#and the way they framed them holding hands with LOVER in the middle
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Genshin men Instagram HCs
Ft. Xiao; Scaramouche; Zhongli; Childe; Alhaitham; Kaveh; Tighnari
(gender neutral reader but wears a dress in Scara & Zhongli's parts)
Xiao // @ a1atus
★ ★ pre-relationship ★ ★
Very rarely posts
Never pictures of himself, you’ll only see his face in tagged photos
If he does post, it’s probably a new album cover of a band he likes, a particularly good plate of almond tofu from his favorite café, or—if he’s in a particularly good mood—a cute stray cat that befriended him on the street
Never edits anything but still takes pretty decent photos because he understands basic composition rules
Never tags anything but will sometimes write simple captions like “new guitar”
His pfp has not changed since he made his account and its literally just the blandest selfie you’ve ever seen—but he’s effortlessly photogenic so even when he’s just staring at the camera with a blank expression he looks hot
★ ★ in a relationship ★ ★
Xiao will unintentionally do his loyal boyfriend duties and like all of your posts but he never actually leaves a comment unless you specifically ask him to but you have to tell him what to say or else you’ll just get something like “your hair is nice” LOL
Maybe makes one post related to you but it doesn’t have your face—just picture of your hands holding each other or a photo he secretly took of you from behind as you admire some paintings from when he took you on an art gallery date
Still doesn’t write much in captions but if the post includes you, he always adds a little black heart emoji 🖤
Scaramouche // @ balladeer
★ ★ pre-relationship ★ ★
Vehemently claims he’s not chronically online but he definitely is
Def has a dark / emo aesthetic profile and puts more effort into it than he’d ever admit
Uses stories pretty frequently
Usually to show off his game stats and victories or to vent about some annoying inconvenience that's just happened to him
balladeer Jfc the train is late again I may as well just walk home everyday ffs
All his late night gaming photos are so highly saturated in his pitch black bedroom, the only source of light being his screen on max brightness and his violet RGB keyboard. If you raise the screen brightness on your phone you might be able to make out some empty Monster cans and ramen cups on his desk—he absolutely gives Discord / Reddit mod vibes 🤢
Definitely has a story archive just for Valorant 🤮
I wanna fuck him so bad it makes me look stupid—
Posts a few selfies to show a new piercing or the very rare occasion where he’s feeling really confident in his looks
unintentionally thirst traps the emo boy lovers; yes, I am talking about you and I—
Lightly edits photos or uses filters to make them look good but nothing extreme or super aesthetic, mostly just for decent contrast
Usually the first one to see any of his friends posts but never ‘likes’ them
Will leave snarky or sarcastic comments when the mood strikes tho
His pfp is a candid picture someone else took that he thinks he looks decent in—sticking his tongue out and giving double middle fingers to the camera
★ ★ in a relationship ★ ★
Makes a post or story for every date you guys have, even if it’s just a vague picture of your shoes together
He likes to show off that he has such an attractive s/o but also lowkey just wants to have a memory to look back on for the nights he feels lonely
Doesn’t post just you though, he’s always in frame holding you or touching you in some way—he feels the need to put some sort of claim cause he thinks people are gonna shoot their shot with you—he’s kinda paranoid and insecure, pls have patience w him
Likes and comments on all of your posts. Sometimes it's a snarky quip like if you post about you and your friends doing something funny he might comment “lmao ur so dumb” but if its a selfie or something you’re proud of, he leaves a little compliment and heart emoji.
YN0103 [bedroom mirror selfie of you shyly posing in a dress]
YN0103 Bought a new dress today…it’s not my usual style but I rlly like it 🥺
balladeer cute 💜
If anyone ever confronts him in person about his nice comments on your posts tho he’ll get flustered and claim his account was temporarily hacked LOL
His heart def flutters when you post a picture of him on your own account
He kinda can’t believe you’re proud enough of him to publicly post about him
Changes his pfp to the two of you together and, if you zoom in and squint, you can tell he’s kind of smiling <3
Zhongli // @ rex_lapis
★ ★ pre-relationship ★ ★
I’m sorry but I have to do it…
He has Facebook grandpa vibes
Like he has no idea how to use half of the features; stories are an absolute mystery to him. What is a reel?
But he tries to be supportive of his friends and will leave way-too eloquent comments with a Wikipedia levels of supplemental information
a1atus [ photo of a shiny Fender acoustic guitar laying on what seems to be a bed]
a1atus new guitar
rex_lapis Lovely new instrument, Xiao. You seem to have quite good tastes – that particular model is popular among many professional musicians. It is well renowned for its clear sound and beautiful mahogany exterior. If you wouldn’t mind, I would love to hear you play it someday over tea.
a1atus @ rex_lapis thanks
the way I cackled writing that exchange ygweyufgwyu Xiaos just like ‘thanks for commenting dad’
His pfp is not him—it’s probably a famous painting he likes or a beautiful white flower from a garden he visited
★ ★ in a relationship ★ ★
If you want him to improve his Insta game, you’re going to have to teach him, I’m sorry
On the up side, Zhongli is a great student and is eager to learn anything you teach him
Will try to post pretty regularly; usually somewhat mediocre photos of beautiful scenery like sunsets and flowers
Like Scaramouche, he enjoys the idea of documentary your time together so he posts something at the end of each of your dates
Your heart lowkey melts when Zhongli, very earnestly, asks after dinner if you’ll allow him to take a selfie with you to post on his Instagram
Regularly asks for feedback on his posts to ensure he’s properly taking your advice and improving :,)
He even starts organizing and naming story archives on his profile—simple titles like “tea,” “nature,” “friends,” and “my dearest”
Likes and comments on every single one of your posts and replies to all of your stories, even if he was there with you
Usually just lathers you in compliments on your beauty or tastes but they’re so thoughtfully written that it’s obvious he’s not “just saying it” and genuinely believes all the kind things about you he writes
YN1231 [photo of you twirling in a summer dress amidst a colorful of bed of flowers in a botanical garden, take by your friend]
YN1231 It’s finally starting to feel like spring! 🌸🌼🌺
rex_lapis While the camelias are lovely, they pale in comparison to your radiance. Your yellow sundress is also quite lovely and compliments your complexion in the morning sunlight. Truly a divine sight.
balladeer @ YN1231 @ rex_lapis ugh can you guys keep it in the DMs
- Changes his pfp to a selfie of himself smiling after you told him he should. The angle is a little odd but he’s so naturally attractive that he still manages to look good.
Ajax // @ tartaglia_on_top
★ ★ pre-relationship ★ ★
Doesn’t post too often but when he does, it kinda gives stereotypical frat boy
Like, lots of parties and shirtless beach photos with his friends
The surprise is the occasional posts of his little siblings and kids he volunteers with in between
He sometimes posts championship and practice photos from his martial arts competitions with captions thanking his team and mentors
Is pretty popular—has a few thousand followers, many are people he met just once or twice at parties or genuine friends and classmates, but the vast majority are online fans who just follow cause he’s hot LOL
Is the type of person you followed once after meeting a long time ago and never talk to again but you can’t bring yourself to unfollow cause he’s nice and his updates are kinda interesting and he’s hot
Isn’t online that much so he doesn’t like/comment on his friends’ every post but usually tries to leave congratulatory messages when someone accomplishes something or graduates
His pfp is a closeup of himself with a boyish grin he cropped from a group photo
★ ★ in a relationship ★ ★
It is super obvious when you guys start dating cause almost every post from that point is about you in some way LOL
tartaglia_on_top [photo of Ajax, sweaty and exhausted but clearly excited as he holds a trophy in one hand with the other wrapped around your waist while he presses a kiss to your cheek]
tartaglia_on_top Officially a 3 year championship winner! Thanks to my biggest supporter @ YN0720 😘
He’s not even consciously trying to post you all the time, it just happens because you are either always together or any memorable moment he thinks are worth an Insta post involve you in some way
You’re the only person, aside from his family - that he actually likes/comments on all posts for
Is the type of boyfriend to leave those super dramatic, embarrassing comments on your selfies like “DAAAMN BABE 🥵 finna make me act UP” and, in one particularly shameless case, “god youre so hot pls step on me queen 😍”
Please block him
He shamelessly liked all your past posts from before you too met as well—you were kinda mortified to wake up one morning to a notification that just said “what a lil cutie ❤️” on a post of yourself from seventh grade.
Changes his pfp to a couple selfie he took of the two of you kissing on a winter vacation in the mountains
Kaveh // @ kaveh.designs
★ ★ pre-relationship ★ ★
Obsessed with having an aesthetic profile
Like, the color palette of the background and clothing in his pfp selfie are carefully matched with the cover of each of his story archives, down to the hex code
He carefully edits every post and uses filters to make them all fit with his theme no matter how inaccurate to real life they may become
“Huh…I thought your bedroom wall was a bit more orange than this…”
“Oh, that’s cause I use 30% Juno in all my bedroom photos for a warmer finish.”
“???”
Despite his aesthetic profile, he doesn’t come off as particularly vain or narcissistic—only posts selfies when he’s has a particularly good hair day or changed his accessories
Most of his posts are of places he travels to (museums and big cities with interesting architecture) or his own sketches and rendered design projects
Online pretty frequently, always checks insta when he wakes up, before bed, and during lunch breaks
His stories are often project updates, interesting things he encounters throughout the day, or food photos
Only likes posts he actually likes and sometimes comments with photography critiques
tighnar1 [photo of a cluster of three bright blue mushrooms clustered against vibrant green grass and patches of dark, wet soil]
tighnar1 Proof the forest is an amazing place: found this beautiful little cluster of juvenile Rakkhashava mushrooms on my hike today. Great spotting by @ colleeei. Check my story for some cool mushroom facts. 🍄
kaveh.designs great photo composition, Tigh, perfect golden ratio on the caps.
tighnar1 @ kaveh.designs Thanks I guess…
Has a decent number of followers, many of whom are also artists familiar with Kaveh’s reputation from the Kshahrewar. Others just like his OOTD stories and charming smile
★ ★ in a relationship ★ ★
Kaveh revamps his entire profile once you two become official
His pfp becomes a candid taken by a stranger of the two of you together at an aquarium, holding hands as you point something out to him through the glass
It was taken by a photographer working at the aquarium as part of a promotion—the photographer showed you two the photo and asked for permission to post it on their official website and Kaveh was absolutely obsessed with the photo—it’s still one of his favorite and it doesn’t even show your faces
He still matches his archived story covers to his new pfp but his actual feed had become a lot more relaxed and natural now
He still slightly edits photos so they look as good as possible, but he doesn’t like using filters on photos of you or the two of you together because he thinks it would be a disservice to your natural beauty
Like Ajax, his posts and stories naturally become mostly about you whether scenes from your dates—candid photos he takes of you where he insists you look like art even though you’re just in pajamas with an unmade face—or even photos of things he sees throughout the day that remind him of you
Sometimes he posts stories of funny reels or art pieces he knows you’d like and tags you in them with messages like “@YN0709 omg remember when we were talking abt this?” and “me & @ YN0709💕”
Similar to Childe, leaves the most downbad, dramatic comments on your posts
YN0709 [swimsuit selfie]
YN0709 happy summer! ☀️🌊
kaveh.designs Oh my god my heart– 💘 I cannot believe I get to come home to this every night 👅💦
YN0709 @ kaveh.designs omg kaveh pls 💀
al_haitham @ kaveh.designs Every time I see one of your comments I regret ever learning how to read.
Alhaitham // @ al_haitham
★ ★ pre-relationship ★ ★
Only made an account so his friends would stop bothering him about not keeping up with things tbh
Checks his feed a few times a day but skips through stories if they’re too long/too many
Absolutely hates concert stories the most cause they’d loud, long, and filled with off-key drunken singing
Never likes or comments on anything unless it’s really interesting to him
Occasionally shares reels in his story that are like interesting history facts or official Akademiya announcements
Has a few posts (and only cause Kaveh would not shut up about it) but they’re mostly just pictures of book covers he’d just finished reading with a detailed review or literary analysis as the caption—but he’s mindful of avoiding spoilers for those who haven’t read it
However, he does have one post that stands out quite a bit
He posted an unintentional gym third trap because he just happened to be working out, as is routine, and thought it might be nice to share some tips on proper rope pushdown form
If you’re not a gym babe and don’t know what this is, I beg of you, please look up a gif or video and imagine Alhaitham doing this, shirtless. You’re welcome.
It has become his most popular post by far
His pfp is probably taken straight from his faculty ID card: plain background, bright lighting, neutral facial expression
★ ★ in a relationship ★ ★
After you two have become official and are pretty comfortably established in your relationship, he’ll post a photo of the two of you—probably one you took - with a simple caption like “Late night at Puspa Café with my favorite person 💚”
Everyone who knows him freaks out in the comments with variations of “omg hathie got an s/o???” and “wow he finally posted a normal pic of himself, y/n is a good influence” but he doesn’t reply to any of them lmao
If you use Instagram a lot, he’ll naturally become more active too because he enjoys learning more about what you like through your posts and stories
He likes all of your posts but never comments—if one of your posts interests him, he’d prefer to wait until he sees you later to ask you about it in person
He just wants an excuse to talk to you more
As he becomes more active, little bits and pieces of your relationship naturally infiltrate his feed
His latest book review post has your favorite mug in the background because the two of you had breakfast together
His informational story post of an antique Sumerian emerald he found at a street vendor is being modeled by your pretty hands because you were with him when he saw it and later given to you after the vendor insisted on Alhaitham gifting it to his “beautiful spouse”
He changes his profile picture to the two of you from one of your many reading dates, comfortably lounging on a loveseat in a quiet corner of the library—and this time, he’s softly smiling
Tighnari // @ t1ghnar1
Surprisingly active on social media
He thinks social media is a great way to share information about the importance of forest conservation and get people to appreciate the beauty of Avidya forest
Makes one post almost every day and multiple stories
Needless to say, 90% of his posts are of plants or small animals he finds on his hikes or while working
His most popular posts are those of cute squirrels and birds that are being nursed back to health after being found wounded—animals just seem to naturally love him so the pictures are usually taken by his coworkers because his arms are full with cuddly animals that refuse to move
The other 10% of his posts are from the occasional hang outs with friends or coworkers after work—snaps of iced fruit teas from Puspa café or colorful clay plates overflowing with Collei’s homemade pita pockets.
He makes sure to reply to or at least like every comment, particularly those from people asking questions about the plants he posts or how to become a forest ranger. Even simple “wow that's so cool” comments often get at least a “thanks, glad you liked it” from Tighnari
He tends to use some cute forest or food emoji when they fit with his posts. For example, 🍄,🥙,🦊,🐦, etc.
Also tends to use “:)” when replying to his followers because he knows it can be difficult to read tone in text-based communications
Tigh is basically a social media manager at this point oops
Because he is online so much, he naturally keeps up with almost everything his friends post and will like or comment on things he finds interesting
His pfp is a selfie of himself with a small yellow bird perched on his shoulder from one of his patrols
★ ★ in a relationship ★ ★
All Tighnaris written by me WILL follow the “fennec foxes mate for life” trope regardless of AU, it is an indisputable law of the universe
If you’re in a relationship with Tighnari, you should be prepared for stability and commitment in general
While he doesn’t go out of his way to make an official announcement post or anything like that, you become a regular feature on his page
Will tag you in anything you’re related to, unless you specifically ask him not to
t1ghnar1 [photo of a small, cream-colored fox brushing itself against Tighnari’s leg and looking up at the camera with large eyes]
t1ghnar1 On a walk with @ YN1229 this morning we spotted this cute little kit without her mom. 🦊 While adorable, foxes - even kits - are wild animals and should never be approached unless by professionals. We have informed the local animal control where she will be taken care of until we can locate her family. Photo by @ YN1229
He never outright announces you as his lover but he seems to spend so much time with you and refer to you so casually that his followers who don’t know him just assume you’re his spouse LOL
He doesn’t bother to correct them either :,)
bennie_boy Wow, that mountain is so high up - wasn’t ur spouse scared to go up there?
t1ghnar1 @ bennie_boy Y/n has been on so many trips like this with me that they’re pretty used to it. :)
Likes your posts as he see them on his feed and occasionally leaves a short comment like, “beautiful <3”
#genshin x reader#genshin impact x reader#genshin imagine#genshin scenario#genshin hcs#tighnari x reader#scaramouch x reader#wanderer x reader#kunikuzushi x reader#xiao x reader#childe x reader#ajax x reader#tartaglia x reader#kaveh x reader#alhaitham x reader#zhongli x reader#sm au#genshin sm au
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geto suguru is willing to lose a lot of things, but he has never been willing to lose you. you're the one thing he can't afford to see leaving, the one person in his life he wishes he could have brought with him when he turned over to the new side.
but he didn't. you left, and he watched you leave.
still, it doesn't stop him from yearning for you—for your presence, for your touch, for the person you used to be to him. he never finds another lover after you, far too hung up on what you were to fall in love again. he tried sleeping around the first few months but ultimately gave up when he realized none of them will ever once compare to you.
so he stops trying. stops trying to get anyone but you because no substitute can satiate him the way you do.
and somehow, by some miracle, he gets you.
suguru is convinced that you must be doing it for the greater good—a mission assigned to him by yaga, most likely, telling you to infiltrate suguru's plans by using his old fondness for you against him. your approach must be part of a deliberate plan, one that has been planned and carefully measured throughout the years. suguru isn't a fool, he sees right through it.
unfortunately for yaga, however, he has underestimated the sheer extent of what he is willing to do for you. to give up information in hopes that you'll stay with him for the night is nothing compared to the numbers he would pile up just for you, to the worlds he would burn down to have a future with you by his side. everything you ask, he'll give as long as you stay with him just a bit longer, as long as you kiss him and hold him as if he still matters to you, as if he's still loved by you.
"good boy, suguru." there it is, the sound of his given name flowing smoothly off his tongue after so long. suguru moans at the sound alone, his body trembling. your breath fans against his nape, just above where your hand is pressing his face into the mattress. suguru's breath comes out in short, desperate pants as he leans into your touch, hips raised and ass in display just for you.
your fingers are buried deep inside him, the squelching sounds echoing through the room. he's rented out a room for tonight, a middle-ground in which business exchanges can run through smoothly. suguru glances to his left, where a massive mirror is propped up. through it, he can see the way you're holding him up, half your fist disappearing into his hole. you're still wearing most of your clothes, only your shirt having been unbuttoned all the way through and it's now hanging onto your frame. you look beautiful like this, you always have, and suguru can't breathe at the sight of you.
suguru himself looks like a cheap whore this way, naked in contrast to your mostly dressed state, his mouth hanging agape and his eyes glassy, hair a mess all over the mattress and his legs spread open without a care in the world. he doesn't care, though, because you called him a good boy. suguru can be your good boy all you want as long as you keep doing this to him, keep holding him and fucking into him like you care.
when you pull your fingers out, he whines so loud that you have to pepper soft kisses all over the expanse of his back, murmuring sweet nothings against his skin. it's irrational, he knows, but he's already halfway to being fucked out of his mind that he doesn't care. suguru will never have you the way he used to have you, whole and unburdened, but he has you now, he doesn't want to lose any more of you than he has to.
"please," he sobs. please don't leave me, he means.
feeling your hand on his hips, a gentle balm soothing the scalding hurt building in his chest, suguru lets out another ruined sound. "i know, sweetheart." you're so soft with him, so gentle in taking care of him, that suguru can close his eyes and pretend that you're still okay. "let me take care of you, okay? trust me."
"okay," he rasps out because there's no question in that. he lets his head fall onto the pillows, shoulders flexing to soothe the tension there as he slips into a relaxed state on the bed. he trusts you. he trusts you so much that he would let you do anything to him. "i trust you."
you're especially gentle with him this time around, he realizes once you're sloppily thrusting into him, the head of your cock always fucking against his prostate rather than teasing him with each fuck. you don't loiter, but you always linger. your hands wander all over his skin, keeping him close to you. you're draped over his back, heartbeat pounding against the skin on his back.
tomorrow morning, you will go back to being enemies. you'll leave at the first sign of dawn, carrying an envelope with you containing all of your pre-agreed information. suguru will have to allow himself losses so that he'll have more of you some night some weeks, maybe some months, from now. tomorrow, this will all end and you'll break his heart a thousand times over in exchange for all the times he has ruined you by leaving. tomorrow, geto suguru will lose you again.
but for now, he is in your arms, reaching high after high under your gentle ministrations, and geto suguru, for however long this moment can suspend for, is loved by you.
( and when he slips into unconsciousness at the end of the night, not forgetting to slur out a weak, thank you as he does, he swears he doesn't imagine the way you press your lips against his hairline; as tender as it used to be when he could still call himself yours. a ghost of a lover in this haunted room. )
#this literally has such minimal sex can i even call it smut atp#but it's geto suguru ...#dom reader#male reader#top male reader#sub geto suguru#sub jjk#sub character#geto suguru x reader#( thirsts. )
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master list
eddie! x fem reader
summary: 3 years later; happy birthday
I can’t believe this is almost the end. It is so bittersweet to be uploading this and thanking you all for the continued support on this story. I hope you will miss eddie + tooty just as much as I will. The epilogue is next and then a fun little surprise for you all.
trigger warnings: fluff, sweet sweet fluff 💕
Crinkly paper streamers twist down into even boughs along the cedar planked walls. A homemade banner crafted with the best paint Melvald’s could offer, hung over the sliding patio door, freckled with glitter and deep hues of scarlet and onyx.
Carefully stenciled uniform letters spelling out a greeting for the birthday boy, line the banner— perfectly positioned.
Looking at it now, you can nearly feel the backache it caused from the leaned over pretzel position you were tangled in while attempting to make it look store bought. Instead it took hours and a ruined shirt to paint each letter with precision on your living room floor.
Red plastic cups were stacked in a corner on top of a cheap plastic table cloth adorned with paper plates and plastic utensils. A smaller card table from the Wheeler-Byer’s held a two tiered homemade cake, dolloped with sticky whipped strawberry frosting. His favorite.
Polaroids of the birthday boy were placed, in no particular pattern, with sticky tack to the wall above the card table holding the presents.
Various shots from the past year capturing adventures big and small. He had wanted that.
Wanted to remember every detail— an important step to moving forward, leaving the past in the dust and enjoying the second chance at life you had both been given.
The pictures were mostly candids, snapped in the blur of a moment, memories to be cherished for a lifetime to come. And although some of them were cheesy, or horribly cliche; they held delicate moments of the past two years of you and Eddie, together at last.
You suck the sticky remnants of frosting from your thumb as you carefully arrange a framed picture of his graduation day just so on the table, stepping back and admiring the hard work and weeks worth of planning you had done.
Your fingers dance along the sharp edges of the selected photos you had given Jonathan to print for you. 8”x10”, 5”x7”, colored, sepia tone, and even black and white you had wanted to give it more of a collage feel to the project, and Jonathan did a great job.
The pictures varied from moments that probably didn’t need to be remembered and ones that should have been taken by a professional, but it was perfect, exactly the way you had envisioned it.
A snapshot photo of Eddie’s plump lips wrapped around a brown beer bottle after a night of helping Wayne paint the outside of his trailer, his signature middle finger in the air, the rings glittering with the flash— was propped next to a candle.
One of Wayne and Eddie hugging on Christmas last year, a small tree tucked into the corner of the yellowing smoke stained walls and part of your finger covering the lens, and another one right after the first of them both looking shocked that you snapped the picture.
A picture of you and him, holding fishing poles on the bank of Lover’s Lake. His arm wrapped around your waist, your pole holding a sizable fish, his line snagged on moss and a tattered beat up tennis shoe, a proud smile on his face as he looked down at you, you mid laugh as Wayne teased Eddie behind the lens.
Another of just him in black and white, asleep on the bed you shared his dark tattoos looked piercing against his bare chested. Long angelic lashes closed against pinked warm cheeks, the silver scar barely visible on his bottom lip.
One with Eddie and the boys, sitting in the backyard, the tails of the fire licking into the sun fading sky, his hands wild in the middle of explaining a campaign idea.
A candid of Steve, Eddie, Robin and Dustin wearing their tuxes and running into the ocean. Shoes snug into the sand and socks left forgotten. Steve’s white jacket thrown into the air, half of a laughing, Leighanne all dolled up and beautiful on their big day.
A photo from the same day, but of only you and him, your lips perched on his cheek as he held you in his lap in the back of a limo. His other cheek sparkling with the residue of a lipgloss kiss, one hand holding your strappy lavender heels, the other wrapped around your waist. His dimpled smile wide and toothy.
And finally, your favorite one: one of just you and him, dressed in your homemade costumes as Mario and Luigi. A felt mustache falling from under your nose,his white gloved hands holding up rock n’ roll. Right before you two had won the Halloween costume contest at Nancy and Jonathan’s house.
Wayne had brought baby pictures that he had dug out of an old box in the forgotten storage shed when you had moved in. Dust lining the frames showing a brown haired baby with doe eyes, drooling over a washcloth while in the sink for a bath. A curly haired toddler with a big smile while on the swings at a park. And many more that were placed around the house.
The most special of them all sat on Eddie’s bedside table: a woman with soft honey muddied curls sweeping down to the middle of a white blouse, sunglasses pushed into her hair atop her head, kissing the forehead of a baby swaddled in a blanket.
“Tooty!” Gareth called from the kitchen, “phone call!”
You set the napkins next to Nancy who was meticulously adjusting the m&m dish into its correct place. Trying to balance out the clashing colors with the black and red theme.
“Looks perfect as always, Nance,” you murmur as you squeeze her arm gently when you pass her.
She huffs in disapproval, sweeping a permed curl behind her ear, her finger to her lips as she tuts, “it’s missing something.” You squeeze her arm again and trot into the living room.
Gareth is holding the blue phone by the long cord twirling it around like a pair of nunchucks, shoving the last bits of a hot dog in his mouth, ketchup wedged into the corner by his lips. “ it’s Hig D,” he announciates horribly, “somthin’ about heddie— shit that’s good— something about them just getting ready to leave work.”
laughing at him you can only roll your eyes, “you’ll make a good whore someday deep throatin’ like that,” you tease, taking the phone from his hand.
Gareth chuckles and shoves your shoulder, “haven't had any complaints yet, Oh! By the way, I need a three day extension on rent. Cool?”
Rolling your eyes again, a smile escapes your lips as you flip him off.
Of all of Eddie’s friends, Gareth was the hardest one to crack, but now he was easily your favorite. He reminded you a lot of Eddie in high school. A wild haired mess, always down for a crazy adventure to surely land him into trouble. But a big ol softie when it came down to people he cared about, especially Will.
Curling your fingers around the telephone cord, you talk into the receiver, “hey D, what’s up?”
—-
Argyle and Jonathan arrive through the front door, smelling like purple palm tree delight and balancing pizza boxes in their arms.
Robin spins at least a dozen times trying to find a place for the tower of cheesed pie and nearly knocks into Jonathan in her pursuit of frenzy. The boys slide them into place onto a card table against the kitchen wall, a photo of you and Eddie holding the keys to Hop’s cabin with wide grins on your faces hanging above it.
The brisk May breeze flows through the house, flickering the candles and making the helium balloons bump into one another in a lazy staticky dance.
A blur of red stalks into the house holding two bottles of liquor in each hand, a baseball hat backwards on her head, “hope Eddie likes whiskey because that’s all Walt would sell me,” she says heaving the bottles onto the counter in a clunkered manner, wiping the sweat from her freckled forehead, sporting a fresh new bob cut all thanks to you, “stubborn ass, he charged me nearly double,” she huffs, folding the paper sacks haphazardly, “son-of-a-bitch wouldn’t even let me use my employee rate!”
“Thanks for getting it Maxi-pad,” you say over your shoulder stifling a giggle from the old nickname you hadn’t called her since middle school, “Eddie’ll drink beer from a boot as long as he got a buzz from it—let me know what I owe you.”
She spins on squeaky sneakers and grabs a slice of pizza from one of the leaning boxes, squishing the greasy cheese between her teeth, talking with a mouthful “quit— we’re square for all the times you’ve come over since moving back.”
A sad expression falters behind the mask on her porcelain complexion. But she’s quick to shove it all away. It had been months since she’d been back in Hawkins, and your friend since elementary school was just starting to get her life back into order.
“Eddie’s offer still stands by the way,” you gently whisper, turning away from placing candles into the pink frosting to give her a quick squeeze, the fringes of your friendship mending together after years of not really speaking.
Holding Max at arms length you raise your eyebrows at her, “I’m serious,” a clip in your voice that even Nancy would envy.
She shrugs quickly and looks back with wet blue eyes, not willing to let her guard down on the eve of a party, “I’ll think about it,” her jaw set tight.
“Let's have fun tonight, okay?” she begs, “it isn’t every day Eddie’s old decrepit ass turns forty.”
The giggle she was hoping for to ease the tension tickled your throat, “he’s twenty nine, Maxine,” you tease back.
“Oh-ho-ho,” she chuckles, crossing the linoleum to the fridge in a swift motion, throwing open the door and leaning into the illuminated box, fingers dancing along the brown neck of a Bud Light, a smug smile on her salmon lips, “government names huh, T? I’ll remember that.”
—
Will and Mike were in charge of moving vehicles behind the north tree line away from the driveway and out of sight. Each car owner silently held their breath and the litter of anxiety rising higher as Mike got behind the wheel of each car. 13 tickets by Hopper’s deputies hadn’t slowed him down yet.
Leighanne, and El had just finished hanging the decorative white lights on the back deck and around the trees. The backyard looked like a little cozy oasis. And it warmed your soul to see it all come together.
It was rough when you had first moved in here. Hopper had a buddy who owned the cabin you now call home. It was far from town but hadn’t been renovated in years. Nothing a little elbow grease and nights after work wouldn’t fix, it took six months with help from just about everyone you knew, but the place was perfect.
And after everything that happened in Hawkins, Eddie’s promise stuck.
He got you both out. Started a new life away from the wandering eyes and whispered lies. Even after he was cleared, people still wouldn’t let it go.
But, the cabin was everything you could imagine and more. Perched into a thick grove of trees. Secluded. Secretive. Exactly what you both needed.
It was heaven.
Lounging on blankets in the soft grass, bare toes curled into the soft comforter, the girls sat back and laughed as Steve nearly tipped over the entire pan of grilled burgers and hot dogs.
“Yeah laugh it up you two!” Steve scolded playfully, tugging and shoving a hand into the thick tuft of hair on his head, “you won’t be laughing when there’s nothing to eat!”
“Such sass from The Grill Master,” Leighanne giggled, covering her mouth with a delicate hand, a large diamond on her ring finger.
Before Steve could whip up something cheeky, Arygle’s smooth baritone voice broke amongst the laughs, “Damn my dude,” he chuckled, leading Eden’s small frame through the patio door, “smells good out here.”
Steve huffs again, “Thanks, I’m just doing what I’m told, don’t mind the peanut gallery back there,” he gestures with his spatula to the two giggling gals on the blanket.
The keg was perched on the small back deck, ice melting slowly around the tin base. Steve had been grilling burgers for the last half hour, smears of grease rubbed on the bottom of his red apron embossed with fancy lettering, kiss the cook.
“And you’re doing it man,” Argyle salutes him as a fellow culinary soldier, “it’s art what you’re doing dude, pure fuckin art—like Picasso if he was a chef… piSteveo.”
“Okay man—yeah, I get it,” Steve says all in one breath, rolling his eyes and cracking a grin back at his bride who was biting her own cheek and trying not to laugh. “Dustin and Susie ride with you?”
“Yeah,” Eden scowls, crossing her legs and dragging Argyle down to sit on the picnic bench, her black pixie cut fluttering in the light breeze resembling a real life goth tinkerbell, “that four eyed little shit kept going on and on about the ecosystem and methane gas or whatever, so yeah they’re here— probably terrorizing everyone else about the election or some shit.”
Steve snorts and flips another burger onto the grates, the sizzle of charred seasoned beef signaling the first signs of summer, “sounds about right.”
“Alright guys,” you say stepping through the sliding patio door, the sun close to setting in the west taking the warmth with it, “D said they’re just leaving so everyone get in position.”
-
“..I’m just sayin’ is all,” D barks, finishing wiping the grease from a gas station bean burrito on the back of his hand from his pudgy lips, “I’ll give you top dollar for it.”
Eddie took another sip from his Mt. Dew, barreling down the highway and thumping his thumb along the steering wheel, contemplating heavily on what Big D had been asking of him.
“fuck I dunno man… it’s like a part of me y’know?”
Eddie rubs the beginning of his scruffy chin, unable to grow a full beard even though he’s nearly in his thirties, Peter Pan syndrome hitting him square in the jaw.
“had it since I was fifteen, fixed it all up with my uncle,” he mumbles lighting a cigarette between his teeth, “it’s a staple to the Munson name.”
D rolls his eyes and tosses the foil wrapper to the floorboards of Eddie’s truck. “that was like twenty years ago man, you don’t even drive it anymore.”
Eddie chuckles through a cloud a smoke, turning the steering wheel to the right down the hidden driveway, overgrown grass on both ends of a rotted through fence post, “easy there asshole— ‘sides, thought you were buying Jeff’s mom’s car?”
D slides belches loud and throws his chubby hand out the window, fresh air wiggling his fingers slowly, “I did, just gotta fix it up, but the van would be my daily driving chick magnet.” He wiggles his eyebrows like two black caterpillars dancing a tango.
Eddie smiles to himself, memories of past times booze cruising to Rick’s and hauling band equipment to the Hideout. Times long gone and fading like the moon into dawn.
A time when he was ruthless, chaotic and hungry for the world’s shittiness just so he could add his own fucked up version to it. A big fuck you to anyone who ever doubted him.
A time before you were officially his.
Nowadays the bear inside of him was tame, licking its paws in laziness, hibernating with the sounds of a calm beating heart. Fed and cared for, content.
“We’ll see,” he replies, blowing smoke out of the corner of his mouth, “you still owe me $40 for that service you gifted to that waitress last week, fucker.”
“Pffft,” D says lighting a cigarette, “take it out of my check boss man.”
Eddie cranked his lips into a smirk, it still didn’t feel real.
-
The roar of Eddie’s diesel truck echoes along the tree line, vibrating against the fallen branches from the late winter storm that snapped full grown Red Oaks like matchsticks when the ice built heavy onto its branches.
The cabin lights were dim, curtains pulled tight to barely show the glimpse of any crack of light. It wasn’t unusual, your lives were kept pretty private after everything that happened, doors always locked.
“The hell?” Eddie grumbled, wiggling the stick into neutral with the palm of his hand and killing the engine, the old dodge sputtering out to quiet, “thought you said Gareth was comin’ over to practice tonight?”
D fumbled for words, reaching for the metal door handle “no, yeah he’s here— maybe Will dropped ‘im off.”
Eddie quirked an eyebrow, the exhaustion from work taking over his features as he let out a loud yawn and arched his back against the velour seats, he climbed out of the pickup, lunchbox in tow.
“alright man, ‘m just gonna shower quick,” he hooks a thumb behind his shoulder, walking up the stone path to the front door, “think Tooty still has the hose hooked up if you wanted to rinse off.”
D stomps around the truck, leaning a thick arm onto the hood, “don’t make any special accommodations for me dude, I’m cool.”
“Yeah yeah you’re pretty cool alright,” Eddie said climbing the two steps with heavy footsteps, and putting a brass key into the knob, twisting it in his grasp, “why’d you think I had the window dow—”
Eddie is almost knocked back into the wall by the room full of his friends shouting surprise! as he entered the cabin.
Shock and a racing heartbeat wash away to a dimpled smile and squinted eyes. It was worth the weeks of planning and aligning everyone’s schedules to make it all work out. And in the end, the crowd turned into a blur when you peaked your head behind the kitchen wall grinning wide at the handsome man at the door.
His girl. His one and only. Spoiling him with a surprise party. Mouthing “happy birthday baby,” from across the room with a warm smile that still was able to tinge his cheeks in the prettiest shade of bashful.
Backs were slapped and shoulders clapped as Eddie made his way around to the guests. His smile was wide and toothy, lighting up the room with his deep laugh and dimples.
He hugged friends like he hadn’t seen them in years, pressed cheek to cheek and apologizing later for grease smudges left on their shirts.
“Shit,” Wayne breathed, as he stepped into the doorway, finding you immediately and looking sympathetic, “sorry we’re late, the missus was wrappin’ a last minute gift.”
Nancy and Mike’s mom stood tucked beneath Wayne’s arm. Four gifts wrapped tight and pristine, held in her arms. The alimony from Ted was still treating her more than well.
“Wayne,” Karen giggles like a schoolgirl, a long manicured hand to his denim jacket, dismissing him with a wink, “here Tooty,” she gleams, walking towards you with her arms outstretched, embracing you in a hug, “it’s just a little something for the two of you, saw it at the mall and couldn’t resist!”
It was an adjustment for the youngest Wheeler when Karen left Ted. Nancy and Mike didn’t seem to care, having already been moved out of the house and living their own lives. But Holly took it hard, refusing to see her mother at all.
“It’s perfect thank you Karen,” Eddie said, sneaking around you, his fingers dragging along your lower back and down your hip, sending shivers to your core. A quick wink to you as he grabs the gifts from her and Wayne.
He was happy for them, he had never seen Wayne with someone who treated him so well before in his life, he gave his shoulder a squeeze, “next time put your glasses on so you can see while driving, might get here on time, old man.”
Wayne rolled his eyes and put Eddie in a headlock, “I ain’t here to see you anyhow, came to see my favorite daughter in law to be if you’d just marry her already, didn’t even know it was your birthday you little punk.”
“Yeah yeah,” Eddie scoffed, “that’s why it says ‘Ed’s birthday’ on the calendar in your office, right? Because you didn’t know?”
Wayne releases Eddie and gives him a side hug, “been celebratin’ this day for twenty-three years with y’ boy, I ain’t never forgettin’”
Karen was always like a mother to you. The Wheeler’s held such a special place in your heart, and you’d always be grateful for the kindness both her and Ted had shown you when you were growing up. Seeing her now with Wayne surprisingly wasn’t that odd. They balanced each other well.
Wayne pulls you into the other side of him, keeping you and Eddie under each arm, “looks real good in here darlin’” He says, looking down at you with icy blue eyes, “sure am glad y’ learned how to tame this wild li’l shit.”
you smile up at the Munson’s and Eddie sticks out his tongue at you.
“Now,” he says addressing only Eddie, “I swear on my mama and daddy’s graves, Ed, you better marry this girl someday or ‘m gonna hang y’ from your toes by that clothesline out back.”
Eddie rolls his eyes, but before he can speak, Nancy waves at her mother and stands atop a metal chair.
“Alright everyone, let’s go out back and we can start eating.”
Once the room emptied it was just you and Eddie. The tension was always thick in every room you were in with him, electric in ways that buzzed between your legs and made your head feel fuzzy.
You waited your turn patiently.
Eddie coins a coy grin behind his plump lips, walking with his hands behind his back and moving his shoulder low, cocking his head.
Your hands, busy themselves with arranging presents, fingers slipping between the silky ribbons and plucking the ends to watch them curl. Warm arms surround your waist and you act surprised and let out a squeal.
He sets you down and pushes the collar of your shirt to the side, pressing his lips like angel’s wings to the skin on your shoulder, relishing in the way the goosebumps crawled across your flesh.
“Eddie,” you hum, working your fingers behind you to pull on the tendrils of sweaty hair tucked behind his neck.
“Hmm?” He breathes hot across your neck, working his way up to the dainty gold necklace, the same one brandishing the ring he gave you for Christmas in 1992, nothing compared to the one he was eyeballing at the jewelry store in the mall.
Rubbing the underside of your chin with the bulb of his nose, you shudder and feel his grin on your skin, “all of this for me?”
You nod and whine when a large hand dances across the waist of your jeans. And almost let out a moan when he nips at your earlobe.
Eddie’s work days were long but the nights spent between the sheets were longer, both of you never getting enough of each other. The passion and static was always there.
“Wanted to surprise my birthday boy,” you breathed as your head fell back into his shoulder, and he bucked his hips into you, pushing you into the rickety table and shaking the presents.
“You’re too good to me,” Eddie whispered into your ear, his fingers digging into your hips. “How am I ever going to thank my pretty gir—?”
“Hey you guys comin’ or what?” Steve asks, hands on his hips and a scorch mark on his apron, “Nancy’s making a fucking seating chart out there, and I really hope you have liability insurance because Argyle is trying to teach Dustin yoga.”
Eddie takes his lips from your neck and turns to face Steve, “I mean, we coulda been if you hadn’t barged in.”
“Eddie!” you laugh, slapping his chest lightly, and straightening your shirt, “we’ll be right out Steve, just going to give Eddie his birthday present.”
His eyes sparkle in mischievous wonder, “oooh you think we have time?” He says unbuttoning his work blues, “I like the way you think dirty sweetheart.”
You roll your eyes and tug him down the hallway to your bedroom.
“Jesus Christ,” Steve mutters under his breath, shaking his head and making his way through the patio door, “nah don’t worry I’ll entertain the guests,” he says in annoyance, “maybe we can play parcheesi or hotdog Jenga.”
—
“Don’t peek!”
“Oh c’mon!”
“Eddie.”
“Ugh fine, but you better be naked or I’ll pout.”
“Such a brat...”
“Don’t act surprised babe.”
“Alright open, but I am very much still dressed, that part of your present is later tonight.”
Eddie had showered and was getting dressed shoving his feet into a worn pair of converse when you waltzed into the room, a small oblong box behind your back.
Dropping the carefully wrapped present into his awaiting hands, he holds the box like a carton of eggs. One eye peeked open, “well,” Eddie says rubbing the corners of the box with the calloused pads on his thumbs, “this doesn’t feel like a puppy.”
“You poor boy,” you tease with a shove to his shoulder, and a kiss to his cheek, “how will you ever live?”
Eddie tears the paper with a hook of his finger where the tape joins the pieces, wet tendrils of hair dripping water marks onto the wrapping, “it’ll be hard but I think I’ll manage.”
Biting your lip in anticipation you watch as Eddie tears the paper in boyish glee. And you aren’t sure who’s smile is wider when he finally opens the small rectangle shaped box.
It took awhile to save up for it. Cutting countless heads of hair in the renovated room above Master Mechanic’s, the auto shop Eddie co-owned with Wayne in Bridgeport, and earning a small wage by cleaning houses for a few hours on the weekends.
But every scrubbed toilet, every rolled perm rod was worth it when Eddie opened his present.
“It's about time you saw them live, yeah?”
Tickets to Metallica, the same gift. But this time with the promise of actually going and witnessing their magic.
“Oh baby,” Eddie nearly cried, running his fingers over the inked words carefully, he set the tickets down on the comforter and wrapped his hands around your waist pulling you into him, “why are you so good to me?”
And just like the first time he asked you, years ago, before you were his and he was yours. When you were just roommates exchanging gifts on Christmas. You told him what you should have then.
but you don’t fight to find the words anymore, or wonder if it’ll sound dumb. Everything you've been through with Eddie you could never imagine living life with anyone other than him.
The words come easy, and it’s one of the truest things you’ve ever said.
“Because you’re a good man. Because you’re the reason I wake up smiling every morning. Because I have never loved anyone the way that I love you, and I’ll always, always regret not telling you sooner.”
Eddie smiles with a quivering lip and you lean down to wipe the tears from his eyes, his arms wrap around you tight like a vice grip.
Looking into his eyes, he somehow looked better with every year passing, truly aging like fine wine, and you were drunk on him.
“Don’t cry on your birthday baby, it’s supposed to be a party,” you smile warmly at him, bringing his chin up a bit
so you can press a gentle kiss to his lips.
Pulling you into him so you’re straddling his hips, he whispers an I love you into your ear with your real name attached at the end, all satiny on his breath like a Hershey kiss.
You don’t hear your God given name very often, having hated it for as long as you remember. Stubbornly telling everyone at a young age that your name was Tooty. Even writing it on all of your school papers as early as kindergarten.
But when Eddie said it, it set your soul on fire. Like a secret kept finally being told. Like another wall breaking down with him holding the sledge hammer. Like the first bite of a warm brownie from the oven. It felt good.
He presses slow kisses into your neck and moves his large hands to rock your hips against him, “you’re never gonna get rid of me, you know that right?”
“Fuck I hope not,” you whisper as you nip at his bare shoulder, “I made your favorite cake for tonight and everything.”
“Mmm,” Eddie purrs against the column of your throat, “strawberry?”
Gathering skin between your teeth you suck a small bruise into his pale neck, tongue swirling soft then firm, his pretty noises filling the bedroom walls.
“Yep,” you breathe with swollen lips, and popping the ‘p’, “extra frosting.”
“Lady evil at it again,” Eddie teases, capturing your lips into a hungry kiss, his hands scoring down your back and bringing your hips impossibly closer to where you were both aching.
You giggle as he breaks away, and tickles your sides. He flips you onto the bed. The bulb of his nose wedging between your neck and shoulder as his hips hold you in place, his fingers dig into your armpits, and your ribs.
You laugh until your face is red and your neck is slick and painted with a stain of raspberry teeth marks and the lap of his tongue licking the bites better.
He gives you a wicked grin, out of breath and his lips swollen, his demeanor changes into something serious.
He holds his hand on your cheek, sweeping your skin delicately with the pad of his thumb, holding you so gently as if you were made of porcelain, “I’m gonna make you my wife.”
Your fingernails scratch lightly down his chest, skipping over the tattoo of little angel wings and a halo for the unborn child you didn’t get the luxury of holding, matching the one on your inner arm. The date etched below in Eddie’s own handwriting.
It wasn’t the only new tattoo he had gotten since that day.
He also had a mockup of a cartoon lady, devil horns on her head and a long black demon tail wagging behind her, that sat on his bicep. A pout identical to yours on her pretty little face, arms crossed in a fit. ‘my girl’ in old English font beneath her little stiletto heels.
Your fingertips trace the lines of blank ink on his chest. And you lift your eyes to his.
Opening your soul to him for the millionth time, spreading its wings and joining with his into that dream land he swore he’d take you to, dancing on the rings of Saturn, bathing in the springs of Jupiter.
He smiles softly and so do you, heart soaring and beating fast, “about damn time,” you whisper softly just before his lips close around yours.
Although your life would never be the same after that awful day, the one you were crafting and coloring outside the straight black lines with Eddie by your side, was pretty damn great.
And you wouldn’t change a thing.
🤧
🏷️
@bebe07011 @dashingdeb16 @hiscrimsonangel @luxaeterna13 @enam3l
#eddie munson#eddie x fem!reader#eddie x you#eddie munson smut#eddie munson fanfic#eddie munson x reader#fic recs#eddie munson fluff#eddie munson angst#honey I’m home series
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sfw but suggestive, gn! reader, no label relationship (well..), canon age kishibe (early 50’s), 0.8k, i love this old man a lot and i want to give him a home so this came out
you two were not a thing.
not quite, no.
neither friends, nor lovers — you didn’t have the deep bond between you that friends did but you shared some semblance of what only lovers could. it resembled both and yet — neither at the same time.
kishibe would talk to you about his day. well, mostly skipping the unpleasant parts relating to his job, the many tragedies he’d seen before his eyes, drowning them sip after sip from his drink, seemingly unfazed, into the depths of his mind, brushing them off with a flat “in the end — the hunt went well”. he would talk, quietly and sparingly, while caressing your cheek with his, brushing by to plant soft kisses down your neck. he would talk — but never really share of what was really seared into the wall of his consciousness, or in his heart even.
it was easier to let him come to you whenever he had the time rather than seek him out constantly — most of your phone calls would go unanswered and you would very rarely get a call back; same with your messages — they would remain unread for days, sometimes even weeks. you were aware of the dangers of his job. you also knew of his past, mainly his reputation though, not that he had ever paraded about it. it was easy to read between the lines — “i love booze, women, and killing devils” was what he said the night you first met.
so, with that in mind, you gave kishibe a spare key to your house that he, to your surprise, put to use — quite often at that. it didn’t weigh on you that way. in fact, you felt more at ease whenever he came back, even though you didn’t ask him to.
sometimes he’d come crash at your place after a mission, a bit sweaty and at times — a bit wounded and bloody, too. and you’d take care of him — patch him up nicely and take him to bed with you and there —he would take care of you. “as a thank you”, he’d say, “just putting the years of experience in good use.”
other times he’d drop by unannounced, in the middle of the night, with an excuse that he had a little bit too much to drink and the bar was closer to your place. and you’d take care of him again — fix him a snack, run him a hot bath; sometimes you’d join him, too. squishing yourself between his spread legs. “thanks”, he’d say, grabbing your shoulders from behind only to pull you with his calloused hands, pressing your back flat against his bare chest.
his visits were sporadic at first until, at some point, they became more regular. from once every other week he started dropping by every other day. sometimes a few days in a row you’d get to wake up next to him.
in the beginning you were thrilled upon hearing the door unlock. but now you wouldn’t budge, it felt natural.
tonight was no different — he came to you, again.
“you didn’t lock the door”, he said, in his usual monotone voice. “i knew you’d come”, you replied, lying face down on bed. you could’ve rolled over to take a look at him and greet him properly but didn’t, you knew he’d come to you himself. he always did.
“i have a key”
“i know you do — i gave it to you”
“you should be more careful”, he climbed on the bed slowly and hovered over you, planting a soft kiss on your cheek.
you brushed it off with a chuckled nod, his facial hair tickling the side of your face. “hungry?, you asked, “i can fix you a little something” — in an instant you felt his whole weight let loose over yours, pressing your body against the mattress, trapping you in place — meaning “no, i’d rather stay like this” but “maybe later” he whispered in your ear.
he wouldn’t say it out loud, he didn’t have to — you knew.
somewhere along the line it had become a habit of his to simply hold you like this, just a little bit before letting you take care of him or vice versa — his entire being would cup your frame from above, his tired hands would tenderly caress your skin, his lips would dance at the nape of your neck and across your shoulders, he’d take the scent of you through his mouth like he was inhaling a drag from his cigarette — deeply, as much as his lungs could take. and you would stay wrapped like this, in silent touches, just for a bit; until the sunlight creeped in through the blinds and it was morning again.
you two were not a thing.
not quite, no.
but you were something to him — a place that he loved to return to. it smelled like you. and a little bit like him. something like home; not just a thing.
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*meekly raises hand* I'd had an idea for a drabble prompt. That hug Astarion gets? What if it also led to him kissing Tav, really kissing them for the first time? Like one that he is able to put his heart into without the fear of being used and tossed aside?
wave after wave (like a transparent star)
pairing: astarion/tav
wordcount: 762
content warnings: none
other tags: canon compliant, introspection, character study, kissing, gender neutral tav, human!tav if you squint
archiveofourown: here.
.
tag list: @azrielshadows1nger, @pandimoostuff, @faevi, @microskies, @foreverthemaraudersera, @queenofthespacesquids, @claryvoyantfray, @6doodlaang14, @anne-isnotokay, @itshimbotime, @yeeteth-the-raven, @sessils, be added to the taglist here
summary: What if the hug also led to him kissing Tav, really kissing them for the first time?
‘I want,’ you say with the slightest shake of your head, ‘I want. I want — ’
This, is what you would say if you had the words to speak. Instead, you stare at Astarion with a sense of unrelenting urgency between the two of you. It’s as though you are frozen in time with your palm resting flat against his, both of his hands framing yours protectively, his skin, his fingers, his everything laid bare against your silly little hand.
Astarion collides with you like a star racing across an ocean. He is a tide that overcomes you and threatens to take you out to sea. You wrap your arms around his thin frame to keep yourself grounded. The dark depths of the ocean swirls around you, but you hold onto Astarion and he holds onto you, your arms wrapped around his waist, his hand gently cradling the back of your head as he desperately presses his forehead against yours with a shuddering breath as he fights that urge to consume.
And just like that, a supernova creates itself in the middle of camp in the dark. You tilt your chin at just the right time to catch his mouth as he crashes into you. Astarion kisses you so passionately that you have no choice but to seek purchase on his shoulders to avoid toppling over. There’s hysteria in his tongue, in the way his lips tremble, but all you can smell is rosemary, bergamot, and brandy, and tears, yours and his together.
This might’ve been how he would have kissed his highborn lover back in Baldur’s Gate before everything. Before mindflayer and tadpole, before Cazador and the attack, before you and your frightening humanity. This is a kiss a magistrate would have given to a recently courted lover in private away from prying eyes. You almost feel as though you’re being swept off your feet, like you’re being properly romanced instead of hunted in the woods, and it does something to the pit of your stomach. You swoon.
‘I think,’ Astarion says thickly, ‘I know what I’m feeling for you.’
‘I know,’ you say, nuzzling his jaw. ‘I know you love me.’
His eyes soften and then, well, it really is a collision this time. Somehow, Astarion kisses you roughly and tenderly all at once. His nose presses sharply into your cheek, and you clutch his elbows like at any moment, if he chooses to let go, you’ll be stranded at sea. It’s a different kiss from all those you’ve experienced from him before. From the kiss during sunset, the kiss when he first drank your blood, and the shyest kiss from right after his confession. This is something else entirely. A fire let loose in the wood.
He kisses you like a man who has only known hunger. Astarion takes and he takes and he takes until you’re almost certain he’s hunting for your soul from your lips, and you would give it to him if you knew where to look for it. This is a kiss — a real and genuine kiss — from a man who has only known desperation, nails scraping against the grain, seeking something far beyond himself. You would feel scandalized by the passion if it were anyone else.
And when he’s done fervently kissing you, Astarion cradles your cheek in his hand and runs his thumb over the curve of your cheekbone as if you were the most precious idol he could have laid his hands on.
There’s something different about the gleam in his eye, a glossiness that you’ve never seen before, not really. Beneath all the vitriol and discomfort, there is a young man who wants nothing more than freedom.
He presses his forehead against yours and sighs, and the sound is relief composed as a symphony by the saddest souls. You return the favor, your fingers sliding across the familiar harsh lines of his face, and decide to show him the purest of emotions so that he knows.
‘I don’t know what comes next,’ Astarion says, his tone a touch agonized. ‘But wherever this leads, I know that I want it to be you.’
For once, his words are honest and match his intentions. It’s something you come to cherish. You’re the only one he’ll ever show this side to; this kind devotion belongs to you and you alone. This is the part of Astarion that Cazador can never touch. There is still hope in his skeletal frame.
You kiss his cheek softly.
There’s no other place you’d rather be than at Astarion’s side.
#astarion#astarion ancunin#astarion bg3#astarion x tav#astarion x reader#astarion x oc#from ，carcosa .#my fic#anonymous#* a thousand lives，and one
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what do you think about enemies to lovers with akutagawa x ada fem!reader with a really big sexual tension between them?
Yes. Just yes🫡 that's all I have to say. Hope you like it♡
•☆○
Laced♡
𝑨𝒌𝒖𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒂𝒘𝒂 𝒙 𝒇𝒆𝒎! 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓
𝑮𝒆𝒏𝒓𝒆: smut♡/ one bed trope
Akutagawa didn't know how he ended up like this, sharing a bed with you in a crappy motel room in Shinjuku. He took a deep breath in, feeling the thin particles of dust tickle his nose and sneezed, mentally cursing his overly sensitive body.
From the other side of mattress you mumbled a half-hearted 'Bless you'
"Oh shut up" he hissed, his head snapping in your direction. You were laying on your side close to the edge of the ragged futon, a chiffon robe wrapped loosely around your frame. The neon lights that filtered through the windows illuminated your figure well enough for Akutagawa to make out the little bird drawings that adorned your nightgown.
"Your voice is pissing me off" he added, voice laced with venom as he took in your figure.
"Then stop sneezing and coughing every five minutes. I'm trying to sleep" you replied in a casual tone which only fueled Akutagawa's anger.
God, how he hated you and your composed demeanour; a futile attempt to prove that you were better than him. He vividly recalls your first encounter when his former mentor introduced you to him and the way your eyes scanned his figure with pure amusement. Oh, he resented the way you always looked down on him, thinking that you were superior only because you were working at the Agency.
The fact that you were constantly competing for Dazai's praise only made things worse. Each time the brunette would pair you up for a mission you'd go out of your way to ensure that you did just a tad bit better than him, whether it was stealing the target's phone, a classified file or simply taking extra credit.
And what was worse was that this wasn't even a fair competition: no matter how hard he tried to prove himself to his former mentor, you'd still get all the 'Good job Y/N'. All you had to do was breathe and Dazai would shower you with praise. It was so easy for you and it filled him with burning rage, a fire that grew hotter inside him by the minute; you were utterly insufferable and yet...
Laying beside you in this god forgotten room, Akutagawa couldn't bring himself to hurt you. He knew he could; you were both far away from home and the mission Dazai assigned you was dangerous. If you were to get injured it wouldn't come as a surprise. Plus, your ability was no match to his so he could easily kill you, destroying the source of all his anger and pent up frustration that plagued him day and night.
Still, something was holding him back; a force that he could not explain. He simply scoffed, gritting his teeth.
"I cannot fucking control it. Get your own room if you really can't stand my coughing."
You remained silent and the man cursed under his breath. After a while you rolled on your back and sighed.
"It's too hot in here."
"It's the middle of August, what did you expect?"
"Some air conditioning maybe?" you said in that condescending tone he so resented.
"You're so irritating." he stated, not daring to look at you. He knew that if he did he wouldn't be able to keep up this act and God knows what he'd do.
"Come on Ryuu. I know you don't actually hate me. You're just mad about Dazai liking me better"
Akutagawa's body tensed upon hearing your words. "Don't call me that."
"What, Ryuu? Why not?" you asked innocently.
"Because you know I can't stand it." he lied. He did in fact love the way his name rolled off your lips; it was so soothing but he couldn't bring himself to admit it. "And don't drag Dazai into this."
You let out a low chuckle "But he is part of this. He's actually the reason for all this. For us and-"
"There's no such thing as us" he spat, nails digging deep into the calloused skin of his palms.
He could feel you scoot closer to him, one of your hands gently brushing a strand of charcoal hair from his face.
"Isn't it?"
Your words lingered between the two of you, a heavy, unspoken truth. There was no you but both of you somehow wished there was. Despite all the resentment he bore towards you, Akutagawa knew there was something more to his feelings. He couldn't exactly pin-point what it was tho, but it seemed that you shared the same thought.
"What are we?" you asked eventually, fingertips sliding along his jawline as you moved even closer to him.
Your touch sent goosebumps all over his body, igniting his skin. Yet he didn't push you away. Instead, he turned to his side to face you.
"What do you think we are? We're rivals for fuck's sake" he stated and you would've believed him if it weren't for his arm which wrapped around your waist.
"Are enemies usually so desperate for each other?" you chuckled, cupping his face.
"I'm not desperate" he hummed as he began caressing the side of your body. His fingers traced the outline of your body over your robe, languidly sliding back and forth from your hip up your waist and along your ribs; causing you to shudder.
"You sure are desperate tho" he said, a grin tugging at the corners of his lips. His slender fingers hooked under the loosely tied knot of your robe, undoing it.
A light hum escaped your lips when he touched your bare skin.
"Hey Ryuu." you purred, threading your fingers through his hair "Do you think things would've been different if we weren't in different organizations?"
"Not at all. I'd still hate you" he said plainly. Akutagawa was completely entranced by you; his mouth voiced of abhorrence but his hands spoke another language, gently cupping one of your breasts as he kneaded your soft flesh.
He pulled you closer until your lips were mere mere inches apart. "You don't think you could ever like me, do you? It would be so ridiculous."
"Really?" With a mischevious smirk on your lips you took his hand from your breast and guided it between your legs; Akutagawa gasped as his fingers brushed against your wet panties. "I think I like you already."
"You little..." he cursed under his breath as he closed the distance between you, lips finding your own. He kissed you deeply, feverishly and pushed you onto your back, climbing on top of you.
When he eventually broke the kiss he looked down at you, trying to ignore his forming bulge that pressed against your thigh.
You only giggled, tracing your thumb over his lower lip. "How about you put that mouth of yours to good use, hm?" you teased but Akutagawa noted the hint of urgency in your voice.
With a sly smirk on his face he slowly moved lower onto you, tracing feathery kisses along your heated skin until the nestled himself between your thighs. Each touch elicited sweet sounds from you which echoed through his entire being.
Before he hooked his arms over your thighs to keep you close your gazes met for s brief moment and he nodded, grinning from ear to ear.
"As you wish, pretty girl"
#bsd#bungou stray dogs#bsd x reader#bsd smut#bungo stray dogs akutagawa#bsd akutagawa#akutagawa x reader#akutagawa smut#akutagawa fluff#akutagawa x you#akutagawa ryuunosuke#bsd atsushi#atsushi nakajima
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WOULD'VE BEEN — BEAST! DAZAI OSAMU
౨ৎ CW(s): gn! reader, beast!au, angst/romance, kinda short
౨ৎ SYNOPSIS: in which dazai osamu's timeless love for you knows no bounds, even in another life.
inspired by: timeless and enchanted by taylor swift !
it was late afternoon when dazai passes by an antique shop down the block that didn't have customers, but a voice in the back of his head urges him to stop on his tracks and check it out.
drawn towards the antique shop, dazai feels his own feet move and his hands push the door open, causing the bell at the top of the frame to chime as he steps inside.
there was an elderly lady at the cashier and maintaining the antique shop, but when she saw the man clothed in black with a bandaged eye, her face wrinkled into a warm smile as she welcomed him inside. he could see how the old lady was taken aback by his look, yet she remained kind as he was a customer.
dazai merely nods curtly in response to the old lady's greeting before wandering about the shop, unfazed of the old lady's watchful gaze.
he couldn't care less about the trinkets, keychains, and accessories in here, but then his gaze fell upon an open box of pictures, and curiosity gets the best of him when he notices the sign above the open box of old pictures, seeing how each only sold for a couple of cents.
dazai quietly finds himself reaching into the box and seeing that it contains photographs, which appear to have been taken years ago given that they are all in black and white.
he discovers an image of a couple holding hands at the porch of their first home, and then another, but this time it was a photograph of high school sweethearts, laughing and holding hands, looking so happy with genuine smiles.
all of the photographs he sees next show a kind of love that only comes along once in a lifetime.
dazai takes a long breath, his hand reflexively grasping the pictures a little too tightly, causing them to crumple slightly.
normally, something as sentimental as these photographs wouldn't make him feel anything, but when he looked at them again, he saw a different person.
dazai saw you and him instead, and he wished it had really been the two of you instead.
that's when his thoughts turned to you, and you filled his entire mind with questions after questions.
would you have looked at him in the same way just like the lover to his beloved in the photos did? even in the middle of a crowded street?
perhaps in another life, dazai muses as he puts the images back in the box—just not in this one, sadly.
dazai keeps wandering around the antique shop, discovering new things like a stack of books covered with cobwebs.
he takes one in his hand and silently flips through the pages, which are already brown and worn from time, and it doesn't take him long to realize it's a diary. but as he reads the sentences in quiet, he finds himself scoffing, his gaze narrowing as he picks up on the story in it.
what was this antique shop doing to him?
was it to rub in his face of what could've been?
it was just cruel and twisted.
the bell by the door opening brings him back to reality as he feels the heavy burden on his shoulders again. dazai sighs to himself as puts the cobweb-covered book back and turns his head, ready to leave now that there is another customer in the antique shop besides him.
but dazai is unable to move and stands still, completely surprised, by what he sees.
"oh, my. why haven't i come here before?" you exclaim in a soft gasp of wonder as you look around the antique shop with curiosity.
it was you in all your grandeur, looking the same as you did in another life, still smiling warmly, and he is amazed and falls in love all over again at the sight of you in front of him.
the story breaks down his mind and body as it seems to halt when you walk into the shop, catching his eyes and finding the story starting when your eyes finally meet his and you speak.
"hello," your voice was as soothing and kind as it had always been, and it sounded like music to his ears, and dazai had missed it so much.
he notices you tilting your head to the side and hears your eyes ask, "have we met before?"' and felt the want to scream yes.
to tell you how long he had been waiting and longing to see you again in this life, but dazai knows he can't as his breath hitches.
"s-sir? are you okay?" your concerned voice surprises him. you were much closer now.
"huh?" was all he could utter in confusion.
dazai sees you rummaging through your pockets and pulls out a handkerchief, only for you to hand it to him before pointing it out to him, "sir, you're crying."
oh.
he never cries. he never did in his lifetime, but it appears that even in this world, you still hold his heart for him to do so. as dazai blinks, he notices how fuzzy his vision has become as a result of his tears filing his eyes and dampening the bandages covering his left eye.
he shakily reaches for your handkerchief, tears welling up in his eyes as his fingers grazes your warm skin. even your touch in this world was the same as it had always been.
"i'm sorry.. thank you.." dazai exhales, his sullen expression suddenly hidden by an exasperated fit of laughter as he wipes his tears with your handkerchief.
as he finishes, he hands you back your handkerchief, which you accept with a smile.
"it's no problem, but are you sure you're okay, sir?" you ask again, your face concerned.
"hmm? oh, yes. i'm fine, love," dazai laughs and shrugs it off as nothing, "i was going through old photographs and stuff here in this shop and got a bit sentimental, and then i saw you."
"i see, i see," you say softly with a small giggle, shaking your head, "well, i'm sorry to bother you, sir. i'm glad you're okay."
"no need for that, dear. i should be the one apologizing for worrying you," dazai insists with a smile, a genuine smile as he waves his hand.
he sees you nod and smile again before you excuse yourself and move past him to look around the store.
as dazai turns his head over his shoulder, he finds you conversing with the kind old lady of the antique shop while digging through the things you found interesting and charming.
as he recalls the images and book he read over earlier while staring at you at this instance, memories flood his head.
dazai had found you again, and even in another life, you made his head swirl, and all he could think of was how you could have still been his.
if only the story had gone back to the beginning page instead of where it was about to conclude. despite his thoughts echoing your name and filled his mind with memories of you from the other realities, it was already too late.
the pieces were already in place, and how could he take this away from you? to see you happy and safe, thriving in a life where you were just a regular citizen, not a member of an armed detective agency or anything..
and he couldn't stop thinking about one thing;
the regret of not being able to share and live this life with you.
where you could have been his,
where you and dazai could have been the ones in the old photographs he saw earlier,
and where you could have said you two were truly timeless.
nonetheless, dazai is grateful for meeting you again and falling in love with you. he has always loved you in every universe after all.
even in this separate life, even though fate has torn you two apart in this reality.
"we would've been timeless," dazai murmurs softly to himself before leaving the antique shop, his head and heart laden with grief.
=͟͟͞♡˖ ° niki says ! ༉‧₊˚.
sigh, the kind of things miss taylor swift makes me write with the songs she wrote 💔 oh, and i am also dedicating this beast! dazai fic to @anqelically and @ruru-kiss !! (already hugging you both in advance because 🫂🥲)
#dazai x reader#dazai osamu x reader#dazai x y/n#bsd x reader#bungo stray dogs x reader#dazai x you#bsd x you#bsd x y/n#bsd oneshot#bsd angst#bsd fanfic#bsd dazai#dazai scenarios#dazai imagines#dazai osamu x you#dazai osamu x y/n
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❥the sun will rise, and we will try again (m)
↳ Minho would tell himself everyday that it was good enough. That he was happy enough. Content enough. Alive just enough.
He chose you over himself, you just never really knew it.
lee minho x fem!reader — friends to lovers, unrequited love, angst, porn with plot, explicit sexual content. [11,6k wc] cws: heavy pining, alcohol consumption, sexual activity under the influence, penetrative sex (unprotected), some light teasing.
Minho has never been sure whether to curse or be forever indebted to his eidetic memory.
On one hand, it made school a breeze, and the majority of his career prospects thereafter similarly simplified. Not that he had taken any of them truly to heart, obviously — given the fact that he had followed you all of the way to another country for not much reason beyond feeling like it.
That’s what he said, that’s always what he would say.
But it’s his eidetic memory that has such a particular way in proposing his suffering. He deliberates that he may always remember exactly what it was that you were wearing that night, and precisely the food stands that surrounded the two of you at that moment in time. It’s been three years since that night and the two of you had attended the Christmas festival each and every time — the same one, same location — and sure, the shop locations and snack booths change year after year; the only constant being the large glühwein stand in the middle of the festival which served as the prime meeting spot for all of the attendees.
A large windmill-looking contraption, seats strewn about as far as one could see and people at every inch of one another — laughing, smiling.
Loving.
And Minho remembers this night in particular because it was the first year that the two of you had moved to Germany together — you for school and Minho for…his own reasons. Years later and of all of the things he does remember, he’s not sure he recalls whichever lie it was that he had told you about why it was that he chose to move to another country with you; the only thing that was for sure, is that whatever he said was not the truth.
Long, tan coat with a burgundy scarf accenting colorfully, Minho remembers watching the way you struggled to hold the strap of your bag up and on your shoulder as you juggled a glass of glühwein in one hand, and your change in euros in another — realizing that dealing in cash was a rather distinctly Berlin sort of thing that would certainly take some getting used to — but taking your bag and slinging it over his shoulder, hearing the desperate exhale of a “thank you” escaping from your lips as if freedom had surely been assumed to never come — he pulls the polaroid camera out from the main pocket and smiles with just the left corner of his mouth, holding it up and dangling it in front of you. “Shall we? Commemorate the move?”
Minho takes one of the two of you together, you snuggled up into his arm next to him in an attempt to fit into the frame — he takes another — and then for the third one, it’s the moment he’ll certainly never forget for as long as he lives, he truly believes that.
The way your arms wrapped around his own in the instant and warm lips pressed to the skin of his cheek just as he takes the photograph. It became quite a topic of humor once the film developed — the look of shock on Minho’s face at the sudden realization of what had physically occurred. And emotionally.
Minho knows that he was in love with you long before that moment — and well aware of it at the time, as well. Figure one would have to be to move to another country just to be around a person — and sure, the two of you were friends and had been for a good while prior but…it was a big change, a huge leap of faith. Minho thinks, his final shot at what could be the rest of his life.
And it was an easy choice for him. A man with no particular ties to home and a hunger for adventure — for seeing, doing, experiencing. Despite having never even been to Germany prior, he found himself now uprooting his entire life to go live there for however long it took. Whatever it was, at least. Acknowledgment? Acceptance? Love? Loss? Minho figured that at the end of this, he would have some answer, and may as well get to experience life while he was at it.
Although, perhaps choosing to live together wasn’t the best option, given the circumstances. His circumstances. Not to be confused with circumstances that the two of you were equally and equivocally involved in and aware of. He was well aware that his feelings were one-sided.
Until they weren’t.
It’s another moment in time in which his photographic memory deserts him in the most cruel ways. All of the test taking and number crunching in the world that served him well, only to betray him like a dagger straight to the heart. A scene that he can’t stop replaying in his mind even still. It’s been years.
For the most part, Minho has learned to let go — to move on. Minho has learned to be precisely what you need him to be in your life — crushing and deforming himself to fit into the exact mold that you find ideal at any point in time. A friend. A companion.
After two and a half months of perfect dating bliss (if you were to ask him, of course) he still remembers the way you smiled at him — pathetically, like you were cooing at a puppy who wasn’t able to get it’s way — when you told him that you just wanted to be friends. That they should go back, undo, revert the process.
Long, long after Minho had already ingrained the taste of you into his mind for the rest of eternity, and the way you looked the first time he kissed you, when it wasn’t the intent of a couple of drunk friends late one night just having a giggle.
Lee Minho resigned himself to making himself as small as he had to in order to make you feel as big as you could, unbeknownst to you, of course. Any way that he was required to bend and lessen, he was happy to oblige — an alternate state of happiness, perhaps.
You were always going to be the only thing that mattered, forever, he thought; and at the expense of himself, if necessary.
He thinks often about how he simply just doesn’t want you to forget where you belong; and not in a possessive, jealous, weird wannabe-boyfriend kind of way, it’s just that he truly is in love with you and will do anything for you, and that love like that — romantic or otherwise — is hard to come by nowadays. Minho had always prided himself on his absolute devotion to people. To anything that he deemed worthy of himself.
You, the most worthy in his eyes, albeit you would never know, probably.
And that was the burden that Minho had to bear after that night of being told that all of the late night kisses, and cuddling, and holding hands in your center-city loft: for a fleeting moment in time, he was able to live precisely the way that he had dreamed of with you — memories he would have to hold onto to despite the pain that they held, because they also served as the happiest simultaneously. He contemplates often if he should have told you in that moment — told you everything — spilled his guts out for you, a full display of raw emotion and disgusting vulnerability. Would it have mattered? Would it have changed the course of the relationship? Friendship?
Minho looks down at his phone, setting next to him on the concrete flooring of your shared balcony, tapping the screen to illuminate it with intent to read the time.
“Almost 2am, eh?” he says to no one, tipping the beer bottle in his hand all of the way back in an attempt to drip any remainder of alcohol onto his tongue, but to no avail. Rolling his eyes, he abruptly sets the bottle down, clattering with the other four empty bottles also keeping him company.
“Late night,” he adds under his breath, as if to be playing out a conversation between two people despite no one else being present. This is by design, because Minho would rather be dead than ever make his own problems, yours.
But he knows where you are, and he knows what you’re doing.
And most pained of all, he knows who with.
For Minho, moving to Germany with you was an easy decision — not one he had put a lot of thought into. A man that fresh out of college made a good living for himself freelancing photography work along with a handful of other things here or there, it landed him a comfortable amount of money to play around with for a while, and Berlin being the relatively cheap city that it was; affordable accommodation helped make the choice even simpler.
Plus, it was with you, as if he would ever give up the opportunity.
And it wasn’t some deeply considered, manipulative, creepy attempt at trying to mind game you into a relationship with him — that happening was all-in-all, a happy accident. Of course, the ideal outcome of his, but not gamed for, not finagled. More than anything, Minho just wanted to be around you. Exist in your space. Experience a life with you in it; by whatever means necessary.
He would find, however, that this would result in grave emotional torment. Every day waking up and going to sleep feeling the same way: having to swallow the hot dagger of things not being exactly how one wishes them to be. It was good enough, sometimes suffering is. These are the choices we make to coexist with others.
Minho would tell himself everyday that it was good enough. That he was happy enough. Content enough. Alive just enough.
He chose you over himself, you just never really knew it.
When you eventually crawl out of your bedroom at a quarter past eight in the morning, you come to find your roommate already sitting at the shared dining room table — coffee in-hand and newspaper lying on the table. A sight for sore eyes, that Lee Minho. Always stable. Rarely changing. If there was one thing you could count on, it was him — for better or for worse, as it were.
“Morning, sunshine,” he says dryly, eyes not prying themselves from the words laid out in front of him, “long night?”
He’s being funny, or so he thinks — knowing how hungover you are.
“Ha ha, Lino,” you quip back, accessorizing with his nickname from college to express just how unamused you are by the exchange already. “Yeah, I got in pretty late. What time did you go to bed?”
“Around midnight,” he lies, and it feels like a jab to the heart every time he does, not enjoying the habit he’s made recently of telling little fibs to you in the moment.
“Lucky you,” you respond, pouring yourself a coffee and plopping yourself down into a white chair adjacent to the one where he sits. “But I don’t have class today so I suppose it’s fine. Do you want to do anything?”
Minho finally looks up, eyes slowly pulling from the article he had been reading, “are you capable of doing anything today?”
“Oh my god, I had a few drinks, I didn’t get annihilated, calm down. Let me have a coffee and a painkiller and I’ll be fine,” you quickly answer, rolling your eyes. “I want to go to the mall to get a new dress.”
Always somehow the best and worst way to spend a day with you, he thinks to himself.
“Alright, let me know. Alexanderplatz? I might want to take some photos while we’re out that way.” he adds, looking back to his newspaper and sipping from his mug.
“Of course, Princess,” you respond, kicking back the rest of what’s in your mug and standing to head back towards your bedroom. “Anything you want.”
Deep down, despite knowing the joke, Minho always hates it just a tiny amount when you say that — because it’s not true. However, over the years, and especially in Berlin now, Minho has absolutely mastered the art of acting; of not projecting, of maintaining a cool, calm and collected demeanor.
You’ll never know the way he dies by your hand every day. Not if he can help it, at least.
The mall is busy, Alexa Centre typically is, but especially around holiday season with the Christmas festival just across the street, and Minho can’t help but regret just a bit his agreeing to come with you for this excursion.
“What did we come here for, again?” he asks, trying to manage his tone as to not sound exceptionally annoyed. Which he is, but he doesn’t want to sound it.
"I need a dress,” you reply, rolling your eyes because you can see right through him regardless.
And Minho sort of wants to forget the reason again, because he knows what a new dress entails.
“You should get something new, too, you’ve been cycling through the same shit for a few years now,” you tell him, linking an arm into his and pulling him into the direction that you had desired to go.
To Minho, every moment with you happens in slow motion — so that he carefully craft the memory; etch it into his brain for all of eternity, at least that’s what he hopes. Every touch, every split second of intimacy — whether as friends or anything else — he doesn’t care. These are all of his moments. The flip book he proverbially looks through every night before he goes to sleep to remind himself of what he’s doing, and why he’s there, and all of the ways that he has failed as every second passes by.
“Yeah, I guess I should,” he answers, allowing himself to be dragged into a shop and stopping next to you in front of a mannequin — adorned with a silver, loosely fitted, glittery dress and a large, fluffy black coat atop it.
“Wow,” you say, a little bit in awe at the outfit on the mannequin, but more so at what the outfit on the mannequin could mean for your trip to the Centre. “If I'm really able to get this shopping trip done this quickly, it’ll be a fucking miracle.”
Minho laughs and agrees, moseying himself over to the men’s section and rifling through some long-sleeved shirts on the hanger. It’s only a short while before you return to meet him, shopping bags indicating a successful foray into Alexanderplatz, and in record time, at that.
“I’m gonna get something,” he says, pulling a few hangers onto his arm and continuing to look around. It was a good trip, things had gone well.
And we can’t have that, now can we?
“Are you still seeing that girl?”
Minho stops in his tracks, frozen in place by the question. It’s certainly not an out of place one by any means — not given the relationship between the two of you. Friends tend to talk about their romantic situations…circumstances…affairs.
But truthfully, he hated talking about it with you, because it made him feel fake.
Minho did date. In fact, he had been seeing the same woman for a few months now. Not anything serious — and yes, she knew that — but it was the phoniness of the entire thing. He sits awake in bed every night pining for another woman that he can’t have while he runs around and attempts to forget it between the legs of the one that he can have.
He hated that man. That man, like every other man. But deeply, Minho was looking for any sign that he could eventually forget you, let you go. Move on. He figured he would be doing you and himself a disservice to not at least try.
Suppose sometimes that comes with collateral damage — albeit, with intent to take the best care he could.
“Yeah,” he finally responds after what feels like hours, “she’s been busy so we haven’t met lately but, yeah.”
“We should all go out together some time!”
Sounds like a fucking miserable idea.
"I’d like that, let me know,” he responds. Fucking fool. God forbid he let you suffer for even a second at the expense of his own well being.
Despite the relative quickness of the shopping trip, rain falls from the skies as the two of you exit the large shopping mall — people crowded around under the awning in feeble attempt to stay dry — the wind not lending itself to the endeavor, and Minho looks over at you as you attempt to shield yourself from the wetness; strands of hair strewn about and squinting, he pulls out his camera for the first time since the two of you have left the apartment and snaps a quick shot of your profile. You slap his arm playfully as he brings the device back down from his face and smiles.
“I must look crazy in that photo, quit it.”
“Nah, you don’t,” he replies, looking back at it on the digital display. He reconsiders not once, but twice, if he should say the thought really running through his mind.
His heart tends to get the best of him, however.
“You look beautiful.”
And you smile at him in response before letting out a quiet “oh shut up,” Minho puts the camera down and away once again.
He finds himself musing to no one all too often, perhaps, “am I allowed to look at her like that?” And unfortunately, never being met with an answer.
Minho is happy for every day that goes by where he is not met with an invitation to go double dating with you and your partner, but as the days drag on with no such invite and more noticeably, you spending more time at the apartment, he begins to feel a worry — a distinct cloud of eerie sadness wafting over the shared living space that is never acknowledged. Every relationship has it’s struggles — Minho forces himself to not wish ill of yours, despite knowing that the wishing of any intent does little in actuality. Would it make him a bad man to wish for you and your partner to break up?
He feels guilt every time the fleeting thought passes by him, but still it passes by all the same.
After a week, Minho startles to the sound of you knocking on his door close to midnight. Meek knocks, knocks entirely unlike you.
“They said it wasn’t working out, I don’t know,” you say, arms crossed and shoulder leaned up against the door frame of Minho’s bedroom. “I didn’t ask a lot of questions.”
“Are you okay?” Minho asks, shifting in his seat — uncomfortable with the topic, and the nervous energy coursing through him at the prospect. He disgusts himself, on some basic, primal level.
You sigh and shrug. “Yeah, I mean, it’s fine,” you start, answering on the exhale. “We weren’t together all that long and it was just kind of casual so…it’s fine.”
Make a move on his newly single best friend, Lee Minho absolutely will not. Not under any circumstances. Minho questions if he would make any sort of move on you at all, under any circumstances at all, and fails to come up with a scenario in which he might.
But it delights him, deep down, no longer having to deal with the intrusive thoughts of the sheets you lie between elsewhere. For now.
“Hey, I know it’s late but uhh,” you begin, changing your demeanor from a solemn one to a more joyous one in an attempt to pick up the mood. “Would you want to like…go get a drink and some take out or something tonight?”
And Minho simply smiles at the proposition.
“Sure, of course I would.”
It’s one of those nights where you’re happy to be living where you are. Berlin — seemingly a city that never really sleeps, with corner stores open for hours on end and selling just about anything you could imagine — including alcohol; it's a stop to the nearest one before the kebab place on the adjacent corner, to then make your way to the dimly lit park only a couple of blocks down from the apartment. A relatively cold night, not one the two of you would be loitering in under normal circumstances certainly — but desperate times call for desperate measures, and to Minho, “anything that you desire” falls into that slot. Thus, chilled to the bone with a bottle of wine to share between the two of you and a kebab each — you sit on a cool, grassy hill just under a couple of trees where the visual of the streets and the very much alive city sidewalks still remain lit. Minho takes it upon himself to steal a few glances at you, of course — some from his peripheral — some much less inconspicuous, as you speak about living in the city and how much you have been enjoying it, how you considered never moving back home.
How you had everything that you needed right here already.
“What do you think?” you ask the man next to you, turning and looking towards him as he stares out towards the streets not too far off from where the two of you sit — wine bottle in hand and taking a swig directly from it before beginning to answer.
Trying to figure out which lie to tell you this evening.
“I like it here too,” he replies, trying to reign in any volume of emotional tone from his words. “It’s nice.”
“It’s nice? That’s it?” you chuckle, stealing the bottle from his hands with playful aggression and sipping from it just the same as he had. “Sounds like you could be anywhere, then.”
Internally, Minho laughs at just how unfathomably untrue that statement is.
“It’s a beautiful city and I enjoy being here,” he amends, carefully and not wanting to give too much of himself to the conversation. “And of course, I enjoy spending time with you.”
Even just saying it makes his heart drop into his stomach, despite it being a completely normal thing for friends to think and feel towards one another. To say 'I enjoy your company, thank you for being a part of my life.'
Minho knows that it feels bad because the intent is off. Truthful words hiding behind a cloak of fictitiousness. It’s true but in all of the wrong ways.
“Truthfully, I couldn’t imagine being here with anyone else.”
Words that flip Minho’s entire world upside down in an instant.
In a movie, this would be the moment where he finally kisses the girl, confesses his feelings for her and empties his heart right at her feet — only for her to joyously accept him and his love, and for them to live happily ever after.
He’d have been lying if he said he didn’t consider it.
But in the end, he settles for the removal of a wine bottle from your hands — drinking down the remains, and standing up in place — reaching a warm hand down to you for you to take.
“It’s getting late, we should get back home.”
When the two of you do arrive back home, taking turns showering in the single shared bathroom and trading off goodnight wishes before retiring to each room, Minho flops himself into his bed for the night — arm draped across his forehead to do his typical pre-sleep routine of torturing himself with countless thoughts of what if’s and what could be’s. On tonight’s agenda; a little special treat of realizing that he is no longer in any position to be dating anyone else — that things have become too entrenched. He was not escaping you, not so long as this continued to go on.
He realizes in the moment that this was always the life that he had chosen. Was it really reasonable to assume that he would ever be capable of being in a good, healthy, committed relationship with another person? Unlikely. Long ago, years ago, when Minho had chosen you, he had chosen all of the things that would go along with that.
Including the endless pining of not being with you, albeit, this not a part of the manual when signing up, of course.
For the first time, Minho acknowledges and makes peace with how unhealthy his pining is. It’s easy to make a case for anything when it’s impact on your life is easy to ignore. They say “when it starts impacting your life negatively, that’s when you know you have a problem.”
He knows, he just doesn’t necessarily want to fix it — not in the way that may be required of him, at least.
“I love you, why won’t you let me.”
The words ring through his brain repeatedly as he dozes off to sleep, but not before sending off a lazy text to the other woman, about how they should have lunch tomorrow — to talk.
such a unique flavor of masochism, unrequited love.
Minho sometimes finds himself wondering what goes through your mind when someone mentions his name to you.
He tries not to allow himself much time to it — because the what if’s make him crazy with unknowns, but certain weak, lonely nights at home — nights when you’re out with friends, or late with class work, he can’t help himself. Does it make you smile? Do you get butterflies? Do you feel anything?
One particularly lonely Wednesday night, he reminisces about the first time he met you. A weekend spent together as a result of a mutual friends gathering: a rental home for an after-semester getaway for partying, relaxing, maybe even hooking up. At least, that had been Minho’s plan. Meet a nice girl, have a nice weekend together, probably never speak to her again after the fact. Nothing against her, he just hadn’t been looking for anything at the time.
Love has a funny way of knowing when you’re least equipped for taking it on.
You walking into the house in your skinny jeans and a loose sweater, bag slung over your shoulder — Minho doesn’t believe in love at first sight on a fundamental level, and he would certainly never attribute the connection the two of you shared to it if he were asked.
It was a thought he kept to himself, completely asinine and unreasonable as it was, he couldn’t ignore the truth of the matter.
He remembers Hyunjin introducing the two of you when the three of you had all found yourselves at the makeshift bar — watching you attempt to find an empty cup that was not previously used with much trouble. Minho holds out an empty and seemingly dry cup from his hand and towards you without saying a word. He remembers the way you stared at him like he was insane, and like he surely thought you were an idiot.
Hyunjin catches the scene, sliding himself over and between the two, “it’s okay,” he assures you. “He’s mine, he means no harm.”
“Kind of nuts for a woman to take a cup from a strange man at a house party, don’t you think?” you say in response, not entirely to Hyunjin alone, but also to the stranger in front of you.
“I accidentally had two,” Minho says dryly, pointing to the bottom of his own cup that had a beverage inside of it. “It was stuck, but you’re welcome to continue on your search.”
It’s against your better judgment in usual circumstances, but with Hyunjin’s glowing approval you take the chance — accepting it and pouring yourself a drink. Holding it up in a bit of a cheers towards the man with the brown hair and the sort of crooked smile, you thank him.
That was the moment, for whatever reason. You didn’t know it, there was no indication at all.
That night, as he stands with you in a group of people, listening to the way you speak and interact with not only them, but him — he thinks that he’s probably going to fall in love with you. Looking back now, he realizes he already had by the time the drunken conversation about whether people have one or two butts had begun to take place in the living room of the rental home.
Minho would find himself spending the next year contemplating all of the ways that the two of you would be perfect for one another. The nature of infatuation — you can convince yourself of it easily, can’t you?
It’s been years now, of Minho never saying what he’s really thinking. Suppose people never really do? That’s what he tells himself.
“Do you want to go to this party tonight?”
Minho looks up from his book, sprawled out lengthwise along his bed in sweatpants and a black shirt with bleached out splotched from the last time he had attempted to do his hair and he finds the question a little hilarious, given the way he currently looks — in no position to be seen by people, and hardly even much of one to be seen by you.
“Um,” he starts, squinting a bit as he attempts to run the idea through his mind. “Where? Who?”
“Couple of friends from my humanities class are having a get together,” you say, shrugging as the words leave your mouth. “We’re not doing much else so figured I’d ask.”
“Yeah, sure,” Minho answers, slowly sitting himself up from his bed and sliding a bookmark in between pages before closing his reading material. “Give me like, thirty minutes?”
You roll your eyes. “Who are you going there to impress?”
People don’t say what they’re really thinking.
“Can’t I not want to look like I just rolled out of bed?”
“You are just rolling out of bed”
“yes, but I don’t want to look like it,” Minho insists, standing and walking towards his clothing rack, “now get the hell out so I can get ready.”
“Oh my god,” you exasperate on your exit.
The playful banter being one of the things Minho loves about your friendship the most. Play fighting made his heart skip a beat or two, every time. A bizarre charming point, perhaps, but a charming point to him all the same.
When the two of you arrive to the apartment, the gathering is already in full swing. A relatively small grouping of people — all from different places in the world — a few drink options sitting out on the kitchen counter but nothing too excessive or over the top, Minho is actually pleased to find that this would probably just end up being a reasonably chill night. A night to just spend time in your presence, and among good company. He introduces himself to your friends and vice versa before settling down on one of the smaller sofas in the general living space with small drinks in hand. You look at him, watching him survey his surroundings in the same way that he always does — taking everything in. Enjoying the moment.
“Tonight will be nice,” you say softly to him, leaning over to nudge him lightly. “Thanks for coming with me.”
“Of course,” he responds before bringing his glass to his lips and sipping, “everyone seems nice.”
“They are,” you affirm as you take a sip of your own.
A few hours into the night, right around 11pm, the host of the party calls for the attendees to gather around the living room for fun and games. Minho raises an inquisitive eyebrow, unsure of what to expect, but another caring nudge from you settles him once again.
It always was just that easy for you with him.
As the host carries on an explanation of what was planned for the rest of the night, you lean into him and ask delicately, “sorry for asking if it’s a sore spot but…did you and that girl stop seeing each other?”
After all, love is a pretty good reason to make everything go wrong.
Minho shifts in his seat a bit, and almost choking on the liquid he had just taken into his mouth he manages to swallow down and sort of chuckle. “Yeah, not a big deal, though. We both agreed.”
Lying to you never got easier no matter how many times he did it.
“Ah,” you respond, unsure of how else to carry on the topic. “Well that’s good — I mean, it’s not good, but it could have been worse…I guess? Sorry.”
Do you know what it’s like to be so in love with someone that you can’t even breathe?
“Yeah, it’s fine, I’m fine.”
Sort of true, depending on how you look at it.
The two of you bring your attention back to the host in just the moment that they mention a game of truth or dare. Minho’s fight or flight response kicks in immediately despite his perfectly managed demeanor on the outside and you can’t help but feel a bit of discomfort yourself. Doing things that you wouldn’t normally do was not your idea of fun, even in the nature of a game.
And as the game carries on among the people in the room, everyone makes it out relatively unscathed. No one being asked to do especially heinous acts, Minho begins to feel a sigh of relief at the fact that he might actually be able to get out of this night having only had to chug a beer, or maybe lick a kitchen floor — all things he can manage without a care.
“Okay Minho, truth or dare,” a blonde girl from across the room shouts a bit louder than necessary.
“Dare, give it your best shot!” he responds enthusiastically, happily playing along with the atmosphere of the evening.
“Okay,” she smirks, tone dropping into something a bit mischievous, and in the moment Minho truly considers that maybe he got a little bit too brave.
“Seven minutes in heaven with her,” she says, pointing towards you. “Should be easy enough, shouldn’t it?”
He swallows hard, because of course it is. The two of you live together. Your entire life is effectively one long game of seven minutes in heaven together, just without all of the spontaneous joys the kids tend to enjoy of it when playing such a game in the teenage years.
“Okay, where?” he answers confidently as the girl walks over to them and drags them both down a hall and into a bedroom.
A bedroom? Really?
While the implications are certainly not lost on him, and despite being absolutely and madly in love with you, Minho finds himself at least a little insulted at the thought that someone would consider that he’s not capable of even being in such a wide open space as a bedroom offers with you. He loves you, and he wants you, but he’s not a fucking snake.
But it’s the fact that the dragging doesn’t end once into the bedroom — still being pulled towards a small door at the other end of the space, the girl pulling it open and shoving the both of you inside and closing it immediately thereafter.
And now Minho suspects that this might just be the tiniest closet ever invented. How do people even make closets this small? Much less use them. What the fuck.
He can hear the girl outside of the bedroom say some words — he can hear her voice, but the actual things she says get lost among his hyper awareness at your body pressed tightly up against his own. Hands splayed out on his chest in an attempt to keep yourself held upright and steady.
You shift against him in an attempt to create space, or comfort. Something. It’s a fleeting attempt. “Sorry,” you whisper.
“It’s okay,” he responds, clearing his throat. Minho stands statuesque in the darkness of the space — surrounded by a handful of coats that smell faintly of old cigarette smoke, cologne and beer.
Silence takes over. It’s awkward. Minho thinks it’s the first time that the two of you have ever felt this uncomfortable in the company of the other. Not even the break up was this bizarre.
And he knows it’s not only radiating off of him. Not with the way you keep shifting against his chest.
“We don’t have to do this,” he says finally, “It’s just a game, we can just go home if you want.”
“No, it’s fine,” you respond quietly. “It’s kind of nice, I haven’t been this close to a man in a while,” you chuckle.
Minho knows it’s a joke, all in good fun, but the implications of it are impossible to ignore. He wonders for a second — running the sentence through his brain a few times before truly asking himself what he’s really wondering.
Is this…sexual tension?
of course, it’s not the first time he’s ever experienced the concept of sexual tension. But not with you. Not like this. When the two of you briefly dated the first time, sex had never even been on the table; he realized later, after the fact, that this was because you had firmly been in friendship mode the entire time, and never truly viewed him sexually. As someone who could be fucked. Who could fuck you.
Minho doesn’t want to simply fuck you. He figures that if he had played his cards right in any number of situations, it’s possible that he already could have. It’s not completely unheard of for friends to fuck, and the both of you are obviously good-looking.
It’s not what he wants, though. And it’s definitely not worth tanking any potential future just for one night.
It is becoming painfully apparent, however, that the two of you actually share very little physical affection, even just as friends. Feeling your body pressed up against his has Minho realizing that he doesn’t remember the last time that the two of you hugged — really hugged. Not an arm linked or being dragged around by a wrist — but an actual, full embrace.
He snaps back into the present, thinking about checking his phone for the time, but knowing fully well that not more than two minutes could have possibly passed.
Around 2am, games end and cups dry as guests begin exiting the apartment. You both thank the host for the invite and the warm reception before heading out into the chilly night to make your way home. A somewhat bizarrely quiet walk back home, no doubt as a result of the game played.
Minho staunchly disbelieves in wishing death upon anyone, but if emotions were personified, they’d be the first to go.
You turn the second key into the door, lock clicking open and door lightly squeaking as it opens. Minho walks in first, kicking his shoes off and setting his coat up on the hanger — setting his wallet and keys onto the holder next to the door designated just for such things. You follow suit.
But it’s a swift switch of direction, when you reach forward and dig fingers into Minho’s shirt — pulling him towards you, into you, and spinning him so that his back presses up against the door. You push into him, chests meeting just as they had back in the tiny closet at your friends place. All part of the game.
This, however, was not.
And Minho’s head spins, the way your cold lips press up against his own, so fast that he almost doesn’t know what hits him. He doesn’t meet your enthusiasm at first — considering the fact that this is all a mistake, just a misunderstanding. Surely you simply fell into him, this is all just a funny scene in a romcom where the girl accidentally slips into the guy who is desperately in love with her and it doesn’t mean anything. It doesn’t mean anything at all.
You pull off of his lips, peppering kisses lightly to the side of his mouth, “Minho,” you whisper between two, “kiss me back.”
“I—” he tries to respond, but before he knows it, your lips are pressed to his hard again and now he knows it’s intentional, despite not knowing why. Part of him wishes he was a better man, a stronger man. A man that could resist the temptation of experiencing bliss for even just a moment in time.
But he isn’t.
Minho brings his hands up, cupping the sides of your face and kissing back against you with matching firmness. He pulls himself off of the door and brings his body forward and against you. He’s all encompassing, feeling as though he’s attempting to devour you. Not far from the truth, perhaps.
It’s sloppy, messy. Minho thinks that the two of you never kissed like this before, not even during the brief stint of dating. He wonders for a moment what has changed, neither of you having drank that much that night, nothing was different in your relationship — not really.
He was forever constant. “I love you” running through his head each second that he’s able to taste you on him in that short time before you carefully pull from him and smile at the sight of his bright red, brutally kissed lips.
“We should go to bed,” you say, gently holding one of his hands in your own.
“Yeah,” the only thing he can manage to utter out that won’t expose him as everything he really is.
“Thank you for tonight, it was really fun,” you say, slowly pulling your hand from his own, and Minho only nods and whispers “sure” in reply as you turn and head towards your bedroom, shutting the door behind you.
Minho stands there in the doorway of the apartment, in the aftermath of a whirlwind that he’s sure will be just as quickly forgotten by you as it had been decided upon. The worst bit, he thinks to himself, is that he’ll probably never forget that moment for as long as he lives, given that they come to him so few and far between.
When he sends himself to sleep that night, opening the scrapbook of memories of us that he has carefully cultivated in his mind, he slots it away along with all of the rest. So, so, many memories of moments in time in which he’s allowed to experience paradise.
The mere existence of you, over the years, grows to be so big inside of him. All consuming.
“Minho.”
And he’s barely conscious at all, only drawn awake by the utterance of his name and the way that every expanse of his flesh that your fingertips touch leaves a trail of fire in it’s wake.
“Touch me.”
It’s all a whisper, barely legible, so little that he believes for a moment he may still just be asleep. He focuses for a second — as hard as he can will himself — on the physical sensation of you pressed up against his side, in his bed, hand roaming the exposed skin of his chest under his duvet — only dipping low enough to brush against the waistband of his boxer briefs and that is the moment that he is brought wide awake and to his senses, tensing strongly under your touch — so strongly that it causes you to pause and slowly pull back from him.
“Should I go?” you ask, and he becomes starkly aware of how standoffish he appears, quickly responding that no, you should not, before reaching over to you and snaking a hand of his own around your waist and under your loose bed time shirt.
As much as he wishes nothing more than to genuinely be lost in the moment, his mind takes him to countless what if’s, as it always does in such situations. Feeling the way you move beside him with every press of his hand into the apex of your thighs, he relishes the look, the sound — of course — but at the fore front of his mind, and his chest, the painful feeling of emotional strangulation in his throat; knowing what this is to you, and precisely what it isn’t.
Equally inconsequential to the both of you but in strikingly different ways: to you, a quick release, and to Minho: the image of you coming just another moment added to the scrapbook of his insignificance.
For the first time possibly ever, when Minho walked into the dining room in the morning for his coffee, you’re already up, sitting there waiting for him. A common scene but flipped, that feels so frequent to him now. Constantly unsettled in all of the ways that he thought he had been.
“Morning,” he says, grabbing a mug from the cupboard and pouring himself a drink, then walking over to join you at the table. “Sleep well?”
“Yeah,” you say. And that’s all.
He had hoped that deep down, the two of you could get out of this situation unscathed. It wasn’t much. Just a hand down your panties and then you retired to your own room again for the night. That’s what Minho told himself for the entire rest of the night that he couldn’t sleep, at least. It wasn’t important. It didn’t matter. Everything will be fine.
“We should talk.”
Ah.
“About last night.”
Minho knew that already.
“Okay,” he says, almost sheepishly — a tone not often worn by him, but with a million thoughts running through his mind and almost all of them meaning the worst, it was all he could manage out in response.
“I’m not blaming you, obviously, I started it,” you begin, rolling your eyes — at yourself mostly, but painfully so to Minho all the same. “But we shouldn’t cross lines like that. Like I said, totally my fault, I just don’t want there to be the wrong idea or anything, ya know?”
Yeah, he knows.
As far as he’s concerned — truly, all things considered — this was the best possible outcome, actually. On a scale of terrible to catastrophic, this was much closer to the terrible end of the spectrum. Obviously, you weren’t going to confess your undying love for him and how you wanted to be with him forever and ever, but if the only wound Minho has to leave with is the reminder that he will only continue to suffer in all of the same ways he already had been; he writes that off as a win, as pathetic as it was.
He chuckles in response, corner of his mouth upturning as he gives you a playfully devilish grin from over his mug, “Wasn’t good enough, huh?”
Laugh through the pain.
“Oh my god Lino, really? Stop it! Don’t make it weird!”
He watches you shy away in embarrassment, hiding behind the newspaper you had in your hand and continues to laugh. He knows it’s not the case, but he has to keep things light — especially because of the way his chest feels so fucking tight in that instant.
Naturally, you take it as his admittance to the terms, which is as intended by him. Meanwhile, Minho wonders how long he can stand being reminded of all of the ways he will never be the one for you. Yes, he chose this. Yes, he would choose it again.
but still, he wonders sometimes.
Placing your used mug in the sink and filling it with water, you grab your belongings and head towards the door, pulling your keys from the rack and waving at him. “I’ll let you know when I’ll be home!” before turning on your heel and running out of the door.
Minho remains in his seat, still staring up at the front door long after it has already closed behind you. Despite being an often self-reflective man, it’s the first time ever — truly ever — that he finds himself feeling almost guilty about the thought that crosses his mind, going just as quickly as it had come. A fleeting conception in a split second of hurt.
It’s so fucking exhausting loving you.
Is this resentment?
When the next party rolls around — only a few weeks later, Minho makes it a point to be more mindful. No more drunk party games, no more passing physical touches. It’s not the end of the longing, not by a long shot.
But suppose it might be time, he thinks to himself. He’s been thinking it to himself since that morning at your dining room table.
You see, the thing about Lee Minho is how he loves totally. Completely. With every fiber of his being, and despite some times coming off as cold or standoffish, the one thing that was always going to be true of him was that once you were his: you were his completely.
Well, the better way of looking at it was that you had him completely, rather than the other way around.
A contract that Minho once happily signed his life away to, now feeling bitter to the thought — for the first time since that night at the house party back home where you met, Minho contemplated letting go. Moving on. Properly.
But he knew that that meant letting you go, and that was a tough pill to swallow.
You had noticed the way that Minho no longer cared after you the way that he once had, but in ways so subtle that you almost questioned if they were there at all. The tiniest gestures and changes: Minho was far from rude, far from mean, not even particularly uncommunicative.
But he was distant. Impersonal in a way that felt brand new, like a stranger of exact likeness had moved in overnight.
Minho contemplates all of the ways in which he can forget you, while you, unknowingly, contemplate all of the ways in which you can retrieve him.
Two people simply never feel exactly the same way about one another at exactly the same moment.
So you try not to think much of it, watching the way the brunette across the room runs her hand down his arm as she laughs at whatever it is that he’s saying to her. You think of how charming and funny and warm Minho is. Kind, constant.
But the clock is ticking, unbeknownst to you.
There is a world in which the greatest tragedy is a love story that, despite both people feeling the same — fails to occur simultaneously. As the sand in the hour glass for Minho ticks away, yours only just begins — and the problem being, you just don’t know. An alternate universe where the glimmer that would appear in Minho’s eye each and every time he met yours — it didn’t live any longer, and it’s typically only in those moments of hindsight that you ever really noticed it had existed at all. In it’s absence.
Minho looks over towards you from across the room during a short pause in the conversation with this other woman, and it’s different. Surely you’re not imagining it now. It’s still him, it’s still warm, and he still carries care, concern for you.
But a glimmer of light behind the eyes dims with every passing second, before turning back to the person in front of him and grinning wide.
Had you always…?
When the night ends and the two of you head home together, it’s silent for the majority of the way. Minho carries a half empty beer bottle in hand with him and a cigarette in another — you weren’t fond of when he smoked but it had become a social drinking thing he picked up since living in the city. Besides, who were you to say anything about it?
Saying anything to Minho at all now felt completely foreign to you.
Getting back to the apartment building, Minho sets the glass bottle down on the street and heads up with you, still in silence and putting out his cigarette at a trash can just before the stairs. it feels like five hundred flights of stairs despite only being five, but finally reaching the front door feels like a god send. Reprieve. Being near him…you now find suffocating.
“Night,” you say in feigned brightness before turning and heading towards your bedroom, hopeful that you can make it out of this night relatively unscathed.
“Is everything alright?”
The first thought to your mind, is “no,” obviously, because it’s not. The second, is the better choice.
“Yeah of course, I’m just tired,” you laugh, “exhausted from watching you flirt with that girl all night I guess!”
It drops from your lips before you even have a chance to control it, petty bitterness lacing each and every word and it’s so obvious, too. Completely transparent in it’s contempt. You wince as you turn back towards your door and can only pray that he takes it as the joke you only barely were capable of tonally implying.
Minho’s taken aback, confusion splashed across his features.
“What?”
“I’m kidding, goodnight!”
“You don’t get to do that.”
And all you want to do is run away to your bedroom and hide, go to sleep, try again tomorrow, but it’s the tone of his voice in those quiet words that stops you. That, and the growing romantic inquisitiveness for him in your heart.
“You don’t get to—” Minho starts again, but pauses, and you can tell the way that he sounds; his voice, his demeanor even without the ability to see him, he’s angry. Years of pent up emotional obstruction, after all. “You can’t act like this, not about that. That’s absolutely not fair.”
You finally turn around to face him as he still lingers in the doorway of the entrance, not even having removed his coat or shoes yet.
Minho wears a mask almost all of the time around you, and for a short while, he remembered what it had been like to live without you being at the forefront of his ever waking thought — incredibly selfish of you, he thinks to himself, to place yourself there once again. He had almost remembered what it had felt like to feel whole again — to not have to wear the mask that hides each and every pathetically tragic thought and feeling that came to him.
The mask is still off, evidently, from the way sorrow graces his every feature in the dimly lit entry way of your apartment. The place that may surely become the grave for you both, in some way or another.
“Minho, I—” you respond quietly, sadly. It sounds exactly the way you sounded when you broke up with him and stings in all of the exact same ways, Minho recalls.
He never was able to forget, after all.
“I don’t know, I must have just had a bit too much to drink,” you say, trying to laugh off the entire situation. “It’s not an excuse, of course, it’s not like you’re my—”
Minho’s eyes had since pulled to the side, jaw clenched in irritation, until the utterance of those words left your mouth. Eyes now pulling in your direction.
“Your move,” he thinks to himself in the moment.
“You’re not my boyfriend or anything,” and it’s the twist of that specific word that just so perfectly does the same to the perpetual knife in the heart that he’s carried for you for years.
You simply chuckle, hoping that the moment passes so that the two of you can go to sleep and carry on like normal in the morning.
“You’re so fucking selfish,” Minho spits, and the words feel like a slap to the face, because what? Where is this coming from?
Little do you know.
“What the fuck?”
“Love to play house, have a man around to go out with, to hold your bags for you, to rub you off one every now and then when it suits you,” he says, the resentment fully flowing through his tone with every word. “And then have the fucking gall to be jealous when I just talk to another woman? Do you hear yourself?”
It’s not the words that he’s saying, because he’s right, but rather the way that he’s saying them. Minho has never spoken to you like this in all of the years that the two of you have known each other.
Words coming from a place of the deepest contempt, and sounding just the same.
“You don’t get to talk to me like this,” you finally respond, walking back in his direction as he goes back to grabbing his wallet and keys — the only things he had happened to set down upon walking in. “Minho, it’s not fucking okay to talk to me like that.”
“Nothing about this situation is okay!” he shouts, turning back towards you and dropping his wallet from his hand; it landing in such a way that numerous items spill from it, although, he notices not — having been caught up in the moment. “You have no idea. You don’t have a clue what it’s like being around you every day. You’ll never fucking get—”
It’s then that Minho pauses, noticing the way that your eyes had stopped watching the way his lips tore into you and had settled towards something on the ground. Following yours, they land on presumably the same item that your own had just moments earlier.
A lone polaroid photograph from the first Christmas festival since moving to Berlin together — your lips playfully planted to his cheek. Even after all of those years, the quality of the photo had not waned. Perhaps Minho had just taken extra special care of it — just as he had with all of your other memories before.
“Minho…”
Perhaps this is it, defeat after all, he contemplates. Years of playing a dangerous game, all leading up to this moment.
Failure. Freedom?
“Here’s the truth,” he says, airy in tone and eyes still dropped to the ground, not daring to look back up and chance meeting yours. “I love you. I’ve been in love with you for years. Nothing makes me happier, and nothing makes me sadder — than you.”
A pause takes the room, neither of you being entirely sure what to say in the moment. It’s been such a long time coming, the confession from Minho — feeling immediately liberated upon the last word leaving his mouth, in spite of what it was, and in spite of what it meant, too.
Maybe this was freedom after all.
“And I’m moving out.” he finalizes his statement, bending down to gather the belongings from his wallet and carefully placing them back into the spots from which they came — the photograph included.
“What if I wanted to try?” you say suddenly. “Again, I mean. Try again.”
And in moments like these, Minho desperately wishes he were a stronger man, a man more capable of doing what’s best, what’s right, what’s safe.
“Don’t,” he responds, a pathetic plea to talk you down from whatever it is that you’re attempting to do. Unconvinced that it’s coming from a place of genuine reciprocation.
Change can be terrifying, sometimes people will do anything to avoid facing whatever may lie ahead. A concept that Minho finds himself all too familiar with.
But it’s the look on your face in that very instant, that has Minho halting with his hand on the doorknob. You won’t beg, you wouldn’t, and it’s not fair; too much to ask of a man that had already given you everything of himself before you even knew it. Maybe that was his fault, maybe it was yours.
Maybe it was everyone’s, and also no ones.
But what if the timelines did manage to overlap — just briefly — just long enough. Strings of fate barely holding onto each other by a thread before the inevitable snap of discontentment. That is, unless force be relinquished in just the knick of time.
Could they do it? Had they done it?
“For the last time,” Minho starts, and for the first time — in all irony — with full transparency. “I will do anything for you, so tell me.”
You know it’s easier for you in that moment than it’s ever been for him in all of the years that he’s put himself aside to be next to you, but the fact does not do much to quell your fear of the unknown, the what if’s. You wonder how Minho has lasted, living every day in and out just like this — and worse.
But you have to do it.
“I want to try again,” you answer, looking up at him through lashes and tears welling in your eyes ever so slightly. “I know it’s selfish to ask you to stay, but I have to. Please stay. Please try again.”
A man that always prided himself on being a bit cool, tough looking — all too happy to rush towards you and scoop you into his arms after the words finish leaving your lips — wasting no time pressing his own to yours, as well.
“Don’t expect too much of me,” you say, somewhat playfully between kisses, “I haven’t been in love with you for as long as you have with me.”
“Oh shut up,” Minho replies, kissing you hard again.
And it’s not the first time Minho touches you sexually — not even in the month, but this time is different — carrying you with legs around his waist to the couch in the living room, plopping you with back against the cushion and immediately covering you with his entire being, kisses become more and more hurried and needy. So needy. The way you feel in your stomach makes you think you might just be right there with him.
Minho wastes no time pulling his torso off of you and prying his shirt off, following suit with your own before quickly working towards his jeans; the sound of belt buckle clattering and zipper pulling resonating in your ears, and it’s enough just then to realize that this is really happening. Part of you is a little surprised that it hasn’t yet.
Better late than never.
Minho stands to pull his jeans from his legs, and once again follows through with your own — pausing to really take in the sight before him. Sure, he’s seen you in swimwear before, and even changing, but this was different.
This was for him, this was meant for him to see now.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, carefully lowering himself back down to you and shuffling his hips in between your legs; hardened length settling just against your clothed core and eliciting a sigh of relief, but also desire from the both of you, sighs immediately swallowed by the others mouth in between fervent kisses. “You’re perfect.”
You relish in the way that Minho makes an attempt to consume you entirely that night. Lightly toned body pressed fully against your own, his hips gently pressing against your own as his hands snake up and into your hair — fingers wrapping within strands as if you hold you in place, as if to ensure you could never leave him. Not now. Not after all of this.
Chaste kisses following the natural curve of your jawline, down towards your ear and up against it, Minho whispers that he loves you but his voice dripping with desire, with passion, and you believe that truly nothing could sound better to you. Minho still ever so delicately grinding against you — as if with no intent at all — completely encompassing you beneath him and breathing, whispering in your ear, the feeling comes onto you quickly. Not that you will orgasm, but that you desperately need to.
“Minho,” you groan, bucking your hips up to meet his own, “Don’t. Just—”
It’s not really a sentence, and so Minho chooses to not acknowledge it as such.
“Hm?” he quietly responds, pulling his left hand down from it’s entanglement in your hair and caressing the side of you all of the way down until it finds it’s resting place on the underside of your thigh. Pulling it up and out to give Minho a better angle to not fuck you with, it makes you want to cry in desperation. You find it unbelievable how quickly you’ve unraveled beneath him after all of these years. Had this been the case all of this time, or was it a simple matter of the strings of fate perfectly aligning at just the right moment.
The thought it interrupted by the man above you, whispering in your ear if it’s okay, if he can have you, and ignoring all of the patriarchal implications of the concept of a woman giving her body to a man; in the moment, in a vacuum, just between the two of you. It feels right.
And so, you are happy to have him.
Minho allows your leg to drop to free up his hand and release himself from his fabric confines — fingers then gently making their way to the side of your panties and carefully toying at the side — but not enough to make much happen, and Minho laughs at your impatience from under him, huffing against his face at his lack of being inside of you.
“Where did all of this come from?” he quips against the side of your face, and you choose not to acknowledge it in favor of focusing on the main event; the way he finally pulls the fabric aside and exposes you to the tip of his length and wasting no more time pressing into you slowly. Such a delightfully pleasant stretch as you adjust to him — and Minho feels it — every pulse and squeeze of your walls around him as he attempts to steady himself inside of you. It’s been so long, that he’s wished for this moment, he thinks about how it’s somehow even better than he ever could have imagined it being — your warmth enveloping him in every conceivable way and all at the same time. Emotionally, mentally, physically.
You can feel his breath against your ear, the way it already begins to lose it’s cohesion with the first few gentle strokes into you, but really, it’s that first groan of “fuck” into your ear that has you reeling, and your orgasm creeping up on you much faster than you had ever thought possible. The throaty, airy, desperation in his voice — so weak because of you, so absolutely enamored by you in all ways.
It wouldn’t be long, not for either of you. It had already been too long, it turns out.
“M—Minho, I—” you whimper out and against the skin of his shoulder: a desperate plea of your own. “I’m going to come soon, what the fuck,” in much fewer and less complete words, but you’re thankful that somehow he must have caught the memo, lifting his torso up with his hands planted flat against the couch cushion beneath you in an attempt to fuck into you better, more thoroughly, the best attempt he can make in the moment to try to get you there before him. He hasn’t said it, but you can tell that he’s close — too close for his liking, surely.
“Close?” he sputters out, forgoing sentences altogether, and with a quick nod and a biting back of a sharp whine, Minho changes the angle of his hips in such a way that grinds his pelvis right against your clit and you swear in that moment, you think you’ll pass out on the spot. Repeated chants of his name along with desperate requests to not stop and it’s a handful more presses of his hips into your own before your eyes roll into the back of your head before clenching shut; mouth ajar in silent shouting as your orgasm washes over you in intense waves, the man between your legs never relenting until his own catches him, following your lead of pleas of names as he does his best to fuck the both of you through your orgasms, until his body no longer reads capable of cooperating and he collapses — once again pressing his torso flush against your own and panting hot breath into the curve of your neck.
It does cross your mind, albeit briefly: that perhaps this would now be the end of everything as you know it between you and Minho. That maybe everything the two of you had experienced up until that moment had just been a journey to this — that no one was in love, that none of this had been real all along.
But when Minho pulls himself back up a bit, granting enough space between your two bodies to once again allow himself to plant kisses on every centimeter of skin that his mouth could possibly reach, all the while telling you all of the ways in which he’s madly, desperately and completely in love with you, you actually do wonder if maybe sometimes, just maybe, two people can feel the precisely the same way for one another, at precisely the exact same moment in time; because surely if it were possible, it would feel just like this.
Between kisses onto the flesh just below him, Minho contemplates all of the ways in which this was never meant to actually be. He knows that deep down, nothing he did ever put him in a position in which he deserved this, that he was never owed love, or sex, or you.
He wonders how he ended up so lucky, after all. Minho thinks back to the first year that you both moved to Germany together, and the first christmas festival — the night that the two of you took the polaroid photograph that he would forever keep with him everyday since that night, unbeknownst to you. He still remembers every detail perfectly, right down to the way your lips felt pressed against his cheek, despite knowing so many more feelings now.
Minho pulls himself up, just barely — only enough to reach your cheek to kiss you in just the exact spot that you had kissed him that night, and then whispers into the skin, “I love you.”
The single most important moment in Lee Minho’s life: that kiss at that Christmas festival that year. Life is only ever a series of moments that form us, shape us.
And the next second, we are in another moment.
♡ send me your thoughts and feelings in my ask.
—this is a oneshot, there will be no part 2.
#lee know smut#lee know x reader#lee know x y/n#lee know x you#lee know imagines#lee know scenarios#lee minho smut#lee minho x reader#lee minho x you#lee minho x y/n#lee minho scenarios#lee minho imagines#stray kids smut#stray kids x reader#stray kids x you#stray kids x y/n#stray kids imagines#stray kids scenarios
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◎ Teach Him a Lesson ◎: Sebastian x f!MC x Ominis - Silver Trio
Summary/Request: Ever since the three of them started dating, Sebastian's been getting really jealous whenever Ominis starts kissing their girlfriend.
It's about time they teach him a lesson.
Requested by Anon 💗
Tags: NSFW, Smut, Jealous Sebastian, Dominis, Bondage, Hair Pulling, Sub!Sebastian, Threesome
Words: 5k
|| Masterlist || AO3 ||
Ever since the three of them starting courting each other, Sebastian's done everything to be the doting boyfriend that they both deserved.
…Unfortunately, he couldn't help the fact that he was sometimes a jealous git.
He has always wrestled with his jealous emotions, even when it was just him and his little sweetheart. He adored having the complete undivided attention of the hero of Hogwarts. Being her everything. When Ominis later joined their relationship, Sebastian was over the moon. Finally, now both his lovers were his, completely his and his alone.
Of course, he somehow forgot that Ominis and his sweetheart would fall for each other too.
For a while, he was able to keep his dark emotions in check. Whenever he caught Ominis whispering Parseltongue in her ear, he would simply grit his teeth and close his eyes until the moment had passed. Whenever she chose to rest her head on Ominis's shoulder instead of Sebastian's, he would simply grab her legs and rest them in his lap. The brief moments would always pass quickly enough. And whenever Sebastian was finally back in the center of attention, everything would be right in the world.
His storm of emotions was held at bay…for a while. But as their 7th year passed at a languid pace, and their feelings only grew, the storm raged harder. Sebastian would see how Ominis developed a small private smile, only for her. And his sweetheart would read Ominis's favorite books out loud to him, lost in a fantasy world with just the two of them. The storm raged and raged and raged until….
It had been a long day in detention as he paid his penance for his last bout of tomfoolery. Sebastian had been so eager to return to the safety of the Room of Requirement, longing to smother his waiting girlfriend with heated kisses.
What he hadn't expected was to swing open the door and see that someone had already taken his place.
She was on Omnis's lap, soft smooth legs wrapped around his waist. Her shirt untucked from her waistband, allowing Ominis's large hands to sneak their way up to uncovered breasts. Her hair, normally so woven in intricate designs had completely tumbled down, waves framing her slim shoulders. They were kissing. Ominis had his other hand underneath her chin, bringing her lips closer to his. Her hands fisted Ominis's vest, pulling him closer.
Sebastian cleared his throat, startling the other two from their kiss. Their faces were soft and inviting, begging for him to join. It always was this way. The other two would always inevitably reach out and pull him into their embrace.
But it was too late, the dam holding back his storm of anger had broken. His face twisted into an ugly snarl. "Leaving me out again, you two? That's perfectly fine by me! I hope you have the time of your lives without me." He stiffly turned away, slamming the large door of the Room of Requirement much harder than needed.
•.¸¸.•´¨* •.¸¸.•*´¨•.¸¸.•´¨`
He avoided the other two.
Sebastian shouldn't be jealous. He was better than this. Sebastian knew of course, that despite that fact that it was him that introduced the two together, that he wouldn't always be in the middle of their relationship. He knew in the back of his mind that they were falling in love without him there. After all, it was what was agreed upon.
So, why did he act this way?
His hand clutched the owl post she had sent him. "Meet me in the Undercroft. I got a new spell that I think will be to your liking." Sebastian's frown melted.
He needed to apologize. They both deserved better.
As he stepped forward in the light of the Room of Requirement, he paused, not expecting to see Ominis there as well. They were sitting next to each other on one of the many couches, hands folded in their laps as if they were waiting for his arrival.
Bollocks. This was an intervention, wasn't it?
His apology was stuck in his throat, unable to come out.
"Sebastian." Their dove greeted, always the peacemaker between the two boys. "Come and sit with us."
He obeyed, stiffly sinking into one of the chairs in front of them. Like a criminal in front of a jury.
"I'm sorry." He began. "I shouldn't have yelled at you two. I do love you, the both of you. I'm…I'm sorry."
"Thank you Sebastian." she says, voice soothing. He didn't dare look into her eyes, not wanting to see the pity there.
"Sebastian, I too appreciate your apology." Ominis's voice is sharp. "But this is entirely unacceptable. We all agreed, at the very start of this whole affair, that we were in this, all three of us, together.
"I'm sorry, Ominis. I didn't mean it. I've never meant to hurt you." Sebastian says lowly. He can't help but wonder how many times he's apologized to the two of them. Not just for this but…for….everything.
Sebastian's hands curled into fists in his lap. "I confess. I don't mean to be like this. I want you two to be happy together. I…I just can't…"
He swallowed thickly. "I'm letting my emotions get the better of me. I have been for a while."
"Well, in my opinion, I think you're long overdue for a lesson." Ominis declared.
"A lesson?" Sebastian repeated dumbly, not knowing where this was going.
His sweetheart stood up from her comfortable position on the couch next to Ominis. "A lesson. Maybe some exposure into what you fear most would do you some good?"
She approached the seated Sebastian, towering over him impressively so. She bent down at the waist, angling her jaw to meet his lips. Sebastian hummed in pleasant surprise. Well, if this was the lesson, then consider himself a very eager student. His neck strained as he reached up to her face, begging for forgiveness. She broke the kiss far too early, quickly pulling away from him. Sebastian's eyes were still closed, trying to chase her retreating lips. He only opened his eyes just in time to see her wand pointed at him. Before he could react she muttered a spell that Sebastian wasn't familiar with.
"Incarcerous"
Thick black tendrils of rope shot out from the ends of her wand, slithering across his chest and wrapping themselves around the arms of the chair. His hands tied behind his back, Sebastian strained his muscles against the bondage, but it was no use.
"What the fu-" he struggled.
His traitorous girlfriend giggled, tucking her wand back into her sleeve. "I wasn't lying. I did invite you here to show off a new spell."
"What is the meaning of this?"
Ominis stepped forward. His hand curling around their lover's waist, in a deliberately possessive manner. "It's as we said. A lesson for you Sebastian. Maybe, in time, you'll come to enjoy it."
Ominis pulled her into a kiss in front of Sebastian. Their eyes fluttered closed, lost in each other.
Sebastian momentarily paused in his escape attempt. A faint blush crept its way towards his cheeks. His eyes were glued to their entwined form. He hated how forgotten he was, cast aside like an afterthought. His stomach boiled hotly. "I don't understand this."
Ominis broke apart from their lover despite her sigh of disappointment. "All you need to do, Sebastian, is be good for us. Can you be a good, Sebastian?"
The realization of what was happening washed over Sebastian. Ominis had always let Sebastian take the lead in the bedroom. It was hard not to. Sebastian's greedy passion roared too ferociously, and he was always too ravenous in the bedroom, consuming his lover until there was nothing left.
This is what Ominis must be like whenever he was with their sweetheart--dominating and demanding. Sebastian never tried to imagine the two of them together in the bedroom.
Now, he was starting to regret it.
"I don't like to repeat myself, Sebastian." Ominis's voice dripped with displeasure, drawing Sebastian back into reality.
"Will you be a good boy for us, Sebastian?" Ominis tilted his nose up, looking down on Sebastian haughtily.
There wasn't even a second of hesitation. "Yes." Sebastian groaned.
"Then watch."
•.¸¸.•´¨* •.¸¸.•*´¨•.¸¸.•´¨`
With only his beating heart keeping time, Sebastian couldn't tell if it had been mere seconds or hours since he had been imprisoned.
Ominis had been taking his sweet time, trailing soft delicate kisses in secretive pattern along her skin. Their kisses were slow and languid as if they were so lost in each other that time lost all meaning. Sebastian had never before seen such patience in the bedroom, having always preferred to listen to his animalistic rush of adrenaline.
The fibers of his heart were tearing in different directions. Sebastian couldn't ignore how hard his cock was, begging for release. He of course, listened to Ominis, dutifully watching the two of them take each other apart. It seemed as if they completely forgot about him.
What was the point in this whole exercise if they were just going to ignore him?
I should be the one kissing her….Ominis should be marking me. He tried to ignore how his cock pulsated with need.
"It's a shame that I can't join in with you two." Sebastian's tongue was often far more clever than his head. His voice took on a silky smooth tone, the one that Sebastian knew made his lovers weak at the knees. "If only there were a way for me to get out of this rope."
They ignored him, perhaps deliberately.
Sebastian's back tooth almost cracked in frustration.
"Now, how is this even a lesson if I'm not participating in it?" He pouted, pretending to be unaffected by this whole affair despite the bulge in his pants telling otherwise.
Finally, the two pulled apart. She looked at Ominis with an amused gaze, her eyes sparkling with some inside joke Sebastian wasn't getting.
"Ominis, let's give Sebastian what he wants."
Ominis kissed her lips reverently. "As you wish."
Where was this gentleness when Ominis was bedding Sebastian?
The long pale fingers that Sebastian adored so much lightly trailed up her back. And Ominis deft fingers plucked at her dress like violin strings. The fabric seemed to melt away effortlessly, leaving her only in undergarments.
Sebastian's eyes widened in disbelief. He had always struggled with the intricate clasps, strings, and buckles of her conservative clothing. Sebastian always needed to resort to tearing her garments into pieces from her body and reparo'ing them the morning after.
The pair got onto the couch behind them. Ominis coaxed her nearly bare body onto his lap. She leans against him, her back pressing firmly against his chest. His hands roamed possessively over her exposed thighs, spreading them for Sebastian to see.
Sebastian shivered.
"Pay attention, Sebastian." There was a hint of a smirk on Ominis's lips. "You might learn a thing or two."
Half of him wanted to act out in protest. The other half was dying to see where Ominis was going with this.
Ominis hands dipped underneath the breastband of her bra. Sebastian couldn't quite see what Ominis's fingers were doing, but he could certainly imagine. A moan was drawn from her pretty lips, and now Sebastian definitely knew what Ominis was doing.
It should be Sebastian making her moan so prettily. Sebastian's biceps flexed against the tip rope around him. The chair squeaked in protest.
"Sebastian…ah…." Her voice was breathless as Ominis's quick fingers make quick work of her bra, leaving her breasts for view. Sebastian's eyes trail over every inch of newly exposed skin. Merlin, she was so gorgeous. She gasped, "Good boys look….a-ah…but they don't touch."
Sebastian's brain could barely functioning. "What?"
"You're being jealous, Sebastian." Sebastian's mouth hung open. Unbelievable, the nerve of these two. How was he survive this? To just stay tied up? Just watch the two people he loves most in the world worship each other's bodies?
His cock wept, straining against his pants.
As she relaxed in Ominis's arms, he pulling her soft thighs apart for Sebastian to see. She shyly ducked her head, not used to being on display for another man like this.
Ominis whispered in her ear, just loud enough for Sebastian's straining ears to hear. "Let's show Sebastian what we get up to without him, dove."
She whimpered for the other man so sweetly. Sebastian's heart skipped a beat. Those noises were supposed to be for him.
Sebastian's eyes widen in anticipation. She gently guided Ominis hands to her increasingly wet undergarments. Ominis's long fingers pulled them to the side.
Her eyes fluttered close, head dropped back to rest on Omins's shoulders. Sebastian wanted to throw up, wanted to close his eyes and turn away from the scene in front of him.
He couldn't look away.
Sebastian's eyes traced over the long length of Omins's digits dipping further into her wet center. They followed the fine tremor in her quivering thighs. Her wetness clung to his fingers.
T-this was supposed to be Sebastian's job. And yet, here was he completely immobile in front of her, helpless to do anything but watch his boyfriend and girlfriend engrossed in their own pleasure.
There was that familiar coil of jealous tightening in his stomach. But right next to it, was his rock hard shaft, weeping profusely onto his slacks with need.
He bucked his hips against the tight binds, trying to chase relief, to no avail.
"Do you think Sebastian's gotten over his jealousy, dove?" Ominis asked. His other hand snaked under her jaw, forcing her to look back at the man before her, a hard command to follow when her own pleasure was so distracting.
Sebastian's heart skipped a beat. They were putting on a show for him.
She groaned, opening her eyes to look at the pathetic tied man in front of her. His muscles strained against the binds holding him down. Her eyes trailed down his form to the noticeable bulge in his pants that was begging for release.
"I-I'm…ah, Ominis!…n-not sure." she replied. The muscles in her stomach were tightening in anticipation.
"Y-yes, yes please, Ominis, I've learned my lesson. Please, please, untie me. Let me show you." Sebastian begged, not quite even remembering what the whole point of this whole exercise was for.
Ominis hummed, seemingly unmoved by Sebastian's pretty pleads. His fingers quickened in their movement, pumping in and out of their girlfriend's core. "How can I trust someone like you? Half the times, I don't know whether to punish you or reward you."
She mewled, eyes shut tight, her back arching off of Ominis's chest. It was getting increasingly harder to participate in the conversation. She was so, so close.
"I'll be good." Sebastian promised. "Be good to you both. Please, Ominis, I love you two."
Ominis's fingers stilled in their ministrations, hands pulling away from her wet thighs. Their lover whimpered, on the cusp of tidal wave and yet unable to taste it. He turned his face into her hair, hushing her further protests.
"Don't fret, dove. Sebastian will help you finish, won't he?"
Sebastian could almost feel the drool trickling down his chin. He nodded dumbly, so eager to show both his lovers how good he could be.
As he got up from the couch, Ominis gently helped the poor girl up, standing on trembling legs. Sebastian could barely breath, as he watched his best friend start stripping away the many formal layers that hid his body. Vest now entirely forgotten on the floor, his robes banished to oblivion. The starch white shirt, dress pants, and the undone tie, wrapped around Ominis's right hands were the only remaining clothing on the man.
Sebastian whimpered. Only Ominis could be still so dressed and yet somehow look so naked.
Ominis approached the seated man in front of him slowly.
Sebastian sighed, eager to get out of the restrictive binds. He couldn't wait for the real fun to start. It was long overdue.
Instead, he found himself being pulled off the chair by magic onto the flat cold surface of a table. The binds felt like the cold scales of a snake against his skin, slithering their way around his arms and legs to reprison him to the table.
Ominis's smirk was borderline cruel, as he wrapped his tie around Sebastian's wrists before pulling them upwards on the table, stretching Sebastian to be fully on display.
Sebastian tugged on his wrists experimentally, only to have no budge. "O-Ominis?" He questioned.
Ominis leaned over the other man, his face inches away from Sebastian's. "Remember, if you're ever in any discomfort, you only need to say the special word."
Sebastian's cock twitched in eager anticipation. He groaned, pathetically simultaneously cursing Ominis while singing his praises.
His reply was lacking, Ominis gripped his chin, forcing his face up.
"Say the word, in case you need it for later."
Sebastian refused out of principle just wanting for Ominis to touch him at this point.
Ominis hand on his chin tightened as a warning.
"Headmaster Black." Sebastian stated the safe word.
Ominis hummed in agreement. "Good boy."
Sebastian preened at the praise.
"Darling, help me get Sebastian more presentable, will you?"
She hummed, nipping at Ominis's lips teasingly. "It would be my pleasure."
Climbing on top of the table, she crawled on top of Sebastian's chest, sitting so close to his groin. His breath quickened. He could feel the heat from her naked center, pressed against his stomach with his clothes acting as the only barrier between them.
Skillful hands started undoing the buttons of his shirt. Soft lips left kisses on each area of newly exposed skin. Sebastian's neck strained upwards. His head lifted up, trying to chase her lips in turn to return her kisses but the black tendrils only tightened in response.
He whined, thunking his head back down in defeat.
Her eyes flickered upwards, looking at Sebastian's pained expression in amusement.
Ominis's wand pointed at Sebastian before the man uttered a quick spell. His pants, belt, and underpants vanished, leaving him exposed on the table in front of them. Now free from its confines, his cock bounced up to attention, begging for attention. His freckles disappeared in his warm blush.
With another flick of the wand, a warm tingling sensation trailed down Sebastian's spine to his hole, as he felt himself get become wet and loosened in anticipation of things to come.
Ominis long fingered dipped into Sebastian's hole, stretching it out for Ominis's cock. Sebastian bucked his hips eagerly chasing the new sensation. At the same time, his girlfriend wrapped her soft hand around his weeping member, giving a few strokes.
This was death. This was either hell or heaven, and Sebastian couldn’t figure out which was which.
The pair was unrelenting, Ominis's fingers long and firm as they scissored him open. He could feel their girlfriend's hand stroking his cock. Her face was getting close to it, and he could feel tiny puffs of hot air on the tip.
His muscles flexed against their confines. His hips arched upwards, chasing the dual sensations. This is where he belonged, at the center of attention in between the two of them.
Ominis's cloudy eyes darkened as he withdrew his fingers from Sebastian's hole. The terrible sensation of being empty was very fleeting and quickly replaced with the heavy promise of a blunt hot member begging for entrance.
Sebastian nearly cried, trying to fight against his bindings to impale himself on Ominis's cock.
The other Slytherin clucked, before giving into his boyfriend's wishes, as he often did in these situations. Sebastian groaned, the heavy hot pressure slowly shoving inside was so delicious.
With a wave of a wand, the black tendrils tying Sebastian's legs down disappeared. Sebastian's freed legs eagerly wrapped around Ominis's hips, trying to pull him closer.
"Are you forgetting someone?" Ominis scolded. "You're the one who's so jealous of the two of us, but you can't even handle us both at the same time.
Sebastian's eyes flickered open. He had almost entirely forgot about her. She was still sitting on top of his naked chest. He was trapped under her predatory gaze.
What a sight he must look to her. Shirt ripped open exposing his chest and abdomen. His arms above his head tied up and secured by Ominis's green tie. And his legs wrapped around Ominis as he thoroughly penetrating him. His mouth hung open, letting out little noises every time Ominis thrusted forward, burying his thick cock inside Sebastian.
His cheeks blushed in embarrassment as she stared nakedly in want.
Sebastian's voice was almost gone. "Please, sweetheart, let me serve you."
She hummed as her hips hovered over Sebastian's shaft. Some of her wetness dripped onto Sebastian's twitching cock. He could feel the heat coming from her center. She bent over, her chest pressed against Sebastian's. He could feel her hardened nipples against his pecs.
Her mouth was inches from his. Her whispers tickled his lips.
"Hopefully we'll be able to fuck the jealousy right out of you."
Before Sebastian could fully process her words, her hips slammed downwards, impaling herself on his shaft. Simultaneously, Ominis thrust forward, cock brushing against that sweet bundle of nerves.
Sebastian screamed, guttural and wanting. His wrists strained roughly against the smooth silk.
He must have died halfway. That or he'd gone completely blind.
"I-I'm close." Sebastian croaked, his throat dry from his screaming. "P-Please, darling, Ominis, let me…l-let me-"
She frowned, "Coming before me? Before I'm done with you?"
Ominis tutted in disappointment. Sebastian had zero idea how he acted so unaffected by this. "Where are your manners, Sebastian?"
Sebastian groaned, They were killing him. They were vampires sucking out his life essence and they were just laughing as they tortured him.
She summoned her wand to her hand. "Let's take pity on him, Ominis. Looks like our toy is about to break."
Merlin, that's all that Sebastian was good for wasn't it? Sebastian was just a tool for them to use and get out. Just an object to serve them.
He almost came right there.
Sensing his incoming climax, his girlfriend smiled before whispering another spell.
And just like that the incoming wave of his climax had paused. The brink of total ecstasy now completely gone.
He groaned in pain. "W-what in Merlin's-"
She smiled, devilishly and evil. Her hips had resumed, pumping up and down on his cock, giving Sebastian no relief. "You're done, when Ominis and I say you are done."
Sebastian couldn't breathe. Where in Merlin's name did she learn that spell? He felt feverish, mind so clearly added by the push and pull of Ominis's cock and her wet center.
"Sebastian."
He couldn't muster the energy to respond. He was boneless, at the mercy of his lovers.
"Sebastian." Ominis asked again, his voice leaving no room for disobedience.
The boy whimpered. He managed to lift his head a little from the cold comforting surface of the wooden table.
"Keep your eyes open. If you keep watching, we'll reward you."
Ominis leaned forward to twist his fingers in the flowing strands on her hair. Firmly, he pulled her towards him, getting her attention. She gasped, her hips stuttered to a halt. Ominis brought the curve of her spine flush against his warm chest. The glow of the Undercroft's candles reflected so beautifully against her exposed neck. Ominis attacked her neck. She succumbed to the onslaught of bites and kisses.
They kissed, their hips still working furiously. She was bouncing on Sebastian's cock and Ominis's hips were unrelenting as they pumped into Sebastian's hole.
Instinctually, the raging storm that was held at bay roared back to life. All the jealousy and envy made itself known. There they went, ignoring him again.
Sebastian has never been so humiliated, and yet, he's never been harder.
He'd never noticed this before, or perhaps, better put, he never wanted to see how beautiful they were together. How their bodies were molded for each other, like entwined snakes. How they loved each other so perfectly.
They were both so brilliant, so beautiful, so powerful. What could they possibly want from him than they could not simply get from each other?
The familiar coil of jealousy slithered around his heart.
Perhaps Ominis could sense his feelings as he whispered something quietly in her ear. Her eyes cracked open and stared at Sebastian bound form.
And Sebastian was struck by how much she adored him. Her dark, soulful eyes were filled with indescribable love for him. And Ominis turned his head to face Sebastian so that Sebastian could get a good view on his expression. It was the same soft features that Ominis had for Sebastian alone, reminding him of the day that Ominis first confessed his love to the other Slytherin.
It hit Sebastian like a lightning bolt. The realization that all his jealousy and fear that consumed him was nothing next to the mountain of his love for them.
And he also realizes that everything they have done, and everything they were doing were to show him that they love him. They have always loved him.
This whole time.
"I want to see her come, Ominis." he begged. "And you- fuck- too, 'Nis. W-want you to both …feel good…"
He's surprised at how earnest he meant it. No lies, no manipulation. He could happily watch both of his lovers lost in each other, falling for each other. As long as they were both happy.
"Y-yes, Sebastian." She mewled. Sebastian could feel her walls spasming around his cock. "Ah-I-I'm…I'm so close."
"Good boy." Ominis praised. He removed his hands from Sebastian. To Sebastian's surprise, he did not miss their absence as much as he anticipated. Instead, he eagerly watched skillful hands made their way to her clit. She inhaled shakily as Ominis rubbed her. Occasionally, his fingers would miss and slyly brush against Sebastian's pulsating shaft.
Ominis could hear how close she was from her small little gasps to the breathily quiet moans she would try to stifle.
A particular flick of his wrist sent her over the edge. She keened, digging deep crescents into Sebastian's abdominal muscles with her sharp nails. Her hands shook as Ominis leaned forward to swallow her cries with his mouth.
And Sebastian laid there, loving the slight sting of pain from her nails and happy to just bask in her glow.
Ominis's hips came to a slow, rolling halt, and he redirected his attention away from Sebastian to plant soothing kisses along the curve of her spine.
Sebastian did not mind this.
After a while, her lashes slowly fluttered open. Blown pupils gazed at Sebastian's wide-eyed innocent expression. Her hands relaxed, releasing her claws from Sebastian's sore skin.
Sebastian was still buried deep within her, waiting for her command.
She surged forward to kiss him, and he was happy to let her take what she wanted from him.
"You're doing so good, Sebastian." She murmured into his bruising lips.
His heart skipped a beat at the praise.
"Good boys should be rewarded. Don't you think so, Ominis?" she asked. She summoned her wand to her hand.
His heart nearly stopped.
Ominis snapped his hips forward deep within Sebastian. "He's been surprisingly well-behaved."
Sebastian whimpered in agreement.
She couldn't help but smile. With a wave of her wand, the invisible vice around the base of his cock loosened.
He sighed in relief. It felt like he could finally breathe again.
She did not let him rest. Despite her recent orgasm, her hips were unrelenting as she started grinding forward on his cock.
Sebastian jerked back in surprise, accidentally pushing himself down onto Ominis's thick cock.
He was helpless against their onslaught. Pleasure washed over him as the pair took him apart, fucking him from both ends. He felt so full, impaled on Ominis and so overwhelmed as his girlfriend milked his aching cock.
"O-Ominis, pleasepleaseplease."
Ominis ran his fingers soothingly over Sebastian's side. "What do you need?"
"Want you to come. W-want to be good for you."
Ominis thumbs pressed hotly into the dips of Sebastian's waist, as he jerked his hips forward, setting a faster pace. The tightly wound restraint that he managed to cling too was starting to come unraveled.
Ominis's voice was rough, throat dry. "Sebastian, I want you to come. Want you to come into our pretty princess."
They both groaned at his words. Ominis always had the both of him clinging onto his every syllable in the bedroom.
Sebastian, already so close to the brink, moaned. His vision went with has he released his load inside her warmth. He might have blacked out half-way through. He only came back down to earth when Ominis's pounding took on a different rhythm. Sebastian mewled. He barely had any time to recover from his high. His prostate so sensitive but his muscles so pliant against the vicious fucking.
At last, Ominis thrusted forward, reaching deep into Sebastian, as he emptied his load into Sebastian's load. His brown eyes fluttered closed, loving the sensation of being filled.
There was a moment in which the very air was still, in which the trio tried to catch their breath.
She was the first to move, undoing the tie around Sebastian's redden wrists before collapsing on top of him.
Ominis, the dutiful lover, summoned a wet cloth to clean the both of them.
"Have you learned your lesson?" She asked.
Sebastian hummed. His mind already imaging all the future scenarios in which his bouts of jealousy would be swiftly punished with their mouths on his throat and cock.
Oh yes, Sebastian certainly had learned a lesson alright.
#hogwarts legacy#sebastian sallow#ominis gaunt#sebastian sallow x reader#sebastian sallow x mc#sebastian sallow fanfiction#hphl#harry potter#sebastian sallow fic#harry potter hogwarts game#ominis gaunt x sebastian sallow#ominis x mc#ominis gaunt x reader#ominis x reader#ominis x you#dominis#jealous!sebastian#silver trio#dark trio#fierymiasmawork
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For the Love of the Game - [Pazzi | Part 1]
paige bueckers x azzi fudd
summary: part 1 of my pazzi fake dating series!! i originally meant for it to be friends to lovers but i realized enemies is easier to write so i changed it up 😶 lmk what u think!
word count: 760
masterlist | part 2
“So the rumors are true.”
Azzi spun the basketball in her hands, finding comfort in the familiar texture of the Wilson Evo NXT. Here she was, at the Werth Championship Center, in front of banners unfurling the glory of all the NCAA champions that have walked here before her - a much different scene than the small high school gym of St. John’s. With all the different colleges she’d visited in the last year, she’d had a rough time adapting to how different everything was, but the one thing that always stayed the same was this ball in her hands. The reason she was doing all this, she reminded herself.
Azzi turned around. It was almost out of a movie, seeing the three girls that stood facing her. On the left, she recognized as Aaliyah Edwards. Her hair was intertwined in her signature yellow and purple braids, and there was a friendly smile on her face. On the right, Nika Muhl. The Croation phenom with long, straight brunette hair tied up in a ponytail, a neutral expression on her face. And in the middle-
Oh boy. In the middle, there was Paige. Good ol’ Paige Bueckers. Her light blonde hair hung loose, framing her face. Her eyebrows were turned down, her lips pressed into a straight line. Talk about unfriendly.
Azzi swallowed. “Hey,” she spoke uncertainly.
Aaliyah stepped forward, and before Azzi knew it, she was being wrapped up in a bear hug by the 6’3” power forward. “Welcome to UConn!” Aaliyah grinned. “I’m Aaliyah, but all my friends call me Lili.”
Azzi awkwardly patted Aaliyah on the back, her gaze falling to the other two after she stepped back.
“I’m Nika.” The brunette offered Azzi her hand instead of swooping in for a hug like Aaliyah did, but she suddenly smiled warmly, and Azzi felt at ease. “Nika Muhl.”
“Nice to meet all of you. I’m Azzi.”
“We know,” Paige responded curtly, a frosty look in her eyes. Nika nudged Paige, probably reminding her to be nice, and Paige heaved a sigh before sticking out a limp hand. “Bueckers. But you know that.”
Aaliyah rolled her eyes. “God, Paige, don’t be so cocky.”
“I’m not!” The blonde quickly defended. “Azzi and I go way back. She knows me.” She smiled at Azzi then, but it was sharp and wolfish, nothing alike Nika’s welcoming beam from earlier. Azzi preferred Paige’s resting bitch face.
Azzi twirled the basketball she was holding on her finger. “Yep,” she responded dryly. “Paige and I played together for a couple of years. USA basketball.”
Nika’s eyes lit up. “That’s so cool! So you already have a friend here. Nice.” She looked between the two of them with a big smile on her face.
“Not really,” Paige scoffed. This time it was Aaliyah who elbowed her, and Paige winced. “Give us a second, will ya?” Aaliyah smiled brightly at Azzi before she aggressively grabbed Paige’s elbow and pulled her a few steps back.
“What are you doing?” Azzi heard Nika hissed. They were being very conspicuous, especially because they were the only ones in the gym and the three sophomores had retreated literally only two steps back. Azzi could hear every single word they were saying without even having to strain her ears. But apparently they thought they were being sneaky, so Azzi could only awkwardly stand there and listen to them. She now regretted asking to stay in the facility when Geno had finished showing her around. All she’s wanted to do was shoot some hoops in her new home, familiarize herself with the gym before practices officially started, and now she was stuck here dealing with the bitchiness of Paige Bueckers, a girl who was constantly grating on her nerves.
“She’s not visiting,” Aaliyah added on. “She literally committed, so I don’t know why you’re trying to scare her away. She’s on the team now.”
“What do you even have against her?” Nikka questioned.
There was silence for a second, before Paige groaned. “Nothing. Just some tension from a few years ago, I guess.”
Tension that you caused, Azzi thought to herself. When she’d first met the blonde, she’d been fine with her, not particularly liking or disliking her. But after Paige had started being hostile around her, Azzi started to reciprocate the same negative feelings, resulting in the tensions that Paige was speaking of.
The girls returned. Paige’s face was now contorted into an unnatural, almost creepy smile. Azzi was sure Aaliyah had forced Paige to smile and this was the best the blonde could come up with.
“Welcome to UConn!” Paige said, her words dripping with faux excitement and peppiness. She glanced at Nika, who prodded her on with an encouraging smile, as if Paige was a kid that was being forced to apologize to their classmate whose blocks she’d knocked over. Paige motioned for the ball, and Azzi reluctantly tossed it over to her. She examined it, then spun it on her finger, copying what Azzi did earlier. “UConn.” She gestured at the banners, at the gleaming trophies lining the walls. “The basketball capital of the world.”
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GENTLE MOMENTS WITH THEM. 𓂅 ˖ ࣪ ( headcanons )
cw. soft / gentle moments with michael and thomas ( sep ) <3, established relationships, gn! reader, etc.
note. i don’t know, i just really wanted to write headcanons, so this is what i came up with! i was going to do jealousy headcanons, or when the reader gets catcalled or something, but i needed something more simple since i’m dead tired rn.. <3 hope you enjoy! comments and reblogs appreciated!
requests are open. masterlist.
MICHAEL MYERS.
any time spent with michael is generally quiet, mostly due to how mute he is. the loudest he gets is a confirming grunt, or an annoyed huff.
however, on the extremely rare occasion, those quiet moments hold a different atmosphere. almost.. soft, or gentle, in some capacity.
it’s strange to call such a silent, intimidating, stalker of a man ‘gentle’, but in your heart you knew it was his intentions that spoke the words he wouldn’t.
you roused in the middle of the night, lazily sitting yourself up at the sudden appearance of your tall, violent lover. it wasn’t unusual for him to disappear for hours on end and show up in the middle of the night.
he stood in the frame of your bedroom door, mask on, however he stood in a fitting black t-shirt and simple dark pajama pants that you gifted him last christmas.
…he used to sleep in his coveralls, but you quickly forced him to wear some form of pajamas ( obviously after being well established in the relationship where you were able to twist his arm in such ways, otherwise he wouldn’t have been so receptive ).
you barely remember the sleepy smile that formed on your lips, giving michael a little wave before you found him standing at your side where you sat on the bed.
his chest stilled briefly, as if he was holding his breath, and his gaze was directed at you, observing. despite how you couldn’t see his eyes through the mask’s eye holes due to how dark it was in the room ( the only light being the moonlight that filtered through the window blinds ), you could feel his piercing gaze crawl over your sleep-addled features.
and suddenly, one large, rough hand patted the top of your head. his palms were littered with callouses, the meat of his palm below his fingers tenderly ached from how tightly he tended to grip his knife. and yet, his touch was somehow comforting. a sort of prize you thought, as michael wasn’t one known for tender caresses and loving touches.
his large hand drifted from the top of your head to your neck, his fingers brushing along your jugular in a feather-light trail.
and as soon as the soft moment had come, it was gone. michael pulled away, turning and leaving your bedroom. you knew that you’d fall back asleep before he would lay himself down next to you, and you knew he’d be up and gone before you woke in the morning.
but gentle moments like these reminded you of why you fell for the man that everyone else deemed a monster
THOMAS HEWITT.
unlike michael, gathering soft, quiet moments with thomas wasn’t too rare. he was, to you, a texan gentle giant.
however, the real challenge was getting him alone in the first place for more than half an hour.
you understood how important his family was to thomas, and how needed he was around the family ‘farm’. the man had many physically demanding and time consuming daily chores that he carried out in order for his family to live the reserved, happy little lives they did.
and that often resulted in your only shared time alone being when you wake in the mornings and when you sleep during the nights. in short, it wasn’t ideal.
however, being as thomas was completely wrapped around your little finger, it never took too much convincing to have him all to yourself for the evening on certain occasions.
you sat comfortably on the recently repaired front porch, enjoying the humid evening under the slow sunset, able to sit comfortably in the shade of the house as the night started to cool.
thomas wasn’t too far away, and you watched carefully ( and.. enjoyably ) as thomas worked on one of the last tasks of the day. he was slowly cleaning out the large old barn that sat on their property, full of rusted old farming equipment and spare heavy car parts that the hewitts simply did not need any more. and so, he took it upon himself to, over the course of the week, clean out all the junk.
and boy.. was it a show for you. your tommy was by far the strongest man you knew, both mentally and physically. and watching your big texan hunk lift heavy metal parts as if they weighed nothing?
and thomas knew you were watching him. a part of the man enjoyed showing off in front of you. he loved how hot your face grew, how you shifted in your seat, your beautiful eyes staring him down lovingly ( and hungrily ).
you smiled as your thomas finished up for the day and made his way to the porch, wiping his big hands on the front of his work apron to rid himself of the dirt and old car grease. you scooted yourself over, offering him room to sit down on the swing next to you, already having a glass of sweet tea to offer out to him, figuring that he was no doubt breathless from his work, no matter how effortless he made it look.
he took a heavy seat next to you, gratefully taking the tea from your hand, replacing it with his own large hand, interweaving his fingers with your own. thomas was always still shy when it came to you, however intertwining your hands together was like second nature now. it was his way of saying hello.
both of your hands, interlocked, landed comfortably on your thigh. thomas’ fingers were still somewhat grimy, yet it didn’t bother you. you comfortably leaned into his plush side, resting your head against his broad chest, right under his masked chin.
you looked up, admiring his dark locks of hair that framed his face and ever so slightly dipped in front of his dark, lovely eyes. you have a warm smile, before you both simply enjoyed the silence together, staring out at the beautiful texas sunset, knowing that you had no place you’d rather be.
© myesmi . . . do not steal, translate, or repost.
#myesmi writes !!#horror#horror slasher#slashers#slashers x reader#michael myers#thomas hewitt#leatherface#michael myers x reader#michael myers x you#thomas hewitt x reader#thomas hewitt x you#leatherface x reader#texas chainsaw the beginning#texas chainsaw massacre
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professor steve or boss steve?
👀
I don't know what this is but I chose professor Steve
One is the Loneliest Number
“I’m sorry I’m late,” you bluster in through the door, “I got caught–”
You stop short. The room is empty. You check your watch, the small golden piece your mother got you before you left for college, and peer around once more. There is only one other body in the immense room. Your professor, Dr. Rogers.
“Oh, hi, I…” you sputter, “it’s not the wrong day, is it?”
The question strikes you as stupid the moment it hangs before you. No, he wouldn’t be here if it was the wrong day.
“Did I get the wrong time?”
He sits up, setting down the book on the desk before him. He looks unimpressed as he leaves on the hardcover of his copy of Wuthering Heights. Your own is a curling paper back with wrinkles along the spine. You bite your lip and teeter on your toes, turning your toes together.
He watches you, sliding the book loudly across the wood, “you are the only one. Seems like this wasn’t such a good idea.”
You frown and look above his head, at the face of the clock ticking on the wall. It’s almost twenty minutes past the hour. You feel worse for him now than you did running in late.
“I’m sorry, professor, I…” you look around awkwardly, “I was so excited but maybe someone else will show up. I don’t mind waiting.”
He seems less than heartened by your words. He sighs and looks down at the book, running his fingers across the embossed cover. You go to the middle row and lift your bag onto the desk, fishing around for your copy.
“Maybe we can get started without them,” you volunteer, searching for anything to kill the unease, “I really enjoyed the book, Prof–”
“Don’t bother. Go back and have fun with your friends,” he waves you off as he turns back up the aisle, “I won’t keep you. Obviously, you coeds have a lot more going on than some ancient tome.”
“Oh, uh,” you blink at his back, his broad shoulders stretching the tweed of his blazer. He talks as if he’s terribly old but he hardly shows it. There’s a few strands of silver in his hair but you can hardly tell as they blend into the golden highlights, “so, what do you think? Did Bronte mean to reprimand her protagonists or romanticise them? I thought the narrative was kinda condemning, don’t you think?”
He stops and pushes his head back. A long breath as he turns on his heel.
“Really? Most would say it’s overly praising, that it glorfiies Catherine and Heathcliff’s love,” he intones, “at least, most girls your age say so.”
“Well, I uh… found it almost annoying that Heathcliff refuses to change,” you explain as you sit down, “truly, but with Hareton, Catherine can grow…”
“Hmm,” he hums and walks along the next row, turning a chair around to sit, “tell me more.”
You rub your dry lips together before you find another thought. You don’t want to admit that you were scrolling on Reddit and a lot of your ideas were borrowed from the arguments there. Still, you came all the way here and you just couldn’t bring yourself to leave him.
You go on about the mirroring of Heathcliffe and Catherine, how their similarities are almost detrimental, as if they are part of each other rather than lovers. He nods thoughtfully as you speak.
“I don’t know, I think I need to do a second read,” you shrug as you eyes meet his. The intent blue irises nearly make you wither.
“I think you got it,” he allows his mouth to curve just a little, “thank you for humouring me.”
“No, professor, I–”
“I’m not stupid, the letters beside my name would at least suggest that,” he leans back in the chair and frames his book with his thumbs and index fingers.
You admire the cover, leather inlaid with the image of the literary amours, “yours is much prettier than mine.” You close the curling cover and try to hold it smooth, the blocked font offering little more than simplicity. “I got it from the second-hand pile at the student shop.”
“It has character,” he says as he reaches over, his thumb brushing yours as he slides it from beneath your grasp. He flips through the pages, the soft breeze of the flutter causing a short blond strand to droop down his forehead, “a special sort of beauty.”
He peeks up at you. You don’t know what to say. What he’s waiting for. You smile as his gaze follows your nervous fingers as they tap against your throat. You still the anxious gesture and look at the clock.
“Like you,” he breathes.
Your eyes drop back to him and you shake your head, “pardon?”
“Hm,” he tilts his head, “I didn’t…” he cranes to look at the clock, “well, I won’t keep you any longer. I guess you should–”
“Have you been to Marge’s? The new cafe down by the arena?” You blurt out. Your habit of rambling when you're addled never fails to corner you, “I was going to go there after and have some tea. Maybe…” you touch your cheek, suddenly embarrassed. “Oh, shoot, I guess that’s too forward. I’m sorry, I’m not… I’ll go.”
You reach for the book but he keeps it in his grasp. Your eyes meet his as he watches you, “I like tea,” he offers, “if you don’t mind the company.”
#steve rogers#ask drabble#drabble#professor!steve#steve rogers x reader#dark?#mcu#marvel#captain america#avengers
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THE FASTEST WAY IS SELDOM THE BEST
After an attempt, you try to comfort your lover and look through his recovery.
Pairing: Tighnari x gn!reader
Cw: impplied suicide attempt.A/N: I had some wips about character conforting reader, but none of them seemed good enough to post. I know this is a weird format, but though it would be comforting to read how you comfort someone. Again, English is not my firt language and I'm afraid I sound a bit too formal [it would be great if you had some tips in how to write not so robotically/essay like(?)]. If there is something you would like for me to write, message me, maybe I'll post some sort of guide lines to show what is it that I'm willing to write.
“I wanted to escape, maybe forever.”
Tighnari lies on the simple bed, head thrown against the embroidered pillows. His face – bronzed before – is pale and stained with tears, eyes lost in the ceiling of the room thinly veiled by the smoke of incense burning.
“I understand it, really” You respond trying to keep your voice even, but your lover says nothing, as if he can't believe you. You gently take is hand between your own and rub soothing circles on top of it with your thumb. “I know sometimes life becomes too daunting and the easiest way out seems to be the light at the end of the tunnel.” You whisper
Now he’s looking at you, his eyes glimmering with new pools of tears that threaten to spill into the blankets. “But you told me once that the fastest method is seldom the answer.” Tighnari chuckles, only a raspy sound that seems like a pained groan, but you can see the slight twitch in his ears and the way his frame sinks a little bit more into the mattress, as if more relaxed.
You begin then to reminisce of that particular day leaning against the bed frame and using one hand to caress your lover’s hair. Your voice is barely audible in the clutered room.
“It had been a quite long day, you were on duty and had proposed for me to join you – you didn't wanted me to be alone – and I was jumping from rock to rock in the edge of the path leading home. Do you remember?” A faint nod “For hours you had talked about the flowers and the little forest animas we encountered with such fondness it almost made me jealous” The corners of his mouth curve ever so slightly “You didn’t let me take some roses; said it would be a disaster to the ecosystem. And right there, just in the front of the village, in the middle of the path, lied a beautiful bird feather, it’s blue hues made it look like some sort of treasure or spirit buried beneath the damp dirt. I ran for it, carelessly, anticipating an impressive monologue about birds from you, but I ran too fast and the feather was too light”
“I remember, his hoarse voice cuts through the story” and through the tiredness, he smiles relieved.
“Yes” now you are also smiling sadly and you fingers keep brushing his hair with slow deliberate motions. “I ran too fast, and the feather flew out and into the bridge and as I chased it, it fell below the wooden structure. That’s when you caught up to me and told me .”
How could you not see it? It was so obvious, his tired movements, his longing stares at night, sitting in front of the bedroom window and sighing pitifully. You should have done something. That is what you repeat to yourself everyday sinc the incident happened, still convinced you could have done something to prevent it, although your lover has already told you that tha isn't a burden for you to carry. And obviously, everything seems so crystal clear in retrospective.
"We can't change the past, so holding grudges against it is simply futile." Those are words of wisdom from Tighnari on a rainy afternoon.
Tighnari is sitting outside on a kitchen chair propped on some velvety green pillows that keep his weak body comfortably leaned into the firm wood. He has changed his usual ranger clothes for some flowy linen garments and a blanket sent by Candace after the news reached Ardu Village is draped over his knees. It’s woven with a variety of reds and browns and depicts a forest scene populated by shadowy dusk birds and half hidden lizards.
After Collei left, settling in a quaint town in the proximities of Sumeru city, the cabin had fallen silent. Tighnari started to space out his lectures in wildlife and botanic, often preferring the warm seat next to the fire where you cooked. At first, everyone just thought of it as a domestic situation, both of you had even started thinking about children during the months prior to Collei’s departure, just a loving couple wanting to be together. But then he slowly started missing patrols; it was at some point commonplace to see Iraj and Nasring on your living room trying to convince your lover to leave the house and help them in their duties.
You should have known, but you were also going through a lot. Your cooking supplied the forest rangers and watchers and your stock of ointments and pomades were highly sought after by the townsfolk. With little to no time to spend with Tighnari, your living arrangement and relationship deteriorated with each passing day. It also didn’t help that Cyno stopped visiting Gandharva Ville after a while and that his letters, frequent and light hearted before, became rare occurrences with little more than bad news.
But now, Tighnari stretches carefully and happily looks at you at the other side of the kitchen window through his lashes. The sun is making him more optimistic, at least, that’s what he tells you at night, just before you both fall asleep in each other’s arms. Maybe it’s also the overexcited rambles that Collei sends through her letters or the short Genious Invokation duels with Cyno during his recurring visits.
It has been well over a month, Tighnari is sitting, still too weak to stand for long periods of time, next to the stove. His soothing voice filling the inside of the home with vibrant colors of the rainforest through his tales. The counters are filled with spice bowls and chopped vegetables whose stories Tighnari never forgets to tell you about. You place a steaming spoon of soup in front of his face.
“Do you like it?” You ask as you watch you lover frowning in a comically exaggerated thinking pose.
“It’s magnificent, love” He responds after a dramatic pause. His sweet words caress your skin and you can’t help but place a big kiss on his forehead, on then one over his nose. “Hey!” he playfully reprimands you, but you can see through the corner of your eye the wagging of his tail.
#tw sui implied#genshin comfort#genshin impact#genshin angst#genshin x reader#tighnari#tighnari x reader#tighnari comfort#genshin fluff#tighnari fluff#genshin hurt/comfort#reader conforts character#tw sui attempt
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NSFW alphabet for Susano'o? I fell in love with his design
Credits to @praisethesuuun, she is the one who has to be thanked for all the work!!!
NSFW ALPHABET - SUSANOO
A: aftercare
I see Susanoo a lot as someone who tries to play a bit of the dark and satisfied man when he's done. I can already imagine the scene: your head resting on his chest, while his arm wraps around your shoulders gently, the smell of cigarette smoke filling the air while your fingers enjoy tracing the God's muscles…
Susanoo is gentle, he can and will treat you like his treasure. His arms will never leave your frame and you'll always feel, at least, the touch of his hands on you.
"You comfortable like this? Tell me if I can do something for you, my precious…"
B: body part
Susanoo loves his arm muscles since they're perfect for you to snuggle up against. With them he can do anything: hug your waist while you walk, hold you tight while you make love… one hell of a God. While I have the impression that your favorite part of your body is your cheeks. Susanoo likes to bite them and leave a nice mark right there on your face, so you can't even cover it; you will have to walk down the street with his brand in plain sight and woe betide you if you try to cover it with makeup. Plus, the God likes to caress your cheeks with his thumb while you cry tears of pleasure~♡
C: cum
On your tummy. Absolutely there. Don't get me wrong, cumming inside is a total blast, but seeing you covered in semen is just too much for him. Susanoo bites his lip every time he covers you with cum, especially if you make him come while you rub his cock between your thighs. Absolute Heaven!
D: dirty secret Okay, he kind of has a thing for humping, especially when you're both in the middle of a make out session. He rubs against your intimacy, enjoying the pressure your hips apply on him, while your kisses become sloppier and needier. "Yes baby, this is the effect you have on me. Feel it… yes, just feel it…"
The bulge in his pants becomes bigger and bigger at every movement of your hips rubbing against each other.
E: experience
Susanoo looks like a fine guy in relationships, I don't think he's ever had one since he's waiting for the right one.
F: favourite position
Any position with great physical contact, which allows Susanoo to hold you tight while he loves you. An example is spooning, where he holds you close to him while he kisses your neck and shoulders, whispering sweet nothings to you and praises. The God adores it especially when you just wake up, where the atmosphere is calm and your bodies are warm under the covers.
G: goofy
Susanoo might be the type to crack a few jokes here and there, but don't get too used to it, it won't happen too often.
H: hair
The carpet is way darker than the curtains and Susanoo doesn't really think about being groomed, you'll have to remind him to shave and clean properly. It's not that the God doesn't care about hygiene, it's that he just doesn't think about it sometimes.
I: intimacy
Oh, Susanoo really knows how to be a gentleman. He will wait for your time and respect your choices, making you feel his closeness while you make love.
J: jack off <…self-explanatory part 2>
If he doesn't see you too often, Susanoo may give in to temptation, but he still tries not to do so out of a certain matter of honor. But… if you're not there… and he misses you so much…
K: kinks
I'm sure that Susanoo would be into hair pulling. He lives for feeling your hands in his locks while he eats you out. The god must feel your desperation from the grip of your hand, moaning louder each time, as his deep eyes fixate on yours. Susanoo likes it when you pull his ponytail to guide the movements of his mouth while his tongue licks your desperate cunt, his lips smooching your clit. Plus, he knows that his lover wants to hear his voice, so expect this god to take you in missionary only to grunt and whisper in your ear, teasing you to death.
L: location
The beach is a place where Susanoo feels the most comfortable. He finds the atmosphere romantic and serene, even if it is not always the best choice…
"Damn it, the sand really gets everywhere!"
M: motivation
When his darling acts a bit bratty, Susanoo just can't help himself: the god can't wait to play with you and rule the game, making cute faces every time you make him wait. But Susanoo can't wait forever, sooner or later he will jump on you like a big cat ready to make you his kitten~
N: no
I doubt that the god would be into pegging, finding the most stupid motives to humor you.
"No love, my… err… ass hurts from… last time? Yeah, last time! What, you can't remember? Well, I assure you it happened, your memory must be playing jokes on you-"
O: oral
Totally giving. Susanoo could eat out his darling for hours, never stopping. He would alternate his lips with firm licks, while his fingers squeeze your thighs, leaving imprints of his fingertips. And if that's still not enough, Susanoo will bring you pleasure by fucking you with his long tongue, massaging your warm walls from the inside.
P: pace
Susanoo is the type to balance the two: he would go very slow at first, with controlled and gentle thrusts to tease you, and then start going faster, more and more, until he drives you completely crazy.
Q: quickie
I'm not going to lie, a quickie could be in order every now and then. Especially when he comes home from a busy day of storms and tides, he may miss you so much that he doesn't even care to last that long. Susanoo just wants to be squeezed by your hot pussy and release all the stress inside you, without restraint, as if his brain had simply detached itself.
R: risk <…DUH>
This god doesn't say no to a challenge, but still takes all precautions beforehand, making sure both of you are comfortable. "Alright baby, now let's repeat the safe word again. You know, just in case…"
S: stamina
Susanoo is also his age, but don't tell him, otherwise he will be offended. It could go on for hours, following its own pace and lasting as long as possible; but when he gets tired, then he will give you the green light, letting you ride him until you drop.
T: toys
Nah, he doesn't need them, he probably doesn't even know what they are. The god never cared and always thought that, with him between your legs, there would be no need to use toys. He doesn't think this out of fear of being surpassed by them, it's just that he doesn't fully know them yet.
U: unfair
Not so much. Susanoo would only tease you at the beginning of intercourse, going slow and letting you feel his entire length. He will let you cockworming, watching you struggle and trying to move your hips desperately, seeking any kind of pleasure.
V: volume
Growls and moans escape his lips without restraint, if he wants to be loud, Susanoo will. In his opinion, holding back is wrong: he wants to give his best when he's with you and doesn't want to hold back at all.
W: wild card
One thing he can't resist is running his hand through your hair when you're done making love. The god takes a lock of your hair and runs it through his fingers, admiring it, as if it were a treasure to be protected, before kissing your forhead tenderly. His arms are a safe place for you and Susanoo will always protect you…
X: x-ray
This god of the sea and the storm is quite large and perfectly proportioned, even if his cock is longer than it is wide. The tip is #e8bab5. He has a big vein that starts from the middle and goes to the side.
Y: yearning
He's a pretty chill guy, his libido isn't really high. Susanoo is the type who prefers quality time to sex, for him every session is meaningful in a certain sense. But, if you're the one in the mood, your god will always be there for you and give you his body.
Z: zzz
He only falls asleep after he's sure that you're okay and safe. Susanoo hugs you tightly and nuzzles his face in your neck…EVERY. SINGLE. TIME. What a precious daddy he is <3
#record of ragnarok#shuumatsu no valkyrie#ror#snv#snv susanoo#record of ragnarok susanoo#ror susanoo#susanoo
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I Will Follow You into the Dark
Carding your fingers through your lover’s hair after a bad nightmare, not caring that it’s sweaty or matted, but just that they’ll be able to get a good night’s sleep, even if it’s at the sacrifice of your own.
part of my Valentine's Day prompts
requested by anon | word count: 0.8k | warnings: nightmares
inspiration from "plastic palm trees" moodboard by @smileysvech
Who would expect that things labeled as ‘strictly business’ could lead to such heartache?
You certainly didn’t until almost three years ago when your boyfriend Mat started to feel that heartache brought on by ‘business.’
Being a hockey player meant instability – trades, short contracts, waivers, minor leagues. All of this was something that every professional player had to worry about for their entire career because the future was never guaranteed. But while Mat had mentally prepared himself for the chance that all those things happening to him, he wasn’t ready to watch them happen to his teammates.
He wasn’t ready for his friends to be claimed by other teams. He wasn’t ready to watch his friends get sent off to the other side of the continent. He wasn’t ready for his friends to choose to go somewhere else. He wasn’t ready to see his friends – players that he spent his entire Islander career with – dressed in a jersey of unfamiliar colors instead of the usual blue and orange.
Even though he never prepared for this, every time a new trade or signing came through, Mat always told you he was fine. It was a part of the business. But you knew it bothered him. And you knew that is he kept those emotions behind a wall, they would break through eventually.
Tonight, those emotions finally came forward with a vengeance.
You woke up in the middle of the night, unsure of what roused you from your slumber. Your body turns underneath the sheets, moving to face your boyfriend. As soon as your eyes find his frame in the dim moonlight, you understand why you were awake.
Mat was shaking, his body curled up into a tight ball. The way his face in pinched looks almost painful, as does the grip he has on the pillow. Your heart breaks as your hazy brain registers his motions and understands that he was in the middle of what was obviously a terrible nightmare.
Your hand creeps across the expanse of sheets between the two of you, your fingers sliding beneath his, gently coaxing him to release his grasp from the fabric of the pillowcase.
“Mat,” you whisper, your voice breaking. “Mat, baby, wake up.” Your grip tightens as you gently shake him, urging him awake with the movement and a continual call of his name.
It takes a moment but his eyelids fly open, his breathing sharp and shallow as he looks around the darkness of your bedroom. You keep your eyes locked to him, although you feel your heart shatter when you see the haunted look swimming in his pupils before Mat’s gaze finally falls to you.
“It’s okay,” you murmur. “You were just having a nightmare.”
You see a darkness pass over Mat’s expression, the images that were plaguing his unconscious clearly returning. You did the only thing you could think of: you scoot closer to him, your arms enveloping his body as you pull him into you.
Mat relaxes into your hold, his head coming to rest on your chest. Your fingers card through his hair, feeling the sweat-soaked strands slide against your skin. You force yourself to keep your breathing slow and steady – a gentle encouragement for Mat to copy you which he eventually does. The thudding of his heartbeat against you slows and you relax, waiting.
“Everyone keeps leaving me,” he whispers, his words breaking both the silence and your heart. You realize that that must have been the origin of his nightmare – that fear of being abandoned, of being left behind.
“They aren’t gone forever,” you reply, tightening your hold around him.
“I know,” he mutters. “Doesn’t make it hurt any less.”
All you can give him in return is a small hum, hoping that the single tone is enough to convey your understanding and sympathy. You don’t let Mat go, your hands still brushing through his hair as he slowly drifts off to sleep again, this time curled in your arms, the sound of your heartbeat soothing him. When you are confident that he has fallen back into a deep sleep, you press a soft kiss onto the top of his head.
Carefully, as to not disturb your boyfriend, you reach towards your nightstand, fumbling around until your hand finds your cellphone. You angle the screen away from Mat so the brightness doesn’t wake him until you adjust the settings. You open your text messages, scrolling until you find the correct thread.
Hey Emma, sorry for the late message.
I was just wondering if you and Tito have anything planned for the summer?
Sent February 7th at 3:18am
No worries! We don’t have any plans. What are you thinking?
Received February 7th at 7:41am
Maybe a surprise birthday vacation? Give the boys a chance to reunite?
Sent February 7th at 8:01am
That sounds absolutely perfect.
Received February 7th at 8:04am
#nicole writes#mat barzal blurb#mat barzal hurt comfort#new york islanders blurb#nhl blurb#hockey blurb#valentine blurbs 2k24
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for your one word prompts i’m going to cheat and pick two, sorry 🤷🏻♀️
I’d like a smutty steve harrington with the words : good girl 😌
fwb king!steve harrington x fem!reader. p in v smut and a little angst if you blink because unrequited feelings slipped in. 18+ (900 words)
——
It happens like this more often than you would like to admit.
You and him at a party.
Him, with his dumb ass sunglasses on, peering out over the crowd—in search of you, if you’re honest with yourself.
Bodies shift to and fro with the music around you, hands full of red cups, bathing suits of all kinds on full display. In the pool you catch the beginnings of a game of chicken; two girls on the cheerleading team on the shoulders of some of the basketball boys.
But your eyes always end up on one boy.
Steve Harrington.
Annoyingly full lips, those two kissable birthmarks on his tanned face, bare chested and gleaming in the sunlight. As if he attracts the sun itself, bathing him in a golden hue that dances off the line of his abdominal muscles.
On your right, Tina is telling you about her current dating escapades. All waving hands and frantic movements, lip gloss freshly applied glistening off her rapidly moving lips. And even so, your eyes wander. Her voice fades into the background, muddling with the music spilling out from the speaker system in the backyard.
Steve tips his cup and dips his head toward the garden gate. A sign, if you’ve ever seen one. Lip curling into a grin, he slips out the gate and you return your focus to Tina, offering her words of encouragement before asking her to hold your drink.
After that, it’s a rush across the front yard. A rapid tap of flip flops as you dart around the side street, finding Steve Harrington leaning his back against his car door, head pointed up at the sky. He tosses his cigarette onto the ground, fingers carding through his hair, and folds his arms across his chest.
Waiting.
“They’ll be looking for us soon,” you mutter teasingly.
His eyes watch your hips sway as you approach, roam along your form as your fingers reach down to loosen the top button of your jean shorts. Steve’s arms drop from their position across his chest, barest brushes of his fingers curling around your hips, tugging you flush against his frame.
“Just means I’ll have to make the most of the few minutes we have.”
“You seem so sure of yourself,” you whisper, breaking off into a groan as he cups the back of your head in one hand, and wedges his fingers into your bikini bottom with the other. At the first teasing circle of his middle finger at your clit, he smirks, relishing in the moan that punches it’s way from your chest.
“What was that?”
“Fuck o-o-off.” Another moan, head rolling forward into his chest at the feeling of his thick fingers sinking into your slick center.
“Back seat,” he murmurs lowly, tipping your chin up and kissing you soundly. “Now.”
This part you know. The scramble out of your shorts. The toss of them onto the floor. The quick untying of his bathing suit bottom and a harsh tug downward to free his cock. The velvet feel of him, hot and heavy in your palm. The huff of his breath, the low groan, the whine as you sink down on him inch by inch.
“Always look so pretty like this,” he rasps, a kiss brushing your collar bone. It’s a slow grind down on him. The tops of his thighs hitting the backs of yours, that perfect thumb of his rolling practiced circles over your clit, always knowing what you like. “Fuck. Yes, baby. Just like that.”
Your pace hastens. Eyes on the watch he wears around his wrist, knowing you only have minutes. But then again, that’s all you’ve had these months. Stolen kisses in alleyways, under bleachers at games, in the locker room after his games. Frantic fucks in his BMW after class, late at night when everyone goes to bed on the weekends, at Lover’s Lake, hidden away amidst the trees.
Because it’s Steve.
Steve Harrington who doesn’t date.
Not really.
And neither do you.
Too focused on getting the hell out of Hawkins, trying to make it out there in the world, spread your wings and fly.
His breath is hot against your ear. A rapid pant of his praises and curses against your skin. The sound of your slick with every upward thrust up from beneath you. The tips of his fingers clutching at your hips, leaving those pretty bruises he’ll kiss better tomorrow.
But it’s these moments you pretend.
It’s in these moments, where your palm reaches out and slaps against the window, hips undulating, body rocking, head falling back, that nothing else exists but this feeling.
Whatever this is.
“Oh—oh, mmm, I’m so close.”
“Yeah?” Steve rasps, palm splaying over your bathing suit top. Over your heart. Then slides beneath, gliding over sensitive flesh, mouth swallowing your moan as he rolls your sensitive bud between his fingers. “Gonna be a good girl and come for me?”
The words have their desired effect, your orgasm striking like a bolt of lightning, his arm immediately coming up to hold you tight to his chest as he fucks up into you through it, his eyes pinching shut as his own release rushes through him.
Tomorrow, you’ll continue on with your normal lives. Him passing you in the hall, nodding his head, maybe flashing you a smile. Tomorrow you’ll slide a note in his locker, something cheeky, something flirty, doused in your favorite perfume. Tomorrow you’ll fall into his arms, and then his bed.
Today—today, though, you’ll pretend you don’t wish for more.
Because this is what you agreed on.
No feelings, just feeling.
——
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