#i know you're snooty BUT COME ON | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

star-sim · 1 month

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shhh! ☆ jayhoon

☆ non-idol! jay x fem! reader, non-idol sunghoon x fem! reader ☆ summary: your secret relationship with him (& how you get caught!) ☆ genre: fluff, bullet points ☆ warning(s)? noooo

jay ☆

okay... hear me out

school au, where you and jay are the class co-presidents

and i'm not talkin goody two shoes dutiful co-presidents

IM SAYING TYRANNICAL CO-PRESIDENTS

you and jay were the class co-presidents, but you two were also the biggest most arrogant ASSHOLES

like somehow you guys have been put into office 3 years in a row

and even though people lowk hate you both, theyre more scared of ygs than anything

yk how in some animanga there's that corrupt student council trope... thats you and jay

threatening people, bribery, blackmailing, using lackeys....... nothing crazy but yall are NOT clean goody two shoes

im just saying... yall have SO MUCH power and influence

everyone is like legitimately afraid of ygs

on the outside you and jay seem to have an exclusively business relationship

to everyone, you're two power-hungry assholes who use each other to achieve their goals

at council meetings you and jay talk very cordially and formally, everytime you're seen together, you guys always whisper to each other briefly, before putting on your painfully fake smiles again and barely ever speaking to each other again

but behind closed doors....

yall are DATING dating

who knew that you, the condescending bitchy co-president, and jay, the most arrogant bastard of a co-president, were ALL FLUFF FOR EACH OTHER???

you and jay do such a good job of concealing your relationship that there's rumors that you and him actually secretly hate each other

heck, there's even a rumor that you'll stab him in the back later this term

after council meetings, you and jay stay back to "discuss private matters"

yall know damn well that's not what's happening

the moment that your snooty class treasurer shuts the door and leaves the two of you alone, jay's already pushing you against the wall

imagine.... makeout sessions in empty classrooms, and coming out with messed up uniform, swollen lips, and suspiciously timed breathlessness

jay would LOVE it if you grabbed onto his uniform tie and yanked him toward you, he gets the butterflies big time

whenever you pull jay aside to whisper something into his ear, everyone assumes that you're telling him about some confidential or urgent student council matter

nope!! 90% of the time it's you whispering "you look so handsome" "i love you" "let's go on a date later" "i want to kiss you so bad" good lord

and the best part??? whenever you do this, both you and jay keep the straightest, most solemn faces, even though jay is 100% screaming and giggling and kicking his feet inside

and let's be fr right now.... you guys DEFINITELY hold hands under the table

like there will be a meeting about whatever and you and jay are just playing with each other's hands under the table

i think you've almost been caught multiple times but no one necessarily suspects that there's something between you two

everyone genuinely thinks that yall are just some cold-hearted power freaks, too cold to love anyone LOL

the amount of times that you guys accidentally left the door unlocked and someone barged in....

to be clear just bc you and jay are head over heels in love with each other does NOT mean that you guys still aren't crazy assholes

sometimes you guys purposefully don't lock the door and play something that jay likes to call "kissing roulette"

basically, you and jay leave the door unlocked and make out on a busy day when there's a lot of people still roaming the halls, whoever pulls away first out of fear of being caught loses!

you always end up winning lol

i also think that some people are just stupid because there are actually SO many signs of you and him having something

like tell me why jay is out here pulling you close up against him, hands around your waist and all, to whisper something in your ear and the first thing that people think is "oh i think they hate each other"

now..... how ygs get caught: i think you and jay decided to keep your relationship private for the sake of preserving it, like ppl talk too much and they wanna get in the way or wtv

like business must go forward even if you and jay were on top of each other mere seconds ago

like i have emphasized earlier, you and jay were lowk tyrannical

you don't know how it happened but someone in the council leaked one of the being discussed

you and jay didn't really think it was that serious but apparently everyone else was

like.... some of your classmates got HEATED LMAOAO

anyways so you and jay are just having another one of your... ahem... after school sessions

and lets just say that this particular session was errr very passionate... you missed your boyfriend okay?

it was hard to act like jay pracitcally didn't exist when all you wanted to do was kiss him every second of the day

so here you were, between jay's legs with him pressed up against some bookshelf of an empty classroom

his shirt's collar is messed up, probably with lipstick stains all over it

you have his tie scrunched up in your fist, while his hands find the hem of your uniform skirt (😋)

completely unbeknownst to you there's a whole group of students in your year marching around school lookign for you two

apparently to "give the presidents a piece of their mind"

you and jay are LITERALLY about to go a step further (🤭) when the door FLIES OPEN

AND OH MY GOD

THERE'S JUST SO MANY OF THEM

like particular session you SWORE YOU LOCKED THE DOOR

like that little group of kids were about to start yelling at you to "reconsider your decisions" but they were rendered SPEECHLESS

GAGGED EVEN

because like..... THE TWO CO-PRESIDENTS WHO SUPPOSEDLY SEE EACH OTHER AS MERE TOOLS WERE........ MAKING OUT IN AN EMPTY CLASSROOM??????

you and jay are just standing there, still against each other against the bookshelf dissheveled and all, like 😧😧

"s-sorry!" it seems like the sight of you two getting all intimate scared the shit out of those little protestors BECAUSE THEY JUST RAN AWAY AFTER THAT

the next day you and jay are the talk of the school

jay is getting pats on his back from dudes who he literally does not know

"AYYYY YOU BAGGED THE HOT PRESIDENT!!!"

and hes like "? do i know you"

and suddenly all the girls are sitting you down with cups of tea to ask you about the story of you and jay

"please girl we want to know all the tea"

???? weren't they just gossiping about you yesterday

it seemed like everyone was weirdly supportive??

like over night everyone seemed to like you guys a little bit more??

somehow yall become the it couple

i dont think jay and you immediately get more affectionate

but jay definitely takes advantage of this

and randomly kisses you throughout the day

sunghoon ☆

you and sunghoon work in the same department, under the same supervisor, in the same office, at the same table, with the same tasks, with the same pay and same skills

yet only one of you is deemed the company's #1 loser and the other the company's sweetheart

guess who ☠️

well sunghoon is definitely NOT the company sweetheart

ding ding ding! if you guessed that he's the loser you are correct

sunghoon's quiet, and gets his job done efficiently with little trouble

he doesn't mean to make people uneasy with how quiet he is

but sunghoon genuinely does not like anyone enough to be talkative, nor does he want to try to make any friends

emo ass

on the other hand you're the company's joy

everyone wants to hang out with you after work

you're the first person invited to work parties, even when it's from different departments, every guy in that office has had a crush on you at some point

you know damn well the interns are obsessed with you

absolutely NO ONE would expect the residential hot girl to be going home with THE biggest loser every night

but alas look where we are

you and sunghoon were dating waaay before either of you got a job here

you guys decided to keep your relationship secret to avoid any HR complaints or snoopy people

and it was a bit of a struggle

do you have any idea how hard it was for sunghoon to watch every man try to shoot his shot with you and NOT start screaming?

sunghoon really tried to not let his personal life interfere with his professional life

but JINWOO FROM THE SALES DEPARTMENT WAS LITERALLY ASKING YOU OUT RIGHT IN FRONT OF HIM

and it was hard for you, too

having people swarm you for after-work plans was a mess

each time, you said that you were going to stay late to finish some extra work, and if you had time you'd join them

you never did

all of your work friends tried to set you up on dates with their own friends

"cmon it will be fun! get out a little!"

and every time you had to politely tell them that you were not looking for a relationship for the time being (only for you and sunghoon to pass silly love notes at the water cooler)

oh sorry did you not hear that?

YOU AND SUNGHOON PASS SILLY LOVE NOTES AT THE WATER COOLER!!!!!

it’s always the most random ripped pieces of paper with the silliest love notes

like you will rip up a spare legal document nd write “if u were a fruit you’d be a fineapple”

sunghoon tho is the type up a whole document and print it out, it’s filled top to bottom in silliness and he hands it to you like it’s an official important document 😭

every morning he makes you coffee and brings it to your desk

lers be real ppl suspect things

NOT ON YOUR PART BUT ON YOUR BEHALF

like everyone thinks that sunghoon is this loser that’s in love with you ☠️

i mean cmon… weird quiet guy that talks to no one but makes coffee every morning for that One Hot Girl???

the workplace gossips have a field day w it

in their eyes, it’s really pathetic because sunghoon is this weirdo and ur this hot woman and he’s in love with you oh my gosh this is so embarrassing for him 😭🙏🙏

they keep telling you stuff too

“omg did you see the way sunghoon looked at you?”

“he’s so weird, it’s so obvious that he liked you”

"this is so embarrassing [name] you need to reject him before he gets too eager" FREE HIM

little do they know that when you and sunghoon stay a little bit later than everyone else sometimes, the office becomes really empty

kissing in empty offices… thats it, that’s the tweet

otherwise there's a lot of other small things that you do with/for each other

when no one's around in the break room, you love to creep up on him and give him a back hug

it scares the shit out of him but the moment that he realizes that it's you he melts right away

idk how ppl didn't notice yet

one time your washing machine malfunctioned so both you and sunghoon's white dress shirts were dyed a subtle pink color

you came into work both wearing your dyed shirts and no one stopped to think "hm why do these people both have washing machine malfunctions that malfunctioned in the exact same way?"

tbh you and sunghoon are just vibing

other than sunghoon needing to conceal his wrath every time someone flirted with you and you having to hide your increasing irritation with the amount of party invitations you got

can i just say tho

being coworkers w sunghoon is a dream

imagine what happens when yall get home tho

i know the gossip goes CRAZY… you both hate your boss so every conversation you have about him rips him a new one

now... how you guys get caught

two words: work dinners

you and sunghoon never go to them

because like... why would you want to hang out with your coworkers when you have each other?

and when you do go to them, you never really have fun

other than eating and chatting a bit you never drink or really open up…. again, because you have sunghoon... why do u need anyone else

same for sunghoon, except he literally never looks like he wants to be there so people are already reluctant to invite him

but there's this one particular work dinner that you and sunghoon are both unable to get out of

it's been a long and tiring week, both of you want to go home and take a nap together but your team had other plans

sunghoon is annoyed, yes, but hes like whatever at least there's you with him

you? youre LIVID

youre barging into that work dinner with a storm cloud around you

you have to deal with coworkers who lack boundaries every day of the week and the one time you can escape them they march back in

youre not having it 😭

you ordered like 3 beers because you were so annoyed

and also bc sunghoon was there... if anything happened you knew that he would protect you

so here you were 3 beers down…. a liiiiittle bit tipsy

okay maybe a little bit MORE than tipsy… como se dice... drunk?

when jinwoo from the sales department comes up to you

sunghoon is sitting RIGHT next to you but jinwoo ignores him

"hi [name]"

you stare at him... thousand yard stare ahhh because your drunk ass does not have it in you to endure him ☠️

"what."

jinwoo DOES NOT TAKE THE HINT

"after this, i was thinking about going for karaoke. do you want to go with me?"

normally you'd be polite and decline

even if you were a little bit tipsy you'd normally just laugh and say no

but this time

with you boyfriend right next to you, with all your tiredness, with all your anger...

"fuck no," you say plainly

the way everyone gets quiet ☠️ ppl don't hear you swear that much

but the real thing that surprises them is when you pull sunghoon towards you, hugging his head to your chest

“i have a boyfriend and you’re shamelessly flirting with me”

while sunghoon is like “!!!!!”

everyone is staring liek WHAT???????

jinwoo from sales department is GAGGED BRUH

sunghoon immediately pulls away, all red in the faced

he grabs your hand and begins dragging you out the door

"sorry everyone she's drunk right now we'll be on our way!!" and yall leave

you don't remember anything so when sunghoon explains it to you, looking like a kicked dog, youre just like "okay and? whats the problem i put jinwoo in his place" #girlboss

you're the talk of the office

this still doesn't scare off your multiple suitors

but it does allow sunghoon is be a #hater fr

he's smug

#enhypen #enhypen fluff #enhypen x reader #enhypen imagines #enhypen fic #jay #jay enhypen #jay enhypen fluff #jay enhypen fic #park jongseong #park jongseong fluff #sunghoon #sunghoon fluff #sunghoon x reader #sunghoon fic #enhypen sunghoon #sunghoon imagines #star-sim #vanya-writes

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cupid-styles · 4 months

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new year's stranger

in which harry and y/n only see each other on new year's and he tries to convince her it's fate.

word count: 5.5k

content warnings: cheating (not on y/n or harry), drinking, drug use

masterlist | talk to me

. . .

New Year's Eve, 2020

Y/N hates New Year's.

If it were up to her, she'd sleep right through it, but Alice would never let her do that. It's why she's at this party to begin with. The owner of the house is a friend of Alice's who Y/N has never met, and isn't expecting to be introduced to tonight. The second they walked in, it was pure chaos, and it set off blaring alarms of anxiety throughout her entire body. She'd lost Alice somewhere around 10:30, but she was grateful that despite having a less than fun time, time still ticked steadily to midnight.

The sooner 2021 arrives, the sooner she can leave.

Harry, on the other hand, doesn't mind New Year's, but he hates this party.

Gemma forced him out with her and her boyfriend after finding out his planned accompaniment for the evening was a bottle of red wine and his favorite Elton John records. She said she hated to see him having a hard time with the breakup (that made Harry want to throw up on the spot) and demanded that he at least try to have a nice time tonight.

However, she failed to loop him in on the details of this party, which was apparently a proper rager that had him feeling like he was 17 again, but only in the worst ways.

He wasn't snooty by any means, but if one more drunk person comes up to him and asks if he's the Harry Styles, Gemma and her boyfriend can try to find an Uber home.

(He would actually never do that, knowing it would be impossible to locate one that wasn't three times the normal price given the holiday, but he can't help imagining cozying up in his bed, clutching one of his ex-girlfriend's tee-shirts, soaking it with tears, and falling asleep.)

It's why he's taken to sitting outside in this stranger's backyard, enjoying their wooden patio set. He doesn't typically smoke but he's chain smoking cigarettes tonight; he asked to bum one off of some guy inside, and he gave him the entire pack because he's — you guessed it — that lad from One Direction! So now it's sitting prettily next to a half-gone bottle of Cabernet, and Harry really, truly thinks this may be the worst New Year's he's had in a very long time.

He's grateful no one's discovered his little hiding spot yet, but perhaps he's spoken too soon as he takes a draw from the lit cigarette in his right hand. His shoulders tense when he hears the patio door slide open, desperately hoping Gemma found him and wants to go home.

"Oh, fuck, I'm sorry." The voice says, making Harry crane his neck slightly to see its owner. He can't really tell if he recognizes them, but it's clearly a female figure dressed in a black mini skirt, tights, and an oversized vintage sweater. "I didn't know anyone was out here, sorry."

"'s fine," Harry mutters, stubbing his cigarette out in the grass and toeing it out with his slip-on Vans, "It's all yours."

He goes to stand up, reaching over to grab the neck of the bottle of wine, when he accidentally bumps into the small table and knocks it over. He curses loudly as he watches the deep red hue stain the concrete floor, the puddle growing larger with each passing second.

"That's unfortunate." she points out and he scoffs. If he wasn't in such a piss poor mood, he may have contemplated cleaning it up, but he's decided that he doesn't like the owners of the house, especially because of their tiny little patio table.

"I think the hosts of this party are dicks, so I wouldn't worry about wiping that up," she says, almost as if she's reading his mind, "Sorry if you're friends with them."

"I'm not." Harry says curtly, leaning down to at least pick up the shattered pieces of glass.

"That's good. They're letting people do blow and ketamine off their dining room table. I think breakfast tomorrow will be interesting."

He snorts as he gathers broken chunks. He thinks that she's left him alone when he doesn't hear her ramble on anymore, but she returns a moment or two later with a garbage bag. She gets down on her knees and nudges the opening in his direction, wordlessly encouraging him to drop the pieces in it.

"Thanks." he mumbles through a sigh.

"Sure," she nods, "Having a bad night?"

"Yeah. Don't really feel like talking about it, to be honest."

Harry knows better than to discuss personal matters with strangers at parties (he learned that lesson years ago), regardless of how down he's feeling. She shuts up after that and continues helping him clean up the shards, tying off the bag when all that's left is a dark purple mess.

"I'll toss it." he says, stretching his arm out to take the garbage bag. She nods and gives it to him. "Thank you for helping."

He hopes she takes the hint as he ambles through the darkness of this unfamiliar backyard, attempting to locate the garbage bins. Eventually, he finds one (he knew they were shitty people, they don't even have a separate one for recycling!), and breathes a sigh of relief when he turns and sees that she's gone. He was starting to worry that she would ask for a picture or an autograph.

He sits back in his original seat and pulls his phone from his pants pocket, scrolling through drunken New Year's texts from people he barely knows. Really, he's only looking for two names (Gemma looking for him, or his ex-girlfriend magically deciding she needs to be with him going into the new year), but neither appear. He grumbles and reaches over to grab the pack of cigarettes, jumping in surprise when he realizes the girl is standing there with another bottle of wine.

He clutches his chest dramatically, "Were you trying to scare me or something?"

"Oh! No, I'm sorry, you just looked busy so I was waiting," she replies, placing the unopened bottle on the table. "Here. Um, is it okay if I sit out here? We don't have to talk. I know you said you don't want to."

His night can't get much worse, so why not split some wine that suspiciously appeared with a stranger that refuses to leave him alone?

"Sure." he mutters.

As promised, it's silent for awhile. She doesn't say anything but he notices her pick at her tights, then her nails, clearly antsy from the lack of discussion. The steady thumping from the music inside is the only relief.

He doesn't know if it's been five or 10 or maybe even 15 minutes, but finally, he breaks. He holds in a sigh as he turns his head to look at her.

"Are you having a bad night, too?"

She shrugs. "Kind of. I just don't really like New Year's."

He nods in understanding, "It is a bit overhyped."

"I lost my friend awhile ago," she adds, biting her lip. "I feel like I'll end up just going home a little after midnight."

"Yeah, my sister and her boyfriend dragged me here but I haven't seen them in hours."

She chuckles humorlessly. "Maybe I'll just try to get a cab now."

Harry glances at the time on his phone screen. It's 11:04 and he knows it would be stupid to do the thing he's thinking about, but he can't help it — maybe it's the strange connection he's feeling to his fellow sad stranger, or maybe he just really wants to go home and needs a good excuse. The words are leaving his mouth before he even truly contemplates it.

"That's crazy, you'll never be able to get an Uber at this time. If you don't live too far, I can give you a ride."

Y/N is quick to bat him off, easily rejecting his offer. "Thank you, but you don't have to do that. I'm sure you have tons of plans tonight."

A wrinkle forms between Harry's brows. "No, actually. This was it. And if I'm being honest, I'm dying to get out of here, too."

He watches as she contemplates it, gnawing on her bottom lip and wringing her hands in her lap like a child. Finally, he speaks up.

"I'm leaving with or without you, so really, it's your choice."

Her eyes glance over to him and she quickly nods, gathering her purse to her side. "Okay, yeah. I'll take the ride, please."

"Sure," he says with a nod, rising from his seat. "Do you live far from here?"

She gives him her address, surprised to find out that she only lives a few streets over from his own apartment. He sends off a text to Gemma, claiming that he ran into someone and needed to take them home (it wasn't a complete lie, even if he knows he was being pushy about leaving), and they silently walk in the dark, one in front of the other, quiet footsteps sounding against the stone pathway of the backyard. Eventually, they approach his sleek black Range Rover, Harry mumbling out a "this is me" and unlocking the doors so she can get in the passenger's seat.

"Thank you again for this," she says as he cranks the heat up. He had noticed that her teeth were chattering on the short walk back to his car.

"'s fine."

Harry doesn't play music or say anything else on the short drive to her place. Exhaustion is hitting hard and he's ready to go home and curl up in a sad ball. When he pulls up to her apartment, she's already clicking her seatbelt off and pulling her keys out of her bag. He wonders if he was being that standoffish, to the point where she's all but jumping out of his moving car.

"Well, happy New Year." she murmurs with a small smile, glimpsing over at his tight expression. He nods curtly, hands gripping the steering wheel.

"Happy New Year." he returns tersely.

"I hope 2021 is better for you," she says, her tone almost so genuine it makes his heart thump wildly in his chest, but just for a moment. "I'm sorry you had a shitty night."

He swallows harshly, willing away the lump of tears forming in his throat just from a stranger's kindness.

"Same to you."

She pauses, as if she wants to say more, but instead pushes the door open and gets out. With one last smile, she waves goodbye to Harry.

He waits to make sure she gets in safely before driving away.

. . .

New Year's Eve, 2021

"I'm not going out to a karaoke bar on New Year's Eve."

Y/N rolls her eyes at Mike, her boyfriend of six months. She had told him weeks ago that this was the plan for the night — her friends wanted to have a fun time out, and after last year's disaster of an evening, she was more than willing to put some cash in to rent out a room at a karaoke bar in downtown LA. But of course, a mere hour before they were due to all meet up for dinner, Mike was trying to bail.

"You agreed to this forever ago," Y/N replies with a sigh, lowering her eye shadow brush. She swivels in her seat to face him with a slight pout. "It'll be fun, I promise."

"What's so fun about people singing shitty cover songs all night?" he sneers, crossing his arms over his chest childishly. "I think it would be better if I just went to Reese's place tonight. He's having a party, you should go there instead, too."

"I already put money down and told my friends I was doing this with them, Mike."

He scoffs. "But I'm your boyfriend."

"And they're my friends."

"So you're seriously gonna ditch me, then?" he asks snidely, a pang of guilt firing through Y/N's chest.

"I mean, maybe I can meet up with you later? I can try to come to Reese's after dinner or something."

He rolls his eyes, making him look like an angsty teenager.

"Whatever. Don't bother, I'll just see you tomorrow or something."

Mike doesn't even send her off with a kiss or wish her a happy New Year before he's out the door. Y/N sighs, resisting the urge to bury her head in her hands and mess up the makeup she's applied to her face. Mike was great at the beginning — she thought she'd really gotten lucky with him, but around two months ago, he started acting like everything she asked him to do was a chore. From date nights to attending family dinners at her parents' place, he always made her feel dumb for requesting his presence.

She tries to ignore the anxiety brewing in her stomach when she meets her friends for dinner. They all ask where he is, and when she has to say that he would rather go play video games with his friends all night, they're quick to jump on what an awful boyfriend he is. She knows that — she really, truly knows that, and she doesn't know why she hasn't ended things yet.

When they get to the karaoke bar around 10 pm, Y/N's already tired, even if she's attempting to press on and make the most of her night. She giggles as she watches her friends scream the lyrics to songs by Queen and Fleetwood Mac, and she's particularly impressed by Nina's cover of "good 4 u" by Olivia Rodrigo, which she of course dedicates to Y/N.

With a few shots and two mystery cocktails under her belt, Y/N's actually having a good time. She excuses herself 10 minutes before midnight to go to the bathroom, not wanting to miss out on any of the excitement when the clock strikes 12.

Only, when she's walking down the long hallway, her eyes on the floor as she navigates her slightly drunken steps, she bumps into a figure. A hard figure, wearing a fuzzy cardigan.

And when she glances up, it's the last person she expects to see.

"Holy shit!" the curly haired brunette exclaims, pupils wide and breath smelling of tequila. It's clear that he's just as messed up as she is, if not a little bit more. "You're that girl from last year!"

She immediately giggles, the warmth of the alcohol in her system dismissing any embarrassment she may have felt otherwise.

"From that shitty house party, right?" she asks, thinking back to 2020.

"Yes!" he shouts, slamming his palm against his forehead. "You helped me clean up that wine!"

"And you drove me home." she laughs.

"Oh my god, this is crazy," he declares, making Y/N laugh even harder, "Sorry, I'm kinda fucked, but this is still exciting."

"Why? We were both having awful nights last year and I could tell you wanted nothing more than to kick me out of your car."

"What are you talking about? You were the nicest person I met at that party," he replies with a slight wrinkle between his brows, "Plus, you were the best part, since you got me out of it."

Y/N snorts. A few people attempt to brush past them in the hallway and they both move to the side, leaning their shoulders against the wall.

"I'm glad I could be of service," she says with a smirk. "What are you doing here tonight? Are you having a better New Year's?"

"I mean, I'm definitely higher and drunker this year," he cracks and it makes her roll her eyes playfully, "How about you? Feeling good?"

She allows the question to ping pong around in circumference of her brain. She was feeling good, but only because of alcohol, her friends, and the absence of her boyfriend. Taking a beat, she looks up at the green-eyed male before her, her breath catching in her throat when she realizes he's somehow gotten closer, likely because of all the traffic in the hallway. She swallows, her throat suddenly feeling dry.

"I'm feeling good," she finally answers, wringing her hands together in front of her.

"That doesn't really sound like a confident answer." he teases, crossing his arms over his chest. Her eyes flutter down to the tee-shirt he wears underneath the striped cardigan, the word sex scrawled simply across his chest.

"I had a fight with my boyfriend before I came here," she admits, though she doesn't quite know why, "He knew about these plans for weeks and he just bailed to go play video games with his friends. I'm kind of pissed about it."

He hums and she notices that his jaw clenches slightly when he presses his lips into a line. She's not sure if it's from the drugs or something else, but she quickly glances back up at his eyes.

"Sounds like a dick move." he says decidedly. Y/N shrugs.

"He's kind of a dick, to be honest."

That makes him bark out a laugh, shaking his head as his lips form into a half-hearted smile.

"What do you need to turn your night around, then?" he asks, patting his pockets as he looks for something, "I have some more coke on me if you need to get inappropriately high. I'm also not against buying you shots at the bar, but given my inebriated state, I unfortunately can't be your Uber driver tonight."

"Do you always speak like a scholar when you're fucked?" Y/N mocks with a smirk.

"Maybe," he grins, "So what can I get you, New Year's stranger?"

It hits her then that they've never exchanged names. Not officially, at least. Y/N of course knew who he was — his name and face had spent the better part of 2020 being plastered across tabloids, and she recognized him back to his One Direction days — but it felt weird to just assume as much.

Likewise, Harry wasn't above asking Gemma if she was familiar with the girl he'd met a year ago today. He hoped she may have some connection to her, given the fact that her silly little ramblings stuck around in his brain far longer than he would've anticipated. After Gemma asked around, he learned her name, but never did anything with it, instead opting for a year of distracted hookups and flings.

And even without acknowledging the fact that they each know the other's names, they're somehow more comfortable with being a New Year's stranger.

"Can I bum a cigarette off you?" Y/N asks, remembering back to last year when he was chain smoking, somewhat pathetically, on the back porch.

"Haven't smoked for a year," he replies cheekily, "But I can ask a friend for one if you want."

She shakes her head. "I just need some air, really. Would you wanna take a breather with me?"

Harry nods and follows her out, eager to speak with her away from the crowded, loud interior of the bar. He can't help but check her out from behind, lips pressing together as he drinks in her thin slip dress, black tights, and platform heels. She looks cute. Similar to last year, just a tad more mature. It fits her, he thinks.

When they get outside, Y/N's ears are ringing, but her warm skin is enthralled by LA's sad excuse for winter weather. She instantly feels less clammy, leaning back against the brick exterior of the building and allowing it to cool her. Harry follows her lead, his mind spinning slightly as he continues to take her in.

"How've you been?" he finally asks, desperate to break the silence. She peeks an eye open and glances at him in her peripheral.

"Fine. Work's busy. Friends are good. Boyfriend's... there," she answers in short sentences, like she's checking things off. "You?"

"Just about the same, minus the boyfriend. Single as can be, actually."

Y/N hums. "Any shitty exes this year?"

"Not any official ones," he says, his nose wrinkling as he mentally runs through the year's rolodex of flings. "Can I ask why you're still with this guy if he's such a dick?"

She lets out a humorless laugh before shrugging her shoulders, a look of disarray twisting her features.

"Your guess is as good as mine, stranger."

Harry turns to look at her, pressing his side into the cold brick building. "You don't have to torture yourself with him. If you're unhappy, you have every right to stand up for yourself and leave him behind. Life's too short."

"I know," she says, her eyes fluttering shut again, "I know."

"You deserve to be happy."

She smiles, but there's no happiness behind it.

"You don't know me."

"You think it's a total coincidence we ended up meeting again, exactly one year later to the near hour?" Harry asks, halving the distance between them with a single stride, "This feels like fate."

"This feels like we're both fucked up on New Year's Eve."

"Sure. But alcohol and drugs didn't get us here."

Y/N sighs. When she opens her eyes, he's right in front of her, so close she can see the lengthy wisps of his eyelashes. She swallows tightly, unsure of her next move or his intention. If she really cared about Mike, she would leave Harry here. If she didn't feel the mutual attraction to the man in front of her, she would go back to her friends. If she didn't wonder if he was onto something with this fate thing, she would forget this whole thing ever happened.

But she doesn't care about Mike, and she's attracted to Harry, and he's making her believe in fate.

"It's almost midnight, stranger," Harry breathes, and Y/N glances behind him to see people beginning the countdown from 10. "What do you wanna do about it?"

She knows what he's implying.

She's not drunk enough to view this as a mistake, but she's sober enough to want it.

"Tell me what you want."

"Kiss me," she exhales, her hands shaking at her sides, "Kiss me, please."

There's cheering and yelling and whooping from everyone around them. Cars are honking their horns, fireworks are going off in the distance, people are screaming happy new year. And with all the stimulation surrounding them, all she can focus on is Harry's lips on hers, wet and sloppy and still somehow so perfect. She kisses him back eagerly, teeth clashing annoyingly, hands exploring hips and backs and sides as they lick into each other's mouths, heavy and hot with lust.

She doesn't know how long they've been at it, clawing at one another on a public sidewalk in downtown LA. But she knows that eventually, someone stops to breathe and she takes it as an opportunity to step back. Harry's eyes flicker open, confusion and sadness radiating through the jade green, and she gives him a sorrowed smile in response.

"See you around, stranger."

She's gone before he can stop her.

. . .

New Year's Eve, 2022

"You're fucking joking, right?"

Maybe if Harry had glanced up from his phone two seconds earlier, he could've turned around and avoided this happening. But he's stupid, and he was too busy flipping through his mom's annual Christmas post on Instagram when he hears her voice, and he knows he's in for it.

So he's not entirely surprised when the interaction ends as quickly as it began, just with a tequila soda staining his sweater from her angry drink throwing.

If he's being honest, he gets it. After last New Year's Eve, when they so intelligently decided to eat each other's faces in the middle of LA, gossip blogs and tabloids alike blew up. He felt awful — there were pictures of it everywhere and his fans were desperate to find out who she was. It wasn't a shock to him when they found her social media, job, and, worst of all, the fact that she was in a relationship with someone.

Harry wanted to send flowers, bake her a million apology pies, and grovel on his knees to express how gross he felt about the situation. But instead, he figured it was better for him to stay away. He could only assume that continuing to bother her would make the situation worse, especially considering how cruel the internet could be.

Instead, it just seems like a sad, sick joke that they ended up at the same New Year's Eve dinner party.

When he agreed to come, he was completely unaware that his friend Lea was dating Alice, one of Y/N's oldest friends. They just moved in together a month back and decided to throw a small get together to ring in 2023.

He wishes someone would've warned him that she would be here.

A year ago, he was in a different place. He was in deep with doing drugs and drinking to cope with stress after a busy year of nonstop work. He knows it wasn't an excuse for what he did, and while it took both of them to form that situation, his world was far more complicated than hers. Had it been any other person, it would've been a one-off hookup on New Year's Eve.

With a sigh, his heeled boots carry him to Lea and Alice's kitchen, where he's eager to dry off some of the liquid that's sopping through the material of his sweater. Luckily, it's empty, the rest of the party meandering around the dining and living rooms as they wait for dinner to be served. He mentally curses Sarah and Mitch, who were supposed to accompany him tonight, but bailed last minute because their baby was being fussy.

A shit excuse, if you ask him.

He's forced to rejoin the party when Alice announces it's time to eat. Harry's thankful to be friends with such excellent chefs, who have prepared an array of vegetarian, vegan, and meat dishes for every food restriction imaginable. When he sits down at his place setting, he's admiring the salad in front of him when he feels someone towering over him.

"Alice, can I change my seat?"

Of fucking course.

He looks up to see her standing there, pinching her own name plate between her fingers with a less-than-satisfied expression painted on her features. His eyes follow her target, the brunette with a shag haircut holding Lea's hand, who sends a glare back her way.

"No. Just sit down, Y/N."

Silently, she does, though her actions seem far more petulant and childish than her lack of response. She doesn't exchange any words or throw any more drinks at Harry as she serves herself, though she also doesn't offer to pass any of the plates he's clearly reaching for, either. With a sigh, he allows her to avoid him, all the way through the toast when she refuses to clink her glass with his.

The table settles in a baseline chatter, the sounds of multiple conversations filling Harry's ears as he scoops forkfuls of quinoa and asparagus into his mouth.

"Can you stop chewing so loud?" she hisses at him, just loud enough for only him to hear.

"Can you stop being so rude?" Harry fires back lowly, wiping his mouth with the cloth napkin, "I'm sorry for last year and I apologize for anything that came of it, but it's not fair for you to only blame me."

"My job fired me," she sneers and Harry's eyebrows shoot up, "And what did you get? More album sales?"

"No— no, I didn’t get anything from it, but— I’m so sorry, I had no idea—“

She rolls her eyes, suddenly standing from the table and pushing her chair in. Her heels clack against the wood floor as she steps away from the dining room and in the direction of the outdoor balcony. Immediately, Harry follows her lead, feeling Lea and Alice's eyes on him.

Her back is to him, the doors shut, but he can tell she's exhaling smoke from the cigarette wedged between her fingers. Carefully, he twists the doorknob open and gently closes it behind him, his stomach gurgling with nerves.

"I'm very, very sorry that your job fired you. I didn't know. I wish I did more. I thought about you constantly — I wanted to apologize but I didn't, and that's no fault but my own." he pauses to swallow but she doesn't look at him once. "It's not an explanation, but I was really drunk and high. Last year was... messy. And I should've known better, but I didn't."

She hums, as if in contemplation, as she takes another draw from her cigarette.

"You just... you took so much from me without even knowing it. I know it was both of us, but..."

"I know," Harry says, taking a step closer to her. "I can't express to you how awful I feel."

She shrugs. "It's fine, it's in the past. I just wanted… an apology, or closure or something. I didn’t know you wanted to offer that.” she takes a shaky breath. “I got a new job."

He resists the urge to say that's good, because in actuality, it isn't, and he's the reason why it happened to begin with. Instead, he bites his tongue, pinching his bottom lip between his fingers as she turns to face him.

"Are you still not smoking?"

He smiles gently. "Yes. No drugs either, this year. Maybe by the time we run into each other in 2023, I'll be totally sober."

"You don't seem like the type. Feel like every time I see you, you have a glass of wine or tequila in your hand."

He chuckles.

"To be fair, you've only seen me on New Year's Eve."

"Mm," she nods, stubbing her cigarette out with the heel of her boot, "Isn't that weird? All these years of being my New Year's stranger."

The nickname sets fire to his chest. 12 months later and he forgot that's what they'd started calling one another last year.

"It is weird," he nods, agreeing, "Almost seems like fate."

"Oh, we're not going down that road again," she snorts with a roll of her eyes, and it makes his own eyes crinkle in amusement. "If it was fate, we would've run into each other more. I think we just have mutual friends."

"That might be true. We only live 15 minutes away from one another."

She raises her eyebrows, "Really?"

"Have you moved since 2020?"

She shakes her head.

"Then yes. You live on Maple, I'm on Bleeker."

"That's three blocks over," she says, clearly bemused, "How did we seriously never see each other otherwise?"

Harry shrugs. "I mean, I guess I'm out of the city, like, 9 months of the year."

A silence blankets over them as she presses her elbows against the cool banister on the balcony, looking out to the city. Harry glances at the watch on his wrist. It's a few minutes past 10, just a few hours before the year ends.

"I'm sorry for throwing a drink at you."

"It's okay. I deserved it."

Silence again. And then: "Would you ever want not be my stranger?"

Y/N tilts her head and looks at him with confused eyes.

"I mean," he pauses in an attempt to get his words together through his slightly buzzed brain, "Would you wanna know me outside of New Year's? Start fresh, maybe."

A gentle smile worms its way onto her face. It gives him a glimmer of hope.

"Remember what you said about fate?"

He nods.

"Find me any other day of the year," she says softly, stretching her arm out to pat his hand lightly, "If you do, it's fate."

. . .

2023

Harry's having the most chaotic morning ever.

He slept through his alarm (something that rarely ever happens), got to his pilates class late, and completely forgot he has three early afternoon meetings with his record label. From the gym, he rushed over to the grocery store because he recently got home from tour and there's absolutely no food, and he has about 20 more minutes before his stomach starts growling embarrassingly loud.

He's all but pushing old ladies out of the way with his cart, grabbing boxes of granola bars and bins of fresh fruit with no agenda in mind. Glancing down at his watch, he sees his first meeting begins in a half an hour, which means he'll definitely have to take it in the car over Bluetooth, considering traffic makes it near impossible to get places within a reasonable amount of time.

He's huffy, tired, hungry, and sweaty as he waits in line to check out. He's wearing his sunglasses inside like a douchebag, but he can't be bothered to take them off. He's also trying to be better about not distracting himself with his phone when he's in public places, so he decides to people watch and take stock of those around him: An elderly couple who are struggling to use self check-out, a woman who looks like she may be on one of the housewives shows on TV, and a girl that looks suspiciously similar to his New Year's stranger.

Only, when she turns her head, thanking the cashier with her bag of groceries in her hand as she walks out of the store, it hits him like a massive bag of bricks: It is his New Year's stranger.

Suddenly, nothing else in the world matters — not his cart full of snacks, his meetings, his empty stomach. He's jogging, damn near running to catch up to her, brushing past the morning rush of the supermarket as he tries to grab her attention. It isn't until they're out in the parking lot when he finally does it. Perhaps one of the more embarrassing things he's chosen to do in broad daylight, but he doesn't care, because it's her, and he's not letting her get away this time.

"Hey! Stranger!" he shouts, cupping his hands around his mouth to carry his voice against the parking lot.

Almost immediately, she turns around, her eyes wide as she looks to see who the greeting came from.

And maybe it's just wishful thinking, but Harry doesn't think he's ever seen someone grin so beautifully when her eyes finally meet his.

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dante-mightdie · 5 months

Note

Happy to fill your inbox with pup!141 requests!! <3 <3

Favorite pup gaz is absolutely a thing, Soap may show it humping prices foot practically in tears but gaz 100% is begging in his owners ear to pretty please just touch him he'll be such a good boy!!

Alpha dog Simon drools when he sleeps and talk to the wall other wise.

Soap is down horrendously for getting to herd around his pack, he may not be the leader by a long shot, but when they entertain him, even just for a minute is tail is wagging a mile a minute to be doing his job like a good pup

Simon always gets the first turn with you on your heat when price isn't around, leaving you drooling from the thick knot he give, whispering how he'll give you the best pups and make you nice and round with em (at LEAST three is a must <3)

Soap takes a similar approach, telling you he'd be such a good take to his pups if you just please let them take, please he'd do anything with those puppy eyes stares and low whines

Gaz is quieter about wanting to get you round with his litter, but it shows in the way he always takes you last and leaves his softend cock deep in you for the night, praying his seed I'll take

Price doesn't care what his whiny pack of mutts get up too, when he does however walk in on you all stuffed with cum in a sleepy pile, he makes soap and gaz clean you out from the inside with their butting tongues, Johnny still licks at the capt's balls when he finally gets his turn with the silly worn out reader :((

Maybe if Simons good, price I'll let him lick at his cock while he does paperwork, just a pretty pup under his desk with no thoughts other than his owners cock (does Simon have tongue piercing that makes for the most devilish feelings, I like to think yes)

Fighting dog Simon who while always willing to bow for price, can leash around the rest of you pups with know trouble even a feisty soap who acts like he's on too much caffeine, pinning him down until he finally stops wriggling

Gaz like a cat sometimes will lick at you fur until you have cowlicks going in every direction and then laugh at you untill you tattle to Simon, he's just being so mean to you :((

I gotta know did poor baby gaz get his ears and tail cropped coming from some snooty family, or does he have natural ears/tail, gotta know to get a background on the pretty street dog price found,

-Anyways much love

Sins (⁠´⁠ε⁠｀⁠ ⁠)

more more more more bark bark

content warning: talks of tail and ear cropping, minor smut, hybrids

I did think about giving simon the cropped ears and tail but there is something about gaz being a guard dog for some snobby family who tossed him away on the streets :( poor baby gaz who whined and yowled all night after waking up from the surgery :(

soap is a very friendly pup, always wagging his tail at strangers and yanking at his leash when he sees a new potential friend! only time he gets snappy is when it's dinner time, gnashed his teeth at simon when he got too close to his food and was very quickly put in his place by his alpha

alpha pup simon who grabs at your tail when you're being too rowdy, yanking on it and making you yelp loudly

speaking of simon. prized breeding stock tell me i'm wrong. he's so big and strong and such a good pack leader that you can't do anything but beg him to give you a litter during your heat :(

gaz who gets seperation anxiety when he's away from his owner for too long! gets so antsy when price isn't back by the time he usually is. gets very startled and jumpy around the rest of the pack :(

grooming day is a nightmare for john :( especially when it comes to soap and simon. simon hates bath day, big body cramped in the tub whilst price scrubs him clean and clips his nails

soap just makes a huge mess, tail wagging excitedly and splashing water everywhere. immediately goes out and gets messy again

you and gaz are price's pretty prized pups after you're all clean and collared, both laying at his feet and snoozing soundly after such a stressful day!

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jinkiezzsstuff · 1 month

Note

Hi hi! I have a request^^

Can you write about a fem!bratty (optionally bunny) reader and how they would handle them? Sitting on either Alastor, Vox or Val's (whomever you're most comfy writing about💗) lap and how they would react to that, ending up in spicy scenes? Only if you're okay with writing that sweetheart.

ouuu i really wanted to do val because i’ve never done him before! and i think it’s obvious but just so we’re all clear laddies i do not like valentinos abusive behaviour however he’s got personality in the show outside of that, that’s what we like not the abuse. this didn’t get too spicy i hope that’s okay! just a little teasing, maybe ill do a part two who knows. :)

warnings: toxic relationship on both sides, aphrodisiac mentioned but not the trope, bunny fem reader, exhibitionism, briefly mentioned that valentino has hit reader - she likes it, brat reader, yall are both fucked up fr fr, i don’t know vals sexuality whether it’s gay or bi but here he’s bi, reader is a princess too, whiny like me fr, and a porn star although not explicitly explained

word count: 999

Valentino was the veteran of brats, so he wasn’t surprised when coming across them, however he knew how to take care of them; you however were an absolute pain. You made Valentino equal amounts of horny and enraged, you forced yourself into the princess role within the studio, you would whine and cry whenever you didn’t want to do a certain scene or role. If you’re cute little bunny self hadn’t made him bucks- he would’ve gotten rid of you long ago, you opposed him at every given chance and met his angry while cheeky grins and coy remarks. It infuriated him, he had no idea how you behaved in your life but it was clear a little bruise and fear wouldn’t put you in your place- but rather invoke more disrespect. You were hoppin on thin ice.

Ears drooping, you sat at the booth, arms crossed, lips pouting as you looked at your boss lounging with both men and women sinners alike, while you were being punished for being snooty on set. He found the best way to give you a proper punishment was to give you nothing at all, regardless of whether it was cruelty or kindness you liked having his attention, so instead he would take it away. Thumping your foot against the floor you watched as he ogled at the women and men, whispering vulgarities to them while simultaneously trying to hook them up in the industry.

It boiled your blood, Valentino was your game, your fun, and when he wasn’t there to play with you, whether it be violent, casual or sexual, it was all your mind could think about. You liked being Valentino's little princess, his little brat. Your bunny nose twitched, smelling the hot pink aphrodisiac smoke that wafted toward you. You admired Valentino from the small distance across the table as he lounged back, two of his arms across the back of the booth seats, one holding his pipe and the last on his drink. Valentino was no doubt crude, but he was also comedic, that’s what continually pulled you back in, was that he had such a personality despite being so hyper sexual and abusive.

You sipped your drink, picking at the salt on the rim with your bedazzled nail. Your eyes never left him, but he wouldn’t even meet your eyes, purposefully glazing over your figure. It was so frustrating, you could feel your heart rate increasing as your thoughts took off, fantasising about all the ways you could get him back. “We gotta go daddy, so sorry,” One sinner cooed before her and the other two women with her stood, said their goodbyes and left. Now it was just Valentino, two other guys and yourself. For the first time tonight a cute little smile graced your face, while mischief flooded your mind as you plotted to get Valentinos attention.

Standing from your seat, your every move was very intentional, your hand dragged across the table as you slid yourself out, nails scratching softly as you did. Slowly and purposefully, you made your way to the other side of the table where Valentino sat, your movements slow as you watched his body language. He wasn’t back down, instead busied himself with conversation, asking silly little business questions with the other incubus’. Sliding back down, Valentino didn’t stop you when you nudged yourself into his lap. Instead two sets of arms opened encasing you instantaneously making a dangerous warmth bloomed through you.

Valentino continued to pay no mind even as you played with the rings on his fingers, even when you seductively dipped you finger in his cup and sucked it clean. His buddy’s did though, eyeing your deceptively cutesy bunny form, watching you blink up at Valentino with yearning in your eyes wishing you were looking at them like that. Growling, Valentino tried his hardest to ignore your tactics, however it progressively got more difficult as you wiggled around on his lap.

“Bunny, don’t make me show you not to test me.~” Valentino sang out, one of his fingers caressing the side of your face. Looking behind your shoulder up at him with your big black bunny eyes, you innocently blinked up at him, your ears twitching. “What do you mean papi.” You whined slightly condescendingly, fluttering your lashes definitely tempting fate. “Oh please, I’ll have you bent over this table for testing me in public, you wanna play? Let’s play.” He hunched down and stuck out his tongue to flick up your neck. You shivered at the feeling of his warm tongue, his pink saliva staining your skin. You shivered in delight intoxicated by the smell of his smoke and potent cologne.

You obviously didn’t stop, and Valentino got progressively more frustrated at your defiance. One on his hands danced down the curves of your body, when he reached then hem of your pants, he lazily slid his hand down to cup the entirety of your mound with his long hands. You whined, circling your hips, unashamed at the two other men watching. Valentino continued to talk to the two guys about getting some new furniture for different scenes, completely ignore you as his fingers and palm lazily moved along your vulva.

Gripping the table, you groaned, leaning back onto Valentinos chest. “Look at you being such a little whore, all for me mm how erotic.” Valentino dragged out his words with a playful hint to his voice but only because he was playing the game, your guys’ favourite game. His fingers trailed up to lightly circle your clit sending shockwaves up your body. Valentino lowered his pipe to your lips and without hesitation you opened and inhaled his toxins letting whatever he had infect you. With a sigh your body melted into him, your legs spread wide for his access, you could already feel yourself soaking the fabric covering you. You simply leaned back and enjoyed the pleasure lost in the haze of his smoke and touch.

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel imagine #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel oneshots #hazbin hotel smut #valentino hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel valentino #valentino x reader #hazbin hotel valentino x reader #valentino smut #x reader #xreader

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pure-oddity · 7 months

Text

Fast foodies know the deal

Ghost x reader

(not proof read, this is just fluff straight from the source

Warnings: none, ovulation mention maybe? Its brought up a single time.)

The craving hits around 3 in the morning, it's ovulation week so the idea of not getting chicken nuggets from the drive through makes you want to cry.

You turn towards the sleeping lug beside you. He's on his back, breaths deep and even. Still as a grave but at your movement he takes the arm you had been using as a pillow to drag you further into his side.

Your Simon, took you forever just to get the man to admit he did more than tolerate you. even longer to admit he cared for you. It took you almost using his toothbrush to realize that the man might actually (gasp) like you. That one you didn't push, figured he'd come to terms with it on his own.

As you look at how peaceful he seems you try to fight the urge, you really do, but as you prop yourself up on your elbows and move closer to Simon's ear you resign to begging his forgiveness later.

"Simon, my baby? You sleeping?"

You wouldn't have known he was a awake had it not been for the lone eye opening to check on you

"Was, love. I was. Whats wrong, bad dream? Y' Can turn on the telly to that duck cartoon or the robots - won't bother me none." He rubs a comforting hand up and down your back, he's being so sweet you really do start to feel bad.

"I want chicken nuggets."

Silence.

Both eyes are open now.

The silence continues.

You smile sheepishly.

Wordlessly simon extracts his arm and turns so his back is to you.

"Nnooooooo! Simon pleeeaase. Pretty please? I want chicken nuggets so bad!"

"Go ahead. keys are on the rack, tanks full."

"Nooo you have to take me! come on baby please, for me?"

"My love. Sunshine. Light of my life. If you're hungry i made a perfecly good roast last night. Heat that up and let a man rest."

"I dont want a perfectly good roast! I want chicken nuggets. And a burger. And fries - oh maybe a shake?" You lean over him, hair purposely hung over into his face. He turns quickly and you're nose to nose

"So youre gonna have me get up at 3 fucking a.m. to get you a greasey, artey clogging, cholesterol raising gastrointestinal disaster of a meal - when we have a perfectly good home made dinner in the fridge."

"....please?"

Silence.

A deep suffering sigh.

An ecstatic squee

"Just get your fuckin shoes on"

------

You lean back over into the passenger seat, simon grumpy faced as you insisted that you should be the one to order.

You pat your thighs in glee as he pulls up to the window, gives you a dirty look , and hands the cashier his card.

The second window delivers your meal and drink quickly, you dig in like a starved animal. You're mid chew when he gives a grunt. A snooty sounding eh hem.

You grin and giggle, slowly airplaning him a nugget.

"Give me the chicken or i'll take the whole box"

You squeak and shove it to his lips quickly. His jaws snap around the nugget and it's gone within a single bite - you retract your fingers, still intact but wet with spit.

You give an 'eeeech' and look for somewhere to wipe your hand.

"Any of this ends up in or on my interior and it'll be your arse."

You roll your eyes and reach in the bag for a napkin, knocking the fries over in the process.

Silence.

The car drifts slowly to the left and is parked along the side of the road.

Not a word spoken.

You try to shove as many back into the carton as possible.

He stares at you.

You smile sweetly at him before leaning over the center console and kissing him. You meet his lips, they're stretched into a dangerous grin.

"Love" kiss "did you" kiss "spill salt" kiss "in my truck?"

You might not know a lot, but you know that voice means you're in trouble, which means it's distraction time.

You continue your sweet onslaught of kisses.

"Thank you for taking me baby, I love you so much. ", another smooch

is delivered.

"Youre my person, my favorite guy, love of my life."

He bites at your lip and you barely manage to slip it from his teeth

"Wanna spend the rest of my life with you, grow old with you"

He grips the back of your head and maneuvers your ear to his mouth, in a deep rumble he asks

"Are there fries on my floor, love?"

The dangerous smile still present.

"No of course not baby! i cleaned those up."

"So my truck is fry free?"

"Well - no didn't say that. there's a, a few under the seat"

He's grappling you into his lap now, the man looks a hint deranged.

"And why, my love, are you telling me about them instead getting them?"

he presses.

"'Cause I - hehe - I can't reach!" You giggle out as his hands slink towards your sides.

He pokes and prods at you, growling not unlike a bear while you squeal and squeak out little laughs.

"Gets a man up at ass o'clock-"

"Oh please, you get up early anyway!"

"makes him drive to get congealed grease-"

"you had a nugget too!"

"Then trashes his truck."

"Oh please it's like a handful of fries, I'll get them, i'll get them!"

He frees you with a huff and you dive back over to your side of the car. You pop open your door and hop outside to get a better angle at the underside of the seat. He gets impatient as you fish around for the last few fries, giving a little hurrah as the last one is snatched.

Clambering back into the truck you grin at him, happy as can be. He hums a short laugh, and you're off to home again.

He makes a beeline for the bedroom and you trot over to the counter to finish your meal, most of it having been shared and eaten in the truck. You sit back a moment to enjoy the feeling of fullness when you see Simon emerge again.

"Bed. Now. Kept me up long enough" he's already on you before you can think of a reply, slung over his shoulder. He makes quick work of getting you both situated in your proper spots.

You're snuggled into his side for the night, full and content. He breathes in deep and exhales slowly. you draw nonsensical patterns on his bare chest, playing with the hair there. As sleep overtakes you, your palm flattens over the spot where his heart resides; and you feel him relax just a smidgen more.

#simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #fluff #odd stories #all of this was also written on a phone #so like of formating is weird thats why #simon riley fanfic #simon riley fluff #is it so wrong to want a big beefy grumo to get up in the dark of the morning to get you food???? i think not #is he maybe ooc in this? perhaps. perhaps. do i just wanna write a story in which the man is happy and has a dork of a spouse? ye.#also when i have nightmares i watch one of two cartoons on mute- its either transformers or darkwing duck!#sunshine series

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moonstruckme · 4 months

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Hi my love!! I just reread your bodyguard tasm!peter parker blurb and it was so cute 😭I loved the original premise where peters spider senses got distracted because of her!! You wrote it so beautifully.

I'd love to request a part two (If you're open to that?) where he's guarding her again and we see their relationship develop a little more??

i read your requests rules and couldn't find anything about you not writing part twos, but feel free to ignore if you'd rather not! lots of love <3 <3

Hi sweetheart, thank you thank you!!

bodyguard!(tasm)Peter Parker x fem!reader ♡ 1.1k words

Peter’s staying on the ground for your sake, but he doesn’t love it.

You’re relaxed as can be, lounging on your bed while he paces your unfairly giant room from end to end. This, he thinks, is why people hate politicians. You’ve got an ensuite bathroom the size of his apartment, and on the taxpayer’s dime. He gets it now. If you and your dad were living in a shoebox like every other self-respecting New Yorker, maybe the guy wouldn’t get so many death threats.

“You don’t have to be all vigilant,” you say. “My dad’s not here. So long as I don’t get actually kidnapped or killed while you’re here, sitting down isn’t going to affect your performance evaluation.”

Peter looks at you. “I’m getting a performance evaluation?”

Your smile is lopsided and goofy. It’s humiliating how much it affects him. “No. Who would he send it to? Your employer?”

“Oh.” He feels stupid. “Good point.”

“Come here,” you laugh. “I got us coffee.”

He goes to sit on your bed, mostly because he’ll do anything you ask him to. After spending a few hours hugging you on a roof, Peter’s found that he actually likes you. You’re not snooty or spoiled like he might have expected, friendly to him even though he’s technically working for you. You seem oddly down-to-earth for someone with your upbringing, funny and smart. (Smarter than him, maybe. You turn him into a blundering idiot every time he sees you, though, so it’s hard to say.) You’re surprisingly fun to be around.

You lean over, grabbing two disposable coffee cups from your nightstand. “Do you want peppermint or caramel?”

“Which one do you want?”

“No way. You’re my guest, you get first pick.”

Peter’s here on a job, but he likes your version of the story better. The idea of you thinking of him as your guest, someone invited in whom you want to please, makes an affectionate warmth unfurl in his gut.

“You should probably have the one you want, because the other one’s going to get cold,” he says, an apology in his tone. Your brows wrinkle. “I can’t really drink through the mask…”

“Oh.” You close your eyes, expression clearing. “God, I’m so sorry. I didn’t even think about that.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Peter’s smiling under the mask. He wonders if you can hear it in his voice. “Enjoy yours. I’ll live vicariously.”

“You couldn’t just lift it up enough to drink?”

“Uh, no. The whole secret identity thing is…kind of important to the job.”

You smile guiltily, lifting one of the cups to your lips. “Fair enough.”

You’re silent for a minute, watching him as you sip at your coffee. Once again, making it nearly impossible for Peter to do what he’s being paid to do. He should be keeping his senses alert, watching the windows, surveilling the perimeter or whatever. Not looking into your clever, narrowed eyes and thinking about how your whole room smells like you.

“Okay,” you say, still scrutinizing him like you’re trying to count the threads in his suit, “now I’m dying to know what’s under the mask.”

Peter sits very still. He’s had people—fans and foes alike—try to tear it off him before, but he doesn’t think you’re like that.

“I mean, obviously you’re tall,” you lean back on the bed, mouth pursed in contemplation, “so you’re not, like, twelve. You sound about my age…”

“I what?”

“Your voice.”

“What—” He clears his throat. Tries to sound more generationally ambiguous. “What would make you think that?”

You crack another one of those sweet, silly smiles. “Well, you’re not going to fool me now,” you say. “I’ve heard you talk. You can’t be more than thirty. Plus, when you got here, you said ‘yo’.”

Peter really needs to stop saying that. He doesn’t even know when he started.

“You’ve got stitches all over your suit…” you go on. “What neighborhood are you from again?”

“I’m not telling you that,” he laughs.

“Oh, come on.” You scooch a little on the bed, tucking one leg under you to face him more fully. Your eyes pierce his like knives. Very pretty knives. “There’s almost ten million people in New York. You really think I’m going to track you down?”

“Your dad is the mayor…”

“Stop.” You give his shoulder a playful shove. Peter’s mask feels suddenly warm. “Those surveillance rumors weren’t true, the tabloids made that up to mess with his re-election campaign.”

“Okay, okay. I’m from Queens.”

You lean back on your hands, and he can’t decide if the way you’re looking at him is analyzing or flirting. “Interesting,” you say slowly. “So you’re, like, a real man of the people. Not the Bruce Wayne type.”

“Hey,” he teases, “Bruce Wayne could’ve lived in Queens. It’s nice.”

“But Bruce Wayne wouldn’t have to sew his own suits,” you point out.

Peter tilts his head, blows a breath out the side of his mouth. You’ve got him there.

“And you’re tall, clearly pretty strong, you seem smart…” You nod, seeming to have come to a decision. “I think you’re handsome under there.”

A laugh startles out of him. He hopes it sounds casual, like it came from someone cool, whose heart isn’t galloping in his chest. Peter really shouldn’t care if you think he has the potential to be handsome under his mask. It’s not like you’ll ever find out. Still, it feels weirdly nice.

He makes his voice light and playful. “Well, it’s good to have your approval. Now we can pretend that I’m almost in your league.”

For the first time since he’s gotten here, you look genuinely caught offguard. “Me?”

“Yeah, you.” Peter grins. It feels good to have flustered you. He’s missed doing that. “Who else?”

You look away from him as you laugh, shaking your head. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed,” you say, “but you’re a superhero. You’re not the one who should be worried about leagues.”

You’re cute. Peter makes a bold move, scooting an inch closer to you, into your space. He’s glad you can’t see that under the mask, his face is just as flushed as yours. “I’m not a superhero,” he says, keeping his voice light as meringue. “I’m just your friendly neighborhood Spiderman.”

You roll your eyes. “Humble, too. Points in your favor.”

A laugh rumbles through his chest. Someday, he’s gonna have to get Peter Parker in your orbit somehow. He wants to meet you—more than that, he wants you to meet him. He’s not sure how long he can wait.

He decides to let you off the hook. Slightly. He reaches across you, taking the unused cup from your nightstand. “Thanks for this,” he says. “Once you don’t need me here anymore, I’m gonna take it home and heat it back up.” He grins even though you can’t see it. “Maybe I’ll swing by and return the favor sometime.”

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hijackalx · 6 months

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GHOST +18

SUMMARY: Gortash helps you remember what your relationship with him was like.

WORD COUNT: 4000

UNDER THE CUT: F!reader, good dark urge reader, hard dom gortash, degradation, praise kink, spanking, daddy kink, sadism and masochism, SLIGHT NONCON, some angst at the end

You watch as the crowd disperses, chattering amongst themselves. The once quiet hall becomes an echo chamber for indiscernible voices; you quickly begin to search for an escape before the socializing gives you a headache.

The coronation wasn't worth your time. You didn't even get to speak to Gortash before he disappeared into the sea of people, and your chances of finding him now are slim.

You needed so badly to speak to him about the situation at hand; you hoped he'd be willing to come to a compromise. There's little desire for conflict in your veins— is it bad to admit that sometimes you wish this weight was bestowed upon someone more combative?

You push through bodies, interrupting minglers and meaningless conversations. "Oh, I'm so wealthy!' 'Yes, yes, me as well!" you mock them under your breath, putting on your most haughty persona. The topics that enthrall patriars never quite intrigued you.

As far as you can remember, at least.

You knock shoulders with one of them, though you remain in character. "My deepest apologies, good sir," your voice comes out nasally, your nose held high with a level of snootiness.

Their hand graces your upper arm, each finger laced coldly with steel. It's not a dismissing touch, but a grab. It wraps around your bicep, holding you in place. Your body tenses, shoulders shooting upright— perhaps your impression was a bit too insulting.

"U-uh—" you laugh nervously while your eyes follow their way up to their face. Your heartbeat stutters in your chest, a stillness overcoming you like a startled rabbit.

A man stands before you; his eyes sunken, his hair cut haphazardly, his skin tanned and scarred. You know who this is.

"You," his deep voice finds you through the noise. "I've been looking for you. For a moment, I was worried that you’d left." he doesn't release you, as if he's afraid to lose you again.

"Gortash," you mutter, your gaze darting over his features. "I... was looking for you as well, actually." you're totally and utterly surprised by the fact he even acknowledged you, let alone had been seeking you out.

"Enver," he speaks, and you don't quite understand what he means until you notice the playful raise in his brow; he's correcting you. How... informal of him to suggest you call him by his first name.

He finally removes his grip from your arm. A gentle grin pulls at his lips, and he seems to try to hide it behind the wine in his glass. There's a beat of silence, and during it you catch his eyes not-so-subtly gracing over your figure. "Your dress is lovely," is all he says, and you suddenly feel that your garment is too revealing.

Your arm lays over your stomach and fastens to the other, as if that would some how barricade you from his scrutinizing gaze. So, the Archduke is a bit of a pervert— not something you expected, but something you can deal with, nonetheless.

"I, um— listen—" you begin, yet struggle to pull your thoughts together in the chaos. "Is there... somewhere else... we could talk?"

His eyes suddenly appear more lively, though there's something else inside them that you can't quite place. "Of course." he places his glass down on a nearby waiter's tray. You're shocked as he places a palm towards the middle of your back, making contact with the bare skin through the window of your dress. He guides you out of the crowd, and you're amazed at how easily he wades through it as his obstacles yield to him.

He takes you toward a dark, spiral staircase. You're not sure if he's being polite when he insists you go ahead or if he's attempting to peek up your dress, and you try not to think about it.

Once you reach the top, your body is caressed by the cool, night air. You stop in your tracks, amazed at how the city glows in the dark. You can hear the sounds of the bustling streets, and the faint hum of the gathering downstairs.

"Magnificent, isn't it?" Enver's voice appears behind you and you flinch. You'd forgotten he was there. "As are many things that bend so pliantly to my will."

You turn around to meet his eyes, how they look up at you from under his brow, steady and ravenous. There's a pit that opens up in your stomach— his plans are sinister, and you need the upcoming conversation to be enough to stop them.

Suddenly, you're attacked by a barrage of self-doubt. What a heavy task for someone as measly as you.

The wind blows through the both of you, pulling at your hair and clothing as if saying to stop stalling. Your eyes flit to the ground once before allowing him to lead you further.

He opens another door for you, this one leading to what you believe is an office. Your bodies are bathed in the warm candlelight as you enter. You approach the long, many-seated table in the immediate vicinity as the sound of him closing the large doors fills the chamber.

You observe the architecture, feeling a sense of awe at being in the presence of such expensive tastes. Enver walks around you, heading to a compartment holding many different kinds of liquor. "I keep the good stuff in here," he comments, the bottle in his grasp clinking against the others as it's removed. "Although, I rarely have the pleasure of sharing it with guests as enchanting as yourself."

His words seem to carry an implication of familiarity. You turn to him with a raised brow. "You know why I'm here?" Your mind flits back to earlier— you remember him saying something about looking for you as well.

With a still hand he pours the cinnamon-colored liquid into both of your glasses. He doesn't look up as he responds, "Do you really believe me to be so dull?" he lets out a small laugh, placing the cork back into the bottle. "Besides, my intuition tells me we both want the same thing."

"... We do?" you mutter in disbelief. Had you been wrong about him? Is he really willing to hear you out so easily?

He hands you your glass. "We do." he raises his drink to you as if to toast, then brings it to his mouth. As he lets the drink disappear down his throat, his eyes remain on yours. This time, you feel that you may be able to trust whatever is behind them.

You join him with a small sip, and there is a short moment shared between you two. You notice just how close he's standing to you, but for some reason you don't step away. Your gaze falters from his own, shakily sneaking a glance at his lips, then his neck, and his exposed chest...

You stop there, quickly darting your pupils back upwards. You notice him still staring, and you wonder if perhaps your eyes explored just a bit too much.

Flustered, you turn around and place your palms on the table. "I—I'm sorry, this is just... a bit much for me." you try to compose yourself, feeling the start of your proposal bubbling to the surface. With a sigh, you begin, "Gor— Enver, I wanted to discuss the future of—"

You can't get any more words out— not even a sound. Your eyes widen, your temperature rising throughout your entire body like a surging wildfire. The only thing you can focus on is his lips on your neck and his body pressed against yours as he pins your hands to the tabletop.

Your breath quivers, heart in your throat. What is happening?

His mouth begins making its way downwards. You shiver out of your frozen state. With a swift, freeing elbow to his ribcage, you turn and shove him away from you.

He stumbles backward, the emotions on his face cycling too quickly for you to make something of it. Eventually, anger is the one that settles and stays. "What in the hells is the matter with you?!"

Your hand grips the glass on the table tightly, ready to use it as a weapon if you must. "I— what's the matter with me?! You just came onto me! I don't even know you!"

"What else did you expect, you little—" A crease forms between his brows. "... You don't know who I am?" his voice appears more softly, harboring confusion.

"Well, yes, you are the Archduke— but you know what I mean! Y-you don't just walk up to any stranger with their back turned and start kissing their neck!"

He glances away for a moment, shoulders relaxing as he finds the answers he's seeking inside the night’s prior instances. "You and I are hardly strangers, my dear."

You go quiet.

No— your memory can't have failed you again, not here. Not with him. You'd remember, surely you would.

With an inquiring grin, he approaches you slowly. "So it’s true. How curious." he studies you as if you're a freshly discovered specimen. "If you don't remember what we were, do you even remember what you are?"

His words rattle you to your core. To imply that your relationship with him was so deeply intertwined with who you once were— it almost makes you sick.

"You're lying," you respond quickly, regardless of whether you think he is or not. You won't accept otherwise.

"Am I?" he stops mere inches from your face, as if to allow you to see the truth through his eyes. They delve into yours, carrying an intensity that yours lack, a confidence that you wish wasn't there.

He hums. "Allow me to jog your memory." with a deep inhale, he opts to press his lips against yours. Your trembling body leans into the table behind you, backing further and further away from him until you can't anymore. He kisses you, and for some reason, you let him. You don't make any extravagant attempts to rid yourself of him— instead, you allow him to have you, as if on instinct.

The kiss lasts a few seconds, and he lingers for a moment before pulling away. You feel an emptiness on your lips, your fingertips leaving the glass at your side to reach up and gently inspect the area.

"First, we were accomplices. You, a chosen of Bhaal; I, a chosen of Bane,” he looks you directly in the face as he speaks, making sure you’re listening intently. “After so much time together, we took an interest in each other, particularly each other's bodies," he explains, "We were so young and knew so little— but we learned from each other. Experimented with each other—"

You shift underneath where he has you trapped against the table. You sink into yourself, your chin tucking down in shame. You're not sure how you feel about all of this, but you do know that there's a growing warmth between your thighs.

Even if your mind fails to remember what you two did together, your body knows.

His head tilts so that he speaks into your ear. "And, Gods, the things you'd let me do to you," as if reliving the memory, he almost moans, the lilt to his tone making your stomach lurch.

”N-no…” you mumble, though there is little substance behind the word.

He lowers himself, his mouth hovering over your neck once again. His breaths fan your sensitive skin before pressing his lips to it.

You twitch, your hand involuntarily coming up to rest in his hair. He hears how your breath hitches, and you feel him smile against you as he sucks softly.

His restless hand finds itself on your thigh, slipping into the slit of your dress. The cold material of his gauntlets raises goose bumps on your skin, your muscles tensing every time he reaches just inches from your core.

He pulls his lips from you with a pop, slightly breathless.

"It became an addiction. We'd meet up at every opportunity— almost every night just to fuck," he says with enough emphasis to make you realize just how filthy your past together was. “Hells, I even remember asking you what your father thought of his prized offspring becoming my personal little whore."

You burn hot with embarrassment, though some part of you likes the name he's given you. "... a- and?" you hate yourself for playing into whatever this is, but you can't help it. You want him to keep talking.

He laughs, "you said you didn't give a shit. Can you imagine that? Daddy's little girl willing to sacrifice everything just so she wouldn't have to go a day without me fucking her into the mattress.” he gives you a lift onto the table, both of his hands roughly pulling your thighs apart so he can place himself between them.

As if acting on its own, you fail to notice how your body arches into him, begging for his touch. "Enver..." you moan quietly, the sensation feeling so familiar on your tongue. The memories he describes to you seem so real yet so distant. You want to remember them, to experience them.

His chest rises and falls quicker by the minute. As his hand comes up to direct you by your jaw, the gold points on his fingertips leave indents in your skin. "You have no idea how elated I was to get news of your reappearance. I don't have words to explain how badly I've missed you— your body."

Unable to compose himself any longer, he finally stops teasing and slams his mouth into yours. He's aggressive and rough; the biting, smacking your teeth together kind of rough. You struggle to keep up with him, balancing yourself with an arm over his shoulders until he pushes you onto your back. Impatiently, he rips his sharp gauntlets from his hands, the objects landing somewhere on the floor with a clatter.

He runs his bare hands over the curves of your body, taking in the sight as if it's the first time. You lift your back as he reaches for the zipper of your dress, his adrenaline-ridden fingers fumbling before undoing it successfully. You help him wriggle yourself out of it.

The cold air hits your exposed breasts, your nipples erect and sensitive. His calloused thumb brushes over one before he tightly squeezes your tit, an obvious attempt to hear your voice. He's delighted when you gasp in both pain and pleasure, his mouth meeting yours to devour the sound. He then quickly trails down your neck to pepper kisses over your chest.

He takes one of your nipples into his mouth, purposefully grazing it with his teeth before soothing it with his tongue. Your hand tangles in his messy hair, lifting yourself into him.

His opposite hand sneaks into your panties, toying with your clit in a cruel fashion. He pinches and teases, refusing to give you what you want. Frustrated, you reach down to move his hand out of the way, to which he grabs and restrains. You try the same with the other, and he repeats.

"Insubordinate little slut," he mumbles under his breath as he pushes his knee between your legs, providing pressure but no friction. "You want to do it yourself?" he says meanly, slightly irritated by your actions.

You immediately begin rubbing against his thigh, finally feeling some relief. You exhale, feeling waves of pleasure course through you.

He peers down between your bodies to watch, his erection prominent in his pants. "Fuck, that's right. Show me how badly you need it."

Your hips eventually start to stutter, unable to continue as you lose yourself in the sensation. "I- I can't," you whine, unsatisfied as you fail to keep your rhythm.

He smiles sadistically at how you struggle. "Oh, you can't?" he pouts mockingly. "Poor thing."

You know what he wants, it sits in the back of your mind, ready without second thought. You've been here before. "P-please,” you choke out. "Please, I need you. Fuck me, please," your voice comes out pathetically, happy to continue begging until you get what you desire.

As if on cue, he flips you onto your stomach, your ass stuck in the air and your cheek pressed to the hardwood. He takes your arm and folds it behind your back, holding you in place. "You say that like I was going to give you a choice." You see how he leers down at you through the corner of your eye, a wolfish look on his features. You don't know how much truth there is to his words, but your pussy flutters anyway.

He runs a finger over your folds, the friction from your underwear making you jump. You whimper his name, completely at his mercy. With a huff, he rips your panties off of you, splitting the delicate fabric in half.

Pausing for a moment, he admires the glistening wetness between your thighs. He kicks your feet apart further to spread you open, using his finger to circle your clit before covering the digit in your essence. You watch as he sticks it in his mouth, cleaning it off with his tongue. He lets out a content sigh, savoring the taste.

You whine while deepening the arch in your back, presenting yourself to him further.

His brows furrow. Picking up your torn panties, he wads them up and shoves them in your mouth. It extends your jaw fully, making it impossible to spit them out. "Shut up," he growls. "You'll get what you want when I feel like giving it to you."

You can taste yourself on the ripped garment, feel how wet you are with your tongue. Your saliva begins to dampen it by the second, and it’s only a matter of time before it drips past the barrier.

The sound of him disrobing fills the air. Your irises roll back behind corkscrewed eyelids, anticipating what is to come with little patience.

The gag muffles your sounds as you feel his length drag between your thighs, parting your puffy folds. Your hole contracts spastically, desperate for him.

Then, he slams into you without warning. You scream, writhing beneath him as his dick forcibly stretches you out. The pain is almost unbearable as you feel tears start to materialize.

He balances himself on the table with his free hand, letting out a long, shuddering breath. "Fuck." He takes a moment before moving. There is no slow build-up, his pace is aggressive and hard from the very start. He fucks you like he absolutely hates you, and you suppose it's possible that he does. If what he says is true, then you abandoned him. Not on purpose, but you still did.

His cock moves in a shoveling motion, hitting your G-spot with every thrust. You send your body back to him every time he reenters you, rocking in sync. It feels natural— it feels good. As you adjust, you realize that you fit together perfectly; two puzzle pieces that were never meant to be apart. Suddenly, his dependence on you makes so much more sense.

You gasp as he grabs a fistful of your hair, roughly pulling your head upward. He holds you there uncomfortably as he speaks into your ear, "if you ever leave me again," he pauses to catch his breath, "I'll fucking kill you. Do you understand?"

Nodding your head is not enough for him. He rips your underwear from your mouth. "yes, what?"

Your breathing is ragged and high-pitched as you're finally allowed to use your mouth again. "Yes, daddy!" you assume that must be what he made you call him before, based on how it forces its way past your teeth. You're sure he gets some kind of power-trip from it, perhaps he's envious of your previous devotion to your father.

“It seems you remember more than I thought.” he uses his thumb to wipe the drool from your swollen lip, then massages the spot where he yanked your hair. "Good. You're doing so good."

His unexpected praise makes your pussy tighten around him, milking him, begging for him to come.

He lets out a deep, throaty moan. "Gods, you feel fucking amazing." his palm makes contact with your ass, a sharp smack echoing through the tall ceilings of the office. You yelp, your fingernails clawing at the tabletop. You can feel the hand-shaped welt forming right away, the stinging sensation rising to the top of your skin. "You like how daddy fucks you?"

He asks just as you feel yourself reaching your climax. It builds in your lower stomach, bubbling in your chest. "Y-yes!" you cry. "Please don't stop! Just like that!"

Cruel man that he is, he does the exact opposite of what you ask. He stops, pulling out of you and leaving you feeling empty. Ushering you up, he switches places with you and grabs you by your wrist, guiding you onto his lap.

He looks at you through his brow, cheeks flushed, breaths erratic, yet with a smirk playing at his lips. "Work for it," he orders, holding himself up with his palms on the tabletop.

As you lower yourself onto his length, he watches you intently, brushing your unruly hair out of your face. Your cheek is red and swollen from being pressed into the table, and he gives it a few condescending pats. "You look a mess, dearest," he laughs.

You ignore him, focused on taking him in. You do it slower than he did, but he remains patient for you. You suppose that's his act of kindness for the day.

Balancing on your knees, you start bouncing in his lap. Your hands hold onto his shoulders, watching how he slides in and out of you. A creamy, white liquid has been created between the two of you, coating his shaft and your entrance.

His attention remains on your face— sometimes shifting to your tits, but mostly your face. You eventually notice, suddenly feeling self-conscious under his gaze. Placing a hand to the back of your head, he pulls you in for a kiss. You cup his face with your palms, whimpering into his mouth as his tongue grazes the inside of your teeth.

He breaks the kiss along with a line of saliva. His nose finds the crook of your neck, resting there as he pulls your bodies flush together. Your arms rest over his broad shoulders, occasionally digging your nails into his skin. He seems at peace with you in his grasp, holding you near. It’s in this moment that you truly feel just how much he missed you, worried for you, yearned for you. You realize that your relationship may have been more than just sex to him, even if not officially so.

He lets out a broken groan as he reaches his climax. His grip becomes almost painfully tight, taking your waist into his strong arms to fuck you again as he releases a thick load of cum inside you. The warm substance coats your walls as you tense around him.

His orgasm encourages your own. Squirming in his grasp, you throw your head back. You never imagined yourself crying out a series of his name, but here you are, and you never imagined it would be so sweet on your tongue. He keeps you in place with his hands on your hips, helping you ride it out.

You rest your weary body on his, your cheek against the sticky skin of his shoulder. Although, you don’t rest easy. There’s a heaviness to your heart, a guilt.

You can’t be the woman he knew— you’ve changed. The things you want are no longer the same, and you’ll betray him without even meaning to. He’s in love with a ghost, one that you just can’t pretend to be.

In the end, you’re in each other’s way, and you always will be. Whatever is between you two is an obstacle, and it’s destined to be destroyed.

#enver gortash #bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate #enver gortash x dark urge #dark urge #durgetash #enver gortash x reader #enver gortash x tav #gortash

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shares-a-vest · 1 year

Text

No one knows why Eddie and Nancy call each other "my dear" and "honey" respectively. Not even Steve and Robin, who only give a brief pause (and sometimes a confused, "huh?") before going back to whatever nonsense. Even though it is absolutely, one hundred percent, their fault.

It’s all because Eddie and Nancy are dating two people permanently attached at the hip. "Platonic soulmates" they say, repeated ad nauseam. Two people who should be siblings. A pair of bickering sisters who are also sometimes gross brothers. A brother and sister duo so chaotic they give the Sinclairs a run for their money.

Platonic soulmates who act like two silly drunk girls when they are out at a bar. Two losers who cackle with laughter and sing along far too loudly to the radio on the way home.

A pair of idiots stumbling up the stairs in Steve’s house, gradually discarding jackets, bags and accessories.

Eddie is relatively sober, having played with the band and Nancy is tipsy, never one to entirely shake her sensible and put-together self. So Eddie follows behind, closing the front door, locking it and turning the lights off, while Nancy scurries along picking up the tossed attire.

"You're my best friend!" Robin shouts, squishing Steve's cheeks together as they hang off each other, wobbly at the top of the stairs.

"Love you, Robbie!" Steve says, voice cracking as he sniffles and kisses her on the cheek.

He takes her hand and they disappear up the hall.

By the time Eddie reaches Steve’s bedroom, Steve and Robin are passed out on that plaid bedspread, all curled up together like two creatures huddled together for warmth and companionship.

Nancy grumbles as she straightens up the shoes scattered at the foot of the bed.

"I swear they forget we exist sometimes," she says, huffing as she tugs off Robin’s left boot that she’d only managed to unzip.

"Oh absolutely," Eddie agrees.

He can’t help but walk over to Steve’s bedside and brush his fringe from his face. Steve produces a gross snorting nose at the movement, cuddling in closer to his best friend.

"Stop… snoring… di…" Robin mumbles, not getting out her favourite nickname before drifting back off to sleep.

Eddie steps back and folds his arms, resigning himself to spending his Sunday tolerating two hungover platonic soulmates in their worst and most annoying form.

Nancy rolls her eyes. "Get your bag and come into the spare room."

They make quick work of changing, Eddie in an oversized band tee and a pair of Steve’s checked pyjama pants he had taken ownership of. He looks in the mirror as he stands side-by-side Nancy in the upstairs bathroom, both brushing their teeth in silence. He looks over her pale pink nightdress, embellished with embroidered flowers and can’t help the huffed laugh that escapes him.

"What?" Nancy smiles and spits out her toothpaste in the sink.

"We look like an old married couple who have run out of things to talk about."

Nancy giggles, quickly moving to a washcloth to wipe her mouth before she bursts out laughing. She zips up her cosmetics bag and makes a sharp turn to face Eddie, her brow quirked.

"Honey, did you enjoy the soiree this evening?" she says in an uptight, snooty voice, cocking her chin and giving a sly smile.

"Splendid, my dear!" he replies, toothbrush dangling from his mouth as he bows with a flourish. "Although the band was an absolute bore."

"Don't say that!" Nancy chides, breaking character as she playfully slaps his shoulder.

He snorts a laugh as he finishes up and rinses his mouth out, dripping water everywhere.

"Wheeler, there were like seven people there, including you, Steve and Rob," he laughs, dropping the facade too.

"Shall we retire for the night?" she says, changing the subject and slipping back into character. She offers her hand.

"To the bedroom!" he declares, pointing to the door.

The spare bedroom is, unsurprisingly, similar to the rest of the house. Sparse and low-lit with heavy dark curtains that make Steve’s plaid drapes look light and airy in comparison.

"I hope you don’t snore as much as Steve, Nancy," Eddie warns without any heat behind his words as he punches his pillow into a shape that isn't flat and solid.

"He does snore, doesn’t he?" she wonders aloud as she slips under the covers, huffing a laugh. "Robin talks in her sleep. Nothing serious or anything. Total nonsense."

Eddie rolls his eyes. "Of course she does."

"Last week she woke me up," she starts as she pokes at his shoulder. "Tapping on my shoulder saying, ‘Nance, tell the fish it’s time to get ready for school’."

"Di-did you have… fish children?" he asks before doubling over, cackling.

"I think so," Nancy ponders, speaking slow before snorting a laugh.

"Goodnight, my dear."

"Night, honey."

At that, they turn away from each other, snuggling under the covers for a restful night’s sleep.

The following morning, Steve and Robin swap out his bed for cocooning themselves in blankets on the Harrington's gigantic couch as Eddie finishes up making their breakfast. They’d stirred fairly early in the morning, moving into the guest room and not-at-all subtly waking Eddie and Nancy to demand breakfast, all the while complaining about their whereabouts the night before.

Nancy enters the kitchen, freshly showered and laughs at the state of their counterparts. But they do not surface. If anything, Eddie swears Steve’s snoring is getting louder with every passing minute.

"Breakfast is all set, my dear," Eddie says, flinging a teatowel over his shoulder and offering her Steve's plate.

She hesitates but he gestures to the others on the couch. Robin is now babbling something incoherently as she taps Steve on the shoulder.

"Thank you, honey," Nancy giggles as she takes the food.

#eddie and nancy are the more sensible counterparts to platonic stobin thanks for coming to my ted talk #platonic with a capital p #platonic edancy #eddie munson #nancy wheeler #the fruity four #platonic stobin #edancy ficlet #steddie #ronance #robin buckley #steve harrington #lilys ficlets

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tokyo-daaaamn-ji-gang · 3 days

Note

Can v have some hcs pls? I was just thinking about Shuji having a younger sibling who was soft. Nice. Patch them up kinda. Wants to b a doctor and Shuji jokes abt how they're gonna be leagues ahead of their classmates in terms of practicals coz they've stitched up Shuji so many times

Oh that sounds like a cute dynamic, so here are some centred around that!

He thinks you're way too good for him and this whole situation, absolutely doesn't want to get you involved in the things he does.

Will occasionally ask you a random but kinda concerning medical question like "if someone cut off a guys tongue he wouldn't bleed out right?"

Steals a lot of stuff for you, anything you could need or want that he knows is too expensive. He wants his little sibling to have only the best.

Ruffles your hair a lot

Teases you a lot by calling you "doctor" or "doc"

He was shocked the first time he came in badly injured and you immediately started to patch him back up. Sure growing up you'd always put plasters on his cuts and bruises for him but this was a whole step up.

He smiles more often when you're around, his smiles tend to be more genuine and soft too.

Will "borrow" and play around with your medical equipment.

He admires your kindness a lot, sometimes wonders how the two of you are even related

Brags about you to Kisaki

"Hey did you ever find out your blood type like I said?" "The red kind duh"

Likes the quiet times after a fight where it's late and he gets to hang out with you while you patch him up

Is a baby when it comes to antiseptic spray

Promises that he'll beat up any of your classmates if they're mean or snooty to you.

Jokingly calls your room a hospital sometimes

And finally, on your very first day of medical school he drives you there and pats you on the back with a few (goofy) words of inspiration before you go in.

#tokyo revengers #tokrev #tokyo rev #hanma shuji #shuji hanma

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luveline · 1 year

Note

hihihi! request for zombie steve au! maybe someone at the college bullies reader into thinking she’s not good enough for steve?

just gotta say that I LOVE LOVE LOVE all your works & esp this au 😩 it just does something to me

hi thank you so much for your request! I didn't make it so severe as bullying I don't think, but tw for bullying just to be safe, and suggestive! tw mentioned weight loss <3 zombie!au steve 9k words

The dinner line is long and winding. You and Steve stand elbow to elbow, the smell of refried beans and homemade tortillas near hypnotising.

"I know the tortillas are gonna taste a little weird, I just don't care," you say, the hand you’ve curled around your boyfriend's forearm squeezing enthusiastically.

"Imagine if they had cheese," he taunts.

"Don't be evil, Steve."

His laugh dissappears into the swelling sounds of a hundred conversations. It feels like high school, bodies packed into the same room like a bingo wheel, people bouncing off of one another frenetically as the night turns forward. There's a lot of happy energy in here tonight. You're contributing at least half. Not even Steve's unfortunate truths can get you down. Yeah, you miss cheese a lot, but after a full day in the pantry shift and close quarters to such gorgeous smells, you're ravenous.

Your stomach gives a rumbling groan, and Steve's pressed so close to you that he can feel it. He wraps his arm around your shoulder to kiss the top of your head.

His easy affection sates you for a while. You turn to watch the people already sitting with their meals, jealous but not too much, and find your happiness isn't grudging. You're happy to be here. You won't take this stroke of luck for granted, not again.

You and Steve get your plates, refried beans, roasted greens seasoned with a vibrant red that smells spicy and decadent. There's definitely olive oil mixed in. You thrum with pleasure but wait patiently for steve to collect his own helpings, your cutlery, and finally, your drinks.

Robin sees you coming and waves you down unnecessarily. She's sitting with a dark-haired girl called Vanessa, and another girl you're unsure of. Vanessa had been part of your rescue squad, the team of people who'd fought to bring you back to The College. You'd show her some gratitude if she deigned to look at you.

No matter how snooty you find her, Robin likes her. You try to like her too.

"Hey," you say, putting your place setting down in front of Robin to encourage Steve to her side.

He might downplay it but you know how much he loves her, and how much he'd missed her when they were separated. She's an extremely important part of his life. You wish he'd spend more time with her outside of scavenging and supply runs, but Steve is stuck to you like glue. It's awful and amazing.

"Hi, killer," Robin says.

You scrunch up your nose. "We're still using that?"

"You were impressive!" she emphasises.

Steve puts his drink down before his plate. She's quick to grab it, taking a generous swig as he grumbles and grouches.

"Do you mind?" he asks.

"I don't. Tell your girlfriend you think she was impressive!"

"She knows exactly how I feel about her."

You smile at him. You know more than enough. He's a sweetheart through and through, and though the incident Robin's referencing hadn't been one he loved, he agrees; you'd managed to cut down six zombies all by yourself when they'd split off from a herd that managed to infiltrate community defences, and Steve had thought you were a rockstar. He'd grabbed you, covered in blood and sweat, and asked you why you couldn't just stay inside, and then he'd hugged you for too long, and said later, "My girl's a fucking weapon." Like a nerd.

It's not complicated. Steve had been in danger. You'd wanted to save him, and you'd tried. Turns out he'd be the one to save you… for the hundredth time. But your efforts impressed him.

Impressed everyone, according to Robin.

"Hey, Vanessa," you say warmly.

Vanessa gives you a strange smile in return. Despite mutual friends, Vanessa hasn't warmed to you. She'd been one of the only people who'd volunteered for your rescue squad but you're starting to think that hadn't been because she liked you, exactly. She just couldn't really say no.

"Hey," she says. "How are you?"

Civil you can do easily. You and Steve had been civil for weeks.

"I'm good! Yeah, we heard there were gonna be real tortillas tonight and thought we'd get here early, but everybody had the same idea, I guess."

She laughs politely. "We did."

You wouldn't villainise Vanessa for disliking you. You barely like yourself. And, in your opinion, you'd gotten pretty damn lucky that Steve likes you as much as he does, though a small voice whispers that it'd been a grudging sort of love, like a flower squeezing its way through two panels of sidewalk. A weed that isn't supposed to be there. You worry often and in droves that Steve will come to his senses. He's gonna wake up one day, look at your sleeping face, and realise it isn't enough.

When you'd first joined The College community, you'd thought for sure that was it. Steve was gonna trample your heart once and for all. He never did, of course. The opposite — he'd doubled down. Told you he loved you for the first time, and a second time, too.

And now, miles trekked to get you back, his calf a blistering star of heat where it kisses your own beneath the table, your doubts fade away.

Vanessa doesn't have to like you. That's not the way the world works. With Steve at your side, the rejection barely stings.

You rub your shoe gently against his ankle. He looks up at you, a crazy amount of tortilla in his mouth, and he looks so silly you laugh hard and suddenly.

He covers his mouth.

"I thought you were looking somewhere else," he defends.

"Pig," Robin says, still sipping at his cup of water.

You rub his ankle again. A joke waits at the tip of your tongue, You're lucky I love you. It would feel good to say, but it's not your thing. You've never been outwardly romantic.

His cheeks pink a little under the fluorescents.

For Steve, you can be romantic.

"You're lucky I love you," you say.

There's too much emphasis on 'love', not enough on 'lucky', and the joke refuses to land. Your voice is softer than silk. It's all too sweet.

"More than lucky," Steve says, grinning at you.

You try to put your glass of water on his tray. He puts its straight back on your own.

"Robin's gonna go get me another one," he says.

"I need one for myself," she says, unhappy.

"You have two hands."

"Will you get me a refill?" Vanessa asks.

Christopher, another of Steve's fast friends, slams his tray down next to yours happily. Jonathan is right after him, and then the table's filling up with people: Jonathan's younger brother sits beside him, and the younger brother's friends follow. They're all glued together, you swear. You recognise Dustin in the throng, his chestnut brown curls crushed under a blue hat bragging the Claypole Farmer's Market, wherever that is.

"Steve's getting drinks?" Chris asks.

"For me too, please," Jonathan adds. "And Will, if you don't mind."

"I actually do," Steve says.

"And us!" Dustin says, smirking. "Thank you, oh gracious one."

Steve looks at you for a second, slack-jawed. Can you believe this shit? He stands up, grumbling, and forces his hand between Robin's upper arm and chest to drag her with him.

"Come on, Rob, I can't carry them by myself."

"Steve, please, I'm tired," she moans, her words all lifted and croaky.

"How'm I supposed to carry them by myself? Am I a fucking squid?"

"I'll help," you say, happy to do it, anything for him and at any time.

He puts his hand out to you, a universal gesture for Sit the fuck down. "Buckley will be more than capable." His smile softens. "Thank you."

You pout at him very gently in a kissy face to watch him light up. It's cheesy and rom-com, and it works like a charm. By the time he gets Robin on her feet the tips of his ears are completely blushed, a stark red against the mousy browns and blondes of his hair.

"Hey, Y/N," Chris says, mouth full of tortilla. Boys are all the same.

"Hey," Jonathan echoes, and at least his hand is in front of his mouth, "how are you feeling? They let you back in the kitchen yet?"

"They did. Hopper really didn't like that I broke the lock down rules, but at the same time, I think he understands that I'm a grown up."

Lock down rules being, once a door is shut, it stays shut. Do not give a herd the opportunity to worm its way inside.

But you'd made sure the coast was completely clear, and after Maybelle and Pauline, your fellow kitchen staff, had vouched for that, he'd let you off the hook, and back to work. You hadn't realised how punishing not working could be, especially when Steve had stayed on shift, his time split between scrounging outside of the community and fence duty. There's nothing to stop you from spending the day thinking about what-ifs, which is veritable torture.

"You missed the kitchen? Did you make these?" Chris asks.

You turn to your food and tear off some of the warm tortilla, sighing with pleasure. "No, I'm just kitchen pantry, you know? I'm sorta like an accountant. Like Dora in the armoury, or–" You nod at Vanessa with a smile. "Vanessa. You're in charge of the toiletries and stuff, right, with Cooper and Dean, and those guys?"

She clears her throat. "It's more than 'toiletries and stuff,'" she corrects with a stilted laugh. "It's everything that isn't food. Medicine for the medic, the nursery supplies, the batteries. It's important."

"No, of course! I didn't mean to imply anything else. I can't imagine."

You're sure her smile this time is genuine. You and Vanessa can't seem to mesh because she's a little more serious than you are and your easygoing tone rubs her the wrong way, but you think your explanation makes it up.

She opens her mouth to speak when Dustin leans over the table, projecting his voice down the line. "Y/N! Are you coming to cards club tonight?"

"I don't know, babe," you say, startled at his question. "I thought so. If Steve isn't too tired then yeah, absolutely."

"You can come without Steve," Jonathan says.

"I know," you say, softly so you know he's grateful for the reassurance.

"You're the only one who can beat Will at Yahtzee. You have wicked luck," says Mike, their pale, dark-haired friend, who usually rivals Dustin for hostility. You're glad he seems to like you.

"Yahtzee isn't luck based," says Will.

The entire group groans at the ignition of a familiar argument.

"Robin, if you fucking nudge me again I'm gonna make sure this goes all over you," comes Steve's voice.

You turn in your seat to watch their procession of glasses, at least six between them with not a tray in sight. Robin looks confident, Steve terrified. You jump to your seat to rescue him, taking his third glass from the nestling group so he can pick up his pace.

"Thank you," he says, dipping his head down for a kiss.

You're surprised but never not wanting to be kissed by him, your chin lifting on automatic to reciprocate. You chase him when he pulls away, turning one kiss into two, his lips the tiniest bit chapped against yours. It's a comforting pressure.

You ease away. "Are we going to card club tonight?"

"If you want to, of course we are."

"You aren't tired?"

"You're saying I look ugly."

He glares at you, faux-offended.Your laugh is peeling, infectious to your own ears.

"No!" you deny.

"Right." He tries to be deadpan, sighing in defeat when he can't keep up the illusion. "Shit, I almost had it. S'too bad I'm a sucker for you when you smile like that."

—

Later that night, you and Steve are sitting around the very same tables that have been wiped down with a watery lysol, and you have an amazing three game Yahtzee streak going where nobody can beat you.

Steve's ears are ringing with the clattering sound of dice in the shaker, and he's freezing. It's a great night. He shrugged out of his jacket to lay it over your shoulders, and has to periodically readjust it to stop it from falling to the floor, your arms moving enthusiastically with each new shake.

Steve winces as Dustin makes a fatal mistake. He’s used his two sixes to mark a 12 in the sixes column, holding out for a yacht.

"Dude, the chances of getting Yahtzee are like, one in a thousand," Steve says.

"One in thirteen hundred," you correct, already scooping up Dustin's die to take your turn.

"One in seven thousand and seven hundred for each number," Mike says.

"Ew," Steve says, face slumped into his palm, elbow aching where it's pushed into the table. "You fucking nerds infected my girl."

"It's in the rule book," you say, shaking the circular dice container with your hand on top. You throw them out on the table and assess your given numbers with a frown.

You have three threes and two ones. You keep the threes and shake the other two dice again. Yahtzee had felt complicated when Steve first learned how to play, and now it feels maddening. It's definitely luck based, in his humble opinion, and that has nothing to do with his never winning a game, he swears.

"Does the chance of rolling a Yacht get higher if you keep the dice?" he asks, gesturing to your three threes.

"Yeah," you mumble, throwing your second shuffle out onto the table. "Yeah, but it's pretty negligible, handsome. Goes from point one to point two."

"It isn't negligible," Will denies. "It's probability, not luck, and it isn't point one, it's zero point zero eight, and it can be as high as zero point five. That's one in two hundred."

"That math isn't right," Dustin says.

"Yes, it is."

"No, it isn't."

You throw out your last shuffle and everyone leans in to see what you rolled. Your three threes are kept to one side, and your new rolls clatter to a halt in front of Steve.

"Holy shit," he says.

You rolled two threes.

"Yahtzee!" you cheer, pumping your little fist adorably. Little in that it's smaller than his, and not very little in reality. "Alright, who's next?"

"The game isn't over," Dustin says, peeved.

You peer down his scorecard. He could win, theoretically, if he were to score multiple yachts, or if he'd been careful with his aces, ones, etc.

"Nah, it is," Steve says. "Take it like a champ, Henderson."

Dustin refuses to give up, playing until the end. You score a solid 319 to his less impressive 178.

Steve robs your hand before you can agree to a rematch, forcing you to unfurl your tensed fist. He loves doing this — he presses the tips of his thumbs into the sides of one of your fingers and pushes down. It must hurt a teeny tiny bit but you never say a word, only giggle at his touch and lean toward him like you might tell him a secret. He would lament how much time he wasted being an asshole to you if he had the wherewithal. As it is, he's enchanted with you, and he isn't casual about it, pushing all of your anxiety down to your fingertips. He brings them to his mouth and kisses them each in turn.

You pull your hand away. He thinks you're standing up to leave the table, but you're moving closer to him and straightening your back. He can picture the ache between your shoulder blades as it is between his own, the weird raw feeling, a tightness.

"Want a neck massage?" he asks as you place your hand against his cheek.

You brush your thumb over his stubble. "Do you want a neck massage?" you ask, unperturbed by his sudden question. His jacket threatens to slide onto the floor.

"Are you offering?"

"Not in cards club." You look over his shoulder. "We could play poker."

"The buy-in's too expensive."

"What?" You frame his face with your hand. He's not sure you know you're doing it. "We can spare it, isn't that why we brought it?"

Buy-in tonight is a bar of soap. Half the time everybody goes home with what they brought anyways, so you're obviously not worried.

You squeeze his cheek and laugh. "You'd be cute if you were chubby."

He grabs your hand, face warped by an irreplaceable joy, a delight to have you and be with you, a sparkling kind of lightness to know you're safe and happy here. He kisses your cheek, and says, smushed up against your skin, "You're cute."

"Thank you."

He hums. "So. Poker?"

—

You have a small sink in your room with a hot and cold faucet, though no matter which one you choose, the water comes out cold. It chills your face as you scrub. When your face is reasonably wet, you lather the bar of honey soap Steve insists on keeping at the side of the sink between your fingers before dropping it imprecisely into your boyfriend's waiting palm. He laughs under his breath at the clumsy manoeuvre.

You listen to him do the same as you had as you soap your face. You give special attention to your nose, your eyebrows, and your ears. Steve laughs again as you work a small towel behind them.

"What's funny?"

"Nothing." He holds his hand out for the towel, patting down his face with less ardency. He isn't less clean for it. "You have suds under your nose. Tiny moustache."

He reaches for it with the towel, lifting your face with the back of his hand under your chin. His eyes are their forever warm brown, fixed on your top lip with a dedication that makes your baseline fondness for him surge.

"I was pretty bad at poker, huh?" you ask.

"No?" He dries a lingering stretch of dampness painting your cheek before dropping the towel behind the faucets. "You didn't win. Doesn't mean you were bad."

"Vanessa said I should stick to Yahtzee," you tell him. You pause, wanting his input, and worried you're feeling offended by something that isn't inherently offensive.

"Vanessa should stick to lawn darts," he says, chucking you under the chin.

He starts to pull his pants down like it's no big deal. It isn't, not after so many months together, you've seen him do worse in worse states than this, but it feels forbidden anyhow to watch him climb into bed.

"Could you pass me my sweatpants?" he asks, face turned into the pillow, his shoulders deflating.

"You're decompressing without me."

"Am not." He pushes his hand under the pillow, shoulder blade shifting under his shirt noticeably. "Hurry and decompress with me."

You throw his sweatpants at his calves and he does a sort of vertical dance to put them on, one leg then the other, lifting his hips and dropping heavily back into the sheets when he's done. He looks at home. His relaxation catches you off guard, a pleasure to see even if it isn't strictly new. He feels safe here with you.

"She's good at those darts," you say.

"And shit at poker," Steve says agreeably. He lifts his head off of the pillow. "Are you coming in or are you gonna sleep standing up tonight?"

You shimmy out of your stiff jeans and try not to feel the huge weight of his eyes on your skin. It's an impossible task, and you fail immediately.

"Stop looking at me."

"M'not."

You glare at him, find him absolutely looking at you. Your glare fades when you realise how loving his gaze is, how it doesn't waver for a second. He pushes the sheets down on your side of the bed and waves his arm for you to get in.

You pull on your pyjama pants and take off your bra, climbing into bed beside him. He wraps his arm around you quickly, or rather under you, his bicep crushed by your shoulders. Chills prickle against your skin as he cups the flesh just shy of your breast. If Steve wanted to touch you like that, he could. You want him just as much as you don't, content to cuddle with him, content to kiss like teenagers with nowhere to go tomorrow, content to do worse. He spreads his fingers over your torso, pinky nudging the underside. You'd let Steve touch wherever he liked, and he'd enjoy doing it, you think. That's a gift in itself such casual intimacy.

"Vanessa, is she…" Steve's minty fresh breath pushes over your face like a small gale. "She's not picking on you, is she?"

You like to be honest with Steve, and you want to be honest now — I don't know. But you hate thinking he'd have to look after you more than he does already.

"No," you say, "we just aren't a good fit."

"Like a puzzle?" Steve asks sceptically.

"Guess my pieces are a little warped after spending so much time with you."

He laughs like you're the funniest girl he's ever met, a big breathy sound with the punch of his voice behind it. "Guess they are," he says, hand climbing higher over your chest. "Is that a bad thing?"

"Never," you say lightly.

He smiles at you. You forget Vanessa's out of place comments, her weak smiles, her for-show friendliness in front of Steve. She doesn't really matter in the grand scheme of things, and letting her dictate your thoughts in gorgeous, glowing moments like this would be a waste.

"Love you," you whisper.

Steve nestles into the space under your jaw. He doesn't fit but he does, of course he does, he's your everything. If that's where he wants to sleep tonight, so be it. You turn into his grasp to take the pressure off of his arm and return his gentle hugging, forcing his face closer so you can breathe in the smell of his hair.

"Love you," Steve says. He kisses your neck chastely. "Turn the light off?"

You reach back blindly and switch off the lamp. Everything will be okay as long as you have your boy. Right?

—

Vanessa gets worse. She makes neutral comments with enough friendliness to make you wonder if she's truly being cruel? Am I just looking for a fight? What do I want?

Maybe it's Vanessa's clear preference for Steve. You could be jealous. You aren't sure what jealousy feels like in relationships until she's touching him when she doesn't need to be and smiling at him like he hung the moon. She doesn't go overboard, though. She keeps her hands mostly to herself. She goes as far as to tell Steve that she thinks you're beautiful.

You don't know how to explain your reservations to him if he can't already see it. If she'd really thought you were beautiful, surely that's something she could say face to face, rather than the unhappy little nod she gives you whenever you cross paths? Despite evidence suggesting it, you don't think Vanessa's trying to make a move on Steve.

She's a bit of a bitch, but that's not a crime. Unfortunate? Yes. Illegal? No. Immoral? You aren't sure.

It's her most obvious dig yet that manages to grab Steve's attention a second time since the poker incident.

"I couldn't let my eyebrows grow out like yours," she says, voice bubbly with a faked awe, "I think it's super cool of you."

"Vanessa," Robin says, eyes on her plate, an inquisitive twist to her voice that you've come to know as her sarcasm, "we're in the apocalypse."

Steve, who'd seemed torn between speaking up and genuinely confused about the comment Vanessa'd made, chokes on his food beside you, soup dribbling down both corners of his mouth as he laughs. You wipe the corners of his mouth with your long sleeves.

"Jeez, you're like my baby," you say. Your voice is occluded by Jonathan's silvery giggles.

Steve swallows roughly, "I resent that."

He still lifts his chin so you'll rub the bead that's escaped down his throat.

Vanessa ends up laughing too, says, "I think I'm just crazy tired," punctuated with a high-pitched laugh.

"Honestly, me too," you say, because maybe she is, and maybe she needs just a little smidge more benefit of the doubt.

"I've been keeping her up," Steve says smugly.

"He still making you read that King book? The Gunslinger?" Jonathan asks. "Will wants it whenever you're done."

"Every night," you say.

You're pretending it's a chore because that's what you and Steve always used to do. These days room for sincerity is much larger, but it's fun to give him a hard time when, at the end of the day, you'll crawl into bed together and tuck his face into your neck, flipping to the dog-eared page of your worn paperback to read in dulcet tones until he's a dozing weight warming your skin.

Steve looks for your hand under the table and lets your small group of friends laugh at him. Chris makes a whipping sound through the corner of his mouth. It's surprisingly accurate, and it makes you laugh worse, leaning your weight into Steve's arm for support in an action so familiar it's entirely thoughtless.

"It's not that funny," he murmurs, breath tickling your forehead.

"M'not laughing," you say.

You are most definitely laughing. It's a good moment, even if Vanessa's comment sticks around underneath to nibble at your heart.

He doesn't let your hand go for a really long time. Not when you're taking the plates up to the dirty dishes trolley, or on the walk back to Little Hawkins' with everybody in high spirits. He struggles to unlock your door one handed and he's still insisting when you try to tug away from him.

"Let me make the bed."

"We're getting back in 'n like, ten minutes."

"You're tired?" you ask.

"No. I just wanna lay down with you."

He says it simply. Concise, with neither affection nor anything less. It's damn near factual. Steve just wants to lay down with you, out of everything in the world he could do. He could be haunting Robin's room, stealing snacks from under her bed and claiming them as bribes for not tattling on her to Hopper. He could be with Dustin in the new rec room —aptly labelled Nerd Club, when put to a vote— arguing on how to spend the valuable alloted half hour of TV time.

He could stay with you and insist on other things. Reading. Self-defence. A walk around the community. Sex. An early night. A cold shower.

But he's content to lay with you, to share one another's space without asking for anything else.

Though you won't rule everything out. His kisses lately are a lot more than you're used to.

"Let my hand go, you fiend!" you declare, overcome with a rush of affection for him. "I'm gonna make the bed and we're gonna lay down and then after that we're gonna go bother Robin."

"You know, I'm not sure I like this you and Robin thing."

You tug your fingers from his. It's like trying to escape a sticky fly trap.

"You mean us being friends?" you ask.

You throw all of your throws and pillows onto the ground and grab your thick quilt, shaking it out over your mattress as Steve groans.

"Exactly!"

"I thought you wanted me to have friends?"

"Of course I do, you word-twisting douche."

"Nice, nice. Dustin or Mike?"

"I stole that one from Will, thank you very much."

"See! You have upwards of four friends, Steve, and I'm not allowed to have any?"

He grabs you from behind. You drop the quilt with a sigh, going limp as a fish in his arms. He staggers backward under your dead weight but manages to keep you up, breath tickling the inside of your ear as he says, "No, you're not. Just me." He kisses your ear.

"I tried that and everyone got mad at me."

"No, they didn't."

They really didn't. You cover his arm with your fingers, rub your fingertips over the hill of his arm. His arm hair is soft.

"Steve."

"What?" he asks, his hands crawling down to cover your stomach.

"Don't squeeze me."

"You're very squeezable."

"I was way more squeezable before, remember."

You'd lost some weight from the start of the apocalypse to now. Steve hates it. You're perfect, he'd said once, no matter what. But still, he laments your lost weight for what it represents — times where you and he had struggled to survive.

"I'm working on that," he promises.

You turn your face, shifting in the circle of his arms to meet his eyes. He has gorgeous eyes. You'd admitted that to yourself a long time ago but each time you really stare into them it takes a moment for it to settle. He is a pretty, pretty boy.

He's looking at you with a soft smile. Then, for a split second, you swear his eyes rove up to your brows. It's more than likely your imagination.

"Let me finish making this bed," you say, turning back to the discarded pile of pillows and blankets.

"You want your jammies?"

You snort happily. "Yeah, sweetheart. Lay 'em out for me, please."

—

For the last week or two, Steve has noticed a change in you. You've changed a lot since you met him (for the second time). You've gone from prickly and distant and somewhat distracted to determined, vigilant. You may not come on scrounging missions outside but you're brave, and you've survived more than he ever wanted you to have to go through.

This change is distinctive. It's like you've reverted to how you acted when you were more friend than girlfriend; you're self conscious.

He really hates it.

He can't work out what he did, or what happened, but it sucks. He sucks.

"There has be be something you want," he says.

You're standing with him by the south fence. He and his team are about to head out for the shopping mall for as many blankets as they can carry.

"I just want you to be careful," you say.

You look tired. It's early in the morning, and you'd woken up earlier still. Your hair is freshly washed from a cold shower.

You're still not comfortable showering without him, but of course the other girls aren't comfortable with him sitting in there when they're naked. You've had to schedule your showers for the dawn hour.

"I'm gonna be careful for free," he says, pulling at a wet strand of your hair. He scratches lightly around your ear before hooking his fingers underneath it, his thumb drawing from your cheek to your lips. "Pick something you want and I'll find it. You know, Robs said we might be able to pass by a real small cherry garden on the way home. Do you–" He should know this. Why doesn't he know this? "Do you like cherries?"

Thankfully, you laugh at his question and let your face fall into his hand. He thumbs your ear lobe gently.

"I don't want anything at all. 'Cept for you to be extremely careful," you say.

He pulls you in for a hug, smashes a messy kiss to your head, and tries to pull away because he's cool and the guys are watching.

You're less quick. You rub your cheek against his chest.

"Please, Steve," you whisper.

He frowns. There's something you're not telling him. He wishes you would, but clearly you don't think you can. He's gonna try to do whatever it is he needs to do to get you there.

Steve takes your face into both hands.

"I will be super careful, dummy. That's my middle name, I'm Steve Careful Harrington," he says.

"I thought your middle name was Danger?"

He kisses you. "No? Who told you that?"

Your laugh is pretty enough to keep him smiling for most of the hike to the mall, until Robin says, mid sentence, "–Jeez, you're pathetic."

Pathetic for you is something he doesn't necessarily mind being, but pathetic in general he cannot abide. He spends the rest of the hike stepping on the sides of Robin's shoes as she retells the plot of Murder on the Orient Express. Steve had seen the movie once but he's never read the original novel. Lucky him, Robin had an Agatha Christie phase when she was twelve, and she knows all the best parts.

Hike is a strange word considering all of their walking is through steep roads. They move past rundown cars, streets and streets of abandoned houses scraped clean. There's an elementary school with a rusted playground in front. Vegetation has already started to spread through the packed wood chip flooring, and one of the swings has a broken chain. Steve hadn't realised how quickly human things fell into disrepair when attacked by the elements and left maintenance.

The mall is a better example. Smashed glass lays around the entrance in tiny pieces like a huge back of upturned sugar, and bluegrass eats its way between paving stones. The team consists of eight people, including Steve, Robin, Christopher, and one of the College's co-leaders, a mister Jeremy Livingstone. They make their way carefully through the glass and grass in a wave of crunching footsteps to the front of the mall, where Steve wedges the flat blade of his knife between the automatic doors and works them open. When there's enough room for a second hand, Chris slides in beside him, and they work the doors open. Steve's biceps are burning by the time they're inside the mall.

"Alright, guys," Jeremy says. "There's a bedding store toward the back of the mall. We'll go there first, and then we'll try to work through the list of requests. Blankets and sheets are our second priority. Staying safe and alive is first. Only grab what you know you can carry, you can bring back whatever you want, just… don't be greedy. Alright?"

They head out for the bedding store at the back.

"How much stuff can we carry?" Robin asks him. "I have weak arms. I'm a weakling."

"Isn't there uh, a fancy storage place? We could drag a suitcase back."

"For two hours?"

"Is it two hours? Livingstone! You want me and Robin to grab some suitcases?"

Everybody fills a suitcase with sheets and blankets in plastic wrap. The brand new stuff feels like a luxury, and Steve dibs a double mattress bedspread made of Egyptian cotton, knowing that'll make you smile. Now he's got your mattress up on those crates from behind the cafeteria, your room has really come together. Blankets and trinkets and sweet glassware. You have a small shelf of books, your clothes, your pens and pencils.

Steve'll bring you anything you want, only you don't seem to want anything at all.

He'll just… have to bring you some of everything.

—

Your tears taste salty. You feel gross for licking a tear off of your top lip but nobody's around to see you do it; Steve might not be home until dark. You have time to get this upset out of your system.

You'd been asked by Maybelle to swing by Armoury and Amenities, an unofficial name for the building where the community keeps the bulk of its collective resources, for a new propane tank. You'd gone inside, said hi to Cooper, said hi to Vanessa, explained why you needed the propane, and left.

Or, you'd tried to leave. The propane tank was heavy, and the front door had been difficult to open one handed. You'd swung it open, quickly put your hand back on the tank to stop yourself from dropping it, and watched in frustration as the door slammed closed before you could worm your way out.

"She's the one who got, like, taken?" came Cooper's voice, pretty much as soon as the door stopped bouncing. His voice echoed from the next room.

"Sure, taken."

You'd stilled instantly.

"What, you think she wanted to go?"

Vanessa sighed. "No, I don't think so. She didn't try very hard to come back, s'all I'm saying."

"Chris says Harrington's infatuated with her. Like he's under a spell," Cooper said, chuckling.

"It's gotta be some kind of magic, she's… Well, God knows he'd have his pick if he came back to reality. You have the catalogue? I wanna note the propane before I forget."

And that had been that.

You don't understand why Steve loves you, sometimes. You know he does. It isn't up for questioning. Love with Steve is a lot of things — long talks in the mornings about anything and everything, his fingers tucking your shirt into your jeans. It's him pulling your hood over your eyes whenever he's behind you and laughing when you grumble. It's hiding in places you shouldn't be, hand in hand. It's miles of Indiana highway. It's heart-racing anxiety that one of you might not make it to the end. Love with Steve is a devotion: he takes care of you. He's taken care of you ever since you met.

You haven't stopped to wonder if you deserve it in a long time.

I don't, you think, half tears and all heartbreak. You don't deserve it. You don't deserve Steve. He's too good, the kind of good that starts life in the marrow of bones. He's sweet and soft-handed with a softer heart. He looks like a dream, and it shouldn't matter but it does. His voice is the only one you like waking up to, his lips hovering by the shell of your ear.

Time to get up, dummy. Rise and shine, angel. Baby, come on. We slept in, loser, and you need to get dressed. Hey, are you listening to me? I miss you, wake up.

"Y/N?" Steve asks, trying the handle.

You flinch hard, and your heart jumps with you. A flip flop somersault feeling in your chest that plummets to your stomach. You scratch madly at your cheeks with two woollen sleeves and stand up as he opens the door.

"Hey," Steve says, and he's safe, he's alive and well and home again.

He stands in the doorway with a bulging rucksack on his back, windbreaker zipped tight to his neck, hair a windblown mess. His nose is red from the cold and his cheeks are ice-bitten, though the colour is coming back to his skin slowly.

You don't feel as though you deserve him but you can't help yourself from springing into his chest, arms around his waist before he can blink. Before he can see the wet mess of your face, and your tear swollen eyes.

"Hey," he says again, leaning a great deal of his weight over your shoulders. He sniffs your hair. "Hey dummy. Told you I'd get home fine, huh?"

You try not to breathe too loudly against his chest. The fabric of his coat is stiff and cold, a contrast to your heated skin.

"Hey," he says, for a third time. This time it's all powdered sugar soft. Concern and exhaustion wrapped together. "I know, I'm sorry it took longer than usual. It's my fault, I wanted to get you something 'n' I made us all late coming home, I know you worry."

You don't answer again. You don't know how to explain it to him. You can barely understand it yourself. You cling to him and his solid mass until he gives in, his mouth pressed to your temple, his arms tightening behind your head. He shields you from the world for a handful of long, stolen minutes. There's nothing but his hugs, no sound to battle the plastic sounds of his windbreaker or the blood rushing between your ears.

"I didn't mean to worry you," he murmurs.

You don't trust your voice to come out whole.

He freezes under your touch. A slow hardening. His hands pause where they'd been rubbing short, featherlight lines.

"I'm sorry," you say, enthusing your tone with some self-deprecating cheer. "You're tired, I'm sorry. You wanna sit down."

"I really do." He laughs.

You peel away from him, the two of you sheepish and awkward and it's so unlike you, unlike him. You think you've made a fool of yourself as he takes off his rucksack, laying it carefully on the floor by the bed as you turn to your shared dresser and rummage through the top drawer for some clean clothes for him to take when he showers.

You've freaked him out, and he thinks you're a weirdo, and he's gonna realise you don't deserve him and you never could. You're bad at nearly everything, and you're a total slob, and you should've tried harder to get back to him, and it's all your fault. Misery grips you and drags you down hard. It spirals, surface level comments from a shallow, jealous girl, they twist and twist until you feel wrung out and useless. And now Steve's home, and you're–

"Are you mad at me?" Steve asks.

You wince and face him, his sweatpants pressed to your chest. "What?"

"You're not talking to me, and you only ever used to do that when you were mad."

You pass him his sweatpants, clear your throat. "Stevie, I'm not mad at you."

"Then what's up?" He unzips his windbreaker, keeping his eyes on you. "I know it's something."

You force yourself to keep a mild smile. You can't think of a lie — you don't want to lie.

Steve frowns as your face crumples, a large palm leaping to the curve of your neck.

"What's wrong?" he asks.

You can't align this Steve with the one you knew in Hawkins. He's so different. Or maybe he isn't different at all, and you're lucky to see the depth of his feelings, the expanse of his goodness and his heart and his secret smile, corners pulled up and eyebrows pushed down just so. It says, You're okay, because we're gonna do this together. The world will keep spinning for us as long as we want it to.

"I had a bad day," you say.

"Are you sure? I've seen you on some bad days, baby. This doesn't feel like that, you know? And I get that I don't always know what to say, but I promise I wanna know. Whatever it is that's been making you all grumpy."

His smile glows, his eyebrows rising. His teasing tone toward the end of his reassurance is a lightness you cling to.

Lately, everything has felt so heavy.

"I'm worried I don't…" Even attempting to say it has your throat aching. You cover his hand with yours. "Steve, I– I feel bad lately. I feel like I'm bad."

He shakes his head, strands of his brown hair unsticking to dance in front of his eyes. "You're not bad."

"I don't deserve you."

He stares.

"Being with you now, having you look after me, I didn't deserve you when I met you." A tear gathers in the line of your lashes. "I don't deserve you now. I'm just me, I'm useless, and you don't have to be with me and I've," —you take in a shuddering breath, and step away from Steve's hand— "been trying to work out why you're still with me and it doesn't make sense. Why do you stay with me?"

"That's a stupid question," he says.

You try to swallow a lump. It stays right there in your throat.

"I got a policy against stupid questions, remember?"

"Steve…"

He cuts you off, tangling his fingers with yours, and easing you close until his breath is warming your lips and you can see the honey-browns that circle his pupils. They feel bigger the longer you look at them.

"How can you ask me that?" he says gently. "You know how much I love you… Right?"

You nod and knuckle a tear off of your cheek. "I know," you say, and you're crying now, little bubbling sobs that wobble your shoulders.

"Listen, if I haven't been showing it I'm sorry, and I'll prove it to you. I don't want you to question it."

"It's not you," you say, pressing your forehead to his collar, craving his comfort so much that you don't care if you don't deserve it.

"Everybody knows that line is a lie," he says.

"I'm not lying. Everybody knows I'm the part that doesn't fit."

"Who's everybody?"

You try to backtrack and pull away, but Steve won't let you this time. "I'm just having a bad day," you say, "and you've had a long one–"

"Stop it." Steve looks at you seriously. He takes your face into both hands, like he always does when he's worried. "I don't care if I crawled home with two broken arms, loser. I gotta know what's wrong. All of it. And you need to tell me."

He thumbs at your damp cheeks.

"Okay," you mumble, embarrassed and relieved at once. "I'll tell you."

You insist that he take his shoes off and stretch out in bed even though he's got dirty jeans on, and he doesn't wanna get your nest of throw blankets dirty, so he peels out of them and sits in his boxers at the top of the bed. You slide in next to him, and he works his arm over your shoulder, and you cry like a baby when he calls you honey under his breath.

—

"And these are for you, too," Steve says, pulling a slightly smushed box of cherries from the bottom of his rucksack.

You look beautiful. Afternoon sunlight drips in from a crack in the curtains, kissing up and down your smiling cheeks. Your eyes are still puffy, but your smile hasn't moved all morning.

"You didn't get anything for yourself?" you ask, though any outrage for him you harbour is hidden by your awe. "I don't remember the last time we got fresh fruit, and you didn't even put them at the top of the bag."

"You're such a whiner. Just try one."

Your fingers play delicately over the punnet of cherries. The cherry garden had had a lot of supplies left to 'borrow', and after a sickly half an hour of him and Robin staining their teeth, he'd managed to grab a perfect box's worth for you. Perfect before they got squished, that is.

"You should have the first one," you say.

"No," he says, and shoves the box at your calf. "They're for you. If you like them, I want you to eat all of them and throw up like a godzilla."

"Not sure you're remembering that movie right," you murmur, plucking one of the cherries out of the box.

You bite into the cherry and your eyes screw up. "Oh wow, that's sour. I don't…" You finish chewing, and Steve is rocketed to cloud nine when you go in for a second cherry, and then a third.

Last night had been tough. Steve spent a long time talking you down from what'd been sewn into your head, and he'd pulled the truth from you in strings. Vanessa had been cruel to you on more than one occasion now, which Steve had known but not to the full extent, and her last comment had been too much. Steve, unapologetically, hates her.

But Vanessa isn't the sole problem.

You're having a really hard time. All of this has been so much for you. It is, in Robin's words, the fucking apocalypse, and between nearly starving to death and all the shitty things that have happened to you, he isn't surprised to find you're fragile. And he doesn't say fragile, meaning weak. He doesn't know a lot about the world but he knows the human brain and body isn't built for this. You're his girl, and you're hurting, and while he knows objectively this isn't his fault, he vows to do a better job at protecting you.

He won't fail you again. He can't.

He watches cherry juice escape out of the corner of your mouth.

"You're cute," he says. "Where's the disposable? Pass it over."

"You are not taking a photo of me right now, baby."

"You look beautiful."

"When will we ever get the photos developed, anyway?" you say, laughing, kissing juice off of your fingertips.

He leaps for the camera and tussles you when you fight back. You laugh and lose, weak with giggles as he holds you away, his fingers pressing into the soft plush of your waist.

"Jonathan does all of that stuff," Steve says knowingly.

He gives you a little shove. You cover your face with your hands, words muffled, "Thought the camera was for me?"

"We're sharers. We share things. Look, if you don't smile for me I'm gonna take a picture of you in your underwear."

You throw your hands over your lap and he snaps a photo of your shy face.

"Shithead fucking pervert," you say.

Steve knows he's off the hook when you laugh.

He's gonna give Vanessa the coldest shoulder anyone has ever given, and if she were a guy Steve would defend your honour in a more physical manner. He'd suggested a verbal defence last night but you'd begged him to never, ever bring any of it up to Vanessa or your friends. It startled him —you have nothing to be ashamed of— but he'd agreed. Whatever's gonna make you happy is, perhaps cornily, what he wants to do.

Right now, making you happy is gifts on the floor of your tiny shared bedroom, pantsless but, fascinatingly, with socks. He points the camera at your ankles.

You grab the new blanket he'd given you and drape it over your legs. "Pervert," you reiterate.

He puts down the camera.

"Not my fault they made you perfect."

"Who's they?"

Steve shrugs, and can't keep the smirk off of his face as he says, "They made every damn inch of you perfect, especially but not limited to your pretty eyebrows."

Your smile settles into something more timid. You push your hill of gifts aside, careful not to spill your cherries, and walk the short distance on knees to wrap your arms around his neck. Your face fits into the curve of his neck exactly the way it always will. His hand cups your lower back.

"Love you, Harrington," you say.

"How much? 'Nough to let me have some of the cherries?"

You shake your head gently, the tip of your nose bumping his Adam's apple. "No…" you say apprehensively.

"No? You don't wanna share with me?"

"No." Your mumbling is adorable. Steve wants to eat you alive, or at the very least kiss you until you turn to jelly in his arms.

If he starts now, he can be done by dinner.

"Five seconds to change your mind. After that I'm taking all of them by force. Five, four, three…"

You shriek, and even your shrieking is a sound he wants to hear. You drop away from him and grab the cherries, cornering yourself too fast as you stagger to your feet and hide by the desk. Shoulders against the cabinet, you grab up one of your rare books like a shield, and you glare at him over the cover.

"You said they were for me!" you say, real panic in your voice. You know from experience Steve will tickle you until you can't breathe.

"They are for you! I love you," he says, words dripping with a false sincerity (though he loves you, undeniably). "I'm just trying to help you, sweetheart. You don't want my help?"

"You keep your help away from me, beast."

It doesn't take him nearly as long as he'd thought to melt you. He tickles you, and he steals a handful of your precious cherries, and when he kisses you dizzy it leaves red-pink splotches over the column of your neck, his smile temporarily printed into your skin.

—

ty for reading <3 I hope you enjoyed, and if you did pls consider reblogging <3<3

#steve zombie!au #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington #stranger things x reader #stranger things fic #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #stranger things

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cvlutos · 1 year

Note

So it's established that Jamil is on the strong side, right? With how his unique magic isn't something just anyone would be able to do and how he's really smart but also smart enough to look average? (This could apply to other boys too but I'm in a Jamil mood)

I wanna see him fight for us. I wanna see us in danger, and we yell out Jamil's name, and he comes to our rescue, but its not just him rescuing us- it's him engulfed in fury and making sure your attackers never come near you again. Even better if it's someone who underestimates him. Maybe some Snooty tooty high up guys who visit NRC for something, and since Jamil is a model student he's one of the students to show them around. And those guys are the kind where they compliment him but also sneer at how he's only *average*. Backhanded compliments and such. And then they spot Us, and they're like "That person has no magic, what are they doing here?!" And if you're a girl, well, they'd have something to say about that too. They're not happy with your existence at NRC. So before they leave...it wouldn't hurt to do something about you, right? Like forcibly drag you away? Maybe hit you a few times or tie you up so you stop struggling? And you can't fight back so you yell out in desperation for the one who unknowingly knows your heart- Jamil. And -I dunno how *shrug*- he finds you, sees what's happening to you, and all restraint has left him as he pulls out his pen.

… it’s the weekend. I’m tryna not write rn. I’m trying to control myself. But you had to make it real difficult. I can’t stand you. /j

♡ J.V | FIGHT FOR ME | ANGST W/ FLUFF | [TW: VIOLENCE, BULLYING, BLOOD]

There’s only three of them. Three against one and each with magic, who are dead set on making you remember what.you.are. Magicless. It doesn’t matter if you know the fact, live by that simple inability in which makes you a forever outliner no matter where you go, where you exist. You will always be magicless, bottom of the barrel. Useless. You know this, you do. Yet you make amends elsewhere. You do. You really try.

It hurts.

His broad fist slamming into your nose, while another kick your legs from out under you. While a third take a photo. They laugh, a laugh that mixes in with the ringing of your ears and the pounding of your skull. You feel your body collide with the ground, and they laugh again. As if a record on repeat, they want you to know how pathetic you are. You can hear the click of their camera, their snickers and words that don’t quite reach your ears.

“You aren’t supposed to disappear. Youre still on NRC grounds—What are you,” You struggle to see past their large bodies, yet ypu know his voice. His tired and annoyed voice that stop short. As if fully taking in the scene before him, the others taunt, laughing, saying how they couldn’t care less about ‘NRC stupid rules’. Especially since they let you in. You struggle to sit, to open your mouth to simply catch his gaze. And you do, charcoal grey to yours.

It hurts.

To see his knee slammed in the first students face, fingers interlocked and wrapped around the jerk’s huge head. It happened within a second, for the vice warden to spring from the ground, as if it was mere second nature to bring such a towering body down easily. Yet the look upon his face was neutral, as if his very expression was craved from dark stone, while his eyes, filled with such rage inwhich it sent a shiver down your own spine. He wouldn’t hurt you, as he falls with lands and with a simple step is already on the second one, sending a punch to the face, you swear you could hear a bone crack, before he could even utter a word.

He feels like the wind, the blows past on a hot day, warming your face, forcing you to focus solely on it more than whatever cause such heat. It should burn… yet, your ignore the ache and turn your body. It all happened so fast, with all three bodies littered on the ground. While Jamil stands victorious. Breathing deeply through his nose, shoulders tense, and hands clenched.

Yet when he looks at you, there isn’t any anger, only worry. Fear. Regret.

As if whatever you saw before was merely a fragment. Yet as he kneels before you, face pulling into a frown as he pulls a bundle of napkins and tissues, most definitely in case Kalim needed them, from his pocket he whips the blood from your nose. Sitting in the silence. He’s a soft breeze, barely unnoticeable unless you stop for a moment. “I was worried when you disappeared like that…” He pauses, as if it just dawned on him what truly happened. You got hurt. You really did.

“If anything—and I mean anything happens like that again. Call my name. Call it. Shout it. Scream. Cry,” there’s unwavering loyalty in his words, “and I will fight for you.”

Always.

#t.manor.drabbles #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #jamil viper #jamil viper fluff #jamil viper x reader #Jamil viper angst #twst jamil #Jamil x reader #jamil fluff #Jamil angst #twst angst #Twst fluff #Twst x reader

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whosjunglejim4322 · 1 year

Text

Incarnadine - E.M

Warnings ® angst, fluff, SMUT, you suck him off<3 Established relationship, mentions of injury, scars, Eddie has nightmares and is still recovering from the Upside Down, lots of reassurance and praise, he's needy but he will never admit it, this story involves wounded Eddie, you show him how beautiful he really is, no matter what <3 good boy! Eddie

Today marks five months exactly. Chatter still moves around town like an echo of an old friend. People are still nervous when they're in crowded spaces, even more nervous when they're alone in their homes, big and ostentatious or small and quaint. They still talk about him like he's a monster, like he's not a victim.

It's excruciating. And maybe you're selfish for saying that, but knowing what you know, it's hard to hear anything negative come out of any snooty or high strung suburban residents mouth's.

The only saving grace is being able to be with him. Everyday, give or take. But this week he will be under your care entirely. After what happened to Chrissy Cunningham, and what happened after, which is regarded as 'the incident', the town of Hawkins did nothing to cover Eddie's medical bills. Despite the fact that he and your friends became faces of a bullshit cover story - to save everyone else's asses.

Wayne has been doing doubles for the past four months and twenty nine days, but his boss has given him an out of town gig that pays twice as much, and goddamn it he will make everything right again. That's his words, not yours. Wayne has taken it hard, understandably so.

You had to explain to him, and your boyfriend alike, that you love Eddie. Dearly, without judgement, with an open heart and mind. Eddie isn't a pass off, and you making sure he's alright is second nature, not obligatory in any definition of the word.

Eddie hates this feeling, admittedly. Like he's a burden, like he's got to be watched after and like everyone has to redirect their lives for him of all people. You'd kill him if he ever said that out loud. The only thing that makes it even remotely worth it, is that you're the one here by his side every day. And not just at the hospital anymore, but here, in his home.

Now, you're gonna be a permanent resident for the foreseeable future and he can't hide his excitement despite the physical pain he's in.

"Eddie, Eds, baby -" Your scolding falls on deaf ears and turns into a full blown giggle before you're able to establish any actual authority. The brunette is too worried about kissing your face like an overly excited golden retriever, elated that you're finally here. "you're not healed."

You keep your eyes from staring at the mauve and plum colored scar that decorates the side of his neck.

He groans petulantly, nipping your earlobe. His chest and back and sides are still on fire after all this time. It doesn't really go away, it just simmers down like someone has stopped on the flames. He's gotten used to it, but not enough to push it. Not enough to forego your advice and pounce you like he normally would.

"l probably won't ever be healed, what harms' a little lovin'?" He toys with the strands of your hair that are unruly, smiling down at you like he hasn't been through the literal pits of hell and back. It'll never not amaze you, his resilience. He doesn't even notice it in the creases of his smile lines or the shake of his hands.

"We have plenty of time for lovin', Munson. Just not right away. I haven't even gotten a good look at your pretty face."

His blush burns across his nose, cheeks, and brow bone. You reach up to cup his jaw, to stroke his skin. He leans into the touch like he hasn't felt your warmth in eons, sighing through his nostrils. He closes his eyes for a brief moment, and opens them when you lean in to kiss his chin.

"I really...I'm glad you're here. You don't have to -"

You flick his nose.

"Shut up, I love you, dummy. Don't you know that I practically begged Wayne to let me tend to sweet little Eddie? Hmm?" You've grabbed two thick handfuls of his hair, swinging it above his head like puppy dog ears. He chortles, scrunching his face.

"and by the way, you're right. I don't have to do anything. I want to." His cheeks are squishy and moldable between your palms, lips pouty and too kissable to bear.

He believes you. He believes it in the way you peck his mouth over and over again, little strings of your shared saliva in the middle. He believes it in the way you allow him to wrap his arms around your middle and pull you close to his still healing body. In the way you trust him enough to let him grab your hands and place them on his waist.

You tense, and then relax when he pulls away with sparkles in his eyes.

"Just didn't want anyone else to be here playin' doctor with me, did ya sweetheart?"

The nights always start the same. Eddie gets up halfway between the movie that's on, wincing and giving you an apologetic smile. Cold showers help when they burn, which seems to happen mostly at night. You're still new this, to the interdimensional eldritch horror situation - but you know enough about it through Dustin Henderson's graphic retellings to know that it is having some residual effects.

As far as when they will go away, if they go away, everyone is still in the dark about it. No one has had such awful injuries from being in the Upside Down, and survived.

Doctor Owens is only sure about a few things. It won't spread. And it won't kill him. However, the pain will stay as long as the scars do.

Eddie is still apprehensive about letting you see them. The one on his neck is the only one that's visible. Instead of waltzing out of the bathroom with just a towel around his lithe hips, he returns fully dressed, wet hair drenching the tops of his broad shoulders. It's like this for almost an entire week.

And you're not angry, you're not hurt. You're just worried. Worried about the tossing and turning in his sleep, the fearful whimpers that sometimes escape him during the midnight hours. He sometimes even clings to you so hard in his half consciousness, that you wake up with fingerprint shaped bruises.

Tonight is no different.

His hair is still damp against his pillow case, he wriggles and writhes and mutters words you can't quite interpret. Your back is facing his, warm and solid. You feel him twitch and whine, and it tears you from the half conscious state you're in.

You roll over, carefully placing your arm around the expanse of his hip, resting your nose against the nape of his neck. This usually calms him down, sometimes he even sleeps through the whole night if you hold him like this.

"Burns..." His voice is small, almost silent. Your body reacts instantly, removing itself from his proximity so you can sit up and give him a once over. He rolls over onto his back, and a tear slips from the corner of his half opened eyes.

Your heart cracks in half, and all of your love for him spills into your body, lighting you up like a bonfire.

"What can I do? Please, tell me what to do." The lump in your throat is obtuse. He reaches out, grabbing at your arm like he's offended you left him. He blinks a few times, licks his lips, and you know he's awake now.

"Ice pack - there's an ice pack in the freezer." He sounds reluctant, like the idea of you doing anything for him when he's like this, hurts. It should be the other way around. He thinks to himself. He's in too much pain to put up a fight about it.

You bound out of bed, around his long legs and over the clutter on his floor until you're booking it towards the dark kitchen. Slinging open the freezer, you search for a quick minute until you see the blue ouch sitting atop a miscellaneous selection of frozen meat and vegetables.

A Hershey's bar in the door calls for your attention, but you save that thought for a later time.

"Got it," you breathe out, returning to the quiet room. Eddie is sitting up, panting, eyebrows furrowed and nose scrunched. His bottom lip quivers and you feel like you're breaking in half. You sit across from him, moving his hair out from in front of his face. "baby, let me see."

He stalls for a moment, blinking up at the ceiling. He has to prepare himself for the worst, for you being so terrified of how he looks now that you may run. He isn't the same, his body isn't the same as the one you touched before. He takes a deep breath.

"I gotta...gotta get this off." He gestures to his shirt, arms stiff from the searing pain coursing through his nerves. You move slowly, gently. You grasp the hem of his shirt, Black Sabbath, and carefully lift the material past his abdomen. A strained whine leaves his lips when it's almost over his head, when he has to lift his hands in the air so you can pull it off.

The moonlight is beautiful. A pale iridescent light that serves as a reminder, I'm here you're safe, I'm bathing lovers in my essence. It's the only thing that illuminates his body, the still healing skin. They're pink and purple and form ridges and valleys across his belly, sides, chest. It takes your breath away, the thought of those things doing this to him. You gasp when a tear cascades down your bottom lip.

Wiping it away fervently, you realize you've been staring. Eddie is so still you have to look up at him just to make sure he's still here.

Big brown eyes stare back at you, glossy. He looks crestfallen, like hes waiting for the worst. Waiting for you to scream, look disgusted, call him a monster. His bottom lip is wobbling again, and you are careful to avoid the injuries when you reach over and smash your lips into his.

It takes him a moment to realize that you're kissing him. Not just kissing him, you're fucking consuming him. Now he's the one breathless, clenching fist-fulls of his bed sheets while you hold his fevering face in your soft palms. Your noses are scrunched together, neither of you can breathe, and you hold it for just a moment longer so that you can taste his tongue before you're pulling away.

"Holy fuck." He pants. For some odd reason, the pain has lessened.

"Lay back, tell me which one hurts the most okay?" You say it like you his pupils aren't blown out, like his breathing isn't eerily steady. You say it like he isn't blush and kiss bitten. He listens, leaning back. How the fuck have you made him speechless?

You crawl beside him, sitting on your heels and pretend not to be disheveled. His hand has found purchase on your hip, rubbing circles against the skin that's exposed from your shirt rising up.

"The one in the middle...s'the worst." He watches you with intensity, every move, every breath. You hover over the healed wound with the blue ice pack. His belly tenses.

You're light with your hands. So gentle, all he feels is relief instead of discomfort or pain. The doctors had been rough, probably had something to do with their own biases. But you. You're a fucking angel, your touch is heavenly and all consuming. He's melting into the mattress, sighing in relief as the coolness graces his skin.

You feel your heart piecing back together, looking over to see his eyes half lidded, his tears dry. He keeps a steady pace with his thumb against your hip.

"Better? Worse? Talk to me." Your voice isn't scolding. It isn't judgmental. It's curious. He smiles like he's drunk, staring up at you. He's never looked more beautiful.

"Better, much better." There's a mischievous lilt in his tone. You quirk your eyebrow, giggling.

"What is it, Munson? You look like the cat who got the cream. Or however that goes," you trace the blue veins that branch outwards at the corner of his inner elbow. "it's cute, but I feel like I should be worried."

"I thought you'd think I was horrendous. A real freak show." He tries to sound like he's half joking, widens his eyes comically and snarls his lip sardonically - but you cock your head, confused.

Eddie thought you wouldn't love him anymore.

"Are you fucking insane?" It's the harshest you've sounded all night, and he can't help but to chuckle. It hurts his ribs, but the giggles bellow from him like smoke.

"Eddie, you're the most beautiful boy I've ever seen. I don't say that to blow sunshine up your ass, I say it because I mean it," you stroke his face, and he seems bewildered. "you're so pretty it hurts. You always will be, to me. How could I? Why would I-?"

You sound like you're on the verge of tears again, and his bones feel heavy, stomach churning. He sits up, disregarding the burn, and places his warm palms against the sides of your neck. You look at him like he's just said something inhumane.

"Baby, hey," he presses his forehead to yours. "I love you, I'm sorry."

You shake your head, his curls tickle your face. "You don't have to be sorry Eddie, of course not. Just...I love you so fucking much."

He wants to cry again, but he doesn't. He mouths the side of your cheeks. Your eyelids. The tip of your nose. "I love you too sweetheart," he pecks your mouth. "more...more than I'll ever really be able to say." And again. And again.

You probably shouldn't be as slick between your legs as you are right now. But you can't bring yourself to feel guilty about it. Not when he's kissing you like this, the way he knows you like, in a way that you haven't felt for three entire months because of the state his body has been in.

His hair billows through your fingers, and you absentmindedly pull him closer to your mouth by the roots. He groans in your mouth, a sound that reverberates through your throat, downwards behind your ribs. It flurries through your body like a memory that's so close you can taste it; feel it.

You pull back hastily, wired from the tips of your ears to the bottom of your feet. He looks so goddamn pretty, so messy and raw. You stroke his plump bottom lip with your thumb. He resists the urge to suck it into his mouth. He doesn't know if you're ready for that type of thing yet.

"I wanna suck you off, Eddie."

Well fuck.

He looks as incredulous as you expect, eyes practically bugging out of his head. His cheeks puff outwards when he lets a breath out.

"Really? You're serious?" He knows the answer. You're looking at him like he's the reason for your starvation.

"I want to...I want to make you feel good Eds," his cock was already growing, now it's practically bursting at the seams. You grab his big hands, bringing rough knuckles to the surface of your lips. "wanna make you cum. Will you let me? Do you want that?"

He feels a little dizzy. He honestly didn't know when you two would ever be able to do anything like this again. Hell, he couldn't fathom you liking his appearance anymore, let alone asking to suck his dick with the lilt of a beg in your voice.

"Jesus Christ, yeah baby 'course I want it. Y-you're sure you want this- ohh, ohh sweetheart."

You've already brought your palm to his pants, stroking the twitching appendage underneath. He's so touch deprived he doesn't know what to do with himself, so he settles for throwing his head back, gripping at the sheets once again for dear life.

You don't want to wait. You're set a fire on the inside, between your legs aches to be filled but you're too focused on making him feel good to really want anything done about it. Him. That's what matters right now. The desperate groan that escapes him, the vein bulging at his jugular.

"Lay back baby." You kiss his throat, and he does as you ask.

You're careful when you kiss his chest. You move around the scars, teetering around the perimeters. He's stuck between wanting to close his eyes, and wanting to watch every move you make. You're careful, delicate like he's the most important thing in the world.

As you kiss the trail of hair underneath his belly button, across alabaster hip-bones, you pull his bottoms off all the while.

From your position, it nudges against your chin when it's out of the confines of his pajamas, dribbling with precum, sticky all the way down the shaft. You coo, kissing the tops of his thighs. Eddie doesn't know what to do with himself. He's never felt this vulnerable, this fucking horny. His balls are about to burst.

"Eddie...you're so hard. Baby, mm, my boy." You grip the very base, starting your mouths ascent from there. He whimpers into the cool air of his bedroom, holding on by a very thin veil of consciousness. Your elbows rest between his thighs, belly atop his mattress. You close your eyes and hum when you get to the swollen, ruby tip.

"Oh god - please," he doesn't know what he's begging for. For your mouth, your being, your soul. His fingers grasp your face as your tongue gathers the pre arousal that's made such a mess of him. You have to hold his shaft steady so that the twitching doesn't move him away from your lips. "feels so fucking good, you've no idea."

The praise is getting to your head. You feel wetness leaking from your hole, dripping into your underwear. You pull his cock forward slightly, angling it so that you can take him in your mouth.

His whole body clenches when you slide it in.

He's moaning obscenities into the wind, writhing like he's too overwhelmed to think. He is. It's been so long. Too long, since he felt you like this. Since he felt your mouth. You're feeling the same sentiment as you begin to stroke what you can't fit, from the thatch of brunette hair to the glossy head. The salty aftertaste of his pre-cum keeps you satiated.

It's intoxicating, being able to make him feel like this. Feeling him fill your mouth and throat up like this. Just knowing the sounds he's making are not only for you but because of you - that's enough to have you on the verge of an indescribably neediness yourself.

"Taste' so good Eds, missed this."

It's barely coherent, but he knows your voice too well - knows your sweet talk too well. The most excruciating part is that you mean it, you say it with so much truth he feels it in every part of his body.

You suck him off like you've missed it as much as he has. Because you have. You're not shy, not ashamed. The sounds are lewd and sticky and wet, it's driving him fucking mad. He reaches down to grasp one of.your hands that are around his cock, replacing it with the intertwinement of his fingers.

You take him further, till the head of his cock touches your uvula, and you gag. Eddie groans like he's in pain, but you know he isn't. He's thrusting up into your mouth, chasing all of your warmth, all of your spit even though most of it has leaked from your mouth and coated his balls and inner thighs.

"Ohhhh shit, m'gonna cum baby I can feel it," he looks down, fucked completely out by this point. You're a fucking goddess, messy hair and a wet mouth and fluttering lashes. "don't stop, p-please."

You wouldn't dream of it, not when he's so close. Not when you can feel the muscles in his abdomen clenching, convulsing. Not when he sounds so pretty, so unbelievably yours.

You moan around him, elated by the fact that you're able to please him like this, and Eddie is a goner.

"Cu-cumming!" He's barely able to breathe it out.

He shoved his face into the pillow beside him, biting down on the fabric. The sound that rips through him is animalistic, and you have to use a good bit of your strength to keep his thighs parted as he spurts his seed into your mouth, down your throat.

You don't let up until you've swallowed every drop, every remnant of his arousal. His chest is rising and falling with such a rapid pace, you're almost worried you've hurt him.

But then he's looking down at you, with your mouth releasing from his semi softening cock. He's got glossy eyes again, blotches of red on his neck and chest and face. His hair is sticking to him like saran wrap and this big, dopey smile is etched across his face. His tongue darts out to lick the perspiration from his upper lip.

He doesn't have to ask for you to start moving towards him. When you're in close enough proximity, where he can actually manage to move a limb, he's grabbing your face and pressing your lips to his like a man starved.

Your giggle echoes his own.

"When I'm mobile again," he suckles your tongue, tasting himself.

"I'm showing you no mercy, sweetheart"

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #stranger things fic #stranger things x reader #joseph quinn #eddie munson x you #stranger thigs smut

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wolven91 · 9 months

Text

Beers With The Fellas

"Hey guys, you coming round to mine tonight? Got a bunch of drinks in." Asked the human suddenly, surprising the work crew.

The rest of the crew looked up from where they were packing away their tools to the diminutive creature. The 'new' additions, that were the humans, were still finding their feet in the wider society despite it being over a year since their disastrous debut. It had to be admitted that they had taken to it rapidly now that they had given a proper opportunity.

That said, they often had odd ideas that left the other races scrabbling to react correctly.

The crew was a mixture of races, none of which really mixed outside of work. It wasn't that they specifically didn't like each other or had unfounded prejudices, it was just... not done? The various races had multiple clashes with one another. Everyone present hadn't been involved in the fighting or even knew someone involved, but it was s still a fact that their respective governments had a cold relation, if at all. The slender taurian, looked to the robust ursidain, who looked to the towering ssypno. When a new species joined the wider community, it was required, expected or demanded that they be given an opportunity to show how they can add to the community, how their culture reacted to others.

It was just good sense, a fresh set of eyes on established processes. Especially saying of just how much the galaxy had stagnated over the last few hundred years. There were rumours that nothing had changed, not even a new recipe in all that time. At least not until the humans showed up.

In the distant past, some races like the vulptanis had interesting technology to add, or others, like the esquinines, had an inspired governmental process. But the humans? Well, they had none of these overt boons.

But what they did have, was ideas. Odd ones, but every now and then a tiny change here or there had a ripple effect that confounded established processes down the line. Some good, some bad.

So, when the human was stood there, arms wide, a broad smile plastered over her face and offered the team to come to her domicile for 'drinks', the crew hesitated when they realised their first gut reaction was to say no. Afterall, you didn't invite practical strangers into your nest, den or home, colleagues or not it was done.

"Sure?" replied the taurian, always first to side with the human, even to his detriment. Male taurians were meant to know how to handle any social situation after all, it was why he oversaw managing the haphazard group.

The ursidain, a male who hadn't quite decided if he liked the tiny, stick thin creatures yet, rolled his eyes whilst facing away from the group, he'd wait, let the rest of them decide before throwing in his own choice with the popular choice. The ssypno clapped his hands together with a joyful look plastered across his face.

"I've never seen a human home before! Of course! Do you need me to bring anything?"

"Only if you want something specific to drink, a friend of mine works in logistics; a bunch of beer, or rather what was described as beer. The kegs got damaged and the snooty sluggat who they were for refused to accept them. They were paid for so he basically gave me a bunch as he needed the warehouse space, should be enough to tide you guys over and I made sure to have plenty of food in so-"

"What time?" Asked the ursidain, not intending to interrupt the human, but to be fair he'd need to go and get washed first. At the mention of food his head had whipped round, ears perked.

"Soon as you're ready, all I'm going to do when I get home is get changed. Apparently, the comet that flew by earlier today has a tail that'll give us a bit of a light show." She explained. It was as a good excuse as any, the ursidain would get to eat, the ssypno would get to satisfy his curiosity and the taurian would suffer through, but watch, monitor and learn what he could.

The team broke up and went their separate ways. It was barely a few hours later, that the trio of aliens met up with one another again as they navigated to the human's apartment. It was an interesting travel, the human's home was a secret, they were banned from revealing it and were escorted at one point by a squad of canids to ensure they weren't being followed. As the 'B' repair team, they were used to getting the crap jobs, the jobs the rest of the teams didn't want. So the fact they got an escort and were brought to a very nice hab-block with all the airs and graces that came with that life?

It stroked their egos ever so gently, endearing them to the human for this opportunity. No rich citizen would invite 'their kind' here normally. Not unless a toilet was broken.

Stepping up to the door, they scratched their claws down the metal plate to announce themselves and moments later their human colleague let them in with a smile and a flourish.

"Hey! Come on through, I rigged up an ice bath on the balcony so if you got anything that needs cooling down, you can stick it in there. Foods next to the doors too!" The female human finished with a chuckle, lightly elbowing the ursidain in the rotund belly. The giant brown bear grinned at his weight being acknowledged; he'd tried hard to ensure he kept up appearances, it was nice that someone other than a fellow ursidain finally paid him a compliment. To the ursidains, to be accused of getting thin was on par with the worst insult one could think of after all.

Stepping through the door, the home wasn't too far removed from the standard template, but the home itself had some odd styleistic choices. The ssypno made no effort to hide his curiosity, moving around, running his fingers over the counter tops. Everything was too small, but he loved the rugs that tied to room together, plus it was nice to have something other than the cold floors beneath him.

He shamelessly stole the idea of rugs everywhere for his own meagre home.

The whole team eventually settled on the balcony that overlooked 'The Great Glass Ceiling' that was the ceiling and sides of all the spinning circular station that residents this side of the station enjoyed for an unobstructed view of space. At first, conversation was hesitant, the nervousness of meeting co-workers outside of a work environment was alien, but with drinks and food available, eventually the walls came down. They settled into the banter they had during the day, realising that they were no different from who they were at work, just more relaxed.

The comet's 'tail' was a sight to behold as micro-meteors lashed the station's shielding creating a display of shooting stars that were hard to come by outside of specific planets. Even the shield added its own glowing display that coloured the darkened residential district.

What came from this evening was a noted high cohesion of the team by upper management and the taurian manager. All of a sudden, during work hours they were far more in sync with one another and became even more so over time. Their efficiency skyrocketed from a lower end of the average to being classed as 'ideal' by the station AI. Upper management, obviously wanted to recapture this lightning in a bottle. So began their plan to enforce 'team building exercises' for all workers outside of work hours. This initiative ended as a unmitigated disaster and almost universally hated when employed with the various other races.

The Administrator of the station instead decided to recreate the original environmental settings while instructing nearby stations to do the same and see what would happen. Several food and drink deliveries were 'refused' for various false reasons and marked as 'free to be taken'. The human, and other humans on other stations, time and again, took the opportunity to share their wealth with their colleagues. Each time the various races took part with these 'drinks with the guys/girls' there was a noted positive increase to their work-life interactions.

Mind bogglingly, they invited near strangers into their homes or to established bars to simply 'make friends' with any species, not just their own.

The social engineering of humans, seemingly unintentionally, was a boon to any workplace should they have access to what was needed, meaning free booze and food, and placed with staff that were openly welcoming to newcomers. It was quietly designed that this would happen should a human appear in a station and request work.

Humans were excruciatingly rare still, but if one enquired about any open positions, a role was created in rapid order where the 'recommended' settings of human friendly crew were available. Each time and every time, the overall productivity, morale and team cohesion increased once the human began making friends in their own strange alien way.

The various AIs of each station communicated with one another and simply made the conditions easier for these humans to work their magic. For the cost of a single delivery of consumables, these humans made work teams who were struggling into top notch employees.

#conservationverse #cuddleverse #human #haso #hfy #humans are space orcs #ursidain #bear #taurian #minotaur #ssypno #naga #furry

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crookedkryptonitebeliever · 1 year

Text

yandere best friend pt3

tw; infantalization, yelling, violence, self harm, feels bad because comparison is the thief of joy, life being unfair

ageless blogs n minors DNI blease tq <3

yea im on a roll haha i just finished part 2 and now i moved onto part 3, as u can see i was projecting here with the leg situation

anyways its pretty short and as usual, no proofreading

enjoay

You don't know how he's doing right now. Time passes so fast that its been four years since that haunting call from your friend. You finished your masters degree and now you're deeper in debt than ever. You're taking on three jobs unrelated to your qualifications and running on no sleep, just like how your friend did when he was working towards his biggest goal.

Well, maybe you lied. You knew how he's doing, because his stupid restaurant name is ubiquitous.

It's strange, unfair and confusing how he managed to turn his restaurant into a multimillion corporation this fast. It's now a famous brand with multiple branches across the globe, it has expanded into selling frozen products in supermarkets everywhere. It's still growing too, more and more people are investing in his empire, making him richer and richer and making you green with fucking envy.

People who invest in stocks bring up his brand pretty often, saying that it's worth to invest a couple thousand dollars in it because its in some sort of top 500 index. You weren't really interested in that because you don't even have a couple thousand dollars to spare in the first place.

Your friend seem to mostly stay out of the limelight, making him more of a faceless founder. It's rare to find interviews with him, even if you did, he would always give vague, generic answers to the questions. He would focus more on promoting his products than anything else, he's neither humble or arrogant... but he's just like a robot made only to advertise whatever it's selling and make as much sales as it can.

The masses would very much prefer to pay attention to the celebrity ambassadors the marketing department hired.

Personal information about your friend was scarce, so far you knew that he went ahead and got himself a diploma in culinary arts and another diploma in Food Science and Technology in the last four years. No doubt, to improve the credibility of his company and in hopes of having more customers flock in.

You felt... bad. Took the conventional, the more socially accepted route of studying to one of the highest degrees, but your friend who started off with only a high school diploma and an iron will was so much more successful than you in life.

Perhaps it's simply the human condition to compare ourselves to wildly different lives. Every time you check the news about your friend, it's always something about his company achieving another award for delicious tasting food, well known events involving major public figures or the highly anticipated release of a new product.

You don't come across pictures with your friend in it, but when you do, it's always a picture of him talking to an important figure in a lavish setting, or having the fanciest dinner you have ever seen with people in formal clothes. He looked amazing in every one of it, he was so put together that it looks unreal. Well, seeing that he can afford the best treatments the world has to offer, it doesn't come off as a huge surprise.

And that is soul crushing, you wish to be him. And you forgot the hardships he went through. And you became bitter. And resentful of him. And resentful towards yourself. And-

Oh, your break is up. Time to continue your self loathing inner monologue while dealing with snooty customers. All the while, forgetting that your friend also has to deal with mood and energy vampires everyday.

As if things couldn't get anymore worse, you fucked up your legs. Well, not you. But some spoiled brat with a speedy sports car slammed onto you while you were lawfully using the zebra crossing. Their daddy was loaded and had the right connections, so the person who took your legs out walked away scot-free. You were left to clean up the mess yourself.

Luckily, it's not the worst thing your legs can take. You'll still be able to walk, but it will take ages to heal and might as well amputate them to pay for the damn bill. Throw in a kidney or two and you might just pay half of it off. So, you'll be wheelchair ridden until further notice.

You moved back into your parents' home, the same country where you and your friend first met. As much as you hate depending on others, you need your parents help. You are financially ruined and you can't exactly find a job that's kind to people with your disability. Or to people with any disability, in fact.

Word spreads so fucking fast. Your friend made a beeline to your parents house as soon as one of his private eyes reported that you're back home.

He was in a meeting with the board of directors managing one of his numerous subsidiary companies. It baffled everyone in the room when your friend showed interest in something other than profits and company growth. It was thought that he has no soul, no loved ones and no sentience. He was just a massive piece of code programmed to make as much money as possible at all cost.

Seeing that he experienced such a strong emotion upon hearing your arrival, that he had to adjourn a meeting, was so jarring.

It made him seem... human.

You were fast asleep. Exhausted from what the world has pelted at you and weak from all the pain. Your parents invited your friend in as he was extremely excited and happy that you're back, oblivious to the fact that you're in this state. He didn't bother listening to the full report his private eye was about to give him.

As soon as he entered your room, his smile fell upon seeing your crippled state. You were unconscious, if you weren't, you would probably die from mortification... your successful childhood best friend, seeing very unsuccessful you. An old laptop sits uncomfortably on your belly, yet another job rejection letter was shown on the screen.

Your friend was speechless. He could already hear the growing storm of regret, self hatred, anguish, anger, sadness brewing inside him, it was muffled, but its getting increasingly clearer and louder.

His trembling hands gently stroked your casts as tears threaten to fall from his eyes.

What happened? He whispered, it was loud enough for your parents to hear. Hence, they began explaining.

The name of the person who hit you with their car was all he needed to know. He is going to take care of it. Everything else bounced off his head as his eyes slowly travelled to your hands, he took one of them into his larger ones. He massaged them with utmost love and longing.

It's rough. It's calloused. It's scarred. It's everything that he never ever want your hands to be.

You groggily woke up, using your free hand to rub your eyes. You paused when you saw your friend by your bedside, silently staring at your hand in his. Tears rolling down his cheek and dripping onto the collar of his very expensive jacket.

He failed. He may have tried his best to stop it from happening, but he ultimately failed. You went through more or less, what he went through.

He shouldn't have left you alone, he shouldn't have trusted that you won't suffer like he did. He should have intervened, he should have bought that plane ticket instead, He shouldn't have respected your boundaries that day, he should have come to you regardless.

You have proven that you are incapable to take care of yourself. No more mistakes, no more neglect, you need him now more than ever. He is going to make things right and you will have no say in anything anymore. You will depend on him and he will make sure of it.

As soon as his eyes met yours, he lost it. He broke down sobbing in his hands. The weight of his failure is crushing him to pieces, how could he be so fucking stupid? Obviously, you needed him despite receiving that scathing text message four years ago. You were so young, so naïve, so inexperienced and oblivious to the cruel, cruel world around you. Of course, you thought you would do okay. You haven't seen the world at its' worst like he did! He should have known better... and he knew better! He just...

He just wanted you to be happy. And, he thought you would be happier if he left you alone for a while. In the meantime, he would continue building that perfect life for you to come home to, filled with nothing but comfort and luxuries. But look at you now, you were robbed of your innocence, and, your friend blamed himself for it.

You're suffering and he was the cause of it. only if he didn't neglect you in the first place...

No...

Only if you didn't fucking reject him over and over again. Things would have turned out differently. You also had a part in this!

You covered your face out of embarrassment, you did not want him to see you at this stage of life. You didn't want anyone seeing you like this.

Please leave me alone. You said.

You always knew your friend to be the softest, sweetest person around you. He never got physically violent to anyone (at least, to your knowledge).

Imagine the shock when he yanked your hand away from your face and delivered a devastating slap to your face. You were stunned as the ringing of your ears and the pain of the blow overwhelm your senses. Within moments, a red print was formed on your cheek.

Your parents rushed in to put a barrier between you and him, but he ignored them and began yelling and pointing at you hysterically.

I trusted you! I trusted you! How dare you do this to yourself!? I worked so fucking hard-- I sacrificed everything for you, and you can't even keep yourself healthy! Oh, he was angry. He was shouting and screaming, most of the time it just made you scared and confused. You can't understand what he was getting at because he was jumbling over his words.

Your hands, they aren't supposed to look like mine and look what you have done to them! His voice went hoarse from all the exertion.

You weren't supposed to work for anything in life, I was supposed to provide for you! Why can't you just fucking depend on me!? Why can't you just accept me!?

You can only watch on as he threw a massive tantrum, your father tried his best to pull him away from the room, but to no avail.

You are going to depend on me, I am going to provide for you and that's final! I don't care what you think, you can't be trusted to do anything alone! With that final piece, he wrenched himself off your father's grip and stormed out of your childhood bedroom, slamming the door behind him so hard, that some wall décor fell to the ground with a loud crash.

He is going to replace them later. Now, he needs to make a few phone calls.

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hybeboyenthusisast · 8 months

Text

Better Than You / psh

post dividers by @cafekitsune

"Why do you act like you're better than me?" "Because I am better than you."

pairing: park sunghoon x afab!reader

genre: ice skater au, rivals to lovers, car sex

rating: 18+

warnings: oral (m and f receiving, m and f giving), penetrative sex, unprotected sex, sunghoon is kinda an ass but it gets sorted, also hoon is pervy, marking, biting, public in private sex, car sex, their coach is the driver, both yn and Hoon are pervs, nicknames, innocence and corruption kink, degradation,cum eating, probably more that i cant think of (let me know if i need to add anything!)

permanent taglist (open): @junnmizz @ashxxgyu @igotkpoops @xiaoderrrr @alyssajavenss @mintxts @fanfangying1304 <3

wc: 4.7k (the longest I've written!)

if you like what you read, please consider leaving a comment and/or reblogging! it helps so much!

You stood up from your crouched position, your choreography for your next competition slowly being perfected the more you practiced it. Your coach cheered you on as the speakers cut out, the upbeat song coming to its end. You skated over to the exit to the ice rink, grinning at your coach as she applauded you wholeheartedly.

"You get better each time! It already looks so good," Coach Lee grinned at you, patting your back gently as you stepped off of the ice and back on the rink's normal flooring. You smiled, your chest puffing out a bit with pride after hearing your coach's compliments.

You could basically hear the eye roll Park Sunghoon did, or maybe it was just because of his very audible scoff. Your self-proclaimed rival on the ice, and the biggest pain in your ass. Despite having been training under the same coach for years, the two of you never could seem to get along.

You blamed it on him, though. He was stuck-up and snooty, and always made these little comments to undermine your progress and accomplishments. He must have thought he was perfect; maybe because you didn't point out his mistakes like he did to you. It was true that he had more experience, having trained for two years before you, but you had enough natural talent (as your coach said) that you were on the same skill level as Sunghoon within a single year.

"Hi, Hoonie." you cooed, knowing no matter what you said, it would piss the tall man off. Might as well have fun with it.

"Yn," he greeted you curtly, ushering you out of the way so he could have his turn on the ice. Your coach was used to your bickering, and had long given up on trying to make the two of you friends. "Move, damn it, you're so slow."

"I'm not slow! I just don't wanna move for you," you rolled your eyes at Sunghoon, leaning on the railing of the entrance in such a manner that kept your body blocking it entirely.

Sunghoon made a grumbling sound, perhaps he had even said something, but you weren't paying attention, and frankly, you didn't really care. "Yn sweetie, Sunghoon needs to practice today, too," Coach Lee gently coaxed you to ease up and move out of the way. She gave you a small smile and said her goodbyes before scurrying off to the bleachers, where she could get a proper view of Sunghoon while he practiced.

You slowly made your way to the bench where your stuff sat, grateful that today the ice rink was closed to the public. Nobody would be there to touch your stuff or steal anything, unless Sunghoon decided one day to become even more of an ass.

You sat down with a heavy sigh, your mind finally resting after being so caught up in the thoughts of your choreography. 'Okay, arms must be gentle, core must be tight- don't spin too fast.' 'You're a bird, flying, act like it.' You hadn't been able to just figure skate for fun in so long, but you had a serious training schedule and couldn't afford to play around and injure yourself.

No matter how much you disliked Sunghoon, you had to admit he had a good taste in music. His chosen song for his choreography for the next competition was actually one of your favorite songs, and you always found yourself humming along while he was practicing and you were getting ready to leave for the day. You hated to admit it, too, but he was very talented and moved so smoothly on the ice. You deeply admired his dedication and how good he has become over the years, but you would never tell him this.

Perhaps if he didn't spend nearly every moment making your life just a little bit more miserable, you would, but, alas. With the next competition rapidly approaching, you were dreading having to spend the 3 hour drive stuck in your coach's van with him. Most competitions the two of you participated in were more local, but as you were getting better and better, you began to compete in more popular events; which meant traveling.

Your coach always drove the pair of you to these farther away competitions, but it was never more than an hour, until now. Sunghoon always made those hour drives feel like hell, and you knew it would just be even worse with these longer drives. As if you weren't nervous enough before competitions, Sunghoon always managed to say something that made you doubt yourself; with an increased time frame to do this in, you were honestly very worried how he would affect your confidence and ability to perform.

You just had to ignore him.

Time flew by way too fast, and before you knew it, the day of the competition had arrived, and your coach was helping you load your gear into the back of the van. Sunghoon was already in the van, not bothering to help, of course. You would have refused his help, anyway. He'd probably find a way to break your skates or rip your costume.

"Are you nervous?" Your coach asked you, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. You shrugged, not wanting to be too obvious, but yes, you were very nervous. You didn't feel like you had practiced enough, and you could already hear Sunghoon telling you that and telling you that you'll do terribly.

"I can do this," you responded, trying to convince not only her, but yourself. Your lips quirked up in a smile, moving to the side of the van and opening the door. Sunghoon sat, leaning back and already comfortable. He didn't even spare you a glance as you sat down next to him.

"Good morning, Sunghoon," you cheerily grinned, hoping a faux happy mood would turn into a real one. Sunghoon merely grunted in response, too engrossed in playing a game on his phone.

With any luck, this car ride would be quiet, and his stupid game would keep him entertained.

He was entertained, but not by a game on his phone like he pretended. You were wearing a skirt that showed off your thighs, and his eyes kept drifting over to them. You were too busy staring out the window, listening to music, to even notice his constant glances. Your skin looked so soft, so plush, and he just wanted to spread your legs and bite into your sensitive flesh.

It wasn't always like this; he genuinely disliked you for three years, until one day.... he didn't. He didn't even know when it had happened, but one day he was wishing you would quit ice skating, and the next, he was captivated by you as you skated around on the ice. Your choreographies were never sexy or sensual by any means...but he found himself so turned on when he watched you.

You looked so innocent, so pure, skating around and using your body to tell a story of hope and longing. Your face was always so soft when you were skating, contrasting the hard expressions you always wore when you were around him. He wanted to see you smile at him for once, but he couldn't bring himself to be nice to you. Even though you were his junior, you were so talented and expressive, always doing an excellent job of getting the story behind your choreography across. He refused to believe you were just as good as him, if not better, and so he continued acting like he always had.

He was just waiting for the day you realized you wanted him too- and hoped you would make the first move. He had always been so mean to you, there was no way you'd take him seriously if he asked you on a date or made a move. So he watched you from afar, mostly. It was always exciting being in close proximity to you, even when you had a scowl on your face because of him, but he loved watching you skate. He had secretly recorded videos of you practicing, watching them late at night when he jerked himself off and called out your name.

Sunghoon had done that last night, actually, and this morning before his coach had picked him up. This was a very, very bad mistake. The goal was to get all his horniness and desire for you out of his system, so he wouldn't lose his mind or go feral upon spending so many hours sitting next to you in a moving vehicle where you couldn't escape.

But he kept thinking about how the van had one of those panels separating the driver and the passengers, which your coach always used to give you both your space to mentally prepare for the competitions (really, it was so she wouldn't hear the arguing). If he started touching himself right there in the van, his coach wouldn't know, and you might not even notice.

Oh god, he was such a pervert.

You were minding your own business, letting your mind wander as you zoned out, staring out the window as the van drove along. You nodded along to the beat of the music you were listening to, not giving any attention or care as to what Sunghoon was doing.

Until there was a lull between a song ending and a song starting, and you heard him moan. At first you had no idea what to make of it; maybe you were just hearing things? Maybe he was watching a movie and the characters were having sex, and it was so loud you could hear it through both your headphones and his? You unlocked your phone, pausing your music.

You still weren't sure what was happening, but you could definitely hear heavy panting and quiet groaning. What if he was sick, and you did nothing to help him? Maybe you shouldn't have cared, given how he treated you, but you did. You turned to face Sunghoon and your jaw dropped.

His eyes were closed, thankfully, so he couldn't see you as you stared at him. His pants were pushed down his thighs, his boxers with them, and his hard cock was in his hand. He was jerking off, right next to you.

Your thighs unconsciously rubbed together, searching for some friction as you found yourself getting wet, watching your rival masturbate. Any normal person would freak out, call the cops maybe, do something other than what you did. But of course, you being you, instead undid your seatbelt and sank to your knees in front of Sunghoon.

Your movements must have scared the crap out of Sunghoon, as his eyes flew open and he immediately went to pull his pants back on, his cheeks blushing a deep red. You placed your hands on top of his, stopping him from redressing. Your face was crimson, too, as you stared up at him from the floor of the van.

Sunghoon froze as he stared at you, watching; waiting to see what you were up to. His eyes fluttered shut and a groan left his plush lips as you took his cock in your hands and playfully licked his red mushroom tip. The salty taste of precum made you moan, setting Sunghoon off again with another groan. He threw his head back as you slowly began to suckle on his dick, your mouth opening to take more and more of him.

Your tongue ran along his veins, enjoying how he tried to keep from fucking up into your mouth. His hands wound through your hair, pulling you down on his cock, as far as you could go. You breathed through your nose, squeezing your thumb into your palm to calm your gag reflex. You gazed up at Sunghoon as your nose brushed against his pelvis, your hands on his thighs, his cock poking at the back of your throat.

He was going wild the second you started bobbing your head and sucking on him. Your eyes sparkled in the sunlight that came through the windows, staring up at him with the most innocent expression while you were doing something so dirty. He thought you looked so sexy, sinful and pure all at once.

You just thought he looked hot as hell, strands of his black hair falling over his eyes, but you could still clearly see how much he was enjoying this. His hands massaged your scalp, helping you as you bobbed up and down along his aching cock. He was resisting the urge to just let go and fuck your throat, but he was so scared to take control; he thought it was a miracle you were even sucking him off in the first place.

As your eyes connected with his as saliva escaped your lips, creating a wet mess, you gave him a slight nod; you knew what he wanted. He was still hesitant at first, eyes widening as he realized you had stopped you movements and were pushing on his hands in your hand, trying to get him to take over. Your mouth full of his cock, saliva getting everywhere, he wouldn't even mind if he had died and this was his heaven.

He gently thrusted up into your mouth, eyes watching you carefully as you gagged around his length. You showed no signs of wanting him to stop though, so he began thrusting more, and more. You were moaning around his cock, gagging every so often, tears streaming down your cheeks as he began fucking your throat roughly.

His hands were pulling on your hair; not pulling you off, but pulling to keep you under his control. He loved seeing you like this; totally at his mercy as he ruthlessly fucked up into your mouth. The messier you got with every thrust, the better you looked, and the closer he was to cumming. You were sure you were literally dripping onto your thighs, your panties soaked as you let your rival fuck your mouth.

"Shit-" Sunghoon panted, his voice deep. "You take my cock so well, hm? Fuck princess, I'm gonna cum. You gonna be a good girl and swallow it all?" He gently pinched your cheek, cooing at you as you looked up at him with wide eyes.

With sloppier thrusts, he did exactly what he had promised; soon he was cumming, holding your head still, your nose pressed against his pelvis as he came in ropey spurts down your throat and in your mouth. He was muttering praises to you, pushing your hair out of your face and wiping away your tears as he pulled his now-soft dick from your mouth.

Your jaw was aching so much, but you found even the pain was enjoyable; as long as he kept looking at you like this. You wanted to hear more praises from him, swallowing his load, using your fingers to wipe up any cum that had escaped. Opening your mouth, you sat up on your knees and poked your tongue out so he could see you really did swallow it all.

His hands were gently as he pulled you up, so you were sitting on his lap, his lips connecting with yours. You moaned at how soft his lips were, pressing yourself into him, trying to taste as much of him as you could. He moaned into your mouth as your tongues fought against each other for dominance, tasting the remnants of his salty release in your mouth. You didn't want to pull away from his addictive kiss, but you did need to breathe.

And thank god you did. It was when you pulled away for air, that you noticed the van was driving off the highway to pull into a rest stop.

Scrambling off of Sunghoon, you helped him pull up his pants. You would just die from embarrassment if your coach discovered what the two of you had just done in her van while she was driving it. You situated yourself back in your chair, wiping at your face to try to remove any remaining evidence of your sinning. Sunghoon was fixing himself as well, sending you a smirk as the two of you locked eyes.

"I'm not done with you."

"You are such an asshole, Sunghoon!" You yelled at him from across the room.

Hours later, you were at the competition location, trying to hype yourself up before your performance. Just like you predicted he would do, here he was, ruining it for you.

It had just been a 'casual comment' that 'didn't mean anything', but you were just so tired of hearing him say such negative things to you, especially after you let him fuck your throat earlier.

The two of you stood in one of the hallways leading to the changing rooms, arguing over how he spoke to you. You really thought that after your steamy interaction earlier in the van, he would treat you differently; but, no. He was the same asshole he always was.

He wasn't even responding to you anymore as you were yelling at him, just staring at you with a blank expression.

"Why do you act like you're better than me?" You asked him, crossing your arms across your chest, trying to look tougher than you really felt.

He smirked at you (this bitch...) and merely responded, "Because I am better than you."

You knew he though this, but actually hearing him say it felt like a knife to the heart. Turning away from him quickly, hoping he didn't see as tears began to well up in your eyes, you hurried down the hallway, desperate to get away from him. His smirk dropped as he watched you run away, his heart dropping along with it.

He had never seen you cry, never seen you run away. You always took his comments in stride, seemingly never letting his words affect you. He didn't even think before he ran after you, following you outside the building to the parking lot. His heart dropped even more as he spotted you sitting on the pavement, leaning against your coach's van. Your arms were wrapped around your knees, your face pressed into your legs. Your body was shaking; you were crying.

You were crying because of him. Despite all his pride, everything he felt that propelled him to act so nasty towards you, he never wanted to be the reason you were crying.

"Yn," he said your name softly, crouching down next to you. He frowned at the sound of your sniffles and heavy breathing, moving to sit next to you and wrap his arms around you. "I'm sorry. It's not true, I'm not better than you. I'm so sorry," he whispered to you, resting his head against yours.

At his words you lifted your head, swollen red eyes locking with his. "Why are so you mean to me, Sunghoon?"

What a damn good question. He hesitated before he answered, knowing he could no longer hide behind his pretend ego to hide his own insecurities.

Sunghoon sighed, giving your body a gentle squeeze. "I'm so jealous of you. You're so naturally talented, and so expressive on the ice. You started training after I did, and you caught up with me so fast. I guess it just made me feel insecure about my abilities."

"I never intentionally did anything to make you feel that way, but you have gone out of your way to make me feel like I'm a failure, that I can't succeed no matter how hard I try," you whispered, fresh tears falling down your red cheeks. Sunghoon moved to wipe them away, and you let him, your eyes holding his captive. "I have wanted to quit so many times, just because of you."

Sunghoon's eyes widened at your revelation, one hand cupping your cheek, pulling you into him. He rested his forehead against yours, whispering his apologies. "My behavior has been awful, and there is no excuse for it. You do not deserve to be treated the way I have treated you. I'm so sorry, yn, for not treating you with respect and with love."

"L-love?" You stuttered, pulling back in surprise.

Instead of responding, Sunghoon leaned forward and pressed his lips against yours so gently that you weren't sure he was kissing you at first. Maybe you should have pulled away and slapped him, but you couldn't bare to break apart from him. Your lips danced against his hungrily, wanting to be as close to him as possible.

Sunghoon's lips never left your own as he wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you up so you were standing with him. He pressed you against the door of the van, one hand cupping the back of your neck to pull you into him, the other searching for the door handle. He held onto you to keep you from falling as he pulled the door open, sliding it along before nudging you inside.

As soon as the door was closed behind you, Sunghoon had you pinned on the backseat of the van, his weight pressing into you as you laid down. You tugged at his shirt, helping him take it off as he pulled from the kiss. He shivered as you ran your hands over his toned chest, pulling him in for another searing kiss.

Screw air, you just needed more of him. In between kisses, more and more clothing was removed, until the both of you were bare. Sunghoon's heated kisses traveled down your neck as he pinned your wrists above your head. His lips found one of your pebbled nipples, suckling on it and running his tongue over it, doing his best to pay attention to what made you moan the loudest.

Your hands wound in his hair, pressing him into your chest as he switched to suck at your other nipple, his other hand going to massage your breast. "Fuck, Sunghoon, I need more, please," you whined, rutting your hips upwards, trying to find any source of friction.

"I never imagined you would be this dirty," Sunghoon chuckled, pressing a kiss to your stomach and making his way down, leaving a trail of wet kisses and marks as he found his way between your thighs. "You always look so innocent when you're skating, so pure. I've thought about what it would be like to ruin you, but you're already a pretty dirty girl, hm?"

You moaned as Sunghoon held your thighs apart, leaning in to nudge his nose against your clit, inhaling your scent. He peppered kisses along the insides of your thighs, always getting so close to where you needed him the most, but always skipping right over it.

"Answer me, pretty. You're a dirty girl, aren't you?" Sunghoon's hot breath fanned against your dripping pussy, so close yet so far.

You nodded, your hands holding onto the seat underneath you for dear life. "Y-yes, Hoon! I'm a dirty girl!"

He smirked against your skin, "You're my dirty little angel."

Your hands flew to his hair as he pressed a kiss against your clit, two of his fingers swiping at your wet folds. You moaned out as they entered you, falling into a fast pace instantly. His tongue swirled around your clit, sucking every now and then, doing his best to coax an orgasm out of you. As your moans got louder and louder, he was groaning against you, rutting into the seat underneath him.

You tasted so sweet, he could just eat you forever. He would, actually, if you let him. The sounds he coaxed out of you were just as sweet, something he hoped he would get to hear over and over again for many years to come. Now that he had a taste of you, he wasn't letting you go.

"Hoon, baby, I'm gonna cum," you whimpered, grinding your hips into his face. Hearing your words, he doubled down on his efforts, quickly bringing you to your peak. He groaned against you as you came, his tongue dipping down to your folds to lap up every drop of your essence that you blessed him with. You were shaking, coming down from your high, just barely registering the sound of Sunghoon slurping your cum off of his fingers. "P-please, Hoon, fuck me," you whimpered.

He didn't need to be told twice. The two of you let out loud moans as he thrusted into you, your tight walls squeezing his thick cock so well. He was definitely the biggest person you had been with, and you were loving how well he stretched you out. His lips found yours, gentle as his thrusts turned to a brutal pace.

He was already so on edge from eating you out, he was worried he wouldn't be able to last long with how tight you were squeezing him. He was determined to get you to cum on his cock before he came, thrusts beginning to alternate between a fast and rough pace to a slow and gentle one.

You scrapped your nails down his back, so lost in the pleasure that he was giving you. You were still so sensitive from your first orgasm, and you found yourself getting much closer to your climax with how well Sunghoon was fucking you.

"Baby I'm not gonna last long if you keep squeezing me like this," Sunghoon grunted, hips snapping up into you, reveling in the way your body was starting to shake. His hands roamed the expanse of your body; fingers gliding along your soft skin, twirling your nipples in his fingers, holding you with a bruising grip.

You moaned as he bit down on your shoulder, easing the pain by licking it over and kissing it. He repeated this action up and down your shoulder, leaving a trail of marks everywhere his lips touched. With one bite on your collar bone and his fingers toying with your clit, you screamed as you came around Sunghoon so fast that you couldn't even warn him.

Your orgasm triggered his own, your walls clenching so tight around him that you were basically milking him. His seed painted your insides white, his hips thrusting into yours as he rode out both your high and his. He collapsed on top of you, careful not to put his full weight on you. The only sounds in the van were yours and his heavy breathing.

Your skin was sticky with sweat, making the two of you rub against each other in an almost uncomfortable manner, so Sunghoon pulled out and rolled off of you. He sat on the floor, gazing up at you as you whined at the loss of him inside of you. You were so tired, your body felt heavy, yet you also felt more energized than ever before.

You giggled as Sunghoon kissed your nose, moving to grab your discarded panties and using them to wipe up the cum that was dripping out of your spent pussy. He grinned cheekily at you as he found his jeans and stuffed your dirty panties in his pocket. "These are mine now."

You didn't even realize what you were saying before you said it; you didn't even think these words before they left your mouth. "I think I love you."

Sunghoon froze, hand stopped on its way to gather your clothes for you. He looked back at you, seeing the look of horror on your face as you realized what you said. "I think I love you too."

"Good luck, princess," Sunghoon grinned at you, his arms wrapped around your waist. It was almost your turn in the competition, and you weren't nervous at all.

You giggled as Sunghoon kissed your nose before placing a sweet kiss against your lips, squeezing your waist. "Thank you, Hoon."

"I don't know why you love me, but I am so glad that you do. I promise I will spend every day treating you the way you deserve," Sunghoon told you, his expression serious. He was determined to treat you like a princess from now on; after all, you had agreed to be his girlfriend.

You kissed your boyfriend sweetly as you broke from his grasp, stepping onto the ice. You locked eyes with your former rival, a smile gracing your lips as you got into position.

No matter the outcome of the competition, you were a winner.

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