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#the gang's all here (group ic)
tteokdoroki · 3 months
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☆༉ — RYOMEN SUKUNA. santa’s little helper.
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about. dressing up as slutty santa warrants some unwanted attention, luckily, sukuna is there to play santa’s grumpy little helper. merry christmas.
warnings. minors, blank and ageless blogs do not interact! sfw, fluff, meet cute, reader gets harassed/cat-called, reader is wearing a dress, modern!sukuna, fem!reader. it’s still christmas somewhere - enjoy !! (1K).
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you meet modern bf!sukuna at a train station on christmas eve.
all your friends have gone home with guys that they fancied from the club, all the ubers in the area are either booked out or have sky high prices just to get you thirty minutes away not to mention the fact that it’s ice cold and your stupid mean girls themed santa outfit keeps riding up.
if you huff hard enough a cloud of smoke appears in place of your breath — like that of a mighty dragon, accumulating in the night air. it entertains you for all but a moment and doesn’t waste enough time for your train to come faster.
it’s not due for another thirteen minutes.
in that time you watch gangs of girls, groups of guys and just about anybody come and go from the station. your platform isn’t packed but it’s not too empty to the point where you feel unsafe.
“hey pretty girl.” ugh. as if your night couldn’t get any worse, a dingy looking stranger appears from nowhere — breathing down your neck, nastily drinking you in as if you’re a free shot at a bar. like you’re easy.
waving your hand away, you focus your gaze on the platform across the track and pray that someone notices your predicament. “no thank you.”
“oh come on gorgeous, give a guy a chance!” they press, crossing all of your boundaries to be in your space. even as you try to walk away, you can still feel the ghost of their sleazy words against the bare and exposed parts of your skin.. “where are you going all dressed like that, with no one to admire you?”
on instinct, you pull down your skirts as if to hide yourself from greedy eyes — storming down the platform. “none of your business!”
“hey now, little miss santa! don’t you wanna know? i’ve got a sleigh you can ride!”
“not interested! i’m all good.”
“why? you got a boyfriend?”
“yeah, i do.” you lie smoothly.
“then where is he?” the stranger mocks and closes in on you — you look around pathetically, waiting for some good passer-by to come and help you.
a heavy hand land’s on the stranger’s shoulder — making them jump in shock. you watch as the hand squeezes down, almost tight enough to break bone. “right here,” says a gravelly, husky voice that instantly fills you with warmth and relief. stepping aside, your hero reveals himself — tall with rippling muscles and spiralling black tattoos, lazy blood red eyes and a snarl that reveals sharp fangs and canines. all topped off my tufts of soft pink hair, which don’t do anything to dim his threatening aura. “you got a problem?”
“n-no! sorry man, i didn’t—“
“fuck off, will ya?” your hero spits out venomously and the stranger nods — practically disappearing into thin air after that. your shoulders sag and tensions dissipate from your body. “you okay…miss?”
tentatively, you give the pink-haired man your name — you owe him that much after he’d more or less saved your skin. “all good, thanks to you…”
“sukuna.” he doesn’t look at you, instead pulling a pack of cigarettes from his back pocket and lighting one with a flicker of a flame. it’s like he feels you watching him in dismay, and laughs as he takes a drag. it’s kind of sexy, you’ll admit — the way he throws his head back let’s you see the thick lines of black ink extending down his neck. “ticket office is closed and security is shit here. small station. no one’s watching me smoke.”
“right…thanks, sukuna.”
he finally turns to you, deep and blood red eyes drinking you in — almost scrutinising you. you squirm under his gaze, heat prickling at the back of your neck and providing some protection from the cold. “where were you off too?”
“christmas party with some friends.”
“where are they now?”
“sucking face somewhere, and no, they didn’t offer me an Uber before they left.”
sukuna taps the ash from his cigarette and it falls away in the icy breeze. “shit night.”
wringing your fingers, you shrug a little bit. “i guess it could have been worse. so thank you for helping out,” you hum appreciatively. “all i have to do now is wait for this stupid train.”
a beat of silence passes between you both, only broken by your chattering teeth and sukuna’s occasional sniff between puffs of smoke. you hate smokers, but you don’t ask him to stop. not after he’d helped you and is willing to be your human shield until your train comes. anyone else would have left by now.
“i can give you a ride home, if you want?”
you frown… was he, trying to make a move on you?
“if you have a car why are you at a train station.”
sukuna smirks slowly, dropping his cig to the floor and crushing it under his sneaker. you don’t remind him that there’s a law against smoking on the platform. “i’m waiting for my little brother to get home from a trip with his friends. we don’t live too far from here and i offered to pick him up from the station.” he shrugs.
you blink up at him with wide eyes. you’d never imagine a man that looks and carries himself like he does to care so deeply for someone else. you suppose you’re judging a book by his cover.
you’re dressed like slutty santa, so you honestly have no right to do so.
“what’s your brother’s name?”
“yuuji. it’s just us, no parents. that’s why i’m picking him up.” sukuna turns to you, running a hand through his messy pink undercut. “look, i promise i’m not some creep. y’just look cold and i’m not about to let some girl get fucked over by weirdos at this time of night. i won’t touch you, but you can sit in the back with yuuji if it makes you feel better. people usually prefer his stupid face over mine anyways.” he mumbles that last part to himself, but is pleasantly surprised by the cute flutter of laughter that escapes you. “what’s s’funny?”
with a hand resting on your bare stomach, you try to contain yourself. “is it the tattoos or the fact that you have resting bitch face?”
“both.” sukuna sniggers in response, shoving his cold hands deep into his pockets. “so, you takin’ up the offer or what?”
“yeah, thank you…sukuna,” you smile, subtly sliding up beside him for warmth on the chilly platform. “i’d like to meet yuuji for myself, see which brother i prefer.”
“oh fuck you.”
“maybe some other time.”
and even though he’s sure that you’re joking, sukuna detects a glint of honestly in your sparkling eyes as the train finally approaches — it’s yellowing light from inside the carriage only illuminating that spark. you turn your head, trying to spot yuuji while he ponders your words.
sukuna is definitely going to ask for your number after he drops you home. he’ll have to thank that brat of a baby brother yuuji for the opportunity next — without him begging for sukuna to come get him, this would have never happened.
you would have never met.
it’d be a great christmas story to tell the grandkids too. so he’d really have to thank yuuji, even though sukuna would never hear the end of it.
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꒰ end. — all rights reserved © tteokdoroki 2023. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.
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amberlynnmurdock · 3 months
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Here
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Matt Murdock x Reader
Summary: Matt saves his wife from being held hostage by Fisk's men and helps her with the PTSD that comes from it.
From this request from an anon named melted butter!
I hope you like it, anon friend!
Warnings: brief mentions of violence, hostage situation, PTSD symptoms, heavy angst in the beginning
Words: 2.7k
Suite No. 1 in G Major, BWV 1007: 1. Prelude
There would never come a day when she wouldn’t associate that song with blood, torture, and darkness. 
There would never come a day when she wouldn’t remember the cloth wrapped around her eyes that felt like sandpaper on her skin and the way her head pounded from the tightness of the blindfold. She could still feel it sometimes—unprompted moments of weakness when she would put on a hat or earmuffs in the winter and the feeling of something being wrapped around her head transported her to that awful night. She’d rather leave the beanie and earmuffs at home and risk her head getting cold than be reminded of that torture. 
It was the way she hesitated to put on gloves because if her wrists felt too constricted she would be reminded of the way the rope burned her skin so badly it left scars. She’d leave those at home too, and risk dry and cold hands. 
“Sweetheart,” Matt said earnestly, wrapping his hands around her cold ones. “Your hands are so cold. Why didn’t you put on gloves?”
She didn’t reply—she just let Matt continue to warm her hands with his. She preferred it that way. She preferred him to feel the scars around her wrists than her to look at them. 
Ever since that night, she took the coldest showers. Every shower was an ice-cold one. The place they had her held hostage in was stuffy—hot. She remembers her own sweat dripping down her face and the salt burning her eyes even under the blindfold. She can’t feel too hot anymore or else she will again be transported back to that traumatizing night. 
And the song—that fucking song. 
She wasn’t sure if it was a torture tactic or if the Kingpin had requested it be played. The only thing that mattered was that they kept it on repeat, at a loud volume—so loud she could hardly hear her voice when they would ask her a question about Daredevil. 
“I don’t know,” she cried behind her blindfold. “I don’t know, I don’t know, I—“
SLAP!
The violins started to feel like her head was being woven in torturous ways. The sound filled her senses similarly to how cough syrup fills one's senses—bitterness from the smell to the taste on the tip of her tongue. It was nauseating to listen to the song over, and over, and over, and over again. Nauseating to be in a situation like she had just two months ago: alone, in pain, and scared. So very scared that she may not make it. 
Until he found her. He told her he would always find her. 
She didn’t know he was there until the music finally stopped playing, and the lights in the warehouse went out. She was blindfolded but the way the men started yelling about the lights told her everything she needed to know. She was shaking against the wall, sweating, trying to find that relief she should feel that Daredevil had come to her rescue—but even that couldn’t shake off her fear. 
“If you ever get taken from me,” Matt had whispered to her one night in bed as he fiddled with the diamond ring on her finger, “know I will find you. And when you know I’m there, I want you to whisper to me like I am now. Because I’ll hear you and I’ll come to you.”
She whispered to him as soon as she heard the music stop and Fisk’s men were shouting at each other. 
“Matthew,” she hushed even lower than a whisper, “Matthew. Matt…”
Matt has dealt with a lot of dark situations as Daredevil, even before he donned the name and had a red suit. Years ago, he saved a little boy from a Russian gang. He saved a group of young girls from trafficking. He has dealt with the worst criminals in this city and it never got easier. All he could do was save people. He just never bet on the fact that one day he would have to save her.
It was something they talked about before deciding to get married. After months of convincing himself he could never have a life like that, she told him that God didn’t put him on this earth to only bear other people’s burdens. God meant for him to have a life like everyone else—a life that included love and marriage. He agreed on one condition: that it be an intimate small wedding at Clinton Church. And by intimate, only Foggy, Karen, and Marci were invited. 
He never wanted to prepare for a situation like this. He never wanted this day to come. He never pondered on what protocols to teach her if someone were to take her—but after months of avoiding the subject, he thought that was still important in case the situation ever did come. And unfortunately, it finally did come. 
He remembers how still the apartment was when he came home—how silent and cold it was. She hadn’t been home since the morning, he could tell. Icicles started to form on the back of his neck when he realized he hadn’t received a call from her since she left work—which was over an hour ago. Matt felt weak in the knees suddenly. He had to support himself on the kitchen counter as he focused his senses on noises outside of the apartment. 
“Dear God,” Matt whispered, “please keep her safe until I find her. Please help me find her.”
The whispers didn’t last long, nor the prayers—soon, Matt was throwing a rage in the apartment. Shattered glass was on the floor. Broken plates. Matt’s agonizing scream when reality finally settled in him that she was taken from him—by who? There was only one possibility. 
In no time he changed into his Daredevil gear and was prowling the streets, rooftop to rooftop, to find where they had been keeping her hostage.
A warehouse by the pier. He could hear the classical music playing at an incredible volume, enough to hurt her ears and get in her head. As soon as Matt found the source of the music, he shut it off, along with the power. 
And then he let the devil out. 
He thought with his fists before using logic to fight these cronies—throwing punches and brutally throwing men over his shoulders, hitting them relentlessly with whatever weapon he found near him. His billy club wires wrapped around someone's neck so tight it made them pass out, using the metal billy club to throw right in another man’s face. Matt moved recklessly in the dark. He wanted to yell at the top of his lungs so loudly it would feel like his chest was ripping apart but he didn’t because he knew she had experienced enough yelling on this night. 
And then, he heard her. 
“Matthew,” she whispered so quietly, it almost missed Matt’s senses. “Matthew… Matt…”
As soon as he made sure all of the men were out, he rushed to her side. Adrenaline pumped in his veins, he was shaking from it. He knelt before her and took off his gloves. 
“Hey,” he cooed, “it’s okay. I’m here. I found you,” and Matt’s voice was wobbly in his throat, tears threatening his eyes but no—he needed to be strong for her. He didn’t know what she endured—quite frankly, didn’t want to know—but he knew it had been a lot on her mentally. She was sobbing. He’d never heard her like this. The blindfold was wrapped so tightly around her eyes. Matt gently untied it and slid it off. He then smelt something metallic in the air—salty. It was blood. Her blood was around her wrists. Matt choked a sob in his chest as he untied her wrists. He could sense the tight friction of a bruise forming on her cheek. 
“I found you,” Matt’s voice cracked—he couldn’t help it. He was a wreck inside to find her like this. In pain, scared, alone. No—not alone anymore, he was here. “It’s okay now.” He gathered her delicate frame in his arms, holding her against his body tightly but not crushing her, and ran his hands through her hair, hushing her cries. “It’s okay. You’re safe. I have you now. They can’t hurt you anymore. I’m here.” 
Matt wasn’t sure what was more traumatizing for him—finding her in that situation or hearing her cries after, and the months that would follow. 
It made him question if marrying her was the right decision.
Despite these small things bringing her back to that dreadful night, there was one positive thing that she would never forget either: the feeling when she saw Daredevil—Matt—kneeling before her and gently pulling her blindfold off. The warm wash of relief that spread in her chest was so unexplainable, she could only feel it again if she really put her mind to it. It was like a warm, safe embrace when she knew Matt had found her like he said he would. She could describe the sensation as putting on a weighted blanket. 
The image of his red Daredevil helmet is ingrained in her mind: it was him against that dark warehouse. It was the glow of the red mask that brought so much comfort to her. She was safe. He had finally come—finally found her. God knows how hard it was to locate her. She was so relieved, that all she could do was sob into his embrace. 
It didn’t get easier when they finally made it home, it only got harder. 
She lay in his bed with tear-stained cheeks. It hurt to move. It hurt to speak. She could only whisper. Matt was still in his Daredevil suit, helmet off. He paced the room anxiously, wondering how this could’ve happened, how he could have let this happen. He was thinking of every possibility and what he was going to do next—
“Matthew,” she wheezed as she watched him pace the room. “Matthew.”
He stopped instantly, bringing his attention to her. She was in so much pain, he could sense it from where he stood. It brought a strange heaviness on his shoulders. He knelt again beside the bed and took her hands in his, kissing each knuckle.
“I’m so sorry,” Matt whispered, tears falling down his cheeks—tears of sadness, tears of rage. “I’m so sorry—“
“Shh,” she hushed him. She wasn’t crying anymore. She didn’t think she had any left. “Just be here with me. I need to feel you here with me.” 
Matt took off his Daredevil suit and silently crawled into bed next to her. He carefully brought her close to him so she was snug against his chest. Safe in his arms, nothing could hurt her now.
Months have passed. It’s a bright cold day. 
She and Matt are on their way to their favorite coffee spot uptown. They hardly ever leave Hell’s Kitchen, but she was in the mood for a specific hazelnut latte that only Rosie’s could make. And if it would make her happy to travel almost twenty minutes uptown for a cup of coffee, well, Matt wasn’t going to argue. 
He never brought up that night unless she did. So when she opted to wear a beanie and put on gloves, Matt couldn’t help but feel lighter in his step from the happiness he felt: she was on her way to healing from that experience. He felt like he could forgive himself now. 
“Ready?” She asked at the door, clearly too excited to get this cup. Matt laughed and kissed her before answering. He was so incredibly happy that she seemed to be happy again. 
“Ready.”
The coffee shop had wooden floors and matching wooden tables. In the back was a small bookstore, and on the side the place had a coffee counter. Soft jazz music was playing. Some people were already settled in: a man had his headphones on and was typing aggressively on his laptop, and a young college girl was studying her books. Matt sensed his surroundings everywhere they went to make sure there were no threats.
“Why don’t you go look at the books while I order our coffee,” Matt suggested lightly, untying the gray scarf around his neck. 
“Okay,” she smiled, squeezing his hand before letting go and exploring the back of the cafe. 
Matt waited in line at the coffee counter and sighed contently. 
She immediately was drawn to the fantasy books section. She took off her gloves and placed them in the pocket of her coat. Scanning each title, she picked one out that piqued her interest and frowned when the summary wasn’t what she expected. Another title made her laugh, but she didn’t bother to read the back. She found herself in a different section—romance. She smiled as she glazed over each book spine with her fingers. Romance books always reminded her of Matt. She often imagined what their story would look like in a romance novel. 
And then she heard it. 
Suite No. 1 in G Major, BWV 1007: 1. Prelude
The violins sounded like nails on a chalkboard, bloody fingertips leaving a trail. It sounded like a screech against the pavement. 
It suddenly felt like she no longer was standing in the middle of an aisle of books. Instead, her body was being pulled and sucked into a black hole behind her. Everything around her felt overwhelmingly large and she was small, like she was Alice. Fear crept over her heart like a spider weaving its web. She felt hot in her jacket. Her heart was beating heavily in her chest like a punching bag. 
The song got louder. And louder. And louder. 
“No,” she whispered to herself, shutting her eyes tightly. But closing her eyes and seeing darkness only made it worse. “No…” she opened her eyes and felt like she had tunnel vision. 
Matt was standing in line when he heard something pounding loudly in his ears. It only took him a second to hear the song that was playing, and he was immediately looking around for her. The pounding was coming from her—from her heart. 
In no time Matt was by her side, wrapping his arms around her and quickly walking her outside the cafe—away from the lingering glances, away from that horrible song. Removing her from the triggering situation, knowing she was spiraling. 
She was breathing fast now from panic. Matt brought her into a quiet alley and wrapped her in a bear hug, holding her tightly against him. Her hair covered his face as he turned to breathe in her scent. He took a deep breath, and at the same time, motioned for her to breathe with him. 
“I’m here,” he said into her ear softly, “I have you. Breathe with me, okay?”
“Okay,” she managed to say between breaths, feeling like her own air was choking her. She breathed with Matt and closed her eyes, his touch and warm hug bringing her back to reality. 
“Listen to my voice,” Matt guided, “I’m here. I have you. I’m not going anywhere.”
Matt’s voice was always soothing to her, but especially at a moment like this. His voice sounded like how velvet felt. 
Eventually, just standing in his arms holding her tightly, her breathing returned to normal and that song was out of her head, as were her memories of that night. A few silent moments passed. Matt kissed her head softly and held her longer. He’d hold her for as long as she needed. When she was finally okay, she pulled back and reached her lips to kiss Matt’s. He kissed her in return and placed his hands on her face. 
“I’ll always be here for you,” Matt whispered. 
Matt went inside to get their coffee while she waited for him outside. Soon enough, they were back at the apartment, finishing the last of their drinks and sitting on the couch. She rested her head in his lap and Matt drew circles in her hair, counting the breaths it took for her to fall asleep. He’d of course be there when she woke up. 
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nouvxllev · 10 days
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hey! can i get something like... Vada cavell x Fem reader? R is in a bar playing pool but she is terrible at it. Vada is enchanted by R and approaches her but R doesn't pay much attention to Vada. Vada then makes a bet that if she wins the pool match against R, she will get a kiss.
you can make the ending with R liking Vada and going home with her. smut if you want and g!p if u want
first fuck
Pairing: G!p!Vada Cavell x Fem!Reader
Summary: ^^ request!!
Words: 4.0k (was not expecting this is THAT long)
Warnings: smut. i think thats painfully obvious. but also a little fluff, bottomvadabottomvadabottomvadaholyshit, i love a confident to awkward little guy vada cavell
a/n: thank you for your request anon!! much appreciated, hope ive fulfilled it
masterlist.
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Vada wasn't what you'd call someone who's great at pool, 8ball, or billiards, whatever you'd call it.
She'd boast about being 'somewhat decent' at the game even though her skills barely lined between the basics and knowing nothing at all.
She manages to win a few games here and there, but she doesn't really think winning a game against her 11 year old sister would be much of a win situation.
You on the other hand, the prettiest girl that Vada was definitely not watching for the past 20 minutes trying to pocket atleast one ball, basics were definitely not your thing. Or maybe you just skimmed it all and let it go through the other ear with how absolutely terrible you are playing.
Not that Vada has any room of say. But watching you focus so intensely on the cue stick only to somehow to sink the 8-ball in every match is almost adorable to her.
She couldn't tear her eyes off of you for even a second—it's suffocating.
She couldn't care less watching an idiot struggle lining up her shot for what felt like the hundredth time this evening surrounded by, seemingly, your group of friends.
Yet she could. She could say she was head over heels for you, enchanted even.
Vada, perched on top of the edge of one of the bar tables, a wry smile slowly coming up to her face as she watched you, drink in hand while she swirled it around, the ice slowly melting but her gaze on you remained frozen.
She heard how your friends cheered you on for the hundredth time, giggling while they watch you horribly fail and pocket the cue ball. They were ganging up on you quite fast, like there was some bet going around that if you win they'll probably give you 100$.
"So are you just going to keep watching that girl or are you going to come with us?" Nick creeped up, hand in hand with Mia, slightly kicking one of the legs on the chair, almost tumbling Vada down. Though she would rather die in her own hole than admit that she was someone light-weight.
Vada almost got knocked off if not for her getting a grip on the edge. "Kick my chair one more time and I will make my fall so damaging your wallet should be the one being hospitalized." She scowled, even if it looks like a pout more than anything.
"Scary." Nick rolled his eyes, almost darting his tongue at Vada if not for Mia nudging Nick, shaking her head while letting out a sigh.
"We're gonna play beer pong with the others. You coming, Vada?"
Vada hesitated for a moment, she could play pong where she was an absolute beast at, or she could stay and horribly pine for a girl she just saw like some weird stalker.
It's an easy choice.
"Mn, no thanks," she squeaked out, nodding slightly, "You guys go ahead. I'll catch up with you later," she replied, mustering a half-hearted smile before averting her gaze back to you.
The two let out a shrug, a 'suit your self' kind of shrug as they headed towards the table of those stereotypical cups you'd see in highschool parties, surrounded by her other friends. She could almost regret her decision if not for you catching her eye just for a slight second.
With a deep breath, as well downing what was left of her drink in mere seconds, she pushed herself off the edge of her seat and made her way over to your table, steeling herself for what she hoped would be a move of confidence (or maybe to fuel the lack of.)
And of course she'd regret it right away when she was already 2 steps away from you.
God, you were pretty. So, so, so pretty. Like her breathing capacity slowed down to a minimum.
Her hands made her way to that one ring on her pointer finger, fidgeting as she felt her heart pound in her chest and making its way up to her ears. She felt a flutter of nervous excitement in her stomach, like butterflies. But it wasn't just flying around, no, it was definitely eating her from the inside. In a good way.
She cleared her throat, trying to sound casual but not like that voice you'd do when it's awfully obvious you've been staring at them for a while.
"Uh," she started, or maybe stammered. What a way to go, Cavell. "Hello, do you—would you mind if I join in?" She stood at the left side opposing yours, fidgeting with her hands.
No response.
She didn't miss how her heart shot up a pitch when you glanced her way for a brief second before returning to that focus you had.
Maybe, at that point, it was Vada's cue to stop talking, but she persisted anyways, "I'm pretty good—okay maybe not that good but I do know the basics. You know, how to pocket a ball or two... is it alright if I play a game with you?" What an absolute lady charmer, Vada.
But again, no response.
It's sad how she sounded like if a man embodied a 7th grader who still used the same reduce and reuse horrible pickup lines was a 5'3 19 year old woman.
Vada bit her lip, so maybe it actually was the time to shut the fuck up. Or maybe not. Downing a glass of beer wasn't technically a way to stitch one Vada Cavells mouth up even if you tried.
So as some last-ditch effort, and something she wouldn't normally do if she had the mental capacity to stop her brain, Vada slammed a couple of $100 bills onto the pool table.
If someone were to ask where in the fuck did she get all her money from she'd probably answer that she's been waiting for this day. (Even if it was the money to pay her large amount of debt for Nick.) It was safe to say it caught all your attention.
"Could I make a bet with you?"
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You weren't getting a fucking thing.
Pool wasn't your strong suit, more so not your forte. Maybe agreeing to joining a game with your friends might not have been the wisest move you've done. Sure you pocketed some balls, but they were either by a long shot or the wrong ball.
When you got that invite via text, you figure you'd just join in for a while then bail when things either, a, get messy and they have to drag you in for a possible aiding and abetting crime that would mess up your whole record, or b, becoming the designated driver for your friends who'll be blacked out like a light switch.
No person who has the mental capability and their frontal lobe intact would see either options to be appealing.
The balls scattered on the table after a near perfect break, which was the only thing you were good at you noticed, and your attempts to sink them into the pockets were met with more misses than hits.
To say that your patience was wearing thin was an understatement, and you have half a mind of stabbing your friends in the eye with the cue stick.
Your friend slung her arm over your shoulder, unable to contain her laughter. "Oh, this is sad to look at. You should just give up the 100$, y/n. It's been, what, 5 rematches? That's not even counting the times you accidentally hit the wrong ball."
You roll your eyes, hearing everybody laugh around you before sighing as you tried to line up your next shot, "I'd rather die before I have a negative symbol to my name." You retorted, mustering up the confidence and that one comfortable hand position that wasn't doing you any justice.
Of course, it doesn't. It always doesn't. How was it possible that you were hitting every corner but the one you're supposed to hit!?
The others let out an empathetic little 'ooooh...' even if you knew they were tiring their asses out not to laugh at you.
"Knowing that you have a 100$ and nothing is crazy, and that's even sadder."
And that's when you heard a loud slam when you were about to make your shot, expecting it to be one of your friends' hands messing you yet again, so imagine your surprise when you looked up to find the most amount of money you've been offered your whole entire life.
You blinked, your grip loosening on the cue stick as your gaze repeatedly looked down at the money and at the girl, "Hello?" you asked, raising an eyebrow.
You knew this girl was watching you ever since she walked up to the table, yet you never seemed to pay attention to her, so you hadn't taken a good look at her until now.
Oh you were fucked.
She was gorgeous.
To say that your curiosity was piqued was an understatement, it was definitely caught. Trapped, even. "A bet?" you repeated, the flicker of interest in that one word was something you needed to work on, "what kind of bet?"
She nodded, a smile coming out of her lips. A dimple. Shit.
Her gaze was locked onto yours, you didn't even notice how all your friends dipped the moment the cash was slammed onto the table. "Yeah, is that... cool with you?" she leaned against the table, you didn't even notice she was only wearing a pair of basketball shorts and an oversized tee. "I'm Cavell. Vada, Cavell."
It looked hot on her more than it should've.
"We play a game of pool, think that's obvious enough," she chuckled, "If I win..." Vada paused, you could see her thinking as she stared off, "you owe me a kiss. But if you win," her fingers tapped on the bills of cash laying around, "I'll give you this. Maybe even double."
There is in no universe, no world, does the prettiest girl you have ever seen just proposed a bet with the stakes of a kiss and a couple hundred dollars in hard cash.
And it's almost concerning how you'd burn all the stacks of cash just to lose and kiss this girl. A stranger, yet she was one of those strangers who you'd absolutely go down on.
Maybe you had too much to drink when you gave a silent nod and accepted her challenge.
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It's only been a few minutes into the game and you're giving half a mind to throw the game all together and pull Vada into the nearest stall and makeout with her.
You'd have to remind her that it's you should be plotting the cue ball then shoot. Not wink at you with that insufferable smirk on her face, take the cue ball from your hands, and pocket her own ball.
You're pretty good yourself, you noticed. You started taking on a different approach to cue spins, and you were getting the hang of not accidentally shooting the wrong ball.
Yet your thoughts became increasingly tempting, each one more distracting than the last.
Every time she leaned over the table to line up her shot, you couldn't help but stare at the way her hair often fell in loose waves around her face, her shirt falling against her movements.
That distracting in a way you could almost gauge your eyeballs with the cue stick to remind yourself to focus and tear your gaze away from her. Quite literally.
You lined up your shot, to say that your fingers were trembling was an understatement, they were fucking palpitating at this point. You try to ignore it yet it felt like every nerve in your body was relying on this damn point in your life, like they don't have anything better to do than make your body function normally.
It would only take one solid ball to make your shot and you can get to finally shoot the 8-ball.
"Oh shit right, I didn't get your name."
Of course, Vada of all people, would only ask this question now.
Your mind goes blank for a moment. Shit, shit, shit.
"Oh, uh, it's…" you stammer, feeling like a complete idiot for forgetting your own name in front of her.
Before you could even speak, she's leaning in even closer, her perfume taking your senses, a scent that you could almost overdose in and would gladly take either heaven or hell.
"It's y/n," you finally manage to say, the rush of relief never felt more satisfying than the words leaving your lips.
The built up tension in your mind eases slightly as you meet Vada's gaze as you turn your head, her smile widening into a ray of sunshine that warms your heart. It's captivating, almost mesmerizing, and for a moment, you find yourself lost in the warmth of her gaze.
And maybe a little too captivating to the point you miss the unmistakable sound of balls clacking against eachother as they fall into the pockets, watching in disbelief as Vada pockets her last striped bal and the 8-ball all at once.
Oh, fuck me.
"Forgot to tell you that you ran out of time, y/n." Vada smirked, a full-blown shit-eating grin crossing her face.
"Oh my God." You curse under your breath, standing up slightly, even your posture looks defeated. "So not well-played." You jokingly quipped, placing down the cue stick and crossing your arms.
"You owe me something." She inched a little closer to you, her voice too fucking intoxicating for you to handle. You feel a shiver run down your spine as you step back just a slight, her head tilting upwards and a glint in her eyes that makes your heart race even faster.
"Impatient much?"
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"S-shit, wait... "
You gasped for air, stumbling into your apartment. Your breath caught in your throat as you felt Vada's hands falling to your hips and desperately clutching your waist, her body rutting against yours, feeling her clothed erection grinding on your heat. Fuck, you could tell she was big.
Her arms wrapped around you, pushing you against the door in frevor with your heart pounding in your chest as her lips met yours in a heated kiss, her mouth parting to intrude yours.
A sudden surge of desire and hunger shot through you as she claimed your mouth, closing your eyes as you hear her groan inside of your mouth all while she took you breathless.
"I thought you only wanted a kiss," you managed to murmur between kisses, your head tilting to grant her even more access, "Now you take me home to your apartment?" Her touch travelled down further, cupping the swell of your ass, feeling every curve you had in an agonizing desperation.
You'd think making out with Vada in more than 10 minutes in a bathroom stall would satisfy the both of you, yet you're here. In her apartment, feeling her hardened cock bucking against you.
Vada whined, her breath warm against your skin, a smirk gracing your lips at her sound, "I want more," she almost pleaded, "I need more," she whined, "please." Her fingers traced your jawline, your eyes meeting hers that almost begged you to take her.
You nodded frantically in response, your lips parting as your hot breath hits her skin, having no trust by letting your mouth run off rather than shoving her bulging cock down your throat until it fits perfectly in your mouth, pleasing her in every way possible.
Without hesitation, you lean in and kiss every inch of her skin, feeling her abs flex under your touch while you left wet kisses in her wake as you trailed down on your knees, letting your fingers slide into the waistband of her shorts and boxers, her garments offering no purpose to hide her painful erection.
"W-wait, y/n," she stopped you, her hands hovering over yours as she looked down on you with the prettiest doe eyes ever. "I never—I never done this before."
You looked up at her, your eyebrows raised, almost having to withdraw your hands from her, "You're... serious?" It was hard to imagine someone like her never had sex, yet it spurred you on even more knowing it was her first time. Her first fuck with you.
"Well, I have," she explained, her voice slightly trembling, " Close enough. We stopped before we got to actually fucking."
"Sorry, just—" she gulped, her hands leaving yours and tangling them into your hair, "just warning you. I'm not that experienced. Well, I have watched porn—"
"Vada." You stopped her just before she could tell you more, but you couldn't deny that it was extremely adorable for her to do so, "don't worry baby, I'll take care of you."
You wink before letting her boxers hit the wooden tiled floor, her veiny and pulsing cock sprining out and slapping against her abdomen, your eyes widening at the sight of her while your mouth watered and your cunt throbbed with want, needing her cock plowing into you.
"Fuck, Vada, you're huge," you gasped, your fingers wrapping around her dick as you guided the throbbing length to your lips, her pre-cum coating your already abused mouth.
You could sense Vada smirking above you, her ego boosting by the slightest compliment, but fuck she knows she's big.
You looked up at her, your eyes glistening with the faintest hint of lust as you started stroking her dick.
Quiet moans escaped her lips, her hips repeatedly bucking against your fingers while her head was thrown back, her fingers tightening their grip on your hair as you took your time tracing lazy circles around her leaking tip.
Every stroke you made on her had her cock twitching, almost begging for release, whines escaping her mouth every minute, she was pleading for more yet you gave her nothing.
"God, you look so pretty like this, baby, just for me..." You panted, it was intoxicating, maddening, the way she responded to your every movement with desire written all over her, especially when you call her that. She was never much of a dominating one, you noticed.
"Y/n, please… oh, f-fuck!" She threw her head back when you sped up, hearing her labored breaths, the way she would occasionally gasp your name in a broken moan all while you looked up at her like you've done nothing, how could you not tease her just the slightest bit?
You slowed your movements to a halt, drawing out her pleasure in the most agonizing way possible, tilting your head just a slight bit, "what is it, pretty girl? Tell me."
"Wanna—shit..." she moaned, "wanna cum'n your throat, baby, please..."
"Of course, pretty girl," you chuckled softly, leaning in to kiss her hardened cock while wasting no time in shoving her dick down your throat, gagging around her as you feel her erection stretch your lips as you took her deeper and deeper.
Vada's hips bucked around you, her moans growing louder and louder. Your name kept tumbling from her lips in broken moans and cries, her other hand hovering over her mouth yet it never muffled her erotic moans.
"Y/n, fuck, your mouth feels so good around my dick," she moaned, her words sending a shiver along your spine all the way to your dripping pussy.
You gagged around her pulsing length, feeling every crevice and vein inside your throat, your throat constricting as you struggled to take her size.
Spit dripped from your lips, going no where but to her balls and onto the floor as you tried to take her in.
With each thrust of her hips, each gasp of pleasure wanted you to take her in more and more.
You close her eyes, the taste of her on your tongue, the feeling of her throbbing length filling your mouth, the erotic sounds of her moans and your gagging around her dick—it was all too much, and yet not enough.
"Gonna cum, oh God, m'gonna cum..." she took a handful of your hair, trying to push you in deeper, chasing her high, "can I cum? Baby, please, I wanna cum so bad, please, pleasepleaseplease..."
You remove your mouth from her dick, hearing her groan and whine at the slightest bit of distance from your mouth and her cock, releasing it with a little pop all while you lick your lips, the faint taste of her still lingering on your tongue.
"Have a little patience, Vada," you cooed, going to your feet and taking off your undergarments, Vada's eyes immediately shooting down at your wet pussy, watching how her eyes wanted to take you all in, how she wanted to slam you against the bed and fuck you till early morning.
You let your arms stretch over her shoulders, trapping her in as you leaned in, your clit bumping with her twitching cock. "We've got all night, baby. Just wanna have you ready before you fuck me."
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"Vada! F-fuck, m'gonna cum again... gonna cum all over your cock, oh God!"
Throwing your head back, the only sounds that filled the room where the sounds of skin slapping against skin, the sloppy and wet squelch of your pussy as you went down on Vada's cock for the 4th time this evening.
Your words were barely coherent, your hips bucking and squeezing uncontrollably against Vada's cock all while your face was red and flushed from all the orgasms you've been receiving from her and giving her, tears streaming down your face in pleasure and pain.
The only sounds that filled the room were the sounds of skin slapping against skin, the sloppy and wet squelch of your pussy as you rode Vada's cock for the fourth time this evening. Each thrust of your own body left you gasping and moaning in heaven with Vada as she stared at you with her lips parted.
Her hands found peace on your waist, guiding your body with each movement you had on her, showing Vada how to perfectly cowgirl, your ass bouncing every time you hit the base of her cock that painfully stretched you until your puffy folds got used to her size.
Your own hands found their way to her chest, feeling the delicious flex of her abs as your tight walls squeezed around her dick.
Yet, you were running out of stamina, your pace slowing down as you started to grip on her chest a bit more tighter than usual.
Of course, the ever sweetest girl, Vada Cavell, noticed this almost immediately as she cooed, "you alright, y/n?" She moaned breathlessly, her cock still sensitive from you, "we could take it slow if you want—"
"No…" you panted, going to a halt. You couldn't stop now, not when you were so close to the edge, "don't wanna… wanna cum'n your cock… please," you whined, though you weren't resuming to your natural pace of fucking yourself into her.
You collapsed onto her, feeling your eyes closing shut and your body relaxing against Vada, her scent mixed with sweat was oddly comforting all while you melted into her embrace.
Vada sighed against you, her heartbeat against yours was all she needed after a few hours. Gently rubbing your back, she kissed your shoulders, praising you everytime her soft lips landed on your skin.
"You're perfect, have I ever told you that?" She whispered, "the prettiest girl. I don't know what I would do if I didn't offer you that bet." She then chuckled, making you chuckle against her back, pulling her into a tighter embrace as you whined at the loss of her cock inside of you.
"How's that for your first fuck?"
"Better than the shit I've take. Like, way fucking better." You both laughed.
"I'll draw you a bath, 'ts just a few steps away from my bedroom anyway." Vada got up after she laid you down comfortably on her mattress that was awfully stained with your and her juices. She put on a new pair of boxers before kissing you on the forehead, smiling against your skin.
"You're the sweetest, V." You smiled dumbly, yet Vada looked at you with tenderness and fondness in her eyes, like she didn't just fuck a stranger well into late night. But, she might just be falling in love after all.
Vada laughed, a smile creeping up on her face, bringing out her dimples, "V?"
"'ts your nickname," you slurred "Don't you like it?"
She took a moment before responding with a kiss on the lips, her soft ones meeting yours, "I love it."
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V: So... so are we official? Like girlfriends girlfriends, we're not just fucking around? Oh my God, don't tell me this is just a one night stand. Y: Vada, I thought that was already established when I repeatedly came around your dick yelling 'I love you.' V: Rrrrright, but what if Y: Vada, we're girlfriends. Alright?
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another a/n: been mia for probably weeks now, so sorry about that!! especially to those who have pending requests. ive been focusing on my studies recently AND i got hit with the worst cases of writers block. so thats two of them. but now since ive got maybe a free schedule, i can focus more on writing requests! thank you so so much by the way and stories might be posted a lot more late than usual. anyway,
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shewrites444 · 8 months
Text
earned it [thomas shelby x mafia/dominant reader smut]
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word count - 3k
[ summary - the reader, the current head of the sicilian mob, meets with thomas shelby to discuss an issue that intervenes with both of their organizations. despite their mutual disliking for one another, thomas takes an interest to the business woman before him, and doesn’t seem to realize how powerful she may be. ]
[ warnings - mentions of violence, strong cursing, dirty talk, dominant female, oral (f & m), praise kink, unprotected sex ]
-
“and if we get ‘rid’ of him and his members, how are we going to go about that?” thomas shelby asked me from across the obnoxiously long dining table, lighting a cigarette and sinking into his chair.
i shrug nonchalantly, resting my arms against the table as i chew the steak his supposed aunt polly cooked for us. we’d be discussing this matter for so long my food was starting to get cold.
“we can handle that, all i ask is for you and your family to do the talking. get them out of birmingham and into italy. i know it’s a far stretch, but we can make it work. when someone is offered a lot of money, they’ll travel. the last thing their organization wants is no protection. i think they’d trust the mob’s word over a group of drunken, horse-betting brothers.”
thomas scoffed, moderately offended but also carrying a tone of impressment, taking a sip of his whiskey and gesturing the glass towards me. “you italians have a mouth on you, eh? you crawl around europe like the coppers, thinking you own the cities, only you’re not afraid to take out your guns, hm, mrs. [y/n].”
“i’m not married.” i mutter, once again taking the steak knife in my hand as i begin to cut the tender meat.
he quirked his brow, setting his glass down. “my mistake. i assumed that a woman who ran one of the most dangerous gangs in italy was wedded. i should’ve looked at your ring finger before i commented, miss [y/n].”
“we’re not here to discuss my marriage status, mr. shelby. this group of communists pose a real threat to both of our families. i can get back in my carriage right now and send my men in here to shoot you in the fucking head for all i care, if you don’t cooperate, or we can get back to information that actually matters, and your life goes on.” i look him in the eyes, a blank expression on my face.
he stood up, walking over to the bar cart and pouring himself more whiskey, taking another glass and filling it with a new bottle of red wine after popping the cork. he set it beside my plate, pulling out the chair next to me and sitting down.
“you can get pissed off all you want, dear, but i’m the one with a gun in my pocket. i could kill you, and your men, in a matter of seconds, so don’t think your words even draw a nick of blood on me.” he threatened, sipping his drink, enough to nearly empty the glass. “we can agree to disagree all night, or you can change your temper and we can figure out a neutral solution for the both of us.”
i chew my steak, watching him speak with a smirk on my redly tainted lips. i take the glass of wine and drink it slowly. “you are quite charming, mr. shelby. it almost offends me that you think i walked into your home unarmed, too.” i take my napkin and dab it on my lips before standing up, dusting off my black dress. “do as i say, and get them to italy. we can discuss the specifics after you speak to their leader. walk me to my carriage, won’t you?”
thomas stands up, pushing both of our chairs in before walking me to the back doorway, his whiskey glass still in hand, only a few ice cubes left inside and not even a shot’s worth of alcohol. i glance down at the purse in my hand, looking through to find my lipstick, confused if i had dropped it when i stood up from the table. i sigh, looking up to the peaky blinder who stood before me as he opened the door for me.
“give me one minute, i think i dropped my lipstick by my chair.” i set my purse down on the table aside their coat rack and walk back to the dining room, hearing his footsteps trail behind as he followed.
i lean down, seeing the lipstick on the floor and pick it up, turning around to bump into thomas, our faces not even two inches apart as he lightly pushed me against the table.
i roll my eyes, both hands planting against his chest and pushing him off. “i don’t think me saying i was unmarried was a suggestion, mr. shelby. not every woman becomes a whore when you have them over for dinner.”
“do you ever freely sleep around, miss [y/n]?” thomas asks, looking down to meet my eyes, then averting to my lips. “surely, a woman like you, can get whoever she wants. you run apart of the bloody world, for what it’s worth. do you ever fuck anyone on your level? someone as powerful as you are?”
“that’s none of your concern.” i say, glancing down at the light erection that was intruding his black slacks. “although, i definitely don’t fuck men that rudely come onto me when i make it clear i came over for strictly business.”
he grinned, one of his hands gently sliding onto my back, the other setting the glass on the table, one ice cube sliding onto his fingertips. he pressed it against my collarbone, sliding it down my skin softly.
“oh, but you definitely do. i think this says otherwise, don’t you think?” thomas tilts his head teasingly, gesturing to my hardening nipples as they protruded my dress.
i blush, shaking my head in disbelief. “you have a cold substance near my chest, that’s a natural reaction.”
“it’s not even near them, dear. i’m still pressing on your shoulder. it’s not a bad thing to admit you like this, miss [y/n].” he slides the ice cube further down my chest, his pinkie pushing my dress back, the v-neck fabric tucking itself underneath my right breast through his manipulation. he slid the substance over my nipple, causing me to sigh heavily. he couldn’t help but grin at my reaction.
thomas leaned down, dropping the ice cube back into the glass and licking my erect nipple, sucking lightly on the bud before pushing me against the table and sitting me down. i moan softly, looking up at the ceiling, my body now in a heat at his teasing touch.
“i think you choose not to fuck. from what it seems like, it may be a distraction for you. you’re a busy woman. perhaps there is no time for any sort of play.” thomas says, reaching over to expose my other breast. “you really don’t let anyone in, even physically. you and i, miss [y/n], are probably more alike than you realize.”
“don’t even try convincing me of that. i know you fuck, mr. shelby.”
“oh, really? you know that, how? because of how wet i already have you?” he asks, reaching his hand down and into my knee-length dress, pressing his fingers against my warm panties.
i hold my mouth shut, breathing heavily through my nose as he pushes the fabric to the side, lightly tracing his fingers against my wet folds.
“a woman like you wouldn’t like to be fucked like a whore, though. you expect much more than that. you’d like to be praised, as if you were a crown jewel in terms of your status. you’re someone who is clearly unfazed by most men, i can see that. you don’t give a fuck about them unless they worship you.”
“do you think you could possibly do that, mr. shelby? worship a woman?”
“not just any woman, no.” he begins, reaching his arm across my waist, snaking it around me to pull me up and into his chest, where he held me up and guided me to the bedroom next to the dining room. “it takes someone who knows who they are and what they can do to make me feel like they even deserve that type of treatment.”
he helped pull my dress off, leaving me in only my panties as he set me on the bed. i chose to oblige, partially due to the pleasure he was sinking me into, but also because i found it interesting he thought he would even have full control over the situation. thomas was right about me choosing to not fuck, but that didn't mean i fell at the feet of a man who knew what he was doing. thomas shelby was a powerful man, sure, but he could never climb the ladder high enough to reach my level.
“but you, you know what you can do. you do what has to be done, miss [y/n]. you threatened to put a gun to my head, what kind of woman does that? a fucking powerful one.” thomas nearly moans at his own words, leaning down to kiss me before he began to undress.
i return the kiss, my legs still shut, as thomas began to unbutton his shirt, glancing down at my waiting body. he undressed himself fully, standing naked before me as he climbed into the bed and leaned down on his knees, sliding off my underwear and tossing them to the floor.
he hovered above me, planting a passionate kiss against my lips, leaving red residue from my lipstick on his own lips while he slid his tongue into my mouth. i feel his fingers slide inside of me, my legs spreading in reaction as he began to finger me. his lips trailed from my neck to my breasts, sucking my nipples back and forth as he pumped his fingers in and out of my pussy.
i close my eyes, my mouth hung open as i moan in pleasure from his touch. i could feel his eyes on me, watching nothing but my expression. the mental part of me hated giving into thomas shelby’s advances, but the physical side of me could care less. he knew what he was doing, it seemed like, but frankly, so did i.
“oh, you’re so fucking wet, love. you’re practically dripping onto my fingers, onto my bed..” thomas cooes, pulling himself out of me and into his mouth, licking my juices. “and you taste just as good as i imagined. how did i get so lucky to touch you?”
i lightly sit up, leaning over to pull him back into a kiss as i climb off the bed, thomas now sitting at the edge. i get on my knees and take his cock into my hand, spitting on his tip and beginning to lick his cock, up and down, pressing light kisses against his skin as he watched, his expression showing nothing but lust, as he grinned from cheek to cheek at my actions.
“fuck,” he mutters, resting his hands on the bed. “you look beautiful when you play with my cock, love.” he moans as i slide him into my mouth and down my throat, still looking up to meet his eyes. he reaches over to hold my chin in one hand, gently guiding my head up and down. “that’s it, please keep taking my cock. you’re so pretty when you do so, love. i can’t wait to fuck you, you’ve got me nearly finishing at the thought of it.”
i pump him inside of my throat, feeling his orgasm nearly reach the surface as he groans at the build up of it all. i pull away, taking his length in one hand as he cums onto my face, his seed coating all over my mouth and cheeks.
“oh, fuck, you look so fucking good, [y/n]. your mouth felt so fucking good.” thomas praises, watching as i lean back, tracing my finger across my cheeks, licking his cum off and into my mouth. he stares in awe, reaching his hands over to help me stand up and get back onto the bed. he presses a hard kiss against my lips, laying back down as i lay on top of him.
“i don’t think you understand this, thomas.” i smirk, cupping his face with both of my hands. “you don’t just get to fuck me, you know that, right? you have to earn it. i’m the motherfucking leader of a mob, after all. i don’t fuck just anyone, not even thomas shelby, no matter how good you may be at fucking.”
he tilted his head, grabbing me by the hips and pulling me back down. “is that so? your cunt is practically begging for me to fuck it. we don’t have to play this game, love. please, let me touch you further.”
i roll over and out of his grip, laying down next to him and spreading my legs, gesturing for him to get in front of me. “then fuck me with your tongue, and we’ll see what i think of anything further than that.”
he chuckles, seemingly surprised by how bossy i could be, but leaned down anyway, adjusting himself to wrap his arms around my thighs, his face stuffed between them as his tongue attached to my clit, flicking the bud of sensitive flesh. i moan softly, watching thomas lick between my folds and back up to my clit, back and forth, which only drew a pit in my stomach, as my orgasm slowly began to build. i was more surprised by his efforts more than his experience. of course thomas shelby knew how to fully pleasure a woman when she demanded it.
“fuck, thomas..” i moan softly, reaching down to hold his black hair with one hand. “just like that, baby, and you’ll be fucking me so soon. god, that feels good.”
he quickens his pace a bit, my back gently arching up in reaction to his action, my free hand gripping the white bedsheets as he helped me very quickly reach my orgasm, my fluids releasing onto the sheets and his lips. i dripped down his chin but he didn’t seem to care, taking me by the hips and moving one leg on top of his shoulder, sliding his hard length inside of me with one slow stroke, both of us moaning at the sudden stimulation.
“oh, fucking hell, [y/n], my god, dear, you’re so fucking wet, you feel so good, fuck,” thomas groans, leaning down to kiss me, his free hand taking my breast into his his palm and squeezing harshly, earning a moan from me into his mouth as our tongues fight for dominance.
i pull away from the kiss, looking down to watch him pump his thick, wet cock into my pussy. my tits bounce at his thrusts, my core feeling every single touch. thomas held my ankle to keep my leg up, his other hand pulling away from my breast and down to my hips, holding the side of my waist to further his steady grip.
“you take my cock so well, [y/n].” thomas compliments, glancing down to meet my eyes as i look away from our bodies. “i could watch you forever, fuck. the way you look right now is absolutely stunning, no one can ever fucking compare to your cunt.”
i lean up slightly, resting on my elbows, grinning at thomas as he fucks me. “you really think so, thomas? then why don’t you fuck me harder? make me cum again, baby, i want to so badly. make me cum with you.”
“if you want me to fuck you harder, [y/n], you’re going to have to turn around for me.” thomas suggests, lightly pulling himself out of me and also wiping the sweat from his forehead, assisting me as i turn around, all fours against the bed as i arch my ass up, feeling tommy’s hands play with it by squeezing the flesh and slapping it lightly.
“you’re perfect from behind too, fuck. is there anything about you i can dislike? you italians may have bloody mouth, but you take me so well in yours, love.” he says, pushing himself back inside of me.
he holds me by the hips, starting to fuck me, but much harder than before. our skin slaps together as he pushes himself in much deeper, so much so that i was gasping at his touch, grabbing the sheets and holding them as hard as i could, despite the sweat that was collecting on my palms.
“f-fucking hell, tommy..” i moan into the sheets, my head resting against the pillow. “you fuck me so good, baby, keep going like that, fuck! fucking fill me up, tommy, fuck!”
he leans down to grab my neck, pounding inside of my walls before our moans begin to sync, our orgasms releasing a matter of seconds after as we finish together, his warm seed filling my insides and my own cum dripping from between us, tricking down my now shaking legs.
thomas pulls out of me, turning me over to lay beside him. he wraps one arm around me, but glances down to meet my eyes, and kisses me tiredly.
“next time, you’re going to be the one begging me to fuck you.” he says in a more demanding tone, a small smirk on his lips. “i don’t like to ask nicely.”
i sigh, rolling over onto my stomach so i could face him completely. “then you’re fucking the wrong woman, thomas.”
he shook his head, cupping my cheek and kissing me once more. “oh, believe me, i think i’m with the exact woman i need to be fucking.” he sits up, rolling out of the bed and to the dresser, grabbing a pair of underwear.
“let’s discuss this communist issue one more time, work out the details.” he says, slipping his boxers on. “and if we come to an agreement tonight, i’ll ask nicely again in the morning, unless you need to get back to your people?"
i stand up, picking up my underwear and sliding them on, as thomas hands me a larger white shirt to put on. “i think i’d rather you ask again tonight, mr. shelby. my people can wait overnight if it's for a good cause.” i tease, opening the bedroom door before walking back out to the dining room table, grabbing the half-empty glass of wine and taking it down in one sip.
thomas stands behind me, taking the empty glass and setting it back on the table, pressing himself up against me, placing his palm on my back to push me down on the furniture. "let's push our meeting back a few more minutes then. here's me asking, miss [y/n]."
he begins to kiss my neck and i reach between my legs, pushing my panties to the side as i hear his boxers hit the floor. this was going to be an unexpectedly long night.
849 notes · View notes
writingdumpster · 1 year
Text
camping
pairing: Eddie Munson x reader
warnings: suggestive language
summary: the teens of the group know about eddie’s crush on you and your crush on him so they orchestrate a group camping trip to push you and Eddie together.
word count: 2,000
A/N: I just hit 2K. Thank you all so much for reading my work and supporting me. I just got done with school, so I’ll be posting a lot for the next month. (I hope). Thank you again, it means something to me.
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The leaves crunched beneath your boots as you hopped out of the passenger seat of Eddie’s van. Eddie pulled the back door of the van open and the kids started piling out of the back. The whole gang was going on a camping trip for the weekend.
“Why does y/n always get to ride shotgun?” Mike complained as Steve’s car pulled up with Robin, Nancy, and Jonathan.
“I rank the highest,” you said. Eddie chuckled.
“No, I do,” Dustin interjected. Lucas and Will started pulling out the tents.
“Not true. She’s right. She outranks everyone,” Eddie said.
“You met her after us! She isn’t even in Hellfire,” Dustin complained.
“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Max joked. Dustin flipped Max off before returning to the van to get the last remaining ice chest.
All of you began setting up the tents. There were two four-person tents and two two-person tents. Jonathan and Nancy were the obvious occupants of the first two-person tent, but the other didn’t have an obvious pairing.
“El and I can take it,” Mike volunteered when it came into question.
“No,” Nancy and Steve said in unison. Dustin and Lucas chuckled when Mike’s expression deflated. Robin had a mischievous smirk on her face.
“Eddie and y/n should take it,” Robin said. Your cheeks burned as you glared at her. She and Nancy were the only people you had told about your crush on Eddie.
“Yeah, Robin and I can split up and make sure the kids don’t get up to anything,” Steve said. It was Eddie’s turn to glare at Steve, the only person that Eddie had told about his crush on you. You and Eddie then both looked at one another and gave each other kind smiles.
“It’s fine with me,” you said nervously.
“Yeah, that works,” Eddie agreed. You went towards the van to go collect your bag. Steve was walking away when Eddie grabbed his collar.
“Why would you do that?” Eddie hissed. “I’m not gonna be able to keep it together if I’m sleeping next to her!” Steve chuckled. He patted Eddie’s shoulder and Eddie released him.
“Robin told me she’s got a crush on you too,” Steve said with a smirk.
“She likes me back? Wait, how long have you known that?” Eddie questioned.
“A while, it’s kinda obvious. But we were talking about it on the way here,” Steve said.
“So, Jonathan and Nancy know too then?” Eddie asked.
“Well, y/n told Nancy she liked you. Jonathan was the only one who was totally out of the loop,” Steve said. Eddie laughed at that. He liked Jonathan, he just didn’t know Jonathan that well.
“Was this all a set-up?” Eddie questioned.
“Not entirely, maybe like 70% set-up 30% camping trip,” Steve joked. Eddie watched as you ducked into the tent that you and Eddie were meant to spend the next two nights in. “Go get her.” Eddie nodded and followed you into the tent.
“Hey,” he greeted you. You were kneeling on one side of the rectangular tent. You had a small duffle bag and a backpack in front of you.
“Hi,” you greeted with a smile as Eddie dropped his things onto the other side of the tent.
Say something to her. Eddie thought as hard as he could in search of something good to say to you. Maybe he could say something that would make you laugh. Eddie loved to hear the sound of your laugh, especially when he was the one who’d made you laugh. You started to unroll your sleeping bag and before he could think better of it Eddie opened his mouth.
“That’s your sleeping bag?” Eddie asked.
“Yeah?”
“You’re going to be freezing!” He exclaimed.
“What and yours is so much warmer?” You asked. Eddie gestured down at the thick, fleece lined, down sleeping bag that he had laid out.
“Yours isn’t meant for the outdoors, princess,” Eddie said. Your cheeks heated at the nickname.
“It’s the only one I have,” you told him.
“You should’ve told me. I would’ve brought Wayne’s,” he said. You shrugged.
“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” you said.
“You can always share with me,” Eddie said with a smirk. You rolled your eyes.
“In your dreams, Munson,” you joked.
“In yours too, I suspect,” Eddie teased back.
All of you spent the afternoon on a hike up to the waterfall by the campground. Eddie held his hand out to you a few times to help you down particularly steep jumps, and you weren’t sure when but at some point you didn’t let go of his hand after you had landed safely.
When it got dark Eddie and Robin got a fire going while Steve and you laid out s’mores supplies. For a while you were seated beside Eddie, both of you on a blanket spread out over the ground, backs leaning against a log that sat behind you. You got up at some point, off to find another sweater. You were stepping over Eddie’s legs when he grabbed your hand.
“Come down here, sweetheart,” Eddie called sweetly. No part of you wanted to resist as he pulled you down into his lap. He pulled you up close so that your back was against his chest, tucking his chin into the crook of your neck so he could continue to listen to the campfire chatter. His arms were around your middle, but you tugged on his hands so that his fingers were interlaced with yours.
“Since when are you two toge—ow!” Mike was cut off when Nancy punched him in the arm. Your body tensed but Eddie’s thumb rubbed against the back of your hand tenderly. It was like the rest of the day had been. No words were being spoken, but the two of you wanted each other.
“You smell nice,” Eddie whispered when Lucas started telling a scary story. You smiled and Eddie could feel your cheek move against him.
“Probably just the mountain air,” you said.
“No, it’s lavender. Is it your shampoo?” Eddie asked. You were quiet for a moment, surprised at how observant Eddie was when it came to you. You had seen him walk right past ‘do not enter’ signs and ask for directions to a location that was just on the other side of the street. Despite that he was noting that your shampoo smelled like lavender.
“Yeah, it is. My conditioner is too,” you told him. Eddie hummed in approval. He leaned his nose into your hair and inhaled.
“I like it,” he murmured. You snuggled back further into his chest.
“I like the way you smell too,” you said. Eddie chuckled.
“What? Cigarettes and sweat?” He joked. You turned your head so you could take a whiff of Eddie’s distinct masculine musk.
“Whatever it is, it’s nice,” you said. Eddie smiled. “I think I’m gonna go to bed,” you whispered.
“I’ll come too,” Eddie said. He held his hand out to support you as you rose from the ground and bid everyone a good night.
“Good night, love bird—ow! Jesus, Nancy!” Mike’s jeers were once again interrupted by a punch from Nancy. Your cheeks burned as you ducked into your tent.
You and Eddie faced away from one another as you changed into your pajamas. Eddie couldn’t help himself when he glanced over his shoulder. All he saw was the back of you, but he was enamored by the way your waist curved into your hip, the dimples that were on your back, and the way your skin looked in the dim light from his electric lantern.
“Are you dressed?” You asked after you’d slid on your sweatshirt.
“Yeah,” Eddie said. The two of you turned around. Eddie was in flannel pajama pants and a henley. He had pushed the sleeves up to his elbows and somehow in the most innocent of clothing he looked irresistible.
“You really should sleep in my bag, princess. You’re not going to be warm enough,” Eddie said.
“Nice try, Eds. I’ll be fine,” you said.
“I’m serious, sweetheart. It’s cold out here,” he tried.
“I’ll be okay,” you said. Eddie raised his hands in surrender.
“Whatever you say,” he agreed.
“Um…good night, Eddie,” you said as you crawled into your sleeping bag. Eddie smiled.
“Good night, princess,” he replied as he tucked himself in. He was sure you’d be in his sleeping bag within an hour. After ten minutes you were shivering in your thin sleeping bag. Eddie was right. It was not designed for outdoor use. Your teeth started chattering as you lay curled up tightly.
“Princess?” Eddie’s voice cut above the sounds of the forest.
“Yeah?” You asked, turning your head to look over at Eddie. He had unzipped the side of his sleeping bag facing you and was holding it up with open arms.
“Come here,” he called. You didn’t need to be asked twice. You crawled out of your sleeping bag and into his, immediately tucking yourself into his chest and trying to absorb all his warmth.
“Jesus, you’re freezing!” Eddie remarked. He reached behind you to pull the zipper of his sleeping bag up before wrapping his arms around you and pulling you tight against his body. He moved his hands quickly against your arms, trying to generate friction that might warm you up. He felt your face to see if it was still cold. When he found it was, he pressed his hands against your cheeks. He leaned in and exhaled hot air against your neck and you let out a little hum of pleasure. Your heart dropped before beating like the drums that Eddie’s band played.
“What was that I just heard, princess?” Eddie called down to you. You refused to look up at him but you were sure he had a smug grin across his face.
“I didn’t hear anything,” you said. Your cheeks were burning as you tried to tuck your head back down. Eddie reached up and tipped your chin to make you meet his eyes.
“Really?” He asked. “I thought I heard something.” You shook your head. Eddie’s eyes turned to your lips.
“Eddie…” You whispered quietly.
“Yes?” He asked, his tone teasing. His hand had moved to your neck, the skin still cold.
“I…You’re so close,” you murmured. You were holding your breath.
“I could be closer,” Eddie said. “Do you want me closer, princess?” You nodded. “I need to hear it.”
“Yes,” you whispered. Eddie’s lips were on yours. They were warm and velvety soft and his kiss enveloped your whole body in warmth as if you had walked into a cozy cabin with a roaring fire. His tongue moved against yours smoothly, the two of you working in perfect harmony as if you had kissed each other for centuries. It was undoubtedly the best kiss you had ever had. His hands moved away from your face, arms settling around you again. You met his eyes and the two of you broke out in laughter.
“We just kissed!” You giggled. Eddie grinned.
“I’ve been wanting to kiss you since we met, angel,” Eddie confessed proudly.
“Me too,” you told him. “It was better than I imagined.”
“Your lips are soft,” Eddie said. You smiled but didn’t respond. He blushed, wondering if he had said something too forward. You smirked as he looked away from you. You leaned up and pressed your lips to his exposed neck.
“You deserve some softness, Eds,” you mumbled against him. He turned his head down to catch your lips in his again.
“Are you gonna be the one to give it to me, sweetheart?” He asked. You nodded.
“If you’ll let me,” you said. Eddie smirked.
“Oh, angel. I’d let you do anything to me.”
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randomshyperson · 1 year
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Like Real People Do - Milf!Wanda Maximoff x Reader
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Summary: Wanda Maximoff is known to be a strict mother - the opposite of you. When a school incident involves your children, you two will need to learn to get along with each other. [Requested]
Warnings: General Fluff, attempted romantic comedy with opposites attract, mild making out at the end, milf wanda being adorable, brief angst for past relationships, found family. | Words: 5.733k
A/N-> My first fic of the year will be Milf!Wanda without smut? What happened to this blog, huh? I was so busy in December that I couldn't post anything, I hope you guys didn't forget about me. This is a very old request that I finished some time ago and never posted, here it is then. Good reading you all!
General Masterlist || AO3 || Wattpad
--//--
It started with a bloody nose.
It was Wednesday, which meant that you had painting class from ten to eleven in the morning, so when your cell phone rang and Principal Fury's angry voice demanded you not to be late, you could barely think of a decent excuse for your students.
The way to the municipal school was quick and even perilous - you never learned how to drive Natasha's truck properly no matter how hard you tried - but you arrived quickly at least.
America was standing with her arms crossed at the door to the principal's office - the jeans jacket with buttons you took her to buy last year had a bloodstain on the front that made your heart miss a beat. 
"Mom!" Her sulky expression lit up the second she saw you - the girl uncrossed her arms and ran to catch up with you, talking too fast about the mess while you searched her face for bruises. You sighed in relief at not finding any.
"Honey, slow down, I'm not catching any words." You warn her gently, and America giggles awkwardly, taking a deep breath to speak again.
"It wasn't my fault, Mom! It was those idiots who came at us, Billy wasn't doing anything, and when they called him bad names and I just lost my temper and-"
You frown in confusion, but America shuts up because the boardroom door opens and other people come out.
The blood is not America's you realize. It's the boy with ice on his face, accompanied by an equally grumpy adult. The boy also has blood all over the front of his shirt, and from the way, America tenses up and he flinches, you understand that he has been beaten.
"Come on, don't give me any more trouble." Warned the man to the boy who practically ran out. The man waved goodbye politely, and you turned to America, ready to ask, but you heard Mr.Fury call your name.
The room was not empty. There were two boys and a woman in a suit so impeccable that you became very aware of the ink stains on your work overalls. Or maybe it was the way she looked you up and down, with an indecipherable expression.
"Mrs.Romanoff, how nice that you could join us at last." Fury pinned on your lateness, and you smiled awkwardly.
"Sorry, I was in class and my cell phone was off." You mumbled, but he didn't seem to care much, signaling for you to sit down.
America stood beside you but smiled at the boys, who smiled back immediately.
"As I explained to Mrs.Maximoff, something rather unpleasant happened this morning. Your children got into a fight with another group of classmates..."
"And where is the rest of the gang?" You asked curiously, looking around. Fury frowned.
"Excuse me?"
"Well, you said they got into a fight. Nobody fights alone. Where are the other children? I saw the other little boy who went outside looking like he got punched right in the nose, and if you told me it was three against one, then yes, we have a problem."
Fury exchanges a look with Mrs.Maximoff, but the redhead is straightening up in her chair, looking at you curiously.
The principal lets out a short laugh. "Miss Romanoff, the confusion started at recess, where America assaulted five classmates. The other four are in the infirmary and-"
You cut Fury off with excitement, turning to your daughter beside you. "Five? Kid, you've been practicing, haven't you? Damn, your mother would be impressed. "
America laughs shyly, but Fury exclaims indignantly. "Excuse me, Mrs.Romanoff, are you really encouraging violent behavior in your 13-year-old daughter?"
 "It depends on what the fight is about." You mutter, but Fury sighs indignantly.
"Violence is never the answer!" Retorts the principal seriously, but his line makes the boys exclaim indignantly.
"They were the ones who attacked us first! America was only defending my brother!" Reported one of them, and you and Mrs.Maximoff exchanged quick glances at the confusion.
"That's right, we were just standing there, and those idiots came at us with curses! If it wasn't for America-"
"Quiet, all of you!" Fury cut in angrily, and the children grumbled but obeyed. He massaged his forehead. "It's clear that the fight started with America, so please could you tell me exactly why you assaulted your colleagues, Miss?"
But America hesitates and looks at the boys, who bow their heads. She sighs.
"It was something silly about grades." She lies - You can see it’s not true because whenever she tells a lie, her forehead frowns slightly and Natasha taught you to recognize everything about little Miss Chavez. You don’t understand why she’s lying though. 
Fury sighs wearily. "Are you sure that's all it was, miss?"
She looks down at the floor and nods. You lick your lips.
"Fury, I wonder if we could talk alone. Just me, Miss Maximoff, and you? They shouldn't be missing class."
Fury hesitates but eventually agrees. Once the children leave, you clear your throat.
"I want to know what will be done with the group that attacked them, Fury."  You state without waiting any longer, surprising a little. Nick clears his throat.
"Your daughter just clarified that it was a silly argument over notes, Miss Romanoff, you don't expect me to-"
"You know it wasn't just that." To his surprise, Wanda intervenes, sounding irritated and tired. She takes a deep breath. "It wouldn't be the first time Billy experienced bullying in his school environment, but you promised me that this school was a safe space when I came to enroll them, Mr.Fury."
Nick clears his throat clumsily, adjusting his tie. "Mrs.Maximoff, at no time-"
"America told me they insulted him." You cut in, exchanging a look with the redhead. "The kids who attacked them came in cursing Billy. That's unacceptable, Fury. You say I encourage violent behavior? No. Natasha and I taught America to stand up for herself and for the people important to her. Nat was in the military and taught her how to fight. You can't expect her to listen to someone use low insults with her friends and do nothing."
"You cannot teach your daughter to punch anyone who irritates her, Miss Romanoff." Fury retorts seriously, before turning his face to the other, "And this is a safe environment, Wanda. We have anti-bullying programs, and when the other boys leave the infirmary, they will answer for this event as well. But for now, it's your kids who need to understand that fighting doesn't go unpunished."
"That doesn't seem very fair." You mutter but Fury casts you a serious look. 
"Because they insulted them? Tell me what happens when they're adults, then." You open your mouth but Fury holds up his hand, rhetorical question. "I tell you, at the very least a lawsuit for assault. I understand it's important to tell them to defend themselves, but they also need to understand how the world works. They are children, by god. You can't tell them to go out punching their way whenever someone wrongs them."
"I guess that's easy to say when we're not the ones experiencing the aggression." Wanda mutters, and Fury gives a short laugh.
"Wanda, I assure you I know the feeling of hearing horrible offenses and having to put my head down and keep walking because the punishments would be worse for me than for those who offended me." Says Nick. "Billy is only twelve, he should learn to respond to things like that in a healthy and safe way. Teaching any of these kids to respond violence with violence puts them at risk, and I'm sure you understand that." Wanda sighs but nods in defeat. Nick clears his throat. "I believe detention for a month is a good punishment."
You sigh, but Wanda hesitates. "They'd be out by three, wouldn't they? Couldn't you do it earlier or between classes? I work office hours on Tuesdays and Wednesdays..."
Nick opens his mouth but you speak first. "I can pick them up." You say casually. "They're friends with America, right? They can stay over if you need."
The redhead blinks in surprise. "Wouldn't that be inconvenient?"
You laugh shrugging your shoulders. "Not at all. America is usually alone in the afternoon while I'm in the studio. It would be nice if she had some company."
Wanda smiles at you and your stomach does a complete turn. Nick claps his hands together.
"I guess we have a deal then. Thank you both for attending, even though it was not the most pleasant of reasons... I'll keep in touch, Miss Maximoff, Miss Romanoff."
You got up first but opened the door for Wanda to pass. Outside, she seemed in a hurry, checking her cell phone, and you didn't want to hold her any longer. Surprisingly, she called you before you left for your car.
"I want your number." She declares, and you can't help the teasing expression that appears on your face. Wanda corrects herself immediately, "B-because of the ride, so I can confirm that everything is okay..."
"I know, I get it." You assure her with a laugh, accepting the cell phone she holds out to put your number in. As you type, you take the opportunity to introduce yourself properly since you haven't had the chance to do so before. Wanda smiles before doing the same. "Here you go, Miss Maximoff."
"Just Wanda is fine." She says gently, accepting the cell phone back. "Thank you again, for the favor."
"You can return it by joining me for coffee." You have no idea where that came from. And it seems to surprise Wanda as much as you surprised yourself. But there's no going back because she smiles and you know you meant it. "Or a tea, or juice. Maybe vitamin?"
Wanda giggles, and it's a charm. You glare at her but she looks at her cell phone again.
"Sorry, I have to go." She looks really disappointed, and you notice that her phone has started vibrating on a call. She looks at you again. "I'll text you about that coffee."
"I'll wait." You mumble, knowing she heard just by the soft smile she still holds as she answers the phone before waving goodbye and turning in the opposite direction of the parking lot.
You sigh loudly as you are left alone, trying to figure out where to see the strange feeling in your stomach that you think you haven't felt in years.
–//–
Wanda probably forgot about the coffee. You don't blame her, because America has every social network possible, and through her friendship with Billy Maximoff on Facebook, you are able to find Wanda Maximoff's only two social networks. 
Her professional profile is impeccable. She is an important figure in a major New York company, but you are not too sure whether she is a writer or a manager, or both. Either way, with so many meetings and lectures in her feed, she is probably the busiest person you have ever met. 
The only personal profile she has is a Facebook profile that hasn't been updated in almost three years. It is public, and has family photos - the vast majority with the twins - but what attracts attention is the tall man next to her. If the photos were tagged, it was removed today. There was no link to his profile. You also noticed that the relationship status was still Married, and tried to ignore the burning in your strangers with this information. 
There should be no problem with Wanda being a married woman. You should have expected this, actually. In fact, you shouldn't expect anything at all. Losing Natasha wasn't exactly recent, but you weren't looking for someone to take her place. Ever.
Calling Wanda for coffee was a kind act in the interest of friendship, you convinced yourself. After all, with your antisocial nature, you didn't have many friends in New York. 
America found you stalking Wanda's Facebook, however, and had a very different idea.
"She's a total milf, huh?"
You closed the laptop hard, looking at your daughter with indignation. "Excuse me, young lady?"
America shrugged. "Miss Maximoff, mom. She's so gorgeous, like a movie star. Everyone keeps staring when she comes to pick up the twins."
You grimace, hugging the laptop against your chest. "America, I don't think it's very appropriate for you to say such things to me, don't you agree?"
Your daughter laughs confusedly. "But you thought so too. You're just there stalking her on the Internet..."
"That's it, out." You stand up embarrassed, ignoring America's mischievous laughter in the hallway as you close the door. You grunt red-faced, putting your hands over your face and trying to get the image of Wanda out of your head. America shouts from the hallway:
"I'll order Enchiladas for dinner!" - You open the door just to say thanks.
To your surprise, Wanda texts you the next day. 
It shouldn't really be a surprise, since the children's detention would start now, but still, you were so busy delivering some paintings that you almost completely forgot about it.
Hey Miss Romanoff, it's Wanda. Is everything okay for the kids to stay at your place this afternoon as we agreed? After detention? 
You are listening to music, so you ask the virtual assistant to read the message while you continue painting one of the higher boards. When you realize who it is from, you almost fall down the stairs you are on.
Your cell phone screen smears blue paint when you pick it up in one go, having forgotten your dirty hands, and you curse softly. 
Trying to sound casual, you decide on a voice message.
"Hey, Miss Max-Wanda, hey." Great start. "Sure, don't worry, I'll send you my address to come to pick them up later. And just Y/N is fine."
Wanda replies with an emoji heart, and you try to understand why yours is racing so fast.
–//–
Thomas and William Maximoff are two little devils. And America loves them, so you do too.
They play in the backyard and in the living room, surprisingly in harmony over sharing the video game after detention. You go back to work in the studio and keep the music down so you can hear them, and before you know it, the hours have passed and a red pickup truck is pulling up outside your house.
Wanda, on the other hand, doesn't seem too pleased to see that none of the children have had a decent meal after school, or done their homework. And you showing up with a dirty paint apron doesn't seem to help her judgment much.
"I don't usually cook, for the safety of the kitchen."  You try to joke to ease the tension and get giggles from the smaller ones, but only a forced smile from the other, who continues with her arms crossed. "They're not hungry, you know. There were snacks and cookies..."
"Very healthy." Wanda interrupts wryly. "Get your backpacks boys, and thank them for having you. Let's go home before it gets later."
You and America watch Maximoff's hurried exit until Wanda's car disappears at the end of the street, and it is your daughter who speaks first.
"I think she likes you."
You chuckle incredulously, turning your face to America. "What gives you that idea? The deadly stare?"
The smaller girl rolls her eyes amused. "No, Mom! She didn't say she wasn't coming here anymore. And besides, Tommy told me she's kind of too straitlaced... he may have used the word crazy, but I don't think that's very appropriate for me to say."
You chuckle through your nose, ruffling America's hair as you pull her into the house with you. 
"Well, the boys are your friends, so Wanda is going to have to get used to me because if there's one thing we take seriously in this family it's loyalty to our friends, isn't it, little Chavez?" 
America smiles warmly, stealing a glance at Nat's painting on the wall before nodding in agreement. You check your watch.
"Maybe Wanda is right, though. What do you want for dinner? Real food. I can prepare something-"
America grimaces. "I want pizza!"
"But kiddo-"
"With plenty of pepperonis!"
You roll your eyes, unable to say no to that lovely girl.
–//–
The next day, when Billy and Tommy take out lunch boxes from their backpacks, you want to chuckle. It's so... you don't even know what to call that.
"What is that supposed to be?" America asks in a mixture of indignation and disgust, standing behind the boys sitting at the table. Tommy and Billy exchange sighs.
"It's called Zucchini Boats." Says William, poking at the snack with his fork - which Wanda also sent in her purse - "Mom is a vegetarian and so are we."
"That's what she thinks," Tommy mutters mischievously, receiving an elbow from his brother. "It's good, America. Want some?"
"No, I'm fine." Your daughter says quickly, exchanging a look with you before leaving the twins to grab some of the juice you are bringing them on a tray. 
"Wow, that looks ... grown up." You comment with an impressed laugh as soon as you see the food the twins are pinching half-heartedly. "Do you guys always eat so fancy?"
"Yeah, all the time." Tommy replies grumpily. "Mom pays for vegetarian snacks at school, and it's always this kind of expensive food at the work parties she brings us to."
"Tommy, I don't think you should talk like that..." Billy whispers uncertainly but is cut off by the other.
"I can't stand eating asparagus or cabbage anymore! And I hate Lentils!" Challenges the twin, pushing the lunchbox onto the table.
America sips her juice in silence, and you sigh.
"Well, here's what we'll do then, little Maximoff." You say, picking up the bowl and some of the food that has fallen on the table. "I'll order hamburger and fries, and leave it on the counter. And you guys choose what you want to eat if you feel hungry."
Tommy loved the idea. Billy thanked him, but said he would stick with what his mother prepared. In any case, you ordered enough for everyone.
When the food arrived, you, America, and Tommy ate first. The Maximoff was very excited about eating meat - He eventually told you between bites that vegetarianism, as well as a dozen other habits, came to his family after his father passed away, and you were so surprised by the information that you could hardly nod in agreement. So Wanda was a widow like you? What a heartbreaking coincidence.
After you finished eating, you needed to continue working, and you left the children to do it. When you came back for some keys about ten minutes later, Tommy and America were playing video games in the living room and little Billy was eating French fries on the counter and having the time of his life. You didn't dare bother him.
The whole plot of Wanda and her vegetarian lunch boxes for 12-year-olds that were half going to waste - you insisted that they at least take a few bites out of respect for their mother's work - went on for three whole weeks.
It was on the penultimate day of detention when Wanda was already smiling as she came to pick up the kids, that she found out and showed up at your door during school hours.
"Sorry for the wait, I'm teaching a class." You tell her clumsily as you welcome her into the small makeshift office, while your students take a break in the studio in the other room. 
Wanda hasn't even taken off her coat and is still holding her keys in her hands. "Don't worry, I'll be quick." She says. "I appreciate the favor of picking up the boys and letting them stay here, but it has come to my attention your inappropriate behavior, and I-"
"Wow, what are you talking about?" You interrupt in confusion. 
Wanda doesn't hesitate, adjusting her posture. "The food I prepare for my children is properly planned with a nutritionist, and William has told me about your interference in their diet." You stare at her without reaction, and she takes advantage of your shock to continue speaking. "I respect that you are raising your daughter without any attention to a healthy diet, but I cannot allow you to do the same-"
"No, wait a second there." You cut her off with a short laugh, gesturing a little and without realizing it, moving closer, which makes Wanda take a step backward in that small office. "I never told them to stop eating your fancy food."
She grimaces. "But you bought junk food!" She rations angrily. "What do you expect children to choose?"
You chuckle. "Exactly, Wanda! They are children! You're the one who's feeding them like they're 60-year-old culinary critics!"
"A healthy diet is essential for their development-"
"Billy has never eaten pizza before! Do you understand how insane that sounds?"
Wanda feels her blood boil, much like you. And she doesn't realize she's screaming, much the same as you. 
"Oh, what a crime not to want to give my two children a fat bomb! Arrest me for preventing cardiovascular disease when they are adults!
"What the hell are you talking about?" You retort with an indignant chuckle, but Wanda steps forward, her gaze deadly.
"I don't tell you how to raise your daughter, so don't you dare do it to me." She says seriously, and you swallow dryly. 
"I never said anything like that." You retort. "It's not a crime to offer actual good food to a child."
Wanda frowns. "My food is good!" She defends herself almost offended, but you sigh wearily.
"For the adult palate? Yes, it is. I've tasted it, you have talent I admit." You say, surprising her a little by the compliment. Her posture almost breaks. "But for the boys? I'm sorry, I don't mean to pry, but they don't like it, okay? Especially Thomas. I didn't want you to find out like this, but he hasn't followed your all-important eating schedule in months, Miss Maximoff. He keeps buying candy and junk food around-"
"What?" she exclaims indignantly, turning away to walk around the room. You sigh. "Where does he get the money for that?"
You shrug casually. "I don't know, isn't he kind of pretty popular? Maybe he sells some toys or homework. I used to do that when I was young. And well, I give America an allowance and they hang out together a lot and-
"So you're the problem! Again!" Wanda suddenly accuses you, leaving you in shock. "You and your daughter, stay away from my boys!"
"Wanda, what...?"
But she turned her back on you and slammed the door hard on her way out. You huffed loudly, pressing your face between your hands for a long moment. Complete confusion in your mind. 
–//–
You're not sure what you expected for the last day of detention, but it sure wasn't the call from the secretary about America skipping class. 
You called her immediately, and to add to your despair, she didn't answer until an hour later, when you had already taken the car and were driving around town after her.
The arcade parking lot was empty because all the kids were in school. Except for a few.
You got down from the truck, and this time, you knew the blood was Billy's.
"Have you gone crazy? I drove all over town after you, America! Where-"
But she ran up to you, hugging you tightly, and you fell silent, worried. "I'm sorry, Mom!"
After massaging her back gently, you turned away to the boys sitting on the sidewalk. Bending down to Billy's height, you grabbed from the other twin the ice pack he held over his brother's bruised forehead.
"What happened, guys?" You asked, and all three of them started talking together. With a sigh, you shushed them. "Just one at a time, please."
America stepped forward. "We weren't going to skip the whole day, Mom, I promise! It's just that Tommy forgot to do his chemistry homework, so we were going to skip it so he wouldn't get in trouble!"
Tommy nods immediately. "We came here because we weren't going to hang around the school at the risk of getting caught." Continues the boy. "We were going to play and come back as soon as the next class time started."
Billy complains softly about the pain and you try to press more gently. "So?" You ask them to continue, but they don't, exchanging hesitant glances. 
It is William who continues the story, his gaze in his lap. "It was the idiot brother of a classmate of ours. He was at the arcade, and he recognized me. He said he was furious that I got his brother in trouble. And he said... He said there's no place in this town for a faggy like me."
You sigh immediately, putting down the ice to hold his shoulder with your other hand. "Oh, Billy, I'm sorry."
He sniffles lightly, shrugging. "It's okay, I'm used to it. America and Tommy were buying soda, so the jerk threw me out here. As soon as they came, the guy ran off."
"It was the arcade owner who gave us the ice." America clarifies, coming over to sit down on the sidewalk across from Billy, and slipping an arm over his. "Sorry for taking so long, buddy. Next time I'm going to break his leg-"
"Hey, listen up here you three." You interrupt, looking at them seriously. "Violence is never the solution."
"But, Mom, they-"
"I know." You cut her off with a nod. "And it's unfair that it happened. And all we want to do is return that anger, but we can't be like that. Billy, I'm really sorry that you've heard cruel things. There's a place for you wherever you choose, that boy is just being an ignorant fool. Don't listen to him." You assure holding the hand of the boy in front of you. "You three are going back to school, and I'll take care of it the right way, okay?"
At first, they don't seem very willing, but eventually, they agree. You direct them back to school, and are not surprised at the increased detention Fury gives them for skipping class. Nick, however, is the one who provides the numbers of the parents of the kids who attacked them, and of a lawyer. 
He comments something about having called Miss Maximoff but to no avail before thanking you for bringing the children back safely and saying goodbye.
You are walking back to your car when Wanda parks as if in a race movie.
"I'm glad you're here, Wanda, we need to talk." You announce loudly, walking to her car. She turns it off, takes out the key, and gets down, slamming the door. 
"I don't have time, the director called me during a meeting, and I-"
"I know." You cut her off, and make no mention of moving out of her way, trapping her between cars. "Our kids were skipping class."
She chuckles dryly. "That's what I'm talking about, your daughter is a terrible influence. I wasn't wrong when-"
"She was helping Tommy." You cut in again, crossing your arms. "Yeah. He didn't do his chemistry homework or something, and they decided to skip the first period so he wouldn't get a scolding. Because, yes, he'd rather take his chances on the street than smear the perfect record mommy wants for him."
Wanda tilts her head. "Watch your mouth." She warns between teeth, and you roll your eyes.
"Billy got punched." You declare, and Wanda's posture breaks completely. Desperation fills her expression.
"W-what... Excuse me, I have-" 
"It's taken care of, it was just a scratch I looked at it myself." You interrupt, steadying your feet in her path, and ignoring the way she looks you up and down. "But these assaults, Wanda, we need to get a handle on this."
She is surprised, in a good way. And she swallows dryly, trying to adjust her posture. "That's not your problem."
You don't care, pulling out of your pocket the lawyer's paper Fury gave you to hand to her 
as you quickly explain the whole story. Wanda is unresponsive until she sniffles slightly, and this breaks your posture.
Your natural instinct is to touch her, but you hold back, clenching your hands, and Wanda turns her face away, hugging her own body as she controls her crying.
"Forgive me, I just..." She takes a deep breath. "They're all I have. And they're perfect, just the way they are. I just wanted to...do the best for them. Keep them safe, and happy. But apparently, New York is even worse than Westview."
"Hey, I understand that." You can't resist, raising a hand to her back, and thanking the gods that Wanda leans into the touch instead of backing away. "Some things are beyond our control. But I think you're doing a damn fine job, Wanda."
She raises her eyes at you. "Really?"
"Yeah." You assure her with a smile. "Your kids are great. Smart, so independent, and good-natured. Very united and loyal. You've done a really good job with them-"
Wanda hugs you tightly around the neck, cutting off your sentence. You smile, putting your arms around her just as the surprise fades. She sighs. "Thank you." She whispers, and you squeeze tighter before letting go.
"Call Jen Walters about this. Nick said she's a good lawyer." You remind her, and Wanda nods. You put your hands in your pockets and stare at her for a moment. "Were you at some fancy event? You look good."
She blushes, smiling shyly and adjusting her suit. "Something like that. Just a new book launch, so phone off. As soon as I saw the missed calls, I ran here..."
You chuckle lightly. "Yeah, I noticed the Fast and Furious you pulled out." You joke getting a laugh and a slap on the arm.
As the laughter dies down, you face each other. And Wanda is the first to swallow dryly and shift her gaze away.
"I should go there... just to make sure everything is okay." She says pointing to the school. You clear your throat and finally give her space to walk through.
"Sure, sure. I see you...?"
Wanda looks at you over her shoulder, a soft smile on her lips. "Over coffee." She invites, her smile widening with your surprise. "It's about time, don't you think?"
You nod, swallowing your anxiety. "I can’t wait." You guarantee, and when she leaves, your cheeks are flushed like hers.
–//–
Wanda doesn't call. But she doesn't have to.
The detentions are over; you're pretty sure she threatened Nick Fury on her way back to the office, but whatever she said, she made sure that the victims of the story stopped being punished. Tommy received a short warning for his duty, but the matter was soon forgotten.
You were surprised that even with the end of the detention, the Maximoff twins were on your doorstep on Tuesday. And next to them, Wanda.
"If you're not busy, I was thinking we could all have lunch together. I got some free time at the office." Clarified the matriarch, and well, you had a dozen or so orders to make and they would all have to wait because no chance at all of you dismissing going out with Wanda.
She is infinitely more pleasant company than the impression you got during your fights. She is a fierce mother, but she is so much more than that. She's brilliant, passionate, and generous. You find yourself captured by her like a work of art, which you can stare at for hours and hours, trying to absorb every detail and discover others.
Lunch turns into afternoon snacks, and into dinners. The Maximoffs show up at your house on a weekly basis, Wanda cooks for you sometimes, and at other times allows herself to eat junk food with everyone else.
And family dates become the two of you dates when she kisses you.
It takes you completely by surprise, honestly. 
You have been dancing into a family routine for amazing weeks, and after one of the dinners, it gets late enough to insist that they sleep over at your place. 
The boys stay in America's room, and you take over the living room so that Wanda is comfortable in her room.
When she shows up at dawn in the kitchen while you're making tea, the first thing she says is "I feel terrible about making you sleep on the couch. I can't sleep because of it."
You smile and separate a mug of tea for her too.
"I think we finally had that drink." You comment a long moment later, as you pour the tea for yourselves.
Wanda smiles mischievously. "I don't think it counts." She murmurs mysteriously, and you raise an eyebrow.
"No?"
Wanda hums in the negative. "We've drunk together a dozen times now, Y/N." She retorts, holding the cup close to her mouth. "If you want to take me out, you need to genuinely ask."
She sips her tea, and you swallow dryly as you stare into her lips. Blinking away when you notice her naughty smile, you ignore your nervousness, and retort, "I asked, you're the one who didn't call me." 
Wanda raises her eyebrow, taken aback that you brought back this information from so many weeks later. She doesn't lose her composure, however. "I thought it wouldn't be appropriate when given a second thought about it."
You sip some tea. "And what do you think of us now?"
Instead of answering, she leans over the countertop. She grabs the collar of your shirt and kisses you hard. Your whole body vibrates, and you gasp. But she lets you go before you have the chance to respond properly.
"I think if you don't ask me out soon, I'll have to do it myself." She teases affectedly, breathing out of breath as you do. You laugh, nodding.
"Go out with me." 
She raises an eyebrow. "Is that an order?" She teases, and you grunt.
"God, Wanda, come here." That's what you say before pulling her back to you, mouth to mouth.
2K notes · View notes
munsonslove · 2 years
Text
Make It Up to You
(18+ only) (read part 2 here)
summary: After Eddie’s van stalls when he tries to leave your party, you invite him to stay the night.
wordcount: 5.3k
tags/warnings: fem!virgin!sub!reader (18+ and a high school graduate), softdom!Eddie, fluff, smut, friends to lovers, praise kink, sharing a bed, oral (f receiving), fingering (f receiving), dacryphilia, teasing, begging, use of pet names (baby, babygirl, pretty girl, sweetheart, sweetie, good girl), no use of y/n
a/n: first fic! kinda set it up for a part 2, so let me know if you want one~
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“Is there anything I can do to make it up to you, baby?” Eddie asks as he ever so slightly grazed his fingertips up your thigh. You think back to where you were at the start of your day and wonder how you ended up here.
-
After unexpectedly learning that morning you would be home alone for the entire weekend you wasted no time calling up all your friends and telling them to come over after dark. Most of them were your fellow band nerds at the high school you graduated from a month prior, along with a handful of tutoring clients that you had kept in touch with. The first person you called was your best friend of the past four years, Robin Buckley. She, of course, is more than excited to hear the news, and tells you she’ll cover letting ‘the gang’ know.
‘The gang’ she’s referring to is the rather surprising group of friends she’s accumulated this past year. Steve Harrington’s been around the longest, having worked with Robin at the ice cream parlor in the mall that burned down last summer, and now at Family Video. Though you were skeptical at first that spending time with the former King of Hawkins High would be enjoyable, you quickly came to see why Robin loved him so much. Your duo with her became a trio, and despite the sneaking suspicion that the two were hiding something from you, having him as a friend made you happier than planned. The next unanticipated friendly addition was Nancy Wheeler. You didn’t know much about her back in school, just that she was head of the newspaper and Steve’s ex. Getting to know her now, she’s impressed you with her tenacity and cleverness. It’s clear why someone like her would get along so well with your Robin, but you still wondered how this relationship even came to be. Whenever you questioned them they gave vague answers and changed topics, so you ultimately decided to just give up on the subject.
Then there was Eddie.
Eddie Munson may have been the most unpredictable out of all of them. Sure, being in the marching band meant you and Robin rolled with the outcasts, but he was a different breed of outcast. His bold personality- often resulting in causing scenes in the halls and outbursts in the cafeteria- has always intrigued you. And though most wouldn’t have suspected it from someone like you, you found his personal aesthetic very attractive. You didn’t live in a strict household by any means, but that was only because you never exhibited the type of rebellious nature that made it necessary. Still, the lure of loud music, drugs, and taboo role playing games (that may or may not have to do with Satanism) was too tantalizing to ignore completely. You often found yourself gazing his way during your time in school and daydreaming, even back in freshman year when he was a junior. Coming back from spring break to see your best friend laughing at her locker with the super-super senior of your desires was definitely a shock.
Pretty soon it was nightfall and your backyard was packed with 18-20 year olds drinking lukewarm beers, happy to have a distraction from their impending dooms of adulthood. Luck was on your side tonight, seeing as your neighbors to the left were out of town, and the ones to the right were so old they wouldn’t hear a fire truck’s siren if it was directly outside their window. The tape playing from the boombox was a mix specially curated by yours truly to appease as many party goers as possible. So while it included Bowie, Blondie, and Beatles, it also had Black Sabbath. Every time a song came on that you picked out with Eddie in mind he would lock eyes with you, throwing a knowing and toothy smile your way. The confirmation that something you did pleased him brought butterflies to your stomach, and filled your mind with ideas on how to see that smile again.
Just to be on the safe side, you still kept the music as low as you could without hearing complaints from anyone. And by anyone, you meant Eddie, who liked his radio blasting so loud he could feel his eardrums vibrate. He did, however, turn the volume down out of courtesy whenever he picked you up for group hangouts. The gesture of that alone caused your heart to flutter more than it should have, and left you feeling like you were floating in his passenger seat. Him placing his hand on your knee while he drove would always bring you back down to Earth, though, along with migrating the fluttering feeling to a different part of your body. Distracted by the memory of his skin on yours, you don’t notice him making his way over to you until you feel his arm snake its way around your torso.
He stays by your side the remainder of the night, even as the crowd starts to thin out by around 2am. You’re left completely alone with him when Nance and Rob get into Steve’s car and drive off. You try to tell him he doesn’t need to stick around to clean, but he insists and helps pick up the crushed aluminum cans and red solo cups from your lawn. It doesn’t take long, much to your disappointment, and the easy conversation and inside jokes come to an early end as you walk with him around the side of your house. You both drop the trash bags filled with proof of a successful night of partying on the curb by the garbage bins his van was parked next to, and he pulls you into a hug. With a kiss to the top of your head (a habit he picked up early on in your friendship), he says his final goodbye and slides into his front seat. You wait patiently to see him off, but the stalling of his engine puts those plans to rest. He gets back out, returning to your side with a sheepish grin and explains that his engine’s been acting up recently and he hasn’t had the chance to get a look under the hood quite yet. Just as he’s about to ask if you have a toolbox laying around somewhere, you suggest that he should stay the night, since it’s already so late anyway.
“You sure you don’t mind? I didn’t mean to back you into a corner or anything, baby,” he asks, using his favorite pet name for you.
You roll your eyes and scoff, “Of course I don’t mind. We’re friends!”
The word ‘friend’ brings a soft smile to his face that confusingly doesn’t reach his eyes. The reassurance does calm his nerves about intruding, however, and he allows you to lead him to your house. Once you're both a little closer, he walks ahead so that he can open the front door and gestures for you to enter first.
“So,” he starts as he shuts the door behind himself and locks it, “do I get a tour of your bedroom before you send me to the couch?”
The sudden surge of audacity you feel comes out of the blue. In the past, the only time you’d been this forward with Eddie was when you were at the very least tipsy, but neither of you had had more than a couple beers tonight. So it was as much to his sober surprise as it was yours when you responded, “You don’t want to sleep with me?”
His eyes widen, jaw dropping to bring his mouth to an ‘O’ shape, but he quickly recovered to his signature smirk. “Well I certainly wouldn’t say no to that,” he chuckles, tone dripping innuendo on the final word.
The implication of what you said hits you like a freight train, and you scramble to correct yourself. “I just meant- I don’t mind sharing the bed! The air conditioning in the living room isn’t as good as mine, and it’s such a hot night-“
“Relax, sweetheart,” he interjects, using his second favorite pet name for you. “I’m just teasing. Trying to make you blush.” You suspect he succeeded in his attempt, if the warmth in your cheeks has anything to say about it.
Turning on your light, Eddie takes in his surroundings. He skims over your music collection, runs his fingers along the spines of your books, laughs quietly at the small collection of stuffed animals you still had from when you were a kid. Usually you would have felt embarrassed, but his laughter held no malice. He wasn’t making fun of you, simply reacting. You waited for his comment about your cuteness- a common adjective he’d use that you’d at first confused as mocking until realizing he meant it as a compliment- but it never came. Your room is slightly chilly, but it feels good on your skin after spending hours in the humid summer air. It even wasn’t that messy, thankfully, and the inviting softness of your bed was tempting you like a siren call despite your doubt that you’d be able to get any sleep with Eddie laying beside you. The man in question catches your attention again, tearing you from your racing thoughts by pulling his t-shirt over his head and unbuttoning his jeans.
“I sleep in just boxers, is that a problem? I mean, you know I don’t have a change of clothes or anything,” he explains.
“Yeah, totally fine!” you assure, trying not to be too obviously excited by the view of his tattoos on full display, “No big deal. Like really, it’s okay.” Admittedly, the reassurance was more to convince yourself than him.
He nods and takes his pants off- balling them up and tossing them to the side, then pulls back your duvet and crawls into bed, leaving enough room for you to get in as well. He lays on his side, one of his hands supporting his head as he stares at you expectedly. His unabashed behavior while undressing soothed your anxiety slightly, encouraging you to yank down and kick off your own jeans. You make the choice to actively ignore Eddie’s amusement at your eagerness. Normally this is when your bra would come off, but you decided instead to just leave it on, nervous that removing said item would be viewed as a step too far. Turning off your light, you slide in under the covers next to the boy you’ve had eyes for since you were 14.
You only have a full size mattress, so although the both of you fit it was unlikely the night would pass without making contact. The thought of even accidentally feeling his touch in your bed, in the dark, with neither of you wearing pants… It was as exhilarating as it was terrifying. You didn’t know if you should hope for or avoid it. Logically, in the long run it would be better for your own well-being to not let yourself fall too hard for someone who only thought of you as a friend, so you chose the latter. You tried to give him plenty of space and hoped he didn’t notice your slinking away from him. He noticed.
“What’s wrong pretty girl? Scared to touch me?” he jokes. If only he knew the truth in his statement. You deny it with a curt head shake, and he shoots you an unimpressed look at the obvious lie. Knowing he wouldn’t drop it, you exhale a shaky breath and scooch more toward the center of the bed. He still persists though, and your mind short circuits when he leans in close to whisper, “If you’re not scared, how about you let me hold you?” 
He’s challenging you, and you’re not about to back down. You nod and roll over to face away from him before that little voice in your mind can tell you this is a bad idea. He wraps one of his arms around your torso- hand resting against the underside of your boob, his pelvis pressed firmly against your behind, and his leg found its way to be sandwiched between yours, thigh warm against your core. With the humiliating realization that there’s only a single layer of fabric between your growing wetness and his bare skin, you try to discreetly position yourself in a way where he might not be able to tell you’re practically dripping just from cuddling alone.
“Why are you squirming, baby?” he hums in your ear, breaking the silence in the room as he flattens his palm against the area just above your belly button and holds you tighter against himself. “Are you not comfortable?”
He’s not hard, but the thin materials of his and your underwear isn’t enough to stop you from feeling his length settle in between your ass cheeks. You hold back a moan and force out “I am comfortable, I just… Um…”
He props himself up on the arm that was previously under his head and scoots away just far enough that he can take your shoulder and roll you onto your back, urging you to look at him. The light of the streetlamps outside filter in through the thin slots of the blinds on your window and illuminate your face, allowing him to see you clearly. 
“Aw sweetie, you’re blushing so pretty for me,” he murmurs, bringing his hand up to stroke your cheek. With a start, you realize from the gleam in his eyes that he’s teasing you.
You angrily push his hand away and accuse him just that. He doesn’t even try to deny it. Throwing the blanket off of you, you sit up and glare at him. He simply says that he ‘couldn’t help it’, and that ‘you just kept getting cuter the more and more flustered you became’. 
“Is this a joke to you? I’m just some… some…” you struggle for the right words, clearly upset. “Some dumb girl for you to play around with when you know you have no intention of returning her feelings?” 
His teasing sneer immediately fades as he follows you into a sitting position. “No sweetheart. Believe me, I never saw you that way,” he promises, “You’re so important to me.”
Your annoyance dissipates, hope blossoming in your chest. “Do you swear?”
“On my guitar.” he replies, smiling with you when you let out a small chuckle. A moment of quiet passes, the both of you just looking at each other. His flirtatious tone returns as he lightly caresses your thigh and says, “Is there anything I can do to make it up to you, baby?”
-
You’re brought back to the present when his hand on your bare thigh slipped underneath the hem of your baggy t-shirt and crept up the softness of your hips to pause at your waist.
“I could feel how hot you got against my thigh,” he whispers, dragging you closer to him then continuing the path of his hand upward until you could feel his calloused, guitarist fingertips along the underwire of your bra. “I could feel your pulse,” he practically growled, and you gasp out the air you were unconsciously holding, shocked by his statement. He pulls you closer even still, until you're nearly on his lap. His lips are almost touching your ear, and the hot breath released with his next words send a shiver straight through you. 
“Just say yes, baby. That’s all I need from you. A yes.” You turn to look at his eyes and see no trace of humor. 
“Yes.”
He removes his hand out from under your shirt so that he can take either side of your jaw. “If at any point you want me to stop, say the word and I will,” he tells you. Before you can question why you would ever want him to stop, he leans in and connects your lips.
The kiss is slow but firm, and you have to stop yourself from thinking about the women that frequent the Hideout on Tuesday nights, wondering if they have something to do with his supposed expertise. There’s no time for jealousy right now, not when Eddie’s brushing his tongue against your lower lip, wordlessly asking for entry. You grant permission, and when you feel the foreign muscle flexing next to your molars, you moan into his mouth. Eddie stops the kiss and laughs when that causes you to whine.
“Come here,” he says. “Straddle me.” So you do. 
Sitting astride his lap with your knees bent and tucked beneath you, you place your hands on his shoulders. His own hands slip underneath your shirt once more, palms pressed flat against your lower back as he kissed you again, sucking your bottom lip into his mouth, biting gently, and pulling away. You hear a quiet ‘plop’ noise as it snaps back into place. He starts kissing just below your jaw and navigates his hands to your sides, latching onto your waist. His grip tightens as he starts rocking you against himself. 
You gasp, feeling his dick harden. “Oh Eds-“ but cut yourself off with your hand to your mouth.
His kiss leaves your jaw and his touch leaves one side of your waist as he roughly pulls the guilty hand away from your mouth, holding it raised beside your head. “Don’t try to be quiet,” he demands with an authoritative tone. You’re surprised by the sudden ordering, but the domineering was not unwelcome. His expression lightens and he relaxes as he explains, “It’s just us here. Let me hear all the pretty noises you make. The ones I've been imagining every night for weeks.”
The confession startles you even more than the ordering. “You think of me at night?” He hums in confirmation, letting go of your hand. It stays frozen in the air though, the shock from the image of him touching himself and getting off to the thought of you causing your brain to go blank.
“At night,” he presses a kiss to your neck, “the morning,” one to your collarbone, “afternoon,” another to the small bit of shoulder he can get to from where your shirt slid down. He looks up, his nose brushes against yours. “When I'm watching TV, playing guitar, planning campaigns... all the time. You don’t know what you do to me.”
Hearing that he’s been feeling the way you’ve felt for years drives you crazy. You grab his face and kiss him greedily, groaning when you feel him smile against your mouth and pull away yet again. 
“I know you think about me too, babygirl. I know you’ve been thinking of me,” he accuses. Your embarrassment is ignored as he continues, “I see how you look at me. I see how your eyes bulge outta your head whenever my shirt rides up and you can see my happy trail.”
“What?” you yelp, “You knew you were turning me on?” He starts laughing, and presses his face into the crook of your neck. “Eds, I thought I was a perv! I felt dirty!”
His humor vanished abruptly. He raised his head and stared directly into your soul, before growling, “Oh, I can make you feel dirty.” A shiver went up your spine as he started rocking you against him again, “I can make you feel really dirty. Do you want me to, baby?”
“Please.”
He grins widely. “You begging sounds even better than I imagined. Keep moving your hips for me, okay?” His hands stop guiding your movements as they leave your waist to travel up your front, bunching the fabric as he groped your chest over your shirt. You moan wantonly and do as he says, grinding on his cock without any direction. 
“You’re doing such a good job, sweetheart,” he praises, “Good girl.” 
He’s never used that before. You’ve heard ‘pretty girl’, ‘babygirl’… never ‘good girl’. You like it. A lot. You never realized how much you wanted to be a good girl for Eddie. How much you wanted to be his good girl.
“Raise your arms,” he commands, and you obey without question. You hold still for him as he pulled your shirt off, but once the cool chill of your air conditioned bedroom finally hit your heated skin, you immediately continued grinding against him. Despite this, his nimble fingers were able to skillfully undo your bra, and he ripped it from your body like it was a personal offense. He quickly seized the opportunity to take one of your nipples into his warm, wet mouth. One hand found its way to the flesh of your ass, fingers digging in and probably leaving marks, while the other massaged the breast not being attacked by his tongue. Your movement grew desperate, hips aggressively meeting his as you threw your head back in pleasure and made ridiculous lewd noises that you never even knew you were capable of. After a while he switched sides, making sure to give the other nipple the same amount of attention. 
“Fuck, baby,” he moaned when his lips finally left your chest, “You’re so fucking beautiful.” He was mesmerized by the sight of your tits bouncing in his face as you humped him. Your vulgar wailing never stopped as his lips went on with their assault to the delicate skin of your neck, in fact it impossibly raised in volume. “I bet you could cum just like this, couldn’t you? Before I even get my hands on that pretty pussy.” You glanced down at him and nodded dumbly, lost in the feeling. “God, you're so responsive. No one’s ever made it feel this good before, huh?”
Your grinding stutters momentarily before picking back up again, and you look away, trying to keep your expression as unreadable as possible. His brows furrowed in confusion before it finally clicked. “Sweetheart,” he says, taking your waist and halting your movement, “you’ve never been with anyone else?”
You hesitate to answer. “Are you going to make fun of me if I say I haven't?”
His disbelief is palpable, but he shakes his head no anyway. “Of course not, silly. I just wish I had known. I got you doing all the work and it’s your first time.” He lifts you off of his lap, his voice going from comforting to seductive as he says, “Lay back for me, baby. I'm gonna make it good for you. I don't want you thinking about anything except for how amazing it feels, understand?”
You bit your lip and nodded, climbing the rest of the way off of him and laying down lengthwise on the bed as Eddie stood up. You expected to get on top, but to your surprise he instead cupped his hands under your armpits and manhandled you so that you were horizontal across the bed. He grabbed your hips and positioned them on the edge of the mattress, your legs hanging off the side, with knees bent and feet on the floor. Then, he got down on his knees in front of you.
You pushed yourself up just in time to see his awestruck face when he spread your thighs apart. “Jesus, baby,” he gushed, “you soaked through your panties.” You can't find it in yourself to be embarrassed when he presses the pad of his thumb to where your clit is under the fabric. Your elbows give way under you and you fall onto your back, moaning loud. One of your thighs involuntarily twitches, rising up above his head as your calf tucked in and your toes curled. “All worked up aren’t you? Poor thing. I’m sorry for making you wait so long.” He holds your already raised leg in place, then slides his hand under your other thigh, hoisting that one up as well. With both of your legs elevated, he dips his fingers under the elastic of your underwear. “Up,” he instructs.
You dig your heels into the edge of the mattress and use them as support so you can do as he says. Once your hips are off the bed, he slides the panties off and down. You lower yourself and lift your heels, and Eddie finally pulls the last of the clothing off of your body. He tosses the garment to the side, not caring where it lands. After your feet lowered to rest on the floor again, he took your knees in both hands and spread you wide open, putting your drenched folds on full display. He kissed his way up to the apex of your thigh and you tensed, preparing yourself for his first contact with your aching center, only for him to turn his head and repeat this gesture on the opposite side.
“Pl-please Eds,” you disturb his actions with a broken voice, head thrown back again, this time in frustration instead of pleasure. “Please touch me. Please. I can’t- I’m so- Fuck.” Desperate and pathetic, you grasp both of his hands in yours as you look back down at him. “I'm so horny, I think I might literally, actually explode,” you exaggerate. “Please make me cum. Please, I can't take it.” 
He stares back at you slack mouthed and expressionless as you finish shamelessly begging. Your eyes bore into his, absolutely pleading. Finally, he smirks and leans down to lick a single straight line directly up your pussy. You squeeze his fingers- letting out a relieved groan, and he finds it so sweet sounding that he wished he brought a tape recorder. 
“So good for me, telling me exactly what you need and asking so politely,” he praises as he frees one of his hands from yours and starts rubbing slow, lazy circles on your clit. “Such good manners. Behavior like that should be rewarded, don't you think?”
“Yes. Oh my god.” It’s dark in your room, what with it being nearly 4 in the morning and the only source of light still being what little is coming in through your blinds. It does cast a slight glow as it bounces off your walls though, so despite the darkness Eddie swears he can see glistening in your eyes as you carry on rambling aimlessly. “Oh my god, thank you. Please, Eds.”
Eddie truly did mean to stop teasing you and get on with it, but the sight of you being so desperate to cum that you were reduced to tears shocks him so much he goes still. You sob out pitifully as you let go of his other hand and throw both of your arms over your face, hiding in the crooks of your elbows. He almost feels bad, but he can’t deny the deep throbbing it causes in his lower region.
“Are you crying baby?” he asks as he begins rubbing his hands up and down your thighs as if trying to console you. “You’re crying for me? I got you that needy?” You start squirming on the bed, and your feet stomp on the floor behind him. 
“Watch it now,” he chastised, his hands stilling and his grip tightening, “Remember what we said about good behavior being rewarded? Throwing a temper tantrum will get you nowhere.” You removed your face from its hiding spot and threw your arms back dramatically on the space of the bed above you. Your eyes strain, trying to force your vision to work better in the dark, and you can just barely make out Eddie’s stern expression. His eyebrow raised, “You want to be my good girl right?”
You feel a tear roll down your cheek as you try and fail to keep your voice steady. “I do want to be your good girl! But I've been so patient-“
“I’ll decide when you’ve been patient,” he interrupts strictly, cutting off your complaining. You almost protest, but think better of it and say nothing. “Tell me who’s in charge,” he demands.
“You are,” you comply willingly, stopping your squirming, “You’re in charge. I’ll behave.”
He smiles and loosens his grip “There we go,” he goes back to rubbing your clit, this time faster, with more pressure. You let out a whimper, your moaning starting up again. “Now was that so hard? Since it’s your first time, I’ll forgive your little outburst. Be grateful I’m feeling nice.” He can almost make out the ‘thank you, thank you, thank you’s hidden in between your whines.
Pulling his thumb away, he puts his tongue to work. He massages your clit up and down and side to side, until coming to the conclusion that spirals get the best response out of you. “Oh, found the way you like it, did I?” he asks between licks, “Is this the way your fingers do it when you’re all alone and thinking about me?” 
You nod vigorously. Your eyes squeezed shut at some point, and you might draw blood with how hard you’re biting your lower lip. Reaching down, you comb your fingers through Eddie’s hair as he swirls his tongue in circles. Pretty soon, you are grasping at the bedsheets, heels dug into his shoulder blades, toes curling. You’re loud, but speaking no words. Your head is completely empty and all you can focus on in the coil inside of you growing tighter, and tighter, and tighter. Suddenly, you feel Eddie slide two fingers into you and curl them upwards. You gasp so hard you nearly choke.
He lifts his mouth from your clit, quickly moving to continue the motions with his thumb, the fingers on his other hand working their way in and out of you fast and hard. “You gonna cum for me, pretty girl?” 
You look down at him with pleading, teary eyes. “Can I?”
That response causes his actions to falter ever so slightly, then he carries on with even more force than before. His fingers speed up, pumping in and out of you and hitting you just perfectly in the right spot every time, and your moans get impossibly louder. “So well behaved for me, asking permission. Fuck babygirl. You can cum. Whenever you want to, you can cum.”
He returns his mouth to you and sucks in while circling his tongue. That was all it took for you to start spasming underneath him. You came so quickly after Eddie giving the okay that it was easy for him to tell you’d been holding it back for a while. He keeps his fingers inside of you during your climax, wanting to feel the way your walls tightened and clenched around them. The assault on your swollen clit never ceases, helping you to ride out your orgasm for as long as possible, and he only eased off when the sensitivity caused you to push him away. He pulls out his fingers and sucks them clean before standing and kissing his way up your trembling body as you struggle to catch your breath. Picking you up from under your armpits again, he drags you to the middle of the mattress, lays you longways, then lifts his knees onto the bed to crawl on top of you. When he sees your blissed out face he can’t help but kiss you, letting you taste yourself on his lips. In between pecks, he strokes your hair and whispers comforts like ‘I got you’ and ‘Breathe, sweetheart, you did so well’. After about 5 minutes, you begin to regain your composure slightly, or at least enough to look at Eddie and see the adoration in his eyes. The sincerity in his expression makes your stomach flip, and it honestly almost feels like a small wave of aftershocks. He kisses at your neck again, sucking and biting slowly as he starts grinding on your thigh. You glance down, face full of lust as your eyes travel past his tattoos and body hair, until finally settling on the impressively sized tent he was still sporting.
“I want to make you cum, too,” you proclaim as you slide your hand down his abdomen until you reach his boxers and lightly graze his bulge.
“Don’t worry sweetheart,” he says, taking your chin in his hand and pulling you into a slow kiss. “We’re not done yet. Just letting you have a little breather.”
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j-0ne25 · 1 month
Text
PARASITE EVE
CHAPTER [IX] of LEVANTER [18+!]
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“Baby, hold on tight, yeah? I promise nothing will happen,” Minho reassures you.
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⛓️ SYNOPSIS: While Jisung is in prison, Minho and you desperately try to find any hints that could prove he isn’t guilty. But this isn’t the only problem you are facing—as you are caught between that ongoing tension with none other than your husband’s best friend, you don’t expect that only a certain someone will be able to help you rescue the love of your life.
💊 CONTENT INFO: jisung x afab reader, chan x afab reader, minho x afab reader, gang/mafia au, angst/smut/fluff, gang leader jisung, doctor chan, gang member minho, pls refer to masterlist for more info, content warning under the cut [include spoilers]
💵 WORD COUNT: 18.2K (whoops)
🔪 CONTENT WARNING: [not too specific to not spoil the whole plot so read at your own risk] mental health topics, mention of suicidal thoughts in the past, blackmailing and threats, gambling, mention and use of guns, death of tertiary character, mention of death of both parents, mention of cancer [tertiary character], cigarette smoking, explicit sexual content [includes dom/sub dynamics, semi-protected sex, use of pet names such as kitten, baby, slut and good boy]
🧨 SPOTIFY PLAYLIST
The characters do not portray any of the skz members in real life, the names are just used for fiction. Minors do not interact, this post contains mature topics. By reading you consent to nsfw content and agree that you have read all the warnings above carefully.
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The room feels cold when you enter it. The air is sticky, nicotine lingering around, making it up to your nostrils. A cough breaks out of your mouth, your throat getting sore again. You might think there’s a bad cold waiting ahead of you but it might just be your body telling you it has had enough.
You take a few steps towards the group of men that are sitting around the table, sipping on their glasses that are filled with high-end whiskey, ice cubes swimming around, while they are focused on the game that’s playing in front of them.
“You came,” one of the voices says. You can’t see his face, his back turned in your direction. But you nod, approaching them further while all other males are ogling your form, their eyes trailing down your curves that are hugged by that skimpy black dress. It makes you feel uncomfortable, to say the least.
However, what’s more disturbing is the fact that the man who just spoke to you sounds a little too familiar for your liking. You already know who he reminds you of but you don’t want it to be true. This would truly give you the rest if he—the one and only you’ve been relying on these past months since your husband isn’t here anymore—was all behind it.
After all, you came here with a purpose. Minho and you have been talking about it for two weeks now. The casino downtown, that’s located pretty close to where Jisung’s lounge—The Velvet—has its home might have some connection to that drug page that brought the love of your life behind bars.
You have thought it through, you have spent days and nights contemplating plans how to get the men that must be truly behind it, some hints leading you to a sketchy gambling venue that you have been to before with your husband. But you truly didn’t believe that when his best friend and you agreed on you going there first, seducing some of the men to possibly gain evidence—a recorder attached to your lingerie that’s hidden underneath the little black fabric—you’d be hit by a surprise like this one.
Walking further, the man that talked to you finally turns around. There’s this evil smirk on his face, one that he has used around you a couple of times—especially on those two occasions when he had his dick inside your cunt. You’ve thought you could trust him. But his lies have made it pretty clear that this isn’t the case.
“Surprised to see me, kitten?”
Your heart stops. It’s truly him. Why the hell is Minho here if you agreed that you would go here first? Why is he already surrounded by the guys you were supposed to be spying on? Does it mean what you think it does?
“Didn’t expect that smartass to walk right into your trap, Lee,” one of the middle aged men says to Minho, mocking you.
“Hm, I’ve got her right where I want her and she fell for it. Poor little girl.”
He gets up, your heart by now pumping out of your chest. A high pitched noise makes it to your ears, tinnitus turning you deaf for a moment, while your eyes get tired and your vision becomes blurry.
Minho stands in front of you now, his hands holding your waist when he sees how fragile you’ve become.
“What the hell is this, Min? What sick games are you playing?”
He chuckles, “You did fall for it. I’ve been behind this website—well, not entirely.”
“The fuck do you mean? You were the one to create C.Drugs?”
“Not alone. Your husband was a great help, I have to credit him here,” Minho snickers.
You feel your stomach twist and turn. It’s been these two all along? Minho and Jisung were behind the website after all and when they got caught, they tried to blame it on Chan? Considering the title of said page, you wonder if that was some psycho master plan all along.
“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” you let out.
“I’m not. I’ve only ever been honest with you, baby. Well, mostly. So, will you now help us do the rest so we can rescue your husband and put your poor little best friend in jail instead?”
Is this the reason why Jisung married you? Has he truly ever loved you? Has Minho truly ever been your friend? Or have they only cared for one another and used you as their doll in the sick games they are playing?
Speaking of, Minho reaches inside his suit, handing you exactly this. A doll. Not just any doll. A matryoshka. She’s wearing a red scarf to cover her black hair, pink blush decorating her happy face. The dress she’s wearing is crested with flowers.
“What does that mean?”
Minho looks at you, wrapping his hand around your wrist to turn you towards another direction.
“Ask him.”
💊
Your eyes open, your chest and back are covered in sweat, as pure darkness surrounds you. Heavy pants are filling the bedroom, as panic rushes over you.
It happened again. You had this disturbing dream again about the casino and those dolls and the men. It’s been so many nights in a row that you’ve lost count. Well, it’s not surprising, considering you spend all your time trying to find any evidence.
But something was different this time.
The man who spoke to you had a face. Usually he doesn’t have one or it’s just an animated, cartoon-like copy similar to the matryoshka he hands you every time.
Tonight, the man was Minho. Your husband and his best friend were behind it all.
Your breath gets stuck in your throat when you reminisce about the scene that your brain played in front of your closed inner eyes. You’re obviously not a clairvoyant but it still leaves you more than uneasy how this whole situation has such an impact on your sleep.
Minho, the other members of Levanter and you have poured all your energy into finding some hints and clues these past weeks and although you found something, it’s still not enough to bring your husband out of jail. You thought about a prison break too, but that’s too risky at that early stage.
Your chest still feels heavy, blood pumping through your veins at a concerning speed. You finally manage to switch on the lamp on the nightstand table. Checking your phone, you realise it’s once again the same time that you wake up.
01:43
You’d blame it on some book you’ve been reading with the title Case 143 by some author named Cecilia Fraise but it isn’t just that. 01:43 was also the time you received a message from that anonymous number the day before Jisung left.
A shiver runs down your spine, solely thinking about it. The texts haven’t stopped, they rapidly increased in quantity and you thought about blocking the number, hell, you even considered getting a whole new phone but those messages could be evidence after all.
If it weren’t only messages. At one point some weeks ago, the person sending them started adding a little emoji. A matryoshka doll. You wondered what that could mean and decided it’s probably just some weird idea of showing their identity with a reoccuring symbol.
Until one day, when you came back from a night at The Velvet with Minho and Hyunjin and found a little matryoshka doll inside your mailbox. It was the smallest of one set, the same colours and patterns like the one that keeps popping up in your dreams. You grabbed it and brought it inside the apartment because, again, it could be evidence.
Suddenly, your bedroom door swings open, revealing your husband’s best friend behind it. Frame after frame of your disturbing nightmare repeats themselves, anxiety plastered all over your body.
“Y/N? Hello?”
You hastily start blinking, “W-What?”
“I asked if you were okay… you were screaming pretty loud,” he explains with a soft voice.
What if what you saw in your dreams was true? What if Minho and perhaps even Jisung are behind that stupid website and were secretly trying to just get rid of Chan instead?
That would be too twisted, right?
But then again, you seriously don’t know who to trust anymore except for your cats.
And Minho reckons it. He sees that you are—on top of being anxious—more hesitant than usual. So, he decides to still approach you but keep enough space between the two of you when he sinks down on the mattress. Your husband’s best friend has been staying in the guest room since Jisung disappeared. However, he still hears you screaming from dreaming almost every night.
Usually, he rushes to your room then, reassuring you and bringing calmness with him. But tonight this doesn’t seem to help because he is what you are afraid of this time.
Could it be?
Could your horrific nightmare be true?
Your stomach turns, thinking about the possibility. But Minho and Jisung are criminals after all. It is out of question that they are capable of pulling a move like that on Chan. But could that really be the truth?
Your world would fall into pieces, if this turns out to be reality. Jisung, your loving husband, just using you as a bridge to get to Chan again and put him behind bars for the sake of his gang’s success.
Is this the true reason why Chan barged into the bathroom on your wedding day? You remember him trying to explain something that wasn’t connected to his jealousy but you brushed him off before he could. You might regret that now.
Or you’re just stupidly overwhelmed at this point. You don’t know anymore which end is up. The world has turned around and so has your life.
“C-Can… Can I come closer?”
Minho’s quiet voice makes it into your ears and lets your gaze snap in his direction. He looks worried, circles under his eyes so dark you can even witness them in the dim light of your bedroom.
So, you nod.
It was just a dream, Y/N. This isn’t real. This man in front of you isn’t the same one that appeared in your nightmare.
Minho slowly scoots closer, taking the side that was once reserved for Jisung, before he crawls under the blanket. He’s only wearing some boxers, not bothering to put on a shirt during mostly sleepless nights which makes it even harder to focus. But you’re glad he’s under the covers now, for your own sake.
“Are you having those nightmares again?”
You turn around a little, so you can face him.
He’s anxious. A little helpless, for sure. Minho doesn’t know what he should do anymore. He wants to call Jisung and tell him to come home so you can sleep peacefully again but this isn’t possible.
“Y-Yes,” you reply.
“What happened this time, kitten?”
You don’t know if you can share this. But you also know that Minho won’t tolerate no answers. Not when he found you like this—puffy face and red eyes from crying, droplets of sweat trickling down your forehead while you’re snuggled up like a burrito inside your blanket.
“The d-dolls were there… and… the man,” you decide to tell him then.
Well, it’s a reoccuring dream after all. It’s always this exact scene. You go to the casino, waiting there for Minho who is supposed to get there after you but those men after faster and capture you. All this time, the guy that approaches you and reveals himself to be the mastermind of C.Drugs hasn’t had a face. Except for tonight.
Minho’s gaze switches towards your nightstand, right where the smallest matryoshka doll is. Up until this day, you have received three more—one handed to Minho with the check he received when you went to The Velvet some nights ago, the third was left at Hyunjin’s tattoo studio but he can’t recall whose it must have been and the last one got sent to Seungmin when he was at the headquarters and ordered delivery food. The delivery guy just left the food—and the doll there—without seeing the gang member. This all happened on the same day you received the first one.
It’s fucking disturbing and scary. Sure, a matryoshka doll isn’t as creepy as dolls that they use in horror movies but you have no idea what that weird symbolism is supposed to tell you.
“No face again?”
You start blinking, realising you’re still in your bedroom in the middle of a conversation with Minho.
“Huh?”
“I mean the man… in your dream. Did he have a face this time?” he repeats.
You search for any signs in his face that could indicate an ulterior motive.
God. You’re definitely going crazy. But you can’t tell him. You can’t tell Minho he was the man that appeared in your nightmare.
“Y/N, come on, talk to me. Did that man have a face?” Minho asks again.
You shake your head. Minho just scoffs and you notice his jaw clenching. This makes you feel even more uneasy.
“Don’t lie to me,” he says, his brows furrowed, as he comes a little closer.
On instinct, you scoot a bit back. Minho grasps then that he must have been a little too harsh with you.
“Y/N… I’m sorry. I didn’t want to scare you. I just want to help you, that’s all,” he says with that soft voice.
That soft voice that has helped you through all the other sleepless nights, that talks to you about possible strategies to solve the case and rescue your husband, that speaks to you so gently when anxiety overcomes you again.
And it gives you a little courage to answer.
“He… he did have a face, yes,” you say, almost inauble.
Minho hums, feeling his heartbeat quickening, “Whose face? Someone you know?”
All you’re physically able to do is nod.
“Would you like to tell me?”
Actually, no. But maybe it’s for the best. Otherwise you will be alone with that heavy wait and if you share that piece of information with him, maybe it’ll help you categorise his reaction. Not that you actually think that Minho is the owner of C.Drugs of course. Although you basically don’t know anything about that guy.
“You won’t judge?”
Minho tilts his head, looking at you confused, “Why would I judge? You can’t control your dreams, after all.”
The tip of your tongue grazes over your lips that have suddenly run dry and your husband’s best friend has to gather up all his strength to not focus on that sight. God. He’s become so pathetic, he’s embarrassed of himself sometimes.
“It was… it was you,” you confess. “You were behind C.Drugs.”
For a solid half a minute, Minho doesn’t say anything. Hell, what the fuck is he supposed to say, after all? Are you suspecting him now? Is this why you hesitated and kept more space between the two of you than usual?
“Min? Say something… please,” you whine.
“I-I’m… God, I’m sorry that you had to go through this. It’s just a dream, a very bad one, but that sounds horrifying,” he says, unable to look into your eyes.
You can’t read him. You can never read him and this time it’s extraordinarily complicated.
“How… How did I behave in your dream?” he dares to ask now.
You gulp, your heartbeat rushing again when you think back to the made up memory.
“You… you were kinda mean to me. Laughed at me for not realising. A-And then you said t-that you and Jisung were the ones who created the website.”
“Fuck…” he lets out, thinking about how much fear you must have felt during that moment. And still now. And when he came to your room.
“You told me that… you named it C.Drugs so you could blame it on Chan and get rid of him,” you explain further.
Minho’s eyes widen, “As much as I hate that bastard and as much of a scorpio I am, this makes me afraid of myself.”
He notices a small smile on your face, a little sign of comfort.
“What happened then? Did you wake up?”
You shift a little, adjusting your position on the bed, “You gave me another matryoshka doll. Same design as the ones we got from that anonymous stalker. When I questioned why you gave me the doll, you told me to turn around and said ‘ask him’—whatever that means. Then I woke up,” you add.
“‘Ask him.’ What do you mean by that? Who do we have to ask?”
Minho’s gaze wanders around in your room, his hand finding his head, dishevelling his hair a little. He’s confused but focused at the same time, if that even makes any sense.
“I don’t know. Dream-Minho was probably hinting at who is responsible for the dolls,” you suggest.
He nods, “Possibly. God, this is so creepy. So fucking real, too. I’m so sorry that this whole shitshow affects you so much, kitten.”
Your heart skips a beat when you listen to the pet name but you manage to brush off how flustered you have gotten. Besides that, there’s—unfortunately—another thought harassing your mind now thanks to the weird nightmare.
Chan.
God, you’re getting sick of yourself, really.
But you can’t help it. Despite not having him in your life anymore, despite you cutting him off several weeks ago on your wedding day, this stupid scene makes you think of him again. You wonder how his life is, you wonder if he’s safe. Chan is probably busy with his own shit from his own gang.
It’s so dumb that he’s still getting under your skin after all the pain he’s caused. It’s ridiculous, really. Why on earth do you always have to try to see the good in people that constantly hurt you and your loved ones?
But of course it isn’t easy to let go of your long time best friend. That’s the issue with any type of toxic relationship. They are like roller coasters. The contrast between good and bad memories is insane. Sure, he’s taken you for granted and hurt you in more ways than anyone else ever did but he’s played a huge role in your young adult life, too.
“What’s on your mind?”
Of course Minho has noticed you drifting off. After all, you don’t bother to hide it anymore.
“No judgment?”
Will it be weird to talk to him of all people about your ex lover? Absolutely.
Will Minho be able to beat some sense and rationality into you? Definitely.
“No judgment ever, sweetheart,” he reassures you. All of a sudden, his hand finds yours, as he reaches for it and places it in his own. You hope that he doesn’t notice what it does to your stupid little heart—being so close to him in such a vulnerable state—but Minho seems to be able to grant you some type of comfort that doesn’t differ so much from Jisung’s. They are best friends after all.
Okay, you’ve got this, Y/N.
“I am wondering… what Chan is doing these days,” you confess, feeling a little embarrassed that this asshole is even occupying your mind.
“Kitten, you shouldn’t waste a second thinking about that guy,” Minho sighs, softly stroking the back of your hand with his thumb.
“Yeah… you’re right… it’s just– I lost my best friend, you know? It’s not just the fact that I was in love with him or whatever but he used to be my best friend. I-I think that without him in my life… I wouldn’t be here anymore today. That’s why it’s so complicated to let go.”
Although it’s hard to speak those words, it's nothing but the truth. You’ve been at some pretty dark places during the past three years. The meds didn’t do much anymore, other issues added to it and the serotonin was basically non-existent. A heavy time of pure depression followed with a deep urge of not wanting to exist anymore. You didn’t crave death per se, but you didn’t want to live either.
Chan helped you out of bed, made or brought food for you three times a day, cleaned the apartment together with Gahyeon despite the two of them not getting along. He made you go to therapy again, slowly getting back into living your life.
You don’t want to know what this misery could have evolved to if he hadn’t been there.
Minho slowly nods, “I understand you. You can still value all the good things he did for you, you know? It doesn’t have to be all black and white. People make mistakes. People are toxic because others passed their trauma onto them. It’s a terrible spiral. Or circle. Whatever.”
Tears rush up to your eyes, when you listen to his words. He truly touches you with these few sentences. Minho’s hand lets go of your own, before it wanders up to your cheek, gently brushing away that single droplet that made it down your skin.
“What I’m trying to say is,” he begins again, “Chan can be a good friend in the past but he can also be unable to be a good friend in the present. That’s how life is.”
You’ve never thought about it like this but it makes absolute sense. Maybe he was supposed to be your best friend for a certain part of your life but not the endgame. And that’s okay. He was a good friend, he did lots of good things for you. He isn’t a good friend anymore.
“Maybe you’re right… I still… miss him, though, you know? I wish I had handled this differently… at the wedding,” you admit.
“You did everything you could. I believe that a conversation like this and space from one another is exactly what you need. You’ve been a lot better regarding this. And you’re allowed to miss him, too,” Minho reassures you.
You’ve never expected him to be someone who is open to talk about emotions like this. He usually isn’t like this at all—except for when it comes to Jisung and you, which is possibly why he gets worried again. He isn’t supposed to have feelings for his best friend’s wife but these past weeks he’s come to terms with it. It’s a tragic story, really. No happy ending in sight for him.
Perhaps, it doesn’t matter anyway. Because once again he is hiding something from you and you will find out the truth you will definitely not talk to him anymore. But it’s for the best, for your best after all. You wouldn’t have agreed on the plot he is hatching behind your back if he told you about it.
“In case he… I know this sounds dumb but… in case he’d ever reach out to you, you’d let me know, right?”
Minho hesitates. “Of course, kitten.”
“Thank you, Min.”
You can’t help yourself but fall forward and right into his arms. Minho is a little overwhelmed and surprised but catches you in a stiff hug that turns softer and calmer within the following seconds. Oh, he’s got a big storm coming.
💊
When you wake up the next day, the other side of the bed is empty but still warm. Minho’s phone is placed on the nightstand table and currently charging, indicating he must have left the bedroom not that long ago.
You get up, feeling a little tired from the lack of actual good sleep these past days or weeks. Somehow, you still make it to the bathroom and manage to take a long and warm shower, before you change into some comfortable sweatpants and shirt. When you enter the living room, you see Minho doing his usual tasks—cleaning the kitchen while preparing some food.
Approaching him, he only notices you once you stand pretty close to him.
“Good morning, Min,” you say, while you reach for a glass from the upper cabinet. You fill it with the coldest tap water possible, before the icy liquid hits your throat.
All while Minho tries his best to not absolutely go insane at the sight of you. It’s so stupid that an innocent scene like this makes his cock stir inside his pants. But the way you throw your head back, wet hair from showering and the short bathrobe you're wearing doesn’t make anything exactly easier for him. In the end, he seems to be a man. A man that is in love with his best friend’s wife.
Why you though? It’s already too much that he has a crush at all but his heart couldn’t have made a worse choice. This is hopeless. Absolutely hopeless.
On top of that, he hasn’t had sex with anyone since the two of you filmed that video for Jisung. Although there’s utmost tension between the both of you—even you sense it all the time—nothing physical has happened since your last encounter. In general and this counts for you, too. But you’ve also been too much in your head these past weeks to even think about something intimate.
“Are you ready for tonight?” Minho asks, breaking the silence.
This evening, you will finally visit the casino that has been on your list of possible evidence—and appearing in your dreams—this whole time. You’ve planned it all, trying to find a guy that must be hiding there from time to time who—according to Minho’s police contact Haechan—might be connected to the C.Drugs store.
You nod, thinking about the pretty dress you will wear tonight. You haven’t dressed up that much these past days, too depressed to even change your clothes at all. Of course, you’re also excited to hopefully get a little closer to solving this case. It’s truly ironic that Levanter is doing detectives’ work when you’re all actually criminals. But that happens when you live in a corrupt system like this city.
Unfortunately—not surprising given the nightmare you had—you feel a little scared that your dream might turn into reality this evening. You know you can count on Minho and the other guys but the slightest chance that he could be behind this whole disaster doesn’t seem to let you go.
“Come on, kitten. What’s going on in that distracted head of yours?”
Minho is carrying that mischievous smirk again, who would have thought. It’s annoying how he can tell when you’re deep in your thoughts but then again you don’t bother hiding it anymore.
“We will go there together,” you start, “can you promise me that?”
He scrunches his eyes, eyebrows furrowed, confused why you’d ask him such a question. Do you actually believe whatever the hell happened in your dream? If you can’t trust him and therefore can’t be a team, this won’t work out, that he is sure of. Everything has to be perfect. In addition, Minho does feel a little offended that you would suspect him to be the owner of C.Drugs. Well, you didn’t say that but your gaze tells him all he needs to know.
“Do you think I’d betray you? Do you think I am behind that website?”
His jaw clenches, as he gets a little closer. The palm of his hands get placed on the countertop behind you, kind of cageing you between his body and the furniture. You gulp, absolutely confused why he decides to behave like this now. It was just a question to ease your anxiety, nothing more.
Right?
“N-No, but please understand that my mind is a mess, I am a mess and I can’t think properly anymore,” you explain, voice getting a little louder. “Just for the sake of whatever is left of my sanity.”
Minho’s face suddenly softens, a whole new person standing in front of you. His hand travels up to your head instead, two fingers placed under your chin, as he makes you look up at him.
“I’m sorry for my reaction. We’ll go there together, Y/N,” he says. “No matter what happened in your dreams, I wouldn’t let you go there on your own anyway. These men… can be a lot. Also, Hyunjin and Seungmin will be with us, too.”
He gives you a smile, tilting his head.
“Okay…”
Minho gets a bit closer, face to face with you now, “Do you trust me?”
“Yes,” you immediately blurt out. Because you do. No matter what your dreams say, you trust him that he will protect you no matter how this story ends. After all, he was the one who saved you from that fight with Chan on your wedding day.
And it’s not like you have any other choice… You gave up your old life for Jisung and this gang life.
“Good,” he says, a stern expression on his face.
Minho lets go of you again, giving you some space as he steps aside. The two of you agree to slowly get ready for the night. So, you go back to your bedroom, entering the closet a little while later. The short black dress will be perfectly fitting for tonight’s mission. After all, you may have to seduce some men that are inside the casino as well in order to get some information from them.
It’s nice to dress up and wear makeup, getting ready even helps you calm down a little. You try to ignore the beating heart in your chest. If everything goes well today, you’re gonna catch the guy who is behind C.Drugs. Minho bribed his police contact Haechan again who gave him the information to look for a guy who goes by the name Dzharo and tends to spend his Thursday nights at the local casino.
You’ve never noticed him there before. But then again, you rarely go there and rather on weekends, only paying attention to Minho or Jisung.
Jisung… right. Not a night has gone by without you crying yourself to sleep. You dearly hope you can get the guy and help prove your husband’s innocence.
But you also know this won’t be enough. Catching the bad guy to get evidence is just there for you to keep your husband out of jail. Once he’s fled. An actual mission of prison break is inevitable at this point. The whole system is just too corrupt that you’d be naive to believe you’d get Jisung back solely by speaking the truth.
You have agreed to pretend that Minho and you are a couple tonight at the casino. Just to keep you safe and all. Of course it’s just that—it’s definitely not as if this is messing with Minho’s head big times. Not at all.
That might be a lie. Well, at least Minho believes it might be an excuse for whenever he catches himself staring at you for a second too long.
Or a minute.
Nevertheless, considering the mission you have to accomplish tonight, this is definitely the best strategy. It’ll keep you safe by his side and make it a lot easier to focus on the important task.
When you enter the kitchen again Minho is sitting on the couch, smoking a cigarette. You’d complain that he’s spreading the nicotine through the apartment but it was only a couple of weeks ago when you poisoned the whole living room with the smell of weed.
You join Jisung’s best friend—or your partner for tonight—on the sofa, when you observe his eyes trailing your form. His mouth turns into a smirk, eyes becoming a few shades darker and it leaves a damp patch inside your underwear, which makes this all even more embarrassing. God, Y/N, get it together. It’s only been a few weeks that you had sex because—can I remind you—your husband is in prison.
It’s in this moment, that you realise Minho’s gaze has come to a halt and is fixated on your left hand right now. To be more precise—he’s focusing on one of your fingers that has a very special ring with a jade stone attached to it wrapped around it.
“You should… should take off the ring. It’d be weird and suspicious since I don’t wear one,” Minho suggests.
He’s right, yeah. But aren’t you playing his partner after all?
“We can adjust that,” you grin.
Minho looks at you confused. You literally only have to take off the accessory. That’s all. This shouldn’t take more than two seconds. “What do you mean?”
“Well, either I take my ring off or you wear the other one,” you propose.
“Jisung has the other one,” Minho clarifies.
You shrug your shoulders, pointing at one of the jewellery boxes that are presented inside the showcase, “Sure, but he has a bunch of rings that look similar anyway.”
It’s oh so dumb considering his sanity. But perhaps it makes more sense. He seriously doesn’t want anything to happen to you and these guys apparently take a woman and her boundaries more seriously if she’s got a man by her side.
“What would you prefer?”
You get up, not answering yet, as you take long strides to a dark box. Opening it, you reach inside and grab a ring that looks similar enough to yours. Han Jisung and his green gemstones is a never ending love story itself.
Getting back to Minho, you plop down on the couch next to him. Your hand gets wrapped around his wrist, before you put the ring on his finger.
“I’d prefer if you wore a ring, too,” you confess with the softest smile the man in front of you has ever witnessed.
“O-Okay. Whatever you say.”
Minho is so absolutely doomed.
💊
The air inside the casino is even worse than it was the last few times you’ve been here. Usually, you’re only visiting the venue on weekends when it’s filled with tourists and people who want to try out gambling for the first time—losing their hard earned money on a Friday night like every other.
But Thursdays seem to be reserved for a small circle of particular men only. The owners of the casino and whoever provides them what they need. You’re not surprised that a shady business like gambling is created by even shadier people. After all, they take advantage of people who didn’t get granted with luck in their lives.
And you’re here on a mission. Finding the guy that Haechan mentioned to Minho, telling your gang that a man named Dzharo is behind that website. All eyes are on your group, old men having their gazes glued to your curves and making you second guess if it was such a good idea to choose this outfit. When Minho sees the slightest discomfort on your face, he wraps his arm around your back, palm laying flat against your hip to pull you closer.
“It’s gonna be okay, yeah? Trust me,” he whispers into your ear, “we’re gonna play one round of some game and then we will search for him.”
You nod, letting Minho guide you to one of the tables. His gaze hovers around the room, scanning the casino for a certain guy. Unfortunately, Haechan only gave him a plain description of what he looks like—a buff man in his fifties, Southeastern European background, expensive clothing and usually wearing a golden cross necklace.
Minho’s hand is wandering upwards to the small of your back, guiding you through the stuffy room. Hyunjin and Seungmin are right behind you, scanning the room for a very particular person but also to get a clear overview of the situation you’ve put yourselves into. For the sake of Jisung. The gang’s leader. Your husband.
A man approaches your group, as you watch Minho’s eyes light up when he recognises a familiar face.
“Lee, so unusual to see you here on a Thursday night, huh?”
He lets go of you, leaving your exposed back a little cold but Hyunjin steps right in to stand next to you. Minho greets the other man and for once again you cannot tell what this all means. You just don’t seem to be able to read him. Ever. This guy is a walking mystery.
“You’ve got a cute little accessory with you, Lee,” the middle aged guy adds, his glance finding you before he shoots a wink your way.
But Minho’s jaw clenches—he immediately takes a few steps back, wrapping his arm around your waist again, showing off his territory—although you’re anything but that. However, tonight is an exception. It’s for a good cause, he keeps reminding himself. The ends justify the needs, right?
There’s nothing wrong with pretending to be your husband while he’s falling in love with you. Except for the aching sensation inside his hopeless little heart.
“My wife. Hands off,” he hisses towards the man.
The atmosphere suddenly shifts, all layers and curtains falling off, pretense leaving the room. The man’s facial expression changes, before he gets closer, paralysing Minho with his piercing gaze.
“Then let’s get straight to it. You lookin’ for someone?”
Your fake-husband chuckles, “Yeah. Dzharo is his name.”
A scoff from the other one follows. He reaches for the back pocket of his suit trousers, fishing out a pack of cigarettes. He opens it and picks one out, offering some to your group too. The guys take one each and so do you. Once a small flame erupts at the tip of your cigarette, you take a deep drag, welcoming the smoke inside your lungs.
“You’re searching for the owner? Oh, I’m sure he’d love to meet new people. He’s quite an extrovert,” the man says with a grin.
But Minho isn’t one to be provoked easily. He stands his ground, taking another puff. “Where can we find him?”
“Well, it ain’t that easy,” the other one explains. “You have to win a game against him first and then he might reveal himself.”
“What game?” Minho says, keeping a poker face.
“Russian Roulette. It’s Dzharo’s favourite game after all. We’re playing his own version, though.”
Oh, no. Where the hell have you gotten yourself into?
That’s how you find yourself around a big table a few minutes later, right on top of Minho, sitting in his lap. You’re surrounded by your other two gang members as well as a bunch of men who seem to attend the casino every Thursday, all of them speaking a Slavic language you can’t quite categorise.
The rules of the game are easy. Although this doesn’t make it any less dangerous. The man Minho talked to earlier explained that its base is similar to Durak, a card game in which you have to trump the other player’s cards with your own. It’s simple. Although this doesn’t make it any less terrifying.
Because whoever loses a round—the person that is the last one to have cards in their hands—has to follow the rules of Russian Roulette. Which probably explains itself.
Minho and you are playing the role of a fake married couple just fine. His hand is wrapped around your waist, palm flat against your stomach, as he keeps you in place. You feel like you’re in trance, the atmosphere intensifying whenever a round ends and the loser has to aim a gun straight at their head.
Of course—no big surprises—these men don’t take you seriously enough to let you participate on your own in the game. Their loss. Literally. So, you opted for supporting Minho from where you’re sitting on top of him while looking all pretty and making those guys believe they should keep underestimating you.
At some point, your breath hitches and oxygen gets stuck in your throat when Hyunjin loses a round and has to point the weapon to his skull. But luck is on his side, when he pulls the trigger and nothing happens. There are droplets of sweat on his forehead, you can see them right across from where he’s sitting.
The rounds continue, making you wonder if they even put a bullet inside the weapon or if it’s just gonna be reserved for whoever loses the last round. Another game ends, this time it’s Minho who ends up to be the only one with a few cards left in his hands. And you can swear you can feel his heartbeat crash against your back.
He reaches for the weapon, keeping it all cool, before he guides his lips to your ear.
“Baby, hold on tight, yeah? I promise nothing will happen. Seungmin replaced the gun with his own. The last one to lose will be the unlucky one,” your fake husband reassures you.
That at least takes a load off your mind—although it lets another realisation hit you. Someone will die. It’s not like you haven’t grasped that earlier but you have basically been in a state of trance since this game started.
“You trust me?” Minho whispers again and without being able to catch a glimpse of his face, you know he’s smirking.
“I do, Min.”
He readjusts his position before he brings the deadly weapon to the side of his head. Minho takes a deep breath before he pulls the trigger.
And nothing happens. Just a clicking sound echoing through the hall that has suddenly gone so quiet you can hear the thunderous pulse inside your body.
Minho places the gun right back on the table before some of those mysterious guys mix the cards again for the last round. Knowing that whoever loses now will never play this game again, lets the lump inside your throat grow bigger. You pray that it’s neither of you.
Your fake husband picks up the cards, assorting them by lowest to highest when three very specific cards fall into your vision. All the same colour—clubs—there is a queen, a king and an ace attached to Minho’s hands.
The game starts and you’re playing fine, until there are only two cards left.
“Choose a card for me, kitten.”
You chuckle, “The club’s ace.”
Minho places said card on the table and when it’s his turn again, he wins the game. Hyunjin is the second to get rid of all the numbers and pictures in his hand, before there is only the man Minho talked to earlier left and Seungmin.
His gaze finds those of the right hand man and you swear you know Minho is nodding, reassuring his younger friend. The cards become less and less. Until each of them have only two on their hands. Your heart is bursting out of your chest, the pulsating sound drowning out all the noises. You fear for Seungmin’s life, now knowing that whoever loses, will die. This is so insane, you don’t even have words to describe it.
Memories and scenes wash over you, rush through the sights of your inner eyes when you seem to grasp what you’ve gotten yourself into. This last half a year has been a fever dream but you finally realise now what kind of life you got in exchange for your old one.
You fully get it, when Seungmin finishes the game—luckily—and the mysterious man loses. He reaches for the gun, already sensing death on his tongue, when he looks straight into the faith he’s about to conquer. He aims the weapon right at his skull. The trigger gets pulled. A shot echoes through the room. Time stands still.
There’s blood. There’s blood everywhere. And Minho was too slow to cover your eyes but, still, the palms of his hands get in front of your eyes.
That man is dead. His life just ended right here because of a fucking stupid game. It catches you then—all of these men, including your own gang members—why on earth do they willingly put themselves in such situations?
Well, for the same reason they take the risk of getting into jail because of criminal adventures, too.
They have nothing left to lose. They don’t have anything to hold onto in their lives that makes it worth living. As depressing as it sounds. And you wonder if you caught a glimpse of that earlier in Seungmin’s eyes when he was close to losing and greeting death as well.
Minho’s hand is still blocking your vision, as someone probably takes care of the scene. You're shaking, but the man you’re on top of is stroking your back, his fingers going up and down your spine. “It’s okay, Y/N. You’re safe, okay? Nothing will ever happen to you, I promise.”
You shake your head no, reaching for the hand in your face and ripping it away. Turning around to face him, you scoff, “And what about Hyunjin? Seungmin? What about you?”
Minho lets out a sad chuckle, his eyes dropping down, staring into nothingness. He wants to say something, he needs to say something but he doesn’t manage to. On top of that, he gets interrupted in his ongoing thoughts when he notices someone move in the corner of his eyes.
The man who has been sitting next to Hyunjin gets up, taking off his leather jacket. It’s now that you realise you have totally forgotten about the mission you’re on—all because of this traumatising game.
The guy has a sharp jawline, he is probably in his late fifties, early sixties but the fact he’s basically smoked a whole package of cigarettes during the game might fool you here. He is wearing a white tank top, a golden cross necklace around his throat. You notice him staring at you or Minho—you can’t quite differentiate now.
“Careful, kitten,” your fake husband says, when he puts you back on your feet again. His hands stay on your waist for a little longer, before he places a soft kiss on top of your head and walks around you towards the man.
“You’re Dzharo, aren’t you?”
He chuckles, nodding, “I am.”
You notice Hyunjin and Seungmin approaching you, as they stop right behind you.
“You’re looking for my son, aren’t you?”
His son? Minho and all of you are confused—Haechan told you to look for this Dzharo guy. Now he’s here and he isn’t the one you should be searching for as it seems.
“Your son?” Seungmin questions.
The man grins. “Yeah. The one who is behind that little website that got your precious leader in jail, right?”
“We wanna talk to your son then. Where is he?” Hyunjin demands, searching around in the room for someone who looks like Dzharo.
“Bad that he ain’t here,” Dzharo says with a smirk on his face, “oh, but he told me to hand you these.”
He reaches for his leather jacket, pulling out a few objects from the pockets.
The three wooden dolls that he puts on the table all have different sizes although they have one thing in common—they look a little too similar to those you have already received.
You take a few steps towards them although Minho reaches out to you to pull you back, thinking it’s a trap. It might be a little stupid, yeah. But you can’t think straight anymore. You’ve lost the ability along the way of whatever mess your life has become.
You take a closer look, picking up the smallest of them. The doll has the red scarf again but this time her hair is orange, the same shade as the fur of a fox. She portrays a child that is holding a plushie of the exact animal in her hand.
When you guard your gaze towards the middle one, you notice that this doll has freckles on her face and an animal in her hands too—a chicken baby.
The last one makes your breath get stuck in your throat and you only now count two and two together. This plushie is no other than a wolf.
A fox, a chicken and a wolf.
These are all animals that you have seen that night in Chan’s headquarters. Felix, the college weed dealer, was wearing a chicken mask and the guy who aimed his gun at you when you were hiding in the living room was dressed as a fox.
What the fuck is this supposed to mean? Is Chan behind it, after all? You wouldn’t be suprised, to be honest. Or is it just someone trying to put the blame on your former best friend and his gang members?
Perhaps Minho himself?
You brush that thought off your mind. That would be too twisted, wouldn’t it?
On top of that, you keep wondering how these dolls will help you solve the case and if this weirdness will just keep going—if you will continue to receive more pieces of them, growing in size until they have the same height as you.
Dzharo has his gaze on you, before he speaks, “I have to admit that my son is a genius. All the hints he’s placed and you don’t even seem to notice the most obvious ones.”
“Most obvious ones? What’s that supposed to mean?” you hear Hyunjin ask.
“Have a look at that damn website again.”
Why is he telling you this? Is he trying to give you the truth and bring his son, who is potentially behind C.Drugs, in jail? Or is he just messing with you?
But if Dzharo’s son is the owner of that illegal online business, you have no clue who it could be. Chan wouldn’t be part of your suspects anymore since you know his parents. Sure, you don’t know Minho’s father but let’s be real—Dzharo and him obviously look nothing alike. Same counts for Jisung—not that you are suspecting your own husband but the aftermath of that nightmare is still harassing you in the back of your head.
“Thanks for the hints, Dzharo,” Minho says, before he walks towards you and reaches for your hand that isn’t holding the four dolls. “Let’s go home. We won’t get any further here.”
You feel comforted in his arms, when Minho guides you out of the venue. You’re still in trance but you’ve found peace with it—if you can call it that. It’s like you function on autopilot at this point, your feet walking by themselves and bringing you inside the cab that’s parking in front of the casino.
Ardian—your driver—brings you back to your apartments within minutes but everything is still a blur, feels so surreal if words can describe it. However, there is one thing you notice that you are sure of isn’t pure illusion. Minho’s hand is holding your own, his fingers intertwined with yours, as his gaze is fixated on your expressionless face.
A few minutes later, he helps you outside the vehicle and the two of you enter the flat you both have been sharing for the past… weeks? Months? What is time even?
“Here, Y/N. Drink this,” Minho’s voice enters your ears all of a sudden while he offers you a glass of water. The cold liquid hitting your throat brings you back to the present and eases your mind a little. You sink down on the couch and the glass on the table in front of you.
“Can I sit here?”
You look at your husband’s best friend, a little bewildered, “Yeah, sure. Why not?”
“I’m so sorry,” he blurts out, not quite helping with your confusion. But before you can ask, the man next to you continues. “For bringing you there. For making you see this, God, for making you so fucking scared, I–“
“Min, it’s okay. Please. I wanted to go there voluntarily.”
He nods, his gaze falling down to the sweaty palms of his hands that are placed in his lap. You don’t know why you forgive him so easily. After all, you were quite angry at him back at the casino. But is there any chance given? You are ten meters deep in shit already so what else is left to lose?
“But… still… I should have somehow protected you more,” Minho says with a low and broken voice.
“How are you supposed to protect me from the real world?”
“You know what I mean,” he replies.
You shift in your seat, still trying to process this night. However, you were the one who decided to become a part of this very dangerous life. You were the one to accept all those risks if it meant you could be with Jisung. Well…
“Yeah,” you say, “but you don’t seem to get that I would do anything to have Jisung back by my side. I would step over dead bodies to have him back—literally.”
Minho squeezes his eyes shut. Of course. That’s the next issue that’s been plaguing his mind for so long. You are Jisung’s wife after all even though playing pretend for a few hours felt nice. He wonders if he should take off the fake wedding ring but since you haven’t noticed that he’s still wearing it he decides against it. Just for now. Just to feel something again.
It was inevitable that he would fall for you. You carry a part of Jisung with you. Of course his heart would get weak at some point. He doesn’t want it to be this way because Minho for sure knows how wrong it is to have feelings for not only his best friend but also his best friend’s wife.
“Min?”
“Hm?”
“We promised to be there for each other and although we didn’t find whoever is responsible for Jisung being in jail, we got a little closer to the solution of this riddle. That’s what counts, okay?”
“How can you be so… chill about it?”
Minho chuckles, “I’m not chill. Not at all. I know I always seem as if nothing in this world could bother me. But it’s… different now. I don’t know why.”
I know why but I can’t tell you because unfortunately my stupid heart craves to have you around me at all times.
“I mean… I completely get it. Your best friend isn’t here, you have to spend every day with his annoying wife instead,” you joke.
This is basically the absolute opposite of why Minho is a lot more stressed than usual. Sure, Jisung not being here affects his mental health drastically, that is correct. But he could never find it bothering to have you here. At least not in the way you might expect.
“You’re not annoying,” he says back, not keeping any eye contact because he simply can’t.
You let out a loud laughter, throwing your head back while the palm of your hand lands on your thigh, showing how funny he is once again without even trying.
“Min… stop lying,” you giggle.
He sighs, not liking where this conversation is heading to but he also wants to be honest with you. At least he tries to and in most cases it does work. Except for one ugly secret he’s been keeping for some time now and he prays every day that you will forgive him for hiding it once you find out about the truth.
“You’re not annoying. I stand by it,” Minho emphasises. He takes a sip from his water, his eyes roaming around in the room.
You nod, “Wow, that feels like the highest compliment one can get from Lee Minho. Next thing is you confessing your undying love for me?”
He doesn’t say anything. And you don’t know how to interpret his behaviour right now. Perhaps, he needs some minutes to himself. Probably. So, you get up and disappear inside your bedroom to change into something more comfortable. Taking a glimpse at the time, you realise it’s some time during the early hours but it doesn’t surprise you. After all, you were inside that casino for quite some time and everything is still kind of a blur.
The satin fabric lays comfortably on your skin, hugging your curves. You enter the en-suite bathroom and take off your makeup next. A quick look in the mirror—now without all the layers covering your face—truly shows you how tired you are. Another deep breath. Another splash of water hitting your skin. And you get outside again and join Minho on the couch.
It takes everything inside the man to not collapse when he sees you. So utterly beautiful, absolutely pure and completely exposing yourself to him. Well, this sounds a little exaggerated but it feels like it. The pyjama you’re wearing is playing evil mind games with him. It looks stunning on you but also gives his eyes great access to your thighs and neck—some places of your body he wants to attach his lips to.
Minho feels like a moth to flame—you’re the light at the end of the tunnel that keeps him going until he realises that having you is an illusion he will never get a taste of. The idea of you sparks darkness instead.
“You okay, Min?”
Of course, you grasp it. You notice how he’s ogling you but it’s not that you mind. The two of you are aware of the attraction for one another. After all, any possible scene wouldn’t be the first time this has happened. Everything you know is that he made you feel so so good those two nights.
But there’s a difference. Both times you got close it was with the idea in mind that you are doing this to live out your husband’s fantasy but Jisung isn’t here and you don’t know when he will be back. However, he reassured you many times that it’s okay. That Minho and you should be there for one another and this also includes anything physical. 
That’s what it is, right? You cannot not sense the passion and anticipation that’s lingering in the air, ready to break free.
But there’s another thing when it comes to Minho’s thoughts. For him, it might not only be taking care of each other’s sexual needs. This time, he is on the verge of developing serious feelings for you. Although he doesn’t want to and he also knows he shouldn’t.
“You’re gonna do something about the tension or just stare at me the entire night?”
Minho’s breath gets stuck in his throat when he listens to your sweet voice, words glazed with a dark desire.
There isn't a lot of talking needed. Never when it comes to Minho and you. It’s like you communicate on a whole new level, a connection you have never felt with anyone else. It’s insane. And it’s dragging you closer to him. Physically and metaphorically. The distance between you shrinks, when you scoot a little closer, keeping your gaze on his facial expression that turns into something new—pure longing, impatience, certainty.
“Are you… are you sure you want this, Y/N?”
You remind yourself that this is just to get whatever tension off, to calm you down, to stop you worrying about all the mess inside and outside of your head. Right. That’s it. Exactly. Nothing more.
Maybe it’s in fact more than just what you’re trying to convince yourself of. But you’re not ready yet to face that road.
“I do… I really do.”
Minho’s eyes darken, as he’s clicking his tongue. His hands reach under your thighs, pulling you closer until he’s hovering you into his lap. A view he’s missed so much. He would be lying if he said he hasn’t watched the video you two made a million times since then. You looked ethereal that night and while he truly turned it into a visual memory by filming you for the sole reason of creating a present for his best friend, all this developed into more since then. Minho knows his feelings aren’t reciprocated but it doesn’t matter. Not tonight.
“Do you want this, Min?”
“Yes. I do,” he immediately blurts out.
A smile makes it up to your face, before you guide your lips to his neck. Sweet kisses erupt on his skin, making him crave even more. Minho was hoping for you to kiss him on the mouth but at this point he’d let you do whatever you want.
He’s never been like this with anyone. Usually, Minho takes the lead by being the dominant role, except for when it comes to intimacy with Jisung and a third party. And certainly he’s never craved someone to kiss him passionately with all their heart. However, Minho knows that this won’t happen and in the back of his mind he knows that this is the right way. You have to stay loyal to Jisung. And a kiss just feels too… real.
But he considers throwing those principles out the window, when your sinful lips wander south, while you simultaneously open each of the buttons of his shirt, revealing his tattooed skin. You take in his beauty, your hands lying flat on his chest, before you give him a smirk and scoot away. Minho watches you land on your knees next, now between him and the couch table a meter away from you. The tent in his trousers is painfully obvious, his neglected cock begging to be let free and taken care of by no one else than you.
Minho has become so shy, it’s adorable. You’ve never seen him like this, silently asking for you to keep going and make him feel good. This is exactly what you do, when the palms of your hands start roaming all over his covered thighs, thinking back to the time when you were riding one of them. You want to give something back to Minho this time—for him being such a good friend, for being there for you, for making you feel less lonely these past weeks. 
Your fingers travel upwards, until they are placed on his crotch, as you slowly start stroking him through the thick material. Keeping eye contact at all times, you observe how Minho is guardedly losing his last remaining piece of sanity, giving in to what’s awaiting him. You’re fast when you bring your hands to the hem of his pants, starting to fumble with his belt until you get it off of him. He slides the fabric down a second later, all in one go with his boxers, not caring how pathetic he might look right now.
Minho notices your tongue graze over your lips, as your mouth turns into a smirk and your eyes start sparkling. Suddenly, your hand seizes around the base of his dick while you get closer to him. The next thing he senses is a long stripe along his shaft, making him throw his head back in pleasure, as satisfaction takes over him. And when Minho watches you being on your knees for him, so eager to please him, it flips a switch inside of him—quite literally—as confidence and dominance is building up inside him again.
“Go on, make me feel good,” he whispers with a husky voice.
That’s all you need to hear and a second later he feels your pretty lips wrapped around his stiff length while your head starts bobbing up and down, while gagging sounds are echoing through the living room.
Fuck—how on earth is he supposed to continue living his life normally after this? He dearly hopes this isn’t a one time thing. You’re too precious to him to be left unsatisfied.
“Fuck—that mouth of yours is made of pure sin,” Minho lets out in between whimpers and moans, the prettiest melody your ears have witnessed in a long time.
You can’t help but chuckle and continue working your mouth around his cock, feeling him twitch inside your warmth. He is gripping the cushion of the sofa next, before one of his hands finds your head, guiding you the way he likes.
Minho gets closer and closer to his sweet high. He can basically taste the relief on his tongue. Until you abruptly stop.
You let go of his cock with a loud ‘plop’ before you look at him with a mischievous smile.
But Minho is too startled to speak. Especially, when you get back up and reach underneath your dress. He watches your panties drop down to the floor next, while you keep the rest of your clothes on. A second later, you’re straddling his thighs and reaching for his length again with your hand.
“Jisung was right,” you say when you lean closer to him and whisper right into his ear.
“With… with w-what?”
Minho is absolutely losing his mind because of your teasing. His hands are gripping your hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh while you are brushing his tip over your leaking entrance. The anticipation is killing him and it earns you a slap on your ass, when you continue playing this little game.
“That you’re a good boy.”
You sink down on his cock in almost one go, taking as much as you can fit inside of you and making Minho’s breath get stuck in his throat. 
“Oh fuck–“ he lets out and you swear you can see a hint of blush on his cheeks, probably caused by your words.
You soon find a good rhythm when you start sinking up and down on him, your arms thrown around his neck. What adds to it is the sight of Minho himself—how desperate and lost he is in the pleasure you are providing him, pathetically trying not to cum yet. But that’s absolutely hard—literally—when you are so good at this, your wet walls squeezing his throbbing cock, begging to milk him empty.
The two of you forget about time and anything that has ever bothered you these past weeks, completely addicted to the current feeling that is taking over your bodies and souls. Skin is slapping against skin, whenever your ass crashes down onto his thighs,  smacking sounds filling the room. You are getting closer, too, tightening around Minho whenever he lets out another one of those sweet and helpless noises.
“Fuck– I’m gonna cum, Min,” you warn him, right before he feels you reach your climax.
Your pretty moans make it to his ears as he guides you through your orgasm, his hands still attached to your hips. But you keep going, destined to bring him to the verge as well. When you feel him twitch yet another time inside of you, you pull him out of your wet hole and stroke him to completion. Hot white spurts of cum collide with your stomach, painting your skin, while Minho reaches heaven.
He places his hand on yours once his cock gets sensitive and turns soft again, as his eyes find your own. The smile all over his face is unbelievable. And it lets a bubbly feeling occur inside your stomach that you should not have about your husband’s best friend.
💊
“They expanded the opening hours,” Minho says, when he sees you walk into the living room.
He’s already prepared the Saturday night dinner, a tradition you have been holding onto. At the beginning of it, he made you write down a whole list of your favourite dishes from every cuisine and has been preparing the meals ever since then. It’s like he’s made it his duty to feed you and take care of you.
“Oh, really?”
The scent lingering in the air is entering your nostrils, magically pushing you towards the kitchen where Minho is currently located. You approach him, taking a look at the delicious food. He chuckles when he sees the excitement in your eyes. It’s been some rough weeks ever since Jisung has been in prison and ever since you went to that casino roughly fourteen days ago. But Minho has been here for you, not leaving your side in order to protect you.
“Yeah, there was a letter in the mailbox from Jisung,” Minho says, stirring the soup with a wooden spoon.
He guides it towards your mouth next, before you blow cold air at it and taste some of the dish. You hum in enthusiasm, before you give him back the spoon. Minho snickers when he sees your eyes sparkling and places a soft kiss on your forehead.
Nothing new.
What are Minho and you?
The lines are blurry. That’s the most accurate you can call it.
He’s been here for you, taking good care of you both mentally and also physically since that night after the casino two weeks ago. It’s funny that Minho used to always call Jisung and you rabbits, when he’s no different when it comes to your body. You drive him insane, make him shut off all of his synapses when your mouth or your pretty pussy is wrapped around his hard cock.
But that’s not part of the issue and has never been. If any Jisung has been encouraging this specifically—perhaps for a selfish reason but you don’t mind. However, what’s becoming a little problematic is how domestic the relationship with Minho has become. Because that is definitely something your husband will not tolerate and what your heart doesn’t seem to be able to handle. You push those thoughts aside, constantly, still not ready yet to face the consequences of your pathetic actions.
“That’s great,” you say with a cough, trying to focus on the presence again.
“Although we won’t need to worry about that anymore,” Minho says with a wink.
What on earth is that supposed to mean? Your heart suddenly starts beating faster, imitating the speed of light, until your husband’s best friend catches your confusion.
“Because we’re gonna rescue Jisung tomorrow, is what I mean,” he explains.
Ah, right. The plan. How could you forget about that? Well, nothing new that you seem to have the memory skills of a goldfish.
“The trial, right?”
Jisung has been invited to yet another trial because he’s become a witness in so many drug related cases. Apparently, the police were able to detect most people who bought stuff from C.Drugs and therefore they are searching for clues by bothering your husband.
Levanter has everything planned out. When Jisung is gonna be brought to court in another district of Seoul that is a bit further away from where the prison is located, your gang members will attack the vehicle and rescue him. Yes, it sounds a little like straight out of a bad crime thriller but what else are you supposed to do?
You’re still not that much further with your investigations on who is actually behind that damn website. Dzharo just confused you further with the weird shit he said and the dolls he gave you—although you still believe they might somehow be connected to Wolfgang. 
But that’s all you have for now. Jisung being dragged to court offers you new opportunities although you feel bad for him that he has to attend those.
“I still don’t get why they are putting those… customers in jail,” you add.
Minho nods, “Yeah, it’s fair if we get caught. It’s cruel what we do but they shouldn’t blame these poor souls. Addicts should get professional help and not be put in prison.”
“Absolutely right,” you agree.
“But then again… if Jisung hadn’t been a stoner in high school we probably wouldn’t have ever bonded. As sad as it is.”
This isn’t any news for you and you aren’t surprised that this is how they must have come in contact first. You don’t judge your husband, you never would. Especially not for his dangerous coping mechanisms he must have used during his teenage years when growing up in an abusive household.
On the other hand, you don’t know anything private about Minho. Neither much about his history with Jisung nor how he became the man he is today. He’s mysterious. Cold. Reserved. These past weeks you’ve shared a lot with him but, well, let’s be real, you overshare your life with anyone you meet, unable to ever shut up.
“He’s never told me how you met,” you blurt out after dinner since the question has been harassing your mind for nearly an hour now. Possibly, you can encourage Minho to tell you more about himself for once.
“Who?”
“Jisung,” you say. “He’s never explained how you became best friends.”
He leans back on the couch, taking a sip from his drink. He chuckles, thinking back to that time. More than ten years ago, when a shy Jisung approached him after he heard Minho might sell weed and other drugs at school. Minho never ended up giving anything to Jisung, already back then realising that his soon-to-be best friend wasn’t in the right state of mind to drown his issues in such deadly addictive substances. 
“Well, we met in high school and became pretty close,” he starts.
When Jisung almost took the wrong turn, nearly driving right into addiction, Minho was there to rescue him. Not only from his drug problems but also everything else that was harassing him at that time.
“That’s nice,” you say with a smile. “You’ve got an insane bond that most people would die for. Don’t get me wrong, Gahyeon is someone who I can count on, who’d definitely hide a dead body with me”—you realise this might not seem that extravagant given you are speaking to a gang member—“but Jisung and you… this is so special. Which is why I wondered how you got that close.”
You still wonder if there is more behind it. Minho once mentioned that he has or had a crush on your husband—you don’t know if it’s still the case—and you have no idea if Jisung reciprocates those feelings. They had gotten close physically too which adds to the questions roaming around in your head. Not that you would care about any of this. You’d be happy if Minho was able to give Jisung the same love you have for your partner. And vice versa. There’s nothing more beautiful than being loved by Han Jisung.
“A lot happened,” Minho continues, “but I can’t guarantee that it won’t be ugly and depressing.”
“That’s okay. I can handle a lot. Mostly from first hand experience,” you reply half-jokingly.
Minho grins, making the situation a little less serious but in a good way. “Alright. But you’ve been warned, kitten.”
That dumb name. That stupid, dumb name. That also makes your knees go weak. He’s used it more often since that night you went to the casino.
“My parents died when I was thirteen years old,” he begins, off to a rough start.
Oh, God. That’s one way to make you sober up. Fuck. Your heart breaks when you grasp those words. You’re no therapist but this might explain a lot.
“Min… I’m so sorry, I–“
“Don’t apologise but thank you,” he interrupts you. “It was one summer day near the beach. Some enemy of my father hired a hit man and killed both of them when we were near the sea. Which is also why I have aquaphobia by the way.”
He talks about it so fast, no details, like ripping off a band-aid. Perhaps, that’s a coping mechanism that he’s learnt over the years to survive.
“Our neighbour found me and took me in,” Minho explains, his facial features softening and a smile making it to his mouth. “Xhevahirë was a kind but strict woman. She moved to Seoul twenty years before that incident with my parents… she was from Kosovo and… yeah.”
Ah, the connection makes sense now.
“I wasn’t an easy teenager, to say the least. But she was like a second mother, you know? I knew I could always count on her and she made me the man I am today. Despite all the shit I did,” Minho chuckles.
You reach for one of his hands and he hesitates first but welcomes your gentle touch. Your thumb is grazing over his fingers, squeezing them softly. Minho feels safe with you. You give him some type of comfort that he hasn’t experienced that often in his life.
“She had never had kids of her own. Her husband died when they were still pretty young and she never married again.”
You close your eyes. That’s one disaster after another. And the fact that Minho speaks in past tense about Xhevahirë lets you already expect the worst.
“When Jisung and I met, his family situation was already at its worst and one day, after school, we went home to my place and Xhevahirë offered to basically adopt him too. When she… w-when she saw how neglected Jisung looked, it broke her heart.”
Jisung has opened up a lot to you during your college days. Luckily, he’s never had an issue with talking about his feelings to you. Except for the romantic ones he has already had back then.
“That’s so kind of her, seriously,” you say.
“Yeah, it was. We spent summers in Kosovo, visiting her relatives. After graduating from college, I moved there again… rather spontaneously… because she was in a c-critical condition—health wise.”
“Oh…” is all you let out.
“Yeah… her brother got in a fight with some rival gang member and she got shot. The doctors tried everything but it wasn’t enough. It felt like I found a new mum and lost her again. Xhevahirë had had cancer for some years on top of that. Which is the reason I stayed at her place during my college days whereas Jisung moved into an apartment with you and Chan.” He takes another deep breath. “After her death, I stayed in Kosovo, helped her family and dropped out of college. You know, to thank them for what Xhevahirë did. I became a part of the… criminal stuff they do rather quickly. And then Jisung joined me a year later and we moved to Tirana, Albania.”
“I’m so sorry you had to go through all of this, Min. But I’m glad you had good people surrounding you,” you tell him.
“I told you to not apologise, hm?”
“Sorry,” you say, instantly realising the irony of the situation but at least it makes Minho love for two full seconds. “Thank you for telling me all this, though.”
Your gaze suddenly shoots towards the door, when you hear the bell ring.
“Did you order something? You made so much food…”
Minho doesn’t give your words any intention, while he gets up from his seat and walks towards the source of the noise. He opens the door, already knowing who it might be. For fuck’s sake. Minho told him to get here a little later when you’re asleep. This isn’t how he planned all this.
Still, he lets the man inside, dearly hoping that you might dissolve or teleport yourself into the living room or anywhere else so you can’t see who the guest is.
The curly haired gets closer, pulling Minho into a lazy hug.
“Lino. Sorry I’m here early. But I’ve got great news. I connected the dots,” he says, taking off his shoes.
“CB97. I’m glad to hear that,” Minho says with a chuckle, “Share them with me, partner.”
When he turns around again, your husband’s best friend notices the confusion and shock that is decorating not only your face but your whole body. He approaches you, giving you a soft smile.
“Baby, will you wait here in the living room for me? We will be back in a few minutes,” he promises and all you can do—because you’re absolutely perplexed—is to nod and do as you’re told.
He guides Chan to the office room, closing the door behind them. Your former best friend can’t hold back—he saw the way you looked at Minho and how he looked back at you. And that pet name. It felt oddly familiar to something he used to feel for you too. Apart from that, Chan thought you were married to Jisung despite him being in jail.
“You’re… are you guys having an affair?”
Minho chuckles, “It’s not an affair if her husband approves and encourages it.”
Of course, this only counts for the physical aspects but as long as he doesn’t talk about his feelings for you he believes they aren’t true. Fucking stupid, yes, but you’re driving him insane with your pure existence—the jokes you make, the smile you carry, the sound of your laugh. Everything about you is so adorable that Minho is exploring his inner warmer side of himself.
“You’re playing wicked games,” Chan tells him. “It is fucking obvious that you’re in love with her.”
Minho’s face falls.
“How do you know?”
“Know what?”
“That I’m in love with her,” he confesses, his jaw clenching.
“I used to be in that position once, too,” Chan says, tilting his head.
For some sick reason, jealousy takes over Minho although he isn’t in any position to be territorial of you. Particularly not when it comes to Chan of all people.
So, his impulsive nature takes over. “By the way—the video back then was her and me,” Minho says with a smirk.
“I jerked off to you?!”
Minho lets out a laugh, watching the confused and slightly disgusted look on Chan’s face. That was funny.
“I usually hear this word combination with a much more enthusiastic voice,” Minho teases.
Chan rolls his eyes. “You wished.”
“Anyway, since you said you have finally solved the case I think we should share those news with her too, shouldn’t we?”
The older one looks at him dumbfounded. What in hell is going on? Why would Minho propose that?
“Y/N? Dude, no—I am very sure that she does not want to see me here or anywhere else ever again. She said that after all. Let’s talk somewhere–”
“Trust me,” Minho interrupts him, his fingers wrapping around the older one’s wrist, “it’s the right way.”
“You still haven’t told her?” Minho shakes his head no. “God, she’s gonna be pissed once she finds out. Although that might be tonight anyway.”
The younger one’s jaw clenches. “We agreed on something. We will not tell her about the blackmailing. It’s bad enough that I haven’t told her about the fact that we have been working together.”
“Alright. Whatever you say,” Chan sighs, giving in when he realises there’s no use in discussing anything with his stubborn newly found friend. If you can call them that.
Minho tilts his head, gesturing towards the door and when Chan nods, the both of them exit the office and join you in the living room. You’re still sitting on the couch, visibly uneasy and overwhelmed with the strange and sudden situation. Your body is stiff, eyebrows scrunched together and your gaze is hastily roaming around in the room.
“Min, what the fuck is he doing here?” you ask, almost yelling at him.
Minho gets closer and sinks down next to you on the sofa. His hand meets your back, slowly stroking it.
“We can explain, okay?”
“I want him to go,” you immediately reply.
Chan starts walking towards the door, obeying every word you say.
“Stay here,” Minho says.
“Min–“
“No. We’re gonna talk things out, okay?”
You look at him with wide eyes. “Who are you and what did you do to Lee Minho?”
“Funny, kitten,” he lets out a faux laugh. “Chan helped me a little with proving Jisung’s innocence.”
Your arms are crossed in front of your chest, as you lean back and unintentionally shove Minho’s hand away. “Oh, so he’s finally gonna tell the police that he made that website.”
“I didn’t–“
“He didn’t,” Minho defends your former best friend. “He’s not behind that.”
“And I should just believe him?”
“Would I be lying to you, kitten?”
You don’t know who’s speaking the truth anymore.
“W-We can explain and then I c-can just go and you don’t have to see me again,” Chan offers.
God. You seriously don’t want to be in a room with him. Especially not after that move he pulled at your wedding day. Chan only acts selfishly, always choosing the option that’s best for him. You already expect him to have some ulterior motives in this weird situation again.
“Cigarette?”
Minho opens a package and offers some to you, which you decline. To your surprise, Chan takes one out of the box and Minho lights it for him before he takes a deep drag.
“Look at the doctor smoking,” you mumble, not quite realising you’ve just said this out loud.
“I’m surprised too,” Minho admits. He’s always believed Chan is this picture perfect son-in-law that makes women in their late forties who post pictures of flowers on Facebook faint or fall to their knees at least. But then again, he is also involved in gang activities, so screw that idea.
“It’s a metaphor. You put the killing thing right between your teeth, but you don't give it the power to do its killing,” Chan says and you realise that—at least in this light—he looks a little like Augustus Waters.
“If you’re not planning to actually smoke that cigarette, then give it back to me,” Minho hisses, already reaching out for the burning object.
“He’s joking, it’s a dumb quote,” you explain and let out a giggle.
For a second Chan’s eyes and yours meet. It brings you back to all the positive memories the two of you share. Until a stinging pain spreads through your heart and hinders oxygen from getting into your lungs.
“Anyway,” Minho drags you out of the confusion, “what were you gonna share with us, Chan?”
The other one carries a mischievous smile on his lips, “Ah, right. I’ve found something out about who is most definitely behind the website.”
“That’s amazing,” Minho lets out, turning around to you, awaiting your cheerful reaction. But it never comes. You can’t trust Chan. Not after all he’s done. And some weird sensation in your stomach makes you wonder if you should trust Minho either.
“I’ve heard Felix talk on the phone in a slavic language before but I couldn’t identify which one it is,” the older one starts.
“Slavic you said?”
Chan nods, “I realised it is Bulgarian when I found out that he spent some years there. Or well, basically his whole childhood.”
“What?”
“Yeah. Felix was adopted by an Australian couple that for whatever reason moved to the coast of the Black Sea but… they didn’t really take care of him, so he got transferred to a different family in Sofia.”
A shiver runs down your spine when you notice the similarities between what Chan is telling you and Minho’s backstory. And by the way he’s looking at you, you realise he thinks the same. What a fucking coincidence, right?
“The father’s name is Petar Tudzharov, or Dzharo in short.”
Your heart stops beating. Of course, you idiots had been looking for a guy with a Slavic background and didn’t realise that the actual villain is closer than you think.
It was Felix after all.
Felix is the adoptive son of that guy from the casino?!
“They moved into his huge mansion in Varna, Bulgaria, that he bought from all the money he’s made with his clan’s activities as members of the Bulgarian mafia after he lost his job as a police officer in 1990,” Chan explains, sounding as if he is giving a presentation and reciting a Wikipedia article.
“No way!”
“Hm. But I still don’t know how we can get a connection to the C.Drugs thing. Why would Felix attack Jisung?”
“Hyunjin,” Minho blurts out. His expression is focused, as he is counting two and two together.
“What does he have to do with anything?” Chan asks
“Hyunjin and Felix,” you add. “They have some sort of background. He probably wanted to get back at Jinnie for whatever he did…”
That’s all you know after all. Hyunjin doesn’t talk much but when you were alone with him—back that night when he gave you those pretty tattoos—he told you that Felix and him used to date in college. You didn’t ask further though.
“You’re a genius, Y/N,” Minho says, his eyes widening.
“Huh?”
“Felix studied computer science as well. At the same university as Jisung and me but we’ve never interacted much with him, we were too introverted to be honest. But he was always jealous of Ji’s talent in coding. Count two and two together et voilà—you’ve got his villain origin story,” Minho rambles, his voice getting louder.
“But what’s his motive?” Chan questions.
“They used to be a couple during college days. But as far as I know, Hyunjin wasn’t ready to show his love publicly and when they decided to break up, Felix caught him with a new boyfriend a week later that he was very open about, bragging about him to the whole campus. Add some more toxic shit he doesn’t talk about, which I respect. But yeah, that's the short version.”
It all finally makes sense now. You can’t believe this bullshit took you so long to solve.
However, there’s still something on your mind. If Chan knew all that, why didn’t he tell you earlier? Or was that perhaps what he wanted to share with you on your wedding day?
You feel your stomach turn, guilt washing over your body although you know it shouldn’t. You didn’t do anything wrong.
“Chan?”
His gaze shoots towards you, “Yeah, Y/N?”
“How… how didn’t you realise he was behind that? Aren’t you the group’s leader?”
He chuckles, “Not anymore. Well, I actually wasn’t for that long. Before I joined Wolfgang, Changbin used to be the leader and he got back his title when… I started therapy and all.”
Oh. Well, that makes sense. Your heart breaks a little thinking back to all the things he has been through–
Stop it, Y/N. You don’t owe Chan anything. He should be grateful that you can be in a room with him.
Okay, slow down. After all, he’s given you the most important information in what you need to prove your husband’s innocence. He must be a little selfless for once, given the fact he doesn’t get anything out of this.
Oh, Y/N, if you only knew…
A vibrating sound awakens you from those ongoing thoughts in your head. You pick up your phone and open the message, as your breath gets stuck in your throat.
[Anonymous, 01:43]: You think you finally got me? Take a look at my website again 😉 — C. 🪆
You only realise how late it’s gotten, when you show the text to the two men who are with you.
“Why is Felix still signing those messages with a ‘C’?” you question.
“Probably to make you believe I am behind it all,” Chan suspects.
“Let’s have a look at the dumb website,” Minho says and you dearly hope it isn’t some type of trap.
He picks out his laptop, typing in the address. It looks a little different now although the content seems to be the same. However, layout and design changed a lot.
“That bastard stole the code Jisung made,” Minho says, letting out a hysterical laugh.
“Oh,” Chan says.
“No, that’s serious. You don’t do shit like that. Jisung has always said that coding for him is a form of art and as a computer scientist myself I agree,” the other man adds.
“Can we read the text again? Maybe we have missed something,” you suggest.
Minho adds, scrolling down to the bold letters that basically hit him in the face. He starts reading the text out loud that still seems to be the same from last time you checked way before Jisung went to jail.
“‘Craving some fun? Having a rough week? All you’ve ever wanted can be purchased here. No need to worry about personal data being tracked. General information about privacy can be found here. Buy whatever your heart desires! Inland shipping is free. No reselling allowed.’ That’s all.”
“Felix probably wants to confuse us,” Chan adds.
“Seems like we are stepping in the dark,” you say.
💊
“It all works out in the end, hm?” Minho asks with a smirk.
Chan is long gone—there was an emergency at the hospital—but his presence still lingers here. Suddenly, you feel overwhelmed again. Because of everything. Because of life.
But you try to push that aside. There are only a few hours left until you are gonna start the mission of helping your husband to escape prison. You have to be focused, you shouldn’t bother your own mind with unnecessary thoughts—particularly not about your former best friend.
“Yeah, right on time. Jisung will finally be back soon,” you say with excitement in your eyes.
Minho slowly nods, “Yeah, finally. It’s gonna be… the three of us.”
“Hm,” you say, a smile on your face that is desperately trying to cover up the confusion. It’s not like you fell in love with Minho over these weeks but there is a strong connection you both have that you can’t quite categorise yet.
“You know… if you wanna… like one last time before we rescue Jisung and everything gets back to normal, I’d be up to it,” Minho stammers and cringes at his own choice of words. Get it together, man. Is it wrong to ask you that? He makes it sound like you have been cheating on your husband which you definitely haven’t.
“What, you wanna stop fucking me when Jisung is back?” you tease, clicking your tongue.
No, but this will be the last time I will have you to myself without any guilty conscience, he wants to say but decides against it.
“You’re right. Well if that’s the case, we should probably head to bed and–“
“No, no, Min, wait. That’s not what I meant,” you rush, your fingers wrapping around his hands’ wrists.
He chuckles, his gaze darkening, before he takes the lead and grabs your lower arms instead. “You sure? You know you have to earn it, right?”
A few minutes later, you find yourself spread out on the sofa. You’ve thought about letting Minho have his way with you in the bedroom—after all, it’s much more comfortable—but you just can’t do it. It already feels like overstepping Jisung’s boundaries when his best friend and you fall asleep there whenever you have these nightmares. Although your husband would understand.
But there are two things reserved for Jisung—fucking you in your shared bed and coming inside of you.
However, every logical thought is leaving your mouth when Minho has you like this. On full display for him, begging for more. He has been eating you out for eternity, forcing you to one orgasm to the next one without any mercy. Your pretty little whimpers that slip out of your mouth are his favourite melody.
While his tongue is attached to your clit, his palm is slowly stroking his covered erection, ready for more.
“Min–“
“Yeah, baby?”
His low voice sends vibrations through your body, making your soul ache for more.
“Please– I need you,” you plead, looking at him with big awaiting eyes. This scene is so different to that night after the casino visit. But that’s what being intimate with Minho is about—versatility.
And all that menace does is chuckle, before he disconnects his lips from your pussy, getting back into an upright position.
“I just love it when you’re such a needy slut for me, kitten,” he whispers, before he pulls down his sweatpants, as you find him bare underneath. His grown erection springs free—the tip leaking with precum, letting your mouth water in anticipation. God. You need him. Right fucking now.
“Come on, I want you on all fours. Face down, ass up,” he demands and you follow suit like a puppy.
You turn around, getting in the position he loves to have you in most. Spreading your legs further, you give him access and a better look of your cunt. You hear Minho stroking his length, as he gets closer. You guide two of your fingers to your pussy, playing a bit with your clit while he brings his cock towards your entrance, the tip teasing your aching hole.
And then he pushes inside and your eyes roll to the back of your head. He’s filling you so deliciously, just like every night these past two weeks. You’ve become addicted to none other than Lee Minho and the way his hands roam over your body, how his kisses are erupting on your skin and how good he feels to be inside of you, driving you to the edge of ecstasy.
You surrender under his touch, when he leans forwards and one of his arms lands right beside your face. This way, his head is right next to yours and you can hear the panting sounds that leave his lips, as they enter your ear.
Although he is fucking you so good, when his cock is pounding into you at this merciless speed, your mind is still occupied by your husband and the fact you will hopefully have him back in less than twelve hours if everything goes according to plan. Then this mess will stop.
You’re not stupid—you’ve noticed the way Minho has been staring at you these past weeks or months you’ve been together. Whereas you know that your heart only belongs to Jisung, it has played with your mind a little. This loneliness. That drove you further towards your husband’s best friend while Jisung has been in prison.
You also suspect that Minho’s quite obvious feelings might be influenced by that strong connection he has with Jisung. Maybe it confuses him to have his best friend’s partner with him. But since the two of you silently agreed on not talking about whatever the hell is going on between you both, you have been pushing those thoughts aside.
And it doesn’t matter that much anyway, right?
All you want at this point is your husband in your arms and for him to be safe. You don’t care about anything else.
At least you think so, until Minho picks up his pace and grunts right into your ear, “Do you know why your desperate cunt can’t get enough of my cock, kitten?”
You moan. So fucking loud that for a second you fear the walls in this room are shaking.
“Because we’re on the same level, you and me. I’m the only one that can keep up with your smart ass, mentally,” he hisses, before he brings his hand between your legs. Minho starts rubbing your clit, while he keeps thrusting into you
“Did you find your bitch in me, huh?” you spit back and earn a slap on your ass. The stinging sensation spreads all over your skin and just pushes you closer to your relief.
“I know you’re close, Y/N. Come on, be a good slut for me. One last time.”
That’s exactly what you do, when you cum all over his cock, your vision going blind and pure ecstasy rushing through your veins. Minho doesn’t stop, chasing his own high.
“Fuck– I’m close. C-Can I cum inside?” he asks in the heat of the moment, not grasping that he’s never done this with you before.
And caused by the fact that your brain has turned into mush by now, you nod and encourage him, until he shoots his seeds into your cunt, filling you up to the brim.
Minho pulls out a little later, watching the mixture of your liquids trickle down. He rushes towards the bathroom and the next thing you know is that he is taking care of your fragile body, before he helps you into some fresh sweatpants and a new shirt. He places a soft kiss on your forehead and walks towards the bedroom to pick some  clothes for himself.
Once you’re alone, reality finally hits you.
Fuck. You shouldn’t have let Minho cum inside you. After all, Jisung said that this is specifically reserved for him. Sure, he said that in the heat of the moment but what if he actually meant it?
But your thoughts are disrupted, when you bring your gaze to Minho’s laptop that’s still open, the screen bright.
There is a notification of a message. By some person who goes by the pseudonym ‘CB97’. God. You are so done with all these code words.
Wait.
CB97?
Could that—no never. But what if? What if it in fact stands for Christopher Bang who was in fact born in 1997?
You take a quick glimpse towards the bedroom and find the door still closed. So, you cross all existing boundaries and open the mail.
‘Hi Lino, great working with you. The plan is all set, right? I will pick you up in the morning and we will intercept the prison vehicle and rescue him. This world needs justice. I’m glad I could provide you with the information you need about Yongbok. I hope you will have the courage too to tell her everything about us working together and what made you do it. — CB97.’
It’s obvious that the first paragraph is about Jisung. But—with her do they mean you? It was already confusing seeing Chan here but you blamed it on him perhaps feeling guilty for what he did.
However, this sounds as if they have been working together this whole time. Although Minho reassured you he hasn’t heard anything from your former best friend.
He lied to you.
Why would he do that?
You read the text again. ‘I hope you will have the courage too to tell her everything about us working together and what made you do it’.
And what made you do it.
Did Minho blackmail him?
The devil steps inside the living room then, finding you lurking through his mails.
“Min, what is this?”
“Huh?”
“This. CB97,” you say, voice dropping low.
“I–“
“Tell me. Does this have something to do with Chan?”
“Kitten–“
Before he can do anything, you scroll through their chat’s history. You expect Minho to hold you back from it but he just watches you, awaiting his destiny.
You stumble across the first message then.
‘Confess to me that you’re the owner of C.Drugs, Bang Chan, or I’ll send this video around—to everyone. Especially to your Y/N. She gave permission to film the video but I am sure she’d be disgusted knowing that you hacked into her private data. What a traitor and pervert you are.’
No.
Your stomach does a weird twist and nausea takes over you.
“You let him watch me get railed by you?! Did you only film us so you could send it to him?”
Your gaze shoots towards Minho who is sitting next to you, fear plastered all over his face.
“God, no! I didn’t send it,” he immediately starts defending himself. “He hacked into my computer and I wasn’t expecting him to click on it b-but– when the opportunity occured I had to seize it… we have been working together… well, I technically blackmailed him but still. Without this we wouldn’t have the proof that Jisung is innocent.”
He can’t be for real. He in fact would do anything to achieve his goals.
“Fuck you, Minho,” you spit back, already getting up from the sofa.
“Do you remember we agreed that the end justifies the means?”
You shake your head, throwing on your clothes and grabbing your purse.
“I’ll go to prison. Rescue my husband,” you announce.
Minho stands up, rushing towards you. “Kitten… wait… there’s still time until Jisung gets picked up and driven to court–“
“Shut the fuck up, Minho,” you yell while yanking the front door open.
“Where are you going?” He follows you, his hand wrapping around your wrist but you shove it away. “Y/N?!”
“Leave me the fuck alone,” is the last thing he hears before you disappear.
You enter the elevator, cringing a little when you feel Minho’s remaining cum inside of you trickle down into your fresh panties. But you try to ignore this mess until you reach where you are heading to.
Finally inside the cab to your destination, you grab out your prepaid cell phone. Impulsiveness takes over you, rationality has long left your body. You can’t think straight anymore—your emotions are doing that process for you.
That’s why you dial Chan’s number. Wanting to have his side of the story first before you storm inside the prison and do something unpremeditated. You hear the ringing sound, totally forgetting that he got called to work for an emergency and probably therefore can’t pick up.
But that doesn’t count for you right now. The world is against you. Chan is against you. Minho, too.
Your former best friend’s mailbox tells you to leave a message and in the heat of the moment that’s exactly what you do.
“Oh, yeah, of course the doctor is busy. Busy watching porn videos of me, huh?”
Your brain to mouth filter shuts off, not at all caring that the cab driver can listen to every raging word you spit. He looks a little shocked first but when you give him the same energy back that you let out on that fox-like looking guy on the street—that night you met Jisung again after three years—makes him bring his full focus on the street again.
“Why the fuck didn’t you tell me? This has been going on for months behind my back. I would have helped you but I guess you coward work better when Minho threatens you. I don’t even know who I’m more disappointed with,” you continue hissing into your phone.
The driver stops and lets you out of the vehicle and you rush inside the building, heavy pants making it into the speaker of your device.
“Anyway. Good thing at least you both could solve the case… but I’m outta here,” you add. With those last words, you shove the prepaid phone back into your pocket and enter the hall.
The security check is extraordinarily quick today. After all, the guards already know you by now. Once they tell you that everything is fine, you are led to the visitor’s room, waiting for your husband.
Five minutes pass.
Another ten minutes pass.
Before one of the guards from earlier approaches you.
“Mr Han will need a little more, I’m sorry. He didn’t expect you to visit him this early. Could you come with me in the meantime? We have a few questions,” they say with a friendly smile on their face.
“Questions?”
You are confused. What kind of questions are they supposed to have? Have they perhaps caught up on the plan your gang and you have prepared to help Jisung escape this hellsite?
Your heartbeat increases, panic all over your face, until they speak again, “Nothing serious. Nothing you need a lawyer for. It’s just about your husband’s well being considering his health background and since you are his spouse, we wanted to ask you first.”
Okay. It’s gonna be alright. Maybe something with his meds or some food preferences, who knows.
“Sure,” you say and follow them.
“The prison warden will be here soon. Please, take a seat until he is here.”
You do as you are told, sinking down on the chair in front of the huge wooden table. Your sweaty palms meet your jeans, hoping to make you calm down a little—without any success.
Taking a closer look at your surroundings, your eyes start roaming around in the room. It’s cold in here, a smell is levitating in the air that somehow reminds you of that night inside the Tricky House or perhaps that is just your confused mind messing with your or Chan getting under your skin.
But your breath hitches once more when a detail meets your sight.
There’s a matryoshka doll sitting on the office table, broken into two pieces, empty inside—just like you.
Taking a closer look, you realise that it’s the same model as all the tinier ones that got sent to you. Her hair is completely covered by the red scarf. Without having the other dolls with you, you can definitely tell she is the biggest one of them all, perhaps destined to have the other ones stacked inside of her, making her the last missing piece.
Then something else draws your full attention to it. Just like the other three ones you received by Dzharo at the casino two weeks ago, this one has a plushie attached to it—a 3D effect and it’s cut in half too—that is created in the same style as the fox, the chicken and the wolf.
You can’t quite tell at first what creature it is supposed to be. The pink colour makes you lean towards a pig but the ears definitely remind you of a rabbit. Fuck. That rings a bell but your pounding pulse is drowning out any thoughts you have right now.
Full on panic rushes over you. You close your eyes, open them again, close them once more. And when you bring your gaze somewhere else, the remaining puzzle piece you are supposed to find stands right in your way.
There is a name plate with the letters ‘Tudzharov, C.’ on it.
Tudzharov? Like Dzharo? And a fucking first name starting with C.? Does Felix have a different name after all? Is it actually Chan and he once again lied to you?
Unless you weren’t correct and Felix isn’t the guy you are looking for…
You get a little startled when the door swings open. The prison warden steps inside, a mischievous smirk all over his face when he sees you.
Oh, fuck no.
It’s him.
How the fuck haven’t you realised earlier? Of course it wasn’t Felix. At least not on his own.
The man takes a step towards you, chuckling to himself, before he speaks.
“I’ve been waiting for you, doll,” Changbin says.
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❤️ AUTHOR’S NOTE: thank youuu so much for reading!! I can't believe that the following chapter will actually be the last one... thank you for whoever is still joining me and those precious characters on this journey. words cannot describe how grateful i am. pleaaase make sure to share your thoughts on this chapter with me. i am so excited to know what you think about this big reveal and all!! thank you again, lots of love and thank you for being here :)
© j-0ne25 2023-2024 | copying, translating or stealing my work is prohibited
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I already did something a bit like this for Jesper, I didn’t think we’d have to be back here again but here we go:
NINA ZENIK IS NOT JUST COMEDIC RELIEF.
Spoilers for the whole series ahead, also warning for discussing Nina’s trauma (and a bit of Matthias’ as well but not in much detail)
Nina has no recollection of what her life looked like before she taken from her home at about 3 and raised in the military of an abusive government to become a child soldier under a compulsory draft for all Grisha in Ravka. When she was around fourteen Nina and a group of other children also being raised to be child soldiers were abducted by the Darkling and held captive at Keramzin, where we know little of what they underwent. This abusive government had so greatly manipulated Nina that by the time she was rescued and the compulsory draft against her people was lifted, her patriotism had become so intense that she begged (remember she was still a child at this time) to be sent on military missions where she would convince other Grisha to join the army. And on one of these missions, when Nina was sixteen, she was taken captive by Drüskelle; by an order of Witch-hunters purposefully constructed for the destruction of her people. And so terrified of implicating and endangering her compatriots she was, Nina did not cry for help.
Nina was held in a cage beneath the deck of a ship with several other Grisha, presumably for a minimum of two weeks, and treated like an animal. During those two weeks the Grisha on the ship were rarely fed, were rarely given access to clean water (Nina begging Matthias to bring them water ends up being what saved her life), were given nowhere to relieve themselves, underwent theats, violence, and dehumanisation, and travelled that entire time with the knowledge that when they reached their destination they would be put on trial and sentenced to death. Almost upon their arrival to Fjerda, the ship feel victim to a massive storm. If it weren’t for the jagged edge of the cup Matthias had given her that Nina used to cut through her bonds, she would have drowned to death in a cage. As it was, she was one of two survivors from the entire vessel and her singular companion was a Drüskelle. Nina and Matthias had to rely on each other, on someone part of the very thing they each identified as their abuser, not only to swim to shore, but to survive for weeks on end afterwards as they travelled across the ice. And in that time, Nina was able to find something in Matthias that she thought was impossible.
Matthias was like her. Matthias had gone through something so similar, and yet so horrifyingly different to her, and where Nina had come to hate and fear his people out of necessity he had come to hate and fear hers through the death of his family followed by years of manipulation and abuse at the hands of his government as it raised him to become a child soldier. And Nina and Matthias were able to look at each other, at 16 and 17 in the most horrendous hellish experience they could have fathomed, and learn who each other truly were. And they knew it would be harder for Matthias, they knew the things he had done - even though he admitted to himself he had never wanted to do them - were going to be so much harder to accept and to unlearn and to move away from. But they had a chance.
And then Nina, believing she had no other options left when Grisha were threatening to kill Matthias, betrayed him - and in doing so, she knew full well, was forced to betray herself. She fought for his freedom for a year, staying in Kerch when she could have just gone home, endangering her life and getting herself in debt to a gang leader in her attempts to save him, knowing all the while that Matthias would not forgive her and would, she now believed, never have the chance to undo all the hatred that had been forged upon him and learn to be the boy he could have been without the abuse of Jarl Brum. And when she finally managed to help him escape, the first thing he did was try to choke her to death.
Nina, now 17, travelled back not just to the country she was to be killed in and that she was shipwrecked and stranded in, but to the very place where her death sentence would have been held: The Ice Court. She was part of the crew that broke in and out of the most fortified prison in the world, and whilst she was there she learnt the Drüskelle leader, who had killed hundreds of her people and abused Matthias for years on end, whom she believed had drowned on the shipwreck a year ago was not only still alive but had also begun to experiment on her people with an impossibly addictive and life-endangering drug to use them as slaves in his army - in his words “these creatures were made to be weapons”. Only minutes after learning this she believes Matthias has betrayed her and that she will be the next victim of the drug, only for him to attack Jarl Brum, save her life, and vow that he will do everything in his power to learn how to change, and that he will protect her for the rest of their lives.
But upon their escape of the Ice Court, Nina (still seventeen) realised that she and her friends were trapped by the Drüskelle and had no options left but to be taken captive and/or killed (I’m mostly putting the and/or there for Kuwei, I expect the others would’ve been killed where they stood). So Nina turned around and took the drug, unbelievably addictive and life-endangering after a single exposure, so that she would have enough power to save her friends’ lives. She spent the following weeks/months horrendously ill, battled addiction for months on end following it, suffered the fear of her closest friend being kidnapped and knowing she was unable to help, and for long periods of time basically waiting for the drug to kill her. Nina survived, but then she had new problems to contend with. She found that the drug had altered her Grisha power, something not only that she had defined herself by her entire life but also what she had been taught was why she was valued. Nina felt that she was no longer part of the world she grew up in and relied upon, but over time as Matthias unlearned everything he’d been through and began to plan to change a nation’s thinking, Nina learned to accept, use, and love her newfound power.
They had such a chance, they had so much ahead of them, they could have done so much together. And then Matthias was shot and killed by a Drüskelle child soldier (I think he was 14?) who was being manipulated and abused the same way he once was whilst Matthias tried to convince him to change his mind, and then he died in Nina’s arms. Matthias was 18. Nina was 17.
NINA IS IN FOUR BOOKS. WHAT I’VE SAID SO FAR IS ONLY FROM TWO OF THEM.
It has been a long time since I read KoS/RoW and also I’ve been going on for way too long so this is going to be in a nutshell but here we go: Nina was sent on another mission to Fjerda by the Ravkan government, to give her the opportunity to bury Matthias at home and to gather intelligence on the country. She begins to develop feelings for Hanne, a Grisha heartrender hiding their abilities in order to survive, only to discover that Hanne is JARL BRUM’S CHILD. She meets the Drüskelle who killed Matthias and endangers herself on a daily basis living with the Brum family hiding who she really is. And as the situation only gets more and more complicated and the intelligence she’s gathering only starts running deeper and deeper, Nina ends up stuck with the Fjerdan government IN the Ice Court, hiding who she is and her abilities, alongside Hanne doing the same, FOR THE FORESEEABLE FUTURE.
And yet through everything Nina continues to be unbelievably strong, in every sense of the word, she is compassionate and wonderful and brave and yes, she’s quick-witted and flirty and she loves a good joke but that isn’t all she is, that’s a testament to her ability to maintain herself and her core of who she is after going through so much.
PLEASE, I AM BEGGING YOU, STOP REDUCING NINA ZENIK TO COMEDIC RELIEF. NINA IS FUNNY AND FLIRTY AND SHE LOVES JOKES, BUT THAT DOESN’T MEAN THAT’S ALL SHE IS
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devnmon · 27 days
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𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐠𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐛𝐨𝐲 𝐣𝐨𝐡𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐜𝐬 ♡
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𝐩𝐨𝐯 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐡𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚 𝐜𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐡 𝐨𝐧 𝐣𝐨𝐡𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐧. [𝐚𝐟𝐚𝐛 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫] 𝐬𝐟𝐰/𝐧𝐬𝐟𝐰 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐮𝐭 𝐱𝐱
𝐚𝐥𝐬𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐞 𝐫 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐛𝐨𝐭𝐡 𝐦𝐨𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐧 𝐨𝐫 𝟏𝟖𝟗𝟗/𝟏𝟗𝟎𝟕 𝐣𝐨𝐡𝐧 [𝐢 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐞𝐝 𝐫𝐝𝐫𝟏 𝐲𝐞𝐭]
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First off, John is one to not realize his feelings for you until a certain point. He's oblivious to his OWN feelings. That's how long he's liked you. Perhaps you were captured by one of the local gangs or got severely hurt... his heart dropped when he found out. John is a real overthinker... so obviously his mind went right to the worst case scenarios. Though, when Arthur got back to camp with you in tow, he was so damn grateful.
He's taught you to ride a horse, but absolutely flushes when you clutch onto his waist tighter than usual when he picks up speed on the back of his.
His morning voice is almost too sexy to reply to the g'morning he sends your way as he huddles over the campfire, coffee in hand.
John doesn't understand why out of all the more honorable men in the world, you chose him to love and care for with your whole heart.
He's the first to initiate hand holding, especially in public– oh my god. Maybe there's a random man in the bar looking your way... and John, well he just couldn't take someone thinking you were up for grabs. You feel his grip around your hand as his fingers intertwine with yours, the glare he held as cold as ice watching the man turn away from you.
John is reallyyyyyy fucking good at five finger fillet. You're surprised he's not lost all his fingers with the way he moves his knife so swiftly. It's one of the things that made you realize your feelings towards him.
John started crushing on you after you stitched up his face in Colter. Checking his scars every day to make sure they weren't getting infected; the close proximity was just another factor that made his heart race around you.
He becomes comfortable with touch as he falls for you. At first it's just a touch on the arm that has sparks flying, then you're touching his shoulder or back– his cheeks all but flush bright red every time. [Arthur teases him about it. It's adorable.]
John often takes you on rides outside of camp just to get some air from everyone. He really appreciates having alone time where the two of you can talk and bond and wink wink ;))
He also lets you wear his hat when the both of you go out riding together. John tries to get you your own but you think his suits you just fine.
When you tell him 'i love you' for the first time, it takes him a minute to register it. But when he does, he goes "say it again" and just kisses you before saying it back.
Calls you "Miss" around camp, but in private he prefers to call you honey and sweetheart. He feels like calling you your name is something to be kept private too. John Marston is a sucker for closeness with you.
Sometimes you catch him staring from across camp, and you tried so damn hard to hide your smirk from Sadie and the other girls... that you had to excuse yourself from the group.
He cannot be normal or stay still when your hands are on him. You're laying on his bedroll with him, lightly tracing your hands up and down his body and he's all but begging for you to keep going until you can't.
John can never have you close enough; being too close isn't a thing for him. If he could be glued to you, he would.
John would love to learn to cook together. He gets his kicks out of placing his hands on your waist while you're preparing the food, feeding him bits and pieces of veggies you're chopping up.
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NSFW
Here's the thing about John. He's suchh a touched starved boy that he absolutely cannot get enough of you from the time you get together. And obviously he's grabby too. Loves putting his hands everywhere on you. Like– everywhere. So much so that he leaves marks mostly every time he gets more than half an hour with you.
His love language is words of affirmation, so of course he basks in the glory when you say "you feel so good" or "right there" . Basically amps him up x10000.
Also John is a cocky little shit and mocks your cries in the bedroom. Then he'll go "Yeah? What ya screamin' my name for? Feels good huh?".
You don't know where he's learned it, but John has such a talented tongue– like, toe curling, back-arching, messy and desperate to please you without ever coming up for air.
John loses all ounce of shame in bed with you. He knows how to please you and if he's letting you be in control... he will beg and pleadddd for you. Like I said– no shame.
Loves when you pull his hair. The first time you did it he went "Atta girl..." with a groan– and you all but came right then and there from the gravel in his voice.
Is such a praiser;; gets off on hearing you whimper underneath him. Stuff like "doin' good for me, doll" and "such a mess for me, huh? look at you..." GOD.
That's another thing with John, he's always on top. Prefers missionary to observe the way you sing for him– and he's smitten all over again.
You're able to convince him to let you be on top– to ride him like the cowboy he is. He even puts his hat on you [mid ride might i say].
Is also a definite cuddler afterwards, he loves hearing your heartbeat steady while he’s pressed up against your back. He’ll suggest the two of you get cleaned up before you fall asleep.
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a/n: heyy so i know this is not a lot of hcs but they're the best i got for rn while i ponder on how to write my silly little drabbles :))) stay tuned for those heheh
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differenteagletragedy · 3 months
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The summer after you graduated high school was something you'd always you'd always treasure -- you realized that much even as it was happening. It was the last little period in your life before you'd become a full-fledged adult, the last time you'd be able to have a long holiday without a care in the world.
All too soon, things would change forever. It was daunting to think about.
"Penny for your thoughts?"
You jerked your head around to see Baxter, your new neighbor, giving you a small grin. The two of you were sitting on the beach while Cove, Terri and Miranda were playing nearby in the sand. You must have spaced out.
"I don't think they're exciting enough to pay for," you told him, smiling back.
"Oh, somehow I doubt that."
You rolled your eyes at his suggestive tone, and he laughed. You'd only known him for a few weeks at that point, but you'd been able to tell right off how big of a flirt he was. It was amusing, and you did like being around him, but you didn't see him in any sort of romantic light.
"Hey there, guys and gals!"
You turned around at the sound of the familiar voice and saw the reason you couldn't be more than friends with Baxter -- with anyone -- strolling towards you, big green eyes and sunny smile brightening up the day.
"Derek!" you called out excitedly, standing up and running to meet him.
He let out a chuckle that you felt against your chest as you threw yourself at him. He picked you up in his strong arms, swinging you around before setting you gently back down on the sand.
"Hey," he said softly, an extra greeting just for you.
"I'm so glad you made it," you told him. Your arms were still around his shoulders and his were still around your waist -- it had been a long time since you'd seen each other in person, and you didn't want to let him go anytime soon.
"I meant what I said," he replied, referring to a conversation you'd had right after graduation. "I'm going to be around this summer. You're too important to --"'
Before he could finish his thought, you heard the rest of the gang gather behind you. Terri laughed and threw a friendly punch at Derek's shoulder.
"What about us, are we important too or are you guys just gonna stand up here by yourselves all day?" she joked.
"You're all important," Derek said, letting go of you. He offered a smile towards everyone, and when his eyes met Baxter's, it widened a bit. He held out his hand to him, and Baxter took it, giving him a firm handshake.
"Derek, this is Baxter. Baxter, Derek," Cove said.
With introductions out of the way, you went back to your spot on the beach. Derek, who was wearing swim trunks and had already taken his shirt off, kept moving towards the water while Baxter stopped back at his towel. You were partway between them, desperate to spend time with your old friend but not wanting to abandon your new one.
"Go on," Baxter said quietly when you turned back to look at him. He nodded towards Derek and gave you a wink so quick you almost missed it.
Later, after your group had spent several hours at the beach, you made your way back up the street, and after a quick conversation, you'd all decided to embark on a quest to locate an ice cream truck.
"I'm more than happy to drive," Baxter said, sliding his keys out of his pocket, "but there are six of us and my car only seats five."
"I can drive!" Derek offered quickly, pulling out his own keys.
"Excellent," your new neighbor said, glancing your way. His usual smirk turned a little more devious than normal, and he brought up a hand to stroke his chin in thought. "But how do we select the seating arrangements?"
"I can ride with Derek," Cove said. It wasn't a surprise to anyone there that he'd prefer to be with Derek over Baxter.
"Actually, I was hoping you'd ride with me," Baxter told him. "I'm such a stranger to the area, it would be invaluable to have a local helping me navigate."
Miranda took a moment to eye Baxter, looked to you, then said, "I'm thinking Terri and I should go with you too, Baxter. I'll have to track down a truck on my phone and Terri can help you around the city better than Cove."
"Then it's settled," Baxter said triumphantly. "Cove, Miranda and Terri will ride with me, we can lead the way."
He shot a smug look at you before he began walking over to his car. He was scheming, you could tell that much, but you weren't sure exactly why.
"Looks like that leaves you and me then," Derek said, not looking at all unhappy with the prospect.
He walked briskly over to his own car, jogging to the passenger side so he could open the door for you before you could get it yourself. When you were safely inside, he closed the door behind you, got in himself and the pulled out, following Baxter at a safe distance.
"This is fun," he said, staring ahead at the road. "Baxter seems like a cool guy."
You snorted. That was one way to put it.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
A while later, the six of you were walking down the street you'd found in the suburbs, sharing the frozen treats you'd purchased from the ice cream truck. Miranda and Terri were leading the group, talking about snow cones, and Cove and Derek were a bit behind them, taking the time to catch up.
That left you and Baxter to bring up the rear, and he wasted no time in sharing what was on his mind.
"So," he said, taking a careful bite of his ice cream sandwich. "How long have you been hopelessly in love with Derek?"
You stopped in the street, your mouth hanging open in shock. Sure, you had a massive crush on Derek, but were you really that obvious?
Baxter laughed, grabbing your arm and giving you a tug so you'd start walking again.
"I won't tell a soul if it's meant to be a secret," he assured you. "But for what it's worth, he loves you back."
"What are you talking about?" you hissed, pointedly looking forward at Derek, who wasn't all that far ahead of you. As if to prove your point, he turned back after feeling your eyes on him and smiled at you. You thought you noticed a faint blush creep on his cheeks before he turned back to Cove.
"We're friends," you told Baxter, settling down a bit but still keeping your voice as low as possible.
"Last I checked, friends don't look at friends the way he looked at you when you took a bite of his popsicle."'
"Baxter."
He was still smirking, but his expression turned sincere.
"Look, I apologize if I'm making you uncomfortable," he said. "It's not my intention, though I can't deny it is fun. I'm merely pointing out that you clearly have feelings for him, and he does for you as well. Even as an outsider, that much is obvious."
You thought about what he said, even when the conversation changed topics. The six of you ended up by someone's curb, finishing up your snacks and chatting, and when the sprinklers came on in the yard you were standing in front of, you all played in them like you were little kids again.
After the water was finally turned off, all of you were drenched to the bone and breathless. You were standing by Derek, and when he noticed you'd started shivering from the cold, he darted to his car. When he came back, he had a couple of towels and a hoodie.
"Thanks," you told him, taking the towel he offered. You dried off, getting as dry as you could, and when you were done he handed you the shirt.
"What?" you asked.
"Here, put it on," he answered, holding the hoodie out closer to you.
"No, you can have it."
"I'm not cold," he laughed, and when you took a closer look at him, you saw it was true. He looked comfortable. And judging by the way he all but pushed the article of clothing into your arms, he really wanted you to be comfortable too.
You finally thanked him and pulled the hoodie over your head, trying not to get too lost in how much it smelled like him. When you poked your head through the neck hole, you smiled at him.
He was already smiling back.
112 notes · View notes
lovebugism · 7 months
Note
Okay, hear me out. The reader has a birthday in the summer and boyfriend!Steve is throwing her a little surprise bd party somewhere outside of Hawkins, along with Eddie, Robin and the kids 🥹🥰
thanks for your request!! — the one where steve harrington and the rest of the gang try hopelessly to celebrate the grump of the group (grumpy!reader, established relationship, 2k)
bug's summer fic fest ♡
A heart-shaped cake sits on top of a rotting park bench.
It’s obviously homemade, slathered with sage green icing that’s visibly uneven — bare in some places and thicker in others. Your name is written on the very center in a darker shade of juniper. At least, you’re pretty sure it’s supposed to be. The letters are sloppy and nearly illegible. It could say anything really, and you’d have no way of knowing.
Several smaller hearts are dotted around the top and the sides, looking more like gloopy circles and poorly drawn birds. You figure they were added as an afterthought, perhaps to distract from the various dents around the edges of the cake.
Despite all that — or maybe because of it — your heart swells with an inhuman sort of warmth.
You didn’t think people cared enough about you to bake a cake for you. Or to throw a surprise party for you. Honestly, you didn’t think anyone besides Steve even knew it was your birthday. The thought makes your chest feel tight, a healthy mixture of mirth and panic.
Several faces smile expectantly at you. You blink owlishly back at them. The twittering sounds of nature fill the anticipatory silence.
“Sorry,” you apologize in a half-sincere monotone, fidgeting awkwardly on the wooden bench seat. “I just… I never know how to respond when a group of people sing Happy Birthday to me.”
Steve smiles and smoothes a palm up and down your spine. His honey eyes flit between your profile and the burning striped candles on top of the cake. “I think most people usually blow out the candles at this point, babe.”
“Yeah,” Robin concurs from across the bench, sitting squarely on the edge to fit beside Dustin and Eddie. Her blue eyes widen as her maroon-tinted mouth quirks slightly upward. “If they burn too low, they’ll set the cake on fire.”
Eddie beams at her words. His chocolate eyes dart between Robin, the cake, and you. “Wait… That actually sounds kinda cool,” he lilts with a soft chuckle.
“No! Not cool!” Dustin argues in response. His bushy brows pinch together in disdain and his nose scrunches at the thought. “We worked hard on this cake, okay? So let’s maybe not ruin it—”
“I thought it was already ruined?” you blurt before you mean to.
The curly-haired boy snaps his attention from Eddie to you, equally as confused as you seem to be. “What?”
You shrug with a flat face. “I don’t know… I thought you guys, like, dropped it on the way over here or something.”
You’re too kind to be mean, too aloof to realize how insensitive you sound. 
You thought it might’ve been the perfect explanation for why the cake looked so… messy. Dustin was a perfectionist to boot, and Max commanded the boys like it was her job to do it. With their forces combined, you figure they could make just about anything five-star bakery-worthy.
This heart-shaped cake in front of you isn’t perfect. It looks more like what would happen to a sheet of paper if you gave toddlers a bunch of finger paint. Because they weren’t trying to make it flawless at all. They were making something sweet for you and having fun together while doing it.
You can imagine the kids laughing as they flick flour at one another and smear green icing on each other’s cheeks. Your chest warms all over again. Your heart glows with a happiness you often keep hidden.
“Considering it’s your birthday, I am actively choosing not to take offense to that statement,” Dustin responds after a beat of silence, a sincere smile on his boyish features.
“We made it ourselves, actually,” Lucas tells you with his own grin. He sits adjacent to the former boy, shoulder-to-shoulder with Max. Despite the many inches of space on either side of them, his bare arm brushes against her freckled one.
“That makes sense,” you mutter to yourself.
Steve exhales a laugh from beside you. His broad hand squeezes gently at your shoulder. “Blow out the candles, babe. Before you actually do set the cake on fire.”
Your chest inflates with an inhale that you blow out through your mouth. The flickering orange flames shift sideways for a moment before turning into wisps of gray smoke. 
The group around you starts to applaud. Some of them cheer quietly for you. It makes your brows furrow with distant contempt. You shrink into yourself, not made to be easily celebrated.
Steve smacks a kiss to your cheek, then. His plush, pink lips smush against your skin and pull into a beam a second later. His eyes sparkle with the sunshine expression when you turn to look at him. 
His arm curls more intently around you to hold you closer. Even though you make no move to hold him back, you melt into him just the same. His smile widens when he feels you grow heavier against him — much less tense than you usually are.
“What’d you wish for?” he wonders with his brows raised.
In a deadpan, you answer. “That goes against the philosophy of wishes, Harrington.”
“Right,” he concurs in a scoff. You feel his chest rumble with breathy laughter. It makes you lean further into him before you realize you’re doing it. 
Steve notices, though — rather quickly, because physical affection never did come easily to you. His already wide smile grows somehow fuller. His nose smushes into your hair when he pressed a kiss to your temple.
—————
The cake quickly disappears as everyone cuts themselves a slice and downs it with vigor. It’s less about being dreadfully hungry and more about there being something innately delicious about homemade pastries. 
Dustin tells you he calculated the recipe himself — comparing the backs of several cake mix boxes and what he knew you liked best. That, along with Max’s strangely distinct cheffing ability, created the perfect cake.
It was just dense enough, just sweet enough, just soft enough.
Despite its mess, it was undeniably made with love.
When Steve dismisses himself to get the cooler of drinks he left in his car, you take your slice of cake with you. You hold the festive plate in one hand and a plastic fork in another. Blanketed by shade at the side of the vacant road, you confess with green icing on the corner of your mouth — “Can we go home now?”
Steve huffs as he drops the heavy cooler on the grassy trail. He rises with a furrow to his brows.
“What? We just got here,” he answers with a soft chuckle, reaching his arm out for you. His knuckles brush gently at your chin as his thumb swipes over the corner of your mouth. 
The action is too quick for you to dodge. Your features scrunch in disgust when he licks the rouge icing from the pad of his finger. 
“We haven’t even finished eating yet.”
“But it’s so hot,” you gripe, face twisted in a distant pout. “And there’s, like, a million things I’d rather be doing.”
“Well, that’s rude,” the boy jokes with his head tilted to his shoulder.
“Everyone just, like… keeps talking to me. And looking at me. I don’t like it— it’s weird.”
Steve smiles, pink and lopsided. “God forbid someone pays a little attention to you every now and then, huh?”
“You do it enough,” you grouse like you’re not grateful for how much he loves you. Your face is fixed in a deadpan to conceal the adoration you have for the boy in front of you. Your eyes twinkle with all of it, anyway. “I don’t need anybody else to give me attention.”
Steve’s chest swells — with pride, perhaps, or maybe with how much he loves you. A healthy mixture of both, maybe.
“Damn right, you don’t,” he singsongs lowly before leaning down to kiss you. His soft lips press against your scowl. He feels like the white puffy clouds above you and tastes like the blue sky surrounding them. 
You don’t want to lean into them, still a bit pouty in your way. 
You regret not kissing him harder the second he pulls away from you.
He picks up the cooler and flashes you a soft, sympathetic grin. “C’mon, babe. Just a little while longer, okay? And then I’ll take you home. I promise.”
He’s about to walk away from you, turning on the heel of his dirty sneaker and expecting you to follow him. 
You don’t, though. You cross your arms over your chest and stand in one place, calling out for him before he can get too far. “Wait!” you blurt, still quiet in your plea.
Steve stills. He turns back to you, his brows raised expectantly. “Yeah?”
A beat of silence passes. You shift your weight on your feet and hold yourself tighter, letting the sounds of chirping birds and rolling breezes fill your quiet until you can find the words — the courage to say them, more like.
“That wasn’t my wish,” you confess gently.
You don’t say anything more than that, despite how vague it sounds. You expect him to understand you without having to plead for him outright. He usually does, though sometimes he loves to hear you beg.
Now, he’s just purely confused. 
“What do you mean?” he presses, not teasing you, just trying to understand you better.
“When I blew out the candles,” you explain, monotoned and still slightly pouting. “I wished that… you’d kiss me.”
That wasn’t entirely true. 
Actually, you wished that all of this would be over a lot quicker than how dreadfully slow it was going. 
You loved your friends, you really did, but you were not the same extroverted being who loved surprises that your boyfriend was. You’d much rather pretend you weren’t another year older and spend the day in bed, wrapped like a present in Steve’s arms.
And you don’t mean to lie about all that, but you don’t know how else to ask for another kiss.
You’re still learning how to be more openly affectionate with him — how to let Steve be more affectionate with you. He’s learning how to give you more space just the same. He can be too suffocating at times, he’s found, and his relationships have wilted like a dying flower accordingly.
You’re both looking for that sweet spot, the exact middle between too clingy and too distant. You’ve found that in each other in a lot of ways. The two of you bring a bit of both that balances you out perfectly.
Your words make Steve melt. 
He exhales a sharp laugh through his nose, chest swelling with so much love that it hurts him. His nose scrunches as he walks the short distance back to you. “Well, what kinda douchebag would I be if I didn’t let my girl’s wish come true on her birthday, huh?”
He drops the cooler at his feet again, and it crunches beneath the green grass. Melted ice and canned soda swish audibly from within it as he takes you in his arms. In the cool shade, his wide palms smooth around your hips to warm you like the summer sun.
You keep your arms crossed over you like you didn’t just beg him to be this close, still holding your plate in one hand.
“A huge one,” you answer, voice as flat as your face as you blink up at him. “You already are, actually.”
“Says the girl asking me to kiss her,” Steve jokes with a crooked grin.
Though your own smile threatens to quirk the edges of your lips, you fight to keep it hidden. “I take it back,” you quip at his teasing.
You’re lying, but he already knows that.
“No, you don’t,” he lilts with the shake of his head. He beams at you, perhaps too fondly than you deserve, and leans down once more to give you exactly what you wanted.
His pink lips lock with yours in a mixture of vivid hues. He tastes like sweet cake and sweeter soda. The rough pad of his tongue licks against your mouth to get a taste of you, too. It’s as soft and sweet as you’re still learning how to be.
311 notes · View notes
akiseochi · 3 months
Text
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OLD PROMISES …!
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NOTE … shhh I can fix him (lying)
CHARACTER(S) … suguru niragi (live action)
WARNINGS … niragi
EXTRA … gn!reader
PART 2 HERE ! (coming soon)
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You didn’t even know what was happening.
One minute, you were in a game. Diamonds, you believed. And the next, you were being dragged off by several of your fellow players.
Fighting was futile, since they outnumbered you… and had guns. Which meant you had to let them force you into the weird alliance, dubbed ‘the beach’, to your understanding.
You didn’t pay close enough attention to the introduction, but what you understood was that this ‘Hatter’ was the head of the alliance, while the small, elite group of people were secondary to him… or something. Then, there was the rest of the people, like peasants.
Figuring you were one of the ‘peasants’, you’d been lounging around the pool, with nothing else to do. It wasn’t so bad, actually, in contrast to your life of just barely getting by, with no food and constantly almost being killed by other players. You were quite enjoying yourself in the sunlight, sipping on an ice-cold glass of fruit juice.
Well, you were, until the bustling life around you began to die down. Not literally, thank goodness, but the crowd immediately went silent and started to thin out at the appearance of a little squad of people, led by one of those ‘elites’ you’d seen earlier.
They all held weapons and seemed menacing by real world standards, less so in borderland standards, but still pretty threatening. Especially the man covered head to toe in tattoos, or the one that looked as if he could be a gang leader in an American movie. They looked like they wouldn’t think twice before slicing you to bits.
For some reason, you found yourself unable to look away from them, not unlike the rest of the crowd. Your eyes lingered on each member, taking in their body language, clothes, weapons: their presentation, in short. Some looked genuinely disturbed, while others simply looked dead in the face.
You glanced briefly at each member, before pausing on one of them: a man with a black-white animal print shirt. Silver piercings reflected the bright sunlight, a gun resting on his shoulder. His face looked eerily familiar, though you couldn’t exactly place where you knew him from.
Figuring it was worth looking into, you stood up, walking past him and intentionally brushing his shoulder, and making eye contact as you passed. You hoped he would notice and speak to you; you knew you weren’t exactly bad-looking.
You’d made it into the hotel, just towards the entrance when you heard the door swing open behind you. Just as you hoped, when you turned back, you saw the man in the animal print shirt.
"Hello," you began, smiling at him. "Did you need something?"
"Don't act like you didn't do that on purpose," he cut off your act, voice harsh but not angry. "You're new here, aren't you? What's your business with me?"
You studied his face, familiar features bringing a memory just below the surface, needing just one more push to come to light. "Nothing, you just looked familiar. My name's (#), what's yours?"
"Niragi." He looked at you skeptically.
You gazed back with the same confidence as his eyes held. “Niragi what?”
“Suguru; Suguru Niragi.”
The moment the name left his lips, blood rushed to your head as a memory rushed through each nerve.
“Suguru! Heh, come on, keep up!”
You ran under a bridge, jogging backwards so that your best friend could catch up to you, out of breath and disheveled from the run.
It was your first year of junior high school, and you couldn’t be happier with your life: you had a great best friend and with him around, you would never stop smiling.
“Can we sit down now? Where are we even going?” He shouted after you, breathing heavily through his words.
You shook your head firmly. “Of course not, dummy! We’re almost there! We just have to go up that hill! You’ll see what it is when we’re there!”
“Up— up a hill?!” His eyes widened, crooked glasses dropping further down his low nose bridge. “No way! I’m not running all the way up there!”
“Come on, don’t be a wet chicken!” You laughed, looking down at him as you turned to begin moving again.
“You done starin’?” His sharp tone brought you back to the present, to the harsh man in the moment, rather than the bookish boy in your memories.
“Huh? Oh. Yeah.” You blinked, looking around awkwardly. “You just, uh, remind me of someone I used to know. Did you go to—”
“No,” he cut you off abruptly, “you’re probably thinkin’ of someone else. I don’t recognise you.”
“…that’s probably it.” You understood his meaning immediately, just like in junior high. Although you suspected he may not have wanted to be remembered that way anymore. “Must be another Suguru Niragi… well, it doesn’t matter now, I guess.”
Before he could get another word in, the armed group of strange people walked by, noisily clamouring for him to hurry up. A muscle in his jaw twitched in annoyance, but he slung his rifle over his shoulder, casting one last glance at you.
“Be at the pool tonight. I’ll find you.”
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taglist ;; @shadestar413 , @shsl-supreme-simp , @spleen-official
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babybatscreationsv2 · 1 month
Text
The Kissing Booth
Marvel | Peter/Tony/Steve/Bucky
Peter decides to host a kissing booth to raise money for Decathlon, but he definitely wasn't expecting to be so popular.
Rating: Teen
Peter stuffed his hands in his pockets, he cocked his hip to one side, and he prayed that he looked as cool as the actor he'd seen on the cover of GQ. Most people passed by the booth while visibly refusing to look his way. Others walked by and giggled at the idea of paying to kiss a random teenager. A woman even stopped to ask if he were old enough to be doing a thing like that and seemed only more appalled when he confirmed that he was eighteen.
The only kiss his kissing booth had gotten him so far was one from a cheerleader with bouncy blonde hair. He was pretty confident she'd only done it to tease him, but her lips were soft and covered in strawberry lip gloss so he wasn't complaining. Plus that was two dollars in the decathlon team’s nationals fund and they were getting a little desperate. Peter just hoped that Flash's cookie stand farther back into the fairground was doing better. He'd never been good at baking so he'd opted out. Now MJ stood behind him, playing the scowling chaperone to discourage unwanted tonguing. The school wouldn't approve the booth unless he agreed to keep the kissing innocent. "As if you're kissing your own mother," the principal said and then blanched when he realized that Peter didn't have one.
"How long do we stand here before we decide we've humiliated ourselves?" MJ asked.
"I'm not sure how this is a 'we' situation," Peter said. His eyes scanned over the crowd. Maybe he could get a pitty kiss if he could make eye contact with the right person.
MJ scoffed. "Because I believed in your stupid kissing booth idea. Not that you're not pretty, we're just living in the wrong decade."
"Nah, I think everyone's just shy. Maybe you should come show them how it's done to break the ice."
"Pass." MJ went back to her chair and sat down. Peter laughed quietly. If they could just make a few more bucks, he'd call it a success. He hadn't been expecting to fund the whole trip this way, but he at least thought he could lure in a few pranksters looking to peer pressure their friends into it.
He stared out at the crowd and caught sight of Tony Stark entering the fair along with his gang. They were already laughing and goofing off. Perfect targets. Peter licked his lips shiny and leaned against the side of the booth. He sent what he hoped was a flirty look in their direction. If he couldn't score a kiss from the biggest man whore in school, then he was a failure for sure.
His heart skipped a beat when Tony's eyes met his. The other boy grinned as he took in the booth. He elbowed his friends and the whole group came walking over.
"What do we have here?" Steve Rogers asked. Peter blushed as he looked between him and Tony. Then he spotted Bucky in the back. Three of the hottest guys ever were standing in front of him and sure they were probably about to make fun of him before running off to play, but the idea that they were standing at his kissing booth made his palms sweat.
"Kissing booth," Peter declared, trying to find his confidence when internally he was shaking. "I'm raising money for our nationals trip."
"You guys made it to nationals?" Steve whistled, impressed.
"Is it that surprising with Peter on the team?" Tony added.
Peter blushed. He couldn't tell if they were making fun of him or not, but they sounded so genuine. He cleared his throat. "Two bucks for a kiss if you guys are interested in showing your support."
Tony and Steve looked at each other and they looked at their friends. They all smiled and shrugged their shoulders. Peter wished he knew what secret they were all in on as Steve pulled out his wallet and took out a five dollar bill.
"Two seems a little low don't you think?" He grinned. Peter rubbed his sweaty palms against his thighs. Were they really doing this?
MJ jumped up to take her spot beside him. He grabbed the cash and dropped it into the collection box. "Chaste kisses only, people! No tongues!" she declared.
Peter leaned over the booth, eyes on Steve's handsome smile. He half expected the boy to smash a pie in his face, but instead he got gentle lips pressed against his own for 3- 4- 5 lingering seconds. When he pulled away, Peter's breath went with him. He blinked away the shock as Steve moved out of the way for the next boy in line.
Bucky Barnes slammed his cash down on the table top. "Keep the change, Jones," he announced as he pushed a ten dollar bill her way. He grabbed Peter by the collar, but he didn't break the rules when he pressed their lips together.
Peter wasn't sure what insane reality he'd fallen into where half the football team was willingly kissing him, and paying for it at that, but he never wanted to leave.
Bucky was followed by Rhodey, Sam, and Bruce who all over paid in fives and tens. Then finally there was Tony. Peter couldn't even pretend he hadn't been waiting for him. By the look on the boy's face he knew it, too.
"Got one left for me?" he asked. He was so suave as he leaned on his hands against the table.
Peter nodded, feeling breathless. He swallowed. "Always for you, Tony." Peter blushed as the words escaped, but Tony's laugh was fond.
Peter leaned across the booth to meet him. It was only a soft little kiss, but it made his whole body shiver down to his toes. Seconds passed, he held back in the impulse to moan, to part his lips, to ask for more. MJ cleared her throat and finally they separated.
When Tony stepped back, Peter realized that they had gathered quite the crowd. A long line was forming as everyone wanted to imitate the school's coolest seniors and get a kiss from Peter. Tony looked over his shoulder and smirked.
"Opps," he said with a laugh. "I'm not sure your mouth will survive that line."
Peter laughed with him. "At least we'll get to take our trip."
"How about this," Tony leaned over the booth to speak quietly. Peter's heart skipped at the intimacy of it. "How much for you to close the booth and come on a date with me instead?"
"I uh-" Peter felt his head spin for a second. His palms pressed against the table stop for stability. "Well, I don't know how much Flash made at his booth so I don't know exactly-"
"No problem. Have Mr. Harrington call my dad. He'll send a check."
"Are you sure?"
Tony offered Peter his arm. "Come on. I'll buy you a funnel cake."
Heart fluttering, Peter walked around the booth and took Tony's arm.
"Hey!" Steve cut in. "That's cheating, Tony."
"What?" the boy smirked. "It's not like I'm kidnapping him."
Bucky scowled behind Steve. "Not all of us can afford to buy the booth out, dickhead."
Tony shrugged. "Some of us are born winners, Barnes."
Peter gasped as Steve shoved him and he fell back against the booth. He backed out of the way as he processed what he was seeing. Tony and Steve, absolute best of friends since the sixth grade, were fighting over him. Meanwhile Bucky stood smirking while he held back Rhodey and the other boys looked unsure of who's side to be on.
"Stop it!" Peter screamed. He jumped into the fight, barely avoiding catching Steve's elbow in his ribs as he pushed his way into the middle. Bucky grabbed Steve and pulled him away before Peter could get hurt leaving Tony grinning as he leaned against the booth.
"Let's just all go," Peter suggested before Tony could say anything else to start more fighting.
"I think that's a great idea, Pete," Bucky agreed. He threw his arm around Peter's shoulders and steered him away from the booth. "Unless you jackasses are still measuring up?"
Steve huffed, but his eye roll was friend when Tony bumped his shoulder on the way past. He offered Peter his arm again and he took it with Bucky's arm still on his shoulder.
They walked through the fair in a row of four with the other boys following behind. Peter was anxious after the fight, but he noticed Steve slip his hand into Bucky's back pocket as they walked along and an idea came into his head. Maybe they could all do more than enjoy the fair. But maybe all of this kissing was making him over confident.
They stopped at the basketball hoops and Tony paid the carny. Peter laughed as his own ball hit the edge of the hoop and went flying into the net. They each got two tries and by the end of it, it was Bucky who handed Peter a chubby blue teddy bear that was half his size while Tony and Steve walked away with pocket sized plushies.
"Just for you, gorgeous." Bucky was smug as he handed the toy over. Peter grinned as he squeezed it in his arms. He was undeniably delighted even if he did feel a little bad watching Steve stuff his toy into his pocket while Tony handed his to a passing toddler.
"Don't worry about them," Bucky slung his arm over Peter's shoulder. The other two walked a few paces ahead as they shook off their embarrassment. "They have to learn to quit their bullshit sooner or later."
"I can't believe they're fighting over me."
"They'll get over it. They always do."
Peter looked at him. "Or are you just trying to steal me away for yourself?"
Bucky stopped them in the middle of the walkway. He put his hand gently under Peter's chin, staring deep into his eyes. Peter swallowed.
"Do you want me to?"
"I..." He blinked fog in his brain. "I was kinda hoping... well I was thinking..." He chewed his lip. Bucky waited for him to continue. "Well, you and Steve seem to be... and you know what people say about Tony... I thought..."
Bucky grinned. "It's okay, kitten. Tell me what's on your mind."
"What if I didn't have to choose? Maybe we could all just..." Peter blushed. "I just think we could all have a lot more fun if no one was fighting."
"I think you're as smart as you are pretty." Bucky leaned a little closer. He kissed him again, almost as innocently as he had before. Almost.
"What the hell are you doing back here?" Tony startled them both out of their little moment. Him and Steve stood in front of them now, but Peter couldn't tell exactly what they were thinking. They didn't look angry... Maybe this would be easier than he thought.
"Hey Stevie, that's our ride," Bucky said. He gestured down the path at the flying saucer ride before giving Peter a look.
"Oh, I don't like that one," he said. "You two should go. Me and Tony will wait by the duck pond."
"Perfect!" Bucky unwrapped himself from Peter and slung his arm over Steve's shoulders instead. Peter heard Steve protest, but he stopped quickly at something Bucky whispered to him.
Tony looked pleased as the two of them disappeared. "Just us then." He offered Peter his hand and they started to walk once again down the trodden dirt road.
Peter rolled the idea around in his head unsure of how to bring it up. Eventually he decided the best thing to do was to figure out how all of this even got started. "So what was all of that back at the booth?" he asked.
"What do you mean?"
"You got all of your friends to kiss me so you could take me on a date? And then that fight with Steve?"
Tony laughed. "Yeah alright... Me and Steve weren't sure which of us you're always staring at. We're always together, ya know? I made him go first so I didn't make a fool of myself, but then I saw how you looked at me even after all of that." He stopped abruptly. "I'm not crazy, right? You wanted to come with me."
"Yeah, of course. I'm so happy that you asked me. But I'm really happy that we're all here together."
Tony sighed. "I really like you, Peter."
"I like you too. And Steve and Bucky. And I mean... you guys are best friends. You share everything anyway..."
Tony looked at him for a moment. Then he smiled. "That's not the worst idea I've ever heard..."
"I'm pretty smart, remember? I do decathlon." He gave him a playful smile.
Tony pulled him in closer. "And they would be nothing without you."
They waited by the exit of the flying saucer ride. Tony's hand had slipped into his back pocket and Peter definitely wasn't complaining. When he spotted Steve and Bucky coming out, Steve's cheeks looked a little pink and the color only deepened as they reached the exit.
"You guys talked?" Bucky asked.
Peter grinned. "We sure did. How uh... your talk go?"
"Are you sure about this, Peter? You don't have to be afraid to play favorites. It's okay to just choose one of us," Steve said.
Peter stepped away from Tony to give Steve a soft kiss. "I want this. I don't want to choose and it looks like I don't have to."
Steve's face slowly shifted from a bewildered daze to an excited smile. "If you're sure."
"Definitely sure." Peter handed his teddy bear to Bucky. Then he hooked his arm through Steve's and pulled him along to hook his other arm in Tony's. He looked at Bucky who took his place with an arm around Steve and the bear under the other. "I think the Ferris wheel has room for four."
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mixsethaddams · 10 months
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Soft Steddie summertime ficlet. Pure fluff. ~1700 words. No ratings or warnings.
Twitter got it first but tumblr got spellchecked 😹
One of Steve’s favourite things to do on a hot summer morning, was to stay in bed.
It was his own little form of rebellion. After years of being forced to get up at the crack of dawn to ‘not waste the weather!’ as a kid, he loved nothing more as an adult than to listen to the bird song through the window, muffled by the closed drapes.
He wasn’t always able to break the habit of a lifetime. He spent a long time after his parents stopped coming home still hauling himself up with the sun and berating himself into doing something that was worthy of the good day.
Some people didn’t have the luxury of getting up and going out to enjoy a hot day, so he should just be grateful. He spent more days than he could count sitting at the edge of the quarry, watching the gang play in the water. They loved it when Steve called to see if they wanted to do something for the day. They’d still be half asleep whereas he would’ve been awake for hours, waiting for a reasonable time to pick up the phone.
He would sit with a hot coffee, another little ‘fuck you’ to his mother. He loved warm drinks on sunny days, the way the extra heat made the tip of his nose prickle. His mother insisted he only ever have the awful homemade lemonade she never made sweet enough and steeped the peels in for too long. It was bitter enough to make Steve gag if he didn’t brace himself properly for it.
It wasn’t until the arrival of Eddie Munson that things started to shift for Steve.
He noticed it for the first time when, at one of the many quarry days, Eddie stole a long mouthful of Steve’s coffee before lighting a cigarette and settling down onto the rocky beach next to him.
“Fuck that’s good,” muttered Eddie, wiping a stray drop from his chin.
Steve stared in half-disbelief. Everyone made fun of his little thermos before now.
Steve felt a familiar flutter in his chest.
He’d been ignoring it up until now, convincing himself it was nothing because how could it be, they had nothing in common? Surviving a bizarre mind wizard’s attempt to end the world doesn’t exactly count as a ‘shared interest’.
Steve tested the waters slowly throughout the rest of the day. Nothing too crazy, nothing too deep. Just to see how close to his own opinions Eddie’s answers would land.
“Ed, I’m gonna do an ice cream run. Whats your favourite?”
“Anything lemon lime, man, thanks”
Steve’s favourite was the lemon lime popsicle.
“I got some snacks too, here, which one do you want?”
“Oh shit is that a Baby Ruth? I’m taking that, fuck the kids”
Steve had bought himself that same candy bar.
But Steve shook himself off again because come on, really? They were like, the two most popular things out there.
Only when the kids emerged from the water for their lunch did Steve see a little more of what they had in common.
There were pouts all round when the rules of an on-the-spot game were in dispute.
Voices spoke over each other to get the adults to agree that they were right and their rules were the ones that should be followed.
Steve sighed and prepared himself. Of course, the only options were to either find a new game entirely, or figure out the rules again together as group, right from the beginning.
Steve was used to being fought every step of the way on things like this. Robin and Nancy would make unhelpful comments in jest, and Steve would end up the bad guy for at least two of the gang.
He was about to open his mouth to propose his solution, when Eddie beat him to it.
“So find another fuckin’ game?”
Eddie said it so easily, licking melted popsicle juice from the side of his hand.
“But-!” The protests came immediately. Steve readied himself to dive in.
But Eddie spoke first again.
“If you can’t agree on this one, find another one,” he said firmly. “You wanna sit out here and talk about rules for an hour until its all straightened out?”
Heads shook.
“Didn’t think so. Now fuck off, you’re in my sun,”
Steve watched with wide eyes as the kids, who were really almost college aged by now, went happily back to the water.
“How did you do that?” asked Steve.
“Do what?”
“Make them listen!”
Eddie laughed.
“They had two options, they picked one, simple,” said Eddie with a shrug.
Steve watched Eddie carefully, waiting for more of an explanation that never came.
“What, you had a different solution?” asked Eddie.
Steve shook his head.
“Thats exactly what I was going to say,” said Steve, looking out to the water where they were playing together merrily.
“We good?” asked Eddie slowly, tipping his head to the side.
“Yeah, yeah!” said Steve quickly, realising he’d been staring. “Not used to having someone on my side when they start fighting, thats all,”
Eddie hummed and went back to his candy, occassionally stealing more of Steve’s coffee.
When the sun was finally lowering in the sky and the water was getting that little bit too cool to be enjoyable, Steve and Eddie shared the last cigarette in the pack while everyone else towelled off and gathered their stuff.
“So what, uh…” started Steve. “What would you usually do on a day like this? Or is this your thing?”
Steve was curious if all the little shared enjoyments and opinions of the day would continue. If it would amount to the thing at the top of Steve’s list, that he’d been bred to believe as ‘shameful’.
Eddie hummed around the butt of their cigarette before passing it back to Steve, giving him the last drag.
“Big plans for days like this, Harrington,” said Eddie, stretching out and resting back on his elbows.
Steve felt his stomach twist. He’d gotten it wrong. That was fine. It wasn’t a big deal. Steve was used to thinking he’d found someone he could be himself around and then realising he was wrong.
“I would’ve stayed in bed all damn day,” said Eddie, smiling softly up at the sky.
Wait. What?
“You…bed?” stuttered Steve. “Seriously?”
Eddie rolled his eyes and snorted.
“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” mumbled Eddie. “Don’t waste the day or whatever. You ever stayed in a dark room when its sunny out? Life changing, man. Ultimate relaxation knowing you’re choosing comfort over convention. Trust me,”
Steve was stunned.
“I…I was thinking the same,” admitted Steve.
“It’s nice,” he muttered, not looking up at Eddie and feeling embarrassed somehow. “I like listening to the, um, to the birds, you know? But still being in bed,”
Eddie nodded his head.
“I totally get it,” agreed Eddie, smiling wide. Steve’s chest felt like it was about to burst when they made eye contact.
“Wonder what else we have in common,” said Eddie coyly, leaning in to knock his shoulder against Steve’s hip.
They found out later that night that they both liked a lot of the same things.
They liked how each other sounded when they giggled softly through their first kiss, sitting on the roof of Eddie’s trailer and watching the stars.
They found out they both liked teasing fingertips and gentle pushing and pulling in the right direction.
They found out they both liked to sleep holding hands to ground them against the anxiety that still plagued their little group.
They liked the bubble they created between themselves, and filled it quickly with love.
And now, late into the morning of a blazing hot mid summer day. The phone off the hook since the night before and the walkies designated for emergency use only.
They were lying together, curled up and bordering on too hot under the blanket, listening to the birds.
They listened as the rest of the neighbourhood woke up and spurred to life, cars starting and families yelling.
It was a few weeks since that day at the quarry.
Steve and Eddie had spent every night and most of every day together. They agreed on everything. Well, except pizza toppings, but Eddie would eat all the olives so it was fine. Steve’s dad had once told him that in a business if two people agree on everything, you don’t need to keep them both around.
Steve wrapped his arms tighter around Eddie and said a silent prayer that he never tried to treat a relationship like a business. That was his parents’ mistake, he thought.
It was all very new. Some people still didn’t know the true nature of their increased ‘sleepovers’, but Steve was already aghast at the idea of being without Eddie again.
He knew they’d argue eventually. They’d find a tipping point on something that they wouldn’t see eye to eye on. Steve was ready for that day. He didn’t want to think of them ever fighting but he was realistic. Steve just knew he would never make the same mistakes as his parents did, and he’d do everything he could come out the other side with his Eddie still under his arm.
Eddie stirred fully awake when a car horn blared from down the street.
“Mmmmph!” he whined. “They scared the fucking birds away,”
Steve smiled and pressed a kiss to Eddie’s forehead. Eddie sighed and nuzzled in closer, settling himself in Steve’s neck with a contented hum.
“We doin’ anything today?” murmered Eddie.
Steve stroked his back in long, slow waves.
“Just this,” he whispered.
Eddie nodded, and his body soon went lax as he he drifted back to sleep.
Steve felt like crying, in fact he thought he might. He closed his eyes and rubbed his nose into Eddie’s hair. Steve was almost surprised at the overwhelming wave of contentment that crashed over him.
Years spent feeling guilt for not ‘enjoying the sun’ were slowly ebbing away. How could he feel bad over what he was doing now? How could the love, and safety he felt now, be bad?
Steve selfishly thought he would sacrifice ever seeing the sun again, if every morning was like this.
And it had been, hadn’t it? For weeks now. Steve woke up feeling just like this, for weeks.
Steve smiled to himself and tightened his hold on Eddie’s body. He felt a tear slide down his cheek as he settled himself into his pillow.
The birds returned and resumed their song.
And for hours, Steve listened.
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privitivium · 2 months
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yan, jealous prosciutto x m reader
ive never hyperfixated over prosciutto before. this is new! might be a little unintelligble, wrote in one sitting - apologies!
no nsfw besides very end - kissing, he pushes ice into your mouth.
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Out and about, as a sort of celebration.. of sorts. After successfully carrying out a mission, banding together as per usual - the rowdier men of the group had whooped and pleaded.. leaving you, your partner, and his brother held up at the bar..
"Mhmm.." You hum, suspiciously, eyeing the crowds with your hand placed on Prosciutto's hip without concern of anyone seeing. You were a little ditzy, you can admit that.. but you still get the job done - no matter if it's showing someone a good time or assassinating someone with the help of your companions.. you pull away from holding Prosciutto - scooting down the bar and glancing at Pesci before flagging down one of the two bartenders and kindly ordering a drink. A sort of lemonade, you ordered..
"Here, try this." You slide the glass toward the confused green-haired man, grinning cheekily. "Y'look all sad without a drink!" You pat him on the back, chuckling under your breath when you hear him yelp over the speakers. "Drinking water is perfectly fine, but having a little tasty thing is pretty good too.." you nod. Pesci warily eyes the drink - "Don't let anyone bully you about your tastes.." You tell him, hand on his shoulder as if a father lecturing - glazing over his expression. "Especially your brother.." You glance at the aforementioned warily - jokingly, for good measure, who merely scoffs, looking away and taking a sip from his short glass.
"It is just toughening him up.." Prosciutto remarked lowly, a dangerous edge to his voice as he glances at you at the corner of his eye. "In this world.. I thought you of all people would understand that."
"A-Ahaha.. it's all in good fun, you know? My big bro knows best, i take his advice to heart.." Pesci cracked a grin, at ease - you were the one that didn't make fun of him really.. it was hard not to feel so comfortable - especially, knowing his brothers' feelings about you after they accidentally slipped from the blond.. knowing, that he could be your in-law.. made him a little giddy..
"You here by yourself?" She questions, pulling her hair out of her face and tucking it neatly behind her ear. Cut to an hour later - the gang spread out and the trio of the brothers and yourself splitting with a promise of you going back to them after just one little dance.. when you came back, they were no where to be seen - and now, sitting at the bar like a ruffed up outlaw starring in a hit midwest 80s movie, drinking your Shirley Temple when a young woman saunters up to your side and strikes up conversation..
"No, on official business." You wave off, chuckling. cracking a grin and immediately giving away your serious facade. "I'm here with my friends.. they're all here somewhere." You swivel around, swirling your drink lazily as you gesture out into the crowds. "Oh, yeah? No.. girlfriend? What's your type, hm?" Her voice slurs, and you realize how incredibly bad she was at trying to be subtle. Was she even trying??
"Pretty people." You tell her, lifting your glass and bowing your head. The face of a brooding blond coming to mind..
"Am.. I pretty?" She tilts her head, and you narrow your eyes at her.. she was.. you suppose. Pleasing to look at.. her makeup not smudged, done up cleanly in some sort of style you couldn't recognize with her hair straightened and pulled back..
"You.. you're pretty alright.." You reach over, patting her on the shoulder briefly followed by a lame shrug - before immediately slipping off your chair and trying to locate the bathroom - emptying out your drink faster than you had anticipated.. a glimpse of bright blond that turned green in the blue flashing lights catches your eye - Prosciutto! You wave out to him wildly before hastily retreating into the facilities in the dark corner..
Another what, thirty minutes? Spending that in the bathroom, cleaning yourself up and merely admiring the graffiti on the walls.. you came back to the bar where you last saw a glimpse of your partner..
Hrm.. where did Prosciutto go? They were always sticking together, him and Pesci.. and you find the aforementioned man, hanging out with Risotto. Whining, as you question your leader on Prosciutto's whereabouts.. him, barely responding, but otherwise telling you to stay with them for a little bit.. with no Prosciutto? Augh.. no way, man.. questioning the rest, and getting no luck. It was especially surprising with Pesci, not knowing.. hrmm..
Then, moving onto strangers.. you ask several strangers if they had seen a blond man in a suit leave, repeatedly, before a kind, boisterous person steps up with the truth and points you to the door, hollering over the speakers blasting music that'd make you wanna raveㅡ"Went that way! With some chick!"
... uh huh... a little suspicious, but not too suspicious. After checking thoroughly in the crowds and your spread out companions, nothing.. as the crowds were mainly full of people with dark colored hair.. you decide to try your luck and follow the stranger's directions - wanting your partner, and only him in that moment.. you were rather an emotional person, when it comes to drinking.. wanting to be by your partner and all.. his presence soothes you, in a way. You'd think that's normal.. walking.. and walking down the winding alleyways, you would say you're a few blocks away now.. where could he be? You shake your plastic cup of iced soda, taking a sip.. You.. probably got lost.. turned around, like an idiot you berate yourself for being. And-oh. Not to worry. That familiar silhouette.. and the smoke lingering in the air as you grew near. It was so quiet.. soft whimpers could be heard.
"Prosciutto?" You hear your voice - and it sounds weirdly small, as if you couldn't control your tone.. were you scared? No. Couldn't be. You were certain that it was him in the shadows, no reason to be hesitant.. as you slowly sip on your cold drink, shuffling forward in mere curosity and the sight of Grateful Dead hovering over a body on the pavement - holding onto one of their limbs before they began crumbling. Their voice was.. almost nonexistent if not for the gentle gasps of air filling the silence..
"Still pretty?" He murmurs bitterly, glancing up at you from his cool leaning against the dampened brick wall.. inhaling briefly from his cigarette; the burning tobacco illuminating his face, apathetic, before crumbling away. He appears to be waiting for a reaction.. his jaw clenches, and he pinches the cigarette in his fingers, flicking it away - the old woman's still crumbling body a reminder of who she was and what she was doingㅡ
".. still pretty." You clarify, stepping over the body of the young women who was chatting you up just a few moments ago.. lifting your hand and gently placing your palm along his jaw.. slowly guiding his face to yours - ".. very pretty." You smiled cheekily - sly, and in an attempt to flirt with your partner, you wink and end up accidentally blinking in your attempt to be suave. Ahem. Prosciutto reaches out, no warning - and you realize what was in his other hand. A glass cup he had taken from the bar, luring the woman away.. ice.
His freezing cold hand wraps around the back of your neck - roughly bringing you inward to himㅡand he desperately presses his lips against yours, his lips are so cold.. was that an ice cube?? Being pressed into your mouth.. His tongue is cold! The taste of tobacco hitting your lips distracts you, and you eagerly press forward - lips parting completely and practically giving each other mouth to mouth while a body withers away - messily slurping on ice and sharing a few cubes with one another... you couldn't find it in you to feel remorseful as you were liplocking with a rather serious and intimidating man; you would be distracted to if under the influence and then pulled into a heated kiss.. right?.. Hmm.. yes, this is very much a pleasant surprise, however. Trying to find the person you often bugged around the base and was partly infatuated with, just to see him torturing the woman you had made pleasant conversation with.. argh.. are your pants getting tigher?
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