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#heart too cold but friends of gold
cleo-fox · 7 months
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Surrender
Summary: Finding your soulmate is supposed to be a romantic, life changing experience.
No one tells you what to do when a). your soulmate is the homicidal maniac who led the successful takeover of your planet and made himself king and b). you kind of still want him anyway.
(Soulmate AU where Loki won)
Pairing: Loki x Female Reader
Warnings: Smut, 18+, Minors DNI, dirty talk, praise kink, oral sex, teasing, orgasm delay, sex, vaginal fingering.
A/N: look, I was intrigued by the idea of a Loki Wins AU and also a soulmate AU and this just sort of happened. I may write more of this concept because it gave me IDEAS. This is also available on AO3.
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The mark on your wrist begins to burn the minute he walks into the room.
At first you think it’s a coincidence or a mistake—there are guards walking with him, perhaps it’s one of them. But then he flinches, his right hand going to his left wrist and your heart sinks to your knees. It could still be a coincidence, you tell yourself halfheartedly.
He scans the room and when his eyes land on you, it’s like the tumblers of a lock clicking into place and you know.
He’s much taller than you thought he was—that’s the only conscious and coherent thought you manage to have as he approaches you. Being the subject of his gaze is overwhelming in a way that you sort of expect, but it still makes you want to sit down and close your eyes. He looks you over, his gaze lingering briefly on your nametag from work.
“Show me your wrist,” he says.
You don’t think he’s using his powers, but you comply automatically, extending your arm toward him, wrist turned up. There’s a frisson of electricity that buzzes along the back of your hand when he touches it—if there were any remaining doubts about who he is and his relationship to you, that feeling surely puts them to rest. You know that he must have felt something too from the way he looks at you sharply, as though he thinks you’ve done something intentional to cause this. You can only hope that your wide eyed bewilderment convincingly conveys your innocence.
His expression betrays nothing as he examines the mark on your wrist, which is now glowing a bright gold that would be pretty if the circumstances were different.
It’s funny, you think. You’ve been waiting for this moment your entire life and all you can think is that you wish it wasn’t happening.
He releases your hand and looks at you in a calculating sort of way. “Come with me,” he says finally.
You do, of course. What other choice do you have?
*
The next several hours are a blur.
You are shuffled from place to place. Usually there is at least one guard—you’re not sure why. The idea of you being able to do any damage to him is laughable and escape doesn’t exactly seem like an option. Where could you go that he could not find you?
It’s a depressing thought; you try not to think much about it.
You know exactly when the news breaks because it coincides with your phone basically becoming unusable due to the flood of notifications, calls, and texts. You put it on airplane mode to compose a short message to your family and friends. Your reassurances feel a little trite given the circumstances: I’m fine, I’ll call when I can.
You can’t exactly type what you’re really thinking, which is more along the lines of I’ve just learned that my soulmate is the homicidal maniac who led the successful takeover of our planet. I’m doing about as well as you’d expect.
You turn airplane mode off long enough to send the email. Once it sends, you power down your phone. It doesn’t seem prudent to leave it on, at least not right now—right now, it only serves as a reminder of a life you know you’re going to have to leave behind and you’re not at all ready to confront that particular loss.
They eventually take you to what you assume are his rooms. You’re surprised by how traditional the decor is—you had expected a cold sort of minimalism, but there’s more wood and warm colors than you would have thought. You are informed that there are clothes for you in the closet; you nod and say nothing, though you wonder how they managed to pull an entire wardrobe together in the span of only a few hours. Magic, perhaps.
You are finally left alone, though you’re fairly certain that you would find guards stationed outside if you were to look.
You take one of the elegant velvet throws from the bed and wrap it tightly around yourself before settling on the couch next to the window. You’re not exactly cold, but it feels like a necessary armor between you and this unfamiliar place.
You stare out the window for a long time. You’re too high up to people watch and you’re not sure that you could handle that anyway—it would be yet another reminder of the fact that your life has changed in a massive, earth shaking way that you can’t even begin to understand. Instead, you stare at the tiny cars on the city streets below, snaking their way to destinations that feel so far out of your grasp that they might as well be on a different planet altogether.
*
It’s late when he finally shows up—so late that you’ve actually gotten ready for bed, donning one of the silk nightgowns that had been left for you. You can tell it’s more expensive than any sleepwear you’ve ever owned in your life. You’re just glad that it’s modest—you had half expected to find that all your pajamas were bustiers, thongs, and thigh highs in some sort of ill considered attempt to seduce you. But this is elegant and understated, with a matching robe that you cinch tightly around your waist.
You sit on the couch, the throw still wrapped snugly around you. He looks at you, the corner of his mouth curled up in a slight smirk.
“I hope you don’t intend to stay there the entire night,” he says.
“I hardly know you,” you say before you can even contemplate whether it’s wise.
He looks…amused isn’t quite the right word, but there’s a subtle tilt to the corner of his lips—not quite a smile, but maybe somewhere in the vicinity.
“Give it time,” he says, and something about that makes you shiver.
*
You intend to sleep on the couch, at least for these first few nights when everything still feels so raw and strange.
Or that was your plan, anyway.
Loki doesn’t say anything else as he prepares for bed and you stare resolutely at the window so as not to invite any more conversation or prompt any invitations to join him in bed. Eventually, the lights go out and you are left alone with your thoughts in the dark.
The room is much colder at night.
You’re not sure if it’s on purpose, though you wouldn’t be surprised if it was. Perhaps he likes it like this. Perhaps it’s to lure you to him, to tempt you into seeking out the warmth of his bed and body.
You pull the blanket more tightly around your shoulders. Eventually, you allow your eyes to drift shut.
You wake some time later in the middle of the night. The room feels even colder, the velvet of the throw and the silk of your nightgown and robe a scanty defense against the chill. You burrow against the couch cushions and it’s sort of bearable.
But you also have to pee.
You hold off for as long as you can, but you eventually summon the will to leave the couch and seek out the bathroom.
The bathroom is even colder—perhaps it’s all that glass and marble that makes the difference. You’re wearing your robe and you’ve still got the blanket wrapped around you, but your teeth are chattering by the time you wash your hands. You run the water as hot as you can stand, but it only does so much. If you were braver—if it wasn’t your first night here, you would run an extra hot shower and stay under the spray until your fingers and toes pruned and the chill was chased from your bones.
Instead, you hustle back to the couch, burrowing against the cushions, throw and robe wrapped tightly around you. But you still can’t seem to shake the cold. You huddle on the couch, shivering, trying to calm your body.
Time passes and you don’t grow any warmer. You wonder if you can steal another throw from the bed—surely he won’t miss one—when a voice speaks from the darkness.
“Come to bed,” Loki says.
You clear your throat. “What?”
“I can hear your teeth chattering from here. Come to bed and stop being absurd.”
You hesitate, staring into the dark. You consider the cold, the slight kink in your neck from the way you’ve been sleeping on the couch, the late hour, the way that sleep pulls at your eyes. A bed is appealing. Maybe more appealing than it should be.
You find yourself getting to your feet and slowly making your way across the room.
You pause on the other side of the bed—your side, you suppose, though calling it that still feels too intimate. You can just make him out in the dark.
“You’ll stay on your side,” you say, like making it a statement will make it so.
“Well, you hardly know me.” His voice is clipped, more bitter than you expect as he echoes your words from earlier.
You can’t help but scowl. “I’ve known you for less than twenty-four hours and it’s the middle of the night. I’m not doing this right now.”
He laughs. It’s sharp and brittle and unexpected, but it’s a laugh all the same, and something about that helps, if only a little.
You don’t say anything else as you climb into bed. You find that the blankets are warm—warmer than you expect—and heavy. There’s a part of you that expects yourself to be too nervous and on edge to fully relax, but the coziness of the blankets piled around you is oddly calming, even with Loki mere inches away. You hunker down underneath the blankets, situating yourself on the pillows.
He doesn’t say anything and it’s not long until his breathing becomes steady and even.
And after a while, yours does, too.
*
Consciousness creeps up on you slowly the next morning, a far cry from the jarring alarm on your phone that usually disrupts your slumber. You are warm and cozy, cocooned in the blankets, safe from all of the bullshit that had happened yesterday.
It’s such a peaceful, easy awakening that it takes you a moment to realize that you aren’t alone.
It takes another moment for you to realize that your cheek is pressed against Loki’s chest. And to make matters worse, not only are your arms wrapped around his him, your right leg is also flung across his waist, like you can’t bear to be parted from him for even a moment.
But before the panic sets in, there is a barely perceptible moment where your body just enjoys the feeling of being pressed against him. It’s quick and you’d deny it if asked, but the rush that you get from giving into the pull of your soulbond for even that brief moment is nothing short of incredible.
But it’s just a moment and your mind quickly turns to the matter of extracting yourself without drawing his notice. Ideally, he’ll just stay asleep and you won’t have to deal with any awkward fallout. If you move very slowly and carefully, perhaps he won’t notice.
You carefully start to move your leg from his waist.
“To be clear, you’re on my side of the bed,” he says.
God fucking dammit.
You abandon all subtlety and quickly peel yourself away from him.
“I must have rolled over in my sleep,” you say, incredibly conscious of how stupid that sounds.
He smirks, which is somehow worse than if he’d said anything.
“It won’t happen again,” you say.
It does.
This is your new routine: you start every evening on the couch, wrapped up in your robe and throw. You wake some time in the night, teeth chattering. Sometimes, Loki will tell you to come to bed. Other times, you quietly give up and slip under the covers on your side of the bed.
But every morning without fail, you wake tangled around him.
Sometimes, he’s spooned up behind you; more often, though, you’re the one clinging to him. It’s as though your body has a homing device that leads you over to his side of the bed in your sleep, dutifully ignoring all of your stern warnings about who stays where.
The worst part of it is that you’re fighting your own instincts. On a very basic, physical level, you yearn to be close to him. There’s a part of you that revels in these unintentional moments of closeness, that wants to allow yourself to enjoy the feeling of him, to allow him to put his hands on your body, for you to put your hands on him.
The fact that he wakes up noticeably hard most mornings does not make this any easier.
This is a problem that you’re not entirely sure how to solve and the second week in, your desire for information finally outweighs your desire to avoid social media and the deluge of emails and texts that you know are waiting for you on your phone.
You turn your phone back on and immediately delete all of your social media apps. You don’t know what they’re saying about you and you don’t care to. You turn off all of your notifications, even the little number icons that show you how many unread emails and texts that you have. You want absolutely no distractions.
You open a private browser window and pull up Google.
Newly connected soulbonds are the hormonal equivalent of pouring out a bunch of gasoline and striking a match. Soulbonds are intended to be consummated. You know this. There are people who wait it out for one reason or another, but that’s very much the exception—it’s a physical and emotional test of endurance. And you’re beginning to understand why.
The internet is not very helpful. You already know what happens when you don’t consummate a soulbond promptly—increased arousal, restlessness, vivid dreams, and so on as time goes on. You’re more interested in mitigation. You find a few blogs that have entirely irrelevant suggestions like cuddling on the couch or holding hands. “While you’re waiting for intercourse, why not try some outercourse?” one post muses with a level of earnestness that causes you to immediately turn off your phone and fling it across the room.
You’re going to have sex with him at some point. That’s inevitable. On a very basic level, you want him—it’s more or less coded into your DNA. But that is at odds with the reality of who he is and what he’s done. It might feel good to wake up tangled around him, but it only takes a minute to remember the battle of New York and it nearly extinguishes the desire burning within you.
But only nearly and only for now.
*
The third week is when things start getting increasingly difficult.
Loki seems content to wait things out. You can feel the burn of his gaze on you, but he doesn’t push, doesn’t prod.
You, on the other hand, find yourself slipping into a heightened state of arousal that is becoming impossible to ignore. Midway through the week, you finally give in and try touching yourself in the shower in the hope of some relief and you come so quickly and so hard that you have to clap a hand over your mouth to keep from crying out and your legs very nearly buckle from the force of it. A few twitches of your fingers has you sprawled on the shower floor and coming again, harder than before. You repeat this trick a few times but even as strong as it is, it doesn’t really help—you’re back to where you started within minutes.
Worse though, is the fact that it’s his face that you see when you come. Every. Single. Time. You imagine him over you, his gaze dark and intent as he watches you come; slack jawed and hissing in pleasure as he pushes into you; growling in approval and impatience as you take his cock into your mouth. The images come entirely unbidden and stick in the forefront of your thoughts like a burr clinging to wool.
When you see him later that afternoon, his gaze lands on you in such a way that it feels like he knows everything you’ve done and everything you’ve seen, from that moment in the shower to the shameful thoughts you had as you came.
The dreams start shortly after, and they are objectively worse.
The dreams are far more vivid than just images. In the dreams, he’s touching you, coaxing you to peaks you could never have imagined, pressing into you, taking you hard and fast and achingly slow and everything in between. The dreams leave you out of breath and shaky, aching for a touch that you know that you should not want, but do with every fiber of your being. By some miracle, they only seem to occur while you are on the couch and not when you’re in bed, but that luck won’t hold forever.
Perhaps more importantly, you know it’s only a matter of time before you give in. Deep down, you’ve known this from the moment the mark on your wrist started to burn. Your resistance is eroding like a sandcastle at high tide and it’s only a matter of time before you crumble.
But not yet. Not yet.
*
Five weeks after your arrival, you wake sweating and out of breath from another dream.
You take a few deep breaths. It was similar to the ones you’d had before. Thinking about the details makes your core ache and your clit throb so you try to keep them out of your mind.
You’re half surprised that you’re not tangled around Loki, given the content and subject of your dream, but that makes sense when you realize he’s not in bed. Instead, he sits on the couch, staring into the middle distance. Perhaps he is struggling with the same kinds of dreams.
The idea of you making Loki too hot and bothered to sleep is more appealing than you’d like to admit. You hastily dismiss the thought before it can bring any more heat to your already too warm skin or add more fuel to the flickering desire that seems to have settled permanently in the cradle of your hips.
You slip out of bed and go to the window, folding your arms across your stomach as you stare out at the sleeping city.
“You were calling out in your sleep.”
More heat prickles at your skin.
“Hm,” you say, trying your best to sound casual.
“What were you dreaming of?” he asks.
He’s only asking because he already knows the answer. You know this. But the lie still slips from your lips: “I don’t remember.”
He laughs, a quiet and dangerous sound that stokes the fire in your belly. “Have you forgotten, darling, that I am the god of lies?”
You can hear him walking toward you, but you keep your back turned. Has the room always been this warm?
He waits until he is directly behind you to speak again. “Will you lie again when I ask if you were dreaming of me?” His voice is so close, full of depth and a little husky. 
“You flatter yourself,” you say.
You can hear the smirk in his voice, feel the whisper of his breath on your neck. “You’d like to think that, wouldn’t you?” He pauses for a moment. “But you were calling out for me.”
Your lips are dry. You want to deny it, but it feels useless. Worst case scenario, he’s still mostly right: you were dreaming of him and you can’t even really deny crying out for him because you were asleep and you don’t know for sure.
“It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” he continues. His voice drops. “Every time I close my eyes, I see you writhing in pleasure beneath me.” He pauses. “Or I see myself between your legs, worshiping you with my mouth, bringing you to ecstasy over and over before I finally take you.”
Your heart is pounding and every nerve in your body feels as though it’s connected directly to your clit. You are warm—too warm—and you can feel your pulse pounding in your throat.
“What were you dreaming of?” he continues, his voice barely a murmur.
“Nothing,” you say.
He clicks his tongue. “Try again, darling.”
You say nothing and after a moment of silence, he seems to decide that it’s time to switch strategies.
“You must be so wet,” he murmurs, his tone low and soothing.
Your stomach and your cunt clench. If he starts talking dirty to you, it’s over.
“We’re not meant to go this long like this,” he says. “We both know that. It’s been five weeks. Your poor cunt is probably aching for me, just as I ache for you.”
Your breath is coming in shaky gasps. You need him. You can feel your resolve starting to slip.
“Yield to me.” His voice is rough with wanting, like this is just as hard for him as it is for you. “I know you feel it. I feel it, too. You yearn for me, you crave my touch. Let me make you feel good, darling, let me ease that ache. Yield and I will give you everything.”
You draw in a shaking breath and slowly turn to face him. He’s looking at you with an intensity that you expect, but it takes your breath away nonetheless.
The remnants of your resistance are lost to the wave of him and the only thing that’s left in its place is a raw need like you’ve never experienced before.
You don’t know what to say, so in the end, you settle for his name. Just his name, said quietly with all the desperation and longing that has been making your life hell these past few weeks.
You get a glimpse of the fire in his eyes before he’s on you.
There’s nothing gentle about this kiss. It’s the kiss of two people who have been deprived of each other for too long, your teeth bumping against each other, tongues twisting and tangling. You end up pressed against the wall next to the window, your leg wrapped around his waist, his hand supporting your thigh. He presses his hips against you and you moan into his mouth at the feeling of his hard cock dragging against your swollen, sensitive clit. He draws back slightly to look at your face as he slowly grinds his hips against yours, his free hand moving to palm your breast over the silk of your nightgown.
You moan again, your head dropping back against the wall. The soft, slippery friction of the silk of your nightgown against your nipple and the soaked lace of your underwear rubbing against your clit is enough to make you go cross eyed, a slow tease that only fans the burning embers within you. Your body is overheated and too tense, but Loki is blessedly cool in a way that somehow both soothes and inflames.
“You’re drenched. I can already feel that,” he says, his voice thick with desire as he moves against you. “I could make you come like this.”
You whimper, rocking your hips back against him. “Please.”
He shakes his head. “Another time. Tonight I want to feel you when you come.” He drops his hand from your breast, trailing down your stomach and moving in between your legs. His fingers slip beneath your underwear, and you let out a needy whine as he strokes the slick folds of your sex. “Is this all for me?” he asks, his voice slipping into a low growl.
You barely manage a breathy affirmative.
“Sweet thing.” His thumb rolls over your clit as he slides one finger into you, and your back arches automatically, your breasts jutting out. “We’re going to have to do something about this, aren’t we?”
“Please,” you breathe.
“How can I resist such a sweet plea?” he says, sliding another finger into you and curling it just so. “Or such a wet and needy cunt?”
“Don’t stop,” you say.
“I ought to make you beg me for it after everything you put me through.” His eyes darken as his thumb presses against your clit and you moan. “But perhaps I can be generous. I can feel how much you need to come on my fingers.”
You nod, slack jawed and panting.
“You’ve been waiting for this,” he murmurs. “You’ve tried to deny yourself, but you need me, you need my touch.”
You whimper, your hips rocking.
“Say it,” he says, stroking your clit.
“I need to come,” you moan.
“A good start,” he says, his voice a stern purr. “But not quite what I asked, my love. Try again.”
A twinge of irritation manages to work its way to the forefront of your mind. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m not exactly in a state to be playing twenty questions.”
His eyes light up with a predatory gleam that heralds the arrival of something that you know will end enjoyably for you.
“Oh, darling, that attitude won’t do at all.” His fingers are immediately and conspicuously absent and you very nearly cry out in frustration. But before you can, he is sweeping you into his arms and making the journey to the bed in several long strides. He sets you gently on the bed and looms over you, green eyes flashing as his hands stroke up your thighs. You lift your hips and he pulls your underwear off, tossing it to the side.
“Let’s try that again, shall we?” His voice is a growl. “Tell me what you need.”
“I need to come.” You know it’s the wrong answer, but this particular game of cat and mouse and the predatory gleam in Loki’s eyes are making you even wetter and god, you need him.
His eyes flash with a barely concealed delight. “Try again.”
You spread your legs rather conspicuously, hiking your nightgown up to your waist. “I need to come.”
He’s looking at you intently, lips slightly parted. “You’re trying to distract me with that pretty cunt, you wicked thing.”
“Is it working?” you ask.
He lowers his head to kiss the inside of your left knee. “It would work much better if you answered me properly and told me everything you need.”
You think you have an idea of what he wants to hear, but you’re not quite ready to give up the game yet. Instead, you pull your nightgown up and over your head and toss it to the side. His eyes are dark as he looks at you, his gaze lingering on your breasts and trailing down to the apex of your spread legs. You wonder what it would take to make him lose control, to take you in the way that you both need.The thought sends another flood of heat to your aching core. 
You lick your lips. “Will you make me come, Loki?”
Another wolfish grin. “Closer. But not quite. Try again.”
You let your hand slide down your stomach and between your legs and you part your sopping folds so he can see the full extent of what he’s done to you—every dripping inch. The look he’s giving you now only heightens the feeling.
“Should I make myself come?” you ask and you’re immediately rewarded with an almost feral look and a sharp smack to your ass.
“Don’t you dare,” he growls.
You put on your most innocent expression, even as his visible hunger makes you ache. “I thought you’d like seeing me touch myself.”
“Oh, there will be time for that later,” he says, his eyes still dark. “I’m particularly interested in seeing what prompted those intriguing little noises I kept hearing while you were in the shower. But every tremor of pleasure that wracks your body tonight will be from me alone. Now,” his eyes glitter and his hand replaces yours on your cunt, his long fingers spreading you open, but not touching you, his expression rapt with undisguised greed, “tell me what you need.”
Your capacity to tease and resist him was well and truly exceeded when he smacked your ass and was further obliterated by the monologue he just delivered. “I need you to make me come, Loki. I need you so bad.”
His smile is filled with dark promises and a hunger that you have every interest in sating several times over.
“Good girl,” he says.
And his fingers slide back into you as his mouth envelopes your aching clit.
You moan as your hips lift and your hands tangle in his hair. He mumbles something that sounds like “perfect” against your clit, first teasing you with the tip of his tongue and then pressing it flat against you and rubbing in slow circles. Meanwhile, his fingers have found that soft, aching spot inside of you and he presses against it in slow, firm thrusts that make you tremble.
You initially think that you’ll be quite quick to come because you’re already so wound up, but Loki seems determined to find the edge and keep you there for as long as possible—and he’s really, really good at it. He falls into a rhythm where his tongue strokes your clit once, twice, three times and withdraws; his fingers pick up the thread, stroking your walls once, twice, three times and withdrawing, only for his tongue to resume where he left off. In this way, he keeps you balanced on the edge in a perfect kind of torture. It feels so good, but it’s not quite enough to get you there just yet.
You make liberal use of his name—it’s a plea, a curse, a benediction, a moan, a sigh. Instinctively, you know that he likes this, but it’s not enough to distract him into letting you fall even a moment before he wants you to.
The ache that’s been building in your hips for the last couple weeks is growing, burning bright and warm. Your body feels electric in the best way, your nerves humming and buzzing and straining for release.
“Loki,” you moan, partly as encouragement and partly because you want him so badly.
You’re so close. Your entire body is tense and trembling; all you can think about is how badly you need to come, how much you are aching for your release.
So close.
“Loki, please,” you moan, truly desperate now. “Please let me come. Make me yours—”
You’re not sure if it’s what you said, the desperation in your voice, or pure coincidence, but in that moment, he shifts his rhythm so that his mouth and fingers are no longer alternating, but are instead moving in sync. And this is what you need to tip you over, to allow that wave to finally, finally crest and then break.
Your orgasm hits you hard, pulling a loud moan from deep within your chest and making your entire body quake. Sparklers are dancing along your veins, champagne bubbles fizzing along your muscles, stars bursting behind your eyes. You have never felt anything like this before—you are satisfied but also aching for more, falling apart and being remade over and over again.
It’s only when you’re decidedly in the blissful wave of the aftershocks that he dares to lift his head and he looks you over like you’re something wonderful. Before you can raise your hands to reach for him, he’s crawling up to you, claiming your mouth in a kiss that feels deeper than the ocean.
He slides his hand in between your legs and you whimper, shivering at the sensation of his thumb stroking your sensitive clit. But somehow, he finds that particular angle and pressure that’s just enough, but not too much. You moan and he slides a finger back into you, rolling in the same rhythm as his thumb on your clit.
“That’s it,” he murmurs. “Keep going for me, darling. I want to watch you come this time.” His voice is so firm and authoritative and it strikes sparks up and down your spine.
“Fuck,” you gasp, your hips rocking with his hand.
“You’re doing so well getting ready for me,” he purrs. He lowers his voice to a rough growl. “I can’t wait to fuck you until you’re trembling and coming all over my cock like the wicked, filthy girl that you are.”
It’s the combination of his words and his voice and his perfect hands that does it this time. A rolling, fluttering shudder fizzes through your body, building to a peak that has you letting out a guttural moan as you clench around his thrusting fingers.
“Yes, that’s it,” Loki says as he watches you through hooded eyes. “You are gorgeous when you come undone.”
He kisses you slowly, fingers moving steadily until the final shudder rolls through you.
Somehow, through all of this, he’s remained fully clothed. There’s an aspect to this that’s appealing—it makes everything feel particularly decadent and a little forbidden—but your palms are practically itching with your need to touch him. You need him inside you, but you also need him close, bare skin on bare skin.
Your hands sneak under his shirt and you suck in a sharp breath when you feel the heat of his skin underneath your palms. You tug his shirt off him and make quick work of his pants before drawing back to look at him.
He looks like art. It’s a silly thought, but there’s some truth to it—there’s an almost ethereal quality in the sharp angles of his face and the elegant symmetry of his musculature. 
Your gaze drifts down to his cock. He’s long, thick, and hard, the tip flushed and slick with pre-come. An ache courses through you—something about seeing the full evidence of his arousal makes everything seem more real, makes you want him with renewed ferocity.
You want to touch him and so you do, your fingers curling around his shaft.
“Can you feel how much I need you?” he asks as you stroke him slowly. He is remarkably composed, though you catch the slight hitch in his breath and it sends a thrill through you.
“Will you show me?” you ask.
“Every day,” he says.
It’s an answer you’re not expecting. You were speaking strictly in the immediate, physical sense. This feels deeper, more meaningful. You’re not quite sure what to say, so you kiss him and he kisses you back with an intensity and thoroughness that makes your toes curl.
He rolls over you, his body covering yours. It’s almost overwhelming how good his bare skin feels against yours. You take his cock in your hand again and stroke him, slowly rubbing the tip from your clit to your entrance, coating him in your slick.
You expect him to just push forward when you guide him to your entrance and you’re almost disappointed that he doesn’t—you’ve both waited so long for this and your need for him is burning inside you like an inferno.
But instead he pauses, his eyes locked with yours.
“Will you have me?” he asks. There’s vulnerability in the question, a softness in his green eyes that you don’t expect. It feels like a loaded question, though not necessarily in a bad way.
You don’t hesitate. “Yes,” you breathe.
Something like relief flashes briefly in his eyes before he leans in and kisses you. You tilt your hips up again and this time, you feel the blunt head of his cock slowly press into your waiting warmth.
You’d read people describing first times with their soulmates and it had always sounded so hyperbolic and silly. They’d throw around words like euphoric and transcendent and all you could do was try not to roll your eyes.
But the moment Loki is fully seated inside you, you finally get it. Every overwrought, overused cliché seems to occur to you all at once—puzzle pieces falling into place and locks and keys and halves made whole and all that bullshit—and it all makes sense in a way that it hadn’t before.
Loki’s eyes are stormy above you, to the point that you think you may have angered him, but then he kisses you with a ferocity and possessiveness that steals your breath and makes you tighten around him.
“Mine,” he growls against your lips. “Mine.”
There’s a lot of emotion in that word. There’s history in that word. It’s the sort of thing that the two of you will probably need to unpack later. For now, though, you wrap your legs around him and meet his demanding, hungry kisses with your own.
“I’m yours,” you murmur against his lips. “Take me.”
You expect him to respond to that plea with a frantic pace. But instead, his first thrusts are slow, like he’s savoring it. Your body yields to him instinctively, your muscles drawing him in and then tightening further as he withdraws. You are so slick, so ready for him that it almost feels a little obscene.
“You are exquisite,” he rasps as he sinks into you, his head bowing to kiss and nip at your neck. “I have been aching for you.”
“Yes,” you breathe. “Please.”
You’re not entirely sure what you’re asking for—more of this, more of him—but he seems to know anyway. He kisses you deeply as you wrap your legs around his waist, rolling your hips up to meet his.
In one fluid motion, he rolls you over so that you are on top. He looks up at you, an irrepressible smirk curling at the corners of his lips.
“Go on,” he says, his voice low. “I want to see you take your pleasure from me. Claim your throne, my love.”
A shiver works its way up your spine. This is a man who single-handedly conquered the entire planet and he’s telling you he wants you to ride his cock until you come. It is raw and sexy and undeniably hot and the way he’s looking up at you makes you feel beautiful and powerful.
You lean forward, bracing your hands on the mattress, tilting your pelvis until you find the right angle, the one that makes your stomach tighten and your breath stutter. 
A smile twitches at the corners of his mouth. “Right there?”
You let out a shaky breath and rock your hips. “Yeah.”
It takes a moment for you to find your rhythm, but you find that you want—or perhaps need—to go slow and steady. Loki watches you, his hips rocking with yours as he lets you set the pace, his hands sliding from your hips to your breasts and back again, like he can’t get enough. His gaze is intent and intense and you get the sense that he’s cataloging every movement, every gasp or sigh, furrowed brow or bitten lip.
The coil in your hips is starting to wind tighter and you know it won’t be long. 
As though he knows, Loki slides a hand down your body, palm gently pressing against your lower stomach. A fantastic pressure begins to blossom in your hips and you whimper.
“You’re doing so well,” he purrs. “So tight and wet. You’re perfect.”
“Getting close,” you breathe.
“I know, I can feel you,” he says.
You’re at a point somewhere beyond words, riding that wave, chasing bliss that you can almost feel. A choked whimper falls from your lips.
“That’s it,” rasps Loki. “Be a good girl and come on my cock.” He flicks his thumb against your clit and you completely unravel.
It was good the first two times, but having him inside you as you come sends you to another plane of existence entirely. Your orgasm seems extended, the feeling of his cock against the spasming muscles of your cunt creating more even rippling pleasure. And the noise that he makes, the filthy praise that falls from his lips, the way that his fingertips dig into your hips just makes it all better.
He rolls you over onto your back just as you’re starting to feel boneless, and pulls you into a deep kiss.  He thrusts into you, a little faster than the pace you had set, but still slow and steady.
“I want to feel you come again,” he breathes. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve waited for this, how good you feel?”
You shudder as his cock drags again against that spot inside you. He repeats the motion and you keen, tangling your fingers in his hair.
“That’s it,” he rasps, bringing your leg up over his hip to press even more deeply inside of you. “Come on, darling. Let me feel you.”
You wrap your arms around his neck, meeting his hungry, demanding kiss with your own. You roll your hips with his, chasing the flickers of bliss that he’s steadily stoking to an inferno once more.
“Please,” you mumble against his lips. “Need you. Please.”
He groans and increases his pace just enough to make you whimper. The desire inside of you is catching fire.
“I…fuck, I—” Your hands are gripping his shoulders, your body shaking as you approach your end.
Loki’s eyes are wild, his teeth bared. You can tell that he’s close, that he’s chasing the same incredible feeling that you are.
“I want you to come for me,” he grits out. “And the second I feel your tight cunt start to tremble around me, I’m going to come inside you.
You moan, fingernails digging into his shoulders. You are unbearably close.
“Do you want that, darling?” he says. “Do you want me to come inside you? Do you want your perfect cunt filled with my seed?”
You are almost beyond words, but not quite: “Yes. Please.”
Despite how close he is, he still gives the impression of being entirely in control. He lowers his head so that his lips graze yours and his eyes are all that you can see. “Then come for me,” he says.
Two more deadly smooth rolls of his hips and you do. A guttural, plaintive sound falls from your lips as your whole body trembles with the force of your orgasm, your cunt squeezing around the girth of his cock. He groans, mumbling something in a language you don’t recognize before he, too, starts to unravel.
His face is rapturous when he comes, his head tipping back and his mouth falling open, brow furrowing. If you weren’t so distracted with the rippling shocks of your own pleasure, you would try to commit it to memory. Instead, you simply try to enjoy the feeling of him emptying himself inside of you, the stuttering thrust of his hips, the soft groan that falls from his lips. Finally he stills, resting his head in the crook of your shoulder. You can feel his heart pounding against yours.
You feel…it’s not different, exactly, but there’s a kind of ease and connection that just feels right. The restless ache inside of you is finally quiet and you feel loose and languid and pleasantly sleepy.
Finding your soulmate isn’t necessarily the same as falling in love. Sometimes it all happens in the moment. Sometimes it’s years in between.
For you, though, you can pinpoint the exact moment that seed was planted: Loki raising his head to look at you, his hand curled against your cheek. His gaze is careful, reverent, like you are as warm and golden as the dawn just barely beginning to streak the morning sky.
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call-sign-shark · 3 months
Text
Of Bending and Breaking || Tommy Shelby x Reader
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Summary: Always being the one who cares for others comes with a price: you break down, but the most unexpected person is here for you: Tommy, the man you were forced to marry.
Words: 2,3k
TW: Hurt/Comfort, very tiny mention of past sexual assault, no proofreading 'cause it comes from clearing my drafts.
Notes: Aunt Isabella's is a tribute to my own aunt Isabelle who, unfortunately, died because of cancer a few years ago.
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It all started with Polly shaking Tommy like a tree, her thin hands firmly grabbing his nephew’s broad shoulders: “You can’t keep sabotaging yourself like this, Tom.” These were the words that left her quivering lips as she dragged his staggering frame to the bathroom and pushed his face into the bathtub right under the tap. When the freezing water splashed all over his neck, Tommy opened his blank eyes wide and inhaled sharply, as if he had suddenly come back to life. Since Grace’s awful death, the gangster was the shadow of his former self. When he wasn’t waging a senseless war with Father Hughes and the Italian, or when he wasn’t keeping his buzzing mind busy with work, Tommy usually numbed himself with a deadly combination of whisky and opium until his deep-seated pain became bearable. It was the night he almost overdosed that Polly decided to take charge of his nephew and found him a new wife, in the hope of soothing his nephew’s mind and finding a mother figure for poor little Charlie. The idea had obviously sent Tommy in a fit of anger but Polly Gray couldn’t care less.
Regarding your own situation, it was not the opium nor the loss of a dear lover that had led you to Birmingham’s most dangerous man but rather the bump in your belly. Aunt Isabella had understood what you were suffering from the moment you had stormed out of the vardo to throw up your breakfast in the nearest bush. The tall and lean woman, whose light brown and curly mane danced in the cold autumn wind, had looked at you right in the eyes and raised one of her thin eyebrows. If there was something pleasant with her, it was that words weren’t necessary.
Yet, later she encountered Polly, with whom she had been a great friend since childhood, and explained that a powerful American man had forced his seeds in you during his stay in England. Not willing to go through the traumatic experience of aborting, Isabella only saw one solution to your problem: you needed a husband who could protect you and your future baby from the evil man with his scarred lip. A wedding would be your salvation. At the realization of what Aunt Isabella had planned for you, you tried to run away from the camp in the middle of the night but she knew you too well and soon caught you, her sly hand firmly grabbing your wrist: “Y/N! It’s for your sake! He’s rich, he needs a wife and he is feared! You’ll be safe with him, don’t you understand?” She explained, cupping your face with her long fingers adorned with claws painted in red and far too many rings. “I don’t need a man to protect me! I don’t need anyone. He’s older and he’s a criminal! Who’s going to protect me from him eh? Have you think ‘bout that?” You cried, the soft light of the sunrise turning your tears into liquid gold.
But still, you wedded him and what was supposed to be the happiest day of your life turned out to be a dull event during which you dissociated the whole time. The only memories you had in mind were two piercing and frightening turquoise eyes staring right at your soul and soft whiskey-tasting lips stealing a quick peck from your cherry lips. A kiss devoid of any form of affection. And then, the groom left.
From what Aunt Isabella told you, your husband had spent most of the celebrations with his brothers, drinking and taking bets outside of Arrow House. Months had passed and still, you felt estranged to this place and its staff. The only moments your heart lightened were when Aunt Isabella visited you, or when Charlie spent time with you, otherwise you remained emotionally closed, trapped in your own mind. Overall you could not complain: You had a house far too big for you with plenty of workers willing to exhaust every one of your wishes. Charlie was a sweet boy, who loved you with all his heart even if you were well aware that you’ll never replace his mother. As for the Shelby clan, they were cordial with you without being really friendly either. And there was Tommy…
Cold and distant Tommy, who you only saw late at night when he discretely slipped under the bedsheet and turned his back to you without uttering a single word. Busy Tommy, whose replies remained concise and spoken with a quiet husky voice each time you asked him something — at least he talked to you a little bit. Trapped in a loveless marriage, that was what you were: Tommy was more a stranger, a mere gust of wind in your life, than the love of your life.
Still, the gangster stayed true to his words and he provided for everything, never refusing to give you money when you asked, and protecting you from the man who had taken your innocence. He even gifted you a wonderful stallion because he knew how much you missed riding. In exchange for his protection and riches, all you had to do was take care of Charlie and do your best to be there for your husband when his darkness threatened to swallow him whole.
You found out about the nightmares shortly after your wedding and quickly decided to do something about it. When he woke up screaming and drenched in sweat after tasting the tunnels’ dirt and Grace’s crimson blood in his troubled sleep, you always cradle him, your fingers losing themselves in his wet dark hair to pet his head gently. At first, you feared his reaction, expecting the infamous Tommy Shelby to push you and not-so-kindly ask you to keep your distance but, to your greatest surprise, he never did. Instead, he would bury his face in your cleavage, panting and trembling, and let you reassure him. Just like he let you bring dinner to him each time he drowned himself in paperwork and forgot to eat. He never commented on your cooking skills though, even if he always handed back empty plates.
The blood on his skin? You cleaned it.
The wounds of his flesh? You never failed to patched them up.
The hole in his heart? You tried to seal it off with caresses, soft kisses, and shoulder massages. Maybe one day he would slowly turn his iciness into affection. Little did you know that he needed it. And by it he needed you. Just like the whole family. How many times did you walk the streets of Birmingham at night, seeking for Arthur and then bringing him home to take care of a wasted and high him? Far too many to keep track. Similarly, you had spent countless evenings helping Ada when she felt overwhelmed, either nursing Karl or cleaning her house when, just like her brother, she overworked herself. And finally, Polly could never thank you enough for everything you did to soothe her mind after the gallows, still haunted by the bite of the hanging rope on her throat.
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“Thanks Poppy.” Arthur muttered, the gravel in his voice coated with shame now that you were down clearing and disinfecting his split knuckles. The oldest brother had started to affectionately call you so for the sole reason that, according to him, you must probably grow better when blood was considering how much you had seen when patching the Shelby siblings. “Sorry for errr… For the mess.” He went on, his steel blue eyes fleeing yours.
“That’s okay.” You replied in Romani, “You, sweet idiot.” Endeared by how surprisingly soft Arthur’s harsh complexions could turn, you couldn’t help but gently put your hand on one of his cheeks. And during this tender display of affection, Arthur was convinced he had caught sight of a smile — a scarce event barely happening on your beautiful but resigned face. Comforted by the warmth of your palm, he leaned into your touch and looked at you through dark lashes, his lids half-closed.
“Tommy’s one lucky bastard to have ya for himself, eh."
"Let's both flee together then." You teased, the familiar tone of Romani language rendered even more melodious by your siren-like voice.
"Don't tempt me, little one." Arthur replied, softer than intended and probably only half-joking.
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The oldest Shelby brother had barely closed the door when your smile disappeared and tears flooded your eyes. Admittedly, spending months of repressing your own anguish didn’t do any good to you despite thinking that focusing on others would have helped. Quite the contrary, all those negative emotions you had left on the back burner turned into a silent and deadly parasite that was eating you up. Dragging your tired frame to the cold and empty marital bedroom, you curled up in a ball in a corner of the room, your bruised knees pressed against your chest, “Positive. You gotta stay positive and push forwards y’see Y/N? Do the right things for the family…” You whispered to yourself as your breath started to quicken for the ball of sorrow in your throat was growing more and more. Yes, you had to smile and say that all was just fine because you knew you were lucky to be here and that you hadn’t any real reason to complain now according to the rest of the world. And yet, the truth was you were tired. So tired and overwhelmed by everything around you. With your wild soul trapped here in the mighty walls of Arrow House, you could not help but drown in an excruciating feeling of worthlessness.
You were lost in a world too difficult for you to understand. Lost and unprepared for a life that asked for too much. When you were living in the vardo with Aunt Isabella life seemed so much easier despite the lack of money and, sometimes, food. Prior to your wedding, she used to tell you that everything would become clear once you’d be a wife and a mother. You’d be an adult adult, you see? But she lied. They all lied. Even with a husband and kids, you still felt like a scared and confused child, who wanted to hide under the blanket of her warm bed and never face the world ever again. These concerns of yours? You never shared because you wanted the Shelby to keep seeing you as a reassuring presence— moreover, God knew how much their broken hearts needed your silent care.
Bringing your trembling fingers to your mouth, you muffled a first sob, convinced it would be enough to keep you from crying. What you didn’t expect was to burst into tears, uncontrollably weeping. After all this time forcing yourself to be strong, your mind had enough. As your heart-wrenching cries echoed in the room they muffled Tommy’s footsteps that were coming closer and closer. When the door flung open, you did not even move, lost in a spiral of pain and psychological exhaustion.
“Y/N?!” Tommy called you, his usual coldness swept away by a surge of panic. He closed the distance between you and him with hastened steps, and put one of his knees on the floor to be at your level, “What’s wrong, ay?” His husky voice asked, worries thickening his Brummie accent even more. You hiccuped and raised your flooded eyes towards him, parting your lips to answer. Yet, as soon as your gaze met his turquoise iris you started weeping again, louder this time. Words were at a loss by dint of never having the chance to express what you felt throughout your life. “Bloody Hell, Y/N! Speak!” Tommy hissed, his heart now drumming in his chest at the sight of his young and always-so-strong wife crumbling in bits in front of him. Never in his life, he had felt so powerless, not even in the tunnels… And, God, he hated it.
“N-nothing. I don’t… I don’t even know it’s just that— I’m so fucking tired, and lost, and confused, and afraid!” You spoke with a very fast pace, spitting years and years of repressed emotions flowing from you all the while feeling deeply ashamed of your mental breakdown. When you were done venting, you simply turned your head and waved off the topic, tears still rolling down your reddened cheeks “Anyway! You’ve got — more important things to do.”
“Stop it, Y/N,” He scolded, low voice rumbling in his chest. His strong and calloused hands, damaged by the war and hard work, cupped your face with a softness you didn’t know he possessed. For the first time in your life, his grip felt utterly reassuring as if you knew these scarred palms were not going to let you fall apart. Never. “You’re what’s important right now.” With that being said, Tommy leaned his forehead against yours and his enchanting eyes soon met yours to force you to focus on nothing else but the vast blue oceans which composed them. “I want you to calm down.”
“I can’t, I can’t—“ You tried to speak but you couldn’t, struggling to breathe under the crushing weight of your panic attack. Your mouth gaped, looking for the oxygen it couldn’t find.
“Oi!” Tommy said louder. So loud that his voice managed to overcome the cacophony of your beating heart and the buzzing sound of your anxiety that filled your head, “I want you to breathe with me, Y/N. Alright? You can do that for me, ay?” He asked, his eyebrows slightly frowned and charming crowfeet appearing at the corner of his eyes — how odd it was to see Tommy’s face veiled with something else than unsettling placidity. Caught off guard by the sudden realization of how close he was, you quieted down a little bit and soon followed the pattern of his breathing.
One long inhale through the nose, one longer exhale through the mouth, and a short pose.
Do it again.
Your shaky hands slowly grabbed his wrists in a desperate attempt to anchor you to reality. This, as well as the focus you had on his mesmerizing complexions.
His long dark lashes — you inhaled slowly.
His cat-like turquoise iris — you exhaled.
His salient cheekbones — You stopped breathing for a very short while.
The myriad of freckles — “Breathe with me, Y/N.”
The soft, hoarse lilt guided you through the dark and thick fog of your own brain, just like a lighthouse. Coming back to clearer waters, your body finally relaxed and fell almost limp in his arms. And once again he caught you, keeping you all safe against his chest. Tommy’s voice, low and steady, resonated one last time in the bedroom with a reassuring warmth as he uttered the simple yet powerful phrase, "I'm here." Each word carefully enunciated, carrying a quiet strength that soothed and reassured, like a comforting anchor in a stormy sea.
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Keep your writers motivated: Reblog and/or comment if you liked it, you filthy animal! o/ English is not my first language btw.
Taglist: @adaydreamaway08 @theshelbyclan @jomarch-wannabe @esposadomd @zablife @woofgocows @anathemasworld @anastasia000 @kate654 @kxnnxy @babayaga67 @meowtastick @shelbyssins @sarai-ibn-la-ahad @bluevenus19 @raincoffeeandfandoms @kishie8 @zablife @alexandra-001 @dearshelby @alexizodd @helen06dreamer @kmc1989 @emotionalcadaver @peakyswritings @peakyltd @chaosinkest1996 @vanhelsingsbigtoe @red-riding-wood
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rosepascal · 5 months
Text
Lacy || Joel Miller x Reader
summary: Joel has a new girlfriend and it's eating you alive inside, especially when she's so perfect.
warnings: angst to fluff, happy ending!! reader gets minorly injured (cuts hand on accident), jealousy, bad feelings, self deprecation kinda, implied something happened to make reader not want to go on patrols anymore but nothing specific.
a/n: heres my jealousy fic loosely based on Lacy by Olivia Rodrigo. I low key love these kinda fics so I hope I did the trope justice
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Perfect Perfect Perfect. She’s just so. Fucking perfect. Your body moves on auto pilot as your brain spirals into the depths of hatred and loathing.
All because of Joel’s new girlfriend.
Your mind is torn between raging jealousy and embarrassment. You and Joel were nothing. Just friends. You worked odd jobs in Jackson and would cross paths with Joel often. He wasn’t very friendly at first but soon enough you managed to break down his initial suspicion.
You became closer than most. At least you thought you were. You’d only seen him joke and smile around Ellie so when he laughed at one of your jokes you felt your stomach flip. He brought you little trinkets he found on patrols too. Small things, things that most people wouldn’t care about but Joel brought them to you so of course you cherished them like they were gold.
Then she came to town.
It was embarrassing how much you let your mind turn to jealousy and resentment. Lacy was beautiful, strong, and the nicest fucking person in town. She’s sweet and helpful and so smart. She’s everything you feel like you’re not. So why wouldn’t Joel be attracted to her? They’re patrol partners too. You see them every morning and come back every afternoon.
You don’t go on patrol. Not anymore. Joel knew that, he never asked and you never told him. He doesn’t care though. You pull your weight just as much as everyone and Joel respects that. Some people don’t. So to have Joel tell you he doesn’t care what you do, it always makes you happy. Still you wonder if he’d like you if you did go on patrol. If you could spend hours with him outside the walls, just the two of you. Maybe he’d compliment your shots or offer his jacket to keep you warm. Like he does for her.
You saw them once coming back inside the gates. His jacket was draped across her shoulders and your heart cracked. You bet it was romantic too. He noticed she was cold and so he happily gave her his jacket. How cute. You walked away from them and buried yourself into kitchen work. Helping stock and prep for dinner. Your brain is still thinking of her.
The worst part is she isn’t someone you can't even hate. She’s only been kind to you. Always offering her help to anyone who needs it. Her smile is so perfect and she makes everyone happy. Especially Joel. Joel always seems to be talking with her which is a big deal for the man who only communicated in noises the first time you met. For fucks sakes she even bakes cookies in her spare time.
You try to avoid seeing them but somehow it’s like they always pop up where you are. Tonight they’re patrons at the bar where you’re serving as bartender for the night.
“Hi there darlin’” Joel’s voice makes your heartbeat a little faster but you see Lacy standing right beside him.
“Whiskey on the rocks, right?” You blurt out without thinking. He looks surprised at first but nods.
“One for me too please.” Lacy asks nicely. You give her a tight smile and nod silently. It doesn’t take long to pour their drinks and Joel takes them both, gesturing to her to go sit.
“Thank you,” He says with a small smile.
“Anytime.” Though other people come and go, you can’t help but keep your eyes on them. Every time they laughed or smiled or got closer, it made your blood boil. You were jealous, you hated this feeling. You hated feeling the anger that burned inside of you. You hated how much you hated her. It made you sick but you couldn’t get yourself to look away. It’s like you secretly wanted to watch your whole world burn. You watch as she says something and Joel leans in closer, his lips barely ghosting her ear as he rests his arm on the booth behind her. The chatter of the bar stops as the sound of a glass shattering. It’s only when everyone’s eyes land on you do you realize you made the noise. The wine glass in your hand is now in pieces on the counter and your hand is covered in small cuts from the glass. You could feel Joel’s piercing gaze on you as someone moves to help.
“I’m okay,” You say quickly, grabbing a rag and putting it around your hand.
“I uh, I’ll be back.” You mutter, humiliation growing as you shrink under the looks of everyone. You rush out the back door. Sighing you put your head down on your knees as you slide down the wall. Your jealousy got the best of you and it feels so ugly. You slowly pick the glass out of your hand.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah I’m fine.” You look up and your eyes widen. There stands Lacy, the last person you expected to see.
“Are you sure? I can go get you some gauze.”
“I said I’m fine.” You snap. She takes a step back and you immediately feel the guilt.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that. I…I’m sorry.” You squeeze your eyes shut, hoping she leaves you alone so you can wallow in your misery.
“It’s okay,” She says gently. Lacy walks closer to you and you look up at her.
“I can’t help but feel like we’ve never really gotten along and I just wanted to say that I’m sorry if I did something to upset you.” Her words are so genuine that it makes you sick. She’s just so perfect and nice and it makes you feel awful.
“No no, you did nothing wrong. I promise. It’s all me.” She looks down next to you and you offer her to sit.
“I’m sorry if I came off cold, you’re really nice and It’s something to do with me.” You explain.
“You don’t have to tell me, but I’d really like to get to know you better if you want. Joel talks about you all the time.” She says. That catches your attention.
“He does?” You ask. She giggles and nods her head.
“Don’t tell him I told you but he really likes you, he just won’t admit it.” You can’t believe what she’s saying. It doesn’t make sense. He's so happy with her, and spends time with her. They’re perfect for each other.
“What? I thought you two were dating.” You look shocked as she shakes her head.
“We’re not. Me and Joel were both from the Boston QZ, I helped him out from time to time so we were kind of friends.” You guess that explains why he warmed up to her so fast but still.
“He won’t admit it to me but I know he likes you. He always wonders what you’re doing in town that day and when we go on supply runs he tries to subtly ask about things for you but he’s not very subtle.” She says, smiling as she remembers the shitty excuses Joel would make for picking up the tattered journal. He told her about you, that you used to keep one before the outbreak and you missed it. 
“I don’t know, I haven’t really seen him much lately…” You know it's partially your fault for avoiding him but he didn’t really make much effort to see you either.
“I told him to talk to you but he started to get nervous.” She says while rolling her eyes.
“Joel nervous?” You ask in disbelief.
“I know! He totally denied it when I asked. Said he doesn’t get nervous in that crabby voice he does.” She says while laughing.
“Oh my god he really does do that voice doesn’t he. Especially when he’s trying to reprimand Ellie.” You say while laughing with her.
“And she never listens.” Lacy adds. It feels nice to laugh with her. Though now you feel silly for feeling so jealous.
“I think I owe you an apology Lacy, the truth is I was jealous of you. You’re just, so amazing and cool and nice. I thought you were perfect for Joel and I just, I wanted to be perfect for Joel.” You admit sheepishly. "I shouldn't have avoided you the way I did."
“Thank you for the apology and it's okay. As for Joel, you are perfect for him.” She hugs you and it takes you a moment before you hug her back.
“Everythin’ alright?” Joel’s voice makes you jump.
He’s come to check on the two of you. The butterflies you felt before come back in full force as you see him standing there. His eyes darting to your cut up hand.
“You should really get that fixed up.” He kneels down in front of you and checks your hand over. Lacy gets up and winks at you.
“I’ll leave you to it Joel,” She nudges him and he grumbles about something. She smiles and gives you a thumbs up before disappearing back inside.
Even though his hands are rough he handles yours with such care. Making sure not to hurt you as he checks for glass. He reaches into his small bag and pulls out a rag and wraps it around your hand.
“This’ll be okay for now but you need to put some salve on it and wrap it with a bandage.” Joel finishes wrapping your hand but he doesn’t let go of your hand.
His hands are so warm. You notice how tense he seems. He’s nervous. With the boost of confidence from Lacy you bite the bullet and speak.
“I like you. A lot.” You confess.
“I uh-” He doesn’t know what to say as you take him by surprise.
“I was wondering if you wanted to go to dinner.” Your voice gets smaller as you speak. Worried that you were right and he doesn’t feel the same.
“I got you somethin’” He reaches into his little bag and pulls out a small book.
“You told me about keepin’ a diary and well I found this and thought you could start again, if you wanted to.” He hands it to you, it's a little ripped but still intact. It’s clearly been patched up. The leather cover has been cleaned and there's a new ribbon around the center.
“Oh Joel, it’s perfect.” You run your hands along the spine in awe.
“I would love to go to dinner with you darlin’’” He takes your hand and kisses the back of it. Helping you up he takes off his jacket and places it on your shoulders.
“Let me walk you back.” He places his hand on the small of your back.
You glance in the window of the bar and see Lacy talking with a few people. She makes them laugh and this time you smile. She catches your gaze and smirks, seeing Joel’s jacket and him so close.
For once it feels like you can breathe, the bitter feelings are gone. It’s a new start, a new friend gained in Lacy and hopefully a new love that will last forever.
“Are you okay?” Joel asks as he notices you in your head. Looking over at him you smile and he pulls you closer.
“I’m perfect Joel, just perfect.”
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wroteclassicaly · 6 months
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For The Record
(Steve Harrington x Female Reader)
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Summary: You have a surprise for your best-friend Steve.
Word count: 1,647
Warnings: Language, NSFW, creampie, vaginal sex, slight choking, slight breeding kink if you squint, and fluff.
Pairings: Steve Harrington x Female Reader
A/N: Just a filthy little thing that I’ve been nurturing for a few days. No point to it, just showing Stevie some love! Haven’t written anything this lengthy in a while, but I hope y’all enjoy? ;P 💕❤️🥰♥️
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Steve. Steve-fucking-Harrington. The heart of your group with a head of hair (that you’d washed, brushed, picked monster guts out of, and pulled, one too many times), a comforting smile that reminded you of Summer’s fading sunsets that give way to fall colors. All copper, rust, orange, mossy caramels swirling together, deep browns that look like cinnamon (smells like the gum he chews, or the breath spray he carries in his back pocket), sometimes even red in how his cheeks tinge on cold days, the way he makes your body warm. To his protective - fighter mode, like a crafted out of the finest marble guardian-angelic-god.
You’d worship at his temple. All day. Every single day.
His mouth has been in as many places as his hands. He knows every scar, just as much as he’s aware of spots, in which kissing you will cause goosebumps to electrify, sparking themselves known across your skin, or where his fingers will cause that high pitched whine to come from between your lips. You can’t really fathom that it’s been happening, especially for how long. There’s been no talk of labels, what anything means, it’s just been two friends crossing a line and fucking one another on it. You don’t know what you would’ve done, had it not been for Steve-the-hair-Harrington, King Steve, your extra heartbeat, your best-friend, your everything.
And that’s what led you to your current predicament, your planned leap of faith. Wrapped in a maroon colored mini gift bag, you had placed the packet. Steve arrived not long after, movies and pizza balanced in his massive hands, keys dangling from the middle finger of his left hand, a cheesy grin pressing into that beautiful mouth. “Hey, honey,” he had said. “Really missed you today, you know that?”
You’d taken in his appearance of dark Levi’s and a black belt, his signature Nike’s, and a low dipped white v-neck that he’d thrown a plain blue button over, leaving it open, his gold chain visible, nestled in that patch of chest hair. Salivating more at him than the food, it took you a second to help him inside.
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You ate in avid chatter, watched one of the lamest, but most comforting horror films Steve could find on the shelves (that no one rented but he knew you’d appreciate), whilst being tucked beneath his bicep, warmed at his side. That’s when you’d retrieved the gift off your coffee table, his palm rubbing circles across your spine, kneading tension until you returned to your position. You handed him the bag and his bushy brows had pinched together, an adorable confusion clear. “For me? What did I do?”
“Just open it, Harrington. Before my nerves make me take it back.”
He cradled the parcel protectively, a pout forming as his watch strapped wrist dips inside. “No way, no how. Nope, not now.”
“Steve…” you laughed lightly, suddenly swallowing as he pulled the packet out, trying to make sense of the name.
“Contraceptive? I don’t… Isn’t this birth control?” He shook the packet before planting it in his massive palm.
You could feel your heartbeat in your throat, choking you like a vice, preventing you from answering in a full sentence.
“Yeah.”
“So, it’s yours? Why did you wrap it up and give it to me?”
“There’s a few missing already, Steve. I just wanted to get used to them before… Before I told you.”
“Told me, what?” He still looked puzzled, seeking out where you’d opened the package and taken a few tablets.
“That I just wanna use these from now on. Nothing else. If you, if that’s okay with you...?” You had felt the sharp claws of the butterflies, threatening to demolish your remaining courage. But this was Steve, you needed to remember that.
It took him a few moments, but then his pupils expanded within the enriching mossy flecks of his irises, at a rapid pace. His tongue licked at the five o’clock shadow above his upper lip. His voice, you’ll never forget how it sounded. Honey-hot and hoarse, raspy with bitten want, raw fucking desire. You’d clenched your thighs together, tongue eager to lick him… every-fucking-where — the burn of it felt on the muscle’s tip.
“Isn’t that something you do with a boyfriend, though? Not casual sex with a good friend, one of your best-friends?”
And you nod, vision swimming with shapes. Had you messed up? Fuck it. “It is.” Is what you’d responded with, taking the packet from him and tossing it with the bag back onto the table. The movie was rolling credits in the background and you were watching Steve’s dotted jugular as he swallowed, showcasing those tendons, all the way up to that stubble bitten jawline, dotted with freckles and moles.
“And who is your boyfriend, honey?” He had to hear you say it. If it’s what he thought it was, or you’d simply break his heart and move on to this guy. Could he really believe in a good thing again?
You leapt off that faithful precipice, years and feelings following, eyes locking, gaze unrelenting. “I was hoping it would be you.”
He was obviously choked up, orbs alight with mirth and excitement, among other things. “Funny that you mention that, because I’ve been hoping for the exact same thing.”And he’d fallen into your arms, seizing you with a kiss, noses nudging, tongues eager and messy. Clothes couldn’t come off fast enough.
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The king sized condom lays unopened on your plush blush rug. Having fallen out of Steve’s wallet, that had also tumbled from his jean pocket in haste. Everything was out of control in the best possible way. You could’ve sworn you died a few minutes prior and came back as immortal — able to see through particles that floated on the air, hear cars, horns, music from houses all across town, smell the leaves that clung to the trees, damp with rain water and Autumn air. Your eyes roll back, perspiration damp behind the backs of your knees, where he’s got his current pinching grip, the fat of your thighs pressed into your tits, squishing them.
You realize in the moment, that you truly loathe condoms. Because this? Feeling that wet pre-cum smear down his shaft and around your opening as he pushed himself into you without a barrier for the first time, it was an indescribable experience. Each ridge, every vein, so hot, soft, and fucking, soaking wet. You aren’t sure where he ends and you begin. It hurts like hell, aches in the deepest parts of you, a place you know that he could easily put a child if you slipped up on your only remaining protection.
That thought makes you tighten around him, cream spilling out and further slicking back the curls gathered at his base. He drops your thighs, sweat-slick pelvis smashing into yours, stimulating your swollen clit. His chest hair scrapes against your pebbled nipples, making you arch your back and your toes curl, legs locking around his lower waist. He whines, palm coming up to grasp at your breast, calloused thumb strumming around your areola. “God, honey, your fucking nipples were made for my mouth to suck on.”
And he’s descending, his lips closing over one, tongue flicking and stimulating. You cry out, hand fisting into his honey streaked, chestnut locks. His shoulders work and bend, the dips and freckles and moles visible, glittering with the salt of sweat, his gold chain swaying out from his hairy chest and back again when he stops, nose bumping yours, hot breath on your mouth. “This pussy was made for my cock.”
And holy hell, his vocalizing focus doesn’t cease. “Who took your virginity, honey?” You both know it wasn’t him. But you are well aware what he’s getting at, and as he gives a harsh snap, those full and fat balls smacking your slick ass, you lose further coherency. “That’s right,” he’s speaking again. “They don’t matter, but I do.”
You weren’t aware that you could make the noises that you are. Only able to speak once Steve’s tugging himself and pulling out, stringing from your cunt to his shaft, a squelch echoing. You both groan, emptiness already jumpstarted. You plead for him. “Please, Stevie, need you! Put it back in —“
“Say it, say you’re just a hole for me to fill. That you’re only mine, baby.”
“I… Fuck! Stevie, all my holes are only yours, I’m only yours!”
He sinks his teeth into his bottom lip, before his jaw drops open and he whimpers. His hand leaves your breast and slides across your sternum, your collarbone, and settles at your neck. You nod to encourage, and those defined digits wrap around your throat.
“Tell me you love these big hands, sweetheart. Because they’re for you. They belong to you!”
“Want them all over me, Steve. All the time. Can’t get enough of you.”
He’s holding firm to his cock, stroking and teasing. You lick your lips as you stare at it, drooling. Reaching down, you tap his wrist (his arm, all muscles and tendons, thick and available to trace with your tongue), as he presses the thick red head into your clit, smearing the combination of you two all around. You mewl in appreciation, legs stretching so far apart that your muscles protest. He’s speaking next, panting out, “Like that? Hey, look at me. He grabs your chin, thumb tugging down your bottom lip. “Like. That?”
Your lip releases with a plop.
“Yes, yes! Don’t stop, Steve, never wanna not feel you again, baby boy!”
“That’s a good girl, that’s my girl.” He circles your sore opening and slips back inside with a loud, wet ease. You bite back the burning pain, welcoming the damp tears of pleasure along your lashes.
Your manicured nails cling to his back, his chest gliding along yours, heartbeat to hammering heartbeat. It’s frantic whispers and begging cries. And when he’s close to coming, you find his cheek with one hand, holding. “For the record, you’ve never been casual to me, Steve Harrington.”
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// Eat me paragraph //
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Rigor Mortis (Masterlist)
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Rigor Mortis; or, how to live your life after a half-decade of decay. 
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Relationships end. People die. You move on, and Miguel does too. 
(roommate! Miguel O'Hara x reader, college-ish au). 
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(AO3) (Main Masterlist) (Wattpad)
Warnings: angst, smut, friends with benefits, mentions of depression, child death (not explicit), grief. 18+ Minors DNI (+ ageless blogs will be blocked)
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Series' playlists:
this is what i listen to whilst I write
this is the kind of playlist I imagine RM!Miguel listens to
(i am very open to suggestions/additions :D)
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00 rigor mortis,
01 or in the cold, crisp morn:
02 lady death, at the cradle of a babe.
03 they were here, she says,
04 lips blue and black and gold (18+)
05 and they were good. (18+)
06 in your half-hearted hubris, (18+)
07 all-consuming grief, (18+)
08 you had forgotten; they were good.
09 all that light lost in gaps (18+)
10 between your bodies; (18+)
11 cracks in clay, poured over,
12 tbd
13 tbd
14 tbd
15 tbd
16 tbd
17 tbd
18 tbd
19 tbd
20 tbd
Join my taglists here <3
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Bonus chapters:
RM! Miguel headcanons (SFW) (NSFT)
A week of firsts (set between 06 and 07)
Bonus Miguel POV chapter
Quickie
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massive thank you to my beta readers, who put up with all my stupid questions, helped me with translations, and gave wonderful feedback on where I could improve.
Thank you @tianyhi and @urgonnaneedabiggership (they also write Miguel fics, I highly recommend! my favourite is this series), I couldn't have done it without you guys!
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Gold Rush
James Potter x fem!reader
Summary: You're a stupid drunk and James Potter is very very bad at dealing with his romantic feelings.
Genre: Angst (happy ending!), fluff, hurt and comfort (a little bit of everything honestly)
Warnings: jealous!james, stupid!james, swearing, screaming, arguments, crying, injuries, punching, blood, protective!James, protective!marauders, platonic!best friends!marauders, confessions, dangerous activities (reader puts herself in danger), mentions of dying
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You look towards the ground and your ankle bends a little in your winter boots as you try to control your movements. The cherry liquor you had drank earlier lingers in your mouth and in your drunken haze, the tower you're currently balancing on feels secure as you move forwards and the onlookers below continue to cheer. 
"Please don't stay out too late," Remus warned you.
You blush, shaking some snow from your hair as you outstretch your arms for better balance, biting your lip. You look up at the sky, the stars prominent this evening.
"And don't drink too much," James reminded you with small smile. 
"We'll see you there," Sirius promised.
What the hell did they know? You pout, now staring down at the snow on the ground. They hadn't even shown up!
You hear someone call your name and you look down to see Arthur Brown, a Ravenclaw boy you'd been talking with at a party. He's handsome with a charming smile and as you wave to him, you almost fall over. 
Arthur just chuckles and encourages you to continue whatever nonsense and liquid courage inspired you to walk on the castle roof in the snow this late at night. 
"Y/n?" you hear Remus's strained shout and when you turn your head, you're surprised to see Remus, James, and Sirius rushing over. They aren't dressed for the cold weather and they look extremely shaken and confused. "Come down from there," Remus shouts. You wonder how they'd known.
Sirius looks pale and James is frantically looking around to find some way to help you down safely. He looks more distraught than the others and Sirius has to calm him.
Your eyebrows knit together. You're afraid James might make a scene. Only, why would he? You know he'd let Remus, Sirius, or Peter do this in a heart beat, and he'd find it funny.
Bloody hell, James would probably do it himself so why does he look so worried when it's you?
"Bugger off, she's fine," Arthur interrupts as you take another step. Your boots slip on the snow again but you laugh as you move your arms out further to catch yourself. "See, she's fine. So, stop being her little guard dogs for one second and let her live a little," he says with unnecessary venom. 
"What did you just say?" Sirius barks, grabbing Arthur's collar. He looks furious now. 
"Y/n, come down, please, honey," Remus calls, occasionally telling Sirius to drop it and to concentrate on you.
You frown as Arthur's teasing riles up your friends and the crowd underneath you. Wind swirls around you and you gasp, feeling suddenly even more unbalanced and you start to realize maybe this wasn't the smartest plan.
"You fuckin' prick, don't talk about her like that, you hear me?" James suddenly swears loudly. Because you hadn't been paying attention to the boys under you, when you hear James and look down at him, you see that he'd pushed Arthur into the snow and was pinning him down.
Alarmed by their shouts, you accidentally slip as you turn around to make sure James's is okay.  
You let out a shriek and all the students suddenly look up, seeming to remember your presence. Momentarily distracted by your scream, Arthur slams his elbow into James's cheekbone and sends him falling off him. Chaos ensues as everyone rushes to crowd around both you and James separately. 
Remus kneels next to you, his hand coming behind your head to support you up. You're clutching at your ankle as you wail uncontrollably from the way you had fallen onto the snow. With nimble fingers, Remus cuffs your jeans and sees how swollen your ankle looks. "Oh, honey, that looks like it hurts," he whispers and caresses your cheek with his knuckles. 
From next to you, Sirius and other students are standing around James; James, who has scrambled up from the ground. His nose is bleeding and the crimson liquid stains the snow as he curses at Arthur. Sirius is holding James up by his shoulders and he uses his hand to pinch James's nose as his best friend winces in pain. Arthur, who has a prominent bruise under his eye, is pulled away by his friends. 
"What happened here?" The low drone of the Headmaster, accompanied by an anxious looking Professor McGonagall, is heard and you all turn your heads around.
* * *
Around an hour later, as Madam Pomfrey takes the time to heal your ankle, a disheveled looking James sits on the bed opposite of yours. He's holding a handkerchief to his nose and Madam Pomfrey hasn't tended to his injury yet. To her defense, James still looks extremely pissed and you wouldn't want to approach him either. You won't have that same luxury as the moment Madam Pomfrey is gone, James is staring.  
"What were you thinking?" he whispers, his tone quipped. Still a little fuzzy from how drunk you'd been, you blink at him and shift uncomfortably. 
"What was I thinking? What were you thinking?" you counter, defensively.
"What?" James drops the handkerchief and glares. 
"Why would you jump Arthur like that?"
"Why the fuck do you care?" James hisses, his eyes narrowing. He's your best friend, he knows you hate it when he swears but that doesn't stop him now. "You're fucking reckless, you know? How could you have been so fucking stupid?"
You stare at James as your eyes water painfully. No coherent words form in your head. You're grateful for an escape when Remus and Sirius pile into the room. 
Sirius rushes to your side. "Aw, poor sweetness, does it hurt terribly?" his sentence dies when he sees your tears and he wraps an arm around you so you can hug him. "Y/n, what's wrong?" 
Remus, always more intuitive than Sirius, looks at James and sees James's furious expression. He frowns and quickly walks over to his best friend and holds onto his arm. James pushes him away and you see Remus whisper something in his ear. 
However, Sirius pulls your attention away from them as he wipes your tears with his thumb. 
"I am not!" Your attention is pulled again and you hear James shout as Remus shushes him.
You sniff, and look at Sirius. "James hates me," you say and Sirius's expression falls. He looks behind and sees Remus and James's shushed argument. He turns to you and holds your chin in his hand as his gaze softens. 
"James couldn't hate you even if he'd been cursed to," he says so simply.
You shake your head and bite your lip. "No, he's really mad…like really mad, Pads."
Sirius chuckles and sighs, "Oh sweetie, James isn't really mad at you. He's mad at himself. Merlin, you should have seen him when he first saw you on that roof, the poor bloke looked about ready to faint." 
Sirius continues and turns to Remus and James only to see they've moved further away from you and Sirius, and James looks like he could burst into tears at any moment, "Jamie is madly in love with you, Y/n. Just the possibility of you and another guy makes him go absolutely bonkers. And listen, if he hadn't hit Arthur like he did, I don't know if you would have fallen, doll. James knows that too and he's simply mad with guilt."
You try to concentrate on Sirius's entire story but your mind stays stuck at the words; "James? In love with me?" 
Sirius's lips curl in amusement but he doesn't have the time to answer because he hears Remus shout an exasperated; "Prongs!" as James, his nose still very much broken and bloody, storms out of the Hospital Wing without a second word. Your chest tightens as you watch him and if you could, you'd run after him.
* * *
James has been avoiding you. Or more accurately, he's been avoiding everyone for the last three days. He's never in the common room anymore and he has evening detentions with Professor McGonagall so you don't see him at all outside of classes. Remus, Sirius, and Peter all tell you he's been quiet in their dorm too and that they don't know what's happened with him either. 
Remus won't tell anyone what he spoke to James about that night in the Hospital Wing.
By the fourth day of complete silence, you've had enough. You manage to catch James on his way to detention. You speed walk over to him and cut his path, spinning around to look at him. You gasp when you see him. His face is bruised and his lip is split. "James!" you gasp and stop him. James's brown eyes narrow and he looks angry. 
"Get out of my way, Y/n," he hisses as his fists clench. 
"What happened?" you insist. His burises look horrible, and you think that he hadn't got his broken nose healed properly since he'd stormed out of the Hospital Wing. Why handn't the boys told you James looked like this?
"Are you a bloody insane? What he fuck happened?" your voice comes out stern and James pauses at your curse word, his frustrated expression faltering for a moment. 
"What?"
You hold onto his sleeve and push him into the nearest girls lavatory. James almost trips as you make him lean against the sink. His eyes widen when you pull out your wand and firmly grasp his chin in your hands. You ignore his whinning as you point your wand at his wounds. "Episky—shush be still," you mutter sternly as you heal all of his wounds. "What is wrong with you, James Potter? Tell me who you've been tousling with this instant!"
James scrunches his nose and touches where his wounds had been. He leans away from you. "Nobody," he says, his voice high so you know he's lying. 
"James," you warn. You move away and shove your wand in your cloak. "Please, tell me."
James has never been able to deny you a thing, even at times like this. "Fine, just don't lose your head over it, bird," you scowl at the nickname with an eye roll. "Brown keeps pushing my buttons, is all," he says. 
"Arthur? The same boy who broke your nose?"
"Yeah, that little fucker, I'm pretty sure he's in love with you—or he has some weird obsession because he can't keep your name out of his fucking mouth," James suddenly pinches his nose and shuts his eyes, "Shi-sorry I keep curing, I know you don't like it when we curse." 
Almost like he's sulking, James leans against the sink and stares at you. He doesn't speak. 
"You're such a wanker," you mumble and look at him more closely, "Why are you acting like such a prick since that night?"
"Oh, since the night you almost fucking died?" James raises his eyebrows, his tone sarcastic and you ignore the curse word again. 
"Horrible exaggeration considering all I did was break my ankle."
"Could have been your neck," James deadpans. 
"Well, it wasn't my neck and that's certainly no excuse to be a such a prat," you say seriously. James considers your words and sighs. He runs a hand through his shaggy hair and looks away. 
"What do you want me to say?" he asks. 
You stare at him like he's absolutely mental. "That you're sorry?"
James laughs and you swear you've never met a boy as stubborn as he is. "Why would I be sorry?"
"Are you serious, James?" you whisper and press your finger accusingly on his chest, "Listen to me, I know I shouldn't have been on that roof, that's my mistake, but you know damn well I wouldn't have been on that roof if you'd all come with me to the party like you'd promised!" your voice comes out rushed, "And I wouldn't have fallen if you didn't have to knock down Arthur Brown and make me worried for you!"
James's cheeks are flaming. "You think I, out of everyone, don't know that?" he says, straightening up and moving closer to you, his voice harsh, "do you think I don't lay awake at night, going absolutely insane over every possible scenario that prevents you from falling?" James's voice cracks and he steps forwards again. 
You look up at him, slightly breathless. For someone so angry, James looks undeniably handsome. "I know we should have gone to the party with you, but Merlin, I couldn't bear another one! Another party I would have had to spend watching other boys fawn all over you! Fuck, Y/n, how could I have known you would decide take a drunken nightly stroll on a roof because we hadn't shown up!"
You listen to him, eyes wide, "You don't like it when boys fawn over me?" you whisper. 
James frowns. He bites his lip and squeezes his eyes closed. "Of course I don't," he says, as if it was the most normal thing in the world. 
"Why?" 
"Because you should be mine," James's voice is smaller now, less authoritative, less angry. 
You stare at him and take in his expression with an inhale of breath. "But, James, I am yours."
James shakes his head quickly and tugs at his curls. "No, no. You aren't mine. You're ours. Sirius, Remus, Peter—you're our best friend. And I was okay with that, until I wasn't anymore and now everytime Arthur Brown says he wants to kiss your lips all I want is to punch something." James's fists clench and he looks away from you. 
"You're scaring me," you look at him, whispering honestly but you don't move away from him.
James looks down and this time he looks really remorseful, "I'm sorry, Y/n, I don't meant to scare you. I—"
"So, Sirius was right," you inquire, taking his sudden remorse as a widow for a civilized conversation. 
"Sirius was right about what?" 
"You're in love with me," you don't say it as a question, more like a statement and James's eyes round so wide you're almost afraid they'll pop out of his skull.
James tries to escape but as he backs away, he bumps into the sink and his heart sinks. His eyes are moving so rapidly around the room and his cheeks have turned a less aggressive crimson and into a more lovesick pink. 
"Why does everyone keep telling me that?" he mumbles to himself, feeling warmth on his cheek. 
"What?"
James rubs at his nape and looks less angry and more nervous. You smile. You had been right to strike this conversation now. "Moony, in the Hospital Wing. He said I loved you—which was why I was acting like a prick and I don't," he backtracks immediately, "I mean, I love you as a friend and n-nothing more."  
You expected to feel pain at the rejection but instead, you laugh. You stare at James and laugh harder. So hard, you clutch your sides and James's eyebrows crease with worry as you hyperventilate in front of him. 
"Because you should be mine," you repeat his words through your laughter, "That's what you said and now you want me to believe you aren't in love with me?!"
"What?!" James's crimson cheeks have returned and he sounds annoyed now, "I- listen, sorry to disappoint but I-I am not in love with you!"
"You aren't?" you look at him, your eyes flickering to his lips. 
"No!"
"Then why do you want me to be yours? What does that mean, hmm, James?"
You walk a little closer and your arms rest on the sink behind him. You ignore the way your heart is pounding your chest and screaming at you as you stand so close to him. James is staring down as you look up at him through your lashes. You expect another protest, maybe another incoherent defense, but instead he mumbles, "Fuck it," under his breath and takes your cheeks in his hands as he kisses you. 
Without a second thought, you kiss him back. Your hand tangles in his hair as you press your lips to his. It's almost animalistic the way James is kissing you and it only lasts a few seconds before he's disconnecting your lips and resting his forehead onto yours. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he pants, shaking his head, "I shouldn't have kissed you without asking you—"
     "Oh, shut up," you grumble and kiss him again. He accepts the kiss and spins you around. He uses his arm to hoist you onto the sink and deepen the kiss. You hold onto him and wince when your hip accidentally hits the faucet. James pulls away and looks at you like he can't believe what just happened. 
"Okay, so maybe I am in love with you," he finally admits and his chest is heaving from all the emotions. 
You crack a smile, "I'm in love with you too, James," you admit and touch his cheek. "Only, you can't act like a prick to me when you can't deal with your emotions. You should have told me all these feelings instead of sulking like a child." 
James nods and squeezes his eyes shut, "I was just so angry at myself," he whispers.
"I know, Sirius said that was the reason."
James chuckles with a roll of his eyes, "How does Sirius suddenly know my emotions better than I do? He's usually the emotional wreck!" 
You adjust his glasses a little, "He's just observant," you say, "and you're stubborn."
James pulls you in, holding you close to him as he dips and kisses your neck. He hums against your skin and whispers, "I'm such a fool, can you forgive me?" he asks, basically pleads, "I'm just, I was jealous."
You laugh, "Oh, I know. But, James, you know you have no reason to be jealous of anyone."
James whines and looks at you with his famous doe eyes; "I have every reason to be jealous. I'm jealous of the way Peter laughs at your jokes, or how Remus bonds over books with you. I'm jealous of Sirius and how he makes you laugh, and I'm jealous of every boy that looks your way. And worst of all, I'm jealous of the sun because it shines on you every day and I can't," he sounds like a lovesick idiot. He's barely making sense. 
You look at him seriously, "James. You are the sun. You're my sun." 
James looks into your eyes and bats his eyelashes innocently. He says, "So, you forgive me for being a wanker?" It's obvious he wants to make you laugh and he succeeds as you chuckle and playfully and lightly swat his cheek. 
"I'll forgive you," you say, "for now."
James pouts but he also lifts you and spins you around. He drops you on the ground, his hands at your hips and kisses your forehead. "I'll take it, love. Now, let's tell our friends we aren't mad at each other anymore."
"I was never really mad with you," you point out with a snort as James takes your hand. 
James squints, and looks behind his shoulder at you. "Yeah, you were," he says but when you shake your head he decides not to argue with you and just smiles, "Okay, fine, then let's go tell our friends I'm not being a baby anymore."
"Much better," you beam with a giggle and James realizes with a hopeless smile that he wants to be the only reason you ever giggle like that again. 
Merlin, he really is madly in love with you.
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slttygeto · 6 months
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SOMETHING I’M MADE FOR
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what was i made for? | think i forgot, how to be happy
જ⁀➴ synopsis: you owe suguru a lot. a heartfelt apology is one of them.
જ⁀➴ c.w: hurt/comfort, fem bodied! reader, very unrealistic timelines, i have never taken a 'break' while in a relationship so pls dont come for me, reader is mentioned to being depressed at one point, suguru is going through it, second chance sort of.
જ⁀➴ word count; 1,4k
જ⁀➴ note: idk how to feel abt this tbh
comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!
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There was no need for you to feel this nervous, but given the amount of times you’ve wiped your hand on the fabric of your skirt that would sound a bit ridiculous. You were nervous, and rightfully so. You stand in front of the same door that you used to have the keys to, a very familiar red wooden door with the number of the apartment written in gold sitting at the very top, you raise your hand and your knuckles collider with the wood one, two and then three times before you’re taking two steps behind out of respect and privacy for your… well, you didn’t know what to refer to Suguru in this case.
You try not to overthink it, you came here with good intentions. Over the four weeks with almost contact with the man except for the occasional text messages here and there, you’ve come to realize a couple of things. First, you needed to apologize to him. Four weeks isn’t enough for you to heal completely from the damage caused from feeling so low in a long term relationship, but it was enough time to reflect on how you behaved that night with him. Some of his words might’ve hurt you, but you later on figured that it was because he was right, as bad as it sounds.
And second, you were ready to let go of him if staying with you was draining him. You knew that Suguru would never tell you something like that—he might’ve been blunt with strangers, but the man had such a soft spot and a sweet side with his loved ones. God knows how much he loves you, and how many times he said it. But you were too busy thinking that your problems were burdening him and thus, you didn’t deserve the man.
You hear shuffling from behind the door and when it swings open with and you’re greeted with a Suguru in a lazy attire, you feel your heart get stuck in your throat. You hadn’t told him you were going to show up, but you had texted Satoru earlier the same week to make sure that he was at home. To say that Satoru wanted to kill you was an understatement, the white haired male was very protective of his best friend no matter how dearly you meant to him.
Me
Hey, is suguru gonna be home this week?
Satoru
yeah. he hasn’t been outside in a while. why?
Your heart drops when you read that. Suguru wasn’t the type to stay holed up in his place for too long.
Me
um I thought id give him a visit
Satoru
yeah sure
he’ll appreciate that
You could feel the ice cold stare of his best friend through those messages. Maybe it was a little childish from his part, but after hearing that Suguru was acting unusual, you figured that maybe this time you would gladly take the heat.
You hoped that the person standing in front of you wasn’t any different from the person you abruptly left four weeks ago after a horrible fight, but one quick look at the messy hair and the sleep deprivation visible on his face was enough to make your chest burn with guilt. You’re unsure of what to say for a good few seconds, eyes darting behind him only to find the vacuum in the middle of the middle room and groceries on the counter. It seemed like he was trying to get life back together, did you really decide to pop at the wrong moment?
“Do you need something?” the way he breaks the silence is almost bone chilling and you find yourself smiling nervously at him before holding up bags of food to show him that you got him his favorite. But he doesn’t budge, emotionless eyes darting all over your face in what you assumed to be an attempt at making you feel small. And boy, it was working.
You feel stupid and drop the bags of food in front of him before taking a few steps back.
“I wanted to talk to you.”
“About what?” Suguru knows what you want to talk about.
“About u-“
“About us?” He cuts you off before you can even finish and raises an eyebrow. “Didn’t you say that you wanted to stop thinking about me for a while?” he continues. “It’s only been a month.”
“A month is more than enough,” you try to reason. “We were together for three years, of course-“
“Should’ve told yourself that when you left me.” Suguru retorts venomously and you start getting the clear picture. While being away from him made you realize how toxic you were behaving towards him, you being out of his life brought out his worst side. You knew this Suguru—he was spiteful, filled with hatred and didn’t hesitate to cut anyone with his words.
“Suguru,” you try again. “Let me come in.” You see him bite back another snarky response and he complies, letting you walk inside.
Once the bags of food are inside and you see him close the door, you hesitate on where to sit. The kitchen seemed to bring back bad memories, so you choose the couch that you both picked when you first moved in here and you watch as he sits on the other side, a little grunt leaving his lips as he leans back and stares at you.
“Seems like you’ve been doing well,” he points out. “I forgot what happy you looked like.”
You squirm a little under his intense gaze, the way his eyes travel from your bare legs up to your upper half then your face. You were used to Suguru’s loving stare, he always looked at you like you meant the entire world to him—but right now? You felt like he could eat you up and spit you out with his eyes.
“I’ve been, um…” You pause and place one leg on top of the other. “Reflecting on how I behaved in our relationship.” You admit and look around the place. He still managed to keep it neat.
“It was wrong of me to explode on you that night, and to keep so many things from you—it doesn’t undo the fact that I said what I said, but I just want to apologize.” Suguru’s eyes seem to soften for a split second when you shift again in your seat.
“For what?” he asks flatly but the way his body relaxes on the couch indicates that he means no harm. “For possibly being depressed when you were with me?”
“No,” you avoid looking at him. “It wasn’t because I was with you it’s because-“
“That’s not what you said that night,” he cuts you off. “I am so perfect and my life is so perfect that being with someone like me made you feel too guilty to tell me about your problems.” He continues before leaning forward, placing both of his elbows on his knees. “My face…apparently, that was also a reason for you not to tell me about your problems.”
“I was wrong,” you start growing a little nervous. “You weren’t the problem, and I’m here to tell you that I am deeply sorry for what happened that night, even if it was needed.”
Suguru is quiet for a few moments, he is in deep thought before he decides to speak up again.
“You know, a month isn’t enough to fall out of love with a person you pictured your future with,” he starts. “But it sure is enough time for you to resent them a little. You’re hurt and confused, everything was going well, or so you thought,”
“Suguru…”
“I thought that maybe I didn’t want to think about you too, that I was doing so much better without you but-“ the dry chuckle makes your heart squeeze. “As you can see, it’s clearly not the case.”
“We don’t have to get back together right now,”  your voice is soft and the way you’re trying to make yourself look small on his couch tugs at Suguru’s heart strings.
“I don’t think it’s that easy either,” he admits. “After all, I still do resent you a little.” His honesty is both relieving and hurtful. A part of you knows that it’s a long and difficult process, but if there was any person actually worth fighting for in your life, it was Suguru. “But…” you raise your head when you hear him speak up.
“I think we could try.”
And through tearful eyes and shared hopeful smiles, you are finally able to breathe again.
“Yeah, I’d like that.”
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2023 ; all works belong to @ slttygeto. do not repost my works on any other platofrm.
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carolmunson · 1 year
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let's go, don't wait (e.m. x f!reader)
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inspired by this prompt by @edsforehead - it's not exactly the same but i did my best! summary: modern!eddie's been single since 2020 and aside from getting his dick wet after weekend shows at the hideout, he hasn't been going out of his way for love until his friends make him. cw: 18+ for adult themes. alcohol use, swearing, some sexual themes. some discussions of bad parents. eddie had some sad parts of his childhood. all around this is a fluff piece so nothing too bad. (11k) eddie is 32, reader is 30. so older!reader i guess, idk. i already started writing the part two which is almost entirely smut.
Jingle. Click. Creak. “Mmmm.” Eddie knows that groan anywhere, the deep primal urging of a one Gareth Emerson and the giggles of his girlfriend, Tatianna Edwards. They stumble into the apartment, lips attached, hands grabbing and fisting each other’s layers from the cold. 
“Hi guys,” he calls out, his tone was as bored and annoyed as he hoped it would be. His eyes don’t leave the TV, transfixed on the screen while he watches another YouTube compilation of the best guitar solos of all time. He disagrees with most of them, but it’s enough to drone on in the background while he scrolls through his Twitter feed. He’s never even posted. Not once. Not even a picture on his profile. 
“Hi Ed,” Tati chirps, clicking the side table lights on. He can smell her Chloe perfume when she comes to give him a hug hello. Her arms wrap around him from behind the couch, cheeks touching, a few of her butterfly twists falling forward over his shoulder. 
“Did you stay in tonight?” she asks, pressing a glossy smooch to his cheek. “Sure did,” he huffs, arms crossing over hers in a semblance of an embrace. Her gold bracelets are cool against his skin, her gold rings match his silver ones. He thought when Tati entered the picture that he and Gareth would’ve started to drift apart. Instead, Tati became Eddie’s new best friend – Gare really took ‘date the girl version of Eddie’ to heart. They were two peas in a pod. “You should’ve come out, there were a lot of single girls there – you’re a good dancer, you coulda snagged one,” she sounds like a mother trying to set him up. Eddie tilts his head up and looks at her from below, her deep skin shimmering with the glitter fallout from her eye makeup. She always looks pretty with ease, even with her makeup smudged – like she meant to do that. 
“Oh, I’m sure,” he smiles tightly, but the look falls to something soft when Tati lets go and her almond shaped manicured nails rake gently over his scalp through his conditioned curls.  “You can’t just keep picking up girls from shows, dude,” Gareth chides playfully, coming around the couch to sit next to him, “They’re starting to get waaaay too young for you at the bars.”
“Yeah, perv,” Tatianna teases, ruffling his hair before curling up on the recliner closer to the TV.
“Can we please not talk about this again,” Eddie sighs, sinking further into the cushions. He presses on his eyes with the heels of his hands, “You do this every time you guys come back from a date.”
“We gotta get you on Hinge, or something,” Gareth says.
“Tinder at the very least,” Tatianna follows.
“Okay, I’m going to bed,” Eddie grunts when he gets up, a little dizzy at the speed before he finds his footing, “Don’t be too loud tonight.”
“Just trying to help!” Tati calls out, “You deserve to be too loud at night, too!”
Eddie sucks his teeth before he turns the corner to the hallway, disappearing for the night while his friends fell more in love. 
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It feels like they’re disassembling a bomb. Eddie sulks in a seat at the kitchen table while Robin, Steve, Nancy, and Gareth chatter behind him. Jeff and his wife sit across from him with just as much excitement as the group opposite them. Eddie frowns, bangs too long over his eyes, hands sweating onto the back of his banged up stickered phone case.
“I think you should put the picture of the guitar last, it doesn’t have your face in it. I’d swipe past you,” Robin points at the screen in front of him while he tries to make sense of his Hinge profile. 
“Well you’re a whole lesbian Rob, so you’d swipe past me anyway,” Eddie’s clipped words make the group laugh instead of making them back off. His shoulders sink immediately. This was mortifying.
“She’s right though,” Steve pipes up, “They’ll think you’re some weirdo who's obsessed with his guitar if you — well, actually then maybe it’s fine…” 
“Why don’t you—” Jeff starts.
“You’re married and you’ve been with Alycia since 2014. Your opinions are void,” Eddie interrupts with a sigh. 
Jeff lets out a laugh from his broad smile, “Look, I’m just saying. Why don’t you focus on your answers to the questions rather than the pictures? Girls love stuff like that. You’re smart, you’re a good writer.” 
“Babe, they’re not gonna care about his answers if the first picture they see is of an out of focus guitar taken on an iPhone 4S,” Alycia cocks her head at Jeff, “Like, at least be honest with him.” 
“I know you’re squinting in that picture from Jeff’s wedding but maybe you can put that one first,” Nancy points to the screen and then scrolls down a little. It lands on a photo of Jeff and Eddie, both sweating from the night's activities. His dress shirt is unbuttoned half way down his chest, silver chains and tattoos on full display, tie tied around Jeff’s forehead like a makeshift Rambo. 
“Yeah, you look really good in it,” Robin agrees. 
“Wait, wait, wait!” Tati shuffles into the kitchen, “I got in touch with the photographer from the show two weeks ago at Wraith Bar and he’s sending me some pictures.” 
“You can use the six pictures you’re tagged in from the last three years,” Tatianna scolds, “You look like a bum in them.” 
The group frowns and tosses glances at each other, it’s true. The more recent pictures they had of Eddie were far and few between. He was either blinking or off to the side, blurry or ducking out of frame. Every picture where he looks like himself was either from a show or had Chrissy in it, and he deleted all of those three years ago.
“Stop, you look so fine in these,” Tatianna squeals, “The girls are gonna love you.” Everyone but Eddie huddles around Tatianna to scroll through the pictures. Some of him mid shred with sweat pouring down his chest. Some of him screaming into the mic, hair wild and wet around his face. There was one, that he begrudgingly really liked, where his head leaned back into the light with a winning Munson smile. It was when he heard the opening drums to cover ‘The Immigrant Song’ as a gag – but not really a gag ‘cause he loves that song. It gets everyone at the bar pretty excited – even if they only know the song from School of Rock. 
Eventually, Eddie isn’t even holding his phone, it’s being passed between Tati, Steve, and Robin while he dictates his answers to stupid questions. By the time his profile is finished, his head is hidden in his mass of curls, resting his forehead on his forearms at the table. 
“Are we done now?” he asks into the space between his face and the woodgrain. Despite the winter air flowing through the kitchen window, he’s overheated with embarrassment. There are suddenly too many people around, too much talking, too much giggling at his expense. He tilts his head back up and takes a full breath through his nose and out through his mouth – “Oh shit! You matched with someone!” “How? I didn’t even look at anyone yet,” Eddie’s brows furrow while his head slowly comes to center. “Don’t worry about it, dingus,” Robin chides, “Just talk to her.” Eddie takes the phone and looks at her profile. Rachel, 27, Vet tech. She’s pretty, soft eyes, great smile. He swallows thickly before he goes to his ‘Matches’ and types three letters that felt like they took ten years to write: Hey.
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The chats start fast and die faster, some flirty banter here and there before he’s too nervous or quickly bored. His heart squeezes every time he gets a notification, a buzz in his pocket, a reminder of a message. Some girls don’t want a relationship and that’s fine, that’s just not what he’s looking for. Some girls ask the big questions first and he can’t answer right away. Some girls just aren’t his type and he isn’t theirs either. 
The first date he goes on ends with her excusing herself to the bathroom before they even get to order dinner. She doesn’t come back — he’s not even sure what he did. It started off fine, she was pretty with blonde hair and blue eyes. Fun and easy conversation, a voice that sounded like powder puffs and sugar scented perfume. If he blurred his vision a little, she could’ve been Chris. But she wasn’t Chris. 
Maybe that’s why she left. Maybe she got the vibe that he was preoccupied with her looking like his ex. 
Maybe it was because he said, ‘You remind me so much of my ex-wife,’ before they got to order dinner. 
His second date wasn’t much better. He was proud of himself for not going for another Chrissy look alike, but it was clear that this new girl was on a hunt for a husband. 
“So are you planning on getting the tattoos removed?” she had asked, pursing her red lips. He was surprised at how well her lipstick stayed on after eating a pasta dish. Whenever he wears makeup for a show, it smudges before the lights come up. 
“Uh, no why?” he asked.
“Just y’know, thinking ahead — family photos and whatever,” she shrugged. His mouth had never run so dry in his life. The chicken alfredo turned in his stomach. 
The third ended up being a quickie in the bar bathroom only for her to leave right after and unmatch him without as much as a ‘Thanks for a good night!’ He at least wanted to be a gentleman about it. 
The fourth fizzled out and neither of them felt the connection. 
The fifth felt weird because they had talked so much on the app that they didn’t have anything left to talk about when they went out for drinks. 
A month had gone by and all he had to show for it was five bad dates and dozens of unanswered chats. Eddie was found sitting in his bed in the dark, only the light on his phone keeping him illuminated while he thumbs through Instagram. Another app that he has for no reason, he never posts, he never shares anything. He just scrolls.
He wonders if Chrissy’s on Hinge. Eddie’s stomach lurches at the thought of coming across her profile. All blonde and blue eyes, all sweet and spunky, all the right answers to her curated questions. Photos of her in the Maldives, in her friend’s weddings, of her in Chicago after she moved. His heart hammers, sweat collects on his bare chest, heating up the chain lying flat against it until it sticks. He quickly swipes out of Instagram to his home screen, a photo of Robin and Steve flipping him off from the stage after a Corroded Show during load out. He holds his thumb on the app until all the apps shake, thumb hovering over the ‘x’ on the corner to delete the Hinge for good. 
What’s another three years of being single? 
“Ed?” he hears Tati on the other side of the door, her soft knock following her voice, “I got Indian and I’m not gonna eat it all. Gare doesn’t want it, you want it?” 
“Yeah, sure,” he hums. She opens the door and sighs at the darkness. He squints as the light pools in from the hallway and sees her lean her shoulder against the door frame.
“Are you in here sulking?” she asks, one brow raising.
“Yeah, Tat, I’m in here sulking,” he groans, laying flat on his mattress, “I like to sulk. Let me sulk.” 
“Don’t sulk,” she puts on a pout and flicks his light on, leaving the containers of rice and chicken saag. He groans when the light stings his eyes, tossing a forearm over his face. 
“What’s wrong?” she asks, her voice falling into kindergarten teacher territory. She never realized her profession would come so handy living with two grown men, “Why’re you being such a baby in here?” 
“I think I’m gonna delete the app,” he murmurs, still hiding under the protection of his tattooed arm. The pressure feels good on his face, releasing the tension starting to brew behind his eyes. He hadn’t eaten since his lunch period at work, the hunger was starting to catch up to him. 
“Don’t delete it,” she shakes her head, crawling onto the end of his bed. She takes her twists out of her jumbo claw clip and readjusts to pull them all back away from her face. Tati eases his phone out of his hand and slides her glasses on, flinging his dead arm off his face to use his Face ID. He whines, face scrunching is disapproval.
“I told you to stop doing that,” Eddie complains, sitting up against his pillows before crawling out of bed to get the food waiting on his dresser, “Do you have any naan or…?” 
“Do I look like a food bank, Munson? Damn,” she tilts her head and he raises his brows in a silent ‘Well, do you?’
She sighs deeply, “Yes, I have extra naan but you can only have it if you don’t delete the app and eat with us in the living room.” 
“Those are two totally different asks, Tati,” Eddie huffs. 
“I don’t make the rules,” she shrugs before starting to laugh, “Actually, I totally do.” 
The phone buzzes in her hand and Tatianna’s grin only widens when she sees the notification, “You have a new like.” 
“Whatever,” he shrugs, face laced with disappointment and frustration, “It’s gonna be another dud. Why bother if there’s no point? Like, this can’t actually be how people meet each other —“ 
Tatianna opens her mouth to protest but Eddie interrupts his own thought before she can speak, “You and Gareth are the anomaly.” 
“What if the sixth time’s a charm? She looks really cute,” She smiles, teeth bright against her smile, cheekbones glistening where her moisturized skin hits the light. 
He rolls his neck and sighs while Tatianna continues to encourage him, “Just try. You owe yourself that. Chrissy wouldn’t—.”
“Fuck Chrissy, Tat,” Eddie’s voice raises slightly, suddenly defensive. His chest burns at the sound of her name, heat rising up through his neck to his face,  “I don’t really give a fuck what Chrissy would and wouldn’t want. ‘Cause if it wasn’t for her, I wouldn’t have to be on these stupid fucking apps.” 
“Whew, tell me how you really feel Ed,” she says while she stands up off the bed to walk towards him.
“Look, I get you’re still mad about how things went down with Chris. I know you’re still hurting, but you’re denying yourself a chance to start over — just shoot this girl a message. She seems cool,” Tati speaks so gently to him that he soothes instantly. She offers his phone, still open on the new profile — he’s hesitant at first but he takes it from her to look at the screen. 
There you are. You are cute. Your profile is simple: your name, age thirty, your opening tagline ‘idk i’m just out here i guess’. He lets a puff of air out of his nose at the sentiment — ‘Same,’ he thinks. 
“Fine,” he says finally, “I’ll look through her stuff and I’ll message her. Are you happy?” 
“Thrilled,” she smiles, “So thrilled that I’ll even let you have the extra samosa.” 
He follows her out of the room with his phone and food in hand, looking at her fondly when she passes him a tinfoil covered piece of naan in the kitchen, “You’re my best fucking friend, dude.” 
“I thought I was your best friend?” Gareth pouts from the kitchen table, D&D notes littered in front of him. 
Eddie scrunches his nose, tilting his head while he considers, “You’re alright I guess.” 
When the food is done and he’s gotten a proper look at your profile he decides to bite the bullet — fingers shaking while he matches back with you. He doesn’t start with ‘hey’ this time because Robin and Steve said that was boring, so he tries something new: 
wild that you’re just ‘out here’, me too. 
lol, twin behavior. how’s your night?
Eddie’s heart hammers at the response. He’s surprised at the reaction, he hadn’t had that with any of his other chats, normally expecting them to die off after the first ‘Hey, how are you?’ pleasantry. But maybe this could be different, maybe this could be fun. 
scored some indian food from one of my roommates so it’s one of my better nights. 
ooh, i’m so jealous. i have buyers remorse from some baked ziti i ordered. should’ve just made it.
what did you get?
chicken saag, still jealous?
i’m more of a saag paneer girl but consider me over here seething.
Eddie grins into the phone, cheeks hot while he thinks about what to say back. He skims over your profile again, eyes stilling at a photo of you laughing on what looks like a cruise deck. The sun hits you like a golden streak across your eyes. The caption reads ‘the last time i felt a single shred of genuine happiness’, he huffs an airy giggle before going back to the chat. 
you’re funny, did you know that?
um ya, i’m the funniest person i know, actually. 🥰
that's crazy cause i’m the funniest person i know. and since now i know you, it’s looking like we gotta battle for who the funniest is.
Jesus fucking Christ Munson, why can’t you just be normal? Why can you just say ‘lol’ and call it a night? He frets. His leg bounces while he waits for your reply, food rolling in his stomach. The cool metal of his rings is welcomed on his warm cheeks while he leans against his hand on the arm of the couch. The few minutes he waits for the buzz of his phone feel like eternities. But there you are to save him from his embarrassment:
lmao okay. where did you wanna battle?
there’s a bar in the city that i think could host. you around tomornight?
tommorow night* sorry, fuck, i was trying so hard to be smooth with it.
TOMORROW***** FUCK. LET ME LOG OFF FOR ETERNITY REAL QUICK.
yiiiiikes! embarrassing. but this proves you actually might be funnier than me. i’m not a sore loser so i’ll go on a date with you if that’s what you’re asking.
do you drink? it doesn’t have to be a bar.
i do! where did you have in mind?
there’s a spot called little spoon saloon in the city if you’re familiar. sorta cozy.
oh yeah sounds great for a battle 🙄
but yeah i know it, that’s not too far from my place. maybe we’ve seen each other before and never known it. two ships passing in the night~*
does seven work for you? i know it’s a monday, so we can do earlier if you gotta be up early or something.
sevens fine :)
okay :)
:)
:)
see ya tomorrow! Eddie bites his lower lip, breathing steadily through his nose while he sends over his number. Anything to get out of looking at the app for at least another day, anything to spare him from potentially running into Chrissy’s profile despite her being in a different state. It was getting close to the holidays, she could be around at any moment. 
Before he can spiral, his phone buzzes again – this time a text from an unknown number. His grin widens, too caught up in the excitement bubbling in his chest to feel Tatianna’s stare from the recliner. hi, it's me. jsyk if you don't reach out by like, two tomorrow -- i'm considering it a cancellation and i do have a 50% cancellation fee. sorry! 
50%? stop selling yourself so short, kid. but don’t worry, i won’t cancel. no? you’re not scared to battle? i’m never scared of a battle. :) (A lie.) see you tomorrow. 
“What’s got you smiling like that?” Tatianna smiles, cheeks tight from being unable to hide her excitement. “Are you talking to a girrrrrl?” Gareth teases. Eddie let’s out a ‘tssss’ while he stands up and stretches, quirking a brow at his best friend. “Is it a girl? You takin’ her out?” he asks again. “Yeah G, it’s your mom,” he shrugs, “Night y’all.” “Ed,” Tati whines, “Come on.” Pink floats across his cheeks, itching his nose to hide his goofy smile behind his hand. “Yeah, it’s a girl. And yeah, I’m taking her on a date tomorrow,” he groans. Tatianna squeals, shimmying with giddiness while the recliner rocks with her. Eddie’s too caught up in hiding his face, “Ugh, she’s cuuuute, Tati, what am I supposed to do?” 
“Show her what she’s been missing,” Tati shrugs, “Everyone needs an Eddie.” 
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Last night, Eddie fell asleep caught in a memory that became a dream. He’s eight years old at the YMCA, Wayne sitting in the stands watching him – this is maybe two weeks after his dad dropped him off before he got sent to prison. Wayne wanted to make sure his schedule stayed the same as it could, so Saturday swim lessons it was – today was diving off the block. Eddie had been dreading this lesson for a month, knowing that level 2.5 meant you had to at least try. In level two, they had you stand on the block just to get used to it. He could barely breathe for the ten seconds it was up there, tears stinging his eyes while his teacher encouraged him to come closer to the edge. Three of his classmates had already asked if they were allowed to jump off. It looked fun but it was just so high up. What if it hurts? What if he landed the wrong way? He was up soon, standing behind the block with the rest of the kids, shivering from being out of the water. He could dive off the edge of the pool just fine – in fact, his teacher said he was a great diver, especially for an eight year old. So it should be no problem to dive off the block, he just had to do the same thing he always does. Just higher. 
Gareth, before Gareth was his best friend, climbs up the block and puts his feet at the edge of the white plastic and metal. His teacher, Miss Tiffany, tells him to put his arms up and bend his knees and to dive at the whistle. The whistle blows and Gareth leaps – but he doesn’t dive smoothly into the water. 
“BELLY FLOP!” Jason Carver yells from the edge of the pool where all the kids who already dove sat. They start teasing him relentlessly, Miss Tiffany helping him out of the water to inspect his red belly. Tears well up in Gareth’s eyes, his mom leaning over the bannister from the seating area. “Are you okay, baby?” she asks. Gareth burns red with embarrassment, only encouraging the cackling kids to get crueler. 
Miss Tiffany puffs her whistle three times, “If you tease again, you’re not allowed to go to free swim. Do you understand me?” 
The group quiets, slowly kicking their feet in the water. “Alright Eddie, you’re up next!” 
He gulps, climbing up on the block slowly before standing to full height with his eyes closed. He takes a deep breath through his nose and out through his mouth, like his Uncle Wayne taught him to do when he was feeling nervous. When Eddie’s eyes opened, a chill ran through his chest – for some reason the block seemed higher than ever. 
“Ready Freddie?” Miss Tiffany asked, treading water in her red bathing suit. She grinned up at him, knowing that the phrase always made him giggle – but not today. 
“Arms up, knees bent,” she continues. Ed looks down at the water and the room spins, he can hear Jason and the class giggling. Hear the splashes from the kicks of their feet. 
The whistle blows. He doesn’t move. The whistle blows, again. He puts his arms down. “You okay, Eddie? You can do it! You’re a great diver!” she cheers. 
Eddie chews on his lower lip, thinking about the smack of the water when it hit Gareth’s stomach. The laughter. The teasing. The potential of the pain. The whistle blows again. Eddie climbs down off the block, sniffling when he makes it back to the pool deck, “I don’t want to Miss Tiffany.”  
“C’mon Ed, I know you can do it! Do you want me to save you for last?” she asks, her smile still bright and encouraging. Eddie sniffles again, eyes burning with tears while Jason and his friends start to tease him, too. “Swimming sucks,” he bites, stomping towards the boys room, grabbing his ratty towel off one of the benches on the way in. He’s only in the locker room for a few minutes before he hears the door open and Wayne’s apologetic voice talking to Miss Tiffany from the deck floor.
“He’s just goin’ through a lot right now,” Wayne says, his gruff voice rattling off the metal of the room. 
“Eddie?” Tiffany’s voice calls. 
“Come out here, son,” Wayne calls, “Y’know, if your decent.”  
Eddie sniffles back his tears again, shuffling over to the door while Miss Tiffany waits with his Uncle.
“Do you maybe wanna stay a little late today and we can practice diving off the block when class is over?” she offers, “I know it can be scary to do it in front of your classmates, but I want you to pass to level three!” 
“No thanks Miss Tiffany,” he mumbles to the tiles on the floor. 
“That’s okay Eddie, maybe we can try again next week. How’s that sound? I know you can do it,” she says softly. 
“Okay,” he murmurs before turning on his heel and moping back into the locker room. Wayne was waiting by the check in desk when Eddie emerged after changing, his ratty towel slung off his shoulder. 
“You okay?” Wayne asked.
“Yeah, can we just go home?” 
“Sure kid, was gonna stop and get us some lunch if you wanted,” Wayne’s eyes crinkle with his smile, “Wanna go to McDonalds?” 
Eddie returns the smile half heartedly, “Yeah.”
They walk to Wayne’s pick-up hand in hand, despite some parents thinking he’s ‘too old’ to be doing that. He needed the support, and his uncle was never one to make him feel like he didn’t have it. 
“So d’you wanna try again next week? Your starting form was great, buddy,” Wayne asks while Eddie puts his seatbelt on. Eddie considers it. Getting to the edge of the block and making Jason Carver eat his own words. Making him look like a loser for a change. 
But the words ring in his ear ‘BELLY FLOP!’ The relentless teasing if he didn’t do it this week and then messed up next week. He’d be a baby and a joke. 
“I don’t wanna do swimming anymore, Uncle Wayne,” he huffs.
“You sure?” his uncle frowns, putting the car into gear, “You’re really good, Ed. Y’could be on the swim team.” 
“I don’t wanna come back. I quit,” he repeats. He crosses his arms while they pull out of the parking lot, watching the rest of the kids pool out of the doors with smiles on.
Eddie wakes up to his alarm blaring, back in his 32 year old body. He swears that the air of his bedroom smells like chlorine.
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Eddie made sure to text you at 1:59 PM like an asshole. 
still on for tonight? :)
so close to having to pay my cancellation fee. 
but yes, still on for tonight :) 
sorry, work’s been wild today. would’ve texted you sooner!
you’re off the hook…
for now. 😡
He likes your little attitude, he decides. That little hint of sass in your messages keeps him on his toes and it’s not lost on him that this is probably how you flirt. He wonders, selfishly, how easy you are to fluster. You both exchange a few back and forths before he’s finishing up work for the day and heading to Wheeler’s for a campaign chat. 
The texts completely drop off while he gets ready to see you. He takes an extra long time in the shower, using the tiniest squeeze of Tati’s curl cream when he comes out because it makes his hair look good. He scrubs his face raw before shaving, following up with the skin care routine he kept up with, even though Chrissy curated it for him. 
Once dressed, he stepped quietly out to the living room to grab his jacket in the closet and pull out his boots. 
“You used my curl cream, I see,” Tatianna crosses her arms. He blushes. 
“Don’t be mad, I just wanna look good,” he puts on a faux pout, eyes rounding while he slides the leather over arms.
“You look really good,” she smiles, “It’s gonna be great.” 
Eddie shoves his socked feet in his Docs, worn in from years of wear, and looks up at her, “I’m kind of excited.” 
“You should be! I don’t know, I just have a really good feeling about this one,” she smirks, “Text me at some point, let me know how it goes.” 
“It’s a better indicator if he doesn’t text you, Tati,” Gareth says, coming up behind her, “You look sharp, dude.” 
“Sharp?” Eddie rolls his eyes, “What’re you? Eighty?” 
Tatianna clicks on her phone to look at the time, “Can you get the fuck outta here? You’re gonna be late!” 
“I’m going, I’m going!” he laughs, arms up while he grabs his keys from the hook by the door, “Wish me luck, bye!” 
Eddie felt sick. Suddenly feeling like he was standing at the edge of the pool in ‘98.
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When he got his keys in the ignition of his Honda Civic, a text came through immediately. He swallowed tightly, in some way expecting it to be you. In some way, expecting you to be canceling on him. 
Instead, it was Tatianna in the big group chat: 
here, we made a playlist for you
Eddie clicks on the Spotify link and laughs. First Date - Blink 182
First Date - Blink 182
First Date - Blink 182
First Date - Blink 182
First Date - Blink 182
First Date - Blink 182
First Date - Blink 182
First Date - Blink 182
First Date - Blink 182
First Date - Blink 182 First Date - Blink 182 First Date - Blink 182 First Date - Blink 182
And so on. The music automatically connects, the opening guitar ripping through his speakers. Eddie quickly types up a response on his phone before pulling out into the street. 
very creative, edwards.
someone in this house has to be. ‘In the car, I just can't wait, to pick you up on our very first date. Is it cool if I hold your hand? Is it wrong if I think it's lame to dance?’ He rolls his eyes as Mark and Tom serenade him in the car, laughing at the lyrics. It’d been a while since he’d listened to this album, let alone this song. While he won’t admit it to Gareth or his girlfriend, it was exactly what he needed before he got to the bar. 
‘Do you like my stupid hair? Would you guess that I didn't know what to wear? I'm just scared of what you think, you make me nervous so I really can't eat.’ “Let’s go, don’t wait, this night’s almost over,” he sings along, fingers tapping on his steering wheel while he waits at a red light. He’s on the fourth replay of the song by the time he pulls up. The ignition cuts off the lyrics before the chorus, he takes a big breath before opening the door. Just a couple minutes past seven, but he told you he was running a little late, so you wouldn’t be mad. His phone buzzes to Robin, Steve, and Jeff reacting to the playlist Tati sent. Alicia, Jeff, and Nancy sent him sweet good luck messages. Robin and Steve sent them a picture from a bar they were at, flipping him off. ‘Break a leg, dingus,’ came in her follow up voice memo. Eddie considers making this new picture his phone background. 
He swallows hard when he gets to the door, his bottom lip getting pulled between his teeth in apprehension. He nods to himself, “You got this, Munson.”  Another deep breath, he’s still ten, he’s still afraid to dive off the diving block. What if it hurts? What if he belly flops? 
‘What if you don’t? What if you dive this time?’ He thinks to himself. He opens the door to the bar, his ten year old self puts one foot on the diving block. The chatter of a few conversations at once is disorienting, so is the low light of the bar in comparison to the neon outside. The man at the entrance asks for his ID and he awkwardly fumbles for his wallet as if it’s not obvious he’s been old enough to drink for eleven years. “Here, man,” he says, somehow nervous he’ll get caught with a fake like he’s nineteen again. The security’s light flashes over his birthdate and he passes it back with a short and gruff thank you. Eddie takes a few steps before checking his phone to remind him what you said you’d be wearing.
in a red cut off sweatshirt, jeans that look like dickies – hard to miss! white airforces! i’m here, looking for you if you can’t spot me just approach the most off putting girl at the bar, it’s probably me :) 
He smiles into the light of his phone. You’re are funny. His phone lights up again, another text bubble added to your previous one. Eddie’s heart hammers in his chest when he looks at it, knowing you’re really only moments away. got you a guinness cause that’s what you said you liked on your profile. it looks like battery acid tbh. there’s a couple seats by the end of the bar, i’ll grab them. He looks up from his phone finally to see a blur of red start maneuvering over to the end of the bar. That’s you. Oh shit, that’s you. Oh shit, you’re – fuck. You have a fat fucking ass in those jeans. He swallows again, shaking the horny thoughts out of his head through the tendrils of his hair. Another deep breath through the nose, out of the water to the diving block just to dive again. He walks the length of the bar and hears his name, your voice in real life – not through a voice note or on your profile. “Ed?” 
Eddie catches your eye and his heart sinks and leaps so quickly he thinks he’s going into cardiac arrest. You’re real pretty, even more so when you grin at him from a few feet away. You wave him over and he does his best to walk confidently towards you, taking his jacket off while he does. He doesn’t know it, but the other girls at the bar are looking. He’s all broad shoulders and dark tattoos, two silver chains and understated rings. Full lips and doe eyes. Tatianna never told a lie, he was unmistakably handsome – he just didn’t know what to do with it. You toss your hair when you speak to the bartender from the end of the bar with a bright smile. The man puts two drinks in front of you and you leave cash in their wake. Eddie winces when he sees you pay, but tries to ignore the sting. In a way, it feels like he’s already losing – like he’s playing Sims with Robin and he’s not on track to get a gold reward on date night. You’re hot and you know it, but he can tell it’s like you just found out. Your eyes are flirty no matter what you’re looking at, you’re full bodied and it’s like you know it’s making him salivate. Eddie can’t help but be nervous when he takes a seat next to you, fingers immediately drumming on the bar top in front of him. “Guinness for you,” you say, sliding the pint glass in front of him. “Thanks,” he smiles, “You didn’t have to do that. I asked you out, you’re not supposed to be paying for me.” 
“I know, but – why don’t you get the next one and we’ll call it even?” you offer. He nods while he takes a sip, eyeing the lighter orangey liquid in your glass. “Did you get a cider?” he teases. 
“It’s a grapefruit beer, thank you,” your brows furrow at him while you take a sip. You have a good face, part of him wants to say that but it seems like a weird compliment. ‘Nice face.’ Like, what does that even mean? His tongue feels heavy, he can feel the sweat building under his curly bangs. “Weaksauce,” he laughs, scrunching his nose, “Grapefruit beer? Not for me, toots.” 
“Yeah, because you drink battery acid!” you tease back, “You’re a stout snob, huh?”
“Nah, just never heard of grapefruit beer. I always drink Guinness – or like, Miller light. Never really stray,” he shrugs. 
“You wanna try mine?” you ask, sliding the glass to him. 
“You sure?” he watches you nod and brings the beer to his lips. It’s tart, a little bubbly, hitting his tongue on the off beat from the stout before. It settles and then it’s sweet, he wonders if you’re the same. Eddie smacks his lips, “I don’t hate it.” 
“That’s such a stout snob thing for you to say,” you pull a face, bringing your drink back to sit in front of you. “I’d offer you a sip of mine but I know you don’t like it,” he smiles, “Wouldn’t want to ruin the taste of your dessert beer.” “Fuck off,” you shake your head and smile, taking another sip of your drink. The Guinness in his hand makes him feel less nervous, but not all the way – toeing the line of the end of the diving block but not scared to look down into the water. He can tell you’re nervous too by the way you pick at a hangnail on your thumb absentmindedly, the way you cross and uncross your legs. Eddie’s eyes linger for a moment at the way they spill over each other, squishing flat on the seat of the stool when you keep them uncrossed. He tries to discreetly follow the line of your thighs to your hips, up to your waist before getting ahead of himself and pulling his eyes away. 
“How was your day?” you ask. Not the question he was expecting. “My day?” he asks, brows raised while he tries to recollect anything before getting ready to see you. “Uh, my day was good. Yours?” You fucking dumbass, you couldn’t just spare one detail? She’s gonna think you’re an asshole. “It was fine,” you answer quietly. Your smile fades a little and he feels a panicked chill rush in his chest. “S-sorry, I should’ve elaborated. I sound like such a dick, sorry,” Eddie feels the heat creeping up on his cheeks, a clamminess starting up at his hairline, “I um, I went to work. Came home, went to a friend’s house for a minute and we talked about a campaign we’re putting together next weekend. I had some dinner, and then I started getting ready to see you and um – uh, now I’m here.” “Campaign? Are you a politician or somethin’?” you quirk a brow while you look him over. He feels insecure under your gaze, he hopes you like his tattoos.  
“No, no, it’s for Dungeons and Dragons.” Saying it outloud makes him feel like a loser, even though you don’t react like you think so. 
“Cool,” you smile. 
“Do you like, even know what that is?” Defensive already, waiting for you to make fun of him. Waiting for this to end up another mistake. Waiting to belly flop. 
“Yeah, I know what it is,” you answer quietly again, this time your shoulders, “Have some friends that play.” 
“Oh, cool. Cool,” Eddie nods, chest tightening, toying with his rings while you reach for your drink, “Um, I’m — yeah, sorry if that came off like, dickish. I didn’t mean to—.” 
“No, no, it’s okay,” you shake your head when you say it, almost like it’s rehearsed. Like you’re always ‘okay’-ing something. 
“Sometimes people think it’s weird when I tell them, I dunno,” he shrugs, still looking down at his rings, “If I’m being honest I haven’t been so great at this whole dating thing.” 
You smile again and he looks up in time to see it, his breath hitches. You’re very pretty. 
“If it makes you feel any better, I learned how to play Magic the Gathering twice to impress a boy. Two different ones,” you grimace, scrunching your nose, “Gross right?” 
“Oof, that’s rough,” he jokes, “Magic the Gathering? That’s like, way worse than D&D.”
“Well the difference between you and me, is that I don’t still play,” you bite back, cocking your head while you take another drink. “Didn’t impress those boys after all, huh?” he raises a brow and your mouth falls open in faux offense. 
“You’re so mean,” you gasp.
“Sorry, sweetheart,” he drawls, “Should’ve put that in my profile.” 
“Oh, so you are mean?” you grin. 
“The meanest,” he grins back, teeth straight and shiny. Full lips pulled tight against them, “How was your day?” “I worked,” you shrug, “Not as exciting.” 
“What do you do?” he asks, turning towards you on the stool, leaning one arm on the bar. He relaxes into the seat, legs spreading wide while his free hand runs nervously over his thigh.
“I’m a personal assistant to a jewelry maker,” you let out a half chuckle through your nose, “It sounds fake when I say it out loud. But basically, I just keep her schedule and run errands and keep her shit in order. She’s an older woman and she’s not the most tech savvy in the world — great at what she does though, really eccentric but I feel like you gotta be when you work in the arts like that.” 
“That’s cool,” he says softly, watching you talk, “What kind of jewelry does she make?” 
“Oh you’ll love this, since you like D&D and stuff,” you start, your excitement is infectious, his heart thrums, “She makes fine jewelry for the most part, but also makes anodized chain mail jewelry and wearable pieces for theater and ren fairs on the side. I told you, eccentric.” 
“Oh, so she’s a little alchemist, huh?” he smirks. 
“Kinda, yeah,” you shrug, heat hitting your cheeks while he keeps his gaze on you, “It’s cool to watch the first few times, and then you get bored.” 
“I’m sure it’s the same for people who watch my band,” he laughs. You shake your head, a curve pulling from the corners of your lips while you finish your beer. 
���Alchemist,” you repeat with a playful roll of your eyes, “You’re such a nerd.” 
“What do you do for work?” he notices you fully turn when you ask, your knees toward him. He remembers Steve telling him once that it was always a good sign when they do that. Like Steve knows anything about body language and dating these days, he’s been platonically attached to Robin for years. His little guard dog. 
“I’m a teacher,” he replies, knocking back the remainder of the Guinness in his glass.  
“Hm,” you hum, looking him over suspiciously, “That’s surprising.” 
“I work at a performing arts school,” he rolls his eyes, “It’s 2023, I’m allowed to have tattoos.” “What do you teach?” you squint when you look him over a second time, “Actually, let me guess – drama?” 
“Music theory,” he corrects. 
“Ooh, big brain,” you joke, “That’s cool.” 
“Big brain? I don’t know about that, I just like music,” he shrugs, “It makes sense to me.” “When I was in high school everyone always talked about how hard music theory was – like, all the band kids,” you explain, there’s a sparkle starting to glint in your eye when you talk to him. “You were hanging out with the band kids?” he tosses a sarcastic knowing look before taking his glass in his hands, “And I’m a nerd? I dunno girl, it’s not looking good for you here...” “Even worse, I was dating one,” you grimace back. “Fuuuuck, you were really fighting for your life in 2009 huh?” Eddie laughs low, lower lip tucking in between his teeth to run his tongue over it. 
“2007, 2008 all the way to like, 2016,” you hide your face in one hand and he wishes you wouldn’t. 
“Damn, that’s a long time,” he observes, “You didn’t marry that guy?” 
You lift your head back up, and shake your head, “It was on and off for a long time, he’s not a fan favorite. It’s uh – it’s why I normally don’t date musicians. I almost didn’t match with you ‘cause of your first picture.” 
Fucking Tatianna. 
“Eek, sorry,” Eddie puts his hands up, “Should I go?” “Do you play bass?” you wince.
“I play a lot of instruments,” he chuckles, “I can play the bass. But I’m not like…a bass player, if you know what I mean.” 
“Oh, I know what you mean,” you breathe out a sigh of relief, “Made that mistake more than once.” “What’s your favorite instrument that you play?” you ask, it’s almost girlish. He ponders it while you cross your legs, the toe of your shoe barely brushing the back of his calf but he knows it's there. You rest your chin on your fist while you watch him think about it. His brown eyes glint in the reflection of the light overhead, plush lips parted while he runs his hands over his stubble. “I think I’d have to say…electric guitar? I’ve been playing that the longest,” he hopes you think that’s cool. “Is it the same one that’s in your pictures?” 
“The Warlock?” he asks with a grin, “Yeah, that’s my girl. Best relationship of my life, prob’ly the only lady who talks more than me.” 
“It’s really nice. I like the color.” 
“Thank you,” he says quietly, eyes darting to your knees where they sit between his, “Um, can I get you another drink? Do you want a beer or…?” 
“If I get a real drink will you stop making fun of my beer?” 
“I promise.” He slides off the stool, sad to see your close proximity to him fade away when he stands up. 
“They have food here, right? I’m sort of hungry, if that’s okay,” your voice gets sheepish when you ask. 
“Yeah, that’s okay. Did you eat dinner?” The words fall out of him too fondly. 
“I had like, a huge spinach salad,” you explain, “Might not have been enough.” 
Something tells him to press further before he buys you more liquor, lest this date go to the wayside too quickly, “Did you eat lunch?” 
“I worked through lunch.” 
“Did you eat breakfast?” 
“I had a smoothie,” you confess. 
“Okay, so before I get you a drink, why don’t I get you some chicken fingers or something?” he insists. You’re shy in your smile back to him, nodding along at his advice. Yes, you should eat more before you keep drinking with him. He doesn’t want you to think he’s just trying to get you tipsy, he’s never been that kind of guy – even when he’d bring home girls from the bar. (They’d at least be the same level of totally obliterated as he was.)
He beams back at you when you nod, “Atta girl.” 
He doesn’t notice when your thighs clench. 
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The last chicken finger is eaten, the last fry of the basket he got for you to split crunched through. The conversation had lulled, not because you weren’t interesting – the nerves were getting to him, creeping up like vines along his chest. The look over the diving block at the water, it’s slow waves teasing him to jump. 
“So um,” you began, swallowing your final fry and wiping your hands on a napkin, “Since you’re a teacher, how was school today?” 
Eddie’s so used to this question that his response doesn’t change, always the same quote from the same movie. Forgetting he doesn’t know you like that, his mouth moves quicker than his desire to play things off cool.
“The worst day of my life, what do you think? Gosh!” Eddie sounds more like John Heder in 2004 than John Heder does now – but when he hears himself say it, he’s immediately embarrassed. Eddie opens his mouth to apologize, nervous you won’t understand but instead – you laugh. And what a sound that is for him to hear. 
“Oh, shit. I haven’t watched Napoleon Dynamite in years. Like, not since grade school.” Eddie laughs with you, “Sorry, sorry, that’s like my go-to reaction at home when my roommates ask me that. I should’ve said something more normal like, ‘It was fine. The kids can’t stop trying to take TikTok fancams of me.”
“Roommates? Fancams? You’re so hip, tell me more,” you enthuse. He puts a finger up to stop you at first, locking eyes with the bartender so he can finally order another round of drinks. 
“What kind of real drink do you want?” he asks. 
“Just a marg on the rocks, salt,” you shrug. 
“Psh, I said a real drink,” Eddie teases with a roll of the eyes, but they soften when you go to argue back, “I’m kidding, I’m kidding.” 
His toes inch towards the middle of the diving block.
“You’re cute when you’re mad,” he flirts. Eddie can see the heat hit your cheeks, the creep of a smile slowly curving upwards, you’re embarrassed. Nervous like he is. Maybe this is going just fine. 
When the drinks arrive he slides the margarita towards you and sips his own Jack and Coke slowly through the tiny bar straw. 
“Okay, so. I have two roommates. Gareth, who’s been my best friend since I was nine; and Tatianna who has been my best friend since I was twenty-nine,” he explains. 
“So why aren’t you dating Tatianna?” you challenge. You miss the straw when you reach for it with your mouth, it slides over to the other side of the cup. You try again and miss, cheeks burning while Eddie looks at you continue to fuck up. His eyes glint mischievously while you hold in your frustrated laughter, “Stop looking at me.” 
“It’s fine, I’ll wait while you get your life figured out over there,” he jokes, checking ‘the time’ on his wrist, “Shouldn’t be too long until you finally get it.” 
“You’re so annoying,” you grit out playfully while you capture the straw between your teeth, “Should’ve put that on your profile, too.”
“Anyway,” he continues, “I’m not dating Tatianna because Gare’s going to propose to her when they go on vacation in a few weeks.”
 “Oh! Yeah, that makes sense,” you nod, “Probably not a good idea to date your best friend’s almost wife.” 
“Yeah, definitely not well advised,” he shakes his head, pulling his hair up off of his neck for a minute before dropping it down, “Plus, her last name is Edwards and I dunno…don’t think I could live with myself if I was ‘Eddie Edwards’.”
You laugh again and he hoped you would. It’s a goofy laugh, you don’t try to sound cute when you do it. He knows you must be a loud laugher, if your small ones are any preview to what you could really do. You don’t sound like Chrissy. Her laugh was dainty, feathery. Like how they teach you to giggle in an etiquette class – all soft edges, all smooth lines. 
“You wanna take the girl’s last name?” you raise your brows, “Very forward thinking. Progressive.” 
“I don’t know, something about it’s kinda hot right?” he asks cock of his head, “Plus, my dad sucks so I don’t want to keep repping him by having his last name.” 
“Oh wow, my dad sucks, too,” you reply cheerily, “We have so much in common!” 
“What was it you said before? ‘Twin behavior’?” 
“Twin behavior, yes!” your hands meet both of his knees where he sits across from you, your tone is light and earnest, “You get me.”
Eddie takes in a hitch of breath, desperate to keep his cool when he feels your hands on him. It’s not even sexy but he could shoot straight to the moon if you asked him to. You use his knees as leverage to hop down from your stool, grabbing your drink before nudging him with your hip. 
“If we’re still battling though, there’s an air hockey table in the back room if you wanna play,” you offer. 
“Are you any good?” he wonders, hopping off the stool to follow you to the back. 
“I’m amazing,” you grin, “Actually won seventeen first place trophies in the intergalactic air hockey competition – of course I’m fucking bad at it, that’s why it’s fun to play.” 
Eddie laughs this time, it’s gruff and nicotine soaked. You’re already winning the battle for funniest person – you’re sharp with him and he’s starting to like it. He runs his hand over the side of the air hockey table in the empty back room, more and more pleased that he put this date together on a Monday. He slides a dollar into the machine so it whirs to life, the neon lights flicking on with a stutter. 
“This reminds me of birthday parties when I was a kid,” you muse to yourself, reaching for the hockey disc trapped in your goal, “Can you help me?” 
He nods, hand grazing your back to get you out of the way – you’re warm to the touch. If he was a braver man he would’ve pulled you into him but he’s not, instead squatting down to reach further into the goal where your game piece was. 
“Hm,” he murmurs, reaching further back and barely touching the top of it, “It’s in here, it’s just back there. I can get it, just –” he sucks his teeth like he did the night before, getting to his knees to try. Music plays over head, stuff the new crop of bar goers would consider oldies. You smile at the opening ‘Damn, shawty snappin’...’ of T-Pain’s ‘Buy U A Drank’, but even more surprised when you hear Eddie sing along softly to himself. 
“Snap ya fingers, do yuh step, you can do it all by yourself. Babygirl, what’s your name?” “Not you knowing the lyrics,” you laugh. 
“I was in highschool in 2007 of course, I know the lyrics,” he huffs, standing up, “I think it’s a bust for air hockey.” 
“That’s fine,” you shrug, “We tried.” 
“I know the club, close at three,” he lip syncs to himself before, turning his attention to you, “What’s the chances of you rollin’ with me?” 
You back and forth to each other in time with the lyrics before settling back down in your spot at bar. 
“You even know the Yung Joc part? Damn,” you laugh again, he loves it. 
“Why’re you so surprised? Is it the tattoos?” he asks. 
“Well yeah, you definitely give off a ‘loved Avenged Sevenfold’ in high school vibe,” you scooch your stool closer to his, your knees slotting between his open ones like a perfect puzzle. It’s not enough though, and he’s not sure if it’s himself or the Jack and Coke that encourages him, but he reaches for one of the legs of your stool to pull you closer. 
“Hey,” he says, your faces only a few inches apart. 
“Hey,” you respond. You catch his eyes flick briefly to your lips before they meet yours again. You can see the light smatter of freckles over his nose, long faded from the summer. 
“You’re right, I was really into Avenged Sevenfold when I was in highschool.” 
“I figured. I was into that whole scene thing, back then. All those singers that are mad at their dad’s and like, in retrospect, all hate women I guess,” you realize it as you speak. 
“I probably would’ve thought you were cute,” he guesses. 
“No, you would’ve called me a poser,” you correct, “Don’t lie.” 
He hesitates before nodding, “No, no, you’re right I definitely would’ve called you a poser. Did you like Fall Out Boy and all of that shit?” 
“Don’t shit on the music I liked,” you frown, “That’s not cool.” 
“I’m not, I’m not,” he assures, pulse speeding, “I promise, I’m not. I’m sorry.” You continue talking about music, high school, college, some ins and outs. Nothing too serious. Nothing too intense. But by now, Eddie’s feeling nice and if one thing’s for certain:
He wants to fucking kiss you. Toes at the edge of the diving block, Miss Tiffany’s whistle caught between her teeth. 
“So now that we’re three drinks in, can I ask you a personal question?” you ask, your eyes a little glassy. You’ve confessed that you’re tipsy, but aware, that if you have one more drink you won’t be – so Eddie already paid the tab. 
“What do you wanna know?” he asks.
“Why’re you,” you enunciate, implying he’s something, “On the apps? It’s hard to believe that someone like you would be single. Unless you have like, something deeply wrong with you, but you’ve been all green flags so far.” 
Your hand falls back to his knee and he eyes it before sliding his own hand down his thigh to lace your fingers with his. 
“You want the real story?” he asks, lifting your hand up of his knee to play with your fingers in both of his hands while he talks. His hands are warm and calloused on the fingertips, but the rest are soft. Lacing and unlacing, running his thumb up the lengths of your fingers, tracing your palm. 
“The real story.” 
“You gonna tell me why you’re on the apps after?” 
“Sure,” you nod. You look gentle, at ease. He eases in, too. 
“I got divorced in 2020,” he confesses. It feels like a weight off his chest to tell you, “Married my high school sweetheart, things were great for a long time, but y’know. People grow and – the pandemic was not kind to us.”
“Oh, I’m…I’m sorry to hear that,” you offer softly. 
“It’s okay,” he smiles tightly. “I guess I was both surprised and not surprised at all when she broke up with me. Almost relieved, I guess – that I didn’t have to play the part of her husband anymore. Not that she was a bad wife or anything, she was great she just – I don’t know,” he rambles, “And I don’t know, I just threw myself into work and my friends after. Girls after shows. Was too scared to like – go on dates incase it ended up like my marriage and –” 
He laughs, “My friends were tired of seeing me be so sad, I guess.” 
“You have such a solid support system,” you comment, “You mention your friends, like, every other sentence.” 
A beat. “I like that,” you nod and smile. He can’t get over how you look when you do that. 
“Why’re you on the apps?” he asks, your hand now cradled between the two of his, his fingers grazing your wrist. 
“I’m six months out of a six year long relationship,” you let out a breath through your nose and drop your shoulders a little, “Figured it was time to get back out there – enter my slut era.” 
“Oh yeah, you’re super slutty,” he teases, “That’s actually the first thing I thought when I saw you. ‘She’s in her slut era.’” “God, fuck offfff,” you giggle again. 
“But yeah, I ended it. I figure I should make that clear,” you say, “Just in case that’s like, a red flag for you. But I don’t know, we just weren’t growing in the same directions. Things felt done way before I left and I – I don’t know. I think I was just scared. I took some time for myself and now, here I am.” 
“It’s okay that you ended your relationship, it’s not a red flag,” Eddie’s voice soothes you when he says it, “If you told me you like, cheated on him and then hit him with your car then maybe yeah, I’d be a little concerned. But you’re an adult, you just know what you want better this time around.”
“Yeah,” you agree. Your eyes meet in a silent confirmation. His eyes flick to your lips for a second time before tucking his lower lip between his teeth again. 
BELLY FLOP! 
“You wanna head out? It’s getting a little late,” he offers. 
Your brows raise in surprise, “Uh, sure, yeah.” 
“Not that I don’t like spending time with you,” he assures, letting his fingers linger over your hand while he stands up, not wanting to lose contact just yet, “Just don’t want to keep you out too late.” 
“Oh yes!” you start with an old southern twang, “My daddy’ll be out there with his pistol if I don’t get home ‘fore sundown.”
“You’re funny,” he laughs, letting go over your hand to reach up and squeeze your cheeks affectionately. You both put on your jackets and head outside, both of you wincing in the cold of the winter air. 
“I’d really like to do this again, if you want,” a shy blush reaches his cheeks, meeting the pink from the cold. 
“Yeah, I’d like that,” you’re just as shy in your response, “This was fun. You’re fun.” 
“Thank you,” he flushes deeper, trying to prolong the inevitable. What if he belly flops? What if it hurts? What if the kids make fun of him? 
“I’d offer to drive you home but I’ve had a few,” he says, hand reaching out to fall on your shoulder, “I feel good to drive but like, god forbid anything happens so – I’m happy to get you a car or pay for it for you.” 
“That’s really sweet, thanks. Let me just um,” you pull out your phone to get in Uber with a speed that impresses him, “It’s really not that pricey, I’m close-ish by.” 
“Still,” he says, “Just wanna be a gentleman y’know?” 
“You’re very gentlemanly,” you flirt. Eddie stiffens, nervous, palms clammy. 
“So um, I’ll see you soon?” he asks, opening his arms to give you a hug. 
“Yeah, for sure,” you nod while you let him engulf you. His scent is warm and spicy, mixed with tobacco. You guess either still smokes, or he used to, but he never got up to have a cigarette in the hours you were at the bar. Eddie let’s go and cups your cheek briefly before giving you a gentle but winning smile. His warm brown eyes linger for the last time on your lips, now they’re slightly parted, waiting for him. His toes curl over the edge of the diving block, his knees are bent, arms up over his head...I don’t want to Miss Tiffany. 
Swimming sucks.
“See ya.” 
You quirk your brow for a moment, having expected much more than a hug, “Oh, um…see ya.” 
He walks half way down the street to his car, heart thrumming in his chest in embarrassment. He should’ve just done it. FUCK. He should’ve just kissed you. 
But what if it hurts? What if she leaves? What if you can’t make it to level three? What if they laugh at you? 
He breathes heavily through his nose while tears threaten to well up in his eyes, staining his eyelashes. What if you don’t want to see him again after this? What if you change your mind? He sighs audibly when he turns the key, phone auto connecting to the speakers. He turns up the radio while the car revs to life, pulling on his seatbelt and putting the wheels into gear. He leans back in his seat to pull out of his spot only to see you still waiting for the car outside of the bar. 
Blink-182 blares through his speakers, hitting him straight in the chest.
‘Let’s go, don’t wait, this night’s almost over. Honest, let’s make,this night last forever. Forever. And ever. Let’s make this last forever.’ 
What if he did stay a little later after class? What if he got the chance to move on to level three? 
Fuck it, he thinks. He turns off the ignition, shaking out the sounds of Jason Carver and the kids laughing, the sounds of their feet kicking in the water. Just Miss Tiffany and her whistle. He gets out of the car, determined. You’re still there, head whipping around to see him coming towards you while you bounce on the balls of your feet in the cold. 
Arms up. Knees bent. “Ed? My car’s gonna be here in a sec–” Whistle. His hands reach out to your cold cheeks to pull you in before his full lips capture yours. His eyes flutter close at the contact, feeling your mouth react to his in time. Soft and needy, hydrated. You immediately know how to keep his pace while he separates and goes back in for more. Wet but not messy, passionate but not feverish. The smoothest dive he’d ever done in his life. Your hands escape your pockets, fingers sliding behind his neck to pull him closer, sliding through the nape of his hair. He breaks away for a moment to delicately push your hair out of your face and really look at you before pressing his lips to yours again. You only stop when your Uber beeps from across the street. 
“I wanted to do that all night,” he mumbles sheepishly. 
“I wanted you to do that all night, too,” you giggle, breathless and blushing, “Thank you.” 
“Thank you,” he says, running a hand over his face, “Let me know when you get home, okay?” 
“Okay,” you nod, hurrying across the street as the car honks again,  “Bye!” 
“I’ll put something together for next time!” he calls out. ‘Cause there will be a next time. 
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Tatianna is leaning over the back of the couch with her chin in her hands when Eddie opens the door. Her cheshire cat grin matches his own. 
“So I didn’t hear from you all night,” she starts, her voice syrupy smooth, “So that means it must’ve went really well.” 
Eddie sighs dreamily, kicking off his boots at the entryway and hanging his jacket on one of the hooks by the door. 
“Ooh, you like herrrr! I can tell! Look at your stupid face!” she laughs, pointing at him, bouncing on the cushions. 
“Tati she’s…fuck,” he shakes his head in disbelief while he walks towards her, “There’s either two ways this could go.” 
“Yeah?” she asks, looking up at him, “And those are?” 
“I’m gonna marry her, or she’s gonna absolutely fuckin’ ruin my life.” 
“I like her already,” Tati grins, “Sit down, tell me everything.” 
“Yeah, yeah, give me a sec,” he grumbles, his phone buzzing in his pocket. He plops down onto the couch while Tati grabs two cups of tea from the kitchen that she made especially for the recap of his night. Gareth had been long asleep for an early morning at work tomorrow. 
Eddie takes out his phone, two unread text alerts lingering on his home page. He opens them, smiling stupidly into the screen.
i’m home :) you’re a really good kisser by the way. 
glad you made it home safe. you are too. :) but you started off pretty kissable so, that’s probably why. you’re making me blush over here, stop it. 
Eddie lets out a soft chuckle through his nose, clicking out of your text conversation to go back to his home screen. 
He deletes the apps.
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pieufer · 11 days
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Yandere Butler x Reader
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CW: Female reader, obsessive thoughts, death(not reader).
He came across the novel by chance, not really by chance since his little sister often uses his phone and would use it however she pleases, but he never read a story that had such a grip on him just as this one.
'The Villainess' Reawakening' is a two-hundred chapter long webnovel that recently blew up with the manhwa raising its popularity with its gorgeous art and fantastic character designs. Centering around underpaid and cooperate slave Kim Lee who dies from over exhaustion and suddenly finds herself woken up in her favorite webnovel. Unfortunately, she's the villainess who's executed in the end for attempted murder towards the protagonist. Not wanting the same fate, she uses her status and money to change her bad ending and live in the country side in peace.
Simple, and straight to the point. He knows hundreds of plot the exact same of it yet he enjoys it all the same. He understands why his sister loves these types of stories so much.
He doesn't need to think too hard about the plot and its central characters, he doesn't remember either of the leads names and he doesn't have to. Most of them follow a certain character type that's the same as the others he has read, and all of them mushes his brain into juice and thinks of them all the same.
They're fun. Sometimes, some people just want to read something to stimulate their brain out of boredom, a distraction. Immersing themselves. Reimagining they're in a colorful world surrounded by riches, walls made of marble and gold, never having to worry about the old, murky wallpapers that started to peel off and the leaking ceiling that needs fixing.
Characters that are character types with one shtick about them. The white lotus who's shown as a humble and soft-spoken revealed to be a scheming two-faced girl wanting all attention on her. The duke of the north, someone who's been wronged at a young age resulting in their cold-hearted nature but all changes once they meet the female lead. Ex-fiance crown prince, who at first despised the villainess but becomes obsessed once she calls for an annulment of their engagement and denies it all by saying it's one of the villainess schemes of getting their attention.
They're fictional, that's the point. It doesn't matter if they're a generic antagonist or a male lead without a smidge of chemistry with the female lead. Everything contrasts to reality and find joy that doesn't involve struggles and pain.
He doesn't need to worry when he'll be able to pay their every growing debt. The water and electricity are going to cut off next week if he doesn't work his ass off. And his sister's tuition still hasn't been paid either. His gotten a headache from the amount of work and a stomach ache for skipping a meal just so his sister could eat. He doesn't need to feel sad that all his friends his known before have all and moved on in their lives while his still stuck in his.
When he reads it, those thoughts never cross his mind.
Yes, that's right. Those things don't exist in the fictional world. Everything shitty that's happening can be resolved quickly with a happy ending.
The female lead's neglectful father, someone who's blamed them for the death of his wife because of childbirth, will regret his actions and try to reconcile with her. The ex-fiance crown prince will be left for dust. And the female lead ends up with the cold duke of the north.
Simple, straight to the point, and fun.
However, what's keeping his interest in continuing this story was you. The original protagonist of 'The Villainess Reawakening'. The kind and gentle girl. Adopted daughter of a count with a passion for art. A commoner with the inability to speak, something that's caused you great suffering. You'd struggled with it as said by the villainess recalling the events of the story she's in.
Poor lonely girl who's thrown away by her parents of something she's born with and something she couldn't control. They saw you as a nuisance, a heavy chain that brings them down for you have no use in their eyes. It's already hard enough to feed a family of three, might as well make it two and be done with it.
Since there weren't any orphanages in the town you came from, you lived in the streets the majority of your life and did whatever you could to survive. Be it eating rotting fruits and garbage. Your clothes had ripped and clinged with dirt. Hands calloused and skin scraggly. You sleep in the back-alleys, with a laughably awful handmade leaves that's meant to be a blanket and a hard rock as a pillow.
The townfolks have already remembered your face. You've wandered everywhere, begging for scraps of bread. Something. Just anything to satisfy your ever growing stomach. The people of the town whispers to themselves how pitiful you are to cling to life. Some even say death would be a better option. But you didn't.
Because you wanted to live.
The story never says when, but, it was just any other day. Begging in the streets till your eyes were drawn to a man sitting alone in the town's water fountain. A canva in front of him and a brush in his hands. As you neared closer, you saw he was drawing the deep-blue sky but there were other things drawn in too. A girl riding a broom in the sky. There were other people in it too, all wearing smiles and riding there brooms as well. Casting spells that makes confetti and rainbows.
Though, your lips were chapped and in need of water, you managed to ask the painter why he painted something if that something isn't there in the first place.
The painter laughed at your words and answered, that in a world that's filled with despair, isn't it nice to think of one where happiness strives? No war, no poverty, no fear. It maybe not the healthiest way to deal with your troubles but its the joy and comfort it brings you that matters.
After finishing his paint, he handed you his work and asked for you to keep it. With that, he walks off.
And that's where your passion for arts began. Whatever you could get your hands on, whatever you could find. You drew.
Drawing on the muddy dirt with a stick, drawing the street's walls with coal, and if you're lucky enough, drawing with a piece of used paper and a pen. You sculpted with mud, used bits of your falling hair to make a doll.
Years passed by and your predicament hasn't gotten better, but your passion in arts only blossomed. You managed to grab a hold of a blank canva someone left on the side of the street, its sides are dirty but isn't that noticeable or major. Sketching it with your pencil day and night, till you've finished. You went to the market place to try and sell your art, in hopes all hard work paid off and you'll be able to have a meal for the day. Soon enough, you catch the eyes of a passing count who adopts you for the potential he saw at your talents in arts.
The suffering doesn't stop there, however, as your first step towards high society was filled with scorned and mock laughter for your humble background. It was bearable. Oh, so you told yourself. You've seen faces like that before in the streets mixed with pity. You're grateful for the count for what his done and a few insults won't get you. Rumors spread faster than you imagine. Murmuring of the beggar who was taken in by a noble. Because of this, you caught the attention of the crown prince and the wrath of his fiance.
The pre-transmigration villainess, tried to kill you over and over. And because of the attempts of murder on your back, you were fearful of the chance of being killed and didn't came out of the Count's mansion, but became closer with the prince who snuck out of the palace to go and see you. As the original story went before Kim Lee took in the body of the original villainess.
And that's what he liked about you.
While you kept moving forward, he gave up long ago and followed aimlessly whatever paths the easiest to live a comfortable life. In his eyes you were a star, someone who shines so brightly their light wouldn't dim out. Something he can wish for but knows he'll never have, merely a hopeful yearning.
Kim Lee empathize with you. And he admired you.
And then the accident happened. It was a crash, his eyes were too tired that day and his migraine wouldn't stop his head from throbbing that he didn't hear the honk of a truck until it hits him. When he opened his eyes, he was shaking, tears in his eyes. His dead. He was dead, yet he was alive, somehow...?
Few weeks passed and he came to realize that his soul got sent to another world, and just like the stories he had read, he'd quickly learned to adapt in it. He prayed, he left enough money for his sister and wished her the best, that she didn't need to struggle just as he had.
The body he transmigrated into was named Benjamin, the third son of a baron. He was on a two-week break as his mother requested to the count. That he, Benjamin, suddenly fainted while serving the young lady and was asleep for two days with a high fever. He couldn't make out what she said afterwards. No, what fogged his mind is how he's a personal servant to none other you.
The Villainess' Reawakening didn't mention what happened to you afterwards when the crown prince chased after the villainess but none of that matters. He was going to meet you, not as a drawing in a comic or a name in a webnovel but a skin he can touch, a face he can gaze at. Something he can latch on to, something that he can dig his fingers into till it bleeds.
And when his break was over, he couldn't hide his excite of the thought of you. You will be as beautiful as the comic drew you to be, you'll be as beautiful as the novel describes. You're a light, a rightful path, a star.
If the story didn't give you an ending he'll make one himself. The crown prince is on a wild goose chase, searching for the villainess to reconsider their marriage. And if the Kim Lee can change the story, then it wouldn't mind if it changed even further, right?
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There's a dazzling haze, a mysterious way about you dear - S.H
Steve’s completely and utterly in love with his best friend
A/n: friends to lovers, valentines theme, florist!reader, love confession 
Warnings: kissing, 
Word count: 3.8k
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February, 
She always smiled when she saw him. She always said she missed him, and if there were no customers she ran to hug him. It didn't matter if he had seen her the evening before or that same morning, she always seemed to miss him no matter how long it had been. He understood that more than she knew, he felt it with her constantly. 
The windows were a little misted up that evening. Fogged up in the corners like it was always meant to be like that. It got colder the second the sun set but no matter the time of year, no matter if it was snowing or raining, after Steve’s day ended he walked right down to the florists to see her. 
It was pretty inside, he imagined it was supposed to be like that but sometimes, almost all the time, he liked to give her credit for it all. For the perfectly placed flowers, all somehow fading into one another, soft blues into bright pinks. 
And that oh so pretty smile when she saw him, standing outside with his hands in his pockets, a boyish grin on his lips no matter how tired he was, his fluffy hair and his unfixed collar. 
It was busier today, so she gave him a little nod to come inside, sticking her nose up like a cat rubbing against his leg. He wasn’t sure how it was possible but everything she did was cute. 
He wouldn't get to hear the bell above the door ring right before she crashed into him today, running out into the cold just to greet him like she normally would, he crossed his fingers for tomorrow. 
“Sorry.” She mouthed as he walked in, her eyes so soft that his heart could’ve broken right there all over the lavender. It was like every time they were apart he forgot how one look from her made his knees weaken. 
Steve wandered around for a little while, keeping his hands at his sides, careful not to break anything, just waiting for things to slow down. Really, he could have just gone home, he could’ve got in his car and headed straight back, none of his friends would’ve waited around like this. 
But he was content with waiting and he liked the little walk to his car where they talked and he liked how her perfume stuck to the seats long after he dropped her off. 
He also liked watching her. Watching how she smiled at every single person who walked through the door, even though he knew she was shy, she forced herself to be kind and that accidentally made Steve a little jealous at times. How she lit up when someone asked her a question or how she softened over when someone came in and told her they needed flowers for a girlfriend or a boyfriend. 
When it died down and they were left alone, Steve went and leaned on the counter, just like she did when she visited family video, they always seemed to be leaning towards each other. 
The corners of his mouth were already flicking up without permission, he guessed he had missed her more that day. She had pretty specks of gold and silver by her eyes, it always made him do a double take. He pressed his nails into his palm to stop from brushing the fallen glitter from her cheek. 
Steve hated her makeup, he hated how it made him want to touch her, how he wanted to fix her shiny lip gloss and accidentally linger a little too long on her lips. Honestly he just hated that he wasn’t her boyfriend and he wasn’t allowed to do those things, that she wasn’t his girl and he couldn’t just-
“I have to stay late today Stevie.”
His eyes darted back to hers, away from her lips, hearing her pretty little nickname for him made the blood rush to his head, and it somehow made it feel a lot hotter than it was. No one else called him that, he didn’t care for it until she started saying it and how could he ever correct her. 
“No.” He pouted, eyes dropping into a puppy-like stare, hoping he could play on her heart a little and make her come with him. It was selfish and childish but knowing he was the one that got her home every night, that he was the one telling her about plans with their friends, made him feel more important to her. 
Her eyes softened with sadness, which at least told him she didn’t want to stay either, that she wanted to go with him too. 
“I’m so sorry I was going to call and let you know, and now you’ve walked all this way- and It’s freezing.” She glanced outside the window, as if there was some horrible snow storm coming down and it was all her fault. “Steve, I feel awful.” She put her head in her hands, even when apologising, for something she didn’t need to, she was adorable. 
He placed his hands around her wrists, pulling them away, trying not to smile too hard. He could feel her pulse under his fingers and the patterned thumping almost made him drop to the floor. He swallowed down hard, letting her go, trying not to think about dragging kisses along the inside of her wrists. 
“Can I help?” Steve’s voice cracked slightly, he just hoped she didn’t catch it. He didn’t mind all the pollen making his eyes itch if it meant he could steal a little time with her, and maybe if it got late enough and they were tired he could tell her. 
He wouldn’t but he liked to think about doing a lot. 
Her eyes lit up and he swore he could have kissed her, just for the sake of kissing her, nothing more. “You want to?” She asked, nervously-excited like he hadn’t already implied it. Like he wouldn’t drop everything for her in a heartbeat. 
Including sitting on the floor crossed legged surrounded by ribbons and paper hearts. Valentines day was just two weeks away, and the one girl he wanted to take out was sitting across from him, tying pink ribbon and looking unbelievably gorgeous while simply just existing. 
She never noticed when he was staring, it sounded foolish but when he was busy looking at her like she held the stars, she was helplessly too caught up in his puppy dog eyes and his soft smile to see it. 
When Steve drove her home after her shifts, he always opened the car door for her, he always played the cd’s she liked even if he didn’t like them so much. And she still didn’t know. The whole town knew he was head over heels but she was far too busy daydreaming about him to notice. 
He always looked extra pretty when he drove her home, the passing street lights and the warm orange from the car light made him look golden. She doubted there was any kind of light that could make him look bad. He always just looked right. Everything fitted him and it made her head spin.
Right down to the way his car smelled faintly like cigarettes and Obsession cologne.
“What are you thinking about?” Steve leaned back against a table leg, clearly uncomfortable but clearly not wanting to say so. 
He wasn’t going to tell her that sitting on the floor like this was making his legs ache like he had just been running around town three times over. She would’ve told him to stop helping her and to go home and he really didn’t want that.
Steve had been watching her for a while and slowly she had started to lose focus and almost seem to drift off somewhere. He knew because he found himself doing it so often around her. There were many mislabelled tapes lying around at family video just because he was thinking about what perfume she was wearing the evening before and why it made his head spin.
His voice made her flinch slightly, not in a bad way, simply because she was so busy thinking about him that she forgot he was sitting in front of her. She felt the blood rushing to her head, like Steve could somehow know he had caught her out. 
“Nothing.” She didn’t mean to stutter but when he had moved he had started leaning his shoe against her knee, it was harmless and he probably didn’t even notice. However innocent it was, it didn't stop her heart from thumping. “Why?” She hated the way her voice cracked. 
He nodded his head towards her crossed legs. “You're cutting it wrong.” He smiled softly, not for one second wanting to make her feel bad. 
“Oh.” 
There was a mess of ribbons and paper in her lap, Steve was right, she really hadn’t been paying enough attention. She really was starting to wonder if he knew. Was it obvious when she was thinking about him? 
The following week the entire town seemed to be covered in pink and red with flowers in every store window. It made Steve smile as he walked, it was like seeing a little reminder of her everywhere. Because like always, he had missed her all day like he hadn’t seen the night before.
It was strange, he should've hated everything about Valentines, he was lovelorn for a girl who was one of his closest friends. But it was hard to be miserable while being in love with her, no matter if she didn't feel it back. 
Sometimes it hurt, sometimes his whole body ached, but then she'd smile at him or talk and it would be worth it. He got to the florists, he hadn't remembered how, he guess he got too caught up in thinking about her, but he was here now.
The little bell above the door rang as she came out to greet him. She had no idea how hot the back of his neck had gotten from just seeing her, And when she threw her arms around him, he worried she might feel the thumping of his heart through his coat. 
“Oh, Stevie, I missed you.” He smiled, holding her a little tighter, his hands spread across her back. “The ride home was so much quicker last night.” She pulled back, pouting a little, he was so very glad she agreed with him. Even if it took the same time as always. 
“I know but at least we can hang out tonight.” He took the keys from her fingers, he always locked up for her this time of year. Steve hated her getting cold hands because she was fussing with the door lock. 
He wasn’t just driving her home tonight, they were heading to some bar Robin had been obsessing over. Steve didn’t care for crowded or even empty bars much anymore but he doubted he could’ve gotten out of it, plus the second Robin said that the girl standing beside him, waiting for him to lock up was going, he knew he would be too. 
She smiled at that. “Sounds like a plan.” She started to walk off, she knew where his car was, and she knew Steve would follow. 
Everyone was talking over the music playing, huddled up in some corner even though it was Hakwins and the bar was half empty. He didn’t mind that everyone was practically sitting on top of each other because Steve was sitting next to her.
Her thighs were pressing into his, their knees accidently touching every time the other moved even just slightly. And every time she laughed or spoke, he was the first to hear it. He could feel the heat coming off her, it only made the perfume sitting on her neck stronger, but being this close made Steve more quiet then normal. 
How was he supposed to talk or even join in in any conversion happening before him when she was right there. Lips smudged with something shiny that could easily become sticky, eyes batting away like she had no idea what she was doing to him.
He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to kiss her in front of all their friends. He wanted to kiss her hidden away in the bathroom just for them to know. He wanted to kiss her everywhere. 
“Right Steve?”
He turned hearing his name and hurt his neck from the sudden snap of attention. He really hadn’t been listening and suddenly everyone was looking at him, and some of them, mostly Robin and Eddie, seemed to be laughing about something. 
The girl beside him looked bashfully at the floor, what had he missed?
“Yeah.” Steve wanted nothing more than to be left back out of the conversation. They seemed to take his voice breaking response, which was slightly embarrassing, and carry on talking amongst themselves. “What was that about?” He whispered to the girl next to him. 
“They were just joking about-” She stopped herself, she was nervous, he could always tell. “About, about you staring at me.” She continued staring at the floor like she didn’t find the joke funny at all. He didn’t either.
She hadn’t thought he was staring. She presumed everyone was making a joke that she just didn’t understand. Why would he be looking at her and why would that be so funny to them? But then the red hint in Steve’s cheeks gave him away. 
Maybe he had been staring. She looked at him and it felt different, she felt different. She was flustered now, more than she ever had been when any other boy had looked at her. And there was something darker in his eyes, something wanting that made her lips suddenly feel so unused.  
They didn’t talk much for the rest of the night, better yet, Steve didn’t talk much. He just whispered to her when he had missed something or when he was asking her if she wanted a drink. It made her wonder why he had even gone.
They left together because they always did, someone else could't given her a ride home but Steve always did so why would they. It wasn’t even a question anymore, he was just always willing and ready to get her home safe. 
He grabbed her hand to lead her out after saying goodbye, it wasn’t busy enough for him to have to do it but she didn’t let go. He held her hand gently but there was no chance of her slipping from his hold. She didn’t think her hand would’ve let her let his go anyway, so instead she squeezed his hand back and followed him outside. 
Steve let her go the second the cold air hit, maybe his hands were just cold but it still made her heart sink. It would’ve been nice to hold his hand for a little longer, it would've been nice to stay longer too, not for the drinks or necessarily the comply, but because it was nice sitting so close to Steve. 
She could’ve rested her head on his shoulder and stayed there all night if he wanted. 
He stopped, right in the middle of the road, by where his car was parked. She almost walked right into him, too preoccupied thinking about how much bigger his hand was to hers. He was breathing deeply and quickly, it must’ve been the cold. 
But she wasn’t so sure because when she looked up at him, he had this look in his eyes, something she could’ve mistaken for being afraid but she couldn’t tell. He almost looked sad in a way, kind of like his heart was hanging vulnerably off his sleeve. She didn’t know what he could’ve been so twisted over, nothing had happened. 
Unless-
Steve stepped forward, the ends of his sneakers brushing hers. It made her lightheaded, she could practically taste the peppermint on his tongue, mixing with the Pepsi he had drunk. It was completely head spinning and he was getting too close. They had never been this close before, had they?
She felt the air getting thinner as her eyes fell on his lips.
She stumbled back slightly, her back hitting against his passenger door. She never moved away from him on purpose, she always leaned towards him but having him so close was making her nervous. Steve only followed her. 
He was warm, she could feel the heat coming off him, or maybe he was just making her hot, she couldn’t tell anymore.
He went to say something, parting his lips but letting no sound out. He just kept breathing in like he had forgotten to breathe out. He placed his hand on the roof of his car, trying to steady himself but for her, that only shut everything else out. All she could think or feel was Steve. Steve, Steve, and she-
“Can I kiss you, please?” He sounded desperate, they way he said it was so sweet, so Steve. He wasn’t just asking to kiss her he was begging, his eyes were soft and sad and he wanted to kiss her. No one had ever said please when asking to do anything to her before. 
She nodded, quickly. She didn’t think she could have spoken without stuttering or making a fool of herself. He pressed a hand to her waist, his thumb digging into her soft skin, making her feel jealous of every girl who had been in this position before. 
He tilted his head down, lips just ghosting over hers for a moment, his nose nudging against her own. As he wet his lips in anticipation he accidentally touched her bottom lip and that was enough to break the softness of the moment they were having. 
Suddenly he was kissing her. Pressed up against his car in the middle of the street. He really did taste like Pepsi and peppermint, she hadn't imagined that. The taste of him glossed over her lips and she barely noticed Steve’s hand leaving her side just to wrap around her wrist and put her hand on his neck. 
The car door was cold against her back but she didn;t mind because Steve’s hands were warm, his neck was hot and his lips were burning. “God, I love you.” She heard him mutter between kisses and her heart stopped. 
It was all she had ever wanted to hear him say and yet she was completely unprepared for how the words from his lips would stitch onto her heart with the sharpest needle. He stopped for a moment, breathing heavily, this time breathing out too.  
His eyes were closed and he looked prettier than ever with her lip gloss smudge across his face and his cheeks flushed red. She found she quite liked having her hands around his neck, she tagged her fingers in his hair, not missing the slight groan he made at the feeling.
He looked down at her, that little hint of fear back in his eyes. She wanted to kiss that feeling away, like he had done for her. She decided on admitting what she had known for a long time instead. “I love you too Steve.” 
He instantly smiled, a boyish, lovesick, Steve Harrington kind of smile. He held her face delicately, tilted her jaw up, rubbing his thumb over the corner of her lip. “Hey,” He quickly kissed where his touch had traced, making her smile. “What are you doing on Valentine's day?”
She shook her head and he laughed softly at her. He couldn’t be doing what she thought he was, she had just told him she loved him, he had told her he loved her, he couldn't be asking if-
“Wanna go out with me?”
Oh sweet Steve. 
He turned up at her door on February fourteenth, a collection of pink and orange Lilies in his hand, tied together with a white ribbon, he hadn’t got them from her so he must’ve gone out of town. The little sentiment made her heart leap. 
He had sweater hair, like he had been rushing to get ready and pulled his red jumper over his head and forgotten how the static made his hair so fluffy. He looked soft and sweet, and that was before she even noticed the red vines in his other hand. 
Steve’s eyes flickered over her little dress, over the wool cardigan keeping her warm, it was a soft pink that made the white of her dress look even more pure. She looked like how he imagined this holiday would look if they were a person. 
“You look, you’re-, always so-” She felt her face burn, he was stuttering because of her. He stepped through the doorway, feeling like he might just fall to the floor at any moment. “You’re just so pretty.” 
His eyes never left her as he said it, he was shaking his head like he almost didn’t believe it. He handed her the flowers, smiling at the way she held them close and breathed them in. She was already saddened that one day they were going to wilt and die, she'd have to keep the ribbon somewhere for safe keeping. 
“You’re pretty too Stevie.” She didn’t mean much by saying it, she was so busy looking at her flowers that the thought just slipped past her lips in a soft mutter. She shut her door and went to place them on the kitchen table, he just followed her like she guessed he would.
The blush in Steve’s cheeks came out, spreading a little to his neck. The freckles that dotted across his skin were always such a distraction for her, the way his neck strained was too, and now she could add how it looked flushed to her list of distractions. She wondered what it might be like to kiss his neck. 
His hand slipped over the backs on one of the chairs as he stepped closer to her, she stayed still this time, anxious for him to be nearer. 
“Stop you’re going to make tonight torture.” He breathed out desperately, making her head hurt, not knowing that her simple words had made his entire soul ache for her. 
He held his hand to her cheek, smoothing her skin with his thumb, catching her eyes in the sparkling chandelier hanging above them. The light touching across his face made him look kissable, not that he didn’t before, but it was somehow worse now.
She swallowed down nervously, last time he had kissed her it had been perfect, but this moment felt a little different, they knew what it was like now, and Steve hadn’t kissed her again since, he said he wanted to take her out properly first, which had been torture, 
“You’re the one doing that.” She whispered to him, hands getting lost in his hair as he smirked down at her. She pulled slightly, letting him know she wanted nothing more for him to kiss her again. Their plans for the night slowly slipping away, because once Steve kissed her he wouldn’t be able to stop. 
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harryslittlefreakk · 3 months
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late night talking
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summary: a chance meeting with harry before his wembley dates leads you into a bizarre friendship
wordcount: 1.7k
a/n: i HATE writing meetings. this part is so slow but the next part is linked underneath, which is much nicer ;)
my masterlist can be found here!
“Just a caramel macchiato please”, you said, rubbing at your eyes as you spoke. You always had a hard time sleeping in hotels and tonight was no different. You’d travelled to London to attend some concerts with your best friend, and although she’d invited you to stay with her, you didn’t want to infiltrate her newlywed bubble. So now you were standing in a quiet Starbucks, in your pyjamas, at almost midnight.
You chose one of the comfy tables at the back, hoping not to be noticed by any of the other crazies out at this hour. But not long after you sat down, someone decided to sit in the seat immediately behind yours. You sighed and kept your eyes on your phone, knowing only too well what kind of person chooses a seat next to a woman in a deserted space.
“Sorry, do you have a napkin?” A man’s spoke came from behind you, interrupting your quiet solace. You grabbed one off your table and turned around to pass it over, not looking too closely at the man who asked. His gold rings caught your attention, an obnoxious H S that sent your wide eyes darting up to meet his. The brown curls peeking out from under his hood, the dimpled grin sitting on his chiselled face. It really was Harry. Your heart rate quickened, inches away from the face of the man you were here to see. His laugh broke your spell, and you realised you’d never even let go of the napkin. “Sorry, sorr-“, you spluttered, suddenly unable to think, let alone speak. Harry watched your brain reboot, his smile never faltering, before asking what you were drinking.
He looked over at you from the counter, taking you in. Your messy brown hair, your black vest top paired with pale pink pyjama pants. Your zip-up hoodie had slipped off your shoulders, allowing him to see some patchwork tattoos poking out.
When he returned, Harry sat down across from you and placed the drinks down gently. Holding out a hand for you to shake, he told you his name, which of course you already knew. “Y/N,” you replied, meeting his green eyes. “Well, Y/N, what are you doing in a Starbucks at this time?” Harry asked, taking a sip of his coffee. You mirrored him, bringing your cup to your lips before explaining how you couldn’t sleep in hotels and were in town for a show. He smirked, eyes glimmering knowingly. “I’m here for a show too. And I like being out at this time. It always feels more anonymous.”
~~~
The girl behind the counter called out to you, letting you know the cafe was closing. You hadn’t even noticed the tables being wiped down or the whirring of the coffee machines on their cleaning cycle. Harry slipped a 20 onto the counter as you stumbled out together, mumbling a quick apology. The air was cold after a warm day, and only then you realised how late it must be. “My hotels this way,” you pointed, not wanting to take any more of Harry’s time. His strong hand reached out and grabbed yours, tugging you behind him as he stepped in the opposite direction. “Come on,” he grinned. “I know somewhere we can get more coffee.”
You walked through an eerily deserted London, laughing alongside Harry but wondering now what on God’s green earth you were doing. If Harry was anyone else, you’d be running a mile. You glanced down at your feet, unsure why they weren’t taking you home. Your heart-print pyjama pants were just another reminder of where you should be going. But as you doubted yourself, Harry ground to a halt, sending you flying into the back of him. “What are you doing?” You asked, staring up at the skyscraper hotel in front of you. This was definitely nicer than your choice of digs. Harry only smirked in response, walking towards the doors. You followed him blindly, trailing through the entrance and into the lift behind him. He pulled down his hood and ran a hand through his hair, watching himself in the mirror before his eyes flicked to you. Finally, he spoke, “hotels will give you coffee at any hour on any day, I’ve noticed.”
“Are you staying here?,” you questioned, stepping out of the lift straight into what must have been the penthouse suite. Your eyes were wide in awe, you’d never seen a hotel room like this before. A small kitchen sat on one wall, with a living area big enough to seat an entire family. A king size bed peeked out from behind a glass room divider, everything accented with black and gold glossy metals. You ran your fingers across the back of one of the blue sofas, twirling round to take in your surroundings before your eyes rested on Harry’s. He nodded, amused by your wonder. “You’re welcome,” you scoffed, setting your jacket down on the table. Harry’s eyebrows furrowed, opening his mouth to question you. Swatting at his chest, you replied, “I paid good money for your shows. You’d be in a travelodge if it wasn’t for me.”
“You and thousands of others!” He interjected, swatting right back at your hand. You giggled, holding your hands up in surrender. “Okay, big man.”
Harry slipped off his hoodie, leaving him in only a sweatshirt and running shorts. You studied him properly for the first time, your eyes running from his tousled hair, to the way his sweatshirt was the perfect amount of baggy, to his toned, tanned thighs. If you weren’t careful you might have dribbled. He’d been the celebrity you’d pined over for years, and now you were standing in his hotel room. “You like what you see?,” he said, snapping you out of your daydream as he padded over to the coffee machine. “You got me here under false pretences, you know that?,” you grinned, plopping down on one of the armchairs. Harry’s head whipped around, mouth wide open in a half smirk. “I promised you coffee,” he gestured to the coffee machine, “here’s coffee.”
“You didn’t tell me the coffee was in your hotel room,” you smirked, before mouthing ‘weirdo’. Harry wagged a pointed finger at you, “ah ah ah. Only nice manners get you caffeine in my cafe.”
Your conversation continued well into the early hours. Tattoos, music, work, life, pets - you had everything and more to talk about. And you seemed to feel bizarrely comfortable around each other. It was almost 4am before you checked the time, and you stood up almost immediately to grab your jacket and leave. “My God, Harry, I should really-“ you tilted your head towards the door, your voice groggy now from talking and laughing for so long. “Stay here tonight,” Harry’s words came out quiet and almost shy. “It’s too late to go back to where you’re staying, I wouldn’t feel comfortable with you out alone at this hour.” He stood up as he spoke, yawning and stretching his arms. “Come on, I’ll show you where the bathroom is.”
As he led you towards the bathroom, you realised just how exhausted you were. And his enormous bed did look comfier than anywhere you’d slept in your life. “Harry, I’m really sorry, but do you have a t-shirt or something I can borrow?,” you asked, leaning on the doorframe. He looked you up and down, laughing. “You’re wearing pyjamas already pet.”
“I know! I know. But I went outside in these. Plus my legs get hot when I sleep.” This was true. You loved fluffy pyjama pants as loungewear but you only ever slept in a top and pants, and you couldn’t exactly wear your skimpy vest on its own tonight. Harry shook his head as he chuckled, his unkempt curls bobbing as he did. He yanked a shirt out of his wardrobe and chucked it at you. “Yeah yeah. You just want to tell the world you wore Harry Styles’ shirt.”
“Oh yes,” you rebutted. “Because ‘I slept in Harry Styles’ hotel’ wouldn’t make a good enough story.”
As you came out the bathroom, you resumed your post leaning against the doorframe, watching Harry throw a blanket on the sofa before trying and failing, several times, to stuff his long body on the loveseat. Stifling a laugh, you called out, “Harry, seriously. Not a chance you’re fitting on that sofa. Come to bed.”
As much as he tried to ignore it, you telling Harry to come to bed was far more inviting than he wanted it to be. He felt nuts. After all, you were a fan - a big enough fan that you’d go to all 4 of his Wembley dates. If word ever got out, he’d have hoards of fans outside every hotel waiting to be the next lucky girl. He just couldn’t explain why he was so drawn to you.
“Thank god for that,” Harry sighed, throwing his head back. “I have places to be tomorrow, I need a good sleep.” He whipped the covers bad and climbed in next to you, rubbing his hands over his face. You were thrashing around, trying to find a comfy position. Settling on your side, you tried to scoot as close to the edge as possible to make this slightly less awkward. Neither of you were used to sharing a bed without the promise of ending up tangled around one another.
“Hey,” he spoke quietly now. “What are you wearing tomorrow love?” Pulling you head up to look at him, you giggled sweetly. That pet name could be dangerous for you. “Why do you want to know?,” you questioned. Suddenly, you felt shy about your outfit choice. You were saving your best outfit for the final date, and now you wished you had something flashier to tell him - although, he’d seen you in your cutesiest pyjamas so the damage may have already been done.
“Want to see if I can spot you in the crowd,” he replied, shrugging his bare shoulders under the duvet. You tapped on your nose as you replied, “baby, you don’t need to worry about spotting me. Anyway, what are you wearing?”
Harry copied you and tapped on his nose, before switching off the bedside lamp and calling out a soft ‘goodnight’. You were pinching yourself up and down your arms to make sure you weren’t already dreaming. You couldn’t believe an insomnia stroll turned into Harry Styles’ bed. The Harry Styles’ bed. If only you knew what the rest of the week would hold.
part two
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strawberryyivy · 2 months
Text
➜ GARDENS OF BABYLON
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summary: clarisse la rue x daughter of apollo reader. reader hates clarisse until she doesn't hehe. reader is a little bit of a bitch sorry!! just a bit tho! ooc clarisse maybe? and no smut ofc :) just sweet girls in love mwah
warning: reader dates a man but there's not a lot of details about that, bad writing sorry:/
word count: 5k (im so sorry i got carried away)
Help Palestine 🇵🇸!
It could be love, we could be the way forward and I know I'll pay for it
You weren't sure about many things in your life, but one think that you were pretty sure about, was the that you and Clarisse had nothing in common.
She was rude and mean. She didn't hesitate when it came to hurting people. She was cold. She was exactly what you expect an Ares child to be like. So you tried to keep your distance as much as possible.
It was hard, though. The first time you went to camp, you were twelve, extremely scared and insecure, and she did not help your case, at all. You still remembered, how rude she was to you on your first week, how upset she made you and how she made fun of you for crying afterwards. You still remembered watching as the smile appeared on her face the second she saw the tears in your eyes. You could never forget that look. And you could definitely never forgive her, either.
After that, you had very small interactions, you got claimed after two months, which was good enough for you. You made friends, you grew up and gained confidence in yourself and in your abilities. And that whole incident with Clarisse just became a distant memory. But she was still always around. And you were always trying to pretend like she wasn't.
But your whole opinion on her was about to change, and it all started one night, at the bonfire.
At the time you were dating a guy, Jacob, and you liked Jason, you really did, he was nice – most of the time, he was funny– sometimes, he liked to spend time with you, and you never heard anything bad about him. And you were having fun, he was entertaining you, which sounded wrong, and although, you could never admit it out loud, that's all that he was. Entertainment. So the moment he expressed his wish for more, for something a bit more serious, you called it off.
Reality was, you didn't want a relationship, you didn't need one. Your life was crazy as it is, you didn't need one more thing to be preoccupied about, you just wanted to have fun, that's all you needed at the moment. But he did not take that well. That guy you knew disappeared the moment you told him you wanted to stop seeing him.
And yes, maybe it was kind of bad that you decided to end things at the bonfire, with people around – people that could easily listen to your conversation and spread the gossip later. And sure, maybe you were a bit cold towards him, but he did not need to make a scene, a huge scandal. And that was exactly what he did.
You still remember the dirty looks people gave you afterwards, all the whispers, all the rumors surrounding you two. And it made you crazy, people knew nothing about the situation, but they still talked like they did.
And that's when Clarisse came in. You didn't know she was there that night, you didn't know she saw the whole thing.
You were practicing your favorite activity, archery. It made you feel calm, in the moment, and that's exactly what you needed. That was, until you heard a very familiar voice, speaking close to you, way too close.
"Hi pretty"
You could swear your heart stopped for a moment, you turned around fast, the bow and arrow in your hands quickly forgotten.
The moment you met her eyes, your stomach flipped, a weird and unusual feeling making its way to your chest. Her eyes were locked on yours, her body was close enough that you could feel her breath in your face, you could see the gold in her eyes due to the sun light. And it all just added to that uneasy feeling.
And you were still trying to process the fact that she called you pretty.
"Hello." your voice sounded weak, it made you curse yourself.
"Do you have a minute? Promise it'll be quick." Clarisse tilted her head a little, a small smile on her face.
You looked around, trying to understand what was going on. She had no good reason to talk to you, you weren't her friend, or anything, for that matter. Maybe it was one of those times when she just wanted to bully someone and you were the chosen one. That thought made you back away from her.
"No, I don't."
You turned around, putting your bow and arrow on their place and ready to go back to your cabin, far away from her.
"Oh come on, princess, why not?" You could still hear her as you walked away, hoping she would get the hint. "Aren't you a little curious to know what I wanna talk about?"
You felt her hand on your wrist, making you turn around, face to face with her again. "It's about your little boy Jacob, you know? The one who humiliated you in front of everyone?"
She still had that stupid smile on her face, making you roll your eyes. "And what does whatever you want have to do with me? We are not together anymore, and I don't want anything to do with you. Or him!" you were about to leave when you heard her again.
"I want revenge. Are you sure you're not interested?" you turned around slowly, studying her face. "That little shithead hurt one of my sisters, and I haven't put anyone in their place in a while."
That last part made your heart skip a beat, you knew exactly what she meant, you were one of those people once. But different to Jason, you were just a kid, you didn't deserve what she did to you.
"No, I'm not. Have fun terrorizing him though, you always do anyway."
For the third time, you walked away from her, and much for your disappointment, she let you go.
•┈୨♡୧┈•
"Did you do anything stupid lately?"
You lifted your eyes from your food and looked at your friend in front of you, laughing a little at her question. "What?"
"Like, I don't know, did you do something that I need to know about?" the confusion in your eyes made her look behind you, making you turn your head to look as well. Clarisse was staring at you, a weird expression on her face. "She won't stop staring, please tell me you didn't do something against her, that girl could easily kill–"
"Oh gods, I didn't do anything!" You couldn't help but laugh again, turning back to Anya. "She's just probably upset I turned down an offer she made a few days ago."
"What offer? Why don't I ever know about anything?!"
"It's nothing important really, she wants to do something to Jacob, I don't know what, I just know he hurt her sister and I think she wanted my help to 'put him in his place'? Her words not mine."
"Wow, that's weird. And you just simply said no? Just like that?"
"I mean yeah, I don't want him to hate me even more than he already does."
"Makes sense."
You two went back to being silent for a second, before Anya spoke again. "You know, maybe she wanted to get close to you, or something, I don't know."
"What do you mean?"
"I don't know, why would she ask your help on something she could easily do it on her own? I mean, it's a bit weird, right? Maybe she wanted to get to know you."
"I doubt that."
You tried not to think much about it, and pretend that you didn't like the idea of Clarisse wanting to be close to you. But as you closed your eyes that night, ready to go to sleep, the only thing you could think about was pretty brown eyes, with a little bit of gold in them.
•┈୨♡୧┈•
Two days later, as you were walking to practice you saw Jacob, he didn't see you, he was talking to his friend, something you couldn't really hear, but what really caught your attention, was when he lifted up his shirt, his stomach was dark purple, bruises all over it. And you didn't have to think twice to figure out who did that.
And you didn't know why, you just needed to see her, you needed to ask her so many questions, so that's exactly what you did.
You knocked on her cabin door, that heavy and weird feeling on your chest again, waiting for someone to answer. One of her brothers opened the door, looking you up and down. "Can I help you?"
"Yes, is Clarisse here?"
He nodded, but not to say that she was in fact there, he nodded like he knew exactly what you meant.
"Yeah, sure." he left the door open and started to leave the cabin, not before saying with a weird laugh: "Have fun!"
You looked at him confused, having no idea why would he even say that to you, but you decided to not think much about and just go in.
She was sitting on her bed, palm resting on one of her thighs, black nail polish in her other hand. She was painting her nails, and for some reason, that surprise you.
Sure, you've seen her wearing nail polish before, but the look on her face was a rare one, she looked so concentrated, almost peaceful, and you couldn't help but think she looked pretty like that, her curls framing her face.
"Who was it?" she didn't look up from her nails when she said that, probably thinking you were her brother.
"It was me."
You could see the smile on her face before she look up, her eyes shining when she saw you. "Hi pretty."
Ignore the nickname. Ignore the nickname.
"What did you do to him?"
"Sorry?" she got up, walking towards you now, her eyes were dark, the peaceful Clarisse you just saw disappearing.
"I saw his bruises, that was you, wasn't it?"
You didn't know why you were so mad at her, you didn't even like him, you couldn't care less about him if you were being honest, but the need to confront her about it seemed to be more strong than being reasonable.
She tilted her head, a smirk on her face.
"What if it was? Do you have a problem with that?"
"Yes, I do, actually, you shouldn't go around just beating people up."
"Oh really? Why not? He hurt someone I care about, he deserved it."
She didn't sound mad at you, she sounded amused, like she liked the fact that you were talking back.
In reality, she just liked that you were there, in her cabin, so close to her, your eyes locked on hers like you were scared that if you looked anywhere else, she might disappear. But you didn't need to know that.
"Like you care about anyone who isn't yourself, you did that just for fun. Because that's what you do!"
"And why are you so mad about that anyway, hm? You said you didn't wanna have anything to do with it, remember?" she took one more step closer to you, your faces inches apart, you felt her hand on your arm. "Do you still like him or something? Because if I remember correctly, you broke his heart, right? So why do you care so much?"
You didn't know what to say, she was right. And that pissed you off even more.
"I just- I–" You could see her smile growing at your loss of words, her hand on your arm making you even more nervous. "Fuck you, Clarisse."
The feeling in your chest got too strong, you realized how close she was to you, her pretty smile on her face. However her eyes were not on yours anymore, she was looking at your lips, breathing heavy.
Then her eyes met yours again. "Why are you here, y/n?"
"You know why." you stepped back a little, but before you could say anything else you felt her lips on yours.
And you didn't think twice before kissing her back. Her lips were soft, her hands were on your face, and yours made their way to her hips. She smiled during the kiss, making your head spin even more.
"No, wait– that's not what I came for!" you finally came to your senses again, breathing even heavier now. "I don't even like you! I could never like you! You're so... you're awful, you're an awful person!"
Before she could say something, you stormed out of her cabin. And she just stood there, not believing what had just happened.
•┈୨♡୧┈•
A few days since that afternoon had passed and you still couldn't believe that happened. She just kissed you, out of the blue, for no reason at all.
You could still feel her soft lips on yours, her hands on your face, and your heart beating fast against your chest.
But the worst part of it all, is that you liked it, and you couldn't deny it anymore. You couldn't deny your stupid crush on Clarisse. You couldn't deny that's the reason why you got so upset when she mistreated you years ago, that was the reason why you couldn't think straight when it came to her.
Yes she was mean, and a bully – most of the time, she was stubborn and impulsive, but unfortunately for you – and your stupid dumb heart, that didn't make much of a difference. You tried to convince yourself that you hated her for so many years, and yet here you are.
When reality sinked in, you felt panic, because she was the last person you wanted to have feelings for, she was the last person you'd give a chance. So you decided that you were going to repress those feelings, it didn't matter if it hurt you, you would never open your heart to her. You just couldn't.
But apparently the universe had other plans, because while you were at the beach, enjoying the sun, lost in thought, she saw you. Lucky for her, bad luck for you.
You heard her say your name, and before you could run away from her, she sat down beside you, making it impossible for you to look away.
"Where have you been? You just disappeared! Are you avoiding me or something?"
Her voice was soft, you never heard her speaking like this, almost like she was afraid you'd run away if she wasn't careful with her words.
Your stomach felt weird, your heart was beating fast again, and your hands were shaking. All because she noticed. She noticed that you were avoiding her. And for some weird reason, that made you feel special.
"Yeah, well, how did you find me?"
"I threatened one of your friends to tell me where you were." she said that like it was the most obvious think in the world, like you were dumb to even be asking her that question. "I just– I just wanted to say that I'm sorry."
You looked up from the sand, surprise evident in your face, did she just apologize to you?
"You're sorry?"
She rolled her eyes and shook her head. "I'm really bad at this, I just wanted to say that, I'm sorry if I offended you by kissing you, I should've asked first, I just– I felt– I mean, I thought I felt something there but it was just all in my head and I didn't mean to–
You lost your mind, you were sure of it, because now, you were the one kissing her.
One of your hands went to the back of her neck, making her relax under your touch. Her lips moved with yours in the perfect rhythm, like it was meant to be, like you were made to do this, with her.
Her hands were on your back, bringing you closer and closer to her, as if that was possible, and you only stopped kissing when you felt the need for air. Her forehead touched yours, both of you breathing heavy.
"I thought you– I'm... confused." She leaned away a little, still holding you.
In that moment, you didn't know what to say, cause you were as confused as she was. You didn't know why you kissed her, you promised yourself you would stay away, and yet your lips were on hers the moment she got close to you.
"You said you didn't like me." her voice was still soft, but now, a little more serious, her eyes studying your face. "You said you could never like me, did I understand that wrong or what?"
You shook your head, you felt suffocated now that she was so close, asking you questions, making you rethink your terrible decisions and complicated feelings.
"You didn't understand that wrong, that's– yeah, I said that."
Your hand wasn't on her face anymore, and you were getting up. Why did she have to make you feel like this?
"Hey, you're not running away this time! Talk to me." She got up too, getting close to you again.
Her eyes felt like they were burning holes in your skin, making you avoid them. And before you could speak for yourself, try and explain, your anxiety spoke for you.
"What do you want from me, Clarisse? It was just a kiss, does a kiss have to mean anything? I wanted to kiss you, so I did, big fucking deal!"
When you got the courage to look at her again, you couldn't see the soft Clarisse anymore. She nodded her head, looking away from you, letting out a sarcastic laugh.
"You wanted to kiss me, so you did, hm?"
Her voice was cold and her eyes even colder. You nodded your head, if that would help you stay away from her, then you were going to run with it.
She didn't say anything back, she just turned around and left you alone. Not knowing that if she stayed just one more second, she would see the tears streaming down your face.
•┈୨♡୧┈•
You felt horrible, actually, if there was a stronger word for what you were feeling you'd use it, but no amount of words could really describe how you felt.
The guilt was eating you, and you couldn't stop crying, you didn't even know why you were crying in the first place; maybe it was because you realized that you actually had feelings for Clarisse, maybe it was because you were mean to her just because you were scared, or maybe you were just overwhelmed. Either way, the tears wouldn't stop scrolling.
And you did the only thing you knew would help you, you talked to your friend.
"Wait, walk me through it again... you have feelings for who?"
"Please don't make me repeat it!" your hands went to your face, too embarrassed to even think about it.
Anya let out a laugh before she grabbed your wrists, making you look at her again.
"I'm sorry! I just thought you hated her?"
"I guess the hate was just a cover up, I actually do like her a lot. Unfortunately."
"You don't think she likes you back?"
You thought about it for a moment.
You were sure she did, you were sure she liked you back, and was what made it all so scary to you. The fact that you both liked each other, the fact that she could easily hurt you, just like she did years ago, just with a few words. The fact that you could hurt her, just like you did, earlier that day.
With Jacob, it was easy, he liked you, you didn't like him. The moment you got bored and he wanted more, you ended it, and you felt bad, but you also felt safe. You were safe that way, he couldn't hurt your feelings even he tried. That was easy.
With Clarisse,wouldn't be that way, she would know exactly what to do to make you feel pain. If you let her in, she would know just what buttons to push, and that scared you more than anything.
"I just think... I just think it would hurt too much."
Anya gave you a sympathetic look, a small smile on her face. "But if you really like her, don't you think is worth it? Don't you think she's worth it?"
Once again you went to sleep thinking about her. Your mind asking you again and again, is she worth it?
•┈୨♡୧┈•
You felt low in your life a few times.
First, was when your fish died, you were only six and as weird as it sounds, it was your best friend at the time. Second time, was when your grandmother died, when you were eight, she was basically your second mom, and seeing her sick and unable to do anything about it killed you to the core. And the third time was when you found out you had to live your life behind and go to camp, when you found out that you actually had a dad, an unusual one, but you did, and you had to get used to your new life.
And now, it was definitely one of those low points.
You could feel your heart break the moment you saw them together, Clarisse and some girl that you didn't know the name. They were sitting together on the steps of the Ares cabin, Clarisse was touching the other girl's leg, whispering in her ear and making her laugh. You felt sick.
You stopped walking, unable to breathe or to move, staring at them like your life depended on it.
"Oh gods." You could hear Anya say on your right. "Maybe we should go the other way."
Before they could see you, you started walking again, feeling anger and disgust after seeing that. But then it hit you.
You told her the kiss didn't mean anything. You said you didn't like her. You told her you could never like her. You made her believe you didn't feel anything. You had no right to be angry, you had no right to be upset. You just needed to accept that she was moving on, and maybe you should try doing the same.
•┈୨♡୧┈•
A few days later capture the flag happened, as usual the blue team won, which was good, it made you forget about Clarisse for at least a few hours.
But afterwards, at the bonfire, you saw her again, with that same girl. And she looked so beautiful, it was hard to be mad at her. Her hair was down as usual, and she had a black t-shirt on, and it was so tight that made you forget how to breathe for a second.
"Tough, huh?"
You looked to your left, seeing one of her brothers standing next to you, the same one you saw the day you went to their cabin, he was looking at Clarisse as well, his face expression hard to read.
"What do you mean?"
"Seeing her with someone else."
He answered that like it was obvious, looking over at you.
That made your head spin, did she talk about you to her siblings?
"What?! No! We weren't– we never–"
"No, I get it!" he interrupted you, your rambling annoying him. "I was just betting that you would be the one."
"Wait, what?"
This whole situation was giving you a headache.
"Well, you know, in between you and her, I thought you would win, Clarisse was never really fond of her, you know?"
You blinked at him a few times, letting his words sink in. Gathering up courage to ask what was on your mind.
"You think we could work? I mean, we don't even get along." it was supposed to sound nonchalant, like you didn't mean anything by asking that, but unfortunately, he read right through you.
"Yeah, I think you could work. I wouldn't give up on it so easy if I were you."
Before you could ask him anything else, he started to leave but not before saying: "And don't worry, I won't tell her that we had this conversation."
•┈୨♡୧┈•
You could swear you never felt more nervous in your life than at that moment, you were at the door of the Ares cabin, feeling anxiety wash over you. Trying not to shake too much because of the cake in your hand.
And before you could overthink what you were doing, you knocked on the door, taking a deep breath and smoothing your shirt.
She opened the door, her eyes were as cold as you expected, she was staring at you, and then the little box you were holding, and then at you face again.
"Hi." You tried to sound normal. "Can we talk?"
She tilted her head a little to the side, a smile on her face. "I don't think so."
Why did you think it was gonna be easy?
She went to close the door, but before she could, you held it open, getting closer to her.
"Clarisse, please? I really wanna talk."
"Well, I really don't care."
But she didn't move, she didn't back away from you or tried closing the door again, she just stood there, hand on the door knob.
"I have cake!" she looked a little confused, looking at the small box you were holding again. "Orange cake, it's delicious. It's... for you."
You sounded out of breath, like you just ran a marathon.
She sighed and turned around, leaving the door open for you.
"Everybody, get out!"
Without saying anything, her siblings left, some of them giving you a glare, but most left without even looking at you.
Clarisse looked over at your direction again and gesture for you to get in.
"Nice bow."
When you turned around to look at her, she was leaning on the door, like she was ready to kick you out at any minute.
"Thank you." You said touching the bow in your hair, trying not to smile at the fact she complimented you.
She stared at you for a few seconds and rolled her eyes. "What are you doing here? Because if you're just going to stand there–"
"I came to apologize." You took one step closer to her, feeling a little bit more confident. "The way I treated you at the beach... that was horrible, I'm so sorry. You don't need to forgive me or anything but I just– I just wanted to say that I like you. And I didn't want to admit that, because, it's so scary, and you make me feel like I'm gonna die sometimes because of how fast my heart beats when you're around."
"And I was so ready to just pretend I don't feel this way, but then I saw you with that girl and, I just can't do that. Giving us a chance might hurt me in the future but not having you right now hurts just the same, and I can't take it. And I know I'm a coward and–"
"Is that orange cake you said?"
"I'm sorry?" you looked at her like she just said the most offensive thing known to man. "That's it? That's what you took from all that? I'm opening my heart to you."
She took a few steps closer to you, an infuriating smile on her face. "Yeah, I heard that part, how did you even get this cake?"
"It was one of my sisters birthday yesterday and–, you know what, it doesn't matter, don't you think you have something to say to me?"
You were so annoyed, was she dismissing everything you just said?
"Oh, like what?"
"Like... like, you like me back maybe? Maybe an apology for being so horrible to me years ago? Maybe–"
"Gods, you talk so much."
And then she kissed you. But this time, it was different. She was kissing you like she was trying to tell you everything she couldn't put into words, hoping you'd understand.
Without stopping the kiss, she took the cake out of your hands, putting it on a table behind you. Her own grabbing your waist.
You touched the back of her neck, not wanting to let go of her, trying to make this moment last for was long as you could.
When she leaned away, she had a smile on her face, a genuine one.
"Did you mean everything you just said?"
You nodded, still holding her. "More than anything."
"I'm sorry I was mean to you." You were about to kiss her again but she pulled away. "And I like you too by the way, don't know if you were able to catch that."
You shook your head and laughed a little. "No, I got that part, but thanks."
"And also, I love orange cake."
You gave her a smile before leaning in to kiss her again.
•┈୨♡୧┈•
After that, you would spend most of your free time with Clarisse, you guys would go on long walks at night, she would help you practice whenever she got the chance and you would always end up in her cabin somehow.
"Oh gods! Just stop moving!"
You couldn't stop laughing, you guys were sitting on her bed, her hand on your thigh, while you were holding her tube of black nail polish, painting her nails.
"What? Can't I kiss my girlfriend?"
She wouldn't stop moving, trying to get close to you at all cost, holding your face with her free hand, making you look at her. She had a huge smile on her face, making you smile too.
"Am I your girlfriend?"
"Of course you are."
Her voice was so soft, and her hand on your face felt comforting. Making you want to melt into her.
"Okay then." you gave her a peck on the cheek. "Will you let your girlfriend finish painting your nails?"
She laughed and laid her head on your shoulder. "Yes ma'am."
A few seconds later, she heard your vocie again.
"Clarisse?"
"Yes?"
"I could spend the rest of my life with you like this."
She didn't answer you for a few seconds, watching her nails turn black, your delicate hands doing a way better job than she ever could.
She lifted her head from your shoulder, focusing on your concentrated face. A small smile on her lips.
"Yeah, me too."
Now you hang from my lips like the gardens of Babylon. With your boots beneath my bed, forever is the sweetest con.
421 notes · View notes
sophia336 · 2 months
Text
Icebound
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icebound definition: surrounded, obstructed, or covered by ice.
In which Zane uses his element against the Overlord to save the city and his friends. Because it wasn’t about numbers, it was about family.
❄️🩵❄️🩵❄️🩵❄️
It is the end, and Zane knows it.
The Overlord is conquering Ninjago City, webs of gold stringing across buildings like Christmas lights and tying up his friends like flies. They struggle, but it is useless under the might of the Overlord.
Zane flips out of the way of a golden band reaching to ensnare him and lands on a roof. All of his friends are tied up, and only Zane is free. He knows what he has to do. He is the only one who can.
“Support me, friends. For one last time.”
He takes a running leap off the ledge, and Jay flips midair so his feet plant squarely on top of his. Then Cole, Lloyd, Kai, Sensei Garmadon, and Wu.
He soars, flying straight at the Overlord, and grabs onto his golden fangs.
Immediately, he feels its power, and its agony. Pain rips into every crevice of his body; his jolts rattle and shake and his wires spark under his skin.
“Let my friends go!” Zane shouts.
“Go where, Doomed Ninja?” The Overlord sneers. Its eyes, red and hateful, glare into him.
Zane writhes under the immense pain and power. His body cannot handle it, he knows, and he feels himself falling apart under it.
“The Golden Weapons are too powerful for you to behold. Your survival chance is low.”
But Zane isn’t trying to hold them. He’s trying to destroy them.
He thinks of his brothers. He thinks of PIXAL. He thinks of his father. He thinks of an old man with long white hair as pure as snow and ice blue eyes that visited him a long time ago, who had come and left as quickly as winter did and had breathed that power into him because he saw him worthy of it.
“This … isn’t about numbers … It's about family!”
The golden webs holding the Ninja fall and they escape. He can hear them screaming, telling him to let go, and he thanks them for that. Wu and Garmadon grab onto them and yank them back, away from the oncoming destruction.
His core — his heart — started reaching critical mass. Frost began creeping upon the Overlord’s fangs. Something blue and blinding in his heart freezes under his power, and Zane embraces it. It's his power. His choice.
“I am a Nindroid. And Ninja never quit. Go Ninja … go!”
He is the Master of Ice. He was built to protect those who cannot protect themselves. He stands for peace, freedom, and courage in the face of all who threaten Ninjago.
Frostbite burns his skin away; jolt and wires freeze under the cold; until he is left completely bare.
The last glimpse they get of Zane is him surrounded by a blizzard of his own making, bright and beautiful like a supernova. Burning blue and white with the terrible brilliance of his own determined choice.
Zane died; not as a machine, not as a human, not as a tool of anyone or anything — but as himself. Zane died to save the ones he loves.
And woke up as something completely different.
❄️🩵❄️🩵❄️🩵❄️
PIXAL climbs her way up the steep cliff side, careful to place her foot in secure crevices in case she slipped and fell from the icy mountain. Heavy snow blinded her vision as the blizzard whipped around her, but she kept her pace steady and sure.
It had been months since she had left Ninjago City and began her search. Months since Zane’s death and memorial. PIXAL knew, logically, that she should be back there, properly mourning him. But she could not.
He had never given up on her, not when she was under the Overlord’s control or when she was struggling with the newness of emotions.
And that meant she could never give up on him.
When she had first met Zane, she became more than a machine meant to function. He was vital to her, and she was a part of him.
She carried half his heart, and against all logical explanations, she knew he was still alive.
She did not tell the Ninja of her suspicions: the immediate aftermath of Zane’s loss had been devastating. She’d watched as the team fractured, splitting at the seams as they all fled their separate ways, too heartsore and dizzy with grief to do much otherwise. She did not tell Cyrus Borg where she was going either, for she knew if he begged her to stay, she would.
If she had told them she had seen a snowy wraith emerge from the destruction of the frozen, apocalyptic atmosphere on the rooftop, she would have been told she had imagined it due to her grief.
And while she was grieving, she was not imagining it. She is a Nindroid, and she did not have an imagination. PIXAL was built to observe, to analyze, to collect data and gather information. She built theories and hypothesized, not assumed.
So she followed the signs. She kept track of all weather anomalies that happened across Ninjago — sudden snowstorms, cold drops in temperatures that swept through small villages and towns. It led her all across the country until it ended here, with her climbing up the frozen, snow-peaked mountain.
Finally, PIXAL arrived at her destination.
The Ice Temple.
Slowly, she makes her way towards it. Her sensors indicate the temperature dropping the closer she gets. For a normal human, they would have already gotten frostbite without the proper equipment and numb with it, but PIXAL was made of metal. The cold did not bother her.
She peers into the glacial architecture, but does not enter. Or more like, she is unable to. It feels as if there is some sort of force of winter that is keeping her at bay.
“Zane?” Hope finds its way into the desperation of her voice. Freezing winds whip her hair out of its ponytail and against the purple circuits on her cheeks, but she barely notices. “Is that you?”
There’s nothing except for the howling wind, then her eyes catch movement. Slowly, almost like a ghost, a figure starts to come closer, making a shape against the blizzard.
If PIXAL had lungs, all the air would have rushed out of them.
A being made of pure winter floated in front of her. Formed of ice and frost and molded by the wind, it stood there and looked at her. Opaque ice carved the face that has been imprinted in her memory drives, the one she had traveled across the entire world to see again.
It was frozen, and beautiful, and Zane.
Inside her neural drive, alarms were blaring into her system, flashing behind her eyes. Warning: Severe weather alert. Temperature reaching sub-zero levels. Retreat into a warmer climate —
PIXAL shut off the notifications.
“Hello,” she says. Zane does not move. She dares a step closer. “Do you recognize me?”
He says nothing, so PIXAL continues on. It feels like their roles were reversed when they first met: she, the one struck speechless by the other’s beauty. Him, stoic to it all.
“I’m PIXAL, the Primary Interactive X-ternal Assistant Lifeform. I’m a … friend. I came searching for you to bring you home. There are things about you that you don’t understand. That you have yet to discover. I am here to help you remember.”
Zane is quiet, but she senses that he is listening. Something glowing in her chest aches.
“It is alright if you don’t remember me,” PIXAL says. She cannot cry, but is she would she could. She is still new to emotions, and many are overwhelming her: joy and grief and something fierce and pure deep in her heart. “I remember you. And we are still compatible.”
Zane tilts his head and drifts closer. The snow slows its fall, the wind stopping altogether. Snowflakes gently coat her hair. Now that he is closer, she can see the differences that make him unlike the old Zane: he doesn’t have the one dimple on the right side of his cheek, or the small beauty mark on his collarbone, or the tiny scar on his index finger from his shuriken.
But he is still Zane, even as an icy spirit.
She held out a hand. “Your brothers miss you very much. Will you come back with me, Zane?”
He is silent, staring at her. Unlike before, it is impossible to know what he is thinking. She gazes up at him, imploring. His eyes have no irises or pupils, so she is simply staring up at pinpricks of pure blue light.
Slowly, his hand reaches out of her.
BANG!
A loud sound echoes across the ice, and out of nowhere chains of Vengestone come flying out and capture him.
Fear slams into her. “Zane!” PIXAL cries.
Ice races out from his body and across the chains as Zane struggles, but no matter what, he can’t break them.
PIXAL whips around to face the assailant.
A man in his thirties, wrapped in a thick parka to prevent the cold and wearing a red mask. He has shoulder-length brown hair and is wearing a dyed red straw hat, and under it she can see he is hiding an eyepatch.
“What are you doing?” PIXAL shouts. Anger — an emotion she rarely feels — burns through her.
The man lowers his gun and pulls out another one before she can even blink.
“Sorry, sweetheart. Just following orders.”
Before she can question what that means, he fires. A net tangles her limbs together and brings her down against the cold snow. Before she can fight against it, electricity courses through her.
And then everything went black.
442 notes · View notes
talesofesther · 3 months
Text
too close to the stars
Loki x Reader
Summary: Somehow, between your overwhelming sweetness and insistence on treating him as if he was someone worth saving, you had managed to sneak your way into Loki's cold heart. He simply hadn't managed the guts to tell you, but a bit of a Christmas spirit might just change that.
A/N: I wish everyone a very happy Christmas. <3
Word count: 3k
Masterlist
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The sun peered over the horizon this morning only to shine over the white expanse of snow that covered the grounds of the Avengers Compound.
It had snowed pretty heavily over the night, and as Loki looked out his window, he couldn't help but think that the landscape was rather pleasant to look at—Thor had already made his way outside to shovel snow out of the driveway along with Steve, the once green fields were now a blanket of glistening white, as were the many trees around. The air was cold, but a pleasant kind of cold; it brought a feeling of calmness.
That is, until a rather sharp noise of something scratching the floor outside his bedroom disrupted Loki's peace.
Accepting that another day had begun, the god made his way outside onto the common area, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his hoodie and putting on his slippers.
As soon as Loki rounded the corner to the spacious living room, his lips hung open in bewilderment and his brows furrowed in mild confusion.
You were standing on the very top of a ladder, stretching your body so you could reach the ceiling trims and lamps, all while holding an ungodly amount of ornaments, string lights, and garlands. It looked like a rather precarious arrangement and Loki found himself worrying for your safety for a moment.
"What on earth are you doing?" Loki asked, exasperated, frozen in place as he watched you.
The ladder wiggled in place when you quickly turned around to face him and Loki nearly bolted forward to catch you if you were to fall. He cursed under his breath when all you did was give him a cheeky smile.
"I'm decorating," you gestured around to the expanse of the living room, which already had most of its nooks and crannies filled with garlands, Santa Claus plushies, stockings, and the like.
Loki's frown only deepened, "We already have decorations." He pointed to the exaggerated Christmas tree that had been standing beside the TV since before the beginning of December. Honestly, he had yet to understand the humans' obsession with said holiday.
You chuckled, and the sound naturally brought the ghost of a smile to Loki's lips as well. "No, silly. I'm decorating for our little Christmas party tomorrow night, I thought the place looked a bit bare still." You winked at him and went back to work.
Loki shook his head, his heart swelling with affection. He was way past denying it already. Somehow, between your overwhelming sweetness and insistence on treating him as if he was someone worth saving, you had managed to sneak your way into Loki's cold heart. He simply hadn't managed the guts to tell you, yet.
With a flick of his wrist, the living room erupted in a myriad of greens, golds, and reds. Each decoration you had on your arms—and more—magically took its rightful place in the walls and between furniture.
A breathless chuckle went past your lips, eyes glinting with amazement as you watched it all unfold. It was incredibly endearing, the way that, despite seeing so much of it, you never ceased to be enchanted by Loki's magic. He secretly took pride in it.
"That's convenient," you mumbled with a faint smile.
"Quite," Loki stated, taking a step closer, "Now please get down from there before you break something and have to spend your precious holiday in the med bay."
You skipped down the ladder as if gravity would bend to your will, were you to fall; the tilt of your lips ever present as you came to stand before Loki, much closer than what would be socially acceptable for ones who said they were merely friends. Yet Loki would never dare to complain. If anything, he held himself back from pulling you even closer.
"Do I detect a hint of worry, trickster?" You raised a brow at him. "Would you miss me if I didn't attend the party?"
Loki chuckled lowly, his smirk was teasing but his eyes avoided yours. "Darling, you're the only reason I'm even going to this party."
You bit your lower lip to keep the smile from getting any bigger, "Flatterer," you breathed.
And Loki loved you like this, all pink cheeks and bashful eyes, as if he had the same effect on you that you had on him. He hardly dared to dream of it. But he allowed himself to bask in these tiny moments by your side.
Then your pinkie hooked around his own, and Loki was putty in your hands.
"Come on, let's take a walk outside, enjoy the sun while it's out." You tugged him toward the elevator, not once letting go of his hand.
It was indeed very pleasant outside, the soft rays of sunlight were just enough to bring a bit of warmth along with the cold winter breeze, the air was fresh to breathe in, and the snowy landscape was beautiful.
Loki's boots crunched the snow and frozen grass underneath as he lazily walked beside you. He'd steal glances at you from time to time, watching as the sunlight shaped your serene profile and how you looked genuinely breathtaking amidst the white horizon. Everything felt perfect for a precious second and Loki wished he could slow down time.
His musing was suddenly interrupted, however, when he was hit in the back of his head with something mildly solid and very cold; causing an oof to escape his lips.
He whipped his head around in your direction only to see you muffling a giggle with one hand, while the other held a snowball.
A halfhearted scoff went past Loki's lips. He raised a hand to brush off the remaining snow from his hair, as a mischievous smirk painted his features, "You little minx, you have no idea what you've gotten yourselves into."
A mix of a squeak and a chuckle fell past your lips the moment Loki bolted towards you and you naturally sped off in the opposite direction. You struggled to run amidst the rather thick snow and Loki took the advantage to bunch up a snowball of his own and hit you square in the back.
By the time you had made it back inside the Compound, you both had nearly run two full laps of the whole yard and were a mess of snow-covered clothes and breathless laughs.
"I.. win," you spoke in between deep breaths, one hand resting on Loki's chest to brace yourself.
"Absolutely not," Loki frowned as if you'd personally offended him. He took a deep breath himself, gesturing to your snowy clothes, "You're way worse off than I am."
"Uh uh, lies," you insisted. "I hit you way more than you hit me, your aim is shit," you chuckled.
Loki's smile followed yours naturally, he raised a hand to brush wild strands of your hair away from your eyes, his touch all delicate and soft. "You keep telling yourself that, love."
─── ·❆· ───
When the night of the celebration finally arrived, Loki found himself hesitating to get out of his room. He stared at his reflection in the mirror, slowly running a hand over the smooth fabric of his black suit. Did he like what he saw? The person staring back at him? Would you?
It was no secret that, despite accepting his presence, a few wary looks and comments still lingered between his teammates whenever he walked into a room. Loki couldn't blame them, not really. He also couldn't deny that those not-so-kind comments didn't get to him sometimes, much as he'd like to.
But then, there was you, who had never once made him feel unwelcome or unworthy. You who made him coffee in the mornings and always saved him a seat at the table. You who had a smile reserved for him ever since his first day here. You who made his heartbeat stumble and his silver tongue get caught in his mouth.
And Loki so desperately wanted to be someone deserving of all that. Still, he feared he wasn't.
A long sigh went past his lips. With a final tidying of his hair and the tie around his neck, Loki made his way out.
There was music playing in the common area. The several blinking lights you had so meticulously arranged were illuminating the room beautifully, reflecting against the many Christmas ornaments in warm shades of orange in the night. Tony, Thor, and Natasha were hanging out by the bar, with drinks in hand and loose smiles on their faces; Clint and Steve were sitting on the couch, laughing at something that Loki couldn't hear; Bucky and Sam were standing together by the Christmas tree, apparently trying to guess what was inside each present.
A few of their gazes turned as Loki stepped into the room, he could see as well as feel it, the weight resting in each one. He gave a polite smile and nod to no one in particular as his gaze skimmed around, looking for the reason he came. When he couldn't find you, he walked straight to the bar.
Loki leaned his elbows on the glass surface, closing his eyes and breathing in. There was a reason he wasn't overly fond of the team's social gatherings; he felt like an intruder, someone they were merely putting up with.
"Anything special?" Natasha's sultry voice made Loki look up. She stood behind the bar with an inquiring eyebrow raised at him.
"I'm afraid she's not here yet," Loki mumbled, which elicited a low chuckle from Natasha. The spy was a dear friend of yours and probably something close to it for Loki as well, one of the few people here who he knew didn't mind his presence.
"Actually," Natasha started, nodding towards the opening doors of the elevator, "I think she just arrived."
Loki turned around and his breath hitched. You stepped out of the elevator slowly, one hand smoothing out the fabric of your red dress—a gorgeous red dress that hugged your body and accentuated your curves to perfection. Your hair was up in a bun and there was golden jewelry highlighting your features.
The god was frozen in place, entranced by the beauty that was you. He'd never been so taken with anyone like he is with you. And when your eyes met, and a small, timid smile graced your glossy lips, Loki swore he could feel his heartbeat stumble.
You were about to make your way to him when Steve called your name and stole your attention. And then Bruce, and then Sam. Seemed like everyone wanted a piece of you tonight.
Loki had a near-empty drink in hand when you finally managed to walk up to him.
You approached him with a smirk, leaning on the bar just beside him and raising a hand to gently tug on the lapel of his blazer. "Well, don't you clean up nicely, trickster?"
Loki hummed, leaning just a tad closer to you, "I'm not the one everyone is trying to get a hold of this evening." He said lowly, only for you to hear.
"Oh please," you chuckled, briefly avoiding his gaze. "I only have eyes for one person tonight."
A beat of silence passed, even if the room was anything but silent. Tony was going on about one of the many Christmas stories he shared every year, eliciting laughs from your teammates who by now had gathered all around the living room. From the corner of his eye, Loki noticed Bucky trying to straighten the star on the very top of the Christmas tree, the one the soldier himself had knocked over earlier.
You'd be mad, Loki thought. You'd be saying something about manners and being more careful, with a smile on your lips as you easily fixed the golden star yourself.
But instead, you were here; attention solely on Loki, in your little corner of the world as the chatter around you turned to nothing but muffled noise.
Why? He couldn't help but wonder. What could you possibly see on him?
"And who is this lucky gentleman?" Loki asked, his voice suddenly way too quiet as he kept his eyes trained on his half-empty glass, "Or lady?"
Only after you didn't answer, did Loki finally look up at you. There was a soft smile on your lips, painted with a feeling he couldn't name.
"That's a secret," you whispered back and took hold of Loki's glass of champagne, leaving it on top of the bar before closing your hand around his own instead. "Come on."
Loki followed easily, he allowed you to guide him to the balcony, where the cold wind was flowing and the warm lights from inside were nothing but a faded glow coming from the glass doors.
You didn't let go of Loki's hand when you stopped walking, only squeezed it once as you looked up at him with softly furrowed brows and an adorable tilt of your head. "What's wrong? You've been all tense ever since I walked in."
Of course you'd know. Of course you'd notice the stiffness of his shoulders and the guarded look in his eyes. If there was anyone who could read him like an open book, it was you.
A breathy chuckle fell past Loki's lips, he drank in the sight of you in the night; as wisps of your hair flew with the wind and as the light from inside outlined the shape of your features.
"You know it as well as I do that they don't want me here," Loki shot a pointed look at your teammates inside, not accusing, simply stating. "I don't… belong here…" Loki's fingers tangled with yours, his thumb gently brushing the skin of your hand, "With you." The words were nothing but a breath.
You raised your free hand to his face, twirling a strand of his hair between your fingers before you gingerly traced his jaw. "But you do," you took half a step closer to him, your heels bumping his shoes, "You may think that you don't, but you do. I'd miss you greatly if you ever left."
Loki met your gaze again, his eyes a pool of sentiment, walls down and as vulnerable as you'd ever seen him. He leaned into your touch, all soft and pleading. "How could I ever deserve your kindness?" He spoke quietly, almost as if he never meant to say it out loud.
But you heard anyway, and your answer came in the same heartbeat. "You already do, always have." Your voice caught slightly in your throat, overwhelmed with the affection you felt for him.
The softest of smiles graced Loki's lips, the back of his eyes burned and his heart beat out of his chest, for you, for you, for you. He leaned in, biting the inside of his cheek and closing his eyes when you didn't pull away. His lips met your forehead in a lingering kiss, a promise of the thousand words he wished to say to you, of everything you made him feel that he couldn't put into words.
When he pulled away, you were looking up at him with something akin to adoration—maybe he could dare to call it love. Your eyes shining with a twinkle of expectation.
Loki squeezed your hand, feeling his cheeks heat up. "I couldn't break your silly tradition, now could I?" He shot a glance up.
You followed his gaze and finally saw it, a glimmer of green leaves with a small red trinket tying it together, delicately flowing in the wind as it hung by the door, pretty much on top of your head. A mistletoe.
You hummed, a small smirk coming to your lips as you settled back on Loki. "I don't remember putting it there." You raised a brow at him, standing so close you breathed the same air.
"And yet it's there anyway," Loki mumbled, lost in your orbit. His eyes darted down to your lips; it was a quick glance, all timid and boyish, but you caught it.
"So it is," you chuckled quietly, taking hold of the tie around his neck so you could pull him closer still, "And I wouldn't want to break tradition either."
You kissed him then, soft lips fitting with his own like a missing puzzle piece. A quiet gasp of surprise escaped Loki as soon as you closed the distance, yet you were quick to kiss it away, trapping his lower lip between yours and bringing one hand up to tangle in between his hair.
The taste, the feeling of you, put Loki's most beautiful dreams to shame. It's white noise and being submerged underwater all the same time—sweet, warm and tasting like brown sugar and the sip of champagne you had earlier.
The world around faded to nothingness as Loki's hand traced your spine and tugged you flush to him, his breath came in trembling puffs when you pulled away just the tiniest bit. His lips tingled as they brushed against yours again.
What a remarkable mortal you were, to have a god shivering beneath your touch. And selfishly, Loki wouldn't have it any other way.
You opened your eyes slowly, tongue running over your bottom lip as your thumb traced his jaw. You breathed in deeply to catch back the air he whisked out of you.
Loki watched the stars dancing in your eyes, looking down at you as if you were his universe, and delighting in the way you looked up at him as if he were yours. Maybe that's what love was all about.
Your hand trailed down his arm, brushing the fabric of his blazer until you tangled your fingers with his.
Squeezing your hand, Loki smiled. He felt like he belonged, right here by your side.
"Come on, before they open all the gifts without us," you winked, raising your free hand to clean the smudged lipstick by the corner of your mouth.
Loki followed you inside with his cheeks and heart feeling all warm. And if the mistletoe disappeared in a flash of green after you turned around, no one needed to know.
⋆* ☾ ⋆*・゚:⋆*・゚
Thank you for reading this little story. Feedback and reblogs are literally what keeps me motivated to continue posting here, so I’d appreciate it if you could take some time to reblog and comment. <3
You do not have permission to repost, copy, or translate my works on any platforms (even with credit), please respect.
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hina-hina · 1 year
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Hiii! May I please request Ghost with a female civilian reader. Where ghost gets secretly married or elopes! Sorry it’s vague I just love fluffy ghost stuff🤍 love your writing🤍 thank you!
Hi friend!!! This is such a cute idea especially coming off of my last Ghost headcanon post. Kinda let my thoughts run wild with this one too but I hope you like it!! (❤ ω ❤) Thank you for suggesting and I'm glad you like what I write!!!
|| Ghost Secretly Eloping ||
Warnings: female reader, some talk of Ghost's backstory
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I can see Ghost as being the type to prefer eloping over a big, fancy wedding
Weddings may also be a bit hard for him to think about due to what happened to his family
Would prefer eloping because it doesn't draw attention to you
He doesn't want you to get hurt because of him
He's thankful when you agree but he still probably would have done the whole wedding thing if that's what it took for you to marry him
Despite getting eloped, you still make him get all dressed up
Even though it's not a wedding dress, he still can't take his eyes off you in the cute, white sundress you show up to the courthouse in
Gets really flustered when you ask him what's wrong
Wears his wedding band on a chain while he's deployed
He doesn't try to hide it, he just prefers wearing his band underneath his shirt and no one ever asks
He would probably tell Captain Price first
I can imagine they're just talking over a cigar or a drink and Price just asks him, "You have anyone waiting back home for you?"
He'd pause for a minute because he does have someone waiting on him but he doesn't want many people to know because he's so paranoid something will happen to you
But eventually he would mutter out, "I have a wife back home."
Price is shocked, thinking its a joke at first
Ghost just sighs heavily and pulls his chain out of his shirt, the small gold band dangling from it
Would be reluctant to share any information about you
Would MAYBE show price the pic he keeps of you in his breast pocket
Price would be so proud of him lowkey
Would probably pat him on the back and congratulate him while he just sits there awkwardly
He probably wouldn't tell the others until he goes back home to you
You would ask him why he hasn't told any of his friends (He would immediately argue that they are not his friends)
You would be worried that he's embarrassed and he is completely taken aback
Him??? Embarrassed of his lovely wife??? No way.
Would try to explain why and you would listen
Would crumble when you grab his face and tell him that he's sweet to worry so much but that you'll be fine if a few of his closest friends colleagues knew he was married
Ultimately you make him realize that he was perhaps taking it a bit too far
So, the next time he's on deployment on base, he shows up to the next training with his chain on the outside of his shirt
The other boys on the 141 are flabbergasted
The "Cold-Hearted" Ghost has a wife!?!
He's immediately bombarded with questions that he just ignores
Soap just laughs, "You got someone to marry you???"
He just shoves him roughly
The other boys do their rounds of congratulations
When he goes back home, you insist that he invite the others over for dinner one night
He tries to refuse but he knows he would do anything if you asked
So when the guys do come over they are in shock because you two are polar opposites
They find it very amusing how whipped he is about you because its very jarring after seeing him on the battlefield
The giggle to themselves when they see him just doing what his wife asks him to do but he just glares and does it anyway
Despite the grief they give him, he is content to be surrounded by his friends and his wife so he allows himself to be happy (´▽`ʃ♡ƪ)
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honouredsatoru · 10 months
Text
Mine, said They.
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— author's note. finally got the courage to write something for yan!satosugu because @nkogneatho hyped me up and i just wanted to give something for disappearing for over a year. not proofread as usual (atp. "not proofread as usual" finna be the way yall recognize my work.) art cr. iku_ju on twt
— warnings. nsfw under "keep reading" tab. yanderes. body worship, dubcon if you squint hard enough. implied subtle psychological break and captivity.
— characters. geto suguru, gojo satoru
— taglist. @noritoshiikamo @sassooda @afortoru @booksweet @laudthingcat @lazy10ieiri @ekaterinatepes @tojisi @tohokuu @peachsayshi @shadowarchon @dearestgojo @starlitheaven @tojisveryown @sixeyesgojo
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yandere gojo and yandere geto who
— loves you so so much. who worships the grounds that touches your feet. no. you do not walk for the earth. the earth is for YOU to walk on.
— loves the shape of your body, their lips never leaving your skin. they praise you so much, from the way your hair shapes your face structure to the way that anklet of yours compliments your skin tone. whenever you let them know of your insecurities, they'd pull you into a tight hug and filled you with nothing but words of reassurance.
"our sweet, beauteous doll! your body is what inspired those in ancient greek and rome to carves their marbles out of. your body is what resembles warmth, love, and what strength is. it is what helped you survive, so don't let those tainted thoughts get to you." said they.
— who gets worried sick when you fall sick, making sure your body doesn't get too hot or gets too cold, making sure that you take your medicines and meals on time, checking up on you whenever you are resting. space? what is that? what if something bad happens to you if they leave your side even for a split second?
— convinced you that staying at home is much better, that you have them to do all the tasks you need. that a gentle angel like you don't need the sun to ruin your skin, you don't need the harsh air to ruin your hair, making it rough. no. their doll mustn't be tainted.
— laughs at your antics when you sulk because you miss the outdoor breeze, the shady skies and the warm sun. okay. maybe once a month would do. there's no harm to that, right?
— adorned their doll with a rose gold necklace set with their birthstones as its pendant, two rings connected your birthstone attached on it, a pair of rose gold earrings, custom made with white pearls. only the best for their darling.
— who fantasizes about you getting pregnant. the thought of your belly swollen as the months pass by, the way you'll whine, cling and depend on them. they fantasized kissing your belly, their fingers tracing hearts over the stretch marks that formed onto your skin, they fantasized you going to lamaze classes, with them taking turns to go with you. oh their darling.
— convinces you that if it wasn't for them, how could you ever learn what love is? you never received attention or any sort of affection growing up so let them warm your heart out with their love. your family? they're your family now. your friends? you've got two best friends. just surrender to them.
NSFW
yandere gojo and yandere geto who
— has a sadistic streak to them. cocks, lube, vibrators, dildos, soft pink hand cuffs, ball gags, whipped cream, ice cubes, honey, chocolate syrup, whips, melted candle wax, neck ties and ropes, whips, all of that to see just how well your body responds to their method of loving you.
— coerced you into filming your sinful deeds knowing you've a fear of being filmed but hey, nobody's gonna watch them, well... it's just for their eyes. so don't you let your pretty little head worry too much, m'kay?
— licked your tear stained cheeks as you cried, begging for them to stop when it gets too much for you. your chest is filled with bite and love marks, your thighs are shaking too hard for you that it's going to not make you walk straight for the new few days, your cheeks slightly red because they like to slap you and tug your hair when you're being an absolute brat.
yandere geto who
— fucked you stupid while gojo watches, panting salaciously as he admires the view of his bestfriend's cock penetrating that tight, abused hole of yours while you're restrained with an adult door swing.
"god, she looks divine when she can't go nowhere." gojo whispers to himself, with geto's eyes rolling up in pleasure, cursing under his breath about how tight you are, just how well you're taking him in. your thighs and wrists will be slightly bruised but... it's worth it, no?
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all writing belongs to honouredsatoru.
reblogs and interactions are appreciated. ♡
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