#I think about it from time to time and smile

[luveline]

𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐥𝐮𝐜𝐤 | 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

You and Spencer finally find time for your first time. 6k

fem, afab!reader, mostly confident!reader, foreplay, oral sex, p in v sex, lovey dovey tender loser sex, established relationship, pet names, aftercare, requested here <3

cw for smut, minors do not read or interact, 18+ content

˗ˋˏ ʚ♡ɞ ˎˊ˗

“Can you stay still?”

“No,” you answer honestly.

Spencer climbs further toward you on the bed. “I’m trying to help. You’re no good at buttons.”

You’re no good at buttons because your fingers shake whenever you and Spencer get close like this, and with these intentions. You’d always thought he’d be the shy one —sometimes you take his hand in the back of the work car to watch his cheeks go a rosy, unignorable pink. He’s the more introverted of the two of you and he always has been, so why does his touch have you trembling already?

Excitement, you decide, heart in your mouth as his fingers begin to pop your buttons through each matching slit. This is exactly what happened last time you and Spencer tried (and were sorely interrupted). You’d been out of breath and in his lap, too excited to see to his buttons, too busy kissing him to take much notice as he’d taken care of them himself. And then work called, your plans were cancelled, and he’d promised you that you’d get to do this soon.

“I’m good at buttons,” you deny, leaning back on the palms of your hands as his pinky’s brush up, the sides of your shirt falling open.

“Oh, you’re back,” he says. He’s teasing in bed. You aren’t expecting it. “You went somewhere else for a few seconds, you okay?” That’s less teasing, more sweet.

His hands pause just under where your bra begins.

You take a breath. “I’m okay, I’m thinking about last time.”

He leans in for a kiss, a quick but steady catching that has your face following him as he pulls away again, and undoes your next button. “Which part?”

The part where he’d insisted you’d be laying down for this. The memory alone inspires heat, pleasure and wanting from the depth of your chest, your stomach, ever lower.

“Did you lock your door?” you ask.

Your phones are off. The door is locked. Spencer promises as much in your ear as leans in closer to you, crawls that last few inches of space to have your legs tangled atop his white sheets, his hand disappearing under the open sides of your shirt. The other hand works the last few buttons, but you don’t get to watch him do it, distracted by his fingers hot on the small of your back and his lips as he pulls you in tight for another kiss.

This one’s slow. He holds you like he’s worried you’re gonna slip out of his arm where it curls behind you, cool air kissing your chest as he gets the last button by your neck and encourages either side away from you. You lean into him and shake your shirt down the lengths of your arms, finally shirtless in front of him again after days of trying. You try to keep up with his kissing, he’s intense, he’s everywhere, but you run out of breath.

“Oh,” you say uselessly, your cheek against his as he kisses your jaw.

“What, angel?” he asks, breath warm to your skin, “What’s up?”

“Nothing… I wore my nice bra for you.”

“You did?” He promptly pulls away. His face is pinking, but it’s so warm you can’t blame him for it. You’re sure he’d feel a furnace under your skin if he touched your forehead. Spencer’s gaze falls down to your chest, where it stays, his own rising and falling with a noticeable sharpness. “That’s pretty. You’re pretty.” He swallows as he looks up. “Your nice bra? Just one?”

You cover a breast with your hand and push it up ever so slightly. “This is the one I thought you’d like most. You like blue.”

“I love blue. I love you, I love you,” he says, leaning around you to move your discarded shirt to the floor. “Can I take it off?”

You nod with a stupid smile. Fond and too eager. “Please.”

“How many tries do I get?” he asks, grabbing your sides in two gentle hands, pulling you forward into a hug as he reaches behind you for the clasp.

“You can do it one,” you promise, voice a murmur now he’s close to you.

You let your hands rest on his hips as he pinches the clasp and pushes it together. Like magic, it comes apart. Spencer holds the unclasped sides to your naked back for a few seconds, his breath loud in your ear, before he sits back to look at you.

You push the straps of your bra down, let the support of your bra fall away. You ball it up in your lap, sitting there bare-chested and smiling, waiting, hoping you’re as beautiful to him as he’s always made you feel.

His hand climbs your arm. “You’re beautiful,” he says, “can I–”

“Yeah, please. Please.”

His thumb rubs a short line from your navel to the skin just below your breast. Your chest feels suddenly heavy, the half-lidded set of his eyes on you like a weight, but it’s one you realise you like as he rubs the indent of your bra. “You’re so pretty,” he says, his thumb pressing into the underside of your breast, kind but undeniably there, and your body reacts to his touch, which is another thing. He doesn’t coo, but it’s close. “How does that feel?” he asks quietly, drawing under your nipple with his thumb.

“Can you kiss me some more?” you ask, breathless in a way that’s almost painful.

Spencer clutches you by your sides, unafraid to play with you, pressing you down into the bed as his hands traverse up. You shuffle back into the pillows and let your eyes shutter closed, his nose pressing hard into yours as your lips meet again. He kisses hungrily. He’s treated you to a few heavy kisses in the past, nothing compares now to the open crescent of his lips and the feeling of his hands. His tongue is hot where it touches your lips, wading in. You sigh into his mouth and feel his own sigh in return as he breaks it.

“Fuck,” he says, his breath coloured by pleasure. He’s practically moaning in your ear as a big hand squeezes your chest.

You can’t take this. You lift your hips and graze against him, rushing to reach down and slip your skirt over the curve of your ass and over stocking clad thighs. You try to push them along at the same time, breathing hard.

Spencer notices what you’re doing and reaches to help.

“Your shirt,” you argue, faces close, his confusion an inch away, as are his pinked lips, “take your shirt off, Spencer, I can do this myself.”

“But why should you have to?” he says, though he listens, making quick work of his button up.

You kick your stockings off of your feet and lay there, warm, overwhelmed but desperate at once, watching him on his knees as he manages his last button and peels out of his shirt. You cross your legs tightly against the achy heat blooming in your cunt, uncharacteristically shy.

His chest is pale, without a freckle nor beauty mark, but he’s shapely. You've kissed him so much these last few months, traced the hills and rigid muscle of his front with an adoring hand under his clothes, but the two of you being similarly bared is different.

It’s worse when he reaches for the button of his slacks.

You bite your lip. “Spencer, can I do it?”

“Yeah.” He swallows again. “Of course you can. Don’t ask me.”

He’s getting warm, curls of his hair falling into his eyes, his breath a constant huff. The bulge of him through his slacks draws your attention. You crawl toward him where he’s kneeling, checking his face. When he nods, you rub the very pad of your thumb against the line of his cock, feel it jump at your touch. Your heart jumps in a similar place.

“This okay?” you whisper, your touch light enough that you’re surprised he can feel it.

“Please.” He says your name like you’ve hurt him. “Please. Take them off.”

“I can’t believe you’re like that just from kissing me,” you say sincerely, a mumble as you pop the button and dig your fingertip under the zipper, which you pull down in one smooth line. There’s an immediate release of pressure against his cock. You blink. It’s so warm in here. “Spence, can I–”

“Please.”

You nod to yourself and shift onto one elbow, shocked and even warmer when Spencer plumps a pillow behind you. Your anticipation is an ache that won’t ebb, hands trembling again as you pull the band of his pants down his hips and expose a pair of white and blue boxer briefs. A darkened patch of material rests against the tip of his cock, the curve of him ever harder as you touch him.

He sucks in air through his teeth.

“Aw, Spence,” you say, pressing the length of your thumb to his cock and breathing out as you ride the curve of him up to that wet spot. “Sweetheart… Does that feel good?”

He closes his hand on top of yours and holds you there. “Can I kiss you?” he asks.

“I think I gotta kiss you first,” you say, eyes on his straining boxers. “Think you might need one.”

He shakes his head. “I can’t. I’ll ruin everything before we’ve even started, you can’t kiss me like that.”

“Are you sure? I can make sure you’re ready.”

You’d never force him into anything. You’re letting him know it’s alright. You’re not gonna push him over the edge before he’s done, you just wanna do all the stuff with him that you’ve been dreaming about for a while now. You have a feeling he might enjoy it.

“You can tell me to stop whenever you need me to,” you say softly, feeling his cock twitch in your hand at the mere sound of your voice. “I wanna see you.”

He laughs infectiously, almost drunkenly, the two of you giggling as he shifts your hands. He doesn’t say anything more, only moves your hands down over the softer base of his cock to encourage his pants out of the way, and then his boxers.

His cock is pretty like he is as he pulls it out. You knew it would be. A little taller than your hand, he tugs it toward his stomach and you watch in delight as a string of precum catches the light, wetting his palm.

You’re patient. He lets it stand without help and you curl your hand where his had been at the base, his cock shining in lines, that welling of precum spread messily around and worse when you give a soft pump. “Oh my god,” he mumbles, shuffling closer to you on his knees, his hand leaping to your shoulder. “Oh, god.”

You tilt your head. “How’s that, baby?”

“Please, angel.”

You lean in for a kiss.

Just a kiss, but your lips part, your spit ready on your tongue and slick in a heavy line up the side of his cock. All you can think of in that moment is how much you want him, how gentle his hand is on your shoulder despite the wounded little breath he lets out, and the stickying feeling of wetness that grows between your thighs, your underwear damp at the very centre and clinging to you as you crawl as close to his front as you can get. You kiss and kiss up the side of him, not silly enough to love on his most sensitive skin at the head, not after his warning, though the idea of his cock shuddering against your lips and tongue makes you squeeze your eyes closed.

You kiss shy of his tip and tilt your head back to look at him. He’s already watching you, squinting with a palpable agony.

“Are you okay? Is that alright?” you ask, loosening your grip on his cock to draw a loving, sweet line down, and down.

He catches your wrist. “You can’t do that again,” he warns gently, hint of a smile in his eyes. You beam at him adoringly. “Lay back? There’s something in my way.”

“In your way,” you murmur through a smile, laying back in the pillows as he’s asked you.

Spencer sheds his slacks and boxers. You pull your legs up to give him room to kneel on the bed by your legs, pulse like a constant humming ache against your cunt as he takes your calves into his hands and presses your knees together. “You’re not gonna say please like I did, are you?” he asks.

“Do you need me to?” you ask, teasing him with your own hand, letting it travel from the base of your throat and over a tightened breast to your stomach, then your underwear. You flick the waistband. His eyelashes flare. “I can say please, Spence, I’d love to say please for you. Is that what you want me to do?”

“I don’t ever want you to say please, you know that.” He encourages one leg flat to the bed. The other, he pushes up, fabric of your underwear tight to your warm cunt and heartbeat surely taking up station in your throat. “Maybe I can say please.” His hand coasts down your thigh. “Would you like that?”

“Don’t.”

“Don’t say please, or don’t touch you?” he asks, stopping his squeezing.

“Spencer!” you laugh, moving your hips ever so slightly, raising them in hopes of his understanding. “This is cruel, I didn’t tease you.”

“You’re nice,” he says, again pressing your leg up toward your stomach, eyes on the bump of your cunt as he begins to lean down. “You’re perfect,” he murmurs, pressing a surprising kiss to your soft inner thigh. “So perfect.” Closer now, nose skirting toward the elastic of your underwear. “Please, can I?”

You press your shaky hand to your lips, palm out. “Please,” you say into your skin. “Yeah. Yes, you can. Can you?”

A kiss to the skin beside your cunt, his free hand riding up to squeeze the bump of it, his thumb pressing against wet heat, your breath caught. He rubs a line up from the wet to your clit, and he smiles when he finds it, though that smile is swiftly overtaken by parting lips as he kisses a mixture of skin and fabric and starts to suck. You hiccup at the feeling.

“You sound cute when you’re happy,” he says into your thigh. He turns his head slowly, looking up at you, his thumb rubbing almost absentmindedly at the sensitive little hood of your clit, your nerves all over the place. He’s giving you the puppy eyes, big and brown and in sickly love with you.

“Happy’s not the right word,” you breathe out.

“I should fix that, right?”

Your stomach does a hard flip. “Yeah.”

Spencer isn’t as timid about it as you’d imagined he’d be, his reality better than any fantasy, his hands kind but quick where twists his fingers into the waistband of your underwear as he begins pulling them down.

He lets out a long breath as the air kisses your cunt, his eyes trained obviously on one spot in particular as he takes your panties all the way to your feet. He rolls one leg off, leaves the other hanging at your ankle as he grabs the soft underside of your knee and encourages your leg up.

You can feel your cunt spread, feel the wetness that had been growing dribble from you. “Ah,” you say, more breath than word while he holds your leg in place. “Spencer–”

“Am I hurting you?”

“No, no, I just need you to touch me, please, I–”

He says your name, says, “Hey, don’t talk like that, I’ve got you, I’m gonna touch you, just needed to know you’re okay–”

“Spencer–” you squirm with wanting.

“I know,” he says, the tip of his cock turned impossibly red where it’s resting against the heaving of his abs, “trust me.”

He reaches for your abdomen, his palm resting lovingly on the pudge of your tummy. You squirm for it lower. “If you think I’m not gonna give you everything you want, you're crazy. When don’t you get your way?” He leans down, and to your relief, your little gasp of breath, he kisses your naked cunt. “When don’t I want to give it to you?” he asks into your skin.

Every word he says is heat and movement against the nerves that make up your clit. You practically shiver as he lets his lips part against you and kisses all over, unafraid to feel every little bit of you, his tongue pressed wet and flat your softest parts. You spread your legs in anticipation of him, his thank you a kiss that lights up every nerve ending you have that stems from your hips, the breath racing out of you and moans not far behind. He rubs the length of your leg, his fingers trailing towards his kissing. The hand that isn’t up to something just loves on your skin. The hand that is pauses shy of your cunt’s wet hole —you can’t help letting out a choked moan as he sucks on your clit and the skin around it, sudden, the feeling of hot slick dripping from you worse as he pulls away with a quiet pop.

His lips shine in the lamplight. “I’m gonna start getting you ready, okay?” he asks, a small smile somewhere in the midst of a gaze that’s otherwise laden with lust. His fingertips tease your entrance. “What do you think, angel, can I do that?”

You might need a kiss to get through it. You can’t decide whether you want him to keep eating you out like that, like you’re water to the famished, like he’s worried he’s not quick enough to get every bit of you where he wants it, but you’re so desperate to be fucked by him that you can feel it in the pit of your stomach. “Spencer, you need to kiss me,” you decide.

“I am–”

“No, come here. Need you on top of me. You can get me ready,” you agree, eyes peculiarly damp, “but I really wanna kiss you right now, baby, please, please–”

He’s on top of you by your second please. You gasp at the rigidity of his cock pressing to your cunt and find it lost in his mouth, his fingertips wet with sex pressed to the side of your face. He remembers himself, kisses all the same but hand moving down again, turning his weight onto the bed and off of you as he feels at your cunt. His fingers slide through hair and wetness alike to tease at your cunt. You can feel wet on his fingers as he pushes in just a centimetre, again on his thumb when he circles your heat carefully, and all the while he’s kissing you like he’s been starved of you. He’s saying angel and so pretty against your stinging mouth.

It’s strange when he pushes two fingers in, but not bad. You’ve never done this with one another, and it takes him a few careful thrusts of his fingers to figure out where he should be directing his motion, and what to do to make you happy. You nod into his mouth as he finds a sweet spot and presses into it, quirked fingers quick to the very last knuckle, his pinky and index fingers sliding without resistance against the wet mess on either side of your cunt. “There?” he asks.

“Yes,” you say, pulling his face closer to yours, your hands twined deep in his hair.

He digs around against your walls, to your abject joy and something else, some emotion you can’t name, the want to be touched everywhere by him, to be the kind of full of him where you can’t breathe.

He presses his fingers inside you, undulating against the gum of your walls, and groans into your lips as you pull in a shivery breath. His hips jerk hard, his cock sliding against your stomach hot as a brand.

Spencer pulls up. You’re in the throes of one another, but his eyes are clear. “How do you want it?” he asks tenderly. “Can I stay here, or should I move back?”

“Just to start, it’s always tight–” You catch your breath now he’s paused, stroking curls away from his flushed cheeks. “I’ll sit up a little and you can still hold my hand,” —he doesn’t question this even for a second— “just so you can see what you’re doing, and then–”

“It’s okay, we can work it out,” he interrupts. “I’m not gonna rush and hurt you.”

“I didn’t think you would,” you whisper, cupping his face in your hand.

He ducks in for a slow, chaste kiss.

“I know you didn’t,” Spencer says. He takes another kiss, pressing one to the top of your chin.

Then he’s shuffling backwards and off of you, and he’s grabbing your hips, lifting you up as he positions himself at your cunt. You shuffle back in the opposite direction to wedge yourself firmly in his pillows, knees up and heels either side of his lap as he moves in. His cock rubs against your cunt by accident, then quickly again with a deliberateness, like he’d felt you and couldn’t help himself.

“God, you’re so pretty,” he says. His eyebrows pinch together in a glare, his thumb pressing to your clit. There’s no purchase there anymore, your wetness having made its way up, but he rubs it nonetheless. “You’re the most beautiful girl in the world.”

You grab his hand. Twine your fingers into his. “I love you, Spence,” you say easily. “Don’t be shy.”

He’s giving you that Can’t believe I’m with you look that he often does. It reminds you of the first time you met when you’d called him beautiful without knowing he’d mean this much to you one day, because he really was gorgeous, everything you’d ever want in a guy and lovelier after. You flirted your way into being his friend, and one day your hand-holding was hugging, your friendly cheek kissing turned to lazy hickeys, and he’s still giving you that look. Like he doesn’t deserve you. Like you’re gonna disappear.

You reach between your centre and his to nudge his hand down, guiding him into place. “Say you love me,” you request in a murmur.

“I love you,” he says, head of his cock against your opening. He abandons your clit, to your disappointment, but he’s grabbing the rump of your ass and hip to hold you in place.

He is achingly, achingly slow. He’s so gentle with his thrusts that you feel like you could love him twice as much as when you started, his wrinkled brow, his eyes flitting between your face and the stretch of your cunt to check on you as he goes. He reaches a natural resistance, nothing he couldn’t push past if he didn’t want to, but he doesn’t have to —he’s not fully sheathed and yet you’re aflame with pleasure. He’s at just the right angle. All he needs to do is move.

“There?” he asks softly,

“Please, right there.”

He pushes forward and a breath leaves his lips like you stole it. “You’re tight,” he says, “I knew you would be at first, but I didn’t expect– do I need to stop?”

“No, no, that’s the best part…” You close your eyes. If he weren’t holding your hand you’d cover your face. “Spence, it’s supposed to feel like this, baby. You just find the way you like it and I’ll tell you if it’s not right.”

“Promise?”

“Promise– oh.”

The fronts of his thighs press to yours, his cock flush to your walls and digging into something sweet and sensitive enough to make your thighs shake. Good luck, you think, for the two of you to fit together like this, for his cock to fill you without hurting or leaving you wanting, even though he’s just a little over half inside. He goes slow, almost repetitive, his thumb drawing dedicated half circles into the back of your hand where he’s securing it to your hip. Breathe, you think, I have to breathe. There’s nobody here but Spencer. You can show him exactly how this is making you feel.

“Fuck,” you say, letting out a little moan, worried it won’t be something he likes.

“Fuck,” he echoes emphatically, “does that feel good, angel?”

“Uh-huh,” you say. His chest shines with sweat, his cock driving in, all his touching and adoring drawing a litany of your most vulnerable sounds, hiccups and whimpers, beggy breaths that plead for him to do exactly what he’s doing until he can’t.

“Can you keep your leg up?” he asks.

“What?”

“Can you lift your leg, angel? I need my hand.”

You nod hurriedly and hold your leg aloft as he’d been, not pretzeled but giving him the room he needs to drive forward. He’s swift in his intention, pressing his free hand to your cunt, unabashed, marriage and middle finger slippery against the head of your clit and drawing precise circles. After a few timid thrusts of his hips, he matches speed. Every thrust met with a circle of your clit, his face dipping down to kiss your leg.

“There,” he says to your knee, “I got you, I’ll get you there.”

“I don’t wanna cum yet,” you confess.

“No, I know, but you have to feel good, I need to touch my girl.”

You don’t want to argue with that. He’s never said something like that.

He goes on. “You’re so pretty, I don’t know– I don’t–” He gives a tight smile, “don’t think you know how beautiful you are, you feel–” He moans, then, like he’s pleading.

You don’t expect to be close this soon. It had to be the way he’s talking to you, or his lazy mouthing at your cunt before you’d started. “Wait! Wait, Spence, don’t,” —you grab his hand to stop him from drawing anymore circles— “I have to do it, or I’m gonna cum already.”

He says fuck, thrusts in just a little deeper than he had been, head of his cock kissing just the right place, “Show me how to do it the way you need it.”

You play on the edge of your orgasm for long, long minutes, your hand over Spencer’s drawing the smallest of circles, your nerves aching, the pressure of it like his hands pressed to your tummy. Spencer fucks you, fucks into you, ruts into you when you give him a flirty smile, angling his hips a touch to the side.

You usher him down to you, craning your head up to his. “Can I have a kiss?” you ask with a voice stretched to gossamer. You’re in love with him and you could cry for it as he fucks you, but you try not to. Not yet.

Spencer licks his lips. “You can have everything.”

He slows his thrusts to a drag. Slow drag out, full push in. His hips press to yours and you squeak as he fills you with every inch he has, his hands vying for your clammy face.

He can only thrust slowly from there, though it feels like it’s hitting somewhere new, if not deeper. Shifts of his hips against yours, a mess of slick between you and the friction of his skin. You kiss and pant into each others mouths, spit stretching like a string from his lip to yours that he promptly kisses away. It’s everything you needed it to be, and you can’t hold off much longer. “Wanna cum,” you tell him, stroking the skin under his eye, his gaze aligned with yours.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Can you– like before–”

Spencer understands. He sits back, drags you by the hips onto his cock, and set about fucking that dedicated pace, three fingers pressed to your clit. He goes as slowly as you showed him at first, and that in time with his thrusts sends a pleasure through you that makes you gasp. He speeds his hips at the same time as his fingers, your skin so wet that it requires dedication to wind the coil, but he does wind it, over and over and over again until your walls are rigid tight and your hips are working desperately to chase the feeling. He’s pushing you to the edge.

You cum, and your breath gets caught. You force out a breath and you keen in the feeling, covering your face with both hands as Spencer pushes you through it with a few last teasing circles and a couple of quick thrusts.

Spencer knows without asking to slow as you come down. You laugh into your hands.

He doesn’t quibble when you let your legs fall flat around him, only strokes your thigh, paused half inside of you to offer you one of his shy smiles. “You even sound pretty,” he says.

“You think so?”

“Of course I do.”

He takes a measured thrust. He’s not not confident these days, but you can see the man you adore now between your legs, in love with you but not sure what to do. “You can keep going, baby.”

“You sure?” he asks.

It’s gonna be intense, but you want that. “Come back,” you say, angling your tired legs around him. “Come lay on top of me… Please.”

It’ll be nice to hug him now. You whine as his cock slips out of you and again as he lays atop you and slides it back in, your cunt waiting for him and slick as anything as he settles.

“Is this too much?” he asks, cupping your cheek.

He rolls his hips demonstratively. You didn’t know there was anything left there to give him, but he can have it.

You wrap your arms around him, your forearms to the line of sweat on his back, and give him a hard hug. “You can have everything,” you utter, repeating his earlier promise to him with the same encapsulating love as you cling. “Fuck me however you want.”

When it starts again, chills ride up your spine. Spencer finds a place you didn’t know you had and fucks against it with love, so deep you feel like you can’t breathe, his nose rubbing harshly into your cheek. He squeezes your shoulders tight in his arms and you’re sure you’ll never catch your breath again, and you don’t want him to stop. You’ve never felt this close to him.

Your naked chest rises uselessly beneath him as you fall into the whining, pleading bit of sex, your moans half gasp and lost in his hair as he burrows his face into the pillow by your head to hide his same desperation.

“There you are,” he mumbles, hips grinding into yours. He must say your name ten times in a row, each one more frayed than the last, until he’s lost it completely.

“Go faster, sweetheart,” you suggest, squeezing his hips between your thighs.

Spencer begins again in earnest, nipping crescent moons into the curve of your neck, thrusting fast until he can’t. You hear him trip into cumming like it’s an accident, his thighs go all tense and his cock throbs as he presses you flat, flat to the bed.

He gives a last few greedy thrusts before he calms, though he doesn’t stop moving. Spencer rolls his hips for a slow, languishing minute.

His hand finds your shoulder. His face turns to yours as you turn yours to his, two halves of a good kiss.

“I love you,” you whisper.

He’s panting, but his reciprocation is immediate. “I love you more.”

“No, you don’t.”

Spencer lifts himself up enough to wrap his arms behind your head, almost framing your head where you’re laid underneath him. “Trust me, I do.” His eyes shutter. You close your own in wait of another kiss, but he’s sliding the tip of his nose down the bridge of your own. He draws a circle, draws soft lines over your cheek in zigzags.

“Tell me what to do now,” he murmurs.

You scratch his back lightly. “Aw, Spencer, just keep doing this.”

—

Spencer cleans you up and you finally cry, a couple of tears you’re hoping he won’t notice as he drops the towel on your leg. He holds you with his hand behind your back and murmurs words too nice for such silly tears into your cheek, before asking, scared, if he’d hurt you.

“No, no, it’s like the most intense relief in the world!” you tell him, selfishly basking in the muscle of arms where they’re wrapped around you, and his silky hair whispering over your ear. “I feel amazing.”

“I didn’t think you’d be one of the women who cry afterward,” he says. He’s not judging you, simply sharing an observation. It makes sense. You’re not usually emotional in such an unconstrained way.

“I’m really happy.” You pinch his chin mildly.

“Your legs are hurting.”

You let him go. “Yeah, a bit. It’s a nice hurting. Like we went for a really long walk.”

He takes your face into both hands and tips your head back. You’re slouched forward, he’s straight-backed, and he’s taller where he’s grinning at you. His hand comes to rest against one of your breasts, giving it a little cup before he presses it flat over your heart. “I thought you were never gonna calm down.”

“You have that effect on people.”

“Maybe that’s true for you,” he says, tapping your nose with his, encouraging you to lift your chin. “But only one person’s ever made me lose my breath like that,” he adds, your lips touching, not kissing.

You could keep him forever. “Think we should turn our phones back on?” you ask.

“When I’ve made you something to drink, sure. And found you something to wear, right? It’s too cold.”

You’re still hot enough to cook an egg, but you let him take care of you. It’s as good as being fucked, being adored when it’s done. He gives you underwear first, a soft tank top and a pair of panties you’d left here before and he’d washed and pressed, your sweetheart. You’re surprised he doesn’t help you into them, but you notice with fond bemusement that he’s cringing as he steps into a fresh pair of boxers.

“You okay, handsome? Did you tweak something?”

He’s in pants before you realise, standing shirtless with sex-tousled hair. You could ask him back to bed if you weren’t exhausted. “I’m not in shape.”

“I could say otherwise.”

Spencer’s on top of you again in an instant. He sits on your naked leg and pulls down your rising tank top before twinging your hands in his. He’s practically in your lap as he kisses your chin. It’s that earnest you end up giggling, lovestruck, two idiots holding hands. He steals a couple of lazy kisses. You can’t remember how many you’ve had anymore.

“You’re contrary,” he says as he pulls away.

“Can’t you be nice to me? You were acting so nice.”

He slides off of your leg. “You’re my best friend. I hope we’re this happy for the rest of our lives.”

You fist your hand in the rumpled sheets behind you. He’s apparently unaware he’s said the most special thing he could’ve, opening his closet door to retrieve your pyjamas from the shelf he dedicated to you the first time you slept over. You are best friends, is the best part. He’s not exaggerating.

Before he’d ever kissed you, you were in love. You’ve been in love for years.

Spencer drops your pyjamas next to you on the bed. “You want me to help you put them on?”

You have no reason to need help tonight, but you want it. “Yes, please. Can you rub my back after?”

“Yesss. I’d love to rub your back. If we maintain our physical connection after sex, it enhances the relaxing factor but it also prolongs the effect of the oxytocin and dopamine your brain would’ve released when we were–” He picks up your sleep shirt and shakes it out. “Well, you know.”

“Any more sex facts for me?”

Spencer has the nerve to blush, considering the way he’d spoken to you only ten minutes ago. “An orgasm as a woman can lower your risk of heart disease, breast cancer, and depression.”

You smile at him sweetly. “No kidding. How much to get that risk down to zero?”

He kisses your cheek. “You know that’s not how it works.”

“We can still try.”

“Um. Can I have a banana first?”

“I’m kidding!”

“Oh.” He gestures for you to put your arms into the sleep shirt. “Well, maybe you can have a banana too and we’ll see how we feel.”

˗ˋˏ ʚ♡ɞ ˎˊ˗

Thank you for reading!!!!! I hope you enjoyed it! please reblog or let me know what you thought if you have the time, but I hope you enjoyed regardless!

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer and bombshell reader #criminal minds #spencer reid smut

[ttsukiimi]

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ F⍣CK HER ‘TILL SHE SORE!

★ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 ⎯ He’s not addicted to your cũnt—he swears. He swears even as he’s forced the fourth ōrgasm out of you tonight; and there’s more to come.

★ 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 ⎯ gojo x fem!reader, toji x fem!reader, choso x fem!reader, nanami x fem!reader, smut (mdni), tit play, multiple örgasms, size difference (choso), slight còckwarming (nanami), reader referred to as (princess, baby, doll, good girl)

✧･ﾟ𝓖. 𝓢 ✧･ﾟ

Gojo didn’t even know how he even initially found himself inside you—it was like one second he was cuddling closer to you as his eyes glued to the tv, then another your leg was hoisted over his waist as he jerked his hips into you repeatedly. Was it his fault? Had he begged you to let him put just the tip in? Yes.

But you had given in, and that in its own was your mistake.

“Stay still, princess, wanna give it to you good,” he whispered in your ear, the way his shaky breath fanned past your neck causing goosebumps to bloom on your skin. You nodded, though it wasn’t a promise, and tried to take each passionate thrust of his girth he gave to you.

You were clutching the couch pillow for dear life, whining as you felt euphoria rock through you so pleasurably for the umpteenth time that night. The movie playing had long been forgotten—only serving as background noise, and to Satoru a nuisance since the sounds drowned out your heavenly moans.

He huffed into the skin of your neck, determined to now make you louder, and a hot slap landed on your left cheek, effectively coaxing a loud yelp from your lips. “Mh—!”

And you were sensitive by then, his seed dripping from your battered cunt, your body shivering and thighs quivering, but even then he was set on urging one last orgasm out of you.

Or two.

Hell, he couldn’t even promise it wouldn’t be three. But he just needed to stay inside of you.

Satoru’s hands came up from behind you before they latched onto your chest, groping your tits as he muttered lewd words in your ear.

“You like when I fucking play with these pretty tits, hm?” He kissed your shoulder, and you felt a smile form against your skin as the only thing you could let out was a weak whine—too drunk on his dick to speak. Satoru groaned at the sound, his lips finding your pulse point as he spoke.

“Always so dumb once I get inside you,”

✧･ﾟ𝓒.𝓚✧･ﾟ

Choso doesn’t have an exact idea of why he loves being buried inside you so much; perhaps it’s the way you sound, the way you feel, or the way you look—tears in your eyes and all—but he does know that he’d die happy if that meant he was inside you in his last moments.

And he absolutely adores every minute that he is.

Because with how much your greedy cunt is pulsing around him, and your manicured nails are scratching red lines down his back, Choso thinks he’s really found heaven. Right between your legs.

“Baby, slow down, Cho,” you whined, your sight obscured with tears though you could still make out the image of his sculpted body over yours, and he’s so big compared to you.

Sometimes he might forget that—but could you blame him though? Anyone would forget about some mere size difference when inside your addictive pussy, and he proved to be that anyone.

Choso leaned forward, and in the process his hair fell forward, framing both yours and his face. His hands ventured up your body and found their place on your chest, squeezing the meleable flesh.

“‘S okay, you can take it,” he mumbled, pressing a quick kiss to your lips, uncaring of the slight drool dribbling from the side of your mouth. With each thrust the course hairs at his base tickled your clit, stimulating you in a way that felt so good your whole body was quivering with pleasure.

“Just..one more, baby,”

✧･ﾟ𝓝.𝓚✧･ﾟ

Sometimes Nanami finds himself wondering just what you do to him, how you’ve changed him in ways he couldn’t himself in the past years you’ve been together. He can't help but smile when he sees your infectious smile, and he melts when he hears your sweet laugh.

But, above all, you've created an addiction in him. One that he seems to think about every waking moment; even at work, and that’s new territory for him.

What’s worse is that you know. Always teasing him about how pussy drunk he is, how he’d really do anything just to be inside you—not like he’s denying that—but he can’t retaliate with the way the tips of his ears burn pink. So, he’ll prove it.

“Kento, what’re you—“ you cut yourself off with an uneven breath, eyes rolling to the back of your head in tandem with the way he pushes himself into you.

His strong arms are wrapped around you, keeping you in place, but he strangely doesn’t begin to move. The reason being—well, he’s testing himself. His resolve, his patience by not moving a single inch, even while being compressed by your tight warmth.

Which is proving to be a challenge already for Nanami.

“Proving to you that ‘m not—“ he halts, groaning and gritting his teeth as you slightly shift, causing a grin to flourish on your face.

“That you’re not what?” you retort, pushing your hips back onto him, taking him in deeper than he already was. Your hand reaches back and caresses his face, cooing above his lips. “Know you wanna move. ‘M not stopping you either, ken.”

You’re so close to his lips Nanami could move an inch and they’d touch, but he won’t, of course. But…when you’re fucking yourself on his cock, moaning out for him to hear, to tease him, Nanami thinks maybe there isn’t anything to prove.

Maybe he is drunk on your pussy.

✧･ﾟ𝓣.𝓕✧･ﾟ

Toji knows of his slight compulsion towards your pussy. His tendency to always want to be inside is truly something that needs to be studied—because there’s absolutely no way his sex drive should be this significant.

Admittedly, he is aware of his addiction, but will he take any action to try to change his behavior? No. That then becomes your problem to tackle, but you have the perfect solution.

“A what?” Toji mumbled, licking the scar on his lip as he creased an eyebrow upwards in confusion. You were sat on his lap, your arms looped around his neck and you began to speak.

“A Sex ban, Toji.” you attempted to suppress your grin when you saw the confusion on his face only deepen, and a big hand came to cup your cheek, forcing you to look at him.

“‘M not for all your little games today, doll. Got a mission tomorrow and y’know what that means.” he sighed, his free hand holding your waist, slowly sliding to the waistband of your shorts and beginning to pull them down.

“But, really baby, we—you need a break.” you protested, but just couldn’t counter back with the way his rough and thick fingers were already playing with your folds, gathering your essence.

Quickly, his lips were on yours and that shut you up, which gave him time to free himself from his sweats and enter you in one, swift motion.

He wasted no time in holding your hips and bouncing you up and down on his cock, a smug smirk on his lips as he looked at the way your eyes rolled back in pleasure. You weren’t one to talk about a sex ban when you could hardly even let him go on a mission for more than 2 days without complaining about how much you missed him and his magic dick.

“Now ya just be quiet and take what I give you, yeah?” he breathed in your ear as his big hands groped your tits, fingers playing with your hardened nipples. The pleasure coursed throughout your body so deliciously, already causing your thighs to begin quivering and your pussy pulsed around him, greedy to suck him dry.

“Good girl,”

#ꔫ : ˚ ͙۪۪̥◌⎯ 𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐈’𝐒 𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 #jjk fic #jjk smut #gojo smut #jjk x reader #jjk headcanons #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk fanfic #jjk x you #toji fushigro x reader #toji smut #fushiguro toji x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x y/n #kento nanami #nanami smut #nanami kento #kamo choso x reader #choso smut #kamo choso #nanami x you #nanami x reader #toji fushiguro #choso kamo #gojo satoru x reader #jjk nanami #toji x you #dilf toji

[harrysfolklore]

charles leclerc simping over his girlfriend: a compilation

MASTERLIST | MY PATREON | charles smau | charles headcanon

No matter where Charles went or what he did, one thing was constant - he simply could not stop talking about his girlfriend.

He was utterly smitten, and it showed through his words and massive smile every time her name came up. Fans quickly noticed Charles' habit of gushing over YN in interviews, on social media, with reporters, and even during casual interactions.

It became such a phenomenon that Formula 1 super-fans began compiling clips of Charles being a total simp for his girl into viral videos.

The most popular one was called "Charles Leclerc simping over his girlfriend: a compilation, and the 15-minute long video compiled some of the most hilarious, heartwarming, and over-the-top examples of the F1 star's borderline obsession with his girlfriend.

It opened with a clip from Charles' interview on Sky Sports before the Monaco Grand Prix. The reporter asked how special it was racing at his home circuit.

"It's amazing driving here where I grew up," Charles said with a huge smile. "But honestly, the best part is having my girlfriend YN here supporting me, this is already such a special race but having her here just adds another layer to it."

"Could you say that you have a good luck charm with you today?" the reporter asked again.

"Definitely, she's always my good luck charm."

The next clip was from Charles and Carlos' music challenge for Ferrari's YouTube channel, they had to guess the song that was playing with just a three second snippet.

"As it was, Harry Styles!" Charles said and rang the small bell that was placed in the middle of them as soon as he heard the first second of the intro.

"You've been practicing," Carlos stated as he pointed at him raising an eyebrow.

"I love this song," Charles said to the camera, "My girlfriend is obsessed with it, she plays it every day."

"And you talk about her every day," Carlos teased, elbowing him.

"I do, I do."

The video moved to show Charles with some fans, he was getting his luggage after a flight and they approached him asking for a picture, one of them filming the whole interaction.

"Of course, no problem at all," Charles replied warmly with a small smile on his face.

As he posed for a picture with the group, Charles noticed that one of the fans was wearing a Taylor Swift shirt. His eyes lit up with recognition and a smile spread across his face.

"I see you're a Taylor Swift fan," Charles remarked, pointing to the shirt. "My girlfriend loves Taylor too. She's always playing her songs around the house and talking about her."

"Wow, that's so cool!" the fan's eyes widened in surprise, "What's her favorite song?" they asked.

"I think her favorite is 'Love Story," Charles chuckled, "She says it reminds her of us."

"That's such a classic! Your girlfriend has great taste," the fan said.

"Thank you, I'll let her know you said that."

The next clip was from Charles' interview promoting his new ice cream brand called LEC, a reporter had asked him how did he come up with the creative names for each flavor.

"It was a teamwork between me and my girlfriend, actually," he replied with a smile, "She played a huge part on this project, everyone knows I could't had come up with Vanillove and Pistachi-on on my own."

The video then cut to a clip from the F1 Grill the Grid challenge, where drivers were playing 'Never Have I Ever", when asked "Have you ever missed a flight?", Charles immediately knew his answer."

"I have, more than once," he said, quickly adding, "But it wasn't my fault, my girlfriend has this long morning routine that she refuses to skip, even though she looks beautiful no matter what."

The video also included footage of Charles during a press conference before the Australia Grand Prix, a reporter asked him about his pre-race rituals.

"Well, I have a few things I like to do before getting into the car," Charles began. "But one thing that's become a bit of a tradition is a phone call with my girlfriend. No matter where we are in the world, we always find time to talk before the race if she's not there."

"What do you two usually talk about?"

"Oh, just the usual stuff," Charles replied with a grin. "She gives me some last-minute words of encouragement, tells me to be safe, that sort of thing. It's nice to hear her voice before such a big moment."

A clip form Charles' 'One week in Los Angeles' was also included, he was playing around at the basketball course shirtless.

"No way!" he said after he missed the basket again, "This is making me look really bad, I need to impress my girl."

The camera panned to her for a moment, and Charles sent a wink her way.

"Are you impressed, love? he asked, throwing the ball and missing once again.

"Very, but not by your basketball skills."

The compilation went on and on, clip after clip of Charles finding any opportunity to mention his girlfriend and proclaim his love for her. From the most casual conversations to the highest-pressure interviews, he just could not help himself from gushing.

As the video ended, the caption displayed: "Get yourself a man who loves you like Charles loves YN."

#charles leclerc au #charles leclerc x female reader #charles leclerc x y/n #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc smau #charles leclerc fake instagram #charles leclerc #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc f1 #formula 1 fanfic #formula 1 #formula one #charles leclerc fanfiction #harrysfolklore #f1 x reader #max verstappen #miami gp 2024 #1k

[goldenboygate]

I don't think I've ever seen so many people happy for someone else to win. Carlos, Max, Charles, Daniel, Fernando, and George all hurried up to him to congratulate him, and those were only the ones we saw. Personnel from other teams were walking over each other to high-five or fist-bump him. People working on the track looked at him with the biggest smiles and I don't know when was the last time we got this much chanting for a winner.

Lando Norris is beloved by all who know him and spend time with him, and I will never again take anyone on social media seriously who has a bad word to say about him

#f1 #lando norris

[kenntolog]

𝝑𝝔 an: soooo i hope u like this!! read more here!!

cool boyfriend sukuna, who lives with his older brother jin and his little nephew yuuji, bringing you home for the first time since you started dating.

he was always reluctant about you meeting his family because he knows they will make a fuss about it and overall sukuna hates it when people pry into his personal life, which is what they usually do.

of course, jin itadori has noticed that he’s been absent — coming home from university to change and then leave or sometimes just not being home until late night — and has made sure that he isn’t hanging around with druggies or something like that like the responsible adult he is(he just annoyed sukuna into saying ‘fuckin’ hell, i’m not into drugs, i’m just hanging out with my girl!’ while yuuji makes sound effects for the drama of it).

so it’s not long before sukuna finally tells you to get ready to come over to his place. the excited squeal you let out makes his ears bleed, but it’s okay, he thinks with a small smile as he stares up at your window from below your building and waits for you to call him a little later so he can pick you up. he waits for you dutifully and you don’t disappoint him when you come out of your block; looking like an angel sent from above in your white sundress and pretty hair and soft makeup.

he can’t stop his lips from stretching wider as you shyly approach him, looking at him with an expectant gaze, waiting for him to say something.

“aren’t you all dolled up and pretty. ‘s that for me or my brother?” he teases, keeping his hand in his pocket to not ruffle your neatly straightened hair.

he doesn’t expect an answer but you still surprise him, holding onto his shoulders to peck his cheek softly and then move to his ear to whisper, “for you, ‘kuna~”

sukuna sucks in a breath and closes his eyes for a second, contemplating whether he still wants to go to the dinner or push you back into your room and have fun with you on your bed.

“let’s go, ‘kunaa! don’t wanna be late!”

he rolls his eyes and settles you into his(jin’s) car before taking his spot at the driver’s seat and stepping on the gas.

the ride is filled with the soft tunes of your favourite songs(yes, he loves you that much to let you connect to his speakers). you sing along quietly, too immersed in your own thoughts to notice sukuna covering his smile with his free hand, and watch the road, letting the wind blow back your hair and grinning softly. seeing you this excited about meeting his family spreads warmth through his chest.

though, when the car reaches his building, you seemingly get nervous, hand shyly holding onto his to stop him from leaving as you look up at him unsurely.

“what if they don’t like me?”

he flicks your forehead with a roll of his eyes while you shriek and rub the spot soothingly, “if they tolerate me, there’s no way they won’t like you.”

“you’re not that bad, ‘kuna.”

“oh, you don’t even know, baby.”

he tries to ease your nerves on the elevator ride; hand tickling your waist so you smile, lips planting soft kisses onto the revealed skin, reassuring you that his brother and nephew are far less judgmental than he is. the walk to his front door consists of you trying to run away while sukuna tries to tug you back.

and it’s really inconvenient that his front door opens exactly when his hand is raised to hit you on the back of your head so you come to your senses and stop you from being a dumbass. sukuna sighs, scratching his neck instead, while you bow down hurriedly in a greeting.

you feel your face heat up until there is a pair of much smaller feet with different socks in sight and lift your head to lock gazes with a carbon copy of his uncle, little yuuji itadori. he beams at you like the sun itself, so bright and intoxicating, “i’m yuuji! nice to meet you!”

you can’t help but smile back at him before standing straight to introduce yourself to sukuna’s brother and nephew properly.

to sukuna’s surprise, the dinner is far more pleasant than he ever imagined it would be. it’s filled with your and jin’s soft talking, occasionally mixed with sukuna and yuuji’s bickering, but mostly jin asking you about yourself and you responding. you treat jin with respect, evident from the way you think about your answers and ask if it’s okay for him to answer his own question too, and sukuna is happy to see that you two clearly like each other already.

not even talking about yuuji, who can’t seem to take his attention off of you; his small fingers playing with the dangling charm of your bracelet, eyes trained on your pretty face as he listens to whatever you’re telling just as attentively as his father and uncle. sukuna isn’t even gonna deny that it’s a very cute sight.

at some point, before dessert, jin tells him to come and help with the dishes after politely declining your offer to help.

“she’s very sweet.”

“yeah.”

he smiles when he hears yuuji’s laughter from the other room along with your giggles. jin smiles too, continuing to wash the dishes.

“and very smart.”

“damn right she is.”

jin nods, nudging him so he starts drying off the plates. “so how come she chose you?”

as much as sukuna wants to jump on his brother for the implication that he’s not the best of choices(before reluctantly accepting that it’s not that far from the truth) he knows the answer to that question, the corners of his lips curling upwards as he busies his hands with work.

“i chose her first.”

at that, jin stares at him with a surprised look in his bright eyes. they finish washing the dishes in silence and move to the living room once tea is ready.

meanwhile, yuuji is sitting on the couch with you by his side. he’s making origami for you(well, at least he’s trying) while he rambles on about his day and you listen so attentively that sukuna even wonders whatever the hell he’s talking about.

he enters the room with lazy steps and falls back on the armchair with a heavy sigh, catching your gaze and winking at you. you look away with a small smile, refocusing on yuuji who’s gone silent at the moment. the little boy sits closer to you, urging you to lean down with a chubby hand. you oblige, waiting for him to say something in your ear. you giggle at that, hand coming up to cover your mouth before you whispered something back into yuuji’s ear. that makes yuuji all giggly and excited as he wraps his small arms around your neck and places a smooch on your cheek.

sukuna watches the interaction with a soft expression on his face, eyes halfway open and a sweet smile playing on his lips, his fist barely covering the lower half of his face, before he hears a ‘click!’ and turns to see his brother with a camera in his hand.

jin’s smile reminds him of the smile he had when he first had yuuji in his arms. so warm it’s probably enough to melt away a whole iceberg. sukuna feels his chest tighten before wondering if he can make you something more than just his girlfriend for the first time.

+ bonus!

“what did that little dipshit whisper to you?”

“he asked if he was cuter than you.”

“and you said?”

(you said yes.)

“heh, i told him you were the cutest, ‘kuna.”

#— miya writes! #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #sukuna ryomen x reader #sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna ryomen #jjk x reader #sukuna ryomen x you #jjk sukuna #ryomen sukuna #ryomen sukuna x you #sukuna fluff

[yabakuboi]

There's an incredibly pretty girl at the front desk in Family Video, and Steve—Eddie's boyfriend of eight months—is leaning over the counter with a sly smile and half-lidded eyes.

Eddie pauses in the doorway, struck dumb for a moment as he takes in the scene, and then gleefully ducks down behind the nearest shelf.

"So tell me," Steve says, all low and intimate. "What kind of movie were you looking for?"

"Um," the girl says. She doesn't sound very enthusiastic—barely indulgent at best. Eddie wishes he could see, but any sight of him will ruin Steve's chances right now. He's got a pretty good mental picture though. "I really like those old black and white movies, the really glamorous ones, you know?"

"Oh, totally," Steve sighs, like he's swooning. "Like Cary Grant, Clarke Gabel?" Eddie can practically hear his smirk. "Katharine Hepburn? Ginger Rogers?"

"Oh, I love Ginger Rogers!"

"Really?" Steve says matching her excitement. "Well, you're just in luck! Robin here knows all about those old black and white movies, don't you Robin?"

Eddie presses a hand to his mouth to hide his snickering. Robin had looked like a hooked fish when he'd walked in, she's gotta be gaping stupidly right now. "Uuuh," he hears her mumbling, and tries not to snort too loud. "Y-Yeah, uh, golden age of Hollywood stuff, absolutely. I could? Show you where they are?"

"Oh my gosh, that would be amazing!" the girl says, her interest in the conversation now warmed by several degrees. Eddie is still a little in awe of how well his boyfriend can sniff out gay girls.

"I got the front here, Robin," Steve cuts in smoothly. "You ladies take your time, make sure you pick out a good one!"

Eddie waits another beat, listening at their footsteps shuffle away, before he pops up from behind the shelf. Steve, lighting up like a Christmas tree, beams at him.

"Am I a genius or what?" he whispers, grinning ear to ear.

"Your lesbian powers know no equal," Eddie says just as quietly, taking the girl's spot at the counter, leaning into Steve's space. Steve happily mirrors him, until they're tucked together, the world narrowing down to the two of them. It's Eddie's favorite place to be. "All hail Steve Harrington, blessid he, lesbian whisper. Come to aid all useless queers in the fight against singledom."

"Thank you, thank you," Steve says with an air of novel benevolence. "I promise to only use my powers for good."

"Dingus. Doofus."

They jump away from each other as if shocked. Robin glowers at them both, but the pretty girl behind her is giggling and standing way too close for friendly, just at Robin's elbow.

"Move it, lovebirds," she hisses as she rounds the desk. "I need to check Claire out."

"I think you already have," Steve says. His smile this time is down right evil.

Robin actually hisses at him, and hip checks him away from the register. Eddie does a bow, sweeping his arm out to give Claire the prime spot in front of the desk, before he turns back to Steve.

"My dear, if you could please," he simpers, all posh and nasally. "Show me to your finest, grossest horror movie, thank you my good sir."

"Ugh," Steve groans already heading off into the shelves, not waiting for Eddie to follow. "You're lucky I love you, Ed. Shit gives me nightmares."

"I know," Eddie sings, chasing him. "I love you too."

#steddie #stobin #steve is the barney to robin's ted mosbey #what a horrifying sentence but the sentiment is there #oh no a himym steddie + buckingham au when??? #ANYWAYS just imagine the store is totally empty and steve saw this chick at dyke night when robin dragged him along one time #so he felt super confident in the safety of being a lil more open #this was silly i actually wanted to write it about eddie being in love with steve's evil nasty face when he brutally roasts robin/everyone #instead it was this thank you for your time #my steddies

[taigarrryen]

On board of spacecraft Sheriff-2, the mood is shifted slightly from what it used to be like for the last couple of weeks. They are approaching their final destination. Jimmy looks at the man tenderly combing his honorary co-pilot's fur and thinks to himself what a shame this is: he had never had a passenger as pleasant and entertaining as Skizz.

JIMMY: Are you sure you want to go there, Skizz? Norman and I can take you to Leonida or Pandora or something...

SKIZZ: Of course I want to go there, man! It's my first job away from the Solar system! And my buddy is waiting for me.

JIMMY: That's... An interesting choice for the first time outside. Satellite hermits are weird fellas.

SKIZZ: Wha... "Satellite hermits"?

JIMMY: You've never heard that?

SKIZZ: No, what's that?

One of the lamps on the control panel lights up — someone's trying to communicate.

[???]: (static)

[???]: Minecrea Central — Sheriff-2, I've got your ping, see you orbiting. Landing pad is free, you're clear for landing. Hi Tim!

JIMMY: ..Well, you're about to become one, apparently!

Skizz raises a brow. Jimmy puts on his headgear and turns on the microphone.

JIMMY: Sheriff-2 — Minecrea Central, got it, preparing for landing. Hi Griaaan.

JIMMY: Imma need to turn off gravity simulation, do me a favor and go lock yourself in a passenger cabin. And bring Norman with you, please!

SKIZZ: Ay-ay captain!

SKIZZ (after a pause, in a small voice) : Is it gonna be as bad as take off?

JIMMY: No. (smile) It's a bit worse.

SKIZZ: Oh...

["Satellite hermits" is an unofficial nickname for people working on Europa, Callisto, Titan and many other satellites of big planets. There's a certain pattern of finding life and/or useful resources on moons of gas giants, and the job can be quite isolating.]

______________

I finally have time to talk about my hc AU, yaaay!! :D

Check out the info post about the setting, it'll be posted somewhat shortly after this one!

#satellite hermits au #taigartyen #hermitblr #hermitcraft #skizzleman #jimmy solidarity #that's my attempt at the “fake comic cover” genre by the way :D

[iznsfw]

Midnight

IZ Days of Christmas 2023: Day 11 - An Yujin

IVE's An Yujin x Male Reader Smut

13,838 words

Categories | toxic relationship, degradation, violence, cunnilingus, jealous!Yujin

Support me on Ko-Fi!

Taylor's Version because we're cultured here. For my @usedpidemo <3

Sorry for being gone. It will happen again.

“It isn’t rocket science,” snaps Wonyoung, “so just tell me what’s better: this hot pink top or this baby pink one?”

You stare at the clothes hanging from the idol's fingers. You’re not colorblind by any means, but the two shirts look exactly the same to you. No differing hue, no richer brightness. If you picked up a spyglass to observe further, you’d still be the same oblivious man.

“Wonyoung, I don’t know,” you say. You really don’t. It’s the same truth you’d profess with a gun cocked to your temple. The mournful would know you were a martyr of honesty. “I’m a guy. I don’t usually choose between crop top number one and crop top number two.”

She sighs, lowering the hangers. “This isn’t a crop top. It’s a baby tee.”

“Someone just fucking kill me.”

Amuse dances on Wonyoung’s expression, something the face mask can’t veil. She likes pissing you off more than the world does. But at the end of the day, you’re the only guy she’d allow to be friends with her. It traces back to playground days—on the swing, fingers linked.

You look around. All the clothes hanging from the racks—dresses, crop tops (baby tees?), knitted Bangkok coordinates—share the same primary color. What the fuck was Wonyoung going on about? 

She slips an arm through the looped curve of your own. Her heels click as she’s leading you away from the hell of hyperfemininity, which just so happens to be her trademark. Not yours, though. Which is what makes this a problem. Which adds to the millions of other problems you have.

“I’m sorry,” she says. This is a tone of voice a friend uses when it’s time: sincere and loving. Wonyoung’s a good friend, your best friend. “I thought I was keeping your stress away from…”

The sentence fades out. Wonyoung avoids your eyes. You look down at your shoes. Hate it or love it, the girl you care about more than anyone else is fueling your emotions. 

She’s not Wonyoung, as many people like to believe. You’re surprised, too. When you were twelve, Wonyoung was the most beautiful girl in the world to you—just not the one you’d end up with. This girl who has your heart’s taken her Aphrodite place and needs a mask to hide her identity, too. 

The love of your life, An Yujin. Twenty years old, K-pop idol for longer than you’re able to fathom, and just about everything. It would take hours to list everything Yujin has going on. And although you know each one, it doesn’t stop you from longing.

You think about her all the time and sometimes, you pray that you don’t so the pain won’t splinter your heart.

“Wonyoung.” You’re tired.

“I’m sorry.”

The world is keen on keeping you in shreds. You see a mother and father shopping with their kid. The little boy has the same dimpled smile as your girlfriend. If only Yujin wanted to actually love you. There’s another young couple taking pictures in front of the wide mirror. Their arms are around each other, photo-ready for Instagram. Meanwhile, Yujin only posts about her ambassadorships. 

Wonyoung doesn’t look at the price tags when she places the tops on the cashier counter. The cashier thankfully doesn’t recognize her. If he did, he didn’t show it at all. She slaps a black card into his hand and soon, you’re exiting the outlet. Thank god for it. You were sure you were slowly dying.

But it isn’t the shopping or the commute or the cash that’s killing you. It’s her absence. Are you just a fan again? Feeding on a relationship that’s almost as nonexistent as it used to be?

“Are you deaf?” 

Raise your head. You’re still in the mall. The crowd bustles between you and Wonyoung, who’s looking at you weirdly.

“What?” you ask.

“I asked if you wanted ice cream.”

Oh. You clear your eyes with a blink, then realize you’re in front of an ice cream truck. Pink and white and pretty, a menu of everything delicious, and a childlike joy in the customers’s faces.

Sure is what you say. If that’ll keep my mind off her is what you don’t.

Wonyoung asks for the largest ice cream. For a girl whose physique is slim and toned, she loves to eat. You picked the habit up from her, too, but you can’t stand making her pay for your own food. A mini cup it is.

You don’t realize your silence. It’s natural—like taking another breath, like taking another look at your phone to see if she’s messaged you. 

The stretch of quietness leaves you time to ponder. The sweetness fills your mouth and you can only think that there are other people sweeter—someone with a smile worth gold and a playfulness you never get tired of. It’s not worth the trouble; you doubt that she thinks of you as often as she crosses your mind. She probably doesn’t at all.

“It’s okay if you don’t wanna talk about it,” Wonyoung adds, thumb stroking the red long spoon. “So we can just eat here and call it a day. Quick and simple.”

Yeah right.

You release a sarcastic huff of breath. The soft hills of the ice cream are delicious but none go in your mouth. “It’s fine,” you mutter. “It’s not like I have anyone to go home to.”

Every day consists of mourning and longing for a girl who isn’t even dead. She’s everywhere in Korea—TV screens, advertisements, large tarpaulins, shop standees—but the only place she can’t be is by your side. 

She’s always with you if you count your phone wallpaper being a stolen picture of her. But besides that, it’s like she’s gone. Cremated in an urn and thrown into the ocean. She’s left you behind for good.

Wonyoung puts down her cup. Sincerity’s evident on her face. “You have to understand… it’s really not all on her.”

Sure, it isn’t. But it’s hard not to put the blame on someone when the other side of the bed is empty. When your phone’s full of messaged apologies and I-love-yous that don’t mean anything. It’s fucking draining. 

You laugh. Nothing’s funny. “Are you saying it’s my fault?” you ask.

“Of course not.”

“So what the hell do you suggest I do?” 

Your voice comes out louder than you expect. Eyes dig holes into your being. Your conversation is a song everyone wants to listen to. They‘ll pick it apart, formulate theories, and wonder who’s the featured artist. 

Wonyoung’s face is full of sadness. You hate that she worries about you the way she would a child. You don’t need parental comfort and a “get well soon” balloon; you need Yujin. And that alone guarantees a wave of pity.

“Well?” you prompt her. She’s got a lot to say, and now she’s refusing to speak about Yujin.

She doesn’t continue.

Lower your tone, for both your sakes. You don’t want a fight to break out here. And she doesn’t need attention when she’s already got enough as an idol. 

Your false smile cracks and you don’t think you can hide the depth of your sadness. In this busy mall, you want to make a scene. Not just a scene, but one that involves a little illegality, which you no doubt would have done if you were raised differently.

You want to tear at the nearest man’s throat. Have him choke, slowly die, and leave his blood as a warning to everyone. His veins would be all over the floor.

You want to break the porcelain plate of banana split over a kid’s head, just to see his cracked skull. Nobody can be happy if you aren’t. There isn’t a treat that would fill the hole in your heart like Yujin does.

You want to hurt anybody, everybody, to make up for your own that’s starting to corrupt your mind.

“We can have this conversation again and again,” you manage, choking up tears, “and she still won’t come home to me.”

Wonyoung looks down at her lap. There’s two perspectives here: yours and Yujin’s. She knows her bandmate’s side better as someone who’s going through the same. She can’t play both roles, choose who’s the victim and villain. 

She’s utterly defeated. But she tries to make you get it. “It won’t be like this forever,” Wonyoung says quietly.

Forever is months of a long distance relationship. You’re in the same country but with the way she never visits and neither do you, you might as well be on the other side of the globe. It’s always texts that go unreplied, occasional pictures reacted to with a heart, that kind of stuff. Always no Yujin, always you looking for her.

You’re a puppy searching for his owner. You’re lost, lost, lost—all while Yujin’s found fame and success. But you don’t need that. You need her.

It looks like fame is more attainable. 

You lift your shoulders. Blink back your tears. “Sure looks like it.”

Wonyoung takes your hand. Her gaze is soft. “She’ll perform with me at a festival sometime next week. I’ll take care of her, pull some strings, let you guys have some time together. Right now, she just needs space.”

Space. Okay. You can do that.

A flash of lightning cracks too close. No storm on the forecast though. Embedded in the illumination, you think you saw Yujin’s face. You see her face everywhere actually—even when she’s not there.

Turn to the empty third chair beside you. If you opened your eyes wider and wished harder, would she come? Or would she be another figment of your imagination?

-

Things weren’t always like this. Once upon a time, Yujin was a love you could go back to. You met everyday, ate together everyday, talked everyday. You’re glad you were there for her after IZ*ONE’s disbandment, a great loss for K-pop. 

She sat beside you in the practice room. Gorgeous. That’s what she was. Yujin was the first love of your life, and the only one. She was pretty back then, too. She had that kind of friendly beauty—it started platonically, but oh, if you were to fall, it wasn’t a surprise. 

Somebody take me back.

Her hair was long and brown, your knuckles sliding down on it. She was dressed in baggy clothes that made her look small despite her height. You couldn’t fall more in love.

“I’m sorry about the… you know,” you said, before stopping to place an arm around her shoulder and kissing her. “I know you don’t want to talk about it, but how are you?”

“Things can be better,” Yujin said with a shrug. “We’d be having our world tour, if things went differently.”

“Damn, Covid was a bitch, huh?”

Then, despite it all, Yujin laughed—that beautiful, loud laugh which made her eyes crease and the cute dimple show. You poked it, and she leaned into you once more, just how you liked it.

She nodded. The remaining parts of her giggles fought their way out of her. “Yeah.” Her eyes locked on the door of the room, as if expecting eleven girls to come back in. She wasn’t laughing anymore. “Yeah.”

Her voice faded out. Dreams were there. A bigger discography was on the way, a last in-person concert was supposed to happen. Each was crushed by circumstance. Yujin was not. She withstood every battle and came back holding a bigger sword each time.

It’s not to say it was easy.

“I can’t believe it ended that quickly.” Her sweet and remorseful smile made your heart crack. “One minute I was fifteen meeting all these cool girls, then I’m all grown up and they’re gone.”

She had to move past it. Experience battered her into maturity but she still yearned for younger days. You knew that feeling well. Barely young but barely old. You didn’t know it at that time, but it was the perfect balance. Youth was right there while adulthood waited patiently. Things went by fast and yet it didn't matter. You had each other.

“You know who won’t be gone?” 

“Who?” Yujin propped her chin on your shoulder. Her eyes glimmered with repressed tears.  

You thumbed away one that let go from the side of her mouth. “Me.”

-

You keep your promises as hard as you can, even if it hurts you.

-

You | Hey baby. Good luck on the music show!

Still nothing. You sent it today, eagerly waiting for her appearance on TV. But Yujin left no sign that she got your text. 

So, nothing unusual.

You sit down and try to assure yourself. That’s fine. Yujin’s fine. She just needs space. She needs to focus on her job where people focus on her and she can’t focus on you. Okay. It’ll be alright. It hurts, but if it’s how things should go, do you have any other choice?

The song comes on. The show is dark red with the background playing a looped animation. It’s a heart, stabbed with an arrow over and over. How familiar. The girls are beautiful, as always. Preppy but kitsch outfits were chosen for them to perform in. The varsity jackets cinematically slip off their arms and the skirts sway like they were paid to look that good. 

Smile, because this is what Yujin loves doing the most: dancing and singing for a crowd. She gave everything up for this. She deserves all this love, and she knows it. Her confidence is the sexiest thing about her.

“Baddie, b-b-baddie baddie—” 

That’s your cue. You’re on the edge of your seat. You’ll cheer for her, even from afar.

However, it’s… not her.

The voice and backtrack are different. Another girl’s taken her place. She’s tall and pretty, too. She performs the line with overflowing charisma, but she’s not Yujin. She could never be Yujin. 

You | uh

Wonyoung

Where’s Yujin???

You take no interest in the stage playing out before you. Your only concern is where their best member is. 

The response takes painful hours. It’s a live stage, so of course you have to wait till it’s over. But everything feels so wrong—the catchy beat doesn’t sound quite as good when Yujin’s rich voice isn’t playing over it. 

Wonyoung | i thought she was with you? what are youu talking about?

Yujin definitely isn’t with you. But she needs space. Besides, it’s nothing out of the ordinary. She might have just needed to visit family that would be announced by the company later. Nothing worth the panic.

But as you look at the screen, you can’t help but feel a little pain in your heart. Like grief that happens a few days in advance.

-

Wikihow doesn’t offer a proper guide in dealing with a girlfriend like Yujin. You’ve resorted to articles, to YouTube videos, to question forums. None of them help you out.

They say, in order to make the long-distance relationship better, you should communicate.

Yujin doesn’t reply to your messages. They’re always left in the conversation without a read receipt, or even a simple reaction.

They say to gift her flowers and sweet things, all through a trusted courier.

The staff always throw them out. They probably think you’re a crazy fan.

They say to let it take time. 

She never shows up. Letting it take time means that it’ll happen. But you only meet her twice a month, if you’re lucky. This time—you haven’t seen her in person at all.

But, like a dog waiting for its owner to unleash it, you wait.

-

And wait.

(What’s lost of Yujin remains as a memory: you and her in a café at midnight, looking sullenly at your cups of coffee. Who gets coffee at 12 a.m.? 

Perhaps a couple nearing the parts of their journey where they crash and go up in flames. The police would be too late.

“Okay,” said Yujin. She crossed her arms and leaned back into the detailed metal chair. “Not to be, like, you know, a nosey bitch or anything. But you’re awfully dismissive.”

Charming. “And you aren’t?” you fired back.

The thing about you and Yujin is that you could beat around the bush for days. She would ignore you, give blunt answers, and keep to herself. You would go around for a drive, sleep in a separate room. It’s all fair and square. She doesn’t bother with you, why should you?

In the end, however, you have to come to a conclusion. It isn’t pretty. 

“Babe, if this is about those MC partners I have,” she told you, sounding every bit the nonchalant partner you made obvious she was, “be a little mature. It’s a job. It pays.”

That was all that mattered to her. She grew up to be the breadwinner of her family and now the feel of paper in her palms was all she looked for. 

You looked past her. The sidewalks and pedestrian lanes were full of people, from all walks of life. There were many women who were kinder than Yujin in the masses. So why did you stay?

“You spend more time with those men than me.”

“Then step up your fucking game.” Yujin regarded her iced latté with a cold gaze. “I don’t remember the last time you got me flowers.”

“I told you, your shit security guard has—” 

You paused. Something just hit you. It was a slap that messed up all the curves and chemistries in your brain. 

“They bring you flowers?”

That’s your thing with her. Yours. You bet that she’s more confident posting the bouquets some stupid florist made for her than the ones you handpicked. Always left in the dust, always turned away.

Yujin rolled her eyes then took a sip of her drink. “There he goes.”

She didn’t see it in the same light you did. You got the thing about keeping the relationship a secret. You knew that. Yet what was better here, a rumor with a fellow idol or someone unknown? 

She gave no fucks about it at all. There she drank the overpriced coffee and looked at you casually. Yujin was ashamed of you, and she hid it so badly it was laughable.

“Thanks for being such an empath,” you said.

“Anytime.”

“Do I seriously mean that little to you?”

“I never said that. You’re the one getting your panties twisted over some sunflowers.”

“Your favorite flowers. Maybe if you showed a little more gratitude to the ones I get you than the crap they paid a florist to—”

Yujin sighed loudly. “For fuck’s sake.” 

She slammed her cup down on the table. The plastic cover was no soldier to the pressure and let the brown liquid explode all over the surface. The open design of the white table let the coffee spill on your pants.

You were horrified. Everyone was looking at you. You drew a crowd every time you were out with Yujin and for no good reason. 

“I’m tired of every conversation, every conversation we have turning into another fight.” Her chair creaked as she shoved it up to the ruined table. You flinched again. The aggressiveness wasn’t the only thing that scared you—she had this snow-cold tone that made you melt in all the wrong ways. “So if you want to say something that’s actually not trash about my job, say it now.”

You held her glare for a while. It was a new record. It was deadly, the expressionless plaque of her face. Her teeth were clenched, her whole being was tense, and all the strength she had was spoken through her eyes. You lost at keeping it.

The lurk of silence felt longer than the hours the moon was in the sky. Yujin waited. Perhaps she wanted you to speak. She smiled bitterly. Whatever response she expected, it didn’t come.

“Thought so.” She licked coffee off her thumb and let her hair be the last thing you saw of her.)

-

And wait.

(Yujin smiled when you saw her again. She threw her arms around your neck, kissed you, too. 

You never forgot what happened. You didn’t want to bring it up—she was so happy that it infected you, too. Still, flashbacks of that moment churned in your head as she picked away at her favorite food and joked around.

“I’m a terrible cook,” she said. She forked a burnt broccoli in the air and shook her head in amusement. “I can’t believe you still eat it.”

“Someone has to.”

Her smile was beautiful. Then, broccoli to your lips, she said “I’m happy you’re here,” and it was better again.)

-

And wait.

(Who’s surprised? It all went down once more.

You never told anyone that sometimes, you were tired of it.)

-

And wait.

(What now?)

-

“That’s the nineteenth time you checked your phone.” Sunghoon leans forward on the floor, thumbs mashing into the controller. He shoots you a look. “Yep, I counted.”

You’re that in love with Yujin. No surprise at all. That doesn’t stop the red in your ears though.

She still hasn’t texted you back. No calls were made, which goes the same for TV appearances. No tall girl is spotted amongst a group of five. She isn’t there to brighten up the set with her clever jokes or charisma. 

You text her continuously. Sometimes you try not to sound so desperate, so you space the messages between hours. That doesn’t work, because Yujin is still nowhere.

“Excuse me for being concerned for my girlfriend,” you say. In the darkness of your apartment, she’s the only one who can light it up. 

Sunghoon shuts the game down. He’s losing the game while you’re losing your mind. You two have your own battles.

It really shouldn’t be this painful having her gone. You’re to blame; you bought into it knowing you weren’t built for this kind of relationship—the one where you scrawl and yell while she couldn’t give a fuck if she were forced to. Her love for you is highly debatable, and you’re still here, waiting for that to change.

How did you and Yujin become a couple if you only hurt each other?

“She’s been MIA for like a week. Not counting the months I haven’t met up with her.” Your gaze keeps dashing to your phone. You’ll stand by forever if you had to, but that doesn’t make it easier. “I’m allowed to be worried, right?”

Sunghoon nods. “But that doesn’t mean you have to stay.”

“What?” 

He releases a thinly patient breath. You remain oblivious to whatever he’s referencing. 

“Dude,” he stresses, a hand in his hair, “I don’t have shit for brains. I know that you and Yujin fight like animals.” 

You wince. The elders were right. The truth hurts.

You and your girlfriend argue so much you’d think you’ve been married for sixty years. She’s a fierce woman who won’t let down an opinion if she believes in it that much. On the other hand, you won’t stop at anything to have her hold faith on your side. The walls are thin and let everyone in the dorm hear your quarrel, including poor Hyunseo. And now, your friend.

You keep your eyes on the desk below your television so you won’t have to look at Sunghoon. And even there you search for her. She could be sitting in your kitchen or studying on the staircase. Anywhere, as long as you’ve got her.

He rests himself on the sofa. There’s a very small grin on his face. “But you guys also…” 

You don’t reply. Wish you could put your palms on your ears without being obvious. You’re not sure you want to hear it.

“You and Yujin.” He turns to you. “You love like animals, too.” 

It’s a lighter truth, so why are you sad? 

“It’s kind of—” Sunghoon cuts himself off with a laugh. “You’re lovebirds. If she’s gone, you get so lonely. You’re gonna die if you don’t see her. And I know she’d do the same.”

You never would have guessed. Yujin doesn’t care about you. She doesn’t love you either. Her excuses for not visiting are perfectly designed to look like they benefit you—”I don’t want to disturb you”; “You need more sleep.” 

She’s gotten tired of you.

You lift your head from your hands. “What should I do now?” you ask.

This isn’t a venomous reply. You actually have no idea how to move forward. Yujin’s so far out of reach that you’re beside yourself, scared and helpless. You can’t disturb her schedules and start rumors. You can’t text her too much. There aren’t choices left for you to navigate. And if there are, you aren’t allowed to pick.

You want to curl yourself into a ball and cry yout heart out.

“Hello?” Wonyoung’s recognizable voice sounds out from the entrance, interrupting your trainwreck of thoughts.

You sprint from the sofa. It’s Yujin’s closest friend, the only one who might know where she’s been. You don’t welcome Wonyoung in. You don’t say “hi” or “what’s up?”. The first thing you tell her, upon meeting her at the entrance, is the only thing that’s important to you.

“Where’s Yujin?”

“Has Yujin visi—” Wonyoung pauses, realizing something. The bump in her throat resurfaces again. “She isn’t here?” 

“No. She’s at the dorm, right?” 

“Of course not. Yujin hasn’t stayed over since our last stage. Her parents said she wasn’t at their place.”

That’s more than eight days ago.

Seeing your friend isn’t so pleasant when you know that the one you love most is gone. It’s similar for Wonyoung. The horrors roll scene after scene in your minds, each one portraying Yujin in the cruelest of situations. Not everybody loves her purely—some of them want to hurt and tear and dehumanize her, and you can’t stop it. 

The sobs build up in your throat. “No.” 

“Something’s wrong, something’s wrong, something’s wrong,” says Wonyoung. It’s a singsong without the glee. She laughs nervously as she slips her hands in her pockets and looks behind you, as if it’s all just a cruel joke and Yujin’s safe and sound.

You take it all in. This can’t be real, but it is. The worst thing that could ever happen has finally unfolded. 

Sunghoon gets up, but you place a hand in front of him. He can’t save his friend from this. You feel yourself melting into the person everyone said you were: a mean, jealous god who reigned over Yujin and held her back.

Take a deep breath. “Where is she?”

"I don't know!” she cries out. The puzzle is pieced together. Yujin has disappeared, and both of you thought she was still someplace where it mattered. “She’s not answering my calls. The girls are looking for her. Her family’s looking for her.”

The fear, buried beneath the arteries of your heart, resurrects in the most cruel way. Its bony hand chokes you in its tight grip. If things went wrong tonight, Yujin would remember the merciless words you let go of the last time you saw her. They might be all she’d ever remember.

“Wonyoung.” You try to breathe. You can’t. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I thought you knew!”

You’ve never seen Wonyoung this distressed. Sunghoon’s passed your barrier to comfort her, but it’s not going to happen. She’s pacing around the room and cursing every vulgarity she knows. And the thing about Jang Wonyoung is that she never, ever swears.

The anger stacks up. You did not just let this happen. All those signs—her being missing from performances, the lack of updates—you ignored all of them. 

“You promised to take care of her!” you shout. There’s no room for shame here. You can yell as loud as you want. You’ve been keeping it in for so long. ”That’s what you said to me, now you’re telling me you lost her?”

Sunghoon’s words go unnoticed. You’ve got your own conversations inside your head. The voices go back and forth, saying you’re a terrible boyfriend, saying you’re the worst match for Yujin. This is why she doesn’t love you, they say. This is why she’d rather go missing than see you.

“I’m not the bad guy here!” Wonyoung almost rips her hair out when she faces you. “I’m trying to help you! Don’t you fucking dare pin this on me!”

You and Wonyoung glare at each other. Fierce stares rip at the friendship you nurtured over a girl you both love. Love causes hate and hate causes a flurry of hands and fists. Will you and Wonyoung end up like that, too?

“Wonyoung,” Sunghoon says. His voice is surprisingly steady. “Calm down. Check your phone, Yujin might have texted us.”

Too angry to protest, similar to how she was too angry to hear a notification sound, she turns her spiteful eyes from you and on her device. 

Then, it happens.

Liz | https://gossiphangug/forum/did-i-just-see-ive-yujin

Is that …?

-

오마이갓닛 아이브안유진인가요????????

I saw Ahn yujin at the seoul city highway. i was in my car on a road trip so sorry for the blurry pic but shes so pretty in real life!!!! her face is so small ㅠㅠ i dont think she's shooting something because she's alone. i dont want to invade D: an yujin im your longtime fan!

— What’s she doing all alone???? 

— Yujinieee why do you look sad

— im worried for her, shes famous and a woman. she cant be by herself at night 😭

— OVERRATED……………….

— If you didn’t want to iNvAdE why did you go on a public forum and share her location? Dumb bitch.

-

You get in your car. While you collected your keys from the door, you sent your girlfriend a total of thirty texts. Yujin hasn’t read a single one. You don’t care about space anymore—that’s the last thing she needs. 

The night covers the whole of Korea with an eeriness about it. Shiver, closing your jacket around yourself. The cicadas chirp and footsteps click around when no one’s there. You can’t imagine how scared Yujin must be if these are what she’s going through outside of Seoul, the most dangerous parts.

Place your phone on its holder. It’s always switched on so you can see her picture. She might be gone physically, but she’s always there on your screen—eating lunch, looking at you with wide eyes when she realizes you’re taking pictures of her. She’s in shows. Articles. 

She’s not dead, but she’s been gone for so long you would’ve thought she was.

If you aren’t quick enough, she will be.

Before you drive, you text her again. This time around, she’ll see it. 

You | Yujinnnn how are you?? please reply to me :)i’m coming over right now <3 I’m just here!

You always are, aren’t you? It’s her who’s not.

But you get it. It makes sense that she wouldn’t want to see you after the last time you met. 

Yujin was on her phone, (like always), not speaking a word. You brought up to her that you would appreciate it if you two could go on that dream trip you planned. 

It was the one you formulated when she wasn’t in IVE yet, not even IZ*ONE. You were young and passionate—you had a lot of dreams for yourselves. Being financially stable now compared to those days in Yujin’s practice room, sneaking a little time together, you thought you should go now.

Without looking up, Yujin sighed. “I can’t,” she said. “I’m shooting with the members in Jeju. Maybe next time?”

It was always next time. And it never, ever, happened.

“Okay, when are you planning to live up to your promise?” you told her lightly.

Yujin finally unglued her eyes from the screen. You froze. You didn’t mean to sound so antagonizing. 

Yujin set her hands on her hips, standing to meet your level. She’s scary when she’s mad. The cute dimple’s gone and the brightness from her eyes dissolves. Arguments and silent treatments couldn’t train you from the way the nonchalance on her face disappeared. Or remained. 

An Yujin scares you, and it’s not a laughing matter.

“Why can’t you just wait?” she asked. Her voice was hard as stone. “It’s not that hard. You know I can’t get out of it when I signed a contract.”

Shake your head. You try to focus on the road and its twists and turns, but all you can think about is her. When the possibility that things would go wrong actually happens tonight, you’ll never forgive yourself.

You hear her yells and excuses in your mind. Always the excuses with Yujin. Ladies and gentlemen, what’s new?

Remember how you lost all kindness in that moment and started to spew all these hateful words you didn’t know the impact of. Your hands tighten on the wheel.

“That contract didn’t say you’re legally required to forget about me.”

“I would never do that!” said Yujin angrily, taking a step closer to you. Despite the comfortable clothes, she looked like she wanted to punch you. Her fists were balled and her jaw was taut. She could do it right now and not regret it. “I’m busy, I can’t just show up and say I’m bailing because of a stupid trip.”

Your mouth had fallen to the floor. How could she say that so easily? It was the first promise you made to each other. Something like that ought to be taken more seriously. 

“You think it’s—” No, you couldn’t believe it. You wouldn’t believe it.

But Yujin nodded with all the conviction there was in the world. Your heart was broken, glass shattered from the hit she blew. “As stupid as you think my career is.”

Unbelievable. The apartment you two chipped in together suddenly looked like a blur. In your timeline, the minimal stars in the sky were blobs of unfocused light. Cars looked like clear road. It wasn’t fair, it wasn’t fair. How could she believe something so false?

“Why the fuck are you putting words in my mouth?” you snapped.

She wore this evil smile that challenged you to not back out for once. Yujin pushed you to your limits and loved it. “And why are you such a little bitch about it?”

And you swore you didn’t mean it when you took the quest, when you said—

“Why are you my girlfriend if you’re this selfish and unloveable?”

Her arrogance was gone in an instant. Yujin’s retort never came. She bit her lip tightly,  fearing her response would be in the form of a sob. It was in these moments that you forgot she cried so easily. You shouldn’t have said that. You didn’t intend to.

The words were easy to say, but hard to take back. The expression on her face changed. It went from a fiery summer to a hailstorm that didn’t want to pour down but the clouds overflowed. There was no other way out. In the close distance, you could hear her breath shudder.

Yujin crept up until you were forehead to forehead, nose to nose. Intimacy was out of the question because of her busyness. You hated that she was the closest she’s ever been now—when the tears stormed down her eyes, when her face radiated hot anger.

Her finger jabbed into your chest. She hoped its nail would transform into a knife. 

“Fuck you.” 

You didn’t intend to say what you said, but she did.

She shoved past you and was gone. Her footsteps were loud, crashing down on the floor with the impression that it’s you she’s running over. She wanted to bury you in the ground so you could never hurt her again. So she could never hurt you again.

The door slammed, and since then, you haven’t seen her.

The tear slides down your eye. You can’t hold it back anymore. Before you turn at the red light, you leave her a message:

You | And I love you.

My baby <3 

This is what you meant.

Driving in the night used to be your way of clearing your head. There’s less traffic, less civilians, less everything. The moon signaled home for everyone while you wanted to be anywhere else. It isn’t such a pastime now. Knowing that Yujin is out there, probably feeling very small and very alone—it honestly makes you want to kill yourself.

Not the first time she made you think of it.

The grass tumbles with sprinkler wetness. Trees whip past the vision of your sideview mirror. The streetlights cast a shadow over no one. She isn’t here. 

You won’t accept it. Reject all the paths that she’s been kidnapped and tortured and killed or whatever. Those aren’t true. Yujin’s doing well. She just needs a breather so she went out here.

Going on trying is exhausting. You’ve looked everywhere. You’re already at the darker parts of the highway. The road breaks into the soil and tapers off to the edge of an unprotected cliff. 

There’s no tall girl. There’s no love of your life. Considering that she isn’t here, she‘s most likely dead. She was put in a sack and thrown off this mountain. And nobody heard her screams.

You lost her. Forever.

Then a shadow of frazzled black hair passes by your window. The exhaustion’s creeping into you, so it might be a hallucination. But then you see the fabric hanging below the woman’s hair.

It’s your jacket.

You turn the engine off. Its death allows you to jump out of your car, takes one for the team so your girlfriend doesn’t have to. All the clues are there and you remain unsure if it’s really Yujin.

Until you see the strained, regretful smile that accents a dimple on her cheek.

Until you see the length of her legs as she sits on the edge.

Until you see her face.

“Yujin!” you call out. A murder of crows flies out from your feet as you sprint to her. 

She whips her head to you. Tears still speck her face but she’s wearing your jacket and your boxers. Not a wound blemishes her skin.

The relief courses through your blood like lifesaving medicine. Yujin’s safe! She’s okay. Her sneakers crash on the plateau. She’s missed you, too. The fabric of the jacket lifts to her shoulder as she raises her arm—

“You shameless motherfucker!” 

Yujin brings her hand down and slaps you right in the face. Its brutality brings tears to your eyes yet there are more on hers. Red blooms from where she smacked you. Her round little face is filled with the unholiest anger, the kind the devils would love her for. But she doesn’t seek salvation—because one after the other, she hits and pushes you backward.

The pain doesn’t stop. She doesn’t stop. The violence of it all—her hands reddening your skin, the bruises her knuckles leave on your chest, her booming voice—leaves you speechless. Yujin’s gotten angry, but never this angry.

“Fuck—you—fuck you, fuck you, fuck you!” She says it like a promise, living up to it with accompanying punches to your sore body. She’ll loathe you till the day you die. It’s a pledge she makes to all her red flags. “Get out of my life!”

Yujin shoves you into your car hood and beats your stomach with a plummet of fists. Your legs crumple. The resistance is there. Your shoes try to remain glued to the ground and withstand her assault, but you’re too weak. You’re so dense around Yujin and it doesn’t stop at her little seldom glances, her little touches.

It goes right up to every abuse—the one at your belly, chest, and arms.

The air’s being knocked out of you. Each bout of oxygen you try to take is out of reach. You’re losing what’s left inside thanks to Yujin’s cruel punches. 

Her screams echo through the forest below and the sky above. Not even the crows can stand her beating. They fly away instantly, afraid they’d be next. Fear is wholly understandable. Yujin’s eyes are alight with bloodthirst.

“Stop! Yujin, it hurts!” you scream. You don’t want to push her. But if she keeps hitting you like this, you’re leaving the place seriously injured. Thus, you’re forced to knee her in the stomach. 

And you still don’t want her to leave your touch.

Yujin stumbles backwards. She looks at you, not stunned or shocked, but furious. Angry is one thing. It makes people passive-aggressive, makes them curse, makes them snarky. Furious is what gets her to stand up and approach you. Furious is what makes her throat sore from yelling and her abuse go on despite the skinned burn. 

She’s psychotic—sweat beads at her face and her hair’s messy and knotted. What scares you is how she’s growling. The raspy noises pair with the murderous look in her eyes. She’s ready to beat you up again, and you can’t run to save yourself.

Yujin hurls into you with a shout, using her height and weight to damage you. It’s effective. You lose balance and knock into your vehicle again. The metal cuts through your skin. You don’t want to retaliate. You won’t stoop that low. However, it’s starting to actually hurt.

She’s not a challenge to carry, so why does she feel so heavy right now? Her cries rock your ears like how she’s ruining your strength. She’s beating you down with the goal of leaving you a bloody mess. Yujin won’t stop at anything to reach that.

“Yujin!” 

The more purple bruises she leaves on your body, the more you’re confused. You put your arms up. That’s enough. Yujin yells frustratedly and tries to push through them. So, place your hands on her shoulders tightly. She’s a restrained animal, teeth bared and wildness still running through her blood. Her whimpers speak of frustration and her will to go on hurting.

“Baby,” you say, squeezing her, “what the hell is going on?”

"Why do you care?” Yujin's sobbing. The tears are plump and fast as she’s pushing you off her like you didn't even matter. Your touch doesn’t console her anymore. It just makes her rabid. "Go rail that bitch, you’re all hers, I don't give a shit."

You don’t know what she’s talking about. All you want to do is wipe the sadness from her face and bandage her wounds. What’s stopping that is Yujin herself.

The night is silent except for her heavy pants. Even the crickets are quiet. They seem to be watching and waiting for your next move. 

Try again: "Yujin—" 

"Just go!" Yujin screams. Deafening is not good enough of an adjective to describe her voice. It wrecks your eardrums and you think the trees whistle back because of it. The whole world is static for a minute.

She pins you into the hood of your car again, but then she's suddenly pressed to your form tightly. Her supple body's joined your touch, as if you were always one.

For long seconds, Yujin glares down at you. Her steely eyes force your breaths to shorten. She leaves you breathless in so many ways—in bed, in performances, in the hour where she’s holding you down after cruelty. Fuck. 

You stare right back at her. Yujin’s teardrops land on your face, like a perfect kiss. It won’t save you. Instead, it’ll kill you. Her fingers gather the fabric of your collar around your throat before she shoves you away.

“Forget this ever happened.” She backs off for the first time. She’s tired, too. Furiously dabbing at her swollen eyes, Yujin walks away until she’s at a measured distance where she can actually stand to be with you. “It’s over. It always was.”

She’s so… small. Yujin’s at a height equal to yours, however, there’s her legs being too thin for your boxers. Blood streams from a tiny open wound. Your jacket pools around her arms. Her teary face needs the comfort she rejects. 

You can’t bring yourself to accept that this is how she breaks things off with you. She needs you. You need her, the way gasoline needs a lit match to roar into flames, the way a knife needs ill intent to murder.

“Please. At least tell me what’s wrong. You’ve been gone for months, Yujin. Months.”

“You know what you did,” she snarls, holding her bruised knuckles to her chapped lips. “Parading around with Wonyoung in public, what were you trying to do? Just because that whore bounces on any dick doesn’t mean you have to give in.``

The bricks fall into place. They build a bigger picture where you could see everything. Yujin’s jealous. She thinks you’re cheating on her because you went out with your best friend. 

Her streak of envy is terrifying. It’s never gotten to this level though, where your cheek still burns. The same fire in her face—curled brows, eyes full of contempt—grows higher. You can’t put it out with water or snow. It’ll eternally be there inside her, waiting to be provoked.

“Is that what this is about?” you laugh. Have to crack a smile to keep from crying. 

Yujin tilts her head with a cross of her arms. “What do you think?”

“Oh, I get it. If I’m jealous because you’re with that rookie idol, it’s bullshit. But when you are, I have to get fucking assaulted.”

You’re still recovering. Your body’s sore and your legs feel like jelly. The lengths Yujin would go to make a point are terrifying.

She sucks in her teeth. “Probably because he isn’t my childhood best friend I had my fucking first kiss with.”

“Wonyoung and I were five, Yujin. She’s a friend. I was helping and spending time with a friend.”

“A friend you went on a cute little ice cream date with?” she asks. “The one you drove her to even when your car doesn’t have goddamned headlights?”

Yujin hammers a foot into said headlights. The lights resurrect and die all over again, flickering in hopes that she’d give them a chance.

How does she know about that outing? Someone must have recognized Wonyoung that day. You need to file a lawsuit against whoever took a picture. They caused Yujin’s spiral into insanity. That’s reason enough for the judge to hammer down justice.

Thumbs pressing behind her ears, she screams as loud as she can. She wants to cause an earthquake that’ll eliminate everybody, including herself. Let the mountains fall on her. At least the last thing that hurt her won’t be you. 

“Is she your girlfriend now? Is that what you went to her for: help? Forget it.” She rubs her scarlet eyes. They’ve seen things you can’t understand well—a love she thought was hers only. “I’m not stupid, and Wonyoung isn't better than me. You could’ve texted, called, anything.”

“Yujin,” you reply quietly. “If I did, would you have come?”

You could hear the labor of her breaths, the whip of a crow’s wings. Yujin’s speechless. She’s not as sinless as she thinks she is. You neglected her and she did, too. 

And, as expected, you let her go without an apology.

“P-plus, I bet my life they’re gonna say the same thing: Wonyoung and I are just friends. That’s it.”

“You didn’t call her unloveable or selfish? Wow, you really are a match made in heaven.”

Flustered: “That’s not how—”

It’s your turn to be quiet. You didn’t realize the impact of your words. They hit her harder than her punches did to you. Blood won’t seep yet there’s an ache inside her heart you’ve planted forever.

You see the shape of Yujin’s mouth quiver. No, you can still fix this. This doesn’t have to be the end.

Is it still salvageable when she’s already breaking down? Her whines ricochet and she’s crying into the sleeve of the jacket, your jacket. She’s utterly hopeless. She needs someone. You aren’t an option anymore.

She doesn’t look up from the road. One finger pointed to the car, Yujin says one thing:

“Go.”

It’s all she tells you. She’s ready for it to be over. You’re too intense. She’s gone, you cry. You’re gone, she floods the world with her tears and leaves no survivors. You fight her, she replies with a hit in the face. When she fights you, you fight as a soldier would. Your schedules collide and result in no sweet dates, no time together. You just weren’t meant for each other.

You feel like crying, too. Refuse to believe that the girl you were with ever since the two of you were teenagers—the girl you comforted before she took the risk to become who she wanted, the girl in the trainee headcount—isn’t for you. It’s so wrong. 

Shake your head. “Never,” you murmur.

"I swear to god, leave me alone. You know what? Leave Wonyoung alone, too. She doesn't want a bastard who sticks like glue to other girls."

“I don’t want her. I don’t want anyone else but you.”

She’s so perfect. Yujin’s fingers bleed from hitting you and her face is puffy with dried tears, yet she looks beautiful to you. How could you not? She’s got that sweet puppy love smile, that soft heart that’s so easy to love but so easy to break. You won’t fall for anything else.

Yujin scoffs. “How fucking romantic.” 

Romance. What a dead thing. Its corpse is still lying around and waiting for tears to turn to shy smiles it used to provoke. There’s only Yujin’s bleeding fists, dry pout, and your presence. A presence she doesn’t want.

She turns her back to you and faces the round moon in the sky. Its bright light on her, Yujin laughs into it tauntingly. She wordlessly relays her complaints to it and all of them are about you. How dare it watch idly and not let the sun take its place? 

“You’re a liar,” she spits. “What about me is worth loving?”

Maybe you weren’t enough. You loved and loved and loved her and she still doesn’t want to see the truth. You should’ve made a way to surprise her after shows. You should’ve hugged her and told her you want her rather than expecting her to know it.

“You’re an angel.” You’re near tears. You’ll fight tooth and nail for her to believe you. “You’re such a hard worker and you get me through stuff when I don’t think I can anymore. I’m sorry if I never told you that.”

Yujin sniffles while you pause. There’s more things you need to apologize for. All the times you spoke before you thought, all the times you said something you didn’t mean in the heat of the moment.

“And… and…” Swallow your pride. “I’m sorry if I told you anything else.”

Her shoulders shake. You don’t know how much that means to her. Her doubts are numberless and you just alleviated them, even for a little while. You don’t notice that you’re crying, too. 

“You have this gorgeous smile, your pretty bare face and I fall for it every damn time. You’re so adorable, baby. I think about you everyday.”

“It doesn’t work like that. I’m batshit insane.” Yujin’s inching closer and closer to the edge. She raises her hands and slams them back down on her sides. “I’m always mad, always gone, and always such a fucking bitch to you.”

“Then you’ll just have to fix that.”

“Why?”

Everyday you play a losing game against her when you’re not supposed to be opponents. You scratch and tear but it’s all out of desperation, a dog-like want to be told it’s loved. Lies have been said and the wounds have been made, but this is what you mean after all this time. 

“Because I want to marry you, Yujin!” 

The subdivisions below this mountain hear your proclamation. Nope, you don’t care anymore. Let them hear it, let them wonder about it. You love An Yujin, and that’s not gonna change.

You’re no longer embarrassed about your shaking words and tears. There’s only one thing you’re humiliated of, and that’s the lack of love you showed to her. That will change tonight.

“And when we have kids,” you cry out with your voice breaking, “I don’t need them losing the smile they got from their mother.”

Time slows down. The wind stops blowing her hair harshly. The few cars passing by are nonexistent. There remains only An Yujin, who turns to face you with bloodshot eyes and a red nose. 

The violent fire is gone from her face. Here, you see what she’s trying to hide: a tired, broken kid who needs love. She’s a girl who, behind it all, only wants you.

Yujin and you are a complicated matter. Fame skyrocketed her career while she left you in the dust. It wasn’t her fault. It wasn’t yours. But you go to war until you’re left to die in opposite corners of the room. And the last beats of your hearts will still be for each other.

She’s got everything you like—plump red lips, a sunshine brightness, and faith in herself—that you won’t trade a bloodless battle for. There she goes, also having everything you hate: a workaholic attitude, jealousy, and a boastfulness that, still and all, you find so fucking attractive.

You have a love that can’t be broken, a variety of jackets you hug around her. But then you possess the need to spend every waking hour with her that it gets inconvenient, and a hold over her she can’t shake off. 

Through fights and scars, you stay, because the way Yujin feels in your arms never goes out of style.

-

The rosary on your rearview mirror clinks before you take off. The headlights are off, soft music plays on your radio, and Yujin’s in here with you. You missed her so much that it hurts with just her head on your shoulder.

She’s still crying softly. Your sleeve is wet but you let her sob. You’d be doing the same were you in her position. All this time, it turns out the only thing you needed to do was put yourself in her shoes. 

Yujin’s glassy eyes reflect the road before you. They’re much better to look at than your rearview mirror. You could see galaxies in them—numerous stars, countless worlds.

“Still me?” she asks quietly. Her legs are bunched up under her chin while she’s leaning on you. Forget about the seatbelt, about the fines. They’re all not worth obeying when Yujin’s finally with you.

Ponder about what she’s talking about until you see that your phone’s on. Your lockscreen wallpaper is her. Change your phone, change your device, change your camera, and she remains there.

One hand on the wheel, your other one strokes her hair. Nostalgia pours in and you’re taken back to your shy kisses behind the building, running away from practices and meetings.

“Yeah. It’s always been you.” You look at the mirror. “Always.”

Yujin’s eyelids float closed. “I’m sorry.”

You almost stop driving. Yujin just apologized. She doesn’t do that. Whether it’s because of her ways or pride, the word never left her lips.

Not until now. And it’s in your heart to forgive her, regardless of your bruises and exhaustion.

“I-I’m sorry, too.”

Yujin buries her face in your arm and releases a held breath. There’s relief in it. She’s glad you’ve got her again. Someone has to. And you know, by her hand curling yours into place on her shoulder, she’s got you as well.

Pass through the toll gates with a kind of easiness you didn’t have before. Having her with you creates more of a difference than winning the lottery. She’s worth more than the biggest prize. Before you take out your ticket or cash or say “I’ll reload next time,” you see Yujin’s face. Once, you could only see her in your imagination, in your dreams. Now she basks in the dim yellow light with a comforted smile. Your jacket’s pooled around her legs in the form of a makeshift blanket and her midnight hair’s gotten pretty long. Her lips are kissable despite their dryness and you find that whatever An Yujin does, she makes you want to stare.

It’s a long drive. Not too long, though. Yujin lifts herself off your body to gaze admiringly at the city lights. She’s been here a thousand times before. Something about tonight makes it all better. 

A convenience store’s brightness reflects her expression on the car window. The childlike innocence in it makes you sentimental again. You and Yujin were once barely sixteen, looking out the taxi windows and not believing that life could be so beautiful.

She meets your eyes in the glass for a brief moment before you look away. Without giving her another look, you know she’s smirking through her tears.

“Eyes on me again, huh,” quips Yujin.

“I already told you, baby: you’re the only one.”

“I know that now.” Her brows raise. “Why are we going this way?”

You’re driving up a hill to her group’s secret house. Kept hidden behind trees and a well-guarded entrance, no one knows the girls live there. It’s where she’s safe, from stalkers and paparazzi and the general public. How she got out there all the way to the highway with just one post about her whereabouts, you don’t know. An Yujin has her tricks.

Pull the brakes. “Your dorm, right?” you say.

“No, I want to stay at your place.”

“Isn’t it dangerous?”

Yujin leans in. The windows aren't tinted, so maybe security saw you. But she’s all secure in your arms, lips on yours. 

You forgot how good Yujin was at kissing—her soft mouth feels amazing. Her daring tongue makes you a little wobbly. When it’s over, she’s never looked more sure. 

“Is that convincing enough for you,” asks Yujin, “or do I have to do it again?”

-

Her fists are bright red. The other is skinned through, overlapping with a hissing paleness. The cotton slides over the open wounds and Yujin mewls in pain. Seeing how wounded her hands are, you’re surprised she didn’t break them. 

“You spend too much time in the gym,” you note. Her arm muscles have gotten bigger and her legs are more toned than before. You wonder if she uses exercise as a way to vent out all her anger, just so she doesn’t do so to somebody else. 

Yujin can’t disagree with that. Her posture deteriorates on the carpet. The shoulders of the baggy white t-shirt lift. Almost everything you lend looks too big for her. It’s cute.

The TV’s on, jabbering with news and reporters you don’t care to listen to. It’s mostly on to fill the silence in your apartment. Yujin refuses to talk much.

Her head hangs. “I don’t know why I get so jealous.” She lifts it and there’s tears in her eyes again. “It’s so…”

Yujin’s ferocity scares even herself. There’s a lot of things and places she hasn’t met in your apartment. The kitchen has a newly installed table that serves also as your workplace. Blooming flowers decorate the front garden. But all she takes interest in are her guilty hands. She can’t believe she did what she did: used them to hurt you.

“Yujin, it’s alright. It’s over.” You tape the bandage on. “I forgive you, remember?”

“Doesn’t mean what I did is okay.”

“Then we’ll fix the damage,” you promise. Kiss her hand, then make another promise: “Together.”

The used cotton balls are blood red. Yujin watches as you throw them away and gather the first aid equipment in their kit. You didn’t think you’d have to use them. The alcohol was only ever meant for additional cleansing. The cotton buds were used for your ears. Nothing more.

Then she arrived again. And although she beat you to a pulp, you’re glad she’s home.

Things work differently with her, apparently. 

“How did you do it?” you ask. Sit beside her, your empty space finally being occupied, and hold her bandaged hand. 

Yujin fixates on the screen’s headline. It’s something about a child running away. Speaks to her, in a way. “I told Wonyoung I was going out for a walk,” she tells you simply. “I got my phone, charger, mask, that stuff. I never came back.”

And now she did. 

Her thigh’s propped over yours, reminiscent of the old times. Plus, back then, you didn’t have the TV. The apartment wasn’t this big. The deal about loving Yujin is that you dreamt bigger and bigger to make things better for her. Though she spends time in the dorm the most, you appreciate that she’s here. 

“They didn’t recognize you?”

She strokes the blunt ends of her hair. “Losing the Rapunzel extensions does wonders.”

It must be difficult being under the public eye. It’s a typhoon that isn’t afraid to rain down on her if she slips up. Perhaps that’s why she ran away. An act of rebellion done too late, too perfectly. 

Yujin wipes her face and giggles despite herself. This is the real Yujin: intelligent, prettier without makeup, and sensitive to the point that she acts up. Her fans might not like it, but you do. 

You place a hand over her knee. “You’re beautiful.”

She always is.

“That’s probably why you let me get away with so much.”

Chuckle. “You’re half-right,” you admit, finger raised and wagging.

There’s a funny smile on her face. “What’s the other half?” 

She’s right. What is the other half?

You don’t need to ask yourself a question you know the answer to. 

“I brush off your crimes because… uh, I dunno. I love you?” you say shyly. The confession is truer than diamonds. You find the courage to say it in her touch, trickling over your jaw and shoulder. “I don’t even like getting mad at you. Do you have any idea how much I cry after we fight?”

Yujin brushes her thumb over your earlobe. She has this habit of causing you to burn up feverishly without the need for colds. It’s the charm in her that she brings everywhere. She knows how to make you close your eyes and have you see vividly the dirtiest things at the same time. She’s familiar with you, inside and out.

“We’re more alike than I thought, then.”

“Is that a good thing?” you ask.

She pecks your cheek. The strawberry heat of her breath is, well, a little gratifying. “You got this far,” says Yujin. “I think you can figure that one out.”

You think you’re losing your mind. 

She scatters it more by closing her hands around your face, a gentler touch than earlier. Focus your attention on her—you can’t revert it to anything else. Yujin’s got your heart locked into hers and you aren’t going to do anything about it. Not when she’s this gorgeous, this gentle, this loveable.

You mean it. 

“Thanks.” She tilts her chin, observing your soul and expressions. “For saving me.”

“You could have done that by yourself.”

“No shit,” Yujin laughs. She still has this pensiveness on her face as she strokes your lip. “But it’s nice to know someone’s gonna catch me when I fall.” 

The comfort her touch brings to you almost lulls you to sleep. She’s so soft and gentle that you forget the previous Yujin, who wasn’t afraid to throw you around. Then you study her again—almond-shaped eyes, round lips, and the knife of her jawline—and you realize that you would let her do it again.

This is love. This is love in its prettiest and ugliest form. It isn’t the type you see romanticized in movies or sought after by young girls. Love means staying, because you’re too selfish to let the other have anyone else.

It’s a little fucked up. But that’s you. And Yujin… she’s Yujin.

“It’s weird.” Her grin is mischievous. “When I ran away, I knew you’d come get me. I guess I just wanted to see if you actually would.”

The fact that she’s aware you have her anytime draws a smile on your face. It’s a real one—the ends of your lips pull and they won’t stop past the circles of your blush. You’re enough. Yujin knows you love her. There’s just these doubts sometimes, all the time. Nothing you can’t fix.

“And I did,” you say reflectively.

Her eyelids are lower than before. “That’s why I still have faith in you.”

Your heart floats. Its wings initiate all the butterflies in your stomach. They’re stressed, not knowing where they came from. Meanwhile, your head’s in the clouds and you could never feel any better than this.

After what happened, Yujin believes in you. It makes each aching muscle and permanent scar worth it. 

She gives them a one-over. “Want me to give that some amateur medical attention?”

“I-I’m good. They’re not that bad.”

“That’s okay,” Yujin says. “I’ll just bruise you up another way.”

You want to ask her what that means. Her lips on your neck wordlessly tell you exactly what she’s implying.

Her fluffy thighs top your knees while the kiss reaches up to your jaw. Yujin’s shorts ride up and you’re met with every patch of tanned, full skin closing in on you. She fully got you from that lick behind your ear. 

Sink into the bed of the sofa with no protest. She’s so deep in the crook of your neck and she wants to go further. Knowing who and what Yujin is, you can’t stop her from doing that. You don’t want to.

“My poor baby,” she breathes. Her lips pucker on your cheek, your nose, and arrive at their final destination on your mouth. Stroking your hair, Yujin pouts. “Does Yujin put you through too much?”

Your lips purse above her worrying thumb. “Kinda.”

She’s intimidating enough with the bedroom voice and eyes. You want to run for cover, scream for help. The only thing you don’t want to do is pretend this isn’t happening. 

Yujin grinds herself down deliciously. Friction gives way to heat, and it’s exactly that which gets you to put your hands on her sides and guide her. Your mixed groans spur on the dry humping. 

It’s a little taste for what comes when she takes off those shorts (oh please oh please oh please). Her wide hips come into view as she hovers her naked crotch above your mouth. Her sweet honey drips from her core and onto your waiting mouth.

“Good.”

That’s the last thing you hear before a set of powerful, full thighs immediately comes together to crush your head. Your tongue creates contact with her center and begins to lick fast. The more you lap, the more of Yujin’s juices end up in your throat. She’s a favorite food you haven’t eaten in forever, and now you’re not sure if you want to stop.

Love—a little complicated, isn’t it? You love Yujin (she knows) and she loves you (you know that, too.) Is that what makes you go on eating her out in spite of your neck being her seat, your natural need for air going ignored? Close to that. Yujin’s rich moans—heard even from her thighs, the thickest of earmuffs—trigger a sense of need in you to make her cum that originates from want, then mixes together. It’s confusing, exhilarating, and you don’t think deeper thanks to her face denting your head deeper into the pillows.

However, here’s the conclusion: you love Yujin, up to the sharp danger of death. 

She could suffocate you and not know it. Hours would go on until she notices you’re quite still. But you grab her flesh, every bit of the meaty sweaty skin, and pull her in. Because dying is worth it for Yujin. Perceive your fervent suckles on her clit that evoke the prettiest gasps from her tilted throat as a soldier’s sacrifices for his country. Interpret your nails reddening her thighs as scratches and scrawls to escape a trap you don’t want to get out of. Yujin makes you want to die everyday and she’s the best you’ve given all your lives for.

You leave a kiss on her lips before running your tongue up and down. They’re slick and slippery as they brush on your mouth. When you welcome yourself into her tight hole, you could feel her shake on top of you. She tastes nothing short of delectation. You would eat her out for days if it came to that.

Yujin curls a hand through her hair. “Fucking slut.”

The fact is further founded. 

“You like it? You like my perfect pussy?” She sports a cruel grin. You don’t know where to look: there or her supple tits bouncing as she rocks her hips. 

You shut your eyes and moan. Yujin pushes further down on your face. Her inner thighs warm your cheeks but you’re warm elsewhere, too. Something about her crazed smile while her jagged hair whips against her neck… your blood runs cold. Good thing it’s going south.

She pulls herself off you and you ridiculously chase after her. Her palm flattens you down to the sofa. Whimper, which means nothing to her. She needs to hear it. Or else.

“I don’t think,” Yujin reiterates, grip locked on the base of your neck, “I heard an answer.”

“Your pussy’s the best, baby.”

“Say it like a man. Do you like the taste of my cunt?”

“Yes!” Your words are muffled. “I want it so bad!”

Yujin’s laugh clears any doubts you might have about her enjoying it. She leans down, lets your breaths mingle, then licks her juices off your pursed lips. “Good boy.”

You’re sent back to heaven again.

Capture her clit and seize it with harsh suckles. Her deep cries of pleasure fill the space in your apartment’s four walls. If they penetrate through them the way your tongue does to her folds, the neighbors would have plenty of complaints. 

Nevertheless, you go on fucking her hole with your ready tongue, dragging every bit of the delicious wetness out and for you to take. There’s something you have to prove. What is it?

Yujin’s not worrying about that. The pressure on her most sensitive parts is overwhelming enough. Yujin pants heavily and threads her fingers through your hair. She keeps your head between her delicious thighs, nowhere else. Her hips come to and fro as though they were waves, and you’re the shore drinking up every delicious tanginess in them.

“Oh god, oh shit, you fucking—” 

She rises off your mouth but you pull her back down. You’re addicted now, riding her high. No one can pull you away from her. Her squeals are loud and her pretty head is thrown back. You catch sight of her strong jawline and the sweat rolling down her neck—there’s not a chance in hell or heaven you’d let her run away again. 

Yujin’s strong groans deafen you as she rides your tongue. She’s a source of curses and obscenity, and she gives herself out freely. Her sinful pussy is everything you can ever eat, and her moans and cries of your name are all you’ll ever hear.

“You’re gonna make me cum,” she whines. Her fingernails threaten to pierce right through your skull. “I bet you’d like that. Your dumb whore self is just waiting for it like the whore you are. Am I right?”

You nod. Rub your aching cock over your pants because you can’t take it anymore either. The hitches of her breath and how fucking crazy she is—bouncing on your mouth like it’s just another sex toy, calling you all these names you’d never use to address her in a lifetime—it’s making you pent up.

“Then just take it, baby—” Yujin’s losing herself. Her knees cage your head. “Fuck, do it!”

She twitches and shivers until you’re sure you can’t take her pending release anymore. The flood she rains down is one you drink of until no drop is left. Feel for her silken walls to have more. You’re greedy. Even here, where she‘s on top of you and choking you with her heavenly thighs—you want Yujin all to yourself.

Yujin’s pleasured noises go from deep to whiny, whiny to needy. Your jaw feels sore at this point. You’ve been at it for an eternity. But, for the first time with Yujin, you don’t feel tired. Keep a cruel suction around her nub and finger her to keep those little sprinkles going. 

Your carpet catches her afterwards, a puff of breath leaving her lips. Yours are smudged by her. You can still feel her on them.

Perhaps you should say something to kill the loud silence. Crack a joke? Talk a little again? Then Yujin’s eyes train on you, and it’s all downhill from here. 

“Come on,” she says with a laugh. Her mouth’s pulled into an eerie grin. You didn’t know you’d be so terrified to see her happy. “You really think we’re over with this?”

You’re unconsciously backing away. “Yujin—”

She rises, and you’re again thinking of how tall she is. Yujin’s leg propped over your beating heart alone could stop everything. She could crush you, and she’ll do it, so help her god. 

She strips you of your jeans and underwear. The cold air hits you and you throb harder. You’re on your trusty old sofa again, which is now witness to Yujin stroking your tip. Her lithe finger, long and thin, curls around your cockhead and teases your slit. You’re dripping, and she is, too. It’s self-gratifying to her, the way she knows she has you—your heart; your brain; your dick—all of you. 

“Whose dick is this?” 

And she still needs to hear it.

You gulp. Her voice has dropped lower and her eyes… she’ll be the death of you. “I—I—”

“Don’t lie to me,” Yujin coaxes, nothing close to gently. Her grip is tight and she’s jerking you off hard, rough palm sliding over your sensitive skin and making you weak in the knees. “You can’t avoid me, unless you’re the property of that bitch Wonyoung now.”

Her nails scrape your cock, sending your teeth burying in your lip. The pleasure is as heavy as the pain. You’re twitching in her fist, whimpering, crying. You sound pathetic, and Yujin loves it.

“N-no. I’m yours, Yujin. Nobody else can have me.” 

Because you know the lives Yujin would ruin if anybody else owned you, the tears you’d cry if you weren’t hers. Pain is a hell of a drug that turns the hurt into pleasure. It’s messing with your head. It violates, skinning away your dignity and dreams, and you can’t get enough.

“Good,” she says. She tips your chin up. “‘Cause nobody can make you cum like I do.”

Her ego can’t get any bigger but it somehow does. You look up at her helplessly, while she proudly admires the purple she’s left on your neck. Her thighs lock your hips in place. There’s no getting out from Yujin.

She proves this further by sinking her core down on you. You let out a dual moan, seizing for the other and tensing up. Yujin’s center is set on a mission to choke your length. She’s so wet and hot and tight, and you already forgot how to deal with it.

“This cock,” Yujin emphasizes, “is all mine. Every drop of cum in these heavy balls are mine. You understand me?”

Her plump ass thunders on your lap as she rides you. You spread your hands on it in a silent urge for her to go faster. And she will. 

Her wetness is enough lubricant for her to sink all the way down to your base. Feel her lips spread to allow you inside, and how they hold onto you and never let go. You’re never completely out of Yujin. It’s always her fluttering walls accommodating your girth, sliding up and down. 

“Aw.” Yujin laughs, soft and nearly delicate. “It’s alright. Don’t talk. I know you haven’t had good pussy in a while. It’s too much for you, huh?”

False concern. All false fucking concern. Yujin doesn’t give a shit. She’ll keep riding you. The impact of her center taking you to the hilt, right up to her womb, and her thighs rippling rid whatever sleep you have in your eyes. It’s been a long night, but Yujin keeps you high and awake. You’re always waiting for what she has next. You can’t miss out.

Her fingernail lightly stimulates your nipple and you cry out. The heat spreads to your legs and arms. You’re trapped in tropical weather with her being the sun that shines and shines and shines.

“Fuck, Yujin—”

“Can’t take it?” She smirks. “You’re a fucking wimp, of course not.” 

Yujin pinches your nipple and reaches to you for a kiss. Her teeth knit on your lip and you guess you know if she meant it or not. It’s one of the few puzzles you can solve about her.

The sofa starts to creak, and you honest-to-god think you’ll have to pay for a new one. Yujin’s weight batters you down on the plush. Save the distraction of her tightness draining the life out of you, you would have told her to calm down. But Yujin’s anger is like that of a jealous god—she’ll flood the world and kill to keep you.

You got to start praying for Wonyoung. But what deity would listen to you? The goddess in front of you, who’s riding you to death and isn’t that convinced you could join her in paradise?

You’re whimpering again. She massages your shoulders, rubs down your arms and returns her touch to the base of your neck. Yujin could read your weaknesses like a magazine. She knows you’ll bow down for the squeeze of her cunt, the gush of feminine pleasure, and her lips on yours.

“Cute boy.” She looks at you the same way she would a camera flash, now that she’s all too used to being its favorite: with a sickening smile that leaves you in awe. She’s a performer for you, a ticketless transaction. “Can’t believe I’m so mean to you when you have a face like that. Not that you don’t deserve it.”

You were right all along. You’re just a pet to her. She’ll keep you around for entertainment, mostly because you’re adorable in her eyes, and scold you for the littlest things. She’ll do more than scold you. 

Like right now: she taunts you, the smile on her face growing, with her fingers on your collar twisting it around your neck like a dog’s. Her other hand sifts through your hair before seizing your scalp. She then uses the grip to ride you harder. You can physically feel your tip push against her cervix, forced to reach further. 

The pain isn’t all there is to it. Beating everything, Yujin remains slick and tight. You have to fight your hardest to pull out and return inside anyway. Her fluttering walls match the throb of your cock. You’re so deep in her, so big, that Yujin can’t have too little of you. 

That’s why she makes it a point that for every move she does—ride you, lick you, kiss you—she moans heavily. It makes all the soreness worth it. The wanton expression on her face casts a spell that lets you forget about the tears you saw on it earlier. All you remember and witness are the wideness of her eyes and her parted mouth. 

“Shit, oh shit, no…” You close your eyes. Why does her body have to feel so good? Her thighs are soft on your lap, her hands are teasingly slow, and you won’t ever forget about her cunt—so fucking hot and ready. “Please make me cum, Yujin, oh my god—”

You feel delirious. All the sanity you have is lost; Yujin feeds on it like a vampire using each sweep of her hips. She feels too good. Your head’s up in the clouds but you can’t breathe. Her pumps strangle you to get the sweet fill of your semen.

“Oh, sweetie.” Yujin stops to grind herself down on you. “I always do.”

It’s purely instinct, animalistic and wild, when you release all your second thoughts and lift her up. You pin her to the nearest wall. Her back curves off it anyway, but you push it back with your steady pumps. The sounds you’re gasping are pathetic, denying you the dominance you wish you had. Yujin’s just there taking it and laughing at your efforts. The choked mixture of a chuckle and a moan escapes her and you know you’re close.

She tilts your head up and constrains you to match her gaze. You can’t. She always wins this. It’s not fair that she has that body and takes the advantage to get you sweating and whining. You don’t have a dog in the game. Yujin never loses. She couldn’t even lose your love.

“You don’t deserve me,” she says after lifting her chin. It’s true, just not in the way you think. “But I’m still letting you cum inside. So make it count.”

You were going to cum anyway. Yujin’s sweaty form pressed on the wall looks too hot and her thighs are soft around your fists. Somehow, the egoistic expression she wears that tells you she’s not kidding ties the last knot in your stomach,

You pump her hard, thinking: oh Yujin, Yujin, Yujin. Does it really have to be this way? You, improving your strokes between her legs and chasing the approval of that stupid shit-eating grin on her face? You do all this with the knowledge you’ll never be enough for her, but she stays because you can’t let go of each other. Her repeated and pretty gasps will echo in your ears forever. The punches you took stay flashing back in her mind.

You stick to each other like glue, white as the cum that fills her.

Her nails sink into your skin. Rest your forehead in the crook of her neck to breathe. Her scent is hypnotizing, somehow making sweat and sex smell like flowers. Kind of similar to how it felt like a kiss when she hit you. 

“I love you.” 

A blink and a quiet. “Love you, too,” she says finally. 

Something isn’t right. The cogwheels aren’t in sync. “After everything that happened, everything you said,” you manage, “do you mean it?”

Pull away. Stickiness and sex aside, it’s difficult. Parting from her touch is traumatic. It takes you back to when you lost her and you don’t think you can ever allow her to be alone again. In your mind, you state a reminder: Yujin will leave you over your dead body.

She doesn’t say anything, only looking at you with misty eyes, but you think at that moment, you sound exactly like her.

#kpop smut #smut #kpop fanfic #fanfic #kpop fanfiction #fanfiction #kpop fic #fic #ive smut #izone smut #an yujin smut #ahn yujin smut #yujin smut #ive yujin smut #izone yujin smut #male reader #x reader #reader insert #kpop x reader #kpop x male reader #pov smut #kofimission #commission #iz days of christmas #iz days of christmas 2023 #iz days of christmas 2023 day 11 #Spotify

[nicksbestie]

Next Level - M. Sturniolo

Summary : the one where you just want your boyfriend to get off of his game, and he makes you a deal.

Warnings : 16+ content. i am not responsible for the media you choose to consume online. oral (fem receiving), fingering, praise kink, multiple orgasms/overstimulation, pet names (baby)

Word Count : 3017

Pairing : Matt Sturniolo/Reader (romantic)

A/N : idfk blame someone else for this

You were potentially the most bored that you had ever been in your entire life.

Yes, you were being incredibly dramatic, but your boyfriend had ceased giving you attention and hanging out with you in favor of playing round after round on whatever video game of the day was pulled up on his monitor. It was so frustrating, and you were a clingy person, so that just made it worse. You had come over to spend time with your boyfriend, not to just watch him focus on something else. You had tried playing with him, losing multiple games, winning a couple, before you had gotten bored and moved to relax on his bed. You’d been quiet and patient up until about now, because you didn’t want to bother him, and you did love seeing him do things that he enjoyed, but you were starting to get annoyed. 

You abandoned his room in favor of going down to the kitchen to get something to drink, finding Chris and Nick sitting on the couch, some show playing in the background, and Nick was swiping through Snapchat stories on his phone. They already knew you were there, having spent time with both of them when you had arrived a few hours prior to now. You sat down with them both, opening the lemonade you had stolen from their fridge. You didn’t speak, also on your phone for a couple of minutes before Chris looked up, nudging Nick to get his attention.

“Do you think Matt will drive us somewhere? I want to go get a slurpee.” 

You laughed, responding before Nick could.

“He’s fixated on his stupid video game, I doubt he’ll want to go anywhere.”

“Is that why you’re down here and not up there with him?” 

You nodded, continuing to scroll through social media while the two brothers decided if they wanted to ask Matt or not. Finally, Nick turned to you.

“Can you go ask? He’s more likely to say yes to you than to us, and now that Chris has mentioned it, I want to get one too.” 

You playfully rolled your eyes, but got up to go upstairs to ask him anyways, knowing more than likely your boyfriend would say no. Walking back into his room, Matt glanced up at you, looking back to his screen after acknowledging who had come into the room.

“Nick and Chris want to go get slurpees, they wanted to know if you would drive them.”

Matt shook his head, eyes never leaving the monitor, fingers never pausing their movements on his controller.

“Nah, I don’t want to go. Tell them to order an Uber or something.”

You sighed, sitting back down on Matt’s bed to text those words to Chris and Nick, not feeling like walking up and down the steps again for such a short message. After reading Nick’s response of a rolling eyes emoji, you threw your body back and laid down, exhaling deeply, waiting on Matt to pay you even a sliver of attention. You were tempted to leave, go get slurpees with the two other brothers, but at the same time, you really did love and miss your boyfriend. About fifteen minutes went by, and Chris texted you to let you know that they were leaving, asking if you were both sure that you didn’t want to come, and you replied saying that no, you two would stay here.

You only let about another five minutes go by before you waved a hand in front of Matt’s face, refusing to let him ignore you any longer. He pulled his headset halfway off, to where one ear was exposed, so that he could hear you.

“What’s up, baby?” 

You sighed, slightly pouting.

“You’ve been on that game forever, and you’ve been ignoring me.” 

Matt gave you a soft smile, standing up to kiss you before sitting back down. 

“Just let me get through one more level, and I’ll turn it off for the day.” 

You rolled your eyes, turning around to go sit back down.

“Sure you will.” 

He caught your wrist as you tried to move away from his desk, turning you back towards him.

“Hey, watch the attitude.”

He kissed the back of your hand, smiling at you.

“You’ve been waiting a while, I know. Nick and Chris have already left, right?” 

You nodded, confused at what his brother’s presence, or lack thereof, had to do with your current situation.

“Okay. So let me get through this next level, and I’ll go down on you until you cry. Deal?”

You couldn’t say that the suggestion that came out of Matt’s mouth didn’t affect you. It had been a little while since you and him had done anything, conflicts with filming and work, traveling, and when you were free, people were home. So sure, maybe part of your boredom and attitude was due to pent up desire, but who could blame you? There was only so much relief you could get on your own, and nothing compared to Matt’s skills. Matt noticed how your eyes widened slightly and your cheeks flushed, and an arrogant smirk crossed his lips. One of his favorite things was to go down on you, and you couldn’t deny the fact that you felt the same about it. 

“I figured you would like that offer. Just this last level, okay?” 

You swallowed, nodding, pulling your arm from his grip and going back to laying on his bed. You picked up your phone, trying to appear unaffected, but Matt knew you better than that. He could see you in the reflection of the dark screen on the second monitor, and he could see you shifting how your legs were laying every so often, trying to ignore how the thoughts he had planted in your head were affecting you. He loved how easily he could work you up, something he had often taken advantage of, and he smiled to himself at how suddenly you had developed so much patience. 

Matt intentionally lost the level multiple times in a row, wanting to see just how far he could push your patience. He knew that you wouldn’t push him back, so he wanted to see just how needy he could get you to be. So he continued to lose, to set himself back, to find any way to make his promise take longer. He was enjoying watching you grow desperate way more than he should have, noticing you look up at him and his screen pretty much every thirty seconds to see if he had completed the level yet. The thought of what he was going to do to you was making him struggle to focus on the game, so he decided to stop intentionally losing and not make you wait for him any longer. This level wasn’t difficult, and it wasn’t long before he completed it, turning off his screens and removing the headset in favor of setting it on the desk. 

Turning around and getting out of the chair, Matt abandoned his desk, laying down with you and taking your phone out of your hand. You let him, both of you knowing that you hadn’t really been paying attention to it anyways. Excited to finally have your boyfriend’s full attention, you pulled him in for a kiss, it starting off gentle and sweet. He broke the kiss after a couple of seconds, smiling at you and used his hand on the side of your cheek and jaw to guide you into another one. There wasn’t any effort on your side to gain dominance of the kiss, Matt easily controlled it, deepening it and swallowing any sounds that left your lips, smiling against your mouth when you both paused to breathe. 

“I think I have a promise to make good on, don’t I?” 

You nodded, gasping quietly when Matt moved his kisses down to directly under your jawline, teeth gently tugging on the skin, enough to leave marks on you, but not enough for those marks to last longer than a day. The hand that had previously been on the side of your face was tangled in the back of your hair, gently pulling on it, moving your head to give him more access. It wasn’t long before he was hovering over you and had left a trail of blooming marks under your jaw and on your neck. Small whimpers were leaving your lips, and he kissed you, full of passion, enjoying the way you reacted to his movements. One of his hands gently caressed your side, fingers toying with the hem of your shirt.

“Can I take this off?” 

You didn’t respond verbally, simply removing your hands from his hair and face to tug your shirt off, allowing him to help you. Matt’s hands immediately moved up to unclasp your bra, getting it off as quickly as possible, before moving to lay kisses down your torso. It seemed like he was somehow touching you everywhere at once, which you logically knew wasn’t true because he only had two hands, but you swore you could feel him on all parts of your skin. He moved a hand up to roll your nipple between two of his fingers, smirking at the loud whimper you let out, before moving his other hand down to the band of your sweatpants, silently asking for your permission for him to take them off. You lifted your hips, whispering your consent, sounds still leaving your lips because he hadn’t paused his ministrations, his mouth attaching to your other nipple, the attention on them both causing you to whine. 

He only stopped the movements of his hands to remove your sweatpants from your legs, but he didn’t move downwards. He moved back up to kiss you again, both of his hands holding the sides of your face. Using his leg to spread yours, he swallowed the loud moan that left your lips, as the shifting of his body had caused his knee to press directly against where you needed him most. He smiled against your lips, loving how vocal you were, increasing the pressure slowly until he felt you shift your hips downward to meet his leg. He removed his knee, hearing your whine of disappointment, moving his body down between your legs, using his hands to spread them this time, from where you had clenched your thighs around his knee. 

“Patience, baby, I’ll give you what you want.”

He left kisses and hickeys on your inner thighs, so close that you could feel his breath over your panties. When he was satisfied with the marks that he had left on your legs, he gently pulled them off of your legs, kissing even closer, smiling at the way that you pushed your hips closer to him. He took one arm and laid it over top of your hips, holding you down.

“Matt, stop fucking teasing.” 

He shook his head at the attitude in your voice, but he knew you wouldn’t be giving it to him for long. He kissed right above your clit before giving in, his tongue beginning to form small circles on it, and he could have cum on the spot when he heard the shaky breath that left you at the feeling of relief after having to wait so long. He alternated the amount of pressure he was using, before pulling off completely and moving to lick a stripe from your entrance back up to your clit, loving the way that your thighs clenched around his head. He pushed them back open before attaching his lips to your clit, gently sucking, causing your hands to tug harshly on his hair as you let out moans and whimpers. He tried to remove his face from between your legs, but you pushed him impossibly closer, and instead of fighting you, he simply formed tight figure eight motions with his tongue on your clit.

By this point you were so wet, and Matt’s mouth and chin were covered in the evidence of your arousal. He always ate you out like he was starving, and it was always messy, but you never complained. How could you, when it gave you some of the best orgasms you’d ever have? You could feel it starting to build in the pit of your stomach, and it only became more intense when Matt ran two fingers through the wetness between your legs before easily pushing them into you, expertly curling them. He knew your body like the back of his own hand, so not only did he know that you could take two at once, he knew exactly where to move and where to press to have you squirming. 

His ministrations were confident, and you were predictable, your head immediately going back the second that his fingers curled perfectly, him only being able to see the white of your eyes while his tongue and fingers caused your thighs to shake around his head, your climax building quickly, and Matt could tell, just from the noises you were making and the way you were clenching around his fingers. He pulled his mouth off, increasing the speed of his fingers, kissing you roughly before speaking.

“Doing so good for me, baby.” 

“Matt, fuck, please-” 

He placed his thumb on your clit, rubbing tight circles with a firm amount of pressure, adoring the way that your back arched now that you were no longer being held down.

“I know, baby, I know.”

He replaced his thumb with his mouth, the suction sending you off into space. He could hear your moans getting higher in pitch, and your thighs were clamping around his head. Your hips were bucking against his face, your eyes screwed shut as his free hand reached up and applied pressure to your lower stomach, and that was it. Your orgasm hit you like a truck, jaw hanging open in a loud whine, Matt not stopping any of his movements as he pleasured you through your high. He stopped when your breathing began to stagger roughly, kissing you sweetly as you panted against his lips. He kissed you until you calmed down, until your chest stopped heaving, and then he ran his hand back down and gently drew slow circles on your clit, kissing your forehead as you whined and tried to bat his hand away. 

“I can’t, too much.” 

He just gave you a pitying smile, not moving his hand. If anything, he picked up his pace, listening to you whimper against his neck.

“Oh, but I promised you’d be crying, baby. I have to make good on that, don’t I?” 

You couldn’t formulate a response, just a low whine leaving you as he added more pressure. 

“You can give me one more.” 

And with those words, he went back to having his head between your thighs, his fingers on his free hand gently tracing patterns on the inside of your thighs. You were so sensitive, not ever having been one for overstimulation, but the incredible pleasure that rolled through your body overwhelmed every small spark of pain, causing you to not want Matt to stop after all. Being so sensitive, you were so much more reactive, and when Matt pulled the same move of curling his fingers right into your sweet spot, you let out a loud sob, and you could feel another orgasm beginning to build. It was much quicker than the last one, but with Matt absolutely assaulting your clit, and his fingers roughly massaging that perfect spot inside of you, you knew you would never be able to hold it off. 

The oversensitivity caused tears to build in your eyes, and you got to the point of desperation that you were attempting to ride Matt’s face, hands tightened in his hair again, keeping him pushed up against you, chanting his name like a prayer as you tipped over the edge for a second time that night. Matt did the same thing that he did the first time, working you through your orgasm, and it was the added stimulation paired with the unbelievable high you were already on that caused tears to stream down your face, eventually pushing Matt away from you when it got to the point that you couldn’t handle it anymore. He knew when it was too much for you, and he pulled off, the fingers that had just brought you to your finish now in his own mouth, and if you could go again, you would have at just the sight. 

It didn’t take Matt long to pull you into his arms, wiping the remnants of tears off of your face. He didn’t move you too much, but he helped you drink out of the bottle of water that had been on his nightstand. You laid there, still slightly out of breath, enjoying the close company of your boyfriend and the gentle kisses he was pressing on the top of your head. It wasn’t until Matt adjusted his body slightly against you that you realized he was still hard.

“You didn’t-.”

He didn’t even humor the statement, cutting you off by just shaking his head and holding you against his chest.

“Don’t worry about it. You’ve got my full attention, baby. I’m fine.” 

The soft aftercare that Matt always gave you was top tier, complete with food, a warm bath, and endless cuddles. He always spent a lot of time making sure that you were completely taken care of and felt okay before he even thought about himself. Checking Matt’s phone, you noticed a text from Chris that had come in thirty minutes ago, letting you know that they had decided to stop at another store before coming home. Neither of you replied, but you both assumed that meant you didn’t have much more alone time left. So Matt helped you back into clothes, knowing that you were tired, and you ended up dressed in an entire outfit of his.  The two of you weren’t even awake when they got back, falling asleep wrapped up in each other’s presence.

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[punkshort]

i know who you are | 9. the end

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Chapter Summary: Joel leaves overnight for a scouting mission. When he returns, you finally confess your feelings for him.

Chapter Warnings: language, amnesia, slow burn, dry humping, some dead bodies 'n stuff, fluff, feelings, smut (18+ MDNI), piv unprotected sex, oral sex (f receiving), soft!joel, guns?

WC: 9.1K

Series Masterlist

A/N: Two things. One: I don't have the slightest clue how memory loss works and if what I am about to detail in this chapter is even plausible but if television has taught me anything, nothing is impossible only extremely rare. Two: this is the final chapter and it makes me very sad. I wish I could have thought of more storylines to drag this out but at the end of the day, I feel good about how it all came together and I can't thank quite literally hundreds of you enough for reading this each week. It's kind of insane. So, THANK YOU, THANK YOU, THANK YOU! Also, if anyone wants to toss some one-shot/sequel ideas my way, I am all ears. Much love.

Two Weeks Later

"Joel," you whispered, your head tilted back into the couch cushion while his mouth greedily nipped and sucked at your neck. His hips were grinding lightly against your center and you knew if you didn't stop soon, you would be in trouble. "I think we should slow down."

"Mhmm," he mumbled in agreement, reluctantly pulling his hand from underneath your shirt.

"You're lucky it's still cold enough for me to wear a scarf," you murmured into his hair. He sighed against your neck, finally dragging his mouth away and sat up on the couch while yet another movie went unwatched on the TV.

"Can't seem to get enough of you," he said with a grin, his arm stretching over the back of the sofa. You rolled your eyes dramatically but smiled, pushing yourself up and fixing your shirt before looking at the TV. "Brad Pitt's in this?"

Joel tossed his head back and laughed heartily. "Think he's the main character," he told you, and you scowled at him but he could tell you weren't actually angry.

"Well maybe if you didn't distract me every time we try to watch a damn movie, I would know that."

The past two weeks had been downright perfect. Joel couldn't be any happier. Now that things had changed between you, he craved your touch constantly. Part of him wondered if it was his way of trying to make up for lost time because you weren't wrong: he couldn't keep his hands off you. He had no desire to leave the house or see anybody. All he wanted was to stay holed up with you doing absolutely everything and nothing. He shuddered to think how crazy he would become when you were finally ready to take things further. Tommy will have to drag him by the collar from your bed for his patrol shifts.

"What are you thinking about?" you asked him, leaning into his side and tucking your legs underneath you, only half listening to the movie.

"Patrol," he answered while the tips of his ears burned red from embarrassment, like you caught him doing something he shouldn't be doing. He was perfectly fine waiting as long as it took until you were ready, but it didn't stop him from fantasizing about it. And the fact that he already knew what you felt like, what you sounded like, what made you come undone, worked him up even more.

"How are you feeling about getting back out there?" you asked, tipping your head up to look at him. He didn't seem worried but it was hard to tell sometimes.

"Actually, there was somethin' I wanted to talk to you 'bout," he admitted. "And if you don't want me to do it, I won't. I put you through enough shit as it is-"

"Spit it out, Miller," you said, shifting out from under his arm.

"Now that the snow's melted, I wanna take a couple guys and scout the area for any trace of those raiders," he began, watching your face closely. "I won't go far, but..."

"But?" you pressed, raising an eyebrow.

"But I would be gone overnight. Just one night," he assured you quickly when he saw your face.

"Wouldn't the others have already noticed anything out of the ordinary on patrol?" you asked as anxiety began to squeeze your throat. "I don't understand why you need to go out there."

"'Cause I only trust myself to make sure we're safe," he explained. "If somethin' happened to anyone 'cause I led these assholes to our doorstep, I'd never forgive myself. D'you understand?"

You chewed on your lip and glanced down at your lap as you weighed your options. On one hand, you understood where he was coming from. And if no one else on patrol or guard had yet to see or find anything strange, then Joel would most likely not find anything, either. But on the other hand, just simply leaving Jackson was a risk. And even if Joel didn't find any other raiders, he wouldn't mean he would be safe from whoever or whatever else was out there.

Joel pinched your chin and gently tugged your lip from between your teeth, making you snap out of it.

"Can I go with you?"

Joel's face softened. "No, baby. You don't even remember how to shoot a gun. I can't risk it."

Of course, he was right. "Who would you take?"

He smiled and dropped his hand. "Tommy. Neil. George. Couple others offered, too, but I'm not sure how many we wanna bring. Don't wanna stick out like a sore thumb with ten horses out in the middle of the woods."

You relaxed a bit knowing he would be going with some of Jackson's most seasoned patrolmen.

"Okay," you agreed softly. His face lit up and he leaned forward.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," you sighed, looking over at the TV as the credits began to roll. He hooked a finger under your chin and dragged your eyes back onto him.

"Thank you," he whispered before pressing his lips firmly against yours, trying with all his might to pour every ounce of affection and adoration he had for you into the kiss. You giggled against his mouth as he tried to push you onto your back once again, but you playfully shoved his shoulder before breaking the kiss and scooting away.

"We told Ellie we'd meet her and Dina for dinner, remember?"

He groaned as if he were in physical pain and reached out for you but you quickly stood up, wagging a finger at him. He gazed up at you from the couch with his brown eyes all wide and gentle.

"I mean it, thank you. I don't know what I did to deserve you."

You blushed and bit your lip as you slowly walked backwards towards the stairs. "You can make it up to me one day."

Joel's gaze darkened and he dug his fingers into the couch cushion. "Just say the word, baby. Anytime. Anywhere."

You laughed and turned towards the steps. "Come on, we should get ready for dinner."

"In a minute," he said as you disappeared upstairs. He closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths, trying to will his raging hard on away before standing up and following you.

You inhaled deeply, your body heavy with sleep as you struggled to focus on Joel's voice.

"Sweetheart, I'm leavin'."

With a groan, you rolled over and reached out for him blindly, your eyes still not fully adjusted to the beam of light shining in from the hallway.

He smiled and grabbed your hands, wrapping them around his neck. He felt your fingers dig into the back of his neck and shoulders as you feebly attempted to pull him towards you.

You asked him to wake you up before he left for his scouting mission, so he did as you requested but you were so warm and soft and supple under his touch that he was finding it impossible to leave.

Maybe you planned it that way.

"I'll be back late tomorrow. I love you," he whispered, pressing a kiss against your temple, taking an extra moment to savor it. When he pulled away, your fingers tightened around his neck and you lifted your chin, kissing him with an urgency he hadn't expected from your half-awake state.

"Come home to me, Joel," you mumbled, your eyes squinting at him through the darkness. He pulled an arm from around his neck and brought your knuckles to his lips.

"Promise."

It was so hard to leave but he kept reminding himself he was doing it to keep you safe. Regardless of what Tommy thought, something in his gut told him they hadn't seen the last of those raiders. He brought them into the mountains, and he was determined to be the one to finish it.

"I'm still surprised she let you do this," Tommy said a few hours into their travels. George was leading the group while he and Tommy brought up the rear. The forest was silent, save for the birds just beginning to wake in the branches above. After a long, painful winter, it was a relief to hear the first signs of spring.

"What'dya mean let me?" Joel scoffed, but when he locked eyes with Tommy, who was giving him a look that said he saw right through his bullshit, Joel grinned. "Yeah, alright, it took a little work but she understood."

Tommy nodded and went back to paying attention to their surroundings. They were officially in unguarded territory, the nearest patrol route now miles behind them. The trees had yet to fully bloom so it was still rather easy to see through the woods.

"I think you really freaked her out when you left," Tommy said, "she came runnin' to the house that mornin' in a panic. Thought she wouldn't let you leave her sight again after that."

Joel hummed and turned his head so his brother wouldn't see his smile. He didn't want to worry you, but every time he heard something like that, it reminded him how much you cared, even if you couldn't say it just yet.

"So, you two back to normal now or what?" Tommy pried. Joel shot him a look and he shrugged. "We got a long journey here. We can't talk to pass the time?"

"Yeah, mostly back to normal," Joel finally answered, shifting his weight in his saddle. He could already feel his lower back beginning to flare up. "Takin' things slow. Givin' her as much time as she needs."

Tommy nodded, reading between the lines. "Didn't look that slow the other night after dinner," he muttered under his breath, but Joel still heard him.

"She had a couple drinks, is all," he replied with a chuckle. He scratched his chin as he thought back to a few nights prior when you had draped your arms around his shoulders and your face buried against his neck for the better part of thirty minutes. It was late, all of the families had cleared out after dinner, leaving behind the adults to kick back and cut loose a bit. It reminded Joel of a time before the world went to hell. When he and Tommy would go to a bar on a Friday night, the smell of stale beer and cigarettes in the air while the patrons had to shout over a mediocre cover band playing Lynyrd Skynyrd. It was the first time in a long time he felt relaxed and at ease. He watched his brother and wife across the bar steal kisses around conversations with neighbors, grateful for a night out as Ellie had offered to babysit. He had you at his side, sipping whiskey and making a face before you switched to something else.

As the night dragged on, you got a little closer. Then your hand found his knee under the table and you tilted your head into his shoulder, quietly listening to him discuss the plan for the trip with George. He wrapped an arm around your waist but his focus was entirely on George, too concerned with the map he had spread out over the wooden table. George's wife finally came to collect him, telling him she was tired and he was too old to be trying to keep up with the younger men, shot for shot. She wasn't wrong by the way he stood up and stumbled a bit, leading him towards the door, leaving just the two of you at your table. Once you were alone, your arms snaked around his neck and you tugged him to your lips, your tongue greedily licking into his mouth, the heavy taste of whiskey and gin on your combined breath.

"You sure it was just the drinks? You don't think it had anythin' to do with Angie sittin' two tables over?"

Joel's face flushed and he cleared his throat. It shouldn't turn him on but he couldn't help it. He liked it when you were possessive over him.

"Didn't think it wise to ask," was all he said. Tommy chuckled.

The group made decent time. They had a grid in mind and they almost reached their desired destination by sundown. When morning came, the plan was they would make their way back towards Jackson and cover the northeast quadrant of the map.

As they set up camp for the night, deciding to forego a fire since the temperature was comfortable and they didn't want to risk giving away their location, Neil commented that they hadn't seen anything out of the ordinary so far.

"Not that I mind coming out here, Joel," he followed up quickly, "always a good idea to take precautions and all that."

Joel nodded and focused on spreading out his sleeping bag. "I appreciate you all comin'. Not sure if I say it enough, but I'm grateful."

Neil and George exchanged surprised looks at the unexpected appreciation.

They got an early start the next morning, and as the sun rose higher in the sky and more ground was covered, Joel began to wonder if maybe they would make it back to Jackson sooner than he thought. He really hoped they would. Even if it was just one day, he missed you. He hated sleeping without you. He hated waking up and not finding you curled up against him with your head resting on his chest or his arms wrapped about your waist, face buried against the back of your neck.

He was glancing around the forest, wondering what you were doing right at that very moment when he spotted something orange in the distance. His heart rate picked up and he whistled, catching the group's attention. He pointed through the trees and they all silently slid down from their horses. Checking their weapons, they fanned out and slowly made their way towards the scrap of fabric. As they got closer, Joel could see it was a knit cap stuck in a bush, fluttering in the wind. None of the men saw any other signs of life, each of them silently communicating with hand signals they were taught years ago.

Tommy heard shuffling and he held up his hand, bringing the group to an immediate stop. From his angle, Joel could see that the bush with the knit cap was right outside the opening of a small cave. The way the trees had grown around the rocks, it was impossible to notice it from a distance.

The perfect hiding spot.

He exchanged worried looks with Tommy before they crept closer, his rifle gripped tightly in both hands, ready for anything. The shuffling got louder and clearer and it became apparent that the noise was coming from right within the mouth of the cave. Catching Tommy's eye, he made sure to show him he was putting his rifle away in favor of his hunting knife. He always preferred a silent takedown over wasting ammunition, but just in case it went sideways, Tommy would be ready to cover him.

Joel situated himself next to the mouth of the cave while the other men, spread out amongst the trees, hid and waited. He reached down and grabbed a rock, throwing it about ten feet away to draw out whoever was hiding.

He didn't even need to see it to know what was waiting for him.

When the rock cracked against a tree trunk and he heard the telltale snarl of infected, he tightened his grip on his knife. The runner stumbled out of the cave with a shriek, jaw snapping angrily in the direction of the noise. Joel had run into his fair share of infected over the years. He knew the noise would have drawn the attention of any infected in the immediate vicinity, and when he only spotted one, he almost breathed a sigh of relief.

He took it down silently with a blade to the back of the head, then inspected the body. It looked fresh, the clothes mostly intact. The rest of the men joined him as they peered inside the cave, listening intently for any movement. When they heard none, they began to advance.

The cave wasn't very big but it was enough to house ten men. At least, that's the number of bodies they found, not a single trace of life left.

"Well, shit," Tommy muttered, kicking one of the mangled bodies with his boot. "Guess that hunch of yours was right."

It didn't exactly please Joel to know he was right, but at least it was the best possible scenario. The men were taken out by infected probably within the past week. He counted the bodies five times. Then recounted the backpacks and sleeping bags. Ten seemed to be the correct number. No one was missing, assuming the runner he had just killed was the only raider who had the misfortune of turning instead of dying right away.

They scavenged what they could from the dead bodies before trekking back to the horses.

"Keep your heads up. Don't mean there ain't anythin' else out here," Joel warned.

"The warmer weather must've thawed out some infected," Tommy mused next to him. Joel nodded.

"Probably should warn the others to keep their guard up the next few weeks," he replied. "Maybe add an extra body to the towers if we can."

Tommy nodded in agreement. The winters in the mountains were harsh but at least they saw a decrease in the undead.

"Now let's get the hell home," George said over his shoulder, the rest of the men mumbling in agreement. Joel ducked his chin to his chest to hide his relieved smile. Home.

To say you were happy to see him return was an understatement. It was closer to ten at night when you finally heard his heavy footsteps on the front porch.

"Told'ya I'd come back," he chuckled when you wrapped your arms around him, squeezing him tight.

"I know," you mumbled into his shirt. His heart swelled in his chest and he closed his eyes, breathing deep the smell of your shampoo. You both had a lot of work to do, essentially starting over and building a relationship from the ground up, but it was moments like those that made him believe everything was going to work out.

"Are you hungry?"

"Nah, just need a shower," he said, dropping his pack by the door and kicking off his boots.

"So I take it you didn't find anything?" you asked, trailing up the stairs behind him. He walked into your bedroom to grab a fresh set of boxers and sweatpants.

"Actually, we did," he began, and your heart plummeted. He saw the look on your face and quickly shook his head. "They were dead by the time we got there. 'Bout ten of 'em holed up in a cave. Infected got to 'em first."

"Oh, wow," you breathed, slowly sinking down onto the bed. "Well, at least you have peace of mind now, right?"

"Exactly," he said, giving you a quick kiss before heading into the bathroom. "Be out in a minute."

You heard the water turn on and you glanced over at the red flannel of Joel's that you slept in the night before. Even though it was clean, it still smelled like him. You glanced at the closed bathroom door and bit your lip, your heart fluttering in your chest as you thought things over. The morning he left, you wished you had told him but you were too sleepy and you wanted it to be more meaningful. Then, when you woke up and his side of the bed was ice cold, you felt the dread begin to creep up your spine. What if something happened and you never told him how you felt?

Well, nothing happened. He was home now. Safe and sound. There was no reason not to tell him.

You heard the water turn off and you jumped up to grab his flannel and scurried out of the bedroom, across the hall to the other bathroom, shutting the door.

Joel emerged a few minutes later with his wet hair slicked back wearing just a pair of sweatpants, per usual. He tossed his dirty clothes in the laundry basket and looked around. He noticed the closed door across the hall and assumed you were getting ready for bed so he slid between the sheets with a groan. He closed his eyes and took a moment to appreciate the mattress underneath him instead of the unforgiving forest floor before leaning over to grab his glasses and a book.

When you tiptoed back into the bedroom wearing only his flannel, he didn't notice at first. His focus was on the small print in front of him, blinking a few times and wondering if he needed stronger lenses when you cleared your throat. He glanced up and did a double take, his lips parting in shock when he saw his red flannel hugging your curves, the hem falling just below your ass.

You looked up at him and feigned surprise. "Oh, is this okay? I was cold-"

"Yes," he swallowed, immediately cutting you off, "it's okay."

You smiled and made a show of bending over to fix the sheets. Again, he swallowed tightly when he caught a glimpse of your black underwear and he felt his cock twitch. Before you turned around he made sure to be focused back on his book, although he was most definitely not absorbing any of the words on the page.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw you peel back the sheets and with a sigh, you tucked yourself in. You glanced over at him, admiring his strong side profile and the way his glasses perched on the tip of his nose.

"I missed you," you whispered, and he dragged his eyes from his book to look at you.

"I missed you, too."

You caught the way his eyes flicked down to your chest where you purposely left two buttons undone so you exposed a little bit of cleavage.

"What are you reading?" you asked, and he laughed through his nose.

"I've got no fuckin' idea."

In a flash, his book was discarded and you were in his lap, your mouth hungrily devouring his as he carefully removed his glasses and tossed them to the side. He wrapped both arms around you and held you close to his bare chest, his tongue licking past your teeth eagerly.

"You look so fuckin' good in my clothes," he growled, sounding as if it pained him before biting at your jaw.

"I wore your shirts the whole time you were gone," you admitted, rolling your head back and grinding down on his hips. You bit your lip when you felt how hard he was already. "Almost the whole week. I slept in your bed and-"

"Fuck," Joel groaned, grabbing your face with both hands and feverishly plunged his tongue into your mouth. You moaned and grabbed his shoulders, the intensity behind the kiss growing too hot. You could feel yourself tumbling, free-falling into the abyss with the unspoken words sitting heavy on your tongue, hoping Joel would be there to catch you.

"Wait," you gasped, pulling away, but only a little. Your forehead still rested against his as you both panted for air.

"I know, I'm sorry-" he was about to apologize for taking things too far when you cut him off.

"Do you remember all those months ago when I asked how I fell in love with you?"

Joel nodded. "Yeah."

"Do you remember what you said?"

He tilted his head back, lips parted as he gazed up at you, wondering why you were asking him those questions in that moment.

"Yeah," he replied slowly, "I said you're gonna have to wait to find out."

You bit your lip and with a shaky hand, you traced one of the wrinkles next to his eyes. "Well, I found out."

His chest stilled, breath caught in his throat as he processed your words. His eyes roamed over your face, hoping and praying he wasn't misunderstanding. When you saw him nervously swallow, you smiled.

"I love you, Joel."

His eyebrows pinched together and before you could see the tears welling up in his eyes, he pulled you down for another searing kiss. This time, he went slower. He savored every second, he memorized everything he possibly could about that moment because the way you made him feel hearing those words was unlike anything he ever experienced and he didn't want to take a single second for granted.

"I love you, too," he choked. He could feel you smile against his lips when he pressed his mouth against yours again. "Fuck, I love you so much," he mumbled, his hands falling to your hips, "I'd do anythin' for you."

Your mouth latched onto his throat and you dropped your hand between your bodies, your fingers lightly stroking him through his pants. And once again, you felt his muscles stiffen and freeze.

For a moment, the self-doubt crept in. What if he didn't want to? Was he too tired? Was he not ready? Then his hand covered your wrist and you watched as he slowly dragged your hand up and down, showing you what he liked. Encouraging you to continue. So you did.

His head tipped back against the headboard with a sigh and he squeezed his eyes shut, removing his hand and letting you take control. He wanted - no, needed - you to call the shots. You needed to take it as far as you wanted to take it.

When your fingers dipped below his waistband, he tensed.

When he finally felt your soft touch on his cock, he groaned.

It was better than he even remembered. His eyes were still closed as you worked him up and down, the arousal pooling between your legs the longer you spent just feeling him and not seeing him.

"I want you," you whispered in his ear, and his hips jolted as he whined against your shoulder. You wanted him.

When he opened his eyes, he looked absolutely wrecked. You could see that he was trying his best to hold back, trying his best to make sure you were comfortable, that you weren't feeling pressured, that you really wanted it.

But when you sweetly whispered please, Joel, he didn't hesitate. He flipped you onto your back and pulled hastily at the buttons of his flannel while he cemented his mouth against yours. Your hands drifted to his hair and back, pulling and scratching as you went while he finally flung open the shirt. He instantly latched his lips around your nipple, making you moan and arch your back underneath him.

"So beautiful," he mumbled against your chest. "Tell me again."

You smiled and peered down at him. "I love you."

He breathed a sigh of relief, his exhale fanning over your skin, making your nipples tighten. His rough hands slid down your stomach, thick fingers splayed wide, trying to touch as much of you as possible at once.

You could hear your heartbeat thrumming steadily in your ears when he dipped his fingers below the elastic of your underwear, a deafening sound that made it hard to focus but when he slid a finger slowly through your arousal, your senses suddenly sharpened. The house could have been on fire but you never would have known because all you could focus on was him.

He dragged his open mouth across your chest, teeth grazing over your collarbone, tongue flicking out and tasting you as he went. His lips puckered and sucked at your skin as he pet gently at your entrance, making you squirm with need and tug impatiently at his hair. When he pulled his hand out of your underwear, you made a frustrated little noise that made him smile. He popped his finger into his mouth and you watched, struggling to breathe, as his eyes fluttered closed and he moaned like he had just slipped into a warm bath after a hard day.

"God, I missed that," he whispered, and the look on his face made you actually believe him.

"Joel..." you breathed, plucking feebly at the waistband of his sweatpants.

"Lemme just make you come on my mouth first," and before you could respond, he was shimmying down between your legs and tugging off your panties. When you glanced down and saw how good it looked with his head between your legs, you relaxed and leaned back. How could you argue with that view?

"Oh," you sighed when his tongue first slid through your folds. You tipped your head back and closed your eyes, allowing your muscles to melt under his touch. His hands held your thighs open but he didn't need to bother. There was no possible way you would do anything to stop him. Not when he felt so good, taking his time and expertly lavishing your core with his tongue. And perhaps he was an expert. At least when it came to you, he had five years of experience to fall back on. He surely must have figured out what you liked in all that time.

Your breath was growing ragged and you could feel the heat creeping up your chest. He pressed the backs of your thighs, pushing your knees up towards your chest so he could devour every inch of you, eating messily at your cunt. You pulled your knees back and hooked your hands around each one, your thighs becoming too shaky to hold open with your own strength.

It was a combination of his lips wrapping around your clit and the deep groan that rumbled through his chest that made you come undone the first time. Instant relief flashed through your body and you released your knees, letting your legs fall limply onto the quilt while he eagerly cleaned you up with his tongue.

When he sensed it was too much, he began peppering kisses along your inner thighs, murmuring praise into your skin as he went. You opened your eyes and peered down at him, your breath getting caught in your throat at the sight. His mouth and beard were glistening with your slick, his own eyes remained shut as he mindlessly nipped and kissed your skin, but even from your angle you could see him rutting his hips into the mattress, looking for any amount of friction to relieve the ache.

You reached your arms out to him and he inched up but stopped at your stomach. He sighed and rested the side of his head against your belly, listening to your breath evening out as he closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around your waist. It took you by surprise that he wasn't immediately jumping at the chance to chase his own release when it was clear just a moment before he was dying for it. You glanced down at him and smiled when you saw the look on his face, simply content with just holding and being close to you. Carding your fingers through his curls, you heard him hum before pressing a gentle kiss against your stomach.

It might have been that moment when you realized he was right. What you had was special and rare. You could feel it in your bones, the way a look or touch sent a jolt right through you. The way you felt drawn to him, even from the very first day of your accident, you could sense something in him. You had no idea at the time what it was, but you were beginning to understand now.

"Joel?" you whispered, worried he might have somehow fallen asleep. Then you felt it. The first hot teardrop hit your skin and your heart clenched. "C'mere," you said, tugging at his shoulders. Begrudgingly, he obeyed. And after his arms loosened and he unpeeled his wet face from your belly, you saw the anguish in his eyes. All watery and wide and guilt-ridden.

"I don't deserve you," he said softly, his voice breaking a bit as you cupped his jaw. "Never did and definitely don't now. Not after everything I've done. Don't deserve your forgiveness, let alone your love."

You shushed him and pressed your lips tenderly against his, your thumb wiping away his tears as they fell.

"Don't tell me who I can and cannot love," you said, taking his chin in your hand and giving it a firm shake, like you were punishing him. He chuckled thickly through the tears.

You pulled him down by the back of his neck and kissed him slower, your tongue just barely dipping into his mouth. He groaned when you began to plant wet kisses along his jaw and you noticed with pride that his chest was rising and falling faster than usual while his hips ground into yours.

"Love you s'much," he almost sounded drunk, the feel of your mouth over his skin clouding his mind and mushing his words together.

"Yeah?" you asked before sucking a bruise where his jaw met his throat. "Then show me."

Joel kicked off his sweatpants and boxers with a grunt but when you went to remove his flannel from around your shoulders, he stopped you.

"Leave it on."

Your cheeks flared with heat at the way he looked at you and all you could do was nod and bite your lip.

It felt like time stood still when you first felt him enter you. Like nothing else in the world mattered outside of those four walls. He held your gaze and your fingers dug into his back, each of you savoring the stretch with your mouths hung open, the only sound was the occasional sharp little breath or gasp from one or both of you.

You could see it in his face again and you had a feeling you mirrored his look. It was too intense. Too overwhelming. So much had happened that led up to that moment: all the fear, sadness, laughter, arguments, long talks and shared traumas came crashing down at once. A tear slid down your cheek right when his hips came flush with yours and he leaned down to kiss it away.

"You okay?"

You nodded and wiped another tear away with the back of your hand.

"It's just a lot, y'know?" you sniffled, hoping he understood. And he did.

His eyes glistened and he smiled, his fingers brushing away a few stray pieces of hair from your face. "I know. We've come a long way."

"Yeah," you whispered, blinking back more tears. Your fingertips traced his bottom lip, your eyes flickering around his face, taking in every little crease and dimple. "Kiss me."

He did as you asked, kissing you slow and deep, matching pace with his hips. Your fingers dug into his arms, holding onto him, keeping him close. His hand pushed his flannel back, exposing one of your shoulders while your head tilted back into the pillows, momentarily breaking away for air. You moaned softly when he began to grind his hips against you, providing your clit with some much needed stimulation while he dragged his mouth down the column of your throat and across your collarbone. When he sunk his teeth gently into your shoulder, he felt you clench around him and gasp.

How's that feel?

Do that again.

Tell me you love me.

I love you.

Those sweet, desperate whispers were shared, breathed into each other's mouths, every word dragged out, every touch deliberate and slow. Neither of you in the mood to rush a thing as your fingers tightly laced together next to your head.

His other hand skirted around your back and under his shirt, palm pressing against your spine, pulling you closer to him, if it was even possible. He flexed his hips and you groaned when the tip of his cock hit a spot that had your entire body buzzing.

"Right there," you whimpered into his neck, brows pinched together and stomach tightening as you concentrated on the fire being stoked deep within you. Every one of his powerful thrusts was adding fuel to the flames. Your skin was slick with sweat and you began to regret keeping his flannel on.

"I know, baby. I remember," he whispered, tightening his grip on you. "Fuck, y'feel so good, I can't-"

"Don't stop! Please, Joel, more," you begged, tears welling up and spilling down your cheeks the closer and closer he pushed you to the edge. Your thighs tensed around his waist and his lips kissed the tears away and when you came, crying his name into his skin, he soothed you. He told you how much he loved you, how much he missed being so close to you, reminded you he was right there, that he had you and everything was okay.

Moments later, you felt his body tremble and his hips stutter. In a haze, you loosened your legs from around his waist. His lips captured yours frantically, fast puffs of exhale fanning over your cheek as he got more and more lost in chasing his climax. Your shaking fingers reached up to get tangled in his hair, ensuring his mouth remained firmly planted against your lips, muffling his groans and garbled versions of your name and I love yous, swallowing everything down until he yanked his hips away, spilling himself all over your stomach.

You both broke the kiss and looked down between your bodies, watching as each weak thrust painted your skin with more and more of his release until he finally stilled and shuddered.

After he finally forced himself to stand, he cleaned you up and slipped back into bed, one of his legs sticking out from underneath the covers, still slightly panting for air. You curled into his side, his arm wrapped around you, pulling you snug against him, his nose getting buried in your hair as you listened to each other's breaths even out. You quietly told him about a wound you stitched up at work all by yourself the day before and he told you how proud he was of you. You listened to him tell you a little more about his trip, how relieved he felt now that he confirmed with his own eyes Jackson was safe. At least, for the time being.

The last thing you remembered was him telling you how much he hated sleeping on the ground and how much he missed you while his knuckles soothingly dragged over your stomach but all you could think about was the warm glow that radiated from your skin and the delicious soreness between your legs as you drifted off to sleep.

The next morning, you heard birds singing outside your window. You smiled before you even opened your eyes. Spring was coming. You always loved spring. Something about it made you hopeful and calm, and that morning was no exception.

You awoke still wrapped in his arms and his flannel, your cheek pressed against his bare chest, one of your legs slotted between his, enjoying the peace and quiet the morning brought.

"I thought you died," you admitted quietly once he woke, your fingertips tracing over the scar above his hip. "When you didn't come back that day, I was so worried. So scared my last words to you were something cruel and hurtful."

He hummed and said, "Oh darlin', I'm so sorry," then kissed the top of your head.

"Don't be. In a way, it helped me realize how much I care about you," you replied, lifting your chin from his chest to glance up at him. He always looked way too handsome in the morning. It was hardly fair. "Made me realize I couldn't live without you."

He grinned and rolled his shoulder, stretching out his sore muscles. "Well, if that's all it took, why didn't you say somethin' sooner?"

You giggled and looked back down at his scar, the smile slowly slipping from your face the longer you looked at the pale jagged edges marring his bronzed skin. "God, that day you didn't come back, though," you continued, your brow furrowed as you thought, "I had the worst pit in my stomach. Almost like I knew something was wrong, you know?"

He nodded and closed his eyes, letting you talk, completely at ease listening to your voice.

"It probably didn't help I had woken up that morning from the worst fucking nightmare."

"What nightmare?" he asked sleepily.

You chuckled when you thought about it.

"It's not really funny," you explained, rolling off of him and onto your back, pulling his flannel closed as you moved. "It had started out just like this, actually. It was morning, we were in bed and we were talking... about death?" you said the last part as if it were a question. "I was asking you if you believed in heaven and I told you I was afraid we were going to hell." His eyes snapped open and he quickly rolled his head to look at you, waiting for you to continue. You laughed again and shrugged. "I guess it felt like a premonition or something. Really freaked me out, it felt so real."

"What else?" he asked excitedly, sitting up. You looked up at him and cocked your head to the side.

"What do you mean?"

"What else do you remember? From the nightmare?"

"Oh," you said, pushing yourself up so you were also sitting. You stared at the wall blankly as you thought about it. "You told me we aren't bad people, and even though I told you we had done bad things, I believed you. Then..." you felt your cheeks flush and he sat forward eagerly.

"Then what?" he urged, and when you looked at him again, any trace of playfulness was gone.

"Then... it got a little dirty but I woke up before anything happened. But I do remember you were on top of me and you said-"

"This is heaven right here?" he finished for you, and you looked at him in surprise.

"Yes! How did-"

"That was no nightmare, honey. That happened," he told you, his voice rising. He thought his heart was going to explode, it was racing so fast.

"What?" you whispered, but Joel was already jumping out of bed and tugging on his boxers.

"C'mon, get up! We gotta take you to see Nick!"

"Wait," you said, buttoning up his flannel as he flew around the room, grabbing new clothes for you both. "Joel, this was a month ago, what will going to see Nick do?"

"I-I-I don't know! But we gotta tell him. Maybe there's somethin' we can do if we know you're capable of -"

"Joel, sit down," you said, cutting him off. He froze, having just tugged on a shirt but his jeans were still left unzipped and unbuttoned. You stared at him until he took the few steps towards the bed and sat down on the edge. "I'll talk to Nick next time I'm at work, but I don't want to barge in there and take up his time. You know this is out of his area of expertise."

He looked disappointed but he knew you were right because he finally nodded in agreement and bit the inside of his cheek while he stared at the floor. You put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed, drawing his attention back onto you.

"It doesn't matter, anyway," you said softly. "If my memories come back, then they come back. If they don't, they don't. All that matters is this... right?" you asked, inching closer to him and resting a hand on his thigh. He smiled and enveloped your hand in his.

"Yeah, you're right," he said, staring down at your conjoined hands for a moment. "You wanna go get some breakfast? Maybe talk 'bout it a bit more?"

"Sure," you replied, then leaned forward, kissing him tenderly before standing up. "I should probably shower, though. Last night got a little messy," you said, tossing him a wink over your shoulder. He smirked and watched your ass sway back and forth in his fucking clothes as you made your way to the bathroom. You turned around in the doorway, one hand on the knob, the other braced against the frame as you looked at him expectantly from across the room. "Aren't you coming?"

All the blood rushed directly between his legs and just like that, his excitement for you recalling a memory was replaced by a very different kind of excitement.

"Hell, yes," he said, standing up and shucking off his shirt as he followed you into the bathroom. He grabbed your face with both hands and crashed his mouth against yours, kicking the door shut behind him.

Three Months Later

"Can't believe I'm the one teachin' you how to shoot," Joel muttered in disbelief as you walked back from the line of trees where he had hammered a paper target into one of the trunks. "You were always a better shot than me. Almost better than Tommy, and he was in the goddamn Army."

You laughed and shook your head, still finding it difficult to believe that you ever shot a gun before. From what you remember, you were always afraid of guns growing up.

"Maybe I'm a natural, then."

Enough time had passed and the weather had gotten warm enough where you decided it would be beneficial to re-learn how to shoot. You didn't plan on going back to patrol, but in the world you lived in, it was an important skill to have.

You sat down next to Joel on the fallen tree trunk in the middle of a small field about two miles away from Jackson. He picked up each one of his guns and inspected them, making sure they were clean so there wouldn't be much kickback.

"Have any dreams lately?"

You sighed and shook your head. "Just the one about Ellie, and that was over a month ago."

When you woke up one morning from a dream that felt all too real, you shook Joel awake to tell him about it. It was a simple dream, but it felt intense. You had dreamed Ellie sat you and Joel down at the kitchen table, and full of nerves, explained that she was seeing someone. Someone she cared about deeply. You seemed to catch on quicker than Joel because the conversation lead to where Ellie had to point blank explain to him that she was dating another girl. He seemed surprised but not overly shocked, and when he shrugged it off and still maintained that his only concern was her partner treating her right, her face broke out into a huge smile.

After he confirmed it was a memory, you agreed to see Nick. He didn't end up having much insight on what spurred your sudden recollection that day, just as you expected. But much to your surprise, Joel was perfectly calm. In fact, he made a point of thanking Nick and you even saw him smile at the other man.

And it wasn't just Nick you noticed his demeanor changing toward, either. When kids playing in the street bumped into him, he laughed and waved them off. When Jesse proposed to his girlfriend, Joel was one of the first in line to give him a hearty handshake and wished them well.

You weren't sure if his behavior changed because you were so revolted by it in the beginning, or if he was just happier in general, but you didn't complain.

"Alright, so which one d'you think we're gonna use from this distance?" he asked after he showed you his revolver and then his rifle, explaining the difference between each: how they handled, when to use them, when not to use them, and then finally, how to load and unload them.

You gave him a blank look. "The rifle, Joel. I'm not a complete idiot. I've seen movies."

He grinned and holstered his revolver.

"Good girl. Beauty and brains," he said, and you rolled your eyes.

"Don't start."

"What?" he asked innocently.

"Don't start flirting with me. You'll distract me and I want to take this seriously."

"I ain't flirtin' with you."

"Yes, you are!"

He laughed heartily at your frustrated little pout. "Can you blame me? You're so goddamn cute."

"Joel..." you whined, and he held up both hands in defeat before picking up the rifle.

"Alright, alright. Lemme shoot off a few rounds and you watch my form, okay? Watch my shoulders and where my hands go."

"Okay."

You observed him as he took aim at the target, nearly hitting the bullseye but not quite.

"You wanna give it a shot?"

"Pun intended?"

He grinned and held out the rifle, so you grabbed it and sunk down to one knee, resting your elbows on the tree trunk as you tried to imitate his posture.

"Like this?"

"Mhm," he said, "now take a deep breath and squeeze the trigger nice 'n slow."

Doing as you were told, you inhaled and blinked a few times, making sure your vision was clear and your eye was on the prize. Pursing your lips, you slowly exhaled and squeezed the trigger - only to miss hitting the target entirely.

"Shit," you grumbled, sitting back on your heels.

"You got spooked by the kickback," Joel said, "try again, but this time try not to flinch."

You shouldered the rifle and took aim, once again taking a deep breath and focusing on the little yellow circle in the middle of the target. When you fired off your second round, doing your best not to flinch, you clipped the edge of the paper, but you were no where near the center.

"Goddamnit!" you yelled angrily. Joel chuckled and crouched behind you.

"Here. Lemme help you."

He wrapped his arms around yours and pressed his chest against your back, his hands coming to rest on top of yours as he made some minuscule adjustments to your posture.

"Y'gotta be gentle, see?" he whispered in your ear. Your eyelids fluttered but you managed to nod. "Gotta be patient. Don't let her scare you. Think of her as an extension of you. Like another arm."

"Her?" you teased.

He chuckled, his breath puffing against the back of your neck. "Yeah. Her. I'm respectful and careful with all my girls."

"All?" you repeated, leaning into him a bit. "How many are there?"

"Oh, tons," he said, making you giggle. "But if it makes you feel any better, you're my favorite."

"A favorite over a bunch of guns? I'm so flattered."

"Hey, now. Didn't you just say you wanted to take this seriously? C'mon, focus up," and you knew he was right so you straightened up and pressed your eye against the scope once again.

Joel stayed behind you, his hands on your shoulders to help stabilize your upper body as you squeezed off shot after shot. His advice helped a little, you were at least hitting the paper, but you weren't getting anywhere near his shots from earlier. He could see you were growing frustrated so when you ran out of bullets, he took the rifle and told you to take a break while he reloaded.

"It's okay, darlin'. It's gonna take a bit to get used to it."

You sighed and slumped forward on the tree trunk. "Yeah, I guess," you mumbled.

For the next twenty minutes, Joel coached you while you struggled to remember all his advice at once. Keep your shoulders loose. Don't flinch. Follow through. Breathe. When you pulled the last round into the chamber and took aim, you expected it to go like all the others so you stopped worrying about it and just pulled the trigger.

"Holy shit, you did it!" Joel exclaimed excitedly. You hadn't even bothered to look, so you quickly brought the scope back up to your face. When you saw the small little circle burning a hole through the paper, nearly dead center, you squealed and quickly placed the rifle against the tree so you could jump into Joel's arms. He wrapped his arms around your ribs and spun you around while you giggled into his neck.

"Told you," he said with a wide grin after he put you back down. You grabbed his face with both hands and pulled him into you, crashing your lips together, taking him by surprise. He stumbled forward but wrapped a hand around the back of your neck just as you lost your own footing and fell onto the grass, dragging him down with you.

You laughed against his mouth, still peppering kisses all over his face. He braced both arms on either side of you, elbows digging into the warm grass, smile permanently stretching across his cheeks as he soaked up your affection.

When your laughter died down, you pulled away to gaze up at him, your fingers playing with the dark curls at the base of his neck. The sun was shining over the field and onto his tanned skin, making his sparkling brown eyes look like the color of gold. It took your breath away.

"You're so handsome," you whispered in awe, your fingers leaving his hair in favor of stroking the graying stubble dusting his cheeks. He blushed and shook his head, but before he could protest, you spoke again. "I love you so much, Joel. Sometimes it makes me sad to think we probably wouldn't have ever known each other if the world didn't end."

His eyes softened and he gave you a small smile, tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear. "I'll always find you. In every life, in every universe. You've got a piece of me," he tapped your chest lightly, "I don't make the rules."

You laughed and laced your fingers together with his. "Like fate?"

He shrugged. "Call it whatever you want. I already told you, sweetheart. We're meant to be together."

You pulled him down for another kiss, this one more gentle. More loving. More intimate. For the hundredth time, you mentally berated yourself for wasting so much time after your accident when you could have been with him like this, being loved and adored and cherished all along. Instead, you both had been searching endlessly for some version of yourself that you weren't sure you would ever find again. But then you realized if you never did, that was okay. Because you got to fall in love with each other all over again, and how many people get to say that?

#joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #joel the last of us #joel miller x reader #pedro pascal #joel miller fluff #pedro pascal characters fanfiction #the last of us game #the last of us hbo #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us #ikwya fic #joel miller fanfic #joel miller tlou

[andvys]

Dancing with our hands tied | S.H.

Chapter fifteen ⭐︎ I thought the plane was going down, how’d you turn it right around?

Warnings: slight angst, fluff, a lot of fluff, alcohol consumption, clingy!reader, drunk!reader

Pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!reader

Summary: Steve gets to know a side of you, you have never shown him before, and he takes the final step towards realization.

Word count: 10k+

Author’s note: SO @hellfire--cult and I have been waiting for this chapter (and especially for the next one). I'm so happy that we're finally here, and as always I'm giving a special shoutout to my lovely Roe, who not only helped with ideas but also wrote the whole last paragraph, the drive home and all the fluff at Steve's house. Give her all the love she deserves ♡ ilysm roe thank youuuu

Series Masterlist ⭐︎ Previous Chapter

♡

Red, white and blue colors flash before your eyes, everywhere you look as you walk through the grocery store with Max. You can’t even bear to look at the holiday themed snacks and decorations on the shelves. All week, people have been preparing for a holiday, you used to love, now it’s nothing but a reminder of what you lost – of what Max lost. 

You avoided going to Big Buy’s all week, for this exact reason. 

But now you were the one who offered to go inside, when Eddie was the one who wanted to get the pre-drinks, you don’t even know why you did it, maybe it was to get away from Dustin’s and Lucas’s banter, or maybe you just wanted to prepare yourself for something much bigger. 

The Fun Fair takes place this year, just as it did, last year. And you friends wanted to celebrate the Fourth of July there. You don’t mind, you really don’t, but every place you turn today, reminds you of a dear friend you lost. 

Max walks beside you quietly. She looks around with heavy eyes and tension in her shoulders, she’s fidgeting with the bracelet that Lucas gifted to her, and keeps her eyes on the ground. 

You didn’t say anything yet, not wanting to trigger any more sadness. You’re surprised that she even offered to go inside with you, she could’ve waited and stayed with the guys, but she didn’t. 

“This day sucks.” 

These are the first words she spoke out loud, ever since you stepped inside the store.

“Yeah,” you mumble, quietly, not knowing what to say, because all you can think about is Billy, and how he died on this exact day, one year ago, when you were still so unaware of the dark truth that lied beneath this town, when you thought that it was the fire that killed him and not one of Vecna’s creatures. 

You weren’t even there, but thinking about it makes you sick and angry. You can’t even imagine what Max must’ve felt like that night. Or what she is feeling now. 

When you stop in the drink aisle, you look around for the beer Eddie asked for, but instead your eyes fall on the one brand that Billy always used to buy. Sometimes he’d bring a six pack over and leave some cans in your fridge for some other time, you are pretty sure that there are still two leftover cans hidden behind all the other drinks in your fridge. 

A sigh falls from your lips, “yeah, it does.” 

She glances at you, sadness settling into her features, when she sees the way your eyes fill with grief. 

“Billy would roll his eyes at us, right now,” she mumbles, trying to crack a joke. 

A small chuckle escapes you, and you turn to look at her with a weak smile on your face, “yes, he would.” 

She purses her lips as she looks at the beer, “are you gonna let me drink tonight?” 

You scrunch your nose, and shake your head, “are you crazy?” You scoff, as you step forward and reach for the beers, Eddie asked for, and the ones Billy would have gotten for himself. “How about you turn twenty one first, and then I’ll let you drink.” 

Max laughs at you and rolls her eyes. 

“You’re not even twenty one, and you’re drinking – oh! And buying the beers with a fake ID probably!” 

“Shush,” you wave your hand at her when an employee walks past you, giving you both a weird look. 

“I’m very close to twenty one,” you whisper. 

“You’re not even twenty yet–”

“I’m turning twenty, this year. Now stop arguing with me, and get yourself a coke or something.”

Max groans at you, “fine,” she murmurs as she follows you, “why are you even getting any drinks now when you can buy some at the Fair?”

“I’m pretty sure that Eddie doesn’t want to buy any of those overpriced drinks that taste like absolute shit.” 

She snorts, “he shouldn’t even be drinking, he’s driving.” 

“Don’t worry, he’ll walk you all home if he gets drunk.” 

Her jaw drops, and annoyance flashes in her eyes, “are you serious–”

You laugh at the look on her face, shaking your head at her, “I’m just kidding, when does Eddie ever get drunk?” You chuckle, “he’ll have one beer tops, no more, he’ll sober up till then, and if not then uh… Steve will drive you home.”

“Okay,” she sighs, as the momentarily amusement leaves her face again, and the sadness begins to sink back in, making you much more aware of your own. 

“Hey, Max?” 

She turns back to you, and raises her eyebrows in question. 

“If you feel overwhelmed at some point, you can find me and we can leave, at any time, okay?” 

She smiles a little and nods her head. 

“Okay,” she whispers, “same goes for you, if you want to leave, I’ll go with you.” 

“Okay,” you smile at her, “now let’s go pay for these and get out of here,” you mumble as you gesture to the beer in your hands. 

You feel relief rushing through you once you are out of the busy store again. The golden evening sun hits your skin, still blessing it with warmth, the air around you smells like summer, like fresh cut grass, hot pavement and honeysuckle. The wind kisses your skin and blows through your hair, it’s warm yet refreshing, it feels nice. 

“Did you buy that for me?” Dustin grins at you, pointing at the beers when you get into the passenger seat. 

Eddie glares at him through the rearview mirror. 

“Very funny, Dusty Bun.”

Lucas laughs at the nickname, nudging his shoulder against Dustin’s, “Dusty Bun,” he cackles, wiggling his brows. 

“Shut up, dude.” 

“You kids are too young to even think about trying beer,” you glare at the three teens in the back, most specifically at Lucas, who’s had some before. 

His smile falls a little, and he clears his throat, “that was one time.”

“Yeah, it better stay that way,” you point at him. 

Max snorts at the glare on your face. 

“Yes, mom.”

Eddie and Dustin chuckle. 

Your jaw drops, and you furrow your brows at the teen who is squished between Max and Dustin. 

“You act like a mom sometimes!” Lucas raises his hands up in surrender, shrugging at you. 

“No, I don’t!” 

“Yeah, you do, you’re mama bear,” Eddie snorts, making Dustin laugh louder. 

“Yeah, you’re not fooling us with your grumpy act.” 

You squint your eyes at the curly head, who is grinning happily at you. 

“Just accept it, Sweetheart,” Eddie chuckles, “you’re the mom of the group.”

“No, I only joined this group a few months back, there has to be a different mom–”

“Oh no, we only had single dad Steve,” Lucas giggles, wiggling his eyebrows at you, “but we got a mom and a dad now, so…” 

The smug look on his face, and the teasing in his eyes, isn’t exactly hard to miss. You know exactly what he is going at, what he has been going at for the past few months now. 

Sometimes, you can’t help but wonder if he somehow knows about your feelings for Steve, if he always knew about them, or if he is simply just teasing and still in the dark about everything. 

You are good at hiding your feelings, you always have been, no one ever found out about your feelings for Steve unless you wanted them to, but if there is someone who you wouldn’t underestimate, then it’s definitely Lucas, he is too smart for his own good, sometimes.

Eddie snorts beside you, mumbling, “mommy and daddy.” 

You elbow him, into his side, earning a groan from him. 

“That wasn’t very nice!” Eddie grumbles as he shoots you a glare, and presses his hand against his stomach. 

“Don’t be so dramatic, Edward.” 

He squints his eyes at you. 

“Who is Eddie then?” Dustin asks. 

“He’s the cool uncle,” Lucas shrugs. 

“Damn right, now stop yapping,” Eddie mumbles as he takes a look over his shoulder, “are you ready to throw up Hot Dogs after going on the roller coaster?” 

All three of them groan in disgust, scrunching up their faces, making him laugh. 

You shake your head at him when he starts laughing. 

“You’re such a menace.” 

Eddie only chuckles at you, he starts the car and turns up the music, and he rolls down the windows before he speeds out of the parking lot. 

You embrace the moments of peace before the chaos of the fair hits you, screaming children, crowds of people, and the overwhelming smell of food on every corner are something you are not looking forward to despite the hollowness in your stomach. You couldn’t get anything down the past few days, you nearly threw up this morning when you walked into the diner with Eddie, and the smell of Bacon hit you. 

The wind weaves through your hair as Eddie drives down the main road. 

The sound of music distracts you from your sad thoughts. 

The thought of him, filling your heart with life and your soul with hope.

He grounds you in your worst moments, and he doesn’t even know it.

-

The fairground is alive with music and screaming children, the sound of the roller coasters moving, conversations and laughter from every corner. The dazzling lights are a stark contrast against the dark sky, the smell of food wafts through the air. 

Robin and Vickie are standing next to Steve, giggling about something as they sip on their mixed beers. He is looking around, trying to catch sight of you, but you are nowhere to be found, and he is beginning to worry. 

Max and El had dragged you away for a roller coaster ride, but that was over an hour ago, and he hasn’t seen you ever since. 

Max had warned him before, when she reminded him of what this day means to you, of what happened a year back, of what and who you had lost. 

Steve doesn’t know how you deal with grief, how you feel on these kinds of days, there are too many of them in your life. He doesn’t know how you cope, he wishes that he could be there for you and give you a shoulder to lean on – but you aren’t very good at showing your true feelings or emotions, he only saw a glimpse of the truth that you hide behind those high walls you built around yourself and he doubts that you would come to him for comfort. 

A dreadful feeling is gnawing in his chest the more time passes without you being seen. 

“Hey Dingus, we’re going on the Ferris Wheel,” Robin nudges his shoulder, grinning at him. 

He blinks, tearing his eyes away from the crowds, he nods at his best friend. 

“Sure, have fun.” 

Robin furrows her brows as she takes in the sight of his frown, “are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he murmurs and plasters a smile on his face, “go and have fun with your girl.” 

She hesitates, her smile becoming weaker now, “you should go find Eddie or Dustin.”

“Yeah, I will, in a second.” 

“Your feet are not glued to the ground are they?” Vickie asks, chuckling. 

“Yeah, you’ve been stuck in this spot for like thirty minutes now!” Robin exclaims as she points her ringed finger at him, eyeing the way he is leaning against the wall with tension in his body. 

Steve chuckles, and brings his hand up to the side of his face, cupping his cheek for a moment, “I’m just looking out for the kids.”

Robin snorts, though she gives him a suspicious look. 

“Ah, but they’re not around,” she says, tilting her head as she gestures to all the strangers that surround the field, instead of the teens. 

“I told them I’d be here if they needed anything,” he shrugs and waves his hand at her, “now go and have your kiss on the top of the Ferris Wheel.” 

Robin slaps his shoulder, her cheeks taking on a deep red color, as Vickie giggles behind her. 

He chuckles at her, wiggling his brows and smirking at his best friend. 

Robin rolls her eyes and turns away from him, she offers her hand out to the redhead, who reaches for it, though with a blush on her cheeks and a shy smile on her lips. 

“See you later, Dingus,” Robin waves at Steve, not giving him the chance to respond before she drags her girl away and pushes through the crowds with her. 

Steve’s eyes follow them until he can no longer see them as they get lost in the midst of the chaos. Laughing children run around, chasing each other, a group of teenage boys carrying drinks they shouldn’t be allowed to buy, two young women walk past him, giggling amongst themselves as they eye him with interest in their eyes, Steve pays no mind to them, not even bothering to spare them a look despite the very obvious glances he is getting, even as they had already passed him. 

His eyes follow a different sight and his ears perk up at the sound of giggles that sound like yours, his lips twitch at the sound and his heart flutters wildly in his chest. 

He pushes himself off the tree he is leaning against and turns to look around. Steve’s hazel eyes soften the moment he finally sees you. 

You are standing in a circle with Eddie and his bandmates who all keep pestering you over something. Eddie leans closer to you and pinches your cheek, while Gareth jumps around you like some hyper puppy, his curls bouncing and his face flickering with amusement when you keep waving your hand at him. 

Steve smiles at the giggle that falls from your lips when Eddie swats your hand away after you ruffle his curls. 

He watches the way your lips move as you stare at him with a smug look on your face, saying something to him that makes him clutch his chest and gasp dramatically. 

Steve shakes his head as the metalhead lunges at you and you squeal in surprise before you turn around and run off with a giggle, bolting into the crowd with Eddie and Gareth hot on your heels, while Jeff and Grant follow the three of you slowly, shaking their heads in amusement.

Surprise lingers inside of him, Steve had never seen you so playful before, he had never witnessed you letting loose and having genuine fun. You are always on guard, always hiding away behind your brooding act that is slowly becoming less and less visible. 

Something has changed, something in your behavior has shifted in the past few weeks. You seem happier, you seem to smile more, you seem to be kinder to the people around you. 

Your walls are still up, but the foundation has begun to crumble, just like his did. 

You let him see a glimpse of something he never thought was even there, he saw your vulnerable side and your soft one, he saw how lovingly you treated your baby niece, he saw how sweet and gentle you could be – he saw the real you and it only made him weaker than ever before. 

There was always a part of him that left him feeling weak whenever he was with you – it wasn’t a bad kind of weak, but it was one that scared him. 

It doesn’t scare him anymore. 

He embraces the weakness now. 

Something, someone crashes into his chest, making him stumble back from the force, when he looks down, he finds you staring up at him, with your arms now wrapped around his waist and a softened look in your eyes as a smile rests on your lips. The dazzling, colorful lights from the rollercoaster and the ferris wheel only brighten the color of your eyes, making him get lost in them so easily. 

He feels your arms around his torso, and your hands on his back, your chest is now pressed against his and if he didn’t know any better, he’d say that the look in your eyes is a dreamy one as they look into his. 

The warmth in his chest blooms, the smile on his lips grows bigger, something in his stomach flutters when you stand on your tippy toes and remind him of the height difference between the two of you. 

“Hi Stevie,” you say softly. 

He would be lying if he said, he isn’t caught off guard by the tone in your voice and the look in your eyes, by your arms that are wrapped around him and your body that is pressed against his, so tightly and intimately, despite all the eyes that could see. 

“Hi Blondie,” he smiles as he slowly wraps his arms around you and acts on his feelings, when he brings you closer. 

The smell of your perfume is intoxicating and it does nothing to weaken the fluttering in his stomach. You smell like the cotton candy that you had shared with Max earlier and the beer you probably had been drinking all night, which is surprising, considering how much you despise the bitter taste of beer. 

“I missed you.” 

His eyes widen in surprise, and his eyebrows shoot up, the fluttering in his stomach now growing even stronger than before. 

You woke up in each other's arms this morning, you even sat at the kitchen table and drank your morning coffee together before you left to meet up with Eddie. 

But you missed him. 

You missed him, like he missed you.

Maybe it’s the alcohol talking, or maybe not – he hopes not. 

“Yeah?” He whispers. 

You nod, your eyes flicker to his lips, before they move back up, to meet his. 

“I missed you too, Blondie.”

He nearly crumbles when your smile grows even bigger and a blush creeps up on your face, a breathy, small giggle falls from your lips. And then, you surprise him once again, when you bury your face in his chest and hug him tightly. 

His heart rate picks up and his breathing becomes heavy from all the emotions inside of him. 

He certainly never met this side of you before,and he never even knew that you could become much softer than what he had already seen of you. 

Without looking around to make sure that you are away from prying eyes, he wraps his arms tighter around you, and hugs you in a way he wanted to all night. 

Confusion, adoration and happiness floods through him, all at once. 

Here he thought that this day would bring out some darkness in you, that you would hide in a corner and try to drink away your sorrows but instead the alcohol in your system brought something else out in you. 

As Steve holds you in the middle of the fairground and you slide your palm over his chest, resting your hand above the place where his heart beats strongly, he feels himself falling into your embrace, losing all his vision of the people and the things before him, losing all the sounds around him, no longer feeling the ground beneath his feet – all he sees is you, all he hears is the beating of his own heart, all he feels is you, only you. 

And as though, it didn’t hit him hard enough already, you place your chin on his chest and you tilt your head up to look at him, giving him a sweet smile, “kissy?” You ask, puckering your lips. 

He could melt into a puddle, right then and there. 

Despite not wanting to, he lets his eyes roam the space around you, making sure that none of your friends are watching, before he leans in to place a kiss on your lips – one that is way too quick for your liking, the pout that follows your puckered lips makes his heart burst. 

You look at him with literal puppy eyes, glinting with a pleading look. 

He almost doesn’t recognize you – you are not the Blondie that he saw a few hours back, but he is not complaining in the slightest, he really likes this side of you. 

Cupping your cheeks, he rests his large palms against your skin, his fingertips getting lost in your hair as he leans down to kiss you again, smacking his lips against yours, he delivers a loud kiss, one that makes you giggle when he pulls away again and looks down at you with a lazy smile on his face. 

“How much did you drink?” Steve asks, chuckling when you keep staring at him with a big smile. 

“Just a little bit,” you slur, and raise your hand to show him as you furrow your brows and hold your thumb and pointer finger into an L shape, “so much.” 

He laughs as he tucks your hair behind your ears, “alright.”

“I want something else now.” 

“What, more alcohol?” Steve asks, raising his brows. 

You shake your head, scrunching up your nose in a way that makes him smile as he looks at you adoringly.

“No, I think I had too much already.”

“Yeah, I think so too, honey,” he murmurs, the nickname rolling off his tongue easily, almost normal, “you don’t feel sick, do you?” 

“No, just thirsty.” 

“Alright, let’s get you something to drink then,” he says, unable to stop smiling, when you look at him this way. He moves his hands away from your face and he reaches for your hand, sliding his palm against your own, he entwines his fingers with yours, and you welcome his action, happily. 

Steve isn’t drunk, he didn’t have a single sip of alcohol this evening, not a single drag of Argyle’s joint and yet, he feels as though he is under the influence of something strong, his mind is in a haze, that careless and freeing feeling lingers in his chest, happiness and giddiness rushes through him and he feels as though he is floating with you. 

He can’t even find it in himself to care if anyone sees him with you like this – smiling at each other, hugging and kissing one another, holding hands, and acting like a couple. He knows your friends are here, but Steve just doesn’t give a damn – not even when Heidi walks past him with her friends and they all look at you weirdly. 

He hears the hushed whispers, he sees the squinted eyes as they look you up and down and their eyes fall on your entwined fingers. He pays no mind to the way they look at him, but irritation sparks at him when they keep staring at you. He can see the judgment, and the jealousy, it’s so obvious. 

Steve holds back the eyeroll and he grasps your hand tighter as he begins to drag you away from the prying eyes and the whispers of envy. He would rather kiss you and flip them off but he cannot risk this, he can’t risk you two getting caught. Rumors would circulate, words would get twisted and it would only be a matter of time until all your friends would find out. 

And he isn’t ready to get caught, he isn’t ready to lose this, to lose you. 

He glances down at you, seeing the smile that didn’t leave your face just yet. You are unaware to all the eyes on you, to the looks you were given, you are still holding onto his hand as tight as before, stepping closer to him when a group of boys rush past you. 

You turn to him and raise your head to glance at him, shooting him a sweet smile as you squeeze his hand, causing his heart to flutter and his smile to reappear. 

You are so cute like this. 

He pulls you closer and shields you from anyone who brushes past you as you walk through the crowd together, getting lost in the chaotic field, where the music is louder and the people are too. 

Steve looks around, trying to catch sight of the teens or Eddie and his bandmates but he only sees the town people that he couldn’t care less about while you follow him like some lost puppy, clinging to his side and looking up with big eyes, every few seconds or so. 

You both get in line at the drink stall, your hands are still joined, fingers entwined and arms still pressed together. You stumble into him, prompting him to hold you a little tighter. 

“I’m sorry,” you slur as you reach your free hand up to grab his arm. 

“It’s fine,” he chuckles at you, adoring you a little more and more as the seconds pass. 

You are drunk – not tipsy, not slightly drunk, no, you are genuinely and definitely drunk. And as he stands here with you, eying you closely and watching the way you keep looking up at him with your widened pupils and your lazy smiles, he realizes that he had never actually witnessed you being drunk – high and tipsy? Sure. But never drunk. 

“Why’d you drink so much, Blondie?” 

“I didn’t even drink that much,” you shrug, “I’m just not used to drinking that beer.”

Steve raises his brows, knowing how much you despise the taste of regular beer. You only drink it when it’s mixed with something. 

“What kind of beer?” 

You furrow your eyebrows, your eyes flash with confusion, you seemingly can’t remember the name of it. 

You look down and your eyes widen when you find a discarded can on the grass, you point your finger at it, “that one.”

Steve’s eyes follow your gaze and the direction your finger is pointing at, he raises his eyebrows again. 

“You don’t even like beer that much,” he mumbles and turns back to you. 

“Billy did,” you shrug. 

Oh. 

His features relax again and his shoulders slump a little, realization flickers in his eyes. 

You didn’t drink for fun, you were trying to forget about the sadness and the grief that must’ve lingered all day. 

He is surprised that the alcohol didn’t have a negative effect on you. Drinking while feeling sad can worsen those emotions, the alcohol can transform them into a darker sadness or even into anger and despair. 

But you seem fine, happy even. 

If only he knew that he is the reason for it. 

“The fireworks are about to start,” you say, pulling him out of his thoughts. 

He blinks. 

“Yeah,” Steve nods. 

“Do you want to watch them with me?” 

His heart skips a beat at the softness in your voice, at the hopeful look in your eyes and the sweet smile on your lips. 

Of course he does. 

“Yeah,” he smiles, nodding. “I’d love to.”

Your eyes crinkle as you beam at him, stealing his breath away with simple reactions like these. 

Steve is not even sure if anyone had ever looked at him this way, no one has ever even made him feel this way, no one had ever stolen his breath away just from simply looking at him the way you do now. 

You take him by surprise when you stand on your tippy toes and lean closer to him to place a kiss on his cheek, leaving him a blushing mess. 

Your giggle sounds like music to his ears, your touch drives him crazy as you squeeze yourself against him and lay your head on his chest as your arms come around his torso again. 

He could fall to his knees right here, right now. 

Is this the real you? 

Is this the side you’ve been hiding from the world? 

Is this the way you would have always been with him, had you not experienced so much loss and pain? 

Steve wraps his arms around you, unable to hold back from showing and giving you the affection that you are blessing him with in this moment, even when the anxiety of getting caught still lingers. 

He cups your cheeks and leans closer to your ear, “where do you wanna watch the fireworks?” 

“Maybe the woods? Or the big field?” You ask as you look at him with big eyes, “so we can be away from all these annoying people?”

He laughs when you gesture to the loud fairground visitors.

The lights that flicker around you kiss your beautiful face and your skin that he wants to feel on his at any time, your lips that always look so inviting, you look so delicate, so soft, so gorgeous, you look like someone that could ruin his life and right in this moment, he doesn’t even mind it, he would let you. 

It hits him, in this second, it hits him just how bad he’s got it for you. 

Steve Harrington is down bad. 

Down bad to a point in which he almost calls you ‘my girl’ when he is about to order your drink, he catches himself just in time but he can’t hide the blush that creeps up on his face. 

You don’t seem to notice though, you swing your joined hands back and forth and look around with a contentment in your relaxed features. 

He hands you the ice cold pepsi after placing the ten dollar bill on the small desk, telling the teen behind the counter to keep the change. 

“That was nice of you,” you say as you both start walking away from the drink stall and from the crowds.

“What, letting him keep the change?” 

You nod and let go of his hand to open your can. 

“Poor guy has to work on a holiday, he should get a good tip,” Steve shrugs, already missing the feeling of your hand in his, he raises his arm and wraps it around your shoulder instead, pulling you closer against him. 

Your lips twitch at that, a smile forms on your face. 

“Still, that was nice of you, you’re a nice guy,” you giggle. 

“Well, I gotta make up for all the times I wasn’t a nice guy.”

You don’t say anything to that, you can’t. Steve doesn’t even blame you, you witnessed him in his worst moments, you were his target, more than once. 

You shot back at him but your words weren’t hurtful, your insults and your jabs were never personal. You got under his skin, but not in the way he got under yours. 

He truly wasn’t a nice guy to you and that might be one of his biggest regrets. He was mean, awful even and now as he looks at you, at the cute frown on your face as you pop the can, at the way you take a sip of your favorite drink and smile afterwards, he can’t understand how he could ever treat you so unkindly, how he didn’t see you before.  

You might’ve been rough, snarky and unapproachable but there was never denying of how beautiful you are, how beautiful you have always been. 

How come he never asked you out? 

He might’ve never seen this side of you before and he only ever knew one side of you, but your snarkiness wouldn’t have kept King Steve away from you, if anything, your little act should’ve made him more intrigued. 

And now he can’t help but wonder what things would have been like had he not treated you the way he did, had he asked you out and fought for a chance with you. 

Could’ve things been different then? 

Would you have fallen in love with him? 

Would you have prevented the heartbreak that Nancy had cursed him with two years ago? 

The pain from his last relationship no longer matters to Steve, not since you, but this question still lingers. 

“This spot is perfect.”

You pull him out of the past and back into the presence with a tug on his hand. 

Steve looks around, you are no longer surrounded by people, instead it’s the trees that are around you and him, you’re at the edge of the forest, not far enough to drown at the music and the chatter but quiet enough to hear your voice clearer now, it’s much darker out here but he can still see you well enough. 

You close your eyes and drink your pepsi, completely unaware of his unwavering glances. A sigh leaves your lips and you place the now half full can on the ground before you step closer to him and reach for his hand again, taking a look at the watch around his wrist, you squint your eyes and lean down closer, “it’s about to start any minute.” 

He smiles at you, nodding his head slowly, “yeah.”

Steve feels the urge to pull you tight against him, to hold you and kiss you like he never did before. 

You look up and meet his eyes when you notice his staring, a smile appears on your lips, “what?” You ask with a soft giggle. 

He shakes his head and shrugs, “nothing.”

You bite your lip and he wants nothing more than to grab your face and kiss you breathless. 

You raise your eyebrows at him and stare back at him, stumbling over air as you try to take a step closer to him, making you both chuckle at your drunken clumsiness, your hand falls against his body, while he grabs your waist, steadying you on your own feet, “whoa, easy tiger.” 

You giggle at the nickname, making his own smile widen. 

“You’re really drunk, aren’t you?” 

You don’t even deny it, in fact, you don’t even answer the question as you keep staring up at him, keeping your hands against his chest as your eyes flicker from the spitcurl that hangs over his forehead, his eyes and his lips. 

Steve’s stomach flutters just the way his heart does, his skin tingles beneath from your touches, the look in your eyes makes him want to kiss you even more. 

“You’re feeling okay though, right?” He whispers as he slowly brings his hand up to the side of your face and he cups your cheek. 

“Yeah, I’m okay now,” you nod, leaning into his touch, “I-I just… I miss him.”

Steve might never understand the friendship you had with Billy, he only knew the ugly sides of him but you knew more, you saw deeper, you were his friend – something Steve didn’t even know Billy had, he was sure the guy didn’t even know what the term ‘friendship’ even meant. 

“And that’s okay, Blondie,” he says, giving you a sad smile, “it’s okay to miss people and to grieve for them.”

Tears well up in your eyes and your lips curl downwards. 

Steve didn’t mean for this to happen, he didn’t mean to make you cry. 

“Hey,” he whispers, pulling you closer as he catches the first tear with his thumb, “it’s okay, honey.”

You sniffle and roll your eyes at yourself, “he would punch me in the face for crying,” you joke.

Steve can’t help but laugh. 

“And he’d make fun of me for being with you, he would like–” you pause and lean in to peck his lips, “he would smack my head if I did that in front of him!” You say with a giggle, despite the tears that still keep falling.

His cheeks heat up at the kiss, the need for more growing strong in his chest. 

“He really didn’t like me, huh?”

“Not one fucking bit, Stevie,” you chuckle sadly. 

Steve wonders how things would be if he was still here, would this thing between you even work out? 

Would Billy keep you away from him?

“But nothing could take me away from you, he’d just have to suck it up,” you whisper as you peck his lips again, shutting down the worries in his head. 

He almost feels his pulse in his throat as his heart beats faster, your words doing little to calm the beating of his heart. 

“Oh?” Is the only thing he can say as all the other words freeze in his brain. 

You nod as you look into his eyes deeply, refusing to break eye contact. He notices the way your chest starts moving faster as your breathing gets heavier, he sees the way your smile transforms into a nervous frown and your throat bobs as you try to come up with words. 

His breath hitches in his throat when you whisper his name shakily. 

“I–”

Whatever you were about to say gets lost in the wind as the loud explosion in the sky cuts you off and tears your attention away from him. The colors pop in the sky, illuminating the darkened space around you both.

You tilt your head to watch the lights that reflect in your eyes, the smile you wore before makes its way back into your pretty face, the tension in your body disappears and you relax into him again. 

But while your drunken mind gets distracted by all of this so easily, Steve only really sees you. He doesn’t look up just yet, he lets himself admire you for a moment. 

Your eyes light up as they meet his for a brief second, flashing with awe. 

His heart could jump out of his chest from how hard it’s beating, his knees could give out any moment now. 

“Look!” You beam at him as you point your finger at the blue colors. 

His gaze follows yours but it returns to your face so quickly, something about you pulls him in, a magnet, a string, a strong connection – he can’t identify it yet, but he feels like his whole being yearns for you and not just sexually. 

He wants to keep doing this, he wants to keep holding your hand, he wants to keep hugging you, he wants to keep spending time with you like this, he wants to stand under the night sky with you, and he especially wants to do this. 

“Hey,” he whispers as he cups your cheeks with both hands, pulling your attention back to him. 

You greet him with an adoring smile, “hi,” you whisper.

Steve caresses your cheek, he is starting to lean in closer, fading out the colors that flash in his peripheral vision, before his lips can even touch yours, you throw your arms around his neck and beat him to it, pressing your lips against his over and over again before you move on to both of his cheeks and even the tip of his nose as you start showering him in kisses, catching him off guard completely. 

Steve giggles in surprise, his cheeks match the colors that lighten up the sky as they glow red. 

And then, you finally pull him into a longer kiss. 

You close your eyes and he does too, your lips start moving slowly, passionately. You rest your hands on his neck and steal his breath away by deepening the kiss as you slip your tongue into his mouth and let him have a taste of your sweetness, the cotton candy and the pepsi still linger on your lips. 

Your noses bump into each other and you break the kiss with a giggle, giving him a sweet smile before you lean back in again, kissing and continuing to steal his breath away, not knowing what you have just done to his poor heart, how much life, how much hope you have filled it with. 

A smile, a giggle, a simple kiss with you is all it takes for all the defense around him to crumble into dust. 

Something he thought he lost seeps back into his heart, something he thought that stayed in the past and to never be touched again blooms in him. 

Everything inside of him screams in joy, his stomach doing somersaults, his skin prickling from the excitement, his lips tugging into a smile even through the kiss that he deepens more and more. 

This kiss is different from all the other ones you have shared before, this one means something, this one won’t lead to you tearing each other’s clothes off. No, this is just a kiss. 

A kiss that means everything. 

A kiss that changes everything. 

You stole his breath completely and made it your own, you stole his heart, his soul, his whole being. 

And the noise of the fireworks, the sparks igniting from them, match those in Steve's heart. Just exploding, bursting, burning him from inside out.

And he embraces the feeling fully.

He wants more of this, more of you. 

He wants to cross a line, he wants you in a whole new way and he is no longer ashamed to admit it to himself. 

It feels like forever as you stand there beneath the sparkling sky, kissing and staying in each other’s embrace as you both savor every second of this moment, only pulling away to catch your breaths before you lean back in for more. 

The fireworks stop, but only those in the sky. 

Your lips are still moving with each other, your tongues still mingling together, whines and whimpers fall from you – tonight, they don’t fill him with lust and need, no, tonight they fill him with adoration. 

Your arms tighten around his neck, your nose is flush against his as you refuse to break the kiss but the lack of air makes it impossible and it forces you away from him, though you don’t pull away too far, only enough to catch your breath.

Steve leans his forehead against yours, slowly opening his eyes to look into yours, his heart flutters yet again when he sees how wide your eyes are, how they flicker with deep emotions. 

Unable to hold back, he leans in to peck your puffy lips one more time. 

“Steve,” you whisper as your hands begin to slip from his shoulders to his chest. 

“Yes?”

“Can I be with you tonight?”

He furrows his brows at your question, he wants you to be with him tonight, he wants you with him every night. 

“Of course, Blondie.”

You smile at him though it’s a weak one and it makes him frown. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing,” you shake your head, scrunching your nose. 

“Are you feeling sick?” He asks, tilting your head up. 

You shake your head again, “just really tired.”

Your words are still slurred, the alcohol still deep in your system. 

“Let’s go home then.”

“Do you want to go?” You ask, looking at him with a cute frown on your face as you tilt your head to the side, “I-I can still wait if you want to stay here longer.”

Steve smiles at you, shaking his head, “no, I want to go home with you.”

The smile on your lips replaces the frown. 

He brushes his thumb against your bottom lip and stares at you adoringly. 

“Come on, we should tell Eddie.” 

You pick up your discarded drink before you slide your fingers through his, intertwining your fingers with his again. 

“Let’s go,” he whispers, squeezing your hand. 

You follow him without a single word, walking beside him quietly as you make your way out of the woods and back into the fair where the lights are bright and he can see you better now. 

It’s still just as crowded as it was before and just as loud. 

Steve keeps you close, glancing at you, he notices the squinted eyes and how displeased you look by all the noises and the people around you. 

He holds your hand tighter, giving it another reassuring squeeze. 

“I can’t wait to go to sleep,” you mumble, taking the last few sips of your soda before you throw it into the trashcan you pass by. You wrap your free hand around his bicep and squish your cheek against it.

Steve’s smile widens, his eyes glint with nothing but fondness. 

“There you are!” 

Steve turns to find Eddie walking towards you both, throwing his hands up with a worried look on his face that slowly begins to disappear when he realizes that you have been with him all this time, though his eyebrows pull together when he sees your entwined hands and the closeness between you. 

Steve expects you to run away from him and into your best friend’s arms, but you don’t, you stick to his side. 

“Hi Eddie!” You mumble lazily as a smile appears on your face. 

You all halt in your tracks once you meet in the middle. 

“Hey sweets, are you okay?” He asks, eying you up and down one more time. 

“Peachy!”

“Where have you been?” 

Steve clears his throat, “we watched the fireworks from the woods and now I’m gonna take this one home, she’s tired.”

Eddie squints his eyes at him, giving a once over now – the way he has been doing it for some time now, like he is suspicious of his actions, like he wants to figure him out so he can protect you from him and irritates Steve. 

“I can take her home,” Eddie shrugs. 

“No!” You protest, clinging to Steve’s arm, you hold him tighter not wanting to be pulled away from him. 

Steve chuckles softly, he looks down at you adoringly. 

“Don’t worry, Eddie. I’ll take her home to sleep, maybe shove some coffee down her throat, see if that helps. I am sensing I’m having a hungover Blondie tomorrow.” 

Eddie raises one eyebrow at him, he crosses his arms over his chest, defensively. And Steve notices it from the corner of his eye, causing the smile to leave his face as a frown etches into his features instead. 

“I’m not doing anything if that's what you’re fucking thinking, Munson.” 

Eddie raises his hands up in surrender, “sorry, can’t blame me for caring.”

That… Stings. 

That actually hurts his feelings. 

He may not be as close to Eddie as you are to him, but Eddie knows him well enough to know that he would never do anything like this. 

“You really think I’m that disgusting?” Steve asks, not bothering to hide the hurt in his voice. 

Eddie sighs. 

Of course he doesn’t. 

He is just protective of his best friend, of her feelings. 

Neither of you notice the way you keep looking between them, completely lost and confused. 

“I don’t know what kind of deal you both have, Steve, but I’m allowed to care. I would’ve given her the same look if the roles were reversed.” 

“She’s not like that,” Steve argues instantly. 

Eddie sighs again, uncrossing his arms, he drops them to his side as he takes a look at the sky with a long sigh. 

“I know she’s not, I know you’re not. Just… take care of her…”

Steve is still hurt by Eddie’s reaction, by the accusing look in his eyes, like Steve would do anything to hurt you. 

He knows that it might only be because you are his best friend, because he feels protective of you, because he doesn’t want anything bad to happen to you – but to know that he was worried about you while you were with him makes him feel sick. 

Steve would never do anything to hurt someone, let alone you. 

“Can we go now?” You ask, looking up at him with big eyes. 

A weak smile appears on his face as he looks down at you, “yeah, we can go.”

Steve doesn’t notice the way Eddie’s squinted eyes linger on him, the way he looks down at your hands, watching as Steve pulls you closer despite you being glued to his side already. 

He can’t help but sigh when he sees the way you look at him, the dreaminess and the love is so evident and it worries him, your feelings for Steve worry him because he fears that he will break your heart, that he will rip it out of your chest. 

Eddie is so focused on his worries, he doesn’t even see the way Steve looks at you. 

“I’m gonna call you tomorrow, Eds.”

Eddie smiles at you, “yeah, alright.” 

Steve nods at Eddie, only giving him a small smile as he starts pulling you away. 

“Bye man,” Steve mumbles as he brushes past him. 

“Bye Eddie!” 

“Yeah, sleep well, sweets.” Eddie smiles, waving at you. 

Walking away from the fairground and leaving behind the crowds of people and your best friend feels like a relief to Steve. He can’t move past the glances the metalhead gave to him, the worried looks he spared you as though you were in some kind of danger with him. 

He can’t confront him, he can’t talk to him about it and tell him how wrong he is though, he would give away his feelings and he can’t do that. 

You walk beside him quietly, not a single word falls from your lips, you just keep holding his hand, looking up at him every once in a while until you make it to his car. 

Steve opens the door for you, begrudgingly letting go of you so you can get inside, he helps you buckle in your seatbelt, a surprised chuckle falls from his lips when you use the opportunity to kiss his cheek and he can’t even help himself but do the same to you, smacking his lips against your cheek to give you a loud smooch, one that makes you giggle. 

He can see the tiredness in your eyes, the way you slowly blink and how you sink deeper into the car seat as you yawn. 

“Let's get you into bed, honey.”

Steve keeps the music on low during the drive home, you keep dozing off as your head keeps falling to the side but every time you open your eyes again, you look at him and you keep your eyes on him, making him blush beneath your softened gaze. 

And then, you make his heart swell and his chest vibrate when you place your hand on his thigh and smile at him sweetly. 

Everything about you drives him crazy today. 

Every glance, every touch, every word, every kiss. 

You have brought something out in him, something that was buried deep inside, hidden and locked away but you have found the key, you unlocked it, you brought something back that he thought was impossible to ever resurface again and you made it yours, you made him yours, all yours. 

And now, he wants to give you everything. 

He wants to take care of you, he wants to shower you with affection, he wants to be the one for you. 

You’re making things complicated but in the most amazing of ways, in the most beautiful of twists that he couldn’t believe would happen again for him. Your small glances are enough to turn a flame in his entire body, your hand on his thigh as he parks at his home enough to send butterflies in his stomach, butterflies that he swore died when Nancy broke his heart.

Your touch is enough to make him tremble and make his knees buckle, when he helps you out of his car, both of you laugh as you almost fall right on your ass, even with his help. He is happy. He is content. He is extremely giddy when he is with you, as if he were fourteen all over again.

Even when you are not like this, when you are not this bubbly uncaring self, he still enjoys his time with you. He enjoys the accidental snorts that make him laugh as you swat him to try to stop him from laughing. The happy delighted moans you give when you try his cooking. The out of nowhere conversations in the mornings that you two now share together. 

He likes it when you put on that strong wall, it makes you look cute, it makes him want to break it down. He loves the small banter, the pretend fights when you two are with the whole group, the way you pinch his side when you walk past him when no one is looking. He adores it.

When he finally manages to get you inside, he immediately urges you into the kitchen, making you drink water, not pepsi, despite your pouts and your teary eyes which almost make him become a puddle on the floor. He also gives you a leftover chicken sandwich he had in his fridge so you would eat something to absorb the alcohol.

“Eat at least half of that.” He commands and you just grumble something, cutely so, underneath your breath as you take a bite. He knew you probably didn’t eat anything at the fair, a possible reason for your drunkenness.

“I’ll eat… if you give me a kiss.” And just like that you pucker your lips his way and his heart can barely handle it. He licks his lips before leaning towards you and placing them on yours in a soft peck, a quick one. You smile before taking the first bite, and when you swallow it seems as if it turns on the hunger in your belly because you devour that sandwich in seconds.

He hopes you keep it down your stomach for the whole night and that it helps you feel okay in the morning. He wonders how you will act tomorrow, if you’ll remember all of this, if you’ll remember how much you kissed him, how you made him feel. He should tell you… He should…

But what if it’s the alcohol doing its thing?

“Okay, let’s go to bed.” And doing so turns out to be a challenge because as soon as you finish your food and water, your eyelids start to drop. Getting you off the stool and dragging you upstairs is easy but keeping you sitting up as he tries to change you into his clothes, that is another issue.

“I don’t wanna…” You mumble as you throw yourself back down onto the mattress, chest bare. He would have gotten riled up, if it weren’t for the fact he felt domestic, fluttery, and his chuckles came out easily out of his lips when looking at you.

“You have to, it’s just the shirt, come on.” His voice is soft as he talks to you, making you raise yourself up again, sitting in front of him and raising your arms up for him to slide his shirt on you. As soon as it’s on, you bounce back and get comfortable in his pillow with a contented sigh. He smiles at you as he takes off his shirt and starts unbuckling his belt in order to get comfortable. His own tiredness is starting to take a toll on his body.

He doesn’t notice that you had turned your head to look at him again, and a wolf whistle is heard in the room, making him turn to look at you. You have a cheeky smile on your face and he feels himself blushing slightly as he laughs, taking his pants off next, leaving him in boxers only. 

“As if you haven’t seen it before.” He says and it only makes you whistle again as he saunters over with a shake of his head, a smile still plastered on his lips.

“Doesn’t mean I can’t adore it everytime,” you whisper. 

And that makes the smile drop, but in shock. Your words went deep, soothing over wounds that had been created long ago, and he doesn’t mean his scars. He has to clear his throat in order to walk towards the bed and get inside right next to you, only for you to immediately crawl on top of him, laying your chin on his chest, looking at him.

It holds so much adoration for some reason, a sparkle that makes Steve’s stomach turn, hope that rose in his throat like vomit, ready to come out, overwhelming him. You are looking at him as if he hung the stars for you, as if he were your only person in the entire world. 

And he knows he is looking down at you in the exact same way.

“What now?”

“You’re just so pretty… It’s stupid how pretty you are.” He chuckles, making his chest rumble and for you to bounce up and down with it. 

You pout but it’s followed by a smile, “it’s true, you are.”

“I’m not told that very often Blondie.” He honestly replies and that makes you raise your head up and look down at him with determination in your eyes. “Wh–”

He can’t even finish his question because your lips start going crazy on his face, but softly, caring, taking extra time on following the lines of moles he has on his jaw. He is startled, shocked, for no one ever did this to him, not even his own mother. No one ever showered him with affection, with kisses. 

And as though that wasn’t sweet and surprising enough, you nuzzle your nose against his, giggling when a big smile appears on his face. 

You are cute. You are so fucking cute. 

It is an overwhelming feeling, one that almost makes him feel like crying. 

Your lips pressed on the tip of his nose as you pulled away, a proud smile on your face, and he wonders what is going through your mind right now. If it it’s all true, fuck, he wants it all to be true. He needs it to be true. He needs and desires that you are doing all of this intentionally to him, despite the alcohol. 

“There, now you know.” 

You really are beautiful, so beautiful. He feels drunk on you, seeing you, feeling you… his hand rises up, not able to contain himself as it runs through the back of your head and pulls you down to his lips, letting him give you a deep kiss. A kiss that made the fireworks he saw earlier explode inside his room again. 

You follow his lips with a hum, and he doesn’t want to pull away. He needs it all. He needs you. Not in the way he has been having you the past month. Not at all, not even close.

He lets you pull away, and his hand caresses your cheek, pulling your head down to rest on his chest again as your legs intertwine with his underneath the sheets. He wonders if you can hear how fast his heart is beating. If it bangs your head from how hard he feels his chest being hit with it. 

“Sleep Blondie.” He wishes anything but that, but he needs the silence, the time alone.

“Hmm… night Stevie…” And he knows your eyes are closed, that you mumble that with the last bit of strength you had. His eyes remain on the ceiling as his mind starts working, gears going round and round, going overtime.

He had been running from the definition of the feeling, even if he knew it was there, even if he accepted everything else that came with it. He kept running and running, and now he had hit a wall.

So it’s time to stop and turn around to face you.

Steve Harrington decides to stop running as he looks down at you and his lips press at the top of your head while his arms hold you tighter. You whine in your sleep, yet your cheek nuzzles even more into his chest. 

He can’t deny you anymore. Not when you look like this in his arms. Not when you peppered his face with kisses he never received. Not when he saw you in a vulnerable moment of yours. Not when he gets to see you moan in pleasure because of him. Not when he gets to see you have fun with everyone else. Not when you saved his life, going headfirst for him. Not when you already send smiles his way that make his heart stop.

And if you wake up tomorrow with a headache, he will be waiting for you with coffee in hand, an advil, and some food, ready to help you. To take care of you. He will let you lay in his bed all the time you need, all in order to make you feel better.

Because Steve Harrington started feeling again.

He likes you. He terribly and adoringly likes you… and he is afraid because–

It’s nowhere near little. Not at all.

“Can’t believe I fell for you, Blondie.”

♡

tagging friends and mutuals!

@prettyboyeddiemunson @taintedcigs @mysticmunson @corrodedcorpses @maroon-cardigan @thecreelhouse @ibellcipem @joekeerysmoles @munsonlore @sherrylyn628 @munson-mjstan @agirlwholovesrockstars

#dwoht — chapter fifteen #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington angst #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington drabble #steve harrington blurb #stranger things angst

[blueywrites]

baby can we smoke?

eddie munson x ditsy!fem!reader you're the last person eddie expects to leave a note in his locker, but he won't regret meeting you out by the picnic table.

2.8k

cw: 18+. innocent reader (not minor-coded), corruption kink, weed usage, allusions to smut while high, no y/n, no physical descriptions.

Another 'naughty nights' ask that got a bit lengthy (check out the original ask here). I had fun writing from this perspective! Should I continue this with a part two? 👀 Let me know what you think.

enjoy xx

Eddie finds the note in his locker right before lunch. It's written on a quarter of a math worksheet, ripped carefully at the folds and decorated with little doodles of hearts and clouds and shooting stars drawn in sparkly purple pen. That's not the only note in there, but it’s the only one that has him curious, ‘cause it’s from you.

He stops by your lunch table just before the final bell, letting his eyes rove over you while you aren’t paying attention. You’re wearing your typical attire: a fuzzy, pastel-colored sweater, baggy and soft-looking like cotton candy, paired with a little pleated skirt and that heart locket he always sees hanging from your neck in the class you share. He hadn’t pegged you as the type of girl to smoke, and it isn’t just because of the way you look since his clientele is diverse, dips into almost every pocket of the high school social ecosystem. It’s more the way you carry yourself— you seem to kind of float through life, let it bob you about without any resistance or, like, awareness, even? Like, you hum to yourself while you take notes; you don’t talk a ton, but when you do, you’ll talk to literally anybody who’s in proximity to you, including the teachers; and you’re always either giggling or smiling or, sometimes, wearing a look of vague confusion where your glossed lips will hang open, parted in a little ‘o’ like with all your concentration focused on trying to understand something, you have nothing left over to control your face.

Eddie doesn’t wanna call you dumb because that’d make him feel like an asshole, but you just seem so… innocent to be asking him to teach you how to smoke weed. It briefly crosses his mind that someone might just be trying to fuck with him and you hadn’t actually written the note, but when you finally notice him nearby, your wispy-lashed eyes widen eagerly like you’d been expecting him. 

“Yeah, so,” you say, as if continuing a conversation you’d already been having with him, “I really wanna get high, and Susie said you’re the one who sells weed, but I just don’t know how to smoke. I’ve never done it before, not even, like, cigarettes or anything.”

You seem oblivious to the way several heads at the tables around yours swing around to stare, easily overhearing since you’re not making any effort to lower your voice. Eddie merely quirks a brow at them, and when they make eye contact with him, they turn back around. “So,” you go on, “I’d just need you to help me, show me how to smoke and stuff. Would that be okay?”

Eddie debates it for just a moment before relenting with a nod. He tells you to meet him after school at the picnic table behind the athletic fields and you agree right away, smiling up at him with an expression of such utter awe and glee that he has to stop himself from snorting in amusement. It’s funny, but it’s also kind of cute, too— Eddie doesn’t remember the last time someone was so excited at the idea of receiving his help, and your enthusiasm is endearing.

It’s simply endearing all the way up until he has you sitting facing him on the picnic bench, kicking your little feet idly while you straddle it, staring at him with that little ‘o’ face of concentration as he deftly grinds the bud. You plant your hands between your spread legs, leaning forward and watching with rapt fascination as he begins to pack the green into the paper. Your bare knees press against the inside of his, soft and warm through the rips in his jeans; his eyes flick to the hem of your skirt, the way it’s barely long enough to poke out from the pooling of sweater fabric at your lap, and he adds a bonus pinch or two to the joint. It’s fat when he finishes rolling, pinching it between two callused fingers as he tilts to the side and tugs his zippo from his pocket. The lighter draws your gaze like a fluttering moth, your attention snared by the flickering flame, and Eddie finds himself staring at you for a moment before he blinks his fascination away.

“Okay.” Eddie speaks once the paper catches, and your eyes dart from the smoldering tip to his face, expectant and waiting. You’re close enough that he can see where your mascara has flaked a little onto your lids, and from this distance, your helplessness— how dependent you are on him, how sweet and open and utterly trusting you look— elicits a pang low in his belly. He swallows. “So, you’re gonna wanna keep the smoke in your mouth first, and then inhale. Not too deep though, or else you’ll cough it all out and waste it. Here, I’ll show you.” 

Eddie watches you watch him as his lips wrap around the end of the joint and he pulls from it, fairly shallowly compared to what he’d usually do. He drops his hand so you can see, lets his cheeks puff out so you won’t miss the way he’s collecting the smoke. 

And that look on your face is so entranced, Eddie feels suddenly powerful. His chest expands on the inhale, and he smirks at you, closed-mouthed and crooked as your eyes widen at how long he holds it before he lets it billow from his nose like a dragon. That delights you, and the rest of the smoke escapes Eddie’s mouth on a raspy chuckle at how simple it is to please you.

“It’s that easy?” you ask as he waves the lingering smoke away, clearing the space between you.

“‘S that easy, sweetheart,” Eddie confirms. And he finds it curious when you bite your lip, dragging your teeth along the gloss there in such a way that it has him wondering how sticky it must feel. “You ready to give it a try?”

You nod, head bouncing like a dashboard bobblehead, but when Eddie maneuvers the joint in his fingers and holds out the end for you to take, you hesitate, fidgeting and pulling at your sweater sleeves so they cover your fingers. 

“You want me to hold it for you?” Eddie guesses, and you nod again, meeting his gaze with a sweet little grateful smile that has his belly panging again, stirring with the barest amount of low, liquid heat. He reaches out, letting his hand hover at the side of your face, hesitating as he looks to you. “Can I—?”

“Yeah,” you say, your voice small and wispy in a way that isn’t helping with those stirrings he’s feeling. And your cheek is so smooth when he cups it in his hand, using the light grip to guide your face up and hold you steady for him as he brings the joint to your pouty lips. They brush Eddie’s thumb when they part for him to place the joint between them, sticking your flesh to his as you hesitantly pull the smoke into your mouth. 

“That’s it,” he rasps, merely wanting to encourage you, but you just won’t stop staring at him like that as he feeds you the hit. Like, shit, can you really blame him when the stirring creeps lower, down from his belly into his groin? Your cheeks puff up with smoke, and he can almost feel what it’d be like to see the outline of his dickhead poking out of one— all soft and slick inside, plush skin stretched tight around his—

Your hands are flapping in the air between you like you’re trying not to grab onto him, and when Eddie notices the distressed pinch between your brows, he pulls the joint hastily from between your lips. You look like a fucking chipmunk, your cheeks are so full, and Eddie realizes that as he’d zoned out thinking about his cock in your mouth, you just kept sucking and sucking ‘til you literally couldn’t anymore. 

Quickly, Eddie clutches the joint in his teeth to free his hands, gently cupping your full cheeks; sympathetic, patronizing, he says through it, “You didn’t have to— s’too much, honey, just blow a little out, okay?” 

Smoke eeks out from your pursed lips in a steady stream until he pats your face with his fingertips. “Okay, that’s enough,” he says hurriedly, lest you release the entire hit. Obedient to a fault, you are, and damn him for where his mind wanders with that information. “Now, slowly—” he tips his chin, widening his eyes for emphasis, “slowly breathe it in. Take it nice and easy.”

You do as he says, and his shoulders nearly sag with relief when you do it successfully. “Okay, hold it for a few,” he coaxes, dropping his hands and absentmindedly plucking the joint from between his teeth, watching you closely for any signs of difficulty. When you remain placid, a proud grin spreads over his face, and as the seconds tick on, you grow mutually excited, your lips pressed tight and your eyes all lit up as you look back at him. Pretty, he thinks, and then again when you finally let the breath go and smile radiantly.

“I did it!” you exclaim, drumming your sleeved hands on your thighs excitedly as you giggle.

“You did,” Eddie replies, warm and fond at the sight of your happiness and the part he played in it. He takes another hit of his own— quicker but deeper than his first— and inclines his head once he’s released it, flashing his brows encouragingly at you. “You wanna try it again?”

“Definitely,” you say, tipping your face up and leaning in expectantly. Your scent washes over him, something fruity maybe, and Eddie has to try hard not to lean further forward and drag his tongue across your lips, to pry them open and see if the inside of your mouth tastes as sweet as you smell. 

For a good while, you and Eddie trade hits back and forth, one for you for every two of his until the whites of your eyes go pink and your body loosens, unraveling upon the picnic table. You end up in a deep lean against the tabletop, your head propped in your hand, your breast squished against the wooden edge in such a way that even in that fuzzy near-shapeless sweater, the sight tantalizes him. Eddie’s feeling as high as you look, mirroring your posture with his knees spread wide, engulfing your shorter thighs in a dark frame of denim. He’s high enough that he doesn’t have that typical discomfort pinching in his chest at the silence between you, doesn’t feel the need to fill it by talking about whatever shit pops into his head. He’s consumed instead with sensation— the breeze ruffling his frizzy curls, tickling him with broken strands along his hairline; the dull crunch of old, nearly-rotted leaves under his sneakers; the hollow thrum of his pulse in his ears and the flow of living blood through his veins, cycling with each slow, rhythmic throb of his heart. And as he looks across at you— sweet, soft, sensual you — Eddie finds that since the high has his nerves all alight, he wants to touch your skin again, see how it feels now under his sensitized fingers.

The weed-haze brings with it a certain fond, almost nostalgic influence. It’s one that breaks down barriers, creates closeness where there wasn’t any, or magnifies it where there was. Your bodies are certainly closer now, sagging inward toward one another as you laze in mutual drug-induced comfort. Eddie’s used to feeling that influence, but you’re not, so when he reaches out and runs his finger down the back of your hand, you let out a small gasp at the contact. Startled, he jerks his dipping chin upright, bloodshot eyes darting to your face. But he finds no upset there, only surprise and shy pleasure painted across your features. So he plucks your hand from your lap, tugging it gently over to him and letting it rest on his thigh so he can satisfy his fascination with the texture of your skin. Your fingers twitch a little as he laces them with his, slowly dragging his fingertips through the gaps and then down your palm to your wrist. When his thumb comes back up to trace the outside of yours, you nudge into his touch, relaxing into the sensation with a languid sigh.

“Does it feel nice? The high,” he clarifies when you blink at him, droopy-lidded and wearing your little ‘o’ face. He keeps tracing along the valley of your thumb, dipping down and then back up along your index finger, enjoying the tickle of your skin against his calluses.

“Mm-hmm.” You smile, your eyes dropping to your joined hands. “Feels really nice. Kinda floaty, like my head’s not as heavy anymore.”

Eddie crooks a smile, humming his agreement. Lax and pliant, you let him continue to play with your fingers, and he’s suddenly hit with a potent impulsive urge to bring your limp hand to his mouth and nibble your fingertips, lick the smooth polish of your painted nails, suck your pinkie into his mouth and tease your skin with his tongue to see what sound you’d make. He doesn’t do that. But he does let his fingers snake under the sleeve of your fuzzy sweater, let them creep along your forearm up to the crease of your inner elbow. He drags his thumb in slow circles there, crawling around and around until he finds what he’s looking for: a sign that you feel the same stirring in your belly that he feels, revealed by the slightest whisper of a moan his touch pulls from your lips.

Encouraged, Eddie’s hands travel then— tugging out of your sleeve to smooth up your arm and over the dip of your shoulder; palming your neck, dragging up to your ear to cup around the base of your skull; ghosting across your ribcage and down to your hip; then sneaking just beneath the pleats of your tiny skirt, flexing against the hidden skin there. All the while, that liquid heat sloshes around in his belly, spreading low between his hips, dripping down to tighten in his balls and fill out his stiffening cock.

He doesn’t know exactly how it happens, but eventually, you end up laid out on the rough wood bench, your legs dangling to either side of his head as he kneels before you, nosing at the tender skin of your inner thigh. Your sigh is a shuddery, eager thing when his teeth graze the lacy edge of your cotton panties, which to his delight are swallowed up a little by the plump of your pussy lips. “Can I take these off?” Eddie asks, forcedly casual and only slightly gritty as he tries to bite back his own rabid eagerness lest he scare you off with it. But you’re quick to say yes, so quick that it tells him you want this just as much as he does, and maybe even more, though he can scarcely believe that. 

The thought makes him cocky. He eases your panties down, deliberately slow to see if you’ll get impatient. Sure enough, you wiggle your hips, whining quietly to try to hurry him; the power your neediness gives him surges with his arousal as he feels just how damp the fabric is when he balls it in his fist. Hastily, he tucks your panties into his back pocket, his eyes locked on that sweet, swollen place between your legs. 

 "Aw, look’it her,” he croons, splaying his long fingers against your inner thighs to spread you more open for him. “Can't believe you been hiding her all this time under these little skirts you wear.” 

If you’re cute, your pussy is adorable— plump like a peach, wet and ripe and glistening as he presses into your slit with his thumbs and pulls your lips apart to see more of her. She yields easily for him, splitting with a sticky click to reveal your quivering hole and your fat clit already peeking coyly from its hood. “Oh, she's so pretty, baby,” Eddie praises, his mouth watering and his cock jerking in his tight jeans, stiffening further against his zipper. “And she’s so wet already. Bet I can make 'er spit for me." 

You coo, and he lifts his head to see you biting your lip through an eager grin. "Yeah? You excited for me to touch you?" Eddie chuckles, equally fond and condescending. "Aren’t you just a sweet little thing."

“R’you gonna eat my pussy, Eddie?” you ask, and the question is so dirty but your voice sounds so goddamn innocent that he can’t help but chuckle again, this time in disbelief. 

“Yeah, baby,” he rasps, palming himself quickly over his jeans to try to bring relief because his dick is suddenly so fucking hard it aches. “I’m gonna eat your pussy.”

#blueywrites #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson smut #eddie munson imagine

[azullumi]

“affection weaves into the letters on your screen” ; aventurine and ratio

premise — messages and calls between you and him.

content tags — w/ gender-neutral reader, established relationship, fluff, texts and messages, not proofread, 0.8k ; headcanons

note — i needed something easy and nice because everything has been too stressful

If there’s one constant thing about AVENTURINE is that he is an avid fan of messaging, texting, or whatever the proper term for that is. No matter where he is and what he’s doing, he’ll always find the time to type in a message for you and press send—it could be about anything, from the random thing he’ll see while he’s walking which he thinks you’ll be interested in to how his day is going and possibly, ranting about it. The only time he’ll be inactive is when he’s in the middle of something, like completely and utterly busy that he couldn’t pick up his phone to check up on you or update you on what he’s doing.

Would use the most out of everything; calls, voice messages, attachments, everything. He’ll use stickers whenever he can and would use those silly emoticons because why not? He’s very expressive overall; it’s like you can hear his voice, see his expression, and the gestures he’ll do over the screen. 

PHOTOS !! There are new ones added to the shared gallery of your conversations with him every single day. He sees something cool? He takes a photo. He’s currently having a meal? No questions asked, he’ll take a photo. The critters are in this silly position? The camera is pointed at them already and the image of them in a circle while seemingly discussing something is sent. He’ll send selfies of himself throughout the day and he’s the type to pose with random things; there was a time he sent you a photo of himself holding a potted plant (he said it was an addition to his office and he thought you should know). It’s ridiculous, you may say, but he can’t contain the smile on his face when you send a photo back.

Occasionally, it’s videos that he sends.

It’s the late night calls and messages. Aventurine has sleeping problems, struggling to fall or stay asleep no matter how much he physically exhausts himself, so when worse comes to worst and it’s already midnight yet there’s no ounce of anything that makes his eyes heavy, he’ll message you—asking if you’re still awake and if you’re doing anything. It’s your voice that guides him to his dreams, gentle and delicate as a lullaby; by then, you’ll receive no response from him as you call for his name and you’ll have to whisper to him goodnight as he sleeps.

BONUS : on the topic of calls, he likes spending time with you in silence as you do your own thing while he also does his own. Your presence is enough to comfort him and keep him grounded.

VERITAS RATIO is not much of a texter and if he does send you a message, it’s mostly about engineering designs for a machine, requesting that you give him a set of questions if he needs something to simulate his weary brain, sending you links to a sign-up form for a debate that is occuring, or proposals for a certain project as he asks for your input. There are times you’ll find yourself debating with him—all just casual and he won’t throw a chalk at you. However, the line of your conversation between you and him is short and is separated by intervals; he just prefers talking in person or over calls. 

He’s probably the fastest typer you know but he rarely ever makes typos, like ever. He types strictly and formally with proper capitalization and punctuations with the mixture of the words that would require you to bring out a dictionary to understand, always starting his sentence with an uppercase and ending it with a period. It feels like you’re having a corporate or business meeting whenever you’re talking to him due to how formal he is over text (you can probably hear his voice whenever you read his messages too).

“DRYEST TEXTER IN THE UNIVERSE EVER” some would say and maybe you too, however, there are traces of sweetness and affection in your (short) conversations with him. He’s the one to greet you first in the morning, so expect that the moment the sun has risen, there’s a message notification from him displayed on the screen on your phone—the time you’ll rise from your bed, your sleeping and wake-up patterns are embedded in his mind and he ensures that you always wake up with a good morning. 

In note with that, sometimes, you’ll find yourself wondering if he even thinks of you, if you occasionally appear inside his mind and distract him from his work—doubt begins to muddle your thoughts. However, you must remember that he’ll always send you reminders throughout the day, telling you of the agenda you have planned for the afternoon which you told him once or twice the day before, reminding you to finish this task you’ve been procrastinating on, or just simply telling you to take a break or to eat something (especially when he knows that you don’t take care of yourself).

Be kind to yourself, will you? He looks out for you and cares for you a lot even if you may think otherwise.

EXTRA : doesn’t call and is not exactly a fan of it, however, if his phone were to ring and he sees it’s you calling for him, he wouldn’t hesitate to answer it.

tagging the one and only amazing and lovely @toorurs 🗣️ first of all, i’m sorry that i haven’t replied to your tiktoks when i told you i will (plsdonthateme) and second, i actually dont have a second thing to say. anywaysss!! i think we’ve both been busy these days or maybe it’s just me (sorry finals are approaching) but do know that no matter what happens i still treasure and love you as a friend ‼️ i saw this one plant in our trip yesterday and i remembered you i dont know why i think it’s because it was pretty and the color reminded me of you 🫶🏼 but yeah, keep on doing amazing things and amazing works (DONT DIE FELI THE WORLD WILL LOSE AN ANGEL) !! you’ve become one of my most favorite people ever and remember that i will always be here for youu mwa

© azullumi — do not plagiarize, copy, repost, nor translate any of my works.

#—stellaronhvnters. #hsr x reader #hsr imagines #hsr fluff #aventurine #hsr aventurine #aventurine honkai star rail #aventurine x reader #star rail aventurine #aventurine hsr #star rail #hsr #honkai star rail #ratio x reader #dr ratio #hsr ratio #ratio x you #aventurine fluff #dr ratio x reader #dr ratio hsr #azul.writes

[woso-dreamzzz]

Periods

Hardersson x Child!Reader

Part of The Big Adventures Universe

Summary: You find the period products

It's quiet in the house.

It's to blissful silence that Magda wakes up to.

She'd taken a quick nap in the rays of the midday sun, legs aching slightly from playing a full ninety yesterday.

But it's silent when Magda finally wakes up. She stretches for a moment before contemplating if she could fit in another nap before dinner.

The silence is comforting and it's almost enough to lull her to sleep again.

Almost...

Because suddenly, Magda's brain catches up with her ears and she realises it's silent in a house where there's an under five living.

Pernille had gone out earlier to grab things from the bakery so Magda had captured you in her arms for a midday nap.

But you're not in them now.

Magda doesn't want to think about how long it's been since you'd escaped her.

She takes the stairs two at a time, ears straining for any evidence that you're still in the house.

There's a clatter in the bathroom and Magda wrenches the door open.

She freezes, a bubble of laughter being shocked out of her.

"Hi, Morsa!" You chirp, lifting your head for a second before ducking it back down again.

Magda gapes, mouth opening and closing like a fish.

"I...Princesse?"

"Morsa!" You say back," Hello!"

You don't look at her again as you methodically open up the snaitiary pads that she keeps in the sink cabinet.

"What...What have you got there?"

"Found big stickers!" You reply as you stick the sticky side of the pad onto the floor.

You've covered yourself in them. One on each cheek and another on your forehead.

You're methodically place more pads on the floor.

"They're fuzzy!" You exclaim happily, running your little fingers over the non squishy side.

"Princesse..."

"And there's fuzzy things with strings!"

You pick up a box of tampons and shake it.

Honestly, Magda thinks it's kind of impressive that you've able to open the tampon packaging to fish one out to show her. It'[s only in the back of her mind though because she can feel her eye twitching.

"Princesse," She says again, forcing a smile on her face," You can't play with these."

You frown. "Why?"

"Because..." Magda's mind races as she thinks of an excuse. "Because they're for big girls."

You give her a look. "I'm a big girl. You say I'm a big girl all the time."

Magda's winces. That's true. "Well...they're for adult big girls and you're not an adult yet, are you?"

You think for a moment before nodding, head bobbing up and down. "Okay," You say," I leave your fuzzy stickers and strings alone. You can play with them."

Magda gently pulls the pads off your face, kissing each bit of skin she uncovers. "Thank you, princesse."

The incident is done by the time Pernille gets home and it's so insignificant that Magda doesn't even remember to mention it to Pernille.

So Pernille is very blindsided by it all one day at lunch when you dig around your practice bag looking for the 'present' you bought for Jessie.

Pernille shrugs at the questioning look Jessie sends her. She's as much in the dark as Jessie is.

"Found them!" You say triumphantly.

Pernille's mouth hangs open as you present Jessie with a pad and tampon. You take it a step further when you unwrap the the pad, stick it on Jessie's wrist and pull down the wings to keep it secure.

"It's fuzzy!" You tell Jessie, who can do nothing but stare in shock," So you can stroke it when you feel sad! And! And! This is fuzzy too!" You pull the tampon out of its packaging and Jessie's mouth hangs open further. "You can swing it around by the string!"

You demonstrate, grinning triumphantly just as Pernille comes to her senses.

"Princesse," She says, still reeling from the fact that you had somehow broken into the period products without anyone noticing," Where did you get those?"

You shrug. "At home. I tried to play with them but Morsa said they're for adult big girls and I'm only a kid big girl. But Jessie's an adult big girl! And I think Jessie deserves presents because she's my favourite!"

"That's nice..." Pernille says," And Jessie's very grateful but maybe we should stop handing these out."

You frown. "Why?"

"Well..." Pernille takes a moment to think of an excuse. "Because we don't want Jessie's gift to be any less special. It won't be as special if you keep handing them out."

You think it over for a moment before it makes sense and you nod. "Okay. Just presents for Jessie."

"Good girl," Pernille says, a soft kiss being pressed to your crown," Now Jessie's going to hide her gifts so no one feels jealous."

Your head bobs up and down. "Okay! Good plan!"

#woso x reader #hardersson x reader #pernille harder x reader #pernille harder #magdalena eriksson x reader #magdalena eriksson #woso community #woso imagine #woso fanfics #woso #the big adventures universe

[berryzxx]

Not yet

Azriel x reader

Summary: Your not ready to tell Azriel's family your mates in fear of them not liking you

note: It's just Az being the standard and the cutest shit ever. Also its pretty short im sorry lovelies <3

"I don't want to. Not yet" I murmured to Azriel, snuggling closer to his warmth. His hands ran up and down my back, sending small shivers down my spine.

"And why is that, sweetheart?" He replied, his voice slightly hoarse from having just woken up, pressing small kisses to my face. I opened my eyes and tried to get used to the light in the room. It was a Saturday, one of the days Azriel was content to just lie in bed with me with no commitments for the rest of the day.

"I just...I don't think they'll like me. I know it's stupid but I don't know them well enough. What if they think I'm using you or don't actually love you? What if they convince you that I'm not good enough?" I waited for him to say something. I didn't usually have anything bad to say against his family but I was never comfortable around new people. Especially if they were such important figures in our court. A slight sigh left his lips "Y/n. Do you really think I'd stop loving you if one of them told me to?...not that they would"

I sat up and tucked my hair behind my ear, his heat suddenly too much. "No but it's not just that. Imagine I say something wrong. I know their your family but their also high lord and lady. What if I say something...I don't know politically wrong? They'll laugh at me and think how in the world are us two mates."

Azriel moved his arm around my waist and pulled me back to lay down on the bed, his hand moving through my hair in a soothing motion. "They will think nothing of the sort because you are perfect. But if it makes you feel better we can wait for as long as you want. Feyre was talking about inviting the wonderful florist tomorrow. Accept her offer and get to know everyone a bit"

I thought about it and slowly nodded my head. "Fine."

Azriel was right because Feyre did invite me the next day.

"Y/n! Oh these are gorgeous! You've outdone yourself" Feyre said admiring the bouquet I had prepared

I smiled and handed her the card with all my business details "Thank you high lady. If anyone asks where you got them from please give them this."

"Feyre, please. No formalities between us"

I nodded my head "Feyre it is then"

She turned her attention to the rest of the shop looking around the flower filled store "You have such a peaceful life. Living amongst flowers and smelling like roses all the time"

I let out a small laugh. Very peaceful. Sometimes a little too peaceful. "I suppose. Although it get's boring at times"

Feyre's eyes lit up in excitement "You should come to dinner tonight! It'll be something different for you and we can get to know each other more"

I thought about what me and Azriel had discussed earlier. Now was the perfect opportunity, to meet his family. "Oh...I don't want to intrude. I don't know-"

She shook her head "Nonsense. Your coming tonight. Everyone will be scrambling over each other to get to know you"

I looked around the store, hoping for a sign as to what I should do. The only sign I could see however was the open sign on the front door.

"Fine. I'll come. Thank you the for the invite high- Feyre"

She beamed and gave me a quick hug, slightly surprising me before walking out with her bouquet of flowers. I sighed. Well I suppose I better go home and change so I looked slightly decent at least.

*Dinner, a few hours later*

Azriel cleared his throat slightly before continuing "Did you want something lov- y/n?"

I paused and clenched my jaw at the slip up. The chatter at the table was luckily loud enough for no one to quiet hear what he was saying. This was the first time I had been happy for Cassian's loud voice. I shook my head "I'll get it myself, thank you" I reached over and picked up the dish, adding a few potatoes to my plate, trying not to gather attention towards us two. Really. Azriel wasn't very good at following instructions. If someone had heard that I don't know what I would have done.

Probably jumped out a window or something.

"Everything alright?" Rhys asked looking over at me first, then Azriel and then me again. I nodded my head quickly and gave him a smile "Fine, everything's fine" Azriel didn't reply merely nodding in agreement too.

I let out a sigh of relief when he turned away and took a sip of his wine. Luckily dinner passed with no other accidents happening. I watched as everyone took their seats in the living room, Feyre and Rhys cuddled up on the couch while the others sprawled here and there, Elain having gone up because of a headache.

Azriel stood half hidden by his shadows in the door way, I could sense him even though I couldn't see him without squinting my eyes.

Come to the kitchen. It's important

His voice echoed in my mind, his deep and low voice making me miss him even though he was just inches away. I got up making an excuse of needing water and walked over to the kitchen, past the dining room where we had just sat. Before I could process what was happening I was against a wall and Azriel's lips were on mine, his shadows cocooning us in a dark and peaceful bubble. He kissed me like he was starving and he couldn't get enough.

We finally pulled apart my hands resting on his chest "Azriel" I warned him, the lust filled look in his eyes ready to devour me. His hands ran up and down my body, my waist, my hips warming each part of me.

"I want to tell them. I want to tell them about my perfect and beautiful mate." He whispered his eyes dark and his hair falling forward onto his forehead. I pushed a strand away "I can't right now. I'm not ready"

I knew even if I shook my head once Azriel would understand. His hopeful expression dropped slightly but his lips remained in a small smile "Let me take you home now, sweetheart. I can't live without having you close to me"

I rolled my eyes but smiled all the same "Don't be so dramatic"

He didn't reply, instead tucking a stray piece of hair behind my ear. "We're going" He said finally and winnowed us on the spot. I didn't even get to say goodbye to anyone but all thoughts left me as Azriel looked at me with his devilishly handsome grin.

ignore any mistakes <3

tag list: @thelov3lybookworm @fieldofdaisiies @sheblogs @one-big-fangirl @kennedy-brooke

@slut4acotar @cupidojenphrodite @artists-ally @thehighladywrites @claireswritingcorner

@milswrites @riddlesb1tch

#berryfics #azriel fanfic #azriel shadowsinger #azriel #azriel acotar #azriel x reader #acotar azriel #azriel x you #azriel spymaster #azriel x y/n #azriel x reader fluff #azriel fluff #feyre #acotar fanfiction #azriel fic #azriel imagine #shadowsinger x reader #azriel shadowsinger x reader #azriel spymaster x y/n

[seresinhangmanjake]

The Harkonnen's Sweet Thing

Feyd-Rautha x Atreides!Reader

Summary: You watched your brother kill the man you love--a man you were once gifted to by the Baron--and now that he is gone, you think Paul will use you as a political pawn in his war. And you're right. But you're shocked to discover who is demanding to have you.

Words: 2650

Notes/Warnings: This is Part 1 of 2. Ignore canon ages in the timeline. I don’t know what they are, but everyone young is in their twenties, cool? Cool. Dune inaccuracies. Jessica and Paul kind of (very much) suck. Feyd’s a soft boy for our reader. Angst but also fluffy-ish stuff. Implied smut. Mention of pregnancy. I think that’s it. TG:M people ignore me. I don’t know what I’m doing here either, but i'm embracing it for now. 

When your brother pierced through armor into pale flesh, you felt it as if he had driven that blade into your body instead of the body of the man you love. You felt the shock of icy steel penetrating warm and delicate tissue, and the suffocation that came from the mutilation of your lung. You felt droplets of blood run down your front as you reached for the blade that was not there. As children, you were taught not to remove it. Not unless sufficient care was nearby to stop the bleeding before too much was lost.

Paul did not respect that knowledge. He yanked his knife out of Feyd’s torso and watched with relief as he collapsed to the ground. His body landed with a thud that matched the heavy beat of your heart. A beat that reminded you your blood was rushing strong, keeping you alive while your lover was draining dry of the strength to keep himself from leaving this world, from leaving you. 

You wailed in the silence of those around you. Screamed at the top of your lungs as tears streamed down your face. You tried to go to him but the Fremen snatched you before you could reach him, forcing you to your knees, one of them slapping a hand over your mouth. This was not the time for hysterical outbursts; it was a time to stare in awe as a new leader accepted his victory and claimed power over the emperor and his daughter. 

“Shut up, girl,” a male voice spit in your ear. He was tired of the struggle you were putting up against the hand squeezing your face. You were ruining his opportunity to witness a beautiful moment in history. A defining moment. A moment you didn’t give two fucks about. 

No one spared you a glance save for the witch whose vibrant eyes were drilling into the side of your skull. A woman your father had instructed you receive as a stepmother following your third birthday. A manipulative woman whose smile in front of the Duke had masked the scowl permanently seared onto her face when looking at you—a decades-long act that the capture and death of your father had freed her from. And she’d wasted not a second displaying her distaste for his daughter. 

Not long ago you'd thought to thank Lady Jessica for not loving you. Her lack of love made her so terribly desperate to rid herself of you that when cornered the night your family was attacked, she’d thrown you right into the arms of the Harkonnens—a fate she believed would destroy you rather than thrust you into a life you would come to cherish.

“A gift for you, nephew,” the baron had said after the fighting ceased and the soldiers, with you in their grasp, had returned to their unfamiliar home.

Feyd-Rautha had not rushed when he descended the staircase and approached you for the first time. His eyes were unblinking as he’d taken in his present; a slow drawl from head to toe that sent shivers down your spine. 

“An Atreides,” Feyd had said in a low voice, deep and thick and eerily lovely.

The baron’s voice did not contain the same appeal. “Yes. Do you like it? A new pet for you to ruin.”

You’d stood frozen as Feyd traced a knuckle down your cheek before grasping your chin and running his thumb over your bottom lip. He’d possessed not a lick of shame when his index finger drew a line from the dip of your throat to your cleavage. There had been no consideration for your feelings when he tucked that same finger between your breasts and the neckline of your nightgown and lightly tugged you forward. 

You had gasped with your stumble, your hands pressing against his chest to catch your fall while he smirked at the blush tinting your cheeks. His tongue then darted out to dampen his lips before he moved his hand to the curve of your waist and squeezed. 

“Perfect,” He’d said, not in a loud declaration of appreciation, but in a tone meant for your ears only. Then he’d grabbed you by the wrist and led you to his chambers.

When the door had slammed behind you after you were jerked inside the room, you were suddenly filled to the brim with panic. You’d heard the rumors. What would he do to you? How would he do it? Would you suffer long? 

A tear had slipped down your cheek that, once noticed, was brushed away with his thumb. 

“Do not worry yourself unnecessarily.”

You’d swallowed, stuttering, “Wh-What do you mean?”

He’d pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it aside, exposing pale skin taught over defined, well-trained muscle. Then he’d stepped into your space, inching you backward until your spine was flush with the wall. He’d fisted the flimsy, nearly see-through fabric of your nightgown in his hand and slowly dragged it up your body until fingers could sneak under the hem to graze your inner thigh.

You’d sucked in a sharp breath at the pleasurable waves of heat that rippled from his touch.

“Atreides or not, you’re much too precious to ruin the way my uncle suggests,” he had said, his lips a hair's-width away from yours. “I've been looking for you for so long. You're mine now, do you understand?”

“Y-Yes.”

“Are you afraid of me?”

He hadn’t loved your hesitation—you could see it in his eyes and in the downturn of his lips—but he was satisfied when you’d truthfully said:

“No.” Because you weren’t. Not after he had brushed that tear off of your cheek.

His next question had caused your heart to skip a beat from the concoction of emotions it shot through you. Fear of the unknown mixed with unexpected excitement.

“Have you done this before?” 

You’d shaken your head and in response he lightly nodded, his nose nudging yours. 

“You want to?” he’d asked, hiking your leg up to his hip, and you found yourself nodding as well. “I won’t make it hurt.”

You’d replied with a soft “Ok” before accepting his kiss with as much fervor as he was giving it, thankful that what you’d imagined was awaiting you upon your arrival in foreign territory was far from what you were receiving. 

Days later, when you had mentioned that he did not live up to the rumors of his cruelty extending to all areas of his life, he’d hummed. Said, “I make many bleed, and enjoy it. I feed off of their pain. Those who have been in my bed are not spared this, and it will not be uncommon for you to see me stained with the death of others, including my former pets.” 

He’d paused then, allowing you a moment to question your future as one of those pets, if that's what he considered you.

“But I have been searching for something that I’ve wanted for a very long time,” he’d said. “Something that hasn't existed within these walls. Something I will never want to harm. Something…soft…and sweet,” he had admitted to your surprise.

He’d then told you that you were that sweet thing. That he’d known it from the moment he saw you. That he was choosing you. 

But it was a choice that had its repercussions. 

All things must have balance, and you had tipped the scales. From his gentleness toward you, a darker, more gruesome beast emerged when facing off with others. A brutal warrior who never surrendered and never lost. A sadistic man who showed no mercy to the opponents whose blood you would later wash from his body. He had annihilated his previous reputation as just the famed killer of Geidi Prime and evolved into something more, all because of you.

That was why you thought he would win against Paul. Your brother was skilled, but the universe had long known the name Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen for his prowess in combat and his ruthlessness which had only grown with time. 

So why was it not your brother on the floor with his love sobbing and struggling to reach him?

In the thirteen days since your lover’s death, it is that question that has robbed you of all peace. 

Despite your brother having escorted you back to Caladan for the time being, you find no sense of home or happiness in your birthplace. You walk the beaches and fields that, as a child, you dreaded one day leaving, but they are not the same. Nearly a year has gone by since you were last here, however, so much of what you once loved about this planet is overshadowed by the shattered heart caused by Feyd's death. 

When you were young, your father would often express his wishes for your future. He would paint a beautiful image of you bringing your children to play in the gardens of your childhood home, carefree and unburdened. It was a source of comfort that he used to mask the reminder of your duty as an Atreides: that you would not be marrying and having children out of love, you would marry in the name of peace and produce heirs in the name of security. And it seems in the end, he was right.

With Feyd unable to claim you, Paul will be the one to secure new arrangements for your future, which just so happens to greatly fare in his favor. After all, he just declared war, and you are the ripened political pawn at his disposal.

“Are you well?”

You turn as sharply as you can at the intrusive voice, but the uncomfortable skirts of your dress are thick and stiff, restricting your movements. Feyd never made you wear anything like this and you forgot what it's like to be weighed down by layers of fabric. You fucking hate it.

Paul stands a few feet away, his hands clasped behind his back and a light smile on his face. Clearing his throat, he joins you on the balcony attached to your old room. 

“I know we haven’t spoken much about what’s to come. I’m sure you’ve been curious,” he says. 

You shrug, shake your head, and return your gaze to the horizon where ocean meets sky. 

“We have matters to discuss.”

Matters such as where he will be sending you off to be married, you imagine. He must act quickly if he intends to establish and gain control over house alliances, since they weren't overly enthusiastic about accepting him as their leader.

“Let's sit down,” he tells you. He grasps your hand before you can object and guides you to one of the balcony benches. Once you’re settled, he takes a seat beside you and says, “I am going to ask you something. And I want honesty.”

You sigh. “What?”

“When you were with the Harkonnens for those many months, were you treated like a slave as I had feared, or were you something far from it?”

Your eyes narrow. “Why are you asking me this?”

“Because it’s important,” Paul states, staring you directly in the eye. “I’ve been thinking about the way you wept over him after we fought, and how he denied every offer I made in exchange for your release…” With his pause, he shakes his head. “I thought maybe he had messed with your mind, confused you, and that was why you were so hysterical over his loss…but that’s not right, is it.”

“Paul–”

“Does he love you?”

It takes conscious effort to keep your body from shifting uncomfortably. “What is it to you?”

“He survived his wounds,” Paul says. 

The casualness with which he shares that news heavily contrasts everything that runs through you. Your heart stops. Your lips part, unsuccessful in drawing in oxygen. Your eyes no longer see anything but Feyd’s face as it flashes in front of you. The way he looked when he last smiled at you. The way he looked the last time he came inside of you. The look of him when he died—or almost died. Death had been there, looming over him. 

You’re trying to will away the tears. Paul is watching you too closely. “Wh–What?” you say.

“He’s alive, and he is demanding you be returned to him,” he informs you. “So, tell me: is he truly threatening me so aggressively over one of his ‘pets’? Or is he threatening me to get back the woman he loves?” 

The woman he loves. You never imagined yourself in a situation where your brother would ask if a member of a centuries-long rival house loves you. But then again, you never imagined a member of a centuries-long rival house loving you to begin with.

You remember the night he told you. It was late and your bodies were bare after having bathed together. You were searching for your nightgown when he said “Come to bed, my love.” 

You sighed, defeated. He’d called you that before, but whether it was real or not was such a mystery and it hurt your heart a little bit more each time. “You shouldn’t call me your love unless you mean it,” you finally told him. 

You heard his footsteps when he stood from the bed. He walked up behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling your back against his chest. “Why would I call you that if I do not mean it?” he asked. Then he hummed and said “You know me better than that, my love” before dipping his head lower and nipping the shell of your ear with his teeth. 

So yes, he loved you—loves you. But there’s something in Paul’s voice as he asks you that question that gives you pause. It’s too gentle as if luring you into a false sense of security. The Harkonnens are not known for their capacity to love, and Feyd loving you could be seen as a weakness; his one vulnerable spot.

As monotone as you can manage, you reply, “If you’re being threatened you should just send me back and be done with it. I know you have more important things to worry about.”

Paul’s lips thin in disappointment. “I can’t send you back,” he says. “Not yet.”

“Why not?”

He sighs. “Because I believe he loves you. And I need to see how far a Harkonnen is willing to bend for an Atreides,” he says. “If he wants you back, he will have to be open to negotiations.”

You stand sharply, take a few steps from him, and blow out a heavy breath through your nose. You were told your brother changed after drinking that magic water and it shows. Holding you hostage for political gain is not the same as marrying you off. 

“I would like to be done with this conversation,” you say with a huff.

“I understand,” he replies, so you turn to enter your bedroom. But before you’re fully through the door, he says, “There’s more, though.”

You freeze. 

“I had a dream,” he says, his voice coming closer. “There was a boy, no more than five years old. He had your features and your hair but his skin was of the same paleness as the Harkonnens.”  

Sucking in a breath, you brace yourself with a hand gripping the door’s frame. 

“You’re pregnant, sister,” he tells you, leaning against the opposite side of the doorway. “But I'm very glad to know that the heir of Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen is a product of love rather than an unfortunate incident,” he says. “Additional incentive, should it be necessary.”    

In your shock, you can’t look at him. He doesn’t need you to. You can see his smirk in your peripherals, then he pushes off the frame and heads toward the main door of your room. 

“Try to get some rest, sister,” he calls over his shoulder. “You really shouldn't be on your feet too long.”

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