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zanarkandskylines · 2 months

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₊✩‧₊◜ a kiribaku x reader scenario that’s lived in my head for awhile now! it’s not really a formalized…anything. just fleeting thoughts. ♡ ✿ tangled hearts modern au masterlist ✿ ｡‧˚ʚ wc; ~2.6k ɞ˚‧｡

Thinking about a modern day AU with Kirishima and Bakugo settling down in the countryside for a quiet life away from the hustle of the city. They’re in their early 30s, married and happily tucked away in their own little paradise - until they meet you.

Bakugo works with his parent’s fashion agency as the director of the design department, and is a designer himself. He went to the highest credible fashion institute in Tokyo and graduated top of his class - as expected.

Kirishima is a personal trainer and owner of the local gym. He took a few business classes after high school and general fitness courses to learn all about it. He loves getting to help people and knows almost every single person in town. He also volunteers with the local fire company.

It was the ideal place for them, not too big and not too cramped. Bakugo had his own garden that he cherished while Kirishima loved the backyard for home exercising. Their home was spaced out from their neighbors and gave them the perfect amount of privacy.

The town is only an hour and change outside the city, still remaining close for friends and family by train. Bakugo mostly worked from home and only went into the city office for important meetings and press conferences. He preferred to work in his own space while designing instead of in a buzzing office where anyone could bother him - especially his parents.

Their morning routine was simple: Bakugo would wake up anytime between 6 and 6:30am, rolling out of bed to start breakfast and coffee. By the time he’s done cooking, Kirishima stumbles into the kitchen with his eyes half closed, sleepily making his way over to kiss his husband good morning. They’d sit at the table together and casually talk about their plans for the day or in silence as they enjoyed each others company.

That was all disrupted the morning Kirishima spotted you outside the gym, waiting for it to open. He didn’t recognize you like he did everyone else in town - that immediately caught his attention. Once inside, you introduced yourself and told him how you moved from the city for a new job. The two of you got to talking longer than anticipated and ended up bonding over you being new to town. Kirishima signs you up for his yoga classes the following week, excited to see you mesh with his regulars.

Bakugo’s on his lunch break later in the day at the local market to pick up his usual fresh vegetables and fruits when he spots you browsing the aisle behind him. He peeks over his glasses to see his design logo on the small tag at the hem of your tshirt. He simply smiles to himself, proud to see a garment of his in the wild, and finishes his own shopping.

───

A few weeks go by of getting to know Kirishima as you attend his classes. You’d stop and talk with him afterwards each time, slowly developing a friendship. One day after class, he casually mentions to you that his husband is a great cook and how his food rivals any five star restaurant from the city. On a whim, he invites you to dinner with him and Bakugo at their home - you agree happily. You didn’t have any friends in the area, what’s the harm in meeting people?

You arrive at their cozy home and are greeted heartily by Kirishima at the door as he puts a hand on your back and welcomes you inside. Bakugo turns his attention from the stove to the door, nodding in your direction as he continues cooking. You can’t help but think he looks…familiar.

Their place is gorgeous, tidy and clean, yet homey. There were pictures of their family and friends hung up all over alongside some simple art pieces and knick knacks. You could already tell who decorated versus who didn’t - Kirishima is definitely not the type to decorate so eloquently.

You’re gazing at one of the pictures when the realization smacks you in the face.

He’s responsible for half the clothes in your closet.

Kirishima is married to the Katsuki Bakugo of the fashion world? And you’re in his house for dinner that he’s serving to you?!

The thought makes you dizzy as your face flushes, desperately trying to hide your sudden excitement. And you chose to wear one of the dresses he designed for a collaboration years ago. What are the chances? Kirishima never told you what his husband’s name was, just that he was married.

“Y/N, I want you to meet my husband, Katsuki!” Kirishima excitedly says as he’s walking you to the kitchen. “Kat, this is Y/N. She’s the one I told ya about from my yoga class!”

The two of you lock eyes for a moment before Bakugo looks you up and down, calculating his first impression of you. He wasn’t about to tell you that he’s seen you around town before, he had to play it cool and not make it seem like he already knew you existed.

“Nice ta meet ya,” he greets before returning his attention to the stove. “Dinners just about ready. Ei, can you set the table?”

You all sit down for dinner, and it’s absolutely delicious. Kirishima was not joking about Bakugo’s cooking, every single thing you ate was delightful. You honestly don’t know if you’ve had a better meal than his.

“This is absolutely amazing, Ba-”

“Jus’ call me Katsuki.”

Him cutting you off to correct his name before you even finished saying it made your heart skip a beat.

“Oh, sure. Katsuki, this is honestly one of the best meals I’ve ever had,” you repeat, picking at that last of your vegetables on your plate. “I saw a garden outside. Do you grow them yourself?”

Bakugo grins, glowing at your compliments. “Yep. Anythin’ not in season I grab from market.”

Kirishima watches the two of you interact, happy that he was right about the three of you getting along seamlessly.

You shuffle in your seat at the next pause in your conversation before deciding to ask the burning question on your mind.

“So, Katsuki…what do you do for work?”

He laughs, motioning to your sundress. “Ya don’t have to beat around the bush about it. I can spot my work from a mile away.”

That broke the ice and allowed you to relax, knowing he didn't think you were trying to impress him by wearing his own design. The night went on, way past dinner, where the three of you talked about any and everything. It felt as if they’d already known you their whole lives, the conversation never feeling forced and flowing naturally.

“Shit, I’m sorry for staying so late!” You exclaim while looking at your phone. “Didn’t mean to keep you guys up.”

“Don’t apologize, y/n! You’re welcome here anytime,” Kirishima assured, slinging his arm around Bakugo on the couch. “We’d love to have ya over for dinner again soon!”

You’re about to head out the door when Bakugo gets up from the couch and stops you. “It’s dark, lemme walk you back to your place.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” you insist, but he wasn’t having it. He was already changing out of his slippers and into a pair of sneakers. He held the door open for you as you waved to Kirishima, thanking him again for having you over and that you’ll see him for class in the morning.

You and Bakugo are walking down the dimly lit street toward your apartment complex, hands in his pockets, when he strikes up another conversation about your dress.

“You didn’t need to act so shy about the dress,” he comments. “Looks good on ya.”

You can feel your cheeks get hot again, praying he can't see your reaction in the street lights. "T-thanks! I love your work. I actually have a lot of the clothes you’ve designed…what are the odds?” You trail off at the end out of nervousness, playing with the fabric of the dress.

“Yeah? Good to know.”

The two of you approach your building and he says a simple ‘good night’ as he waves, turning to head home.

There’s a weird feeling in your chest, one that you haven’t felt in a long time. A warmth that floods your body with…you can’t pinpoint it. It makes you sweat, but comforts you at the same time.

Little did you know that the boys were feeling the exact same way.

───

Months go by as the three of you become inseparable - dinners, movie nights, shopping at the market, going into the city together, meeting their friends, walking around town at sunset, picnics in the park, you name it. Kirishima and Bakugo never knew they could feel so comfortable with someone so quickly - it was as if the three of you were meant to find each other.

While the two of them are lying in bed one night, Kirishima decides to open up about his feelings. He rolls over to face Bakugo, his usual pointy hair fluffed around his face against the pillow.

“Kats, I got a question for ya. It’s kinda…weird?” He starts, fiddling with the hem of the comforter. “Do you…uhh, shit. Do you have any feelings toward Y/N?”

Bakugo flips to his side to face him. “What do y’mean?”

“Oh don’t be like that. I think she’s…really cute,” he admits, his cheeks turning rosy. “I enjoy having her around.”

Bakugo grumbles in embarrassment, pulling the comforter up to cover his face. He feels like a high school boy all over again - he just didn’t want to admit it.

They’d both fallen for you simultaneously without even saying a word. Neither of them knew why, they’ve been together for over a decade now - since their college days. No one has ever made their hearts race in sync like you do.

“I’ll take that reaction as an agreement,” Kirishima teases, poking Bakugo’s forehead through the covers. He groans again as he throws the blanket off his face.

“It’s been confusin’ the shit outta me. I love you, Ei and that doesn’t change shit, but goddamn. She’s fuckin’ gorgeous,” Bakugo admits, face and ears burning hot.

“Aw, you’re so cute when you have a crush!” He scoots closer to Bakugo and kisses him on the forehead. “Haven’t seen that side of ya since college.”

Bakugo bats at him playfully, pushing him away as he whines, “Shut the fuck up!”

“So…what do we do about it?” Kirishima’s question hangs in the air between them, heavy…but alluring.

───

The next few times you hang out with the boys, you can tell that things feel a little more…intense? If that was the right word, the feeling was foreign. You found yourself becoming more physical with the two of them, and each time gave you butterflies. You weren’t quite sure what was going on until that fateful night.

It was a dreary night, the remnants of the storm passing through the town. The rain was no longer a torrential downpour and had tapered off into a sprinkle, enough to allow you to walk home safely. You’re heading for the door as Bakugo catches up to you, umbrella in hand.

“Y’know the drill, I’m not lettin’ ya walk home alone. Especially when it’s still raining.”

“Kat, you hate the rain, it’s fine,” you argue, but know it’s pointless. Bakugo waves at Kirishima and you notice Kirishima’s smile is extra wide tonight…and did he wink?

He closes the door behind the two of you and opens the umbrella on the porch, slinging an arm around your shoulders to huddle you under its protection.

The walk to your apartment is silent, an unknown tension lingering in the air. The subtle flexing of Bakugo’s fingers on your shoulder is driving you wild, a simple touch was enough to ignite the fire in your gut. Reaching your apartment complex, you stop to thank him for walking you home like always, but something else spills from your lips instead.

“Did I do something wrong?”

Bakugo’s taken aback by your question, confused where this has come from. “What? No, not at all. Why?”

“I…just don’t wanna make you two uncomfortable,” you whisper, eyes cast to the ground. “I really like you two…and don’t want to come between y-”

The umbrella clatters to the ground as Bakugo throws it to the side, letting the rain pelt against the both of you as one hand pulls you into him by the waist and the other under your chin.

“That’s right where we want ya,” he speaks against your lips. He hesitates, tilting his head back and looking directly in your eyes. “Tell me to back off, and I will. We can act like-”

This time, you cut him off by putting a hand on the back of his head and one on his chest, pulling him to meet your lips. The world stops around you as the rain trickles down your faces and vaguely into your kiss. You tangle your arms around each other’s bodies, illuminated by the soft street lights as your clothes become heavier with rainwater. After what feels like ages, you part, catching the breath you’ve stolen from each other’s lungs.

No words are spoken as Bakugo takes your hand, tugging you back down the road toward their place. You giggle and begin to run with excitement, skipping through the rain with him all the way back. Throwing open the front door, you both take a step inside, soaking wet from the rain. Kirishima glances over from the couch, shocked to see you return with Bakugo.

“Woah! What happened to you two?” he asks, concerned yet intrigued. He then notices you’re holding hands, and it clicks.

You’re stripping the wet clothes from your body faster than you can chicken out of doing so, letting them plop on the floor of the foyer until you’re left in your bra and underwear. Bakugo follows suit and trails behind you as you make your way over to Kirishima on the couch. You take a deep breath before placing a hand on each of his shoulders, sliding into his lap and wrapping your arms around his neck. He places his hands on your waist anxiously, scared you’ll shatter under his touch.

“It’s okay, Eiji,” you coo, leaning down to his ear. “You can touch me.”

You turn back to Bakugo as he’s sitting next the two of you on the couch, reaching a hand out to stroke his cheek. “Katsuki can, too.”

That’s all the permission they need to devour you all night long - over and over again like a drug they couldn’t get enough of. Brief naps in between, each time better than the last. Hands tangled in hair, lips kissing skin in sinful places, and noises only the three of you could orchestrate together.

That was the night their lives changed forever, thanks to you. Things were easy and simple between the three of you - you blended into their routines perfectly as the weeks progressed. Waking up between the two of them each morning was heavenly, especially when they fought over who got to cuddle you through the night. Bakugo usually won that fight until he would go make breakfast, then Kirishima would tuck you under his arm and hold you close.

Everything was so easy between you three, you were the missing puzzle piece in their lives that they didn’t know was absent.

You were theirs, and they were yours - simple as that. They wouldn’t trade their newfound goddess for the world.

i immediately think of @pastelbakugou & @kweenkatsuki-fics when it comes to kiribaku x reader, thank you for being my inspirations! 💜

next entry: delicate (isn’t it?)

#☆.tangledhearts #katsuki bakugo #eijiro kirishima #kiribaku #kiribaku x reader #kiribaku fluff #bakugo x reader #kirishima x reader #bakugo imagine #kirishima imagine #kiribaku imagine

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cheri-2047 · 2 months

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Genshin date headcanons (venti, lyney, ga ming, kaveh)

if i accidentally mischaracterized them i deeply apologize

warnings: nothing it’s mostly fluff, btw it’s established relationship already

VENTI:

He would love to take you on a picnic up on a hill. somewhere where the sun is in the perfect position and where the winds feel nice.

he would have a basket of all your favorites and a bottle or two of wine. (If you dislike wine, he will bring your favorite drink)

you guys would talk and just do whatever and have fun! This man loves to make you laugh, it makes him feel really happy.

afterwards, you guys go on a gliding date. Going down the hill and going around mondstadt wherever you guys please.

At night, he brings you to the tavern to drink (but then again if you dislike drinking, he will take you out to a romantic dinner).

afterwards when he brings you home, he leaves a flower in your hair and gives you a kiss

LYNEY:

this MF would greet you at your house doing a magic trick for you to get a rainbow rose on your hair. He would also say smth flirty as his first greeting like “it was a cloudy day before you, my light has appeared!” Or smth like that

he would take you to his favorite cafe in Fontaine, to have breakfast with you there.

whenever a kid approaches him and asks him to do a magic trick, he would go “alright! But only one okay? I’m on a date with this (if ure a girl, beautiful lady, if ure a guy, handsome man. If ure a diff gender he says with my dearest) and afterwards starts rambling on to the kid about how much he loves you. This man would show you off every single moment he gets.

he would walk you around the streets of Fontaine until he reaches his home. He brings you there and cooks lunch for you, somehow he knows your favorites even if he never told u. This man is strange 😭

after you guys eat he cleans up (and if you offer to help, he would not let you) and you guys cuddle on the couch watching a movie until both of you fall asleep.

GA MING:

He would take you on a dim sum and street food date, all with him paying for it ofc! He would bring you to his favorite street food stalls and you guys get to try the most delicious foods ever.

whenever he sees fellow co-workers, he loves Telling them “I’m on a date!!” He’s really happy and excited you guys are together.

whenever he sees any of his relatives he tells you to run, which actually becomes pretty fun for both of you since ou guys treat it like a heist 😭

When it gets dark, he brings you to a special area in Liyue Harbor. He then performs you a dance that he himself made specifically for you. Obviously this attracts some people so at the end he proudly announces that he made it for his beloved.

He brings you to your home and before you guys part, he hugs you tightly saying “Thank you..I had the best day today my love”

KAVEH:

He’d take you to the palace of Alcazarzaray, showing you around. Hed talk about his experiences in making it too.

you guys hang out there for awhile, talking about yourselves and getting to know one another even more

afterwards, he’d take you to an art museum. Both of you then jokingly judge modern art 😭😭😭😭 and just have fun

afterwards HED invite you to his and haithams home. He payed haitham to let him have the date there and for haitham not to interrupt because this man knows haitham would interrupt you guys 😭

he cooks for you and you guys eat together

afterwards you guys play bored games. You personally invite haitham so that you’d have more players and you’d get good entertainment whenever haitham and kaveh are beating each other

when it reaches night, kaveh invites you to stay. You two cuddle on his bed and sleep in each others arms.

sorry this was not proofread at all and that venti’s part is so short 😭 I tried.

#lyney x reader #kaveh x reader #venti x reader #gaming x reader #ga ming x reader #genshin x reader #genshin #genshin impact #imagines #date #genshin date #Lyney #venti #kaveh #gaming #fluff #genshin headcanons

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aloesarchives · 2 months

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Toji Fushiguro General/Relationship Headcanons #1

TW/Warnings: Profanity, Domesticity, AFAB/Female Reader, the talks of starting a family, little bit of married life (LMK if anything else needs to be tagged)

Pairing: Toji Fushiguro x Fem!Reader

Pronouns: She/Her (Usage of female gendered terms like Sweet Girl, Woman, Princess)

Word Count: 6.6k words

So these head canons exist for all versions of Toji that I write. However, these are more based around Modern/Non-Sorcerer Au and my personal ‘Toji Lives’ Au. But these are also stand alone because they are some general stuff I think about for Toji in general and his relationship with reader. I’m doing a separate head canons where it’s mainly family/domestic fluff with Megumi and Tsumiki. Maybe making more parts if I have more head canons.

Also, I'm starting to plan out the parts for my Toji x Reader/Megumi x Reader mini series. I'll release a google form for those who are interested in the mini series and another one for the continuations of my Suguru x Reader/Satoru x Reader one-shot. So stay tune for any updates in the upcoming weeks!

!!Not proofread and unedited!! 2/22/24 11:26 pm CST

One thing’s more certain, when you first met Toji, you didn’t fall in love right away. Your relationship with Toji was something gradual, building up over time as you kept running into him.

One of your most notable encounters happened in the grocery store you always go to and see him at. Your fridge was getting empty as per usual so you came today to fully stock it. As you were nearing the end of your trip, you stopped by the meat section to grab some meat for tonight’s dinner. Normally, you prefer your local butcher’s but they were on vacation so this would have to do. As you were going to reach for one, another hand reached for the same one, a much larger hand. You quickly retracted and apologized to the individual when you saw Toji smirking at you. The two of you talked for a bit before your eyes wandered towards his basket. It had barely anything in it, to you at least. There were some canned drinks, minimal vegetables, a bag of chips, like a loaf of bread.

“Are you picking some things for your pantry, Toji?”

“Nah, this is my food.”

“For today?”

“For this week.”

You stand there absolutely stunned. By the looks of his nonchalant expression, he was not joking. You didn’t want to ask him if this is how much he can afford to not make him feel embarrassed. So you invited him to your place for dinner and to cook for him. Toji's insistence on declining was strong, but your persistence for him to eat was even stronger. Adding Toji’s grocery and paying for everything. Toji carries the groceries to your place and you both enjoy a warm filling meal for him. The man had never eaten so good before he fell asleep on your sofa right after. The next day, he woke up around 10 am to the sound of you washing dishes. He sees breakfast for two on the table and a large bag sitting on the counter. You tell him to join you and you both enjoy your breakfast. While cleaning up, Toji asks what’s the big bag for and you said it’s for him. You cooked him a week worth of food because you knew he didn't have time or energy. So you handed it to him as he’s leaving, telling him to come back anytime for a good meal. As soon as your front door closes, he’s just standing there trying to understand what just happened. His heart is swelling at your gesture, his face ablaze with a heavy blush, wondering why he is feeling this way for you. And Toji makes the horrific realization that he’s falling for you and it won’t stop there.

Most likely you have to initiate the first hangout because the man is clueless when it comes to interactions, specifically with women in a non-flirtatious/transactional way. He started to like you because you weren’t handsy with him or led the conversation to something else. You were interesting because your interactions were real with no other intentions besides talking to him. You’ll admit he’s hot but won’t say it out loud because you don’t want to say something uncomfortable or overstep your boundaries.

Your hangouts consist of eating at those family-owned restaurants or hidden gems, the food’s good with a good price. Walking around or in a park, maybe hiking if you’re even interested. He doesn’t have money to take you out properly but you aren’t someone who’s into high-end or fancy places because they’re a waste of money in your opinion. You find inexpensive ways to spend time with Toji and it’s fun for you because you don’t have to worry about his expectations because he’s having fun too.

The more he sees and spends time with you, the more he values your company. He starts smiling more and is in a better mood than all his years alive. He definitely isn’t energetic but he isn’t as robotic as he used to be before meeting you. Shui notices this but doesn’t say anything to Toji because he thought he was overthinking things. But when Toji asks him how do you know you’re in love, Shui thought Toji legit went insane. Toji doesn’t want to talk about it but he doesn’t know who the hell to ask so Shui is his closest bet. He asks Toji who got him acting up and Toji shows him a picture of you and he asks Toji if he kidnapped you because he didn’t know he could pull an absolute unit of a woman. And Toji replies “I don’t know man, I don’t even know myself.” Shui is lowkey happy Toji has you. He is fully aware Toji doesn’t have the best background but it’s clear as day you being around him is changing him for the better, undoubtingly saving him.

Toji doesn’t have the best living conditions, he lives by himself in a rundown studio apartment that only had a basic kitchen, a bathroom, and main space that doubled as the living and bedroom. He barely had anything in his apartment other than a futon, a closet, and a table. Got some trash lying around because he doesn’t bother to pick it up. Apartment smells like the back of the house kitchen at a restaurant mixed with the boys locker room in high school. You offered to help clean up. Trash bags full of trash and used cleaning wipes, laundry done and fresh, every surface wiped clean. By the time it was done, his apartment looked brand new. You wouldn’t be surprised that it was trashed again but at least it was clean for once. After your help, Toji becomes a little conscious of his space and cleans it. But this turns into him not using that space because he’s always at your place.

Toji has a habit of ghosting/disappearing without notice. You’re seeing him at the supermarket, next he’ll be gone for like a month or so. Since you really don’t have his phone number, you can’t contact him but it’s not like you two were friends let alone dating at this point. You say it is what it is until one stormy night you heard a hard knock on the door. The next thing you see is Toji, two duffel bags, a cut above his eyebrow while being soaked. You shoved him inside, gave him a towel while patching him, drying his clothes while he changed in your guest bedroom.

Toji lives with you and split the house chores. But since you’re technically the one with a consistent income and job, you mostly are away from the house and Toji is 90% at home. You do grocery shopping or errands before and after work while Toji holds down the fort. It's been a rough few weeks with him but there was progress. And it was good progress.

You find out pretty fast how Toji’s terrible spending habits and crippling gambling addiction. Luckily for you, you have your own bank account so you don’t have to worry about the man stealing your money. However, you do force Toji to give his paycheck from his inconsistent but very high paying jobs. Literally one of his checks had a value of $30 Million Yen! You cashed it in your account so fast and paid all your bills and groceries off for a minimum of 3 months. It never struck why Toji doesn’t see that as much money but you come to learn that his clan is a prominent one with a substantial amount of wealth so that amount doesn’t surprise him. But still, you told him you’re permanently in charge of the finances because you don’t trust him handling any money. Strangely enough, he doesn’t protest at your rule and now whenever he’s done with a job, he instantly gives his cheek to you. You do give Toji some personal spending cash besides for food and necessities, then eventually a card that’s attached to your bank account. But it’s not a joint account but a card that has access to your account. His card has a spending limit to the equivalent of 67.7k yen(roughly $475 dollars) every month. He CAN withdraw money but you are notified through your bank’s notifications when, where, and how much. Even though you two are balling because of his cheeks, you don’t get carried away with the spending because life in the city is too fucking expensive and you need all the money you can get. Plus, you don’t want to raise any suspicion because you’re pretty sure Toji’s money is blood money or from the black-market and you don’t want to draw a lot of attention for your own safety.

Toji only knew how to cook the basics but nothing over the top or fancy. But once he starts living with you, he starts learning how to cook and for all things under the sun it’s fucking immaculate. Toji’s cooking just tests better to the point you assign him on cooking duties since he cooks better and faster than you. Your co-workers are always envious every time they see your lunch. It’s something different everyday but it’s delicious and filling but not the kind that makes you lethargic. It’s so fucking good that you two don’t eat out as much because his cooking has evolved to peak gourmet. Lowkey is happy you like his cooking and it gives him motivation to continue his work if it puts you in a good mood.

Which brings up another point. I believe Toji is capable of gaining multiple useful skills, it’s just he’s unmotivated. Like he could be good at changing tires, plumbing, handy-man work, cooking, any installation, anything under the sun, but he chooses not to because he doesn’t feel obligated to do so. But it all changes when he starts living with you. Man becomes a jack of all trades and he basically makes life easier because you have him fix/do what needs to be done all the while you’re saving money. He’s a fast learner too. Pretty much once he does it the first time and it works without breaking/doesn’t turn out like shit, it’s locked in his head and knows how to fucking do it.

Initially, Toji is lazy because he is a go with the flow type of guy that doesn’t concern himself with appearances. If it’s livable, not rotting, and doesn’t smell rancid, he’s not going to touch it or bother picking it up. That’s why his apartment was a mess because he’s able to live in those conditions because they’re his own, that's not a thorn in his side. Like he’ll leave his clothes by but not near the hamper because he’ll eventually pick them up when it’s laundry day(you end up picking it up but you started to trip over them while in the bathroom). But you establish a routine for Toji to follow. He doesn’t have to follow it exactly but you said there should be at least 4 main components to it. Literally forcing Toji to pick up habits so he’ll be more productive and conscious of his time.

Took some time but he eventually attaches to it because it mostly revolves around your schedule. It got to a point where he would be waking you up for your work, getting you your morning drink and a decent breakfast, getting your work bag with your lunch inside, all the while getting you out on time. If not, 5 minutes early so you can be on time for work. I can imagine him saying stuff along the lines of:

“Shakes your shoulders firmly (Y/N), Wake the hell up. You slept through your alarm and it fucking woke me up. You gotta get out of the door in 30 minutes or you’re going to be stuck in traffic, dumbass.”

“Oi (Y/N), it’s 6:00 am. You have 15 minutes to get your ass up and get ready for your work. Before 6:20, you better have your work clothes on when you come into the kitchen because I already made your breakfast.”

“I’m trying to get you out of the door early so you can catch the early train and beat the morning rush. Here’s your lunch and your work bag. Make sure you have everything because I’m not going to bring it to your work if you ask me to.” (He does anyway)

“Hey, it’s going to rain hard later so here’s your umbrella cause I don’t you to fucking sick knowing how you get careless with yourself some times. Pain in my ass…”

So you kinda tamed Toji, this wandering stray cat that was 6’2 and built like a concrete pillar. But you didn’t make it your whole personality trait because 1.) you think it’s pretty fucked up to think helping Toji/people like him is more of a project than genuine compassion. 2.) And you roll your eyes when people say you ‘“fixed” Toji. You just say “Um, no? No I didn’t, Toji picked himself up and changed because he decided to. Not because I FIXED him or him changing isn’t my doing because you be surprised by the amount of people that stay the same because they chose to.” Another reason why Toji fell for you is because you see Toji as a whole human with flaws, you humanized him. You don’t parade him around like some sort of object, you acknowledge his presence and it makes him fall in love with you even more.

Definitely have arguments for sure early on that were rougher compared to being together for a while. Again, this is mostly due to him growing up and being treated as sub-human. He’s vocal not because he chooses not to communicate. But because he doesn’t know how, especially with you, his safe person and your home being his safe space. He was used to being neglected, dismissed or straight up abused altogether. But now that he’s living with you, he’s trying to dismantle his old mindset while learning how to communicate/vocalize his thoughts. He feels he’s unworthy of you because you have an immense amount of patience and understanding for him. Sure, there are your flaws but so does he and he knows living with someone like him is harder than anything else. So he’s appreciative of your efforts and faith in him.

He knows he has a loud voice and is careful when he loses his temper. Obviously for noise complaints but also for because it can be startling and scare you. God, one time you both almost got into a yelling match because of something miniscule and irrelevant but it transformed into something deeper that you didn’t know why you two were fighting about it in the first place. But the way he snapped at you and you unconsciously flinched at him, his heart felt heavy and cracking. He never saw you scared before but the thought of him being one of your fears terrified him immensely. He softens himself and deflates his body to show the surrender of his pride. He ACTUALLY genuinely apologies to you and opens his arms out so you could hug him.

Most of the arguments are just you being frustrated with him. Mostly this was early on with his lack of routine and productive habits, like him not picking up his clothes and leaving his cups everywhere. But Toji is one of those passive guys where he doesn’t like arguing with you and wants to end it asap. Even if he’s not in the wrong, he’ll just admit and apologize to you so you aren’t mad at him anymore. He doesn’t like it when you’re mad at him. Sometimes it can escalate to heated ones but those happen rarely and only exist when something snowballs. He may give an attitude here and there but you mostly know that’s him being himself and he doesn’t mean it.

Your relationship didn’t have a definitive label but the lines are blurred between the two of you. You two hug and hold hands sometimes but it’s more than platonic but not enough for love either. Through large and tight crowds, Toji lets you hold onto his arm , has his hand firmly pressed on the small of your back, or holds your hand tightly as he makes his way through. It’s common for you two to be passed out on the couch together or on the floor after watching a movie or a show. Or how he leans his head on yours when on the train, even carrying you home if you fell asleep and doesn’t have the heart to wake you up because you're tired from work. What you have with Toji is nice and comfortable but you do end up loving him because he makes your life warm and worth living. You just don’t know if he’ll feel the same. Oh but he does, he fucking does. But he doesn’t know how to say the three magical words because he never heard them at all when he was growing up. Let alone someone saying it to him.

You definitely say I love you first before him. Because let’s be honest, this man never knew what the hell ‘love’ or true love is. This man grew up in a traditional family that prioritized status, reputation, influence, and anything under that umbrella for traditionalism. So love was never an important aspect of his clan. So for you to show him the true wonders of love and its ups and downs, he’s overwhelmed and a little ashamed because he’s trying to adjust and get used to this feeling. He isn’t a fairly vocal man but he’ll forever be grateful for your patience, kindness, compassion, and understanding towards someone like him. He freezes when he hears you say it to him with such tenderness and warmth only you could give him. You know he’s not ready to say it back but you couldn’t help but tell him because it needed to be put out there for both him and you. You told him he doesn’t have to say it if he’s not ready or doesn’t feel the same. But you also said that you truly only care for and love him only.

But when he said “I Love You” to you, you knew he meant it with all his heart. You could remember it clearly because it was storming with heavy rains. Flash flood warnings are being sent out and weather channels are telling citizens to stay indoors and not leave their homes. Toji has been trying to call you for the past hour but you never picked up. His anxiety was rising, fearing you were stuck or possibly hurt. He says fuck it and grabs his jacket to go out when you open the door just as he was about to leave. Your clothes were wet but not soaked but you held your shoes in your hand while dropping your umbrella and bag on the floor. You tried to explain to Toji that your phone died at work before you could ever call him. There was a flooded street and so you had to take your shoes off to not get them ruined. You did grab him some food though beforehand but that didn’t matter to him when he saw that you were safe and unharmed. He hugged so tightly through your wet clothes when he said the fabled words to you.

“Goddammit, I fucking love you, (Y/N). I was so fucking worried about you. I thought you were in trouble or something, Sweet girl. . .”

You started to cry when you heard him say that you kissed him on the lips by impulse. You thought you fucked up and try to apologize only for him to return your kiss with his only while you hold his face and his hands on your waist. Fuck it was beautiful.

Pretty much after that, you both were in the trenches of love with each other. Fuck it’s so tooth-rotting to see it that Shui jokes and teases the hell out of Toji because that man changes his whole demeanor when you call him. He calls him out on how his voice changes from its usual monotone gruffness to low but soft. Toji tells Shui, “I’m a changed man.”

People are so jealous of you two. How the hell did Toji bag you!? The most ethereal, beautiful, compassionate, kind, funny, and respectable woman?! And how lucky did you get finding such a fine specimen of a man?!

Toji’s pronouns are literally HE/HIM because Toji is HIM while you’re the IT girl with the one of your pronouns being SHE/HER because you are HER FOR REAL ON GOD.

You two are the IT couple, I don’t make the fucking rules. There’s you being the best version of yourself and you unapologetically. Then there’s Toji who’s hot AS FUCK and following his favorite girl around because you’re the only girl for him, BEST GIRL. He is just there but with you nevertheless.

You’re the couple people make those cool edits of, I’m not even joking.

Knows how to drive both automatic and manual but as an automatic cause because of you. You are on permanent passenger princess duty because this man is your chauffeur until he dies or has no legs. Drives with one hand on the wheel and the other is either on the gearshift, your hand, or your thigh. Looks hot every time he turns or reverses because his biceps show themselves and it’s dangerous for you because it makes you feral.

IDK if it’s just me but Toji seems like the guy to buy a whole rotisserie chicken just for himself. He’ll buy one for you, of course. But one of those bad boys is his because he’s not sharing! After a workout or work, he’ll eat it with no signs of meat left on the bones. They’re so clean he even eats the cartilage.

Toji seems like one of those individuals that looks full grown when he’s younger like in his early 20’s and just stops aging altogether. Not like his entire appearance stays the same, it's just his genetic game is so strong and good people believe he's like 25 when he’s actually in his mid to late 40’s. You and him are like cheese and wine. Both perfectly paired together, and the aging is unnoticeable but you both taste divine.

His closet is the most basic and uncomplicated. T-shirts, undershirts, sweaters, hoodies, joggers, sweatpants, maybe one pair of black cargo pants but that’s about it. He always wears sweaters or hoodies when he’s out because he lowkey doesn’t like to be stared at unless it’s you. He knows his compression shirts would make people drool so he opts out of showing up in them unless it’s super hot or he’s too lazy to cover up. Toji definitely would wear those oversized Uniqlo t-shirts for men. He has the black, dark green, and dark blue ones. Fucking never leaves the house with his fucking sandals or black kung-fu slippers. You buy a pair of black Air Force 1’s, Vintage Black Arizona Grip Birkenstocks, and some Doc Martin black leather boots(1460 Smooth Leather Lace Up Boots). You had to up his shoe game because there is no way you’re letting him only have two pairs that are very worn out.

People think he isn’t all that because he’s chill and uncaring most of the time. In reality, Toji knows how to tap into his inner dawg like a switch. He’s really good at hiding it and not making it obvious. But like then snap! He summons his inner dawg and menacing aura. You could be talking to someone unaware that is staring them down. You smile at him and his aura changes so fast as he smiles at you in return. But as soon as you turn away to continue talking to the person, the menacing aura just returns. His aura is so intimidating and menace-like that people genuinely grow anxious and fearful. So much so that they could piss/shit themselves or even throw up if they didn’t have a strong will.

Personally, Toji is more of a German Shepherd boyfriend than a black cat boyfriend. IDK, it just makes sense to me. Like he talks and isn’t hostile to people he knows like you and Shui, literally the only two people in his life that he’s close with. But everyone else, he either hates them or doesn’t give a single care in the world.

I also personally think Toji isn’t stupid and he's actually intelligent. I think his past issues and how he was treated is the reason he seems like an incompetent person. But really, he’s pretty smart. I know this doesn’t involve the canon but the fact Toji knew which weapons to use on Satoru, beating Suguru with an inch of his life but not killing because he knows what Suguru’s technique can do if he does, and the whole plan with the bounty on Riko was pretty genius. Look, I’m not trying to vouch for him for what he did. But you can’t help but admit what Toji did was impressive. He worked smarter, not harder compared to other people. Especially letting the curse user do all the work for him while he gets to deal with the easy part and go in for the kill. The man came prepared to get the job done. I mean I would too if there was $30 million yen on the line. Sure, he’ll forget to pick up on some social cues. But once the man locks in, he'll be the most observant and perspective person in the room and he’ll learn something about someone just by their body language and simple mannerisms.

Not sure if this is confirmed or not by Gege but I read someone where that Toji is into philosophical conversations. But I can see because, again, he’s intelligent and has seen/learned a lot of stuff from his hits/jobs. Toji isn’t one of those smartasses that you experience in those advanced classes. He’ll earnestly speak his mind if you ask and what you have to see. He always finds it interesting hearing things from your point of view and I feel like this is one of the ways you two grew close to one another.

You two got married because you just popped the question to him and said yes. You two didn’t have rings at the time but he did buy you the one you wanted but the band had some black on it. His was a solid black wedding band to match yours. Up close, it looks pretty cool. He bought the rings because he asked Shui for any hits/“jobs” that were available on such short notice after you two got married. A week later, Shui notices it and asks him if he finally tied the knot with you. Toji just nods.

Took your last name then both of you decided to add another last name, deciding on Fushiguro. King shit right here. Not afraid or ashamed he took your last name as a middle finger to his clan.

This isn’t a Toji head canon but I can see Shui being a bro and giving Toji consistently well-paying hits/“jobs” because he knows how much you mean to Toji and Toji has to provide for you too. You both would be sleeping and Toji hears a notification go off and knows Shui sent him a job that will be done by tomorrow afternoon.

Routine wise, nothing changes between the two of you. However, Toji is more open and affectionate with you. Especially with nicknames, he rarely uses your real name at home. God, when he calls your names of endearment, you’re going to fucking explode from how deep and gentle voice gets calling out to you.

He also loves hugging you from behind and having you in his arms. Definitely gives good hugs, they give the right amount of squeeze but are so warm and protective. Is more daring with his kisses, would steal a kiss whenever he gets the chance.

Toji is the type to sleep the closest to the bedroom door. Doesn’t matter where the door is, your body is always in front of him. Just in case something happens, he can/will protect you and he can use his body as a shield to protect you.

Unironically a good listener, legit has a good hearing canonly in reality. He just carries his resting nonchalant face all the time. He could be focused on something or not looking your way, but Toji is listening to you speak and will recite your words right back at you if you think he is. This also helps if you’re someone who tends to forget things or need reminders. He’ll tell you what you were supposed to do 5 minutes ago word for word if you ask him.

Sleeps in his boxers only. Might sleep in a shirt and sweatpants when it’s colder. But Toji’s body mass produces enough heat to be a furnace that you both only sleep with one blanket. He’s always warm. If you get cold hands, fear not because they’ll be warm in five seconds if you place them on Toji’s abs.

Fairly possessive to an extent. It’s usually blended in with protectiveness because one can bleed into another. Like he’ll let you to your own devices but isn’t going to whine if you have guy friends. Toji can read between the lines, he has really good social cues. But he’ll straight up tell you he doesn’t like your male friends/co-workers if they are interested in you romantically. You’re his girl, he wants people to know it. But he would literally kill for you and bring the Heavens to their knees just to keep you safe and protected. Would literally take the fall for you in anything, you can’t change my mind on that. Toji: “Your honor, my girl did nothing wrong. It was self-defense.”

Toji has self-esteem issues for sure. You could have anyone in the whole world, anyone in this lifetime. But you choose him, and always chose him. The amount of times Toji had to get/do something while you wait for him only to come back to see a random-ass guy talking and trying to get your number. His heart would squeeze at the scene because he wouldn’t blame you for going for someone better. But when he sees you say “Sorry to break it to you, but I’m with my boyfriend and he should be back any second now.” Seeing your eyes scan for him and the way your face lights up seeing him made his heart inflate, making the squeeze disappear. You speed walk to Toji, ignoring the dude, and hug his arm tightly. Toji kisses your head as he walks with you not before throwing the dude a shit-eating grin his way. After that, Toji knows you’re loyal to him and that’s a fact.

But if we’re going to be honest, none of us would leave Toji if he treated us well and deservingly. Plus he’s strong and has the body that even the Gods are jealous of, how are we gonna fumble a bag like that? Ngl, if I meet Toji in real life, I’d run in the other direction fucking scared b/c I’m not fantasy me and fantasy me is better.

Nicknames for you consist of Doll, Babe/Baby , Honey or Hun, Dear, Sweet Girl, Sweet Thing, Princess.

Toji is the type of man to say “Wear whatever the fuck you want, Doll. I can fight” and says it with his chest with no questions asked because it’s true. Toji got that win streak with zero losses under his belt. But then again, no guy will try to hit on you when they see Toji giving them the ultimate stare down when they try to do something funny.

Once gut punched someone so hard they were sent flying while throwing up what they ate for the day because they tried to make a physical move on you and Toji’s instincts just took over.

Toji definitely brawls and fights. He could get jumped by like 10 dudes and send all of them to the hospital completely unscathed. But his beatings get more aggressive if he is with you. Like if you two are out and some guy tries to hit on you and uses his group to intimidate him, you give Toji the approving nod and he’s just giving all of the most devious combos to ever grace this plant while you're sipping on your drink watching it all unfold.

Also, Toji isn’t letting things slide when you’re uncomfortable, annoyed, or God forbid, scared. One time, you told Toji you were going to get food for both of you at your favorite local restaurant/bakery/cafe. But you were gone longer than expected so he went to find you and saw you talking to a guy. He was confused at first because you usually tell them off or leave automatically. It wasn’t until he got closer when he saw the severity of the situation. To any passerby, it’s two people but then up close you can see the guy’s friend right behind him, backing him up and purposely corning you so their pressure would make you say yes but you held your ground. But you were lowkey scared because they trapped you in an abandoned lot that was hidden from the public eye. So when Toji saw how your body shrunk and clutching your bag of food to your chest, that was his green light to go in. Toji grabs the guy’s throat, his hand being big enough to get a good grip. His eyes are cold and daunting, telling the guy, “You must have shit for brains because she clearly isn’t interested in you. It’s not cool to corner a woman with your bitch-less friends.” That’s his only warning to them before he boxes all of them. Took him 2 minutes max and he’s pulling you along with your food in his other hand.

Toji also would be more than okay if you ask him to pick you up or drop you off from work. You both have a car but it’s cheaper and more convenient to take public transportation. Like he’ll walk with you to work and leave once you’re inside. Once you’re off, you see him outside waiting for you. Your co-workers you vibe with wonder who’s the handsome guy that is always waiting for you and you say that’s your husband. They’re gawking at him and say you’re so lucky.

Hates him when people tell him what to do but will follow every command you give him. You’re the only one who can boss him around and he’s actually happy to oblige. Responds with “Yes, Sweet girl”, “Anything else, Honey?”, or “Of course, Dear/Babe/Baby”.

Toji is the type of man to follow you anywhere and do anything with you as long as it makes you happy. The type of man to be like “It is what it is, I’m not gonna complain”.

His body is made from the amount of work he has to do for his occupation. He doesn’t need to go to the gym because he gets a full pump by doing push ups alone at home. Does pull ups in the doorway, has a heavy barbell and dumbbells set in your home because you allowed him thinking it would make him productive. Literally puts body builders and any gym goers to shame. His strong body is built by his job alone and his body’s innate ability to gain muscles and keep a low but healthy fat percentage.

Doesn’t drink because he has a very high alcohol tolerance and also he can’t get drunk too. So if you’re not into drinking, he can always keep you company and will back people off if they pressure you into drinking even though you declined. He can see the amusement in drinking culture but he doesn’t drink himself because he hates being under the influence. He won’t mind if you do and he’s more than willing to pick you up from a night out of friends. Not a fan of bars but will go if you ask him to, your drinks are always protected.

Thinks he can rizz you up but it’s you who has the most powerful rizz out of the two.

If you’re having a bad day or just having a mental/emotional breakdown, Toji will try his best to comfort you. If you want him to hold you, he will hold in a loving and protective embrace. Definitely say things like, “You’re going okay, Baby”, “I’m here, Honey. I gotchu”, or “You’re with me, Doll. I won't let anything happen to you.” Not really good with advice but Toji always listens to what you have to say. He will get you anything you need or make you any food you’re craving at the moment. The man would literally go on a last minute grocery run to make you your favorite food to make you feel better. It makes him feel at ease when your mood lightens up or you smile at him.

Not a picky eater but eats the same types of foods because Toji doesn’t get sick of them that easily and he doesn’t have to think too hard on what to eat. But he will make something different everyday for breakfast, lunch, and dinner for you. He would judge you for eating the same food over and over again but not him because he eats just so to satiate his hunger.

He’s your infinite garbage disposal. You’re full or don’t want to finish your food, Toji will eat it for you. His hunger can be satisfied but his body has a large capacity until it reaches full. He never knew what it was like to be full.

Toji is always the big spoon. Maybe some nights he likes to be held by you but he’s the big spoon no matter what. Probably because he desperately needs to feel your presence in the dream world and protect your physical body. More of a back sleeper than a side sleeper but can sleep in either position. Sleeping positions consist of his arm around you and you’re tucked into his side while using his shoulder as a pillow, sleeping on his chest/on top of him, or back hugging you where his massive body engulfs your own. He loves being close to you when sleeping and hates when you’re not in his arms.

Most likely Toji will have nightmares because he feels like he doesn’t deserve you. If not, feel his life he has with you is even real. Sometimes the dark void is there with shadows looming closer to consume him the more he continues to think like that. It’s not until he wakes up to see your sleeping face and gently caresses it is when he realizes this is life was real, you are real and right in front of him. He smiles like a fool before kissing your forehead and holding you close.

Never has thought about his future because he didn’t think he would live this long, or have a domestic life. But now that he has you and is married, he constantly thinks about the future, your future together. He couldn’t imagine a future without you, it’s not possible for him. He imagines having a family with you and hopes you share the same idea as him.

I know these are wild and don't make sense for his character but let me dream, okay?! I've been simping for this man since October 2020, I've been waiting for this, lol. Anyway, thanks for the support!💙❤️

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totheblood · 1 year

Note

Helloo :D

Can you do hcs of what it would be like to be friends w benefits with ellie 🫣

a/n: i been waiting on this one ngl... fwb is like the best and worst trope to me... IM SORRY IM SO SICK IN THE HEAD I LOVE U TOXIC ELLIE... also this is modern!ellie.. if this isn't what u meant then im so sorry and i will rewrite it.. not smut but smutty? AI AUDIOS AT THE END

p,s. i lost this when i finished it cause tumblr is the worst and i had to rewrite it so this is a testament of how much i love you guys and i am so sorry if u hate it

fwb!ellie headcanons

it kind of just happened one night after your friends abandoned you at a party and ellie offered to walk you home

you were always close friends with ellie but had gone to the party with a different friend group

...your straight friend group

and you were touch-starved

and ellie was TOUCH-STARVED

so when your tipsy ass asked ellie if she wanted to come inside with you she couldn't say yes fast enough

if she was being honest she was tipsy too

and high

and the alcohol coursing through both of your systems just amplified every touch

it would start gentle with soft kisses

but quickly pick up pace as you moan into her mouth

she wouldn't even make it to your bedroom, pushing you up against the wall and kneeing you

your moans only cause her to want to feel you, her asking for permission before ever touching you

her hands eagerly undo your belt before snapping the waistband of your panties with her fingers

she dips her fingers into your underwear, quickly rubbing circles into your clit

"shit... i'm barely touching you and you're already soaking wet."

"fuck, ellie."

"fuck, you feel so good... this all for me?"

but promptly after fucking you ellie feels sick to her stomach

it's like the reality that she has now fucked her very close friend, who she has always thought was pretty, hits her all at once

so she's quickly throwing her t-shirt on and frantically looking around your place for her flannel

"you're leaving?"

you break her out of her trance and as she looks at your swollen lips and worried eyes her brain is telling her: run, run, run

if it wasn't clear before ellie has no idea how to deal with her feelings

like at all

all she really knows how to feel is guilt & horniness

"yeah well, this wasn't anything serious... we're just friends, right?"

"right, yeah, i know that. it's just really late and cold. you can take the couch.

"right... thanks."

yes, ellie is disappointed that you weren't disappointed and yes, that's toxic

but you were disappointed and there is no way in hell you would be caught dead admitting that

ellie is gone by the morning

it continues every night for about a month straight

one of you is either calling or texting and ending up in the other's bed night after night

ellie will occasionally spend the night (on your couch) and wake you up for your morning classes

or wake up early and buy you breakfast

she tells herself that since she's not cooking the breakfast it doesn't make it coupley

sometimes you two will go out for dinner beforehand... it's not a date it's what ellie likes to call a 'pre-workout snack'

you two will study together and celebrate your grades on tests by trying new things out with each other

"you got an A-? so i'm getting fucking lucky tonight… hell yea"

soon enough she's leaving every party with you

and waiting by the phone for you to call

and thinking about what you are doing

or what you are wearing

and it's all really nice

until it begins to overwhelm her and suddenly she feels like she can't breathe

she didn't like how everyone began to call you a "couple" or how much it bothered her when you would talk about people you were attracted to

or how she wanted to punch their faces in

so she begins to avoid all your texts and calls and avoids going to every party she's invited to

she doesn't even check your social media anymore

it all comes to a head when she's walking on campus and spots you coming from the opposite direction causing her to immediately turn around

"hey, ellie! what the fuck?"

she turns around, an awkward look on her face and all she manages to say is: "what's up?"

"what's up? what's up is that you've been avoiding me. all my texts and calls. what gives?"

"i'm just over it. it got too... close.. for me. you're not my girlfriend so stop acting like you are!"

the minute it leaves her mouth and she watches your face shift from anger to sadness she feels sick to her stomach

"wait, i didn't mean it l-"

"fuck you, ellie."

she goes home and has to stop herself from throwing up

she has no one to talk to about this because she knows she's being an asshole

to make matters worse all she really wants to do is talk to you about it

and she can't

so she just wallows in her apartment and avoids you as much as she can

until she can't

her heart nearly stops when she receives a call from you in the middle of the night and you're crying on the other end asking her to pick you up

"ellie, i'm so so sorry... i wouldn't do this to you if i didn't have a choice but they all left me and i didn't know who else to call and... i need you."

"sh, it's okay... hold on, baby. i will be right there. everything will be okay."

she blows through a couple of stop signs on the way to get you and her heart breaks at the sight of your tear-stained face

"hey, are you o-"

"please just drive, ellie."

ellie takes you back to your place and you fully expect her to leave but she helps you upstairs, takes off your makeup, and tucks you in

you fully expected her to leave but when you wake up she's there in your kitchen

and she made you breakfast

"ellie, what are you d-"

"hey, you're up. do you think you could sit down, have some eggs, and just listen to what i have to say? can you do that?"

"um, sure?"

she takes a deep breath before starting and you make note of how she avoids eye contact with you

"i'm not good at this… or i thought i wasn't good at it and it scared the shit out of me. my whole world became you and i was looking forward to seeing you, and talking to you, and touching you, and i got so scared that it could all get taken away at any moment. so scared that i just sabotaged the one good thing in my life. i'm so sorry, is there anyway you could forgive me?"

"of course i can, you freak"

ai audios:

#asked & answered #Anonymous #ellie williams #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams smut #ellie williams tlou #ellie williams x reader smut #ellie williams the last of us #ellie williams tlou2 #ellie williams fanfiction #ellie williams fanfic #ellie williams fan fic #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams x you #ellie williams imagine #ellie williams oneshot #modern!ellie williams #college!ellie williams #ellie williams one shot

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fraugwinska · 23 days

Note

Could you do a backstory to Hard Day? Like, how Al decided to give up control, and the first time it happened 🥺🙏

Ummm... well, I may have gotten myself a bit lost in this one :D Idk, It's gotten quite out of hand, 2,5 k words... but...um yeah :D Praying you like it :> Attention - we cook with Chili, not salt today! (MDNI)

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

The hardest Day

„That's so unrealistic! I mean, in what world would a lion eat bugs instead of the fucking fat juicy PIG?!“

„It's a kids movie, asshole, shut up!“

The gang was sprawled out in front of the TV, blankets and popcorn everywhere. Charlie got her hands on a rare copy of 'The Lion King', and invited everyone to a 'nice, unproblematic, quiet' movie night. She didn't account for Angel's constant commentary, Husk's annoyed retorts to him or Niffty's gleeful giggling at the most unfitting scenes. Vaggie, frustrated by them, started adding to the chaos, sending scolding remarks in intervals at either of them, while Charlie tried to mediate in between songs – which she always sang along with.

You, however, were highly entertained – even though you didn't catch anything from the movie, just watching them was amusing enough. The only one missing was Alastor, who had 'business to attend' and was gone since breakfast ended.

He would've hated it anyway, you knew he had no interest in movies, let alone modern ones, and group activities like these were often straining on his patience. Although getting in the hotel last, you were the one who grew the closest to him. Why? You couldn't say definitively. Maybe it was because you never took his veiled jabs by heart. Maybe because you didn't treat him the way the others wanted you to – with care, with ignorance, with suspicion; but instead with respect, an open mind and without judgment. Maybe it was because you could challenge him – discussions about books you both read could last hours, with points given to either side equally – no winner, no loser, both richer.

You liked Alastor. Really liked him. You also had a silly, little crush on him, for a while now, but you kept that to yourself, nothing going further than a few flirtatious moments 'in good fun', calling each other 'doe' and 'buck' with a laugh. A joke between friends. Friendship, you decided, was enough for you, if it was for him.

The entrance doors slammed suddenly, making you all jump in your seats. Alastor stood at the door, looking... different. Stressed? You cocked a brow when you saw his eye twitch, while he sauntered over to the group.

„Al, do you want to join us? We're watching a movie!“, Charlie said absent-mindedly, her eyes glued to the scene of 'Can you feel the love tonight'.

Alastor gave the TV set a judgmental smile and waved his hand. „Tempting, but it has been a rather hard day, I'll just take a drink and retreat to my room, dear.“ He left the group and went to the bar, your pair of eyes the only one following him. Something was NOT right. His smile was tight, his eyes wider than usual, his movements almost jagged instead of fluid. Niffty had jumped to the bar too, insisting on helping Alastor by retrieving a glass for his whiskey from one the higher shelves. In her eagerness to climb and get it, she didn't watch her steps careful enough, resulting in a few delicate wine glasses sliding from the shelfves and breaking into a hundred tiny pieces. Alastor's reaction was as unexpected as it was worrying – he always had a soft spot for Niffty, laughing over her antics and chaotic energy, often encouraging her even to produce more mayhem. This time, however, he started to scold the maid, who blinked at him with a big, guilty eye and trembling lips.

„Such indignation, really Niffty. Clean the shards at once, and try not to remain to be such a clumsy clot.“, he almost hissed, grabbing the bottle and a simple crystal glass before striding away hastily. Your eyes followed his figure until he turned the corner to the staircase, then you got up and comforted the little demon, helping her sweeping up the glass pieces while she sniffeled tears away.

You let your gaze swipe over the group, completely ignorant about what happened with Niffty, and Alastor. Ignorant of the blatantly obvious bad mood of the deer demon.

Turning to Charlie, you whispered to her that you had a headache and would be going to bed, to which she just nodded. No one acknowledged your leave, all eyes on the screen and still bickering noisily. A bunch of friends, you are, you thought annoyed with a shaking head.

Three flights of stairs later, you reached Alastor's room. You pressed your ear to the door, and heard dull bangs, like something was thrown, and a muffled voice. You knocked, and the room instantly stilled.

„Alastor, it's me.“, you said loudly, brows furrowed. „Are you okay?“

A few seconds of silence. „I'm just fine and dandy my dear.“

You put one hand on the door. He normally would open it, to speak with you directly, face uncomfortably close to face, just the way he liked it. But it stayed close.

„You didn't look fine.“, you stated. You were ever so stubborn.

„Well, I am fine. Now shoo, darling, good night.“

You stood in front of the wooden divider, contemplating. You could just go. Leave him be, wait until tomorrow. See if he would talk to you then. But then, there was your gut. And it told you Alastor wasn't well. And that just didn't sit right with you.

„Alastor. Please, let me in.“

No response, just hint of the prickling feeling of static electricity on your skin.

„I know something is bothering you, and I'm worried.“

No response. You breathe in and out.

„I'm not going anywhere until you open the...“

The door flew open, a hand wrapped around your arm and pulled you into the room, violently. You stumbled and fell against a bookshelf, catching the fall with your hands to keep you upright. You heard a slam and a click – door closed, door locked. The static was everywhere now, flushing in waves over your body. You turned around -

Alastor was pacing like a wounded animal, he seemed fluffed up, as if every hair on his body had decided to stand up. His scleras were dark pits, blackest black, and in it his irises burned angrily in crimson flames, now focusing solely on you. The prey.

„So you came to test my patience too, dear?“, he snarled, his voice so distorted it ached in your ears. „It's not enough that that waste of cables destroyed two of my radio towers. Not enough that dozens of my most profitable souls have been rendered useless by an angelic bomb. Not enough that I not only had to put the disgraceful flat screened wretch back in his place, but also his vulgar boy toy and their brazen, attention-seeking brat.“

He grew in size as he ranted, you watched him reaching the ceiling, antlers scraping along the walls. „I manage my weakening territories, manage these imbeciles who think they can play overlords, I manage this sad excuse of a hotel, I manage the princess's unattainable ideas, and now, I also need to manage you, too, of all people? What a disappointm...“

„Stop.“

You held up a hand. Alastor growled, fluffing up even more, limbs cracking and static popping. „How dare y...“

„Stop.“, you said again. Your tone was calm, void of anger, or fear, neutral and steady. He stared at you, and you held his gaze. „Breathe, Alastor.“

You saw him fighting with himself. He fought against his instinct to oppose, to command, to put you into your place, to rip you apart. His elongated claws scraped over the floor, ripping deep ridges in the wood.

„Breathe.“, you repeated, firmer this time.

Slowly, gradually, Alastor shrunk. Breathed. Crumbled. Until he was back to his usual size and form, only with an exhausted expression.

You studied him – you've never seen him like that. He never allowed anyone to see him as something other than 'the radio demon': Powerful, unshakeable, quick on his feet and always one step ahead. How exhausting it must be. To always have the control also meant to always carry responsibility, to always fear impending failure.

Your heart whispered to you, and you followed it's advice. It could be the most stupid thing you could do, but you decided to do it anyway.

„Come here, Alastor.“

He looked at you, unsure, suspicious. You sounded commanding, but not harsh. Inviting. Like a hand, reached out to someone trapped. For a moment, you almost thought you ruined everything – his eyes left yours, they fell to the ground as he shifted on his feet.

But then – steps. Coming closer. Stopping right in front of you. And suddenly..

His head on your shoulder. His breath on your neck. His voice in your ear.

„Sometimes I'm so sick of it all. Sick of maneuvering, sick of ruling, governing, planning...“

You touched his neck, he let you, caressing the soft skin, heated from his outburst, trembling slightly at the contact. It was intimate, baring this vulnerable part to you. You heart broke for him.

He pulled himself away from you, searching for your eyes. Finding them again, he took your hand, bringing it up to his face, guiding your fingers over his lips. He just said one word.

„Please.“

So much was said with this please. You heard every message. Giving up control, just for a bit, just with something he didn't care enough about to insist on ruling, could be a small bit of freedom. Letting himself be guided instead of leading.

“Kneel down, Alastor.”

His ears pressed flat against his head, but he did as he was told. He couldn't look you in the eyes. For once, you were the one towering over him. You took his face in your hands, pulling it so he looked up to you, seeing your warm smile before your lips met his.

His breath hitched, stuck somewhere in his throat.

You slid one hand to the back of his neck, pulling him closer, the other caressing his cheek as you tilted your head and deepened the kiss. Slowly, the rigidity melted away, he started to shift, lips no longer stiff but soft and molding against your own.

He tried to stand up, but you pushed him down, gently, definitively.

“Trust me to guide you, buck.”

He breathed, one, two, three times, eyes closed, grin tight.

“Yes, doe.”

Your own excitement took a back seat. You were filled with pure energy at the thought of crossing the line with him, having Alastor in a way you only dreamed about, convinced your relationship would never come this far. But. But this was not about you, for now. Maybe, another time. If another time ever came.

You lowered yourself on him, straddling him, so you were still 'taller', and rejoined your lips. You took his hands and set them on your hips, let them rest there while you buried yours in his hair, tugging lightly to bend his head back. His initial resistance lessened, and he gave in, exposing his throat, gray skin peeking out of his high collar. You let your mouth travel to his jawline, down to the small patch of delicate, thin skin, right next to his jugular. You felt him tense, felt his rising urge to protect himself from your potential strike. You let out a soft hum as you started to lick it, sucking gently, just a bit, just to make him shiver at the sensation. And how he did.

A moan, low and sweet like the strumming of a cello, escaped him, his hands crushing your hips by the force of his grip. It hurt, but you decided to ignore it. Little steps.

“Can you take more, good boy?”

His eyes snapped open, burning furiously. You met them with calmness, with a soft matter-of-fact-ness. Not smug, not mocking. A question. Proceed or Stop?

Alastor swallowed hot saliva. You could see he was getting overwhelmed, overstimulated, and yet, he had such a longing in his eyes, such desperation.

“Yes.”

One simple word. One spark, setting your body on fire. You tried to force your trembling fingers to steady, lifting yourself slightly off him to open his trousers. With every button, his breaths grew heavier, his grip on your legs grew tighter, claws already digging in your skin and drawing blood.

“Careful, buck. I'll need these in a moment.”, you said, placing both hands on his chest, pushing him flat on his back on the ground. He let you go, arms falling useless next to him.

You leaned forward, thanking any deity that would listen you decided to wear a skirt today, and placed a hand on his growing bulge. He hissed at the touch, cracking the floor as his fingers clawed into the wood of the floor instead your fleshy legs.

Freed from it's cage, Alastor's dick was already dripping with beads of precum, a sight to behold. You wrapped your fingers around it, feeling the warmth and bloodflow, it twitched in your hand. You stroke him, eliciting the most sinful noises from the demon under you.

You took a deep breath. One more, one question more, to make sure that he wanted it.

“Look at me, Alastor.”

He sat up on his elbows, looking more helpless than you've ever imagined he could. Even his smile wavered, threatening to break. You were looking for any signs of hesitation, disgust, resistance, regret. You only found desire. A want, a need, almost pleading eyes.

Your free hand pushed your panty away, enough to expose your lips, and you lowered yourself onto him, his length slowly entering you. He was big, you were tight. A bittersweet combination. Sparks flew before your eyes as he stretched you, but you were hypnotized by his eyes.

They were blown wide, returned to black, but the irises now flickering into dials, turning, left to right as he groaned. You moved, guiding your hips up and down, feeling yourself molding to his shape in the most delectable way, and getting drunk off the look on his face.

You increased the pace on which you pushed yourself on him, adding a little tilt of your hips to take him even deeper. His voice was reduced to a static-y mess, hums and groans and moans bleeding into each other. You placed both of your hands on his chest for more support, inevitably pinning him down. His hands flew to yours, threatening to push them off him, but instead, he entwined his fingers with yours, panting heavily.

It didn't take long for him to feel the pressure, unbearable and urgent, his release approaching at godspeed.

“Doe, I can't...”

Panic in his tone. He tried to put his hands on your waist to pull you off. You understood immediately – an upbringing in conservative times, decades of living by the rules of a gentleman, he was resisting against the thought of cumming inside you. You pushed his hands away.

“Yes, you can.”, you stated, smiling at him, a hint of wickedness in your eyes. “And you will.”

Your skilled movements and dedicated demeanor sent him over the edge immediately. Protests were futile as he came in you forcefully, you felt his cock pumping his seed deep into you, hot and thick as you rocked him through his orgasm. Your own high wasn't worth chasing, too far away to matter. You didn't even think about it – nothing could feel better than this.

Alastor ran his hands over his forehead, sweeping away beads of sweat as his breath calmed down.

His hand shot out to grab you, and, still impaled by him, he pulled you into his chest, invading your mouth with his tongue to kiss you possessively. As if to transfer the command, the control he had given up, back to him. Taking it from you.

For a moment you were scared. The positions had reset to their default. Would that mean he'd push you off? Say goodnight and never talk about this night again? Returning to the Status Quo. Friends, the end.

Alastor pulled your chin up to look at you. His thumb ran over your cheek, tenderly and full of care. His eyes answered every question in your mind. You weren't scared anymore.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #alastor #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel fanfiction #charlie morningstar #fraugwinskawrites #quick fic #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin smut

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astralnymphh · 5 months

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⤹ okay but on the topic of vampire!ellie, which one do you guys personally like?? has nothing to do with what i'll write next, just a curiosity + headcanons. MDNI 18+ enjoy this free vamp!ellie brainstorming content with a random side of nipple fixation!

¨༺ ♱ ༻¨

teenage dirtbag vampire!ellie in a modern realm who can't stand being in her parents suburban hell born house, tired of their cockalorum and urging for her to engage more in the vampiric branch of her family. attend the parties, go human–hunting with the other blood–ingesting addicts, try this, do that. it all irked ellie the wrong way, made her psyche boil, cause all she wanted to fucking do was you. she craves only your blood, your taste, the metallic ribbons pumping your lifeline was like a goddamn nectar to her. and you let her feed, because you loved her. you let your meat sack of a body replace her breakfast, lunch, dinner– first and final meal.

that's why you let her move in with you. cause you fucking can. now, every itty–bitty token of her life tangles with yours on the walls. pictures and awards, a manifold of knickknacks cluttering the window sills, even her clothes tend to blend with yours– an illusive invitation for you to wear her clothes without the question ever pressing her lips apart. you both are madly besotted in each other. no denial objects to that.

and, fuck, this version of ellie is hot. fitted tanks absent of a bra– pale brown pierced nipples erecting the thin fabric into a small mound. gray wash skinny jeans that fit her lean legs well, waistband cruising nicely under that peek of a v–line, fraying at the ankle hems that contrasts into those battered up converse of a similar hue. oh, and usually cloaks her shoulders up in a sable leather jacket– with your name patched in. a jacket, so prized, alwaaays winds up hurled to some isolated and cimmerian corner of your room, purely cause she lacks the care to hang it up whenever she returns home in a scramble, fangs unsheathing for blood. her knees would find themselves pressing hard into the mattress beneath both of you, centering a large gully of weight where her half–unzipped crotch and your butt meet, thirstily rutting to the point of numbing your clit through the hard denim of your pants. her zinc button just kept pounding that shit, keeping you spread wide. while dry humping you, she'd moan and groan hot on your earlobe, fangs partial hooking on the rim, "mhh– fuck n' suck, babe– can i? fuuck.." 'fuck n' suck' was just some made–up code for, well, it should be obvious. times like those, where she intends to fuck her pussy rough on you without remorse, whilst drying your organs of blood.

ohh, but i'll write that in detail one day~

gothic vampire!ellie who lodges high on a hill, deep in the mighty fathomage of her grandoise palace, steeples scaping high into the howling sky– torn asunder by a network of lightning above. you're nothing but meat and blood, princess, a feast inside regalia. every freshwater pearl, every satiny reflection of light off your dress, only made your flesh more supple in her fluorescent fern eyes. those lucifer–damned pupils though, well, let's just say you can't even measure the green pool of her eyes anymore. dilating, big black saucers, ballooning the milken white away whenever she snags a glimpse of your blood. that phantom heartbeat of hers races madly, mad of love for that color. for that glisten of liquid. so divine, she thinks. a gulp bolts down her gullet when within a measly foot of you, or, more specifically, a mere gate between the two of your noses. how else is she supposed to store her cache of sustenance?

yes, that's precisely what i'm hinting at. a holding cell. dusty and decrepit, rats abundant skittering the stone ground, and you swore cobwebs began to web themselves in your hair– now loose and unbraided. that brute of a girl would crouch on the opposing side, dangling keys on a loop sat upon her finger, ploddingly wagging like a swinging great axe. taunt, taunt taunt taunt.. is all she would skip about and do. slip into your cell quickly and play with you. kitty–cornering you and blocking you in her arms, cooing how terribly sorry she feigns to be, for jailing you up and treating you like meat. however, tides turn, and so do emotions. could it be, the dracula upon the misty cliff– has fallen in love?

turns out, witty princesses with a snakish tongue and spit to spare really turned her on. fuck, even you cursed yourself for rending your guard and feeling a magnetic pull to that hunk of a beast, clad in her midnight black, puffed sleeves and collar drawstring shirt. finely sewn black trousers and shiny black boots, curse you, for finding something about that hellishly horrid outfit so handsome on her. there's– oh, this particularly noticeable asset tp her garb as well. the black dye was nearing translucency, and if you loitered your vision directly on her chest long enough, caught in the right cosmic light, you could see that waxen bosom and her nipples, light brown contrary to her vampiric skin. haha, how humiliating it was when she caught you staring at them as she stood in front of your sat stature, being so brazen enough to ask, "something caught your eye princess? shall i strip myself of this, then?" whilst her hands mindlessly tucked under the loose hem anyway, wringing the fabric over her head and banishing it aside. "here, feel my dead heart–" swirled her voice, thrusting her hand out to grasp yours, cold as the ice age, her mitts froze your wrists and yanked them forth, pressing them flat against her breast and swiping her thumb across your contrasting warm skin, leavening with excitement as you fondle. she stows her knee on the bed adjacent to your thigh, whispering, so.. so, hauntingly, "feel that? no pulse, no life, not a spark lives within me, dear." and it was nothing vastly far from the truth. beneath her erect nipple, was no beat. eyes widening to a moon, and lips parting to steal simply too much air, you shudder. was it fear, you shuddered for, or arousal? that's a tale, for another day.

#ellie williams #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams smut #⤹𓍢ִ໋aestras thoughts #vampire!ellie #lesbian #sapphic #ellie tlou #ellie x reader #ellie williams x fem!reader #ellie williams fic #ellie williams fanfic #ellie williams fanfiction #ellie williams blurb #ellie williams drabble #ellie williams x reader smut #tlou smut #ellie smut

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achaoticeternal · 11 months

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false god

modern!uni!aemond targaryen x reader

summary: Being Helaena’s roommate and his bestfriend, dating Aemond was always supposed to be out of the question. Yet hooking up caused feelings to blossom. When you push him to consider more, you are left with nothing until the silence makes both of you cave. word count: 4.1k a/n: this was supposed to just be smut but i crave plot warnings: SMUT [p in v], slight angst, lil praise kink, pet names

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

There had never been a firm relationship to your relationship with Aemond Targaryen. The people closest to you in your lives knew that you had been quite close to your best friend ever since Helaena invited you home for a weekend from university during your freshman year. Aemond had been a high school senior at the time and you were Helaena’s roommate who had nothing to do over the holiday weekend.

A year had passed and now both of you were students at King’s Guard University, where his older two siblings attended too. Aemond had been quickly initiated into the same fraternity as Aegon through some light persuasion from his mother, but still remained primarily focused on his studies. During his first semester, Aemond would often come over to you and Helaena’s apartment for dinner or join in for the weekly movie night. Then it dissolved into you and Aemond studying together, either in his dorm or your room. Now you were… here.

Here was a strange place to be. Nearly every other weekend, Aemond was planted between your thighs or occupying your evenings in some other way. And though you had moved on to become an interesting mix between best friends and friends with benefits, you never shared that with anyone.

When Baela questioned whose boxers were idly tossed in your room, you passed it off as a one-night stand. Aemond received the same insufferable questioning but from his eldest brother, Aegon. He’d ask who Aemond was fucking that made his baby brother bearable to be around, which was often met with a harsh glare. Yet neither of you spilled the secret of your confidential nights tangled up in bed together. It surprised you how easily Aemond and you could pass off his ‘couch sleepovers’ to Helaena.

This past weekend, Helaena had been out of town with her anthropology class to a convention and excavation happening. This left the apartment to you alone, which meant you and Aemond taking full advantage of the opportunity. When Helaena was home, Aemond usually muffled your moans with a hand covering your mouth. But only this morning as he pressed you up against the shower wall, his name poured past your lips like a sacred prayer.

Now, you stood in the kitchen scrambling some eggs while dressed only in his flannel that barely covered your most intimate area. Moments later, Aemond moved into the kitchen with just a towel hanging lowly on his hips. His hair was still damp and hung in its natural waves, much like Helaena’s hair. You always thought to tell him to leave his hair natural, enjoying how the messy waves framed his face, but you would hate to overstep.

When dumping the eggs out onto two plates, Aemond gently wrapped his arms around your lower waist. His head rested on your shoulder, watching your gentle movements, “Breakfast for me? Guess I earned it.”

You swatted at his arm, catching the double meaning in his words, “I made you breakfast because I’m nice, loser.”

He chuckled, taking one of the plates from your hand. In the peace of the kitchen, you leaned against the counters across from each other, enjoying your food. It was a comfortable silence until your mind started to drift. The slight increase of your heartbeat coerced you into saying something.

“This is nice,” You said plainly, hoping he might catch on.

“Yeah. Your scrambled eggs are far better than my mother’s. Never tell her I said that though,” Both of you chuckled at this comment before allowing it to settle once more.

“Yeah, but no, I mean,” You took a deep breath, “This is nice…”

The air suddenly turned stale as Aemond pieced your meaning together, “Oh…”

Without another word or acknowledgment of your statement, Aemond placed his plate in the sink and turned to go back to your room. Your brow furrowed at this, seeing how he shrugged off your words, “Oh? What do you mean Oh?”

Quickly, you set down your plate. Crossing to your room, Aemond had shut and locked the door, “Open the door, Targaryen.”

“I’m changing,” He duly replied.

You sighed, but didn’t pressure him further, just talking to him through the door, “Aemond, you can’t just leave me hanging on Oh?”

Sighing, you leaned against the wall adjacent to your door, waiting for him. The couple of minutes that he spent getting dressed felt as if they lasted eons. Finally, the door opened to reveal Aemond dressed in his usual outfit of a loose-fitting white t-shirt and black jeans. He had tugged the rest of his silver hair back into a low bun.

“Aemond, please, let’s talk about this,” You looked at him, fear beating at your chest,

He took one glance at you before reaching for his phone and keys, “I’m sorry.”

Without another word, Aemond had left you alone and heartbroken in the middle of your apartment. --

For the next week, it would be safe to say that your relationship with Aemond had become strained. Neither of you exchanged texts or calls as usual, never grabbed lunch together, or even sat together in your shared classes. It was torture, but you wouldn’t further wound your pride by groveling for him to come back. Both of you were adults and if Aemond still wanted to just be your friend, then you could wait for such a time.

But it became difficult when the weekend rolled around once more. In order to not raise suspicion, Aemond came over to dinner with Helaena on Friday night. Except you quickly ditched dinner with your roomie and her brother to instead go out with Baela and Rhaena for separate plans. The same occurred the next day when Aemond came over to continue watching a series that the three of you enjoyed together. You waved them off, claiming that you had errands to run that could not be postponed.

It seemed that it would be easy to avoid Aemond, though it did sadden you that you in turn spent less time with Helaena. But you couldn’t stand the uncertainty that Aemond had left you with last Sunday morning…

But now you were tied to plans that did not align with your intention to rarely cross paths with the second Targaryen son ever again. Not only had Baela and Rhaena roped you into a party, but Helaena did too, all claiming that a night of fun would get your so-called ‘funk’ out of your system. Though a party typically would excite you, it caused stress to course through your body instead, knowing that you’d be spending the evening partying at Aegon and Aemond’s frat.

But your friends were none the wiser of the reason for your hesitancy. But with some compliments on how hot you looked and a few shots to pregame, you all made your way to the frat house, arm in arm.

Drunk college students filled every room and lined every wall of the house. Those who weren’t dancing on elevated surfaces or standing around were sitting on the couches either complaining or making out with whoever occupied the seat next to them.

You remained tucked in between your group of friends, cups filled with mixed drinks in your hands. The four of you giggled as you spoke of the party-goers surrounding you, placing dibs on where each of you would end your night.

Yet your laughter quickly died when you spotted him. Aemond’s violet eye was trained on you and you could feel it as he scanned over every inch of your body. It was the look of desire and as it flashed in his eye, it would send shivers down your spine, out across your body. You hated how reactive you were to him, even while upset.

Cutting your attention back to your friends, you tried to forget about Aemond for the night. You realized that such a task is easier said than done, but you wanted to truly enjoy having a girl’s night. So with the agreement of your friends, you all filed into the backyard for another round of shots and eventually were roped into playing a drinking game.

It was a game you had played quite a bit during your freshman year that permitted you to get drunk quickly depending on the amount of people playing. Currently, nine people were surrounding the table stacked with cups of varying liquors. You were shoulder to shoulder between Baela and a random brother you hadn’t introduced yourself to yet. That was until Aemond came and squeezed himself in between you and the dude that he simply shot a stern look at.

You wanted to change positions just to further irritate Aemond in your little silent treatment, but before you could, the game began. Immediately, Rhaena went up against Cregan attempting to bounce a ball into one of the red plastic cups. Being a natural shot, Cregan easily beat Rhaena, stacking his cup on top of her own. She quickly grabbed another cup, drinking its contents before firing back against her next competition.

The game continued to move around the table in continuation, cheering being heard surrounding the group. Finally, down to the last two cups, a shot, and the loser’s cup, you were up against Helaena. With a shot of luck, Helaena managed to stack her cup into yours before you could even toss the little ball.

It was down to you against Aemond. After you finished the shot from a fresh cup, you immediately began firing. The air was intense as both of you focused on making the goal into the cup. Your ball would just barely make it in before bouncing off the rim. Frustrated, you took your measures to secure one last chance. Roughly, you bumped against Aemond’s arm, causing him to misfire. He shot you a fierce look, yet you shrugged it off.

Taking your best chance, you positioned yourself to what you prayed to be the winning shot. But before you knew what happened, Aemond returned your cheating favor, bumping his hips into yours. The ball rolled away and instead, Aemond made the landing shot.

You scoffed with a laugh as Aemond passed your original cup back to Helaena while you took the last remaining shot. Now, only the loser’s cup, filled with a peculiar mix of alcohol, sat in the middle of the table. It was not something you wanted to have to force down your throat, much less deal with the hangover that would definitely follow.

Helaena and you were now down to the wire, firing away. Sadly, your roommate did not have the same luck as earlier when going against you. Instead, you landed a winning shot, the unfortunate loser’s cup now being Helaena’s to finish.

Surprisingly, Helaena chugged it like a pro, throwing the cup over her head upon finishing the drink. With a laugh, you all went back inside to dance together and continue the night.

A couple of hours had passed and the alcohol had taken hold of each of your friends at varying levels. Despite taking a few shots yourself, the alcohol did not as heavily impact you due to your faithful attempt to remain sober enough to not end up in somebody’s bed.

“Do worry,” Jacerys, a close friend and Baela’s boyfriend smiled, “I’ll get Baela and Helaena back home safe.”

“No, Jace. Helaena is my roommate, you don’t have to take care of her,” You tried to ease him.

“It’s okay, I promise,” He laughed pointing at your friends, “Plus, they apparently pinky promised each other that they would have a sleepover tonight.”

With a giggle and final nod of agreement, you allowed Jace to lead the girls back to Baela’s apartment. Rhaena left a few hours earlier with her ‘friend’, Lucerys, which now left you. As they disappeared down the street, you turned in the direction of your apartment to begin walking home.

However, you were quickly halted by your name being called out. Turning around once more, you caught the man who called for you and rolled your eyes, “What, Aemond? I’m going home.”

“Yeah, I can see that, but,” He paused for a moment, “But I can’t just let you walk all the way back to your place alone. It isn’t safe.”

You shook your head with a cruel laugh under your breath, “It’s two blocks. I’ll be fine. And I’m not getting an Uber either for such a stupidly short distance.”

Once more, you turned on your heel to begin walking. But Aemond took two steps forward, grasping your hand lightly, “Please. Let me just make sure you get back safe.”

Casting your gaze down to the pavement, you thought over it for a moment. He was right… even if you didn’t want to admit that. With a nod of your head, you finally permitted him to walk you back to your flat. At least, just for his peace of mind.

You tried saying good night to Aemond when you approached the doors to the complex. That only caused him to become more chatty. So you bid goodbye again in the lobby. And in the elevator. Then down the hall. But he persisted and walked with you all the way to the door of your flat.

“We’ll get you inside, and while you change, I’ll grab you a snack and some water.”

“That isn’t really necessary, Aemond. Helaena and Baela had twice as many drinks as I did, so I’ll be fine,” You tried to coax yourself out of the predicament.

“Let me take care of you, darling. I haven’t seen you all week,” He pressed lightly.

“There might be a reason for that,” You sighed while inserting and twisting the key to your apartment.

“C’mon, I just want to make sure you’re feeling alright and-”

“Stop, Aemond!” You turned and looked up into his eye with a sharp look.

He seemed to straighten his posture as you took an entirely different tone with him, “If you’re being so frigid because of last Sunday, then at least let me come in and make it up to you.”

“No, Aemond, I don’t want you to come inside and take care of me because you’ll just say something stupidly sweet and I’ll want to tug you back into my bed, and I… I can’t do it,” You whined, frustrated at this current situation you found yourself in, “I don’t want to be your best friend that you have the added benefit of hooking up with. I wanted to be with you, and if you aren’t ready for that, fine. But I will not be the girl who continues to be another plaything as your brother has…”

When Aemond fell silent again, you took it as your cue to continue into your apartment. Quickly, you opened the door, just to shut it as quickly. But Aemond was faster, sliding his boot past the door frame and pressing a hand against the door itself.

His reaction caused you to spring back away from the door, heart stammering in your chest. You knew that Aemond, whether or not you were upset with each other, would not harm you. However, something shifted in his demeanor and a fire was ablaze in his eye.

“I’m not my brother,” He spoke in a stern tone, low in his chest, “You don’t mean that.”

Even in his harsh tone, you knew that his words were not out of anger. They came from a place of hurt. Clearly, you had struck a nerve inside him. But you did not answer him, leaving your previous statement to be far more ambiguous. This only spurred Aemond further.

Aemond slithered into the apartment, shutting and locking the front door. He stood tall, his head reaching the top of the door frame easily. He stood there for a long pause, arms folded over his chest as if he were finding words to condemn you. But instead, he was silent which was arguably worse than whatever he could really say.

“Go,” You said half-heartedly.

Then silence again. It only made you frustrated, not with him, but with yourself.

“I don’t believe you actually want me to leave,” He spoke once more.

He then unfolded his arms, taking small steps towards you, “I don’t believe that you want to chill me out of your life. I don’t believe that you enjoy giving me the silent treatment. And I refuse to believe that you don’t want me.”

“What?” You looked surprised. Not by the whole statement, but by his emphasis.

With a sigh, he continued, “You said, ‘I wanted to be with you’, wanted being past tense. I think you still want me.”

Finally, Aemond closed the remaining distance between the pair of you. He raised a gentle hand to caress the side of your cheek, “Am I right about that, sweet girl?”

When you did not answer, Aemond tilted your chin up with a low hum. His eye scanned over your face as if committing it to memory. His warm breath fanned across you, making the gesture that much more intimate.

Finally, Aemond pressed his lips to yours, gently, to test the waters. What he did not expect was the fervor in which you kissed him back. Your hands immediately raked through his silver silk hair, tangling your fingers between the strands. You pressed yourself up against his frame, bodies perfectly molding together.

He reacted by quickly pressing you up against the closest wall, trapping your light moans in his mouth. Yet cruelly, he pulled away while keeping you pinned in place, “So I am right?”

“Fuck you,” You chuckled at his teasing, continuing to grind your hips against his pelvis.

“Trust me, I fully intend to fuck you,” Aemond gingerly nibbled at your bottom lip, “But I do want you to know that I’m done after this.”

Suddenly, the feeling in your stomach dropped. You pressed yourself back to the wall as hard as you could, anything to create distance, “Done?”

“Oh, don’t worry, sweet girl,” Aemond closed in once more, “I’m not done with you. But I am done hiding what we have. I’m done sneaking around Helaena and our friends. I’m done pretending that it doesn’t bother me when other guys flirt with you at a party. I’m done being your hookup. But I am not done loving you. In fact, I only want to be with you properly from now on. How does that sound, darling?”

The breath hitched in your throat as your eyes went wide in pleasant shock. Words were lost on you. All you could do to reply was feverishly nod your head before kissing him once more.

At your eagerness, Aemond began to strip both of you out of the clothes that now only added layers of separation from each other. The shared kisses would only momentarily pause as he pulled your top off or you tugged at his shirt for him to remove.

Finally left in just your underwear, he paused to look at you. His eye did not wander down your body as it typically would. No, Aemond’s eye was trained on your own eyes with nothing but adoration behind them, “I do love you, and have loved you for a while now.”

You giggled at his statement, softly swatting at his lean chest, “C’mon, loser.”

Taking his hands in your own, you began to tug him into your room. He willingly followed with a chuckle of his own, even lightly spanking your bottom once passing through the door frame.

At this, you shoved him back onto your bed, being quick to straddle him. Continuing with your teasing, you ground yourself over his clothed erection, little grunts escaping his barred teeth. Aemond’s hands moved from your hips, up to the clasp of your bra, discarding the garment by tossing it elsewhere in the room. His large calloused hands then moved over your chest to cup the tender flesh of your tits. A small whimper escaped past your lips when his thumb rolled over your sensitive nipple. He continued his own taunts by rolling the bud between two fingers.

Finally, when he had his fill of the tease, Aemond rolled you both over to where you were pinned on the mattress beneath him. A few strands of silver hair had fallen from the loosely tied bun and tickled your face and neck. His hands trailed down your body, gently grazing the skin and leaving goosebumps in the trace of the digits. They lowered down your body until resting at the band of your thong.

With a smirk, Aemond hooked a finger under the band and released it, watching it snap against the skin of your hip. He chuckled at the whine that poured from your surprised face. Then, he hooked his fingers once more and removed them completely, leaving you bare before him. Though you had been naked before him many times before. Aemond took a moment to scan over your body and admire every curve and dip. You were a painting he would admire for eternity.

Aemond then moved forward once more, taking one of your legs against his chest, the ankle hooking over his shoulder. Slowly, he began to pepper kisses from your calf, down your inner thigh, before being faced with your heat. He kissed your thigh once more, before pressing his lips to the sensitive bud at the apex of your cunt. Your reaction caused him to chuckle once more, before he licked a broad strip from your entrance to your clit, “Fuck… you’re so wet for me already.”

His head then bobbed up to meet your lustful gaze. A smirk played at his lips, “Though I’d love to make you come three times over with my tongue, I want to love you. I want our bodies to be one tonight.”

Pressing one last kiss to your mound, Aemond stood, pressing down his boxers as he went. His cock stood firm and leaking with precum, his length was as impressive as always. With one arm wrapped around your leg against his chest, and the other holding his cock, Aemond began to push into your entrance. Once the tip of his head pushed into your warm heat, both of you moaned out in unison at the sensation.

He completed the thrust, fully sheathing himself inside of you. With the position he pulled you into, the head brushed against the spot that made your head spin. As he began to gingerly rock into you, setting a slow pace, the euphoria began to spread through your body.

Aemond dipped down lower as he thrust into you, with your calf dangling over his shoulder. With each cry of his name, he would kiss the skin of your thigh to affirm how well you took all of him, “That’s my sweet girl, moaning out my name so sweetly.”

The pace of his thrusts then began to increase, causing him to drop your leg. Instead, you wrapped them around his torso, bringing Aemond’s lips to meet your own. Passionately, you shared a kiss once more, the lingering taste of your still on his tongue. He rocked into your with a loving force, his compliments never once stopping between each kiss and moan.

The knot in your lower stomach began to become too much. Aemond knew this from the way you clung to his shoulders, eyes scrunching in absolute pleasure, “That’s it, love. You’ve been such a good girl. Go ahead… come for me…”

His gentle words coaxed you to a blissful release, a daze washing over you. Aemond continued to thrust into you, chasing his own release. Moments later, Aemond reached his high as well, peppering your face with kisses as your slick and his seed dribbled out of your cunt.

Softly, he removed himself, allowing you both the space to breathe deeply. Spent from the evening and aftershocks of your orgasm, Aemond took it upon himself to clean you both up. He moved from the bed, getting you a glass of water and a gentle cloth to clean you up with. His movements were gentle against your sensitive area and he spoke soft praises as the euphoria finally released you.

When he returned to your bed, Aemond moved both of you under the covers. He pulled you into his chest, pressing tender kisses to your forehead. Looking up at him, you offered an affectionate smile, “I guess you were right.”

Aemond chuckled at the words but fell silent again. He took a breath before speaking once more, “I love you, sweet girl, and I am more than happy to be yours.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

all likes, reblogs, and comments are appreciated. thanks for reading!

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skbeaumont · 1 day

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Texas Heat | Joel x Reader Series

Chapter 3 - Coffee and Confessions

Series masterlist

Chapter Summary: You get a job at a coffee shop. It just happens to be across the street from where Joel's working a construction job. Later, things heat up when Joel drops round to pick up Sarah. Rating: Teen (for now) Tags/warnings: slow burn, eventual smut, age difference (reader is 25, Joel is 37), AU! no outbreak, porn with plot, a lot of sexual tension in this chapter. Word Count: 2.8k

Taglist: @mysterialee @amyispxnk

You wake late the next morning, head filled with half-remembered dreams about warm arms and a solid, broad chest. The mid-morning sun is already streaming through the bedroom curtains, and you can hear Connie downstairs, pots and pans clashing together as she finishes making breakfast.

You’re halfway down the stairs when she appears at the bottom, clutching a torn-out sheet of note paper which she holds out to you.

“I know you mentioned you’d like to get a part time job,” she says as you reach the bottom step, “so I called around a few places. There’s a coffee shop in town who are looking for new staff. This is the number, if you’re interested.”

She hands you the paper and beckons you into the kitchen, where there are fresh eggs and toast and a stack of steaming hot pancakes. You load up your plate with food and slide onto one of the bar stools at the kitchen counter. Connie whistles as she starts washing the dishes. You’re halfway through your breakfast when she turns back to you and wags a finger as though she’s just remembered something.

“The Cuthberts are having a barbeque this weekend, for the neighbourhood,” she says, “they live a few houses down. You’re invited, of course.”

“Sounds good,” You say, immediately wondering if Joel will be there.

“They’ve got a pool, so make sure you’ve got some swimwear.” Connie adds, and, like a teenager with a crush, you can’t help the blush that settles in your cheeks at the thought of Joel in swimwear, wet hair swept back off his forehead and curling at his ears.

Trying to distract yourself, you examine the number for the café Connie gave you. The job sounds good, so when you’ve finished your breakfast, you pull out your phone and call them.

*****

Three hours later and you’re hopping off a bus in Cedar Park, trying to remember the directions Connie gave you. You find your way, eventually; the coffee shop is a couple of blocks from the bus stop. It’s a pretty nice area, sun-bleached grass lining the wide streets made up of modern shops and restaurants opposite a community college. Inside, welcomed by the dark wood floor and familiar smell of coffee, you feel instantly at home; you’ve done barista work before back in England, in between classes and during the summer.

“Aha,” a woman behind the counter says as you introduce yourself, “fresh meat.”

She’s attractive; mid-forties, maybe, with thick blonde hair tied up in a spotless bun and a pristinely made-up face. A badge on her polo shirt tells you she’s Gina, the manager. She hands you an apron and tells you to make her a coffee. A younger girl – probably twenty, twenty-one, with a name badge that says ‘Diana’ in bubble writing – gives you a grin and offers to help.

And so the rest of the afternoon passes in a blur of grinding and brewing and steaming. The café is busy throughout the day thanks to its prime position opposite the community college. You get to meet an array of students and professors, and although you feel a pang of envy as you watch younger, fresh-faced students settle themselves at tables to sit and write papers, you enjoy the routine and hum of the barista work.

You’re just finishing up when the bell above the door tinkles. Gina’s voice immediately greets the newcomer, and you almost splutter at the sudden enthusiasm lacing every one of her words, the slightly over-the-top, sickly sweet quality that has entered her previously no-nonsense tone. Curious about who is causing your new manager to turn into a simpering dolt, you look up.

It’s Joel, of course.

Joel, in his toolbelt and faded jeans and tight t-shirt. His hair is slicked back with sweat, and there are flecks of plaster on his tanned skin and splatted down his toned arms. Your heart stutters – actually stutters – as though this is a cheap cheesy romcom and he’s the romantic lead. Gina’s batting her eyelashes at him and he’s grinning lopsidedly at her, all southern charm and polite gentleman. Diana shoots you a look from where she’s cleaning tables in the corner, grinning.

Joel doesn’t see you immediately – you’re mostly hidden from his view by the coffee machine you’d been cleaning when he came in – but jealously rises up in your chest when he laughs at something Gina says, at the way he leans against the counter to talk to her, knee popped out, one hand resting on the top of his toolbelt. It’s maddeningly attractive – he’s maddeningly attractive – and you think of how he looked standing so close to you yesterday, the way the heat of his body rolled off him and his scent: wood chippings and soap and something uniquely him.

Finally, Gina stops flirting for long enough to take his order, and his eyes flick up as she passes the receipt with the coffee order to you (americano, no cream). You step out from behind the machine, smiling at him politely, and he does something of a double take.

“Hey.” You say as you crank ground coffee into the filter basket.

“Hi.” He gives you a smile – warmer than the one he offered Gina, you think smugly – and asks, “what’re you doin’ here?”

You point at the apron you’re wearing, at the handwritten name tag, “As of about three hours ago, I work here.”

“And how’s that going for you?”

It’s almost criminal how he can make such a simple, inoffensive question sound so intimate, so flirtatious.

“It picked up significantly in the last few minutes,” You say, holding his warm gaze and biting the side of your mouth to suppress a grin.

He flushes a little, caught off guard, and you push on, not wanting to leave the sentence hanging awkwardly between you, aware of Gina’s presence a few feet away, “How about you? What brings you to this side of town?”

He points vaguely behind him to where the community college is, “’m working on a project across the road at the moment. Big expansion.”

You try to eke out making the coffee for as long as you can, taking care to clean the filter after each shot fills the cup, keeping your eyes on Joel as he explains about the job. He’s easy to talk to. He asks how you’re finding the job, if you’ve done barista work before, and when you answer he really listens, leans in and keeps his eyes right on yours, like you’re the only person in the world who’s interesting. It’s dizzying and electrifying. The fact that Gina is hovering in the background – clearly keen to butt in and join the conversation but not getting a chance as Joel asks you question after question – makes it all the more intoxicating.

After several minutes you push the finished coffee across the counter to him. He wraps a hand around it, his thick fingers and large palm making the cup look tiny.

“Thanks, darlin’” He says, raising the cup to his lips and taking a sip. “I’d better head back, but I’ll see you around, I’m sure.”

“Yeah,” You say, then, remembering, ask, “oh – are you going to the Cuthbert’s barbeque this weekend?”

“S’long as I can get this plastering finished by Friday.” He replies, and then he’s taking long strides away from you, pushing the door open and stepping through it.

Immediately, Gina is all over you.

“You know him?” She asks, sidling up to you and leaning on the counter conspiratorially.

“He lives next door,” You explain, wiping down the coffee machine absentmindedly, still watching Joel’s broad back as he jogs across the road back towards the college.

“You lucky thing!” Gina exclaims. “He’s been coming in regularly the last couple of weeks, but I’ve never managed to get his name. Or his number.” She gives you an over-the-top wink with this last and you force a polite smile, wiping the milk steamer perhaps a little harder than necessary.

“Can we agree,” Diana says later that evening, as you both wind your way to the bus stop from the café, “that Gina is gagging for it.”

You laugh and Diana bumps against your shoulder, her own laugh high and clear against the hum of the traffic. It feels nice to be hanging out with someone who’s not related to you or thirteen years old or the object of an intense crush. And Diana is quick to laugh and easy to talk to. Her company makes the homesickness for your friends dull a little.

“No but seriously,” she says as you reach the bus stop, “I’m gay and even I can tell that Joel guy is hot. You sleeping with him?”

“What? No.” A pause as Diana raises a single eyebrow at you, and then you add, “I mean, I want to, but I haven’t. As of yet.”

This sends you both into another round of giggles as you flop down onto a bench.

“You think he’s into you too?” Diana asks when you’ve got your breath back.

“I think so, but it’s hard to tell. A couple of times I’ve thought he’s flirting with me, but then I’ll say something back or he realises what’s happening and it’s like he… panics.”

You tell her about last night, about how he looked at you in the half-light of the living room doorway, about the way he suddenly backed off but then sent a text asking you to come back again next week.

Diana shrugs, “Maybe he’s just shy?” “Yeah, maybe.” You let your gaze drift to the row of shops opposite the bus stop, think about Joel’s face earlier when you told him he’d made your day better, about the blush that coloured his tanned face.

“You know what you’ve got to do, right?” Diana says then, her blue hair almost purple in the fading sunlight.

You roll your eyes, grin, ask, “What?”

“Well, if he turns up at this barbeque you mentioned in the café, you’re gonna have to flirt your ass off.”

“Oh, God.”

Diana cackles as the bus pulls up, and you bury your face in your hands.

*****

Joel works late the next two nights. You know because Sarah comes round both evenings and leaves only when his work truck pulls up onto their drive, at gone nine both Thursday and Friday. You help her out with maths homework, show her how to do differential equations without having to resort to tears, which proves popular.

“Usually,” she declares on Friday, as you sit at the kitchen bench while Danny feeds Nana in the lounge and Connie takes the trash out, “it’s very boring here. But since you came, it’s about a million times better. Even with the math.”

“Especially with the maths.” You reply, grinning, and she rolls her eyes.

Connie bustles back into the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron.

“I think your daddy’s home, Sarah.” She says as she comes in.

There’s a tap on the front door as she says it. You rise from the bench, brush cookie crumbs from your jeans and make your way down the hall. The silhouette framed by the glass of the door is broad and tall, and your stomach does a strange little jolt as you step towards it.

Joel’s face is drawn when you open the door, the bags under his eyes accentuated by the porch lights, the lines on his tanned forehead deep. He’s in his work clothes, as usual. The tool belt is off, though, which is strangely a disappointment.

“Hey,” you say grinning, and he smiles back, his tired eyes creasing at the corners.

“Hi, darlin’. Is my kid here, by any chance?”

“She is indeed. She’s just packing up her things.”

He nods, and you take in the sag in his shoulders, the yawn that suddenly stretches his mouth.

“You’re working too hard.” You say, and he chuckles.

“Been tryna finish this plastering, because someone wants me to go to a barbeque.” He quips, grinning, and you feel yourself blushing.

“Did you finish it?”

He holds his hands out to his sides, lets you take in the beige splodges that cover his jeans, the dust that coats his t-shirt, the caked soles of his large work boots.

“Reckon most of it’s on me, but there’s enough on the walls to do the job too.”

“I assume you’ll be wearing this outfit tomorrow, too?” You say, laughing as he tries and fails to brush off a particularly well-dried patch of plaster from the leg of his jeans.

“Oh, ‘course.”

Sarah appears at your side, Connie behind her. She tucks an arm around your waist and you slip yours over her shoulder.

“We did differential equations.” She says proudly, and Joel smiles at her.

“Might as well have done Greek for all that means to me, baby girl.” He says, “C’mon, let’s get you to bed.”

“Oh, your lawn mower’s in the garage, Joel.” Connie says, as Sarah hops out of the front door and starts down the porch steps. “I wouldn’t ask you to move it now, only Danny wants the space for the beer cooler for tomorrow.”

“No worries,” Joel says, “I’ll get it. Sarah, go on home and open the garage up.” He tosses her a bunch of keys.

“I can open up our garage,” You offer, taking the keys from Connie as she scrabbles to change her slippers, gripping the door handle and wobbling precariously.

“Thank you, dear.” She says, sighing and straightening up.

Outside, you press the key into the garage door and let it swing open. Joel stands by, grabs the top of the door as it swings open, lets it gently rise the last couple of inches. The movement pulls the top of his shirt up, revealing his stomach, the dark hairs the trace a path down below the waistband of his jeans. You swallow, avert your eyes a few seconds too late, straight up into his face. He’s smiling cockily, hand still up on the open garage door.

“Concentrate, darlin’,” He says, and the Southern drawl of it goes straight to you core, has you pressing your thighs together, heat building in your belly.

“I think the mower is just over- ugh, what the fuck!” You bat at the cobweb that you’ve just walked straight into, spluttering and clawing at it, dragging it off of your face.

Joel lurches forward in a split second, panicked by your outburst, then, realising what’s happened, falls back and starts laughing.

“Don’t laugh!” You say, pulling long silky threads from your face. “It’s all over me!”

“Here,” Joel steps toward you again, raises a hand, brushes a single fingertip over your forehead, pulling one of the web’s tendrils away from your skin.

“Thanks,” You say, suddenly stilling, letting your own hands fall, leaning into his touch.

“There’s some in your hair.”

“Can you?”

“Oh, uh, yeah.”

He reaches up, threads a hand into the front of you hair and combs through it. He’s so gentle it almost makes you whimper, his fingertips just brushing your scalp, side of his thumb barely tracing the side of your jaw, down to your neck. You feel goosebumps erupt in the wake of his hand. He’s looking at you – at your hair, his eyes wide and serious, mouth slightly open. You watch his arm, watch the muscles shift in his bicep as he moves his hand back through your hair, pulling the last of the cobweb out. He slows as he reaches the ends, lets his little finger glide almost imperceptibly under your chin, lifting your face delicately so that you’re looking right at him.

His pupils are blown wide in the dim light of the garage, that same look on his face as he had in the doorway of the lounge a few nights ago. He moves his hand from your face, hesitates, closes it into a fist by your shoulder and then sighs, a resigned, drawn out sigh. Before you can speak he’s pushing his hand back into your hair, caressing your jaw, drawing your face up, towards his lips, which are parted slightly, plump and beautiful. You’re inches from him, your breath mingling, his eyelashes brushing his cheeks as he leans down to meet you in the middle.

“Dad?”

You spring apart at the sudden sound of Sarah’s voice. You’re both flustered; Joel’s cheeks are ruddy and you can feel your own burning scarlet.

“Coming, we’re coming.” He says, turning from you to Sarah, who steps round the driveway into the entrance of the garage.

Joel steps past you to the mower, lifts it up easily in one arm and carries it back towards his daughter. He turns as he reaches her, looks you up and down in a way that makes you suddenly hot all over, his eyes sparkling with something deliciously dark.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, darlin’.” He says, and then he’s gone again, and you’re left alone with a thumping heart and a deep, unsatiated hunger.

#joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller au #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfic #the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #AU!no outbreak #joel x reader #joel x you #the last of us fic

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kentomilk · 5 months

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ᴺᴬᴺᴬᴹᴵ ᴷᴱᴺᵀᴼ ᴵᴺ

𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐈𝐓'𝐋𝐋 𝐁𝐄 ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

it seems there is never an activity too lackluster or intimate for this couple to find pleasure in each other's company with their busy lives.

husband!nanami kento x wife fem!reader.

catalogue. fluff, slice of life content, non-sorcery au/ non-curse, modern au, salaryman!kento, sick & soft kento, (1) mentions of praise kink. wc: 1.95k thea’s preamble. inspired by this incredible art, i must admit i look at this at least once a day. → ✨ also this is my first published work, it's a bit rough but hopefully with time it gets better. thank u for reading <3

kento is a man of routine and order, we all knew that. he wakes up at a set time, kisses his beautiful sleeping wife, carries out his morning routine of showering and oral hygiene, dons his best suit, light breakfast, and is out the door by 8 AM. the evenings he returns home aren’t any less lax, whether he’s home at 6 PM on the dot or late by a few hours, he’ll always greet and kiss his beautiful wife, have dinner in his study whilst he continues more work while the lovely missus reads on the chaise or continues unfinished work of her own as well, then shower and oral hygiene, sleep.

perhaps that was an oversimplification, but don’t be fooled one may think the man adopts and follows this lifestyle out of a need for security, financial or otherwise. or that he loves the unrelenting and perpetual cycle of working painstakingly 10-hour days, he certainly isn’t given highly-coveted tasks for being a slacker. he’s grateful for what the occupation provides, the salary and bonus that come with his overtime, to lavishly spoil his family, but that's all.

he has no ambition to climb the ladders that will put him in places he doesn't care to be, to rub elbows and kiss ass with scummy executives, leeches, and conceited thugs, only to trash talk and scheme against the moment he steps foot in his home.

all he asks is for saturdays and sundays, as they happen to be Kento’s favourite.

the days he has off from his draining 9-to-5, to be spent properly with his lovely wife. who was ever so patient with him, ever so supportive, and ever so his to love and cherish so as long as his body would allow him. even if his body was battered down to a pulp, he’d find alternatives as necessary, but let’s hope it never comes to that.

there would be times when not much would differ from the previous weekend, and well into the next, spent doing the same activities, or nothing at all. he never wanted to take for granted the time you spent together, and sometimes that meant not always making the most of those days, and he’s okay with that.

whether the two of you lazed in bed until the afternoon or spent a whole day cooking a feast completely from scratch, starters to dessert. visiting the farmers market to cook said feast, reading in your cozy home library, or even the sudden bouts of spring cleaning.

there is always a welcome invite for spontaneity, a picnic under the stupendous aspen tree you simply adored at the local park. a quick overnight trip to a scenic and quaint town, whether your destination is reached by train, plane, automobile, or even boat. the occasional painting date has become a more frequent activity as of late. but there is one “special” activity that some might consider, unique. one that is relatively low cost, that is done from the comforts of your humble abode, that further advances the intimacy (according to kento), and is reserved solely for you, one that kento absolutely adored, shaving.

usually, it was something he’d done alone after showers with either a rechargeable or disposable razor or by his barber when it came time for his bi-monthly hair trim. but recently it became a task that you’d undertake by kento’s request, sort of.

while you didn’t mind what would grow from a days of not shaving, he preferred maintaining a clean shave for the clean-cut classification for a man of his occupation, it also became supplemental to his hygiene routine that he grew to love.

it wasn’t something you saw often, kento so dishevelled with the most tragic undereye bags from the lack of sleep from what you’d think was months suffering from insomnia, condensed into a few days. a coarse stubble emerged from the days he’d spent in bed, and his nose was flushed with how often he’d been blowing it with the nearly empty box of tissues that was full just the night before. his eyes were dull and watering, a sight you truly hated.

"honey, have you seen my hard drive?" he'd sorely asked for the 3rd time today, "it's in the laptop, kento." you called back, changing the towels in your bathroom.

he was delirious, with a runny nose and little to no comprehension of where he was or what day it was, thanks to the combination of flu medicine and kento’s determination to finish a work proposal whilst in bed, common sense would also call it overworking. despite your gentle commands that he needed rest, there was no triumph on your end, as duty calls. he was relentless, in his defense there was a conference that was meant to be held in person had it not been for his sudden ailment. though a live video conference was able to be arranged, owing to the urgency of the matter at hand.

so you figured the fastest way to get the man back into bed was to help him complete this ordeal swiftly, that meant helping him in the shower, given his sore muscle ached. applying small dots of concealer under his eyes as to not bring attention to his fatigued face, deterring from the presentation at hand.

dressing him in his warmest wool suit, but only the upper half, kento was sound enough to know there was no need to abandon his fleecy Pompompurin pajama pants. the executives were only to see from the shoulders up after all. and lastly ridding him of a heavy five o'clock shadow that was speckled with smears of dried rice from the porridge you had made him earlier.

“ok, that should be enough,” you whispered, carefully taking off the damp towel that no longer retained warmth, and squeezing out the shaving cream from the canister into your hand.

you proceed to spread the milky foam in a thin layer across the lower half of his face, letting out a soft chuckle at the finished outcome. you picked up the brand-new razor from the counter, puffing your cheeks and letting out a deep breath.

“i trust you.” kento whispered, his voice scratchy and hushed.

you smiled in response, quietly informing him that you were starting. you crouched to his eye level, pulling his cheek upward with one hand, so the skin where you would shave would be taut. you intently watched his face as well as the area that you had just removed facial hair, making sure that there were no nicks or alter in his relaxed expression, verging on sleep. once you gained confirmation of such, you proceeded to shave the next row, and the next, working inwards towards his lips.

rinsing the razor after each use, and wiping on a towel you had draped on the counter. though nerve-wracking for a first try, it had been executed well and was quite therapeutic. your eyes were attentive and your hands steady with every down stroke. as you continued to rinse and repeat, literally, you looked up into the bathroom mirror to see your husband rotating his head to view the work that had been done, then looking straight at you with a simple grin and tired eyes, asking what he thought so far.

“you’re doing so good, my love.” he plainly states, but those watery eyes said otherwise with an innuendo you couldn’t miss, in a singular eyebrow raise. stupid praise kink, you thought, looking him up and down, wondering how even in this state, where he acquired the audacity. it wasn’t long until the two of you burst into a fit of laughter, kento being cautious as to not rub off the shaving cream with one hand that covered his eyes as he leaned back in the chair.

“what even are you.” you snickered, quickly calming yourself with the reminder of the razor in your hand.

you proceeded to shave, on the brink of completion, now focusing above his lip, where you took even more caution than you had before, due to the sensitivity of his skin in that area. opting to sit on his lap, nearly chest-to-chest with his sore arms that maintained enough strength to have a secure hold on you, even though your knees were bent, and your feet touched the heated floor effortlessly.

a few stolen kisses on kento’s behalf, and nothing more than a restrained smile that he was fighting from getting any bigger as you finished the last few strokes. in his mind, it was anticipated that the minute kento finally got better, you were going to contract what he had afterward anyway. and in turn, he’d take care of you.

so what's the harm in a few more kisses?

“so my dear husband, how would you like to start our weekend?” you asked, still cozily tucked under the blankets, looking at your husband who was similarly bundled under the toasty blankets, with your hand situated on top of his, placed gently on your cheek.

“well dear wife, it’s been days since i’ve last shaved.” he simpered, looking down at you with sly eyes.

it was something the both of you saw coming, once again he hadn’t been shaving for a while, but of course, it was deliberate. you softly laugh in response with your voice still heavy in slumber, “i’ll go get the facial steamer— in a few minutes, i want to savor every second of this vacation.” further burrowing yourself into his chest.

it had been a few months since the first time you had to shave kento’s while he was recovering, the proposal went flawlessly if you omit the booming sneezes that startled the executives even through the screen.

you had since made the switch to a straight blade like the ones you’d see used in old school barber shops, watching tutorials on methods exercised by professionals for efficiency and safety.

invested in a proper kit that supplied everything you’d need. from shave oil, pre-shave oil, shave cream, a velvety brush to spread the lather, after-shave (which smelled phenomenal), and blade replacements.

it’s been even longer since his barber last gave him a proper shave after a haircut, and that time will only continue to be prolonged. he loved how close you’d be when focusing, but time after time you’d only grown to relax the tension in your muscles. you’d sit on his lap for more of the session, and those sessions would only go longer from the last.

where there would be conversation taking place about your lives, now and the future. sometimes there would be easy-listening music playing from the speakers that would lay the cornerstones of an “impromptu” dancing session, where kento’s hands would be politely placed on your lower back, and his hand strong in yours, waltzing all around your bathroom for what felt like forever.

he was shirtless, and truth be told a little chilly, and you were wearing an old shirt of his, to him you always looked beautiful. even though there was still plenty of shaving cream on his face, it would eventually be smeared on yours. there wasn’t much more he wanted in life.

if you ask him, any weekend is well-spent, even if you do spend the entirety of it in bed, painting beautiful sceneries, cooking your favourite dishes, dancing with ardour despite having taken one class on ballroom waltz, or you shaving his grown-out stubble. as long as you're by his side, nothing is ever a waste of time. that’s how it’s been, that’s how is it, and that’s how it’ll be.

and who knows, maybe next time kento will convince you to cut his hair.

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itsonlydana · 1 month

Text

"passenger princess" | epilogue

the hobbit | a modern!AU by itsonlydana

❱ pairing: Thranduil x fem!reader

❱ wordcount: 4,8k

❱ summary: Dating Thranduil Oropherion and the PDA that comes with it

❱ warnings: none

❱ an: here we go, one last night in this story✨️ title once again taken from hoziers "abstract" // also: are any of you interested in a official hobbit/thranduil taglist?

general m.list + series m.list

🌿 reposts and comments are appreciated, they motivate me a lot - especially with longer projects <3

THE MOMENT I KNEW I'D NO CHOICE BUT TO LOVE YOU

The evening welcomed you with a chilly embrace and whispered breezes danced through the coat you clung to, drawing it closer as you emerged from the car.

Your head lifted, attention drawn to the imposing building before you. Unbeknownst to you, your jaw subtly fell, lips parting in a muted "Oh" that almost escaped notice, barely reaching your own ears.

"It's quite a sight, isn't it?" Next to you, Thranduil closed the door to the passenger seat of his car after he had helped you out.

He handed the keys and a few notes of cash to a young valet, whose eyes widened as if he were to drive the Batmobile. The boy rushed to the driver's side of the car, the keys turning on the ignition, and the motor purred smooth like a cat.

You barely noticed it, only felt the vibrations of the car starting. Your eyes were glued to the building in front of you. "It's beautiful," you whispered in awe.

The Imladris Opera House lit up the sky's deep and endless midnight blue.

A washed-out white stone façade rose high up in front of you, its architectural features of multicolored marble friezes, columns, and lavish statuary were illuminated by what must have been hundreds of hidden lights. On either side of the left and right avant-corps two gilded angel figures reached their hands towards the center of the building where a glass dome made the highest point of the palace.

Frozen on the spot, you could not take a step on your own until you felt the gentle push of Thranduil's hand on the small of your back. Looking away for just a second, you glanced at him, shot him a bright smile, and let him guide you towards the building.

The weeks had swiftly slipped away, and it hardly felt like an entire season had passed since that fateful night spent cuddled together.

Late summer had given way to autumn, a season dedicated to delving deeper into each other's lives. Evenings were spent on his couch, sipping wine and sharing every detail about the paths you had walked before finding each other. The world transformed into a canvas of colors, with flaming red and orange leaves falling during your walks, and the glow of candlelight casting a warm ambiance as you lost yourselves between the covers.

Your friendship with Legolas grew impossibly stronger, too, with entire weeks now spent at their house. Clad in long sweaters that grazed your knees, you chatted day and night, studied from breakfast to dinner, enjoyed late evening snacks, and repeated the cycle the next day.

Time blurred into a mosaic of tender touches, lingering kisses, and laughter beneath the sheets.

Before you knew it, Thranduil had once again invited you to the Opera, and once again, you had gladly accepted.

As you got closer, the building grew and grew until you had to let your head fall into your neck trying to explore the intricate details you could only see up close, like the elaborate roses carved into the marble columns.

Thranduil caught your wandering looks and his hand slipped from your back to intertwine his gloved fingers with yours as he leaned down a bit.

"It is said that the architect only accepted the project in exchange for the hand of the king's one and only daughter- who was promised to a prince at the time." – Thranduil's voice reached a dramatic cadence, purely for effect – "No one else dared to take on the tasks of building this Opera, the king had ludicrous ideas of combining multiple styles into one that no other architect thought themselves sane enough to try."

You leaned into his side, your hands brushing against the expensive fabric of his knee-long, black woolen coat. When he started talking, explaining the history of this marvelous building you were so close to entering, his voice fell into the passion that you so adored to watch.

No building, even one as breathtaking as the Imladris Opera House, could be more fascinating than watching Thranduil explain something to you that he cared deeply about.

In the golden tones of the cast iron streetlamps flickering their lights, Thranduil's eyes had taken on a fascinated glitter. It disappeared when he noticed you staring up at him, a quick shadow passing over his usually composed face. "Excuse my rambling," he said and you pouted in disagreement.

"Don't apologize," you shook your head, "you know that I enjoy listening to you" And with a quick movement, you rose to your tiptoes, sneaking a peck onto his from the winter air cold lips. In a low and hushed voice, you murmured: "Talk architectural to me" and felt the blood rush into your cheeks when his eyebrows rose on his forehead.

His eyes crinkled at that, the corner of his mouth twitching in that tell-tale smirk that he reserved for those innuendos that passed between you two, ever since the slip of your tongue on the night he invited you to the Opera in the first place.

He planted a gentle kiss on your temple, his lips pausing briefly before he spoke again. "Okay, then, but feel free to interrupt if I start to bore you."

You nodded with enthusiasm. "Absolutely, don't worry. Although everything you say is interesting to me, you know that."

"I'll hold you to that when you start grumbling about your university papers and ask me to help you understand them," he teased.

"Uhmm– that has nothing to do with you," you rolled your eyes, not intending to mock him but to emphasize the sheer annoyance coursing through you at the thought of your coursework. "It's just that my brain ceases to function if I have to read another dull statement from some politician who kicked the bucket centuries ago and contributed nothing positive to society."

Thranduil chuckled and gently lifted your hands, placing another kiss on your knuckles. "I adore it when you're resolute about highlighting all their wrongdoings instead of doing what's required of you," his lips brushed against your skin, setting ablaze the areas he touched. "My firecracker."

You grinned and gave a playful tug on his hand. "Come on, then, enlighten me with the story behind this building."

Thranduil then began fulfilling your ask and since you had a few moments before you had to enter, he pulled you along the walls.

Whenever he talked about some fascinating architectural features ("There are multiple styles but the ones standing out the most are these elements of the Renaissance, Baroque and Neoclassical"), his long fingers pointed towards them, using statues to explain his statements.

You walked along the front façade until you could peek around the corner and he showed you one of the two pavilions- the other one was on the right side of the building, another mathematical symmetric design choice ("Which points to the architect's inspiration by the renaissance").

After that, you turned around again to walk towards the main entrance, where, feeding into your nervousness, a larger crowd had formed a line. Thranduil's hand in yours gripped you tighter as you approached those fashionable men and women who, in your mind, must have seen right through the smile you now wore more so as a mask than out of pure joy.

Despite all the dates planned leading up to this, starting with coffee dates turning into evening dinner outings at restaurants that you felt comfortable with until you let Thranduil choose some that he wanted to take you, you felt like a fish out of water.

Yes, Legolas had helped you select clothes that fitted the occasion, ones you already had because Thranduil would disapprove of you buying an outfit that served as a costume rather than what you felt comfortable with, but right now, staring at the elegant hats and lavish dresses, nothing seemed like the right choice.

Thranduil must have noticed that you grew quieter, answering what became a monologue rather than dialogue, with nods and "Hmms". He didn't say anything out loud, nor did he stop talking, probably relying on the whispered reassurance that you had given him one evening when he had fallen into a monologue such as this one, raving on about a book he had read when you'd admitted how much it calmed you to hear him speak.

You let him tug you under his arm, resting your cheek against his side while you slowly shuffled forward in the line.

Coming closer to the double doors opened wide enough to let golden light fall out into the night and bathe those entering into its nearly godlike shimmer, the storm inside you ebbed into a breeze, scarcely shuffling through some thoughts that your mind couldn't let go just yet.

Considering what you have gone through, this date shouldn't scare you. This was Thranduil beside you, the man who held your heart carefully in the palm of his hand as much as his arm secured you right now, he would make sure that this night would play out like you wanted.

"When we enter you will see–"

You interrupted Thranduil with a gentle nudge of your head against his chest. The smile that now graced your mouth was soft and real again, something Thranduil immediately caught onto.

"Thank you," you said without further explanation; it wasn't needed.

"You are welcome, my dear," Thranduil leaned down again, hovering over your lips as his eyes took you in as if to make sure to imprint your smile into his memory, before closing the gap between you.

There was no hesitation in the way he kissed you, his lips parted as soon as you lifted your chin higher to meet him and a barely audible but deep and sensual hum spilled into your mouth. One of his gloved hands cupped your cheek to angle your head and his thump stroked over your jaw. It fell open with the slight pressure performed from the finger, inviting him in to deepen the kiss.

Only the clearing of a throat behind you reminded you that you were for one in public, close to making out like teenagers, and second standing in line.

While you pulled away from Thranduil, your head flushed beet red, and muttering: "Sorry, I'm so sorry, yes, sorry, we will move", Thranduil looked awfully pleased with himself as he lifted his hand to wipe away some lipstick that had stained the corner of his mouth.

He shot you a wink as your eyes flittered over the deliberately slow movement of his thumb and you rolled your eyes, cheeks flaming hot.

You rushed to close the gap that had formed while you and Thranduil had been all over each other, giving the woman and her grinning husband another apologetic nod and smile. You pulled on the red scarf that Thranduil wore around his neck.

"You're impossible," you murmured, casting him a scornful glance, then burying your face in a cold hand, "Oh God, how embarrassing"

Thranduil's chuckle at your attempt to hide your heated cheeks and probably reddened lips only showed you how little he regretted the kiss.

"Darling," he began, still grinning widely and clearly proud of his talent for unraveling you in public like that, "If it bothers you too much, I'll restrain myself. However," – he leaned in, whispering the next words in your ear – "look how everyone looks at us. They envy me for standing beside you, for not having the most exquisite person in one of their arms."

You raised your head just in time to see a young man a few meters in front of you hastily jerk away and, promptly, dropped his ticket. When he stood up again after fishing for the paper on the ground, he looked back at you, then at Thranduil and oh, there really was something like envy in his eyes.

And because Thranduil was Thranduil, a cocky asshole at times, he smiled at the boy while his arm dropped to your waist provocatively.

You only rolled your eyes, yet this public display of affection and possessiveness had your heart flutter in your chest.

Heart pounding through your rib cage, his large hand holding you to him, you muttered something through your teeth.

Thranduil raised one eyebrow interested. "Could you maybe repeat that, I did not understand what you said."

"I said," you took a deep breath, huffing out air that dissolved into a white cloud, "–that I do not mind the kisses."

A grin filled with satisfaction spread across Thranduil's face at that, dimples carved out into porcelain skin. The hand on your waist held on tighter and it took a simple tug of him for your body to turn into his again, a simple twitch of his lips for you to kiss him.

This time though, you made sure to have it last no longer than a quick peck as the line moved and just when you separated, the crowd in front of you cleared.

"Good evening, Mister Oropherion! I haven't seen you in a while," a young woman greeted Thranduil, and overcome with shock you stared at your partner.

"Good to see you again, Sigrid", Thranduil winked at you, mouthing a "Later" when he noticed your bewilderment. Delving into the depths of his black coat, he retrieved a golden card – the Opera's emblem gleaming in the lantern light – as Sigrid waved her hand.

"Ohh, you know I don't need to check your card, Sir!"

Thranduil laughed and the card disappeared in the pocket of his coat again. "I know, I know. I also know that your boss wouldn't like you skipping formalities just because it is me" – his mouth curved into a smirk, "ah and I have someone to impress tonight"

Sigrid leaned forward, a hand next to her mouth, to faux a whisper: "He may seem like an arrogant ass, but I can tell you– he is secretly a softie"

"What?" you faked a gasp, turning to look up at Thranduil who, to your surprise, blushed…blushed!

He playfully swatted your hips and shot Sigrid a warning look: "What have I ever done to you that you must embarrass me in front of the lady?" He sighed, though the corner of his mouth betrayed him, "Was it the time that I thought Legolas invited you over to…what did you call it, my love?" as if in deep thought, Thranduil lifted a hand to scratch his perfect chin, "Netflix and chill?"

"Oh my god–"

"Thranduil!" you cried, laughter bubbling up your throat before you could stop it. Out of pure condolence for the girl, you started shoving him into the entrance hall, away from the girl whose face turned beetred as she fumbled to stamp the tickets of the next couple.

"It was nice to meet you!" you huffed out, wrangling with the tall body of Thranduil who was snickering to himself, making it not easier for you to handle him.

"We should chat some other time! Legolas, some boys and I have a movie night once every while, you could join"

The invitation was clearly not enough to help the poor woman, Thranduils high-pitched laughter (so unusual for his usually deep and honeyed voice, that pure sound of his laughter) would probably haunt her for the rest of the evening given the look on her face.

However, she nodded frantically. "Sure, I will have Legolas send you my number," then she smiled, "Have fun tonight! You as well, Sir!"

"I'm sure we will," you called back and there was a phrase like "If you could behave the rest of the night" on your tongue, at the sight of the entrance hall however, it slipped away.

The hand that you had used to direct Thranduil fell and he used the opportunity where your mind stopped working, to take it back into his. If you weren't so busy staring at the interior of the Opera House you would have teased him for being so touchy tonight, yet there was nothing leaving your lips of that sort.

"Wow," you breathed out.

The red carpet you stopped on trailed further into the hall, ending shortly before a large ceremonial staircase of white marble with a balustrade of red and dark blue marble, which divided into two divergent flights of stairs leading to the second floor which overlooked the foyer through wide open curved outward balconies. Golden candleholders with what must have been hundreds of candles decorated the columns, lulling you into a trance with the flicker of their flames.

A finger trailed over your temple, sliding down behind your ear and your neck, and it came to rest with the rest of the hand on your shoulder. "For years I have gone in and out of these halls, impressed by their beauty. Now, with you standing right here, all the gold pales." Thranduil's words sent a shiver up your spine and you tilted your head to stare at the ceiling.

"There is no need for flattery," you said, wide eyes wandering over the balconies on which women leaned onto the balustrades with sparkling glasses of wine, to the grand staircase where the crowd trailed upward without a hurry, "You already have this girl speechless."

Thranduil's lips delicately brushed against the shell of your ear, as his hands leisurely traced the contours of your side.

"What a shame, though I would hope you will find your voice again," his voice bore semblance to a velvety purr, "–for I am genuinely interested in garnering your perspective on the private balcony, affording an impeccable view of the orchestra, that I had readied for us."

As your head swiftly turned to fixate on him, his rosy lips formed, in a manner not surprising anyone, that typical smirk that left you marveling at the intriguing resilience you had maintained in resisting its captivating allure. Every time you saw it, especially now with his icy blue eyes waiting, provoking a response, you were contemplating how you had never fainted at the sight of it before.

And the worst part was, that he knew what he could do to you with one single smirk, or just, and it was embarrassing to admit but you couldn't help but fall for it every time, one strategically raise of an eyebrow.

No matter how bewitching his smirk was, however, you were much more hooked by what he said.

The questions toppled over themselves in your head, a "WHAT?" knocked down a "You are kidding, right?" and then there were the big "Why?!" and "How?" that you were hung on.

Most of these questions resolved themselves; there was no need to reiterate what had already been sufficiently explained. Thranduil was undeniably wealthy, almost absurdly so in his own estimation.

This fact had been glaringly apparent from the outset when you only knew him as Legolas' father, the owner of a law firm that represented politicians and celebrities, often requiring him to work late. He indulged in whiskey from opulent bottles and drove the most extravagant car you had ever sat in. The first time you visited Legolas at their home, a gathering of Thranduil's colleagues celebrated his ascension to CEO, filling the mansion with the strains of piano music and the gentle clinking of delicate crystal glass flutes.

If it hadn't been clear, Thranduil's habit of spending a lot of money with and for you (whether it was in the form of gifts such as books, a new coffee machine for your dorm, or simply the dates he took you on) was explanation enough.

The man had been greeted by name at the entrance and like a few people, all dressed in fine clothes like him, he didn't have a ticket, he had a member card.

So you swallowed your questions, took the arm he offered you and let yourself be led through the beautiful and tall halls of the opera.

Why not savor both this gift and the delightful company of the man you've fallen for?

If it wasn't obvious that Thranduil was showing off a bit, come on, he had kissed you right in the middle of the grand staircase and grinned at every man staring at you on your way, it became more than clear when you walked down the hallway to the private rooms. Another boy in uniform opened a door as soon as he saw Thranduil walk up to him, greeting him by name just like Sigrid did.

Behind the door, you let out the quietest "Holy shit" afraid that the swear would taint whatever holy atmosphere vibrated around you.

The air was filled with the low murmur of people talking, shuffling towards their seats and you, you looked down on all of them.

Literally.

Beneath you a sea of stools stretched onward, a moving mass of hats and pinned-up hair.

You took a careful step forward, coming up to the balustrade, you laid your hands on the red velvet that cushioned the balcony.

Just like the other balconies on your left and right, beautiful wooden panels were creating an archway under which you stood, with roses and delicate swirls painted golden.

You had a clear view of the stage, up on the fourth floor as you quickly counted in your head. The stage was covered by maroon curtains that draped over each other instead of just framing the sides and ended in gold ornaments at the seams.

The dome, which you had seen from the outside, was hidden behind a slightly curved ceiling, the only telling of what rose into the sky behind it. Nevertheless, the ceiling was a view all of its own.

A piece of art.

Up there, a dark sky had been painted, sprinkled with tiny golden dots of stars and hanging perfectly centered not just to the painting but to the whole room, hung an enormous chandelier, dripping with crystals that reflected the light of the lamps, honey golden liquid broken down into a thousand shards and bathing everything in a spectacle of imitations of stars.

Thranduil stepped up behind you again. He slung his arms around you, pressing his front against your back to rest his chin on your shoulder. Silver hair fell over you as he nuzzled your temple with his nose, brushing and tickling the sensitive skin of your neckline.

Slowly he took on to unbutton your coat, his nimble fingers pushing one button after the other through the holes.

"Is this the time to tell you that I practically own this balcony?" his voice rolled over your body, words spoken close enough that you felt his lips form them.

"Yeah," you breathed out "I figured."

"And do you know what that means?" he asked while opening the last button.

You shook your head slightly so as not to knock him away.

"It means," he unfolded himself from you to pull away your coat. You turned and watched as he hung it next to his own, it looked small in his large hands. Your fingers dug deep into the velvet behind you, eyes locked with his. "It means we can come here whenever we want as well as leave whenever we want"

It wasn't what you had expected to hear, yet you let out another deep breath, basking in the residue of tension and heat that had lapped at you both and transformed into something softer, much more meaningful than desire.

"You are the most fascinating man I have ever met," you mused, tilting your head to look at him. Thranduil was dressed up in smart black (and snug) pants and his white blouse wore a stark resemblance to the one a character you had gushed over in a movie had worn.

That he had maybe chosen the article for that exact reason made your heart flutter in your chest.

He sauntered closer to you again, hands clipped together in his back and when he leaned against one of the two chairs, the only furniture except for a small table, it was nothing but graceful. He regarded you through hooded eyes, an expression in them that was so full of infatuation it should be too much for a relationship this young, this fresh but you had been ready to plunge into this deep and far ever since you had met him.

"I promise this is just to impress you," Thranduil smiled, and lifted one corner of his mouth higher than the other and it made him look almost shy.

"Mhmm," you hummed, stepping closer to him and when you reached out to cup his cheek, he leaned into it. His eyes bore into yours, the ice-cold blue melting every bone in your body into a puddle. "I think," you whispered and looked from one eye to the other, "you don't need anything to impress me except for yourself." Raising to your tiptoes, you smiled against his mouth "Thank you, Thranduil. This is the best gift anyone has ever given to me"

As you looked up at him through hooded eyes, his gaze became soft. His lips met yours in a gentle but playful kiss, one where he nipped at your lower lip and throat and did that low purr of satisfaction. It made your head swim in the best way possible, let all thoughts come to rest.

When the lights dimmed a short while later, you found yourself cuddled against Thranduil's side, his arm around as natural as everything had become between you.

The music swelled- the tunes of a piano mixing with the violins and cellos, increasing into the playful introduction that you had come to listen to whenever Thranduil drove you anywhere.

You allowed your glance to flee from the orchestra to Thranduil, watching his side profile next to you.

"I am so lucky," you whispered. It should have been spoken far too quietly to be heard in a room that was filled with a dozen instruments orchestrating the most gorgeous music.

Thranduil however, turned his head as soon as you said the words.

"You say you are the lucky one yet here I sit, unable to believe you are truly with me," he said and reached out to trace a finger over your temple down to your cheek. "There are so many things I would like to tell you, my darling"

You watched him, silently inquiring him to continue.

He sighed and the corner of his eyes crinkled in soft delight. "It's just– I feel so much more ever since you came into my life and while it's close to overwhelming– well, and I do mean that truthfully and wholeheartedly positive, it made me realize how much more enjoyable life is when I can share it with someone I l–like"

"That doesn't sound like something that's 'just' anything," your wavering voice betrayed how collected you wanted to sound. Feelings as hard as the waves during a storm crashed inside you, lapping up your throat trying to break out of where you dammed them away to.

"No," Thranduil shook his head "No, I dare say it's not just anything. It seems to be everything. You, you wonderful girl, you are everything"

Your breath hitched, caught in the mix of emotions in your throat. Fingers carefully lifted to intertwine your hands, coming together in your lap. He waited, you figured, he waited for you. He always waited for you. The music faded into the background as you reached for him.

Reaching and waiting, daring and yearning, teasing and loving.

He was the fine threat that pulled on your heart, tugging on it in the same rhythm as it beat inside your chest.

"Thranduil?" you fiddled with his fingers, tugging on them to have an outlet for everything rushing through you, leaving you restless with the want to scream your feelings into the world.

"Yes?" He sounded hoarse, unusually so, and it urged you on further.

"The moment I met you I knew you would take my heart and whisk it away." Grappling with the challenge of expressing just how much of an impact he had on you, you thought back to every big movie scene, every lovesong that you finally understood the lyrics to.

All of them felt bland in contrast to the cocktail of feelings that he evoked in you, the emotions that came from loving this man.

However, he beat you to it, articulating what had occupied your contemplation.

"I love you," Thranduil's voice resonated, gaining a steady cadence. "I love you. I realize it might be soon, and time lies ahead of us, but I wish to spend every moment with you, fully aware of the depth of my feelings."

A violin's sigh, a cello's resonance, a gasp.

"I love you too, Thranduil. So much."

Thranduil inclined his head, a golden aura enveloping his silver-blonde locks that cascaded around you like the rich, heavy red curtains.

At that moment, he resembled the Swan, exuding grace and elegance. His long, fair eyelashes cast shadows on his high cheekbones, and as he leaned in to kiss you, a profound sense of being utterly cherished and loved enveloped you, much like the crescendo of the music all around.

taglist [closed]: @mushroomemeralds, @mssuguru, @solartoge, @12134z03, @fruitymoonbeams-blog, @lady-of-imladris @finallyforgotten , @123forgottherest @tomhockstetter7-111 @marshymallo @emily-roberts @howlerwolfmax @tigereyesf @seththetinydemon

#📁files: passenger princess #thranduil x reader #thranduil fanfiction #thranduil x you #thranduil oropherion #thranduil fluff #lotr x you #lord of the rings fanfiction #lord of the rings x you #lord of the rings x reader #the hobbit fanfiction #lotr x reader #the hobbit x reader

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abyssruler · 1 year

Text

5 SUNDAYS OF KINKTOBER

5TH MASS ♱ scaramouche x fem!reader

homily — you look good when you cry in the middle of the hall after he deliberately humiliates you in front of everyone. but he thinks you look best when you look up at him through teary eyes as you choked on his fingers in the school’s public restroom.

communion — comment or send an ask to be added to the taglist!

modern au, college au, bully scara, possessive scara, noncon, manipulation, blackmail, degradation, humiliation, dacryphilia, oral m-receiving, semi-public sex, nonconsensual filming, spit kink, warning you now: scara is an asshole

5 sundays of kinktober

Scaramouche could be so pleasant when he wanted to, donning a fake smile that worked on your parents like a charm, talking and laughing with them over breakfast like he hadn’t just been pounding his cock into you last night, your cries and moans muffled by the forceful way he shoved his fingers into your mouth.

He got off of seeing your face twist with pain, tears flowing down your cheeks as you gagged around his fingers knuckles deep in your throat.

It was a wonder your parents never suspected anything of your childhood friend, not raising the slightest question whenever he invites himself to your home for a ‘sleepover,’ as he likes to call it. But a sleepover doesn’t involve him lying next to you as he grinded his hardness over your ass, arms circling around your torso possessively as his hands grabbed and tweaked at your nipples, ignoring your silent protests and the way you futilely tried to move away from his reach.

He never fails to lean in, breaths hot against the shell of your ear, and whisper in a tone that’s so falsely pleasant it makes your stomach churn with fear, “Stop moving. You don’t want those videos getting leaked, do you?”

And like a dog that’s been trained to obey its master, you do whatever he asks of you, whether it’s opening your legs for him or getting on your knees to have your throat abused by him.

Now, he smiles like the friend he pretends he is to you when you’re with your parents, complimenting your mother over the delicious breakfast she made and making conversation with your dad about the latest project at his company.

You know what your parents think of him, that he’s such a sweet boy, so smart and charming, he’d be such a good boyfriend, don’t you think?

It always makes your throat close up, fighting the nausea that threatens to overtake your senses. They don’t know just how wrong they are, how much he’s violated your body and privacy, the blackmail he owns is a constant thing that hangs over your head in shame. The person you thought you could trust most in the entire world ended up being the person to betray you first.

Kunikuzushi was so sweet when you were children, but now you barely recognize him anymore. Not since he got involved with the wrong crowd when you were in high school, not since he started going by the name Scaramouche.

“I better go now, I promised my friends I’d meet with them later,” he tells your parents, pretending to look forlorn at the prospect of leaving. Your parents ate it all up, assuring him that he’s always welcome to return, that he can visit whenever he likes. All the while you’re sitting beside him, twisting your fingers on your lap and trying not to flinch with each word that comes out of your parents’ mouth.

A hand lands on your shoulder. It takes all you have not to rip it away.

You turn your head up to see Scaramouche standing from his seat, looking down at you with something you could almost describe as soft—still all for show. The moment you’re out of your parents’ eyesight, he’ll go back to being his cruel self.

“Will you come see me off?” He asks, but the brief tightening of his grip on your shoulder says enough. It wasn’t a request.

“Y-Yeah, of course, Kuni.” The old nickname slips off your tongue, as familiar to you as your own name. He likes to pretend it bothers him, especially when you call him that in front of others, but you know how much he likes hearing it from you. He always comes undone when you moan his name, on the few times when his hand isn’t covering your mouth or his fingers aren’t choking you.

You walk him to the front door, your parents staying seated at the table. He turns to you when he reaches the door, the smile on his lips gone, replaced with a familiar scowl that continues to haunt your dreams.

His hand closes around your jaw, fingers digging almost painfully to your cheeks. He leans in, eyes narrowed on your frightful face.

“Open your mouth.”

You don’t need to be told twice. You already know what he means to do, so you part your lips, sticking out your tongue for good measure. He likes it when he doesn’t have to say something to make you do it.

He looms over you, opening his mouth and spitting a glob of saliva directly over your tongue. It takes all you have not to shudder in disgust. Even after going through such a thing for what feels like hundreds of time, his twisted perversion never fails to make tears well in your eyes at the humiliation.

“Swallow.”

Your throat nearly protests the action. You have to force yourself not to heave after it goes smoothly down your throat.

Scaramouche’s eyes are focused intently on you, pupils blown wide and his lips stretching into a mocking smile. You jolt when he suddenly reaches down and cups your clothed cunt, having easier access to it due to the skirt that he always forces you to wear.

He steps close, and you still in order to stop any involuntary reactions from you should your movement cause his hand to produce friction against the sensitive spot between your legs.

His eyes bore into you, nearly making you shrink back from his gaze. “Don’t even think about touching yourself while I’m not there. This fucking cunt is mine.”

As if to emphasize his words, his hand applies the slightest pressure, grazing against your clit and evoking a whimper from your lips.

You nod shakily. “Yes, I-I won’t touch myself, Kuni.”

He smiles, pouring all his false saccharine sweetness into that one gesture, loosening his hold on your jaw and retracting his hand from beneath your skirt to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. It would have seemed like a gentle act — if you didn’t know any better.

“Good girl.”

✧

His friends all think you’re his little pet.

Dottore leers at you from across the table, playing with the butter knife in his hand as he twists his lips to show razor-sharp teeth. You avert your gaze hastily, a combination of fear and disgust bubbling in your gut. An amused puff of laughter is all you hear before you feel a hand tug at a lock of your hair.

“Now, who let Scaramouche’s little bitch sit with us at the table?” Comes his mocking drawl, a hint of that twisted sense of amusement in his voice. You try your best to keep your gaze fixed to the table, knowing they’ll see it as defiance should you raise your head to meet their eyes. “Don’t you know dogs belong in the kennels?“ He pulls at your hair, hard enough to make you wince. “Why don’t you—”

A hand slaps away the hand holding a strand of your hair.

“Who do you think you are to touch what’s mine?”

You risk a glance at Scaramouche sitting by your side to find him glaring at Dottore, the fork in his hand gripped so tightly his knuckles have turned white.

Dottore grins unrepentantly, retracting his hands and raising them in the air as a sign of peace. “You should teach your little pet better manners.”

“And you should learn how to mind your own business,” he sneers, stabbing his fork straight into his steak.

Dottore smirks, utterly entertained by Scaramouche’s temper, but ultimately deciding that toying with you must not be worth it.

You reach up to fix your hair, still keeping your gaze on the table. Tugging on the hem of his shirt to get his attention, you murmur when he deigns to turn his head to you, “Thank you, Kuni.”

Though it seems you weren’t as quiet as you’d hoped to be.

Tartaglia, who was sitting on your other side, snorts at the nickname.

You freeze up just as Scaramouche beside you goes still. Heart beating out of your chest, palms beginning to turn clammy, and tears gathering at the corners of your eyes, you dare to look up and see what expression he has.

Your heart drops.

He’s looking down at you, face frozen in a mask of fury, eyes wide with a promise to do unspeakable things to you later.

“Pft. You let her call you Kuni?” Tartaglia fans the flames, knowing how much trouble it’d get you. You feel his hand slither near your side, and you shrink away from his touch. You’ve always thought that if Scaramouche weren’t so terrifying, all his other friends would have forced themselves upon you by now.

Your tongue twists on itself, bottom lip trembling the way it always does whenever you so much as get a hint of his anger. “I-I’m sorry—”

“Shut up,” Scaramouche says icily, whether it’s for you or Tartaglia, you didn’t know.

He doesn’t like it when you call him Kuni in front of others. For all that he gets off of hearing your once-innocent nickname for him be said in such debauched tones accompanied by the squelching sounds of your walls squeezing around him and the slap of skin against skin, he abhors it when you call him that in front of others.

He grabs your jaw harshly with one hand, forcing you to look him in the eye and ignoring the way you whimper at how hard his grip is. From your periphery, you can see that the rest of his friends have stopped their conversation to watch your impending humiliation with a sick sense of delight.

“I thought I told you to keep that mouth shut.” He pulls you close, his mouth a hairsbreadth away from yours, breath warm against your lips. But then he leans away, roughly pushing your face away as he lets go, leaving your jaw aching and eyes watery. “Get out of my sight.”

You scramble to do as you’re told, ignoring the jeers of his friends and the pitying looks from nearby tables, nearly toppling your chair from the haste with which you stand up. You don’t see the leg that stretches out beneath you.

Your knees ache, palms red from the force as you fell to the floor. You’re sure you’ll be sporting gashes and bruises on your knees tomorrow, but it isn’t the pain that opens the dam of your tears, lips wobbling in an attempt to smother the hiccup that threatens to rise from you.

It’s the sound of laughter that echoes in your ears.

You all but run out of the cafeteria and into the restroom you always hide out in, practically feeling his gaze on your back the whole way. If you close your eyes, you can almost imagine what sort of look he would have had as you tripped. Eyes leering at you, mouth twisted in a cruel mockery of a smile, and perhaps a hint of pink at his cheeks—the only sign of his arousal, proof of how much he enjoys seeing you get hurt and humiliated.

The door to an empty cubicle locks shut behind you, falling to the closed seat of the toilet and placing your hand over your mouth to muffle your sobs. Even that one simple act reminded you of him, of the way he likes seeing you gag and choke around him and the way he’d push your face over the mattress to silence you, palms heavy against your lips whenever he fucked you in a public space, “You don’t want us to get caught, do you? So be quiet.”

✧

He finds you, just like he always does whenever you run away to have your little tantrums, as he calls it.

“Get out.”

You opened the door of the cubicle, ever the obedient little pet his friends like to taunt at. He’s leaning by the sink with his arms crossed, a frown fixed on his deceptively angelic face, eyes narrowing once he sees you.

Fidgeting with your fingers, you try to apologize again as sincerely as you can muster, “Kuni, I’m sorry.”

Scaramouche is at you in an instand, a hand around your neck and a dangerous look on his face, not quite squeezing but still tight enough to be threatening. Your knees lock in place, hands trembling with fear as you fought the urge to cry again with the way he’s looking at you.

“Get on your knees.”

Your eyes dart to the unlocked door, heart rate rising. Anyone could enter at any moment. He liked the thrill of defiling you on public spaces—fitting rooms, cubicles of public restrooms, the janitor’s closet—but always with an added precaution, always with the door locked.

“Someone might come in and see—”

“So what?” He rudely interrupts, squeezing his fingers around your throat just enough to be uncomfortable. Then he snickers, watching the way your eyes begin to water again. “You’re such a crybaby.”

“Kuni, please. I don’t want—”

His mouth roughly lands against yours, swallowing whatever protests you had as he roved his tongue inside your mouth, taking and taking and taking without consideration. It hurts, the way he’s pressing his lips over yours and the way his teeth bites onto your bottom lip, tongue roving over your own, making sure you taste all of him. It leaves you lightheaded and out of breath by the time he pulls away, a trail of saliva hanging between you that he doesn’t bother wiping away. Just as he likes it. Rough, messy, and filthy.

He likes seeing you covered in his own cum from head to toe, dribbling from your mouth, running down the valley of your breasts, and your pussy so stuffed full that it drips down your thighs and makes a mess beneath your feet.

You think if he could, he would keep you locked up in his room, never stepping out and only there to be used as a cum dump and admired as you lay on top of his bed with your eyes crossed in the wake of an orgasm, legs spread, cum oozing out of your hole and slipping between your ass, utterly making a mess of the sheets below.

Scaramouche laughs at your dazed look, loosening his hold on your neck, enough that you can break out should you wish it. You don’t.

“Are you actually scared?” He taunts, a grin on his lips that managed to show how truly deplorable of a person he is. “Scared that someone would walk in and see how much of a slut you really are?”

You place both palms on his wrist, looking at him imploringly through glassy eyes. “Please—”

“I’ll let you in on a secret.” He steps close, close enough that you can feel his breath fan across your face. Then, in a whisper that is nothing short of threatening, he tells you, “Everyone knows I’m fucking you like the little whore you are, they only need proof. Now, should I send them the video, or are you gonna get down on your knees and beg for forgiveness?”

He delights at the way your eyes dim in understanding. You can feel his hardness throb against you when you bite your lips to stop the rush of tears threatening to spill from your eyes.

You hate yourself for being so easy to be reduced to tears, but mostly you hate yourself for being unable to truly deny him anything.

His hands release their hold on your neck just as you obediently fall to your knees, looking up at him in despair. He raises a brow, gesturing to the growing hardness in his pants with a humorless smile.

Your fingers fumble to undo his zipper, pulling down his waistband and taking him in your hand. Shuddering as you began moving your hand up and down his shaft, he impatiently grabs the back of your head, fingers intertwining with your hair as he forced you to look up at him.

“Open your mouth.”

With only the slightest hesitation, you part your lips for him, taking care to open them wide enough that your teeth won’t graze him. (Your jaw still aches with the memory of being forced to have him inside your mouth until your jaw nearly locked in place and you were crying, pleading with your eyes to please, please make it stop.)

Scaramouche slips inside your mouth with ease, groaning in pleasure as his cock is enveloped with a heat that only your cunt could top. He pushes all the way inside until your nose is brushing against soft tufts of hair and the tip of his length hits the back of your throat. You gag, but no amount of pushing against his thighs has him moving, watching you with pupils blown wide, his cheeks pink and breaths shaky.

“Hah… look at you, all on your knees for me. You’re probably secretly into this, being used like a toy. You’ve always been so hard-to-get, but inside you’re nothing but a slut who likes feeling my cock anywhere inside you.” He laughs, tugging at your hair and pushing himself even deeper than before.

It isn’t until a tear falls from your eye that he retracts himself, giving you only a moment’s respite before pushing your head forward, keeping a harsh but steady pace as he fucks into your mouth, bruising the back of your throat the same way he constantly abuses your insides. Thick spurts of pre-cum escape the slit of his cock, dragging across your mouth and dripping from the corners of your lips. It mixes with your drool, flowing down your chin and onto the floor, slathering his length in a transparent sheen that gathers along the base of cock as he repeatedly slams himself hilt deep into your throat.

You find it difficult to breathe, difficult to swallow, difficult to think as he continues to thrust into your mouth without abandon, his pace becoming erratic, harsh puffs of breath escaping him, and from the familiar twitch of his cock, you can tell he’s close. So you flatten your tongue along his shaft, hollowing your cheeks as best as you can, and closing your eyes to stop the tears from breaking out.

“Fuck, fuck. Look at me,” he orders, voice one pitch away from becoming breathy.

You open your eyes and gaze up at him, unable to stop the wetness that’s gathered in your eyes from falling. His hips falter, his hold on your hair tightening to the point that it makes you cry out from the pain. It only serves to pleasure him more, the vibrations from your throat sending him to the edge as he pushes himself in as far as he can go.

Thick, warm spurts of cum shoot into your mouth, a taste so familiar you barely gag as it gathers in the back of your throat. Scaramouche thrusts himself into you, once, twice, until he’s sure your mouth has finished milking him dry.

He pulls out, not bothering to tuck himself in as he moves his hand from the back of your head to your cheek, tilting your head up. And you already know what he wants you to do, so you open your mouth, let him see his cum mixed with your saliva. Your mouth is too full to keep them all in, flowing down your chin in excess and staining your shirt.

You’re unprepared for the two fingers he shoves into your mouth, hitting the back of your throat and making you gag and involuntarily swallow his cum.

“That’s right, swallow it all like the cum-thirsty whore that you are,” he laughs at you, at the pathetic look you must sport — red eyes, puffy lips, and dried tear tracks on your cheeks.

He retracts his fingers from your mouth, not bothering to wipe them clean.

“Get up,” he orders, stepping away from you and approaching the sink. You stand on shaky legs, knees sore not only from the hard tiles, but also from the fall earlier.

Scaramouche gestures to the counter, his lips pulled up in a leer, roving his eyes over your figure, lingering on the stain on your chest from the cum you failed to keep in your mouth earlier. You nearly collapse by the sink, arms supporting you as you leaned your top over the counter.

His hands push the hem of your skirt up, palms lingering on the swell of your ass, before he unceremoniously pulls your panties down to your knees. You unconsciously clench down on nothing as your pussy is exposed to the cold air.

He runs a finger up and down your folds, gathering your slick and raising his hand to examine them. You finally raise your head, meeting his eyes on the mirror.

“You’re all wet. I bet you enjoyed it, didn’t you? Being used like a ragdoll. Tell me, do you touch yourself when I’m not there?” He delivers it in a nonchalant tone, but from the tightness of his fingers around your hips, you know he’s serious.

Quickly shaking your head, you try to plead that he’s the only one who’d ever touched you, voice scratchy from his earlier abuse of your throat. “I-I promise, Kuni. I’ve never—”

“Liar,” he hisses.

The only warning you have is the way he shifts, and then his cock slips inside you, far too thick and far too big, pushing through your walls and splitting you in half. The vein that runs along his shaft rubs against your insides in a way that has you clenching down at him with pleasure, even as you cry out in shock and pain at being entered without preparation.

“Fuck,” he groans, the tip of his cock touching the entrance of your womb, and you know without a doubt that he’ll continue hitting that spot later, if only to see the way you squirm and cry in a mix of pain and pleasure. “Still so fucking tight even after I’ve fucked that hole of yours so many times. Hah… if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were a virgin.”

Slowly, he pulls out, relishing in the way your walls clench down on him, trying to suck him back into your heat. And when only the tip of his cock remains inside, he rams his hips into you with a force that has you choking out a sob as he hits your cervix, over and over and over again, until you can no longer distinguish between pain and pleasure. Only an endless motion of him fucking his length into you, fingers digging into your hips in a bruising grip that will no doubt show on your skin tomorrow.

“Kuni—Kuni, please… slow down—” A particularly harsh thrust has you slurring your words, arms losing balance. Your top falls onto the counter, the coolness of the cheap marble against your cheek doing nothing to chase away the heat that’s bubbling inside you, gathering in your belly and threatening to snap with every drag of his length against your cunt.

“Shut up,” he snarls, biting back a moan at how you clench down on him at the harsh order. “I can feel your sloppy little pussy sucking me in. You’re like a bitch in heat, taking my cock in like that. If you even think about letting anyone else use this fucking cunt, I’ll kill them.”

You can do nothing but nod to his words, sobbing on top of the counter as Scaramouche uses you like you’re nothing but a hole for him to fuck himself into, unrepentantly slamming his hips into your ass, blunt nails digging into your skin.

Moans and whines fill the restroom, the air smelling of sex as you cried out his name with every thrust he takes. Your mind is far away, lost in a haze of pleasure, uncaring whether your voice will be heard by any passing teacher or student, uncaring of the unlocked door and the fact that if even one person hears your cries, the whole campus will know it by tomorrow.

So lost in your thoughts as you were, you failed to notice when Scaramouche pulled out his phone and started filming, angling the camera into the sight of his cock pushing in and out of you, a ring of cream gathered at the base, the squelching sound caught by the microphone. He moans, a guttural sound that he doesn’t even try to hide, pace stuttering and hips jerking into you in short, fast thrusts.

You’re unable to hide the way tears run down your cheeks, stopping yourself from reaching your climax until he allows you to, breaths fogging against the counter and toes curling inside your shoes, legs shaking from the effort of keeping your lower half upright, along with your impending release.

“Kuni, I wanna—I wanna—” You sob, unable to form the words and resorting to incoherent babbles.

“Fuck, fuck. You’re so fucking—” Scaramouche lets go of your hip and reaches for your clit, rubbing harsh circles into the sensitive little nub that has you wailing, your hands futilely trying to muffle the loud sounds. “Go.”

Your legs spasm, walls clenching down on him so tight, he has to stop for a moment as you reach your release. Your lips part to let out a scream the way you always do when the thread snaps and your orgasm hits you, and without fail, he reaches out to cover your mouth with his palm, fingers digging into your cheeks.

He lets out a few quick jerks of his hips before he releases inside you, biting down his lip to keep himself quiet, pushing himself deep inside and making sure not a drop of his cum is wasted.

Warmth explodes inside you, as familiar as the feeling of him pulling out, feeling his cum begin to flow out of your hole.

He remains silent, breathing heavy puffs of air before he leans in, pulling your hair back and pressing an impossibly soft kiss to your temple. He holds you steady as you wobble to a stand, arms sore and knees feeling like jelly, eyes red and drool slipping over your chin.

He holds your waist in a steady grip, his arm over your stomach to support you as he helps you pull your panties up and adjust the skirt of your uniform, smoothing out any wrinkles using the palm of his hand.

You watch him do all this with half-lidded eyes, mind still hazy from your climax. Your hands are tight over his arm, trying to keep yourself upright as you lean your back on his chest, trying to catch your breath. You spy his phone lying on the counter but think nothing of it, much too focused on the familiar script of Scaramouche’s quiet aftercare.

He could be so gentle during these times. In the aftermath of his rough fucking, when all that repressed anger has been spent on you, melting away and leaving a hollow shape in his chest. You think he doesn’t know what to do when he isn’t feeling anger or satisfaction — rather, he’s forgotten how to handle feelings that he might call shallow, such as happiness and love.

Quietly, he murmurs, a stark contrast to himself just minutes ago, “I’ll buy us dinner later, just the two of us. I’ll even drive you home after.”

It’s times like these that lets you see a glimpse of his old self, the Kunikuzushi you once loved.

But then he sighs, an annoyed furrow to his brows, and the tender moment is broken.

“Get off. Can’t you stand on your own? Or are you that stupid that you can’t even function without me?”

You take a step out of his hold, legs shaky but managing to support you regardless. From the corner of your eye, you spy him swiping his phone into his pocket, far too quickly for someone attempting to be inconspicuous.

Your heart sinks at the realization of what he’s done — again — but you only have yourself to blame for being so spineless.

Scaramouche turns to you, a considering look in his eye before he reaches out to smooth your hair into something that resembles less of a bird’s nest. He sneers at you, “Don’t go around looking like an imbecile.”

His hand clamps around yours, but despite the harsh look on his face, his touch is soft. He drags you out of the restroom, not even bothering to clean up the mess you’d made in the form of a few splotches of cum mixed with drool on the floor as well as the counters. But neither do you. All that’s on your mind is his hand on yours as he pulls you through the halls.

Like this, with only the back of his head facing you, you could almost pretend you’re back to being those naive children, giggling to each other as he promised to marry you someday back in the summer of your tenth birthday.

Perhaps that’s why you continue to stay, why you’ve never told your parents about the things he’d done to you, why you suffer through humiliation after humiliation just to continue being with him. And it’s unhealthy, you know that much, and maybe you should have turned your back on him when he knocked on your bedroom window with blood on his hands and a terrified look on his sixteen year old face — the beginning of the end, that one turning point in his life that made him the way he is now.

And maybe you do blame yourself for it, for not knowing how to help him, for being so lost and young and utterly ignorant of what was brewing in his head. Maybe that’s why you continue to stay beside him, the guilt of failing him, of failing Kunikuzushi.

His hand tightens around yours when you pass by a gaggle of male students, all of them looking at you with a smirk that soon dies when they see the expression on Scaramouche’s face.

And maybe you can continue deluding and comforting yourself with the thought that you’re here with him willingly, that it’s guilt and a sense of responsibility that makes you stay — even though you know the true reason is that he has a tight leash on your neck in the form of a video he took during the first time he had you, back when he still had bright eyes and a genuine smile, back when you still believed you loved him.

5 sundays of kinktober

word count — 5.1k

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#not sfw #this is the spiciest fic i’ve ever written #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #scaramouche x reader #kunikuzushi x reader #scaramouche x reader smut #fem reader #5th mass #5 sundays #kinktober #genshin kinktober

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katyswrites · 1 year

Text

don't call me 'baby'

PART 6 | SERIES

Pairing: Steve Harrington/fem!reader

Warnings: Sugardaddy!Steve, SMUT (18+), angst, discussions of past trauma, daddy kink, ddlg dynamics, dom/sub dynamics, slight breeding kink, dirty talk, semi-public sex, exhibitionism, jealous!Steve, overstimulation, swearing, sexual harassment/men being gross, alcohol use, smoking, age gap, no use of y/n

Wordcount: 9.2k

A sugar daddy modern AU, a whirlwind summer romance in Italy, and two people from completely different walks of life, somehow finding each other in one of the most beautiful cities in the world. But, what will happen when summer ends?

PART 6 | honey, hell is when I fight with you

You left Steve’s apartment and made your way home in a daze. After studying the save the date and reading it approximately a hundred times, you shoved it back into the drawer and shut it. You moved quickly after that, your only thought being that you needed to get out of this apartment before Steve got back. You gathered your discarded dress off of the floor, only realizing halfway to the door that you were only wearing a robe. You paused, then scoffed inwardly - Steve probably wouldn’t notice if a few things were missing from his closet, and even if he did, you couldn’t find it in yourself to care. That’s how you found yourself pulling a t-shirt and pair of sweatpants out of his dresser, nearly in shock that he even owned anything like that. You pulled them on quickly, hardly caring that they didn’t fit right, pointedly ignoring the fact that the clothes smelled like him - his aftershave, a hint of smoke, and something so distinctly Steve.

You tore out of the elevator and stumbled onto the street, blinking in the bright morning light. You stalked up and down the streets for a while, realizing that you really didn’t know your way around this side of the city - Steve’s chauffeur had always driven you to and from here, and you had never had much of a reason to come here previously. After what felt like ages, you found a bus stop, luckily with a line that would take you back home. You didn’t remember much of the journey home after that - it was all in a blur, the blood rushing through your head making your ears roar, your hands shaking and breathing heavily.

A million thoughts ran through your mind, forehead pressed against the glass as the city flew past. The image of Steve and Nancy was imprinted in your mind, the text of the invite practically memorized. You felt your eyes burn, but did everything within your power to not let any tears fall. The initial shock was already wearing off, and you found yourself fluctuating through a range of feelings: Devastation. Regret. Sadness. Anger. As the moments ticked by, anger seemed to be winning.

You felt like an idiot, an absolute fool for not considering this as a possibility. Steve had felt too good to be true, and it’s because he was. It explained so much, really - why he rarely talked about home, evaded questions about his personal life, why he traveled so much for work… were those trips to other cities and countries just back to the United States, a quick rendezvous to see his wife? You felt stupid, small, and used. And that was why, with each passing moment, you became angry.

Steve is lucky that you weren’t still at the apartment when he came home. If you were, there’s a good chance you would’ve killed him. How could things have gone wrong so quickly? Twelve hours ago, you were writhing beneath him, Steve whispering sweet nothings into your ears as he touched you everywhere. Just two hours ago, you had woken up in his bed, waiting for him to come back with breakfast, blissfully unaware. But now… now, you just wanted to scream, to wish you had never met him. You’d rather be run down and broke if it meant you never had to feel like this.

You were still working through these thoughts as you made the walk from the bus stop to your apartment, moving on autopilot as you went up the stairs and opened the door, fumbling with the keys thanks to your blurring vision and shaking hands. You made enough of a ruckus that Robin was glancing over from where she was seated on the couch, grinning.

“Hey! I was about to send a search party, but I’m guessing that the night went pretty great -”

It was a miracle, really, that you had held yourself together as long as you did. But, the moment the door had clicked shut behind you, and you saw Robin’s beaming face, you lost all semblance of composure that you had been holding onto. You felt the tears start to fall, fast and hot, and you let out a choked sob.

Robin was up off the couch and to you in seconds. It was like a dam had opened, the tears flowing, your body convulsing as you fell into her arms.

“Oh, babe,” she whispered, “what did he do?”

You just pulled her tighter, burying your face into her shoulder as the wave of devastation finally, truly set in. You were an absolute mess, and it was all Steve Harrington’s fault. You decided then and there that you would always hate him for it.

******

The first thing he did was text you. When you heard the telltale ding from your phone, you instinctively knew it was him. Your nose was runny, your eyes red and puffy as tear stains dried on your cheeks, warm and sticky. Robin has unearthed some chocolate from the cupboard, scrolling through Netflix for something comforting to watch. You glanced down at your phone, your stomach turning at the sight of his name on the screen:

Hey! Is everything okay? I thought you’d still be here. If you had somewhere to be though, I understand - errands this morning took longer than I thought. I hope you had fun last night.

You rolled your eyes, scoffing as you read it. This, of course, was followed immediately by another round of tears, albeit more quiet and soft. You couldn’t help it - despite feeling cried-out, your vision blurred as you felt the tears start to fall again. It felt ridiculous, to let him make you cry like this. You should be furious, over this already, but it still just made you sad, as stupidly simple as that sounded.

You felt Robin’s eyes on you, and you just turned your phone for her to look. She rolled her eyes.

“Oh, fuck him - if I ever see him out in the wild -”

“I’m just - I’m not going to respond,” you said, voice a bit thick and hoarse still.

“I mean, if I were you -”

“But you’re not,” you snapped. “And I just don’t want to talk to him, okay?”

Robin went quiet, staring down at her hands.

“Yeah - okay, no problem -” she said, voice quiet. You felt a surge of guilt run through you.

“Robin - hey, I’m sorry. It’s not you, I’m just -” you sighed, pinching your temples.

“I know,” Robin said softly. “It’s okay - I get it. I mean, fuck him, right?”

You feigned a thin smile, wiping your eyes.

“Yeah,” you whispered. “Fuck him.”

Robin leaned back, opening up her arms. You took the invitation and laid down on your side, putting your head in her lap and facing the TV.

“What’re we watching?” you asked quietly.

“Whatever you want, babe,” she replied, running her fingers gently across your scalp.

And, for a while, you pushed Steve from your mind, fell into a state of acceptance, and let yourself appreciate having someone like her in your life, when seemingly everyone else had let you down.

*****

Steve texted you four more times that day, the first coming a few hours later. The longer you went without responding, though, the quicker he sent a follow-up, each message growing increasingly frantic:

Is everything alright?

Are you free to talk right now? I just want to make sure you’re okay.

This is going to sound stupid, but I’m freaking out a little - can you at least let me know you’re alive? And that you made it home okay?

Do I need to send out a search party? Because I will, if I have to.

Then, around 4pm, the phone calls started. The first time your phone buzzed, you ignored it and let it go to voicemail. For a while, you opted to just leave your phone in your bedroom and stay in the living room with Robin, ordering takeout and watching terrible reality television. It almost took your mind off of things. Almost.

At some point, Robin broke out a bottle of wine that had been hiding in the back of the pantry. It was pretty cheap, which you probably wouldn’t have noticed before. But lately, you’d only been drinking the good stuff. Still, it got you a little tipsy, made you relax just a bit, and you soon found yourself laughing like a child with Robin over something so silly, you couldn’t even recall what it was. Then, it was getting late, a little past midnight, and you remembered that Robin had work in the morning.

You probably would too, soon. You’d likely have to go back to the coffee shop, and ask for your shifts back. That would be easy - the gig at Enoteca might be harder to get back. You had enough money banked from Steve’s allowance that you’d be fine at least for a while. But, before the semester started back up, you had to begrudgingly accept that you’d have to get back to your shitty jobs again. But, that was a problem to deal with tomorrow. For now, you put on a brave face, and bid goodnight to Robin.

“You sure you’ll be okay?” she asked from the bathroom doorway.

“Yeah,” you whispered. “Not right now. But… I’m dealing with it. Don’t worry too much about me, okay?”

You knew she’d probably let you sleep in her bed with her tonight, if you asked. You’d do the same for her. But it felt childish, and you had a feeling you already weren’t going to sleep well tonight. So Robin frowned, but nodded, murmuring, “Yeah, alright.”

You soon found yourself in your bedroom, alone. The moment the door shut behind you, you let out a deep, shuddering breath. For the first time since arriving home that day, you were actually alone.

You moved slowly, pulling on your pajamas and sliding under your covers. You sagged with relief, the weight of the day fully sinking in. You were exhausted, so deeply that it seeped into your bones. For a moment, you wondered if you would sink deep enough into the mattress that you’d fall right through, and never come back up.

You were letting your eyes flutter shut when your phone buzzed on your nightstand. You groaned, rolling over and squinting at the brightness of the bluelight. Steve’s contact name was on your screen - you suddenly found yourself thankful that you didn’t actually have any pictures of him, because the thought of seeing his contact photo on your screen right now was too much to handle.

You had been letting it go to voicemail all day. But, this time, you pressed DECLINE.

The screen goes dim. You click it on, and see a notification:

Steve Harrington

Missed Call (8)

You shook your head, laughing sardonically. You should’ve been spiteful, and left that wedding invite out on the bed for him to find, so he knew exactly why you didn't want to speak to him.

Despite yourself, you pictured it again in your mind. The photo of Steve and that woman, smiling and picture-perfect against the sunset. The giant diamond on her finger, the way his arms were wrapped around her. And, her name: Nancy Wheeler.

You knew that you shouldn’t do it. But, you were so morbidly curious. So, despite better judgment, you found yourself opening up Instagram, and typing in her name.

You scrolled through a few, until you finally spotted a profile called @nancewheeler with an icon that you were 98% sure was her. You tapped on it, only to find it to be private, much to your disappointment. Although, maybe it was for the best - what were you expecting to find? Photos from her wedding? Posts with Steve, wishing him a happy birthday, going on trips, spending holidays together? That would only be more painful.

She had more than a respectable amount of followers for an average person, and she looks just as beautiful in her tiny profile photo as she did on the card. The profile reads:

emerson 14’. columbia ‘16. permanently peckish.

IN → NY

You bit your lip. Even with these small scraps of information, she seemed smart, cool, and more put-together than you’ve ever been.

Next, you went to Facebook - you found her profile, but it looked like it hadn’t been active for several years. The last public update was in 2018 - it was photos from a Christmas party. And, sickeningly, Steve is in the pictures, laughing as she’s curled into his side, both donning Christmas sweaters and paper crowns.

Steve looked younger, and maybe the happiest you’ve ever seen him. You closed it quickly, feeling stupid for the way your eyes burned when thinking about it. Next, you Googled her name - and, a lot came up. She was a writer for the New York Times. She’s published some hard-hitting stuff - exclusive profiles, breaking news coverage, in-depth exposes ranging from political cover-ups to tainted city water supplies to sexual harassment in Hollywood. You hit the paywall after a few articles, but you scrolled through the headlines. She was the real thing. Of course she was. How could Steve not fall in love with her?

You closed the browser and shut off your phone, throwing your covers over your head and burying your face in the pillow. You willed sleep to overtake you, but instead, your phone buzzed again. You huffed, twisting around and snatching it off of th nightstand. You declined the call again, put the phone on Do Not Disturb, and rolled back over.

This time, though, you let the tears fall. You had been holding them back ever since your breakdown with Robin earlier. But you weren’t done yet, and you had known it - but now, you sobbed into your pillow. You weren’t sure when sleep came and put you out of your misery, but your last thoughts before drifting off were of Steve, and how you hated him, but not as much as you wanted to.

*****

TWO DAYS LATER

“Seriously, it’s fine,” you assured Robin. “I can take care of myself, you know.”

“I know! It’s just… I feel shitty for going on a date while you’re… well, you know.”

You rolled your eyes.

“Just because I’m going through a tough time doesn’t mean that you shouldn’t have fun.”

Robin crosses her arms.

“I’m just saying -”

“Robin! This is what, your fifth date with Vickie? Sixth? You like her - I see the way you talk about her. Just go - seriously, I’m just going to be here, watching TV and eating leftovers. Go have fun on my behalf, yeah?”

Robin pondered it for a moment, then nodded.

“Yeah, okay - but, if you need anything -”

“Just go, will you?” you said, smiling. “I think I can be alone for a few hours, you know. Or… maybe more than a few, if it goes well -”

“Ugh! Gross!” Robin cried, grimacing.

“What’s gross about me wanting my best friend to get laid? If you don’t come home, I’ll just assume that you’re hav-”

“Okay, you win! I’m leaving, maybe forever!”

“Bring an umbrella!” you shouted.

You laughed, settling into the couch and turning your attention back to the television as you heard the door click behind her. The apartment was quiet - you hadn’t really had it to yourself in a while, and as comforting as Robin’s presence was, you were glad to be alone for a bit. And, although it was bittersweet, you couldn’t help but feel giddy that things seemed to be going well with Vickie - after hearing Robin rave about that cute girl in my art history class for a whole semester, you had told her enough was enough, and she should buck up and ask her out. Occasionally, you were capable of giving out good advice, it turns out.

A storm was raging outside, the rain pounding against the glass as the wind whistled. It was forecasted to pour all night, much-needed relief after an unusually hot and dry past few weeks. To you, that meant a night in sweatpants, getting under the covers early, and falling asleep to the sound of the rainfall. To you, that sounded just fine.

Even though it had only been a few days, you found yourself thinking of Steve less than you thought you would. Granted, that wasn’t much. But, it was something.

To say you got your heart broken would’ve been dramatic. He wasn’t your boyfriend - outside of bed, there was nothing affectionate between you two. Your relationship had been an arrangement, a transaction, and nothing more. No, instead, you just felt used - he knew exactly what he was doing. And, you had been stupid enough to fall for it. When you thought of him, you just felt dread, a stroke of anger, and ultimately settled on defeat. He still called, and occasionally texted - asking what was wrong, wondering if he did something, demanding an explanation. He had left voicemails, too - you hadn’t brought yourself to listen to them. Hearing his voice was too tangible, too real. Besides, there probably wasn’t much he could possibly have to say to you. You had considered blocking his number several times - Robin had practically demanded it. But, every time you tried, your finger hovered over the button, and you just couldn’t bring yourself to.

It was a little past 8pm when you heard a knock on your door. You were munching on popcorn half-watching a Netflix rom-com while mindlessly scrolling on your phone. You jumped, glancing over the couch towards the door - was it Robin? It must be, if it wasn’t somebody ringing the buzzer from downstairs. Maybe she was locked out. That would be really early for her to be back, though - unless somehow, something had gone terribly wrong on her date. The thought of that alone was enough to form a knot in your stomach. You leapt up from the couch, practically running to the door. You were so frantic, so worried, that it hadn’t even occurred to you to check through the peephole and see who it was.

You braced yourself as you unlocked and opened the door.

“Why are you already -”

Then, you froze. Because, standing there in the doorway, dripping with rainwater and shivering, was Steve Harrington.

His eyes widened when he saw you, his chest heaving - he must’ve run up the four flights of stairs. After a few seconds, once the initial shock wore off, you straightened up, moving to immediately slam the door in his face.

“Wait, hold on-” he started, catching the door in his hand. You considered trying to slam it even harder, hopefully to catch his fingers in the process, but you decide to relent.

“Please,” he said, voice a bit softer. “I - give me five minutes to explain, yeah? If you don’t like what I have to say, I’ll walk out of here, and never come back. I promise you.”

You held his stare, pointedly trying to ignore his pleading eyes, and the way it made something in your chest crumble. Fuck.

“Goddammit,” you muttered under your breath. You sighed, taking a step back and opening the door, only just wide enough for him to shoulder his way in. You took a few steps back, crossing your arms and popping your hip. He was smart enough to keep his distance, standing on the other side of the room.

It was only now that it occurred to you that he had never been in your apartment. You had always made him wait downstairs, embarrassed by how small it probably would seem to him, how juvenile and messy the place looked. You also became acutely aware of your oversized threadbare t-shirt, your old sweatpants, the fact that he had never exactly seen you like this before. You felt the blood rush into your cheeks, the self-consciousness suddenly all-consuming.

No, you thought, I’m not the one who should be ashamed here.

So, you straightened up, holding firm. This was your home - he wasn’t much more than an intruder in it.

The way he was looking at you wasn’t unlike how you imagine prey looking at a predator, unnervingly wary, frozen in place. After it became clear that you weren’t going to be the one to initiate the conversation, he took a deep breath.

“Okay, so - I have a feeling why you disappeared on me.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, do you now?”

Your words were curt, tone biting.

“Yeah, well - okay, look - I’ve been really worried about you. I thought something had happened. Or, maybe I scared you off with something I said, or did… but, I thought it was crazy to come over here, even though I thought about it about a hundred times -”

“Well, yeah, showing up unannounced to the place where I live, in the pouring rain, in the middle of the night - that would be crazy, good thing you didn’t -”

“Yeah, I get it. But, the point is, I didn’t know why you left, or what happened, until now. I was cleaning up around my place, and - all of my stuff kind of has its place, you know? And, I saw my spare phone charger plugged into the wall, and I thought that was weird, because I didn’t remember putting it there… or pulling it out of its drawer…and that’s when I knew. You saw - what you saw, it isn’t what you think -”

“Isn’t it?” you asked. “Because to me, it looks like you had a wedding last September, Harrington. Let me guess - you had to come live abroad for what, six months, and couldn’t go that long without getting laid? I mean, you’re just like the rest of them -”

“Baby, no -”

“Don’t call me that!” you cried, not even realizing how close it was to a scream until it came out. You felt your eyes welling up, starting to sting, and you internally scolded yourself for letting him already get you like this.

“You don’t get to call me anything, I’m not your anything -”

“I’m not married!” he finally said, screaming to be heard over you.

You stopped mid-sentence, pausing for a moment, then scoffed.

“Do you really expect me to believe that? I saw it - Nancy, is it? Is she back in the U.S., just completely oblivious?”

He winced visibly at her name, like it was something foul.

“I wouldn’t know, considering I haven’t spoken to her in a year!”

It’s silent for a moment, both of you breathing heavily with frustration, too worked up. You opened your mouth to say something, but the words died on your tongue. He was still holding your gaze, unrelenting. There was something in the way he was looking at you, something saying please. You just held your ground, arms still crossed, mouth shut.

Steve took a moment, shutting his eyes and exhaling deeply, gathering himself.

“I - she called it off. Like, two months before the wedding. We - we had been having some issues. I ignored them, because I wanted to make it work. I really did. But… she didn’t, I guess. So, we went our separate ways. I haven’t seen her since she moved out of our - my, place. I swear to you - I didn’t lie to you.”

You bit your lip, letting your eyes drift downwards to the floor to avoid his gaze as you considered what he was saying. He had a lot of reasons to lie - but, there wasn’t much evidence suggesting that it wasn’t true. You nodded slowly.

“That’s not true,” you said.

“What?”

“That you didn’t lie. That’s not true.”

“I’m telling you -”

“No,” you interrupted, snapping up to meet his eyes again. “I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt for like, 5 minutes, and believe you. Believe that you aren’t with her anymore, I mean. But - you still lied. Back at the coffee shop, when I asked why you didn’t want a real relationship.”

His shoulders sagged a bit.

“What makes you say that?”

“You said you’re too busy - married to your job, don’t have time, all of that. And yeah, maybe that’s partially true. But don’t tell me that Nancy isn’t part of that. She is, right?”

He stared at you for a moment, considering what you were implying carefully, and nodded slowly.

“Yeah - kind of.”

“You don’t have to tell me everything that happened, but I need you -”

“No, I’ll tell you,” he conceded. “Can I sit?”

You nodded in the direction of the couch, watching him as he slowly walked over and sunk down. You stayed standing, holding your ground. He sat there for a moment, and you could tell that he was trying his best to compose himself. After a deep breath, he started talking.

“Nancy and I met in college, my junior year. We didn’t go to the same school, but we were both living in Boston, ran in similar circles, all of that. I’ll be honest with you - I was crazy about her, from the second I met her. And, I don’t know, it felt right, I guess? Or, maybe it didn’t, and I just wanted to lock it down, hold onto her. She also came from a good family, my parents loved her, all of that. So, after she finished grad school, I was already working my way up in the company, so I proposed. I’m sure a lot of people thought I was crazy - we were still pretty young, you know? I honestly was shocked that she said yes. I guess that was a sign, right?”

He was hardly looking at you as he told the story, his words careful and measured. His voice was quiet, solemn.

“So, we were engaged for a while - things kept getting in the way. Or, maybe we were searching for reasons to delay it all, I don’t know. Looking back, here’s so much I didn’t know. But, I was working a lot - long hours, late nights, traveling constantly. And Nancy was making her own name, always busy - she’s a journalist, a really good one. So, we hardly saw one another. And when we did, it was like we were strangers. Or, even worse, we kept fighting about stupid shit. Like, who was supposed to wash the dishes, schedule mix-ups, the wedding guest list. I think we were just both stressed with work, and we were both starting to figure out that we had less in common than we thought. And then… one night, at a friend’s wedding, Nancy got drunk. Like, really drunk. And she didn’t do that often, and I was honestly happy to see her letting loose. But then she had a little too much fun, started stumbling, feeling sick, and I tried to get her to leave. And, that’s when she started being brutally honest about everything.”

His voice got thick for a second, and he paused for a moment to pull himself together. This was painful for him - really painful. The kind of pain that you can’t make up.

“I won’t get into everything she said, but - I replay that conversation in my head, constantly. It brought a lot of things to light - we didn’t love each other the same way, and we didn’t want the same things for the future. She was totally blackout, of course. So the next day, when she was sober, I told her what happened, and asked if she meant it. She couldn’t answer me. And you wanna know the most pathetic part? I still wanted to fight for us, to proceed with the wedding, figure it all out… but I guess it got her thinking. I came back from work a few days later, and she was gone. She packed up all of her stuff, left the ring, and a note. And that was it. I haven’t seen her since. So yeah, you’re right - I’m not looking for a relationship. Because I don’t need anything like that to happen to me ever again. You wanted honesty? There, you have it.”

He leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees, holding his head in his hands.

This was a version of Steve you’d never seen before. There was a lot about him that you still didn’t know, sides you haven’t seen, you knew that. But this…

There were now a few more things about Steve Harrington of which you were absolutely certain, adding to your ever-growing list. He was heartbroken. He was scared. A part of him, however big or small, was still yearning for Nancy, wistfully mourning what could have been. And, he was telling you the truth.

In theory, he could’ve been lying about the whole thing. He could have fabricated some detailed, believable story about his forlorn ex-fiancee, playing up the heartbreak, putting on the performance of a lifetime. But you just knew - from the way his voice had sounded, the way his body sagged and deflated, the way he was now staring at you to gauge your reaction: he was being honest with you. And, everything about your arrangement, the way he spoiled you, his desperation when you were in bed, his stony persona outside of it… all of the pieces were falling into place. And you had just spent the last two days in agony for nothing.

He wanted you to say something, you knew that. But, you didn’t say a word. Instead, you kept his stare, slowly crossing the room until you were right in front of him. He never tore his gaze away from you, eyes following as you slowly sank to your knees, down to his level.

“So, are you gonna say some-”

He didn’t get a chance to finish, because you were kissing him, soft and slow. He stiffened, then relaxed, easing into the kiss. He brought his hands to your face, grasping you gently as he pulled you close.

“You don’t have to -”

“No,” you said firmly, cutting him off. “Stop talking. There’s only one thing I want to do right now.”

“What?” he breathed.

“Make you forget all about her.”

His eyes widened, and you were on him again, situating yourself in his lap. You started kissing him again, but more hurriedly, hungrily. He responded, melting back into the couch as you straddled him, wrapping your arms around his neck. He groaned against your lips, his tongue finding its way into your mouth. You let him, smiling at the way the telltale bulge was already growing in his jeans, the way he moaned when you brushed over it.

It had only been a few days, and you realized then how much you had missed him, as silly as it sounded. But the smell of his cologne, the taste of him, the sounds he was making under you, everything that was Steve - it was addicting.

So, the pair of you found your way back to your bedroom, gnashing teeth and tongues, whimpers and groans into each other’s skin, and hardly any actual talking happened after that.

*******

That night, you did your best to keep your promise to make Steve forget all about Nancy. With the way he was screaming your name by the end of it, you considered it a success.

You kissed him all over, pressing your lips and dragging your tongue over him until he was practically putty, begging you to touch him. And you did, wrapping your mouth around where he wanted you most. And, you had your fun, making up for your pent up frustration - you edged him, teasing and pulling him right to the peak until he was begging for release, practically crying. He was a mess, babbling a nonsensical cacophony of sweet praises, filthy promises, calling you his good girl and baby. When you finally lowered yourself onto him, you made him look at you as you rode him. You experimented with how far you could push it, forcing his fingers to your clit as you did.

Oh, daddy, you had moaned, looking down at him smugly. Does this feel good? Do you like when your good girl rides you? I bet you do. C’mon, daddy - make your girl cum, yeah? I need to cum on your cock, sir. Cum inside me, you know you want to -

And he did, just like that, a desperate mess beneath you. You were so worked up, the rollercoaster of the last few days coming to a head, that you followed moments later, pulling him close as you came down from your highs together, chests heaving.

Afterwards, he had kissed apologies into your skin, whispering all the ways he was going to make it up to you. You just quieted his worries, whispering, “Is there anything else I need to know?”

“No,” he replied softly.

“Okay. Then the rest we can handle.”

And that was that. You didn’t even say anything when he fell asleep, right there in your bed. Instead, you buried yourself into his side, and had a peaceful sleep for the first time since the night of the gala.

Things went back to normal after that. Or, something like it. There was of course an explanation needed for Robin - she had nearly thrown a plate at Steve when she saw him in the kitchen the next morning. It took some talking down, and a series of death glares shot in his direction, but when you got her alone, she eventually decided to believe you, allowing Steve Harrington to live to see another day. It was easy enough, considering that the conversation quickly pivoted to the fact that Robin had spent the night at Vickie’s. She just blushed, punched you in the arm, and grumbled something about minding your business as she stalked back to the kitchen.

No, things weren’t back to normal. Yes, you and Steve resumed your arrangement, going out to nice dinners, having (incredible) sex after, and continuing your payments. He even gave you back the earrings you had purposely left back at his place the morning you had stormed out, despite your insistence that they were far too opulent. But, he was persistent, and they now sat on your nightstand, glimmering even in the dimmest light.

But, there was something new now. It was unspoken, barely tangible. For all you knew, the feeling was one-sided. But, Steve had shared this personal, vulnerable side of himself with you. You knew far more about him than you ever had before, and more often than not, you couldn’t help but notice the air of melancholy that followed him at all times, subtle yet unshakeable. And, you had shown him more of yourself than you had intended, too. You could be stubborn, and spiteful, and would much rather throw up walls and run than face the possibility of putting yourself in a position to be abandoned. Your immediate jump to a conclusion about Steve’s marriage, and your reaction after, was enough to prove that. He had seen this ugly, not-so-reasonable side of you. But he had come back anyway, and he continued to take care of you in every sense that he had been before.

A few weeks later, he texted you in the morning like he often did:

Hey there - are you free tonight at 7?

You found yourself smiling at the message, only to immediately catch it and stop. You responded:

yep - ill be ready for you

He responded almost immediately:

Perfect. I’ll see you then - maybe wear the necklace I gave you, that first one? I like seeing you in it.

You felt your face heat, the novelty of him telling you what he liked to see you wear still not completely worn off. You felt yourself smirking as you sent back:

anything for you daddy

You saw him start typing. Then stop. Then start again.

Christ - I’m in a meeting. You’re going to pay for that later.

Still feeling bold, you sent one last message:

i really hope so 😉

That was how you found yourself out to dinner at yet another 5-star restaurant, sipping wine and perusing the menu. You were debating with Steve whether to get appetizers or not when you heard a familiar voice calling your name. You looked up, eyes shooting towards the direction it came from, and immediately smiling when you spotted him.

“Eddie?”

And there he was: Eddie Munson, your dear friend. He had his long curls tied up into a loose bun, his shirt more unbuttoned than buttoned, a camera slung over his shoulder. His tattoos peaked through the rolled-up sleeves and on his collarbone, and you could swear he’d gotten more since the last time you saw him. You practically jumped up out of your seat, giddy as he came right up to the table. You threw your arms around him, pulling him into a warm embrace without a second thought.

“Ciao, bella,” he said endearingly, laughing in your ear. He pulled back, looking you up and down as he continued in Italian, “Look at you! Did you raid a model’s closet, or something?”

You giggled, rolling your eyes.

“Oh, stop - don’t act like you’ve never seen me look nice!”

“You always look nice, sweetheart. It’s been so long!”

“I know!” you said excitedly. “I mean, it’s been crazy so far this summer. I -”

You stopped yourself, then just shrugged.

“It’s been busy, that’s all.”

It was then that you regained awareness of Steve, who stared up at both of you from where he still sat at the table. His brow was furrowed in confusion, and you realized he probably barely caught a word of what you and Eddie had been saying. You caught his eye, and smiled.

“Eddie, this is my - well, uh… this is Steve,” you said in English, gesturing between the two men.

“Steve,” Eddie said warmly, extending his hand. Steve took it, shaking his hand firmly. Taking your queue, he continued in English, “Pleasure to meet you. You’re lucky to know this lady right here, you know.”

You felt yourself blushing, and shook your head vigorously.

“Eddie -”

“I’m just being honest, bella!”

Steve finally spoke up, taking a second to clear his throat.

“I, uh - how do you two know each other?”

“Oh, well, we both are at the university together,” you explained. “Eddie was actually a teaching assistant for an art history class I had to take. It wasn’t exactly my thing, but he really is the reason I passed.”

“Oh, c’mon, you excelled in that class. You’re smart -” Eddie started.

“So… you guys are… friends?” Steve asked tentatively.

“Yes, the dearest of friends,” Eddie answered. “We just don’t get a chance to see each other too much lately, since I finished school.”

“What’re you doing here, anyways?” you asked.

“Oh - the restaurant hired me to take some photos for their website. Pictures of plates of food, the space, ambience, that sort of thing. Not exactly my passion project, but it pays the bills, right?”

“Eddie’s a photographer,” you explained to Steve, turning to glance back at him. “And, well, a musician - his band is great. But, he’s an amazing photographer, a real professional - you should see his stuff!”

“Oh, yeah,” Steve said quietly.

“But, darling,” Eddie started, “you really should model for me again. I swear, these gigs are killing me - I want to shoot something beautiful again!”

You felt the heat creep up into your face even more, and just shook your head.

“Oh, stop it -”

“Model?” Steve asked, sitting up a little straighter.

“Yes!” Eddie said enthusiastically. “Our girl here, she’s a marvel in front of the camera - I used her for so many projects in school, even shot her for my final portfolio. She’s like my - ah, what’s the English word… muse! Yes, my muse.”

“Is that so?” Steve asked slowly.

“He’s exaggerating, I just posed for a few projects he was in a pinch for -” you started.

“And I need to feel passionate like that again. You should come by the studio, seriously, I’d feel alive again -”

“Totally!” you exclaimed. “Text me the address, let me know when you’re working. I’d love to come by!”

“Beautiful,” he said, grinning in the way Eddie always does. “Well, I’ll leave you back to your meal, but it was lovely to see you.”

“Same,” you said, beaming. He leaned forward, leaving a kiss on each cheek, and he set off back behind the bar, setting his camera on a tripod as he returned to work.

You settled back in your seat, smiling to yourself. Steve was just staring at you, his face neutral.

“So, you and him… you’re close?”

You shrugged, bringing your eyes back to the menu.

“Yeah, you can say that. He really helped me with getting a better grasp of Italian, too - you should’ve seen me that first year, I was so lost. He’s a nice guy, right?”

“Yeah,” Steve said quietly. “Seems… friendly.”

For the rest of dinner, Steve was strangely quiet. Not silent, exactly - he still laughed at your jokes, chimed in on the stories you told, and, his breath audibly hitched when your hand found his knee under the table. He paid the bill quickly, both of you simultaneously deciding to book it to the car as fast as you could. He yanked open the door and gestured for you to go in, quickly following and slamming it shut behind him. As the car peeled away from the sidewalk and towards Steve’s apartment, a silence fell between you. The entire ride was silent. When you arrived at Steve’s building, you both exited the car and went upstairs without a word. Something was off - it was enough that you couldn’t really bear it anymore, and once you were through the door, you just blurted it out.

“Is everything okay?”

“Hm? Yeah, why wouldn’t it be?”

You shrugged.

“It’s just - you’ve been kind of quiet. Something on your mind?”

Steve stood on the other side of the island in the kitchen, arms crossed.

“Eddie,” he mumbled.

You raised an eyebrow, confused. “What about Eddie? Do you know him or something?”

“No, no - but… you do. He just seemed… is there something I don’t know?”

“What do you mean?”

“Were you and him ever… well, you know…”

That’s what this was about? Eddie? You found yourself starting to laugh, palm to your mouth as you shook your head.

“Oh, God no. We’re just friends, and always have been.”

“Someone should tell him that.”

You rolled your eyes. “No, you don’t get it - he’s like that with everyone. He’s just, so… like that. Seriously, he could flirt with a brick wall. And he probably would, to be honest.”

“He was calling you his muse -”

“He’s dramatic like that -”

“And what kinds of pictures was he taking of you, exactly?”

You furrowed your brow, Steve’s face set like stone. Then, realizing what he was implying, you felt your face heat.

“Come on - my clothes were on, if that’s what you’re asking. But, quite frankly, even if something had happened between me and Eddie, it’s not really any of your business.”

His face faltered for a moment, and you realized you had struck a nerve. You sighed, pressing your hand to your forehead.

“I just mean that… you don’t have anything to worry about, okay? He’s just a friend.”

Steve’s jaw clenched, and he nodded.

“Okay.”

Part of you was pissed off that this conversation was even happening. But another part of you was thrilled. The thought of Steve actually being jealous… It was new. It was exciting. And, you couldn’t deny the way the thought of him being worked up like this, and just a bit possessive, over you… your heart fluttered in your chest. So, you just smiled slyly, taking a step towards him.

“It seems like someone’s jealous,” you murmured.

“I’m not -”

“Yeah you are,” you said, now nearly face-to-face with him. “Does it piss you off? The idea of me and Eddie? Do you think about him… touching me? Me screaming his name? You must’ve thought about it, right?”

You noted how his hands were clenched into fists at his side, and you smirked. You were close enough that your noses were nearly brushing, and you could practically feel the heat radiating off of him.

“I don’t get jealous,” he whispered. “I don’t do that.”

“Prove it,” you said.

Then, he was on you, crashing his lips into yours. He was desperate, greedy, taking your face in his hands as he kissed you like it was the last thing you’d ever do. It was a blur after that - stumbling into his bedroom, shedding clothing on the way. He held your shoulders, keeping you in place just where he wanted you, practically manhandling you as he posed you towards the mattress. You had to do everything you could to suppress your grin - a lot of the time, you were in control, Steve moldable like clay in your hands. But this side of him… it was thrilling.

“Here’s what you’re going to do,” he practically growled, hovering over you. “You’re going to do everything I say. You’re going to lie there, and when I’m done, you’re going to cum three times, at least, got it? Just so you don’t go thinking anyone else can do this for you, baby - just me. Got it?”

Your stomach flipped, and you nodded. His eyes were dark, and part of you wondered where this version of Steve had been hiding this whole time. Maybe you needed to piss him off more often.

“Yes,” you breathed.

“Yes what?”

“Yes… yes, daddy.”

That was enough to get him going. He practically pounced, kissing you fast and hard, and perhaps a little messily. He worked his way down your body, practically tearing off your bra like it was some horrid contraption meant to keep you from him. Your back arched as he took one breast in his mouth, the other in his hand, massaging it and flicking over your hardened nipple. You gasped, threading your fingers in his hair.

“Could just touch these tits all day, baby,” he whispered into your skin. “Really could… but you want something else, don’t you.”

You bit your lip and nodded, watching as he pressed open-mouthed kisses into your skin, making his way down your navel, your hips, and then skipping where you wanted him, opting to ghost his lips over your inner thighs instead. You groaned in frustration, hips bucking as he continued to take his time.

“Patience, baby,” he breathed.

He brought his hand to your center, running his thumb along your slit until it was coated in your slick.

“Look at you, already so wet for me, and I’ve hardly touched you. Were you thinking about me, already worked up before you even got here?”

You pinched your brow, nodding as he brushed the pad of his thumb over your clit, a barely-there touch. You shivered, practically whining his name.

“What’s that, baby?” he asked sweetly.

“Fuck - touch me, for god’s sake -”

“I am touching you -”

“You know what I mean!”

“Not sure I do,” he said coyly, coating more of his fingers in your wetness, still avoiding where you wanted him most. You groaned, realizing you’d have to play into his game to get what you wanted.

“Fuck me with your fingers Steve, please -”

And he does, easily plunging two fingers into your cunt without a moment’s hesitation. You gasped, throwing your head back as his thumb found your clit. He rubbed deep, slow circles, pumping his fingers along your walls. Your hips involuntarily bucked as he brushed against that one spot inside of your, knowing your body by now like the back of his hand. You were already close, worked up far too quickly to the point that it was embarrassing.

“Fuck, you’re already squeezin’ me, baby. Are you close? That’s so fast, princess. You’re such a good girl, fucking yourself on my fingers. Can you scream my name while you cum? Are you able to do that?”

Instead of answering, you fisted the sheets, hips moving with his hand as you chased your high. It hit you out of nowhere, the heat pooling between your thighs and spreading through you, blissful and rapid.

“Fuck, Steve - fuck, I’m coming, shit, Steve, it’s so good -”

He just hummed approvingly, pulling his fingers out of you. You huffed in frustration, still mid-orgasm, your cunt clenching around nothing.

“What the -”

Then the words caught in your throat, because he dove in, pressing his tongue against your still-sensitive clit. You were still coming down from your high, and he hardly gave you a moment to breathe. He worked you through the rest of your orgasm with his tongue. But, he didn’t stop. He continued, lapping at your pussy while you twitched and convulsed. You were too sensitive, tears stinging your eyes at the overstimulation.

“Oh, fuck - oh my God, Steve -”

You reached down to where he was settled between your legs, gripping his hair. You tugged perhaps a bit too hard, and he just groaned in response. He groans as you tug on the brunette strands, arching your back with the movements of his tongue. You planted your feet into the mattress, moaning as his tongue circled your clit.

You weren’t even sure if you had ever stopped coming, the reprieve from your orgasm moments ago practically nonexistent. Your legs were shaking, and you were screaming, maybe the loudest you ever had in bed. The words were tumbling out of your mouth, because it was too much, it was everything, your mind going numb.

“Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck - Steve, god, just like that - it’s so good, it’s too much, I’m gonna cum again - oh fuck -I”

It took one more circle of his tongue over your clit, and you were done for - your back arched enough that your head came off the pillow,his name on your lips as you screamed, tugging harshly on his hair as you saw stars behind your eyelids.

He continued to work you through your orgasm, hands placed firmly on your hips as he licked lazily at your folds, pressing deep thumbprints into your skin that you knew would leave bruises.

You felt tears running down your cheeks, your entire lower body still shaking as he brought his face back up to yours. His mouth and chin were glossy, his grin devil-like.

“What a good girl,” he whispered. “Was that good?”

“Mm,” you murmured, hardly able to find the words. “So good, thank you.”

“Can you do another?” he asked, dropping the mask for a moment - you considered for a moment. You reached down and ran a finger over your clit, wet and puffy, wincing slightly at the stimulation. But you just bit your lip as you looked up at him.

“I promised you three, sir,” you breathed. “I’m gonna cum three times, just like you asked.”

His eyes darkened, and he grinned wickedly.

“You’re somethin’ else, you know that?”

“How do you want me?” you asked, propping yourself up on your elbows. He thought for a moment, then glanced over his shoulder.

“Up against the glass,” he said, voice low and rough.

You followed his gaze to the massive floor-to-ceiling windows, overlooking the whole city. Your eyes widened, your heart nearly skipping a beat.

“Yeah?” you asked sweetly. “You gonna fuck me so everyone can see?”

“The whole fuckin’ city, baby.”

You were on your feet in an instant, bounding over to the window. You pressed your back against it, the cool glass seeping into your skin as he stalked towards you, unbuckling his belt. He was practically fully dressed still, in stark contrast to how you stood bare before him. You realized then and there that he intended to keep it that way - he was going to fuck you fully clothed, still in his suit from dinner.

“Turn around,” he said.

Oh.

You nodded, doing as he said. You felt him behind you, his breath against your ear.

“You’re fuckin’ dripping - got you nice and ready for me.”

“Anything for you, sir,” you whispered, casting a glance at him over your shoulder. “Do your worst.”

And he did. Without warning, he entered you from behind in one rough push, making your gasp and mewl around him.

“Fuck,” he groaned, hips snapping against your ass. “That’s it, baby - you can take it, can’t you?”

“Yes,” you breathed, “fuck me, please -”

And he did, pounding into you hard and fast. You cried out, palms pushed against the window. Your breasts brushed the cool glass, and he picked up the pace. You squeezed around his cock for good measure, knowing that you were practically soaking it. He pressed his face into your shoulder, lips against your skin.

“So good for me, baby - letting me fuck you, after all that? Who else makes you feel this good?”

“Nobody?” you sighed.

“What was that?”

“Nobody. Just you.”

“Damn right,” he said, voice cracking. “This pussy is mine - I can’t wait to cum in it, what a good girl - my princess, my baby, so good for me. Can you cum again? Can you do that?”

You nodded weakly, following his movements as you threw your ass against his hips. He had never taken you from behind before, and the new angle was enough to nearly send you over the edge. There was something so primal about it, so thrilling - the image of him thrusting into you from behind, your naked form pressed against the glass. Rome sprawled before you, and though you were too high for anyone to actually see you, part of you liked to imagine that they could, any passerby on the street able to see Steve Harrington fucking your brains out.

“You should see yourself, all fucked out on my cock like this - are you close again? Are you gonna cum?” he breathed, skin slapping against yours. You reached down, rubbing fast circles on your clit to help get you to your peak.

“Yes, oh god, yes - fuck, Steve - daddy - fill me up, please, harder. Fuck your little girl, let everyone see, please -”

And that was it for him. He let out a guttural groan, his spend filling you up as he came. He thrust into you a few more times, and you clenched around him as you followed, coming with a cry. You threw your head over his shoulder, shaking and clenching on his cock as you came for the third time that night. It was white-hot, devastating, the scream you let out feeling like it was ripped form your fucking soul. You had had a lot of orgasms with Steve, him drawing feelings out of you in bed that you had never had before. But this - there had never been anything like it.

As you both stood there in silence, his cock still buried in you while you breathed heavily in unison, you knew two things for certain: first, you needed to get Steve jealous far more often. And second - he had completely, utterly, ruined you for anyone else. You tried your best to ignore the terror that set in with that thought, and kissed his shoulder instead, holding onto the bliss for as long as you could.

author's note: I know the wait was long for this, so thanks for sticking around! It's also barely proofread, so if there's mistakes... just act like you didn't see them. As always, shoutout to Em for fueling the fic, and getting me to actually write. Reblogs and comments are always appreciated!

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undead-supernova · 3 months

Text

HIGH TOLERANCE

Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4

Masterlist

warnings: weed consumption, Steve (derogatory) (not to me, but in this canon sorry), jealous!reader out the whazoo, puke, drinking, horny thoughts, Annie Lennox's (Eurythmics) incredible song "Love Is a Stranger"

pairings: bestfriend!modern!eddie x bisexual!fem!reader

plot: it's everyone's downfall to desire jealousy to go both ways, isn't it?

wc: 5.8k

note: Hope everyone likes it! Been a little preoccupied with some life stuff but I've got a fire under my ass to finish this series and working on other fics hehe

Part 3: "Volcano Vaporizer"

“What’re you up to?”

“Since you last asked me five minutes ago?”

“Yup.”

“Still trying to fix my toilet.” Eddie heard a bang. “Ow!”

“You good?”

“Just hit my head again. No big deal.”

Eddie laughed, shaking his head. “I could’ve done it for you if you just, you know, asked.”

“You’re on your break and I kinda need to pee, you know.”

Eddie looked down at his BLT, arms smeared with grease. No amount of soap could take everything off, especially in his brown coveralls. (Plus, his black nail polish had almost been obliterated within the first hour of his shift.) (It was devastating.) He was reclined in the front seat of his van, legs stretched out against the passenger seat, the one he tried not to picture you in.

He thought about his uncle Wayne, how he would’ve been more than happy to come fix whatever the fuck you needed if he had moved here like Eddie wanted. Wayne just didn’t like how big it was, how daunting it would be to start that process over of getting a new home and a new job. It was something Eddie assured him wouldn’t be so bad, but Wayne merely shook his head and told him that he preferred the comfort of Hawkins. Though, Eddie wasn’t so sure if Hawkins and comfort really went together.

Wayne accidentally met you once, two years ago. He’d come for his first (and only) visit. You had accidentally fallen asleep the night before after binge watching Ted Lasso. And to be clear, you fell asleep on Eddie’s bed, not his couch. And to be fair, Eddie really thought you’d be gone by the time they got back from the airport.

But when he went to show Wayne his bedroom and found you scrolling on your phone… Well.

You introduced yourself and made breakfast. Breakfast. You stayed through your horrible embarrassment in Eddie’s shirt (and boxers) and cooked for everyone. It had gone well, but after you left Eddie had to beg Wayne to believe him that you were just friends.

Even then, there was no way Wayne didn’t already know what Eddie was too scared to say aloud.

“I could always send someone.”

“Who?”

Eddie thought about it but ultimately came up short. “Uh, I don’t know. Someone.”

You let out a breathy laugh. “No, thanks. I think I’ve got it.”

“I’ll see you tonight, though.”

“Tonight?” you asked.

Eddie paused. “Uh, I’m performing tonight? At The Hidey-Hole?” He could hear you let out a low “Ohhhhhh” as he spoke. “I’m bringing that volcano thing…?”

“Oh, shit!” you exclaimed. “You’re right. Glad I can come then. Jesus, I’m sorry for forgetting. I really didn’t want to miss that.”

Eddie smiled. “No problem, Weirdo.” And for some reason, he genuinely began sweating as he started his next question. A proper sweat, starting in his armpits and the crown of his head, threatening to send trickles down his neck and torso. Fuck, he needed a shower.

“Is it cool that I invited Robin…and, uh, Steve?”

You paused. “No, yeah. It’s fine. Sure.”

It hadn’t been a long pause. But it was a pause, one of those that lasted a second too long. A short break in the conversation, a hesitance that held more than just a beat of silence. And now he was wondering what the fuck you were thinking.

“Did you go on that date?”

Eddie couldn’t stop the lump growing in his throat as the question came through. Did he really want to tell you of all people about his subpar date with Steve Harrington?

But you were still his best friend. He really couldn’t keep it from you.

“Yeah. Yeah, I did.”

“And…how was it?”

Taking another bite of his sandwich, he recounted the night more to himself than you, really. Because, yeah, Steve had been nice. Really nice. A gentleman in every way that mattered. But, to put it simply, it was just fucking boring.

“It went okay, I guess? I don’t know. Steve’s a really nice guy and he’s pretty funny. Good at mini-golf, too.”

“Don’t you, like, hate mini-golf?”

You were right. Eddie loathed mini-golf after an unfortunate accident. He was by the edge of the water, trying to hit the neon green ball into the mouth of a hippo. It was on some date with some girl he was trying to impress, and he was a little too forceful with his swing. He failed to even hit the ball, losing his grip on the putter before dropping it to the ground. Eddie took a step forward, accidentally stepping on the ball. Lost his footing. Fell in the water. Hit his head. Had to be taken to the ER for a couple of stitches. Lost the girl after she had to drive him home.

He felt so embarrassed when he tried to go back a few months later and saw they put up a fence around the water and a sign that said No Swimming.

“Yes, but I never told him that story.”

You snorted. “Well, why not?”

“What do you mean?”

“If you didn’t want to play mini golf, why didn’t you say anything about it?”

“I don’t know, I guess I wanted to make him happy.”

He could hear you pause again. “So, are you guys, like dating?”

“I wouldn’t say it’s a serious thing.” Was he trying to tell himself this or you? “But I guess we are.”

“Cool.”

Cool? What did you mean by cool? That was half of an opinion, half judgment. Or did you really not care? But you were the one who asked, weren’t you? Did it mean anything that he still wanted you to be jealous, to finally come clean about how you felt and denounce Steve’s advances?

He looked at the time and sighed. “Shit, I gotta head back. Hold on while I down this BLT.”

“Okay.”

He stuffed the last of his sandwich in his mouth and washed it down with the rest of his Dr. Pepper.

“OW!” you shouted again. “Fucking fuck, fuck, fuck! I hate this stupid thing!”

Eddie couldn’t help but laugh. “Have fun with your broken toilet, Weirdo.”

“Yeah, yeah. Eat shit.”

You felt haunted by some kind of fucked up presence as you drove to that dive bar across the city. Knowing that your fears were confirmed… Well, it certainly wasn’t the best feeling, was it? Like the rejection before the rejection. The pre-game. The warmup.

And you were always asking the wrong questions, weren’t you? Your mind was a pesky little thing, desperate for those deprecating answers to confirm every nightmare you’d had for the past two weeks. They were dating now. And maybe it wasn’t an official relationship yet, but casual dating led to dating and dating led to a relationship and a relationship led to the death of any and all chance with Eddie Munson.

“Love Is a Stranger” blasted through your speakers, the same song you sang at karaoke. The one where Eddie left the table to come and cheer you on, always being your biggest fan. He swayed, raising the roof ever so often to give an added effect. But… Well. What about Eddie and Steve’s performance? What about the way Eddie danced with him, getting closer than you’d ever seen them before?

Steve’s hands. The stumble. The nearly avoided kiss.

And you didn’t want to give in to the dangerous bitterness rising in you. You really didn’t.

But if you saw even a morsel of affection tonight, a mere kiss on the fucking cheek, you were going to throw up.

“'And I want you. And I want you. And I want you so, it’s an

obsession.'”

You groaned. “Get out of my head, Annie Lennox!”

But she, of course, couldn’t hear you. Instead, she was spending every second of that intoxicating beat teasing you, berating you. Making you wish that you’d stayed home tonight, bitter with a 10mg Delta-9 gummy, melting into the couch while watching Schitt’s Creek. At least there you could anxiously daydream about what was going to happen tonight and spiral down an endless well of what-ifs without having to see it.

But you kept driving.

“'It’s savage and it’s cruel and it shines like destruction.

Comes in like a flood, and it seems like religion.

It’s noble and it’s brutal, it distorts and deranges.

And it wrenches you up and you’re left like a zombie.'”

You couldn’t help but let out another groan and skip the song.

“Fucking Annie Lennox,” you murmured.

When you got out of your car, you saw Eddie talking to Gareth, Grant, and Jeff over by his van, Gareth drumming against the pavement. Eddie was nodding along to the beat but turned at the sound of the car door, smile widening. It was like that anxiety dissipated, momentarily overwhelming you with a sense of calm and safety you always felt around him. It was so strange, the way he affected you.

“Look who it is,” you heard Grant say, hitting Jeff’s shoulder before pointing over at you.

“Eddie!” you called out before running over to him, trying to keep hold of your purse.

“Hurry up, Weirdo!” he exclaimed, arms spread wide, quick to catch and lift you into the air once you fell into him.

It was so strange, the way he moved you.

You let out an exasperated “Ahhhh” as he moved you back and forth, shaking you a few times before putting you back down.

The rest of the band exclaimed your name, hooting and hollering, all rowdy and boyish.

“Lookin’ hot!” Jeff said, throwing you finger guns. You gave him a big smile.

“Yeah, you look so cool,” Eddie said once he had a chance to look you over. He took a step back, as if he were admiring art. Fuck. “The lucky fishnets?” he asked, pinching your thigh. You jumped, slapping his arm.

"Ow! Quit it!" But you still smiled, nodding feverishly. “To answer your question, yes. You know I had to wear ‘em.”

“Hell yeah, dude,” he replied, giving you a hearty high-five that stung. “It’s gonna be a good night.”

And you believed him. You really did.

“Hey, guys!”

But you lost hope immediately, trying not to turn around at the sound of Steve’s voice. If there was anything that could ruin your night, it was Steve Harrington walking around drunk with loose lips and a penchant for physical affection.

Eddie waved. “What’s up!”

“Just here to rock out,” Robin responded. You turned and watched as she threw up her fingers in the sign of the horns. That made you laugh. She was trying her hardest and you respected that. You also respected how she wasn’t trying to fit in, in a forest green crop top and loose jeans. Her hands were stuffed in a dark jean jacket and had her hair up in a small bun. (In short, Robin was hot.)

“Hey, you look great!” Robin said to you, giving you a hug. “Love the lipstick.”

You were genuinely touched by the compliment. “Thanks, Robin. You look beautiful, as always.”

“Nice fishnets,” Steve noted, pointing to your legs.

You finally faced him, eyes widening when you took in his appearance. Steve was trying harder too, in a Panic! at the Disco Death of a Bachelor album t-shirt and jeans, with a chain in exchange for a belt. If it wasn’t him, that would look stupid. But it was Steve Harrington. He looked cool.

“Um, thank you,” you replied with a small smile.

Steve saluted you before poking Robin. “You should keep Rob company tonight. She invited Vickie, but she got stuck at work.”

Robin rolled her eyes. “And? It’s not a big deal. It’s not like we’re dating or anything. She has a life outside of me.”

Robin looked like she was telling the truth. She genuinely wasn't that upset about it. But Steve couldn't help but take things a little too far.

“Yeah, but you’re like in love with her, dude—"

“Am not! Shut up!”

“Yeah, Harrington,” Eddie agreed. “Let the girl live.”

Steve turned to you again, making your eyes widen. Was Steve wearing a little bit of eyeliner? Did he really put in this much effort to impress Eddie?

“What about you?” he asked. “Are you seeing anyone?”

Without a singular thought about consequences, you said, “Um, well, I’m going on a date tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Robin asked, narrowing her eyes. You knew she was suspicious from the get-go. “That’s very…soon.”

“You didn’t mention it on the phone earlier,” Eddie stated, turning his full attention to you now. You knew he was hurt. You saw it immediately.

“Oh, yeah, well. We just made the plans like an hour ago and—so, yeah. They’re really cool.”

“That’s great, though,” Steve said, throwing a hand up to high-five you. You glanced over at Eddie’s seemingly blank expression before giving Steve the most pathetic high-five of your life. “You’ve been single the entire time I’ve known you. That’s awesome. Congrats.”

Before you could say anything, Grant was cutting in. “What about you and Eddie, huh?” he asked, smirking over at Steve.

No. No, no, no. Please no. You didn’t want to hear this. Didn’t need to.

But you did.

“Oh, yeah!” Steve laughed, pointing at Eddie. Eddie who was looking away, fiddling with something. Probably his lighter. He was always playing with that thing.

You turned your attention back to Steve, bracing yourself for the impact.

“Eddie’s been so fun to go on dates with. Seriously, this guy is like a master at mini-golf.” You shot Eddie a look, noticing how he was already glancing over at you nervously. “I can never get the ball through those tiny slots and, seriously dude, you got through that windmill on the first try. It’s unbelievable.”

“That’s awesome,” you said, smiling mischievously. Eddie gave you a look, rolling his eyes. “Eddie’s just a natural at everything. Pinball, D&D, air hockey, and now mini-golf.”

Eddie groaned and you could tell he wanted you to shut up. “I just have a lot of interests. It’s really not that big of a deal.” He let out a small huff before pointing at the band. “Alright, you all go back inside with these two,” he turned to point at Robin and Steve, “because we,” now the finger was on you, “are going to take dabs.”

Everyone laughed at his finger-turned-compass before waving their goodbyes and heading off. The two of you watched everyone file through the door before Eddie turned to you and patted your shoulder.

“Come here, Weirdo. Got something special for ya.”

As he led you over to his van, you noticed his hand brushing your back. You wished he kept snaking his arm around your waist, pulling you in and playing with the lace. Fiddle with it to his heart’s content and give him a reason to keep touching you. Keep getting closer. Even if he was opening the back door of the van and pulling out a device, he could always keep you guys in there. Keep you close, whispering in the dark. Keep his fingers on your dress…

“Alright,” he said, clapping and rubbing his hands together. You shook the image out of your head. “So, I brought this thing called a Volcano Vaporizer. It’s, like, this thing where I put this plastic bag right here and when I melt the wax, it fills the bag with smoke, right?” You nodded, watching him work. “And then I put this orange mouthpiece on and, boom, you just suck the dab out. It’ll give us about three bags which will probably be more than enough.”

“Even for you?”

He smirked. “Even for me.”

“Sick,” you said.

“Here,” he said once it filled up. “First half is yours, humble cleric.”

Snorting, you shook your head. “Always the gentleman.”

You pressed your lips down on the mouthpiece and took it in slow, filling your lungs to the best of your ability. The taste wasn’t even half bad, similar to a regular bong hit, just with a little twist from being wax instead of bud. And the strangest thing happened when you blew out the air: You didn’t cough. Any time you took a dab, you coughed and hacked and lost your mind. Puffcos were your absolute enemy. But this…

“This is the smoothest dab I’ve ever taken,” you said.

He nodded, taking the bag from you and finishing off the first batch. “That’s what I’m saying.”

“How’d you get this?”

“Uh, I won it in a poker game against one of my dealers,” he said as he filled a second bag and took a hit. “I may have cheated, but he doesn’t know that.” You laughed. “It’s usually $700 or some shit like that.”

“An impeccable man,” you teased, taking the half-full bag. “Incredible work, Munson.”

You sucked in the rest of the dab and let the smoke out, noticing Eddie’s eyes directly on you. Reciprocating the eye contact, you grew confused when he didn’t break it at all. In fact, he seemed so much closer than before.

“Why’re you looking at me like that?” you asked.

“Looking at you like what?”

You nudged him. “Like that.”

“What’s their name?”

“Huh?”

“The person you’re going on the date with.”

“Gertrude,” you said without thinking. You swallowed down the urge to bash your head against the side of the van as you realized how utterly stupid you sounded. But you had to commit now. That was the only way out of this. You could only hope Eddie was dumb enough to believe you. “Their name is Gertrude.”

“Gertrude?” Eddie repeated. You nodded. “Sounds cool.”

Sounds cool? Sounds cool? That wasn’t supposed to be his response. Why wasn’t he calling you out for lying? Why wasn’t he exposing you for having a fat crush on him and throwing all of this stupid middle school behavior aside? But even if he did believe you, he was supposed to at least look a little upset by it. In fact, he looked more upset about you not telling him than he did with the fake ass name you made up. It was unbearable. You didn’t want this anymore.

Without hesitation, you reached out to grab his hand. You needed to feel him close, needed to feel the way you always did in his grasp. Safe. Understood. And here you were, seconds from meeting his open palm and saying to hell with all of these stupid games. To hell with keeping everything concealed. There was no Gertrude. There shouldn’t be a Steve. It was just you. It was just him. You were all his.

But there Eddie was, looking away from you and back towards Gareth at the door, waving him over. Eddie gave him a salute in turn.

“Alright, Weirdo,” he said, patting your knee. He hadn’t even noticed your hand lying limp against your thigh. “I gotta go perform. Finish this for me?” he asked, handing you the rest of his dab. You nodded, giving him the best tight-lipped smile you could without giving away your disappointment. “Alright, don’t forget to lock the van and, oh, by the way, don’t be long. Gotta have my biggest fan in the front row.”

“Like always.”

It was actually a really good turnout tonight. Corroded Coffin had finally gotten a spot to play on a Saturday which was a very big deal. The Hidey-Hole may have been a dive bar, but in Atlanta terms, that still meant it was packed on the weekends. At first it had been twenty people, twenty-five tops. Then fifty flooded the space with a bouncer and a line at the door and suddenly Eddie realized how important this was for the band.

So why was it that he couldn’t pay attention?

He couldn’t help but think about you, about this fucking person you were going on a date with. Would you find yourself wanting more? With a cool name like Gertrude, maybe you would. Eddie couldn’t help but flip through facial features and imaginings of who this person was and how their voice sounded and how it would feel if he saw you being kissed by someone else.

And, sure, Eddie was going on dates with Steve. But they hadn’t kissed or anything like that. Eddie wasn’t even sure he wanted to kiss Steve. Steve was pretty—extremely pretty. The kind of pretty that made any boy swoon, and all the girls lose their minds. But Steve just wasn’t someone Eddie wanted to kiss.

Because you were screaming your head off in the front, jumping and dancing around to his music while Steve stood in the back and bopped his head. You knew every word, every note. You played an air guitar along with him, head banging your way through the set and pointing up at him whenever they got to a part that you really liked. He always shared his lyrics with you first, always shocked when you’d memorize them and squeal about your favorite lines.

He couldn’t help but smile at you, as lost in the music as he was. You were wearing one of his (secret) favorite dresses, a black lace babydoll dress with what you called your lucky fishnets. Specifically, the ones with you wore to whatever gig you could make it to. (Every gig you showed up to always drew in a larger crowd. How you did that, he couldn’t say. He did call you a witch once.)

Tonight, your eyes were lined in black with silver eye shadow and a deep burgundy lipstick. A lover of black, but you always wore it with a smile. Maybe the happiest semi-goth he’d ever met. He loved it—no, more than that. He went absolutely feral for it. It made his heart skyrocket, his mouth run a little dryer than usual. And when he was high like this, tingling with the vibrations of his Sweetheart, he prayed to a God he didn’t believe in that he wouldn’t get a boner onstage.

But he could see your dress riding up to reveal that your lucky fishnets came attached to garters and Sweetheart was adding juuuuust enough friction and suddenly he had to look away from you, too embarrassed that he fucking popped a boner in front of all these people, that he popped a boner in front of you, with only Sweetheart to keep his secret.

He looked back over to Steve, testing himself. Was Steve able to do the same thing? Could he ruin Eddie on this stage tonight and turn him into a mumbling fool in his bedroom later when he got himself off?

But…there was nothing. Steve was talking to Robin and offhandedly looked at his phone. Eddie could even see him scrolling. He may have been swaying to the beat, but he was barely paying attention. It hurt Eddie’s feeling, just not in a way that would come from a potential lover.

In the end, he realized there really was only one person he wanted to kiss.

And she was currently going on dates with someone else.

That Volcano truly did what it set out to do. You were seeing color after color, the room swirling around you in vibrant shades of red and black. It was all fuzzy and pixelated, vibrating within you. You were being taken on an overwhelming journey, but in a way that was calming. Eddie was right in front of you, giving it his all and basically staring at you the entire time. Or from what you could tell in between dancing and the room spinning you in circles like a merry-go-round.

And, holy hell, Eddie was so fucking hot when he performed. It burned, literally burned inside of you, slowly spreading between your legs. It was all Eddie’s fault, with his bangs sticking to his forehead and sweat rolling down his cheeks like teardrops. In every guitar solo, he bit his lip so hard that you could’ve sworn you saw him draw blood. His fingers hit note after note, charging up and down the neck of his electric guitar. Those hands which, ever so sweetly, used to fit right in yours.

The callouses on the tips of his left hand, the ones that scratched at your palms whenever you held it. It was always rougher after band practice or when he came down from his apartment twenty minutes late after needing to perfect one of his wicked solos—like the one he was performing now.

Those hands that you thought about sliding in between your thighs. Opening you up. Teasing you for wearing a garter belt to hold up your fishnets. Leaving little bites along your neck as he questioned why those were so lucky in the first place and asking you how lucky you thought you’d get tonight.

You had to make yourself stop thinking about it, trying to dance your desire away.

But you looked up at Eddie who was looking down at you. And there was something in his eyes, something blown out and downright dirty. You couldn’t help but stare back, giving him a wicked grin before moving your hips around. And if you made sure he could see your garter belt, well, maybe you didn’t care anymore.

Because you saw his face go red and a smile meet his lips and suddenly you were thinking that maybe there was something more there. ‘Cause he wasn’t looking at Steve. He was looking at you. And when he finished his final belt of the night, he didn’t throw his guitar pick at Steve. He threw it at you.

“Oh em gee, is that Eddie Munson of Corroded Coffin?”

Eddie turned with a grin, watching you comically twisting your foot and pretending to be bashful.

“Hey, you a fan?”

You nodded, batting your eyes. “I’m, like, your biggest fan. You’re so talented. Can I get your autograph?”

He smiled, nodding generously. “Of course, of course. Anything for my fans.”

Giggling, you dropped your act and hugged him. Even at his sweatiest, you never cared. It wasn’t like you weren’t sweaty from dancing all night. “In all seriousness, you were great. Like always.”

“Ah, thanks,” he replied, placing his chin on your head briefly before pulling back. “I really do appreciate it. You were killing it in the crowd.”

You smirked, placing your hands on your hips. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, you give it your all every fucking time.”

You did a little dance as you teetered from side-to-side. “It’s so much fun! I can’t wait for the day you can play somewhere where we can mosh, ‘cause I’ll be the one to start it.”

“You think you’ll be able to handle it?” he teased.

You narrowed your eyes playfully. “Fuck yes I will. I’ll be bloody and gross by the end of it and it’ll be awesome. I swear, you underestimate—"

“Whoo!”

You both turned, watching Steve jog over. And as he approached, you felt all happiness drain from your limbs.

Because Steve had a wide smile on his face and he was fist bumping the air and he was drawing near, excitement flooding his features with flushed cheeks and sweat beading on his forehead and—

Steve kissed Eddie.

He actually kissed him.

And you couldn’t focus on any of the details.

No, you weren’t going to keep torturing yourself like that.

So, you just…left.

Eddie pushed Steve back.

“What the hell was that, Harrington?”

Steve laughed. “Can I not kiss you?”

“I mean. I don’t—” Eddie sighed, shaking his head. He looked around the room for you, immediately having the urge to apologize. “I don’t know, man. Sorry.”

“Listen, I think what you did up there was very, very sexy,” Steve said loudly, placing a finger on Eddie’s chest.

Raising an eyebrow, Eddie simply nodded. “Uh, yeah, dude. Thanks.”

“Did you wanna get a snack at that diner after you pack up? We could even grab the girls and hang.”

Eddie really wanted to find you instead. He wanted to know if you saw Steve kiss him and if you really thought they were something more. He wanted to ask more about whoever this Gertrude was and if there was a reason you kept this from him until tonight. More than anything else, he wanted to know if you were okay.

But you just…left.

Your head was spinning, and it wasn’t going to be long before you completely broke down. A pool of nausea rested in your stomach, bubbling up your throat by the second. You made your way out of the bar, the humid air doing nothing to help. Tears collected in your eyes, threatening to spill over and smear your eyeliner even more than it already had during the show. Maybe it didn’t fucking matter anymore.

The door opened behind you; Robin’s voice heard above the music as she called out your name. You turned then, pausing as she ran over.

“Hey, you okay?” she asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

You nodded, but it felt more like a shrug than anything else. “Yeah, I’m good. Just need to leave.” Trying to conceal the sniffle, you scuffed your Converse against the gravel. “Steve and Eddie are back inside. Maybe y’all can go out or something.”

“Without you?”

When you finally made eye contact with Robin, you knew she understood. She was giving you that look, the one that called bullshit without having to actually verbalize it. She knew that you knew. You knew that she knew.

“I’m actually feeling nauseous, so I think I should go home.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah—” you started before leaning over and puking onto a tree.

Well, nothing was going to sober you up more than that.

You felt Robin’s hands making sure your hair didn’t get in your face.

“Holy shit, are you okay?”

You nodded as you stood up again. “Yeah, it’s probably the dab.”

Robin crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow at you. “You know, Eddie said you felt sick the other week, too.”

You looked at her with narrowed eyes. Saying nothing, you wiped the vomit from your mouth. Just say it, Robin,you thought bitterly. Just fucking get it over with. Call me out. I dare you.

“Maybe you should, I don’t know, do something about it,” she said, shrugging. “Say something.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at her coded sentence. “Yeah, maybe. Thanks, Robin. Have fun with Eddie and Steve. I’ll see you later.”

Rushing off to your car, you tried to keep your sobs from spilling out from your mouth. And if anyone saw you, well, you couldn’t quite seem to care anymore.

Steve and Robin kept the conversation going as they sat in the little 24/7 diner down the street from The Hidey-Hole. Eddie was bored out of his mind. Robin told him that you got sick from the dab and decided to go home. And, sure, that might be the reason you left. But in the middle of a sentence? In the middle of a conversation? Without saying goodbye?

It wasn’t like you at all.

Eddie tried to focus on shoveling eggs and hash browns into his mouth, washing everything down with black coffee and a helping of chocolate milk. The high was coming down with each bite. He didn’t care anymore. It wasn’t fun if you weren’t there to tell him you didn’t want chocolate milk before stealing his. It wasn’t fun if you weren’t ordering two plates of food and swearing you would finish everything before begging him to eat half of it.

It just wasn’t fun without you.

Steve nudged him. Eddie looked up reluctantly. He wanted to say something snarky and rude about how Steve was barely paying attention and how stupid it was for him to pretend he had when he kissed him. He wanted to scream at Steve that you were more engaged than he was and what excuse did he have when they were supposed to be going out. He wanted to push his way out of the booth and go track you down.

Instead, he asked, “What?”

Steve pointed up at himself. “Did you like the eyeliner? I think it added a nice touch.”

That had been the first time Eddie even noticed. “Oh, yeah. Yeah,” he stumbled, scrambling for a white lie. “It looks good, dude.”

Eddie didn’t last much longer after that. He waited for the waitress to come by, nearly begging her for his check and getting the fuck out of there before Steve and Robin could suggest going with him. He stalked back to his van, the band already packed up and gone for the night.

With a sense of false hope, he looked over at the spot your car had been in, now taken by someone else.

Maybe he should’ve ran outside to find you before you slipped away.

When he started out of the parking lot, he could’ve turned on something heavy. Something to make his ears bleed and the fuzz to distract from the incessant thunder and lightning in his head.

Instead, he searched for that song you sang at karaoke. That Eurythmics one that you adored so much, always a sucker for some dark Eighties-esque synth. The strength of the lead singer, all tough and frustrated before saying the most bittersweet shit he’d ever heard.

And so, he listened to it, weaving through the streets and banging on his steering wheel with every red light. Road rage turning the thunder and lightning into something more intense, something more vicious. He couldn’t help but wish his lips were on yours as he thanked you for wearing your fishnets and desperately clawed at the garters underneath your dress. Worshipping you in the hush of the night. Without Robin. Without Steve. Without fucking Gertrude.

“And I want you. And I want you. And I want you so it’s an

obsession.”

The lines kept repeating themselves, over and over with each chorus. Echoing his feelings, ruining him from ever escaping these fucking thoughts of something else. A future, a moment in time where he had you and everything was allowed to make sense again.

“Annie Lennox,” he said, sighing and clucking his tongue. “Fucking Annie Lennox.”

When you stepped inside your apartment that night, you couldn’t help but let out a scream, walking over to the kitchen table and kicking a chair over. Tears slid down your cheeks, gushing and spilling over. None of this was how it was supposed to be. None of this made any fucking sense anymore.

Eddie didn’t want you. He never did.

He wanted Steve. And you didn’t have to like it, but god dammit you had to endure it.

It was so strange, the way he could break you.

You fell to the floor, trying to physically hold yourself together. But you could feel the guitar pick still in the pocket of your dress, growing heavier by the second. You pulled it out and tried to look at it through the tears, accidentally smearing eyeliner on the damn thing.

Annie Lennox’s voice sat in your skull, repeating her demented lyrics over and over.

“It’s guilt edged, glamorous, and sleek by design.

You know it’s jealous by nature, false and unkind.

It’s hard and restrained and it’s totally cool.

It touches and it teases as you stumble in the debris.

And I want you.”

Taglist: @mrsjellymunson

#Eddie munson #Eddie Munson x you #Eddie munson fluff #Eddie munson angst #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x reader #best friend!eddie #modern!eddie munson #modern!eddie x reader #best friend!Eddie x reader

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artist-issues · 8 months

Text

Screentime For the Prince

You know how in the original Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, each character's true nature is revealed by what they choose to treasure?

You know, Grumpy treasures safety because his true nature is vulnerable, the Queen treasures beauty because her true nature is ugly, and Snow White is the only one who's treasure is as true as her nature: pure love?

And how the Prince only gets around 5 minutes of screentime, and in those 5 minutes, proves that he A) treasures Snow White's true nature of pure love and B) keeps his promises?

Well, I was thinking. In the new Live Action, they're basically writing in a different male character in place of the Prince and not focusing on any kind of love story. So it's not actually "Snow White." But what would a good, faithful, beautiful adaptation of Snow White look like? (You know, one that actually does adaptations correctly--like Cinderella 2015?)

What should they be doing with the Prince?

I have a general idea below.

I mean, they can't introduce him in the same way they did in the classic animation. Obviously modern people aren't used to so much nuance in their big-screen fairy tales anymore; 5 minutes of screentime isn't enough, we prefer Mr. Darcy & Lizzie Bennet-levels of couple-building interactions, at least. And that's okay.

But it means we have to fill in a lot of the blanks about where this Prince comes from and why he values Snow White's "pure love nature" so strongly.

So I figure, in my head, it might look something like:

The Prince (let's call him Walther, German for "Walt," since basically everybody who worked on the original movie agrees that it was Walt's big brain child, and the popularized "Ferdinand" is not only fan-made but makes me think of a kindhearted bull) is the heir to a neighboring kingdom's throne.

Prince Walther isn't King yet, not because his parents are still King and Queen (they're dead,) but because tradition states he can only take the throne once he's come of age. Prince Walther's like 17, turning 18. So instead, his kingdom is essentially run by this council of busybodies, with one Regent holding the throne until he's old enough to take it. Something like that.

(the picture is of Dean Stockwell who's the son of the original voice actor for the Prince, I think someone who looks like him ought to be cast.) Prince Walther experienced pure love from his parents, who treated him like a normal boy and didn't place much emphasis on courtly manners or politics when raising him. But then they died tragically, leaving their honest and innocent son to be raised by a bunch of old people who put way TOO much emphasis on those things.

Because everyone in Prince Walther's court has had to handle being next-door neighbors to the Wicked Queen's country. They're all super political, and afraid of appearing weak, and therefore, very insincere. That's what I'm saying.

Everyone he interacts with on a daily basis never comes out and says what they really want. Nobody is genuine. He lives a life of hearing words like, "good morning Your Majesty, I hope you slept well. The Grand Duke could certainly stand to sleep better; the poor fellow looked run down at breakfast." but learning that what they actually mean is, "The Duke is getting old and ineffective and when your birthday passes you should decree that he give his land and resources away to me."

And he misses the genuine love the court used to feel from his parents' kind, simple way of ruling. No political games, no complex feuds. Plus, he misses the personal love they shared as a family, genuine, uncomplicated. He missed the days when people just say what they really want, unafraid, so that their rulers can take care of their needs.

Then there's the problem of why Prince Walther's in the Wicked Queen's realm in the original movie--that's not his territory, if he has his own kingdom.

So I think it would be neat and interesting if the Queen wants Walther's land. Maybe she invited his parents, way back when, to a kind of audience to negotiate an alliance. Then she got jealous of his mother's beauty, maybe even tried to seduce Prince Walther's father, and assassinated them both when he rebuffed her. Oo, maybe even the Huntsman (her FAITHFUL Huntsman) helped her do it all those years ago.

But she didn't realize they had a young son, so she couldn't just raise her hand and say, "Hey Neighboring Kingdom, it's too bad your monarchs both mysteriously died--don't worry, I'll be your new leader" because Prince Walther's council suspected foul play (they always do, they're suspicious people) and were preemptively like "NO NO WE HAVE A PRINCE, WE HAVE A PRINCE! We're fine, we don't need help, everything's fine."

So she sort of had to stew on that. Maybe she even tried a couple more halfhearted attempts to get their throne, and they just never worked out--then eventually her attention was occupied by how much older her stepdaughter was getting, and how much prettier.

Anyway, Prince Walther asks for an audience with the Wicked Queen; he's about to become King, and he knows that the council fears their neighbor, and he sort of wants to go over and size the next-door ruler up for himself. So he rides over with a little delegation of the members of the Court he can actually tolerate the best, and is visiting.

It's not fun. They're only there for a day, but the Wicked Queen is definitely scary. For one thing, she's unnaturally beautiful and everyone he brought with him is either stupefied in her presence or terrified. He himself is very confused by her; he's an open-hearted guy, with a touch of naïveté even though he was raised with good intuition and doesn't trust the Queen. All audiences with her are full of all the formal, double-and-triple meaning conversations that he hates back home; except worse, because she makes everything seem more sinister.

So after a particularly weird conversation with the Queen where he can't decide if she was flirting with him or threatening his kingdom, he goes for a ride around the courtyard to clear his head. And what should he hear, like a breath of the freshest air since his parents died?

A pure, beautiful voice. A young girl singing--and not just singing about anything, but singing about what she really wants. Genuinely. Her heart's fondest desire--and it's not power, or land, or even freedom. Just love. She's singing loudly, like she doesn't care who might hear such a vulnerable longing.

And he climbs over the wall and sees this scullery maid. She's absolutely beautiful, even though she's dressed all in rags, and he loves the picture of her: sharing her heart with doves, who feel completely safe with her, and not having to worry about what anyone thinks of her.

He sort of eavesdrops on her for a little bit, and in this part of the movie, maybe we learn how impulsive he is. He just jumps over and tries to join in. Maybe it's even a little funny. And we can stretch out the feelings behind the part where Snow White runs from him--that feeling of her being unsure of a stranger, not because she worries about what he thinks, but because it's so surprising that anyone is taking notice of her so abruptly at all. And she doesn't know him.

Maybe he asks to extend his stay at the Queen's palace and keep negotiating or whatever, but he really just wants to get to know the scullery maid better.

Then the romance is sort of still fast, but built in a way that the audience can sink their teeth into. The Prince and Snow White have a few more mutually-agreed-upon meetings, not necessarily hiding them, but just in breaks between courtly audiences with the wicked Queen. They're both enamored with each other: she's never been treated so kindly by anyone and his whole faith in pure, innocent love and uncomplicated, genuine people is being restored just by talking to her. They bond chiefly over missing their parents.

Eventually he learns that she is the Queen's daughter--maybe from the Huntsman, maybe from Snow herself in an innocent way. He's stunned that she's treated so poorly, but the second he learns it, he confesses that he loves her and he wants to take her away from there. Plus, this solves the whole "will my kingdom go to war with the Wicked Queen or be allies even though we can't trust her" diplomacy thing--Snow White is her heir, so it would be a beautiful twist of Providence that the girl he has fallen in love with can also be the alliance of peace for the kingdoms through marriage.

Snow White accepts his proposal, but she's afraid for a moment that her stepmother won't allow it. The Prince urges her not to be afraid: he'll take her to his castle and they'll be happy no matter what: he promises it, he gives her his word, he encourages her not to worry because he won't let anything stop him. It's lovely. She finally has someone she can gift her superpower of pure love to, and someone who can treasure her like she deserves.

Problem is, the Queen overhears this last conversation, right after learning that Snow White is the new "Fairest of All" from her mirror, just like in the original film.

So while the Prince is convincing his council that he's proposed to Snow White, the Queen's largely-unknown secret stepdaughter, and is going to reveal the fact to the Queen tomorrow, the Huntsman and the Queen herself are plotting the assassination attempt that eventually leads to Snow running for her life and living with the Dwarfs before she ever gets the chance to see her betrothed again.

Then the movie unfolds largely the same way it did, but with more dialogue and nuance strengthening the original's main themes: Snow White is pure love in nature, and that's everything the Prince has been missing, and he fulfills his promise which she has total faith in. And along the way, the Dwarfs learn to care more about protecting an innocent girl than they care about protecting themselves, and treasuring a person over jewels. Grumpy in particular. And the Queen dies because she's a jealous witch who's self-love has twisted her into something ugly.

Basically, what I'm saying is, there's a way to make the Prince compelling for audiences who are now used to more fleshed-out interactions in movie couples. Just give him a background that is longing for pure, uncomplicated, innocent love. Then when he runs into Snow White, who's never been treasured and valued since her parents died, they give each other everything they've been longing for--and then they have faith in one another when circumstances, both funny and sinister, force them apart.

It's like the Notebook (just in story structure)--you build up romance in the first act through a few poignant scenes, but then the rest of the movie is about waiting for that romance to be fulfilled.

Anyway. I guess I could've said all this more succinctly, but I was kind of making it up as I went. 🤷‍♀️

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