#he thought it would and when it doesn't live up to the fantasy he checks out completely | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

nexusnyx · 1 year

Text

miss sunshine

pre-outbreak Joel Miller x neighbor!reader [7.3k] summary: He's always been out of reach. A fantasy. Joel was too much of everything—too handsome, too friendly, too una-fucking-vailable for any of you. Too bad his kid adores you. (What a blessing.) Too bad she uses you as a scapegoat and lands him right on his door. One bottle of wine, and Joel shows you he might be closer than you thought. 📝 I wanted to try something different. Less hurt, less end-of-the-world bullshit. Let me know your thoughts. Reblogs and comments are much appreciated. ⚠️Smut. Minors, DNI. Explicit depictions of sex, oral (f and m receiving), riding, missionary, passionate neighbors sex, yay.

read on ao3 | masterlist

ㅤㅤㅤㅤTexas, Summer of 2002.

When the bell rings, you think it's best to ignore it.

Living alone equals a lot of privileges, but the ability to go out alone and answer the door on a random Wednesday evening was not one of them. You're wearing compromising clothes and a robe, the bottle of wine you craved was finally open, and the last thing you wanted was to be murdered before enjoying it.

Then, you hear it. Your name, followed by, "It's Miller. Joel."

Fuck.

Well—this is exactly how many of your dreams started. Although this wouldn't go like them, for him, you'd open the door.

His eyes do little to hide the once-over when the door slides open.

They go down, then back up, and he seems to catch on to the fact that you saw it. Then, he shakes his head just a little, and says, "Is Sarah here?"

Well, well, well. You lean against the door. "Did she say she was?"

Joel pierces you with his Dad Look. "Yes." Obviously, it goes without saying.

What other reason would he have, right? Clearing your throat, you feel the anxiety bubbling underneath the surface. "Uhm. She isn't," you look apologetic as you say it. As if it's your fault his prepubescent daughter uses you as a scapegoat.

His sigh is enough to make you feel how tired he is. Overworked. Exhausted.

You try to understand what might've happened before he loses his mind, "What time d'you usually come back from work? Maybe she's at a friend's. She probably thought you'd be back later than this."

He finishes rubbing both palms all over his face, and he threads one hand through his hair. "I'm usually back at nine—well, I'm supposed to be back at nine. I'm usually home by ten." That checks out, then. "But—that doesn't explain why she lied to me."

"Any special occasions coming up soon?"

Joel frowns. "Uhm. My birthday's in a few days, but—"

"Ahhhh." It shuts his mouth, the way you exclaim it so clearly. "She's brainstorming, Joel."

"Brainstorming...?"

"A gift." No daughter had easy access to what made their fathers happy. You take pity on him. "C'mon—let me scare the little one."

You walk inside without waiting for his reply, knowing Joel will make his way in. "What d'you mean, scare her?"

The noise of his boots hitting the floor makes you happy.

You take the phone out of the wall and look at him. "She always keeps that cellular phone with her when she goes out?"

"Always," he nods.

"Perfect." You know it by heart already. As you dial, you feel Joel's eyes on your house. It's the first he's ever been inside, and it makes you hyperaware of every movement of his. "It's ringing," you inform him with a grin forming.

He looks confused. More tired than anything else, but it'll make sense in a second.

"Hey, miss Sunshine!" the nickname she gave you always brings a smile to your face.

Time to put on a show. Feigning panic in your voice, you yell-whisper on the phone, "S, love, would you mind telling me why on Earth is your pops—" you fake cover your end of the line to yell, "one minute!" then you're back at whispering again, "why is he parked outside my house right now? Is there something I should know?"

"Oh, shit! Shit, shit, shit, shit—"

You're glad he can't hear her end of it. "No time for panic. Explain."

"I am so sorry, Sunny! I thought he'd be back in like, two hours or something. Oh, god, can you please cover for me? I wrote a note saying I was at your place. Sleeping there. I was gonna call you before he came back home but Jenny and I—"

"You're at somebody named Jenny?" you repeat the information, looking at Joel with a question in your eyes, and when he nods, your heart soothes at knowing she's safe. "And you didn't think to mention your brilliant idea earlier?" going for the full effect again, you yell out, "One minute, Joel!"

At least she's fast in her rambles. "Yeah, yeah. My best friend. She's trying to help me come up with a surprise for him. I'm not there often and it's never on his birthday. I wanna make it special."

"Okay. Cool. Next time, fill me in as you make the plans."

"I will, I promise. Pinky promise. You think you can convince him I'm sleeping there?" the plea in her voice is adorable.

You chuckle. "I've got you, S." Joel sighs in relief in front of you. "Just one thing."

"Yeah?"

"Be back here tomorrow first thing in the morning. 7:30 sharp. I'm gonna invite your dad for breakfast, as punishment for your lack of planning, and you'll be the one making us the pancakes," before she can even answer, you go, "Toodles!" and hang up.

When you put your phone back at the base, you turn around with a proud smile.

Joel's looking at you funny. "You're good at that," he says.

"At what? Acting?" you laugh when nods. "I was a trouble child. I'm great at lying."

"Aren't those the same?"

"Eh. A thin line separates them." You can sense his awkwardness creeping up, so you do your best to think on the spot. "Is she one to escape?"

"Not really, no." He's shuffling on his feet, uncertain of what to do in your home. "She's never done this before."

"From what she told me, she's never around for your birthday."

"That's true."

"She wants to make a surprise for you," you inform. It puts that smile on his face that makes your knees a little weak. "And now she has to be back here at seven in the morning. All is well."

He laughs. "Yeah, I guess so."

He's gonna see himself out. You swallow all the nervousness that being in his presence creates and just... goes for it. "Is it hard? Having a kid?"

That relaxes some of the tension in his shoulders. He leans on the counter of your kitchen and shakes his head. "Not really. It's a lot of work, but it's not hard. It's rewarding."

I wish my mother felt the same. You smile at the truth in his words. "I can see it's hard work." He laughs again. "Well—I had just opened that before you rang the bell," you point at the Pinot on top of the counter. "Want a glass? Unless you tell me you're 'only beer' kind of guy, then I can't help ya."

Joel looks between you and the bottle a couple of times, then looks down at himself. "I'm uh—I'm all greasy and gross from work. You sure that's the company you want for wine?"

Rolling your eyes, you walk towards your glasses cabinets. "If I told you that you can go home and shower, you'd never come back."

"And that'd be a bad thing?"

"Sure it would. You're the only person in this entire street that hasn't interrogated me on my life so far, I feel left out. Offended, even," you add with a dramatic twist. Your robe flows around you, and you can't help but smile when you see his eyes following you.

It's the way he swallows visibly, almost audibly, that plants a seed of maybe inside your head. "I'm not usually one to pry."

You place both glasses on the counter. "Neither am I."

"I know. It's why I like ya," Joel says it with eyes on the glasses instead of you. "That and the way you talk to the plants."

Your hand on the corkscrew stops, and you want to slam your forehead against the wood. "Oh, god."

His laughter is so nice. "Nah, don't be embarrassed. 's why I gave you your nickname."

"Don't be embarrassed? That's mortifying, Joel. I thought no one—wait." Had you heard him right? "What d'you mean you gave me my nickname?"

Joel's head tilts, and he's definitely a charmer kind of guy. If you do have a chance, you might be fucked. "Your nickname."

"Miss Sunshine?" He nods. "I thought that was Sarah."

"No, Sarah used it first in front of you," he pulls one of the glasses closer to him. "I said it first."

Well... that made it just as special but in a different way. You pour the wine into both glasses. "Good to know. I was under the impression she was the creative genius in the household—I just. Quick question that I never asked her: Why?"

"'Cause every mornin' before I left for work you're there on that big window," he points at the glass window that's occupies ceiling to floor, the very reason you picked this house, "talking to your plants as if you're the sun itself waking them up. 's cute."

Cute. You hate how he has the ability to make you blush. What is this, fucking high school?

"That makes sense."

Joel wipes his palms on the side of his t-shirt and then looks up at you. "If I go home with the promise of comin' back, will you let me shower?"

Let me. You're thankful your arms are covered because you're unsure of what this man is capable of when he knows the effect he has on somebody.

"I'll let you," you answer.

Joel nods and his smile is so genuine that you wonder why you never tried before.

"'kay," he takes one sip of the wine, hums in approval, and then takes a deep breath. "'m gonna go. I'll be back to interrogate you."

"I'll leave the door open."

"No—Jesus bloody Christ, are you and Sarah mad? Lock the door, Sunshine." You like it so much when he's the one that says it. "I'm serious."

"Alright, jeez," you laugh.

It's less tense than you imagined as he puts his shoes back on and walks out of your door. Joel crosses the street with a little wave in your direction, and all you can think is—what on Earth am I gonna do to him?

When he's back, Joel smells so good it's intoxicating.

It makes your brain melt.

Minty and fresh. That's what his stuff smells like, and you know the idea of that scent's now painted on the walls of your brain.

He does that stupid little dad pose, widening both arms and lifting them up in a display of 'what do you think' before walking in.

It makes you want to push him against the wall, but you do your best at behaving.

For now.

"Brand new man?" you ask.

He points at his glass of wine, untouched since the moment he left. "Will be in a sec."

You wait for him to take a sip before extending him what you held in your hand before he arrived.

Joel eyed the cigarette and, thank fuck, there was none of the annoying judgment sometimes people carried. He stops his movement to sit on the stool and asks, "You smoke in here, or are we goin' outside?"

"There's a table there. Weather's nice. D'you mind?"

Joel grabs his glass, shaking his head. "Not at all, ma'am. Lead the way."

"Ma'am," you echo him, sounding disgusted. He laughs behind you, "Who am I, Mrs. Adler?"

Still laughing, Joel answers, "Nah. Too talkative for that."

You turn around with your mouth hanging open, trying very little to look offended. "I beg your pardon. We never spoke for longer than, what, five minutes?"

Joel shrugs his shoulders. His smile is as intoxicating as his presence. "I hear things."

"You hear things?" you ask, pushing open the door that leads outside.

"I do," he sips his wine, looking to the small terrace where your little table is. "My daughter's a gossiper, little Sunshine. I think y'should know that."

Little Sunshine. Goddamn this man.

"Should I be scared, here? I haven't even told her anything, but I feel like I should be."

"If you didn't tell her anythin', than why would you be?"

"Because!" you laugh, feeling just a little out of your depth with his smoothness. You expected more closeness from Joel. Less teasing, easy banter. "You're talking like someone who knows a lot, that's all."

"And I do," he says, sounding every bit as serious.

You sit down on one of the chairs — your chair, precisely — and watch as Joel walks around a little, taking in the environment. He adds, "Did ya know," pausing for a dramatic effect, he sips again, "that in all of three months, you became one of my daughters' favorite people?"

He pins you under his gaze.

You cross your legs, and watch happily as his gaze drops to the motion.

"Did I?" if you sip at his pace, you'll be throwing yourself on his lap in an embarrassing amount of time.

Joel nods behind his cup, touching one of the many plants that cover your backyard area from floor, to walls, to ceiling. "You did," he smiles, dropping the fake seriousness. "Are you ready to deal with the six months absence? 'Cause from personal experience," he points both hands at his chest, "you try convincing yourself you won't miss her all that much 'cause, y'know, it's "just" a girl, but—fuck," he spits the last word, smiling widening around the fact. "She's so cool to have around. You'll see. Your phone's bill's about to create life."

It grounds you.

The way Joel speaks of Sarah makes you feel comfortable sitting here, and any doubts you had are sucked by the green life around you and returned as oxygen.

Joel talks about anything, no reservations.

In his absence, you doubted whether this could be any different than most times.

Would Joel be like that—like any of those other guys?

He wasn't.

Joel, as much as you hated to admit it, was an exception.

Maybe these things were fated. Simple chemistry. Similar mindsets. Whatever it was—you had it every once in a blue moon.

Your expectations settings were long ago molded to expect the least, and it takes only half a bottle of wine for you to notice the need to rear it in.

He's so damn easy. Joel goes from one topic to another like he's interested. He answers your questions with full interest, sometimes going on tangent stories, and he's the one who keeps the glasses filled.

Attentive, you take note the second time that happens. Before any of the glasses got empty, he served you both.

He compliments your taste in music and sounds genuine about it.

The weird silences you most dreaded never happen—if he's not answering you, Joel asks things. Interesting things, unlike any other neighbor.

"Was it you who decorated your place inside? 'Cause, there are very specific things in there. And you seem like the type to know what you like."

Joel was very attentive.

He asked, "and is this what you like to do with your free time?" pointing at the books you put away when you both arrived, "Drink wine, read, talk to your plants?"

"I still can't believe you've seen me doing that."

He laughed at that. "It's a pretty big window, Sunshine. Jesus Christ—you don't lock the door, you don't know people can see through your gigantic-ass window—I'm genuinely starin' to get worried here."

"Okay, first of all, I do lock my door."

"Do you?"

"'Course. Most days."

"Oh my—"

"—and! Now that I was reminded of my window's size, I'll consider buying drapes. Long, white ones. That'd be cool."

It was easy.

Talking to Joel—sharing a table with him, a glass of wine—so easy.

He never looked uncomfortable. Even if he moved a lot, Joel looked good—so damn good you lost focus every now and then—, but good with himself.

In his skin.

That was intoxicating.

When he does more than just talk and asks things; it's almost too damn easy. Was time supposed to go this way?

The first bottle end, but it's too soon.

You know it. He knows it—plays with it, in fact. Waves the empty bottle after pouring it for you and him in the air very lightly then places it on the floor.

Offering another one is almost a visceral reaction.

You don't have the same finesse he does, or at least, you think not, but if his smiles and closing proximity are anything to go by, he's enjoying himself as much as you are. "I dance around opening these a lot," you say pointing at the empty bottle. Pulling your legs closer to yourself despite the voice of your mother telling you that's a body language sign of insecurity—fuck insecurity. "Don't wanna be the wine lady on top of the plant one. But they're good. I like it."

"I only drink wine when my brother cooks," he offers.

The glass in your hands makes you feel safe enough to land this conversation where you want it. "Really? He cooks a lot?"

"More than me," Joel confesses with a shrug. "He likes to match the wine to the dish and that type o' stuff."

"I was taught how to be picky, but if I'm being honest—" you like the way Joel leans in closer when you pause it. You smile, "it's all just grapes tastin' really, really good." The sound of his damn laugh. This man's gotta have a flaw, you think. "As long as it's wine, I'm happy."

"I think that about a good beer after a day of work."

"We're all just trying to give ourselves little positive reinforcements for playing nice at doing our jobs, huh?"

Joel pauses at that. Lifts his eyebrows, then bursts out laughing. "Oh, wow—"

"Oh god", while it took you a lot of alcohol to get drunk, being open-mouthed about weird things came with the territory of feeling comfortable.

Joel made you comfortable, even if you were mortified at how amused he was.

When he's done laughing, he looks at you. "That's cute. You're the philosophical type."

"Isn't everybody who enjoys wine?"

"I don't know. I enjoy wine and I'm not one to go that far, I think."

"Hmm. Philosophizing can involve different topics. Lenses."

Joel wolf whistles. "Well, I think I'd need a couple more glasses to unlock that side of me."

"Not a problem," you get up, and resist the urge to wink at him. "I'll be back."

Your reflection in the kitchen mirrors is the confirmation of how fucked exactly you are.

It's more than just the color on your cheeks—it's the glassy screen over your eyes, making it shine like...

Well, very few times.

Fuck, you think.

Maybe that's why your palms are sweating.

He's more than you bargained for—Joel's looks were hard to move on from, but this?

Once in Rome...

Fuck it.

It's not as if either one of you was blinded to what a moonlight late-night conversation leads to.

The air outside could be felt.

When you're going back with the opened bottle, another pin drops in your mind.

He has the whole night free.

You don't break the bottle, but it's a close call.

Joel asks you the second you're back, "I have a depressing confession to make—I was tryin' to keep to it to myself, but honestly, it's all I taught about when you left."

You place the bottle in the middle of the table carefully and sit back down with your eyes on him.

He moved his chair closer again.

"Do share," you urge.

Joel looks around the yard—he seems to do it a lot when he's dipping his toes into personal places and says, "This is the first time in a—uh—I don't even know. A while. That I just... sat with another adult. Drank something nice. Talked about more than just—fucking politics, or whatever." Joel's eyes on you make you feel honored. You know he'd say that's a silly thought if you said it out loud. "It's really nice. And—the depressing part comes in now: I'm only here 'cause of my brother."

You tilted your hair. "You're here because... of Tommy?" you tried connecting those dots, but came up short.

Thankfully, Joel was here. With his smile, and his explanation.

"You see, before Sarah's mom and I decided she could spend some months here instead of just a few weekends, I was already... shutting in. His words, not mine," Joel picks up his glass for a sip, and you hang onto every word he says. "So when she came, he took me out one night. That little bar a few blocks from here—y'know Mr. O'Donovan's place?" when you shake your head, he waves a hand, "I'll take you someday—'s the only place around here that's worth a dime."

"I'll take your word for it." I hate bars. You'd go for him. With him.

"I think I know what beer you'd like," it comes off as a whisper, and you have to hide behind your glass again. "I only remember that talk because he made me promise. He's not one to ask for promises."

"What did he make you promise?"

"He was upset 'cause I kept turnin' him down every time he wanted to do his 'meet my friend and you'll be good friends' match-making shit, so he said, 'you promise that the next time someone invites you do somethin' you actually wanna do, you're not gonna turn 'em down? You'll actually fucking go, without makin' excuses to yourself'. And that sounded fair. So I promised."

You take note of the effort he's making.

The subtle 'this isn't just about what's about to happen'.

'I'll take you someday'.

'Next time someone invites you to do somethin' you actually wanna do'.

So more than just neighbors. You nod at that, smiling at him. "He seems like a good brother," you say. "Siblings can be a pain in the ass."

Joel stops his glass on the way to his lip to shake his head at you, "Oh, no no," he takes the sip first, and says, "one doesn't negate the other. He very much is a pain in my ass, trust me."

You laugh. "Older and younger?"

"Younger," he nods. "I had a lil' bit of peace here and there before he was born."

"Can't imagine you'd have it any other way nowadays."

He agrees with you.

When he doesn't, Joel scrunches his nose as he shakes his head.

He does silly faces. You wonder if he's aware of how unfair it is that he gets to look like that. Tender. Charming.

He proves your theory to be right with only half another bottle.

Put two or more adults plus a certain amount of alcohol in a closed environment, and sex will be on the table.

It makes you blush when you think... it could literally be on the table.

Joel pretends he doesn't see you growing hotter. He keeps his eyes on you as you take off the robe instead of looking at your arms. Listens to what you're saying without losing focus.

Only when you're done and asking him something in response that he looks.

It makes your throat dry when he does.

Joel has an unabashed, almost cocky tilt to his mannerisms.

You thought he'd be quieter than he is—more serious.

It's a welcomed contrast.

When sex is laid on the table, it comes because he brought up the joke you made at the beginning of the night about his lack of interest in your life, and decided to ask you things. Where you grew up. If you were always like this.

"Define 'like this'."

"Smart with the calculating glance, and sweet-talking."

"Is that me?"

"Sure is, Sunshine."

None of the questions that people usually ask.

It makes you bite your lip more than you wished—his manly, tall presence gets under your skin in ways that no previous partner managed to. Tucking your hair behind your ear, avoiding leading the conversation to the exact places you liked, giggling—those weren't things you did.

He pulled them from you.

When he does ask you the 'usual' questions, it lacks the malicious curiosity inflating others whenever they did.

Sex is laid on the table because Joel looks you in the eyes with that easiness in his shoulders and asks, "I'm not as private as you, though—all of my neighbors already know Tommy, and Sarah. You, on the other hand... the mysterious crime and horror novelist, who talks to her plants and moved from so, so far. I might not be the prying type, but I was curious about you long before my gremlin set her little claws on you. How come I never see anyone coming in or out of here? You tellin' me not one friend of yours followed you here to god-forsaken Texas?"

Your glass is almost empty, and you focus on the twirling of the red inside it to avert your mind from the way he's sitting. "The point of moving was getting away from them. All of them, as bad as that sounds," you cover your eyes with your free hand, and Joel's hand touches your forearm.

"Hey—it's fine. Don't feel bad. 'm happy you had the privilege of gettin' away. If you wanted to move away from all of it, I'm sure you had your reasons."

Looking between your fingers, you try appraising his face. "Really?"

"Really," he nods.

"Okay." You sit up straight. "And I do have people over, sometimes. You're just always at work."

"Yeah? You made friends already?"

"A few, yeah."

"Where?" he removes his hand from your forearm but drops it to your chair's armrest. The proximity is doing something to you. "I thought you worked from home."

"I do," you agree. "But I do other stuff. I'm not always here with my plants, Joel," you roll your eyes, smiling amusedly.

Joel laughs, "I wouldn't know. If I could work from home and stay with my tools and wood, I would."

"And I believe you," you nodded.

He bites on his smile before asking. "What other stuff d'you do?"

"I joined a book club," you reply, feeling all levels of boring.

From his look, he disagrees. "You got the patience for that?"

"Sure do," you nod again.

He nods, pouting in awe. "Nice," he says. "Are your book club friends givin' you the right impression of Texans?"

"I'm warming up to them," you smile.

Nodding, he asks, "Should I ask now the questions all my neighbors already know the answer to? 'Cause I am curious. Did you know Mr. Adler tried tellin' me what he 'discovered' about you? He tried looking blasé when he said that, but I'm sure he just wanted to gossip about the pretty girl who moved across from him."

"Ew, Joel," you laugh.

His eyes never leave you—you feel it even when you're not looking at him. He's laughing too. "What? It's true."

When you look back up at him, you wonder—when did you two get this close?

"You can ask," you say. "It's not that exciting, the answer. Actually, it's not exciting at all."

"Hmm, I'll be the judge of that," he sips his wine, and leaves the glass on the table. "You already know my backstory, so kill my curiosity now," he pierces with his eyes for a moment, "how on Earth is there no ring on this finger?" he points to your ring finger, then he leans in closer, and you can smell the wine in his breath; you want to kiss it until it's taste is gone, "and how is it that I never see anyone leaving here early in the mornings?"

Well. "No ring 'cause I didn't want one so far," you reply. To him, you give more honesty than anyone else who's asked. "And I have the luxury of living without it. I know many friends of mine who don't—and actually, that was part of..." don't go there. "Nevermind," you shake your head, pinning yourself to here.

"You just didn't want it?" he echos.

You nod, "Never did," there's no reason to lie to him. He smells so good—why would you lie to him? "Most men bore men, Joel."

"Wow," the smile that widens is a little baffled. A little dirty. "Should I be scared?"

At that, you burst out laughing. "Really?" You have no clocks outside, but the starry sky and the deep silence in the houses next to you are a good enough indicator. "It's been... a couple of hours, at least. We're one bottle and a half," you say, looking at your glasses shining on the table, "deep into conversation... and you wonder if you should be scared?"

Joel's still looking at you when you look back. His arm is around your chair, and your back touches it when you lean back against it. "I'll take that as a no."

"You are very far from boring."

"'m happy you think so," he smiles. He lets his eyes drop to your lips, without a care for the two palms of distance that separate your faces. It's meant to be blatant. Obvious. "Just another question..."

Here it comes, you thought. Why no kids? Why so alone? Do you feel lonely?

"Why me?" he asks.

It's nothing more than a breath.

You could ignore it. Give any answer, and close the gap. Instead, you give him honesty. "Honestly? I was so attracted to you, the second I saw you, that I was willing to even hear somethin' stupid coming out of your mouth if I could just—," do it, do it, do it. Seeing his eyes darken from up close is torture. You can feel the pulse of your heartbeat between your legs. "Now, if I were any smart, I'd be wishing for you to be bad at all the rest, because..."

This was amazing already.

Joel laughs, just a single, breathy laugh, and then does something you would never see it coming.

He pushes his chair back with the weight of his hips and drops to his knees.

The gasp you let out is enough to put the most insufferable smile on his face.

"Don't say that," he feigns hurt, as if he wasn't smiling with his eyes and lips. "It might've been a while, but I don't think I lost my touch just yet."

Joel's hands envelop your knees and slowly pull them apart. You feel like an open wire—aware of every breath your body takes and each minimum reaction to him.

You feel the wet pulse inside your panties when he kisses the skin of your inner thigh, right above your knee.

Joel smiles up at you, blinking his eyes.

Damn him, you think. His hands caress their way up your skin, and you wished you were naked already.

He seems like someone to enjoy the torture—when his hands reach the curve of your ass, they stop there, holding onto your waist.

"Have I?" he asks, kissing the other inner leg. You feel a hint of his tongue in the short kiss.

What could you say to that?

"You really haven't."

Feeling the hot breathing of his laughter on your inner thighs was not in your list for tonight.

"Do I get a kiss, then?"

He would never have to ask you twice.

Your legs wrap around his torso when you lean down to meet him for the kiss. Joel seems to love the position—he smiles at first, gripping you by the neck.

He takes his time to look at you before he dives in. A mental check-in. Maybe just admiring, just as you were from the second he kneeled.

His kiss comes from experience. A lot of fucking experience.

If you were weak in the knees before, you seal the notion that you're out of your depth there and then.

Joel kisses like no one's ever kissed you before—like he wants to explore, discover, conquer.

He licks his way inside of you with the first kiss.

His tongue isn't shy; he makes you adjust to his rhythm, to let go and open up, and when you, you're rewarded with it—he pulls up just an inch, just to whisper, "that's it," and then dives back in.

Joel wraps his arm around your shoulder and neck in a possessive manner. It's why he makes it so easy for you let him guide it—he's holding you, and you moan as you melt into him.

He wants to feel your body.

The more you press yourself against him, the more Joel grants you little sighs of his own pleasure.

He never pushes his hips against you. Never presses you towards him.

It makes you want to scream.

When he pulls away, Joel sighs happily. He presses his right thumb over your swollen bottom lip, and nodding, kneels on his heels again.

"Joel..."

Your face remains close to his, gravitating to where he does. He whispers, "Lift your hips up for me, Sunshine," wrapped around a smile.

You do as he says.

His hand takes off your shorts without your eyes ever leaving you, and when the item is on the floor, Joel releases the robe you foregone earlier tonight from your backrest to slide down where you sit.

To not make a mess, it says.

Your face is burning up, but not as much as the rest of you.

"Is this ok?" he asks.

He waits for your nod of approval before pulling you by your knees. "Good," he's strong enough to get you where he wants in one pull. Your hips are nearing the end of the chair and from this angle, Joel gets to look.

He eyes the underwear as if it's personally offending him.

"I like the color," he says. He traces a finger across the baby blue lace and looks up at you. "Suits ya," he says. That's when he hooks a finger on the fabric, pulling it to the side. "I dreamt about this."

That gets to you.

Joel's fingers are thorough—able. He uses his knuckles to spread the lips apart, uncaring about the whines you let out above him, still holding on to the shame of being the only one exposed.

It lasts until he places two knuckles on each side of your clit, stimulating it with back-and-forth movements.

You were right about the torture.

He enjoys it.

Joel waits for your clit to be hard between his fingers before he puts his mouth to it.

You can only cling onto his hair.

I dreamt about this, too.

"Fuck—I dreamt about this too," you confess.

His moan vibrating against the core of your pussy makes you clench.

Joel's only starting.

He takes his time in finding the rhythm you most feel pleasure on your clit. He never bites, never nibbles, and doesn't go softly, like other men.

He eats.

Joel's mouth is stuck to you—the way he laps and slurps and sucks on your hardened nub only makes your volume go from whines and pleas of his name to moans in very little time.

That's when he dips his tongue inside. When he uses it as muscle and proves to you why the idea of oral is so good for men.

Because it's good.

Joel gives no indicator that he wants to stop at any time, and it turns you into something that blossoms.

At some point between him almost making you cum just by sucking on your clit and fucking his tongue in and out of you, your legs made their way to his shoulders, and his hands have secured themselves groping your ass.

He pulls back for air, once.

His fingers enter you instead, two at once.

"So wet already," he says. You only hear it, until, "look at me," he asks.

As if his thick, long fingers dripping into places inside of you weren't enough, you get to look at him.

His face glistening on your back porch is something that burns behind your eyelids the second you see it. You feel incoherent, needy, and exposed in more than one way.

Joel looks like he could eat you like this.

"Joel—please. Please," you're begging, but for what, you're not sure.

"Cum for me first. I'll give you whatever you want later, just," he pumps his fingers inside of you, keeping a steady and strong pace, and then says, "You look so good like this, Jesus fuckin' Christ."

Profanities.

That's what he says before getting his mouth back on you—his tongue sucking and vibrating against your clit.

It's too much. Too fucking much, and, "Joel, Joel—"

He pulls back just to say it, "That's it, doin' so good, Sunshine—" and that's when you lose it. The coaxing. It's so earnest. Sounds so pleased, dipping in honey as if it's him who's feeling this good.

"'m gonna cum Joel, fuck me, just like that—"

"Like this? Hm? Show me. Cum on my mouth."

All it takes is for him to put it back on you. Joel knows how to push himself inside—knows how to explore the hot and tight confines of your cunt, because he coos a first orgasm out of you with the right pace only.

No strength. No speed. Just sucking, and curling right against your spot.

Your vision whites out.

The time you take to come back to yourself, he keeps playing with your pussy and the mess he made in it, seeming as satisfied with the result as you are. Somewhere in white land.

What a little death.

After that, it's more a mess and clashes of teeth and desires than you knew you were even capable of.

He pulls you in for a kiss, and you pull him inside the house.

The idea is to make it to your room, but you never make it past the living room.

When you press him against a wall to finish taking off his clothes, seeing him only in briefs makes gravity pull you in.

Nothing but black briefs.

You have to drop to your knees.

Joel curses under his breath and tries his best at keeping his posture, but you're with a mind entirely clouded by raw need.

To him, you want to do only your best.

You're addicted to the way he mutters, "atta girl," every time you discover something that brings him pleasure. It sounds so fucking dirty.

"That's it. Atta fuckin' girl, god."

With him, you use tricks your friends once told you that are buried in the back of your mind. You hold the part of his cock your mouth can't cover and move it in sync with your lips. You make it wet, make sloppy, make it whatever he leads it to be.

Joel hisses and moans louder when you find the special places hidden—the sensitive skin between his balls that leads up, you lick it from start to finish and are rewarded with a full-body shudder.

He shows you what strong body means.

"Where's your room?" he pulls you by the arms, and you somehow end up jumping on him. Exactly what you wanted.

"I'm not makin' that far," you tell him with a grin.

He has his thumb on your lips again—he seems to like your mouth.

"Didn't think you'd want my bare ass on your couch."

"That is exactly where I want your bare ass right now," you tell him.

He's good at following requests, just as he is at giving them.

Joel sits with you already straddling his lap, and bless his gentleman's heart, he says, "I left my pants outside—wait," he curses under his breath with your hips circling his shaft. Letting it slide between your pussy lips. "Fuckin' hell."

"Fuckin' hell indeed," you sigh. "Wait here."

You run outside for it, only because you're not on the pill. Maybe you'll start taking it. Maybe you shouldn't think that far.

Joel's waiting for you alright—he has his hand at the base of his cock, sitting on your couch like a modern-day Adonis.

A sluttier Adonis. Sexier, too.

"Stop starin' and c'mere," he demands;

And who are you to say no to that?

Joel does you the favor of putting it on as you make yourself comfortable on his lap again, taking all of your out of the way. He looks like he wants to eat you alive piece by piece, and you love it.

"Lemme know if you want me to take over," he tells you.

"Yes, sir," you whisper in a taunting manner.

Joel rests his forehead against yours when you line himself up with you, and it's a reward of your stupid, gigantic-ass window letting in the light from outside that allows you to see the pleasure on his face as you sink around him, burying him to the hilt.

His digits press so hard on your sides they'll brise.

You'll be bruised tomorrow morning.

Fingerprints on your hips, beard burns on your inner legs, palm shapes across your ass.

When you start moving, none of you say a word about how it feels.

It's criminal.

Only curses and your names are allowed in the thin space separating your wet bodies.

The thin layer of sweat makes you two glide on each other, and the drag of him inside of you is almost too good for words.

You're scared of the ones that'd make their way out, anyway.

So you let out what you can. You call for him, and he calls back. Joel slaps your ass, both sides of it, and urges you on to take him as you want it.

"Fuckin' christ, I'm never gonna—fuck—never gonna sleep again."

There it is. Being pussy-drunk makes him loose-lipped.

Your own are aching with how hard you bite on them.

Joel lets the reigns remain on your hands as you stay on top. He lets you ride him painfully slow, and faster, just because it feels good. He lets you climb all the way up only to slam back down, praising you through the fog in your brain.

"Does it feel good, Sunshine? Mm? My cock feels that good for you?"

You're sure it'll all come back to haunt you once your brain can be coherent.

He takes charge when you start begging him, and for what, you're unsure of. It's a mixture of please and his name, which Joel takes as his permission slip.

He flips you onto your back, hooks one of your legs on the middle of his back, and fucks you both into another orgasm.

It should be concerning the way he does it—like he's familiar with your body and your cues. He just follows your pace and moans until you're clawing at his back, and when his name comes out over and over again, he coaxes it again. Coos at you, holding your face in one hand. "You're gonna cum for me, aren't ya? Do it. I'll cum for you when I feel you shakin' around my cock, Sunshine. Cum for me."

It comes so hard you almost faint; blackout.

Joel takes care of you afterward.

Of course he does.

Even with the weakest legs and the minimum sense of reality around you, he manages. Joel leads you upstairs, tells you he's collected your clothes, and even lays down when you ask him.

"Just for a while," you ask.

He lays in front of you in bed, and pulls your arms around him. "I'm puttin' an alarm."

Little spoon. "You gotta be back here in the morning anyway."

"I know," he kisses your wrist. "Can't wait."

🏷️ @sakuralikestars — @mostardentily — @thegreat-annamaria — @leiticia — @polyglot-noodle — @casssiopeia — @earthtocharlene

⚠️ if anyone being tagged would like to not be, just let me know in my inbox.

↳ my inbox 💌 | tip jar ♡ ↲

#usernexusnyx #joel miller #joel miller drabble #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfic #joel miller imagine #joel miller one shot #joel miller fluff #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #joel miller masterlist #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x oc

10K notes · View notes

flowerandblood · 5 months

Text

The Taste of Shame

[ dom!modern • Aemond x friend sister • female ]

[ warnings: mention of sex working, sexual tension ]

[ description: Aemond works as a professional dom, fulfilling the various fantasies of his female clients - however, he guards his privacy and does not enter into any relationships with them, recognizing that he does not want or need it. It turns out that what he wants and what he doesn't no longer matter when he meets his friend's younger sister for the first time. Slow burn, sexual tension, doubts related to sex work. ]

Series & Characters Moodboard Aemond NSFW Alphabet

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

Until he met Criston and Robert at university he was a total loner, really only going to classes and shopping. Ever since he moved out of his family home, he didn't feel the need to interact with anyone except his mother and his youngest brother.

Nonetheless, once their quantum physics professor selected them as a group to tackle a joint project in his class, it turned out that they got along very well.

He was quiet and withdrawn, best at solving equations and finding the correct formulae; Robert threw interesting, chaotic insights and ideas from his sleeve, and Criston pulled it all together to form a whole.

They scored the highest possible grade and from then on they naturally stuck together; Robert and Criston didn't seem to mind that he usually didn't contribute to their discussions, simply allowing him to be in their company with a cardboard cup of coffee from the vending machine.

They often asked him where he got his money from, since, according to him, his parents did not help him financially to live in a completely different city. He usually answered evasively, feeling a squeeze in his throat in those moments, a fear that one day they would somehow find out how he made his living.

What he was doing.

That women paid him to tie them up, to beat them, to slap them, to degrade and humiliate them, to fuck them in ways he wouldn't even be able to explain, taking unspeakable satisfaction from it.

He was a professional; he signed contracts that included each party's boundary and safety words. He expected his clients to have medical examinations to make sure they didn't carry any diseases, but he used condoms anyway.

He rented a bedsit intended as a meeting place, with no intention of hosting anyone in his flat; his main rule was not to get emotionally involved, apart from having sex and entitling himself that his client was comfortable, he did not get into any conversations with them even though they tried to do so.

It started with one woman, Alys, who he met when he graduated from high school; it turned her on when he tied her up, when he fucked her while telling her she was a nobody, when he punished her and it shocked him what a tremendous sense of power it gave him.

She told him admiringly that he could be a professional dom and earn a lot from it, which gave him pause for thought. To her despair, he ended their relationship shortly after he started doing it for money, recognising that he didn't want to break his rule about not having a relationship, where she already knew far too much about him.

He was more careful with others.

They called him sir and knew nothing about him except what they read on the website.

He admired in a way how desperate some of them were, how much they were balancing on the edge of overdoing it; in a few cases he had to check their pulse to make sure he hadn't killed them.

His clients were not poor women and sometimes, for extra things or to show him their admiration, they paid him more than what they had agreed for; however, he never accepted excess money, knowing that if he broke the rules they would think they could expect more from him, which he was unwilling to allow.

So, for obvious reasons, he kept his profession to himself, fearing that if his friends found out about it they would think he was just fucked up. He genuinely liked them, as well as the field of study he was attending, and didn't want to change anything in his life.

When Robert invited him and Criston to his house for his birthday he agreed immediately, seeing no obstacles to celebrating with him; he knew that apart from him and Criston there would be a few more friends from his neighbourhood and he was fine with that.

When he got his car into his driveway he decided to have a smoke before going inside, tired after a long, intense session with his female client, wanting to clear his mind.

That's when he heard her for the first time.

"Are you Robert's friend?!"

He looked over his shoulder and saw her − she had jumped off the blue slim bike with the white basket in the front. Her hair was loose and in a slight disarray due to the wind, her face pink from exertion, her full lips parted slightly in a quickened breath, her large eyes shining with curiosity.

He felt everything he saw in his cock, looking at her pale, with his eyes imagining her moaning beneath him with that pleading, sweet voice to keep fucking her.

"− yeah −" He hummed in a slightly trembling voice, taking a deep drag on his cigarette, trying to hide what was happening to him, in what direction to his horror his thoughts had fled.

"That's wonderful! I'm Robert's sister. I forgot to buy candles for his cake, which was rather unfortunate considering it's his birthday and I had to go quickly to get them." She said breathing heavily as she walked with her bicycles deeper into the driveway, looking at him expectantly over her shoulder. "Do you have a lighter?"

He couldn't play the idiot and pretend he didn't have one, so, as she requested, they went around her house and walked inside from the terrace, walking quietly to the kitchen − he could hear the voices of Robert, Criston and the other guests in the distance.

She opened the fridge, which illuminated her pleasant, smiling face with a bright, bluish light, and slowly pulled out a meringue cake with a cucumber glaze decorated with berries.

"It looked better in the picture on the internet, but I was making it for the first time. Can you help me?" She asked lightly, pulling candles from the pocket of her dress.

He just nodded, feeling his mind working in slow motion, his heart pounding like mad, his mind focused on her body and on her scent, some sweet, girly fruity perfume.

He thought, swallowing loudly, that she was like a ripe peach or strawberry, begging to be bitten into, to taste its flesh.

He pressed his lips together, sticking the last candle into the crisp texture of the meringue, thinking with despair that he was a disgusting man, that she was his friend's younger sister.

And above all, she was not his client.

He handed her a lighter; their faces lit up by the warm glow of the fire as she began to light the candles one by one. She smiled at him when she finished in a way that made him feel like saying he didn't give a shit about the candles, the cake and Robert's birthday − just to pull her panties off her legs and fuck her on the countertop.

"Let's go." She said warmly and he nodded, letting out the air from his lungs, watching her with a look that, had it not been for the darkness in the room, would surely have terrified her.

They walked into the living room; his sister began to sing a Happy Birthday loudly and the other guests joined her in chorus, Robert stood up embarrassed but clearly pleased. After a round of applause, he walked over to them and blew out the candles, saying happily that his little sister remembered how he loved the meringues and hugged her.

He lowered his gaze at the thought that they were close.

That he needed to pull himself together.

When Robert offered him a drink he immediately agreed, distraught and terrified at the thought of spending the whole evening in her company; she walked around the room with a smile, talking to everyone lightly as if she had known them for years.

At the same time, he craved and feared that she would eventually sit down next to him, noticing his distancing and tiredness and walked out into the garden, sitting down on a bench, lighting a cigarette.

He closed his eyes as he heard someone's footsteps and for some reason he knew, subconsciously felt, that it was her.

He smelled her scent as she sat down next to him with a quiet creak of old wood and slowly opened his eyelids, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye.

She was holding her drink, probably vodka with orange juice and mango, for some reason it seemed obvious to him that she only liked alcohol if it was sweet.

"Beautiful evening." She said warmly, softly, her gaze slightly dreamy, gazing up at the cloudless, starry sky, her body as if spilling over the backrest of the bench, her head lying comfortably on it, framed by her shiny hair.

He thought with embarrassment that he couldn't cause her pain even if she begged him to.

Though maybe he could slap her buttock a time or two before sinking his face between her thighs, leaving the red mark of his hand on her skin.

He swallowed loudly, taking another drag on his cigarette, looking ahead, feeling the heat in his lower abdomen, the arousal he knew so well, his manhood twitched in his trousers.

He didn't answer.

After a moment, however, Criston came out to them, chatting them up, making him feel relieved, feeling like he was going to go mad because of her presence.

He left the party faster than he wanted to; Robert tried to stop him by saying that he could spend the night at his house, but he refused, terrified by this vision, knowing that he wouldn't last, that he would go to her room.

That one word from her would be enough to make him fuck her and regret it for the rest of his life.

He would leave her with nothing afterwards.

She seemed like a good, nice girl, deserving of a decent man who wouldn't think about tying her up.

As he drove home in his car he breathed out loud, somehow proud of himself, knowing that he had done the right thing, that maybe he wasn't as bad a person as he thought he was.

He fought with himself not to look for her on social media, and although he himself had accounts under pseudonyms with black squares in place of profile pictures, knowing that she was Robert's sister, finding her was too easy for him to resist.

So, in despair, he spent the evening giving up, recognising that if someone publishes something on the internet it means they agree to let others look at it. He swallowed loudly, surprised to see a new notification on Facebook and it was nothing other than an invitation from her.

He felt the cold sweat on his back and the quick, hard pounding of his heart, as if he was about to defuse a ticking bomb.

Accept?

Reject?

Do nothing?

He stared at his screen with his lips clenched and involuntarily clicked accept.

Fuck.

He ran his hand over his face, knowing it wasn't the best idea, but that if he removed her quickly from his friends now she'd still get a notification that he'd accepted her before and it would be weird to say the least.

He figured that she had surely only added him because he was a friend of her brother's and she had no intention of doing anything more with it.

He almost choked on his tea when he saw that she had sent him a message.

He stared at the chat bubble and clenched his eyes, clicking on it, unfolding the conversation, recognising that he wouldn't fall asleep if he didn't see what she had written to him.

He looked at her message with a fast-beating heart, reading it several times, swallowing quietly with a sense of some kind of relief that it had no subtext. It made him feel warm at the thought that, in essence, what she had written was kind and affectionate, expressing only her innocent concern and gratitude.

He figured he could write her back without any remorse that he was doing something wrong, for some reason feeling excited about talking to her.

He wrote back and sighed heavily, recognising that his reply was terribly dry and distant, but then thought that perhaps it was better. He twisted restlessly in his seat looking expectantly at his screen when he saw that after a moment she had displayed his message.

He involuntarily smiled reading it and thought she was sweet.

Over the next few days, he involuntarily returned to that brief exchange of words, thinking only of the fact that he wanted to somehow strike up a conversation with her again, although he didn't know how to do so.

"What are you thinking about, buddy?" Robert asked him with amusement, slapping him on the back with a friendly, masculine hand gesture; he swallowed loudly, pulled out of his reverie, looking at him with wide eyes.

"Nothing."

One of his clients had expressed a desire to meet again after their last session, wanting a more intense experience this time. Looking at her message, he ran his hand over his face, for some reason feeling doubts surging into his mind, though he didn't know what they stemmed from.

What would she think of him if she found out?

During the meeting with his client he had given her everything she wanted, but there had been no intimacy with penetration between them and he had satisfied her only with his hand.

He felt for some reason distanced from what he was doing, as if his thoughts were somewhere else entirely.

He imagined that if it had been her lying in front of him he would have done it differently, that he would have brought her to the edge of despair, but he would have had more understanding and patience, he would have been tender to her.

Why?

When it was all over and the woman had left he cleaned everything, threw the old bedding in the washing machine and put on the fresh one, so that it would be ready when he returned there.

He left and locked the flat, then ran down the staircase and headed for the car park across the street.

"Aemond!" He heard a happy, girlish, warm voice, her voice; he turned over his shoulder, terrified, for some unexplained reason certain that she had caught him in the act, even though they were standing in the middle of the street.

She jumped off her bike halfway down the road, grabbed the handlebars and ran over to him, a shopping bag in her basket, a cute fabric clasp backpack on her shoulders.

She was dressed in dark, long high-waisted trousers, pleasantly emphasising her waist and a short-sleeved T-shirt, her hair tied up in a braid that was partly blown by the wind.

She stood in front of him smiling broadly, in the light of the sun her face seemed even more gentle and soft to him, although she appeared to him to be nothing more than a figment of his imagination, so he merely stood and looked at her with his mouth slightly parted.

"Where are you going?" She asked lightly, her eyes shining with an innocent, childlike curiosity from which he felt a tightening in his throat; he thought she literally beamed with a kind of warmth from which his whole body shuddered.

He licked his lower lip quickly, swallowing loudly as he tried to get any meaningful sentence out.

"I'm just getting home." He said in a low, cool, distant voice, having no idea why he sounded that way − he had the feeling that his whole body was somehow trying to prevent what was just happening to him. She blinked, cocking her head as if she was expecting the rest of his statement, though he wasn't planning one.

"I…I had my business to take care of. And you?" He changed the subject quickly wanting to distract her from himself − she smiled even wider, shifting from foot to foot.

He noticed the outline of her breasts under her T-shirt proving she had no bra underneath and looked away, horrified and aroused by this discovery.

Fuck.

If she was his, he'd show her what he thought of it.

He squeezed his eyes shut wondering what he was even thinking about when the last thing he was looking for was a relationship.

"I'm just going to a lecture by my favourite professor in the history of philosophy. Want to join me? Entry is free!" She said clearly excited by her own idea and proposal, and he swallowed loudly, looking at her in disbelief, analysing quickly what she had said, whether he should do it.

He had no commitments, his whole evening was free.

He hummed under his breath, putting his hands in the pockets of his black trousers.

"How far is it from here?" He asked hesitantly, and she waved her hand.

"The lecture will be held at the Community Centre, two streets away. Five minutes' walk."

He looked at her, at her pretty, overjoyed face, and gave in.

"Why not."

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @randomdragonfires @apollonshootafar @padfooteyes

491 notes · View notes

7ken3 · 29 days

Text

tw. MINORS DNI, fem/afab! reader, quite the buildup n plot, reader found out she has a thing for choking, bit of voyeurism, breast play, possibly ooc gallagher, oral (fem receiving), scratching, implied impact play, smut grows into fluff but with tiny bit of angst, protected sex, no proofreading cuz all done in one sitting teehee

notes. the things i want gallagher to do to me after that trailblazer quest... like the new update just made me go full on feral thoughts for him

—;;

Gallagher reminds me of that neighbour that has been living beside you for years, that neighbour who he, kinda unfortunate for you, has seen everything, from your past lover storming out of your house, to your coos echoing in your house directed to your pet, to you walking out to pick up your order, and yada yada, you get it.

He has seen it all, heard it all.

And what he has heard from you ranges on a lot of contexts... let's say your laughter, your complaints, your cries, and also your cries — of pleasure.

What shocked you the most after living beside him, acknowledging each other's presence for more than half a decade, was the thought of him popping up in your mind while you were going at it. At first, you thought:

"Hey... this is... wrong! I shouldn't be thinking about my neighbour like that..."

But once he appears, then disappears, and when you thought that'd be final, there's the image again, but with him pressing you up against the wall, a hand carrying your leg while the other hand presses gently around your throat- Woah! Around... my throat?

It was all too good, all too... exciting, yet it's still bad.

Maybe just this once... it wouldn't hurt, right?

And just when Gallagher thought that this be the last time he'll hear your moans and begs through the wall separating your houses, your rooms, he finds himself in the same position again like the other night, his back leaning against the wall with a hand cupping his length as he strokes himself. He doesn't know why and not precisely when did he begin becoming aroused to the thought of you engulfed around his cock. Becoming so... accustomed to whatever this is.

He doesn't know when had he begin to start imagining your body bouncing on his member, or have you whine and cry as he pounds himself into you while having you spread open with your hands gripping the sheets above your head, telling him to don't stop.

He blames you that's for sure, and he blames himself too, mostly, for being attracted to you in the first place. At some point in time he wasn't sure if all this was just lust on your part, since this new stage where he finds your frequent moans and cries arousing was just a bonus point on his perspective.

Heck, it has come to a point where he has to double check in the morning when all strings of control broke loose from your offer one evening.

"You wanna try my dessert? It's my special and just... thought of sharing them with you!" You chimed, hands both clasping on the fence. It only takes for him to lean further in like he always does, for you to hitch a breath, for him to stare into those beautiful, glossy orbs of yours, and for two sentences to be exchanged:

"Why not, y/n? Bring them over later so we can enjoy them while we chat."

"Sure!"

God none of you knew that the moment after he opens the gates for you, closes the door behind him, and after you've placed your dessert on the counter, that it would be this... quiet.

The two of you stared at each other, being a meter apart at the moment feels... daunting enough for the both of you. What if he steps closer? Would he scare you off and ruin the vibe? Or what if you stepped closer and close the distance, just to go along with your fantasies and fulfil your subconscious longing that has grown over time for him.

Then your bodies clashed, as if both minds were on the same wavelength about the same thing, your hands fumbled across your clothes, the two of you not sure where to begin. He was yearning and you were craving for each other's touch.

The room now fills with pants, your hands slid up to his chest and to his stubbled jaw, his hands squeezes your waist before venturing down to grope your ass. You swear that the further your bodies press against each other it might soon become one.

"Gallag-" your hand cradles his neck, "-gher", as your right leg lifts up, your lips molding together with his before he hoists you up to wrap your legs around him. It was all too fast, all too fast that you're both in his bedroom, clothes messily and not even completely torn off each other. He gazes dreamily at you, admiring your body under the warm evening light, how the sunset orange hue washed over your body, eccentuating the curves and dents of your perked mounds.

Was this even reality?

Now that you're beneath him and how he has his clothed member pressed against your clothed sex. A moan slips off your lips as his calloused hands graze past your belly and up to grab your tits. He squeezes and jiggles them, playing and toying your bud until you're a squirming mess beow. Too much, this feeling you've thought of countless times begins to feel too much!

You arched your back in response, and he toys them further, rolling his thumbs on your buds before coming down to kiss you. He never thought he'll hear your moans this clearly in his ears, especially when he goes further down to suckle on your nipple while the other hand ventures further down, tracing patterns on your stomach before going lower and lower, until he decides to flick his tongue at your swollen bud due to how wet you've become. At this point he couldn't care how messily you're gripping his hair, he lowers his head down to the wet spot between your legs.

"How long have you been waiting for this?" He asks, chuckling at the sight.

You waste no time in replying to his question, "So long. So, so long, Gallagher."

"Ya know, y/n... I... nevermind." He whispers towards the end, not wanting to dwell on a possibility that might never happen.

What was he to you anyway? He was merely a neighbour, a friend, nothing more.

Even though the chemistry is strong, what type of chemistry is this? Based on lust? Based on cravings?

It isn't love, right?

"What is it?" Carefully, as if he might pull away, you try to move your hands to cup his face, only for him to press his face firmly onto your sex, your hands now carefully pinned by your sides. You buck your hips when you felt his wet, warm tongue pressing against your entrance. "Please- just- just-"

He retracts and hums before poking at your entrance again. The slight sensation leaves you whining before he releases your hands to hold onto your hip, the other pushing the fabric aside for him to swallow you whole in his mouth. He licks, sucks, nibble the side of your thighs. You taste even better than he had imagined, and he becomes more eager at each beg and cry he gets to pull out of your panting wet lips. He pauses for a moment, perhaps fearing he might go mindless into eating your wet pussy out.

"Tell me if you need me to stop," he pauses, hoping that he wouldn't make you uncomfortable, "I don't wanna make you uncomfortable-"

"Gallagher." This time not caring to be gentle, you pull his face up, all he can do is to blink at you, wondering if he has ruined the mood, wondering the reason behind the firm tone of your voice. "I..."

Your pause only leaves him more nervous than he anticipated, he doesn't show it, yet his mind is running around the places right now. You? You what?

Watching as you grow hesitant, his voice now soft, asks out to you. "You...?"

"I want you."

His heart stops. I... want you?

"Y/n, really... Are you sure?"

"Yes, I want you. I need you."

Immediately he buries himself into the taste of your pussy, licking and sucking any liquid off your entrance. Your moans grow from begs and gasps to cries of gibberish, cries of how good he's making you feel.

The two of you went on and on, condom after condom, scratches after scratches. Hours went by, and rounds after rounds were done. By the time the two of you come for the umpteenth time, his bedsheets now become a mess as the both of you lay there, panting, heaving. The stings on your bodies now barely felt as a fog of satisfaction clouds your minds.

"I want you."

The words echo in his mind again, guess he might need to check again with you in the morning if you ever decide to stay over for the night tonight.

Though, he's now sure he doesn't have to when he realizes he has fallen all over again for you in the dark of his room tonight, turning his head at your call to find you gazing up at him, as if the stars were now a part of your irises. Your arms now loosely wrapped around his waist, your laid body snuggled much closer to his seated figure as a soft murmur slips out, now becoming a memento of tonight.

"Stay, Gallagher."

—;;

#gallagher x reader #gallagher honkai star rail #gallagher hsr #hsr smut #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail smut #gallagher smut #written works;

390 notes · View notes

aimasup · 1 month

Text

Spoilers for The March 2024 Welcome Home Update, LONG post warning:

The Eddie Scene

Let's establish two realities: The Neighbourhood (theirs) and The Show (the humans').

(The third is ours, here, actually real, no black gunk and Welcome Home is just a really cool fictional horror project. Irrelevant, just wanted to bring us down to earth)

I like to believe it's an unaware Wreck-It-Ralph situation: The Neighbourhood exists as The Show because that's how they live and what they were created for.

They have a happy home in the commercials and episodes, interviews with humans and playfully leaning on the fourth wall (via Narrator). And when Playfellow Workshop had a really good influential show, they quite literally brought these puppets to life, perhaps too much.

That's where the trouble comes in; we don't know if the puppets being sentient was ever revealed to the public, or what the black rot even is yet. Personally I can't really even guess how much the other puppets know at the moment, not even Home. All we know is that Wally was the first to 'wake up', likely.

So I'm just gonna say what I think about the Eddie segment at the end of the commercial compilation from his perspective alone (bravo to the voice actors and artists my god).

The Neighbourhood...

The Show.

Here's what I assume: both in the Neighbourhood and The Show, Eddie is being given a break from working so hard. Because I believe the script/special was supposed to end here:

Eddie Dear was happy.

[calm jazz music as the title card fades in] And a Happy Homewarming to one and all! Ho Ho Ho!!

End.

Because it makes no sense why The Show staff would spend extra resources to give the puppet Not Quirky Anxiety and end their Christmas special on a worrying note for general audiences.

I think The Show staff wrapped up that scene and left to go check on the rest of the set or something, and the Eddie puppet was left there, alone in Wally's room set because its job is done. Except it isn't, and Eddie became aware somehow.

He sees Home, his friend, and something isn't right

I don't know what this is: my first thought was that it was Home's hand crank, and Eddie was seeing but not understanding the puppets behind the scenes

"Sources say, however, that this puppet’s (Home's) eyes could move through a hand crank on the other side of the prop facing away from the camera."

-(welcomehomerestorationproject.net)

His friend's eyes look dead but they're moving, I thought. But looking at it again, it looks more like a microphone stand a Show staff is holding? Some sort of set equipment. Speaking of the set

Wally's room is too big and leads to nowhere. Is this a visual representation for Eddie's mental state? Did they literally turn the lights off on set? Or can he not see everything right now because his poor fictional brain can't handle our reality just yet?

His hands are fuzzy but there's something in them. Something was under his skin just now. They don't feel like his hands.

"Eddie was a live-hand puppet who required two puppeteers to operate."

-(welcomehomerestorationproject.net)

I imagine he's in a limbo of awareness, he's seeing so many things and not quite understanding what they are, and he's getting more lost and panicked

Can you imagine how overstimulating it must be to go from a clean, happy children's fantasy reality to a world with the laws of physics?

The clock's ticking doesn't quiet down and it's constant. He's sweating when nothing is wrong (?). Gravy was poured on the tree ornament, he's always helped do that, but now it's dripping onto the floor and it's making a gross mess. Little things like that don't have consequences unless the script calls for it. Eddie doesn't know that, and especially he's freaked out by the breathing and the heartbeat.

Maybe it's Home's, or his own, or both, idk.

What's curious is that Frank and Sally are fine and talking about the day's events. This means that Eddie should've been fine after the episode too, relaxed like normal, but he didn't get to. He probably didn't even know when they got there or when Sally left.

This image right here? I think it symbolises the scary clash between both realities by now.

2 (Eddie and Wally) or 4 (counting Sally and Home) out of 9 neighbours being aware is too many. Frank wasn't supposed to have to comfort Eddie. The episode was supposed to end and Eddie can see all of it.

(and yeah maybe romance is an additional factor here)

We don't know if people remember seeing this scene on their televisions. Maybe the episode ended as normal for them. The cameras weren't rolling, so currently, we only get to witness the puppets' descent into decay because someone behind the television is Letting The Neighbourhood In, bit by bit.

Maybe we'll get to see all the other puppets go through the same awareness crisis as the website keeps updating. Personally, I don't think there's an ulterior motive for Home, nor do I think any of the puppets are under strict supervision to behave a certain way for filming episodes, like celebrities.

What freaks me out is that they banter with the narrator and do commercials for real products. They're aware of the fourth wall but only because the fourth wall let them be aware. And it even got me thinking about the nature of existing as a concept (they're fictional characters. they don't really exist? Not in the same way individual humans do anyway. They aren't really supposed to belong to themselves.)

Sorry this turned into ramble rubbish, these are just my thoughts, could be entirely wrong about everything. Welcome Home is just super neat and the amount of effort gone into it shows. Lemme know what yall think, kudos if you read this far

For your troubles 🍪🍪🍪🍪🍪🍪🍪🍪🍪🍯🥛🍵☕🍶

Extra note: I don't think they require the puppeteers to function outside of episodes either. They just live their lives chilling, don't even know there's a Show. Maybe there's an explanation but for now I'm content with 'it's magic'.

That being said I've seen other theories about the peas and the isolation of Eddie specifically those are real neat

#my post #welcome home #welcome home puppet show #welcome home spoilers #eddie dear #derealization #personal stuff #welcome home theory

225 notes · View notes

star-anise · 4 months

Text

now, hold still—

I'd kill for some resources on body image in the context of disability, chronic pain, and having grown up with a complicated and intense medical history. I think I've exhausted my local library's offerings. Yes, I'm seeing a counsellor who focuses on this, and he's probably got recs, but I'm pacing my cage and lashing my tail in between sessions.

"Body image" has a particular connotation most of the time, because it comes out of the field that deals with eating disorders. Which is great and I'm glad for the people it works for, but its basic principles and assumptions are for completely different problems than the one I have.

I can't track down who said it first, but in my reading I keep coming across this narrative of, "I saw my body as something to be disciplined and controlled, an object only seen by external eyes. Now I've learned to take joy in what my body can do and experience, and to see it as a site of pleasure."

...Sounds fake, but okay.

My body is a site of pain. It cannot do or bear the experience of many things. I have to exercise a huge amount of discipline and control just to get out of bed every day. I can't imagine my body being a visible object that other people might find pleasing; it's incredibly hard to look up from my continual tooth-and-nail fight getting my body to let me live to imagine what someone who doesn't live with all this shit might see.

When I was a child, I learned to hold myself very still. For a hairdresser, or photographer, or a dentist, or someone who wanted to measure my height, or an injection, or a doctor who wanted a demonstration of how one of my joints looked, or an X-ray, or an IV inserted, or a CAT scan, or to have a cast taken off, or a PET scan, or to have a wound treated, or an MRI, or to have a pin pulled out.

And you know, I got proud of that. I felt like a brave warrior in a fantasy novel. I learned to take deep breaths, and take myself in my mind away from the anxiety and unpleasantness, until I could shut down my reaction to it. So that I didn't flinch or scream or cry. Because there was something wrong with my body, and doctors knew how to fix it.

When I was getting assessed for fibromyalgia, this new doctor told me he was going palpate areas in my back, arms, and knees. I get a lot of massage; I knew what was coming. I slowed my breathing, concentrating on the long outbreath. I took myself away from my reactions and thought continually, obsessively, about letting my body droop, weightless, like the moment when your aching limbs meet a solid surface and fresh cool sheets.

"Hm, I dunno," he said. "A lot of this checks out, but your trigger point exam was totally negative. Most people, when I touch those points, they have a big reaction. Some people even scream and jump off the table."

"Well, no," I think I said. "If I'd done that, it would have hurt way more, for like, hours." And I was polite about it, because you have to be polite to doctors; doctors know how to make you feel better. But what I felt at the time, and still feel today, is a kind of outrage I labelled was unreasonable the moment it was born: You wanted to hurt me, and it's my fault for not letting you?

How do you learn how to ask for things, when you've taught yourself to lie still and cry quietly because the nurse who said they'd be right back is helping someone who suddenly needs the help more? How do you express yourself, when you've spent your whole life gritting your teeth?

The problems I have about my body are not about being attractive or thin. They are, however, about being small. Learning to cry less, scream less, and ask for less. About feeling like my body is a burden to anyone who comes to know it, and like that's a burden I can't ask other people to take on unless I'm staggering under the weight of it.

Right now, what I've got is this:

Remember, you weren’t the one who made you ashamed, but you are the one who can make you proud. Just practice, practice until you get proud, and once you are proud, keep practicing so you won’t forget. You get proud by practicing.

#staranise original #chronic pain lyfe #gore tw

294 notes · View notes

silenzahra · 6 days

Text

Luigi the Bookworm 📚✨

Today, April 23rd, we celebrate Book Day in Spain with a beautiful tradition: gifting books and roses. In the past few months, I've started to see Luigi, my favorite Mario character, as a bookworm, thanks to some art pieces like this one, by Mikis_art94 on Instagram, and this one, a short comic by Sarahsketckesluigi, also on Instagram.

And, since I'm also a bookworm myself, I thought of celebrating this day by sharing with you my own take on Luigi's bookish side 🤭 Warning: this is gonna be LONG, so make sure to grab some drinks and snacks and make yourselves comfortable! 💖

(Also, I may go and turn some of these into actual fanfics at some point because, well... I got myself inspired 👀🤭✨)

Please go and check this amazing post by @itsavee4117! It's a companion to this one and you can see many of my headcanons illustrated in his lovely art style!!! 📚💖

@bberetd @vulpixfairy1985 @peaches2217 @nuctoria @keakruiser

@pepperycar @kelbreyworshipper @roscolate and anyone else who might be interested: I hope you enjoy! Happy Book Day! 📚🥀✨

Part 1: Luigi's Bookish Side

Luigi is a person who tends to get excited easily, and when he does, he experiences those feelings with great intensity. This applies to all aspects of his life, and reading, one of his greatest passions, is no exception.

In terms of genres, Luigi is generally open to read anything. He enjoys realistic novels, historical novels, classic novels, mystery novels, sci-fi novels... And he also reads books about gardening, cooking, baking and mechanics from time to time. The only things he’s unable to consume are thrillers and horror. He's tried, but, with all the times he's had to face King Boo, he's had more than enough terror and frights to last him a lifetime, thank you very much.

His favorite genres are fantasy and romance. The former, because traveling to made-up worlds allows him to forget about his real-life problems and offers him an escape from his daily life, which can often be exhausting. The second, because he’s a complete romantic who loves to see people loving each other and living happily ever after. And also... because of something that has to do with Daisy.

Luigi lives every book he reads with the same intensity. For him, it's as if the characters really existed, as if they were his friends, people he can talk to, share common interests with, and also help to achieve their purposes in life (i.e. in the books they’re from).

And maybe... just maybe... he's fallen in love more than once while reading and now he has a loooong list of literary crushes thet only keeps growing.

So, when he’s reading, Luigi laughs with the characters, cries when one of them suffers or dies, his heart tearing in his chest, and is deeply moved every time a tender moment occurs, such as a kiss, a hug or a cute scene involving, for example, a baby or an animal.

His favorite stories are those about siblings. Not only because he enjoys reading family stories, but also because, without even thinking about it, he often finds it easy to put himself in the place of the younger sibling. For him, therefore, it’s as if he were reading a story starring himself and his beloved brother Mario, and he loves to imagine that they’re going on adventures together in an unknown world. Almost like when they first arrived in the Mushroom Kingdom.

Over the years, Luigi has gathered quite a collection of books, so Mario, the moment they move into the little house in the Mushroom Kingdom that Peach offered them, doesn't hesitate to suggest to his brother that he use the extra room to build himself a small library. Luigi is not too sure at first, thinking that maybe his brother would like to have an office, but Mario insists.

So Luigi has a small library in his new home, which he soon fills to the top with books, and it’s his pride and joy. He and Mario assembled the bookshelves together, which they brought all the way from Brooklyn, and now Luigi has a wonderful reading nook where he can isolate himself to let his imagination run wild for hours. It is, along with the bedroom he shares with Mario, his favorite room in the whole house.

For Luigi, reading is something so important, meaningful and almost sacred in his life, that he has a whole ritual that he performs every time he sits down to read. He has a rocking chair in his small library, a present from his brother when they moved to live in the Mushroom Kingdom, and he has it placed right next to the window and in front of the fireplace. He likes to be able to see the sky when he looks up from his reading, and he usually stares at the clouds or the stars while he daydreams about or reflects on what he has just read. During the summer, he usually keeps it open, as he loves to read in natural light while the gentle breeze from Peach's land cools him, and in winter he keeps it firmly closed while the fireplace warms him.

Luigi loves to light a scented candle to help him get in the perfect mood for reading. His favorite scent is vanilla, as it reminds him of his favorite princess, but he also loves lavender and cinnamon. He usually makes himself a hot drink, sometimes tea, sometimes chocolate, and brings a nice blanket to warm up, which is why his favorite time to read is the coldest time of the year, especially autumn. He also prepares his set of post-its to mark his favorite sentences and parts of the book, and he has a ritual for colors too: yellow for funny moments, blue for sentences that make him reflect on them, red or pink for romantic scenes…

Luigi knows that there are many people who write directly in their books, but, for him, that is unthinkable. He sees books as a valuable and precious object, a repository of stories that helps him disconnect from reality and let his imagination run wild. He respects what everyone does with their books, but he’s simply incapable. Especially if it’s a book he has been given as a gift.

His favorite copies are hardcover, even more so if they include a dust jacket. He treasures all his books with the same affection, but those are undoubtedly his weak point. The most precious of all is a hardcover, dust-jacketed edition of his favorite book, which was a present from Mario, and which also has painted edges.

Usually, when it's time to read, Mario is either napping, spending quality time with Peach, or doing something else around the house. Polterpup, on the other hand, takes the opportunity to approach his owner and, if it's summer, lie at his feet while he reads. If it's winter, however, Polterpup will jump into Luigi's lap without his permission and cuddle up and fall asleep immediately, before Luigi even has time to recover from the fright and resume reading. (Check out @pepperycar's funny addition to this!)

Luigi is a speed reader. Usually, when he starts reading, he doesn't intend to go too fast. It's just that, after so many years reading, his eyes have acquired an astonishing speed, and he’s able to retain every word in his head despite going through them very quickly. Also, if a book really hooks him, he’s unable to put it down until he finishes it, which has caused him to stay up late several nights and go to work half asleep the next day, but it's always totally worth it. Because of this ability, he can finish books of about 300-400 pages in just a few hours, and sometimes also 500 if he gets caught up completely.

Luigi LOVES to buy books. His favorite visits are to Sarasaland and the bookstore, and he also does a lot of online shopping to support small publishers. Every time a new book comes home, he gets excited as if it's the first time, and always asks Mario to please record him while he's unboxing it. Mario unhesitatingly stands on the other side of the camera and makes sure that every shot is perfect and that the book looks great, and Luigi, delighted and grateful, always gives him the tightest and most spontaneous hugs every time they finish filming.

And, of course, once he has the book in his hands, Luigi squeals and kicks, excited, as he waves it in the air like maracas before hugging it tightly to his chest. And, when the book is a present from someone dear to him, he acts exactly the same, only he ends up crying and thanking again and again the person who gave it to him while, again, he presses the book against himself as if his life depended on it.

Luigi is VERY much a fan of merchandising. He loves collecting bookmarks, he has such a huge collection that he's had to divide it into several drawers, and every time he’s going to start a new reading, he tends to spend more time deciding which bookmark will be the most suitable than choosing the book itself. He’s also bought a few literary stickers and some printed works of his favorite books, like fanarts of different scenes or characters illustrated by various artists, which he's hung on a corkboard. And, of course, since his books are the most precious thing he has, he’s also bought many literary covers from different small artists' stores, so that he can keep his books well protected when he carries them around.

Luigi is the kind of person who takes a book with him everywhere. A doctor's appointment? Book in backpack in case the wait gets longer. Public transport? He can't think of a better way to spend it than reading. He even takes them with him when he meets up with Mario, Peach and Toad, just in case his brother and the princess get lovey-dovey, and Toad falls asleep. And, if there's one thing Luigi likes better than sleeping in nature, it's reading in nature.

Part 2: The Reader Brother

Luigi has loved reading since he was very young. When he and Mario were babies, their parents used to tell them a bedtime story, sometimes Pio, sometimes Mia, and Luigi always listened very attentively. He would gawk listening to them and loved how they used to put voices and even recreate some scenes to make them laugh.

Mario also listened very interested, but being a more energetic baby, he used to fall asleep about halfway through the story, with his head resting on Luigi's shoulder and his arm firmly around his brother's waist. Their parents would drool, but they had to continue, for Luigi, even if he was struggling to keep his eyes open, wasn’t going to go to sleep without knowing the ending.

Only then, with a satisfied smile, he would hug his brother back, curl up next to him, close his eyes, and put his thumb in his mouth to get ready for sleep. By then, Mario was completely asleep, clinging to Luigi like a koala to a eucalyptus tree, and their parents had to make great efforts not to melt as they tucked them in and kissed them goodnight.

Since then, both brothers have grown up being great lovers of stories, only that, while Luigi loves books, Mario prefers to consume them in movies or video games. Even so, these are all hobbies that the brothers share, as they love to immerse themselves in a good story that helps them escape from reality for a while.

When Luigi gets emotional about a book he’s reading or has just read, Mario immediately comes to his side to hug and comfort him. He knows that, even if it's fiction, his brother has lived through it all in such a way that his feelings, of sadness, joy or emptiness at having finished a great story, are real and intense. And Mario would never judge him for it.

Luigi is deeply grateful not only that his brother comforts him, but that he listens to him talk endlessly about what has just happened in the book he’s reading, and even catches his emotions. Mario may not cry, but he feels his brother's sadness as if it were his own. Fortunately, the same thing happens when Luigi is happy or excited because of a book, and even on the few occasions when Luigi has gotten angry with a character, Mario has giggled under his breath before calming him down, because he finds it extremely tender.

Luigi usually goes to the bookstore at least once a week, and Mario, since they were teenagers, has almost always accompanied him. The only exceptions were when Mario was dating Pauline, and Luigi had no problem paying his weekly visit to the bookstore by himself, but, deep down, he missed Mario.

His brother also loves to accompany him, because, despite not being as much of a reader as Luigi, he enjoys watching him go back and forth from one shelf to another, pointing out the books he’s already read and the ones he wants to read. Also, when he gets the chance to buy a new one, Mario is amused to see Luigi picking up one book after another and trying to load them all and then deciding which one to take home.

Of course, Mario immediately offers to help him carry the books so that Luigi can keep picking up more if he wants to, and Luigi appreciates it from the bottom of his heart. And also that, again, Mario listens to him chatting incessantly about why each book has caught his attention and why he has such a hard time making up his mind.

Mario always tries to guide him in the best possible way: "What do you feel like reading more right now?" "Is it part of a series or is it a standalone?" "Is the sequel already out or would you have to wait?" "Did you like this or that author better?"

And Luigi thanks him deeply for his advice and questions because, that way, he manages to discern which book he really wants to buy that time.

The best way to surprise Luigi, the best birthday and Christmas present, will always be a book. Mario knows this, and that's why he doesn't hesitate to ask his brother to show him his long and endless lists of books he wants to purchase, as well as discreetly taking notes every time he goes to the bookstore with him. Luigi cherishes every book his brother has gifted him like the priceless treasures they are to him.

Sometimes Luigi runs into space problems. Even though his bookshelf is large and spacious, there’s a limit to everything. In those moments when he’s overwhelmed because he doesn't know where to place his new acquisitions, Mario always comes to the rescue: he immediately offers to hang a new shelf on the wall, or to look for another bookshelf to place in some free space in the room, or, directly, he stares at Luigi's shelf with a frown and his hand on his chin for a few moments, before taking the new books from his brother's arms and, displaying his skills playing Tetris, manages to find room to place them.

He loves to do it not only because he enjoys applying in real life what he has learned playing video games, but above all because of the relieved smile that blooms on Luigi's lips when he sees that Mario has found the perfect solution.

Luigi loves going to literary events where he can meet his favorite authors and have his books signed, but he tends to get so nervous that he always gets stuck for words and sweats a lot, which embarrasses him deeply.

The first time, in fact, Luigi was so shocked to have his favorite author in front of him that he fainted. When he woke up in the ambulance, he was so embarrassed that nothing Mario, who, of course, always accompanies him, said succeeded in comforting him.

He only calmed down a bit at home, when, alone with Mario, he began to silently cry without even realizing it, and his brother, not uttering a word, sat down in front of him, worried, and wrapped him gently in his arms. He pressed the back of Luigi's neck softly to make him rest his head on his shoulder and stroked his back gently, his heart aching at each new sob that escaped his brother's throat.

It took him many, many years to convince Luigi to go to an event again, for Luigi feared the same thing would happen to him again. He didn't want to make a fool of himself like that ever again, especially not in front of writers he deeply admires.

So Mario decided that they would practice: he dressed as much as he could like Luigi's favorite author, watched as many videos as he could on the internet to soak up his personality and find out what kind of books they wrote, and pretended to be them again and again, relentlessly, until Luigi, little by little, managed to exchange a few words with him.

It took them many attempts, because, despite knowing it was his brother, Luigi had no trouble getting into the situation due to his overflowing imagination. Mario had to step out of character several times to try to calm him down and help him regulate his breathing.

Luckily, thanks to Mario's efforts, eventually it worked, and Luigi, a few years later, found himself back at an event and able to chat for a few minutes with the writers he read, even though his heart was beating frantically in his chest and excitement was flooding his insides.

He will never be able to thank his brother for his infinite patience, but Mario always plays it down tenderly. He keeps assuring him that it was not patience, but his deep and sincere love for his younger brother and his eagerness to help him fulfill his wishes.

Part 3: Royalty + Luaisy

Ever since the brothers met Princess Peach, she and Luigi have been, little by little, building up a beautiful friendship that grows every day, just like the sweet romantic relationship between her and Mario.

It didn't take long for Peach to discover Luigi's bookish side, and it made her eager and excited, as she has always enjoyed reading and loves to comment on the books she reads in great detail.

So she didn't hesitate to take Luigi to the huge library of her castle, and she smiled, touched, as she saw the amazement with which Luigi observed its towering shelves, turning on himself in the center of the room as he tried to take it all in.

Since then, Peach and Luigi have become reading buddies. The two of them love to immerse themselves in a good story, read together in the castle library while comfortably sipping tea and, of course, comment on what they have just read and exchange views. Luigi even ends up causing Peach to also take a liking to collecting bookmarks and literary merchandising.

They often do joint readings: they discover a book they both feel like reading and set a series of goals to try to read it at the same pace, so they can discuss it as they go along. Sometimes, however, Luigi discovers that Peach hasn't read one of his favorite books, so he doesn't hesitate to read it with her so he can see her reactions, and vice versa. They love to share their anger, their cries and their joys, for it fills their hearts with bliss and emotion that they have someone by their side who understands perfectly well what they’re feeling and why.

They enjoy hearing what this or that scene has made the other feel, or what they think of this or that character, because it helps them to see things from a point of view that, perhaps, they had not considered before. Reading enriches them, but their literary conversations enrich them even more.

And Mario, of course, is delighted that the two most important people in his life have forged such a strong, deep bond and spend so much quality time together, sharing one of their greatest passions. Often, unbeknownst to them, he stands watching them as they read in the library and gets a silly grin on his face when he sees them laughing together after chatting a bit about their readings.

When it comes to Prince Peasley, on the other hand, Luigi is the one who watches him while smiling, mesmerized, as the prince, always so elegant and sophisticated, has an exquisite oratory and knows how to strike the perfect tone every time a character intervenes, and also to confer the right emotion when it comes to the narrator. And Luigi, besides staring at him, enraptured by the fabulousness of his figure, also listens to him spellbound. He would almost say that he enjoys reading more when his beloved prince is the one who narrates, and plays, the stories.

Princess Daisy, due to her energetic nature, is not much prone to reading. She prefers more dynamic activities where she can unleash not only her endless energy, but also her competitive side. Even so, she knows and respects the value of books, having grown up well aware of their importance in safeguarding and protecting the history of her kingdom. (@kelbreyworshipper you may like these ones!)

But when she meets Luigi, she begins to show a slight interest in reading, something that at first was only born so that she could have something to talk to him about. Fortunately, Luigi, despite his initial shyness, doesn't need more than a mention of literature to start talking nonstop about his favorite stories and how much they make him feel. And Daisy, not even realizing it, finds herself listening to him entranced, very attentive to his every word and genuinely understanding why there are people, like Luigi, who find reading so exciting.

Over time, she starts asking him for book recommendations, which he happily obliges, and Daisy discovers that she actually enjoys reading, especially stories with tons of action. Still, what she likes the most about this is Luigi's thrilled and moved expression when he finds out she's actually listened to him, read the book he recommended and, therefore, now they can fangirl together. She falls even harder for him because of the cute little face he makes.

Sensing that her interest in him is growing and that it may be mutual, Daisy decides to invite Luigi to Sarasaland Castle to show him her library. At first she doesn't tell him what she has invited him for, which makes Luigi VERY nervous, as he doesn't know if this is a date or not. She playfully takes him by the hands, leads him to the library doors and asks him to close his eyes. Luigi hesitates a little, unsure, but ends up obeying so as not to disappoint her.

Daisy then opens the library and guides Luigi carefully inside. He almost trips, which makes her laugh, causing him, in turn, to relax a bit. And when she finally tells him to open his eyes, Luigi gasps and his jaw drops, his heart pounding in his chest, not only because that library is even a bit larger than Peach's, but also because, slowly, his mind understands and assimilates that Daisy had prepared this to surprise him.

And even though he’s fascinated by all the books before him, he ends up, without realizing it, looking at Daisy, with a blushing smile on his flushed face and his hands over his heart, while she explains to him that all those volumes belonged to his ancestors and that he has her permission to come whenever he wants to get them. "They're yours!" she says at last, turning to him, and Luigi's heart grows larger at the offer, causing a tear to escape his eyes as the princess, full of tenderness, smiles at him.

Over the next few days, Luigi goes to the library, encouraged by Daisy, who insists again and again that he come to Sarasaland. Her library has a huge ladder to reach the highest shelves, and Daisy uses it without a second thought to glide across the room, to the terrified gaze of Luigi, who dares not even climb the first rung.

As soon as she notices this, Daisy gets down, walks over to Luigi and takes him by the hand to guide him to the ladder. He almost cringes when she places his hand on the wood and freezes when Daisy encourages him to climb up. "It's completely safe!" she assures him. "And, besides, I'll be right here. You can hold my hand as you climb up. I promise I won't slide you down too fast the first time!"

Very slowly and clinging to Daisy's hand, Luigi climbs up the steps. She doesn't let go and keeps repeating phrases to encourage him, which makes Luigi feel almost as safe as when he is with Mario, though in a different way. Once he reaches the top of the first shelf, however, Luigi is unable to climb any higher, so Daisy doesn't pressure him any further. She gently grasps the lower end of the ladder and, after warning him, moves it a little, very slowly as she promised, to make him feel secure.

The next day, however, Daisy goes up right after Luigi and, leaning into the next bookshelf, pushes as hard as she can to propel the ladder to the opposite side at breakneck speed. Her laughter mingles with Luigi’s screams, but however, once they stop, he discovers that, despite his initial panic, he’s had fun with what Daisy has just done.

This then becomes a regular occurrence between them, until it gets to the point where Luigi feels comfortable and confident enough to climb the ladder by himself and propel himself across the library in true “Beauty and the Beast” style.

In the kingdom of Sarasaland there’s a tradition to honor books, as they’re not only a source of entertainment, but also the sacred objects that preserve their history. Daisy has grown up with these values and does not hesitate to tell Luigi about this tradition soon after they start dating.

On Book Day, it is customary for the man to give the woman a rose and the woman to give the man a book. This originated many centuries ago, before everything related to gender and relationships evolved, so nowadays, simply put, the members of a romantic relationship give each other both a book and a rose.

Luigi shows up in Sarasaland on the appointed date very nervously, dressed in a smart green suit, his favorite color, and carrying a wrapped book for Daisy, as well as a purple rose, very rare and hard to come by, which he has grown himself in his garden with Peach's help. Daisy greets him in a lovely purple dress, with a vaporous skirt, matching elbow-length gloves and her delicate shoulders bare. She holds out her gift to him almost before he reaches the castle gates and can recover from the amazement of seeing her so dazzling and beautiful.

He’s delighted when, upon opening it, he discovers that it is one of those special editions he’s been looking for for so long. Only Mario knew he wanted it, so he understands, without needing Daisy to tell him, that his brother has given his girlfriend a hand to surprise him. And that makes his heart fill with love and his eyes with tears, and the book even more precious to him.

Daisy excitedly opens her present and, to Luigi's surprise, squeals when she discovers that he’s gifted her a fantasy adventure novel that caught her eye when he first took her to his favorite Brooklyn bookstore. Daisy drags him into the library, invites him to sit down with some drinks (tea for him, a smoothie for her), and asks him to please start reading.

And so they spend their first Book Day together: settled on Daisy's fluffy library couch, she sat on his lap, the skirt of her purple dress spread over his legs, almost hiding them, and her arms around his neck, depositing light kisses here and there as he struggles to read aloud the book he’s just given her. This was the first time they gave each other a book, but of course it would not be the last, as reading together, visiting the Brooklyn bookstore and Sarasaland and Mushroom Kingdom libraries, and continuing to celebrate Book Day would soon become habit for them.

Daisy often stares at Luigi as he reads, amused by his reactions and the faces he makes, and, when their relationship is more established, she has no qualms about peeping over his shoulder. And Luigi, far from getting angry, what he did the first time and has continued to do ever since is to read aloud, so that she also finds herself immersed in the story without realizing it. (This may sound familiar!)

But what Luigi enjoys the most is that Daisy, whenever the characters in the book share some intimate gesture, instantly replicates it with him. If they hold hands, Daisy immediately reaches for Luigi's hand. If there’s a hug, Daisy wraps her arms around Luigi and holds him tightly, which leaves him breathless, but also makes him laugh and fills his heart with tenderness.

And, of course, if there are kisses, Daisy won't hesitate to start showering Luigi with them. First on his hand, on the tips of his fingers and on his palm. Then on the forehead, with a delicacy that always melts Luigi. His cheeks color every time Daisy places her lips on them, but what drives him absolutely crazy is when she seeks his mouth. It's the only thing that makes him put down the book and postpone reading for another time. (Check out @bberetd's wonderful art for this!)

Often, before they fall asleep, Daisy cuddles up to Luigi in bed, wearing his green shirt, and buries her face in the crook of his neck. Luigi absentmindedly begins to fiddle with her hair, delighted to have her so close, and, with his other hand, reaches for his book to read aloud a few more pages before they fall asleep. It's part of their routine and they both love sharing stories that way.

Part 4: The gang

The visit to the bookstore and libraries has now become a regular occurrence for everyone. As soon as he started talking about books with Peach and she showed him her library, Luigi immediately invited her to come with him and Mario the next time they went to their regular Brooklyn bookstore, and she gladly accepted.

On that first visit by the princess, Peach was as thrilled as Luigi and the two of them went back and forth in the bookstore, she eagerly looking at everything, he endlessly talking about the store and the many books he’s bought there. Soon they found themselves going often to acquire new books, not without first spending a good while in the place accumulating stories in their arms to, again, decide in the end.

Again Luigi was looking for Mario, who, unconsciously, had been staring at them with an amused smile and his eyes full of affection. Blushing, Mario would hurry to come to his side to help him, and Luigi, even though he’d caught him gazing at the princess in rapt attention, wouldn’t comment anything so as not to make him uncomfortable or put any pressure on him.

Many times, however, Peach would intervene and take two of the books Luigi had chosen. That's how she also started giving him books as presents, and Luigi couldn't be more grateful that his beloved friend pampers him that way. Her gesture makes her even more attractive and sweet in the eyes of Mario, who melts at seeing her displaying such adoration towards his beloved little brother.

Daisy, always eager to learn more about the place where her dearest hero in green grew up, also joins in, but, to her surprise, she finds herself next to Mario, fondly watching Peach and Luigi, especially the latter. They, however, are so excited talking about books that they never notice the goofy smiles with which Daisy and Mario look at them, delighted to see their two favorite people indulging in their greatest passion.

Despite this, both Mario and Daisy make sure to pay attention to the books that Luigi and Peach point out with the intention of acquiring them in the future, and then make plans with each other to decide which ones to give them on future birthdays, Christmases and, of course, regular days. Any time is a good time to surprise their favorite people with a new literary gift.

Sometimes, on their dates, Luigi and Daisy also go to the bookstore, and she, as always, listens to him talk very attentively. When it comes to advising him on which book to acquire, however, she’s much more practical: she thinks Luigi should pick the book he wants to read the most… or the one with the most romance in it.

And Luigi blushes violently because he perfectly understands the implications of such a suggestion.

Literary events also end up being a regular thing they all do together. Luigi, thanks to Mario, already manages to control his nerves and chat a bit with the authors when they sign his books. Peach, of course, is all sweetness and always tells them how much their stories have made her feel and dream. Mario just smiles and listens, delighted to be able to accompany them and to see them enjoying themselves so much, right up their alley. He always takes pictures of them with the authors, both together and separately, something he already did when it was just him and Luigi.

Daisy, on the other hand, is so spontaneous and genuine that she doesn't hold back when it comes to treating the writers with too much familiarity, which only embarrasses the others, especially Luigi. If it's the author of a romance book, Daisy doesn't hesitate to cheerfully tell them how much she and her boyfriend enjoyed the sensual and intimate scenes, or that she lost count of how many times she kissed her sweetie during the reading because of the sheer number of times the characters kissed.

In those moments, Luigi can only think of crawling under a rock. He has to resort to all the training with Mario to manage to keep his composure and not faint again or run away to hide so no one sees him turning red as a tomato.

However, then Daisy intertwines her arm with his and kisses him on the cheek, and he feels that his blush, this time, is due to being close to her and to her tokens of affection. After all, Luigi adores everything about his princess, all her sides and her personality, and besides, to other authors, fortunately, Daisy tells them how much fun she and her boyfriend had with their novel, and Luigi can only adore her.

At these events, both Mario and Daisy go out of their way to get lots of bookmarks and merch for Luigi and Peach, as they know they both love to collect stuff related to their favorite books. And also, again, they take mental notes of all the books they can buy as future presents for them.

From time to time, Toad and Peasley also join in on their visits to the bookstore, libraries or events. Toad is a big fan of fantasy and adventure comics, as they nurture his enthusiastic and adventurous spirit, and Peasley loves to talk endlessly with his favorite authors about the various subjects they cover in their books, thus unconsciously displaying, once again, his impeccable eloquence.

I really hope you liked this! I had a blast writing all of this and imagining my favorite characters in the many situations I've experienced myself as a bookworm, as well as adding others I came up with 🥰

Plase feel free to add your comments and feedback, and also headcanons if you have a few of your own! And if by any chance this inspires you to create your own stuff, I'd be more than honored 😭 All I ask is to please give credit! 🙏💖

Before I leave, please remember to check @itsavee4117's blog today! You won't regret it 🤩📚✨

77 notes · View notes

gabessquishytum · 5 months

Note

When Hob was orphaned at a young age, he was taken in by the dream god's temple to be trained as acolyte or a priest.

Hob didn’t really like the priests of the temple (they didn't seem to have much use for children, even though they were supposed to be teaching him the ways of the temple) and they didn't seem to care that he was still very sad to be without his family.

And at least in the beginning, it seemed like Hob was the only child in the temple, but then he met Morpheus. Morpheus was close to Hob's age and must have been on a different track because they didn’t have any "classes" together (and the other priest/acolytes didn’t seem to know who he was talking about). It was really nice to have a friend, even as he stopped mentioning him to anyone in the temple.

Dream had never been a mere god but the novelty of "temples" to honor him had never really worn off.

When he visited this current iteration of a temple to himself, he was surprised to find a child under foot -- usually temples for his devotees were for adults. He had to check to make sure they weren't hurting a child in his name -- regardless of how cute he finds temples in his honor, he would destroy the whole thing if they were hurting children (Orpheus was still too close).

He appeared to young Hob in the similar guise of student. Hob was a lovely, but sad child. Dream decided to keep his eye on him.

It will be years before Dream realizes that his relationship with Hob has developed into more,,,, Hob might have realized 1st, as the seemingly "grew up" together.

OOOOO yes. The idea of Hob working at this temple and not knowing that he's besties with the actual "god" is so wild!

But the truth is, Hob ain't so much of a kid any more. He's in his early twenties now, taking on more of a role as a priest rather than a student. He still has time to hang out with Dream - he still doesn't talk to anyone else about his friend, and he does have a sneaking suspicion that Dream may be more than he seems. Hob doesn't mind who or what he is, he's just incredibly fond of his Dream and is always pleased to spend time with him.

Not to mention that Dream is looking very gorgeous in his silky black robe these days. The robe is much more revealing than Hob’s own and shows off tantalising strips of pale skin, and Hob (who lives a life of celibacy) is having some very impure thoughts indeed.

If only he could worship Dream’s body, instead of these meaningless stone altars to a god he's never really known. Hob has a hundred fantasies about how he could kneel at Dream’s feet, kiss every single inch of him from head to toe, submit to him utterly. When he's supposed to be praying or tending to the temple, his mind is inevitably elsewhere. Even the marble surrounding him reminds him of Dream’s beautiful smooth skin.

And Dream is honestly just patiently waiting for Hob’s self control to collapse. His robe is getting more sheer and low-cut by the day. He can't wait for his friend to finally break down and pounce! He just knows that Hob is going to be the most wonderful priest and worshipper when he finally gets his hands on Dream’s body.

#the sandman #dreamling #nsft

107 notes · View notes

herstarburststories · 2 years

Text

the top of my list (steve harrington x reader)

Pairing: Steve Harrington x reader

Summary: As senior year comes to an end, Steve Harrington has a list of what he wants to accomplish before graduating. Those things include you.

A/N: This is my first attempt to write a Steve story, so there's a lot of Steve's thoughts. ♡ I used a pick-up line that a boy tried on me last week, I just think it's Steve!!

Disclaimer: PINING!STEVE, angst, fluff, mentions of king Steve, unbeta'd

This is all he ever knew. All these classrooms, the barely eatable food, the gym, mrs Bloom boring classes. Hawkins High School was his tiny world in a small town. The flawless kingdom to king Steve.

Or so it used to be. It's been a little too long since he felt on the top of the world when walking through these crowded halls, and Harrington doesn't quite recall the last time he collected all the eyes on him and his friends at the lunch table — not that he has many of those left. To think that his biggest issue was to pick a part some girls's numbers in the little notes in his pocket. Parties sound like a noise, he talks to kids more than to people his age, and he actually studies now. He tries to. His old self would mock him if he could. Not that he misses who he used to be, just what he used to have.

Somewhat, Steve keeps a grip on a couple of dusted dreams. Part of him remains craving for silly things that he used to gravitate to, even when he believes he probably shouldn't. Stupid teenager things, as he'd put. A piece of paper in his hands with all his desires is anything but a scarlet letter, yet he can't wait to achieve all those items, a fantasy that maybe if he can accomplish those, school would feel good again.

This place used to be his. This used to be his home, or what he thought that a normal home would be like: everyone knew who he was, everyone saw him. Steve was never on his own at school, he never had to beg to be heard as he did at home. He simply showed up and people wanted him around. No "I'm busy, Steve" or "I have a meeting". No excuses, no hustled demonstrations of plastic love through fake niceties that last less than a business call. Everyone liked him at school, even when he messed up— they even applauded him when that happened! Classmates saw him as a king, but the aspect that had a hold on him was that they wanted more. All the school girls wanted a call, and the guys wanted his advice as if he was some sort of role model. Every aspect of his caught interest. Once before.

Nowadays, whispers fill the hallways more than dreamy sighs when he passes by. Rumors about Billy becoming the new king, and how they haven't seen Harrington in a party or with a girl hanging on his arm in months. Someone even called his hair greesy.

When did the world turn so fast and tripped on its route? What did he do wrong this time?

He used to be the king, but their classmates never loved him. It was just adoration laced with idealization, with some quiet envy. Can't blame the poor popular boy for misunderstanding such emotions; he never met love, how is he supposed to know its face?

Steve is so tired of feeling alone, of starring at his walls and pretending to occupy his time when he's just wasting it. Since Nancy left, all his nights overflew sorrow, his body ached with the void inside. His big house with a pool always seemed like a dazzling prison whenever he was alone for too many days. It just adds insult to injury that it's been a while since his parents remembered about him. 15 days since the last call, 2 months since the last check up meeting. Not that he was counting, of course.

There isn't anything but an empty home and a boy just as empty living in it, a boy who is hallow. In the quiet of the night, he waits for a noise. Steve is never scared when he hears one, he's rather hopeful. Although, it is easier to be robbers than his parents, at least robbers want something from you, unlike his parents. He's vacant, he's sad, he's missing without being missed, he has nowhere to run to, and he attempts to find something inside himself, but there's a heart which behaves as vortex: hugry for affection, for care. Because there's no one to be around. He's just a star with no eyes to gaze at him, no person to recognize his shine in the dark. Harrington would call someone to ease his solitude, but there isn't anyone on the phone waiting for him. Dear God, he just wants to be wanted.

Steve just wants to be wanted.

Therefore, he glances at the small list in his hands, dropping his simple desires to his senior year at Hawkins High School with a sharp pen.

Basketball championship!!

College (or tech)

Win a fight (throw it at henderson's dipshit face)

Kiss Y/N, or call her on a date, or talk to her without sounding like an idiot. KISS Y/N.

It's not much yet, but it's enough to bring a smile to his battered face.

It doesn't take too long for his plans to pill up into a disaster. College tosses him away like some clumbled piece of paper, and of course his dad decides to remember that he had a son just in time— which means no more money and a stupid job to 'learn responsibility'. His basketball team conquers just the second place, which isn't bad, but wining that competition could've pushed him into a university with a scholarship. Not to mention his hand-to-hand combat ended up with Billy almost destroying his eye.

Senior year is supposed to be the time of his life, nonetheless, it feels like he's falling from a precipice, like someone pushed him out of his pedestal and he's just a face on the ground now.

Steve rolls his eyes, deciding that his idea was bullshit. Just like everything else about him. Nancy was right, at least she escaped, his mind coaxes the thought into his brain. Because he was an asshole who messed up everything and everyone he cares about. As always.

Inside his car, the overthrown king glares at his wish list through the music noises coming from the house he parked right by. That stupid list got his hopes up, made him believe that maybe he wasn't a fuck-up, maybe he deserved something. Someone.

The brutality of reality is more violent than the apocalypse he had to face. He'd take broken bones over broken spirit everytime.

“College didn't want you, your parents didn't want you, your friends didn't want you, nancy didn't want you,” he murmurs to himself, rotting away his delusion about getting one thing right. You. “she obviously won't want you either.”

His eyes are locked with the paper. every craving crossed out with red paint, every lime seeming to mock him for not being good enough. harrington groans to himself, about to rip it off and leave to his house when he sees you.

Y/N Y/L/N. Walking into the party with a beam and a tight skirt.

Steve observes you like you're in a film reel, mesmerizing every aspect of you rapidly. your beautiful hair looks soft, soaring through your steps as you enter. he could close his eyes and catch a glimpse of you in his eyelids, as detailed as the old posters pinned on his bedroom's wall. He was simply, undeniably marveled by you.

His eyes dart towards the paper again. One ultimate item, one try. There is still one chance to make his last year remarkable in a good mood. Attempt to make it right.

Harrington shoves the note inside his pocket and gets out of the car, walking through the garden gates, the same way you took to arrive the party. He usually isn't nervous to talk to girls, but he can feel his palms sweat when his brown eyes catches you grabbing a drink on the kitchen.

His heart has been collecting dust for so long, as some abandoned ornament that he forgot how to use. After Nancy, love just didn't make sense. Until he saw you, with your smart mouth and pretty smile, dappling his battered moments with a peep of hope, even though you didn't know.

You laugh at some dude tripping on his feet and almost bumping into you, probably a freshman. Steve rolls his eyes at the man blushing whilst he apologizes to you.

What an idiot, he thinks to himself. Still, he wants to be the idiot that almost falls and makes you laugh. Shaking his head, he tries to think of a way to approach you. This used to be so easy, why can't he come up with a pick-up?

“come on, you can do that. hey, you're going to college?” he wonders, mumbling, “don't be an idiot. what are you gonna say next? that you weren't accepted in any college?”

Man, even Henderson was doing better with girls than he was.

Someone taps on his shoulder and he turns around, a student greeting him with and starting a quick conversation. That would be a good way to cool down. The chatter dries after a couple minutes and he's on his way to talk to another classmate.

As Steve seeks around to see you, you are no longer in the kitchen. The brunette sighs, but a on his back requires his attention before he can leave to search for you.

“I'm sorry!” the woman apologies before he can even see where the hit came from, but steve turns to her in a heartbeat. it's you! destiny was on his side. “you okay, Steve?”

He can't help but think that his name sounds good on your tongue. Steve just wants you to keep saying it. He blinks to himself, regained composure before he throws words at you. Suddenly, the wish list on his pocket weights a million pounds, and his tongue is dormant. What is he supposed to say?!

You tilt your head to the side, eyebrows kitted together in an adorable frown. He knows he's taking too long to answer, but this is his last chance before you go to some fancy college and forget anything about the hell hole that's your hometown and about him.

Steve can dress it up, wear a masquerade and shoot his shot with a some pick-up line, which was his first thought. Although, the boy doesn't want to use his charm, he just wants to tell you the truth. He just wants to have a real chat with someone other than Dustin.

Thing is, right now Steve Harrington is glaring at you with stars in his eyes and a dumbfounded grin, there's just one thing he can say: the truth.

“You know, I didn't notice it before you hit me, but you look beautiful.”

It's true, because the sight he presenced from a far can't compare to having you this close. Steve doesn't want to pull away.

You laugh. He's not sure if you're laughing at him or with him, but you're laughing and it's because of him!

Take it, dude who stumbled on the kitchen. A sense of pride overcomes him, the sentiment drawing a smile on his face.

“I know, it's shitty. But it's pretty cute, ain't it?”

You cross your arms, traces of a giggle on the edge of your lips, “Did it ever work on a girl before, Harrington?”

“I don't know, it's the first time I've ever said that.” he shrugs, looking away before his eyes locked with yours, “Not many girls hit me.”

“I'm not sure I trust you on that one, King Steve,” you mock him, despite your fonding voice.

“I can show it to you,” Steve quickly takes the opportunity, leaning in with a lopside grin. At least you couldn't hear his heart beating the shit out of his chest, “You go on a date with me and if you feel like hitting me by the end on it, I'll take you best slap.”

You bite your bottom lip, pretending to consider his offer, and he can't help but stare.

“Make it a punch and we have a deal.”

“Ouch, you really want to hurt me that bad?” Harrington places a hand on his chest, his mouth contorting into a playful grimace.

“No, I won't,” through your joyful words, he trusts it.

You ask him about all the types of things, you touch him softly, you listen, you tease him, and chuckle at his jokes. You act as if he's the only person you wanted to talk to at the party, as if want his company as much as he wants yours. Reciprocity. He had lost the touch with it among the year, it's tender to have it back. And he does the same to you, resting his has on yours and smiling like a fool who found gold in the dirt. It's simple, it's all he craves for: to be wanted and not just needed.

Steve is a brittle soul after so much calamity in the past years, but perhaps his pieces can fall back together. Or so he believes when you touch his arm and nod at pizza on the table.

He knows he went through some bad shit, that he was hunted by monsters and all that freak stuff. But it doesn't seem that bad when your perfume hits him and you look away, presenting a shyness when he cupped your cheek. You don't push him away, you just pull him close. All the black-eyed peaches thrown away in the name of a kiss that's so sweet.

So you put your lips on his, it's the best year he has ever had with all the scars. Steve kisses you back, it's the kind of emotion thrill that will cause you to dance around your room all alone and keep him up at night for all the right reasons.

(steve tries to hide the paper and his blushed face when you slide your hand into his pocket to hide from the cold and accidentally finds his list, but you're quicker. you're beside him when he crosses the wish, and you wonder if he'd make another list for you two as you place a word)

4. Kiss Y/N, or call her on a date, or talk to her without sounding like an idiot. KISS Y/N. I kissed you, dork!

Did you like it? Comment and reblog! It helps me to know you want more content.

STEVE HARRINGTON TAGLIST IS OPEN! Send me an ask or dm to be tagged.

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington headcanons #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x you #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x reader smut #steve harrington headcanon #steve x you #joe keery #joe keery x you #stranger things x reader #stranger things #steve the king harrington

1K notes · View notes

maries-gallery · 8 months

Note

cockwarming with Rio? am sure he like it!

❦ 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 ❦

DSQDFSTYGHRF? PLEASE ANON HE DOESN'T ONLY LIKE IT HE LIVES FOR IT!

genre: nsfw, mdni

character: Rio Ortiz

warnings: cock warming, teasing, dirty talk, dacryphilia, mentions of breeding, cum (a lot of it), female bodied reader

heart banner by the lovely @/saradika

For more content like this, check the masterlist

Like you said anon, he loves it, especially if it's to keep his cum inside of you and especially if you've been apart for a long time. For him, it's the perfect way of welcoming you back into his arms and filling the hole in his chest after missing you so badly.

A shiver runs up your spine and steals a helpless whimper from your lips as Rio trails heated kisses over your nape, his arms wrapped around your waist as you sit on his lap. All too aware of his length buried within your dripping folds.

Rio loves this sight, the sight of his seed slipping past your folds and coating your inner thighs in a thin sheen.

Meanwhile warmth twists at the pit of your stomach, remnants of your previous releases, your thighs aching from exertion after hours spent in one another's embrace, feeling each other's touch and making up for your time apart.

Yet your core clenches around him, forever aching for more, your hips grinding against his with a mind of their own, burning for some friction.

And of course Rio would be happy to provide, a part of him aching to give you what you crave and fulfil his own needs. But you just look so cute with your furrowed brows and your scrunched up nose, trying so hard to keep all of his seed from gushing out of your stuffed cunt.

He can't repress a gentle smile from pulling at the corners of his lips, hands folded over your stomach as his nose playfully nuzzles your nape. He loves your scent, unique and personal, one he’d recognise amongst a thousand others. One he keeps so close to his heart when the two of you are away from one another.

He had missed you so badly… Terribly in fact and he swears this had been the longest days of his life, each minute spent waiting for the moment you’d come back, spent thinking of you and your sunshine smile, of your laugh ringing in his ears and of your skin against his.

So could you blame him for wanting to make this last? For wishing to remain inside of you like this a little longer? Hugged by your warmth and comforted by your scent? And he’d remain like this forever if it meant hearing more of your flustered groans and whimpers.

“You’re so beautiful like this, you know?” He whispers in your ear, playfully nipping at the soft spot behind your ear, “Keeping the fruit of our love nice and warm inside of you.”

His heart swells at the thought, the fantasy of you maybe carrying his child one day blossoming in his mind and spreading wings in his back. One day maybe...

He knows just how to fluster you, just what to say to tease you in the best of ways and he loves how heat rushes to your cheeks at his words, shifting in his lap. Your walls clamping down on his length as desire flares anew inside of you.

“Ri-Rio… please I want more…” You whine in that sweet voice that has his heart melting, your hips rolling against his as frustration gathers up in hot tears at the corners of your eyes.

His cock twitches inside of you at the sight, a long finger hooking under your chin and turning your face towards him, kissing your tears away. Of course Rio hates to see you cry, hates to see you sad and he’d die if he ever was the source of such blue emotions. But these are different...

To know these come from you wanting him so bad you cannot take it… Something tugs at his heart and pulls at his last restraints. A terrible need to ruin you some more licking at his insides.

“Oh I’m sorry, my love” He says earnestly, kissing your cheek, “But I’ve missed you so much, you can’t imagine how badly I’ve wanted to be with you, to touch you.”

“I’ve missed you too, Rio…” You admit in a sigh, head leaning back against his chest, exposing the soft column of your throat to his wandering lips. “But please fuck me or I swear I’m going to lose my mind!”

Rio’s heart flutters in his chest, because oh, you’re the sweetest when you let out your frustration like this and beg him for more. And he doesn’t think any man on this earth could resist this look on your face, could resist you.

He certainly can’t. On his knees the moment your lips part in a moan of his name, the moment you beg him for more.

A loving smile curls his lips, dropping a peck to your nape as he stills his hands on your hips, fingers digging in your plush skin. “Of course, if my princess wants something it's my duty as her prince to give her what she wants!” He says, and you would have laughed at this if he hadn't bucked his hips up against yours, your thoughts melting on your tongue.

The only sound you manage being a gasp as his length drags over your walls and sets every fibre of your being on fire. Familiar tingles of heat curling inside of you.

“Ri-Rio-! Ungh!”

“I’m here, and I’m going to keep on showing you just how much I missed you and just how much I need you.” He wraps an arm around your waist, his hand wandering down your navel and between your thighs, delighted to hear a moan of his name as his thumb graces your clit.

You arch your back, head thrown back as you lose yourself in the throngs of pleasure. White heat swelling inside of you as sparks fly in your vision. Rio intent on keeping you in his arms until Dawn lifts the Night's heavy cloak.

taglist: @aquagirl1978 @randonauticrap @outofthepapers @pockcock @nightghoul381 @candied-boys @vioisgoinginsane @ndoandou @ikemen-writer @ikesimp100 @altairring @accurine @citizensofcradle @veervers @caffedrine @eldiatricc

#ikemen prince #ikemen prince fanfic #ikemen prince fanfiction #ikemen prince rio #ikemen prince smut #ikemen series #ikemen cybird #ikemen rio #ikemen rio ortiz #rio ortiz smut #rio ortiz #rio ortiz fanfic #rio ortiz fanfiction #ikepri #ikepri fanfic #ikepri fanfiction #ikepri smut #ikepri rio #ikepri rio smut

117 notes · View notes

ladythot · 10 months

Note

Just thinking about how the baki men would react when they see a porny picture of a girl in a website filled with ads or like an Instagram thirst trap makes me laugh. This is like, a funny fun kind of ask, I just wanna see what your thoughts about their reaction would be *snorts and slams the table numerous times before the joke even comes out*

Consider me snorting at the thought of one of them ending up jerking off to the picture

Baki

He's scrutinizing the picture if the girl caught his attention with no ill intent—but later on he finds himself riling up before he closes the web and calls for kozue.

Remember that one time baki domoe motobe izou magically formed into a girl as an illusion and it was making baki almost drool? A cheap trick could get him cowering on his knees. In my opinion, I mean my most certainly self opinionated conclusion, baki occasionally wonders how a body much different from kozue would feel like in a naive way of depicting imagination.

Katsumi

Has a deadpan expression plastered on his face before he stumbles onto one. His eyes would dilate at the picture as he mentally slaps himself before exiting out of the web. Immediately checks if his vpn is still on for some reason

Mumon

Swipes the mouse way faster than he should but later scrolls back up little by little as curiosity kills him to think about taking in the picture once more even when he considers himself as a non coomer. And he should be looking at bankable jobs not girls

Katou

He'd be invested to think that the site showing him unsolicited ads could be handful or truthful for that matter, he's a guy with nothing to brag about. He's a man without much female companion and their company, let him caper in his shallow desire. But of course, he's still wary about scams—doesn't stop him from watching cute streamgirls though. He's gonna scourge and reverse the image just to find who the girl is shown in the picture

Jack

He's disappointed at women showing their bodies. Especially when he's just looking for a new shirt to wear, man. (That's jush how canon Jack is) but fanon Jack? Let me hear you say he could only live his fantasies within pictures of his type

Hector

It might just be me, but, I have a feeling he takes his time to look at egirls in their natural habit in all kind of pics especially if it's suggestive; knife, chains, and smoking? He gets the inspiration. But a stray porny advertisement being shoved in his face is like him being assaulted through the screen

Sikorsky

Me thinks that he will click on the ad that says about a girl 200 meters away waiting for him and get hacked

#think it's about time to ring up the tags once more when it comes to joke rqs huh?

137 notes · View notes

rollinouttahere-writes · 5 months

Note

Can we get some stuff recharging adult Lucky and Kaku? … asking for a friend.

anon I am gently kissing you on the forehead, thank you so much I have been wanting to talk about them since finishing Enies Lobby

under the cut because I am mentally ill about this man

When they meet, it's in the kitchen of the Going Merry when he comes to check out the ship. Lucky was already a little rattled from the Franky Family trying to jump them, so a strange man suddenly appearing on the ship definitely scares her a bit.

That, and the whole Enel situation happened like not even a week ago.

She freezes and stares at him when he walks in, and he isn't doing any better. He just came to do an evaluation on a ship and now he's finding this poor, battered woman cowering in one of the rooms.

He snaps out of it and is quick to explain who he is and why he's there. Once she's calmed down and realized she isn't about to be attacked again, he steps closer and asks in a hushed tone if she needs help. Rescuing people being held hostage on a pirate ship is hardly a first for Galley-La.

Her attempts to convince him that she is actually fine aren't particularly successful, but he doesn't force her to come with. He does talk her into showing him around the ship "just in case he misses something", but really he's just worried Zoro is going to do something to Lucky when he isn't looking.

Just as he's leaving, he slips a piece of paper into her pocket. It's hastily jotted down directions to Dock 1 if she changes her mind. Lucky is somewhat charmed. While his concern was ultimately unnecessary, it was very sweet of him.

Kaku, meanwhile, is having a crisis. Being able to shut down and disregard emotions is something he had to get good at in his line of work, so why could he not get Lucky out of his head? Why does he feel like he needs to go back and save her? He puts it aside, but just barely.

It keeps building as the arc progresses and further encounters make him feel even more hot under the collar. He went out of his way to bring her some lunch while also covertly doing CP9 stuff because she mentioned wishing she could've tried this one particular food Water 7 was known for. He's down bad and has no idea what to do.

Ultimately, he leaves her behind when their cover is blown and they all head to Enies Lobby, but when she comes there... His resolve breaks. Clearly this is meant to be, why else would she have come here despite the danger? She was meant to be his. She wants this as bad as he does.

After being defeated by Zoro, he uses the last of his strength to find and bring her with him. He's 100% ready to leave everything behind just to be with her. This doesn't work out thanks to Lucky having an impact dial on her, but even after taking such a vicious blow, he's still attempting to reach out to her.

Kaku hates who and what he is. He never asked to be an assassin, none of them did, but he could never fully settle into the roll. A part of him always resented the people who did this to him. Who forced him to live such a horrible life when he could have been normal if they'd laid eyes on anyone but him.

Lucky is his second chance. She's an opportunity to run away and restart his disaster of a life. To experience the normalcy he had up until now thought would only ever be a fantasy.

All he wants is to walk away from all this and be a normal, happy couple living a refreshingly mundane life. Sure, it wouldn't be completely normal, they would have to move around constantly to evade detection from the world government that would absolutely be looking for him, but it's nothing they can't persevere through together.

The thing he wants most is a family. The memories of his own family from his childhood are so far away and unclear that he isn't even entirely sure they're real or just something he came up with to make himself feel better. But now, with Lucky, he could have something indisputably real. Their children would be as adorable as they would be loved, that's what he tells her when he's trying to force convince her to come with him.

Kaku is delusional to an extreme. He only ever sees Lucky as a victim of circumstance that is so traumatized from her past that she can't be trusted to make good decisions for herself. That's why she needs a little push, he tells himself.

Please ask me more about him, I'm obsessed as you can probably tell.

#lucky break #kaku one piece #can you tell who my favorite cp9 member is?

52 notes · View notes

idyllcy · 7 months

Text

'cause I know I'll never live that fantasy

word count: 4.0k

warnings: angst

summary: You can't go see Tim— so you leave.

The first time you meet Tim, the two of you are blinking at each other, introducing yourselves to the group, names on your chest, empty-handed. The two of you are strangers. Two people who have never met in their life, unaware of each others' existence, eyes meeting for the first time of many. You don't know what Tim is thinking. You don't understand what is going through Tim's head the first time he meets you. You find that you never really will.

Is he being friendly? Is he flirting?

You could never tell.

"Tim Drake." He smiles at everyone, pausing at you, eyes meeting yours.

You look away.

It goes around the circle until it's you, and you say your name, meeting no one's eye.

You glance at him and then his pin, noticing the different color. He's a helper, not an attendee.

He's at least three years older than you according to the rules.

Or maybe he isn't. You don't know.

But god is he cute.

You miss the way he tilts his head at you when you introduce yourself. (Your roommate tells you later on. She's called Nat. You never told her what happened between the two of you)

Activities move on without much. You find that he's a decent sport, competitive in nature, yet never hesitating to cheer up the other teens he's in charge of. It doesn't matter. You force yourself to tear your eyes away from him, talking to your friend, giggles and whispers slipping from your lips, listening to her as she stares at the Asian guy on the other team. You tell her your other roommate has a crush on the other guy from the team, grinning as you do. You can see why. He has striking blue eyes.

But the first day you meet Tim passes just as fast, the two of you barely speaking. Tim's just another cute guy at the retreat. You would never get to see or talk to him afterward, so there was no point in getting attached to anyone in the group— especially not when the majority of them were still super young.

But you get to know the adults, one of them speaking your mother tongue to you, another speaking the same languages as Tim, the final speaking both.

He's cute, but you'd never make a move on him.

So the first day ends like that, strangers still, nothing to feed your delusions, nothing to cling onto your heart painfully. Nothing for you to hold onto— the week still the same. You don't know anything about him other than the fact that he's still too old for you at this age, and the gap was too much for you. You focus on Nat's gushing over another guy instead, feeding her delusions, giggling as the two of you count over what to share to your third roommate.

You hope she's feeling better.

.☁.

The second time you meet Tim, the two of you are discussing how to make an F1 vehicle with cardboard. Well, he's talking to one of the teens in his group who has no idea what an F1 car even is. You step in, offering quiet discussion, taking the booklet from the boy as you sketch a side view of the car, mentioning the physics behind it. You don't know what stroke of luck this is, but it's a stroke of luck nonetheless since you were doing research on the car earlier in the morning for your writing.

Tim stares at you all the time while you're writing, eyes digging into your face, making you slightly nervous, but you push it to the back. You really want to build an F1 car. It'd be helpful for your writing too. Too helpful. You might have the characters build a car together if you're that desperate.

So Tim puts you in charge of making the engines (really, just balloons and straws), and you listen, blowing into the straws after using the hot glue to seal the hole, checking to see if it inflates— it does, so you head back to your group, handing them to Tim as he finishes drawing the base for the car. Without second thought, Tim presses the straws to his lips and blows. Your eyes widen in mild surprise, and it hits Tim once the balloon deflates.

"No one else touch the straws, I already blew into it." He orders. You look to the side, grimacing. Too late?

Yet it goes smoothly. It's supposed to smoothly. You finished your task— you're supposed to be able to slack off now. Yet, by some cruel twist of fate, you're called back to the hot glue station, sitting down across from Tim, your roommate leaving you with him since apparently he would only listen to you. She tried teaching him how to use the glue gun, only for him to thoroughly mess up and not listen to her.

"Heard you suck at this." You take the remaining side piece from him, reaching for the gun.

"Yeah... help me out?"

Your heart stutters at his voice, and you tell him to hold the car up as you apply a layer of glue to the bottom of the piece, sticking it on, telling him to hold it in place and leave the glue alone. He listens, holding it as your roommate hands you the top piece.

"No, no." Tim mumbles, pulling out two cardboard flaps. "Back piece first."

You glue it in as Tim holds it in place again, and you're told the two of you have barely any time left. At that point, the two of you give up on boundaries as your fingers brush Tim's too many times to count, him doing the same as the two of you rush to finish putting the car together, last-minute adjustments made to get the balloons out of the wheel's way. Your knuckles brush so often that the two of you should technically get scolded for giving up boundaries, but the two of you don't care; your heart giving up on stuttering, desperation overtaking the two of you, brows furrowed in annoyance.

Tim looks at your name badge halfway through the building, saying your name, eyes meeting yours, eerily sincere. You raise a brow at him, but he offers no explanation, a mild praise slipping past his lips instead, as he continues with another idea to keep the balloons up. (You didn't think him calling your name would be embedded into your memory this clearly.)

You finish with three minutes to spare, telling Tim to do a final test run before you set it down to run.

You chew on your bottom lip, but Nat places a hand on your shoulder, telling you that you did your best. "It doesn't matter if we win or lose. Didn't you have fun building it?"

"Yeah." You laugh, a fond laughter that seems nostalgic. "I had fun building it. I'll tell Tim it's fine if we lose."

You step behind Tim, peering over his shoulder, a smile on your lips as he turns to look at you.

"Did you have fun?"

Tim blinks at you. "Yeah." He laughs. "I did."

"Then it doesn't matter if we lose." Your lips curl upward a little more. "Because I had fun too."

Tim's lips pull slightly more upward as the kid next to him moves to the side so you can get a good view of the race track. Tim's hand presses into your shoulder, still a little anxious despite the words you had given him. You let him, a little freaked out over how he could just assume you were alright with it, but still, you make no move to get him off of you. He adjusts so that he's leaning on you later, elbow on your shoulder, body weight leaned into you, free hand still holding the car you built.

In the group photo afterward, Tim tries to get you to stand in the front, only for you to duck behind him, peeking past his shoulder, photo on his phone as he makes fun of you for using an emoticon as your phone name. You stick your tongue out at him for it, but Tim means no harm. The rain outside roars.

(You miss the way his gaze lingered on you for a little longer as you ran through the rain without an umbrella.)

.☁.

The third time you meet Tim, the two of you meet under a clear sky, the two of you waiting for the bus to take you to the trail with the rest of the group. The group has shrunk— from sixteen people to ten. Six people skipped going on the hike with the rest of the group. You stay with Nat and your other roommate (a girl who's always running off to talk to her cousin. The cute guy from the first day is in his group.)

Tim has shades on today, the sun too much, and you duck under the shade. Neither of you talk to each other, yet Tim slips next to you when the adults start counting your group, offering you a small smile. He laughs when you joke about how the heavens listened to you when you said you wanted to sit on the double-decker. You don't end up sitting on it, but the advantage of a small group is that you're squeezed into the back of the final bus, listening as he talks to another kid in your group.

At the base of the mountain you're hiking, you decide that it's going to be hell.

You are not athletic enough for this.

Yet, Tim trails behind you with another adult, the two of them staying by you as you drag yourself up the awful slope.

"Tired already?" Tim raises a brow at you.

You stare at him in exasperation, exhaustion all over your face. "Yes."

Tim smiles. "The two of you stay safe, alright? I'm going to see how the others are doing."

You watch as he runs off, the delusions in your head coming full stop.

if he liked you, he would have stayed behind.

Yet you find yourself in a conversation with the adult, learning a little about her background, her words providing a nice distraction from the lack of music. You forgot your AirPods at home. Nat said you wouldn't need it, but at the rate that you were falling behind from the rest of the group— you definitely needed them. Maybe the music would have helped you walk faster and walk up quicker. But it doesn't matter, not when you finally meet up with the rest of the group, exhaustion all over your face.

Your face drops in horror at the higher climb ahead of you.

"No." You groan. "NO!"

Nat laughs at you, patting your back gently. "Once you cross that, it'll be over."

You stare at her in disbelief, and in the corner of your eye, you catch Tim chuckle. You grumble as you pull out your water, downing a couple of sips, and Tim speaks up while staring at his own bottle.

"I probably should have drank less." He grimaces.

"You'll sweat it all out." Nat waves her hand at him dismissively.

You wonder if you should use the portable before you leave.

"I mean, if we need to." Tim's lips curl upward. "Use the waterbrooks."

"Okay, first of all, no." Your other roommate stares at him in disgust.

"Full disclosure, I haven't done it since I was a boys scout." Tim holds his hands up.

You wonder if that explains why his arms are muscular.

But your other roommate (already over the idea of staying on the mountain any longer than she has to) insists that you all just eat your lunch and move on. You're not hungry either, so you agree with her, sitting with her on the stone in the grass, biting into the wafer bar, eyes lingered on Tim as he sits in the grass across from you, pulling on the kid who was going insane, stopping him from tackling one of his friends.

(Your heart races at his ability to balance being their friend and the one in charge.)

Yet just as quickly as the rest, the majority of you head off, the girls in your room racing up the giant ass mountain, you staying behind, dying on the stairs, pausing every couple of minutes with the woman from earlier, her hands offering to hold your bag, and you adjust your jacket, taking it off and tying it around your neck. You pause to take a photo of the scenery around, and Tim catches up behind you, slowing down to walk up the stairs with you, laughing as you heave.

"You good?"

"No." You deadpan, inhaling and exhaling.

Tim hums. "At least you're not sweating."

You stare at him incredulously. "My back is drenched."

Tim pauses to stare at you, blinking twice, next words punching the air out of your lungs.

"At least you look good while sweating."

His next words don't register in your head after the compliment (something about how he sweats first from his face?), and you watch as he races back up the stairs after the kid he was with originally. His words ring in your head and render you stupid, cheeks flushed from his stupid words. And even when he's cheering with Nat to give you more energy to reach the (presumed) top of the mountain, his words are still in your mind.

You let out a yell of frustration when you realize there are more stairs.

The group presses onward, and you drag yourself up with the adult, picking up another girl in your group along the way, the three of you dying every four steps up the trail. You think you're going to die. You think you're going to lose your mind. You make it up to the second resting area, the rest of the group waiting for you again. For a second— for a fucking second, you think you're at the top.

You take a photo there (It's not the top), but you take a photo there anyway.

You yell again when you realize it's not the top of the mountain.

"Come on, you're practically there." Nat pats your back twice before walking on, joining your other roommate.

You swear you're hitting the stairmaster when you get home.

(at some point, you manage to catch a kid ask Tim why he was able to run along so quickly. He tells him that it's because he has legs of steel from biking.)

When you finally reach the top, you think your life is in shambles, but you cheer when you notice the rest of the route is downhill, and you groan in bliss when you finally find a place to sit down and stretch your legs. You take another bite of your sandwich, agreeing with your roommate about hurrying up this time, ignoring the way Tim complains as you skip off to head downhill. You trudge at the front of the group this time.

Your room talks about boys and vampires, going over shows and having conversations about crushes, and you dare not to tell them that you liked the other helper in your group. You feel as though you'd get nailed to the cross and set on fire Salem Witch Trials style if you opened your mouth and admitted. For hell's sake, you still don't know his age.

Your bunch reaches the end of the trail first, staying still as the two kids with your room follow along with Tim, the boy raising a brow as the girl tells the boy to shut up while she was memorizing the main focus. You raise a brow at Tim, lacking a packet with the memorization portion on it. Nat asks the question instead.

"Do you not need to look to check?"

"They've tried memorizing it so many times that I have it memorized." Tim laughs dryly. "You said it wrong, by the way. It's supposed to be foretaste then full taste."

You brighten. "That happened to me with my friend! She was memorizing something and she had done it so many times that I had it memorized halfway through."

Tim smiles at you, pointing at you as he affirms his memorization. He steps next to you, pausing at the rock on the ground. "heart rock."

Your neck cracks as you turn to look at it, causing Nat to laugh at the sound.

Your phone is in your hand as you try to take a photo of the rock, but Tim sits on top of it, and you grumble. Tim stumbles a little, settling for an asian squat instead, and you take the opportunity to take a photo of the rock. You look at the photo as Tim speaks up, facing you.

"Can you asian squat?"

You turn to look at him, squatting down immediately, perfect balance. "I can do this, but I heard actual asian squatting is when both of your feet are next to each other."

"Oh!" Nat goes into the position, and she grins. "We do this too!"

The two of them pick up on a conversation as you notice the last person in your group to rush down the hill, letting you bunch go. You don't remember much after that, Tim's words still ringing in your ears.

.☁.

It rains before you meet Tim for the fourth time.

However, instead of meeting him at the activity itself, your room bumps into his while heading down from your cabin, pausing to stare at him as you blink in surprise.

"Oh, hey! Where are you all staying? How come we never see you?"

"Cabin 12C." Mari (you finally remember your other roommate's name at this point) points up the path. "All the way at the top."

One of the boys with Tim grimaces.

"Does that mean you guys have to walk all the way from here to the other tent?" Nat raises a brow.

"Yeah, takes around fifteen minutes." Tim hums. "Come on, let's get going."

The fourth day you meet Tim, the two of you are pressed shoulder to shoulder as you scream over having another hill to climb. Your legs feel like pins and needles from the hike previously, the eleven kilometers on your phone proof of such, your disgust all over your face, and halfway through, you tap out and offer to figure out the puzzle. You stay back with a couple of kids, searching through the book, answers scribbled messily on your phone, and you rush over to Tim as he comes back with the final codes.

"We got all the codes!"

"We have everything except for one question." You hold your phone to him, and Tim brightens.

"Write them down, now." He hands you the clipboard, and you push it back into him.

"Table. Can we head to a table first?"

"Of course."

The group rushes over to the table, scribbling messily on the paper as you read the answers to Mari, her writing much more legible than yours or something. The final answer is found as you write down the answers, and the group starts brainstorming for an overall theme. Tim hops on the table at some point, shoulder pressed to yours, bare skin brushing yours as you lean over to look at the paper.

You ask Tim what the college conference topic was on when he hits a block..

He tells you, but he makes small talk with you.

"And you?"

You laugh, a little embarrassed, turning to look at Tim, lashes fluttering. "Not in college yet. I'm going in this September."

You feel Tim visibly pause, his breath catching in his throat as you swallow uncomfortably. Maybe this was the end of the conversation. You try and save it.

"Then were you at the one earlier this summer?"

"No," Tim shakes his head. "I've actually never been there, so I'd love to go sometime."

"I welcome you." You smile. "It's always super enjoyable."

"Yeah? Wanna share to me about it?"

And you take him up on the offer, telling him about all the information you remember from the conference, counting out on your fingers, rambling about the topics. You don't know how Tim is looking at you. The only thing you know is that he's staring at you, eyes digging into your cheek as you look over the sheet again, brainstorming for new ideas eventually.

You never catch Tim staring at you. It's a shame, really.

Though, as you submit the paper and take a final group photo, you ask Tim for the photos, and Tim sends them to you. That's the end.

The end of a story you won't ever get to see again.

Even when you text your friends about him and they tell you he's your soulmate, you can't continue the story.

(Before leaving, though, Nat tells you that Tim's three years older than you. You wonder how she could tell that you liked him.)

.☁.

The fifth time you're supposed to see Tim, you don't.

You stop at the store, buying two cans of tea, one for the road and one for the day, and you wonder if you should go to the main tent where you're sure Tim is. You're almost positive that Tim is there, but the better part of you decides against it, desperate to have no strings attached to the place. You can't see him one last time. You've deluded yourself into thinking that he's into you when he's just being friendly, and you've deluded yourself into thinking that you are capable of being loved.

You can't go see Tim.

So, you leave.

(You take a shortcut to your cabin so you can avoid the risk of seeing Tim again.)

.☁.

On the last day before you leave, you catch one of the girls in your team, asking how she was getting home. She mentions a bus for her group, all of them going to drive home together. It's an eight to nine-hour drive, and you smile, waving goodbye to her as she rushes off with her friends.

Your heart aches as you sit on the bus, chewing on your bottom lip, but not a single cell in your body regrets getting to know Tim. Even if you had deluded yourself into thinking that maybe he liked you, it wouldn't work out. Long distance with a guy you had met only four times was never a smart idea.

So, you open your laptop, a new document pulled up, heartstrings tugging with your fingers as you type the tale.

.☀.

Tim looks out the window at you as you roll your luggage down the road.

He likes you.

His heart stutters in his chest, and he wonders, maybe you like him too. Maybe you would see him again the following year, and maybe he'd get to visit you in four years time, or maybe you would make the first move and join him later in the year, but Tim knows deep down that he likes you.

He fell for someone he had known for four days, all because of a couple brushes of skin on skin, not even intentional half of the time.

Tim forces his eyes away from the window to continue packing his own luggage, silently praying that maybe, just maybe, he would get to see you again next year.

And if not the next, then in four.

Because Tim feels his own heart tug with yours as he's not aware of what you're doing, too much of a coward to ask for your number, too scared to tell you anything that he's aware of. He was nearly done with college, yet there you were, about to start. It's too early. You're too young for him, but god if he just had one chance, he'd cling onto you.

But it's too early for it, and it's too late to try harder.

Tim can only pray you show up the next year.

#tim drake x reader #tim drake imagine #tim x reader #I HATE TAGGING FOR HIMMM #red robin x reader #red robin imagine #☾.fics

78 notes · View notes

queendeeshorrorimagines · 1 year

Note

Yep looks like mine got ate lol. Idk why but tumblr usually eats my request on the first attempt at sending it.

Anyways, could I prettty please request a hc for Thomas Hewitt, Bo Sinclair, Mark Hoffman & Nathan Wallace? 🍒

Where he has a s/o who's very doting on him. Like whenever he returns from work/ chasing down a victim she insists on checking him for injuries. And if there are any injuries not letting them do anything else until she's doctored them up. Always making their favorite meals etc?

Slashers with a Doting s/o:

Thomas Hewitt x reader, Bo Sinclair x reader, Vincent Sinclair x reader, Mark Hoffman x reader, Amanda Young x reader, Nathan wallace x reader, Art the clown x reader, Albert wesker x reader, Michael Myers x reader, Billy Loomis x reader, Stu Macher x reader, Asa Emory, Jesse Cromeans

Fem reader

Warnings: slight spoilers for the slashers, slight angst for Nathan

Thomas Brown Hewitt

Thomas is a touch starved man. He's never actually thought that he would even have a significant other.

He's always had fantasies and dreams of eventually finding someone to settle down with and eventually starting a family. You made his dreams an reality.

Thomas adores how much you care for him. From the little notes you write him with his lunches all the way to the way you massage his sore muscles after a long day of supplying meat for the family.

The only issue that Thomas would have is not wanting you around while he's butchering the meat because you're too angelic to see him doing such.

Bo Sinclair

Bo isn't used to anyone being doting to him. The most doting Bo has experienced was from his twin but never with anyone else.

At first, Bo would be frustrated with how doting you are. Especially growing up the way Bo did, it caused him to have a more avoidant type of attachment compared to his brothers.

He thinks that you're trying to infantize him at the beginning, or trying to "demasculine him." Bo's the type to patch himself up, even Vincent has to force Bo to let him patch his wounds up.

Once he gets used to your doting nature, Bo would drink it up. Not only does your doting nature makes him feel loved, it also helps with luring victims with your "doting house wife" role.

Vincent Sinclair

While Bo's childhood has been on the physically abusive side, Vincent was more so emotionally abused. Yes, Vincent was the favorite child, but he also was forced to hide his scars from a young age by Trudy under the guise of not wanting to upset her by showing his face.

With your doting affection, it made Vincent short circuit because of the fact that you were doing this even though you've seen and know about his scars.

Vincent adores how you always make sure that he eats and stays hydrated while he's working. He even loves how you try to coax him into going to bed and rest after him working non stop for a couple days.

He wouldn't want you around when he "preps" his sculptures because he couldn't afford the possibility of one of then escaping and hurting you, his angel. But if he ends up getting injuries, he would let you take care of it.

Mark Hoffman

Mark has spent a lot of his life before becoming Jigsaw's apprentice taking care of himself and of his sister (until she died). He's not the one to really know how to react to having a doting significant other.

Given the life he's living, your doting nature gives him an escape from the darkness he's been engulfed in. If you're not another one of John's apprentices, you're most likely ignorant to what he does when he's not with you.

The excuses he gets whenever he comes home with injuries would be "work related." Mark would let you tend his wounds once the both of you have been together for a long while. It's not because he doesn't trust you, the reason is similiar to Bo, he doesn't want to weak around you because he is a detective after all.

Mark will protect you at all costs. He's already lost all of his family, he's not going to lose you.

Amanda Young

Amanda isn't used to having people doting her. The closest she's had was John and he was a father figure to her.

With you, Amanda thought that you were an angel sent for her. With how much you show her your love by the small things like making sure she eats, helping her through her recovery as an addict, making sure she's taken care off when she's not around you.

Amanda allows you to help her if she ends up getting hurt. The only thing that Amanda doesn't like is when you look at the scars from her using.

Just like with Mark, Amanda wouldn't want you to know about her double life and would do anything to protect you from the cops. It doesn't matter if you're an apprentice as well, Amanda is going to protect you no matter what.

Nathan wallace

Nathan has been pretty much touch starved and alone since the death of Marni. He's more than used to taking care of himself and Shilo.

It took a lot to let you in, both romantically and knowing of his secret repoman life. You in a lot of ways reminded Nathan of Marni because of how much you take care of both him and Shilo.

Nathan loves how both you and Shilo get along, helping her through the rough patches between the two of them. The both of you know that you will never be able to be Marni but Nathan hopes that she would be okay with you being in both him and Shilo's lives.

Nathan feels comfortable knowing that if anything happens to him that Shilo would have you there for guidance, love, and support.

Art the clown

Art is a rather touchy kind of person. This man probably has never been doted on in his existence. It's obvious that the only that that's keeping Art alive is some sort of dark diety.

Art is one of the very few people on this list that would gladly accept his significant other taking care of him. It doesn't matter how good or bad you are at cooking, it's way better that the food in the dumpsters that Art eats (or faces? Who am I to judge?)

It's a miracle that you're still alive around Art. The whole tending to Art's wounds wouldn't be needed but Art does appreciate when you clean the blood off his costume.

Being with Art and cleaning the amount of blood on his costume, you probably have a real good idea on what he does when he's not being taken care of at your house. Do you really want to potentially gamble on your life by asking?

Albert wesker

Wesker, depending on how long have you been with him would determine what ways you're doting towards him. If it's during his S.T.A.R.S days, he loves how you are always home to take care of him after the missions and trainings.

S.T.A.R.S Wesker would reluctantly allow his significant other to tend to his wounds after his missions, even give you a few flirty jabs if he's shirtless while you tend to him.

Wesker secretly enjoys having his significant other massage all the tense muscles of his shoulders and back. This is a common thing for both pre and post mutated Wesker.

Once Wesker becomes mutated, the healing his wounds wouldn't be needed because of the superior healing but he does find it nice when you stitch up any of his torn clothes.

Michael Myers

Michael hasn't been doted on since probably when he was a small kid before being institutionalized.

Similar to Art, Michael's diet before you was whatever he could kill and eat and that it doesn't matter what your skill level is when it comes to cooking, it's better than what he's eaten before.

It takes a lot for Michael to trust you enough to both see his face under the mask and for you to tend to his wounds after a night of killing. Once he trusts you, Michael would stay perfectly still while you quickly tend to him.

Michael would be shocked when you either gift him a new knife after noticing how his old one was failing him or if you cleaned and sharpened his knife for him.

Billy Loomis

Given that Billy has abandonment issues from his mother and to an extent, his father, Billy has a hard time truly letting someone in romantically. He usually uses his relationships to either make him look innocent or as side relationships to give him what he wants (i.e. sex)

It takes Billy a long time for him to get used to how caring and doting you are. Billy is similar to Bo when it comes to the Avoidant attachment style, often times getting agitated that you're babying him when the both of you were at the beginning stages of the relationship.

Once he's completely used to your doting ways, Billy will soak up the doting nature. Especially when it comes to you cooking hid favorite meals and making sure he's practicing self care.

Billy may not be vocal about his appreciation for you doting on him, he truly does appreciate how much you care for him . He wouldn't talk about his Ghostface side but you'll somehow figure it out but never said anything about him being a Ghostface.

Stu Macher

Stu was both lucky and unlucky to have the childhood he has. He has money to support himself while his parents are on business trips but he's never really experienced having someone dote on him as much as you

Seeing how caring and and doting you are, Stu instantly soaks up the attention you give him. This man loves it when you bake for him. Stu has a sweet tooth for your home made cookies and brownies and it makes his day when you give him a plate of your baked goods.

It's a possibility that you know about his Ghostface side. Or at least have suspicions of something going on because of the amount of bruises and scratches he has on his body that you've seen.

It's almost funny to see Stu make up a story about how he got the newest set of bruises on his skin. You decide to act like you believe his stories because you can see that Stu is hiding something and eventually he would spill the beans.

Asa Emory

Similiar to Jesse, Asa is all for having a significant other who's the "doting house wife" role when it comes to his day job where he's the professor.

Asa would be on the stubborn side when it comes to having his significant other taking care of his wounds because he deems it unneeded. He would probably let his significant other tend to him if he's probably passed out from blood loss or something similar.

You know about Asa's "Collector" side gig but between keeping yourself away from that business and the fear of Asa turning you into one of his pieces makes you keep quiet about the whole thing.

Asa does appreciate that you don't ask him too much about his secret life when you do have to tend to his wounds or patch up his sweaters constantly.

Jesse cromeans

Ever since the combination of the death of his late wife and nearly dying/ basically losing his physical appearance, Jesse lost any hope for anyone to even fake being with him as a front. That was until he got with you.

It takes a long time for Jesse to trust you to help tend to his face because of both Jesse not wanting you to see the full extent of his injuries and the fact that his face has became delicate for anyone to touch due to the scaring.

Jesse is all for having the "house wife" kind of significant other because it give him a more human side when it came to his "day job" and having you be there after his trips makes Jesse feel like he's not all monster, there's a man under a huge layer of brutality.

Unlike some of the others on the list, you do know at lease some of what Jesse does while on these trips. He wouldn't want you directly involved but he has made it so if anything happens to him, you would be safe with Spann.

#thomas hewitt imagines #bo sinclair imagines #vincent sinclair imagine #mark hoffman imagines #amanda young imagines #art the clown imagine #billy loomis imagine #stu macher imagine #albert wesker imagine #nathan wallace imagines #repo! the genetic opera imagines #slashers imagines #queendeeshorrorimagines #michael myers imagine #asa emory imagine #jesse cromeans imagines #dees sweet tea #🍒 anon request #fem reader

244 notes · View notes

levisolace · 10 months

Text

[1] Expendable Hearts (Levi x F!Reader)

Chapter 1: Windex and Baking Soda

WC: 7,182 Chapter Warnings: slight angst Summary: Everyone in Levi's life knows he only ever dated one girl and that she left him wrecked, bitter, and heartbroken. Many years later, she's back in his life and he doesn't know what to do. story masterlist > next chapter

“It’s always my pleasure, Mr. Brown.”

The corporate smile on your face drops as soon as you hit the end button in the video call application on your laptop. It was the first meeting of the day with a client and you were already exhausted, wanting nothing but to go home and curl up in bed, heavily surrounded by your pillows and weighted blanket for hours. But you know that’s a dream that would remain a fantasy for a while. Why? Because it’s a Monday. It’s only the start of the week and judging from the pile of paperwork delivered to your desk this morning, you would have to work overtime again for the third week in a row.

Being recently hired by one of the top leading firms in the country is a blessing you will be thankful for every day but as the week goes by and you’re on your fifth pile of paperwork, more than ten meetings in one week, you can’t help but think what would it be like to work for a small, quiet firm. You shrug those thoughts away as soon as they come. You’re grateful for the more-than-average salary the firm provides, at least.

The day went on as it always does: hours of you trying to ignore your back pain. It was becoming unbearable and you can’t even use the ointments your grandmother used to insist you use because it would no doubt infest the building with its smell—your reputation and first impression from your coworkers is at stake.

As you’re typing back an email from your superior, Atty. Dot Pixis, you halt when you feel the buzzing on your table. You pick it up mindlessly, checking to see the notification. A smile spreads on your face to see that it’s your previous boss, Vanessa.

hey. how’s working with the big leagues?? pixis is not tiring you out too much is he?? i can give him a word if you want.

pixis is treating me really well, nes. thank u for checking up on me! i miss everyone there at the firm and little ian :((

Vanessa, besides being your former boss back in Olsen & Associates, is also your friend and self-proclaimed older sister. She's a well-known attorney, and Olsen is a legend back in law school because she’s an alumnus who’s actually cool and doesn’t have their head up their asses. However, after deciding to settle down and start a family, she opened up a small firm in her hometown.

i might just have to visit bc i miss my little sis :(( should’ve never let u leave

technically, it’s your fault i left

i know :( don't remind me

Two months ago, Vanessa told you that ODM is hiring and Pixis contacted her to see if she knows anyone to take the job. Your jaw dropped to the ground when she told you she recommended you and you can send in your resume if you’re interested. It was an offer no one could pass up so before you knew it, you were being hauled into a hours-long bus ride and then anxiously seated for an interview in the city you used to live in. And after about a week of being a nervous wreck waiting for their response, you were contacted that you’ve been selected for the position.

Now here you are, finally settled in your office. You still can’t believe you have your own space in this huge building. You would’ve never thought you’d be working here in the firm you only used to stare at in awe while passing by years ago.

Although, you have to admit that you miss the warm feeling of the small firm where you all know each other, exchange heartfelt greetings, and gossip when there are not too many clients. Now, you pass by a new face every now and then, most not even bothering to greet you or spare you a look. You can’t blame them. The work here is drastic.

By the time you left the office, it’s already dark and way past office hours. As you were driving home, you remembered you still needed a few supplies in your apartment. You haven’t exactly settled yourself in, prioritizing work more. God, you even still had a few boxes to unpack.

You stopped by a 24-hour supermarket that you spotted on your way to work this morning when you had to reroute because of the traffic. It was a little out of the way but it would do. It was still two hours before midnight, anyway.

As you drag your feet through the aisles and drop whatever you felt like you needed in the cart, unwanted memories come creeping in. The air in Paradis City is still the same. Even if a few buildings might have changed or some stores you used to frequent have closed down, it was still the same Paradis you knew—a buzzing city filled with dreams. The streets are never empty, famously congested by students from top universities or office workers.

When you got the offer for the job, you weighed out the pros and cons. There were only two cons you were able to determine:

You don’t want to leave Olsen & Associates and Vanessa’s hometown, Trost, and

You’d be going back to your hometown, the one you promised not to go back to.

The pros outweigh the cons, obviously. That weight being the thick fat salary you would be getting. Besides, Paradis is huge and has like three million residents. It’s not like you’d cross paths with him. And it’s been years. He probably forgot all about you anyway. You barely think about him. It was just a silly puppy-love relationship. No biggie.

Keep telling yourself that.

Shut up.

“That one’s better.”

A voice directed to you made you snap out of your thoughts. It made you painfully aware of how you had been staring at the two options of green tea in your hand for probably more than the normal minutes it takes one to decide. The tall brunette had on a face mask covering half his face, his hair parted in the middle, and he wore a simple light blue button-down and black slacks. He was about two feet away from you when he pointed at the tea canister in your right hand.

“Oh. Thanks,” you replied sheepishly. Desperate to run away from the embarrassment of zoning out in the middle of a public space, you take his advice and put down the canister on your left hand back to the shelf.

“You’re welcome. I see my friend drinking it all the time so it has to be good,” he nods and you see his cheeks prop up, probably sporting a smile beneath the mask. You smiled back and thanked him again.

“Can you grab that one for me?” He points at a sweet one, a flavor in contrast with the green tea you chose. It was on the shelf being blocked by your cart beside you. You quickly mutter an apology and reach for a can.

“My fiancée prefers her tea fruity,” he explains even if you didn’t ask, his ears tinted a bit red from his own statement. You immediately find it endearing. He seems very fond of his partner as he continues to babble about her. “Well actually, she prefers coffee with an unhealthy amount of espresso shots but I eventually persuaded her to drink tea once in a while.”

“Moby! I know we usually don’t get this brand but guess what? This has a free pink sponge!”

You freeze at the sound of that awfully loud and familiar cheerful voice heading towards you at a fast pace. You couldn’t turn your head. Your fingers unconsciously grip the can you’re holding harshly with wide eyes. Silently, you were wishing that the person just had the same voice as the crazed tall woman with glasses you used to know or the man beside you isn’t named ‘Moby.’ The former would hardly be the case because from the sound of the voice, the personality of being uncaring of the silent atmosphere of the supermarket, and the way she ran excitedly from your peripheral vision, you were sure that this person was your old friend Hange. For the latter, your last hope dies down as you see the stranger turn his head at the sound of his name and reply with a sigh.

“What the hell are you gonna do with a sponge, babe? We have lots of sponges.”

“Okay but imagine! We swap out Levi’s sponge with a pink one.”

“I don’t think Levi cares about the color as long as it cleans.”

The fight or flight response in you went crazy at the mention of the name you haven’t heard in years, heavily leaning on the former. You could just hand this guy named Moby’s tea and make a run for it. You doubt Hange would care while being heavily invested in her free pink sponge.

But why would you run? You only run when you’re scared or did something wrong. Which is it? It can't be the latter, right?

I did.

Oh? So you did. You’re scared, huh? That she’d get angry at you for what you did back then.

I am.

Run then. That’s all you know to do anyway.

Shut up. Leave me alone.

“Miss? Are you okay?”

For the second time in front of the same stranger, you were snapped out of your trance and find yourself gripping the can so hard that you think you’ve made a light dent on the can. Damn, you should really get a decent amount of sleep. You’ve been losing it a lot lately.

You shake your head and slap your cheek lightly with your free hand. “Sorry. Lack of sleep. I’m fine. Here.”

You turn to him and hand him the can, hoping he wouldn’t mind the barely noticeable dent you made. Purposely, you don’t stray your eyes away from the man. You don’t want to be the first person to acknowledge Hange. Maybe she doesn’t even remember you. Maybe she doesn’t even want to acknowledge you.

“Greenie?”

It was more of a mutter. But with how loud Hanji’s voice is, you and Moby clearly heard it.

That’s when you look at her and actually see her. She looks the same as you saw her last. Her brown hair was tied up in a ponytail and her brown eyes were covered by thick-rimmed glasses. Nothing much has changed from her appearance except for the disappearance of the youthful look now replaced by maturity. Her gaze is fixed on you, slack-jawed. Her reaction doesn’t surprise or faze you, having expected that much. It’s what would follow that you’re nervous about. What would she say? Will she get angry at you? Or will she even remember who you are? Somehow, you dread that last possible outcome worst.

“H-Hange,” you breathily let out. You wonder if it’s audible.

Her fiancé also looks shocked, staring at you and then back to Hanji with widened eyes. “This is Greenie? The Greenie?” He points at you while asking Hange who was still frozen. His tone and reference to you immediately tell you that you have been discussed with people you never met, no doubt now knowing your past with them.

Greenie. You haven’t heard that nickname in a while.

It was silent for a few seconds, eyes not straying from each other. You probably look apologetic—scared, even. The man beside her is waiting too. You think he’s having a mini breakdown in disbelief.

When you see her start to lunge at you, you shut your eyes, expecting her palm to collide with your cheek. You expect her to slap you and scream at you in the middle of the cold supermarket. You expect her to ask you where you got the nerve to come back to the city after all you’ve done.

Instead, what she did broke down all your expectations.

Long and slender arms wrap around your figure, pulling you tightly to her chest. Your face is squished against the fabric of her fluffy parka jacket. Even if you suddenly have trouble breathing with how tight her hug is, you were thankful that it covered your face and how you were biting your lower lip, trying to suppress the relief that comes with tears.

“Where the hell have you been?!”

You couldn’t even answer. Or move at all. Not that you even know what to say.

“Hange. You’re killing her.” You hear her partner say. Hange instantly loosens her grip on you, muttering an apology with a slight chuckle. When she looks down at you, you give her a gentle smile.

“I missed you too, Hange.” And you meant it.

The tall woman was still not letting you go, arms wrapped just below your shoulders because of the height difference. Even if you were caged in her arms, you can still tilt your head up to look at her. Suddenly, tears started streaming down her face as she tilts her head down to you, her mouth quivering. Then it turns into full-on sobbing. You chuckle as she starts swaying you with her, going side to side like a pendulum as she sobs while wailing your name repeatedly.

There was no stopping Hange when she gets like this. So you let it happen. You let her hug you like she did many times before. You relish the moment, wanting to pass out and let loose in her hold. Maybe you’re dreaming and you’ll wake up in your bed, filled with disappointment and yearning for some warmth.

When she was satisfied, she let you go and introduced you to Moblit, her fiancé and coworker. They walked with you as you continued to shop, telling you stories about her and Moblit. Thankfully for your sake, she didn’t ask you much about yourself or what happened when you were away. She just asked how you were doing right now and what you were doing in the city. Although you were scared that the news would get to him, you told her the truth that you recently got hired at the law firm.

“So you moved back then? Like permanently?” Her brows raised in excitement.

“Well, I have a temporary contract for six months before I’m permanently employed there so hopefully,” you shrug while heading to checkout. As expected, Hange doesn’t care that you practically explained that it’s technically a ‘not yet,’ she shrieks and jumps up and down anyway.

“Oh my god, this is perfect! Greenie, one of my bridesmaids had to back out but we already had the dress paid and it’s a no-refund. Can you step in for her and attend our wedding? Would you? Please? Please?” Hange begs you, hands clasped together as she stares at you with puppy eyes and a pout.

You stop in your tracks and feel your heart sink to the ground. She wants you to attend her wedding knowing that many, if not everyone, you used to know will be there. And if his name was so casually mentioned earlier, that meant that they were still very much best friends and he would definitely be there.

And a few minutes ago you were convincing yourself that you wouldn’t accidentally run into him in this city. Now, you have to actually see him and be in the same room for a few hours?

You start with a chuckle. “Oh. I wouldn’t mean to impose—”

You were abruptly overpowered by her loud negation. “No, you wouldn’t! Everyone would be ecstatic to see you! I swear.”

“But—“

Hange sighs dramatically, shoulders slumping with a pout on her face. “I guess it’d be too much, wouldn’t it? You’re probably busy, right? Right. Sorry, I just got excited.” She turns to her boyfriend. “Moby, can you pay for our stuff and Greenie’s too?”

“What?”

Your eyes widened but before you could protest or take a strong hold on your cart, Moblit was already dragging it away and sending a flying kiss to Hange who giggled like a schoolgirl to catch it with her fist. You turn to her in disbelief as he turns his back. She catches your face, knowing what you’re about to say.

“It’s fine. That won’t make a dent in his bank account.”

Just like that, you were painfully reminded how no one could get a word in with Hange.

“Un-fucking-believeable.”

Niccolo, the training chef, flinched from behind him when the silver-eyed man let out an unprovoked profanity as he entered the restaurant. Connie, his loyal secretary, doesn’t even bat an eye at the unprofessional behavior of his boss, only following behind him with a straight face.

“Shithead. Call Nile later. Tell him I want a new team on this…” his words halt in disgust as he sees the unfinished, poorly done walls of what was to be a new branch of Kuchel’s. “or I’ll fire his stupid construction company out of every damn project. Verbatim.”

“Will do, sir.” Connie nods, mentally sighing. Not only is he used to hearing the profanities, but he’s also used to being ordered to say it too.

Levi nods at his secretary’s response, eager to leave the abomination that was supposed to be at 80% progress at this date. As he turns, he’s faced with Connie and a blonde man he doesn’t know.

“Who’s this?”

The blonde man practically shivered at his haze, the corner of his lips twitching at the sides. It was a sad attempt at a smile. Mentally, Connie sighed at his boss’ unfocused mind when there was something that greatly irritates him. The trainee chef was just literally in the car with them and Levi told Connie to bring the chef with them on the way to check the new location.

“This is Niccolo, sir. He was in the car with us. He’s the one highly considered by the HR,” Connie expertly answered.

“So you’re on the last stage,” Levi addresses Niccolo. The nervous man gulps but answers. “Yes, sir.”

Connie watches the exchange, feeling a bit of pity for the tall man cowering at the gaze of such a short guy with a temper taller than a skyscraper. He was exactly like this when Levi interviewed him for the position.

“Sorry, I had to make a detour because some shitheads can’t do their job right. Let’s go.”

And so Niccolo and Connie followed the grumpy man back to the vehicle they just got not even three minutes ago.

Not that he knew what to expect or had guesses but Niccolo was utterly surprised that he was brought to the first Kuchel’s restaurant. The legendary one that went viral.

When he passed by the reception area, his eyes widened when he saw the reservation list filled with no spots left. It was practically booked for the month from what he saw.

The kitchen smelled amazing, each one of the cooks was busy and they actually looked happy while working. They worked with so much coordination and laughter like he had never seen before.

He thought that he’d train or cook with them today, seeing as they’re Kuchel’s main branch’s team. He was excited too. But again, Levi surprises him when he pushes another door open from the kitchen, revealing a staircase. The man says nothing but climbs upstairs.

Confused but too scared to ask, Niccolo only stares at Connie but who beckons him to follow him up the stairs. When he sees Levi take a glance behind him, his feet move on its own, following the cold short man’s steps.

He sees a living room first. It’s a simple home but maintained well enough to look pristine. He kept on following Levi as he eventually led him to a kitchen. Levi turned to him and he’d be lying if he said that his heart didn’t jump at his sudden order.

“Do whatever you like. You have an hour.”

And then he leaves the kitchen, leaving Niccolo confused as he looks around at the domestic kitchen. He sees Connie, Levi’s assistant aggressively mouthing the words ‘cook anything’ as he follows Levi back to the living room.

“Good job. I think he liked it.”

Connie whispers to Niccolo before he leaves. Normally, he isn’t allowed to tell the training chefs what Levi thinks. But he’s feeling a little silly and Niccolo is his friend and his best friend, Sasha’s, boyfriend.

Just like all the other training chefs, Levi brought Niccolo to his old home to cook something for him. Levi is hella picky with them but Connie could see that he actually liked his friend’s food. There was no pursing of lips, which was the worst of them all. Connie had to scramble and get the trainee out before he burst the room into a myriad of colorful words no one wants to hear.

When they got back to the office, Hange was already there and most probably uninvited.

“What the fuck are you doing here, four eyes?”

Levi’s eyes were seething with annoyance as he sees his friend sitting at his desk on his chair, spinning around like an idiot. It was hard to believe that this woman is a professor at one of the most prestigious universities in the country.

“Shorty! You’re here!” She exclaimed, slamming her hands down on the fine wood of Levi’s desk to stop the chair from spinning.

“Get the fuck up before I strangle you to death, Hange.”

Hange chuckles but stands up anyway, skipping before plopping herself on the couch in Levi’s office. “Can you relax? I was just here to remind you that I’m getting married.”

Levi groans and rolls his eyes. “Who would fucking forget, Hange? You text a fucking countdown at seven in the morning in the group chat tagged to everyone. The mute option has been fucking useless since you learned how to do it.”

Levi sits down on his chair and switches on his computer to return to work despite his friend’s unsolicited visit to his office.

“Oh! I wanted to ask you something too! Do you have a date for the wedding? So I can take note of a plus one, maybe?”

He gives a blank stare to his friend for a second before turning back to his screen. “You know you can ask me that through a phone call, right?” He began typing away on his laptop, answering a few emails Connie forwarded to him.

“Well, you blocked my number so I thought that you’d rather see me in person.” Hange shrugs with a grin.

Levi pauses, remembering that he did block Hange’s number that one night she insisted for he come over and watch a horror movie with Erwin and Moblit. He was working and couldn’t turn his phone on do not disturb mode so he had to specifically block Hange’s calls. He then proceeds to forget to unblock her until now.

“So, no date?” Hange presses further.

Levi grunts, annoyed at the stupid question. “Who the fuck am I gonna bring? It’s not like I’m gonna bring a random girl to your wedding, Hange.”

“You totally could. They’re called escorts,” Hange suggests like a know-it-all.

“I don’t want a random stranger in your wedding pictures, four eyes.”

“I would rather have that than see you so depressing in my pictures with your bitch face. Oh! Want me to set you up on a blind date?” Hange’s voice rises again, something that happens when she gets excited over an idea.

“Fuck no,” Levi spat.

“Your last serious relationship was decades ago, Levi. Give it a try again.”

If looks could kill, funeral flowers would be thrown at Hange’s casket instead of wedding flowers. His fingers hover over the keyboard, hanging frozen at her words. At the mere implication of you, his blood boils and his chest tightens.

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Well–”

“Are you saying I’m not over her again, Hange?”

Before she could answer, the door swung open, revealing a tall blonde man with thick eyebrows who was grinning cheek to cheek. Great. Erwin’s here. Maybe they could send a few more uninvited people, order greasy pizza, and have a party in his office.

“Over who?” Erwin asks, ever the gossip man. Levi grunts and rests his forehead in his palms as Hange greets Erwin enthusiastically before answering.

“You know who.”

Erwin narrows his eyes at Levi before sitting down on the other edge of the couch. Hange tells him about getting a blind date. “You could try, Hange. I’ve set him up with surprise blind dates before and you know how that went.”

“Can you two fucking shut up and leave? I’m trying to work here,” Levi spat in annoyance. The pair ignores his grumbling, carrying on their conversation like he wasn’t in the room.

“But I have never set him up with someone before,” Hange points out.

Erwin purses his lips. “I doubt that you can find a girl better than me, Hange. I tried everything.”

Erwin and Hange look at each other with mischief, clearly enjoying Levi’s suffering from their teasing. He knows they won’t stop. If anything, it only egged them on further.

Hange places a finger on her chin obnoxiously. “Maybe you could ask the girl to wear green next time.”

Erwin nods, crossing his arms like he’s actually considering it. “Absolutely. We all know Levi still loves his greenie.”

God, even her nickname is a pain to hear.

Levi slams a hand down his mahogany desk so loud that people outside his office probably heard it. It didn’t faze his friends who were snickering on the couch though. They know he’s about to blow. He’s so frustrated that he almost ran a finger through his well-kept hair but caught himself before damaging it, exhaling loudly in frustration before speaking.

“Look, you dipshits. I told you a thousand times. Forget about that damned woman. I’m not dating because I’m goddamn busy with all these expansions, not because I’m not over a girl who left us all without a fucking trace.” Every word is laced with venom and he ends it with a huff.

“Fine. We get it. You’re over her but you’re still angry at her.” Hange rolls her eyes.

Levi doesn’t know exactly when they started referring to her as mere stories or inside jokes. But evidently, it turned out that way. They used to be hurt at the thought of her disappearing. Slowly, they started to forget. Except him. He’s still angry and confused when he thinks of a reason why.

“I am,” he admits.

“And if she comes to see you again? What will you do?”

This question again, Levi thinks.

He sighs. Like an automated machine, he answers the question as he did a myriad of times before, the first being the answer to one of your stupid games of what-if questions when you were together. Most were just ways to make him say those damn three words to you. It was usually just dumb things like “What if I was a worm?” and he would roll his eyes and tell you that he would unhesitatingly kill you before kissing you when you frown in disappointment. One question, however, deeply offended him more than anything.

“Levi, what if I asked you to break up with me?”

You were sitting on the couch with a blanket draped over your legs, still reeling from the sad romantic movie the two of you watched where the disabled paralyzed man still decides to die even after he fell in love with his caregiver.

Levi, who’s in the middle of choosing another movie from your collection of DVDs, freezes in his seat. He doesn’t turn to look at you but you see his whole body tensed up having heard what you said.

“What if we break up like that?”

You repeat the question with a pout on your lips. Levi finally looks at you with a frown on his face. He sighs and looks away, gaze lifting up for a second as if he’s thinking.

“No,” he answers even if the question upsets him. “We’re not gonna break up.”

You noticed that his mood falters from your question. Feeling a little bad, you wrap a hand around his bicep, pulling yourself close to his side. With a smile, you lean in and give him a peck on the cheek. “Don’t be sad. It was just hypothetical.”

He instantly leans unto you. He always does so when you’re near—like opposite sides of a magnet being pulled together by force. He always wants to be near you.

“Can you just go back to stupid questions like the worm shit?” He asks with a low voice, faces too close to each other that his lips could brush yours.

You give him a teasing grin and hum, nodding but doing the exact opposite of what he asked. Ever his stubborn girl, you continue asking. “But what if I leave you?”

He glares at you, not very pained this time, knowing it’s just you teasing again. Instead, his brows furrowed as he gazed down at you with his silver eyes. His eyes flick down to your lips and his lower lip brushes against yours for a millisecond. When you were sure he was about to kiss you, he shoves a hand at your face and pushes you away with a little force, making you land on the couch on your back.

You laugh but curse him out loud for his attack. Levi huffs, crossing his arms and looking away.

“If you do that, I will ignore you for the rest of my fucking life. You’re dead to me.” He says it with so much conviction that you know he doesn’t mean a word of it.

You sit up again, frowning then lightly slapping his shoulder. “That’s rude. What if I come back to see you, then?”

He scoffs loudly, still looking away from you, and spots his box of cleaning supplies. Then, he says the second thing that comes into his mind, thinking that the first one he thought of would seem desperate and pathetic of him.

He opens his mouth to speak and the words you hear from him causes an ever louder laugh out of you. He smiles before pushing you on your back again. This time, pulling himself on top of you and sealing your lips with a kiss.

“I’d spray her with some fucking Windex, throw baking soda on her stupid face, and kick her out.”

Usually, the statement is so funny to them that it ends the conversation. Sometimes, he even gives them a demonstration where one of their unlucky friends gets to be on the receiving end. But this time, Erwin has a follow-up question that goes straight to Levi’s chest.

“And if she insists on staying? What will you do?”

Levi went quiet. Hange and Erwin give a knowing sad look at each other that Levi doesn’t catch. They didn’t mean to push him this hard. But they had to know if he was ready.

From just outside his door where Connie’s desk is placed, his secretary listens in as well. He heard about his boss’ ex. The whole office knows about it. His mysterious ex and the only woman Levi Ackerman loved. That was what everyone knew. But from spending too much time with his boss more than he wanted to, Connie had learned the following about his boss’ only relationship:

Her nickname is Greenie because she liked green tea. Levi prefers black tea but he accidentally told you he liked green tea too then ran with it for four months until Hanji revealed the truth accidentally.

The four of them knew each other for a long time. He doesn’t know if they met in high school or college. But in school, definitely.

After getting their undergraduate degree, she asked Levi to break up and broke his heart with words.

After the breakup, she disappeared from Paradis. Levi waited for her for a long time, broken and yearning. She didn’t come back. Now, all Levi has is bitterness in his body.

Those are what Connie gathered from his little detective skills to cope with having to work under the horribly mannered man. Then, he shares it with his best friend, Sasha, during his lunch break.

He listens a little more, the email he was reading sitting idle for longer than it should. His boss still doesn’t answer.

Inside, Erwin and Hange await their friend’s reply who is still lost in his own thoughts. Erwin decides to push him one last time. He clasped his hands together and leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees.

“If she comes to you for closure, will you accept it? You’re over her, right? You can stay angry, that’s valid. She did you wrong. But will you at least hear her?”

Levi keeps quiet but listens to Erwin. The word closure gives his stomach an unsettling feeling. It felt wrong to hear it. But it doesn’t matter. His friends were just bored and bluffing again. He can bluff too.

“I don’t really care about her as much as you think I still do. When I see her, I’ll do what I said I would. Then it’s done. I don’t care what she does anymore.”

It’s been five days since you coincidentally met Hange and Moblit. Before you parted ways, you exchanged numbers and your old friend has been messaging you nonstop. You appreciated it. Hange was always light-hearted and kind. You’re glad she found someone who appreciates her and takes care of her. So when she mentioned that there was a conflict with the invitations, you offered to fix it for her, knowing a thing or two about it. You handled project management a few times as an intern.

There was once a time when you called her your best friend. You know that’s a title you no longer hold but either way, you were glad to talk to her again. Even if you know that in the very near future, you would have to face what it holds for you. Now that Hange is back in your life, it’s only a matter of time and you’d have to see your ex again. You lie awake at night thinking of what you’d do then.

It was Saturday. That means no work for you after lunch, thankfully. You ground through your paper works and clients like a corporate machine all week, wanting to finish them before Saturday so you wouldn’t have to go overtime on a weekend. And after about nine cups of highly caffeinated green tea, you finally finished all your work for the week. Now free from the shackles of labor and capitalism, you slung your tote bag over your shoulder and headed out of your office and onto the elevator.

Passing by Pixis’ office, you inform him you’re taking your leave which he cheerfully allowed, wishing you a happy weekend before you left his office. You bid him to have the same and left the building, anxious to see through the next events of the day. If this was a normal weekend, you’d be content with wasting away in bed as soon as you rushed home.

You handled the invitations over the week, using your break time to oversee how it’s going with the printing service you trust for things like this. They generously accepted your request for a rush order, knowing who you are.

The invitations were piled into a box on your coffee table by Friday, ready to be sent out to Hange’s guests. When you texted Hange that they were ready, she sent over her apartment’s address, telling you to personally meet her there on Saturday after work. She argues when you tell her you can just send it in the same day through an app, whining about how she wants to hang out with you.

Hange, ever the persuasive and persistent person, got you to agree. That, and you still feel guilty for declining her invitation to her wedding.

After you press the doorbell, you wait patiently with your left hand holding the small box of invitations. Her apartment was apparently a penthouse. An apartment in this building already costs an arm and a leg. Hange is smart and talented, one of her research must’ve been really successful. You also remembered that she was probably living with Moblit here. Ah, the wonders of having a partner in life—shared rent. Maybe you should get a roommate.

When the door was taking too long to be answered, you shoot up a text for Hange.

hey i’m here outside ur door ! :))

ok! just wAit a bit

It didn’t take Hange long to reply, easing your anxiety a little. When it takes more than a minute after she sends her text, you tilt your head in confusion. Are you at the correct address? Maybe you’re at the wrong unit. You were pretty sure you were on the right one, though. You rechecked it a few times.

You wait a little bit more before ringing the doorbell again. You assume she’s probably grossed into something and can’t take the door at the moment. With a sigh, you wait a few more minutes, turning away from the door and deciding to scroll through your social media accounts that you barely use.

A smile involuntarily plasters itself on your face when you see the posts of your coworkers from Trost. Warmth spreads to your chest as you see the office through the pictures, reminiscing your time there. It’s suddenly frightening, the realization that you’re alone in this huge city with no one to turn to. It’s a feeling you’re awfully familiar with, a state you’d rather not return to.

When you feel yourself drift away to those thoughts, you pull yourself away immediately, figuring that the time you waited should be enough to press the doorbell again.

But as you turn around to press it for the second time, the door swings open harshly in a swift motion, making you jump a little in surprise and fear as you hear an annoyed groan from a man that is most definitely not Hange coming with it.

“For fuck’s sake. Did Hange give a woman my addre…”

The two of you froze.

The raven-dark hair parted in the middle. The undercut. Those gray eyes and his beautiful piercing gaze. Those high cheekbones and soft cheeks. Those furrowed brows and scrunched forehead that was softly dissipated from his face when he sees you standing behind the door. Those delicate pink lips, now parted in awe and mirroring yours.

Neither of you can move like you were frozen in time. Every muscle in your body refused to move. Your brain stopped functioning and wasn't even able to conjure a coherent thought, much less a response. The only thing you could do was stare at the man you once called home.

He still had dark under eyes but they were more prominent than before. You hate how it still suited him even if you hated how little he sleeps; they make his gaze heavier, willing you to get lost with him. A few strands of his fringe fall over his eyes. They were a little longer than what you were used to but it was still the same haircut you used to run your hand over when you were cuddling. It was a little unkempt. And even though his white shirt is a little crumpled, it still smoothly falls over his frame. It drapes from his defined shoulders to his waist until the hem of the shirt goes over the band of his gray sweatpants that hugged his legs loosely.

He breaks the gaze spell when his eyes go over you, top to bottom. He stares at your shocked and devastated countenance, the casual but decent clothes that you changed into after work, the box in your hand, and the way your right foot has stepped further back than your left when he opened the door, ready to run away at the thought the man who opened the door was angry.

You open your mouth to speak. You know you have to say something. Anything. Hi? Hello? How are you? Is this where Hange lives? Why the fuck do you still look so hot?

But none of that comes out.

Why?

Levi’s face hardens before you can speak, wiping off the bewildered eyes and replacing them with his infamous glare, silver eyes glistening with specks of anger. His mouth closes into a frown but not before scoffing at you. The scorned expression on his face shuts you right up for a second but you try and carry on.

This time, before you can speak, he slams the door shut in your face with an impact so loud it booms through your whole being enough to raise all the hair on your skin, leaving you standing there in his floor’s corridor appalled and deeply belittled.

Your startled brain is more confused than ever. As you decide to slowly process what happened and not even ten seconds after he harshly shuts his door, it swings open again, revealing the same man who not-so-gently shut it, with a hand still on the knob and the other holding something blue.

His arm outstretched towards you and you were faced with a nozzle of a familiar spray bottle. With a straight face, he sprays the fucking liquid right on your face. You immediately shut your eyes and mouth, leaning your face away from the spray. Although it’s far enough to not cover your face if you hadn’t moved, you still cringe when you feel the tiny droplets on your skin.

You lift one eye open, scared that he’s about to spray again. He puts the bottle down to his side, looking satisfied with his work. When you open both eyes, he shuts the door again, leaving you in the corridor with heightened emotions from the first time he did it paired with an itching aggravation.

Was that a fucking Windex?

Hold on. Windex?

The door swings open again and he fully reveals himself without a hand on the knob like the two times before. This time he’s holding an orange cardboard box labeled Pure Baking Soda and reaches into it with his other hand.

You shut your eyes close immediately, realizing what was happening when you remembered his words to you years ago.

“I’d spray you with some fucking Windex, throw baking soda on your face, and kick you out.”

The baking soda hits your face, making your nose involuntarily scrunch up because of the fistful of powder he threw at you. When you guess that he’s satisfied after successfully throwing you the promised baking soda, you blink your eyes open, finding him still standing there with a straight face.

“Are you done?” you asked with a deadpan face, covered with baking soda.

#levi ackerman x reader #levi x reader #levi ackerman fanfic #levi ackerman angst #levi ackerman smut #levi ackerman x you #levi ackerman fluff #levi ackerman #levi ackermann x reader #levi ackerman x y/n #levi imagine #levi fluff #levi smut #attack on titan x reader #attack on titan fanfic #snk x reader #snk x y/n

146 notes · View notes