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luveline · 2 days

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𝐭𝐨𝐩𝐚𝐳, 𝐥𝐢𝐦𝐞, 𝐫𝐮𝐛𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐝 | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧

Eddie has a staring problem that you barely notice, though you share an aching, awful crush. One of you has to bend first, and it’s not who you’d expect. fem, 5k

ditzy-ish reader, pining eddie, mutual pining, confessions, first kisses, fluff and hugging, idiots in love, mild states of undress

˚‧꒰ა ✮ ໒꒱‧˚

It’s a day fit for a funeral in Hawkins. Rain hammers his bedroom window like hailstones, plinking against the frame, condensation running down the panes in thick rivulets he soaks up with an old t-shirt.

It’s supposed to be spring time. Green grass, flowers, a gentle humming sun to warm the back of his neck while he sits out on the couch on the porch, a hand-rolled cigarette between his fingers, the tip shimmering with heat.

But the rain pours. He’s cleaned his room for the first time in a month, at least, and his back aches in the best way as he lays down amongst fresh sheets. His room feels strange when it’s organised, but he doesn’t mind. He pictures the state of it through a second pair of eyes. This is a boy who cares about things, who takes care of them, who could take care of me, too.

Rain again rackets on the metal roof above. He and Wayne keep a couple hundred bucks stashed for the day the roof flies straight off —they take turns hiding it, because cars break down and groceries get more expensive every year, but god will they need it, and so they safeguard it well.

He syphoned a little of the money recently with Wayne’s support. It was for a good cause.

“Jesus,” Eddie murmurs to himself, not tired but feeling dull as the clouds outside eat the remaining sun.

It’s depressing to be poor, and to lose a day trying to hide the evidence of an entire life in a small room. He could sleep a hundred years.

He’s just finished pulling the sheets over his shoulder when somebody knocks on the front door. Wayne opens it three rooms away, the sound of the rain doubled.

He gives a startling shout, “Ed! Your girl!”

Eddie topples out of bed. Doesn’t mean to, foot caught in the bottom of the sheets and stuck as he scrambles to slide out of the mess. He’s begged Wayne not to call you that when you’re within earshot, but Wayne’s a mean (kind) old bastard (middle aged dad) who wants Eddie dead (happy, and in love).

“Come on in, girl. You’re soaking.”

“It’s raining.”

“It’s pouring down. Did you walk here?”

“Took my bike. Thought I’d get struck by lightning in the car.”

“How’d you figure?”

Eddie goes to grab the door handle and spins on his heel, staggering onto his bed and up against the wall, where a mirrored tray once used by Dio himself for rolling hangs from the wall. He checks his face in the polished surface, his warped mouth and nose, too small eyes, and swears to himself that one day he’ll get a real mirror with a fully-functioning reflective surface.

Then he hops down off of the bed, causing a reverberation he knows traverses the entirety of the trailer floor. Eddie snatches a rare clean towel from his laundry chair and speeds down the hall.

“Hello,” he says, more casual than he feels to find you unexpectedly in his house. “You’re soaked.”

You give a sweet smile. “It’s raining out, did you not know?”

Your hair is dripping, water racing down the curves of your face to collect at your chin. Eddie can see the smudges of your makeup where it’s washing off as he wraps a towel around you, kohl on your cheeks, eyelashes turned to half-diamonds and sticky-looking. You grin at being covered, taking the towel from his fingers before he can dab you dry.

“Why didn’t you just call me?”’

“I can never remember if your phone number ends in three or four.”

“Seven. I wrote it down for you a hundred times.”

You rub your eyes and spread all manner of glitter and shadow over your skin. You wipe your neck and the glitter spreads like an alien rash.

When you talk next, you shiver, “I lost it a hundred times, sorry. Is it okay that I'm here?”

Wayne, who’s been watching with a distinct sense of amusement from the couch, lets out a chesty laugh. “Honey, it’s always okay that you’re here on my account. And it’s my house.”

“It’s fine.” Eddie turns your shoulder so he can mouth over it without being caught. Asshole.

Another laugh follows. Eddie would cut each of his fingers from his hand and then his hand from his wrist if it were something Wayne needed him to do, but that doesn’t make him any less of an opportunistic asshole. If there’s a way to fuck with Eddie, he tends to try it. He loves Eddie with all the tenacity of a father who loves his son, but Wayne got infected with little bitch disease or something and Eddie can’t cure it.

“Can I please wash my face? I didn’t expect to get soaked.”

“Didn’t you?” He regrets his flippancy quickly, leading you down the hall. “You could take a shower. What do you think?”

You’ve never showered here, but Eddie’s trying to, you know, date you. Romance you, get to cherish you, however anyone wants to say it. And it’s not a war of attrition, just a natural escalation of sharing, or a minimising of boundaries.

No, that’s pervy, isn’t it?

“I mean–” He starts to correct himself.

You interrupt with your answer, “Yes, please, do you think I could? But I don’t have anything to wear.”

“I have your purple hoodie in my room, and there’s gotta be a pair of sweatpants here that fit you,” he says.

They’ve got a whole bunch of clothes here that floated in from somewhere else, Eddie’s other friends or stuff they’ve bought by mistake. He’s sure he can find something.

“You have my hoodie?” you ask, black kohl spreading across the towel as you wipe your cheek.

Eddie only smelled it one time. When he’d realised you left it in his van he brought it in and folded it, waiting for the next time he’d see you to give it back, but that night he’d been getting out of the shower wondering if he could call you or if that was too soon, and your hoodie had been right there. So he stood there in his pyjama pants with his wet hair and he didn’t think about picking your hoodie up, he just did, and when he pressed it to his face it still smelled of your perfume.

He put it back and felt like a loser for days.

“It’s in my closet, you left it in the van Monday,” he explains quickly, nudging you through the doorway of the bathroom.

The Munson bathroom is teeny tiny but not unnavigable. There’s a shower pressed to the far wall that could squeeze in two people, their toilet to the right, a sink basin opposite that with a medicine cabinet and just enough room for a dirty laundry box that’s always, always full.

Eddie opens the shower and turns it on. “It takes a while to get really hot but then it’s not hot for long, sorry. There’s my shampoo if you want it, and soap, and body wash. Sorry, none of it is super girly.”

“Sorry sorry,” you say, pretending to hit him in the stomach. “What’s with all the sorries, handsome? I can’t wait to smell like a boy.”

The way you say it. Eddie doesn’t know what it is, but it’s why he’s crazy about you.

Probably shouldn’t tell you that as you're taking off your jacket, though.

“I’ll be right back,” he says.

Eddie heads out of the bathroom to their skinny linen cabinet hidden in the hallway. He grabs the last two towels from the middle shelf and takes pause, fabric starchy in his hands. Just be normal, he thinks, a pep talk from Eddie to Eddie. She hangs out with you all the time for a reason. She held your hand at the movies.

Eddie’s in better spirits when he remembers that. Your hand in his, your ring pushing his ring further down his finger, your cheek touching his shoulder as you’d leaned in and asked if he wanted some of your popcorn.

He opens the door without thinking, shower pattering against the perspex wall, your legs crossing tightly as he enters, turning yourself away from him.

“Woah!” you say, laughing.

“Holy crap.” The image of your red underwear immediately stamps itself into his mind as he pulls the door shut between you. They were really cute, red and white gingham, showcasing just the slightest curve of your– “I told you I was coming back!”

“I thought you’d knock!” you laugh. “Sorry I flashed you. At least I had my shirt on.”

At least, he thinks wryly, shoving his arm through the gap in the door, heavy towels pulling at his fingers. His head’s about to snap off, it's turned so far away from the door’s opening. “Here.”

“If you wanna see me naked so bad you can just ask,” you tease.

“Take the towels, loser.”

You take the towels and he closes the door, preventing any more accidental creeping, and giving himself a reprieve. Gingham underwear. Wavy lettuce edgings kissing your skin.

Holy fuck. Being a person is so lame, Eddie thinks. He wants to have a crush on you purely, and yet seeing the way you’d crossed your legs to hide from him, smiling, he can’t not think about kissing you —touching you. If he doesn’t get you laid out in his bed soon for some slow kissing he’s not gonna make it.

Eddie opens the strip vent above his window and prays it doesn’t flood his whole room. Clean, it doesn’t look half bad, he could bring you in here respectfully, you could stay the night without fearing for your life.

You take a quick shower. He’s barely gotten over his nerves when you’re walking into his room, a towel around you, not a hint of shyness about you.

“You didn’t bring me anything to wear,” you explain.

Eddie just stares at you.

“Eddie?” You wrap the towel tighter. “Come on, you’re staring at me.”

“Sorry.” His mouth is bone dry.

“You have my hoodie, right? Just need some pants.” You cross your arm tightly across your chest. “I don’t usually notice when people are staring at me.”

“You aren’t usually naked in my room,” he says, genuinely and embarrassingly apologetic.

“I’m not naked. Come on, please? Do I have to wait outside the door?” you ask with a laugh.

Eddie stands up. Shakes his head hard, almost trips over himself trying to get to his dresser. He decides honesty will be best at this point, lest you think he has only one thing on his mind, “Listen, I’m sorry. I’m just in my head about something and I wasn’t expecting you to come out like that. It’s not right. You’re just… you’re really pretty.”

“Thank you.” He can’t see you, sorting quickly through his middle drawer and all his miscellaneous pants for a pair he’s sure would fit, if he could just remember where it was. “What are you in your head about?”

“What?”

“Eddie, are you okay?”

“No, no,” he moans, rubbing his face with his hand, ring scratching the bridge of his nose, “I’m not okay, princess, I’m overheating or something, Jesus Christ.” He finally lays eyes on the sweatpants he’d been thinking of, grabs your hoodie from the top shelf and drops them both at the end of the bed. “I’ll give you some privacy.”

“I don’t have any underwear.”

“And that’s something I can’t fix,” he says, leaving the room in a hurry.

Eddie gets to the living room and keels over. His hair falls in his face, his shirt slides down his back. What the fuck is wrong with him?

Wayne, sliding his shoes on in the recliner, gives a start. “What’s wrong?”

Eddie lifts his head, yanking hair from his face, the skin of his under eyes pulled down harshly. “Oh my god.”

Wayne wrinkles his nose.

“No ones ever been such a pathetic excuse for a man before,” Eddie says.

“Your dad’s in jail,” Wayne points out. “And not for the impressive stuff.”

“I’m pathetic.”

“You’re fine. You’re not supposed to be not pathetic, you’re twenty.”

“I’m twenty one.”

“The extra year doesn’t mean much. I know you think you’re all grown up, but you’re still an idiot.”

Wayne stands and shrugs on the jacket laying over the armrest.

“Wait, where are you going?”

“I thought you were definitely gonna ask her?” Wayne asks knowingly. That’s what Eddie told him, after all. “Next time I see her, Wayne, I’m asking her to go steady.”

Eddie shakes his head. “You can’t leave.”

“Eddie.” Wayne gestures for Eddie to stop slouching like some fiend from a bad horror. “Listen. I get that you’ve always been sort of… behind everyone, but that doesn’t mean you can’t do it. She likes you. She biked here in a hurricane.”

“What if she says no?” he asks.

Truthfully, Eddie’s more scared of you saying yes.

Wayne shrugs. “Girl like that’ll still be your friend after. It’ll be fine, okay? Do you need a hug before I go?”

“No.” Eddie rubs his eyes some more, sore now from being touched. “Maybe.”

Wayne crosses the room to give his shoulder a squeeze. “It will be fine. You’re great with rejection, Eds, but I have a good feeling about this one.”

Eddie felt better about it, before he embarrassed himself staring at you. But Wayne’s right, even if Eddie’s read things wrong between you, he’s sure you’ll still want to be his friend. You and Eddie are the same kind of weird, though he’s more angry where you’re carefree. If everything goes wrong, you’ll probably just give an unnecessary apology and offer to braid his hair. Which will be torture, but Eddie’ll still say yes.

Wayne calls goodbye, and you shout, “Bye, Mr. Munson!” to which Wayne wiggles his eyebrows.

“Get lost,” Eddie says.

“Go make her a drink. I’ll see you later.”

That’s not a bad idea. Eddie makes you a mix of orange and grapefruit juice with a couple of ice cubes and a plastic straw, your reaction predicted and then proved.

“It’s a cocktail,” you say, pleased, sitting on the side of his bed.

“It’s not a cocktail, just juice.”

“Can I have some socks, please, Eddie?”

Eddie passes you your drink, fingertips brushing. “Yeah. Anything else?” He pretends to be exhausted as he trudges back over to his dresser.

You laugh and sip your drink. “No, I think you’re treating me quite well.”

Eddie grabs a random pair and finally gets to sit down beside you, the dresser drawer left out, a spare sock fallen to the floor. You shuffle back into his pillows, propping your juice on his side table, and holding your hands out for the socks. Again, your fingertips touch his as he passes them to you. You seem to enjoy it, a smile lighting your face as you pull your knees up to put the socks on.

“Thank you for waiting on me,” you say quietly. Not shyly, just quiet.

“You’re welcome. Came all this way to see me, didn’t you?” He gives you a shove. You shuffle back further. “In the pouring rain.”

“It felt important at the time.”

“Yeah?”

You get the socks on and don’t care about them once they're past your heels. Eddie does the honour of smoothing out the bands so that the elastic won’t dig into your skin, and when he’s done he can feel you looking at him heavily. You’re not one for continued eye contact, but you smile like you were waiting for it all day, like it’s a relief to see him.

“Bad weather,” you say, slouching down. “I think I’m still wet on the inside.”

“Gross,” Eddie says, pushing you over bodily to sit beside you. This isn’t new, he doesn’t need any nerves, and he’s grateful when they don’t come. “Here, I’ll pull the blanket over you.”

“Can’t move,” you say, leaning back against the pillows.

Eddie stretches his legs out. You keep yours up, but you turn to his side, and before he can really make any sense of you, you’re dropping your face into his shoulder.

“Are you still cold?” he asks, searching for the truth in your strange comment.

You nod into his shoulder. “I’m freezing. The shower didn’t get very hot.”

“Sorry,” he says, letting his cheek rest on your head.

You lift your chin as he does it, his lashes pressed to your forehead, the two of you stuck together like two warped jigsaw pieces. You probably weren’t made to be together, but you make a nice picture, and you fit snugly now. That’s what Eddie thinks.

This is the sort of moment that makes Eddie wanna ask you out. Maybe you’re just the best friend he’s ever had, but something about this closeness feels different. You wrap your arm around his stomach in a hug and he knows this is different.

“It’s okay,” you say finally, sighing as you shift downward into his side, getting comfortable.

“Please don’t bike here in the rain. It’s, like, torrential. You could actually get sick.”

You feel warm where your body presses against his, but Eddie doubts that’ll make a difference if the cold already made you sick. The bike ride from your place to his isn't short. He covers your arm with his and tries to be your space heater, cheek sliding over your forehead.

“Eddie…” You hug him with tenderness. Eddie’s reluctant to say cuddle, but it’s close. “This might be a surprise to you, but I think it’s worth the rain and the cold to see you. Especially when you do this.”

“What am I doing?”

“You’re rubbing my arm.”

He hadn’t noticed his hand caressing up and down your arm where it rests on his stomach.

“You make me feel amazing,” you say, dropping your face into his chest.

That’s his last straw. Eddie gets both arms around you and cuddles you (it’s a cuddle, okay! he’s a loser!) to him, arms tight but not cruel. All this fuss and you’re finally laying on top of him. He decides he won’t ask you after all. He’s not that brave, and he doesn’t want this to end.

Your legs fall onto him. You relax completely. Even after you shower he can smell your perfume.

“You smell nice,” he murmurs.

“It’s on my hoodie,” you murmur back.

Right. Eddie should remember.

“You make everything smell like you.” Even his van keeps your scent most days.

“Too much?”

“The right amount,” he says firmly.

You lay on his chest for a while, just breathing. Eddie rubs your back, tells himself he will ask, actually, because he can’t imagine not getting to do this again. You might even stay over. He could live hours of this. He didn’t know having you lay on him could make him feel like this.

He can’t believe you’ve never done it before.

Rain pounds the window. Condensation drips down onto the sill. You let your legs stretch out flat and then manoeuvre to be laying half atop him, hoodie riding up your back.

“Any warmer now?” he asks.

“Yeah, you’re warming me up.” You lavish in his arms for a moment, and then lift your face. “Oh, this is a bad angle.”

“For me or you?”

“For me, duh.”

Eddie doesn’t think you could have a bad angle. He rubs at your upper arm as you start to shift. “You know, your bike has just as big a chance of getting hit by lightning as your car does. More, probably.”

“You think so?”

“It’s physics. So, please don’t do it again.”

You hum. “Hm, should I risk getting struck by lightning, or spend the evening without you?” you murmur, your arm moving, moving slowly, your hand resting gently on the column of his neck. There’s something ironic in your voice, wry, but your eyes are warm. He’s paralysed. No one has ever spoken to him like you. “I think I’d rather get struck by lightning.”

You stare at one another. He laughs. You join in, your thumb a pressure at his neck, and when you move up his chest to lean in, he isn’t expecting it.

“We’re very close together,” you whisper.

“Super close,” he whispers back.

“…Eddie, can I ask you something?” Your eyes slip shut, your lips so close that something in him aches, just enough wit about him to cup your shoulders in his forearm.

“Yeah.”

He doesn’t sound half as calm as you do.

“Would you… Do you think we could be official? Would you want that?” You tilt your head to the side. “Is that stupid?”

“Official?” he asks, panicked, his eyes squeezed shut hard enough for a moment that they ache.

“Like, you’d be my boyfriend. I’d be your girlfriend. We’d be close like this all the time.”

Eddie panics so hard he just says the first thing that comes into his head, “Like, we’d kiss?”

“I hope so,” you say, your nose pressing against his, the tip to the side of his, and then against his nostril. The heat of your breath is hard to ignore. “What do you think?”

What does Eddie think about it?

He catches your lips in a slow kiss. Achingly slow, not even sure it’s a kiss until you reciprocate, and your fingers dig behind his neck to tease his hair. Your lips part against his, the heat of your tongue sudden and undeniable —Eddie didn’t know you had it in you. He squeezes you to him, attempting to crane his neck downward, reliant on your enthusiasm as you move up, as you use his neck to pull yourself closer.

Your noses crush together, and it actually hurts. “Sorry,” he says, easing you back, “you okay?”

“‘Nother kiss,” you say hopefully, distractedly.

He can’t not give it to you.

Your hand spreads flat against his chest and you kiss, you kiss, long and slow movements against him before turning your head to take it again. Eddie doesn’t always know what to do with himself, but he knows kissing, no matter what anybody might think about him, and he takes the lead.

His hand screws into a fist against your hoodie, the slip of your back further exposed as you shiver into his mouth, a sound you shouldn’t make sweet on his tongue.

You pull away, breath on his lips. “Wanted you to kiss me for so long,” you murmur.

Eddie knows you’re not saying it to flirt, and that makes it worse.

“I should’ve kissed you a long time ago,” he says roughly.

“You wanted to?”

“Yeah. Yeah, so much, I’m a loser about you–”

“I’m always a loser,” you interrupt, “but especially about you.”

You scratch your fingers through his hair, encouraging his head down for another kiss. This one rougher but not rough, his arm slips finally behind your head where he’d needed it to be, hooking you in his elbow to keep you in one place. To kiss you soundly, without interruption. Your almost feverish ebbing inward is a dream, your nose rubbing up against his is a fantasy.

His heart hammers and hammers at his ribs.

You pull away to let him breathe. “You’re very excited,” you tease lightly.

Eddie kisses you, breathless. He kisses you so much he’s surprised you allow it, but your thumb rubs his cheek, and he knows he’d been right all along. You want him like he wants you, with startling, mildly pathetic urgency.

He feels like a fucking prince. Girl of his dreams in his lap, everything he wants, and he didn’t even have to ask.

—

Eddie spends a week in bliss. You’re suddenly everywhere, all the time, attached to his hip or some other part of him, and he forgets for seven whole days that he bought you a ring.

The rain dries up, the Munson emergency fund lives to die another day, and he remembers the ring only minutes before you’re knocking at his door.

He trips over himself trying to answer it before Wayne, who’s taken to being as painfully embarrassing as is possible for one human being, can get it for him.

“One day you’re gonna eat shit and break your nose,” Wayne says.

Eddie yanks open the door. “Yeah, thanks. Hey, beautiful, what’s with the sunglasses?”

You slide them down your nose. You’re a vision on his front step, not that you’d ever notice your own intrigue. “The sunglasses?” you ask, tucking them away. “What do you think they’re for? Three guesses.”

He grabs your waist, leaning down out of the doorway so as to save Wayne the agony. “That’s smart,” he says, kissing you quickly in hello. “You’re funny. Need anything before we go?”

“No, I’m okay. Hi, Mr. Munson!” you add.

“Hey, honey! How are you?” Wayne calls.

You look up into Eddie’s face with an obvious delight. “I’ve never been better.”

Eddie grins back.

He waves a quick goodbye to Wayne and then he’s out the door. You grab his wrist and practically dance him to the car, where you offer your keys, and he deigns to drive. From there it’s smooth sailing, familiarity with a better twist, Eddie driving with the windows down and your hands twined on your thigh. Things haven’t changed much since you asked him to go steady, there’s just a whole lot more of this. Touching, kissing, no weird guilt about staring.

As it turns out, you’re as eager to be laid out in his bed as he is to lay you out. He’s never wanted to kiss you more, and now he’s allowed.

“Eyes on the road.”

He leans over to kiss your cheek. The sun has warmed your skin, and his kiss makes you smile. You look pretty no matter the weather.

“Before we get there, I have something to give you.” He takes his hand from yours to slide the box from his pocket. He holds it up. “But you can only have it if you swear you’ll call me tonight before bed. No excuses. You know exactly what number to call.”

“Ends with a three,” you say, nodding.

He sighs. “No, it does not.”

“I’m kidding! Two one nine seven, I have now committed it to memory.”

Eddie pays attention to the road, though it’s clear and long heading out of the trailer park and into town. “That deserves a gift.”

You’re back in your glitters today, a skirt to enjoy the fine weather, a button shirt with a cute triangle collar, you’re lovely as ever, if a tad much for some. Not Eddie. He loves the dark clothes, the tinkling bracelets, the fun way you smile like everything he says is a secret between him and you. People stare wherever you and Eddie go, but as long your arm is sewn through his he couldn’t care less.

“A gift,” you say, smiling in your way, and taking the box politely. “I don’t think I deserve it for just remembering your number.”

“You deserved it for less. It’s not much. You can pay me back in three or four amazing kisses. Right here.” He points to the tight juncture beneath his jaw.

You attempt to lean over and kiss him immediately. He pushes you back, laughing, worsened by your own breathless laughter as you steal one exactly where he’d tapped.

You settle back down, Eddie’s hand dropping kindly to your knee. “I wonder what it is,” you say.

“Then open it.”

“I am!” You pop the box open, it’s springing hinge snapping into place. “Oh, woah. Woah. Where did you get this?”

It’s a slim ring, with a weirdly shaped band of quality metal around some cheaper but not totally worthless gemstones, of which there are three different colours: a topaz orange, a lime green, and a pinky-red ruby colour centre stage. They have nice cuts. It’s strange as you are, and he knew when he saw it you’d have to have it.

“If I put it on my marriage finger, are we engaged?” you tease.

“That one would be way heavier,” he says, giving you a squeeze.

You slide it onto your middle finger and hold your hand up in the sunshine. It fits in with your other ring nicely, though it is, to Eddie’s pride, far prettier.

He has half a mind to pull over and kiss each knuckle, but he’s trying to be less dramatic about you. It’s not working.

“Thank you, Eddie. I love it.”

“Best boyfriend ever?” he asks hopefully.

To his mild fear but better pleasure, you climb up onto the console to press three quick kisses to his cheek and jaw, your hand under his ear holding him in tender place. “Best boyfriend ever. Even if you stare too much.”

“How am I supposed to not?” he asks, with more weight than he’s intended.

You speak matter of factly for the first time in your life. “I am going to cause an accident,” you promise, attempting to kiss his nose. “A bad one.”

“Sit down, please.” He lets you kiss his nose, and then jabs you in the side. “Sit down, oh my god! That’s not funny, you’re so pretty I will total your car.”

“Now who’s not funny?”

You both laugh at the same time, the unfiltered, un-cute cackling of two idiots with the same sense of humour, and the same wealth of ridiculous honeymoon love.

˚‧꒰ა ✮ ໒꒱‧˚

thank you so much for reading!! I hope you enjoyed. if you did, please consider reblogging or commenting!! thanks very much <3

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson scenario #eddie munson drabble #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfiction #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things x reader

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cerisereids · 3 days

Text

𝘄𝗲 𝗰𝗮𝗻’𝘁 𝗯𝗲 𝗳𝗿𝗶𝗲𝗻𝗱𝘀 (𝘄𝗮𝗶𝘁 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲)- 𝗮.𝗵. [𝗽𝘁. 𝟮]

masterlist, part one

wc- 5.2k

pairing- aaron hotchner x fem!rossi!reader

summary- down on your luck after a huge betrayal, you return to live at your father's house with your tail between your legs. you're humiliated, thoroughly convinced nothing good could come from returning home. then you meet aaron hotchner.

warnings- sfw, age gap (27-mid 40s), i’m spreading the italian american agenda w rossi!reader, reader lowkey has daddy issues but they’re working on it, alcohol use, jack is 7, rich old italian people antics, we love bonding w jack, hotch and r turn each other on w brownies??, insane sexual tension

a/n- dividers from @saradika-graphics and @reveriesources !!!

aaron straightens his tie in the mirror one final time, smoothing his hands down the front of his navy suit jacket.

“jack! let’s go!” he calls up the steps, followed soon by footsteps pattering down the steps.

“i’m coming, dad!” he whines, his voice high pitched, but loving all the same as he exits his bedroom.

aaron can’t help the pride swarming deep in his chest as he looks at his son in his christmas best, clad in a perfectly tailored dark green suit that nearly mirrors his completely. the invite said formal, and aaron doesn’t think he did too poorly. he’d learned to dress himself for work long ago, therefore transferring that knowledge to his son has so far proven to be quite easy. so far.

“alrighty, after you, kiddo,” he smiles down at the boy and holds the front door open with his back. he attempts to find his keys, juggling everything from christmas bags to wine bottles in his grasp, until he feels small fingers reaching into his pants pocket.

“here,” jack states, deadpanned, keyring dangling off his index finger.

“thanks, buddy,” he smiles, “can you hit unlock for me?” he does, which allows aaron to finally free his hands and get them to the party in one piece.

the large house is already bustling, aglow with golden christmas lights laced through the large bushes out front, a jolly statue of santa welcoming whoever may cross the threshold. penelope lets them in, greeting him with a large hug that was no doubt induced by the hard eggnog jj makes every year.

“hi, penelope,” he smiles warmly down at her, pleased to be seeing the people he so deeply cares for in a positive environment, for once.

jack is quick to find henry, off to run amok throughout david’s expansive home. he sets the wine down on the wide kitchen island, cluttered with an array of appetizers, desserts, and various drinks. he pours himself a whiskey, and nearly drops the glass when he turns to exit, stopped in his tracks by her.

“hello, aaron,” the girl before him says gently. her manicured hands coil cunningly around her wine glass, red silk sculpting her figure in a way that makes his brain short circuit.

the sound of his name on her lips takes his breath away, and all he can muster is a hushed, “hi,” he’s unable to take his eyes off you.

his eyes can’t help but dip lower than he let them the other week, committing the peaks and valleys of her curves in that dress to memory. he’s thankful for the vibrant scene surrounding you in the busy kitchen, lest he made it unbearably awkward.

“whatcha got there?” she nods at his drink, and it zaps him back to reality like an electrical shock.

“oh!” he gasps, his gaze snapping down to his glass, “just-whiskey…it seems your father knows what i like,” he smiles sheepishly, his fingers patting against the cold glass.

“one thing italian men never mess around with is good liquor,” she smiles cunningly, stealing the remaining bits of breath from his lungs, “cheers,” she raises her glass to him and he clinks his against it, his eyes never leaving hers for one second.

“nice to see you, aaron,” she coos and places a soft hand on his forearm, wide doe eyes boring into his before exiting the kitchen. her hand lingers on him until it’s no longer physically possible, her nails scraping down his forearm as she goes. a shiver unzips down his spine, both at the touch, and at the sudden loss of her warmth.

“cheers,” he breaths out, after she’s gone. his eyes fall shut in the wake of her perfume, notes of jasmine and cedar left wafting through the air. he can’t help but take a quick inhale, his eyes nearly rolling back in his head.

he plows five fingers through his hair before taking a large gulp of whiskey. he needs to get it together. what is he, 15?

a sly whistle approaching from his left keeps him from his spiral. his eyes jokingly roll as he sees derek saunter up to him, penelope close in tow.

“aa-ron hotch-ner,” derek stresses each syllable, clapping his hand on aaron’s shoulder.

aaron hides a smirk behind another sip of the brown liquid in his glass, the smokiness coating his throat.

“now what was all that about?” derek points a thumb in the direction she walked off on, an arm slung over aaron’s shoulder. he purses his lips, gaze tilted downwards to mask the hint of red dusting his cheeks.

“nothing. that was nothing,” he turns to look at derek, and he knows the glint in his eyes gives him away entirely.

“you sly dog,” derek nudges aaron’s shoulder with his own, before leaving him to refill his drink, now alone with penelope.

“sir…” she gives him a knowing stare, leaning her forearms against the kitchen island.

he holds up a finger, eyes wide in an attempt to delay the inevitable, a smirk pulling at the corners of her mouth, “penelope. don’t,” he asserts, but the childlike giddiness fluttering through his chest invokes a cheeky grin that prevents his sternness from having any real effect.

she lifts her finger, mirroring his, “sir…” she says again, higher pitched this time, a sense of urgency seizing her tone.

“penelope…” he repeats himself, urgent tone matching hers, his eyebrow quirking.

he catches the quickest flash of red from his peripheral, and he double takes, his attention immediately stolen by her lighting up the living room. his heart squeezes with a sudden urge to meet her there, to place his hand on the small of her back and revel in her story, to be there for her. it’s all he’d thought about since he met her, in her father’s kitchen, where he now stands once more.

ever since that godforsaken night, when he needed to borrow a globe of all things, he’s laid awake at night, grasping onto her soft vanilla scent. it was a complete contrast to the seductive aroma she spritzed on for tonight, though she was intoxicating no matter what. he thought of the alcohol on that wafted off her tongue, how badly he wanted to just lean down and taste it.

in his daze, he forgets penelope is there. she follows his line of sight and snaps her gaze back toward him, “sir!” she gushes, her tone incredulous. her smile is scandalous, but proud. it’s a knowing smile, one that knows exactly what he’s thinking, what he’s feeling, something he doesn’t really quite know himself yet.

his eyes dart to either side before leaning into her slightly, “we never had this conversation,” he mumbles lowly, raising a pointed brow at her. her eyes widen, because this time, there was no smile masking his intensity.

the flared sleeves of your silk dress fall down your arm, showcasing your tennis bracelets. the gold and diamonds sparkle in the soft glow of golden christmas lights wound through the comically large christmas tree standing proud in the living room. you grasp the stem of your wine glass as you squeeze into the eager arms of uncles, cousins, and old family friends.

old, italian men take up every square inch of the living room, wine glasses in hand, all waiting with rapt anticipation to hear stories from new york. the pride in their eyes prods at your stomach like a fire iron.

you appease them anyway, indulging in emotionally safe memories, like the time you drunkenly walked across the street in the middle of times square just to get a slice of pizza.

that earns you a robust roar of laughter, and the sound reminds you of all the christmases you’ve spent in this very room. the smell of cigars they carry on their suit jackets, the wine that will inevitably stain their mustaches, it all invokes a pang of nostalgia coiling around your heart, squeezing until you’re near tears.

“look at you! our topolina all grown up!” your oldest uncle squeezes your cheeks together, and you gently clasp your free hand around his wrist.

“and she still manages to come see her papà for christmas!” another one of your uncles calls out in sarcastic annoyance. the low mumble of hearty chuckles fills the room, and you force a smile on your lips.

your heart twists around itself as you absorb the loving gazes of the men who have watched you grow, who have rooted for you from the moment you were born. a sinking feeling settles in your stomach, you can’t help but feel you’ve let them all down, you’ve let your father down, by returning here.

when you got accepted into nyu, your family was over the moon. they threw parties, you received gifts, money, one of your uncles even called his real estate buddy over in new york and cut you a deal on an apartment. guilt pools in your stomach like acid, because they don’t know. they don’t know you’re not just here for the holidays, they don’t know about your failure.

a small body knocks you out of your shame-spiral, and you nearly spill your wine on yourself.

“oh! i’m sorry, ma’am!” a young boy exclaims, reaching to pick up the pieces of the toy that clattered to the floor. you smile at the boy, he didn’t mean it after all. the furrow of his brows and stressed tone tells you that much.

“that’s okay, sweetie!” you squat down as much as you can in the silk encasing your body, helping him pick up any remaining pieces he missed, “here you go!”

“thanks!” he smiles toothily at you, and you can’t help but feel a pang of deja vu deep in your chest, like you’ve seen his face somewhere before.

it compels you to ask, “hey, what’s this all about?” referring to his, what seems to be very intricate, lego set.

“it’s a lego plane! could you please help me put it together again?” he grins at you, and you return it.

“of course!” you reply, eager to escape the guilt that’s swirling through your stomach like a whirl pool.

you and the boy, who’s introduced himself as jack, sit tucked in the corner of the living room, hidden by the expansive christmas tree. you click pieces into place and revel in the sweet boy’s satisfaction.

“you’re pretty good at this!” he exclaims, and you send him a sweet grin.

“thanks! i had lots of experience when i was your age,” you state in a light, airy voice, and he giggles.

“you don’t play legos anymore?” he inquires, so genuine and earnest your heart aches.

“no, i don’t. maybe i should, though,” you consider, handing him a piece of the wing.

“yeah, you totally should!” he replies, as if it were that easy to hold onto your childhood, “if you don’t play legos, what do you do for fun?”

you laugh at the insinuation in his tone, and ponder his question.

“i like to write…” you trail off, unsure of what else to say about that. luckily, jack solves your problem for you.

“you write for fun? my teacher makes me do that!” he scrunches up his nose and you laugh. it’s a genuine one, one that comes from your belly and throws your head back.

“would it make things better or worse if i said my other hobby is reading?” you jokingly raise a brow at the boy, and he groans in disgust, spurring on additional bouts of laughter from the both of you.

jack clicks the final piece into place, his eyes lighting up as he holds the finished product in the air, moving it above his head like an actual airplane.

“nice teamwork, man!” you hold up your hand for a high five, which he eagerly accepts.

“thanks for helping me! teamwork is key. that’s what my dad always tells me,” he states nonchalantly, eyes trained on the aircraft balancing delicately in his hands.

“your dad sounds like a smart man,” you smile, “you’re pretty lucky you got such a cool toy, too.”

“yeah, i am,” he smiles to himself, and his sincerity warms your heart, “my dad didn’t get me this, though. it’s from my uncle dave,” he states matter of factly, completely innocent to the information he just gave you.

“your uncle dave? like the man who threw this party uncle dave?” you verify, and he nods. your heart rate picks up as the puzzle pieces in your mind click into place. it couldn’t be. could it?

“jack?” you hear a familiar voice call, and your heart drops to your stomach, that final piece snapping into place. of course. “jack, where are you buddy?”

“right here, dad!” he leaps out from behind the tree and you reluctantly follow suit, nearly tripping over the hem of your dress in a weak attempt to stand.

you make eye contact with aaron once you’re stable on two feet. you’re unable to take your eyes off him, really. he takes pause when he sees you, and it’s like the world tilts off its axis, completely freezing in time. a hint of confusion laces his gaze, but it’s mostly masked by an air of desire as his eyes flit quickly over your frame once more. he lingers on your right hand, still clutching your wine glass, eyes darkening at the bracelets that dangle from your wrist. interesting.

the rustling of his son before him startles him out of his daze, and he plows ten (incredibly thick) fingers through his hair before he lets out a weak chuckle, “hey buddy!” he ruffles his son’s hair and the boy wraps his arms around his dad’s torso. fuck.

“what were you up to, my man?” he asks, kneeling to get to his level.

“i accidentally bumped into this nice lady, so she helped me put my plane back together!” he exclaims, beaming with pride as he shows his father the finished product.

“wow! well that was really nice of her,” his eyes snap up to meet yours quickly before going back to his son, the brief contact shocks your heart all the same, “did you say thank you?”

“yes, dad!” he whines, sounding a bit annoyed that his dad still thinks he has to ask him that. his petulant tone pulls a chuckle from your throat, and it causes both boys to turn their identical chocolate eyes onto you.

“he did, he was incredibly polite,” you gush, “we had lots of fun, didn’t we?” he nods enthusiastically, and aaron chuckles. the adorable high pitched noise makes your heart to thump against your chest, and you take a gulp of wine.

aaron knew where jack was all night. he always does. he caught a glimpse of his little feet poking out from behind the tree, fussing about his new lego set. the shine of red silk glimmered in the tree lights next to him, and his heart dropped into his stomach.

he made quick work of excusing himself to the back patio under the guise of ‘getting some air’. from there, he had a clear view of the other side of the living room, where she and jack were planted, clicking various lego pieces into place.

he watched as jack’s eyes lit up, the way she made him laugh. it made his heart thump against his chest, the way she connected with jack like it was breathing. it disarms him, stealing the breath from his lungs. she’s good at that.

he watches now-jack already off somewhere with henry- the display of her neck as she takes a swig of wine. it’s the merlot he brought, he can tell from the deep red staining her glossy lips. his eyes study them, her plump, pink lips. he wonders what her lipgloss tastes like, his mouth watering from his urge to taste her sweetness, to steal the oaky tang of wine off the tip of her tongue. the corner of her mouth ticks up in a sly smirk, and his eyes snap up to meet hers, her devious gaze telling him he’s been caught.

“thank you, for uh-for taking care of jack for a bit,” he puts his hands in his pockets, his gaze falling to the floor as he speaks.

“oh! anytime,” she chirps, “he’s a really sweet kid, you must be really proud,” she’s playing him like a fiddle, he nearly melts into a puddle on the spot.

“yeah, yeah, i am,” he nods, finally making eye contact with a small smile. she returns it, the sly glint escaping her, now replaced by a soft, gentle smile and kind eyes.

“we had fun…it was better than being grilled by family about my return home,” she states, washing it down with another sip of wine.

he chuckles at that, “fair enough,” he mutters.

she smiles at that, “yeah, he just grilled me about how i don’t play legos anymore, much less interrogative.” this earns a heftier chuckle from aaron, and her eyes light up, his laughter spurring on her own.

“that sounds like jack,” he nods, a wide grin stretching his cheeks.

“he’s a great kid, really. he must get it from his dad,” her voice is saccharine as her hand briefly grazes his forearm. it’s like he’s been struck by lightning.

a light gasp escapes his chest at the brief contact, and his cheeks burn, “i-i don’t know about that,” his voice is raspy as he speaks, quickly clearing his throat afterwards.

her hand settles on his forearm, she begins to take a step closer and tell him something, but what he ends up hearing comes from behind him.

“sir!!!” penelope squeals, and they both freeze, eyes wide, “you’re wanted in the kitchen!! group photo!!”

his lashes kiss his cheeks as his head drops back slightly, a soft groan escaping his lips, “coming!” he calls over his shoulder. he nods at you curtly before turning towards penelope, contempt pooling like acid in his stomach.

“you can flirt later,” she jokes so only they can hear, winking at him before going off to pose everyone properly for the photo. he looks down and chuckles to himself as he falls in line.

as the party began to wind down, the easier it was for you to sneak off to your own space. most of the guests had left hours ago, but the bau members remained huddled around the kitchen table till the early hours of the morning. around midnight, you’re able to excuse yourself to your room. you wiggle out of your dress and relieve yourself of your shapewear, sighing as you pull on your buttery sleep set- light pink pants that flare at the bottom, with a matching short sleeve top that softly hugs your frame.

you pad over to your en-suite and scrub your makeup off, serums and lotions shining on your skin. you throw your hair up in a claw clip and slide on your glasses. just because you’re comfortable, though, does not mean you’re turned in for the night. you return back down the steps to grab some wine and dessert, seeing as there’s leftovers scattering every square inch of the kitchen.

the party moved itself outside, surrounded by the fire pit in the generous backyard. you smile to yourself as you see the group huddled around, and you itch to join them. you study the smile pinching your dad’s cheeks, and you long to be a part of something that makes him so happy. you’re not sure if you’d be wanted, though, so you resort to desserts and wine littering the kitchen island. you settle in with a riesling and a tray of cookies and brownies on either side of you, and turn on the expansive television in your father’s kitchen.

the low hum of parks and rec fills the kitchen as you pop the cork of the wine bottle, not bothering to pour a glass as your lips touch the spout. your eyes flit to the sliding glass door gliding open to reveal aaron. you pause, holding the bottle in front of you as you gulp down what’s in your mouth.

“hi,” you smile as he enters slowly, his own spreading his lips.

“hey, you tired?” he inquires, brow stern but eyes soft. he’s changed too, donning a dark pair of jeans and a white t shirt that hugs his bicep in a way that send an electric shock right to your brain.

“yeah, just came down for a midnight snack,” you smile, talking quietly even though you were the only two people in the house, “you should come join me,” you take a risk, patting the seat of the stool beside you.

“yeah, that sounds nice, it was getting loud out there,” he jokes, smiling softly as he fills his water bottle at the fridge.

he moves to sit next to you, ice rattling in his gray water bottle as his legs swing around the stool, nestling close to yours. he steals the wine bottle from your grasp, his brows shooting up into his forehead with a cheeky smirk. you shamelessly ogle the way his lips press against the glass bottle, the throb of his adam’s apple as he swallows. he takes a thumb to his lips after he’s taken a sip, wiping any excess from his mouth. you wish you could’ve kissed it off.

“that’s good,” he smiles, the gloss in his eyes telling you this is far from his first drink of the night. you’re sure your own eyes tell a similar story.

“i know,” you smile back, taking a sip of your own.

“you know…” he begins, fiddling with a brownie he picked off the plate, “when i first saw you tonight, i didn’t think you could get any prettier. i was wrong. you look incredible right now,” he smiles, his teeth sinking into the gooey brownie.

“aaron-” you chuckle, cheeks heating up, “thank you,” you mutter, looking down at your lap, “thank you. i thought the same thing when i saw you. that suit was ridiculous, but i think the t shirt made my brain short circuit,” the alcohol has loosened your lips significantly, you don’t care one bit how embarrassed you’ll be in the morning.

“oh really?” he laughs at that, the apples of his cheeks flushing red, “i like that you like my $5 t shirt from target better than my armani suit,” he muses, taking another big swig of the wine bottle.

“i like that you’re the kind of guy who has $5 t shirts from target and armani suits in his closet,” you smile, your body fully turned towards him. you rest your head on your hand, elbow planted firmly on the kitchen island, gazing at him with a fiery adoration.

“variety is the spice of life, as they say,” he takes another big bite of brownie, and you wipe a spare crumb from the corner of his mouth. you bring your crumb covered thumb to your mouth, your plush lips wrapping around the tip to take a taste for yourself. he pauses, eyes blown wide, then gulps his brownie down as he absorbs your action with his hungry, dark eyes.

“is that why you decided to become a profiler? for the variety?” you quiz him, biting into a piece of a chocolate chip cookie.

“something like that,” he mutters, a smirk spreading on his lips as he pops the last bite of brownie in his mouth, “little birdie told me you’re a writer,” he nudges your shoulder with his own, “trying to be like your dad?”

the question pokes at the vulnerability lacing your heart and you adjust in your seat, wiggling around your discomfort, “something like that…” you repeat his earlier sentiment, and he chuckles.

“well, if you’re anything like him then you’re probably amazing,” he smiles, taking the bottle from you once more.

“thank you, it’s…complicated. i fell in with the wrong people, and i figured it out the hard way,” you press your lips together, and you can tell he wants to ask more. you’re thankful he doesn’t, seeing as you’re not particularly very eager to delve into the reason you’re running back to your father’s house with a man you’re irrevocably attracted to.

“it happens to the best of us,” is all he says, but he hooks his ankle around the leg of your stool, connecting it with yours. your tense muscles loosen at the contact, and you and aaron both smile quietly down at your hands, comfortable existing in a soft silence together.

“this is one of my favorite shows,” aaron mutters, nodding towards the tv, where leslie knope is desperately scrambling to put together the harvest festival.

you turn to face him once more in shock, “really? i didn’t strike you as a sitcom guy!” you exclaim. he turns to face you now, his right knee slotting in between your legs, his left closing in on the other side of your thigh. his legs are huge, it’s like you’re surrounded by fucking tree trunks. it’s so intoxicating, the topic of your conversation completely slips your mind.

“i’ve been watching sitcoms before you even knew what they were,” he smirks, his voice low, gravelly, but silky smooth at the same time. a shudder unzips down your spine at the feeling of his breath hitting your cheek, “i love my west wing and my sopranos, too, don’t get me wrong,” he nudges your shoulder with his, and the proximity makes you dizzy, “but in my line of work, i mean, i need something to get my mind off of it at the end of the day. this one is like chicken soup for your soul.”

you smile at that sentiment, eyes shining with fondness for the man in front of you. butterflies swarm your stomach when the warmth of his large hands seep through your shirt, warming your stomach. he’s got a gentle grip on either side of you, his gigantic hands covering as much skin as possible. he engulfs you completely, your senses on aaron hotchner overdrive. his spicy oak cologne mixed with his woodsy aftershave nearly renders you dumb as you let your body fall into his, your forehead resting against his. he rubs his thumb into your skin and your eyes fall shut, a soft ‘oh!’ escaping your lips.

“that was really pretty, honey,” aaron murmurs, and you just ache.

your eyes open and you pull back to see him staring at you, low lidded and hungry. you’re going to kiss him. there’s no way around it. except the wretched sound of the glass door sliding open once more.

you and aaron jump apart like you’ve been burned, and you thank your lucky stars your father was not entering the threshold. derek and penelope stand there, s’mores ingredients in hand, shit eating grins on their faces.

“well, well, well, we were wondering where you’d run off to…” penelope trails off, “everyone’s about to come in, so we thought you might need a little warning,” penelope’s tone is incredulous as she raises her brows suggestively, and derek wolf whistles as he puts the marshmallows back in the cabinet.

“nothing- it was nothing!” aaron trips over his words as he scrambles for his things. your eyes go wide as you watch him move in a flurry throughout the kitchen, grabbing his clothes and his leftovers. before long, he’s slipped his shoes on and flies right out the door.

the silence in the wake of the door slamming is thick, loaded. you sit there in shock, unable to take your eyes off penelope. what the fuck just happened?

“what the fuck just happened?” penelope squeals, as if she read your mind.

“i don’t know!” you scream back, palms reaching up to slap your face.

“i know what happened!” derek exclaims, “the boss man’s caught some feelings and it scares the hell out of him!” he points out like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

dread pools in your stomach, and you plop your head in the crook of your elbow resting on the island. you’ve been home for less than a month and you’ve already managed to self destruct, “oh god,” you groan.

the rest of the group came inside shortly after, promptly gathering their things and giving lengthy goodbyes to everyone that was still there. you shook hands with many of them on the way out, mustering the biggest smiles you could manage under the circumstances.

once you close the door, you gather your tried and true water, motrin, and toast, and curl up on the couch. you turn the tv on there, attempting to stay up until some of the alcohol wears off. sleeping is useless for you when you’re this drunk.

your head perks up from your cocoon of blankets and pillows when you hear the doorbell ring, followed by your father’s voice carrying down the steps, “i got it!”

he patters down the staircase and opens the door, and you just barely make out who it is, but you catch it all the same.

“hey, aaron!” your dad exclaims, and your eyes shoot wide open, “sorry i missed you when you left! everything alright?”

“yeah, yeah, jack missed me,” you could just barely hear him mutter from the porch, “but i believe he forgot his stuffed bear here, i’m sorry to be back so late. he couldn’t sleep.”

you see the bear, it lays by the tree, amongst a mess of wrapping paper. you leap off the couch and scoop it up, nervously pacing the living room.

“not at all,” your father’s voice carries from down the hall, “principessa, you can walk him out, right? i’m going to bed!” he calls down to you, and you muster out a weak, “yes!” in response.

aaron makes eye contact with you from the kitchen, and he slowly saunters into the living room. you stare at each other for a moment, and you forget you’re holding his son’s bear until his eyes drop down to it.

“oh!” you gasp, holding your hand out, “here! it was just under the tree-”

you’re cut off by his hands on your face, pulling your lips in to crash against his. the kiss steals the breath from your lungs, and you snake your arms around his waist, pulling him in closer and deepening the kiss. you pull back for small moments, before diving back in to place quick, sloppy kisses on his mouth. he chases after your lips like he’s starving for them, and it makes you feel 10 feet tall. he punctures your lips with his once more in a long, heated kiss. he cradles your jaw in his hands as he attacks your lips, licking into your mouth ever so slightly.

he pulls away from you with a gasp, and you feel the loss of his warmth like a gut punch, “thank you,” he mutters, breathless, but completely dead pan, before storming out of the home for the second time that evening, leaving you gasping for breath and flustered beyond belief. what. the fuck. just happened?

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rafescurtainbangz · 2 days

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+18 Minor DNI

Frat Rafe P!Links

Welcome to Frat Daddy University 💋This p!link library was made with my lover @rafesthroatbaby ❤️ Enjoy

⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . * ꙳ ✦ ⊹⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳

𐙚 Getting you ready

𐙚 Squeezing in a quickie before class.

𐙚 iMessage Rafe: Come over. I need you. That pussy tastes too fucking good.

𐙚 Back shots with frat daddy

𐙚 iMessage Rafe: Meet me in the bathroom in 5 minutes, princess.

𐙚 Sneaking into the hotel pool at 2 am on Spring Break

𐙚 Post-bar fuck

𐙚 Car sex cause all the rooms at the frat house are full

𐙚 Rafe wants the whole house to hear

𐙚 Hooking up at the library

𐙚 Rafe getting you all messy and sending you back to the frat party

𐙚 Rafe Snapping your boyfriend mid-fuck because he wants you for himself

𐙚 Shower bjs after he sends you thirst traps from the gym

𐙚 Denying Rafe pussy for a week after he smiled at the sorority president

𐙚 Ankles on his shoulder 🤝 chain in my face

𐙚 “Let em know who makes you feel good, baby.”

𐙚 “Nah, sweetheart. Keep your panties on. Yeah?”

𐙚 He loves playing with his girl

𐙚 You and your bestie fucking Rafe on a boat over Spring Break

𐙚 A quick creampie before bf jj gets back to the frat house

𐙚 You and your friend teasing Rafe in the back of the car on the drive home from the bar

𐙚 You love Rafe’s big hands

𐙚 Mirror Sex with boyfriend Rafe. Letting him recording cause you’re going home for the weekend and he needs something pretty to look at

𐙚 iMessage Rafe Cameron: It’s not cheatin if I don’t stick it in pretty girl

𐙚 iMessage Rafe Cameron: got an A on the test tutor girl. Wanna stop by and help me celebrate. Think I’ve earned it.

𐙚 Sneaking away from the party to hook up and squirting on his cock like he knew you would

𐙚 Sex after Rafe tells you he loves you for the first time

𐙚 iMessage Rafe Cameron: Come over. Bring your friend xx

𐙚 He loves your little skirts

𐙚 iMessage Rafe Cameron: How much time do we have princess? Bet you won’t last long anyway xx

𐙚 Friday night plans = choked and pounded at the frat house

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atsumou · 3 days

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JUST A LITTLE LONGER

— miya atsumu x f!reader

syn: the moment atsumu asked you to come over, he knew he was hopelessly in love with you, especially after stupidly confessing his true feelings mid-orgasm. though, he couldn’t help but lie about it just to keep you, even for a little longer.

18+ MDNI; friends with benefits!atsumu, nsfw, shameless smut, porn without plot, dry humping, oral sex, unprotected sex, creampie, slight angst towards the end, unrequited feelings, hurt/no comfort. divider: cafekitsune.

word count: 2.9k

notes: purely self-indulgent. i make up a lot of angsty smut scenarios w tsumu so yeah <3 also not beta read.

The moment you stepped foot into Atsumu’s apartment, everything felt foreign—the wooden floorboards creaking beneath both your weights, lips sealed together in a searing kiss, hot and heavy. All it took was one text message from Atsumu: ‘Come over?’ and you appeared right in front of his door in a flash.

However, you couldn’t shake the feeling of unfamiliarity; any other person would have easily overlooked it but you knew him like the back of your hand. Naturally, Atsumu wasted little to no time seeing your bare body beneath his own, breathless above you like a carnal beast with pure lust, clouding all five senses. Tonight seemed a little different, though, he took his sweet time with you.

Both fully clothed atop his bed, you straddled his lap as Atsumu locked your lips in a sensual kiss—fingers that usually dug into your skin with desperation now gently tracing random shapes, ghosting hands caressing all over your body, leaving trails of goosebumps beneath them. Atsumu pulled away, both hands finding their place beneath your jaw, he looked up at you with a strange glint in the depths of his caramel eyes. Lust mixed with something you couldn’t quite understand but god, did it send icy shivers up your spine.

You returned his gaze, face dangerously near one another—hot breaths intertwining, locked in an endless dance as Atsumu carefully admired your face, really taking in its beauty. As if you were an exquisite piece of painting with intricate details. You watched as his honeyed eyes ever so slightly shifted, tracing every feature on your face, both thumbs caressing your heated cheeks.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

You teased, a dainty smile forming upon your swollen lips. For a second Atsumu found himself considering it, hands that rested beneath your jaw twitching a bit, having the sudden urge to reach for his phone because you looked like absolute heaven. On any other night, Atsumu would have never relished in your beauty but he noticed the way his breath hitched and heart stuttered when you mirrored his gaze.

Nonetheless, he ignored your tease, swiping a thumb on your bottom lip, slowly dragging it down before releasing and going in for another kiss. This time, Atsumu didn’t press his face into yours, instead, he let you take control—something that rarely occurred. He subtly changed the way his lips moved against your own, letting you lead the kiss while he followed suit; pink lips parting to let your tongue explore his mouth. Atsumu moaned into the kiss, one hand resting on your hip to squeeze at it through the fabric, wordlessly urging you to move.

So you did, languidly guiding your hips across the obvious tent between his legs, earning a low whine of your name as he pulled away, letting his torso drop to the soft sheets beneath. Planting your palms on each side of Atsumu’s head, you moved your hips with eagerness, soft pants and moans filling the walls of his room. This was foreign, being on top of him and having your way with his body.

Atsumu always felt the need to be in control of everything—from the kisses all the way to the fucking. Always taking the lead and pulling you with him, wherever he went, you followed but not that you complained. Admittedly, it never failed to turn you on whenever Atsumu bent your naked body in all kinds of positions, easily manhandling you like a mere fucktoy but tonight felt oddly satisfying. Being in control, that is, even for just a moment.

Surely there were more where this came from—the admiring, the slow kisses, and now using him for your own pleasure—but for the meantime, you didn’t think anything of it. Atsumu slipped his hands beneath your shirt, palms sensually dragging up your abdomen to cup your breasts through your bra, squeezing and massaging.

“‘Tsumu . . Want you so bad.” You moaned desperately, as if you were the one who messaged him to come over.

“Ya have me. ‘M all yours . .” Atsumu breathed out, circling his palms around your waist to gently caress the bare skin. Fuck, since when did you look this breathtaking begging for him? Have you always been this beautiful? He knows the answer. You’ve always been beautiful in his eyes but in the heat of the moment where his hormones are all over the place, Atsumu seems to instantly forget about the way you looked, solely focusing on pleasure alone.

There was nothing wrong with it, after all, this agreement between the two of you was merely for sex—a quick fuck. No feelings, no strings attached, no making love.

But why did everything seem to be the complete opposite? Atsumu noticed the shift from the very moment he texted you to come over—heart racing a little faster as his thumbs hovered over the keyboard of his phone, nervousness setting in once the message was sent. Normally, Atsumu wouldn’t even think twice about it, the only thing in his mind was how he was going to fuck you.

This time, he considered your feelings. What if you were busy? What if you weren’t in the mood? So many what if’s that he almost took his message back if it wasn’t for your quick reply. Foreign was an understatement. Sure, his heart quickened every single time you came over but never did he feel the uneasiness in the pit of his stomach like he did now; the way his hands subtly trembled while reaching out to touch you.

He felt pathetic.

Next thing you knew, you were both naked and had switched positions—your bare back pressing onto the soft ivory sheets below. Without a doubt, Atsumu’s favourite position was to take you from behind on your hands and knees, lustful eyes keenly watching the globes of your ass bounce with every powerful thrust, his cock quickly disappearing and appearing between your sopping entrance.

But he wanted to see your face tonight. “Fuck. Just put it inside me, ‘Tsumu.” You let out a desperate whine, earning a genuine chuckle—not the ones he normally gave out that brimmed with nothing but tease. “Lemme taste ya, hm?” Atsumu didn’t bother letting you reply, placing a chaste kiss just above your eager entrance before licking a long, slow stripe up your slit. His tongue pressed flat against it, savouring the way your essence tasted against his taste buds, flavour lingering on the wet muscle.

A heated groan rumbled from his chest as he reached the top of your slit, pointing his tongue to prod past your wet folds.

Shaky fingers gripped Atsumu’s flaxen strands, tugging at the roots with the way his sinful tongue explored, and lapped at your insides like a madman. The tip of his nose pressed at your puffy clit as he ate your cunt with fervour, earning a string of incoherent words, face pushing further between the junction of your legs.

Pleasure prickled at your sweat-covered skin, gnawing at every fibre of your being as Atsumu deftly pleasured you with his tongue, not to mention skilfully maintaining eye contact in the midst of your thrashing hips. It was beyond sexy. Honeyed eyes, glossy with lust staring right into your soul—Atsumu stared at you with so much intensity that you couldn’t help but get sucked into the endless pit of caramel, hypnotising every fibre of your body, heightening the feeling of ecstasy.

Atsumu couldn’t help himself, satiating the painful ache between his legs by rubbing his hips beneath the ivory sheets. Your essence against his tongue drove him absolutely insane, as if a potent aphrodisiac causing him to lose every bit of sanity left—you tasted so fucking good that he just needed some kind of bliss to top it off. Who was he to deprive himself of a two-in-one pleasure?

The off-white walls of his room were filled with heavy moans and groans, the hot atmosphere weighing heavy on your sticky bodies as each passionate second passed. It was music to Atsumu’s ears, the way your dulcet moans shot straight to his cock, head spinning at how heavenly you sounded.

Circling your clit with the tip of his tongue a few more times, Atsumu pulled away, much to both of your dismay. Don’t get him wrong, he’d love to tongue-fuck you into oblivion but figured creaming around his cock was a better option. Fuck, just the thought of it made him salivate—it hasn’t even been a while since he’s had your cum coating his cock but holy hell was he desperate to feel it all again; the way your wet cunt shamelessly squelched—eagerly sucking him back in, the warmness of it, the sticky feeling. How lewd.

Atsumu didn’t think twice to seal you in yet another passionate kiss, tasting yourself on his lips. Your essence plastered across the bottom half of his face smeared against your own as he pressed himself further, as if the lack of distance wasn’t already enough. Without breaking the kiss, Atsumu deftly circled his digits around your wrists, binding them above your head with one hand while the other worked on resting a leg over his shoulder.

“How badly do y’want me?”

He panted, hot breaths mixing together, his lips hovering dangerously close against your own, teasingly pulling away as you chased for more.

Honeyed eyes gently traced across your features, blown pupils filled with carnal desire memorising the very sight before him—Atsumu brought a free hand up to your face, thumbing at your own essence messily scattered there before sticking the slender digit past your swollen lips. Muttered curses left his lips, the words slurring into the damp air of his bedroom like a broken prayer.

Atsumu never needed your words to tell how fucking badly you wanted him—all he needed to see were your glossy eyes, and furrowed brows as you stared up at him, nothing but a haze of lust clouding all your senses.

His heart stuttered; your eyes seemed to sparkle despite the lack of light. Atsumu thought you were the most beautiful woman he had laid his eyes upon.

A gentle peck on the tip of your nose caused you to flutter your eyes shut momentarily, unceremoniously bulging them open at the sensation of his blunt tip rubbing along your wet slit, taking his sweet, sweet time with you tonight. Atsumu let out one long groan from deep within his chest, caramel eyes threatening to close shut as he slowly inched his way inside your cunt—smooth, velvety walls tightly hugging his hard cock like it was made just for him.

He focused on the way your face contorted in pure bliss, brows knitting together to form a deep crease, lips parting to moan his name like a mantra.

Once fully sheathed inside you—the base of his cock snug against your entrance, Atsumu paused for a while, hand that supported your leg digging into your heated skin to ground himself. He stared down at you with hooded lids, chest heaving up and down as he relished the way your warm cunt hugged him. It was only for a moment but it felt like an eternity—getting lost in each other’s lustful gaze as the two of you connected in the most intimate way possible; almost like this wasn’t just a convenient release of pleasure anymore.

Almost like it wasn’t just a quick fucking session. As if Miya Atsumu was making sweet, sweet love to you.

Gone were the days of fucking each other like animals, like a distant memory of the past—a momentary blur. Moans reverberated throughout the room as Atsumu languidly pulled his hips back before fully burying his cock into you again; his cock twitched at your ecstatic expression. All because of him—pride bloomed in his chest along with the flutter of his lovesick heart. Oh, how smitten he was for you.

Atsumu’s hips picked up in speed, and so did both your moans—the once quiet room filled with nothing but soft sounds of pleasure quickly turned into something more lewd, and passionate. Ribbons of colourful curses, incoherent sentences, and each other’s names shamelessly bounced off the cream-coloured walls, mixing with the loud skin slapping, and squelches from where the two of you connected.

An icy shiver ran up your spine as Atsumu placed an open-mouthed kiss along your knee before craning his neck further to messily suck, and nip at your inner thigh, leaving small hues of dark purple and red. You chanted his name, back arching off the ivory sheets beneath as he changed the angle of his hips—the head of his cock hitting that sweet spot over, and over again.

“Ya like that?” Atsumu grunted, a pained tone leaving his lips.

He repositioned his hands, leaving the hold on your leg to travel up, up, up to intertwine each with your own—bending his body forward, your thigh pressed against your chest, allowing a deeper reach of his cock.

You and Atsumu never held hands during sex. Never. Whatever occurred in his lust-driven mind was beyond your understanding, not when he was balls deep inside you.

He pressed your hands into the mattress, using it as leverage to angle his cock deeper into your tight cunt, earning a loud whine of his name. “F-fuck . . ! Please don’t stop, ‘Tsumu!” You gasped, tears of pleasure threatening to wet your heated cheeks as Atsumu continued his relentless pace.

Your body jolted with each forceful thrust of his hips, moving further up the mattress as he ploughed into you. Oh, he was certainly not going to stop, even if he tried to, he couldn’t—the feel of your plush walls were way too addicting, mind spinning at how tightly you clung onto him despite his swift pace.

“S-so close.” Atsumu whined, hauling your body away from the soft mattress and closer to his own.

You now sat on his lap, one leg still over his shoulder—albeit, more uncomfortable now—and arms slung around his sweaty neck. Atsumu rested a hand on your waist, the other placed on your nape; he guided your limp body up and down his cock, eagerly bouncing you on him as endless whines left his lips. Tears rolled down your cheeks, the blunt tip of his cock delightfully kissing your cervix repeatedly, earning garbled moans from you.

“‘Tsumu!”

That was all he needed to know that you were close. Atsumu pulled you tighter against him—sweaty bodies sticking to one another, he held your face dangerously close to his, not quite enough to seal your desperate moans with a kiss. “Cum on m’cock. .” He let out a shaky whisper, hot breath fanning over your parted lips as his honeyed eyes found yours yet again. This earned one long moan of his name from you, throwing your head back in absolute bliss as shocks of pleasure electrified every fibre of your body. Your walls quivered around his cock, clenching hard before the knot deep in your stomach finally snapped.

Atsumu whined at the tightness, eyes shutting closed as he leaned his sweaty forehead against your own, strands of blonde sticking to his skin. His pace became sloppy, messily bouncing you on his cock as he focused on his own pleasure, and impending orgasm. Rapid pants filled both your ears as he neared his climax, uncontrollably whining anything and everything that came into his hazy mind, paired with a fucked out expression.

The coil inside Atsumu snapped, a loud whine of your name uttered into the air as his body violently convulsed from a dizzying orgasm. Fingers dug into your skin, leaving crescent shaped marks as he pulled you flush against him, incoherent, breathless babbling tumbling past his lips.

“I love you.”

If it weren’t for his blissful state, and hazy mind, Atsumu would’ve retracted his words the moment he felt your body stiffen under his hold—an obvious reaction from his stupid, lust-driven confession. You pulled away from his arms almost instantly, the latter’s body growing cold the moment he could no longer feel your warmth. Atsumu looked up at you through hooded eyes, a fog of pleasure still in control of his senses but it cleared away as soon as he saw your expression—as if he were thrown a cold bucket of water, completely sober now.Ecstasy drained from his body, now, sheer fear took over for what was to come next. So, he beat you to it,

“I didn’t mean it.” A rather defeated laugh from him. Lies.

“J-just the heat of the moment, y’know?” Atsumu scratched his nape, offering a sheepish smile in hopes of shoving his feelings down, down, down where it belonged. He briefly closed his eyes, trying to forget that unreadable expression on your face—it was anything but pleasant, like you’d seen a ghost.

Atsumu would be lying if he said his heart didn’t crack at that. You slowly nodded before fully removing yourself from him, and off the bed, clearly unsettled by his words. He reached his hand out of instinct but immediately remembered where the two of you stood, so he let it fall back on the mattress, a soft mocking thud slicing the deafening silence.

Looking at your tense form, Atsumu explained even more. The further words stumbled out his mouth, the deeper he shoved his feelings for you. Lies. Lies. Lies. He’s never heard himself tell so many lies all in one night, especially not to the woman he’s hopelessly in love with. It was ironic, really.

But that didn’t matter because for you, Miya Atsumu would lie endlessly if it meant keeping you around for just a little longer.

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daydreaming-nerd · 1 day

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The Angel of Music (Azriel x Reader)

AN: guys this is always one of my emotional support movies/plays I’ve seen it a million times so it only seemed fair that I give it the ACOTAR collab it deserves.

Summary: It was the inner circles first time at the theater and from the way the Shadowsinger was blushing they all had a feeling it wouldn’t be the last. (the reader plays Christine Daae in Velaris’ adaptation of The Phantom Of The Opera and Azriel falls in love with her, but he’s afraid that she won’t like him because of his scars because she choose Raoul in the play) Set between ACOWAR and AOFAS

Warnings: Angst because of Azriel’s scars, shy az, but so much fluff, (just a little Az brain rot, didn't take this too seriously)

Word Count: 3,070

It wasn’t the shadowsinger's usual scene. Bustling people dressed to the nines, plush red chairs, gold sconces, orchestras. But Cassian had been tirelessly trying to make Nesta smile, and Ferye wanted to try and get her sisters together, so here he sat in the box that Rhysand had purchased for the night.

Nesta loved the music and dancing, Elain loved the romance, and Feyre loved the costumes and color palettes of scenes. Cassian wanted to see Nesta smile, and Rhysand would do just about anything Feyre asked of him.

In all his 500 years of life, Azriel had never thought to go to the theater. When he was a child he heard of his parents going but of course, he never got to go. As he grew the idea of going to see a show simply never crossed his mind.

When the lights went down and the orchestra came to life he spent most of his time watching Cassian, who was watching a very intrigued Nesta. He stayed that way until a clap and a spark echoed throughout the room. At first, he thought there was danger, but as soon as he turned his attention towards the stage he saw the large chandelier raise itself to life bringing the dilapidated stage with it. Golds, reds, and vibrant colors filled the room.

Still, Azriel had trouble following the plot. But as he watched Nesta and her sisters become entranced by the music and dancing. The loud organ had stirred something in him, but he didn’t truly feel moved until her.

Think of me, think of me fondly when we’ve said goodbye…

Azriel was sitting in a box at the edge of the theater, but even from this distance, he could tell that she was the most beautiful female he had ever seen. He scooted to the edge of his seat a tad just to be that much closer to her. Her voice was that of a siren, no not a siren, an angel. His shadows danced around his ears and his wings at the sound of her ballad. Even the rest of the inner circle seemed to be entranced by her spell.

As the play went on he found himself becoming irrationally jealous of Raoul. The pretty Viscount had not given her a second look at the beginning of the play. It wasn’t until the organ sounded again that the sound of her voice graced Azriel’s ears. The woman walked through a mirror towards a masked man.

Who was this masked man? Where was he taking her? It wasn’t until Mor rested her hand to where he was gripping his chair with white knuckles that he remembered it was just a play. He sat back in his seat more, trying to tell his shadows to calm down. But as her voice climbed and climbed that beautiful crescendo they twisted and turned around him.

Azriel spent the rest of the play being utterly entranced by the beautiful singer’s relationship with the Phantom. The masked man was dark and radical, staying in the shadows where no one could see him. He observed her from afar. Much like the shadowsinger did himself in every aspect of his life.

It was clear to him that the Phantom was in love with Christine. So when Raoul and Christine kissed he nearly felt his heart shatter. The way the Phantom mourned, and cried, it felt all too personal to Azriel.

I gave you my music, made your way. And now how you’ve repaid me, denied me and betrayed me…

From there on out Azriel found himself rooting for the Phantom, the man he saw so much of himself in. He nearly shed a tear when he found out why the man wore a mask. A scared child in a cage made to perform.

He looked down at his mangled hands sitting on the arms of his chair. He had known a similar childhood and had suddenly wished he had something like a mask to cover such torn flesh. Maybe then the beautiful woman on stage might look at him with that same lovesick gaze, she wore now for Raoul, but he knew that could never be.

For a moment he felt joy, seeing her kiss the Phantom with such passion, such love. Only for that joy to be extinguished like a candle when she walks out with the Viscount. Of course, she would choose him, life does imitate art after all. It wasn’t until the curtain went down and the crowd erupted in thunderous applause that Azriel broke from his trance, standing to applause with them.

“Well that was wonderful,” Feyre beamed, linking her arm with Rhysand’s.

“I’ll say, that girl sang like an angel,” Mor gushed, fanning herself with her program as we all made our way out of the box. “Even Azriel seemed to enjoy it,” the female smirked, bumping Azriel with her shoulder. She had seen the lovesick gaze in his eyes.

“It was so romantic the way Raoul came to rescue her,” Elain swooned, grabbing her sister's other arm.

“Oh please, the Phantom was the obvious choice!” Nesta huffed at her sister's comment.

“Nesta, would you like to meet the cast? Maybe talk to some of the dancers?” Feyre asked, changing the subject quickly before conflict arose.

Nesta thought for a moment and spoke again, “Yes I would.” all she said.

Of course, it was an easy task for Rhys to sweet-talk his way backstage, the inner circle sticking out like a sore thumb as they weaved past props, costumes, and the ensemble. Azriel’s eyes stayed ever vigilant, unable to let go of years of training as they walked down a dark hall. A cast member opened a door at the end of the hall to reveal mirrors with glimmering faelights around them. Vanities with every manor of makeup and costume jewelry. Two men he recognized as the actors who played the Viscount and the Phantom.

The Phantom had washed off the makeup that made his face look scarred. Once again Azriel wished he too had that ability. Rhys and Feyre shook both their hands introducing them to the whole inner circle, but Azriel paid no mind. His hazel eyes were searching for a hint of her.

“Oh y/n there’s someone who wants to meet you!” called out one of the actors.

“Oh, really who?” called a voice so melodic Azriel just knew that she had to be an angel.

His shadows wisped around him frantically, calling out her name in his ear, like they were excited to finally know it. Rhys and Feyre’s eyes looked to their friend and smiled at one another.

She walked around from a changing screen, tying the strings of the robe she was wearing that looked similar to the one she had worn on stage. She nearly stopped in her tracks as she saw her High Lord and Lady staring at her.

“My Lord, My Lady,” she bows. “It is an honor.”

“No, no, please don’t bow,” Feyre rushes over, bringing the singer upright. “If anything we should be bowing to you. You sang like a goddess out there, you are truly talented.”

“Why thank you, my Lady, I’m truly happy you enjoyed the show,” she smiled and Azriel’s heart all but glowed.

“Please call me Feyre,” the High Lady smiles, extending her hand.

“Y/n,” the singer replied, taking her hand and shaking it.

Azriel kept to the sidelines as the inner circle conversed with the cast and crew. Feyre and Rhys praised the play director and claimed they would be purchasing their box for the rest of the season. Nesta picked the brains of the dancers and their instructor, Cassian listening dutifully behind her. Elain chatted up the Phantom and Raoul, both actors seemingly falling for her, once again showing how life imitates art.

Mor talked to y/n, about what? Azriel didn’t know. But the second Mor caught Az gazing at y/n she held out a hand to him.

“Y/n I’d like you to meet Azriel, spymaster for the night court,” Mor said, beckoning Azriel over.

Azriel quickly put his hands behind his back, not wanting to scare her with his scars. He could’ve sworn he saw her cheeks tint a shade pinker as he approached, looming over her in size.

“How do you do?” y/n asks.

It takes a second for Azriel to realize that her angelic voice is speaking to him.

“Oh um, very well thanks.” he stutters, already feeling like a fool. Gods she was even more beautiful up close, he found himself suddenly longing for the box that offered him sanctuary, or a mask like the Phantom had.

“Did you um, enjoy the show?” she probed and Azriel realized that Mor had conveniently dismissed herself.

“I did,” he said quickly. “You have a beautiful voice, I could’ve listened all night.”

Once again he swore he saw y/n blush as she looked down at her feet, “Thank you, though I think I fell flat a little in the first song. Opening night and all,” she laughed nervously and oh Cauldron, the sound of her laughter was enough to make Az take one step towards her.

“No it was perfect, all of it.” he spat out, not standing to hear her say one more bad thing about herself.

“Well thank you Azriel,” she said and by the fucking Cauldron she smiled at him. His name fell off her perfect lips and she smiled at him. He must’ve been dead and somehow gotten to heaven, there was no other explanation.

The rest of the inner circle watched the pair intently. Feyre sank further into Rhysand’s side as they both realized they were watching Azriel fall in love in real-time. The yin and yang of the pair was near poetic and Feyre told herself she would pain this exact moment tomorrow morning.

“Y/n why don’t you come to dinner with us? We would love to hear more about you,” Rhysand smiled.

His words broke the trance y/n was in, “Oh my Lord I truly wish I could, but I have an early day tomorrow and my apartment is clear across town.” She apologized.

“No worries, it sounds like we will all be back for tomorrow night's show as well. Though I would hate for you to walk home alone,” Rhys smirked trying to get Azriel to bite at the bait.

“Not to worry I make the trek all the time,” she smiled, picking up the many vases of flowers people had left for her on her vanity.

“Azriel could walk you home, couldn’t you Az?” Mor chimed in and Azriel shot her a look.

“Uh, yeah I could if you’d like,” Azriel mentioned stuttering over his words as he scratched the back of his neck.

“Oh no I wouldn’t want to take you from dinner with your family,” she assured him, picking up two large vases of flowers.

“Not at all, I would be honored to walk you home,” the shadowsinger said a little too quickly. Feyre tried to stifle her laugh in Rhys’ side, she had never seen her spymaster so flustered.

“Okay then,” the girl smiled and soon enough they were off down the cobblestone street, their way lit by dim faelight.

y/n’s pov:

“Your shadows are incredible,” I smile watching as the dark wisps carry the various vases of flowers down the road.

I had been more than happy to have the High Lord’s shadowsinger walk me home. In all honesty, I was captivated by the male the moment I set eyes on him. Sure he was hard, dressed in black, and over a foot taller than me.

A sane woman might’ve kept her distance from the male, he was dangerous after all. But I knew the moment he spoke that he wasn’t a threat. There was a quiet and gentle calm underneath all that darkness.

“Thank you,” he says and I swear I see him blush. “They seem to really like you.”

“They do? How can you tell?” I laugh as one of the little fellas brush against my cheek like a cat brushing against an ankle.

“They went wild when you were singing tonight,” he chuckles, seemingly remembering how they danced.

“Really?” I ask balking a bit.

“I’m serious, give it a try,” he smiles, motioning for me to sing again.

I shrug and clear my throat before singing a line from the play, “Angel of Music, hide no longer. Come to me, strange angel,” I sang softly and sure enough the little shadows danced and swirled around me. Threading themselves through my hair and around my arms where they held my vases of flowers.

“That’s amazing,” I breathe finally watching the small wisps die down, hiding behind their master like they were shy.

“You’re amazing,” their master spits out and then blushes. ‘

I can’t help but feel myself blush too, shying away from the hulking Illyrian. He didn’t look so tough as his shadows carried dozens of flowers behind him. He had walked down the street with his hands behind his back the whole time, not needing to lift a finger.

The little purple door I’m so used to seeing comes into view. Outside the cottage are dozens and dozens of roses and the light inside is out.

“I leave these here,” I say gesturing to the flowers I’m holding as I set them on the front porch.

“Why not take them home? Were they not gifted to you?” Azriel cocks an eyebrow as his shadows place the flowers neatly next to the ones I set down.

I laugh starting back down the path towards my place, “I get so many, I can’t possibly keep them all. Marla is an elderly woman who lost her husband years ago. It brings her joy to have them, so I leave them for her. Besides it’s not like they’re from anyone special,” I shrug, subtly dropping the hint to Azriel that I’m not otherwise engaged.

Azriel pauses beside me and approaches a rose bush blooming near one of the cottages. Drawing his dagger, he carefully slices off a vibrant red rose. Before offering it to me, he painstakingly removes every thorn with the same blade, as if to protect my hands from even the slightest prick.

“You deserve to have at least one flower,” he says offering me the rose.

I blush and go to reach for it when I catch sight of his hand. The mangled and marred flesh. I can’t help but feel my breath hitch as I wonder who could’ve done such a thing to such a gentle soul. The scarred hand pulls back a bit as if realizing my staring.

“I guess I’m more Phantom than dashing Viscount,” he utters sadly, referring to my play and my role in it. My heart shatters as I see his broken expression.

“You know,” I smile, taking the rose from his scarred hands. “I always thought that Christine should end up with The Phantom, he was clearly the better choice.”

His head whips up as if I’ve uttered an inconceivable phrase. “Even though he had ugly scars?” Azriel inquires, his face tight like he might not want to hear whatever answer I provide.

“Who said he was ugly?” I laugh, did this beautiful specimen of a male truly believe he was ugly because his hands bore scars?

“So you would choose the Phantom?” he cocks an eyebrow as if trying to read if I was telling the truth.

“In a heartbeat,” I affirm confidently and honestly.

He takes a step towards me, his form getting even bigger, “and what about scarred hands? Is that a deal breaker?” he probes, holding out his hands so I can see that they both harbor similar markings.

I shake my head taking another step towards him, appreciating the beauty that is him. From the white scars that ran up his hands, to the shadows that danced around him like they they were whispering to him.

“So if I asked you to dinner after your show tomorrow?” he queries taking a step towards me as well.

“I would ask you where we are going?” I reply feeling my cheeks heat up. Was he asking me out? I tried to push the butterflies down in my stomach.

“Rita’s ?” he shrugs, stepping forward.

“Sounds like a plan,” I smile moving towards him more, like I was compelled to.

“I’ll swing backstage after the curtain closes,” he smiles, seemingly becoming more confident in himself as we step closer together just a few feet apart.

“I’ll put your name on the list,” I say, feeling his presence pull me in.

“And if I were to send you flowers? What kind would you like?” he interrogates further.

I think for a moment, no one had ever asked me what flowers I might like to receive. My eyes look around as if searching for inspiration until they land on a blue siphon adorning his chest that’s right in front of me.

“Something blue,” I blush knowing that when I see the cobalt flowers on my vanity I will know they are from him.

“Consider it done,” he smiles and I suddenly realize that we’re mere inches apart now.

I turn to my right where the blue door to my house beckons to be opened. Pulling out my keys I unlock it and use my shoulder to shove it open as it always gets stuck.

“Well,” I say shyly. “Thank you for walking me home,”

“Anytime,” he smiles looking down at his feet.

The sight of the bashful warrior on my front doorstep has me melting. His face is so beautiful and perfectly carved I can't help but lean up on my toes and kiss his cheek. I almost regret it when it’s over but the violent red of his cheeks makes me smile again.

“Well goodnight,” I say, trying not to let my words shake in the process.

“Goodnight,” he smiles, brushing a hand against his freshly kissed cheek.

I close the door and place the single, thornless, rose he cut for me in a vase. It isn’t until I turn on a light that I hear him take off into the night and I swear I hear him let out a grand whoop from way up in those clouds.

Permanent Taglist: @fides25, @dissociated-always @crystalferret202 , @kennedy-brooke , @sunshineangel-reads , @lilah-asteria , @evergreenlark , @cheneyq

#azriel x reader #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #azriel x reader angst #azriel x reader fluff #azriel #azriel spymaster #inner circle #acotar

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1d1195 · 3 days

Text

Traditional - Extra VII

Read Traditional here | ~4.1k words

Warnings: smut. 18+ only. oral (m), sex, maybe public if you believe enough. Otherwise, it's kinda fluffy

From me: idk I think Harry can be a little TOO self-loathing. And he is really so sweet and nice overall. I think he deserves some TRADITIONAL sugar-daddy CEO treatment.

Summary: Harry is a lot calmer now that the client fiasco is over. But he's still on edge. Fortunately, she has an idea to take the edge off.

Harry was much more pleased with the direction of his company now that the biggest crisis of his career was finally in the rearview mirror. Now that her arm was healed and his clients were stable, everything was much better.

Except Harry didn’t fully accept it.

It was like there was a little worm in his brain that ate at him and whispered directly into the auditorial processing space that something, at any moment, would go wrong. The other shoe would drop and he would be back at square one.

“Baby?” She interrupted his thoughts of worthlessness and impostor syndrome. God he needed to see someone. But when was there time? “I asked about dinner, it’s Monday,” she reminded him gently. His mind reeling but he wanted to focus on her.

He wasn’t angry. For the first time in months. It felt like that for everyone around him. It created an entirely different vibe in the office. People weren’t scared during meetings. He didn’t slam his phone down when something was late.

But she noticed how withdrawn he was because she knew him.

“Are you alright?” Her voice wasn’t accusatory. It was still quiet. Like she was a little afraid she would set him off. But he hadn’t bought new electronics in months. The accounting department joked they would get to decrease the furniture budget this quarter as it closed. Harry couldn’t do anything but laugh because it was true. It was the first time he felt at ease since the mess happened.

It was awful.

“M’fine,” he smiled gently at her. It was their daily meeting. The one Harry didn’t even know they had until he saw it written on her calendar back when her cramps made her sleep through it. But he knew she didn’t believe his hand-waving denial. He wasn’t fine, she knew it.

“Okay,” she sipped her drink and eyed him suspiciously.

He was looking at the papers on his desk and every little negative number made his heart skip a beat.

This wasn’t healthy.

“Are you sure?” She asked again.

That wasn’t helping him either. How perceptive she was and knowing exactly what he was feeling. It was almost annoying that she could do it. All he wanted to do was hide his feelings from her the way he was supposed to, and she made it so difficult.

God, she was perfect.

He nodded silently, not looking up at her because if he did, she would read him like an open book. She would praise him and tell him he was perfect. He didn’t want that. It was stupid, but he needed to believe it himself. It was partially his own fault. Styles Inc. suffered very few hiccups other than getting up and running. Back when he had just graduated, and he had stuffed every penny he had into the two offices he and Niall needed to get started. It grew before his eyes. He believed he was important and doing important things. He knew he was talented and doing well.

Almost having to fire her was the worst wakeup call.

“Harry,” her voice broke his thoughts again.

“Yeah, kitten?” He hummed trying to admire the green numbers on the spreadsheet before him. They were large and lovely. The red ones amounted to next to nothing in comparison. But it didn’t matter. They were terrifying.

“Baby, I just asked you if you think I should go out for drinks with a client that keeps hitting on me so that we can get a bigger contract from him, and you said that was a good idea.”

His head snapped up. Jealousy pierced his heart and ran hot through his blood in seconds. “What client hits on you?” He scowled. They were dropping said client. Effective immediately. Not even feeling like an impostor would deter him from that kind of behavior. It wouldn��t matter if they were his biggest client either. If they were hitting on her—

“You really think a client would be stupid enough to hit on me knowing you’re my boyfriend?” She asked a slight smirk on her lips.

He ran a hand over his face. Of course they wouldn’t. Harry had a scary side, and everyone knew it. If they even tried to flirt with her Harry would probably break their neck. The little jealous monster inside of his head was more powerful than the worm that told him he wasn’t talented, and he could lose it all at a moment’s notice.

And he hated that word lately. He needed to add another reminder on his phone to remedy that immediately as well. Boyfriend. It was so childish sounding. He was a successful businessman, and he had a gorgeous girlfriend who made him feel like... well... like he deserved to own such a successful company. Fiancé. Husband. That had a nicer ring to it. He needed to fix that soon.

“Harry,” she giggled.

“What?”

“You’re staring at me,” she was blushing. Looked away as she sat in the chair across from him on the other side of the desk.

He sighed and smiled tiredly. “Course,” he really looked at her again, not just spaced out like he had been doing. The way her hair fell, the way her lip gloss coated her straw. The way her nail polish chipped—he would send her for a manicure (with Eleanor so she’d actually go) even though she preferred when Harry painted them—hence the chipping.

Harry was so captivated by her. It did seem like a crime that he hadn’t given her his full attention during their coffee break. Part of him thought she should model for offices or office furniture. It was sexist and lizard-brained of him. But she was so pretty it was the only thing he could think of in that moment. Then he considered the notion of her being a professor or a doctor—even though he knew she wasn’t qualified for it. But it didn’t matter. He suspected she could do it without training. She was too lovely. The fact that she was intelligent and beautiful and nice was unfair. He didn’t deserve something so good when he could lose the biggest reason she was in his life. “You’re so pretty, kitten.”

Her cheeks turned red again. Harry thought he would explode. “Don’t change the subject.”

“M’not,” he pouted. She did the cute little nose wrinkle that made Harry’s heart skip a beat the same way the negative numbers on spreadsheets did but this time he didn’t mind.

“Your brain has been elsewhere during this whole meeting—”

“Can y’please stop calling it a meeting, kitten?” he grumbled. It felt so wrong to call it a meeting when he was in love with her. Like he needed a corporate excuse to have her sit in his office.

“Pretenses, baby. Don’t want anyone to know I’m your second favorite.”

He grunted, running a hand over his face as the irritation sank in again because of her words. “Niall is not m’favorite.”

She smiled impishly. Her cheeks looked like little apples that Harry wanted to kiss and take bites out of. Her eyes danced with mischievousness that he thought she could only have learned from Louis.

He loved her so much.

Which was why he was so mad that he was worried. If this company suffered the thought of letting her down, of telling her that he wasn’t successful anymore. He met her only because he did well and was successful. How would she love him if that wasn’t true anymore?

“Harry, I’m going to drag you to the hospital if you don’t tell me.”

“Can we talk ‘bout it at home?”

She frowned. “Oh, it’s not work related?” She asked.

He shook his head, confused as to how she would conclude such a thing. “What do y’mean?”

“Well... if it was work-related, you would tell me now. You only tell me relationship-related things at home. Which means now I have to go back to my office and conference call Louis and Eleanor and pull Niall from his work so we can discuss where I’m going to live because you can’t take the sound of me singing in the shower anymore. What’s worse is Louis will agree and he won’t want me to live with him and Eleanor either. Then I’ll have to find my own place and it won’t have room for a porch swing and—”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Kitten, shut up,” he sighed. She smiled sweetly, unperturbed by the way he said it because he sounded exhausted with her, which was almost definitely her goal. He knew she liked to annoy him—even when he was already suffering internally.

“I don’t want to say it’s your fault, baby. But if you would just tell me what—”

“I don’t feel successful.”

She tilted her head at him curiously. “You don’t?”

He shook his head feeling the nerves in every inch of his skeleton. Right down to the bone. Past the bone. Probably to the atoms or even further to each proton and neutron. Telling her made it real. Telling her anything meant he had to deal with what he was feeling because she wouldn’t let him brush it away.

She was about as bad as the worm in his head.

“Okay,” she nodded. Then there was silence.

They stared at each other for a significant moment. Harry thought it could have been ten minutes, but it might have only been ten seconds. “You’re not going t’say anything?” He asked.

She shrugged. “I could,” she smiled gently. Almost pitifully. It made Harry feel the slightest bit worse. But then she made it better. Of course she did. She made everything seem so... simple. In the best way. A point of view he hadn’t considered. “I could ask you why. Or tell you how it’s not true—all of which I do believe. But I actually think it’s kind of more serious than that. I think you went through a really difficult thing. It piled and piled and you dealt with it. More than anyone here. Because you care and love this place with everything in you,” she listed. “I think you’ll need to talk to someone more qualified than me to fully deal with it. But I will list every reason why you’re completely, totally, and simply wrong another time. When you’re not so sad looking and it won’t fall on deaf ears,” she assured him with a pointed expression that he had fallen in love with so many times over it was uncanny.

Had he mentioned he loved her so much?

“Oh,” he murmured.

She stood up, moved around his desk and leaned against the edge in front of him. Her eyes didn’t move from his and she brought a hand to his face, traced the curve of his jaw, the soft pink lips she loved so much. “Why are you worried you’re not successful?” She asked.

She really knew where to hit him where it hurt. “Y’won’t love me...if m’not successful.”

“Harry,” she cooed. “Baby—”

“I know,” he turned into her hand and kissed the center of her palm. “But I... I only met y’because m’successful. If m’not... then...”

“You know I don’t love you because you have money, right? We’ve been over this.”

“I know,” he nodded. “Really, I do. But s’like...there’s something in m’brain, kitten. I can’t turn it off and m’exhausted. After all that... I mean... y’saw. It was reallybad. Like really bad. M’still kind of worried and—what are you doing?”

“Turning your brain off,” she smiled, full of mischief once more as she slunk down to her knees. She wiggled into the space of his desk where he normally pushed his chair in. “Surely you’ve thought about this?” She asked, her hand sliding up his thigh.

Harry was suddenly illiterate. And mute. What was she talking about? Were they talking about something? The only thing he could hear was his uneven breath and the clinking sound of his belt and zipper. “Oh,” he groaned as her lips mouthed at the outline of his dick against his briefs.

“Cause I’ve thought about it. A lot.”

“You have?” He murmured dumbly.

She nodded, looking up at him from between his legs, crammed under his desk. It was a fantasy he hadn’t even imagined before thirty seconds prior and there she was: making it come true. Her lashes seemed so long, and her hand was massaging him through his underwear. His heart was pounding. All thoughts of negative numbers were gone.

She deserved a raise.

Her fingers hooked around his underwear, and she tugged on them, pulling him free. He didn’t even realize he was straining against the fabric. Within seconds her lips enveloped around him, and she sucked quickly. Hard. Everything was warm and wet instantly.

Harry had done this before with the companions he had found on the very website he found her, but he wished he never had because this was her. She was so perfect. She was everything he wanted. She was beneath his desk making him feel important and it was so ridiculous for him to feel that way but it worked. It was working.

Her mouth was meant to be around him. At least that was the way it felt. It never felt like this. She didn’t even care about herself. Which was fine because Harry would return whatever she gave him now plus interest. For the first time in a year, he felt utterly relaxed. Her head bobbing up and down the length of him. He put a hand on the back of her head, and she moaned softly sending a vibration through him and up to his chest. His cheeks felt hot. Not that he was embarrassed. But it was so much rapid blood flow. Everywhere. He was going to lose his mind.

There was a knock on the door.

She froze but didn’t remove her mouth from him. Harry grumbled a curse under his breath, carefully tucked himself further the edge of his desk without bumping her too much or crushing her. “Yeah?” He called tentatively.

Her lips focused on the tip of him making him struggle to maintain his composure.

“She’s not here?” Niall frowned from the doorway.

Harry shook his head staring at the screen trying not to let his best friend know that his girlfriend and Niall’s very favorite coworker was crammed beneath his desk and sucking him for all he was worth. Even though Niall was right there. “Ran an errand,” her tongue slid down the underside of him silently. He cleared his throat, shifted. Hoping she wouldn’t torture him in front of his best friend. When did she get so brave?

Oh. Traditional. That’s what that meant. Harry thought to himself.

“When she gets back can you ask her where the file from yesterday’s meeting is? I don’t want to mess with her organizational system,” she dug her nails into his thigh not very hard but so her presence was known. As if the thought of Niall messing with her system really was the worst thing he could do in that moment.

“Yeah, I wouldn’t,” Harry chuckled. But the movement made him shift in her mouth which nearly sent him cross-eyed. He cleared his throat again.

“You okay? She’s been worried about you.”

“M’fine,” he rolled his eyes.

She silently sucked harder as if to prove a point. Moved him further down her throat. Harry took a deep breath to maintain any semblance of control he had left over the situation. Which was very little.

“I like that she worries about you.”

“It’s unnecessary,” Harry muttered. To both of them.

“When are you going to marry her?” Niall asked.

That paused her. She released him, peered up through those sinful lashes and smiled more mischievously than he had ever seen. Harry shifted. Silently and blindly lining himself up with her mouth again to keep her from saying I knew it or just generally giving herself away in front of Niall. She obligingly took his length down her throat again and it was a miracle she didn’t make a sound with the amount of spit lodged in her mouth. “Soon,” he assured Niall.

“She left her cell in the office,” he said. “Hopefully she’s with the driver or something.”

“Yeah, I called for him,” he wanted Niall out. “What time are we teeing off tomorrow?” He asked the last bout of normalcy he had left in him. Her lips were dragging so slowly over him it felt nearly painful. The moment Niall left he was going to come.

“Nine fifteen.”

He nodded. “Alright, I’ll be by later for the new account model for—” He coughed as her fingers danced along the inside of his thighs, reaching for the space of his cock that didn’t fit in her mouth as well as underneath— “Excuse me,” he covered his mouth over the fake cough before dropping his hand to his lap—her head—and pushed ever so slightly toward the back of her throat. Fortunately, his phone rang. Niall nodded waving him off; allowing him to tend to his phone call—that he was not going to answer.

“I got it,” he assured him and closed the door.

Harry yanked from her mouth, shoved from the desk, barely pulling his pants up at all. He hurried across his office to twist the lock on his door. Once turned around, she was already there, knelt before him again and sucking him into her warm mouth again. Sucking hard. It was probably loud. Wet. Anyone that happened to be by his door at that moment would know what was happening on the other side. Maybe they would make a rumor. Maybe they would assume it was her—neither of which Harry wanted. “Not here, kitten,” he groaned quietly and lifted her begrudgingly from her knees. He pulled her toward the bathroom. He briefly thought of the first time he was in there with her, knelt himself, to take her shoe off and Louis and Eleanor assumed he was prepared to do something he loved doing to her and strongly considered doing it again. Just as he lifted her bum onto the counter she stopped him.

“Nope,” she slid down again. Knelt once more. “Said it was turning your brain off,” she reminded him. Her lips around his dick once again. Now, with an office separating them from the rest of the company, she openly slurped. Made obscene noises that would satisfy him just fine on business trips where he didn’t get to take her with him and leave him with nothing but fantasies before falling asleep in a lonely hotel room. He slammed the bathroom door shut just for further privacy.

He groaned lowly, meeting the bob of her head as gently as he could so as not to cause her to struggle but enjoying the warmth of her mouth and throat. Her lips looked so sexy around him he wasn’t going to last much longer at all. “Love,” he tilted his head back. “Y’need to—”

“Shh,” she pulled back, pressing the most chaste of kisses along his length which was an oxymoron. “Just worry about you,” she hummed. “Please?”

Harry groaned his hands gathering her hair at the back of her head as she slipped her mouth down as much of him as she could take and it felt so good it made him

“Aw fuck, kitten, s’good,” he groaned and held her in place as he released in her mouth. His breath was ragged, his hips stuttering slightly. She continued sucking even though it was sensitive. Even though it was more than he deserved.

“Do you really think I would stop loving you because you didn’t have money?” She asked, fluttering her lashes. Voice the slightest bit hoarser.

He lifted her from her knees, putting her on the counter again and shoved her dress up to her hips. Thank God she wore a dress. “This underwear is ripped,” he grumbled.

She frowned. “It is? It’s my favorite I didn’t notice a rip when I put them on this mor—”

But she didn’t realize he was predicting the future. He pulled on the nylon cotton blend with so much force her already hoarse voice died in her throat. He groaned, tossing them on the floor. He lined himself up with her entrance and brought her bum to the edge so the sharp corner dug into her flesh. It would leave a bruise and the only thought that was left in her head was that Harry would kiss it and make it better later.

His length slid inside her so effortlessly. She should have been embarrassed how turned on she was sucking him off—especially when Niall got to the office but she couldn’t help it. Now the length that had felt so good in her throat was making her core ache. He thrusted into her quickly. Hardly letting her breathe or realize what was happening, but it felt so good. She was moaning into the curve of shoulder. Clinging to him. “Baby, I—”

“S’good kitten. S’good. I love you so fucking much,” his hips were relentless. All thought escaping her mind. A fire could have broken out in the shower and she wouldn’t have moved—couldn’t have moved.

“Oh wow,” she sighed as Harry pulled her closer to him—her legs wound around his waist. Her butt barely on the counter. Her eyes fluttered with each thrust. “Oh, oh my God,” she moaned. “You’re—”

“Gonna come on m’cock, kitten,” it was a question. Or a command. She didn’t know. It was both. Neither. Part of her wondered if he even said anything.

But she did. She did come on his cock. Hard. She fluttered around him for what felt like minutes. Hours. Centuries. Color ceased to have meaning. There was no sound. That was heaven. She was sure. A blasphemous thought that she didn’t even have the strength to laugh about because she was deliriously good.

Her voice was hoarser than only moments before. Her face tucked into his shoulder and her breath shaky as he pushed her further back toward the mirror at the end of the counter behind the sink. Further from him. Her cheeks were flushed, and she could only imagine what he had done to her hair. But his pupils were massive. His lips pinker than ever. His chest heaved.

Clearing her throat, she gently tucked him back into his pants. Then tucked in his shirt too. With the same delicateness as she did with his cock. It was intoxicating. Made him want to go another thousand rounds with her. “So, in conclusion,” she whispered. “I will love you whether you have a kajillion dollars or one dollar,” she looked up at him, cheeks burning.

“That was very sexy, kitten,” his eyelids practically fluttered.

“I...” she cleared her throat. “I surprised myself, actually.”

“We should do this more often,” he pulled her skirt down and brought her closer to the edge of the counter again. She hissed at the contact against the bruise that was definitely forming. He frowned. “Oh, love m’sorry,” he cupped her face and gazed at her. “Was I too rough? I shouldn’t have—”

“Harry, if I didn’t fear for the stability of my leg muscles I would probably bend over your desk for you.” He swore under his breath. “You did bruise my butt though.”

“No good deed,” he mumbled and lifted her gently from the counter. His hand cupping her backside and gently rubbing each cheek as if it were normal. But it felt normal.

She nuzzled into his chest and sighed contentedly. “Niall’s going to see right through me,” she murmured.

“I’ll fire him again if he makes y’uncomfortable.”

She snorted and laughed, tilting her head up to look at him. “You are my favorite person Harry Styles. I love you so much. Even if you ruined my favorite pair of underwear.”

He smiled as mischievously as she had earlier in the day. “I’ll buy you more...a hundred pairs of them. Then I’ll ruin them all again,” he promised, then pressed his mouth firmly against hers. A gentle, soft kiss in comparison to all they did in the span of half an hour. “I love you too.”

She grinned. “Say it again.”

He shook his head at her, kissed her forehead, effectively turning her to mush, which was probably his plan so she couldn’t deny his next request. “Stop calling our coffee break a meeting.”

But her senses were returning. The ones that weren’t primal and horny about how massive Harry’s dick was in her mouth. She was going to say something funny; he could see it in the glint in her eye. “Well, I can’t put ‘sex’ on your calendar now can I?”

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munson-blurbs · 3 days

Text

Living After Midnight (Failed Rockstar!Eddie x Motel Worker!Reader)

♫ Summary: Eddie asked you on a date. Maybe. Possibly. But you definitely accepted. (5.6k words)

♫ CW: slowburn, strangers-to-lovers, angst, anxiety, parental conflict, poverty, mentions of sex, Reader wears a miniskirt, drinking, tipsiness, idiots in love, eventual smut (18+ only, minors DNI)

♫ Divider credit to @hellfire--cult

chapter ten: this foolish lover's game

“I’m telling you: it’s a date.”

Nora flicked through the items on the clearance rack, searching for something in your size. She pulled out a floral shirt, wrinkled her nose, and promptly put it back.

“It’s 1993. A guy and a girl can hang out without it being something romantic,” you retorted, trying to ignore the fuzziness that filled your head at the potential classification of your upcoming night out with Eddie as a ‘date.’

“Very true. But that’s not the case here.” Nora sighed at the limited clothing choices and at your stubbornness. She stalked over to a rack of regularly-priced skirts, evidently on a mission. “And you know it, too, which is why you asked me to help you choose a new outfit.”

You had done that, though you definitely regretted it now. It had been so long since you’d actually gone out with friends that you really did need new clothes, but you had no idea where to start.

Enter Nora: best friend extraordinaire. She was just as great at finding clothes that flatter your figure as she was at being a study buddy. Her opinion mattered to you; it was necessary, especially considering the way you currently teemed with self-doubt.

She plucked a denim miniskirt from the lineup and held it against your waist. “Go try this on,” she said. You reached for the price tag, almost certain that it was out of budget, but she clamped her hand over yours. “My treat. Now, go.”

There was no arguing with her, not while she was shooing you into the dressing room. She clasped your shoulders as she steered you towards a curtain, yanked it open, and shoved you inside. “I’ll wait here,” she said.

You closed the curtain once again, unbuttoning your shorts and letting them fall to the thin carpet below you.

The skirt hung on its hanger, buttons all along the front, and it was impossible not to imagine Eddie being the one undoing them. His nimble fingers would dance across the seam as he positioned himself between your legs. You could practically feel his hands as they crept further upwards towards that dangerously sensitive part of you—

“Can we stop by the food court when you’re done? I’m dying for one of those cinnamon pretzels.”

The sound of Nora’s voice instantly cooled your heating skin. “Y-Yeah, sure,” you stammered.

Focus on that, you silently reprimanded yourself. Focus on Auntie Anne’s or Orange Julius or Panda Express—not Eddie tracing his tongue along your inner thighs.

You stepped into the skirt, warding off any lingering Eddie-related thoughts. Monday night would be like hanging out with Nora or Ben. There was no need to worry about your hair, or your clothes, or your makeup. Eddie was a friend, and only a friend, despite what absurdities your other friends planted in your head.

With the last button fastened, you allowed yourself to glance at your reflection in the mirror. The denim hugged your curves delicately, providing just a hint of what laid beneath without giving too much away. It looked odd paired with the old t-shirt you’d thrown on this morning, but the right top would make a world of difference.

Nora clapped her hands together the moment you opened the curtain. Her brown eyes lit up, and a soft squeal of excitement emanated from her throat.

“You’re gonna have Eddie eating out the palm of your hand,” she declared, reaching out to give you a little spin.

You gently pulled away from her as though it would offset the fluttering low in your stomach. “I told you, it’s—”

“Yeah, I know. Just two friends going to the bar, pretending they don’t wanna bone each other.” Nora rolled her eyes, already sick of the will they-won’t they song-and-dance.

You ducked back into the fitting room to change out of the skirt. “He doesn’t wanna bone me.”

“But you wanna bone him?”

It came out as a question, but you knew she meant as a statement.

“First of all, stop saying ‘bone.’” You hissed, tugging your shorts back over your legs. “Second, Eddie and I are friends, and he’s taking me out for graduation. End of story.”

Nora’s sigh was audible from the other side of the curtain. “Not ‘end of story.’ You didn’t answer my question. Do you wanna b—have sex with Eddie?”

Your hesitation was enough of an answer for her, and though you couldn’t see her face, you were certain she was grinning when she announced, “I knew it!”

“It’s not like that,” you protested. The fitting room was suddenly far too crowded and depleted of oxygen despite you being its only occupant. You threaded the teeth into your shorts zipper and grabbed the skirt, now heavy in your hand. “Yeah, he’s pretty cute, but—”

“But nothing. C’mon, just admit it: you like Eddie.” You could detect a hint of exasperation in her tone. Frustration, even, or confusion as to why you continually denied yourself life’s small pleasures.

You couldn’t answer that, either.

Protest died with the subtle twitch of your lips that gave away the truth. You hated your tells, the ones that swiftly uncovered the feelings you worked diligently to stifle. And you knew that if Nora kept pressing you about this crush, you would eventually break down and divulge it all.

Not just your burgeoning romantic feelings towards Eddie. Not the way you told bad jokes just to see his lopsided smile and the nose crinkle that often accompanied it. Not the multiple occasions when you caught yourself staring at the muscles in his arms and ached to kiss right along the hardened edge of his biceps.

Once you said those thoughts out loud, gave them the weight of spoken words, they became real. Able to hurt you when he inevitably didn’t reciprocate them.

And that terrified you.

“You have a big ol’ crush on him,” Nora continued, “and he has one on you.”

“He doesn’t have a crush on me,” you mumbled, purposely averting your gaze from hers.

Through peripheral vision, you could see her raise one brow. “Says who?”

Says the song lyrics about his ex-girlfriend. But that was too much to explain, so you slapped on a tight smile and shook the thought away. “Never mind. Let’s just pay for this.”

Nora swiped her credit card with an ease that only comes with the luxury of not having to worry about paying the water bill. She never had to dip into her own savings to keep the lights on. Buying her friend a miniskirt for a maybe-date wasn’t going to affect her grocery budget.

“I have the perfect pair of Docs to go with this. You can borrow them,” she said, pointedly adding “for your date.” She was either oblivious or didn’t care that the cashier was eavesdropping on your conversation.

“Not a date.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Nora plucked the bagged skirt from the cashier, flashed her a grateful smile, and shoved it in your direction. “Just answer one question for me—are you gonna wear lace panties underneath this, or cotton?”

When you once again failed to look at her, her grin widened.

“That’s what I thought.”

On Monday evening, you found yourself poised in front of the mirror, still fogged from your shower. The inky blue sky leaked into your room through the time-worn blinds, the sun almost fully faded into nighttime, which meant that Eddie would be knocking on your door at any moment.

The hem of your black fitted t-shirt met the waist of your skirt, the slightest gap between the two fabrics. It wasn’t scandalous by any stretch of the imagination, but it still conveyed one message: you wanted Eddie to look at you. Wanted him to notice your soft skin the way you noticed his flexing muscles, with awe and more lust than you cared to admit.

Did it all reek of desperation? What if Eddie was wearing the sweatpants he’d donned to remove the wallpaper? Just the possibility of him looking at your own outfit, at the effort you put into your appearance, and realizing you’d interpreted a friendly gesture as a date had you cringing.

No, this was a bad idea. You had to back out, now. Claim that you weren’t feeling well, maybe even take some ibuprofen in front of him, and promise a raincheck. You did feel the familiar throbbing that accompanied a tension headache, so it wasn’t a total lie—

Knock knock.

Sweat overrode the antiperspirant you’d lathered on, flooding you with a nervous heat. You frantically wiped your slick palms on the bed sheet like a cat at its scratching post and opened the door.

Eddie's eyes widened and his tongue brushed over his lower lip. There was no hiding the way his gaze dropped to your exposed thighs, drinking in every ounce of visible skin as though it was the only sustenance he’d ever need. His stare was hungry, if only for a moment, before his words broke the trance.

“You look…good. Pretty.” He swallowed thickly and forced himself to meet your eyes. “Sorry…just not used to seeing you all dressed up.”

Pretty. Eddie Munson thought you were pretty. The notion sent serotonin surging through you, a soft giggle passing through your lips. It was embarrassing, this schoolgirl crush, the way a simple word from him rendered you pathetically speechless.

A barrage of compliments perched themselves on your tongue, waiting to be untethered. He looked good, too; beyond that, he looked handsome. His cream colored shirt was baggy around his torso but clung to his biceps, drawing your attention to the vein that ran up his forearm.

You willed yourself to say something, anything, to reciprocate his kind words.

He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans, mirroring your nervous energy as he gently rocked from the heel to the toe of his Reeboks. “We should get going,” he said.

Opportunity slipped from your grasp; anything you said now would seem like pity. Your only response was a nod as you locked the door and started towards the lobby.

Pretty. Pretty. Pretty.

Mom stood behind the desk, flipping through the check-in sheets with the cap end of a pen clenched between her teeth. She looked up, blinking in rapid succession when she saw you and Eddie approaching. You weren’t sure what surprised her more: you going out, or the man accompanying you.

“Well, don’t you two look nice!” She grinned, though the smile didn’t quite reach her tired eyes. “What’s the occasion?”

“Just getting a drink,” you said as casually as you could. “Celebrating my—the wallpaper.” It was a lame finish, one that Mom didn’t quite believe, but she lacked the energy to push further.

Guilt panged in your chest, not just at the lie, but because part of you felt like you were taking advantage of her exhaustion. You couldn’t tell her the real reason for the celebration; bile rose in your throat at the thought. Instead, you smiled and promised to be home before the start of your shift.

“I’ll make sure she behaves,” Eddie added with a mischievous edge, not sexual in nature but still had your stomach doing somersaults. “I know she can be quite the troublemaker.”

Mom laughed at this, so pure and genuine that you were half-tempted to ask Eddie if you could stay here and talk with her all night. Maybe he could break the news to her, since they seemed to get on well enough.

You felt her watch as Eddie opened the door for you and gave the tiniest bow to let you pass, though you didn’t dare look back at her. Not because she wouldn’t approve—just the opposite. Looking at your mother would confirm what you already knew deep down: she’d be beaming at the sight of you going on a date.

If that’s what this was.

Eddie shuffled to walk right by your side, sneakers scuffing against the broken pavement. A flicker of hope ignited within you that he would do something to confirm that this was, in fact, a romantic endeavor and not just two friends getting a drink. Perhaps an arm slung over your shoulder or a hand laced with yours.

There was only the gentle brush of his fingers against yours, knuckles grazing one another as they nearly slotted together. It was taunting, the way they could be a perfect fit if given the chance.

You almost went for it, almost grabbed hold of his hand yourself, but fear had you in its own grasp. Even if the benefit outweighed the risk, you couldn’t stop picturing him tugging his hand away from yours in a humiliating show of rejection.

“You okay? You’re not, like, mad at me again, are you?” Concern creased Eddie’s brows, and your heavy heart realized that the last time you were this quiet around him was after the argument.

“Not at all. Sorry.” You shot him a reassuring smile. “Just lost in my own thoughts.” You sent up a silent prayer that he wouldn’t ask you to elaborate on those thoughts.

Luckily, he just tilted his head towards you, his eyes taking on an even more doe-like quality than usual. “That’s the problem with you smart people: you’re always thinking too much.”

You laughed as you nudged him, your right shoulder colliding with his left. He stumbled slightly, quickly catching himself before he could fully lose his balance.

“Hey!” He yelped, rubbing his upper arm. The muscles beneath it flexed at his touch. “Don’t damage the merchandise.”

“I wouldn’t dare. I…” You shook your nerves loose and faced him, speaking before you fully lost yourself in his full, waiting lips. “I’d never damage merchandise as priceless as you.”

Eddie stopped in his tracks, the compliment seemingly rebooting his brain. Was it too forward? No, it couldn’t have been; he’d called you pretty just moments before. And it wasn’t as if you’d been forward enough to say he was sexy (though he was) or accidentally emasculated him by pointing out how adorable his soft dimples were (another fact).

His exhale was a disbelieving chuckle. “I, uh, don’t think anyone’s called me ‘priceless’ before. ‘Worthless,’ maybe, but…” He trailed off in an attempt to contain it as a lighthearted joke, but it was anchored by an undeniable truth.

If you could, you would wash away the ego-marring stains left behind by those who hurt him. Scrub and scrub until it was once again pristine as though they’d never been tarnished by self-doubt.

“Priceless.” You said it definitively, leaving no room for further argument.

Eddie ducked behind his hair, letting the curly locks dangle over his mouth to mask his flustered smile. You were willing to bet that a blush was spreading across the apples of his cheeks.

Curiosity loosened your inhibitions enough for you to reach out and tuck a few strands behind his ear. Sure enough, a delicate pink tinged his skin. You wanted to kiss it until your lips grew swollen from where his stubble scratched them raw.

Doing that would require something far more potent than inquisitiveness.

There was a decent crowd that night, not as packed as the weekend would have been, but there were enough people that only one empty stool remained in front of the bar. Eddie gestured to it, offering you the seat just as he had on the subway last week.

You tucked the denim fabric of your skirt behind your thighs as you sat. Eddie watched every movement, an unreadable desire darkening his expression, as if he wished it were his fingers on your skin.

Your smile seemed to snap him from his trance. He waved down the bartender, who held up her forefinger to signal she would be right over.

A shadow draped over you as you scanned the liquor-cluttered shelves, bathing you in a welcoming darkness. Protection. Eddie’s arms framed your torso, his hands planted firmly on the bartop. And when you lightly grasped his wrist, your thumb rubbing against the soft hairs on his arm, you could have sworn you felt the tension leave his body in one swift exhale.

“What are you gonna get?” The grainy pop music playing from the speakers and a cacophony of neighboring conversations muffled his voice, and he had to shout just to be heard.

“A vodka tonic.” Simple, classic, and most importantly—not expensive. Though you probably should let him be the judge of that, considering it was his treat. “If that’s okay?”

Eddie laughed softly and nodded. “It’s your night, Heiress.” The tip of his tongue swiped over his lower lip.

He ordered your drink first, then placed his order for whatever beer was on tap before declining to open a tab. Your chest went slightly concave; you should have followed his lead and ordered the cheaper option.

As if sensing your guilt, Eddie pulled back enough to look you in the eye. “It’s your night,” he repeated, grabbing your short, stout glass and placing it in your hand. He raised his own taller mug, proposing a toast. “To a badass future social worker and all of the lives she’s gonna change. For the better,” he added quickly.

Before he could clink his glass to yours, you locked eyes with him. The brown eyes that steeled themselves against you the night he first checked into the motel were now pillow-soft, beckoning you to fall. He may not have even been aware of it himself.

“To the coolest rockstar I know,” you said, allowing the lips of your glasses to touch. “And the second-coolest guest to ever stay at the motel.”

Eddie raised a brow. “Second?”

“You really think you’re cooler than Phyllis?”

“Touché.” He relented with a smirk, taking a swig of his drink that left a foamy mustache on his upper lip. Without a second thought, he licked it away.

The movement enraptured you: his tongue swiping over his skin, leaving no residue in its wake. That same tongue that peeked out from his mouth when he was focused, a simple muscle, but it held your attention for a beat too long.

“Are you…” Eddie gestured towards your vodka tonic, and you realized you hadn’t even taken a sip.

Cheers to embarrassing yourself ten minutes into the date. Non-date. Whatever it was.

The vodka’s bitterness and the bubbles from the tonic water seeped into your tongue. You savored the burn as you swallowed. It had been so long since you’d had a drink, and just the first taste had you buzzing. If you didn’t pace yourself properly, you’d be tipsy far too soon.

The sound system crackled and microphone feedback shot through the bar. You and Eddie winced in unison, each taking a gulp of your drinks.

A man in his mid-thirties, balding with a goatee, stood at a makeshift stage at the back of the bar. “Welcome to Music Mondays here at The Brink. That’s right…it’s karaoke night!”

There was a smattering of applause that didn’t match the emcee’s enthusiasm, but he remained undeterred.

“Sign up here with your name and your song, and we’ll get started in a few minutes. Drink that liquid courage and come on down!” The microphone screeched once more as he slid it back into the stand.

You turned to Eddie, your eyes wide with mischief. “You’re gonna do it, right?”

Eddie scoffed. “Fuck, no. I’m not getting up there and making a fool of myself.”

“But it’s my night,” you reminded him. “You said so yourself.”

He looked poised to argue, one hand gripped tightly around the mug’s handle, his mouth ready to say no. But then you batted your eyelashes and pouted, all in jest. A dramatic showing that you didn’t expect would convince him.

A wry smile betrayed his tough exterior as his thumb ghosted your lower lip. Lightning crackled at his touch, soft as it was, illuminating your bones and surging through your veins. When he pulled back, Adam's apple bobbing in his throat, a light red stain tinged his skin. If he noticed it, he made no attempt to wipe it off.

“It is your night,” he mused, gaze flickering to your mouth before promptly returning to your eyes. When you lit up in anticipation of him conceding, he couldn’t help but grin back. “One song. And I’m choosing it.”

You couldn’t argue with him, not when his touch still lingered on your lip. He disappeared for a moment to add his name to the list. As soon as he was out of sight, you took a much larger gulp of your drink. A trickle escaped out of the corner of your mouth, and you haphazardly swiped at it with the back of your hand, lest it ruin the shirt you’d picked out especially for the date.

This isn’t a date. The reminder was as harsh as the vodka itself. You lifted the glass once more and drained it until the half-melted ice cubes clicked against your teeth. Whatever this evening was, you needed to relax. Enjoy Eddie’s company without reading too much into his every move.

You turned your attention to the TV mounted above the shelves, engrossing yourself in the scrolling closed captions. A weatherman announced that this summer was going to be a ‘scorcher,’ and though he said it with a plastic grin, you inwardly cringed at the impact the air conditioning would have on the electric bill.

“I’m up third.” Eddie’s voice broke in, turning the upcoming weather into a distant memory. He raised his brows when he saw your glass, now empty on the sticky bartop. “You finished that already?”

“Mhm.” Your smile was sloppier than you intended, your head starting to float from your neck as tipsiness crept in.

Eddie breathed out, shaking his head with a glimmer of a smirk. You couldn’t tell if he was annoyed or impressed, and you didn’t have time to ask before he waved over the bartender. “Just water, please.” He nodded his thanks when she slid it over. “Drink,” he said to you, and you dutifully obliged.

“What song did you pick out?” Something that is supposed to be screamed more than sung, you assumed.

He just shook his head again and swallowed more beer. “It’s a surprise.” His eyes twinkled when he said it, and you wondered if his choice erred more on the side of Madonna than Metallica.

A woman got up on stage and began her rousing rendition of Girls Just Wanna Have Fun.

Peppy? Upbeat? A great way to kick off karaoke night? Absolutely.

On-key? Not even close.

“If you ever start a new band, you should ask her to join.” You chinpointed towards the woman currently butchering the Cyndi Lauper classic. “She’s got that star power, I think.”

Eddie snorted but composed himself quickly to play into your joke. “I’m worried she’d outshine me.” He widened his eyes in faux concern. “Go solo and leave me behind, y’know?”

“She’ll probably steal all of your groupies, too,” you added, tutting as if to say, what a shame.

“Even you?”

You cocked your brow. “Who said I’m your groupie?”

He leaned his elbow against the bar, mouth slackjaw at your rejection. Disbelieving laughter left his throat in a huff.

“I take you out, treat you to the best watered-down drink this city has to offer, and this is the thanks I get?” His curls brushed against his cheeks when he shook his head. “Who would you be a groupie for? Wait, no; lemme guess.” He tapped his finger to his chin. “New Kids on the Block? Boyz II Men?”

“I think I’d die if Joey McIntyre so much as looked at me.” You hadn’t meant to say that aloud. The watered-down or not, the alcohol was certainly turning sober thoughts into tipsy words.

Eddie chugged half of the beer, watching as the woman on stage finished her song and left with a triumphant bow. “Pretty sure your shitty taste in music is what plays at the gates of Hell,” he said to you.

Your response was a mere flick of your middle finger.

A man in a suit took the stage next, loosening his tie as he positioned himself behind the microphone. A group of similarly-dressed men started hooting and hollering obnoxiously the moment the opening chords to Don’t Stop Believin’ blared through the sound system.

You looked back to Eddie. If he was nervous about singing karaoke, he didn’t show it. His shoulders were relaxed, his posture much less tense than on the walk to the bar. Maybe the alcohol loosened him up as it had you.

“What about you?” You asked. “Whose groupie would you be?”

“Easy,” he said, not missing a beat. “Joan Jett. Total badass, killer musician, and hot as hell.” He nodded to confirm his choice before leaning in and loudly whispering. “Bad Reputation was basically my secret anthem in high school.”

You laughed. “Did you imagine it playing in the background when you walked down the halls?”

“Oh, absolutely.” Eddie grinned and polished off his beer.

His confession warmed you—or maybe that was just the vodka working its way through your bloodstream. Regardless, you were intrigued by the glimpse into his past and found yourself hungry for more.

“Can I ask you a non-groupie related question?”

“Shoot.”

Your tongue was heavy, the resulting slurring softening your words. “If your hometown is so shitty, why are you trying to go back?”

He loosened a chuckle, glancing at the shelves of booze before looking back to you. “My uncle still lives there. He, ah, he raised me after my dad split and my mom…y’know.” Eddie cleared his throat and managed a small smile. “Why? You want me to stick around?”

The hair on his forearm tickled when he slid it over to nudge you, his pinky finger overlapping yours.

Of course you wanted him to stick around. You’d smear honey all over the motel’s siding to lure more bees, tempt them to build their nests among the sticky sweetness, just so he would have a reason to stay.

The man on stage belted out his final “don’t stop believin’” as his buddies enveloped him in drunken hugs.

“All right!” The emcee bleated into the microphone. “Next up, we have…” He checked the sign-up sheet. “…Eddie! Let’s give him a hand, folks.”

A smattering of applause echoed throughout the room, the excitement of karaoke night already dwindling. If Eddie noticed, he didn’t show it.

“This one’s for you, Heiress.” He winked and sprinted towards the stage.

Eddie pressed his foot on the microphone stand, adjusting it so it was level with his lips. His fingers curled around its neck, dramatically tugging it closer as the instrumentals piped through the sound system.

Well, since my baby left me Well, I found a new place to dwell Well, it's down at the end of Lonely Street At Heartbreak Hotel

His hips swung back and forth, the gyrations not quite as precise as Elvis’s, but he still snapped them in time with the staccato guitar chords. The right heel of his sneakers tapped the floor as he continued, voice dipping into his lower register.

Where I'll be, I'll be so lonely, baby Well, I'm so lonely I'll be so lonely, I could die

Free hand pressed to his heart, Eddie leaned in your direction and tilted the mic stand while he sang. The movements were reminiscent of how a man would dance with someone he loved, impassioned yet graceful. Charisma oozed from every pore, his natural command of the stage an enduring reminder of his brief foray into rock stardom.

The other patrons faded into the background as his eyes fixed on you, a personal serenade rather than karaoke night amongst a sea of drunks. Easiness weaved through each note he sang, his body loosening and his lips curving into a smile when you let out a vodka-fueled whoop of admiration.

Now, the bellhop's tears keep flowin' And the desk clerk's dressed in black Well, they've been so long on Lonely Street Well, they'll never, they'll never look back

Eddie pointed to you when he referenced the desk clerk, the crowd following his every move. The heat of their stares only exacerbated the warmth that the alcohol already sent coursing through you, but you felt no need to hide. The rich timbre of his voice was a magnetic pull, drawing you in until it echoed deep in your bones.

Although it's always crowded But you still can find some room For broken hearted lovers To cry there in their gloom Where they get so, they get so lonely, baby Well, they're so lonely They'll be so lonely, they could die

He ended the song with one final swing of his hips, one foot turned inward in an Elvis-esque pose. If anyone else applauded for him, it couldn’t be heard over the sound of your cheers.

He made a beeline for you. “Did that live up to your expectations?” Sweat dripped from his flushed forehead and down his temples.

“Exceeded them, actually.”

The bartender slid over two shot glasses filled with amber liquid. “On the house,” she explained when you and Eddie looked at her in confusion.

You shouldn’t. The TV set that broadcasted the news showed that it was nearly nine o’clock and you were already tipsy from the one drink. Adding a shot—and subsequently mixing liquor—was a recipe for disaster.

“You don’t have to drink it if you don’t wanna,” Eddie said. “I’ll take them both.”

With a shake of your head, you took the glass nearest you and downed it, the whiskey burning stronger than you had anticipated. Tears reflexively welled in your eyes, leaving you clinging to the hope that you had blinked them away before Eddie could notice.

He let out a soft, low whistle. “Well, okay then.” His own shot disappeared past his grimacing lips.

A familiar synthesized beat replaced the idle hum of conversation as a middle-aged woman began her song. Eddie threw back his head when he heard it, groaning as though the ‘80s hit left him in agony.

“You’re such a music snob,” you lamented, reaching out with both of your hands to grab onto his. If this is what liquid courage felt like, you were more than happy to ride that wave. “There’s more to life than heavy metal.”

“I just sang Elvis!” He protested, but his efforts were all in vain as you hopped off of the barstool and led him away from your empty shot glasses. “Heiress…” His tone was a warning, one that you promptly ignored.

You let your gaze meet his, the vodka-and-whiskey combination working overtime to stifle your nerves.

“Dance with me.”

Eddie laughed. “You’re tipsy.”

“I’m tipsy and I want you to dance with me.”

“You wanna dance, huh?” He laughed again when you nodded. “All right; let’s dance.”

Eddie’s hands slid down to your wrists and adjusted your arms so they draped over his shoulders, his curls tickling your fingers when they clasped behind his neck. He hesitated for a second before letting his own fingertips rest on your waist, careful to avoid dipping below the small of your back.

Watching, I keep waiting, still anticipating love Never hesitating to become the fated ones

The current performer was marginally better than the first two, but her voice wasn’t nearly as polished as Eddie’s. She kept getting too close to the mic, the lyrics muffled each time her purple-lipsticked mouth grazed the cover.

You inched forward, your chest against Eddie’s as the two of you swayed in tandem. His fingers flexed before tugging you closer, evidence that you weren’t the only one affected by the shot.

“Can’t remember the last time I heard this song,” he mused wistfully. “Probably my senior prom. The last one, anyway.”

“You had more than one senior prom?”

His cheeks, already pinkened from the liquor, flushed a deeper shade of red. “Yeah, it, uh, took me a few tries to graduate,” Eddie admitted. “But I did it.” A sheepish smile still held a twinge of pride.

“You did it.”

“Yeah.” One arm reached back to grasp your hand and twirl you around, and you breathed an audible sigh of relief when the room didn’t spin with you. “But tonight,” he grinned, “is all about you.”

You. Not the motel or its crumbling financial infrastructure. Not the guests or your parents. Not school or exams or term papers. Just you.

An involuntary giggle wriggled its way up and you ducked your head to hide it, your forehead brushing against Eddie’s lips. Did he purse them slightly in a hint of a kiss, or was that a figment of your imagination?

Turning and returning to some secret place inside Watching in slow motion as you turn my way and say Take my breath away

“You okay?” Eddie asked, a smile in his voice.

“Mhm. Just happy.”

“Yeah? Good.” His forefinger tucked under your chin and tilted it upwards, granting him a better look at you. The tip of his tongue parted his lips and swiped over the whiskey-scented residue. “You deserve to be happy.”

You did deserve to be happy. You deserved joyful moments in your life, people who surrounded you in sunshine even when rain poured.

My love, take my breath away My love, take my breath away

You deserved Eddie.

Standing before you, his eyes never strayed from your form, flicking from your face to where his hands gripped your waist. His chest rose and fell in time with the music.

“I…” You swallowed your fear, already tempered by tipsiness, curling your fingers into the back of his ribbed t-shirt collar.

Desire rippled down your spine and you leaned in to close that godforsaken gap, already tasting him on your tongue.

But not before he pulled away.

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pseudowho · 2 days

Note

hi haitch!! do you have any works about hiromi worried about his hair getting too grey too fast? if not... could you...? 🥺

Domestic Bliss: Higuruma Hiromi #4, Silver Fox

Hiromi leant on his desk, elbows planted and face buried deeply in his palms. The stress would surely kill him. He wondered, vaguely, about making his life insurance policy more generous, in the likely event of him dying young. At least, then, you'd be looked after.

After another lost case, however, Hiromi saw it as far more likely that he'd murder the Judge and Prosecutor instead. He laughed to himself, a chuckle ringing through the empty office. As if.

Running his fingers through his hair with a groan, and gazing into his palms, Hiromi's stomach dropped. At least half of the stray hairs caught in his fingers were...grey.

Hiromi felt them in dismay, his mouth comedically downturned. Coarse. Almost wiry. Nothing like his usual silky black hair, those corvid feathers that you loved so much, now being devoured by time, and shit, I'm starting to look like an old man I can't have it she'll hate it I can barely keep up as it is fuck fuck fuck--

Hiromi stood with a groan, and stopped himself, sounding like his grandfather. He caught his own eye in the reflection of the shining gold tellers' lamp on his desk. He pointed to himself, stern.

"Get your shit together, Higuruma."

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Arriving home late, you stepped straight into the other side of a striptease. A discarded black and white suit led an enticing trail to the bathroom, in the order of: shoes, suit jacket, socks, shirt, trousers. You kicked your own shoes off, following the trail with a jaunty call.

"If I get in there, and you're still wearing boxers, I'll be very disappoi--...Hiromi, what on earth are you doing?"

Hiromi sat on a kitchen chair in front of the bathroom mirror, surrounded by the sickly sweet scent of hair dye, the remnants of a box scattered around the sink. With a towel around his shoulders, and solemn eyes, Hiromi held out the prepared bottle of dye to you.

"Help me?" He begged, his voice small.

You sighed, stripping off slowly to your skirt and blouse. Hiromi waggled the bottle at you, which you took, and stepped in front of him. He would not catch your eye. You ran your fingers through Hiromi's hair, and he couldn't help but purr, leaning into your touch. Your fingernails across his scalp never failed to make his cock twitch.

"And why do you think you need this?" You asked, pressing Hiromi's forehead forwards against the plush of your belly. "I thought you loved your hair."

"Yes, quite. Loved. Past-tense." You looped your finger through the strands of silver and black, like crema on an americano.

"Well, I love it. Right now. Present-tense."

"You're just trying to make me feel better--"

"--of course I am, I'm your wife--"

"--who deserves someone not even half as decrepit as me--"

"--who deserves to see you age. And mature, like wine, or cheese, or Maggie Smith--"

Hiromi grabbed your hands, standing and pressing you backwards against the sink. His towel slid from his shoulders, leaving him in just his boxers as he glowered over you, stern and authoritative in a way you rarely got to see him. A wave of heat burst from your heart, outwards.

"Enough. I hate it. Get rid of them for me. Please, I'm...not ready yet. Not ready to get old. It feels...everything feels wrong. Something feels...wrong."

You swallowed, and allowed him to lift you onto the counter, looping your arms around his shoulders as he tried to bury himself into you. You felt an eerie disquiet trickle, cold, down the back of your neck.

"Hiromi...you're not old. Grey doesn't mean old. You've just...lived. You're beautiful. My silver fox."

Hiromi sighed, the hot puff of air from his nose against your neck. Stress rolled off him in waves. You stroked his hair again, cradling his head against you. Hiromi murmured.

"I'm sorry, it's just...what a stupid last straw." He berated himself. "My fucking hair. I knew there were a few greys, but-- just-- not that many."

Hiromi was silent again, the nuzzles of his nose growing needy, almost aggressive as they built, his lips dropping petals against your skin. You locked his hips between yours, satisfied by the shudder he rewarded you with, his cock straining against your core. He mumbled through his kisses, fragile.

"...Oe's case tomorrow. Oe Keita. I just wanted to feel...vibrant. Powerful. Not washed out, not ugly, like-- like--"

You silenced Hiromi, slipping your hand flat against the black trail of hair on his belly, your fingertips grazing the base of his cock. He swore, bucking into your touch, shoving his boxers down to free his weeping cock. You whispered to him.

"Not ugly. Yes, powerful. And you'll be amazing. You always are." Hiromi moved with urgency now, yanking your skirt up, and your panties aside. Stroking his tip between your folds, his corded shoulders heaved with the clawing need for relief.

"Even if I'm late home," Hiromi gasped, as he pressed himself inside you, gripping you before you could squirm away, "even--even if I'm late-- wait for me-- please--"

"Always." You whispered, carding your fingers through those feathers of black and grey, arching with bliss as you felt him begin to move within you. "Just...come home to me. Just as you are, now. Present-tense."

#pseudowho #higuruma hiromi #higuruma hiromi x reader #higuruma #higuruma smut #higuruma x reader #hiromi higuruma #hiromi higuruma x reader #jjk higuruma #jujutsu kaisen higuruma #higuruma hiromi smut #higuruma hiromi x you #higuruma hiromi fluff #hiromi jjk #Higuruma Hiromi angst #Higuruma angst #hiromi x reader #hiromi smut #pseudowho answers you

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fanaticsnail · 3 days

Note

my heart?! anon?! snail?! why must you hurt me so?!?!?! i demand (gently, in an easily refuse-able way) a fluffy bandaid!!!!

in the same style as kiss, marry, kill- have! 'realising you're in love', 'requited pining (they're idiots your honor)', and 'confession'! Either with the original three or... hmm -narrows eyes- kid, luffy, and torao.

the choice is yours (in multiple aspects) just ;w; owwww asldjkgljdfgklfd - @remisloves

How about some longing from Eustass Kid, Remi? I don't think I have it in me for the other two, but I could do some longing from Kid before I dive right back into writing his pollen.

Longing

Masterlist Here

Word Count: 880+

Synopsis: Eustass Kid doesn't know how to behave around you, especially now that he's developed feelings for you.

Themes: Kid x reader, pining, longing, yearning, wanting, desiring, dancing, drinking, Kid is gonna do something about it soon enough, platonic!heat x reader, confessions of love.

Notes: I broke my own heart by writing "Kiss, Marry, Kill" with a few of my favorites. I wanted to see what some fluffy longing would look like on Kid to make up for my sadess.

Sitting at the head of the lengthy dining table in the center of the tavern, the captain of the crew of the Victoria Punk sang and drank in full merriment. Another successful victory had come at the swift hand of his gaggle of misfits, and he was none other than the proudest of leaders.

As the music began to swell, several members of the crew got up to dance with one another. Bubblegum took Quincy by the hand and twirled her into himself with lazy joy in his chuckle. Quincy began to sway her hips to the beat and tap her toes with a simple ease, all with a wide smile on her lips.

The melody turned deeper, grungier, and with heavier beaten drums to match. Swinging hips and swirling arms, the crew began to dance a little closer. This normally would never bother him. As a captain, he enjoyed watching his crew build rapport with one another.

What he didn't anticipate was the way his heart jumped up to his throat when he met his caramel-colored gaze with your body. Sultry grinding motions, and tugging his fire-breather by the belt at his hips towards the dance floor, your smile mirrored Heat’s as he laced his arms around your neck and gazed playfully in your eyes.

It was no secret that Kid was fond of you as his counselor. You were his second closest confidant after Killer, and he adored you. He loved the way you kept him in line and level headed. He loved when you smiled, it lit up the whole room. He loved how caring and thoughtful you were with each of his crewmen, catering to their individual personalities and complex needs with ease and compassion.

He loved you.

As you released Heat’s belt and turned in his arms to lean your back into him, Kid almost jumped out of his chair and growled at Heat for raking his hands down your hips. Heat tugged you firmly back into his pelvis, you both rocked your hips from side to side and laughed at how easy it was to dance to the beat with one another.

Kid watched on in anguish, his face betraying his emotions and a forlorn expression plastered on his painted lips. As he turned back to his ale, he felt a firm hand clap on his shoulder. Turning to his first-mate, Killer tilted his mask to the side and angled his chin down.

“Yeah, yeah,” Kid said, shrugging off his scythe-wielding best friend’s hand, “I know you're smirkin’ under there, big guy. Shut up.”

“I didn't say anything-,” Killer began, halting when his captain cut him off with a growling warning.

“-It was a preemptive ‘shut up,’ Kil,” Kid barked, raising his tankard and taking a hefty gulp of his ale, “A ‘shut up,’ just in case you were gonna say somethin’ stupid.” He mumbled, turning his gaze back to where you and Heat were now facing one another.

“And what stupid thing was I gonna say, Cap?” Killer’s smirk was felt in every word, much to Kid’s chagrin. The Red-Haired captain turned his shoulders and shifted his stance to flare directly in the beady holes in Killer’s blue and white mask.

“I dunno, man. Somethin’ like: ‘You’re in love with the ship's counselor and you're too much of a coward to do anythin’ about it’,” Kid mocked in a voice not unlike the first-mate, which prompted Killer to give him a playful punch in the shoulder.

“And what then?” Killer added, raising his ale beneath the edge of his mask and taking a quick, sneaky sip, “What would you say to this ‘something stupid’, hm?” Killer teased his captain, nudging him with his shoulder.

Kid took a final gaze at you as you turned to meet your eyes with him. As soon as your orbs met with his, Eustass Kid felt a tug on his heartstrings in a way he could not describe. Something between wanting, craving, and longing.

“I would say you’re right, Kil,” Kid spoke in a voice so low that Killer had to strain his ears to hear that weighty confession. “I’m in love with my counselor.” You shot him a soft wink before turning back to your dance partner, inviting Wire into your twirling and shimmying.

“And what are you gonna do about it, Cap?” Killer urged him on, kicking his shin with his boot-heel and breaking Kid out of his momentary hypnosis. Kid pondered for a moment, shamelessly raking his eyes over your body as you urged Heat and Wire towards the bar and attempt to get the barkeeper’s attention.

“I think I’m gonna get another drink at the bar,” he hummed, a slow grin tugging up at his cheeks as he noticed your casual gaze at him over your shoulder, “And then I’m gonna dance with my counselor some. Show 'em how it's really done.”

Captain Kid downed the last of his tankard before sliding the chair out from beneath him, kicking it back and uncaring as to where it landed. Stomping over towards the bar, he hooked his right arm around your waist and tugged you to press your left hip against his right before ordering another round for his crew with a grinning bark.

“Go get ‘em, Cap,” Killer whispered under his breath before bobbing his head to the new beat.

#one piece #x reader #one piece x reader #op kid #eustass kid #eustass captain kid #kid x reader #op kid x reader #eustass kid x reader #one piece fluff #eustass kid fluff #ask snail #snail answers

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thesilmarillionblog · 3 days

Text

A Sweet Distraction

Summary: When you're in a club, you have to make sure Soldier Boy stays out of trouble and doesn't draw attention of other people while Butcher and the boys look for Payback members. Whatever it takes, you have to keep him busy and distracted.

Pairing: Soldier Boy / Reader

Warnings: Language, Soldier Boy being a dick, violence

Word Count: 1704

A/N: English is not my first language.

You put on modest makeup, adjusted your outfit, and gave Butcher a brief glance in the mirror as you prepared to go out with the most dangerous and unpredictable supe alive to keep him distracted. Although he was aware of your fear of Soldier Boy and your lack of desire to spend as little time as possible with him, Butcher believed that you were the only person fit for this dreadful task. You already felt bad about accepting Butcher's suggestion after learning about Soldier Boy's outburst and everything.

“Hey, I know you're new here, but while we're away, it might be best if a lady kept him in check. Don't misunderstand me, lovely.” Butcher remarked, placing his hand on your shoulder to encourage confidence in you. You sighed with acceptance at that.

You reluctantly said, “Fine,” as if you had the option to say ‘no.’

“Oi, I'm not making any sort of suggestion, you know. I just ask that you keep your eyes on him.”

“I know, I know,” you quickly answered as your cheeks started to blush.

You were assigned your first job, but it seemed like your last mission because Butcher, who called you "his boys" only a week prior, forced you to join his team. Being aware of Solider Boy's reputation for uncontrollable explosions, you made every effort to stay away from him during your first week. There didn't seem to be any way to get in touch with him, though. Either Soldier Boy himself would be the cause of your death, or Butcher.

“Don't misjudge him; as long as he drinks and fucking sniffs his cocaine, he won't cause a scene. You'll be alright, I promise. He's not all that miserable.”

Even if you had doubts about Butcher's belief in his own remarks, you nonetheless nodded to him.

“Alright. Yes, indeed, I understand.” You muttered to Butcher. “I can handle this,” but in reality, you were talking to yourself.

“Excellent!” he exclaimed while clapping his hands. He was glad you avoided arguing with him. “My car is yours, and we'll get the van. Let's not keep Soldier Boy waiting around much longer.”

As you looked at yourself in the mirror one more time, your heart raced, and you took a sip of whiskey from the closest table.

You entered Soldier Boy's room, where a massive amount of cocaine was on his table, and he was already getting high. You did your best to avoid staring at his massive, well-muscled chest while he was somewhat naked. You were afraid that weed use would increase his nervousness levels or something, or worse, cause him to become even more unstable. You were waiting quietly beside Butcher, wanting to say something about the current state of things, yet you uttered nothing.

“Hey, are you prepared to enjoy yourself in the modern world?” Butcher inquired in a lighthearted manner.

You retreated a step as he approached you, asking, "With her?" with a grin on his face as he examined you from head to toe after standing up from his chair.

“Buddy, don't be harsh on her; she's already scared of you.” Butcher spoke firmly, and he added, “Y/N will just be your company tonight while me and my boys look for your most devoted teammates. She is one of us.”

You turned your back as your cheeks became red while Soldier Boy raised his eyebrows and turned back to Butcher. He proceeded to smoke while pulling down his sweatpants suddenly and putting on a shirt over his bare chest.

“I wouldn’t try,” Soldier Boy said as he changed his clothes. “She better take me to a good fucking place. I’m sick of staying in this fucking room.”

“That is not anything to worry about for you.” You all left the room as Butcher murmured.

You and Soldier Boy arrived at one of the most well-known and weird clubs, which was primarily packed with supes, after having nothing at all to talk about while driving. Soldier Boy's mouth curled into a satisfied smile as you became extremely nervous.

As soon as you two walked into the club, he said, “Not bad.”

If you were a supe, you would find it much easier to adjust to the environment and everything, but you weren't, and if you pissed someone off, they could kill you in a second. That's why you got a drink right away and followed Soldier Boy everywhere.

He removed the drug from one of his pockets and said, “I wonder if there is a fine chick to fuck,” before turning to face you. “All the sperm feels heavy in my balls though I jerked off at least five times, fuck.”

You said to yourself, "Oh, god," as he continued to spit filthy words. He turned to face you, licked his lips, and gave you a smile that was so inviting that it stopped you in a moment.

He asked, “What happened now?” as if you were exaggerating. “I thought you all wanted to take away my attention.”

As you were going to say something unpleasant about his actions, you remembered what Butcher had said and changed your mind.

“It is not important.” You sipped your drink and kept an eye on the folks in the crowd who were getting wild, intoxicated, and dancing, and you added, “Everything's fine.”

Soldier Boy smirked as he saw your shy demeanor and chose to focus on you briefly before giving someone a hard and deep fuck. He may even attempt to get you to open you spread your legs for him so he can give you a satisfying fuck. Your bashful demeanor made him wonder if your pussy was as tight as he thought it was.

“You don’t need to be scared of me, you know,” Soldier Boy said and he gave you another inviting look.

You muttered, “How is that even possible? After all, you are a supe on cocaine with PTSD.”

Even though you felt bad right away for speaking out loud, he only laughed at your harsh remarks and replied, “Touche.”

You asked him with an uneasy smile, “Are you having fun?”

"Well, sweet thing, I'll start having fun as soon as my dick disappear into some really tight pussy.”

You muttered, “Okay, okay,” cutting him off from continuing. You took a deep breath, muttered, “You keep having fun, I will be around,” and hurriedly moved away from his side.

You just hoped that the night would end soon enough for you as you faded into the crowd. Should you get through this night without injury, you vowed to spit hate in Butcher's face.

You chose to watch Soldier Boy from a distance, so you made some space between you and tried not to pay attention to the bizarre and frightening behaviors of the people around you. It appeared to be a massive freak show. You couldn't determine which club was worse, Herogasm or this one.

As you locked eyes with Soldier Boy, you noticed that his lethal green eyes were already bound to you, as though you were some kind of prey to be pursued. He frowned as he moved to approach you through the chaotic crowd, and you gasped. Perhaps you were just making things up in your thoughts, and he was just staring at someone else. You tried pushing some people and finding a quieter place to avoid him.

But the person you might have shoved hard turned around and yelled, “Why the fuck are you pushing my fucking back?” to you. He became increasingly enraged after you muttered an apology, saying, “Why do they even let ordinary people get in here? You only bring difficulty upon yourselves, fuck.”

Once more, you pleaded, hoping to get out of there without stirring up any more tension. “I sincerely apologize.”

You moaned in agony as the supe's large hands gripped your arm tightly. It was not as if he would give up. You should never have accepted Butcher's suggestion in the first place.

But happily, Soldier Boy's stronger hands grabbed the strangers tightly, saving them from a terrifying situation in an instant and giving them a sense of happiness. If not, it appeared unlikely that you would survive to escape this strange club. As Soldier Boy turned to face the supe stranger and shot you a glare, you touched your arm with a painful moan.

“Is it that, you fuckface, your micropenis gets hard for the weak? You wanna play the big bad tough guy?” Soldier Boy asked angrily as his hands tightened a rough, quick grip around the other man's throat. He wasn't allowing the other supe to say anything. With feeble mutterings, he was urgently attempting to free himself from Soldier Boy's brutal hold.

“Please, don't cause any trouble,” you urged, touching Soldier Boy's big arm. Despite your attempts to calm him down, he continued to tighten his hold even after the supe kept apologizing.

“No,” he angrily said. “I found a way to have fun. This fucking cocksucker is going to die.”

You tried to get him to move by saying, “Please, stop,” but it was obviously impossible. You panickedly muttered, “Oh, no,” as you noticed his chest suddenly glowing.

He clinched his mouth, trying to control his chest and halt what was about to happen, but Soldier Boy threw him between the crowd and he growled, “Stay away.”

You knew that you wouldn't make it to the exit between all the chaos and supes before Soldier Boy exploded, so you disregarded his warnings, softly cupped his neck, and placed your cold lips on his warm ones, hoping to surprise him with your unexpected move and calm him down a little.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿

A/N: I might write a part 2, but I don’t know, haha. Comments and reblogs are very appreciated.

You can check my Masterlist for more Soldier Boy / Reader stories. Thank you!!

-`♡´-

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carolmunson · 2 days

Note

7 ✨ with any lil steve for me? 🥹 tis your daughter (the first born)

—⭐️🛼

‘don’t think about it, boy leave her alone.

she likes my tone, my cologne, and the way i roll.’

wealthy!steve/pbv!steve

He tucks his hair behind his ears before running over it with pomade, boar bristle brush following up after his deft fingers. It was his grandpa’s, he thought it was the slickest thing ever. His grandpa taught him how to comb his hair like greasers used to in the 50s — his dad didn’t love that. Didn’t love that his son used Farrah Fawcett spray either — but you didn’t mind. You didn’t mind one bit.

“Babe, where’s my — oh,” you smile when you catch him styling his hair, plush lower lip tucking in between your teeth, “Hey.”

“Hey,” he smiles back at your reflection while he perfects the swoop of the sides, the top perfectly coiffed. He watches you stare for a little while he continues with his pomade, structuring the top just so.

“Did you come in here to ask me a question or just stare at me, Manhattan?” he asks, snarky grin pulling at his original smile — glint in his hazel eyes.

“Uh — oh,” you shake your head, a breathless laugh coming from your chest, “Where’s my black coin purse? The beaded one?”

He rest the tip of his tongue on his teeth while he thinks, brows contorting while he looks at you through the mirror. After a moment he snaps his fingers, turning to you fully.

You feel silly over how your skin gets hot when he turns around in his Stefano Ricci suit. Black on black, only the flash of a gold tie clip on his sternum to break up the color.

“I brought it to my tailor, honey,” he frowns, “I’m sorry, I forgot to tell you. Remember the last time you brought it out and some of the beads pulled? I wanted to get it fixed.”

You scrunch your nose, disappointed, “You’re lucky you’re hot, Harrington.”

He snorts, turning back to the mirror to give himself a once over before spritzing himself with his standard Dior Homme. He likes how your eyes darken a little whenever you smell it on him. Steve liked to call it his ‘liquid guarantee’.

“You have ten other black bags you can wear tonight,” he offers, making his way to your shared dressing room off the side of your suite where you stand in front of all of your purses.

“I just had my heart set on that one for this dress,” you shrug, “It’ll be fine. Worse things have happened to me. I mean — you’re here.”

He clicks his tongue again, coming up behind you where his hands smooth over your shoulders, nose gliding up the side of your neck. He can feel the goosebumps raise on your skin, “Bring the silk one, that’ll be pretty.”

“You sure?” you ask, heart fluttering when you hear his deep, bass-y ‘mhm’ in your ear.

“You smell good,” you mumble back, vision getting hazy while he encompasses you from behind. His lips press softly against the base of your jaw.

“Thank you, angel,” he kisses again, voice husky. Steve leans forward, grabbing the black silk coin purse from its spot on the wall and tucking it into your hand while you lean against him — jello, “Now let’s go.”

#wealthy!steve #pbv!steve #steve harrington #steve Harrington x reader #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington x thick!reader #steve harrington x you

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izelascendant · 1 day

Text

Sportsmanlike

Chapter 4 - Stanford

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Rating | Mature Summary | Art attends the event with his plus one. Pairing | f!Original Character x Art Donaldson x Tashi Duncan x Patrick Zweig Tags | Tennis, Competition, Love Triangles (Squares?), Jealousy, Plot, Emotional Infidelity, Eventual smut, Eventual Romance, Eventual Relationships Word Count | 2.2K Author's note | I'm gonna be honest this is pretty much just a smut chapter. SMUT warning.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Sportsmanlike on AO3 | Chapter 1 - US Open 2006, Chapter 2 - Finalist Fusion, Chapter 3 - Aftermath and Accolades, Chapter 4 - Stanford, Chapter 5 - Stanford, Part 2, ...

Art

As Art digs through his closet, scanning his limited options, he holds a tie up to his neck, looking at his reflection in the mirror. The sudden sound of his door opening startles him, and he turns to find Patrick casually inviting himself into the room.

With a mix of frustration and amusement, Art turns to face Patrick. "You do know you can knock before coming in, right?"

“When have I ever?” Patrick breezes into the room, his hands casually placed on his hips. He arches an eyebrow and pauses, taking a good look at Art before letting out a small whistle. "Hot date tonight?” he teases with a sly smirk on his face.

Art lets out a snicker, amused by the situation. "Nah, it's just this fancy event I gotta attend," he explains. "You know my dad's friend, the tall academic guy? He's hosting it, so I can't really skip it."

Patrick moves about Art's cramped dorm room, his movements aimless as he pretends to survey his surroundings. "Not bringing me as your plus one?"

A momentary silence hangs between them, Patrick’s words seemingly hanging in the air. Art turns to face him, tossing the tie onto his desk. "Well, you're leaving," Art simply states.

"That I am," Patrick replies with a sigh as he gazes at his friend, a tender smile gracing his lips.

The moment between them stretches, filled with a silent understanding. Then, Patrick steps towards Art's closet, breaking the silence. "Alright," he says, a sense of determination in his tone as he begins to rummage through Art's clothes. "Let's see what we're working with."

Art's chuckle fills the air as he playfully questions Patrick's determination. "Since when have you become the fashion expert?" he asks as he peels off his t-shirt, tossing it aside to try on one of his shirts.

Instead of a verbal response, Art hears Patrick murmur from behind the closet door. "You sneaky little fuck."

"What?" Art’s eyebrows furrow in confusion as he turns to face him, genuinely puzzled by Patrick's sudden comment.

Art's heart skips a beat as he spots the lace panties clutched in Patrick's hand—the same ones she had forgotten on the hotel floor the night she left with Tashi in a rush after their encounter —Patrick had discovered a secret Art didn’t even think to mention to him.

Patrick breaks into a hearty laugh, his eyes widening in disbelief. "You son of a bitch, I can’t believe you," he exclaims, a sense of teasing in his voice. "Just how long have you had these?"

"It's not like that—" Art quickly defends himself, trying to maintain his composure. "What was I supposed to do, give them back? That would've made me seem creepy." He takes a deep breath, his flustered tone betraying his attempt to rationalize his actions.

"And keeping them in your sock drawer for months isn’t?” Patrick's teasing laughter fills the room as he continues to poke fun at Art's secret.

"Hey—you recognized them," Art scoffs, his embarrassment still palpable in his voice.

Patrick's eyes sparkle with mischief as he holds up the panties, examining them intently. "I can't even blame you," he teases, his tone filled with playful admiration. "I would've done the same if I had gotten dibs.”

"You have a girlfriend!" Art retorts, his voice tinged with a mix of frustration and affectionate exasperation.

“Relax.” Patrick flashes a smug grin, tossing the panties back into the drawer before giving Art a firm pat on the shoulder. "I'm just messing with you." He saunters towards Art's desk chair, making himself comfortable as he sits down. "You should take her to this event with you, though.”

Art chooses to keep the truth that she is indeed his plus one to himself—for fear of the relentless teasing that would undoubtedly follow—he knows his friend all too well and can already anticipate the relentless jokes that would follow.

Patrick continues to tease Art, leaning forward in his seat. "You know she totally wants to fuck you, right?”

"Are you leaving or not?" Art rolls his eyes, his tone only half-joking.

Patrick stands up and ruffles Art's hair affectionately, pulling him into a warm hug. "Wear protection when you do finally fuck her, yeah?" Patrick teases.

"Fuck off," Art replies with a grin, embracing the hug they share. After a brief moment, he pulls away and asks, "When will you be back?"

"Two weeks or so," Patrick replies casually, strolling towards the doorway.

In the silence that follows Patrick's departure, Art's mind is left thinking about his words— "You know she totally wants to fuck you, right?" —the thought echoes through his mind. He takes a deep breath before returning to his closet.

Her

"I don't get it; he's so obviously into you," Tashi insists, her tone tinged with a hint of frustration as she assists with the zipper on her dress. "Give him a chance."

She raises an eyebrow at Tashi's suggestion, her voice tinged with a touch of amusement. "You're saying that as if I'm actively rejecting him," she says, a hint of defensiveness creeping into her words. "We both want to be friends—what's so wrong with that?—we're not ruining what we have."

Tashi lets out a sigh as she finishes zipping up her dress, her gaze lingering for a moment before she meets her eyes. "Don't you think you deserve a good fuck?" she says, her tone filled with amusement and suggestion. "And it's Art, c'mon."

She raises her eyebrow in response with a hint of humor, "You sound like you want to fuck him."

Tashi scoffs at her remark and instructs, "Turn around."

She turns to the side and takes a moment to analyze her reflection, a hint of uncertainty flickering across her face. "Please tell me you like this one, Tash," she implores, her voice tinged with a touch of vulnerability. "It's like the fifth one I've tried on."

Tashi takes a moment to admire her, humming appreciatively at the sight. "The baby pink flatters you. Give me a twirl." She commands.

"Tashi—" she begins, her tone laced with a hint of complaint, but her words are cut short as she sees the serious expression on Tashi's face. With a slight sigh, she complies, giving a quick spin and awaiting Tashi's evaluation.

Tashi's firm nod provides reassurance as she agrees, "This is the one." The decision is final—giving her stamp of approval.

The party takes place in the host’s luxurious estate, just a short distance from the university campus. Surrounded by a sea of middle-aged guests composed of friends, business associates, and others, Art deduces that they will probably be the youngest people at the event.

As she approaches, her eyes meet Art's as he stands in front of the house, his signature endearing grin widening when he notices her presence. A sense of warmth washes over her, the familiar crooked smile drawing her in—a gentle blush tints her cheeks.

"Look at you, Donaldson," she chuckles, her tone tinged with an affectionate sort of teasing.

“You look amazing in that dress,” Art replies, his sincerity shining through as his eyes practically twinkle, captivated by her beauty.

"Thanks, it was actually—" She stops herself, realizing she was about to mention that it was Tashi’s suggestion. Enough about Tashi—she’s here to spend the night with him . With a soft smile, she fixes her statement, "I chose it myself."

Art chuckles softly, expressing a tinge of regret. "You know, I feel kind of bad for dragging you here," he admits, acknowledging the lack of young people at the event. They look around, both recognizing the significant contrast in age among the guests.

"Don't feel bad, I'm the one who accepted the invitation," she replies, returning Art's smile. She then gestures towards the house, suggesting, "C'mon, let's grab a drink."

She wonders about Art's upbringing as they navigate the gathering, surrounded by guests of clearly wealthy backgrounds. Despite feeling somewhat out of place, she clings tightly to Art's side while politely greeting the various individuals who approach to greet them.

The first person to greet them is the host of the party. The older gentleman warmly approaches Art, his voice filled with fondness as he greets him. "Art Donaldson, my boy!" he exclaims, shaking Art's hand with a broad smile. "I am so glad you could make it."

Art responds with a warm smile before turning to introduce her. She offers a polite nod and a handshake as the host adds, "You're very lucky to be with him. He's an exceptional young man." There's a glint of pride in the host's eyes, emphasizing his admiration for Art.

A brief pause settles between them.

Art clears his throat and follows up with a nervous chuckle, gesturing between himself and her. “Oh, no—We’re not,” he clarifies, emphasizing their friendship. She chimes in, adding, "We're just friends."

The host responds with a chuckle and raises his glass, a suggestive smile playing on his lips. "Well, you're missing out." He then adds, "I grew up with his father, and I can tell you—marrying a Donaldson is the way to go.” Art can't help but feel himself cringe at the remark, silently wishing the conversation could end.

She exchanges a quick glance with Art, her amusement breaking through in the form of a small chuckle.

Art politely excuses himself from the conversation "It was great talking to you, Ron." He gestures towards her to subtly transition away from their interaction. "We're gonna go get ourselves a drink."

He turns to face her fully after stepping away. "That was embarrassing," he admits, his voice filled with a hint of nervousness.

She places her hand on Art's shoulder with a reassuring touch and laughs, "Art, I don't care." Her tone takes on a hint of lightheartedness. "If anything, it just made me curious." Her words are followed by a slightly mischievous smile as she jokes, "Maybe I’ll ditch tennis, work on my kitchen skills and try to inherit some of that Donaldson money ."

Art lets out a quick laugh as he reminiscences, his voice filled with nostalgia. "You know, you say that, but the real rich one is Patrick," he says. "You should see the estate he grew up in. It was like a castle."

"Is he really?" She turns to Art with a surprised expression. "He doesn't give off that energy," she remarks, still processing the new information.

As they walk side by side through the house, his smile widens as he continues, "Yeah, no, he's the real one you'd wanna marry."

She shakes her head with a soft scoff, a gentle chuckle escaping her lips. "I don't, though—thank god," she says, her tone light-hearted. But then she adds, "But whoever marries you will be one lucky girl." The sincerity in her voice is unmistakable as she turns her gaze away from Art for a brief moment, allowing the weight of her words to settle between them.

Art responds with a confident tone. "Whoever marries you will be just as lucky," he assures her. He maintains a casual demeanor, his hands casually placed with one in his pocket and the other holding his drink.

She responds with a disbelieving "yeah right" kind of smile, shaking her head slightly.

"I’m serious," he assures her, his tone leaving no room for doubt.

"What, you're making a promise to me? That I'll become a millionaire?" she says, a mix of amusement and disbelief on her face. Art's seriousness only adds to her amusement, but there's a softer quality to her laughter—a subtle appreciation for his sincerity.

Art smiles with an endearing smirk, confidently asserting, "Damn straight." There's a boyish charm in his expression as he speaks, his words carrying a hint of sweetness. "And—you know I keep my promises. You'll see."

Their eyes connect as she raises her glass—a hint of determination in her gaze.

"I guess I'll drink to that." Her words hang in the air, full of potential.

"Cheers." Art responds, a smile ghosting the corners of his lips as he clinks his glass against hers.

The night carries on with a familiar pattern—a guest would approach them both and express how lovely they look together, only for her to correct the assumption that they're a couple. Each time it happens, a mixture of awkwardness and lightheartedness fills the air, as they gently assert the truth about their friendship, finding humor in their inability to convince people otherwise.

The repetition starts to set in, and she decides to switch things up a bit, joining in on the playful act. An elderly woman approaches them with the customary question, "So, are you two together?"

Before Art can respond, she jumps in, her smile growing wider as she confidently replies, "Yes, yes we are." She locks eyes with Art, enjoying the playfulness of the moment.

"Oh, bless you two," The elderly woman's words wash over them, her voice laced with genuine joy. "What a beautiful pair," she continues, her words resonating with both of them. As Art listens, a new and unfamiliar feeling begins to emerge within him.

Art's gaze remains fixed on her as they make their way through the event, captivated by her every move. He watches as she interacts with other guests, her reserved demeanor adding to the allure of her presence. With each glance—Art finds himself lost in admiration as she graciously navigates the party—her charm and grace radiating softly.

Art is pulled out of his entranced state as she approaches, and he feels her whisper against his ear. "C’mon, I need a break from these people," she murmurs, her touch sending a jolt through him.

As they retreat into a quieter area of the house, Art walks along her side, his footsteps matching hers as they make their way down a calmer corridor. Upon reaching a quieter corner, he turns to her, "You okay?" His eyes meet hers, searching for any sign of discomfort.

She reassures him with a steady, "Yeah," her tone filled with a hint of playfulness. "I just wanted to escape for a moment." A subtle smile plays at the corners of her lips as she takes in their isolated surroundings. "I'm sure we won't be missed too much."

Art's amused huff turns into a soft smile as he watches her glance at the wide oval staircase, her hand reaching out to gather the delicate material of her dress. She walks up a few steps and takes a seat at an angle that offers some privacy from the area below.

Looking up, he spots her waiting for him, her head peeking over the railing, gesturing for him to join her. Without hesitation, he slowly makes his way up and moves to sit beside her, his eyes meeting hers.

Art feels his heart flutter as he struggles to find the right words to continue the conversation, but the coy smile on her face eases his anxiety. He swallows nervously before confessing, "I really want to kiss you right now." His voice comes out only barely about a whisper, a slight shakiness to it.

"I can tell." Her gentle reply comes in a whisper, as she brings her hand up to tenderly cup his face—a small curve in her lips forming at his confession.

Art holds his breath as she leans in, the closeness of her face and the anticipation building between them. He feels her approach, her lips parting slightly, and his breath catches in his chest, the tension growing. She teases him—letting her lips hover just millimeters away—her eyes glinting with mischief. Unable to resist any longer, she finally closes the gap between them, her lips gently brushing against his in a soft, tender kiss.

Art feels his heart race as his senses come alive, his body reacting to her touch, and he reaches out instinctively, his hands finding purchase on her waist. The kiss grows more desperate, yet the pace remains unhurried as they take their time to savor the moment. Their breaths intertwine as their lips meet again and again—creating a sweet symphony of open-mouthed kisses.

Art's mind reels as she tangles her fingers into his curls, keeping his head in place as their tongues seek one another's. His hands wander with a mind of their own, slipping from her waist to her hips and back again—his movements are gentle but indicative of his growing desire.

As their lips part, they both take a moment to catch their breath, breathing unevenly. Art gazes at her, his eyes filled with an adoration that borders on pitiful. The expression on his face makes her laugh softly, brushing a curl away from his face before pressing tender kisses along his jawline. He lets out a gentle sigh as she continues, her lips tracing their way down the sensitive skin of his neck.

Art's heart races as she moves her hands towards his belt, her coy smirk sending his senses into overdrive. "Is this okay?" she asks in a hushed tone, and his breath hitches in his chest. It’s clear that she’s enjoying the effect she has on him—how flustered she can make him.

“Here?” He swallows hard and glances over the railing to ensure nobody else is around. The thrill of the moment combines with the uncertainty, leaving him both nervous and eager at the same time.

"No one can see us from here," she whispers, the corners of her lips curled into the same little smirk.

Art's hand cradles her face—his expression is one of awe and almost disbelief as he gazes upon her—his voice dropping to a low, husky tone. "You're gonna kill me," he murmurs, his words a fervent whisper, his cheeks flushed a rosy shade of pink.

Her teeth graze across her bottom lip for a quick moment as she unbuckles his belt, reaching down to stroke his length, pumping him slowly in her hand. Art's head tips back momentarily as a quick huff escapes his parted lips, his attempt to maintain his composure failing yet again. Before he can regain his self-control, she leans in and seals their lips together in a sweet, tender kiss.

In a swift movement, Art finds himself leaning back, his body supported by the step behind him as he tries to suppress the sounds of his heavy breathing—her lips move up and down his hard length, stopping at his tip to shower it with small kisses and tentative licks—causing him to bite down on the inside of his cheek.

A soft moan escapes Art's lips, her name on his tongue like a sweet, desperate prayer. "Please," he begs, struggling from her teasing.

She listens to his sounds intensify as she fully wraps her mouth around him, her hands resting at the base of his crotch as she moves her head up and down in a rhythmic motion—his whimpers and grunts sound sweet and almost submissive—each sound fuels her determination to push him further.

"I'm not gonna last—" he warns her, his body growing warmer by the second, his skin flushed with a fiery shade of pink. He clings desperately to the railing, his grip tightening.

She swirls her tongue continuously as she gently takes his hand and guides it to her head, giving him permission to let go of his inhibitions. Art can't resist the pull, his fingers eagerly tangling through the fiery strands of her hair.

A string of cuss words escape Art’s lips as his breathing picks up and his grip around her hair tightens as he reaches his climax, his head hanging back and his eyes closing. She keeps her mouth sealed around his tip, swallowing every last drop before sitting back up straight and wiping her mouth with a blushed smirk.

Art's eyes flutter open, and a small chuckle escapes his lips—a hint of embarrassment mixing with the lingering heat of their encounter. He takes a moment to collect himself, tucking himself back into his pants with a slight hint of nervousness. His mind whirls for a moment, unsure of what to say or do next.

Her smile melts into a contented expression, her hand resting gently on top of Art's. Just as she stands up to take a step further, Art's soft plea stops her in her tracks. "Wait—" his voice resonates with a gentle urgency, his eyes fixating on her. "I want to do something for you." he whispers, his gaze locking onto hers.

“You don’t have to.” Her humble response hangs in the air, her voice soft and warm.

Art's eyes remain committed, his voice firm but affectionate. "I want to. Please?” Pulling gently on her hand, he brings her back to where he's sitting, his gesture filled with a quiet assertiveness.

Her eyes reflect in a loving manner as she nods in agreement, her gaze wandering across his face. Art leans in closer, his hand moving smoothly, gliding up to her inner thigh. The touch of his hand sends a shiver through her body, and she meets his advance by pressing her lips to his once again.

She assists by gathering the fabric of her dress, pulling it up a little further to allow him full access. Hesitantly, he trails his fingers along the fabric of her panties—his touch very light as he brushes across her soft spot.

"I'm not made of porcelain," She teases, amused by his shy touch. Her words carry a hint of reassurance, “I won’t break.” She takes his hand and presses it firmly against her, encouraging him to touch her with more pressure.

Art's hand reluctantly withdraws, and she quickly readjusts her dress back into place, just as the sound of footsteps reaches their ears. In a flash, they dart towards another secluded corner, Art's hand tightly held in hers. A sense of relief washes over them, and she lets out a soft chuckle.

Art's eyes meet hers, his gaze filled with longing—a silent plea of sorts.

“Listen, I should probably head back now.” She begins, still holding his hand in hers as she speaks. “We should probably keep this between us, I wouldn't want—”

“—Tashi to find out. I get it.” Art nods in agreement, a knowing smile playing on his lips, his tone understanding. “I’m glad you could be my plus one tonight.” He chuckles lightly.

"No regrets." She echoes his sentiment, adding her own affirmation to his words.

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sulumuns-dootah · 3 days

Text

I asked my best friend to name them & guess their kink: The Kings

I love seeing this kind of posts in other fandoms and tried my take on this. Hope you guys like it and will be interested in seeing my friends mind melt as the kinks get worse^^

༺☆༻

Satan

Her guess: Asmodeus

"He doesn't look like the demon of wrath. He's giving lust more than anything."

Her guess of kink: The gym

"Eeeeh... Dunno, gym? I've lost all confidence when he wasn't Asmodeus."

Mammon

Her guess: Mammon

Her guess of kink: Money

"I don't really get kinks, so other than that I guess... Pouring metals on your crotch?"

"How tf am I supposed to get Pygophilia from this photo?!"

Beelzebub

Her guess: Beelzebub

Her guess of kink: Biting and pineapple on pizza

'He's into B.O.'

"O.O"

Leviathan

Her guess: Lucifer

"How is this guy envious?"

'He...is envious of his past self when he's reading his diary...?'

Her guess of kink: Loves watching himself in the mirror while doing it?

'Well no... But one of my faves kinda has that..'

"Oh god :D"

'Anyways, Levi's into choking :)'

Lucifer

Her guess: Lucifer

Her guess of kink: Cutting? Stabbing? Scratching?

'Close. Crying :D'

"Eh? o.O"

'Oh and btw this guy has 30cm cobra :3'

"O.O"

#what in hell is bad #what in “hell” is bad?#whb beelzebub #whb satan #whb lucifer #whb mammon #whb leviathan

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spidybaby · 1 day

Note

Dull shine part 2 pleeeeease 😫❤️ ur srsly talented!!!

Dull Shine | Part Two

Summary: An advice and looking into the mirror makes Kylian understand why you left.

Warnings: cursing, depression topic, money issues.

A/N: It's meeee hiiii, I'm the problem it's ME. Sorry about taking so much time, I was solving some personal things, and now I'm freeeee 😫✨️ love you all so much ❤️

Also, heads-up, this is short because I think it's all it needs, not a full part two, more like a compliment that seals the deal 😀❤️

Part one

One day left.

That's what Kylian told himself when he woke up.

One day left for you to come back.

He can't deny that he wasn't the most excited person in the room the next day at practice. Everybody noticed, it was like everybody knew what happened that night.

But not at Luis Enrique's home. At his own, when he told you to move on from the problem he created.

When he ignored you, back turned to you. When you needed him the most. Every time he thinks about it, his heart sinks. It's a weight he's not able to lift.

His mother was the first to notice your absence. He walked into his home with something for you and you weren't there.

The first excuse. "She's working late."

Then it was Ethan. He called you to go to the movies and have a fun night. Wanting to see you after being busy with the team.

The second excuse. "She's sick, have a cold."

They both believed his words. Thinking you were being taken care of by him. But when the excuses kept coming. It wasn't normal anymore.

"Just be honest, we are your family." Fayza says. Sitting next to him. "Tell us what happened."

He sighs, ready to finally disclose his feelings. "She left a week and a half ago." He confess. Hands covering his face. "We had a fight, I said some things just days before, and she wasn't at the right mental place to deal with everything."

They didn't understood. How?

"What do you mean she left?" Ethan asks, standing up from his seat. "She left just like that? You let her leave just like that?"

"What was I supposed to do?" Kylian fights back. "She had her things packed, her ticket purchased and I thought that was the best thing. Don't you think this hurts me?"

"I can't believe you, Kylian. You lie to us, instead of admit that you fucked up. You lie straight to our faces."

"I was hurt, Y/n left, I was scared of facing that."

Fayza is silent, processing the information while her sons yell at each other.

"Enough, Ethan, sit down." She orders. "Kylian, you two broke up?"

He shakes his head no. "She just needed time. We were just not working together in understanding each others probl-"

"More like you weren't." Ethan interrupts. "Because all I hear is me, me, me. But you don't really think that same thinking got you where you are?"

He didn't fight back.

He knows his little brother is right.

"When will she be back?" His mother asks, worried expression.

"In a few days."

And those few days turned into just a few hours.

To be honest with himself, he was stressed. You were going to be back in Paris, but we're you going to be back with him?

Will the break become a breakup?

He was overthinking. That was not good.

Hakimi felt bad. He knew you better. When he heard what Kylian told him about you leaving, about Pamela belittling you, he checked his cameras.

The good thing about having money is that you can afford a very good quality security system. He heard how Pamela attacked you first. You then answered back, but you weren't going to let yourself get insulted.

He apologized to you over text. Asking you to forgive him and tell you how much guilt he feels about this whole situation.

When you read the texts, you felt weird. It wasn't his fault, or even Pamela's.

Everything was a mix of frustration, sadness and low self-respect you had for yourself.

You defend yourself from Pamela, but who was going to defend you from yourself?

You were the one belittling yourself.

Were you enough? You are.

But were you feeling enough? No.

Were you happy with Kylian?

And that question burned your mind for days.

You loved Kylian, he was your rock and you were his rock. You passed some critical times, but nothing like this.

Because he was there for you when you needed him the most, he was there when you lost someone, he was there when you felt homesick, he was there at you happiest.

But you didn't allow him to he at your lowest.

You notice how he was going out more, but he always asked you to come with him. Begged you to leave the house and accompany him.

You notice how he never heard you talk. But you barely even made conversation. You let him speak. When it was your turn, you only said, "I had a good day."

He had to fulfill the quietness with words.

Your mother asked you to think about therapy. Maybe there was something you needed that she or anyone couldn't understand. Something only you could.

And you did. You went to therapy while you were there. Every two days.

It was just the beginning, but it helped you understand that you had more than just a relationship problem. In fact, the relationship problem came from this.

Being blue is normal. We all feel like that.

But when you don't treat it, it can be rough. And you were doing that now, understanding that you needed help. Help that a trip home won't give you. Help that a fight with your friends new girlfriend won't give you.

But help that your lover can give you. He can be the hand to hold during this.

"Are you sure you'll be okay?"

"Yes, I know now what I need to do." You say, hugging your friend.

You felt nervous about coming back.

Would he be okay with that?

Did he realize he didn't need you anymore?

If only you knew how anxious he is at Paris. Watching the time every five minutes to see if your arrival time is coming closer.

He prepared your favorite meal. Got your favorite dessert, your favorite drink and even prepare everything for a bubble bath.

He needed you to know how much he appreciates you, how important you are for him.

You were nervous too, your leg bouncing and bitting your nails. You brought him a gift from your home. Something he asked you a long time ago, and you never got due to not being able to travel back home.

You asked for an Uber. Not wanting his chauffeur to pick you or him to get out in the coldness of Paris.

The whole drive was painful. You were overthinking.

Both of you were.

"Would she be back to stay?"

"Is this going to end?"

"What if he doesn't want me back?"

"What if this is the end?"

"Madame, we are here." The Uber called your attention once your things were next to you on the street.

"Merci beaucoup." You say, paying him and telling him that you will take it from here.

You open the gate with your control. The sound of it interrupting the calm of the evening.

When he heard the sound, his heart stopped for a second. He was about to throw up from nerves.

The giggle of the keys makes him stop, he feels like throwing up. He took a sip of water before looking at himself on his phone camera, checking if he looked presentable.

The smell of food hits you as soon as you walk inside. Leaving your suitcase by the stairs and slowly walking inside trying to find him.

His back welcomes you, he's focused on his phone to notice you walking into the kitchen. The table was ready, your favorite food ready to be served.

"Kyks?"

He turns quickly, smiling at you with soft eyes. He walks with open arms to you. You lock your arms behind his back, feeling his kisses on your face.

"Mon amour." He kiss your forehead. "How was your flight? Did you even sleep? Are you hungry? I made your favorite meal and I was waiting f-"

You interrupted him by kissing his lips, and all the worries from both of you are out the door. You know he's not mad, and he knows you still love him.

"It was good. Thank you for updating my seat." You answer his questions. "I did sleep, almost all the flight, and I'm very hungry. Thank you for cooking. I can't wait to try it."

He kiss you on the lips, smiling into the kiss. His safe space is back with him. There is nothing better right now.

He pulls you to the chairs, serving you the food and drink. You can tell he was happy. He looked fresh.

You eat in silence. The peace of it is different than before. There was no more weird silence that a video or keyboard sound filled.

"Thank you, I really appreciate this."

He nods, waiting for the right time to talk about all the things that need to be talked about. He lays his head on your shoulder. Kissing your neck.

You feel the same. You want to jump and talk about everything to end the topic and move on. But that was not the way.

However, procrastinating the conversation wasn't the way either. "Let's talk. The faster, the better." You smile.

"Impatient much?" He jokes. Standing up and taking the plates to the sink. "Let's go to the living room?"

You nod, standing up and grabbing his hand, directing him to the big fluffy couch you both love.

"I want to start." He says as soon as his body falls into the cushion.

"Okay, lovie." You smile.

He thinks for a second, how can he ask what he needs to ask? He knows that no matter what, it will hit.

"Why weren't you honest about you having money issues?"

Your expression didn't change. You knew he knew. Celine asked you to pick your check a few days after you asked her you were taking a few days off to rest your mind.

You asked Kylian to pick it up, and Celine gave him a piece of her mind. She felt bad about doing it and called you a few hours later.

She told him that he was an asshole if he couldn't even tell that you were having issues not only with your peace of mind but with how much you worked and felt bad about never been able to match the lifestyle he was.

"I don't have money issues, Ky." You say, low but enough for him to hear. "What I had was the concept that I needed to have a certain amount of money to be enough for you. Leading to me working extra and feeling less than everybody who was around and could give themselves the benefit of spending what I earned in a nightclub."

He nods, understanding. "You know that I'm not like that, right?"

"I do. You always supported me in any way you could. And I'm grateful for you. I just felt so out of place." You sigh. "And every girl who got close to your friends always asked me about your ex, how she was this way and this way. I felt like competing."

He can feel his heart sinks. He never wanted you to compare yourself to the girls he dated. There was a reason why he was done with those relationships.

"You are so smart." He says, hand caressing your cheek. "You have no idea how much I ever wanted to end with someone like you. Not only beautiful but a very strong woman who doesn't need other peoples opinions and who can shine on her own."

You can feel your eyes watering. You never thought that his words were something you needed, but you did.

"My ex-girlfriends are just that. Exes. You are my present and my future." He kiss your cheek. "And I want you to know that no amount of money or any girl who I ever got anything with is going to take the place you have in my heart. You are the one."

Your lips found his, you can't think of any future plans or anything that didn't include him. You know he was your one, and knowing you are his one is heartwarming.

"I'm sorry, I know I was acting like a bitch. I think I felt way too comfortable, and I was so wrong for not noticing that you weren't you. I promise I'm not going to let that happen again."

"Thank you for that." You smile. "I'm sorry too, I was overwhelmed with all the thoughts in my mind. I think I let the worst of it hit me and never paint mind to it."

"It's okay." He brings your hand to his mouth, kissing it. "You have me, and I'm going to be with you every step of the way."

The warmth in your heart is hard to describe. You are sure he will be with you no matter what. The same way you were for him when he needed you.

You hug him, falling into his embrace. His hands caressing your body while he left sweet words in your ear.

"We are going to be okay because we have each other." He kiss your lips and your head. "Tu m’as et je t’ai. Je t’aime, tu es mon monde." He humms.

#football #football fanfic #football angst #kylian mbappe imagine #kylian x reader #kylian angst #kylian mbappe x reader #football fluff #kylian fluff #football x you

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pretty-little-mind33 · 8 hours

Text

Tangerine x wife!fem!reader

Summary: When your sister's new mystery fiancé is someone you know from university, your husband isn't very happy.

Genre: fluff and hurt and comfort

Warnings: protective!Tangerine, reader is pregnant, mentions of stalking, knife/gun wounds, swearing, suggestive ending.

~ thank you to the anon who requesting this! ~

"Ah," you groan, burning yourself on the saucer as you transfer the pasta into the strainer over the sink. Your husband, who'd just finished setting the table to his liking, peeks his head inside the kitchen.

"You ok, luv?" he asks, coming over and guiding your hand to the faucet where he turns on the cool water, "All better, yeah?" he asks, almost mocking in the kindest way and he kisses the crown of your head as the water runs over your wounded palm.

"My poor girl," Tangerine is really laying it on thick now as he kisses behind your ear. "D'ya need me to finish up here?"

You turn, looking up at him, and nod, "Would you? They're coming over at nine and I haven't even showered or changed—and the warmth is making me feel all woozy." You emphasize this point by fanning at your face with your wet hand, water droplets cooling your skin, and Tangerine cups his hand over your stomach.

"'Course my darlin'. What an awful husband I am havin' ya cook while you're pregnant. I'm sorry, my luv," he says genuinely, ignoring your attempt to remind him you'd wanted to make the meal since it's your sister's favorite, as he practically shoos you away.

"I'll call ya down when they've arrived, hm?"

You nod, smiling as you make your way up the stairs to shower and change for dinner.

As the oldest, you've always been protective over your sister. Andy had this tendency to jump into situations impulsively and when she'd called and gushed over her new fiancé, you had been slightly concerned for her considering she'd gotten engaged within just four months of meeting him.

So, with Tangerine's approval, you had invited them both over for dinner.

Once you finish adjusting your dress in the mirror, you make your way downstairs and smile at the familiar sound of Andy's rambling.

The room smells like the spaghetti you'd started and Tangerine had finished, and you see that he has poured both Andy and her fiancé a glass of wine.

He hasn't poured one for himself considering he doesn't drink when you don't.

Seeing you, Andy instantly squeals and rushes up to pull you into her arms. "Oh my, just look at you," Andy exclaims and looks at your dress, which shows your baby bump, "You been taking good care of my darling sister?" She looks at Tangerine with a light-hearted frown and points at him accusingly.

"Mmhm, only the best for my darlin'," Tangerine smirks and moves closer so he can kiss your cheek. You feel all warm and fuzzy inside as you smile at your husband. You're too preoccupied with your happiness to fully hear Andy introduce her new fiancé until Tangerine nudges your shoulder and you look up at your sister's future husband.

You're happy you hadn't been holding a wine glass because it would have fallen onto the ground instantly.

"This is Oliver," Andy says, hugging him closely as she draws hearts on his chest. The man is tall and slim and he has dusty blond hair. His eyes, which the blue reminds you of Tangerine's, are piercing into yours and you shudder.

You know him.

Tangerine can see your discomfort and he squeezes your hand. He doesn't mention it. He doesn't want to make a scene and he's distracted by Oliver shaking his hand. "Hi," Oliver then moves his hand to you and he continues to stare. You feel sick but you know you have to shake his hand anyway.

"Hi," you answer and strain a smile.

Andy jumps in immediately with a new topic of conversation, happily introducing the man she loves to you and Tangerine. You feel like you're underwater as you stare at Oliver and all those memories; of the bundles of flowers and the endless phone calls swarm and drown you.

Tangerine's hand in yours is the only thing now keeping you above water.

"Excuse me," you say early into dinner as Tangerine finishes serving everyone some pasta. You've barely sat down but you suddenly feel sick to your stomach so you rush to the bathroom.

After only a moment, you hear your husband's worried voice from behind the bathroom door.

"My luv, are you alright in there? Is everything okay?" he calls and raps on the door with his knuckles.

You let him in instantly, your eyes round as you pull him inside the bathroom. Tangerine stumbles inside and looks you up and down with confusion.

"The baby's okay," you reassure him breathlessly and his expression softens.

"I didn't ask if the baby was okay," he says gently but places his hand on your stomach as a way to show he's grateful the baby is okay, "I asked if you were okay, my heart."

You look up at him, holding in your frustrated tears. "I know Oliver," you whisper.

Tangerine frowns but he understands what you mean. "You do?"

You nod and start to explain. "Yeah, I know him from university. We were classmates freshman year and then—it became weird. Remember that stalker I had? It's him. He was obsessed with me and would ask me out numerous times and when he finally asked for my number, he wouldn't stop calling and following me around. The university got involved and he left junior year. I haven't heard or seen him since but Tan, I know it's him. I just know," you sound scared and your husband hates the sound.

"Sweetheart," he says and pulls you in closer, his hands cupping your cheeks. "I believe you, darlin'. You wouldn't lie about something like this. What do you need me to do? Should I kick him out–or—"

"No!" you lean your head on Tangerine's chest, sighing as you clutch at his shirt, "Andy clearly loves him. I can't ruin this for her."

Tangerine's hand rests against the back of your head, his thumb soothing in your hair. "But, if he makes you uncomfortable—"

You interrupt him, "I can deal with one dinner and then I'll tell Andy about all this privately. It has to be her decision, okay?"

"I do not want your stalker as our brother-in-law, Y/n," Tangerine says sternly.

"It's not about us! It's about Andy and– please can you pretend I didn't tell you anything tonight?" you say, "And I'll pretend I don't remember him."

Tangerine can see the determination in your eyes. He wants to protest and tell you you don't have to go through with this dinner but he can tell you want to protect your sister more than yourself and he knows he has to respect that.

So, he puts on his best fake smile as you both return to the table. Tangerine hates pretending like this, especially because now he's overanalyzing every look Oliver is sending you. His blood boils even more when Olicer asks you,

"How far along are you?"

How dare that bastard ask about his baby?

You take a bite from your fork and strain a smile, nudging Tangerine's calf to convince him to stay quiet as you answer the question. "Almost six months now," you say and Oliver uses this as an opportunity to look you up and down which makes you visibly tense.

"Yeah, my darlin' has been a real trouper," Tangerine fakes a laugh at Oliver's question and rolls up his sleeves, wrapping an arm around your shoulder as he presses a kiss to your cheek. You know what he's doing instantly because you've seen the number of bullet wounds grazes and knife slashes he has on his forearms, as well as the tattoos that cover his skin.

He's intimidating Oliver and by the look on the poor man's face, it's working.

"And she has me to help 'er, right, luv?" He smiles and tilts his head in Oliver's direction, drumming his hand on the table as he brings attention to the scars there and the amount of rings he's wearing—especially his wedding band.

Oliver stares at you less after that.

As you say your goodbyes to Andy, you tell her you'll call her later, and then smile politely at Oliver—who doesn't say much to you or Tangerine and once your front door is shut you turn around and narrow your eyes at your husband.

"I saw what you did," you say and Tangerine raises his arms in mock confusion. He winks and then starts to clear the table. You follow him, trying to do the same but he sends you a look and you retaliate, instead leaning against the kitchen counter as you watch him.

"You didn't need to show him your scars like that. Andy doesn't know what you do for a living, remember?" you sigh.

Tangerine hums, "I wasn't showing them to her," he shrugs and loads up the dishes into the dishwasher.

"I wanted that bastard to know what I would do to him if he even considered hurting you again. I wanted him to know what I'm capable of," he finishes.

You sit down on a chair, holding your stomach and you sigh. Tangerine turns to look at you over your shoulder, "Ya okay, darlin'?" he asks, wiping his hands on a dish towel as he walks over and kneels in front of you, his hands on your knees.

You nod. "I'm just a little tired," you whisper.

Tangerine caresses your cheeks. "See, this is why I had to intimidate the bastard. You were under unnecessary stress and that makes him a threat to everything I hold dear," he whispers and kisses your stomach over your dress. "Ya know I won't let anyone hurt you, luv, yeah?"

"I know," you say, running one of your hands in his curls and twisting one in your finger as you contemplate admitting this. "I did think it was hot," you admit, "Seeing you show off your arms like that."

Your husband's grin widens. "Yeah?"

You glare at him and suppress a smile. "Oh, don't get a big head about it, you prat."

Tangerine laughs and stands up, leaning down and pressing a kiss to your forehead. He straightens up and flexes his muscles, sending you a playful wink. "Is this making ya all hot and bothered for me?"

You shake your head but the way you're staring at him says otherwise. Tangerine helps you stand, smirking as he sees that look in your eyes. He knows your pregnancy sometimes makes you hornier than usual and he can read your moods easily now.

"Want me to make the ache go away?" he teases and kisses your cheek.

You laugh breathlessly and wrap your arms around his neck. "Okay," you say and then look at him seriously, "But you're doing all the work. I just wanna lay there," you pout, "I'm tired."

Tangerine smiles and nods, "Such a princess," he teases and then succumbs to your wishes, "But anything for you, luv'."

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