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morallyinept · 6 months

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Summary: Joel Miller comes back into your life unexpectedly after a gap of thirty years, and stirs up all kinds of memories and longing. Now, as you're stationed on an outpost for five days alone with the man you stupidly let go of all those years ago, you have a chance to confront him about your past life together and all the things you wished you’d said and done.

But Joel’s different now, and you know you need to tread carefully. Joel Miller is not the same man you once knew in another life.

A slow burn romance set in the post apocalyptic world, approx. twenty or so years after the initial Cordyceps outbreak.

Pairing: Post-Outbreak Joel Miller x MatureF!Reader (No name or physical description of reader. However reader is of a similar age range as Joel; in her late forties/early fifties. Joel is slightly older at 56.)

Chapter word count: 5.6k

Series Masterlist

☝🏻See Series Masterlist for full smut warnings & triggers in this story. Chapters that contain smut or triggers will be highlighted in the chapter notes below. 👇🏻

Chapter notes: You and Joel get closer to one another after a close call. Brief mentions/descriptions of smut. Mentions of violence.

☝🏻 I WILL NO LONGER BE ADDING NEW TAGS due to some of them not working as they should, despite me tagging, so please ensure you're following me and turn on notifs so you don't miss an update on this story.

Enjoy! 🖤

Previous Chapter

It’s different when you wake. He’s different.

It’s hard for your brain to translate, but you can feel that the tension in him has shifted a little; and not just from massaging him - although you can still feel the warmth of his skin blazing on your fingertips, even now.

But it's like a small part of that tension has been squeezed out through a juicer and all that is left is the pulp to discard.

You can feel it in yourself too. Something scabby has fallen off of you somewhere. Fresh, glossy skin has grown underneath. Healed.

You lay in the cot peering at him as Joel sits in the wicker chair watching the sun rise. You see its light moving slowly across his face, changing the shadows around his eyes, making them softer where they were once harsh.

His fist is to his chin; thumb swiping back and forth against his bottom lip as he stares vacantly out at the valley. Just a slow - somewhat teasing in its agony - back and forth across the chapped skin as you watch, mesmerised for a little while.

It washes everything else away for a few moments.

There’s an elevated, yet unspoken, understanding existing between you now; a connection that’s been reconnected somewhere with copper wires. You can feel it. Your mutual pain tethering you like stitches in the skin.

If you had known this, back in the day, that you would both have to suffer through so much to get back here, back to one another… Well, you might’ve reconsidered that perilous path, as weak as you are. He might’ve too.

Or you both might’ve hurtled down it at warp speed, colliding in a vibrant kaleidoscope of kinetic energy.

Everything happens for a reason, it doesn’t matter. It resonates in you as you feel some acquired peace between the slow, weighted absorption into the layers of your epidermis, that you had to go through all of that to get here.

To get to this little moment right now where you can just observe him and bask in the viability of it all.

It brightens you somewhere; a small luminescent glow within all the murk, to know that Joel endured and survived. And so did you. And here you both are, brought together again after an insurmountable feat of improbability, implausibility. Against all the fucking odds.

Whether its fate, destiny, whatever. It doesn’t matter.

You're just both here; right where you're supposed to be.

And that has to mean something. Surely he has to feel that sucker punch to the jaw too? Feel the bloodied teeth plink from his mouth onto the gravel. Surely he can’t brush it off with a shrug of those broad shoulders and a gruff utterance about fate being a simple ruse and nothing more?

You think back to his words, and even the ones he doesn’t say. They still batter around your head, trying to find a way in through your orifices.

Ya needed me, so many times, n’ I wasn’t there.

And you did. You never stopped needing him. You still need him now, still want him. You need him to tell you that you made it back to him as he fills you full of that sweet relief and elation.

You need him as you both try to navigate cresting over the horizon of the billowing pain that haunts the cobwebbed crypts of your souls. You feel it tiresomely, twisting in your skin, uprooting your skeleton from the endowment of your worn and fibrous muscles.

You can still hear them, the screams. Still feel the blood slicking through your fingers, but it seems lessened somehow. The constant din in your ears is now muting, turning down.

And you know it’s because of him, because of Joel.

That incendiary presence of him fanning the fires again to burn it all away until there’s nothing left. You can feel it licking on your skin, prickling, spreading. Engulfing you. You can smell your hair burning, feel your skin boiling and blistering and you can no longer breathe as you become flaky ash piles at his boots.

Stifling, you sit up pulling the blanket off, and Joel turns to you. He drops his fist and tosses you a small smile that sinks into your chest cavity warming you still.

It’s sincere; it blooms into his cheeks revealing the dimple he never outgrew. It’s the same smile he always had for you. A smile of contentment, of satiation. He looks so different when he smiles, young again. That no worry has ever touched his face and left a bruise of tainted sadness. It’s his beautifully familiar face that has haunted you for so long.

You can see it in him too; that slow erosion, layer by heavily guarded layer. Peeling him back like silky onion skins to reveal the naked core that makes tears sting down your face. You know that you being here, back in his life, is a welcome relief.

How could it not be when he smiles at you like this?

You return it through your sleepy eyes. You glance at the clocks and they all read just past five in the morning, or thereabouts.

You stand and so does he. You step forward, and so does he.

You dance that unspoken waltz as Joel passes you to take up root in the cot, ready to drift off in your lingering warmth, and you sit in the chair, your turn to watch.

But as you pass him, your fingertips brush and you can swear you can hear the static crackles of electricity.

You definitely feel them as they zap up your fingers and into your arm.

Hours later and Joel stirs from the cot.

He pushes the heels of his large, calloused palms into his eyes as he wipes the sleep from them and his head feels unusually clear.

He realises, as he wakes, that it’s the first time in a long time that his dreams have been quiet, silent. Like the centre of a hurricane; no noise, no bullshit.

There was nothing; just a peaceful calm that he sank into for a few blissful hours, and he marvels at how this must have been what it was like to sleep before the outbreak happened.

He’d just simply forgotten that it could be like this.

But he’s sceptical. He knows this so-called calm will be fleeting, it always is. But he’s going to take the reprieve whilst it’s offered to him.

He hears you at the stove as he blinks back info focus, he rises as you put a chipped plate inside his hands and smile warmly at him in that way you used to. Like you were always so happy to see him again.

He joins you at the wicker chairs and you both eat with some quiet contentment swimming around your ankles.

Joel smirks as he slips a piece of meat into his mouth with his finger and thumb. Chews quietly as he watches you pull yours apart into strips and suck them into your mouth idly as you look out the window. Old habits die hard, he thinks.

There’s so much about you that is different, yet still the same. Nuances, mannerisms; the way you speak. It’s all you in there, he’s sure of it.

But there’s another you that he’s not fully acquainted with yet. A stronger you, a weaker you. A ying-yang of yourself where there was once only arrogance and self-assuredness. A dreamer and a risk taker. A lover and a fighter.

He watches your lips; their fullness as you lick them and leave a wet sheen that he longs to taste again. He wonders if you taste different now.

Somewhere, in the back of his head, Joel remembers those lips wrapping so amiably around his cock. A renegade thought drops in front of his eyes and he’s forced to spectate.

It’s you, waking him up to see you under the covers as he lifts them up to be met with your face between his legs.

Your tongue is running up the length of him and your eyes, God your fuckin' eyes are staring at him wickedly. Gleaming as you take him fully into your hot, wet mouth.

He gasps and throws his head back and he feels it all over his body; that carnage within him that your mouth causes. That weak, brainless flesh he becomes sinking into the mattress as you pull him apart...

Joel clears his throat. Distracting himself as he feels the stirring in his jeans. He reaches for the walkie-talkie after glancing at the clocks and switches it on.

You continue to eat and gaze out the window at yet another sun filled sky.

You flinch when the walkie-talkie suddenly crackles. Some static buzzes through and Joel twists the frequency dial at the top gently to tune it in.

The buzzing alters between high and low rumbles, and you listen carefully trying to make out anything as you put down your plate.

Joel had said no news was good news. But there is someone talking now; their voice wiry and buried so far beneath all the static it’s hard to make them out.

He raises the walkie-talkie to his left ear and then resorts to pacing as he listens carefully.

... Branched off… A while ago… Heading north… Casualties…

“What are they saying?” You ask, feeling your body stiffen.

You’re pretty sure you hear the word casualties, but you can’t be sure. Your mind automatically conjures up scenarios that you try to stomp on.

You remind yourself to breathe. They might just be simply checking in.

“Fuck,” Joel taps the walkie-talkie down heavily in his palm.

“Joel, what are they saying?”

“I can’t fuckin’ hear ‘em whilst ya yappin, can I?” He bites back hissing, trying to decipher the words. His eyes looking at you, but also not as he listens again.

... Outpost three…

“That's us,” you say. Fuck!

“Quiet!” Joel paces again, opening up the door. He steps outside trying to get a better signal and drown you out.

You sit back in the chair sighing, squeezing your fingers in and out of fists. You can still hear the crackles and fuzzed voices coming in and out as Joel stands just behind the door, his broad back to you, hand on his hip.

Something's wrong. You can feel it. Feel the coldness of it creep up your spine and into your shoulders.

“Shit!” He marches back in and reaches for one of the tins on the shelf. He throws one open and rummages around for another battery for the walkie-talkie.

You shake your head wearily.

“Something’s happened.” You say, feeling the panic rise up on your skin. Your throat runs tight and dry.

“We don’t know that. We don’t fuckin’ know anything right now.” He gruffs. “C’mon on ya son of a bitch!” He seethes as he twists off the back of the walkie-talkie.

It’s rattling him too; you can see it as he tries to steady the subtle shake in his fingers. He throws you a look, one that's intended to be soft, reasurring. You're certain of it. But it's hard outlines are etched with concern.

Your heartbeat has settled into your ears, blood pumping. A sickly feeling bubbles in your stomach acids; the meat on the verge of making a ghastly return.

You stand, pacing now, with your hands wringing at themselves. You can’t help but let the worry creep in. In fact, it starts to flood in.

You glance out the window as Joel snaps the back of the walkie-talkie back on.

“Joel.” You murmur, the dread filling you, stopping you in your tracks.

Your eyes widen, so does your mouth. You can see them. Oh God!

There’s three of them; four, maybe five. Now six.

“Joel!” You gasp frantically as he turns towards the door again. “JOEL!”

He stops; the alarm in your voice tugging his eyes towards the window. Shadows of infected bodies are gathering at the bottom of the hill, more of them appearing from behind the treelines. You can only watch horrified as they increase in number.

Joel dumps the walkie-talkie and it clatters across the table clumsily. He takes the rifle off the stand and thrusts it in your hands. You start to fill it with bullets as he reaches under the cot and pulls out a hidden shotgun taped up under the slats.

He’s beside you again; his bicep bumping into yours and plucking thick cartridges into his fingers as you both glance up and down at the window like nodding dogs on a dashboard.

There’s more. Seven, eight, nine-

“You think they broke off from the horde? They were trying to warn us?” A definite panic lodges in the back of your throat, but you swallow it down.

Endure and survive. Come on. You’ve got this.

Joel grunts a response at you, but you don’t catch it.

You empty the remaining bullets into your pockets and clumsily drop some as they clang to the floor.

It’s alright. You’ve got time. Focus.

“Looks like they’re wandering, they're too far to know we're up here, right? We might get lucky and they’ll pass by...” But you know that’s not what will happen.

They’re a plague that keeps coming and coming. You know that if you don’t deal with this now, you might not be so lucky to get another shot.

It’s the hideous mantra of this world now; kill or be killed.

“S’possible. Don’t matter.” Joel says, jostled but he keeps his cool. At least from what you can see anyway.

Ten, eleven, twelve-

“We can take them.” You assure him. Although, you’re certain it’s said for yourself.

“Ain’t got no choice. Can’t risk ‘em wanderin' towards the commune.” He puffs.

He looks at you and nods once. He knows that, between the two of you, you can pick them off quickly as you return that solid reassurance back to him.

More creep up the hill. You hear the horses bray loudly in the stable sensing the death they carry with them - animals always know - and this pulls their attention.

They start running and more appear from out of the trees quickly.

Seventeen, eighteen, nineteen-

“Shit!” You gasp, cocking the rifle.

“There’s a ladder on the rear, on the right. Get on the roof. Flank me, okay?” Joel instructs you, pulling you away from the window.

You don’t have time to discuss it, argue or agree. You can hear them now. The hissing and screeching that comes from their rabid mouths. Hungry.

“GO!” Joel snaps as you both bundle out the door.

You hear his shots immediately as he fires off, rounding the shack and drawing them towards him, giving you time to get into position.

He needs you to get into position. Needs you to cover him. He needs you.

You’re scrambling for the ladder; hoisting yourself up it as fast as you can go, fire burning in your lungs.

You throw yourself down on the roof; your chest thudding against it; breasts crushed and knocking the wind out of you, as you raise the rifle steady on your elbows and fire off rounds quicker than your brain can process your motor functions.

Bodies drop, stunned in their quick deaths. Backs of their heads explode as the bullets ricochet through brainstems that don’t function above the basic instinct to feed and spread their poison.

You hit your targets, some of them are moving too fast to be hit in the head on your first shot. Wounding shoulders or legs which slow them down instead.

Breathe. Focus.

Joel appears in your peripherals; he takes a couple of steps forward as the numbers lessen that are coming at him. His shotgun is high in strong, taught arms; he aims with precision and feels the gun shunt back into his shoulder blade each time he fires.

He reaches into his pocket as he reloads; you take up the slack whilst he does. In the throes of the screaming, the ringing in your ears, you notice how calm Joel is, how he moves with exactitude.

Aim, fire, reload. Aim, fire, reload.

He glances up at you with a steely gaze and a nod, and you shoot the infected body running right for him as he pops out the spent cartridge shells.

It falls with several yards between them; screaming and viscera everywhere, and Joel doesn’t seem fazed, barely flinches.

His face remains vehemently stoic, drawn into that deep hypnotism of abject concentration as he wields the scythe of death again.

You’ve always been tough despite your reluctance at times. Always taken care of yourself. Headstrong, Kelper would say. Arrogant, Joel would say.

But now it’s different; he’s joined in.

Now you take care of one another and it’s not up for negotiation. You settle into it, clearing the way for him. You set them up, he knocks them down. He's got your back and you've got his, like planets in the perfect orbit of one another. He moves, you move. He runs, you run.

He shoots and reloads, you shoot and cover. Teamwork makes the dream work.

Joel steps over the body as he picks the last of them off, the shots echoing into the sky like thunder cracking; the last of the infected are gunned down until the air around you both falls eerily still.

You push yourself up on your legs that feel like lead weights, breathing steadily despite your heart hammering.

You clock Joel standing still now. His gun still aimed, his body twisting at the waist slowly. He’s listening as he scans.

He’s listening like you are, intently. Listening for the distant moans or shrieks, listening for the beats of more running beasts drawn to the echoes of the shots that crashed around the valley.

You scan the horizon, the bottom of the hill. The trees to the right. You check them all off carefully. You peer through the periscope and recheck all the routes again to be sure.

It feels like you both stand there for an age. You see movement to your right and aim the rifle, your finger ready on the trigger, but it’s just the brambles swaying in the breeze. You breathe out slowly and relax.

The valley is silent once more.

Only when you're both sure that there are no more coming at you, do you retreat down the ladder and round to the front of the shack.

“Ya good?” Joel asks, squinting in the sun as he approaches, and you scream for him as he’s yanked backward; an arm on the body of the mutated corpse beside him reaching up to clasp his calf, and pulling him off balance.

He rolls down the hill; the infected with him, as you run forward holding the rifle up.

You can’t get a solid aim. Joel’s body is rolling around through the periscope too quickly, and if you shoot, there’s a good chance it’ll be him that receives the bullet.

“Fuck!” You yell. You tear down the hill after them.

Joel struggles, grunting as the jaws of the infected body snap at him, too close to his face.

His legs smash against the ground, his back pounding against it relentlessly and knocking the air out of him as he tumbles. His arms ache from the frantic struggle as they come to a stop.

The body scrambles at him wildly, shrieking and drooling with hunger and blood shot eyes. Sickly yellowing fungus grows out the side of its face like lichens, and its breath reeks as Joel breathes the fetid opacity of it in.

He has no weapon, nothing he can defend himself with. He roars out as he pushes upwards with all of his might; his legs kicking out from under him to try and knock the rabid parasite off of him that's coming closer to his face.

Somewhere, through the commotion, he hears his name - he hears you breaking through that heavy cloud of white noise. Then you’re there, aiming and shooting at the head as he holds it out for you by the chin; his fingertips inches from its snapping mouth.

The blast echoes all around Joel's head and the body of the infected rolls off of him lifelessly.

The ringing floods his good ear, and it takes a while of you yelling his name through the void for him to come back to and hear you through it.

“... Are you bit?... Joel?! JOEL!” You stare down at him, the rifle still aimed at him, a slight shudder on the end of it.

“No, no…” He pants, relieved. He stares at his shaky fingers then up to you with wild eyes.

“M’okay,” he wheezes, bewildered. “M’okay.”

“Jesus,” you lower the gun.

You reach forward, attempting to pull him up, but instead Joel yanks you towards him.

You topple onto his chest and he kisses you ferociously.

It happens within seconds. A snap. It’s clumsy, it’s frantic.

Your teeth clash and his tongue chokes you. His hands are grappling at either side of your head, your back, your waist. You can’t hear anything except more thunder rolling in your rib cage as your heart thrashes about inside it.

The oxygen is sucked out of your lungs by Joel swallowing it in as you both tear at one another ferally.

Your mind is a whir; a jumble of thoughts trying to untangle themselves. Your body is shaking, unable to catch up with your mind, or with him.

Your own hands shred through his sweat matted hair, fist through his shirt collar. You straddle him as he crushes you against him further; gasping into your throat as his giant hands grip and squeeze your ass into him.

An emptiness steam rolls through you, no place for coherent thought or wonder to harbour and grow. Instead, you're pulled under, drowning.

Unable to breathe as you let yourself sink into the crashing waves of him. Choking as you gasp, pulling at him desperately. There's no air here, your lungs contract, your throat clenches. You gasp and croak as you sink furhter into the depths, lightheaded.

This is what his kiss feels like. It feels like you might die.

You pull back, wheezing, when you feel how hard he is against you. How that bulge in his grazed denim feels so fucking good pushed against your seam as you grind on it.

Joel’s hands cup your face; you’re both panting, both wanting. Both trying to stay in some sort of control. Both shaking as the adreanline courses through you.

"Joel," you whine, so full of need as your fingers twist around the fibres of his shirt.

"Goddamn, darlin'," he rasps; those brown molten eyes pulling you in.

His fingers drag down on your bottom lip and looks into your mouth as though it can’t possibly be real.

He pulls you down to him and licks his tongue into your cheeks again, a little softer this time as he regains some control over himself. It slows; the burst, the eruption, now a reduced flow.

Letting the frenzy bloom into an insatiable desire as he really tunes into you, tastes you again.

You’re soaring as you suck on his lip and he moans out in delight. You want him inside of you so badly. He leans up, deeper into the kiss, and then yelps.

“Aw fuck!” He twists his hand behind him.

“You okay, what’s wrong?” You pulse to him, your hands on his stacked chest. His heartbeat thrashing underneath them.

“S’my back. Think I pulled it as I fell.” He winces as he tries to sit up fully, and you shuffle off his lap; the heated lust in you has a glass of ice water thrown in its face as you try to assist him flaccidly.

“Shit,” he grumbles.

You sigh out and then chuckle inwardly, despairing at how the fire between your legs is abruptly doused.

“Ya laughin’ at me?” He narrows at you with a cocked brow.

You shake your head. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” you smirk.

He smirks back, his cheeks flushing, hair a ravaged mess from your desperate raking of it.

“Come on, let’s get you up. Slowly now.” You encourage.

It takes three attempts to stand fully and even that seems like a mountain he will never peak. Joel hisses as he clutches the bottom of his spine that sears and pulls tighter with each movement.

“Was too close for my likin’,” he mutters, as he limps up the hill holding onto your shoulder.

You take his weight, but you can feel he’s not putting it all on you. He waits whilst you bend to pick up his shotgun when you come across it.

“Mm,” you say with a frown blooming, somewhere a fissure inside you erupts.

“The infected, I mean.” He assures you with a side glance.

“I know.” You nod forlornly.

Your mind conjures scenarios that you don’t dare venture down. Cutting into the elation of the ghostly graze of Joel's lips still felt on yours.

Something's happened, something's gone wrong out there. You can feel it as it claws at your belly skin, ripping you open.

“Don’t do that.” You hear Joel cut in. “They’re fine.”

You look at him as he hobbles beside you and a restrained smile is offered to him. He always could read you so well.

"You don't know that." You mumble.

"I know Tommy... n' ya know Kelper. They're fine." He reassures.

You nod at him, even though the knot tightens in your gut.

Inside the shack Joel wobbles onto the cot and grimaces as he thuds down on it.

It's only then you realise his face is scratched up a little from the brambles, and the back of his hands too. Tiny red criss-crosses that graze.

“Is there a first aid kit in any of these tins?” You ask as you leave him to rummage in them.

“Back one,” he grunts.

You reach for it and bring it over, pulling out expired antiseptic wipes and tearing the packets open. He tries to avoid it, but you pull his mitts forward anyway and swipe over them gently with the wipe.

Joel bites down on his cheeks as he feels a little sting in the grazes, fragrant with an archaic artificial scent, but the pain in his back mutes it out.

You go for his face, but he gently bats your hand away. “M’fine, don’t fuss,” he gruffs softly and you back off.

He swings his legs up onto the cot and lays flat on his back.

“Is there some painkiller in here?” You ask, rifling around, but find none.

“Doubtful,” he mutters.

“Why, did you trade it all for sourdough bread?” You smirk and you see Joel chuckle silently with his arm slung over his eyes.

“Pumpernickel.” He grins.

You can’t help but laugh and so does he.

A heavy wheeze that rolls up from the deep pits of his chest and out the back of his throat. He laughs too hard and then winces again, and you both soften until the silly guffaws between you cease to longing smiles.

"You're such a shit," you smirk.

"Y'used to love me for it." He says, and then the smiles dissipate and the silence feels heavy again between you.

You stand to return the tin to the shelf, you hear him shift on the cot.

“C’mere, lay with me.” Joel says suddenly.

You turn and he’s reaching out his hand.

“I should keep watch.” You say, hating yourself immediately for saying it. Wondering why you're even saying it, it’s stupid. Futile.

You want nothing more than to be in his arms once again. To feel his weight crushing on yours, to taste his lips again.

To feel how hard he still gets for you after all this time.

“Could, or ya could just come n’ lay with me here for a bit.” He coaxes.

His eyes are blazing, marred with something other than ill-intention or pain. You decide it must be hunger because you know that look swimming inside of his brown irises - you never forgot it.

You sigh, with a defeated smile and kick your boots off. You climb over him carefully, as he holds his arm out and you nestle down inside of it; your head cushioned on his shoulder.

His scruff scratches softly against your forehead and you feel his fingers gripping around the top of your shoulder, pulling you in closer to him.

Joel smells wild, like the outside; wet leaves and soil. The faint aroma of sweat procrastinates around his shirt collar that flaps open at the neck.

You can smell the sun in the layers of his skin. A redolence of spice, possibly bergamot, buried deep in his pores somewhere.

The scent of nostalgia rears its head and leaves flutters in your chest and groin alike. He smells like home, or what home used to smell like all those years ago when you still had one.

He shuffles, adjusting to the invasion of your body against his and grunts.

“Is this okay?” You ask, you don’t want to cause him any more physical pain; the cot is only barely big enough for one, let alone the two of you squashed on it.

You feel the wall hard and uncomfortably flat against your back and buttocks.

“S’perfect.” Joel whispers.

You feel him plant a long, unwavering kiss into your hairline and you think that this is what it must feel like to dive face first into the sun.

You lay on him, listening to his heartbeat and thinking of all the things that are on the tip of your tongue. But cowardice renders you mute.

"S'been a long time." He starts quietly, and you know instinctively what he means.

The kiss that had exploded outside between the both of you infecting poisonous fear or doubt under his skin. And you can already feel your heart start to shrink.

"I know. Me too." Your tone is flat. Your hand on his chest is pulling back lightly.

He stops it, firmly placing his over yours and warming it instantly.

"I want to. Ya don't know how much I want to right now." He reassures. "Fuckin' back," he then grumbles on a distorted sigh.

"Really?"

"Darlin'."

You smile and he can hear it click around your teeth. "I remember it was always…"

You search for the word knowing nothing you can say will do it justice. Joel had been a highly attentive lover equipped with an unrelenting stamina in his youth.

Your mind casts back to a hazy, younger version of him being between your legs for what seemed like hours; drawing and pulling orgasm after orgasm out of your soaking core and into his waiting, hot mouth.

He’d take his sweet time in devouring you. It felt like the sex between you was the driving force of your relationship sometimes - you couldn’t get enough of one another.

"It was." He agrees with a small smile crooking on the corner of his mouth.

And then you sigh wearily. The pink swirling thoughts crushed by a brutish reality that bulldozes over the possibilities.

He's right, it has been a long time.

It's been so long since you revealed your naked self to another person, vulnerable and bare. Your body isn’t what it once was. Where it was once supple and full, it’s now stretched and sagging in places.

And that panic floods you, freezes your body still and he feels you tense up under his grip.

“Stop it.” He murmurs into your hair and you smile at how he can do that still. How he can wrangle that angst out of you magically with just a few reassuring and gentle commands.

"What if… after all this time we’re just fooling ourselves, Joel? The world is a very different place now. Is it even possible to find some semblance of happiness and cling onto it? Maybe it’s just a pipedream. A nice one, but a pipedream nonetheless.”

You’re unsure why you’re saying this, but it rolls off your tongue nonetheless, sticks to the back of your teeth like cloying fudge.

His eyes cloud over, and the tension pulls his face into that frown you’ve come to know over the last few days. Without it, he just simply isn’t Joel.

Your name is a gruff whisper on his lips as he shifts, grunting in pain, to face you, or make you face him. Subtle movements that now have your noses aligned.

“What ya scared of?” And it’s a question that carries so much weight.

“Everything,” you barely whisper.

He pulls it out of you with those warm chocolatey eyes. “Losing you again.” You confirm after a few beats. "I was an idiot to ever let you go. I'm so sorry. I never got to tell you that."

"I know." He says. "M'sorry I couldn't make ya stay."

"No, it was all me-"

"No, darlin'. We were young. Wasn't the right time." He soothes.

"It was the best time though, wasn't it?"

He nods. “M’right here.” Joel squeezes your hand tight against his chest. You can feel the thrum of his heartbeat against your knuckles. “I’ve always been here.”

His expression flinches, melting away into something softer in the deep lines around his eyes.

“Can we do this?” You query into his neck, seeking refuge there for a moment, faltering under his gaze. “Us again?”

“Do ya want to?” He asks back as you inhale against his skin.

“Do you?”

“S’not what I asked ya.” He snuffles. “Tell me what ya want.”

You can feel the tears prickling in your eyes as he speaks into your hair. He hears you sniff and he reacts by holding you tighter, crushing you to him almost. A mouth full of flannel plaid shirt, as it drags against your eyelids wiping them dry.

You want to tell him; you want to rip it out of your chest and hand it to him in a sloppy puddle. You don’t want to hesitate, to shrink back into yourself. You don’t want to keep enduring and surviving because without him it’s all for nothing anyway.

You need to tell him that it’s him, it's always been him. That he's the greatest love of your life, the deepest hole in your heart.

But the words won’t come. They’re right there on the back of your tongue. You’ve seen so much horror, lived through it, but right now, you’re the most terrified you’ve ever been in your life.

And so is he.

In a voice that is both low and so familiar in shackled want, he says “I don’t wanna lose ya again either, darlin’.”

He’d rip the world apart with his bare hands if he lost you again now. And strangely, that thought doesn’t scare him like it used to.

It catches in the back of your throat, his omission. His softly spoken vow, and it draws your face back up to his to witness the sincerity as it warms your veins.

You brush your thumb over the line of his jaw, feeling the soft greying scruff there that’s aged with him.

And he's never looked more fucking beautiful as you finally brave yourself to peep at him again. To confront everything you've wanted. Everything you've fought through to get here.

To get back into his arms.

“Never again, Joel.” You agree. “I’m not losing you ever again.”

His hand is felt on your lower back as he engulfs you.

“Ya damn right ya ain’t.” Joel presses his lips to yours, tilting your chin up to him.

And you breathe him in, right down into the centre of your chest.

To be continued...

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Thank you for taking the time to read my story; it really means so much to me. I'd love to know your thoughts, and I'd really appreciate a re-blog so others can enjoy this story too. Thank you so much 🖤

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@secretelephanttattoo @morgaussy @darkheartgatita @sp00kymulderr @survivingandenduring @sin-djarin @lilmizmoz @yazsos @ryangoslingstanktop @barbellpedro @givemeth @anavatazes @alwaysmicado @the-blind-assassin-12 @kirsteng42 @missredherring @gasolinerainbowpuddles @millennial-teenybopper @maggiemayhemnj @harriedandharassed @stevie75 @mysterious-moonstruck-musings @chaoticfestninja @reddedmiller @doughmonkey @sonderosa @magpiepillsjunior @chronically-ghosted @pedroswife69 @regalwhovianbrowncoat774 @marisemonteiroo @everythingiwanttoread @jjhayhay20 @nerdieforpedro @perennialdoll247 @casa-boiardi @joeldjarin @sscorpiiio @untamedheart81 @srmacaroni @violinchick @orcasoul @lucyeyelesbarrow @mandrillusphinx @loveisacowboyyy @suzmagine @disassociation-daydreams @anoverwhelmingdin @within-the-depths

#joel miller #joel miller tlou #the last of us fanfic #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller the last of us #the last of us fic #joel miller smut #joel miller fluff #joel miller angst #five days series #five days #jett's writing

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hyunjilicious · 11 months

Text

bf!skz as college archetypes [hyung line]

Summary: literally what the title says ❤️ 2.7k

Warnings: mentions of alcohol and smoking, skipping classes, the usual college stuff + sex, mentions of somno, oral (both receiving) ... its nothing smut centered BUT 18+ PLS!!!! (also not edited I'm very sorryyyy)

Chan - that one bad boy that there’s actually nothing bad about

Plays guitar in a band, has a sleeve of tattoos, owns too many Metallica t-shirts and wears a bit too much eyeliner for the middle of the day

Despite his bandmates being known as troublemakers, he’s the one that goes from giggling and smiling left and right to throwing hands to get his friends out of trouble.

His band is his main priority, and school…? not so much. Misses classes, turns in his assignments a bit too late all the time, studies for his exams just enough so he can pass, but somehow ends up always having the neatest and most aesthetically pleasing projects and presentations.

Because you always do them for him. He does the work, of course, but then you get together with your laptops one night, he sings and plays guitar for you, while you sit and turn his disaster of a project into a work of art. He doesn’t know what he’d do without you.

And he realized that - that he needs you, the second he first laid eyes on you. Despite literally having his own fanclub, he never thought he’d stand a chance with you. Not until the Halloween party during sophomore year when he dressed as Slash and you walked up to him, all a smile, asking to take a picture with his top hat. After that, you were inseparable. For the remainder of the party, you drank together, danced, did body shots, smoked alone, just the two of you out in the back and then wordlessly decided to continue the night at his dorm where he fucked your brains out until the sun rose up again.

Owns a bike, and never fails to joke about the fact that he only bought it so that he can use it to take you places. There are very few things he loves more than to wait for you, leaning against his bike, only to see you walk out of class and then break into a sprint the second your eyes land on him.

Will stop at nothing to help you in case you need it. He’ll settle for a 50% on an exam and move on, but if you mention you have trouble understanding something, he’ll stay up the whole night to figure out everything about that topic in order to explain it to you the next day.

His band isn’t big enough for merch yet, but you best believe you have your own shirt, hoodie and leather bracelet. And also your 2 months old niece - she has her own onesie with Chan’s band’s logo on it. He couldn’t help it.

Hates shopping for himself but loves calling himself ‘your assistant’ whenever you drag him with you to the mall. His patience is never ending and he adores picking outfits for you - either the cutest or the sluttiest ones possible.

If you’re asking for something, chances are he’s not even going to blink an eye before doing it. He’s that tightly wrapped around your finger.

He loves you for who you are, but loves your body too, every single little, tiny, and random inch of your body. You name it, he loves it. But even so, he has his favorites - your ass. He always considered himself an ass man, but this is something else entirely. He will never miss the chance to touch it, slap it, grab it, poke it, bite it or use it as a pillow. And he doesn’t even care he’s in public, he knows how to be subtle.

And despite this, he’s not very kinky. Most things you come up with are new to him. He’s a simple man, as he says. But still, will try out absolutely everything with you. And kind of enjoys it all too. However his favorite was discovered as a joke - a video you showed him. You gave him the consent and moved on, proceeding to forget about it until a few mornings later, when you woke up, shaking and on the edge of an earth shattering orgasm.

He’s down, between your legs, shamelessly devouring you awake, feeding off of the lewd sounds you make. It takes him less than a few minutes to drive the sleep away from you and have you panting his name as you ride your first orgasm of the day, at a little bit past 6am. That’s his favorite way to start the day now, eat you out, cuddle you for just a little while longer, make you breakfast and then drive you to class. Either this or he refuses to get out of bed.

Minho - the mysterious kid no one knows anything about.

Is quiet, walks fast, always looks busy and wears a trench coat. Some people would bet he’s a literature kid. But he’s just got style and dislikes most people.

Actually takes his studies seriously, has good grades and cares about his academic future. Dreams about his life as a veterinarian every night, but jokes about changing paths and becoming a bodyguard instead.

Thrives on the way people - especially you - gasped when they found out he’s overly skilled in three different types of martial arts. Didn’t think it was that cool until you asked him to teach you some self defense moves.

That made his brain short circuit. The amount of time he had to spend tackling you to the ground, securing your arms behind your back, straddling your hips, grabbing your neck, manhandling you from side to side - it drove him wild. While you were a fast learner, it still took you long enough for him to fall head over heels for you.

But of course he didn't have the guts to word his feelings for you. He was ready to accept his fate, ready to settle for pinning from afar, until one day, when during your training, when you were supposed to get out from under him, you refused to do so. That was it. You didn’t even move from the floor, it was right there that kissed you, fucked you and then asked you to be his girlfriend.

His friends still tease him for it and he still pretends to hate it.

Uses the dumbest pet names in the world. It started off normally, the usual ‘baby’ and the occasional ‘angel’ but it soon escalated to ‘honey’, ‘sugar’, ‘lollipop’, ‘candy’, ‘icecream’. This man will call you anything. One day he called you ‘grasshopper’ just because he saw one, and proceeded to act offended when you didn’t answer.

But there’s one pet name that has its own use. ‘Doll’. He only calls you ‘doll’ when he’s fucking you or when he wants to fuck you. From “What do you say, doll? Should we head home?” to “That’s right, doll, taking my cock so well’

But when it comes to you using pet names, he’ll pretend to dislike them all. ‘Babe’ is too common and ‘love’ is too sappy. Nothing seems to be good enough for him, until you decide to call him by his name once and watch him try to figure out what he did to upset you. “What are you calling me Minho for?” and when you tell him you thought he didn’t like pet names he just shrugs, “I don’t, but that doesn’t mean you should stop using them”

Comes up with the best date ideas in the world. Knows all the cool places around and off campus and will take you to all of them.

Loves to cook for his friends but always needs your approval before sharing a new recipe with them. His favorite way to spend the time is cooking together with you - or well, he’s cooking, you’re just there as moral support. The most he lets you do is chop vegetables, anything more than that would keep you too busy to be able to go and give him a kiss every time he looks at you with puckered lips.

Bullies the living hell out of his friends but snaps whenever anyone tries to bully him. Unless they make fun of him being wrapped around your finger, in which case he’ll proudly deny it and wait for them to say it again.

Changbin - the gym bro that’s surprisingly good at academics

Is the star of the football team despite not being the captain. He’s too humble to say it, but everyone knows he’s actually been voted captain and refused the title.

He’s in it for the sport itself, not for anything else. But while he might not wear that band on his bicep, everyone still looks up and listens to him, even the captain himself.

Not naturally gifted, but the most hard working member of the team that the University has ever seen. His god-gifted talents reside elsewhere. That’s why you were so shocked when you friend suggested your tutor was Changbin - the athlete, and not any of the math whizz kids.

To this day you are thankful for your friend.

It wasn’t enough that differential calculus never made any sense to you, but the way his hair fell onto his forehead as he wrote in your notebook, the way his shirt sleeves were stretched for dear life around his biceps, the way he had to nudge your thigh with his knee to get your attention - these were all aspects working towards your failure. But he didn’t let that happen. In fact he was so confident in your abilities that he proposed a bet - if you got over 75% on your finals, you had to drink with him. You got a 76% and don’t even remember what he had to do in case you got a grade below 75.

But the alcohol that night wasn’t even needed. It was just an excuse to get him in your dorm room, because the second you both sat down and your eyes met, you knew. Minutes later he was in another dimension, living a high he never imagined possible as you took his cock down your throat and made him cum twice within the hour. He hated that he didn’t get a chance to properly ask you out, but he wouldn’t change that day for the world.

Now, you always go to watch him practice. Always in the first row when he has a game.

You wear his jersey all the time, unless it is too cold, in which case you wear his leather jacket and he wears the jersey.

Doesn’t really believe in the separation between feminine and masculine traits and activities, but man, he loves all the girly stuff you do. Watches you put on your makeup, does your skin care for you, washes your hair, uses your colored sticky notes and fluffy pens, sleeps like an angel on your heart shaped pink pillows, asks you to do his nails and flaunts them with every occasion.

Also, he loves it when people notice it. Thrives when other men notice his pink nails and cuts them off before they can even think about commenting about your work of art.

One of the things he loves the most is being useful to you. It started off with the physical aspect. The “Binnie, can you open this for me, please?” or “Binnie? Can you lift me so I can reach the top shelf?” but then it got to “Binnieeee!!! Why doesn’t it let me install this expansion pack? I really need my sim to be a werewolf!” or when your grandma called to ask you how to make the font on her phone bigger and you just went to him without even batting an eye. He loves that you can do all of these yourself but prefer to have him help you.

ALWAYS the big spoon. Doesn’t even want to hear it. And refuses to let you bring up that one time you two watched Avengers: End Game and he cried so hard that you literally had to cradle him to sleep. That didn’t happen.

Also, he’s the most fun person at parties, especially at karaoke. There’s no song he can’t rock. The parts he can’t sing he turns into a comedy show only to then leave the crowd speechless when he proceeds to rap some of the most difficult songs in the playlist. To this day he still declines Chan’s offer to join his band, - says football and his girl keep him busy enough.

Hyunjin - that one younger kid even seniors talk about

Will show up to school one day with a beanie, a hoodie and sweatpants, and the next day, sporting leather pants, an oversized, unbuttoned shirt and with his hair styled to the millimeter. There is no inbetween. People stop and stare anyway. He pretends not to notice, but he does.

Studies to become an interior designer, but the technical aspects of it bore him to death.

Can always be found in the arts wing, either dancing or painting.

Rarely ever goes to class, and if he does, he’s usually sleeping somewhere in the back.

Has too much energy, but doesn’t let just anyone see that. He uses it to tire his closest friends and you.

He met you when the dance teacher assigned you as his partner. He thought god blessed him that day, only to regret soon after - the closeness that the choreography entailed was more than he could bear. He saw you panting, hanging onto him, lifting your shirt to wipe your sweat off, screaming his name in frustration when you couldn’t get the move right - and he was mesmerized. And while the things that went through his head were nothing but innocent, there really was something childish and pure in the way he looked at you. It made him happy, just being in the same room as you was enough for him. For a while - until the competition came and went, and you had to switch partners. No, he wasn’t about to let you dance with another man the way you danced with him.

So what started as a “We have good chemistry, we should stick together” swiftly turned into “Ok, so I can’t stand to see you in his arms. Have you seen the way he looks at you? I look at you like that! You should be dancing with me.”

And so you did. You switched back to him, won the next competition and decided to celebrate by breaking into the dance studio in the middle of the night. You danced in the dark, only your phones lighting up the room despite the power working just fine, and then drank champagne out of the bottle as you walked hand in hand back to the dorms.

No one really knows how you got together, but everyone knows you two are together.

He posts you on his Instagram every chance he gets - much to the dismay of his fangirls.

He isn’t too happy about the men interested in you either, but his approach depends on the situation. When a random guy approaches you at a party and you hold the conversation just enough so that you don’t set him off, if he had enough to drink, Hyunjin will just shove the man to the side and tell him to get lost before dragging you away. But when the extra attention you get comes from one of his friends, he’s all but ready to bring out the waterworks and threaten to divorce you. But that’s how you know - the more dramatic he is, the less hurt he is.

But despite his playful exterior, he really is your rock, the one person you can count on. Is an extraordinary listener, and always knows how to balance you and put you back on your feet.

Which is funny coming from the man who can’t word his appreciation for the food you make but instead dances as he eats to express how much he loves it.

And you’re his rock too. When the art teacher offered to extend the gallery to give him his own corner, you were the one who sat with him 10 meters away, on a bench, acting completely inconspicuous as he nervously watched the students that checked out his paintings. You were also the one who wiped his happy tears when he saw someone take a picture of his work. You really are each other's rocks.

Thank you for reading!!!! ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

#skz imagines #skz scenarios #skz × reader #bang chan x reader #hyunjin x reader #minho x reader #changbin x reader #stray kids x reader #skz #stray kids #skz fluff #stray kids fluff #stray kids drabbles #skz drabbles

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brigoesrahhh · 11 months

Note

Can I request the Spot and the reader cuddling for the first time post-spot accident? 👉👈

yes!! i love this sm

i didn't intend for this to be this long, but i got carried away and added some angst to the beginning --- i hope that's okay! (read tw)

i hope you enjoy ♡

“So… where can I put my hands?”

1.1k+ words

Summary: After Jonathan doesn't contact you for days, you begin to panic... Just when he comes back, looking completely different. Angst turned fluff.

TW: brief mention of death and losing someone. if you want to skip the angst, i marked out a spot in the fic colored like this where its just the fluff!

You just woke up from another tough sleep, the unusually cold blankets providing little comfort to your morning.

Jonathan hadn’t come back to your place to sleep last night. It wasn’t rare for this to occur — he was a busy man with a job that you mostly didn’t understand, but you were supportive regardless. It sucked when he didn’t, but you trusted him.

It had been three days since he had come home. Or messaged, or called. Dread filled your gut when he didn’t answer your calls, the endless possibilities of what could’ve happened to him spiraling in your mind. It was torture.

All you knew about his job was that he was some sort of scientist. Sometimes, when he was tired, he would complain about things he called “multiverses” and testing different experiments. Long story short, you had spent the past few days tirelessly searching for any little crumb of information about them. You learned that a multiverse is 'a collection of infinitely many alternate realities and dimensions'.

Obviously, this information did not calm your panic. Where was Jonathan?

… Was he even alive?

During your daily morning spiral, a knock on the door of your apartment cuts off your thoughts.

Your tired eyes shoot open, and you walk over to the mirror to check if you looked mildly presentable, and not like you woke up 5 minutes ago. After fixing your hair and slipping on a t-shirt lying around (which happened to be Jonathan’s), you open the door.

Expecting one of the other residents that lived in the building, your body froze when you saw…

What were you looking at?

A white figure of — a man? — stood in front of you, endless-looking holes covering its body, standing over you.

You slammed the door in its face, locking your door, and running into the kitchen, grabbing a knife. You began to hyperventilate, your brain not being able to process what you just saw.

“No- please open the door, Y/N.” The voice spoke through the door, audibly shaky.

You froze again when it said your name, and you hoped this was all just a nightmare.

... That was until you heard your name again, and a rattle of keys opening the door. You panicked and ran as far away from the door as you could, holding the knife close to you and never breaking eye contact with the creature. Weirdly enough, you thought the voice sounded familiar.

“Y/N, it's Jonathan…” It said, now almost sounding on the verge of tears, despite its clear lack of eyes, let alone a face.

“No- No, you are not- You are not real, this is not real, nope.” Hearing the name Jonathan said out loud in a voice that sounded so much like him shoke your body, your hand almost slipping and dropping the knife.

“Please… it’s me. I can explain everything, answer all your questions-”

“Prove it. Prove that you’re Jonathan.” You begged, your hands not letting up on the knife just yet. There was just no way.

“I uh- you’re wearing my shirt, the one you gifted to me on our 3 month anniversary. You hate it when I don’t come back every night, and you always leave out a little cookie for me-”

As he continued on, you dropped the knife to the floor with a clatter, and you almost ran up to engulf him in a hug, when you remembered what he had become.

“Wh… What happened to you?” You said, shock and concern filling your voice.

Skip here for just fluff! ♡

After he explained everything, you sat in a daze, walking closer to him.

"So… where can I put my hands?” You asked, carefully touching the white areas of his skin. He felt different — what used to be his soft and fuzzy arms were now smooth and flush with the rest of his body.

He looked at you briefly, and smiled, though he was a little embarrassed by his new body. He pointed at the portal’s edges while explaining.

“I’ve found it’s better not to put your hands into the portals, as it's kinda confusing. I don’t really understand it yet. The edges are fine usually, just be careful.”

“Wait a minute–” You pause.

“So you just walked back here, with no clothes on, and holes everywhere?” You say bluntly, which cracks a laugh out of him.

"Well, what was I supposed to do? Nobody wanted to sell me anything!” He laughed, but you could tell he was genuinely hurting from the whole situation. He had always been anxious, avoiding being the center of attention at all costs — and now he was practically a light in a dark room.

His response made you smile, and you walked over to your closet, grabbing one of your oversized shirts and passing it to him.

“Oo, yeah, that would actually help so you don’t accidentally slip into one of the portals.” He says, catching the shirt and slipping it on.

“You look strangely cute in that,” you blurt out accidentally, before walking over to your ‘shared’ bedroom. You sit in your bed and face the door, watching him come in with pink now flushed over his typically white skin. It made it much more obvious that he was blushing, and you giggled at his appearance.

“Come here, silly.” You lay down, pulling a blanket over your body, and tapping the spot next to you so he would lay down. A little embarrassed, he complied, sitting next to you and tucking himself under the blanket. He still lay a safe distance away from you, seemingly more nervous about this than you were.

You, on the other hand, shifted closer to him and wrapped a hand around his waist, pulling him closer to you, but still far enough away to look at his ‘face’.

You could tell he was nervous. You didn’t need to see his facial expressions for that.

Experimentally, you moved your hand to his jaw, rubbing the pad of your thumb over his chin in an attempt to calm him. When you did this, the portal on his face shrank, as if he were closing his eyes.

You smiled at this, moving your hand around his face more, exploring the new surface. Happy that he was now a little calmer, you planted a soft kiss on his skin, turning him bright pink again.

“You get flustered so easily, dear.” You giggled, teasing him.

You could feel him squirm slightly, but your hand around his waist prevented him from moving much.

“S-Shut up,” he mumbled, covering his now hot cheeks with his hand. You were quick to grab his hand, leaving a kiss on his knuckles before moving it away from his face.

All of your actions seemed to overwhelm him with joy, and he cuddled up closer to you with a satisfied hum.

"I love you," he said as he wrapped his legs and arms over your body, making sure that you wouldn't enter any of his portals.

You had missed this so much. Although things had changed, your bond had grown stronger.

“I love you too, weirdo.”

#atsv #across the spider verse #the spot #the spot x reader #jonathan ohnn #jonathan ohnn x reader

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be-my-ally · 1 year

Text

Attention needed. (Jealous Elvis Request)

Dearest anon, darling, here you are! Apologies for the *slight* delay, work has kept me far too busy and tired this week - and also, I intended this to be a very quick 1-2k, and somehow that turned into 4k….so hopefully you enjoy!!! I found it a little hard to make it Jerry, who I can’t see knowingly flirting with Elvis’ girl, but I hope I did the prompt justice by making it a -teeny- bit of miscommunication.

pairing: afab!reader x elvis

summary: Reader wants Elvis’ attention, but he refuses to give it to her so she tries to make him jealous, going so far to cozy up with Jerry.

warnings: 18+, jealous!elvis, physical altercation b/t elvis + jerry (not with reader), oral sex (elvis receiving), hurt/comfort with slightly injured!elvis.

wc: 4.4k (whoops)

You hate when he ignores you like this. It’s worse because you know it's calculated, intentional. It’s not just that he’s busy recording, or messing around with the other guys (although he is) but he’s toying with you, in his twisted version of flirting, playing with you. The trouble is that the rules to his games never get shared with you. You’re left guessing how to react, or what his aim is - does he want you to fight him? Argue until you’re forced to be “taught a lesson”? Submit - simply allow him to do whatever, ignoring both your heart and brain? Or some strange, acceptable combination of the two? It seems to change every time, and it’s impossible to guess his reactions at the best of times, let alone when he’s intentionally trying to keep you unbalanced. And it is, certainly, intentional.

It has to be intentional; his determined actions to ignore your glances over at him, ignoring you lingering in the doorway of the recording studio, your hand on his thigh in the car. In fact he’d brushed you off, not in a malicious way, but in a - I’m talking to my boys and having fun and moved my leg and didn’t even realise you were there - way. Which in some ways annoys and hurts you more; because you can’t wholeheartedly accuse him of doing it on purpose, and to bring it up would imply that you don’t want him to have fun with his friends, which of course you do.

So, it has been building the whole day, leading to where you are now. Sulking on the edge of the bed, as you hear him play-fighting with the other ‘boys’ outside, although you can’t see them - its summer and it’s warm enough that the windows are open, but even with the curtains drawn it’s too dark to see. It was late, Elvis’ schedule didn’t conform to trivial things like day and night. So, despite the lateness of the hour, it’s only just coming up on dinner time. He’ll be up in a moment to change - it’s not required for any reason, it’s just family tonight - no-one special to impress, or photographs to be taken but he still likes to look his best. Especially considering he’ll be undoubtedly rumpled and muddy from their roughhousing. All you can think is that you don’t care to think of him looking his best, you just want him to really look at you. See what you’re trying to communicate with him.

You hate how he makes you feel like it’s you who’s lacking, or who has to put in the extra effort. But still you do it - it annoys the hell out of you but you still do it. You’ve changed into a little powder blue set, teased your hair up high - just how he likes, determined to get his attention back. Your intention, is to make him look at you, force his attention onto you, which means a grand entrance. Which means that you’ll have to hide when he comes up to change and allow him to go downstairs alone before following. He won’t be able to ignore you coming in by yourself. You roll your eyes internally, at the ridiculous lengths you go to for him. When you hear them all coming into the house you dive into your little dressing room, locking the door behind you. You can hear him humming to himself - as he thuds about the bedroom, you can hear the closet door opening and closing and the water running in his bathroom as he gets himself ready and then, a few minutes later, his quick footsteps as he hurries out and back down the stairs. It’s what you wanted, but you can’t help but be annoyed that he didn’t even attempt to look or call for you.

The annoyance grows, as you wait, when he doesn’t come himself or send someone to get you for dinner, forgetting in your sheer annoyance that he has no idea where you were. You head down the stairs after a few minutes had passed, you can hear the noise of the dining room as soon as you leave the cushioned sound proofing of his upstairs suite. When you walk in, late, you expect a reaction. Sure you’d wanted him to look at you, appreciate you, but you had also expected a little more. To be denied anything else - him simply glancing up at you, and pointing to the empty chair saved for you to the left of him at the head, was borderline offensive. Normally he’d have commented either in annoyance, or out of a protective worry - checking that nothing was amiss, that nothing had kept you. But tonight he does none of that, simply turning back to his conversation - not even waiting to see if his silent order was obeyed. It was, but you’d argue simply because it was the last seat available, not because you’d wanted to.

That particular place puts you directly next to Jerry, and just out of Elvis’ reach. It’s not an unusual place for you to sit, you’d normally sit as close to him as possible; sometimes sitting up with him or him sitting with you, sometimes even on his lap, but it is rare for him to tell you where to go. He’s commanding and wants his own way, but he’s not normally so demanding in such normal circumstances. You humph to yourself but nonetheless do as he wordlessly commands - you wanted his attention though, not half a glance and an order. You’re quiet through the meal, despite the rambunctious energy from the rest of the table - everyone in high spirits from the finished recording session, and time off they had that evening.

Elvis ignores you entirely, laughing and joking with Sonny and Red who were sat closest to him, but also joining in on the conversations happening around all sides of the table - shouting down to be heard when necessary. It’s a bit of a squeeze on the table tonight with so many of the closest knit memphis mafia boys staying, extra chairs added and the table extended. Which means that while Elvis, as ever, remains with more than enough space you’re knocking elbows with Jerry. You smile apologetically at him whenever it happens and he responds in kind back at you. You like Jerry, he’s always been nice to you and you’ve never felt the competitive edge that some of the other members of the ‘mafia’ seem to have from him. You chat politely to him, but you don’t have huge amounts to talk about tonight and he’s more preoccupied with the other conversations happening around you so you mostly eat in silence.

Being this close together though does give you an idea of how you might catch Elvis’ attention. You lean over to top up Jerry’s wine glass, using your left arm across your body so that you have to place your right hand on his thigh for balance. You can feel him look down in surprise at you, clearly taken aback at the forward action, uncertain as to whether he should pretend it didn’t happen or acknowledge it. You stroke his thigh once as you linger your hand before pulling it away and he appears to hold his breath until you’ve picked up your own glass with it. You don’t look at Elvis. If he wants to ignore you, you can do the same. Time to play with him for a change. Jerry shifts a little, and you smile at him, allowing him the opportunity to pretend nothing happened. He does so, but you can tell he feels slightly uncomfortable at the suddenly charged atmosphere. You risk a sneaky look over at Elvis, and see that his jaw is tight, although he doesn’t give off any other impression of anger. Your own frustration grows, as he continues to stare away from you - even though you can see him chewing his cheek almost every time you look over - as if in silent signal that he can tell you’re watching. Still, he doesn’t say a word to you.

When dinner finishes Elvis leads the way into the TV lounge, and you follow. You need to figure out how to up the ante a little, but without taking it too far. Little did you know the chance would come quite quickly. Elvis immediately settled himself onto the large sofa, cigarillo ready to be lit, and some of the others followed. It was pretty crowded, and it wasn’t long before they broke out to some of the other rooms around, spreading out a little. It made it easier to keep one eye on Elvis, while you considered your options. You were stood near the bar - it wasn’t like you were the only one still standing, every place to sit in the room taken up (despite the fact that normally Elvis would have insisted they make room for you - you’re a lady after all), when Jerry came up to it to pour himself a drink. He asks if you want one too and when you agree he does enough for two, handing you the glass as he comes back out. You chat about nothing in particular, and Jerry seems legitimately interested in what you have to say, and you drink, until you’re significantly more relaxed - almost forgetting about your mission.

You’re two drinks in now, and that plus the wine at dinner has made you a little brazen. You lean against the wall, and you can feel Jerry’s eyes track down your body as you, subtly, push your chest out a little. You continue your conversation, not really talking about much, but you can tell he’s panicking slightly about what to say or do to you. You look over at Elvis again who’s busy entertaining - regaling a couple of the boys left behind with tales from tour, and sigh. Jerry tracks your eyes, and frowns for a moment,

“Why’d you put up with it?” You look up at him, surprised he would be so direct,

“What do you mean? I don’t, he’s just…” You’re annoyed with him but you still don’t want to badmouth him to one of his best friends so your trying to choose your words carefully, “Look, you know probably better than anyone that you can’t tell him what to do, or what not to do. So you just have to…go along with it.” His brow furrows as he looks down at you, and he turns so that you’re both facing each other while resting sideways against the wall - if you turned your head slightly you could rest your cheek on the cold wallpaper.

“It’s just - you’re a swell girl, you’re so pretty, real bombshell like, and you could have anyone, hell he won’t even say he’s in a relationship with ya!” You smile and inch a little closer, not wanting to be overheard.

“Well, thank you that’s very kind. I’m not… blind to my own attractiveness Jerry. I’m not, … look, here’s the thing. I’m not super needy, or desperate to be liked for my own self worth, but I like him, and that might make me an idiot but I do! So, I’ll put up with a little more than I normally would, because I like him, and that’s all there is to it.” He continues to stare, with a slight commiserating look in his eye. You know he understands more than most. You’ve somehow ended up even closer to one another, barely a few inches between you now.

“I just don’t think he treats you right.” He shakes his head, and you go to say something in reply but you’re interrupted by Jerry’s arm being abruptly grabbed and pulled away from you,

“What the hell you doing Jerry? Hitting on my girl like that! What’s wrong with ya!” Jerry stumbles back, and rubs his arm where Elvis had grabbed him,

“Jesus- EP, we were just talkin’ is all. We weren’t doing nothing.” You can sense that Elvis wasn’t believing him,

“Looked from over there like you were about to do more than that. Looked like you were about to try and kiss her. You going around kissin’ my girls now?” You shake your head, starting to protest, and he whirls onto you, holding up a hand, “I’ll deal with you in a second little girl. Come on now Jer - you now saying you don’t want to kiss her?” Jerry stutters back at him,

“No-I uh, god, no offense y/n. I wouldn’t E!”

“No? Sounded like you’d try, I heard you Jer, ‘he don’t treat you right’ is what you said ain’t it!” It’s like watching two cars collide in front of you, you simultaneously feel panicked by the way the conversation is going, but also can’t look away. Jerry suddenly seems to have had enough of being accused or perhaps simply aware of the inevitability of the next event and draws himself up,

“Well, so what if I did - it's true.” The sentence is barely out of his mouth before Elvis’ fist is flying.

“What the hell! Elvis! His nose!” You’re horrified at the action unfolding, but you can’t help but be a tiny bit pleased that Elvis is at least fighting for you, even if it is with a pinch of guilt that it’s at Jerry’s expense. Jerry is, unlike some of the others, not afraid of Elvis - and not unwilling to fight back, although you can tell he’s purposefully not aiming for Elvis’ face. So they scrabble together, Elvis stumbling back onto the edge of the sofa after a particularly hard shove from Jerry.

“Elvis! Jerry! Someone stop them!” You’re shouting at the other men in the room, but it’s too late - the pair go crashing over the top of the sofa, and hit the coffee table on the way down. Both of them lie flat on their backs for a moment before Jerry stands, offering Elvis his hand. He takes it, and is immediately pulled up, shirt ruffled, hair a mess (although he’s faring better than Jerry with a black eye forming and a red nose) and you step forward - “What was that all about! Of all the childish stupid things to do! Look at the pair of you!” Elvis looks over at you, his eyes blazing, panting, before storming out of the room. You turn to apologise to Jerry, and he accepts it with a small nod of his head, heading over to the little bar for a drink after the drama. He’s not one to hold a grudge, and to be fair neither is Elvis - they’ll be friends again in half hour.

You can hear Elvis shouting to himself as he tears through the house and you’re in half a mind to let him wear himself out before going in to him, but the other half of your brain is telling you not to let him rile himself up any more than he already is. So you follow, but slowly, and by the time you get into the foyer he’s sat on the sofa in the music room, leaning heavily against its back, his head tipped back and his eyes closed. You can see his chest heaving with breaths from the exertion, and can tell, from his brief wince on the inhale that he’s obviously hurt a rib. You find it hard to be sympathetic though, since it was of his own making.

“El-“

“Don’t you start little girl - I saw you flirting like a goddamn teasing whore, trying to turn me the fuck on. With Jerry of all people.” You wince at his tone - eyes wide in an attempt to protest your innocence,

“That’s not fair - he wasn’t - … you weren’t paying me any attention! He was just talking to me!” He scoffs at you,

“Well, you’ve got my attention now.” He swings his head forward to look at you and he’s calm, but you know that can sometimes precipitate further emotion from him. You can’t help but think he looks good, even as you can tell there’s bruising forming under his shirt; slightly sweaty, hair ruffled, and his shirt coming untucked. Actually, he looks a lot, and you blush as you recognise the thought, like he does when you’ve had sex. You start to stutter out some apology or explanation but your mouth has gone dry as he continues to stare at you. He crooks his fingers, the same two fingers he always does and you follow him closer. He pats his thigh and you warily approach, half expecting to be flung over his knee, he’s unpredictable like this. You try to perch delicately but he pulls you up and across with a slight grunt. Probably from his rib, you look down at him,

“This is silly - you’re hurt! Let me have a look.” You start to pull at his shirt, as if attempting to get underneath to assess his injury. But he stops you with a tight hand on your wrist.

“I’m fine, nothin’ that won’t be sorted after a shower.” His dismissive tone does nothing to reassure you, but you can’t protest when he shakes you slightly with his hold around your wrist and waist. “Now, baby, what was all that about. You gonna try and tell me again you didn’t do it on purpose?” You falter for a second, you don’t want to lie but you also don’t want to admit to your actions; you’re a little embarrassed to have stooped to such a level. “You’ve been doin’ it all evening - god, all fucking day, trying to get on my damn nerves.” Now that you will protest.

“Elvis! I haven’t! Not all day! I was jus-“

“Ah-ha!” He crows at you, “So you admit, you were this evenin’ though huh honey?” You wince, refusing to incriminate yourself any further. “Trying to rile me up all night you have - turning up to dinner late, and you think I don’t know you were hiding in your bathroom?” You look back at him, slightly stunned to be so called out, his hand leaves your wrist, trailing up to your face. He strokes the side of your cheek from the bone of your eyebrow to the base of your chin. You tremble, feeling goosebumps springing up on your flesh. He does it again, stroking down before he, with the same fingers, grabs hold of your face, gripping your cheeks in his fingers - squeezing them together.

“Say you’re sorry, say ‘sorry Elvis’.” He mimics you in a high pitched tone. You start to protest and his fingers dig in tighter,

“So-rry Elvis.” You repeat back to him, he hums back at you.

“Got a nasty habit of arguing with me, little girl. I ain’t gonna put up with that anymore. Not from you.” You nod, and his hand, almost in praise, travels up your thigh. You squirm, your heart beating fast, suddenly aware of your pulse - you wonder if he can tell. He trails his fingers down your cheeks, stopping near your throat, resting for a moment before skipping down to hold you around your waist again. He leans his head close to yours, his breath tickling your ear. “You want my attention darling, you just gotta ask. I ain’t dealing with this bratty shit no more.” His hand strokes your inner thigh, “Understand?” You frantically nod back,

“Yeah, yeah of course, of - uh - course.” You probably shouldn’t find it so hot to be told off but you do. He shifts you from leaning so heavily on his side, and you sit up completely, looking over at him sternly - you knew he was in pain. He interrupts you before you can say anything though.

“Been tryna get you to just ask me for what you want all goddamn day. But Lord did you make it difficult for me.” His eyes have a certain glint in them, and you’re not wholly surprised when the next words out of his mouth are, “Guess you oughta make me feel better then little one, you gonna make it up to me? - Go on, baby, get on those little knees for me.” You half roll your eyes, not convinced you’ve done anything that requires apologising but still you slink off his thighs to kneel between his legs. It’s not something nice girls should admit to, but it’s not a hardship for you to take him in your mouth, in fact, quite the opposite. So you kneel, letting him unbutton his trouser - his hardening cock immediately jumping free.

You lean forward, stroking him gently to full hardness. You go to kiss the tip, and his hands find their way into your hair, bracketing your head, his rings catching a couple of strands that sting a little. But, in a good way that causes your thighs to clench with each little pull. Your fingers go to gently stroke his balls, and you watch as it prompts a bead of white to form at the end of his uncut cock. He grunts down at you,

“Don’t tease me baby, that’s not how you say sorry.” He pulls your head closer, and the tip of his dick nudges your lips. You let it in, letting it sit for a moment while you adjusted to him being in your mouth again - it’s not something you’re especially skilled at, and you don’t do it often enough to be entirely used to it all but you’re certainly enthusiastic about it. You let it slip out of your mouth with a little pop, taking the time to lick a stripe down his full length, before circling the tip back in your mouth.

“Thatsa good girl, c’mon now, take it in.” You do as he commands, bobbing down again, tasting his slight salty tang, the sweat from his exertion adding to his general manly musk. Your nose brushes against his base as you open your throat, taking shallow breathes in from your nostrils. His hips jerk as you take a moment to suck, causing his dick to knock against your throat - you can’t help but gag, and you pull off coughing slightly - his hands tugging you off quicker than you’d have gone by yourself. “Sorry sweetheart,” he strokes your cheek as you catch your breath, “God you’re fucking gorgeous.” You blink up at him, through your watering eyes and he groans, his head falling back again. “Lord, if you could see yourself right now.” You smile slightly, going back down on him. Your hands come up to hold his thighs and you dedicate yourself to the task at hand. Bobbing the length of his cock, You’re more prepared this time when he can’t help but move his hips and you go with him, fighting your gag reflex. Your hand finds where your mouth can’t comfortably reach, and gently holds him in place while your other goes down to delicately stroke his balls. You go with where his hands in your hair tug you, up and down, as you feel his thighs clench.

You don’t have any particularly strong opinions about swallowing, it just depends on your mood and although he’s made it quite clear he’d prefer for you to swallow he’s not about to force you into anything. Today though, as you look up at him through your wet lashes, you can see the glint in his eye as he murmurs that he’s close, and watches you glance about, realising that in the living room you don’t have much choice, unless you’re planning on dirtying your sleeve or the couch. You make eye contact and it seems to be the catalyst to send him over the edge, swearing as you swallow him down. He breathes heavily for a few moments as you finish licking him clean before pulling off to wipe your mouth and chin clean. He tucks himself away, “That’s it. Good girl,” he sighs, thumbing any lasting traces of wet on your face away, “that was a mighty nice ‘pology.” You smile up at him. Pleased that he’s pleased.

“I really wasn’t flirting with Jerry,” You tilt your head, “…much.” He guffaws back at you, his previous black mood forgotten, looking down at you with half lidded eyes,

“S’ok darling, sorry I lost my lid with ya - shouldn’t, shoul-dn’t have. Knew you wouldn’t really.” He pulls you up into his arms, although you protest, and he starts to try to lay you on the couch. “Lemme take care of you now baby, lemme take care of you.”

“Elvis,” You start tentatively, pushing back on his hands to sit upright. “Wouldya, would you let me have a look at your side? That’s how you can take care of me, let me have a look.” He looks at you, eyes wide,

“You, you don’t hafta baby, it’s my fault.” You hush him, shifting to be sat next to him and pull his top up, he allows it - lifting his arm to help you roll it up and get a clear look. You tut at the red marks mottling his side, can see where it’s going to develop into a nasty bruise right along the line of his rib, clearly where he’d crashed into the coffee table. He winced when you push into it, but (despite your lack of medical training) you’re pretty sure that it doesn’t feel broken or cracked. Just bruised.

“Let’s get some ice on that, and then I’ll put some cream on it later, ‘fore we go to bed.” He blinks at you for a second,

“Yeah, yeah sounds like a -ah- plan.” He grunts as his arm comes down, his facial expression changes quickly, a little smirk forming although he’s still got that soft expression on his face, the one that always appears when he’s being taken care of. “You gonna nurse me back to health? Get you a lil’ cap and gown?” You shake your head at him,

“In your dreams, buddy. C’mon,” You shake his arm as you stand, “Let’s go get that ice.” He nods, following you like a lost puppy.

#elvis #elvis smut #elvis x reader #elvis fanfic #elvis presley fanfiction #be-my-ally #elvis presley x reader #elvis x you #elvis x y/n #Elvis fic request

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bookshelf-dust · 1 year

Text

the hurt is good

part i part ii part iii part iv part v part vi

billy hargrove x fem!reader

word count: 4,398

warnings: swearing, smoking, mentions of neil, reader has insecurities/social anxiety/anxiety in general, billy’s anxiety, descriptions of a wound, fluff, comfort

a/n: hi! so i worked on this for a couple days and i’ve kind of been wracking my brain with trying to figure out where i want to go, if that makes sense, but i think maybe i’ve gotten somewhere with this part. there’s definitely more opening up on both billy and reader’s side. there’s also one bit inspired by good will hunting, incase anyone catches it. anyways, this has been very self indulgent for me, and i hope that maybe you might find something in it. enjoy!! <33

before you read, listen to: fade to black by metallica and/or don’t dream it’s over by crowded house

————

It’s cloudy this morning, and you can feel the cold metal of your car door against your back, despite the layers you’ve got on.

You can feel Billy’s eyes on you too, so you focus on the details of his car rather than on him. On the shimmer the paint has in it when the light hits it the right way, the little scuff at the bottom of the driver’s side door.

You give in and turn your head to look at him, meeting his pretty blue eyes.

Billy takes a drag from his cigarette, assessing you.

He watches you pick at your nails, mess with your hair. Then you finally shove your hands in your pockets, though he thinks there’s probably lint in there you’ll play with too.

You watch him turn his head and blow the smoke in the other direction, like he does every time he has one near you.

Billy realized fairly quickly that you got to school earlier than necessary because you wanted to beat the rush of kids, spare the anxiety that came with parking.

He wasn’t really aware that parking is something that stresses people out. But it stresses you out.

And Billy has anxiety. He knows that. He feels it everyday. When people watch him in the halls at school, when he’s at home. Shit, it never stops at home.

But yours is different. You’re different than he is. He hides his well, and you don’t. Though maybe, he thinks, that’s because you never had to.

So he started getting there earlier too. Max would’ve complained, but she could skate around until the rest of the party got there. She found that she liked it that way.

Now, in the mornings, Billy pulls into the space next to you, tears you away from your book, and spends the rest of the time until you actually have to go into school talking to you—or not talking.

You’ve found that though it’s easy to talk to him, it’s also just as easy to be around him without speaking at all. You’ve found that his company is enough. His presence.

Billy notices, when you’ve turned to look at him, that you’re biting at the inside of your lip. He notices because he recognizes the movement, because he does the same thing. It’s rare that the inside of either of his lips aren’t sore because he’s chewed them raw.

“It’s going to be fine, you know,” Billy tells you. He stomps out the butt of his cigarette.

“You always say that.”

And truly, you know he’s got a point. You’ve studied your ass off for this test, have even had him look over your outlines for the essay portion too. You feel prepared.

But there’s always that voice in the back of your head, telling you otherwise.

The voice that clouds your mind like a shadow, that wraps its arms around your shoulders and squeezes.

It moves your hair to the side and whispers in your ear.

You’re not good enough. You have no purpose. You’re nothing. What are you doing here?

And more often than not, you believe it.

Billy walks toward you, adjusts the collar on your jacket, straightens the pin on the front pocket. He stares at you, a stern look on his face.

“And I’m always right, aren’t I? You’re going to be fine, in the end.”

You nod, and his mouth ticks up at the corners.

Billy bends the middle finger on his right hand and drags his knuckle across your cheek. It’s what he does now when he wants to offer you comfort.

You know it’s in place of a hug, or a kiss, or some passionate string of words that he can’t bring yet himself to say.

It hasn’t been but a couple weeks since that day at lunch.

He’d sat there, stealing food from your lunchbox and reading some book for English class. Something he’d never have picked out for himself and certainly wasn’t enjoying.

After that Billy found himself looking for you in the halls, just wanting to know you were there. It’s like when you’re a kid and your seat mate doesn’t come to school, and you feel this ache for them.

He’s not what it is, but he likes you. He likes your company. He likes that you don’t pester him or try to stomp all over his ego.

Billy Hargrove aches for you.

From then on, it’s been quiet conversations whenever you see each other, joining him for a walk when he’s outside. Sometimes he strolls down your driveway to wait for you.

It’s been nothing more than two lonely people finding solace in one another, in realizing that either person will understand whenever the dam breaks.

Billy might not know all the inner workings of your soul yet, but he feels like he does.

It’s when he asks you a question he hasn’t ventured to ask yet, though, that he realizes he wants to know more.

He wants to be your friend.

You watch the carline for the middle school pick up, listen to the shitty country music that the kids who live further out from town play on their way into the lot.

Billy knocks his ankle against yours softly. You look down, realizing that you’ve both got on the same pair of shoes: converse that look like they’ve seen much better days.

You look up, thinking he wants something. “Hm?”

“Would you want to go somewhere tonight? I don’t know,” he trails off, unwrapping a piece of gum and popping it into his mouth, “the record store? Or the bookstore, if you’d rather that. We could get something to eat.”

You feel yourself get warm all over and straighten from where you’d been relaxed against your car.

Billy senses that what he said set something off in you, and he starts to worry. “We could do anything you want.”

You inhale, avoiding eye contact with him.

“Uh, I don’t know, Billy. I’ve got to study.”

He scoffs. “For what? Your test is today.”

“Yeah, we’ll I’ve got another one next week,” you say.

“So you’re going to start studying a week early?” He asks.

“Yeah.”

You don’t sound so sure of yourself. It’s like you’re scrambling for a way out of this, for an excuse as to why you can’t spend time with him.

“My mom might need me tonight or something. I’ll have to ask her.”

Billy almost makes a quip about you having to ask your mommy’s permission to go out, though he decides against it, because you’re shrinking before his very eyes.

“Yeah?” He inquires.

You nod, shouldering your bag.

————

Billy calls you after school. Your mother picks up.

“Hi! This is Nicky. Who’s calling?”

He takes a deep breath. Your mother sounds kind, which he isn’t used to.

“Hi. This is Billy. Billy Hargrove. I was trying to reach Y/N, is she home?”

“Oh, hi, Billy! Yeah, she’s home. I think she might be asleep though.”

“That’s okay.” He tries to call her by your last name, but she insists that Nicky is just fine.

“Can I ask you something?” He continues.

Your mother doesn’t know a whole lot about your budding friendship with Billy, but she does know that you’ve seemed a little less…empty.

At least she thinks so. She thinks he might be good for you, and based on the fact that he’s calling, you might be good for him too.

“Sure, hon. Shoot.”

“Do you need Y/N tonight? Do you have plans?”

Your mother hums. “Nope to both. Any particular reason why you’re asking?”

“I wanted to see her tonight, but she said she had stuff to do.”

It clicks for him then, all at once.

“But now that I’m thinking about it, maybe she’s nervous? To go out and about? I’m sorry for saying all this, really,” Billy covers.

“No, sweetheart it’s okay.”

That almost does him in. No one parental has ever spoken to him this way. Not since his mom.

“Y/N has pretty bad social anxiety, so oftentimes she gets nervous about going out in public where there are loads of people. Does that make sense?”

“No, yeah that totally makes sense. Thank you for telling me.”

He’s silent for a few seconds, thinking. “Do you think you could check on her? If she’s asleep don’t bother her though.” He finally says.

“Hold on just a second, okay sweetie? I’ll go see what she’s up to.”

Billy smiles, and he’s sure your mother can hear it in his voice when he responds. “Okay.”

The line goes quiet on her end, and he can hear what he assumes is the sound of your mother setting the phone on the counter. He can also hear some muffled voices.

He really wants to see you, but he understands if you’d rather stay home. He would try and invite you over to his, but he’d also like to avoid that.

There’s s a large part of Billy that wants to be there for you and learn what it is that you’re feeling. He can’t say that he doesn’t get nervous to be the center of attention in crowded places, because he does, but he’s never felt like he couldn’t go out like you do.

There’s a shuffling over the phone that brings him out of his stupor.

This time it’s your voice that he hears, and it’s calm, sweet, just like your mother’s had been. You’re not upset with him. His shoulders relax at that realization.

“Hi, Billy.”

“Guess you weren’t sleeping then, huh?”

You laugh lightly. “Nope. Just wallowing in self pity. What’d you wanna talk about?”

“About what I asked you today. I’d really like to spend a little more time with you, but I don’t want you to do anything you’re uncomfortable with, you hear me?”

“Yeah,” you say. “Let me think for a second, okay?”

“Only for a second. I don’t want you to psych yourself out.” Billy can hear you sigh heavily, and he rolls his eyes. He can practically picture you, standing there.

“Um, okay. I’ll-I’ll go. Yeah, I’ll go. I haven’t been anywhere besides school in a long ass time.” That bit seems directed more at yourself than at Billy.

“Okay, little honeybee.” He’d heard your mom call for you and he was saving that one up.

“Fuck off,” you start, though there’s no malice in your voice. “Also, we can go to both, by the way.”

“Huh?” He questions, caught off guard.

“The record store and the bookstore. You offered the bookstore and I’m not letting it go.”

“Stubborn ass,” he mumbles.

“Can it, Hargrove. Are you picking me up? If so, when?”

He knows you could just walk down the street and go wherever with him. But he doesn’t want that. He finds that he’s kind of excited to see you.

“Yeah I can pick you up, your highness.”

————

Billy reaches across and pushes the passenger side door open when he sees you patter down the sidewalk.

“Thank you,” he hears you mumble, pulling the door shut behind you.

“Mhm.”

The both of you are silent for a moment, and you watch houses flick by outside the window. You wonder what people are up to. If they’re comfortable in those houses. If they’ve got carpet or hardwoods or stairs.

The radio volume is shockingly low you notice, but high enough that you catch something you recognize: the beginning of “Fade to Black.”

“Is there a reason you’re keeping the music so quiet?” You ask, and Billy glances at you for just a second.

“I was trying to not be an asshole,” he smirks, but it turns into a full, swoon-worthy smile when he sees you do the same at his remark.

“Well, you can turn it up, if you want. I like this song.”

Billy laughs. “Don’t fuck with me like that, Y/N.” He reaches for the dial and turns it up anyways. “Are you trying to tell me that you like Metallica?”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean, Hargrove?” You sit on your hands, the leather seat cold on the backs of your fingers.

“I don’t know, I’m just not used to people liking the music I like.”

You laugh.

“So which one is it?” Billy asks.

You ignore him, pretend you don’t know what he’s asking.

“Is it James?”

Your grin is wide.

“It is, isn’t it?”

“Maybe. But Kirk is pretty too. Not that I don’t think they’re all pretty, because they are.”

“Pretty?” He snorts.

“Yes, Billy.” You’re feeling brave, happiness spreading through you because you got to talk about something you like—so you go for it. “You’re pretty too.”

Billy coughs, and you pat him on the shoulder. “That’s a new one,” he tells you.

“Well get used to it, pretty boy.”

————

You’ve only been in the record store for five minutes, but Billy can sense that you’re nervous. There’s a pretty good crowd meandering through the aisles, and it’s a Friday night, so that’s no surprise.

You keep close to him, and you worry that he’s bothered by it, but you really do feel better when he’s right there.

Billy watches you flick through a set of Journey tapes, notices when you seem to panic a little if he goes too far away.

“I’m sorry,” you say, your eyes downcast at a stack of magazines.

“For what?”

“Being a buzzkill. I doubt I’m very good company.”

“Don’t say that.” His voice is serious enough that you look up at him. “You’re not a buzzkill. And you’re the best company I’ve had since I got here.”

You keep eye contact with him for a few seconds, realize he’s got freckles. That’s enough to straighten you out.

“Can we go to the back? That’s where they put the random shit they find and then it’s usually like fifty cents.”

He smiles.

“Yeah, come on.” Billy holds out his hand. He wiggles his fingers when you don’t immediately take it. “So I don’t lose you in the crowd,” he says.

You feel yourself burn, but take his hand, and his palm is rough against yours.

He leads you to the far end of the store, and you find exactly the thing you were looking for. You walk around awhile, looking at everything and nothing.

You see something, and when you go to grab it, you let go of Billy’s hand and move your own up to his bicep, where you hold on to him instead.

Billy likes you holding his arm better, he thinks. It feels more…intimate. Like you trust him. He’s not used to that.

When you catch him looking at where you’re grasping him, you squeeze his arm a little, just above his elbow. “So I don’t lose you in the crowd,” you say, giggling to yourself. You say it the same way that people day “duh,” and that makes Billy’s heart skip.

You pick up what it was that you saw: an Ozzy Osbourne bobble head.

“What did Ozzy do to them? This is fifteen cents, Billy.”

“Maybe they really like bats.”

That does you in, and the both of you start laughing, enough that you get looks, but neither of you care.

You set it back down and move on, though there really isn’t that much more to look at. Billy buys a Tank tape, and that’s all.

He tosses his bag in the backseat of the Camaro so that he doesn’t have to hold it, and then walks you back down the street towards the bookstore.

You lead the way through the aisles, through fantasy and then romance and then mystery.

It’s obvious to him that you’ve been here loads of times and that you have a plan. You also seem much more comfortable here—like it’s your kind of atmosphere.

It’s in the mystery section that you linger, though, and he watches you pick up the same book, read the blurb, and then put it back three separate times.

“Y/N,” he says.

“Billy.”

You crouch to look at another shelf.

“You should get that one you just put back.”

“I have plenty of books.”

Billy rolls his eyes and reaches for it. “This one, right?”

You look up, nod.

“I’ll get it for you then,” he states.

“Billy—” You start, but he cuts you off.

“Can it.”

“Janet,” you say under your breath.

“What was that?”

“Guess that means I’ll have to make you watch Rocky Horror.”

“I’m buying you a present, and you’re going to punish me by making me watch some chick-flick?”

You grab for his arm again, and walk towards the register. “It’s not a chick-flick, Hargrove.”

“Whatever you say.”

You watch him pay, and he hands the paperback to you on your way back to the car.

“Thank you.”

“No problem.”

You both get in, and he sits a second to let it warm a little. “Dinner?” Billy asks.

“Sure.”

————

Your mother is leaning against the counter, making herself hot chocolate when you get home. “Want some?” Her smile is contagious.

You accept, and she spins back around after turning the stove back on, realizing you’re holding something.

She wiggles her eyebrows, which she should really refrain from doing.

“Billy bought me a book,” you tell her.

“He’s a keeper.”

————

It’s been a couple days since your not-date with Billy. That’s what your mom is calling it, much to your dismay.

She’s gone out for a little while, and you’re reading that book the pretty blonde bought you.

You hear a knock and panic, because you don’t do well with unannounced visitors, but you go to the door anyways.

A look through the peephole tells you it’s Billy.

You pull the door open, and panic a little more because his eyes are glassy, though you can tell he doesn’t want them to be.

His hands are clenching and unclenching, and he’s not wearing a jacket, so he’s got no sleeve to mess with either.

“I’m sorry. Your mom’s car wasn’t here so I thought—it doesn’t matter. Can I—”

“It’s okay,” you stop him. “Will you come in please?”Something is wrong, clearly, and frankly, he’s freaking you out.

He doesn’t say anything, just follows you inside, lingering in the doorway.

“What’s wrong?”

“I need you to promise you’re not going to flip out on me if I tell you.”

Your breath catches. What the fuck?

“Are you a murderer or some shit? Because I can clean things, but I am not that good.”

“Oh my god, Y/N, no.” Billy runs his hands down his face. “I need you your help. There’s a cut on my back, and I can feel it bleeding, but I can’t clean it up myself. I was going to ask you to look at it.”

You take a deep breath, start thinking about if you’ve got anything to fix him up with.

You turn around and walk towards your bathroom, leaving him there. “I’m assuming you’re following me,” you say.

You want to ask him what happened, but you don’t want to push either.

Because he came to you. And maybe that means something.

You crouch, opening the cabinets under your sink. You gesture vaguely behind you when you wear Billy stop in the doorway.

“Sit down for me, please,” you tell him.

“Yes ma’am.”

You roll your eyes, and though he can’t see your face, he can most definitely feel it.

You push the door open wider, and you come into view for him. You’re sat cross legged on the floor.

Billy watches you pull out a washcloth, some q-tips. A messy assortment of other things.

You look up at him. “Can you show me?”

He nods, and you stand, kicking the cabinets shut. You try not to stare as he unbuttons his shirt and slips it off of his shoulders. He turns so he’s sitting sideways on the toilet.

You bend to look at it.

It’s not horrible or anything, but you know it has to hurt. It’s more of a bruise than anything, starting to get purple around the edges, but he was right about the blood—though it wasn’t a lot.

There’s a thin gash above his shoulder blade. It looks like the kind of thing you get when you bump into something wrong and it scrapes you, leaving a cut just deep enough to draw blood.

“You’re not bleeding anymore, it’s all dry now. I’m gonna wipe it off, okay?”

Billy sniffles. “Okay.”

You turn the tap on and wait for the water to get a little warmer, not wanting it to be too cold for him. You wet the rag and then wipe the dried blood clean from his skin, rinsing the fabric and then repeating that process until it’s clean.

You feel like you need something to put on it. The placement is bothering you and feels more susceptible to getting irritated. You really don’t want it to bother him.

With a little more rummaging, you find some antibiotic ointment that you’ve used for knee scrapes before.

You put some on the tip of your finger. “This is probably going to be cold, I’m sorry.”

Billy nods, and is quiet the entire time you rub it over the cut. You try not to notice how warm his skin is under your finger. Or how his bare back looks.

“You haven’t asked,” he finally says.

You wash your hands. “I didn’t know if you’d want to tell me.”

You pull out one of those oversized bandaids. “It’s my dad.”

Your fingers freeze where they tear into the packaging, but you calm yourself before sticking the bandaid on him.

“He got pissed at me today, and there’s a bookshelf in my room. He slammed me up against it, and my shoulder caught on the edge of a cassette tape.”

You move in front of him to drop your mess of supplies into the trash and sit on the edge of the tub to listen.

“It’s not the first time, and it won’t be the last. He’s fucking hated my guts since my mom left. But I guess I’ve never had someone I felt like I could come to about it.”

You feel that everywhere.

You reach out and push a curl out of his face. “I’m sorry, Billy.”

You move to get on your knees in front of him so that your faces are level and take his hands. “It’s not your fault.”

His brow furrows. You say it again.

“It’s not your fault. I’m sure you think it is, but it’s not.”

His eyes are getting glossy again. “It might be though. If I’d just been different—”

“No. Don’t say that. You’re doing your best, Billy, and that’s enough. He’s an asshole and you deserve better.”

Billy nods again and again as if reassuring himself, as if trying to absorb your words.

“Hug?” You ask.

He nods again.

And you just hold him for awhile. He doesn’t cry, but you can feel him relax in your hold, feel him melt into you.

You think about how much it means to you that he feels comfortable enough with you to share this. That you’ve never felt this way before. This ache and this sincere passion for the well-being of another person.

You also think about how he smells like cigarettes and something fruity, which you assume is in his hair, and like his cologne.

Billy thinks about how he hasn’t been hugged like this since his mom. He thinks about something else he hasn’t felt in a really long time too. He wonders how long it will take for him to get the courage to tell you. If you feel the same.

Eventually, you pull away, and Billy pulls his shirt back on, grinning at you when your eyes linger on his chest as he buttons it up.

“Would you want to stay for awhile? Maybe for dinner or something?”

“Yeah. I’d like that.”

————

When your mother comes home, she’s not surprised that Billy is there, nor upset by his presence. She’s happy to see you with someone.

She may even have wiggled her eyebrows at you both.

But now, the three of you have not only eaten dinner, but heard every bit of gossip that your mother had to offer. It was after the bean spill that your mom dugout your very worn in copy of The Rocky Horror Picture Show for you to watch.

“You know,” she’d told Billy, “when Y/N was a kid, I left her with her with Wendy and went to see a midnight showing of this. It was so beautiful, all of these people dressed up in this room just to watch a silly film.”

Billy hasn’t ever felt this welcome in someone’s home. Never even in his own.

He’s sitting on the floor in between your legs while you braid his hair and he watches Dr. Frank-N-Furter dance around with Columbia.

So, come up to the lab

And see what’s on the slab

You’ve been quiet mostly during the movie regarding talking, though Billy revels in your laugh each time Brad says something stupid—so it’s pretty damn often.

You’d also told Billy he’d look spectacular in a corset, and that was after he agreed to let you practice the makeup someday. He’d hidden his blushing cheeks from you.

“I see you shiver with antici…pation.”

Your mother is sitting in an oversized chair across from the two of you.

“She does that every time,” she tells Billy with the sweetest of grins on her face.

Billy’s hand slips under your thigh and holds on to your knee.

“Done?” He whispers.

You tie the braid off. “Yep.”

When he leans his head back in your lap to look at you, you can’t help but feel like you’re the only girl in the world.

And when he leaves that night, you miss him. You miss Billy Hargrove.

It’s been a long time since you missed someone.

You watch your mother clean up the kitchen before bed.

“He’s a grump, but I like him,” she says suddenly. “I can’t believe he let you braid his hair.”

You hide a smile, not quite believing it yourself either.

“I like him too.”

And she knows you feel more than that for him. She can see it.

————

please let me know if you liked this! feedback is always appreciated!! comments and reblogs mean more than you know. <33

#billy hargrove #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove x you #billy hargrove x y/n #billy hargrove fanfiction #billy hargrove x fem!reader #billy hargrove x female reader #billy hargrove fic #billy hargrove imagine #billy hargrove fluff #billy hargrove comfort #billy hargrove fanfic #billy stranger things #stranger things fic #billy stranger things fic #billy hargrove x f!reader #savannah’s fics

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steddieas-shegoes · 1 year

Note

So I have this one scene in my head, that won't go away unless someone writes it😅

So it's like 10 years after season 4. Everybody is "grown up" , moved away, married, have kids, etc. They have a reunion at the park in Hawkins/Indy Idk?

Eddie is watching the kids. Suddenly a woman comes up to him saying his kid hit/pushed her kid. Eddie who saw the whole thing, says his kid was just defending them self from her kids bullying. The woman asks Eddie, if the kids mother would agree to this behavior. Cue Eddie calling out Honey! And then introducing Steve as their kids mother🤣

Its not much to go on plot vice, but I'm hoping your amazing brain can fill in the blanks😅

I am a Steve secretly likes being called mom truther. Sorry to everyone who isn't. I full believe Eddie started it as a joke, but he noticed the blush on Steve's face and kept doing it, and then the kids just naturally picked up on it and refer to him as both mom and dad depending on the situation. Imagine the confusion on a teacher's face when their troublemaker tells the principal "my mom is gonna be so mad that someone pushed me" and in walks a raging Steve. It's giving comedic relief. I didn't really include a whole lot of everyone in this, just mentioned it was a reunion and had a few moments with the Party. Hope that's okay, it's just difficult to include EVERYONE in a short ficlet. - Mickala ❤️

-----------------------------------------------------------

They came back to Hawkins as often as they could to visit Wayne, especially once they adopted Hannah. Shortly after Nancy offered to be a surrogate for them, they ended up adopting Hannah’s baby sister, Lucy. In case that wasn’t enough, they still decided to take Nancy up on her offer, and they ended up with twins (“can’t do anything halfway, can you?” was Robin’s reaction) Ben and Molly.

Everything happened so quickly, all within two years, that Steve and Eddie turned to Wayne often as their calming presence.

At six years old, Hannah was a spitfire. She had Eddie’s personality despite not being theirs until she was four: unapologetically herself, loud, dramatic, and so fucking smart it scared them both. Lucy, at two (and a half!), was already well on her way to being the same way.

But this visit to Hawkins was different.

Everyone was back.

All the kids, who were far from kids now, and their significant others and kids decided to have a reunion over Labor Day weekend.

Eddie just got off a tour a few weeks earlier, a tour that proved to be quite chaotic when he insisted his entire family join him for two months on the road. Steve argued that it wasn’t necessary, that they would be fine for two months as long as he called every day, but Eddie wasn’t having it.

They took up a whole tour bus by themselves, but the rest of his band loved the kids. They brought Hannah on stage for soundcheck, they even had special headphones made just for her to be able to watch and play the instruments.

Steve usually used soundcheck time to walk with Lucy, find a place where she can run around and let loose all that toddler energy. Most venues they stopped at had a large backstage parking area for the buses and equipment vans, so while Lucy would run around and find weird bugs and sticks, Steve would push Ben and Molly in the double stroller so they could get some fresh air.

Once the doors opened, Eddie brought Hannah back to him and they went back to the bus so Steve could make them all their dinner, give them their baths, and put them to bed. They’d converted the bottom bunk spaces of the bus to a crib space for the twins and Lucy, and made the top bunk more kid friendly for Hannah.

It worked, and it was fun, and it was an experience that they all were happy to have together, but it was exhausting for all of them.

Being back in Hawkins was almost like a vacation.

Compared to the rush, rush, rush environment of tour, Hawkins was sit back, relax, enjoy the breeze.

Especially because everyone wanted their turn holding and playing with the kids. There were some points in the day that Eddie didn’t even know which adult his kids were with, but he was fine with it because Steve was sitting in his lap, more relaxed than he’d been in close to a year.

“Love you, Stevie,” Eddie mumbled against his hair, smiling as Steve curled further into his chest.

“Love you, too, baby.”

“Well aren’t you two just adorable,” Wayne said as he took the seat next to them, Ben asleep in his arms.

“When did he fall asleep?” Steve asked, voice low so he wouldn’t startle Ben.

“About 20 minutes ago.”

“You can go set him in the pack and play.”

“Nah. I wanna get as much time with these kiddos as I can,” Wayne said as he smiled down at Ben.

“Is Molly sleeping anywhere?” Eddie asked.

“Last I saw, Max was trying to get her to crawl in the living room, but I don’t think Molly is very interested.” Wayne started rocking back and forth slightly, like he did anytime he held a baby, whether they were asleep or not. “I heard Hannah ask if she could go to the park. If you wanna take her and Luce, we can keep the babies here for a bit.”

Eddie patted Steve’s back, silently asking him to let him up.

“I can take them. Stevie, you can stay here and get some rest.”

“No, I’ll come. Lucy will want someone to push her on the swings the whole time and Hannah won’t want to even look at the swings. It takes two with them.”

They made their way into the house to collect Hannah and Lucy, smiling at the way Max and Will were trying to bribe Molly to crawl with toys.

There was only one actual park in Hawkins, and the playground had only been added about five years ago as more people started moving back into town. It wasn’t impressive, especially compared to their Chicago parks and playgrounds, but Hannah and Lucy weren’t picky.

As expected, Lucy ran straight to the swings, yelling “Ma! Push me on swings please!”

Steve rolled his eyes fondly, but followed her over to them, preparing himself for the next 30 minutes of pushing her back and forth.

Hannah, well, she was a wild child. Literally, Eddie has had to drag her out of a hole she dug in their backyard once because she thought it could be her new bedroom. She cried when she thought that the bugs would hate her for leaving them. She found fun in any outdoor environment, which was good because the playground didn’t have a whole lot to offer other than one slide, a small set of monkey bars, and one tube to run through.

There were only a few other kids playing, all the parents standing off to the side or sitting on the bench.

All moms who would probably not want to talk to Eddie, especially if they recognized him and had been living in Hawkins during the whole, well, thing.

He stood away from everyone, just keeping an eye on Hannah, but occasionally looking over to Steve and Lucy. Lucy was ecstatic, he could hear her yelling “High! Up! High!” and Steve smiling as he pushed her just a tiny bit higher.

It was during one of those moments that he heard a yell and then heard someone walking over to him.

He turned to see a woman, probably pretty close to his age, coming up to him with a stern look on her face.

Oh boy.

He sighed as she stopped in front of him, her arms crossing over her chest.

He glanced at Hannah, who was being shoved by a boy maybe a year or two older than her. Hannah just raised her brow and shoved him back.

He looked back at the mom in front of him, assuming she was the boy’s parent.

“May I help you?”

“You may. Your daughter just pushed my son!”

“Is your son the one I just watched shove her?”

“If he did, it was to defend himself.”

“Hm.” Eddie glanced back up to see the boy crying and Hannah walking towards him. “Maybe your son should keep his hands to himself if he doesn’t like being pushed.”

“Maybe your daughter should learn to move out of the way.”

Eddie smirked as Hannah came up next to him.

“Hannah, wanna tell me what just happened?”

“He told me that I was too fat to go on the slide so I told him I would show him that I wasn’t. And then he tried to pull me away and I didn’t let him so he said that he was going to push me off the top. He tried to, but I’m strong, so he couldn’t. I pushed him back.”

Eddie nodded.

It’s not that he thought his kids were perfect. Far from it.

He got calls frequently from Hannah’s school that she was being too rough with the kids, and he had to remind her that a lot of kids don’t play that way. She never had bad intentions, she just didn’t know how strong she was. Kind of like a large breed dog thinking he can still sit in your lap when he’s fully grown.

But he also knew that because she had never had bad intentions, there was no way she did anything that wasn’t in defense of herself.

“It sounds like your son was rude and put his hands on her first,” Eddie said to the woman, who was turning a violent shade of red.

“There is no way her mother would allow her to act like this. This is inappropriate for young girls.”

Even Hannah knew that was the wrong thing to say.

She covered her face and shook her head and Eddie couldn’t hold back a laugh.

“What is so funny?” the woman asked angrily.

“Her mother is the one who taught her how to defend herself, but if you’d like to talk…” Eddie turned to the swings, where Steve was focused on Lucy. “Sweetheart! Can you come here for a second?”

Steve looked over to him with a frown, grabbing Lucy from the swing and mumbling something to her when she looked disappointed that they were done.

“What’s going on?” Steve asked as he looked down at Hannah, who was patiently waiting to see what Steve was about to do to this woman.

Eddie absolutely loved his children equally, he really did. But Hannah was something else entirely. He felt connected to her in ways that he hadn’t expected when they first met her. If it were possible, he would think she was his biologically with how similar they were in personality, how they both had the same dark curls, brown eyes, loud laugh, and smirk.

The woman seemed surprised to see Steve come over, but quickly went back to the angered demeanor of a moment ago.

“Your daughter tried to hurt my son.”

This woman was not going to convince Steve of that even if she somehow managed to record it on camera.

“What did your son do?”

“I beg your pardon! He didn’t do anything except try to take a turn on the slide.”

“Right.” Steve looked at Eddie, who gave a small shake of his head, then down at Hannah who did the same. “My sources seem to remember things differently.”

“Ma, he said I was too fat and then tried to pull me away!” Hannah was getting more upset now, not because she was in trouble, but because it was interrupting her playtime.

“Which one is your son?” Steve asked.

Oh no. That was the bitchy tone.

Eddie loved where this was going.

“The one getting off the slide,” the woman pointed, but immediately tried to start arguing. “She had no right to push him no matter what he may or may not have said.”

“The kid who is currently pushing another girl out of his way?”

The woman looked over and gritted her teeth together.

“Daddy, Ma, he’s mean!” Lucy yelled as she held Hannah’s hand.

“Yes, baby, he is being mean. That’s why we taught you and your sister to stand up for yourselves when someone is bullying you,” Eddie said pointedly.

“Kids like that grow up to be mean adults who don’t have friends and raise their own kids to be mean,” Steve added with a glare at the mom.

“We all have to take turns on the slide,” Hannah nodded in agreement.

“Ma! Ma! Swing again!” Lucy suddenly yelled, totally over the way this conversation was taking away from her valuable swinging time.

“Sure, baby.” Steve turned to the seething woman in front of them. “Are we done here or do I have to go on about how your son is going to peak in high school just like you did?”

She stormed off without another word, no match for Steve when he was in Mama Bear Mode.

It was so fucking hot.

Steve sighed.

“I’m proud of you Hannah Banana. You okay?” Steve knelt down so he was eye level with her, and pulled her into a hug.

“Can we go to another park, Ma?”

“Sorry, baby, this is the only one here. We can go back to Papa Wayne’s house, though.”

“Can I swing with Lucy?” Hannah asked.

“Of course. How about we swing for another ten minutes and then we get some ice cream?”

Eddie perked up at that.

“Ice cream!”

“You’re worse than the children,” Steve smirked at Eddie.

“Ice cream!” Lucy yelled.

“Can I have strawberry?” Hannah asked excitedly.

“Sure,” Steve ruffled her hair. “Strawberry’s my favorite, too.”

“Brownie!” Lucy yelled, eyes wide.

“That’s my girl! We’ll get brownie ice cream,” Eddie said as he lifted her up into his arms and walked her over to the swings.

The rest of the afternoon was uneventful, which is exactly how they liked it.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #the party #steve and eddie are parents #rock star eddie munson #bitchy steve comes out to play #mama bear mode activated

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berryhobii · 7 months

Note

Holly molly! I have just discovered you and let me tell you, you are fantastic. I think I speak for the readers when I say we can see ourselves though your work, and that makes us feel represented. Thank you so much! <3

I have an idea for a drabble, and since you are accepting requests I hoped you could write about it: a really independent reader having a horrible day but not wanting to let anyone know and fiance!Yoongi noticing and being her rock/support

Thanks for your request! Long haired Yoongi has been plaguing me for months and the thought that we won’t get that back for a while has me sliding down a wall😭😭enjoy this cute little thing about Yoongi being an awesome fiancé during reader’s small overstimulated breakdown. I also added a bathtub scene because why not?

Your horrible day started when you got to work that morning. You actually felt really good about how you dressed and did your hair today. It was a successful wash and go style. Months of trial and error had made you an expert in managing an effortless style. Apparently for your boss though, your hair wasn’t deemed “professional” for the workspace. He called it unruly and told you to get it together by tomorrow.

Then you accidentally spilled your morning Starbucks on your brand new blouse. The lid wasn’t all the way secure so when you lifted it to your mouth, it opened and got all over you. At least your pants didn’t get ruined and good thing you liked iced coffee instead of hot.

You kept backup clothes under your desk just for that though. The incident with your shirt caused you to be 15 minutes late to your meeting. It felt awkward as you slipped in the room, everyone’s eyes staring daggers into you as you shuffled to your seat. Thankfully, it wasn’t your turn to present so you still had a chance to impress them with your work.

But it also turns out that karma was an evil bitch because guess who left their flash drive in your laptop at home?!

Embarrassment couldn’t even begin to describe how you felt, your smile waning as you apologized for your mishap and promised to have it by tomorrow.

After a berating from your boss which was packed with micro aggressions, you went back to your desk to have a mini breakdown in peace which didn’t even get a chance to start since you found your chair gone once you got there. One of your coworkers explained that they needed extra chairs for a larger meeting so they “borrowed” yours. And was it just a coincidence that yours was the only one missing despite your desk being nowhere near the door?

Your brain was on overdrive, nerves overstimulated and tears ready to flow down your face. Everything was too much right now.

Deciding take a half day, you rushed out to your car, dropping your brand new scarf in a muddy puddle caused by the rain yesterday.

You wanted to scream so badly but you fought back the emotions. You’d be home soon.

Yeah. Home. That’s where you needed to be.

At least your parking spot was free…….and no it wasn’t. A moped was in its place. Great. Why the hell did those things even need full parking spaces? They were half the size of a car!!

You found another after double and triple checking it wouldn’t get your car towed because that would just be the icing on the cake.

Your apartment was warm when you entered, the scent of your favorite candles hitting your nose. That could only mean one thing…..

He was home.

Your body itched to seek him out and melt your worries in the warmth of his embrace, to let the world fade away under his nimble hands, and let your brain finally turn off as his deep voice lulled you to sleep.

But you couldn’t….

Growing up, you never had a very good support system. Your family often minimized your worries and needs, forcing you to care for yourself. You had no one to express your emotions to, no one to depend on in those dark moments. You only had yourself and while you convinced yourself that was okay, you knew deep down it wasn’t.

Then you met Yoongi. At first, you kind of ignored him, not feeling vulnerable enough to have a relationship yet. Your last one was with a guy who tried to guilt trip you into becoming a stay at home wife but that was never your style. You didn’t want to be dependent on someone like that. You wanted your own money and career to fall back on and develop. That guy kind of put you off relationships as a whole.

But Yoongi was never like that. He never tried to force you to do anything you didn’t want. He cooked and cleaned, did laundry and never complained. You did your part as well but even on those days where you didn’t, Yoongi would just pick up the slack. You’d always feel bad, insisting you’d do more housework but he’d just wave you off.

“It’s fine. I got it. I’m at home all day anyway. If you touch that broom, I’m gonna chain you to the bed but you’d probably like that.”

Yoongi was genuine. He never pressured you or made you feel like you needed to constantly be on guard.

A part of you wished you could be as laid back as him. He completed you. Calmed the storm that constantly brewed in you. Dissipated all of your irrational fears.

He was there for you. Always.

So why could you never stop that bubbling feeling that you were being too needy? Yoongi’s made it perfectly clear that you could rely on him to be a shoulder to cry on. You knew that. You did.

But you just couldn’t.

You could hear him clinking around in the kitchen, probably making himself some lunch. You could also hear music so there’s a chance he didn’t hear you come in the door.

You quietly shuffled through the living room and down the hall to your bedroom. Once inside, you softly closed the door, leaning against it as you felt your body ready to break down. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest, the weight of the day finally crushing you.

You inhaled a shaky breath, tears pricking at your waterline ready to fall but you held them back. You wouldn’t cry. Not over this.

Deep breath in. Deep breath out. 1,2,3. You’re fine. Everything’s fine.

A small knock to the door behind you made you pause.

Did he know you were home?

“Bubs, are you in there?” You used to think that pet name was so silly. Just use your actual name, right? But over the years, you’ve grown to adore it. You’ve never been called so affectionately before, not even by your parents.

“Yeah. Sorry.”

Yoongi just hummed. You could hear a little bit of shuffling before it went quiet again.

“I went to the grocery store today and there was a sale on those bulk yogurt drinks you really like. I almost got shoulder checked by this grandma. I didn’t know old people could move so quickly.”

You felt yourself chuckle a little, your fingers twisting your engagement ring around.

“But guess who got the last pack of them?”

“Did you really fight a grandma for yogurt? You’re a grown man, Yoongi.”

“Hey, I wasn’t about to let an old lady punk me.” You could imagine his cute little frown and pouty lips. “Don’t worry though, I gave her my signature sandwich recipe and she gave me a coupon for some meat. We’re having chicken tonight.”

He was so ridiculous. So silly.

He was yours.

Slowly turning around, you grabbed the door handle and opened it, finding Yoongi sitting crossed legged on the floor. He stood when you came into his vision.

His long bangs were tied up in a little ponytail with a tangerine hair clip holding it back. To most outsiders and strangers, your fiancé could look cold and distant and he sometimes acted it but to you, you knew he was gentle and cute. The most compassionate and kindest person you’ve ever met.

You two stared at each other for a few beats before he slowly raised his arms, a wide and gummy smile making his eyes crinkle up.

You couldn’t hold it anymore. The dam finally broke.

You practically threw yourself into his embrace, the tears endlessly pouring from your eyes. Your fingers twisted in the back of his crewneck, holding him tightly as if you’d fade away if you let go.

He wrapped his arms tightly around you, shushing you as he pet your hair gently.

“Today was awful, Yoongi! I s-spilled coffee on m-myself and I was late to my meeting…” You cried into his shoulder, words stuttering as you tried to talk through your tears. “And then I didn’t even have my flash d-drive and my boss told me my hair isn’t‘professional’, whatever that means….” His hand rubbed at your back, remaining silent to let you get everything out. “And I dropped my new scarf in a puddle and there was this dumb little moped in my parking spot! It’s just been an awful day!”

He kissed your temple, rocking you two side to side in an attempt to calm you.

“I know, bubs. It’s over now. I’m here.”

Yoongi let you cry, just holding you and whispering how much he loved you.

After your cries had dwindled to sniffles, Yoongi slowly pulled back to look at you. He pouted his lip at the sight of your wet lashes and red eyes. You looked drained.

His hands cupped both of your cheeks, gently rubbing his thumbs under your eyes to wipe away the streaks.

“My poor baby. You must be so tired.”

You sighed shakily, fluttering your eyes closed. “I am.”

His forehead bumped against yours. “Why don’t I run you a nice bath? Then we can snuggle on the couch? How’s that sound?”

That sounded absolutely amazing.

You opened your eyes. “Will you join me?”

His smile was sweet and full of love. “Of course.”

Your body sunk into the warm water. You normally preferred your baths hot as hell but Yoongi had sensitive skin and you didn’t want to irritate that. The temperature of the water didn’t matter much when the heat of your beloved was pressed into your back.

His smooth hands ran all over your body—not in a sexual way but in a soothing and grounding way. Although your body did tingle when he grazed over your nipples.

“Do you feel a little better?” He asked, kissing at your shoulder.

You sighed, “yeah. Thank you, Yoon.”

“Anything, bubs.”

“I’m sorry I’m still kind of bad at coming to you. I was already overwhelmed and I didn’t want to worry you.”

“Look at me.”

You leaned your head back on his shoulder, craning your neck to be able to make eye contact with him. And what beautiful eyes he had.

“Never apologize for that. If you need a moment by yourself, that’s okay. And when you’re ready to find me, come find me. I’ll never turn you away. When I proposed to you, I promised to help you shoulder all of your bad days and I meant that.”

You smiled, moving to press a kiss to his soft lips, your hand coming up to hold the back of his head. His hair felt soft underneath your fingers. “I know. Thank you. I promise to be there for you too.”

“You already are. Just do what you feel is right and when you need me, I’ll be there. You can ruin as many sweaters as I have.”

You snorted a laugh, rolling your eyes. “What am I going to do with you?”

His arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer. “You can love me.”

“I already do.”

“Good.”

…..

“Yoongi, are you getting a boner?”

“No.”

“I’m trying to relax, Yoongi! How can you get horny at a time like this? I’m getting out.”

“You’re pressed up against me naked! You should take it as a compliment. Come back!”

…….

“Does that mean bath time is over?”

“Get in here before I change my mind!”

“Yes ma’am.”

#bts #bts smut #bts x black reader #yoongi smut #askberryhobii

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cripplecharacters · 1 month

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Hello! Want to double check that I've done a decent job of avoiding disfiguremisia, and try to turn it into great counter to hatred instead of just an okay one.

Preface: I have a form of memory loss and likely brain damage so I cannot always phrase things clearly although I will try my best.

Personally I do not feel happy reading escapist stories as that happy ending is not achievable for real people. We don't get to live in a place that's completely safe and free from judgement. I'd like to write people in a hostile world who find love and safety and community, however this does necessite writing hostility. I want to make sure I'm doing so with care.

I would like to make sure that the hostility written as tension does not tar how I write how one of the main characters. He should be written with dignity and respect even when he is not being treated well by those around him.

One of my characters is blind and develops severe burn scars. He wears a blindfold to help with photophobia and sensory overwhelm, but takes it off when its dim. (CVI plus autism.)

While he does wear a cloth coverings in public due to ugly laws, he views it as a ridiculous requirement and happily removes this mask when with friends. He also enjoys that being visibly strange or somewhat unnerving to most people means that shallow people who judge by appearances avoid him.

Question: what other things might I be able to employ to counter disfiguremisia? I have him being content with his face as it tells a story of his life and he's a blunt, forward person, not covering his face for most of the story despite laws necessitating that he do so, and a few other things too (and many side characters with facial differences and deformities also).

Also none of the central plotlines centre around facial difference. He's joining a servant rebellion, befriending a bitter exile intent on status at all costs, and discovering the truth of history. (Also a mind controlling octopus being is involved and a semi sentient moon amalgam thing but don't worry about it everything's fine.)

I think later books will be a more effective counter due to lack of ugly laws and him finding a lovely interest. I will also do my best to make the counters feel real and feasible - I want it to feel like an achievable option for those who deal with prejudice in the real world. I want his happy ending to feel real.

I respect the hell out of escapist fantasies it's just that they do nothing for me personally. I really want to write someone dealing with a lot - more than I ever have - and coming out the other end happy. Yes this world is hostile and will judge me but I can find joy despite it all. Some say the world is universally cruel but I have not found this to be the case. It is wise to be wary but myself and friends can create small sections of time and space where no precautions are necessary. Am I not part of the world? Are not they? The world is not universally cruel as long as I and those I treasure live in and we are not extraordinary, simply uncommon, and what is uncommon is still a great bounty. (Something to that effect.)

I'm set on what I want to write but the specifics I'm more than happy to change in order to bring joy. Do you have ideas on how I can do this full idea full justice?

Hello,

before getting to your actual ask, I have a "few" questions about the premise of the story itself.

You mention that you don't like escapist fantasies - that's fair. Taste differs; you can write whatever and that's great. But I do find the insistence to write a story about a specific type of discrimination as an outsider rather strange. If you want to have facial difference representation, I assume you want to have readers with facial differences, correct? I mean, I don't think that many able-bodied people would be too interested in it specifically considering most don't know what it is. So okay, this is supposed to be a story of characters with facial differences overcoming centuries worth of hatred and all that. Arguably more, considering that disfiguremisia and ableism go all the way back to Biblical times.

Why are you the person who needs to tell this story?

Just as people with facial differences are readers, we can be authors as well. We tell our stories. I will take an #OwnVoices book over a one that isn't that any day, and this fact will influence the rest of this answer. I'm a firm believer in #NothingAboutUsWithoutUs and all when it comes to this stuff.

Have you talked to people with facial differences who would be interested in the kind of story you want to tell? Do you know what they want to see from an author that's not taking it from their own experience? I don't count here, because as I made clear before, I'm not and won't be interested in it. I also don't know anyone in the community who has ever said "I wish more people without our experiences wrote about how hard it is to be us!". You need to make sure there are people who want this.

So, have, or will you, reach out to those that could like it? Sensitivity readers, random people online who like to read about disfiguremisia in their free time, advocates who work on media-centric problems? Anyone who would enjoy it is automatically a better candidate to help than me. I'm too jaded, I suppose.

If you want to talk about people with facial differences in such detail and setting, you need to get to know us. One guy with a specific set of opinions from a blog on Tumblr isn't that (thank god), but I guess I can serve as a reminder that not everyone will be excited to read a book that represents them in some way. We still have preferences.

To write it, you need to involve yourself in the community, start actually spreading activism about our issues. Preach about Face Equality and celebrate when our once-a-year week happens in May. See what disfiguremisia causes. Share our efforts to get all the problematic garbage off the big screen. Read our stories. Understand us as people who are incredibly diverse, and that not all of us like to be described as strange or unnerving.

If you only want to talk about our suffering as some quota to fill on a "types of discrimination" list, it will always be flat and inauthentic, and if you don't put in the effort it's pointless. We don't want tragedy porn, and we don't need to be included in every story about struggles that just wants some brand-new type of bigotry in it. We want authors who care about us, the living and breathing people. And sometimes it might mean respecting our opinions on writing disfiguremisia.

Here is a great post by @writingwithcolor explaining the effects of tragedy exploitation. Not everything there applies, but I would consider it a very valuable read.

If you think about all this, and decide that you are ready to write such a heavy, community-based story, go ahead to...

Actual Answers! Hooray

what other things might I be able to employ to counter disfiguremisia?

Sympathize with him. Disfiguremisia is a tragedy, it's brutal and it hurts. It's traumatic and impossible to forget, even if it wasn't happening constantly just to remind us that it's still there. On this note, I would recommend you research writing characters with PTSD.

Have him think about it. Sometimes I get home after getting stared down on the street and just want to yell. You don't forget a microaggression or a hate crime after five minutes. Let him vent and let him be upset. He can have flashbacks or recall similar situations that happened in the past.

I'm glad that he's aware of disfiguremisia unlike a ton of characters who are somehow always unable to figure out that it's a problem. If the ableism he's facing is so systemic and severe, individual people will be even more extreme. You can have him remember that the shop owner was a slur-spitting bigot, or that his neighbors avoid even talking to him. I want him to call them out - in retrospective, at the moment, in his head, whatever - on what they're doing. Throw a "not this fucking thing again" or something in there.

The minimum is to make him feel like a human with an internal thought process, who is able to actually experience what's happening to him, and for it to have long-term effects.

Also, outside of the whole disfiguremisia thing and me being overdramatic, check out our #blindness tag, and research burn scar care. If you don't show the boring and mundane, it will only feel closer to tragedy porn; just a sad thing one after another.

I will also do my best to make the counters feel real and feasible - I want it to feel like an achievable option for those who deal with prejudice in the real world.

This I think is the part of the ask that made me the saddest, and not because of what you wrote. I tried to think of achievable ways; ways that we did it, tried to do it, and are doing it, and one-by-one I crossed them out as "didn't work", "no one cared enough" or "kinda worked but honestly, it didn't". Face Equality is basically non-existent, not matter how much it hurts me to admit it! We are trying our best, and it doesn't work. It's just plain hard for me to come up with suggestions for this.

In fiction, I suppose that personal resistance is the way when it comes to this. I don't think there are feasible systemic changes that could happen that don't border on magical thinking or get into the "singular glorious revolution that somehow fixes everything and everyone lived happy ever after. We fixed racism, yay!". This just sucks.He could try to educate the people who are willing to listen - that's somewhat what I'm trying to pull off here on this blog, I guess. Sometimes it works, often it doesn't, but in his situation it wouldn't hurt to try.

The fundamental part here will be whether your character is able to find a way to make the ordinary person care in the end. To me, society who still hates us just as much, with a small group that thinks we're okay isn't a happy ending. The opposite, rather. It's cold and isolating to know only your friends could value you as a human being, and downright sad to imply that we should be happy for that. I don't mean that everyone should love us in every story, but there's a difference between The Ableism being represented by an antagonist or two versus the entire world except for the main characters.

If you decide to go forward with this story, I do hope your other readers with facial differences enjoy it!

mod Sasza

[This ask was submitted before my announcement of not taking questions regarding this subject matter. As of publishing this, it still applies.]

#mod sasza #anonymous #face difference #disfiguremisia #tw ableism #long post

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ceo-of-daichi · 4 months

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LYDIAAAAAAHHHHHHUHSBDHAKAL hihihi 💗 I hope it’s ok I join your prompt game!!

May I request one for Keishin or Kuroo, whoever you feel the most like writing. With the prompt “I’m not drunk. Can a drunk person do this?…..” from the Drunken Love Confession list please??

THANK U SO MUCH!

It was rare to get a message off Kuroo this late into the night.

And if you did, it was usually a well composed, put together message. This however, was certainly not that.

You stared at the screen, light mode momentarily blinding you. You really needed to turn your brightness down or switch to dark mode. Your eyes flicked to the corner of your phone, 3:43am, before focusing on who had decided to text you at this hour.

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion, you could barely piece together the message. Luckily you didn’t need to, because as your sleep induced brain was trying to read the gibberish in front of you, a big picture of the man himself popped onto the screen.

You sighed softly as you answered the call, figuring this could be the end of your sleep for the night. As you answered, the deafening sound of indie music and what you could only assume was hundreds of people hit your ears. You instinctively move the phone away from your ear at first.

“Kuroo? Are you okay?” You ask, hoping he hears you over the noise.

“Heeeeyyyyy!! Are you doing much right now?” He slurs on the other end, you can’t help but roll your eyes.

“You mean apart from getting the 8 hours sleep I deserve? Nope, where are you?” You say, already getting out of bed and starting to get dressed into comfy clothes.

Kuroo was someone who you struggled to say no to. And seeing as though this is the first time you have been inconvenienced at this time of night by him, you didn’t mind going to pick him up.

By the time he stumbles over the address of the bar, you are fully dressed and heading out the door.

It's a brisk night and as much as you are grumpy from having your sleep disturbed, you would much rather he gets home safely. You can only guess the state he is in after that phone call.

As you pull up to the bar, you notice him slumped on the curb, a few of his friends around him, they looked to be laughing and enjoying themselves.

The minute you get out of the car, the door shutting making them aware of your presence, Kuroo lights up. His eyes lock with yours as he gives you the goofiest smile, you can’t help but mirror it as he attempts to get up.

“Your taxi awaits!” You laugh softly as his friend has to catch him, his legs tangling as he gets up too fast.

“Thank you Madame” He giggles, attempting a curtsey, but once again getting muddled and almost falling flat on his face.

“You are so drunk right now, how much have you had?” You ask, a smirk on your face as you grab his arm. Stopping him from ending up on the ground as he stumbles towards your car. You had never seen him this drunk, and despite feeling tired on the drive, you were certainly awake now.

“I’m not drunk!” He shoots you a glare.

“Uhuh… Sure you aren’t. Come on let's get you home” You wrap your arm around his waist to help him to your car.

The minute you start to help him, he stops dead in his tracks and suddenly stands very straight. You send him a confused glance at his sudden stillness.

“Can a drunk person do this?” He says, a determined look in his eyes. Before you have time to be even more confused, his lips are on yours. It's messy, uncoordinated and certainly the drunkest kiss you had ever experienced.

But with the cheers of his friend group behind you both, who had witnessed the whole interaction, you couldn’t help but feel extremely warm.

A/N | Okay so this request is from such a long time ago, and I know I haven’t posted in an AGE! But I hope you guys enjoy, I miss writing for HQ. Its been so long but trying to get back in the swing of things💛 Thank you Nin for the request!!

#kuroo tetsuro #tetsuro kuroo #kuroo x reader #kuroo tetsuro x reader #kuroo x you #kuroo x y/n #kuroo tetsuro x you #haikyuu #haikyuu!!#hq #hq drabble #haikyuu drabble #haikyuu!! drabble #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu!! imagines #hq imagines

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onlyseokmins · 2 years

Text

limbo • w.j.h.

Pairing: wen junhui x afab!reader

Genres: smut (minors dni!), afterlife!au

Warnings: this is kinda plot heavy not good smut but lezzgo just in case 😭 um daggers (no knife play tho dhdjjs), lil bit of threats and maybe violence, junhui deserves a warning himself I think he's hot, tying up/tentacle play kind of but it's shadows um like idk how to describe it 🤡 supernatural things!, biting 🦷, mentions of blood, death, lil bit of angst but I'm fluffy as usual <3, lots of mentions of souls and afterlife shenanigans, thigh riding, mirror sex, pls forgive me and just hmu if I missed smth

WC: 2.5k

A/N: for the lovely @katetattoolover <3 mwah I hope you enjoy this even if my brain died halfway writing it ndksksks another unplanned thing but limbo is just too powerful... Also for my huihuis mwah ILY... Idk how to describe this but I'm in a spooky mood bc of Halloween fics so this kind of played into it ig? I just like the plot 😭😅

If you were in heaven or hell, you didn't know. And you didn't care.

The fact of the matter was that you did know where you were.

Limbo.

The great boundary between worlds. Soul suspended, unable to leave. Not until you made a decision based on the knowledge gathered about your death that you learned here.

Neither heaven, hell, or earth.

A bleary place full of everything and nothing. Guarded and watched over by the enigmatic figure whose dark eyes were trained on you.

Blonde tresses tinged with white highlights are smoothly swept up in a ponytail to display his ears where little diamond studs twinkle like stars. When you'd first met him at the gates, he'd been wearing what you could only presume as combat armor, despite its lack of protection across his midriff. Vainly showing off his well-defined abs.

Now, he's donning a ruffled white blouse that looks like something old paintings of the founding fathers would have been dressed in. It suits him though, the v-cut down the front granting a delicious view of his décolletage and scorched ends adding to his devastating visuals.

You wonder how no one has succeeded in brutally attacking him with how exposed his outfits were but you suppose his eerie beauty is enough to render anyone immobile. Besides, even when his disinterested gaze shifts from you to the large glass of what you hope is simply wine, you can feel the shuddering intensity of the power he holds. Dangerous enough that it causes even your soul's shape to ripple in the stagnant air.

"You're a curious one, you know? Most are on their knees, begging for mercy."

"Is that what you prefer? Begging?"

The red liquid swirls as his fingers tap against the side of the glass. Silver hand jewelry accentuating the veins on his hands sparkles under the low, candlelit glow of the chandelier and matches the smirk that grows on his red lips.

"Only from those who dare to threaten my authority."

A silver, pearl-encrusted dagger lays on the floor between his golden throne at the table of gluttony and where you stand defiantly down on the concrete floor. Your wrists are bound together in front of you by a writhing strand of black shadows that spew out tiny hisses, much stronger than they look.

"I told you, I don't know where that came from. It's not mine!"

"Oh but darling," he laughs — though it's without humor, "it is."

You bare your teeth like a wild, caged animal. "I don't know a single thing! I just arrived here, someone has to be framing me, that dagger is not mine!"

Heeled boots create an echoing thud through the room that seems to enlarge and shrink at the same time. He bends down to pick up the dagger, turning it in his hands and inspecting it.

"This definitely belongs to you."

You stomp your foot. "No, it does n — "

"Because it was originally mine."

Your breath catches in your throat. Not just in response to his statement but because of the sharp point of the dagger inches away from your jugular. You may be an incorporeal existence now but fear fails to leave your instincts. Especially with a powerful entity's threats that could truly hurt you.

"Do you want a new life that bad?" he questions and for some reason he almost sounds… wistful? You're able to feel the cold steel against your chin as he taps the dull side of the dagger underneath it so you meet his searing, scarlet irises with a wide-eyed gaze. "That can't be it. There should only be one reason why you're standing before me."

"... Which is?"

"To return to your rightful place."

You attempt to take a step back but the shadows under his control swirl around your feet, anchoring you in place as he leans in.

"I don't know what you're talking about!"

"To come back to me. My queen."

"What?"

"The only other rightful ruler of Limbo." He's close enough that you can smell the sweet but smokey scent emanating from him, the dagger still poised between the two of you. "Allow me to remind you, my beloved."

Shadow wisps tickle your cheeks, encouraging you to close your eyes as they wrap around you. You think you should be terrified, screaming and struggling in protest. But the caresses of darkness welcoming you have nostalgia entangled within. A strange but familiar sense of comfort has you willingly grant them access into your mind to reawaken suppressed memories of a past life.

An arranged marriage. Heavy crowns. Lovelessness. A kiss stolen under the stars. Satin silk sheets. A dagger decorated with pearls. A promise, an oath. Blood. A chained box. Death. A name.

"Junhui," you breathe out.

"My love," he affirms with a hushed whisper of your own name.

Your eyes reopen with a glow, drinking in his features with a different sense of appreciation. One that holds recognition and fondness. Utter longing.

"How did this happen?"

He gently takes your hand, releasing your hands from the bindings and leads you up the stairs.

"After the soldiers cut me down, I found myself here. Searching for you, for a sign. Instead I found this." The ornate chair next to the one he was sitting on holds an old, beaten-up wooden box with heavy silver chains. It lies open but empty. "The higher beings told me I would have to wait and be patient… that I would have absolutely no doubts when you finally arrived."

You take the dagger he holds out to you, the same as you did on that fateful yet tragic night. Fragmented memories piece together the events that led up to your demise. Frantically digging a hole to hide the box containing the written love notes exchanged between your lover. The dagger should've joined them but the devastating news your personal maid delivered to you was buried into your body instead of the ground. Infused to become a part of your soul.

A sob unwittingly escapes. "For how long?"

"Too long." Junhui sighs. "I lost count thousands of years ago."

"I'm so sorry — "

"Don't. You've come to me now and that's all that matters."

"Jun…"

"Welcome to my lost world," he wipes away the tears that trail down your cheeks. "I've built it all for you, my queen. No one can defy or separate us now."

It is not the paradise you envisioned in your mortal lives nor the nirvana your soul imagined it'd be sent to. But that didn't matter because you realize that what you've always wanted — who you've always needed — was standing before you. Welcoming you with an open embrace.

"So, what happens now?"

"We must ensure that your soul is bound here… and to me so it won't move on or disappear… if that is what you want. You must make a choice."

You brush the strand of hair that escaped from his ponytail behind his ear. "What choice is there to make? I want to stay with you, to be with you. What must I do to make that happen?"

Junhui bites his lip. With a deep breath, he walks you over to where a shattered mirror sits in the corner. You try to hold back a scream and whimper instead, watching through the cracked glass as Junhui's arms wrap steadily around you — but nothing of you visible — in the reflection.

"Oh my g — "

"God can't help us now, beloved. He was never on our side to begin with." You nod pensively and Junhui continues. "Would you allow me to touch you, darling? Like before? I must bind your soul here and to do that, I will have to claim you as mine."

You turn to face him with a smile. "Aren't I already yours? Years ago, hidden under the veil of night?"

He beams back at you. "I take that as a yes, then?"

"Yes" rolls off your tongue and then Junhui's pressing his lips against yours. Running his tongue across your lips to seek permission, you chase his mouth as he walks backward until he's seated on his chair.

You fall against him, knees planting on either side of his thighs cushioned by the plushy surface. The ruffles on his blouse tickle your sudden bare skin and you pull away, looking at him in shock.

"Special privileges," he smirks devilishly, "I can manipulate the Limbo landscape quite easily so making your soul bare for me takes little effort."

"Will I be able to do the same?"

"Of course, my queen. And more." He takes your hand and places it over his chest. "But it's not like you need any powers to strip me, my dear. And I hope you'll use those kinds of powers on no one else but your king."

It's an invitation you would never refuse. The sound of tiny buttons and the clatter of the dagger hitting the floor fill the room as you rip off his shirt and slide it down his shoulders. Your hand trails down his pecs to the abs you were graced with upon your arrival, following the defined veins that disappear into his pants. He halts you when you start to slide down and you frown.

"I thought you liked people begging on their knees?"

"I do… but only in certain cases. Perhaps we can save that for another time, I'm supposed to be worshiping you, my love. Encouraging you to stay with me. Uniting our souls."

You want to tell him that you would not leave no matter what. But you know the strange workings of the afterlife and anything before, between, and after have strict rules that must be followed.

So, you relent. Letting him take control, peppering your upper body with kisses as he runs his fingers up and down the sides of your body. Committing it all to memory once more. Though you are no different to him than you were centuries ago.

The sting of coldness from his rings and fancy jewelry comes as a shock. Junhui feels you jolt against his hold and pauses, looking up at you from where his head is positioned between the valley of your chest.

"Are you okay?"

You nod, explaining the sensations, and he smiles contently; resuming his journey across the curves of your body. The soft material of his pants press against your center as you slowly begin to sink down on his thigh, submitting to the thrall of pleasure. As he tenses the thick muscle, you feel the breath of his snort when he guides your hips to move.

Sharp teeth graze the supple skin of your breasts and you furrow your brow, fingers running across his equally razor-edged jawline as you gently push his head back. Lidded eyes gaze at you with a lust-filled yet yearning look as you inquisitively explore his mouth.

Marveling at the same features you'd gawked at in your previous life, all motions halt as your lover dutifully lets you run your finger across his fangs. Earlier, his tongue had focused on tangling within your mouth in fear of potentially slicing you.

But as you prick your thumb on the point of his left canine tooth, no pain and no blood comes as you are neither dead nor alive. Giggling, you press a kiss on the mole right above it and gleefully show him.

"You can't hurt me."

"Not yet," he winks and encourages you to move your hips again. "As long as you're nice and wet, it won't."

"I don't think pain exists here."

He frowns, eyes darkening. "It does. I was so very lonely. It deeply hurt and ached so much that I slowly became numb. But all of that is a distant thought, overshadowed by you in my arms and on my lap."

You kiss his nose next. "I don't want you to feel lonely anymore. I'm here to stay with you for the rest of eternity."

He turns you around and you gasp. What once was reflected in the empty, cracked mirror now shows a depraved image. Junhui's hands move faster, one hand moving down to spread your cunt open for you to see while the other fondles your tits.

Leering over your shoulder, he harshly sucks on your neck before biting down lightly. You moan. Head thrown back as his fangs pierce you but once again, no pain is felt and no blood is spilled. Just pure bliss and pleasure.

"Look at you," Junhui praises. "Look at how beautiful you are when you finally sit on this throne."

By throne, he must mean his cock. The diamond encrusted belt is slipped off and dropped on the floor, his fingers busy as he unzips his pants. You feel his hard length slap against your back, having shifted forward to give him space to move.

His shadows aid him, lifting you up a decent amount and playing with you a bit to stretch you out before they ease you down on his thick girth. You throw your head back against his other shoulder and he takes the opportunity to lick up the opposite side of your neck. Biting as he pleases.

You both let out synonymous moans when he bottoms out, gasping at how fiery his gaze is that it's almost melting the glass of the mirror as he stares you head-on.

"Your beauty shines in this abyss."

If you could, you'd ride him into oblivion but the burning stretch of his thick cock is overwhelming enough that even your supernatural body cannot escape the plethora of pleasure surging as your hole clenches tight around it. Luckily, the shadows sweep forward at his beckon once more, tendrils wrapping around your ankles in the effort to assist your feeble movements.

It's far from scary because they are just another part of him. Curling around your nipples, brushing tenderly at your cheek, tickling your clit… yet it feels like Junhui's hands are all over you. Even though you know he hasn't moved away from your hips as your nails dig into his forearms from the intense up and down motions, ass slapping against his thighs.

You can feel a distinct power surge — twisting and turning as your drooling figure becomes more and more defined in the melting mirror. The Limbo is welcoming the long awaited queen into its domain, accepting the share of powers as the king ravages his beloved on the very throne he once spent decades crying upon.

"You are mine, aren't you, my queen?"

"Yes, I am yours… my king," you huff out, surrendering to your climax with an otherworldly scream as your soul adjusts to its newfound abilities as he joins you in a blazing release deep within your cunt.

Sweat makes your skin glisten as you lay in Junhui's arms panting. The shadows come forth once more — at your command — solidifying into an elegant black outfit.

The king hums in approval. "No crown is needed to represent your authority, but I will give whatever gems and riches you desire."

"I want nothing but you."

"Isn't it funny? Alive, I could offer you nothing but now in this realm of ours — anything is possible."

You kiss his forehead, smiling extra sharply with your newly acquired fangs. "Thank you for waiting for me."

"Thank you for coming back." Junhui whispers against your lips. "Now we have the rest of eternity to make up for what we lost."

Bound together. Forever. In Limbo.

#ez.creates #svt smut #seventeen smut #kpop smut #junhui smut #wen junhui smut #jun smut #Pls forgive me for this it was fun while it lasted istg #svt.smut

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starrydixon · 1 year

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Needles and Pins

*Requested from this ask :)

Era: Pre-Apocalypse Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader Pronouns: Non-Specified Word Count: 2.4k Warnings: language, alcohol consumption, slight violence/gore, getting into fist fights

Summary: When you and Daryl’s laid-back night out takes a turn, you both aren’t afraid to show off the damage that your strong personalities can cause.

A/N: I’ve never written a fic that is based off of a song/lyrics or Pre-Apocalypse!Daryl before, so apologies if the flow seems a bit choppy or if the content doesn’t match the song, this was just how I interpreted it (Needles and Pins - The Deftones). Nonetheless, I hope you enjoy reading!!

All of your life, you have always been a force to be reckoned with. Strong, fierce, stubborn, and unforgettable are just a few words to further describe you. Sometimes, it was either your way or the highway, while other times you didn’t care which way it was. Although you thrived in the comfort of staying out of the spotlight as much as possible, you never had an issue being in it if it so happened to shine on you. Whether that be from kicking your elementary school bully’s ass at recess, or telling a previous boss where they could shove it after wrongfully commending you. You knew your worth, and possessed just enough respect for yourself to let others know it as well.

Although a man of few words, Daryl Dixon didn’t let anyone or anything change the way he did things; it was admirable (though most viewed it as infuriating at times) how he stuck to his morals no matter what. As much as he tried to avoid it, he never shied away from a fight if it came its way, especially if it involved defending someone he valued or giving someone what they deserved.

Since the day you two met, you and Daryl have been able to admire each other's strengths and ambitions; despite having two very strong personalities that often resulted in the two of you butting heads. After bringing in your nearly broken down car to the shop Daryl was working at, you had begun to loudly commend the mechanic who was trying to hustle you into getting more expensive repairs done to your car than actually needed. Daryl had seen (and heard) your act of defense and found himself quickly rushing to your aid in heckling the amateur swindler.

Ever since that day, you and Daryl had become inseparable; drawn to each other's unique flame. It happened subtlety, and then all at once, when you two fell in love with each other.

You’re pins, Daryl’s needles.

Now, after suffering from another grueling work week that left your muscles aching and having caused your brain to practically turn to mush, you started the weekend right by spending the night out with Daryl at a sleazy bar that smelt of stale cigarettes and pungent alcohol. You both didn’t care for the amount of intoxicated bustling people that filled the small confined space of the hazy bar; you instead enjoyed being able to hide out in one of the corners of the bar, concealed by the dim light fixtures that casted shadows over you when sat in one of the wooden booths.

When you were together, it was easy to tune out everyone in the crowd.

“So, what are we betting on this week’s game of darts?” You asked while setting down the glass that held your Shirley temple.

Blinking his mystified gaze away from your fruit garnish cocktail, Daryl shrugged his shoulders loosely. He could never fully understand you at times, seeing you as much of an enigma as you saw him. You had no problem getting your hands dirty when accompanying him on his hunting trips in the springtime, or standing up for yourself when a customer at work started to become a little too entitled. But at the same time, you preferred drinking fruity cocktails over liquor and enjoyed going to the mall to window-shop at clothes, shoes and accessories that fit your unique style.

You amazed him in every way possible, like a blazing star falling from the sky.

“Losers gotta pick up the tab.” Daryl suggested from over the rim of his beer bottle.

Groaning, you let your head fall into your hands as your elbows sat perched on top of the scratched up wooden table. “We always do that…it has to be more interesting this time.”

“What could be more interestin’ than almost goin’ broke?” Daryl frowned in disbelief, which caused a shadow to cast over his eyes due to his furrowed brows.

“It’s not interesting—its just sad.” You defended while crossing your arms over your chest. A pout began to jut your lips when you thought back to all the times you’d check your bank account the following morning whenever you’d lose to the precise archer.

Daryl just hummed in acknowledgment as he leaned back in the practically disintegrated cushions of the booth. With the neck of the glass beer bottle hanging loosely between his fingers, Daryl pondered over a more enticing bet that was interesting and didn’t pack a painful blow to either of your bank accounts.

With two strong personalities going head to head, it was no surprise that you and Daryl began to bicker back and forth for the next few minutes, trying to agree upon a suitable wager. When it was finally settled, and you were both content with the risks, you slipped out of the confining booth and waltzed over to the dart board that hung in the corner you were occupying. When close enough, you began to pluck the handful of darts from off the board that was made up of cork.

Spinning around on the heels of your shoes, you refaced Daryl, who had brought your drinks over to one of the tall bar tables and was looking at you as if you were the only person left in the world. Despite the years of having been together, you still felt heat rush up your face at his wordless declaration of affection.

You’re pins, he’s needles, let’s play.

“So, who gets to go first?” You proposed as you silently prayed that the dim lights that lit up the bar was enough to conceal your rather juvenile flustering.

“After you.” Daryl mused while outstretching his arm and gesturing his hand towards the dart board.

With a nod of your head, and a confident smile gracing your lips, you started the first round. You tried not to let your sudden adrenaline rush get the best of you, or the look of adoration Daryl kept gazing at you with distract you. With each precise throw of your hand, you tried to make each dart count. Although not scoring any bullseyes (or even getting near it), you didn’t let it deter your confidence.

When you were half-way through the game, after having just finished the fourth round, the score was neck and neck. Although Daryl was leading, your throws were becoming more precise and consistent with landing near the center of the target. Setting the stub of a pencil down on the table beside the scoring sheet, you glanced over at Daryl, who was gulping down the last drops of his beer.

“Ooh, is someone getting nervous?” You teased with a light lilt in your voice. With a jut of your chin, you motioned towards the now empty beer bottle that Daryl held loosely in his hand.

Rolling his eyes and letting out a scoff, Daryl motioned towards your empty cocktail glass. “Says you.” Unable to stop the broadening grin from stretching across your face, you let your chin fall in your hands as Daryl stood up from the table. “You want a refill?”

After nodding your head, you watched as Daryl began to depart from you. Before he had the chance to completely disappear amongst the crowd of hazy and intoxicated people, your light voice beckoned him back. “You’re gonna leave without giving me a kiss first?”

Spinning around on the heels of his worn work boots, Daryl raised an eyebrow at you while the corner of his mouth quirked upwards in a smirk. Without having to say anything, Daryl sauntered back over to you, his concealed smirk only broadening the closer he got, and leaned down to give your soft lips a quick, but sweet, kiss. “I’ll be right back.” Daryl murmured just a few inches away from your lips as he slowly pulled away.

“I better get another one of those when you get back.” You looked at Daryl with hooded eyes as a rather love-struck smile fitted your face.

Letting out a light chuckle, Daryl nodded his head in agreement as he backed away from you. Before you knew it, his prominent broad frame disappeared into the crowd. Having so much of your attention focused on the game of darts and Daryl, you hadn’t noticed how pact the bar had begun. Despite the intimidating confinement, you tried not to let it deter your mood.

Your eyes flickered from person to person as they passed, waiting to land on Daryl’s handsome face when he would eventually emerge through the crowd again. As the seconds began to turn to minutes, and those minutes became more prominent, your worry increased. You knew the bar was busy, just by judging from the bouts of people alone, but you figured Daryl would’ve come back by now.

Just as you were ready to investigate what was taking your boyfriend so long, you quickly received your answer when a sudden boom of rowdy drunks began to cheer and chant.

Your gut was telling you that Daryl was somehow involved.

With a new wave of adrenaline spiking your nerves, you departed from your table and pushed through the mass of people who had begun to crowd around the main floor of the bar. When you emerged from between two particularly enthusiastic men, your eyes fell on the back of Daryl’s head, just as he was in the middle of swinging a right hook into someone’s jaw. Cursing under your breath, you flinched when the crowd’s instigating cheers became louder.

“Daryl!?” You shouted once you regained your bearings. Although you knew Daryl was fully capable of handling himself in a fight, that didn’t mean your worry lessened. He was still getting hurt, even if he was currently winning.

When your wavering concerned voice reached his ringing ears, Daryl instinctively looked for your face in the crowd when his opponent was momentarily stunted. His erratic eyes finally met your widened ones, and he was only able to throw a hand up in a stop gesture towards your inching closer body before getting punched in the face with unrelenting force by the now recovered drunk.

You watched in horror as Daryl stumbled backwards, his body falling onto a table as his eyes glistened in a daze. Wooden chairs tipped over and glass mugs and plates crashed to the floor due to the impact of Daryl’s body against the wobbly table. Your ears rang as you watched the smug drunk throw a punch to Daryl’s exposed abdomen; since Daryl was using his arms to block his face. You didn’t care what had caused the fight, or about any of the people who were too busy enjoying the entertainment that the fight brought them instead of attempting to stop it. All you could see was red.

Your boyfriend, your Daryl, was getting hurt. There was no way in hell you were going to allow yourself to stand there and do nothing.

With your hands clenched in tightly bound fists, you marched over to the two men. Although the opponent had a good foot over you in height, and god only knew how much in weight, you weren’t scared of his size in the least. In fact, it only spurred you on; encouraging you to take down the man who was twice the size of you and humiliating him in front of a bar full of people.

He didn’t know it, yet, but he had fucked with the wrong couple.

“Hey!” Gaining the attention of the opponent, you swung your fist directly into his nose. You could feel the bone structure crack under the impact of your knuckles, and could feel your skin tearing from the collision.

You didn’t let the pain deter the upper hand you now held. Grabbing a handful of the man’s stained shirt, you pushed him down onto the bar counter and swung relentlessly at his already bruising face. After you had landed a hard hook to the man’s jaw, you felt your body stumbling backwards as all the air left your lungs. In an attempt to get you off of him, the drunk had kneed you in the gut and shoved your shoulders back with all the might he could muster.

You’re pins, Daryl’s needles.

“Sumbitch!” Daryl growled as you struggled to regain your lost balance.

Placing a hand on your wheezing chest, you watched as Daryl grabbed a half-full beer mug from off the bar counter and smash it over the man’s bald head. Despite having stumbled a safe distance away, you still shielded your face with your arms as sharp pieces of shattered glass and droplets of toxic malted barley flew everywhere.

When you were able to regain your breath, you shouted for Daryl when the shade of red that had been blinding you ceased, and the reality of the scene you were staring in had begun to set in. Thanks to you and Daryl’s tag-team fighting style, the man was practically unconscious and bleeding from every orifice that was on his head. The crowd’s once enthusiastic chants had quieted down dramatically, making the sound of Daryl’s fist colliding with the man’s broken face the only sound that filled the bar.

Who wants to fuck with us now?

Quickly, you pulled Daryl’s tense body off of the man and shoved his heaving body towards the exit. You feared that authorities were finally being called, and you didn’t want to get caught in the center of it. As you made your way back to your booth in order to grab your belongings and leave a few bills on the table for the drinks you had ordered, the dismantled crowd parted and made a path for you and Daryl to walk through.

The cool night air hit your flushed face once you exited the sleazy bar. If you strained your hearing enough, you could make out the distant sounds of sirens that seemed to get louder the longer you stayed put in the parking lot. “C’mon.” Daryl grunted as he grabbed your hand and tugged you towards his parked truck.

You and Daryl would do anything to protect the other, and weren’t afraid to do so whenever and wherever the occasion arose. It was an unspoken promise the two of you had made, having each other's backs no matter what. No questions asked, and no judgment. For times like these, both of your strong personalities never ceased to give you an advantage.

You’re pins, he’s needles.

Make a pact with each other.

Who wants to fuck with us now?

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon x y/n #the walking dead #twd #the walking dead fanfiction #twd fanfiction

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karatekels · 4 months

Text

TIGmas Day #8 – What You Do To Me

Today’s request is for @iliketoboopacat, who has requested KK3 Terry doing what only Mr. Silver can: overwhelming Reader with adoration that crosses over into sweet, sweet torture. I hope you enjoy!

Summary: You and Terry have been together for quite awhile now and he is crazy about you. Before he can tell you that he loves you, he decides to test your loyalty by seeing how you respond to another man trying to seduce you at a gala. Once you pass his test with flying colours, he sneaks away with you to confess his love, and shows you just what it’s like to have his full devotion…

TW: Deception; unhealthy relationships; dirty talk; edging; overstimulation; degradation kink; crying kink; praise kink; fingering (vaginal); graphic sex;

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What You Do To Me

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Reader’s POV:

The interior of the Ennis House had been transformed into a thing of pure fantasy, and you had been decorated along with it. DynaTox’s annual Christmas party was being hosted at its CEO’s home for the first time, an uncharacteristically vulnerable choice that let the employees and their guests have a glimpse into the life of the man himself. One would almost think that as they stepped over the threshold into the house that they had been transported from California to the mountains of Colorado, fake snow mounded around the bases of real pines. An honest-to-goodness ice rink had been constructed in the Grand Ballroom, the waitstaff skating amongst the guests with trays of champagne and hors d’oeuvres in hand.

Despite all of this revelry, there’s only one thing on your mind.

Where’s Terry?

This is the first elite party you’ve attended where you are also playing the hostess. You had anticipated that Terry, who normally kept you glued to his side constantly, would be even more insistent to have you with him – the two of you had been together for long enough now to be considered serious, and he had made clear his intentions to get you used to being in his circles.

But now, when you needed him around, he was nowhere to be found. You ordinarily felt a bit at sea when you weren’t by his side, especially at lavish events like these, but now that you were in a way responsible for the event you feel like you’re outright drowning. Servers, caterers, and security had all come to you for directions, and you have been doing your best to guide them, hoping that everything would go off without a hitch. So far, it had.

“Excuse me, Y/N L/N?” comes a voice from behind you, and you turn, bracing yourself to put out yet another fire.

Instead you find Michael Nelson, the star quarterback from your high school days. He seems to have grown nicely into adulthood and success, judging by the way his expensive suit fits his strong build. Was this some sort of a weird dream?

Michael had been the first man you had fallen for – but then, all the girls had fallen for him back in the day. But you had been friends and neighbours growing up, you knew each other.

You’d thought you’d had a chance with him, but the opportunity never came.

It had taken you quite awhile to get over your infatuation, and looking at him now you still have those childish butterflies in your belly. The man was the epitome of the one who got away, after all.

“Michael Nelson!?” you say his name with incredulity. What was he doing here, anyway? He didn’t work for DynaTox, not that you knew of anyway.

“You remember me!” he exclaims, giving you a warm smile that would’ve made you melt back in school. Instead, it has you worrying about Terry taking this moment to appear – he doesn’t appreciate other men chatting you up.

“Of course I do, Michael,” you reply distractedly, scanning the ballroom for Terry. “How have you been?” Your brain doesn’t even register his response, letting him talk to himself as you try to find a way out of the conversation.

“Y/N?” he asks, trying to reclaim your attention. Your eyes reluctantly slide back over to his; you don’t want to be rude to him, after all.

“I’m sorry, what did you say?” you ask, giving him an apologetic smile.

“I said that I’m glad I ran into you; it’s been awhile. And you look wonderful tonight.”

His eyes roam across your expensive, form-fitting velvet dress, and you’re grateful that you elected to wear this one with the turtleneck rather than a lower cut neckline as his eyes linger on your chest.

“Thank you, Michael. So do you.” You return the compliment with a complete lack of enthusiasm, and he pretends not to recognize it, sensing that you’re going to try to leave the conversation.

“Can I get you a drink?” He cuts in eagerly, head inclined down towards yours as though he was trying to hypnotize you into accepting. “I would love to catch up and hear about what you’ve been up to since we last saw each other.”

“I’m sorry, I actually need to go tend to a few things. I’m one of the people in charge of this circus! It was… nice running into you.”

You turn and walk away from him without another word, your eyes now scanning the party not just for Terry but for anyone you recognized who would be able to keep Michael at bay. Miraculously your eyes land on Margaret, and you make a beeline for the older woman trying not to look too desperate.

“Is everything alright, Miss L/N?” she asks as you approach, taking in your panicked expression.

“Have you seen Terry? I can’t find him anywhere!” You’re doing your best to appear at least somewhat poised, not wanting to look too pathetic – you couldn’t expect Terry to solve all of your problems for you, after all. He already did so much…

“Mr. Silver had an important matter come up that he needed to attend to. He’ll rejoin the party when he’s finished.”

You bite back the small pout you feel start to twist your lips; you hate being at these sorts of events without him, but to be partly responsible for making sure things ran smoothly in his absence is an entirely different level of overwhelming.

“What are we going to do? The staff keep coming up to me for instructions, and I don’t know what to tell them!” you ask, your brows knitting together. Margaret lifts an eyebrow at you.

“I will handle any issues that arise, Miss L/N. Mr. Silver rarely troubles himself with organizing the events he plays host to. You should enjoy your evening,” she suggests firmly, dismissing you without another word as she turns on her heel and disappears into the crowd. You briefly look around for anyone else you recognize that you could start a conversation with but give up after a moment, needing to just get away from everything now that you know you aren’t needed to help the evening go smoothly.

You make your way out onto one of the small terraces that lined the property of the Ennis House, trying to keep to the shadows as you take a minute to yourself. You know that it’s silly, feeling disappointed – Terry was an incredibly successful and important man, and the party had plenty to offer by way of distraction. But you find that you don’t want to enjoy yourself without him there beside you; you always wanted to share everything with him.

The breeze is lovely, but the relative quiet is what you find really refreshing. You take another deep breath of air, bracing yourself to re-enter the party. Hopefully Terry wouldn’t be too long, and when he returned he could see you having fun and fitting into his world the way that you so desperately want to.

“I never knew you to be the type of woman who liked to play hard to get, Y/N.”

Michael’s voice is harsh and quiet as he joins you out on the dark terrace, sending a shiver down your spine. You whirl around in surprise, not having heard his approach, and notice that he is already trying to herd you into the dark corner of the balcony, keeping himself between you and the door heading inside to prevent your escape.

“I’m not playing anything, Michael,” you snap back at him, offended by the insinuation. You don’t remember him being nearly so egotistical back in school.

“Yeah? I thought you said you had to go help with the party but here you are, sneaking away from everyone like you didn’t know I was watching.”

You suppress a shudder. “I didn’t know you were watching. I hoped you weren’t,” you snap at him defiantly, stepping back until your legs hit the balustrade surrounding the porch. Michael keeps coming towards you, increasing his pace as his confidence grows.

“Don’t act so naïve. You’ve been in love with me for years, and everyone knows it. Let’s finally give us a chance, Y/N,” he purrs as he cages you in against the balcony. Gathering your nerve, you give his chest a firm shove until he takes a few steps back from you.

“I’m not interested, Michael; I’m with someone.”

“And what, they’re worried about a little competition? So worried that they’ve left you all alone tonight?”

“There’s no competition to be had! I’m dating Terry Silver; I’m already his.”

He seems briefly taken aback at the news that the man you’re with is the CEO of the company but quickly recovers, his nose crinkling with distaste.

“You’re his?” he echoes you in disbelief. “You’re talking about your relationship like you’re his property!”

You roll your eyes; clearly he wasn’t very familiar with the man that owned his job. That, or he hadn’t considered that the level of devotion you and Terry had for one another was a two-way street – you know that you’re crazy about one another.

“We belong to each other, Michael, and there’s nothing that you or anyone else can do to change that. Now, if you want to keep your dignity and your job intact, I’d recommend leaving, or at least getting the hell away from me,” you hiss, a fire blazing in your eyes.

“B-But Y/N, I –” Michael starts to stammer, but you’ve had enough.

“Leave. Now. Terry doesn’t take well to those who try to steal from him.”

You’re not entirely sure where this fury is coming from, but the thought of someone trying to come between you and the man you love has you absolutely fuming. And you do love Terry, even if you haven’t told him yet.

You have to go and find him, you realize with a sudden urgency as your heart clenches with need. Paying Michael no mind, you move past him and back into the ballroom, determined to find your love.

Terry’s POV:

Terry could not be more pleased with your performance so far this evening. He’s been stealthily following you all evening, either from hidden alcoves or security cameras, unbeknownst to you and the guests. Hosting the annual Christmas party at the Ennis House enabled him to observe you when left to your own devices. Hell, the whole reason he was having this party was to see how you would behave when pursued by another man, especially one he knew you had once held feelings for.

And why has he chosen to test you in this manner?

Because he has come to the conclusion that he is in love with you. Once he had come to that realization, it was as though a switch had been flipped. He now knew without a shadow of a doubt that you are the one he’s going to spend his life with.

But before he can tell you, he needs to make sure that you are just as infatuated with him in order to commit to you fully.

His plans had been elaborate, and had been going on for months now, at the first inkling of falling for you. First, he had needed to do some research into your history, looking for a suitable candidate to test you with. You weren’t the type of person who would be wooed by a celebrity, even though that would have been much easier to organize for his purposes. No, he’d had to find someone that you’d had a connection with, maybe even feelings for.

Your yearbook had been a great source of insight into your early forays into romance, showing photographs of you with some kid, your schoolgirl crush evident in your innocent eyes. After that, it hadn’t taken him long to investigate, determining the extent of your history with this man and confirming that he would be the perfect bait.

Then, he’d had to set the scene so that you could be alone with Mr. Nelson – with him being able to watch in secret, of course – to see if you would even entertain the idea of leaving him for ‘the one who got away.’ That meant purchasing the small law firm that the man worked at, ensuring his attendance at tonight’s event, a worthy investment in his opinion if it meant cementing you by his side permanently. The two of you had kept your relationship relatively quiet and out of the public eye for now, and he had ensured that the other man was not made aware that you were spoken for.

After that, all he’d had to do was wait for tonight’s main event, disappearing into the labyrinth of passages the Ennis House held within its walls and greedily drinking you in with his eyes. You look particularly ravishing tonight in your slinky velvet dress; Nelson had better keep his hands off of you. No one but him would be touching you, on this night or any that came after.

It was difficult for him to stay away from you as the party stretched on, his unwitting pawn apparently needing to down some liquid courage before approaching you. It wasn’t only his own need to be by your side but your own desire to have him with you that nearly has him throwing his own plan out the window and whisking you upstairs and away from the world.

But he was a paranoid man, and he would not be making himself vulnerable without ascertaining your loyalty first.

Fortunately, you had exceeded his expectations, hardly giving the man the time of day as he’d first approached you. Margaret, aware of his plan as always, had played her part brilliantly, refusing to let you cling to her for protection and relieving you of your role as hostess for the evening. You’d have to deal with Nelson now.

He’d cracked the window just above the balcony where the man had rejoined you, eagerly listening in. His large hands gripped the windowsill hard enough to make it crack as he watches the man trying to cage you in, only loosening when you firmly shove the man away from you. Part of his investigation into Michael Nelson had been to determine if there was anything of concern with regards to his romantic history – he wanted to test you, but not if it meant some prick putting their hands on you, let alone causing you any harm. The PIs that he’d hired to dig up dirt had clearly been worth the money, as they’d been correct in their conclusion that Nelson wouldn’t force himself on a woman.

Hearing the way you take him to task was well worth the momentary stress of leaving you alone with another man. And when you’d called yourself his… he had immediately started to get hard, the urge to rush down and take you nearly overwhelming him.

And now he could. You had done more than pass his little test, you had shown him the depth of your devotion.

He waits until you storm past the man than had dared to refer to him as competition before making his way back to the ballroom. Keeping out of sight, he takes a moment to watch you searching for him with desperation. Your persistence is something to be rewarded, and to be rewarded now. Stepping into view, he makes sure to savour the look on your face when you lay eyes on him – relief, desire, need.

Perfect.

He lets you come to him, watching you gracefully twist and bend your body as you slip through the crowd towards him.

In an uncharacteristically public display of affection you throw yourself at him, locking your arms around his neck as you press your body up against him, your eyes seeking out his. He winds his arms around you in a tight hug before gripping your hips, holding you at an arm’s length from him.

“What’s the matter, doll? Are you alright?” he asks innocently. If he had his way (and he would), you would never know his role in how the evening had played out thus far.

Your brow creases adorably and you nibble your lip, likely trying to decide whether or not telling him the truth would have him disappearing to hunt down the man that dared to try to have you for himself. You decide to avoid the topic by gripping the lapels of his suit jacket and pulling him down far enough to speak in his ear.

“Take me somewhere where we can talk, please,” you beg in a breathy whisper, and the needy tone to your voice sends a thrill through him. He tucks you under his arm, immediately leading you to one of the studies just down the hall, closing and locking the door behind him. Ducking under his arm, you turn to face him with hooded eyes, though the tension held in your body is palpable.

“Tell me that I’m yours,” you plead with him, and your need to be claimed has celebratory fireworks going off in his head as you all but proclaim yourself his perfect little doll.

“Of course you are, sweetheart,” he coos, slowly guiding you backwards and over to his desk. You hop up onto it the moment your back hits the wood; he’s trained you well. “You’re all mine,” he purrs as he comes to stand before you, enjoying the way you relax at the words, letting out a deep breath. “But what’s this all about, sweetheart?” he asks, taking your face in hand and stroking your cheek.

“It’s nothing, I… I just wanted to hear you say it,” you mumble in a quiet voice, your eyes fluttering closed as though embarrassed, and that won’t do. The last thing he wants is you feeling ashamed about your need for him; you should be reveling in it. He decides to banish that thought from your pretty little head without dragging things out any further.

“Oh Y/N,” he croons, chuckling slightly. “I love you, my silly girl.”

The expression on your face as your eyes fly open is one that he vows to remember forever.

Reader’s POV:

You are completely taken aback by Terry’s confession, your eyes flying open to look at his face to determine if it was a joke or an accidental slip of the tongue. Instead you find his eyes locked onto your face, gauging your response with an intense expression of his own.

You never would’ve thought he’d be the one to say it first – part of you had thought that he wouldn’t say it ever – which was part of the reason you haven’t told him about your own feelings. Even though the depth of your love for him was likely very apparent, you hadn’t wanted to put it into words at the risk of scaring him off.

You gasp for breath after a prolonged silence, belatedly realizing you haven’t been bothering to breathe, the shock too much for your body to function normally.

“I – I – Oh!” you are unable to get the sentence out, your heart thudding too fast and too hard.

Terry, calm as ever, seems to identify the symptoms of a panic attack and moves to help you work through it, his large hands gripping your shoulders firmly but gently as he bends to your eye-level.

“Breathe with me, Y/N,” he instructs you, taking slow, deep breaths that you try your best to mimic. You keep your eyes locked with his, calmed by their gorgeous shade of blue, and after a few minutes of focus your breathing returns to normal.

“Are you alright, sweetheart?” he asks, looking you over with a watchful eye, his brow creasing slightly with worry.

“You love me?” you ask him somewhat incredulously in response to his question. You don’t think you’ll ever be simply ‘alright’ again after this. Terry’s gaze softens, and he takes your face in his hand once more, his thumb softly stroking your cheek.

“I do, but I won’t say it again if it’s going to give you a heart attack,” he jokes, his mouth quirked in a small smile. Your heart skips a beat, and you fight to stay calm, not wanting to give him a reason to stop this thread of conversation. You still can’t quite believe it.

“Say it again,” you beg him in a whisper, your body leaning towards him like a flower to the sun. His nostrils flare slightly as he moves to lean over you, his palms flat on the desk to either side of your hips, making you feel on edge as though he was a about to strike. He lowers his face close to yours, his eyes unblinking, and you feel yourself hypnotized.

“I. Love. You.”

He enunciates each word clearly in a deep, husky voice and the intensity of the confession has you trembling. Rather than the moment being awkward as you are physically unable say the words back to him, Terry seems to take in your reaction with a great deal of satisfaction, his lips curved upward in a slight smirk.

You’re not sure how you’re lucid or coordinated enough in this moment to pull the move off, but you somehow manage to launch yourself off the desk and into his arms, kissing him desperately as though you need the taste of him more than air.

Terry’s reflexes are lightning quick as always, his arms wrapping around you to support you as he returns the kiss, gradually returning you to your perch on his desk, though his lips never leave yours. Something about the way he’s kissing you breathless feels different from before; perhaps you’re just caught in the moment and imagining it, but every brush of his lips against yours feels more intimate, more precious, as though every second of sweet torment is conveying the depth of his love.

“I love you too,” you pant out the words once he lets you up for air, your fingers clinging to his suit jacket as you try to keep him pressed against you. His gaze is still possessive and sensual as he gazes down at you, but you see the way his eyes light up as soon as the words leave your lips. “Please never let me go, Terry.”

“Not a chance,” he growls at you, his hand tangling in your hair as he pulls you towards him for another searing kiss that makes your heart sing.

A loud ripping noise brings you out of your dazed stupor, and Terry’s hands running up your bare thighs helps you attribute the noise to him having torn your dress, extending the side slit from your knee up to your waist.

“Terry!” you whimper against his lips, though you know he doesn’t give a damn about the dress. You get the sense that he would tear through anything to get to you in this moment. He shushes you in response, his hands coming up to tear it off the rest of the way, throwing the scraps of fabric behind him.

“Nothing is going to keep me from having you, Y/N,” he growls against your skin as he laves kisses across your bared flesh, his hands gripping you tightly. Your hands eagerly reach for his belt and begin to unbuckle it, but he snatches your wrists, pinning them none-too-gently over your head against the desk and leaving you squirming as you lay exposed to him. “Oh no no no. You’re getting all the attention tonight, babygirl. I’m gonna make you earn my cock.”

Your head falls back against the desk with a groan – you thought Terry had been intense and nearly torturous with his teasing before. You can’t even imagine what you’re in for now. He chuckles darkly at your reaction, the sound sending a shiver down your spine.

Sitting you up, he tenderly removes your lingerie, his fingers barely brushing your skin and making your body yearn for more. You wriggle your hips to help him slide your underwear down your legs, your whole body tense as you brace yourself for whatever is about to happen.

Instead of touching you, Terry moves to the bar on the other side of the room, pouring himself a whisky. He takes a long sip as he stares you down before resting the glass on a side table as he shrugs off his jacket, draping it across the back of the chair. You wait patiently, biting your lip as you try not to squirm.

“Who do you belong to?” he asks you casually as he neatly rolls up his sleeves to his elbows, not a hair out of place while you sit on his desk flushed and naked.

“You!” you moan, clenching your thighs together as you desperately try to get some friction on your clit. “I’m all yours Terry, just please –”

“What were you made for?” he interrupts you, retrieving his drink and slowly making his way back over to you as though he didn’t have a care in the world. You can see his erection straining against the fabric of his pants, the only visible sign of his arousal.

“To please you,” you whimper, the words spilling past your lips oh-so naturally. He gives you a wolfish grin in your response.

“And what does that mean?” he asks, raising an eyebrow at you over the rim of his glass.

“It… it means I’ll do whatever you want?” you reply hesitantly, unsure if that’s the answer he’s looking for. “I’ll do anything, I’ll be anything, just please let me do something, Terry! I need you,” you whine, your fingers digging into the wood of the desk as you grip it tightly. And you do mean what you’re saying – you’re quite sure that you are so enamored by Terry Silver that you will happily do anything he asks of you.

“Let’s test that out,” he leers, a wicked gleam in his eye. “Push your tits together for me.”

Your hands immediately move up to grab your breasts, lifting them up and presenting them to him, your eyes rolling back into your head as your hardened nipples rub against your palms. Terry’s eyes glint as he polishes off his drink, never taking his eyes off of yours. He’s still too far away to touch you, and the realization has you nearly sobbing with need.

“Good girl,” he praises, and you feel yourself getting wetter. “Keep them there, and spread your legs.”

You feel your face burning with humiliation, but you do as he says with no hesitation, opening your legs for him.

“Wider.”

A whimper escapes your lips as you spread your legs as wide as you can, fully on display for him.

“Now tell me what you want.”

“Anything. Everything. Just please fucking touch me!”

Terry gives you a pleased grin, finally closing in on you. Tangling his free hand in your hair, he pulls your head back, pouring the remnants of whisky onto your chest and making you shiver as you try to remain in position.

“Such a perfect little doll,” Terry coos, running his hands along your legs. Dipping his head, he laps at the droplets of whisky that run down your body, pulling your hands away from your chest as he lays you back down on the desk, savouring every taste as you arch your back up towards him, craving more.

“You’re so good, so needy for me,” he breathes against the curve of your neck, his lower lip running along your sensitive skin to your ear. “I want you to keep track of how many times I make you come, Y/N. I’m gonna make every fucking inch of you mine tonight, inside and out.”

“Yes Sir,” you chirp up at him with a cheeky smile. He looks down at you with amusement, his dark eyes promising a long night of pleasure that will have you aching and spent.

“Then lay back, pretty girl, and let’s see just how quickly I can make you scream for me.”

It doesn’t take long; the instant his fingers brush against your neglected clit you are wailing for him. Terry pins your hips down with one arm, teasing you with his free hand, quickly pumping two and then three fingers into your tight heat. You let out a constant stream of moans, obscenities and his name the only coherent words you can produce.

“God Y/N, your pussy takes my fingers so good,” he groans, lifting his head and pausing his mouth’s vicious attack on your breasts to watch you coming apart from him.

“Meant to take you – please!” you choke out, tears in your eyes from the intensity of your desire. You can hardly believe how quickly he’s got you on the edge.

“You wanna come already, baby?” he taunts, laughing as you frantically nod your head, unable to speak.“Yeah? Talk dirty for me and let me hear how bad you want it.”

“TERRY PLEASE!” you scream, your voice hoarse and cracking. “Please don’t stop, please make me come for you!” Your fingernails dig into his forearm, trying to keep his hand in place. “I’m so close, you fingerfuck me so good! Right there baby, pleeeease!”

Terry takes your words to heart, keeping your hips still as he curls his fingers inside you, his thumb teasing your clit as your thighs clamp down hard on his hand as you come hard. He doesn’t relent, forcing you to stay in place as he draws out your orgasm, watching you with a fiendish delight as tears stream down your face, your chest heaving as you gasp for breath. Before you can even process anything he’s pushing you to another orgasm without you ever coming down from the high the first time.

After what feels like an eternity he lets up, pulling his hand from between your legs and wiping the evidence of your arousal on your chest until your breasts are shiny with it, the hickeys he’s given you dark and glossy along your flushed skin.

“How many was that, love?” he purrs the petname, smirking smugly down at you. He’s lifted one of your legs over his shoulder, massaging your calf to keep it from cramping up and laying kisses up and down your leg. You hold up two fingers, your hand trembling as you try to get your breathing under control, but he clucks his tongue at you. “Use your words, sweetheart.”

“T-Two,” you whine the word at him, feeling delirious. A low, pleased rumbling emanates from Terry’s chest, and he wordlessly switches the position of your legs to tend to the other.

“Only two, and you’re already such a mess for me, babygirl,” he croons as he kisses your ankle, his tone condescending in a way that has you shuddering with desire. Only Terry could have you feeling like both a dirty, desperate slut and the luckiest, most cherished woman in the world all at the same time. You give a noncommittal hum in response, unable to speak, but he clearly thinks that you’ve had enough of a break. “Flip over for me,” he demands, lowering your leg, and you force yourself to slide off the desk only to turn and bend over it, only barely having the presence of mind to curl your arms together to form a pillow.

“Oh, I know you haven’t had enough yet, doll. Not even close.”

You lift up one leg, your knee resting on the desk, presenting yourself to him to let him know you want more. Terry’s hands knead your ass roughly and you brace yourself with your hands on the desk to try to keep yourself upright. Sex with Terry was as much a mental act as it was a physical one; you always had to anticipate what he wanted from you and what he was going to do next.

“Beg for it.”

“Pleeeeease,” you groan, your eyes scrunched shut as you try to focus on getting the words out. “Please fuck me, Terry – I need you inside me!”

“Do you think I don’t know exactly what this pussy needs?” he snarls, delivering a sharp slap to your clit that has you lurching forwards against the desk and nearly going cross-eyed. He always seems to know just where your line is, getting as close to the boundary as he can in ways that you don’t know how to navigate yourself.

“You do you do you do!” you whine. “It’s yours, my whole body is yours!”

You recognize the sound of fabric rustling and brace yourself for a thorough fucking, but he refuses to touch you until you’re trembling with need.

“Show me how bad you want it, my dirty girl,” he growls, his hard cock teasing your slick entrance as he lubes himself up with your arousal.

With a desperate cry you force yourself to crawl fully on the desk, your shoulders and head pressed against the surface as you reach back and pull apart your thighs and ass, baring the most intimate parts of you to his gaze shamelessly. Your show of obedience is rewarded as he thrusts himself fully inside you, the bone-deep sense of completion echoing through the room as you both moan loudly with satisfaction.

“God, I love this tight little body of yours,” he hisses through his teeth, reaching around to pull you back against his chest, large hands playing roughly with your nipples as your head lolls back against him; you’re completely cock-drunk. “Perfect little cocksleeve… just made for me…”

“M-M-Made for you – ah!” you keen as he fucks you at a new angle, the fat head of his cock hitting your cervix hard enough to ache deliciously. “L-Love you, n-need it so m-much!”

Terry’s hands grip you hard enough to bruise as he ruts into you almost frantically; your admission of love in the heat of the moment making him thrust into you at a furious pace as he takes his pleasure in your entire body and makes you sing for him.

“Take one more, sweetheart. Let me give you just one more,” he coaxes you in a hoarse, guttural voice, clutching you to him like a man possessed.

You grind your hips back against him, your brain and body unable to do anything except try to get him in deeper…harder… He could fuck you every day for forever and you don’t think you’d ever get enough, even as he utterly overwhelms you.

“That’s it, my sweet girl; ride my cock and come with me,” he coos, his muscles straining slightly as he holds you tightly right where he wants you.

“Yes fuck Terry YES!” you chant over and over in time with your ass bouncing against his hips, completely mindless with pleasure.

“That’s it baby, get after it,” he growls, leaning down to bite your shoulder as he pistons his cock to fuck up and into you. “Be a good girl and let me feel that pretty pussy come all over my cock.”

You roll your hips, grinding against him and moaning wantonly, feeling so damn close.

“Just one more, and then my little slut gets a break before I take her upstairs,” he urges you. “Take me, sweetheart – take all my love.”

Your pussy clamps down, squeezing his cock tightly as his words take you over the edge. Terry’s hands slide down your hips, holding you down on his cock as he comes as deep inside you as he can with a low grunt of your name. You both catch your breath, your body slick with sweat against Terry, who somehow still doesn’t have a hair out of place.

“Three?” he asks quietly as he gently guides you to sit back on the desk. You let out a whimper, your pussy tender from his rough attentions.

“Three,” you confirm the number of orgasms, giving him a sheepish, sleepy grin.

“I think that’s earned you a bit of a break then, princess,” he announces, and you bite back a sigh of relief.

Terry walks over to the chair, picking up his suit jacket and laying it over his arm. Your eyes scan the floor, spotting the scraps of your torn dress, and you look up at him with wide eyes. He stares back, his head slightly cocked to the side as though considering something, his eyes tracking you as you retrieve your lingerie; at least that was still in tact.

“Who do you belong to?” he asks suddenly, still surveying you with bright eyes, and you know it’s a test. You walk over to him, trying not to stumble with your weak knees, dropping to the ground when you get close and dropping to your knees. You crawl to his feet, nuzzling your face against his legs in answer to his question. After a moment you feel one of his hands in your hair, stroking the top of your head almost shyly. Looking up at him, you see him looking down at you with a soft smile.

“God, I love you,” he whispers, a tone of awe in his voice that has you feeling all tingly. He offers you his hand, pulling you to your feet and into his arms. You stand on your toes, calves twinging slightly, and lay a chaste kiss on his lips.

“I love you too, Terry.”

He tosses his jacket around your shoulders, helping you put your arms through the long sleeves; you must look a mess right about now, but from the way he’s looking at you, you might as well be a queen in his eyes.

“Your job now,” he begins quietly, and you find yourself automatically straightening in response to his commanding tone, “is to make it upstairs with nobody seeing you.”

Just the thought of anyone seeing you like this, reeking of sweat and sex and wrapped only in Terry’s jacket has you blushing. No, only Terry could see you like this.

You know who you belong to.

Giving him a nod, you move to retrieve your shoes, concealing them beneath your coat with your lingerie and your ruined dress.

“I’ll go make our excuses for the evening, and tell Margaret that we are not to be disturbed. By the time I join you upstairs, I expect to find you on all fours on the bed. I want that ass to be the first thing I see when I walk in.”

You can’t help the noise that escapes you, and he arches an eyebrow at you in response.

“You didn’t really think we’d be stopping after three, did you?” he asks incredulously, giving you a laugh. “Oh, Y/N, you’re in for a long night.”

He walks over to the door, turning back to you before unlocking it. You have no idea how long the two of you have been gone for.

“Nothing’s for free, doll,” he murmurs, taking your face in his hand and running his thumb along your swollen bottom lip. “You’re gonna pay for what you do to me, and you’re gonna thank me for it.”

He turns away from you without another word, leaving the door open behind him as he returns to your guests. You nervously peek your head out, making sure the coast is clear before scampering down the hall and up the stairs, trying to keep hold of your bundle of clothing.

The price of owning Terry’s heart is high, but you’re content to be forever in his debt.

(I know this isn't the most fitting gif, but I think it still fits and I couldn't resist after seeing the way it pans down to show the extent of the slutty gi!)

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Thanks for your patience everyone, and I hope you enjoyed! I did have some ideas for when they make it up to the bedroom where he really pushes you over the edge, so if anyone would want to see that at some point just throw it in my inbox!

#Thomas Ian Griffith #Terry Silver #Karate Kid 3 #tkk3 #TIGmas #12 Days of TIGmas #Smut #Romance #Definitely inspired by that post you tagged me in

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mbakuetshurisprincess · 1 year

Text

The Only Logical Thing to Do

AN: Hey y’all! This is the scandal based fic I teased in this post. This ended up actually being wayyyyy longer than I expected like offically takes the crown as the longest fic I’ve ever written so go me lol. This part I just wanted to establish a few things yk start us out slow before we get into the real scandlous events of this story. Next part will be the developing countries ball, so stay tuned. Hope you all enjoy!

Summary: Sometimes the US Constitution applies to your love life. Separation of Church and State was a good thing, right?

Pairing: Shuri x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Cursing, political talk, idk

Word count: 4,707

Suggested listening: Love and Happiness - Al Green

“Love and happiness, yeah Something that can make you do wrong Make you do right Yeah, hmm Love... Love and happiness”

You poured over your notes for the fifth time after your press conference, looking for something that indicated the mistake had been on your part. This was your third year working for the Kane Presidency. You were originally on the President's campaign staff as a Public Opinion Specialist and upon his election, you were employed as a Data and Intel Specialist.

Your job title was vague on purpose, it was hard to explain to the American people what exactly you did. In simplest terms, you were a girl who knew things. You read situations well and were able to predict how events were going to play out with killer accuracy. It also helped that you happened to know more ways than one to dig up dirt. This gave you access to the inner circle of the White House, becoming an integral part of everyday function with an opinion valued by the president only second to his chief of staff.

For the past week however you had been filling a different role, one of the press secretaries. When the previous one came down with pneumonia last minute the president turned to you to fill the role. And reluctantly you did. You put on your most respectable suit, straightened your hair, and wore your highest heels; ensuring you were digestible enough for the American people. Despite not enjoying being in the public eye, you did the work well and maintained order.

This is why when you were caught off guard by a question today, even one as nonmemorable as this; you were concerned. You replayed the moment in your head as you continued digging in your notes.

“I’ll take one more question before I go.” You spoke from behind the podium, you had been up there for the past forty-five minutes and the questions you started getting were beginning to dwindle in relevancy.

Hands shot up from reporters everywhere and your name was being called from all directions. You looked out into the crowd and nodded at one, Ashley Richardson. She cleared her throat before standing and speaking.

“France’s president has reaffirmed their statement that the attacks on Wakanda’s outreach centers, where vibranium is held, were not perpetrated by them. However, he has commented and said that the country will continue its legal efforts to gain vibranium. Doubling down and saying that the US has pledged its support of France in these efforts. Are these comments true, does President Kane support France in these endeavors?”

As her words registered in your head, you racked your brain to remember if in any of your briefings you had heard any news of this. Nope. Not a word about France or vibranium as far as you knew. This left you with two options, be on the offensive or be on the defensive. Her words caught you off guard but this is what you’d been trained for, you allowed yourself just enough time to blink to be internally baffled before turning back on your personality.

“France is an ally of the United States, as is Wakanda. The President is committed to maintaining a peaceful relationship between the two countries.” You spoke as if your words were fact despite not knowing a thing about what she was talking about. “That’s all for today, thank you.”

The sound of your work phone buzzing pulled you out of your trance, you flipped it over and read the caller ID.

Unknown Caller

The anonymity of the call didn’t surprise you, this was DC, after all, people weren’t too keen on sharing information.

“You have two minutes before I hang up the phone, go.” You spoke coolly, you didn’t have time to waste time on your phone, especially not today.

“You haven’t been answering my calls.”

You threw your head back and let out a sigh, who else would be calling you?

“I have told you a thousand times. You cannot call my work phone.” That was all you said before hanging up on the person. You reached into the back of your desk drawer and pulled out your kimoyo beads. As you got them on your wrist you scrolled through your contacts and pressed Shuri’s name. The call rang for a few seconds before Shuri picked up, her holographic body appearing in front of you.

“Hanging up on the Queen of a nation is an interesting move on the part of the White House I must admit,” Shuri spoke with a smirk.

You didn’t even give her the satisfaction of looking up from your notes that were spread in front of you. “Shuri, I do not have time for your games today.”

She rolled her eyes at your words, unsatisfied with the amount of attention you were giving her. She watched you flip through your notes a few times before curiosity got the best of her and she spoke. “What are you doing?”

Strands of your hair fell in front of your face and you tucked them behind your ear as you shook your head and laughed slightly. “My job, I’m doing my job right now. As one tends to do when they’re at their place of work. Shouldn’t you be doing the same?”

Shuri took that as a cue to continue with what she had called you about. “Ahh yes your job right, I forgot. The same job that made you lie to me?”

That caught your attention, momentarily bringing your focus away from your notes. “Shuri, what are you talking about?” You looked up, meeting her eyes.

“When I called you last week and asked you if your country,” She emphasized the ‘your’ “was going to continue their support of France, knowing they’re the ones carrying out attacks on our outreach centers. You told me no.”

You pushed your eyes back down to the papers in front of you, of course, this is what Shuri wanted to discuss. It seemed you couldn’t escape the conversation surrounding Wakanda and France.

“That is not what I said.”

“Really? Because that’s what I took from our conversation. And then imagine my surprise when I’m made aware that my Y/N is on American television saying the opposite!” She spoke the last part almost comically but you could hear the twinge of irritation in her voice.

You rolled your eyes and placed your palms flat on your desk, attempting to calm yourself down. You were already stressed about this topic and her berating isn’t what you needed right now.

“The relationship between France and the United States is one with a long history of mutual support dating back to the formation of the United States-”

“Oh don’t give me that Y/N!” Shuri threw her hands up in protest. “Don’t give me your politically correct answer!”

“Then don’t twist my words!” You raised your voice and mimicked her by throwing your hands up. You quickly remembered you were at work, and while yelling was commonplace in the White House, you didn't want to draw any attention to yourself while you were communicating with Shuri. Something you weren't supposed to be doing.

“I told you last week I didn't know and that’s the truth, nothing about it has come up in my notes.”

“But today you said-”

You put your hand up to stop Shuri from finishing. “Church and state.” That was all you had to say and Shuri knew to stop speaking.

A year and a half ago when you two first started the entanglement you find yourself in, the number one problem between you two was work. One of you would pry information from the other one and you two would stay up all night bickering over policy. It got to the point where you spent the very little time you two had together due to busy schedules arguing over work. Thus the Church and State policy was created.

You two joked that it was weird that you were applying the constitution to your relationship, but it was clear it was needed. The words were intended to be a reminder to keep your personal life and work life separate. Whenever someone said it the current conversation had to be dropped, no questions asked.

Shuri took a deep breath and nodded knowing the rule had been created for the betterment of your relationship. You returned your eyes to the notes in front of you, desperate to find your mistake. Shuri watched you, sensing something was off but not being able to put her finger on it. It only took a few moments before it dawned on her.

“You didn’t know, did you?”

“Gonna need a little bit more clarification than that.” You said flipping over the page that currently had your attention.

“About Wakanda and France, you didn’t know.” Shuri continued to speak confidently, sitting up further in her chair. “When I was shown the video of your press conference today I thought when the reporter asked the question you paused. I swore to Bast that you did but Okoye said I was crazy. I told her that I saw your tell but she couldn’t see it. You really had no idea about any of this.”

You put your head in your hands and let out a groan. You hated how Shuri was able to read you so well. “I don’t wanna talk about it.”

Shuri once again nodded, sure in her realization that you didn’t know anything by your response. She debated hanging up and letting you continue looking at whatever had your attention but she didn’t want to end the conversation like that. The time you two had to speak was often brief, ruling a country didn’t yield much free time and your White House work always kept you busy. She wanted to at least leave you with something positive.

Shuri watched you for a little bit longer, as you sat with your head in your hands. Deciding now was the perfect time to reveal her surprise. “I will be in your country tomorrow.”

You picked your head up out of your hands swiftly. “What did you just say?”

“I will be in your country tomorrow,” Shuri repeated cooly as if you and her being on the same side of the world let alone in the same country was normal.

You moved the papers that were in front of you away revealing your desk calendar, hoping you weren't too busy. You found today's date and then moved over to tomorrow where a big red X lay. That was an indicator that told you your whole day was blocked out, not free until the early hours of the next morning. You sighed knowing your chances of seeing her were slim anyway, even if you weren't busy, you had no idea what she was doing in the States.“What are you doing over here tomorrow?”

“Good question, I should clarify when I say your country I do mean DC. I’ll be in town for the Developing Countries Ball that your boy is hosting.”

You grimaced at her nickname for the President but quickly snapped out of it. Your hands went to open your laptop and you found the file named DCB, containing all of the information about tomorrow's event.

“I knew something was off.” You muttered to yourself checking the guest list once again. “Wakanda didn’t RSVP Shuri. We don’t have you listed as coming.” Maybe it had slipped her mind but you remembered having to break it to the President that Wakanda wouldn’t be coming. And the guest list in front of you supported it.

Shuri just smiled her million-dollar smile at you. “Oh, I know we didn’t.”

You blinked twice at her, willing yourself to believe what she was implying wasn’t true.

“So you plan to just show up and what? There'll be no table, no planned greeting, it’ll be a mess!” You rambled on and Shuri sat quietly listening to you. Her silence was unnerving, so you thought about what you were saying.

“There’ll be no table.”

“There’ll be no table. Shuri repeated with a chuckle.

Your eyes bore holes into Shuri’s holographic body as realization further sank in. “It’ll be a mess.”

“Yeah won’t look too good, will it? Not being prepared in his own backyard, I don't think voters will like that so much.”

You let out yet another groan and threw your head back against the plush office chair behind you. “You know when you do this you only make my job harder right? It only makes me have to work double time to cover his ass.”

Shuri sat back in her chair, interlacing her fingers behind her head. “So don’t.”

You rolled your eyes and spoke. “You forget I have a job, Shuri? The thing that pays my bills, makes sure I can eat and sleep comfortably at night. The job that practically says “cover the president's ass'' in its description.”

“You don’t have to work for him and you know that. There's a job here for you whenever you want it.” The words flowed out of her mouth with immeasurable self-assuredness. This was a point she was familiar with making, insisting that the Kane Presidency, rather the United States, wasn't good enough for you.

Asserting that your skills could be used for more than covering up the sins of politicians. “And even if you didn’t want to work, I could always use a Queen to rule with.”

“Making me a Queen before even making me your girlfriend, bold I must admit.” You retorted back quickly, immediately regretting it. You knew Shuri hated when you brought up the conversation surrounding your relationship, especially because there had always been an unspoken rule between the two of you. Titles weren’t needed, what was just what was. Simple as that.

“Y/N-” Shuri sat up out of her relaxed position as she tried to defend herself but the sound of the alarm on your phone stopped her.

“Fuck.” You muttered under your breath, stopping the alarm. “I have my roundtable in five and I haven’t prepped my report yet.” You pulled another file up on your computer and began typing quickly.

Shuri knew that meant her time with you was over for now. As much as she wanted to continue the conversation she respected your dedication to the job.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, okay sthandwa? Maybe I can come over since I’ll only be in town for a day and a half?.”

You nodded, if you had been paying attention to what Shuri was saying you would have stopped her idea right then and there but your laptop had too much of your attention. But, “Mhm we can talk about it later.” was all you could say.

Shuri took one last look at you before hanging up the phone, knowing you didn’t mean to be short, you were just clearly a little stressed.

Your roundtable went well despite your lack of preparedness. Nobody spoke about the press conference from earlier and Wakanda nor France was even mentioned. Most of the evening was dedicated to talks of trade negotiations with Qatar and the developing countries ball.

“One last thing while we’re still on the topic of the ball Mr.President?” You spoke up as the meeting was coming to a close.

Despite the president's insistence that you call him by his first name, Jackson, you never could bring yourself to it. You liked to maintain a certain distance in your closeness with him, he was your boss after all.

You looked at him as he sat at The Resolute Desk, the same place every president had sat dating back to 1879, him only the second black man to sit there. He wore a black suit with a navy tie that complimented his skin tone well, with his American flag pin on his left side. He looked presidential, just as you had helped design him to be.

“You know it’s never just one last thing with Y/N.” The President said with a smile earning a laugh from the others in the Oval Office.

“Just doing what you pay me for.” You said back with a smile and a nod.

“Always appreciated Y/N. Please let’s hear what you have to say.”

You looked around the room, generally, your opinion was trusted without question but this one was going to be a bit of a hard sell and you knew it. “We’re going to need one more table for tomorrow.”

“And why would that be?” The president had a confused look on his face. “I thought we already finalized the guest list, who did we forget?”

“I have reason to believe Wakanda will be in attendance tomorrow.” You said confidently.

The president's chief of staff, Michael was the first to speak “Wakanda…Wakanda…Wakanda.” He said as he flipped through his notes. “No Wakanda is not coming, not only is Wakanda not coming they’re giving us a middle finger by not responding.”

The president turned his attention back to you, awaiting your response. You could feel the pressure in the room as everyone else wondered where your claim was coming from.

“Based on the intel I’ve gathered I have reason to believe that Wakanda plans to attend tomorrow. Queen Shuri and a few Dora Milaje members if I had to guess.”

The president took a deep breath in. “Well your intel hasn’t failed us yet Y/N, no reason to believe it will now. Michael, talk to the events coordinator, and let’s set up a table with, what do you say, 8 chairs Y/N?”

You nodded in response as you started packing your things up, not as bad as you thought it was going to be.

“Yeah, let’s get a table with eight chairs set up for Wakanda.” He looked around the room. “Well everyone I see no need to hold you all here too late given what we’ve got in store for tomorrow. Everyone go home, I don’t want to see any of you in your office after an hour!”

The people in the room all laughed at the president's comment, you were happy knowing you could take your work and finish it at home. Everyone slowly filed out of the room and you were one of the last, bidding your farewell to those still there as you left. You made it out of the oval and down the hallway that led to your office before you felt someone walking beside you.

“You ever gonna tell me how you do it 007?” The voice asked, you looked up and were met with Michael’s face. He was older than you and had been in the political sphere for longer but there was mutual respect shared between the two of you. It had even developed into a friendly rivalry.

“How many times do I have to tell you not to call me 007?” You laughed before turning your face serious. “At least not in public.”

You both paused walking and stared at each other sternly for a few seconds before cracking up in a fit of laughter.

“I’m serious Y/N how do you do it!” Michael exclaimed when you reached the door to your office. He stood there as you unlocked it and walked in behind you once it was open.

“If I gave you all my secrets Michael, I wouldn’t have a job would I?” You walked around to your desk and kicked off your heels, happy to be done with them for the day.

Michael plopped down in one of the chairs opposite your desk. “Just tell me this once how you do it 007, tell me one thing and I won’t ask again!”

Sliding the comfortable slippers on your feet you spoke. “Nobody really wants to know how the sausage is made. Just be happy I saved your ass hmm?”

The older man rolled his eyes at your words, watching as you packed your bag up with the things you would need to work from home. “Oh, you’re actually listening to him and going home? Didn’t expect that from you, I must admit.”

You look up from your bag. “You’re not?”

Michael shook his head as he rose from the chair. “I live here Y/N, you know this. Someone has to be here to ensure liberty is protected and our nation is secure, blah blah blah.” By the time he had finished, he had made it to the door of your office.

“Have a good night Michael.” You said with a chuckle, he always did have a certain determination about work that you appreciated. While you let your work dictate your life, work was his entire life.

He put his hand up to wave goodbye and walked out of your office before turning around and poking just his head back in. “I’m gonna figure you out, I will figure out how you know these things.”

You cocked your eyebrows at him and smiled. “Figure me out or die trying, that’s the saying right?”

He returned your smile and turned back around. “Night night 007.”

You finished packing your bags and made your way out of the White House, making sure to say goodbye to Morris as you walked out of the front gates. You made your way to your car and drove the 15 minutes it took to get back to your place.

Pulling into your garage you made a mental note to call your gardener and have them do a refresh of your small front yard, your flowers were starting to wilt. You entered your house through the garage door and kicked off your work slippers and put on your house shoes. Setting your bag down on the couch you made your way into the kitchen, stomach hungry for something to eat.

You browsed through your fridge, there was food you could cook but that was going to require something you were running low on at the moment, energy. Moving over to your cabinet the bag of popcorn caught your eye, you had promised Shuri you would stop just eating wine and popcorn as meals but desperate times called for desperate measures. You pulled the popcorn and a bottle of red wine along with a cup down from various cabinets and laid them out on the counter, ready for you when you came back.

You made it into your bedroom where you stripped and took a long hot shower. Allowing the steam to rinse away the stress from today. After getting out you moisturized with the shea butter Shuri had bought you and dressed in a pair of shorts and one of her sweatshirts. The smell had started to fade from this one and it made you sad to know that meant the last time you saw her was further and further away.

You grabbed your water bottle from your nightstand and made your way back to the kitchen. As you waited for the popcorn to finish in the microwave you popped the cork on the wine bottle and poured a hefty glass for yourself. You savored the full-bodied taste of the red wine, the one you had chosen was one of your favorites, first introduced to you by your mother.

The popcorn finished and you held the bag in one hand with the bottle of wine tucked into the crook of your arm and your glass in the other hand. You walked into your living room and sat everything in your hands on the coffee table in front of you before reaching into your bag and pulling out your laptop, kimoyo beads, and both your personal and work phone.

Opening your laptop you threw back a couple of pieces of popcorn and got to work. While the developing countries' ball was at the forefront of most upper cabinet members' minds, you had moved past it. Knowing that Michael and the events coordinators would take care of the table and greeting, your job concerning that was now done. Now you were focused on your next big project, re-election.

You tapped through a few files that served as decoys and entered the passcode that let you into what you were looking for. The file that held every ounce of dirt you and the US government could find on the presidential rival candidates. You reached for your glass and took a sip of wine, holding the glass in your hand as you picked up where you left off, digging through one candidate's fiscal records. That were obtained 100% legally…maybe.

“Donated to pro-life fundraiser, not very left wing of you.” You said to yourself adding that new information into the file, sometimes it was too easy.

Something buzzed next to you and you looked down to see a call from Shuri on your kimoyo beads. You slid them on your wrist and picked up, now that you were more calm seeing her call felt more like a relief than a stressor.

“Hello, my love.” You said sweetly smiling at her as her holographic body popped up from your wrist. You could tell she was in her lab by the background, more specifically in her corner station. She had a turtleneck underneath her lab coat and you could see her black slacks just peeking into the frame.

“Oh, now I am my love?” Shuri asked with a chuckle, she knew your attitude earlier wasn’t intentional but she enjoyed messing with you about it anyway.

“I’m sorry, earlier I was just stressed with work, you know how I get.” You said apologetically.

“I am just teasing you sthandwa, I know you didn’t mean to be rude.” Shuri smiled at you and you returned one to her before grabbing a handful of popcorn and munching on it.

“Are you eating popcorn?” She asked as she watched you throw another handful back.

“Mayh-be.” You responded hesitantly through a mouth of popcorn.

“And I see that wine glass in the corner, Y/N we talked about this!” Shuri exclaimed. “Real food, you promised you would eat real food.”

You finished chewing before speaking. “This is real food!” You held up the bag of popcorn. “Popcorn is just corn, that's a vegetable.” You put the popcorn down and picked up the glass of wine. “And wine is just grapes, that's a fruit.” You accentuated your point by taking a sip of wine.

“HA!” Shuri let out a hearty laugh. “That’s wrong and you know it.”

“My points would hold up in a court of law.” You said matter of factly letting a smile crack on your face. Moments like these you loved, when the both of you were just being you, making each other smile.

“Bull shi-” Shuri went to cry out but the sound of ringing from your end stopped her. You recognized the sound of the ringing and knew it meant someone was calling your personal phone. Not many people had your personal number anymore and you didn’t use the phone for much of anything these days. Normally you would have immediately checked who it was but you didn’t move your eyes from Shuri.

“Aren't you going to get that?” She asked.

You shook your head no and reached down to silence your phone without looking at who was calling. “Whoever it is can wait, I’m talking to a pretty girl right now.”

Shuri smiled again and began speaking. “Anyway so I was thinking since I’ll be in town tomorrow, maybe I could come ove-”

The sound of your phone ringing once again cut her off.

“Mrs.popular today aren't we,” Shuri said smartly. “You should get that, it must be important if they're calling you twice.”

“Shuri-” You wanted to stop her but before you could she said “We’ll talk later Y/N.” and ended the call. Your phone next to you had stopped ringing and you let out a groan. Shuri being irritated with you right before she came into town was the last thing you wanted.

Your phone beside you rang for the third time and it confirmed your suspicions. Aside from Shuri, there was only one person in your life who felt entitled enough over you to blow up your phone. You took a deep breath and flipped it over before picking it up.

“Hello, mother.”

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