#it doesn't help that bc of the way the last few years have been i keep misremembering my own age as already being 25 | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

joelscurls · 6 months

Text

give in to temptation

pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader

words: 5.5k

summary: you're in a relationship now — a good, healthy relationship — that doesn't stop you from texting your ex Javi late at night.

warnings: 18+ minors dni, post Narcos s3, porn with plot, smoking, alcohol consumption, explicit smut, sexting, infidelity (I do not condone cheating, but unfortunately it's hot when it's with Javi), reference to masturbation (f), oral (f receiving), vaginal fingering, unprotected piv, creampie, use of pet names (cariño, querida, baby, etc.); lmk if I missed anything!

a/n: hi! enjoy 5kish words of dubious morals bc I couldn't get this idea out of my head :)

Humidity clings to the walls, bedsheets strewn across your legs damp with sweat. You kick at them aimlessly, and the cotton grips tighter to slick skin.

In the curve of your palm rests your phone, ringer switched off and brightness turned all the way down — the last thing you want is to wake your boyfriend, dozing next to you as you text another man.

Your fingers are clammy where they wrap around metal, sweat pooling in the divots between your knuckles.

This is wrong; you know it’s wrong, just like every time preceding this one. But the guilt does nothing to slow the adrenaline racing through your veins. If anything, it makes your heart thump harder.

That, and the words pixelated on the tiny screen of your flip-phone.

Javi [2:03am]: I’ve been thinking about you all day, cariño. Got me so hard.

You’d met Javier Peña just over a year ago.

A young woman alone at the bar, you’d drawn him in like a moth to a flame. He had dark brooding eyes and a savior complex that’d been made more apparent with each story he’d shared about his time as a DEA attaché in Colombia, from which he’d recently returned.

Do you miss it? you’d asked, nursing a martini.

Like hell, he’d said. But I have nothing left to give.

I don’t know if I believe you, you’d countered with a wink.

Not an hour later, you’d found yourself in his living room, dress hiked up to your waist as he devoured you.

Sex with Javi was easy, mindless. For a while, his body served as a refuge for you after shitty days at work and arguments with your overbearing mother. A lone beacon in the fog, he was always more than willing to help you forget the stressors in your life. And your own name.

It was passionate, and filthy, and sticky — left your legs trembling and your head dizzy — each and every time.

With him, you didn’t have to talk. Didn’t have to think. It was just sex, with no strings and no labels. Your relationship, if you could call it that, was perpetuated by the transcendent pleasure you felt in the spaces between words, when your mouths were preoccupied.

But when your birthday came and went and you found yourself another year older, an aching feeling settled in your gut — a feeling that time had begun to pass more quickly than it used to. And on its heels came the desire for something more, something you knew Javi was not willing to provide: a relationship.

The decision to end things was mutual, amicable. It was the easiest “breakup” you’d ever gone through. Maybe because it wasn’t a “breakup” at all.

A few weeks later, you’d met Nathan, a law student with a polite disposition and an eagerness to settle down. He’d treated you well, the type to open doors for you and ask about your day. On all fronts, he was a good man — a little boring, but good.

After a month, you made it official. After two, he moved into your place.

And you stopped thinking about Javi, about the way his large hand had fit perfectly around your throat, the way he’d been able to coax you to orgasm in two different languages. No, you only thought about the man in front of you, the one with the steadily growing collection of argyle ties and the unstamped passport.

Sex with Nathan was admittedly different. He didn’t make you cum as quickly or as easily; your body didn’t crave his with the same amount of fervor it had Javier’s. But it was loving, sweet, what any woman would want…should want.

And it was normal that you thought about your ex sometimes when your current partner laid his weight on top of you, that you imagined a different mouth slotted against your neck or on your tits. Because certainly, everyone did that every once in a while. It was harmless.

As long as you never uttered his name out loud, he’d remain only in your head, lost to time to exist there forevermore.

But then came the day in the grocery store, on your date to the cereal aisle to restock Nathan’s favorite, bran flakes. He’d materialized like a ghost of good sex’s past.

You didn’t dare speak to him, didn’t trust yourself to. Under the bright fluorescent lights, you’d felt your palms begin to sweat, your throat constrict, eyes glued to the selection of boxes in front of you. But while Nathan debated between store brand and name brand, you’d snuck another cautious glance at him.

Javi’s expression was unreadable. He’d looked between you and Nathan as if he were trying to solve a rubix cube. One he was becoming increasingly frustrated by. He’d gripped the handle of his shopping cart so tightly, the skin on his knuckles appeared near translucent.

And then he’d disappeared, tiny wheels on the carriage screeching, noise barely audible over your pulse.

The first text came later that night.

Are you seeing someone? it’d read.

Yes, you’d replied. But that doesn’t mean we can’t talk.

You’d quickly established ground rules: messages would only be exchanged after midnight, never two nights in a row, no calls, and — most importantly — Nathan would never find out.

Okay, Javi had said. Just one more rule: don’t use his name with me.

To your right, Nathan snores, the singular catch of an inhale in his throat, and the noise jolts you, face heating as if you’ve been caught.

Then he shifts, turns on his side, away from you. You feel a strange wash of relief. A semblance of privacy that you shouldn’t be after.

You respond to Javier with your tongue between your teeth.

You [2:04am]: thinking about me doing what?

Javi [2:06am]: Riding me. Your tits in my face. My hands on your ass.

Your breath catches, attention abruptly pulled to the incessant throbbing between your legs.

You definitely shouldn’t sneak to the bathroom and touch yourself. Shouldn’t send Javi a grainy photo of your fingers in your panties. Shouldn’t make yourself cum with your ex-lover’s name on your lips.

Not for the third time this week.

But when your cunt inadvertently clenches around nothing, your judgment is suddenly clouded.

With one last glance at the sleeping form beside you, you clamber to your feet and tiptoe down the hallway, wetness dripping down your thighs as you go.

The bathroom door closes with a quiet click. You fumble for the lightswitch, eyes reflexively squeezing shut when the room brightens.

You hover over the sink, steadying yourself against porcelain with one hand while you type furiously with the other.

You [2:10am]: yeah? you wanna suck on my tits?

The mirror parallel you reflects something out of a thriller, your pupils fully dilated and your forehead glistening with sweat. You almost don’t recognize the woman staring back at you in all her depravity.

You slump to the floor. Rest with your back to the side of the tub.

Javi [2:11am]: Dying to. Always felt so fucking perfect in my mouth.

Desperate fingers slip under the hem of your shorts, into your panties. The phone balances precariously in your other hand, thumb stumbling over buttons on the keypad.

You [2:12am]: I miss your cock.

Javi [2:13am]: That’s right, querida. Best you ever had, huh?

You [2:13am]: Yes. Always made me feel so fucking good.

Javi [2:15am]: Fuck. Are you touching yourself?

You swirl two digits at your entrance, amply coating them in your slick before dragging them up to your swollen clit. You can’t stifle the moan that slips past your lips.

You [2:16am]: yes

Javi [2:16am]: good girl

The phone distractedly tumbles from your grasp, clinking against tile as you begin to work yourself toward the brink.

And then — there’s a knock on the bathroom door.

The room spins, walls suddenly shrinking in on you as you wrench your hand out of your panties. Nathan’s voice on the other side is muffled, by the exhaust fan and by the ringing in your ears. But you can just decipher his words, his voice laden with sleep.

“Babe? Are you okay? I thought I heard-“

“Fine, I’m uh, I’m fine,” you say, scrambling to your feet, wiping wet fingers on your shorts.

The doorknob jostles, and it dawns on you then that you’d forgotten to fucking lock it.

“No! Don’t come in,” you sputter. The door hitches, less than an inch cracked. “I just had a stomach ache, but I’m okay now. I’ll be back in bed in a minute.”

“Oh.” He yawns. Pulls it shut again. “Okay.”

You brace yourself against the sink, struggling to slow your racing heart.

With a flush of the empty toilet, Nathan’s footsteps recede down the hall and out of earshot. You wash your hands, then, fingers shaking under the stream of lukewarm water.

You dry them hastily, not bothering to pick up the towel when it slides off the rail and onto the floor.

You [2:21am]: gotta go. sorry.

Javi [2:22am]: ???

Nathan is far too kind the following morning. He sets a plate of buttered toast and a mug of peppermint tea out for you on the kitchen table, and presses a nauseatingly gentle kiss to your forehead as you eat.

His amber eyes scan you like he’s searching for any indicators that you’re still hurting, fingers anxiously carding through his sandy hair.

You’re sure he’s clocked the dark circles marking your undereyes — not that he knows the real reason for them.

“I’m fine,” you promise when you feel him staring.

“Are you sure?” he probes. “The noise you made was…intense; you sounded really pained.”

Pained? Not exactly.

“I know.” You stuff the last bite of toast into your mouth. Tilt the empty plate toward him.

“But I’m okay; see? Even have an appetite this morning. It was just a weird bug or something.”

The lie burns on the way out, scalds your throat. But Nathan buys it. Doesn’t ask any further questions.

Still, he tells you to take it easy today on his way out the door.

You can’t look him in the eye when you insist that you will.

You call out of work, too sick with self-loathing to show your face in the office. Instead, you mope around all day, attempt to distract yourself with the overflowing hamper of laundry in the closet.

It’s futile though, your brain paralyzed by thoughts of Nathan finding out about the affair, and the clothes remain unwashed.

He returns that evening with a plastic bag in his clutch, the local pharmacy’s logo printed on the front.

“Here,” he says, pulling out a brand new heating pad. “I realized last night that we didn’t have one of these laying around.”

You know, at that moment, that you need to end things with Javi.

Nathan is good to you. He loves you with actions, not just words. Thinks of you before he thinks of himself, in every situation. And you — you’re cheating on him. Taking advantage of him. Not even trying to be what he deserves.

You’ll try harder. To love him, to think of him. No longer will you give in to brainless, animalistic needs. Surely, you can mimic the passion you have with someone else if you just try.

Try, try, try. You can do it.

Sleep evades you that night, coming in brief stints and leaving you breathless when you wake.

In those conscious moments, the analog clock in the corner of the room taunts you, glaring red neon making your head pound.

After three straight hours of tossing and turning, you decide it can’t wait any longer.

You fish your cellphone off the nightstand. Snap it open.

You [3:23am]: We need to end this before things get ugly.

You’re sure he won’t be awake this late; not without reason. But then — the screen blinks.

Javi [3:24am]: Nothing’s going to get ugly. Please, cariño.

You [3:24am]: I almost got caught last night. I don’t want to hurt him.

Javi [3:25am]: Can we talk about this? Javi [3:25am]: In person?

Your heart palpitates. For a moment, you swear it stops altogether.

You [3:26am]: What the hell? No Javi, I can’t.

Javi [3:27am]: C’mon. Just talk. Don’t you think you owe me that?

Your eyes flit to Nathan.

You watch him for a long moment: the steady rise and fall of his chest, the slouch of his shoulders, the gape of his mouth.

He’s well and truly asleep. You’re sure you could sneak away without him waking. Slip out the door and get a cab to Javier’s, talk things through, and be back in bed before the sun rises — before Nathan even knows you’ve left.

And then everything will be just as it was before you messed this up. You can leave Javi in the past, where he belongs.

Of course, you’re not just going to talk. Deep in your bones, you know that. Know that when he’s there in front of you, you’ll be too weak to resist any of his advances.

Still, you play coy. Ignore the spring of excitement tightening in your abdomen.

In a move of finality, one which you know you won’t be able to come back from, you stand. Make your way into your closet to pull some pants and a t-shirt on, your cell phone clutched in your hand.

You [3:30am]: Fine.

Javier sends you his address — as if you’d have forgotten it. As if the name of his apartment complex isn’t permanently etched behind your eyelids, along with the wide slope of his shoulders and the plush of his bottom lip.

When the cab pulls up to the curb, the driver is visibly concerned. His bushy, gray brows thread together and his narrowed eyes catch yours in the rearview more than once on the drive across town.

It’s only when you reach Javi’s building and hand over your fare that the man speaks.

“Are you alright, sweetheart? Quite late for you to be out on your own.”

His voice crackles, the smell of cigarette smoke heavy on his breath, and it’s strangely comforting.

“Yeah,” you promise as you push the door open and step out.

He rolls his window down, anxiously watching as you maneuver your way to the front door. And then he’s driving off, headlights vanishing into the thick night.

Javier lets you up on the first buzz. He’s waiting for you in the entryway of his apartment, leaning with a large hand pressed to the doorframe.

Your mouth goes dry at the sight of him: shirtless, bronze skin cast in the dim yellow light of the corridor.

His eyes rake over you the moment you’re in front of him, lingering when they catch on your collarbone, your breasts, your legs. He looks so imposing like this. You find yourself unable to move; frozen under his silent, lustful gaze.

“Are you — can I come in?” you ask meekly.

He nods then, a slow lift of his chin. Steps backward into darkness. You will yourself to take one step, and then another, following him over the threshold and past the point of no return.

It feels so odd to be here, in his space, with the intention of doing anything other than fucking. If you look close enough, you swear you can make out the shape of your body imprinted in the couch cushions, can hear lingering echoes of climaxes reached with your face shoved into one of his decorative pillows — can feel them, too.

Arousal pulls between your thighs. You ignore it.

You wonder how many other women have been here since you, have taken Javi in their hands or their mouths or their cunts. How many names that aren’t yours has he chanted in the throes of passion?

And — moreover — why do you care?

You don’t. You definitely don’t.

Javi pours you a glass of wine, fills a crystal with whiskey for himself. He flicks a lamp on, casting the room in an orange glow, and settles into the couch You follow his lead, perching yourself on one of the arm rests apprehensively.

“So,” you start. “About what we’ve been…doing-“

He cuts you off with a quirk of his brow, a flinch of his jaw.

“Javi,” you try again. “This has to — we can’t-”

“You’re sure you want to break it off, cariño?” His voice comes out low, dark.

And the thing is — you’re not sure. You wish you were, wish you had the strength to tell him definitively that it’s over, to go home to your boyfriend and block Javi’s number on the way out.

But the flex of his bicep when he hooks his arm behind his head, the knowing smirk playing on his lips, his cock — which you can’t see, but know is long and thick under his jeans — it all makes your head feel heavy.

You let the weight of it drop between your shoulders, hang there as you silently search for just a particle of sanity left in your being. You come up empty.

“Fuck,” you hiss, claw your fingers into your scalp. “This is — fuck.”

Leather groans under Javi’s weight. He stands. Steps in front of you.

You don’t dare look at him, not until he pinches your chin between two fingers and forces your gaze to meet his. His eyes are charcoal-black, something devious swimming behind blown pupils.

“Baby,” he croons. “Why did you really come here?”

You play dumb. “What do you mean? To — to talk.”

His thumb skates along the underside of your jaw, soft and placating.

“We’re not really gonna talk — are we?”

Your head spins, mind clouded by Javier’s words, his touch. You sense yourself losing resolve just as he pulls you upright by both hands.

You’re so close like this; can taste the whiskey on his breath, can feel the warmth of his exhale against your skin.

His mouth moves to the shell of your ear, voice a mere whisper when he speaks again.

“Wanna know what I think, querida?” he asks, palm flattening at your lower back, pushing you flush against him. “I think you came here because texting wasn’t enough anymore, huh? Think you missed me.”

And the truth is, you have missed him — painfully so. You’ve missed the timbre of his voice, the caress of his hands, the stretch of his cock. All just in reach, tangible for the first time in so long.

Your need for him borders on carnal. The feeling snakes its way up from your stomach into the cavern of your ribcage, splays its weight across your delicate, pounding heart.

And then the rational part of your brain whirs weakly to life.

What are you doing?

“I have a boyfriend,” you say. You’re not sure who you’re reminding.

“Mhm,” Javi mutters, deft fingers peeling the fabric of your t-shirt up, up, up your body. You don’t stop him.

“And does your boyfriend —“ he kneels down, presses a kiss where exposed skin meets denim — “make you feel as good as I do, cariño?”

You can’t answer that. It wouldn’t be right. Because any of this is.

“Javi — I,” you try, cut off abruptly by dull teeth in the flesh of your waist. You yelp, the sweet sting quickly dissipating as he pauses. Pulls back.

“You can say it,” he goads with a wicked smirk. “I won’t tell him.”

“He — no,” the words leave you before you even feel them in your mouth, and then you’re cursing yourself. You can’t take it back — it’s too late. Javi knows, you know. The only one still in the dark is Nathan.

Javier says your name. His tone is different, soberingly serious.

“Tell me to stop.”

Fuck.

“Tell me to stop,” he repeats, “and I’ll stop.”

“I can’t,” you whisper, so quiet you barely hear yourself.

“Cariño-”

“I can’t,” you stammer, louder. “I — fuck, Javi. Please.”

“Please?”

He knows what you’re asking for; he just needs to hear you say it.

“Please fuck me.”

In an instant, he’s standing back up, grasping at your sides and impatiently guiding you onto the couch. He brackets you against the cushions, one hand splayed next to your head on the backrest, the other popping the button of your jeans open.

You lift your ass as he tugs them down your legs, pulls them past your ankles and leaves them in a heap on the floor. And then he’s moving down your body, kneeling at your altar and prying you open for him.

You surrender to him willingly, desperation growing when he pulls your panties aside and gazes at your glistening sex, transfixed by you.

“This gorgeous pussy,” he hums, leaning down to taste you.

“Yeah?” you breathe. “You miss it?”

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he groans. Dips his tongue into the apex of your heat, refamiliarizing himself with your nectar before licking a languid stripe up to your throbbing clit.

You writhe under him, beg with wordless whines and whimpers for more. He knows your sounds, knows their tells, soothes you with a gentle shh against your cunt.

His lips wrap around your clit, then, envelope it completely as he starts to suckle, and the sudden sensation makes you buck your hips.

“Javi — fuck, oh — holy-”

He retreats, mouth shiny with your arousal. “What is it, baby? Your boyfriend doesn’t eat your pussy like this?”

“He doesn’t,” you admit breathlessly. Javi clicks his tongue. Faux-pouts at you.

His lips reattach to your clit and you curse.

“Fuck, Javi, he — he’s never-“

The half-admission stops him in his tracks. He stares back up at you with narrowed eyes.

“Cariño, don’t tell me he doesn’t go down on you?”

Your face heats. “He — he says he doesn’t like to do it.”

Suddenly, Javi looks livid.

His fingernails dig into the meat of your inner thighs mindlessly. You watch his lip twitch and his eyes roll to the ceiling.

He’s unaffected by much these days — but Javi clearly doesn’t take kindly to a man not pleasuring his woman. Especially when you are the woman in question.

“Pendejo,” he murmurs.

“Javi,” you whine. “Please.”

Your pleading voice seems to snap him out of it. Or at least remind him of the task at hand.

He returns his attention to your dripping pussy with one final huff. “Gonna take care of you baby, don’t worry.”

You anchor yourself with fingers of one hand twisted in the dark, sweaty curls at the crown of his head. Two digits on the other pinch at one of your hardened nipples, just as Javier begins to swipe his tongue back and forth over your clit.

“Fuck,” you sigh, draping your trembling legs over his shoulders.

He licks your cunt like he fears you’re going to melt, lathes over your clit again and again with the wide flat of his tongue. The wet squelch of him slurping at you, eager to catch every last drop of your arousal, bounces off the walls obscenely.

You hope, fleetingly, that his neighbors are heavy sleepers. Better yet, that they’re out of town.

Maybe he’s putting in extra effort because he knows now that your boyfriend isn’t doing this for you at home. Or maybe he’s just better at it than you remember. Regardless, you find yourself completely overcome with ecstasy, close to falling apart on Javi’s tongue in a matter of minutes.

As soon as he curls two fingers into your cunt, you’re gone, cumming so hard your vision pulls and your thighs shake.

You sing Javi’s name like a hymn. It rolls off your tongue effortlessly, naturally. Like it’s made for you to recite.

He lets you come down, soothes you with gentle hands stroking along your thighs, soft lips pressed to your sensitive mound.

When your breathing evens, he lifts off of his haunches, motions for you to lay flat on the couch with your neck supported by the armrest. And then he shucks his pants off, his cock immediately springing up to his stomach, a trail of precum dripping down his navel.

You’d forgotten how gorgeous it was — the heady, pink tip shiny with arousal, veins running along the underside of the thick base prominent. It twitches in interest as Javier leans down to kiss you, prods against your slick inner thigh when his tongue presses into yours.

You hook your legs around his back, desperately attempting to pull him closer, attempting to drag him into your achingly empty cunt.

He grins against your lips, hand moving between your bodies to guide himself to your entrance.

“Impaciente,” he mumbles.

You whine, nails digging into his shoulders. “Please Javi, need it.”

“Yeah?” He pauses with his cockhead right at your seam. “How bad?”

“Fuck — so bad, need it so bad.” Your nails burrow deeper into flesh. He hisses.

“God damn, querida; that much, huh?”

“Yes, Javi,” you groan. “Please just-”

He bottoms out in one deep thrust, effectively knocking the air out of your lungs. You moan in unison, his head falling against your shoulder as he slowly begins to move.

Your cunt sucks him in greedily, clenching around him over and over again. It’s intoxicating, the feeling of his cock nudging your g-spot with every roll of his hips. You wonder how you went so long without this. Fear you won’t be able to again.

He pulls all the way out and snaps into you before setting a new, brutal pace, one that leaves you babbling underneath him.

The room grows palpably warmer, white heat licking at your neck, your chest, your back — where it sticks to leather. You find yourself lost in the way your bodies move together; a dance you’ve done so many times before; one you’d perfected all those months ago.

“Shit,” Javi slurs. “Take me so well, cariño. Like you’re — ahh — made for me.”

I am, you want to say.

“Fuck,” you moan instead, “so good, baby. Feels so fucking good.”

And it does. You’re going to snap soon, going to cum for a second time, soak his cock.

You tighten around him, a silent warning. He slips out and you whine at the loss. But then he’s hiking your legs over his shoulders, spreading you wider for him and delving back in at a new angle that makes you scream.

You can feel it building now, like a snowball in your abdomen. You can’t fight it, can barely warn Javi, his name spilling brokenly from your throat as your orgasm crests.

He talks you through it with praises whispered in your ear. So beautiful, princesa — that’s it. So pretty when you fall apart on my cock. There you go; let it all out, baby.

Fucked-out and boneless, you beg for Javi to please cum inside.

He growls, low and primal, gripping tightly to the flesh of your waist as his thrusts begin to falter. “That what you want, querida? Want to — shit — want to go back to your boyfriend with me dripping out of you?”

“Yes,” you chant thoughtlessly, yes, yes, yes.

“Dirty. Fucking. Girl.” he grits, each word punctuated by a jerk of his hips.

He spills inside you with his teeth in the crook of your neck. There’s so much of it, filling your cunt, leaking out around his cock and onto leather. It sates you in a way you didn’t know possible, as if your womb needs to be claimed by him and only him. Nobody else will do.

You almost resent the feeling of your eyesight returning and your breaths steadying. You don’t want to come down — not if it means you need to go home.

But the sky outside is turning purple, bruising with the threat of a new day on the horizon, and you know your time together is nearly up.

“Javi,” you mutter, his chest still heaving against yours, cock softening inside you.

“Up.”

He shifts, pulls out in a devastating loss, and retreats to the opposite side of the couch.

You begin to knead the muscles in your aching calves, Javi fumbling with the pack of cigarettes on the side table next to him. He takes one out and lights it, the end glowing faintly.

“What do we do?” you ask. He rubs at the crease in his forehead, definitely set there by years of chasing after drug cartels. Maybe also by running away from meaningful conversation with you.

“You can’t go back to him,” he mumbles.

You scoff. “I can’t? I have to Javi, Nathan is my-“

“Don’t say his name,” he snaps, abruptly ashing his cigarette and turning to face you. He looks wrecked, his eyes wide and his lips downturned.

“What do you want from me, Javi?” you bite, pulling your panties back into place and reaching for your jeans where they lay on the floor. “You want me to be at your beck and call forever? Cheat on him until one of us dies?”

“I —“ Javi sighs. “No.”

“Then what?” You pull your pants on: one leg, then the other. Pull your shirt back down to cover your breasts.

“I — want you.”

You nearly choke on your own saliva.

“What?”

“All of you,” he clarifies. “When I saw you with him for the first time in that grocery store — my heart sank. I didn’t — didn't realize how serious my feelings were for you. Fuck, I shouldn’t have let you end things that day.”

He stands. Braces pleading hands on your shoulders.

“I know I’m an asshole,” he continues. “I thought I could never be someone’s partner. That I wouldn’t…wouldn’t be good. How could I be when I’ve done so much bad in my life?”

You sink into his touch. His words.

“Javi-“

“No, cariño — I need you to hear this. I want to be good for you, know I can be. I’ll do anything. I just — I can’t let you get away again.”

You feel as if you’ve just been struck by an arrow. Or, more accurately, a train. Your bones hurt and your insides twist.

You’re silent for a long moment, watching as his eyes desperately search yours. You know you need to say something eventually, put him out of his misery, but you’re too afraid to find out what happens next.

The undeniable fact that you want to be with him too is almost too much to bear. You’ll have to break it off with Nathan, split his heart in half. He doesn’t deserve it, you think, over and over.

But then, maybe you don’t deserve to remain unhappy. Unfulfilled.

Maybe you need to hurt him once in order to stop repeatedly hurting yourself.

“You’re good, Javier,” you say then. “You’re a good man. You deserve good.”

“Yeah?” his voice cracks. Tears prick in the corners of his eyes. He retracts them with a deep breath in.

You grab the sides of his face. “Yes. And I — I want you too.”

Javier kisses you, so deep you think your lips might bruise. There’s finality in it — you’re his and he’s yours — and no longer will you pretend that’s not the case.

He drives you back to your place, unwilling to let his girl get in another cab alone before daylight.

Laredo looks beautiful at dawn, all dozing buildings and empty roads. You pass by your workplace and groan at the realization that you’ll have to be back there in a few hours; you can’t call out again. A stack of unfiled reports will surely be waiting for you atop your desk.

That dread doesn’t last long, though, not when you look to the man in the driver’s seat, the one who makes your mouth water and your heart skip.

When he catches your gaze, corner of his mouth turning up at you mischievously, you know for certain that everything will work out just fine.

Javi turns onto your street slowly, moreso than he needs to, a possessive hand gripping your thigh.

“Will you let me know how it goes?” he asks when the car pulls up to the curb.

“Yeah,” you sigh. “I mean, I think it’s safe to say it won’t go well, but-“

“I know. But if he gives you any more trouble than he needs to, you call me.”

Your eyes flit up to your bedroom window, blinds drawn up and curtains pulled aside. The room is still dark, Nathan no doubt still asleep.

You’ll go up in a second. After you kiss Javier one more time.

He seems taken aback when your lips catch his, maybe because it’s crazy to do this here, now. But you can’t help it. Can’t keep your hands — or your mouth — off of him now that you have him.

He relaxes into it after just a second, licking into your mouth to deepen the kiss, his hand moving from your thigh to the back of your head to hold you against him.

And then — he abruptly pulls away.

“Shit,” he curses, staring wide-eyed at the window.

You follow his eyeline, freezing when you see what he sees: Nathan, tall and shadowy, looking straight at you.

“Well,” Javi laughs nervously, “I think he knows.”

end notes: ty so much for reading! pls consider reblogging and/or leaving a comment if you enjoyed :)

tag list: @janaispunk @kajashe @amanitacowboy @planet-marz1 @littlegrungegirlaf @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @wethairjoel @catchallfangirl @pamasaur

#javier peña #javier peña x reader #javier peña x female reader #javier peña x f!reader #narcos fanfiction #javier peña x you #narcos fic #javier peña narcos #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal as javier peña #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal smut #javier peña smut #javier pena x reader #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena narcos #javier pena x you #javier pena smut

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highhhfiveee · 7 months

Note

Mike x reader, with reader who works long hours during the daytime and Mike working at night which results in them barely having time to see eachother besides from dinner and bedtime

oh, you wanted angst fr 🥲 i think it could go either way, but honestly angst is what stood out to me first. i’m going to make this sadder too, just because i can 💜

to crumble (mike schmidt x reader)

tags/warnings: angst, pain, prescription drug mentions, fluff and cuteness in the beginning but not for long. mike fucks up, reader picks up his slack. things just don’t work! let me know if i missed anything! mndi.

this is long, sorry ;-; there are also probably a million errors in this, please ignore 💜

part 2 here: 🏳️

all i can think ab is the unbearable pain that replaces the love in your hearts as time goes on.

you’ve been together for half a year. things were fun at first, but once you decide to move in to help with abby, you start to see the cracks in the foundation.

in this one, reader works two jobs (bc let’s face it, this is unfortunately realistic); teaching from 9-4 and cashiering from 5-8:30. mike doesn’t want you working two jobs and you didn’t want to, but you knew that your salaries combined wouldn’t keep you afloat. abby’s school is expensive, and so is everything else in life. the extra money you get from cashiering gives you guys flexibility.

every morning at 6:30, monday to friday, you wake up alone. even though you know it’ll probably be empty, you still reach your arm over to run it over mike’s side. it’s always cold and flat, completely untouched.

you brush this off at first; it's one of the things that comes with him working overnight and you know he needs this job so that he can keep abby. you want that for him and know that love is sacrifice.

you wake abby up and start getting her ready in between fixing yourself up; brushing her teeth while you brush yours, letting her get a few more minutes of sleep in while you throw on your clothes, guiding her through packing her bag while you make breakfast. by that time, closer to 7:30, mike is finally walking into the house.

his eyes are hooded and surrounded by dark bags and you can tell he's exhausted from the way he hangs his things up lethargically. he kisses abby, who's running around collecting things, on the head, then ambles over to you, wrapping his arms around your waist and kissing along your neck.

they're soft, gentle actions that make you forget about not being able to do things like this at night. it doesn't matter when you have mornings with him, even if it's only 30 minutes before you have to go. you giggle and reach a hand up to his cheek, kissing him on his other one.

"missed you," you whisper.

"missed you too," he mumbles back, planting a kiss on your lips before stalking away to ask abby something.

you all eat breakfast together, and then you're slipping abby's coat over her shoulders before you put on your own. you usher her to the car and give mike one last kiss before you leave, a deep one that you hope he feels all day. when you pull away, you can see the affection sparkling in his eyes, low and tired but expressive nonetheless.

"i love you," he whispers, his sleepiness masquerading as love-drunkeness.

"i love you, mike. get some rest, okay?"

you drop abby off, wishing her well, before you're alone for the next 12 hours. it often drags. at your teaching job, you feel as if it's just passing you buy in waves, everything whizzing past you at light speed. you're aware that you're in front of the kids, but then you just blackout. you're thrown into autopilot, and you do this over and over until your lunch break at 1. you text mike to pass the time.

sometimes it's something silly, like "god i do not get paid enough" or "a kid just ate glue /: send help", to which mike will respond "😂😂😂" or "lol you deserve millions (:". he makes you laugh, and it's enough to help you push through the end of the day.

he picks up abby from school, asking her all about her day and what she wants for dinner. he'll text you what she says so you know what to expect when you get home, like "meatloaf 🍖🍞 (:" or "chicken alfredo 0: fancy".

for you, transitioning from teaching to customer service was easy; all you had to do was maintain that same autopilot: smile on, eyes alert, prepared for anything. no one suspected a thing when you could keep up and answer their questions.

mike helps abby with her homework, scratching his head with the eraser of a pencil when he draws blanks on a math or history question. abby only sighs, telling him about something off-topic. "art class is much more interesting."

mike starts dinner while you're closing up at work, sweeping the front end of the store and counting down your drawer. he lets abby help sometimes, and they usually have it ready for you by the time you're home at 9.

abby meets you at the door, and you hug her tight, picking her up and waltzing her back into the house. mike is setting the dining table, greeting you with a sleepy smile and, "the queen has arrived."

you all sit down and eat, and it's another one of those moments where everything feels okay. the last 12 hours didn't matter when you were able to have this at the end of it.

you tell abby and mike about your day over spaghetti, spilling details about prideful parents and spiteful customers. abby laughs all throughout, asking questions about being a cashier. mike just listens, eyes and heart floating between the two of you.

you clear the table while mike goes to get ready for work, and a wash of dread passes over you. your brain knows what's happening next. you'll kiss him goodbye, clinging to his hoodie sleeve for a second longer than you should, and then you'll settle down with abby, bathing her and reading her to sleep. then you'll be alone. it will just be you and the screech of infomercials until midnight, and then you'll be off to sleep, snuggling into a pillow that smells like mike.

you push the feeling away, shaking your head and hands and doing just as you know. there's the kiss, the night routine with abby, and the moment you sit on the couch, surrounded by tv light and the croaking of cicadas.

mike doesn't text during his shift unless it's an emergency. it makes you sad, but you understand. security requires focus, and you require sleep.

for a while, this works. it's what you and mike have to do to make ends meet, and while you both think that it'll only get better with more time at it, it doesn't.

you still wake up alone and go through the same rhythm, but when mike comes in around 7:30, it's not 7:30 anymore. it's 7:39, then 7:45, then 7:58. the latest he's ever been, so late that you're not able to eat with him. he shrugs it off when you mention it, kissing your cheek and retreating to the bedroom to sleep.

you drop abby off as usual, and go to work. work. work. work.

mike starts missing your lunch break texts, sometimes dozing dangerously close to when abby's school lets out. while your class works, you bitterly stare at your text conversation. your unanswered "shaping america's future is kinda sick" message stares back at you until it's replaced by abby's school calling. your heart drops to your stomach as you step out of the room to take the call, answering the phone with, "is she okay?"

mike didn't pick her up. she's out at 2:30 and it's 3:30 now, and she's crying and scared because he didn't pick up the phone, and she always calls him first.

you leave work in a flurry, asking a fellow teacher to take over, and you speed to abby's school, not caring about tickets or police or anything. you only want to get her home.

mike is dashing out of the door when you pull up, wrenching a sobbing abby out of your backseat and clutching her close. "i'm sorry, i'm sorry, i'm sorry," he breathes, smoothing her hair and looking up at you with regret etched into every feature on his face.

you try your best to hide your upset, ushering everyone inside before changing into your work clothes. you were going to be late, but you shake it off. abby was home and that was all that mattered.

"hey," mike reaches out to you when you're on your way out. his fingers graze their way down to your hand, and it makes you wish that you could stay home. "thanks for that. i've just been super tired lately and i overslept and---"

"it's okay, baby," you give him a tight lipped smile and a kiss on the knuckles. "just don't let it happen again."

it happens again. and again. and again. it happens so many times that abby starts to think mike is forgetting about her, and you don't know how to get that out of her head. she cries about it more and more with each time you have to pick her up. he stops running out to apologize, still asleep inside.

you rush into the bedroom. he's splayed out over the bed, snoring loudly with his arm hanging over the side. you find an orange pill bottle on his nightstand. an old ambien prescription.

you argue with him before work sometimes.

"what do you need ambien for?"

"i can't sleep."

"but every morning, you skip breakfast to sleep."

"i do fall asleep, but i started waking up out of it. i just take the ambien to help me fall again."

"what time do you take it?"

"i don't know, y/n."

"why are you lying to me?"

"i'm not."

"what time?" you cry, grasping at your chest. a sharp pains thud through your ribcage, and you literally sob. it feels like your heart is tearing in two. "you stare at times, mike. what time do you take the ambien?"

he doesn't answer you and he doesn't know why. it would be so easy to tell you that he takes it at 9 or 10, and that he believes he'll be able to wake himself up around 2 but he doesn't. he can’t sleep without the ambien. he needs it now because he kept himself up in the early days of this, mind toiling over their situation, the endless reassurance that this would work sending him into insomnia.

you leave when he doesn't answer, wiping at your watery eyes and runny nose.

you cashier as a shell of yourself. abby stops asking mike for homework help, and eventually he stops cooking dinner too, trading all that time in for extra sleep after picking her up. you have to explain the situation to your retail store manager, just in case mike forgets again, and start looking after abby more. mike only ever made time to spend with her on the weekends, content with awkward moments over lunch and low energy bickering.

the lunch break texts stop. the dinner texts stop.

he's dressed and ready to leave when you get home these days, prepared to exit as you enter. you don't know what to say as you face each other in the doorway, eyes focused on anything but each other. you don’t even kiss anymore.

"i think abby's asleep already."

you shake your head. "i think she's really sad. she hasn't been coming out of there like she used to. she misses you."

"i miss her too, of course. i'm just busy."

"all you do is work, mike," you deadpan, exhausted with him. you never thought you'd ever get to a point where you looked at mike, the sure love of your life, with disdain, but you felt it creep into you ever so slightly.

"yeah, i know. it fucking sucks, but it's what i have to do to keep abby."

you scoff, scooting past him to take your coat and bag off. "as if you're going to keep her by leaving her at school everyday." it's supposed to be under your breath, but the disdain creeps onto your tongue, bitter and raging, and you say it aloud, to his face.

his jaw clenches and his brown eyes burn, staring you down with an unrelenting severity. you hunch yourself over, dropping your head and sighing out, "mike, i'm sorry. i didn--"

he leaves without another word.

how it got to this, neither of you know. not even the weekends healed anymore. mike caught up on sleep, you caught up on grading, and in your downtime, you avoided each other. for him, it felt easier than being around you. you were irritable all the time, a quick fuse with any word he could think to speak.

for you, it seemed like it was what he wanted. time away from you, from abby, from everyone; time to be alone and recharge for the only thing he ever did, the only thing that was keeping his sister in his care.

you didn't even remember what his touch felt like, what he tasted like. the man that you loved had become but a memory, a ghost that passed through your plane. you’re able to imagine his fluffy hair, his perfect smile, his laugh, his rich smell, but none of it mattered. he didn’t feel like yours anymore.

you suppose it was the same for him, with you existing in the same space but only tangible to him some of the time. he would catch glimpses of your smile, laughing at something on your phone, or talking to abby, meet your eyes when you shuffled back to the bedroom from the bathroom, rimmed in red from crying for the last 30 minutes.

he starts sleeping on the couch, unable to even lay beside you.

mike does a lot of crying. a lot of screaming into his pillow, wondering why he fucks these things up so badly. you do the same, wondering why you stay in situations that hurt you.

this goes on for longer than you two would like, so long that you don't even celebrate your one-year anniversary.

the day passes without noise, mike sleeping and you working.

a prequel of sorts : x

THIS WAS SO FUCKING LONG MY BBBBBBBB OMG. i did NOT mean to go this deep in, i just felt SOOOOO MUCH! my little brain got sad ): i could go deeper into this too one day, breaking up moments into specific little blurbs or ficlets d: let me know if y'all even enjoyed this lmaooo off to write for Halloween lol

#mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt #mike schmidt angst #fnaf angst #fnaf movie #fnaf #fnaf fic #faire’s mike schmidt <3 #this was painful #kind of tired so it may be ass but #it feels painful #imagine your relationship just falling to pieces 💔#i made this so long #whoops #faire is writing stuff #josh hutcherson

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disneyprincemuke · 5 months

Text

in another life * fem!driver au

"if not in this universe, do you think we're at least together in another?" "there has to be at least one where we're happy."

i HAVE SUCCUMBEDDD TO THE VOICEESSSSSS THE VOICESSSSSSS AHHHHHH

and my demons bc here we are :/

this is more smaus and shorter blurbs just because i don't wanna get too attached to logan and my literal fictional character being together huhuhuhu

could've been -> in which logan decided to make a move on her after her confession instead of ignoring his feelings and eventually getting over it

everything at 18, but nothing at 22 -> in which the drastic difference in their performance in their career seems to finally be catching up to them

they ask, “do you have a man?” -> in which everyone is curious why the grid princess is still single despite instagram posts from them seem to be giving out another narrative

is it just platonic? -> in which she and logan can’t help but flirt with each other in public, but it’s always disregarded as them being mega best friends

everybody talks too much -> in which he accidentally slips up during an interview and calls her his ‘girlfriend’ sending everyone into a frenzy

in the late night, in a disguise -> in which logan has to dress entirely differently to run some late-night errands with her in the uk

the grid princess x everyone -> in which everyone seems to ship her with everyone but her actual secret boyfriend

kiss all your tears away -> in which she and logan don't walk into the paddocks together for the first time all season and sends everyone speculating about the status of their relationship friendship

is it killing you like it's killing me? -> in which she and logan try to navigate the worst part about dating your literal coworker

tis the season for mistletoasters -> in which they invite a select few of their friends over for the holidays and a particular holiday decoration catches them off guard

there doesn't seem to be anyone around -> in which they're simply not discreet enough about sneaking around in the paddocks

the summer seemed to last forever -> in which they didn't want summer break to end because that meant having to sneak around again

baby, it's cold outside -> in which she always get seasonal depression at the same time of the year and he tries to make her feel better about it

i don't want you like a best friend -> in which their trip to the bahamas two years ago suddenly becomes a push and pull game that neither of them knew the rules to

the kind of book you can't put down -> in which the thought of settling down and being with her scares him more than anything in the world, but he can’t seem to steer away from the thought of ‘them’

you make everyday feel like it's christmas -> in which logan surprises her in the morning with a throughtful second present

in sickness and in health -> in which she's down with the flu and while she's locked herself away to contain the virus, her boyfriend simply refuses to stay away for too long

bad sushi and bad stomachs -> in which she completely overanalyses the situation when she wakes up puking from bad sushi, forcing her to have a conversation about potentially having kids

it's when we're in a crowded room -> in which they’ve got their own little ways to communicate their feelings for one another while they’re under watch of the crowd that’s not supposed to know of their relationship

god bless america -> in which it's everyone's favourite american's birthday and they can't help but take the piss out of him

i'm a monster on the hill -> in which insecurities suddenly strike up when she sees her boyfriend parading with williams’ star guest for the race weekend

#disneyprincemuke #disneyprincemuke imagine #disneyprincemuke imagines #logan sargeant x reader #logan sargeant x you #f1 fanfic #disneyprincemuke vr #disneyprincemuke f1 #disneyprincemuke ial

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runningfrom2am · 6 months

Text

leveling the playing field X

summary: with nowhere else to go after getting caught cheating to help lucy gray, you both make some desperately stupid decisions.

pairing: coriolanus snow x fem!reader

wc: 3.1k

tags/warnings: capitol brat!reader, maybe slightly ooc coryo, idk i tried my best. do they love each other or hate each other? who knows (we do, kind of). implications and mentions of abuse, so read with caution!! also a little bit of swearing but that's neither here nor there

masterlists // nav // requests

a/n: hi all!! i have some slightly annoying news (I'm so sorry) but i think i have to close my taglist for this fic and for other coryo stuff (which i am working on bc I've seen the requests!!) bc its gone up almost 150 people and i can only tag 50 people per post and it is SO much work to tag everyone individually even after i paste them in and i don't want to have to reblog it 2 or 3 times to tag everyone :(. I'm so sorry like i said ik its annoying but if you'd like to be the first to know ab new parts and you're not already in my taglist, feel free to turn on my post notifs!! that way you'll also see everything else including my asks ab the fic where i answer more questions and we talk theories and all that fun stuff :)

next part

Coriolanus was having a hard time adjusting to the life of a peacekeeper, but he was getting there. He sent off that letter for you almost as soon as he arrived, but was yet to receive a response so that seemed like an answer enough. He had to forget you, especially if he wasn't going back to the Capitol anytime soon.

He was homesick, to say the very least. Both of his bunkmates were out, likely working, but he didn't care much to know exactly where. He was just relieved to have a moment to himself to wallow in his self-pity, chest constricting tighter and tighter with every breath.

A door slammed shut down the hall, followed quickly by his own door opening- at which he held his breath. He had to get it together.

"Is this bunk taken?" Someone asks, a voice not belonging to either of his bunkmates, but he recognizes it nonetheless.

He shot up straight, taking in the appearance of the boy in front of him. "Sejanus!" He had never been happier to see his classmate, hopping out of his top bunk to quickly give him a hug.

"This is a surprisingly warm welcome for someone who almost got you killed." Sejanus chuckled, hugging him back.

Coryo laughs slightly, pulling away and grabbing his shoulders. "Oh, no. Quite the opposite. What are you doing here?"

"About the same as you." He shrugs, sliding his things under the bed below Coryo's. "They were going to expel me, but my dad paid them for my grad certificate and let them send me here. They got a new gym on the condition that they let us both graduate."

Coryo should be relieved, but a graduation certificate doesn't matter much if he's stuck here for the next twenty years. "And Y/N/N?" He asks.

"Y/N?" Sejanus asks, lifting his head back in confusion. "What about her?"

"Did she graduate too?"

"I... I don't know, I didn't know she was in trouble. We were told she was sick."

Coriolanus's stomach drops. That's a story he'd certainly heard before, and he didn't like at all how that ended. He swallows, nodding a little bit as he looks at the floor. "So you didn't see her at all?"

"No... Not since the last time I saw you." Sejanus states. It had been a few weeks now. "But, her mother came to our door a week or so ago, real early in the morning. Ma shooed me away but I heard them talking, it seemed like she didn't know where Y/N was either. She was looking for her, wondering if any of us had seen her."

Again, this is what Coryo had seen before with what happened to Clemensia. Her parents weren't allowed to see her at all while she was in the hospital. "I think she's dead." He admits.

"What? What makes you say that?" His friend gasps.

"I... I heard her screaming when I left our meeting with Highbottom." Coriolanus explains. "At first it was normal Y/N screaming, you know, but then it got worse and worse until it just... stopped." He hoped Sejanus would change his story, that he would remember seeing you at school or on the streets or at one of your parent's obnoxious parties, having a good time, and being yourself. That maybe he had just forgotten, but the look on Sejanus's face tells him that didn't happen.

It was Sejanus's turn to look down now, giving a solemn nod. "I mean, no." He laughs suddenly, shaking his head. "They wouldn't kill her on campus- if you could hear it, she's not dead. They wouldn't kill her just like that, right?" He says, trying to convince himself of that truth. "Surely she's just sick. Maybe grounded, or something."

"Yeah, yeah. Probably..." Coriolanus concedes, hoping that somehow Sejanus was right.

Simultaneously, you were adjusting beautifully to life in District Twelve. You got in the habit of borrowing Lucy Gray and Barb Azure's clothes, and they let you sleep on the floor between their beds. For the first time in your life, you were free. No one knew you, no one had a single expectation of you besides Tam Amber appreciating your help with the goats and occasionally going to the market with Lucy Gray and Maude Ivory to get food. It was refreshing, to say the very least. Everyday you felt yourself unwinding more and more.

"Do you play any instruments, Y/N?" Maude Ivory asks you, skipping to catch up to you as you hike down a trail out to the lake with the rest of the covey.

"I do, actually." You nod at her, a small smile on your face. "Try three."

"Three!" She claps excitedly. "What do you play? You'll have to perform with us! Do they have different instruments where you're from?"

"Not really." You giggle, putting your hands in the pockets of your bright red skirt. "I play the piano, and the violin, which is just like Clerk Carmine's fiddle, but much more boring, and a harp, if you've ever heard of that."

"You play the fiddle?" The young girl smiles.

"Not like he does." You smile at the boy as he walks ahead of you, not paying any attention.

"I'm sure you're just as well." Lucy Gray interjects, bumping her shoulder with yours as she walks next to you. "Maude Ivory, you should hear her projection. I'm yet to hear her sing, but boy, can she yell."

"I can't sing." You laugh, shaking your head. "Back home you don't sing unless you're training for the opera, and you have to start that around the same time you learn to walk. My parents would rather me learn the piano."

"Then why am I the one yellin' at all our shows? You should step up." Maude Ivory giggles, and you just shake your head, ruffling her hair.

"I definitely couldn't do it nearly as well as you." You insist. "Besides, I have stage fright." You joke, mostly to get her off your back.

She laughs as she fixes her hair, running to catch up with the kids in front of her.

"She just adores you." Lucy Gray smiles. "It's nice to have a new face around."

You smile, watching Maude Ivory collect flowers from the side of the road. "She reminds me of my brother. They're about the same age."

"Right, you lent me his guitar." Lucy Gray says, a particular sadness in her tone tipping you off that she believes you should be upset about leaving him. You miss him, sure, but he's better off now with you gone. Besides, he couldn't be any worse than you. Your parents have always doted over him, and there's no doubt in your mind that now that you are gone, it's multiplied.

"Yes. That's him." You reply, accompanying a moment of silence between the two of you.

"Do you miss him?"

"Sure." You nod, kicking a small stone down the path in front of you. "But he's better off without me there. That brings me enough peace to sleep at night."

"Hey, can I ask you something?"

"Shoot." You smile at her, grateful for the change of topic.

"What happened to Coriolanus?" For the first time in weeks, you feel a pinch of discontent in your gut at her question.

"I don't know." You lie, shrugging your shoulders. You don't even know why you felt the urge to lie at all, you knew he was here somewhere but you hadn't seen him once. Out of sight, out of mind is what you have been trying to convince yourself. "He's alive, I'm sure. Peacekeeping in one of the districts probably."

"Oh, I was hoping you would know more."

"It would be nice." You agree. "But he's not exactly in my good graces at the moment."

"It feels so out of character for him to betray you like that, doesn't it?" Lucy Gray asks.

You laugh, shaking your head. "It was unusual. That's what I thought, anyway." You sigh, giving a slight shrug. "I haven't told anyone, but we had... I don't know, a moment, a few weeks ago. During the games. Just a couple of days later and he's throwing me under the bus like I meant nothing to him. We've been friends for years- I thought everything was about to change for the better, and then..."

"That's cruel." She says disapprovingly. "I bet he's sorry now that you're gone with the wind. He's regretting it. I promise you that much."

You smile slightly at the thought, allowing yourself to entertain it, if only for a moment. "He better be."

"Is that for me? Oh, c'mon y'all, you know that I gave up drinkin' when I was twelve..." Lucy Gray says, taking a sip out of the clear liquor bottle someone in the audience handed to her. "Oh, It's to clear my pipes, just to clear my pipes." She clarifies, tossing the bottle back into the audience.

Coriolanus watches leaning against the side wall of The Hob. He's happy to see that Lucy Gray is back to doing what she loved, and she made it home alive and well. He's also more than pleased to finally get off the barracks for something other than work. "Now, who's ready for a song, huh?" She smiles, looking down off the stage to her right. "Okay, comin' right up. First, I'd like to introduce to the stage with a big welcome, a grand ole friend of mine, The lovely Sage!" She says, giggling at her rhyme as another girl climbs up on stage, giving Maude Ivory and Lucy Gray a quick hug each.

Coriolanus looks away as the crowd cheers, scanning the crowd for Sejanus who had just excused himself to grab a drink a couple minutes ago. He's wondering where his roommate could have disappeared to when Lucy Gray's friend starts speaking.

"Well hello, everyone, so lovely to meet you all! I have never felt so welcome anywhere." His head snaps back to the stage. He'd know that Capitol accent anywhere, even as you pause to allow any cheers to quiet down. "I mean that." You grin, hands clutched to your chest. "And that feels so good, considering Lucy Gray all but forced me up here." You laugh, draping an arm over her shoulder, letting her take back over. How could this be real? Coryo is tempted to rub his eyes or pinch himself to make sure he's even awake. He was so sure you were dead, but despite the different name and completely different clothes, he was positive it was you. The pang in his chest made that obvious, along with the wave of surrealism that suddenly surrounded him so all he could see was you.

"Now, my beautiful girl Sage here will be taking over for our friend on the fiddle, we'll give the band a quick break, and we're gonna have a bit of a change of pace while she's lending us her talents." Lucy Gray says, and Coriolanus watches as you take the beat-up violin from the young boy gratefully. He knew you played, but he hadn't heard it for years. You looked so calm, something he wasn't sure he had seen in public since you were young. He can't pull his eyes from your figure as it graces the stage with your presence, lighting up the room even if it was only for him.

A small smile grows on his face as you start to play, several whistles echoing through the room before Lucy Gray even joins in with her singing. He wants to scream, to cheer and clap and yell and tell everyone in this dark, rundown building that this 'Sage' was his. Inarguably and undoubtedly his. Coryo's pride is only curtailed when he recognizes the song; it was the ballad Lucy Gray played in her interview on your brother's guitar.

The sophistication your violin playing brought to the piece almost made it sadder and infinitely more haunting. It's beautiful. Now with your classical touch, the song sets a pit of guilt in his stomach. That somehow, even without you singing, it's now a ballad from you to him.

"Just let me remind you what I am to you..."

He makes eye contact with Lucy Gray as he shifts his gaze away from you. She pauses for only a moment, hands still moving rhythmically over the strings of her guitar. She smiles and nods at him, jaw slightly agape as she glances back at you to see if you noticed him. When it's clear you haven't, she gets back on track with the words within only a moment.

"'Cause I am the one who looks out when you're leaping. I am the one who knows how you were brave..." Your lips turn up in a small smile as she sings, eyes still shut while you focus. Even though he's sure you're thinking of him, it doesn't bring him much consolation. Well, at least you were thinking of him. He would take it.

The song ends as quickly as it starts, and despite the slower tone, the audience is still excited. More so as the band returns to the stage and you return the violin to Clerk Carmine before turning back around to give a bow. You wave out to the audience, reveling in the whistles and praise before reaching out for an extended hand, accepting it as its owner helps you down. "That was stunnin', where'd you learn to play like that? I've never heard anything quite like it." The man asks, still holding your hand out in between you.

"Oh, thank you. I've been playing my whole life." You grin as the music picks up again.

"Can you dance like you can play?" He asks, lifting your arm to spin you.

"I can certainly try." You laugh, going along with it as he pulls you into a more open space of the crowd, and to Coriolanus, it seems like you're taunting him. You're dancing like you don't have a care in the world, dressed in a skirt that looked like it was made out of a red bed sheet cut up and stitched back together in half-hazard squares, and what looked like one of your t-shirts cut up into a tank top that exposes most of your stomach and back. Appallingly too, a smile present on your face that he had dreamt of seeing again one day but was certain he never would. The only problem is that you're dancing with someone else. Not that he was much of a dancer, but he could try if he had known that's what you wanted.

He's planning his method of attack. He can't leave without speaking to you, because he doesn't even know if you'll be back here the next time he gets a day off. Though, based on your appearance and newfound carelessness, it's likely.

His urge is just to kiss you, but the only thing holding him back is that it could set you off. If you hadn't heard his apology from miles away, would you still be angry at him? But actions speak louder than words. He knows that physicality works with you, and it was hard to deny that he hadn't dreamt of how soft your lips felt on his for weeks. One time was just simply not enough for Coryo.

Coriolanus scowls as the man you're dancing with spins you again, making you laugh as he drapes an arm around your waist.

Maybe he should get Sejanus, see if he's seen you yet.

Another spin, and a hand sliding lower down your bare back as the man pulls you closer, his fingers landing on the waistband of your skirt. When was the last time that scumbag had so much as washed his hands? Coryo wonders to himself, rage boiling up under his skin.

Kiss her. Definitely kiss her.

But if the song choice was any indicator, you definitely weren't pleased with him. It couldn't be, though, because how would you know he would be in attendance? Coryo finds his feet carrying him through the crowd, pushing past a dozen carelessly drunk people in his effort to get to you before he's even thought it all through.

Your brow furrows as a body forces itself between you and your dancing partner. "Hey! What are you-" You cut yourself off, hypnotized by the cold blue eyes staring down at you.

That's my girl. Even though you're angry, Coriolanus is grateful to be the object of your gaze once more.

"'Scuse me, man, do you mind?" The man says, making an effort to push Coryo away. He turns, and before you can intervene he's swinging his fist right at the other guy's face, finding its target in a fraction of a second.

He stumbles back, grabbing his face as it immediately drips blood from his nose onto the floor. There are gasps in the crowd as it disperses around you.

"Hey, settle down, settle down now." You hear Lucy Gray call out amidst the music playing in the background while you grab the back of Coryo's shirt, pulling him back before he continues to beat up your dancing partner.

"Coriolanus, what are you doing here?" You shout over the music. He shakes out his fist, turning back to you now and grabbing your face, pulling you closer to kiss you instead of dignifying you with a response. His actions would certainly speak louder.

You want to be angry, but that falters as you feel his lips on yours again, his hands planted firmly on either side of your waist as he holds onto you so tight you weren't sure breathing was an option- even if you could. You followed him here, of course you wanted to see him, but how could he betray you so easily and expect forgiveness in a kiss?

It takes you longer than it probably should to build up the courage to place your hands on his chest, shoving him back. "What is wrong with you?" You spit, looking him up and down in the blue uniform signified of a peacekeeper off duty.

"What's wrong with me?" He asks, looking around and gauging how many people were even taking notice. "What do you mean, Y/N/N, I wanted to-" Clearly you hadn't heard his silent apology, or it just wasn't enough.

"Hey!" You hiss, jumping at him and attempting to cover his mouth at the use of your nickname, and he quickly swats away your hand. "Let's go. Outside, now." You shove him back by his chest, pointing towards the exit.

You look up at Lucy Gray on stage, still singing as she watches you nervously. You give her a nod and a small reassuring smile before linking arms with Coryo and guiding him toward the door. Just like old times.

taglist: @keziahcore, @kitscutie, @annaelise, @serrendiipty, @fratboyharrysgf0201, @totallynotkaibiased, @stelleduarte, @klplynn, @secretsicanthideanymore, @bejeweledreverie, @gloryekaterina, @andrewgarfieldsbitch, @queenofspades6, @pepperonipastas, @ladybug0095, @lunamothwrites, @sbrewer21, @mus-tbe-a-weasley, @splxtscreen, @unclecrunkle, @karmaswitch, @coconut-dreamz, @nekee-lilac02, @ooooglymoooogly, @riddlerloveb0t, @lovedbalances, @notyourwildestdream, @snowlandson-top, @too-lit-for-fanfic, @utopiakys, @deafeningballoonnacho, @roosterschanelslut, @chmpgneprblem, @cosmoetik, @lauravanderbooben20, @dry0campa, @luclue, @lokidala, @urvampgfsworld, @carolanns-world @nan-nie, @shakespearseclipse, @iovemoonyy, @notyoursweetheart-honey, @xyzstar, @eatpizzasass, @slytherinholland, @queenofshinigamis, @elodiebeau, @soulessjourney

i've closed my taglist for coryo now!! sorry to everyone who wanted to be added, but unfortunately there was significantly more demand than i expected and i sadly just cant tag everyone. BUT! if you still want notifications when i post for this fic, please turn on my post notifs!!

#tbosas #tbosas fic #tbosas x reader #coriolanus x you #coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus x reader #the hunger games #thg fanfic #thg fanfiction #thg series #coryo snow

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totheblood · 1 year

Text

jealous!ellie headcanons

a/n: these are modern headcanons sooooo... and this isn't jealous gf ellie, this is pining loser lesbian ellie... lol also super inspired by the talented @rxllingstones and @whore-era after reading their amazing fics tonight... pls go read them.. and for u fiends... there is ai audios at the bottom... more uploaded on sc bc tumblr hates me

ellie is incredibly hard to read

or at least that's what she tells herself

it's almost written all over her face how much she hates the people you date when she's in a five-foot radius of them

she tells herself she doesn't care (she's lying) but she can't ignore how her grip tightens when she sees you lip-locking some loser you met at a party

but she always finds herself at your side, pulling you away from them and back into the corner with her

"hey there, pretty girl. having fun?"

"i was until you cock-blocked me."

"there wasn't much to block... i heard his dick's small."

but the curse of having feelings for you was that you were always dating someone

it always comes up when the group goes out to dinner and the topic of who you're dating comes up

like it does every week...

"i actually really like him for you" dina shares, a genuine smile on her face

"yeah, dude's cool" jesse agrees, slinging his arm around dina in the booth

and then all the attention is on ellie as you stare at her with your wide eyes waiting for her approval

"what? you know you're not going to like what i have to say." she says taking a sip of her dr. pepper

yes ellie drinks dr. pepper

"cause you hate everyone i date!" you reply, your bottom lip jutting out in a pout

it was clear you were slightly tipsy but your face still made ellie smile

"yeah, cause you only date fucking losers." she would say smile on her face but anger blooming inside

ellie tries to be mature but she can't help herself

what makes it worse is that you really do date literally everyone except for her

so she doesn't really make an effort to be nice to the people you introduce her to

one time the same guy came around twice and all ellie could say was "oh it's this fucking guy again! hey man, glad to see you made it to a second date."

you scolded her after

but in her defense, you really are with someone new each week

until it's been three weeks and you're still dating the same girl

and ellie is a fucking mess

you started inviting her out to group hang outs and smoke sessions so ellie just stops showing up

she doesn't like the way it feels when her stomach flips upside down at the sight of you sitting on her lap, a beer in your hands

so she decides to opt-out, get high alone and avoid seeing you as much as possible

but it's short lived because your drunk ass is banging on her door

"ellie, let me in!" you yell over the tv playing from inside her dorm room. "i hear you watching shark tank!"

reluctantly, she gets up and opens the door for you

"can i help you?"

"yeah you can fucking help me. you can help me by telling me why you've been MIA for the last few parties. i miss you." you don't miss a beat and are already storming past her and sitting on her unmade bed

"you miss me? does arcadia know about that? you missing me?"

"is this seriously about you not liking another partner of mine? seriously ellie? grow up. you're supposed to be my friend and support me but you have done any of that?" it was obvious you had been hanging onto that for a while

she'd laugh but upon seeing your stone cold face her anger would rise

"oh, you're fucking serious. are you really that blind? you really think i want to be your fucking friend? i mean, my god i couldn't have made it clearer for you. i like you! like actually like you, like i want it to be my lap that you sit in. not hers. every person you have ever dated i have wished was me! but nooo, you just don't seem to notice."

she doesn't even realize it but she's shaking

she's actually just confessed her three year crush on you without even thinking about it

"ellie..." you begin, a worried look all over your face

"no, i don't really have it in me to get rejected by you tonight so please just go." she cuts you off, unable to meet your eyes

but then you're there next to her holding her shaking hand

"i'm not rejecting you, ellie." you whisper

"you're not? what about your little girlfriend."

"this might be absolutely toxic of me to say but... she's not you." you giggle

"you're absolutely right it's fucking toxic to say that…. but it's also EXTREMELY fucking hot."

ai audios:

extra ai audios:

there wasn't much to block..

oh, it's this fucking guy again!

oh you miss me?

you're not? what about your little girlfriend

you're right it's toxic to say that...

#ellie williams #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams smut #ellie williams tlou #ellie williams x reader smut #ellie williams the last of us #ellie williams tlou2 #ellie williams fanfiction #ellie williams fanfic #ellie williams fan fic #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams x you #ellie williams imagine #ellie williams oneshot #modern!ellie williams #college!ellie williams #ellie williams one shot

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avatar-anna · 9 months

Note

Can you write something about reader having an ED and Harry doesn’t notice at first but then starts to notice And then eventually helps you through it?

Try To Find a Way Back

trigger warning: mentions and direct references to eating disorders. please be cautious if you find this topic triggering

so, i don't know a ton about eating disorders and what it's like for someone who has one to be actively struggling with it, and writing about something i don't completely understand makes me nervous bc i don't want to get it wrong. however, since you asked, i'm going to do my best to write this!

in case anyone is curious, this is the article i referenced while writing

.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.

"I just don't understand what her issue is. If I was in her shoes, I'd get help. It's that simple."

"I don't know if—"

"I mean, it's not like struggling with eating makes her special. Like, everyone has body image issues and we just deal with it. Harry will probably break up with her because of all the reassurance she needs. Poor guy probably didn't know what he got himself into when he asked her out. God what a headache for him."

You backed up slowly, not wanting to hear the conversation that was so clearly about you anymore. You'd gone to grab drinks for yourself and who you thought were your friends, but now your hands were shaking so hard you worried the contents in the two wine glasses would come spilling out, glass shattering to the floor. Your heart pounded in your chest, bile rising in your throat. Finding the nearest server walking around with an empty tray and, you set the glasses down before booking it out of the club.

Tears were already starting to pool in your eyes as you ordered an Uber to take you home. Phoebe was one of Harry's friends, but she'd been kind to you since the day he introduced you to her and the rest of his close knit group of friends he'd had for years. You'd been incredibly nervous. You were an outsider, not a model or a writer or a musician or an actor. You weren't extraordinarily talented or beautiful, you were just...you.

None of that seemed to matter to Harry, though. He'd been nothing but flirtatious since the moment he met you. Well, once he was able to look past his nerves. He'd been a bit of a stuttering mess at first, and it wasn't until an hour into talking to him where he really got comfortable enough to flirt, and flirt he did.

It took not one, not two, but three tries to get you to go out with him, your insecurities getting in the way the first two times. But that had been a few months ago, and now you were pretty sure you were in love with him, except now you knew his friends hated you.

She doesn't understand, you thought. It isn't so black and white. You would love to just fix yourself, to make yourself see a doctor, seek help. But eating disorders were a behavioral disease, and when you were in the thick of it, it was hard to shake. You'd told Phoebe about your struggles with your weight and eating disorder in confidence, thinking she was someone you could confide in, only to find her mocking your pain behind your back to someone else, and now you didn't know what to do.

Your phone buzzed with a text message, and you tensed when you saw who it was from.

Bubbie: hey where'd you run off to?

You: not feeling well. heading home

Bubbie: why didn't you say anything? let me take you home

Wiping away a tear, you typed out a text. In most cases, being around Harry would've brought you comfort, but right now, you just wanted to be alone. You couldn't let him see you like this, so unsteady.

You: it's ok. enjoy your first night back with your friends. kissies xx

*.*

You'd been avoiding Harry for the last week and a half. Phoebe's words sent you into a bit of a tailspin, and shame kept you from speaking to him, not wanting to involve him in your issues. Because you realized Phoebe was right. To some extent. You should've been able to ask for help, you should've been able to tell Harry how much you were really struggling, but your shame kept you from reaching out to anyone or asking for help, along with the desire to keep up your habits, which created a toxic cycle.

"It seems like this boy is doing you more harm than good, honey," your mom said over the phone. She was the only one you told about what you overheard Phoebe say.

"He's not the problem, Mom. I just—"

"You were doing so well up until you started seeing him. I just don't want you to slip again. I worry about you, and if being with that boy is causing you problems, then you need to look at the bigger picture."

Her heart was in the right place, it really was. Your mom had been there for a lot of your darkest moments and was rightfully protective of you and your health. But Harry really wasn't the problem. He'd never made you feel like you needed to change your body for him, it was quite the opposite in fact. He constantly praised the way you looked, and not because you needed reassurance or asked him to, despite Phoebe's assumptions. He just really thought you were beautiful.

"I can't just live my life alone, Mom," you said eventually, not wanting to admit more. "He makes me happy."

You heard your mom sigh, but she thankfully didn't press the matter further, even though you knew she had lots to say. She always had lots to say where your boyfriend was concerned. The last thing she said on the matter was, "Just...be careful."

Once you hung up the phone, you fell back against your bed for a few minutes before standing up and walking to your kitchen. A trip to the grocery store was in order, just based on the meager items in your pantry and refrigerator—pasta and no sauce, cereal but no milk, veggies but they weren't organic, and did you really need the family size bag of Doritos—

You took a breath, willing those thoughts away. You were fine. You were just upset about what Phoebe had said about you, nothing more. "It's just the grocery store," you murmured. "You go all the time."

*.*

The grocery store had never looked bigger. There were too many labels, too many colors, too many brands making promises of health and wellness. Your hands gripped the shopping cart until your knuckles were white, eyes wide as you carefully browsed the aisles. Everyone else was going about their business just fine. You watched as people grabbed what they needed with ease, scratching items off their lists and moving into the next thing.

How did they know which bread to buy? How did they decide on a cereal? Whole grain or multi grain? They didn't even look at the nutritional facts before putting something in their carts, didn't stop to do the math, counting calories and carbs and grams of sugar against what they already had. How could they just exist without caring about—

Your phone buzzing pulled you from your anxiety-riddled thoughts. With shaking hands, you pulled your phone out of your oversized zip-up, Harry's face popping up with the notification that he was calling you.

"H—Hello?"

"Hey, you! I feel like I haven't heard from you, so I thought I'd call and check in."

You smiled, despite the anxiousness that still had your shoulders tensed. "Sorry, I've been...busy."

"God, me too," Harry said woefully. "But I've let work get in the way far too much this week. I need to see you. Are you free tonight? I can come over and make dinner for the two of us."

The word dinner filled you with dread. That wasn't a good idea right now. The idea of anyone seeing you eat, even Harry, felt terrifying. But what could you do? Saying no would involve having to explain yourself, and you wanted to do that even less.

"I'd love to," you said, all that anxiety coiling in the pit of your stomach.

"Yeah? You're in for a treat, I happen to be a fabulous cook."

"Can't wait."

You couldn't even feel excited to see Harry. The dread of having to sit through dinner took up too much space in your mind. You tried to will it away. You liked Harry too much to let your mind get in the way of messing up the good thing you had going.

*.*

A few weeks later, and you were at Harry's house for dinner again, only this time it wasn't just the two of you.

Your date with Harry went better than expected. You picked at your food and pushed it around, shame eating away at you as you lied through your teeth about not feeling very well when Harry asked why you'd hardly eaten anything. He'd been so sweet, making you a cup of tea, laying down with you on his couch to soothe your fake stomach ache, kissing the top of your head and rubbing a hand over your stomach comfortingly.

You felt horrible for lying to him, and you very well couldn't come clean after the fact, but it was better than talking about it. The less you talked about it, the better.

Tonight, you'd been carefully picking at your food again, making sure to take bites that were big enough to look normal and trying not to look like it was making you physically unwell. Each bite was excruciating, your mind telling you not to eat anymore and that you could never exercise all those calories away. It was all you could do to not focus on all the ways you knew how unhealthy this dinner was. It didn't match at all with your diet journal and you'd have to make up for it by—

"—just so hard, don't you think, Y/n?"

"Huh?"

Phoebe smiled at you, but it didn't feel very friendly. You'd avoided talking to her all night so far, had even taken the farthest seat away from her at the table.

"We were talking about how hard it is to live here in LA," she said, gesturing vaguely to the people around her. "It feels like there's a new diet trend every week, and it's just so hard to lose weight while not looking completely anorexic—"

"Phoebe," Harry said tightly, cutting her off before she could finish.

Your grip was tight on your fork, unable to meet anyone in the eye. Did they know? You'd been careful tonight, and any of the other times you'd seen Harry or his friends recently. You didn't want their pity or their questions or their judgement. Nothing would've been worse than the disappointed look on Harry's face, or the look of disgust if he discovered the truth.

That still wasn't enough to stop, though.

"What? I didn't mean to be offensive. I'm just saying how hard it is to get to that perfect size. Y/n knows what I'm talking about. God, I feel like I can taste every calorie I eat, can't you, Y/n?"

"I—Not really," you said meekly. This was not the conversation you wanted to have right now, especially since it felt like you could feel everything you'd eaten tonight, every single bite, sinking to the bottom of your stomach.

"God, I wish I could just throw it up, you know? Then I could eat whatever I want and not feel guilty about it. No more diets, no more counting calories, I could—"

"That's enough," Harry said, voice sounding harder than you'd ever heard it. He glared at Phoebe, whose mouth was still open from stopping mid-sentence. Her eyes were wide with shock as she tried to justify her conversation topic.

"Excuse me," you murmured to Harry, standing up on shaking legs to step away from the table.

"Y/n—"

"I just need to use the restroom," you said, trying your best to talk around the lump in your throat.

You went upstairs to one of the guest bathrooms where you wouldn't be disturbed, though you locked the door to the toilet for good measure. Panic and guilt and self-loathing swirled through you, tears burning your eyes.

For weeks, you told yourself you had it under control. Your behavior was strict, but not worrisome. And effective, too, but that only made guilt and shame mingle with the feeling of success. Your jeans were loose, but you took to wearing baggy clothes so no one would notice. The scale in your bathroom got lower, but it never seemed low enough. Your stomach was taught, rib cage starting to poke through skin, but that just made you feel even worse about yourself and how quickly things escalated. It was a neverending cycle, but as you continued to lean over the toilet, you told yourself it would be just this once. Just this once and you wouldn't do it again. Just this once—

"Y/n? Can you let me in?"

Tears fell harder when you heard his voice. You couldn't let him see you like this. You couldn't face the humiliation, how disappointed he'd be when he realized—

"Y/n, open the door, or I'll break it down, I swear to God," Harry said with urgency in his voice.

Wiping your eye and then your mouth, you stood up, trembling as you turned the lock. You opened your mouth, unsure if an apology or an explanation would come tumbling out of your lips. But Harry pulled you to his chest before you could say a thing. You couldn't help the sobs that wracked your body as he held you up. His hand held the back of your head fiercely, but not harshly, the other one pushing you as close to him as he could.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I should've said something sooner. I knew something was wrong, but I didn't realize—I never should've—I'm so sorry."

You didn't find out what Harry thought he shouldn't have done because he rested on top of your head, kissing you repeatedly. He squeezed you so tight, as if he worried you would slip away if he didn't. You couldn't focus on anything else but your own emotions, too ashamed at being caught and guilty for having slipped so far in the first place.

"I was okay," you sobbed. "I thought I was okay. I thought—I thought I could control it."

Harry finally leaned away from you, just enough so he could hold your face in his hands and look you in the eye. "This is not your fault. Do you understand? It's not your fault."

More tears streamed down your face, but Harry's thumbs were there to wipe them away. His eyes roved over your face, searching for something, but you didn't know what. Eventually, he said, "There's so much I want to say, but I think for now...I think you should rest."

You agreed, so you didn't try to object. You were exhausted, just wanted the whole evening to evaporate into thin air. You didn't even care if Harry's friends were still in the house or not, you just wanted all the thoughts in your head—the ones still screaming at you to finish what you started and the ones begging you to let Harry help—to stop.

"I just want it to stop," you mumbled.

Harry rested his forehead against yours, breathing in deep. "I know."

*.*

"You're doing so well, love."

It didn't feel like it. In fact, you felt the exact opposite of well. But Harry was holding your hand as you walked through the aisles of the grocery store, his encouragement pushing you to take each step. "I don't think I can do this today."

"What did your eating disorder say to make you think that?" Harry murmured, causing you to grumble under your breath, but it did the trick. You took another step and grabbed the jar of pesto off the shelf.

He'd been doing that a lot recently. Ever since you came back from the treatment facility, he talked about your eating disorder as if it were a separate person, like it was a little devil with red horns talking over your shoulder and not a disease. It grated on your nerves at first because it made you feel like he was talking down to you, and because he was right. Your eating disorder had been the voice in your head and making you make unhealthy decisions. How he saw it first, you had no idea, you were just thankful he was still here, still with you on your road to recovery.

The trip to the grocery store took longer than it probably should've, especially since you only needed a couple things. But the minute you stepped inside, your body tensed up as you took everything in. It was a struggle not to turn packages over to read the nutritional facts, and even harder to put things in your cart. Today was re-introducing day, which meant eating a meal that had foods you'd actively avoided in the past. It scared the shit out of you, which was why Harry was here.

He'd been incredible, more patient than other people would be. He put up with your mother's harsh words when she blamed him for your relapse, he was there every day he was allowed to visit, and he picked up every phone call when you eventually came home. Whether it was to talk you down or talk about random things that came into his head to distract you from dangerous thoughts, he was there.

You honestly didn't know what you did to deserve him.

"How can I help?" Harry asked when you came to another stop.

"Do we really have to buy the parmesan cheese?" you asked, eyeing the aisle filled with various cheeses with a queasy stomach.

"I think you can do it," Harry said, not entirely answering the question. "I can tell you a story while I put it in the cart for you, if that helps."

"Okay," you said, not really sure if it would.

"Right, let me think for a moment," Harry said, mostly to himself. "Oh. Got it! Okay, so one time I went on this blind date, right? And I normally don't like them because my friends seemed to think I can't function without a partner, which is horribly embarrassing, and I normally have a horrible time, but I went to the bar I agreed to meet this person at, and—"

"What? You hated it?" you asked. Part of you thought it was weird that Harry was talking about a date with someone else, but it was doing its job.

Harry raised his brows at you. "I talk, you push."

You rolled your eyes, but pushed the cart another inch, trying to focus on his voice and not where you were headed.

"As I was saying, I get to the bar, and I'm like, holy shit, because I see the most beautiful girl I've ever seen in my life, and as I go over to talk to her, someone calls out to me, and I realize the girl I saw wasn't who I wasn't supposed to go on a date with, it was someone else. But I can't just ditch this other girl even though I'm dying to just go over to the girl by the bar, so I stay put and try to engage in conversation and laugh when I think I'm supposed to, but I just—All I could think about was the girl in this cute little mini skirt and vest and what was making her laugh so damn much."

"Mini skirt and vest...at a bar...Wait, you don't mean—You were on a blind date when we met?"

The bar in question wasn't one you frequented. It was an upscale one, and you went because your friend dragged you inside, curious to see if she could get any CEOs to buy her a drink, and you...you were just there to make sure your friend got home okay. But somehow you bumped into Harry, though now you supposed you knew why.

"Not technically," Harry said. "The date was over when I walked up to you, and, well, you know the rest. I charmed the pants off you."

You snorted. "That's not what happened."

You'd known who Harry was when before he introduced himself, it was kind of hard not to. You'd seen music videos and heard his songs on the radio and seen him on your TV more than a handful of times, but it was definitely surprising to see him in person, especially because on screen he seemed so chill and cool and cute, the Harry you met was cute, but he could hardly get a word out.

"Nonsense. I remember it differently," Harry said with a sniff.

"You were so nervous it was so cute," you said, wrapping your arms around one of his while he took a turn with the cart.

Kissing the top of your head, he said, "If that's how you want to remember it, fine. But I do remember talking to you for hours and feeling like no time had passed at all. We closed down the bar, do you remember?"

"Mmhm," you said, nodding against his shoulder. "And then you tried to take me home."

"Can you blame me? I met the girl of my dreams, I couldn't just let you leave."

"You mean that?" you asked, looking up at him.

With everything you'd been through recently, it surprised you to know Harry was still with you. This battle you were fighting was lifelong, and you wouldn't have blamed him for leaving somewhere down the line. You loved him, and it would've hurt like hell, but you would've understood. But he never did, and every time you asked him about it, he just said he wasn't going anywhere.

Eventually, you stopped asking.

"I do," he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "You did it, love."

"What?" Raising your head off his shoulder, you looked around. You were at checkout, all the items you and Harry set out to buy today sitting in your basket. "We did it."

"You did it, Y/n. I'm so proud of you."

Relief rushed through you. It was one hurdle, just one, but each one was a victory, and Harry was there to help you celebrate each one. It was too public to kiss him, even though you felt the urge to, so you squeezed his hand and kissed the top of it instead.

"I love you," you whispered.

"I love you too," he said, taking you by surprise when he tilted your chin up for a brief kiss. "You ready to check out?"

Anxiety filled your belly once more as the weight of your situation bore down on you once again. Squeezing Harry's hand again, you shook your head.

Harry wrapped an arm around your shoulders and tucked you into his side. The warmth emanating from him was a comfort, and you breathed in deep, letting the scent of his cologne and laundry detergent flood your senses to distract you.

"Don't listen to the disease, Y/n. Listen to me, okay? How about another story?"

You nodded. "Please."

"You're going to be alright, Y/n, I promise," he said.

And maybe you didn't believe him completely now, but you trusted him enough to believe it for you until you did.

#harry styles #harry styles angst #hs angst #harry styles blurb #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfic #harry styles oneshot #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x you #harry styles fluff #harry styles writing #harry styles one shot #harry styles fic

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auteurdelabre · 5 months

Text

SOMETHING TO FIGHT FOR VINGETTE #2 dad!Joelxf!Reader

Rating: 18+ (explicit, mdni)

Words: 4.7k

Summary: When you send Joel a dirty picture during work one day you don't forsee it changing your entire future for the better.

Tags: established relationship (married), dirty talk, public sex, masturbation (m), office sex, breeding kink if ya squint, wife/husband talk, pregnancy talk, caught, fluff and smut.

a/n: While this is from the STFF universe, it could read as a stand alone with you and Joel in an established relationship!

=========================================

Done as a request from two amazing readers who requested STFF vignettes of:

Also maybe some joel x mc stuff bc girlll 👀🥵

The “fuck me pregnant” smut. 👀

You know who you are ;-p

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Joel doesn't text.

He hates the too small screen and how his big thumbs hit all the wrong buttons. He dislikes that he has to use his glasses to read the ones you send. He hates that at eight years old Sarah is already more adept to technology than him.

So when the first few texts come through to your phone you're genuinely confused.

Joel [11:12am]

Wish you w uhere hhere with me

[11:12am]

Did someone steal this phone?

Joel [11:13am]

what?

[11:13am]

My husband doesn't text. :-p

Joel [11:14 am]

What ttyhe fuck is :-p

[11:14 am]

Tilt your phone.

A pause. Then.

Joel [11:19am]

Jesus waas trying to be romantic and your sticking yourr tongue outt at me

You panic.

[11:19am]

No, I liked it! I was just being funny!

[11:19am]

I love that you're texting me!

[11:20am]

I was just kidding!

A longer pause, one in which you can imagine Joel sitting in his work truck, smirking down at his phone, fingers going over the buttons hitting wrong ones along the way.

Joel [11:19am]

I knoww hoynhey I was ttoo

It's sweet actually, the way he tries so hard. You know texting isn't his thing, technology in general really isn't. But he's trying because he knows you*** like it. When you show him something funny Maria sent you via text or when you're pensive, hunched over your phone on the sofa, typing something over to Alex about work.

It makes you feel soft for him, your body warm.

[11:20am]

I miss you too baby.

Joel [11:21am]

Wish I could seedh you right now

His words are simple but they pack a punch. You wish you could see him right now too. In fact you wish every day was just like the weekend. The three of you in this perfect, happy bubble of comfort and laughter and love. It feels so good.

You've been really busy at work lately, long hours. You wonder if this is what Joel is picking up on. This distance. The thought breaks your heart.

You've also been talking about having a baby. A big step. Joel is so eager, so excited to create life with you. But you? You're terrified. You had a horrible fucking childhood. You're scared of what that could mean for your parenting.

You look at your wedding ring set, twisting it and smiling softly.

The thing is, even if you were the worst parent Joel would be there to help. Joel is the most wonderful parent in the world. He patiently helps Sarah with her homework, he's impossibly kind to her even when she's defiant, he lets her put all manner of bow and glitter and product in his hair as she practices the latest hairstyles she's seen. He's a wonderful father. He's a wonderful husband. He's just... So fucking wonderful.

You take a moment to consider Joel's message, then turn your phone to take a selfie to send to Joel. You're smiling at your desk and on impulse give a peace sign. The door to your office opens and Alex walks through with paperwork just as you snap the photo.

"Tell me you're not sending that to Joel," Alex says and you lower your hand frowning at her.

"Why? Last time I checked he liked my face."

Alex rolls her eyes dramatically, heaving the file of rescue records onto your desk.

"I'm gay and even I know a guy doesn't want a cheesy smiling photo from his wife." She gives you a knowing look.

"Huh?"

"He wants something. . . Special."

When you continue to look confused she raises her eyebrows. "A photo you wouldn't send to anyone else if you catch my drift ..."

Oh.

You laugh breathily, your face going red at the insinuation. You mumble something about getting back to the funders and Alex stops at the doorway.

"I'm heading for lunch with Tosin," she tells you, suddenly all business. "I don't know if you remembered."

"I did," you nod motioning out the door. "I left the speaking points by the front door."

"Amazing, I'll debrief when I get back."

Alex leaves, closing the door behind her, leaving you to stare down at your phone to see the grainy photo of you smiling flashing a peace sign and you wince. Is Alex right? It does look kinda immature.

You delete it.

You glance up to see your door closed and take a moment to consider. You take the phone in your hand again, thrusting it under your blouse and pulling back the cups of your bra.

"Can't believe I'm doing this," you murmur to yourself, even though there's a part of you that finds this all a bit exciting. You press the button and feel a thrill go through you.

You pull the camera out of your shirt, peering into the phones display. You frown when it comes out blurry with what you think is your nipple in the corner.

Fuck.

No it's too... In your face. No mystery. You'll go a different route. You tug open your first few buttons at the collar of your shirt, until the lace of your bra is seen. You bend forward, allowing the camera to capture your winking face and generous show of cleavage.

You hook your finger into the lace of your bra, suggesting more but showing just the skin. You tilt your head so your neck looks long and delicate.

You snap a few photos until you find one you that you like; the one where you look playful and sexy and you attach it to the message.

[11:33am]

Hopefully this tides you over. Xoxo

The photo is sent and you feel your body tingle as you imagine Joel innocently checking his phone for a text only to find that image waiting for him. You put your phone back down on your desk, eyes drifting to your computer.

Suddenly you freeze.

Wait what if he answers his phone while he's at the job site with a bunch of others? What if someone else sees? Oh fuck, what if Tommy sees?! You'll never be able to look him in the face again!

Before you can throw yourself into a full blown fit of pique the alert comes through on your phone that you have another message.

You flip the phone open to his message of just one word.

Joel [11:34am]

More.

A thrill goes through you at the thought of Joel in his truck or at the job site turned on because of that photo. It makes your thighs clamp together as you imagine him looking at the photo, his eyes wide, his pouty mouth parted.

You stand and lock the door to your office. You glance at your watch, thankful that Alex should be gone for a while.

You don't reply right away because your trembling fingers unbutton the rest of your blouse. You'll send him a little striptease you think.

You receive another text from him as you reach the bottom button.

Joel [11:35am]

You laugh out loud at his impatience, typing hurriedly back.

[11:35am]

Be patient.

Your shirt is unbuttoned to your bellybutton and your bra is pulled down to show a peek of your nipple. Your finger grazes the bra cup, tugging. You snap this picture and send it off. The reply is immediate.

Joel [11:36am]

Youu look so good bby

You can imagine how Joel says it, voice all low and syrupy. Fuck you're turned on.

You fumble with the hem of your skirt tugging it down until the band of your panties is showing. You slip a hand underneath and raise the camera again.

Your neck is tilted back and you let the camera capture your lower lip full as you bite it. You send it off, pulse pounding.

Joel [11:38am]

Fuckd oplease morrhee.

Joel can barely function. All the blood has gone to his cock. When he receives another image seconds later, this one of your hands between your legs, head tilted back and your eyes heavy lidded in pleasure he can't take any more. He fumbles the numbers on his phone, holding the cell to his ear.

"Hello?"

"You know what you're doin' to me?"

His voice is low and husky and you're loving that twang of his that comes out sometimes.

"No idea," you smile. "I'm just here working away."

"Makin' me hard, baby," Joel groans. "Had to go to my truck so no one would see."

The smile dies from your face, replaced with a mask of surprise as Joel's words register with you. This is followed quickly by desire.

"You touching yourself, Miller?"

Joel gives a shaky laugh. "No."

You swallow, your face burning with shame and lust. "Would you?"

Joel takes a quick glance around his work site. He's pretty far away from everything having parked in the back lot. But there's always a chance of someone walking by.

"Here in my truck? Right now?"

"Yeah," you offer swallowing. "I.. if you want I'd... Yeah."

Joel can hear it, the breathless catch in your voice. That little hitch that happens when you're turned on. You know he hears it because you can practically hear him smile over the phone.

"I gotta go park somewhere more quiet."

"No," you breathe heavily. "Do it there."

"One of the guys might see."

You don't speak but he hears the way your breathing increases in speed. He feels his pants grow uncomfortably tight now, desperate for you to be there in the truck with him right now. Desperate to see that unfocused look you get when you're turned on.

"Exhibitionist are we?" Joel teases. "You like that I might be caught?"

"I... I guess so," you say surprising yourself. "Yeah."

"How're they gonna look me in the eye if they catch me jerking off in my truck?"

You laugh at this, but only to break the tension. It's a breathless thing.

"Don't get caught."

You wonder if Joel thinks you're depraved for this. In all honesty you'd never thought something like this could be hot. But right now you're turned on out of your mind. Imagining Joel hard for just a photo of you, hearing his breathing grow unsteady.

Joel as always though, knows you so well.

"Making you wet knowing you got me here in my truck all desperate?" Joel asks, and his voice is pitched low.

You let out a soft whine, your hand tightening around the phone receiver.

"Squirming there at your desk knowing I'm palming myself through my jeans right now?" You hear Joel give a soft shudder. "You like knowing that you do this to me, honey?"

"Jesus ... Yeah."

He lets out a dark, smooth chuckle. The kind he presses against the hollow of your throat when you're in bed together.

"And what are you gonna do for me?"

"Anything you want," you say earnestly. "The second I see you. Anything you want."

"S' that a promise?"

"Of course."

"Alright then," Joel says, leaning back a bit on the bench seat of his truck, his eyes scanning to make sure he's still alone. "You tell me what you want."

You pause. It's one thing to say things when you're together in bed, sweaty bodies writhing against one another. It's quite another midday over the phone.

"Gotta hear you ask for it," Joel teases huskily. "Then I'm happy to give it to you."

You can hear his belt buckle and zipper over the phone and desire pools in your belly. He's really doing this.

"Want you to make yourself come," you say just above a whisper, blushing all the way to your roots, "while you're thinking about me."

"I'm always thinkin' about you," Joel assures you with a groan. And you can hear the unmistakable sound of flesh on flesh as he begins to stroke himself.

"Yeah?" You say, swallowing. "What do you think about?"

"How you look at me when I'm between your legs."

Joel is blunt. He always has been. It's what you love about him and in this moment it turns you on so much your mouth goes dry.

"Remember our honeymoon?" He groans, hand moving jerkily over his cock. "That night in Santorini?"

Fuck yeah you do.

You listen through the phone, eyes shut as Joel groans huskily into the receiver. His breathing is heavy, and you can tell he's got his teeth clenched. You hold yourself still, not wanting to miss a single fucking sound.

"You still there?" Joel's voice is thick and rasping. The tone makes your thighs press together under the desk.

"Uh huh," you pant. "Please don't stop."

"You really like this," Joel says and you can almost hear the curl in his smile. "I'll have to remember that."

You can hear the movements of his hand increasing; can picture him in his truck jerking himself off with one hand, the other holding his cell to his ear. Why is that the sexiest thing you can imagine?

What was he wearing this morning again? Oh fuck, that's right. That green plaid flannel, the one that he rolls up so it shows off his thick forearms. This inserts itself into your fantasy and you physically feel your panties dampen.

"You got me so fuckin' hard, baby," Joel grunts out, his voice hitching with each swipe of his palm over the head of his member. "Love knowing you're sitting there turned on outta your mind."

"I am," you whimper. "Fuck, I really am, Joel."

Your legs cross under the table and you squeeze them. Pleasure shoots up your core. You let out a trembling whine at the sensation.

"Love those ... Mmmph....sounds," Joel grunts into the receiver, imagining you there with your mouth parted. "Gettin' close-"

You've started rocking in your seat as you imagine it.

"Want you here, your mouth-"

And then abruptly you hear Joel's breath catch, hear the rustling of his body on his truck.

"I gotta go baby."

Before you can deny this interruption the line goes dead. Your legs cross, squeezing, desperate.

Fuck.

Your phone alerts you to a text coming in.

Joel

[11:48am]

Sorry bby. Tommy was commhing over.

Disappointment doesn't touch on how you're feeling right now.

You go back to your paperwork, deciding that you'll pick up things later when something occurs to you.

You bunch your skirt up to your waist and with a smirk you raise the camera to snap a photo of your legs spread with your damp panties on display. You giggle and send it off with: You owe me. Xo

You smooth down your skirt and re-button your shirt, looking presentable. You stand on shaking legs and unlock your office door, opening it.

You go back to the funding report you have to fill in, your mind turning back to the sanctuary and the animal adoption reports.

An hour or so later the main door to the office opens and you go to ask Alex how the meeting went when two familiar brown eyes come into view and your husband streaks towards your office.

"Joel?"

His eyes are blazing. He comes into your office, closing the door behind him. You stand at his approach, coming to rest your hip against your desk, pulling him into your arms.

He's wearing that green flannel and he smells like the outdoors, fresh and clean. You bury your nose in his neck inhaling.

"Didn't get to finish our conversation," Joel murmurs against the top of your head. “Got your text and saw you needed me."

"Needed you?" You tease, cocking your head to the side, looking up at his face. "Whatever for?"

He gives a wry grin before sliding his wide palm between your legs, pressing over pressing over your clothed sex and rubbing gently.

"This."

He smirks down at you, dark eyes on your lips. You kiss him fiercely, hands digging into the flesh of his neck, urging his mouth tighter against yours. His tongue slips between your lips and you moan against that deft muscle.

"Couldn't leave you wet and waitin'," Joel murmurs as he plants kisses along your jaw.

"Joel we can't do this here," you say amused and turned on. "Alex could be back any second."

"You promised me," Joel says, hands on your hips. "Anythin’ I want the second I see you, remember?"

You give him a crooked grin because really, you can't deny him. You don't want to.

He urges your bottom back onto the desk as your hands reach for his belt. You both move quickly, aware that time is of the essence.

His wide hands tug your panties off without hesitation and within seconds he's inside you, bracing the two of you against the desk. Your arms are around his neck for purchase, his hands on your hips as he thrusts into you.

"So wet for me," Joel groans in your ear as you bounce against him. The desk creaks with every thrust.

"Always," you groan honestly.

"Could barely drive here straight. All I could think about was..." Joel lets out a shuddering groan. "Fucking you right here on your desk. Watching you come for me."

You can barely form words. All you can do is hold tightly around his neck as he fucks into you, groaning and grunting beautiful, filthy things. His thumb finds your clit and begins circling as he slows the movements of his hips.

Joel never lets himself come before you do. Not unless you expressly insist on it. He's working you slowly, his eyes heavy and fixed on your expressive face. You allow him to unbutton and strip your shirt from you, leaving you in just your skirt and bra, body tilted against his as you groan.

"Lean back baby," he urges. "Lemme see you."

You comply without hesitation, shoving your papers to the ground as you rest your spine along the desk. You don't care about funding proposals right now. All you care about is Joel and the beautifully slow way he's touching you.

Joel watches you laying there for him, cheeks flushed and eyelids heavy. He's never seen anything so fucking sexy. And you’re his.

Waking up to you, going to sleep with your arm around his waist, seeing you with Sarah, talking about your day, watching movies as a family, going to the zoo. Every day since you've moved in has been bliss (aside from the odd argument because well, you're both human). He's so ridiculously in love with you. He wants to give you everything.

And the fact that you want him as much as he wants you sometimes seems like a dream. One he never wants to wake from. You tell him every day you love him. That you love Sarah. You want to hear about their days, you want to be around them all the time. The way that unlike with Paul, you showed off your engagement ring every chance you could the second it was placed on your finger.

He thinks about your wedding day, the way you'd looked coming down the aisle to him, how your lips felt when he kissed you for the first time as your husband. The way you call yourself his wife with pride to anyone who will listen.

And now you're here, his wife, laying against the desk as he thrusts into you, begging him for more looking so fucking gorgeous. He'll give you more. He'll give you anything, everything.* He wants to make life with you. Wants your belly swollen and everyone knowing that you're his. Wants to pick out baby names and do lamaze classes and watch you carry something you both created inside you.

He knows you're not certain, knows that you're hesitant and he'd never force you. Knows that despite being off birth control you're still wanting him to use condoms. And he does without fuss. He will as long as you need him to.

If you never want to get pregnant he doesn't mind. He got you and Sarah and that's all he needs. Another baby would be a joyful addition, but not necessary for his happiness.

You're breathing quickly, chest heaving. You don't object when Joel begins tugging down your bra until your breasts are exposed to him. Joel makes a soft strangled noise in the back of his throat as they jolt and ripple under his thrusts.

"How're you so goddam perfect?"

You grin up at him, your voice breathless. "Was gonna a-ask you the same thing, Miller."

You moan when his full mouth finds an exposed nipple, sucking and licking while he worries the other between his fingers. When he gently nibbles there you let out a sharp cry of pleasure.

Joel thrusts between your legs slowly, filling you and with his mouth around your nipple he watches with saddled brows as your eyes roll back in your head.

"So fucking gorgeous."

You're only able to whimper for him, thighs spreading further as he moves himself deeper between your legs. Your ankles cross behind him and he pulls back, his thumb once more against your clit. He can feel that you're close, your hips rutting more aggressively.

"So good," you whimper up at him as the pleasure reaches that apex of pleasure. "You feel so f-fucking good, Joel."

He's curves over you, one hand on your hip, the other between your legs as his thumb works against you. He's looking at you with a look of such love that it takes your breath away. And he's all yours. This is your man. Your husband. Tears prick the corners of your eyes before pleasure between your thighs overtakes you. Your head tilts back.

"Gonna come for me, honey?"

You nod, overcome emotionally and now physically as your orgasm rushes through you. You arch back against the desk and Joel watches as your naked breasts tilt to the ceiling as you tighten around him.

"There she goes," Joel says approvingly, his thumb not ceasing its movements as you crest for him. He feels you flutter around him and he groans as he throbs within you.

"So good, baby."

You preen under the praise and you begin to come down, your eyes so heavy lidded Joel muses that you look asleep.

"Joel," you whine, hands reaching for him. "Please."

He gives you an indulgent grin, leaning over to kiss you. He gives a little grunt when you wrap your arms around his neck, kissing him deeply. You pull back when his hips stay stationary.

"I didn't bring a condom," he confesses. "Thought I had one in the truck. Guess we'll have to finish this up at home tonight."

"But-" you're leaning up on your elbows, watching as Joel smiles lovingly down at you. "But you came here?"

"'Course," Joel says with a small smile, starting to pull back from between your thighs. "Needed to make sure my wife wasn't aching for me all day."

You feel everything in your body attuned to him. Seeing no guile, no resentment there in his deep brown eyes. He really just came to make you feel good with no expectation of his own pleasure. And that's what seals it, though you'd known it all along. You tugg off your bra and shirt completely, your eyes trained on his.

"Want you to come," you say, your eyes trained on his. "Don't care about a condom."

You stand shakily, pressing him to sit in the chair behind your desk. Joel assumes that you're talking about a blow job, so he's confused when you throw a leg over his lap, perching there.

"Honey do you know what you're saying," Joel says when you begin to lower yourself over his hips. "We've talked and-"

"I know what I'm saying and doing," you tell him, pulling him back out of his jeans hurriedly. "And I'm asking you to fuck me bare."

Joel's dark eyes blow wide and you can see the pupil rapidly expand. Desire courses through him and you watch as his cock still glossy and semi hard stiffens sharply to full attention.

"If you want to," you add, hand gently stroking him, feeling him throb under your palm.

He doesn't let you finish. His hands cup your face in his large palms as he kisses you gently, licking into your mouth as you begin to lower yourself onto his thick length.

"Are you sure?"

You whimper, body jerking as you take all of him from this angle, stretching and watching as Joel's head tips back, eyes still peering out at you.

"Very," you promise him as his wide hands skate down your spine. "I love you so much, Joel."

"I love you too, baby," Joel says earnestly. "But if you think you need to do this for me-"

"I don't," you explain, and you let yourself surrender to the building pleasure. "I want this Joel. Wanna carry your baby."

Joel moans, brows saddling and you feel him start to thrust up into you, not holding back.

"Does that turn you on?" You ask, amused that you've both discovered something new about each other today.

"Yeah," Joel admits with a shy grin up at you.

"I'll have to remember that," you tease before you feel him thrust up into you and a stripe of white hot pleasure goes up your core.

Joel's arms hold you tightly to his chest, pinning you around the waist as your head falls to his shoulder.

You two thrust against one another in the silence of your office, the only sound the traffic outside, your combined groans and the wet sounds of flesh as Joel drives himself up into you.

Your body is naked save for the skirt you wear, like some daydream of his come to life.

He slips his hand beneath your skirt and builds the pleasure there, fingers on the pearl of your clit as you ride him. His head is tilted back so he can watch your face, the way your head lolls back when he hits a really good spot, the way you whine a little when you're getting close.

"Gonna come," you slur out, already on the precipice of another orgasm.

"Fuck yeah you are," Joel says through grunts, watching your body jerk against his deepening thrusts.

You let out little whines as you chase your pleasure, your hands on his shoulders for purchase as you slide yourself along him. He feels so fucking good.

"Doing so good baby," Joel says gently, stroking your hair back from your face as he bucks under you. He looks to where your bodies join, seeing the glossy curve of your inner thighs. "Keep going, keep going."

You do, you slide along his length as Joel's arms wrap around you, rocking into you groaning about how much he needs you, how much he loves you and you melt against him.

You come with a shiver, body arching against his as he watches you, marveling at how gorgeous you look like that.

Then your mouth finds his and you take him deeper, feeling his cock nudge your cervix. You hear your husband groaning, his damp mouth warm on your neck.

"Come on, Joel," You whisper breathlessly against the shell of his ear, fingernails digging into his shoulder blades. "Fuck me pregnant."

"Fuck yeah, honey, I will," Joel begins to babble against your neck, his hips setting a brutal pace as you cling to him. "Gonna fill you up. Gonna give you a baby, everyone's gonna know you're mine and-"

Joel lets out a strangled cry as he releases, you feel him pulsing inside you, holding you tightly to him as he empties himself into you. Your entire body quivers as Joel comes, his body tightening and then slowly loosening, going boneless against you.

You both breath heavily, foreheads pressed tightly against one another before Joel plants a soft kiss on your neck, your jaw and finally your waiting lips. The two of you gaze at one another before giggling gently.

"I'm texting more often."

Still panting and giggling in the afterglow neither of you hear when Alex returns to the office.

"Hey so lunch-"

Joel wraps his arms around you, shielding your bared chest from your co-worker as she opens the door and walks into your office.

Alex takes in the scene, you shirtless on Joel's lap as he sits behind the desk. Both of you red-faced and looking guiltily at her.

With her hand still on the doorknob Alex backs out of the room, closing the door, but not before adding a very smug:

"Glad my advice worked."

#joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #something to fight for series #something to fight for fic #something to fight for #joel miller x reader #pedro pascal #joel miller smut #smut #fanfic #dad joel miller #joel miller #fanfiction #wingwoman alex #i want to have joel millers baby

232 notes · View notes

pinkaditty · 5 months

Note

Could we have some after-sex headcannons with Rook and MC? I feel like he's the type of guy to bathe in the afterglow

okok anon i know it's been like ten thousand years since i received this ask but please know i never forgot abt you and i love you for submitting an ask <3

cw: mention of sex, implied sexual encounters, implied and mentioned threesome, penetrative mention, and i think that's all!

a/n: woooooo answering asks!!! i will answer others in the coming weeks i PROMISE i see your asks and i will deliver! <3 my reqs are open so please feel free to ask me anything!!! :)

MINORS DNI AS USUAL! PLEASE RESPECT MY BOUNDARY! PLEASE!

first off anon you're TOTALLY RIGHT Rook 1000% bathes in the afterglow and just lays there for a moment after his orgasm bc he always makes sure he's last, prioritizing your orgasm.

sometimes he doesn't even need to get off, fully satisfied after he's made you finish however many times you requested or he felt like doing

definitely is an aftercare person, but he's not immediate with it. he takes his time, slow and steady with it.

he'll kiss you a few times on your forehead, cheeks, nose, and chin, thanking you for the enjoyable time and experience

he'll hold you close too, regardless of how naked the two of you are. he's going to squeeze you flush against him.and y'all will just lay there for like. half an hour or something. he won't deprive you of aftercare too long.

then he'll get up for a while, and though you miss his warmth, he's running a warm bath for you so it won't be long.

once it's filled to the brim of warm water and all the right skin products to create the perfect bubble bath, he either walks you or carries you to the bath and gently places you in there.

no, he's not joining you, at least not immediately. he's bathing you. literally stroking his hands across every nook and cranny of your skin and I mean everywhere. Literally.

once he's bathed you, he might join you, happy to cuddle you in the warm water and wash your hair or have you bathe him in return.

maybe another round lol

after the bath, he picks you up out of there, dries you off, helps you with your hair before taking you back to his room and sitting you on a comfortable stool while he washes the sheets ofc and then makes his bed and puts you right back in the comfort of his sheets

bottom line he DOES NOT let you lift a finger lol like he's not gonna! not at all! even if he got his back blown out via pegging or fucking or what have you… he will not let you lift a finger. he's servicing you and that's that.

ok i want to entertain the possibility of Vil being present lol sooooo…

if you all had a threesome Vil is also helping pamper you except he absolutely joins you in the bath and the two of you wash each other as Rook helps wash your hair

Vil also is probably the fastest recovering and definitely will initiate a second round in the bath should he have both yours and Rook’s consent

he'll also go and run the bath if Rook is still cuddling you

he's just slightly more busybody not really his fault he'll still love to cuddle you

also after the bath he'll make sure to take you step by step through his skincare routine

maybe he'll practice makeup with you and Rook if you have the energy

if not he'll just cuddle with the two of you and either rest and enjoy each other's company or watch one of his father's movies or something like that

very pleasant experience either way

a/n: lol i might do this for other characters too bc this was kinda fun?? also im sorry if this like isn't up to par 😭😭 i am thinking about redoing it to be honestttt but just lmk if you'd like a redo im happy to oblige!

ofc as usual shameless bit that I love love loooooove reblogs, comments, and asks!! please let me know what you thought! I love to cater to you!

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 5 months

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here's a wild one for y'all. cw for parental death. names have been changed, it is a kinda specific situation but I think only 1 of my family members is on Tumblr so whatever. sorry it got so long, it's a complicated situation and still VERY fresh so my brain is kinda fried lol.

tldr my dad passed away without a will and we want to give his long-distance "side" gf the house he helped her buy. I'm worried she won't be able to afford the mortgage, but don't really want to give her any of the monetary payouts. WIBTA if my brothers and I kept all of the cash?

so late last week (it's Dec 19 as of submitting) my father (60s M) passed away in a sudden car accident on his way to work. I'm (late 20s ftM) his oldest child, I also have a younger brother (mid 20s M) who we'll call Phineas and an even younger half-brother (almost tween, M) who we'll call Aaron.

so I'd describe my dad as a kind and loving but stubborn and stupid man. I would also guess, based on what I know of his love life, that he was polyamorous but didn't realize it due to his conservative Christian upbringing and didn't know it was an option so instead ended up being...well, kinda an adulterer tbh. this isn't to excuse his actual actions bc they were obviously wrong, but is the way the situation reads to me, a polyamorous person.

Dad had a long distance girlfriend (50s??? maybe??? F) on the West Coast (we live near the East Coast), we'll call her Melody. I met her a few years back when he flew Phineas and I with him to visit her. she's a sweet woman from what I know of her. when I got the news of his passing, I was the one who called her to let her know what happened. (which sucked.)

well, what I Didn't know until I was trying to scrape together travel arrangements (I live 5 hours away from Phineas and my dad) was that he also had a Wife (60sF), who we'll call Patricia. (it wasn't a legal marriage, it was "in the eyes of the Lord" as they said, due to legal complications to do with her social security benefits or something. which is why the arrangements for his death fell onto Phineas and I as his adult children. but if he called her his wife then as far as I'm concerned that's what she is.) he didn't really tell me or Phineas about the full nature of their relationship. Phineas found out bc our dad was spending so much time with her that he'd practically moved in w her, put two and two together and asked her to confirm. I never even knew she existed till all this happened. he had told his parents and siblings about her, and they approved of her. we can only speculate why he kept it so quiet to us, she thinks bc of his history with Real Duds that we'd be upset somehow. idk.

so anyway Patricia knew about Melody. my dad was already seeing Melody when he started seeing Patricia. I don't know what he was thinking when he got with Patricia tbh, can't ask him now anyway, but she knew about Melody the whole time. wasn't thrilled about it, constantly told him he needed to tell her the truth and end things, but doesn't truly hold that against Melody herself bc she didn't know.

Melody, however, did not know about Patricia. he was planning to tell her at some point. kept meaning to. still loved her, didn't wanna hurt her, but was also trying to be monogamously committed to Patricia too. he never got around to actually ending things with Melody before he passed, and as far as she knew he was still planning to move out there and get married to her. he even took out a loan to help her pay for her late mother's house, both their names are on the mortgage and deed.

which brings me to my question. my dad didn't seem to have a will (not that we can find anyway), so Phineas and I are the ones in charge of distributing his various belongings and payouts and such. we both agree that we don't have any use for some house across the country, and Melody is already living in it anyway. imo she should just Have It. however, she is also Pretty Poor. I don't know the specifics of her situation (or, really, much about the complications of home ownership?) but I do worry about her ability to continue to pay the mortgage, assuming that's a thing. we're still waiting to hear about all the details and numbers and have somebody who actually knows about that stuff translate it into layman's terms for us non-homeowners (or in Phineas's case, Brand New Homeowner) so we can get a full picture of how all that is going to work legally speaking.

Dad also had life insurance thru his employer. we are still working thru the red tape at his company to figure out who the beneficiary is, the most likely candidate being me as the eldest child. Phineas and I are agreed that we'll at least be splitting most, if not all, the money evenly between us and Aaron. Patricia is INSISTENT that she doesn't want any of it, she wants us kids to keep it bc unlike some of his exes she never cared about his money (he made GOOD money, but still ended up kinda poor due to both being generous to, and having been taken advantage of by, multiple women since my bio mom died. including having to shell out an insane amount of child support for Aaron despite already having a very active role in his life. like he paid more child support than either I or my fiancee even make at our jobs, while also frequently just straight up directly providing for him where he could). because of his income it's looking like a pretty hefty payout.

however, my brother and I are both pretty poor as well. while we don't know the exact amount we're getting, some are speculating a number that, even split 3 ways, would be Life-Changing for us. we're talking 5 figure amounts, more than I or my fiancee make in a year. like we'll still need to work for a living but, for example, it could be a down-payment on a house or a massive safety net for when I'm out of work (I have a steady job but with seasonal unpaid breaks). it could help Phineas afford expensive repairs for the trailer he now owns, which my dad was supposed to help pay for. in the right account with a decent interest rate, it could be tuition for when Aaron goes to college.

I feel like I Should probably toss some of that money Melody's way, esp since I feel so bad that she's getting the one-two punch of finding out her bf died AND also he had a wife she wasn't aware of. but my brothers and I could really use that money as well. I don't know that Phineas wants to send her any, we're saving that conversation for when we know more of the exact numbers. I don't even know how much Dad was paying towards it, or if he even was anymore. plus--and this is kinda a minor detail--but there's kind of a general vibe I'm getting from the Family (ALL 4 of my dad's siblings AND both his parents are somehow still alive) that Melody is kinda...unliked. they love Patricia and were CONSTANTLY frustrated that he was still visiting Melody and frequently sending her money; I get the feeling they viewed her the same as some of his other gold-digging exes so i think maybe sending her Even More Money would look a little weird? like she's already getting full ownership of a house out of the deal. most of them are in agreement that Phineas and I are the ones who get the final say on the bulk of these decisions but they're...a little pushy anyway.

like I said, we don't know what any of the actual numbers look like AT ALL yet, so it might actually be fine. but WIBTA if we just left her the sole homeowner when she couldn't really afford it, and not send her any money? the consensus will probably show up too late to affect our decision but hey, figured the situation would make for a wild ride anyway (or maybe I just feel like that bc it has been for me LOL).

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

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mydearzero · 2 years

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can you do one with a super shy/socially awkward/anxious person that has a crush on Eddie bc of his confidence and like she sends him little notes and he wants to figure out who it is. if you can't thats all good, thank you!

Thank you for the request! Loved writing this because I too am socially awkward and would absolutely never confess to his face.

Starboy | E.M. x gn!Reader

Summary: You're infatuated with Eddie Munson and decide to start leaving him notes in his locker. He doesn't know it's you, does he?

Fluff + the typical Eddie Munson charm that will kill me someday

Gender neutral reader, no pronouns or descriptions used.

1.6k words

MASTERLIST

You weren't the type of person to be seen. You liked to be in the shadows. You were an audience member. Eddie Munson? He was the performer. The star of the show. He intrigued you. You were enchanted whenever he ented the room.

It hadn't always been this way. You remembered Eddie from a few years back. A reserved yet rebellious boy. He'd grown into quite the confident man.

Eddie didn't just intrigue you. You were downright fascinated, maybe a bit obsessed. The way he strutted through the cafeteria was captivating.

Okay, so maybe you had a little crush on Eddie Munson. It wasn't the end of the world, right? Wrong. People hated Eddie. They said he was a freak running a Satanic cult. Your friends usually didn't buy all the rumours but still steered clear of Eddie. Even if he didn't run a cult, just a D&D club, he still sold drugs.

It didn't matter to you what he did in his free time. You craved his presence, perhaps his attention. You wanted him to see you, to hear you like he was being seen and heard.

It had been two weeks since you started leaving notes in his locker. A last-ditch attempt, really. His locker was the last one on the row your locker was on, so it wasn't too hard to go unseen.

You'd started with a couple compliments, admiring his confidence. Then progressed to confessing how captivating he was, how much you liked that he wasn't scared to be authentic.

You knew Eddie had taken notice of the notes. You'd looked on a few times as he'd opened his locker, perplexed another note would twirl to the floor before his feet. He'd joke with his friends about who they thought the culprit might be, but you hadn't been one of the suspects yet.

They started camping outside Eddie's locker during lunch, the same time you'd usually push the notes through the small roster. You'd have to start getting creative if you intended to keep leaving them. You didn't even know what your end goal was. Did you want him to eventually figure out it'd been you?

Still, you did what you did best. Not utter a word and admire from afar.

You'd slipped up when you saw Eddie roaming the hallway with Dustin Henderson, one of his friends from Hellfire Club. You scurried away from his locker to your own, pretending to have been doing anything but putting a note in his locker.

You felt a sturdy hand on your shoulder just as you put your English book in your locker. Your heartbeat shot through the roof as you turned around. Eddie. Oh god.

"Can I help you?" You asked. Shit, that came out wrong. "Ouch, harsh! Just wondering if you saw anybody near my locker a bit ago, you know... when you were at my locker?" Eddie had a smirk plastered on his face. He couldn't be certain as long as you denied it.

"Why?" you turned back to your locker to grab your History textbook, but it was more to hide the reddening of your cheeks. This might not have been the first time Eddie talked to you, but it was the first time after you'd admitted your feelings to yourself and had started leaving the notes.

"Just... curious. Someone's been leaving me these adorable notes. Want to make sure they're genuine, you know?" Eddie's eyebrows were raised as you met his eyes. "Sorry, no clue." You murmured and closed your locker. You tried to walk away, but Eddie grabbed your arm.

"You're in my history class, right? C'mon, let's go." Did you really have a crush on Eddie? Because you wanted to do nothing more than bash your head against the lockers over and over. Anything but walking with him to History class.

"I'm pretty sure we have quite a few classes together, by the way. Not sure if you've noticed." Eddie started. "Yeah, I've noticed." Your grades had noticed, too. You looked everywhere but the boy walking beside you, chains rattling with every step he took.

You entered your history class and prayed to God he didn't sit next to you. It was probably time to stop believing in any religion altogether, because sit next to you, he did.

It took everything in your power not to glance to your right every 10 seconds. You knew Eddie was trying to get your attention. You knew he just wanted to know who was leaving the notes, but one more word from your mouth would most certainly give you away. You did what you did best, act shy and be way too socially awkward to hold a conversation.

"How come we've never hung out? You seem chill. You're not scared of me, are you? You don't look scared. Flustered, maybe. But why haven't we?" Eddie rambled as the teacher continued his monologue.

"I don't know, Eddie. I'm not exactly as... present as you are."

"Aha! So you can talk! Are you calling me an attention whore?" You turned to Eddie for the first time since your conversation at your locker. "What?! No!" Your perplexed expression put a grin on his face.

"I'm joking, sweetheart. But now that I've got your attention, why don't you come to The Hideaway, this Saturday, 8:30. We're playing."

"Are high schoolers even allowed there? I'm pretty sure their demographic is like 40-year-old men."

"You're allowed when you're with the band." Eddie winked. You melted right then and there in your seat. You didn't reply, but something inside Eddie knew he'd see you in the crowd.

You knew you were down bad. But you knew you'd made a mistake when you actually went to the bar to see Corroded Coffin play that Saturday night.

You told the bouncer you'd come to see them play, and he let you in without question. Guess Eddie was right about that one.

Corroded Coffin really wasn't too bad. They needed to work on sounding more coherent, but they were a band of high schoolers. They'd have all the time in the world to improve.

Eddie, however, was phenomenal. He must've been doing it on purpose, right? Your mouth went dry as you watched his fingers glide over the guitar with practised ease. His eyes found yours a few times as he sang. He sang. You didn't know he could sing.

Eddie thrived in your undivided attention. Were you even blinking? Were you even breathing? He couldn't tell. He had to admit, he'd made more of a show out of playing than he usually did. He enjoyed seeing you fidget.

When the band finished you rushed to the bar to get a drink. Was it hot in here? You jumped when you felt that familiar hand return to your shoulder, spilling some of your drink over yourself. "Oh, my bad." Eddie chuckled as he handed you a napkin.

"It's fine," you sighed. "Kind of owe me a new one, though." You avoided his gaze as usual until his hand reached for your chin. He turned your face to his. "Let's make a deal. I'll get you a new drink, on one condition."

You urged him to continue with your expression. He leaned to your ear "I'll buy you a new drink... if you tell me why you've been leaving those notes in my locker." His whisper made your blood turn cold. Goosebumps trailed from the back of your neck, over your arms, all the way down your legs.

His hands found their way to your waist. You sputtered noises of denial, but Eddie just chuckled. "I've had my assumptions for a week. But your handwriting is quite recognizable, sweetheart. Shouldn't have let me sit next to you in History. Or should've, depending on which outcome you were wishing for." He leaned back in. "But something tells me this is exactly the outcome you were wishing for."

You were speechless. He'd known for over a week it was you? "So, were they serious? Because if they were, I might need to get a restraining order. You're obsessed with me, aren't you, baby?"

That did it. Eddie Munson just called you baby. The gasp that left your mouth told him enough. "That's adorable, really. Who knew a quiet little mouse like you could be so smitten with the town freak, huh?"

You dared meet his eyes. They were filled with humour and something else you couldn't exactly place. He knew how you felt. You'd told him pretty much everything through those notes. The only thing you'd left out was the more... questionable side of things. The side of yourself you didn't know you had until this little infatuation started. You had nothing left to say to him.

"I'm glad it was you. Because now I know I can do this." Eddie pressed his lips against yours with a desperation you hadn't noticed in him before. You put your hands against his chest to steady yourself. Eddie must've noticed your knees had started to buckle, as all that was holding you up at that point was his arms around your waist.

He pulled away and you gasped for air. "If this is going to be a recurring thing, we'll need to work on that, love. Can't have you passing out."

"Don't think you'll have to kiss me to make me pass out, honestly..." You said sheepishly, finally realizing that yes, Eddie knew you'd been leaving him disgustingly sweet notes, and yes, he was in fact not appalled.

Eddie laughed wholeheartedly at your admission. He flagged the bartender down and held you with his other hand like he'd been doing it for years. It was that confidence that had attracted you to him in the first place. "Let's get you that drink I promised, hmm?"

#eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x gender neutral reader #eddie munson x gn!reader #eddie munson x y/n #stranger things fanfic #stranger things x reader #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things x y/n #stranger things x you #eddie munson smut

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sergeifyodorov · 5 months

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would u do a little analysis of how each team has done so far this season … i trust ur opinions so much

EACH team okay... under the cut bc i am not subjecting the masses to 32 nasty little thots cody edition

Bruins: RIP patrice of course but the bruins are steamrolling as ever... i think that if there is any evidence of the universe simply not caring abt good things it is that the bruins slip and stumble and have some of their best players retired and still manage to put up a 50 win season every year. <- salty leafs fan but ANYHWAY the bruins are easily a Playoff Team. simply "there" 5v5, strong power play, they make their money off finishing (pastrnak you filthy animal) and goaltending (swaymark you filthy animals). they have been trending downwards of late so i'm not entirely sure of like their final standings place but with this kind of head start they're staying up.

Sabres: currently in what we the people call a "decade of darkness." might be a "two decades of darkness" if we're going to be honest. the active player with the most playoff points with the sabres is tyler myers. 7 points. yeah the tall one most famous for having a subreddit that posts the gamescore card every time he's on the bottom of the gamescore card. sabres are really hard to fix because their first real step to contention is "hoping devon levi turns out really good." not promising. bad enough that by selling a piece or two celebrini is in sight. maybe that'll help? a third 1OA?

Red Wings: presenting the mid-season Season Ruining Unforced Error Award early by saying: not that they were going to be as good as their first few games of sniping suggested, but signing patrick kane tanked any realistic hope they have of playoffs. is patrick kane good? he's actually alright. maybe this time the surgery worked. is the team made better by having him on it? it surely isn't! a few REALLY BADLY TIMED dylan larkin based misfortunes have made it go from bad to worse. they were in A2 like a month ago and now they're Out. strengths: finishing. weaknesses: everything else, including morale.

Panthers: okay you've probably clocked this by now but ive been Generally Salty so far and that is bc a) im easily tempted to haterhood and b) currently discussing each team in the atlantic which does nothing to make me less Tempted To Haterhood. that being said the panthers are Good and For Real About It. they can do everything except finish chances, which is fine when the other team has way fewer chances than you and your goalie doesn't let any of them in. fuck ALLL the way off. place your bets on these guys having a deep playoff run. cross your fingers for them not having a deep playoff run i can't stand chuckyposting again it's RAN ITS COURSE. (also: machuk is probably still injured and absolutely Not doing as well as he did the last few seasons. maybe because he's just not that kind of guy but it's probably at least mostly the broken chest thing)

Canadiens: they are bad EXCEPT when it comes to overtime + the shootout. also much like the sabres they're going nowhere fast. i expect at least one of their goalies to be gone at the deadline... furthermore i think ppl who are ragging on slaf's slow development are simply expecting all 1OAs to be like an auston or a connor type (pick your connor) where they come in and immediately adapt -- slaf rings very reminiscent of quinton byfield to me, who was picked 2OA in 2020 and is only now starting to break out. give him time he's a baby...

Senators: despite how much literally everyone talks up all their players constantly, they are not good either. like the sabres or the habs... atlantic is 4 teams in the genuine hunt, 3 teams who suck and have sucked forever and will suck forevermore, and the red wings who haven't made up their minds yet. the sens actually Do have a singular Biggest Problem though and that's goaltending, but they're not a good enough team otherwise that getting a quality goaltender is going to make them playoffs worthy, especially not in the very short (this-season) run.

Lightning: the lightning are weird to me because like i think they're still making up their mind as A People what they want to do. kucherov is the best player in the league rn, this is stamkos' ufa season and he hasn't been offered an extension, vasilevskiy is back and vasying his levskiy... i fully believe they have the capability of getting a playoff spot, maybe even A3 if they want. we've all seen them in the playoffs, we know how they can turn ~It~ on at will. as always they're a deeply mid 5v5 team powered by very strong special teams... the goaltending numbers say goaltending is shit but they've been playing in front of the genuinely unplayable jonas johansson most of the season so i think it'll be fine.

Maple Leafs: as the team ive watched the moast i can talk about these guys for evar so for all of our sanities i will be brief: Auston Matthews, Baby, Look At Him, That's Auston, Auston Motherfucking "Sexy Mustached Bitch" Matthews!!!!!!! powered by an extremely strong power play and very good offence, and defence and goaltending that is held together by Morgan Rielly and a dream. possibly the only reason they're in a playoff spot is the fact that martin jones didn't get claimed on waivers three months ago and i am being dead serious about that. for some reason they're at their best when they're down by two. they do really need both their #1 goalie to come back from injury and to make a splash for a genuine nhl-calibre defenceman, but they're stubbornly determined to win games even through nasty flu.

Hurricanes: their usual selves -- analytics darlings, can't buy a goal. this year they can't buy a save either -- Freddie is out with a medical condition, Raanta is straight up not good, and Kochetkov is... well, he's Kochetkov. they're not far out of a spot but they'll need a hot hand if they want to get comfy... which i don't expect, frankly. they're good enough to make the playoffs, but they're not really a team that goes on heaters, so they'll be bubble until the end.

Blue Jackets: genuinely not sure they know what they're doing like... okay. from an outside pov they are obviously Tanking. they're bad in every way that matters except for finishing and the standings show it. but also like... they're at the point in their development cycle where they shouldn't be tanking... or at least are on the verge of Shouldn't Be Tanking. and again, because they don't know what they're doing, they hired mike babcock for this... if they know what they're doing they'll toss kekalainen as soon as they can and, following this year's draft, start Fighting. but let's be real i doubt that. adam fantilli it's your time to shine... sorry sweetheart!

Devils: see Hurricanes. Great on paper, can't buy a save. They've obviously been stunted by Timo, J'accuse, and Nico all being injured at various points, but goaltending is their biggest and most solvable problem. Unlike the Hurricanes, though, the Devils are fully capable of going on a heater, so the gap between them and WC2 isn't as big as it looks (probably.) Luke Hughes is going to be something special.

Rangers: Looks like Lafreniere is finally getting his feet under him -- but the Rangers have always been far more about getting old, known players to get a second wind with them than they've been about prospect development, and Quick and Wheeler are both showing this pretty definitively. Another one of those teams that's run by special teams and finishing/goaltending. Easy playoff spot, likely solid run. Nothing too interesting here.

Islanders: On the other hand, the Isles are interesting because... like... how did they get There? They have a negative goal differential, for heaven's sake! Their special teams are godawful, their defence is a sieve, they blow leads like that's what actually gets you points in this league, and they're somehow second in the Metropolitan??????? Is it Horvat? Barzal? Sorokin? (It's probably Sorokin.) They'll make the playoffs but i doubt they'll succeed in them.

Flyers: This one's also weird. They have the power play and offence of a peewee team in the big leagues, but have become defensively Actually Super Competent and are somehow good because of this? I'm going to theorize -- because you've asked me to but also because I really want to -- that this is due, at least in part, to somewhat of an inverse Kane-on-the-Red-Wings effect from their offseason removal of Provorov and DeAngelo; without them, the team is now not only better defensively on paper but also better as a team in the locker room. They're [uncle voice] playing with heart now! I doubt they're a real contender, but I think they might actually make playoffs.

Penguins: ...this one's also weird. They're good on paper. Like, really good on paper? Defensively "just okay" but offensively great, goaltending is fantastic, special teams are shutdown. They just can't buy a goal and they can't buy a good sequence.

Capitals: This one's weird, too, but in the opposite way -- aside from the power-play, the Caps are actually godawful on paper, especially when it comes to finishing (because when Ovechkin takes such a high percentage of your shots but he isn't scoring, your team REALLY suffers) but somehow they've managed to pinpoint sequencing luck (win close, lose ugly) and are somehow in WC1. Do I think they'll make the playoffs? Absolutely not -- if either the Devils or Canes step up, the Caps are the odd man out -- but it might be fun to see them try. Or hell, I hope they win-close-lose-ugly their way to a goddamn Cup final. Would be funny as fuck for Ovi's second-longest ever playoff run to come at the fresh young age of thirty-eight. Dude looks ragged out there. I'm going to shut up now before I start talking about finding him sexy

Coyotes: Simple on paper: bad at running play, good goaltending and finishing. Essentially what the Canucks are doing at a smaller scale. The Leafs should never have let Kerfoot walk and I mean that unironically. Okay, anyway, the Yotes are a bubble team and won't make higher than WC1 because of the logjam at the top of the Central, but holy fuck do I want them to make WC1 (or a playoff spot in general.) People ask "how can we grow the game" a lot, and when it comes to what the NHL can do directly, the number one biggest thing is win in small markets. Arizona has already created one of the sports' biggest stars -- Auston! -- and it's an absolutely massive TV market and a potential hotbed of new fans and new, great players. Arizona making a playoff spot -- or even better, going on a run -- would be amazing for the NHL. And it would be funny. And I would like that.

Blackhawks: shoutout to dave !!! dave who works for the hawks!!! anyway the hawks are very obviously tanking and good at it. Their only real point of interest is their Sacred Child, and holy fuck is their Sacred Child going to absolutely fucking smash it when he's given a team that's not entirely made up of scrubs. i think his analytics, especially his defensive numbers, are, like, fine? but accounting for his leverage (all situations, especially the difficult ones), his teammates (his best linemate is Anthony Beauvillier, and tito... is a third liner), and the fact that he's all of eighteen, he's definitely on track to be a Real Force. i kinda love him... okay moving on.

Avalanche: All-over good: finishing their biggest obvious strength, but hockeywise they don't have any real weaknesses... although there is some serious Drama brewing in that locker room and i think it might just be getting started. with landeskog gone for at least until the end of this year (and possibly forever) and ej a sabre, there is absolutely no one in there capable of actually emotionally running a team: makar lacking in a leader's magnetism, rantanen an idiot, toews and mackinnon far too high-strung and competitive, and no one else with seniority. they're a good enough team that it's not really affecting them right now, but ... i don't know, i can kind of feel it coming. They'll make the playoffs, but when the pressure is on they'll either step up or completely fall apart.

Stars: See above: all-over good, but saving their biggest obvious weakness. I think most of this is spurred by Otter being out -- Wedgewood is a serviceable backup goaltender, but obviously not capable of being a real starter, and the team is stuttering because of it. I doubt it'll be for long or too much difficulty (they're a good defensive team, so it's not going to affect them a lot, but they might lose a game or two they might have won with Otter, especially if he's out for a while), but it's going to keep them from taking a step on top of the Central. Easy playoff team, probable contender.

Wild: They are bad! Penalty kill is their worst weakness, but they're not great in goal either and the combination is kicking their ass. As much as I respect how well they've done with that giant cap-space penalty from the Parise/Suter buyouts all those years ago, it's... kind of time to throw in the towel. Get Flower those final few wins, because by god are they devoid of much other success. Right at the tail of a competitive arc. RIP. Tank incoming.

Predators: Weirdly good, even though Saros hasn't been his usual self? O'Reilly esp has been an absolutely fantastic addition for the team over the offseason. No huge strengths, no significant weaknesses. Not an amazing offensive team, but it's Nashville so they were never going to be -- the place practically breeds defensive forwards and all-around dmen. I don't expect they'll seriously contend, but they'll make the playoffs (unless someone offers the farm for Saros).

Blues: I genuinely think so little about the Blues .... that whole thing with Jordan Kyrou has been the most I've thought about them for a bit. That and the fact that only three of their games haven't been decided by the first goal? They're not good and they're really boring. Yeehaw.

Jets: THE JETS let's get JUICY. Jets' biggest strengths by far are a) 5v5 defence and b) finishing/goaltending. Even with Kyle Connor out they're sniping and Hellebuyck and Brossoit are both absolutely on it. The Jets have always seemed to have this problem where on paper (take a shot every time I've written "on paper" in this post if you want to die of alcohol poisoning) they seem fantastic, then January onwards they absolutely plummet. And it's not January yet, so that might still happen, but that kind of thing tends to happen because of a dramatic morale shift, and now that Lowry's captain and Wheeler's left for New York... that might not happen? They've banked enough points that unless they're historically bad from here on out they're still a playoff team. If they keep up what they have going so far, they're a contender, but if it's the same Winnipeg with the same problems, then they're not.

Ducks: Taking a step in the right direction with Carlsson and Mintyukov, but still bad! I really hope Carlsson recovers well, he seems like a sweet boy. Also: what on Earth are they doing with Zegras. Is he a defenceman now? Are they making him play defence? Are he and Dixie D'Amelio still dating? I have many questions. I just hope whichever high draft pick they get is an idiot. I feel like they need another dumbass baby on the team.

Flames: The Flames also appear to have no idea what's going on. And frankly, neither do I! They're too good to be obviously tanking, but not near good enough to be a bubble team. They're definitely reluctant to sell, but their best hope to win soon absolutely should be selling. They have one of the worst contracts in the league on their payroll (wow... I hope the guy in charge of my favourite team didn't sign that!) and a bunch of really solid late-round picks and prospects cutting their teeth on the NHL. In short: they aren't going to make the playoffs and should be leaning into that, but they don't seem to have realized this yet.

Oilers: For the sake of not gloating, I'm going to sum this one up with a Marek quote: If you have a goalie, it's 70% of your team. If you don't, it's 100%. They've had finishing trouble, but considering they absolutely run the show at 5v5 AND special teams (they put nearly SIXTY SHOTS on Vasilevskiy the other day) a little finishing shouldn't be quite so dangerous if they didn't have two sieves minding the net. McDavid might hit 150 again and the Oil might still miss the playoffs. If they get in, they're going far, but at this point it'll be tough as fuck to make it in.

Kings: Average penalty kill. No other weaknesses. Kopitar 4 Selke.

Sharks: This is an absolutely glorious tankjob. No other way to put it. This is the pinnacle of tank design. This is the Wayne Gretzky of tankjobs. This is the Casablanca of tankjobs. This is the Saturn V of tankjobs. Nothing has been so beautifully engineered to suck since Sir James Dyson patented his vacuum or Nancy Reagan walked the earth. It's beautiful. It's gorgeous. I am in awe. They deserve Celebrini purely because of how flawless the tank is. I don't care if he has a warm undertone and would look pink in that fantastic teal. The boy needs San Jose.

Kraken: Good defensively at 5v5, bad pretty much everywhere else. I'm going to be honest with you all, last year was kind of a flash in the pan -- Seattle isn't great and they're neither headed upwards nor downwards. Not a bubble team, probably won't pick top ten. They haven't decided whether or not to build up or tank. Beyond the fantastic aesthetics and four-unranked-lines shtick, they don't really have a whole lot of competitive mojo: no star forwards, no goaltending. Wholeheartedly mid.

Canucks: oH BABY!!!!! The 23-24 Canucks made us all learn what PDO is. The 23-24 Canucks are first in the motherfucking league after being one spot out of being in the Bedard lottery. The 23-24 Canucks are on track to have the best shooting and saving percentage in league history. The 23-24 Canucks' leading goalscorer is Brock Boeser, the guy they've almost traded practically every year since they drafted him. The 23-24 Canucks started the season by naming the Wettest Little Man On The Planet captain and they haven't looked back since. I think they're an easy lock for a playoff spot -- but within the playoffs, do I know what they're going to do? I absolutely do not. They could PDO their way to a Cup or they could bow out in four games flat. Either is equally likely. They have thoroughly embraced Good Chaos. Quinn Hughes might win the Hart. Everything's coming up Vancouver.

Golden Knights: Not as good as they were last year. Ultimately still pretty good. Easy playoff spot. Definite contender. Jack Eichel is better than ever and I love him for it, the dickhead.

#asks #mwah anon thank u... this is so long under the cut KJHDKSFJSKDJFHSK #tldr: some teams are good and some teams are bad. sometimes this is interesting and sometimes it's not.

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mtchacrvle · 5 months

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• 𝘐'𝘮 𝘴𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘺 •

ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ᴜsʜɪᴊɪᴍᴀ ᴡᴀᴋᴀᴛᴏsʜɪ x ғʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

sᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ : you and ushijima used to date in high school, but unfortunately you guys broke up. after years of broken up with you, he felt empty. he have became the top 1 professional volleyball player, have millions of money, people love him but he still felt empty, week and he knows why.

⚠️ 𝚃𝚁𝙸𝙶𝙶𝙴𝚁 𝚆𝙰𝚁𝙽𝙸𝙽𝙶 ⚠️ : ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴ ᴋɪʟʟɪɴɢ, ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ʙᴇʜᴀᴠɪᴏᴜʀ, ᴏʙsᴇssɪᴠᴇ ᴜsʜɪᴊɪᴍᴀ. Aɴᴅ ᴛᴇʀʀɪʙʟᴇ ɢʀᴀᴍᴍᴀʀ

___🤍___🤍___🤍___

"ha I'm so tired" you said with tired voice. it was Wednesday 5pm, ushijima just finished his usual volleyball practice and you guys are currently walking home. you could notice that ushijima was quite the whole time so you try to make small talk. "i saw the spike you did earlier and God you look so cool!". silent, you were holding ushijimas hand so you lightly squeeze his hand trying to get his attention.

nothing. "ushi?" "baby?" "toshi" you said little louder. he finally came back from day dreaming. "yes name?". "toshi are you alright?". he didn't say anything just stared at his feet. after felt like forever he finally spoke. "I think we need to break up". you just stared at him with full confused face. "what why? did I do something wrong?" you said concerned. he saw your expression and quickly interrupt "no no it's not that, it's just I want to focus on volleyball more. since we only have 4 months before our graduation. I really really need to be focusing on volleyball. I want to be the professional volleyball player and I can't have distraction..". he mumble the last three words but you heard him loud and clear.

you just stay quiet, trying so hard to to cry. "w-well if you want to focus on volleyball more sure i-i don't mind, we can just focus on volleyball more..t-there's no need for breaking up" you said hopping that he'll changed his mind. "sorry name I just can't. I'm sorry" he then let go of your hand. you felt like your falling at that time but you stay strong. "I see, if that's what you want, I'll respect that. didn't think you see me as distraction. well sorry if I'm distracting you or holding you back from your dream ushijima, I'm sorry. thank you for everything". and then you walk away he'll be laying if he said he's not sad. on the outside he may look calm or he doesn't care. but in the inside he practically crying, how could he not the person that he has a crush on for 4 year left him. well more like he let it go.

after you came home you just fell to your feet. you just to heartbroken. Is that how he really feels? that I'm holding him back..? you spent the whole night crying your heart out. the next morning you came as usual. you didn't like showing your weakness nor your sadness so you just bottle it up.

well your Best friend notice and you told her the whole story. since that you try to ignore ushijima as hard as you can. no matter what way if there's a way you'll use it. you then going out more trying to move on with the help of your best friend. mean while with ushijima, after he break up with you he didn't think bout you at all well almost, there's a few time where when he saw you and he wants to greet and hug you but stops bc he just remembered that you guys already broken up. slowly he forgets about you. he only have 1 priority and that is to be the number 1 professional volleyball player. eventually you already move on and so Is ushijima.

after 4 months you graduate and after that you immediately apply to a cooking school. you really wanted to open a cafe shop so you worked your butt off for this.

4 years has pass and you've been doing great, well can't say the same to ushijima. the last 4 years he's time and energy been paying off he is now the top 1 professional volleyball player. he's in the Schweiden Alders team. but something felt off, he didn't know what. he just felt unhappy, and he was confused. he got what he wanted, he has millions of money, thousand of fans, most of the branded company payed him to model for they're brand. but still he felt empty, weak, unmotivated. everytime he walked and saw a sweet couple he felt sad.

tendou eventually notice, "you must felt lonely ushikawa". "lonely..?". "well you haven't dated anyone since you broken up with name right? maybe that's why you're sad. you don't have shoulder to relax and relay on". ushijima didn't think that was the problem but after breaking up with you he somehow didn't have any interest on anyone sure there a lot of people hitting up on him but he just shook it off. it's not like he didn't think of having a s/o it's just no one attract him the way you do. maybe that's it he didn't want anyone else he wanted you.

"have you talked to name this past 4 year?". ushijima asked tendou with pure curiosity. "yea quite often, since I'm dating her Best friend we often talked". ushijima just stared at tendou. what since when tendou and name best friend dated?. "since when did you guys dated why didn't I know anything?". "I did ushikawa I told you almost a year ago. I said I'm dating someone". "you certainly did but you didn't mention who". " oh I didn't?" tendou chuckled. "it's name best friend, name tell me that she have been crushing on me and I've been crushing on her so here we are". ushijima knows that he shouldn't felt jealous hearing that tendou and name often talked but he knew he didn't deserve name attention after what he did to her.

"can you maybe tell me where name is? or where she currently live?" he actually shock himself up. why do he wanted to know where name is? they already broken up why that's that matter?.

"no clue I did ask Yuri (name best friend) but she refuse to tell me". that comment actually made ushijima mad. "why not?" ushijima asked with a annoyed voice kinda sound like he's angry. tendou saw the sudden mood change so he calmly reply "Yuri knew I'll tell you that's why she refuses to tell". ushijima just stay quiet.

after the talk with tendou ushijima rushed home to do some digging. unlucky for him and lucky for you he find nothing. days turn into weeks soon became into months. he was a MESS and thank God he still have few of your pictures everytime he's sad, angry or even he felt neutral he still look at your photo.

his everyday routine is usually come home around 6pm, shower, eat,and sleep and everytime before he slept he would open up his phone and look at your pictures imaging that you're still here with him.

after almost 9 months of searching you he still found nothing, Yuri refuse to talk to him nor give him your information, all Yuri said was "name is doing just fine".don't get him wrong, he's happy and relieved that you're doing fine but the information was not enough. everyday, every second his obsession grew bigger and bigger he became more crazier without you. during the months he search for you he kept blaming himself. he's the reason you broke up, he's the reason why you're depressed.

and all of those backfired to him.its been 1 year and still no sign of you. tendou would be lying if he said he's not worried for his best friend but he tried he's best helping him find name.

"Ushikawa you need to move on" tendou said with a worried tone."how can I, I'm the reason why me and name are in this mess". yuri overhead the conversation and what she told ushijima next made him regret his decision.

"when you broke up with name, she kept blaming herself for you guys break up. she felt bad for you bc she feels that she's holding you back. everyday she tries to avoid you." "what..why is she trying to avoid me?". " God bc what you've said. plus she don't want to break down in front of you, bc she knew if she face you she can't hold her tears" Yuri said sighing "she really love you yk. that's why I didn't want to tell you where she is. bc I don't want you to repeat the same mistake again and hurt her." and that Yuri got up and left leaving tendou and ushijima alone.

the thing that Yuri told him still playing in his head. I really hurt her. he went for a walk after he finished working out, and he went to a walk a little bit. while he was crossing the road he noticed a familiar face. he ran to the other side and ran to the girl. in his mind he knew he could be wrong but he doesn't care. after he felt like he have been running forever he cought the girl wrist.

when the girl turn around he was shocked to see the face that he has been searching for the past 1 year..the love of his life. "name.." name eyes were widen she has so many questions how did he find her? how did he recognized her? "name its you right" he ask the girl hoping that it's not his imagination. "uh yes I'm name". oh do you know how happy he is. "it's me wakatoshi" ushijima said with a happy voice.

Tbc....

This has been in my draft for MONTHS now, didn't think it was good enough to post but eh. It's a cliffhanger so I might do part 2 ? Hehe but that could take a while since I'm working on a new story, so stay stunned (⁠◠⁠‿⁠・⁠)⁠—⁠☆

#yandere #haikyuu!!#ushijima wakatoshi #yandere ushijima #yandere wakatoshi #shiratorizawa #yandere haikyuu #yandere ushijima x reader #yandere x reader

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the-bau-quinjet · 10 months

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Timeless

Summary: Steve breaks up with singer!reader because he doesn't want to hold her back. He starts to question everything after hearing the song she wrote for him.

Warnings: life in the Instagram era

word count: 4695

a/n: 100000% inspired by Timeless by Taylor Swift. i did not proofread this bc I am lazy so I do apologize for whatever typos there are

Masterlist

"I just don't get it," Steve overheard the young women talking while waiting in line for coffee. "She could literally be with anyone and she's gonna pick some old guy who literally fought in World War II?" He already had an idea of where this was going, but the response confirmed his fears.

"I know! Like Steve Rogers is hot but that's so weird! He's like 100 years old," she scoffed.

"A man out of time and probably out of touch," the first replied. "I bet he's totally holding her back."

Steve decided to forgo his coffee, simply turning around and leaving before things could get more awkward for him. Dating you has actually been when he's felt most at home in this century, but that doesn't mean he no longer struggles with his new present day.

Hardly a day goes by without you or someone else having to explain something to him, whether it be an insignificant reference to some tv show or more important information on how certain technology works. Suffice it to say, he feels like his age does show. It's something you've talked about in your relationship, but clearly, something Steve still struggles with.

He decided to walk back to the tower using the time to really think about what was best for you in terms of being with him. The first day the two of you met had been a particularly bad one for Steve, but somehow you managed to cheer him up. You've basically been inseparable since.

The more he thought about it, the more sure he was that those women were right. He was holding you back. You spend so much time with him, and at the tower in general, that you haven't really been living the same way you were before.

Before you met Steve, you had just finished your first world tour. You were always traveling or in and out of the studio. Now, you spend all your time in New York and you haven't had so much as a single performance outside of New York in the two and a half years you've been with him.

As he walked the last few steps up to the tower, Steve had already made his decision.

You were practically bouncing up and down on the couch as you waited for Steve to get home. After months of writing and recording in the home studio Tony set up for you, you could finally surprise Steve with some new songs. The one you were most excited about hadn't even been recorded yet. You were just too excited to share the lyrics to wait.

You couldn't help but reminisce as you waited, thinking about the first time you'd ever met. After your tour, all you wanted to do was go home and sleep, but Tony had personally invited you to his latest gala and your manager really pushed for you to go. Turns out, it was the best decision of your life.

The sound of the door opening down the hall broke you out of your daydream. The telltale sounds of Steve hanging up his jacket and tossing his keys in the dish by the door confirmed your suspicions.

You nearly tripped over the coffee table in your effort to greet him, but the look on his face stopped you dead in your tracks. "Steve?" you asked. "Are you okay?"

He sighed in response, one hand running through his hair as he looked at the ground. After a few seconds, he managed to meet your eye, but it did nothing to ease the nerves you were now feeling.

"Did something happen?" you asked just as he spoke up.

"We should break up."

His words felt like a physical blow in the silence that followed. You leaned back into the arm of the couch, suddenly unsure of everything.

"What?" you barely breathed out the question. The emotional whiplash was too confusing to process this quickly.

"I just, I don't think we should stay together. I wish I had more to say, but that's it." Steve cut straight to the bone, his own heart breaking. Still, he thought it was for the best.

"Oh," you barely managed to reply, still reeling from the shock. "Um, okay. I'll just... I'll just go."

You walked blindly down the hall and out the door, not even considering what you would do with all of your things that were in the apartment. You didn't even grab your purse, so you couldn't realistically leave the tower. Instead, you headed straight for the studio.

It felt like if you were recording a song about Steve, you could pretend that conversation didn't just happen. You could live in the past for just another few hours before reality finally hit you.

You still had the music pulled up in the recording booth. You'd gone so far as to take out some of the most inspiring pictures that lead to this song. There were plenty of pictures of you and Steve, but also the old black and white photos you found in the antique shop.

Thankfully Tony set things up so you could record on your own if you wanted, so that's exactly what you did.

Down the block there's an antique shop and something in my head said stop, so I walked in...

Instead of facing your emotions head-on, you dove into your work. You recorded every song you had left for the album, only contacting your manager and the label when things were finished.

They had a few things to tweak, but the record was ready not even two weeks later. Since you'd already been teasing the songs on tik tok, your label agreed to a surprise release. Thirteen songs would be released at the end of the week.

With the album ready and the date picked, you switched focus to scheduling performances at award shows and TV interviews. Anything to keep you from the gutwrenching reality of your emotions.

- Steve wasn't doing much better. His mood was foul and everybody could tell. Seeing as you were avoiding everyone by staying in an apartment owned by your label, the team tried cornering Steve for information.

"What the hell happened with Y/N?" Nat finally asked when Steve brushed off the slightly less invasive questions about how he was doing. He simply shook his head, glaring at an unphased Natasha.

"Have you listened to her new album?" Sam asked, trying to break the tension before all hell broke loose.

Steve tensed at the mention of your music. He had not listened to it, but the mere existence sent him into a spiral. In his eyes, it proved his point. Two and a half weeks without him and you were already releasing music. Something you hadn't done in the two and a half years you'd been together.

"Just leave me alone," he all but begged. Listening to the songs he knew- or at least strongly expected- would be about him was too much to even consider. He shook off the questions with the sheer desperation in his eyes. Everyone could tell it was hitting him hard, but not knowing why they broke up made it difficult to try and help.

Things continued much the same for the next month. Steve avoided all things that reminded him of you. You worked every second you could, desperate to not have to think about how everything went wrong.

In those few moments when you had actually thought about Steve, you more than anything wanted to know why. It had gotten so far as to you hovering your finger over his contact, one split second from calling when your manager phoned you instead.

"Hello," you answered, desperately trying to hide the strain from your voice.

"They want you to perform at the Grammy's," your manager, Gina, wasted no time with pleasantries.

"Oh my god," you didn't know how to feel. "That's in three days!" This album meant so much to you, but it was entirely about falling and being in love with Steve. How could you perform one of your best love songs on one of the biggest stages in music with a broken heart?

"Do they want a specific song?" Somehow your mind kept working even though your heart was breaking all over again.

"You get to choose," Gina continued to gush, but you couldn't listen. Having to choose was almost worse. You managed to tune back in for the last bit of information. "I know it's weird because you're not nominated, but nobody expected Rihanna to have to pull out. The news is her baby is the picture of health though! Since this is so last minute, they need to know what song the day after tomorrow for scheduling purposes."

"I'll do Timeless," you blurted out. Having to make the decision would be the worst part, right? So now you can just prepare and deal with it.

"You sure?" she asked, wary of it being one of the most detailed love songs on the album.

"Yep!" The enthusiasm was easy to fake. You were excited to perform at the Grammy's, and this is the song you're most proud of. It'll be fine.

"I'll let them know! Check your email for the itinerary. Bye!" she hung up in a flash, leaving you alone with your thoughts again.

Steve's contact was still pulled up on your phone. It felt like it was mocking you. Of course, Timeless would be the song you blurt out in a panic. It was the one you were most excited for him to hear. You can't imagine he's listened to the album. He might not even know it was released. A Grammy's performance was the closest to a guarantee that he'd hear it.

Now you just had to practice singing as if it wasn't going to emotionally wreck you.

"We've been invited to the Grammy's," Tony burst into the room with no preamble.

"Who's we?" Sam asked, already planning the suit he would wear in his mind.

"Four of us, bird brain," Tony replied swiftly. "Normally I'd be all over this, but I promised Morgan I would build her big girl bed with her tomorrow, so I'm stuck. You all have to go."

Nat, Sam, and Bucky all seemed okay with the invitation, and in Sam's case mildly excited. Steve, on the other hand, scowled at Tony. He was only about 60% sure the Grammy's were for music, but if the 60% was right he would rather go on a mission in Antarctica than potentially be in the same building as Y/N right now.

"I don't wanna hear it, Capsicle." Tony read the look on his face. "Four of us have to be there, and as our fearless leader that means you. Friday will send the details." He walked out much the same way he walked in, with a dramatic flair that left no room for questions.

"I guess we're going to the Grammy's," Nat cut a look across the room to Steve, gauging his reaction.

"So we are," he mumbled, quickly leaving the room before anyone could ask him about you.

Getting ready in your apartment was the only thing holding you together. Gina came over early this morning to lay out the details of your dress, hair, makeup, and any last-minute accessory decisions.

"You ready for this?" she asked, buzzing with excitement. The car would be here to pick you up any minute.

"As I'll ever be," you shakily replied. Despite making the decision quickly, you'd yet to settle the reality of performing the song in front of a crowd with how it felt to record it alone in a booth.

"Well, you can shake off those last few nerves right now. You're gonna be amazing. Remember, you're toward the end of the show. I guess you'll be a break from the nominated artists just before they announce album of the year, okay?"

You merely nodded in response, still trying to get over the nerves. You followed her down to the car, going over the lyrics in your head. Repetition was your best bet to stave off any emotional outbursts during the actual performance.

Steve had barely said a word all day, choosing instead to just float through the day. He wore the suit presented to him with no questions asked. He followed the schedule Friday had given him to a tee. He left no room for conversation, the glare on his face deterring any small talk.

He looked up the list of performers in an attempt to see if Y/N would be there, but she wasn't listed. The only thing causing him worry was the "surprise guest" that had been invited to replace Rihanna, who had to pull out of performing because she had a baby a few days ago. The amount of detail about other people's lives on the internet still surprised Steve sometimes, but he was glad to hear she was doing well- whoever she was.

He managed to hold it together through the red carpet, hearing whispers from the crowds that strung his and your name together. That was one of the things that drew the two of you together. It may have been a different kind of attention, but you both had faces the general public might recognize. Being the center of attention was never the goal for either of you, so your relationship remained largely private.

"Weird that he didn't walk the carpet with Y/N..." one guest whispered. Steve's enhanced hearing meant he could still pick up the voices. It was almost as if he was involuntarily listening for your name and honing in on the conversation.

"I mean, they've always been private... unless, do you think they broke up?" the responder gasped. Steve felt his heartbeat increase, being the subject of rumors and gossip never sat well with him.

"But this whole album is so happy! Maybe she-"

Steve was pulled inside before he could hear the rest. Probably for the best, he thought. Now that he knew you were here, he needed to focus on avoiding you.

Apparently, that wouldn't be hard. He and his fellow Avengers assigned seats were much further back than the musicians that were invited or nominated. He could see you from his seat, but you were far enough away to basically guarantee no forced interactions.

He merely sat in his seat, greeting people as they stopped by to say hello, and waited for the show to start. The quicker this thing was over, the quicker he would be able to go back to avoiding his feelings.

Walking the carpet was an absolute dream. You only wish you could've been more present. You were still incredibly nervous for your performance, and the murmurs you heard about the Avengers being in attendance did nothing to help.

You just had to choose to believe that Steve wouldn't come tonight. Unless he was so unaffected by the breakup that he could be here without it being a problem, which was a scenario you needed to put out of your head. No thoughts of break ups or Steve. At least, not until the performance.

Finding your table was easy enough once you got inside, and refusing to look around may have seemed odd, but people could easily chalk it up to nerves. Not many new about your surprise performance, but everyone knew it was your first Grammy's ceremony You were on tour when you were nominated for Best New Artist, ultimately winning the award, but missing out on the ceremony.

Other artists stopped by and chatted for a few minutes until eventually the lights dimmed and the show began.

Before long, a stage manager was ushering you out of your chair on a commercial break and bringing you backstage to get ready. You hadn't had much choice when it came to your carpet look- a gorgeous pink dress with plenty of tulle- but your performance look was more customizable.

You chose a dark blue set with plenty of crystals sewn onto the fabric. It looked like the night sky, and if blue is Steve's favorite color so what. This was the exact vibe you'd dreamed up when you were writing the song, so it only felt right to perform in it.

Your hair and makeup needed minimal changes, so after a few touch ups, you were being ushered toward the stage. It seemed everything backstage was happening fast enough to leave no time for nerves.

"And now, our long awaited surprise performer! She has taken the world by storm with her surprise release, I wouldn't be surprised if we saw her nominated for next year's awards. Please welcome F/N L/N performing Timeless!"

You were already seated at the piano when the curtains were drawn back. Although the song wasn't a piano ballad on the album, it felt right for this performance. You wasted no time getting started once the cheers died down.

Down the block there's an antique shop and something in my head said stop, so I walked in. On the counter was a cardboard box and the sign said "Photo's 25 cents each."

They were some very literal opening lines, and unsurprisingly the memories were flooding through you. You were out walking around the city, trying to clear your head, when you stumbled upon an antique store. The photos on the counter were the very first inspiration for lyrics to the vague idea of a song.

Black and white, saw a 30s bride and two lovers laughing on the porch of their first house. The kind of love you only find once in a lifetime. The kind you don't put down. And that's when I called you, and it's so hard to explain, but in those photos, I saw us instead.

It was so easy to envision Steve in the 30s, you couldn't help but put yourself in these photos with him. Your lives would be so different if you'd met back then, but there wasn't a doubt in your mind that you would love him just the same.

And, somehow, I know that you and I would've found each other. In another life, you still would've turned my head.

This was something you'd told Steve over and over. Every time he felt unsure of being in this time, you said "I would love you in any life, Steve. Any life. I'm just glad you found me in this one." You really had to gear up for the first chorus. It had one of the most telling, and therefore nerve wracking, lines.

Even if we'd met on a crowded street in 1944, and you were headed off to fight in the war. You still would've been mine. We would've been timeless.

Steve was slack jawed as he listened to your song for the first time. The way you were able to take the little memories and build such a beautiful melody out of them astounded him. His emotions were suddenly overwhelming, and there was now way for him to runaway from them this time.

I would've read your love letters every single night, and prayed to god you'd be coming home alright. And you would've been fine. We would've been timeless.

It wasn't that far off from this reality. Anytime Steve was on a mission, he'd write you letters to read while he was away. After the first time, you started writing letters for him to take with him as well. Even if the two of you couldn't talk on the phone, you had something from the other to tide you over.

'Cause I believe that we were supposed to find this. So even in a different life, you still would've been mine. We would've been timeless.

There was that line about a different life again. Steve already felt like he was living a different life, and somehow you knew exactly how to express what he was feeling while simultaneously reassuring him of your own love.

I had to smile when it caught my eye, there was one of a teenage couple in the driveway. Holdin' hands on the way to a dance and the date on the back said 1958. Which brought me back to the first time I saw you. Time stood still like something in this old shop.

Steve could still easily picture the very first second he saw your face. He wanted to be anywhere but Tony's party, having just come back from a mission that was only moderately successful. They had saved the hostages, but the Hydra agents managed to escape. He wanted nothing more than to track them down and being at the party would only delay everything.

When Tony brought you around for introductions, he found the mission had slipped entirely from his head. You somehow managed to lighten the mood without knowing why he was so grumpy, earning an uncharacteristic laugh from Steve still in Captain mode.

It was no surprise to anyone at the party when the two of you spent the rest of the evening together. Sitting at the bar, or the rare slow dance meant you could continue the never ending conversation.

Steve found himself so lost in thought, he missed most of the second verse and chorus. It wasn't until Bucky nudged him that he refocused on your words.

We're gonna be... I'm gonna love you when our hair is turnin' gray. We'll have a cardboard box of photos of the life we've made. And you'll say, "Oh my, we really were timeless."

You could feel the tears building through the second chorus and the bridge, but the third chorus really broke you down. You didn't understand why Steve decided it was best to break up and never getting that closure was taking its toll. You couldn't stop the few tears from falling, the notes that followed uncharacteristically wobbly.

We're gonna be timeless, timeless. You still would've been mine. We would've been... Even if we'd met on a crowded street in 1944. You still would've been mine. We would've been...

Steve could hear the tears in your voice easier than he could see them. His moment of weakness was haunting him as his own tears started to fall. He brushed them away quickly, forcing himself to hold it together until you were done.

Down the block there's an antique shop and something in my head said stop, so I walked in.

It was clear to him now more than ever that he was so wrong. He let his insecurities get the better of him, and messed up the single greatest thing that had come from being in this century.

With the show nearly over, he didn't think anyone would notice his absence. Instead of returning to his seat at the end of the commercial break, he slipped out a side exit. He wanted nothing more than to talk to you, but had no way of finding you.

"Steve!" He turned at the sound of a familiar voice calling his name. To his surprise, your manager was standing just a few feet away. "She left right after the song, said she's too tired for the afterparty."

Steve nodded, unsure why she was telling him.

"Here's her current address. Code to the elevator is 0704," she winked, passing him a slip of paper. Understanding dawned on him, and he wanted to scream.

"Thank you, Gina. Really," he managed to control the maelstrom of emotion, subtly slipping outside as quickly as he could. He was meant to ride home in the hired car with the rest of the Avengers, but your address wasn't too far from the Garden. He opted to walk, slowly transitioning into a run as his desperation grew. The flash of cameras followed him down the street, but with his speed he outpaced them quickly enough. He had one thing on his mind and one thing only, fixing things with you.

The pounding on your door scared you more than you'd care to admit. Nobody should be able to reach this floor without the code, but still. The knocking had an air of desperation that you wouldn't expect from anyone visiting right now. Gina was the logical choice, but was skipping the afterparty that big of a deal?

You had planned to double check through the peephole, but before you reached the door, the very last voice you'd have expected sounded clear through the door.

"Y/N? Gina, she gave me the code. I just, I need to apologize. I... I fucked up." He stalled, in nearly as much disbelief as you at hearing the words fall out of his mouth.

You swung the door open, gesturing for him to come in. You didn't trust yourself to speak. Hell, you barely trusted yourself to look at him. Once you both settled on the couch, you finally risked a glance.

Steve looked more distraught than you'd ever seen him, but his lack of explanation still left you reeling. He seemed to be at a loss for words himself until you looked at him.

"We really are timeless, huh?" he tried easing into things, instantly regretting his choice of words when you nearly vaulted off the couch.

"Steve, what the hell? You break up with me with no explanation and show up quoting my own lyrics to me?" your words lacked the anger you wished you could express, too raw from the performance to cover the dimensions of hurt. The tears were quick to return to your eyes as Steve slowly approached you.

He grabbed your hands in his and when you showed no signs of pulling away, tried again. "I made the biggest mistake of my life that day. Not just in not explaining, but in deciding I knew what was best for you. In thinking I was doing the right thing by giving in to my fears.

"You are single-handedly the greatest person I've ever known. And I overheard these women saying you could have anyone and do anything... I managed to convince myself that you deserved more. To pretend like breaking up with you was noble and not because I was afraid you'd come to the same conclusion as them"

"Steve," you shook your head, a few tears falling. You were at a loss for words. For the last two months, you thought he just fell out of love with you. His reasoning, although flawed, was reassuring. Still, it didn't undo the hurt he caused.

"I should've known better. And I can't undo what I've already done, but I can promise to never doubt you again. To come to you with my insecurities and listen to your voice when mine isn't strong enough. And I hope I can be that person for you in life- to reassure you when you feel lost." He took a deep breath before continuing, "I love you and if you'll have me again, I want to be timeless with you."

You could feel yourself squeezing his hands tighter and tighter as he spoke, trying to funnel the overwhelming emotions into physical exertion instead of tears.

"I love you too," you whispered, voice breaking on a fresh wave of tears. You wrapped your arms around him, letting him lead you back to the couch. You still had a lot to discuss, but right now, you just wanted him to hold you.

Bonus:

A few hours later, after many discussions about ignoring gossip and coming to each other with your problems, Steve finally managed to work up the nerve to voice once more question.

"Is the rest of the album about loving me, or is there a breakup song on there? Because I can handle it, but I might need some warning."

You stared at him for a beat before the question really sunk in.

"You haven't listened to any of it?" you confirmed. When he nodded, you just smirked. "While, I guess you'll find out right now then."

You knew it was 13 songs expressing different kinds of love for him, but you would let him sweat it out for the next 57 minutes.

a/n: here are the songs I envision on the album lol:

Timeless, Call It What You Want, Sweet Nothing, Daylight, New Year's Day, invisible string, Dress, False God, Paper Rings, Cornelia Street, evermore, Today Was A Fairytale, Lover

taglist:

Permanent: @averyhotchner @jesuswasnotawhiteman @strawberryspence @andrwgxrfield @jswessie187 @ellobruv @alohastitch0626

Marvel: @leyannrae @livstilinski @oceaniamaddness @justreadingficsdontmindme @ladydmalfoy @freyathehuntress

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers fic #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers #steve rogers x singer!reader #captain america x reader #steve rogers fluff

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