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sinner-as-saint · 10 months

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you're no good for me.

Bucky x Reader AU

Run-through: After leaving a well-paying job you hated, you took the money you had saved and decided to roam around Europe: Paris, Monaco, Italy, Greece, trying to find a new purpose in life. That’s when you meet this drop dead gorgeous older man named Bucky. He’s respectful, funny, kind, flirty, and has a nice yacht. Honestly, he’s all you need at the moment. And together, the two of you embark on a journey that has potential to last a lifetime.

Themes: age gap (reader is in her twenties), fluff, sugar daddy!bucky (basically), smut, praise kink, nicknames: princess, baby girl, daddy kink, soft!dom!bucky, HEA.

a/n: inspired by this ask. Thank you @aquariusbarnes

“I guess I never realised solo travelling could get so… lonely, you know?”

You said quietly to your best friend on the phone while you browsed through second-hand books in a small, cosy little bookstore you found while staying in Italy for the week.

“Don’t get me wrong,” You chuckled, “I desperately needed this and I needed to get out of the city but, this is not doing what it should. All I do is eat, sleep, shop, and I have no one to talk to. I guess I can’t even make new friends anymore.”

Your friend sighed, “Of course you can! You should meet new people. Go to a bar, wear something nice, and talk to some guy. Seriously, get some!”

You laughed quietly. “I’m tired of the bar or club thing. That’s what we usually do in the city.” You groaned. “I need something new, and exciting, and-,”

A deep voice spoke from somewhere behind you. “Excuse me, miss.”

You turned around and had to blink a few times to register the sight in front of you. A god of a man. Tall. Well dressed in loose pants, white tank top and a delicious light blue shirt left open to show off his muscular chest. He had longish hair, tied neatly in a low bun. Pretty face, ocean blue eyes. Sharp jaw. And a slight smirk on his pink lips.

He looked older, maybe in his early forties? He radiated elegant masculinity. Very much old money. He looked like he belonged in some fashion show, or the cover of a magazine.

“Uh, I’ll call you in a bit.” You quickly ended the call and gave the man your full attention. “Hello.” You said softly, sounding a little confused as to why would a man like that even stop and talk to anyone.

The man gave you a stunning smile. “I noticed you dropped this.” He held out his hand and there was your tiny purse, in the palm of his large, veiny hands.

“Oh.” You sounded a little embarrassed as you quickly took it from him. “Thank you.” You said, looking up and meeting his dangerously enticing stare.

“Wow,” He said, with a little nervous chuckle. “You’re beautiful.” You froze at that and then he quickly added, “I’m sorry if that was too forward. It’s just… you really are beautiful.” He sounded so sincere, and you hadn’t had a proper conversation with anyone in weeks so you didn’t know how to act.

“Oh, um,” You let out a nervous chuckle too as you looked down at your shoes, embarrassed. “Thank you.” Then you added as a nervous ramble, “I think you’re really beautiful too.”

He smiled, then let out a little laugh which made your skin tingle in the best ways. He raised a perfect eyebrow and asked in his silky smooth, deep voice, “Then how about us beautiful people go get a drink and get to know each other a little better?”

You actually felt your face get really hot as you laughed, “So this is the part where I’ll wake up tomorrow and find out you took my kidney?”

He chuckled. “No, no kidneys will be taken, I promise.” Then he gave you a pretty smile, “Just one drink. You’re too beautiful for me not to steal an hour or two from your day. Else, I’m gonna regret it my whole life.”

“I see you get your way in and out of everything by being a smooth flirt, huh?”

You gave in. And said yes to having a drink with him.

—

One drink turned into a late lunch, then afternoon tea, then an early dinner. The conversation flowed so easily it surprised you. He told you mostly everything about him. You noted that his name was Bucky, he was in his forties, no immediate family as they had all unfortunately passed, he was a bachelor, a businessman, currently taking some months off work to travel and sail across Europe on his yacht.

While on a quick bathroom break, you googled him just to confirm and sure enough, he wasn’t lying. Also, the guy was much more wealthy than he let on. But you liked that. You hated men who bragged constantly.

When it was your turn to give him your back story, you were just as transparent as he was. You mentioned where you were from, how you moved to the city after uni once you found a decent job. You mentioned how although the job paid really well, you quickly realised that being a PA isn’t as glamorous as in the movies or books, but in fact so stressful and anxiety-ridden. So you quickly began hating your job and life. Hence the resignation letter and the sudden tickets to Europe.

“So, you’re here all alone? That’s brave I think.” He said, after you were done narrating your story.

You scoffed before taking a sip of coffee, “No, it's quite the opposite.” You argued, defeatedly. “I couldn’t handle it and I just got up and left. I quite literally packed my stuff and ran away from the city. And now I’m just roaming around, trying to see if I can find a new purpose, I suppose. That’s the opposite of brave. If I were brave I’d face it properly. Like an adult.” Your shoulders drooped down a little.

“Hey,” He said softly. Then reached for your hand and held it in between both of his warm palms.

This was the first time in the past hours where he touched you. He’d been so respectful so far, not once getting too close. But right now, as he held your hand lovingly and as his thumb gently caressed your knuckles, you realised you loved having your hand held by him.

“That’s not true at all.” He said. “You were strong enough to walk away from a situation you no longer wanted to be in, do you realise how brave that is?”

His voice was so understanding and soft, you immediately melted.

He continued, “I mean, you’re braver than me when I was twenty something.” He chuckled at the memory, “My father had just passed, and I was suddenly responsible for the family businesses. And…” He sighed, “How I wish I could’ve packed a suitcase and travel at that age, but I couldn’t. I was so lost at that time too.”

You watched him as he spoke. The intelligence and experience in his eyes. The crinkles by his pretty eyes as he smiled at something he remembered from the past. The sad smile when he mentioned his now dead family. He seemed older and wiser than his age.

“What I’m trying to say here is that you’re so young. This is your time to be selfish with your years. You don’t like a job? Leave it, find another. You don’t want to be in the city? Leave that too, travel the world. Of course, you must have some sort of makeshift plan of where you might want to be in the next five or ten years, but for the most part, live for right now.” He gave you an enchanting smile. “So tell me, where do you want to be right now?”

The sky began to turn darker. The golden lights from the restaurant made his eyes look magical. Deep blue, and shining like jewels. The chain around his neck caught the light and suddenly you wanted nothing more than to yank on it with your teeth…

Woah. Where did that come from?

“Just… away. For everything.” You answered, truthfully. Wasn’t that what you were looking for? An escape? Something new and exciting. And right now with your hand in Bucky’s warm ones, this felt new and exciting. And you selfishly wanted it. You wanted this.

“Come with me. Just for tonight. We won’t sail too far from the docks, I promise.” He said, holding your hand firmly in his. “I’ll bring you back tomorrow morning. Kidney and all still in place.” He teased.

You laughed. And said yes because fuck it.

—

Bucky walked with you till your hotel, and waited downstairs in the lobby while you got your things for the night. Once you met him back downstairs, he offered to carry your backpack while the two of you walked towards the docks.

Once you reached his yacht, you had to refrain from dropping your jaw. “Oh, she’s pretty.” You whispered as he held your hand and helped you onto it.

He smiled and said, “She’s my favourite.” Because of course he owned other luxury yachts.

The more steps you took inside the boat, the more mesmerised you got. He had a full staff even. Bucky gave you a quick tour, showed you the bar, the hot tubs, the main deck, and all. Then led you to a spacious bedroom.

“Get settled,” He said, “I’m just gonna get us out a bit further into the water.” He traced a gentle finger down your cheek and you found yourself nodding immediately. Then he paused, and said, “If you don’t wanna be down here alone, come find me at the helm. Okay, babygirl?”

You froze for just a fraction of a moment, then quickly smiled and nodded again. Bucky left with a wink and once the door closed behind him, you let out a loud sigh. Fuck, he was so dreamy.

Once he left and you explored the room a little bit, you realised you didn’t in fact want to be here all alone. So as the boat moved smoothly, you took a quick shower, got changed into your swimsuit, with a flowy beach cover up and went to find Bucky.

Finding the helm was easy. On your way there, you saw two staff members and they both smiled at you. For a moment you wondered if they were thinking of you as just another young girl on a rich man’s boat. Oh well, whatever.

You found Bucky standing in the middle of the area, facing multiple screens and the helm itself and so many buttons and switches it made your brain hurt.

“Hello captain.” You said, stepping closer to him. The sun was setting now, and it was all orange and pink, quickly becoming dark blue.

Bucky gave you a bright smile, “Hello you.” He grabbed your hand and placed it on the helm, “Here,” He came up and stood right behind you, both of you steering the boat, “There you go, keep it straight. Just like that, see?”

You laughed, while your heart raced both at the excitement of manoeuvring such a giant boat, but also because of how close Bucky was. Your back was right against his chest, but he was still keeping a good inch or two between your bodies.

“Alright,” He said after a while, “We’ll stop here for tonight. Come, the stars look great from the deck.”

He held your hand and led you out onto the spotlessly clean, spacious main deck. There was a circular fireplace in the middle, surrounded by sofas and a large hot tub in the corner. And the view… oh the view was to die for. The moment Bucky let go of your hand, you rushed to look over the handrail. The water reflected the colours of the sunset, and the sky. The stars began twinkling, the more you looked the more of them you found. The light summer breeze was just cool enough.

“It’s so beautiful out here.” You whispered, looking over at the shore, where more and more lights were turning on. You could see the place at which you’d just had dinner. You could also see the bookstore if you squinted. Just then, you felt a warmth press up against you.

You smiled as Bucky wrapped his arms around you from behind, placing his chin on your shoulder and holding you close. “Just like you, baby girl.” He whispered into your ear.

You froze again, a familiar warmth washing over you at the nickname. A tingling sensation between your things which made you want to clench them together. Bucky must've felt the way you tensed up because he pulled away immediately.

“I didn’t mean to make you-,”

You cut him off quickly as you turned to face him, “Oh no, no. I don’t mind that.” You laughed, now a little shy. “It’s just that,” You couldn’t look at his pretty face as you admitted, “you make me a little nervous.”

He laughed at that, and wrapped his arms around you once again. “Do I?” He teased.

You hid your face by shoving it into the crook of his neck, which made him laugh even more. You couldn’t help but breathe in his scent. Fuck, it had been messing with you the whole day almost. He smelt like sin. Like pure, dangerous sin. But then he had that sweet, bright smile. And the contrast was making you dizzy.

“Don’t hide from me, baby.” He held the back of your neck gently as he pulled your face back so he could look at you.

You almost kissed him right there and then. He looked so good in this golden sunset. But you didn’t want to seem too desperate so you-

“Can I kiss you?” He asked, cutting off whatever you’d been thinking about. “I’ve been wanting to do that all day.” He admitted, with a handsome smirk. “So, can I? Please?” He gave you the softest puppy dog look ever. And you melted.

You nodded once and the next thing you knew, he pushed you against the handrail and kissed you deeply. Lips soft against your own, his tongue stroking yours in a way that made you want to ride him until the sun came up the next morning. His hand remained at your waist, the other holding your head gently as he kissed you even deeper.

“Fuck,” He groaned against your lips. “Does all of you tastes just as sweet as your mouth, babygirl?” He chuckled when you whined and squirmed. “I can’t wait to find out.” He whispered before kissing you again.

Your brain was all foggy with desire. Your body warm and tingly under his touch. His mouth left yours and he kissed down your chin, and all over your neck and collarbones before kissing your lips again. “Bucky,” You gasped into the kiss when you felt his hand moving downward, towards your inner thighs.

“Too much, baby?” He asked, pulling away to look down into your eager eyes. “Are we moving too fast?”

You smiled up at him, “No. This is okay.” You grabbed his wrist and moved his hand even closer to where you desperately needed him. The thin swimsuit was all that separated his hand from the wetness accumulating at your core.

He held your stare as he moved the fabric to the side and carefully touched your throbbing clit. You squirmed, grinding against his fingers slowly. He chuckled, “Oh?” He smeared your wetness around a little more, “All that for me? Hmm?” He leaned in and kissed the corner of your mouth while his fingers moved up and down your wet slit. “Have you been this wet the whole time we were together?”

You couldn’t help but whisper a quiet, “Yes…”

He smirked, kissing your skin. “Why didn’t you tell me earlier? So unfair of you to keep this from me, babygirl.” He carefully slid a finger inside you, moving it in and out of you so slowly you couldn’t help but moan. “I would’ve taken care of you much sooner had I known you were dripping wet for me this whole time.”

You whined again at the sound of his shameless words. “Please…” You begged.

Bucky pulled away to look right into your eyes as he slid another finger inside you, moving both of them in and out of you while his thumb toyed with your clit. “Please what, baby?”

You squirmed, holding onto him for dear life while moving your hips in time with his fingers. “Please,” You begged again.

He smirked, “Use your words, princess.” He cooed. “Come on, tell daddy what you want and he’ll give it to you, baby.”

You bit your lip to keep yourself from moaning too loud, afraid the staff might hear what a dirty young woman you were being. “I want to come, please.” You whispered, face burning at the lust in your voice.

Bucky smiled in triumph. “There, wasn’t that easy?” He kissed your lips again, “Of course you can come, babygirl. You’ve been so good all day,” He said, “So kind and polite,” He chuckled, “Pretending like you didn’t want to climb into my lap anytime you looked into my eyes.”

You gasped, both in pleasure as his fingers touched a sensitive spot, but also because he had just read you like a book.

Bucky smirked. “What? You think I didn’t see it?” He leaned closer, lips brushing against your open mouth as he spoke, “I saw the way you looked at me. Longing and desire in your eyes. You just want to be taken care of. Just want a man to hold you and tell you it’s all gonna be okay and that you’re safe? Hmm?”

His fingers brought you right to that edge. You were a whimpering mess by then, his words making you even more dizzy.

“Look at me, baby.” When you did look up at him, he smiled softly down at you, “It’s okay babygirl, you’re with daddy now. You’re safe, and I’m gonna take care of you. Okay? Now, can you be my good girl and come for me? Hmm? Can you do that for daddy, baby?”

You came with a loud whimper, coming undone all over his fingers. Bucky watched you in awe, lips parted as he breathed deeper along with you.

“That’s a good girl,” He whispered, leaning in for a kiss. “You are so beautiful, babygirl.”

You kissed him back with even more passion than before, and your hands began exploring his body. His chest, down to his toned stomach, and further down… but then he stopped you by grabbing your wrists.

“Later, baby. I don’t want to rush.” He said. “I’m gonna take my time with you.” He promised. “Now come on, get in the tub. Don’t want you to get too chilly.” He pointed towards the tub and you began walking towards it. When you turned around you found him walking in the other direction, towards the mini bar.

You turned back around and headed over to the tub finally. You took the beach cover off and stepped in, nearly squealing with how perfectly hot the water was. Once you took your seat and submerged yourself till your shoulders, you noticed Bucky walked over with champagne flutes and a champagne bottle.

But not just that. He was also not wearing anything other than tight black boxers which left very little to the imagination. You had to turn your head just so you’d look away from the gorgeousness that was this man in front of you.

But of course, he caught the look. “Don’t look away, babygirl.” He said as he stepped in and sat down next to you, his thigh rubbing against yours, “You can look. I don’t mind.” He smirked, and winked at you before popping open the champagne.

He handed you a flute filled with bubbles and poured one for himself, set the bottle aside and clinked your flutes together. You each took a sip and you couldn’t help but close your eyes and moan at the taste. Expensive champagne always tasted heavenly.

When you opened your eyes again you found Bucky looking at you intently.

You smirked and asked, “What?”

He wrapped an arm around you and pulled you onto his lap. You put up no resistance as you settled onto his thighs, an arm around his neck. “Nothing. Just thinking about how you’ll moan with other things in your mouth.”

You chuckled. “Funny, I was thinking the same thing.” You replied, starting to get a little more playful around him.

He raised an eyebrow, “Oh?” Then leaned in and kissed your neck, making you giggle and pull away. “You’re ticklish I see.”

“Please don’t.” You yelped, and laughed as he tickled you even more. Champagne splashed everywhere, but Bucky didn’t seem to mind. “Stop!” You cried out in between uncontrollable giggles. Right as you were about to fall off his lap, he finally stopped. Kissing your face multiple times to make up for the tickle attack. Once you calmed down you said, “You’re mean. I think I wanna get off your boat now.” You teased.

Bucky tightened his arms around you. “No,” He groaned playfully, “I’m sorry, I’ll make up for it. Right now, I promise.”

One moment you were on his lap, and the next he was lifting you up and sitting you down on the edge of the tub. The handrail was right behind you to support your back, and you giggled as Bucky knelt in the warm water, right in between your thighs.

“What if someone sees?” You asked, looking around to see if you’d find some of the staff members around the deck.

Bucky placed both of his hands on your things and got closer to you. “They won’t.” He assured you. “Now come on, spread those legs for daddy.” He demanded, and you obeyed.

You leaned back into the handrail and parted your legs. Bucky smirked, grabbing the backs of your knees to pull you closer, lowering himself and leaning in until his mouth was right above your core.

“Don’t even try to hide your moans from me. You hear me?” He questioned, holding your stare.

You nodded.

“Say ‘yes daddy’.”

You squirmed, pushing your hips closer to his mouth involuntarily. “Yes, daddy…” Your words ended on a gasp as he placed his mouth down and licked along your slit through the fabric of your swimsuit.

He placed a soft kiss right over your throbbing clit before he finally slid the thin fabric to the side and looked up at you, held your stare as his wet tongue licked down your folds. He moaned loudly as he tasted you. “Knew you’d taste like heaven.” He murmured, going in for more. Eager and impatient to make you come all over his tongue.

Your hands immediately grabbed the back of his neck, fingers sliding into his hair and gently messing up his neatly tied bun. You giggled at the sight, “I’m sorry I’m messing up your hair.” You whispered, followed by gasps of pleasure as he ate you out relentlessly.

Bucky pulled away for a moment, looking up at you. “I must be doing terrible if you can still speak coherent sentences, babygirl.” He smirked. “I’m sorry, let me do a better job. Hmm?”

You opened your mouth to tell him that he was just perfect but you ended up whining loudly instead as he parted your wet lips and pushed his tongue deeper into you. You threw your head back, resting it on the handrail as you moaned shamelessly, occasionally giggling as his fingers all over your thighs made you slightly ticklish.

His warm tongue stroked you so perfectly, and Bucky growled as you lost control, moving your hips instinctively against his mouth as you chased that feeling of pure bliss.

You whined loudly, goosebumps all over your body. You felt tingles shooting through you as his tongue teased you incessantly. Your fingers tugged harder on his hair, messing it up even more.

“That’s better, isn’t it?” He murmured, before moving his mouth upward to suck on your throbbing clit. “You look so pretty like this, baby. All open for me to taste, whining and whimpering…” He playfully bit your inner thigh, “What is it?” He asked as another loud moan escaped your mouth. “Too much? You want to come? You want more? What is it, huh? Tell daddy what you want.”

You just looked down at him, whimpering as you tugged harder on his hair, trying to get his mouth back on you. Your reaction made Bucky chuckle.

“No,” He cooed, “Use your words, baby.”

Damn him.

“Oh please,” You whined, “I want you. I want your mouth… please daddy,” You cried out, trying to clench or rub your thighs together for some kind of friction but his muscular body being between them stopped you from doing that.

Seeing your desperation only deepened his smirk, and increased the mischief in his eyes. “Such a good girl,” He murmured, biting down on your inner thigh before gently pushing his tongue inside of you again. You whimpered under his agonisingly soft touch.

Bucky looked up at you as he teased you with his tongue, the intensity of his gaze making you tremble. The sky was getting darker, the stars shining more and more now. And yet, you couldn’t look away from his ocean blue eyes.

“You’re all mine, babygirl…” he whispered, thrusting his tongue deeper into you. You moaned and whimpered, your body getting warmer and warmer with each touch of his tongue. “Say it.” He demanded, licking up and down your slit, making you grind on his tongue. “Tell me you’ll be mine. Tell me you’re daddy’s good girl.”

You cried out, “I’m daddy’s good girl…” You felt your walls tighten around nothing, and you knew you were close.

Bucky could tell as well. “Then come for daddy, babygirl.” He whispered against your skin before biting down on your inner thigh as you whined under him.

You could only moan and whimper as he kept licking deeper into you. You felt him quicken his pace and you felt the pressure building up in between your hips until you couldn’t handle it anymore and you came undone all over his lips, moaning and whimpering. Humming in satisfaction, Bucky kissed his way up your body again, until he reached your mouth. Carefully, he pulled back into the tub and on his lap as he kissed you deeply.

The warm water felt heavenly, but nowhere near how good his tongue had felt just seconds ago. You sighed in pleasure through the kiss, and you felt him smiling against your lips before he pulled away to look at you.

“Where have you been all my life?” He asked, looking no less than a god in that tub. The soft lights made his eyes look ethereal. The darkening sky as a background made him look even more godly.

You smiled at him, wrapping your arms around his neck as you straddled him. “Stuck in a city I don’t like. Doing a job I hated. Surrounded by people I no longer could relate to.” You joked, hiding the painful truth in your words.

Of course, he caught the sadness in your eyes. “Well, you’re here with me right now. Forget about the city, the job, and the people.” He leaned in and pressed his forehead to yours, he said, “It’s just you and me right now, princess. Just us, and no one else.”

You smiled, closing your eyes. Warmth from the bubbling water, warmth from his body, the cool breeze, the scent of summer and excitement in the air, it all surrounded you and it couldn’t have been more perfect.

“More champagne, baby?” He asked, pulling away.

“No,” You said, giving him a look he knew all too well. “How about we go inside now?”

Bucky smirked, already moving to grab towels. “Whatever the princess wants.”

—

You and Bucky made a quick stop in the kitchen found in the lower levels of his yacht, to grab some snacks. You held on to your chocolate fondue and strawberries while he held the other goods. And once you made it to the lovely bedroom, the two of you ended up lounging on the bed, just eating and talking about random stuff.

“Wait,” You said, swallowing down a mouthful of rich chocolate and strawberry. “You haven’t been in a relationship in over ten years? A whole decade?” You questioned, right after he finished telling you about how he hadn’t.

Bucky gave you a funny look. “I’m a busy man, babygirl. I didn’t have much time.”

You frowned, confused. “Well surely you’ve liked someone. Or are you too busy to have a crush and all that?”

He chuckled, and you along with him. “No, I haven’t. I guess it’s been just work and more work.”

You sighed and shrugged, reaching for another juicy strawberry, “I can’t even judge you, I haven’t been dating for years either. My last relationship…” You trailed off, “It doesn’t matter, I-,”

Bucky cut you off by grabbing your arm and pulling you on top of him, making you straddle him again. “No, it matters. Tell me what happened.” His tone was serious, caring, and attentive.

You sighed again, “Well, it ended badly. We were both too young I suppose, and then he cheated and we were on and off for a while before I ended it a few years ago.”

Bucky cupped your face, “You deserve so much better than that, baby. You hear me?”

You nodded, smiling down at him. “Look at me now,” You teased, then finally took a bite out of the strawberry, unintentionally moaning. “Oh fuck…” You whined, “This might be the best thing I’ve ever had in my mouth.” You said.

Bucky smirked, grabbing your hips and pulling you closer, “You know, I could give you something even better to put in your mouth, princess.”

You swallowed your fruit and smirked down at him. “Oh?” You played along. “What’s that?”

He caressed your cheek lovingly, “Want daddy to show you?” You nodded enthusiastically. And he said, “Okay, get on your knees, baby.”

You shifted from his lap to kneel in between his legs and in the meantime, Bucky was undoing the towel from around his waist. The sight of his erection had you almost begging just so you could have a taste.

“Do you want to take daddy in your mouth and make him feel good, princess? Hmm?” He gently grabbed your chin so you couldn’t look away from him. “Do you want to make daddy come? Make him feel so good that he fills your mouth with his come, baby?”

You nodded quickly, “Yes. I do.” You couldn’t calm your racing heart as you watched Bucky lean back into the pillows, making himself comfortable while you knelt in between his muscular thighs, his cock pointing up… looking too good not to wrap your mouth around it.

“Go on then, baby.” Bucky’s hand slid into your hair as you leaned down and took him into your mouth.

You moaned, with Bucky’s cock in your mouth, at how good he felt. Warm, thick, veiny.

“Your mouth feels so good, princess,” Bucky cooed, tugging on your hair gently. You looked up at him and took him even further into your mouth. “There we go,” He gasped, “Careful baby, I don’t wanna hurt you.”

You whined, that caring tone of his driving you insane. Bucky held your head gently and slowly pushed himself deeper into your mouth. “That’s it, you’re doing so good, babygirl. You look so pretty with my cock in your mouth.” He said as you took him in until he hit the back of your throat. “Now be a good girl, and make daddy come.”

You did as he asked, moaning around his cock and using your hand to play with what you couldn’t fit in your mouth.

“Oh princess, you’re so good to daddy.”

Bucky’s groans and moans were delightful. His head thrown back, eyes closed, lips parted slightly as he breathed deeply, occasionally grunting or moaning while you worked to make him come.

“Just like that, babygirl, come on make me come in that pretty mouth.”

You could feel the wetness starting to leak from you again. Fuck, this was so hot. The sounds he made, the sounds your mouth made, the desire and warmth washing over you… it was all too much.

You teased his tip with your tongue, alternating between sucking on it and taking him deep in and out of your mouth until Bucky came with a growl, his grip tightening on your hair for just a moment before he went limp. Chuckling as he emptied into your mouth, and watched you swallow all of him.

“Fuck, baby…” He groaned, “Come here and give me a kiss.” He said once you pulled him out of your mouth and you didn’t hesitate to climb onto his lap again, pressing your mouth against his.

You moaned into the kiss, slowly grinding down on his thigh trying to alleviate the sweet pain in between your legs.

“You’ll be the death of me.” He murmured against your lips, then went in for a kiss again before groaning, “Oh babygirl, daddy’s gotta have you now.” Then he flipped the two of you around, hovering above you as he smiled down at you.

“Is this okay, babygirl?” He asked, caressing your face lovingly. “You still want daddy to make you feel good?”

You trailed your hands up and down his muscular back, and nodded. “Yes,” You smiled up at him, then the chain dangling from his neck caught your eye. Without thinking, you grabbed it in between your teeth and yanked on it playfully.

Bucky laughed looking down at you. “Is that what you want? The chain?” With one hand he got it off of him and put it over your head, you pulled it down until it rested on your neck. “There,” Bucky said, leaning down to kiss your neck, “First gift from daddy to his princess.”

You chuckled, “Why thank you,” You pulled him down for a kiss. He deepened the kiss, his hand drifting down in between your bodies, getting rid of the towel that had been hiding your body from him.

“You are so beautiful,” He whispered against your mouth as his hand touched you everywhere. “Wait, are you on birth control?” He asked.

You chuckled, “Yes, don’t worry.”

“Oh fuck, baby I can’t wait.” He groaned, pulling away to look down at you, “Can I fuck you now? Please? Can daddy make you feel good?”

Your head spun with how badly you wanted him. Especially given how he shamelessly slid his tip up and down your slit. You nodded immediately, “Yes.” You said, “Yes, please.”

He leaned in for a kiss again. He kissed your skin from your mouth to your neck as he carefully slid into you, so gently. “Tell me if I hurt you, baby.” He breathed into your ear. “Is this okay?” He asked, looking down at you. His pretty blue eyes so caring and gentle.

You nodded, “I’m okay.” You whispered, feeling warm all over.

When he pushed even deeper, your walls welcomed him perfectly and he moaned under his breath as he filled you up entirely, inch by inch. You gasped and moaned as he moved so slowly you almost lost your mind.

Bucky swore. Your warmth wrapped around him, gripping him so perfectly he couldn’t help but just stay still for a moment and just enjoy the feeling of being inside you. “Babygirl, you feel so perfect for daddy. Look at me,” Once you did, he smiled down at you and said, “That’s it, keep your eyes on me while I fuck you, okay? I need to know I’m not hurting you.” He said.

That only made you wish he’d fuck you like an animal. You groaned, “You’re not hurting me,” You said, “Please, daddy. Please fuck me harder.”

He chuckled, “There she is,” He whispered into your ear, “You’re daddy’s dirty little girl, aren’t you?” Bucky laced your fingers together and pinned both your entwined hands above your head as he sped up into you. Fucking you nice and hard, “Does that feel good, baby? Hmm? Does my pretty princess feel good?”

You nodded, moaning shamelessly, “Yes… more, more please.” You cried out, throwing your head back as he started rocking in and out of you.

He leaned in and kissed your lips again, “I said eyes on me, baby.” He groaned, panting against your lips as he fucked you deeper. “Look at me.”

The air around you got warm again as you met his heated stare, his movements were slightly rougher, but passionate and loving. His hips rolled against your body perfectly, and his body weight pressing down gently on you was comforting and intimate. His grip around your hand tightened each time you’d moan his name under your breath.

“Oh babygirl, you’re all mine.” He whispered against your lips, and leaned in to kiss you deeply while he deliberately stroked his cock against your walls as slowly as he could just to make you whine and whimper even more under him.

When he pulled away to look down at you, his stare was intense, but loving. His lips were full and swollen as he looked down at you like you were the most precious thing he’d ever seen. You felt his cock hit all the right spots each time he moved against you, and his lips parted and he groaned the moment your walls started clenching around him.

He moaned at how tight you felt around his throbbing cock, and leaned down to whisper in your ear. “Come for me, babygirl…” He whispered, voice strained and gravelly which sent chills down your body. “Come for daddy,” He growled.

His voice was enough to take you right to the edge. You felt the pressure and the familiar, sweet pain in between your legs, making you gasp for air and your walls clench violently around him. You moaned loudly again, wantonly.

His hands reached down and grabbed your sides gently, keeping you in place as he sped up into you, his cock slipping in and out of you with ease. Your bodies moved perfectly against each other. He held you as close to him as he could, pushing his face into you and nuzzling your neck as he fucked you relentlessly.

“Oh baby, you take this cock so well,” He growled into your ear, making your brain all foggy. “Look at you, so fucking beautiful while you take all of me in there, huh?”

With a few more strokes of his cock, you came undone with a cry of pleasure, gushing out all around him, grinding against him eagerly while he moaned against your lips as he came right after you, filling you up.

“Fuck,” He gasped, getting off of you quickly and holding you close to him as you caught your breath, “Are you okay, babygirl?” He asked, kissing your head.

You ended up giggling as you came down from that high. A place so far away that no one ever took you before. “I’m okay,” You said, “I do want some cuddles though.”

Bucky chuckled, “Whatever my princess wants,” Then pulled you into him, spooning you from behind. “Get some sleep, baby. I’ll wake you up tomorrow.”

–

The next morning, neither of you could get your hands off each other. So that meant spending half of the day in bed. And by mid-day when you said that maybe he should take you back to the shore, Bucky refused.

“Just spend another night with me. Please, babygirl.” He begged with those puppy dog eyes. “I’ll take you back to your hotel room tomorrow morning, I promise.”

–

He did take you back. But not to drop you, because he had convinced you to check out, take your things and move them to his boat.

“We’re travelling to the same countries,” He said, “Let's just take the boat and go together.”

You ended up spending two whole weeks with him after that conversation. Going into the third week, you forgot all about real life. All that existed were these perfect days with Bucky; sailing around Europe, watching sunsets and sunrises and stargazing, having amazing sex, and repeat.

–

Reality hit you like a freight train one night when you finally remembered to charge your phone and realised that you had forgotten to update your friends and family about your location and whose company you were in. You scrolled through the endless missed calls, emails, and unanswered texts, and quickly responded to some of them.

You didn’t get much sleep that night, not only because Bucky kept you up until the early hours of the morning, but because you were scared of having to get back to the real world.

Bucky found you out on the main deck that morning. You leaned against the handrail, looking at the sun that would rise in a few minutes, wearing nothing but one of his shirts. He stayed a few steps back, just admiring you.

But you knew he was there. You could always tell he was watching. So you looked over your shoulder and gave him a smile, “Good morning, handsome.”

He rushed over and wrapped his arms around you. “I can’t get over how good you look in my clothes.” And when you didn’t respond with something sassy as usual, Bucky knew something was wrong. “What is it, baby? Are you okay?”

You turned to face him instead of the sunrise, and just said it. “I should go back home. I’ve been away for longer than I should’ve been.” You watched how he frowned at you, his eyes still a little sleepy. His hair was tied into a messy, low bun.

You knew you’d never be able to forget this man. Even if you go back home and get sucked back into a cycle you wanted no part of. You couldn’t help but touch his face gently, caressing his cheek.

“But,” He said, a little confused still, “We’re having fun, aren’t we, baby?” He leaned closer, holding you tighter. “You can stay. You should stay, you hate that city.”

You nodded, “I know. But I can’t stay here forever, Buck.” It hurt to even say it.

“Why not?” He argued. “I’ll take care of you. Haven’t I been taking care of you?” He questioned, leaning in to kiss your cheek. “Please babygirl, don’t leave me.”

You gasped softly as he kissed and nibbled on your skin, his mouth moving all over your neck. “I.. I need to go home at some point.” You said.

Bucky pulled away to look at you. The sky began to get lighter. His eyes still shone like jewels. “And where’s that?” He asked. “Where’s home, baby? Hmm? In that city you don’t like? Surrounded by people you can’t relate to? Stuck in some job you hate?” He returned the words you’d said to him the night you first met.

And for some reason, that made you tear up. The thought of the life before him. “I… I don’t know.” You said, lips quivering as a tear fell down your cheek.

He quickly wiped your tears away, “Baby…” He whispered, “That’s not a home, princess. Home is supposed to feel warm, free, and happy. Are you happy or free in that city?”

You shook your head. “No,” You sniffled. “But I can’t just keep running.”

“Just be with me. Here.” He said. “This isn’t running, this is us having fun.”

“Well, you’ll have to go back to real life at some point too. What then?” You asked.

He gave you a smile, “I’ll take you with me when I do, princess.”

You scoffed, “Bucky, I’m serious.” You said.

“So am I.” He insisted. “Stay with me, babygirl. I’ll take care of you. You know I will.”

You sighed, and wiped away your own tears. “And then what? Make you my sugar daddy?” You joked.

“Like that’s such a horrible thing.” He argued.

You rolled your eyes at him, tried to get out of his arms but he wouldn’t let you. You faced him again, “I can’t do that.”

“This is gonna work.” He insisted again. “Just stay with me.”

“We’ve known each other for mere weeks.” You said, thinking back on how these mere week have been some of the best days of your entire life.

Bucky gave you a wise smile, and said calmly, “I’ve been in relationships that have lasted months, and even years, and yet no one has ever made me feel the way you did these past few weeks.”

You shed another tear, “I’m a mess, Buck. I don’t even have a job.” You chuckled humorlessly, then sniffled.

“I’ll get you a job.” He offered.

“No.”

“No?”

“No.”

“Okay then, whatever you want, princess.” He said, holding you close. “But I can't let you go. I won’t.”

“You’re awfully stubborn.” You whispered, hiding your face into the crook of his warm neck.

“Stay with me.”

“Bucky…”

“Baby.”

“What am I gonna tell my parents?” You questioned. “Oh I found a really kind, charming and handsome older guy who took me on a nice ride on his nice boat and I think I’m gonna move in and start living with him?”

Bucky chuckled. “I took you on more than just a ride on my boat.”

You shoved him playfully. Then relaxed into his arms again. “I’m scared, Buck.” You admitted.

“I’m not.” He said firmly. “Baby, we’ll figure it out. Tell me you don’t want this. Look me in the eyes and tell me you wanna leave what we have right now and go back to the city.” He pulled away to look at you. “Tell me that truthfully, and I’ll let you go. Can you do that?”

You sighed, tears filling your eyes again. “No,” You whispered. “I don’t wanna go.” You said, “But I’m scared.”

“Shh,” He hugged you close again. “I’ve got you, babygirl.”

You wrapped your arms tightly around him, breathed in his scent and wanted to cry some more because this man was so dreamy. “What if you stop liking me?”

“Hey.” He chided playfully.

“I’m just saying. What if?”

Bucky pulled away to look down at you again, “Why would you ask me that? Is it really that hard to believe that I love you? Haven’t I shown it to you these past weeks?” He questioned.

Your eyes widened. “Oh. You love me?” You didn’t mean for it to sound like you were teasing him, but it did.

Bucky rolled his eyes. Whispering under his breath, “You’re such a brat.” As he tried to pull away, you tightened your arms around him to stop him.

“No, no, don't go anywhere.” You chuckled at the expression on his face. “Tell me more about how much you love me.”

He gave you a kind smile, leaned down to kiss your forehead and whispered, “How about I show you?”

So you let him show you. And you stayed.

And the life you had together couldn’t have been more perfect.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes au #sebastian stan #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut

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daisynik7 · 10 months

Note

so first off all i wanted to say that i LOVE your writing.

but, if you don’t mind, could you make an NSFW fic about a dilf! toji with his babysitter. but like cheating.

so basically toji has a wife but he’s cheating on her with the babysitter(whose like 10 years younger than him).

i’d really love if you could do it

thanks bookie🫶🏽

Pairing: dilf!Toji x babysitter!reader

Rating: Explicit – MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Word Count: ~1.7k

cw: age gap (reader is 21, Toji is in his 30s), language, cheating, smut – PIV sex (doggy style), breeding kink, daddy kink

Author’s Notes: Thank you for your kind words, you are too sweet! This is my very first Toji fic EVER, so I was very excited (and nervous!) to write it. I hope I did it justice, this is such a delicious idea for him. Also, I have never read the manga, so if the characterization is off, I’m so sorry! I really, really hope you like this one! Divider created by @/fic-dumpster.

You stand in front of a quaint house, checking your watch for the time. It’s been almost ten minutes now since you knocked, no answer. You gave the number from the listing a call, still nothing. Rolling your eyes, you take a seat on the steps leading to the door, waiting.

It’s the summer before you head back to university for your senior year. In an attempt to make some extra cash, you took a job as a babysitter through local ads in the paper. The first two clients were completely normal; this one is already leaving a bad taste in your mouth.

Fifteen minutes have passed. You try once more, pounding on the door with your fist as loud as you can. Heel turned, ready to leave, it suddenly swings open, revealing a muscular man with black hair, glaring at you. “What the fuck do you want?”

You step back, startled by his intimidating presence. Stuttering, you answer, “I’m the babysitter.”

He continues to stare at you, eyes following your body up and down, studying it. “Babysitter?”

Before you can explain any further, you hear a car rolling into the driveway. A woman in professional attire steps out quickly. “I’m so sorry I’m late!” She rushes towards you, holding her hand out to shake yours. “We spoke on the phone. I got stuck in traffic, I’m so sorry.”

You smile at her. “It’s okay.”

She faces the man, expression switching from cheery to dreary in an instant. “Toji, where is Megumi?”

He scratches his head. “Huh?”

“Megumi. Our child.”

He sighs. “Right. Uh, I’ll go get him.”

While he’s gone, the woman pulls you aside, speaking in a hushed voice. “That’s Toji, my husband and Megumi’s father. Unfortunately, he’s a complete deadbeat. That’s why I want to hire you. I started my new job and I need someone to take care of Megumi while I’m gone during the day.”

She swallows hard, blinking to fight off oncoming tears. “I have no one. I’ve been shunned by my family, my husband doesn’t give a shit about ours, and I’m all alone trying to give Megumi a good life. I know this is a lot to ask, but I’m desperate. This is just until I can save enough money to hire a full-time nanny.”

She grips onto your wrist with both her hands, begging for help. Truthfully, it’s a lot to unravel, more drama than you anticipated. But the anguish in her eyes tugs at your heartstrings. Plus, knowing it’s temporary doesn’t make it seem so difficult. How bad can it be? “Okay. I’ll do it.”

Relief washes over her. “Oh thank god. Thank you. Thank you. Let’s go inside and I can give you a tour.” She leads you through the entrance, removing her shoes as you follow her. “Oh, and one more thing.”

“Sure.”

“Toji is home most of the day, but he’s always couped up in his room, doing god knows what. Just leave a meal or two outside his door twice a day. That should be enough.”

“Huh?!”

She glances at you with a nervous smile on her face. “Yeah. I told you, he’s good for nothing.”

You don’t respond while you maneuver through the house, barely paying attention while she shows you around. It almost sounds like you’ll be babysitting two children…

~~~

The first two weeks of your new job go by smoothly. Megumi is an adorable baby; he’s almost two-years-old with hair as black as his father’s. While he never really smiles, he doesn’t cry either, expression usually stern, unless he needs a diaper change. He’s self-sufficient, always immersed by his own toys until it’s time to eat. Overall, he’s easy.

Toji, on the other hand, is another story.

You follow his wife’s instructions, leaving two meals outside his door, breakfast and lunch. And this asshole has the audacity to critique it! The bread wasn’t toasted enough. The eggs were too runny. There wasn’t enough seasoning on the meat. All this criticism while each plate is licked clean, not a crumb to spot. He’s never even uttered a simple thank you.

But what he lacks in social skills or personality, he makes up for in his physique. In between meals, he works out in the living room lifting weights, doing push-ups, sit-ups, and pull-ups at the frame of the door. It lasts for over an hour, and by the end of it, he’s shirtless, dripping with sweat. You’ve done everything in your power to avoid staring but it doesn’t prevent your mind from conjuring all types of lewd thoughts about him. You’re ashamed to admit that he is physically attractive, only because everything else about him is utter trash. Still, it doesn’t hurt to look, right?

On the third week, there’s a shift in energy between you two. When he isn’t working out or going out to meet with his sketchy friends, he’s usually couped up in his bedroom, ignoring you and Megumi. This morning, he actually joins you in the kitchen. You stare blankly at him, stunned by his sudden appearance. Megumi is unfazed by his father as he tries to pull your wrist towards him to get a spoonful of mushed up peas.

When he catches you, Toji glares. “What?”

“Um, nothing. Just surprised to see you here.” You clear your throat, focusing back on the baby.

He rolls his eyes. “This is my house. I can do whatever I want.”

“Yes, of course. Sir.”

For some reason, this triggers him. He stands up abruptly, stepping to you, leaning his face towards yours. The scar on the corner of his lip twitches when he gives you a wicked grin. “That’s right. I’m in charge here.”

You flinch from him, scared, maybe even slightly aroused. He’s intense, that’s for sure. But part of you finds it exhilarating to be in his presence.

Megumi whines for more food, to which Toji grabs the utensil from your hands to start feeding him. “Damn kid, he’s hungry all the fucking time.”

You sit up in your seat, regaining your composure. “You shouldn’t curse in front of children.”

He faces you, chuckling. “Curse? Seriously? What are you, five?”

You cross your arms, answering, “I’m twenty-one.”

“Interesting.” There’s that naughty smirk again, as if he’s thinking something obscene in that twisted head of his. And while you should be turned off, you’re not. You squeeze your legs together, pussy throbbing between your thighs. And of course, he notices this. He must, because he leans forward, lips grazing your ear, whispering, “Come by my room whenever Megumi is taking his nap. That’s an order.”

~~~

This is bad. Very, very bad.

You're supposed to be better than this. Clearly, you aren’t, because you’re currently getting railed by your employer’s husband while his child sleeps peacefully in the next room.

“Fuck, this pussy is tight,” he groans, pumping his thick cock in and out of you. You’re bent over the edge of the bed, his hips smacking against your ass as he thrusts into you. He’s got a tight grip on your hips, nails digging into your flesh, pounding away at your greedy pussy, absolutely drenched with arousal and lube. Your face is sticky with perspiration, pillow soaked with sweat and drool. It’s a fucking mess, but it doesn’t matter, because all you can think about is Toji fucking you until you’re seeing stars. Until your head is empty and nothing but his fat cock is occupying your thoughts.

“God, you’re squeezing me so fucking hard, princess. You gonna come again?”

You nod erratically, reaching your fingers to your clit. He smacks it away, doing it himself, his thumb flicking against your swollen bud. “Fucking come on my cock then. Make it nice and creamy for me, got it?”

His cock is buried deep inside you, hitting your sweet spot over and over until you unravel, gushing around him once more. You’ve lost count on how many orgasms you’ve had in this short amount of time.

After your climax, he doesn’t pull out, fucking you even rougher. Your body is pliant around him, yielding to his every touch like putty. You’ve lost control of yourself, completely enraptured in the intense pleasure he surrounds you with.

He leans forward, chest pressed to your back, lips brushed to your ear. “I’m gonna knock you up. Give Megumi a little brother or sister. Would you like that?” He’s crazy. Completely unhinged. Absolutely fucking psycho.

“Fuck yes, I want that,” you moan. “Give it to me, daddy. Breed me.”

And apparently, so are you.

“Oh fuck yeah, take my fucking cum then,” he growls. The bed creaks violently below you, his backshots brutal and frantic now, cock desperate for release. “I’m gonna get you fucking pregnant. Make you mine.”

He shoots his hot load inside you, stuffing you full of his cum. He doesn’t stop until he’s fucked it deeper into your pussy, watching with that sexy look on his face as his creamy cum leaks out of your slit.

Lifting you up to lay comfortably on the bed, he rolls beside you, kissing you sloppily until Megumi’s whimpers blare through the baby monitor, indicating that he’s awake. Toji laughs, smacking your ass as you crawl over him to return to your real job.

~~~

You spend the remainder of your summer employed at the Fushiguro household until you have to go back to school. You and Toji continue to fuck each other silly every day that you’re working.

The day before you leave for college, you say your goodbyes to the family. Megumi’s mom, who remains blissfully unaware of your sins, hugs you tightly. “Thank you so much for all your help. I’ve finally saved enough money to afford a full-time nanny, so we’ll be fine.”

“It was my pleasure. I had a lot of fun. With Megumi,” you clarify, avoiding Toji’s gaze as he watches from the kitchen.

“Seriously. You’re a good person. I hope you know that.” She smiles, truly grateful. “And thank you for taking care of my good for nothing husband too.”

As the guilt of this dirty, filthy secret eats away at you, Toji stares at you from across the room, smirking.

#toji x reader #toji fushiguro #jjk toji #dilf toji #toji smut #toji x you #toji x y/n #fushiguro toji #toji jjk #jujutsu kaisen toji #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #toji fushiguro smut #toji fushiguro x reader #toji fushiguro x you #jjk request #requests #toji request

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thegettingbyp2 · 4 months

Note

Request: Coriolanus manipulates unpopular girl into marrying him for her parents money. She finds out that he manipulated her years later. Coriolanus actually started to loves her but the damage is done.

So Much More

A/N: I loved writing this and will probably write a part 2 at some point if people are interested!

Buy me a coffee :)

Even though you were considered to be a part of one of the richest families in The Academy, you were wildly unpopular with your classmates, most probably due to the fact you were so quiet and tended to avoid your other classmates whenever possible. This didn’t seem to deter Coriolanus Snow though.

Much to everyone’s surprise, Coriolanus always seemed to either save you a seat or sit next to you in class and talk to you. Much to your own surprise, this ended up with you dating Coriolanus and him bringing you everywhere with him, constantly wanting to show you off. When he proposed to you in front of the Capitol while he was being sworn in as President, it shocked you. Even though you were completely head over heels for him, there was always that niggling thought in the back of your head that he was with you out of pity.

It wasn’t until 2 years after your wedding when you overheard Coriolanus talking to one of his advisors that you really understood why he was with you.

‘Look, the money from (Y/N)’s parents pulled me and my family out of the gutter, I’m not about to throw her away now. Why do you think I asked her out all those years ago in the first place.’ The involuntary gasp that left your lips had Coriolanus’s head whipping around to face you, his eyes wide when he realised that you must have heard what he’d said.

‘That’s really why you asked me out? Why you married me, to get my parents money?’ you asked, wanting more than anything for him to tell you that you’d heard him wrong.

Coriolanus gestured for his advisor to leave the room as he stood up, making his way across to you. ‘(Y/N), you have to understand, when we met, my family were on the verge of losing everything. Your family helped my family to climb back up, we wouldn’t be where we are now without them.’ He tried to take your hands in his, frowning when you pulled away from him.

‘So, you were using me?’ you asked, your voice breaking slightly as you wrapped your arms around yourself.

Coriolanus sighed heavily, running a hand across his face. ‘At first I was. At first, I thought that dating you would be the perfect way to save my family because I could just leave you straight after.’ You couldn’t help but flinch slightly at his words, a movements that didn’t go unnoticed by Coriolanus as he stepped forward, this time, placing his hands on your hips as his nose brushed against your hairline. ‘But then, the longer we were together, the more reasons I’d found to not break up with you because I found myself falling in love with you.’

‘That doesn’t excuse the fact that you were using me, Coryo,’ you whispered brokenly, your hands coming to rest on his that were still on your hips. ‘I was madly in love with you from day one, it took me months to accept the fact that you felt the same way, so finding out that you were lying the whole time - ’

‘I do feel that way now, baby. That’s the point I’m trying to make,’ he interrupted you, his fingers squeezing tighter onto your hips. ‘I was desperate, I would have done pretty much anything to save face. When we were at The Academy, I didn’t think you meant anything, but you mean so much more to me than I ever thought possible.’

As he was speaking, you felt tears pool in your eyes as you were hit by a wave of conflicting emotions, your love for him and the betrayal you were feeling being the main two at war inside you.

‘I just don’t think that I can carry on being married to you, knowing all of this, I don’t know if I can trust you anymore,’ you said quietly, letting your tears fall in streams down your cheeks.

‘Don’t say that,’ Coriolanus said, his voice almost sounding like he was begging as his voice cracked. He leaned in to press a kiss to your lips, only for you to turn your head at the last minute, his lips grazing your cheek. A single tear traced down his cheek. In all the years you’d known him, you’d never seen him lose his composure like this, even when he was caught out for cheating while he was mentoring Lucy Gray in the 10th Hunger Games. Seeing him like this was making you want to pull him into you and tell him that you loved him and you forgave him, but deep down, you knew that whatever relationship the two of you had was pretty much damaged beyond repair.

‘I should probably go. We can talk more about this when I’ve had time to think,’ you said, trying to free yourself from his grip.

It was as if your words had caused a flip to switch in Coriolanus as you watched his body stiffen and his eyes instantly grow colder. His grip on you tightened even more to an extent that you knew that you were 100% going to have bruises from where his fingers dug into your skin painfully.

‘You’re not going anywhere,’ he said in a cold, almost lifeless tone.

#coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow imagine #coriolanus snow x reader #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #the hunger games

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hellishjoel · 5 months

Text

delicate - chapter one: someone new

3.4k / pairing: joel miller x f!reader

Series Masterlist | Next Chapter

summary: Sarah decides it’s time for her dad to start dating again. Joel isn’t sure he needs to, but decides if it’s for Sarah, he’s willing to give it a go. After a few failed attempts, he finally stumbles across someone new.

A/N: This is the first chapter of a new fic co-written with @thetriumphantpanda - we’re both so excited for you all to finally read what we’ve been working on. You’ll be able to find the masterlist on both of our Tumblrs, and we’ll be taking turns in posting chapters, so if you want to keep up to date with posting, please make sure you’re following us both!

warnings: Joel being terrible at dating apps, mentions of being a single parent, flirting, rom-com vibes, allusions to more mature themes but nothing explicit as of now, foul language, mentions of food & alcohol, Sarah & Tommy being menaces.

“Dad, have you thought about settling down soon?”

Joel had nearly just sat down at the dining table, a warm bowl of chili stinging his hands as he set down a glass of water with a quiet huff.

“Am settled down.” He grumbled, diving straight into the warm bowl with ferocity.

Sarah sighed quietly and circled her fingertip over the rim of her water glass.

“I mean,” she tries again, “settled down with someone.”

Sarah knows this is a weird topic to bring up over dinner. She can see it in the way her father stops chewing on his food, his water glass halfway to his lips now frozen midair.

Since she was a small girl, her father’s world revolved around her. She put the sun in the sky and the smiles on his face. He put her through years of soccer practice and clarinet lessons, drove her across the state for tournaments, and made her favorite dinner when it was her birthday. She was his little girl.

Sarah knew she had a very loving father, always lucky in that regard, but that love felt a little lost when she started attending university. All she could think about was leaving her dad in an empty house with no one to cook for, no one to bug about cleaning their room. He didn’t have anyone besides Uncle Tommy. And Sarah was sure that was the last person he wanted to spend his free time with.

Fresh from graduating with a bachelor’s degree in biology from Texas State University, Sarah opted to live at home for a year in the hopes of saving up money for med school. And perhaps she could complete the side quest of finding a potential date for her dad.

Joel clears his throat and wipes his hand on a paper towel, smearing it a reddish-orange from the chili.

“Don’t need anyone else when I’ve got you, peanut.” He gave a lopsided smile and continued eating.

Why would she ask something like that? Why was she thinking about finding someone for him?

Joel thought of himself as an independent man. Never went looking for love, going on about his business, so why start now?

Sarah looked unsure of what to say next, wanting to push the conversation and letting that uncertainty fill the air between them.

Joel sighs, his spoon sputtering in the bowl and listening to it clang around the rim.

“You don’t gotta worry about me, kid. I’m fine on my own.” He insisted, shrugging casually.

“Uncle Tommy and I were talking about you, more specifically about you dating-”

Joel buried his face in his hands, letting out a loud, exasperated sigh as he ran his hands down his face, calloused palms scraping against beard stubble.

“Sarah, what did I tell you about talkin’ to Uncle Tommy? Take nothin’a substance from those conversations.”

“Dad, please.” His little girl was frowning now, desperate puppy dog eyes searching his own. “How bad would it be if Uncle Tommy and I put you on a few dating apps, y’know? You could meet a nice woman, take her out for dinner, do whatever you want, but you can’t not try anymore.”

Joel snuffed out a scoff, quickly dialing it down once he was receiving daggers.

“Peanut, ya just… you get to a certain age where you give up on that type of stuff. Love n’all. M’an old dog, been outta the game for too long.” Joel returned to his dinner, thinking the conversation was done and over with.

Sarah let out a heavy breath through her nostrils and crossed her arms. “Dad, we’re finding you someone, or at least we’re going to try. You can’t just-just shrug off your feelings!”

Sarah’s chair scraped backward, standing up suddenly and commandeering the room.

“It’s better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all. What happened with Mom was a long time ago. You can’t shut off trying to find love. I saw you go on two dates when I was growing up. Two! You can’t say you’ve tried, you can’t say you don’t want it, everyone wants to find their special someone. And you,” she said with wide, frantic eyes. “You are not done trying. Not if I have anything to say about it.”

Joel sat in silence as Sarah retrieved her bowl of chili and glass of water, fleeing up the stairs to her room. He sat back in his chair, shifting his jaw from side to side in thought.

Guilt festered in his chest. Seeing Sarah so adamant about something like his love life was telling it was something she thought a fair amount about. She worried about his happiness, his life alone.

Though he thought a life of solitude worked well for him, he couldn’t deny that small part of him that wished he had someone to share the little moments with. Sarah wouldn’t be living at home forever, and she would never be replaced in Joel’s heart, but maybe she was right that it was time for him to start trying again.

“Okay, so I downloaded Tinder, Hinge, Bumble, eHarmony, and Farmer’s Only.”

Sarah paraded around Joel’s smartphone, downloading different online dating apps left and right while he watched helplessly beside her on the couch. He could feel a headache spark in his temple already.

“M’not a farmer.”

Sarah simply shrugged and opened up the first app, Tinder. “True, but we’re trying to keep our options open.”

Joel sighed and leaned back into the couch cushions, hearing the front door open without a knock. His brother, Tommy, paraded inside, a six-pack of beer in his hand and a jean jacket in the other.

“The hell are you doin’ here?” Joel asked as he saddled his hands on his knees and pushed himself off the couch, eyes narrowed on his younger brother.

“What? You think I would miss Sarah putting you up for auction?”

“Hey,” Sarah said defensively, disliking that her Uncle Tommy was making fun of her genuine attempt to find Joel a woman. “Don’t make him feel bad. It took several hours of convincing just to get him to hand me his phone.”

Tommy sneered and plopped down into Joel’s recliner, cracking open a beer despite it only being late afternoon. Hell, he might need one too.

“Okay, Dad, focus. We need to fill out some of the Tinder prompts.” Sarah patted the section of the couch beside hers, Joel joining her after a few grumbles of resistance.

“Prompts? What sorta prompts?” He asked, craning his neck to look at the phone screen she held up in her hands.

“Prompts to get to know you better. You know, like, what are your likes and dislikes, what are you looking for in a relationship, where would you want to take someone for a first date,” Sarah continued the list until Tommy’s chuckle broke her concentration.

“Ain’t Tinder for hookin’ up with chicks?” Tommy asked, making Joel’s head snap to Sarah.

“Sarah, the hell are you doin’ to me?”

“It’s not just for hookups, dad-”

“Yes, it is.” Tommy snicked, making Sarah glare at him.

“C’mon, we’re trying everything to see what sticks.”

Joel felt rather hopeless about the whole ordeal. They added pictures, and Sarah crafted answers for his prompts. He didn’t really know what the hell he was doing with the whole left, right, swiping action. At one point, he expanded the age search by accident and didn’t realize it the next morning until he got a very forward message from a young woman.

Hey, good looking ;) you look like a big man in more ways than one, if you catch what I mean… how about you come over to mine and show me a good time, I bet we can make it fit if we try hard enough.

Joel storms into the kitchen, shoving his phone at Sarah’s face, “Take that damn app off,” He demands, “It ain’t for me.”

“What did she say to you?” Sarah snorts, taking the phone from him, Joel watching as she holds her finger on the icon until it wobbles.

“That ain’t for you to know,” Joel shakes his head, “Just delete the damn thing off my phone.”

He watches as Sarah presses the cross in the corner of the icon, making a mental note of how he can delete the rest of them later when she’s not watching, she hands his phone back to him, taking a sip of orange juice, whilst he pockets the phone.

Despite his first attempt at dating apps failing horribly, he was intrigued. A lot of the women out there were beautiful, some with children of their own from past relationships just like him.

Joel was trying to watch the first Dallas Cowboys pre-season game with Sarah when his phone buzzed with a notification. It was just one of those that stated he had potential matches out there on Bumble.

He chewed at the inside of his cheek, flicked his eyes up to the television screen, and clocked he wasn’t missing anything before he opened his phone.

A few profiles later, he landed on a woman he found with a nice smile. He read through her profile, even letting out a quiet chuckle.

Sarah’s eyebrows were drawn together with curiosity, watching her father smile goofily at his phone.

“What’s goin’ on with you? You’re scaring me.” She teased as she pushed herself off the couch and leaned over his shoulder to see he was actually on one of the dating apps. A small sense of pride filled her.

“I like ‘er. Got a nice smile, funny too.” Joel affirmed with a nod. He swiped like he was directed to, but then there was nothing.

His face fell, smile and happiness swirling down the drain as he grew frustrated.

“How the hell do I message ‘er?” He asked, neck craning as he held up his phone to Sarah, his silent way of asking for support.

“You can’t message women first on Bumble. They have to like you back and message you first.” Sarah said with a shrug, snagging her dad’s beer from his hand and taking a quick swig.

Joel was only scowling in disappointment and frustration. “Y’mean, I can’t even talk to ‘er? I can’t be a proper gentleman and make the first goddamn move?”

He grunted in annoyance, swiped back his beer, and threw up the glass bottle to drain the last of its contents as he deleted the app. “Sick of these damn datin’ apps already. None of them are worth a damn.”

Sarah sighed quietly and found her way back to the couch, nervousness settling inside of her. He wasn’t a very disagreeable person, in fact, her dad was neutral about a lot of things. What did he want to have for dinner tonight? Anything was fine. Which movie did he want to watch? He didn’t care, said she could pick. So why was he finding so many excuses with the apps? Not even the women, but the apps.

Part of her thought about him trying to find a woman the old-school way, but he was maybe too out of the game to brush up a conversation with a random stranger. He might fail miserably, but maybe it would help with his confidence. He only had a few apps left, ticking off one by one.

Joel stared at the ceiling, encapsulated by the slow-circling fan overhead. Darkness laid a dark veil over his bedroom, a sliver of moonlight being cast through the window. His head laid back into the pillows, jaw ticking from side to side as he lay wide awake. He lightly scratched his chest, feeling the dark hair that clustered at his sternum as his head rolled to the side and read the digital numbers on his clock.

Another sigh left his parted lips. It was late, far too late for someone who worked the early mornings to be awake. At least tomorrow as Friday.

His phone vibrated gently on his nightstand, a little chime he wasn’t accustomed to. He plucked his phone from the charger and squinted at its brightness, sitting up on his forearm to read the text. It was a message from a woman on Hinge. They had matched.

Joel grunted and stared blankly at his lock screen until it went black with inactivity. No. Just go to sleep, Joel. Forget about it. He set his phone on the bed and laid on his side, digging his cheek into a pillow and forcing his eyes closed. Well, what was she doing awake at this hour?

He opens his phone, clicking on the ‘H’ icon with its tiny red notification dot. He pays no mind to reading the message yet, instead clicking onto the mystery womans profile. The first picture is one of her wrapped up in a big coat, plaid scarf wrapped around her neck with a bobble hat and something warm clasped in her hands - it looks like she’s in a big city from what he can tell from the blurry background behind her, but he notices how happy she looks - big grin plastered on her face that reaches all the way to her eyes.

Scrolling further down her profile, he finds the first prompt ‘Best Travel Story’ - her answer reading about a time she’d been hiking with her family. She likes the outdoors Joel thinks - something he and Sarah also enjoy, but he shakes his head before he thinks too much about a third person he can take hiking. There’s another photo then, clearly taken in the summer - she’s in a lovely dress, sitting at a table with a young boy on her lap, perhaps a nephew? He tries not to imagine that he’s stumbled across another single parent, what good luck that would be.

Joel doesn’t make it much further down her profile - just to the section with all of her basic information. She’s around his age, shorter than him but not by much, she’s got a yes next to drinking, but a no to smoking and drugs, and she works in marketing. A steady job, he thinks. He’s praying, silently, that when he clicks back to her message, she’s sane.

Good evening Joel! Sorry for such a late message, I’m a slight insomniac. I love your profile, you seem lovely! How are you doing this evening? (Or this morning depending on when you read this!)

The corner of his mouth twitches into a small smile. A slight insomniac who thought he was quite lovely. Her words, not his. Maybe asking Sarah for help on his profile wasn’t such a bad idea. His fingers twitched above the keyboard, but he was unsure of what to say next.

Joel sat up in bed, about to shove the covers off his lap and ask Sarah for help, when he took another look at his digital clock. It’s too late to wake her, he thinks. He’ll have to craft a response on his own. He dreads it, words never really being his strong suit. Would he look creepy if he replied this late back?

Looks like we’re both slight insomniacs. Besides being unable to fall asleep, my evening was fine. How are you doing tonight, ma’am?

Joel sighed and stared at his response, picking it apart and cursing under his breath. Now, he was wide awake.

Ma’am? Way to make me feel 101… charming though, I like it ;) I’m doing okay, thank you. Just enjoying the only peace and quiet I get before I go to sleep. What’s keeping you up then, Joel?

Joel’s face crumpled, pushing a hand through his hair after reading his response over and over again. He meant it in a gentlemanly way, not to make her feel old. He really screwed the pooch on that one. Nipping at his lower lip, he tried again.

No offense intended ma’am, I’m just a Southern man is all. Don’t mind about what’s keeping me up, I want to know about you. You don’t get much peace and quiet until midnight? How’s that?

None taken, just not used to someone being a gentleman on these things - normally at this point someone would be asking for a picture of my tits so you’re doing well so far. It’s usually my son that keeps me up, he’s been asleep a while but I only get so much time to clear up after him, so midnight is me time once that’s all done. You sure you don’t wanna tell me what’s keeping you awake?

Joel’s smile only grew larger as she responded, and rather quickly, too. He imagined they looked quite similar right now. Different towns, different houses, both curled up in bed and staring at their phones, waiting for the other to reply. He wondered if she was smiling like he was, trying to push away an undeniable flutter in his stomach. Making him feel like a damn teenager.

His face softened at her response. My son, she said. That boy on her profile, with chubby cheeks and a toothy smile, a head full of hair, and glee all over his face, was her son. She was a mother, just like he was a father. He wondered if she saw the young woman in his pictures and knew that was his daughter, Sarah. How could he subtly drop the hint?

Those aren’t gentlemen, just boys. Sorry to hear they were wasting your time. I understand your limited personal time. When my daughter Sarah was young, my alone time consisted of sitting in the truck during her soccer practices and after she went to bed. It’s not easy. What’s keeping me up is partially Sarah’s fault. She’s the one who urged me onto Hinge. I don’t really know what I’m doing, to be honest. Just know a pretty flower when I see one.

Is Sarah the young girl on your profile? She’s beautiful if so, you must be so proud of how she’s grown up. Well Joel, you don’t seem clueless, you’re keeping my attention pretty well, especially calling me pretty, I might be blushing. What made her decide now was the time for you to start dating?

He’d never admit it if anyone asked. But it looked like he still had that Southern charm, you never really grow out of it. He reached over and plucked the string to his lamp, sitting up against his bedframe and sipping on a glass of water as he read over her reply again and again. He had a fondness for the way she complimented his baby girl. She got extra points for that.

Yep, that’s my Sarah. She’s going to med school next year, couldn’t be prouder. I suppose she graduated from college and thinks she knows everything now. Thinks I need a love life. I think she’s felt this way for a while, but she knows I’m stubborn. What’s your son’s name? Looks like a good kid.

Smart and beautiful, you must have very good genes Joel. That’s incredible though, I can imagine how proud you are of her. Well, I for one am pleased she’s pushed you here, you seem a really nice guy Joel. My son is Noah, he’s seven so full of beans, I’ve never known anyone have so much damn energy!

And you seem like a real nice woman, ma’am. Sarah had so much energy at seven, that’s when I put her in soccer to run all that damn energy out of her.

His fingers hesitated, typing out the message but not quite pressing send. He liked her. He liked how sweet and funny she was. Plus, she understood what it was like to have a kid, someone who would always be put first.

Since it’s technically 12:57, are you doing anything tonight? Is having a drink okay for a slight insomniac?

Well, thank you very much Joel. I have a feeling Noah and Sarah would have gotten along well if they were the same age, he’s just started soccer practice for that very reason. And, lucky for you, Noah has an evening with his grandparents tonight, so a drink sounds lovely. Just let me know a time and a place.

His heart was thumping in his chest, a tired little grin on his face as he offered to take her to The Aristocrat Lounge on the North side of Austin. They settled on seven, enough time for Joel to get home, shower, and convince Sarah to help clean him up a bit. A daunting feeling pressed into his chest, making his breath snag tight in his lungs. He was nervous, those strange butterflies still fussing around. He shoved them down, persistent on ignoring the feeling.

It’s a date. Try to get some sleep, I’ll see you tomorrow. Goodnight, ma’am.

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itsclydebitches · 5 months

Text

Zevlor: An Angsty Character Analysis

Hey, Zevlor simps. Can I interest anyone in 4,000 words about our favorite disaster tiefling? 💀

“We can’t stay, but we’ll be slaughtered if we leave—we’re no fighters.”

Back during my first play-through this is the line that turned Zevlor from another dime-a-dozen, exposition spouting NPC to a character I was legitimately interested in. “We’re no fighters.” My DnD ignorance abounds, but even I could see that wasn’t an accurate statement. Here’s a mountain of a man sporting fancier armor than my level 2 Tav knows exists yet, having wrecked half the goblin hoard with his crossbow and, if you let him, he'll happily turn to punching as a solution to verbal disagreements. Plus, he’s clearly the one giving the orders, so what do you mean you’re not a fighter?

Having explored the Grove a bit I chalked it up to a generalized assessment of the refugees as a whole. They’re mostly kids, civilians, and would-be protectors who only look the part of fighters in cobbled-together armor. One woman is grappling with the guilt of killing someone for the first time, even an enemy. Lakrissa is sure they’re all going to get slaughtered and is willing to put money on that fact. Meanwhile, the couple you meet are more concerned with what pet they’ll get when they somehow, someway, make it to the city. Don't worry about how that'll happen. You learn later that even those like Ronan are small potatoes compared to most of the baddies you’ll face. On paper he looks and sounds like the real deal—dressed in robes, talking up an apprenticeship with the famous Lorroakan—but scenes like the celebration light show and his own fury at needing to be saved, again, highlight how far he still has to go. The point is that Zevlor is right: these aren’t fighters and he at 18 strength, paladin, former commander, is definitely the exception.

However, BG3 is the sort of detail-heavy game where I’d expect them to include that exception in the dialogue. “We can’t stay, but we’ll be slaughtered if we leave—these people aren’t fighters.” Zevlor’s inclusion of himself in this assessment continued to nag at me and it didn’t start to make sense until I delved into his tag here on tumblr, with more patient players than myself posting everything there is to know about the tiefling. (Thanks, all.) Zevlor is fascinating to me in part because he has this contradictory nature, one example of which is that he’s a very talented fighter who desperately doesn’t want to be a fighter anymore.

…but also he totally does.

We overhear in his dialogue to Tilses that Zevlor is adamant about shedding the titles he’s earned through combat: Hellrider, Commander, Sir. He insists that they’re just civilians now and it’s not like he’s being disingenuous here��note that he introduces himself as just “Zevlor” to Tav. Zevlor means what he says to Tilses and we can see that he’s trying to both reinforce his point and lesson the blow by referring to her as “Tilly.” The nickname is a sweet one, hinting at their close bond in just a single word, reminding her that he’s not saying this to hurt her, he cares for her… but the nickname is simultaneously something he never would have used as her commander. The intimacy meant to comfort is also a hard blow to weather. They're now people who use nicknames inappropriate for the hierarchy of battle.

So Zevlor means what he says here, means it enough that Tilses is convinced and drops her use of “Commander,” but there’s definitely a hint of bitterness in his voice. At least, I’ve always heard it. Zevlor is steadfast in his conviction here, even going so far as to say, “I’m done soldiering, Tilly” when discussing what will come next at Baldur’s Gate. Yet for all of that his tone conveys (understandable) anger and disappointment that it’s come to this. Zevlor doesn’t act like someone who truly wants this change, but rather someone who’s been forced to accept it.

Is it outside forces unwillingly influencing him then? Did Avernus truly change things irrevocably? No, not really. At least, not in the way Zevlor likes to claim. Tilses herself states that being a Hellrider is for life; nothing can take away that title. You lost your post? Your whole city? Most of the people under your protection? Doesn’t matter! You’re a Hellrider forever, no matter the circumstances. I can easily picture a time in Zevlor's life where he would have agreed with Tilses wholeheartedly. They are Hellriders, dammit, and so long as there’s one person looking for their help they will wield that title alongside their blades. And right now, Zevlor has a lot more than just one person in need of his assistance.

So it’s not that Avernus truly stripped them of that identity. Nothing can do that. Zevlor is not rejecting titles and planning retirement because the mechanisms of fate are forcing him to.

He’s doing all that because he’s lost confidence in himself.

Even as someone with a shaky understanding of DnD classes, I love the parallel between a broken oath and the rejection of a lifelong title. If Zevlor can fail in his oath—or in his faith entirely, according to the memories stemming from his pod—why-ever would he think that any other ‘permanent’ part of his identity was worth fighting for? If you can loose the very thing you’ve built your entire life around, every important aspect of yourself, tied to your very soul… what’s a bestowed title compared to that? Zevlor doesn’t believe himself worthy of being a Hellrider anymore, but I think that goes deeper than a string of horrific circumstances making him feel incompetent. As an Oathbreaker, Zevlor likely believes that if he couldn’t uphold that, he can’t uphold anything. Calling himself a Hellrider would be a lie. A fiction. A pathetic, dangerous, insulting fiction at that. It’s like calling yourself the “Hero” while continually failing those around you. Sure, others might insist it’s a title you’ve earned, one you will always carry with you, but you don’t believe them anymore and at a certain point calling yourself that feels worse than embracing the title of “Villain." You don’t want to be the villain… but you want to pretend you’re the hero even less. Pretending is exhausting.

We see this struggle in the many ways that Zevlor fails, or almost fails, to uphold the ideals that originally guided him. I use the term “villain” above deliberately because Zevlor is not merely a former hero-type who’s self confidence has been shattered, or who has been reduced to a civilian, or who thinks themselves useless; he’s actively fighting against temptations that, under less stressful situations, he’d never even consider. I don’t think he is a villain, I think he’s a flawed, struggling victim who sees his own, inevitable mistakes as villainous—and the longer that warped perspective continues the easier it is to fall into bad behaviors. This cycle is perfectly summarized in the autobiography Zevlor keeps by his bed:

“When every passer-by thinks you a thief and a heretic, it is deeply tempting to become one.”

We don’t know if this is Zevlor’s autobiography (as far as I’m aware, anyway) but even if it’s not the words have clearly resonated enough for him to keep them nearby. This particular line paints a pretty clear picture of Zevlor’s struggle. If everyone you meet says you’re devil-kin, vermin, or would-be criminal, isn’t it easier to just give them what they want? If you can’t persuade them otherwise, why put in the effort of trying? If he can’t be Faithful to his God, why have faith in anything at all? If he can’t save these people—setback after setback, mistake after mistake—why is he even making the effort?

Zevlor obviously is trying, very, very hard, which is why such thoughts are merely temptations rather than actual, questionable actions. Still, the Grove gives us numerous examples of the precipice he’s balanced on—and the ways Tav can tip him in one direction or another. You can talk Zevlor down from his anger and get him to acknowledge his disgust in nearly sinking to Aradin’s level. You can also let him boil over and punch the human at a time when the last thing anyone needs is more violence. You can convince Zevlor that there are peaceful ways of stopping Kagha's ritual, or you can help him in pursuing the darker temptation to kill her. It’s a “low” thought, but at his own admission he hasn’t been above entertaining it. Zevlor’s requests for help, though always polite and humble, carry a spark of manipulation in them too. He’s not above leveraging your previously selfless good deed to his advantage—"She owes you for saving this grove"—and if you approach him before speaking with Kagha he’ll claim that the ritual will “be trouble—for all of us.” Except, no? Not really? Tav can make it clear that they’re just here for a healer, they’re only passing through, and as a fighter they are not beholden to the Grove’s sanctuary as the teiflings are. It’s not trouble for everyone involved, yet Zevlor frames it as such in the hopes that (unnecessary) self-interest may motivate you if selflessness fails. Finally, if Zevlor dies in your play-through and you use Speak the Dead on him, he will admit to having “plenty” of secrets, none of which he’ll share. Admittedly, this may be the result of cut content, specifically a story-line in which Zevlor knowingly betrays the tieflings rather than being tricked by the Absolute. Still, the game as it stands is the story we have and within it we’re given a man who is both fighting against these dark urges (ha) and has a past riddled with secrets. If Zevlor is anything, it’s blunt when it comes to his own failings, accurate and otherwise. So how terrible must these secrets be that he outright refuses to divulge them when, generally speaking, most corpses speak freely in death?

However, out of all of this the struggle I’m most intrigued by is the one surrounding the gate. Zevlor represents the tieflings: persecuted refugees, vulnerable civilians, people seeking to survive through cooperation, specifically by joining a community. Kagha represents the druids (or at least a vocal subset of them in Halsin’s absence): bigoted individuals, powerful fighters, people seeking to survive by giving in to their fears, specifically by keeping themselves isolated. This is the moral dichotomy of the Grove and it is symbolized through the gate. Zevlor wants to open it to everyone whereas Kagha wants to close it, permanently.

So isn’t it odd that Zevlor is the one ordering it shut?

When the scene first starts Kanon shouts down that no, he won’t open the gate. Zevlor said that no one is allowed in. Notably, he’s saying this to Aradin and his crew, people that the Grove is at least passingly familiar with, given that Halsin left with them to search the temple. It’s also notable that Zevlor isn’t expecting goblins to attack the Grove. He’s shocked that this is suddenly a problem, brought about by Aradin’s decision—“You lead them here?”— and the entire point of staying at the Grove is that it’s at least comparatively safe. Yes, there have been more attacks lately, but Zevlor seems to be relying on the Grove’s relatively unknown location, as well as the fact that goblins are normally disorganized. The safety is only compromised because Aradin brought a hunting party back, so Zevlor has no reason to expect any visitors, let alone ones that would be a threat.

More importantly, he should welcome such visitors even if he did expect them. After all, that’s precisely what the tieflings are: strangers with no ulterior motives other than to survive. Broadly speaking it makes perfect sense why he'd shut the gates. Zevlor’s first priority is to his people, so anything that keeps them safe is, theoretically, a good thing. But through the lens of his specific characterization and this specific, moral dilemma, it’s an awfully hypocritical decision. Based on everything we’ve seen, our party would not have been welcomed by Zevlor if we’d arrived without danger on our heels and a rescue to endear him to us. So his people should be welcomed, trusted, kept safe, given the benefit of the doubt… but Zevlor isn’t necessarily willing to extend that same trust to others. At the end of the day, he and Kagha want a version of the same thing: safety for those they deem are worthy of it.

It’s precisely these flaws and temptations that make Zevlor such a great character to me, even before he’s tricked by the Absolute. The fandom has leaned hard into Zevlor’s self-loathing and let me tell you, I love it (kisses, hugs, and cookies for you all), but canonically I think he has more reason to fear himself than we tend to portray in the H/C fics. I’m not saying he’s a bad person. Rather, it’s precisely because Zevlor is such a good person that he has the capacity to fall so far. It’s his all-consuming desire to protect his family that leads Zevlor to do and consider so much that a paladin would normally balk at. Denying others the safety you’ve been granted. Subtly manipulating others to do your dirty work. Considering murder.

Zevlor is someone torn between doing the Right Thing and the thing he believes will help those under his care survive. Importantly, when we first meet him he considers these to be two separate courses of action. So can you imagine what goes through his head when he first sees Tav saving everyone and doing so righteously? I think it’s integral to Zevlor’s characterization that the game all but forces you to play the Good Guy in that initial encounter. A cut scene starts, you’re thrown into combat immediately afterwards, and unless you plan to start attacking the Grove members alongside the goblins (which the mechanics discourage through the coloring that distinguishes enemies from allies) you will always finish this fight as Zevlor’s hero. Sure, you can be an asshole afterwards and demand payment. You could already be plotting your betrayal and the slaughter of all the refugees. But in this moment you are nothing but a miracle made flesh in his eyes. Right from the start Tav is succeeding in all the ways Zevlor feels like he's failed. You're the hero.

More specifically, you’re an Every-Man Hero. We might have epic backstories for our Tavs, but within confines of the game you’re largely a nobody when not playing an Origin character. How powerful must that have been to witness then? A total stranger, someone who has no ties to the tieflings or even, depending on your class, any sworn reason to help others, putting their life on the line to save what is most precious to Zevlor? I think a lot about the fact that he never asks Wyll to step in and try to change Kagha’s mind. She owes him just as much as she does Tav—Wyll is an equal participant in that fight and, if your shoddy play style is anything like mine, he likely did more damage—and Wyll is clearly invested in the tiefling’s survival, training the kids as he is. Now, obviously Zevlor’s reticence is largely a question of assigned roles (we need to be the one engaging with Kagha because we’re the protagonist/player) but, like Zevlor’s choice to include himself in the Not a Fighter group, it would have been all too easy to explain this away within the narrative. One comment about how Wyll already tried and failed, or how Kagha doesn’t trust Warlocks, or hell, maybe you don’t meet Wyll in the Grove at all. It’s an easy thing to accomplish and though this is edging more into the realm of headcanon than anything else, I can’t help but think that Wyll isn’t the kind of person that Zevlor could turn to for help right now. Because he’s a folk hero. The Blade of Frontiers, known far and wide for his impressive, selfless deeds. Zevlor is struggling so hard to keep the tieflings safe, tempted by all the unsavory solutions that might achieve that, drowning in self-hatred as his past and current failings catch up with him, wanting nothing more than to be his peoples’ protector:

“I would be a paladin again—with a god’s purpose, a god’s power. Everything I needed to protect my people. And all the while, the cult tortured them. They fought, and ran, and died around me, while I imagined myself their savior.”

Three of the things Zevlor mutters while trapped in the pod are “Hellrider… for… life…,” “Trust… in me…,” and “Children… look away… look at me…” He wants to be the protector, the one children look to for reassurance, he wants his words to Tilly to be a lie and he wants a way to prove that he is a Hellrider for life… but he’s not. At least, Zevlor doesn’t believe it. He lost his titles while Wyll still proudly bears his. Wyll trains the children to fight while Zevlor can only get swept up in anger at them being threatened. The people trust Wyll, adore him, he’s the hero and Zevlor… is not. Not anymore.

It’s too painful to approach Wyll and admit all that. That would be a hell of a blow to Zevlor's pride. But Tav? A stranger? A nobody? The Every-man who had no reason to help or reputation pressuring them, saving them anyway? That’s inspiring. Someone like Tav could be the answer and even, perhaps, the proof that Zevlor could redeem himself. Neither of them are folk heroes, untouchable in their assumed perfection. Tav is a living, breathing example of how the flawed, everyday adventurer can be everything Zevlor strives for.

No wonder he won’t shut up about them in the Shadowlands.

All of this is why it’s so tragic that Zevlor wasn’t given a redemption arc. Sure, you can recruit him for the final battle against the Netherbrain, but there’s no quest to change the cast’s opinion of him—or change Zevlor’s opinion of himself. All his content at the end of Act 2 and Act 3 reinforces that self-hatred.

Let’s make a list, shall we?

Nearly every line of his reunion with Tav has Zevlor painting himself in the worst light possible, from “a lie kinder than the truth” to his refusal to join you because he believes he’ll stab you in the back. You cannot convince him of the Absolute’s manipulation and there’s no response to his belief that such horrors start within the person like, “Of course it does! Because we’re all flawed and equally capable of good and evil deeds! That potential doesn’t make you irredeemable, Zevlor, it makes you mortal!!”

He’s utterly failed as his peoples’ champion and he’s also deemed “unworthy” of being a True Soul. Obviously not being chosen by the Absolute is a good thing, but for a man drowning in self-loathing that’s one hell of a complicated rejection.

Nearly all the tieflings hate him now, all those people he’s been sacrificing his soul to keep safe. I found it particularly devastating that this is one of the rare occasions where nailing a persuasion check doesn’t change the person’s mind. There’s at least one tiefling at Moonrise (I’m drawing a blank on her name) who will believe you when you explain how the Absolute influenced Zevlor, but that doesn’t lead to forgiveness.

Zevlor is deemed unimportant on a literal, narrative level. He is very easy to miss in the pods (I nearly did on my first play-through) and the game does incredibly little to dissuade you from that mistake. Putting aside for a moment that obviously an Origin companion is more significant than a minor NPC, compare this to Shadowheart screaming from her own pod, the game making it abundantly clear that this is someone in need of help—someone worth rescuing. She’ll even say later that you could have run past, more concerned with your own survival and the big picture heroics to bother with her. How must it feel then, if Zevlor ever learns that Tav was there and never stopped for him?

If you do miss Zevlor… oh boy. We’ve probably all seen at least a recording of Orin’s so-called gift. There are plenty of characters who can meet untimely and devastating ends, but very few go through this level of horror. Zevlor—after being held captive, remember—is tortured by God’s Favorite Torturer. He is stripped of his personhood and reduced to a mere “message,” a “pet.” Zevlor is further humiliated in death by being literally stripped of his armor—not just vulnerable in his nakedness, but denied the last symbol of his faith, his status, his power—and it’s always struck me that this is the closest we see to him 'enjoying' an intimate moment, this parody in Orin’s painting. Zevlor is one of the NPC’s most in need of physical comfort and instead he’s forced into this torturous mockery of a sex scene. It also hits hard that when Tav first spots his body the narration says that Zevlor “might almost be sleeping.” Undoubtedly this is a man who isn’t taking good care of himself. He needs a good night’s rest, yet this horrifying trick is all he gets.

As if all this weren’t enough, most of your companion are VERY critical of Zevlor while commenting on his demise. It’s one thing for the tieflings to believe the worst given their ignorance and the fact that they are the ones who suffered from Zevlor’s failure, but your company understands the Absolute and the ways that she gets her hooks in people. Still, Astarion calls him a “wet rag” even if he did deserve better than this. Shadowheart wouldn’t have wished this on him either, but she can’t help but slip in a “no matter his failings.” Lae’zel, often the most blunt, straight up says that he was “always destined to fail his people—and to fail us.” Wyll shakes his head and intones that “even good intentions can lead us down deadly paths.” Only Gale and Karlach stick to mourning the dead rather than airing his shortcomings.

When I spoke to my allies before the final battle Zevlor didn’t have a cut scene. It became clear to me later that this must have been a bug in my play-through, but at the time it only reinforced my feelings that his story was incomplete. Looking on Youtube I’ve found recordings of him saying that he is a Hellrider once more and he would “die a proud man if [he] were to die this day”… but that rings as terribly hollow given where we left him. Last we were together, Zevlor was saying in no uncertain terms that he could not be trusted, he would fail again, he was unworthy of forgiveness. Where did this change of heart come from? It makes perfect sense that he would help Tav in this moment—he begs to be of some use after getting free—but not that he would present himself with such confidence. Within the story as it’s been told this feels… fake. Like Zevlor is putting on a mask to fit the mood of this lively, optimistic party. Which, in turn, gives the “I would die a proud man” line a terrifying implication to me. Does Zevlor expect to die this day? Does he intend to? What would persuade him not to lay down his life here and now? His mission is complete. The tieflings are safe—though not by his hand. There's no hero's welcome waiting for him after this battle. They hate him. He hates himself, and by his own admission the one thing that could still make him proud would be to die at Tav’s side, trying to do one last bit of good. If someone said that to me after everything Zevlor has been through I would keep them far away from the front lines.

(I did, for the record lol.)

I’m not saying anything new then when I go, “Larian, PLEASE add more to his story.” Give us a Zevlor side-quest to renew his oath. Let us invite him to our camp. Something to link the broken man mid-game and the confident fighter at the end so that the latter doesn’t feel like an alarm bell with two legs and a tail. I mean yeah, I get hooked on minor characters so 75% of this is simply me wanting more content of a fave, but I also I do legitimately believe that BG3’s story would benefit from tying up loose ends like this.

Zevlor is a fantastic character, someone who contains an astounding amount of complexity for so little screen time. You have to follow up on that complexity though. If he’s meant to be a purely tragic figure, okay, fine, that’s the ending you get with Orin. But one where he joins you with a smile and reclaims a title he's previously rejected with such fervor requires more work in the middle; a through-line that explains how someone with so much self-loathing learns to think of himself as the hero again.

Because it does all come down to Zevlor’s perception of himself. He was always a hero, flaws and all. He always was and always will be a Hellrider.

The UI knows what's up :)

#BG3 #Zevlor #bg3 Zevlor #wow this took forever #someone cry over this wet cat of a tiefling with me #mymetas

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lovebugism · 1 year

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i am so sorry but reader talking about robin right before making out with eddie is like absolutely the best thing i’ve ever read i’m obsessed i genuinely can’t wait for anything else in that universe that you do

THE CUSTOMER'S ALWAYS RIGHT | god help the girl

summary: in which you come to terms with the fact that you're hopelessly in love with eddie munson. pairing: virgin!eddie munson x reader word count: 13k warning: phone sex, more discussions of shitty boyfriends, j*son c*rver name drop, talks of unhealthy eating practices, smut 18+ mdni! a/n: this ask has been sitting in my inbox for ages now, but i wanted to save it until robin made an appearance in the series! thank you, anon, for being so sweet! and for the few of you who've been waiting on me to finally post <3 hope you enjoy! xoxo

( PREVIOUSLY ) | ( SERIES MASTERLIST ) | ( NEXT )

They only met once, but it changed their lives forever.

That’s what the movie cover reads at least, but the words have long blurred into a jumbled mess at your tunnel vision. John Bender stares you in the face, but all you see is Eddie — boyish and brazen and scowling because he thinks it makes him look intimidating, but nowhere near as cruel as he seems.

He’s certainly got the hair for it, much longer and curls far wilder than Judd Nelson’s measly set of brushed-back locks. He’s got the terribly animated personality down pat, too; the one that either makes you laugh uncontrollably or squirm in discomfort when it’s pointed your way. And the style’s a pretty fine match also, though you’d argue that no one sports a leather jacket quite like Eddie Munson does.

Wallowing in your boredom at the empty Family Video store on Main Street — where your best friends slave over mundane work with aching backs and a lingering sense of gratefulness that no customer has been in in well over an hour — you find yourself analyzing each character pictured on the front cover of The Breakfast Club.

Robin would surely be Allison, you conclude rather quickly, because their deadpanned glowers are eerily identical. They’ve also got this sort of atypical aura to them, too, like a dark storm cloud or the promise of a long night. But strangely it sparkles — strikes of lightning or a sky full of stars. It draws everyone’s attention to them; even when they’re desperately trying to hide in the very back of a room.

And Steve would be Andrew, not particularly because of his affections for this Allison-Reynolds-Robin-Buckley hybrid you’ve concocted, but because "popular guy with daddy issues" is a trope that fits him far too well. He’s way more likely to get detention for trying to look cool in front of his assholes friends than for anything actually malicious of heart. But that would’ve been years ago now. He’s not that kind of guy anymore.

He’s soft and sweet — a Brian Johnson sort of soft and sweet, if you will. If Brian wasn’t the brains, but the sweetest dumbass anyone’s ever met.

You realize then, that Jim Hopper would make a mean Richard Vernon. He’s impatient to a fault, almost too stern at times, but never enough to make you genuinely fearful of him. You’ve found that it’s virtually impossible for you to take him seriously when he’s so cartoonishly angry. It’s a match made in heaven, you find, though Jim might take offense to the comparison.

And if Eddie is Bender, then that’d make you the Claire Standish of the bunch.

She’s dreadfully stylish, a bit stuck-up at times, and perhaps a little bit more spoiled than the average person; but it’s not like she ever claimed to be perfect. And you wouldn’t either.

You’ll take more pride in your wardrobe filled with pretty pleated skirts and flouncy dresses than your somewhat glacial disposition. And you might not be drowning in daddy’s money, but you’re certainly spoiled in other ways — if only in the employee discount at Enzo’s that got you wine for cheap and your connections at Family Video that meant free movie nights whenever you wanted.

The bad boy and the princess was a tale as old as time itself. It’s a fairytale you wouldn’t mind living in if it ended how it did in the movies — with a kiss on the cheek and an exchanged diamond earring in the calloused palm of another. A soft pink smile and a celebratory fist in the air.

But you’ve met your fair share of John Bender’s and none of them had been particularly kind to you, let alone had fallen in love with you.

Maybe that’s because you were no Claire Standish. Never pretty enough, never mousy enough, never pure enough. You try and dissect why you’ve never been successfully loved, and all the signs point to you, you, you.

You hope Eddie’s different. You need Eddie to be different.

“Something’s wrong with me,” you blurt out of nowhere.

Well, it’s not totally out of the blue for you. You’d been stewing over that thought since you got there — since you left the woods with damp underwear and the scent of you on Eddie’s fingers.

But to Steve and Robin, who’d stayed relatively silent and locked eyes only once after they noticed how abnormally hushed you’d gone, it catches them quite off guard.

Steve lifts his heavy head from where he mans the counter. His tired eyes leave the computerized catalog for the first time in forty minutes, and he has to rub at them with the bottom of his palms to see you properly. Meanwhile, Robin crouches at your side, taking returned tapes from the bin sitting next to her and placing them back upon the shelf you lean against.

She blinks up at you, deep ocean eyes swimming with apprehension, like she can sense the spiral you’ve just about twisted yourself into.

“What do you mean?” she wonders, ever the supportive best friend, as she plucks Heather’s, Pretty in Pink, and Weird Science from the bin and sets them onto their assigned rows in the Teen Drama section.

“Eddie won’t fuck me.”

Neither of them is particularly stunned by the unabashed nature of your admission.

Not only have they both fucked you at one point or another, but they’re your best friends — no one’s ever going to know you quite the way they do. It leaves little left unsaid between the three of you, with secrets you’ve all sworn to take to your graves. Steve once stuck a finger in his ass to see if he liked it (he did) and Robin sometimes gets off on her childhood teddy bear (rather ironically named Mr. Snuggles).

So this? This was nothing. Especially in comparison to all the other shit you’ve confessed to them because god knows the whore of Hawkins has a plethora of stories to tell.

Steve is more shocked by the name that leaves your mouth than anything else. “Eddie Munson?” he repeats with furrowed brows, like he had to have heard you wrong.

You bring your chin to your right shoulder to look at him, then nod.

“Eddie… The Freak… Munson?”

You nod again, slower for him this time.

“You wanna fuck… Eddie Munson?” Steve reiterates once more, as though the idea was too appalling to be true. “Eddie Munson — The Freak?”

“Yes, Steve,” you huff in irritation.

His face contorts into a puppy-like confusion. A frown settles between his bushy brows and he cocks his head to the side, nose scrunching and his lip quirking slightly. He couldn’t look more disgusted if he tried.

“…Why?”

You groan and tilt your head back dramatically. “That’s not what’s important here, Steve. The better question is why won’t he fuck me?”

The boy’s lack of any actual assistance doesn’t surprise Robin in the slightest — his dumbfounded gaze and innate confusion are actually pretty on brand. It just puts all the burden on her, to help you wriggle out of the mess you’d tangled yourself into.

It’s not like she isn’t used to it, though, nor does she mind doing it for you. She walks you through your emotions like a professional, squashing out all the burning orange embers for you before they have the chance to burst into flames.

“Well, what do you mean he won’t fuck you? Like… did he actually say that or does he just wanna, you know, take things slow?”

The latter would’ve been way too easy. Eddie’s always been nice enough to you. It’d make sense for him to want to stay unhurried and gentle with you, but those words weren’t exactly in your vocabulary.

The first time you were alone with him, you were getting yourself off on his thigh after making him come in his jeans. The next time you saw him, after four days of him clinging to your consciousness, there wasn’t as much small talk so much as there were two of his fingers stuffed knuckle-deep inside of you.

You don’t know Eddie’s birthday, but you know how he likes to be touched — squeezed and not rubbed. You don’t know his middle name or how he likes his eggs in the morning or what his relationship with his mother is like, but he’s already made you come. Twice.

You are completely, utterly, and totally incapable of taking things slow. So it wasn’t that. It couldn’t be. So it had to be the other thing. The very scary, terrifying, boogeyman of a thing.

“I mean, I offered to give him a blowjob and he completely turned me down,” you lament in reply.

Robin and Steve wince. Like, physically wince. Their faces scrunch and their heads flinch from something invisible. Audible ooh’s fall from their mouths without them even realizing it, because you don’t get rejected. Ever. Especially not after offering to pleasure someone without much of anything in return.

They don’t mean to react the way they do. The visible shock that coats their features is involuntary more than it is anything, and it only adds to your fears.

“Exactly!” you exclaim.

“I hate to say it, but I think hell might be freezing over as we speak,” Steve half-jokes.

“Well, he was working, right?” Robin asks with raised brows. “Maybe he was just busy.”

“Sorry, Rob, but no guy’s too busy for a blowjob.”

“Real charming, Stevie.”

“Maybe he just has a small dick,” the boy concludes with a shrug.

“I felt his dick,” you shake your head almost immediately. The feeling of Eddie’s hard cock through his denim jeans, all rough and warm against your palm, hasn’t yet left you. “It’s not small.”

“Well, maybe he can’t get it up—”

“Yeah, that’s not a problem either.”

Eddie was rock hard when you left him, throbbing and aching and obviously needing some kind of relief. That’s partly why you’d been so ardent to return the favor, though the other half of it was purely selfish — you haven’t seen a more beautiful sight than Eddie Munson getting off. To deprive yourself of that masterpiece made you feel like you were starving.

You have a hard time imagining the raging hard-on just… dissipating after you’d left him. That means he probably jerked off in the back of his van and you missed it. And if he came, right after he promised everything was okay, that means he just didn’t want you to do it… right?

Steve seems to be caught in the same inner turmoil you’re currently stuck in; and for good reason. In all the years he’s known you, he can count on one hand how many times he’s had to turn you down. And every time, it was because he’d gotten back together with Nancy. It was never because of you. Not once. And sometimes he felt like it hurt him as much as it did you.

As far as Steve’s concerned, you’re so out of Eddie Munson’s league that you’re not even in his fucking orbit — so the freak show, turning you down, doesn’t make whole lot of sense to him.

“Huh…”

“It’s me. It’s definitely me,” you conclude with the shake of your head. A bitter, almost hysterical laugh spills from your lips. “He thinks I’m fucking ugly or disgusting or something. It’s totally fucking me—”

Robin completely abandons her basket of tapes then. She rises to stand in front of you, looking timid as she does so. Her raised brows form wrinkles on her freckled forehead and her blue eyes widen to reveal more of the whites of them. She looks like she’s approaching a wild animal. A bomb that’s about to explode.

“Okay… You’re starting to spiral, alright? So let’s just try and take a few deep breaths—”

You don’t listen to her.

Actually, you do quite the opposite, as you begin to blurt every fleeting thought that crosses your mind.

“I’ve made out with nearly everyone in this stupid town— I’m pretty sure I’ve fucked almost half— and you’d think Eddie would wanna take advantage of that, the way everyone makes him out to be some sort of freak, right? But he hasn’t and at this rate, he won’t, and I just don’t understand why,” you ramble without taking in a single breath. “Usually being a slut is a huge turn-on for guys, you know? But what if Eddie thinks it’s gross? I mean, it is gross— I’m gross—”

You only stop for air when Robin takes your shoulders in both hands. She looks less apprehensive and more stern, as she forces you to look at her.

“Look. I love you, but you need to get a hold of yourself, alright? I know you’re not used to being told no, and I know how much it sucks, but shit happens. I’m willing to bet all the money I’ve ever seen that whatever is going on with Eddie has nothing to do with you, okay? And if it’s making you this upset, maybe you should just talk to him.”

“But I don’t wanna seem like I’m too eager, that’s gross—”

“Then find someone else to fuck,” she offers with her signature Robin Buckley half-smile. “I’m sure it would take you less than five minutes to find a willing participant.”

“Yeah, right here,” Steve jokes from the counter with the pathetic wave of his hand and a dumb grin on his lips.

You don’t hear him over the voices in your head — half calling you crazy for letting a boy drive you this mad over nothing, and the other half bitterly affirming each of your deep-rooted insecurities.

Your face screws up, like the thought of being with anyone other than Eddie upsets you — it does upset you.

“I don’t want anyone else.”

“Then what do you want?” Robin yells in your face, shaking you by your shoulders.

“I want Eddie!” you shout back without thinking. The words seem to spill out of nowhere. It takes you of all people by surprise. No one in this rat trap town would ever expect the whore of Hawkins to want to settle down, least of all the harlot herself. It’s strange; it’s riveting; it’s really fucking scary. “…Fuck.”

The brunette smirks, proud of herself. “Well. There’s your answer.”

“I hate when you’re right,” you mumble to yourself, pouting as she crouches back down again.

“I know.”

It was a terrifying thought, to know that you were head over heels for someone else. You try to come to terms with what that means.

Sometimes you think you fall in love with a new person every day. A cute guy holds the door open for you, a pretty girl compliments your outfit — they never think about you again, but they’re on your mind for days. It was so easy to develop such meaningless infatuations, especially when you were bored.

But Eddie was different.

He was a nice guy. A nice guy that was sweet to you just for the sake of being sweet to you; not because he secretly wanted something in return. That made you fall for him at first, but then you just… kept on falling. Eddie Munson was an infinite void you couldn’t crawl your way out of even if you wanted to, even if you tried.

And that’s what frightened you the most.

Because if you really thought about it, you’ve only truly been in love a handful of times. And, sure, it didn’t work out — that was normal — but some of them fucking ruined you.

You’re still trying to figure out who you are without all of the people that have broken your heart. You’re still fighting like hell every day to recognize the person you see in the mirror, while Billy Hargrove fucks off with a new girl every other week like he didn’t totally destroy you.

But, even still, Eddie was completely different. No one’s ever made you feel the way he makes you feel. And it’s more than the stupid heavy petting — it’s more than anything. It’s never been like this before; not even with the blonde mulleted asshole who ripped your heart to shreds.

And you’re scared that if you get hurt again, you’ll never be able to come back from it.

“Steve, do you have another copy of Fast Times in the back?” you suddenly ask the boy, tossing him a look over your shoulder.

It’s your last ditch effort to rid yourself of the ponderous, gray doom and gloom surrounding you like some storm cloud. Your comfort movie solves all of your problems — or, at the very least, Phoebe Cates does — but it seems everyone else in town has developed a similar fondness for minute fifty-three of the film and got all the tapes off the shelf before you could get your hands on one.

“You know I keep on in stock for you,” he answers quietly.

He reaches below the counter to pull out a spare copy for you, and your heart swells with the rays of a thousand rising suns and the songs of every morning bird.

Steve told you some time ago that he could change. And back then, all it did was piss you off, because he didn’t want to change for the town slut — for the girl he put through the goddamn ringer. He wanted to change for Nancy. The princess bruised his brittle ego a little, and then he realized what an asshole he’d been to everyone, to you.

But as angry as it made you, you never believed him. “Once the King of Hawkins High, always the King of Hawkins High,” you remarked bitterly.

You wouldn’t say it to his face, for the sake of keeping his ego from inflating all over again, but you could tell he was really changing.

He was kinder, he was softer. He stopped caring about what everyone thought about him, about what not caring would do to his reputation, and started giving a fuck about the people worth giving a fuck about.

Apparently, you were one of them.

“…Really?”

He nods with a subtle shrug. Like it was no big deal. Like it wasn’t one of the sweetest things he’d ever done for you — keeping your favorite movie on hand so you’ll always have a spare, knowing that it’s the only thing that gets you out of a deep, dark funk sometimes.

“Stevie… You’re gonna make me blush,” you lilt with a grin as you saunter over to him, hands innocently laced behind your back. “You need to be careful, Harrington. I’m gonna start to think you actually like me.”

He scoffs. “I do like you.”

“Yeah, when it’s convenient.”

It’s obvious your joke hits him where it hurts. It serves as a bitter reminder of the asshole he used to be, the douchebag he’s trying like hell to grow out of. He looks up at you with a sheepish, honey-tinted gaze before ducking away again.

A year or more ago it would’ve made you feel good, to know that you hurt him just a fraction of the way he hurt you. But you know that that isn’t the same man standing in front of you now, that he’d rather die than make hurt your feelings, and it makes you feel like shit for saying it in the first place.

“Sorry,” you apologize with a scrunched nose. The palms of your hands dig into the edges of the counter as you lean against it. Your shrug. “It just kinda came out…”

The barcode scanner in his hand beeps as he passes the thing over the back of the tape — never charging you, just getting the movie out of the database.

“So, uh…” he starts before clearing his throat. He focuses his gaze on the computer and types on the bulky keyboard with the tip of his pointer finger. “You really like this Eddie guy, huh?”

“Maybe. I think so.”

“And he’s not, like… a total freak or anything?”

You can’t tell if he’s trying to look out for you or if he just wants intel on what it’s like trying (and failing) to bang the local weirdo. Either way, it makes a smile tug slow at your lips as you joke: “Not in the way everyone thinks.”

“Jesus,” he winces at the obscenity of your words.

“Sorry,” you apologize again, though the laugh that bubbles from your lips after cancels out any hint of actual sincerity. “You don’t need to give me the talk or anything, Steve. I can take care of myself.”

“…Can you?” he half-jokes.

It makes you falter. “Well… With you and Robin and Hopper constantly on my ass, then yeah.”

“Just don’t want you to get hurt,” Steve finally admits, soft and suddenly shy as he hands the VHS over to you.

“That’s rich coming from you—”

He jerks back the tape before you can take it from him, leaving your hand reaching for thin air. His cinnamon eyes glimmer with a foreign seriousness, not completely unkind, but lacking their usual blithe. “That’s why I’m saying it. I just… I want you to be okay.”

Steve is one of the rare ones, you conclude right then in there — in the liminal emptiness of Family Video, beneath fluorescent lights that cast sharp shadows upon his already chiseled features. He was a mythical creature of a man, one who breaks your heart and does everything in his power to mend it again.

He hasn’t forgotten about what he did to you, not like Billy did, and he won’t. Not ever. He saw what he did to you and he never moved on from it, just matured enough to make sure it never happened again. And he won’t let another unworthy douchebag hurt you like he did. Not if he can help it, at least.

And he did try to warn you about Hargrove, to be fair. You were just the dumbass that didn’t listen.

“Well, me and my Phoebe Cates wet dream are golden, Pony Boy,” you promise. He hands you the tape again and lets you snatch it from his grip this time. “Don’t worry your pretty little head, Stevie.”

Steve Harrington was right.

The fleeting thought flashes across your mind for half a second, and you quickly realize that those words have never been uttered in the same sentence before now. But he wasn’t wrong in what he’d said about you, just before you left — you were completely, totally, absolutely, and implicitly unable to take care of yourself.

You nearly passed out in the bathroom after taking the hottest shower of your life, feeling too woozy to slap on anything other than moisturizer because you failed to remember to actually eat something that day. It wasn’t totally your fault, though; if anything, it was because of Eddie and all the butterflies he’d given you that made food the very last thing on your mind.

You half-heartedly dry yourself off, keeping your hair in a towel, while you slip on a cotton set of underwear you’ve had for way longer than what's likely acceptable. Damp and half-naked, you prance into the kitchen to fix Bowie her bowl of dinner before you feed yourself.

You fork a can of wet food onto a flower-shaped plate and let her eat on the counter — because you’re an adult now, and you can do that sort of thing.

The calico purrs while she feasts, but your stomach thunders with negligence. You peek into your mostly bare refrigerator and make a mental note to go grocery shopping when you get paid next week.

With a lack of food and an even lesser will to cook something, you settle for the half-eaten chocolate bar you keep stashed in the very back of the fridge; kept only for the most special of occasions — when you’re reveling in your loneliness and trying to convince yourself that you can make it on your own.

It was practically the size of your forearm when you first bought the thing at some too expensive candy store in the city. Now it’s no bigger than your hand.

You eat the thing in bed, even though you know you’ll get crumbs everywhere and that it’ll make sleep agonizing for you — if you get any, that is. You’re bound to feel like a total zombie by the time the sun rises and the late-night sweet will likely make its appearance on your skin by then, in a red and raging blemish of a consequence.

You’ll feel empty and starved and surly, a snapping grouch instead of an actual person, until you get some actual food in your system.

And you’re more than aware of all of these things, but you don’t do a single damn thing about them.

You’re nothing but a sulking lump upon an unmade bed, lying in a pitch-black darkness that’s evaded only by the static-y television across your room, trying your best to pretend like you aren’t waiting for Eddie’s phone call. It’s hard to remember to forget him, though, when the movie you’re watching is practically a feature film of him and all the ways he makes you feel.

Spicoli and his terribly inebriated friends slur as they chorus “No shoes, no shirt, no diiiice” and you swear you can feel Eddie’s shoulder bump softly against yours as he laughs, hear every sound of his melodic chuckle in your ear that made you giggle right along with him. The low bass of Moving in Stereo plays in the otherwise empty silence of your bedroom, and every beat feels like the rhythm of your thrusts against his thigh.

Eddie Munson is all-consuming.

Even the thought of him feels physical.

Phoebe Cates all but undresses herself in front of you, but you’re stuck thinking about some guy who lives in a trailer park across town, deals drugs for a living, and can’t graduate high school. You’re a total fucking goner.

Your eyes flutter shut, and instead of the backs of your eyelids, you see Eddie’s trailer. Your lips start to tingle as they kiss his for the first time — hungry, yearning, needing. His thigh is pressed snugly into your cunt, denim jeans rough against your soft cotton panties, and you have to bite back a moan when he tenses every time you squeeze his hard, covered cock.

You can feel it, all of him, like he were here with you now.

You wish that he were.

His fingers would feel far better, leave far more sparks of electricity in your belly, than the ones as you sneak through the hem of your underwear.

You try and take things slow with yourself, to be as gentle as he had been with you earlier in the woods, but it feels strange to treat yourself with so much tenderness. To touch your pussy like it’s the first time it’s ever been touched. Like it’s a beautiful thing you need to be sweet to.

Maybe you find it so foreign to be careful with yourself because no one has ever been careful with you.

No one, except for Eddie.

Your touch doesn’t rival his. It doesn’t even come close.

No matter how tightly you squeeze your eyes shut or how hard you try to pretend that they’re his fingers inside of you, you can’t make yourself feel as good as he did.

Your fingers aren’t as rough as his guitar-string-scarred ones and they don’t caress your clit with the same methodical care. They don’t fill you quite the same either, nowhere near as satisfying as his much thicker ones.

And you’re no stranger to masturbation, not by any means. Sometimes it’s the only way you can guarantee an orgasm for yourself when you’ve got a partner who cares so little about your own pleasure. But Eddie was different. Eddie cared — so much so, that he’s gotten more orgasms out of you than you’ve gotten from him, which is something you’ve never said about anyone else you’ve been with.

It’s rare and unfamiliar, a bouquet of all things refreshing and terrifying and strange, tied together with a pretty little ribbon.

You know that you can make yourself come. It’ll just take way too long to actually be worthwhile and won’t be nearly as mind-blowing as you need it to be. You won’t be left with trembling thighs and nearly numb legs — just a pitiful excuse for an orgasm that you could get from any one of your exes with half as much work.

What you need is Eddie.

And you hate that. You hate how much you need him and you’re terrified of what that means.

As far as precedent goes, right when you start needing someone is usually when they start to leave. It’s like fucking clockwork most of the time — like everyone knows that you’re a ticking time bomb and eventually it gets too risky to stand too close to you.

You’ll just have to keep Eddie at arm's distance. So he won’t see the grenade that you are.

You pull your fingers out of your wanting cunt, still slick and throbbing with a need that you can’t give it, when the phone rings.

The high-pitched shrill in the quiet makes you tense like it’s the first time you’ve ever heard the damn thing. Your breath catches in your throat, first out of fright and then at the inclination of who waits for you on the other line.

Suddenly, you’re scrambling to collect yourself. As though there was any possibility that Eddie might be able to see you through the phone line.

You wipe your wet fingers haphazardly on the cotton of your underwear and sit up straighter from your ungracefully lazed position. Then you count to five — one mississippi… two mississippi… three — so Eddie won’t think you’re some kind of crazy person who doesn’t have anything better to do than wait for his call.

So he won’t know that’s exactly what you are.

You lift the ruby red rotary from its hook at your bedside table and stretch the corkscrew cord to press it to your ear. “…Hello?”

“Yeah, hi. I’d like to order a pizza. Half pepperoni, half hawaiian.”

You roll your eyes at his dumb joke, even though the familiarity of his voice makes you smile. It warms you like a home-cooked meal, like you were high-pitched and starving before and now you’re on the soothing comedown of finally being satiated.

“Yeah, sorry, we’re closed.”

“Then why’d you pick up the phone, huh?” he teases back. You swear you can hear the grin in his voice. You didn’t know a smile could be so audible. It makes you wonder if he can hear yours — if you’re doing a real shit job at pretending. You anxiously twirl the cord with the pointer finger of your free hand.

“Because I’ve been waiting for you to call me all night, dummy.”

Your answer is more honest than either of you were expecting.

Eddie’s sigh crackles through the shoddy reception. “Yeah. Sorry ‘bout that, sweetheart. I’ve been working all night. I only got home, like, five minutes ago.”

You can hear the heavy exhaustion in his voice. “Rough day?”

“Kinda,” he answers with a shrug. You can hear the grating squeak of his mattress as he plops down onto his bed. “I dealt to one of Jason’s goons today… They always give me a hard time.”

“I’m sorry,” is all you can think to answer.

Eddie’s been the brunt of every joke since seventh grade — people made fun of too big clothes, his too wild hair, his too loud music. But he took it all in stride, laughing with everyone else before volleying a harsher joke back in response. You almost started to think that he liked it. That, somewhere deep down, he was fond of all the attention he got from people who supposedly couldn’t stand him.

But it hurts to know that it hurts him.

“Don’t apologize. It’s not like you did anything,” he assures with a soft laugh. He makes the bold decision to be honest then, too. “You, uh… You made my day a whole lot better, actually.”

You don’t know if he’s talking about the brief fling in the woods or the phone call you’re sharing now or if you particularly care either way. Your heart flutters like it’s been kissed by the wings of a butterfly.

“Really?”

“Yeah. I mean… I don’t know— I couldn’t stop thinking about you, you know. And, knowing that I was gonna get to talk to you again kinda got me through the day, I guess… And, yes, I am fully aware of how lame that sounds, but—”

You don’t get to hear the rest of his excuse, of why what he just told you totally isn’t lame, because you’re covering the receiver with your palm and turning to squeal into your pillow. A far more pathetic sight, in your humble opinion.

There hasn’t been a more fulfilling feeling than this one, to know that he’s been feeling the same way you’ve been feeling about him this whole time. It’s better than all the orgasms he could give you combined, to be loved so wholly.

“…You okay?” you hear his muffled voice ask after you’ve gone suddenly AWOL.

You press the phone back to your ear and nod like he can see you. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m good. The phone… fell— you said you just got home?”

“Uh, yeah. I met with Hellfire for a bit at school. We’re almost at the end of the Cult of Vecna, so they’re kinda on my ass about it. The little shits are obsessed.”

“Well, they should be. It’s a really good campaign, Eds.”

“Thanks to you,” he mutters. You can almost picture the glimmer in his button eyes and the shaky half-smirk he always looks at you with when he gets all shy.

“That was all you, Eddie Spaghetti,” you retort. “I still have no idea how you did it.”

“Did what?” he wonders, chuckling a bit at the nickname.

“Make something so beautiful out of thin air.”

Lying in the depths of his bedroom, blanketed by the darkness and bathing in streams of moonlight, Eddie feels his breath catch in his throat.

For the first time in his life, he doesn’t have a joke to spew out on the spot. He’s speechless, just for a moment, a quick blink of a second, with nothing to say. Because, if he really thinks about it, that’s sort of what happened with you.

You were just his customer and he was just your dealer.

You were a loyal client and then a girl way out of his league that he developed a too big a crush on. Then you made him come in his underwear and washed the sticky stains out of the denim for him. Now you’re on the phone with him. You let him tell you all about his shitty day and apologize like you weren’t the only good thing about it — like you aren’t the only good thing, period.

It’s not the most cliche love story, nor is it the most beautiful, but it has his cynical little heart beating like the wings of a hummingbird.

Then, when all the mushy mess fades like fog, he finally thinks of something to say.

“It’s the witchcraft, sweetheart,” he shrugs to himself. “Didn’t you hear? I’m a devil-worshipping freak.”

“You know that’s not it, Eds,” you retort with the roll of your eyes.

You know that it’s hard, to be a metalhead from the wrong side of the tracks in the eighties — at the height of the Satanic Panic and all the delusional craze. That shit’s followed him since freshman year. Even still, it nips at his ankles like rabid dogs.

Maybe you were never naive or bored enough to believe all the rumors, but Eddie Munson was always more than that to you.

“No?”

“You can blame it on being a freak show all you want, but I know it’s because you’re one of the funniest, smartest, most creative guys I’ve ever met—”

“You must not know a ton of guys then, sweetheart,” he interjects playfully, like he couldn’t stand to hear you compliment him any longer. You’d give anything to see his blushing cheeks just now.

“…You’re kidding right?” you giggle in response.

“Sorry— that’s— I didn’t mean it like— It was— I was joking,” he stammers, frightened that he might’ve offended you in some way.

It only makes you laugh harder. Both of you know you lost count of all the guys you ‘know’ a long, long time ago. You do imagine it’s somewhere near ‘a ton’, though.

“I know, Eds,” you assure with a contented sigh. “I was just teasing.”

“Oh.”

“The slut and the freak… Who would’ve thought?” you wonder all dreamily, like it’s a fairytale as old as time itself. That’s what it feels like, sometimes.

Eddie isn’t sure what you mean — who would’ve thought you’d be friends? Two people caught in that in-between stage of platonic and romance that’s complete agony and total, total bliss? A couple of kids falling in love—

“It’s sort of kismet, huh?” he answers.

“I think so.”

“So, uh… What are you up to?” Eddie wonders then, equal parts curious and eager to keep the discussion going. He’s frightened any lapse in conversation is going to lead to saying goodbye.

He wants to stay on for hours, until both of you are fighting to stay awake, and then listen to the sound of your heavy breathing when you inevitably lose — like that isn’t the creepiest thing anyone’s ever wanted. He’ll fight Wayne about the bill if it comes to that, he doesn’t care, he just never wants to stop being this close to you.

“Do you want the real answer or the fake one?”

“Uh… Both?”

“Well, I’d say I was doing something super productive with my night, you know, catching up on all the boring adult shit, but then I’d be lying. And I don’t wanna lie to you, Eds,” you tell him with a teasing lilt playing at the edge of your voice.

Eddie swallows thickly, fearing he’d somehow been caught in his own lie — or rather, his half-truth. He moves on quickly, though not exactly full of grace. “Right. Yeah. Totally.”

“Honest answer is, that the only productive thing I’ve done tonight is shower, and now I’m in bed watching Fast Times and eating all the chocolate in my house, because I can’t cook for shit and I have nothing else better to do with my night,” you admit to him, picking at the thread of your comforter.

“Oh, don’t tell me I missed the ‘Moving in Stereo’ bit,” he agonizes.

“Just.”

“Well, correct me if I’m wrong, sweetheart, but it sounds like you’re having loads of fun tonight.”

“I’m having a lot more fun now,” you assure him.

“Glad I can be around to make you laugh,” he retorts like he’s not all too happy to do it.

“You’re a total comedian, Eddie Spaghetti.”

“If I’m the jester, you’re the queen, sweetheart,” he promises, a grin evident in his voice.

Your breath catches in your throat something fierce; you’re almost worried that he’s heard it. His words pierce your heart, a stroke of lightning or a blade of steel. He’s joking, but it’s so strangely profound, the kindest thing anyone’s ever said to you and it’s dripping in sarcasm.

It’s sort of Eddie’s love language, you’ve come to understand, to say something so sweet but coated in venom to make it sour again. It makes you feel special, loved, almost.

A fire builds behind your rib cage, sharp and distant and all-consuming.

“Are you alone, Eds?” you ask him suddenly.

The sudden curve ball in the conversation takes him by surprise. “Uh, yeah, Wayne’s at work right now… Why?”

“Because I want you to talk to me…”

“Oh?” is all he can say because isn’t that what he’s been doing this whole time?

“And I want you to say things that… maybe other people shouldn’t hear,” you explain slowly to him.

“…Oh.”

He’s heard about this only once before, the whole phone sex thing.

It was from Andy in the back of Ms. O’Donnell’s class a year or more ago, though Eddie never called him by that name. Andy, in all actuality, was Jason Carver’s right-hand man, and he meant that in every sense of the phrase. Eddie was more than convinced that the guy was so obsessed with the blonde haired, blue eyed douchebag that he was giving him handjobs on the regular.

But it seemed the dick brigade couldn’t function properly without their leader and Eddie had the misfortune of hearing all the mindless bullshit they were spewing behind him — basketball, parties, girls; in true white bread fashion.

His friends gathered around him like he was telling some sort of secret, though it was loud enough for anyone in a three foot radius to hear. Eddie, caught directly in the line of fire, heard all about Chrissy’s older sister, Wendy, who was two years older and off at college.

He’d gotten her number from some party he’d crashed. At least that’s how he told it, right before telling everyone that she swore like a sailor when she came and that she told him all the dirty things she wanted to do to him while she did.

“It was like her hand was on my dick, dude, I’m serious. That shit was crazy, bro,” he’d laughed after retelling the whole conversation in excruciating detail.

Eddie rolled his eyes to himself then, inwardly jealous that he’d never get to meet Wendy — or any other girl that would be willing to have phone sex with him, for that matter. His phone only ever rang for telemarketers or a rogue Dustin Henderson calling to annoy him.

But, here you are now, the most wanted girl in Hawkins, offering it to him on a silver platter. He wonders if you’ve done this before, surely you have — oh god, he thinks to himself, what if you’ve done this with Andy?

“We don’t have to if you don’t want to,” you assure him after his unusually long silence. “I know you’re probably busy and tired and everything—”

“No! No, yeah, I— I want to. I totally want to.”

“Okay,” you nod. Petals of a flower begin to bloom in your chest as you lie back in bed, settling further into the mattress. The movie, already long forgotten, serves only as light and background noise. “So… What are you wearing, Eds?”

“I feel like I should be asking you that,” he laughs.

On the other side of Hawkins, in a trailer in the middle of nowhere, Eddie rises from where he’d originally flopped back onto his bed with the notion that it was going to be a semi-normal night. He props himself against his headboard. His fingers twitch at his thigh.

“Beat ya to it, Munson.”

“Well, I’ll have you know that it is very sexy, sweetheart. I’m wearing the same Hellfire shirt you saw me in, I don’t know, five hours ago — except now it’s got a rip in it because I totally ate ass on the way back to the van.”

He tells you this to make you laugh — it works — but he prays you don’t ask any questions. Because he got it while hurrying back to his van mere minutes after you’d left him, so hard he thought he was going to burst, with no more than seven minutes until his next client arrived.

Thankfully, he only needed three.

“I love that shirt,” you respond in place of saying what you really want to — ‘I love how that shirt looks on you’ — how it clings to his lean torso and reveals his midriff whenever he stretches his arms over his head.

“She’s a lit-tle worse for wear now, sweetheart,” he lilts.

“I’ll stitch it up for you.”

“And I’ve got on a pair of boxers that are so old they’re practically see through because I’m pretty sure they used to be Wayne’s back in… I don’t know… the eighteen-hundreds.”

Eddie was right. It was sexy, though, for the exact reason they weren’t supposed to be.

There was something so domestic about it all. You can picture him lying in his bed, in the most comfortable clothes he owns, in the one place he can feel at peace. Like a renaissance painting, something familiar and comforting and beautiful — fuck, you’d give anything to be next to him.

“…I think that means it’s your turn now, sweetheart,” he teases.

“Is it?” you mock in return.

“C’mon. Don’t leave me hangin’ over here.”

“It’s nothing, special,” you assure. Your eye flits down to peer at your own body — nothing special, indeed, you think to yourself. The lilac cotton set came from the grocery store downtown on the clearance rack you so often frequent. “I just have my underwear on. It’s very boring, I’m afraid.”

It’s not boring. Not to Eddie — the boy who prides himself on his insanely active imagination. He might not be able to pass english with his brain, but he can certainly create worlds with it, and it’s too easy for him to picture you. He imagines you, freshly showered, and smelling of the warm lavender-vanilla scent you always smell like, mostly bare and lazing upon a fluffy comforter.

He swallows thickly. “Oh, that’s— that’s really, uh— that’s really sexy.”

His thankful that you don’t seem to mind his poor excuse for dirty talk.

“It’s only because I was too lazy to get into actual pajamas.”

“I’m glad you didn’t.”

“Yeah?” you press, smiling to yourself and caging your bottom lip between your teeth.

“Yeah.”

“Can I tell you a secret, Eds?” you wonder, made brave enough by his own admission.

“‘Course you can.”

“Before you called…”

“…Uh-huh?” he eggs on, intrigued at the way you trailed off, sounding suddenly shy.

“I was…” The thought of telling him what you were doing mere seconds before he called makes you nervous. It wasn’t like you were ashamed of touching yourself or anything, nor is the art of dirty talking lost on you, but something about Eddie makes you timid.

“You were… what, sweetheart?” he wonders gently, with a too audible grin.

“I was touching myself.”

That’s all you tell him. The words linger and hang in the air of your separate bedrooms and you cling to the silence — almost mortified and anticipating his reply. Eddie, meanwhile, feels like his tongue has swelled in his mouth and all the air has been punched out of his lungs.

“Oh...” he tries to respond without the breath to accurately do so. “…Yeah?”

“You know what Phoebe Cates does to me,” you try to joke.

His laughter crackles through the receiver. “Yeah. I kinda have her to thank for the other night, don’t I?”

“Give yourself some credit, Eds. The hottest guy in Hawkins was sitting right next to me, what was I supposed to do?”

“No way you think I’m the hottest guy in town,” he scoffs. “Everyone knows you’ve got a thing for pretty boys.”

“Pretty boys?” you echo with a giggle.

“Uh-huh. The Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington type, you know?”

“Well, I think you’re a hundred times prettier than he is.”

“Really?” he scoffs cynically, obviously not believing you.

“He wasn’t the one I was thinking about with my hand shoved down my panties,” you admit, immediately quelling his self-doubt. “That’s gotta count for something, right?”

Eddie clears his throat and then stammers, “I— I guess so— yeah.”

“Are you hard, Eds?” you ask in a breathy whisper.

And he just nods to himself at first, too stupid to answer audibly. He can feel himself stiffening in his boxers, only halfway hard now, but getting firmer by the second. Soon, he’ll be aching.

“Yeah…”

“Can you touch yourself for me?”

Eddie would rather take a bullet to the chest than say no to you — at least, he figures that’d probably hurt less — so he slips his fidgeting fingers through the band of his boxers and takes his warm, stiffening cock in his hand. He squeezes himself just enough to make his stomach tighten.

“Want you to touch yourself, too,” he admits, neither asking or demanding it, just telling you.

“Yeah?” you tease.

“Well, I think it’s only fair, sweetheart.”

You can’t help but notice how breathy he’s gotten — how it shakes on the inhale and hitches on the out. He’s got his hand shoved down his underwear and you’re jealous of the fingers that get to wrap themselves around his cock. You wish they were yours. Both of you will have to settle, it seems.

“Whatever you want, Eds,” you answer playfully.

You obediently slide your hand back into the warmth of your panties. Your fingers slot between your lips and collect the slick that had gathered there since before you’d even answered the phone. You bring it up to your clit, circling the pads of your fingers there until you twitch, then dragging them down to press into your opening. They slip in with ease.

Both of you have turned into lovesick idiots, separated by so many miles, and missing the other most ardently. Lying in the depths of your bedrooms, basking in a velvet loneliness, building with a mutual pleasure with nothing but yearning hands and longing sighs.

Eddie’s eyes flutter shut at the sounds of your low moans and fragile whimpers that crackle through the static — beautiful still, but certainly no match to the ones you were breathing in his ear just hours ago.

His lashes dance across his cheeks as he tries to remember how you’d felt against his fingers, soft like velvet and delicate like silk, weeping and pulsating with need.

He drags his hand from his boxers and lets the band snap against his pelvis. He spits into his palm and wets his cock with it, sighing as he tugs at himself without much friction.

“Are you wet, sweetheart?” he asks, though the words threaten to get stuck in his throat.

“Yeah,” you whisper back like it’s some kind of secret.

You work yourself open with your middle finger and slip your pointer in next to it without much trouble. Your walls flutter around them while you fight to find the spot the makes you keen. You’re only able to tease it, fingers not quite long enough to caress it completely. Your thumb keeps working at your clit, though, to make up for the lost pleasure.

“I’ve been wet since I left you,” you admit through labored breaths. “Haven’t been able to… to stop thinking about you, Eds.”

“Glad I’m not the only one whipped over here, sweetheart,” he manages a laugh.

“No one’s ever made me come that hard before. Not just with their fingers,” you tell him mindlessly, dumb on pleasure, as you feel yourself climbing that peak.

“Really?”

“Never,” you promise, then whine. “Doesn’t even feel as good now… Can’t get as deep as you can—”

Eddie hangs on your every word as he works his palm up and down his stiff cock, squeezing at the base and swiping his thumb over the head with an expert hand. His face scrunches as his stomach starts to tighten, he’s close to coming — too close for his liking. He doesn’t want this to be over so quickly.

“You’ve ruined every other guy for me, Eddie Munson,” you confess, more than pleased to hear how it makes him whine. It sounds like it comes from the depths of his chest, the way it crackles low and needy through the receiver.

“Good,” he grumbles through his pants after he’s gathered himself all over again. “Don’t want anyone else to have you, sweetheart.”

This time you’re the one letting out the most pathetic of whines. It makes a smile flicker at the corners of his lips.

“You like that?”

It sounds so dirty, but you can tell by the sincerity of his tone that it’s genuine. So you answer with a longing truthfulness, a delicate “yes”entwined with a yearning moan.

“You just wanna belong to me, don’t ya?”

Now, this is dirty talk. The teasing lilt of his tone — it’s almost degrading — and makes you clench around your fingers. “Yes, please,” you whine, all but pleading for him now.

Eddie’s close, so dreadfully close, with a pleasure so tangible he could taste it. Your words make his cock twitch in his hold as the fire builds in his belly.

Through your whole-hearted promises and wanting moans, he can hear the sound of your slick through the receiver. The static reception doesn’t do it justice, but the wet click of your fingers working you open was unmistakable.

A moan grumbles in his throat as he digs the crown of his head back into his pillow. “Holy fuck— I can hear you, baby.”

“I’m so wet for you, Eds,” you tell him through fragile slurs, like it wasn’t inherently obvious.

You were wrong before, about wanting to hide from him. You couldn’t conceal your need for Eddie if you tried. The honey you drip, all sweet and just for him, wouldn’t let you keep it a secret.

“I know, baby, I know,” he nearly coos. “Are you— fuck, please tell me you’re close?”

“Yes,” you promise in a whine. Your thumb presses harder into your clit. It makes your thighs tense until they’re shaking.

“You rubbing your clit for me, sweetheart?” he asks like he knows. “I know that’s what you like.”

You whimper, working at the spongy spot within you as your hips buck off the bed. “Yeah.”

“Keep rubbing yourself like that for me, okay? Want you to keep going until you come for me.”

If he keeps talking to you like that, it’ll come a lot quicker than he’s prepared for.

It’s too soft to be much of a demand, but you listen obediently anyway, rubbing at yourself though your sensitivity keeps building. It grows like a morning tide, rising and flowing like white waves on an ocean, stirring something fierce in the depths of your stomach.

“Eddie,” you sigh out his name, broken through staggered pants.

You hear his stuttering breaths, too. “Y—Yeah?”

“I’m about to come,” you promise through a whine when the familiar crescendo sends a shock through your body.

“O… Okay,” he responds, pathetically, then whines, even more so.

“Want you to come with me… Please…”

“Fuck— okay. Shit, sweetheart, I’m almost there.”

“What are you thinking about?” you ask him.

“Your pussy,” he answers without thinking — he’s not doing a whole lot of that anymore. “Wish I’d gotten to taste you earlier. Wanna feel you… fuck… Wanna feel you come on my tongue.”

“Holy shit, Eds,” you moan at his words, at the vivid picture they paint in your head.

“And you get so… God, you get so fucking wet. Just want you to drench me, baby.”

It feels good, to be complimented for something boys used to make fun of you for, to realize for the first time that’s it’s sexy — that you’re sexy — and that Eddie is more than happy to drown in you. The feeling almost rivals the impending orgasm that’s bound to hit you like a tidal wave.

“I’m thinking about how I coulda took you on that bench… Just, fucking, get on my knees for you. Shove my head between your legs. Hold your— shit, baby— hold your thighs open, keep you exactly where I want you,” he rambles but then cuts himself off to moan at his own words. “Goddamn, sweetheart. Wanna taste you so fucking bad.”

The moan you let out is pitiful. It leaves your mouth in the most delicate cry.

No picture has ever been clearer than the one of Eddie between your thighs, your hands knotted in his hair to move him to exactly where you need him most and forcing him there. You can feel his fingers digging into your hips, his rings pressed against your burning skin, and the way your legs tremble on either side of his head.

“Yeah. Keep— Keep doing that. Keep moaning for me,” Eddie tells you. “I’m about to… holy fuck, I’m about to come.”

“Wanna feel your tongue in me so bad, Eds,” you whimper, egged on by the moan he lets out. “Want your cock even more.”

That’s what does him in, the assurance — the promise — that you want him just as bad as he wants you.

He tightens his fist around his cock, achingly hard and raging a crimson at the tip, trying to imitate the way you’d feel around him. It’s not all that close, not nearly as wet as the honey you’d be dripping for him, but his imagination does the rest of the work for him.

All at once, you’re on top of him, riding him for all he’s worth, your pussy threatening to swallow him whole. You’ve drenched him, just like he’d begged for, and that wet schlick noise still echoing from the receiver is the evidence of each of your assured thrusts over top of him.

You’re still pleading for him anyway — for more, for his tongue, for his cock — and he wants so desperately to give everything to you.

“Oh god, baby—” he sputters. He grips the phone in a white-knuckled, fist trembling. “Oh, fuck, I’m coming, baby.”

“Please, Eddie. Please come for me,” you plead over the low sounds of the forgotten film playing across the room and all the dirty wet sounds your pussy makes against your fingers. You sound like you need it, like you want his orgasm more than your own.

“Want you to come with me… Can you— Can you do that for me, sweetheart? Please?” It’s not dirty talk anymore. He’s actually fucking begging you and doesn’t feel the least bit ashamed to do so.

He wants to hear all the pretty noises you make when you come — that initial cry that stems from the depths of your soul, the high-pitched whimpers that come when the sensitivity builds, and the whines that leave you when it ebbs.

He wants to hear it over and over and over again, like a worn cassette, and play it until the tape spins out.

“Yes…” you promise through a set of stuttering breaths.

There’s no talking when either of you come. Eddie’s long forgotten to talk you through it, but you would barely hear him if he had. The phone slips out of your hand when your grip slackens and it falls to the pillow beside your head.

You chase your orgasm full throttle, working through the crescendo and the strikes of lightning, focusing only on his muffled moaning and the pretty sounds he makes as he comes.

The breath of your name whimpered through a tight throat is what does it for you. Your body has hardly any time to warn you before you’re gushing all over your fingers, twitching every time the pad of your thumb rubs over clit.

That cry, the one you always let out as you come — all wet and full of need — makes Eddie orgasm right alongside you.

He swipes his thumb over his head again, collecting the pearls of precum gathering there and sliding them down the base to squeeze himself there like he’d been doing this whole time. He clutches harder this time, imagines it's your cunt locking him in a vice-like grip, and whines in his throat when he comes.

Several loads of it spill onto his cotton boxers, most of it gathering along the side of his hand and dripping down his knuckles. His breath staggers as he works himself through his high, praising you through the phone like you’re the one who brought him to it.

“Fuck, baby… You’re so good… So fucking good.”

You’ve long settled from your own orgasm, still tingly and numb in some places, but not as gone as you had been just moments before. You still float on a cloud, getting lost as you stare through your window at the half-hidden stars sprinkling the night sky and feeling as though you could reach out and touch them.

You can feel the satin moonlight bathing you, and the jittery static of the neon of the television screen. You can feel everything and somehow nothing at all.

“I don’t know how you do it, Eds,” you confess, hardly thinking about the words spilling from your mouth when you lazily bring the phone to your ear again.

“Do what, sweetheart?”

“I don’t know… You always make me feel good. Even when you’re not here… Even when we’re not getting each other off.”

“I feel the same way,” he promises you, all mushy, even though he feels like a slob for wiping his hand off on his discarded jeans on his bed. “Just… wish you were here.”

“I wish I was there, too… Wish I could clean you up.”

Eddie’s eyes shut tight as his head tilts back to his pillow at the thought. “Fuck… You’re gonna make me hard again, sweetheart.”

You perk up suddenly as an idea sprouts like a flower in your head. A smile blooms on your lips, and you rise up onto your elbows, glowing with an unanticipated excitement. “How long would it take you to get ready?”

“…Get ready?” he echoes.

“Yeah,” is all you say.

“I mean, I— I don’t know. I figure if I put on some new underwear and a fresh pair of pants, I’ll be good as new... Why?”

“You wanna do something?”

“Yeah. Sure. Anything,” he answers clumsily in place of saying, ‘Anything to not have to be without you.’

“I wanna go to Skull Rock.”

“Skull Rock?” he repeats.

Legend has it, you and Steve made that place a local landmark. People have always said that Hopper caught the both of you one too many times up at Lover’s Lake and the Quarry, that you needed a more hidden place to fuck. So you’d stumbled around in the middle of the woods until you found a place the chief wouldn’t think to look for you.

You’d certainly found it. Then every other horny high schooler did too.

It’s the place you go to fuck, the most private place in all of Hawkins — hell, maybe even Indiana entirely for teenagers who can’t get the house to themselves. And as appealing as it sounds, to take you beneath a sky of twinkling stars, Eddie doesn’t want his first time with you to be on dirt or in the middle of the woods. That’s how all the horror movies start, don’t they?

So, needless to say, your answer takes him by surprise.

“Yeah! You can see all the stars really good from there. It’s too hard to see them so close to town.”

Eddie’s heart swells all at once at how sweet you are, like sugar poured directly onto his tongue. You’re not eager to be without him either, it seems, and that thought is as gratifying as it is thrilling.

You’re an adventure he’s about to go on, without a map or a way out, a journey he’s happy to go into blind as long as you’re holding his hand the entire way through it.

It breaks his heart to hang up the phone. He practically begs you to do it for him, and it makes you laugh — a kind giggle entwined with a tease ‘you’re such a baby.’ It rings in his ears long after the receiver clicks.

Most of all, he hates all the stoplights that separate your place from his. He hadn’t known where you lived before now, not until you uttered it over the phone. He makes a mental note to figure out a quicker way, somewhere through the winding back roads that his old van can speed through to make the distance less daunting.

He pulls into your apartment complex, a quaint two-story thing on the quieter side of town, where the woods are plentiful and the street lamps far fewer. He turns his radio down out of respect for all your neighbors that he’s sure he’ll never meet and spies you through the neon orange porch lights. You shut and lock your door in quick succession, then scurry across the way to meet him.

Eddie leans over to unlock the passenger side door for you, already beaming, and finds you’re smiling too when you climb in next to him. The grin you shoot his way outshines the night sky and makes a bright yellow sun of the girl sitting in his passenger seat.

“Hi,” you’d greeted him, all shy like you didn’t just make him come all over his hand thirty minutes ago.

“Hi, sweetheart,” he volleys back like he always does, with that big ol’ smirk and teasing lilt as he cock his head to the side — using his playfulness to cover up the bashful mess you so easily reduce him too.

Neither of you had gotten particularly dressed up to see each other. All he did was put on fresh under and pajama pants. You succumbed to a smilier laziness it seems, haphazardly brushing through your half-damp hair, throwing on a too big t-shirt, and calling it a day.

The cotton hangs low at your chest, stretched out and obviously well-loved. It falls well past your thigh, though you spend much of the drive anxiously tugging it down.

It makes him wonder what you’re wearing beneath it. If you’ve tugged on a pair of shorts or if you’re in the bra and (undoubtedly wet) underwear you’d told him you were wearing over the phone.

Eddie winds himself up all over again while you sift through the flimsy case of endless cassettes he keeps tucked in the glove compartment that never quite shuts all the way.

“How do you now have any ABBA tapes?” you wonder like it’s baffling, with an Iron Maiden tape in one hand and Cinderella in the other. Metallica plays lowly, nearly inaudibly, from the stereo.

Eddie laughs and darts his eyes from the darkened back roads to look at you, all smiley and bathed in moonlight, before turning back to the road again. “Uh, because I’m not a thirty-year-old woman. That’s the shit moms listen to.”

“Moms and hot girls,” you retort jokingly.

“Right, moms and hot girls listen to ABBA — of which, I am neither, sweetheart. Sorry to be the one to break it to you… Besides, it’s not like you walk around listening to, fucking, I don’t know— Van Halen or whatever.”

“Hey. I listen to Van Halen,” you shoot back.

He scoffs. “Yeah, right.”

“It’s got what it takes!” you sing suddenly, not quite catching the rhythm of the song, but smiling anyway as you reach for his forearm resting on the center console. “So tell me why can’t this be love!”

“Oh, my god— that’s literally their worst song,” Eddie chuckles through the widest grin you’ve ever seen from him.

It makes you smile big too, looking like an idiot who’s totally head over heels for the boy next to her. And of that, you’re happily guilty of.

“Not true,” you shake your head defiantly. “I love that song.”

“So that means it has to be good, right?” he retorts playfully, shooting you a teasing look, though his beam is more than sincere.

“Obviously,” you answer with a scoff that makes Eddie roll his eyes.

He knows he’s going to start to love it, though, if only because it’s the only Van Halen song you halfway know.

He’s going to hear that song on the radio and he’s going to want to turn it, but he’s going to remember this moment now — the one with you reaching for him while you sing the lyrics to a song he can’t stand, sitting pretty in his passenger seat, while the moonlight blanches your smile and the bare skin of your thighs.

Eddie Munson is going to love that goddamn song for the rest of his life.

He parks as close as he can to Skull Rock, knowing his van can’t work its way that far into the woods. The two of you are forced to walk the rest of the way, not exactly minding it, though Eddie’s incessantly worried you’re going to get cold.

He’s already forced his jacket upon you, which you took with little fight. It warmed you almost immediately — with his cozy heat and musky cologne.

You make mindless conversation the entire way there, about music and then about his band and then what animal you’d want to be in your band if that were the least bit possible. Eddie chooses a sheep without any hesitation, though you’re confident that a penguin would be far cooler.

You keep a careful distance between you, at first, like both of you are too scared to initiate the first move. That is, until you trip over a raised branch and nearly eat ass on the forest floor. Then Eddie’s holding your hand the entire way, keeping you close.

“If you wanted me to hold your hand, you coulda just said so, you know?” he jokes. “Didn’t have to go through all the dramatics, sweetheart.”

You try and yank your hand out of his grip in protest then, but he doesn’t let you. In fact, he pulls you closer and twirls you into a bear hug that you happily relax into.

He feels your sigh fan against his collarbone as you rest your head at the nape of his neck, his arms wrap around your shoulders as yours settle at his waist. He rocks you back in forth, in a moment that’s too almost sweet to make fun of.

Eddie finds a way, of course, “See?” he singsongs. “I’ll hug you like this all the time, if you want. You don’t have to almost kill yourself to get my attention, babe.”

“All I did was trip,” you laugh at his theatrics.

“Death by tree root… What a gnarly way to go.”

He holds your hand the entire way to Skull Rock.

He doesn’t let you go once, not until you’re ascending the large boulders to plant yourselves at the very peak of them. He’s grabbing you again once you settle, though, and the two of you just sit there, for several long moments, just gaping at the stars that dance with life above you. They sprinkle an infinite void with enough light that manages to touch you, trillions of miles away.

There’s a subtle beauty in that Eddie never would’ve appreciated before now.

“Shit, babe,” he breathes through a whimsical existential dread. “You were right. The stars are really fucking pretty out here.”

You love how much he loves this, to come to Skull Rock with you and count the stars. Any other guy would’ve had their tongue down your throat by now, stuffing your hand down their unbuttoned jeans.

But not Eddie.

He just holds your hand because he likes the feeling of his fingers entwined with yours, grasping tightly onto you while he gazes at an infinite universe — like you might float off right along with it.

His neck is stretched to gape at the night sky. You catch his adam’s apple bobbing every time he swallows. You want so desperately to kiss his milky white skin and sprinkle blotchy red bruises there.

His curly locks fall over his shoulders. He shakes his head to get his bangs out of his eyes while the chocolate buttons of them dart around the endless void.

He’s more beautiful than every star in the sky combined. You can’t be sure of how many that is, of course, but it’s a whole bunch if you had to guess. It makes sense, though, for the prettiest boy in the whole damn galaxy.

“Told ya,” you answer with a smile, leaning over to nudge his shoulder with yours. “You come out here often?”

You’re asking if he takes girls here and he knows it, but it’s not like you’re being inconspicuous about the whole thing. Eddie gauges it almost immediately, the subtle jealousy hinting at your tone — something no one else would’ve caught — and he squeezes your hand in reassurance.

He shakes his head. “No… Never.”

“Never?” you press with raised brows, like his answer shocks you.

“Ever. It’s not really my scene, I guess… But what about you, sweetheart? Never seen you around these parts before.”

You knock his shoulder again, harder this time. “Shut up. You already know the answer to that.”

“Yeah…” he nods to himself, eyes darting back and forth as he reminisces on something. “You and Harrington, you and Hargrove. Hell, I think I heard about you and Jason one time—”

“That was a long time ago,” you argue. “Before I even knew you, okay?”

“I’m just saying,” he shrugs in defense. “You totally have a thing for pretty boys, sweetheart.”

“I never said I didn’t, Eds. Just that you were pretty, too.”

“Whatever,” he scoffs and rolls his eyes like he isn’t glowing red beneath the moonlight.

“You’re better than all three of them, Eds,” you confess with a sudden softness that catches his attention almost immediately. He turns his attention from the sky to look at you properly again. His breath catches at you sad you look — all beautiful and coated in shades of blue.

“…Yeah?”

You nod and drag his hand into your lap to fidget with his fingers. You trace the skeleton heart on his middle finger, subverting all your attention there because it’s easier than having to look at him now. “Better than all of them combined— not even just them, you know? Out of everyone. No one’s ever been this nice to be before.”

“Me neither, sweetheart,” he confesses with a morose grin. “The freak of Hawkins High attracts a lot of assholes, believe it or not.”

“Is it bad?” you wonder cautiously, like you’re scared to hear the answer. In some ways, you are.

You hadn’t known him in high school, not really. For obvious reasons, you ran in very different circles. You never even had classes together. There was never any excuse to be close to each other before now, never a reason to become friends. So you didn’t.

You grew to know him as a freak, and he knew you as the town slut. Then somewhere down the line, he became your dealer and now… here you were.

But you’ve graduated now and he’s still army crawling towards a diploma. You couldn’t save him from the hell of Hawkins High even if you wanted to.

“Nothing I can’t handle,” he shrugs. “Jason and the dick brigade just wanna make my life hell, that’s all.”

“I hope they aren’t,” you respond shyly.

Eddie scoffs then shoots you a smile. “Oh, of course not. Look at me. I’m at Skull Rock with the most wanted girl in Hawkins. I’m living the dream, sweetheart.”

“So you don’t care?” you wonder, peering at him through your lashes, as you twist the silver cross around his finger.

“Care about what?”

“That I’m a slut,” you laugh like it’s obvious.

Eddie doesn’t think it’s all that funny. “Don’t say that.”

“It’s not like it isn’t true, Eds,” you retort with a trembling smile. “I mean, that’s literally what people call me — most people don’t even care to call me by my real name anymore.”

“I don’t care,” Eddie shakes his head. “I don’t care about that. I don’t give a shit about what people say about you. If everyone cared about what everyone said about everyone, neither of us would be here right now… Because you’d think I was some devil-worshipping freak and I’d think you were too busy getting it on with Chief Hopper.”

You screw your face up immediately at the thought. The mere idea was repulsive. The asshole was practically your father these days. Jim Hopper was in that small bunch of available people you would never fuck, and happily so.

“I’d never stoop that low,” you joke.

“I like you, how you are, right now,” Eddie promises. “Don’t want you to change a damn thing.”

His brown eyes twinkle with a sincerity that rivals the stars above you. All of a sudden, you don’t care about a bunch of heavenly bodies light years away from you — you care about this man, the one sitting beside you now, holding your hand even though your palms have gone all sweaty.

It’s too good to be true — the way you looks at you, the way he talks to you, the way he treats you. You’re scared that it’s a dream, that you’ll wake up and find that none of this was ever real. Or worse, that he was, and that he just didn’t care about you the way you cared about him.

It’s almost irrational. Almost.

But it’s happened before.

And it’s left you a scarred and mangled mess.

You shake your head to yourself and scrunch your face as you turn to look him. “Have you ever done this before, Eddie?”

“Don’t what?” he wonders with furrowed brows.

“I don’t know…” you shrug. “Any of this? With anyone else?”

He’s grateful he doesn’t have to lie. Or tell some clumsy half-truth for the sake of saving his own skin. He realizes tonight is perhaps the most honest he’s ever been with you, baring his pale soul beneath a silver moonlight.

“Never,” he answers, unwavering, with a firm shake of his head.

“Really?”

“Really,” he nods, then swallows thickly at a gut-wrenching realization. “I’ve never felt his way about anyone else before.’

“Me neither,” you promise.

It’s a tad more meaningful coming from you than from a boy who’s never had someone to love and to love him back.

You’re experienced, you’ve found what you like and what you don’t like. You’ve been with guys who have given you the world and guys that have ended yours altogether. And out of all of them — all of the assholes in Hawkins you could’ve picked — you’ve chosen the freak.

You want him.

You want Eddie.

The revelation makes him grin. “Promise?”

“Cross my heart, Eddie Spaghetti.”

#published by bug #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #stranger things x reader #stranger things imagine #eddie munson imagine #virgin!eddie munson x reader #virgin!eddie munson

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ncteez · 1 year

Text

Give & Take (l.s)

It’s not weird that you and your roommate do certain things that others would consider, um, strange. It’s not weird because you don’t make it weird, and he certainly doesn’t go out of his way to make a big deal either.

or the one where you and your roommate masturbate together casually until it becomes not so casual, and maybe neither of you can do it at this point without wanting more.

ao3 | m.list | reblog to give seokmin a boner

minors dni!!

WORDCOUNT― 6.6k

PAIRING― seokmin x afab reader

CONTENT― roommate au, roommates to lovers

NOTE― This is dedicated to @onlyseokmins and that’s all I have to say about this. (i’m a liar i actually want this man so bad so here’s my need for him in fic form and also a direct attack on elv.) not proof read.

smut tags under cut::

smut tags― big dick seokmin, mutual masturbation, pining, desperate stuff i guess, pretending he’s fucking you instead of his hand, just the tip moment, unprotected sex, he pulls out bc he’s polite. ~

Moving in with Seokmin was a no-brainer. Both of you were freshly graduated from the same college and starting new jobs in the same city hours away from home. Seeing a familiar face in a city of bustling businesses and loud streets was a welcome comfort for you, living with that familiar face only made it easier.

It wouldn’t be a lie to say that back during the college days, you and Seokmin weren’t close. Not until your senior year together that the two of you somehow met in the middle with a single class despite the drastically different majors. He took it as an elective, yours was the last “easy” class to get through before graduation, because maybe your advisor fucked up and never told you it was necessary to take, and maybe you were a little mad about it.

You became less mad as you helped Seokmin through his struggles. An elective for him was a career for you, so it was easy to walk him through it. You grew close within the stress of senior year so of course, when you found out he was moving to the same city that you’re moving to, you instantly jumped into action in trying to convince him to save money by living together with you.

It’s a big city, and while you both had jobs lined up, it’s not like the pay was enough for one person to afford an apartment in the heart of the city. Thankfully, he didn’t need to be swayed and it only took a few weeks for the two of you to head out and explore the apartments offered, landing on one that leaves an equal distance both of you would need to travel to work. One that only costs some seven hundred and fifty dollars a month each (a hefty amount for just one person.)

By now, it’s been about six months since the two of you settled here in the heart of a great city. Work has been going smoothly despite the tired nights when the two of you meet up outside (because somehow you both clock out at the same time too) and decide on whether you want to walk to a shop for dinner or fight over who is gonna put the nuggets in the oven this time.

Things were normal for the most part, you think, regarding roommates anyway. There is one thing that’s changed though. Not your fondness of him, not even the way you look at him when he’s being annoying and loud while singing in the shower.

It started about two months into living in this space with him. He must have lost track of the time that day because he knew your schedule then and still knows it now like the back of his hand. He took the day off, feigning sickness after a long Sunday of doing absolutely nothing and wanting to extend it just a bit longer through the following Monday. You worked that day, of course, you did. You came home on time as you always did too, except this time you didn’t come home to him in his room or cooking dinner.

It was a weird kind of rush, wondering how the fuck this could be happening as you stood at your doorway to find him exposing more of himself than you ever expected or wanted to see at the time. There, on the couch was your dope of a roommate, legs spread wide and length in hand. On the tv played nothing, but his phone was propped on his thigh as he stared down at it with deep sighs.

You were frozen at that moment, watching him and feeling your cheeks warm up. You didn’t know if you should turn to leave, make a noise so he stops, or just watch. Somehow, you found yourself not wanting to disturb him. Was it because you liked what you saw? At the time, you would have said absolutely not. But seeing how it is now, it’s more common than not to see him orgasm, it’s kind of laughable.

On that day, he must have felt someone watching him because mid-stroke he looked up at you and fumbled his pants back over his length. Muffling apologies with raspy whispers, skin glistening on his forehead indicating he must’ve been at it for a while, and you were just standing there silent.

That night, you laid in your bed wondering why you couldn’t get that image out of your head. Seeing him like that wasn’t something you ever thought about despite how handsome he is. He’s your friend, he’s your roommate. You can’t stop thinking now though, about how big he is in all of his entirety. From his height to his– yeah.

It went on like that for about two weeks. You, not able to get that image out of your head and him, acting as normal as ever as if it never happened. It wasn’t until the end of that two-week time span that you realized you enjoyed it. Like you would have liked to have seen him finish.

It swam in your brain for a while, wondering if you should bring it up or if you should push past it and find some guy to meet up with just to work out the horny energy, after all, it’s not like you know anyone in this city well enough to have an intimate relationship with. No one besides Seokmin anyway. Dilemmas, dilemmas.

Not so much a dilemma though, to your pleasure. It’s brought up one night on a Saturday as the two of you say at the kitchen table complaining about work. Minutes passed, then an hour passed and he suggested having a drink to wind down. You accepted, sipping the alcohol he so proudly made for you.

It felt warm in the apartment by that point, but you didn’t mind as you found your brain falling back to that image of him. You thought he might be wearing the same shirt that we was wearing that day, which is kind of detrimental for your fogging brain. But, he brings it up.

“You know, you’ve been kind of weird since that day.” He commented, running his fingers along the rim of his glass. “I really did lose track of time, and I can’t stop feeling embarrassed by it.”

You could see a softer side of him at that moment. Out of how long you’ve known him by now, never once have you seen him embarrassed.

“About that,” You started, not able to look him in the eye. “I was shocked but–”

The way he looked at you at that moment was difficult to process. It was new ground for both of you.

“I think I liked it?”

The tip-toeing around each other didn’t last as long as you expected it to. After the talk you had with him on that Saturday night, somehow the two of you ended up doing the very thing that had you in a rut in the first place.

You got to watch him in full, working himself up until he suggested you join, that maybe he’d be into it too. Saying that he felt weird being the only one, though he didn’t mind that you were watching. You don’t know what got into you that night, maybe it was the alcohol, but you did join him. A full five feet away from each other but shamelessly watching hand movements until orgasm. You noted him holding off too, until you got there. It was an interesting dynamic, truly.

And now, six months into living with him, it’s become a normal occurrence. After every hard day at work, “wanna get off with me?”, after every long movie session or board game loss, “wanna watch each other come?”, to the point that now it’s nearing every day. Any self-fuck session became a shared one.

Sometimes he even texts you from his room late at night. It’s like you know his jerk-off schedule more than your own work schedule by now. Sometimes, you don’t even touch yourself but instead, enjoy watching him get there with a little help from you, taking off your shirt or spreading your legs. It’s become a thing. And somehow, it’s not as weird as it should be.

“You got plans this weekend?” Seokmin bellows through a yawn from his room after hearing your alarm go off.

“Since when do I ever have plans?” You say through your own yawn after pulling yourself out of the bed. You tiptoe the few feet from your door to his, leaning against it and scratching the back of your neck. “Why?”

He stretches loud and obnoxiously before rolling over and planting his face into his pillows.

“Wanna skip out on work today?”

You step into his room, throwing yourself on top of him with a tired groan.

“Yeah,” You sigh out, closing your eyes and fully aware that you could go back to sleep right now despite this uncomfortable position over your roommate. “but why?”

His voice is muffled more by the pillows when he answers you, mostly because your body weight is pressing him further down. He fights to turn his head away from the pillow, takes in a deep breath from the brief smothering, and smiles.

“I dunno, we haven’t really had a chance to go out and explore the city much outside of furniture and grocery shopping.”

You realize that he’s right. You’ve heard talk of the malls in this area, of the theme parks, the museums. There’s so much to do here, and neither of you have really attempted to do any of it.

“Starting today, because we are going to skip work,” He narrows his eyes as he lifts his body up and forces you to roll off of him. “You are going to skip, right?”

You nod, waiting for him to continue what he was originally going to say.

“We should go out and explore. Rent is paid already, fridge is full, I saved up a bit so we could go do some stuff.”

It flies right past your head. You don’t even stop to think that he saved up to do this with you, and instead you simply nod with a smile before hopping off of him and rolling off of the bed to your feet.

“Guess I should call my boss.” You shrug, starting to leave the room.

“Wanna sleep a little more first? Kind of dumb to skip out on work and not sleep in.”

You nod again, yawning and looking down at your phone to search for your workplace number. Thankfully, after calling, there was no issue with you skipping work today. After all, you haven’t really missed a single day since you started (unlike some people: seokmin.)

Friday was eventful, the two of you walked to all of the shops closest to your apartment, stepping into a cafe and having some coffee, then went to a pristine shopping district and scoffed together at the price of a pair of socks.

By the time you got home, you were just as tired as you would have been coming home from work, and he was still bouncing on his feet. Drinks, dinner, sleep.

No casual masturbation that day.

On Saturday, it started much the same except this time the two of you went to a mall. Why he kept insisting on buying you cute panties and matching bras? You know the answer. You’re kind of part of his porn collection now, and he is part of yours too. Maybe he considered it a little too hard when you also suggested he get a cute pair of panties to wear. He didn’t though, and instead bought you like six too-expensive sets of lingerie. Each color to match whatever horny brain he’s in, you assume.

That night, the two of you ate at a restaurant and took a taxi back home. Sitting beside him on the couch, a question started floating in your brain and by now you knew better than to keep these kinds of things to yourself given the dynamic you have with him.

“You know, you’re buying me all of this sexy stuff–”

“I am, yeah.” He smiles proudly, eyes crinkling as his eyes shoot to the bag on the kitchen table.

“Why aren’t you just going out to meet someone instead of settling with jerking off all the time?”

He doesn’t even hesitate.

“That’s a lot of work, why would I do that when you’re right here?”

Why would he do that if you’re here?

“Why, you getting bored of me?” He jokes, leaning against you and nudging your shoulder. “Should I have bought those panties to spice it up a bit?”

God, it’s so weird how normal this is. No touching each other, only looking. Desperate looking at that, searing eyes, extremely hot orgasms, wobbling legs, and then sleeping alone. Would it really be so strange at this point to want to touch him? To want to spice it up not with panties, but with the act of actually feeling how warm he is?

“Oh no.” He pauses, eyes widening. “You actually wanted me to wear those?”

“No!” You laugh, though it would’ve maybe awoken something in you, you’re not sure. “I just figured you know, it’s not like you wouldn’t be able to go get laid.”

He stares are you before throwing out another joke.

“I know that.” He laughs, turning to face you. “It’s not like it would be hard for you either. Why aren’t you out and about instead of sitting in front of me and touching yourself?”

You freeze at his words, realizing that so many times it’s been silent sessions together save for moaning. He’s never actually said those words to you, never dirty talked, never crossed an invisible line while it happened.

“Would you prefer I go find someone else?” You avoid the feeling in your gut right now only briefly, staring him down.

“No, I’d honestly prefer you touch yourself for me and only me.”

Oh. Oh fucking no.

“That’s all you need to be satisfied?”

He smiles proudly again, eyes flicking back over to the bag and you shake your head at him.

“We need to wash those before I wear them so you’re gonna have to deal with the boring panties I wore today, I guess.”

He nods, already following suit on the regular list of things he does when this happens.

It’s always so quiet, and never did it bother you until now. Watching him do nothing but grab his length and squeeze it until it starts to harden. Eyes on you as you do your own version of working yourself up, hand down your waist band and simply touching and rubbing until you feel the first sensation of your gut flipping.

“Seokmin.” You start, looking at him through narrow eyes. This is enough for you, but…is it?

“Hm?” He responds, eyes focused on the movement under your shorts.

“Can you talk a little bit this time?”

He smiles, chuckling a bit at you for the question.

“Oh, you’re into that?” He says almost in a mocking tone, but it sends a little wave of heat through his body to have you asking for more of him in some way. “I can’t promise I won’t say something stupid though.”

You shake your head, running your fingers up your folds and stopping at your clit.

“I don’t care what you say, I just really like your voice right now.”

Another pause from him as you watch him adjust his almost fully erect length under his pants.

“Only right now?” He asks, trailing his fingers gently along the underside of his length and turning his body back to where his back is against the couch cushions.

“No, I mean, I like your voice all the time but you never say much when we do this–” You admit, watching him intently like you always do, feeling the clock tick up to the point you know he’s going to pull it out and start sighing.

“Alright, does this mean I can ask for something too?”

You quirk a brow at that but quickly nod in anticipation because finally, this is going somewhere past just watching.

“Can we like, um–” He blushes mid-question, turning his face to look at you with all of his shame showing plainly. “Can we do it in an actual position for once?”

You can’t tell if your mind is playing tricks on you or if he’s actually wanting to pretend he’s fucking you by suggesting that. Immediately you fumble with the button on your shorts to get them off.

“Yeah, Oh–” You stop yourself from sounding too excited. “I mean, like, what position?”

“Can I be on top?” He blurts, pulling his hand away from his length and once again looking at you and the way your fingers remain on the hem of your shorts, preparing to take them off.

The image alone in your head of that is enough to want exactly what he wants, if not more. The illusion of him fucking you while you fuck yourself? You really couldn’t ask for more than that at this moment, though that could be argued if you think too hard about it.

“Deal.”

The second you say that word, he’s jumping up and practically tearing his pants off of him. His eagerness is as loud and obnoxious as always, you can even hear a small “fuck yeah” whispered to himself when he does it. All is well and good until he’s tugging your shorts down for you.

Never has he taken your clothes off for you. The intimacy is flowing through you, but you’re not sure if he is feeling the same way about it. He’s probably just eager to try something new tonight rather than the usual.

Your shorts are off faster than you’d normally take them off and you’re kind of chuckling about his blatant desperation until he hovers over you and positions himself where he wants to be.

Now…now he’s intimidating. With both knees on the couch, your legs bent at the knees and resting on his hips. That doesn’t even matter to you right now, because you haven’t seen his face this close before. You haven’t felt his hips against your legs before, outside of when you flop down on each other during a tired morning to wake the other up. You’ve never felt your stomach flip like this over him.

And when his eyes leave that spot between your legs to meet your own with his same dopey smile, it’s like you melt into a puddle instantly and you’re wanting so much more than just this. You hold back though, finally pulling your eyes from his and looking between his legs.

You knew his cock was big but you’ve also never seen it this close to your body. It’s like, big big. Thick too, and never did you notice just how huge it is because his hands are equally huge, and wrap around it perfectly. To him, it’s a perfectly accurate cock for a man so tall and broad, but damn.

It’s a bit embarrassing that all it took was for him to hover over you with his cock out to have you forgetting that you asked for him to talk through it. You’re in danger. Extreme danger with him like this and eager to talk this time. It starts so fast, so casually, and you’re still spinning internally just to grasp what you’re feeling right now.

“Good?”

That all he fucking says to start, settling into his position fully and grasping himself. Honestly, his cock is only a few inches above your core and you can feel the heat from it.

You nod, curling in on yourself a bit and he takes note of it because you’re never fucking shy.

“Too much?” He asks, watching you shake your head in response. “God, thank fuck. Because you look so good right now.”

Spinning.

“You can let go of me now though, I can see how wet you are already.” He continues, chuckling at the way your arms grip his shoulders.

You didn’t even fucking notice that you instantly started clinging to him. Especially with the fact that you didn’t expect him to talk to you like this. The two of you haven’t even started yet and he’s already got you on the verge of insanity.

You’re quick to pull your arms back and lift your shirt up over your chest before slowly trailing your hand down.

“Match my pace, okay? It’ll feel better.” He instructs, blatantly making a point so it does look and feel like he’s actually fucking you, all movements matching, sounds matching, lust matching.

You nod again, silently, eyes now focusing on his cock because if you look at his face right now you might just buckle and start crying over how insanely hot he is.

He lets out a short chuckle at your silence, he’s used to that and didn’t take issue with it at all until you asked him to talk. He hopes you talk back at some point, but for now he leaves it alone as he starts stroking.

Precum is leaking already just from seeing you beneath him like this, bra covering your chest, panties covering your pussy– but it’s enough to get him going. He would feel selfish to ask for more unless you offer it first. He’s got you where he’s always wanted you since this whole thing started.

You watch his hands, slipping your fingers under your panties and sliding them through your folds at the same pace, shivering only slightly at the feeling at you watch him.

This pace works for a few minutes, but you note his grip grows tighter on himself and you hear his breath stutter in a sigh when he does it. You wonder what that feels like for him, and you wonder what he’s thinking about as he does it. You move your fingers to your clit at that point, pressing in and releasing your own sigh of relief.

He watches you, eyes shooting to your face and studying the way you close your eyes to really feel it.

“Look at you,” he coos, trying to talk like you asked him to. “feels better when I’m here, right?”

You half open your eyes with a crooked smile, because of course it feels better when he’s with you. Even if he’s not touching you, even if he’s not the one doing it.

“So pretty when you do this, you know–” He continues, praising you and falling into the words easier than he expected. “I think I fell in love with watching you from the second you spread your legs for me.”

You can’t. You can’t look at him when he’s talking to you, it’s a lot. It does something, it does a lot of something to you, so you focus on his cock and the way he starts pressing his hips into the circle his fingers create rather than pumping himself. He’s slow with it, lazily moving his hips back, forward, then back again.

At that moment, you slide your fingers down and tease at your entrance, dipping a finger in easily and releasing a sigh. You can’t imagine this one finger will mimic what he could do to you, but you settle.

“That’s it,” he says as he watches, hanging his head and knowing exactly what you’re doing with your fingers. “Can I see?”

You don’t respond and instead use your other hand to hook your panties to the side, revealing your finger sliding into you at the pace he’s sliding into his palm.

The sigh he lets out begins to form into a moan at the end as he watches, wetting his lips and furrowing his brows. He keeps his hips steady despite obsessing over the fact that you’re fucking yourself at the same pace for illusion’s sake.

“Put in another.” He instructs, watching you do just that and release another sigh. He’s becoming frustrated with the situation though, knowing for a fact that he could do better for you. Knowing that if you’d just suggest it, he would instantly be giving in. “Is that even enough for you?”

Your eyes shoot open and go straight to his face, which is staring down intently at the way your fingers fuck you open.

“Not always.” You admit, shooting your gaze back down to his cock and the way his grip tightens around it. “Is that enough for you?” You follow up, pointing to his hand with your head.

“Not always…” he mimics you, and then it’s silent as the two of you accept the fact that this has to be enough right now.

And it stays like that for a while. To the point that his hips are relentlessly fucking into his palm, causing his knuckles to bump your clit every few seconds, and you’ve buried in a third finger trying your best to pretend it’s him.

It’s both too much and not enough. Too much in the fact that he’s all over you, and too little in the fact that he’s right there and not in you. Your fingers aren’t enough when his cock is right there, his words aren’t enough when he’s not muffling that voice with your lips, and you can’t imagine he’s not feeling frustrated with the situation. All of the puzzle pieces are in front of you and neither of you are putting in the effort other than organizing them. You’re not snapping them together, you’re just on the fucking edge of the situation you want.

Does he want it? Is it too much to ask? Is it–Oh.

“Can I–” he starts, cutting himself off with a sharp breath because of the way you clearly are trying to reach deeper inside of yourself in pace with his long thrusts.

“Yes.” You don’t even know what he’s asking, and to be fair you don’t think you give a shit. Whatever he wants to do, please, just do it.

And he does without a second thought, releasing his grip and pulling at your wrist to slip your fingers out of yourself. Then, he presses his cock directly between your holds, holding it down as he picks up the pace again and thrusts up.

It’s not what you were expecting, but then again you should have known he wasn’t asking to fuck you. This is good though, feeling his cock sliding between your lips, head bumping your clit. The warmth, the heaviness, the way his length is so thick that all you can do is try to not feel empty while it’s sliding through your arousal.

He’s more focused now than he was before, nearly letting out a sob rather than a moan at the feeling of your pussy against the underside of his cock. It's like he’s getting everything he needs and nothing at the same time, but the image of your eyes staring down at it too was enough for him to know you like it too. You like it enough.

When you let out a moan, trailing your hands up to your chest and releasing your tits from the bra, he only grinds faster against you, pressing down harder on his cock to create a tight space between your pussy and his palm. He stares at your tits, and then at your lips, and then back down at the way your pussy lips spread around his cock as he slides through them.

Another hidden sob pretending to be a moan, and then he’s leaning closer to your face.

“If I kiss you, would you be mad?”

You instantly strain your neck to connect your lips with his, and he falls into it all too easily. You can feel him speed up his thrusts, and you can feel his desperate tongue. It takes you a moment to realize this is your first kiss, and it’s while his cock is getting off against you.

Its more than you could have asked for, honestly, but you’re going to ask for more because as you kiss him, well, all you can think of is how this looks outside of your position. It definitely looks like he’s fucking you. The image that you can’t even see in full is arousing you beyond belief as you kiss him, and when he pulls back for a breath, you take that short moment to spill your thoughts.

“Just a little.” You groan blankly, squeezing your breast in your hand and using your other hand to push his cock away from you. “Just–”

He stops, out of breath, trying and failing to comprehend what you’re trying to say.

“Just what?” He groans, grabbing his cock and pumping it much like he normally would.

“A little, just put it in a little bit.”

His face is on fire as his hand halts on his leaking cock. Did he hear you wrong? He’s watching your hands squeeze against your chest, he sees your eyes avoiding him, he can still taste your lips on his, and your pussy is just below his cock, pulsing around nothing. Is he reading you wrong?

“Just a little bit…” he repeats what you ask for, looking down at you and placing a hand on your thigh, spreading his fingers out wide. “You’re asking me to fuck you, just a little bit?”

God, the words. So few words but also so many words.

“Yes.”

He leans down inches from your face and you can feel his cock fall back to your folds at the moment, you shiver unintentionally.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to do that and then you end up regretting it.”

He told himself time and time again during these sessions with you that he would instantly jump for the opportunity to fuck you, but now that he’s faced with it– he doesn’t know what the fuck to do with himself aside from asking for confirmation as many times as he can until he believes you really want it.

“Just,” You still avoid his eyes and the way they’re staring through you. “Please.”

He nods in an unsure way at first before pulling back and holding his length in his hand again.

“Just a little bit, right?” He tries to confirm, and you nod.

With a deep breath, pounding heart, and spinning thoughts, he aligns himself with you and doesn’t know how to comprehend the feeling of slipping into you. So he simply…doesn’t.

You can feel the intense stretch instantly, the feeling you’ve been searching for making you shiver and nearly writhe beneath him. Just an inch, it’s all you need, he doesn’t have to do any more than that. You don’t need more, you have self-control, right?

“Oh, fuck,” he groans as your pussy envelops the head of his cock. He can feel the pulsing inside of you massage against it, he can feel the wetness, the fucking warmth. “Fuck, fuck.”

It’s all he can say, honestly, speechless at your silence of the act. The way your mouth falls open in a silent moan only urges him to give you short, single inch thrusts despite the wetness you offer making it difficult to not accidentally slide further in.

“So thick,” You whine out in a broken and desperate voice.

It causes him to have to take in a deep breath and hold it. Good lord, he’s fighting so many demons right now not to plunge into you and take whatever he can get.

“A little more,” you urge him, wiggling your hips and sucking him in against his own movements. He doesn’t mind it, nor does he mind the embarrassing sound he lets out at the feeling.

Now, he can thrust another inch in, stretching you open a little more, shocked that the three fingers you used before didn’t seem to come close to preparing you for this. He can feel how tight your walls are around him, and again, the demons.

He lets out another embarrassing sound when he looks down, seeing only a quarter of his cock inside of you. He, once again, holds himself back from pushing in more. He could go so deep, but he can’t.

“Little more?” He asks meekly, reaching a hand out to your cheek in the hope that you’d let him. He won’t ask again. Just, if he can get half of his cock in you, it would be plenty. It would be enough, he would be satisfied.

“Or,” you groan at the adjustment around him, knowing full well that by asking him to put the tip in that you’d want so much more. It’s fun thinking you can control yourself, but it’s more fun losing that control with another person. You’re both controlling the need to fuck and be fucked solely because you don’t know if the other wants it. But god, he’s already inside of you, isn’t it fucking obvious?!

“You could just fuck me.”

Say no more, with those words it’s like his hips act of their own will and he’s slowly sliding into you in full. Relishing in the way your pussy spread out to make room, cooing over the feeling of himself going deeper, deeper, and fucking deeper into you.

“Finally.” He breathes out in relief when he bottoms out, leaning forward yet again to lay his lips against your forehead. “Felt like I’ve waited so long.”

You’re silent as you adjust to what you can consider the biggest cock you’ve ever taken. The searing pain isn’t much compared to the arousal of his admittance of wanting this only after getting inside of you.

All you can offer him is a moan when you try to respond with your own witty sex talk, but he sends him spiraling somehow further than he already had gone. His hips stuttering in their planted spot as he lets you adjust, moaning in response to your moan. His lips kissing all over your face now, feeling in this moment that you’re his, and this feeling is shared, and that only your pussy could massage him this way simply because he’s inside of you. It’s overwhelming, all of the feelings hitting at once.

From physical feelings to emotional ones, it comes with such a harsh hit to him that all he can do is flutter those kisses to as much skin his lips can reach. Feeling your eyelashes on his cheek when he kisses the corner of your mouth, to feeling that corner of your mouth open in a yelp when he finally starts to move his hips back. Sliding out of you only a little bit before pressing back in again, deep and lazy.

“Good?” He asks, much like he did before. “So good.” He answers for both of you immediately after, keeping that lazy pace as he leans on his elbows on either side of your head.

“Wrap your legs around me?” He follows up, already so comfortable speaking through your silence that it feels natural, especially when you do just as he asks.

In wrapping your legs around him, he’s able to adjust his body from the position he’s been stuck in this whole time. Now, he can be on his knees with you curled under him, clinging to him like a koala as he uses the back of the couch to support his balance.

There, he’s able to pick up pace, there he’s able to see what you look like when you’re being fucked. There, he can see what you look like when he’s the one doing it. And he might be spiraling, but he feels more sane than he ever has in this moment, watching your lips and feeling you squeeze around him.

It’s no wonder he felt no interest in finding someone else. He was more satisfied jerking on in front of you than he had ever been actually inside of another person. Now though, it’s insane to think he was satisfied because he’s changed his mind. Why would he find someone else when you act like this?

Why would he put himself through the possibility of you going out and doing the same thing with someone else?

For you, there are no thoughts, just Seokmin. You’d laugh right now if it weren’t for the fact that each thrust forces a desperate and wet sound out of your throat. You’d laugh harder if it weren’t for the fact that you don’t even need to rub your clit to get yourself there.

He easily hits that soft spot inside of you, time and time again as his lips travel over repeated areas until landing on your mouth.

You kiss him harder than before, now trying to move your hips despite the difficulty of being under him. You try to meet him halfway now that he’s sliding nearly his entire cock out before slamming back into you. Emptying you and filling you up time and time again as if to remind you of the few moments before when you felt him for the first time.

Repeatedly you think you’re about to come, and repeatedly you hold off until he whispers.

“I know that face, you’re holding back.”

It’s so fucking surreal knowing that he knows this without ever actually fucking you before now. He knows what you look like when you come, he knows how you like to be touched after watching you so many times. He knows where you sleep, knows what your favorite foods are, and showers in the same bathroom as you.

You let go, thinking of only him and this moment you’re sharing. You don’t worry if it’ll ever happen again, because you know it will if he lets it. You’re not in control of this anymore, nor of yourself.

“Pretty, like always.” He compliments when you make that familiar face of release, pumping into you faster now just to feel the gush of wet he’s seen leave your body time and time again. “Prettier now, though.” He corrects himself, feeling just what he was expecting as your body releases the tension all at once.

The wet sounds somehow become wetter as he thrusts, still fluttering those kisses across your face to the point that you’re either numbed to it or tingling because of it. And only after he knows you’re finished does he pull out, fucking against his hand so aggressively that you’re more aware now than before that he always lets you finish first if not at the same time.

Except now, if he were to finish at the same time, he’d be filling you up so that there’s no question about the worry that comes after it. Despite knowing you’re on birth control, despite knowing you’re both clean because neither of you have fucked another person in half a year–

You watch with drowsy eyes as he releases strings of thick, white seed against both your pussy and stomach. Your panties, ruined and forgotten as they strain at the crease of your thigh. You whimper at the sight, so in love with the way it feels hitting you for some reason. So endeared with the way he pulled out despite knowing in his head that it would have been fine if he stayed.

When he flops down over you, ignoring the mess between your bodies, you’ve never felt so close to him. You don’t think you ever want to feel further from him, actually.

It’s the start of something else now, you’re not sure what, but it’s a given.

The start of something new came in the form of his room turning into a guest room for a new roommate.

That roommate has yet to be found, but it’s an excuse to sleep next to him every night. No titles have been claimed but they’re definitely been given. Just a day after that happened, you caught him slipping and calling you his girlfriend. He figured that since you didn’t correct him, it must be true.

Yeah, it must be.

#seokmin smut #seventeen smut #lee seokmin smut #dokyeom smut #dk smut #svt smut

2K notes · View notes

saerins · 3 months

Text

⋆୨ chapter seven ୧˚ till forever falls apart

⋆୨ if not for you (masterlist) ⋆୨ previous: chapter six - redefines in every way what love is - end ୧˚

⋆୨ synopsis ୧˚ neither of you want this. both you and sae reluctantly agree to this marriage, although sae’s dissatisfaction far outweighs your own. with hidden agendas and old flames, will this ever work out between the two of you, or will your forced spark be doomed to fail?

ೀ series: sae x f!reader | wc 8.8k | ೀ content warnings: fluff/angst, modern au, arranged marriage, rich!sae and rich!reader, jealousy/paranoia, suggestive scenes, mentions of blood/children | notes: we have finally reached the end of infy !! rejoice i will no longer be able to torture you guys with the ending of this hehe but i do hope you all enjoyed this ^_^ & now onto the next !

“I came here to talk to her.”

There’s no speck of kindness left in Sae’s eyes when he looks at what’s left of his former lover. He doesn’t even notice you sauntering up behind him.

“How many times do I need to tell you to leave us alone?” Sae emphasises that last part, uncertain of how else he can possibly phrase it so that she makes herself scarce.

For the first time tonight, Mirin doesn’t even pay attention to Sae. Her eyes look past him, focused entirely on you.

You take your position next to Sae, feeling his hand tenderly grip onto your wrist. At the very least, it gives you comfort knowing that he’s here no matter what’ll happen. Though, judging by the ever slight panic you can make out from Mirin’s face, whatever it is isn’t pretty.

Mirin doesn’t say a word, only stares at you expectantly. Swallowing your ego, you nod subtly. You’re curious.

“I’m sorry,” comes out of her mouth, and you don’t know how to feel. There’s a lot of things she needs to be sorry for, but that’s your personal feelings. Somehow, you doubt it’s related to anything with regards to Sae.

“If that’s all you came to say—”

“Do you know about your parents?” Mirin ignores Sae again, instead looking to you.

Sae’s about to just shut the door in her face when you tug on his hand, stopping him. He’s perplexed by you, but he listens to you just the same.

“Yeah, barely. What about it?”

Because Sae did tell you briefly about it, about his suspicions on what they’re trying to do. You have to admit, having Oliver and his family’s PI stalk your parents wasn’t on your bingo card this year. And what he’s suspicious of never even crossed your mind. Only because even if they aren’t the best parents in the world, you didn’t think that they’d actually let any harm come upon you.

To think, they would try to take all of the money, not only their own but yours too, in order to save their own asses.

Mirin almost looks like she doesn’t want to say anything, her fingers grasping tightly and desperately on the hem of her dress before opening her mouth and making your heart sink to the depths below.

“The police are coming and it’s my fault and I know I haven’t done anything to earn your trust but can you please let me handle it?”

She says it all in one breath. Hurriedly without pause.

Are the police already that close?

“What the fuck, Mirin?” Sae spits, his grip on you tightening as he pulls you behind him, the vein on his forehead close to popping.

Mirin swallows the lump in her throat and you’re left staring in a daze behind your husband, wondering what you’ve done that was so wrong that you deserved this; your parents, a scorned and jealous ex-lover, legal threats.

“Sae, please,” Mirin’s panicking and you wonder why that is. Correction, you can sense why—it’s plain old regret. Regret caused by rash actions done on impulse. “It’s my fault, I know but we don’t have time. Tabito’s trying to stall them but they’re coming.” Her eyes flicker over to you, and you’d think she’s beautiful if all you’re seeing isn’t just red.

You feel the injustice creeping up inside of you, threatening you to take action. “And why the hell should I trust you?” Your tone is harsher than you ever thought you could go, and even Mirin shrinks back at the venom she senses laced inside your words.

And usually you’d feel bad for it but someone has already called the cops on you for something you didn’t do and that someone is right in front of you asking you for the same trust she wouldn’t have afforded you if the roles were reversed. If you didn’t have any self control, you’d have slapped her by now.

Mirin’s about to say something when she hears seven tight raps on the door. As Sae reluctantly moves away to open the door, Mirin whips her head towards you one last time.

“Please.”

The last thing she deserves is a chance. You know that. Both your head and your heart are in the same place for once and yet why can’t you act on it? Why can’t you just tell her to shove it up her ass?

“Y/N,” Sae calls your name, hushed because you presume he’s just as cautious as you are.

Slowly, you nod your head, signalling for him to open the door. You don’t know what Mirin is planning, or whether all this is part of her evil plot to take you down somehow.

When the door opens, you see Sae’s friend, Karasu, stepping in first before a detective, a dirty blonde with dark circles under his eyes like he hasn’t slept for days. Behind him, two policemen stand guard, watching you cautiously, as though you might try to jump out the window just to run from them.

“Are you Y/N?”

The detective is addressing you, and you’re sure he’s only doing it out of courtesy because these people always do their work before nabbing their supposed targets. Beside you, Mirin steps one step forward, her earlier panic expertly masked by a puzzlingly professional expression. From your line of sight, behind where the detective stands, Sae tries to move toward you, only to have Karasu reach out to grab his wrist and keep him there, a subtle shake of his head as the only signal for him not to make any moves.

“I am,” you respond, because any under or overreaction would only prove to make you look guilty.

“What is this about, detective?” Mirin asks, a casual aloofness donned on her face now. You’re impressed by just how quickly she can change her moods.

“Oh, it’s you, Ms Seto,” the detective says, realising who she is, and you don’t doubt how influential her father’s been to all of Japan with his work. Immediately, his face softens and brightens up, as though it’s imperative that he stay on their family’s good side. He probably assumes that just because Mirin’s here in this hotel room that she’s close to you. “We received an anonymous tip regarding Ms L/N’s family here, as well as her possible involvement. We’d like to take her down to the station for some questioning.”

So that’s what Mirin had done to you. She had tried to pin part of what your parents are doing on you, too. You nearly scoff if not for the fact you know that the two policemen behind are watching you like a hawk. Mirin is the one who scoffs though, crossing her arms like she’s been through these situations a thousand times.

Beside you, any trace of guilt is absent from Mirin’s expression because apparently, and you don’t doubt it, she’s a very good actress. If it’s up to you, you’d say that her talents are wasted since she’s not one. And while your stubborn ego wants to solve this for yourself, you’d never even gotten in trouble with the local police before for anything, and something tells you that Mirin is way better than you are at this, so you keep your mouth shut and let her handle this like she asked.

“So you have no proof of any sort that she’s complicit in any illegal activities?”

The detective chuckles helplessly, like he expects Mirin to be that attentive. “No, not until the anonymous tipper provides us with what they say they have.”

Mirin’s expression falters just slightly for a split second before she’s back to normal. “So no concrete proof, then?”

“No, ma’am.” The detective seems a little laid back around her—are they family friends? Sure seems like it to you.

“Then I’d appreciate it if you don’t treat Y/N here like she’s some sort of criminal. We wouldn’t want anyone seeing her being escorted into a police car and making assumptions, would we?”

Behind him, Sae seems to have relaxed a little, lacking the earlier blind hostility he held. Maybe it partly has to do with whatever Karasu whispered to him right before this. Still, he’s as surprised as you are that Mirin’s committing herself to covering for you.

“Fine, we’ll meet at the station then,” the detective says, the mirth still on his face as he bids a temporary goodbye.

When all that’s left are the four of you, Sae immediately takes his place beside you, his hand possessively gripping your wrist, an accusatory look thrown in Mirin’s direction. “You did all of that just to mess with my wife?”

Mirin’s expression falters when he uses that term again, for you, because deep down, she still wishes for it to be her. She still wishes for that guy she fell in love with and made all those plans with to be hers. Hers, and no one else’s. But it’s evident enough that no matter how much she tries, even if you somehow ended up dead, it would never be her. He’d rather wait for the ghost of you than live with anyone else.

Karasu walks over, settling himself between the divide. He’s the one who seems the most sane, given this has almost nothing to do with him. “Sae, leave it for now,” Karasu advises, blocking Mirin’s line of sight. You presume he’s just doing it as a favour, maybe to simmer Sae’s anger, because you can feel his hands trembling with rage even as they hold on to you. “We need to get Y/N to the police station before this gets any worse for her and her sister.”

Your throat goes dry. “My sister? She’s been taken in too?”

How ironic that you were doing all this just to protect her from the harsh reality that your parents never loved either of you.

Karasu nods apologetically. “My sources say she was taken in about half an hour ago, but discreetly.”

The passive anger that was only settling on the surface seems to finally boil over, and you thank god that Sae is holding you back from possibly harming Mirin. Otherwise, you’d have probably punched her right now.

“I’m… I’m sorry.” Her voice is timid and she’s trembling but you don’t hold an ounce of appreciation for her earlier actions nor sympathy for her current emotions. This was all because of her. Her, and your parents, and you doubt you’re enough of a saint to forgive either parties.

“If anything happens to her, I’ll make sure you regret it.” Your words are a warning, and Mirin takes them in silently.

Maybe you have been too nice, and way too passive. To the point where people like Mirin felt like they could try their best because they had nothing to fear. At the very least, it still comforts you knowing that Sae was never trying to get anywhere with her. If not, it was the very opposite, though you still didn’t appreciate his lack of communication.

“Hey, I’ll drive us there, okay?” Sae tells you softly, his hand tugging yours gently, briefly washing the anger off of you. When you face him and nod, he smiles, his hand coming up to place your head against his shoulder as he walks you to the car, Karasu and Mirin trudging wordlessly behind. You let him lead the way, finding an odd sense of comfort, different from before.

Now, you know that Sae will protect you unconditionally. He’s been doing it up until now, even when you weren’t his favourite person. Despite his shortcomings, despite the fact that he had no obligation to, Sae was always on your side.

And maybe now you can see a glimpse of the future you imagined, the one where you get unconditional love, the one where you can see a happy family who’s not just obsessed with money. A proper one, with its very foundations built on love and not control over another.

When you get to the carpark, you see Mirin getting into Karasu’s car, and you silently thank him for going out of his way to get involved in all of this. The last thing you need is to be able to see Mirin in the rearview mirror of your husband’s car, sitting there as though she deserved any sort of comfort. If you could, you’d stuff her in the trunk and tell her to deal with it.

However, even without her there, both of you stay relatively quiet. Maybe because neither of you have ever been in this type of situation; neither of you know what to say. Even so, as he pulls in to the parking lot of the station, he takes your hand, squeezing it gently, his teal eyes gentle as they fall into your gaze.

“No matter what, I promise you, I’ll protect you, okay?”

You don’t doubt his words. You nod, squeezing his hand back, tightly because you’re more nervous than he is. You’d probably have to face the interrogation alone, or at the most with Mirin, and who knows what she might pull in there?

“Hey, hey,” he calls out to you softly, his other hand coming up to your cheek and turning you to face him, his forehead pressing against your own, eyes still locked on yours, his smile the gentlest you’ve ever seen. “We’ll get through this. Whatever you decide, whatever you want to do, I’ll take your side, okay baby?”

Maybe it’s the way the pet name so easily rolls off your tongue, but you still find your heart skipping a beat at such a simple gesture.

“Ready?”

You take a deep breath, nodding.

“Ready.”

While you’re in the room with Mirin and the detective, Sae finds himself pacing the waiting room restlessly despite Karasu’s attempts at calming him down.

The raven-haired man cocks a brow, amused by what he sees because Itoshi Sae of all people getting restless is always interesting. Usually, he doesn’t even get to see Sae bothered at all. The last time he saw that sliver of emotion was, well, back when Mirin left.

“Dude, relax, your wife will be fine.” That’s all Karasu can offer now, pointless words of assurance. Though he can argue he’s been plenty useful when calming Mirin down back at the hotel.

Sae shoots him a warning look. “With Mirin in there?”

Karasu sighs, leaning back against the wall, staring at the ceiling. He doesn’t recall knowing when exactly things got so fucked up between them.

“Look, I don’t know what the fuck was up with her, I’ll be honest,” Karasu explains, the only person there with any hint of pity for Mirin. “She fucked up, she knows. And you don’t gotta forgive her, really. If it were me I’d have handled it much less classier than your wife did. But trust me, Mirin’s trying to make up for it right now, okay? We can’t do anything so relax.”

Silence falls over them for a while, the sounds of the landlines ringing and clacking of keyboards the only things they can hear.

“What did you say to make her regret it?”

Because Sae’s at the very least curious about why she was so quick to rescind her punishment for you.

His friend shrugs, “is it hard to believe it could be something as simple as realising she didn’t wanna lose you completely?”

The earlier hostility leaves Sae’s body, only a bitter upset lingering behind. Because he can believe it, because at the core, Mirin’s always been simple. The way she acts out, not so much. She’d already alienated Sae by having been the object of his affection once, and that was not her fault, but she’d exacerbated it by acting completely out of line. On the tip of her impulsiveness was just the last chance to either possibly redeem herself or risk thorough destruction of whatever was left of their entire relationship through the years.

Maybe it’s heartless of him, but he doesn’t care. Yeah, he should’ve handled it better in the beginning. He should’ve just told Mirin that he doesn’t want to be someone who wrecks his own home, even if it didn’t feel exactly like home back then. But you didn’t deserve the anger she placed onto you. After realising his feelings, that was where he drew the line.

He doesn’t give a shit if Mirin woke up and regretted her actions. He doesn’t care if she’s trying to make up for it and save you. All he cares about is you and just you.

Sensing the tension in the air, Karasu forces a lighthearted chuckle. “What kind of magic does Y/N have to make someone like you so whipped, huh?”

There’s a pink hue to Sae’s cheeks at the mention of it, forcing him to look away as Karasu snickers at him.

“Look… don’t get mad, okay? But… do you think it’s possible she knew about it all?”

Never in his life has Sae’s fingers curled into a fist so fast, nails digging into his palms so hard, and Karasu has to throw his hands up in the air in surrender. Both of them know that if anything happens, they’re going to be recorded—and then the media will see it. And then everything will be taken out of context.

It’s routine at this point.

“She had nothing to do with it, so shut it.”

Does Sae know for sure that you don’t? Of course not. He doesn’t have evidence to support you, except that your parents left you behind. If your family’s really twisted, it could all be a part of some ploy. But Sae likes to think he knows you; you’re not sick or twisted. You’re kind and beautiful and trustworthy that he’s not even going to entertain the idea that you knew anything.

It isn’t long after that Sae spots you walking out of the interrogation room, down the corridor and back out to him. For the most part, at least you look fine. You’re trembling a little, so he clasps his hands over yours, holding you to him and kissing the top of your head.

“Hey, you doing okay?”

You can only manage a weak nod, but that’s enough for him. This situation can be a bit much for anyone. He holds you close like that, his warm body cloaking your own. You hate how it’s so easy for you to calm down when he’s here with you, and even if you’d like to condemn him for making such a whirlwind for your life you know it’s not technically his fault.

It was your parents who forced you into this marriage, or else you’d never have met Sae at all. It was Mirin who took it upon herself to try and ruin everything when Sae had refused her. And it was definitely your parents who took all their money and ran before they could get caught for multiple counts of fraud and embezzlement.

All Sae ever did was save your own money, all thanks to making that joint account. Otherwise, your parents would’ve made off with your money too, leaving you with no cent to your name, all properties seized.

You hold him a little tighter now, the tiff over what you thought was going on between him and Mirin seeming so stupid in comparison. Your own parents abandoned you and your sister, looked at you as just a pawn to get what they wanted. You don’t even know how you’re going to face Sae’s parents now that this happened.

A minute later, Mirin also waltzes out of the room, her feigned arrogance still present because the detective is still there. You gaze at them out of the corner of your eye; things only went so easy there because Mirin played her family’s cards right, and now both you and your sister are free to go.

In normal situations, this is where you thank her. But nothing about this is normal, and this was a situation partly borne out of Mirin’s impulsiveness. So all you manage is not paying her back with a slap.

“If you hear anything—”

“We’ll call you,” Sae cuts the detective off, his grip around you getting tighter.

Even if everything had been rocky earlier tonight, you find yourself comforted by the way you just know that Sae would protect you no matter what. You don’t even have to ask him, and he’d do right by you. For a moment, you wonder if this is the kind of unconditional love you’d always wanted.

“Hey, are you okay? Wanna go now?”

Sae’s voice is softer than you thought he could ever be, and all you want to do is melt into his embrace without thinking about anything but unfortunately the world is never so kind and neither is your mind because there’s a thousand questions running through it.

“Where’s my sister?”

“I got her to wait in Karasu’s car with her boyfriend. His car has more privacy and I thought it’d be best if no one outside could picture us.”

Right, because there are already some reporters who got hold of the news and are waiting right outside to ambush you into answering their questions. It’s all sorts of fucked up but you presume your parents are worse so you can’t really say anything.

Sae starts to lead the way to the carpark, his hand never leaving your side. He makes sure to look around, make sure nobody’s there to ambush you. Behind you, you can hear Karasu whispering things you can’t hear, probably to Mirin.

“That would mean there won’t be any space for her, right?” You ask, your mind still doing flips back and forth between being the bigger person and being petty about it. Because you’d love to be as ruthless as she once was to you, but ultimately, you don’t want to feel like you owe her anything.

As you reach the car, Karasu unlocks it, and Sae opens the back door, your sister sound asleep on the other side, her boyfriend muttering a soft ‘hello’. They both look tired, and you don’t blame them. At least you had Sae to warn you about what was going on, but to them it must’ve been a shock, especially for your poor sister who’s always been sheltered against the horrible things your parents could do.

“It’s fine, she can take the train,” Sae mutters, purposefully loud enough for Mirin to hear and hopefully get the hint.

Karasu’s about to suggest otherwise, but you interject—you’re pretty sure you’re the only one Sae will listen to now anyway. Even if Karasu tries to say anything, there’s a high chance that it’ll go ignored.

“She can sit in the front,” you say, because despite knowing better, it’s always been in you to try and be nice.

“Thank—”

“If she ends up getting pictured, it could blow back on us anyway,” you mutter coldly, because being nice doesn’t mean you have to make it apparent. There’s no one here you have to impress anyway, and Sae probably knows you’re just trying to hold it together for yourself, so you won’t have any regrets.

Like you predicted, Sae’s not all for it, but he doesn’t say a thing, following after you into the backseat, squeezing and trying not to wake your sister. Mirin doesn’t say a thing the whole way back, she only thanks Karasu for driving her back and leaves. Neither does Karasu say a thing, awkward silence hanging in the air as you catch him casting quick glances at you and Sae in the rearview mirror.

“Thanks for taking care of her,” you whisper to your sister’s boyfriend as he carries her out of the car. You didn’t get to talk to her all night, but that’s fine, you suppose she needs a long rest after everything she found out tonight.

He shoots you a helpless smile after he presses a kiss onto her forehead. The way he looks at her alone could make people believe in love, and you’ve never been more thankful that you tried your best to protect it. Among everyone, your sister’s always been good and kind, and even if you’ve never seen her around that much after university started for her, you love her all the same.

“You sure you don’t wanna wake her?” He asks you, quietly so he doesn’t disturb her. “She said she missed you, you know.”

You shake your head. “It’s fine, I’ll call her when things settle down,” you assure him, managing a genuine smile. “Take care of her, okay?”

Behind you, Sae smiles to himself when he figures out he must’ve married an angel, must be the luckiest man in the world. Despite everything that’s happened, you should be taking care of yourself, yet you managed to make sure Mirin got a ride home, and that your sister is in good hands. You’re a much bigger person than Sae can even dream to be and yet somehow, you chose to put all your effort into him and this marriage and even if he can’t tell where this will go from now on, he’s not going to give up on you.

When Karasu pulls out of your sister’s apartment parking, Sae slides over to your side, sitting himself on the middle backseat, putting an arm around you and gently placing your head in the crook of his neck. Then, only then, do you let your tears go, sobbing into his chest because you’d been holding back all this time, and Sae wonders if you do this a lot on a daily basis; put on a brave face as though you need to pretend you’re something you’re not. Though, if this was happening to him and Rin, he would be doing the same thing you are.

In the driver’s seat, Karasu finally understands why Oliver’s been saying Sae is a changed man. Even back then, with Mirin, Karasu doesn’t recall Sae being this gentle. Maybe it’s because he’s older now, or maybe it’s just because of you—the fact that it’s you, that’s why Sae is like this at all, a privilege only for a special person.

“Hey man,” Karasu calls out to Sae after you get out of the car. He smirks when Sae looks over at him, very much like a hopeless man in love because out of the corner of his eye, Karasu can tell that he has his hand in yours, keeping you there. Since when was he ever this clingy? “Congratulations.” Something he didn’t get to say because he wasn’t at the wedding.

But at least saying it now, he can really mean it.

Sae smiles subtly, but your head pops back into Karasu’s field of view before your husband can say anything.

“Hey, Karasu, right?”

He looks surprised, but he smiles at you all the same. “Yes, I am.”

You grin at him, and Karasu can already tell Sae’s a lucky man. Pretty wife, and from whatever Oliver’s mentioned, it sounds like you’re a keeper.

“I just met you tonight but… thank you, really,” you tell him, and he chuckles.

You’re really something, because even Mirin had mentioned it to him earlier when she was having a full-on breakdown, when he had asked about you. Karasu thinks that it would just be a lot easier to think screw everyone and just focus on yourself, but apparently, not for you. Maybe he understands a little more of why Sae can’t help but fall for you.

“That’s a lot of shit to unload on someone who didn’t exactly steal Sae from you,” Karasu remarked, trying his best to steer Mirin in the right direction.

Mirin clicked her tongue, annoyed because she knew she wasn’t exactly acting with common sense. All she had wanted was to remove you from the picture, through any means necessary. So why? Why was it that whatever she tried would backfire on her? Why was it that no matter what, Sae would never give up on you? Where was the guy that so easily gave in when Mirin had suggested a breakup?

Why did she have to teach him everything only for you to get everything she ever wanted?

“Look, I don’t know what you’re thinking, but if you keep doing this…” Karasu trailed off, sighing as he looked away, scratching his head. “You’re really gonna lose every ounce of a friend you could possibly have in Sae.”

Mirin kept quiet for a while, then, as if she was considering something. Back then, Karasu hadn’t even known that anonymous tip she sent in to the police. If he had, he would’ve definitely acted faster.

“Is that Y/N even that bad of a girl?” Karasu thought out loud, wondering why there was all this trouble over you and Sae.

And for the first time since she got back to Japan, Mirin was completely honest with herself.

“No, she’s not.” (It was so quiet, Karasu had trouble deciding whether it was just the figment of his imagination.)

Because what had you ever done to her except unwillingly be placed in the middle of their by-then non-existent relationship?

“At your service, ma’am,” Karasu responds, grinning at you when he says his next words. “And don’t worry, I’ll keep Mirin in check.”

You still for a moment hearing those words, then pout at him before you slowly retreat out of the car, pulling Sae with you. You’re not even sure why you can find it in yourself to be worried for someone like Mirin who tried to screw you over. Maybe it’s because Sae had told you about her parents, about how she just didn’t have anyone and leaned on Sae for support out of habit. Somehow, Karasu’s words manage to comfort you a little bit; at least you knew that there was still someone else looking out for her. Your empathy is there, but that doesn’t mean you want to forgive her or even think about it.

Karasu laughs at your subtle reaction, rolling down the window, “hey Sae, your wife’s kinda cute,” he teases, and you see why Karasu managed to calm Mirin down back at the hotel. Whatever he did, it was definitely effective. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that he oozes sincerity despite his jokes, something you can’t really say for Oliver and Shidou.

Beside you, Sae uses his body to block your line of sight as he flips Karasu off. “My wife, go away,” he quips, and you can only watch as Karasu laughs it off while he drives away from your apartment.

The moment you’re back in the house, Sae sets your bag down slowly on the couch, and you pause right before you enter the bedroom. Everything somehow feels light yet awkward and it feels like you’ve been through so many emotions in the span of one night and now it’s already 2am and you’re tired but it’s not like you can sleep right away with all these thoughts in your head.

You feel Sae’s chest press up against your back, his arms wrapping around your chest. Now that you know he’s never actually even cheated on you, or even thought about it, it’s like a huge weight has been lifted off your chest.

“What’s on your mind?” There’s a strain in his voice, and you can tell he’s gotten a cold just from tonight alone.

You sigh. “I don’t know if I can handle all of this…” you mutter honestly. Everything has just been too much. It was manageable back when you thought your marriage was the only thing in ruins, but to learn now that your parents are wanted fugitives and the fact that they’d leave you and your sister to clean things up and bear the brunt of being damned just for being their kids is a lot to take in for one night.

“You know I’m here for you whatever you need, right?” Sae asks, holding you tighter, pressing a kiss on your temple.

You want to be soft for him so bad, you want to melt into his touch and let him comfort you and hug him to sleep, but can you really afford it right now? Can you afford letting him feel that everything is fine after keeping everything from you and driving you to the point of thinking about divorce?

It’s not normal. It shouldn’t be.

And while you appreciate what he’s done for you in secret, that’s exactly what you’re not so sure about—secrets. You’re husband and wife, and if there’s going to be any hope moving forward, you can’t have him try and bear the burden of knowing alone.

“If you ever keep something like that from me again, I’m not giving you another chance,” you tell him, your voice quivering but he listens to you seriously all the same. It’s times like these where you appreciate that he isn’t the type to be joking around all the time. He’s serious when you need him to be, and that means a lot to you already.

“I promise you, I’ll talk to you, whatever it is,” he says, slowly turning you around, his fingers gently gripping your chin, tipping your head up to face him. “I meant what I said, by the way. I love you, Y/N, and I’m sorry I was being stupid. And I’ll try to make up for it, however long it takes me, okay?”

This is a first for you that it makes you emotional. For your entire life, you feel like it’s been you who’s been the one trying to take care of other people’s feelings and needs so much that you step all over your own. For your entire life, no one has cared about you so much so that they’d actively try and take care of you. Everyone lets you take care of everything yourself without thinking that it’d be nice to offer you help even if you looked like you didn’t need it.

For your whole life, you’d wondered how it would feel like being loved by someone who wants to take care of you just because. And here he is, making you feel like you’re loveable, like you’re worthy of being treated like a princess, like you don’t have to mask who you are to get his love because no matter what you do, his love overpowers it.

“So don’t leave me, okay?” Sae’s lashes flutter against your own, his teeth clenched because he’s thinking of how close he was to losing you and he would’ve never forgiven himself if you did.

And maybe it’s the way you realised he’s loved you in his own way all this while, or maybe it’s the way he keeps you so close to him now, so afraid of losing you, that you feel it’s okay to let yourself go, to let yourself be you, to wear your heart on your sleeve because no matter what it is, Sae will take care of it.

“I love you, Sae,” you whisper, both of you with your eyes closed, breaths mixed together, Sae subconsciously pushing you into the bedroom because he never realised that such simple words from you would ignite such an urgency inside him.

That night, for the first time, you experience Sae’s love for you. The way it’s so subtle, so gentle, a complete opposite of what you initially thought he was. The way he holds you in the palm of his hands and takes care of you completely; a dream you thought you’d never live to see come true. So many people go their whole lives being stuck in a relationship that they find lacking and yet here you are, getting everything you need and want and you don’t even have to ask for it because Sae knows you well enough to give it to you.

In the dim light of the moon that makes it into the slivers of your blinds, Sae marks you as his own, and even though neither of you have been through it, it feels right. It feels so right even when you’re lying in bed together after everything, legs tangled together underneath the blanket, bare bodies enveloping one another as the exhaustion finally kicks in.

Sae watches you as you fall asleep, finger lightly brushing your arms and lulling you to sleep. There’s a lot he still doesn’t understand about relationships, and the only form of experience he had seemingly meaning nothing in the face of his actual love, yet he’s strangely motivated now. There’s no way he’s going to let anything, much less himself, fuck this up.

No, he’s going to do his best to keep you happy, to take care of you and make sure you don’t have to be the one who acts strong all the time just to appease everyone else. He’s going to make you smile everyday because you deserve it, and he’ll do anything to make sure that happens.

Anything.

“She had nothing to do with it.”

Of course, Sae’s parents didn’t take too well to the news. One night isn’t enough for it to blow over, because the moment they got the news, they were here to get to the bottom of it. As expected, you received nothing but accusatory remarks, and unlike Mirin’s, at least Sae’s parents had the right to be upset.

Still, Sae’s standing up to them, a protective arm keeping you behind him, making sure they don’t throw daggers at you.

They’re angry, but they’re not as bad as your own parents. At the very least, his father isn’t throwing a tantrum and breaking silverware. Doesn’t even look close to it. He only crosses his arms in disbelief, the vein on his forehead threatening to pop.

“Are you sure you want to defend her?” He asks his son, scoffing. “You know how bad of a reputation we have now thanks to her parents?”

“He’s right, honey, if you want to divorce her now we’d fully support you,” his mother joins in, and she’s every bit as submissive as your own mother, you bet. Anything for their money bag.

“I’m not divorcing my wife ever, so if that’s all you came to say, you can leave.”

Suddenly you feel guilt for being the one to bring up divorce in the first place.

The argument goes on for a while, and you keep quiet all through it. Only because Sae asked you to. It’s fair; he wants to handle his parents, so you’ll trust him to it. If there’s a need, you’d interject anyway.

Like right now, when you realise that maybe your silence is making things even worse, like your admittance of guilt.

“I’m sorry for what my parents did,” you speak up, bowing ninety degrees because as much as you hate their actions, you want to help Sae as much as you can. He must hate talking to his parents as much as you do, so the least you can do is alleviate that. “I really didn’t know what they were up to, and I didn’t expect it to affect your family’s reputation as well. I can’t even begin to repay you for what my parents did, but I can offer you everything I have now, and I’ll do anything you want me to.”

“Then easy, leave—”

“Except leave your son,” you affirm, straightening up and looking them in the eyes. “We love each other, so we’re going to make this work.” Beside you, a smile tugs on the corners of Sae’s lips at your declaration. Are you really the same person who used to be so meek in front of yours and his parents once upon a time? “As for my parents, I’ll let the authorities do their work and capture them. As far as I’m concerned, they’re dead to me.”

Perhaps it’s because of your strong words, but the Itoshis leave not ten minutes later.

You flop down on the couch, an exhausting morning followed by an exhausting night is entirely too much for you. Sae shamelessly lays himself down on top of you, head resting on your chest. He must still be tired, judging from the bags under his eyes.

“Sorry about that,” he mumbles, fingers absentmindedly playing with your hair. “You were pretty hot, though, sticking it to them.”

You stifle a laugh, though your smile speaks for itself. “Guess we should’ve expected that. They got conned out of their money too, after all. Wonder when this is all gonna blow over,” you sigh to yourself, just wishing that the problem would disappear.

Over the course of the next few days, you received texts from colleagues asking what happened, and Sumi in particular loves to cuss your parents out over text and then apologise for being insensitive afterwards. It carries a sense of normalcy that you needed, though.

It takes a few months before everything completely settles down for you, until your sister has come to the realisation that your parents abandoned you and deserve whatever hell they’re going to get. It doesn’t stop her from saying yes to her boyfriend when he proposes, and you and Sae watch on lovingly as she leaps into his arms and kisses him silly.

“You know what, a family like this doesn’t suck so much either,” you ponder out loud. All you really need is just your sister, and Sae—both of them have never failed you after all.

Sae puts his arm around you, holding you close like he always does. You notice that; that when Sae loves you he’ll crave your proximity everytime. Sumi likes to joke that he’s too clingy, but you like him just like that.

Seeing the scene unfold in front of them, your eyes twinkling as you watch the movie-like proposal in front of you, Sae feels just a pang of guilt.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t give that to you,” he mutters, though he already knows you don’t mind. To you, what matters the most is that the both of you are still together, still happy.

And that’s exactly what you say with your hands wrapped around his neck, kissing him with those perfect lips of yours, pulling him in so naturally without having to do anything.

“You give me more than enough, Itoshi Sae,” you whisper, oblivious to Sae falling even more and more in love with you.

“Have I told you I love you?”

You chuckle, nodding and Sae’s completely taken by your grin.

“We love you too.”

“We?”

And when you break it to him, in a hushed whisper because you don’t want to ruin the proposal, Sae gives you the most lovestruck expression you’ve ever seen.

THREE YEARS LATER

A lot has changed.

Turns out, you’re not as cold-hearted as you thought. Mirin is still on the list of your least-liked humans, for sure, but it’s not like you care enough to harbour any resentment anymore. She’s not worth vexing over, and much less so after that one time years ago when she came over to personally apologise. You haven’t officially forgiven her, but you don’t particularly wish the worst upon her. You’re not even sure where she is or what she’s doing because Sae doesn’t care for keeping in touch with her, but you’re both indifferent about her now.

Reo had apparently met someone special last year when he attended a charity gala. You’ve never met her in person, but from the pictures Reo takes and shares on his socials—all to show her off, no doubt—she looks absolutely breathtaking. He was there with you throughout the whole fiasco too, lending his family’s support to weather you through the tough times. You’re happy he finally found that special someone. From his texts, sometimes it seems rocky, but he’s “pretty sure she’s the one,” and you’re honestly happy for him.

Your parents have been caught—apparently, a year out they’d tried to seek shelter with one of their friends only for them to tip the police off. It wasn’t even like you, but you visited your mother in jail, just out of curiosity, and the only thing she had begged you was to help them get a good lawyer. Not that you didn’t expect it, or that it would make any difference if you did agree. Frankly, you just went there to say “no”, to let her feel the same helplessness she and your father cast upon you. You’ve never visited her since.

Sae’s been busy ever since his career shift two years ago. (His parents weren’t all too happy about it, but ever since their screw up with yours, they weren’t as forceful anymore.) Now, he’s one of the assistant coaches for Japan’s national team, and you’ve never been happier for him. It gives him more flexibility too, getting to spend more time with you back at home, but also getting to invite you with him whenever they travel.

You guess it’s lucky that you managed to land a spot helping the team out with marketing, so more often than not you get to see your husband play some soccer. Like right now, when you’re bent over the railing, watching him coach the two main midfielders and looking completely different than when he’s at home.

For one, it’s definitely the first time you get to see him all intense. With you, he’s pretty much the opposite, going all soft whenever he gets home, and you wonder how you got so lucky to be building a home with someone who loves you so much he can spot you a mile away and give you the gentlest smile you’ve ever seen.

Sae calls for a break, jogging towards your direction looking handsome as hell but you’re not going to tell him that or else he’ll tease you about it.

“How are my girls?”

Oh, and you’ve apparently managed to give him a daughter that looks so much like him. She sits on the railing, your arms wrapped around her to support her as she jumps into her father’s arms.

“She’s been bugging me all day to come and visit you,” you remark.

Yeah, she’s a daddy’s girl—and you smile watching Sae kiss her all over, her laughter ringing in the air, her happiness meaning the world to you.

Neither you nor Sae have ever experienced what a good family is like, nor have either of you seen what good parenting is like. But your daughter seems happy everyday, with parents who support her whenever she wants to try something different, so you both take it one step at a time, learning as you go. If it ever gets too difficult for you, Sae steps in, and he’s never let you down.

“Remember what we’re gonna surprise mommy with later?” Sae asks your daughter, and you’re still trying to get used to him calling you that.

You arch a brow, “I get a surprise?”

Your daughter giggles, nodding as she melts in her father’s arms. “Of course, mommy! You’ll love it!”

Her smile is infectious, a grin forming on your face just by looking at her. You shift your gaze to your husband. “What is it?”

All he does is look you in the eyes, smirking. “You’ll see.”

That night, you entertain your daughter by letting her blindfold you and lead you, well, wherever the surprise is. It smells nice, wherever you are because you’d been blindfolded even during the car ride, and you can tell it’s grand because of the way your heels are clacking against the marble and the way Sae had dressed tonight.

By your guess, you’re probably at one of the nice hotels here for one of their signature buffet dinners. Your daughter’s never been, so that could be why she’s making a huge deal out of this. Like father, like daughter, so cute.

But when your daughter urgently whispers for you to take the blindfold off, you find yourself at the entrance of huge double doors, two hotel staff smiling and opening up to unveil a huge ballroom filled with people, most of them you recognise because they’re your friends.

It’s already bringing tears to your eyes when you realise what this must be.

They’re all cheering as they see you, your daughter skipping happily into the room, choosing to run straight to your purple-haired best friend at one of the tables who you thought was still busy abroad. Beside him, his beautiful girlfriend mouths a ‘hello’, but you’re still too surprised to respond.

Everyone’s clapping and cheering and all of a sudden you feel the familiar presence of your husband right beside you, his arms wrapping around your waist as he kisses you on the cheek.

“Surprised?”

Honestly? Yes. Very. And you’re not one to be easily surprised at all.

“I wanted to give you the celebration you deserved,” he tells you, waiting for you to take it all in.

It’s a far cry from the pathetic reception you got from people you barely knew during your actual wedding reception. Sae had been nothing but cold to you back then too, so it felt more like a prison than anything.

Now? You recognise so many faces in the crowd that you can’t help but smile and wave back. You’d always wondered what this would be like, and your husband somehow manages to give it to you without having you ask for it and you’re in love. Because he seems ice cold and awkward and rough around the edges but his love for you has always, always been warm. His love has always felt like coming home and having a safe space and this might be the unconditional love you’d been praying for your whole life.

You almost gave up on it. But you know now Sae never will. And neither will you. You have a family now, a proper one built by two people who never had a stable environment, by two people who never came close to being provided one themselves.

Sae’s your pillar of support, and you begin to see now that you’re his.

Now you know it’s true what they say; you don’t have to beg for someone’s love if they truly cared about you, because Sae has always gone the extra mile for you every single day. You don’t have to act like someone you’re not just to please them so they don’t leave—because no matter how many disagreements you have, Sae is always there to listen to your point of view. You don’t have to beg someone to treat you right if they really love you, because Sae’s been actively choosing you ever since the day you got married, and whether it’s intentional or not, you think you’re the luckiest person in the world.

And now you can’t be happier; you have a wonderful daughter who has two parents who absolutely love her. You have a husband who takes care of you in every single way, loving you in every essence of the word. You have friends like Reo who would burn the world if it was ever unkind to you and dance with you atop their pile of bodies. You have everything you could ever want and you couldn’t have seen it without Sae by your side.

The do-over of your wedding reception is perfect. So, so perfect, and it’s almost hard to believe it’s the product of Sae’s ideas. He doesn’t even particularly like celebrations like this but he did this for you, for both of you, and being able to make your daughter be a part of it is like icing on the four-tiered cake he had ordered.

“I’ll love you forever, Y/N,” he whispers suddenly into your ear as you guys are making rounds at the tables.

You accept the kiss from him, flashes going off as you smile against his lips. “Yeah? What if it falls apart?” you ask, teasing him, though you never thought he’d answer you seriously.

“Then I’ll rebuild it,” he tells you, your lips hovering just above each other and his beautiful teal eyes looking into yours, a small smile on his face. “But with you, I’m pretty sure that would never happen.”

And you’ve always been pessimistic. You’ve always chosen to believe the worst because it alleviates the pain you’d feel when things don’t go as planned. But somehow, you believe in Sae with your whole heart. You’d trust him with your whole life. So you want to give him what he’s given you—everything. (He thinks you already have.)

“I’ll love you forever, Itoshi Sae.”

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