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milaeth · 1 year

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୨୧┊ 𝐈. 𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐓 𝐂𝐑𝐔𝐒𝐇. ( lando norris )

ꖛ ─ you’re reading part one ∿ part two

✧.* pairings ─ lando norris x fem! model! piastri! reader

✧.* genre ─ one-shot ⨾ slight angst & fluff

✧.* summary ─ in which Lando and his teammate Oscar film a lie detector challenge for McLaren's youtube video and Lando is asked if he has a secret crush on someone. nobody but Lando knows that the mysterious person who has stolen his heart without knowing it is none other than you, Oscar's sister.

✧.* warnings ─ none other than fluff and maybe a little angst

✧.* mily’s thoughts ─ this is my first time writing anything on here! my first language isn’t english so pls have mercy lol. btw the reader is around the same age as lando!

Lando and his teammate Oscar sit across from each other, gathered around a table. it’s media day and they’re preparing to record the lie detector challenge for McLaren's youtube channel.

"are you two ready?" asks one of the crew members in charge of the camera and lighting equipment. Lando replies lightly, "as ready as we can be!" his remark makes Oscar chuckle and then nod. as soon as the cameraman says "action," however, Lando's mind begins to wander while Oscar explains the purpose of the video to the viewers.

his thoughts wander to you. even though he only saw you a few hours ago, he can't help but miss you. he may be embarrassed, but how can he not long for someone as amazing and beautiful as you? someone as unreachable as you.

the saddest part is that you don’t even know. you have no idea how incredible you are in Lando's eyes. without you knowing it, he's had a crush on you ever since you came into the paddock a year ago accompanied by your brother and his teammate Oscar Piastri. Lando developed these feelings for you around this time last year, but has kept them a secret from everyone ever since. It's ridiculous, it really is.

he knows that he can’t have you. you are a successful model who attracts the attention of countless men and women, and simply out of his league. not only that, but you’re his teammate's brother. but every time you talk to him and look at him, the glimmer of hope in him grows a little more, no matter how irrational it seems.

little do you know you warm Lando's heart by attending the races every two weeks to support your brother and passionately cheer for McLaren. even if your support isn’t exclusively for him, but for your brother Oscar, it still makes Lando feel great knowing that you’re at least cheering for the team he’s driving for.

Lando sighs softly, longing for more opportunities to talk with you. he wants to get to know you even better, to learn personal details hidden from the prying eyes of the media. he longs to be special to you, just as you are special to him.

"well someone's already planning how to trick and deceive the lie detector, aren't they?" Oscar's playful remark interrupts Lando's train of thought, his expression brimming with amusement. only now does Lando realize that he has been staring at the lie detector the entire time. his cheeks flush with embarrassment as he quickly looks away. has he been so obvious?

"what, I have no idea what you're talking about!" Lando exclaims dramatically, gasping in mock astonishment. he plays along with Oscar's teasing, trying to distract himself from the fact that he has been caught in his daydreams of you.

"sure," Oscar says, drawing out the word with a grin on his lips. "you do know how this works, though?" he asks, pointing to the toy in front of them, to which Lando silently shakes his head, "alright, you basically just have to put your hand on the metal part of the lie detector and then answer the questions I ask you truthfully. you'll get a shock if you lie, not if you don't, understand?"

Lando nods and tried to focus his attention on Oscar's explanation, which seems impossible as his mind automatically wants to wander back to you. this is supposed to be a fun and light-hearted video for the fans just before the race week, but Lando's heart racing at the mere thought of you reminds him how hard he has fallen for you.

Oscar decides to go first with the lie detector challenge, providing honest and sometimes not so honest answers, which leads to him being shocked and both of them bursting into laughter. a few minutes later, Oscar answers the final question written on the card in Lando’s hand. afterwards, Lando takes a deep breath. now it’s his turn to do the challenge.

he places his hand on the metal surface of the toy and feels a slight jolt of nervousness. he reminds himself that this is all just a game and he has nothing to lose. well, except his pride…

Oscar starts the first round of questions and everything goes smoothly. Lando focuses on giving honest answers and suppresses his distracting thoughts of you as best he can. but as the questions continue, Lando's thoughts occasionally drift back to you and the memories you both share.

like the first time you spoke to him, your bright smile, your beautiful eyes, and your genuine interest in him as a person that made him blush. he remembers the moments when your eyes always meet for a split second after a race, and the electric connection he feels, even if it's fleeting and one-sided. some might call these memories insignificant, but they're the ones that mean the most to him. because they're all he has.

but with the good memories come the not-so-good ones. like the numerous occasions when he failed to start a conversation or laugh with you. the occasions when he embarrassed himself and sometimes was even too nervous to speak in your presence without stuttering. the fear of rejection and his own self-doubt hold him back all the time, leaving him with regrets and what-if scenarios.

the lie detector test progresses, and Lando's thoughts return to the present when he notices Oscar's mischievous grin. he glances at the card in Oscar's hand, which has the rest of the questions on it.

"alright, mate," Oscar says, his voice filled with mock seriousness. "do you have a secret crush on someone?"

Lando's eyes widen and his heart skips a beat, surprised by the unexpected question.

“umm,” he starts, contemplating his response with a pounding heart. a thousand thoughts race through his mind. should he lie or tell the truth?

"no..." he finally lies and nervously looks at the crew to his right for a second, while an embarrassed smile threatens to form on his face. Oscar smirks and raises an eyebrow, not once breaking eye contact with his teammate. Lando immediately notices the amused twinkle in his eyes, clearly aware of his embarrassment.

the room falls silent and everyone waits curiously for the result. time suddenly seems to slip by in slow motion. then, without warning, an electric shock goes through Lando’s hand, sending a shockwave up his arm. his eyes widen and a quiet yelp escapes his lips as he flinches from the unexpected sensation. he quickly removes his hand from the toy and groans. he can hear Oscar laughing, obviously amused by the sight of his head lying on the table in pain.

"well, well, well," Oscar exclaims, a mischievous grin tucking at his lips and amusement still dancing in his eyes, "care to tell us who this mysterious person is?" Lando laughs, “no thanks, I’d rather not!”

"oh, come on. we all want to know who you fell in love with!" Oscar's teasing tone makes Lando roll his eyes playfully as he sits up in his chair. "she’s not even my girlfriend!" he exclaims. "not yet," Oscar wiggles his eyebrows and Lando groans in fake annoyance.

“i'm not going to tell you who she is.” Lando declares, and Oscar lets out a fake, sad ‘aww’, “i wouldn't even say i’m in love, you know.. i don’t know her well enough to call it love.” Oscar nods understandingly.

“but you like her, don’t you?”

Lando smiles at that, thinking of your contagious laugh and amazing personality. “yes, i really, really like her.”

Oscar's gaze softens, a knowing glint in his eyes and a genuine smile on his face as he observes Lando. he knows what a person in love looks like, and Lando is definitely head over heels in love.

“then you should think about taking a chance,” he says with a gentle smile. “life is too short to hide such strong emotions. who knows? maybe this mysterious person feels the same way.” he winks and Lando smiles and looks down at his hands. you feeling the same way about him? that’s too good to be true.

“i don’t think so,” he replies with a shrug, “but we’ll see.”

little does he know that fate has its own plans, and that the path of their intertwined stories is slowly unfolding. the love Lando carries in his heart will soon find its way to the one person who unknowingly captured it…

don’t forget to like, comment & reblog (it’s very much appreciated <3).

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deadtired-highkeyenergetic · 16 days

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Hello! May I please request #5 “Flowers” from the prompt list? Thank you! :D

Ayyyyyyy one of my fave prompts from the list! Glad you requested it!!

Summary: You give Astarion a personally handmade flower crown

Each flower has its own unique meaning, though some meanings have been lost to time. Your mother’s voice teaching you the meaning of some flowers has long faded from your memory, a loss you mourn as you scour the markets for books on flowers and their meanings.

You know Astarion isn’t one for receiving flowers, but its not the flower you want him to hold dear to his heart, no, it’s the meaning of the flower that you want to imprint into his mind for all eternity.

By a stroke of luck, you find a book detailing the meaning and uses of certain flowers in Faerun hidden away in the corners of a merchant’s store. A quick purchase later and its now permanently in your hands, ready for perusing.

Astarion raises an eyebrow when he sees you sitting in your tent, engrossed in a book instead of sitting with the others around the campfire, unwinding after a long day of adventuring. The others don’t seem to mind the missing company, but this is most unusual behaviour from you so Astarion takes it upon himself to investigate this change.

“Hello darling, not in the mood for mingling tonight?” He smiles, closing the distance between the two of you. You shift over wordlessly, making space for him and he happily sits down, taking a look at the book you’re reading.

“I had no idea you were into flowers, I thought you were more into…clothes.”

“You thought wrong, then.” His favourite smile of yours graces your lips as amusement flashes across your face. “If however it were a book about clothes…I could be persuaded to be into clothes.”

Astarion can’t help but laugh at your attempt at a sly look and leans in to press a quick peck to your lips. “Leave that kind of talk to me, darling. You’re positively terrible at it.”

“At least I’m not negatively terrible at it.” You shoot back.

Astarion rolls his eyes, half immune to your type of jokes at this point and swipes the book from your lap, curious. You’re left hugging him from behind as he holds the book out of your reach, reading the page you’re on.

“Aren’t night orchids our resident cleric’s favourite flower?”

“Yes, they are.” You rest your chin on his shoulder, still clinging onto him.

“Night orchids are known to symbolise rarity, uniqueness, beauty and spirituality. Who knew her favourite flower represented her so well?” He remarks.

“They also represent someone else very well.” You mumble into his back sheepishly. Astarion hums in response, closing the book after placing a bookmark in it for you and turns to face you, wrapping his arms around your waist.

“Yes, Star?” You ask.

Astarion buries his face into your hair, letting out a soft breath that ruffles the strands on the top of your head, causing you to smile softly and reach upwards to run your fingers through his hair. A quiet purr rumbles in his throat as he leans into your touch, enjoying the attention you’re lavishing upon him instead of the book. You indulge him, knowing nights like this where you’re not needed by anyone else are few and far between. Astarion curls his fingers around yours, enjoying the way your hand neatly slots into his as if they were made for each other. Maybe they were, maybe you were always meant for him and vice versa. He quite likes that thought.

You play with a few strands of his silver hair, twirling them around a finger. “A flower wreath would look really nice on you.”

“Would it now?” Astarion would really rather you remain here until dawn breaks instead of going out to pick flowers, even if they are for him.

“It would. You will look really pretty with one sitting on your head like a crown.” You draw a ghostly circle around his head, mirroring where the flower wreath would sit before clapping your hands together. “That settles it! I’ll make you one!”

Astarion quickly moves to grab your arm, eyes wide as his mouth moves to convince you to stay, to not leave him yet. He’s ready to beg you to remain by his side for what remains of the night, afraid that someone might steal you away from him but you haven’t moved an inch from your spot.

“I still don’t know what flower to use,” you chuckle. “Guess I’ll have to stay here for the rest of the night, hope you don’t mind.”

“No, of course not, darling.” He swallows, shoving his embarrassment to the back of his mind. You lean against his chest, book tossed aside in favour of your lover and inhale his scent, blissfully snuggling against him. He holds you close, tracing patterns on your exposed skin until you fall asleep and he tucks you into your bedroll, pressing a kiss to your forehead and sneaks out of your tent, but not before wishing you a quiet goodnight that you’re far too deep in sleep to hear.

The matter of the flower crown gets pushed to the back of your mind and out of Astarion’s head in favour of more pressing matters as your party journeys on until you stumble upon the cave Shadowheart once lived in deep in the underground Sharran temple.

While the others search the cave for loot or lost childhood memories, a certain plant catches your eye — night orchids. You go about picking them, counting how many you would need for a flower crown that would fit Astarion’s head and are relieved to find there are sufficient night orchids in the cave for your endeavour. Stashing them safely in your pouch, you turn to gather the others and head off to the Sharran dorms for some much needed rest whilst letting Shadowheart take back as much of her lost memories as possible. She deserved that, at least, for all she’d been through.

You claim the bed closest to the back corner of the room and begin work, praying that you remember how to make a flower crown and fortunately, muscle memory saves the day as your fingers weave flower after flower into a circular shape. It’s not the best looking flower crown you’ve ever made, being out of practice, but it’s certainly passable. You turn the delicate object in your hands, checking it over before glancing upwards. Astarion was arguing with Wyll about the bottle of wine he definitely stole despite his claims of innocence and the others were enjoying the show, save for Gale who was cooking tonight’s dinner.

Slipping out of your bed, you sneak over to Astarion’s bed to deliver the goods before walking up to the group as if nothing happened, breaking up the fight that was escalating with the announcement of food.

When Astarion throws back the covers to lie down, he finds a flower crown sitting atop a book he remembers seeing you read before and stares at them, resisting the urge to throw the covers up again to remove the illusion. Surely he was hallucinating or something, no one would deign to personally handcraft something so beautiful and delicate just for him. Or maybe the giver had placed them on the wrong bed, any of the others maybe except for Lae’zel would appreciate such a gift.

“Do you like it?” Your voice sounds behind him. He turns around, nearly dropping the blanket on the flower crown.

“It’s for me?” He asks, confused.

“Yeah. It’s on your bed, is it not? Did I make a mistake?” You frown.

“No, you placed it on my bed.” Had you made the flower crown for him? Why did you spend such precious time and effort on him? The thing of beauty was wasted on someone like him, it would have been better off in the hands of anyone else, even Karlach despite her probably reducing it to cinders before it could properly rest on her head.

“That’s a relief. I thought I had the wrong bed for a moment,” you smile. “Well, goodnight then, Astarion.”

Before he can say anything, you’ve headed off to your bed, leaving him alone with his swirling thoughts. He gingerly picks the crown up, checking to see if anyone is paying him any mind before slipping out of the dorm and putting it on when he deems it safe enough to do so. His gaze falls upon a nearby mirror and sadness clouds his eyes when he realises he won’t be able to see how he looks like with the flower crown. His reflection will forever evade him, not even the tadpole could keep it from running away.

“You really do look pretty wearing it.”

“Why, thank you, darling.” Astarion smiles, taking a little bow. The action causes the flower crown to slip and when he straightens, it’s lopsided.

“Concentrate on the tadpole. I want to show you how you look with the flower crown on.”

Astarion blinks.

“Oh come on, don’t look at me like that. I hadn’t thought about using our tadpoles like this before until Gale pointed it out,” you huff. “I bet you haven’t thought about it either.”

“I —”

“Concentrate already.”

“As you wish, dearest.”

Astarion closes his eyes, concentrating on his tadpole’s connection with yours and when he opens his eyes, a pale silver haired elf stands before him, ruby red eyes piercing into his very soul. He really is pretty with the flower crown on, like you said. The dark blue colour of the night orchids stands in stark contrast against the silver of his hair, creating a halo of blue around his head.

When he next opens his eyes, he’s back in his own body, tears threatening to spill over.

“Thank you,” he manages to whisper, throat clogging up.

“You’re welcome,” you smile softly, reaching over to cup his cheeks. He closes the gap without hesitation, lips meeting yours in a dance of bliss and affection. The night lasts longer than usual, or maybe it was longer than a night but neither of you can tell from underground.

When Astarion heads back to his bed, he remembers the book that is still lying underneath its sheets — a book about flowers and their various meanings with a rather familiar bookmark sticking out of it. He flips to the marked page and the section is titled ‘Night Orchids’. At the end of the passage letters come together, forming a sentence that causes tears to cascade down his face.

Gift this sweet bloom to someone you believe is beautiful in their unique and special way.

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #astarion bg3 #astarion x durge #astarion x reader #baldurs gate astarion #astarion romance #astarion x tav #astarion x you #astarion ancunin #tavstarion #durgestarion #bg3 fluff #bg3 fic

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leighsartworks216 · 8 months

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I Come With Knives

Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

I am not tagging anybody in this because this fic deals with very heavy subjects and I don't want to force anybody into that unexpectedly.

Title comes from "I Come With Knives" by IAMX

Warnings: blood, injury, blood drinking, mentions of past abuse (not explicit), mentions of emotinal/psychological abuse, mentions of (emotional) manipulation, self-inflicted injury (somewhat vague in description), trauma, slavery mention, angst with a dash of fluff here and there

If I need to add more PLEASE let me know

Word Count: 2,025

Main Masterlist

First Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist - Second Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist

I Come With Knives Masterlist

AO3

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The moment you laid eyes on him, you knew what he was. Even in the sunlight, those crimson eyes, the fangs, the bite marks. There was no denying it. But he never said anything about it, never brought it up, nor did he eat in front of you - so you let it lie.

You weren’t a vampire, fortunately, but unfortunately you’d been… a slave… to one. You toss and turn at night, imagining you’re back in her arms. Writhing under her, light fading as she drinks too much in her anger. How she coos and cuddles you afterward, urging water and fruit into your mouth as you cling to her. You wake up nauseous and panting, cold sweat sticking to your skin.

“Bad dream?”

You whipped around, the dagger you kept under your pillow aimed at the owner of the voice. Astarion chuckled, hands raised to show he was unarmed. You sighed and dropped your weapon.

“A really bad dream, then, or are you always so quick on the draw?”

You stay quiet and wipe the sweat off your brow and upper lip. There was a stream nearby… but the thought of being alone out here at night terrified you. Sleeping out in the open with another vampire mere feet away was bad enough.

But there was nothing else you could do now to distract your mind. Her eyes, her smile were burned into your every thought, taunting you, beckoning you back to her.

“I dreamt of my master,” you admit. His eyes squint with intrigue. You feel bile in the back of your throat. “She haunts me every time I close my eyes. I can’t get rid of her.”

He hums, contemplative. “When you say ‘master’...”

You hum, thinking you knew precisely what he was going to say. “She’s probably not too different from yours.”

All at once, he shuts down. The playful, charismatic aura about him turns to stone in a heartbeat. His voice is sour and sharp when he speaks, like a snake’s hiss. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Then pretend I said nothing, but you’re not exactly trying to hide what you are.”

He opens his mouth, fangs prominent, but the conversation is cut short when someone shifts in their bedroll. You both watch, waiting for the still silence to return. Even once it does, he says nothing.

“Goodnight, Astarion.” You tuck your dagger back under your pillow and lay back down, tugging the blanket up and over your neck. He catches a glimpse of puncture wounds before they’re hidden away once more.

It’s almost noon the next day when he brings it up. Shadowheart and Gale forge ahead, chatting idly about their goddesses. When he sidles up beside you, you wait for him to speak.

“I thought I was being subtle.” It’s light, almost a pout. He doesn’t want to scrape past the surface just yet.

“The fangs and eyes could be excused, if you weren’t an elf. But I’d recognize a scar like that anywhere.” You look at him from the corner of your eye. “And the jokes were a little on the nose.”

His lip quirks up. He looks at you appraisingly, sizing you up. “You have the same scar,” he pointed out. You looked straight ahead again. He looked too… pleased with himself for noticing. “No wonder you wear a high collar - it looks deep.”

“I…” you swallow. Thinking about her makes you so flustered. It’s hard to find words when just thinking about it placed a boulder in your gut. “I was her personal blood supply. Every night, she…”

You don’t see the way his face softens. Haughty superiority replaced with a sort of sorrow. Empathy.

“I’m sorry. I can’t talk about it.”

Leaves brush up against each other around you with the coming and going of a cool breeze. The only other sound besides the conversation up ahead was the sound of boots stepping on dirt and over branches. You focus on it all, desperate to distract your mind.

Astarion clears his throat. “Your form is lousy, by the way.”

You turn and stare at him as though he’d sprouted a second head.

He pretended to study his nails. “When you threatened me last night, your grip was sloppy. And you’d never be able to land a solid blow, not without breaking your wrist first. Threatening an enemy is only as good as your ability to act on it.”

“So my form was like an empty threat?”

He grinned at you like you were a child grasping the alphabet for the first time. “Precisely.”

“And I assume you’d be the one to teach me how to improve?”

“Darling, there’s no one better. I would be willing to give you a pointer or two. If you ask nicely.”

You smiled despite yourself. And later, back at camp, you said please and he showed you everything you needed to know to defend yourself.

The stars glisten overhead. Each twinkle is a secret shared between them. A whisper of gossip. You can almost imagine what it would sound like - the tinkling of bells, the soft clink of porcelain.

Astarion purposefully makes his steps louder so you don’t startle when his face pops into your vision. The bags under his eyes seem deeper. His cheeks more hollowed than usual, skin sickly white instead of simply pale. He nudges his head toward the forest, and waits impatiently as you stand to follow.

Long strides carry him quickly through the underbrush, you’re nearly jogging to keep up. And suddenly he stops, ways enough from camp that talking wouldn’t wake anybody up.

He paces, almost frantic. “I don’t know who else to come to for this. The others already don’t trust me - they’d kill me before showing an ounce of kindness.”

“Astarion, what are you talking about?”

He groans and comes to a stop in front of you. His eyes are crazed and starved and apologetic. “I’m hungry,” he finally quietly admits. He takes a step back when he sees the microexpressions in your face. The way your eyes become distant and sharp. At the same time as your mind wanders to your master, you were searching him for any signs of danger. “I know what you’ve been through, but I can’t keep slinking off to eat squirrels and boar - it’s not enough, not if I have to fight. I feel so… weak. I’m open to suggestions, darling, really. I’d much rather not latch onto an old scab.”

When he says it, you turn your head away to hide that side of your neck. You don’t even realize you’re doing it. He can hear your heart racing in your chest. He’s worried for a moment that you’ll pass out. But he waits, as patient as a starving vampire can be, while you think. He makes no move forward, no efforts to reach toward you or grab you.

If eating animals couldn’t satisfy him enough, then only bigger prey would. Your mind jumps to shout “HUMAN” in your ear, but then you’re reminded of the bodies left in your wake. With each encounter, all manner of unsavory types were abandoned, left to rot and decay.

“T- The goblins? Could you eat those?”

He huffs, frustration seeping into his tone. “Well, yes, but there’s a startling lack of them for at least a mile down the road. With your permission, I’d be more than happy to eat my fill after a fight - even during, should it come to that. But if I have to fight tomorrow like- like this,” he gestures to himself, but his voice chokes before he can describe what may happen. He sighs.

The moon watches silently as you struggle against yourself. The stars whisper vitriol to each other, giggling as you clench and unclench your fists. You could do it. You could help him, right now. But just thinking about his mouth on your neck-

You swallow. “I may have an idea. I- I don’t know how well it’ll work, but…”

“I’m all pointy ears, darling.”

You stumble over your words, trying and failing to explain your thoughts. Eventually, you huff in annoyance with yourself and tell him to wait there, before disappearing back in the woods towards camp. You grab your dagger from beneath the pillow, an empty bottle you found, and a roll of bandages.

He frowns when he sees what you’ve returned with. “What are you doing with all that?”

You shove the roll of bandages towards him and he takes them, unwilling to upset you further when your face was set with such determination. You hold the bottle under your arm and steady your blade against your hand.

“Darling, what-”

The smell of blood hits him like a tidal wave. He can’t tear his eyes away. Something animalistic inside of him wants to lunge for a drink; it takes every ounce of his willpower not to.

You uncork the bottle with your teeth and line the dripping blood up with the whole. With a squeeze and a whimper, blood begins to fill the container. The drip slows when the bottle is halfway full. Even for a small jar, it’s impressive. You hold it out for him to take, a slight tremor in your fingertips. “Drink it.”

He can’t argue. He can barely form the words to say anything. All he can think about is the sanguine fluid presented to him. He licks a stray drip trailing down the side of the bottle with a sigh. So sweet. So warm. Thick and rich, not some watered down rancid rat’s blood. He’s groaning as he tips it back, gulping every last drop down.

In his distraction, you pull the bandage from his hand. It takes no effort at all. You wrap a section around your hand.

Astarion sighs long and low when he finishes. His eyes are closed, savoring the taste on his tongue. “That was…” He huffs with a smile, fangs bared and tinted with your blood. When the daze of hunger passes, his eyes find you.

You tried repeatedly to hold the bandage in place, pinning it between the back of your hand and your stomach, trying to hold onto it with your fingers, even trying to use your teeth. It falls each time. You’re careful not to let it hit the ground. You had enough to worry about - best not add infection to the list. Pale hands stop you before you can try again.

You startle away at first. His fingers barely wrap around your wrist, making no effort to hold you in place, only to hold you steady. His other hand takes hold of the bandage.

“May I?” It’s deep, almost seductive. He has a smirk on his face again. Already his skin is gaining the slightest tint of color; his eyes don’t look as tired. “It’s the least I could do.”

Everything inside of you tells you to run away. He’s too close. One quick movement while you’re off guard and he could drain you dry. He could hurt you. Your dagger is abandoned on the ground, dirt sticking to the wet blood along its edge as it waits to be cleaned. You’re defenseless.

With the barest nod, he gets to work. Nimble fingers wrap the cloth securely and tie it off on the back of your hand, out of the way so you can still hold onto things. He guides your hand to his mouth and you’re scared he’ll tear the bandage off and dig his teeth and tongue into the cut, but all he does is place a small kiss over it.

“This is a gift, you know,” he whispers, eyes half-lidded not with lust - but something reminiscent of it. A poor imitation. “I won’t forget it.”

He lets go of your hand. With a smile - too devious to be genuine - he slips back into the woods.

Her eyes don’t haunt you in your dreams that night. Her mouth doesn’t curl around contempt and honeyed words. All you see is him. His eyes staring through thick lashes into yours as his lips place a feathered kiss on your hand.

#fanfic #fanfiction #astarion #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #astarion & tav #astarion & rrader #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #baldur's gate astarion #baldur's gate tav #baldurs gate astarion #baldurs gate tav #bg3 astarion #bg3 tav #i come with knives

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strangersmunsons · 1 year

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fried egg I'm in love

Eddie makes you breakfast.

Contains: Eddie x Reader, fem!reader, established relationship, pet names, Eddie fries you some eggs because you should always eat breakfast before a big day. No mention of reader’s physical appearance, no use of Y/N. Warnings: mentions of food & eating (obvi). Word Count: 1,200-ish i am completely delighted by @mcbeanzontoast 's artwork and these sweet lil drawings (1, 2) of Eddie are all i can think about, thank u for the inspo bb! <3 btw srry if this isn't how you like your eggs or if u hate alt-rock themed puns. but personally i feel very strongly about the over-medium thing.

“Eddie. Eddie.”

There’s still no response from the motionless lump on the bed. He’s twisted up in the thin, pilled sheets like he tried to fight them and lost.

His breathing is slow and even, clearly still in a deep sleep. You hope his dreams are pleasant, but not so pleasant that he’ll be upset with you for what you’re about to do.

You lean closer to where you think his ear might be. It’s hidden under a mass of thick curls, but you're pretty sure you’re in the right spot.

“Eddie!”

It comes out even louder than you intended. Oops.

“Huh!”

Eddie jolts awake and tries to roll over, but only succeeds in tangling himself further in the bedding. He squirms and struggles against the taut fabric for a minute, before giving up and letting his body go limp. His face scrunches against the brightness of the room, peering at you with squinted eyes.

You, who have already been awake for an hour. You, who have already washed and dressed and tidied yourself up. You, who are looking at him rather expectantly…? His full lips pull down in a frown.

“What gives?” he grumbles, unhappy to be conscious before noon. As usual.

“Sorry honey, but you didn’t hear me the first four times I tried.”

He sighs, then lets out a sudden gasp. He tries to sit upright, lurching sideways, still thrashing against that damn sheet. “Your interview!”

Bingo!

“Yes, my interview,” you say, too amused and in love with him to be exasperated. “Don’t worry, we still have plenty of time. But you can barely function when you first wake up and I can’t have you falling asleep behind the wheel. I figured I’d get you up now so you have time to adjust.” You reach out and cup his face, rubbing a thumb over his stubbly cheek.

He turns his head in your hand so he can kiss your palm. “Good thinkin', sweetheart. That’s why you’re the brains of this operation.”

You help untangle him and wander out into the kitchen while he heads for the bathroom. Because even bone-deep exhaustion is no match for Eddie's mouth, he pokes his head out so he can talk to you. “How’re you feeling, baby?” The words are garbled and foamy with toothpaste.

“Okay,” you call back from your seat at the table. Well, that’s kind of a lie. “Actually, I’m really nervous, but that’s normal, I guess.”

You really want this job to work out. Eddie’s dying for you to come and live with him in his apartment, but you want a little more financial stability before you move out of your place. You promised him that once you landed a higher paying job you would take the leap. The shiny prospect of perpetual domesticity with your favorite boy is riding on this position, and it's making you gut-wrenchingly antsy.

“You’re gonna be great!” he shouts from around his toothbrush.

Eddie joins you in the kitchen, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He’s in nothing but his boxers and mismatched wool socks. One is maroon, the other is green with stripes. “Great. You hear me? They’d be lucky to have you. In fact, you should be interviewing them, asking why they deserve to be your employer.” He’s teasing you, but he also means it.

Your stomach flutters at the praise, and at the sight of all that skin he’s showing. You know in your heart that he’s still so warm from sleep.

He yawns, and stretches dramatically. “Have you eaten yet?”

You chuckle and shake your head. “No way. No appetite.”

“Well, you gotta eat. You need fuel on a day like today.” He crosses his arms and frowns at you.

That's humorous, coming from the guy who attended six years of high school running on nothing but mini-pretzels and Mountain Dew. “Eddie, I’m way too anxious to eat right now.”

“Listen, you’ll feel worse if you don’t eat. Because if you don’t have something in your belly, and you’re nervous, you’ll get lightheaded and pass out in the middle of the interview, in which case you won’t get the job, 'cause then they’ll all be thinking, ‘This girl has the temperament of a fragile Victorian woman. Why is she even here? She should be sent to the seaside for her health.’ You know?”

“I…guess so?”

“Trust me, sweetheart, you have to eat breakfast. Let me make you something.”

The Something in question is simple: toast with butter, and fried eggs, over-medium. “Runny enough to dip, but cooked enough so there’s no snotty white stuff,” he says sagely. “It’s the only way to eat 'em.”

You hum in agreement, but you’re more focused on the way he looks standing half-naked in front of the stove, spatula in hand, a cigarette dangling from his lips.

He insists on making your portion first, sliding the plate in front of you and kissing your head when it’s done. “Eat up, doll.”

You thank him quietly and start to eat, watching as he goes through the process over again for himself. Now that he’s taken care of you, some of the tiredness he was staving off returns. His movements get clumsier as his attention oscillates between assembling his breakfast and being your personal cheerleader. He bumps into the counter, nearly burns his fingertips on the stove, and knocks over a glass of orange juice, but steadfastly refuses your offer to take over. Stubborn. You put a pot of coffee on for him.

You feel calmer now, watching his ministrations, listening to his reassurances. You've found that Eddie’s presence seems to be the salve for all your silly little troubles. His throaty morning-voice and dimpled smile send a rush of warmth through you, putting you at ease, like a cup of something hot on a cold day. You feel so lucky to be loved by him.

While you’re adoring him, trying not to get misty-eyed thinking about it, your sweet boy’s about to transfer his second egg to his plate. He's almost done it when he’s wracked with another full-body yawn. It's powerful enough that his eyes close, and his arm jerks the wrong way, and the egg slips out of the pan. It hits the kitchen floor with a wet slap.

Quickly, he looks down, then at you, and then back at the egg. In one swift motion he scoops it up off the floor. “Five second rule.”

You wrinkle your nose. “Ed…” You’re tempted to chastise him more thoroughly because who knows when that floor was last cleaned? Certainly not Eddie. But the way he’s doting on you today makes you hold your tongue.

He shrugs. “Fine. I’ll wash it off.”

He turns the sink on so a thin stream of water comes out. He picks the egg up with his hands, and holds it under the faucet, turning it carefully so that each side gets a gentle rinse. It gets tossed casually back onto the plate.

Completely unbothered, he joins you at the table and digs in.

He finally catches the look on your face. Without swallowing the huge bite of food he just popped in his mouth, he goes -

“What?”

Afterwards, Eddie drives you to your interview just like he promised he would. When you emerge from the building some thirty odd minutes later, feeling victorious, he's right there to celebrate with you.

Neither of you say it, but you're both thinking the same thing. One bed. One kitchen table. One little apartment. One home.

#eddie munson #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x female reader #stranger things fanfiction #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson oneshot

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photmath · 10 months

Text

13 Laughing Emojis | Kylian Mbappé

Pairing: Kylian Mbappe x Female Reader

Summary: Wanting to see Barbie during Kylian's transfer incites chaos on Twitter.

Word Count: 1.5k (blurb)

Warnings: cursing, kissing, perhaps typos, transfer??, mention of barbie but no spoilers, brief social media usage

Note: To get me back in the writing mood before I drop a 10k chapter of Comme Les Fleurs. Also my first time adding a Twittter section---never again!

Kylian’s phone would not stop ringing as the two of you laid in the cushions of the couch. He would grumble with each vibration, kissing your forehead and whispering his sorry’s before carefully slipping out of the couch to answer the call.

There were days where his phone would constantly ring, especially when he was away from his mother. Some mornings you would find the other side of the bed empty, him already awake and talking in the kitchen with Fayza. She’d greet you as if you had been there this entire time, shoving a cup of coffee in your hand and ushering you to sit down next to Kylian. He would give you a sympathetic smile, kissing your forehead while rubbing circles on your back.

You had always been in Paris, your life was here. Your friends and family, they all lived down the street of your childhood home.

Kylian told you late at night, after coming back home from a disappointing loss. He said he wasn’t renewing, that he’d leave PSG in a year and start a new adventure. You were excited, wanting him to make his dream come true of playing with Real Madrid but you thought you’d have a year to get it settled.

Now, practically hidden in the shadows of Madrid, you were growing restless, wanting to feel the breeze or even the sweltering sun outside.

“No, mi amor, we can’t go out—”

“You know I’m good with disguises,” you scowl.

He pulls you into his chest, his lips meeting yours in a chaste kiss, “What do you want to do?”

“Anything, Kylian,” you groan. Your hands clasp around the nape of his neck, staring down at the overgrown stubble he was refusing to shave, not that he had the time. Having to pack your bags with haste before catching a private jet to Madrid, none of you had time to double check vanities and necessities.

His hands slide down to your thighs straddling him, squeezing them lightly before tracing your bottom to settle on your back. His eyes narrow almost immediately, a smirk drawing on his lips, “Anything?”

“No,” you smack his chest although his eyes don’t leave your lips. “Can I just walk around the lobby?”

He shakes his head with a frown, “Come on, amor, you know you shouldn’t. One more week, yeah?”

“I didn’t have to come this early,” you grumble.

You were hesitant about leaving, of course you were. You only had two months to gravitate that you were uprooting your entire life with the same boy who would knock on your door everyday with a flower he picked from the neighbor’s yard. You knew what you were getting into, but for his transfer to be regarded as the most talked about, the most sought out one, nothing could’ve prepared you for the way the media would’ve twisted the entire saga. Every hour they mentioned Kylian news, whether it was true or not.

You have been here before, hell multiple times now. People would stop you at your job, recognizing you and asking what Kylian was going to do. But this time it was different, it was official. Kylian was in Madrid, ready to be presented within a week.

Kylian’s hand moved to your cheek, his smile straining to not diminish, “Do you want to go home?”

His eyes go tender, taking one of your hands and pressing a kiss against the bone of your wrist. He’s gentle, the lamp’s incandescent light glowing against his cheek as his dark eyes await your answer. Warmth encompasses you almost instantaneously the longer your stare at him.

You don’t feel the lull of wanting to retreat back to Paris. You don’t feel the guilt for leaving so suddenly, for resenting the year’s notice you suddenly no longer had. All the mornings, nights, and dates interrupted by phone calls and meetings. You were used to them, yet sometimes they still made you upset. Kylian was always attentive to your subtle change in emotions, making up for the lost time in the sweetest of ways, but it was only a reminder of what you were to experience for the rest of your life.

You shake your head, snapping out of your trance, “No, why would I go there? You aren’t there.”

A small smile forms, “If you ever want to visit, don’t hesitate to tell me, yeah?”

“Of course.”

He craned his neck to kiss you, chuckling within it, “If you want to leave, we need to go somewhere that’s private.”

“You’ll be surprised with what strings I can pull.”

“Yeah?” he raises his brows. His arms secure around your back and swiftly lays you against the couch. “What strings can you pull, belle?”

“Two tickets to Barbie!” you snicker.

He scrunches his nose, “There’s people there.”

“No, I called around and found a place that is very private, big names go there. They have a separate entrance and everything,” you reason. His hips dip down to meet yours, a huff escaping you as he plants his deadweight against you. You laugh, snaking your arms around his shoulders.

His eyes crinkle, “You were going to go with or without me, weren’t you?”

The mischievous grin grows before you can stop it, “Maybe.”

“Ow,” he feigns before collapsing on top of you to kiss you. His stubble scratches against your chin, and you nearly push him off hadn’t he been Madrid’s most prized possession at the moment. “I’ll buy the tickets after this.”

You pull away from his kiss, "We have to wear pink!"

"Pink?"

"Please."

"You don't have to beg, love," he snickers. "Of course we will wear pink. I have a shirt."

"Oo," your eyes widen, "the one that exposes your chest?"

He nods, finally quieting you down with a kiss.

---

Kylian knew to shut off his phone before the movie started, you followed as well. The both of you hated interruptions at movies and it wasn’t like the two of you went to a cinema often.

Once the credits begin the roll, Kylian presses his lips against your nose upon hearing your sniffles. You pushed him away, not wanting him to see you crying although it was nothing new. He chuckles, sliding his phone out of his pocket and turning it on.

Within seconds of his phone loading, it’s bombarded with notifications.

“Sheesh,” he whispers, briefly scrolling through them. Your eyebrows furrow when you see your name within his messages, something about your Twitter.

Your eyes bulge, “Shit, shit, shit.”

“What?” he mutters, turning towards you and then turning back to his phone. He brings his phone closer to his eyes, reading along the messages that his mother and other family members have sent him. “Amor?”

Turning on your phone seems to be the most difficult task in the world, nothing wanting to load and Twitter glitching as you tap your profile. “Fuck!”

“Bébé, why is Mom talking about your Twitter, that you—posted something?”

Once the tweet finally loads, you realize in horror that your account was no longer private. Your last tweet had reached 500 thousand likes and millions of views. Your cheeks burn as you turn towards Kylian, who’s still focused on his messages instead of his Twitter.

“I think…” you start. Kylian’s head snaps in your direction at the sound of your trembling voice. His phone slips out of his grip and bounces against his thigh, landing on the floor. He doesn’t glance at it, only scanning your face for answers. “When Lana was playing with my phone yesterday, she might have made my Twitter public. When I had her in my lap, she was looking through my photos, and then I got distracted with us talking to Melissa. I’m sorry.”

You hand him your phone as he reads the tweet, skimming down to the comments and reading the first few. You wait for his face to change. You wait for anything to happen but nothing changes. The crease near his brow is still etched, his breathing ragged. Perhaps you were expecting anger? Disappointment? But none of it came.

He blows a raspberry, suddenly chuckling while handing you your phone back, “Amor, that has a lot of views.”

You cover your face with your hands, “Your mother is going to kill me. Kylian I’m so sorry. I didn’t even think to check—”

“It’s okay,” he leans towards you, his hands pull yours away from your face and clasps them. “I’m not mad. She’s not mad either.”

You were still too shocked to cry, despite feeling the bubbling and choking feeling in your throat. However, he seemed relaxed about it, his eyes twinkling as the lights turned on in the private area the two of you were in. He could only smile as he pulled your head into his chest.

“No te preocupes, mi amor. It’s not your fault. You might’ve just broken Twitter like that tweet said, but you didn’t do anything wrong. It was going to be announced anyway. I can just subtweet it with a bunch of laughing emojis and boom, all the attention will be back on me. You’re okay,” he kisses your forehead. “We’re okay.”

You nod against his clothed chest, hearing and feeling the rumbles of his giggles. Even amidst his transfer bomb, he was still laughing and being the most unserious man you were used to.

---

Note: Now let's all gather around in a cirle, draw our hands together and manifest a transfer asap (and for this man to continue being unserious).

#kylian mbappe x reader #kylian mbappe fanfiction #kylian mbappe #kylian mbappe fanfic #kylian mbappe x you #kylian mbappe imagine #kylian mbappe one shot #kylian x reader #mbappe x reader #em.writes

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aspiring-house-husband · 5 months

Text

There is a temple, deep and hidden away in the mountains. it is well known to the locals and the people whose legends had survived in the area. it is a temple that was extremely difficult to get into, and even more difficult to leave. it belongs to the god of conflict and passion. the god of war. the god of sex.

you and your partner were determined to find it.

you repelled down the rock face of the mountain and slid your way through half-buried arches to get inside, only to be astonished by how clean the temple had been kept. sure, it was mossy, but the stone was smooth and clean and hardly worn by time.

“hello,” says your partner, and you turn to him.

“what?”

“yes, i am,” he says, staring off to nothing.

“are you okay?” finally he turns to you, only briefly.

“shh, can’t you hear that?”

“no, what are you talking about?” he ignores your question again, and speaks away from you.

“no, i would never. i wished to visit, only.”

when he doesn’t speak, there is silence.

“well, i suppose, i-“ he cuts himself off with a gasp, and arches his back. touched by nothing, he begins to levitate off the floor.

“yes, please, god,” he moans, and his clothes fall from his body, cut into ribbons. with his back arching, you are treated to the sight of his hole, glistening with wetness but more notably opening and closing, clenching around nothing. as you watch, gold chains and jewels materialize and drape around his body, while he gains the meaning of super-human: his beauty grows as he writhes midair, his skin gaining color and flush, his hair growing silky. he moans as he clenches and you can’t help but stare at his gorgeous hole, thinking of how it would… how he might feel…

“i accept, yes, yes!” he pants and nearly screams to whatever voice only he is hearing before he cums, his body quivering and fluid dripping down his legs to the floor. his body lowers until he stands on trembling legs, panting, and when he looks at you, his eyes are no longer the color you’re accustomed to, but a fiery orange.

“my friend,” he says, sliding to you and running his fingers up your clothed chest. “do you know what’s happened to me?”

“n-no,” you barely manage to whimper out, trying to ignore how lovely he looks and how close he is and how hard you are.

“i am one with our god,” he answers, sliding those teasing fingers up and under your shirt, tracing delicately up your chest. “soon you will be, too.”

“wait, what? hold on-“

“shh,” he soothes, and without moving you himself you are lifted into the air, suspended on your back. he straddles your hips and splays his hands over your waist, leaning down slow to kiss the skin he’s exposed by pushing up your shirt.

“beautiful,” he says, a sultry smile gracing his lips. when he shifts his hips, he gives you so much friction that you hadn’t been prepared for, and it makes you buck before you can stop yourself.

“ah, good boy,” he teases, and draws his hand over your stomach. the motion seems to be connected to magic, because your clothes fall from you in ribbons, just as his had.

“don’t shiver,” he says with a soft laugh, that same that you’ve heard a hundred times. he leans down over you and kisses down your chest, stopping to suck on your nipple, just to watch you flush.

“you’re mine, aren’t you, handsome?” he says, kissing every spot of skin he can find, pulling at your arms until he can guide your hands to his hips.

“yes,” you answer, and he lifts up to sink down over you. gods, it feels like you glow.

“be one with me,” he says, but it sounds like he speaks with more than just his voice. “be mine in more than just body and heart.” he bounces, even though he has nothing to balance on, gripping you and squeezing around you and moaning to the ceiling.

“i’m yours,” you pant, lifting your neck but not feeling the strain you normally do. you buck up, pulling a near-squeal from him, because it feels like more than just being ridden. gods, it’s like you’re feeling him, too. feeling double the pleasure, his orgasm building beneath his belly button, how it felt to have you inside him, filling him up. it was incredible, like connecting to something beyond yourself.

“mine,” he moans, and pleasure like nothing you had ever known overtook you.

there’s a reason the temple was just as hard to leave as it was to find. how could you even think of leaving? why would you? life there was perfect… under the protection of your god, and wrapped in the silky embrace of your lover. forever.

#with these posted i retreat back into my cave #i crawl from the woodwork to place a story on the floor every six months before disappearing again #eat up #og #story #non monster #hypnosis #ish?#possession #ish

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cozage · 7 months

Text

The Daughter's Return Part 3

Chapter 10: Change in Plans

Start From Beginning | Next Chapter | Table of Contents | Read on AO3

Characters: female reader x Portgas D. Ace Word Count: 1.2k

Sanji was the first to approach your unmoving form. He sat in front of you and held out a plate.

“You should eat. Ace told me you needed to eat.”

Ace’s name made you flinch, but other than that you showed no sign of seeing or hearing Sanji. In a sense, you didn’t hear him. Everything felt distorted, like you were underwater or in a dark and echoey cave.

This wasn’t happening to you. It couldn’t happen to you. Ace would be back soon. This was all a big misunderstanding.

“Come on,” Sanji said. “I hate to see you like this, darling. You need to eat. He’s not worth it.”

Tears filled your eyes. “You don’t know anything, Sanji,” you snapped. “So don’t talk about things that you don’t understand.”

He seemed startled that you addressed him, but he took that as a good sign. “Listen, you’re a beautiful lady. You don’t need him, so just-”

“I need him,” you whispered. “I need to find him. I need-” you eyes widened. “His vivre card,” you breathed.

You rushed to your feet and raced to your bag, pulling out a clip of papers.

Whitey, Brew, Dad, Marco, Jinbe, Izou, Curiel, Shanks, Namur, Haruta, Epoida.

You looked again. Whitey, Brew, Dad, Marco, Jinbe, Izou, Curiel, Shanks, Namur, Haruta, Epoida.

No Ace. His card had drawings of hearts all over it. You did it so his card would stand out against the others. It was impossible to miss. But it wasn’t there.

“Luffy!” you called out, clipping the papers back together. “Did Ace give you a piece of paper?”

“A paper?” Luffy asked, staring at you confused.

“A paper.” You held out your other vivre cards as an example. “Like this?”

Luffy stared at your hand long and hard, and then shook his head. “Nope.”

“Luffy.” Panic was rising in you, desperation beginning to spill into and seizing your muscles. “Give me the paper.”

“He didn’t give me one.” Luffy turned away from you, unable to meet your eyes.

You knew he was lying. You could see it written all over his face, which is why he was hiding it from you. But could you fight him for the possibility of getting Ace’s vivre card? You didn’t even know where the card was hidden, and Luffy wouldn’t give that information up, even if you did try to beat it out of him.

Plus, beating up Luffy meant beating up his crew too. Could you fight every Strawhat here? Logistically, it’d be a walk in the park. But you weren’t sure if you could live with yourself. You’d have to convince him.

“I promise I’ll give it back when I’m done with it, Luffy.”

“He only gave me the snail,” Luffy said, his lip sticking out in defiance.

“Please,” you begged. “Ace will die without-”

“Ace won’t die!” Luffy yelled, glaring at you. “Have more faith in him! He has faith in you!”

Your lower lip trembled, and you bit it to keep it steady. Luffy clearly knew nothing. Ace didn’t have any faith in you at all. Or else he wouldn’t have left.

“Luffy!” Sanji screamed back in your defense. “Don’t yell at a lady!”

“You’re yelling at Luffy now!” Zoro yelled.

“Yeah, ‘cuz he’s an idiot, idiot!”

“You won’t find it,” Luffy assured you, ignoring his crew. “I don’t have it.”

You knew he did have it, but you couldn’t bring yourself to take it from him by force. So you walked to Yuba with the crew, hoping that he might change his mind the more you were together.

You didn’t eat. Sanji begged and pleaded with you, but you refused meals. You considered laying down and never moving again, letting your bones get covered by the sand.

“You’re being dramatic,” Luffy finally said, shoving a spoonful of stew in his mouth. “Ace knows what he’s doing. He’s not stupid. And if you’re really actually mad at him, you need to just go punch him. Don’t suffer because you’re mad. That doesn’t make any sense.”

“I can’t find him, Luffy,” you hissed. “That's why I need that piece of paper you have.”

He stuck his lips out again, pouting at your aggression. “I told you I don’t have a paper.”

You rolled your eyes, clearly not believing him.

“Besides,” Luffy added. “Someone else has to have this paper you keep talking about, right? Go ask them!”

You perked up at that thought. All of the subordinate captains had each of the commander’s cards. Which meant Whitey would have Ace’s card. If you could convince her to give you his card, you’d be able to follow it back to him.

“You’re right,” you agreed, reaching for your spoon. You unconsciously ate while you thought, trying to work out the kinks of the plan.

It could work. It would take some time, but Ace had left you all the money. You could probably buy a small, old sloop. If you couldn’t afford one, you’d just steal it and leave the money you had as payment.

You still had Whitey’s vivre card, and you knew she was in Paradise. Brew was as well, if Whitey wasn’t able to help you out. You had plenty of people who had Ace’s card.

And just like the ship, if they wouldn’t give it to you, you’d steal it. You’d find a way back to Ace so you could fight Teach together. Together, with your strategy and his power, you were certain you could do it. You were certain you could win. Your spirits lifted just a little bit, thinking about the possibility of meeting back up with Ace again.

You all only made it about halfway to Nanohana before Luffy demanded they turn around and head back for Rainbase.

But Rainbase would only delay you further, and you didn’t have a moment to waste.

“You guys go,” you said. “I’m going to keep on going to Nanohana and find a ship.”

“Are you sure?” Nami asked. “What if you get lost?”

“I’ll be fine,” you said. “It’s only another day or two, isn’t it? It can’t be that hard.”

“A lady shouldn’t travel alone,” Sanji said. “What if-”

“Sanji,” you laughed. “I could kick anyone’s ass who’s on this island right now. Yours included. I’ll be fine.”

Sanji collapsed backward, overtaken by your words.

“Follow the brightest star in the sky at night, and use the sun as a guide during the day,” Vivi offered, trying to give you a crash course of desert survival. “Nanohana is south-east, so follow the sun in the morning, and keep it to your back in the evening.”

“Ace wanted you to stay with us,” Luffy said. “But if you need to go find him, then you should.”

You gave him a polite smile, trying one last time. “You could give me something that would help speed up the process.”

Luffy deadpanned. “Don’t have it.”

You rolled your eyes, laughing lightly. “Alright, alright.”

You gave them all a deep bow. “Thank you for everything you’ve done for me. Even when I didn’t want it.”

“It’s nothing!” They all said in unison.

“I’ll see you around, Luffy.”

“See ya!”

And with that, you and the Strawhats went your separate ways.

Tag list! @taeyoge @teiza @tojislawyer @trafalgardnami @bloopbopsblog @dancingnewcat @dxestyi @flooofity @nyxthedragon01 @deadsnothere @h-rhodes1598 @morgyyyyyyy @trafalgardvivi @fiestynatureweeb @frogpogjoghurt @beepboopcowboy @ms-portgas @luvyallbabes @appalost @zuchkaa @saybeyonce @stray-npc @kitsunechan707 @theyluvmesblog @heartysworld @aira-needs-sleep @mothmomjay @ophelias-flowerss @aqualein @sehyojae

#one piece #one piece imagine #one piece scenario #one piece x reader #one piece x you #portgas ace x you #portgas ace x reader #portgas d ace x reader #ace x y/n #ace x reader #portgas d ace #portgas d. ace #cozage #✧˚ace✧˚

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jeridandridge · 7 months

Text

Autumn Days

The giddy excitement Melissa feels as she drives is enough to make her vibrate. You were in the passenger seat as usual, looking at the map on your phone while you two head for the cider mill. Melissa had a secret, one that was on a silver band hidden away in her bookshelf at home. Now, driving in the crisp morning air Melissa glances over unable to stop the warm smile spreading across her lips as the sun rays come through the window giving your hair a warm glow and your black sunglasses sparkle.

“If we keep going straight we’ll hit Main Street and it’s right there.” You tell your girlfriend, completely unaware of her loving gaze.

As you two pull into the grassy parking area you beam like a little kid rounding the truck to hold Melissa’s hand.

“I haven’t been to one of these places since I was a kid.”

“Yeah? Well we’re pulling out all the stops.” Melissa beams lacing your fingers together as you walk through the entrance. Taking in a deep breath you smell cinnamon and cider making you shimmy your shoulders in excitement.

“Hayride and apple picking first?”

“You bet, hon.”

As you two walk through the crowd you find the little stand to pay to get on the hayride and offer Melissa your hand to climb up onto the makeshift seats. “Covered in hay.” You chuckle. “I bet you’re already thinking about what you can bake with the apples we pick.”

Melissa grins squeezing your hand. “And the pumpkins we’re gonna carve.”

She looked like a little kid in a candy store, bright eyed and a permanent smile etched onto her lips. Looking over you can’t help but squeeze her hand grinning like an idiot. She made you feel warm and fuzzy, alive.

As the afternoon goes on you carry your bag of apples over your shoulder as you walk through the bakery and shop looking at all the sweet treats. With a handful of Carmel apple suckers between your fingers you weave around other people and strollers getting to the cider.

“Baby, do you want a jug of cider for the house?”

“Yeah! We can use it as a mixer.” Melissa grins. “You need all those suckers?” She laughs.

“Of course I do! They’re seasonal, Mel!” You smile happily carrying everything to the checkout.

When you two come out of the store you hold onto both bags in one hand and Melissa’s with the other, happily intertwining their fingers.

“I don’t wanna put pressure on you, but I’m gonna kick your coolie at carving.”

You quirk a brow eyeing the playful smirk on her lips. “You’re on, Schemmenti.”

Back at home with a candle burning, cider drinks made, and a cozy fall playlist going you and Melissa stand at the opposite sides of the plastic covered table with a sucker between your lips. Standing with a determined look on your face you finally come up with an idea, not having a clue as to what’s going on with Melissa.

The redhead is already holding the pumpkin back, drawing her design. She tries to keep her hand steady as she writes.

“I got you big time, Schemmenti.” You grin getting started on your carving by taking the top off.

Melissa shakes her head with a smirk taking her time with the carving not wanting to finish too soon. As you get to carving yours you stand up and hum and bop along to Don’t Fear The Reaper.

“You’re so cute.” Melissa chuckles watching you concentrate on your work, the little crinkle between your eyes being one of your favorite mannerisms.

“I’m very cute.” You grin right back at her. “Don’t try to sweet talk me. I’m winning this thing.”

“I dunno about that one, Tesoro.”

You smile flicking pumpkin guts onto the plastic with a scrunched up nose not thinking of anything going on from the other side of the table. When all is said and done Melissa stands up getting the pumpkin guts off her hands with a towel

“Are you done already?” You chuckle, “let me see.”

“No!” Melissa panics. “Not yet, we gotta wait for the reveal with the little lights.” She recovers easily. You nod and open the package for the little fake candles.

“Here, I’ll do those and spin em around for you to see em.” Melissa tells you with a giddy smile. There was definitely something going on.

“Okay,” you chuckle going over to flick the lights off so you can get the full effect.

Melissa’s hands shake as she opens up the top of the pumpkin, the smell is almost too much in the moment with her senses on overload. She’s never been so nervous in her life. Placing the battery powered lights in the pumpkins she turns yours around first smiling at the witch design.

“I carved Kristen, you like it?” You joke.

Melissa laughs holding onto the other pumpkin. “I really do, hon. You got her nose just right.” You were definitely the one for her.

Carefully turning the pumpkin around, she keeps her eyes on you. When you see the words carved and glowing you let out a gasp, your eyes going over the words over and over again. Four words that change everything.

Moving to stand beside you Melissa wraps her arms around your waist.

“Will you marry me, hon?”

Spinning in her arms you beam like an idiot pulling her into frantic kiss.

“Yes!” You laugh, “oh my god, Mel yes!”

Melissa squeezes you in a tight hug before holding the gorgeous engagement ring out to slide onto your finger.

Cupping her cheeks in your hands you lean in giving her a sweet kiss before grinning once again.

“Best day ever.”

#abbott elementary #lisa ann walter #wlw #melissa schemmenti imagine #melissa schemmenti x reader

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 3 months

Text

Second Best 2

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Lee Bodecker

Summary: The newly-single sheriff sets his eye on an unexpected match.

Part of the Backwoods AU

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You stomp up the porch steps as your dad rocks in the wooden chair, in his usual meditation over a can of Molson. He grunts in his way, acknowledging your return and you shoot back a sharp, ‘hey’. Inside, your mother crochets in front of a soap opera, not looking over as she clacks her needles together. You know better than to try to start a conversation during her programs.

You go to your room behind the stairs and keep yourself from slamming the door. Greta always knows how to ruin your day. She might be right about being your only friend but maybe it’s time to make new ones. This town isn’t just the two of you.

You flop onto your bed sideways and stare at the ceiling. You can’t let her spoil the whole day off. That’s bullshit. What’s the point of spending hours caring about her nonsense. Tomorrow, you’ll be back to cleaning up hotel rooms and wishing you could just lay in bed and do nothing.

You sit up and shake off your agitation. A thorn sticks in your side but you try to ignore it. You could work on your embroidery. The Summer Solstice is coming and you might just talk yourself into sharing a booth with Hilde again. You sold quite a few patches last year.

You pull out your sewing kit and the box of half-finished patches and make a nest on the floor. You turn on the old CD player and listen to the same disc you always do. You set to work as you try to tune out the world.

You poke through the patch and jab into your fingertip. Shit. You growl as you wish you could stab Greta in her stupid little eyes. She’s such a bitch. You hope she has fun with that pig. She’ll be right back at The Horn scavenging for one night stands.

You’re not judging her, you’re judging this place. There really isn’t much to choose from. It’s the exact reason you have a vibrator hidden under your mattress. You’ve seen the men around here and you’ve talked to their girlfriends and wives.

You blow a raspberry and suck on your fingertip. There’s still a hint of vanilla on your skin. You drop your hand and lean back against the dresser.

Something’s gotta give. You’re so fucking bored of this town. There’s nothing to do. Greta just wants to drink and fuck around. If that’s what she enjoys, power to her, but you’re about to glaze over. You want something, anything to change.

🍦

You yawn as you walk up Thunder Lane towards the B&B. Another shift, another dollar. It’s minimum wage but better than nothing. You don’t have the education or the experience to demand more. Besides, the Odinsons aren’t bad employers. Usually you get a free meal or two.

You enter through the front door and greet Darcy as she droops over her coffee. She chirps as she sits up, startled by your sudden appearance. She relaxes as she realises you aren’t a guest or her employer.

You stop by the breakfast bar to grab a cup of your own before you head down to the laundry. You’ll try to catch up on the towels before check-out begins. There aren’t too many of those anyhow. Not yet. Midsommar usually draws in the tourists as a sort of novelty.

You load a washer and set it to spin as you restart a dryer left full from the day before. You give it ten minutes to fluff the towels and start folding. You sip your coffee between towels, drinking it away from the so you don’t stain the pure white.

You load up the cart with fresh towels in preparation for your daily route around the hotel. As you bend to grab some extra wash clothes, you’re started by a deep hum. You stand up straight and turn to face Thor as he looms in the doorway. Gods, he scared the piss out of you. How can a man that big sneak around like a cat?

“I heard there was a broken machine,” he drawls as he leans his elbow on the doorframe.

“Uh, yeah, that one again,” you point to the corner as you add the washcloths to the cart. You feel him watching you still.

“Ah,” he clucks, “and how are you today, lady?”

“Eh, just another day,” you shrug. “You?”

“Hm, as you said it. Another day,” he remarks, “we have a guest.”

“Oh?” You turn the cart around.

“In the Berkano suite,” he explains.

You nod, “right.” You mark the chart pinned to the handle of the cart.

“She is very demanding,” he muses, “from the city.”

“They usually are,” you give a tiny chuckle. You wish he wouldn’t stare at you like that, or that he’d at least move out of the way.

“Not like you village girls, eh?”

“I guess,” you furrow your brow.

“Mm, how’s Greta?” He winks.

“Fine, I don’t know,” you sniff and grab the handle of the cart, rolling it forward.

“My birthday’s coming up. Maybe she’d come?” He suggests.

“I don’t know,” you murmur as you stop, blocked from leaving by his burly form.

“You’re invited too, of course,” he grins and his eyes dip down for a moment, “is that a new apron?”

You have to hold back a scoff. You know better than to mess around with Thor Odinson. It’s more than just the Confucian philosophy of not shitting where you eat, it’s good sense. You’ve heard the stories. Aside from that, he’s a bit above your age range.

“Nope,” you answer flatly, “anyway, I should get started.”

“Well, are you coming? To my party?” He asks.

“I’ll see if I’m free,” you deflect.

“Bring Greta,” he slides out of the way, “and whoever you like. Any pretty girls you know.”

You bow your head to hide your disgust. You don’t think you’ll be feeding anyone to the wolves, especially not yourself. You pass through the door and feel a brush against your hip. You ignore it and roll down the hallway. You wouldn’t even hand over Greta to that beast, for more than the fact that she is excommunicated from your life.

#lee bodecker x reader #lee bodecker #dark lee bodecker #dark!lee bodecker #drabble #au #series #the devil all the time #second best #backwoods au

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pigeonp0st · 1 month

Note

heelloo!! uhm i was thinking could u write an agatha harkness x reader one with Agatha sees r with another person (just as closer friends but Agatha doesn’t know it). Then Agatha invites r to her house and Agatha has to bite down on their lip so hard whenever r talks about the other person, angst with happy ending please (and if your are comfortable, maybe you can add smut)?

Agatha Harkness x Reader

Summary:

Agatha gets jealous of your relationship with Wanda. Emotion ensues.

Warning:

Jealousy, angst (not really)

Notes:

Thanks for the request! I wrote this pretty fast and have not even read it over once…I’ll probably fix it up later…anyways! Hope you enjoy still <3 I always love an Agatha request

——

Agatha stopped Wanda for you. She brought down Westview, and forced Wanda into reality. In the process she ruined both of their fantasies; Wanda’s fantasy of a perfect life, and Agathas of all consuming power.

She did it for you. Because the prospect of power was nothing compared to the prospect of your devastation. Because you asked her to. You with your warm eyes, full of more emotion and humanity than both Agatha and Wanda have in power combined.

You asked her to, and there was no other option.

So no. She doesn’t regret it. Doesn’t regret trailing behind you and Wanda to help the Avengers, doesn’t regret following you. Can’t possibly. She doesn’t regret it, but Wanda smiles at you, leans in close, and Agatha feels a bit like she’s been betrayed. Betrayed because you smile back, and whisper something into Wanda’s ear that makes her flush a color that’s just perfect for the Scarlett Witch.

Agatha grits her teeth and returns to her book. She’s lived centuries and has never felt more childish.

It shouldn’t bother how close you and Wanda have gotten, she knows. She has no right to feel betrayed. She hasn’t done anything she’s done expecting anything more than your happiness. You aren’t hers.

You aren’t hers, and so Agatha just fumes silently in the corner of the room and imagines burning this whole damn tower down.

You don’t even know how Agatha cares, she knows. Every bit of vulnerability, love, and affection is hidden behind layers of humor and sarcasm.

You watch Agatha with distrust still because of it; wondering about alternative motives. Everyone in this god forsaken tower does, and Agatha has no idea why she’s here giving up centuries of planning for this game. These people are no different to those in Westview. Children playing dress up and pretend. All of them wearing costumes of heroes who aren’t afraid.

Cowards. All of them.

Your loud laugh draws Agatha’s attention from her page. Wanda is smiling at you with a gentleness Agatha can’t afford, and Agatha thinks, both with affection and a heavy heart; all of them but you.

She knows that despite her help she has given no one here good reason to trust her. She admits to herself that she enjoys letting them think she’s scheming—that she plays into it.

They’re just as uncaring for her as she is them. They push her away, but all you do is pull her in. To be brave and foolish is one in the same to Agatha, and she loves you for all the things she can’t afford to be.

—-

It’s only the next day that Agatha walks into the compound looking for you. She wants your help to test her potion.

She’s been visiting every day this week, and she’s beginning to feel a bit like the person she thought she wouldn’t ever be again. She’s beginning to settle into the thoughts instead of jerk away.

Then she sees you. You’re on top of Wanda, both you and her sleeping peacefully on the couch. Your head on her chest, her hand threaded in your hair, your legs intertwined.

The glass potion in Agatha’s hand shatters violently and loudly, startling only Wanda awake. She jerks and snaps her eyes towards Agatha, always on edge after being raised in war. Their eyes meet for only a second, and then both turn back to you, still sleeping peacefully.

Agatha turns on her heel. Wanda says, with a knowing that ruins her; “wait—”

Agatha, cowardly, no different than the people she despises, and never having claimed otherwise, teleports away.

—-

Agatha avoids the compound for just a week before she caves and invites you over.

She can’t bear to see Wanda, which is a new thing because usually she enjoys tormenting her. The image of her protective hand tangled in your hair, and your possessive leg thrown over her is still fresh in Agatha’s mind though.

Then there’s the text Wanda sent after Agatha left; filled with the same knowing Agatha sensed with her departure. You’re 5 years old.

(Then a bit later; whatever was in that potion melted through the compound. I hope you can magic up some money to fix your tantrum.)

Agatha, the picture of wisdom, sends Wanda two middle fingers and then blocks her.

So, naturally, she’s glad when you show up only an hour after Agatha’s text. No Wanda, for the first time in weeks.

At least—that’s what Agatha expected. It’s an hour later and all you’ve talked about is Wanda. Wanda this, Wanda that. Agatha has always had a challenge with patience, it’s always the biggest challenge of her schemes, and biting on her lip is barely constraining her from lashing out at this point.

It’s when Agatha tones your voice out though, that she notices the hunch to your shoulders, the heaviness in your eyes.

And the bruise around your neck. Why hadn’t she noticed sooner? “Who did this to you?”

Agatha drops her dishes immediately, rushing to where you’re seated at the kitchen island. She thinks; who, who, with a desperate frustration as she tilts your head up to inspect the injury. She’ll kill them. Kill them.

For now, she pulls her magic forward, setting to the task of healing the violence inflicted on you, but you pull away from Agatha just as suddenly as she calls on her magic; angry in a way Agatha is caught off guard by.

“All you are is hot and cold,” you mutter, looking away. “I’ve been trying to reach you for days and you haven’t responded, then I come as soon as you call and you ignore me for an hour. Now…now you suddenly care that I’m hurt?”

Agatha blinks, once, twice, and then you’re standing up and pacing her kitchen. Agatha stands, hand still hovering where it was touching your cheek, and watches.

“If you’re done—If you’ve already gotten what you needed from us, whatever it is, and are done, just tell me. Tell me and stop pretending to care,” you plead. Agatha notices the dark circles under your eyes. Notices all the parts of you that are dimmed now that she’s not stuck on Wanda, Wanda. “I can’t play pretend like you do, Ag. I don’t get what it serves you to act like you care about me. I have nothing to offer.”

You’re spiraling in the middle of Agatha’s kitchen, and Agatha is torn between all of the parts of herself. The one that wants to laugh and brush this all aside, the one that wants to comfort you, the one that wants to kiss you, and the one she settles on; the version of her that’s angry and feeling misunderstood by the person she knows she’s done everything to deceive.

She’s not often hit by regret, or not often this out of control over her own emotions. It makes her angrier. Angrier because it takes her back and makes her feel younger than she’s been in centuries. She’s not that child anymore, can’t be.

Don’t you get that you’re ruining her?

—-

“I care,” Agatha whispers urgently, silently fuming and with her face morphed into a frustrated scowl. “Of course I care,” she says, like it should have never been in question—because she’s made it so clear apparently, you think disbelievingly, unable to help the scoff that chokes out of you.

Yeah right.

With more disappointment than Agatha could ever understand, you shake your head. “The only thing you care about, Agatha, is power. You tell me yourself all the time. I just thought— ” you pause, untamed tears coming to your eyes. “I don’t know what I thought…”

The moment the words leave your lips, you and Agatha enter into a standoff. Agatha furious and raging, and you too wrapped in your own emotions to register it as it is.

Agatha angry for the first time—at this. At the doubting of her care. It should say all you need to know, but you’ve missed it completely now that you’ve stopped looking.

It’s another moment of glaring before Agatha scoffs and stalks forward, pushing you into the wall and trapping you. Anyone else would be scared, but you just continue to glare (even as you flush).

There’s a part of you somewhere, one you don’t notice, but that Agatha does. A part of you that knows Agatha would never hurt you.

“I’m too old for this, ” Agatha grits out, and then her hand is around your throat. You don’t even flinch. Aren’t even surprised when you feel the rush of healing magic. All you’re surprised about is just that— your lack of surprise.

Agatha’s eyes turn inspecting, she shifts your head to the side with her other hand, ignoring your protests. You’re beginning to feel like a child, beginning to see things as they are.

Of course Agatha cares, you know. Somehow it hurts just as much. How could she both care and be so unpredictable, so cold? Had she thought of how you’d feel at all when you ignored her for the week? The other Avengers grew suspicious, checking everywhere around the compound for something stolen. You thought something terrible happened to her.

Only Wanda seemed unbothered. “She’s just throwing a tantrum,” she said, and wouldn’t explain further.

“Who did this?” Agatha repeats, pulling you from your thoughts.

“It was a mission”, you explained, the fire leaving you with it. You can’t afford to be mad at Agatha. You need and miss her too much.

Agatha growls, not settled at all. “Isn’t Wanda supposed to be protecting you?” She asks venomously, her jaw tightening along with her hand. “What good is your little girlfriend if she can’t even do that?”

It’s so laced with bitterness, with wanting, you’re left to blink at her, utterly shocked. Does Agatha think—? Wanda’s voice comes to your head; “she saw us cuddling and looked like she was going to murder me with the shattered glass in her hand.”

Seriously?

“What?” Agatha asks, self conscious in a way she never is. Self conscious because she likes—possibly loves you back.

All of this week’s turmoil, and for what? Because the two of you love each other?

—

You’re grinning at Agatha now, and Agatha is completely suspicious and unnerved. She tries to step back but you capture her wrists, pull her even closer.

Agatha’s heart pounds at the look on your face. Like a Cheshire cat. She can’t escape the feeling that she’s been caught. She eyes you with uneasiness.

You look at her expectantly now. “So much wisdom and yet you’re still so stupid?”

“Stupid?” Agatha repeats with disgust, like the word isn’t even in the dictionary.

You nod. “Agatha,” you breathe, affectionately. Agatha feels her world shift. “You know I love you, don’t you? Wanda is only ever going to be my frie—”

Agatha doesn’t let you finish. Couldn’t bear too. She’s always standing on the precipice of something. Always hovering over lines, too impatient to stand back, and your I love you snaps Agatha forward, like she’s been waiting for it for centuries. She kisses you roughly, pushing you back against the wall, and tries to claim it.

I love you, to the person who has never felt loved. She turned her back on love the moment love turned her back on her. She was only a teenager then, realizing that there was not a strength she could have that would make her enough for her mother—for her clan. There was not a person she could be beside herself, and never a version that wasn’t lacking, just out of reach of affection.

Then you. You showed up in Westview, strong enough to break in unaffected, and suspicious of Agatha, suspicious and then knowing, but still caring through it, and Agatha felt herself enough in the moments her mother would have claimed were her weakest; her moments where she was vulnerable and honest.

She kisses you like you’re her testament of her strength, now. Like you’re a testament of just how enough she is. She’s always been wanting, and doesn’t know how to exist without it. Without the yearning of; more, more, more, but as her kisses slow down, turn loving instead of passionate, she thinks for the first time that to exist like this—for the first time at peace, is something she could get used to forever.

You’re breathing heavily when Agatha breaks away, completely flustered and shaken. Agatha feels her heart pick up again, and thinks, no—she’ll always be wanting, and moves in to kiss you again.

You laugh, so joyful and happy—because of her. Because of her—a hand over Agatha’s mouth to stop her. “Are we ever going to talk?” You wonder breathlessly. “About feelings? About where you got that idea about Wanda and me?

Agatha pulls your hand away, smiles devilishly and possessively. “After I’ve had you against every corner of this house, we’ll invite Wanda over and talk over everything you’d like.”

You groan in exasperation, but there’s no protesting when Agatha kisses you next, and from the way you practically fall into the way Agatha’s hand curls loosely around your neck, she doesn’t expect one anytime soon.

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coconutcordiale · 1 year

Note

“If I could stop loving you, I would.” With any of the pilots

love that's a real long shot

pairing- hangman x pilot!reader (callsign violet)

synopsis- you and jake keep running into each other over the years and jake just can’t seem to let you go

warnings- fwb! happy ending!!! angst! 18+ for slight smuttiness (if you read my normal stuff this is extremely tame comparatively - just want to manage expectations 😉) light enemies to it’s just sex to pining to lovers. naval inaccuracies but it's my pretend world y'all just live in it, sad jake's pov but he's pretty he'll be fine

length- 7.7k

an- companion piece to this 0.6k drabble one time thing but that is not required reading - pretty much all of ott is revisited in this fic

i really, really don’t know how I feel about this one but i've been tinkering and agonizing over it forever and i have to be done so LOL here ya go

credit for the cs violet goes to my soulmate @justfandomwritings thank you for loving angst as much as i do, thank you for being brilliant

title courtesy of it ain't over - the black keys

tagging those that were upset with me for the ending of one time thing - @unstablecaffeinatedmind / @ahopelessromanticwritersworld / @gigisimsonmars / @flashyourgreeneyesatme / @forever-sleepy-sloth / @gingerbreadandpaper / @lovingjakeseresin

also - @mandylove1000 ily

Virginia Beach, 2019

Jake’s glad the packed bar gives him enough cover to stay hidden when he overhears Bradshaw asking his new roommate if she’s interested in him.

He bites back a huff of annoyance, not wanting to draw attention to himself. He talked to her for all of five seconds before mustache boy strutted up to make it very clear his friend was off-limits, was barely even flirting with her. Charming smiles are basically a reflex of his at this point.

“That man has never given a girl an orgasm.”

Jake rolls his eyes but keeps his mouth shut. It’s categorically untrue, but who cares what Bradshaw’s roommate thinks?

Your back is to him too, but he hears you hum in agreement, stifling a laugh. Jake’s hackles suddenly raise, and he briefly wonders why it irritates him so much that you seem to agree with that statement.

Rooster chokes on his beer. “Excuse me?”

She shrugs, fidgeting with her drink. “You were asking if I was into your friend – Hangman, was it? That should be enough of an answer.”

“I don’t really want to think about Seresin’s like in bed.”

“You’re breaking my heart, little bird,” Jake drawls from behind Rooster, figuring he should let you guys know of his presence before you get any further. “And here I thought we had something special.”

You roll your eyes before pushing your stool back. “Well, that’s my cue to leave.”

Jake immediately wonders what the appropriate amount of time is before he can excuse himself too.

“If you wanted to know what I’m like behind closed doors, you could’ve just asked, darlin’,” Jake murmurs from behind you, having found the corner of the bar you disappeared to. “I’d be happy to give you a lesson. I’m very hands-on.”

“Hard pass, Hangman.”

He smiles lazily, turning the charm up to full wattage and leaning on the bar next to you. Not close enough to make you uncomfortable, but enough to make you avert your eyes from his bicep and shift a little in your seat.

“I have a pretty good idea already.”

His smirk goes a little sharp around the edges, a predator locking in his prey. “That so? And what idea might that be?”

You raise an eyebrow. The derision you manage to convey in one unimpressed glance goes straight to his cock.

His eyes flash, fingers clenching around his beer, but he makes sure the infamous smirk stays put. “Think you’ve got me figured out?”

You shrug. “Guys that look like you are rarely anything more than a disappointment in bed.”

He smiles at that, leaning towards playful instead of goading, wondering if you’ve realized what you just admitted. “I think you’re pretty too, sweetheart.”

“You’re intelligent enough to know what you look like. It’d be stupid to pretend otherwise.”

He rolls his beer between his palms, gaze far away and calculating.

“Stop that.”

“Stop what?” He asks, feigned innocence taking over as he brings his eyes back to you.

“Stop thinking about how you’re gonna get me to sleep with you.”

The problem for you is, Jake sees the way you look at him. And it’s nothing like the polite boredom he’s witnessed you grace guys with when they truly don’t have a chance with you.

“Tell me one thing, Violet,” he says, your callsign rolling off his tongue like honey. “Why is it that you’re so nice to everyone else, but so mean to me?”

“Maybe I just don’t like you that much,” you answer, but the barbs in your words are undermined by the way your eyes dart to his chest. He wants to pat himself on the back for going home to change out of his flight suit and into a threadbare grey t-shirt before coming out tonight.

Jake purses his lips, nodding like he’s seriously considering your words, leaning in, and lowering his voice. “Or maybe, you like me a little more than you’d care to admit.”

You shoot him a dirty look for invading your space. “You’d like to think that, wouldn’t you?”

Your thighs press together, almost imperceptibly. If he wasn’t completely attuned to you, he probably would’ve missed it.

Bingo.

“Tell me to fuck off and I will,” Jake rumbles, mouth ghosting over your ear now, too close to be played off as a joke. “Or let me prove you wrong.”

When you lift your eyes to meet his, refusing to shy away from him towering over you in your seat, there’s something dark, something glazed taking them over.

“A one-time thing and I’ll never bring it up again,” Jake promises. “I have new orders for Lemoore anyways; I leave in two days.”

“Fuck,” you whisper. “Take me home before I change my mind, Seresin.”

You’ve been gripping his hair for what seems like hours, thighs still shaking where they’re bracketed around Jake’s head.

“What was it – I’ve never given a girl an orgasm?” He asks smugly. “I must be some kind of prodigy, then.”

“Don’t ruin my afterglow,” you manage, voice hoarse. You’re still far too coherent for his liking, and Jake ducks his head back down, savoring the broken moan that rips from your throat.

He doesn’t stop until the only word you can form is his name.

North Island, 2020

“Look who showed up,” Jake calls from across the Hard Deck, eyes running down your body. He shifts, adjusting himself as subtly as he can. “If it ain’t Violet.”

As generic as your uniform is, all he can picture now is the body he knows lies beneath it.

“Hangman,” you say, not quite able to hide the smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

“Glad to see we have a runner-up for the TOPGUN trophy.”

You look almost, dare he say, fond? “Your ego hasn’t dimmed a bit, has it Hang?”

Jake gives you another obvious once-over, smirking to balance out the warmth he can’t keep out of his voice. “Good to see you, sweetheart.”

Jake’s skin has been buzzing all night, high off his win, drunk off being within inches of you outside the Hard Deck after thirteen weeks of having you just out of arm’s reach.

“Congratulations,” you say, and you don’t even seem that sore about it. Your eyes linger on where his shirt has slowly been coming unbuttoned as the night wears on when you add, “Can’t believe you beat me for first place.”

“An inevitability, darlin’.” Jake leans in, pleased to see your mouth part in his proximity. “Don’t tell anyone, but I might’ve worried you were gonna give me a run for my money for a second there.”

You scoff, but don’t move away, if anything you sway closer. His fingers twitch at his sides, fighting to pull you against him, aching to run his hands up your bare legs and under your flimsy sundress, to see if you’re as wet as the heat in your eyes suggests.

You turn to face the ocean, which just pushes your hips in closer to him and makes Jake’s mouth water. “Obviously. You barely won.”

He winks, knowing you’re keeping tabs on him from your periphery even as you pretend to study the crashing waves in front of you. “That’ll be our secret. Care to congratulate me in private?”

“Thought you said that was a one-time thing, Seresin.” There’s a teasing lilt to your voice and in that moment, Jake knows he’s won for the second time today.

“Shut up and meet me at my truck.”

You smirk, turning on your heel without another word.

Jake doesn’t take his time with you this time. Only immense self restraint and the threat of being slapped with a public indecency charge keeps him from bending you over in the parking lot of the Hard Deck.

It doesn’t help that you seem less than willing to wait too, running delicate fingers along the inseam of his jeans, letting your skirt ride higher and higher as you shift in the passenger seat, giggling as he swerves when he catches a glimpse of red lace between your thighs.

By the time you reach his house you’re practically dragging him up the stairs by his belt loops, looking like you’re heading for the bedroom before he pushes you back up against the front door and takes you right there.

The second round you only make it as far as the couch, but he at least manages to get your clothes all the way off.

When you finally end up in his bed you’re both still panting and spent, Jake curling around you even though he’s tacky with sweat.

“I’ll be in Lemoore, now that I’m done with TOPGUN,” you whisper when you’re forming coherent sentences again, so quiet he can hardly hear you over the wind whipping against his bedroom window. “I think it’s short term, but we’ll see.”

Something warm lights up in Jake that he doesn’t want to examine very closely. “Good, everyone there is shit at pool. I’m in need of some actual competition.”

You smile against his skin and he drops a kiss to the top of your head, wondering if you can feel his heart speeding up.

Lemoore, 2021

You’re tracing mindless shapes across Jake’s chest, playing with his chest hair when you rip the rug out from underneath him.

“Got my new orders.”

It’s always amused him how fond you are of his chest hair, so it takes a few seconds for your words to sink in. When he does, his entire body flashes hot, then cold. He hopes you don’t notice the rigidity suddenly running through him. “When do you leave?”

Your face is blank, frustratingly neutral. “Tomorrow.”

Jake takes as deep of a breath as he can manage without being noticeable. Which given your proximity to his chest, is not very. He wants to be mad you didn’t tell him sooner, but the rational part of his brain reminds him he has no right to be.

“Where to?” He asks after a few beats of silence when he’s pretty sure it’ll come out even.

“Fallon.”

The scoff he lets out is genuine, at least. “Gross.”

Your indifference breaks as you giggle against his skin at his derision and he forgets that this is the last time he’ll get to have you like this. For now, at least.

“Are you spending the night?”

Jake doesn’t know why you ask anymore, in the last year he’s said no to sleeping in your bed zero times. He's turned down the opportunity to save you from sleazy guys hitting on you in dive bars even less than that - which is to say he does it without being asked and without even checking if you want his help anymore. Tact really is his middle name.

But like always, you ask and like always, he fights to keep the eagerness out of his voice. He’s fortunate to have decades of practice of keeping his tone level under his belt. “If you want me to.”

“I do,” you whisper, face still tucked into him, but he manages to see your lips purse, looking like you want to say more.

You don’t, though, and Jake hides his smile in your hair rather than commenting.

“Good. Wanna wake you up with my mouth on you,” he murmurs, trailing said mouth against your soft skin. He wills himself to say something else, to tell you he’ll miss you, that he doesn’t want whatever this is to end.

But his tongue stays stuck, arms tightening as his body says what his lips can’t.

North Island, 2022

Jake’s fists are clenched by his side, nails digging into his palms, pinpricks of pain the only thing keeping him from seeing red.

“I’m sorry?” You look confused. Scarlet edges into the corners of his vision. “That I didn’t tell you they sent me back to TOPGUN too? I haven’t seen you in almost a year, Jake.”

“Don’t act like we haven’t talked since then.” Jake doesn’t want to know what his face looks like, his normally careful façade shattered in favor of quiet outrage. “I think you know you were supposed to mention it.”

You had talked. Mostly sporadic, surface-level texts. Memes of an exasperated Chris Pine on his press tour he knew you would get a kick out of. In return, he received a graph detailing Leonardo DiCaprio’s age versus his girlfriends’, noting a clear age limit. You kept your jokes about him being a future Leo to a minimum, at least.

And on one memorable occasion, you called him drunk, and he got to talk to you for an hour after you snarkily admitted to missing him.

Neither of you mentioned it the next day.

You deflate. “Maybe. I don’t know what you want from me. We were always playing by your rules here.”

Jake’s mouth forms a tight line. “Right. My rules.”

Some bullshit he said, before Lemoore, way back in Oceana. Before you’d slept together, before TOPGUN, before he’d gotten to know the real you, before you’d gotten under his skin.

“Let’s just get through this mission, it’ll be easier if we’re not fighting. You do enough goading with Rooster.”

Jake’s so caught up in his own head that he doesn’t even bother to protest about Rooster. He’s grinding his teeth, jaw clenched so the rest of his body can remain still. He knows, on some level, that he’s probably overreacting. But he mentioned this return to TOPGUN to you last week and he can’t help but feel like he’s playing catch up when suddenly you’re here too.

If there’s one thing Hangman doesn’t allow, it’s being left behind.

He doesn’t know why this is on the laundry list of things you refuse to talk about. That’s probably the most frustrating of it all. You’ve always been the puzzle he can’t quite figure out.

“We’ll stay out of each other’s way,” he finds himself saying, mask slipping back into place. “Focus on the mission.”

“Yeah, focus on the mission,” you echo, and Jake wonders if it feels hollow to you too.

Your head is on Jake’s chest again, bare legs tangled with his and the tension is finally bleeding from his body.

“Don’t like fighting with you,” you mumble, muffled by his arms wrapped around you.

“Ended well,” he jokes, magnanimously gesturing to your naked state just barely covered by the thin sheet. “Gave us a vigor we haven’t had in a while.”

He feels your cheeks grow warm where they’re pressed against his skin, clearly thinking back to the adrenaline laden, ‘thank God we’re alive sex’ that lead to the casualty of at least one lamp.

Jake silently thanks Maverick for being such a hot mess that the Navy is unlikely to worry about a few broken items in his bunk.

He smirks at your embarrassment, as if falling into bed together is anything new. It’s the post-orgasm glow, he knows it is, but Jake feels the truth bubbling to the surface. Wouldn’t it be so easy not to let this end?

“Yeah.” You sigh, not meeting his eyes. “I don’t know. All the arguing, then making up so we can fool around. It’s time for us to grow up, don’t you think?”

Jake lets the words die on the tip of his tongue.

“Probably,” he manages.

He kisses you deeply, saying what his lips won’t. He doesn’t mean for it to turn heated; he just can’t bear to let you go yet.

Making love is the only way to describe what comes next. You’ve been at this for a long time, going on three years, and you’ve fucked; hard and fast and fiery. You’ve slept together; gentle and languid and easy.

It’s never felt quite like this.

When he slides into you for what he knows will be the last time, he tries to memorize every line of your face, every gasp from your parted lips, every flutter of your lashes. It’ll be months before he forgets the soft, unguarded shine of your eyes, the way your fingers feel tangled on the nape of his neck.

It feels like goodbye.

North Island, 2023

Your name is out of Jake’s mouth before he can stop himself, longing bowling over his reasoning abilities. Every urge to text you that he stomped out over the last year shows itself as a waste since any sense of self-preservation goes out the window once he lays his eyes on you.

It doesn’t hurt any less to see you without warning in Coronado, but at least this time he holds onto the reigns tightly enough to keep his tone level.

Your voice is happy when you turn towards him, and Jake tries not to outwardly react. “Hangman, hi.”

He wants to rush over, grab onto you, and never let go. Wants to tuck his nose into your hair, smell warm citrus, and have that niggle in the back of his brain soothed.

He waves as you stride towards him instead, boots cemented to the floor. “Back in California already?”

You chuckle, the adorable, lyrical sound raising goosebumps on his arms beneath his flight suit. “Thank God. Fallon’s a shithole.”

Jake’s mouth is open to respond when he clocks someone with curly dark hair behind you, moving forward decisively to your side.

“Babe,” the guy says, and Jake’s spine stiffens, noting the inch or two he has over this mystery guy out of reflex. “Hope you weren’t waiting long.”

There’s a split second where your expression shutters, where Jake thinks the fight or flight thrumming through him might not be necessary.

But as quickly as it shows up it’s gone, and he finds himself hoping the boom of jets taking off covers up the sound of his chest cracking open.

“Brandon, this is Hangman. We were in the same class at TOPGUN.”

Jake’s mouth is dry, tongue glued to the roof of his mouth as he internally winces at the obvious reduction of your history.

“Riot,” Brandon says, sticking his hand out to shake. Jake tries not to crush the bones in his fingers.

Riot and Violet, he thinks sarcastically. How cute.

“You’re with the Eightballers.” Jake glances at his patches, making sure to keep his tone neutral.

Helicopters. He wants to roll his eyes.

Riot nods and you grin, letting it light up your whole face. “His friends can’t believe he ended up with a jet bro. Can you imagine the shit I have to endure, hanging out with these helo knuckleheads?”

You're unmistakably fond, and Jake feels bile rising in his throat. Mercifully, he’s saved from having to answer by a group of pilots trying to get your attention.

“It was good to see you." Your smile softens as you turn to leave, the sun shining around your head, painting you in gold.

He nods. “I’m sure I’ll see you guys around.”

Jake doesn’t sprint to get away from you, he’s too calculated for that, but it’s a near thing. If his strides are just a touch longer than normal, no one has to know.

North Island, 2024

“It’s nice, what you guys have,” Jake's mouth is saying outside the Hard Deck, celebrating your fucking engagement, of all things. The words taste like acid on his tongue.

“Don’t tell me, eternal bachelor, Jake Seresin is thinking about settling down. The women of California will be knocking down your front door.”

Jake wants to laugh, that that’s still what you think of him. But knowing it’ll just come out thick and wet, he keeps the noises to himself. He hasn’t done much in the last year to combat that reputation – Coronado’s smaller than he’d like and you’ve never seen him with the same girl twice because he hasn’t been with the same girl twice.

What’s that they say about old habits?

He takes another sip of his beer instead. “No.”

The teasing is still lighting up your features, barely visible in the moonlight. “Just an introspective mood then, huh? Don’t hurt yourself.”

“Thinking about what it might’ve been like.”

“What?”

“To be with you.”

You blink.

“You never gave me a shot,” Jake continues. He can’t help himself. “You were always convinced I wouldn’t pull the trigger.”

“I don’t think you would have.”

“I think you’re wrong. Doesn’t matter now though, does it?”

Jake tries to smile, but it comes out more like a grimace. He can’t help but reach out for you, squeezing your wrist one last time, studiously avoiding looking at the diamond on your other hand. “I’m happy for you, sweetheart.”

It’s only partially a lie.

Jake wishes he could say the noise wakes him up, but he’s already busy staring at his ceiling fan and its endless circles when he hears the pounding on his front door.

He knows it’ll be you before he finishes rubbing the tiredness out of his eyes.

“What the hell is your problem?”

Jake scrubs his hand over his chin, nose scrunching. “Sweetheart, it’s the middle of the night.”

You glower at him in response.

Whether it’s for the term of endearment or the fact that he couldn’t keep his mouth shut in the face of your blinding diamond ring or some combination of the two, he doesn’t know. What he does know is that you have every right to be mad at him, after spilling secrets he’s held close to his chest for years.

He sighs, wishing he could say the timing was an accident, but he can’t lie to himself quite that well. “Come inside at least, so the neighbors don’t call the cops.”

Apparently, your earlier question was rhetorical because the moment the door is closed, you’re rambling, talking at him, really. After a couple of minutes of watching you spew a bunch of nonsense to skirt around the issue at hand, with no end in sight, Jake sighs again and moves into the kitchen to pour himself a drink.

The wooden chair creaks as he settles his weight into it, sliding a glass over to you wordlessly. He’s not even sure you’ll notice it’s there, but you pick it up and gesticulate wildly with it before taking a sip. He’s somewhat impressed you don’t spill a drop.

You haven’t sat down, can’t seem to stop moving and Jake wishes he had a toothpick.

“We were so chaotic, Jake. We wouldn’t have worked.”

You finally look at him, taking a deep breath. Jake wonders about your lung capacity since you clearly haven’t breathed since barging into his off-base housing.

“I’m not arguing.”

You’re pacing back and forth, frustration bleeding from every pore. “What do you want me to say?”

Despite everything, Jake manages a smirk at that, albeit dimmer than normal. “I haven’t said anything for, like, ten entire minutes.”

The scowl he gets for that little comment is unbearably cute. He tries to ignore the tightening in his chest, stay in reality. “Is that what you stormed over to my house in the middle of the night to tell me, that we shouldn’t be together?”

You visibly deflate. “I don’t know why I’m here.”

There’s an inkling in the back of Jake’s brain that says he does, but he tells it to shut up.

You do not have a history of sticking around when it comes to verbal confrontation, and he’s painstakingly aware that one misstep could have you sprinting out the door.

It was something that worked well with you two, at the beginning, when everything was easy and fun. Blowing off steam with the competition, neither of you had ever been any good at talking so you figured why bother?

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“Why now? Don’t you think your timing sucks a little bit?”

“I don’t know.”

It’s a lie.

He knows. As much as he’d like to tell himself he was overwhelmed, seeing the ring on your finger, watching everyone congratulate you and your fiancé, deep down he knows that’s not true.

Like everything he does, it was deliberate. There was something telling him this was his last chance. Is his last chance.

“If I could stop loving you, I would.”

You drop down into the chair across from him, stalling as your brain clearly restarts.

“Loving, present tense?”

There’s a weariness to your voice that he doesn’t like one bit, which makes his heart drop into his stomach as he’s reminded of the risk in telling you this. A calculated risk, but still a risk. One where he’s already bet big, his chips all in, but the river is flipping over, and his gut tells him before he sees it that it’s not the card he needs.

He takes a sip of his Balcones, hoping the burn scorches the rampage building beneath his ribs.

You purse your lips, waiting for a response.

Jake shrugs, but he’s aware it doesn’t have the effect he’s going for when the tension refuses to bleed from his shoulders.

You look like you’ve forgotten how to breathe and will pass out any minute now. Jake debates the merits of passing out to get out of the hell that is this confession.

He avoids your eyes instead. Coward, his brain screams at him, willing him to look up at meet your gaze. “I’ve tried to stop.”

Hangman makes strategic withdrawals. When someone can’t be needled into responding, he pulls back. This is different. He’s never backed down from confrontation out of fear and he hates it, like he’s just discovered his skin doesn’t quite fit him.

Your mouth opens and closes several times without a noise leaving and it frustrates him to no end. When he grits his teeth, he doesn’t know if it’s to hold back the pleading and desperation or frustration at having flayed himself open only to receive silence. “Say something.”

“I’m shipping out,” you tell him as if that’s any sort of answer. “On Monday.”

Jake blinks. That's only three days from now, he wants to say. Opens his mouth and closes it, once, twice. Doesn’t bother with a third time. It won't change anything.

Maybe that is his answer. Let this go, this hope he’s carried onto multiple aircraft carriers, through several states, across endless miles of sky.

This is you telling him to let you go. To start over.

Hawaii, 2025

Some things have changed in 2025. Jake’s ability to control his mouth at the sight of you is not one of them.

“Where’s our helo hero?”

He feels pretty good about that one. As hard as it is to see you, as much as his entire being aches to touch you, he’s going to be normal with you and your fiancé. He owes you that at least.

Unfortunately, for him or for you – he doesn’t know who suffers more at this point – normal includes the patented Hangman barbs he just can’t seem to let go of.

“Seresin,” Phoenix whispers harshly.

Jake immediately thinks he’s missing a puzzle piece, that he’s flying blind, making a drop decision without a laser. Unwilling to admit anything he does what he always does; he rolls his shoulders back and smirks.

You shift from on your feet, clearly uncomfortable. “He’s not coming.”

He can’t resist the jab, but it feels sticky in his mouth. “Aw, come on, the rest of us managed to sync up our leaves, but helos are just too important?”

Phoenix pinches the bridge of her nose, scowling at him, murder in her eyes. “Hangman, shut up.”

He tries to pretend that look doesn’t send chills down his spine, but he’s man enough to admit that Natasha Trace could put the fear of God into just about anyone.

You cough, shifting uncomfortably on your feet. “Uh, we broke up.”

Jake looks around, sure the world is suddenly tilting the wrong way on its axis. Fortunately, the rest of the group seems to be trickling in, so you and Phoenix don’t detect his crisis.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” he murmurs quietly while Phoenix is distracted by Bradshaw strutting towards them. “I didn’t know.”

You give him a tight-lipped smile, a mask so familiar he feels like he’s staring into a mirror. Jake’s seen this cover before, it’s fight or flight. In the next few seconds, you’ll either be pretending he doesn’t exist, or you’ll be cutting through his armor with a few well-placed, very specific remarks.

You angle away from him, surveying Fanboy and Payback to your left. “All good, Hang.”

Guess it's flight.

Several bars and a few too many shots later, Coyote elbows Jake in the side. “What’s up with you tonight?”

“Just bored of beating y’all in darts,” Jake insists with a cocky grin he knows doesn’t reach his eyes. He just hopes no one notices.

Luckily for him, the only person that always sees straight through his bullshit smirks is you. And you’re at the bar, waiting patiently for the bartender, politely making conversation with some cheesy tourist.

A guy in an atrocious Hawaiian shirt (that he probably bought yesterday at the nearest ABC store, his internal monologue snidely adds) is clearly hitting on you and Jake forgot what it’s like to watch this. Because it’s been years since you were single, he forgot how it feels with sharks circling in the water around you, seeing you make small talk with strangers who have no reason to stop because you’re so goddamn kind and there’s no boyfriend for you to mention that will abruptly end their interest.

There’s a chance you actually want to talk to this chump, but Jake promptly tells that line of thought to kick rocks.

He kind of wants to throw himself into the ocean and drift away from this stupid vacation he should’ve never agreed to. Mrs. Lee will be fine watering his plants if he never comes back, right?

Because once upon a time, in a shitty bar in Lemoore, he’d save you so you wouldn’t have to turn anyone down and he’d tease you, that no one that’s seen you in the air, so quick and decisive and cunning, would ever believe you’d need a knight in shining armor to keep the creeps at bay. You’d tell him to shut up before dragging him out of there by his belt.

He shakes his head, trying to rid himself of the memory. As it stands, the ocean is probably his best bet.

“Pool?” You ask when you return with a fresh mojito, sans cheesy Hawaiian shirt, and everyone rolls their eyes.

“Miss the Hard Deck already, Vi?” Fanboy teases.

Even though the ice between you hasn’t completely thawed yet, Jake ignores him in favor of getting up, making his way toward the table in silent agreement. He figures it’ll give him something to do besides staring at the side of your head.

If his mid-game trash talk is a little pointed, a little too on the nose; well, that’ll stay between the two of you.

Jake tenses as he hears the back door of the bar swing open behind him, footsteps heavy and likely belonging to a number of people he doesn’t want to explain his sour mood to right now.

“Surprised you and Vi aren’t still going at it at the pool table, thought it was about to be a rematch of TOPGUN in there,” Rooster says.

“Couldn’t beat me then, can’t beat me now." He chuckles out of reflex more than anything, but it feels hollow and forced. "Sometimes I just like to rile her up, get her out of that shell she always wears on the ground.”

Rooster hums in agreement. “Better than the last time I saw you two together. You barely looked at each other then.”

During the Maverick mission, Jake hears lingering in the silence in the humid Hawaii air.

“Sure,” the blond says, willing to agree to anything that stops this train in its tracks.

“There a story there?” Rooster asks slowly, careful as ever.

“No,” he answers, but it’s rote, automatic. Even Bradshaw isn’t dense enough to miss the friction between you two, Jake knows that.

Rooster raises an eyebrow and Jake pointedly ignores him in favor of pulling a toothpick out of his pocket.

“How’s your girl, Bradshaw? Are you guys ever going to stop living in sin and tie the knot?”

He doesn’t comment on the abrupt change of subject, shrugging. “We’re happy. She’s pretty focused on her career right now. But when she’s ready.”

“I guess when you start fucking your roommate it’s nothing but sin from there on out, anyways, huh?”

The other man grins. “Jealous?’

Jake can’t help the way the corners of his mouth twitch upwards, an admission in its own right. Just not for what Rooster's implying. “Maybe.”

“Planning on coming after my girlfriend? Gotta tell you, Hangman, back in Virginia she was never very impressed by you.”

“She’s not my type. Any girl that’s into that atrocious caterpillar above your lip clearly has impaired vision.”

The other man brushes aside the dig easily. “That’s right. You only had eyes for Vi back then.”

Jake fights a full-body cringe, blaming the fact that he just walked straight into Rooster’s trap on the shots he took with Javy earlier. “What do you know? You hated me in Oceana.”

“Who says I don’t hate you now?”

“Touché.”

Rooster sighs, long-suffering like he can’t believe he’s the one that got saddled with the job of making sure Jake isn’t gonna lose it and ruin their vacation. “Seresin, you’re not the only one who notices things.”

Jake doesn’t need to dignify that with an answer. He’ll turn in his wings the day Rooster is more observant than him.

“Seems like forever ago, now, but I always thought she had a thing for you too.”

“I don’t know where you got that from, she was always arguing with me.”

Rooster waves it off. “Pulling your pigtails. Sound familiar?” He shoots him a knowing look that Jake pretends he doesn’t see, which unfortunately just gives mustache boy the idea he should continue.

“Yeah, sure,” Jake agrees, not without an air of sarcasm. Rooster may be right but it’s not like he’s going to genuinely admit that.

“D’you ever play Sudoku? My mom always loved it.”

Jake tries not to get whiplash, schooling his face into something neutral. He doesn’t know the ins and outs of Bradshaw’s childhood, but enough to know the other man’s putting a lot of faith in him by bringing his mom up at all.

“Did she?” he echoes, for lack of anything better to say.

Rooster nods, eyes far away, unfocused. “The thing about Sudoku is, you have to think about where you’re placing the numbers, so they don’t interfere with numbers in other boxes and lines.”

Jake barely bites back the word obviously, accompanied by a roll of his eyes.

“When we started dating, things weren’t always easy. We went from zero to sixty at the beginning, already living together.”

“But your mom loved sudoku,” Jake says, albeit dryly. “So, you knew to look at the puzzle as a whole.”

Rooster knocks their shoulders together in agreement, now you’re getting it.

“We had to slow down, take a look at what we were doing, where we were going, talk so that we didn’t fuck it up before it could even start.”

The blonde sighs. Leave it to Rooster to use some convoluted metaphor for Jake to parse out when his brain already feels like it’s been muddled alongside the mint in your mojitos.

“M’not the guy you should go to for relationship advice, normally.”

Jake snorts. “No shit.”

Rooster shoots him a bit of side-eye for that but nonetheless barrels on. “But I’ve known you and Vi a long time. For the better part of a decade.”

And isn’t that a thought, that Bradshaw of all people would be the one to know you and Jake better than anyone else?

“Is this your long-winded way of saying Vi and I need to slow down?”

He shrugs. “Maybe. Maybe not. Just gotta figure out the key. Whatever that looks like for you guys.”

Jake turns it over in his head a few times, pushing down his every instinct to blow this off, to make a joke that breaks the intensity that’s thicker than the Hawaii humidity.

“Patience,” he mutters, because of course it would be that for Bradshaw. “Trusting you’ll get there when you get there, not letting the pressure get to you guys.”

“Hm?”

“That’s your key.”

“Yeah,” Rooster nods, before taking a pull of his drink. “But maybe our puzzles are different.”

Jake scrunches his nose, so unused to metaphors and convoluted thinking. His head is still a jumbled mess, unpacking everything he’s learned in the last twelve hours.

“Sometimes you have to drop down and take the shot. Don’t pretend like that’s not in your wheelhouse, Seresin. You’ve always held back with her. Too scared she’s the only one that can keep up with you, maybe. That she's the only one you won’t shake off your tail.”

Rooster is frighteningly insightful tonight. Jake resolves to switch to whatever he’s drinking the moment he goes back inside.

“What would you have me do?” He asks, maybe a little more abrupt than Rooster deserves.

“Basic, normal, human communication would be a start.”

Jake flips him off.

“Not letting her go again, would be the next.”

It only takes Jake one Dark ‘n’ Stormy (of course, Rooster's drinking something that Jake feels like an idiot ordering) to build up the courage to follow you outside.

“You called it off.”

It’s not what he planned to say when he saw you sneaking out the back door of the bar. He was going to let you bring it up, maybe goad you into telling him what happened.

But he’s starting to realize his puzzle is less of a Sudoku and more of a jigsaw. He doesn’t know all the steps to complete the goal and won’t know until he’s in the middle of it. Each step comes up when it needs to, and he’ll have to figure it out then.

At least, he thinks that’s the point Bradshaw was trying to make. You two have to talk about something real, at some point, but patience hasn’t gotten him anywhere with you in the last six years.

You nod, staring into the distance, eyes focused on the water ahead.

“When?”

“Right before I deployed.”

Jake balks. He’s not sure what he expected your answer to be, but it wasn’t that. “And you didn’t think that was something you should tell me?”

You look down at your hands. Jake suddenly feels like an idiot, for not thinking anything of your bare ring finger. He should’ve known. He just assumed you’d become one of the many pilots that’s allergic to wedding rings.

“I wasn’t—I didn’t know what to say.”

There’s something working its way into the edges of his earshot, a timer dinging, the buzz of the right answer chiming. He laughs but there’s no humor in it. It’s only because otherwise, he’ll scream, as the puzzle pieces finally fit together.

“That was almost a year ago,” he mutters because he’s a glutton for punishment.

You continue staring at the water, still refusing to meet his gaze.

And he remembers, you’ve never been good at saying the hard things. As fierce as you are in the air, you temper your words on the ground, too wary to cut someone to the bone.

Shrinking violet, he thinks, wondering who was even well-read enough in your first squadron to know that reference.

He takes your silence for the answer that it is, nodding curtly and squeezing your wrist before turning to go back inside, a mirror of the last time his chest felt like candy glass, just waiting for the director to start the next take so it could have its turn to be shattered.

You finally turn to him, eyes glassy with tears. “Jake, I…”

He can’t wait for you to finish, doesn’t want to hear an excuse. Patience has never been his strong suit.

Jake shakes his head, biting his cheek to keep the tears at bay. You’ve never seen him cry and he’ll die before he lets that change on the back patio of this kitschy tiki bar. “Message received, Vi.”

Fucking Rooster. This is why he put this off for so long. It’s excruciating.

“No, Jake—that’s not what I—”

“Loud and clear, Violet.”

“I didn’t know if you’d feel the same way once I was single,” you say suddenly, and it stops him in his tracks. “You seem to forget you never said anything until I was supposed to marry someone else.”

“Then why?”

“Why what?”

Jake wants to pull his hair out. “Why did you call off the fucking wedding? Because it sure as shit wasn’t for me or you would’ve mentioned it sometime in the last ten months.”

“I was with him for two years, Jake. That doesn’t just go away. I didn’t want to tell you before I knew where my own head was at.”

“That’s not an answer.”

Silence.

He turns to leave again, knowing the panic is showing itself in his shaky hands and uneven voice. Desperately, he wishes he had a toothpick or a beer label, something to tear at so his expression could remain carefully blank, tone collected.

When you finally speak again, your voice is thick and heavy with emotion, muffled by unshed tears. “Because.”

Jake raises an eyebrow, not bothering to figure out what expression is playing itself out on his face.

You clear your throat. You play with the hem of your dress. You look anywhere except his eyes.

Fight or flight, he says silently. What’s it gonna be, Vi?

He hopes to God it’s fight.

“Because you don’t marry someone when you’re in love with someone else.”

It takes a few seconds for the meaning of your words to register. He feels like he’s underwater, slow and sluggish, when he finally asks, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Takes more than love to make a relationship work, Jake.”

It’s funny, how you choose the words Jake has repeated to himself in his weaker moments. When he wondered if loving you was enough, if it could overcome that you two are so much more similar than anyone would guess. You might have a reputation for mincing your words, but he’s the only one that takes that for what it is – a mask. He’s spent enough time underneath one to recognize it when he sees it. It’s your way of keeping people at bay, staying in control, not letting anyone climb those walls you’ve spent so long carefully building.

Someone would have to take their hands off the controls, even for a second. Neither of you knows what it’s like to rely on someone else. To not take the lead. To let someone else have your back.

“You have to be able to give me a chance sometime,” he counters, as gently as he can manage. “Let go of the reigns enough to let me try. Trust me to take the shot.”

“I’ve never been very good at that, especially with you,” you say, nodding and Jake’s chest is getting lighter by the second, that you've thought about this. “But I also knew it was going to take me time, to work through ending things with him. I couldn’t ask you to wait.”

“I did anyways.”

You raise your eyes to him at that. “You did?”

“I told you if I could stop loving you, I would have already.”

You exhale shakily, fingers twitching like you want to touch him, but just falling short in the air between you. “I didn’t – By now I thought you would’ve – fuck, Jake. I didn’t think you meant that. Thought you just needed time to get over me.”

He wants to laugh, feels it twitching at the corners of his mouth. “In less than a year? Have you met you?”

You grin at that, rich and bright and open like he hasn’t seen in far too long, and there’s something loosening in your defensive posture. “A lot of people would say ten months is a long time.”

Jake feels fuzzy, from his chest to his fingers as he reaches to pull you into him. You fold back against him, and he ducks his face into your hair, nudging around to get his lips on your jaw, letting his words get muffled by your skin. “Ten months is a blip on the radar.”

He feels you melt into him and finds the courage to lay the rest of it on the line.

“Doesn’t matter anyways because it hasn’t been ten months. It’s been six years. I was just waiting for you to catch up.”

“Sorry, I’m so slow. Hard to keep up with the infamous Hangman. I hear he flies like his ass depends on it.” The teasing is back in your tone, and it spreads warmth all over him.

You reach up to where his forearm rests on your collarbones, where he can’t bear to loosen his hold on you, his fingers twisting in the strap of your tank top.

The entire line of your back is touching him, his nose tucked into the crook of your neck smelling citrus and vanilla and home, but it’s still not enough, as far as Jake is concerned. Too many years spent apart, too many moments with you just out of reach have him itching for more.

“It’s okay,” he breathes against your neck. “As long as we get here in the end.”

“I trust you,” you whisper. “You know that right?”

He nods, fighting a shiver as your hand drifts across from his elbow to his hand. You run your thumb across his pulse point, fingers encircling his wrist. You squeeze, and he feels your promise.

This time he gets to start over with you.

"because you don't marry someone when you're in love with someone else" was stolen from michael westen in burn notice, episode 2.15 sins of omission (fantastic show!) although i changed the wording a little bit

thanks for reading!

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brisquad-unit-4402 · 5 months

Text

nightmare hug

it’s my birthday today btw. december 15. sonny be upon ye. i started three new wips with him in the last few weeks ack i wasn’t kidding when i said he was very in my head lately!

tags: gender neutral reader, established relationship, hurt/comfort, cuddling

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You wake up in bleariness and immobility. Underneath the pile of blankets, a greater weight holds you down, stifling your skin and refusing to let you turn out of your position.

It’s nothing to fear. If anything, it’s welcomed. Usually Sonny keeps to his own side of the bed, and the most contact you wake up to is a limb barely touching yours. On the rare occasions he falls asleep with you in his arms, he’s quick to hide it, and considering how he’s the first to wake between you there’s no telling how many morning cuddles you’ve missed out on.

Long fingers and short nails wire around your waist. If you can’t hear his breathing, then you can feel it: a steady rise-and-fall rhythm along your shoulder where he presses his head. His hair prickles your skin while his breathing soothes.

A slow morning hum falls out of your mouth as your voice comes back to life. It’s the prelude to fully waking up, and when Sonny retracts his arms before you can open your eyes.

Except he doesn’t. Even as you snort awake, his hands remain where they are.

“Good morning, Sonny,” you start. You’re so sleepy that it barely becomes a whisper.

It surprises you that he’s just as sleepy as you, too. “Morning.”

“How’d you sleep?”

You’re greeted with silence.

“Not great?”

Sonny buries his head closer to your neck without a word. “That bad, huh.”

When he mumbles you can feel his throat vibrate against your skin. “Mmmyeah.”

“Awww. Well, it’s morning.” You force one arm out of the blanket pile and manage to pat his head. “Don’t worry. I’ll fight off the bad sleep demons any day of the week.”

“I just want a hug.”

“Hugs over fights? Who are you and what did you do to Sonny—“

His hands squeeze tighter. You didn’t even know his nails could dig into your skin like this. He’s clinging on like you’re a stuffed animal, but the amusement ends once you realize that’s not just a sleepy tremble. Sonny is actually quivering.

It’s even rarer for Sonny to let himself be vulnerable.

“C’mon.” Your voice goes soft as you turn around to face him. He stays where he is, holding you while his head is buried to your throat.

He’s practically motionless save for his quivers, which you work out by stroking his back. Your hand draws circles along him, occasionally punctuated by a pat or two. “You’re where you belong, right here at home. You’re safe with me.”

His breath, too, is shaky, little clouds of heat curling around your chest as he tries to form words. “I don’t even remember what it was about. I shouldn’t be so…” His grip tightens. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay. These things happen. It doesn’t make you any less of a person, and it doesn’t make you a nuisance, either.”

He grunts. “Feels like I’m a failure whenever I’m like this, though.”

His hair is silky under your hands, and softer under your lips. “I love you, Sonny. No matter what you think of yourself, I’ll still love you, and I’ll always remind you that you deserve to be loved.” Another kiss to his temple. “Thank you for trusting me enough to let your guard down. Being the one you can rely on is a privilege to me, and one I do not take lightly.

“I don’t think you could ever be a failure, even if you tried,” you say. “You take such good care of me, so I’ll happily return the favor. It’s what I’m here for.”

When you stop talking, nothing follows but quiet. It’s just the sound of your arm brushing against sheet and skin as you massage him, soothing whatever unspoken worries he has left.

When you raise his head your fingers rest along his jaw. “You’re my hero, Sonny. You’re the strongest person I know. No matter what.”

One of his pale hands bumps along to yours. His palm drags against the corner of his hidden eyes. His lashes flutter by the crease of your lip as you kiss the stress away.

Sonny’s shoulders raise when you part with eyes barely open, tide pool blue glossed over with restraint and legs tangled around yours, stunned and scared, a combination you’ve never seen on him.

The restraint falls with a hiccup. He chokes on air as you hold him. His hands lower you down as he clings to you, and for the first time in a long time, Sonny allows himself the right to cry.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

✧. ┊ ⁭masterpost ✧. ┊ ⁭kofi

#sonny brisko #sonny brisko x reader #sonny brisko fluff #sonny brisko headcanons #noctyx #noctyx x reader #noctyx fluff #nijisanji x reader #nijisanji en #4402 writes

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whoahoney · 11 months

Note

For the celebration: Eddie, enemies to lovers, dialogue prompt: ‘Swallow.’ 💛💛

Honey’s 2k Fics!

CW: Minors DNI, mean!reader, fem/afab!reader, subby!eddie, a hint of jealousy, smut (oral f and m receiving, cum eating, semi public sex)

I loved writing this so much, I’ve just begun dabbling in enemies to lovers so I’m sorry if it isn’t like the others 💀🫶🏻 this was supposed to be a lil blurb but it just kept going lmao. Thank you for sending this in!!! I call this one… My Pleasure

Join the celebration

“Oh shit!” You gasp as his mouth closes around your cunt, the feeling so good you can’t even think about the wooden locker room bench biting into your back. “Fuck, c’mon—“ you grunt and roll your hips against his face.

He chuckles against you, the throaty satisfied melody humming through your core before he lifted his mouth only enough to mutter against your lips, “Someone’s eager—“ you cut him off by shoving his face back down.

“—not here to talk, Munson.” You say breathily, your building high already fleeing in the mere seconds he stopped working his oral magic against your cunt.

He nods and resumes eating, pressing his fingers into your thighs with more fervor. “Shit—yeah, just like that—“ you sigh out in relief and dig your fingers into the edge of the bench above your head.

This has been a regular thing for a couple weeks. A nice little hate fuck in the locker rooms after cheer practice ended and Eddie was done with—well, whatever it is he did.

Currently you were enjoying yourself the most you’d ever had and Eddie was well aware. He mapped your every move, every word, every sweet little noise he pulled from you with his tongue. He’d purposely tease and edge you to draw it out longer, wishing to keep his mouth on you as long as possible.

He couldn’t believe how far you’d come in only a couple of months, how comfortable you grew in front of him after making him question his skills the first time you met like this, your silence had been deafening.

The first time, he’d been locking up the drama room as you’d been shutting off lights in the gym. You hadn’t meant to engage but when he opened his mouth and let out a, “Well, who do we have here? Y’know the basketball team finished up a couple hours ago, aren’t you supposed to be cheering them on in the locker rooms?” He smirked at you as you pulled the double doors shut and scoffed.

“Jealous?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He scoffed this time as he turned to you fully and approached.

You wanted to swallow but didn’t want to give him the satisfaction, “I mean, why are you so pressed about the basketball team for? Girlies aren’t lining up to go down on the freak?”

He tsks like it’s a challenge and steps closer. “No, actually they’re lining up for me to go down on them. How do you like them apples, cap’n?” He said so matter-of-factly you believed him.

No matter your effort, the air in your lungs was forced out by laugh of disbelief, maybe embarrassment or shock, but you clear your throat and maintain the hardness in your eyes.

Eddie looks awfully satisfied until you say, “I don’t see anybody.”

He smiles as if he wanted you to say it, “Looks like the line starts here, huh?” He looks you over with a predatory gleam and you arch an eyebrow, the intrigue peeking through.

Before you knew it you were turning on your heel and walking towards the door to the locker room. Eddie stood for a minute, glancing around and wondering if this was his rejection until you turn to him, “Well, are you coming?” You ask with a hand on your hip. “I want proof, Munson.” You say with a hidden smirk that set him on fire. A feral smile stretches across his face and he hurries after you, rubbing his hands together as if he were about to eat a fine meal.

You kept your cool the whole time, almost refusing to accept how good it felt, refusing to give yourself over to him. He was so tender with his touches, unlike anyone you’d been with. The kisses on your thighs were so foreign you jumped the first few pecks he laid down beneath your skirt.

The only thing that told Eddie you enjoyed yourself was the change in your breathing, otherwise you were quiet as a mouse. It wasn’t until you stopped breathing that he looked up at you—expecting you to be staring at him with the same disdainful look you always shot is way, but no. Your eyes were clamped shut and your jaw clenched, as if in discomfort.

He smirked and massaged your thighs to get your attention, “Tell me you like it, or I’ll stop.” He almost whispers.

Your mouth relaxes and your eyes pop open and you glance down at him as you breathe out, almost defeated, “…I do.” You say with a hint of shame in your tone. That same mischievous grin stretches on his face and he strokes your clit to make your breath shudder and your hips jerk.

“Stop teasing me.” You push at his forehead playfully, his smile widening as he leans back down.

“Stop holding back.” He says with delight and dives back in.

He savored every drop of you on his tongue that night, every squeak, squeal, and squirm he’d pulled out of you. He watched you ready yourself to leave, not bothering to wash his hands so he could savor the scent of you when he got himself off at home.

You sat there as he licked his fingers and held eye contact, “It was a pleasure.” He mumbled, stepping away.

You stare at him for a second and begrudgingly sigh and shake your head, suppressing a smile, “Indeed.”

It’s all he needed to hear before he was turning on his heel and gliding out the door.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

After a week of stolen looks in the cafeteria, in the hall as you passed, or even in class— you found yourself waiting outside of the drama room as Hellfire let out. You breathe out a puff of nervous air as freshman filed out, followed by the juniors that shot you curious looks—ones that told you they didn’t know. Why hadn’t he told them?

You nod at them indifferently as they walk out of the building, the pounding in your chest almost enough to convince you to follow them and walk to your car to go home and go to sleep and pretend you never considered him as an option again.

But you stayed. You stayed until that click of the knob sounded and your breath caught in your throat as he stepped out into the hallway, halting only for a moment before he smiled and shut the door the rest of the way.

“Hey there, sweetheart,” he turns to lock the door, “What can I do for you?” He turns to you with an expectant smile, stepping up to lean against the lockers you’d gotten comfortable on.

You roll your eyes and try not to smile though you fail. “Was it… really a pleasure?” You ask.

Eddie swallows and nods, “Yeah,” he whispers before looking over his shoulder to find an empty hallway and then back to you, inching closer. “Why? Can’t stop thinking about me?”

You roll your eyes and turn to the gym, Eddie waiting again in his place against the lockers. “Am I suppose to follow?” He asked in a whisper yell.

You turn to him as you lean against the doors and say, “Duh!”

He gleefully follows you again.

Again and again, he waits for you, you wait for him, and he gives you the best head you’d ever imagined possible.

At school, your shitty comments had stopped and Eddie began to worry about you. Were you pulling away? Was this your way of icing him out? He thought about asking you the next Friday, if you were still comfortable with it all.

It wasn’t until lunch rolled around and Jason tripped him on his way past that he heard you speak, “Jason! Why are you so obsessed with him?” You crooned with a smile. The jocks started laughing, some even made kissy noises at Jason, while Eddie met your gaze and righted himself, finding your smile on him—til you noticed he was staring then you bit the inside of your cheek with a blush, stabbing another limp green bean on your fork.

After that, you’d gotten brave and let his hands wander up your shirt, your whines and writhing hips making him chuckle against you every time—until you shoved his hands away and grabbed him by the hair to grind your pussy against his face.

You thought it’d piss him off but he only moaned into your pussy and shook his head till you gushed. That was the first time you’d cried out his name as you finished.

It rang in his ears til he came in his fist an hour later at home.

You were always left with lingering thoughts about him; if he thought about you, if he got himself off after, why he never asked for anything in return, and then of course— who else is he fucking around with? How does he know how to do it so good??

The thought made your stomach twist—in disgust, of course. Cause you couldn’t ever be jealous of another girl with Eddie Munson. Absolutely not.

Okay maybe a little.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

As you walk in the hall, you’re debating on stopping this arrangement with Eddie, or telling him how you feel. How you can’t stop thinking about his stupid face, or the way he looks at you when he kneels before you as you undress for him. The way he chuckles at your banter and always knows what to say back or when he encourages you with sweet nothings that you’d never known you wanted to hear from anyone, let alone him.

“That’s it, that’s it, atta girl,”

“Such a good girl for me.”

“Such a sweet little pussy, baby,”

“Mmm—so wet for me.”

They echoed through your head at the worst times, making your thighs clench in class and your cheeks redden at how your insides turn to liquid at the mere thought of him. Not to mention the way your stomach flipped at the sight of him.

Him and his stupid smile, and stupid hair. And his stupid fucking fingers that you wanted in your mouth, in your hair, in your hands as you played with his dumb janky rings that you found yourself staring at more lately because you know exactly what they feel like on your clit, and no idea how they feel in your hand.

And currently, they were twirling a lock of hair that didn’t belong to you.

You stop in your tracks and spot Eddie at his locker and Heather Prosser leaning next to it. She was also a cheerleader.

A very pretty one.

And a stupid fucking bitch.

You watch for a moment as she flashes a smile and bats her lashes at him, asking about meeting up soon. He tosses the strand over her shoulder and tsks before he looks up from her with a keen smile—until his gaze lands on you and the daggers you were shooting at him.

His smile fell and his shoulders slumped. As he glanced back to Heather and shut his locker, you want to turn on your heel and run away to your car and drive home.

How could you be so stupid.

Obviously he got what he wanted—the satisfaction of seeing you vulnerable and weak for him after years of the back and forth bullshit you always sorta looked forward to. It didn’t mean the same for him—any of it.

Before you know it you’re marching up to him and grabbing him by the wrist, looking her dead in the eye before you say, “Bye, Heather!” and pull him along.

Heather scoffs as you bypass her and drag him away, your heart pounding so hard in your chest you fear he might feel it in your hand.

The bell rings and you pull him into the locker room, which you know will be vacant til the end of school in two hours.

You push through first and glance around, noticing the static quiet surrounding you and turn to him as the door clicks shut.

He’s quick to find your waist, your hands resting up on his chest as his fingers stroke at your lower back beneath your shirt. “Tell me why.” He quietly demands.

You shrug your shoulders and avoid his eye, “I dunno, Eddie.”

He scoffs, “Well, do you want me, or do you just not want to see me with anyone else?” He asks quieter than before.

You scrunch your brow at him, “… both, duh.” You find your hands on his face for the first time, his cheeks soft yet prickled with stubble you were well acquainted with between your thighs.

Eddie melts into your touch and nods, “Well, luckily for you… I haven’t been able to stop thinking about…” he blushes this time and your smirk finally returns, “What?” You ask with a daring smile. “Tell me.”

His eyes meet yours and he bites his lip before answering, “Having you all to myself.”

You nod, “I think that could be arranged,” you bite your lip and his heart thunders beneath your touch. “But there’s something I have to do, first. Before we make this little thing official.” You trace along his chain and tug the guitar pick at the end of it before tugging him along by it.

His cock throbs in his pants at the sight, that hungry look in your eyes he found set on him in more places than just the locker room these days.

But now it was more than just hunger. It was true desire. Little did he know how much you paid attention before all of this, not to mention the tabs you kept on him since you found out about his… talents.

You knew the music he liked, and that it wasn’t half bad. You knew he was a total dork about a book you had to read in middle school and he’d read it so much he could quote it (against your skin, more recently).

That he was in a band and he’d played guitar since he was 8 and was supposedly really fucking good. You believe every bit of that claim due to the magic he worked on you with only his fingers.

You knew he was respectful and caring, and could take a lot of shit for no goddamn reason.

You also knew he liked it when you wound your fingers in his hair and tugged at the roots. That he liked it when you used him and that he was a fucking giver.

Not to mention how handsome he was.

And you knew there were a million other things to learn about him. Things you wouldn’t want anyone else to know, because he was yours.

And that you didn’t want to see anyone ever touch him again, ever.

You push him into a shower cubical and shut the curtain, his eyes shining and mouth gaping in awe as you strip off your shirt and drop to your knees. Your hand flattens against his chest to push him the rest of the way against the wall.

“My turn, Munson.” You curl your fingers around his belt loops and his hips involuntarily rock. He groans softly and you smile widely, as he caresses your cheek.

“Show me what you can do, baby.” He says as his thumb sweeps down your cheekbone and across your bottom lip, to which you open your mouth and stick out your tongue and chest.

“Oh, I like this.” He smiled as you wrap your lips around his digit and sucked. “Shit, baby, are you a freak?”

Your eyes open and you slide off his thumb with a small pop, your hands working at his belt. “I’ll let you decide.”

“Shit.” He smiles and slumps against the wall his hands glued to his thighs as you work his jeans open and palm his rock hard cock til he sighs in relief.

“You’re gonna use me, okay, Eddie? I want you to.” You nuzzle your face against his balls until he responds with an, “Ah, shit!” And laces his fingers at the back of your hair. “My pleasure.” He says and lets you pull his pants down past his ass, soon followed by his boxers.

His dick springs up and your mouth drops at the sight. It was long and thick, the tip an angry red and the shaft the same color his cheeks turned when he blushed.

“Oh my go—“ but you can’t finish because Eddie’s already sliding it in and groaning out, “Fuuuuck!”

He starts slow, deliberate strokes, only halfway down his shaft, his fingers winding into your hair. Your hands cover his, and your feel his fingers searching for yours and you moan around his cock.

“That’s it… so pretty—my pretty girl.” He whispered down to you. You open your eyes to find his set on you, his pace quickening and strokes getting deeper. Your eyes water but your gaze is practically desperate— and he can’t fathom that it’s for him.

He groans out another pretty sound at the contact, your unbreakable stare that soon grows smug again, at how desperate he is for you.

You start bobbing in time with his thrusts and hollowing your cheeks and it nearly makes him keel over right then and there. He lurches and leans over and his grip slides from your hair to your cheeks, his thrusts still consistent, yet you could tell he was holding back. You push him deeper til he hit the back of your throat and he whines out openly. You match it with a whine of your own and your panties dampen.

He stays hunched over you as he fucks your face and soon you feel his hands working at the clasp of your bra til it popped open. You give a surprised little yelp and shimmy it the rest of the way off for him. He leans back against the wall and pushes you off his cock gently to get a good look at you.

He fists his spit slicked dick, and watches you, bare chested and on your knees for him. “Touch yourself.” He orders you quietly. “Lemme watch you play with those gorgeous tits.”

A lupine smile tugs at your cheeks and you arch your back for him before caressing the sides of your breasts for him, pushing them together and squeezing them, “Like this?”

“Yeah…” he whispers before spitting on his hand and stroking himself harder. You pinch and roll your nipples before you start a slow rhythm on the heel of your foot, your chest softly bouncing along.

“Oh yeah, keep going, pretty girl…” he smiles down at you, his hips fucking into his fist. You hold your tits for him and hold his eye, your smile blooming again. “Where do you want me to—“

“On me?” You say without hesitation, smoothing your hands from your stomach all the way up over your breasts and neck. “…In my mouth?” You suggest and he freezes before he nods.

“Yeah, baby, get back here.” He mutters as he grips you by the hair and pushes his cock back inside to start a brutal pace that sends you gagging without much time to recover. “Aww, you’re okay, you’re okay.” He mutters to you absently as he works closer to his release.

Your hands start at his hips before one sneaks down to his balls to massage and roll in hand, and his hips stutter before he’s able to warn, “I’m gonna— awww!” He groans out and spills his load into your mouth, whimpering when he feels you continue to suck, as if demanding every drop.

You finally pull off him, your mouth obviously full as you look up at him. He leans over, a finger on your chin before he demands, “Swallow.” In a bone chilling whisper.

You gulp it down and let your tongue swipe over your lip before he’s tugging you up by the arm and pressing his mouth to yours for the first time.

“That was so good, baby.” He whispered against your lips before you chuckled and pushed away from him to pull on your bra and shirt, ignoring the dumb smile he gave you as you dressed—the same way he always looked at you.

“Oh, c’mon, Munson.” You say before pulling your shirt over your head, “—it was my pleasure.” You mock him.

A wild smile stretches across his face before he’s on you in an instant, pulling you to him to kiss again and again, “A pleasure Indeed.” He teases before kissing your nose.

#honeys house party #honeys 2k celebration #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #honeys fic recs #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson enemies to lovers #mean!reader

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