#fic: insufferable | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

joannasteez · 4 months

Text

stay, please

pairing: roman reigns x blackreader warning: ANGST.. smut . explicit descriptions! so minors please do not interact! word count: 10k ... now that we found love, what are we gonna do, with it? ...

all that time ago, when you'd first met him, your acknowledgement of roman was flimsy, a shell of nothing, but the simple words and pretty smiles made him run warm all the same. "my tribal chief", you'd say, airy and teasing, void of awe. he was big and strong, hubris making him this mountain of a man, but he was just that, nothing more than a man, and you'd seen enough men to know that they did not differ much. they groaned in time with their irritations, made their problems yours. lusted wild and unapologetically. they demanded everything, in their time, in their way, and gave what little that they wanted. and roman reigns, the tribal chief, was no different.

his eyes, suggestive and sharp, had taken to the fit of your ring gear easily. the shaping of the fabrics in places and in others, the lack thereof, pulling his interest till his fixations melted something warm and devious into your skin. he'd approach you wolf like, this stalking pace as if to circle prey. grinning amused. "i think you can do better than that for me. a little more enthusiasm".

and he was a tower then, still is now, strides long, full of leisure. your eyes peered from under the fan of your lashes, indulging the domineer of his presence with the coyness of good prey. you'd done well to make the game, the chase, or whatever this was for him, at least somewhat entertaining if not completely so.

you'd indulged. leaned into the mass of him, one small step forward after another till the air had no choice but to be shared between the both of you. a finger lifting to trace faint over the lettering of his shirt. and it'd taken everything not to fall then, not to give in to the pull of him, like some small wayward celestial object fighting against the orbit of a great star. the heady note of his smell, the strong comfort of his warmth, the height of him, the sure soft ways his eyes drifted over you, like he'd just known without complete expression of words or deeds that you were his.

your touch had turned more firm then, from one finger to your palm, slipping down till it played at his abs. and a grin had curled, amused now too, feeling the rushing in his blood. "i can be a whole lot better for you, you gotta earn that though".

but your words, so teasing and strong then, built firm and made off your tongue to last, were not as reliable as you'd thought they'd be, for the gravity of him was this overwhelming thing. and before the rush of it could settle, before the excitement of lust could wane, you found yourself with him at every corner or surface available. your legs wrapped in his, your lips wet and your tongue tangled, pushing and licking to taste him. your breaths caught forever, short and desperate as they fought to be full. he felt good and the heat of him melted the worry in your bones, until it didn't.

until the fun of it became dense, so much so that it was unbearable. his touch becoming more nailed into the skin of you, and his words fixing quiet, each more vulnerable than the ones before them. these heavy sinking whispers in the night, your bodies laying sated and damp, thighs aching and your blood rushing smooth just after release. arousal still sticky between your legs where his hands and mouth had been. from him came these words, forming to sound like something similar to forever. but by then it was too late, to stop, to take back, to slip away from under him.

and in the midst of fighting and failing to keep away from his body, and his quiet bed time passions, creatives of the smackdown brand championed the idea of a more feminine edge to the bloodline. someone who could rough and tough it, take a bump and bounce back for more. someone who could smile and charm and manipulate. someone who could, in the blink of an eye turn vicious if need be. a character that had draw, that could have the crowd eating from their palm. and though yes, roman was not starved of womanly support by way of the viewership, the faction was in sore need still of a lighter touch. something, or rather someone less naturally brutish, that did not wreak of ego or that larger than life self importance. and so, from a charismatic mid-carder, to the upper echelon, you rose and dominated as an entity connected to the infamous crew.

the full silver of your ring gear slowly altered to accommodate the overwhelming red and black, his colors, till there was a more even mix. and it all spoke without words, the black and red these leading lines, binding you to the one called the tribal chief.

a botched spot in the ring kept you away for some time. a few months of recovery, the perfect amount of time to go cold turkey from roman.

and though he called and texted and face timed, his constant travels and your inconsistencies left him hallow. an emptiness that soon would leave his ego to pulse with a bruising pain. he thought, in the midst of all those months of your recovery, that it was just the tingling in his fingers that he needed gone, these simple bouts of lust that could be easily remedied. but it was more than that it seemed. aches in his chest and this drawing pull in his skin. a helpless sort of longing.

he wrestled harder in those months, brutal, bordering relentless. when you wouldn't answer at all, or would only answer with few words, he pushed the fire of his anger, drove it through muscle and nerve, about the bones that built him till it was all he could feel.

why the fuck were you dodging him?

and all that fire, that white hot anger, attempting to purge his bones of you, flared and burst wild till it could no longer. flared to consume him till it proved shallow and here you were, under his eyes again. the silver-red-black of your ring gear calling his fingers to run against it, the tips where his nerves live itching to flex and curl into your skin. the curve in there where your hip dips, the muscles in him remembering well as the feelings there form back to life with excitement.

you look as good as you did pre-injury. maybe even a little better.

he makes himself known, the tone of him rich, stunning. something dark amidst the allure. you'd forgotten how well it arrested you.

"hows your arm?"

"bendable, so it's fine".

you do little to acknowledge him, afraid of what even a little eye contact can do to the strength of already weak resolve, but you move your newly healed arm about rather flimsily, showing him just enough so he can go about his business.

the carpet ruffles with his every step. closer and closer he gets. your heart knocking into your chest. "recovery must've been good, should've been", his breath warm and feathering along your neck. your fingers moving with a slight shake as you make to clean an already clean vanity. "had to have been", his fingers taking a small trace over your shoulders to hold you there, "cause i barely heard a thing from you". his thumbs sooth into the fabric, soft and remembering.

your breath hitches, the tip of his nose running small at the line of your neck. and none of those months of recovery mean anything in the slightest, save for the healing of your arm. your pulse quickens and beats harsh, same as it did before, skin taking to a slight tremble as the warmth of him surrounds you here. and your own fingers, working to burrow into the hard shape of the vanity, itch to touch him too, though something nags at you to fight against him. to war with the resolute way his touch fastens to your body.

"i didn't realize you were my keeper".

he sighs, slightly annoyed by the way your words fight to push against his own, but it doesn't stop the straying of his lips along your skin. skimming where they please till they pull in to leave a faint kiss at your pulse. "you've been ignoring me".

"apparently not enough".

he laughs, pulls your hips close till they flush against him, and laughs some more. his mouth parting just at the shell of your ear. "you're not convincing", his fingers flexing, a firm pulling as they make their way to play between your thighs at the fabric covering where they'd itched and feened to be. "not even a little bit".

and how you'd gotten here, falling so fast back into him to be consumed, back into the deft maneuver of his fingers and the heat of his mouth, was not at all lost on you. just as similar as it was not all that lost on him either, to feel your skin and the faint release of your breaths. fighting on his own for months to undo you from him, all for nothing. both affected in full by the other, thirsty and bordering impatient. and when he curls in past the stretchy material to slip against the wet of your slit, your hips move with a mind all their own, seeking a harsher friction.

heat braces your skin, head lulling forward. your hips shifting rigid, fighting to still and losing as they chase the smooth circling of his touch. "roman", breathy. urgent.

"no, no, no, no, no", his free hand firmly at your neck. an upward motion to reveal your eyes again. "you don't run from me, not when you want it this badly". his finger slipping further to sink in knuckle deep. the push in of them lax and patient. a pace he takes to feel you throb for him. with every second, the length of it steeping in the soaked mess of you.

you gather words, a sloppy attempt to fire back at him and it fails as you moan through it. "who said i wanted this or you".

"you know what it is babygirl", the speed of his touch urged on by his ego. his need to prove you wrong. you want him, you want him and he knows it. if not for words then he knows it with how eager your hips grind into his fingers. the slip of your pussy easy and hungry as it pulses. so much so that it resounds into the dead air of the dressing room, the tune of it forcing his hips to rut into you. "you don't want it, you tell me and i stop". he breathes hot and hectic into your skin, into your neck, kissing between takes of air. fingers thick and glistening under harsh fluorescent lights as they curve in to fuck you deep. "c'mon, tell me how much you don't need it, how much you don't need me", eyes brown and blistered. of course you needed him, of fucking course you do how could you not? when he needed you. "c'mon sweetheart, tell me so i can leave". a tear struck the apple of your cheek, a simple roll that told of everything. your skin twitched and your muscles ached, ready to feel the draw out of release, but the cage of your chest rattled, flaming with a need to say something long unspoken.

but to do it, to say it, would be worse than breaking a bone. worse than the raw opening of slit skin. to give in to him, would be the end of it all.

"fuck", a whimper breaking. wrecking the strength of your voice. your hips working to rut against the curl in of his fingers. your head lulls at an angle to sink into his chest. hands free from the vanity as you grab to hold onto him. "keep it there baby, please".

"yeah?", his neck craning to take your lips with his. tongue messy and suckling. and his fingers move with vigor, arm taut and muscle bound, veins striking against his skin. something similar to lightning. "and when you come what do you say?"

your breath catches and the sharp ways of your vision blur. the coil wound up in your core bursting wild at the seams as you rut and drip against the softening thrust of roman's fingers. your lips trembling as words flow hot and feverish. "th-thankyouthankyouthankyou".

even if the body was not made to do so, you could fly high, tumble, knock into, break at, and push over just about anything in ring. it's what made the rise from the mid-card so satisfying. it's what made the star studded rivalries so well anticipated and stunning. women of a particular caliber, head to head, their bodies and their wits and their wills stressed and strained until only one remained. at it's core, the work all by it's lonesome was easy. tiresome yes, but the pursuit of winning, that bright gold belt about the waist, was all a singleminded affair. easy. but the presence of him was, is, a storm. difficult to escape. reckless. ungovernable. and it seemed that the drifting of his eyes to find you and the remnants of his touch could not be undone. like a deep soldering under your skin, at the hard make of your bones.

he lingered, and beyond the shallow 'i don't want you's', the cut of your eyes and that cold far away disposition, something like need teemed, warm and fettered to your fingers, pressing slow into his skin, the fabric of his t-shirt, slipping into his hair. just before the quiet, when ecstasy was it's loudest, he could feel it running into him like nails, 'stay', etching red and raw into his flesh. and then a soothing kiss, more passionate, wordless but tender all the same, 'stay please'.

your inconsistencies were nearly earsplitting. i want him, i won't. i need him, no i don't. it made even the prestige of the women's world championship lackluster.

you'd won, your waist decorated in gold, but the true excitement of such a grand moment could not reach you beyond the loose way liquor paints your tongue. skin racing warm and control undone. the floor moving with this deep hard shudder, bass bleeding out. the air is thick from bodies, from the unintelligible roar of people. but what is clear, beyond the blur that comes for the eyes after chilly shots of espolon, is him. roman smiling in that faithful way that he does, wolf like, suggestive. clever and telling in the way that it so clearer reminds you of how small and good you can be as prey. something for him to take. to hold and guide and pull and pry at till he’s full. but that look of allure is not for you, no he'd done something fucked. he'd gone and found someone else to look at like that, some woman near the edge of the bar too oblivious and taken by the size of him to know that it was all a game.

a game you were losing at. your lips wet from the bits of your next shot that seemed to miss your tongue. you were too loose, too hot, too lethal. it was just barely easy to play the game when it was you, denying him and tugging along that thinly wound string that tethered itself from you to him, but when he made his moves to do the same, it wrecked you well.

tore you asunder. this deep splitting at the heart till you were left raw to the open air.

'fuck him, you're the women's world champion', the espolon steeped so well into you that it speaks. 'say it', persistent. you turn from him, your head lulling as your mouth greets another shot of that smooth tequila taste. 'sayitsayitsayit'

"fuck him".

but is it believable? the harsh bite and break of words as drunk lips form around them, bound to such a severity that only comes with the pain of pain.

the harsh bass nearly breaks your ears and makes your body tremble. you would like to leave, to tear your eyes away from them, from him, but you would also like to stay.

"you play right into his hand when you do that", a mouth near your ear persists above the noise. the well fitted dress of a button up forgotten for something sloppier and indicative of the loose, dancing, club energy. cody rhodes' face just a few ways away from beet red as he holds chilly water in one hand.

and there are crueler things in the world, things that grind against the spirit till it's worn and faint, but nothing pricks against the heart more in this moment than that woman’s fingers lingering against romans. the charm of her smile luring him in as she mouths to him unrecognizable things. "he wants to spite me, let him".

cody snorts, lazily throws his arm about you. "it wouldn't be anything you've never done". and you think maybe you hate the sense of his logic and his friendship. the filterless way he says things. so forthright, so readymade.

"fuck you, wheres the loyalty".

his cheeks pull high into the creasing corner of his baby blue eyes. fully amused. he probably thinks you're a damn joke, and maybe it's true, in the petulant ways you avoid and revert inward.

he hands you the cup of water and you sip it willingly, wishing maybe though that its something else.

"he'll play cat, you'll play mouse, he'll fuck you and hint at what you fear most, you'll run and we'll be right back to where we are now. so what the fuck's up with the preamble".

you shove the cup of water into his chest, picking up one of the many shot glasses that stand still on a tray. the taste of it not so dissimilar to water. he frowns, watching on as you glare into the emptiness of the shot glass. sometimes, in these short moments, when you crave things you aim to kill, he worries.

"didn't realize all my shit was so entertaining". you look angry, sound that way even, but the melodramatic coupling of words tell him you drift more towards a sullen pain than to anger.

"no, entertainment isn't this boring", he quips and you jab your elbow into his stomach. just enough to make him grunt before the break into a fit of little laughs.

but then you set the glass down and turn in to face him, to nuzzle closer into where your forehead meets his collarbone. eyes forming with hints of a glassiness that lend themselves to vulnerability.

roman's eyes take to looking about the club, instinctively, falling against the warmth of your embrace with cody. fire forms in his chest, aches with a burning.

your voice leaves off soft into cody's ear, muffled in the fabric of his shirt. "it won't work. not in any way that matters".

"you don't know that"

"i've been played before. i'm not new to games".

cody rubs soothing into your shoulder, the compassion making you melt in that drunken way that leads to the welling of a tear.

"games aren't made to last, that's why they get played, and why people play them. if it's real then it's real".

"is this what it is now? you don't speak when you see me?"

dead air and his own words, tired in their anger. 'how long can i go, before i break?', but the break came quickly, the silence disrupting him. he rests but not really, stands there idle as if to feign the strength of a stable man but his nerves stir with ill-control. they flip and they twitch, crashing up against the inner parts of him. you won't speak, and your eyes don't meet. and when the job forces your hand, you grow cold in this subtle way. warm still but a biting chill just like at the cusp of spring. and your lips become these masters of brevity. and he wants to say it here —where his blood rushes irate, wrought by adrenaline— that he isn't too far from hating you. your skin, your touch, your voice, your face, the pull of your lips when you smile, all the things that make him lov-

"we work together, i talk to you all the time".

and even in all this, he couldn't not move closer to you. one foot in front the other till he was arms length. "promos and in-ring action aside, y'know what i mean".

you fight your own urges. to meet his eyes, to touch him, to fall beyond the bounds of those drunken whispers from nights passed where you cursed his name. "it should stay like that, professional. it's cleaner this way, safer".

he scoffs. something like a tower now the way he stands over you.

"yeah?", smirk mirthless. "and what, me fucking you out back behind an arena ain't clean? you bendin' over in a dressing room ain't safe enough anymore?" each word slightly louder than the last.

"keep you voice down", you hiss.

"or what?", his eyes sharp and narrowing. scrutiny burned into the brown of them. "everything you do is convenient for you". and his lips spread in that mirthless way again, bordering disgust. "you get scared so you pull away, you feel good again and come runnin' back. you ain't never fit me in for consideration, not once, unless it meant me sticking my dick in you".

and when blood is drawn, words like venom dripping into raw split skin, isn't it only appropriate to do the same? to do him in with the violence he so easily struck with first?

"once upon a time i didn't have to consider you", meeting him with words, cold and mocking. "i paid you fucking dust and when i did acknowledge you, you were grateful for it". vexed and thrilled, you watch the silent ways his rage manifests. the flaring in his nose and the shifting in his jaw. beneath where heaps of muscle lie, just there at his chest, falters this steady beating. a deep plunging of his ego. it makes you smile, nicks pain into your heart just the same. "maybe we should revisit that and stay there, and not be so damn emotional about it".

he recedes into something like pity. "whoever he was before me, he did a number on you".

it's this rupturing that hurts the most. the pain of it, a distant memory long remembered. this great big wound. raw and the skin so tattered still and messily undone. "you don't know me".

"exactly", roman urges. still above it all, wanting to know something. the slightest thing. anything.

you leave, slamming the dressing room door.

it was as if the spite of him, that which that'd already existed —a small, near idle thing, had reared it's head to tear through him again. seemingly more brutal than before. whether cruel or not, whether it worked or not, he'd made the effort, against his better judgement to see you bend. not to break no, but to see something other than the usual push and pull that became the mainstay of whatever this thing was between the two of you. that night at the club—his own go at drawing up some jealousy, an attempt at cracking your little shell of resistance, to see if you even cared, but still he didn't know. not for sure anyways. so here he was, needy, spiteful, and a short ways away from brutal as sweat broke from his brows and a frustrated groan from his lips. hips swinging in lethal, teeth gritting, and the core of him coiling tight.

he couldn't remember her name, no, but she was too similar to pass on. she ran just parallel enough to you that it could work. similar skin tone, the nonchalance, the coy silence of the eyes, sly slim touches that roughed into something harsh—near skin splitting. but when she spoke, the puzzle piece couldn't quite fit. her pitch too bright, not bitty enough. it didn't wreck through him the same, didn't rush in to him or thrum his blood but he couldn't complain about it, not when the chase of his release was so close. just palpable enough to satisfy.

roman took a mild shifting, hiking up a leg to leave the other bent, his foot nailing further into the hotel bed sheets, all to work his hips deeper.

her face ran into the sheets, mascara smudging dark into the clean white. "mhmm- fuck! i-", her hips fluid, rolling against the swing of roman's. words nearly undone, breaths close to finishing. "pleasepleaseplease".

she pulsed about him, hips rocking to chase the burning in her limbs, the harsh twist up of her core. and where he dug into her she fought to keep him there, soaked and clenching but it just barely came close. she hugged him for dear life, fucked on him till she couldn't take him to the hilt anymore. attempted to possess him even, with sultry moans and the allure of whispered begging. everything he liked, everything he wanted but it didn't quite fit. everything lacked by only half of a half step but it all mattered. and it was evident you made the difference.

the lazy trace of your lips, the delirium you took—even in rare bouts of aggression—the burn of your touch like a piercing in his skin. the dulling of your eyes, till they rolled overwhelmed and undone. the shivers in your skin and the submission of your body, the skin and bones of you left for him to form back together.

he missed you, and yes of course he wanted to fuck you, completely break you in that faithful way that he did in times past, where you'd rush in dainty, words like feathers, thankyouthankyouthankyou, but he also wanted to hold you. wanted to mold himself to you till he was unsure of where he ended and you began. he wanted breath stealing kisses that rolled lazy and thick. he wanted to still the shivers in your body, wanted to caress you through the burden of release and even after, he wanted to keep you there. safe in the strength of him.

and it was here, in these thoughts, where he found the feeling. the pulling in his gut strong and subduing, tugging away from the wet mess of her to release. thick ropes against her skin as he groaned.

"fuck......".

your name slipping through. unabashed and clear as day.

roman winces, feels the recoil of it in his flesh. this awkward reversion where his body fights not to cave in on itself out of embarrassment.

why the fuck would he do that?

but she's moving before he can do anything, cleaning herself till she's rid of him. and damn it, why can't he remember her name? his back flopping into the sheets, an arm thrown over his eyes. he's tired and ill feeling, somewhat ashamed.

the woman saunters in, some ways from disgust. such a beautiful man, so obviously successful, and seemingly hung up on a woman who cares less than a fuck about him. thats what she can gather anyways. her fingers helping her slip her clothes back on. she grows curious.

"who is she?"

roman looks to her, realizing just how much she doesn't look like you at all. beautiful but not you.

"what?"

her eyes roll. that small sliver of curiosity done away with as she shuffles to adjust her heels."if your'e gonna finish all over me, the least you can do is remember my name".

she makes for the bedroom door of the luxury suite, leaving roman to fall deeper into his own silence. her voice carries, sweet and mocking.

"your little nda is signed. thanks for making me come".

roman grunts in response. feeling the slight rattle of the slammed door.

from the chill of new york city winter weather, to the warmth of one of the city's many luxurious hotels, came a firm dulling of the nights mixture of cocktails and whatever other light liquor your dear friend cody rhodes had decided was good enough for you. and what a dear friend indeed, always so caring, so righteous and so fucking motherly. his every word soft and urbane — "slow down, take this water, no more of that drink"—and his every look one of knowing and pity, until his glassy blue eyes and lisp-y mouth became resolute, even when in their own drunkenness, going as far as to putting you in a car and shipping you back to where you were now, at the hotel. "you're not even having fun, go sleep", his lips pulling into a gentle pout. his arms a warm embrace till they were gone, and you were ducking sullenly into an SUV.

he was all you could think about.

...whoever he was before me, he did a number on you...

and with so little said, roman had done you in to a silent sort of suffering. this shoddily made shell of something —your heart— playing at nonchalance, completely destroyed. stripped now, naked and fearful of whatever is to follow. the possibility, whether with or without him, the unknown, left you stunned, ill even.

...should you call?... fingers itching to reach, to slip against his contact ...but would he answer?... or would he, and rightfully so, do you the quieted sort of violence you'd done to him, time and time again?... those brutal ways your lips refused to speak, and when they did their words like daggers. your eyes never meeting, and when they came upon him, they bore over him icy and displeasured. like he was a nuisance, or even worse, a stranger. and the desertion of your touch, once upon a time, when the drive of lust and adoration was new in him, seemed that it would never leave. yes, you'd understand, but fuck if it wouldn't hurt, wouldn't pierce the greater parts of you, where strength of the ego and desire lives.

but its only when the phone rings that all hesitancy of the moment breathes hard. knocks unceremoniously against free inhibitions till you're wishing for him to ignore you. maybe, right here, right now, making the effort is enough, maybe it's all you need to say ...i did it, i tried... and nothing else. your whispers rushed and a bit scared and waiting. "don't answer, don't answer don't answer".

the ringing stops. he answers.

your breathing is soft, but present, the only thing that sings amongst the silence of him. what is this? after the callousness, the hardy stones you'd thrown into the glass of his resolve in an attempt to break him.

he's tired but not really. done but not really. he sighs, fingers roughing through his beard. "yeah?"

you giggle, breathy. a bit unnerved. your words rolling off, slightly slurred still. "thought i'd get your voicemail", you wonder how he looks, if his heart threatens to beat beyond the cage of his chest the way it does yours. "didn't think you'd answer".

he's quiet. breathing. "why'd you call?"

"you sound nice". the little thats left of the tequila pouring over your tongue into words. even in his tiredness he sounded beautiful. rich and dark and alluring. "did i wake you?"

"no". but he can't help himself, in being curious, in caring. "you alright?"

"i'mfine, ijust...i-"

"you sound drunk".

"tipsy".

"how much did you have?", a question but more so a command. the authority threaded in his voice lulling you in. it makes you shiver with need. makes you want to touch him.

"mhmm idon'tknow rome". and he can hear your shifting over the sheets, as you shift over answers to give him, that would satisfy him. you wanted so badly, despite your fears, to satisfy him. "a shot, a drink or two".

"lightweight for real", he chuckles. "who were you with?"

"cody. he got my uber".

is it so bad?, when the hour is late?, to think of seeing you, even if the thought is little and fleeting and ways away from dangerous? "you here at the hotel?"

"damn", and you're laughing. giddy at the way he worries. reeling with sarcasm "you want me to share my location?"

"watch yourself".

"yes sir".

and here the air is hesitant, forming fragile and ill-informed of whats to come. it shapes about the both of you wearily and groans even in it's stillness of how ill-suited it is at holding the ambivalence of this... love, lust, longing or whatever it is twisting about the both of you. it yearns for something new, for something unweighted and free and sweet.

roman asks you again. curiosity breaking a heaviness into the weight of him. "why'd you call?"

your bed sheets pinch and ruffle between your fingers, taking on the burden of your anxieties. "i figured if i went out...i'd-i'd get a little courage yknow? a drink or two and then i could call you, could hear your voice".

"hear my voice huh?", his jaw clenching. tone one of full mocking and scrutiny. after everything, all that was said, something like venom off your tongue in a means to poison his resolve, and now you wanted to hear from him? "and all that big talk, all that mouth and bravado, paying me dust and keepin it how it used to be", smiling mirthless. "what happened to that? where'd that go?"

you shiver, cold despite the warmth of the room. "i don't know roman".

"you don't?"

"i don't wanna argue with you".

"what do you want then? tell me so i know".

"it doesn't matter", something like a grin running through your lips, sullen and wistful. formed only by the sweet safety of what if's and what could be's, because those were always easier. "you'd leave". a single tear slips against your cheek. "you'd get bored after a while and you'd leave".

...but he isn't him, whoever that other man was, or could be, the one that'd seemingly broken you...

he sighs. "you're afraid of somethin that ain't happen".

"yet", you add.

"it's not going to".

"you don't know that".

"you don't either". and of course the fight is natural, this insistent war where true desires of the heart are subdued to the will of something comfortable and simple, because love, even at its easiest, proved always to be tedious and demanding. "i don't make it a habit of getting played".

"i don't make it a habit of playin", sincerity filling him whole. "how i've felt... how i feel still, about you? it's always been real sweetheart".

another tear and then another, till your skin is warm and nerves flustered. your chest tightening as your mouth trembles. "don't fault me for being scared, please?"

"clean slate. we can start over".

"ok".

and that restless buzzing, the harsh rushing of the city — cars and trains and people— works easy to overcome the natural fall of silence. breaths passing, his and then yours, one after the other and then together, in waiting, eager but unsure.

the emptiness is unsettling. makes you restless. urges the drive in his muscles to move.

your hand splays against a pillow, fingers curling in soft, your voice even softer. "what side of the bed are you laying on?"

"left side".

you hum. imagining him. hair splayed, long and gentle. "i hate the left side".

"i know", he smiles, small like and imaginative. thinking of older memories, where your legs find themselves curling against his own.

"it's empty, my left side".

"yeah?"

"yeah".

possibility, this mighty rushing in his blood.

"whats your room number?"

there was nothing flimsy about this, the gentle pull of his lips, tongue slipping cautioned but ready all the same, his fingers and palms seemingly made to do and withstand the brute force of many things but taking the time instead to hold you dearly. to savor with his touch what his lips cannot. but when the well of patience in him fills to the brim, when it overflows and floods him unsparingly, his persistence has no choice but to do the same. and your knees threaten to buckle, threaten to kill your resolve, as he cradles your head with one hand and the other anchored firm at your jaw —thumb and pointer— his kiss growing wetter, tongue sharper. because the time away —where neither of you could do more than fight and throw stones and break and avert, gazes and words and touches and thoughts and feelings— felt like forever. and then came the standstill, the white flag. clear air and even clearer intentions, over a phone call of all things. with simple words of the heart.

roman figured if anything, he was making up for lost time. your palms taking to his beard, thumbing over his cheeks, mouth forming soft over his.

you felt good, he felt good, but not so much that it couldn't be true.

and here, where you feel the abandon of his control grow, you break from his mouth, trying and failing to grab for something on a nearby shelf. but he's faster, reaches to grab the outstretch of your arm, flying it over his shoulder. his breath warm and enticing, rushing a thrumming in your blood as he nips the skin there. teasing.

your nails take this tender clawing into his nape, dipping into silky hair. "i thought we were taking it easy?"

his words mix between the twist of his lips. "we are. your clothes are still on". kissing along your neck.

but he doesn't loom here, statuesque in his anger. doesn't suffer your resolve to threaten a breaking or diminishing to fold under the weight of a harsh truth. knowing whether or not if his words would split you raw for a vicious bout of bloodletting. no he doesn't loom here, but his standing is firm all the same. gentle minded and secure. immovable in the way that it refuses to let you go.

you wonder if jimmy and jey and solo and naomi can hear him in the pantry from where they are in the living room. hear his groaning, and the smack of his lips as he takes yours. hear his lust and his love and his longing.

you hum against him in bliss. "you make it very obvious that you want to eat me alive when you look at me like that in front of everybody".

"am i supposed to feel bad about that? because i don't".

"being lowkey goes a long way sometimes".

"yeah a little too long".

but that night had only been one of the first nights of this mending, this slow cautious maneuver of putting back together the broken pieces of whatever this thing was that had been brewing for sometime. and it isn't until you're sitting in a shared comfortable silence, sipping wine and tasting sweet deserts that the realization comes to you. that this —the sex and the passion and the strife— has only ever been a thing, something ill formed and without definite shape. uncategorized and hesitantly spoken of. it had all been rushed with hushed pleasures and secrecy, rendezvous and an inherent longing that would not, for fear of realer things, be spoken of.

but it was very clear now, as he dipped a spoon into tiramisu, that you needed him.

and the pace here is easy, as waiters and other patrons breeze by your table without rest, without wait, his eyes and his stillness forming well over the hold you have as you touch him idly. your palm at his knee, raising to take his hand in yours, fingers folding in, shy and feathered and bursting with a wordless affection.

from where you are, just a short lean in from his lips, his features are not so intimidating, not so all consuming in that daunting way he's perfected. his cheeks are freckled and round and the brown of his eyes are bright.

you kiss him, take that short lean in and meld your lips till he hums and thumbs your chin. because he isn't him if he doesn't touch you. doesn't hold fast to your warmth.

and even after you part, the intimacy laced in the air breathes slow and lingering. "thank you for being so patient with me, with everything". your fingers fiddle and caress over his. "i know i haven't made it easy for you".

"when it's something i want, i wait".

and wait he did, with a statues patience. but even the strength of statues fail, worn and weathered if left to stand against time and their own stillness. eventually they all crumble, some in such a poetic fashion that its destruction means more than its birth, and other's with a simple, unceremonious falling. but the undoing of roman's patience is fierce and alluring. and as you breathe short, in between the firm pull of his lips, water hot and raining against your skin, you feel the chipping away of that patience as well. and it isn't just the pouring in of the shower and the sweet warmth of soaps and candles, but the influence of him as well, melting underneath flesh and bone.

6:17 PM

the steam forms something amorous. thickens the anticipation and lulls your resolve into a surrendering. and the tight feeding of his fingers into your thigh doesn't help any, nailing sharp and greedy as they have your leg hooked about his waist, his tongue licking against yours. and here in the kiss his lust grows slow and exacting, in a means to savor. making you moan and forcing your hips to grind mindless. his body hard and wet and safe.

your fingers curl into the hair just at his nape, tugging to pull, to break his lips from yours, but he's fast and wanting, rushing in for another sweet assailment. groaning in time with his pleasures as his hips rut at your soft skin. you try again to break from him, to breathe even if the air suffocates you so, and he gives in. settles for fastening himself to you elsewhere, to supple skin, and to grinding his hard dick at you. his mouth roaming about your neck, nipping with his teeth and kissing gentle. a meager attempt to reigning himself in.

your touch wanders further into his soaked hair, mouth moving to trace his, to tease him. "we have a reservation for 9", you kiss him lightly. "i don't wanna be late".

he hums, rests his forehead to yours. taut fingers working your hips to a slow grind against his dick. working what nerves lay dormant in you to life.

"the restaurant is a 30 minute drive", his nose and mouth nestling into the plains of skin where your neck ends and your shoulder begins. drinking in the small breaking off of your moans. "plenty of time".

7:29 PM

and the minutes wandered away fast and teasing, forcing in an urgency as you fought hard to slip away from him and the heaviness of his desires. and it took much control, to part from his warmth and the heavy lust of his eyes. from the way his touch and his mouth maneuvered —with seductive method— and the heat of his cock laying at your skin, so terribly close to where you need him. but how odd the fear is here, after the pulling away of all that nasty pettiness and the settling of it, no longer scared of how much he would love you, or how well he could etch himself to the inside of you —with touches and deep words filled with passion— but now, weary of just how unbearable you would be. because it seemed now that he was stuck with you, and that if he would continue his affections with such an intensity, that you would have no choice but to return it. and even in this, your fears, your weariness of this love and lust and longing, were not so frightening at all. but exciting.

you're excited.

"tie or no tie?"

the bulk of his arm, where tattoos paint the skin, slip through a white button up. fingers deft as they take the time to do in each button.

"no tie".

your hands soothing over your skin with a warm smelling body butter. eyes trailing to his as he watches your hands work over your skin.

"and the jacket, yes? no?"

"yes to the jacket", but your answer barely registers, and how could it possibly do so clearly enough when the fabrics of your underwear form over your body the way that it does. everything about you soft and inviting to the touch as you approach him. your fingers undoing the top most buttons. the intricate designs of tattoos here at the curve of his pec peaking through. "and just leave this open a little". your palms smoothening away at the rest of his shirt, over his shoulders to adjust the already adjusted collar, fingers slipping against already buttoned buttons, and when the smallest wrinkle catches your eyes, you're already flattening it to straighten. and here he takes you in, arresting with silence and a never ending depth to his eyes that leaves you without words.

his mouth close enough, breaths are shared. and there is no other word to describe the scent of him other than divine.

you want to fall into him, as free as air and without hesitation.

his lips smile. "you're staring".

but it is justified, because shouldn't all beautiful things be looked upon with awe and a speechless sort of appreciation? shouldn't they be touched, the way you touch him, your palms possessing him to hold as you kiss him greedily and without wait. your tongue lashing through firm and without the mind to yield. moaning gentle into him and if not for his own strength he would fall to his knees. is this not how beautiful things should be treated? should they not be adored and reverenced? should he not pry at your skin the way that he does? dull nails sinking in to remember the forms they take as they go. your leg found slipping around his waist again as his fingers move swiftly to claw their way down till your panties push away helpless.

and he groans, lips parting only to find yours again, finding you warm and wet as his touch slips through the mess of your slit. and he wonders how long you've been like this, stewing in your own desires. his blood rushing hot and fast, feeling the heavy throb your body takes as he plays a teasing touch at your opening. something whiny and dainty tumbling off your tongue as you fight to reign in that wild burst of lust so loosely falling off your skin.

"roman", you warn. so small it nears a whisper.

"shhhh, relax", his finger dipping in to feel the heat of your pussy. a neediness to see you break bursting in the cage of his chest, his heart hammering at the sweet daze in your eyes. "just a little bit baby".

"we're gonna be late". you fight.

and you want to say how much you hate him, how much you hate the ease of his touch—such a terrible gentleness— and you hate how it makes you swoon, and throb harder, feeling the depth of his artful handlings. you fucking hate it, hate him, fuck, and your breath labors harsher than before, feeling the seam of his lips as they sit to hover above yours, and shit, his fingers stroking firmer than before, a slighter urgency in the pace that catches your breath and his eyes dim low but they hypnotize you, and no you don't, but, well yes you do hate him, but you don't, a moan stretching in sync from him and from you, and damnit you love him. love his touch and the proof of his lust, how naturally it is born from his love and his longings.

he can see the prickling in your eyes, the glassiness just before the burning brown of them. and you ruffle your face into his chest, into the balminess of his skin but he does not relent. and the sound your arousal makes as it coats his long fingers is lewd but it brushes over you warm and inviting. drives your waist to grind into his every stroke till release is sweet and so close.

the undoing is palpable, a licking flame against the skin. short tremors starting in your legs as you call to him. little whispers that beg, "please...please...please", hushed and slurred.

and just when it's there, it isn't, his fingers slipping out of you slow, wet still and gripping your ass to stop the mindless grinding your hips take.

"roman, no, what are you-", his lips kissing yours to stop the words and the worry. but he's kilt weeks, hell, months of such a lengthy build up, and your body rushes confused and unsatisfied. you pull from him, just enough to speak, feeling his palm caress into where he holds you. "what are you doing?"

"its almost eight", his body forsaking yours to step out of the bedroom. "need you to clean up and finish getting ready".

8:18

at your wrist

at the bend of your inner knees, your elbows

the skin of your neck just behind your ears

and just where your ankles roll inward.

his dress shoes click back into the bedroom to be met with an immediate assailment. but this violence is no violence at all, but rather a sweet, sultry thing. enticing. and he holds his wrist forward to check the time. 8:20. fuck the reservation, he thinks, stepping till he's behind you. eyes peering through the mirror, watching the delicate way you curl a thin brush over your eyelashes. a dark mascara that thickens and pulls the length and when you check the fruits of such minuscule labor, beautiful and satisfied, the crotch of his pants prove too thin, and uncomfortable. and as he dips his nose into your neck and molds his fingers to your hips, flushing you against him easy, you work into your nerves an air of dispassion. cleaning the dresser of miscellaneous things, fighting the urge to let him do whatever he wants with you.

and here, just behind your ear, the perfume proves to be intoxicating. his grip nailing in, curling to bring you impossibly closer. but his eyes never break. they hold, piercing hot and mischievous through the mirror.

in the silence you both suspend, weighing the importance of your plans.

he nestles into you. the fabric of your dress raising as his fingers pull.

and his voice makes you weak. thrums your blood.

"how important is this dress?".

"important enough", you hold against the balling his fist takes. "i paid money for it".

roman eases to his knees. undoes the neat knot he's made of his hair. he knows just how much you adore the feel of it. he pushes the fabric to rest above the curve of your hips. taps your right leg.

you lift it, angling it to rest your knee on the dresser. breathing labored. excited.

his own breath is warm at your skin, "and if we miss the reservation?" the sweet spice of your perfume meets him here too. his thumbs spreading you in a leisure manner.

anticipation consumes you. voice ragged. "it's not important".

he hums, delighted, his tongue lapping soft. testing and teasing. and your body leans forward, sensitive and longing, hips shifting away at such an intimate touch. but he holds firm, slipping wet through your slit again, continuously, his thumbs caressing where his grip tightens into your skin. and now that he's here, his patience to leave you undone forms new. bleeds a vigor about his every muscle and bone. your senses growing pliant above him, resolve melting as your hips shift to brush along the wet sweep of his tongue. and why he takes to such a leisure pace, you have no idea, but the pleasure simmering, fighting its way up the slope of your spine, grieves. wishing for something harsher. something less controlled.

the silence is remedied with a tender "please". teeth taking your lips to bite.

his mouth kissing, lingering, and you feel it spread. a smile. his mischief slipping into your skin before the inevitable pulling in, your clit caught, pulsing and needy as he sucks, thirsty and unstopping. and you feel arousal drip slow, glistening, his tongue catching it to savor. throat groaning as he shifts back forward to taste the fat of your clit. and though you stand above him, your hips shift ill-controlled and your voice leaves you soft and broken. belly coiling tight as his ministrations grow more singleminded by the second.

the nails of your fingers find their way to the roots of his hair, pulling him closer and running to soothe into his scalp. jaw dropped and gasping."feels so good baby".

and the slip of roman's tongue is lewd, caresses the swell of your clit as his mouth works your pussy. and as desperation mounts your bones, your other set of fingers tighten to hold against the dresser, arousal dripping its way past the onslaught of his mouth to run through his beard. the pricks of the hair there, rubbing your inner thighs to burn raw.

he grunts. "fuck", muffled and heated. dipping his tongue through till he's caressing the warmth of your walls. slow and reverential, savoring the tight clutch that holds him there.

white heat blankets your skin, fingers slipping to nestle through your slit, laying a dulcet touch to your clit. his tongue wide and gentle as it fucks you. and the sensation there is terribly sweet, solders hot and binding till your legs begin to tremble above him.

"roman", you call for him. tender and broken. he feels a blooming in his chest. heat and an eagerness. " 'm coming".

and the burden of that mounting coil shatters. pulses hard as you ride the sensation, fingers rubbing over the mess of your clit. thumb catching the soft nub to press against your pointer, trapping it to prolong that rich thrumming that flows about your skin. and roman takes to kissing you again, licking his tongue through the messiness of your release and kissing over your fingers.

8:50. the dinner reservation long forgotten.

but there are many other things forgotten besides white table cloth, wine glasses and intimately lit candles. the once so perfect button up he'd tucked into expensive slacks, now strewn about the floor, creased to hell next to the shine of abandoned shoes. and with all these things, left to be unremembered, is that mischievous sort of patience born from his teasing. where his touch was once salacious and mocking, unforgiving in the way it played well and denied pleasure better, is now just a filled shell of desperation. need running like flares of wild fire. and it shows here, as you sit atop the dresser, legs wrapped about him, the way roman aches and throbs, hot and demanding. cock thick and hard, reddened and leaking as he slips it through the stickiness of your slit.

his tongue growing sloppy, drunkly slipping over yours, pushing in the taste he'd savored so dearly. his skin teeming with a rushing, this great throbbing in his spine and the muscles in his core as he nestles the tip of his dick through the tight clutch of your heat. groaning in time with his pleasures as he sinks in, corralling your thighs forward to control the pacing, and deeper he goes till you're taking him to the hilt. the build of him seeming to crumble before your eyes, this mountain of a man trembling and undone by the warmth of you. delirium coursing fluid over bones as he stills to feel the softness and the pulsing. everything he'd missed, finally at his finger tips again.

and if not for the pain and the violence of it, you'd pull your nails through him. over taut skin and the great build of his muscles. not in a means to destroy, no, but in the hopes to consume him. a more permanent etching beneath his flesh where blood flows, just as he's done to you.

you hiss, breaths stuttered. mouth falling where the freckles at his cheeks live, balmy and heavy, attempting to find his mouth amongst the fall of his hair. to kiss him as he stretches you to take him. your fingers combing over the strays and flyaways, roughing your legs tighter to deepen the weight of him inside you.

you moan. something feathery and gentle. the fullness of him threatening to split your ears. and when his hips slip forward, fluid and strong, your fist knocks against the marble of the dresser. pain in your hand turning to pleasure else where.

"mhmgmh", his groan dark, feeling it rough up your body. and the carved marble of the dresser becomes more tainted by the second, the drag of him against the pulse and flutter of your heat so terribly charming. a soothing take to your pussy thats rigid enough to leave you breathless. and when your spine curls forward, head lulling to kiss the mirror, he leads with tongue to kiss your skin. "that's it right there huh?", but he needs no answer. pure evidence here, his dick rutting forward through the mess of you.

"yesss", stressed and drawn out.

the gentle pull of you, flexing wet and tight, a cureless addiction. his words slightly slurred, lips at your cheek, trailing to your neck, over your shoulder, plush and kiss swollen. "so soft babygirl". the draw in of him singleminded, throbbing and rutting. groaning as dazed eyes catch the feed in of his cock, a deep burying that shudders his skin. "love when you let me touch you like this", driving his fingers to form further up over your hips, dull nails curling at your back. "when you let me fuck you good", his hips pressing in as he stills, grinding slow, for you to feel him there, where he belongs. "how you need it".

you cry, a tear staining your cheek. the tremble of your lips forming over his as you kiss him. body molding to him, the go of his thrusts mindful as they work to fill you. and here, he slips in easy, steady still but with a gentler purpose. and his fingers, even in their dullness, don't run as brutal and the deftness of him proves with a tender rocking of his hips. arousal soaking him sweet as it sounds above the silence.

and the shock of everything takes hold. the ways you fought so terribly against him, to suffer in what you thought would be some less harsher fate than to live lovingly with him.

your voice stretches out delicately. into the safety of him. "don't leave me", quivering as you feel the building pressure in your body. "stay please".

"not going anywhere sweetheart", a hand at your cheek, thumb caressing there, "i'm right here", and the other pulling you impossibly closer by the thigh. lips over yours, sharing breaths. "you feel me? i'm right here", words whispered and groaning, the stroke of him deep and easy still.

and as he'd wanted since the beginning, your resolve crumbles as he holds you in his hands.

your heart heavy. fearful, excited. "....love you....", trembling as you come undone. "i love you".

he twitches, releasing thick and warm in you. pulling your lips in, passionate and relieved, tongue rolling to taste the words he'd waited to hear from forever ago, when everything about your attitude towards him was flimsy and hollow. and the bursting in his chest is undeniable, a smile slipping across his lips as the heat of the air sits easy about the both of you.

he kisses you again, lingering, with love and lust and longing.

"i love you too".

295 notes · View notes

italiansteebie · 1 year

Text

I could teach you waking up in my t-shirt.

also on ao3 (preferred format) 2.3k Words

Steve Harrington has a really cool T Shirt.

It was the exact type of shirt no one would expect him to wear, it was soft, and worn, and the design looked hand made, and sometimes there was a long, dark, curly, strand of hair stuck to it, like the person who made it left a piece of themselves there.

Dustin didn’t know where he got it, or how someone like Steve came across a shirt like this, but any time he asked about it, the teen got… Defensive.

Once Dustin asked Steve if he could borrow it, and Steve freaked out, like properly freaked out. So he stopped asking about it. It was a little strange how protective Steve was over the shirt, and how he never seemed to wear it to school, or outside of his house. He had to wear it somewhere though, because more often than not that long, dark, hair would be present, and Dustin knows for a fact Steve washes the shirt.

So where did he get it?

What exactly does “HellFire Club” mean?

Is it a band?

And Dustin asked all these questions only to be met with a nervous silence from Steve, which was unlike him. So, he stopped asking. There were more pressing matters than Steve’s shirt, like demodogs and Russians under the mall, and the fact that the girl Steve works with somehow knows him better than Dustin, all of a sudden.

He’s not jealous, though. Well. Not that jealous. But why does she get to know where the shirt came from, and not him? It’s Steve’s biggest mystery, and it was well kept. At least, well kept from him. He remembers the day clearly. He walked into Scoops Ahoy with Steve who already happened to be in his work uniform. He usually changes at work to avoid walking through the mall looking like a Naval monstrosity. He watches the way Robin Buckley smirks, like she’s let in on a secret, “No Hellfire shirt today, Steve-o? Trouble in paradise?” she asks slyly. “Haha. Shut up, Robin.” Steve replies through his teeth, strained. Dustin whips his head around to face Steve. “You talked to her about the shirt? C’mon, Steve! We’re friends!” Dustin whined. Steve pushed his head away, “You’re like, 5, this is grown up talk. Now get back to your mom, she’s gonna freak if you’re late for camp check in.” Dustin sighed, “Whatever. See you later, Steve!” They hugged briefly and Dustin left, the shirt and what Robin Buckley said about it, still rocking around in his brain.

But then Dustin got back from camp, with a big ass ham radio, a new, very real, girlfriend, and a Russian interception. And suddenly, the t-shirt didn’t seem all that important. In fact, Dustin forgot about it until one fateful day.

The first day of highschool.

There he was in all his glory.

Eddie Munson, and guess what he was wearing.

The shirt.

Steve’s shirt.

So Dustin made it a point to seek the guy out, and in his mission he found that HellFire was not a band, but a DnD club. And that only made him more confused, did Steve secretly belong to a party? And that’s why he never played with them? No way. The betrayal.

So, Dustin infiltrates the group.

Along with Mike, and Lucas.

Because it’s a DnD group, and well… Will’s gone, and they still wanted to play.

And they become a part of the group.

It’s fun, and the way Steve’s eyes almost bug out of his head when he sees all of them wearing his shirt is absolutely hilarious.

Dustin keeps the whole “shirt debacle” to himself. He knows that Steve was in HellFire and didn’t tell any of them. He decided to let him keep his dignity, and put the whole mystery behind him. The only strange thing was, that whenever he brought up Steve during their sessions, the rest of Hellfire got… Weird. Gareth, Jeff, and Grant would smile slyly in Eddie’s direction and Eddie would blush. Did they have some type of falling out? Eddie never seemed to want to talk about Steve, and Steve never seemed to want to talk about Eddie OR HellFire. Why were they pretending not to know each other? It was weird.

Steve would pick them up from sessions, he and Eddie would share a short wave back and forth, and that was the end of it. It was still weird that Eddie’s hair seemed to get tangled in Steve’s shirt, even though Steve didn’t go to the meetings anymore. In fact, now that Dustin joined, Steve didn’t seem to wear the shirt at all anymore.

So another mystery was upon him.

But then a cheerleader died, and no one could find Eddie.

And all of a sudden his face was plastered on the news, his name becoming synonymous with ‘Satan’ and ‘murderer’ which Dustin thought was ridiculous. Eddie Munson was not a violent person, not by any means, in real life. As a dungeon master he could be pretty merciless, but. That was just a game.

And the newest mystery revolving around Steve and Eddie was put on the back burner.

They found Eddie a few hours later in Reefer Rick’s boathouse, a suggestion made by Steve, the stress too high to consider how he could even know that. But then there was a bottle pressed to his jugular and sorry Eddie, but he needs Steve alive for this. So he pleads until Eddie drops the bottle, Steve’s eyes reading more concern than fear, but Dustin would think about that later. He watches Eddie as Eddie watches Steve be comforted by Robin, wiping the stray tears away, looking back at Eddie with a look that Dustin thought Steve could only give to girls…

Unfortunately, as entertaining as it was, Steve’s love life was not the hot topic of the moment. So he moved on, and the events unfolded in succession of disaster, like they usually do when the upside down rears its ugly head. And all of a sudden Steve is telling them not to be cute, and Eddie says ‘Make him Pay,’ in a tone that anyone could hear, means something different.

—

Nancy delivered the final blow, and Vecna was down. But there was a pit in Steve’s stomach. Something was very, very wrong. So he ran. Nancy and Robin were hot on his heels, shouting for him to slow down but he couldn’t. The scene came into view and Steve couldn’t breathe. Dustin was sobbing over Eddie’s prone body, bats from hell surrounding them.

Steve could only run faster, he reached them, dropping to his knees.

“Eds,”

“Stevie,”

“Don’t do that Munson. We’re getting you out of here. I swear to god. If you die, I’m going to fucking kill you.”

And through his grief clouded brain, Dustin knew Steve meant what he said.

From that moment on it was a blur, Nancy and Robin helped Dustin limp towards the gate, only looking back to see Steve lifting Eddie from the ground in what looked like sheer will. They’re going to make it out. He can feel it. He’s got to figure out the mystery. And maybe that was a stupid thought, but he was only 15, and that was what gave him hope.

The gate that split in the Munson trailer was beginning to close, and it was a fight to get through, Dustin didn’t get to see the end though, because when his broken leg was met with the force of hitting the right side up, he passed out.

—

He woke to a steady beep and a pressure holding his leg in place.

He cracked open his eyes to see his mom sitting in the plastic hospital chair next to his bed, reading a book.

“Mom?”

“Dusty,” She gasped, pressing the Call button, and reaching to grab his hand.

“E- Eddie?”

“I- I’m sorry baby.” And for a second, Dustin’s heart dropped, “He’s still in surgery. That earthquake really did a number on him. The doctors think he’s going to pull through.” Dustin breathed a sigh of relief. “Oh, and Steve was admitted for his wounds. He’s in the next room over. They’re going to put Eddie with him as soon as he’s in the clear, Steve’s request.” With the news that his friends were okay, and the soothing motion of his mom brushing her hand through his hair, he fell asleep. The next time he woke up it was by a doctor, getting him ready to be discharged with strict orders of rest.

He ended up moving from his room, to making a home in Steve’s room.

It was weird to see Steve in the hospital, unmoving, hair flat against his forehead. It almost brought tears to his eyes to think about his brother like that, the only thing keeping him together was that Steve was here, awake, and the heart monitor’s beeps were steady and reassuring.

—-

It had been a few days, Steve’s wounds were healing nicely, and he was allowed to go home.

Eddie had been cleared from the ICU and moved to a long stay ward.

He was still asleep, but the doctors said that was his body’s way of healing. That’s what they said about Max too. They were confident both of them would eventually wake up.

Dustin had expected to see Steve around the hospital after his discharge, checking Max, and keeping up with his own check ups. What he didn’t expect to see was him and Eddie’s uncle Wayne in what looked like a heartfelt embrace. He didn’t really mean to eavesdrop, but he also didn’t move away. “He’s gonna wake up, son. I know he’s strong. And I know you’ll be right there waitin’ for him.” Wayne's gruff voice floated through the quiet hospital. Dustin didn’t realize Steve knew Wayne like that but, he guesses it’s from Steve’s secret HellFire days.

He shook off the initial confusion and went to join the two men in Eddie’s room. They would sit and talk. Talk about Eddie, Steve’s interactions with weird customers, how Wayne was settling in to the new government provided house. Anything. Just to fill the room with sound, to let Eddie know they were there when he was ready to wake up.

Dustin knew it was going to be an emotional day when Eddie woke up for real.

He’d been opening his eyes, and saying one word responses for about a week now, and the doctors predicted he’d be starting to wake up for longer periods of time real soon.

“S-tv?”

“Eddie! You’re awake, do you feel okay, can I get you any-”

“Slow down, boy.” Wayne said, resting a hand on his shoulder, Dustin pausing as he does. “Any pain, Ed?”

“No,”

“Good. They got you on the good stuff.” Wayne chuckled.

“Steve?” Eddie mumbled, and Dustin was confused for a moment, but he thought that Eddie was probably concerned about the guy that carried him out of hell. Dustin watched as Wayne smiled, “Your boys gone to get some coffee and chips for the kid and I. He’ll be back real soon.” His boy? Interesting…

Dustin was close to figuring out the mystery, there was just one thing he was missing. He knew these things took time, but this was taking forever, when was he going to figure this out? And right as he finished that thought, Steve walked in. He handed Wayne his coffee and tossed Dustin his chips, floating around the room on autopilot. Wayne and Eddie both watched with familiar fondness, as though they had seen this before. Steve finally let his eyes drift over to Eddie, who was wide awake now, smiling in his direction. “Eddie.” He breathed, eyes wide.

“Hey, Stevie.”

“Oh, you bastard! I told you not to be cute! I told you,” Steve’s voice cracked,

“C’mere.”

Steve slumped over to Eddie, basically crawling into the bed with him, and cried against his chest. Dustin felt as though the solution to the mystery was about to be revealed, were they related? No way. Best friends? Secret Best friends? Perhaps…

“I told you,”

“I know you did, baby.”

Wait. Baby?

And y’know, he shouldn’t have been so surprised at what happened next.

“I hate you,”

“No you don’t.”

“You’re right,” Steve sighed, leaning up and pressing a soft kiss to Eddie’s lips, savoring the sweet reunion. That is until Dustin breathed in sharply, trying to be quiet so as not to disturb them, but instead choked on a piece of potato chip. He coughed and hacked, and Wayne clapped him on the back and handed him some water, and there was snot and tears running down his face. “Sorry,” He said hoarsely, still partially choking. “I didn't mean to ruin the moment I just-” Steve cut him off with a smile, “You finally put two and two together, huh? Guess I owe you five bucks, Eds.” Dustin watched them carefully. “What?” He asked, only slightly embarrassed at the implication that the two had bet on him.

“Me and Stevie bet that it’d take us kissing in front of you for you to figure out we’re together. He thought you’d figure it out before that.” Eddie said, smiling through his words.

“I thought you were smarter than that, Dust. You really let me down,” Steve teased.

Eddie sighed, “When you saw me in the shirt I thought I had lost for sure, but you never really said anything about it.”

“I thought that Steve might’ve been secretly a part of HellFire…” He trailed, looking down sheepishly.

Wayne barked out a laugh, “It’s okay, kid. I was bettin’ that you’d figure it out at their weddin.’”

And Dustin gasped at that. “Mr. Uncle Wayne, I'm hurt,” He said dramatically, a hand clutching at his chest. Wayne sighed, “Boy, you are just about as bad as Eddie.”

And both Steve and Wayne shared a good, long laugh when Eddie and Dustin let out simultaneous “Hey!”s. Dustin shook his head, but let a smile rest on his face. This was a better outcome than he could’ve hoped for.

And if he’d heard Steve and Eddie’s “I love you’s” whispered back and forth as they all settled in for sleep, well.

He’d just keep that to himself.

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goatsghost · 11 months

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something i’m just realizing about the “dick is damian’s parent” fics is that they often point out that after bruce came back, dick left for bludhaven immediately. but i just realized that’s not quite true.

bruce came back, and there were briefly two batmans (batmen?) at the same time. and then bruce left the country to go set up batman inc, for some weird reason, and dick stayed as batman to resolve some final issues. so yeah dick and damian kept being batman and robin for a good bit of time after bruce returned. do with that information what you will

#dick is damian’s parent is my favorite fic trope at the moment lol #i love how he fuckin hates dealing with this kid but also loves him like he’s his own son #and damian starts idolizing dick; his mentor his hero his caregiver; while also being a little shit (but less genuinely aggressive abt it)#every batfamily relationship is so complicated and great #dick grayson #damian wayne #bruce wayne #mine #my favorite dick scene with him is in nightwing when damian calls #and dick is like fuckkkkk i don’t wanna pick up bc then i’ll have to TALK to him 😩😩😩#and my favorite damian interaction is when dick is showing him a birds nest while they’re on the tallest building in gotham #and damian goes ‘wowwww this is SO interesting i can’t wait to tweet about it’#they’re both so insufferable lmao i love them

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tillthelandslide · 2 months

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Insufferable Arsehole Part 15: You

A/n: hi everyone! Feels so surreal to say but this is the penultimate chapter of insufferable arsehole *cries*. I love this series so much so please feel free to send in any requests you want to see from these characters. But the main series is nearly over *sobs*. I hope you enjoy this chapter, I love you all so much and thank you for all your support <3. I want to give a massive shout out to @ughgoaway and @justanamesstuff for loving this series as much as I do. Without all of your support (but especially my loving ia stans) this series would've been over a long time ago. I love you guys so much. Hope you enjoy <3

Extra note: I wrote all the little poems in the notebook part of this series. They're all original (whether you think they're shit or you like them) please don't copy them.

Previous Part

Series Masterlist

Matty’s POV

The sofa I'm lying on feels way too comfortable, the warmth of it making it hard for me to get up. It’s soft beneath me and it lures me into closing my eyes. I have things I need to do, I have people I need to call, meetings I need to attend, friends I need to make sure are okay, set lists to read and adjust. A wonderful and loving girlfriend who I need to show my love for. But lying here, listening to the soft strum of the guitar she's playing has my closed eyes fluttering and my body weighing down on the sofa. I don't fall asleep, I just lie with my eyes closed, letting her voice drift over me - consume me.

I had moments like these, moments where I felt... Numb. But she pulls me out of them, or at least fills my body with something other than numbness, she touches the parts that can't usually be persuaded on days like these. These moments were few and far between with the presence of Lou in my life and somehow it makes this time worse. I feel guilty for feeling this way, for feeling low, for slipping into a dark space. I shouldn’t be feeling like this, I had a wonderful girlfriend, I was finally with the girl meant for me. And I had friends, great friends who were more like family. I had adoring fans and I did what I felt like I was meant to for a living. Life was perfect… So why did I feel so unworthy of it all?

It had started earlier this morning when I had snapped at one of the music techs, I hadn't meant to and I felt guilty as soon as I did it. Her warm hand clamped around my shoulder almost immediately, telling me to go lie down and so I did. I heard her apologise for my actions, explaining that I was 'tired'. I felt thankful she didn't tell the guy the real reason. The guys understood it, maybe even more than Lou, so when she spoke to them before she came back to me, they got it. Jamie had once described me as someone with a huge ego but no self worth, in moments like these, I had to agree.

The sound of the guitar stops and I hear her set it down, I hear the shuffle of the foot stall, feel a light bump against the side of the sofa, feel her soft hand drifting up my back, up to my neck and then my head, pushing the curls away and making my eyes flutter open.

My heart beat falters, my breath matching it, her beautiful eyes look down at me, soothing me. It was hard to describe them, they were ever changing. I wouldn't say they were green, but they weren't blue or grey either, it was as if those colours alone weren't enough for someone like Lou, they weren't special or unique so whoever created her (I don't believe in God but some greater being had to create a person like her) decided to make a new colour, a combination of all things beautiful. They had hints of grey and specs of yellow and sometimes the sun made them look piercingly blue but the sun could also make them look like emeralds. They were perfect, one look into them and I can feel myself slipping from the dark spaces of my mind.

"Hi my sweet boy" it surprises me that I don't have to tell her what I need from her in times like these, she just got it. As if she had access to all parts of my brain, able to peek in and see what I needed and having the ability to just give it to me without a shred of hesitation or an ulterior motive. It shouldn’t surprise me, not anymore, not when I knew she was it for me, the only one I ever want to be with, to spend the rest of my life with. The person who was mine and I theirs.

"Hi" I don't recognise the voice that comes from me, a low, deep grumble of a sad man. One that felt like a distant memory, the voice of someone I used to know, not the person I am now.

"I want to show you something" she says and I find myself nodding, she places her black leather notebook in my lap and I find my heart beating three times as hard as I look at it. She had never shown me this before, showing someone this is like showing them your deepest thoughts and emotions, baring your soul to them. I had watched her scribble in it countless times, I had watched as she wrote lyrics that pulled her lips up at the corners, I had watched as she scribbled down angrily, tears falling from her eyes and coating the pages.

I remember the only time I had come close to reading the lyrics, pinning her down to a hotel bed in some forgotten location, tickling her sides until the book slipped from her fingertips, holding the pages above her head just out of reach as our laughter was all that could be heard. I remember the way she begged me to give it back, of course I would never have read it without her permission. I remember her pleas made me drop the book and bury my face into her neck. She made me forget about the lyrics easily, too wrapped up in her to care about them.

"Are you sure?" I ask, sitting up slightly so my back is against the armrest of the sofa, pulling the book towards me and playing with the frayed edges. She smiles at me, her hand resting against my jaw, her thumb running over her bone, making my eyes flutter momentarily.

"Sometimes I think you forget how much you mean to people, you forget how much people love you... And not just me, the band and the crew, your family, my family, the fans... Of course I can only speak for myself... So I want you to read this" she speaks, voice soft and delicate. Beautiful.

I want to speak. To tell her I love her. To thank her. I want to smile. To press my lips against hers. But my eyes won't leave the book.

"most of them aren't finished... They're not songs... They're just things I wrote, little poems" she says and I nod, looking up from the book.

"I love you Matty" she says, leaning down to press a chaste kiss to my forehead before leaving me. It takes a while for me to open the book, scared of what I'll find. My shaky hands eventually separate the cover from the first page.

I find a few I recognise, like the one she posted on Instagram, the one I loved:

"I'd stay with you here forever, you with those dark eyes and darker hair, the epitome of beauty, you put Adonis to shame, with the way you paint my brain, with everything that is you, you with those dark eyes and darker hair. The epitome of beauty."

Her handwriting is delicate, cursive and, for a lack of a better word, beautiful. I'm not surprised because everything she does is beauty. She is beauty.

I flick through the pages, little photos taped to the corners or wedged in, the photos make my heart swell. Photos of her and G, one in particular making me smile: a photo of Lou sitting on George's shoulders, looking as if she was scared to fall down, but she's laughing and so is George and his hands are clamped on her thighs that rest around his head ensuring she doesn't fall. A picture of her and Ross, pulling funny faces at each other, they both look younger, Ross’ hair is short and Lou’s is too, I wish I had her like that back then, even now, even still - I regret the time we lost. I find a picture she took of me, her thighs resting either side of my waist as she takes a photo from above, I feel like a different person than the one smiling up at me. I see another one taken in a photo booth, one where we're kissing, it makes me smile.

I read on, my heart slowly being refilled with love and beauty and kindness and feeling.

I could bask in you for endless days and endless nights. For you are the sun that shines and glistens. For you are the one that warms my once cold heart and bones.

You're the sun in winter, warming up bones and creating smiles. You're rain on a summer's day, soaking the sweat away. You're all things good and kind and lovely. You're love and sex and beauty. You're the definition of passion. Cigarettes and coffee and fresh and home. You're my favourite scent. My favourite sound. My favourite sight. My favourite thought. My favourite feeling. You touch me and I feel you everywhere. Burying into my being. You're mine. My favourite scent. Cigarettes, coffee, fresh, home. My home.

I loved the complexity of some but simply adored the simplicity of others. Reading the ones which don't hide behind metaphors, they're purer somehow.

Pain engraved my brain. Hurt twisted through my mind. Envy soaked through my eyes. You appeared , all those emotions vanished. I began to love the way you loved me. I found myself loving you more. I used to hate you, I hated hating you. I love you now, I love loving you and I love you loving me.

I smile, a huge smile and I feel it seep through my bones, warming my cold body, feeling finally flooding back in.

Red lips and brown eyes. Black curls and tattooed skin. I'd like to paint in you in my mind so I could have you here forever

The few words are the only ones on this particular page, the rest is filled with pictures of us, a picture of the M necklace I gave her, a picture of my marked neck, her marks. There's a picture of us kissing, ones in which any other circumstance would cause my skin to heat up and my blood to rush south. There’s sweet pictures too, of us in Rome, our hands intertwined, pictures of our tattoos we got together.

The ropes within unwind under your command. Just say the word and I'll follow you to the ends of the earth.

Matty is sun kissed cheeks on summer days, cherry blossom on withered ground, swirling clouds amongst technicolour skies.

I turn the page and a larger piece of paper falls out, I unfold it carefully, taking my time in reading the words I find on the page:

Dear George,

I’m writing to you from Rome. Seems a bit weird to be writing you a letter knowing I’m going to be seeing you soon. Was feeling nostalgic I guess… Remember the days when we were both on tour and we’d write these big long letters to each other from wherever in the world we were. It was such a pain trying to make sure they were sent to you before you left that city or town. I remember us arguing one day because Jamie had complained about the amount of money he kept having to spend to retrieve the letters when had arrived a little too late. Grumpy sod.

Anyway, you’d usually write about how the tour was going, how Matty had been getting on your nerves. I always wondered whether you just said that to make me feel better for not getting on with your best friend. You’d send me pictures of you with Ross and Hann and I’d send you pictures of me and the girls (usually receiving a text from you or Macdonald after that made me want to hit you around the head - pervs)

Strange how different things seem now. Like now for instance - I'm writing this, by the pool (this place is fucking huge, you and Charli would love it here), Matty’s napping next to me. He’s sleeping with this dopey grin and… I love him George. So much. Please don’t try to cringe too much reading this. His skin isn’t as pale anymore. Shock right? Our pale boy has a tan!

I want to thank you G. Thank you for everything. You’ve been the best friend I could have ever asked for… but thank you for bringing me him. Matty is everything George. The way he loves me is nothing I have ever felt before. I know now that everything up until now is worth it because now I have him.

I can’t help but wonder how I ever could have hated him. He cares so deeply for every one G… sometimes I wonder if it's too much, if he’s going to get hurt in the end. But that’s okay. Because he has me. And he has you and the boys. And together we love him deeply (still probably half as much as he loves us). I’m going to spend every day of my life proving to him that he is worthy.

So thank you George. He’s the love of my life. He owns my heart, now and forever.

Your best friend - Lou x

My heart picks up in my chest, I love her, more than anyone I have ever loved in my life. I feel tears fall from my eyes, coating my cheeks. I swipe them away before they have a chance to hit the pages.

But you... It was different with you

That's my favourite, my fingers find the page and I carefully tear the page out, I fold it gently and tuck it into my pocket.

I stand from the sofa, feeling weightless now, feeling love for her in every fibre of my being. I walk around the venue, trying to find her. I find George who smiles at me widely.

"glad to see you perked up a bit" he says with a hand to my shoulder.

"Where's Lou?" My abruptness takes him back but it doesn't stop him from answering. I appreciate that.

"She's with your mum in the kitchen, they're baking" George clearly sees my shocked face and he chuckles "yeah your mum is here" I hug him tightly before I leave him, heading for the kitchen.

My legs move too quickly for my brain to register but I don't care, I need to find her. My mum spots me before Lou does and she smiles widely.

"Hello Matthew, feeling any better?" She asks, Lou looks up at me as she finishes speaking.

"Explained to your mum that you were feeling a little tired" Lou explains and I nod, smiling at her.

"Much better mum, thank you" I say leaning down to place a peck against her cheek.

Lou's hands are covered in flour and it makes me smile. I squeeze past my mother with a gentle "excuse me" . My hands find Lou's waist and I hitch her up, making her smile.

"Matty put the poor woman down" my mother scolds me but I don't stop. Lou's hands find my shoulders as she feels like she's going to fall.

"I've got flour on your shirt now idiot" she says but she's still smiling. She looks down at me and I see everything in her eyes, every emotion, every indication that she loves me. I love her, god do I love you.

"I don't care, come here" I say, one hand finding her chin and lightly pulling her towards me.

"Matty, your mum" she says, eyes flicking over my shoulder to my mum who giggles to herself, busying herself with the baking..

"I. Don't. Care" I say with the widest smile I think has ever graced my features.

"What has gotten into you?" She asks, smiling widely. Her eyes sparkle. God she's beautiful.

"I love you Lou, so much, you're everything. I'm going to spend the rest of my life with you, if that's okay with you" I say, I hear my mum coo behind us and Lou smiles above me, her legs wrapping around my waist to support herself more.

"Fine with me Healy" she says, leaning down to press her lips against mine finally. The kiss is kept short to save my mother seeing us in a compromising position.

"But you, it was different with you" I repeat her own words back to her and she nods.

"Yeah..." She says and I see her eyes well with tears, I feel myself copying her, placing her back on the floor but moving my head down to kiss her again. I hold her to my side as I turn to my mother.

"I'll leave you both to bake," I say, pressing a firm kiss to her cheek, smiling at my mother. .

"Okay" she says with a smile. I hug my mum tightly before I walk out, but I don't miss my mother's words

"That boy is obsessed with you, I've never ever known him to love someone as much as you" she says.

"Trust me, the same goes for him. I'd do anything for him" Lou's words make me smile and so I continue walking.

I find George again, happy to find him with Hann and Ross.

"Good you're all here" I say, drawing their attention towards me.

"Everything okay mate?" Ross asks and I smile as I nod.

"I need your help"

"Anything," George says.

"I'm going to ask Lou to marry me" they all smile widely at me, I like that. My eyes flick to George’s. He seems expressionless for a second.

“If that’s okay with you” I ask, I see George’s lip quiver slightly and his fingers grip his bottom lip as he nods. I see tears coat his eyes as he steps forward, grabbing my hand in his and pulling me forward into a hug.

“Fuck yeah” I find myself crying too. I feel two more sets of arms wrapping around us. I smile.

Taglist: @scooby-doodoo @thereisaplaceintheheart @promocodesorry75 @eaglestar31 @thefrontofmymind @fallingforel @partoftheairforce @procrastinatinglikeapro @poisonmedaddy13 @xthe1975 @all-things-fic @jstbeeingme @rossgirly @juliardk @you-muppet @moodyyyychickx @k4tie75 @insidemymind19 @zzzhealy @maybeiwouldlikeyou @at-her-very-foreign @not-alien-girl-v @sinarainbows @friedlandblog @momentum2023 @youlooklikeshitandyousmellabit @Inhalerbea (add yourself using the link in my bio 😊, those with a line through are the ones i couldn’t tag)

#insufferable arsehole matty healy series #the 1975 #matty healy #the 1975 fanfic #matty healy x reader #matty healy fanfic #matty healy fanfiction #matty the 1975 #matty healy fic #matty healy fluff #matty healy imagine #matty healy smut #matty x reader #matty healy x oc #the 1975 smut

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marsconer · 4 months

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the traveller: okay, ringo star, you can stay

mizu: no he can’t

ringo: you think i’m a stAAAAAAR🥹🥹🥹🥹

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bisaster-energy · 3 months

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big believer in keiko and kuwabara being besties like. you're my best friend's best friend and instead of it being awkward they realize "hey i really like hanging out with you!" this is ofc extremely detrimental to yusuke who now has two people on his ass

they share textbooks keiko quizzes kuwabara til he drops and she asks for fitness advice. why do i think this? I simply think it'd be funny asf if Keiko randomly got abs of steel. yusuke walks in on them doing sit ups while testing each other on vocab and almost breaks into tears.

"Keiko stop turning kuwabara into a fucking nerd he's wasting all his time studying instead of goofing off" "yusuke shut up and feel my abs" "holy shit these guys are like rock hard" "right??"

Kuwabara gets glasses and yusuke genuinely thinks it's a bit at first but kuwa is like "man seriously I realized part of the reason school was hard was cos I couldn't make out the words in my books half the time I need these things fr" classic yyh collapse in shock moment

Keiko and Kuwa are there for each other when yusuke goes off doing god knows what in Makai. They know he'll be back but it can be shitty not knowing what he's doing when he'll be back. Kuwabara reassures her that Yusuke does give a shit even when he leaves and Keiko reminds Kuwabara of why he doesn't need to drop everything and join him. He'll be back he'll be back he'll be back.

Kuwabara can only make simple meals Shizuru forced him to learn and Keiko doesn't really cook even tho her parents own a restaurant so when yusuke is in the human world there's cheers and applause "finally I get to eat 🙏🏼" "aren't you guys graduating college soon how are you surviving when I'm not here" "get back in the kitchen boy" "yeah I need another bowl 😌" "im poisoning ur food"

because girls and guys apparently can't just hang out school mates are sure Keiko is dating kuwabara but some think she's with yusuke and others think the two are fighting over her and she just looks at them like they're stupid if anyone ever asks directly

as for Kuwabara nobody knows whether he has a gf or a bf cos sometimes a polite brunette with a sweet smile visits him on campus and they talk at a picnic table (she's seen hitting him sometimes tho) but other times a guy with slicked back hair and devil may care attitude like. swaggers up to kuwa when he's with some classmates and drops a homemade lunch in his lap "you forgot this dumbass" "ahh thanks yusuke you're a life saver 🥺" "just eat your food" inside is the cutest box lunch and yusuke's glare keeps the people kuwa was with from cracking jokes. kuwabara acts like this is very normal

anyway i just think it'd be cool if they hung out and yusuke was equal parts delighted and grumpy about it

#this could be poly tbh i was really just going for a friendship angle but literally either makes sense #I just think Keiko would randomly wanna get fit to put some energy into something besides school and kuwa could help #yusuke is like oh no my smart friend and my strong friend are merging their traits and hanging out w/o me :( by talos...#he doesn't get left out ofc but they do gang up on him sometimes because they think it's hilarious #it's not lost on me the idea of yusuke being into intellectuals considering how smart those 2 are #I was just thinking about this cos I'm writing a kuwameshi fic rn #And it's Keiko pov so it focuses on her relationship with Kuwabara and how she fits into his and yusuke's dynamic #yu yu hakusho #keiko yukimura #yusuke urameshi #kazuma kuwabara #i guess i should tag this #kuwameshi #cos i do look at through that lens #idk if they have a poly ship name tho #important to note that when kuwa thanks yusuke for bringing lunch he's being insufferable and #using the the most over the top sweet voice poking fun at yusuke for basically malewifing himself

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suchawrathfullamb · 3 months

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sometimes I'll read fics or headcanons where Will makes fun of Hannibal and jokes around and Hannibal never gets his jokes or is all serious and formal, etc, but honestly? To me it's always the opposite lol, Hannibal literally called Mason when he was hunting him "just for fun" LOL LIKE THAT MAN. ALSO HE WAS MAKING CANNIBAL PUNS LEFT AND RIGHT meanwhile will is just sulking eternally

#will is so done and grumpy and hannibal is honeybal sunshine like he's depressed but still manages to put up a sunshiney mask imagine when #he is actually with will murder husbanding and truly satisfied and happy? that man would be insufferable #it weirds me out cause although some fics are very good I do wonder if they actually watched the show when they depict them like this which #is totally fine ofc creative freedom but it does make me wonder if they wrote for the fandom without having seen the original content #and it is okay but does feel kind of weird and ooc #nbc hannibal #hannigram #hannibal #will graham #murder husbands #hannibal lecter #fanfic

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alkalinefrog · 7 months

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The Lights of Avalon

Chapter 10 - Out of a Fairytale

“Are they real?” Jack whispered. “I think they were,” Jamie replied, “at least…once.” “Time passes differently in the Otherworld,” Jack remembered him saying. Surely he didn’t mean backwards. /// Suddenly Toothless’ eyes snapped open again. His ear-fins flattened against his head, and he bared his teeth, letting out a deep, rumbling snarl. Hiccup jerked his hand back, feeling the instinctual, animalistic fear ignite in himself. He hadn't heard Toothless sound like this since they first met. And certainly never directed back at him.

AKA Jack and Jamie and Toothless and Hiccup’s no good very bad night in the Otherworld.

HI HI IT'S BEEN A WHILE, HOPE YOU'RE READY FOR SOME TLOA. Writing this chapter was my Shawshank :'''D

Special thanks to @santathegrey for beta-ing, @bignostalgias for the Arthuriana/Hijack/Naruto cringe nights, and @jjackfrost and @twiafom for HANGING WITH ME IN PERSON TOGETHER!!

Link's in the title, or you can click over here!

And be sure to check out @santathegrey's podfic for this chapter if you hate reading!! He did an amazing job bringing the words off the page as usual!!

youtube

HAVE FUN!!

#hijack #hiccup horrendous haddock lll #jack frost #how to train your dragon #rise of the guardians #frostcup #jackycup #fanfiction #ao3 #fic rec #the lights of avalon #tloa #sorry this one took a while!! my mental health hasn't been too hot lately :'''D #now I'm gonna blog insufferably about Fright Krewe #tumblr why do you refuse to keep my italicising consistent on my text posts laskjdflksafdj

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youwillfindilluminating · 4 months

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He could do something like Who Do You Think You Are?, where you go back through your family history and discover who you’re descended from. That would be quite funny. Maybe he’s got royalty somewhere deep down. He’d be like, “I knew it. I knew I was special."

-Phil Dunster

(There's a fic idea in there somewhere...)

#phil dunster #jamie tartt #ted lasso #PLEASE someone write a roy x jamie fic where jamie finds out he's distantly royal somehow and is all cute an insufferable about it #and roy is so annoyed but also so charmed and can't resist joining in on some of the jokes #roy x jamie #royjamie #keeley can come too obvi #I just don't want to overwhelm all the tags

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wishingly-mesh · 3 months

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how we feeling today reiko Rain community

me personally I think about these dialogues every day.

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hood-ex · 6 months

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Cackling because I'm imagining same age Dick, Jason, and Damian getting to the manor at the same time. Dick runs away at night, and while Bruce is out as Batman to corral him back home, Damian tries to murder Jason. Then when Bruce gets back home with an injured Dick in tow, he sees Jason and Damian all bloody and bruised up, and he looks between all 3 kids, and it's at that moment that he seriously considers ripping up his parenthood card so he can escape into the night, never to be seen again.

#no but holy shit that would be a nightmare #damian would hear dick crying at night and he'd be like what are those tears for you insufferable loser orphan LMAO likeee #even though it would be a HOT mess--i'd still like to see it for the chaos #Bruce Wayne #Dick Grayson #Jason Todd #Damian Wayne #Same Age AU #fic idea

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bruiserelliot · 4 months

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I'm absolutely obsessed with the @professorhephaestus Solar Trials world and I love me some good hurt/comfort so I tried to do full comfort.

Context: the trio (Jenny, Teddy, and Eigan fought a big bear made of ice or something on Pluto and got good hits in and won but still got their asses kicked and this is some time after that)

Teddy groaned as he opened his eyes, trying to get his eardrums to work again. He could smell that really clean wood smell that came from the infirmary. Oh, that's good, ship was good.

Less good was the way everything felt heavy, just just really heavy and achey. And cold. Ohh, cold. Right.

Note to self: don't fight a space ice bear with a shit casting wheel. Bad time.

Any other note taking that might've gone on in his head stopped when a bright light shone in his eyes. He squinted at the person he could now see standing over him.

"Eigan?"

"I'm afraid not, Theodore, the prince is still recovering from your... unfortunate encounter with the Ursa Polaris." Teddy rubbed at his eyes, resisting the urge to groan again when he was finally able to get his vision to focus on professor Hephaestus. He looked... Weird. Like, less put together than usual. Course for him that meant a few locs out of place and a wrinkle or two in his fancy cloak, but like, Teddy could see it.

"You three, I take my eyes off you for a second and boom, gone. Off fightin a polar bear," a grumble came from beside the professor, and thankfully with a little less effort, Teddy could see captain Aubrey. "I'm glad you and Jenny noticed Eigan wanderin off but maybe next time bring him back instead'a followin him."

"Sorry doc, gotta do it, for science. No, woman, or martian left behind," Teddy replied, not bothering to sit up, or acknowledge the small smile Captain Aubrey graced him with.

Oh shit, no woman left behind. "Is Jenny-"

"She's fine, Teddy, pulled the two of you outta trouble with that cast of flame."

"Truly exemplary work," professor Hephaestus said. Teddy closed his eyes, ready for the inevitable comparison, but it didn't come. Small mercies.

He looked down at the thick blanket covering him.

"Thanks. That, that's good. Glad she's okay... Eigan's okay, right?" He fiddled with the blanket's edge.

"Eigan's resting up in his room. Finally got him to lie down," captain Aubrey muttered, sounding further away, then close again. "Stubborn kid didn't wanna leave you alone." He smiled down at Teddy and Teddy absolutely did not blush, no, no he didn't. Absolutely not. He was feverish, definitely feverish. Yeah, from fighting the ice bear.

"Theodore, I must commend you for your quick thinking in battling the Ursa Polaris," the professor spoke up. "A large, though admittedly ineffective casting wheel, was... Clever."

Teddy opened his eyes, blinking the spots away as he focused on the professor. Was that? A compliment?

The professor wasn't meeting his eyes, and his Rector crook was turning a bit in his hands. Shit was the prof being nice? Had he been worried? Y'know what, no, his head hurt too much for this, he was probably worried about Eigan and Jenny, and Teddy... Well he apparently did something right.

He could live with that.

"Uh... Thanks? I think."

"You're welcome. Kindly recuperate in a timely manner... If possible." Teddy raised an eyebrow as the Martian left, fixing his locs on the way out. Captain Aubrey chuckled.

"That man, I swear sometimes." He turned back to Teddy. "What he means is, ya done good kid. Feel better, and quit worryin us." He passed Teddy a mug of tea, helping the boy sit up. Teddy gratefully held his chilled nose over the tea. Thank god for Captain Aubrey, martian social skills were tough to decipher on a good day. Give him Dr. Aubrey's good ol' southern hospitality to smooth everything over any day.

"Thanks doc."

"Sure kid."

#solar trials #teddy knight #professor Hephaestus #he cares #he's just bad at showing it #thomas Aubrey #the kidds are alright #i'm going to be insufferable #im so sorry but also #not?#i love relationship dynamics #solar trials fic

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tillthelandslide · 6 months

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Insufferable Arsehole Part 14: Before You Go

Previous Part

Series Masterlist

Chapter warnings: mentions of spiking, forced drug use.

A/n: hello my beautiful people, I hope you're all well. I tried something different in the beginning of this chapter and did it in Matty's pov, I don't know if I like it but I'm sticking with it anyway. This chapter gives a little background into how they were before. I hope you like it :) not long now until this series is over :( if you have any ideas of things you want to see between these characters, like blurbs then please feel free to send them into my inbox :)

She stands across the room from me, the beautiful dress she's wearing, flows gently past her glorious hips and ends at the apex of her thighs, I swear if she spun around too quickly you'd see her underwear. The black fabric dips down against the swell of her breasts, two cups of lace edging the fabric. The little "M" catches the light of the room and sparkles, making my heart beat harshly in my chest. I want nothing more than to run my fingers along either side of the fabric, brushing against her -

"Matty, you're staring" someone's voice breaks me out of my thoughts, the voice of Charli, I feel her hand on my back, the only thing tearing my eyes away from Lou. My hand drops from my mouth, I now realise I had been playing what my lips. Ever since our argument things had been better than ever, I didn't think I could be more in love but here I was staring at the woman I loved wanting nothing more than to walk over to her, fall to my knees and beg her to marry me.

The black haired woman rubs her hand down my back and she laughs, I know why she's laughing and I'm not offended. Her opinion mattered to me and as long as she was happy for me, I truly didn't mind her taking the piss out of me.

"You are so whipped mate" she says and I can't help but chuckle, eyes snapping back over to Lou. George's arm was wrapped around her shoulders as she told a story to Hann and Ross, my three best friends hanging onto her every word, something about her just demanded that of people. "I don't blame you, just look at her"

"yeah…" my voice trails off as I look at her. The woman that commands the attention of everyone in the room with little to (and) often no effort. I'm reminded that despite her being that person, she wanted me, and I feel my chest thump harshly again. I'm easily distracted by her and have to snap myself out of my trance to finish my sentence "look at her"

I turn back to Charli, who I now notice is smiling widely at me, her hand dropping from my back.

"I'm really happy for you Matthew… and for her. I know I haven't said this yet and I'm unsure the boys have either… but it needs to be said" she begins and I feel my stomach soar before it sinks, worried she was going to be the bearer of bad news… and god knows despite the image I attempt to portray, my fragile heart couldn't bare any bad news.

"thank you" she says simply and her words confuse me, which is obvious by the way I tilt my head to the side.

"For loving her… she needed you" both our eyes drift over to her and I can't help but smile widely again.

I know there is a truth to her words, but I know I needed her more. I felt myself slipping, becoming someone I wasn't, she saved me, brought me back to the person Ive always been, or the person I've always wanted to be.

"I needed her more" I say although it's quiet, I know if I looked at Charli again she'd be smiling.

I watch as Lou's eyes snap over to us, her face immediately lighting up and a huge smile coming to rest against her mouth, her mouth that is coated in red lipstick, I hoped it wouldn't come off, because nothing was going to stop me from kissing her.

"Charli!!" I hear her say, she doesn't shout yet everyone seems to fall silent, allowing her to speak. That didn't happen with me, I usually had to shout over people to make them hear me, but people just listened to her.

Her smile makes a smile tug at my mouth, one of equal earnestness to hers. I watch as she absentmindedly plays with the necklace around her neck, a simple act, yet it makes my stomach flutter and my heart throb. I almost feel my eyes soften as I look at her, everything that is her clouding my mind. Especially when I notice the faint M on her chest, the small patch the only bit of her skin not caught by the sun. She hardly took the necklace off and that small detail had me wanting to hold her and never let go.

Her hands let go of the necklace and I watch as it falls, hitting her chest and bouncing slightly, before it swings back and forth, slowly stilling. I hadn't realised Charli had started walking towards her and away from me until Lou was wrapped up in a pair of arms. My vision widens, away from just her and I see her smiling at me, her chin resting against Charli's shoulder.

"come here" she mouths and before I can even register my feet are taking me to her.

"Was wondering how long you'd be standing over there for" I hear Ross say, I see worry etched across his features and I smile, letting him know I'm fine.

"I'm all good mate, don't worry" I say with a gentle pat to his back, I turn, now seeing Charli greeting George with a, not so gentle kiss. But what can I say? Lou and I were no better.

Lou turns my way and I stand for another moment, just watching her, not making any movements towards her. She looked beautiful as always but something about the way she looked tonight was blowing me away.

"Are you just going to stare at me all day Healy?" I hear her say, making my eyes snap to hers. A cheeky and teasing smile strikes my eyes and I chuckle, shaking my head at her, at her teasing.

"I might, yeah" I say, making her chuckle and then she's stepping towards me, arms hooking over my shoulders, meeting each other against my neck, shutting me in, not that I would leave now. My eyes flutter shut with the intrusion of her (a welcomed one), her scent invades my senses and forces me to shut my eyes as I breathe her in, immediately overwhelmed by her. She smells like vanilla and coffee and white flowers and orange blossom and home. She smelt like home, an instant comfort, like stepping through the door after a long day, like curling under the covers or being wrapped up in a blanket.

"Hi" she smiles, her voice sweet and the first time I had heard it all day, instantly feeling happiness flood my body. I had been wrapped up in getting things ready for the show, the first one of this leg of the tour, wanting it to be amazing. Jamie eventually had to tell me to take a break, "go spend time with your girlfriend" he had said, his words making me blush. No matter what, the fact she was my girlfriend wouldn't fail to amaze me.

"Hi… missed you" my hands gently clamp around her waist, pulling her closer, needing her against me.

"Missed you too… had to spend time with boys, how annoying" she jokes and it makes me chuckle. I can sense that she wants to ask me how my day was, but I can also tell why she doesn't, because she knew relaying the details would make me more stressed and I appreciate that. It also made me feel… special, that she knew that about me. That she knew me that well.

"Couldn't think of anything worse, could you?' she's laughing now, leaning forward to place a kiss to my mouth, nearly knocking the air out of me, something that always happens when she kisses me. She's pulling away faster than she leant forward, her lips barely pressed against mine for a second, not that I minded. It was enough, for now.

"How was it? Had a good day?" I ask, wanting to hear about it.

"yeah was good, had a little walk around the venue, not too far… met some lovely fans, all of whom commented on your lack of presence. Messed about for a bit, played some songs with G… was really good" she explains and it makes me grin, truly happy she had a good day.

"Bet everyone will think we've broken up or something" I comment, making her roll her eyes and chuckle.

"Probably, just gotta prove them wrong huh Healy?" She asks and I nod, leaning forward to kiss her again, needing my desire for her to be quenched somewhat. So I press a firmer kiss fo her mouth, taking her bottom lip into mine, not caring if the color stained my own. I tug at it at little, letting it snap back before smoothing it with my tongue, before eventually pulling away. Noting the way her fingers gripped the fabric around my shoulders.

"Would've liked to hear you and G playing some songs, what did you play?" I ask, but I feel myself getting distracted by the look she's giving me. I take in her darkening eyes, and feel her hands drift along the lapels of my jacket, tugging me forward slightly.

"this and that" she comments, I can tell she's just speaking them without thinking, clearly distracted by something, by me.

"We're going for a smoke" I hear George say, Lou's body slightly turning in my hold to look at them, I go to slip my arms from around her waist but her grip tightens on my arm.

"Want to join them?" I ask but she just shakes her head. I hear the sound of a camera in front of us, both our attention being drawn to the sound, seeing Charli holding her phone.

"Sorry you guys are just so cute" she says before George is pulling her with him.

"Come with me" I hear her say, my head immediately snapping back to her. Her voice was floaty and I know what she needs by the way her eyes are drifting along the expanse of my form, not knowing what to settle on, wanting to view all of me at once. I know this because I'm doing the same to her, but my eyes are finally setting on the way her bottom lip is tugged between her teeth.

I feel the desire of her warm my stomach and feel the way my eyes darken as I look at her.

"Need me huh?" I ask, knowing her all too well, she nods simply before she's pulling me somewhere. God knows where she's taking me but we both know I'd follow her to the ends of the earth, blindly and willingly.

She tugs my hand, leading me round several corners, giggling as she does, the soft sounds spilling from her mouth the best I'd ever heard. She halts in a corridor round the back of the venue, our music equipment flush against either side of the walls, leaving a slim gap which she squeezes through, pulling me until I'm flush against her. Her back rests against an amp and my hands quickly clasp around her hips, pulling her slightly away from it so it doesn't dig into her skin. But that's quickly forgotten when she pushes her lips against mine, her tongue finding mine within seconds, making me groan against her.

"god I love you"

They're all backstage, a few of them messing around, some sitting by themselves and doing mundane things. Ross and John are playing ping pong in another room but their laughter can still be heard from where Matty, George and Lou are sitting. Matty smiles at Hann and Carly who are cosied up onto a sofa, reading from a baby name book, throwing out suggestions for the group. His eyes flick from the couple to Lou.

He sits on a large leather sofa, George is sat two seats away from him on the other side, Lou rests against the middle seat, well her bottom does anyway. Her legs are curved and her socked feet are resting in George's lap, her head on a pillow in Matty's. Matty's hand drifts through her hair as she sleeps, the strands are soft and silky under his touch and he smiles down at her as she softly snores, barely audible. One hand is awkwardly hooked behind her, lightly holding onto George's hand, his thumb smooths over her knuckles.

George watches his friend as he stares down at his girlfriend, he feels proud of the man he is today, despite his best efforts to defend Matty's behaviour before, he found himself not liking the person he was around Lou. But now George thinks he's redeemed himself, in fact he's done more than that, he's become a man who is worthy of her love and a man who loves her exactly the way she's deserves.

George doesn't voice his pride, instead he just watches him, looking head over heels for the woman sleeping in his lap. His mind flicks back to one night all those years ago, when George thought Matty might start to redeem himself, when he acted uncharacteristically kind towards Lou, not that she remembers.

"Do you think you'd ever tell her about that night in Manchester?" George asks, his voice quiet, worried about waking her. Matty's eyes don't falter from the girl, he doesn't have it think about what night George is referring to. He knows straight away. It had been years since anyone had mentioned that night. Even now it makes him feel sick. That was the day he swore he'd change, he swore he'd do anything to protect Lou and to show her that too. Of course the day after came and all those promises got pushed aside. But he wishes they didn't.

The club is crowded, packed full of sweaty bodies, most of whom were pressed against each other, dancing and drinking. The room was cloudy, filled with smoke and it smelt like stale cigarettes and she could smell just a hint of weed.

She already feels like she's drunk enough but the girls she's with keep ignoring her pleas to stop buying her drinks, making her feel bad and practically forcing her to drink them. She feels refuge when she hears her name being yelled over the loud music, eyes snapping to her lanky best friend who's walking towards her. She smiles widely, standing and leaving the toxic people behind, she doesn't fail to notice how they practically purr when they see George and his mates, her mates (well some of them were her mates).

She thinks it's pathetic how desperate they were but one look over at the boys she can understand why they were acted the way they were. George wraps a protective arm over her as she meets the group, all (apart form Matty) greet her, Ross wanting to hug her himself, but George makes that a bit hard.

"Look good Lou" Ross says and she smiles, she sees George's jaw clenching and she scoffs at him, telling him to "pack it in". She adorns a black silk dress with a low back, two criss-cross strings holding it together. Her eyes hover towards Matty who is staring at her.

"You alright Healy? Seem a bit... Hmm..." She thinks "Shocked" it's the first time she's spoken to him in weeks and he hates that it makes his heart race. Her efforts to not sound drunk seem to work quite well.

"You wish" he says before he's walking towards the girls she was with, all of whom coo at him as he sits down, arm wrapping round one of the blonde ones. Lou watches as he whispers in her ear and watches the way the tiny blonde giggles like a school girl. It makes her want to be sick.

"Remind me why you're friends with them again?" Ross asks as he looks at the girls, a disgusted look on his face, one that makes Lou chuckle. She was glad someone was on her side.

"I'm not... Rose is but she's abandoned me for some guy... Or girl I don't know" she says, searching the dancefloor to try and find her friend but ultimately failing to do so.

"George come here a second" they hear Matty shout and Lou looks up at him, visibly seeing how conflicted the guy looked.

"You can go" she says knowing he wanted to.

"Sorry Lou, but they're really fit" he says pressing a kiss to her cheek. Lou rolls her eyes before stepping to the side. Ross takes the opportunity to wrap her under his arm now.

"Couldnt be anymore of a guy" she says, making Hann laugh. She looks up at Ross who chuckles too. If she were to look back at the table, she would've seen Matty, staring at the pair with his jaw clenched and hand clamped around the edge of his chair.

"Let's go get you laid" Ross says, pulling her to the dancefloor. Hann, who doesn't want to dance, decides to join George and Matty, not that he really wanted to do that either.

Ross and Lou dance together for a bit before they each find someone else to dance with. Ross finds a petite brunette, she's pretty and she compliments Lou on how she looks and says she recognizes her from some bar she once performed at, explaining how awesome she thought her band was, so gets her approval. Lou finds a guy who is clearly very attractive but is also clearly a douche. He's jawline could cut and his piercing blue eyes could well.. pierce, his brown hair was loose on his head in curls (much similar to Matty's) he was tanned unlike Healy. There were things about him that screamed Matty but others which couldn't be further apart.

Eventually, after some steamy dancing, they find the bar, the guy buying Lou a drink and then they make their way to the rest of the group.

Matty's jaw clenches when he sees the way the guy clamps his hand around her thigh, but what really gets him is the way she visibly squirms and downs her drink, clearly needing a bit more liquid courage to even feel comfortable.

The group talk, well shout over the loud music, and eventually they all get up to dance. His eyes are trained on Lou, so he's the first to notice a shift in her behaviour. The way she becomes clumsy, far too clumsy for someone who had just had one more drink, he knows her, and he knows one more drink wouldn't tip her over the edge, something was wrong.

He finds himself walking over to the pair, the guy practically grinding onto her limp body. Matty grabs him by his collar, making everyone's eyes snap to them.

"What the fuck did you do you douche?" He asks, and although the guy is far from small, he visibly cowers.

"What's going on mate?" George says, clamping a hand over his friends shoulder, who doesn't budge.

"Look at your best friend right now" Matty says, eyes unwavering from the guy and George's eyes snap to Lou. He gently takes her chin in-between his pointer finger and thumb, lifting it up to look at her. Her pupils are blown wide and he can see she has no clue what's going on around her. George really wants to beat the shit out of the guy but he chooses to take Lou in his arms instead.

"You fucking coward... Knew she wouldn't fuck you if you didn't slip her something huh?" Matty says, his grip on the guys collar tightening.

The guy doesn't say anything and that angers him more and in the next blink of an eye, Matty's fist is clenching, before it's swinging to hit the guy square in the jaw. Matty's swipes are relentless, each of the guys staring in shock, having never seen their mate act so ferally. Matty feels his blood boiling and it's as if something, somebody else has taken over his body, unable to stop his movements, until he hears a gentle mumble from Lou.

Despite her state she still manages to get the words out and they make him freeze.

"Matty... Stop" is all she says and his eyes snap to hers, seeing them close after the two words are spoken. He swears it's the first time she's ever called him Matty, usually opting for Healy or Matthew, her words usually laced with venom, but her voice is soft now and he knows he wouldn't hurt the guy again, if that's what she wanted. Matty tears his eyes away from her, his clenched fist, hovering by the guys bruised face.

Ross pounces forward, grabbing his friend and pulling him back before he goes any further. It gives the other guy ampule opportunity to run away, which he does

"Yeah fucking run away you dickhead" Matty shouts, accent very thick.

"Matty" he hears George say, his voice laced with sheer terror and worry. Matty's eyes snap to the girl in George's arms, the girl who's eyes were now closed.

"I don't know what to do" George says and as if a switch is flicked.

"Should we take her to the hospital?" George asks and Matty shakes his head.

"It's Lou, you know she'd hate that come here" Matty takes over. Arms hooking under her knees as he lifts her, carrying her out of the club as if she weighs nothing, the guys following all of them into the back of Matty's van.

"Hann, I need you to get water, lots of it" he says as he lies her down on top of some blankets which are scattered in the back.

Hann disappears then.

"Ross, I need you to take George away for a bit okay?" He says as he sees George panicking. George's eyes snap to his and Matty gives him a reassuring nod, letting him know he had her.

"I've got this okay? You can trust me, I've got her" Matty says and George nods. Every past event completely contradicted this one, yet he knew she'd be safe with Matty.

Ross wants to stay but also knows George can't be there right now, so he quickly fights with himself, Matty nodding at him too, before Ross leads George away and upon Hanns return, Matty closes the door to the van.

It seems like they're waiting for hours outside the van. George and Ross come back at some point, seeing Hann sitting on the floor, practically gnawing at his lip. George paces back and forth whilst Ross stares at the back doors of the van, just waiting until they open. No one knows what miracle Matty performs behind the van doors and despite all of his behaviour before, each of them trusted him with their best friend.

Her eyes slowly flutter open, she's placed in his arms, his hands soothing down her face, her hair clung to her sweaty head.

"Hey Healy" she says, voice still floaty, as if she wasn't truly there with him.

"Hi pretty girl" he says, the first time he's been earnest with her. He knows it's because he can be right now, she wasn't going to remember this.

"I like this face" she admits, grabbing his cheeks and smushing them, making him laugh. Her happy expression disappears a second later and she frowns.

"I dont feel very well Matty" she groans. He frowns down at her, his thumb soothing across her cheek.

"I know darling... I've got you though, you're safe and you'll feel better soon" she smiles up at him, a dopey smile that lasts barely three seconds before she frowns again.

"You hate me... Why are you being nice?" Her words are fumbled and he has to really focus to unscramble them but he does. Her eyes flutter shut and he can tell she's fighting sleep. They open again and her eyes erratically flick around the van, unaware of her surroundings but then her eyes land on his again and he watches as they soften.

Her eyes flick to his hand and her hand shakily finds his, thumb soothing over the knuckles coated in blood, flinching when he flinches.

"Matty...." He wishes she'd say his name again and never stop saying it. He knows in that moment that her saying his name, is his favourite thing in the world.

"Go back to sleep yeah?" He says knowing she just needed to sleep it off now, she nods and her eyes are shutting again.

"Hmm, you smell nice" he smiles at that, heart fluttering.

"Before you go... I don't hate you sweetheart, could never hate you" he knows she doesn't hear his words but they needed to be said.

Matty slowly opens the back door, coming to stand with the other guys. He instantly pulls George into a hug.

"She's alright guys" he says loud enough for all of them to hear.

"I'm going to drive her home okay? I didn't drink anyway. G you wanna come with? Stay with her until tomorrow" Matty says, his questions followed by a demand and of course George nods.

"You two going to be alright getting home? " Matty asks and Hann and Ross nod. Ross pulls Matty into a hug and he thanks him, Hann does the same. George and Matty then get into the van and Matty starts driving home, eyes flicking between the road and the mirror, making sure she was still okay.

"Thanks mate... I was pathetic back there... Thanks for taking over and helping her" George says and Matty nods at him.

"Of course" they sit in silence for a bit before Matty speaks again.

"Hey look... Can you not tell her that I helped her? Just say you did it. Please" Matty says, pleading with his best friend. George looks at him, taking in every feature, every indicator that told him Matty desperately needed this. He couldn't understand why, he knew that if Lou knew Matty was the one that helped, she'd immediately forgive him for everything he had ever said or done... But George still nodded his head.

"Yeah, if that's what you need" George says, feeling sad.

"it is"

She wakes in her own bed, not knowing how she got there. George comes in and explains the events of the night, telling her he was the one that helped her, just as Matty asked.

"Thank you G, you're the best" she hugs him tightly and George frowns. He had just lied to his best friend.

"Don't think it would change anything" Matty says, finally looking at George.

"Think she'd realise just how much she did mean to you back then... Even if you did try to hide it" George says.

"Maybe... I dunno though G... It sounds weird, but... I kind of like, no not like, I..." He pauses to think. He didn't know how to explain what he was thinking.

"I remember it and she doesn't.... And it's not like I like that but... in that moment I got to have her in a way I always wanted... I got to be the one that helped her. And it feels weird to say but I liked it... I guess... Would've preferred it under different circumstances but still" Matty explains.

"But you don't want her to know that?" George asks.

"What if she hates me for it George? What if she resents me?" He asks, fully turning his body to face his friend, Lou slightly stirring in her sleep.

"Hate you for helping her?"

"Hate me for keeping a secret. For making you lie..."

"She's not like that... She wouldn't be like that. She'd be so thankful that you helped her"

"I dunno G"

"Trust me. I know you know her... But she's been my best friend since we were babies.... I KNOW, she wouldn't hate you for that" George says.

A little later on Matty sits her down, she rests against the edge of the bed, Matty stands in front of her and explains the true events of that night and to his surprise, she doesn't hate him for it, in fact, she laughs, which doesn't make much sense to him.

"You know I remember that right?" She says and she laughs when she's sees him visibly nearly have a heart attack "well I thought it was G, guess when he told me it was him, my mind thought it filled in the gaps" she says and his eyes are begging for her to explain.

"I like this face" she says and he remembers it instantly "it makes sense now... I wouldn't have said that to G... I love him but I wouldn't have told him that, he already knows" she says, laughing to herself and he smiles.

"So you remember what happened but didn't remember it was me" he says and she nods.

"And now you know it was me?" He asks.

"Well it makes a lot more sense for one... And it makes me love you even more" she says, pulling him towards her and hugging him tightly.

"I love you" she mumbles against his stomach.

"I love you too pretty girl" he says, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of her head.

"You know if you had told me that at the time I would've forgiven you... I would've forgiven you for everything" she says, pulling away to look up at him.

"I thought you hated me too much back then... Thought the fact I was the one that helped you would've... I dunno annoyed you?" He says and she shakes her head at him.

"Youre a silly man healy... But god I love you" she says.

"You know I thought I might lose you that night... Was so terrified of losing you and I didn't even have you the way I wanted... But I knew in that moment I'd do anything not lose you and I thought if I told you, I'd do exactly that" he admits and her face softens, glassy eyes finding his as she grasps his face.

"You'll never lose me Matty, I promise" she says and leans forward to kiss her.

"Promise." He confirms.

"I'm going to marry you one day" she says and it surprises him. He eagerly presses his lips to hers, smiling against her mouth as she giggles.

"I like the sound of that" he says as he maneuvers them up the bed, pinning her to the mattress as their lips bruise against one another.

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