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#just because you’re attracted to someone does not mean you need to fucking tell everyone abt it
togrowoldinv · 6 months
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Invitation
Milf!Wanda Maximoff x Female Reader
You accept Wanda’s invitation to ladies night without knowing the deeper meaning of her gesture
Warnings: Smut! 18+ please! Kissing, cursing, oral (W receiving), fingering (R and W receiving), Wanda knowing what she wants and getting it
Milf Wanda Masterlist, Main Masterlist
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When you first met Wanda Maximoff you had no idea what to expect from her. You were told you that she was kind but in a superficial way. And that she was a gossip.
The woman couldn’t keep anything to herself. All of the parents of her children’s friends knew that Wanda secretly knew everyone’s dirty laundry.
Still, you accepted her invite to the ladies night she was hosting at her home with community women. Everyone got an invitation you’re pretty sure. You felt like you had to go or you wouldn’t make a good impression on your new community.
You arrive to Wanda’s perfect, picket fenced home right on time.
“Welcome!” Wanda says. “It’s y/n, right?”
“Yes, hello,” you greet her. “I wasn’t sure if I needed to bring anything, so I made a pie just in case.”
“Just your fine self was all! But I’ll gladly accept a pie, darling!” Wanda says. She seems cheery today.
She takes the pie and sets it on the table with the other food. Wanda gets called off to talk to another person.
You don’t know many townspeople, so you stand by yourself until someone approaches you.
“Are you in new in town?” The woman asks. She’s beautiful. Her red hair cascades over her shoulders.
“I’m am,” you reply. “I’m y/n.”
“Nice to meet you, y/n. I’m Natasha,” she says. “You were smart to come today. Wanda likely invited you for her own pleasure.”
“How do you mean?” You ask her. “I thought everyone she knew got invited to this.”
Natasha shakes her head. “No, Wanda only invites people she thinks might sleep with her.”
“Oh,” is all you say. You had no idea. But the idea of that does make your heart race.
“Lucky for you, I’m seeing someone so you’re in the prime position for Wanda to choose you,” Nat says. “If you want her, that is.”
“Isn’t she married?”
“Separated,” Nat answers. “You should have some fun, y/n. Wanda’s a good person to know.”
“Yeah,” you agree. Nat excuses herself to her another drink.
You look at your phone to check the time. Maybe you’ll just leave, you think. But you’re curious about what Nat said.
Wanda makes her way around the get together, no doubt getting all of the information she can out of people. When she ends up next to you, you feel your pulse quicken.
“Hi y/n,” Wanda says.
“Hey Wanda,” you try to say casually.
“So, tell me. What brought you here to town?” She asks.
“Oh, um- I don’t know. I felt drawn here when I decided to move away from home,” you explain.
“Interesting,” Wanda says. “Could you help me inside with getting a few things?”
“Sure,” you reply.
You follow the woman into her house. It’s littered with photos of her children and evidence that kids have made this house a home.
Wanda leads you to the hallway where she stops into a bedroom. You wait by the door.
“Aren’t you going to come in?” Wanda asks. She bats her eyes at you. You’re fucked.
“Oh, okay,” you find yourself agreeing. “What are we getting?”
“Well,” Wanda begins. She slides her pants down her legs while looking you in the eye. “Hopefully you’re getting me off.”
You’re sure your mouth hangs wide open at her words. Natasha was right.
“Why me?” You ask her.
“Because I’m attracted to you, y/n. I haven’t stopped thinking about you since I first saw you. I knew I had to have you.”
Wanda crosses the room and takes your hands. She places them over her chest. You can feel her breasts through her shirt.
“Wanda,” you say her name barely above a whisper. “I’m not sure about this.”
“Let me assure you then,” Wanda replies.
She steps closer and leans in to kiss you. Her lips barely graze against yours but your knees threaten to go weak.
“Fuck,” you mumble when she pulls away.
“I want you to fuck me,” Wanda says. “Can you do that, baby?”
“Yes ma’am,” you say. You feel like you’re under her spell.
You kiss Wanda this time, not wasting a moment before deepening the kiss. You work your hands over her breasts. Wanda lifts her shirt up and you break the kiss long enough to pull it over her head.
“You’re so beautiful,” you tell her.
“Just fuck me,” Wanda says, pulling you from your longing gaze. “I don’t want to get emotional about it.”
“Sorry,” you say. “No emotion. Got it.”
Wanda grins as you kiss her again. You push her back onto the bed and kiss from her neck down to her chest.
You take your time with each of her breasts. You lick at her nipples and suck on them until she’s begging you to stop.
“I need you,” Wanda says. “Please.”
You nod and move to lay with your head between her legs. Her thighs all but wrap around your head as you bury your face in her pussy. You lick a stripe up her and she shivers.
“More,” Wanda moans. “More, fuck, more.”
You take her clit your mouth and suck. Bringing your hand to help, you bury a couple of fingers in her easily.
“All for me,” you say. Your voice vibrates against her. “So wet and tight.”
“Y/n,” Wanda moans as she gets closer to her peak.
You pick up the pace of your tongue and fingers. Soon Wanda is coming hard onto you.
“That’s it, sweetheart. Fuck,” Wanda says.
You lick her clean and move back up the bed. Wanda kisses you until she’s breathless.
She pulls away and looks into your eyes. You’re about to make a comment about no emotion being a difficult thing when Wanda moves her hand to your waistband.
The woman pushes her hand down your pants and brushes her fingers against your pussy.
“We don’t have long,” Wanda says. “But I owe you one. Can you take me now?”
“Yes ma’am,” you say. “I can take you.”
“Good girl.”
Wanda’s fingers slip inside of you. She haphazardly kisses against your neck as she works her fingers in and out.
“Oh, so good for me,” Wanda says. “You take mommy’s fingers so well. God, imagine what you’d do to my strap.”
“Fuck Wanda,” you moan out. “I’m going to come.”
“Do it, baby. Come hard for me,” Wanda instructs.
You come hard against her fingers and Wanda slips out of you. She brings her to fingers to her mouth and sucks them clean. The sight almost makes you have another orgasm.
“Thank you for coming today,” Wanda says. “I just might invite you again.”
“I’ll be happy to be here again,” you say.
Wanda smiles and kisses you one last time. She stands up and gets dressed. You readjust your clothes walk out of the room with her.
Natasha is in the kitchen and she just shoots you a wink.
You still don’t know what to think about Wanda, but you know you want to see her again.
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I love your Husk pieces! He's my favorite =^.^= I wanna hug the shit out of him 😆
If you have time, could you do one where Charlie planned a movie night for "bonding" lol and the reader ends up falling asleep on Husk? Everyone ships them and encourages him to confess to her? So much fluff please! Thanks hon! ^.^
A/N: This is so adorable!! Love this! I hope you enjoy! XD
Pairing: Husk x fem!Reader
“Until I Smile at You” - Husk x Reader
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After living at the Hazbin Hotel for a while, Charlie’s “trust exercises” had become less of an annoying nuisance and simply a part of daily life. Actually, they were kind of refreshing and - dare you say - fun! They ranged from trust falls and share circles to your personal favorite - movie night. Movie night happened once a week and every week the person who chose the movie rotated. This week was supposed to be Angel’s turn, but ever since he chose his movie to be the most graphic porn anybody had ever had the displeasure of seeing, he was banned from choosing the movies. Instead of Angel, the group decided to let Alastor choose. He was always a marvel, as his movies ranged from silent films to disgustingly gorey horror movies. Tonight, however, he picked a noir detective film that he enjoyed while he was still alive (not before endlessly complaining about how radio is the superior media form, though).
One thing that nobody could stand about Alastor’s movies was how much he talked during them. I guess it's because he's so used to working in radio that he cannot comprehend that maybe, just maybe, not everybody wants to hear his voice all the time. He would either explain every little detail about the leading actors or talk about a living memory that he associated with the specific scene.  This night, though, Alastor seemed so enamored by the movie that he was completely silent. You were sitting on the couch with Alastor, Angel, and Husk, and found your eyes getting slightly heavier with every passing minute. The combination of the dark room, boring movie, and precious silence was just what you needed to drift into a peaceful slumber. Slowly resting your head and body on the irresistibly soft and warm cat demon beside you, your consciousness fades in and out until your mind is finally met with sleep.
The second Husk felt your head meet his shoulder in a gentle embrace, he froze. He had only ever imagined this happening, and was nowhere near prepared for it to actually happen tonight. Despite his hard and tough facade, Husk craved nothing more than soft affection, and knowing that you trusted him enough to not disturb your slumber flattered him. He remained completely still (so as not to wake you) for more than an hour until the movie finished. Charlie, using the remote to find another movie, said, 
“Thank you guys for spending tonight with me! This was amazing! I think I’m going to put on another movie, if anybody wants to stay down here, but you’re welcome to go upstairs and go to slee-'' she is cut off when she turns around to see you asleep on Husk, practically beaming with joy. “AWWWWW-” she is cut off by Husk’s “Shh!”, partially because he is embarrassed but also because he doesn’t want you to wake up in embarrassment. This caused everybody’s attention to turn to the two of you, not quite as surprised as Charlie.
“I mean, are we shocked? He’s been fawning over Y/N ever since she moved in. Don’t shame the poor guy…” Angel says in a mocking tone.
Everyone’s eyes slightly divert, not wanting to completely show that Husk’s attraction to Y/N is anything short of obvious.
“Shut the fuck up, man” Husk replies. 
“I’m not saying that she’s told me that she likes you back… buuuuut you should definitely just tell her. Trust me.” Charlie says, literally gleaming with excitement. 
Hearing this, Husk’s insides flip, his internal monologue running wild.
‘Did she- does she- could Y/N actually like someone like me? She’s just so… perfect. I don’t deserve her. But - let’s just - don’t get your hopes up, man. This could just be Charlie being Charlie, saying shit to make people leave their comfort zones or something.’
“Alright idiots, let’s not wake her up.” he says, sighing and gently picking you up. 
“I hear a single word about this tomorrow, and I’ll kill ya.” he says, while quietly walking to your room. 
He rolls his eyes while listening to Angel making fun of him and Charlie trying earnestly to defend you guys, saying something along the lines of “But this is how Vaggie and I started to fall in love!”
Opening your door as quietly as possible, he gently places you down on your bed. Covering you with blankets, he turns to leave until he hears your soft voice call to him:
“Was all that stuff they said about you true?”
Shit. You heard? Should he deny it? Pretend he didn’t even hear you?
“What?”
Deny it is.
“The stuff that Charlie and Angel said… about you liking me. Is that true?” you ask.
“I don’t know what kind of dream you were having, but everyone was dead silent during the movie, because, yknow, bonding time or whatever.”
He was avoiding your gaze until now, hoping that you would just accept the lie and go back to sleep. Instead, when he looked at you, he was met with your disbelieving face staring right back at him. 
“Mhm.” you say sarcastically. 
Moments of awkward silence lead to Husk trying to make a quick escape, muttering goodnight and walking to your door. He’s halfway out of the doorway when he hears your voice again.
“It’s a shame, I was hoping that what they were saying was true.” you say teasingly, just loud enough for him to come back into the room.
“What did you say?” he asks.
“Oh, nothing” you reply, smugly. 
“Don’t do that.” he says, clearly intrigued but trying to seem annoyed. 
“Do what?” you say, teasingly.
“Satan, just tell me what you said. I don’t like playing games.” he says.
“Oh, but, clearly you do, if you’ve been ‘fawning’ over me since the day I've walked in,  yet.. said nothing.”
He looks - embarrassed. Almost hurt. 
“Fine, yeah, I like you. No need to rub it in and be an asshole about it, I know you don’t like me.”
You look at his diverting eyes and immediately regret your teasing tone.
“Oh, Husk, I wasn’t making fun of you, I was just being stupid. Come here.” you say, patting the spot next to you on the bed. 
He sits next to you, looking confused.
“Here.” you say, while holding his hands in yours. 
“Listen. I wasn’t trying to embarrass you. I’m sorry if it came across that way. I mean, obviously I like you too. Was it not clear?” you giggle. 
Husk’s eyes widened in shock.
“What- I mea- You like me? Why?” he blurts out.
“Why? Come on, don’t be dumb. You’re the funniest person I know, you’re always willing to listen to me, and you’ve never once turned me away when I needed help. And, you're truly handsome, but that’s just a bonus. You’ve made being trapped in Hell actually enjoyable, which is something that you should be proud of. I wake up everyday excited to see you, to talk to you. I just wish you would've told me that you liked me sooner (and yourself)” you say.
Husk’s eyes are glued on you like you’re the last thing he’ll ever see, like he has to memorize your every feature before he blinks. He has never been more enamored with anybody before. 
In lack of a better response, all he can blurt out is, “Thank you!?”
You giggle, a slight blush creeping up your face. 
“And you are clearly tired. How about you sleep in here tonight? We can cuddle, or talk, or just sit with each other.” you ask.
“That - That sounds great.” he says, truly letting his guard down for the first time in years. As he lays next to you, finally becoming truly comfortable, he swears that he can see a white, fuzzy hand holding a phone by the slightly-ajar door.
“Angel, if that’s you by that door right now, you’re gonna want to run.”
You can hear the spider’s screams of “I GOT IT GUYS! THE FULL VIDEO!! AHAHAHAHA!” as Husk reluctantly leaves the bed.
“Excuse me,” he says, “I’m gonna go take care of this. I’ll be back.”
As he leaves, you start to realize how you got from the couch to the bed in the first place. Smiling to yourself, you savor the fact that, though you were condemned to eternal damnation, these people that you have found could not have created a better heaven for you.
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fadedin2u · 3 months
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hi rose toy, could you write about ellie comforting reader with body insecurities? love your writing and have a good day!!
here’s a little drabble!! this was super therapeutic to write, thank u for the lovely request anon!
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.
“i just- i don’t like myself, ellie. i don’t like anything about how i look,” you finally admit, sick of your own thoughts plaguing your mind.
ellie’s eyes are full of heartache as she says, “but i do. i like everything about how you look.”
the response makes your heart bleed more, and your lip trembles.
“you have to say that. you’re my girlfriend.”
ellie shakes her head, “hey. that’s not true. i’m not gonna say anything to you that i don’t mean, you know that.”
you look down, not wanting her to see the tears building in your eyes. “i just… i can’t help but notice how many fucking things are wrong with my body. with my face. with me.”
ellie frowns, “what makes any of it wrong? where’s the guide book telling you how you’re supposed to look?”
you get irritated in spite of knowing ellie’s good intentions, “everything tells me i’m supposed to look different than how i do, ellie. you’re the fucking beauty standard, no offense, but you have no idea what it feels like to not be.”
ellie’s eyes flash with hurt from your words, but she covers it well.
you sigh, ashamed, wiping your face, “i’m sorry, els, really. i’m not trying to pick a fight with you or make you feel like shit too, i just hate living with how i look everyday.”
ellie smoothes her hands over your sides, “do you want to know what i think?”
you take a breath and slowly nod.
“not everything about you fits the beauty standard. that’s true. but the beauty standard was created by rich, white men who are trying to make a goddamn profit off of women fucking hating themselves. so women just perpetuate this bullshit standard, because they feel like it’s attached to their worth as a human being, and everyone feels like shit, except for the dudes who’s pockets are getting fuller each time someone goes in to get a fucking lypo treatment or a nose job.”
you stay quiet, listening, even though this isn’t necessarily new information to you.
ellie takes a breath, “so, maybe not all of you fits into that stupid model of a fake woman, but how the fuck does that make you less beautiful? i love how you look naturally, because you’re fucking real, gorgeous, and human. i don’t want a fantasy girl that fits perfectly into a porn-brain infected, white, straight, limp-dick’s wet dream. i want you. i want how you look naturally, when you’re healthy and happy. because that’s when you look the most beautiful to me, no matter what.”
you take a breath. “so you’re honestly saying you wouldn’t prefer if i was more stereotypically attractive?”
ellie rolls her eyes, “that doesn’t fucking mean anything to me. i’m very fucking attracted to you, and that’s all that matters. i wouldn’t change a thing about how you look, ever.”
you nod slowly, and she pulls you into a tight hug.
“it makes me sick that you feel like you’re innately wrong in some way, because that couldn’t be further from the truth. if you’re giving yourself enough food, taking care of your body, and you’re happy, that’s exactly how you should be looking. okay?”
you know that ellie’s words don’t take away your feelings of insecurity, but it helps soothe some of the sting, the hurt.
“i’m sorry for making you preach self-love to me,” you say, smiling a little, trying to lighten the mood.
ellie looks serious as she says, “i will again. anytime you need it. i cant stand the thought of the most perfect thing in my life hating how they naturally look. i’ll say it a billion times if you need it, i promise.”
she kisses your forehead.
“do you think take-out would help you feel better? because i think it would.”
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bvttoneyes · 2 months
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heyyy i was wondering if you could a do a request for Leo with a child of Demeter headcanons? You’re free to take creative liberty with it 🫶🏼 thank you :)
❝ Earth and Fire ❞
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Pairing; Leo Valdez X Reader (Child of Demeter) Warning; Curse words and slang used by me 😗 A/N; Reader's a lil bit feral. No gender really mentioned idt
Lemme tell you something.
When you first met, he kinda burn your garden to the ground
It was by accident tho!!!! He'd never do it on purpose :((
He just saw you sitting there so refined, playing with a daisy—then he went up in flames
Then the daisy in your palm incinerated in your palm...
He tried to apologize !! You were only slightly annoyed, you could always grow another y'know
He offered to help you out after that, basically saying he's in debt to you
Conveniently, you were *suddenly* put on more quests together :O who'd of thunk? (me lying)
Somehow you'd wriggled your way into the friend group—everyone loved you :D especially leo
then came the flirts! You thought they were only empty flirts—no actually love
Nah, that boy was head over heels, infatuated, and obsessed with you
you could've glanced in his direction and he'd have to try not to faint
Y'know those ships “A is absolutely batshit feral and B is a little too into it” that's you and Leo
Like, when I say feral I mean FERAL
You can use your powers to choke monsters with thick and sharp thorned vines—but you can't open the jar without help from him?
hearts in his eyes 😍😍
LITERALLY SEES NOTHING WRONG WITH YOU
any insecurities you have are non existent to him
wydm you don't like your body? you literally look like Psyche (she was told she was prettier than Aphrodite)
Piper love you, she likes how chill you can be yet how badass you are with those earth powers
Annabeth finds you likeable—your one of her best friends
Percy and Jason think your rlly cool and nice to be around
Nico glares at you, but will says he likes you dw
Will adores you—in a platonic way ofc
Frank finds you cool
Hazel loves you as well—she likes to ask you questions about your life
Now back to Leo!!!
Once you two actually start dating—hes still basically the same
Head over heels, infatuated and obsessed
Blushing, up in flames and swooning
He's hopeless.
He's also very romantic<3
Leo likes to make jewelry for you, like bracelets and earrings
He's so given you a plush of your favourite animal
Hand holding>>>
man GRIPS onto your hand, he's got a strong grip and he's not letting you go
Sometimes to reassure him your not going anywhere; you wrap small vines around his wrist
if you've got lipstick and you kiss him, he will not wipe it off—he's wearing that lipstick mark like a badge
same with hickeys and scratch marks
Cuddles from behind!!!
Lots of cuddles
Man is very touchy— it's just how he is, he needs to touch his friends and family to show his affection
If you don't like touch, he won't push anything onto you dw
often calls you pet names in Spanish
the most common ones are “mi amor” “mi vida” “cariño” “muñeca”
call him any pet name he'll giggle and blush
Piper once caught y'all making out (reference to another fanfic I made)
Best chef 🫶🏼🫶🏼
He's so a trophy husband, like he still works but he'd happily marry someone and be the stay at home parent
He's very sweet<33
He loves kids. For no reason he loves them, he's also rlly good at taking care of them
All his siblings love and adore you
they like to make jokes over when's the wedding
THIS FUCKING MAN IS SO SWEET I SWEAR
he'd do the same thing he did with calypso in the books, and literally go missing if that means finding and saving you
Slutty waist Leo. I've said it once, I'll say it again!!!!!
It's my core headcanon
but no why's it so grabbable
he uses kaomojis over emojis tbh
ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧
he prefers them okay?
tho he does uses emojis for shits and giggles
like going 🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼 or 🔥🔥
Y'know what I mean!!!!!
not really jealous tbh
hes keeps saying opposites attract because he's fire and your earth
He quotes avatar with you, Percy, Jason and him
“Earth, Fire, Air, Water.” — 😭💕
He likes bites
I'm not going to elaborate on that
he buys your favourite candies and lollies
He bought you a balloon once
that shit popped the moment it entered the Demeter cabin but it was pink and heart shaped :((
he's such a good boyfriend
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captainfern · 2 months
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fern rant below lol
yk one thing i have noticed both on tiktok, here and the rest of the internet is the “pornification” of media
by that i mean the standards people are being held to in regards of sexual attraction or just “beauty standards in general” and how there is this sudden increase of ideals and values built on the foundation of toxic pornography
i mean there are several examples, but the most common ideals you see typically relate to someone’s body and someone’s body hair and i have a bit to say on the matter, especially as someone who creates “pornographic” content
let’s talk body first
you are beautiful. it does not matter whether the internet perceives you as anything more or less than that. you are beautiful exactly the way you are
the pornification of modern media will tell you that you have to look a certain way. you will be told you can’t be plus-size, or you can’t be too skinny, or you can’t be tall, or you can’t lack curves, or you can’t have hyperpigmentation, etc. don’t listen to that bullshit
you are beautiful and i luv you
i don’t want to see negative body image portrayed in fanfic: x reader’s can be plus-size, they can be tall, they can have no curves. they are x reader for a reason !!! the reader should be described as little as possible !!!
and in saying that, yeah, your favourite fictional characters would fuck a bigger person. they’d fuck a taller person. they’d love you for you and be completely and utterly obsessed with you. “but actually— 🤓☝️” shut up please <3
now body hair
its natural !!! it grows !!!
if you don’t wanna shave, don’t shave. if you wanna shave, shave. baby it’s your choice. do what YOU want. don’t let anybody else influence you and your body
the pornification of modern media has really fucked this kind of thinking up because people (a lot of men unfortunately) think they can dictate the way people / women present themselves ??? gtfo what lmao
“body hair is nasty, body hair is unnatural, body hair is unhygienic”— honey please don’t. it’s not any of these things. body hair is completely ok (and so is not wanting it on you ofc— as long as it’s your decision, not the persuasion of anyone else)
i saw a tiktok of these guys being like “oh i’d never have sex with someone who didn’t shave” and “ew i’d never eat hairy puss” brother you literally suck (it’s ok to have preference, but don’t make it out to be vile or weird or something other people have to agree with)
it’s natural. it’s normal. it’s perfectly hygienic if you keep it that way. if you meet someone like the guys i mentioned above, they ain’t worth your time
and yeah, john price and simon riley and johnny mactavish and kyle garrick would fuck you and eat you out if you didn’t shave cause they’re MEN
love yourself because you’re beautiful and i’m telling you so right now !!!
i felt the need to say this as i write pornography. i write x readers. i try to keep everything regarding body as neutral as possible (and if i ever fuck up, please let me know !!)
i often write about “fat” or “flesh” in my writing but that’s because i don’t see a lot of fics with it. if you want something different, specify in a request and i will write your request more to your liking <3 i want everyone to feel accepted and welcome here because it’s important !!!
on that note, you won’t catch me writing about “bare pussy” or “hairless legs” or whatever. i try to keep it all up to your imagination !!! (you will find hairy men tho !!! the lads i write for will always be hairy but that’s cause i’m a whore)
anyway i luv you and you are so so so beautiful and i hope you have an amazing day / night wherever you may be
this post is not an attack or anything of the sort. i’m just speaking my mind :)
lots of luv <3
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pearynice · 10 months
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5+1 Things
Part 1 Part 2 
(Complete)
5 times Eddie doesn't know how to deal with being in a relationship with Steve Harrington, and 1 time he turns the tables.
4.
“Okay, time for water,” Steve says, and his fingers press deeper into Eddie’s side as they walk down his pristine hallway. 
God, how had Eddie never noticed how much breakable shit Steve has lying around his house? Fucking, glass tables and enormous, empty ceramic vases on the floor. It’s a very treacherous path, and he tells Steve such. 
“Yes, very treacherous,” Steve agrees, and he’s pulled into Steve’s side a little more securely. “So don’t touch anything, alright?”
“I’m very bad at that,” Eddie says, which makes Steve laugh, and Eddie can’t help but giggle along.
“Why are you laughing?” Steve asks, grinning, and Eddie wonders how someone can always be so attractive.
“Because you’re laughing,” he says, and he only stumbles a little over the entryway to the kitchen. 
Steve shakes his head, smile still wide, and guides him over to the sink. “Stay.” He instructs, when he leans Eddie against the counter.
“Easy peasy, sweetheart.” Eddie says, and even kicks a leg up to show how effortless it is. 
“Please-“ Steve begins, and he pushes Eddie’s leg back down. “I really don’t want to have to take you to the ER for stitches.” 
“I’m so good, babe, you don’t even know.” 
Steve looks unimpressed, but eventually he turns around again, mumbling, “who would’ve thought Jeff would be the bad influence?”
Which, not fair. Jeff is perfect. “Jeff is perfect,” Eddie says, defiantly, and Steve raises his eyebrows as he fills up a glass from the tap.
“Perfect, huh?” Steve asks, and he has that teasing little smile on his face. 
“Perfect,” Eddie says, doubling down. “Just because everyone can’t have a-“ and he does an impeccable imitation of Robin squealing platonic soulmate with a capital ‘p’! “-doesn’t mean I can’t have a perfect best friend.”
He takes the water Steve puts in front of him. Shit, it’s good. He feels some of it dribble down his chin and onto his chest. 
“Just, drink your water, babe,” Steve mumbles, which means Eddie’s won this round.
When Eddie’s done, Steve fills up the cup and hands it to him again.
He smacks his lips together when the second glass is downed, and he has enough wherewithal to be grateful. “Thanks, Stevie.” He says, and Steve shakes his head again. 
“Let’s just get you to bed, sunshine.” Steve says, and he has that calm, soft smile on his face that Eddie loves so much. He kind of wants to bottle it up and keep it on a chain around his neck for the rest of his life. Instead, he does the next best thing, which is paw at it with his free hand.
“Your hands are so clammy, Jesus-” Steve complains, which makes Eddie giggle again, and he only drops the act when Steve pulls away to lead them upstairs. 
They get to the plaid monstrosity that is Steve’s bedroom, and Eddie starts fumbling with the buckle on his belt.
“Oooh, trying to seduce me, big boy?” He asks, obnoxiously, when Steve swats his hands away to do it himself.
“I don’t need to try anymore, lover boy.” Steve says through a grin, which, touché.
Eddie wriggles out of his leather jacket-jean-jacket-flannel-t-shirt combo and throws it onto Steve’s floor, then uses his boyfriend’s shoulder for balance as he steps out of his jeans.
“Think you can dress yourself?” Steve asks, grabbing Eddie’s clothes. “I’m throwing these in the wash.”
Eddie rolls his eyes, which makes the room spin a bit. “Babe, I’m drunk, not an invalid.” Steve just smacks a kiss onto the top of his head and walks out of the room.
Eddie rifles through Steve’s clothes. He forgoes the shirts that are his, opting for one of Steve’s many sweatshirts. He changes into a pair of Steve’s boxers and leaves his own on the floor.
Not for the first time, Eddie thanks whatever god blessed him with a rich boyfriend, one with an en-suite bathroom, because having a sink ten feet from your bed when your house is above four thousand square feet is, frankly, the height of luxury. 
He uses one of the fancy, silky hair ties Steve bought him to tie up his hair, in that ridiculous bun that makes him look like a pineapple that Steve calls protective, and uses the blue toothbrush Steve bought him to get the taste of beer and vodka out of his mouth. 
So it’s then, watching himself brush his teeth in Steve’s bathroom, in Steve’s clothes, his hair done up in that ridiculous pink hair tie, that Eddie gets a little overwhelmed. 
Oh, he thinks, because it's all just so nice. And maybe Wayne’d call him emotionally constipated, because it’s all hitting him when he’s inebriated, but he starts crying. Crying big, fat, ugly tears about his boyfriend that cares about him so much, so much that he carries him home when he’s drunk and gives him water so he isn’t hungover and lets Eddie wear his clothes and buys him special hair ties so his hair doesn’t have breakage- and Eddie watches his tears, in Steve’s giant, shiny mirror, drip down his cheeks, and watches the foam of the toothpaste bubble out of his mouth. 
It’s almost funny how pathetic he looks.
Then he hears Steve come back into his bedroom. He rifles through his clothes for something to change into, so Eddie spits and tries to make it look like he hadn’t been crying stupid, gigantic tears. 
He nearly succeeds. His eyes are only red enough to be easily passed off by the joint he’d shared with Gareth earlier that evening, but then Steve, perfect Steve with his perfect, wonderful everything, comes into the bathroom wearing his Ritchie Blackmore’s Rainbow shirt, and Eddie gets overwhelmed all over again.
“Eddie?” And Steve’s arms are around him in a moment, long and lean and strong and pulling his pathetic wails into his chest. “What happened?”
There’s that note of panic in his voice, the one that will always be there, for all of them, whenever something like this happens, so Eddie manages to hiccup out a nonsensical, “you’re wearing my shirt,” so Steve doesn’t think he just saw something supremely fucked up. 
“I can change!” Steve says, frantically, but Eddie just clings a little tighter to him and manages a solid shake of his head. 
“That’s not-“ he sniffs, and he tries to regulate his breathing, because really, get it together, Munson, “it’s not just the shirt.”
“What’s not just the shirt?” And now Steve sounds a little panicked for another reason, and Eddie is such a mess.
“I just-” he mumbles, and leans back to wipe his nose on the back of his wrist. “I like you so much. And you like me. And I just,” he bites his cheek. “I just never thought this would be for me. And it all hit me… all at once.”
Steve pulls him back into his chest. Hushes him, when Eddie says he’s all snotty. Kisses his temple again, right where he knows Eddie likes to be kissed. He runs his open palms over Eddie’s back, slowly, deliberately, and Eddie doesn’t think he’s ever felt more comforted by anything in his entire life. 
When Eddie’s breaths are even again, Steve asks, “any more tears left?”
Eddie sighs. “Show’s over, I think.” He feels Steve smile into the top of his head. Feels a kiss there, too.
“Wanna talk about it?”
Eddie shrugs. “I think my cold, shriveled little heart couldn’t cope with you being so nice to me all the time.”
Steve hums. “Your shriveled little heart is gonna have to learn to deal.”
Eddie snorts, and clings a little tighter to his boyfriend. “It’ll get used to it.”
5. 
After graduating, Eddie, of course, had to pass leadership of Hellfire along. It broke his heart a little, maybe a lot more than a little, but he recognized that Hellfire had been under his reign for long enough. It had been time to pass on the torch.
This week is different, though. Gareth is out of town for his sister’s college graduation in Ohio, and Lucas had practically begged him to DM a one-shot so they could still have a session that week. 
By ‘begging’ does he mean Lucas asked him once and Eddie immediately jumped at the chance?
Perhaps.
But that’s neither here nor there, because Eddie needs it to be perfect. He hasn’t DM’ed in over a year, now, Jeff being the DM of their other campaign, and Eddie is a little nervous that he’s rusty. Because maybe this one-shot won’t live up to the kids’ memories of ‘86. So Eddie’d thrown himself into the planning a little more than he normally did. And Eddie’s ‘normal’ amount is already a little insane. 
Wayne had always called him a workaholic with everything but the important shit, which seemed to equally please and irritate him. 
It’s just that when Eddie got something in his head, he couldn’t stop until it was all out. It was impossible for him to focus on anything else. That, and the fact that Eddie was terrified that if he didn’t strike while the iron (his brain) was hot, then it’d all escape from him, never to be heard from again. And right now, he is hot. Goddamn volcanic eruption hot. 
He just knows Dustin is going to lose his absolute mind when tomorrow finally rolls around, and how could he have ever doubted himself? He is a goddamn Dungeons and Dragons genius- 
Wayne walks in front of him, snapping his fingers. Eddie takes off his headphones.
“What?”
“Your alarms goin’ off, son,” Wayne says.
And he finally hears it, from his bedroom, the solid beeping of the alarm he’d set five hours ago.
His alarm to pick up Steve from work, because his car is at the garage this week.
Steve, who’d expressed to him in such confidence how his parents hadn’t been there for him growing up. How they forgot birthdays and holidays and barely checked in after Vecna and the ‘earthquakes’. How afraid he is, now, of being forgotten.
And Eddie forgot.
Wayne must see the color drain from Eddie’s face because he asks, “Eddie?” with that soft tone he’d picked up after Eddie’d almost bitten the dust.
“I was supposed to pick up Steve,” he blurts, and grabs for Wayne’s watch. “What time is it?”
7:26 p.m.
“Shit,” he whispers, even though Wayne hates it when he curses. He’s 26 minutes late and he hasn’t even left.
Before Wayne can even reprimand him with a stern, “language”, Eddie’s halfway to his room for his keys and shoes. And maybe to turn off his goddamn alarm clock.
What the hell had he been thinking, listening to his music like that? He didn’t even hear Wayne come back into the trailer, let alone his alarm clock that was in another room.
“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” Eddie mutters to himself, doing his best to tie his shoes and get back to the front door at the same time.
“No use to anyone as roadkill, boy, stick to the speed limit,” Wayne shouts, smearing a thick glob of miracle whip across a slice of bread as Eddie tears past him.
“Always do, Wayne!” Eddie shouts back, and he lets the screen door slam behind him.
When he get to the van, he thinks, for a moment, about braining himself on his steering wheel instead of confronting this situation of his own making. It would probably be much less painful. But then he thinks about Steve, probably still waiting for him in front of Family Video, and he starts the van.
His thoughts spiral a bit when he finally gets on the road. Steve had told him, explicitly, how much his parents being away affected him. How he still remembers them not being home for his eleventh birthday, not because they couldn’t be, but because they forgot. How scared he is, now, of being forgettable. And Eddie had gone and lost track of time and forgotten him. All because he was working on a one-shot to impress some literal children. 
He thinks, again, about braining himself on his steering wheel.
Then he thinks about how this could be his last moments as Steve Harrington’s boyfriend, and how he would deserve it. That just about takes all the wind out of him. He can’t imagine going back to his pre-Steve life. Steve, who had turned his life inside out in the best way possible. Who’d shown him how wonderful a monogamous relationship could be. Who’d, in turn, ruined him for all other relationships.
What would he do, if Steve broke up with him? He thinks about it, for a moment. He thinks about what Steve would say to him when he’d do it. Steve would probably cry, he thinks, and the thought alone brings tears of his own to Eddie’s eyes. Steve would probably be so nice about it, too, even though Eddie had been the one to hurt him. He would still be so nice, not wanting to hurt Eddie the way he’d hurt him.
Eddie’s thoughts don’t become more productive as the drive goes on.
In the end, it turns out Steve had started walking home. Eddie nearly misses him entirely, not paying attention to the lone figure on the side of the deserted Hawkins street. But Eddie would recognize that hair anywhere.
His tires give a comical screech when he breaks, and he thinks distantly of Wayne telling him to stick to the speed limit.
He’s barely in park before he’s out of the van, a frantic “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry,” is tumbling out of his mouth, borderline nonsensically, tongue tied around his dam of apologies.
Eddie runs up to him, and, conscious of the fact they’re where anyone could see them, stays an arm’s length away. “I’m so sorry,” Eddie repeats one last time, “I was wearing my headphones, I didn’t hear my alarm, Stevie, I was being an idiot.” He takes an embarrassingly large breath, winded from his 50 foot sprint to his boyfriend, who is currently looking at him with wide eyes. “I promise, I had an alarm set and everything and it will never happen again, I swear, I’ll buy one of those alarms deaf people have with the-” and he vibrates his arms, mimicking the device his grandma’s used since ‘79. “My grandma has one, I’ll write to her and see where she got it so Deep Purple will never get in between us again, or, better, I can just- just stop listening to music so loudly, Wayne always said it’s gonna make my hearing go one of these days and if Corroded Coffin’s ever gonna make it big I’m actually going to need to do that anyways so-”
“Eddie,” Steve interrupts him. He’s smiling a little. Eddie doesn’t know what that means. “Let’s just get into the van, okay?”
“O-okay,” Eddie stutters, and Steve is unnervingly silent on the short walk back to the van.
Eddie slams the door behind him and has to crawl over to the passenger side to unlock Steve’s door.
Eddie turns down his Overkill tape. “See? Starting right now,” Eddie jokes, and he wonders if it fell flat only to him.
Steve’s smile is still on his face. “Babe, listen to your music as loud as you want, maybe just not when my car’s in the shop? Please?”
His tone is light, which Eddie doesn’t understand. Is this what an angry Steve is like?
“I- yes, definitely.” Eddie manages, and Steve’s lips quirk further.
“Perfect.” Steve sighs and reaches to take Eddie’s hand. “Well, if you forgot to pick me up, then I’m guessing you haven’t eaten yet, either, so how about we get some burgers, or something? ‘M starving and I really don’t feel like making anything.” He says, so casually, and leans back into his seat.
Eddie blinks stupidly at him. “Burgers.” He repeats.
Steve looks over at him. “If you’ve eaten, that’s fine. We also don’t have to do burgers, if you want something else.” Steve’s brows furrow when he sees the expression on Eddie’s face. “What’s wrong?”
“I-” Eddie was so prepared for a blowout- he’d messed up, he did what Steve told him he was terrified of- and now he’s asking if Eddie wants burgers? Is this how relationships work? Does Steve need fuel, or something, for their inevitable argument? “Aren’t you angry?”
Steve rolls his eyes. “Okay, being left on the curb of Family Video doesn’t feel great, and I might have mentally cursed you and your attention span but-” he shrugs, and he’s still smiling, “you’re cute, so I accept your apology.”
Eddie feels his jaw go slack. “I messed up, though.”
Steve gives him a questioning look. “Okay? And?”
Eddie can’t help the strangled noise he makes. “I did what you said you were so afraid of-” and Eddie can barely get the words out of his mouth. “I- I forgot.”
Steve’s expression softens. “Hey,” he says, and he squeezes Eddie’s hand. He has such nice hands. “You’re not my parents, right?”
It takes Eddie a moment to catch up. “Right,” and it comes out questioningly.
“I know that, too, baby. I don’t compare you to them.”
“Oh.” Eddie lets out a heavy breath. His mind is spinning a little. This is not a path he thought his night could take. He lets out an embarrassed laugh. “I thought you were going to break up with me.”
Steve’s smile disappears at that. “Why would you think I would break up with you over something so small?”
“Oh, I don’t-” Eddie doesn’t know what to say. Was this something small? “It didn’t feel small,” he says.
Steve stares at him for a beat in silence. 
When he finally speaks, it sounds a little croaky. “Eddie, listen to me. I care about you way more than you being late to pick me up, okay?” He squeezes Eddie’s hand again. “Right now, I can’t think of anything you could do that would make me want to break up with you. Short of, cheating, I guess.”
“I would never-” Eddie responds hotly, and Steve interrupts with a soft, “I know.”
So then they sit like that for a moment, Wrecking Crew playing softly through the speakers. A car passes, which makes them both jump. 
“Take me to the trailer?” Steve asks, and Eddie does without comment, turning the van around without letting go of Steve’s hand.
Eddie still feels a little awkward when they get back to the trailer, Wayne watching a rerun of M.A.S.H. in the main room.
“‘Lo Steve,” Wayne says, not even looking up.
“Hi, Mr. Munson,” Steve says, always so formal.
“What’d I say about that?”
Steve cracks a grin. “Sorry, sir. I can never seem to remember your first name.”
God, he’s so lame. That wasn’t even funny-
But he hears Wayne laugh, a smoker’s laugh, all wheezy and crackly. Wayne looks away from the TV to give Steve a smile. “I reckon you’re lying, boy, but I’ll let it slide, this time.” He turns back to the TV.
This is normally the part where Eddie would tease them, say something disparaging about the two former jocks bonding, and then Steve and Wayne would make eye contact in that way that always makes Eddie feel all gooey on the inside. But, tonight, Eddie wordlessly heads to his room, and Steve follows close behind.
Eddie sits on his bed as Steve changes, immediately stripping out of his jeans and vest in favor of Eddie’s sweats and t-shirt.
Steve sits next to him and takes his hand again. “Eddie.” he says.
Eddie looks up at him.
Steve uses his other hand to cup his face. His hands are always so warm, unlike his own, which are consistently freezing. “Maybe I should’ve been clearer about this earlier. But what we have is really good, sunshine. This type of thing doesn’t end just because you were late picking me up.”
Eddie whines, high in the back of his throat. “But it wasn’t just that I was late, it’s because you told me you’re scared of being forgotten, you trusted me with that, and I still forgot you.”
Steve hushes him. “I already said. I don’t compare you to my parents. Eddie, baby, you’re on a completely different planet from them.” Steve smiles. “A whole other galaxy. You forgetting isn’t like them forgetting.”
That does make him feel marginally better, just as another, worse thought occurs to him. “But Steve, what if next time, next time it’s worse? What if I really hurt you?” He’s getting a little emotional just thinking about it, all the ways Steve’s let him in and all the ways Eddie could exploit that, even unintentionally. 
“Eddie,” Steve sighs, and he shakes his head. “You won’t. I know you won’t.”
“But what if I do?” he curses how easy of a crier he is. The thought comes to him that Jeff would blame his pisces moon, and he tries to refocus. “Stevie, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I hurt you.”
“Okay,” Steve says, and he’s using his serious voice, the one he uses when the kids are being especially obnoxious- “even if, even if you hurt me- which, for the record, I don’t believe you ever would, not to the extent you think you’re capable of- it would be worth it.” Steve drops his hand to rest on the side of Eddie’s neck. “If our relationship ends with me being brokenhearted, I wouldn’t regret us for a second. You make me so happy, sunshine. I consent, okay? If one day, you hypothetically break my heart, I would still want to have you right now, the way I do.” 
Eddie really wants to cry. He holds it back, though, because he wants Steve to know he understands. He nods vigorously, and when he trusts his voice again, says, “how do you always know the right thing to say?”
Steve kisses him on the lips, then on the temple, and pulls away. “I trust you. You do know that, right?”
Eddie nods. He knows, yes, that for better or for worse, Steve trusts him. “I know.” Steve pulls him into a hug.
They sit like that for a minute, until Eddie remembers what Steve said earlier. “Want me to make us dinner?”
+1. 
Sometimes Eddie thinks of the person he was a year ago. He remembers the sweaty bars, the sticky hookups, the faceless men, and wonders how he ever thought that’s where he found happiness. 
Because, now, he and Steve are like, life partners, or some such shit. As corny as that sounds. Eddie’s never really been one for labels, but he’s fully on board with Property of Eddie Munson getting tattooed all over his boyfriend. And vice versa.
Eddie’s under no delusions that this has been a smooth ride. Sometimes he wonders how Steve put up with him, in the beginning, when even the thought of exclusivity made his hackles rise. But every time he’d asked, Steve just said it was as easy as breathing. Which still does things to him, the cheesy bastard.
So Steve fell first, but damn did Eddie fall hard.
He’s in love with Steve. He knows he is. He can’t imagine what else this emotion could be, welling up inside him at every moment of the day. Steve doesn’t even need to be near him, Eddie doesn’t even need to be thinking about him, it’s just the ever-present peace that swirls through him. Because as long as he’s got Steve, nothing can really be that bad.
The thing is, they just haven’t said it to each other yet. Not in words, at least. Steve says it in everything he does, everyday. Eddie feels it in every kiss, in every brush of fingers, in every look Steve gives him. Because even when Steve gets mad with him, Eddie still feels it. That bone-deep sense of security that they can piss each other off and still come back to each other, every time. So Steve’s said it to him, just not out loud. And Eddie hopes Steve feels it in what he does, too. But lately he’s been thinking that he wants to say it. Out loud. Just so he knows that Steve knows. It would make him feel better.
It’s just that he’s a little nervous. Which he recognizes as ridiculous, but Steve’s been the one to initiate every big step of their relationship. Steve’s the one who asked him out, Steve’s the one who made them official, Steve’s the one who asked to meet Wayne, and Steve’s the one who’d guided them through every other first little whatever. Which was probably unfair on Eddie’s end. He recognizes, now, how much work that probably was for him.
So it’s the least Eddie can do to say I love you, first. Unfortunately, though, at his core, Eddie is a dorky, nerdy fool, and he just really wants this to not be dorky and nerdy and foolish. He wants it to be perfect. He wants to woo Steve Harrington back.
It’s what he deserves.
Problem is, they’re still in Hawkins. If Eddie had free reign, he’d like, take Steve to the Superbowl, or something, and have it blown up on all the giant screens in rainbow letters: Steve Harrington, I love you! 
But he can’t do that. Thankfully, though, he has one Robin Buckley to help him with the next best thing.
“Camp crystal lake,” Steve guesses, and Eddie rolls his eyes.
“Yes,” he deadpans. “I’m taking you to camp crystal lake. Vecna couldn’t get us, so I thought we’d take our chances with Jason’s mom.”
Steve hums. “Cuesta Verde?”
“Do you exclusively think I’d take you to the settings of horror movies?”
“Do I honestly think you’d find that romantic?” 
Eddie snorts. “Touché.”
Thankfully, the 45 minute drive is actually quite pretty once they get out of Hawkins, and the sun is low in the sky by the time they pull into the gravel driveway.
“I'm 80% sure this is it,” Eddie mumbles, valiantly trying to read the faded house number.
“So, that leaves a 20% chance for us to be hate-crimed?”
Eddie hushes him, “I’d protect you, sweetheart.”
Eventually, the sun bleached 2760 is legible, and Eddie follows the last of Robin’s scribbled directions to the back of the property.
“Surprise!” Eddie cheers, when they pull around to the small pond. He doesn’t wait for Steve to reply, nerves already biting at him, and instead leaps out to unload the back of the van. 
He grabs the small wicker basket, the red and white checkered blanket, and walks over to the small piece of mowed grass between the pond and a patch of wildflowers.
The place is just as pretty as Robin described, and he only feels mildly nauseous when Steve joins him on the worn blanket.
“It’s beautiful here,” Steve murmurs, glaze flicking over the water, already reflecting the lightning bug’s vibrant glow. “Where are we?”
“Robin’s uncle’s,” Eddie says, smiling sheepishly. “They’re out of town this week, apparently.”
Steve scoots a little closer to him, and their knees touch. “And this is all just for no reason in particular?”
“Correct,” Eddie agrees, and he tries to stamp down some of his panic as he empties the picnic basket.
Chocolate covered strawberries, wine, and cheese and crackers was his plan, but as he takes out the containers, he realizes the chocolate has melted off the fruit and the wine bottle has crushed the crackers into a crumbly powder. 
His heart kinda falls when he sees it. An apology is at the tip of his tongue, because goddamn, he can’t even pack a picnic basket correctly, but Steve just grabs a strawberry, swiping it through the gooey chocolate, and holds it up for Eddie to take a bite.
It’s nice, being somewhere together that isn’t Steve’s house or Eddie’s trailer. He breathes in the air, warm, still, even though September has now begun, and Steve rests his head in Eddie’s lap, a silent request to play with his hair.
So Eddie does, fingers combing through the soft strands, and Steve curls into his lap a little more.
He should say it now. He has it all written out, line by line, what he wants to say. Because there are so many reasons he loves Steve, and he didn’t want to forget a single one.
But it seems a little contrived, now, to read it off the sheet of paper that is currently shoved in his back pocket. Maybe he should just wing it. Let all that drama kid energy be put to good use. Maybe finally channel the Shakespeare he had to read over and over again.
“I maybe had an ulterior motive bringing you here,” Eddie mumbles, and he feels Steve’s smile against his leg. 
“Really? Never would’ve guessed.” Steve stays in his lap, which is maybe a good thing. Eye contact probably would’ve made his nerves worse.
“I had this whole speech planned out. I even forced Robin to help me with it, but that seems a little ridiculous now.” Eddie takes a deep breath. “I didn’t really believe in love before we met. At least, not for me. Wayne’s really the only one who ever has, and I just thought he was an anomaly, you know?” He feels Steve shift but he keeps his hand in his hair, so Steve stays where he is. “I just always thought I was too much, or not enough, and that I would mess up whatever relationship I’d ever be in. So I think I convinced myself that I didn’t want it at all.” He pauses as a fish splashes in the pond in front of them, and the noise of the cicadas fills the air. 
“I thought being bitter and untouchable was better, because the thought of someone caring about me made me want to hurl,” he whispers, and he hopes it’s loud enough that Steve can hear. He’s not sure if he can speak this any louder. “But you changed all of that, Steve. I’m not sure what peace is supposed to feel like, but I’m pretty sure I feel it with you.”
This time, when Steve tries to sit up, Eddie lets him. 
“I love you,” he says, right to Steve’s face. 
Steve’s face freezes for a moment. “You love me?” He whispers back, like he’s not sure he heard Eddie right. 
“Sweetheart, I love you so much,” he says, and takes Steve’s hand. “You’re like, the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” Which, is maybe not completely true. Wayne’s probably the best thing, but Steve’s such a close second it doesn’t feel like a lie.
“Oh,” Steve whispers, and he just kind of sits there for a moment, staring at him. 
“Um, yes. So that’s. That’s why I wanted to bring you here. I was trying to be romantic, and all. I wanted it to be special, when I told you.” Eddie says, and Steve’s face goes all watery.
“You wanted it to be special,” Steve repeats, and Eddie’s a little worried he broke him.
“Yes?” He confirms, like a question.
“You love me,” Steve says again, but this time he says it like an affirmation.
Eddie squeezes Steve’s hand. “You don’t have to say it back,” he whispers quickly. “Because I know you do.”
Steve nods. “I do. So much.”
The sound of cicadas swallows them again, but it feels like peace now. Like Eddie’s right where he’s supposed to be.
“I have trouble saying it,” Steve whispers, and Eddie looks over to the sadness on his face. “Out loud. But that doesn’t mean I don’t.”
“Hey, it’s okay.” Eddie affirms. “You never have to say it,” Eddie whispers back. “I know.” Steve takes a deep, comforting breath, closing his eyes when he does. 
Steve lets it out, and opens his eyes again. He doesn’t look so sad anymore. “You’re kind of the best thing that’s happened to me, too.”
A year ago, that would’ve made him ill, he thinks, as his chest heats with the confession. “I love you,” he repeats, because he can, and because it feels as easy as breathing, now.
Eddie leans back on the blanket, and when he holds his arms out invitingly, Steve is quick to collapse into him.
Steve tangles their legs together, and twists up to kiss Eddie’s temple before lying back down to rest on his shoulder.
Something splashes in the water, and the crickets and the cicadas continue their performance, and the lightning bugs wink above them, and Eddie runs his fingers through Steve’s hair. 
“I love you,” he says again, because he does. So, so much. 
Fuck the Munson Doctrine. Steve’s so much better.
Steve rubs his knees together, and Eddie calls him a cricket, and Steve laughs like he hasn’t heard that joke a million times. 
It sounds a lot like I love you, too.
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house-of-slayterr · 3 months
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beloved <3 what are you Halsin headcanons??
ps do you also like the polymance w Astarion? i wanna know your takes!! <3
Omg ok it’s happening!!! Ahhhh!
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Halsin:
Halsin attempts to be a gentle man in his conscious actions. He wants to be soft and cause as little unnecessary harm as possible. That being said, with his size that’s a difficult thing to be. I feel he grows frustrated easy when he accidentally breaks things (or people). But on the flip side, if you unleash his rage, this hardly a way to put a lid on it. He’s a large beast, and as such, it seems so are his emotional states. He is terrifying to the enemy and it’s such a harsh contrast to him off the battle field when he’s safe and happy. It’s something I think sets him aside more than the other companions.
Halsin is also a patient man. It takes a lot of patients and self control to be someone with his gifts. The world is lucky his quicker to compassion than to draw his claws, and bear his teeth. I feel like he’s one to give several warnings.
He’s a very goofey guy. This man has a full belly laugh like good old American Santa Klaus. All of camp can hear it when you make him laugh. The best place to be in the world is with him lying on his back, and you on top of him during a sunset as you try to tell little stories to feel his chest rumble. It lulls you to sleep like a purring cat after awhile, like a sleeping agent for your heart, calming it in all the chaos. (Bear cubs can purr like cats sometimes and it’s adorable)
He’s an old romantic. I feel like this man like to try to play things by the book in his head. He knows what relationships are supposed to look like and sound like and he sounds so stiff when he starts off by using his “script” it works because by the gods does he have that shit down to pretty much a sex science at this point, knowing exactly what to say to get what he wants. But that’s not what draws you in. It’s the potential of getting the spontaneity out of him. Getting him to say things he normally wouldn’t, how he normally wouldn’t. Add people he normally wouldn’t. He’s a very flexible man, he’s happy as long as you’re happy. But his best flirting comes when he’s tried, or angry, or those rare moment he gets jealous. Lord help you if Halsin is jealous and the solution is he can’t just have both of you- good luck walking anytime soon.
He’s very in tune with his emotions. He’s a sensitive guy. I mean he loves ducks for fucks sake. This man is precious. He will treat you as if you are such too. Everyone is small and fragile compared to him. He’ll protect your body, mind, soul and feelings with his life. Defend you with his last breath, do anything just to bring a smile to your face. This man is nothing if not devoted 100% to what he does. He starts to become in touch with your emotions too. Being able to sense them from halfway across camp and always comes running ready to be your Druid in shining armour
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Now Astarion is a different beast literally , literally… he is a vampire. I wouldn’t say there’s much in common between vampires and Bears. I’d say other than their insatiable appetites. This spritely little elf is more akin to a cat than a bear.
The dynamic is different apart of course, but if you’re with Halsin first, he’ll notice. He’s not an idiot, far from it actually. He pays close attention to his darling and their needs and wants. Especially when it comes to body language. He wouldn’t exactly be mad you’re attracted to Astarion, he can’t blame you. He’d be more upset the longer he observed this attraction grow and you either said or did nothing about it.
I know I said earlier Halsin is a patient man, but one thing he’s not patient for is watching you “suffer” which might be a dramatic word in this case (Astarion would find it quite fitting, you suffering without his love) he will call you out on this attraction quite quickly and ask as politely and openly as possibly what you want to do about it. It’s no secret the wood elf may also find said vampire attractive.
Astarion would agree too it, not without some fuss at first, calming theatrics of wanting you all to himself but it’s fine to share with some “oaf” as if he too is not attracted to the Druid. Honestly if you keep your sanity during this phase of the relationship, congratulations love, you’ve survived the hardest hardship in all of Baulder’s gate.
But once that awkward phase is over. RIP your legs again. RIP your everything actually. Bestie are you sure you want to do this? A bear and a vampire. In love and obsessed with you… wanting to ravage you body at your earliest convince pretty much multiple times a day when they can? Yeah yeah- you’re totally sane, totally cool, totally normal. The rest of your companions aren’t looking at you like you’re the scariest motherfucker to ever walk this earth. Between the bite marks and the claw marks, and let’s be honest now you’ve probably dislocated a hip at least once- how are you feeling? Truly. That being said, they do go easy on you sometimes and give you a break and let you watch them go at each other , and boy is that a sight. (I’m not drooling, you’re drooling)
It’s the after sex but that’s really what you carve though. The part that makes you feel safe and whole and loved. They wouldn’t dare part from you even if the entire camp was engulfed in flames in that moment. Nothing could pry them from their lovers side. They look at you like you put the moon on the sky, the your he very reason their hearts beat, like you’re the only reason they’re still fighting (probably half the reason they’re still standing, let’s be honest, you’ve saved they’re asses more than enough times and they’re so greatful for that) but it’s these moments that you crave. There simple, full of love and lust and simple honest words and looks and touches. Everything so easy, and feels right.
It would be a moment like this one of your boys would choose to make this arrangement permanent. Perhaps Astarion with an off handed comment. Something about “well maybe we should just wed eternally, I hear honeymoon sex is even better” he would grin like a vampire at a blood bank. And it would be silly, but it would be genuine. Halsin would make him try again and give you something proper later if you asked. Or on the flip side, after a hard battle, Halsin would scoop you both up in his arms kissing you each deeply and say “we ahh like join our hearts as one, so we never fear one it’s like to be apart” and even though the situations not ideal and you may be exhausted and covered and dirt and blood and whatever else, it’s the three of you and that’s what matters.
The sleeping arrangements are simple. It’s always Halsin’s tent. That man in massive. Astarion won’t admit it but he creeps into his tent about halfway through each night, never wanting to start on his arms but always craving them. And you sleep happily on top of him, squishing both your boys as close to you as possible. And they wouldn’t have it any other way. They love you and you love them, it’s plain for all the world to see.
AN: sorry if this is bad, I don’t own the game, all I have to go on is fan fics, behind the scenes, fan info, and watching my friends play the game and info dump about it. If anything is inaccurate I’m so sorry 😭 I tried based on how I view them at least.
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zeltqz · 1 year
Text
imagine armin taking the rice purity test lol
“Hey Armin...” 
He looks up from his book at you, sitting pretty next to him.
The way you said his name has him on his guard, on the edge of his seat. Your voice is so crisp and steady, yet the playful look in your eye tells him you’re up to no good.
“Yeah?”
“You like taking tests, right?”
“...yeah?”
You hand your phone out to him, nodding your head towards it as he looks at you skeptically. 
You sigh. “It’s not a bomb, Armin. Take my phone and do the test.”
“What test?”
“Do it and you’ll see.” You slip off the couch, stretching your arms out in the air and yawn, body feeling light as you let out all the tension from your muscles. “Call me when you’re done.”
You don’t offer much more of an explanation when you trod off to the kitchen, humming a tune under your breath. Armin looks down at the phone screen. It’s a simple looking quiz, the words Rice Purity Test in red letters at the top has him a little confused. 
Why does he need to take a test on rice? And what is so pure about rice?
Most importantly, why did you look so cheeky when handing the phone to him when it’s a test about…rice?
He tosses his book to the side, careful to keep the bookmark from slipping out. Slowly he begins to tick off the boxes. Held hands romantically? He’s never been in a relationship, nor had he ever had the courage to talk to his crush before so no.
Been on a date? Nope. Danced without leaving room for Jesus? What? 
It takes him a little moment before he gets it, the lightbulb inside his brain flickers on, flashing as bright and yellow as his hair.
 A small gasp leaving his throat has you snickering from the kitchen, already having a feeling he’s finally understood the true intentions behind this test. 
He slaps a hand over his mouth, eyes wide, fingers hesitating to scroll down further. He doesn’t consider himself a dirty person, nor someone that has sexual thoughts very often, but hanging out with Connie and Jean has its perks (he hates sitting next to Connie in class because he makes it his personal job to draw little balls on the corners of Armin’s notebook), He’s able to deduce their dirty jokes in record time before they laugh at him for being as innocent as the pure driven snow. 
He may not be dirty minded, but he isn’t clueless. 
“Armin, is everything ok?” you call out, hiding a laugh when he doesn’t verbally respond, only nodding his head, his fluffy sandy hair moving with the movement. “Tell me when you’re done.”
He’s tuned you out at this point, now forgetting scrolling through the test in chronological order, skipping half the questions to read the rest. It only gets worse. The questions are more obscene, explicit, X-rated, questions ranging from sexual activity, to drugs, to—oh my god, is that beasitality..?— law breaking criminal activity, and just the mere thought of him completing these has his cheeks flushing hot from embarrassment.
You’re able to sneak up behind him, crossed arms resting on the back of the couch. “I scored 70.”
He visibly jumps when your silky voice is so close beside his ear, and he can smell the strawberry flavoured milkshake you’d been drinking on your breath. “70?” he asks, and you nod your head, taking another sip. “Is that good?”
“It means I’m not a whore, a junkie, or a weirdo if that’s what you’re asking—”
“I wasn’t asking that��”
“—but if you think mine is bad, you should see Eren and Jean. Holy fuck, we did it after class and Jean scored 66, Eren scored 64. Connie definitely lied because he said he’d scored 40 but we all know that’s straight up bullshit. Mikasa refused to take it and Sasha scored 90.”
Armin blinks at you, stunned for a moment. He didn’t realise this test was sucha  big deal and that everyone  took it. Now he’s a little embarrassed because he knows he will score lower than his male counterparts. It’s not that he’s a virgin…ok, he’s a virgin, but by choice. 
He gets attention at school, girls show their attraction to him, but he always declines politely, mainly because they’re probably using him to boost their own ego, wanting to go after the more quiet one for whatever reasons they have in their mind. 
“Go on, continue. Don’t let me stop you.” You take another sip of the milkshake, and maybe there’s something in the air, maybe the test had gotten to his head because he focuses on the way your lips wrap around the bottle, the few drops of the milkshake dribbling down your chin has him taking a shaky breath, his mind already replacing that image with something else. 
“Uh…ok, okay yeah,” he stutters out, ripping his gaze from your face back down to your phone. 
His nerves are racing ten times faster with the feel of your eyes watching every movement of his fingers, each box he ticks off. It’s a good thing he can’t see your face, he doesn’t wanna know what kind of face you’re making when you watch him skip past almost every single box, fingers hesitating before ticking off the Masturbated to a picture or video? box. 
“You what?” You shriek out by accident, making him visibly jump once more from the sudden raise of your voice. “I would never have guessed that, holy shit.”
“It’s—”
“Relax, Armin,” you giggle helplessly, “you look like you’re 'bout to faint. It’s not a bad thing to masturbate. I just never expected that from you. So…” you tilt your head to the side, corner of your lips curling up in a wry smirk, “ who did you jerk off to?”
“I—I, well, I didn’t—”
“Was it porn?”
“No—”
“Someone we know?”
“I—”
“Was it Annie?”
“No—” His face is beet-red at this point and you swear he’s sweating profusely. 
“Are you going to tell me even if I get it right?”
“No…”
You sigh , long, exasperated, shifting to sit next to him on the couch, knee knocking against his from how close you sat. “Alright that’s fair, I guess.”
He blinks at you with those intoxicatingly innocent eyes of his. “I don’t think I’m going to score that high on this.”
“I know that. This is probably the first test you’ll ever fail.” At that he frowns, and you reach out to pinch his cheeks, “don’t be sad, failing this test ain’t a bad thing. It’s kinda good. Means that you’re still…uh, how do I say this politely? Uh—innocent? I dunno, just know it ain’t anything bad, so don’t get upset.”
“Yeah?”
You nod your head. “If anything, the lower score you get on this, the more I don’t trust you. ‘Cause whaddya mean you snorted coke and ran from the police?”
He lets out a genuine breathless laugh, feeling a surge of confidence course its way through his veins. “Ok, I’ll finish the test.”
A couple moments later, he hands you back the phone, a bright red 96 as the final score. Your eyebrows lift when you see it, taking a quick peek over at him. He’s red as a tomato at this point, purposefully trying to avoid your gaze, eyes darting everywhere but your face. 
“You’ve never even kissed someone before?” His cheeks tint impossibly redder as he avoids your question, and you bite at your lip. “Want me to teach you?”
He finally looks at you, eyes wide in shock. “Huh?”
“I asked if you want me to teach you.”
“Teach me how to k—kiss?”
You shrug your shoulders, like what you’re proposing isn’t a big deal at all. It’s really not. To someone like you, kissing isn’t even that deep. It’s just a kiss. But to Armin? He feels like he can’t even get a proper sentence out. 
“If you don’t wanna it’s okay, I won’t be offended.”
“It’s not that—I just…won’t it be weird?”
“Hm?” You shift a little closer to him on the couch, till his back is against the armrest and you’re hovering over him, arms by the side of his face. “It’ll be weird if you make it weird.”
You feel a rush of adrenaline flush down your body when he looks up at you, his mouth agape, breathless as his eyes drop down to your lips. You lean closer for the benefit of it, ensuring your mere presence is enough to make his heart stutter in his chest. 
“Is that a yes, Armin?” 
His throat bobs when he swallows, eyes fluttering as he takes in the sight of you, gazing down at him suggestivly. The deep, prolonged, eye contact has his cheeks burning red. He gathers the saliva in his mouth to moisten it up, worried his voice would come out hoarse otherwise. “Yes.”
“Okay—” You’re leaning in closer. His world goes in slow motion. “I’m gonna kiss you now.”
“O—okay.” 
His eyes remain open for the first few seconds your lips press against his. It’s slow, slow enough for him to learn the proper movements, tilting his head to the side to properly angle his mouth into yours. The kiss isn’t a full on make out yet, and he freezes up when he feels the tip of your tongue slide against his bottom lip. You suck his lip into your mouth, pulling away to look him in the eye, soak in the sight of him falling apart under you before letting go. 
“How was that?”
“It was good…yeah, yeah good.” 
“Alright, now—” you sink backwards to grab your phone, unlock it, then hand it back to him. “—now you can tick that off the list.”
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the-hopeless-haze · 1 year
Text
I Do Bad Things With You
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Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x reader
Word Count: 4.9k
Warnings: smut. nsfw mdni
Summary: You don't feel like you're a good agent. Aaron assures you that you are. And then he fucks you. or inn other words, I think I need someone to study my brain because I did cry in my boss' office for very similar reasons to this and I am very much attracted to her but we did not fuck in her office and she has no idea I want her I just have breakdowns at work because 1) it sucks and 2) I am mentally unwell. I just truly don't know if this fic was birthed from the worst compulsory heterosexuality of all time or if I'm truly just an insane bisexual (I think it's the latter) but when I tell you I have not thought about Hotchner in years I MEAN years. I haven't watched Criminal Minds in like five years until today to write this fic. But like. He is FINE. y'all know. you're here. come for my unhinged summary stay for the smut idk
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“I can’t do this anymore,” you mutter under your breath, hating how the tears fall anyway, how you can’t stop them. “I’m not doing a good enough job. I need to leave.”
“What are you talking about?” Aaron asks you. “Why do you feel that way?”
“It’s just… it’s just I feel like I can never get a grip. Like I can’t ever get everything done that needs to get done. Like I’m not good enough.”
“You’re good enough. You’re a good agent. You come in and you do your job,” he says gently. “I don’t need anything else from you.”
You were usually so put together, so stoic, even, so sure of yourself. He can’t quite believe you’re in his office like this, past the verge of tears, sitting across from him weeping.
“I’m proud of you.”
“For what?” you ask, lifting your head to look at him.
“For the effort you put in. How you’re a new agent and you still proved yourself to my team. You’re living up to your potential and then some. We appreciate you. I appreciate you.”
“You just have to say that.”
“No. I don’t have to say anything. I’m telling you what I see and what I believe. And I’m not letting you quit.”
“But, sir, I—“
“I won’t accept it,” he says firmly but quietly. “You’re too good of an agent to lose. You know this. You know your grades were stellar and your psychology background is enviable. You know you passed every test with flying colors. The adjustment to being a full-fledged agent in the first year is tough, to say the least. It’s grueling. Getting accustomed and used to death, danger and just the pressure of the job is something that not everyone can handle. But you can. I know you can. If I lost you, I’d lose an asset. You’re an excellent profiler. It’s intuitive for you.”
There it is, though, that behavior analyst part of your brain and you noticed how he said “I” and not “we” and how his eyes softened, how he wasn’t looking at you sternly and stoically but there was more of a tenderness in his dark eyes.
He likes you. He means what he says. You know he does.
But that isn’t enough. You don’t believe what he says. You don’t believe you’re worthy. This job takes up so much of your waking hours but when you’re outside of it you have next to nothing. You’re not close to family here in Virginia. You don’t have a significant other. You’re not home enough to have a dog. And you just feel like you’ve been letting yourself go since you only seem to have time to eat, sleep and work.
You’ve always been an anxious person. You’ve managed to quell the thoughts wracking your brain with years of practice and medications to a point where you can function, to a point where you made it through school and made it into the FBI. Impostor syndrome dies hard, though. You keep trying to swallow down your tears but it’s fucking impossible when you’re like this. You dry them on the sleeves of your blazer, biting your lip nervously.
“Don’t cry. It’s okay,” Aaron says, breaking through your thoughts.
“It’s not okay,” you murmur. “I’m sorry.”
“You have nothing to be sorry for.”
“I shouldn’t be breaking down crying.”
“You’re human,” he says gently. “This job is overwhelming.”
“It doesn’t seem to get to you.”
“It does. It still does. I… I’ve been doing this a lot longer than you.”
“I just don’t think I can do this, Hotchner. With all due respect, I need to put my two weeks in,” you say, strengthening your weakened resolve.
“No,” he refuses, shaking his head. “What do I have to do to get you to see what I see?”
You sigh, leaning forward and bracing your head in your hands. “I don’t know.”
You feel him before you see him, refusing to lift your head up as the tears started streaming down your face. He kneels in front of you, taking your hands gently from your cheeks, but your eyes are still squeezing shut. “Look at me,” he orders.
“Hotchner, I—“
“It’s Hotch. You know that. Or… you can call me Aaron. Just call me Aaron. Look at me.”
Finally, you blink your eyes open, tears spilling over, and he squeezes both your hands gingerly.
“Good. Here’s what you’re going to do. You’re going to go home for the night. You’re going to take your mind off of the job. And you’re going to come back tomorrow morning and everyone in here is going to talk about how much you’re missed when you’re gone. Because we all value you. But you need to take the time for yourself. You’re burnt out. You’re not a bad agent. You’re just mean to yourself and you shouldn’t be.”
It’s not lost on you, the way he’s still touching you when you don’t think you’ve seen him so much as brush against anyone else on the team. Is he…?
You squeeze his hands back, forcing yourself to smile.
“There we go,” he smiles back. “See? Do you feel better?”
“A little. Thank you, Hotch.”
“Please. You can call me Aaron in private,” he reiterates. He would have, could have, should have let you go by now. But he hasn’t.
“In private?”
“I don’t let just anyone use my first name. There’d be questions if you started using it especially since you called me SSA Hotchner for months before I got you to just say Hotchner at least. You’re a rule stickler, hm? I think that’s part of your problem.”
“You don’t strike me as the type to think rules are made to be broken,” you counter. Sure. You were a stickler. You were. Deferential to authority - that deserved it. You spoke out, and you would speak out of turn if anything felt wrong or uncomfortable. Rules made things feel safer. Still. You’d call out the unjust. And you think Aaron is the same way.
“Some of them are,” he muses.
“You yelled at me,” you say suddenly. “My third week.”
He furrows his brow, trying to recall the incident you were talking about and then he nods. “You were reckless. You put yourself and Morgan in danger. You walked straight into an ambush. It was a mistake. A rookie mistake. A mistake you learned from. You never did it again.”
“But I—“
“It’s been almost a year since then,” he says, gently. “I don’t hold it against you. I’ve had to pull everyone who works here aside for something. And I’ve been pulled aside myself. No one’s perfect. I… I raised my voice because I was worried about you. Not because I was angry with you.”
“Okay,” you breathe out, nodding. “Okay.”
“I wish you could see what I see,” he says.
“Hm?”
“I see a strong, capable, intelligent young woman who’s an amazing profiler — you can glean someone’s familial background in record time. I see a woman who holds her ground and then some in interrogations.”
“I’m crying in my boss’ office right now,” you titter awkwardly.
“It doesn’t matter. You’re still all of those things. I see a beautiful woman who’s passionate about her career, who wants to do the best she can…”
He trails off. You wonder if he realizes the weight of what he said.
Always walking the line of professionalism. Making any comments regarding your appearance was crossing it, even if it was as benign and modest as “beautiful”. It was still a step too far.
But you, you’re depressed and anxious, and you’ll take whatever you can get.
He’s still kneeling in front of you.
You know it would be stupid, especially when he’s a broken man himself, even if he denies it to everybody. His wife cheated on him. It was hard, with the job, to have a stable relationship with anyone outside of it. You know this. You’re living it.
He’s still touching you and your skin is on fire now.
“I’m sorry,” he says, but he makes no effort to move, no effort to stop staring through your eyes to your soul. Is he profiling you? Trying to see if your breath hitched when he let the compliment slip?
“Don’t be,” you say breathily.
“It was inappropriate,” he says, and he does get up then, wincing at the stiffness in his knees from crouching in front of you for so long. You miss the warmth of his hands already. “You’re dismissed, agent. Go home and take care of yourself.”
Your emotions flip like a switch, it’s just how it’s always been, and you use it to your advantage in a room full of profilers. It’s good to be unpredictable, a wild card. You don’t even mean to. You just are. You can’t help the words that come out of your mouth next. He stood up, so he’s towering over you as you sit in the seat across from his desk, but he’s looking down at you, waiting on your next sentence. And what you say is, “Agent? I thought we were on first-name basis, Aaron?”
It’s the first time you’ve said his first name, and it goes right through him. He wasn’t lying. Not many people do have the privilege to use it. None of his subordinates would be brave enough, maybe not even if he gave them explicit permission like he gave to you. It’s intimate, all these walls up in this bureaucracy that even something as simple as a woman using his first name could drive him up the wall like it would an upstanding Christian man in Regency England. Rules. Rules to be broken.
Aaron whispers your first name, and it’s barely audible, but you hear it in his low, soft baritone. Not the first time, but the only time he’s said it without your last name tacked on the end of it. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what, Aaron?”
You’re teasing, now, and he wonders if it’s just a reflex, trying to gain back some of the power you lost by coming in here crying, or if you genuinely want something from him besides reassurance and a couple of hours off from work. It was maddening at first, trying to figure you out. He still doesn’t know exactly who you are and he’s resigned himself to the fact that maybe he’d never be able to nail you down.
“Don’t,” Aaron says again, looking at you sternly as you stand up.
“What is it that you don’t want me to do, Aaron?” you ask, and you’re still not eye to eye but you’re closer now, and his eyes never left your face throughout the whole conversation anyway.
He says your name again like it’s a curse under his breath. “You know exactly what you’re doing. Stop it.”
“Use your words, Aaron.”
“Stop teasing me,” he murmurs, looking away from you for the first time, down at the floor. You never expected him to be so… shy.
“I’m teasing you?” you ask, feigning innocence. You didn’t have to be a profiler to see how he was getting tenser as you continue this conversation.
“Yes,” he says, looking back up at you, an edge to his voice you hadn’t heard before. “And I suggest you stop.”
“Or else?” you say before your brain can catch up. You’re playing with fire. You know you are.
But you like him. Tall, dark, handsome, nothing like the men you’ve been with before. Other men were intimidated when he walked into the room. And you being you… you always wanted to break him down into a crying, blubbering mess, and be the only one who got to see him like that. Break the stoic wall and get to see him. Human.
And if he was this reactive to you just saying his name?
Lord help both of you.
“Please,” he murmurs. “Go home for the day.”
“Is that to help me, or you?”
He shakes his head, smiling a little. “Perhaps both of us.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t jump at the chance to get my resignation if I make things so… hard… for you, Aaron,” you say, and you move a little closer, his breath hitching audibly in his throat.
Again. He says your name like it’s the worst curse in the book, hissing it like it physically hurts him, and you know, maybe you are.
“A little selfish, maybe. I’d miss you too much,” he admits. “And I meant what I said. I’d lose an asset. You’re a stellar agent.”
You don’t really know what to say, now, but he continues.
“Profile me,” he whispers. “In this moment. What am I thinking?”
“So you don’t have to say it out loud?”
“Mm.”
“You want me, Aaron,” you say shakily, losing your resolve almost as quickly as you gained it back. “I don’t think you’d have to be a profiler to figure that out.”
“Is it that obvious?” he asks.
“Right now… yes.”
“You need me. You need me to show you how valued you really are,” Aaron says, searching your eyes for confirmation that you want this, too. As always, though, you’re unreadable. “Say it. Let me show you my appreciation.”
God. What in the world? Your brain is fuzzy with lust, and never in a million years would you have thought this is how today would’ve gone. Mondays back in the office are always the worst, piles of paperwork from the cases prior to sift through and file and the anticipation of when you’d be on the road or up in the air next always gnawed at your stomach. You fully expected to give your notice and come home crying. You didn’t foresee the prospect of being utterly fucked by your boss who very much did not want you to resign.
You know why the rules are in place. Dating coworkers was messy anyway, never mind dating someone in this line of work. Still… you thought it made sense in a way. The only person who was really going to understand your crazy schedule was someone who was working the same hours.
So you nod, giving him full permission to do as he pleases.
His lips meet yours, surprisingly soft and gentle, akin to the way his hands squeezed yours before. “I can’t believe I held myself back from doing this for this long,” he mumbles against your mouth, then he pulls you in an embrace, leaving hot open-mouthed kisses on the side of your neck where he can reach. “I need you here. I need you to promise me you’ll stay.”
“I’ll stay, Aaron.”
“I’ve wanted your body since the second you walked into this building. I need you. You ground me. Make me feel better, human. Like maybe I could exist outside of the field and outside of this office.”
“Did you know I was struggling?”
“You hide it well. I knew you were frustrated, but the last case was tough and we all are a little on edge. I’m sorry. I should’ve been there for you to lean on, honey,” Aaron says, moving his head back to face you, eyes meeting yours earnestly. “I want you to always come to me if you need anything. Anything.”
You don’t say anything, just hum contently, pressing your mouth back to his for a kiss that starts off chaste and quickly becomes heated, his hands cupping the curve of your ass.
“Answer me,” he says firmly. “Promise me you’ll always come to me.”
“I promise,” you agree.
“Good girl,” he affirms. “You’re such a good girl. Never have to worry about you doing your job. You always get your reports to me on time, you always make brilliant deductions when we’re going over cases, you always make sure the rest of the team doesn’t need anything… such a good girl.”
You kiss him fiercely, the voice in your head screaming he was your boss and both of your careers are on the line if this goes south long silenced. His large hands on your ass pull you closer to him, and you feel his hardening cock against you as he does. “Aaron,” you choke out breathily.
“Feel me? That’s what you do to me, honey.”
You snake a hand between your bodies and palm him through his dress pants, and you can tell he wasn’t expecting that to be your next move from the way his cheeks flush and he groans heavily. “This is about you,” he manages to say, taking your hand away from his clothed cock. “All about you. Go sit on my desk, honey.”
You do as he says, squeezing your thighs together as he follows you and takes his suit jacket off, revealing his tasteful button-down underneath. “Good girl,” he whispers, spreading your legs with hands, kneading the flesh of your thighs as he does so, letting the fabric of your skirt ride up.
And then he digs his nails under the thin sheer of your tights and rips them. “Aaron!” you hiss in surprise.
“I’ll buy you a new pair,” he responds almost dismissively, easing the torn fabric down the length of your legs, kissing the swell of your calves as he takes your heels off and places them on the floor underneath the desk.
“I’m more worried about how I’m going to walk out of here,” you say, smiling.
“I sent them all out on different tasks and told them to get lunch first. They’ll be gone for a while.”
“Did you plan this?” you ask, raising your eyebrows.
“Not exactly,” he smirks. “But now you can be as loud as you need to be.”
“Aaron,” you say, almost scolding, but whatever you were going to say after that is lost in the recesses of your mind as you feel his mouth on yours again, hot and ready, tongue gliding against yours with ease. He shrugs your blazer off, too, leaving you in just a black tank top and your skirt that was hiked up to your waist.
“I believe regulations are to wear long sleeve button-downs underneath blazers,” he says lowly. You know it’s a lie. If Garcia can dress the way she does there are certainly not strict restrictions on what you can wear, even if you’re a field agent. But you’ll play along.
“I believe regulations are not to have your subordinate spread out on your desk in front of you, sir,” you retort.
Aaron chuckles deeply at that. This is how you usually were, sarcastic and snippy, even with him at times. Funny. “Rules and regulations,” he muses. “I think I’m alright with those two being broken.”
And with that his fingers of his right hand start ghosting your cunt, pressing the thin cotton of your panties, groaning lowly at how wet you are. “You’re soaked, honey,” he says. “Can I feel you? Please.”
“Yes, Aaron, please touch me,” you nod.
He pushes aside your panties, slipping his index finger in slowly, catching your lips with his in the process.
“Want to make you feel so good, so much better,” he murmurs, starting slow and building up pressure before he inserts another finger, stretching you out, making you impossibly wetter, reaching depths of you that you couldn’t reach yourself with your much shorter and thinner fingers. “Lift your hips,” he instructs, and in one swift motion, he slips your panties off, pocketing them in his dress pants. “Good girl.”
“Not fair, Aaron,” you say.
“What’s not fair, honey?”
“You’re still fully dressed,” you point out, reaching for his tie to loosen it. You were absolutely soaked, you could feel it, and you wonder if his desk will stain from your slick. You untuck his shirt from his pants and run your hands over his stomach, scars under the pads of your fingers, God, you want to lick every inch of him.
“Mm. I can help you remedy that,” he agrees, meeting your hands when you were halfway through the buttons on his pristine white shirt, pulling it over his head along with his undershirt. You reach for his belt buckle and he stops you. “Not yet. Let me do something first.”
And before you know it his tongue is on you, swirling incessant circles around your swollen clit, and you can tell he’s not taking his time now. He wants to bring you over the edge and fast, and you wonder how long it will be before the rest of the team do return from their extended lunch breaks. You’ve been eaten out before, sure, but to use a cliched metaphor for the umpteenth time in human history, you finally figured out what women meant when they said their man ate them like it was their last meal on death row. You clamp your legs against his head, and he moans, sending vibrations through your cunt, damn near sending you over the edge as you pant and whimper.
“Am I not making you feel good?” Aaron looks up in worry.
“What? Why would you say that?”
“You’re not screaming. I suppose I should try harder,” he says, furrowing his brow and then he adds his fingers back, fucking deep into you. His tongue focuses on your clit and your thighs are shaking and you gasp, no longer able to hold yourself up seated, leaning back and bracing yourself on your elbows.
“Aaron, I’m so close,” you moan, trying to fight the urge to push him away as the pressure builds. You squeeze your thighs tighter and the sudden force of it drags Aaron’s tongue flat against your clit, and that’s what sends you over the edge, whining his name over and over again.
He doesn’t stop.
“Aaron,” you choke out, trying to back away from him due to the overstimulation. “Aaron. Please.”
“You can be louder than that,” he says, not bothering to lift his head, voice muffled by your wet cunt. “I’m not stopping until you reach a decibel level I’m satisfied with. And I will know if you’re faking.”
You’ve never had anyone go down on you for multiple rounds. You were lucky if you came once with previous partners. Part of the reason you never wanted to make a move with Aaron was that you figured he would ruin you for other men.
And God. Were you right.
You only hope you’re ruining him for other women.
You know you’re next orgasm will be embarrassingly close as he never gave you a chance to come down from the first one. You didn’t expect it to come on like it did though, your right hand carded in his jet black hair, just again, him flattening his tongue against your clit as his fingers continued to scissor you open and you can’t help it, gasping for air, shouting, yelling, keening his name. “Aaron,” you plead. “I can’t give you another one. Please.”
“Shh. Good girl. You can and you will. For me,” he commands authoritatively.
And you can. And you do.
The next time, mercifully, Aaron stands up, and leaves you alone to breathe. He kisses you and you taste yourself on his tongue. He’s achingly hard now, a quite visible tent noticeable in his dress pants, cheeks red from exertion, everything from his nose to his chin wet with your slick.
What a vision.
How were you ever going to get this out of your head?
“Can I be inside you? Please?” he asks.
“Yes,” you affirm.
Aaron lets you unbuckle his pants and lets them pool to the floor, helping you out of your tank top and bra, sucking and biting on your nipples and the flesh of your breasts for a few moments before he steps out of his shoes and boxers, completely bare in front of you.
“God, Aaron,” you breathe. “You’ve really been holding out on me.”
“Yeah?” he asks, and his cheeks flush redder. “I could say the same for you, sweetheart.”
“How long?”
“I told you,” he says lowly, lining his cock with your entrance. “Since the second you walked in this building.”
“Why didn’t you ever say anything?” you ask, but it’s a loaded question if not a stupid one. There’s a myriad of reasons why you don’t tell someone who works under you that you want to fuck them stupid. That you like them. That you love them?
You frown slightly. You don’t think you could handle it if this was the only time you got to be with him like this.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, lifting your chin with his thumb. “You promised you would tell me.”
“Is this… is this a one-time thing, Aaron?” You ask tentatively.
“I don’t want it to be,” he answers quickly. “It’d be a daily occurrence if I had my way.”
With that, he grabs your hips, and looks at you for consent, then slams all the way in when you nod in affirmation. Neither of you can help the moans and groans escaping your mouths at that, you from feeling completely full and him being fully sheathed in you.
“I… I love you,” he says, pressing his sweat-sheened forehead to yours. “You don’t have to say it back. I know how dangerous and inappropriate and difficult this situation is never mind adding emotions to it. And I… I’m not good at them in the first place. I just… I just need you to know that. I want to be with you. All the time.”
“Again, Aaron, why did you never… fuck,” you trail off as he starts moving his hips, setting a slow and languid pace.
“I don’t know. I was afraid,” he chuckles.
“Of me?”
“You’re intimidating. You’re beautiful, smart, and capable. To tell you I wanted you…”
“You’re calling me intimidating?” you ask. “You? Of all people?”
“I’ve seen you interrogate. Baby-faced assassin, hm? You’ve shaken some grown men in their boots.”
“Including you?”
“Including me,” he chuckles, then softens. “Seeing you cry like that today… I… it broke my heart, honey. I never thought I’d see you break. I’d do anything to make you never feel like that again. You need to stay.”
“I already promised you, Aaron,” you say, biting your lip as he somehow angles his cock deeper in you. “I love you.”
Kissing you fiercely, he squeezes your hips, and you can’t wait to see if there’ll be bruises there tomorrow in the shape of his fingertips. “God, you’re fucking squeezing my cock, honey,” he grunts, and you feel yourself clench more at his words. You’ve never heard him swear. Ever. “I’m not going to last long if you keep doing that.”
“I’m surprised you lasted this long, old man,” you tease.
“You’d be surprised how much stamina I do have,” he threatens, rolling his eyes at you. “You’ll see tonight when I have more time with you.”
“How presumptuous.”
He scoffs, doesn’t say anything, but starts running over your clit with his thumb, kissing you deeply, fucking you faster and harder, setting a much more brutal pace.
“You just need me that bad, Aaron?” you ask, hellbent on seeing him break. “You need to fuck me all the time now that you’ve had me?”
“Yes,” he pants. “Need you all the time. Every day. Need to fuck this pretty cunt. Make you know you’re appreciated. Valued. Loved. Never want to hear you talk about yourself like that ever again. Not…I’ll worship you. Kiss the ground you walk on. Fuck you until you can’t stand. Whatever it takes.”
“What about you, Aaron? How do you feel right now?”
“So fucking good,” he groans. “So fucking good. Such a good girl. You keep sucking my cock back in every thrust, you feel that, honey? So wet, so warm, fuck, I’d stay inside you forever.”
“Yeah, Aaron? Hmm? I—“ your teasing backfired on you, and before you can think of anything else to say, you come on his cock, your nails dragging down his back stalling his motions to stutters and he’s asking you, begging you, “Please let me cum inside you,” he begs. “Please, honey.”
You nod breathlessly, unable to speak, and you don’t think he’d be able to make it out of you in time completely if you’d said no because you feel his seed fill you as you’re still riding out the aftershocks of your own orgasm and he’s moaning your name in choked sobs and it’s the hottest thing you’ve ever fucking seen or heard.
“I love you,” he whispers, dark eyes looking up at you from where his face now rested in the swell of your breasts. “I love you. And we’re going to make this work come hell or high water.”
“I love you,” you say back once you catch your breath. “Are you still sending me home?”
He laughs. “You look and smell like sex.”
“Do you think you look or smell any different? You did this to me,” you say, messing up his sweat-streaked hair more with your fingers. “I think your boss should send you home, too.”
“Hm. Perhaps I could convince him,” he says, giving you a wide smile.
He helps you get dressed, kissing you wherever he can reach in between and it takes much longer than it would have had you dressed yourself. You’re not complaining. But there’s no fixing your hair or your tattered tights. No fixing Aaron’s disheveled hair, either, or the sweat stains around his armpits from when you teased him for so long.
“Follow me home, honey,” he instructs. “Round two.”
Maybe you should have mental breakdowns at work more often.
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cjsoleil · 3 months
Text
My Performance For You Has No End (San x Wooyoung)
Summary:
San found himself enthralled by the pretty boy who comes into the Starbucks he works at. Even after they start dating, San is still driven insane every time Wooyoung comes in to tease him. One day, he decides to visit Wooyoung at his dance studio to give him the same treatment. He didn’t expect things to escalate so much, but he’s happy things did.
WARNINGS: Smut (MDNI), frottage, blow job
“You know, I had someone order a frap with eleven pumps of caramel syrup today? Eleven, I didn’t even know you could order that.” San complains to Yeosang as he shakes up a strawberry coconut refresher that was mobile ordered. The scent of coffee fills his senses, something he’s more than used to. The elder laughs as he wipes the counter,
“Sky’s the limit.” San pours the drink in a cup and puts on the lid.
“I swear, that much sugar must lessen your lifespan by ten…” he suddenly trails off, staring at the boy who just walked in.
“It’s about that time again.” Jongho mumbles from behind him when San goes to up to the register.
“Hey.” He says with his signature, charming smile that makes everyone waver at least a bit. With the exception of the boy in front of him, unfortunately, “How are you?”
“Good.” The boy smiles at San, a polite smile, “You?”
“Good.” Great, now that you’re here, he thinks.
“How can I help you?” The black haired boy smacks his lips, pulling out his phone. Really, San doesn’t need to ask, he orders the same drink nearly every time he comes in. And he’s always consistant
Does that mean San could probably get away with quickly making his drink in advance? Sure. Will he ever do so? No. That would send him leaving even quicker, and this is the only time he ever gets to see the boy, so he takes avantage and maybe takes a few minutes longer than needed to get his drink.
After taking his order, he steps away and starts to make the drink, all while watching the boy subtly from the corner of his eye. His favourite customer is on the shorter side with short black hair. His face is soft and smooth and he wears small silver hoop earrings. His smile seems to shine and he always looks at San with such kind eyes. He can tell the boy has a mischievous persona of sorts as well.
San will admit it, he does find the boy attractive, but who wouldn’t?
San barely registers the process of making the drink, and much to soon he is handing it to the pretty boy. But he did remember to go out of his way to draw a little cat on the cup with a black sharpie, along with a few stars.
“Thank you.” He gives San a soft smile, and it hurts the red head how he is so oblivious to how that smile makes him feel.
“You’re welcome.”
The second the boy is out the door Yeosang starts laughing.
“Stop it hyung.” San whines and that only makes him laugh more.
“You’re getting worse hyung, now you’re flexing your muscles as you shake drinks.”
“I did not.” He protests against Jongho’s claim.
“Why don’t you ask him out and stop pinning over him?”
“Because.” San dramatically pretends to hit his head on the counter.
“He’s clearly uninterested in me, and if I ask him out then he won’t come by here anymore.” San stands straight with a little pout, “He probably also has a partner. How could he not?”
“Don’t sell yourself short.” The elder tells him, patting his shoulder, “And don’t dirty the counter i just cleaned.”
“He’s right.” The youngest agrees, “You’re not completely repulsing, and you’re still single.”
San knows he’s attractive. Fuck, San prides himself in being hot as hell. But something about the object of his attraction makes him forget all that. He makes him feel… he doesn’t know. Nervous maybe?
“Is that supposed to help me?” San sighs before clapping his hands together, “You know what? Yeah, next time he comes in here I’m asking him out.”
“You said that last week.”
“I’m sincere this time.”
“Said that last week too.”
The next day, San scrolls on his phone though it’s not his break. It’s not like anyone cares. He only looks up when he hears the familiar sound of the front door opening, footsteps patting in. He didn’t expect to be greeted with the welcome sight of his favourite customer. He’s never came in while San works his Sunday shift. It’s almost rude, doesn’t the boy know San needs time to prepare himself mentally before he comes in? Of course he doesn’t. He’s just the barista.
“Hey San.” Wooyoung says when he gets to the counter, the simple action of his name coming out of the boy’s pink lips is enough to cause San’s blood pressure to raise. Wooyoung’s eyes didn’t even flutter down to his name tag, keeping eye contact.
“Hey.” San replies, smiling a smile that is way too bright to be considered a classic customer service smile, “You’re an odd sight to see today.” Wooyoung’s nose scrunches up in confusion and he tilts his head. So cute.
“Excuse me?”
“Oh shit, no.” San curses as he realizes how rude he just sounded, “I mean, you don’t usually come in on Sunday’s, normally just tomorrow and Thursday. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to sound like I didn’t want to see you, I like seeing you-“ based off Wooyoung’s laugh, San has most definitely said to much. The embarrassment is worth it though, because he made him laugh.
“I like seeing you too.” Wooyoung smiles, “Don’t tell your coworkers but you’re my favourite.” He says with a little wink at the end, making San grin.
“So what can I get you?”
“Ah, can I have a Mocha Frap please?” San inputs the order, albeit slightly confused by how much Wooyoung strayed away from his usual order. After the younger pays, San makes his drink, drawing a simple rabbit along with a few flowers on the cup before filling it and ensuring to put of the whip cream on evenly with a light chocolate drizzle.
“Thank you.” Wooyoung says when he’s given his drink. San must say this selfishly, but he doesn’t was the pretty boy to leave just yet.
“What brought you here today?” He asks to stall the boy from his departure.
“I come here on my way back from the dance studio around here.” San nods, knowing what place he’s referring to. He has friends who go there,
“I just went in there earlier to get some extra practice for a performance I have coming up.”
“Oh that’s nice.” San says, a bit awkward, “How long have you been dancing… for?” San unintentionally pauses during his sentence, as Wooyoung runs his right index finger on the lid of his drink, getting the extra whip cream on his finger. He brings it to his mouth with a hum, sucking his finger a bit and running his tongue around it, collecting the cream before taking it out of his mouth. His tongue slightly drags against his finger as he brings it away from between his lips, just flashing San for a second.
Fuck fuck fuck
It’s all San can think. He doesn’t know if Wooyoung is even doing this intentionally, a simple action making San almost loose his mind, blood rushing not only to his face but further down. He wants to lick off the the small speck of cream that remains on Wooyoung’s upper lip. Wants to kiss them until he’s bruised.
‘Get a hold of yourself.’ San tells himself, trying to force himself to calm down and to stop acting like a pervert, because that shouldn’t have turned him on as much as it did. Based on the smirk Wooyoung wears, he’s enjoying San’s dread.
‘What a brat.’
“A long time.” Wooyoung answers, snickering from the expression San is making.
Fuck it, San is not going to give him the chance to slip away.
“Go out with me.” He bluntly asks, instantly feeling blood rush to his face in embarrassment.
“Sorry I-“
“Took you long enough.” Wooyoung’s smiling, a lovely smile that San has been dreaming of seeing. Not a strictly out of politeness one, a genuine one.
“You knew I liked you?”
“Well, do you draw cute little doodles for all your customers?” To be honest, Wooyoung didn’t originally have much interest in the barista. Sure, he acknowledged the fact that he’s attractive, but other than that he didn’t really care. But as time progressed, he soon became infatuated with the red head. So much so, that now Wooyoung has a collection of plastic cups with drawings on them.
Well, San is happy that got his point across. Though he wishes Wooyoung would have made the first move instead of letting San embarrass himself.
“Only the ones I really like.” He answers, and he looks into Wooyoung’s eyes that are filled with mischief and care.
“I-“ San quickly grabs a black sharpie from his apron pocket and asks to take Wooyoung’s cup, which he allows. San writes his number on it then hands it back.
“Here.” Wooyoung laughs, probably at the fact he didn’t just ask to put it in his phone like anyone else would. San isn’t really thinking about that at the moment though, riding the high of this impulse action is working in his benefit.
“I’ll talk to you later then, hyung” Wooyoung tells him before leaving, waving slightly. San sighs with a smile.
“Yeah, later.”
One day at work, San was dealing with a little bit of a rush hour.
“Order for Chan.” He calls out as he brought two drinks to the counter. He read the next order and seeing the name momentarily lifts his stress away. Looking beyond the counter, San finds Wooyoung in just a few seconds, but he’s not alone like usual. With him is a really tall guy he doesn’t know and Seonghwa. Funny thing, San never knew that Seonghwa and Wooyoung were friends.
After catching Wooyoung’s eye, he looks away with a smile and towards the tall man with him. The onyx haired boy leans up on his toes and kisses the others cheek for a few seconds.
Now Wooyoung and San are dating, yes. They’ve been going out for quite some time now. Wooyoung still comes in on his usual days, but also squeezes in extra visits to see San while he’s working. It’s been great. So the undeniable feeling of jealousy and slight possession is completely justified in his opinion.
“Hyung.” Jongho’s voice brings his attention and he looks at the younger who is whisper shouting to him, “Do your job.” San nods, remembering where he is and starts doing something productive. Yeosang sneaks up beside him.
“What’s with that look?”
“I don’t have a look.” San responds, focused on making a drink.
“You’re mad.” Yeosang states, “Is it because of Wooyoung?” San doesn’t bother to answer, knowing that the elder already knows that’s exactly it. He’s not actually mad at him, but maybe more.. irked.
“He’s teasing you hyung, he does it every time he comes in here.” Jongho comments as he walks by.
“No he…” Memories flash through San’s head, Wooyoung licking the whip cream off his finger the day he asked him out, him unnecessarily bending over tables to talk to his friends, leaning over the counter to press fleeting kisses to the corner of San’s mouth and now today, intentionally being overly affectionate with his friends.
“Yeah he’s a brat.” San admits.
“You don’t find it annoying right?” Yeosang questions, with a twinge of concern in his voice.
“Of course I don’t.” San says truthfully, “What is annoying is that he keeps turning me on at work.” Jongho, who sadly happened to cross by at that exact moment, considers resigning.
“Hyung, can you please talk about your frustrations literally anywhere im not present.” The youngest sighs, “I’m going to report you two.” The two still actually do get back to work, knowing Jongho probably would out of spite.
“Just do the same to him.” Yeosang whispers to San as me makes his drink.
“Do what?”
“You know.” San thinks about for a second before a light in his head turns on, the gears turning as he plots a little something.
When he serves Wooyoung, he gives no reaction to make it look like the teasing had no impact on him, which is more difficult than it sounds. He hands him his drink and allows Wooyoung to press a kiss to his cheek, like he did with his friend before pulling away.
“I’ll call you later baby.” Is all San has to say to him before going to the cash, leaving Wooyoung with a little pout Yunho and Seonghwa pick fun at him for.
Wooyoung dances along to the music playing from his speaker. His body flows in perfectly choreographed movements, the time he invested into his work coming through. Yunho and other people from his dance class are with him.
He doesn’t hear the door of the studio open over the music playing. When he focuses on the mirror, he sees San standing by the door, making him stop his movements for a split second. San smiles seeing he’s been caught, and makes a little gesture with his hand to signal the younger to continue. After a second Wooyoung continues, and San stays watching while leaning against the wall.
After two minutes the song is done, and Wooyoung lifts the hem of his shirt to wipe the sweat of his face, intentionally flashing his abs to his red haired boyfriend. San doesn’t give him much of a reaction, he just grins with a shake of his head as Wooyoung walks over to him,
“Shouldn’t you be working?”Wooyoung asks with a soft smile, San lifts his hand to show the iced americano he brought. Today San drew two swans facing each other, forming a heart.
“Called in sick today.” Is San’s response, handing the drink to the younger.
“Hm, why’d you lie?” San hums and wraps his arms around his waist.
“Wanted to see you.” He murmured against Wooyoung’s neck, pressing a kiss there. He laughs a bit and pushes the elder away from him before taking a sip of his drink.
“Wooyoung.” He looks to the side to see Yunho coming towards them, “I’m heading out to meet up with Mingi. I’ll see you in a bit.”
“Yeah.” Wooyoung nods, feeling San throw an arm over his shoulder. Usually Wooyoung and Yunho get food or something together during their break. Yunho gives San a quick greeting, one that the younger returns before leaving with his bag. Everyone leaves during the hour long break they have, usually it’s shorter but because this is simply extra practice for a banquet coming up and not the actual dance class, they go for a long break.
Once everyone leaves, San hugs Wooyoung from behind, slightly swaying as he admires his boyfriend in the mirror. A light sheen of sweat covers his skin, but San doesn’t mind at all. He slides his hands under the younger’s shirt and runs his hands against Wooyoung’s bare skin. He drags his nails against his abs and smiles when he feels Wooyoung sigh happily against him. His eyes flutter shut as he relaxes in San’s comforting hold. They shoot open again when the red head starts to feel up his chest.
Wooyoung turns around in San’s arms, reaching up to wrap one arm around his shoulders. The other stays at his side, still holding his coffee.
“What do you think you’re doing?” He whispers against the red head’s lips. San grabs his drink from him, he moves his other hand to Wooyoung’s ass.
“Is it a crime to display my care for you?” San questions with a hum, lightly kissing Wooyoung’s lips. He tastes like the americano San brought him.
“You’re up to something.” Wooyoung says between kisses, cupping the elder’s face.
San only smiles, and starts to kiss Wooyoung with a bit more intensity. They stay like that, standing in nearly middle of the dance studio, exchanging kisses and small touches. After a few minutes San pulls away before bending down and putting the cup on the floor. When he stands back up, he grabs the backs of Wooyoung’s thighs and picks him up, making the younger let out a surprised little gasp and wrap his legs around San’s waist and arms around his neck.
San walks forward until Wooyoung’s back meets the glass of a mirror. He nearly shivers at the cold material touching his lower back where his shirt has ridden up, but the heat of San’s mouth on his neck contrasts that.
“What are you doing?” Wooyoung asks again, pulling San away from his neck by his hair.
“You always tease me when I’m working.” San tells him, leaning in to kiss the skin behind the younger’s ear,
“When I can’t do anything about it. Thought I’d come here, turn the tables. You know?” Wooyoung hums as he runs a hand through the other’s red hair.
“So what? This is your attempt on getting me back?” He turns San’s head so he can lean in and kiss him gently. He runs his tongue along the elder’s upper lip before biting his lower one. San squeezes Wooyoung’s thighs a little too hard, but he doesn’t mind. He finds the feeling pleasurable in a way. San inches forward so his hips slot with Wooyoung’s, the friction making him have to stifle a gasp. San doesn’t bother doing so, letting out a small moan.
Wooyoung laughs a bit, pulling the other’s hair.
“Be realistic Sannie. You can’t stop at just teasing. You need more than that, yeah?” San knows he’s right, he didn’t actually expect to come to the studio and not have anything happen. He can’t help it, everything about Wooyoung is just so mesmerizing. The way his laugh, his bratty personality, the feeling of his skin. How could San ever just tease when he can have more? San just wants all that Wooyoung is comfortable with giving.
“We have less than an hour hyung.” Wooyoung mumbles against San’s lips.
“So we have plenty of time.” San responds, before hiking Wooyoung up a bit and kissing him harshly. His head falls back against the mirror, and when San moves to direct his attention to the younger’s neck, Wooyoung tilts his head to rest his warm cheek on the cool glass. His breaths fog up a spot on the mirror, just for it to disappear and reappear.
Suddenly Wooyoung kicks San’s back.
“Let me down.” He’s quick to obey the command, not wanting to cross a boundary.
“Sit down.” San obey’s again, though slightly confused as he sits on the floor. Wooyoung follows him down and sits on his lap. The position makes it so San can feel how hard the other is.
“Woo-“ San cuts himself off with a moan as Wooyoung starts to grind against him.
“Just let me-“ he whines a little, wrapping his arms around San’s shoulders to stable himself. San rests his hands on Wooyoung’s waist but doesn’t move him at all. He lets Wooyoung set the pace.
“Sannie.” Wooyoung moans his name, rutting faster against San. He starts to kiss the younger’s neck, making sure to leave a number of marks. He cries out, now losing his rythme, moving frantically to chase his pleasure.
San gives bites at the earring Wooyoung wears, nipping his ear a few more times before he looks to the side at the mirror and moans at the sight. Fuck, he can imagine teasing Wooyoung open on his fingers as he forces him to watch himself. Having the younger ride him and see every expression he makes in the mirror.
“Shit. I want you so fucking bad.” He grabs Wooyoung’s waist and urges him to shoved him down against his lap.
“Wanna fuck you in front of this mirror, make you watch as I take you apart.”
“Big talk, can you- ah- follow through?” Wooyoung questions, sitting up and lifting his white tank top to reveal his whole torso to San.
“Brat.” He leans forward and kisses along his chest, leaving red marks as he moves along. Soon, San moves one hand to pinch one of Wooyoung’s nipple as he sucks the other one. The action makes the younger wrap his arms around San’s head, so the hem of his tank top rests on the top of the barista’s head. San runs his tongue over it multiple times before sucking his nipple hard, making Wooyoung’s hips stutter. He bites him before pulling away with a final swipe of his tongue, soothing the ache he cause before moving to give the other side the same treatment.
With no warning, San suddenly grabs Wooyoung’s hips and flips their position so Wooyoung is laying flat on the ground with Sam on top of him. He thrusts hard against Wooyoung, making the younger boy cry out.
“So good.” He jerks his hips up to meet San’s, making them both let out choked gasps.
Wooyoung is already so close to coming. His shirt has ridden down, rubbing against his sensitive chest as San rubs against his lower half. So close, he’s right there-
“No!” He cries out when San suddenly pulls away from him completely.
“Shh I’m sorry.” San whispers as he stands up and forces Wooyoung to get up as well. They both take deep breaths to stabilize themselves, Wooyoung being taken aback by the sudden end,
“Why did you-“ the door to the studio opens, making Wooyoung jump away from San.
A girl, one of the dancers, comes inside the room. She looks at the two and gives a tight lipped smile.
“Hey Wooyoung.” She greets awkwardly before rushing to a bench over by the side wall and picking up her phone. Clearly she forgot to grab it earlier. She avoids looking at the boys as she leaves, only waving her hand at them from behind as she scurried out the door.
“Do you think we traumatized her?” Despite catching them just standing, it’s obvious they were up to something by their flushed faces and messed up hair. Not to mention she may have heard their moans from outside the room.
“Hopefully not.” Wooyoung replies, still slightly breathless. Really, they’re all probably equally mortified. Wooyoung looks up to where the clock hangs on the wall,
“Thirty minutes.” He steps closer to San so their chest to chest and starts to nip at the older’s neck.
San is taken back by the gesture, he assumed that they would stop after almost getting caught. Or because they have only half an hour left before more people actually started to show up.
“Baby, we don’t have time.”
“What happened to having more than enough.” San groans slightly, rubbing Wooyoung’s waist.
“Do you even have a change of clothes? Because I don’t.“
Wooyoung hums against the juncture of his neck and shoulder. San raises a good point. After a few moments, he gives San a quick kiss on his neck before dropping to his knees infront of him. The barista’s eyes widen as Wooyoung starts to undo his pants.
“Woo you don’t have to.” San insists, petting the younger’s hair, “I’m here for you.” They have done this a few times in their relationship, but San likes it to be clear that Wooyoung is doing something because he wants to. Besides, he really did come here with the intention of pleasuring Wooyoung.
“I know.” Wooyoung says, the soft tone of his voice shows how much he really does appreciate the concern, despite it being unnecessary. Wooyoung will only ever do what he wants to do.
He pulls down San’s pants along with his boxers, relishing in the way San runs his hands through his black hair, lightly scratching his scalp. Wooyoung places his hands on San’s bare thighs and leans in.
“Fucking shit!” San swears when Wooyoung unexpectedly swallows him whole. He slams one hand to the side and hits the mirror. It’s honestly shocking the glass didn’t shatter. His other hand tightened its grip on Wooyoung’s hair, but he’s quick to sooth the ache he must have caused by petting his hair back. Wooyoung is such a demon, with the way he runs his tongue along San’s cock and leans back every now and then to place gentle kisses on the sensitive skin. The barista moans at the feeling, and only gets louder when he looks in the mirror.
“S’pretty jagiya.” He praised the younger, running his thumb against Wooyoung’s lips where he’s stretched around him.
“You’re- shit- you’re so beautiful.” San gently thrusts into Wooyoung’s mouth, making him gag slightly. But with the way Wooyoung moans around him, he clearly enjoys it.
“With your bratty mouth full- fuck- you’ve finally- shut up for once.” He cups Wooyoung’s face and holds him still as he moves faster. His breaths become heavier and Wooyoung moans around him again, the feeling runs through San’s entire body. He throws his head back as he gets his sweet relief, trying not to pull Wooyoung’s hair too hard.
After a few moments, Wooyoung pulls away and licks San clean as he settles his mind a bit. San gently nudged Wooyoung away before pulling up his clothes. He looks down at the younger. San smiles, seeing that his lovely boyfriend has made a complete mess of himself, saliva coats his lips, unshed tears are in his eyes and his whole face is red from the mixture of lack of air and arousal.
“You okay?” San asks, and Wooyoung nods, leaning into the comforting touch of San’s hand in his hair.
“C’mere.” He lifts Wooyoung up from under his arms and brings him into his chest for a hug, holding the smaller boy tightly against him. Rubbing his back, San kisses along his jaw before giving a long kiss on his lips. His hands start to travel down towards the waist of Wooyoung’s pants, but the younger quickly grabs his hand to stop him.
“Honey?”
“Don’t need to.” Wooyoung mumbles, nuzzling into San’s neck.
San takes a second to register what that means but when he holds Wooyoung even tighter when he does.
“Sweet jagi.” If San would have looked down and focused a little bit more, he would have saw Wooyoung rutting frantically against his own hand until he came.
San kisses the top of the shorter boy’s hair a few times,
“Do you wanna fake sick with me?” Wooyoung laughs a bit before pulling back, smiling up at his boyfriend.
“Well, I don’t want to be seen like this.” He gestures to himself.
“You mean anyone else.” San teases, as Wooyoung goes to get his phone. He walks with a grimace, he didn’t really think of the consequences to his actions earlier, even though San mentioned it. So now he’s going to have to tolerate the uncomfortable feeling of his come soaked boxers until San takes him home.
Wooyoung sends a quick text to his group chat saying that we won’t be there for the rest of practice since he started to feel unwell. While he does that, San grabs his bag for him and holds one of his hands.
“Do you want me to carry you to my car?”
“Kinda.” Wooyoung screeches when San suddenly picks him up bridal style and holds onto his shoulders for stability.
“Hyung! I was kidding.”
“Let me take care of you Wooyoung.” San insists.
“Wait.” Wooyoung says before San walks towards the door, “Grab my drink.”
“I’ll just buy you a new one.”
“No. Grab it.” San groans but still walks across the room and kneels down, still adamant on holding the boy. Wooyoung grabs the watered down drink and pats the barista’s shoulder with his other hand.
“Okay. Let’s go.”
“I am never going to be able to be in that room without having horrible thoughts, are you happy?” Wooyoung complains to San as he starts to drive, one hand resting on the younger’s thigh.
“I’m happy you will be thinking of me.” San innocently smiles. Taking a quick sip of his drink, Wooyoung pouts.
“What?”
“The ice melted, so it’s not that good now.”
“I said I would buy you a new one.” Wooyoung shakes his head, looking down at the swan drawing on the cup.
“I needed the cup. Not the drink.”
“Why?” San questions, keeping his eyes on the road. Wooyoung shifts, still very uncomfortable with the state of his boxer’s.
“The drawings.” Is Wooyoung’s simple answer. San thinks about his words for a minute, and at the next red light he turns his head to look at his boyfriend properly.
“You keep the cups?” San looks so happy, he is so happy. His boyfriend keeps little mementos of him, despite being together all the time. The gesture is everything. Wooyoung nods, a little embarrassed by San knowing that he quite literally keeps trash because it reminds him of his boyfriend.
“Drive.” San looks back at the road and sees the light is green. San grabs Wooyoung’s hand and lifts it up to his lips, giving the back of his hand a loud kiss as he starts to drive them home. Though both can argue home is right where the other is.
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cupid-styles · 5 months
Note
Ok I know you said you’re tired so no pressure but I just had an idea for ymls so ima send it in and maybe for concepts laterrrrr <3
Ok ok ok so I know ymls started out as an enemies to lovers kind of thing but developed from there which has been the loveliest development 🫠 (seriously one of my absolute favs) but what about the night they met? ‘Cause you did a blurby on the first night they hooked up (thank u) but I had this thought that like, the first night they met, if they were all out with friends, y/n would be extra grumpy because she’d be irritated at how attractive and enigmatic he was and she didn’t wanna be drawn to someone like that bc literally who does and so he’d be flirting with everyone bc that’s just his personality which would annoy her even more bc she’s so (adorably) grumpy and so she would make an effort to talk to everyone but him and then THAT WAY you could have the little blurby/one shot you’d intended about them actually being enemies and like witty banter (which as we’ve seen obviously develops into H being a total softie and a total simp for y/n)
Can u tell I relate to a grumpy y/n
Just a thought do NOT mind me if you hate it
I LOVE THIS VERY MUCH TY HERES A LITTLE BLURBIE FOR YA (I changed it a little bc I got carried away LOL)
part of the ymls universe!!!!!
content warnings: none!
masterlist | talk to me
. . .
"God, he's so annoying."
Lea scoffs from beside Y/N, who looks on as Harry waltzes effortlessly around the bar, making any and everyone his biggest fan. She doesn't understand how he does it — or even why he does it — but they both know he's charismatic enough to convince anyone to sleep with him, bail him out of jail, or sell him their house. Or, all of the above.
"I don't understand why you're being so mean," Lea replies as Y/N wraps her lips around her straw, sipping her cocktail, "He's actually really nice."
"Yeah, I can fucking see that."
Lea snorts and shakes her head. "You could probably learn a thing or two from him, actually."
Y/N glares at her and slides her elbows off the bar, rising from the barstool and walking back over to their booth. She doesn't know who this guy thinks he is. Dom brought him tonight, apparently they work together, and everyone just... welcomed him, like he's the son of god or something. There was never a question of whether or not he fit in, and no one asked one another if they liked him. It was irritating because in fact, everyone loved him. Except Y/N, of course.
She'd known him for all of three hours and found his flirtatious nature annoying. She didn't have an issue with his kindness, but it had to be for show, didn't it? No one was actually that nice all the time. She would pay big bucks just to see him properly angry. Maybe then she would like him more.
"Wipe that scowl off your face. You look like you're gonna go on a murder spree."
Y/N rolls her eyes as she slides into the booth, ignoring the typical teasing coming from Dom.
"Me? I could never."
He chuckles and wraps a loose arm around her shoulders, leaning down to catch her ear. "He's the nicest guy ever. You're being really silly, Y/N."
She shrugs his arm off of her, "I don't have to like him."
"That's true," he says with a nod. They both look up to watch him flirt effortlessly with a blonde across the room, a wide toothy grin taking over her face as she laughs, reaching out to run her fingers over his bicep. Y/N resists gagging. "But you don't have a valid reason to hate him."
"I do, actually. He's flirted with nearly half of the bar."
"So you're slut-shaming him?"
"I am not." Y/N mutters.
"Don't look now, but he's coming this way."
She tries not to groan as she glances up. Sure enough, this mysterious Harry plops down at the booth, an empty glass in his large hand.
"You guys need refills?"
She goes to shake her head, but Dom cuts her off. "I think Y/N does, actually. Oh, and could you grab me one while you're up there?"
She sends him a glare through squinted eyes, grumbling as he forces her out of the booth. She passes Harry, continuing her trek up to the bar, and rolls her eyes when she feels him scrambling to catch up to her.
"Hey, Y/N, right?"
She nods, ignoring his presence beside her.
"Nice to meet you. I don't think we got a chance to talk tonight."
"Yeah." she says curtly, waving down the bartender. He misses her and she sighs out in frustration.
"Oh, lemme do it," Harry replies, using his taller stature to grab the attention of the bartender. She grumbles and pushes her elbows up onto the surface of the wood. She bets if she'd worn a top with more cleavage tonight, she wouldn't have to rely on Harry. "I'll take another tequila soda, please, and whatever she wants."
Y/N scowls up at him but nevertheless hands him the empty glasses. "Just two vodka crans, thanks."
"Is that your go-to drink?" Harry asks.
"Only when I'm feeling annoyed."
"Tough day at work?"
"Something like that," she mutters, turning around to face him. "What's with this whole nice guy act? Do you go home and secretly play with human bones or something?"
Harry's eyebrows furrow. "Like... like taxidermy?"
"No. Like psychopathy."
"Are you asking me if I'm a psychopath because I'm... nice?"
"Yeah. There's no way you act like this because you want to. It's weird and you're not fooling me."
Their drinks appear on the bar top and Y/N quickly grabs hers and Dom's, walking back to the booth. She sits down at the end so Harry can't take a seat next to her, only for him to slide in across from her. The tension is apparent as Y/N glares at him, and Dom clears his throat awkwardly.
"Harry's a psychopath." she blurts out. She hopes that's enough to maybe push him out of the group, but instead he just breaks out in loud laughter, a stupid, dazzling grin appearing on his face.
"You're funny," he says once he's calmed down from laughing, "I think we're gonna be good friends."
98 notes · View notes
rpdepartment · 1 year
Text
Sonic Riders Real Time Fandub Sentence Starters
40 starters 
« can we be friends now? »
« just because you hold it it doesn't make it yours! »
« i will punch you! with my fists! »
« i love stealin' shit! »
« whoah, he's bisexual, i didn't know that! »
« by the way, i'm bisexual. i forgot to announce it. »
« i missed my therapy appointment today, and i'm a little upset about it. »
« sorry, i had to scream. »
« watch where you're going, shithead! »
« i love seeing people suffer when they wrong me, even if it's minor! »
« i hear womanly emotions. »
« not very impressive for someone of your reputation! »
« we're your friends, right? you would never replace us with somebody else... you promise? »
« welp. i'm out. done with this shit. »
« i'm gonna win, bitch, i'm gonna win! »
« there's nothing that can stop me now! especially not some sort of unforseen disaster event! »
« hey audience, i know you're wondering what the fuck is going on! uhh... me too! »
« you motherfucker, you just left me to die! »
« top 30 anime deaths - number one: Your Fuckin' Ass RIGHT NOW!!! »
« i just wanted to say thank you for giving me content for my villainous backstory. »
« i'm gonna die! i'm not ready to die! »
« you know, i know you spent like a weekend in france, but you don't have to, like, pretend you're french. »
« you are not attractive enough. die. »
« do you ever think about death and stuff? »
« "never go outside your comfort zone", that's what i always say. »
« i'm impressed but also very disturbed. »
« how many concussions does it take to get to the center of your fuckin' head? the answer is "a lot"! a lot of concussions! »
« shut the fuck your mouth you piece of shit!! »
« we just doing this now? we all standing around? a bunch of assholes, standing in a line? congratulations. »
« i'm gonna cause problems on purpose! »
« hang on, wait a minute, we need an attractive person, step aside. »
« wait, i've been joking this whole time, do you really think i'm mean? »
« okay, i'm gonna do some soul-searching, but i don't really think i need to do lotta changing. »
« wait! why am i being blamed for everything? »
« i will follow you anywhere. just tell me where to go. »
« do you think i've been a dick to everybody? »
« bitch? you have been SO fucking rude. to everyone. all the time. »
« i'm sorry for being a stupid smelly little bitch! »
« you're gonna have to beg a little harder than that, motherfucker! »
« now you can be a good boy, just like me! »
186 notes · View notes
whatacaitastrophe · 2 months
Text
Is It Over Now - Chapter 5
Previous Chapter
Chapter Song Inspiration: "Vertigo" - Griff
Chapter Warnings: none!
Spotify Playlist: Here
Chapter Notes: if you have read this fic, liked it, reblogged it, or left comments THANK YOU from the bottom of my heart. keep the comments coming bc i love hearing your feedback (and like tinkerbell, i need applause to live).
Chapter 5: You're Scared of Love, Well Aren't We All?
After well over two hundred years of living (so to speak), Astarion didn’t think it was possible for him to be surprised by anything anymore. He felt as though he’d seen it, done it, heard it, read it, written the book, and adapted the stage play. Perhaps his attitude towards the world makes him jaded, but who wouldn’t be after what Astarion has been through?
Though nothing, truly nothing, could have prepared him for the feeling of Fallon’s soft lips pressed against his. Once his shock subsides, Astarion gives into the kiss and presses his mouth back on hers with only a little bit of urgency. Like if he pushes her too far she might break. His hands move from Fallon’s shoulders to her hips, and Astarion pulls her body closer to his. Fallon’s fingers move into his curls, and the feeling of someone running their hands through his hair again sends a shiver down his spine. Gods, Astarion cannot even begin to remember how many times he’s imagined a moment like this with her.
Astarion isn’t the only person in this room who couldn’t help but flirt with everyone he encountered. Their friendship has always been a touch flirty, because that’s just how they both were. It was a game they’ve played since they met. They’d flirt, exchange playful smirks, and then Fallon would repeatedly deny her physical attraction to him. Of course, Astarion could tell from her body language and the way her heart picked up every time he bit her that it was a lie, but a physical attraction did not mean he ever had her heart.
No, her heart always belonged to Gale; and prior to the wizard’s shocking display of selfishness that day on the docks, Astarion always assumed that in order for Fallon to give someone her body, they had to lay claim to her heart as well. That theory was sufficiently debunked as soon as Fallon began drinking herself to death, fucking anyone and everyone she deemed the slightest bit worthy.
It’s this little reminder in his brain that brings the moment to a screeching halt, and any desire he feels for the woman in front of him is suppressed by Astarion’s own insecurities. “Fallon,” He pulls away from her, pushing Fallon back gently to put some space between them. “We can’t. I– I can’t.”
Astarion hates the look on her face when he denies her; the mixture of hurt and confusion only confirms his decision to put a stop to it before they go too far. “Why not?”
“Because you just nearly had a panic attack after hearing the name of another man.” he tries to explain it to her gently, but saying the words out loud also sends a surge of hurt and anger of his own through his body; both with Fallon for trying to use him in this way, and with himself for falling for it. “I know what you’re doing, because I’ve done it, and I have enough self-respect to not be reduced to the level of a nameless drow you’ll let take you in a damned alleyway.”
Self-respect that Astarion has now, largely in part to having met Fallon two years ago. She had been the one who showed him he was worth more than what Cazador forced him to do, who Cazador turned him into. Fallon was the one who single-handedly convinced Astarion not to complete the Black Mass, because she believed Astarion was stronger than that. That he deserved a better life, and he could be a better person. The words fall off of his tongue, and they’re much more bitter than he wanted them to be. How easy it still was for people to forget he does have a heart, even if it doesn’t beat anymore, and Astarion can’t help but resent Fallon a little bit in this moment for that, too.
Thankfully, he does not need to explain himself further, and Fallon takes another step away from him. She bites her lip, and Astarion hates that he’s the reason there are now tears forming in the corners of her eyes. It’s almost enough for him to give in and kiss her again, just to make those go away; but if he’s learned anything since meeting the elf in front of him, it’s that giving in won’t do either of them any good. Not when Astarion is pretty sure that sex with Fallon will mean much more to him than it will to her.
“You’re right. I’m– I’m sorry, Astarion. You don’t deserve that, especially after everything you’ve done for me.” Fallon breathes and her eyes begin desperately looking around the sitting room, eyes flitting to a new spot every few seconds as she tries to avoid looking at Astarion altogether. “I think I’m going to take a walk. Maybe I’ll go find Shadowheart and let her apologize.” Fallon brushes past Astarion, and guilt settles in his chest. “What? No, you don’t have to go. I’ll go. You’re the one who actually lives here.”
Fallon turns around as she walks and she finally looks Astarion in the eyes again. “It’s the middle of the day, Astarion. Where are you going to go?” She points out sadly, because he is indeed trapped here until the sun sets. Fallon turns back around, but when she gets to the door, she pauses again. Fallon looks over her shoulder at Astarion. “I hope you know that you do mean more to me than some nameless drow I fucked in an alleyway. As a person, as a friend, as anything else. I’m sorry if my actions made you think otherwise.
With that, she exits the suite and Astarion lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. He goes over to the couch, sinking down onto it with a heavy sigh. He runs his hands over his face and through his hair. “Shit.”
~*~
The streets of Baldur’s Gate are bustling with people finishing their shopping for the Winter Solstice. In another lifetime, the Winter Solstice used to be Fallon’s favorite holiday. The decorations, the way mages and clerics across the city used their combined powers to make it seem as though the trees and buildings twinkled. Even during the years she spent Winter Solstice on her own, the general atmosphere was enough to lift her spirits. The last Winter Solstice hadn’t gone as she expected, having assumed she would be spending it in Waterdeep– not getting outrageously drunk with Rolan, Lia, and Cal at The Elfsong and then crying herself to sleep. She supposes this year won’t be much different other than the fact that she now has to attend a damn ball; and instead of getting outrageously drunk with the tieflings, it will be with Astarion.
Assuming Astarion doesn’t abandon her after the way she treated him just now. If he does, or if he decides that he no longer wants Fallon to join him on his journey to Asha, Fallon wouldn’t blame him at all.
Finding Shadowheart is rather easy, because if there is one thing Fallon knows about her friend, it’s that they both have a ball to attend in the coming days, and the silver-haired cleric likes to shop. The Facemaker’s Boutique is as busy as expected for this time of year, and Fallon is certain that Figaro and his staff are working overtime to fill all of the orders they’re receiving. Fallon offers the clerk at the main desk a small wave before walking deeper into the shop, where she finds Shadowheart being doted on by none other than Figaro himself. Presently, he has Shadowheart in a green, floor-length gown with long sleeves and an open back. The sleeves are sheer lace, and Fallon takes notice of the intricate details of moons and stars woven into the lace. The color compliments her hair and eyes, and Fallon doesn’t think there’s another word to describe her friend other than “radiant."
“Lae’zel is going to lose her mind when she sees you in that dress.” Fallon comments, announcing her presence to the room. Shadowheart looks up at her through the mirror’s reflection, and she looks incredibly relieved. Figaro turns to face her and makes an enthusiastic noise.
“Lady Fallon, dearest! It has been far too long since I’ve seen your face in my shop. You look malnourished. Are you eating? Lady Shadowheart, are you feeding her?” Hearing someone use the titles they all inherited after The Netherbrain was defeated is still strange to Fallon, mostly because the people she’s surrounded herself with as of late always forgo the formalities. The first time a staff member at The Elfsong called her “Lady Fallon,” she’d laughed and demanded they never use the title again.
“Malnourished is a bit dramatic, don’t you think, Figaro?” Fallon laughs lightly. The dwarf only rolls his eyes.
“Unfortunately, I’ve been out of the city for quite some time, so the responsibility of keeping Fallon fed and watered has fallen to other people.” Shadowheart’s eyes don’t leave Fallon’s, shining apologetically. Likely both for being gone, and for what she’d said earlier. “Figaro, sweetheart, could you give the two of us a moment? Fallon is also in need of a dress for this ball. Perhaps you already have something that’s gone unused that can be easily tailored? She’s been quite busy as of late, so I expect placing an advance order likely slipped her mind.”
“Yes, yes of course, Lady Shadowheart! In fact, I do. I started working on something a month or so ago at the request of Lord Astarion. I assumed you’d be in at some point this week to retrieve it. I’ll be back shortly.”
Fallon tries to push down the emotions that fill her at Figaro’s confession, but her reflection in the mirror suggests she’s doing a terrible job. The dwarf is barely out of the fitting room before Shadowheart is picking up her skirts and dashing towards Fallon and embracing her tightly. “I’m so sorry.” she apologies into Fallon’s hair before pulling back to look at her. “I’m so stupid, I shouldn’t have assumed you were doing well. You just seemed to be in such good spirits, so I thought– I’m so sorry. Did I say I’m sorry?”
“Yes, you said sorry,” Fallon chuckles and releases herself from Shadowheart’s embrace. “Besides, I forgave you the moment you were kicked out.”
Shadowheart rolls her eyes as she disappears behind the privacy wall in the room to change back into her regular clothes. “Yes, I’d planned to ask you what the hells that was about? Since when has Astarionion become so… protective?”
“Probably the moment he found me drunker than a kobold in a wine barrel, bent over a stack of crates in The Elfsong’s alleyway, being fucked by someone whom I couldn’t tell you what he looked like, even if he were stood in this room.”
Her friend snorts with laughter. “Well I suppose that’s one way to cope. Maybe not the recommended way, but…to each their own,” To each their own, indeed. “Is that the real reason he’s moved in with you as well?”
“Probably, even if he’d never admit it,” Fallon sighs. “Though, now that I’ve gone and done the most idiotic thing I could have possibly done, I imagine he’ll be moving out this evening.”
Shadowheart emerges from behind the divider with a puzzled expression. “What on earth did you do? Agree with me and tell him that he’s acting like your guard dog?”
Before Fallon can answer, Figaro returns with a gown of deep burgundy gown shimmering on his arm. She doesn’t need to try it on to know it’s beautiful. She exchanges looks with Shadowheart. There’s a softness in her friend’s eyes she usually reserves for Lae’zel, but a gesture that one could only describe as “romantic” was apparently an exception. All it does is make Fallon feel worse.
Fallon thanks Figaro as she takes the gown from him to try on. Once behind the divider Fallon truly takes a moment to observe the dress before taking it off the hanger, and she finds herself a little speechless. Beautiful seems too dull of a word to describe it and she sighs. “Oh, Astarion.” she mutters. Gods, what a mess she’s made. Carefully she removes the dress from the hanger and slips it on, grateful that Figaro handed it to her with the clasps already unfastened. When she emerges from behind the divider, Figaro and Shadowheart gasp. “A lot of things can be said about Astarion, but not one person can ever say he doesn’t have taste.” Shadowheart muses, awestruck.
Fallon steps onto the pedestal in front of the mirror, and a small gasp leaves her mouth once she properly observes herself in the mirror. The gown is entirely chiffon, and the skirts ripple down the floor with movement that one could only describe as liquid. Intricate lace flowers cover the bodice with a plunging v-neck that apexes just beneath her sternum, accentuating her full breasts. The sleeves are not actually sleeves at all, but a willowy cape that flows to the ground, wrapping Fallon in gossamer fabric. Figaro allows Shadowheart to fasten the back on his behalf, and when Fallon does a small turn to see it in the mirror, it just might be her favorite feature. The fabric is sheer, giving the illusion of an open back, but fastenings are covered by brilliant gemstones (Diamonds? They look like diamonds. Gods, she’s going to kill Astarion if they’re real diamonds) that run down her spine until just above her tailbone.
Fallon turns to fully face the mirror again and even she can’t help but stare in awe. Fallon doesn’t just look beautiful, she looks regal. Astarion doesn’t do anything unintentionally, and the statement this gown makes is loud enough that Fallon is certain everyone at the ball will hear it. Figaro moves past Shadowheart with pins in his hand and begins to scrutinize the dress more closely, looking for errors and pinning the places that need to be taken in and hemmed. “Well, I must say, I’m quite impressed. Lord Astarion mentioned he didn’t know your measurements so it was likely adjustments would be needed, but he managed to get pretty damned close,” Figaro muses. “I didn’t realize the two of you were involved.”
Fallon’s eyes fill with sadness and she looks at Shadowheart via the mirror. “We’re not.” Fallon knows it’s not enough of an explanation for her friend to figure out the “idiotic thing” Fallon had done, but Fallon hopes it gives her an idea. “My deepest apologies, Lady Fallon. In that case, you have a very good friend…and forgive me for saying so because it’s certainly not my place, but perhaps you should be romantically involved,” Figaro finishes pinning the bottom of the gown and stands up. “Alright, dearest, go ahead and change. I’ll have both of your dresses ready for you in two day’s time.”
Figaro bows deeply and exits the fitting room, and Shadowheart moves to unfasten the back of Fallon’s gown. “It really is gorgeous,'' she muses. “I’m honestly a little nervous touching these fastenings out of fear of ripping something…I think they might actually be diamonds.” Fallon shakes her head, she really might kill the vampire.
Fallon steps off the pedestal and walks carefully to the divider, not wanting to trip or accidentally unpin Figaro’s alterations. “Now, are you going to tell me what idiotic thing you’ve done or shall I be left to guess?” Shadowheart calls from the other side. Once she’s out of the gown, Fallon dresses again quickly.
“I kissed him.”
The silence in the fitting room is palpable, and when she emerges again to face Shadowheart, her friend is completely stunned. “I’m sorry, you did what?” Fallon shoots her a pleading look, silently begging her friend to not repeat her folly.
Shadowheart blows out a breath. “You know, Wyll told me he thought something might be going on, and after witnessing the two of you banter this morning I was inclined to agree…but now you’re telling me you kissed him, and you think he’s going to leave?”
“He rejected me, Shadowheart. He rejected me, and accused me of trying to use him for sex as a coping mechanism, because all I’ve done lately is use other people for just that.”
Shadowheart stares at her thoughtfully for a moment. “Well, were you?”
“Of course not. I don’t think so, anyway. He told me he was saying no because right before I kissed him I was fighting off a panic attack after hearing an ex’s name…but I wanted him.”
“Okay, well, as reasons go that’s actually pretty logical,” Shadowheart concedes. “But if you want him, then maybe you should just tell him so.”
Fallon gaze falls to the floor. “What if he doesn’t believe me?”
“Then he’s as stupid as your ex-boyfriend,” Shadowheart laughs. She’s never been one to mince words, and being with Lae’zel seems to have only made her more brutally honest. “I know what you’re going through isn’t exactly the same as what I experienced on our adventures, but it is possible to feel multiple feelings at once. You can have feelings for Astarion while also healing from what happened to you. You forget that Lae’zel and I didn’t bond until after we’d both been betrayed by people we loved. Sure, ours were goddesses, but yours left you to chase godhood. Having her by my side while I worked through it…well, it expedited my healing quite immensely.”
Logically these were all things Fallon knew, but her fears and anxieties tended to overrule her logic lately. Hearing someone else say it to her out loud, well, it made a difference. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re incredibly wise? You should be a cleric,” Fallon jokes, a smile blooming on her face. She pulls Shadowheart into a tight hug. “Thank you.”
Shadowheart kisses her on the cheek and pushes her towards the door. “You’re welcome, sweetheart. Now go home and tell that silly vampire how you feel.”
Fallon bids Figaro goodbye, thanks him for her gown, and exits the shop, desperately hoping that Astarion hasn’t left her yet.
~*~
When Gale enters his study, he does not expect to see Mystra sitting at his desk, nor does he expect to see a projection of Shadowheart and Fallon in an orb atop it. His heart skips a beat when he sees Fallon’s face. She looks weary, and there’s a dullness in her eyes he’s never seen before. Concern sparks through him immediately. “Mystra, what is this?”
“Just because you are a god now does not mean you can hide things from me so easily. After all, I gave you that power. I know you pine for her, your mortal ex-lover. I know you dream of her. That you often think of her when we make love,” Mystra muses darkly, her eyes daring Gale to disagree with her. “I have something I need to show you, Gale of Waterdeep. Something you must see.”
Gale watches in stunned silence as the orb in front of him plays back. Shadowheart and Fallon are discussing someone. Someone Fallon has romantic feelings for, and Shadowheart reassures her that she can have feelings for someone else and still be hurt by what Gale did to her. Gale frowns at that part. It’s not that he didn’t expect his choice to hurt Fallon in the moment, but he’d thought she would understand and come to accept it. Gale watches as Fallon embraces Shadowheart, and his entire body goes rigid when the cleric speaks again.
”Now go home and tell that silly vampire how you feel.”
Astarion.
“You see, Gale of Waterdeep? Your mortal lover has moved on. She is in the arms of another now, and there is no reason for you to pine for her any longer.” Mystra declares.
Gale’s blood boils. Gale hadn’t expected Fallon to wait for him, but he’d certainly hoped…but of all of the people Fallon could have moved on with, she chose fucking Astarion?
“You’re angry. Explain.” Mystra demands.
“Forgive me, Mystra, but I need to go to her. The vampire in question…he’s not who he claims. Fallon is yet another means to an end for him, and while I don’t relish in the fact that I broke her heart, I cannot sit idly by while he does the same.”
Mystra considers his request. “Part of being a god is letting the mortals make mistakes, Gale of Waterdeep. We cannot intervene at every turn. However…your happiness means a great deal to me. If intervening here will bring you happiness, and will bring your heart and devotion back to me, then so be it.”
He breathes a sigh of relief, and rushes forward to kiss his goddess deeply. It’s the most sincere kiss he’s given her since he ascended to godhood. “Thank you, Mystra, thank you.”
Gale swiftly departs from his study and returns to their bedroom. There’s an invitation he hadn’t noticed before, sitting on his bedside table. It’s an invitation to a ball, dated for two days from now. Tara must have delivered it last time she came to visit, and Gale scowls as he realizes Mystra must have withheld this from him. No matter. He had it now, and for the first time in six months, he’s allowed to leave Elysium.
“I’m coming for you, my love.” He whispers quietly.
Chapter List
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scoops-stevie-archive · 11 months
Note
If you’re still taking requests, can I ask for 8. sweater weather and either romantic steddie Or platonic stobin?
i wasn't expecting this thing to grow legs and run as far as it did. i'm sure i lost the original plot somewhere along the way. but i hope you like it! takes place after the events of spring break and is a companion piece to this. also now on ao3
Robin will admit she's a bit of a clothes thief. 80% of her closet now consists of every article of clothing she'd ever stolen from Steve's wardrobe.
Though, stealing is a strong word, she thinks. They're more like hand-me-downs, or "a charitable donation to the less fortunate, Steve. I won't get mad if you write it off your taxes, pinky promise."
Most of the clothes Steve doesn't even realize are gone until Robin wears it to work or a movie night. Just gives her a once over, an appreciative nod, and a "looks nice, Rob. Better on you than me." Which.
Okay.
They're platonic soulmates. Best friends. Twin flames, even. Everybody knows this. They've both come out to the party and Steve is with Eddie exclusively now, so there's no romantic feelings between them whatsoever— excluding the brief moment of one sided attraction on Steve's end.
But.
Steve is still Steve.
He's still Steve Harrington.
His natural state is casual flirting even if he doesn't mean anything by it and Robin is 100% a hot blooded lesbian, but his easy compliments still manage to make her tummy flutter and her cheeks pink as she fights the smile trying to worm its way onto her face. The giggle (a fucking giggle) that bubbles from her throat is no help, either.
She chalks it up to never receiving a lot of compliments from people in her formative years.
Now that Steve's dating Eddie, though, their closets look like they've exploded together in a clash of brights and darks, leather and chains meeting polos and denim. Eddie would never spend his hard earned drug earnings on school spirit attire, but sometimes he'll be lounging around the trailer in some Hawkins High sports shirt. Steve wears Eddie's band shirts more often than not because of how comfy they are (he does this on purpose.)
So now when Robin raids Steve's closet, she gets Eddie's clothes too, which is what gets her into the current situation:
She doesn't even think about what she puts on that morning before rushing out the door so Steve will stop honking the fucking horn. It's 6:30am and she has elderly neighbors who need their beauty sleep, for Christ's sake.
(Mr. Cochran currently mowing his yard across the street doesn't share the same sentiments.)
She can tell something's wrong by the whispers that follow her down the hallway as she walks to her locker. She ignores it, though, chalks it up to another rumor about her and Steve making the rounds again.
It's not until lunch that the reason becomes apparent.
She sits beside Nancy at the Hellfire table. The boys aren't there yet so it gives them a chance to catch up and gossip a little, something Robin never thought she'd be interested in before becoming friends with Steve Harrington and Nancy Wheeler and learning that little miss reporter has stories on almost everyone of their classmates.
They're in the middle of Nancy telling her how Becky was caught in a janitor's closet making out with someone not her boyfriend, when—
"That my jacket, Buckley?"
Eddie's voice is suddenly right in her ear and he materializes out of nowhere, dragging a chair to the head of the table and turning it around to sit on it backwards. The guys follow suit and sit in their own chairs, flanking Eddie's left and right.
Robin frowns and lifts the collar like she's expecting to see Eddie's name stitched on the inside. "Uh, no? I think I'd notice if it were, Munson."
Eddie laughs as he pulls out his lunch that he won't admit Steve made for him. "I do think it is, little birdie."
Robin bristles a bit at the nickname. Eddie jerks his chin.
"Take a look at the back."
Robin glances around the table before hesitantly shrugging the jacket off. She balks at the very obvious image of the signature Hellfire Club devil, painted against a wall of white on the black denim.
"What the hell was this doing in Steve's closet?"
Eddie chokes on his sandwich.
Nancy's perfect eyebrows pull together. "Why were you looking through his closet?"
"Stealing his clothes, obviously."
"Why do you steal his clothes?" Gareth asks.
Robin throws her head back and groans. "I always take his clothes, haven't you noticed almost every shirt I wear is his? We're getting off topic, why did Steve put this in his closet?" She throws an accusing look at Eddie who shrugs.
"Why are you acting like my clothes being in my boyfriend's closet is some big conspiracy?" he shoots back.
Robin narrows her eyes. They stare each other down for a few seconds. She can hear that little whistle from all the western movies and she glares at Jeff to knock it off. Eventually, Robin concedes.
"Touché, Munson. Just don't be surprised when I start wearing your clothes, too. If it's in his closet it's fair game."
Eddie tilts his head in a bow. "As you wish, Lady Buckley."
She doesn't give the jacket back. Isn't sure if she wants to and Eddie doesn't mention even wanting it back. So she keeps it. Admires the little stitches on the front pocket and traces her fingers over the painted devil. There are pins she was somehow blind to, of bands she'd never heard of— except Metallica and Dio— and she curses her brain for being too curious for its own good.
A couple weeks pass and Robin casually mentions to Steve in passing that they should take a day trip down to Indy and hit up a few thrift shops and music stores. He doesn't question it, so they do, and she comes home with new tapes she wants to show Eddie and new clothes that she can call hers.
She doesn't give the jacket back. Instead it hangs on her closet door as she pulls on her own, decorated in various pins and patches she bought in the city and had her mom help her sew them on, over a black Blondie t-shirt.
She's even taken a chance with eyeliner and darker eye shadow that compliments her nails. Wears the chain necklaces she was wearing the day she got Steve as a best friend.
He's leaning against the car when she walks out of the house. He gives her that same once over and she can already feel the warmth spreading across her cheeks. She comes to a stop in front of him.
"It's a good look on you," he says gently as if he can sense her nervousness. He probably can. They share a brain cell, after all.
She lets out a sigh of relief and leans into his space. He just laughs and pulls her in to plant a kiss on the middle of her forehead.
"Does this mean you'll stop stealing my clothes?"
"Not a chance, dingus."
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callsign-phoenix · 2 years
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hiii! can you do a headcanon about hangman and the admirals (iceman) daughter dating?
Hello love, thank you so much for the request!
A warning, there’s some cursing in here and hinting at smut.
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-you’re the Admiral’s daughter, which means you’re basically untouchable or half of the Navy will hunt down the person trying to woo you
-which is why your dad had told you Navy men or women are off limits, he wouldn’t want you to get hurt
-you’re his daughter and always will be, he can’t imagine you behaving in an adult manner, going out on dates and more
-you’re out with friends in a bar when you see a group of people in uniform enter, one of them looking like a Ken doll
-he’s too attractive so you know he’s a player, but you’re curious and want some fun
-coincidentally he spots you at the bar and picks you as his date of the evening, and the two of you shamelessly flirt with each other
-Hangman has literally met his match, you’re both incredibly flirty and you don’t back down
-he promises you the best night of your life but honestly it’s also the best night of his life, and against his rules he asks for your number
-you know exactly what you’re doing when you type your full name as your contact info, and the moment he searches for your first name in his contacts to text you the next day he’s in shock
-he needs a moment, running a hand through his hair and muttering a small ‘fuck’ as he stares at your name
-but in contrast to what you thought he texts you, and you go out again
-it’s so easy to be with Jake and you have an unspoken agreement that this is just fun, until you simultaneously start falling for each other
-neither of you talk about it either but you start becoming more loving towards each other, until you show up in public together, you meeting his friends and such
-it’s risky business because people know you, they know who you are
-everyone knows Hangman is trouble, and when they see Kazansky’s daughter with him all of them take in a breath, not believing their eyes
-but the way he grips your hips or puts his hand on your jaw to get your attention says it all, Hangman has finally found someone to come home to
-you can’t hide the fact that you’re in a relationship from your dad anymore and you tell him, his heart swelling with happiness as he sees how happy your boyfriend/girlfriend makes you
-he asks you to bring them over for dinner and you do so, not warning him that your boyfriend is in the Navy
-Jake doesn’t know what to wear but he chooses civilian clothes, nevertheless the dog tags around his neck say all that needs to be said
-your dad is civil when you introduce him but when Jake says what he does for a living the polite smile leaves your father’s face, and he even uses his voice, no matter if it hurts to speak or not
-“I specifically said no Navy men, what was so difficult to understand?!” he whisper shouts, but your mum is there to calm him down
-“Look at them, baby, look how happy they are. Just remember when we were their age, and we turned out well, didn’t we?”
-Jake instinctively pulls you closer because he’s definitely in trouble, his superior is angry at him, but he definitely won’t let you go
-the moment your dad sees Jake’s hand caressing your side in worry and his nose buried in your hair he can’t feel angry anymore
-he knows how he felt about Sarah, and he respects the bravery it took Jake to come to his superior’s door and tell them he’s in love with his daughter
-Jake has your father’s respect and blessing, and he’s there all the way for you when your father dies
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yourdeepestfathoms · 1 year
Text
idk if anyone else has said it yet, but i’m feeling bitter right now, so i will (also it’s just always bothered me)
has anyone else ever noticed the difference in fan opinions between Michael and Vanessa?
in many ways, they are VERY similar characters.
they’re both night guards, have been fucked over by William, killed kids, and barely actually show up in the games.
however, Michael is treated like a goddamn king by the fandom, while Vanessa barely gets scraps. she’s regarded as a bitch so often, is hated on constantly, and/or is sometimes flat out ignored or erased from stories entirely.
oh no! a woman is grumpy! she MUST be a bitch!
Vanessa isn’t a bitch. she’s an underpaid security guard that has her entire career on the line throughout the whole game. there’s a loose child in the Pizzaplex. she’s literally trying to do her damn job so she won’t get fired.
more than that, Vanessa is clearly under a severe amount of psychological stress. she’s being mind controlled by a serial child killer to murder people. you’re telling me you also wouldn’t be in a constant bad mood if that was your life?? and even if you don’t think Vanessa is Vanny, Vanessa STILL has mental health issues. that much is proven by the therapy tapes (i think it’s canon that she has depression and anxiety? and maybe PTSD? i can’t remember; it’s been awhile since i was hyperfixated on this game). god forbid a person, a woman no less, shows the negative aspects of their mental illness!
like, depression, anxiety, AND PTSD all cause irritability and anger issues. anxiety literally triggers your fight or flight, and not everyone automatically cowers into their flight instinct. PTSD has a little something called “hyperarousal,” which is a constant state of anger.
but okay, mental health issues can’t be used as an excuse for things, alright. it’s still late at night. people get irritable and cranky the more they stay up. lack of sleep causes aggression.
but really, none of that matters because Vanessa is justified in her grouchiness through the entire game since, again, she’s doing her job.
and it’s not even like she says or does anything that bad! i’ve seen people treat her like she’s some kind of monster, and for what? because she made a hollow threat about scrapping Freddy?? it was, like, two in the morning, people! people say things they don’t mean when they’re 1) tired and 2) emotional. and we all know she doesn’t have the authority to do that, so she wouldn’t actually go through with it.
also need i remind everyone that Vanessa is treated poorly by her OWN CREATOR?? she’s grossly sexualized. we all know what the Vanny suit looks like. it’s skintight. it’s very obviously designed in a way to highlight ALL her curves. Scott did that on purpose. and like,,, why?? she’s a murder bunny. why does she have to be “attractive”?
don’t get me wrong, i like the design for Vanny, i just hate the suit. i love the idea of her looking all patchwork, like Vanessa tore apart different articles of clothing to make the costume because she couldn’t get enough fur, so she could have been this big mess of thick white fur with splashes of a bunch of random materials in between the pelt. that could have easily shown how, like, “unpracticed” she is. it’s a shoddy suit made by someone who doesn’t know what they’re doing.
but NOOOO, Scott had to go, “how can i show that she’s a woman who has boobs?!?!??!? how can i bring her boobs into this?!?!?! what about her boobs?!?!?! we can’t forget about her boobs!!!!”
like, dude, we know she has boobs. she’s a killer bunny, not a playboy bunny. let’s not blur the lines, Scott.
you know, it’s really saying something when the plush of a character is less sexualized than the design itself. i own a Vanny plush (it look, like, three months for her to ship), and she looks great! she’s super cute! but, GOD, the DUALITY between her and the actual Vanny is GLARING.
but also, this isn’t anything new. most of Scott’s female characters get the treatment of being sexualized.
it’s just so goddamn frustrating to see male characters get held up on a higher pedestal than female characters. this is an issue in most fandoms. the women are treated like shit. and it’s infuriating.
just— if Vanessa were a guy, people would NOT treat her the way they do. and if she were a man, Vanny’s suit would have been less sexualized and more like an actual animal suit.
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