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blindmagdalena · 11 months

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Don't Fret Precious (I'm Here)

Summary: 18+ 8.1k homelander x reader, f!reader, mild sublander, immoral reader, off-screen murder, blood, attempted assault (not by HL), cunnilingus, lite comeplay, penetrative sex, fingering, dirty talk, breeding kink, marking, mild pain play.

During one of his evening patrols, Homelander overhears the beginnings of an assault. By intervening, he not only becomes your personal hero, but falls into a whirlwind of infatuation and obsession with you, and the supposedly ordinary life you led before he happened across you.

thank you @mari-thesimp, whose prompt inspired this monster of a fic! 🖤 AO3 Link.

To this day, Homelander doesn’t know why you were alone in that alleyway that night: he never thought to ask, and by now, it’s an irrelevant detail. He just knows that it was in a shady side of the city, nowhere near your work or your home.

That was where he first heard you. You were screaming in this shrill, throaty way that reminded him of how women in the movies screamed. You were the perfect little Hollywood damsel, trapped down a dark side street by a man twice your size with a brutish smile and clear intentions. It was almost too perfect of a stage, and Homelander found he couldn’t resist intervening.

Sure, there weren’t any cameras, but maybe you’d give a couple interviews and boost his ratings.

“S’aright by me, I like it when they scream,” the goon told you, pulling at you with dirty, meaty hands. Homelander could smell his rotten breath from a distance. It must have been like chopped onions in your face, stinging your pretty eyes.

“What a coincidence,” Homelander said from behind the man, voice full and confident. He placed his hands on the man’s shoulders. “So do I.”

He tightened his grip until tendons popped and bones groaned under his strength. The man screamed twice as loudly as you had, relinquishing his hold on you. Clearly not comprehending the sheer danger he was in, the man tried to retaliate, lashing out with swinging arms and legs until Homelander finally let him turn around, at which point the severity of the situation dawned clearly in the man's eyes.

“Homelander,” He realized, tongue thick in his mouth, words heavy with sudden fear. “It’s not what you think,” he said. He was taller and broader than Homelander, but it hardly mattered. He was shaking like a leaf in his hold. “We were just playin’,” he said, sweat prickling along his hairline. Homelander twisted the brute down onto his knees, and angled him to the side, focusing on you now. You, who were staring at him with wide, watery doe eyes. It’s no wonder you were hunted down by a predator. You looked… delicious.

“Is that true, miss?” He asked you in his best discerning hero voice. “Do you know this man?”

The question was followed by a tense beat of silence. He held your gaze, only for his to drop and watch your lips form the simple word, “No.”

“Yeah, I didn’t think so,” he said with a chuckle. Before the man could protest, Homelander made a fist, and struck the back of the man’s head with the bottom of it just hard enough to knock him out cold. The thug crumpled to the ground, and Homelander stepped over him to make his way towards you. He gave you a cursory check for broken or fractured bones, but aside from being disheveled, you looked unharmed, slumped back against the brick wall.

One interesting thing he took note of, however, was the small gun tucked into your purse. Why hadn’t you been reaching for it? Panic, he supposed. Perhaps, though you had thought preemptively to protect yourself, your pretty little head had emptied the moment there was any sort of tangible threat.

You were like a little rabbit. Born to be hunted.

“You alright, miss?” He asked, offering you his hand. You took it, eyes as wide as saucers, lips tilted in an awestruck little smile. It wasn’t anything he wasn’t accustomed to, but it was sweet nonetheless. You were sweet, as soft in his hands as ripe fruit. Just the same, it would take so very little to bruise such a delicate thing.

“I am now,” you answered breathlessly, taking a step closer to him, your hand lingering in his long after he’d helped you up. “That… You were incredible. More amazing than I ever imagined.”

Homelander’s brows lifted curiously. “You imagine something like this often?”

“Yes,” you admitted readily, surprising him. “I’ve had a lot of fantasies about you.”

He laughed breathlessly at that, throat clicking on a dry swallow. You were standing just a few inches from him, but your only point of contact remained your hands. One by one, you began to loosely intertwine your fingers with his, drawing his gaze down. He had met hundreds upon hundreds of fans during his career, but rarely were they brave enough to be so direct with him. “Wow, you are, ah… forward,” he said, feeling heat prickle along his collar.

“Is that a bad thing?” You asked. He felt hyper aware of the slow way you squeezed his gloved hand, the gesture strangely enticing.

“No, no,” he said, licking his lips. “Always good to feel wanted.”

You smiled at him. “Good.” With a gentle pull, you eased him down. He felt certain you were going to kiss him at that moment, but instead, you bypassed his lips and brought yours to his ear. “Because I want you. Very, very much.”

Your words, your voice instantly pooled heat low in his gut. He found himself breathing shallowly, leaning into the faint, sweet fruit smell of you.

When you drew back, your eyes met. You smiled, still squeezing his hand as you did. Your soft little breaths were warm on his lips. After a split second hesitation, Homelander kissed you. He kissed you again, and again, and again. He would kiss you many, many more times after that.

At first you were just a pretty little thing. A secret indulgence with sweet tasting lips, soft skin, and a seemingly endless propensity for adoration. You were removed from the blood and corporate grind of his day to day life. Before him, your life was simple, mundane, and predictable. It seemed like a lonely and bleak thing to him.

Perhaps that’s what made it so easy for him to become your sun, and coax your entire world into revolving around him. He saw his own loneliness mirrored back at him in your glossy eyes. To you, he is salvation. To him, you’re convenient.

Homelander particularly enjoys the way your breath catches with palpable excitement when he drops in on you unexpectedly. It doesn’t matter the time of day, be it midday or in the earliest hours of the morning, you welcome him with open, warm arms. Stepping into your comedically ordinary apartment is like watching The Wizard of Oz in reverse, wherein Dorothy retreats from the vulgar, brightly colored Oz to the quiet sepia of her humble little farmhouse.

Here, his only care in the world is the gentle coo of your voice in his ear. Your heart is a steady, soothing rhythm. The first night Homelander found himself in your bed, he was surprised you didn’t accept him as a trophy fuck the way so many others liked to. Instead, you had stilled his greedy hands, and settled them around your waist. You slowed him. At the time he assumed you were still shaken from your encounter in the alley, but even then, the choice had seemed calculated.

You have a way of making him wait. Making him crave. You held him through the night, fingertips tracing patterns along his scalp, hands cupping his face, touching him as if you were trying to commit every detail of him to memory.

He was enraptured. He still is.

It’s what brings him back to you night after night after night.

Tonight, you’re awake when he slips in through your sliding glass door. It’s always unlocked for him. He would scold you for it if you didn’t live several storeys off the ground. To this day, he cannot shake the image of you as a vulnerable creature, watery eyed and terrified in that dark alleyway. It feels good to hear the skip of your heartbeat at the sound of your door opening, only for your breaths and pulse to calm at the sight of him.

It soothes his frayed nerves. The rest of the world is full of vicious ingrates who love him when he serves them, but who continuously prove themselves eager to tear him apart at the slightest provocation. Not you. Never you.

“My hero,” you sigh as he sinks into your arms. You never ask him about what’s going on in the news. This place–the warmth of your embrace–is a sanctuary from the noise of it all. “I missed you,” you tell him. You always do. He nuzzles into the crook of your neck, inhaling the familiar smell of you. His hands settle on your hips, neediness spilling through in the way he grips you, twisting the fabric of your clothing in his grasp. Homelander doesn’t respond right away, choosing instead to brush his lips along the bare skin of your neck, following the line up to your ear. You tilt your head, giving him greater access. You’re always giving more and more of yourself. You’ve done nothing to dissuade him of his possessive thoughts, the ones that whisper he is owed every breath and inch of you. If anything, he could swear you stoke his fires knowingly.

“Are you okay?” You ask gently, coaxing him to look at you with your hand on his cheek. He complies, pulling back just enough to meet your stare. You cup either side of his face, stroking his skin with your thumbs. The sound of your thumb pads catching against the faint bit of stubble on his face is soothing, like scratching an itch deep in his ears. “What do you need?”

“You,” he answers at last, leaning closer.

“You have me,” you say. He can feel your smile against his lips when you kiss him. “Forever. And always,” you say, punctuating each sentiment with a kiss. “What else do you need?”

“Nothing,” he says, voice sinking beneath the weight of his building desire, the heat of it radiating through his body in slow waves. “Not a goddamn thing. I don’t… I don’t need anything or anyone but you,” he whispers, clawing more purposefully at your clothing now, resentful of the barrier they create between him and the warmth of your skin. Too many things that have kept him away from what he desires, what he deserves. Your cheap cotton blend clothes won’t be among them. “Me neither,” you breathe, guiding his hands up your sides, helping him to strip away your shirt. “You’re all I’ve ever wanted. All I’ve ever needed.”

Your words drip like sweet nectar. He swears he can taste the heaven of them on your lips as he kisses you. He follows the imaginary drip of it from your lips to the corner of your mouth, your jaw, your neck. He relishes the low moan you give. You push your hands into his hair, wringing a matching note from the back of his throat with the way you grip it. More, he thinks, insatiable. Give me more.

His gloved hands slide down your sides, mapping out the curves of your body as he has a hundred times before. His thumbs hook on your pants, and he pulls those down, too. He smiles at your bare skin beneath, leaning in to press a kiss to your pelvis, just above the thatch of hair there. “No panties?” He rumbles, helping you step out of your pants.

“I was hoping you’d come,” you say through a smile, hooking your leg over his shoulder, hand braced in his hair. He nuzzles in, lips brushing against your already sensitized clit. He gives a tonal sigh, opening his mouth to inhale the musky-sweet smell of you, his tongue snaking out to glide from your velvety, slick cunt to the gently throbbing nub of your clit. He closes his lips around it, opening his eyes halfway to meet your gaze from between your legs. He’s pleased to see you already staring down at him, admiring him openly. You’re flushed with heat, pupils blown wide. He purrs for the way you smooth his hair back with your fingers, his eyes falling shut so he can focus solely on the taste of you. He cups your ass in his hands and lifts you onto his mouth, hitching your other leg up over his shoulder as well.

Homelander holds you up and drinks greedily from you, coaxing your sweet wetness with slides and thrusts of his tongue, panting into the welcoming heat of you. Drool and slick coat his mouth in equal measure, dripping down his chin, wetting him so thoroughly he can almost pretend it’s sweat. As if he could exert himself. As if he were anything less than a god putting the light of heaven into the space between your thighs.

His favorite part is the way your pussy clenches around his tongue every time he pushes it into you, knowing you’re aching for more. For him.

“Nnngh, baby,” you moan, locking your ankles behind his back, rocking your hips. He squeezes your ass, egging you on. He can almost taste your swelling climax. He moans into you, meets the sway of your hips with eager dives of his tongue. “I’m–hahh, ahh, oh, there, there, mm, baby, you feel so good, m’gonna come,” you moan, prompting him faster, deeper, riled up by every aching praise that falls from your lips.

You pull his hair sharply when you come, and his eyes roll back into his skull with it. He revels in the way you smother him, literally and figuratively. Since the beginning, your affection, your attention, has been an endless, all-consuming thing. There was a time that he believed there would be no one who could stomach the depths of his emptiness, and yet here you are. With him, you form an ouroboros. Neverending mutual consumption.

Homelander laps at you until your shivering body goes lax, and you slide down into the strength of his arms. You kiss him, heedless of the mess you’ve made of his mouth, hands clumsily working to open the top of his suit. “Take me to the bed,” you tell him. The authority in your voice sounds effortless, despite the reedy quality your orgasm has given it. “I need you inside me.”

I need you. The words echo in his ears on a loop like a broken record that he never wants mended. He stands with you secure in his arms, licking your own taste into your mouth as he walks. He sets you down gently, but he grabs your hips hard enough to bruise. He wants to see the evidence that you are as changed by him as he is by you.

He shrugs his top off. Before it even hits the ground, you’re slipping your hands up beneath the hem of his undershirt, purposefully skating his ticklish sides with your fingertips, surprising a giggle out of him. The shirt comes off of his head with a flourish, mussing his hair into a splay of blonde locks. You smile at one another, secretive, as if this intimacy between you is something stolen.

Homelander often behaves as though it is. More times than not, this happiness feels like borrowed time. Like something he is owed, but was never supposed to have. It leaves him feverish for it, clawing at every second of it he can get his hands on.

You help divest him of his pants next, metal belt hitting the ground with a thud. He steps out of his boots, and back tight into your space, grazing his teeth tantalizingly along the line of your neck before he sucks a dark mark just beneath your earlobe.

Your sigh of pleasure is music to his ears. His own breath catches when your hand slips between his legs, grasping his aching cock. You give a couple of leisurely strokes, but the tunnel of your fist is so loose, he knows you’re teasing him. He thrusts needily against you. “Sshhh,” you hush, guiding him to the bed. “Sit.”

He does, dropping onto the edge of the bed with a bounce, lips parted, breathing his excitement in shallow huffs. Initially, you confuse him by turning your back to him, but he catches on quickly when you put your hand on his thigh, and lower yourself slowly into his lap. He takes hold of your waist reflexively, aiding your descent. His grip on you flexes at the first glorious, wet press of your cunt against the throbbing head of his cock.

“Slow,” you remind him, your own excitement turning your voice thin and airy. Homelander grits his teeth, caught somewhere between impatience and dread. He’s not sure he’ll last long, not with the taste of you so fresh on his tongue and the hot, drenched pull of your body sucking him in. He wants to slam in and flee all at once, caught paralyzed in the middle.

Luckily for him, you’re wholly in control. You grip his wrists and sink down slowly, tipping your head back with a moan as you take every inch of him, settling fully in his lap. Homelander keens, pressing his face between your shoulder blades. You’re so tight and wet, it makes his head spin. The throb of your body alone could make him come, he’s certain of it. Your heart beat is a drum in his ear, one he can feel every pulse of in the velvet walls of your cunt.

“Please,” he moans, adjusting subtly. Even that makes his balls ache.

“I have you,” you assure him, reaching back over your shoulder. You push your hand into his hair, guiding him to rest his chin on your shoulder as you massage his scalp with your fingertips. He wraps his arms around your waist, fighting the desperate urge to slam up into you, to break you apart and spill into the deepest parts of you. There is such violence in every part of him. It would be foolish to think it would not bleed into his love.

Instead, Homelander remains perfectly still, panting into the crook of your neck while you grip his hair, grounding him. “I love you,” you sigh, to which he screws his eyes shut, exhaling a rough little noise. “It’s okay. I want you to feel good. I want you to fill me up. Give me all of you,” you murmur, reaching down between your legs. You cup his balls in your palm, gently massaging them as you begin to lift, but only barely, fucking yourself down on his cock in deep, sharp drops.

“You’ll do that for me, right, baby? Always make me feel so good. Let me feel you come,” you coax, voice too sweet for the wicked way you seduce him. His balls are tight in your grasp, heavy, his cock weeping precome that’s lost amidst the wetness of you.

Still, he holds back. He adjusts himself to take hold of your breasts, massages them until you moan. He kisses the mark he left on your neck, teases your skin with sharp teeth. He almost bites down when you squeeze his balls, making him jerk up into you with a keening moan.

“F-fuck, mm, like that, do that again, baby,” you urge, tightening your grip on his hair while you continue to fondle his balls, eager to feel them unload inside you. In the midst of it all, he’s rapidly coming undone. Your tone breathy and low in his ear, you moan, “My sweet, perfect boy.”

Homelander chokes on his own sharp inhale, baring his teeth as something primal overtakes him. He locks his arms around you and in one, two, three, four sharp thrusts, lets out a guttural moan alongside the sweltering rush of relief and pleasure that erupts throughout his body. You make all kinds of sweet noises alongside him, surprised every time by the sheer force of his release.

The two of you rest like that, your body slumped back against his, his arms encircling you, keeping you pressed tight to his chest.

You’re spent, but he isn’t finished with you. He doubts he ever will be. You and your ordinary little life are unremarkable in every possible way, yet he clings to you now as though it is your strength that keeps him upright. For a long time, Homelander had believed the crux of his divinity was his distance from humanity. Now, he’s not so sure.

Never has he felt more like a god than he does with your words of worship furling sweetly within him, your body enveloping him in the warmth of your reverence.

Somewhere along the line, though Homelander finds himself unable to pinpoint when or where, your presence in his life shifted from something convenient to something he needed.

It would scare him if he wasn’t so convinced you need him twice as badly. It compels him to ensure you never forget it, to show you that there will never again be anyone or anything in your life that changes it, enhances it the way he has. The more he needs you, the more you must need him.

It’s what drives him to eventually lift you from his lap and lay you on the bed, to nestle between your legs and lick up the mess he’s made of you. Eating his own come out of you tastes like possession, like familiarity, like love. Your moans, even muffled by the press of your inner thighs to his ears, are divine. He slips his fingers into your dripping cunt both for your pleasure and to push the spill of his come back inside, sucking on your clit while you rock against his fingers.

He loses himself to the fantasy playing behind his eyelids, imagining that this time, the seed takes. That it makes a mother of you. His baby growing in your belly, fattening up your breasts and making you glow with the radiance of it. You would carry the child of a god with incomparable grace, heavy with the weight of his legacy. You’d be bound to him beyond pretty words and carnal embraces. A baby would be his gift to you, and you would accept it without question, he assures himself.

Your cunt spasms around his fingers, pulling him back to reality. He fell so deep into his own bliss, he nearly forgot what he was doing. His eyelids flutter open, dazed and utterly at peace between your legs. Your orgasm hits his tongue beautifully, rhythmic thrums that have you clenching your thighs tight on either side of his head, arching up into his mouth. He slows the thrust of his fingers, licking you leisurely through the aftershocks, until you eventually relax and give his hair a gentle tug, prompting him to crawl obediently up the length of your body.

You kiss him with hunger. He leans back slightly just to see if you’ll give chase. He’s pleasantly surprised when you do, following his lips and pulling him greedily back down into your arms, bringing him flush to your chest. You hitch your legs over his hips, arms sliding around him, holding him like you have the strength to keep him there.

Someday, perhaps, he’ll come to terms with the power you have over him.

“I love you,” you whisper. The sentiment unspools around him and ties loose knots around his every muscle, soothing him until his weight rests fully upon your body. He nestles in between your breasts, brushing his lips along the swell of one. “I love you, too,” he murmurs, voice soft. He feels utterly lost to this marriage of sex and intimacy, secure enough to relax, to let go of the impulse to hold you tightly in place. He knows you will not try to leave him, try to reduce sex to a transaction to be completed and disregarded. It feels good to slip his arms loosely around you, and hold you with the knowledge that he need not fight to keep you.

Instead, it is you who holds on tightly. You entangle your fingers in his hair and cross your ankles over his back, locking him in place. It adds a kind of giddiness to his smile to, for once, be the one clung to.

More and more of Homelander’s day begins to revolve around you. When he isn’t with you, he’s thinking of you. He wakes to your text messages. He gets through the flash and pomp of his day to day life for the sake of returning to your arms. He grows increasingly territorial over his time, irritable when his position in the world forces him to be gone from you longer than his typical schedule calls for.

It’s a difficult feeling to describe. He’s never had something to look forward to outside of the validation of being Homelander.

It begins to manifest in frustration. He’s twice as curt with his responsibilities and those who assign them.

“You’re getting sloppy,” Stan Edgar warns him after a particularly messy incident. “I don’t care what you do in your personal time, or who you do it with,” he says. Homelander’s gut clenches. The words are too pointed to be anything other than a threat. “But here, on my time, you will perform as expected. Am I understood?”

“Yes,” Homelander answered through his teeth, hands locked tight behind his back, beneath his cape, where the world couldn’t see the subtle way they shook.

That night, in your creaky bed, he fucks you missionary–simple, intimate, face to face–and begs to hear your approval.

“More,” he pants desperately, one hand gripping the headboard, the other in a tight fist against the bed, above your shoulder. “More, fuck. Please.”

“My hero,” you croon, cupping his face in your hands, breath hitching with every slow, deliberate thrust of his hips. “They don’t deserve you. They don’t know how good they have it. How good you are,” you say, your words a soothing balm against his scorched ego. “Mm, even now, you’re making me feel so good. I love you so much, I wish you were all mine, only mine,” you say, drawing him down into a messy kiss.

“Only yours,” Homelander echoes through a broken moan, fucking into you harder, faster. He doesn’t miss the way you flinch at the pace, but you don’t tell him to stop. Instead, he feels you clench down hard around him, lips parting on a silent gasp.

“Only mine,” you repeat like an encouragement, wrapping your arms around his neck. Your headboard is slamming loudly against the wall now, each beat of it a step closer to the climax building between you. If you give a fuck about your shitty bed or the thin dry wall behind it, you give no indication of it. Instead, your eyes are locked completely on his, oblivious to the world around you.

He wants to lose himself in that stare.

“Fuck, fuck, I’m–”

An out of place bang against the wall abruptly knocks Homelander out of his delirium. He looks up, and hears a voice on the other side of the wall holler, “Some of us are trying to fucking sleep!”

Homelander bares his teeth, and without a thought, his eyes flare crimson. Two high intensity laser beams cut straight through your wall and into the adjoining apartment. Deafening silence follows. Homelander blinks the light away, staring for a long few seconds at the two holes before he looks down at you, uncertain of what he expects to see. Shock at best, horror at worst.

While your eyes are wide, it’s neither of those he sees.

“Don’t stop,” you tell him breathlessly, thrusting up against him. You look wild with it, heart pounding with adrenaline and arousal in equal measure. Not an ounce of fear. “Don’t you dare stop.”

He obeys immediately, driving into you so sharply it knocks the wind from you. He doubts you’ll ever hear from that neighbor again.

Homelander comes harder than he ever has before. He leaves you tender to the touch from the force of his thrusts, fucked raw. He offers apologies, but you don’t accept them as they’re spoken. Instead, you guide him down to kiss the marks his passion has left on you. Even then, he recognizes that it is not reconciliation you seek. You’re showing him his work, appreciating the canvas he has made of your body.

“Never apologize for this,” you tell him. “For leaving me with so much. It keeps you with me even when you’re away from me.”

For that alone, he would fuck you a dozen more times. It makes him want to sink his teeth into you, leave you with something more permanent. It makes him ache, wishing you could do the same. He never desired the capacity to be wounded until you taught him the beauty of bleeding for love. He finds himself viciously envious of the bruises blossoming on your skin in the shape of his touch. He imagines you idly pressing on them through the day, remembering with that dull ache how thoroughly he had fucked you.

“I wish you could do this to me,” he admits feverishly, tracing the pattern of his hand bruised onto your hip.

You’re quiet for a moment. “Maybe I can,” you say, causing him to pick up curiously. He watches you cover his hand with your own, and bring it to his forearm. His brows furrow slightly. He looks to you for an explanation, but you’re focused intently on wrapping his own hand around his arm, your fingers lined up with his. “Squeeze,” you tell him.

Understanding dawns. Licking his lips, Homelander flexes his grip on his forearm. At the same time, you kiss him, squeezing your hand tight over top of his. “Harder,” you say. He obliges, squeezing until pressure builds into a more alien sensation: pain. His instinct is to stop, to shy away from it, but before he can he feels you cup your hand between his legs, grasping his barely-hard cock. He gives a startled little moan into your mouth, and his hand retightens on his arm.

“Good boy,” you say wickedly, stroking his cock in slow, firm pulls. “Nice and tight. I want you to remember me, too.”

“I will,” he rasps, folding in against you. “I will, I will, fuck, hhahhh…” he moans, taken apart not only by your touch, but the ease and eagerness with which you fulfill his every wicked thought. Is there any part of him you will shy away from?

He makes a sound somewhere between pain and pleasure, his skin discoloring around the press of his fingers, swelling up between them. At the same time, his cock fills out steadily with your every stroke. The pressure of it is not unlike the grip on his arm, a gradually building sensation that he wants to shy away from as much as he wants to dive into head first. The contrast, the contradiction of it, is intoxicating.

“So good for me. You’d do anything for me, wouldn’t you?” You ask, smiling fondly. He nods fervently, refusing to relinquish his grip while you’re still squeezing his fingers down tight. He never could have fathomed that pain might feel like love.

“Yes, yes, anything,” he grits out, the tips of his fingers beginning to tingle. He lets out a rough breath when you begin to pump him faster, firmer, before he comes hard into the narrow tunnel of your fist, hips jerking while he dutifully maintains the painful, vice-like grip on his arm. You stroke him through it, milking him so thoroughly of his orgasm that he nearly misses when you loosen your fingers over his hand, and prompt him to release his hold.

Once the skin settles, what Homelander is left with is a throbbing ache, and the unmistakable outline of his grasp imprinted in the burst vessels of his arm. He stares down at it, dumbstruck for a long moment. He has known pain, he’s even known injury, but never like this. He’s still coming down from the euphoria of his release, unable to process what he’s looking at, when your hand slips over top of the bruise, settling nicely into the shadow of it. You press it gently, and though it doesn’t hurt per se, it is different. Strange. It makes his stomach flip unfamiliarly.

“How does it feel?” You ask, tipping his chin up to kiss him.

“Weird,” he answers, distractedly reciprocating.

“How do you feel?” You continue, helping to settle you both down into bed, pulling the covers over your naked bodies.

“I don’t know,” he answers honestly.

“That’s okay,” you say, voice dripping over him like honey, warm and sweet. You lift his arm and turn it, kissing each sprawling line of the bruise he inflicted on himself. The mark he has given himself in your stead. No one has ever… “Do you like it?” He asks, hating how small his own voice sounds.

“Yes,” you sigh, looking at him, your cheek pressed lightly to the palm of the bruise. “Very much.”

Slowly, he smiles. “Kinda fucked up.”

You smile, too. “Good.”

The bruise lingers for several days. For as indestructible as he is, once the damage is done, his body heals at an uncomfortably human rate. It would set his teeth on edge if not for the fact that this mark reminded him that he is yours. He finds himself touching it absently during his day to day, thumb pressing into the fabric of his suit while he zones in and out at various meetings and interviews.

Every day he has it, it reminds him of where he’d rather be.

That same territorial irritation that got him in trouble with Stan Edgar returns tenfold. Every job and press conference feels more arduous an endeavor than the last. The flash of the cameras sting his eyes more than ever, their questions like endless needles pricking his eardrums. Their mindless adoration feels so shallow, it barely registers anymore.

He just wants to be done with it all.

It’s this headspace that leads Homelander to fucking up the worst he has since he was a goddamn teenager.

The flight back to your apartment feels longer than it ever has. Most of the blood and viscera either dries down or flakes away, but every inch of his exposed skin feels tight and itchy with it. He can feel it caked in his hair, too.

He should return to the tower. There will be press. There will be speeches. There will be a cleanup job that sees him at the center stage.

He should return to the tower he tells himself again and again.

But he wants you.

Your balcony door welcomes him, unlocked as always. He hesitates briefly, staring at his glove. The color of it would mask the blood if not for how dark it has turned. His stomach churns as he steps inside. He wishes the bruise had not faded, that he could press on it now and feel the dull, aching assurance of your love.

He has kept this animal inside him far from you. It’s time to see whether or not you’ll withstand the blood-soaked bite of it. Whether or not you meant it when you said give me all of you.

Homelander steps inside. It’s late, nearly 11:00, but he knows you’re awake. He can hear tinny music playing from your phone, reverberating off the bathroom wall. He can smell the lavender of your bubble bath even over the copper tang of blood in his nostrils.

His stride through your hallway is uncharacteristically slow, footfalls heavy. He hears the water of your bath slosh, and then the music goes silent. “Homelander?” You call, trepidation in your voice. It churns his gut to hear, even if he knows it’s the unusual cadence of his steps you’re reacting to. He knows he sounds like a stranger. Part of him feels like one. He should have showered, washed away the filth until he was your hero again, shining brightly and walking as if the weight of the world did not sit upon him. He still doesn’t know why he couldn’t bring himself to do that.

An awful, warped part of him wants you to see the bloody mess hiding underneath. His throat is tight, twisted up in sickly anticipation. He does not answer your call. He wonders if you’ll scream when you see him. Another slosh of water, followed by the slap of your bare feet against your bathroom floor. He makes his way to your bedroom, listening to the quicken of your heart.

Answer her, he tells himself. You’re scaring her.

Good, answers another thought. It’s time to know, once and for all, what she’s truly made of. To know whether or not all good things come to an end. She should be scared.

Homelander listens to you move from your bathroom to the soft carpeting of your bedroom, hears the hushed, quick way you begin to rummage about. He stands in front of your bedroom door, one blood crusted hand resting on the doorknob. He hesitates for a second, in which everything goes quiet, save for the shallow sounds of your breath, and the quick, rain-drop pattering of your heart.

He opens the door. He barely registers the gun in your hands–or the sharp, focused look in your eyes–before you fire. The sound of it rings almost painfully loud in his ears after he had been listening so intently to the race of your pulse. He blinks several times, glancing down at the bullet wedged between the carved musculature of his suit.

“Homelander,” you gasp, lowering the gun. Since the first day he met you, he knew you owned it. He just didn’t expect you to be any good with it, not after the way you failed to defend yourself with it. Had you been practicing? He can’t remember ever smelling gunpowder on your hands. He plucks the bullet from the chest of his suit, examining it. That shot would have killed a man. You didn’t hesitate long enough to even recognize who stood before you. You knew precisely what you were doing.

“You didn’t answer me,” you say. Gone is that keen killer stare. Your eyes are wide, mortified. He watches you register the state of him, taking in his expression, the blood. You haven’t moved an inch. Why haven’t you come to him yet? He drops the bullet to the ground, and extends his hand out to you.

“C’mere,” he says, voice low.

You look at his hand, but you hesitate. The surge of anger it ignites within him is white hot, making his gut churn violently. “Come here!” He snaps. Your eyes shoot back up to meet his gaze. He can’t read the expression on your face, which only adds kindling to the flames of frustration and anxiety burning him up from the inside out.

He wants to grind himself deep into the marrow of your bones, find sanctuary in the hollow of them. Your body, your mind, your soul, which you have emptied into a haven made for him alone, has become the greatest solace he has ever known. The notion that you might deny him now–might deny him ever–is more horrifying a thought than he can bear.

The handful of seconds it takes before you begin walking feel like hours. Your steps are tentative, like a deer navigating the underbrush silently so as not to disturb the wolves. You look so much like you did that very first night: like you were made to feel the sharp teeth of a predator.

You slip your lavender fresh hand into his bloody one. He closes his gloved fingers around it, gentle with you despite the thrumming tension in his body. He can feel the corners of his mouth twitching with it, his breaths shallow. For once, it’s his own heart thundering in his ears.

“Sshhh,” you hush softly, barely a breath. His brows furrow, dried blood cracking apart on his skin. You lift your free hand to his face, palm lightly ghosting along his jaw. He cups your hand in his and turns his head to push fully into it, lips pressed to your palm, eyes falling shut. He can’t stomach that unfamiliar look on your face.

“I didn’t… they weren’t supposed to be there,” he begins to explain, readying a contingency plan. An explanation you’ll believe. Something to say that will make your face recognizable to him again. However, before he can continue, the press of your thumb to his lips quiets him.

“It’s okay,” you say, coaxing him from his downward spiral. “I don’t care.” “What?” He doesn’t like the sound of that.

“I don’t care what you did,” you clarify, squeezing his hand in yours. Slowly, you begin to pull him down, towards you. “I don’t care whose blood this is.” Just as you had that very first night, you bring your lips to his ear. “You are all I have ever cared about.” Goosebumps erupt across every inch of his skin. He lets go of your hand and wraps his arms around you, sinking down against you in sheer relief for the way you slip your arms around his neck, fingers carding up into his hair, matted as it is with blood. He exhales roughly, squeezing you too tight. He can hear it in the strain of your breath, your chest compressed to his, but you don’t fight him. You endure him.

That alone is more than anyone else has managed.

Over your shoulder, Homelander stares at the gun resting atop your bedside table. For the first time, he wonders who truly ensnared who.

Drawing back, he takes hold of your jaw in both hands and kisses you desperately. If you mind the taste of blood, you give no indication of it, opening for his tongue and meeting him readily with yours. “I thought you would–I thought you were–” Fuck, even as his pulse steadies, he can’t get the words straight, can’t get them off of his tongue.

“I’m here, I’m here. I wasn’t,” you manage to say between the fervent presses of his lips, sounding as relieved as he feels. It’s as if you’ve heard his thoughts. “I love you. I love you.”

A treacherous little whimper crawls up the back of his throat, but he chases it with a groan. He takes his hands from your face to your arms, itching to feel every inch of you, to remind himself that it’s all real. That you’re real.

“Come with me,” you say. I will. Anywhere, he thinks. You step backwards, and he follows. At some point, the towel slipped from your body. Your damp skin has become a canvas of bloodied impressions ranging from his hands to the texture of his suit. Piece by piece, you begin peeling away the soiled suit from his body. He lets you work, though he cannot keep his hands from you, particularly once you remove his gloves. He pushes his hands into your wet hair while you unbuckle his pants, kisses you hungrily while he steps out of his boots.

It is a maddening thing, to be loved when you are at your most unloveable.

The bathwater sloshes over the edges as you both sink down into it, all tangled limbs and devouring kisses. The blood stains the soapy lavender pink while your hands leave messy crimson handprints on the ceramic tub. You straddle his lap, and with wet hands, begin working his blood crusted hair wet and loose. Leaning in, Homelander settles his hands on your ribs and kisses a trail down the valley between your breasts, turning his head to lap and suck at your right nipple.

You encourage him with a low moan, nails dragging along his scalp. You cradle his head to your chest, retaliating by rocking your hips slowly down against his, pinning his stiffening cock between your bodies. “Listen to me. There is nothing you could do that would drive me away,” you tell him, punctuating your words with sinuous slides of your hips, wringing tight, needy little moans from him. Your own voice is breathy, the pitch of it gradually climbing. You reach down between your bodies, and take a firm hold of his cock, steadying it until you can sit astride it, and slowly sink back down.

With your mouth at his ear, panting noisy little breaths, you whisper, “I would kill a dozen, a hundred more men if it made you mine.”

What do you mean more?

The thought doesn’t linger long. It’s impossible to focus on anything other than the molten hot clench of your cunt seizing all around him, swallowing him up like it was made to. Homelander slides his hands to your hips and takes a tight hold, meeting the roll of your body with sharp thrusts up. “Nnngh, aah, fuck, I love you–I’m–fuck, I love you, you’re so–so fucking perfect,” he growls through his teeth, dull nails biting crescent marks into your skin while he holds you, pulling you down into every jagged, desperate snap of his hips. Each deep thrust knocks a noise from you, has you gripping his hair tight. Without leverage, all you can do is take it, your moans growing louder and louder, your pussy squeezing him tighter as he fucks you with inhuman precision. Homelander picks up his pace, dying to feel you come for him when he’s like this, messy with the worst parts of himself and wholly at your mercy, whether you know it or not.

“C’mon,” he grits out, though where he means to have authority in his voice, it comes out like a plea. “Come for me. Wanna feel you come on my cock. F-fuck, please, let me–let me feel you,” he says, trailing off into a moan before he buries his face between your breasts, flexing fresh bruises into your skin while you prettily pant and whimper in his ear from the sheer force he fucks you with.

“I will, I–I–” That’s as far as you get before you come, before you double over against him and scream his name loud enough for your entire apartment complex to hear. It tips him right over the edge with you, has him crying out as he arches his back, flooding his release deep into your tight, quivering pussy, thrusting weakly through the aftershocks.

By the time the two of you settle down against one another, your breaths calmed, the majority of the bathwater is outside of the tub. The night air is cool on your naked bodies, but you’ve never been cold in Homelander’s arms. He traces absent patterns on your skin while you recover, your thighs still shaking.

“We should shower,” you say eventually, a slight slur to your tone. It makes Homelander smile. He loves feeling, seeing, and hearing all the ways in which he has ruined you. “Let me finish washing you.”

“Can you stand?” He asks. It’s an earnest question. “Carry me there,” you say.

He stares at you warmly, the corners of his eyes crinkled with the width of his smile. “ ‘Kay.“

The shower is slow, less frenzied. You lather shampoo into his hair, washing away the remnants of what had come before this. You work body wash into his skin until he smells like coconuts instead of blood and viscera. He nuzzles into your touches, kisses you whenever the impulse strikes. There is no way to describe the unparalleled feeling of sharing space with a body that not only welcomes your touch, but also houses a heart that loves you. Once the two of you are sufficiently towel dried, the two of you settle into your familiar creaky bed. You draw the covers up over your bodies, and he draws you into his embrace, kissing the top of your head. He intertwines his fingers with yours, absently rubbing your skin with his thumb, his mind drifting.

“Say,” he begins eventually, stirring you from your near slumber. “The night we met… What were you doing on that side of town, down that alley?” His voice is low, curious.

There’s a pause. He can’t see your face like this, while you’re nestled into the crook of his neck, but he can hear your heart clear as day.

“I was looking for you,” you answer eventually, pulse as steady as a metronome.

At that, he smiles. “I love you,” he whispers, squeezing your hand.

“I love you, too,” you answer, your own smile audible in your sleepy voice. “And I always will.”

Don't fret precious I'm here Step away from the window Go back to sleep Lay your head down child I won't let the boogeyman come Counting bodies like sheep To the rhythm of the war drums Pay no mind to the rabble Pay no mind to the rabble Head down, go to sleep To the rhythm of the war drums

#homelander x reader #homelander x you #homelander fanfiction #IT'S DOOOONE AAAA #i can't believe how long this turned out lmao #anyways i am exhausted please enjoy #smut #dark fic #my writing

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plutoccult · 6 months

Text

MY LOVE MINE ALL MINE

pairing: jean kirstein x female reader

description: a few years after the successful peace negotiations, you and jean celebrate his first birthday with your new baby boy, but jean can’t help but look back on what it took to get to this day after dreaming of it as much as he could hope to live without breathing.

word count: 1.2k

also available to read on my ao3 here

author’s note: something short and sweet that’s not soul crushing angst. a shocker on my end, really. BUT, the attack on titan anime has finally ended. it’s like a chapter of my life is over, but a chapter ending only means a new one beginning. i always wanted to write something that depicted some sort of event after the end of the story, so it’s nice to fully bring that vision into fruition. i love writing for jean and i’ll miss him and the rest of the characters so very much, but the writing doesn’t end here for me! more content will come out of me until i get bored of it. i do, however, hope you enjoy this little fluff piece.

when dreaming about what life could be without titans or any worries, jean always knew what the perfect life would be for him. it was always consisted of the same fantasy; sitting out on a balcony with a glass of the finest liquor in hand, wife inside the house, and a newborn baby with the cutest, most innocent smile in his wife’s arms. the ideal daydream used to have a faceless woman, then mikasa took over for a brief second after being struck by her upon their first meeting, but now it’s been the same face for many, many years. since falling head over feet completely, jean could now only picture his future with you bearing his love and his children, and only that would be the perfect life for him. nothing else, just you.

sometimes jean wondered what life would be like if marco were still around. who would have died in his place instead of him that day? who would’ve had to deal with the pain of losing their best friend instead of him? would he live next door to jean’s dream home and babysit the kids whenever? jean liked to imagine marco as the perfect uncle. uncle marco. if only it could all be real. even so, all these years later, he was grateful for the life he had been given.

after years of hell fighting for the greater good, jean was finally able to settle down and live that perfect life he so desperately craved in his youth. he wasn’t very young anymore; small wrinkles began to form, his muscles grew tired far more easily, signs that he was starting to grow old, but not quite just yet. there was still more life to live, so much more he could live for.

today was jean’s birthday, and just like his teenage fantasies, he sat on a balcony with a glass of whiskey just as he imagined. the view of the town he lived in was great, but not the greatest. the only difference between jean’s dreams and his reality that there wasn’t a barrier between him and what he wanted most; you, holding your little baby boy in your arms.

caught in the middle of daydreaming, you emerge from inside the house and join jean on the balcony with your son. you gently grab the baby’s hand and pretend to act like he’s the one waving to jean, which makes him smile.

“does baby marco want to say hi to daddy?” you coo while jean looked at the two of you in awe. naming your child after marco was always in the cards, neither of you doubted it for a second when you both expressed wanting children. it was just the most beautiful thing in the world when he was finally born, after all this time of knowing what you wanted.

“here, lemme hold him.” jean offered, extending his arms out for baby marco. you carefully hand him over then sit down and watch as the infant reached his hands out to grab jean’s face, who was gently cradling him in his arms. “he’s getting so big now, i can’t even believe it.”

“i know.” you say with a smile on your face. “by the way, some letters came in the mail for you.”

“from who?” he questioned.

“armin and mikasa, of course. reiner and pieck too.” you began to ramble, listing off the names of all who sent letters for jean on his birthday. “oh, can’t forget connie. and then levi sent something that gabi and falco seemed to have signed—”

“so… pretty much everyone?” jean interrupted with a chuckle.

“queen historia as well.” you end off the list, giggling to yourself for forgetting such an important name. you simply can’t forget the queen, after all. “oopsie.”

“well, i oughta write everyone back as soon as possible.” he said, but you disagreed.

“you can write after cake, okay? i’ll go grab it now.” you say, standing up from your seat so you could head inside of the house.

“i told you i could make it.” jean insisted. “i don’t like making you do the work for me.”

although his words were sweet, you wouldn’t do that to him today out of all days. “make your own birthday cake? please. i’ll be right back.”

jean sat with baby marco close to him while you disappeared into the house for his birthday treat. you come back with a cake that has an array of lit candles, gently setting it down on the table as far away from the baby as possible. you take the baby out of jean’s hands while you sing happy birthday to him and sit across the table, your voice as soothing as the breeze.

when it was time for jean to blow out the candles and make a wish, he simply couldn’t think of anything to wish for. he finally had everything he ever wanted; the love of his life, a family of his own, and most importantly, peace. you both fought like hell a million times over to get here, doing things you regretted all the time. the past you shared together was ridden with sin, but the future didn’t have to be, and right now, the future was bright and golden like daylight.

if there was anything to possibly wish for, it was for things to stay just like this, so jean closed his eyes and blew out the candles and wished just for that. his eyes opened up to the sight of you and your son, and he was so happy to see it right in front of him.

“happy birthday, jean.” you say softly. baby marco beamed with the most innocent grin, his youthful laugh almost bringing jean to tears.

“thank you, my love.” he mustered up the words to say without crying.

jean insisted he cut the cake himself. seeing as you made it, this was the least he could do, and you didn’t argue. he sliced a piece for you first and set it down in front of you, watching as baby marco eyed the cake in complete awe.

jean’s eyes stray away from cutting his own piece as he found himself watching you with the baby. you were trying to eat your cake, but you couldn’t help but laugh at marco trying to get some of it from your fork.

“ah, no, no, no. you can’t have cake.” you coo, booping baby marco on the nose.

it was times like these that made jean so grateful. he captured even the smallest grain of a moment, cherishing every single one with the thought that tomorrow is not always promised, even when you two were free of the burdens of a solider saving humanity. no matter how many times he made a wish on some candies, there was always that “what if?” thought in the back of his brain that this some day would be taken away from him.

you look up and catch jean staring at you as if he were frozen, like he was taking a million pictures with his eyes. “what are you doing?”

“remembering this.” he simply replied, the best way he could put it all into words.

the love you had for each other and the life that’s been given to you would always be yours, all yours, and it would last beyond the very last breath both of you would take. in the end, all of the hardships were worth living to see this day.

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slytherintrikru · 7 months

Text

— || Revenge is Sweet || —

Pairing: Lucius Malfoy x gryffindor!muggleborn!reader (SHE’S OF AGE)

Word count: 6224

Warnings: SMUT, NSFW, 16+, fingering, clit rubbing, cock in Vigina, male and female, adult content, adult language, cuss words, clit licking, degrading, fluff if you squint, pet names, anguish, cheating, heartbreak, revenge, crying, Lucius comforting Y/N?, aftercare, praise, daddy kink, cum swallowing, fluff, out of character Lucius, 2 almost 3 years after the 2nd wizarding war, younger woman with older man, first time together, heated make out session, kissing, hickeys, love bites, SFW if you squint. (SHE IS OF AGE)

Summary: Y/N wanted to surprise Draco by visiting him at the Malfoy Manor but ended up catching him cheating instead. While leaving she bumps into Lucius Malfoy and things get kinda heated. (SHE’S OF AGE)

Requested: by no one this is my idea

A/N: Hello, my fellow Dreamers, hope you like this. Please give me your feedback. BTW I also already posted this on my AO3 account @ slytherintrikru.

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Y/N navigated her way up the meandering, earthy path that led to the formidable gates of the Malfoy Manor. These gates, a grand testament to the opulence within, were adorned with wrought-iron craftsmanship that gleamed even in the muted light of dusk. Beyond the gates, a long, majestic driveway, flanked by a procession of ancient trees, guided her toward the mansion's imposing facade. Standing before her, the Malfoy Manor exuded an aura of architectural splendor. Its stately stone walls rose gracefully, adorned with intricate details that whispered of centuries past. Tall, narrow windows punctuated the facade, their panes seeming to conceal secrets within, bestowing upon the house an air of sinister allure.

The estate on which the manor resided was vast and mysterious. A dark forest encroached upon the edges of the property, casting eerie shadows that played hide-and-seek with the waning daylight. In stark contrast to this enigmatic woodland, a lush and meticulously cultivated garden graced the manor's rear, a testament to the Malfoy family's penchant for grandeur and elegance.

With each deliberate step, Y/N's heartbeat quickened. Her trembling hand reached out to rap upon the massive, wooden double doors that guarded the entrance. She couldn't have fathomed that she would ever find herself returning to this nightmarish place, where the echoes of her torment at the hands of Voldemort and his fanatical followers still reverberated in the depths of her memory. It had been two agonizing years since that fateful day when Fenrir Greyback had dragged her through those very doors, her hair pulled viciously as she struggled to match the monstrous pace set by her captor. The same mansion had borne witness to her harrowing encounter with the Dark Lord himself, the malevolent figure who had imprinted the dreaded Death Eater mark upon her left arm—a mark she had desperately sought to eradicate for almost three long years.

The reason for her presence here, despite the haunting memories, was her enduring love for Draco. Three years had passed since the inception of their clandestine relationship, but their bond remained unshaken. Draco's parents, however, were a formidable obstacle in their path. They looked down upon her as a 'filthy Mudblood,' a fact that had never deterred her resolve, so long as Draco stood by her side. Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy had resorted to devious tactics, attempting to buy her loyalty, attempting to pry her away from their son. Their efforts had met with stubborn resistance, leaving them fuming with frustration. On countless occasions, they subjected her to scathing tirades, especially Narcissa, whose cruelty knew no bounds. After a week, Lucius resigned to a sullen silence, but Narcissa's venomous words and occasionally physical aggression persisted as a daily ordeal that Y/N endured with steely determination.

Y/N flinched as the manor door creaked open, her reaction akin to that of someone stumbling into a jinx. Her startled gaze dropped to the floor, where a familiar figure stood. It was Rue, the endearing house elf, a cherished presence in Y/N's life.

"What can Rue do for Draco's lovely girlfriend?" Rue inquired, her lips curving into a warm, welcoming smile.

Y/N couldn't help but smile in return; Rue had always held a special place in her heart. With her bright blue eyes and those endearing pointy ears, Rue exuded an unmistakable charm. Not only did she anticipate Y/N's every need, but she also prepared food and drinks precisely to Y/N's liking. Since the law against elf brutality had been enacted, Y/N had taken it upon herself to ensure Rue's comfort, providing her with clothing. Over the months, Rue had transformed, shedding the weight of servitude to become a happier, more carefree presence.

"I'd like to see Draco, please, Rue," Y/N replied, her voice gentle and careful not to startle the petite house elf.

Rue's smile widened, and with a tiny, reassuring grip on Y/N's hand, she led her inside. As the door closed softly behind them, Rue spoke again, her voice filled with an eagerness to assist. "Master Draco is in his room. Rue will take you."

Y/N hesitated for a moment, a playful idea forming in her mind. "No, no, it's fine. I can go myself. I want to surprise him."

The adorable house elf nodded, her eyes filled with understanding. With a snap of her fingers, she vanished from sight, leaving Y/N to navigate the winding corridors of the Malfoy Manor alone.

Y/N couldn't help but grin at the thought of Rue experiencing a moment of personal indulgence, wondering if the house elf was trying to savor the pleasures she had missed in her life of servitude. With that pleasant thought, Y/N embarked on her ascent up the many flights of wooden stairs that led to the upper reaches of the manor. Her footsteps echoed softly through the hallway as she made her way toward Draco's room.

As she arrived at her destination, Y/N came to an abrupt halt, her senses keenly attuned to an unexpected sound emanating from behind Draco's door. She strained her ears, desperately hoping it wasn't a case of accidentally stumbling upon an intimate moment between Lucius and Narcissa. A glance at the door's label confirmed it was indeed Draco's room, and then she heard it again.

Moans.

Specifically, the unmistakable sounds of male and female moans. Y/N's heart pounded in her chest as she leaned closer to the door, attempting to confirm what she dreaded most. She heard his name, Draco's name, whimpered from a female voice within, a voice that sent shockwaves through her.

Her blood ran cold, her heart rate spiked, and tears welled up in her eyes. Y/N prayed it wasn't true, that Draco wasn't betraying her. She cautiously pushed the door open, her movements silent as she observed the heart-wrenching scene before her. Draco, lost in passion, buried his face in Astoria Greengrass's neck, his vigorous thrusts filling the room.

Their eyes met, Y/N's and Astoria's, in a moment of cruel recognition. Astoria's smirk seemed to taunt Y/N, as if declaring, 'He's mine now, you filthy Mudblood.' With a heavy heart, Y/N gently closed the door, tears streaming down her face. She turned and fled down the hallway, down the stairs, without a care for her surroundings or the possibility of colliding with someone.

Tears flowed freely as Y/N reached the bottom of the stairs, her heart shattering into a million pieces. Her cries escaped in a heartbreaking crescendo, echoing through the manor's grandeur. In her distraught state, she collided with an unexpected presence, teetering dangerously on the brink of falling backward. However, strong arms enveloped her, steadying her in her moment of despair.

"What in Merlin's name are you doing, girl?" The voice, dripping with disdain, hissed through the tense air. Y/N's heart lurched at the sound, her gut telling her it was all too familiar. As her tear-blurred gaze lifted, she was met with the sight of a thoroughly baffled and irate Lucius Malfoy, his aristocratic features etched with a mix of anger and confusion. Her own expressive eyes, a mesmerizing shade of E/C, locked onto his cold, steely gray ones.

Blinking away the tears that blurred her vision, she stared at the formidable pureblood wizard who stood before her. Their eye contact held an unspoken tension, a connection fraught with history and complex emotions. It was in that moment that Y/N noticed something she hadn't expected in Lucius – concern. The realization was like a jolt, sending a shiver down her spine.

Concern?

It couldn't be right, could it? Why on earth would Lucius Malfoy, of all people, be concerned about her well-being? Y/N hesitated, her hand instinctively rising to wipe her eyes once more, as if questioning her own senses, wondering if her eyes were playing tricks on her. But the look in Lucius's eyes remained, a glimmer of unexpected humanity in the formidable man who had long been an enigma to her.

"Are you going to speak, or just stand there like a dumb-witted Mudblood?" Lucius's words, laced with venom, cut through the heavy silence. Y/N turned away from him, hurt etched in her eyes, his cruel words piercing her heart. In that moment, the gap between them seemed insurmountable.

Lucius, however, couldn't ignore the pain he had inadvertently caused, and for a fleeting second, remorse tugged at his conscience. Yet, his pride prevailed, and instead of apologizing, he pressed further, his tone demanding answers. "What's wrong with you, girl?"

Y/N pulled herself away from him, a mixture of emotions welling up inside her. She hesitated for a moment, then her voice trembled as she questioned him, "W-Why do y-you care?"

The unexpected vulnerability in her voice caught Lucius off guard, and a flicker of something uncharacteristic passed through his stormy gray eyes. He blocked her path as she attempted to move past him, their proximity intensifying the tension between them. "Just because we got off to the wrong foot when we first met doesn't mean I'm the same person I was before," he hissed, a rare hint of vulnerability seeping into his words. "Now tell me what's wrong, or I'll use Legilimency on you."

Her defenses crumbling, Y/N couldn't hold back the flood of emotion any longer. The words tumbled out of her, her voice wavering as she confessed, "Your son cheated on me with Astoria, that's what happened." She glanced away, bracing herself for the judgment she anticipated. "You're probably happy that he's not with a filthy Mudblood like me anymore. I'll just—"

"He did what?!" Lucius's voice reverberated through the manor, his anger palpable as it resounded against the walls. Y/N glanced at him, a puzzled expression on her face. She couldn't comprehend why he would be so furious that his son, Draco, had cheated on her—a Mudblood—with a pureblood. Lucius Malfoy had never harbored any warmth toward Y/N, so this sudden outburst was baffling. She had always assumed that Draco's parents would be delighted if something like this were to happen.

Lucius's voice, filled with indignation, interrupted her thoughts once more. "How dare that boy break someone's heart instead of just telling you that he wants to end the relationship. I raised him to treat women with respect. Even if the girl is a filthy Mudblood!"

Y/N frowned, her gaze drifting downward to her feet, unable to meet Lucius's eyes. His words were laden with a complex mixture of anger, disappointment, and something she couldn't quite fathom.

"Why would you care anyway? You should be happy that he cheated on me. Now he can go marry a pureblood who's more beautiful than me," she muttered bitterly, her self-esteem shattered.

In an unexpected turn of events, the cold metal of the snake handle of Lucius's cane lifted her chin. She blinked in surprise as he swiftly pulled his cane away and grasped her chin roughly with his hand, forcing her to hold eye contact with him.

"Don't ever say those words again. Am. I. Understand, Y/N?" Lucius's voice, though stern, held a strange mixture of concern. She nodded in response, but it seemed that wasn't sufficient for him. He demanded more. "I expect you to answer when I ask you something!"

"Y-Yes, Sir!" she squeaked, her gaze locked onto his features. She couldn't help but notice the commanding presence he exuded, the sharp lines of his jaw, the strength evident in his angular face. His long, platinum blonde hair cascaded gracefully past his shoulders, framing his striking countenance. The blueish-gray eyes that held an air of authority seemed to peer directly into her soul. Y/N's cheeks flushed inexplicably as she found herself momentarily entranced by his striking appearance. ‘He's handsome’, she thought, a realization that seemed to take her by surprise.

Y/N's unspoken admiration for Lucius had been a well-guarded secret, a silent confession her heart made each time she crossed the threshold of the Malfoy Manor. Her heart would do a subtle dance of anticipation whenever she knew she'd encounter him, and a flush would steal across her cheeks, like a clandestine tribute to his striking presence. It was an irrational reaction, one she couldn't quite understand, given that Lucius had never hidden his disdain for her—well, at least, he hadn't before.

Lucius's trademark smirk played on his lips, but there was a curious shift in his demeanor. Gone was the initial cockiness, replaced by genuine amusement as he surveyed Y/N's puzzled expression. Her blush intensified, a shade that rivaled the crimson and gold of the Gryffindor house colors.

"You really think I'm handsome?" he probed, his tone now laced with curiosity. He leaned in closer, the proximity between them causing a subtle flutter in Y/N's heart. Lucius's eyes sparkled with a newfound charm as he awaited her response.

"I—what? I didn't—" she stammered, but her words were abruptly silenced.

"Legilimens, my darling girl," Lucius smoothly interrupted. His smirk remained, but it was tinged with a magnetic confidence that left her feeling exposed. He leaned even closer, his lips brushing against her ear, and he whispered softly, his voice a provocative caress, "Ah, yes. It appears you've conveniently forgotten that I possess the ability to delve into your mind. You see, I heard every thought you've had about me. Like your secret desire for me to pin you down on my bed, to make you forget how to walk."

Y/N's eyes widened, her cheeks aflame with embarrassment. Her heart raced, and she felt a shiver of vulnerability wash over her. Lucius's audacious revelation had unraveled a new layer of intrigue and desire, transforming their dynamic into something far more intricate and captivating.

She gasped, disbelief coursing through her. Could he truly have been privy to her every innermost thought? It felt surreal, like a dream she was unable to awaken from. In an attempt to regain her composure, she instinctively retreated a step, allowing her gaze to lock with his. His eyes held the same intense emotion she had noticed earlier – a smoldering, undeniable lust that sent a tingle down her spine. He leaned closer, his body almost brushing against hers, and she could feel the heat radiating from him.

"That's the very reason I've maintained my distance from you all these months," he admitted, his voice betraying a hint of vulnerability beneath its low, seductive tone. "After my ex-wife and I discovered the truth about you and my son's relationship, I tried to keep my demeanor cold. Yet every night, unable to control my desires, I found myself lost in fantasies of you," he confessed, his words a hushed, intimate secret shared between them.

A blush painted her cheeks once more as his voice whispered sensually into her ear, sending shivers coursing down her spine. His hands found their way to her sides, exerting a gentle, yet possessive squeeze. She couldn't help but shudder at his touch.

"My son is a fool for betraying such a beautiful, enchanting nymph like you," he purred, his lips grazing the tender skin just below her earlobe. His kisses left a fiery trail down her neck, only to ascend slowly back towards her lips. When their mouths met, it was as though a swarm of butterflies took flight in her stomach, fluttering wildly. She didn't respond immediately, her brain struggling to catch up with the whirlwind of sensations. Gradually, she inhaled his intoxicating scent, responding to his kisses with a growing hunger of her own.

Y/N's moans of desire seemed to echo within the cavernous expanse of Lucius's opulent mansion. Every step she took away from the memory of Draco's betrayal and closer to Lucius felt like a transgressive leap into the unknown. The kiss, fueled by a volatile mix of guilt and longing, deepened with each passing second. It was a magnetic force pulling them closer together, their lips becoming the epicenter of their shared need.

Her fingers wove themselves deeper into Lucius's long, platinum blonde hair, the strands silky and cool to the touch. He couldn't help but groan in response, the sound a testament to the intensity of their connection. His powerful hands, previously residing at her sides, ventured boldly downward, reaching her shapely derrière. With a delicate yet firm touch, he squeezed, sending exhilarating waves of sensation through her body.

With a sudden surge of passion, Lucius lifted Y/N off her feet, her legs instinctively wrapping around his waist to maintain their electrifying kiss. The sensation of being carried by him, the firmness of his grip, and the heat of his body against hers were intoxicating. They ascended the grand staircase, their rhythmic ascent echoing through the mansion's ornate halls.

As they turned down the dimly lit hallway, the portraits of stern-faced ancestors bore witness to their clandestine rendezvous. The anticipation was palpable, each step a deliberate stride toward the unknown. The soft glow of moonlight spilled through heavy, brocade curtains, casting intricate patterns on the Persian rugs that lined the floor.

With an audacious display of strength and desire, Lucius kicked open the door to his lavishly appointed bedroom. The door swung wide with a creak, revealing a chamber bathed in shadows. The grandeur of the room was nothing short of breathtaking, with its sumptuous canopy bed, antique furnishings, and gilded accents. The room exuded an air of timeless elegance, a stark contrast to the illicit passion that had led them there. Yet, with another commanding kick, he shut the door behind them, sealing their secret within the confines of the room's opulent embrace.

In the opulent chamber, bathed in the soft glow of moonlight filtered through heavy curtains, he guided her towards his bed with a gentleness that belied the intense desire simmering between them. The sumptuous sheets, adorned with intricate patterns, awaited their embrace, a testament to the luxury that surrounded them. With a feather-light touch, he laid her down, the mattress conforming to the curves of her body like a lover's caress.

Desire surged between them, an irresistible force pulling them closer together. She eagerly wound her legs around him, her longing palpable. A deep, resonant chuckle rumbled from his chest, a seductive reverberation that filled the room. It was a sound that resonated with promise, the promise of what was to come.

His lips embarked on a slow descent down the delicate curve of her neck, leaving a trail of searing kisses in their wake. His teeth grazed her skin, eliciting sharp gasps and urgent moans from her trembling lips. Y/N's moans danced in harmony with the hushed symphony of their passion, their clandestine desires woven into every sound.

With a masterful touch, his hands began their sensual exploration, fingers tracing the contours of her body. He reached for the fabric of her shirt, the anticipation of their impending intimacy electrifying the air. But as he made to unveil her, he paused, gazing into her eyes with a mixture of tenderness and raw desire. His voice, a sultry whisper, hung in the air like an unspoken invitation, "Do you want to continue this?"

Her heart swelled with a heady blend of love and desire at his considerate question. It wasn't just about the act itself; it was about the connection they shared, the intimacy that extended beyond the physical. Her eyes met his, and she nodded in fervent agreement, but his gaze turned insistent, demanding more than a mere gesture.

She acquiesced, her voice a soft, breathless confession. "Yes, I want to continue."

With the patience of a man intoxicated by her presence, he lifted her shirt, revealing her in all her vulnerability and desire. Each moment was a deliberate act of unveiling, an exploration of the secrets they had kept hidden for too long. Her whimpers of longing grew more pronounced, a sweet symphony of passion that ignited the room.

Their discarded shirts lay scattered, forgotten remnants of the world they had left behind. Their lips collided once more, a fervent clash of desires. His hands, strong and gentle, cradled her face, deepening the kiss into a consuming blaze of longing. In this stolen moment, their connection transcended the physical, binding them together in a fiery embrace that defied the boundaries of reason and restraint.

In the cocoon of their desires, time seemed to slow, allowing them to savor every tantalizing moment. The room, adorned with rich, heavy curtains that filtered the moon's soft glow, bathed them in an otherworldly ambiance. They paused briefly to remove the remaining garments that clung to their heated bodies, leaving a trail of discarded clothing scattered haphazardly across the floor.

With a profound longing etched upon their faces, they surrendered to the pull of their desires. He took the initiative, his lips blazing a path of fiery kisses down her form. Every inch of her skin he touched seemed to ignite with desire, his teeth delicately grazing, and his mouth fervently claiming her.

One of his hands, large and commanding, found its place on her breast, the fingers expertly working her sensitive flesh. The other sought solace on her hip, the grip possessive yet tender. Y/N's response was immediate, her back arching sensually as she pressed herself closer to him. The room bore witness to her unrestrained passion, shadows playing tricks on their entangled figures.

The dimly lit room provided an intimate backdrop to their stolen moment, amplifying the intensity of their connection. She gasped, unable to stifle the whirlwind of sensations coursing through her body. Her longing and need reached a fevered pitch as his lips moved relentlessly over her skin.

This sensation was unlike anything she had ever encountered, not even with Draco. It was a heady concoction of raw desire and an emotional connection that left her feeling utterly exposed and vulnerable, yet simultaneously empowered and alive.

His lips reluctantly abandoned her chest, tracing a searing path downward, inching closer to the epicenter of her desire. Her hips reacted instinctively, a silent plea for more, a plea for him to satiate the burgeoning hunger that consumed her. In response, he chuckled darkly, a knowing grin playing upon his lips.

"So, so greedy for me, aren't you?" he purred, his voice a sultry whisper that sent shivers down her spine. "I've barely even started, my little nymph, and you're already squirming."

Her moans grew in volume, punctuating the charged atmosphere. Her hips continued their rhythmic dance, a wordless invitation for him to delve deeper into her desires. Just as hope began to wane, he boldly ventured between her legs. His thumb found her eager clit, tracing slow, electrifying circles that sent shockwaves of pleasure coursing through her body. She couldn't help but gasp loudly, her moans intensifying as her body surrendered to his skillful touch.

“L-Lucius!” Y/N's fervent whimper hung in the air, a plea for more that only fueled Lucius's desire to push her further into the depths of pleasure. He reveled in the sound, a wicked grin playing upon his lips as he continued to work his magic. His fingers, slick with her arousal, glided effortlessly inside her, seeking out her g-spot with uncanny precision. The sensation of his touch sent electric jolts of pleasure coursing through her, her moans becoming a chorus of surrender.

The room seemed to close in around them, the ambiance heavy with the heady scent of their desire. Shadows danced seductively across the walls, an intimate audience to their clandestine tryst. Every subtle movement, every trembling breath, was magnified in the dim light, intensifying the eroticism of the moment.

Lucius's voice, a velvet caress of dominance, lured her deeper into submission. "That's right, my little slut," he whispered huskily, his words both an affirmation and a command. "Feel how good I'm making you. Did he ever make you feel like this? Did he know all the right spots to please you?"

She struggled to form coherent words, the pleasure he evoked rendering her speechless. Her response was a breathless admission of truth, punctuated by her moans of ecstasy. "N-No... aahh-"

Lucius's eyes bore into her with an intensity that left her feeling exposed and vulnerable, yet utterly consumed by desire. His fingers continued their relentless assault on her g-spot, her body quivering in response. Her pussy clenched around him, a physical manifestation of her escalating pleasure, and he couldn't help but grunt with satisfaction.

"My little slut," he growled, his voice dripping with unrestrained lust, "you've never felt this kind of pleasure before, have you? Well, let's make sure you're fully satisfied, my dear."

With each word, he propelled her further into the abyss of desire, his fingers dancing with a masterful touch that promised to fulfill her every longing. In the dimly lit room, their forbidden encounter continued, a symphony of passion and submission that echoed through the night.

Lucius's descent towards her quivering core was an agonizingly slow and tantalizing journey. His head moved lower, inch by tantalizing inch, until his mouth hovered just above her dripping wet pussy. The room, bathed in the soft, dim light of concealed passion, seemed to hold its breath in anticipation of the forbidden act about to unfold.

Y/N's body was a live wire, tingling with desire as his warm breath caressed her sensitive flesh. Her back arched in a primal response, a silent plea for him to continue, to grant her the pleasure she craved. The air was thick with tension, the electrifying atmosphere heightened by the palpable anticipation of what was to come.

With a deliberate, torturous slowness, his tongue made its first sensuous contact with her throbbing clit. Y/N's response was immediate and intense; she arched her back, a breathless gasp escaping her lips. Waves of desire surged through her, her hips rising to meet his mouth in a fervent demand for more. His tongue traced lazy circles around her clit, each pass a teasing caress that left her trembling with need.

Her hips moved in rhythmic desperation, bucking into his mouth as she sought to intensify the pleasure. Lucius, the master of seduction, had her in a hypnotic trance, his tongue shifting tactics to move from side to side, skillfully exploring every sensitive inch of her. He returned to her clit, sucking with a purposeful hunger that sent shivers coursing through her body. Her moans grew in intensity, a symphony of ecstasy that filled the room.

As if orchestrating a symphony of pleasure, his fingers joined the sensual dance, slick with her arousal. They thrust in and out with a relentless rhythm, each penetration hitting her g-spot with pinpoint accuracy. Y/N's body was a trembling instrument of desire, her moans and whimpers filling the room like a seductive melody.

A familiar sensation began to coil within her abdomen, growing in intensity with each tantalizing moment. Her pussy clenched around his fingers as the waves of pleasure overtook her. With a gasp that shattered the air, she climaxed, her body trembling in the throes of ecstasy.

Lucius's voice, thick with desire and dominance, broke through her post-orgasmic haze. "Good girl, my good girl," he murmured, his words both a praise and a command. Her cheeks flushed with a mixture of embarrassment and satisfaction. He withdrew his hand from her quivering pussy, his fingers glistening with her essence. With forceful insistence, he grasped her jaw, parting her lips and presenting his cum-covered fingers to her mouth. "Taste yourself, whore!" he demanded, his voice a potent blend of authority and lust, igniting a primal hunger within her.

The room, cloaked in shadows, seemed to hold its breath as Y/N's lips encircled Lucius's fingers, moving with an almost hypnotic rhythm as she licked and sucked them clean. Her tongue, eager and tantalizing, left no trace of her essence behind, and Lucius watched her with a predatory hunger that mirrored her own desire. With an excruciating slowness, he withdrew his fingers from her mouth, his grip shifting to encircle her delicate throat, a possessive hold that sent a jolt of excitement through her.

A deep, throaty chuckle resonated from Lucius, a dark sound that underscored his mastery over her. It was a symphony of submission, her whimper in response to his control weaving through the charged air. His other hand, which had been on her jaw, descended with purposeful intent to his throbbing cock. With tantalizing deliberation, he began to stroke himself, each languid movement of his hand a seductive overture to the impending climax of their desires.

Y/N grappled with a myriad of emotions. She knew she should be overwhelmed with guilt, entangled in an illicit affair with her ex-boyfriend's father. Yet, beneath the layers of her moral reservations, a burning desire and a thirst for revenge surged within her. She yearned to make her ex-boyfriend pay for his betrayal, to mend her shattered heart by indulging in the very act that had caused her so much pain.

Her internal turmoil was momentarily eclipsed as she felt the firm tip of his cock teasing her wet, throbbing pussy. The exquisite friction sent a shiver of anticipation coursing through her, and her moans and whimpers filled the room like a seductive aria. Her body was a symphony of need, the sultry dance of his cock against her clit driving her to the brink of ecstasy.

Lucius's voice, dripping with dominance and desire, anchored her in the present moment. "My little mudblood," he taunted, his words laden with a derogatory term that should have stung. Instead, the sultry timbre of his voice rendered her helpless, a willing captive to his seduction. "Is this what you've desired all this time? For a real man to fuck you, to slide his cock deep inside you and make you feel good?"

Despite the term, her moans and whimpers betrayed her true desires, her voice trembling with need. "Y-Yes, Daddy," she whimpered, her plea echoing through the room, a fervent entreaty for the fulfillment of her deepest, most forbidden fantasies. “ Please, fuck me!”

"Daddy? Hmm?" Lucius questioned, his voice dripping with irresistible seduction that hung in the air like a sultry promise. A low, dark chuckle followed, resonating with a wicked allure as his eyes sparkled with mischief and a hint of malevolence. It was a look that promised a thrilling journey into forbidden desires, an intoxicating blend of pleasure and danger.

The room, cloaked in shadows and secrecy, bore witness to their clandestine rendezvous—a sensual dance of dominance and submission that unfolded in hushed gasps and fervent touches. Lucius reveled in her surrender, delighting in the way the derogatory term slipped off his tongue, and, to his surprise, she seemed to share in that twisted pleasure. "My little mudblood is filthy, isn't she?" he continued, his words dripping with desire and a touch of cruelty. In their intimate connection, the term had evolved into an oddly cherished secret, symbolizing her eager willingness to plunge into the irresistible depths of their forbidden passions. "I like that."

With deliberate intent, Lucius poised himself at the edge of her ecstasy, the air thick with anticipation. He surged into her abruptly, a powerful thrust that drew an electrified whimper from Y/N. Her body responded instinctively, arching in response to the sudden intrusion, a wordless plea for more. Lucius groaned in satisfaction, luxuriating in the exquisite sensation of her tight, wet heat enveloping him.

"Daddy!" Y/N's moan, fervent and desperate, reverberated through the room, echoing the intensity of her longing and submission.

Lucius wasted no time in unleashing the primal depths of his desire, setting a relentless pace that sent tremors through the bed beneath them. Pleasure and pain intertwined as Y/N's body stretched to accommodate him, her moans and gasps forming a seductive symphony that filled the room. Each powerful thrust propelled her closer to the precipice of ecstasy, the headboard bearing witness to the fervor of their illicit union.

"F-Fuck," Lucius hissed, his voice a symphony of unquenchable desire as he intensified his rhythm. His hips surged against her with unrestrained lust, each collision sending waves of pleasure coursing through her. The room resounded with their shared passion, an intoxicating rhythm that reverberated through the air and ignited an inferno of sensations. “You’re so tight and wet, aaah- I’m going to have so much fun destroying this tight little hole of yours.”

The hand that encircled her throat tightened incrementally, a gesture of dominance that sent a thrill of arousal coursing through Y/N. Her fingers tangled in Lucius's long, platinum blonde hair, tugging gently as she sought to draw him closer. His primal groans and moans in response only served to deepen her desire, each intoxicating sound forging an unbreakable connection between them in the hidden world they had created.

Their moans, like an intricate duet, melded into an intoxicating symphony of desire, echoing through the dimly lit room. With each primal thrust, he plunged deeper and faster into her, igniting a passionate crescendo that left them both gasping for breath. Her heart raced in response to the electrifying pleasure coursing through her veins.

"Lucius—Lucius! Aaaahhh—fuck! Daddy!" Her words, a fervent chant of need and submission, spilled from her lips in breathless abandon. Her hips responded in kind, moving in a seductive rhythm that matched his powerful thrusts, a dance of desire that transcended the bounds of their forbidden liaison.

"So damn good! Aahh—yes! Oh fuck, my little mudblood knows how to please me," he growled with unapologetic desire, his voice a seductive purr that sent shivers cascading down her spine. His hips quickened their relentless pace, pounding into her with an unyielding urgency that caused the bed to groan and creak beneath them, a testament to the fierce intensity of their union. “Tell me how good I’m making you feel, slut!

Her moans swelled, a wild symphony of ecstasy and surrender that reverberated through the room like a siren's call. She clawed at the sheets beneath her, her fingers desperately seeking purchase in the soft fabric as waves of pleasure crashed over her. It was an exquisite torment, a tantalizing whirlwind of sensations that threatened to consume her entirely.

"Daddy, you—ahh—feel so good," she gasped, her voice trembling with a potent mix of longing and desperation. Her nails traced feverish patterns over his heated skin, leaving trails of tingling sensation in their wake. Her silent entreaty was clear: she yearned for him to take her harder, to claim her completely in the tempest of their shared passion. “You make me feel so good! You’re fucking me so much better than him.”

Amid the dimly lit room, their passionate entwining continued, each feverish moment adding a new layer to their shared desire. Lucius, a commanding figure, maintained his relentless thrusts, his dominance evident in every movement. Her fervent responses wove a tapestry of longing and ecstasy, their chemistry igniting the air around them.

"I know, my little nymph," he purred, his voice an intoxicating blend of pleasure and command. His grip on her tightened possessively, fingers leaving tantalizing imprints on her heated skin. "Cum for me, slut. Show me how good I make you feel." His words hung in the air like a seductive spell, sending electrifying shivers throughout her body.

With each powerful thrust, the tip of his cock skillfully teased her cervix, intensifying the delicious ache in the pit of her stomach. Their bodies moved in perfect unison, a dance that seemed to transcend the boundaries of time and reason, an intricate symphony of passion that left them breathless.

Lucius, releasing his hold on her throat, replaced it with his mouth, his lips and teeth marking her skin as he continued to slam into her with primal urgency. Love bites and passionate kisses adorned her flesh, evidence of their unrestrained fervor. They moved together, bodies melding into one, a force of nature that defied control. In a rapturous climax, they reached the pinnacle of their desire, their voices rising in unison, filling the room with their unrestrained passion.

As Lucius withdrew from her, a plaintive whimper escaped her lips, a testament to the aching desire that still clung to her. His triumphant smirk hinted at the pleasure he derived from her desperate longing. As he made his way to the bathroom to cleanse himself, her eyes remained fixed on the vacant space he had occupied, her body still tingling with the fading echoes of their intense union.

Upon his return, a damp cloth in hand, he approached her with eyes that held both tenderness and desire. Every stroke of the cloth was a gentle caress, an unspoken declaration of their strange intimacy. The discarded rag landed carelessly beside them, a forgotten relic of their fervent encounter.

"Go to sleep, my little nymph," he whispered, his arms enveloping her in a protective embrace. "I'll be here when you wake." His words were a soothing promise, lulling her into a cocoon of security and contentment that belied the complexity of their relationship.

She nestled against him, her heart aflutter with emotions that defied easy categorization. Despite the impending repercussions of their actions, she couldn't deny the profound satisfaction she felt. As her eyes fluttered closed, the only thought that remained was that revenge, in its twisted and tumultuous way, could be intoxicatingly sweet.

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cryptictongues · 4 months

Text

To Kiss is to Hunger

pairing: Joshua Rosfield x Fem!Reader rating: Mature word count: 5.0K summary: You are terrified to kiss Joshua. Joshua has an idea to remedy that.

warnings: practice kissing, grinding, touching, intimacy, mutual pining, insecurities and self-doubt, just straight up romance

Author’s Notes: Ngl I know I said it would be a little frisky, but just so happens I made it just a little bit friskier because Joshua is just a touch starved man. Just a heads up, please read my pinned post before following me! Minors and ageless blogs will be blocked as this blog’s content is NSFW.

[AO3 link]

You couldn’t fathom why you are in the Shelves this late into the night. ‘It’s silly.” You think, walking around, trying to find anything to help you with your little dilemma. You tried to put your brain to rest, to calm its ravenous thoughts of anxiety, but the efforts were futile. And it is all because a teasing strawberry blond tried to kiss you.

You and the young Lord got quite close after his arrival to the Hideaway. You help out as a barmaid for Molly in the Ale House, and the first night of Joshua being out of the infirmary after the fall of Drake’s Tail had been all the talk. You would overhear conversations about how charming he was, how he was very knowledgeable about the lands of Valisthea, and how he is the brother of the leader of the Hideaway. He piqued your curiosity, as most newcomers do, but you didn’t think anything to come of it.

There was one night, however, where service wasn’t off its rig, and you had decided to take that time to practice your reading. Reading and writing are forbidden practices for Branded, and you were only able to learn reading due to old, scribbled writings thrown into the trash bins. You would rummage through for every written scrap in the dead of night and return it before your enslavers came to. To you, it was a piece to the puzzle of your freedom. But only a piece.

You were reading an old children’s fairytale: a prince in search of the long-lost princess who searched day and night to find her. You were immersed, so much so you hadn’t noticed the presence in front of you, seemingly still but present all the same.

“Ah, I read that story many times as a child. A true classic.”

Your head had snapped so far back you thought you would’ve fallen backwards. Your eyes jumped until they landed on the man before you, and you remember how wonderstruck you felt. He was the most beautiful man you had ever seen, and the way he was looking at you had your stomach producing butterflies. You felt a sense of embarrassment, however, as the book you were reading was adapted for children. You knew those born with a silver spoon were highly educated, so to have someone as handsome and surely intelligent as he watching you read made you nervous to be a laughing stock.

“Yeah, but it’s more of a watered down version of it. I’m sure I’ll get to read the original someday.” You had awkwardly explained, waiting for him to make a joke of your lack of ability to read at a level that matched your maturity. That joke, however, never came. He stayed and asked you questions, such as who your favorite character was, what your favorite part of the story was, and so on. That conversation led beyond the book, and it is a fond memory of the golden boy.

It wasn’t long after that he offered to tutor you and made an extraordinary effort to give you books about topics you liked. Hell, he would even bring books back from long expeditions that him, Clive, and Jill would go on. “I found this story about sea fairies that I thought you would like.” “I saw a merchant selling a copy of this book I think you’ll enjoy.” “This book made me think of you.”

After many nights and days passing, it had become apparent that your heart had let him in, and you were relieved to know that his heart blazed for you also. However, unlike you, he is very evident about how he shows his feelings for you. He initiated the first hand holding, the first embrace, every tender moment you both have shared has been started by him. It makes you nervous, he makes you nervous, but in a conflicting way because you want everything he has to offer, yet your life of being treated less than for so long has put in the fear of not being enough. You fear you will misstep, embarrass yourself, he will realize he can have someone better, and let you down gently. He is a gentleman, after all.

All of the insecurities and doubts you hold have led you to the shelves due to this past evening's events.

A gathering of many members of the Hideaway was taking place, enjoying each other’s company, exchanging stories from the road, and eating and drinking so good that spirits were at an all time high. About halfway through the evening, Joshua and Clive had returned from their mission that had kept them away for well over a week, and joined everyone in the festivities. You could feel Joshua’s eyes on you constantly as you worked, soft gazes in your direction as you brought over more ale. You hadn’t seen each other since he had left, and you could see from the look in his eyes that he wanted you close, longing for your time.

And you weren’t the only one to sense it.

“Go on.” You heard Molly speak as you polished the cups.

“Hmmm?” You turned to see her smirking at you, nudging her head in the direction of the young Rosfield.

“You are free of your duties. You spend some time with everyone, especially you know who.”

You shook your head, your cheeks flushed. “I appreciate it, but Molly there is a lot to clean up. I can’t ask you to do this all by yourself.”

“Nonsense.” She scoffed, walking to you, taking the scrub and cup out of your hands, only to set them aside to grab your own. “We all deserve a little down time. Please, I insist.”

You hesitated, and her eyes softened. “In these troubling times, every moment counts; for anything can happen at any time. We must be selfish with our time.”

That alone had set you into motion. You had walked over to sit beside him, hip to hip, his arm draped around your side with his head leaning slightly against your own as Clive shared his and his brother’s adventures.

You could tell Joshua was more touchy than normal, not that you minded. You would feel him squeeze you from time to time. If you shifted slightly, he would adjust so you were still close to him. You would feel him turn his head to bury his face into your hair, gentle caresses of his lips against your scalp. No words were spoken between the two of you, just enjoying the night together with everyone. But even nights like these had to end.

You called it a night, telling everyone that you were going to head to the bed chambers, but not before Joshua insisted on walking you there. The two of you had bid goodnight to the others, and with your hand in Joshua’s grasp, the two of you walked to the bed chambers, small talk between the two of you as you both headed there slowly.

“I can’t believe you let Clive do that.” You giggled, Joshua’s story about his older brother shoving a carrot into his mouth to make him sick.

“He had reason, for we were in an unfortunate situation. We needed a reason to slip away.” Joshua grimaced, vaguely remembering the taste of the raw carrot. “Besides, I have always had a soft spot for my brother. I’d do anything for him.”

“I know having him back in your life has been a gift.” You smiled, waving his arm back and forth as you both approached the bed chambers. He pulled your arm back gently, causing you to turn into his arms. The way he was looking at you left you speechless; a thousand words being spoken through one look.

“Why yes, it has truly been a gift by the Founder to be reunited with my brother.” He brings your hand up to his chest, right above his heart; the thumping gingerly warming up your palm. “It has also been a gift to have the honor of being allowed your time, my lady.”

You shook your head, but before you could’ve said anything, Joshua had spoken once more. “On the topic of gifts, I have something for you.”

He slipped his free hand into the large pouch of his belt and pulled out what you can see is a book. He placed the book in both of your hands, grazing them before allowing you to inspect it. You recognized the artistry of the book: hardbound leather, intricate gold lining, and a sturdy weight in your hand. You looked at the title and you found yourself releasing a shaky breath.

“I thought you said there were no more copies.” You whispered, in disbelief as to what you were seeing. Enchanting thy Fair Maiden. It was a copy of a book Joshua has praised over. He would recite lines to you from what he memorized as a child, and you would ask him to retell them to you over and over again, never tiring from hearing his smooth voice telling you a tale.

“It took some bartering, but it was worth it if it means I could grant you a copy.”

Snapping from your mind, you looked to him, shaking your head in disbelief. “Joshua, I can’t accept this. This is one of your favorite stories. You should keep it.”

You tried pushing the book back into Joshua’s, but not before him grasping both of your hands and gently pushing it back into your vicinity. “My lady.” He begged. “I can reassure you that nothing would please me more than you accepting this gift.”

You stayed silent for a moment, a brief pause in the timeline aside from you and him, before smiling shyly, looking away from him in a flush. “I will cherish this for all days, Joshua. Maybe you can read it to me properly sometime.”

“Anything for you, dearest.”

Your gaze stayed down, not knowing how to bid farewell for the night, before you felt Joshua’s hand lightly touch your cheek, lifting your face for him to look upon. You sensed a certain hesitancy, his eyes seeking for something on your face before landing back on your own.

“May I try something?”

Everything started to go slow and fast at the same time, your mind racing and hyper focusing on every detail. You focused on how much closer Joshua had gotten to you, how his body heat had your body melting tenfold, how his face leaned down to yours, his hand stroking your cheek. You realized what he was asking to do: he was asking to kiss you.

Sudden flashes of self-doubt came crashing down onto you, Joshua’s hand on your branded cheek making you feel self-conscious. What is he doing? How can he want to kiss me? Oh, Greagor be with me, I have never kissed anyone. I am going to make a fool of myself!

Out of reflex and fear, you stepped back and away from Joshua’s reach. He looked startled, not expecting your reaction, and all you could do was stare at him as you calmed your heart down. You felt embarrassment shudder down your spine, but you knew that it would have been worse if you had attempted to kiss him.

You tried to shrug it off, chuckling awkwardly as if that would erase the last few seconds of shame you felt. “It is late. I’m afraid I must turn in. Goodnight, Joshua.”

You flung the chamber door open and closed it just as fast without a glance in Joshua’s direction, your back hitting the wood as you worked your anxieties down.

Now you’ve really done it stupid stupid STUPID!

So here you are, looking for a kissing manual that doesn’t exist.

“I can’t believe it has come to this.” You moan, shaking your head at how pathetic you currently feel. You want to kiss him; of course you want to kiss him! But the thought of kissing him and making a complete fool out of yourself has strung itself high in your head. You will do anything to ease your anxieties, and if finding literature that will help you is the way, then so be it.

You keep searching the shelves, and finally you see something that catches your attention. You see a book with a deep red spine, and immediately you become curious. Red means romance which maybe means kissing, right? you think and go to reach for it, your tippy toes giving you an extra inch that helps you grab the old spine of the book. Once the book is grasped, you give it a once over and what you see is nothing at all. The book has no title, no author, no nothing. Just hardbound leather that looks as if it had been dyed with blood.

You move to sit at a table, the kissing debacle hiding in the back of your skull as a new curiosity peeks. You stare at the book intently, like it was going to open up for you to tell you all of its secrets. A book with no visible identity, no mark.

The curiosity killed the cat as you finally flipped it open, the crackle of the pages singing, showing its age. The first few pages are barren with no offering until you reach the first official page. You read, smiling because you can read everything on the page in comprehension, but also because it’s a love poem. You never have had the chance to read poetry thus far, so this was a treat for you. Just the thing I need to ease my mind.

You continue reading the poems, most being about love, companionship, and things in the realm of romance. As you read them, you picture Joshua and yourself, like the two of you were living in the reality of this book full of lovely prose. In a way, it makes you recognize that maybe what Joshua sees in you is what you are imagining right now: a lover, a partner for life. You feel a sense of confidence swell in you, so you read on, addicted to the words written out.

Until you get to the next page.

What you read next halts your breathing, slowing it down to stop fire from growing in your chest. This poem is about the same things previously stated, love, romance, companionship, but in a much more intimate form. The words strung together formed the most erotic sentences, words of longing for the senses. They make you blush hotly; they make you antsy in your chair while locked in, but most especially they make your mind run wild with fantasies of you and him.

Oh, you and him.

You mind wanders as you read, zoning out into a reality where you exude the confidence to give into Joshua’s desires and more. The words dig into your skin, warming you up that your thin nightgown felt like plenty of layers on this cool night. You are so immersed that you don’t hear the large doors open, and the calling of your name feels like a figment of your imagination. It’s not until you feel the warmth on your shoulders that you are brought back, feeling like a bucket of cold water has been dropped over your head from the cold sweat.

You slam the book shut, turning so quickly that the room starts to spin before the warmth on your shoulders grows firm, steadying you in your seat. You look to see Joshua staring at you, worry showing on his face seemingly from your reaction. “I deeply apologize, my lady. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

You breathe a chuckle, seeing him here at a time like this would be your luck. You cross your arms, becoming extremely aware of your lack of clothing under his gaze. “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask the same of you.” He retorts and pulls out a chair to sit facing you. “Truthfully, I couldn’t sleep much. I came here to see if doing more research would tire me, but it seems fate has chosen a more direct route to my restlessness.”

You see why he can’t sleep, and sigh because this is from your doing. “Joshua, you have nothing to fret over. You did nothing wrong.”

“But I’m afraid you are wrong, my lady. I shouldn’t have been so forward, and to know I put you in an uncomfortable position upsets me greatly. I would never dream of making you uneasy, and for my mishaps I must apologize to you. I cannot bear the thought of you keeping your distance because of my foolishness.”

You watch him as he apologizes for his directness, which internally makes you laugh because that isn’t the issue. You love his directness, just as he is being direct with you right now. It’s you. It’s your cowardice for wanting something more and not having the courage to pursue because of the what ifs, the buts, the howevers. It’s your fear of rejection because of your lived experiences. It’s you, not him.

“Joshua.” You state, moving to grab his hands within your own. “You did nothing wrong.”

“My lady, please I-”

“Shhh,” you hush. “Let me speak.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for, and I apologize for making you feel you need to.” You exhale, preparing to open yourself up for display. “It’s all me. I’m inexperienced, and I’ve been viewed as nothing for so long that I’m fearful that one misstep will set you away; that you can have someone who knows what they are doing and have the confidence to show for it.”

“Is that really what this is about?” Joshua asks.

You nod, looking down at the two of your intertwined hands. You see Joshua’s hands pull away from yours and your breath shakes. This is it. He is going to leave. That’s until you feel the heat that only the Phoenix could exude on your cheeks, your head being brought up to see him smiling. “My dearest,” Joshua whispers, as if talking any louder would damn him. “You are my everything, for you have captured me: mind, body, and soul. Also, your inexperience mirrors mine, I can assure you.”

Your eyes widen. “There is no way that can be true. You are a Lord.”

He’s laughing now, shaking his head as his hands go back to you, grasping them with care. “I was only a child then. Besides, the Undying were very protective of me under their care. There was no time nor place for such things. Even then, the only person that was always allowed in my vicinity was Jote, and we have never viewed each other romantically.”

“So, there really has been no one?” You whisper, your mind stuck between disbelief and credence.

“No. Not until now.” He squeezes your hands. “My heart belongs to you, and you alone. There is no one else I’d rather give myself to.”

You shiver, the idea of experiencing forms of intimacy together for the first time spreads a raging fire in your stomach. “You sure have a way with words, Joshua Rosfield.”

“You can thank all of the romance novels I read in my youth.” He chuckles. “Speaking of books, what were you reading?”

“What?” You ask, forgetting about the erotica sitting inches away from you.

“The book you were reading. I don’t believe I have read that one yet. May I take a look?”

You are panicking, knowing the contents of the book and who is asking to take a peek. You go to grab it, reacting as fast as you could, but alas you reacted too late. Joshua now has the book, opening the page you had left off on, and starts to read. You see his eyes go wide, his pupils dilating, his fingers fidgeting against the page he is holding. You freak out, going to reach for the book before he reads further. “Okay Joshua, that’s enough.” A smile creeps up slowly on his face, humming as he moves to stand up before your fingertips touch the book, backing away slowly as he continues. You stand up, walking up to him to get that god forsaken book away from him.

“Oh Joshua, please give me back the book!” You panic.

“By the Founder, what possessed you to read this smut?” Joshua smirks, seamlessly avoiding your grabby hands as he reads the pages. “Especially in the middle of the night?”

He wasn’t meant to see this! He wasn’t meant to see you reading the abhorrent words you were consuming. He wasn’t meant to see you like this in your flimsy gown. Damn me! Why did I not cover up more?!

“To taste the lips is to be fulfilled, for the instinct of man is to claim, conquer, and revel in the midst of her flesh. To kiss is to hunger, to feast among the softest of petals that call to him, beckoning for his return to get both of their fills.”

You are internally screaming now. You can’t believe he is tormenting you like this. You are still reaching for the book, desperate for this nightmare to end, before you hear an “oomph” as Joshua’s back collides into one of the shelves. You snatch the book from him, running back to put it back where it came from. “Okay, enough please!”

“Forgive me.” Joshua says, although it is said with a devilish grin. “I just didn’t know you had such… exquisite taste.”

“I didn’t even know what was in the book when I pulled it.” You say defensively, hands waving manically in front of you like they would make you more convincing. “I was just trying to find something that would help give me the courage.”

As if that isn’t as embarrassing, or even more so.

“What if we do something that helps us both gain courage? A practice session if you will.” Joshua says from the other side of the room, keeping his distance to see what tone you will take.

“What do you have in mind?” You draw out nervously, twiddling your thumbs in anticipation.

Joshua walks back over to where you both had sat, moving the chair so it was facing you before sitting down. He rubs his thighs a little as if he needed to warm them up, before patting his lap. “Come take a seat.”

Instinct has you taking a step forward before a hitch finds itself in your feet, stopping them all together.

“Do you trust me?” He asks sincerely.

“Of course, I do.” You quickly blurt out, as if answering a second later would draw doubt.

He smiles, his hand reaching out to invite you over. “Then please, my dearest, come to me.”

You take a deep breath and walk over till you stand before him. You grasp his hand, tingles running up your arm as he pulls you to him and guides you onto his lap. Your hands move to steady yourself on his shoulders, while he places his hands on your lower back to support you. Your legs dangle on either side of the chair, your gown riding up your thighs which you are all too aware of. However, you note that Joshua is only looking at you, gauging to see where your head is. “Is this okay, my lady?”

“Mhmm.” You hum, trying to calm your rapid heart. This is so intimate, too intimate, but you want it. You want him. You want to create every kind of intimacy with him, and this is a start. You knew that it is time to take that leap, especially since he will take that leap with you.

“Joshua,” you murmur, eyes still on his. “Will you kiss me?”

“As you wish, my love.”

You close your eyes, leaning in slightly to show that you aren’t backing out. You feel one of Joshua’s hands move to your left cheek, your branded cheek, tracing it with his thumb gently. Soon you feel him move forward, his forehead sitting against yours, his breath hitting your lips in puffs. The anticipation was killing you, your hands squeezing his shoulders to urge him on, and before you know it his lips are against your own. The kiss is light, a sweet peck before pulling away slightly, only to go back to give one more. You both are testing the waters, giving into each other slowly until the two of you start to grow peckish.

The kiss is gradual, pecks graduating to long lip locks and more movement. Your hands have found homage in Joshua’s hair, gripping not too hard but enough to show him how much you are enjoying him. His hands found their way to the crease of your hips, gripping the flesh to keep you in place. You can feel yourself growing restless, needing more of him within your senses.

It’s like he can read your mind as his hands bring your body closer. A gasp leaves your lips as his groin settles against your heat, leaving your head spinning. His kisses become feverish, his hands roaming up and down your thighs, your nightgown receding higher in the process. You sense satiability is nowhere in sight, the movements of his body proving to you that the absence of intimate touch has turned him into a depraved man. Because even though Joshua Rosfield is a gentleman with a heart of selflessness, he is still a man with selfish desires and needs.

Your hands go back to grip at his shoulders, trying to calm yourself from his ministrations. A wetness hits your lips, and your mouth opens willingly, needing to taste him further. Your tongues melt together, creating a unique taste between the two of you that’s so addicting you don’t know how either of you will stop. You lean more into him, your hands going back to his hair to control his movements, causing him to groan in the most sinful way. You pull away, giggling knowing you got him to make such pretty sounds. The confidence from it goes straight to your head, going right back in for his lips to have him make more delicious sounds.

A deep feral groan is released from Joshua’s throat, causing him to pull away in heavy breaths. He looks at you with hazy eyes, smiling deliriously. “You will be the death of me, my love.”

Your hands are now trailing from his hair to his chest, your hands running up and down the fabric of his tunic, feeling the toned body beneath it all. Your head leans back against his forehead, both of your breaths heavy on each other’s lips. “Then shall death keep us together, never parted.”

Joshua leans up back to your lips, kissing you hungrily, your declaration causing him to hunger for more. You still had the high ground, you being on top giving you more opportunity to take the lead. You knew this could be too soon, a little risky, but your sureness that Joshua feels the same hunger as you do is enough to convince you. You start to grind down slowly on top of him, your undergarments and his matching tunic pants the only barriers.

“Fuck,” Joshua draws out breathless, his arms coming up to wrap around you to ground himself.

“Does that feel good, my Lord?” You smile, feeling over the moon that you are making him act this way.

“You have no idea.” Joshua gasps. “You have turned me into a new man.”

You giggle as you continue your movements. “Is that so?”

“By the Founder, yes!” He groans loudly at a particular movement of your hips. “How about I show you.”

Suddenly you are being lifted up, your butt settled onto a hard surface, legs spread apart by Joshua’s hips, and warm lips ravishing your own. Your nightgown is definitely way past your legs now, bunched up at your hips with Joshua’s hands right under the fabric. This new side of Joshua has you addicted, the push and pull the both of you are playing at exciting you more. You release his lips and lean up to his neck, nipping at the skin at the juncture of his neck and jaw. His breath hitches, leaning into you as you nip and kiss his neck. It’s as if he is hypnotized by your love bites, casting a spell on him. Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him closer to you, but in an instant everything stops.

You open your eyes to see Joshua breathing hard, his hands gripping the table. Your hands go to his face, worry etching into your brain. “Darling, did I do something wrong?”

Joshua laughs, his eyes opening to look right back at you. “Absolutely not.” His hands go to yours on his face, holding onto each one as he brings them down. “I just don’t want to accomplish everything in one night, especially here in the Shelves.”

He pulls you up to your feet, your hands still in his as he looks at you with the brightest smile on his face. “I want to have time to savor you when the time is right.”

Even after all of that, he is still ever the gentleman.

“I agree. I’m sorry if I went too far.” You chuckle, a tinge of embarrassment in your tone.

Joshua embraces you, his head tucked into your neck. “You have nothing to apologize for. I hope you don’t think I had ulterior motives.”

“Never,” you say quickly, squeezing him to you.

“We should head back to our respective beds before people notice we’ve disappeared.” Joshua hums.

You hum in agreement and pull back, so you are now under Joshua’s arm. Both of you head out the doors of the Shelves into the cool night air. You shiver, and Joshua brings you in closer to shield you from the cold. He walks you back to the bed chambers, and before he departs, he places a light kiss on your lips, causing your eyes to flutter close at the bliss you feel in the moment.

“Goodnight, my dearest. I shall see you in the morning.” Joshua says after he pulls away.

“Goodnight, Joshua. But before you go, may I request something?”

“Anything for you, my dearest.”

“Can we practice some more later? You are my tutor after all.” And my lover, my partner for life.

Joshua beams at you. “I would love nothing more.”

#joshua rosfield x reader #joshua rosfield fluff #joshua rosfield smut #ffxvi x reader #ffxvi #joshua rosfield #joshua x reader #my fics #final fantasy xvi

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wongyuseokie · 1 year

Text

Your Loss | c.h.v | k.m.g | c.s.c | y.j.h | b.s.k

Summary: Your ex-boyfriend and you broke up a few months ago, but you two remained friends, and of course, his nosy friends can’t help but pry and get as detailed as possible to find out what ended the relationship, and then, of course, offer to make only you feel better. However, they can. All while your ex-boyfriend watches. ☆ 18+ minors dni |☀︎fluff | ♕smut | ♥︎ completed Word Count: 2550 words

Pairing(s): Chwe Hansol x Female Reader | Choi Seungcheol x Female Reader | Yoon Jeonghan x Female Reader | Kim Mingyu x Female Reader | Boo Seungkwan x Female Reader Genre/Trope(s)/AU(s): PWP, Smut. Content Warnings: Y/N is Vernon’s ex, and they ended on good terms, but the others are nosy. A few snappy comments, but nothing too toxic or emasculating. Mentions of alcohol. Seungkwan is a flirty lil’ shit. Vernon likes watching.

Smut Warnings: Dom!Cheol, Dom!Mingyu, Dom!Jeonghan, Dom!Seungkwan. Unprotected sex (please don’t do this irl). Overstimulation, double penetration, breast & nipple play. Oral (m & f receiving), face riding, squirting. Mentions of public sex. Pet names (good boy, baby boy, pretty girl), praise kink. Pussy slapping. Cum play. Biting, it’s mild. Voyeur Vernon. Handjobs, cum swallowing. Sir kink. Name-calling (whore). Authors Note 1: This is a fic I wrote for my lovely soul mate @here4btsfics. I'm so glad to have you in my life, my love, you make every day brighter and happier. Thank you for being born, and thank you for letting me celebrate with you too 💕 Authors Note 2: Thank you so much to @duhnova & @the-boy-meets-evil for helping me beta this horny mess, and yelling at me (affectionately) for writing this!! 💕💕💕💕 Banner Credits: @classicscreations Cross Posted to AO3 © wongyuseokie 2023. All rights reserved.

“Is this okay?” Your ex-boyfriend, Vernon, asked as he poured you a glass of wine. You had invited him and his friends–well, they were your friends, but they were his friends first–over to your apartment because it had been a while since you all caught up.

It had been six months since the breakup and six months since you last saw the others.

“Yeah? We ended on good terms, and it’s not awkward, not for me. What about you?” You asked.

“No, I’m glad we were mature about it.”

“Me too,” Vernon agreed.

“YOOOOO! Open the door, love birds!” You heard someone yell outside your front door and exchanged a look with Vernon.

“Jeonghan,” you both mumbled at the same time. You cracked a grin before heading to your door to let the dramatic man in.

“Hello gorgeous,” Jeonghan greeted, stepping into your apartment and engulfing you in a tight embrace.

“Hello, handsome,” you greeted back, your voice muffled by his toned chest.

“Ahem?” You heard Vernon interject.

“Oh, quit it. We had to deal with this shit when you two were together,” Jeonghan dismissed, making you and Vernon crack a smile.

“Now shall we drink? The others might be late,” Jeonghan offered, and you nodded.

“Sure, let’s get drunk,” you joked.

“God, I’ve missed this,” Jeonghan said, sipping his wine.

“What, drinking?” You joked, and Jeonghan glared at you.

“No, smartass, I meant it’s nice drinking just the adults,” Jeonghan retorted, making you laugh.

“And you’re an adult?” You teased, making Jeonghan glare at you.

“I swear you and Mingyu are the same age, though, mentally at least,” Jeonghan mumbled, making you laugh.

“Shut up. He could never do the wonders that my tongue does,” Jeonghan said, making you bite your lip as you tried to imagine it.

“Uh, too much information, Hyung,” Vernon mumbled. He didn’t mind the conversation, but the idea of you being orally pleasured made his pants tighten, especially if he could be a fly on the wall when it happened.

“Meh, Y/N? Do you mind?” Jeonghan teased, and you just kept sipping your wine.

“Ah, speechless, I like that,” Jeonghan teased, and you were about to scowl at him when the front door opened to reveal Seungkwan, Seungcheol, and Mingyu entering your apartment.

“Sorry, we’re late, Y/N. We were working on a new track,” Seungkwan explained while you got up from the sofa to greet him, and he welcomed you into a hug, his large arms wrapping around you.

“That’s okay. Can I at least get a sneak peek?” You asked, batting your eyelashes at him, and Seungkwan laughed.

“Pretty girl, if you think I haven’t figured out your ways yet, you’re insane. No, you do not get a teaser,” Seungkwan said, and you pouted and got out of his arms to hug Seungcheol and Mingyu.

Mingyu, energetic as always, practically carried you into his arms.

“Gyu!” You squealed as Mingyu kept your feet off the ground.

“I’ve missed you, pretty girl. How have you been?” Mingyu asked, earning a smile from you.

“I’m good, wait. You’ve missed me?” You asked, and Mingyu nodded.

“Yup, well, not just me,” Mingyu said, making you giggle.

“Alright, are y’all done babbling?” Jeonghan interjected. “Can we drink?” He asked, huffing, and you smiled, nodding.

A couple of hours passed, and most of you were at least three drinks in. The room became warmer, your lips became looser, and your thoughts became wilder.

“So why’d you two break up?” Mingyu blurted out, making Vernon choke on his drink.

“I guess we just decided we were better off as friends?” You suggested, unsure how to say, ‘we just fizzled out.’

“Yeah. No bad blood. She’s a sweetheart,” Vernon agreed.

“Mhm, she does smell sweet too,” Jeonghan slurred slightly as he leaned into your side.

“It’s my new perfume,” you answered.

“Possibly, but I’m sure you would also taste very sweet,” Jeonghan flirted, making you grin.

“That’s very true. You taste sweet,” Seungkwan agreed, and you stared at him.

“How on earth would you know?” You asked, and Seungkwan grinned and turned to face your ex-boyfriend, who was turning beet red.

“God, Y/N tastes so sweet, I could bury my tongue inside her and die a happy man,” Seungkwan mocked in a voice meant to sound like Vernon.

You gasped at Seungkwan’s words, which you guess were Vernon’s.

“Vernon?” You asked.

“Babe. I’m sorry. I thought this dude understood bro code,” Vernon mumbled, shooting Seungkwan a glare.

“So, bad sex wasn’t the issue?” Seungcheol asked suddenly.

“God no, the sex was amazing,” you admitted, the alcohol dissolving your filter.

“What was a dirty secret of Vernon’s, one he won’t tell us?” Mingyu asked, wiggling his brows at you.

“You guys are evil, and I’m not telling,” you replied, making Mingyu pout.

“So, how good did she taste?” Mingyu asked, and you choked on your drink, and you were sure if they kept asking such questions, you’d end up choking on your drink all night long.

“Sweet, like candy,” Vernon slurred, and you were tempted to throw something at your ex-boyfriend’s face to shut him up, but you’d be lying if you said the compliment didn’t flatter you.

“Can I find out?” Mingyu asked, and all you could do was gawk at him and look at your ex-boyfriend, hoping Mingyu’s words wouldn’t start a fight.

Instead, Vernon gave a lazy smile and leaned back in his seat.

“Why don’t you ask her? I’m sure she’ll be happy to let you taste,” Vernon teased, and you snapped your legs shut, pressing your thighs together to get some relief.

“Y/N? Can I taste you? I promise I’ll be good,” Mingyu said sincerely, his eyes hopeful and his gaze sinful.

“Uh, I don’t see why not?” You offered slowly.

“On one condition,” Vernon spoke.

“Which is?” Mingyu asked.

“I want to see,” Vernon said, and you gulped.

“Shit, I think we found Vernon’s hidden kink. He’s a little vouyer,” Mingyu teased.

“And you want to lick my ex’s pussy. Shall we get into your issues?” Vernon fired back, and Mingyu pouted and shook his head.

“Y/N,” Vernon started to say, and you looked up at him.

“Yes?”

“Go over to Hyung, and give him a taste,” Vernon instructed, his voice smooth and husky. You nodded, downing your drink and got up, moved over to where Mingyu was sitting and placed yourself onto his lap.

Mingyu reacted quicker, pulling you off his lap, placing you on the sofa, and making you yelp in the process as he got onto his knees.

Mingyu smirked at you as he pulled your sweats and underwear off. You were already letting out a soft whimper, and Mingyu had barely touched you.

“Pretty little pussy,” Mingyu praised, his hot breath on your cunt.

“Gyu, please do something,” you begged, and a sharp slap to your cunt stopped your whimpers.

“I’m not Gyu; I’m your Sir. Don’t fuck with me, princess, or you won’t cum,” Mingyu threatened, and you shook your head furiously, and you heard the faint groans of the other men in the room,

“Can you multitask, pretty princess?” Mingyu asked, and you nodded.

“Good girl. Make Seungcheol Hyung cum, and I’ll make you cum,” Mingyu said, and you let out a soft moan before turning your head to see Seungcheol.

Seungcheol was sitting next to you, and you turned your body, so your head was in his lap. You palmed his length, making him moan, and kept palming him until he hardened under your touch.

You pulled his cock out of his grey sweats. You wrapped your mouth around his thick length, moaning as you tasted his arousal, and used your tongue to lap at it.

“Princess, do you like sucking on Seungcheol Hyung’s cock?” Mingyu asked, and you whimpered, moaning around Seungcheol ’s cock, making Seungcheol grip your hair tighter as he thrust his cock further into your mouth, hissing as he did so.

“Good girl,” Mingyu praised and finally placed his tongue on your cunt. Mingyu licked your pussy with short licks until his tongue finally reached your clit. You moaned more around Seungcheol’s cock, as Mingyu slid two long fingers into your cunt, while his tongue flicked your clit.

You whimpered, trying to move your mouth away from Seungcheol ’s cock to moan, and Mingyu noticed, moving his mouth away immediately.

“Until he cums down your greedy little throat, you do not move, understood?” Mingyu warned, making you whimper.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Mingyu said with a proud smirk.

You groaned and resumed your actions on Seungcheol’s cock, while Mingyu kept fingering you all while sucking on your clit with his tongue.

“Make her cum Gyu, and cum inside her. I want to lick your cum out of her,” Seungcheol said breathlessly, making Mingyu grunt as he nodded, moving his mouth away from your cunt.

“Fuck you are so sweet, princess. You need to ride my face sometime,” Mingyu said, making you shudder at the thought.

You kept bobbing your head up and down Seungcheol ’s cock, until he stilled and came down your throat, a string of curse words leaving Seungcheol ’s lips as he came.

“Good?” You asked Seungcheol, removing your mouth from his cock. Seungcheol nodded lazily, smiling fondly at you.

“Amazing,” Seungcheol complimented, making you smile.

Mingyu moved his mouth away from your cunt to pull you into a soft kiss.

You yelped suddenly when Mingyu grabbed your waist and flipped you onto your hands and knees. You felt him push his length into you. Mingyu’s thick length was a lot longer, which allowed his cock to hit deep inside you.

“Vernon!” You gasped, suddenly realising that he was in the room, along with Jeonghan and Seungkwan, but your worries faded when you saw Vernon’s hand palming his clothed erection and a smirk, letting you know it was okay to continue.

“Fucking hell. You’re perfect, baby,” Mingyu praised as you moaned as you fell forward as he constantly pounded his cock into you, hitting all the right spots inside you.

“More”, you begged, and a sharp slap to your ass silenced you as Mingyu grabbed your hair, yanking you up, your back pressed against his chest.

“I set the pace, pretty girl. You’re just my little whore,” Mingyu warned, making you whimper.

“Sorry, Sir,” you mumbled, and Mingyu groaned in approval, pounding senselessly into you.

“Good girl,” Mingyu praised, finally pushing you over the edge and making you cum. You felt someone’s tongue on your pussy, making you wail in pleasure, as you looked down to see Seungcheol sucking on your clit.

Mingyu came soon after your release, groaning as he pulled out of you. Mingyu placed a kiss on your cheek and helped to position you on your back.

“Good?” Mingyu asked, and you moaned out a ‘yes,’ followed by a yelp when you felt Seungcheol resume his assault on your cunt.

Seungcheol started to lick your clit, moving his tongue inside your cunt to lick Mingyu’s cum out of you, making you shiver as you came again. Seungcheol gave your pussy a final kiss and pulled away, smirking at your ex-boyfriend, who was sitting in the corner of the room, his hand now under his jeans, cupping his hardened length.

You felt yourself being woken up from your dream-like state when Seungkwan picked you up in his arms. Seungkwan carried you over and placed you down slowly onto Jeonghan ’s cock. You let out a hiss, already sensitive from your multiple orgasms.

“God, you’re tight, and Mingyu, where are your manners? Not letting your Hyungs have a turn first?” Jeonghan asked, and you giggled.

“Sorry, Hyung, but you know you can’t last that long, so if you went now, you’d be out,” Mingyu teased, making Jeonghan glare at the tall man.

“If this kitten weren’t soaking my cock right now, you’d be a dead man,” Jeonghan threatened, and Mingyu shrugged.

Jeonghan sighed, ignoring Mingyu and instead wrapped his hands around your waist, holding you still and placing a soft kiss on your lips. You weren’t sure when Seungkwan sat down next to you, but you whimpered when you felt his long fingers on your clit.

“Fucking hell,” you moaned, falling into Jeonghan ’s toned chest.

“Pretty girl, I’m going to fuck you along with Hyung. Will you let me?” Seungkwan asked, his hot breath on your neck, and you let out a muffled gasp before answering.

“Yes,” you breathed out, and Seungkwan groaned, feeling his cock twitch, and he couldn't move quickly enough.

“Hyung, can you lay down? I want to see if she can take both of us in one go?” Seungkwan asked, and Jeonghan groaned and nodded as he laid down on the couch carefully to never pull out of your tight cunt.

“Good god,” Seungkwan groaned as he knelt between Jeonghan’s legs and positioned himself at your entrance, and pushed his thick cock in, resting it against Jeonghan’s. You moaned, found Jeonghan’s lips, and kissed him, gently biting and tugging his full lips, begging for more.

Both men groaned, feeling how tight you were, hissing as their cocks rubbed against one another. Jeonghan started to thrust first, and Seungkwan followed after.

Both men were close, and Seungkwan knew this and moved his hands down to massage Jeonghan ’s balls, making him whine and buck into you harder, causing you to collapse onto his chest as you came, making them both groan as you tightened around their cocks.

You felt Seungkwan yank you into his embrace; your back pressed into his chest.

“None of us are quite done with you, baby,” Seungkwan said, and you nodded lazily. You were pretty sure your limbs would be out of commission, but you didn’t care because the pleasure was overwhelmingly good.

You turned your head to see Mingyu standing by your side and Seungcheol on the other, and you shakily reached to take Mingyu into your mouth while your hand stroked Seungcheol.

The room was soon filled with sinful noises, groans, whines and whimpers.

You screamed as you came again. This time after Jeonghan came inside you first, Seungkwan hissed, soon releasing in you as well. Both men continued to stay inside you while you moaned around Mingyu’s cock as his grip on your hair got tighter until he finally came, and you greedily swallowed his release.

You moved your mouth off Mingyu’s cock and turned all your attention to Seungcheol and replaced your hand with your mouth, and sucked him until he, too, came down your throat.

Mingyu and Seungcheol lay back on the sofa while Seungkwan and Jeonghan pulled out of you slowly while you laid back on the couch and were about to relax and recover.

Jeonghan, however, had other plans and suddenly shoved three fingers into your cunt, while Seungkwan rubbed your clit, making you squirt and writhe as you came undone again.

You shook, gasping as you curled into Jeonghan’s chest, who placed a soft kiss on your forehead.

“So, round two?” Jeonghan joked, earning a glare from you.

“I’m not opposed to it. Mind if I join the next time, kitten?” Vernon asked, his voice husky and low, and you gulped, nodding.

“Mhm, please do.”

#seventeen #seventeen fanfic #svthub #thekpopuniverse #indigo writes: scoups #indigo writes: mingyu #indigo writes: jeonghan #indigo writes: seungkwan #kvanity #seventeen smut #indigo writes: vernon

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all-mirth-no-matter · 4 months

Text

Time After Time | Chapter Fourteen

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Reader, Tommy Shelby x Original Female Character

Summary: Startling revelations ensue after drinking the tea. While you wait for Tommy to return, Benji comes in search for another date. Ada takes you shopping for a new dress to wear to the races.

Warning: language, slight supernatural (kinda?), harassment (not anything explicit but not fun), less tommy in this one but promise next chapter will make up for it!

ao3 link | catch up on tumblr here

Chapter 14: Raise Hell

I found myself an omen, and I tattooed on a sign. I set my mind to wandering, and I walk a broken line. You have a mind to keep me quiet, and although you can try. Better men have hit their knees, and bigger men have died.

It came upon a lightning strike, and eyes of bright clear blue. I took that tie from around my neck, and gave my heart to you. I sent my love across the sea, and though I didn’t cry. That voice will haunt my every dream, until the day I die.

— Raise Hell, Brandi Carlile

The tea cup landed on the rug with a soft thud, the hot liquid spilling at your feet — though you couldn’t feel a degree of it.

Your mouth gapped open at the sight before you — your mother, sitting on the rug across from you, her legs crossed same as yours, as she smiled at you.

“This isn’t real,” you whispered, still too surprised to move, your heart racing.

Your eyes searched over your mother’s features, looking for some hint of something fake to indicate the trick that was being played here.

But there was your mother — as plain as day. There was no otherworldly glow or translucent quality. She looked solid, wearing the same kind of modern shirt and jeans that she would have been wearing back when she was alive, looking very out of place against the 20th century backdrop.

The only difference between the person in front of you and the memory of your mother was the smile on her face.

“Real is quite relative, don’t you think, Y/N?”

Her voice sounded the same as well, if not maybe stronger than it had in her last handful of years.

Instinct to combat your mother reared its ugly head as you scoffed and responded involuntarily, “Quite relative to whether I’m hallucinating or dreaming, sure.”

Your mother chuckled, “I’ve missed you, my darling. We have so much to talk about.”

Swallowing, you accepted that whether dream, hallucination, ghost, or indeed real, you’d done this for a reason. You’d been given this opportunity by the Delphi for a reason. It was now or never, and you couldn’t let a little thing like freaking out over talking to your dead mother stand in your way.

“Do you know what’s happened to me?” you asked, feeling yourself sit up a little straighter.

Her smile fell, eyes moving around the bedroom before landing back on you, running down the clothes you were wearing. “The curse. It finally came for you, too.”

“Too? Are you saying—“

“Yes. I too was pulled from my present and into the past. As was my mother, and her mother, and her mother before that.”

You couldn’t believe it. Of all the things you had expected, this hadn’t even crossed your mind. “How far back?” you wondered aloud.

She shrugged, “Centuries, I suppose. All the first born daughters of this cursed lineage. Cursed to know the future, because it’s our past.”

So that was the schtick, you realized. You couldn’t predict the future, but you could recall it from a past that hadn’t happened yet — as long as you’d been paying attention. Your mother’s insistence of learning history now made more sense.

And yet, there was still a big question, one you asked aloud, “Why?”

“I don’t know. That is still a mystery.” Your mother dropped her head slightly out of shame, “Even in death, I’m still searching for answers.”

I curse you, Cassandra! The voice from your dreams echoed through your head and a crazy realization hit you. “Who was the first?”

Your mother swallowed. “When you were born, I saw a vision of my daughter. A woman who would know the future, just like I did. I heard the whisper of a name. It should have been a warning, but I was under a lot of drugs and hormones and thought the name was pretty. So did your father. We already had your first name picked out so on the spot agreed to name you Cassandra. I had no idea it was the name of our matriarch — of the first to be cursed.”

“So it’s true, we come from the original Cassandra of Troy?” Your mother nodded and you shook your head. “But that doesn’t make any sense. Say the stories are true — say the Greek Gods really existed — she could actually tell the future and she’s from the ancient past.”

“Another mystery.”

You huffed, so sick of the ambiguity.

“I’m sorry,” your mother said softly, causing you to meet her eyes again. “For lying to you all those years, for confusing you. For causing you grief and madness.”

You felt a lump in your throat, your chest tight at hearing the acknowledgment you’d wished for your whole childhood. Your brain wanted to comfort her, tell her it was alright, but your heart was more wounded than you’d ever realized.

You swallowed down the rise of tears that were threatening to build and changed the subject. “When were you born?”

She blinked, aware of your deflection method, and answered. “The early 2020s.”

“But that’s so—“

“Close?” your mother sighed. “Yes. I grew up blissful — my mother never mentioned her own displacement. So when I was stripped from my loved ones in 2040 to 1990, I was distraught. I was lucky to meet your father, though regretfully I was never able to open myself up completely to him, still mourning the loss of my first love. I would jump from fits of madness to total denial. After we had you, I thought things would be different. But as you grew, I became more suspicious that you would also be stripped away from me, or I you, and the fear drove me mad. So I tried to prepare you. But the closer I got to my own birth date, the madder I became and more desperate for answers I grew. Eventually, I became convinced that I’d made the whole thing up. The line between reality and delusion became nonexistent.”

You felt the tears begin to pool again as you thought about your own struggles with reality since arriving here. Madam Despoina had told you that you were stronger than your mother. But that wasn’t fair. None of this was fair.

“I’m sorry for your father, as well,” she went on. You opened your mouth to protest, but she stopped you. “I was able to warn him about certain events — terrorism, the housing bubble, natural disasters — but I couldn’t save him, not in the end.”

“Did you ever tell him? Properly, that is?” You found yourself asking, thinking about Tommy.

Your mother shook her head. “Not directly. The best I could come up with was the gift of prophecy. After a while of telling that story, a part of me began to believe it. Believe it for you.”

“I’m sorry,” you found yourself saying, “for being so hard on you. I didn’t understand—“

“And now you do,” she said with a soft smile, “more now than ever. And unfortunately, darling, I’m going to have to put pressure on you one final time.”

“What do you mean?”

“The curse — it must be broken. You have to find a way to break it.”

“Me? Why—“ your words stopped as you thought about Madam Despoina’s prophecy. “‘You have a chance to mend ancient mistakes. Break the cursed chain, end the line of travel.’ A woman from the Delphi family who said she was a descendent of the Pythia told me that.”

She smiled knowingly again, “Your tattoo, ya?”

Your mouth dropped slightly, “You knew?”

“I have the same one. I had the same impulse before I was pulled away. I didn’t even know you had it until I—“ she cut herself off, looking somber again before clearing her throat. “It’s the tree of knowledge, of balance. But how were you able to find them?”

“I’ve met some people since arriving here. A Romani family that I’ve grown quite close to. One of the brothers specifically, he— he helped me find them.”

Your mother hummed as she listened, her eyes moving again to the space around you. “What year is this exactly?”

“January 1919.” Your mother’s eyes widened. “I’ve been here a few months now.”

“And I thought fifty years was a shock,” she murmured. “Remarkable. Although the interwar period has it’s merits I suppose. Roaring 20s, jazz, rise of automotives, electricity, women’s suffrage. Though suppose it also has it’s negatives: Great Depression, prohibition, facisism, gangsters—“ You must have had a reaction, because your mother paused. “This man, is he a nice man?”

You swallowed at that, your eyes shifting. “I think he wants to be. But the circumstances are a little more complicated.”

“Complicated like organized crime complicated?” She retorted, and you were surprised at her humor in the situation. “Oh sweetheart, you didn’t—“

You scrunched your face, “I didn’t mean to. There’s been odd coincidences between us since even before we met. I had a vision of him the night I woke up here. He had one of me as well. And then there’s the other dreams—“

“What dreams?”

You took a deep breath, feeling once again like you were in a room filled with puzzle pieces trying to figure out which was the right piece to pick up and share with your mother. “I’ve had dreams. Very real feeling dreams of myself as Cassandra in ancient Troy. They’ve just been pieces though, it still feels incomplete.”

“You’ve got a strong connection to her,” your mother mused. “There has to be something in those dreams, that story, that can help you?”

Shifting in your place, she rose her brow at you. A wave of nostalgia hit you as you recalled the look many times from your childhood. She knew you had more.

“The Delphi woman, Madam Despoina, she— she called him Apollo. It’s his face I see in my dreams when I, as Cassandra, am with him, as Apollo. But I— I don’t know what that means.”

Her eyes narrowed as the muscle in her cheek flinched, “And does he mean something to you?”

Her question caused your brow to furrow. “What does that have to do with this?”

“Mother’s intuition, I suppose,” she smiled. “It’s been good to see you, my darling.”

“What do you—“

You blinked.

She was gone.

——-

You woke up the next morning on the cold floor of your apartment, the empty tea cup still laying on the rug.

“Mum!” you exclaimed with a jolt upward, looking to the spot in front of you.

But of course, no one was there. You were as alone in your apartment as you’d been when you arrived last night.

You reached for the tea cup and knew that it didn’t matter. Yesterday you might have tried to argue with yourself that you’d simply been dreaming or hallucinating, but the time for denial was over.

Whatever this stuff had been that Madam Despoina gave you had given you the ability to talk with your mother last night.

As you got ready for your shift at the Garrison, you tried to go through everything your mother had said to you, trying to commit it to memory, afraid that any little bit of it could slip away.

You were going through it for about the twentieth time when a patron cleared his throat at the bar.

“Apologies, I was—“ you turned and your customer service smile fell, “Oh, Benji, hello.”

“I was just coming by to see when you were available next,” he said, offering you his most handsome smile. “No deaths or births or any other excuses this time, eh?”

Your brow lifted, finding that statement slightly rude. It’s not as if you’d blown him off for a headache or something minor — someone had died.

But you knew what you had to do. Benji had been nothing but nice, if not a little forward, with you since you’d meet. It’d been wrong of you to accept his invitation when you were feeling alone and rejected. You couldn’t allow him to continue to believe he had a shot, but there was no reason to be rude about it.

“I’ve been thinking about that, Benji, and I just— I don’t think it’s such a great idea.” His smile slowly began to fall as you talked, his brow creasing. “I shouldn’t have accepted in the first place,” you continued, feeling awkward and guilty.

“Come on, love, you haven’t even given me a chance,” he tried to defend, pulling another smile on his face, though it didn’t reach his eyes.

“I wasn’t ready to start anything. I’m still— I’m still adjusting and I—“

“Hmm,” Benji shoved his fists in his pocket. “And this wouldn’t have anything to do with the rumors going around of you and Tommy, would it?”

Your mouth opened slightly at the allegation, but you couldn’t form any kind of defense. Instead you crossed your arms, “I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”

“Liar,” he hissed, slamming his fist to the bar top. The handful of patrons in the pub looked toward them, curious by the commotion. Benji noticed the eyes and cleared his throat, lowering his voice as he lifted his finger. “You’re making a big mistake, Y/N. Tommy-boy can’t sit on the throne forever, I’ll make sure of that.”

He gave you a wicked smile as he turned and left the pub, slamming the door on his way out.

You contemplated whether you should tell anyone about your interaction with Benji. Unsure if his threats were real or brought on simply by rejection and jealously, you decided to stay quiet for now.

Things had been quiet for a few days afterwards, but slowly you began to notice some major irregularities in the books. Benji’s numbers were showing signs of stealing again. It started off small, similar to what it’d been when you originally became suspicious of him. But now it was quite obvious.

Finally, you came to the conclusion that you had no choice but to bring this to Polly’s attention. It was early in the morning before the shop opened. Polly was helping with John’s kids while Ada was MIA (though if you were a betting woman, you’d say she was with Freddie), and you found yourself sitting alone at the kitchen table, book open in front of you as you felt weirdly conflicted over Benji’s malfeasance.

In the past, you hadn’t been aware of what happened to the people you reported. But now, you knew that there were physical repercussions for stealing from the Shelbys, even as extreme as death. And whether it was guilt for leading him on or some piece of you that still believed that deep down he was a good guy — you began to contemplate whether he deserved a fair warning before you officially reported him. If he knew that he wasn’t as sneaky as he thought he was, that someone was paying attention to him, maybe he’d realize his mistake and end it before something bad happened to him.

You got up to get some tea, trying to think through how exactly you were going to warn him without giving yourself away, when the front door opened.

“How were the kids?” You asked over your shoulder as you poured, assuming Polly had returned.

“Y/N?”

A deeper voice than you expected came from behind you. Spinning around, you were surprised to find the man himself standing in the kitchen doorway.

Your heart rate surged when his eyes moved curiously from you to the table, the open diary and pencil next to it.

“You–” he started, the gears in his head turning to process the scene in front of him. “It’s been you all along.”

“What are you–” you tried to discreetly walk toward the other set of doors, but Benji rounded the table quicker than you, cutting off your escape routes.

What was the saying about good intentions?

“Benji you shouldn’t—“ you tried to lift up your arms between you.

His eyes narrowed and he took a step toward you. Your back hit the counter behind you as he caged you in. “It’s you isn’t it? I kept trying to figure out how it was Lenny and Jackson got stitched. And there you were all along — the little mouse hiding in plain sight.”

“Get off me!” You shouted as you tried to push him away, but he grabbed your arms. You tried to use some of the self defense moves you’d learned, but Benji was stronger than you’d anticipated, and much more sober than the last man you had to fight off of you in the pub. He spun you around and pinned your arms behind your back, pressing his weight onto you so you were pinned even tighter against the shelves and counter. You tried to kick, but he had your legs locked between his.

You were completely defenseless.

“You think you can fuck with me—“

“I wasn’t— I haven’t said anything–,” you gasped out, your face against the shelves as you tried to catch your breath while still struggling to get him off you. You felt the tears begin to fall down your face as you felt helpless.

“And you fucking won’t! You killed my mates. I’m gonna make you wish you’d never met Tommy—“

“Oi!”

Polly’s voice shouting from the doorway finally caused Benji to release you. At the slightly feel of freedom, you pushed him off and ran for the other other end of the kitchen. You grabbed a near empty bottle near you and threw it at him. He ducked as it broke against the wall behind him.

“Out!” Polly shouted, grabbing his arm and pushing him out the door. “And don’t you dare come back!”

Benji was shouting as well, raving that he was a Peaky Blinder dammit, and no one could stop him from getting what he wanted.

He looked back at you as he said that and you shivered.

Sure, you were shaken by being manhandled like that by someone you thought was a good enough man. But more than that, you were angry. This had been the second time since you’d been here that a man thought he could toss you around like you were some kind of doll.

Polly turned back toward you, and immediately got busy pouring you a cup of tea. She let you take your time as you finally launched into explanation. At the end, she calmly rose from her seat and found Scudboat in the betting den, who’d shown up at some point in all your distraction. You watched as she whispered in his ear and then calmly again walked back toward the kitchen. She reached into a drawer and pulled out a small handgun.

“You know how to use this?”

Nodding, she handed it to you and told you to keep it on you from now on.

“Go back to work, Y/N. Benji won’t be bothering you again.”

——-

Polly had been right. Another week went by and you hadn’t seen or heard a peep from Benji. Part of you wondered if the bastard was dead, and you weren’t sure how exactly you felt when you realized that you didn’t really care.

You also wondered if Tommy knew now about what happened with Benji. You hadn’t heard from him since he left again, but knew from Polly and Ada that they’d be back by the following weekend.

In all the excitement, you’d forgotten about Tommy’s invitation to the races. When Ada burst into your apartment to announce that they were going shopping, you’d been surprised. It’d been a while since you’d been to the shops, but you weren’t going to deny the opportunity to find something nice to wear to your first race.

“I’ve been crying nonstop for weeks,” Ada explained as you both walked around, looking at different fabrics as she pointed out some options. “Every little thing sets me off, I tell ya. I thought it was because of the funeral, but Martha and I weren’t really that close. Suppose it’s sympathy for the kids. Dunno. It’s been making me so tired though. I think I may be ill or something.”

“Maybe,” you mused, grabbing the dress she handed you.

A woman caught the corner of your eye. At your gaze, she dropped her head and turned.

You ignored her, used to people staring when she was out with Ada. You hadn’t understood it when you’d first become friends, but now you realized.

When you saw her again at the next shop, you began to feel less like it was accidental.

“Hi,” you greeted when you met her eyes again. She looked away and tried to leave, but you spoke again, “Can I help you?”

The woman stopped finally and turned, her head down slightly sheepishly. She wore a small hat and trendy dress, her hair was cut short like most women of the day, and you could tell she was quite tall, though she seemed to slouch slightly. Her facial features were sharp, complimenting her slim body shape. She was quite beautiful, and in your day could see her being the ideal supermodel. But the bags under her eyes and wornness of her skin led you to believe that her story probably wasn’t that simple. Not here, in Small Heath.

“Pardon?” She finally said innocently, trying to subtly give you a once over as well.

You shrugged, “It just seemed like you were needing something from me. My mistake.”

You turned to leave but she spoke again. “This is incredibly improper of me, but I saw you and I just— you and Tommy, ya?”

As you turned back to her, your brow creased. Instinct had you looking around for Ada. Ever since your encounter with Benji, you’d been edgier than you’d ever been, always looking for the exits and for familiar faces to run toward. It made you feel incredibly vulnerable and you absolutely hated it. You felt your fingers grip the strings of your handbag, knowing the gun Polly had given you was safely tucked away inside.

Swallowing, you resounded yourself to shake it off, to toughen up, and you straightened your shoulders as you addressed the stranger once again. “Excuse me?”

“My sister saw you both walking home often late at night. I suppose he’s moved on, I shouldn’t be surprised.” She was rambling now, her cheeks blushed as if she were embarrassed by her own words. “I know we shouldn’t be speaking of this, not in public at least. It’s just hard, y’know, losing a customer. Especially one like him.”

Customer. You looked over the stranger in front of you again and tried to think of any other instance where her phrasing would make sense aside from the very clear one that came to mind.

Ada called for you, reaching you with a handful of dresses. You turned back to the woman who nodded and made her leave.

“Ada, who was that?”

She craned her neck and clicked her teeth. “Ah, that was Lizzie Stark. Surprised you haven’t seen her around town. Though why would you, less you were payin’ I suppose. Here, try these on.”

——-

It’d been a while since you’d been on a real date. Even before you’d been sent to this place, dates had started to dwindle as you got older and got more choosy. For a while, starting in college, you’d easily been able to flirt with someone new, get to know them, and then start a fling for a while until one or both of you got bored. The couple serious relationships you’d had were harder for you. Being vulnerable hadn’t come easy for you, and it created commitment and trust issues. Dates became more complicated than they were worth.

Tommy had greeted you at your place, and you surprised yourself with how much you missed him in the few weeks he’d been away. There was something about his presence, knowing that he was here, in the city, gave you a wave of some kind of safety and security that you hadn’t realized you’d been missing.

He looked tired, though he smiled at you warmly as he walked you toward the family car, and offered you a hand in as you climbed in.

This had been the first time you’d actually been excited for a date since possibly high school.

And of course, Harry had to go and buzz kill your mood the day before the races. He hadn’t meant to, of course. After the Benji incident, he’d been extra protective and cautious. You’d explained the situation (without the stealing money from the Shelbys part) and he’d been surprisingly sensitive. But he believed his recent pub decision would make you feel better instead of make you sour.

“Somethin’ the matter?” He asked when you were quieter than he expected. “If this is about Hancock—“

“No,” you answered, already knowing from Polly that Tommy and the brothers had learned of Benji’s malfeasance, but he’d disappeared before Scudboat and Lovelock could find him. You’d cursed your previous self for trying to be sympathetic toward the man — it seemed like you’d just made everything worse. “It’s nothing honestly, just something silly.”

“Go on, then. I can handle silly.”

Your cheek flinched as you looked over toward Tommy, humored by him even saying the word ‘silly’. He rose his eye brow as he looked over to you, offering you a smirk before pulling his eyes back to the road.

“Harry’s putting in an advertisement in the paper for another barmaid.”

Tommy’s smirk turned into a frown, “Is he mad? The place wouldn’t be standin’ without you — I’ve seen the numbers, I know. I’ll have a word with Harry—“

“He’s not replacing me,” you quickly corrected. “I thought the same thing, but he wants me to concentrate more on the books and said he’d rather bring someone in part time to fill in behind the bar.”

“Ah,” his brow creased as he gave you a short look. “The problem, then?”

You sighed, knowing that you were being childish. “I’m just feeling territorial, is all. I know I’m not technically being replaced, but part of it feels that way. Did I mention I have a small case of control issues? I blame it on being an only child.”

Tommy chuckled softly and shook his head. “You have nothing to worry about. If anything it’ll leave more time for you to do your real job.”

“My real job?” You asked him curiously.

“The Shelby business, ‘course. Wheels are already in motion, and today we’re going to enact the second part of my plan.”

“And that is?”

Tommy smiled, “Gonna buy a horse.”

>> next chapter << chapter masterlist

Tag list: @cillixn @sidefanficaccounttohidemyshame @cillmequick @swordofawriter @sweetmilkshakeluminary @nataliewalker93 @ttae-yong @topstory21 @cole-silas @moral-terpitude @optimisticsandwichgladiator @reallysparklychaos @enrapturedbythemoon @bat-shark-repellant @kpopslur @skxawngs @musicsweetie21 @invisiblexcth @whoisf4yryl0v3r @laylasbunbunny @lordofthunderthr @luvstylesz @roseanimelover @lostgirl219 @berarenado @akemiixx01 @mulletmcghee @jasminxts @oneboygenius @piceous21 @xoprincessmel @the-blueatlas @regatoni1 @goblinjnr @gentyleman @xxbeckybeexx-blog @tanyaherondale @sometimes-i-sing @littlewhiterose @ja-4-leyvam @rubyxx16 @allie131313 @pet1t3 @globetrotter28 @woofgocows @radrouda @wildernessflora @jeysbae @lilianashomaresparza @himikotoga101 @a-asterias @sourholland @samywhale @thecityofspareparts @ponyboys-sunsets @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 @vastseamind @optimisticsandwichgladiator @booktvmoviefangirl @drquinnzel0217qqqqqqqqqqq @zodiyack @ofkilljoysandslytherins @bluevenus19 @ce1iat @mgajdaaa @babyotileeblog @arcanebabe @iamtrashsry @snowtargaryen @mottergirl99 @sinarainbows @belledawnidk @laneyspaulding19 @warrior-of-justice @kkrenae @ryswritingrecord @qtkat @monifaagha @avidread3r

#Peaky blinders #tommy shelby #thomas shelby #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby x y/n #Tommy shelby x oc #tommy shelby x ofc #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby fanfic #tommy shelby imagines #peaky blinder imagine #peaky blinder fanfic #peaky blinder imagines #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby x oc #fanfic #mine #time after time

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nicoline1998enilocin · 4 months

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Everything I ever wanted

Pairing -> Husband!Tony Stark x Wife!Fem!Reader

Word count -> 2K

Summary -> During your pregnancy, Tony couldn't keep his hands off you, and neither of you could get enough of each other. Now that your twin boys are born, he wants nothing more than to have you pregnant with his babies again, and he'll let you know exactly how he's planning on doing that.

Rating -> Explicit (E)

Warnings -> Established relationship ~ Husband/Wife, age gap ~ 10 years, references to breastfeeding, use of pet name ~ Gorgeous, references to pregnancy/childbirth.

Smut -> Breeding kink, pregnancy kink, lactation kink, Daddy kink, drinking of breastmilk (sexual), dirty talk, vaginal fingering, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it!), creampie, implied aftercare.

A/n -> My deepest appreciation and love goes out to @ccbsrmsf1 for helping me with the ideas for this fic because this couldn't have existed without your help! From listening to my ideas to bringing in some of your own, you have helped me a lot! I love you so much 🩵

A/n 2.0 -> My requests are open again! Please consider that I only have 24 hours in my day, so it might take a while to get the new requests posted, but I expect to post them around February/March. I'll be looking forward to what you will all come up with, and I can't wait to start writing requests again 🩵

Banners: @vase-of-lilies | Divider: @firefly-graphics | GIF: Owner

Main Masterlist | Tony Stark Masterlist | Read on AO3

You're sitting on the couch with your son, Joseph, watching TV and breastfeeding him. Next to you is your husband, Tony, holding the other half of your beautiful twin boys - Jacob. While your attention is divided between your son and the TV, Tony can only focus on one thing: the taste of the delicious milk your body produces.

It was relatively early on in your pregnancy that you and Tony found out he had a lactation kink, and as soon as your milk came in, he was nursing from you to get the edge off.

And now, as he's sitting on the couch next to you, there's nothing else he would rather do than wrap his pink, plump lips around your sensitive nipple to get every last drop of the precious milk he so much desires from your body.

"Careful before you drop him while you stare," you joke, and a bright red flush spreads over his cheeks as he knows he got caught staring. He adjusts his hold on his son, who is comfortably snuggled up in his dad's arms during his nap.

It's good that Joseph was quickly done drinking because while both boys were down for their nap, Tony pulled you into your shared bedroom for his fill of your milk. Soon, you're completely bare on the bed while he has one of your sensitive nipples in his mouth, sucking and drinking from you as moans tumble from his lips.

One of his hands has found its way between your legs, his thick, long fingers slowly thrusting in and out of your wet pussy, his thumb giving some attention to your clit. It's not enough for you to cum yet, but with him drinking from you, your pleasure is very much heightened in the process.

His clothes are strewn across the floor, and his hips are rutting against the soft fabric of the sheets to give himself a little relief, too. His cock is achingly hard as he tries to alleviate some of the arousal he's feeling, not wanting this to be over before it even starts. A deep moan escapes your lips when he changes the angle of his fingers, finding your sweet spot effortlessly.

"D-Daddy!" you exclaim as one of your hands squeezes his bicep, leaving small crescent moon-shaped indents where your fingers are, the other laced in his hair, pulling roughly as your orgasm threatens to wash over you with a powerful force.

"C'mon, Gorgeous, cum for Daddy," he coaxes you, and it doesn't take much more for you to fall over the edge finally, his fingers thrusting in and out at a brutal pace, his thumb stimulating your clit to work you through and prolong your orgasm all at the same time. A deep groan falls from Tony's lips, reverberating through your entire body as he sucks the last drops of your milk out of your breast.

"Look at you, such a good girl for Daddy," he purrs at you before removing his hand carefully and climbing up, capturing your lips in a soft, sweet kiss that has your head reeling in excitement.

"I'm fortunate to call you my wife, Gorgeous, and you're such a perfect mama as well for our boys," Tony tells you as he places small kisses from your mouth to your jaw and neck. Before he met you, he would never have thought he'd ever have a kid of his own, let alone two at the same time.

Tony has been working in his lab for most of the morning while you're sitting in the large bathroom attached to the main bedroom on your floor of the Avengers Compound. Your phone is in your hand as you're waiting for the timer to go off, which seems endless. Your eyes are shut as you nervously await the test results, secretly hoping for a positive result.

It has been about two months since you and Tony got married, and even though you never talked about having children - with Tony still busy as he saves the world as Iron Man - it's something you've been wishing for. Every birthday, every Christmas, your one wish was to become a mother, and the universe is finally swinging things your way.

The alarm finally goes off, and you quickly grab the test, which shows a very clear positive. You're pregnant and can't wait to tell your husband this fantastic news. With the test in your hand, you practically run through the building and down to Tony's lab, where he is tinkering with yet another one of his projects.

When you're at the door, Jarvis automatically opens it for you, and before Tony can even lift his head your way, you're already throwing yourself around his neck, sobbing from pure excitement.

"I'm pregnant, Tony! We're going to be parents!" you exclaim after pulling away, and you see a slight hint of fear on Tony's face before a wide smile appears, and the earlier emotion is nowhere to be seen. He is going to be a Dad, something he has never even given a second thought to until now.

"Are you- Wait, are we going to be parents? Oh my god, I'm so happy right now!" he says before grabbing the backs of your thighs and placing you onto the workbench, capturing your lips in a hungry kiss. The positive test is long forgotten as it drops to the floor, and Tony makes love to you right then and there.

"You'll be so beautiful when you're pregnant, all round with my baby, these tits all big and full with milk. Can't wait to have a taste of it, Gorgeous, want to nurse off these fucking tits every single day," he tells you between the rough, short thrusts. When both of you are completely spent, you collapse against Tony with a content smile, knowing you'll be starting a family in a few months.

He has been such a supportive husband throughout the pregnancy, from rubbing your feet when they got sore to listening to your endless rambles; he did all of it without a shadow of a doubt. And now, after a long delivery, you're both holding your twins in your arms. Jacob, the firstborn, and his brother, Joseph. They are identical twin boys, and both carbon copies of Tony.

As he looks at them, he feels a love that he can't explain. It's something he's never felt before, but he knows he will do anything and everything to protect his beautiful boys. And to know he has made these wonderful humans with you, the love of his life is the cherry on top.

As he thinks about the way you looked when you were pregnant, he knows he doesn't want to wait for another second but instead, he wants to be buried deep inside you to get you pregnant again, breeding you until you're dripping with his cum between your thighs.

"Can't stop thinking about how fucking hard I get when you're pregnant for me, Gorgeous. Having my babies growing in there has me going crazy," he tells you as he guides you comfortably onto your back, your hair spread around your head like a halo. You're looking up at him with love- and lust-filled eyes, biting your bottom lip in anticipation of what's coming.

He pulls your lip out of its soft grip with his thumb before grabbing it between his own, nibbling softly before pulling away and releasing the soft flesh from the gentle grip. A slight whine escapes your mouth as you get restless, needing to be filled by your husband before the twins wake up from their nap.

"What do you think, Gorgeous? Shall I fuck another baby into this perfect pussy of yours? This tight, warm cunt I love to be buried in? Spilling every last drop of my cum into it until it sticks, and you're pregnant for me, giving me another baby or two?" he asks as he guides your legs up, and you grab them by the backs of your thighs so you're beautifully presented for him.

"Maybe we'll make a little girl this time, what do you think? Having a little Princess to make our family complete," he whispers against the shell of your ear as he lines up with your entrance, your slick dripping out at a steady pace as you're getting more and more turned on by his words.

Without a single warning, he slides it into the hilt, and you clench down on his cock, feeling every single ridge and vein on his thick and long member inside you as you adjust to his size. Even after giving birth to the twins, it's a little bit of a stretch, and the moan leaving your lips is almost pornographic.

"Yes, Daddy! Please, fuck another baby into me; wan' all your babies and be pregnant for you all the time," you beg him, and that's all he needs to hear before setting a brutal pace, sitting back on his haunches as he holds your legs so far they're almost touching your shoulders, only intensifying the pleasure you're feeling.

With every thrust, he hits the perfect spot inside of you that has you seeing stars, driving you extremely close to the edge without tipping you over just yet. Your hands are gripping the sheets tightly, and Tony can feel himself getting harder inside you as he watches your breasts sway back and forth with each thrust.

"Fuck, Gorgeous, you're gripping me like a damn vice, 'm gonna cum for you! Take all of your Daddy's cum like the cumslut you are," he growls before letting one of your legs go and instead opting to give some love to your clit as well, which turns out to be your undoing. A wail of his name is enough to send him over the edge, too, making him fuck every last drop of his cum inside of you.

"Jesus, fuck! Take it, Gorgeous, take your Daddy's cum like you're meant to; gonna keep you pregnant for me all the time. Always want this delicious milk of yours," he says as he works both of you through your orgasms before collapsing next to you and panting heavily while some of his load drips out of you, your pussy unable to keep it all inside.

After he pulled out, he looked at the mess you had both made before scooping some of the cum with his fingers and shoving it back into you, not wanting to waste a single drop of it.

"We have to make sure it sticks, Gorgeous; we don't want to take any chances," he tells you as you gasp from overstimulation, but you also love it. By the time he's done, he lets you clean his fingers, and you moan contently at the faint taste of his cum that's lingering on them.

"I love you, Gorgeous, more than I'll ever be able to tell you," he says before pulling you close. You two lay like that for a few minutes before it's time for a shower, where you both wash each other gently, being careful of any sensitive areas.

It turns out that Tony's sperm is a lot stronger than either of you could have ever anticipated because nine months later, you're in the hospital again, and you have given birth to two beautiful identical girls, who are exact copies of their Mom. Baby Sophia and baby Olivia are your family's newest members, and they complete it.

When it's finally time to go home to your little boys, Tony can't help but look at you as you're getting one of the twins ready. What came out of his mouth, however, is something you didn't think he'd ever ask, though it doesn't surprise you either as you burst out into laughter.

"So, can we make another one?" he asks with a straight face, and it makes the moment perfect. His humor is one of the things you fell for; even in moments like these, you'll never get sick of it.

"Maybe later; right now, we have to take our girls home," you say with a content smile as you rub your thumb over little Olivia's cheek. You have never felt more in love than you do now and never want to leave the beautiful pink cloud you're sitting on.

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leonardalphachurch · 5 months

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a fic i wrote at 5 am about being an alien parasite jesus allegory whose father doesn’t call enough. something we can all relate to.

(also on ao3 if you prefer to read there)

Your name is Junior.

When you get older, you’ll be told this isn’t really a name. They’ll give you real names. Real names with real meanings to them.

The Sangheili call you Jaen ‘Kelossai. A name that was destined for you. It’s meaning chosen by the gods themselves. The soul who lights the prophecy of the sword. It’s a rough translation.

The humans call you Lavernius Tucker Jr. It’s meaning doesn’t work the same way. Not a thief and a tormenter, nor a soft cloth in the spring. But instead it holds the weight of your father. A meaning just as heavy as one chosen by gods.

You just go by Junior.

You are the child of a failed prophecy. The savior of a dead religion. This makes a lot of people want you dead. You’re used to that, though. People have wanted you dead since you were born.

It makes a lot of other people want to use you. You’re used to that, too. You get paraded around for one political reason or another. One day you’ll learn what these all mean. One day you’ll make an amazing ambassador. Or so they tell you. Today you just want to outside and play.

You’re too alien, the humans say. You want to play with the other kids but you are larger than them. You have too many teeth. They’re just jealous, your father says. You don’t know if that’s true.

There are kids your size you can play with. But your father spends all the time he can with humans. And you do too.

You’re too human, the Sangheili say. They never should have let your father stay around. Never should have let him get his fingerprints on you. But they were in there from the beginning. Baked into your DNA.

And though the old gods may be dead, no one can deny that he is the sword bearer. It may just be an ancient relic. But ancient relics hold importance.

Many want to kill him for it. He doesn’t deserve something as important as that, they say. He’s human. Others respect him for it, but even they hold their breath for the day he dies. To scavenge it from his corpse.

That key was your birthright. You can use it, but it’s not yours. It holds no connection to you. It should have.

One day you’ll learn that you were supposed to kill him. To rip from his stomach and feast on his flesh. To take the key to your birthright by force.

You’re glad this didn’t happen. You don’t know if he knows. You hope he never finds out.

You’ve never met your other father. The one who’s genetic material makes up your own. He died before you were born. It makes you a little sad. But not very.

One day you’ll learn how he died. You’ll know what he did to make you. You’ll want to find his grave and spit on it. Today you hold your true father’s hand as you tell him about your schooling.

You need to go on a mission. You need to be paraded around again. It’s hot, but you have fun in the sand. They bring you home before your father; negotiations are getting more tense, and he needs to stay, and you need to leave. You need to be protected. Why doesn’t he need to be protected?

As you go, you tell him you love him. He laughs and ruffles your nonexistent hair.

You don’t hear from him for months. You ask why no one has gone to help him. No one tells you the answer.

You know the answer.

…

It’s almost a year before you hear from him. About him. He’s a fugitive now. You thought he was dead. From the way they speak, you wonder if that might have been better.

He’s stealing technology. Betraying the UNSC. Betraying the Sangheili. Betraying you. That’s what they tell you.

You don’t know if you feel betrayed.

You follow the news. Closely. Closer than any of the other kids your age. But you’re bigger than them. You have more teeth. And you wonder if you should even be with them. Your father was the one who wanted you to go to this school, wasn’t he?

News comes.

He’s not a fugitive anymore. He’s a war hero, now.

They tell you you should be proud.

You don’t know if you feel proud.

He contacts you. You feel his warmth. You missed him. He says he misses you. He tells you about his journeys. You tell him about your team. He tells you about his friends. You don’t tell him about your lack.

He’s going to come see you soon. You’re excited. You missed him.

You tell him you love him. He tells you he loves you, too.

He never comes.

…

It’s another year until you get news.

He’s a war hero again.

You thought he was dead.

You feel. Proud.

You’re supposed to feel proud, right?

You’re a great ambassador now, they tell you. You’ll tell him that, when he calls again.

You’ll wait for him to visit.

He’ll come, this time.

You’ll look at the key that was your birthright.

He’ll tell you he loves you.

You’ll think about tearing him apart with your teeth.

You’ll tell him you love him, too.

#rvb #chromatic writing #lavernius tucker #junior #junior tucker #rvb junior #red vs blue #me? projecting on alien children? never

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loveforsatoru · 4 months

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Masterlist

My ao3 account-> ao3

Our Blue Spring Series:

Who would've known that you would become Satoru Gojo's entire world only to walk out of his life without explanation? That day forever haunts him and he hasn't moved on even after 7 years. He wants answers. Why'd you leave? Why have you never called? Did you forget about him? These thoughts keep him awake at night. He wishes he could see you again even just one more time. But what will he do when that moment finally comes and he's face to face with you once again? Will you let him back into your life or will you run away like before?

Chapter 1- You're All I Need

Chapter 2- Leaving

Chapter 3- Camera/Memories

Chapter 4- To Get Over You

Chapter 5- Once More To See You

Chapter 6- Christmas Eve Party

Chapter 7- Reconnecting

Chapter 8- Familiarity

Loved You Then, Love You Now Series:

After being born into the Zenin Clan, you were given another shot at life when you enrolled into Jujutsu Tech. There, you meet 3 people who will change your life for better or for worse. But a certain white haired boy catches your eye from the moment you step foot on campus. Love blossoms like flowers and the best spring of your life is spent with him. You never would've expected that he would disappear from you in the blink of an eye. As time goes on, you still think about him, but fall into the arms of his best friend who has been waiting for the opportunity to be with you. It doesn't feel the same, it doesn't feel right, but you've learned that life may never be the same without Satoru Gojo by your side, until your 18th birthday, a red string around your pinky connects you to your soulmate, and it just so happens to be the one who broke your heart a year prior.

Chapter 1- Zenin Clan/Meeting Chapter 2- Moonlight

Chapter 3- Kisses

Chapter 4- Shooting Star

Chapter 5- Contract

#gojo satoru #gojo x reader #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #gojo x you #gojo fanfic #gojou satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo x y/n #i love gojo

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seireiteihellbutterfly · 24 hours

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Second Chance Sorcerer Chapter 2

Summary: After surviving Mahito's Idle Transfiguration in the Shibuya Incident, Nanami finds himself in an unknown realm between life and death. Will he escape?

Pairing: Nanami Kento x Fem! reader

A/N: Chapter 2 is here! So we come to the world of the living where reader is grieving Nanami's death. Reader-centric chapter, but Nanami is brought up heavily. Originally made with my OC, to read that version, check out my AO3 account, but it's in Y/n format here.

Banner by the lovely @actuallysaiyan

Search/follow along using #secondchancesorcerer

Chapter 1 | Nanami masterlist

There’s an incessant knocking at the door and it takes all of your energy to not scream at whoever it is to go away. You felt like someone had hit you with a sledgehammer, your sleep disturbed and restless. Why was everyone so determined to give you company when all you wanted to do was be left alone?

No one understood the hollow feeling in your chest, how you woke up every night screaming, remembering Mahito’s disgusting grin of triumph as he had murdered Nanami in cold blood. How you had begged Nanami to let you take him out of Shibuya station along with Maki, the burns on his body looking so raw and painful. He had fixed you with the same look he would give you when you was hesitating to take a shot at him during hand-to-hand combat training sessions. That stern expression of disapproval, despite his own pain and exhaustion.

“Take Maki-san and leave. I’ll be fine Y/n-san. I can’t leave. Not yet.” And you had been helpless to argue against him. you never could. There was a hypnotic quality to the way Nanami instructed you, said with a finality that you could never disobey. The man had a death wish, you knew that, and you had foolishly believed securing him with a protective charm would drive away the shadow of demise that seemed to hover over him all the time. You should have knocked him unconscious and dragged his ass out with Maki. Shoko was on site. She could have healed him, and he would be here, grieving their other losses instead of…

Your heart constricted painfully, remembering how you had held onto Yuji as hard as you could, your ears bleeding from his hysterical screaming as he swore his revenge on Mahito. Nanami’s loss hung heavily in the air. Although most of the Jujutsu community was more invested in Gojo being sealed, it was Nanami’s death that affected you the most. Nanami your mentor, your dour, unwilling mission partner, your whole heart…now gone. Like he had never existed, no trace of him left.

“Y/n-san?” The knocking continues and with a snarl, you roll off the bed, your hair a dreadful mess, not caring that you’re still in pajamas, and yank open the door only to see Ino and Yuji standing there, Yuji carrying a takeout container. Your ire washes away only to be replaced by a dull ache as you see them. “Oh. it’s you two.” You slink back to the bed and disappear under the covers.

“We haven’t seen you for two days now Y/n-san.” Ino shuts the door as Yuji sets the takeout container on the table. “You can’t just lock yourself away. We’re a team. Team Nanami, remember?” Ino gives you a wan smile which you don’t have the energy to return. Yuji settles down on a chair and says nothing.

Your heart aches for the boy, so young, a teenager, looking so weary and serious, shouldering the weight of a much older man. “I haven’t been in a mood to see anyone. Everything that happened at Shibuya…I can’t.”

Your voice trembles, threatening to spill out all the unspent grief you’re carrying. You hadn't explicitly told anyone about your feelings for Nanami, believing it was pointless. You were his apprentice after all, a title almost similar to being his student, and it was a boundary you hadn’t been willing to cross. Nanami had helped craft your abilities after all, abilities you had been terrified of using, abilities that had plagued your entire life, that you wished you hadn’t been born with; until he had shown you how to use them for a higher purpose.

It was an astonishing experience, developing a cursed technique, needing much hands-on instruction. Literally. Nanami would constantly adjust your hands, your stance, and your combat positions, tutting at you impatiently. You had felt like you were in a ballet academy under the care of a rigorous instructor, the type that would raise their student’s arms and chin and adjust their posture using the end of a cane.

He had started you off the same way that Gojo had done for Yuji, by channeling cursed energy into one of Principal Yaga’s creepy cursed dolls. The doll had given you a black eye that day, but you secretly blamed Nanami for that; you had been watching movies as instructed, the doll in your lap when he had come down to check on you. His deep gravelly voice cutting through the room unexpectedly had caused you to yelp, grip loosening on the doll, which had wasted no time in delivering a blow to your eye.

It was humiliating, feeling like you had failed him on this simple task but he made you nervous. He always gave off an aura of needing perfection and his short, clipped way of giving instruction made you feel inadequate. Everything had been a blur of confusion as you leaned against the sofa, covering your eye and moaning in pain, hearing rapid shuffling footsteps, before Nanami had caught hold of the doll and shoved it into a containment box.

“Let me see.” With your good eye, you saw him leaning over you to check your face. You knew you were blushing but hoped it came off as embarrassment for being punched by the doll rather than the fact that your mentor - your unbelievably attractive mentor- was peering into your face at such close proximity.

You had slowly removed your hand, the area around the eye swollen and tender. Nanami’s expression was strange, almost like he was trying not to laugh as he delicately laid his fingers at the edges of the starting bruise. “I did warn you not to lose concentration,” he said in an even tone, although it betrayed a wisp of amusement. “Go see Ieiri-San. I’m afraid you’ll be sporting a bruise for a while, but her reverse curse technique will take away the pain so at least you won’t feel it.”

Your good eye had glared at him reproachfully. “I was doing fine until you startled me. I didn’t even hear you come in. We should put a bell around your neck.”

You thought you saw the corners of his mouth twitch slightly, almost like he was biting back the urge to smile. “Are you under the impression that curses wear bells around their necks, Y/n-San? Because if this is all it takes to startle you…you wouldn’t last a minute on a solo mission.”

His words had brought you back to the reality of the situation, the fuzzy feeling of being near him vanishing in an instant. Always teaching survival tactics, always telling you to run, always putting himself in the line of fire. It had driven you insane, how little self-preservation he had for himself.

“Isn’t there anything that you would like to live for?” you had asked him one morning as you ate breakfast together before catching the train home, having finished a mission the previous night. He fixed you with a scrutinizing stare, whiskey-colored eyes narrowing as though puzzled by your question.

“Like what?”

His response left you stumped. Did the man have no aspirations, no dreams, or wishes he wanted to be fulfilled?

“Like what?” You had parroted back to him, an incredulous look on your face. “There are so many wonderful things about life! Don’t you have a survival bucket list?”

His lip was definitely curling now. Nanami never smiled completely, but the corners of his eyes would crinkle when something amused him, and you could see the lines deepening as he regarded your question, but his tone felt like an adult indulging a child. It was maddeningly patronizing, considering he was just three years older than you, yet he assumed himself to be too mature and aged for such whimsical questions.

“A survival bucket list?” he practically scoffed.

“Yes,” you said trying not to lose your patience with him, crossing your arms over your chest. “You know, a list of things you’d like to do if you ever had the time.”

“Do you have one?”

“Of course I have one! Most of us have one! Something to keep us going when all we see is death and destruction on a daily basis.”

The thought seemed to intrigue him but you couldn’t shake off the feeling like you were being snubbed. Which was why you were taken aback when he asked, “What’s on your survival bucket list?”

“Oh ah…” you tried to gather your thoughts as you spoke, not expecting that he would ask you. “Take a tour of Europe. Go on an African safari. Take scuba diving lessons. Try different pastries and sweets from all over the world.” You lists some of your top activities, then frown as Nanami in a rare moment, flashes you a grin, his teeth showing for a brief second before his face returns to its usual stoic state.

“What?” You had asked almost impatiently. “Is my bucket list funny in some way?”

The blond man shakes his head no before speaking. “It’s not funny at all Y/n-san. I think it’s nice that you have these personal goals.” He says calmly, his voice carrying an unfamiliar lilt you had never heard before.

Your irritation died down when you realized he hadn’t answered you yet. “Do you have one or not?”

He looked thoughtfully at you before replying. “I used to. But it’s not as great as wanting to learn how to scuba dive or trying all the sweets in the world.” His tone changed into something wistful and nostalgic and it played with your heartstrings as you waited for him to continue. “My survival bucket list, if I can call it that, has only one goal. And that is to live long enough to retire.”

Your breath had caught and you waited for him to say more, hoping he wouldn’t shut off. Nanami rarely ever spoke more than what was necessary, but you longed to see more of this side of him, the parts of him that had nothing to do with sorcery.

“Retirement isn’t something a lot of sorcerers get to experience. Most of them die young, and the ones that do survive have so many disabilities that doing anything later in life becomes impossible. If life is favorable to me, and I have all my limbs and mental health by that age, I would love to retire and spend the rest of my days in peace.”

“What does peace look like to you?” you had asked him in a hushed voice, feeling ecstatic about finding out these little details about him.

“A beach, in a country with a low cost of living. Perhaps I’ll live right on the sand, a book in hand, and just take in all the sunshine.” His eyes had taken on a faraway quality, the whiskey color becoming more honeyed, little flecks of gold visible in his irises as though whatever he was thinking of had lit a candle inside him, illuminating his whole being. You could only stare, unable to comprehend how beautiful, how vulnerably human, he looked in that fleeting moment before it vanished behind an impenetrable curtain of indifference. “But that future is a very slim possibility. I don’t like building castles of air.”

The warmth that had settled in your chest dissipated, and you were left with the man you had grown used to; contained, jaded, pessimistic.

“But what if it does happen?” you couldn’t stop yourself from asking.

He let out a sound that could have been interpreted as a disbelieving chuckle. “Then I’d better think about using something more solid than air to build my castle.”

“Y/n-san?”

You’re jolted back to reality as Yuji hands you a tissue. You hadn’t even been aware that you were crying, tears rolling down your cheeks, eyes puffy and red.

“I’m sorry guys.” You dabbed at the tears. “Got lost in thought.”

“We all miss him, Y/n-san,” Yuji says comfortingly, but his voice trembles. “He was more than a teacher to all of us.”

“And we’re still a team despite him being gone,” Ino says assertively and presses the takeout container into your hands. “Eat. You need to.”

you open it to reveal a breakfast sandwich, and although you don’t have much of an appetite, the thoughtfulness of the boys is so sweet that you don’t feel like setting it aside for later. Taking a bite, you try to distract yourself from your own feelings.

“So they weren’t able to recover Gojo from the prison realm?” you ask, trying to get off the topic of their deceased mentor.

Ino shakes his head no, and you are relieved to see that most of his wounds from his fight with Ogami have healed, almost imperceptible to the eyes of a non-sorcerer, although there was a scar running down the left side of his face now.

“They’re doing a recovery throughout Shibuya station, but it’s mostly to pull items belonging to the people who died. You know, to return to their families.” Ino sighs and rests against the wall of your room. “They haven’t found Nanami-san’s blade yet.”

This bit of information is unexpected, and you look at him, then at Yuji who is also listening intently.

“I mean…it probably got lost underneath all the rubble, right? It’ll turn up eventually.” You swallow, hoping the weapon wasn’t lost to the destruction of Shibuya Station.

“I hope so. I’d imagine Nanami-san would want me to have it.” Ino sits down on the edge of your bed. Yuji however, gives him a look of disapproval.

“Why do you get Nanamin’s weapon? I was his student too.”

“Yeah, but I trained under him the longest. By that right, it should come to me.”

“What if he has family? Wouldn’t it go them?” Yuji countered, trying to think of a reasonable argument for why Ino couldn’t simply lay claim to the blade.

“He didn’t have any family,” you say quietly, not really invested in the conversation. Ino and Yuji continued to debate, their conversation becoming indistinct buzzing to you as you finished your sandwich.

“He was your teacher too Y/n-san,” Ino interjects suddenly, with a touch of surprise. “Why aren’t you more interested in who his blade goes to?”

“Because I knew how much he hated using it.”

Your words carry an intensity that makes them both quiet down instantly. As powerful and wonderful as his blade was, you knew your mentor’s distaste for using it. To him, it was a means to an end, no different than using a rifle or an axe. He used it for the sake of exorcising curses, but the blade itself carried no personal meaning to him.

“Nanamin hated his blade?” Yuji asks in a small voice. The disappointment in his eyes had you quickly backpedaling.

“Not the blade itself. I think more so, what it represented for him. A life as a sorcerer. Of facing death every day, knowing this was his duty and he couldn’t escape it.”

Silence follows your words and you wish you hadn’t spoken. You hadn’t meant to put a damper on the boys’ spirits but you couldn't keep quiet either. They were young, in awe of their late teacher who must’ve seemed like a much older man, dispensing wisdom. But knowing how small your age gap was, and how much he hated this line of work, you found yourself compelled to make sure they knew what you knew; that Nanami Kento was a hard-working man, but he never found any joy in using his now legendary weapon at all.

And unknown to them, You had already scavenged Shibuya Station after the emergency evacuation orders were put through. You hadn’t expected to find much, but somehow, through a stroke of luck, had found his tie, the obnoxiously yellow, polka-dotted tie, peeking through the broken cement and glass, stained with blood. His blood.

You had yanked it out quickly and stuffed it into your pocket, a little secret you had been carrying around the last few days. It now lay under your pillow; you worried people would judge you for keeping it, for not washing it but somehow, you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. At night, you’d run the tie through your fingers, feeling the material slip smoothly through, the faint scent of his cologne still on it. You knew you would never be able to wash it until the last vestiges of that scent faded away. It was the only thing that brought you comfort, that and remembering the day you found out the history of the odd color and print of the tie.

The 4 four of you had been out at the amusement park, Ino and Yuji energetically running around from one ride to the next while you and Nanami had waited in line to grab food for everyone. As you sat waiting for the boys to come back, you had gathered courage and asked him a question that had been in the back of your mind since you became his apprentice.

“Nanami-san?”

“Hmm?” He had turned his focus towards you and you hoped he wouldn’t see the rising color in your cheeks.

“Why do you wear that tie? It just doesn’t match the rest of your outfit.” You held you breath hoping the question wasn’t too personal. But the tie somehow paradoxically brought his outfit together and also threw it out of style.

His expression had changed almost imperceptibly. If you hadn’t spent as much time as you did with him, you might not have noticed it. He rested his elbows on the picnic table, as though conflicted to admit what was going through his mind. Then with a sigh, he said, “It’s to remember an old friend.”

“An old friend?”

“A late friend, to be precise.”

Your heart tightened in your chest. A late friend? He had lost someone close to him?

“It’s a funny story.” Nanami paused as though considering if he should tell you more, then continued. “My favorite show growing up as a child was The Flintstones.”

You stared at him, but you couldn’t help the small giggle that escaped you which you suppressed immediately. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t expecting you to say something like that.”

“Well, it was.” Nanami’s lips had twitched. “And my friend knew this. As a joke, he got me a tie that matched Fred Flintstone’s outfit.” Another pause, another sigh, as though the next part was difficult for him to say. “I never wore it until after his death. Now I always do, in remembrance.”

“I’m so sorry,” you had said in a low voice. “I didn’t mean to bring up such a sad memory for you.”

Nanami shook his head and looked away towards the Ferris wheel, where the boys had disappeared off to. “It was a while ago. I try not to dwell on it for too long.”

“Thank you for telling me,” you’d murmured. His face had softened as he looked at you, the rest of the world blurring from your vision until all that remained in focus was him, the sharp eyes, the high cheekbones, the straight nose, and the chiseled jawline. Barely 30, yet looking like even a few years of sleep wouldn’t wash away the exhaustion that emanated from his bones.

“Even if Nanami-san disliked his weapon, it’s still useful to have.” Ino and Yuji were back to debating about the blade.

You were about to reiterate that you wouldn’t fight them over the blade when suddenly a pale sea foam green light began to glow from underneath your pillow. Both the boys stop bickering, awestruck at the sight. With a trembling hand, you move the pillow, revealing the tie, and making Ino and Yuji draw closer in curiosity. The polka dots on the blood-stained tie were glowing, emanating a warm aura accompanied by a curious scent of lingering coffee.

“What…” You watch with fascination, then look up at Yuji and Ino, who are watching the scene unfold, wide-eyed and filled with wonderment.

“Is that Nanamin’s tie?” Yuji gets closer to the bed, unable to take his eyes away.

“Yeah…I’ve been holding onto it.”

“Is it cursed? Did Nanami-san leave some residual cursed energy when he…?” Ino eyes the tie warily but also speaks in a hushed tone of disbelief.

You shake your head, the aura not feeling sinister to you. Rather, it felt familiar, like you had experienced it before, in those brief moments when Nanami’s eyes would crinkle from amusement…

You gasp and scramble off the bed as the dots begin to lift off the tie, a vignette of sea foam green surrounding each one. They float ethereally in the air, then, one by one start floating out of your room.

“Wait!” Not caring that you’re in pajamas or that you’d been in bed for nearly two days, you chase after the dots, bolting out of the room barefoot, Ino and Yuji hot on your heels. People stared at you as you ran. You knew the group must look quite eccentric, the two boys fully clothed and decent looking, while you looked ratty and deranged, hair flying everywhere as you tracked the dots barefoot, not wanting to lose sight of them.

Finally, the dots make their way into the large courtyard where Nanami would brief you about upcoming missions. They slow down and the trio halts, panting and out of breath. The light surrounding the polka dots brightens before they start arranging themselves into a fixed pattern, you, Ino, and Yuji watching perplexedly.

“Fred Flintstone”

“What?” Yuji looks bewildered. “Who’s that?”

“Isn’t that a cartoon character?” Ino asks, his generation just shy of the classic cartoons millennials had grown up on.

You cover your mouth, trying not to jump to conclusions. “The Flintstones…”

Could it be? Was he…? You let out a strangled laugh of disbelief but yet, what else could it be?

“It’s Nanami-san!” you whisper, and as you do, the energy signature from the polka dots seems to envelop you, and you feel every small little detail you have ever memorized about him; the little marks that formed on the bridge of his nose when he took his glasses off after a mission, how he enjoyed a fresh pot of coffee in the morning, that little sigh of satisfaction he’d make after completing his daily crossword puzzle.

Yuji and Ino look at you incredulously, but you have never been more sure of anything in your life. You look at them in the face, tears in your eyes, not from grief, but at how achingly comforting it was to be bathed in the glow of those polka dots.

“Nanami-san is alive!”

Animated lines and support banner by @cafekitsune

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spacebarbarianweird · 3 days

Note

Could you please write more about pregnant Tiriel? Your writing about her finding out she's expecting and about Astarion hearing the baby's heartbeat were one of my favorites?

Synopsis: Astarion takes care of pregnant Tiriel.

Tags: dadstarion, pregnancy, fluff

Thanks @themadlu for beta-reading!

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Headcanons

Waiting

“I think I am going to die in childbirth,” Tiriel says, pressing her face to her knees.

Astarion would sigh if he could. Tiriel sits shoulder-deep in a bath of warm water, as the vampire washes her hair and rubs her back.

“You aren’t going to die. You are a half-elf and I am sure the child is rather small. Look at your belly, you are in your last month and it’s not really showing.”

Tiriel turns away. Well, to call her belly small would be an underestimation – her slim body is currently betraying pregnancy. It’s covered in stretch marks that won’t disappear, ever. But again, Astarion has seen many pregnant human women in Daggerlake within the last five years and Tiriel has definitely been spared, carrying someone who takes after their elven ancestors.

But once Astarion thinks he’s managed to cheer her up, Tiriel sniffs.

“What if something is wrong with the baby? You are a vampire! I love you and all that, but you are still undead! What am I even carrying inside? And what if the child is sick? Or deformed? Or…What if it is going to kill me?”

“I can promise you, if something goes wrong, we are saving you,” Astarion splashes water on her hair.

“Thank you.”

He kisses her shoulder. “Don’t worry that much, the last thing you need is to cause a complication.”

Tiriel touches his fingers.

Astarion adds more soap to the tub. The scent of vomit and sweat still lingers on Tiriel’s skin and Astarion takes a clean piece of rug.

Tiriel has been feeling so bad in the last few days she barely left her bed. Her legs hurt, she couldn’t eat without vomiting, and she hardly slept because of back pains. She finally made herself go out that evening to eat properly, but, the moment Tiriel finished her dinner, she felt nauseous and everything Astarion had cooked for her ended up on her home shirt.

That moment, Astarion had enough of that and carried Tiriel to the bath.

“I'm sorry,” she says.

“What for?”

“I look disgusting.”

“Nothing is disgusting about a pregnant woman,” Astarion says, rubbing her left ear. “Besides, I’ve seen and done much worse things than giving a bath to someone I’ve knocked up. Your condition is my fault and I am taking full responsibility! Now, let me wash your front.”

Tiriel presses her back against the tub allowing Astarion to get to her belly and legs. Astarion smiles seeing the visible bump and carefully rubs the skin.

He is so close he can hear the second heartbeat.

It is not clear to him when the child is going to be born. Elves are pregnant for two years, but Tiriel’s body is hardly capable of doing so. Humans need nine months for the same process, but Astarion has learned from the healers in Secomber, the closest big town to Daggerlake, that it’s never clear with half-elves. And it also depends on the child – Astarion tries to think about the baby as an elf with just a bit of human ancestry (still enough to fuck up the gentle elven biology).

But in reality…

The child is half-him, half a vampire anyway. And that should bother him.

He is afraid of that moment. He waits for that moment to come. And he also misses Tiriel in sensual terms. He wants her blood (which is out of reach for him till she stops breastfeeding), he wants her body (they haven’t had sex ever since she got pregnant).

And he wants her to stop being in such pain daily.

“I look ugly,” Tiriel chuckles. “Don’t try to say it’s not true.”

“It's not. You are beautiful!”

Suddenly Tiriel flicks his nose. “My eyes are here.”

Astarion realizes he’s been staring at her swollen breasts and small droplets of white liquid on Tiriel’s nipples.

“Stop all this nonsense, Tiriel!'' Astarion takes her leg and stretches it to wash it better. “I like caring about you. I like how you look. And I absolutely love that it's me who did this to you. It all feeds my vampiric possessiveness, after all!”

“And I love that it was you who did this to me,” Astarion feels Tiriel’s fingers on his cheek.

“Now, get out of the water before it gets too cold!” Astarion brings towels. “Is food still out of the question?”

“I want something hot to drink.”

“I will make you herbal tea, then.”

Astarion, after making sure she is dry, carries Tiriel to bed.

He looks outside. What he loves about his house in the underground part of Daggerlake is the big windows. There is no point in hiding from the sun, and Astarion can enjoy going outside whenever he wants. Besides, the biggest part of the town is underground too, and Astarion also doesn’t feel like an outcast.

And his neighbors have seen much worse things than vampires who know the law.

Suddenly Tiriel yelps. He turns to her and notices the night shirt she’s put on is wet.

But wasn’t Tiriel's skin dry when he took her from the bath?

Tiriel hugs her belly and lets out a cry of pain.

“Tiriel…” Astarion rushes to her. No, not today. He still needs time to get ready.

Tiriel grabs his shoulder. “Go to the healer… I am.. Gods…”

The child has decided to be born today. ------ You can read what happens next in Little Bundle of Darkness --

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plutoccult · 2 months

Text

BEAUTIFUL STRANGER

pairing: hwang hyunjin x gender neutral reader

description: a beautiful stranger shakes up your once boring and repetitive morning commute on the train.

word count: 3.4k

also available to read on my ao3 here

author’s note: hello! i’m no stranger to writing, but i’m definitely a stranger when it comes to writing for idols. this is the first time i’ve ever done so, and who better to write for than my ultimate bias hyunjin? stray kids is my favorite group, so i’d like to write more content for them in the future. thank you to my pookie wookie lills (YES, we unironically call each other pookie, it’s our thing) for beta reading, and i hope you enjoy <3

soundtrack: beautiful stranger, enchanted

tags: @solefleurs @heavenfilm @5sos-wdw @todorokiskitten @rylea08 @br3anna-nels0n @hyunjinloverrrr

taglist form here

you always found an array of characters during your morning commute on the paris metro. there’d always be locals, some on their way to work or home just like you. amongst the locals were tourists decked out in overpriced souvenirs specifically curated for suckers like them. at night, there were drunks who thankfully were smart enough not to drive. the reek of alcohol on them wasn’t that amusing, you must admit.

despite the variety of people you could see passing by on your commutes, it grew boring. always the same thing every single day. not even the music playing in your headphones or the book you brought with you that day could make time go faster. it’s not like it would be any better once you got off the train either. your life was incredibly dull and repetitive. if only something could serve as a change of pace.

to think that your life had become boring in a place like paris of all places. it’s the city of love, is it not? even if you were created out of love and born in a city all about that concept, you had none of it. maybe that’s why you felt this way. no matter how many times you pass the same streets or enter the same train station, you had yet to find the one thing everyone seemed to look for so easily here.

you had basically given up at this point, committed to living an empty life where all you did was work, eat, sleep, then repeat. it’s what most people do in other countries anyway, might as well join the party. the second you had fully lost all hope, however, was when you saw the most beautiful stranger on the train. you almost wanted to slap yourself for being so pessimistic before.

you walked onto the train with the expectation of just sitting around until you got to your stop. as you walked to your usual seat, that’s where you found your beautiful stranger, sitting in the seat right across from the one you sat in every single day without fail.

you knew you had never seen him before. you take this train almost every damn day, so who was he? had he just moved here? was he a tourist? where’s the “i love paris” shirt and the eiffel tower keychain made of shitty plastic? instead, he was dressed like someone meant to be on billboards and magazines. surely had the face to fit the bill too. he was undoubtedly breathtaking, and he ultimately captivated you upon first sight.

it was pathetic how you hesitated to sit down. he didn’t seem to waver, looking down at his phone. from the reflection of his sunglasses—yes, you were that curious—he seemed to be swiping through photos. you assumed they were ones he had taken around the city. paris was definitely filled with photo opportunities, so you couldn’t blame him for that one. it’ll look good on anyone’s instagram feed.

you try your best to make yourself look occupied. shuffling through your bag to find a book, the rummaging sounds catch the attention of your beautiful stranger. your eyes meet for a brief moment when you turn your body to lean back in your seat with a book in hand. despite how quick the moment was, you swore your heart dropped the second you caught his gaze.

oh god, was this the excitement you had been waiting for? you couldn’t mistake it as anything else. leave it up to you to fall for a stranger upon first sight, but who cares? finally, finally, your life had begun to be painted in color. even if it was just for a moment, you’d savor this one train ride that actually seemed worthwhile for once in your life.

you steal glances at him every so often, praying he wouldn’t catch you and make you feel embarrassed for staring. you just couldn’t help yourself, he was like a walking renaissance painting. actually, you don’t even think da vinci would be capable of capturing the essence of someone who looked like a real-life prince.

the moment you knew you had reached your stop, you wished you could glue yourself to your seat so you had no choice but to stay on the train with your beautiful stranger a little longer. as much as you wanted to, you simply couldn’t, having no choice but to say goodbye without actually saying a word at all.

it was silly to think a stranger on the train could change your life in an instant. still, you were grateful for the temporary change of pace. if only you could thank him somehow, but alas, you knew you had no chance of seeing him again.

•••

the next day, you found your beautiful stranger again, this time sketching down something in a sketchbook. you caught him looking at everyone who walked onto the train, and when it was finally your turn to step on, he actually smiled once he laid eyes on you. it all felt like you were dreaming. if this was cloud nine, then you had finally reached it.

when you walked over to your seat across from his, you noticed he clutched the sketchbook close to his chest, almost like he didn’t want you to see what he was drawing. you were too shy to speak up and spark a conversation with him anyway, so it wasn’t like you would pry. still, you were curious to know what was on the page.

it pained you knowing you lacked any courage. you found you were better off acting like you were interested in your book, on a random page as you were too in your head to actually start from where you left off and completely ignored the folded page that indicated that. what would happen if you said hello? would he say hi back? ask if you’d like to see what he’s drawing or ask about what you’re reading? the possibilities seemed to be endless, but the possibilities seemed safer as thoughts in your head rather than facing reality if you were to take a chance.

you can’t help but watch intently as his face scrunched from focusing on his sketch, his only tool a wooden pencil. did he plan to color it later? you can imagine trying to avoid rattling colored pencils leaving his possession due to the bumpiness of the train. he was quite brave for trying to draw in a place like this, you thought.

unnoticed by you, your beautiful stranger’s cheeks flushed and ears burned red as he could feel you watching him draw. the subject of his drawing still remained a mystery to you, however. tempting to spark up a conversation, yet so debilitatingly scary at the same time.

it seemed rude to stare for so long, so you put a stop to it immediately and busied yourself with your phone, catching up with texts you had missed since getting up for work. your phone was always blown up with texts from your friends, today being no different. if you didn’t silence your phone at night, you would never get any sleep.

they had been informed about your current saga, and the update would certainly excite them. it was hard to resist a smile as you texted them about the latest scoop, especially as the subject of said scoop was only a few meters away from you. maybe this should wait until later, otherwise they’d trying forcing you out of your comfort zone by talking to who was still a total stranger at the end of the day.

who knows though? for all you know, he could be a murderer. a stinking gorgeous one too. as if you need to be on the evening news. even so, those were just silly thoughts, all just an excuse to stop yourself from taking a chance at something for once in your life out of fear.

the second you reached your stop, you instantly regretted being so silent. would it have killed you to try? it felt like it would’ve, but you figured this morning was the last chance you’d have. if only you weren’t such a scaredy cat.

•••

after your shift, an unexpected reunion occurred on the evening commute. the train was quite crowded at this time of day, majority of the aboard trying to get home after a long day’s work, including you. the surplus of people made it quite difficult to find seating, but luckily for you, your beautiful stranger had a seat occupied by his bag, perfect for you to sit.

this was the extra chance you craved the second you got off the train earlier, cursing yourself throughout the day for not even attempting to just say hello. you were so thankful to see him again, it was almost like the universe blessed you for this very purpose. you were such a wuss this morning, but you refused to allow that reputation to continue now.

once you took a deep breath, you walked to where your beautiful stranger sat, trying to keep your balance as the train moved at rapid speed. in the midst of your struggle, the sound of your footsteps thumping on the ground caught his attention. he looked up in surprise, not expecting to see you, but thrilled nonetheless.

“hi.” you miraculously manage to speak out, your accent making an appearance during your pathetic english. it was agonizing how your heart raced a mile a minute just by uttering one word, so you tried your very best to calm yourself down. “is this seat taken?”

“no, no…” he replied to your question, picking up his bag and moving it to the floor by his feet so you could sit. “here.”

“thank you.” you say before taking the seat next to him.

god, your heart was thumping like the loudest drum ever created. to sit across from his was one thing, but right next to each other, shoulders brushing due to the lack of room? if only you could put a stop to this rapid percussion inside you. at least the sounds of the train rumbling against the tracks could serve as buffer for the unspoken tension between you and your beautiful stranger.

his sketchbook rested unopened on his lap. you recognized it as the one he had earlier, previously held close to his chest as if he were hiding secrets. what could someone as dashing as him be hiding in there, you wonder?

almost as if he were reading your mind, he suddenly opened up the sketchbook, flipping the pages—which revealed beautiful drawings in the split second you saw them—until he landed on a page of a finished sketch, one that you swore looked like you sitting on the train yesterday.

you look up and catch his eye. “is that me?”

“mhm.” he nodded with a soft grin.

his art style was something to be proud of, meant to be showcased in somewhere exquisite like the louvre. could this guy be any more perfect? drop dead gorgeous and talented? to see yourself captured in such a bewitching way was truly the greatest compliment one could ever receive.

the sound of the page ripping away from the binding of the sketchbook startled you. what was he doing? it was so perfect! why mess it all up? you couldn’t help but say something about it.

“what are you—”

“you can have it.” he interrupted you, holding the page in his hands, waiting for you to take it.

“oh…” your cheeks flush as your fingers accidentally grazed over his upon grabbing the sketch. “thank you.”

you almost felt bad holding this in your hands, afraid of ruining it just by the touch of your hand. how could he just let you have this without hesitation? even if this was a drawing of you, it felt like you didn’t deserve to have it.

you examine the drawing down to the details of the clouds behind you. you look for some sort of signature, assuming every artist had one in hopes to find a name. in the bottom corner, you see the name “hyunjin” written in cursive. you had finally put a name to your beautiful stranger.

“hyunjin?” you attempt to pronounce his name. your accent did you no favors, but you tried your best regardless. he furrowed his eyebrows in confusion until you pointed to where his signature was, then receiving a nod confirming that was his name.

“hwang hyunjin.” he said slowly. you repeat his name in full, speaking slower than him to make sure you were saying it correctly as you desperately didn’t want to screw it up. hyunjin, as you’ve now learned, gave you a nod of approval once you’ve won the battle with your accent.

“i’m y/n l/n.” you tell him. it would be awfully rude if he didn’t learn your name, after all. it seemed hyunjin didn’t seem to struggle at all when it came to pronouncing your name. his english was far better than yours, which wasn’t a shock as he seemed to be so insanely perfect in every aspect possible.

“are you an artist?” you ask, making an assumption based on the clues given to you the past two days. if he were anything else, you’d be surprised.

“i sing and dance.” hyunjin replied. you couldn’t believe his perfection could get any greater, but it just did. it would shock you if you learned your once beautiful stranger was a world famous one.

“well, your art is lovely.” you say.

“thank you.” he blushed shyly. to hyunjin, it felt so nice being treated like a normal person, appreciated for his art above all else. while there was no denying you found him to be the most breathtaking person you’d ever seen, there was more beneath the surface, and hyunjin was grateful to be seen for what he loves to do.

“is this your first time in paris?” you question, a chuckle escaping hyunjin’s lips over your pronunciation of your homeland. you were trying to get as much information out of him as possible before you were tortured with reaching your stop and leaving him once more. you had to take this chance while the universe let you have it.

“this is one of my favorite places to visit.” hyunjin said. truth be told, he always loved paris for its scenery and art, but yesterday he found one more reason to love it. is there any other place to love better than a city known all about that?

a visitor’s perspective was certainly different than the perspective of someone who’s lived here their whole life. there were so many reasons to love paris when you didn’t experience the greatest things about it everyday. to you, it was the same old thing. but to hyunjin, it was like a brand new experience each time in the rare event that he visited. but meeting each other allowed the both of you the ability to find something new to appreciate about this city.

“the eiffel tower gets old after a while.” you joke. hyunjin burst into a fit laughter, one more obnoxious than his calm chuckle from before. it infected you instantly, and you craved more of his laugh now that you’ve fully heard it.

hyunjin calmed himself down, letting out a sigh as he leaned his head back with his eyes closed and a grin on his face. he was truly the most beautiful person you had ever seen. “i hope i never get sick of this place.”

“i hope you never do.” you tell him, looking at his face as if he were a sculpture in a museum. “don’t wear it out.”

“i won’t.” he opened his eyes and responded to you, his smile not going away as you gazed into each other’s eyes.

you can’t help but stare at one another, almost like magnets pulling you together. was it normal to feel like this about someone you barely know? even so, it felt like you knew hyunjin before you ever met. such a thought would seem like insanity to someone else, but not to you, at least not in the moment.

your once unwavering stare was unfortunately interrupted by the sudden thrash of the train stopping. you look out the window and recognize it as your stop. if you were crazy enough, you’d stay on the train until they kicked you out, but you weren’t all that brave enough to try your luck. maybe you were better off savoring this moment for what it was; just a moment with a beautiful man who was once a stranger to you.

“ah, that’s my stop.” you say with a frown. hyunjin’s smile from before faded too. it was clear neither of you wanted this to end.

“oh, alright.” he replied. hyunjin watched as you quickly collected your things, not forgetting the drawing he gave you when you first sat next to him. you would cherish it as long as you could, and he could only hope that’s what you’ll do.

“maybe i’ll see you on the stage here someday, yeah?” you force a smile. you were actually sad to see this end, but if you keep a grin on your face, then maybe it’ll hurt a little less.

“yeah…” hyunjin nodded. “i hope you do.”

“bye, hyunjin.” you wave goodbye, hyunjin doing the same.

“thank you for making the train less boring for me.” you get those final words out before following the line of people exiting the train. hyunjin kept his eye on you for as long as he could, even staring out the window as you disappeared into the sea of people. if only he could have went with you.

“bye, y/n.” he said to himself, clutching the sketchbook that once held his masterpiece; a drawing of you, his beautiful stranger.

•••

on the third day, hyunjin was nowhere to be seen. you saw it coming, really. you knew last night was probably your final chance to ever see him again. still, a part of you hoped he’d magically appear on the train when you went to work the next morning.

the thrill you once had was no more. the spark lit aflame in your heart all gone. you weren’t sure if anyone would make you feel the same way hyunjin did. maybe meeting him was a lesson, something to teach you what the city of love was truly about, what you’ve failed at your entire life. at least now you were able to succeed, even if such a success was temporary.

you were thankful that your once black and white world finally had some saturation in it for once. if you were to meet hyunjin once again, no matter what the circumstance may be, the world would be in full bloom. you would look for him in everything you see, down to the bakeries you’ll eat at and sceneries you’d visit, for as long your thoughts echoed his name.

while your routine became repetitive once more, at least you had hyunjin’s image in your brain and his drawing in a picture frame on your shelf. if you were as talented as him, you’d try your hand at drawing him too, but you knew you wouldn’t be able to capture him like your eyes ever did. at least you have the memories.

hyunjin dreaded watching you leave, and he hated it even more when he left for the airport in the morning. he wondered if you thought about where he went, hoping you thought about him like he did now with you. you’d remain ingrained in his mind. whenever hyunjin thought about paris, a place he loved just as much as his hometown, he would think about you too.

he couldn’t explain this sadness inside him to anyone else. hyunjin couldn’t fathom anybody understanding the feeling of love at first sight like he did. a true romantic at heart, maybe you were the only one to be just as foolish as him when it came to romance. after all, you were instantly captivated by one another.

maybe, just maybe, hyunjin could write a song about this and sing it to the thousands of people he performed for like clockwork. but no matter what the days ahead held, hwang hyunjin, your beautiful stranger, was all that he would ever remain, and you would remain as his.

•••

(bonus)

@hynjinnnn: 파리에 있는 동안 기차에서 이 사람의 모습에 반해 그려보기로 결심했습니다. 나는 그들이 그것을 좋아했기를 바랍니다. 언젠가 다시 보고 싶습니다.

i was enthralled by this person on the train while in paris and decided to draw them. i hope they liked it. i'd love to see them again someday.

#stray kids #skz #hyunjin #hwang hyunjin #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #hyunjin x reader #hwang hyunjin x reader #pluto writes 📝

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ofoceansandtombsanew · 7 months

Text

the summer moon was born from the waves to be loved (gojo x reader)

or, you got pregnant and the ghost of university days past finds out five years later.

tags: afab!reader (she/her), mentions of pregnancy, sometimes self-care is writing a fic with a messy premise, unbeta’d i’ll go back and fix things i just want this out of my drafts

AO3 || pt 2

o. ghost

This felt like something out of a bad movie.

One of those “yeah, that’s me. The one looking like she just shit herself because the ghost of Christmas past just showed up” kinds of movies. The ghost of Christmas past whom you haven’t seen in the last five years.

The ghost of Christmas past that your daughter looks at curiously, wondering who put you in such a stupor as she asks sweetly, “who’s he, Mommy?”

The ghost of Christmas past whose face is unreadable as he looks at Itsuki before he settles his gaze on you. “Yeah, [First],” the ghost asks. “Who am I?”

Where did I go wrong?

A rhetorical question.

A lot in life has to go wrong for a man you thought you left in your memories to show up at your doorstep but you can pinpoint the exact moment in time in which you screwed up. It’s all because you sat next to Ieiri Shoko in your mandatory calculus class. If it weren’t for that, none of this would be happening.

No, that isn’t it. Your gaze turns to Itsuki, who looks back at you with familiar light blue eyes and white hair. She may have gotten the Gojou Satoru eye and hair colors, but her hair texture and skin tone both pointed to you. If I sat anywhere else she wouldn’t be here. And even if you knew that sitting next to Shoko meant meeting the world’s most aggravating man you could have fallen for, you feel like you would have taken that path once again.

No, sitting next to Shoko wasn’t where you messed up all those years agoー it was telling her you were pregnant in the first place.

i. spring tide

When you met Gojou Satoru, you considered it a godsend.

Not because his eyes were a rare shade of blue that most would kill to have. Not because he was drop dead gorgeous and the last person you were expecting to see when your classmate Shoko invited you to eat lunch with her and a couple friends.

The reason was a lot more simple thatー he was the first person you’d met in years that had watched and liked Digimon more than Pokemon. I am so glad I sat next to that Shoko girl, you thought in gleeful disbelief as he told you his personal favorites before flipping the question onto you. “I’m basic,” you told him with a laugh. “I’ve been riding the wave of Gatomon love since I was 7.”

Getou Suguru, Satoru’s childhood best friend from what you’d gathered, groaned, “please don’t make him continue with your excitement.”

“Ignore him,” Satoru pushed Suguru’s face away with all the nonchalance in the world. “He thinks Digimon is stupid.”

“It’s a Pokemon bootleg!” Suguru shot back with a sly smile.

In unison, you and Satoru gasped in disbelief and offense. “Boy bye! You can talk all the shit you want about Digimon, I can rest every night at ease knowing if my house were on fire Agumon would be able to say ‘[First], your house is on fire’,” you sneered in jest at the man, Satoru clapping in agreement all the while at your defense. “You don’t get that kind of insurance with Pikachu! ‘Pika pika’ could mean so many things!”

“Where have you been all my life?” Satoru snickered, holding his hand out for a high five you reciprocated with complete enthusiasm.

“Watching Digimon by myself,” you laughed, whipping out your phone. You needed this man’s number stat. “The next time I have a Digimon rewatch, I’m inviting you over. Like, you don’t have the option to refuse, you’ve doomed yourself.”

Satoru’s eyes were gleaming from his lowered shades, “funny, I was about to say the exact same thing to you,” he glanced over at Suguru with a teasing look. “Friendship ended with Suguru, [First] is my new best friend,” the white-haired student declared as he typed his number into your phone.

He labeled himself Digidestined Satoru, sending a text to himself: This is coming from the phone of Digidestined [First]. Your cheeks hurt from how widely you were grinning as you looked at the message. “That better be what you put me in your phone.”

“Definitely, new best friend,” Satoru promised, whipping his own phone around to show your new contact in it. Digidestined [First] it was.

Despite the apparent disownership, Suguru looked amused and unbothered, “okay but see if your ex-best friend takes notes for you if you ever take off from class.” Suddenly your new brother-in-Digimon was singing a different tune, waxing poetic about how Digimon and Pokemon were brothers from different mothers. You rolled your eyes but you’re unmistakably giddy as you watched him talk with his hands.

“There doesn’t need to bad blood between the two,” Satoru ended with a grand bow. “As such, I declare that I can have more than one best friend.”

“How did we even get on the topic of Digimon,” Shoko asked with an amused look on her face, cracking open another beer. “That was so random.”

You grabbed your own beer with a light giggle, you felt rather light compared to how you started this day. “His sunglasses had a Metal Greymon-like pattern and I had to say something about it,” you say after a few sips. “Glad I did because now I have a new brother-in-Digimon.”

Blue eyes held your gaze for a moment and you clacked your cans together in celebration.

That was how your friendship started. Clothed in beer and Digimon. It took about a week before he swept over to your place, seeking out the promise to watch Digimon together. If you can really call what you did watching, you spent more than half of the time talking over the episodes about miscellaneous topics than actually watching Tai and the gang try to get back to the physical world.

He’d known Suguru since he was 5.

(“We got into a fight on the playground. I wanted the swing and he wouldn’t get off. So I kicked him and he threw sand at my face, we’ve been buddies ever since.”

“I have a lot of questions about how y’all went from trying to kill each other to being best friends.”

“Look, don’t question our methods.”)

He was a December Sagittarius, born December 7th.

(”Yeah, I can tell!”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”)

He apparently started eating sweets to stimulate his brain but ended up with a sweet tooth.

(“That is the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard, did you get that shit from Death Note?!”

“.... no.”

“Oh my god, you did!”

“You literally got a tattoo of a butterfly because of a crush you had on Jolyne from Part 6, shut up!”

“Satoru, don’t play these games with me.”)

He sounded eerily similar to Bruno Bucciarati from part 5 of JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure.

(”Arrivederci!”

“Oh my god that’s insane! You do! Say something else!”

“STICKY FINGERS!!!”

“PFFT-”

“See? I could totally get away with saying I voiced him and no one would bat an eyelash.”

“Who else do you sound like?”

“I’ve been told I make a great impression of Kuroo from Haikyuu!!”

He did, by the way.)

And he was currently enrolled as a business major.

(“My old man wouldn’t get off my back about it. You?”

“Marine biology.”

“We have that program here?”)

He had a natural charisma that just drew people in, yourself included. That’s why you think it was so easy being with him, he made it feel like you’d been friends all your life even if reality said otherwise. He made everyone feel like that, that’s why he’d always be surrounded by people.

Still, he’d find a way to make you feel special when his eyes would light up in recognition when he saw you wave across the room at parties.

How he’d jig across the room with those lanky limbs of his to grab you in a hug. “[First], you finally made it! Thanks for coming out of the bat cave you call a room to grace us with your presence!”

It made you feel special that you were friends with the person adored by everyone else. That’s why you could playfully push him off of you and say, “you mean the bat cave you crawl to when you lock yourself out of your room and Suguru isn’t in either?”

“I’m hurt, why are you being mean to me?” Satoru pouted batting his white eyelashes like a distressed damsel. “Don’t you know who you’re being mean to when you’re being an ass? This, this is who you’re being mean to,” he gestured to himself.

"Last week you ate my fries after I specifically said not to touch them because I counted how many I had left, I know exactly who I’m being mean to.”

“How was I supposed to know you’d count them again whenever you decided to eat them?” Your irritation from last week had long since passed though, that was why you could laugh it off with a shake of your head. Satoru was Satoru, it was what you liked most about him even if he could be a pain in the ass.

Suguru’s brown eyes twinkled as you joined the small fray of him, Shoko and Utahime in a corner of the room, “I’m just glad I’m not the only one dealing with him anymore.” Satoru suck his tongue out with a ‘rude’.

“Someone has to do the dirty work,” Shoko replied as she raised a cigarette to her lips. “it might as well be us.”

Utahime smacked the tobacco stick out of her girlfriend’s hands as she said, “I’d rather not be included in the list of people of doing the dirty work.”

“Et tu, [First], et tu?” Satoru asked when you made no effort to come to his defense.

You raised your hands in mock defense, “I have to be a little mean to you sometimes, Satoru,” you told him with a snicker. “It keeps you from getting too big an ego.”

Whether or not that was working was debatable.

The night went on smoothly until your favorite brand of beer had been noticeably picked off from the coolers.

That’s my cue to leave.

“Sorry gang, but my lips don’t touch anything but Don Equis and Asahi,” you said with an air of regality not suited for a party of college students. “Maybe Corona if there’s nothing else. I’m not drinking... whatever this is. So I’m gonna head out, there’s a 24 hour liquor store around here somewhere.”

A chorus of farewells came from your friends minus one. “You coming back?” Satoru looked over at you in earnest.

But you shook your head, “nah, I think I’m done for the night,” you told him truthfully. Your social battery was gone for the rest of the evening and home was the only place you wanted to be. “I’ll catch you guys later though,” you stood up with a stretch.

Satoru stood up with you, “I’ll walk you back to your place then.”

Which was how you ended up sipping beers at the park, laying on soft grass. It wasn’t truly quiet, not with the passing of cars and the occasional passersby but it was quiet enough compared to the welcomed ruckus of the party. “Satoru,” Satoru hummed wordlessly in acknowledgement. “Where do you see yourself in 10 years?”

“Dunno,” Satoru shrugged back pressed against the earth snuggly. “I never really got to think about it.”

He was an only child and as such the only one his parents’ turned their gaze to with pressure of taking over the family business. He confided in you ages ago how he hated it when you started seeing more sides of Satoru than the mischief-loving comedian he presented himself as.

You scooted closer to him to lean over his head, “well I think whatever you end up doing, even if it ends up really pissing off your dad, you’ll be great at it. You’re Satoru, that’s how I know you’ll be fine,” your voice held the tone of a promise. I promise you’ll be fine and you’ll be happy.

Thanks, [First]. You liked to think that was what that look on Satoru’s face meant. “I think you’ll make a great part-time aquarist, full-time whale researcher,” Satoru replied instead.

“You’re damn right I will,” you smiled warmly at him, moving a stray strand of his hair off his forehead. “Be careful I don’t disappear for months, spirited away by the sea folk on my Children of the Sea shit.” You took his sunglasses off, you had no clue how he was able to wear them 24/7. Even stranger was how he was still able to walk so easily at night despite having them on. Apparently the Gojou eye genes were built different; the colors of his eyes certainly were. “I’ll come back to shore occasionally, mysterious as the sea itself.” The sea you got to see every time you looked at his eyes, even if now they were barely visible even with the street lights.

Satoru looked back at you with a small smirk, “even if you got spirited away, I’d just go and bring you right back. Suguru’ll kill me if I try and make him watch Digimon Tamers with me again. You said it first, remember?” His voice was low as he recalled your exact words from your first meeting. “You’ve doomed yourself. There’s no ditching me now, not even at sea.”

“I did say something like that, didn’t I,” you smiled wryly.

He didn’t say anything back, but you could guess that he was likely thinking something along the lines ‘yep, that you did. No take backsies.’ A comfortable silence fell between the two of you, his eyes staring up at yours. It’s then you swore you saw him glance at your lips from where he laid and just when you considered the idea of kissing himー the sprinklers turned on.

Even worse, in your surprise his head clashed into yours as he tried getting up with a start.

Then there was a dash of bullshit on the side when your beers spilled over into the grass.

Great, you thought as Satoru tossed your emptied cans into a nearby trash can after you got out of the line of fire. You shook your arms, droplets of water flying off your soaked sleeves.

You should have taken that as a major sign from the universe that you would be making a mistake of gargantuan proportions if you kissed that man.

Instead, the two of you looked at each other and laughed. “God I hate this park, why do we even come here? Nothing good ever happens when we do,” Satoru said with a shake of his damp hair.

“This is the first time we’ve ever even come here,” you snickered.

“And see what a great start we’re already having with it?”

“Come on,” you tugged him by the wrist. “Let’s just change at my place, you have some clothes somewhere over there.”

A smarter person would have left it at that once you got home and showered, placing your clothes in the wash. It could have been a pleasant end to the evening, the two of you crashing on the couch while watching some dumb movie you never heard of on Netflix.

But the same atmosphere from the park came back with you when he came out of the bathroom at the same time you planned to knock on it to ask if he wanted something warm to drink. “Oh, sorry-” you say when your fist lightly landed on his chest instead of the door. “I was just gonna ask if you wanted tea or something. I bought your favorite brand of honey.”

“Sure, I’d like that,” he answered but you made no move to go to the kitchen and he made no move to ask when you would.

Who kissed who first, you weren’t sure. It didn’t really hit you that you were kissing until Satoru tore his lips from yours with a pant, “hey how drunk are you because I really just wanna make sure-”

“I’m not,” you pulled his lips back onto yours and Satoru hadn’t wasted time in hoisting you up by the legs.

ii. neap tide

When does one stop sleeping with their friend? You suppose it is probably when you realize you have feelings for them.

You didn’t do that.

If it had been anyone else doing this to themselves, you would have told them to cut the cord while the feelings were still manageable.

Or maybe you at least tell the other party how they felt.

You didn’t do that either.

Maybe that was why it was all catching up to you one day when you woke up feeling like crap. The physical manifestation of your stress coming back to bite you in the ass. Right before the trip you were planning on taking with your friends, you started feeling like crap only exacerbated when Satoru was in your presence.

But you still went despite your physically manifested stress because you’re a pushover. Or more specifically, if it involved Satoru, you folded faster than Sunday morning laundry. You had to when he looked at you in concerned disbelief you were trying to drop out of your plans last minute.

“Satoru, it isn’t the end of the world if I stay home. It’s just a week long break.”

“A week long break from your friends? From me? Your best friend?”

You struggled not to laugh, “last week you said I was kicked from that position because I watched one episode of Love is Blind without you.”

Satoru scowled at the memory, “because that’s our show, we started that together, there’s no watching ahead,” he reprimanded you. “And clearly I’ve forgiven you since you’re back in that position because I can’t believe you’re trying to leave me to survive with a couple and Suguru for a week!”

You puckered your lips and shrugged, “if it’s any consolation, Suguru is your boyfriend like 95% of the time.”

“Well right now Suguru is that asshole Kenjaku’s boyfriend and Kenjaku is supposed to be coming and I do not want to fourth wheel that by myself.”

You flicked his nose softly, “so you want me to third party fourth wheel with you so you don’t have to be alone with two couples?”

Satoru grinned and you stopped yourself from rolling your eyes. “Third party fourth wheel with benefits, yes.”

You stared at him for one, two, three seconds before you relented. “Look, I’m only going because I want the sex, not because I’m happily agreeing to fourth wheel with you.”

Satoru whooped regardless in his victory, “works for me!” He chortled as he went back to scrolling on his phone.

Silence fell over you as fiddled with your pointer finger and thumb.

“Hey,” Satoru spared a glance from whatever he was staring at on twitter. “What are we supposed to be?” Blue eyes grew to the size of saucers and you continued, “Classic no strings attached? Or is this supposed to be going somewhere?”

That made him set down his phone, “why,” he licked his lips before grinning, but it looked forced even to your eyes. “Why are you asking me that so randomly?”

You deserved an Oscar for how smoothly you delivered what came from your mouth. “Well what if the receptionist there is hot? I don’t need to make things between us awkward because it turned out we aren’t on the same page,” you thumbed behind you in the direction of the hotel. “‘What the hell, [First]’,” you deepened your voice, puckering your bottom lip as you whined. “‘I thought we had something special and you fucked the receptionist? What if they end up fucking with our reservation now?!’”

“First of all, that is not what I sound like,” Satoru stuck his tongue out at you but his shoulders were relaxed and subtle he tried to be, you could feel the relief rolling off of him in waves. “Second, fucking the receptionist does sound like a terrible idea because what if they do fuck our reservation because things go south? Just find someone at a club like the rest of us. But fucking someone else is a non-issue, get all the ass you want.”

“Well glad to know I have the Gojou Satoru thumb of approval,” you smiled and Satoru grinned in return, giving you a nudge with his elbow and you nudged him back. Underneath the calm, you were a storm of turbulent emotions. You weren’t surprised, your feelings had been confirmed. This wasn’t a Disney movie. You weren’t Tiana and he wasn’t Naveenー you weren’t going to turn this commitment-phobe into something he wasn’t. Yet the pain of the confirmation echoed in your chest. “Well, not when it comes to the receptionist.”

“Because no one fucks someone with the power of their reservation at their fingertips, that’s like,” Satoru searched his mind for the perfect example. “Handing over the poison to a chef and that chef was the person you were planning on poisoning.” So is continuing to sleep with someone who didn’t want the same things as you.

You couldn’t help laughing at your idiocy, relieved that Satoru took it as a humorous dig at his less than perfect metaphor. “I’m still fucking the receptionist if they’re hot.”

“I hope they’re married and old, how about that?”

“I’ve always liked them with a little salt and pepper. I fucked your prematurely whitening headass, didn’t I?”

“First of all, this is all natural-”

You’ve doomed yourself.

iii. red tide

Denial.

Anger.

Bargaining.

Depression.

Acceptance.

Those are the five stages of grief. It was certainly the steps that you experienced when the fact your period was late hit you while you were floating when Utahime gasped about the sea turning red.

Red tide, it was the first you’d ever seen it. But that excitement or concern about the possibility of what that meant completely subsided as you stared at the reddening shoreline when you realized a noticeable absence of red that week.

There was no way you were late for any particular reason. This was one of those flukes, your period always had a tendency to be finicky. It would be early or late at its convenience, never mind you being the one suffering. That’s why it was absolutely ludicrous that you left the beach to buy a pregnancy test.

And if you were the word you refused to think, it was your own damn fault for playing with karma the one time you decide to trust Satoru’s pullout game. Both of you were stupid, very very turned on and stupid and you should have just waited to get a condom.

But in the chance you weren’t pregnant, you swore you were going to remain celibate the rest of your university experience. You’d focus on other things, like journaling consistently like you said you would when you were writing your New Year’s revolutions.

Bargaining means nothing to biology, however, that was what you took as the universe’s answers when you were forced to look at the positive result staring back at you.

A lot of thoughts would run through a person’s head at an unplanned pregnancy resulting from a very ill-advised friends with benefits relationship.

Were you still in depression? Or had you reached acceptance yet? You weren’t entirely sure as you stared out the sparkling sea. Your sight blurring the stars above and the stars below did little reassure you as the possibilities ran through your mind.

What would you tell Satoru?

How would he react?

Would he think this was why you asked him about where your relationship was supposed to be heading?

Would assume the worst of you and accuse you of trying to trap him into a relationship when it was clearly supposed to be no strings attached from the beginning?

You didn’t know which unknown would hurt you more.

I should really decide on whether or not I’ll keep it to begin with before I start with all the scenarios, you inhaled deeply with shudder but you didn’t bother to wipe your tears. The blurriness was your own punishment. If I don’t, I never have to tell him anything. We can just cut this off and he’ll be none the wiser.

It was the most optimal scenario when you were still in college. You were barely handling the fees you currently had to pay for school, a child definitely wouldn’t help with that.

Was it too late to find something unhealthy to use as a coping mechanism?

“Yo,” you could have laughed bitterly. Of course, this is when Satoru shows up now. Right after you’ve isolated yourself away from everyone else on the more populated part of the beach. He was grinning, you could hear it in his voice. “[Fir]- hey are you alright?”

Great.

“Yeah, it’s just, you ever see something so beautiful you want to cry? It’s one of those things,” when he looked unsure, you grinned widely and wiped your tears. You didn’t need him to suspect a damn thing. “Seriously, dude, this was the reason I wanted to go into marine biology as a kid. I saw a picture of it once and decided, I wanna see that too. It’s just a surreal moment for me.”

At your reassurance, Satoru sighed, “geez, don’t freak me out like that.” You snorted as he settled next to you and you couldn’t think of anything humorous to say.

“Pretty cool, right?” The blue of the bioluminescence was reminiscent of his eyes, the thought crossed your mind now that he was in front of you.

Satoru whistled, impressed, “yeah but what is it?” He slapped a foot down on the ground, whistling again at the additional sparkling at the stimulus. “You’re the marine biologist, explain the science to me.”

“Sea sparkle,” you told him with a snort, heart drumming all the while. “I never thought I’d see something like this in my life. Red tides are signs of algal blooms are going to happen. They can be harmful but sometimes, completely harmless. This is the completely harmless kind,” a sparkling wave rolled across your feet as if to prove your point. “Well, technically harmless, there’s some conflicting evidence on whether or not it’s okay to swim in. We shouldn’t touch or swim in it to be safe. It’s just been a childhood dream of mine to do this, so don’t tell my friends in the not-dumb-scientist community. And wash your skin really really well tonight before going to bed.”

A grin blossomed on his face in his usual expression of mischief, “I ain’t no snitch.”

“Good because if you do I’m telling Shoko it was you that ate her leftovers,” you stuck your tongue out petulantly and Satoru kicked a splash at your thigh.

“Anyways,” Satoru drawled, observing the glow of his footsteps in the sand. “How long will it last?”

“It depends, sometimes a week. Sometimes a month,” definitely longer than the two of you and the situationship you’ve maintained thus far. “Once the food source runs out, they’re out. But hopefully they’ll be here the rest of our vacation, it’s pretty cool, right?”

“Yep, pretty damn cool,” he repeated like you hadn’t already asked that question earlier.

Satoru wasn’t yours, nothing was going to change that.

iv. ebb

If I’m not going to tell him, I need to leave.

That was the conclusion you came to after ultimately deciding to keep your child. Gojou Satoru wasn’t yours to keep, that was more than apparent. You wouldn’t force him to stay by means of a pregnancy.

You weren’t the first single mother in existence, you doubted you’d be the last. You’d do everything, without his help. Everything would be figured out in due time, it didn’t matter the run around you would have to take.

It took a week after the trip for you to come to that conclusion, packing your bags so you could head home. You’d transfer to a different school, there was no way you’d be able to keep a pregnancy underwraps on campus. Especially not from your friends.

You tried to distance yourself from your friends slowly, but even an inch was noticeable.

You alright?

What kind of sadists are your professors if you’re this busy?

Just let me know if you need me to come over some kind of distraction. Sorry for coming over earlier unannounced, I shouldn’t have assumed. Just wanted to make sure you were okay.

Those were the texts Satoru sent you the most. If any your friends doubted you, it seemed Satoru doubted you the most despite your reassurance that once you got your workload more manageable you’d be more available. You told him things were fine, maybe he just doubted you because you never told him he couldn’t come over whenever he felt like it. That was how things had been since you became friends.

Your place was his place, his place was yours.

That’s why Shoko had to be at your apartment, arms crossed and looking thoroughly tired.

“What’s been up with you anyway?” Shoko barged into your apartment before you could stop her. “Satoru’s been driving me insane asking me to check on you.” So she said, but you saw the worry on her face even if she tried to hide it. “So what’s going on? He says he’s pretty sure something is going on and you don’t want to tell him. Are you failing a class or something?”

“Nothing,” you told her a little too quickly and the brunette gave you a look that said ‘girl, please’. If your attempt to look as composed as possible wasn’t doing you favors, neither was how messy your room was. “Seriously, Shoko, I’m fine. Satoru’s just being overdramatic. It’s Satoru, you should know this. He went to your clinic once for almost breaking a nail.”

Shoko rolled her eyes at the memory, “yeah but now he’s pestering me to see if you’re actually fine or if you’re just trying to shut him out,” she sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose before the concern peeps out of her face. “He said once in high school Suguru pushed him away and stuff went bad between them for a while. He felt like it was his fault for not trying hard enough to see what was bothering him. The rest of us are being chill about everything but we are worried too, you know. Just considerably less dramatically than others.”

That made your heart twist in both in the best and worst ways.

“It’s...” you took a step back and held yourself. “It’s fine. Tell Satoru he’s just being dramatic.”

“Then why is your suitcase out?” [Color] stared into brown as Shoko’s look told you that she wouldn’t drop it until you came clean to her. “Is it that serious? I won’t force you to talk about it, but I at least want to know how okay you are and it’s something you can manage on your own. That’s all, I promise I won’t say anything to Satoru if you really don’t want him knowing,” she’s the most gentle you’ve ever seen her. Only Utahime is privy to the softest of Shoko’s expressions but you can’t help but appreciate the look of worry she has. But I don’t want you to just up and disappear on us either.”

You opened your mouth, closed it, then opened it again. “I,” you licked your lips and sat down on your couch. “I’m thinking of transferring to another school.”

Shoko peers into your face, “and you’re worried about how we’ll take it?”

You shook your head. “I am worried about that but, I’m more worried about the why I need to leave. My parents will probably freak out too, but I’m going to promise them this isn’t going to stop me from pursuing my education.” Wide as her eyes already were, Shoko’s eyes were practically the size of dinner plates. You cut her off before she could say anything else. “I’m pregnant. I found out on the trip we took.”

...

“It’s Satoru’s,” it wasn’t a question.

Your silence was enough of an answer.

“You’re plan was to transfer schools because you don’t want to tell him you’re pregnant?” Shoko’s eyes were wide and you looked away from her. “[First], you can’t expect me to not tell him about-”

Your eyes snapped back to look at her, “you can’t tell him about this.”

Shoko shook her head, “this isn’t just your kid-”

“I’m the one who’s pregnant, I’m the one who decides what to do with it! It’s none of his business!”

Shoko probably would have slapped you if you weren’t expecting, “it’s his kid too, of course it’s his business!”

“Fine,” you muttered coldly, fixing your friend with a cold stare. “I’ll tell him if you can tell me you genuinely think it’s going to go well. That you can really Gojou Satoru dropping everything to become a father for a kid he never planned on having with someone he never planned on being with. Satoru who can’t commit to a relationship at best or won’t commit at worst,” you remember his genuine fear and subsequent genuine relief. “Hell, that he won’t think I tried babytrapping him because I asked him recently if he saw what we had going anywhere and he clearly didn’t want that.”

Shoko couldn’t say anything.

You shook your head with a humorless huff, “yeah, that’s what I thought too.” You paused to close your eyes and inhale deeply before looking at your friend once more. “I’m not telling him anything. I don’t need his help to raise this baby, I can do this myself.”

Shoko eyes are dark and you knew she was second guessing everything. “[First]-”

“You can’t tell him anything. Not even Suguru, especially not Suguru. He’d tell him right away.” Suguru was your friend, he was a great friend even. But you knew where his loyalties lied. He’d tell Satoru in a heartbeat. “Please,” you pleaded. “I’m asking you as your friend.”

Shoko reached for the pack of cigarettes sticking out of her pocket before dropping her hand to the side. Right, your pregnancy.

You looked at her in desperation, biting your lip. “Please, I’d never ask you this if it wasn’t important. Satoru doesn’t want me,” your eyes stung at the admission even if you accepted that truth ages ago. “Not the way I want him.”

“I,” Shoko released a shaky breath. “I won’t say anything. I promise.”

You dropped out of school without a word to your friends before the month ended.

v. moon

五条・五月。

Gojou Itsuki; you considered writing that on her birth certificate when she was born. Instead, it was your last name Itsuki received.

五, that was the only part of Satoru you would give her, the ‘five’ in Gojou. You promised that little girl you would love her five times as much for his absence.

vi. flow

That all brought you back to now in the present, Gojou Satoru sitting beside you on a park bench while you daughter looked nervously between you both. “Go on then,” you sweep your hand in the direction of the swings. “I’ll be sitting right here, okay? Have some fun with the other kids.”

Yet like moth to a flame, the man with snowy white hair is all your daughter can focus on. “But who is he?”

Satoru opens parts his lips and you beat him to the introductions, “he’s just an old friend of Mama’s, that’s all. Like Aunt Shoko. We haven’t seen each other in a while and we just want to catch up, that’s all. Right?” You shoot Satoru a pleading look.

“That’s right,” Satoru beams. “Maybe I can push you on the swings later.” That makes Itsuki grin back widely. She looks so much like him that there is no denying who she is to him. You know it and so does he.

The smile drops the moment Itsuki is out of an earshot. “You really never planned to tell me about her,” his eyes that normally remind you of crystal clear seas look more akin to frigid chips of ice as he looks at you. “You stop talking to me, you block me on everything out of nowhere and when you dropped out of school, I had no idea where you were-”

“Satoru, you have to understand,” you start, it sounds weak even to you.

Satoru looks at you with a look of pure offense. You can read his mind clearly, “What is there to understand?”

“This was the best outcome for everyone involved. You, me and Itsuki.”

“That isn’t the kind of thing you decide on your own, it takes two to make a child, [First]!”

“We’re not arguing in front of my daughter, Gojou Satoru.”

“No,” the smile that spreads across Satoru’s face is feral. You’ve seen that smile before, one he had whenever he was on the brink of swinging and starting a fight. Never before had that smile been directed at you. “She’s our daughter. My daughter. And I had to find out from Shoko five years after she’s been born that she ever existed in the first place!”

“Like you wanted to be a father anyway,” you hiss, glancing at the growing concern on Itsuki’s face.

“You didn’t even bother asking me what I wanted,” Satoru snaps back. “I would have helped. I want to help.”

“I didn’t want or need your help then and I sure as hell don’t need it now,” you stand up, swinging your wrist away from the large hand that tries to stop you. “You aren’t even her birth certificate,” Satoru flinches like you shot him. “Not your name, not your birthday, not anything. Itsuki’s never even asked about her father,” a lie. It isn’t nearly so frequent as to be considered a problem, but Itsuki did ask about the whereabouts of her father every so often. “It’s just us, Itsuki, I keep telling you that.”

“Do I have another mommy then?”

“No, it’s just us.”

Still, she asks. But Gojou Satoru didn’t need to know about that. “Just go the hell away and leave us alone. I’m not asking for your help, I’ve been doing this alone so far and I plan to keep it that way.”

You take Itsuki home, telling her not to mind the sad-looking man you left on the bench.

“Before you say anything," Shoko starts when she answers the phone. “I know you’re pissed off.”

“No shit,” you all but seethe at your closest friend. Itsuki is asleep and it takes all of your willpower to not turn a firm but loud whisper into shrieks of hysteria. “Shoko, what the-”

“[First], I had to tell him,” Shoko sighs and you can practically smell the nicotine through. “I get it, you were scared back then but Satoru deserved to know he is a father. Itsuki deserves a chance to get to know her father!”

“You don’t get to decide what my kid needs,” you retort immediately. “We have been doing just fine without him in our lives and that’s how I wanted to keep it. Now she keeps asking about the man with the white hair and why he looked so sad and-”

“This isn’t one of those situations where you had a surrogate and did this all on your own, [First]. And he isn’t some random stranger you met some campus party years ago, this is a friend! Why on earth would you tell him that you never put him on the birth certificate.”

“Was. He was a friend,” you correct her. You push back the memories of late night study sessions gone awry by Satoru shoving his phone in your face to show you some video in his recommended list. You ignore the creeping reminders of sharing shit-eating grins, waiting for the moment Suguru learned that you changed his autocorrect for chocolate into something stupid. “We haven’t been friends in years, we’re just old school acquaintances at this point. You know why I never told him about her. And I said it so he would have an out; he doesn’t need to stick around to be her father.”

“And what if she gets tired of you skirting around her questions about him?” Shoko shoots back without giving you a moment to reply that you would handle it if it ever got to the point that it became a problem. “You might be able to skirt around it now but when she gets older she is going to ask and ask and askー and she is going to keep on asking before she does research of her own! There was no way you’d be able to keep this a secret for the rest of her life, what were you planning to do then?!”

“... I was going to figure that out by then.”

“Right and that was going to go by so smoothly and Itsuki wouldn’t feel hurt or betrayed you took away the choice for her to get to know her dad. That could ruin your entire relationship with her.”

“You couldn’t have at least asked?!”

“You never let me! I’m sorry, I’m sorry I betrayed your trust and said things behind your back. I told him to at least let me call and tell you that he knew, but he wanted to meet Itsuki.”

“I just...” your back hit the wall and you slid to the floor, resting your head on your knees. “I don’t know what to do. I didn’t think I would ever see him again.”

There’s silence when Shoko hesitates to reply to your tired voice, “look, I get it. As much as I can try to get it, anyway.” There is only so much that your child-free doctor of a friend can relate to when it comes to your situation. Things worked out perfectly for her when she fucked a friend, Utahime and Shoko’s names were written in the stars. You only admit your envy on lonely nights when thoughts of university days past make a reappearance.

“Satoru is a lot of things. He’s a clown, he’s insufferable and he’s Gojou Satoru that’s enough trouble as it is,” much to your chagrin, you can’t help snorting at her comment. “But he should have a chance to get to know his daughter. You’re a great mom, you’ve been doing great without him. I’ve seen you handle everything, you even went back to school to get your degree. You’ve got the job, everything. I’m not trying to say you need his help, I just want you to be open to the idea of letting him get to know her.”

You think of Itsuki and her questions and the look of hurt that graced Satoru’s face earlier that afternoon. “I don’t want Itsuki to get attached to him only for him to take off,” but a bitter taste fills your mouth at your words. I’m only using Itsuki as an excuse, you can only admit to yourself. The one who doesn’t want to see her father is me.

Fearful you may have been, it was no excuse to keep her away from her father.

“If he does that, I’ll kill him myself. But he wants to be there,” Shoko promises, her voice the softest its been the entire conversation. “He wants to get to know her. She looks just like him.”

She does.

You grab a baby wipe, rolling your eyes in amusement, “Itsuki, you’re getting syrup all over your face, hold still,” gently, you wipe away the sugary mess on her face before it dries and becomes even stickier. Itsuki always leaves the table looking like she’s been off to war. “You definitely don’t get your messy eating habits from me. Let me clean your hands and the fork too.”

Itsuki’s eyes sparkle curiously, “is Daddy a messy eater?”

You look at your daughter, her white hair pulled into pigtails by pastel knockerballs and her blue eyes that sparkle with hope that you’ll have some sort of answer as to the mystery of her secret parent she doesn’t realize she’s already met. “Yeah,” you whisper softly, the ghost of smile on your lips. “He got pretty messy whenever we ate.”

“Really?”

“Yep, and he would always steal the chips out of my bag whenever he thought I wasn’t looking,” you smile knowingly. He isn’t the only one guilty of such a crime. “Kinda like how someone always takes extra bites out of my pudding cups when she thinks I’m not looking.” Itsuki erupts into giggles as you pinch her cheeks now free of syrup. “You really want to meet your papa, don’t you,” you ask almost weakly, resting your hand on the table.

With a nod of excitement, Itsuki answers your question with an unmistakable yes.

“What if Mommy brings Daddy to pick you up from daycare soon? Would you like that?”

Itsuki gasps in disbelief, “Really?!”

Your nerves don’t show as you grin in return, “really.”

The first few rings you wait for Satoru to pick up the phone later in the day are painful.

I should have just asked Shoko to do this, you pace anxiously in the employee parking lot of your job. A childish part of you wishes you had asked your friend seeing as she had already spilled the beans to you. But you remember the more than subtle tone in her voice when she mentioned the other day that Satoru’s number hadn’t changed in all the years you spent out of his life. He’s the father of your child, [First], you scold yourself. Get a grip.

A second later when he picks up the line, you almost hang up in a panic.

“... Hey, [First],” he sounds like he’s grinning but it lacks his usual bravado. “You didn’t change your number.”

“Neither did you,” you reply nervously, fiddling with the fabric of your uniform as the expected awkward silence filled the air. Five years ago, Satoru was one of the easiest people in the world to talk to. Annoying and arrogant at times, most of the times even, but still easy. He spoke his mind clearly; it’s hard reconciling that person with the silence on the other side of the phone. “I shouldn’t have kept Itsuki from you,” you finally begin. “And I shouldn’t have said what I did yesterday, you have a right to be mad at what I did. I’m sorry.”

Satoru’s sigh is slow, “why didn’t you tell me in all these years? If Shoko never said anything, were you really not going to tell me about her at all?”

“Can we not-”

“No, I get to know why you didn’t want to let me know I had a daughter,” Satoru’s voice hardens and you know that running away isn’t an option. Old habits seem to die hard. “You didn’t even tell me you were pregnant.”

“I was scared, okay?” Scared and pathetically in love with someone who didn’t want you back. “I didn’t know how you were going to react... and I didn’t know if you would want to be part of the baby’s life if I decided to keep it. We weren’t even a couple. I freaked out and thought this was best course of action.”

“I would have helped, I would have been there. We were friends, [First],” you can’t tell if he sounds more angry or sad with your younger self’s line of reasoning. “You really thought I would have let you done everything on your own? I would have had your back from day one.”

“.... I’m sorry, I can’t take it back but I’m sorry,” you rest your back against the side of your car. The breeze on your skin doesn’t calm you as much as you’d like.

Satoru sighs again and he’s quiet, contemplative and your heart races wondering what is going through his mind. Would he curse you? Maybe he would take you to court for his parental rights. Instead, Satoru peacefully asks, “what’s she like?”

“Adorable,” your lips quirk slightly at the thought of your child. “I’m pretty sure Shoko’s probably shown you some pictures, so you probably know that already.” Painfully adorable and the entire world knew it, it’s a blessing she isn’t nearly as much of a troublemaker as her father. If she were, you don’t doubt Itsuki would get away with most of her ‘crimes’. “She’s a sweet girl, if she sees a caterpillar on the neighbor’s strawberries, she’ll pick it up and ask if we can take it to the park so it can eat there instead.”

You both share a laugh at that. “She’s smart too, she just sucks things up like a sponge. And she’s popular at daycare, you know,” she gets it from her father, that is easy to admit. Satoru definitely surpasses everyone you know, yourself included, when it comes to attracting people to him. Even when he’s annoying you can’t help but be drawn in. “She’s good at making friends, always looks out for the ones there who have a harder time connecting with people.”

“It’s nice to know she got all her charm and good looks from me,” Satoru chuckles smugly. “It’s a no-brainer the people love her, I expect nothing less from my kid.”

“Oh shut up,” yet you can’t deny his claim. She is Gojou Satoru’s daughter through and through. “She’s a lovable kid; Itsuki was born for it.”

“Was Itsuki the only name in the running?”

“It’s a pretty name, isn’t it? There were others in the running though,” you count down on your fingers the various options you ultimately decided against. “Itsuki stuck out the best.”

“What characters did you use to write her name?”

“The characters for ‘Five’ and ‘Moon’,” you answer softly, remembering the various combinations you could have gone with. Ultimately, there was only one that you could have gone with. “I got the idea from your last name, I... I wanted her to have a part of you with her even if she didn’t know you.”

There’s a pause then a shaky breath. “Gojou Itsuki,” Satoru says finally, sounding a million miles away despite being just on the other line.

“She has my name,” you tell him gently.

“I know,” Satoru replies softly yet there’s a tinge of emotion you can’t quite place. Melancholy? Acceptance? Perhaps a little bit of both. “I just wanted to try it out.”

Silence falls over you both again and you hug yourself despite the sweltering heat of the afternoon. Shoko is right, your secret wasn’t one that was sustainable. “Do you,” your lips suddenly feel too dry and you lick your lips. “Do you want to pick her up from daycare with me today? She wants to meet you, she always has. She even asked about you this morning.”

He does. It shouldn’t surprise you that he does and it doesn’t. Still, your heart pounds when you see him show up at the daycare your daughter spends a large portion of her time at. “Hi,” you greet him nervously.

“Hey,” even though he’s grinning, his smile is a bit off kilter. A sugary pink bag hangs from one his arms. “I uh, didn’t know exactly what sort of things she like but I got her a present. You said she’s really into whale sharks, right? So I got her a plush.”

You don’t have the heart to tell him Itsuki already has five. She’d love his gift anyway. Maybe the one he got her would become her favorite.

“She might adore that more than you,” you joke but you give him a nod a beat later. “But don’t worry about what happened last time. She’ll be happy to see you in a better mood, she was worried about you when we left the park.” Maybe that was the father-daughter bond at work, or maybe it was your child’s empathetic nature.

Maybe both.

You already discussed things with him after he agreed to come meet her properly. He could get to know Itsuki, could even meet the daycare attendants. It would just be a while before you’d be able to trust him with being an emergency contact.

“Hey, Choso,” you wave at the man with pigtails. Intimidating as he looks, his daycare is surprisingly popular due to the low rates. He wanted a place where his youngest brother could grow up happily with his friends. “This,” you start before Choso can question you, gesturing to Satoru. “... This is Itsuki’s father. You’ll uh, probably see him coming around a lot more when I pick her up from now.”

There’s a lengthy pause.

“Nice to meet you,” Choso’s tone says otherwise. If it were possible, Choso’s face would be place right under the definition of judgement. He is definitely deeming Satoru a deadbeat that was finally crawling out from the woodworks.

Satoru ignores it with the air of confidence he didn’t have a few minutes ago outside, “thanks for looking after my kid while [First] was busy. I haven’t been around but I’m hoping to make up for all the lost time.”

You doubt that was meant to be a dig, you still take it as one. “Itsuki’s playing with Yuuji and the rest of their friends right now. You’ll see her at the playground,” he gestures at the infant in his hands. “I have a diaper to change.”

“Don’t worry, I got it,” you wave. “And tell Kechizu that he needs to stop cooking better than me. The other day Itsuki said she liked his lunches more than mine.” That manages to get a snicker out of the man.

“Itsuki!” You call out once you’re on the playground and you see her eyes light up with recognition and a ‘Mommy!’ Even funnier is her little excited jig before she runs over to hug you although she stops as she recognizes the man beside you.

She glances between the two of you and you smile reassuringly. “Why are you getting so shy? Don’t you remember what I promised at breakfast?”

Itsuki’s eyes widen and her jaw drops wordlessly. You suppose she might not have truly been expecting you’d make good on your promise. At least, definitely not so soon.

“Itsuki, this is Satoru, your father,” you tell her gently, smile small. “Although I suppose, you already met him yesterday. It just didn’t go at all the way it was supposed to.” But what was done was done; Itsuki deserved to know her father. You wouldn’t take away that choice because of your own fears anymore.

“Daddy?” Itsuki asks Satoru, voice just above a whisper.

Satoru nods, settling down on one knee to look her in those familiar blue eyes. “That’s right, kiddo,”

“Daddy?!” Itsuki hops in disbelief, looking between the two of you before her eyes settle on yours again. “It’s really Daddy?!” You aren’t sure if Itsuki knows whether she wants to cry or run away in disbelief that this moment is finally happening.

You knelt beside your old friend, “say hi to your father, Itsuki.”

The tears suddenly well in her eyes but despite Satoru’s panicked voice, you can tell they aren’t sad ones as Itsuki throws her arms over Satoru’s shoulders. And if your eyes are warmer than they were a few moments ago, you don’t mind it as you watch you’re daughter hug her father for the first time.

Itsuki adores Satoru, that’s what you learn in the span of a single afternoon. And yes, she does love the whale shark plush he got her more than the other five you already purchased. She cried even harder when he hugged her back, softly promising he wasn’t going anywhere. That he’d always be there and he would come see her as much as she wanted.

She adores how he took her out for ice cream before dinner and how even after dinner, he purchased even more dessert.

He was weak to her with no immunity built up over the past five years.

This was why he couldn’t say no when she pleaded he stayed over to at least watch a movie with her before bedtime. Not that you had any room to talk considering how easily you agreed.

“So she had to get Merlin’d?” Satoru asks incredulously as the credits roll across the screen.

“That is not what was supposed to happen, the beautiful girl is subjective to the one who got cursed!” You tell him, flabbergasted that that was the conclusion he came to. Red Shoes and the Seven Dwarves is far more than a comedy. It’s social commentary! “Not to mention the body positive message it sends with the fact that shoes represent societal standards of beauty along with the objectification and idolization Snow experiences while wearing them which further supported the fact that had she had gone to the F7 as herself they wouldn’t have he-”

“Nope, too late. I like my idea better,” you could strangle this man.

“You’re going to ruin Itsuki’s perception of love,” you shoot Satoru a look of amusement and annoyance. At the very least, you know he enjoyed it.

“Good, I don’t need some snot-nosed brat trying to win over my kid that’s obviously aroace,” Satoru says firmly as he picks up your very much fell-asleep-before-the-movie-ended daughter. It’s almost uncanny how natural it looks to you, like he had been around from the start. He probably should have been. You were the one who took that choice from him and made him an unintentional deadbeat.

“Satoru, she’s five and doesn’t even know what that means yet,” you say instead, Satoru oblivious to the thoughts running around your head. One day you’d tell Itsuki the truth, once she was a little older.

“What? She told me she was aroace when I asked earlier today,” Satoru tells you petulantly, moving away when you try to hold her.

“Only because you told her you’d give her ice cream if she agreed to be,” ice cream she wasn’t even supposed to eat because it would spoil her appetite for dinner in a moment you weren’t supposed to see. “It means you’ll love Daddy forever and think everyone else is gross,” Satoru happily exclaimed, holding a cup of Itsuki’s favorite salted cookie dough ice cream. The five year old happily obliged to his whims.

Maybe Satoru will be right in his hopeful predictions that romance will be the last thing on your daughter’s mind in the future thought. On the other hand, maybe he’d be dead wrong and forced to tolerate whoever she brings home in the future.

“They’re just like you, Dad, but they’re brilliant!” She’ll say, hearts in her eyes.

You almost wanted to manifest the opposite of his wishes, only to see the face Satoru would make. It is far too early to be thinking about such things however.

“I don’t want my kid to date anyone, sue me. So I’m manifesting early,” Satoru pouts as he starts takes her to her room to lay her across her bed.

“You’re so stupid,” you roll your eyes and shake your head in exasperation, but a look of fondness is apparent in your expression.

Maybe you were born to see this moment, the moment you could see that Gojou Satoru is absolutely smitten with his daughter. You can see it in how he presses a kiss to the temple of her forehead as he takes her to his room.

Itsuki was born to be loved, she makes it too easy just by being herself. Suddenly your fears from before felt unfounded. You knew underneath the rejection of Satoru in your life that he would have been there and he would have been more than happy to shoulder the burdens of parenthood even in a platonic way. You stop yourself from wondering what that path might have looked like. You made your choice and this is path you’re on now, there is no other way but forward.

“I’ll have you know,” Satoru points a finger gun at you smugly when he returns, child-free, “my kid thinks I’m the smartest man in the world. So one of you is lying and I know it’s not her.”

“Your kid is biased and spoiled from snacks and gifts,” you retort softly with a grin.

“I don’t hear the voices of the naysayers praying for my downfall, sorry,” you both release a chuckle at your exchange and a comfortable silence falls between you both. “I should probably get going I guess.”

You smile at him politely, “we should do this again sometime, I wanna see what else in our movie collection Itsuki will have you watch next.”

Satoru grins, “it better be the Digimon reboot DVD set I saw in the corner,” he pauses before asking you seriously, “our kid does like Digimon, right?”

“You’ll be happy to know that her favorites are Palmon, Kokomon and Wormmon in that order,” you tell him smugly. How could he think otherwise? Did he forget who you were? “The plushies are just in the toy chest she has at the foot of her bed.”

Your child had to be a fan of Digimon, she had no other choice.

Pt 2 Here

translation:

五月 five moons

五 five (same character in Gojou 五条)

月 moon

#look she's writing #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo x reader #gojou x reader #satoru gojo x reader #baby daddy gojou au #this came to me in a discord conversation and it wouldn't leave my mind so i had to write it because it is messy #this was getting so long it has to be split

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harringtonisms · 2 years

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pairing: steve harrington / eddie munson summary: Five times Amanda Driscoll hears about Mr. Harrington’s wife and the One time she realizes it’s his husband. warnings: some angst in #4 and a slight coming out (to herself) arc, hinted at homophobia (nothing explicit) word count: 7.5k a/n: (10/18/2023): a little after a year from the original post date, i decided to go back and edit it. it's still the same story any rereaders know, but all the little plot holes and issues have been fixed and there's 200 more words to read! thank you for reading <3

(og note): this is based off of this post i made! i will be doing a second part to this that follows eddie's bandmates and meeting steve! i hope you enjoy and any feedback, likes, reblogs, comments, ask, are all appreciated!

Read it on AO3

taglist: @zed-zeppeli @valenschmidt @expectocrucio @rel312 @jonathanbyersbbg @beeing-stuupid @ataztuv @noahzanehethey @ludabug @mavernanche @casualherolightbailiff @purplebellybell @phenomenal-bird @persephone13 @gleefully-macabre @darkqloszed @the-baby-goblin @aryanightshade @jojobeaner @specialagentslut-24 @goodomensgurl

1. Monday, August 21st, 1995

Amanda was not one to be late, especially on the first day of school. Her steps echoed in the empty hallway as she rushed to her first period class. In one hand she held a tardy slip. In the other was a ripped piece of notebook paper detailing her homeroom class in smudged blue ink.

Mr. Harrington

U.S. History

Room 114

Having lived in Hawkins her whole life, she’d been attending the same middle school her older sister and both parents attended. This made her rather familiar with the staff at Hawkins Middle and yet she hadn’t recognized Mr. Harrington’s name. Reaching her classroom, she grabbed the handle and pushed it open.

All the desks were arranged in groups of four and there were four groups. Hanging from the ceiling, were pieces of laminated paper designating each desk group a number. The walls were covered in different iconic historical quotes, maps of the worlds, and black and white photos of people Amanda assumed were important. On her teacher’s desk was a small globe, a pencil cup, and a clay pot full of various origamis. Her teacher was leaning against his desk, in the middle of a speech when he was interrupted by the squeak of the door being opened. All eyes landed on Amanda and she squirmed under her peers' watchful gaze. She walked shyly over to Mr. Harrington and handed him her pass.

“Ah, Amanda! Welcome to U.S. History. Uh, here! Grab a syllabus and there’s a free seat at table two! I’m just telling the class a bit about myself.” He smiled politely at her, and motioned toward table two. At table two, Mary and Lj were sitting on the same side, facing the windows, so Amanda chose the seat across from Lj. She quietly sat her stuff down and paid attention to what her teacher was saying.

“Like I was saying, I was born and raised in Hawkins. I walked these very same halls you did once before! It’s actually where I met my current partner, I just didn’t know it at the time. I started at Ivy Tech college before I transferred to Indiana State Teachers College to get my degree. I lived in Chicago with my spouse for a few years and taught at the local high school, before we moved back this past summer to take care of their dad and here we are! I’m also the coach for the basketball team so information about try-outs will go up soon. Now, enough about me. If you’d take a look at your syllabus…”

Mr. Harrington’s voice faded into ambient noise in the background as she looked around her classroom. He’d met his wife right here in this building, and he didn’t even know it at the time. The person Amanda would marry could be sitting right in front of her and she’d never know until she was finally with them. She glanced around and her eyes landed on Louise-Jane Brooks, or Lj as she was typically called. Amanda immediately looked away, a fierce blush painting her cheeks the same color as her hair. That happened almost every time she looked at Lj. How weird is it that someone she’s known since kindergarten made her so nervous? The sun fitted itself through the blinds behind Amanda and illuminated Lj, like she had her own personal spotlight shining down on her. Brown skin, long braids, deep dark eyes turned to honey, and freckles left over from summer time glittered underneath the light and it stirred up something within Amanda that her mind had trouble reconciling with.

“Any questions?” Mr. Harrington’s voice cut through the Lj related fog in Amanda’s mind and her hand immediately shot up.

“You said you met your wife in middle school. How did you know she was the one?” Amanda forced her eyes to stay on Mr. Harrington despite the strange urge to look back at Lj.

“Well I didn’t know I’d marry them in middle school. I didn’t know that I’d marry them until way after college. We met in middle school. We were desk partners in our science class and they taught me how to make origami out of our homework sheets.” He picked up the little clay pot on his desk and pulled out what looked like a pencil. “They made me this little pencil for my first day teaching here.” He returned the origami pencil and the clay pot back to their spot on his desk and looked back out toward his students. “Are there any other questions?...No? Alright we’re gonna head down to the library and grab your textbooks so line up!”

A symphony of chairs screeching against the ground and whispering voices erupted as the students lined up by the door. Much to the delight of Amanda, Lj ended up in front of her. Lj was wearing a baby pink dress with white polka dots and white flats. Amanda tapped Lj’s shoulder and waited for her to turn. She turned and Amanda had to ignore the warmth in her cheeks as she spoke.

“I like your dress!” Lj’s smile grew in response to Amanda’s compliment.

“Thank you, Amy. It has pockets!” and she stuck her hands into the pockets of the dress to show them to Amanda. Amanda went to say something but the line had started to move so she kept her response to herself.

2. Friday, September 15th, 1995

In the weeks that passed, Amanda found herself looking forward to her first period class more and more. Mr. Harrington made learning about history much more fun than her previous teachers had. Though they had to check out the textbooks in the library provided by the state, Mr. Harrington told them to stack them along the window sill and they sat there everyday, untouched. In class, he told them the real history and explained what actually happened, what the textbooks glossed over or lied about. Instead of reading page after page in their textbooks they got to do fun projects creating poster boards, making dioramas, and even creating their own political cartoons.

Amanda has also been early everyday. She was sitting in her regular seat waiting for class to start, when two boys walked in, talking excitedly about some band she’d never heard of.

“Did you hear about the first Corroded Coffin show last night in Indianapolis? Apparently people were camping outside the venue for 2 nights to try and score tickets! I want to see them on tour so bad!” Mr. Harrington peaked his head up from the paper he was writing on and joined the boys’ conversation.

“You guys like Corroded Coffin? I know those guys, we all went to high school together.” Mr. Harrington said. He looked off to the side, brows furrowed as he thought about something. “Maybe I can ask them to come for career day in October?”

The two boys gasped excitedly and started asking their teachers questions about the band and how he met them. Mary, who sat diagonally across from Amanda, sighed. Amanda watched, Mary, who had her head in her hands, gazing dreamily at Mr. Harrington.

“Isn’t he just so handsome, Amanda?” Mary said, turning to look at her. Amanda wrinkled her nose in response. Sure, Mr. Harrington wasn’t ugly but she couldn’t see what it was about him that made all the girls trip over themselves. No matter if they were in the cafeteria during lunch or in the library for study hall, she was subject to hearing theories of what Mr. Harrington’s wife looked like, and whispers of ‘She’s so lucky’. Amanda didn’t get any of it. Still, she wanted to fit in, so she pretended. He wore the same style glasses that she did, so at least she could compliment him without lying. To herself or her classmates.

“Um, I like his glasses.” She replied. Avoiding Mary’s piercing gaze, she decided pulling her pencil bag out was a smart move.

“I don’t know, Amy,” Lj said, looking up from her book. “I think Miss. Rosario is prettier than Mr. Harrington. She would never come to school with her shirt so wrinkled.” Lj glanced at Mr. Harrington once more before going back to her book. Mary flipped her long, blonde hair over her shoulder, before she raised her hand. Next to her, Amanda’s eyes were glued to Lj. Miss Rosario was pretty. Super pretty. If everyone was talking about that, she’d understand one hundred percent. She forced herself to look away when Mr. Harrington started speaking.

“Yes, Mary?”

“You don’t normally come to school with your shirt so wrinkled. Why today?” She asked. Mr. Harrington looked down at his shirt and inspected the wrinkles and huffed. He was wearing a plain blue and white striped polo, and jeans since it was a friday.

“Thank you…for pointing that out, Mary. For your information, normally my partner irons my shirts every morning while I make breakfast, but they’ll be away for the next month on a work trip, and I was in a rush and forgot to do it.” He walked back around behind his desk and grabbed the hawkins middle hoodie that was hanging on the back of his desk chair and put it on. “There, Now no one can see the wrinkles.” He raised his eyebrows, as if to say ‘is this okay’ and Mary nodded as she giggled

“Why does your wife always iron your shirts? Why don’t you iron your own shirts and she makes breakfast?” Janet asked.

“Well, Janet, if you must know, they like to pick out my clothes, and I’m the only one who can cook so it just works out.” Mr. Harrington replied. A few awws came from the crowd and he waved them away. “Yes, it’s all very sweet and domestic and all that jazz. Now, who can tell me where we left off yesterday.”

3. Tuesday, October 3rd, 1995

“Yo, Mr. H, what’s that thing on your nose?” It was right before class began, and Mr. Harrington had just turned around from writing their new essay prompt on the board. Right in the center of his face was a scratch, from the bridge of his nose to underneath his eye. Amanda was by the door, sharpening her pencil for the lesson.

“Well Good Morning to you too, Gerald. That thing on my nose is a scratch. My partner came home for the weekend and we ended up adopting some kittens last night. Three of them actually, so in the whole mess of transporting 3 kittens back to our home…” He gestured to his face and then shrugged.

“What did you name the kittens?” A voice said from the back.

“Sabbath, Kirk, and Abba.” His lips pursed, as if he was trying to suppress his smile.

“Why those names?” Amanda asked before she could stop herself. She recognized Abba because her older sister was always blasting it through her walkman, but the other two names were unfamiliar. She assumed they probably also had to do with music but she wasn't sure what they were references to.

“Well Sabbath and Kirk are nods to my partners favorite bands. The last cat was named Abba because I occasionally play them and my partner loves to tease me for it. Says I need to be introduced to ‘real music’.” Mr. Harrington had an exasperated look on his face, but you could hear the fondness in his voice as he talked about his partner. He glanced over at his origami pot, which Amanda noted now had a black cat added to it. She spun to walk back to her desk with her newly sharpened pencils when Lj walked into class, beating the bell by a few seconds and immediately caught Amanda’s attention.

“Woah, Amy! You wore your hair down today?” Lj said, and stopped when she saw the redhead by the door. Amanda typically kept her hair in a ponytail and her bangs neatly trimmed just above her eyebrows to keep her curls from falling into her face while she worked. Today though, she had a black and white striped headband settled behind her bangs, the rest of her curly hair falling down to her shoulders. “I really like it like this. You look extra pretty.” Lj offered her a small smile and made her way to her seat. Amanda's hand flew to her hair and her jaw fell open a bit, eyes tracking Lj’s movements as she walked away.

Lj thought she was extra pretty with her hair down. Extra. Like she always thought Amanda was pretty, but with her hair down…she was more, pretty. Additionally pretty. Especially pretty. Her gaze slowly left Lj and landed on Mr. Harrington who was watching her with an expression on his face that she couldn’t quite place. He shook his head in amusement and then pointed to her desk with his chin. It took her feet a few seconds to catch up with her brain and move, but she made it to her seat. As she sat down, Gerald called out to her teacher.

“Wait Mr. H, I’m confused. Why did y’all get 3 kitties in the first place?” Mr. Harrington sighed and ran a hand down his face, wincing when he made contact with the scratch.

“We couldn’t separate the siblings. Or, my partner didn’t want to separate them and…who am I to stop them. So we got three kittens.” His eyes widened like he still couldn’t believe it.

“Will you bring them in so we can meet them?” Kendra asked hopefully. Amanda knew she wanted to be a veterinarian so it made sense that she’d ask. That was the cool thing about going to school with the same kids all her life. She knew so many little things about them and what their aspirations were. Gerald was out of this world smart so he’d decided he would either be a lawyer or a doctor, whichever paid more. Mary wanted to be a famous actress, Janet loved science, and Lj was a writer like no other.

Amanda imagined hanging out with Lj in the future. Lj as a world famous journalist for the New York Times and Amanda working somewhere with numbers. They would both live in New York because Lj would want a friend there and they’ll live in the same apartment to save money and they’ll share a room because what if it’s lonely and she’ll get to wake up to Lj and fall asleep with Lj and grocery shop with Lj and

Amanda sat up straighter in her seat and shook her head as if to shake those thoughts out of her mind. She reminded herself to leave those types of thoughts to when she was alone and tuned back into the ongoing conversation.

“Sorry Kendra, can’t do that. I have a kid in my third and seventh period classes with allergies to fur.”

“What if your wife brings them, and then after this class period, she takes them back home?” Someone else suggested. Mr. Harrington chuckled to himself and dropped his head, letting it hang for a moment.

“That won’t be possible, they’re on a work trip, remember. Maybe I’ll bring a picture in so you all can see.” He offered, looking around to see if that would appease his students.

“But we want to see your wife! You’re always talking about her!” That comment came from Mary. Mr. Harrington laughed again and Amanda wondered what was so funny.

“Ok ok, I see what’s going on here. You’re trying to get me to talk about my personal life so we don’t start those essays today huh? Unluckily for you, I was a student once so I know all your tricks! Come on, let’s get class started.” A few tried to protest, but eventually they grabbed their notebooks and flipped to fresh pages.

As Amanda worked, her hair continued to fall into her face. She resisted the urge to tie it back into its signature ponytail, instead opting to tuck her hair behind her ear constantly. Louise-Jane Brooks thinks Amanda Driscoll is extra pretty with her hair down and Amanda decided it was normal to want another girl to think she’s pretty, so she kept her hair down.

4. Friday, October 13th, 1995

“Mr. Harrington, what was high school like for you?”

That day, the eighth grade class had a field trip to the high school now that their first marking period was nearly over. The class was pretty chatty now that they were back in their classroom waiting for the dismissal bell to ring. They were all standing around Mr. Harrington’s desk, a few sitting on the student desks behind them. They quieted down when they heard the question asked.

“I was pretty popular in high school, was co-captain of the swim team, fought some monsters, skipped prom, then I graduated and met the love of my life.” Mr. Harrington was staring upwards, like he was checking off an imaginary list in his mind. Immediately, a gaggle of questions were shouted out at him. His eyes widened in shock and he put his hands up in surrender. “Woahhh guys, one a time, let me see some hands. McKenzie, what’s your question?”

“I thought you met your wife in middle school?” A few ‘yeah’s came from the group as they recalled what Mr. Harrington told them on the first day of class.

“That is technically right. I did meet them in middle school and we were friends for that science class we shared. Then we drifted apart until after I graduated. We reconnected during the whole fighting monsters thing after high school and ever since then it’s been me and them.”

“What do you mean by fighting monsters?” Another person asked. Mr. Harrington only shrugged. His arms, which were hanging down by his sides, wrapped around his stomach. “Whatever you think it means, Kevin.”

“He’s probably talking about some game or movie,” Someone commented from the back of the group to their friend. Mr. Harrington didn’t acknowledge them, only staring out the window. The kids begin to break off into separate conversation when the bell rings to dismiss for the day.

“Hey Amy,” Lj said, approaching her as the crowd started to disperse and leave Amanda, Lj, and their teacher behind. Mr. Harrington yelled out a ‘See you tomorrow and made good decisions!’ as he sat back behind his desk. The two girls were standing in the aisle between table one and table two, a few feet from the front of Mr. Harrington’s desk. She noticed her teacher start to look for something on his desk.

“I’m surprised you’re still here, normally you're first out the door.” She commented. Amanda smiled at the thought of Lj paying that much attention to her.

“I have Chess Club afterschool today so my mom will get me at four. I don’t have to catch the bus.” Lj hummed in acknowledgement before speaking again.

“So…I just moved to a new house, and I finally finished decorating my room. If it’s okay with your mom, my mom said I could invite people over now.” Lj had a delicate smile on her face as her fingers played with the hem of her t-shirt before being stuffed into the pockets of her jeans.

“Um, yeah of course! I’d love to! How do I tell you if my mom said it’s ok?” Amanda said, smiling so widely she knew her cheeks would ache later.

“Uhhhh,” Lj looked around, before taking a few steps and grabbing a marker out of Mr. Harrington’s pencil cup. Amanda trailed behind her. Lj grabbed Amanda’s arm and wrote down a series of numbers on her forearm. Amanda could see that Mr. Harrington was now fumbling for something within his desk. Lj let her hand fall from Amanda’s forearms to her hand.

“There. That’s my home phone number, just call me when you ask your mom! I hope she says yes. I got this jewelry making kit so we can like, make bracelets and stuff! Bye, Amy! Call me! Even if you can't come over!” Lj squeezed Amanda’s hand before letting go and walking out the classroom.

Amanda was rooted in her spot, the path LJ’s fingers took burned into her skin. Having feelings for Lj had gone from manageable to completely unbearable from that one interaction. How was she supposed to walk around everyday not aching to touch her again? To feel the weight of Lj’s hand in hers and have her small, kind, infectious smile directed at Amanda. Her fingers traced the numbers on her arm as she reimagined her Saturday plans. She was shaken from her daydream when a throat cleared. Her head snapped to the source of the noise, and she met eyes with Mr. Harrington. Realizing he watched that entire interaction, her smile dropped. She knew exactly what he was thinking. It was the same things her parents whispered in the kitchen when they thought she was asleep in the living room.

“That wasn’t what it looked like. I don’t have a crush on Lj.” Mr. Harrington only raised his eyebrows and pursed his lips.

“I…I didn’t say you did.” He replied.

Amanda’s cheeks burned a deep red as she realized he didn’t say that. He didn’t say anything. She assumed she knew what he was thinking and just dug herself into a hole. She looked away embarrassed, feeling the burn of restrained tears behind her eyes. She’d just come to terms herself with what those feelings inside her meant. She wasn’t ready to deal with what it meant to openly like girls. But now she’d have to, Mr. Harrington was going to tell her mom.

“Please don’t tell anyone,” She whispered, looking away when a few tears fell. Mr. Harrington’s eyes widened in shock. He jumped up from his desk, walked around to the front, and kneeled in front of Amanda.

“Hey, hey, hey don't cry. I won’t tell anyone anything you don’t want me to. There’s nothing for me to tell, Amanda. Promise.” He reassured, his hands flailing about in front of him as he spoke. He offered a comforting squeeze on the shoulder before shifting to sit criss-cross in front of his desk, using it to lean on.

Amanda watched Mr. Harrington as he sat on the floor and made himself comfortable. He looked up at Amanda and patted the spot next to him. She sat down with him, legs stretched into the aisle in front of them and her back pressed up against Mr. Harrington’s desk. She took her glasses off and wiped her eyes, and Mr. Harrington pushed his glasses into his hair and began to speak.

“If I may ask, what is it… that I'm not telling?” He asked, voice gentle.

“I don’t think you’d understand.” She said, voice shaky with unshed tears.

“Maybe…maybe not. But you never know unless you tell me. If you want to, of course.” He said as he watched Amanda carefully.

“How do you feel about your wife?” She asked him, finger aimlessly prodding at the linoleum floors.

“My partner is the best gift that I could have ever been given. They’re the most gorgeous person I’ve ever laid my eyes on. The kindest, most compassionate, and genuine person I know. And they’re hilarious, they make me laugh like never before. I used to dread going home, but now that they’re there, I can’t wait to get back to them everyday. Everything leads back to them, and I’m never not thinking about them, or missing them, or loving them. They are the center of my universe and every planet surrounding it.”

The two sat in silence for a moment after. Amanda wondered what it would be like to love a girl so fully. To love a girl so much that her mere presence made the stars shine brighter and air seem crisper. To love a girl, and be free to tell anyone who asked.

“I want,” she started. “I want to be allowed to feel that way about a girl.” Amanda nearly whispered the end of her sentence, the force of hearing her voice admit that out loud for the first time knocked the air out of her.

“You are allowed to feel that way about a girl.” Mr. Harrington said, shifting to face Amanda better. She turned to look at him, red rimmed eyes meeting earnest ones. “My best friend and her wife moved to San Francisco so that they could. They’re much more open minded out there. When I lived in Chicago, you heard about people like us out there way more than you did here in Hawkins.” Amanda’s brows knitted in confusion.

“People like us?” She asked. Mr. Harrington nodded.

“People like us,” He confirmed. Amanda let the weight of both their confessions settle in the air. Other people felt this way. Mr. Harrington did. And so did his best friend and her wife. And the people in San Francisco and in Chicago. She wasn’t the only person who felt. Amanda let her worries be temporarily soothed by the comfort of knowing she wasn’t a freak or a mistake. She wiped her eyes again, put her glasses back on, and pushed herself off the floor. She looked up at the clock which read 3:12. Chess Club started in three minutes.

“I have to go, I don’t want to be late…but thank you, Mr. Harrington.” Amanda said, voice quiet.

“Anytime, Amanda. My door is always open.” And she didn’t doubt that. Not many people in Hawkins knew how she felt, but Mr. Harrington did and that was more than she thought.

5. Monday, October 15th, 1995

When Amanda walked into her homeroom class the following day, the first thing she noticed was the new poster up by the chalkboard. It was a plain beige rectangle with rainbow patterned letters, spelling out “YOU ARE SAFE HERE.” Amanda’s breath caught in her throat. Her eyes immediately searched for Mr. Harrington, but he was busy talking to one of her classmates. She walked to her seat, reveling in the warmth that grew in her chest from how nice it was to be cared for like this.

As Amanda placed her arm on her desk, she felt the delicious bite of the gems on her bracelet sink into the skin of her wrist. She lifted her wrist to inspect the new jewelry she made with Lj. There were pink, orange, and red beads patterned on her bracelet, while Lj’s had a pink, blue, and purple pattern. Both bracelets however, had “LJ&AMY”. Her right hand came up and she ran her fingers over the beads, and smiled fondly as she remembered her weekend with Lj. Memories of bracelet making, pizza, karaoke, and sharing a banana split sundae filled her mind. Amanda looked ahead of her and saw that Lj was already staring at her. She smiled at her and waved shyly. Lj giggled and waved back.

“I like your bracelet,” She said, smiling back at Amanda. Amanda stuck her hand wrist out proudly to show off the bracelet Lj helped her make.

“Why thank you, it’s custom made, one of a kind,” She laughed again, but was interrupted by one of her classmates yelling over the chatter in the classroom.

“How was your weekend, Mr. H,” Gerald asked.

“It was pretty good. I went down to Lovers Lake with my partner and they had a picnic set up. It was very sweet. They even made me a flower crown by hand. We also saw some of our friends from back in the day.” He responded.

“Wow, Mr. H, your wife sounds mad sweet.” Gerald responded, his fingers absentmindedly twirling one of his locs.

“Right,” Kendra piped in from the back corner. “Everytime you say something about her it’s always something so gentle. Like she taught you how to make origami, and she irons your clothes, made you adopt all those cats, now a picnic at Lovers’ Lake and a handmade flower crown? She’s like, the sweetest woman in the world.” Kendra said, recalling all the kind things Mr. Harrington’s partner did for him.

“I wish you guys paid this much attention to what I say when i’m teaching, how did you even remember all of that?” Kendra only shrugs and Mr. Harrington sighs. “Anyways, what about you guys, what did you get up to this weekend?” Immediately Lj’s hand went up and Mr. Harrington called on her. She reached her hand out to Amanda, who immediately clasped her fingers around Lj’s.

“Well Amy came over to my house and we did a bunch of fun stuff like go to the mall and get pizza, but we also made these matching bracelets.” Lj then stuck their conjoined hands in the air so their classmates could see the bracelets, even if it was a bit awkward with all that space between the two girls.

Amanda’s grin grew impossibly bigger and she looked at Mr. Harrington who raised his brows in pleasant surprise.

“That’s very nice girls, my partner and my best friend have a matching pair of purple converse that they decorated together actually. Janet, what about you? How was your weekend?” Mr. Harrington went on, letting his students tell him all about their weekend before they started class. Amanda couldn’t pay much attention to what her classmates were saying though, savoring every second Lj kept her in hand in Amanda’s.

“Don’t you think it’s kind of weird how Mr. Harrington never just says ‘my wife’?” Mary whispered to her tablemates. Amanda froze for a moment, considering Mary’s words. Lj squeezed Amanda’s hand before letting go and picking up her pencil to take notes since Mr. Harrington was now starting the lesson. Amanda didn’t follow her lead. Instead, she ran back every time Mr. Harrington brought up his wife.

“Then I lived in Chicago with my spouse for a few years…”

“...normally my partner irons my shirts every morning…”

“Everything leads back to them, and I’m never not thinking about them, or missing them, or loving them.”

Why didn’t Mr. Harrington just say ‘my wife’ instead of ‘my partner’? Why did he always say ‘they’ instead of ‘she’? Amanda’s mind reminded her of their conversation afterschool on friday.

“When I lived in Chicago, you heard about people like us way more than here in Hawkins.”

People like…us.

Her eyes darted to the new poster hanging up in their class. You are safe here. Her eyes drifted to Mr. Harrington as the realization dawned on her. Why Mr. Harrington was so specific about how he referred to his partner. Why he didn’t have a picture of them on his desk like her other teachers do.

Mr. Harrington…doesn’t have a wife. He has a husband.

+1. Tuesday, October 16th, 1995

It was career fair day so after lunch instead of heading to her algebra class, Amanda met up with Lj in front of the gym to browse all the different jobs that came to present that day. She almost tripped over her feet in excitement once she spotted Lj. She quickened her pace, nearly running over one of the 6th graders. The two girls embraced before linking arms as they walked into the gym together.

They stopped by the doctor table and the accounting table, and ran past the construction table giggling. They visited the journalism table so Lj could talk with the woman there. She had a short, curly bob and a name tag that read “Miss Wheeler”. Amanda looked around and spotted Mr. Harrington toward the back of the fair talking with another man with unruly, curly hair. The long haired man smiled at Mr. Harrington and knocked the educators shoulder with his own.

Amanda told Lj she would be right back and headed in their direction. Upon arriving, Mr. Harrington’s friend stepped away from him and approached Amanda. He was wearing a t-shirt that said “The Devil Was Once an Angel” and ripped black jeans. He had many rings on his fingers and various chains hanging off his belt loops. He had multiple tattoos all along his arms and stuck to the front of his chest was a name tag that read “Mr. Munson”.

Looking at his display, she saw a speaker, quietly playing metal music and a black and red electric guitar on a stand next to it. There were pictures of the long haired man on stage with 3 other guys and a notebook open with what looked like song lyrics. Next to the notebook, there were some tickets for a band called ‘Corroded Coffin’. Amanda racked her memory trying to remember why the name sounded familiar.

“Amanda!” Mr. Harrington greeted. He turned and faced Mr. Munson. “Mr. Munson, this is that student I told you about. Amanda, this is Eddie Munson, lead guitarist, lead vocals, and songwriter for his band.” Mr. Harrington looked at Eddie proudly, and placed a hand on each shoulder, in a weird sort of side hug.

“Thank you for that lovely introduction, Mr. Harrington,” Mr. Munson said, grinning widely. He then turned to Amanda. “What kind of music do you listen to, Red?” He had his hands clasped together, his two pointer fingers pressed against his lips.

“Uhh, I guess I listen to a lot of pop music. My older sister introduced me to someone called Madonna? I mainly listen to my sister's old tapes so whatever she has,” Amanda responded.

Mr. Munson gasped, dramatically clutching his hand to his chest where his heart would be.

“Oh you poor thing! You’re a lost little sheep, just like Stevie here. He only listens to whatever’s on the top 40. AKA, Not. Real. Music.” She giggled and Mr. Munson smiled at her in a way where she knew he was only teasing. Amanda could see Mr. Harrington roll his eyes but smile, as Mr. Munson grabbed the speaker that was on his table. He pulled it closer to the front of the table so she could hear the music playing better. Mr. Munson looked around quickly before whispering to Amanda. “You won’t tell anyone if this song says any bad words will you,” His questioning gaze turned into a devilish grin when Amanda smiled and shook her head. “I knew there was a reason you were his favorite” Her feet tapped in excitement as she glanced quickly to her teacher.

Mr. Munson turns the music up slightly and lets the heavy bass and electric guitar fill the air around them.

“That is my band's latest single, ‘Trials’. It’s about some stuff that your teacher and I went through back in high school.” He said.

“You guys knew each other in high school?” Amanda asked, bewildered. How did her polo-wearing, mr. popular, not a hair out of place history teacher become friends with a man so completely different from him?

“Well we knew of each other in high school, we were friends in middle school for a little while. We reconnected around this time of my senior year. 1986, can you believe that was 10 years ago, Stevie?” Where had she heard that before? Where did she know this man from? She can’t recall ever seeing him before, so why do his words sound so familiar? Amanda pushed those questions out of her head, and instead decided to ask him questions about his work since that is what he was there for.

“Do all the inspirations for your songs come from your life? How do you not run out of things to write about?” Amanda asked.

“What a wonderful question, Red. I do get a lot of inspiration from my real life. Take this weekend for example, Me and Mr. Harrington—or Mr.Harrington and I, Miss O’Donnell would kill me if she heard me say that.” Mr. Munson said that last part to Mr. Harrington before he turned back to Amanda. “Like I was saying, Stevie and I went out to the lake and afterwards we got to meet up with some of our old friends. I got some inspiration from that experience to write about reminiscing on good times. The song that just played for you right now, is also about the past but it’s about how the past changes us today. So while I may use the same base for songs,...”

Amanda started to lose focus as Mr. Munson explained his songwriting process. Mr. Harrington also said he was at Lovers’ Lake with his partner and that he met up with old friends this weekend. She understood them hanging out as old friends, they knew each other since middle school apparently. But how could Mr. Munson have been at Lovers’ Lake too?

Amanda looks at Mr. Harrington, opening her mouth to ask a question when she stops herself. Mr. Harrington. That’s who she’s heard this from before. She looked back at the tickets on the table. “Corroded Coffin” She realizes that’s the band he was talking about that one day. She runs her entire conversation with Mr. Munson back in her mind matching it to the things she heard Mr. Harrington say in class.

‘’The last cat was named Abba because I occasionally play them and my partner loves to tease me for it. Says I need to be introduced to ‘real music’”

“You’re a lost little sheep, just like Stevie here. He only listens to whatever’s on the top 40. AKA, Not. Real. Music.”

“We reconnected during the whole fighting monsters thing after high school.”

“We reconnected around this time of my senior year.”

“Stevie and I went out to the lake and afterwards we got to meet up with some of our old friends.”

“I went down to Lovers Lake with my partner…We also saw some of our friends from back in the day.”

Amanda looked away from the table, looking between both Mr. Munson and Mr. Harrington. Mr. Harrington was watching Mr. Munson as he explained something Amanda wasn't paying much attention to with rapt fascination. His eyes were soft and his smile was adoring. His arms were crossed casually across his chest and he leaned slightly toward Mr. Munson, like the musician had a magnetic pull on him.

Like Mr. Munson was the center of his universe.

Amanda gasped loudly, effectively cutting off Mr. Munson’s spiel and drawing attention from a few of the neighboring tables. They all turned away when Amanda’s face broke into a wide grin, assuming her gasp was from excitement. Both Mr. Harrington and Mr. Munson were staring at Amanda with confusion on their faces.

“Are you…okay, Red?” Mr. Munson asked as he stepped backwards to inspect Amanda, consequently getting into Mr. Harrington’s personal space. Her history teacher didn’t budge when there were only a mere few inches separating them. She peeked around them, searching for Lj and finding her talking to Gerald in front of the lawyers table. She turned back to the two men in front of her and kept her voice low when she spoke.

“Mr. Harrington doesn’t have a wife,” She paused for dramatic effect, something she learned from Mary, and let the two men share a glance before looking back to her. “He has a husband.” She clapped her hands, excited by her discovery. It all made sense now. Realization washed over both Mr. Harrington and Mr. Munson. They looked at each other, Mr. Munson pursing his lips to suppress a smile and Mr. Harrington with both hands on his hips and an exasperated look on his face.

“How did you piece that together from my presentation?” Mr. Munson asked, head tilted in amusement.

“It wasn’t your presentation, it was the stuff you said before you started talking about the music. Mr. Harrington talks about you all the time in class. The stuff you said right now matched up to what Mr. Harrington said before and all the signs, the poster, ‘People like us...It just clicked right now. What all that meant.” Amanda said, hands waving wildly in front of her. They froze mid-air when another realization washed over her. Her eyebrows knit up in confusion as she looked Mr. Munson over once more.

“You…with the tattoos, and the rings, and the chains, and the all black clothes…adopted three kittens? And you iron Mr. Harrington’s clothes every morning? And planned a picnic out on Lovers’ Lake? You taught Mr. Munson to make little origamis? Made him a flower crown? That was you? But you look so…” Amanda paused looking for the words. Mr. Munson glanced over his shoulder at Mr. Harrington with the widest grin she’d ever seen. “You look so, not the type.”

“I told you all those years ago, Stevie. Forced conformity. It’s killing the kids.” He turned back to Amanda. “It’s 1995 Little Red, people are so much more than their stereotypes.”

Amanda stared at Mr. Munson, soaking in all the new information, when another question popped in her mind.

“Wait. If you’re both boys, how did you get married?” She kept her voice low, so the other tables wouldn’t over hear her. Mr. Munson crouched down to Amanda’s level.

“Well, to the government, marriage is a piece of paper saying ‘This is who I chose!’. And tax benefits. We didn't need a piece of paper and a big fancy party, though we did have one, to say that we chose each other for life. I love him. And the government doesn’t get to tell me if that’s okay or not, it is okay.” Mr. Munson then looked up at Mr. Harrington from his spot on the floor. They shared a look, one that said a million more words than they’d be allowed in such a public place.

Amanda looked away from them, the connection between the two becoming almost suffocating. It was so surreal to be standing in front of two people who understood what she was going through. They went through it already and came out the other end. They were living breathing proof that it’s not always this hard, and it’s not always this confusing. That one day you’ll be able to wake up every morning next to the love of your life, no matter their gender. You’ll get to visit your favorite spots from your childhood as you grow old together. That we get a fancy wedding and the promise to be together forever too. They were proof that our fate isn’t subject to becoming a forgotten name in the newspaper for a case the police won’t try to solve. People like us, get to have our happily ever after, and Amanda was looking right at one. She couldn’t quite put into words what that meant to her.

On top of that, Mr. Munson wasn’t anything like she’d expected. Besides the fact that she was expecting a woman up until yesterday, he wasn’t anything like she expected for someone who presented themself like he did. He was kind and gentle while being loud and dramatic. He picked flowers for his husband with the same hands he used to shred electric guitar. He was unapologetically himself, even if that confused some people. Amanda looked forward to the day she could say the same about herself.

Mr. Harrington offered Mr. Munson a hand, and helped him off the floor when Lj approached the table.

“There you are Amy, I was wondering where you went,” Lj immediately reached for Amanda’s hand and interlocked their fingers, like she couldn't go another second without touching Amanda. Mr. Munson offered a small, knowing smile. “Are you done here? I heard the veterinary table is giving out cookies shaped like dinosaurs!”

Amanda looked away from Lj and back up at Mr. Munson and Mr. Harrington.

“After the promotion ceremony, and we’re officially high schoolers…am I still allowed to come back and say hi?” Amanda asked. Sure, it was only October but Mr. Harrington had already changed her life in such an irrevocable way. When she gets her first girlfriend or when she moves away to find people who are like her, it’ll be because Mr. Harrington was the first person who told her that it was okay and that she wasn’t alone.

“Of course, Amanda. Come back anytime! I’d love to hear about how high school goes for you. Even beyond that!” Mr. Harrington said. They shared a smile, and she let Lj pull her away.

“So you talk about me in class all the time, huh?” Mr. Munson teased as Amanda walked away.

“Go back on tour,” was her teacher's reply.

—

I don't know if i really have the words to explain what this fic means to me and how cathartic it was to write. Thank you for reading <3

#steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #stranger things #stranger things fic #steve harrington fic #eddie munson fic #steddie fic #steve/eddie #steve x eddie #steddie stranger things #st #plu #100 #1k #oc #ducky writes

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