#¤ written in ashes ; ask replies

[norvstforthvwickvd]

@sinnerxroulette (Alastor) "What in Hell are you doing?"

Echo looked over at him as she watched everyone down at the bar from the balcony. It's been a week since the battle, but she was still having a hard time. "Just trying to adjust." She shrugs. "Best I can anyway."

@sinnerxroulette

#¤ written in ashes ; ask replies #sinnerxroulette

[xo-cori]

as sweet as the sound

pairing: ellie williams x fem!reader

summary: she’s undeniably talented, but your girlfriend is just a bit too self-critical of her work.

warnings: smut (MDNI), fingersucking, ellie is a filthy bottom idc, they’re a lil high but who isn’t in this economy

a/n: inspired by the piano scene in duck butter… iykyk. title from “to noise making (sing)” by hozier ofc

Every movement of her fingers against the frets of her guitar has your heart doing flips inside your chest.

She plays an unfamiliar melody. One you’re sure she’s come up with on the spot, which is something she seems to be doing a lot lately. It’s adorable, the way she looks up at you every few seconds to see that captivated expression on your face. Not once has it faltered, and it’s become her biggest inspiration.

You’re sat against the headboard, legs crossed as you watch her from where she sits; right in the middle of the bed, guitar in her lap with a laser-sharp focus.

It doesn’t matter what the next day holds. It doesn’t matter what’s happened every day before this one. The world has gone to madness, but none of that matters here in this dim cocoon of music and smoke.

You reach over to the bedside table so you can press the end of the joint into the ash tray, putting out the flames so that you can set it down. “Sounds so pretty, Els,” you say. “Haven’t heard you sing tonight, though.”

She stops playing for a moment, eyes widening at your words. “Oh– uh, I don’t have anything to sing.” She admits. “It’s been a hot minute since I’ve written something good, actually.”

“You’ve been doing improv all night. What’s different about singing?” You ask.

“The difference is, I suck at improv.” She replies, which makes you roll your eyes.

“Well, I haven’t noticed any mistakes.” You say.

“Because you don’t know the difference between a B sharp and a B flat.” She laughs. “What, you aren’t satisfied with my performance?”

You shake your head. “Oh, I’m satisfied. Just a little underwhelmed.”

She seems taken aback by this, which leads you to let out a quiet laugh. “Joking. I have an idea, though.”

Ellie’s ready to ask about this idea until you begin crawling towards her. The words die in her throat as you place your hands on her knees, leaning over her guitar, then pressing your lips to hers. It’s soft; something simple and loving, though it makes her body feel unbearably hot.

Then, much to her disappointment, you pull back. “What are you doing?” She asks.

“Nothing. Just keep playing.” You instruct her, even though her hands are frozen in place as you continue to crawl until you’re sat on your knees behind her. She feels your warm breath on her neck, the way you press up against her back, and it’s all too much for her to take in at once. “I told you to keep playing,” you whisper right next to her ear.

Hesitantly, Ellie strums a random chord. Then another, and a few more. You wait for her to get back into a rhythm before you slowly run your hands up her waist, under her sweatshirt. Her breath hitches. Suddenly, the guitar sounds like it hasn’t been tuned in years. You don’t seem to mind, though, because it only gets worse when your lips find the crook of her neck. She leans back into you and lets out a shaky sigh. “You’re the worst.” She huffs.

“I’m just making you sing.” You reply.

Your fingers explore the familiar plain of skin as your lips suck bruises right beneath her jaw. Each time the music pauses, she notices, you slow down; and she doesn’t like this one bit, so she does her best to keep playing.

This relentless teasing only continues for a minute or two, but to Ellie, it feels like hours. It really isn’t long before one of your hands finally slip past her stomach until your palm meets the plush skin of her breast. Her fingers flex and falter against the neck of the guitar as you caress her, your other hand quickly coming up to join in on the fun. There’s no sound from Ellie but a gasp, which just isn’t good enough for you.

Her back arches up against you as you take her nipple between your thumb and forefinger, knowing just how sensitive she is and using it to your advantage. This earns you a hushed whimper, your cue to keep going, because you’ve heard just how loud she can be. The guitar doesn’t seem to be making much noise, though.

“Ellie.” You warn, and she immediately strums another note, no longer caring which one (or whether it’s a note at all). It’s not like you’d notice. She’s only terrified that you’ll stop otherwise. As a reward, you begin to roll both of her nipples between your fingers and her mouth falls open into a perfect ‘o’, head falling back against your shoulder.

“Please,” she whines, “please touch me.”

“I am touching you.” You smirk. The guitar is starting to sound worse and worse. “Why? You want more?”

She hums a desperate mm-hmm, and though you’d like to make her beg a little harder, you’re starting to get pretty eager yourself. “Okay.” You give in. “But remember– you stop playing, I stop touching you.”

You don’t wait for any type of response before you’re sliding your right hand down past the waistband of her boxers, wasting no time to find its favorite spot between her legs. She’s already soaked, you think, and it’s a nice boost for your ego. “Fuck,” she groans as your middle finger draws tight circles over her clit. You can feel her muscles tensing, as if she’s struggling to keep her thighs from closing around your hand with the guitar in her way. Finally, you listen as she lets out a soft string of moans, every one unintentionally melodic.

You press a kiss beneath her ear, left hand still shamelessly groping at her chest. “So sensitive tonight,” you coo, “maybe you have a thing for multitasking.”

“Shut up– holy shit,” Ellie pants out, visibly struggling to keep a firm grasp of the guitar. She wants nothing more than to throw this old piece of wood on the ground, but she won’t; only because you’ve told her not to.

Slowly, your fingers slide down through her folds until you can slip them right inside of her. There’s no resistance– quite the opposite, actually– her warm walls clench down and suck you in further. It’s almost pathetic how loudly she moans when you curl your fingers upwards. You can feel the shiver that goes down her spine as you immediately zero in on that one spot with each gentle thrust, while the pad of your thumb attacks her clit. Neither of you can hear the guitar anymore, despite each unpleasant sound it makes.

“Let me stop,” Ellie pleads. “Please, let me stop playing?”

“But you know how much I love your songs,” you say, a fake tone of disappointment in your voice. “I didn’t say you could stop, so I don’t know why you’re asking.”

“I know– fuck, I-I’m sorry–“ She’s cut off by a particularly loud moan, and you don’t even try to hide the laugh that escapes you. As an apology, though, you bring your lips back to her neck and lick a long stripe from her collarbone up to her jaw.

It’s all too much, all at once, and sheer panic runs through Ellie’s body. Each chord she plays is drawn out with a long pause between, as if she keeps forgetting the demand she’s been given. With your hands all over and your hot mouth right on her pulse point, she can’t help the way her body curls back into you. “Gonna cum,” she gasps. “Can I? Please?”

You smile against her neck. “Already?”

Normally, she’d get frustrated by your teasing, but it seems that she doesn’t really process your words. She just nods and lets out another beautiful moan.

Then, you take your hand out of her sweatshirt so you can grab her guitar and toss it to the other side of the bed. Ellie whimpers in relief as you speed up your thrusts and take the lobe of her ear between your teeth. “Go ahead,” you hum.

That’s all the permission she needs. Her hand comes down to cup yours over the dampened fabric of her boxers, an attempt to keep you right there like she’s afraid you’ll pull away. “Fuck, oh my god, thank you,” Ellie cries out, thighs finally clamping down onto your hand, though your pace doesn’t falter. You work her through her orgasm as she screws her eyes shut and takes a white-knuckled grip of the bedsheets. Her body shudders and, after a few long moments, melts right into yours.

You don’t slow down until she weakly grabs at your wrist, though she doesn’t fight when you go back to gently rubbing at her clit. It’s slow, enough to calm her through the aftershocks while you listen to her hoarse whimpers and sighs. She’s gone completely limp against you now, focusing on keeping still as she fights off the urge to tug your hand away completely. “There we go,” you smile.

Finally, you remove your hand from her boxers– but you aren’t done with her yet. Without another word, you slip your coated fingers past her lips, which close around your knuckles with no hesitation. Her tongue licks you clean as she moans at the lingering taste of herself. It feels as though all of her bones have turned to dust, though you don’t seem to mind. This only lasts for a few seconds before you take your fingers out of her mouth so that you can wrap your arms around her. “That was a hell of a performance.” You tell her.

“Fuck you.” She breathes. “Never do that again.”

“But you liked it so much.” You point out. “You’ve never cum that fast.”

Despite how hard she tries to seem upset, she can’t stop the smile that breaks through to her face. “Yeah, actually,” she admits, tilting her head to look at you. “I’ve sang better, though.”

“I know. Just wish you weren’t so shy,” you say.

“I’m not shy,” she mumbles.

“You’re shy and stubborn.” You add, but before she can come up with some sleepy retaliation, you’re leaning down to kiss her, and she swears she gets the same sparks that she did when you kissed her for the first time. One of her hands come up to the nape of your neck as her lips lazily move against yours, trying her best with very little energy. So, you’re quick to pull away before she can try to turn it into something more. “Let’s lay down, baby. You’ve got patrol in the morning.”

“Fuck patrol,” she grunts, lifting her head to pepper kisses across your cheek.

“Yeah,” you agree, “fuck patrol.”

#the last of us #the last of us 2 #ellie williams #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x you #ellie williams x y/n #ellie williams smut

[badasmuse]

“Birthday Sex”

Bada Lee x Reader

Warnings: 18+ (MDNI), smoking, penetrative sex, lowercase intended, language, cute names, top!bada, bottom!reader, reader is a dickhead lowkey but not to bada

Summary: it’s y/n’s birthday. ofc bada gon do her right.

a/n: it’s actually my birthday🤭here’s my gift to y’all. my gift FROM y’all? blow this mf up pls!

Song to listen to: Birthday Sex by Jeremih

“i’m so pissed i have to work on my fucking birthday.” you said into the phone standing outside your job taking a smoke break.

“i know my love but you only have a few more hours left. when you get home i’ll have dinner ready, movies and wine, and i’ll run you a bath. does that sound good?” bada asks softly. she knows how upset you are and she doesn’t want to say anything that could make you more upset.

“yeah that sounds amazing.” you inhale the black n mild between your fingers and flick the ashes blowing out the smoke. “i just wish i was in bed with you right now. i’m tired. i asked for it off they told me no. i asked someone to switch shifts they said no. i was gonna call off but they said i’d get written up and i already have two fucking write ups for punching a customer and telling my manager to suck my dick. well that’s not why- i said suck my dick and she said i don’t have one and i replied with “yeah but my girlfriend has a big ass strap and i’d shove it so far down your throat it’ll come out your ass.” then i got written up.”

bada blinks, “y/n you did not tell me that.”

“i know. fuck i gotta go i love you.” you put out the black and hang up when bada returns the words of affection.

hours later you look at the time and and sigh. “fucking finally.”

“y/n i need you to stay an extra-“ you cut your manager off.

“nah bro it’s my birthday and i want to go the fuck home. you and these customers can eat my shorts.” you clock out and dip the fuck out. hopping in your car and speeding out the parking lot bumping your music loudly.

when you get home, you mouth waters at the smell of pasta in the air. “bada?” you say kicking off your shoes.

“hi my love! how was work?” she asks from the kitchen.

“terrible. i hate it there.” you hug her from behind. “i missed you.”

“i missed you more. go sit down i’ll make your plate.” she says, rubbing your knuckles.

once she sets the plate in front of you, you practically moan tasting the alfredo on your tongue.

“is it good?” she asks.

“fucking amazing. i love you.” you say wiping sauce off your mouth with a napkin.

bada once again asks about your day and you tell her everything. you start with the customer you called a dickhead for commenting on how your boobs looked in your work shirt and end with your boss asking you to stay another hour. by now you guys are in the bathroom waiting for the tub to fill up.

“i told her to eat my shorts.” you say, stripping out of your clothes.

bada laughs, turning off the water. “you’re gonna get fired. get in the tub.”

you shrug, “i don’t care i hate her.” a moan leaves your mouth again as you sink into the tub. “can i smoke?” you ask.

she’s never been a fan of you smoking so she doesn’t let you do it in the house but, “since it’s your birthday, i’ll allow it.” she goes and pulls a black from your purse and the lighter she had custom made for your last birthday.

“thank you. i’ll brush my teeth again to get the taste out for when we kiss.” you say lighting it.

her face scrunches at the smell but she remains in the bathroom. she puts her hand in the water running it up and down your leg that isn’t exposed. “i wish we could’ve spent all day together.” she says quietly.

“i know honey i do too. i would quit but i don’t have anything lined up right now.” you sigh.

“we need a receptionist at justjerk… i can put in a good word for you.” she says trailing her fingers up your thigh.

“you’re saying one thing but you’re thinking about something else.” you blow smoke, putting your cigar out.

“you had a stressful day. i just wanna make you feel better.” she says dragging her fingers further up your thigh. “and it’s your birthday..”

she pulls the drain plug and helps you stand, taking down the shower head so she can rinse the bubbles off you. she moves it further down, holding it against your clit for a second before moving down your legs.

a soft whine escapes your lips and bada’s head snaps up. “was that a whine?” she smirks.

usually you’re the dominate one. loud, assertive, all that. especially in bed. man does bada like that. occasionally you’ll let bada top, like when she’s mad and needs to let out steam (which is damn near never. she’s always so happy and giggly.) but, hearing you whine woke something up inside her. now she kinda wants to pin you down and pound into you until you cum all over the bed.

you don’t respond, biting your lip. bada doesn’t like that. “i asked a question.”

your thighs clench as you look down at her, “yes…it was a whine.” you mumble.

she giggles kissing your nose. “come on let’s go in the room.” helping you out, bada wraps you in a towel and guides you to the room. after you brush your teeth of course.

you sit on the bed quietly as bada re-emerges from the closet with her strap in hand. your eyes close at the thought of her using it on you. it’s been awhile and that thing is huge.

bada pushes you back against the bed opening your towel. you put your legs up, spreading them wide for her. you’re dripping onto the towel as you watch her put the strap on.

“bada..” you whine out, “please fuck me.” please fuck me? who are you right now y/n? since when do you beg???

another giggle leaves bada’s lips as she runs the tip of her strap over your clit. she slowly pushes it in, taking her time cause she knows it’s been too long since you bottomed.

tears fill your eyes as she pushes into you. “fuck.” you whisper, covering your face.

“shhh, you’re okay. i’ll go slow.” she says pushing in deeper but at a very slow pace.

“oh god bada wait.” you say when she’s in all the way.

she leans over and plants a kiss on your forehead. “take your time. we have all night.”

after a few minutes you nod your head and bada starts thrusting slowly. you gasp feeling her hit your spot head on. you open your mouth to say something but your phone cuts you off.

“fuck who the fuck..” you go to reach for it but bada grabs you, pinning you down to the bed. “don’t touch that fucking phone.”

you moan in response as her thrusts speed up. your thighs shake and you writhe on the bed. “oh fuck bada just like that!” you scream as she starts pounding into you. “feels.. fuck. you- oh my god..”

“can’t even form sentences. my dumb birthday girl.” bada pants, holding your wrists with one hand and using the other to rub your swollen clit with her long fingers.

you let out another scream as you r body spasms. “cum.. bada c-cum.” you say. you’re supposed to be asking her if you can… or telling her you have to. you’re not too sure anymore. you’re just thinking about the feeling of her thick strap hitting your gspot so good.

“cum for me baby… i need a big mess to clean up.” she giggles, lifting your leg on her shoulder.

her giggles make you moan louder. you clench around the strap, cumming hard. your vision goes white and your leg shakes on her shoulder. “fuck bada pull out it’s too much.”

she does as you ask and bites her lip as she watches your cum squirt out of you. she now remembers why you hate bottoming.

“fuck the bed is gonna be all wet and we’ll have to sleep in the guest room.” you whine out when you come down from your high.

“baby.. relax. you came on the towel. the bed is fine.” bada says taking off the strap. like always, she kneels down and starts licking the cum off your thighs and your cunt making sure you’re not too sticky before you go to bed.

you moan loudly. you feel clean but she keeps eating you out. “OKAY- big thirsty ass that’s enough.” you moan pushing her head back. “you got it all up.”

she pouts, “but you taste good.”

“let me rest. wake me up in an hour and i’ll let you eat me out till your heart gives out.” you mutter closing your eyes.

“happy birthday my love.” she whispers as you fall asleep.

W birthday honestly.

#bada lee #bada lee smut #bada lee x reader #swf2 x reader #swf2 #squidnotes #happy birthday squid! #Spotify

[mishwanders]

• Astarion Ancunín • Honey Whiskey •

Summary: Astarion’s been irritable due to the lack of blood. It’s time to give him a taste of something he’ll never forget.

A/N+ Warnings: I wanted to redo the prompt I did of Wesker drinking blood from the wrist with Astarion, but I wanted to make it hurt/comfort fluff because he deserves softness in his life. There’s blood drinking, but other than that, it’s safe for everyone. Written by Mishwanders - pls do not repost.

Things had not been easy on you and your companions when you stepped into the shroud of the Shadow-Cursed Lands. The air was thick, and heavy with death, the light was whisked away, save for the blessing of Isobel that protected the Last Light Inn and your party as you stepped through the fog.

However, the dreariness of it all was weighing heavily on the shoulders of your companions and even more so on the pale elf. Finding anything with blood was far and few between amidst the horrors that plagued the land. You noticed how he’d grown more irritable since your arrival to it. At first you had assumed that maybe he was missing the sun again, same as he had in the Underdark, but you began to notice the jars of blood in his tent had diminished quickly and that’s when it dawned on you -

He was starving.

Even after your first encounter with his sharp teeth, Astarion wasn’t one to ask for your blood, no matter how desperately he needed it. So, you took matters into your own hands and marched your way to his tent as soon as the comfort of night fell over your camp.

His eyes bounced, watching your every movement with their frantic motion, trying to figure out why you were approaching him with such determination. He attempted to stand up, but you protested, telling him to stay seated where he was. What in the hells was going on in your head?

You sat down on the stool beside the round table at his tent, gazing upon him as you rested your forearms on your knees. You leaned forward and asked, “You’re hungry, aren’t you?”

He was taken aback by the forwardness of the question and his mouth opened to protest, but he quickly shut it, sighing in resignation. “I am.”

He watched as you immediately began to roll up your right sleeve up to your elbow in response to his answer, hearing you beckon him closer. He tilted his head curiously, but did as you asked. He watched you as still as a gargoyle when you held out your wrist to him and simply requested that he’d have a drink.

The disbelief was written all over his face. You were offering yourself to him? It felt too good to be true. You must have wanted something. Surely you wouldn’t just give this away without there being something he had to give you in return.

He was of a mind to refuse, but the ache in his body and dry ash of his mouth were begging for some relief of his carnal torment. It was not just to crave, he needed it, and terribly so at that.

You held up your wrist to him again, nudging it forward. “It’s alright. I trust you not to drink me dry.”

He was still hesitant, even as his hands wrapped around the length of your arm. “What do you want from me in return?”

“Nothing. I care about you and I want to help.” You replied, “I don’t like seeing you starve.”

Your words hit him, you could see it in his astonished expression, the sad gleam in his ruby red eyes. Being cared about by others was still so foreign to him that he didn’t know how to respond.

You tilted your head with a soft reassuring smile. “You can drink from me or I could ask one of the others if you’re more comfortable with that. I could ask Gale - but I fear his blood might be a bit tainted by the weave.”

Astarion scrunched his nose in disgust at the mention of Gale’s blood. It did taste like bile after all. “No, no, I would much rather have yours. That’s if you don’t mind, of course.”

“I don’t mind at all. I’m all yours. Well, my wrist, that is.” You chuckled.

Astarion hesitated once more as he brought your wrist close to his lips. They parted and you could see the gleam of the moonlight on his sharp fangs. He sunk his teeth into the thin flesh on your wrist, feeling the warmth of your blood drench his tongue, coating his throat as he began to drink. Your blood tasted like the sweetness of honey with the burn of whiskey. He wanted to consume more, get lost in the flavors of you and the gift you’d given him.

It was intoxicating, even more so to know that you had given it freely to him of your own volition, that it was not something that was forced, but out of genuine care for his well-being. Never in his entire life had he known it could be like this, that it could be and taste so sweet.

You sat there and watched, feeling the blood pull from your veins, past his lips, and into his body. You could feel his grip on your arm grow stronger as he drank, see the lines of his face and neck twitch with each desperate consumption of it. Your fingers curled along the edge of his jaw and cheek softly, small strokes of reassurance for him.

His eyes snapped open at the tender touches, at the sensation of your free hand brushing back his hair. He could see the soft smile playing on your lips as you gazed down at him and spoke to him Ik reassurance. “It’s alright, you can have more if you’d like.”

His eyes fluttered shut as he drank more, delving deeper into the taste. Gods, you were delectable, divine. Your blood was ambrosia for the undead and you were willingly giving it to him.

After all these years of suffering, he finally had someone who was willing to give themselves to him without seduction or temptation. He found someone who gave themselves to him because they cared about him and he was not about to give that up.

Astarion unlatched his teeth from your wrist, panting heavily as he tried to regain his sense of control again. He licked the dripping remains from your wrist and his lips before scrambling for a potion to hand you. It wasn’t enough to undo the blood loss, but it was enough to dull the pain.

You could see Astarion trembling where he sat, trying to regain his composure as the blood filled his body with strength and life anew. You moved off of the seat, settling onto the ground next to him. He looked down at you with the hint of worry lingering in his gaze. It wasn’t worry for himself, but rather worry for you and your well-being.

Astarion felt one of your arms wrap around him holding him closer to you while the other gently cupped his face. Your thumb gently caressed his cheek, stroking it tenderly. He didn’t know how to react to the care you were constantly showing him.

You smiled up at him and he could see the gleam of the moonlight in your eyes. “See, I knew I could trust you.”

He leaned into your hand, letting out a sigh of relief. “You are full of surprises.”

“Maybe, but how I feel about you shouldn’t come as any surprise.” You replied. “I care about you, and I will always care about you, even to the end of time.”

Astarion felt your words pulling at him again. Your care would never completely undo the damage that had been done to him, but it was a start. He was like a budding seedling that had begun to sprout up from the darkness of the earth, reaching out towards the light of your warmth. He wrapped his arms around you, burying his head in your shoulder with a simple and soft reply.

“Thank you.”

#astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion x tav #astarion x gn reader #astarion x gn!tav #bg3 fic #bg3 fanfiction #astarion fic #astarion fanfic #astarion x you #astarion x reader #sfe #writing: astarion ancunin #Spotify

[bucknastysbabe]

Okayyyy but a thot that’s living rent free in my head right now is Criston returning to the keep from battle and he’s all dirty, covered in mud, blood, cuts n bruises and the first thing he does is fuck you like a wild animal

A/N: BARK YES AWOOOO YES👹👹So I’m using I guess a nameless oc but I’ve written two other fics w her. Aemond’s twin reader. Angry bitey sort.

Rating: Explicit

Tags: Rough sex, pnv!sex, Targtower!reader, age difference, breeding kink, toxic couple, insults, dirty talk, caretaking afterward, DIRTY NASTY MUD AND BLOOD AND ASH BOINKING, they’re possessive as fuck and mean but in love OKAY

You were wrapping up a wound on your arm, already down to the barest of clothing. The approaching clopping of hooves sounded from outside the tent. It was him, returned from the last vestiges of battle, likely was giving orders for the final leg. Criston stepped inside the tent, slinging a helmet to the side with a sharp crack.

He was bloodied and bruised— ash from dragonfire and dirt from the battlefield caking his white armor and tan skin. He never looked more gorgeous. Your mentor oft said the same thing, loving the smell of the battle on your skin. You tidied up the wrappings and asked, “Need anything?”

He eyed your arm and gruffed, “No. M’fine. What happened?”

You shrugged, “Little Darry prick nicked me. He didn’t last much longer. We near Harrenhal by morn.” You held back the shudder at the remembrance of the melted down towers in the distance. He stepped closer, taking your wounded arm in a gloved hand, dark brows furrowing. Criston idly sighed, “Sometimes I do wish you didn’t have the thirst for blood. Keep you up in my tower.”

You pecked his lips, smirking at his serious expression. Teasingly you replied, “Ah yes. The Lord Commander and Hand of the King keeps his liege’s sister as a mistress. That would be great. You know we’re meant to die on the field.”

Criston grabbed your waist roughly, pulling you tight against his armored frame. He pressed his forehead to yours, growling, “I hate when you say that. Let me take you now. Enjoy the victory.” He nipped your bottom lip and held out his arms. It was like second nature unbuckling his armor.

His gauntlets fell with a soft clank. You moved to remove the pauldrons but a rough hand stopped yours. Criston shook his head and ordered, “No, now, said I need you now.” He flipped your lithe frame onto the battle table, hands greedily running downwards, grabbing your ass through the undone leggings

He yanked the thick leather down with a grunt, you frowning at the lack of control in the situation. You hissed, “I don’t want that armor pinching me.” He slapped an ass cheek, dismissing your complaint. You guessed he was going for the quickest route— unbuttoning what he could and unlacing breeches.

He murmured, “Gods, you’re wet already. Don’t even need to prep, spilling blood gets the princess sopping for cock.”

You exhaled sharply as his thick length entered with a slick noise. “I could say the same for you, harder than v-AH-lyrian steel back there Cole,” came your lame red-cheeked retort. He laughed and grabbed your wrists to pin at the small of your back, fucking into you with smooth glides. You regrettably whimpered and he cursed, “Shit- sorry, sorry, I’ll kill Lord Darry for you.”

“Good,” you growled, unable to glare at gorgeous dark eyes, cheek on the table. The Hand of the King and Lord Commander held your wrists in a more gingerly fashion when you tightened down on his prick. His other big hand pushed you apart to watch his ruddy cock pump in and out.

You squirmed and moaned, wanting to ride the fucker into the dirt, begging wantonly. Criston merely laughed and yanked your braids, “Take my fucking cock princess, seen you do it before. You can get your piece when we take Harrenhal from that slimy prick Daemon.” The man fucked rougher at the thought of your relative, blunt tip of his prick abusing the soft roof of your cunt— sending out a reeling cry.

Everyone knew you were fucking Criston. Or when he was fucking you. Made no difference in war. You just wished he’d take off that damn white cloak so he could be yours only. No dirtied oaths or lies. Rutting in tents like animals. A proper bed.

When did you get so soft and syrupy?

It made a bit more sense when your lover was grabbing both sides of your slim hips, panting, “Fucking hell, hah, never had anyone as perfect as my girl. Being so good for me, gods.” He trailed off into nonsensical moans and babbling, hips still roughly snapping, fingertips driving into your flesh.

You reached back to grab a thicker wrist, rasping, “Turn me the fuck around so I can see you!” The Dornishman slid out suddenly, an embarrassing whine echoing in the tent at the feeling of emptiness. Calloused hands manhandled you around, perching your bare ass on the edge of the wood.

He slid back in just as soon as he left, smirking. Long fingers held your chin, another hand at the small of your back. You wrapped your legs around his slim waist, holding his intense gaze. Criston growled, “S’that better my love? Godsdamn spoilt.” He grinned against your lips, noses nuzzling.

You gripped at shorn hair, internally lamenting the loss of his glossy curls. Another casualty of war. Breathing against his curved lips, you took a nip of his lower lip, drawing blood. He groaned deep, hips stuttering as your tongues and lips intertwined with the tang of iron.

“You’re such an ass,” you moaned, barely heard. Criston slapped your cheek again, harder this time, digging his hips brutally into yours. His cock was nestled against your damn cervix, rubbing fractious nerves. He spoke quickly, speeding up the pace to a frantic rhythm, “And you’re a slut for my cock, loves dirty blood, just like her.”

You yanked his hair hard this time, biting down on soft neck angrily. It would leave a dark mark, indents of teeth. Good. He laughed manically while you couldn’t help but lose yourself to the pleasure— as much as it made you fucking nuts to get a mention of the royal bitch. The first Targaryen he had.

Criston spoke softer this time, lips searching out your pouting ones, a big hand massaging your peaked breasts. He sighed, “You- oh fuck- you know I-I’m fuuucking gods! Fucking with you sweetness.” He blinked a couple of times, smashing his mouth to yours. Warmed armor pressed tightly to your bare skin.

He hiked one of your long legs higher, praising nonsense between heated locks of lips. You gasped, “Don’t mention the bitch again!” The little death was near now, your belly awash with tingling nerves, clit throbbing and cunt wonderfully tightening. Your next insult was drowned out by hoarse cries, the familiar raspy tone of your own voice.

How he drove you to pieces. You shook, legs twitching whilst locked around his trim waist. You cried out a final time, a high keen of his name. Slutty and drawn out— not something the ‘bloody princess’ would sound like.

Criston fared no better, somehow closing further into your frame, mouth agape. His hands found your blotchy cheeks, trying to lap and suck at your mouth but too busy grunting and moaning to do much of anything. Grabbing his firm ass you hissed, “C’mon Cole, Ser, fill me up yeah? Want to fill a royal womb?”

That was your payback for the mention of the bitch of Dragonstone. Criston wanted to breed you up so bad, own his destiny, have little princes and princesses. No more common-born marcher steward’s son. He whined through his nose, lashes fluttering.

“No- gods, sh-shut up,” he panted.

“Can’t you see it? Pretty little babes with my eyes and your hair?,” you said with a sigh, eyes moony and wet with emotions, overstimulation, the inevitable feeling of everything being a waste.

He pulled out, brows knitting in pleasure-pain, covering your belly with his hot seed as he moaned in short, desperate bursts. Criston didn’t dare slump but he pressed his sweaty forehead to your own and bemoaned, “I want it so bad.” You pressed a chaste kiss and sighed, “I know.”

He backed off, the post-orgasm plummet hitting hard. Reality. You reached around for one of his discarded shirts, gingerly hopping off the table. “Criston, sit down, quit pacing, I have some hot water over here.” He gave a mournful look, sitting down on a stool.

He remained stony while you unbuckled and unlaced his armor, undergarments. The Hand remained naked, horrid bruising lining his abdomen. You dipped the cloth in the fire-heated water and began to wipe his face, chastising, “You said you were fine.”

“I am, bruising is nothing new. You know that.”

“Pompous arse.”

“Wonder where you learned it from.”

You snickered softly, a gentle moment between you two. A side only Criston ever saw, a side unraveled really. He stared with intent, hand idly curling into your braids, the platinum turned dull ash to rust from battle. You raised a brow with a ‘Hm?’ He tugged the end of the fishtail and stated, “I love you.”

Tags: @bambitas @aemonds-holy-milk @fairysluna @sugarpoppss2 also @sylasthegrim (since you’re kinda in a cole era surprise???)

#hotd fanfic #hotd smut #ser criston cole smut #criston cole imagine #criston cole x reader #ser criston cole x reader #incel knight

[angelickks]

Casual

2k+ - javier peña x fem! reader

summary: You don’t casually fuck your friends. Not even when they’re undressing you with their eyes alone, making you squeeze your thighs together hoping they won’t notice. But they always do.

warnings: this one’s a doozy bitches. hurt/comfort, angst, mentions of breakup and infidelity/male! ex, mentions of situationships scary ik, NSFW 18+, mdni, creampie, no use of protection - wrap it before you tap it, love confession, whiny javi, maybe not as important but reader smoking, this is my second time writing smut, lmk if i missed anything!!

notes: heavily inspired by the song what you heard by sonder, so i recommend listening while reading. this was written at 3 am. you’ve been warned boo. this idea was a lil corny but oh well, self indulging. enjoy, muah!

part two/ technical part 1

Your hands shake as your chapped lips are met with the plush of a cigarette filter. The Colombian humidity takes its toll as hot tears warm your cheeks further, it’s a sticky and cruel feeling as the temperature refuses to offer any reprieve. You take a long drag, trying to get a hold of yourself.

The night wasn’t supposed to go this way. It wasn’t supposed to hurt this much. You had known he was cheating, this followed by you emotionally checking out of the relationship. Only staying with him until you had found a place of your own, but here you were, crying and shaking on the sidewalk still in today’s work attire.

“Fuck,” you muttered, running a hand down the side of your face, ash falling from the cigarette. One more shaky drag.

“Go home agent,” As if your night couldn’t get even worse. You don’t even try to hide your emotions, too exhausted to care. “I can say the same to you, Peña,” you bit, not in any mood to be around him. He scoffed, as he usually does. Is it too much to be left alone? You think to yourself, ready to let another round of tears have at it. Javi's hand tugging you up by your upper arm is what pulls you out of your stupor, You go to smack his chest but he catches your hand, “Cut it out, I know you. Let’s go.” You jerk your arm out of his grip angrily, “Do you ever just fuck off?” you asked, now you’re furious. “And let you sit here and cry over that bitch? You’re so fuckin’ cute” He replied flatly, not showing any signs of relenting. “Fuck off” you spat, walking towards your car with wobbly legs. You should’ve known better when you felt the grip on your waist, or the body dangerously pressed up behind yours.

“You’re in no condition to drive, and that sorry fuck with only show up at your place asking for forgiveness. come t’my place.” As if you couldn’t be more enraged, him massaging the sides of your waist was what fucked you up royally. “Is this what you do to all of your colleagues agent? Wait till they’re all broken up and you fuck them?” You could feel him rolling his eyes at your jab, squeezing your sides in the process. “Ay, not typically. But you? You’re real special cariño.” Fucking typical, you’re close to ending him where he stands. “You don’t stop do you?” Detaching from his grip and turning to face him, “I’ve been fucked over all week, and you don’t even relent Javier. Just leave me the fuck alone.”

If you weren’t as irate as you are right now, you would’ve felt remorse for the stoned expression he put on to hide how he felt right now. Javier Peña could be as cold as he wanted to be but his eyes have never lied to you. Not even when he’s staring at you with half-lidded eyes and a prominent frown. You could tell that his tactics were just that, tactics. Tactics to hide how he truly felt. In all the years you knew Javi, you’re well aware that beneath it all, he cared. You knew it when he drove you home when you were drunk, when he spent many nights at the office with you because he didn’t want you on the streets so late at night. Even when you stayed at his apartment when you and your boyfriend fought. He can chalk it up to being a good friend or that you’re a DEA agent and that alone puts a target on your back, all he wants. Javier Peña is a man of many excuses, and excuses he always has, but you knew better.

You sighed, the tension in your shoulders beginning to ease. You uttered his name, making him look directly into your eyes, unintentionally making you feel small. “I’m tired” You heard him tsk at the response, “Come over then, you forgot your shit on my couch and I’m tired of it taking up space.” You rolled your eyes at his comment, “Fucker” you muttered, he snorted at the comment reaching up to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear. You offered him a sad smile, subtly leaning into his touch. “So pretty when you give in to me.” He smirked, aware of its double meaning. You slapped his chest, shaking your head disapprovingly. This strongly makes you resemble a peeved mother and it made him crack a small smile at the thought.

So maybe you two have fucked before you were in a relationship, casually. By casually, that meant more often than not, you were found wrapped in his sheets and arriving at work in the same car with matching marks over your necks. But it all had come to an end when you met your boyfriend, it didn’t take an idiot to know that Javier absolutely hated him. Yes, he was shitty and the sentiment was understandable, but it couldn’t be over casual fucking.

Sure, Javier gave your boyfriend shit every time he came by. Sure, he might’ve “drunkenly” punched him, while stone cold sober. You knew this because he was the one that drove you home after, perfectly fine and in a seemingly chipper mood without a scratch on him. But it wasn’t over you two. He wasn’t a colleague, but you wouldn’t call him a friend, you don’t casually fuck your friends.

You snuff the cigarette out with your heel after another long drag. You motion your head towards his car, you both move in unusual tandem. As if your minds already knew and moved in dysfunctional sync with each other .

“So you gonna tell me what happened? Or are you planning on being all fuckin’ sad over that asshole?” You chuckled weakly at his questioning, “I just moved into my new place right? He found my address through a close friend of mine and showed up to tell me he’s been fuckin’ her. I don’t think I could give a shit about him but that fuckin’ hurt Jav.” He shook his head angrily, trying to form words to comfort you but failed miserably. Javi didn’t trust what he was going to say, telling you that you didn’t deserve to be treated that way was an understatement. But he also couldn’t tell you that he would never treat you that way, so he settled for rubbing your back in silence.

He opened your door, hand falling onto your lower back for support, you settled in but he didn’t budge from where he stood. You both take a second to look at each other. Javi frowns as his eyes flicker over the tear streaks painting your cheeks. He’s grown so accustomed to that warmth your face holds when you look at him, even if you deny that it's there at all. Instead of warmth and trust, there’s utter exhaustion and physical evidence of hurt. It enraged him, a mixture of jealousy and hurt licked viciously at his heart. Jealous that someone had what he wanted most, someone so pathetically below what you could even begin to deserve, your time and love in a constant. But all the same hurt, because the last thing he’d ever have you feel with him, would be utter fucking heartache.

You, as always, watch his eyes. Watch the way they soften and harden, clearly deep in thought. You knew it was about your situation, causing you to look down in shame for bringing him into this situation. You don’t realize he’s made eye contact with you until he’s gently holding your chin in between his thumb and forefinger. “Don’t” He warns, voice barely a whisper “Don’t give me that look doll. Don’t you look at me like you’re a burden to me, you of all people should know that you’re not and you haven’t nearly come close to being one any time soon.”

You’re silent, aside from shakily sucking in a breath in a poor attempt to calm the way your heart is pounding in your chest. Your head drops, his hand moves to the back of your neck when you do, lightly massaging the area. You reach to pull at the end of the suit jacket you made fun of earlier today in passing, now much more interested in the way it hugged his figure perfectly. The jacket only accentuating the way his button up was a tad bit tight on him, hugging his soft middle and snugly fitting across the wide expanse of his shoulders, making it painfully obvious how broad he was. A broadness you were very familiar with. You slowly lift your head, watching as his eyes roam your figure. You’re plagued with the memories of just how wide Javi is, remembering the feeling of you gripping and clawing at his shoulders as he thrusted up into you. You remember every detail of how big he looked with your legs thrown over his shoulders, leaving bruises in the shape of his fingers on your thighs. You remember exactly how he fucked you in that position, he always loved the way you’d cry out for him. Cockdrunk and brazen when his cock deliciously grazed that spot deep within you. But you knew he loved when you laid pretty for him, as he set an agonizingly slow pace just to see how your face would twist in absolute pleasure.

You don’t casually fuck your friends.

Not even when they’re undressing you with their eyes alone, making you squeeze your thighs together hoping they won’t notice. But they always do.

The silence becomes suffocating all too fast. There’s no hiding anymore, not when you two are looking at each other like this. Not when he’s slotting his bottom lip between his teeth, and certainly not when you’re silently wishing it was your own. You both waited for what seemed like eternity for the other to break the silence, before you could, Javi beat you to it.

“Come over, honey”

———————————————————————

Your pathetic attempt at telling yourself that you dont casually fuck your friends is immediately thrown out the window when he’s moving at the pace he’s set now.

The hand pressing you down between your shoulder blades is firm, and so is the one roughly cupping your jaw. All while the man they belong to is drilling into you from behind, not a falter in his speed. The mixture of your moans and skin slapping fill the small apartment, your hair is sticking to your forehead as tears threaten to spill.

“Fuckin’ tight” you hear him grunt out. You can barely form words in this state, especially not when Javi’s thick fingers start to circle your clit. You mewl at the sensation, “Poor baby, been so long since you’ve been treated so well…” His voice trails, losing himself in the sensation of you clenching around him. He doesn’t even realize he’s lost it until he’s rutting into you, barely pulling himself out, chasing the feeling.

“Please…Jav”

You’re not sure what you’re begging for, but as always, he knows. But he’s not letting you up that easily, he needs to remind you what you’ve been missing for so long. “C’mon, tell me what y’want baby. Know you can do better than that.”

You mentally curse him, but in the end you always give him exactly what he asks for. “Please Javi, faster f’me. Please honey.” You plead, it takes everything in him not to cum in you at that moment. You knew how much Javi absolutely loved the nickname honey, it was something so domestic and soft that it was a stark contrast to how he had you now. When you two were the sad excuse of “casual,” the nickname made him think of something other than just sex. He could imagine life outside of it, and that’s what he was doing right now as he rut into you.The name drove him mad, and just like that he was putty in your hands. You gasp as his hands left your body, releasing a soft whimper at the loss of him when he pulled out of you. He picks you up, sliding your body onto his bed further before pulling you onto his lap.

With his back pressed against the headboard, you sat straddling his thighs dazed at the sudden position change. “You want faster cariño, you got it. Go ahead, show me how fast you want it.” With sticky thighs covered in your arousal you slide up and sink down onto his cock. He slips in with ease, his size still being quite a stretch even when you’re as wet as you are now. His hands find purchase on your hips, admiring the way your body glows under the sliver of moonlight that escapes past his curtains.

“Pretty when you’re sittin’ on my cock, mi vida”

You rock your hips at his words, throwing your head back at the sensation. “Missed you, missed this Jav” You confess hazily, you can practically feel his smirk as he runs his hands up and down your spine. “Give it to me then pretty, show me how much you miss me.”

You oblige, setting your pace, hands finding its home right back to his shoulders. Javi can’t help but whine at the feeling, face contorted in pleasure, the sight of you bouncing on his cock sending him into complete and utter bliss.

He wraps his arms tightly around your middle, melding you bodies impossibly closer, but not close enough. He’s practically moaning into your chest as he places wet kisses there, your whimpers spurring him on even more. You both don’t anticipate what happens next,

“Missed you s’much honey. Needed you for so fuckin’ long. You didn’t even know it. Went so long without feeling you, was a mess.” He blabbers, still placing kisses onto your hot skin.

“Didn’t even know I belonged to you. Always fuckin’ have, didn’t stop when y’were with that fuck either.” You can’t form a response, stuttering but seemingly not finding the words between the noises he was pulling out of you. Your pace falters at that, and he picks up where you left off with ease thrusting up into you with desperation. If even possible, both of your volumes increase, a tell-tale sign that you were both dangerously close. You watch as Javi hastily slips his thumb into his mouth, pulling it out with a light pop and pressing harsh circles to your puffy clit.

“Carajo, you gotta cum f’me honey. Fuck…please cum, need it so bad. Need it as bad as I need you. Please”

He can barely recognize his voice, raspy and desperate. But it spurs you on and in a matter of seconds you give him exactly what he’s pleading for. Your vision goes white as you release a lewd moan, your walls tighten just right. His thrusts grow messy, before you know it you can feel him pulsing in you, painting your insides with his cum.

You whimper as he milks you for a few seconds, panting breathlessly before he maneuvers you onto your back and slowly slips out. Both of your arousals dripping onto the sheets, you’re caught by surprise when you feel him collecting it with his fingers and lewdly shoving it back into you. “Prettiest thing i’ve ever seen…” he mutters, mostly to himself but you don’t miss it in your dazed state.

You watch sleepily as he moves gingerly to the bathroom, coming back minutes later with a towel to clean you up.

As you feel the cool towel gently moving across your thighs, you contemplate Javi’s confession. His words playing in your mind over and over again,

“Didn’t even know I belonged to you. Always fuckin’ have”

Those words haunted you when you stayed up all those nights ago. You weren't sure if you wished for it or denied it if you were hiding it or trying to push yourself into embracing it. Either way, your heart was pounding in your chest in your blissed out state.

He put the towel on his bedside table, moving to rest beside you slowly. He pulled your body towards him, and now you were facing each other engulfed in the darkness of his room. You reach out to lazily trace his features, adoring the curve of his nose and running your thumb across his cupid's bow. You gently place a kiss onto his lips, and he pulls you closer, licking your bottom lip in permission. You grant him access and revel in the way he tastes, always enjoying how it’s so distinctly him. He pulls away unwillingly letting you go back to tracing his face.

He sighs shakily, making you worry even in your sleepy state. “I did…mean those things. But don’t rush, please. Not for me, not for anyone. But know that I belong to you.” Your eyes flicker to his own, catching the raw emotion that paints them like a canvas. He’s warm and welcoming but you know he’s afraid, You place a kiss to the tip of his nose. He sighs, the action soothes him slightly.

“I’m yours Jav…always have been.“ It's all he's ever wanted, what he's needed over the last few months.

“Rest for me honey, I’ll be right here when you wake up. I can tell you everything you want to hear tomorrow, but you’re exhausted ” Always looking out, you thought humming at his response.

"I never apologized...but I am truly sorry. For it all Javier."

Such a sweet thing, he runs his thumb over your lips in a way to silently shush you. You place a soft kiss on it and he feels his heart skip a beat at the action.

"Sleep, tell me all about it tomorrow."

Casual is the last word used to describe the two of you wrapped up in each other, breaths mingling together that night.

xtras! - well that was INTERESTING. strayed away from my usually fluffiness and dabbled in some more smut. my requests are open, check my pinned post on that one, lmk what you thot of this one!!

recently been creating fics that could all be multiple parts lol. so on that note, pt 2?

#˚₊‧꒰ა angelickk blog ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ #javier pena #javier pena x reader #javier pena smut #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena narcos #narcos #javier pena x y/n #javier pena angst #imagine #javier pena fic #smutty thoughts #fluff #javier peña hurt/comfort fic #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedrohub

[berenwrites]

For Love – Steddie Flashfic – PG

A/N: Had a totally different fic in mind when I opened my doc to work on it, and this happened, so I hope you like it. Don’t forget to check out all the other great fics at @steddiemicrofic too💖.

Written for prompt: CHARM | 548 words | rated: PG | cw: none

Steve’s current position seemed oddly familiar, although this time it was claws at his throat, not a broken bottle, and he was being held against a tree not a wooden wall. Eddie didn’t look that much different really. His teeth were sharper, his eyes were darker, and he seemed incredibly strong, but Steve could still see Eddie underneath.

“Long time no see, Sweetheart,” Eddie said, voice deep and resonant.

It had been two months-ish. They were almost ready with the plan to end Vecna for good. Steve had been patrolling to make sure nothing had come through the rifts, looking out for demodogs or demobats, not dead friends.

“You don’t look afraid enough, Stevie,” Eddie said, leaning in close, “anyone would think you like this.”

Contrary to some peoples’ opinions, Steve was not an idiot. On their last adventure, he had seen the way Eddie had snatched glances at him when he thought Steve wasn’t looking. He could also guess how Eddie would assume he would react to something like that. The taunt was designed to make him worry about more than his life.

“Let me go and find out,” he said as best he could with fingers wrapped around his throat.

“Gonna run, Big Boy?” Eddie asked, leaning in close. “You won’t get far.”

“Then you’ve got nothing to worry about,” he replied, staring into those dark eyes.

Eddie laughed, something between what Steve had heard before and a guttural hissing noise.

“All the more fun for me,” Eddie decided with a toothy grin, and the pressure on Steve’s neck lessened.

He could have run. Animal instincts looked at the predator in front of him and told him to, but he didn’t.

“Screw it,” he said, and as Eddie stepped away, he went with him.

Bringing up both hands, he took Eddie’s face between his palms and leaned in to kiss him. He held nothing back. None of the loss or need that had had months to percolate and grow after he had done some soul searching, realising what might have been. None of the passion he had used to charm so many girls, but never felt coming back. Because there was something else they had discovered since last time. Music brought people back because music touched something deep inside, and there were other ways to reach that too.

Maybe this was the way he would die, but Steve had to try. He put everything he was into the kiss, all his hopes, all his dreams, all his love. He might not have known Eddie properly for long, but he had listened to Dustin, to the other boys, to Wayne, who had refused to leave town, and he had learned.

Falling in love with an idea, a memory, was so clichéd, so very him. He hadn’t realised it, not completely, not until Eddie had come out of the darkness at him. Maybe the Upside Down had finally driven him mad as desperation filled him.

Eddie’s skin was cold against his. Eddie’s body was frozen. Eddie tasted like ash.

But Steve could not let go, would not give in. If there was a chance, he had to take it for the sake of them both.

And finally, after seconds that felt like eons, Eddie’s arms pulled him close.

#steddie #steddiemicrofic #steddiemicroficseptember #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie ficlet #steve x eddie

[ashhh-14]

❃Diluc x Reader

Character's origin- Genshin Impact

Warning- Slight mentions of nudity and previous night

Genre- ❃

Format- Scenario

Word count- 362

Synopsis- The morning after with your husband, Diluc Ragnvindr

Masterlist

Your eyes fluttered open. The sound of birds chirping filled your ears as your eyes gazed across the dimly sun-lit room from the beckoning sunrise. "Good Morning dove. " Your husband's morning voice greeted you. "I'm sorry. Did I wake you up?" You asked softly, looking at his face, light grazes of sunlight kissing his pale face and well toned built as his eyes looked like rubies staring right back at you. Hair scattered on the pillow beneath him as his arms encircled your waist, pulling you closer, making your bare body press up against his own. "No it's alright. You didn't. " He sleepily mumbled, his fingertips mindlessly moving up and down your spine, making a shiver run down through it. You both looked at each other before his head dove down to place a delicate kiss against your cheek, followed by several other on the forehead, lips, chin, tip of the nose. You giggled, capturing his lips with yours for just a short while before pulling back. He started placing butterfly kisses on your neck, his one arm encircling your waist while the other rubbed and massaged your thigh in a soothing manner. Your breath hitched as his hand accidentally made contact with the flesh little above your inner thigh. He immediately pulled back, his eyes holding a worried look as he asked, " Did I hurt you? Was I too rough last night..? You should have told me sooner love-" You hushed him, placing a finger against his lips, smiling lovingly at him, " You didn't hurt me at all Diluc. I'm just a little sore and sensitive from last night. We were awake till late after all. " His eyes relaxed a bit, finding a little peace at your words, his body relaxing as he kissed atop your head, hand resuming to gently massage your lower back, thighs and belly, being extra careful. "Get some more sleep." Your eyes looked up at him as if asking something, to which he gently replied, " I'll be here when you wake up. " Another kiss was placed upon your head before the three serene words left Diluc's lips, lulling you to sleep.

"I love you "

Likes, comments and reblogs are always appreciated!

Written by Yours truly

Ash

#requests open #fanfic #fanfiction #fiction #fictional character #x you #x reader #fluff #x you fluff #genshin fluff #genshin diluc #genshin x reader #genshin impact thirst #genshin comfort #diluc fluff #diluc x you #diluc x reader #diluc x y/n #diluc ragnivindr x reader #mondstadt #genshin impact #genshin headcanons #imaginary scenarios #oneshots #xreader #xyou #x reader fluff #genshin impact x reader #x y/n #the morning after

[uglypastels]

okay how about something comforting and cutesy like Eddie just absolutely coddling you and babying you since you had a rough day, idk maybe he helps calm you down

i swear i need an eddie right now. especially needed one yesterday. thank you for the request! i did my best (might be a bit rusty since i haven't written properly in a while )

warning: reader is having a hard day. exhaustion. idk. nothing else i think

masterlist. || join the Stranger Things taglist

Eddie knew something was up the second he stepped past the threshold. He could practically smell it in the air… or maybe the burned bitterness was coming from the kitchen as a dark grey cloud of smoke. Or maybe he figured it out by listening to your curses at the oven and the pitch-black baking dish you threw down at the counter. The metal clanged loudly, causing you both to flinch. 

‘Baby?’ Eddie asked apprehensively, not wanting to startle you. He half succeeded as you turned around harshly but immediately softened your features at the sight of him. ‘Are you alright?’ 

You don’t answer since both of you already know the answer. All you do is take the steps to break the distance between the two of you, lips are dragged down into a horseshoe-shaped frown, and tears threatening to burst at any second. Eddie catches you into a tight embrace, pulling you in. 

‘Hey, shh, it’s ok.’ He had just returned from work and must have been driving with the windows down because his hair smelled of the summer wind. 

‘I just wanted to make you some dinner, but it got burned– I’m so sorry, honey.’ You sniffed out. 

‘Is that all?’ He felt it was quite an extreme reaction for a burned casserole [or whatever the ashes in the dish were supposed to be. Truly impossible to tell by the state it was in.] Then again, he knew how much work you put into your cooking and especially after a long day having something go this wrong could be the last straw, but knowing you, there must have been something before already to put you in this mood. 

‘It’s just been… a lot.’ You didn’t feel like talking about it. Would much rather forget everything that had happened in the past 24 hours. 

‘I understand, baby. Do you wanna sit down for a bit?’ He pulled away slightly to look you in the eyes–which were now red and beginning to puff up. Besides that, he saw how frazzled your hair had gotten throughout the day and how tired you looked. He could only assume he looked about the same, if not worse. 

‘No,’ you wiped at your eyes, ‘I should make us some dinner. There should still be some—’ 

But Eddie was quick to cut you off. ‘Oh, no. You’re not cooking anymore today. C’mon, you need to rest. We can order something.’ He already saw your frown reappear, not happy with that idea. After all, you really wanted to do something nice for Eddie. Though now the surprise aspect of it all was gone anyway, you might as well enjoy a nice takeout. Eddie grabbed your hand, swinging it side to side. ‘What do you feel like? I could personally kill for a pizza right now.’

‘Pizza is fine.’ You nodded, but Eddie wasn’t too sure just yet. 

‘Sure? Or are you just saying that because I suggested it?’ 

‘Can’t it be both?’ You brushed some of his hair out of his face. Even though he had put it in a ponytail, most of the shorter strands framing his face had come loose. Eddie looked at you for a moment before nodding.

‘The usual, then?’

‘Mhm,’ you simply replied. Then Eddie told you to get comfortable on the couch before placing an order. You sat down feeling tired and restless simultaneously; there was so much you needed to get done, but you had no energy for any of it. By the time Eddie returned, your eyelids were already betraying you, becoming heavier and heavier. The shift of weight beside you was just enough to stir you from the nap. 

‘Sorry,’ Eddie whispered. ‘I didn’t want to wake you.’ 

‘I wasn’t asleep.’ You rubbed your eyes, sitting up straight next to Eddie. 

‘Of course not.’ He chuckled and took this opportunity to bring you in for another tight hug. He practically pulled you into his lap, kissing your cheek, mumbling, ‘I missed you today,’ between a kiss here and there. 

‘Missed you too.’ You kissed him back. ‘And I’m really sorry about dinner, again.’

‘I’m banning apologies in this house tonight. You have nothing to be sorry for.’

‘I nearly burned down the kitchen!’

‘That’s an entirely different problem, then. We still get to have dinner, but if you had burned the kitchen down… ‘ he exhaled deeply, and something inside him lit up at the sight of your smile cracking through the hard shell the day had built up around you. For the next half 20 minutes, he kept making dumb jokes to get your smile to grow bit by bit. Most of the time, you would roll your eyes at him or smack him playfully on the arm, but anything was better than tears. 

Then the doorbell rang, and almost automatically, you got up, but only a few inches off the sofa before Eddie grabbed you by the hips.

‘Where do you think you’re going?’ 

‘To get our food?’ You said whilst the doorbell rang again.

‘No, you’re not,’ he pulled you back onto the seat and got up. ‘You’re resting.’

‘But you should be resting too!’ You wanted to shout out, but he had already left the room to open the door for the delivery boy. A minute later, Eddie returned holding several takeout boxes that contained no pizza, but you knew exactly what it was instead. 

‘I thought we decided on pizza?’ You asked, puzzled as he put the food on the coffee table before you. 

‘Yea, but I thought you might like this better.’ Eddie shrugged, beginning to unpack the boxes. ‘Felt like it would do a better job making you feel better than pizza… usually does, at least. But if you’d prefer pizza then I can still quickly call–’ 

‘No, it’s perfect. Thank you.’ You kissed him on the cheek. ‘Thank you for everything.’

the end.

thank you for reading! please support your (not so) local writers with comments and reblogs <3 it means the world. also, I love to hear what you thought of the fic. asks are always welcome

consider leaving behind an anonymous review :p

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson request #fanfic #fanfiction #fic #imagine #blurb #em #fluff

[toadbreath]

the sun after the storm;

john mactavish is alive. simon visits him in the hospital, but something is wrong. johnny doesn't remember.

☀︎ w.c: 3,9k

☀︎ pairing: ghost x soap // simon riley x john mactavish

☀︎ rating: pg

☀︎ archive of our own: link here

☀︎ genre: angst, fluff, pining

☀︎ warnings: modern warfare 3 spoilers. writing soap's lines in a scottish accent lmao

☀︎ author's note: i haven't written a fic in ten years please be gentle and kind

What do you mean, they found him?

Simon hated hospitals. The sterile nothingness, the god-awful swishing sound scrubs made when nurses walked by, the machines beeping, the artificial plants that are there to provide a facade of comfort; the illusion of life in a building where it is so often taken. 

Third floor. Room 503.

None of that matters. Not when the man he loves is alive — the man he thought was dead for six months. The man whose ashes he gifted to the wind on that cliff as the sun set behind the ocean. None of this makes sense. Simon strides through the hospital lobby, b-lining towards the elevators.

Third floor. Room 503.

Simon’s skull balaclava is earning him some strange looks from various medical staff, but he has tunnel vision and doesn’t take notice, brown eyes locked on the glowing button that has a faded three printed on it. How many times has that button been pressed with the same urgency Simon feels in his gut? The elevator doors open to the third floor and he’s at the reception desk in four strides.  “Room 503?” he asks gruffly. 

The nurse, an older woman, furrows her eyebrows. “…Sir, visiting hours ended 5 hours ago. You can come back tomorro-“ Simon’s eyes glazed over with fury at the thought of having to spend another minute in this miserable place. He didn't have time to wait for tomorrow. Not when the man he thought he had lost forever was just down the hall. He stared at the nurse, his silence the only indication of the rage boiling up within him. His words cut through the air like a knife. “I’m not here as a visitor.”

The nurse is caught off guard by Simon’s reply. He was an intimidating man, even in civilian attire, the mask he had kept on just out of habit. She clears her throat and looks down at her clipboard to avoid Simon’s icy glare. “If you are not a visitor then what is your business here? Do you have identification on you?” She asks, flipping through papers until she finds the file for the patient in room 503.

Simon had no patience for these stupid questions. He had waited months to find out that the man he had thought was dead was alive and he wasn't going to be held up over some petty bureaucracy. “Identification?” he scoffed, the venom in his voice evident. “I don't need identification. I'm here to see John MacTavish.”

The nurse lets out a frustrated breath. “What is your relationship to the patient?” 

What is his relationship with the patient? He worked alongside MacTavish. He joked around with Soap. His chest feels warm and strange whenever he saw Johnny. Technically, they’re nothing more than colleagues, friends. There’s always been something else, though — something just below the surface that neither of them had been brave enough to act upon. Simon paused at the question and the nurse could see the uncertainty in his eyes. What was he to Soap? More than friends, less than lovers. A feeling he had never been able to name or put into words.

"We have a close relationship." he replies quietly. The fact that they had never explicitly defined their relationship made the situation even more awkward. What was he meant to say? That they loved each other deeply, but not in a manner that anyone outside the two of them had ever known? It sounded pathetic. It sounded desperate. It was true.

The nurse raised an eyebrow. "Sir, I need more information than that. I have to know who you are and how you know the patient before you can go into his room."

"I'm..." Simon started, his voice trailing off. He had known MacTavish for a few years now. He had gone to bars with him and watched him get smashed beyond belief on that god-awful scotch. He had found comfort in that Scottish accent he had grown so fond of over comms. He had spent sleepless nights staring up at the ceiling, replaying the night Johnny got shot over and over again. Everything he had done, and everything he could have done differently. Price’s words repeated in his head like a broken record: All stations, this is Bravo in the blind. Threat  neutralized. Bomb is safe. 

One KIA. 

The idiot had to go up behind Makarov and be a hero. What was that saying? Never bring a knife to a gun fight? If there was anyone that would bring a knife to a gunfight, it was Johnny. He was too stubborn, too proud. Always wanting to be the one to finish the job. That stubbornness, that pride, had gotten him killed. And Simon had to watch him die. Had to hold that cold urn of ashes and pour them out over that cliff and hold himself together long enough to not break down in front of the captain. He had spent six long months seeing Johnny in every sunset. He had spent five months avoiding sunsets altogether. 

"...I'm his partner."

That wasn't the answer the nurse was looking for, but it was the only answer that Simon could give her. He could feel his heart hammering in his chest, the blood rushing in his ears. “Right,” the nurse conceded after a moment of consideration. “When you go down the hall, it’s the third door on the left.”

Simon nodded and took off down the hall without another word. He could hear the nurse mumbling something about the strange visitors in his wake, but didn't pay her any mind.

He came to a stop in front of the door to 503. It looked just like the rest of the doors in the hallway. White. Sterile. Unassuming. Simon had been waiting for this moment for half a year. Now that it was finally here, he couldn't bring himself to go in. What if he had heard wrong? What if someone had made a mistake and it wasn't MacTavish in the room? What if he got his hopes up for nothing? John MacTavish wasn’t exactly a unique name, after all. What if-

A doctor came out of the room, a clipboard in his hand. He was tall and slender, the kind of man who had a face you would never remember. He looked up, a bit startled from Simon’s unexpected presence but polite nonetheless.

"May I help you?"

Simon swallowed his nerves. "I'm here to see John MacTavish." The doctor's expression turned somber. "He's alive," Simon said, the words coming out as more of a statement than a question. “Yes, he’s alive…” The doctor says slowly, closing the door to John’s room behind him with a soft click and studying Simon’s eyes with his own. “Have you been informed of his condition?”

Condition. The word makes Simon uneasy. "His condition? What happened to him? Is he okay?" He couldn't stop the words from tumbling out. Simon was usually more collected than this, but the news of Johnny's survival was throwing him off. 

“John suffered a gunshot wound to his right temple. We were able to extract the bullet and its fragments, however…” The doctor paused, choosing his words carefully. He had given this speech many times before, but that never made it easier. “The trauma resulted in retrograde amnesia. We don’t yet know if it’s permanent. If you go in that room… it’s very likely he will not remember you.”

Retrograde amnesia. The words crack his chest open and squeeze his heart like twine. It didn't matter how hard he had trained, or how much experience he had. There was nothing Simon could do about this. No target he could eliminate. This wasn’t something Simon could fix, and that infuriated him.

"Is there anything you can do? Anything I can do?"

The doctor shakes his head. "We've tried everything. There is no telling what will happen. He is stable, and his memory might come back in time. It might not. The only thing we can do is wait, let him heal.” "But I don't understand, I... I watched him get shot, fall to the floor. I watched him die. I held him. How is he alive?" Simon's voice cracks, the memories flooding back like a tidal wave. Johnny, lying on the floor, eyes glazed over. Johnny, slumped lifelessly over his shoulder. Johnny, the ashes of his corpse blown away into the sea. "You must be mistaken. The man I buried is dead. MacTavish is dead. I held his ashes."

The doctor shook his head again. "He was pronounced dead on the scene. He was rushed to a medical facility and they were able to stabilize him enough to fly him here. There was a mix-up with the body tags, and the body you received was someone else's. The hospital called and told us who the urn belonged to. That's how we were able to contact you and inform you of the situation." The doctor pauses. "We have no record of this other person, no information about their family or who they were. The best we can guess is that the hospital was trying to save face, and they handed you the ashes of the first dead body they could find." Simon's heart sinks. How long had he spent grieving, mourning a man who was still breathing? The guilt weighed heavy on his shoulders. He felt sick. "I want to see him."

"I'm not sure if that's such a good idea-" the doctor starts, but Simon cuts him off. His hands clench into fists. The thought of Johnny waking up, alone and confused in a hospital bed is enough to make him want to rip the door off the hinges and break whatever machines had the nerve to beep so obnoxiously. “Move,” Simon blurts out, pushing his way past the doctor and opening the door to Johnny’s room, stepping inside.

The air is stolen from Simon’s lungs as soon as his eyes landed on Johnny's prone form in the hospital bed. His head was wrapped in bandages, a white gauze patch over the wound on his temple. He was asleep, his chest rising and falling in a slow rhythm that indicated peaceful slumber. 

He’s alive. He’s alive. He’s alive.

All those months, and he was here. In a hospital. Alive. Simon felt weak.

"Johnny?" Simon whispered, stepping forward hesitantly. MacTavish stirred, the sound of the other man’s voice unfamiliar and foreign, but soothing, nonetheless. It was comforting, like a warm cup of coffee or the smell of a burning candle. It felt like home. His eyes fluttered open, revealing a deep blue iris that scanned the room, the bright fluorescent lights temporarily blinding him. He groans softly, slowly propping himself up into a sitting position on the bed. His paper-thin hospital gown rustles, the fabric scratchy and stiff. Johnny notices the masked man standing awkwardly by his bedside. His eyes scan him slowly, taking in his dark eyes and the black fabric of his balaclava. “They send security in ‘ere?” he mutters, squinting, his voice hoarse from disuse.

"Do you..." Simon began, his voice trailing off as he pulled off his mask, running a hand through his shaggy, blond hair.

Johnny's eyes widened. He had never seen this man before, but the sight of him made his heart swell. The blond man had a heavy British accent, and scars of all shapes and sizes littered his pale face. He had brown eyes that shone like honey in the sun, his jaw strong and set with an expression of relief. The blond man's face was the most beautiful thing Johnny had ever seen, and he swallows nervously. 

"Do you recognize me?" Simon whispered, placing his hand on the rail of the bed. He could feel the tears threatening to spill over, and his vision was starting to blur. He was going to cry, and he hated himself for it.

Johnny shook his head. "Sorry, lad. Cannae say I do,” I would remember a face like that, he thinks. “Yer a familiar stranger, though."

"Familiar..." Simon echoed, his voice breaking. He could feel the knot in his throat. This wasn't fair. He was alive, and that was what mattered, but Johnny had no idea who he was. MacTavish was about to ask the stranger his name when the man suddenly burst into tears, sobbing softly.

“Oh, I…” Johnny says softly, reaching a hand out to comfort the stranger, squeezing the man’s bicep gently. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s okay. What’s yer name?” he asks gently.

Simon's chest is on fire, and he's gasping for air. This was all wrong. All wrong. This wasn't the first time Johnny had died. The last time, it was a bullet in the head. This time, Johnny was here, alive, but Simon lost him all the same.

"Simon," he croaks. Johnny repeats the name back, his hand still gripping the other man's arm. He can feel the tears streaming down his cheeks, hot and thick, and he realizes he's crying, too, but he doesn’t know why.

“Simon…” he repeats, the name on his tongue felt like velvet, a word he could never tire of saying. Simon sniffles. Johnny looks at him expectantly, a single tear rolling down his cheek, and Simon can feel the weight of the silence pressing against his shoulders, suffocating him. “Simon. Why are ye cryin’?” he asks softly. “And why am I cryin’?” he chuckles a little, trying to lighten the mood. "Because we're both idiots," Simon laughs bitterly.

"I'm sorry, Johnny." he says, his voice hushed and solemn. “Sorry?” Johnny says, his eyebrows knitting together as he studies Simon’s face. He sits up a bit straighter. “What are ye sorry for?”

"I'm sorry because I..."

Simon's voice trails off. He can't look Johnny in the eyes. It's like staring into the sun. Johnny leans forward, his hand sliding down Simon’s bicep to his forearm, the cool feeling of leather under his palm as he goes. The blond man flinches, and the Scotsman feels a sharp stab in his gut.

"Yer wearing my tags," he murmurs.

"What?" Simon looks down at his chest, where Johnny’s silver dog tags hang unceremoniously on top of his black hoodie. They had become a sort of talisman for him, and he had worn them every day since Johnny's death, never taking them off once.

"Right." he breathes, his fingers brushing against the metal, a nervous habit — he often found himself clutching the only thing he had left of his best friend. 

"I must mean somethin' tae ye," Johnny says quietly, his Scottish brogue rolling off his tongue.

"You mean everything to me," Simon whispers, his voice cracking.

Johnny feels like his breath has been stolen. The weight of those words hit him harder than he expects, and his head spins.  He looks at Simon, his eyes filled with curiosity, the tears on his cheeks drying. "Tell me about myself. B’fore, I mean. What was I like?" he asks, and it's more a request than a demand. His eyes linger on his dog tags around Simon’s neck; Simon’s own are tucked underneath his shirt. 

Simon can feel the lump in his throat returning. "Well," he says, swallowing hard. "You were — are —stubborn, and brave. Always getting yourself into trouble. You never asked for help, and you had a horrible habit of drinking alone. You always tried to finish the job, and never trusted anyone but yourself. Loyal to a fault, one hell of a friend. You're also an insufferable idiot who has no regard for his own safety. A total dumbass. A bloody moron, really. And you know what else? I loved you, you Scottish bastard. I loved you, and I thought you were dead. Do you know how long it's been? Six months, Johnny. Six months, and now you're here, and you don't even remember me, and I can't even be mad. I’m not allowed to be mad because you're alive, you’re alive, and it's all that matters, but I lost you all the same, and it fucking hurts, you son of a bitch."

The words came out faster than Simon could stop them, and now he was gasping, tears pouring down his face, his cheeks burning, the air leaving his lungs and being replaced with something cold and empty. He hadn’t realized how angry he was, how angry he had been all these months. The anger he had buried deep, and let fester inside him. 

Johnny just stared at him, his eyes wide. “Love?” he whispers incredulously.

"Oh, shit," Simon mutters. His face burns red, and he wants to turn and run away, pretend he had never been here, never said any of those things, but he's frozen, and Johnny is looking at him with those stupid gorgeous blue eyes and it's all Simon can do to hold himself together. 

"We weren’t just friends, were we?” Johnny whispers, his hand tightening ever so slightly on Simon’s forearm. Simon is silent. The answer is obvious.

Johnny nods. "And... we never got tae say it, did we?"

"No," Simon replies, his voice a strained whisper.

"That's why yer here."

"That's why I'm here," Simon echoes, his voice a whisper. Johnny swallows, his mouth dry. "When did ye know?” he asks softly, his eyes locked on Simon's.

"That I loved you?"

"Aye."

Simon is quiet. He doesn’t remember a time when he hadn’t loved Johnny. It had always been there, a feeling just below the surface, a constant presence. He had never given it a name, but it was a feeling that he couldn’t deny, even if he wanted to. He remembers the day he had realized how he felt, the moment when his feelings had finally made sense.

It was late summer, and they had just finished a mission. Price had gone off somewhere, and it was just him and Johnny sitting together in a shitty motel room. They were exhausted and sore, their bodies aching, and Johnny was nursing a few scrapes and bruises from when he had taken a nasty spill off a building. Simon had a concussion, and his eyes were bleary. Johnny had gotten up to grab the first aid kit and started to clean up Simon's wounds, a task that required a lot of careful concentration, which he did with a furrowed brow and his nose scrunched up. Johnny's fingers were gentle as he dabbed at the blood, his touch warm and reassuring. That was the first time Simon had felt comfort in years. That was the first time Simon had felt safe.

"Since forever."

Johnny takes a shaky breath. "Do ye still?"

"Are you kidding me? I never stopped."

"And if I can't remember? If I never remember? Will ye love me then?”

"Always," Simon replies without hesitation.

Johnny feels his heart swell at the reply. He smiles, his cheeks flushed pink, and the corners of his eyes crinkle. "Then I think I could learn tae love ye again," he murmurs, his eyes searching Simon's face.

"Again?" Simon echoes.

"Again," Johnny replies.

Simon laughs. It's a hollow, bitter laugh, but it's a laugh nonetheless.

“I cannae explain it,” Johnny whispers. “I have no memory of ye. But when I woke up and saw ye in this room — I felt *warm*. It’s like my nervous system recognized ye. And I…” He sighs and pulls out a small sketchbook from his bedside table, flipping through the pages. There’s lots of little doodles, like the view from his hospital room window, stray cats, food he’s eaten, nurses, the sunset, but there's also a few sketches of a handsome blond man, and a page entirely dedicated to the curve of his jaw, the scars on his face, and the shape of his lips. "I think I drew ye, or wanted tae.” he murmurs. “It’s kinda cool, drawin’ a stranger and havin’ him show up tae my room the next day. Ye think I should draw a million dollars next?”

Simon is stunned, and an amused sound escapes his lips. Johnny had drawn him. He had drawn him, and he hadn't even known his name. "I didn't know you could draw," Simon says quietly, his cheeks burning. "I dinnae either,” Johnny chuckles. “But I had tae pass the time somehow.” He smiles. "I guess we had somethin' important. If I was able tae draw a handsome face like that when I cannae remember my own birthday." Johnny closes the sketchbook and places it on the bed.

“I’m sorry I don’t remember,” he says softly. “It doesn’t mean what we have is gone. It just means I get to fall in love with ye all over again.” Simon blinks, unsure of how to respond. He had never considered the fact that Johnny might have fallen for him too. He had never even entertained the idea that his feelings could have been reciprocated. Simon had spent so much time pining after the other man, trying to suppress his feelings, that he had never stopped to consider that Johnny might have been struggling with the same inner conflict.

"We fell in love twice," Johnny says softly, his cheeks flushing pink.

"Fell in love twice," Simon repeats. "What a pair we make, huh?" he chuckles, his voice thick with emotion.

"Aye," Johnny says softly, smiling. "Ye think we could fall in love a third time?"

"Maybe," Simon says, a faint smile on his lips. "Try not to get shot again, though, yeah? Really pissed me off the last time.” Johnny chuckles and grins. "I'll do my best, sunshine."

"Sunshine?"

"Aye. That's what ye remind me of. Ye make me feel warm."

"I'm not much of a sunshine."

"Maybe yer right,” Johnny sniffs, studying Simon carefully. “Yer a…” Simon raises an eyebrow. "I think yer more like a storm."

"A storm."

"Aye, a storm. All rain and thunder and lightning. Yer beautiful, but ye have a temper."

"You've only known me for thirty minutes," Simon says, laughing.

"And I know that ye've been cryin’," Johnny replies, reaching up to gently wipe a tear from Simon's cheek. "But storms clear the skies, and bring the sun after. Ye've been cryin' and yer still the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. Maybe that's a sign."

"A sign?"

"Aye. That maybe I was meant tae find ye again. Maybe that's what I'm meant tae be. The one who reminds ye to come out and play when it's stormin’."

Simon stares at Johnny, his cheeks burning red. "Johnny..." he whispers.

"That's my name, lad," he murmurs, smiling softly. “Don’t wear it ou-“

Simon leans forward and presses his lips to Johnny's. It's a tentative kiss, a gentle meeting of lips. The world seems to stop. Simon can feel the tension leaving his body, the knot in his throat loosening. It's like he's finally breathing for the first time and he can’t get enough. His hands move to cup Johnny's face and his heart feels full and heavy in his chest.

Johnny kisses back, his lips moving slowly and softly against Simon's. He can taste the salt from Simon's tears and the faintest hint of something else — mint and coffee and a scent that is distinctly Simon. It's familiar, even if he can't place it, and Johnny finds himself clinging to it.

The two of them pull apart slowly, and Johnny is grinning.

"That was some kiss," he says, his cheeks flushed pink. "I could get used tae it."

"You should," Simon whispers, smiling. 

#ghoap #ghost x soap #simon riley #john mactavish #cod #cod mw3 #ghostsoap #soapghost #angst #fluff #pining #fic #sfw #pg #wholesome #fanfic #ao3 fanfic #archive of our own #romance #ghost #soap #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #one shot #hurt/comfort #idk #these two are rotting my brain #rotating them in my mind like rotisserie chicken #writing #mine

[norvstforthvwickvd]

( 🎮 ) Our muses stay up all night playing video games! ( @seven-circlllxs with Cherri)

"Go, go, go! Fuck!" Echo yelled angrily as she lost to Cherri once again. "How are you so good at this?" They were playing Mario Cart, and this was race number 8, and Echo still couldn't get past 5th place. @seven-circlllxs

#¤ written in ashes ; ask replies #○ i gotta stay high all the time to keep you off my mind ; echo #seven-circlllxs

[annesthaeticc]

lovers rock | sherlock x fem!reader

| Sherlock Holmes x Fem!Reader

| one shot , song fic

| 961 words

| 'because love can burn like a cigarette, and leave you alone with nothing...' What Sherlock and Y/N had was beautiful, but it crashed and burned.

A/N okay bear with me it's short, but hey it's something, right? testing the waters asi hopefully hopefully come back into writing. let me know what you think!

————————————————————————————————

“Such a small world,” you quietly said and watched as the air escaped your lungs, echoing your words. The party inside was loud, but not loud enough for the silence outside was piercing yet calming. And so, he heard you. Slowly, he turned to see who spoke and found your silhouette, your shape outlined amongst the trees and the pillars.

Slowly, he walked towards you. Yet another mistake he was about to make. For all the choices he made that involved you, it led to one.

One. Big. Mistake.

Sherlock heard his heart thudding. Crashing and breaking in every step he made towards you. You sat there frozen, your eyes unblinking, or at least trying not to blink for you feared that if you do so, he might disappear.

Just like he did back then.

Sherlock sometimes wished he never pursued you, but here he was, about to do the very same thing. He never learned.

“Indeed it is.” he replied, his very perfect presence now crowding over you. His shadow embraced you and your eyes finally blinked only to find he was still there, standing in front of you.

He was taller. His face is more defined. His curls, curled to perfection. His perfume was the same, or is it? His lips fuller, more inviting than ever.

Sherlock noticed this, and cannot help himself but do the very same. You were perfect in every shape and form, as the day he met you. He committed crimes before, but his favorite might be the one he is about to make; to kiss you.

Silence passed by the small distance between you and him and it was almost deafening. You were waiting for him to say something. Something along the lines of “I’m sorry I left you…” And he was doing just the same, waiting for the words like “I’m sorry I couldn't wait for you…”

“Best man leaving early?” you finally said, shyly asking. He nodded and looked away.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, cutting you off before you could even say anything.

“I was invited, well not just me really, Ian and I were…” your voice trailed off as your husband's name left your lips. Again, he nodded.

Ah yes, Ian. Sherlock knew more than you. He is decent enough, this Sherlock could guarantee. But not decent enough to leave you on your own for days, even weeks or months on end while he was traveling the world on some sort of opera tour. Sherlock didn't care enough to dig for more details.

All he knew was deep seated anger and sadness.

And this resonated through the walls of the second floor of 221B Baker Street for months. Your wedding invitation sent for him lay hopeless on his desk, waiting to be written on to confirm his invitation. He was about to decline after finally making a decision that went on for weeks, only to find out it was pointless to respond because your wedding was already done.

And so, he threw the invitation in the fire. He watched as the intricate paper got swallowed by the flames, melting into ashes, into nothing. He was mesmerized by it. How something could be nothing because of the burning flames.

He was shaken from his thoughts when he saw your hand, holding a packet of cigarettes. You were offering him one and Sherlock accepted. You sat down again on the bench and he followed, allowing a few inches between you.

Quietly, the two of you smoked. Avoiding glancing or talking. You were caught up in a trance and were shaken out of it when you felt movement. Sherlock stood up and stepped on the cigarette. His shoe dug into the grass as the last of the embers glowed.

“Going somewhere?” you asked.

“Home.” he replied, his voice deep.

“I could drive you.” you offered.

“No thank you. I’ll catch a cab.” he replied, slowly walking away.

“Sherlock, wait, please—” you caught up with him and offered to drive him once more. He declined and you almost gave up.

His figure faded into the darkness when you cried out, “Sherlock, I'm sorry.”

Tears flooded your eyes and you couldn't help. It fell from your eyes, flowing down your face. Everything was blurry and you felt your hands shaking from the nicotine and from the adrenaline of your apology.

“It's been 12 years, Y/N,” he replied. “Why are you saying sorry now?”

“Because…”

“You will not tempt me to play one of your games, Y/N. Not this time. Not ever again.”

“Sherlock, please,”

“I'm sorry? Is that all you could think? You left me, Y/N,” he cried. And now you see his face. Anger, despair, and longing painted his face,

“You left me first!” you accused him. He really did.

“And yet you couldn't wait for me, couldn't you? All the promises I made—”

“Were gone as soon as you disappeared, Sherlock.”

“Oh ye of little faith!” he said, his voice booming.

“Sherlock,” you breathlessly begged. “I'm sorry.”

Sherlock heard you, and saw your eyes. He hated you for marrying someone else, but what he hated most is seeing you cry. He pulled out his handkerchief from his jacket pocket and dabbed your face, wiping away the tears. He pulled you into his embrace, just like he did back then. When your cries died down, he pulled away then planted a kiss on your temple.

“We would never work out. You're happier with him.” Sherlock said.

“I realized that what he had, was all that it was. Nothing more, nothing less. We burned too fast until we became nothing, Y/N.” he continued.

“I loved you,” you whispered.

“And I did too. So much.” he said, his voice breaking.

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#benedict cumberbatch #sherlock fanfiction #sherlockbbc #sherlock x reader #sherlock holmes #sherlock x y/n #sherlock x you #sherlock x fem!reader #sherlock fanfic #sherlock holmes angst #sherlock holmes jealousy #sherlock holmes smut #sherlock holmes fluff #sherlock fandom #fanfic writing #sherlock holmes fanfiction #benedict cumberbatch fanfiction #lovers rock #tv girl #sherlock song fics #sherlock x reader fanfic #Spotify

[makeitastrength]

From the ashes

Chapter 2 sneak peek

Lucy smiles and Tim smiles back, and it’s the most normal things have felt in months. It’s been a long journey, and painfully slow at times, but with every passing day she can see more and more of the pieces of who they were, and she can feel the first few beginning to slot back into place.

“I uh, I have something for you.”

Tim reaches into his backpack and pulls out a small notebook, the cover a soft grey and held closed by an attached elastic strap along one edge. The corners are bent and she can tell from the creases along the spine that it’s been used regularly.

“What’s this?” Lucy takes it from him and flips it open, finds herself staring at her own name in Tim’s familiar handwriting at the top of the page. She leafs ahead to other pages and finds more of the same, her name at the top followed by line after line of his script, and she lifts her eyes back to his in a mixture of shock and confusion. “You wrote me letters?”

He shoulders his pack and shoves his hands into his pockets with a shrug. “My homework for therapy was to write in it once a week. She didn’t tell me what to write, and that first day the only thing I could think of was everything I wanted to say to you. It kind of… spiraled from there.”

“Tim, this is really private,” Lucy says as she closes the journal and hands it back to him. “You don’t have to share this with me.”

“Yeah, I do,” he replies. His hands remain firmly in his pockets, unwilling to take it from her. “You deserve to know everything. If you want to, I mean,” he adds hastily.

“I… okay,” she manages, uncertain what else there is to say. “Umm. Thanks.”

He nods and takes a step back. “Have a good night.”

“Night,” she offers as she watches him walk away, but it takes nearly a minute for her to unstick her feet from the ground and climb into her own car for the drive home.

Back at her apartment, Lucy forces herself to eat a few bites even though her stomach is tied up in knots and then quickly washes up and crawls into bed with Tim’s journal, settling back against the pillows. Though he asked her to read it, it still feels like an invasion of privacy. She has no idea what she’ll find written within these pages, and as she flips open to the first page and begins to read, the overwhelming feeling is one of nervous anticipation.

(Full chapter will be posted tomorrow!)

(Read the first chapter here)

#chenford #chenford fanfic #lucy chen #tim bradford #from the ashes #chapter 2 #sneak peek #post 6x06

[byizoyas]

sfw ; alhaitham x gn!reader. coffee shop au | alhaitham might be down bad for reader

you look at your left then at your right. few customers are still here; some are talking together and you spot him. he is sitting all alone, a cup of coffee in front of him, one that you brought to him earlier and it seems that he didn’t touch it.

you meet lots of people in one day, serving them and of course you cannot remember every person you hold a casual conversation with.

but him. he is one of a kind you cannot forget. you wouldn’t dare. and you genuinely can’t.

he’s got you obsessed lately because yes, he’s been passing by quite often actually so no wonder you remember him so well.

and well, his appearance is quite unique too. his voice is low in your memories and he always sits on the same spot of the room. next to the bay windows but still away from the front door. since your shift is almost over, and your colleagues all left early, you’re on your own with the few seven people remaining.

you look at them. the atmosphere is super peaceful. everyone is chilling. and that guy; he’s reading the same book over again. he doesn’t even look back at you after you announce the closure is approaching.

but you don’t mind. he seems busy; and focused and well, that makes him attractive to you.

you shake your head, quick to forget about that and instead go to put the chairs on the tables so it’s easier to clean the floors later.

that was one of the reasons you hated so much to do the shutdown but you had no choice.

you look at the watch on your wrist. it’s officially time to close. you stop yourself for a minute.

the customer is still here. you can see his ashes hair from behind the counter. he’s away and you don’t particularly like to speak loud, so you go towards him to inform him that he’s going to have to leave.

‘sir.’ you say. he does not turn around, which you find a bit rude at first so you insist. after a few seconds of being ignored, you eventually lose patience and tap on his shoulder gently, a smile on your lips so you seem less intrusive.

he turns around, taking off an earphone. ‘mh ? what is it ?’

his voice is calm. and low, making him sound super serious. but not only that, his whole routine and habits were kinda giving you the hint so in the end, you’re not really surprised.

your smile grows larger as you tell him to leave. you wouldn’t want to sound rude; it wasn’t your first shutdown where people had stayed so late, but it was a first time talking to him despite him spending so much time here.

‘i see. thank you for the coffee.’ he says, and it almost sounds ironic since he absolutely did not drink a single drop of it. and you can tell by the motif you’ve drawn that is still quite in place.

‘is there something wrong ?’ he asks, looking at you, whose eyes are glued to the full cup resting on the wooden table.

‘no aha, it’s alright, have a nice day sir.’ you reply, walking away towards the kitchen to grab the groom and start with your cleaning task.

he looks at you walking away, his closed book in hand and his jacket in the other.

‘it’s midnight though.’

to that you giggle. spending the day wishing every single customer a lovely day made it become automatic. you rub your face, passing your fingers through your hair.

‘indeed. good night then, sir.’

you’re not sure, but you can almost swear you’ve seen a smile forming on his lips as he speaks again.

‘alhaitham.’

‘mh ?’

he crossed his arms against his visibly muscular chest, blinking a few times. ‘it is my name. since i know yours, you should know mine.’

his remarks make some sense indeed. and you can’t tell if the lack of sleep is the reason you’re confused but you genuinely ask yourself how the hell he could know your names; and you can’t help but asking him.

to your question he only giggles, a slightly mocking smile appears on his usually very composed face.

‘it is written. y/n.’ he points your apron to which a small etiquette with your name is sticked to it.

you rub your face with your two hands, letting go of the broom by the way and the whole scene is embarrassing for you, yet as much as it is, you feel good. tired perhaps. but it is as if the person beside you could see through you and make you feel at ease.

he laughs a bit too and helps you moving a few chairs over the tables. as a customer he’s not supposed to do this, but it was so kind of him you didn’t have the heart to decline his help when he offered it.

‘well, i’m done. goodnight y/n.’

‘good night alhaitham.’

you look at him walking away, biting your lip because you crave to ask if he will be back tomorrow. the moment you just shared was nothing exceptional. but something happened. something that made you want to seek more of him.

‘will i see you tomorrow ?’ you ask him just as he’s about to open the door and take his leave.

you’re surprised at your own boldness. but you have nothing to lose, right ? then why would you stop yourself from asking.

‘who knows ? i don’t particularly like the coffee here.’ he waves goodbye, closing the door behind him, wishing you luck with the end of your shift. and just like that he’s gone, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

because if he didn’t like your coffee; what reason did he have for coming here everyday ?

#byizoyas. #alhaitham #alhaitham x y/n #alhaitham x reader #alhaitham scenarios #alhaitham drabble #alhaitham imagines #alhaitham fluff #genshin x y/n #genshin x reader #genshin drabbles #genshin scenarios #genshin imagines #rq.

[x0x0josephinex0x0]

svt reaction: the one who got away | part 1 hyung line version

this v angsty request is from @f4iryjjosh and IT HURT MY SOUL TO WRITE hahahaha thank you so much for the request angel <3 i hope it fulfills all ur desires! (part 2 coming soon :))

the idea is that SVT breaks up with y/n after meeting someone else and falling for them, and then realizing they made a huge mistake, but you've moved on and there's nothing they can really do about it. it is all angst and pain. there is no relief.

seungcheol. he hated hearing his full name from anyone's lips, and he should've hated it even more coming from the lips that he'd be dreaming about for ages. but for some reason, in your voice, it made him smile. even after all this time.

and that smile, the one where he looked at you with his big shining eyes like you'd saved his life or restored his family honor, was almost enough to make you forget everything that had happened between you.

almost.

as it was, you gave him a soft smile back. "hey," you said. "you okay?"

a thousand thoughts pass through his mind at once -- you in his arms, you sighing his name, you breaking down in tears in your best dress in the restaurant where he broke your heart, you you you. god knows all the ways he’s thought about you, in spite of himself, with an alcohol burn to the back of his throat or stone-cold sober. some mistakes stick around, and what he said to you that night is undoubtedly the clingiest one he’s ever made. he knew it then, and he knows it now — seeing your face, however hesitant or worried you might look, is enough for him to know he’s still dead gone over you.

he shakes himself back to reality. "yeah," he says. "i'm okay. you look...great. happy."

"i am," you reply, and he notices, like a knife to his chest, you playing with a glittering ring on your finger, a nervous habit.

"is that --" he says, pointing, "what i think it is?"

you look down at your hand. "oh, yeah!" you exclaim, and despite yourself you smile broadly. "yeah, it is. um, it's pretty new, though. just happened last week."

"does he treat you right?" seungcheol asks, his eyes serious, his tone sharper than he intended. he'll know if you're lying, he always does.

so when you nod, thinking about the man you'll marry, about how he's sweet and gentle and knows how to pull a smile out of you on your very worst days, seungcheol's heart breaks a little more. because he knows it’s true, which means it’s all really over. the fire that kept your relationship with him alive has burned out, and he's the only one with any ashes left to spare.

he musters a smile as well. "good. i'm happy for you. well, it was good seeing you again," he says, turning away. and he curses his eyes for stinging, because he knew if you saw him cry you'd feel guilty, but after everything he put you through, you deserve to just be happy -- happy and nothing else -- for once.

jeonghan it was gradual for him, but it could be traced back to a very specific moment: when he found that letter from you, the one you’d written in class before you’d ever decided to mean anything to each other:

“date me?” it read, with two checkboxes, yes or no. jeonghan remembers how he checked the box labeled “yes” with a crisp black pen to hand back to you, and the look in your eyes when you unfolded it, and the smiles on both of your faces after you’d made out in the boys’ bathroom on the second floor like a couple of love-drunk highschoolers.

that note had heralded feelings jeonghan was desperate to ignore. he had ended it with you. his life was a carefully orchestrated set of advantageous events. he was always the one in control, and he never, ever lost.

so why did he feel like the world’s most pathetic loser whenever he saw that stupid note?

in the end, he’d had to do some serious soul-searching to determine why he even cared so much. he’d been bored, he determined — bored because you were so easy to be around, bored because you never made him feel unsafe or unloved, bored because loving you wasn’t a game he could play to win.

even now, as he stared at the note in his hands, crumpled with the years, jeonghan fought off the urge to call you. he lurked on social media and saw you traveling, eating, living like you’d always wanted to live. just a week prior he’d nearly cried at a picture of you in front of a castle somewhere in Germany, your arms outstretched like you were ready to hug the whole world. it was so you — the castle, the pose, the huge smile in the photo, even the windswept hair. and it hurt so much to see how beautiful you still were.

and a part of him knew that if he called, you would come back for him. because that was who you were.

so he never called, even as he burned with a thousand regrets for all the things he’d done wrong. selfish as he might be, he wasn’t monstrous enough to rob you of a life that was fuller without him in it.

joshua. you really never could be mad at joshua. not even when your relationship was staggering to its painful end, not even when you both knew that it wasn't working, not even when he broke up with you and started dating someone he'd told you not to worry about.

and not now, when you've run into him at a restaurant, right around the two-year mark of the breakup. you weren't in a great place when you'd started dating joshua, and the relationship had brought out the very worst in you, prompting a long period of self-improvement following the breakup.

now, you're in an amazing place, so much so that you're actually happy to see joshua here -- still with the girl he left you for, but looking preoccupied until you called his name and he met your eyes.

his eyes light up. "hi!" he says. "wow, it's you!"

"it is," you say, smiling. "how are things?"

he hesitates, and your heart sinks. you can tell that he hasn't done as well post-breakup as you have, and where the past you would've been a little smug about that, now you just feel compassionate. "things are crazy," he says with a smile that doesn't reach his eyes.

because in truth, joshua's looking at you, and though his hand is on the knee of the woman he thought would be better for him than you were, he's wishing he could stand up and hug you. here you are, just like in his memories but better, because your eyes are bright with life and your brows aren't knit together in worry like they always seemed to be when you were together.

joshua knew the relationship you'd had with him had been really hard on you. and he understood the reasons why it didn't work. you had been so insecure you couldn't see your own appeal, and joshua had been burnt out trying to prove it to you. and he could see that he'd made the right choice -- for you, at least.

because for him, every time he looked into the eyes of the woman he was with now, he wished they were yours.

this was an admission he couldn't make to himself until you were there in front of him, in a way he'd only let himself imagine after his lover was asleep next to him and he was drifting off himself.

and oh, it burns.

he doesn't say anything about it now -- that's going to have to wait for later, at home, where things are going to need to be said. but for now, he greets you politely, watching you leave after a bout of small talk that taught him nothing at all about where you ended up after he broke your heart. and he wonders vaguely if he'll ever, ever, ever forgive himself.

the odds aren't good.

junhui. "hey stranger," he says, and even after all the time and everything that has passed between the two of you, it still makes you ache a little.

but you muster a smile, a little wave. "hey jun."

"you're here for work?" it's not really a question he's asking, because you know he already knows that that's why you're on this particular street.

"yeah," you say anyway. "and you? what brings you here?"

he smiles to himself. "just needed some fresh air."

he'll never tell you that it's because he's been religiously coming here since you blocked his number two years ago, hoping this very thing would happen.

"how have you been?" you ask him, and he fights back memories of the times he spent without you, with someone else, knowing that if he remembers them it'll show on his face.

"good," he lies. never mind that at the back of his closet is a hoodie he let you borrow, and it's hidden back there because it still smells like you. never mind that he's been spending day after day in this same stupid alley where you film those same videos for your job, hoping that you'll show up so he can see you. "and you?"

"i'm happier than ever," you tell him.

and you look it. you look happy. happier than you were with him.

with a funny feeling in his stomach, jun turns away from you with a little wave. "well, it was good to see you again. i'm glad you're happy."

he'll never come back to this street again.

soongyoung. "what are you doing here?" asks soonyoung with wide eyes.

you gesture to the man at your side. "i'm here on a date, actually," you say. and oh, thank goodness you look good, and your date (who is your longtime boyfriend, actually) looks good, because, well, soonyoung also looks good. and you're glad you've run into him at an opportune moment for you.

"oh," he says, looking at the man beside you. "uh, you must be..."

"my boyfriend," you finish for him. "this is soonyoung," you say to your boyfriend.

your boyfriend gives him a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. he's heard all about the man who broke your heart into a thousand pieces, leaving him to pick up all the pieces and put them back together again. he doesn't mind doing it, but because of how badly you were hurt, he has spent more time than he'd like to admit wishing you'd never met the man in front of him right now. "hi," he says, shaking soonyoung's hand.

"hi," soonyoung says breathlessly. "wow, uh...nice to meet you. i'm, well..."

"my ex," you say with a smile. "it's okay. he knows."

of course he knows, soonyoung thinks to himself. of course you had to have had the discussion about how your previous boyfriend fell out of love with you.

or thought he had.

"how's ... um... i don't remember their name," you admit, trying to recall the person soonyoung had left you for.

"it didn't work out between us," he says quickly. "we broke up six months ago."

"oh," you say. "i'm sorry."

it's awkward now, the three of you standing there staring at each other, so you grab your boyfriend's hand. "well, it was good seeing you," you say as you pull him away.

you have a nice dinner with your boyfriend and even laugh over the encounter later. but soonyoung is haunted for months. because he noticed how safe and easy it was between you and your boyfriend, and it reminded him of how you used to act with him before he messed everything up.

wonwoo. as cautious and careful as wonwoo always was about everything, regret was not a common experience for him. so it was quite the shock when he found himself filled with it night after night following his split from the person he left you for.

when he'd broken up with you, you'd sincerely wished him well, and promised he'd never see you again if he didn't want to. and two years later, you'd kept that promise, never reaching out to him, never begging him for an explanation he didn't want to give, never worrying him with memories of the two of you when you'd been happy.

and this had been part of the reason why he'd broken up with his new girlfriend -- he kept remembering how unobtrusive you were. the way you fit into his life like a puzzle piece made for him. and even now, as he rereads all the passionately hateful texts his now-ex spams his phone with, he remembers you.

it's been forever since he unfollowed you on social media, but he looks you up all the same. he almost follows you again, almost likes your most recent post of you out with some friends, but thinks better of it.

you were so fair to him, so up-front and honest about everything. how unkind it would be, he thinks, to dredge up the past when you look so happy. how unpleasant for you, to be reminded of someone who hurt you so deeply.

so he shuts off his phone and sinks into bed, allowing the regret to wash over him like a wave.

jihoon. explaining that he'd fallen out of love with you was the second most exhausting task of jihoon's entire life. the most exhausting one, it turns out, was staying in a relationship with the person he'd left you for while pesky reminders of you kept flooding his brain.

after yet-another fight with his current partner, jihoon lies awake in bed, his jaw clenched, as he remembers how you'd make up with him after a fight, crawling into bed beside him and kissing his cheeks and whispering "i'm sorry", sometimes through tears, until he'd turn and embrace you back.

his current partner never apologizes or even admits any responsibility at all. as he lays there remembering how it felt to have your face buried in his neck, he comes to the shocking realization that he wishes it was you beside him still.

because with you, he knew he could always tap you on the shoulder and beat you to an apology, and it would be immediately forgiven. the guilt of having broken a heart like that is too overwhelming for him, and he suddenly needs to talk to you like he needs air in his lungs to live.

so he silently slides from bed, picks up his cell phone, and leaves the room. he dials your number from memory, having deleted it from his phone.

"your call cannot be completed as dialed," the voice says. he blinks and tries again. same response. it occurs to him that you may have blocked him for your own sanity, and the guilt intensifies, turning into tears he hates almost as much as he hates himself.

he spends the rest of the night with his phone in his hand, looking for any traces of you that may be left in the photos and memories there.

#svt #svt angst #svt imagines #svt x reader #I AM EMOTIONALLY FRAGILE AND NOW IM REALLY SAD #seventeen #svt fic #svt hyung line #svt fanfic

[atimeofyourlife]

My first kiss went a little like this

written for @steddieholidaydrabbles prompt: first kiss/ first time | rated: t | wc: 464 | tags: first kiss, getting together, past Stommy Steve and Eddie talk about their first kisses

"What about your first kiss?" Steve asked Eddie, ashing his cigarette in the ash tray sat between them on the patio.

"Tenth grade. Nicole Summers. I think she was in your grade?" Eddie replied.

"You're kidding?" Steve sat up to look at Eddie better.

"Nope. Why?"

"I dated her in eighth grade." Steve said, "Took her to the Snowball and everything."

"You gonna get mad that I stole your girl then, Harrington?" Eddie asked, a teasing tone to his voice, and nudging Steve a little in the side.

"Nah. We were only really together because our best friends were dating. We paired up because Tommy and Carol were together. We broke up a few weeks after Christmas that year. We decided that we'd be better off as friends." Steve explained.

"Was she your first kiss too?"

"No." Steve replied, but didn't add any detail, just continued smoking in silence.

"You going to tell me about it, or?" Eddie prompted after the silence felt like it was dragging out.

Steve stubbed out the end of his cigarette, and closed his eyes. A few deep breaths, before he whispered into the cool air of the night. "Tommy H."

Eddie opened and closed his mouth a few times, unsure how to respond. "Oh." He said after a few moments.

"I. I shouldn't have. You. Please don't tell anyone." Steve tripped over his words as he scrambled to his feet.

"Hey, Steve. Calm down." Eddie stood up and went after Steve, pulling him into a hug. "It's okay. I'm not going to judge you."

Steve froze for a moment, before melting into the hug. "I've only told Robin that before."

"Thanks for trusting me with it. I know that can't have been easy." Eddie murmured. "Are you going to give me any details about that, or just leave it at being Tommy H."

"We were twelve, thirteen maybe? He wanted to know if he was any good at kissing before he kissed a girl. He said it wasn't gay because we were just practicing. But, it turned out to be a little gay. For me, at least. When I kissed Tommy, it made me realize that I liked guys as well." Steve said quietly, still unsure about how Eddie would take it.

"So you're what? Bisexual?" Eddie asked.

"Yeah. It took forever to find that word. Until last year, I thought I was the only one." Steve admitted.

"I get that. Because I felt the same. I knew people that were gay. But I never met anyone else that liked both." Eddie replied.

"Until now." Steve said, glancing at Eddie's lips before going back to his eyes.

"Yeah. Until now." Eddie agreed.

Steve hesitated for a second, before pulling Eddie closer, and kissing him softly on the lips.

#steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #steve x eddie #first kiss #past stommy #getting together #steddieholidaydrabbles #atimeofyourwrites