving a baking sheet around the smoke detector in an attempt to clear the air enough to deactivate the alarm. The oven behind him is hanging open, smoke still billowing out from… what appears to be a muffin tin? Its contents are crispy and black enough that Steve can’t tell exactly what they were supposed to be.

“What the hell are you doing?” he asks, maybe a little more bitchy than he would normally be. It was a long day of classroom observation and he got paint on his shirt from one of the kids talking a little too enthusiastically with a paintbrush in hand, and now his routine is disrupted and his house is full of smoke and–

“Just my new workout regimen,” Eddie says sarcastically, glaring over his shoulder and flapping the baking sheet even harder.

Steve dons the oven mitts waiting on the counter and pulls the charcoal-filled tin out of the oven, sitting it on the stovetop. At least it won’t, like, catch on fire now. He yanks off the mitts, shuts off the oven, and pinches the bridge of his nose against the headache building behind his eyes. Maybe the smoke inhalation is starting to get to him. Should he throw the baking disaster in the sink and run water on it? He can’t remember ever burning something this badly before.

Eddie grumbles to himself, “‘Bake until golden brown,’ it said. Golden and brown are different colors! Not to mention all the shades of brown, which turn black pretty fast, like, take your eyes off it for three seconds–”

“Can you quit trying to fly away and help me here?” Steve snaps.

“Help you what?” Eddie fires back.

With a huff, Steve grabs for the tin, only to drop it with a hiss when he realizes he hadn't put the oven mitts back on. “Shit!” he exclaims, flexing his hand to feel the tenderness of the burned spots. The webbing of his thumb seems to have caught the worst of it, though the pads of his fingers are red where they had wrapped around the tin to stabilize it from below. They hurt, too, now that the initial shock has worn off.

Suddenly Eddie is beside him, guiding him to the sink with his hands on Steve’s hips. Wordlessly, he takes Steve’s hand, careful not to touch the fresh burns, and directs it under the stream of cold water. The pain flares at first, but the chill is soothing after a moment, washing away the sting.

“Are you okay?” Eddie asks over Steve's shoulder.

Steve sighs and takes stock. The worst of the smoke has cleared, though one of them still needs to shut off the smoke detector. The oven is off and nothing is actively burning. His hand doesn’t look too bad. He turns to face Eddie and says, “Yeah, thanks. You?”

“Fine, just feeling stupid.” Eddie gestures at the smoldering heap of… whatever baked good it may have been at one point. “I was cleaning up while they baked, but I think I forgot to set the timer. Next thing you know,” he gestures upward and outward, miming a rising plume of smoke.

“I know, it happens. I shouldn’t have been such a dick about it,” Steve apologizes.

Eddie’s mouth quirks up in a smile. “That’s what I get for trying to do something nice for you, huh?”

“Oh?” Steve tries to tamp down the immediate panic that rises from the fear of having forgotten something.

It must show on his face because Eddie hastens to add, “Not for a special occasion or anything! Just because, you know, I love you and I know you really liked the cranberry muffins Robin brought over last month. So I got the recipe and.. Ta-da.” He punctuates his explanation with unenthusiastic jazz hands.

Steve can’t help but laugh. “That would have been an excellent surprise, had it worked.” He rests his palms against Eddie’s chest, craving the contact. To his delight, Eddie takes the hint and wraps his arms around his middle, pulling them flush against each other. “But it was still a very sweet gesture.”

When they kiss, Eddie’s mouth tastes like tart berry and spiced batter. Steve savors it, since it’s the closest he’ll get to having those muffins today.

[hollythius]

IT’S A SYMBOL OF OUR FRIENDSHIP! | secret relationship headcannons

featuring | alhaitam, kaveh, tighnari, childe

prompt | as secret lovers, your favorite pastime is buying incognito matching items for you and your partner. but after so many grandiose, lovingly picked items start to alert your friends— well, what do you say?

tldr | i love secret relationship tropes 🫶 especially when it’s by choice and not necessity. reader is gn, i tried to be funny (it didn’t work), help i cant write any of these characters, uhh enjoy!! reblogs help btw! this got way off topic, uhhhh i’m having fun with these hehe

ALHAITAM — matching rings

the great sage was rarely fond of people, and even rarer was when he purposefully went out of his way to do something for another person. thus, after you had gotten over the initial shock of his confession— wham! he had pulled you aside to hand you a box that held matching rings. you almost fainted, the insanity of your precious haitham not understanding the implications of such jewelry threw you for a loop. however, you accepted it as a sort of promise ring, the silver band wrapped with green, vine-like markings. kaveh was the first to notice. “what’s that you’ve got there?” he smirked. his pointer finger directed at alhaitam’s middle finger where the ring rested. “oh, and what’s this? y/n has one too? oh my!” and alhaitam, sweet, red faced alhaitam, simply said, “it’s a gesture of our friendship!” you shook your head, smiling. kaveh laughed. you knew he was starting to suspect you anyway.

KAVEH — matching earrings

having your boyfriend’s roommate intrude on the two of you was rare, but that didn’t mean it didn’t happen. you were beginning to think it was on purpose— alhaitam was smart, and it wouldn’t take a genius to realize your relationship. (especially with how affectionate kaveh was sometimes) “y/n, help me put them in,” kaveh whines. “hold on, kaveh. here,” you finished putting your own earrings in, before coming over to kaveh. you press a kiss to his temple, which leads to him kissing your wrist— soon the earrings are left forgotten on the vanity and your collective priority is to kiss each other to death. these ministrations hold your attention so tightly that you don’t hear the knock at the door. or the ‘i’m coming in’ from alhaitham. well, he was bound to find out one way or another.

TIGHNARI — matching bracelets

tighnari’s tongue stuck out a little when he was focused— a cute habit of his that you had yet to comment on. now, he was focused on latching a clasp on a bracelet he had bought you. on his wrist was a matching one: gold and green with incredible luster. he was struggling. “need help, nari?” you ask, giggling. “no. m’fine.” he was certainly not fine, with how long it was taking him. “you’re so cute,” you say softly, tighnari looking up at you annoyed. “and?” you laugh again, the clasp on your bracelet still not closed. you kiss the top of his head, chuckling. “i think you need some help, hon.”

CHILDE — matching scarves

the chilly weather of snezhnaya warranted thick coats, long bottoms, and heavy boots. hats or earmuffs were common, but scarves were practically a staple fashion item. they could be worn multiple ways, styled impeccably, and still keep you warm. so when childe gifted you a red scarf that perfectly matched his own, you melted. “is this for me?” you whispered, childe chuckling at the awe in your tone. “uh-huh. look, it matches mine! and red’s a common color here, so it doesn’t look suspicious,” he said. but the real test would be when he was out in public. the red on his face could easily be explained away as from the cold, but you knew that the rosy tint was him blushing. you buried your face in your own scarf, embarrassed. childe just thought it made you look cuter.

[yoonkles]

sigh. feeling angsty. read tags first for TW ppl

SaneObaGiyuu but tragic. Tomioka is so in love with them and they’re so in love with him but a part of him just can’t believe it. Why him? What does he have? What can he give to such a relationship? What has he done to deserve this? Why do they want him?

And then he thinks maybe they don’t want him. Maybe they thought they did at first but now the initial attraction has worn off and he’s stuck in the middle of it. Maybe Sanemi and Obanai want out but they don’t know how to leave. Tomioka spirals. And we all know Tomioka, He likes to hide from things. He pulls away. He can’t help it. They invite him out to dinner and all he can think is that it’s just a convenience invite, they’ll be happier without him there, the food will taste better without his dull presence. He leaves letters unopened and unanswered because he can’t bare the sight of an empty confession, of emotionless words and reminders that he is so wholly unloveable.

And neither Obanai nor Sanemi are stupid. They can feel the difference in their lover. They know that he stills loves them, he still looks at them with that twinkle in his eye that nobody else has the privilege of seeing. But he’s not himself anymore. They don’t see his tiny little smile anymore. He’s getting paler, avoiding the sunlight like a plague, like he’s not going outside as much. SaneOba have quiet talks between themselves. Wondering what to do, how to confront this behavior, if this can be fixed. They don’t want to lose Tomioka.

So, they try. They show up at his house, both alone and together, they reject missions and neglect their own needs all for Tomioka. Because they don’t care how much sleep they’re lacking or how many times they’ve missed training, something is wrong with their love and they need to fix it, whatever it is.

For a brief period of time, things go back to normal. Tomioka sees them trying and its like a switch flicks inside of him- they are trying because they want to, because they want him. He reciprocates the effort. He makes them breakfast after they spend the night and then dinner before they travel back to their own homes. He shows up to their trainings with towels and a change of clothes. He laughs a bit more and he sunbathes in his front yard while they bicker about nothing in particular. They say I love you and he says it back. I love you, too.

But a cycle is just that. An end is just a beginning and the beginning is an end in and of itself. It could be a mission that includes Sanemi and Obanai but excludes Tomioka. Or it could be a snide remark from another rank, sticking their nose into business it doesn’t belong in. it could be an eyeroll from Sanemi or a scoff from Obanai. but somewhere along the way something happens and Tomioka is once again awake at three in the morning with a weight on his chest. There’s a pressure behind his eyes and a pit in his stomach. He doesn’t want this to happen again. He was getting so much better. Why does this always happen to him? Why can’t he be normal, accept love without question? Is there something wrong with him? Fundamentally, cosmically wrong?

He spirals. It's just like before. But this time there’s no one there to keep his head above water. Sanemi and Obanai are sent on a mission. Tanjiro and Nezuko haven’t seem him in months. The other Hashira barely tolerate him as it is. He is alone. And he sinks.

It only takes a few days. The feeling of his sword against his wrists isn’t as unnerving as he thought it would be.

In a few days time, the crows of the Demon Slayer Corp receive a message. Kanzaburou caws solemnly. The news travels fast.

It reaches the Hashira residing at the estate first. Shinobu, Rengoku, and Himejima. The birds swarm above them, and for an oblivious second, they think there’s a mission. Then, Attention, Hashira! Tomioka Giyuu, the water pillar, has been found dead in his estate!

And there’s a silence between the three. Maybe it’s the shock. Maybe it’s the wording. Dead. In his estate. They listen to the message repeat two, three times more before it sets in. One of them is dead. Shinobu is the first to start moving. Rengoku and Himejima follow closely.

Next, is Tengen, who relaxes at home with his wives milling about. He can hear his crow from miles away. When the bird doesn’t say anything until it lands on a window perch, is when Tengen knows something is wrong. The words ring throughout the house. Tomioka Giyuu has been found dead. One of his wives drops a cup. It shatters on the floor. Tengen flinches.

Mitsuri is training when she’s delivered the news. She snaps her wooden sword in two. She can’t accept it- and- and then she thinks- Obanai. Sanemi. She doesn’t thinks she’s ever cried so hard before, and she doesn’t think she ever will again.

Sanemi and Obanai are on their way back from a long, hard mission. They talk amongst themselves once in awhile, hands grasped and swaying. They’re making their way back to Tomioka’s house, grateful to finally see their lover after weeks apart. Though, they’re worried, undoubtedly so. Tomioka hasn’t sent a letter in days. They wonder if perhaps he has been sent on a mission and hasn’t been able to write, yet. They miss him. They can’t stop talking about him, about seeing him again. Sanemi plans to cook the three of them dinner and Obanai talks of taking Tomioka on a walk.

When they’re only two miles away, there’s a rustle in the trees. Both of them tense. The adrenaline inside them is still pumping, muscles long overworked from slaying demons. They both keep their eyes keen on the tree line. Only, instead of a sneak attack, out flies a crow.

It’s an estate one, not assigned to any specific slayer. It sqwuaks once, then twice, circling above them like a bad omen. Sanemi’s heart jumps into his throat and Obanai swallows harshly. Something’s wrong. They can feel it.

Attention, Hashira! Tomioka Giyuu, the water pillar, has been found dead in his estate!

The world is ripped from beneath their feet. They can’t- they can’t breathe. Their throats are closing up and their lungs are squeezing and nothing feels real. Neither of them move. They’re stuck infinitely in the place they are, where their feet meet the ground. One step in front of a time where Tomioka was still alive and forced to take another step into a time where he is not.

They don’t look at each other. Their hands fall from each other’s touch. They both begin to run.

They are the first to reach the estate. The body.

Sanemi breaks down the front door with a shaky leg and a bruised shoulder. Obanai grabs him by his uniform and drags him inside and they’re both stumbling through the living room. They ignore the silence because they have to, because if they focus too much on it then they don’t think they’ll be able to keep walking.

The kitchen is empty and so are the closets and the patio and the bathroom. While Sanemi is kicking at a closed door in frustration, Obanai’s feet stop in front of the closed off bedroom. He knows what’s behind it. Sanemi does too, because instead of kicking that closed door, he stomps over to kick this one instead. He’s angry, though Obanai can see through it clearly.

“I swear to god, you better open this fucking door, G-..” He says, and then he cuts himself off, because his voice is wavering and he can’t say that name. Not yet.

Obanai twists the knob open instead. He can’t bear the nerves. He needs to see for himself. He won’t believe it if he doesn’t.

Tomioka sits splayed against the furthest wall. His head is slumped over on to his shoulder and his eyes are closed. His hair is untied and greasy and wisps across his forehead. His haori is neatly folded next to him, with his shoes tucked away as well.

His wrists are cut up to his inner elbow. The blood that spills from them has long since dried.

Sanemi drops to his knees and the only way Obanai is able to stay upright is the utter shock keeping him rigid. Silent, hot tears begin to fall. They don’t look away from the body- the body of their lover.

This is how they’re found five minutes later, when the other pillars begin to arrive. Shinobu, Rengoku, and Himejima are first. Tengen and Mitsuri arrive seconds later.

It’s not enough, it feels too empty. The simplest, quietest gasp from Shinobu is what knocks Sanemi and Obanai from their stupor.

They scramble and trip and stumble to Tomioka like there’s still time, like there’s still someway to save him. The rest of the Hashira are stilled in silence, unable to find something to do or say, unable to stop their friends. Obanai grabs at his lover's arms and tries to push the sliced skin back together. Sanemi’s clammy palms grabs at his paper white cheeks and checks his pulse.

When he finds none, he screams. He sucks in a breath and he digs his face into Tomioka’s chest and he screams.

Obanai finally begins to register that the dried blood on his hands will never wash off. He will forever be stained the same way he was stained all those decades ago when they first sliced his lips open. He falls from his ankles to his knees and nestles the palm of Tomioka’s hand to his cheeks with a cry.

The Hashira don’t know what to do. They stand at the doorway and they watch the blood smear and the tears fall. They listen to sobs so anguished that it burns into their memory. Himejima begins to pray but the words are muffled over the loudness of grief.

Getting the cold body away from Sanemi and Obanai proves to be difficult. They lash out and attack indiscriminately at their peers. They draw swords and scream threats and crowd around Tomioka’s body like a lion does a carcass.

Shinobu has to be brought tranquillizers from the butterfly estate. Only after it’s administered do Sanemi and Obanai finally collapse in on themselves.

Mitsuri and Himejima watch over them solemnly as Tengen, Rengoku, and Shinobu wrap up Tomioka’s body in a white sheet.

The funeral is worse than the day of Tomioka’s death, if that’s even possible. The Kamado siblings are finally made aware of the situation, along with the group of friends they acquaint themselves with. The former water Hashira, Urokodaki, is also informed. Genya finds out through Himejima.

The turmoil is immense. Tanjiro is inconsolable. He is barely able to stand upright as he rushes through Butterfly Estate’s doors. Zenitsu and Inosuke are following closely behind him, with Nezuko hiding away in her box. They say they’ve been running for a day and a half straight after receiving the news. That there must be some kind of mistake, that their crow has mistranslated the words, that it can't be true.

The quiver in Tanjiro’s voice when he asks- Is Giyuu-san here? Can we see him?- is enough for Shinobu to break her facade. A tear slips down her cheek as she takes the three boys and the demon girl into a back room where Tomioka’s body lay prepped for the funeral.

The cries that come after she closes the door echo around the entire estate. They don’t stop.

Urokodaki arrives later that day. He’s wearing his mask as he bows to the Hashira, and they bow back. Sanemi and Obanai avoid his gaze. They can’t look him in the eye, they can’t even look in his direction. Hearing his voice makes them flinch. They can’t handle this- they can’t do this- they can’t face the effects of their failure.

Urokodaki asks a question as well, once formalities are finished. Where’s my son? He asks, quietly, hushed. Sanemi and Obanai begin to sob. The former water Hashira joins them.

Genya.... tries. He watches, at first, from a distance. Ever since he first heard the news, He’s been watching. Keeping his eyes trailed on his grieving brother. His ‘Nemi. His sweet, protective older brother who won’t stop screaming his tears and wrecking the training grounds. Genya is scared. He’s completely terrified that maybe this is the breaking point. That Sanemi won’t be able to take anything more after this.

Genya doesn’t say it out loud, but thinks his brother is going to kill himself.

Death, as always, drives people apart. It’s the catalyst, the very foundation of loss. The Hashira are not exempt to this.

Sanemi and Obanai are not exempt to this. Tragedy breeds resentment and resentment only grows. They push each other away. It feels too wrong, too out of place to be together, to be in the same room, to eat the same meal. There’s something missing. There will always be something missing.

There is no messy eater sitting between them at dinner. There is no quiet chuckles during their bickering. There is no half-read book sitting on their nightstand, there is no extra pair of shoes at their door, there is no soft whispers of I love you both before they drift to sleep.

There is no Tomioka. There will never be Tomioka again.

And without Tomioka, they don’t think there can be a them.

At the urgent orders of their master, the remaining Hashira take shifts keeping diligent eyes on the wind and snake pillars. It’s not an order they need- the growing concern among them is enough.

Rengoku and Tengen train with Sanemi. Mitsuri drags Obanai along to a picnic at her estate every other day. Himejima visits them both every morning, meal, and night to pray. Shinobu sits in silence, or watches from a spot in the trees, any chance she gets.

Tanjiro writes to the two pillars daily. He might not have had the best impression of them at first, but he knows loss intimately. He knows they are grieving. He is, too.

Genya reaches out to his brother as often as he can. Obanai, as well. Neither of them often answer the door. But he’s okay with just sitting outside and talking. Even if most times, he’s simply talking to himself.

Despite everything, despite it all, there is a certain truth to the universe. An end is a beginning and a beginning is an end. And Tomioka’s cycle does not end with him. Loss does not end, nor will it ever. it takes and it takes and it never stops taking.

Sanemi kills himself three weeks after Tomioka’s funeral. He lays down at his lover’s grave and sends his crow to apologize to Obanai. Genya is the first to find his body.

Obanai is not a strong man. He never has been. He has lost everything and everyone and he does not know how he’s made it this far in life. He gets the news of Sanemi’s death within the hour. And... he thinks this is it. He does not want to make it any further. Not when he’s alone, not like this.

Fearing for his child, Master Kagaya sends Tengen, the fastest of the Hashira, to the snake pillar’s estate at once.

When he arrives, Obanai is already swinging above a tipped over chair.

The two bodies are later buried on either side of Tomioka. Because there is no them if it is not all three.

The cycle continues.

[skywalker1dream]

Title: reconnecting

Max verstappen x reader

Summary: Years after drifting apart from childhood best friend Max Verstappen, you find yourself unexpectedly reunited during a family-planned summer holiday in Spain. Despite your initial reluctance to join, you discover that old bonds can reignite in the most unexpected ways.

Warning: none?

---

The sun was setting over the picturesque Spanish coast, casting a golden glow over the sprawling summer house your families had rented. You stared out the car window, feeling a mixture of nostalgia and irritation. Nostalgia, because you had spent countless summers with the Verstappens as a child. Irritation, because you hadn't wanted to come on this trip at all.

"Come on, it'll be fun," your mother had insisted, practically dragging you along. "You used to love spending time with them."

"Yeah, when I was ten," you muttered under your breath. But arguing with your mom had never been fruitful, so here you were, stepping out into the warm evening air, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in your stomach.

Your family was greeted warmly by Max's parents. You exchanged polite hugs and greetings, trying to push down the awkwardness. The house was stunning, with whitewashed walls and a terrace that overlooked the sparkling Mediterranean Sea.

You were just about to head to your room when a familiar voice stopped you in your tracks. "Hey, stranger."

You turned around, heart pounding, and there he was. Max Verstappen. He looked older, more mature, but his eyes still had that same mischievous glint.

"Max?" you managed to say, your voice catching in your throat.

"In the flesh," he replied with a grin. "Long time no see."

---------

Later that evening, after the initial shock had worn off and dinner was served on the terrace, you found yourself sitting next to Max. The conversation flowed easily among the adults, but you and Max were a bit more reserved.

"So," Max said, breaking the silence between you two, "what have you been up to all these years?"

You shrugged, poking at your salad. "Just life, I guess. School, work. The usual. You?"

Max chuckled. "I think you know what I've been up to."

"Yeah, I guess following your career doesn't really count as keeping in touch, huh?" You smiled, trying to lighten the mood.

He nodded, his expression softening. "I missed you, you know. We used to be inseparable."

"Yeah, well, life happens," you said, a bit more sharply than you intended.

Max winced. "I'm sorry. I should have tried harder to keep in touch."

You sighed, feeling a pang of guilt. "It's not all on you. I could have reached out too."

He looked at you, his gaze intense. "Then let's make up for lost time."

-----------

The next few days were a blur of sun, laughter, and rediscovery. You and Max fell back into a rhythm that felt both new and familiar. You found yourselves staying up late, talking about everything and nothing. One night, as you both sat on the terrace, the stars twinkling above, Max turned to you.

"Do you remember that summer when we were ten, and we tried to build a treehouse?"

You laughed. "Yeah, it was more like a pile of sticks than a treehouse."

Max grinned. "We were so determined though. I kind of miss that."

"Miss what? Failing at building things?"

He shook his head. "No. Just... us. The way we used to be."

You looked at him, feeling a warmth spread through you. "Me too."

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

As the days passed, it became clear that this trip was more than just a family reunion. It was a chance to rebuild something you both thought was lost. And as you sat together on the beach, watching the waves crash against the shore, you realized that sometimes, life has a way of bringing you back to where you belong.

Max turned to you, his eyes reflecting the ocean. "So, what do you say? Think we can give this friendship another shot?"

You smiled, feeling lighter than you had in years. "Yeah, I think we can."

And maybe, just maybe, it could be something more.

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

The summer house buzzed with the sounds of laughter and conversation. It felt like old times, but with an edge of something new and unspoken. You and Max had grown, and so had the dynamics between you.

Years after drifting apart from childhood best friend Max Verstappen, you find yourself unexpectedly reunited during a family-planned summer holiday in Spain. Despite your initial reluctance to join, you discover that old bonds can reignite in the most unexpected ways.

One afternoon, as you were chatting with Max in the garden, your mother approached, a wide smile on her face. "[your name], have you met the new neighbors? They're a lovely family. Their son, Aaron, is around your age."

You shot her a look, sensing her ulterior motives. "Uh, no, I haven't met them yet."

Max's expression shifted slightly, a hint of irritation flickering in his eyes.

"Well, you should come meet them. They're joining us for a barbecue tonight," your mother continued.

"Sure, Mom," you replied, trying to hide your reluctance.

That evening, as everyone gathered on the terrace for the barbecue, you were introduced to Aaron. He was friendly, charming, and clearly interested in getting to know you. You couldn't help but notice Max's jaw tighten every time Aaron made you laugh.

"So, [your name]," Aaron said, his eyes sparkling, "what do you do?"

Before you could answer, Max cut in. "She's actually really talented. She works in marketing and has a knack for creative projects."

You raised an eyebrow at Max. "I can speak for myself, you know."

Aaron laughed, oblivious to the tension. "That's impressive. Maybe you can give me some tips. I'm starting my own business and could use some marketing advice."

"Sure," you said, smiling. "I'd be happy to help."

Max excused himself abruptly, muttering something about getting more drinks. You watched him go, feeling a mix of confusion and concern.

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

Later that night, you found Max sitting alone on the beach, staring out at the dark waves. You approached cautiously. "Hey, you okay?"

He glanced up at you, his expression unreadable. "Yeah, just needed some air."

You sat down beside him. "You seemed a bit off tonight."

Max sighed, running a hand through his hair. "It's just... I don't know. Seeing you with Aaron, I guess I felt a bit... jealous."

You blinked, taken aback by his honesty. "Jealous? Why?"

He looked at you, his eyes searching yours. "Because I realized I don't want to lose you again. Not to anyone."

Your heart pounded in your chest. "Max, you won't lose me. We're just reconnecting."

He shook his head. "It's more than that. I think it always has been."

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

The next day, the tension between you and Max was palpable. Your families noticed, and during breakfast, Max's mother, Sophie, leaned over to your mother. "Those two have always had a special bond, haven't they?"

Your mother nodded, a knowing smile on her lips. "Yes, they have. Maybe this summer will be good for them."

As the day wore on, you tried to focus on enjoying the holiday, but your thoughts kept drifting back to Max and his confession. You decided to confront the situation head-on.

That evening, you found Max in the kitchen, helping to prepare dinner. "We need to talk," you said, your voice firm.

He looked at you, his expression wary. "Okay."

You took a deep breath. "About what you said last night. Do you really mean it?"

Max set down the knife he was holding and turned to face you fully. "I do. I think I've always felt this way, but I didn't realize it until now."

Your heart raced as you stepped closer. "Then why did you let us drift apart?"

He sighed, his shoulders slumping. "I was young and stupid. I thought I needed to focus on racing, and everything else fell by the wayside. Including you."

You reached out, placing a hand on his arm. "Well, we're here now. And we have a chance to start over."

Max's eyes softened as he covered your hand with his. "I'd like that. A lot."

---------

Over the next few days, the dynamic between you and Max shifted. There was a new closeness, an unspoken understanding that something more was blooming between you. The jealousy that had sparked in Max whenever Aaron was around seemed to dissipate as he grew more confident in your feelings for him.

One evening, as you and Max walked along the beach, he stopped and turned to you, taking both of your hands in his. "I've been thinking a lot about us," he said softly.

You looked up at him, your heart pounding. "And?"

"And I don't want to waste any more time," he said, his eyes intense. "I want to be with you, [your name]. For real."

You smiled, feeling tears of happiness prick at the corners of your eyes. "I want that too."

He leaned in, and as his lips met yours, you felt the past melt away, replaced by the promise of a future together.

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

The days that followed your confession on the beach were filled with a heady mix of tension and passion. You and Max were inseparable, yet the simmering emotions between you both seemed to heighten with each passing moment.

One particularly hot afternoon, as you lounged by the pool, Aaron sauntered over, his charming smile firmly in place. "Hey, [your name], up for a swim?"

You glanced at Max, who was sitting nearby, his eyes narrowing slightly at Aaron's approach. "Sure, why not," you replied, feeling a bit mischievous.

As you and Aaron splashed around in the pool, Max's gaze grew darker. He tried to focus on his book, but his eyes kept drifting to where you were laughing with Aaron.

Aaron swam closer, his playful demeanor making you laugh even more. "You know, I was thinking we could go into town tomorrow. There's this great market I think you'd love."

"That sounds fun," you said, catching Max's glare from the corner of your eye.

Max couldn't take it anymore. He stood up abruptly, the deck chair scraping against the tiles. "Actually, we have plans tomorrow," he said, his voice tight.

You turned to him, raising an eyebrow. "We do?"

Max nodded, not breaking eye contact. "Yes, I thought we could explore that secluded beach we talked about."

You saw the determination in his eyes and decided to play along. "Oh, right. The beach. Sorry, Aaron, maybe another time."

Aaron looked between you and Max, realizing he was outmatched. "No problem, maybe another time then."

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

That evening, the tension between you and Max was palpable. You found yourselves alone in the living room, the flickering light from the fireplace casting shadows on the walls.

"Was that really necessary?" you asked, crossing your arms.

Max stepped closer, his eyes burning with intensity. "Yes, it was. I can't stand seeing you with him."

Your breath hitched as he closed the distance between you. "Max, he's just a friend."

"I know," he said, his voice low and rough. "But I...."

He reached out, gently cupping your face. The world seemed to stop as he leaned in, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was both tender and demanding. You melted against him, your hands sliding up to tangle in his hair.

The kiss deepened, filled with all the longing and passion that had built up between you. Max's hands roamed down your back, pulling you closer, as if afraid you'd disappear if he let go.

You broke the kiss, breathless, and looked into his eyes. "Max, we need to talk about this."

He nodded, his forehead resting against yours. "I know. But right now, I just want you. Is that okay?"

You answered by kissing him again, your lips moving with an urgency that matched his. The tension and passion swirled around you, making it impossible to think clearly.

As the minutes turned into hours, you found yourselves tangled together on the couch, the intensity of your make-out session leaving you both breathless and wanting more.

-----------

The next morning, you woke up wrapped in Max's arms. He looked down at you, a soft smile playing on his lips. "Morning," he murmured.

"Morning," you replied, stretching. "About last night..."

He kissed your forehead. "I meant every word. I want to be with you."

You smiled, feeling a warmth spread through you. "I want that too, Max."

Just then, your mother knocked on the door, interrupting the moment. "[Your name], Max, breakfast is ready."

You sighed, reluctantly pulling away from Max. "Coming, Mom!"

As you made your way downstairs, Aaron was already at the table, chatting with your families. He looked up, a curious expression on his face. "Morning, [your name] Did you sleep well?"

You felt Max's hand on the small of your back, a silent claim. "Yes, thank you," you replied, trying to keep your voice steady.

Aaron's gaze flickered to Max's hand, then back to you. "So, about that trip to town..."

Max's grip tightened slightly. "Actually, we're still planning to visit that secluded beach today."

You shot Max a look, then turned to Aaron. "Maybe another time, Aaron. But thank you."

Aaron smiled, but there was a hint of disappointment in his eyes. "Of course. Enjoy your day."

-----------

The drive to the secluded beach was filled with a mix of comfortable silence and playful banter. Once there, you and Max spread out a blanket on the sand, the sound of the waves creating a serene backdrop.

As you sat together, Max took your hand, his thumb tracing circles on your skin. "I can't believe how quickly things have changed," he said softly.

You leaned into him, feeling the warmth of his body. "Maybe it was always meant to be this way."

He looked at you, his eyes filled with emotion. "I don't want to waste any more time. I want us to be together, for real."

You smiled, your heart swelling with happiness. "I want that too, Max. More than anything."

He leaned in, capturing your lips in a kiss that promised a future filled with love and passion. As the sun set over the horizon, you knew that this was just the beginning of your journey together, and you couldn't wait to see where it would lead.

----------

And...that's it I think I will write part 2...tell me what do you think..byee

[eddiesxangel]

Take Me to the Lakes | E.M x Reader ~ 2/6

Read part 1 here

Cw: angst, jealousy, pining, weed consumption, 18+ content MDNI

Wc: 4.4k

You didn’t see Eddie the rest of the day, but you did happen to run into Steve and yell at him for the most impromptu timing in the world. It has been a scorcher of a day, so you were elated that today was swim day.

The sun was sweltering; Robin and you had to triple-check that your campers had all the water-resistant sunscreen. You had worn your bathing suit under your jean shorts and Camp Murdock t-shirt, but you couldn’t take the sweaty cotton touching your skin any longer. You had to strip off the clothes that were sticking to your skin.

“I think I might die if I don’t get in the water now!” Robin complained. You could see her usually pin-straight bangs getting wavy from the sweat on her forehead.

“Same here, I can’t believe I didn’t think to put my hair up this morning." You could feel the sweat dripping down the base of your neck.

As soon as you reached the dock, you took charge and ensured that everyone in your group was fully aware of all the water safety rules. You then conducted a final head count of all the campers before jumping into the water yourselves.

Robin was the first to take the plunge, diving headfirst into the refreshing water. Despite the initial shock of the cold water, she resurfaced with a huge grin on her face, her teeth chattering with excitement.

“Holy shit, it’s freezing!” she squealed.

“Oh god, I don’t want to do it now,” you laughed as you stripped off your jean shorts.

Just as you were removing your clothes, Eddie, Steve, and Ashton came running around the corner, unable to stay in the heat themselves. Due to the hot weather, Eddie tied his long hair back, and his light grey shirt turned dark grey from sweat. They had just changed into their swimming trunks.

“Hey, look, the girls,” Ashton pointed to you and Robin.

Eddie had stopped dead in his tracks as he watched you. It was like you were moving in slow motion.

You still were taking your shorts off. Eddie watched as your peach of an ass bent over to step out of your shorts, your back arching as you peeled off the t-shirt. You wore your red bikini with little white hearts matched perfectly with the little heart inked into the skin on your right butt cheek.

Hold up, what? Eddie’s brain short-circuited. You not only have a tattoo, but an ass tattoo?

“Dude, hello, Earth to Eddie,” Steve was snapping his fingers in front of Eddie's face.

“ Huh, what?” Eddie reluctantly peeled his eyes away from you.

“You’d been staring at her for like five minutes, bro; just ask her out already.” Ashton laughed.

“Was not five minutes"

“So you admit you’re staring?” Steve smirks.

“How could I not? Don’t you have eyes?”

The guys laughed, and Eddie continued his gaze back to you when he saw Billy approaching you from the right. Eddie felt a sudden possessiveness over you when it came to that guy. He never liked Billy from the start. His off-putting comment and how he looked at you like he wanted to eat you were unsettling.

Eddie didn’t waste another second thinking about it; he started to run towards you, kicking off his slides and tossing his shirt before he grabbed you by the waist and flung you both into the water, laughing.

-

You weren’t paying attention to the boys behind you; honestly, you had no idea they were even there. You were too focused on working up the courage to finally jump in. Robin tried to convince you when you heard your name being called.

“Bambi, damn girl, you’re looking hotter than last year.” You turned and rolled your eyes immediately. Out of all people, Billy. You watched in disgust as he was ogling you while licking his lips.

Before you could even reply, a force pushed you into the freezing water.

When you breach the surface, you profusely try to catch your breath, looking around to see what the fuck just happened.

Your first instinct was to blame Billy for pushing you in.

“What the fuck Coyote?!” You were freezing, and the drastic temperature change had your teeth chattering.

“It wasn’t me!” his hands when up in defence.

You believe him, so you start looking around because he couldn't have, and you swore another person had jumped into the lake with you.

“Sorry, Princess. As your knight, I must fulfill my duty to you to save you.” A whisper echoed in your ear.

You let out a small scream, startled by his closeness, but when your heart settled, your flesh rose in goosebumps, not because of the cold of the lake water. Strong hands touch your waits turning you around to face your ‘saviour’

“Oh, my hero,” you fake swoon.

Eddie laughed, his head tipped all the way back so his hair was touching the water, his thick neck exposed, sending you into a daydream of leaving many a mark on that neck, but your thots were halted by Eddie pushing down on your head, dunking you back into the water.

“Edward Munson, I swear to God!” You screamed when you popped back up out of the water.

“Oh, my government name? You wound me, Princess.” He grabbed his chest like he had a knife in his heart.

You started to swim towards him, but the cold lake water was starting to numb your limbs. You couldn’t move fast enough; your teeth were still chattering, and Eddie could hear how cold you were.

“I'm sorry, Princess. I need to redeem myself.” He reached out and pulled you into his body, wrapping his arms around the small of your waist.

“You better be.” You shivered.

“Come, let's get you warmed up in the sun.”

He hopped out of the water, not even having to use the ladder. He reached down, holding out his hand to help you out, but you yanked him back down, and he fell head-first back into the water.

Eddie could only hear your laugh when he broke through the surface.

“I guess I deserved that.” He shook his head like a wet dog.

You were already halfway up the ladder when you felt his gaze on you. Eddie watched as you climbed up; he trialled right behind you, giving him a great view of the tattoo he wanted to know more about.

You quickly ran over to the towel that had been warmed by the sun. Shivering, you crouched down and sat in a ball to cover yourself with the whole towel.

“Come ‘er Princess, let's get you warmed up.” Eddie sat beside you and wrapped his arms around your shoulders with his own towel to cover you both before he started rubbing his hands up and down your arms to help you get warm.

You couldn’t help but lean into his touch, resting your head on his shoulder. Between the sun and Eddie, you warmed you up in no time.

You were at peace, the smell of coconut sunscreen, the sounds of splashing in the water, the warm feeling you were getting because Eddie was not only touching you, but hugging you.

“There you go, your majesty, all better,” Eddie smirked.

“You’re really not going to give up this joke, are you?” You laughed.

“Not in a million years, Princess.”

-

You and the girls were busily getting ready for a cozy after-the-bonfire hangout with the boys in the mess hall. You were there setting up some snacks and drinks on the table, and the soft glow of the fairy lights hanging on the walls added to the warm ambiance of the room.

Meanwhile, Eddie and his cabin were chatting and laughing, looking forward to the evening. As the night grew darker, they realized it was already 10:00 pm, and they needed to do one last check on the campers to make sure they were sound asleep. Once it was all calre the guys made their way to the mess hall.

“So you and Julie seem to be getting pretty close.” With his flashlight under his chin, Ashton wiggled his eyebrows at Eddie. Eddie shoves his shoulder lightly, laughing in response.

“I don’t know, man. I know her from home, is all.” Eddie shrugged.

“Come on, dude! You totally couldn’t keep your hands off her at the lake today; I saw you,” Ashton accused.

“Well, have you seen her? And I think she has been flirty with me? I don't know...she confuses me,” Eddie admitted, thinking back on earlier this morning when he thought you almost kissed him.

It's not like Eddie didn't want to believe it, it's that he can't believe it. Why do you, out of all people, want to be with him?

“I would go for it, dude, trust me. She is my best girl-friend, and I shouldn’t say anything, so I won’t, but if I were you, I would ask her out.” Steve joined in.

“You shouldn’t say anything? What’s that supposed to mean?” Eddie asked as they opened the doors to the hall.

“Sorry, man, sworn to secrecy, but trust me, bro.”

“Don't ever trust Moose.” Robin giggled, not knowing the context of the conversation.

“Hey, boys,” you smiled.

Eddie’s eyes met yours, and he smiled back, but his smile dropped when he saw Billy sitting beside you. Billy was like a mosquito who wouldn't leave you alone; he gave you no personal space even though you were seated at a twenty-foot-long picnic table.

He tried his best to ignore Billy; you had already said you didn’t like him, so why did Eddie feel jealous?

Instead, Eddie tried to focus all his attention on you, so he sat directly across from you. Eddie thought you looked cute tonight. Your natural hair was wrapped up in a messy bun, but shorter pieces framing your face.

You wore a heather grey Camp Murdock oversized crewneck sweater, blue and green plaid flannel pyjama pants, and pink fuzzy socks. He liked that you felt comfortable enough to not try hard like you do back home. Back home, he never saw your hair out of place or your outfit not coordinated. Not that Eddie didn't like that version of you, but he likes this version a whole lot more. It made you feel more real and less of this superhuman that the town dubbed you as.

“What are we playing today?” Eddie asked.

“A good old game of truth or dare,” Robin smiled.

“Oh god,” Eddie rolled his eyes.

“Don’t get your panties in a twist. We have a little something extra to make it fun,” You smiled while showing the group the pre-rolled joint you pulled out of your pyjama pants pocket.

Eddie smirked at the thought of you, goodie two shoes, and buying weed. Then, his thought process changed… Who else would you get weed from if not him?

“The fuck you get that?” Eddie didn’t intend for it to be that harsh, but it slipped out like word vomit. Could this be trusted? How did he know it wasn’t laced or tainted.

“Oh, uh, I know a local guy.” Your smile dropped, and Eddie watched as you curled into yourself.

Fuck.

“Better be up to this guy’s standards,” Billy pointed to Eddie, only making it worse.

“You’re lucky I’m even sharing with you.”

“Let’s just start, guys, jeez.” Robin rolled her eyes.

You lit up first then passed it to Billy. Eddie seethed that he got it first. He almost grabbed it right from your hands but he knew he needed to control himself…

The game went on, and the typical stuff happened: streaking, truths about the first kiss, and chugging a combination of ketchup, mustard, and mayo. The joint was getting down to a nub, and it was really starting to take effect. The mood had been lifted, and Eddie noticed how you and the others were getting more giggly, whispering and plotting the next truths and dares.

Steve was up next, and he turned to you.

“Truth or dare?” Steve asks with a smirk.

“Truth,” you say confidently.

“Who was the last guy to give you an orgasm?” He gives you the biggest tooth smile.

Eddie’s ears perk up, his attention locked in. The bubbling feeling of jealousy almost formed again, but it disappeared as soon as you spoke your answer.

“No one.” You blushed.

“Come on, no one believes you, Bambi.” Steve retorts.

“I’m serious! Now shut up it's my turn.” You huffed.

Eddie was not surprised you’re a virgin; if you had slept with anyone, everyone in Hawkins would have known about it.

It sounds wrong, but Eddie was relieved when you said no one. Nobody would be able to please you like he could. The things Eddie wanted to do to you, worship you, take care of you…

“Eddie, hello! earth to Eddie!” Your voice snaps Eddie out of his daydreams.

“Huh? What?”

“Truth or dare,” you smile at him.

“Dare,” Eddie smirked.

“I dare you to kiss…Billy.” You, Robin, and Nancy burst into a fit of giggles like you’ve been plotting.

“I’ll kiss literaly any other guy. Try again, sweetheart.” Eddie sees you try to hide your smile at the pet name. Noted.

"Hey! What's wrong with me?"

"Everything..." Eddie rolls his eyes.

"Come here, big guy, let me plant one on ya." Billy began to chase Eddie around the room, and you, along with everyone else, couldn't hold in your giggles. It was really good weed.

-

The night rolled on, and everyone had to return to their cabins before you knew it.

“Well, boys, I am never skinny dipping at night again. I think my dick shrunk back into my body. Fuck, that lake is cold!” Ashton laughed.

“I never want to see those hairy cheeks again,” Eddie joined.

“I can’t believe what Bambi said, can you?” Steve piped up.

“About what?” Eddie asked.

“That no guy has ever gotten her off. You would think at least one would, you know” Steve exclaimed while brushing his teeth.

“Maybe that’s why she is acting like she has a stick up her ass; I can show her a good time, maybe replace that stick with mine, if you know what I mean.” Billy joked, cupping his crotch as he was getting his pyjamas on.

The joke wasn’t funny; the thought of any guy touching you made Eddie's knuckles go white. His face dropped into a sneer for a split second, but he caught himself. Fucking hell, Munson pulled it together.

“Shut up, dude. She wouldn’t touch you with a ten-foot pole.” Ashton laughed as he lay in his bunk.

“Oh yeah, we will see. She will come around.” He winked, and Eddie felt the s’mores in his stomach start to churn.

Eddie was about to let Steve know that there was no way on God's green earth that you had slept with someone, but his attention was shifted when Steve spoke again.

“Word is she likes someone,” Steve dropped casually as he climbed into his top bunk.

That caught the three men’s attention; they whipped around simultaneously, and all Steve could do was laugh.

“You guys are something else.” He chuckled and laid down to go to sleep.

Maybe Ashton was right; maybe his ever-growing crush on you was too obvious. Maybe he should dial it back more...

-

As the sun sets over Camp Murdock, the anticipation builds for the evening's main event - the camper's talent show. You, Eddie, and Steve have been chosen as the judges for the show, and it's an exciting responsibility. The venue for the show is the old barn on the property. You have carefully set up rows of chairs and cleared a decent patch of the floor to create a makeshift stage. The rustic and charming barn is adorned with twinkle lights that create a warm and cozy atmosphere. A folding table is placed before the judges, where they will take notes and make their final decisions.

As the kids prepare backstage, their nervous energy is palpable. The makeshift backstage area is just an old curtain hanging on a rod by the back right wall. You can hear the campers giggling and screaming in excitement and nervousness. Despite their jitters, they are ready to showcase their talents and make the night memorable for everyone.

You sat in the middle with Steve and Eddie on either other side of you.

“Are you going to strut your stuff up there later tonight?” you asked Eddie quietly, giggling.

To your surprise, he didn’t give you much of an answer, a grunt and a shrug of his shoulders.

That was weird; Eddie had been so warm yesterday. This was your first time seeing him today; maybe he’s tired?

You tried shaking it off, wanting to focus on the kids.

“They all did well. It was so cute to see them perform their dances and songs. One kid did a magic show, and another just showed off his rock collection. Ultimately, one of Eddie’s campers, who had a beautiful singing voice, won the talent show. As a consolation prize, everyone who participated got ice cream. After all the celebrations, everyone went to bed, and it was time for the counsellors to have their own talent show.

You're incredibly nervous this year because you have decided to do something bold. You haven’t told anyone about it, not even Nancy or Robin. It’s evident to anyone who knows you that you’ll be dancing tonight, but it’s usually a ballet number. However, tonight is different. You are determined to make your move and not waste more precious time.

You carefully rummaged through your bag, removing the skin-tight pleather black booty shorts and a shiny red, cropped tank top. You loved the way the two pieces hugged your curves, making you feel both sexy and confident.

Next, you moved to the bathroom and began styling your hair. You wanted to create a voluminous look, so you used a curling iron to add bouncy curls that cascaded down your back. You then applied makeup, starting with a base of foundation and concealer. You added smoky black eyeliner to your upper and lower lids and finished the look with bold red lipstick that made your lips pop.

As soon as you feel prepared and all set, you slip into your cozy grey sweatpants over your shorts, taking care to secure yourself from the pesky bugs outside. You then slide your feet into your sleek black dancing heels and grab your cassette tape.

Robin was the first to see you when you returned to the barn.

“Shut the fuck up; what are you doing?” she asked most affectionately. A growing smirk spreads across her face as you turn.

“You’ll see.” Your confidence was helping a little, but deep down, you were terrified. You’ve been so nervous you think you might be sick.

As the talent show kicked off, you were excited to spend the evening with Eddie, but he seemed distant. Despite your best attempts at conversation, Eddie remained quiet and disinterested in engaging with you. Later, when you tried to talk to him again, he brushed you off, leaving you feeling hurt and confused. You hoped that his behaviour was just a temporary mood, but the fear of failure lingered in the back of your mind. If the plan you had been working on together didn't come to fruition, you knew you would be mortified.

As the show went on, you unfortunately had the pleasure of going dead last. Eddie wasn’t a judge this time, but he was still sitting in the front row. Perfect.

As the host, Mike, asked for your tape to be put into the casket player, he saw your hands visibly shaking.

“Bambi, relax. It's just for fun; you do this every year. We all love your little ballerina stuff,” he smiled.

“Do I look like I’m dressed to do ballet— know what, never mind?” You didn’t mean to be snappy; Mike had always been nice to you.

As he walked out on “stage” to announce the next performance, you stepped off your sweats, pulled the zipper up the side of the black high heels and prayed that you wouldn’t fall flat on your face in front of Eddie.

“Last but certainly not least, we have a crowd favourite!” The audience, your fellow colleagues, clapped as you walked out. You heard someone whistle, most likely Robin and your stomach flip-flopped.

You walk out and face the back wall, standing in a bevel, arms hanging by your side, waiting for the chords to start.

The first notes of Led Zeppelin’s Whole Lotta Love dripped from the speakers.

Your body moved seductively once the music hit like you were in a trace performance mode.

Were you worried some of the other girls would call you a slut? Absolutely, but once the music started, all that went away.

You began dancing like you had when Eddie caught you in the studio that first day, but this time, with the hair, makeup, and shoes, you were more confident than you'd ever been.

A-way, way down inside

A-honey you need-ah

I'm gonna give you my love, ah

I'm gonna give you my love, ah oh

The rush of being on stage made you lose yourself in the routine, however the part you had been most nervous about was coming up.

A-way, way down inside

You stood facing the crowd with your head thrown back, your right hand ran down your stomach, grazing past the waistband of your shorts that hardly covered anything, down cupping your core, then slinked it back up again.

I'm gonna give ya my love

Your head snaps back up, and you took a slow strut forward.

I'm gonna give ya every inch of my love

another slow step forward

I'm gonna give ya my love

You reached your target as you slowly sank to your knees right where Eddie was sitting. Giving him a small wink before you whipped your hair, you looked back up at him through your lashes, and you saw his jaw was clenched, and his hands were balled up white-knuckling.

You reached up with a single hand and grazed it over his left thigh before slinking back down to roll away and get back to the rest of the routine.

By the time you had finished, you were out of breath. Everyone cheered, and a few whistles were made as you walked off stage, but when you looked around, Eddie was gone.

Your heart sank. The overwhelming feeling of embarrassment washed over you, leaving you exposed and vulnerable.

Of course, he wouldn’t want you in that way.

You were a fool to think he ever would.

You were naive to think changing your appearance to be like the edgier sexy chicks he probably goes for. You literally pulled a Sandy for Grease. You tried putting yourself out there, doing this dance, but now you felt the tears welling up; the lump in your throat grew. You felt like an idiot.

You needed air. You took off your shoes, put your pants back on, and walked out the barn's back door.

“Bambi, wait up.”

You turn to see Billy.

“Uh, hey,” You try to keep your voice as neutral as possible, forcing yourself not to let it crack.

“You were amazing up there!” He smiled and gave an encouraging hug.

“Thanks, Coyote, that's really sweet for you to say.” You sniffled.

“Hey, are you okay?” he pulled away to see your tears threatening to leave the rims of your lash line. “No, no, it’s okay. Don’t cry; everyone thought you rocked it!” He pulled you into another comforting hug.

This was the most genuine Billy’s been with you all summer. This was the Billy you knew and loved last summer.

“You really think so?” you ask trying to pull yourself together.

“Yes! Of course; what’s gotten into you?” He looked concerned.

“Nerves, I guess.” You try to shrug it off, but you can’t shake the feeling.

“Well you did amazing, you won!” He gave me a congratulatory kiss on the cheek; it was soft and hardly grazed your skin.

“Thank you.” You pulled him in for another hug. You just needed a friend right now, and I missed this version of Billy.

“You know there is another way I can make you feel better.” He chuckled.

“And the moment ruined, ugh. Why do you do that?” he laughed as you stepped away.

-

You found Cassie and the other girls back at the cabin.

“Hey guys.” You sniffled as you walked to your bed.

“Babe, you were amazing up there! Who knew you could move like that!” Clover cheered.

“You are one hot Mamma!” Nancy giggled.

“Bam, what’s wrong?” Robin asked after you hadn’t really said anything back. She came to sit beside you and wrapped her arm around your shoulder.

“It’s silly…” tears threatening to run down your cheeks once again.

“Hey, it’s just us." Nancy reached over and touched your hand.

You let out a heavy sigh.

“I feel like such an idiot! I did that whole thing to get Eddie’s attention, but he was gone before I even finished dancing.” You hid your face in your hands, too embarrassed to look at your friends.

“If you ask me, he looked like he was trying to contain himself. Girl, you did that to him with no warning! Hell, even I wanted to jump your bones just watching you.” Robin giggled.

“Really? Do you think so? You don’t think he was mad or put off? I saw his face—he looked annoyed. Like he was uncomfortable. Even earlier, he was cold to me.” You grabbed a tissue and blotted away your blackened tears.

“Nah, Bams, he looked like a man trying not to pop a boner, especially when you touched his thighs! Holy shit, I thought he would blow his load right there.”

Nancy managed to pull a laugh off of you.

“Thanks, guys; I think I'll feel better in the morning.” you sighed and gave them each a hug, then got ready for bed.

Next chapter

Tags: @winchester-angel @josephquinnsfreckles @lemme-slytherin-that-dick @emma-munson @littlexdeaths @siriuslysmoking @peachysink @nailbatanddungeon @leelei1980 @daisy-munson @taintedcigs @take-everything-you-can @strangerstilinski @bl0ssomanddie @seb-buckybarnes @chickenandsheep-blog @lokis-army-77 @ali-r3n @erinekc @impmunson @snowflowersstars246 @micheledawn1975 @princesatracionera @bells-28 @kellsck @guineveresghost @ezzynf @oneforthemunny @paybacksawitch

[phantom-dc]

A deal with the Ghost King

Part1 Part3 AO3

Bruce was concerned. Last night, the world had been on the brink of destruction. A flaming, Kryptonite meteorite had been on a collision course with Eart. No one was able to handle it, and the League had grown desperate. Many, Bruce included, had brought their friends and families in an attempt to save them. It was then they had agreed to let Constantine summon the mighty Ghost King.

But they had failed. The Ghost King had rejected their offer of souls, and demanded a better offering. The League had scrambled to come up with something valuable enough to please it. But before they could try again, the King had vanished, and the meteorite had been destroyed. After the initial shock and relief had worn off, Constantine had demanded awnsers. Someone had made a deal, but no one knew who. While Batman checked the camera's, Flash asked around if anyone had seen anything. No one had, and the Ghost King's presence interfered with the camera's. A deal had been made with the God of the dead, and no one knew what had been offered. Constantine made it clear that if anyone of the League noticed anything amiss to call him immediatly, and it was well known how much Constantine hates being on call. So Bruce decided to patrol a bit earlier then usual, right after dark. He had been on his balcony, as the sun had just set, casting the city in darkness.

Then the sky was filled with familiar green/blue lights.

----

Red Hood was following the Aurora Borealis on his bike. Jason had been worried when he realised he and Phantom had forgot to exchange phone numbers, but it seems he has no trouble making his presence known. Jason was sure the whole city could see it! Noticing the light rippled from Gotham cemetery outward (because of course a ghost-themed hero would pick that spot) Jason got there so fast he doubted the Flash couldve done better.

When he parked his bike, Phantom had noticed him and waved. When he floated closer however, he seemed confused. 'Wait, you're the Red Hood?' Jason realised he hadn't been wearing his iconic helmet in the Watchtower, and got a bit nervous. Had Phantom been unaware of the blood on his hands? Suprisingly, Phantom got excited: 'That's amazing! You're my favorite hero!' Jason was suprised: 'Really?' 'Yes! So many ghosts found peace because you avenged them. You're like a celebrity in the Realms!' Not used to the praise, Jason switched topics: 'So where do you wanna go? Honestly, it's kinda late and I don't think much is open now.' Phantom apologises. He wasn't certain his aura would have been visible in the sun. But he came prepared! Holding up a picnick basket, he suggest they visit the park chat so they can get to know eachother a bit better. Jason liked the plan. 'Let's go then, ghost boy.'

----

Looks like I'll have to split the date up in different parts! Enjoy the wild goose chase!

Edit: I am no longer tagging as I teached the limit and the story is on AO3, sorry.

@alice-hazelwood @spookytragedyshark @vythika96 @willak @sjrose1216 @shorterthanadverage @bruh-incoming @desertbogwitch @bun-fish @anon-ymous22 @overtherose @dracotheghostdragon @treepainting @the-church-grimm @emotional-otter @zelabee @smilingfox22-blog @vampiredp94 @leftmiraclechaos @impulsiveasshole @babbling-babull @wordsgohere95 @theamazingfox @regressor-marina @raspberry-muffin @scribbiesan-main @satanicrutialspecialist @meira-3919 @idontgetpaidenoughforthisshit @terzatheunderscorerima @some-rotten-nest @wrenofthedumbasses @is-this-even-relatable @olivethetreebitch @my-mom-calls-me-rat @darlingatlas @blazeart @gunebugfic @chaos-n-kindness @elvesandlanterns @asphyxia778 @fantasticbluebirdfan @mj-arts-n-stuff @nappinginhell @slapphapp1 @undead-essence @seraphinedemort @enderglace @wildbacon-blog @mark-the-snark

[lemonxdaisybby]

Hi! Can I also ask for lingerie headcanons for Kiryu, Daigo, Majima, Saejima and Watase?

Round 3 of surprising them with lingerie ✨

It’s been a while since I played Y5, and I honestly can’t remember a lot about Watase, so I have left him out of this one as I’m scared I’ll absolutely butcher his character - I’m so sorry. I’m planning on replaying Y5 once I’m finished Judgement and Y6 (which I’ve just started replaying now too), so maybe then I’ll post some hcs for him!

Thank you for the ask, enjoy 💕

Kiryu:

Cute angel Kiryu would be so flustered and shook, coming home to find you waiting for him in lingerie. His eyes would widen, and he’d take a sharp intake of breath, his eyes slowly taking you in. He’d pull a classic Kiryu move, and attempt to look away, acting all respectful, even though the outfit is clearly for him. He’d just be so flustered, his brain would temporarily stutter, and he wouldn’t quite know how to react.

You’d likely have to approach him, gently taking hold of his chin and angling his face to look down at you, letting him know that it’s okay. He’d be so turned on seeing you all dressed up for him, and he would gradually get over his flustered state once he begins to take you in more, his gaze studying every inch of you.

You’d have to guide him to the bedroom, and then start leaving soft kisses on his neck, jaw and lips. He’d soon start responding back to your touch, once the initial shock has worn off. Kiryu is a total switch, he’s naturally more dominant, but is more than happy to let you take the lead at times too, and this would be one of those instances. He’d just be in awe of you to be honest, so you’d need to take control and tell him what you want him to do, and he’d be quick to oblige.

Kiryu likely would prefer more classy types of lingerie, like a silk chemise or babydoll. Something that covers you a little, but still shows enough skin to really get his heart racing. He also is a boob man, so something low cut that gives him a teasing view of your breasts would really have him heated.

Daigo:

Daigo would definitely be pretty flustered coming home to find you in your lingerie, more so because of how unexpected it is. He’d attempt to ask you what’s going on, but he’d stutter, and his cheeks would be the prettiest pink colour. Who knew the chairman of the Tojo Clan could be rendered speechless this easily?

He’d gather himself pretty quickly, his eyes raking over you as you walk towards him, grabbing his tie and pulling him in for a deep, heated kiss. He’d respond very eagerly, one hand burying itself deep in your hair, whilst the other takes hold of your waist, pulling you to him as close as possible.

Once in the bedroom, your lingerie will probably come off fairly quickly, however if you’re wearing stockings he may request that you leave them on. He thinks your legs look so sexy in them. Daigo would also be a complete sub when it comes to you wearing lingerie, as he is completely under your spell. It won’t be long before he’s a quivering, groaning mess beneath you.

Daigo would probably adore full lingerie sets on you. For example, a basque, matching thong, a garter belt, and stockings. He would find lace material so attractive, and also it feels nice under his touch, so anything lacy will get you bonus points.

Majima:

You just know that with Majima, his reaction is going to be very over the top and dramatic. He’s not used to surprises, especially not ones like this. He would freeze as soon as he spots you, his eye widening dramatically. He’d probably yell out a ‘whaaaaat?’ in surprise.

Once over the initial shock, which would happen fairly quickly, Majima would be all over you, his hands roaming your body and turning you this way and that, so he can get a good look at you. He would be showering you with compliments, calling you his pretty little doll, and telling you how sexy you look, and how cute you are for surprising him.

Majima would take you to the bedroom, and would be all over you in an instant. He’d just be so turned on and so pleased that you surprised him like this, he’d be very eager and would want to return the favour by giving you some mind blowing sex. The lingerie is likely gonna end up torn on the floor, as he would be a bit too eager to get it off you, and all the fiddly straps likely made him impatient.

Majima would probably like a wide range of lingerie. He would prefer more cutesy, girly lingerie like floaty babydolls in pretty, pastel colours, but would also really like PVC or PU leather material lingerie too. Anything that gives him the best view of your boobs, he adores.

Saejima:

Saejima is a shy big bear of a man, and you would near enough break him when surprising him with lingerie. As soon as he sees you, his mouth is just going to form a little ‘O’, and his eyebrows would shoot up in surprise.

He would initially attempt to look away, trying to be more gentlemanly, but internally he would probably realise this is a dumb move. Not only has he already seen you nude before, it’s obvious that you’ve got the lingerie on for him. He would be questioning himself why he looked away, which would probably render him further embarrassed.

Though he’s awkward and unsure of how to react, he would be so appreciative of you for doing this. Once you approach him and gently place your hand on his cheek, softly guiding his gaze towards you again, he would clear his throat, attempting to gruffly pass you a compliment by telling you that you look nice, but his cheeks would be so red still.

Sex with him following this would be so soft and gentle. He’d be so appreciative that you’ve taken the time to surprise him, that he’d want to return the favour with some romantic sex. The lingerie would definitely end up on the floor rather quickly, as he’s a simple man, and generally prefers to see you naked.

As said, Saejima would enjoy seeing you completely nude, but he’s not opposed to some lingerie either. A simple matching bra and thong set would do him just fine, maybe with a garter belt too. Nothing too fancy.

[jester089]

If it’s ok, can you indulge my love for The Amazing Digital Circus?

I was just thinking of the gang with an s/o who’s seen as the rock of the group that is always strong willed, happy go luck, helpful and supportive. But they stumble upon their s/o just having an episode where they’re crying in frustration and punching a wall to calm down before going back to pretending like nothing happened?

I have a thing for strong willed characters hiding their perceived weakness from others.

Be strong for them

Thanks for the request! I feel for this type of character a lot. Now you didn't specify if you wanted the whole crew and you being the s/o of one. Or individual. So I'll do individual so that whoever your fav is their'll be something for them. Except Bubble though cause I just can't come up with stuff for them, sry.

Caine

Despite being an AI who doesn't really understand humans I feel he would notice your inner turmoil. He kind of has too! Cause he has to watch for and know if someone is going to abstract. Moving on he appreciates you being strong willed and a joy to be around seeing as how it makes others stick around longer. You can't have a circus without performers after all. Caine being how he is he would most likely just appear in your room while your having a breakdown multiple times because he wants something from you not even noticing you having trouble mentally. Only time he would really notice is if you were at the apex of that breakdown when he showed up. I can 100% see him just floating a few feet away from you one eyebrow raised for a minute with worried eyes before he asked if you were ok. If you said yes, despite what he think's he'll believe you. First few times. If you say no and seem to be looking for some comfort he'll do his best but he isn't exactly good at that kind of thing. More likely then not he wont really touch you but he'll give some words of encouragement and probably ask if their is anything you want (except a way out of the digital realm.) And whatever you ask for you'll have in an instant. But their is a limit. He can't be spoiling you now. He still needs your input on things and giving gifts wont be special anymore if you get whatever you want whenever you want. And after doing the bare minimum and seeing you bounce back and be how you always are he'll assume that what he did worked perfectly and your fine now. He's a little dense I'll be honest. 2.5/10 comfort

Gangle

Now Gangle isn't exactly good with emotions. She has tons sure. But handling them is another story. But you being there and always seemingly in a good mood nothing really affecting you will help her keep calm. I mean just having an anchor can make stuff you usually can't deal with seem small. (Especially if you stick up to Jax for her. Or better yet get her confident enough to do it herself.) When she walked in on you having a breakdown first thing her mind would go to is that your on the verge abstracting which causes her to panic and make the whole thing worse. She doesn't try to it's just a lot all at once. Especially considering how you don't usually show this kind of stuff. Now once the initial shock has worn off and at least she has calmed down some she'll be pretty good at helping you calm down. I mean she's a cinnamon roll. Even if her ways of comfort don't work well just knowing she's trying will definitely help. Now if you cope with more self destructive ways she'll be more worried but try her best to trust you. Though that doesn't mean she'll just let you punch things, especially things that could hurt you (I've punched a few walls in my time and I can safely say it hurts.) Now when you just snap back to how you usually are nothing expect the red eyes and dried tear streams on your face will cause a whole load of more worry in her. How long has this been going on?! Are you ok?! Can she do anything?! DO YOU STILL LOVE HER!?! If you don't accept her help she'll probably start to spiral and take that as you don't trust her enough or you don't think she can help you. So for her sake, and yours let her help. Cause if you do that'll lead to a whole lot of trust and make a very sturdy base for your relationship. It'll also help her get better with emotions as a whole. She wishes she could do more for you but she can and will do what she can with what she has. 8/10 comfort

Zooble

Oof. This probably isn't going to end well. It's basically like a angsty teen trying to comfort someone they care about. Zooble probably acts like she hates how happy and upbeat you are. But she doesn't. When she's laying in bed not wanting to get up the thought of going on an adventure and watching you be dumb on purpose makes her smile and get up. Sure every day is the same in the circus, but with you there it's a nice version of repetitiveness. Now Zooble has a lot of problems. Everyone in the circus does. But if she walked in on your having a breakdown I feel like she would honestly just turn around and leave. Not because she doesn't care. But because she feels she'll make it worse if she stays. Every 5 minutes or so she'll poke her head back in your room to see how your doing. Probably accompanied with a quiet "You uhhh. You doing ok?" if your still crying. Now if she peaked her head in and you were back to normal she might honestly think she hallucinated you crying like that. But their are some things you can't hide. Like puffy eyes or how your voice is a little wavy from crying. So knowing even less what to do now she'll just join you in your room and sit on your bed hoping that just her being around will be enough. Now if you break down again and start venting about what is worrying you she'll sit there and listen intently. If not she'll think that your still not doing ok but she doesn't really know how to bring that out. Or help with it. Overall her comfort is a little lacking but she's trying her best. 4.5/10 comfort

Kinger

Now I headcannon that Kinger is really, really, REALLY good at comfort. I mean did you see the impenetrable fortresses door, and how it was being held up. I don't think a single person ever who is good at making pillow forts is bad at comfort. I feel like overall he would be pretty indifferent to you being all happy though he would appreciate the supportive vibe you bring. He's crazy, I'll just be honest about that. But he seems to be surprisingly resilient as he never gets worse, or better. He just is. When he walks in on you freaking out he doesn't flinch or is surprised. He's been in the digital circus a long time. And he's lost many. He understands why. So he just calmly walks in gives you a light hug No idea how. He doesn't have arms. and a quick forehead kiss. He sits you two down on the floor and makes a little pillow wall around you two. Then he (in a surprisingly calm voice) asks what's troubling you. Now you don't exactly have a choice of if you do or don't tell him. He's lost to many to just leave you on your own in this. So he'll sit there a hand resting on your knee while you mentally prepare yourself. Out of everyone he's the most likely to genuinely and long term help you calm down. He's seen many things, been through many things. No matter what it is that's worrying you it wont surprise him and he can probably help. 10/10 comfort

Ragatha

Well aren't you two just the perfect duo Ragtha is pretty mentally drained having the always be the one that everyone rely on. She was the only anchor for this place the only one keeping everyone spirits high. Then you showed up and made the work 50/50. That's what initially made you catch her eye. You two have enough infection happiness and good vibes to make just about anyone have a good day. Though their are diminishing returns the digital circus wouldn't be the same without you two. When she walks in on your falling apart she reacts two ways. One she also starts freaking out (Just instinct at this point. I mean you saw her in the pilot, every time Pomni started breaking down she interrupted it.) And two a whole lot of understanding on where your coming from. She sits down with you and lets your get it all out before speaking. She asks if your ok, if she can do anything, and what caused it. Once you explain that it's just all so much. The circus, having to be strong for everyone else. It puts so much pressure on you. On hearing that Ragatha breaks into tears flipping the comfort giver and receiver. Once she has gotten most of it out and can make comprehensible sentences again she explains how she's going through the same. On hearing that you feel really bad. You've only been here what a year and your already breaking down over it. But you've always had Ragatha there to lighten the load. But she's been here so much longer doing the exact same but without anyone else to help her. So you make it a kind of personal mission from then on to not make your problems hers and help her out when and wherever you can. -3/10 Comfort. She just had a lot of stuff bottled up and ended up making you worry about even more.

Jax

Jax's first thought would probably be "Oh great, another Ragatha to deal with." But something about you isn't as annoying to him as Ragatha. He actually enjoys and appreciates all that you do for him. And the others too I guess. Now be warned Jax deals with a lot of stuff with humor. And his sense of humor is putting others through anguish mental, emotional, and physical. So when he first finds you crying will most likely make a joke about you being a cry baby or "So you finally broke huh? I always wondered how long it would take" making you feel much worse about it. When if he notices that he'll feel bad and stop maybe. He'll more likely then not just exist in your room, leaning against a wall or grabbing random items off of shelves/your desk to fiddle with. Now when you snap back to how you usually are I really feel like he'll just be like "Oh cool. You fine. Well I'm gonna go get some food." then leave you alone with your thoughts. (I'm sorry to all you Jax fans it's just I don't go for looks like most do. I'm entirely attracted to personality. And Jax's isn't great. I mean Gooseworx confirmed that he isn't like nice deep down. He's just an a$&hole. So if Jax is your fav my Tumblr ain't for you.) 0/10

Pomni

You and Ragatha keep Pomni in one piece. (I mean if Ragatha wasn't in the pilot I feel like Pomni would already be abstracted.) So she kind of clings to you. Not physically but she would fall apart pretty quickly without you there. So when you asked her to grab something for you she did without a second thought. But she wasn't expecting to come back to hearing crying followed by a loud thump in your room. She sprints over and throws the door open only for you to be completely ok and sitting at your desk. You thank her for grabbing it for you then go back to what you were doing making her think she's gone of the deep end and is hearing things. But then it happens again, and again. Leading her to believe your just hiding something from her. So next time it happens she sneaks up to your door and carefully peaks inside only to see your tugging at your hair tears streaming down your face. You punch the wall making her jump and make some noise. Your eyes lock onto the small crack in between the door and the frame you two locking eyes. She blushes heavily then slowly opens the door basically admitting to eavesdropping. She was just worried is all. You quickly clean yourself up and apologize for having her see you like that only causing her to worry more. She doesn't push it knowing from experience how that feels but from that day on she tries to not put as much pressure on you. And makes an effort to return the favor when she can. 4.5/10 comfort (I sincerely enjoyed writing this. Cause I am also a sucker for that kind of character. Hope you enjoyed it!)

xoxo, Jester

[heliads]

Heyy can I get Four x fem!reader, where four can see sher struggling and offers some private lessons, you can take it from there xo

as a fic writer, i love taking it from there (xo)

masterlist

Four is not particularly suited to kindness. He never has been. That’s part of why he never fit in with the other Abnegation, after all; his inability to carve away pieces of himself to give to others stuck out like a sore thumb. That, and the fact that he hated their two-faced duplicity with a passion so burning that it left him choking on the smoke. 

He’s always figured that even if he was Divergent, even if he contained multitudes of other factions within him, he never once showed a shred of Amity, either. Kindness, generosity, none of these have ever described Four. He certainly shouldn’t be wishing for it now. 

Yet, when he looks across the Dauntless training room, which is strewn with the fighting figures of initiation’s latest round of transfers, he doesn’t feel that usual call to apathy. Not now, at least. Four had supposed it would come later, when the initial interest of new faces had worn off and he was left with irritation prickling under his skin, that fidgety sort of feeling he gets when people refuse to do what’s good for them.

Four has never been the most patient, even if he is forced to play the long game of waiting and hiding due to his status as a Divergent. It makes him insufferable, or so he’s been told. Usually, Four just assumes he’s better off alone and not reaching out to anyone. Fewer secrets are shared when no one knows about them in the first place.

That doesn’t explain why he’s ignoring that favored precept of his in favor of staring at one of the initiates yet again. Four tells himself that he doesn’t do favorites, that he treats all of the trainees with the same blunt criticism and harsh words. It makes it easier that way. He once knew a few instructors who would place bets on their favorites, but they always ended up losing more than their money when their chosen trainees didn’t make the cut.

Dauntless may not be a place that encourages its pupils to choose safety over fun, but Four always betrayed that particular principle while leading initiation. He’s only been at it for a year or two, he can’t afford any screw ups now. That’s why he would do well to ignore that one initiate in the corner. It would be his best choice, but for some reason, it’s the one path he refuses to travel.

As if Four has ever been known for his rational thought. There’s a reason he’s not in Erudite, after all, why he scorned every faction one after another until he could only ever end up here in Dauntless. Dauntless, where at last he’s the one in power, where he’ll risk his life again and again because at least in this faction people wear their hatred firmly on their sleeves instead of hiding it behind some ambiguous political game.

Perhaps Four isn’t one for politicking, then, but that’s no surprise. He does what he pleases, he likes who he likes, and when Y/N L/N happens to glance up at him when she finishes a round in the fighting ring, she doesn’t look remotely shocked to see him looking at her again. No one is, but then again, no one notices Four’s attention except Y/N herself.

Y/N is a transfer. Y/N is an initiate. Y/N is the one person that Four really should be avoiding, but can’t seem to manage it. He doesn’t know what it is about her that keeps calling his interest back to her again and again like the snap of a hypnotist’s fingers, but his heart refuses to explain. His head has tried to make amends, but his heart keeps on traitorously beating, still seeking her out after every time Four promises himself he won’t trust that magnetic pull to her again.

She never follows up on his attention, which makes her better than him, at least. She knows the rules. She’s also a little bit afraid of him, Four thinks, which hurts him more than it should. Y/N seems to be frightened of nothing in this world but him, and that is why he can’t bear to look away. Should he glance over at her once and find her willing to stand near him, maybe he would be able to guide his breathing back to a normal state, his heartbeat to return to rest once more.

It has yet to happen, however, and Four thinks he knows why. See, he knows what he thinks when he encounters Y/N, the curious storm of emotions all centrally positive that linger around his heart, but she has absolutely no idea of that. She wouldn’t, because whenever Y/N looks at Four or any other Dauntless training instructor, she thinks not of them as people but as physical manifestations of her initiation rank. Her rank, which happens to be pretty damn close to failing.

In all his time in this world, all his experience with heroes and cowards, fighters and thinkers, Four has no idea why Y/N’s rank should be that low. He knows what his eyes see, of course; fights lost, punches not thrown, but it makes no sense to him. Four is accustomed to the dropouts of Dauntless initiation, the ones who would rather go live with the factionless than stick through training. They’re nothing like Y/N, not in the slightest.

Those kids, those unwanted former initiates, they’re afraid. All of them, they’re afraid. Terrified to throw a punch for fear of bruising their knuckles, hesitant to step in a ring lest they take more hits than they dole out. They lose before they even try, but that’s not Y/N.

Y/N is brave, like he said. Braver than Four, probably. He would love to see her fear landscape if she could manage to make it past the first round of initiation. It would probably be pretty close to empty, what from the way she stares down even the most dangerous threats without a blink of an eye. Four has a brief terror that he might open her fear landscape just for it to hold him and nothing else, but he forces that thought away just as quickly. He doesn’t know that. Nobody does.

Y/N is brave, and that’s what makes this so hard. If she had half the spirit that she does, if she flinched away from every blow like the others, Four could brush her off like the other trainees. She would blend into the crowds, and he would go throughout his life without this trial of conscience that he’s undergoing now.

That’s not the case, however. Instead, Four looks at her and he sees the strength of Dauntless, the bravery, the need to get ahead. Y/N should be at the top of the rankings, but she isn’t. Four has a theory for that, though. Despite the fact that Dauntless loves to pride itself as the equalizer, that its initiation lets anyone from any background succeed, that simply isn’t the case. At the end of the day, trainees with more experience will pick up skills far faster, and that means they’ll always win.

That’s why cruel Candor and Erudite manage to make the transition so well. Y/N lacks that experience, and so although she’s learning things at an excellent rate, she can’t beat the prior knowledge of the others. Four remembers one time in which she’s been struggling with knife throwing. He had given her one hint and just like that, she was hitting the bullseye every time.

If Four wants to keep Y/N around a while longer, that’s what it’s going to take. More of that advice, more of that help. Y/N has the ability to change this faction just like him. Four just has to make sure that she makes it through initiation long enough to make that work.

Four isn’t supposed to have favorites. He does, it’s her. That’s why, despite days of him telling himself that he won’t get involved, he finds himself making up his mind. Still facing torment in his own head, Four drops by the training room later that evening, hoping some time alone with a punching bag and his own bruised knuckles will clear up his mind.

When he opens the door and sees Y/N there still, practicing her hits, he knows then and there that he has no choice. Four walks briskly through the training hall until he’s by her side. He watches her form for a few moments more; she knows he’s there, he can tell by the stiffness of her shoulders, her guard is already up.

He speaks at last, words echoing around the spacious room. “Punch more from your own strength. You’re pushing the bag, you don’t want to do that. Snap your fist forward instead.”

Four demonstrates with one quick hit. Y/N nods, mirroring him. Four has to bite back a smile. The change is immediate. A voice in the back of his head tells him that if he just stayed a little longer, helped a little more, she’d become a better fighter overnight. It’s not hard to convince himself to linger by her side.

“Good,” he murmurs, “now, try hitting with more combinations. Four hits instead of two. You’ll disorient your opponent.”

Once again, Y/N does as he says, and once again, she does it perfectly. That’s another problem with initiation, Four thinks, it’s impossible to help every student as much as they need, what with the incoming class of transfers growing so rapidly every year.

Y/N practices a while longer, then relents, taking a step back and giving Four a quizzical look. “Why are you doing this? I mean, I appreciate the tips, but I don’t think you do this for every initiate.”

“I don’t,” Four confirms, “maybe I just want to see you win tomorrow. Is that such a surprise?”

Judging by the expression on her face, the answer would be yes. “Last time I checked, you were supposed to make sure everyone had an even playing field. I didn’t think private punching lessons were included in that.”

Four has to try his utmost to smother a laugh. “They’re not. Still, I wanted to.”

“You wanted to,” Y/N repeats contemplatively, “what, you got tired of seeing me get my ass kicked all the time? I know you watch my rounds more than the others, that must be it.”

Four swats her gently on the shoulder. He’s just as surprised about it as she is; nothing they’ve done has brought them close enough for soft friendship. Still, it feels right. Maybe that means something.

“Self-pity doesn’t treat you right,” he says, “I like it better when you’re walking around like you own the place. Sometimes I think you do.”

Y/N laughs. “And melodrama has never been your strong suit. I think I like it, though.”

Four likes it too. He raises a brow, inviting her sarcastic remarks once more. “Does that mean you’ll allow the lessons to continue? You won’t keep pushing me away with your own disbelief?”

“I’m still debating,” Y/N retorts, but she’s grinning and that makes it much better.

Four leaves the punching bag, not her; he walks to the ring instead. Climbing easily up, he extends an arm for Y/N to join him. She takes his hand without a second’s hesitation, and Four has to fight all parts of himself to hide the swarm of warmth that cloaks his insides when he realizes her fear of him is gone, if it was ever truly there at all. Perhaps he was just looking for excuses to stay away, knowing nothing would work for long.

Y/N puts up her fists, interrupting his musing. “So? Are we fighting or not?”

“Of course we are,” Four says, getting into his own opening stance.

After that, he loses himself in the even rhythm of punches and kicks, blows and strikes. Sometimes he calls out tips and tricks, other times he lets Y/N learn from what works well and what doesn’t. Even after the night ends, when their strength gives out and they both walk away with new bruises and old grins, Four knows one thing for certain:  this is not the end of Y/N’s time in Dauntless, nor her time with him. No, their story is just starting. It is one that he looks forward to with all his heart.

divergent tag list: @rogueanschel, @with-inked-solace, @gods-fools-heroes, @23victoria, @manyfandomsfanvergent, @ilovexavierthrope

[brailsthesmolgurl]

COOKING LESSON 101

This is a one-shot for Xavier! Hope you guys enjoy this :>

Xavier is known to be a terrible cook, but what if he was prescribed with an instructor and a recipe book? Will that change anything?

Warnings: Teeth-rotting fluff

"Do we really have to do this?" Xavier asked you, his body lazily plopped against the arm rest of the couch, eyelids half opened as he looked at you. His usual demeanour non-existent as you came barging in the mid afternoon, with a grocery bag in one hand and a recipe book in another. He knew this day was coming, but he did not expect it to happen on a weekend where he would rather spend his day curled up under the blankets.

You nodded excitedly, your ponytail bobbed up and down at your motions. "They said it's a good bonding time for couples." You held up the recipe book and started to browse through it.

"Maybe that applies to couples who can actually cook?" Xavier quirked an eyebrow, a pout forming on his lips when he knew it was too late for him to say no. He should have just pretended not to be at home, but the constant ringing of the doorbell would be a torture to his sensitive hearing.

You walked over to him and took a seat next to the couch he was laying on and you patted his head, his blond strands silky to your touch. "Why? What's with the long face?" You mimicked his pout. "You don't want to do this together?"

"No..." He trailed off, his cerulean orbs catching yours and you can almost see a gleam of disappointment within this stare. "It's just that I am not confident in my cooking skills, and I do not want to mess things up, you know." His confession made you go 'awe' and your pats on his head got a little aggressive, but not enough to hurt him.

"Xavier, there is always a first time to everything. This time, we are both going to do this together okay?" You held out your hand to him in the form of a fist, with your pinky finger dangling mid-air. "I promise okay?"

Instead of hooking your pinky to formalise the promise, the blond boy took your hand in his larger ones and kissed your pinky. A much more intimate promise of his. "Alright, if you say so." Your cheeks blushed slightly at the sudden bold interaction. His smile then exchanged for a smirk and he leans in, catching your lips in his and you returned the favour. When he pulled back, he tilted his head sideways, an abashed grin accompanied his features. “I look forward to your guidance.”

"Now, on here, it says that we have to combine the wet and dry ingredients together." You had your finger lining up towards the sentence on the book, eyes focused on the instructions. It has been like this for quite a while, you reading off of the book and him doing all of the hard work.

"Okay." He quipped, picking up the bowl containing the dry ingredients and he poured it into the wet mixture. "Do I just stir it around?" He turned towards you, an apron tied to his torso. The apron was mainly a mix of the colours pink and red, with frills sewed onto the sides of the protective garment.

You stifled your laughter, the apron looking extra adorable on him. Initially, he did not want to put on the apron, claiming it was not his type of clothing. But with a bit of coaxing, and an offer to bring him to eat hotpot later, he gladly went along with your idea.

You nodded, watching him when he started stirring the mixture together, his force making some of the flour poured out of the bowl and staining his apron. Oh, how you wished that he could have worn this without the extra layers beneath it. Then he shall be a desirable eye candy for sure. Of course, getting him to wear the apron itself has been a trouble so you could only imagine how much more troublesome would it be to convince him to be half naked in it.

"This does not...look right." He showed you the bowl and your gasped, shocked at how the mixture has a lot of air bubbles. By a lot, it is filled with air bubbles. "Maybe I whipped it too hard?" DEFINITELY.

"Xavier, I think you should go slow on the mixing process okay?" You smiled apologetically at him, giving him a pat on his shoulders and a kiss on his arm. He looked down at the bowl and took the spatula and the next thing he did, was whipping the mixture HARD. "Xavier!"

"Huh?" He looked at you, eyes widened. "I am whipping it slowly, like what you told me to do." At that moment, you felt like your instructions had fallen on deaf ears, or maybe on hands that are just not capable of cooking. But you chuckled, calming yourself down and you showed him the motions of whipping the mixture 'slowly'.

It took you around two times to get him to mix the combined ingredients till you achieve the texture that is similar within the cook book. Then, you layered parchment paper onto a baking tray and he poured the mixture onto it. The thick brown texture slowly flowed onto the parchment paper. Then, you instructed Xavier to flatten it but the moment he raised his arms up high, you stopped him. He was not going to flatten the mixture, you think he was actually going to flatten his whole floor to the ground floor.

"Just spread it out, you don't have to smack it or anything." You took over the spatula and he watched in awe at your languid movements as you spread the thick batter to cover it all over the parchment paper. "And we are done."

"Does this mean we can eat it now?" Xavier looked at the batter, confusion written on his face. There is no way you guys went through all of the trouble just to eat something that does not even look as appetising.

His question made you laughed. Oh, how innocent this boy could be. "No Xavier, we have to bake it first, then we can eat it afterwards." You brought the baking tray to the oven that he owns, but probably never touched. Opening the lid, your assumptions became true, his oven still have the smell of a freshly bought one, the metallic smell of new appliances apparently. "Now, set the temperature to 325 degrees and bake it for about 40 to 45 minutes."

Xavier bent down and started to adjust the temperature using the knobs and buttons available on the electrical appliance. Once he was done, both of you headed over to the couch to await for the brownie to be done.

DING! The chime on the oven jolted the both of you, heads turning in sync, away from the cartoon playing on the television towards the kitchen area. "I think it is done." Xavier stood up, apron still clung to him. "I will go and get it out and we can taste test it."

"Be careful, it's going to be hot, so make sure you are putting on the mittens before you are getting the tray out." He replied you with an 'okay' as he headed to the kitchen. Sounds of a door opening and closing echoed through his apartment, accompanied with the sweet, delectable smell of brownies. "It smells great Xavier!"

"Yeah it does." He appeared from the corner, tray in his mitted hands and he smiled, walking over to you carefully. This is one of the first times you had ever seen this young man trudging carefully as he always walks with a purpose in mind. "I think we managed to do it this time. Oh wait, let me get a knife to cut it as well."

He placed the tray onto the coffee table and he took long strides over to the kitchen again, judging by his hasty movements, he should be hungry already. He returned with a knife and two small plates, alongside with two forks, a smile pasted onto his face and he took a seat next to you and started cutting into it. The brownie looks really promising. Perhaps even better than the ones which are store-bought. Call it biasness, but Xavier would call it his first time success.

Two slices of brownies are placed individually onto both of the plates and you both shared a look before digging in. The pungent, fragrant smell hit the both of your mouths but what comes later was the exponential increase of saltiness within your mouth and you spit out the brownie. You looked over to Xavier, his eyes closed and you can tell he was not enjoying the slightest bit for the salty piece of dessert. But he forced it down his throat anyways. "How much salt did you put into this Xavier?"

"Just two spoonfuls like what you said." He looked at you with those puppy eyes of his, a genuine reaction.

"Alright, was it 1/4 of a tablespoon?" You asked, recalling during then, you were too busy replying to Tara on your phone hence you did not noticed the amount of salt he had put in, or the type of spoon he used to measure the amount of salt.

"I didn't know which one it was, so I scooped the salt with the biggest spoon they have." His answer made you smiled at him, not disappointed, but you wished you could have monitored him better. At least he tried, so that should matter more. "Did it tasted that bad?"

"It's just a little bit salty." Your reply made him looked down at the brownie and you were worried that he might not take your answer well. "It's okay Xavier, shall we just stick to store-bought brownies next time?"

"Or, we can just go for hotpot now." He put the plate back onto the table, next to the tray. "Then when we come back, we can try baking it again." He smiled at you and took your hand into his, a confident smile on his face.

This is the one-shot for you Xavier girlies out there! Poor Xavier can't cook but we all know that at least he is willing to give it his best and to try again and again, just to spend precious time with you ;) Hope all of you enjoyed it!

[eddiemunsonbignaturals]

just a pinch

summer ends way too fast; you and Eddie surprise each other.

includes smut, as in 18+ 6k words somehow lmao? most of it fluff  best friends to lovers, and it gets a little gross in an arguably unsexy but very intimate way. you're not supposed to put anyone's mouth on your new piercing until at least two weeks out don't be dumb listen to your piercer

content: boob fondling, dry humping, jean nutting, some mild threats of violence, mentions of piercings but not piercing play to my understanding

reader is described as fat, dark skinned, and referred to gender neutrally, mostly (tough guy, man, angel, sweetheart).

comments (yes, even short ones,) reblogs all v much appreciated, take care :*

So, the heatwave had been a fake-out. 

You had both expected more swim-days. Just a few more sweaty, sticky nights— sat too close and tangled together sharing a bowl of Moose Tracks by moonlight, in as little fabric as you could manage and with as much ice as one freezer bucket could hold.

But alas, the fall sneaks in one cloudy morning and makes you regret ever even thinking the word “winter.” 

You’re shivering as you shock awake and roll clumsily to the nightstand. Reaching blind for the blaring landline, your hand cringes away from too-cold plastic, and you groan long and low in mourning— it's definitely over.  While you were asleep, Summer had packed up her bag and ducked off in the dark before you could send her off properly. Goodbye, dog days.

Hello, caller. You know it’s Eddie before you pick up; he knows it's you before you speak.

“Can you believe this? Shit fuckin’ sucks,” he croaks, right off the bat and into the receiver.

“And blows—“ you sigh back, punching one satin-covered pillow and your headscarf off the bed. “We couldn’t even get, a like, temperate couple of days? It had to go straight to freeze-my-dick-off immediately?”

“ha! Please. The end is nigh, sweetheart. You know it better than I,” he almost sings. His sleepy lilt catches on the pet name, and that gravelly morning timbre gees up your morning wood like nothing else can. You kiss your teeth, honestly annoyed at how he affects you this early, and when Ed’s answering chuckle rumbles through your ears and down your jaw, it's like you can feel his breath through the phone. 

God, he sounds good. You hum into a long sigh as he talks. It warms you, everywhere, hearing his voice first thing, and if your non-phone hand drags down your chest and reaches lower to rearrange the pillow between your legs, he doesn’t need to know.

You hear Eddie fidget, as he does, and he switches the phone to his other ear. Then, there’s the rattle of the earrings against plastic– a few chunky hoops he got at your suggestion, and one with your first initial that he definitely plucked off of your desk, though he had lazily denied it. You feel a smile fight its way to your face, suddenly giddy about him, about his call. 

A snapshot of him talking himself awake is as clear in your head as the grey in the sky: a grumpy Munson, emerging from the mess of gifted homemade blankets and ancient, flat pillows. Just a pair of doe eyes, framed by a cluster of chocolate curls and a scowl. Picture-perfect.

You’ve been nursing this damn crush forever, and with the effort of punching it off the bed and out of sight with that headscarf, you’re long past exhaustion. But, in the safety of your chilly room, and with the comfort of his voice in your ear, maybe you’ve enough strength for now to entertain a butterfly, or ten.

You had worn his ring to bed— a little bat hugging your ring finger the way it had been hugging his before you’d snatched it off as payment for a dare gone unfulfilled–and you’re twirling it now, like some lovesick sap. You’re written all over each other, and you’ve been itching to do something about it. But, that’s not the issue right now.

Right now,

“I know, life is over, the globe is warming, there are only a few summers left, et cetera. We’ll still have fun.”

(the dare? you had challenged him to snatch some Hawkins PD pig or another’s goofy little ranger hat as he had passed the two of you on the street. Eddie had suggested maybe he couldn’t float past an arrest on boyish charm this deep into his twenties, and acquiesced without a word when you had held out your hand for his own. 

You’d pretended not to notice the blush creeping up his neck; he had let you hold his hand a bit longer than necessary. It had been an even trade, as always.)

Across the line, Eddie’s still snickering at you, voice fathoms deep– all crackly– when he speaks again. 

“Hold on to your dick, angel, I'm pretty sure there’s options. Like, uh, maybe clothes? Clothes usually work for me.”

“Don’t get cute! I'm fat, you clown, I sweat-- I don’t need clothes. And, I belong in the water, Munson. Its beyond fun, its—“

He cuts you off completely, ignores your scoff, and finishes for you.

“—fulfilling, healing, its what and where you were in every past life, the brain sludge is already building back up as we speak, and ‘I’ll die, I'll just about fuckin’ die, Munson,’ once it drops below 40, I know, stop bitching,” he laughs. His tone? Pure fond; your stomach somersaults. 

You hear the smile widen when he goes on to remind you, “but I guess it's fall now. IE, your favourite.”

“Say ‘bitch’ to me again, I’ll shave your peanut head.”

He takes it back, giggling something about his favourite tough guy, but you know he’s got you there. You definitely are bitching, and—

Halloween month, cider season, big soft sweater weather, rain? It is the best, but it's never too early to argue. 

“You’ll love it, angel.”

You give up, melting again at his affection verbalized. You’re humming assent as he keeps the ball rolling, asking what you’d like to do today instead of going for a swim. Come over and take turns reading the new discount novel he found? Start that mead recipe you made last year? Drive over to Stobin’s—see who can sneak in and scare the shit out of them first? 

All great ideas, you assure him, but you decided long ago that the End of Swim also marked the beginning of piercing season. Your safety moratorium on body mods of all kinds has been lifted, now that you can’t dip your fresh wounds into scummy lake water. 

You've been planning a particular pair for some time. You also decided that it would be a surprise. Your Eddie is observant, dialed in, and sure, maybe you like to play the odd game here and there. He notices you, and you notice right back.  How long, do you think, will it take for him to note a new set of nipple piercings if you don’t warn him first? You figure it’s time to test it.

So, you break his heart a little, and decline to hang out today after all. You’ll see him on your next day off, you promise, and make plans for “four days hence, Munson, quit bitching. I just remembered something else I need to do,” before hanging up on his protests and pulling on your first pair of sweats in 4 months. 

ID, water bottle, and a sweet breakfast in tow, you head for the best (note: only) tat shop you know, braced and ready for a world of pain, going boldly into the cold.

—---------

And there had been almost no pain, at first. You had yelped girlishly before the first needle went in, then felt embarrassed about how easy and quick it had been. Before you had even realized, it was over, and you grinned big at the unique beads framing each pert, dark nipple. You loved them. You loved the piercings, and more than ever, loved your tits. Couldn’t wait to go home and check them out from every angle, actually. 

Then, a malicious towel snag, a careless door-jamb bump, and a hateful sweater-thread later, you were fearing for your life. Over the last few days, you had taken to crouching around them a bit, arms wrapped loose around your stomach as a reminder and for protection. Your nipples were insanely sensitive, now more than ever, and you had never understood ‘til now how often you simply walked through and into things instead of just around.  

But, they were calming down, and with each prescribed saltwater soak you breathed a sigh of relief at the lack of visible irritation. The standard piercing boogers notwithstanding, they looked hot, you felt hot, but found yourself nervous for the big reveal. You thought you would hide them well, your mission made easier by the cool weather and baggier shirts it allowed. 

You’re in his room now. Eddie’s ideas had been good, but you had both decided on the usual– you, rocking up to his trailer and spending the day with him throwing food and trading theories, hours whiled away in artistic pursuits and cat-naps, never too far from one another. It’s been a good day– you’re doing such a good job with the piercings, you forget to hide how entranced you are by Eddie's hands. 

“Aren’t you hot?” 

You count the veins and tendons as they flip pencils and drum against whatever surface they encounter, try to guess how long he can go before he bites that right pinky nail too short again, wonder if he’s running hot today. He’s tactile, your Eddie, but you’re sitting on the floor, legs sprawled, and yeah, a little too warm in the hoodie you came in as he lounges on the bed– too far for his idle touches to distract you into admitting anything. 

You love those hands. You want to taste them one day. He’s looking at you.

Fuck, wait, he’s looking, and you haven’t answered him. You cut your eyes away, to the floor, to your nails, like an idiot. That wasn’t at all suspicious, sure. You’re reasonably sure Eddie hadn’t noticed the piercings themselves yet until, as you snack and he chats again about his sketch, he suddenly drops the pink eraser you’ve been watching his square fingers systematically tear apart.

“N...Noooooo.” He takes in your belated answer and eyes you for a second, then starts talking again. You tug your hands gingerly into the hoodie you’re in and slide the thing over your unwrapped cloud of hair without snagging anything, then toss it away, wiping the light sheen of sweat you realize is cooling on your nose.

 Fuck, here we go. You hadn’t considered you’d have to hide in conversation, just that you had to keep him from seeing. You try to keep your cool, but answer too quickly. This wouldn’t last long.

“Have you been eating weird shit again?” Eddie asks, cutting himself off from explaining the lore of his latest campaign villain. He’s sitting up more since you last looked at him– leaning back on one elbow as the other arm drapes comfy across his belly– and watching you fidget in that weird posture you’ve adopted since the piercings. 

“Eat– We–, me? Weird? What’s– What?” Nailed it. Smooth, like butter. Too player. You thank God or Dolly or whoever’s watching that your blush isn’t visible, because you can already feel your face heating up.

He stares, eyes squinted. You watch your plate, then look back at his lovely hands, fingers pale and impatient, thr-r-r-rumming in sequence against his now-closed notebook.

“What’s with the air-head act? And why are you clutching your tummy and moving like you fell down the stairs?” Okay, that one’s easy.

“Cramps.” Your reply is stiff, but reflexive. The pink in his fingertips as he drums is entrancing. Maybe you’ve saved it– you think you sound sure. He’s silent for beat, and you pick up a cracker and look out the window. Maybe you’re a genius. The fuck’s he gonna do? Argue?

“Hm. Bullshit?” You look up to challenge that, and catch him peering behind you to the stuffed possum you had gifted him when his favourite, real, live, wild possum friend stopped her brief shuffle through the fire pit behind his trailer one drizzly day. 

(Eddie had called it the best week of his life, then declared that he’d never love again.)

After another beat, as if the scruffy thing has read the room and confirmed its answer, Eddie nods once, curls bouncing, then swings his neck dramatically back to you to assert, “bullshit.” 

It's panic creeping up your throat now, because he’s going to see you,  see them, this isn’t– well– it is– but you didn’t think it through, and you aren’t a good enough liar to dodge the impending question. You hem for another moment, hands hovering over your torso, and he looks between them and your face before snapping his bulk upright so fast that the bits of pink littering his lap and thin muscle shirt fly up in the flurry.

“What’re you hiding?”

A frown tugs your lips down before you can stop it. You watch Eddie toss the notebook and, with a loud thump, collapse off the bed boneless into your nest of blankets and towards you like a mad slinky before you can finish saying, “nothing! I’m not– hiding–, wait a second!” 

In that second, Eddie has slithered the 4 feet between him and you, kind of flinging himself on top, landing more gently than you expected in a straddle and pinning your now-closed thighs under his seat before you can wiggle back and away in time. 

“Did you get a tattoo without me? You fucking did, didn’t you?” He might be verging on genuinely hurt, by the sound of it. You’d promised after he’d started his stick-n-poke journey that he’d be your first, (tattooer, that is), once he got some training together. Had swore to him–

“Le’me see– what, is it that shitty? Who the hell did you go to? You can’t be–”

“Ow, Eddie, stop!” Your screeching protest belies real pain this time, curling in on yourself and to the side as much as possible. He bumped a piercing in the shuffle, the pain expected but still shocking, and he backs off a bit and coos in sympathy, all his next words coming out in a frantic rush.

“Fuck, oh no, I’m sorry. I’msosorry, Sweetheart? Are you okay?”

You’ve crossed your arms in front of you, breathing deep through the stinging. As it subsides, he ducks his head to meet your eyeline, his paint-stained palms up, promising no contact. He’s still straddling you, most of his weight on his heels. Still locking you under him, where its very warm.

If you looked down and saw your heart itself beating its way out of your chest, you wouldn’t be shocked. You’re almost choking on it, and plotting how to get him off you without knocking the new piercings again. Its enough to spin your head, to think you’ve been found out this soon, that the bravado in your spirit has fled so quickly at the reality, not just the idea, the real life prospect of showing Munson your tits. 

But it's thrilling, him on top of you. It's always thrilling, a dream fulfilling itself, isn't it? Even if the context is off. This isn't the first time a bout of “weird” from one of you or the other has ended up in a fact-finding mission– sometimes wrestling match, or pillow fight, or wild, short chase through the woods. 

But every time he gets this close, it's like the path between your head brain to the other brain is cleared– heat is flooding the thin cotton that separates you from his well-worn denim faster than ever. He has to get up, right now. You have to keep him there forever. 

You relax as the sting subsides, uncurling and groaning a bit as those strong, clever hands fall to bracket your head on either side. Eddie leans down, sounding the creak of floor beneath you,  and scowls, bathing you in his radiating heat. Studying you, taking in your full lips pressed into a thin, nervous line, your brows turned up where they’d meet, betraying distress. 

“What is going on in there, man?" He's really worried now. When did you start keeping secrets?

“It’s…not a tattoo?” You purse your lips and scrunch your nose, and the sweet smile that flows like syrup across his face seems involuntary.

“Then what else– huh?” Eddie is trying to keep eye contact, but the wheels are turning, and his lovely smile drops. He glances at your arms crossed over your chest, and his jaw falls open, eyes narrowed in disbelief.

“Not a tattoo. Not ‘a’ anything, actually. Two things.”

“No, you didn’t. No way, not a chance.” Eddie seizes your wrists and ignores your protests, pinning each arm by your ears where his once were, and tries to x-ray inspect you through your shirt. It's dark, but not thick enough to weather this kind of scrutiny. Those telltale bumps are right there in front of him, the middle of each trio hardening as he inspects. So, you give up trying to argue, and shrug, suppressing a smile. 

“With— wha?” Eddie’s looney-tunes double-take makes you hoot a laugh as he swings his head and bouncy curls up and down, looking at you, glancing back at your chest, and up again as he processes what he’s hearing. What the fuck is he hearing? 

Your eyes stay low but your brows arch together as you scoff at him, dork. “You’re really telling me you hadn’t seen them?”

“I’ve– not–wha– I’m sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean–”

But, you had been talking shit. He couldn’t have seen anything in the dark shirt you had been wearing all day unless he’d been staring when you weren’t looking– had he been staring at your tits anyway?

 Did he do that often? Your jaw doesn’t drop so much as glide mischievously open. Surprise dawns and Eddie realizes he has, in fact, given himself away too quickly. Coolest dudes in Hawkins, you two.

He changes tack, slapping the floor by your head, still a little shocked.

“You got your nipples pierced? I don’t believe that. I don’t believe you! You’re full of shit.” His voice is almost petulant in its disbelief, high and tinny.

Your eyeroll is audible, “I mean. I can prove it, Munson.” 

“When?” He gasps, indignant, and slaps the floor with the other hand. 

“You barely have your ears pierced-“ he exaggerates. “Who the hell did ‘em? Was it a guy? You let some guy–”

“Please, some professional? Can you be serious?”

“You can’t take the pain, angel, not without my moral support, there’s no way. You’d have been whining about them being sore all fuckin’ week if you’d gotten your—“ 

He looks at your tits again, jaw slack, but in his shifting sends them undulating with the movement. His whole body goes still, except to inhale very slowly.

You’ve maybe never been this self conscious in your life, but his distraction emboldens you.  

“The idea was ‘surprise’, not ‘ambush’. But,” you drawl, smirking as you twist a wrist easily out of his now slack grip and push yourself up onto your elbows. 

“Do you—well.” Your eyes falter when your voice does. You want to offer proof. You’re not that bold yet, but you’re working up to it. 

He gives you room to sit up completely, hovering over your calves, back almost on his haunches. His heat leeches into your legs, swells in your chest and behind your eyes.

You want to touch him, like you always do. Eddie's deep brown eyes are wider, his mouth slack. His breathing is a little harder too, and you wonder for a second— do you want to un-ring this bell while there’s time?

“No,” he answers. “I mean, yeah, I—“ He rolls his plush lips into his mouth and then parts them, trying to work out how to ask. It’s not a dare anymore, and you feel a shyness completely unfamiliar, laid out in front of your best friend in the world. 

You wilt a little; Eddie finds his courage.

He swallows, and you watch his throat work while he figures out what to say, maybe as nervous as you are.

“Can I see?” He sounds hopeful, gentle, but to soothe you or himself, you can’t tell.

You dont quite answer with, “I’ll have you know, they didn’t hurt. At all, actually. It was...cold. Uncomfy, totally, but not painful— just a bit of a pinch? The last week has been worse than the actual needles were.” 

Eddie seems to realize he’s really staring, and cuts his eyes to the left, almost shy, and he seems to wipe sweat from his palms down the length of his strong thighs.

Your own hands pick at the hem of your shirt, and his gaze is split between your mouth and chest. Then, he shifts his weight, leans back like he’s about to give you space, when you reach for his warm, toned tricep, his skin shifting over muscle as he fidgets, and you’re ready to tell him the rest of the story. You can’t bear to miss his warmth on top of you, you realize. Now or never, you think. 

“I…” you croak, “I thought of you.”

 You hear him choke, like actually choke on his spit, then watch him shake his head like he’s rattling himself out of a haze. Eddie’s locked in on your eyes, searching for even the hint of a joke as you lift the shirt up just your stomach, exposing all the graceful cresting hills of your soft middle to his hungry gaze.

“When I picked them out, I mean.”

“Youf, you– fuc– You did this for me?” He sounds so absolutely incredulous, and breathless, all bravado bled out, or rushing to his reddening cheeks. It's like Eddie opened the next Discworld and found a dedication in his name, like the heavens have opened above him. For him? For him?

“Not for you, you clown, of course not. But like, maybe I wondered which ones you’d say I should get. And maybe... I thought you’d appreciate my pick.” Your crooked smile feels small, and you feel like offering something more substantial. 

So, you do.

“Appreciate..? I. Oh, god, Jesus, I.” You had been lifting your shirt so casually as you spoke, palms sliding up across your skin and dragging cotton with them, a caress so careless it seemed incidental. But you avoid hitting the new bars through each hardening nip, chills putting a mild tremble in your hands that he first catches, and is then distracted from. You watch Eddie’s short-circuit for a bit, feel his thighs tense around yours. You decide then that boldness is the only path forward. 

At the last rounding, you let them hem of the shirt catch on the underside of your bust, and just before its dangerous, lift them up by the hem and then drop them a bit, so they bounce for him, putting on a little show, posture straighter than before in presentation.

You’ve killed him. His plush lips try and fail to form a word, any word, as he lets out another shakey breath and leans back in to you by centimeters.  

“Eddie?” you prompt at his silence, voice quieter now. He’s still a little wide-eyed when he gasps out,

“What. Appreciate? Fuck, you’re beautiful. So, so beautiful. Jesus Christ, I never thought— Are those bats?” He’s moon-eyed and gaping like a dry fish, and you’re too keyed up to even tease him about it. You didn't just think of him, you conspired to match with him, to carry a little bit of him with you.

You know he wants to see you, more than just the piercings, and that teasing smirk is a distant memory, much like your patience. 

“So you hate them, huh?” He’s shocked into laughing before you can finish the question, restoring the quiet to something like normal as he raises his ringed hands to frame the low curve of your breasts. But he takes them in only with his eyes, flitting back and forth between them.

“They look, so so good, so good, god. The color you picked, even,” a warm gold that picks up the warmth in the soft creamy brown of your skin, “it glows, like, perfect. Gold’s your color, Sweetheart. It's all your color.” 

Bravado is fickle. You order him through barely parted lips, like you didn’t mean to say it out loud, then almost slur the hasty backtrack, “touch them. If-you-want, I-mean, if-you—.” 

In Eddie’s mind’s eye, gold falls from the sky; from his mouth tumbles a bewildered, “'If i want?' Are you insane?” 

As he reaches, you nod and sit up a bit straighter, feel heat rise in your cheeks, and take his confession with a crooked smile.

“I dreamt this.”

Here’s you, insufferably coy through a giggle: “Yeah? How’d it go?”

 His own knowing smirk is back, and you shiver, wanting fathoms deep as Eddie's hot hands envelope the heavy mounds of your breasts from below, cupped in the way he had threatened before you granted permission. Eddie seems to weigh them as he holds you, committing to memory how the plush fat of them sits in his palms, how they pebble across with gooseflesh at his very gentle fondling. 

You’re so soft, and warm, and he’s touching you; his mind splits in two. Some of him prays to any god for escalation, the rest could die happy right here.

On contact, you sigh together. Heavy, whispering things— you were both holding your breath— and inhale together, too. Your eyes flutter closed at the the drag of each body-warm ring as they poke into you. His calluses are almost sharp against you where they glide, some of the time ghosting over your skin, but mostly kneading you warmer.

It's your soft little hum of pleasure, how you arch, helpless, into his touch— the indiscreet rub of your knees together, and your thighs into his seat, the way you fight the smile back— these bring him back to himself,  and he checks your face again, watching the small smile grow as your eyes flick up to his. 

“Different,” Eddie intones, low and slow. “We’re out of order.”

You’re watching his pretty mouth again while he feigns serious, but as he moves just one hand to the floor behind you and leans in close, warm Cheez-It-breath tickling your face, setting alight every nerve that wasn’t already screaming for deeper contact. You meet his penetrating gaze and gasp at the pleasure-pain of that ringed thumb finally, finally, swiping up along one pert nipple. 

It's a shocked moan, not a gasp, that opens your mouth as he collides with it, timed perfectly with the upward jolt of your hips into his hardening cock. It's Eddie’s turn to gasp— his rushes out hot and quick, as if from a gut-punch. 

He's fighting for his life trying to steady his voice, act casual. “Usually, I get my mouth on your first.”

With that, he closes the gap again, but this time pulls away with a wet smack, a kiss so brief you’re compelled to chase him and get your licks in.

“Then, my hands,” he says, as he closes his fingers around as much of you as he can grasp with each hand to squeeze. Its at once electrifying and comforting, leaning into him and running from the cold. You want him pressed against you completely, but he's focused on the pillows of supple skin and heat in his hands.

“Promise,” he chokes, “ahhh, promise to tell me if it hurts, angel?”

“Eddie, touch me— I promise— touch me,” you positively beg, and your Eddie, egged on by your fingers now pulling deliciously at the hair on his sensitive nape, recovers fast. He’s on you before he can take his next breath in, and bites down around your bottom lip, pushing you with him gently as he leans forward, mashing your noses together.  

And you kiss Eddie back, hard, sucking his trembling lip between yours and earning yourself a groan that sends a lovely buzz through your jaw where you meet. That fucking noise, and his hand still on you, now not as gentle, sending little shocks of pleasure as he swipes gently along the outer dark ring crowning your nipple. The skin there is tightening, growing impossibly sensitive, and each brush and nudge shocks you between your clamped thighs, makes your body rock a little, sending kinetic energy across you that has him enthralled. So much evidence of his effect on you, the movement anchors him to reality.

"Good?"

"Really good, Eddie, yeah." You squirm under him as he massages one side, then both, then rests his forehead against yours to gaze down, intent on his project. 

“You feel good too, angel,” Eddie groans again, enjoying himself in earnest, crowding you gently together, then letting each breast roll in his hands, rough digits brushing in tandem against beads so taut it almost hurts, so intense its almost too much, but you need more.

“You know what’ll feel even better?” You ask him in a pant, breathless and focused– you need him between your legs too, and desperately, so you nudge one of his, asking to widen so you can rearrange. Eddie obliges, planting one solid knee right against your aching core and letting you fall back, propped up on both elbows. 

Neither of you wastes a second. This kiss is a hot, wet collision of sighs and spit, grinding sloppily into each other through just too many layers of sweet, stiff friction, whining into each other’s open mouths. 

While you nearly lift your hips off the floor, chasing the worn denim between your legs, tension in your lower gut building faster than it ever has alone, Eddie rides your linen-covered thigh just above your bent knee, murmuring between love-bites to your chin, the chubby apple of your grinning cheek, then the crook of your neck, where he finds and then latches onto a spot that makes you seize under his weight, clamping your thighs around the one at the very center of your focus. 

You clasp a hand at the back of his head again, scratching a bit at his neck and forcing a long shaky sigh out of his mouth as the rhythm of his swirling hips grows rough, devolves into a stuttering staccatto race to the finish, and he’s talking himself through it into your shoulder as you barrel him down.

Ed's heaving whines are gorgeous, ragged, as he sighs into your neck about how good you feel under him. He can’t finish a sentence as he groans into your shoulder, all about how good you smell, how he can’t believe you did this for him, how badly he wants to taste them. 

“Taste? I,” you cut yourself off with a near-panicked whine when his leg slinks heavily down, the relief of his wet but still straining crotch-tent another brief sliding kiss against your now soaking cunt, and you resist seizing him by the scalp, to keep him up with you, but only just. You’re both so close; he’s stalling?

No, tasting.

Through your horny fog, your mind starts to process his goal. Eddie works his body down yours urgently, never really breaking contact, and as he slips away all you can do is watch him watch you.

In a thrall, as he draws a scalding trail of open-mouth kisses down the heaving swell of your exposed breasts. The wet kisses cool fast in the chilly air of his room, and it feels so good you don’t care how needy your sighs sound, how obscene and high your breaths echo in your own ears. Then he pauses in his descent to admire you again, breaking eye contact for a few awe-struck moments, dropping a chaste peck just left of the left nip, then resting his forehead on your sternum. When he fully squishes your tits into his cheeks it makes you laugh out loud, and you feel his smile and then chuckle against your stomach.

He seems to paise there for a few moments, content to nuzzle, and your high whine-sigh takes even you off guard. Eddie looks up at the sound but stops himself saying whatevers on his mind. Instead, he double-takes between your mouth and chest once, and again, then and finally asks, “sweetheart?”

He’s got that look like he’s up to something, and you can’t say you mind it. 

Eddie drags his lovely nose across the wide valley between your bust, your shoulders cave a bit with the shiver, and he continues, “can I?”

Taste. Yes, “please, Eddie, yeah,” and he closes his hot mouth over one hard bead, swirling that devilish tongue around and over, knocking it roughly enough to pull a harsh hiss from between your clamped teeth. Your hands are both in his hair again, and in a little pain you pull at his sensitive scalp and feel the buzz of his moaning around you, closing the little pleasure circuit between you.

You feel every wet swipe of tongue like a brand, on your sensitive chest and melting, shocks of heat driving down in your sex, chasing the pressure and pushing your body into his chest where he lays against you. 

One of his hot hands mimics his mouth’s rhythm on the other tit, and the lewd sounds of his deep moans around you are only matched by the obscene slick of his hand finding the soaked core of you under his torso, his fingers tingling over the used cotton.

You nod assent before he can even ask, catching his eyes as he pulls away from your chest to check on you. He finds your open pant, you low lidded attention on only him, and smiles. Then, he grinds his own hips into your leg where he straddles it, lower than before, moaning again around your mound and sucking this time, a new kind of pressure that pulls the neediest cries from you yet. His fingers finally breach your underwear from the side, and the calloused contact jolts you to the precipice, climax just within reach now that your clit has direct, emphatic attention. 

His tongue swirls faster, and Eddie matches that pace with his slick fingers between your cunt lips, circling the trigger and nudging just the top of your gasping hole, pace quickening, just what you're begging him for. Your free leg hitches around his back and pulls him into you, then you clamp up and pull hard at the hair in your grasp, gasping his name over and over as you come shaking, curling around his head, pussy drooling on his rings and wrist, hips frantic in their desperate chase for friction. 

Eddie’s not far behind, rhythm incomprehensible as he’s distracted by his own big finish. He bites down almost too hard around your breast and fucks down onto your trapped leg, groans buzzing through you as he drools and sputters and comes a warm wet mess into the washed-out black. 

The grey light is blinding, you can’t open your eyes at first. But you start to collect yourself when you feel him pull off, sliding his hand slowly out of your panties. You open your eyes to him watching you again, eyes half closed, to him catching his breath, and with no regard for the mess on his hand he gathers your collar in his fist and hauls you forward for another kiss, other hand tucked in the soft folds of your waist, grasping, clutching, pulling you in.

“Ouch.” You say, with no heat at all. 

As he scoffs, Eddie slinks back down again to kiss it better, another gentle peck just to the side of the most sensitive bud of your breast where he sucked and nibbled hard enough to bruise. Just a pinch, indeed.

“Aw, I’m sorry, angel,” he promises, only a little sarcastic, and finally rounds his mouth around your right nipple, which he had neglected until now. 

Then, you hear the slightest crunch. Like crumbs rubbing together.

Eddie smacks his lips a couple times, tasting, considering.

"Salty," he says. No way.

Oh, god, no. No fucking way. He still licking you clean but you freeze, then he does, but Eddie, knowing exactly what he just set you up for, loses it. He buries the cackle in your tummy as it dawns on you, and you do some quick math– you last showered this morning, which means you last soaked your piercing this morning, maybe 10 hours ago.

Eddie crawls back up your body as you wail, “ohhh, my God, Munson, why would you—? I cannot–” and lands eye-level, with you spent and boneless on your back, him in a table-top pose, arms propped by your shoulders. 

He hadn't been neglecting your other side, he had been saving it.

10 hours. More than enough time for new “crusties” to form, so more than enough time to build your own nightmare from natural scratch. And he didn’t hesitate, or mention it at all, that your piercings were clearly crusted over as part of the usual healing process, he just sucked them off anyway like they were in the way.

“You– absolute– freak! Eddie what the fuck! Did you fucking eat it? Are you insane?”

“What? I helped! And it’s probably, like, I don’t know, nutritious somehow. Protein?” He shrugs, smirking in the face of your horror, your embarrassment. You hadn’t thought to look at your own tits when the idea of his eyes on you had been more than enough to deal with.

You punctuate every few words with sharp shoves, which barely register as nudges to him from your angle, still under him, fighting his weight and gravity itself. Little by little, he sinks against them, and you tire yourself out before his chest traps your arms between the two of you.

“You– sicko, I didn’t– give you permission– to snack on me.”

“You even said ‘please,’ sweet heart, no take backs. I believe they’re my boogers now.” His smile is just content now, mischief subsumed by all the love in his eyes. You were in his mouth; now you’re on your way through his system. He thinks its romantic.

He ate it. Like a weird pet left unattended too long, he saw something new and simply put his mouth on it. Your-- friend? hardly, you think-- Eddie Munson just ate the new piercing boogers off you, straight from the source as he came in his jeans. You don’t even know what to do, so bewildered you shove his shoulders and chest as rough as he’ll allow before he seizes your wrists and pins you again, only this time, your tits are still out. 

“Without full knowledge, that’s twisted– you’re sick.” Your smile betrays you. What a weirdo, sure, but who else would full-send like that? You can’t think of anyone you’ve dated– anyone you’ve let touch you– that has ever been so close, and you haven’t even seen his cock yet. 

God, what a freak– your freak, you think with a thrill.

“Yeah yeah, heard it before."

Its quiet for a bit as you stare at each other, smiles crooked and soft.

"Well. Cat’s out of the bag?”

“Seems that way.” So, there's your "what are we" convo' all sorted.

“Good. So you know— " Eddie ducks his head to tap his nose against yours, then pulls back again to hover a little closer than before, "clothes are no longer an option.”

“What. The hell are you saying.”

“I'm saying,” he whispers, suddenly against your ear, dragging out each syllable, and slides his thumb and it's cool bat ring now poking out of a soft fist across your collarbone and up your shoulder, just to see you shiver again, just to watch you shake.

“hu-.. what, Munson, spit it out!” Now, you grab him by both wrists, and the quick movement brings his eyes to your tits again, gold titanium winking in the gray light. The soft wave of your body warms his core. He's half-hard already just watching you move.

“Too late, ha.” You groan, still grossed out, and anticipating this, he groans with you, mocking. You feel it through your own chest, feel it down your pinned leg.

Then, Eddie’s voice is soft too, at once dreamy and deadly serious, when he says, “You,” drops a kiss on one shoulder, “were so, so right,” and another on the other, “you won't need clothes ever again.” 

—--------------—

Its only days later, your next day off, when your favorite metalhead greets you at your front door. You don’t even have time to say hello before he’s flashing you; Eddie yanks his shirt up, fast as he can, to show off two glinting barbells, twin gold angel wings framing each nipple, still red and a little swollen from the piercing.

He beams at you, proud of the shock written all over your face, and before you can recover, cradles your face with one ringed hand and swoops in to plant one on your open mouth, grinning all the while. 

[lara-cairncross]

Just like many others, your AU put me back into my fairy phase :)

I had the original three movies on DVD and literally watched them all the time when I was younger, so much so that I’m quoting everything on my rewatch now, even the sound effects 😂.

Also, as a kid, I never liked Vidia, she was always too mean for me. But now she’s probably my favorite (which is insanely hard to chose given that I love all of them so much, they’re iconic), and I can’t tell if it’s because I’ve grown up, or because I’m naturally inclined to like Fast Flying Fairies now because of your Leo 😭

I just have a few little questions too

In the first movie, we see Queen Clarion gives Tinkerbell pixie dust and teaches her to fly for the first time.

How painful do you think it was for Donnie to be unable to do that when all his brothers could?

And what were the reactions of the other fairies? Were they shocked to see his wing?

Sorry for the long ask! Thank you for bringing this amazing story to life! 🫶

SQUEEE YES YES YES IM SO GLAD I GOT SO MANY PEOPLE TO WATCH THE MOVIES AGAIN!!! I'm pretty sure I had all of them on DVD when I was little? Barring the Neverbeast, I think, since I'd kinda grown out of the Pixie Hollow fairies by then :,)

Fun fact: Vidia was always one of my favorite fairies, even as a kid!!! Honestly, looking back it's,,,, probably mostly because I was gay for her but like WHATEVER SHE'S STILL A FANTASTIC CHARACTER AND I LOVE THE DYNAMIC WITH HER AND TINK AND I ALWAYS THOUGHT SHE WAS COOL BECAUSE SHE WAS ONE OF THE ONLY FAIRIES WEARING PANTS AND AS A SEVEN YEAR OLD I THOUGHT THAT WAS REVOLUTIONARY FOR SOME REASON LMAO

To answer your questions: it would definitely be emotionally painful for Donnie to watch that happen, but honestly, he'd probably be a lot more confused than anything at first? Keep in mind-- learning to fly is like, the FIRST think Tinkerbell is taught to do when she arrives in Pixie Hollow. She didn't know anything else! Little newly-born Donnie would probably just be really confused as to why his brothers are learning to fly and he isn't :( later on, once the initial shock has worn off, someone would probably gently explain to Donnie and his bros about the significance of the damage to his wing.

So, yes, definitely painful! But probably not immediately. Honestly, all four of them would just be really confused at first-- like, "hey, why aren't you teaching Dee too?"-- and then the explanation + additional context would finally help them understand. Then BOOM feelings

[mischievouslittlecreature]

Part 21: The Shadow of the Abattoir

Fandom: Peaky Blinders

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x OC

Summary: Tommy navigates through processing Lizzie's news and what it might mean for his relationship with Lucy.

Word Count: 7,755

Notes: I hope you all don't mind this chapter being longer than I usually make them. I couldn't really find a good place to cut it in half, and there wasn't much that I could cut out, either. Poor Lucy has the lowest self esteem in the entire world. Warnings for depictions of pregnancy, angst, jealousy, smut, and references to abortion.

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Chapter 18: Seemingly Incurable Sadness

Tommy’s hands squeezed tight around the steering wheel, fighting to ignore the way that his lungs burned for a cigarette. His stomach churned with anxiety, mind still reeling.

The awkward silence between him and Lizzie stretched on and on within the confines of the car as he drove them through the winding streets towards her lodgings. Her words from when they’d spoken in his office still rang in his head. 

“Yes, it can only be yours.”

“I’m keeping it.”

“A baby. A little you and me.”

His throat felt suddenly intensely dry. He wanted to slap himself.

Fucking hell, the one goddamn time he doesn’t pull out…

He’d been too lost in memories of Greta during that time between him, Lucy, and Lizzie down by the canal. It had not even occurred to him until later that he had failed to take necessary precautions. 

He let out a small, harsh sigh. An internal scream was sounding in his head, hoping that somehow this was all a nightmare he would wake up from at any moment. He didn’t want to have a baby with Lizzie. He didn’t want to be shackled to her for the rest of his life.

But it wasn’t like he was going to force her to get rid of it.     

He would buy her a house. He would be involved in the child’s life. He would support her financially–he certainly could afford to. But outside of that, he had no intention of committing anything deeper to her. 

The last thing that he wanted was to give her yet more hope that something was ever going to happen between them. 

He couldn’t quite shake the feeling that Lizzie had been expecting him to drop instantaneously to one knee with a marriage proposal the very moment that the announcement of her pregnancy left her lips. 

Pulling the car over against the curb directly in front of Lizzie’s lodgings, he killed the engine, half hoping that she would just get out and leave him alone without another word. 

He needed some time to himself, to properly collect his thoughts. 

“Would you like to come up?” Lizzie asked, voice soft. 

“No.”

Still, she made no move to get out of the car. “What will you tell Lucy?” she finally asked, and Tommy had to suppress a wince at his lover’s name, guilt roiling within him so violently that for a moment he thought it might make him sick. 

It had been the very first thought that had come to him, after the initial shock had worn off and he was left with the weight of the reality that Lizzie had just dumped at his feet: Christ, what am I going to tell Lucy?

He had fucked up. Colossally so. Sure, Lucy had been there in the canal too, but she wasn’t the one who’d gone and accidentally impregnated Lizzie while knowing better than to not be so careless. That was all him.

And now he had to go tell his sweet, wonderful girlfriend that he’d gone and knocked up someone else. 

Again.  

At least with Grace, the three of them had been in love. They’d wanted to be together. This time around was different entirely.

“I’ll tell her the truth,” he said softly, clearing his throat. Anxiety twisted in his chest at the mere thought, despite his attempts to talk himself around it. To remain optimistic. He had no intention of leaving Lucy. Things could still remain as they were, between them. 

Now, if she left him, that would be another story. He didn’t think that she would, but, well…

He wouldn’t blame her, if she did. 

“I feel sorry for her.”

His brows knit together in confusion, something in Lizzie’s tone sending alarm bells off in his head. It did not sound like a simple statement of sympathy for how this whole situation might affect her. “What do you mean?”

“Well, after you split up with her, I doubt there will be much of a place for her here at all anymore–”

“No.” It came out perhaps harsher than necessary, and Lizzie’s mouth shut, her jaw tightening. But he needed to get it through to her; make it crystal clear. “Under no circumstances will I be leaving Lucy.” Lizzie opened her mouth to argue. “Ever.” He put as much firm, immovable emphasis on the word as he could without shouting. 

“I’m having your fucking baby, Tommy. Why does she get to be more important than that?”

“Lizzie, please…” he pinched at his brow, battling back a headache. Working hard to keep himself level headed. “I will take care of you. I will take care of the baby, but I’m not…I can’t promise you anything more than that. And I’m not dumping Lucy out onto the street like garbage so that you can play out some fucking fantasy–”

“You’re the one living in a fantasy!” she snapped. “You’re going to make our child a bastard! I know how this goes, Tommy. You’ll stash us away out in the countryside, right? Only to be visited on the rare occasion that you have time for us.”

“That isn’t what I’m saying–”

“No?” she sneered. “You’re going to allow it to be public knowledge that you have an illegitimate child? I’m sure that will do wonders for your reputation.” Her tone dripped with sarcasm. “I will not allow my child to be shoved aside while you gallivant around with that little tart–”

“Oi!” This time he did shout, voice echoing throughout the interior of the car. Lizzie cringed back at the sound, shoulders drawing in, and a look of immediate regret passed across her face. Had he not been so frustrated, he may have found it fascinating: the way that she seemed to almost rouse, like she had been stuck in a trance of anger and jealousy before his bellow of fury snapped her out of it. “Don’t fucking talk about her like that.”

“I’m sorry,” she looked down at her hands. “I didn’t mean…” she trailed off, looking out the window. “I didn’t mean that.”

Tommy wiped a hand down his face. There were about a dozen things he’d like to say to her, but he decided to refrain. At least until after he’d spoken to Lucy and knew where she stood on everything. 

“If you are going to insist on keeping the baby, I’m not going to fight you on it,” he said, slowly. “But you need to make peace with the fact that Lucy is important to me. She will always be important to me. She’s a part of my life. You have to accept that, Lizzie.” When she didn’t say anything, instead just staring down at her hands, he let out a sharp, frustrated sigh. “This really shouldn’t be so big of a shock.”

Still, Lizzie did not answer, just sitting there in angry silence. Tommy shook his head. 

“I thought that you and her were getting along,” his voice was quieter, at a loss for what else he could do or say. Only able to hope that somehow, Lizzie would remember that Lucy wasn’t her enemy in all of this. Hell, up until the canal, things had been cordial, even friendly, between them.  

Lizzie did not acknowledge his words, turning away sharply and opening the car door, stepping out onto the street. When she turned to slam the door shut behind her, she shot him a look that it took him a beat to recognize as heartbreak.   

Guilt crashed down upon him again. For placing them both into this situation. For getting her hopes up again. For not being able to give her what she really wanted. 

For, in complete and total honesty, not really wanting to. 

Because he would never trade what he had with Lucy for even the remote possibility of having something with Lizzie. Not ever. And the type of love that Lizzie was seeking from him was not the kind that would have room for anyone else.   

God, what a fucking mess. 

“I know a good realtor. I’ll have him call you so you can start looking at houses,” he tried to offer. Lizzie looked away. 

“Whatever.”

He sighed, for perhaps the thousandth time that night. “Goodnight, then.”

“Goodnight,” she said, still without looking at him, and slammed the car door in his face. He watched her walk to her door, waiting until she was safely inside before turning back on the engine, pulling the car away from the curb, heading towards home. 

Towards Lucy. 

Dread sprang up in his throat, tasting of bile. He did not know how he was going to face her. Already he could envision it: the way that her big green eyes would look up at him, wide and full of hurt. A tremor traveled down his arms, all the way to his hands. With a sharp jerk, he suddenly yanked the steering wheel to pull over the car, letting the engine idle while he pulled out his cigarettes and lit one. The smoke drew deeply into his lungs, helping to somewhat stifle the shakiness of his hands.

His Lucy. His poor Lucy. This was going to hurt her. She would most likely try to pretend that it didn’t, but it would.

And it was his fault. 

He loved her. He’d promised never to hurt her, and here he was, about to waltz into their home, drop this whole load of shit at her feet, and ask her to still, somehow, stay with him. He couldn’t be more selfish if he tried. 

It had never been his intention to have any more children after Grace died. He had been on the fence about it even prior to her death. In his mind, Charlie had been more than enough, and after learning that Lucy couldn’t get pregnant, the idea of him and Grace having more had felt almost…insensitive. Not that they’d even gotten the chance to ever really discuss it. Grace died before that could happen. 

The very thought of Grace was enough to have a burn of tears, both of guilt and sorrow, burning in the back of his throat. It was times like these he was thankful that he did not really believe in an afterlife. The thought of her looking down on him and seeing what he had done made him want to weep with shame. 

No, after Grace was gone, more children had not been something either he or Lucy had planned on. She could not have them, and they were more than content with Charlie, Asher, and their horses. 

As if things weren’t bad enough already, it was compounded by the reality that Lizzie was about to give him something that Lucy never could. The pain that would cause was not lost on him. Yet another kick to the stomach for his kindhearted redhead to endure. His lover who had never, in all their time together, done anything to hurt him. Certainly not to this magnitude.

He slammed his hand against the steering wheel, striking it as hard as he wished that he could hit himself, palm burning where it collided with the material. 

“Fuck!” he screamed.   

Face falling into one of his hands, palm rubbing at his forehead and eyes, he drew in a deep, ragged breath. Wedging his cigarette between his lips, Tommy pulled himself together, hands curling around the steering wheel after he put the car back into gear, beginning to once more drive through the dark streets of Small Heath, bouncing slightly along the uneven cobblestones. 

He’d drive around for a while before heading home, he decided. To collect his thoughts and figure out just how the hell he was going to tell Lucy about all of this. 

A few blocks down the road from home, he came across a flower shop. Breaking in was no trouble, and he left a few shillings on the counter for the bouquet he’d stolen, closing the store up just as he’d found it, settling the flowers on the passenger seat gingerly, making sure that they didn’t get squished. 

It felt like not even close to enough given the circumstances, but he had to do something nice for her. 

The time spent driving and thinking had only served to triple the anxiety he’d already felt in regards to telling her. 

He glanced over at the flowers, swallowing painfully. Maybe it wouldn’t be as bad as he thought. Maybe she wouldn’t leave him. 

Still, the thought did little to soothe his nerves, nor did it stifle the swirling self hatred that tormented him the entire drive home. 

∗ ∗ ∗

Lucy ran a hand over her hair, sighing and swirling the whiskey in her glass before raising it to her lips for a sip. Her eyelids felt heavy with exhaustion. Even the very thought of having to change from her work clothes into a nightgown for bed seemed to be too much effort.

After getting home, she’d grabbed a quick snack from the pantry, chatted with Finn for a little while, and then went upstairs to tuck Charlie in and read to him a chapter of the book she and Tommy had been reading to him every night before bed when they were able. He’d crashed about halfway through, and she’d quietly pecked his forehead before placing the bookmark between the pages, switching off the light, and departing from the room to let the little boy sleep.

Standing there in the middle of her and Tommy’s makeshift bedroom, she tapped the metal of her rings against the glass containing her drink, just staring into space. It had been a hard, long day. She hoped that Tommy would be home soon. 

Frowning, she took a look at her pocket watch, wondering just what could be taking him so long. She set it down onto the vanity with a soft clink, just as she heard the sounds of a car pulling up outside. 

Speak of the Devil.

A moment later she heard the sounds of the front door being opened, and then boots on the stairs. 

She set her glass down beside her pocket watch on the vanity, turning with a smile to the door when it opened. 

“Hey–” whatever else she might’ve been about to say died on her tongue the moment that she saw his face. He looked ashen, nearly ill; his blue eyes miserable, fixed on her with what she could only call regret and desperation. “What’s going on?” she asked, gaze dropping to the bouquet of flowers clutched in his hand. Tommy swallowed hard, setting the bouquet aside onto the nightstand and taking a step towards her, resting both hands on her upper arms. 

“Lucy…” his voice wobbled a little at the end of uttering her name, breaking eye contact to look down. Her brows pulled inwards in response to the look of outright shame that crossed his face. 

When he looked up at her it was to gently stroke his fingertips down her cheek, eyes fixed upon her face as if trying to memorize it. Like he expected that at any moment she would walk out the door and never return.

“I love you so much,” he said quietly. Her heart jumped into her throat, confusion only building. It wasn’t like declarations of his love for her were a particularly rare occurrence, but there was something about his tone that had a plume of dread twisting inside of her. “I’m so, so sorry, love.” 

“What…?”

He replaced his hand on her upper arm, looking down again for only a moment, collecting himself, before forcing his eyes to meet hers. The regret and misery in them nearly bowled her over. 

“Lizzie is pregnant.”

Lucy stared at him, feeling as though she’d been punched. Like that moment after the wind was knocked out of you and you felt as though you might never be able to catch your breath again.

“O-oh,” was all she managed to say, head spinning with a thousand possibilities, a thousand thoughts all at once. She did not need to ask him if the baby was his; the grave, regretful way that he had told her was answer enough to that question. 

Tommy was still holding onto her, watching her reaction beseechingly with barely concealed fear. Still looking at her like he expected at any moment for her to wrench herself from his grasp and push him away. “I’m so sorry,” he said again.  

“What–um…what about…are we…?” she could not seem to be able to put together a proper sentence, too many questions, all needing to be asked and yet dreaded to be answered, perched on the tip of her tongue. She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself but not really succeeding. “She’s keeping it?” she managed to get out. Tommy nodded. Her head bobbed in numb acknowledgement. She’d thought as much, given the way he was behaving. 

Saw her chance and fucking took it, she caught herself thinking bitterly, and shoved the thought down with a wince. Tommy’s hands tightened a little against her arms, looking as though he wanted to pull her closer, but was unsure if she would actually be agreeable to him doing so.

A baby. Tommy was going to have another baby. With someone else. The one thing that Lucy could never give him–that fact only a twist to the knife already embedded in her flesh. She was struck harshly with a potent sense of deja vu, teleported back to the day of the Derby, after all the excitement was over and Tommy told her in the car on the way home that Grace was pregnant with his child. 

Except this time was not at all the same, was it?   

Grace had loved her. Grace had wanted her around. Had accepted and openly encouraged her relationship with Tommy, as well as her position as a second mother figure in Charlie’s life. Lucy knew she would get no such consideration from Lizzie. 

Because–let’s be perfectly frank, here–Lizzie hated her guts. The mask had come off after that day in the canal. Whatever friendliness Lizzie may have shown her before then, Lucy could not help but think that it had to be only because she knew that she needed to play nice with her in order to remain close to Tommy. It hurt; she genuinely thought that they might’ve been on their way to finally becoming friends.

You idiot, she chastised herself. They should never have started things back up with Lizzie. But maybe this was what they deserved, for so flippantly using Lizzie as a stand-in to fulfill their own grief-fueled fantasies. 

Lizzie would want her gone. Of that, she had no doubt. She wondered how long it would be before her first attempt at jettisoning her from Tommy’s life. Perhaps she had already tried after telling Tommy the news.

A horrible thought barreled into her mind with the force of a freight train, her gaze, having drifted to stare blankly around the room while she thought, snapping back to Tommy’s. Fear locked its hands firmly around her throat.

“Are you leaving me for her?” she forced herself to ask, voice quiet and trembling. Tommy’s eyes widened. 

“No! No, I’d never leave you,” he cradled the side of her face, and she closed her eyes, leaning desperately into the strong warmth of his touch. 

“Does Lizzie know that?”

“Yes; I told her.”

After she undoubtedly asked you to throw me out onto the street without a second thought. “I’m sure she was thrilled.”

He took hold of her face with both hands, tilting it to look at him. “I made it clear that if she wants to have this baby, she’s going to have to make peace with the fact that you are a part of my life.”

She gave him a despondent look. “And do you really think that she will?”

Tommy frowned. “She’s going to have to.”

She nodded, slowly, movements jerky and numb. Guilt and confliction roiled around inside her. Of course she did not want for him to throw her away, but…it all just seemed so incredibly unfair to Lizzie.

He may have put his foot down this time. But what about the next? Or the dozen after that? What about after the baby comes? 

If Lizzie decided to force him to choose between Lucy or her and the child…

Lucy was not fool enough to think that she’d ever be the triumphant party should a choice like that be put before him. Nor would she want to be. The thought that she could ever be what came between him and his children made her feel physically ill. 

Within seemingly a matter of moments, the entire dynamic had shifted, the power structure reversing. Lucy suddenly felt incredibly small and inconsequential. Nonessential when put into the grand scheme of things. Lizzie was going to be the mother of his child, now. That automatically put her high above Lucy in the hierarchy of important women in Tommy’s life.   

They were connected forever, now. Lizzie’s place at Tommy’s side was secure. More so than Lucy’s was, even. Through the baby they would share a bond that Lucy would never be able to have with him. 

The dark pit of despair was opening wider within her mind, beckoning her to its edge, encouraging her to spiral down into its ink-black depths.  

She swayed on her feet, a violent shudder going through her, a small sound emitting from her throat. She pulled suddenly away from Tommy, staggering forwards, not even entirely sure where she thought she was going. It was only when she drew away from his body that she realized just how imperative his presence had been in holding her together.

“Luce?” Tommy asked, voice worried, and she could sense him hovering behind her, wanting to reach out, but hesitating, unsure if his touch was still welcome. 

Slowly, without even processing what she was doing, she lowered herself to the floor, sitting with her back propped up against the side of the bed, knees curled underneath her. Knuckles raising to press against her lips, she fought to contain the strangled sob that came from her throat. But more were coming, hot tears pooling in her eyes to run down her cheeks. 

“Oh, love,” Tommy said, and then he was sitting down beside her, shoulder pressing against hers, arm wrapping around her, hand cradling her head and pulling it to tuck into his shoulder. “Come here.”

Her cheek pressing into the warmth of his body seemed to break whatever lingering composure she’d been clinging to, eyes squeezing shut, entire weight slumping against him, violent sobs starting to wrack through her entire body. 

“Shh…” he wrapped his other arm around her and started to rock them both from side to side, petting her head while his lips pressed to her red curls.   

She cried hard into him for a good long while, face squished into his shirt, probably getting makeup smudges all over the material. He held her very, very tightly, nearly crushing her into him and continuing to press kisses all around the crown of her head until she settled, sobbing giving way to quiet sniffles.   

“Sorry,” she drew back, not far enough to pull free from his embrace, but just enough that she could scrub at her face with the back of her hand, embarrassed. “I’m fine, really, I’m just feeling sorry for myself…”

“Don’t…don’t apologize. You have every right to be upset.”

When she craned her head up to look at him, she was met with an agonized look in his wide eyes. His hand was still holding her head, the feel of his strong palm resting atop her hair a comforting, protective presence. His thumb stroked over her curls. 

“I’m so sorry,” he said again, distraught over the pain he was causing her overtaking his face. Lucy shook her head, letting her cheek rest more solidly where he had her tucked into his chest. 

“It’s not like you did it on purpose.”

“I should’ve been more careful.”

“We both should’ve.” The choice to take Lizzie down to the canal had been a joint effort, after all. Tommy swallowed hard, lips parting, then closing, a fearful look Lucy almost never saw from him entering into his eyes. 

“If you don’t want to be with me anymore, I understand…” he sounded like he was in physical pain as he forced the words out, hardly able to meet her gaze, looking away as if already mentally preparing himself for her to reject him. 

She blinked up at him, taken aback. The look on his face broke her heart, the agony at the mere idea of her walking away from him perpetual and crippling. 

“No, that’s not…” she trailed off, shifting slightly, wrapping her arm around him and hugging him hard. “I don’t want to lose you.”

He buried his face in her hair, and she could feel him noticeably relax against her. “You won’t. You won’t.” He squeezed her as if afraid to let her go. 

“What are we going to do?” she asked, finally, once he’d loosened his grip just enough for her to lean back and peer up at him again. Tommy sighed the sigh of the terminally exhausted.

“I told Lizzie I’d give her a weekly allowance and buy a nice house for her and the baby. I wanted to talk to you first before discussing any other details with her.”

She nodded, appreciating the gesture, and swallowed hard around the next question, voice quiet and still a little thick with tears. “Are you going to marry her?”

Tommy frowned. “I’m not planning to.”

“That could hurt your reputation…”

“Maybe,” he acknowledged, and sighed again. “We’ll deal with that if we have to.” Large fingers swept some of her hair out of her face and cupped her cheek. “Even if I did…that doesn’t mean that you and I couldn’t still…”

Lucy looked away, down at her hands where she’d started unconsciously fiddling with her rings. “Lizzie might not be agreeable to that.”

“I’m not exactly going to leave it up to negotiation,” he tilted her face upwards, encouraging her to meet his eyes once more. “We come as a pair.”

“She doesn’t like me, Tommy.”

“She’s had her moments of unpleasantness, but I really don’t think she hates you as much as you think–”

“In her eyes, I’ll always be the primary obstacle between you and her finally being able to be together.”

“That’s not true.” He must have seen something in her face, because his gaze sharpened, shifting closer to her on the floor, jaw setting stubbornly, deadly serious. “Hey, look at me,” he commanded, gently, waiting until she did before he continued. “We’re going to be okay,” he swore. “I love you so much. I’m not going to leave you. Not now; not ever, alright?”

“She might make you…”

“She can’t make me do anything. I’m not leaving you, and if that upsets her, that’s her problem. She knows what our arrangement is; I made it as clear as I possibly could.”

“I don’t want to be the cause of any problems for you, Tommy…” Lucy mumbled weakly. It was her job–literally–to help make his life easier. If her presence started to become the root of serious issues…

“You could never be a problem for me,” he sounded wholly astonished at the mere suggestion. Holding her face as though it were the most precious thing in the entire world, he stroked her cheek rhythmically with the pad of his thumb. Those blue eyes pierced into her, urgent and sincere. “I love you, Lucy.”    

She swallowed hard, forcing back another welling of tears. With it, she squashed down the still enduring batch of insecurities roiling within her, agitated and threatening to bubble to the surface like an unattended stew. Everything still felt raw, heart aching in her chest, but the comfort that Tommy’s touch and earnest words provided helped. 

She believed that he wouldn’t let her go without a fight, and she believed that he loved her. 

It was always possible that she was being unjustly harsh in her assessment of how Lizzie would behave regarding the whole situation. They had been getting along prior to the whole threesome by the canal business, after all. Maybe things really could be okay between them.  

“I love you too,” she said, and he gave her a weak smile. 

“I…erm,” he turned, keeping one arm around her while he stretched up to grab the bouquet he’d left on the nightstand after first entering the room. “I got you these.”

She took the bouquet from him, burying her nose in sweetly smelling, freshly cut blossoms. “Where on earth did you even get a bouquet of flowers so late at night?”

“I, uh, broke into a floral shop a little ways down the road.”

“Tommy!”

“What!? I left some money on the counter and closed it up just as I found it.”

She gave him an affectionate smile. “You didn’t have to do that.” 

He looked at the bouquet with a frown. “It was the least that I could do, given the circumstances.” 

A lump formed in her throat. It may have been a small gesture, all things considered, but the thoughtfulness of it wasn’t lost on her. 

“Thank you.”

He hummed in acknowledgement, the arm that was around her returning to cradling the side of her head.

He was always so sweet with her, in a way that she knew he never was with anyone else. The efforts that he made to take care of and prioritize her had always been of significance, and she was forever aware of just how lucky she was that he so genuinely, deeply loved her. 

Treacherous, her mind yanked her back to Lizzie and the baby. Between them, Charlie, the company, the war with Changretta, various family affairs, and her, it was getting awfully crowded on Tommy’s priority list.

Maybe everything would work itself out.

Or maybe not. 

First guess who on that list would be the first to go. 

“Hey,” Tommy said, and his voice was like the sudden yank of a rope, pulling her up out from under the water she’d slipped beneath, sputtering back into the open air. “Stop getting stuck in your own head.”

A tearful laugh left her lips. “Pot, meet kettle.”

He snorted a little against her hair where his lips were currently pressed. 

She sniffled, head resting more firmly against his shoulder. Tommy squeezed his arm around her, until she was tucked tightly into his warm side. “Don’t ever let me go,” she pleaded. He turned his head from where his cheek was resting against her head to kiss her hair. 

“Never. I promise.”

Angling her head up, Lucy pressed her nose to his throat, breathing in the scent of faded cologne and lingering smoke. He smelled of pine; like a campfire in the middle of the woods. Like safety. Like home. 

She ghosted her lips tentatively across his neck, feeling him respond to her touch instantaneously, fingers curling under her chin, head tilting down so that he could catch her lips with his. The kiss was slow and infinitely gentle, soft mouth moving against hers like he was trying to pour his love into her with each caress. Even after their lips broke apart, he began earnestly kissing the lingering remnants of her tears away. Gingerly setting her bouquet aside, she twisted her body to press more tightly against his, Tommy’s hands encouraging her to slide into his lap.

Taking his face in her hands, she kissed him again, lips parting to his, head angling to allow the meeting of their mouths to become deeper. Warmth from his large hand where it was pressed to the middle of her back seeped in through her shirt.   

“Mm. Are you sure?” he asked, nosing at her hair, hands cradling her in close, so that she was firmly straddling his hips.

“Yes,” she breathed out, nodding, fingers diving into his hair. Tommy kissed her again, the hand on her back sliding up to cradle the back of her head, the other stroking her thigh. Rising up from where he’d been seated and taking her with him, his strong arms lifted her up onto his torso. Hooking her legs around his waist to help him, she moaned softly as he turned them, promptly depositing her on her back on the bed behind them, falling with her so that his body almost entirely covered hers. Now that she’d started kissing him, she was unable to stop. Desperation seeped sharply into her blood, each pump of her heart sending it pulsing out to permeate her entire body.  

Maybe it was out of need for comfort. Maybe it was out of a desire to claim him. She was not entirely sure. 

Each kiss served as a reminder that he still loved her. That he wanted her. That he was there with her. He would not leave her alone. They would be okay; he would make sure of it.  

Clothes slid off, tossed in a shapeless pile on the floor where they’d just been seated. She whined when Tommy broke their kiss to instead suck at her neck, steadily making his way down her body, caressing her breasts, nuzzling at her scars, kissing every inch of naked skin laid out before him. 

The groan he let out when she grabbed his hair and steered his face towards where she needed him had her thighs twitching around his head. Heels crossing against his back, she tried to draw him in even closer, whimpering with her head thrown back when he licked a long stripe from the base of her entrance all the way up to her clit, wrapping his lips around it to give the sensitive bud a sharp suck. She could feel his eyes on her, observing her reactions to ensure that she was enjoying herself as he set to work pleasuring her. 

With fingers and tongue, he brought her to the edge of coming within minutes. But while his movements were earnest in their goal to please her, he was not hurried. Each and every movement seemed to carry with it the need to telegraph his love for her. Tender motions and soft touches. Praises whispered into her skin. Eyes heartful and adoring when they bored into her. 

He did not stop until he’d made her come twice, and only then it was because she had to nudge his head away to give herself a chance to catch her breath. The way that he snuggled his face into her palm had tears pricking the corners of her eyes, thumb stroking over his lips.

His brows creased when he spotted the film of tears preparing to spill down her cheeks, hand raising hastily to her face, half pushing himself up onto his arms to hover over her. 

“I’m okay,” she shook her head, covering his hand with hers where it cupped her cheek. He searched her face for a long moment, worry giving way to sadness. She supposed that he understood just as much as she did that the ache of what was happening with Lizzie would not leave for her a long time–if ever. 

“I love you,” she heard him whisper, dropping his face to kiss her hip. He climbed halfway on top of her, then wrapped his arms around her waist, carefully sinking his weight onto her and resting his head between her breasts, just laying on her for a moment in an embrace that she could have happily remained within for years. Hands rubbing up and down his back, she kissed the top of his head, holding him just as firmly as he was holding her. 

Tommy just held her for a moment that could have stretched eons or just a few simple minutes, before stirring in response to the light strokes she started to pet through his hair, lips pressing to the curve of her breast. She could feel his erection pressing into her thigh, pleasantly warm and heavy against her. When she adjusted her legs so they were looped around his waist, heel resting against the swell of his ass, Tommy let out a soft groan at the way her smooth skin shifted and rubbed against his cock with the movement, lifting his head to peer up at her.  

Slowly, he raised himself up onto his arms, balancing above her, and she was struck with the disparity between their two sizes. He was massive in comparison to her; Lucy’s body petite enough in its small stature and his large enough in its muscular build that he could cover her completely if he wanted. 

But the way that his body curled over hers was not threatening in the slightest. She had never felt so protected in her life. He was warm, and solid, and safe, handling her like the mere thought of hurting her was too agonizing to bear.

Palms flat to the pillow on either side of her head, he kissed her, the sensual slowness of his mouth moving against hers enough to have her practically melting in his arms.

“Please,” she begged between kisses, needing to feel him, needing the physical proof that he still loved her, that he was still hers.  

Not ceasing the press of their lips, Tommy reached down to take himself in hand, stroking a few times and swiping the head of his cock between her folds to gather up the wetness glistening there. 

He entered her slowly, hips pushing languidly forward until they were flush to hers. Lucy moaned at the stretch, legs tightening around him, hands landing on his back. He cupped the side of her face, still kissing her, breaths heavy, as he very leisurely started to rock his hips. 

A pleasured sigh left Lucy’s lips. He was so close. Buried inside her, getting as deep as he could possibly go with each thrust, chest pressed tight to hers, hands all over her. 

“Fuck, you feel good. You feel so good,” he husked between kisses. “I love you so much, Lucy.”

A lump formed in her throat at the way he said it, a sharp moan cutting her off before she could repeat the words back to him. He was still going slow, but his hand had joined the mix, fingers circling around her clit. 

His love was radiating off of him in waves, every touch, kiss, and thrust made with the intention of communicating the ferocity of his feelings for her. Truly making love rather than just fucking. It was nearly enough to bring her to tears, body shaking as it absorbed all the affection he had to give her like a sponge. Her walls tightened as the pleasure built between her legs, a moan bubbling up from within her chest. 

Strands of Tommy’s fringe, having fallen forward, tickled her face, his head turning to nuzzle at her cheek. 

“Tommy…I’m…”

“I know,” he purred, lips ghosting over her freckled skin. “Let go, sweetheart. It’s okay. I’ve got you.”  

Back arching, she wailed as she fell apart around him, nails digging into his shoulders and head thrown back. Tommy growled, face burying in her neck, hand going to her thigh, pressing down gently to get her to open up a little wider for her, hips never ceasing their deep rolls as he rode her through her orgasm and almost straight into another one. She clawed at his back, angling her head so that she could bury her face in his neck, feeling the vibrations of his groan from within his throat as she sucked a dark mark into the pale skin. 

“Lucy…” he grunted, pace stuttering slightly. The muscles in his back were tensing, his forehead coming to rest on hers, eyes glazed with pleasure. She could feel him all around her, inside her, cock swelling with his impending release, eyes staring into hers intensely. One of his hands, the one not still occupied with her clit, took hold of hers, interlacing their fingers and pressing them into the mattress by her head.

The look in his eyes was worth a thousand words. Devotion emblazoned as brightly as the sun within them. 

I will love you forever, that was what he’d told her when they created the blood bond that left the scars that still marked the palms they had clasped together. It had been true, then. And she knew, the full realization of it crashing upon her all at once, that it was true now.

He was still hers. He was still her Tommy.

Tears welled into her eyes, overwhelmed a little by both the immense pleasure he was giving her, and the sudden, absolute surety of her realization. 

She gasped, the tip of his cock grinding against her g-spot each time he bottomed out. Tommy’s mouth dropped open, eyes rolling a little in his skull, hand tightening in hers. His cock twitched inside her, and at the same moment his thumb pressed hard on her clit, and she cried out as, with a growl and the first burst of his seed emptying inside her, he pulled her right along with him over the edge.  

She started sobbing almost immediately, flinging her arms around his shoulders and hugging him so tightly, it was a wonder that he could breathe. He hugged her back, thick arms wrapping around her waist, face burying itself in her neck. His hips were flush against hers, twitching slightly with the last spasms of his release, cock still buried snugly inside of her. 

She wished that they could have stayed like that forever. 

Tears rushed down her cheeks, lips trembling as she pressed them together. The soft, thick tendrils of his hair slid through her fingers, hand smoothing down the base of his skull, feeling the velvety prickle of the shaved sides of his head, following the slope down his neck to stroke his strong back. 

Tommy turned his face to kiss her shoulder, then her neck. When his lips pressed to her cheek and he tasted the saltiness of sheded tears there, he pulled back, eyes wide with concern, immediately moving to push himself off of her and pull out.   

“N-no,” she tightened her legs around him, latching onto his shoulders with a twinge of franticness. “I’m alright. You didn’t hurt me. I just,” she let out an embarrassed laugh, rolling her watery eyes at her body’s over dramatic reaction to the sensations and emotions that had just crescendoed inside her. “Am having a lot of feelings right now.”

He cupped the side of her face, thumb brushing away a few of the tears. God, she must look like a mess given all the crying she’d been doing tonight.

“Bad feelings?” he asked, gaze soft but still worried, eyes fluttering when she brushed the pads of her fingers down his cheek.

“No,” her thumb traced over the spot that often dimpled when he smiled, swallowing hard, raising her head up so that their noses bumped lightly against each other. “I love you so much, Tommy.”

His throat convulsed in what she recognized as an effort to swallow down tears, emotion rushing into his eyes. 

“I love you too.” His forehead returned to its spot resting against hers. Both inhaled deeply as they kissed. When finally they parted, it was only so that Tommy could pull gingerly out of her oversensitive core, turning over to lay beside her on his side, gathering her up into his arms and tucking her into his chest. Lucy snuggled against him, closing her eyes while he stroked her hair.       

“I mean it,” he said softly, cheek pillowing against the top of her head. “All of it. We’re going to be just fine. I’m not going to let you go; not unless you really want me to. I love you. Nothing will ever change that.”  

She kissed the center of his chest a few times, murmuring similar assertions into his skin, tilting her head up to look at him.

“I love you too. No matter what. I can’t imagine any possible scenarios where I would ever want to leave you.”

Maybe that made her horrifically selfish, to not be willing to dutifully bow out of the equation so he and Lizzie could make a proper go of things. But she could not just let Tommy go like that. Without him, she would never be happy again, and she could not just abandon him and all the work they’d done. If something happened to him and she wasn’t there, she would never forgive herself. 

And, if the display of affection he’d just showered her with was of any significance, he would be heartbroken if she left. 

Besides, where would she even fucking go? Her only remaining family were her cousins and aunt in the caravans in the mountains, and she hadn’t spoken properly to any of them in years. 

He seemed incapable of ceasing gentle touches to her face, tracing the outlines of her lips and cheekbones, mapping out patterns in the constellations of freckles smattering her skin, before cradling almost the entirety of her cheek in his large palm.  

“I know…I know how hard and how…shit this all is for you. Thank you for staying with me.” The tenderness, combined with the utter relief and bountiful gratefulness in his eyes, had her heart twisting in her chest. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.” 

She stretched up to kiss him again, both their lips plenty swollen from the amount of times they’d snogged.

“We’re gonna be alright,” she whispered. Tommy nodded, arms tightening around her. 

“We should both probably try to get some sleep.”

Laying her head back down on his chest, she snuggled in closer to him with a sigh. “Yeah.”

Realistically, neither of them was probably going to sleep all that much, but at least they could try to get some rest. Tommy shifted to flick off the light on the bedside table, arm returning to join the other back around her. Lucy closed her eyes at the feeling of him nuzzling into her hair, squishing in as close as she could get to his chest. 

It was not until the early hours of the morning, the sun already beginning to crest over the horizon, when either of them actually managed to slip into a proper doze. But the entire night, they held onto each other, not once letting go.

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