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bro-atz · 6 months

Text

all tatted up

in which: you meet san at a bar, and he's way different from what you were expecting.

pair: san/afab!reader

word count: 3.7k

content: smut, bedroom sex, unprotected (consensual) sex (remember to wrap it up irl!), tattoos, he calls you kitten a lot, creampies, spanking, completely consensual!

tag list: @k-hotchoisan apply for the permanent taglist here! part one | part two | part three

Every Thursday night, you went drinking. Why? You didn’t have to go into the office on Friday, and you hated the crowds at bars and restaurants on Fridays and the weekend. So, Thursday was your night of choice to wind down after the stress of the week.

Your bar of choice was the bar that you had been going to ever since you were a college student. You knew everyone that worked there, and they knew you. They knew what you liked to drink, and they always severely undercharged you because you were a friend. Why would you even think about going anywhere else?

When you got to the bar that night, you noticed that there were more people than usual— more to the point where there weren’t even any barstools at the bar itself. You turned to your bouncer friend and asked, “What’s going on?”

“A birthday party. Someone called in and requested the space.”

“When?”

“Earlier this morning,” he said after thinking about it.

“Fuck… Do you think you could grab me a stool?”

“I’ll see what I can do, Y/N.”

Sighing, you nodded and walked over to the bar. You flagged the bartender down, the bartender immediately nodding and making your drink. You stood at the bar and tapped your fingers on the wood as you waited for your drink. Someone approached you from the side with a stool.

“Oh, thank—” you choked on your words when you saw that the person who gave you the stool was not the bouncer, but a gorgeous man instead. “God…”

“Would you like to sit?” he asked, his low voice tickling your nerves.

“Ah, thank you…”

He pushed the bar stool in as you took a seat. He then remained standing next to you, a drink in his hand. When you got your drink, he held his up. You clinked glasses and took a sip before fidgeting with your glass.

You couldn’t even keep your head on straight. The man standing right next to you was so beautiful, and he only got more and more beautiful the more secret glances you made towards him. His muscles were bulging through his dark long sleeved shirt, and his jeans made his waist look incredibly small— maybe he had a small waist to begin with— but what you really couldn’t get over was how the collar of his shirt hugged his neck so snugly that it made his neck look so appetizing. You didn’t even think you were into necks like that until you met him.

“What’s your name, stranger?” he asked you as he leaned against the bar top, one leg crossed over the other.

“Y/N. And you?”

“San.”

“Nice to meet you, San.”

“Nice to meet you, too.”

You nursed your one and only drink as you spent the night talking to San. At some point, one of the people from the birthday party asked if they could steal the stool from you, so you and San ended up standing right next to each other. You didn’t even realize that hours had passed since you met him. You walked into the bar at six, and it was almost ten by that point.

“What brings you here?” you asked him.

“I’m friends with someone that brought me to the birthday party,” he explained. “But I don’t really know the birthday boy, and I’m also not a big drinker.”

“You’re not?”

“No. This is ginger ale,” he said with a laugh.

“So then… Why did you stay? If you don’t really drink, that is…” you mused out loud.

“Well, I was going to leave, but then I saw an incredibly attractive woman standing right at the exit talking to the bouncer, and when I saw her walk into the bar…” San whispered as he got closer to you. “It made me want to stay right where I was.”

By that point, San was standing right behind you. He had trapped you against the bar, his hands on either side of you clinging to the wood. His lips were dangerously close to your ear, and you could feel his hot breath on your neck.

“Am I to assume that I was the woman by the exit?” you breathed out.

You turned your head to look at him, your face mere centimeters away from his.

“Why else would I be talking to you all night, kitten?”

Your heart thudded wildly in your chest when he called you kitten, causing you to turn away abruptly. It took everything in you to keep yourself together when you felt his chest press against your back and his nose brushing against your ear.

“Would it be alright if I took you back to my place?” he asked you in that sweet, low register of his.

“Take me to wherever you want, San.”

It was only when you left the dark lighting of the bar did you realize that San had tattoos galore on his fingers. Each finger (except for his thumbs) had the same paint stroke type tattoo near his knuckles. Needless to say, they were fucking hot.

“Can I get you anything?” San asked.

He had brought you back to his place. You were sitting on his couch in his… Room. You wanted to say living room, but the man lived in a studio apartment. Right behind the couch was a bed, and a couple feet away from the couch was the kitchen.

“No, I’m okay,” you shook your head.

Moments later, San joined you on the couch. He sat right next to you and put his arm around you, his arm bringing you closer to him. His other hand remained on his lap, which you proceeded to hold. You just kept holding his fingers and turning them so you could observe the tattoo even closer, only for San to lace his fingers with yours. He brought the back of your hand to his lips and left a whisper of a kiss.

“I didn’t know you had tattoos…” you said quietly.

“I have more than these,” he responded with an airy chuckle.

“You do?”

Smirking, San leaned away from you slightly. He took his hand back from you and removed the one around your shoulder to pull his shirt off and reveal a very elaborate portrait of a wolf’s head the word “warrior” across his ribcage. He also had two thick, solid rings around one arm and one thin one around his wrist.

Also, forget about the tattoos for a second. San was fucking sexy. His shoulders were broad, his chest was defined, and so were his abs (the way he was sitting was doing wonders for his abs). Not only did you want to touch his tattoos, but you also wanted to trace the outline of his abs.

“Wow…” you breathed out, your hand unsure of whether or not you could touch him.

“Go ahead, kitten. I’m all yours,” San said as he pushed himself closer to you, his arm going over your shoulders once more.

Gently, you laid your hand flat on his chest over his wolf tattoo. Your thumb traced from the tip of the wolf’s nose up to in between its eyes. As you traced the tattoo, San brought his face closer to yours. He rubbed his nose against your jawline and let out a little moan.

“For someone with so many tattoos,” you said quietly. “It’s kind of surprising that you don’t drink.”

“Why does the amount of ink on my body have to do with what I consume?”

San’s head moved so that his eyes could meet yours. His face was solemn, but his eyes had a glint of amusement in them.

“You know what? It doesn’t.”

You bit the inside of your cheek as San hummed in agreement and returned his head to the nook of your neck. Hugging you closer with one arm, he held onto your waist with the other, his fingertips pressing into you lightly. Your hand moved from his chest to his ribcage, your thumb now running over his warrior tattoo. Your other hand was pressed against the couch, your nails nearly digging into the cushion.

“You smell so good, kitten,” San said with a sigh. “I need you so bad.”

“Have your way with me, then.”

You felt him smile against your skin before leaving the lightest kiss. He got off the couch and wrapped his arms around your waist before lifting you up and carrying you to his bed. When he sat down on the bed, you were trapping his waist with your knees, making you sit on his lap.

The man had yet to properly kiss you, which was making you antsy as fuck; and while you could’ve kissed him first, you just didn’t have the guts to. You were still trying to calm your fluttering heart.

San held onto the bottom of your shirt and began to lift upwards. Soon, your shirt was scattered somewhere on the ground, and your hands were clinging to the back of his neck. You heard San suck in a breath through his teeth, a small groan emanating from him. He exhaled erotically when you ran your hand down his neck, down his chest, and over his ribcage. Suddenly, he pulled you closer to him, making you straighten your back. His nose brushed against the nook of your neck once more, and when he bit your neck, goosebumps erupted all over your skin. Those goosebumps only intensified when he licked your neck, and you felt butterflies rampage through your entire body when he grabbed your neck to choke you lightly and finally, finally kissed you.

God, the man was an amazing kisser. He was kissing you hungrily as if he was starved for days. You had to hold onto his shoulders to keep yourself up, but you felt yourself melt almost immediately when he ran his fingers through your hair and held the back of your head. His other hand was working on unhooking your bra and pulling it off. The second your bra was off, San immediately cupped your breast before massaging firmly. You moaned desperately into his mouth the more he massaged, your entire body aching for him as your hips unconsciously started to grind against his clothed crotch.

Realizing your consternation, San leaned back and pulled you with him so that you were pinning him down on the bed. You were pretty much laying on him, your chest pressing against his. Your lips were still locked in frenzied kisses when you felt his hands move down to your raised ass. He slipped your panties down so that he could rub your soaking wet pussy— skin-to-skin contact. You moaned delightfully into his mouth as you felt his fingers go past your clit repeatedly, only to let out a much louder moan when both his hands spanked both your ass cheeks.

“You like that, kitten?” San asked with a smirk.

“Uh huh,” you hiccuped, still taken aback by his sudden action.

San grinned. He kissed you again, his tongue repeatedly slipping into your mouth, and his hands repeatedly smacking your ass. You, meanwhile, decided to start working on his jeans. You unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans to reveal his briefs, and you felt for the waistband to pull down, his huge, thick cock popping out. You started stroking his dick, your ass shaking with excitement when you felt pre-cum leak along with a sensual groan from him.

“I want my cock in your mouth. I want to hear you gurgle and choke, kitten,” San nearly growled.

Your mouth immediately began salivating when he spoke to you like that. You ran your tongue over your lower lip and moved down to suck him off while kicking off your panties. You heard him inhale sharply the second you took him into your mouth. You teased him by only bringing the tip of his penis into your mouth with resounding pops every time you moved away. His breathing became ragged when you finally decided to start working with more of him, and you watched his hands grip the bedsheets as you swirled your tongue around his length. He flung his head back when you hummed with his dick still in your mouth, the vibrations stimulating him further.

Hearing San gasp and whimper was so fucking hot for you. You wanted to make him cry for you even more, so you did as he requested and brought him into your mouth entirely, completely gurgling and choking on his length.

“Fuck!” San exhaled loudly and ran his shaky fingers through his hair.

It was all too much for him to handle when you looked up at him with half open, hazy eyes. While you wanted to continue sucking him off until he came, San wanted differently. He reached out to you and put his hand under your jaw to bring you back up to him. Hollowing out your cheeks, you sucked one last time then released his cock with a little giggle.

Wordlessly, you knelt so that your pussy was right above his erect dick. You brushed your hair out of your face and held it back, elongating the curve of your waist.

“Shit, Y/N, you’re so fucking sexy,” San said with a sigh, his fingers running through his hair, then resting his hand on the back of his head while his other hand ran from your waist to your hip.

“Right back at ya, big guy,” you held back a light laugh, a small smirk appearing on your face.

Feeling suddenly impatient, you held his cock and positioned it at your entrance, but San grabbed your arm before you could sit.

“Kitten, wait. Let me—” San started only for you to interrupt him by pressing a finger against his lips.

“I like it raw,” you whispered sensually, causing San’s face to turn red.

“Well, as long as you’re clean, I don’t see why not.”

With a small smile, you nodded. You lowered yourself down, a crying moan leaving your soul. You knew that he had a large girth, and you mentally prepared yourself to take him in, but you weren’t expecting him to stretch you out so much. San held back a groan when you full sat down, your walls automatically clenching around him.

“You doing okay?” San asked as he saw you bite you lower lip to keep your face from twisting in pain.

“Mmhmm…You’re just so big,” you murmured.

San couldn’t help but snicker. He nodded understandingly and rubbed your thighs as you prepared yourself to begin moving. His hands moved to your ass the second you lifted yourself up slowly, and he began to guide you as you rode his cock.

Sighs, moans, and whimpers echoed in the apartment, the occasional slap of your ass overpowering the noise. San continued to cup your ass in his thick, warm hands, and every so often, he would smack your cheeks quickly, earning a louder moan from you. And at some point, he decided that he wanted more. He firmly held onto you and slammed your ass down as he thrust upwards, his cock hitting your cervix.

“Yes! More!” you cried loudly. “I’m almost there!”

You thought San was going to let you cum, but you were sorely mistaken. He suddenly lifted you off him entirely and sat up before turning you around so that you were on your elbows and knees.

“Not yet, kitten,” San drawled, his lips right next to your ear. “Wait for me.”

Nibbling lightly on your ear lobe, San slipped his cock back inside you slowly, his leisurely pace driving you insane. You could feel him throbbing wildly inside you, especially when you clenched your pussy (this time intentionally).

“Oh, fuck yeah,” you heard San hiss under his breath. “You’re so fucking good to me, kitten.”

He suddenly slammed into you, making you cry loudly. You moaned loudly as he sped up quickly, and you would let out a yelp anytime he slapped your ass. While his slaps stung painfully, you didn’t want him to stop. It felt way too good.

San grit his teeth as he felt himself getting close. “I’m gonna cum, Y/N,” San groaned.

“C-come inside, San” you replied breathlessly, your words hitching as you felt your orgasm nearing as well. “Fill me up.”

Those words sent San over the edge. He held your waist tightly and pushed himself into you as far as he humanly could, his cock twitching wildly as you felt him releasing his load, his hot cum warming you up inside. When he pulled out, you came as well, both his cum and your fluid leaving your body. Your thighs shook wildly and you let out a loud, pleasureful cry, the cry fading into an exhale as the high of your orgasm wore off.

Watching your pussy quiver as you came, and then seeing the trail of white leaking out of you turned San on all over again. He loved how raw and red your pussy looked in that moment, not to mention your red ass cheeks.

You pushed yourself up with shaking arms, attempting to get off the bed, but San immediately grabbed your waist while saying, “C’mere. I’m not done with you just yet, kitten.”

Letting him manhandle you, San flipped you over again and pinned you down, your back hitting the mattress and your head hitting the pillow. He caressed your face and kissed you sweetly one time before his tongue dove deep into your mouth. You spread your knees for him, allowing him to slip his dick into you. His body rolled into yours fluidly as he continued to lock lips with you, his hand rubbing your ass as he slid in and out of you.

Suddenly, San pushed himself up and grabbed onto your waist. He sped up his gyrations— he only needed a couple thrusts when he entered you again because watching you cum was so hot to him that he was near his climax from before he flipped you over. San’s eyes were squeezed shut as he flung his head back. You watched him shudder and cum, the look on his face sending your heart racing. He looked so picturesque, so beautiful as he came, and it just made you want to fuck him over and over again so you could have that beautiful view etched into your mind. Cum spurt out of your cunt when San pulled out, which just made you want him inside all over again.

San’s eyes fluttered open to see you frothing for him again. You watched San’s chest expand, the wolf on his chest getting bigger as he inhaled deeply, trying to calm down his rough breathing. You sat up and knelt before him, your hands reaching for his neck and chest. You pet the wolf, your pinky brushing past his nipple, while your other had pulled his face close to yours. You both gazed into each other’s eyes, your lips quivering to meet his.

“San…” you breathed out.

“Y/N?”

“Let’s go again.”

“You sure?” San whispered with a hint of amusement. “Do you think you can handle more?”

“I need more,” you said while petting his bicep, your fingers running over his bulging veins. “I need all of you. I need to see your tattoos dance as you pleasure me until the sun rises.”

“Okay,” San smiled and kissed you lightly. “Anything for you, kitten.”

The two of you didn’t sleep the entire night— San listened to you and literally pleasured you until the sun rose. You both only woke up in the afternoon, the sunlight pouring into the apartment. Your head was lying on San’s arm when you woke up, your hand resting on the wolf tattoo.

San had yet to wake up, and you didn’t want to just up and leave without saying anything to him, nor did you want to wake up him. So, you stayed in bed and traced over the wolf tattoo with your fingernail, which ultimately woke up him because it tickled.

“Mmm, good morning beautiful,” San smiled and wrapped his arms around you, hugging you into his chest.

San calling you beautiful made your heart flutter. “Good morning, hot stuff,” you responded softly as you pressed your head against his chest.

You heard his heart beat slightly faster upon you calling him “hot stuff,” and you felt him leave a light kiss on your forehead before smiling against it. You both remained in bed hugging each other for a solid minute or two before you moved your hand up, your fingers running along the side of his neck and tracing lightly over the small pink marks you left.

“San?”

“Yes, kitten.”

“Would you ever consider getting a neck tattoo?”

After a moment of silent thought, San responded, “I never really thought of getting one… Do you think I should?”

“I mean… You’d look really hot with one,” you mumbled. “Especially if you had one running down your neck here.”

You demonstrated where by running your nail along his skin from behind his ear and down his neck, making the man shiver slightly. “What do you think I should get if I do get one?”

“I don’t know…”

“What if I got your name tattooed on my neck?”

You gasped and slapped his neck lightly as you said with shock, “Oh my fucking God, please do not.”

San laughed lightly. He tilted your chin up so that you would look at his face, and he left a small kiss on your lips before pulling away and saying, “Why don’t you help me come up with one over dinner sometime?”

You pressed your lips together to prevent a shy smile from blossoming on your face. “Are you asking me out on a date?”

“Yes, I am, kitten. Name a time and a place— just not a bar. Please.”

You couldn’t hide your smile any longer. “Of course, babes. Let’s go out on a date that won’t be at a bar.”

#ateez #choi san #san smut #san x reader #ateez san #choi san ateez #san ateez #broatz #choi san smut #ateez smut #gee i wonder what inspired this piece #i had to write it... he looked too good to not do it

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juiles · 7 months

Text

We’re always with you.

Requested: yes.

Summary: you have autism and hide it from the team and your girlfriends until one unfortunate party incident.

Pairing: wandanat x autistic!reader

Warnings: overstimulation and a small panic attack

Tags: hurt/comfort

Masterlist here.

Taglist here.

Request form here.

A/N: sorry it took so long for me to respond to this request but I really hope you enjoy!! If you want something written message me or send me an ask!!

——————————————————————

“Come on detka. It won’t be that bad.” Nat muttered into your ear as she held you from behind as you stared at your form in the mirror, her arms wrapped around your waist gently. “It’ll be a couple of hours then we can come up here and cuddle okay?”

You hummed looking up, meeting her eyes through the mirror. At the moment, all you wanted was to rip away from Natasha, strip down, put on some safe comfy clothes and burrow into your special duvet however you nodded, putting a small smile on your face. “Okay Natty…”

She released your waist, one hand dragging down to capture your hand gently and tug you away from the mirror. You pulled your hand back, a normal motion for you. The girls didn’t know why but sometimes being touched made your skin crawl however they never questioned it much. You fidgeted with your top as you followed your girlfriend out to meet up with Wanda.

“You two finally ready?” She mused turning around to look at the two of you. Her face turned from a smirk to a loving smile. “You two look amazing…”

“You look great too detka.” Nat said placing a soft kiss on Wanda’s cheek before the two of them turned to face you, your hands fidgeting with your shirt again. Each of them placed a chaste kiss on your cheeks before the three of you made your way down to the party.

The music was loud as Natasha pushed the door open, revealing a throng of people dancing around, milling around the bar and sprawled out on the multiple couches chatting. Going in there seemed like the worst idea however, you had gone this long without anyone finding out as you managed to avoid any parties that Tony had thrown. Your brain instantly started to scream however you put your mask on and followed the two in front of you to the bar where they both ordered a drink before turning to you.

“What do you want malysh?” Wanda asked placing her hand on the small of your back, bringing you back to the present. Your eyes glanced over to Natasha who had concern swimming in her green eyes. “Do you want me or Natty to order for you?” She mumbled into your ear. You nodded softly, one hand going up to fidget with your necklace.

After ordering your drink and receiving the three of them, the three of you made your way over to the couches where all your friends were sitting.

You sat silently between the two girls as they all chatted. Your body stopping you from talking, earning you a few glances from your concerned friends, glances you brushed off with a small excuse of being tired.

After a couple of hours, your mask had started to slip and your could feel overstimulation take over. Your hair being in your face was causing you to constantly push it behind your ears. The clothes you were wearing were too tight, the shoes pinching your toes, your makeup felt like it was burning your skin. The music suddenly felt like the sound of nails on a chalkboard. the throbbing lights causing a migraine to start forming behind your eyes.

You started to feel your fuse grow shorter and unfortunately it was Natasha that received your final snap.

“Oh my god Natasha. Just fuck off!!” You screamed, your whole body freezing as soon as you realized what happened. Natasha turned to you with wide eyes, confusion running over her face. “Detka…?”

Your head whipped around to face a mad Wanda. “Y/N! Natasha did nothing wrong! What is wrong with you?! You’ve been nothing but stand off ish all night! She was checking to see if you were okay!” You could feel electricity running through your veins so you stood and bolted out of the party, ignoring all the people trying to bring you back with tears now streaming down your face.

You pushed the door to the staircase open and bolted up to the living floor where you flung your old bedroom door open and closed it behind you. After some digging through your drawers, you found some old safe clothes and peeled the fancy clothes off pulling on the cotton material. You flicked the small light off and burrowed into your weighted blanket after whispering for Friday to sound proof your room and unplugging all the electronics. It couldn’t have been more than 5 minutes before you heard a soft knock on your door and you let out a soft whimper.

The sound shattering the hearts of the two women outside your door. Natasha pulled Wanda a little farther from your door. “Autism.” She muttered causing the witch to look at her in confusion. “She’s got all the signs. I don’t know how we’ve never noticed it before. It explains why she exploded.” Wanda’s heart shattered again taking a glance at your door.

“I snapped at her… what do we do?” She asked softly looking back at the assassin who wiped the tears off the brunettes cheeks.

“We put on some cotton clothes, grab her little stuffed animal and her other comfort items and go check on her. She may not want us to touch her and that’s okay but she needs to know we’re here to support her okay?” The redhead said with a soft smile at the witch before the two rushed off to their room.

Your heart felt shattered as your brain played Wanda’s little rant at you over and over again. You had messed up and now she hated you. You knew eventually your autism would ruin it for you. It always did. It’s the reason your parents gave you up and you never found a forever home, dealing with the shit side of the foster system. You hid it from the team over the last 3 years, the fear of being a burden to strong to tell them.

You were once again snapped out of your thoughts with a soft knock on your door. You didn’t respond but the door opened anyways letting in some light causing you to whimper, pulling the cover over your head blocking it out. You heard two sets of footsteps and the door closing before pulling your head out of your blanket to see a sheepish Wanda and a concerned looking Natasha holding all your comfort items.

“Im so sorry detka… i shouldn’t have snapped at you…” She muttered placing your bear in your arms before taking a step back, your hand instantly reaching out towards her and your other girlfriend making grabby hands. “Do you want us to hold you malyshka? It won’t be too much?”

You shook your head. “Pressure…” Your voice came out shaky and almost silent. Both girls climbed into bed with you, you settling your head on Wanda’s chest, Natasha spooning you from behind.

It took around 40 minutes for you to finally feel okay to talk. “Im sorry… I-I-I… I didn’t mean to be a burden… I tried so hard to be normal… but I can’t…”

“And you don’t have to love. You are NOT a burden and anyone who ever called you that is wrong. You are you and that is beautiful.” Natasha muttered pressing soft kisses to your head.

“We love who you are no matter what you think. Your autism doesn’t change that detka. Being “normal” isn’t real sweetheart. Your differences are what makes you exactly what you need to be. Understand me?” Wanda said softly into your hair.

You sniffled and nodded softly in her shirt. Both women pressing kisses into your hair is what you fell asleep to that night.

The next morning, you woke up buried into your two girlfriends who were talking quietly. “Morning sleepyhead…” Wanda said looking down at you, you just tucking into her neck again with a soft whine. “How are you feeling?”

“Better but still tired…” You murmured. “I’m sorry again… i should have been honest with you but… i don’t want to lose you…”

“None of that. We aren’t going anywhere baby. Nothing will change that. Understand?” You nodded into the witches neck receiving soft kisses. “I can’t imagine how bad it was last night but you never have to go to one of those parties again okay?”

“I can go just not for that long… I have to learn my limits…” You said glancing up at Natasha who smiled softly.

“We will help you with that baby.” She said tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Because we’re always with you.”

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kakujis · 1 year

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do you love me? 3;

synopsis: they wake you up at 3am and ask if you love them. 1 + 2 + 4

ft: hanma, ran, and rindou.

warnings: gn!reader, insecurities, clingy bfs, jealous!rindou, swearing, mentions of drinking, not proofread, reader is a lil mean in hanma's ): and thaat should be it!

a/n: is it me or are these getting longer?! anyways, here's part 3! the last one will be mitsuya, draken, and chifuyu! i’m running out of steam thinkin’ of scenarios uh oh. anyway, writing ran's bit was so much fun, since i feel like he's a goofy loverboy. i kind of struggled w rindou’s but i hope it still falls together nicely! ALSO WHY IS HIS SO LONG WTF and here's a special lil tag for @fuyuluvr ♡

the city is quiet as the hum of a motorcycle comes to a stop. hanma’s not sure how he ended up here, well actually he is, subconsciously driving straight to the one place that always riles him up, setting his veins on fire faster than the rush of a zipline.

he hums to himself, taking off his helmet, and nudging down his kick stand. he looks upwards, toward your bedroom window, his heart already starting to flutter in his chest. stuffing his hands into his jacket, he walks up, getting ready to scale up towards your window. he glances around, although no one’s around in this dead of night, he would rather not have anyone calling the cops on him.

they’re probably asleep, he thinks, as he peers back up, nails digging into the stone as he uses his leg to boost himself up. he hoists himself until he’s up to the sil, laughing a little to himself when he notices you left it open like you were expecting him.

he tumbles in, knocking over your lamp in the process. “oops.” he says. meanwhile, the crash has you bolting awake, screaming, no, screeching as you grab your alarm clock, holding it up, ready to throw or swing.

he throws his hands up defensively as he approaches, “it’s me!” and in your sleep deprived state you scramble back, the grip on your device tightening.

hanma barks out a laugh, before he switches on your bedside lamp. “hi baby. ♡” he chirps, seeing your shoulders slump as you settle, a particularly loud sigh escaping you as you place one hand over your chest. he kicks his shoes off as he jumps onto your bed, diving straight into your comforter, laying on his stomach.

“you scared the shit out of me!” you yell, “besides, what time is it?” you look at the device in your hand before you realize it’s off, ripped straight out the socket. frowning, you toss it onto the floor, before crossing your arms and facing him.

“you were really gonna fuck me up, huh?” he muses, honey eyes twinkling at the idea of you actually swinging on him. he would’ve dodged of course, but it would’ve given him an excuse to grab you and have you underneath him.

you sigh again, “shuji, i don’t have time for this. i’ve got a work meeting tomorrow morning.” you grab your blankets, shimmying underneath them and pulling them up, “we can hang out this weekend or something,” you yawn.

“eh?” is all you hear as you turn over, shutting your eyes in hopes of getting some sleep. maybe he’d fall asleep with you or maybe he’d leave, but the only thing that’s really on your mind is this stupid meeting. just a few more days until the weekend, has been your new mantra, if you can just tough it out, you’ll be golden.

it’s quiet for a few minutes, but the dip in your bed is still there and soon enough he’s asking, “do you love me?”

“no, shuji, of course i don’t…” you start, sarcasm tinting your voice as you roll back over, but you stop when you see his defeated expression. it’s different from the shuji you know, his solemn eyes studying you, as he nervously plays with your sheets in one hand.

hanma shuji has been so damn bored. it’s been like this ever since you got a job, constant “i can’t”s, and “maybe next time, shu.” he wants so badly to go on late night rides with you again, the sound of your laughter ripping over the roar of his motorcycle.

he wants to stay up with you until sunrise, at the top of your favorite hill, hands intertwined and shoulders brushing. he wants to snap pictures of you at the top of this hill, thinking you're prettier than any sunrise. you make him feel like he’s invincible and that everything’s okay.

shuji has been so bored, but more so than that, he’s been lonely, unsteady. he misses you so fucking much, nothing’s as fun without you, everything’s dull like the world’s covered in sepia.

“c’mere,” you say, opening your arms and he crawls forward, collapsing into you. “i love you, shuji, i do.. and i’m sorry.”

you realize now how distant you’ve been. unbeknownst to the two of you, just how stressful a new job could be, you were just trying to jumble a new set schedule but you had been snappier, neglectful, and even downright mean at times.

shuji tried his best to accomodate you, going off on night rides by himself, always saying, “it’s alright.” when you’d turn him down again. he tried to busy himself more with his friends, but his mind always wandered to what you’d be doing - did you miss him too? - checking his texts every now and then in hopes there’d be a new message.

“shuji?” you whisper when he doesn’t respond and you think he has every right to be upset with you. but instead he says, “yeah?” his face suddenly dangerously close to yours, the tip of his nose lingers by yours and your face heats up at the proximity.

“um,” you stutter and soon there’s a smirk dancing on his face, “d-did you hear me?”

“i heard you. loud and clear, ♡” he says, lips ghosting over yours, “i was just replayin’ it in my head.”

shuji always has you melting and tonight is no different, so you close your eyes and let him kiss you. deep, sweet, and full of all the things the two of you don’t know how to say. you pout when he pulls away and he grins, “so cute.”

an idea strikes you then as you gaze at the love of your life. “hey… wanna go for a ride?” besides, what's the harm in losing a little sleep?

the way he perks up has you giggling, you’re sure if he had a tail it’d be wagging a mile a minute. he’s practically beaming, as he starts to pull you up and off the bed. he stops for a second, head tilted and finger on his chin, “wait, don’t you have a meeting at in a couple hours?”

you nod, “yeah, so bring me home by 5?” you smile at him as you reach for a jacket.

“i can do that.”

ran:

for the first time in his life, ran haitani cannot fall asleep. he lays there, one arm resting above his head, the only noise being the sound of your soft snores as his mind continues to wander. he thinks about the dinner you two had earlier. it was dumb, the entire situation, your friends were clearly too drunk to be saying reasonable things. ran knew this, he’s been the same way countless times before.

but when she hiccuped, arm slung around you, “maann, can’t believe you ended up with ran! you used to only talk about rindou in high school ehe.” ran felt his stomach drop.

you froze at that, quickly glancing at ran whose face was otherwise unreadable. she continued, incessantly giggling, “seriously seriously! everyday was ‘man rindou looked sooo cu’-“

“thats enough!” you had said, placing a palm over her mouth to muffle her. “lets get you home, okay?” desperately glancing at the rest of your friends, who took the hint and helped her out of there.

ran remembered how after everyone left, you had tried to talk to him, “listen..” your hand reaching towards his.

but for some reason, he had stopped you. “it’s fine, people say dumb shit when they’re drunk,” he mused, pressing a kiss to your forehead, “don’t worry about it.”

and maybe the reason was that he was scared, scared to hear you admit that yeah, you did like his brother. and when that didn’t work out, you settled on him.

he shakes his head, getting up from the bed and padding over to the bathroom. turning the faucet, he douses cold water on his face. don’t be stupid, ran.

when he walks out, he stops when he sees you sitting up, sleepily rubbing your eyes. “ran?” you mumble, “are you okay?”

he settles back into an easy grin, walking over and climbing back in. “yeah, i’m alright.”

“liar.”

he blinks. “what’d you just say?”

“i said, you’re a liar.” you huff, placing your hands on his cheeks, swiveling his head towards yours. “you’re upset.”

“and why do you think that?” he says, but there’s a red tint dusting on his cheeks, and his eyes flicker from you to various objects around the room.

“first of all, you’re awake,” you emphasize, “when is ran ‘if i don't get enough sleep i’ll kill you and your family’ haitani awake at 3am? hm?” you dart your head every time he tries to look away trying to stay in his vision.

he sighs, “okay, you got me.” he stills, looking at you with a crease in his brow. “do you love me? and.. was what your friend said right? that you used to like my brother?”

you soften at his question, “of course i do. i love you and only you. let me explain?”

he nods and you drop your hands, opting to intertwine them with his. sighing, you begin, “okay so, in high school there was this… friend- okay no i hated that bitch-“

you give ran a look as he whistles, caught off guard by your vitriol, as he motions you to continue on with a little grin, “don’t mind me.”

“there was this acquaintance,” you continue and ran nods, “and every single guy i was into she would try to take them from me, so i pretended to like rindou because.. i was scared.. she would actually get together with you.”

its your turn to burn with embarrassment, looking down at your interlocked hands as you reveal the secret you kept for so long. you glance up at ran and groan out a “what?!” when you notice his shit-eating grin.

“i’m really a catch, eh?” he teases and you scrunch your nose. “don’t make that face,” he points, “you’re the one who tried to gatekeep me.”

“ugh fine,” you pout, your face on fire, “this is so embarrassing… ah!” ran pulls you down, hugging you tightly. “ran?”

“man, i feel like a million bucks! who would’ve thought the person i’d been chasin’ all throughout highschool felt the same way. i should’ve asked you out sooner.” he pinches your cheek, cooing, “my baby.”

you can’t even focus on the fact that he casually mentioned the two of you were mutual crushing for so long. if you could die from embarrassment you would. on the flipside, if ran could die from love, he would. he’s never admitted it before, but he’s always felt a little insecure, so he hides it behind a mask that only you get to uncover.

“did i ever meet her?” he asks, face to face with you. he can’t stop smiling, instead continuing to poke your cheek as you pout.

“hmm, maybe. i dunno, i tried to avoid her a lot of the time.” you answer, “why?”

“cause if i did, you wouldn’t even have to worry about it.” he says, running the pad of his thumb over your cheek. “i’ve only had eyes for you after all.”

was he always this cheesy? seriously, you might die. “i’m gonna die,” you profess, your face and body on fire, moving your hands up to hide your expression behind them. “if you continue, i’ll seriously die.”

“dying in my arms is super romantic though.” he muses, “i bet it’d be a dream come true for you.”

“shut up!” you groan, burying your face into the pillow.

“babe, seriously, it’s a dream of mine. romeo and juliet, who?”

“ran haitani, shut up!”

rindou:

rindou haitani was seething. on the outside, he had it all. a club that he owned with his brother, able to play his music to an excited crowd, and to top it all off, a loving partner who did their best to support him. but on the inside, he was someone who hid from his emotions, snuffing them out before they had their chance to reach the surface and maybe that’s why, in rare moments, when he couldn’t snuff them out he waited until you fell asleep to think about them.

maybe it was his fault for inviting you out, but it’s always been a dream of his to watch you dance to his music. at first you refused, something about how crowds aren’t really your thing. but he persisted, noting how you always dance for him when he plays his music so why not do it at his club?

“besides, you always get along with everyone you meet, just try it.” he insisted, beaming when you said “okay, just this once.”

he wasn’t usually jealous, something he prided himself on, that you could hang out with whoever you wanted whenever you wanted and he’d have no issue. but tonight things were different. you looked amazing under the neon, pulsing lights, feeling the beat down to your bones as you swayed and moved on the dance floor.

ran was supposed to stay close to you, but the two of you got separated by the mass of bodies. from his view up top though, rindou could see you clearly, and when someone came up to you to dance, he was sure you would deny them. but perhaps it was the slight buzz of alcohol running through your veins or maybe it was the adrenaline pumping through you that caused you to say yes.

you didn’t grind on them, thankfully, but still, the way you laughed and cheered, eyes fully on them was like a kick to rindou’s gut. at one point, they leaned in to say something to you and rindou almost stopped his set, wanting to take you home immediately. but instead, he grit his teeth and kept playing.

he didn’t have the heart to tell you anything on the way home either, the way you excitedly bounced up and down detailing to him about how much fun you had and how you’d love to go again. he shut those emotions down again, instead laying a hand over yours, smiling and saying, “i’m glad you had fun, love.”

but now as he lay there in your shared bed, one arm around you as you slept on his chest, he was steaming. he has a continuous fight with himself in his head over it, how he isn’t the type to dance anyway, so it’s fine if you have fun dancing with someone else. but also, have you ever had that much fun with him before? like you did tonight with some stranger? he’s so pissed off he can’t remember, especially when he thinks about how close they were to his baby.

when rindou is lost in his head, he never notices the things he does outwardly to keep himself calm. like the tapping on your arm or the shake of his leg, but you do, rousing out of sleep, peeking one eye up at him.

“rinnie?” you croak, voice hoarse from the amount of shouting and laughing you did tonight. “you okay?”

he looks down at you, unable to control the frustration clearly etched across his face. “i’m fine. go back to sleep.”

“no.” you say, even in your half-asleep state you can tell that something’s up, “what’s wrong.”

“nothing.” he huffs, trying his best to not let his emotions get the best of him. but if there’s one thing rindou hates, it’s talking about his feelings.

you pause, trying to think your words over carefully. “did i do something wrong?” he doesn’t respond, and you mull it over again, when an answer comes to you. “oh… i won’t go to the club anymore, if that’s what you want, i bet i looked pretty lame dancing out there-“

“no!” he interrupts, “no… you looked amazing…besides, i love watching you dance.”

“then what is it, rindou? i can’t read your mind, y’know?” you remind him and his face softens.

“i know…” he replies, and you wait for him to continue. that’s something that he’s grateful for, that when he does talk, you never rush him, letting him go at his own pace. “it’s just… did you have to dance with that guy tonight?” he mumbles, voice trailing off so that it’s barely audible.

“hm? i didn’t hear you, did i have to..?” you ask, tilting your head.

“did you have to dance with that stupid dude tonight?!” he nearly yells, rushing out his words and you blink, a little taken aback.

“oh…” you realize, he’s jealous. you realize now that from where he was looking it probably did look bad, his partner, dancing and laughing it up with a stranger. “i’m sorry, i didn’t know that bothered you so much…”

for some reason, that sets rindou off and he scoffs, pissed off once again. of course he’d be annoyed, of course he’d be jealous. you’re his partner. “do you love me?”

his question comes out more like an accusation and you hate it because it stings. in turn you say, “i do. do you trust me?”

he wants to bite back, but when he looks at you, he can’t. you look so hurt, he sighs, rubbing his temple with his free hand, “… sorry. i do trust you. i’m bad at this.”

“i know,” you say and he glances at you, surprised, which makes you smile. “you’re awful at telling me how you feel, so you act all cool and tough instead.”

“aren’t you mad at me?” he asks, your sudden smile catching him off guard.

“hmm… not really mad, just a little hurt is all.” you say, because even though he was the one who told you that you get along with everyone you meet, you know rindou inside and out, culminating from the many years the two of you have shared together.

rindou doesn’t want to seem controlling, but because of that he neglects to establish his boundaries, too focused on how comfortable you feel. it’s his own weird way of control, if he doesn’t push you, let’s you do your thing, then you’ll stay. you won’t leave him like he’s scared you’ll do if he ever says no.

he apologizes again, his frustration turning to shame. you're so patient, even when he snaps at you or can't find the words. but you shake your head, “thanks for telling me. let me know what bothers you, please?”

“i’ll try,” he mumbles, glancing away, and you know that means that next time he probably won’t. he’ll most likely bury those feelings deep inside until you catch wind, but it’s the fact that he’ll at least try that makes you happy. it’s okay, you’ll always be there when he needs it.

you settle back into your original position, closing your eyes and within a few minutes, you’re dozing off asleep.

tonight really did a number on you, he thinks, while playing with your hair, maybe i should be more honest with you… i love you.

but there's a few things that rindou doesn’t realize. like how he’s talking out loud, or that you’re still just barely awake, his “i love you,” warming you up like the morning sun. as much as you wanna mention it when you wake up, you also don’t wanna embarrass him. for now, you’ll keep this a secret.♡

#tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers fluff #tokyo revengers x reader #hanma shuji x reader #ran haitani x reader #rindou haitani x reader #hanma shuji #ran haitani #rindou haitani #pibby writing #RANS WAS MY FAVORITE JSYK !!!!

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jayteacups · 5 months

Text

It's A Wrap!

Working on Attack on Titan as a makeup artist has irreversibly changed your life. As the end rapidly approaches, you find that letting go is harder than you’d thought. After years of harbouring feelings for Levi that you can’t divulge, his final day on set arrives. You know it’s time to say goodbye to him and part ways—but maybe you don’t have to.

Pairing: Levi Ackerman x GN!Reader

Tags & warnings: Actor!Levi, Makeup artist!Reader, fluff, confessions, friends/idiots to lovers, alcohol consumption, briefly implied sexual content, AOT finale spoilers

Word count: 6.9k words

A/N: I’m back, happy Levi month everyone! I wrote this over the last month to cope with the fact AOT was ending and also life stuff. This is incredibly self indulgent, also I would love to tell more stories and scenarios in this AU, so this probably won’t be the last one-shot I write for actor!Levi and MUA!Reader hehehe. Disclaimer that I don't work in film or TV or makeup, sorry if there are any inaccuracies. Also please forgive me for the uncreative title, lol. Hope you enjoy the fic!

Levi’s last day on set is bittersweet.

For the final time, you lean against the wall and count down the seconds on your watch. The trailer door swings open to reveal the man of the hour. On par for the course, Levi arrives fifteen minutes on the dot before his scheduled arrival time. He’s holding his usual steaming flask of tea in one hand, with a nondescript rucksack (save for a Badtz-Maru keychain gifted to him from the Sanrio collaboration) slung over his shoulder.

“Hey,” you greet him, pushing off from the wall, moving towards him like a moth to flame. He sets down his things in the sitting area and meets you halfway, letting you pull him into your arms. After years of working alongside each other, you’ve both grown accustomed to greeting each other like this in private, especially after the stress the two of you had put yourselves under during the Season 3 shoots.

“How are you feeling? It’s your last day.” You ask him as the two of you part. To your dismay, you’re already missing the warmth of his embrace.

“I’m fine. I’m not going to get all sappy about it.” His face is placid.

“That’s what Hange said when they filmed their death scene, and we saw how that ended,” you say lightheartedly. Hange had sworn to remain jovial and upbeat throughout their last day, but after seeing the several other actors cry at their phenomenal acting, they had promptly broken down. “And I bet you anything that Eren’s going to say that when he and Mikasa do the cabin scene next week, and we all know he’ll be the first to start crying and the last to stop.”

Levi rolls his eyes before he enters the wardrobe area, but you know he’s not serious. “If you think I’m going to break down in tears like Hange and the kids did, you’re dead wrong,” he continues, out of sight.

You smile. “Sure. It’s alright, you know, if you do end up crying. It’s an end of an era, we’re all going to get emotional.”

A few moments later, Levi emerges in costume, sans the bandages. He sits down in front of the mirror at the vanity table. “Yes, but I’m satisfied with what I’ve done here, and I have no regrets,” he muses out loud, continuing on from before. “And it’s not like I’m done with the show. There’s the wrap party, then the press tour and all that. So don’t expect me to get all worked up today. I’m not saying goodbye to Attack on Titan just yet.” His voice softens towards the end.

But it is goodbye for us, you wish to say. And I don’t want it to be. You haven’t been contracted for any of their press events. After you finish with Attack on Titan, you’ll have a handful of weeks before your upcoming contract for a new show begins. It’s a wonderful opportunity; the show is airing on a major streaming service and requires you to push your SFX skills to the limit. Sasha had been cast in one of the main roles and both Onyankopon and Nifa will make appearances too, so you’ll see some familiar faces on this new project. But selfishly, you aren’t ready to let go and move forward. Selfishly, you aren’t ready to part ways with Levi.

Sure, the two of you will make an effort to talk every now and then. You know him far better than to assume he’ll stop talking to you the moment Attack on Titan is finished; despite him being standoffish at first, it’s clear Levi cares deeply about everybody he’s ever worked with, cast or crew alike. But the chances of your demanding schedules ever lining up again are close to zero, and sooner or later, your frequent messages will fizzle out into a conversation lost to the ages. You’ll drift, until the two of you are strangers once more. It’s inevitable; you’ve seen it happen before with your actor friends from old projects. No doubt it’ll happen again.

You consider addressing the elephant in the room, wondering if it lingers on his mind, too. But instead, you hum in agreement and pass him a headband to hold his hair out of the way. He puts it on, clearly content to not bring it up just yet.

Levi chews on the inside of his cheek as you sort out your equipment on the vanity table. Your eyes are immediately drawn to his lips, which are a little more chapped than usual. It’s clear there is something else that’s bothering him, but you decide to let it go for now. Sometimes Levi just needs to sit with his thoughts for a moment. You’ve learned that being pushed just makes him close himself off even more. A life in the limelight can be unforgiving. Kuchel Ackerman had been the brightest star of her generation, but behind the scenes, her personal life was far from glamorous. It doesn’t surprise you that her son keeps his heart and feelings well-guarded.

As he sits and stews, you apply chapstick and some basic ‘barely-there’ makeup on his face, before creating the illusion of a hard-fought battle by adding a light layer of grime to his face. You’ll add more after the scar and bandages. As you work, Levi takes out a folder from his bag, which is embellished with a small cat sticker that Hange had stuck on years ago. From it, he takes his copy of the script, nary a crease in the sheets. Brow furrowed, he reads it over and over, mouthing his lines with the fervour of a prayer.

Now, that is odd.

“There is something on your mind, isn’t there?” You’ve also read the script for today’s scene. The director had decided to save Levi’s most poignant scene—where his character salutes the ghosts of his fallen comrades—for the very end of his shoot. (Levi’s epilogue scene had been shot a week prior.) This would be his most challenging scene yet, for it would be the first time he and his character will ever cry on screen. “You can tell me if you want. Anything you need to help you focus. There’s still time.” You give him a quick squeeze on his shoulder.

Stormy eyes glance up at his reflection, than up at yours. He puts down the script and sighs, voice subdued. “I just want to do the Captain’s ending justice, and I don’t think I can.”

“I think you can,” you murmur. You gesture for him to close his eyes, and pick up your finest brush. Willing your hand and heart into steadiness, you bring the brush up to his forehead, where the largest scar begins. You’ll never get used to how infuriatingly gorgeous he is. “No. I know you can. There is no doubting just how much you care about portraying him correctly.”

He swallows. “Well, I’ve never cried on camera before.” He stops, giving you a moment to work.

With the utmost care, you begin to draw the main line of the largest scar, the one that passes through his eye and lips. As the brush passes over his eyelid, it twitches ever so slightly, his long lashes tickling your hand. Smiling, you brush away a stray lash that had fallen onto his cheek. As you extend the line down his cheek, you try to reassure him. Levi’s usually so steadfast, but it makes sense that something like this would grow heavy on his mind.

“You’ve been practicing it with your coach, though, right? I mean, I’ve had to cover up your swollen eyes a number of times this season.”

“Yeah. Thanks for that, by the way.”

“Don’t mention it.”

The brush reaches his lips. He opens his eyes, looking up at you through lowered lashes. Your heart aflutter, you staunchly ignore any and all thoughts of kissing him. Doing so has become more and more difficult with every passing day. Especially when every now and then, you think you see him glancing down at your lips whenever you lean in close to examine a detail of your work.

It’s more than likely that you’re imagining it, though.

Finally, the brush reaches his chin, finishing the outline of the first scar. You lean back to admire your work. After many instances of painstakingly painting on the scars and agonising over continuity, you don’t have to look at your old reference pictures to know the exact shape and curve of them, down to the millimetre. But you do so anyway, and smile in satisfaction when you compare today’s line to the pictures from the first time you drew them on him for practice. A perfect match.

“I know you’ve been working hard at it,” you continue assuring him, putting down the reference photos. “You’ve definitely come a long way.”

“Yeah, but I’m shit at it, actually. All those times we joked about how Eren would take forever to conjure a single tear every time he needed to cry, and now here I am in the exact same position. He’s going to rub this in my face should he ever find out.” He chews the inside of his cheek again, looking down. “Damn it. Don’t know what’s wrong with me today. I’m not… I don’t get nervous. I don’t show up to work feeling unprepared. That isn’t me. But today, it is.”

It’s unsettling, to see him so unsure of himself. His nerves are understandable, as he came into the show with more of a stuntman background and little actual acting experience. But anybody who’s worked alongside him could easily tell you just how dedicated he is to improving his craft, and that nobody else could play the Captain with the same quiet subtleties that Levi brings to the screen.

You hope your smile is somewhat reassuring to him. “And that’s okay. You know, crying on command really isn’t easy. I’ve worked with countless actors and many also find it difficult.” In your experience, most actors need a while to work themselves up to cry. The most obvious exception is Armin, who has the unnerving ability to turn it on and off like a light switch. “For you, all you need to do is make one tear out of one eye. You’ve managed to do that before, right?”

He nods, but the firm clench of his jaw and the crease between his brows don’t fade.

“So, it’s nothing that you haven’t practiced. And on the off chance that you can’t do it today, that’s perfectly fine. I have eyedrops in my bag.”

“Yeah, but…” He shakes his head in frustration. “This is going to sound dumb, but it… I don’t know, that feels like cheating. I know you’re thinking I’m being an idiot, and I probably am. I know eyedrops are common practice. It’s just… This is my character’s last moment before the epilogue, and I want it to be real. I don’t want to take the easy way out.”

“No, it’s not stupid. There’s no shame in needing to use eyedrops if you end up not being able to cry today, but it’s really admirable that you want to do it as authentically as possible. I think that since this is your final scene, and so many people are returning this morning, it’ll be easier than usual to muster up those tears.” Reaching for a set of different brushes and paint, you instruct him, “here’s what we’re going to do. I need you to just listen whilst I do the rest of your scars. I don’t want you to get trapped in your head about this, okay? Overthinking will just make it harder to get into character. Isn’t that what you said to Mikasa all those years back? It worked wonders for her. I often forget that this show was her first ever gig, with how good she’s become.”

He scoffs. “Really? You’re using my own words against me?”

“Well, what use is your own advice if you can’t follow it yourself?”

After a moment of hesitation, Levi sighs in defeat and closes his eyes again. “Shit, you’re relentless. Fine, then. I’ll trust you.”

You get to work, drawing the outlines of the second scar parallel to the first, then the smaller ones on his other cheek. As you add in the details, such as the texture of the stitches, you remind Levi of another story that he himself told you. He’d never worked with horses before being cast in this show, and yet was one of the quickest learners. Unsurprisingly so, since he’s incredibly kinaesthetically intelligent. To this day, the cast insists he looks the most at ease atop a horse, only second to Erwin, who actually used to ride in his childhood. You remind him that every single time, his hard work has more than paid off.

Somewhere down the line, you go off topic. Levi makes no move to stop you. In fact, he seems content just to listen to you talk about anything, everything. As the wounds take shape on his face, you reminisce on anecdotes from set, on the time the two of you spent together. With fondness, you recall your first meeting. Back then, you were an lowly assistant on the SFX team, transforming an unassuming man into the wounded soldier who, in his dying moments, listened to the Captain’s vow to eradicate the titans and bring meaning to his sacrifice. You talk about how the two of you grew closer during the filming of the second season, when Levi had a lot more free time to talk. How difficult the third season had been to film due to both of you being spread thin by additional responsibilities.

You skim over that time Levi mentioned you in an interview when asked about a favourite memory on set, and how warm it made you feel. You don’t talk about how you’d genuinely teared up after watching the final cut of the scene where Hange discovers a half-dead Levi by the riverbank, despite knowing that his ‘injuries’ were nothing more than your own handiwork.

And, with your heart clenching painfully, you certainly don’t dare to bring up the almost-kiss at last year’s cast and crew Halloween party.

———

“Cut! Perfect! Aaand that’s a wrap for Levi!”

The set erupts into thunderous applause. You clap heartily alongside the rest of the cast and crew. A deafening symphony of whoops and cheers fills the air, and if not for the growing lump in your throat, you’d join in too.

A standing ovation. Levi deserves it and more. Just as you expected, every angle the director wanted to capture had needed one take each, not a single one more. No eyedrops needed.

From your position, you can see Levi still sitting by the rock. Strangely, he makes no move to get up. Curious as to why, you peer past some crew members that had moved in the way, but you’re greeted with a sight that pulls at your heartstrings. Your eyes sting with new tears.

Curled up by the rock, Levi has his face buried in his hands, his shoulders heaving with quiet sobs.

Something in your chest aches. You knew that he would get emotional at the end—there was no way he wouldn’t, especially considering that his character cried too—but you didn’t expect him to feel so overwhelmed.

On instinct, your feet propel you towards him, but you’re promptly cut off by a few other crew members moving around. Through your rapidly blurring vision, you can only watch as several of the returning cast members rush forward from the smoke. Hange reaches him first, and pulls him into a bone-crushing hug. Erwin is second, kneeling next to the duo and rubbing Levi’s back comfortingly.

Sniffling, you quickly wipe away your tears, remembering suddenly that you still have something to do. Unnoticed, you slip away from set.

There is a tradition amongst the cast that whenever a character dies, the actor receives a bouquet of flowers from the cast and crew. (A size limit had to be enforced after a very emotional Gabi had presented Sasha with a bouquet so large it couldn’t fit through the trailer door.) For this final season, the tradition has expanded to gifting the actor a bouquet when they wrap, for the characters that survive all the way to the very end.

The door to Connie’s trailer is unlocked when you arrive, just as he said it would be. Inside, you find a vase full of vibrantly coloured flowers on the kitchenette counter in the exact spot where you’d left it earlier this morning. Several weeks ago, the cast and crew had all nominated you to put in the order for the bouquet and present it to Levi on his final day, and Connie had offered to help you hide it from Levi until it was time. Careful to not drip water all over the floor, you pick up the flowers and jog back to set.

The fog machines are being carried out by the time you return. You immediately scan the set for Levi, but it seems he has been completely buried under a massive group hug with the veterans cast, no doubt Hange’s doing. You can’t help but smile at the sight. Most of the crew members appear to be taking a break before clean-up, as it is the end of the day. The air is filled with chatter, but a hush descends upon the crowd as you approach.

The actors peel away from the hug one by one. A smiling Petra helps Levi get to his feet. The bandages on his face are halfway unravelled. With one hand, he yanks them off, leaving both of his eyes to gaze at you unobstructed, ablaze with an intense emotion you can’t quite place. With his other hand, he quickly wipes away the half-dried tears on his cheeks.

“On behalf of the cast and crew,” you say hoarsely, “I give you these.” You step forward and present him the bouquet. “It’s been an honour. Thank you for everything, Levi.”

His fingers gently graze yours as he takes the flowers from you. Tenderly, he holds them close to his chest.

“I was wondering where you went just now,” he says. Of course he’d noticed. “Should’ve known you’d be the one to give me this…” His voice wavers towards the end. He scoffs and wipes at his eyes. “And to think I was done blubbering like a baby. Damn it. You were right.”

He pulls you into a hug without a second thought.

———

Somehow, you’ve been roped into taking photos for everyone. Levi unwraps the bandages around his hand before he begins. He first takes a photo with the director and producer, who both thanking him dearly. They part with a handshake. Almost immediately after, the cast members of the Alliance, along with Eren and Zeke, all swarm forward for a big group photo. They’d all come to watch in support, even if several of them weren’t scheduled to come in today. Connie confesses that he’d helped hide the bouquet by letting you into his trailer. Levi makes a light-hearted remark that he should’ve figured that out too, considering Connie also helped hide Hange’s bouquet—which Levi himself had been responsible for ordering and retrieving.

The veteran actors come forward next. Fitting them all into the camera frame was a challenge, but you manage to do it after one of your makeup assistants finds you a stool. Somehow, Erwin manages to persuade Levi into doing the Scout salute with the rest of them. (“I just did it in the scene, though… Fine, I’ll indulge in your corniness for today, you dorks.”) When he presses his fist to his chest one last time, the veterans erupt into cheers.

Hange and Erwin both stay back for a little longer. The trio pose for more photos, all grinning widely, though you decide to put a stop to the mini-photoshoot when Hange attempts to pick Levi up bridal-style and almost drops him.

(“When I said ‘put me down’, I didn’t mean for you to drop me with no fucking warning!”

“I didn’t mean to drop you. Besides, I caught you, didn’t I? You’re fine, see?”)

After that fiasco, Levi asks to take one with the original Special Ops Squad, as it had been years since they’d managed to meet up.

Zeke comes back for another photo, slipping one arm around Levi’s shoulders. As you meet the taller man’s eyes over the top of his phone, he winks mischievously, holding two fingers up in bunny ears above Levi’s unsuspecting head. Say nothing, he mouths to you. With a herculean effort, you suppress your laugh. Zeke has made it his personal mission to photobomb every main cast member from the finale. After months of shooting, Levi is the last one standing, and it’s incredibly entertaining how hard Zeke tries to finish his mission, even now.

“Hand down, Zeke.”

“Damn it, how did you know?”

“You’re about as subtle as Reiner is when he pretends he hasn’t broken a prop.”

Zeke laughs. “Nothing gets past you, Levi, does it?”

As the two continue to playfully bicker, more jokes than actual verbal barbs, you open the photo you’d managed to take split seconds before Levi called Zeke out. “Mission accomplished,” you say, and a delighted Zeke reaches over Levi’s head to high-five you. Looking mildly betrayed, Levi whips his head back around to face you.

You grin sheepishly as you pass Zeke’s phone back to him, the photo on display. “Sorry. I had to help him.”

“Why are you two like this?” Levi says, shaking his head, barely holding back a smile. He and Zeke part after a hug and a promise to get drinks soon.

Levi’s promptly joined by Falco and Gabi, and after their photo is taken, he ruffles their hair affectionately, which makes Gabi yelp. He really has stepped into the ‘cast dad’ role, a development that you find endlessly endearing. Soon after, their parents arrive to take them home— the kids have quite an early start tomorrow to film their scenes with Annie and Kiyomi on the boat.

Jean and Connie take the chance to snatch a couple of selfies with him, before the latter asks if he could join them to film a TikTok for the show’s official account. To Levi’s utmost relief, it isn’t a dance challenge. Connie instead asks him a few questions about how he feels about the show ending, and what the show means to him—he’s putting together a montage of every cast member’s responses.

On the sidelines, just out of view, you watch Levi give his answers. An ember of warmth kindles in your chest.

Soon after, Levi’s approached by the stunt team, headed by an old friend of Levi’s from his stuntman days. She’d made a cameo in the third season as Kenny’s lieutenant. You happily take a group photo for them.

After you hand Caven’s phone back to her, Hange taps you on the shoulder, having finished catching up with the other cast members. You smile as they hug you tight, swaying on the spot; today is the first time you’ve seen them since they filmed their death scene a few months back.

“It’s so good to see you!” They say, linking arms with yours. “Sorry it took so long to come and find you.”

“Don’t worry! It’s lovely having you back. How are you finding your return?”

“It’s great! I’ve really been missing this, even though it hasn’t been that long.” They pout.

“Oh, we’ve all missed you too, Hange,” you say, smiling. “Have you been up to much since you left?”

“Well, I visited my dad for a bit, then I sent in an audition tape for this thriller movie that my agent thinks I’ll be a good pick for. I also got a few other offers, but I’m a little on the fence. I’ll consider those if I don’t get that thriller role, but who knows when I’ll hear back from them?”

“I bet you’ll get it. Thrillers are right up your alley.”

“You flatter me, dear,” They grin. “Anyways, I am here to say that you are the only one left who has not taken a picture with Levi. And that needs to change. The two of you need something to remember this day by!” You realise they’ve been guiding you towards the rock, where Levi, Mikasa, Armin and Eren are deep in conversation. The younger actors are laughing boisterously at something Levi had said, heads tilted back, sporting wide grins. Levi’s still cradling his bouquet carefully, a soft smile as he speaks, looking up at his younger cast mates with endearment. Your heart warms at the sight.

The quartet look up as you approach. The younger actors wave goodbye, disappearing into the crowd. Hange quickly ushers you and Levi together, their phone already out of their pocket. “Alrighty, here we go!” They cheer. “Oi, look lively now, Levi. It’s the last photo!”

“Was about time we did this,” you whisper to him as you come close. At first, you settle into your usual stance whenever you take a photo with a cast member, but Levi is not just any cast member. Not to you. Gnawing on your lip, you grapple with yourself for a fleeting moment. Your professional side barely puts up a resistance, and so you lean in to whisper a question. Briefly, you wonder what it would feel like to kiss the delicate shell of his ear. You banish the traitorous thought, best as you can.

“Hey, can I put my arm around you for this?” As close as you and Levi have grown over the years, the two of you save your brief hugs for behind the scenes, in private. Physical affection is rare with him otherwise—whilst the cast tend to be very touchy with one another, Levi is usually seen on the sides, watching them with a quiet fondness in his eyes. That hug from earlier—it had to be a fluke, right?

And yet, he sighs, and bridges the small gap between you. His free arm moves behind you, a warm, firm hand comes to rest at your back. “You don’t have to ask, you know,” he murmurs in return. “I hugged you earlier, didn't I? Quit worrying. Go ahead.”

Warmth blooming inside you, you lean sideways towards him on impulse. You slide your own arm behind him, and Levi leans into your touch. “Just so you know,” he continues, “it was an honour working with you too.”

Hange starts to count down from three. A wave of emotion hits you, almost sweeps you off your feet. This is it. Your last day of working with him.

Still so much left unsaid.

Straining to keep your composure, you offer a wide, bright smile for the camera.

———

The next few hours are spent tidying and cleaning up. Most of the actors have gone home, but Levi stays behind to help out the crew, as he always does without fail. With how emotionally taxing the day had been, it’s a wonder he didn’t go back to his trailer immediately to crash. As if you couldn’t admire him any more.

Your eyelids are heavy by the time you finish up and arrive at Levi’s trailer. When you enter, he is slumped in a chair in front of the vanity mirror, already changed out of his costume.

Neither of you say a single word as you carefully wipe away the scars and the grime. Your traitorous hands linger for a split second too long whenever they brush against his smooth skin. In his stormy eyes are that same intense look he’d given you when you first appeared with the bouquet.

You wonder what it means.

Sooner or later, one of you will have to break this fragile silence. Levi decides to take the matter into his own hands, catching you off guard. “I guess this is it.”

The sting in your eyes returns with a fierce vengeance. You turn away for a moment, rapidly blinking your oncoming tears away. An invisible vice clamps down, mercilessly clenching your chest.

You choke on your words, but you get them out somehow. “I’ll miss you.” Not the three words you’ve been yearning to say for the last year, but it will have to do. “I’m going to miss you. So much. It’s been…” You wrack your brain, but there is no singular adjective you know of that could truly describe the past few years working on this show with him. “You know what I mean. Right?”

“I know what you mean.” Levi stands, turning to face you properly. The troubled crease between his brows return. “Look, I… I have to tell you something. Hear me out?”

Your heart thunders in your chest. You nod. “Yeah. Of course.”

His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “Remember this morning? I said I was satisfied with my work here. That I have no regrets.”

Barely able to breathe, you can only manage to nod.

“But that isn’t true. Not really. There is one thing I regret,” he says, slowly, cautiously.

Voice barely a whisper, you ask. “What is it?”

“That we never talked about what almost happened at Halloween last year.”

The world comes to a halt.

Dimmed lights. Bass reverberates through your bones. The aftertaste of a Bloody Mary lingers on your tongue. Levi is just centimetres away, his chest almost flush with yours. His eyes valiantly fight to stay focused on the intricate titan-shifter makeup on your cheeks, before he gives in and his line of sight drops to your lips. Unconsciously, he leans in slightly, seemingly gravitating towards you.

Devastating. That is the first word that comes to your mind. It is high time you realise that he will be the end of you; he could ask anything of you and you’d do it. Your heart beats for him.

Caught in his orbit, your face tilts towards his.

A drunken crew member barges past, jostling your shoulder. You yelp, stumbling to the side, before Levi’s hands—warm, steady, safe—catch you. The spell broken, he lets go the moment you are upright, averting his eyes from yours. Levi takes a step backwards—a small one, because there is barely any space in the corner of the room the two of you are tucked into. But to you, he suddenly feels so distant, that he might as well be on the other side of the universe.

“I need some air,” he says, stoic mask falling back into place. Before you can ask him what’s wrong, Levi turns on his heel and disappears into the crowd, taking all the warmth of the room with him.

No. This is dangerous territory. Since that night, the two of you had constructed an unspoken agreement to pretend nothing had ever happened. Levi had never made any impression that it was anything other than a drunken lapse in professionalism. For a while, you wondered if he even remembered that moment, or if it had all been in your head, a result of you projecting your own desires onto him.

Regardless, he had never brought it up. You’d been content to do the same. It was—and still is—impossible to fathom that Levi would ever want you.

“Tell me,” he says hoarsely, “that I wasn’t imagining things that night, and every day since. Tell me I’m not imagining that you’ve been looking at me like…”

Your breath hitches in your throat. “Like what?”

“Like that!” He snaps. His hands tremble in a way you’ve never seen before as he gestures towards you, voice tinged with desperation. “Like how you’re looking at me right now. I-I don’t know how I didn’t see it sooner. Because if I had… maybe I would’ve…”

The staggering realisation of what he’s trying to say sinks in.

Choking back a sob of relief, you reach out for his hands, and he offers them to you with no resistance. A light blush sweeps across his face as he stares at your interlocking fingers with something akin to wonder.

Breathlessly, you dare to ask. “Do you mean it? That if you had known how I felt, you… you would’ve kissed me?”

“Yes. I would’ve. I wanted to, more than anything.” With that, Levi finally looks up from your joined hands. The burning look he’s been giving you all throughout today—you recognise it, now, plain and simple.

His earlier words ring in your mind. I don’t know how I didn’t see it sooner.

“Oh, Levi,” you whisper.

He continues on. “And if I had known how you felt, I wouldn’t have upped and left you like that. I was being a shitty coward, for running away and pretending it never happened, and never giving you an explanation when you deserved one. I was scared, I think, of ruining what we already had. You didn’t imagine anything on my part, it happened, and you didn’t do anything wrong that night… I’m sorry.”

Smiling, you squeeze his hands; warm, steady, safe. “You aren’t imagining things on my end either. I’m in love with you, and have been for a while now.” You don’t need him to say those precious words back for now—Levi’s endearingly clumsy attempt at confessing means more to you than he’ll ever know. “And I forgive you for running out on me that night. We both thought it didn’t mean anything to the other person. For so long, I thought that even if you did, things would never work out, that today would be goodbye, because I have a new contract on the other side of the country, and you’ll be going back to stunt work, a-and…” Your voice trembles, so you force yourself to stop, and breathe.

“It will work. I swear it, I’m not saying goodbye to you. I don’t care what’s coming next, we can make it work.” He seems to muster his resolve, tugging you closer. “No more dancing around this like idiots. We have enough lost time to make up for.”

Smiling so widely your cheeks ache, you playfully poke his cheek. “Well, you can always begin with the kiss you owe me, yeah?”

“You smart-arse.” Levi chuckles, before gently cupping the back of your head with his hand. In a swift movement, he leans in and captures your lips with his.

It’s nothing short of divine.

Levi kisses you with years worth of yearning behind it. His other hand moves to cradle your face, thumb brushing against the curve of your cheek, wiping away a stray tear of happiness.

Eyes fluttering shut, you deepen the kiss. Tongues move in tandem, and it isn’t long before hands begin to roam, exploring the terrains of each other’s bodies with an almost innocent curiosity. Heat simmers underneath your skin, a carnal flame yearning to be stoked, to devour.

For now, though, you’ll have to temper it.

Coming up for air, you close your eyes, resting your forehead against his. As much as you desperately want him, you don’t want your first time having sex with Levi to be in a trailer on set, with multiple crew members still milling around outside and packing up for the day. You tell him as such, and he murmurs his agreement after kissing you once more.

“Glad we’re on the same page about that, so…” Realising what you’re about to say next, you choke back a grin at your own cheesiness. “You wanna go back to your place or mine?”

Levi rests his forehead on your shoulder and chokes back a laugh. “Fuck, that’s such a cliché line.”

You roll your eyes good-naturedly. “Yeah, yeah, laugh all you want, but the question still stands.”

He looks up at you, mirth dancing in his eyes. “Yours, then.”

The time spent packing up and driving back to your home crawls by agonisingly slowly. The moment the two of you cross the threshold onto your home, he’s closing the gap between the two of you, kissing you breathless, thoughtless, until only your longing for him remains. So much so that you almost forget to stop and get a condom out from your drawer—in fact, Levi has to remind you.

The rare few times you had allowed yourself to think about it, you’d pictured Levi as a tender lover, gentle despite his coarseness. He is all this and more. At his fingertips, you come alive. As he makes love to you, laughs and sweet nothings fill the air between the deep kisses you share. You should’ve expected just how generous he can be in bed, but it still takes you by surprise, the way he worships your body with a deep-rooted reverence, determined to pleasure you over and over. In turn, you reciprocate eagerly, honoured that Levi trusts you to take care of him in return, that he is so readily vulnerable with you.

Once the two of you are finally, utterly spent, Levi nudges you awake before you can fully slip into a deep doze, cosy and comfortable in his embrace. “Hey. Gotta clean ourselves up, sleepyhead.”

You chuckle drowsily, and miraculously muster up the strength to crawl out of his arms, out of the warm sheets. “The bathroom is just down the hall,” you yawn, trudging towards a cupboard not the other side of your room. “You can shower first whilst I change the sheets and find you a towel and some spare clothes, ‘kay?”

“Or,” Levi says, voice hoarse with the same kind of contented exhaustion that makes you yearn to curl up beneath the sheets in his arms, “you could come with me.” He pulls you back in, peppering gentle kisses along your neck and shoulder, which tickle slightly.

Euphoric, you close your eyes and laugh. “Okay.”

Showering together is an incredibly sweet, domestic affair. Long after you’ve rinsed off all the lather, you’re both hesitant to leave the warmth of the running water, content to cling onto each other and relish in the feeling of skin against skin.

After the two of you dry off and change the sheets, you climb into bed. Half awake and basking in each other’s presence, you pull him close, nestling your head on his chest. When was the last time you had felt so cherished, so happy?

Sleep claims you swiftly, but not before Levi kisses the top of your head and tells you what you already know:

“I’m in love with you, too.”

———

Several weeks later

The wrap party is well underway by the time you and Levi arrive.

The lights are dim, and the music reverberates through your bones. Levi’s hand finds a home in the curve of your waist as he guides you through the crowd of drunken cast and crew members. His touch anchors you, and you find yourself smiling giddily.

After helping yourself to a cocktail, the hours fly by. Apparently, the entire cast plus half of the crew (including all of the makeup assistants under your command) had been rooting for you and Levi to get together. Tonight when you finally revealed you were in a relationship with him to your juniors, you were subjected to an intense barrage of questions. This, however, paled in comparison to Hange’s reaction when Levi held your hand in front of their very eyes—they’d launched an interrogation so brutal you wonder why they didn’t enter law enforcement instead.

Soon after escaping Hange’s interrogation, you two both get another drink. “Everybody seems far too invested in this development than they should be,” you sigh, still frazzled. “How long do you reckon they’ve been shipping us?”

A look of exasperation flits across Levi’s face. “I don’t know, and I hate that I even know what ‘shipping’ means in this context. Also, I saw Zeke give Erwin money when Hange was drilling us. Fuckers had some kind of bet running on us. Don’t even wanna know how long that had gone on for.”

You tip your head back and laugh. “Colour me unsurprised. That sounds very on-brand for Zeke and Erwin. You know, I think I saw Armin and Connie do the same. Guess Armin’s not as angelic as he looks.”

“That’s been known, sweetheart. The kid’s a menace in disguise.” He kisses your cheek. “Just like you, actually, now that I think about it.”

Playfully, you swat him away. “Hey, who are you calling a menace?”

Eventually, the two of you find yourselves catching some air outside, needing a moment to sober up and recalibrate after a whirlwind of social interaction. Levi’s hand returns to your waist and tugs you closer to him, seeking out your warmth. Melting into his touch, you do you best to commit the feeling of his embrace to memory. Soon, you’ll move away for a few months for your next contract, but you no longer fear it. Levi had sworn to you that this would work out, and there is nobody’s word you trust more than his.

Your love for each other has endured for years in the past. A handful more months is nothing.

Levi shifts slightly to get a better look at you, and cups your cheek. Meeting his gaze, your heart stops; his eyes are a breathtaking silver in the moonlight. Easily the most expressive feature he has, you could get lost in them for hours.

Caught in his orbit, your face tilts towards his.

This time, Levi meets you halfway.

Do not repost, modify or claim as your own work.

Masterlist

#levi ackerman #levi ackerman x reader #levi x reader #levi ackerman x you #levi x you #levi ackerman x y/n #levi x y/n #aot x reader #attack on titan x reader #snk x reader #shingeki no kyojin x reader #reader insert #x reader #gender neutral reader #aot actor au #actor levi x makeup artist reader

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my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction · 1 month

Note

Ok I need your hcs on what each of the moon boys do to annoy Khonshu. Like do intentionally to be petty.

WHEEZING! (Also I'm so sorry this took so long! <3)

Rating: PG Masterlist | ao3 | want to be tagged? • ko-fi •

Warnings: swearing

Steven

Has a personal vendetta against Khonshu for scaring the hell out of him, so regularly does everything he can to be a little shit at any opportunity.

Talks, a lot. Constant talking, constant questions, purposefully not even listening to the answers and just talking over him with even more questions.

Tells Khonshu his knowledge of ancient Egypt is wrong (Steven knows it isn’t, but he enjoys how mad Khonshu gets). Also tells him his pronunciation of hieroglyphics needs work.

Will loudly sigh and declare that “the moon looks like shit today.”

Marc

Threatens him with Steven. All. The Time.

“If you don’t start being reasonable I’ll get Steven.”

Or just straight up peaces out and lets Steven deal with him.

Once he realises that Jake doesn’t like Khonshu pissing him off either, he threatens him with Jake too.

Will also repeat whatever Khonshu says as a question as if he doesn’t understand him. (He does.) It always takes Khonshu a minute to realise Marc is messing with him.

“Marc Spector, I need you to-” “Or what, you’ll make Layla your avatar?” Khonshu: -.-*

Jake

Ignores him.

Literally no reaction.

Khonshu could cause a solar eclipse and Jake doesn’t bat an eye.

Doesn’t flinch when Khonshu’s loud.

Doesn’t look up when he does that breeze thing.

Just carries on about his day as if the god wasn’t talking.

There are a couple of things that cause Jake to react that way, either it’s Jake’s day off/lunch break (he literally marks the dates and times on a calendar just for Khonshu and taps it if he bothers him during that time once. Then it’s straight up ignore town.)

“Jake Lockey, I have a task for you.”

Jake points to the calendar which has ‘Jake annual leave’ written on it in red pen.

OR Khonshu’s annoyed him (or more likely Marc or Steven, or both.) He will not talk to Khonshu until the god apologies to all the offended parties.

Khonshu once did the whole, ‘I have lived for millennia, you think I can’t wait out you ignoring me?’ to Jake, who was reading the newspaper. Jake promptly looked up once, slowly, to look straight at Khonshu and then went back to reading. When Jake was still ignoring him the next day Khonsu appologised in a very grumpy god way.

____________________________________________

Thank you for reading!

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#headcanons #headcanon #steven grant #marc spector #jake lockley #moon knight #khonshu #my writing #fanfic #oscar isaac #oscar isaac characters

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owliellder · 8 months

Text

The Finer Details

Post DI! Leon Kennedy x f! Painter Reader

MDNI 18+

(Session 1, Session 2, Session 3, Session 4, Session 5, The Reveal)

Description: Leon realizes that retirement is in his best interest now that he's getting older. All of his accomplishments as an agent mean he's truly earned a painting to commemorate..

Warnings: Not Proofread, Age gap! (reader is anywhere between mid-late 20's and Leon is 40), Porn w/ Plot, Use of she/her pronouns, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Alcoholism, mentions of trauma/PTSD/depression, P in V smut (wrap it NEOW), Leon cries during sex 💔

Tags: Older Leon Kennedy, Younger afab!Reader, Leon is SAD but he is your muse, Crying, mentions of Leon masturbating, starts off with Dom! Leon and Sub! Reader, falls into switch territory because that man needs some serious TLC, Praise kink, Hickeys, Handjob, Nipple play, Oral sex (m! and f! receiving), and a heavy dose of Aftercare

Author's Note: This chapter is a tad shorter, my apologies. I almost didn't finish it cause my meds started to make me feel real gross tonight, but I managed! I am determined and powerful and strong 💪

Cross posted on AO3

Session 4: Adding Details

Ever since the last painting session with Leon a few days ago, he's been a lot more lively. He jokes more, laughs more, and flirts a lot more. Specifically with you.

It's only been a couple hours into the next session and he's already called you 'sweetheart' five times. You counted. Hard not to when the man decides to put on the most seductive tone to say it, honestly.

You've begun to reciprocate Leon's flirting since clearly he's not one to hide what he's after.

"Alright Romeo, I need you to stay still and in position for just a few minutes longer. I don't think you want me to accidentally paint you with those goo-goo eyes." Watching his poorly hidden panic made you giggle, his eyes averting to somewhere to the right. "Actually I need you to keep your eyes up here, not over there."

Leon groaned and rolled his eyes before turning them to look back at the spine of the easel, doing his best to hold a lax expression. "You're making this difficult. You have the picture!" He complained, eyebrows raising as he gestured to the stand sitting next to you.

"Yeah but- sit still- you're making the same goofy look in it like you were before." Once he resumed his position, you walked over to him from the easel to get a closer look at his expression, humming softly all the while. Leon was beginning to sweat, mostly due to having to sit still for as long as he had but now partially from your sudden proximity.

After getting a good look, you walked back over to the easel to continue painting, to which he let out a small sigh. He wanted to get to know you more, he should've tried that before you started the actual painting, but better late than never.

The man kept quite for roughly thirty minutes longer while you added smaller details to his face on the canvas, using probably the thinnest paintbrush he's ever seen.

"Is that thing even adding paint to the portrait? Or are you just pretending to get me to sit here longer?" There was that suggestive tone again, and maybe it was your mind playing tricks on you as they began to strain, but you could've swore he did that cheesy eyebrow wiggle at you.

You shook out your arm to give it a good stretch before placing it back where it was. "It's doing something. Don't get your panties in a bunch."

Leon threw his head back with a laugh at your response, causing you to give him a quick glare before huffing out your annoyance. "Alright, clearly you're growing antsy. Let's take a short break." You stood up from the swivel chair and rolled your shoulders back, cleaning off your paintbrush with the solvent sitting next to you in a small mason jar. You had a couple of the windows open due to the fumes of the paint and solvent, so no worries there.

"Thank god..." Leon stood up with a loud and exaggerated groan. He wasn't young anymore, holding even a relaxed position like that was hard work on the body. "Thought I was gonna lose my legs." The dramatics this man possessed was funny, you had to admit.

"It's not that bad and you know it." You set down the paintbrush and turned around to see him mocking you with his hand. "Do I need to circle back to calling you a toddler? Cause I will."

Leon used the hand he was mocking you with to wipe across his eyebrow before letting his arm fall back to his side. "There's no need for extremes." Your lazy eyebrow raise at his response was all he needed to immediately follow up with "Sorry, ma'am."

It didn't sound genuine, but you'll take it. You nodded before walking over to the bathroom, scrubbing the paint from your hands to the best of your abilities. You had to use dish soap since oil paint was hard to wash off, that oily sheen was a pain in the ass when trying to hold a paintbrush.

The painting was really starting to come along. You worked fast while still remaining diligent. Oil paints were difficult to use, needing extreme patience due to how slowly it dried, how easily it could smear, and how hard it was clean off. No matter how nice you wanted to dress for Leon, you had to wear your painting outfit: A designated cheap and oversized outfit you picked out years ago for the sole purpose of taking a beating. You would wipe off your paintbrushes onto it to avoid having to use a paper towels or a rag each time.

Regardless, you were still as cute as ever to Leon. In fact, seeing you care so much about your work to be covered in paint was only making him fall for you more. Oversized clothes looked real good on you, so good that he'd been busy thinking about how you'd look in his clothes, hence that nearly blissed out expression you had to snap him out of earlier.

You both decided to sit over in the living area, Leon splayed out across the soft rug to give his joints a rest. He'd gotten a good look at how the painting was coming along before assuming his spot on the rug.

It was non-stop compliments from him. You could handle compliments, you've heard so many over the years regarding your art, but Leon's compliments were different. Instead of only complimenting the art, he decided to slip in little comments about you directly along side them.

"I went back to the White House over the weekend to look at the other portraits you'd done..." He started, head resting on his arms as they laid behind his head. "Just to get a feel for how mine would look once it's done."

"Is it living up to the standard so far? There's quite a bit more that needs to get done, and then it has to dry." You looked down at him on the rug, massaging your hand so it didn't cramp up more than it already had. "There's no standard for you to live up to, sweetheart. You could draw a stick figure and I'd be blown away."

You laughed at the suggestion, turning your head to look out one of the large windows to try and hide your smile. Wooing a painter was easy, apparently.

"You're just full of little accolades, aren't you, Mr. Kennedy?" You sighed, resting your chin in your hand as your elbow sat on your thigh.

"I can't help it. Being painted by such a pretty girl brings out the worst in me." Never in all your years of being alive had someone worked so hard to flatter you. Every single comment he made included something that had you flustered and struggling to respond.

Leon sat up on his elbows and looked over at you, that smirk as clear as day. He loved the way you could barely handle yourself at his compliments. "What're you thinkin' 'bout over there, angel?"

You let your hand fall into your lap as you looked back at him, giving his smirk a soft smile in return. "I could ask you the same question, calling me all these nicknames and such." It was only fair of you to ask, curiosity getting the better of you.

A little caught off guard, Leon hummed and pursed his lips, eyebrows furrowing slightly as he thought. What was he doing, exactly?

"Well, whaddya think I'm doing?" Yeah, that was good. Instead of answering himself, he'll just drag it out of you. "Well, if I didn't know any better, I'd think you're flirting with me." Your smile turned a bit more mischievous as you leaned towards him.

"Well, you'd be absolutely right, then." He responded with a chuckle, lowering his volume so he could fall right back into a seductive tone. "I got lucky enough to get my own painting. Even luckier to have you be the one painting me."

You gave him a small "mhm" as you nodded your head slowly, your tongue peaking out to wet your bottom lip as you listened to him talk. It took awhile, but eventually you managed a reply. "So... what exactly are you looking to do with all that sweet talk, hm?"

"Take you out on a date." His response was fast and it caught you off guard. Leon was so forward with what he wanted. When it came to the few people you'd dated in the past, you had to practically drag any sort of info from them. Your silence had brought him to sit all the way up now, body facing you as he sat with his legs crossed. "Is it working at all?"

It took a couple more seconds for you to nod, moving your hand to cover your mouth as you giggled. "Yeah, I think it is. Might need to keep it up just in case, though."

"Bummer, now I get to distract you even more while you paint me?" You stood up and placed your hand flat on his face, gently pushing his head back as you walked past him. "I'll paint on you if you distract me."

The session lasted a total of five hours, pausing for a couple breaks in between. You were now thoroughly painted out; hand cramping, eyes straining, and even with the windows open the smell of the paint and the solvent to clean it off the brushes had given you a slight headache. Leon was definitely tired also, given he actually fell asleep in the chair.

You decided to call it a day at that, patting him on the shoulder to wake him. "Time to get up and take your meds, old man." Leon startled awake, sucking in a harsh breath through his nose as he reoriented himself. When did he fall asleep?

You had already walked into the bathroom to wash your hands off, giving him the opportunity to wake up enough to stand. He yawned, walking over to look at how far along you'd gotten.

The painting immediately pulled him from his sleepy state, eyes widening with shock. You said you still had quite a bit left to do and it looked like this? It was like you'd ripped this straight from the 17th century. Leon was in awe. He looked good in this- no, far better than good. You'd captured his likeness better than the photo.

Seeing the man staring at your painting with his jaw dropped after walking out of the bathroom made you smile. "You like it?" You asked quietly while shaking your hands out as you hadn't dried them off all the way.

"No, I love it. You've got magic in those hands of yours, sweetheart." Leon crossed his arms, walking over to stand right in front of you. You clicked your tongue at him before your hand in front of him dismissively. "I wouldn't say it's magic, just years of drawing and painting endlessly until I got to the spot I wanted to be."

Leon closed his eyes and shook his head playfully, chuckling as he did so. "So humble of you." He followed you back over to the easel, watching you cover up the paints you were using with curious eyes. "About that date..."

You cocked an eyebrow, looking up at him through your eyelashes as you continued to carefully cover your paints. "What about it?"

"Just wondering when and where you'd want to go." The man grinned at you lazily, doing his best to disguise how nervous he actually was. "Hmm.." You glanced over at the wall clock you had sitting far above the light switches next to the entrance door, taking note of how late it was. "I'm pretty tired and I'm sure you are too, but how about we order something to eat here?"

Leon seemed surprised by your suggestion, grin widening as he nodded vigorously. "Plus, I am not going out looking like I just got assaulted with a paintball gun."

The two of you decided on something easy; pizza and soda. Leon opted to wear one of your many aprons to avoid getting any grease on his suit which made for an easy joke about him being a house-husband. Even though it was a technically a first date, both of you felt so comfortable with each other already, like you'd known each other for years. It was strange, but in a good way.

Leon was easy to get along with once he opened up. He really was a charming guy, even managing to get you to laugh with those corny ass dad jokes he loved so much. How such a man had gotten away with being single for so long baffled you.

The same went for you. Leon felt like you being single was just a fluke. There was no way someone as talented and gorgeous as you hadn't been swept off your feet yet. It was selfish of him for thinking it, but fuck was he ecstatic about that.

It was about 11pm when the two of you decided to call it a night, the hours spent bonding over random, seemingly meaningless stuff had really loosened both you and Leon up.

"Am I able to come back tomorrow and see you?" Leon asked in such a soft voice, motorcycle helmet in hand as he the other rested up against the doorway leading out of the building. He felt vulnerable for wanting to see you again like this.

"I won't be here tomorrow, need to give my hands a bit of a break." You giggled quietly, holding your palm out in front of him for emphasis. "But I can give you my address if you want to visit. I don't mind."

Those butterflies in his stomach fluttered at your proposal, barely able to nod after feeling his phone vibrate in his pocket once you texted him your address. He tried to act confident, having gone over every scenario possible in his head, yet you'd gone off script and he wasn't quite sure what to do anymore.

Seeing how flustered he'd become, you waved him closer, smiling as he bent over slightly. Leon thought you were gonna whisper something to him, that thought alone had him blushing, but feeling the gentle press of your lips against his had him struggling to breathe. He barely had a chance to react before you pulled away, his lips parted slightly as he stared at you.

You reached up and gently patted his cheek, running your hand along the stubble that had started to grow back. "Let me know when you wanna come over tomorrow, alright? Give me a little time to get dressed. I've looked ratty enough around you."

Leon wanted to protest that statement, you were far from ratty, but you just shushed his stuttering and nudged him out the door, giggling as he stumbled down the steps. He kept turning his head back to look at you every couple steps, feeling like some lovesick teenage boy who couldn't get his feet to work.

He was a little scared to drive home considering how uncoordinated he felt, but he made it back in one piece. Once sat on his bed, all he could think about was you and that damn painting. Leon didn't know what he was expecting when it came to that, honestly, but you seriously outdid yourself in his eyes.

Then you just had to flirt back with him, agree to a little date, and kiss him? Do you even know how hard it was to hide his boner from you?

He really did feel like a teenage boy, a simple kiss having him harder than a rock. Not to mention the drive home was uncomfortable since he had to position himself just right on the seat or else the constant vibration from his motorcycle would seriously cause him to crash.

Leon was weak. He hadn't felt this way in such a long time, but he guessed the newfound attraction came with the subconscious acceptance of his retirement. It's what made sense in his head.

God did he want you, masturbating in the shower to you wasn't enough, he needed you. All he could think about was your soft hands touching him, his hands all over your body, maybe even those pretty eyes of yours looking into his as he loved on you all night long.

The age gap was a bit of a worry to him in the beginning, mostly being insecure about his own age, but that worry was quickly brushed off when you kissed him tonight. You were a big girl. You knew what you wanted.

Leon felt so lucky that you reciprocated. All he'd felt since his retirement was grief, guilt, and pity for himself. Now you had him feeling like he was on top of the world and he couldn't ask for anything more. This little bit of sweetness in his life was so enticing, and of course he was going to follow it for as long as you'd let him.

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kaciidubs · 2 months

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Versace Crowned Prince

❣ Summary: A fashion weekend with the Prince of Versace, what more could you have asked for? ❣ ❣ Word Count: 2.7k ❣ Warnings: Implied Black! Reader, smut with feelings, fluff, mention of alcohol ❣ ❣ Female! Reader [No use of Y/N] | You/Your pronouns ❣ ❣ Additional Tags: Hyunjin is referred to as My Prince/Versace Prince, Hyune, Baby, Reader is referred to as My Goddess/Love/Muse, this one turned out very romantic, he brings out a faux poetic side of me ❣ Stray Kids Masterlist ❣ General Masterlist

If you could describe the past few days as anything, it would be a dream - no, a fairytale, a life you never thought you’d find yourself living yet here you were, going up in a fancy elevator to a fancy hotel room with your dashingly handsome boyfriend after attending a party honoring one of the most well known fashion events for one of the biggest brands in the world.

“Did you have fun?”

You hummed happily, leaning your head against Hyunjin’s leather jacket clad shoulder as your conscience floated through the warm buzz of the drinks you had at the party - not quite drunk, but a pleasant tipsy that strung your words together and made your giggles that much more frequent.

“Mm, yeah - it was amazing.” You drawled, squeezing his hand that was currently entwined with your own, “I already know you had fun, Mister Versace Prince.”

He scoffed out a laugh, pulling you to stand in front of him as he leaned against the elevator wall, “It was only fun because you were there, my love.” His fingers caressed the smooth, ruched fabric near the waist of your skirt, “Thank you for coming with me.”

The warmth of his palms seeped straight through your clothes and settled on the skin underneath, sparking goosebumps to spread along your arms while your alcohol addled brain soared with your - ironically - heightened senses.

Sliding your hands up his chest, wrinkling the designer shirt in your path, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders as a dazed smirk curled your lips. “Going to Milan to watch a Versace fashion show with my breathtakingly gorgeous, ambassador boyfriend,” playing with the hair at the back of his head, you tilted yours to the side, “how could I have said no?”

It was bold, being in this position in the elevator where one unexpected stop could spoil everything, but neither of you seemed to care, not with the way his hold on your waist tightened as he leaned forward to fully invite himself into your space.

“Does that mean you’ll be my plus one for the next event?”

His husky murmur made your toes curl in your heels, though you didn’t back down, arching into him with a gaze that could only be read as a challenge.

“If the prince requests my presence, then so be it.” Gaze flicking to his full lips, you leaned in just enough to graze them, “Anything for you.”

The chime of the elevator floated through the charged atmosphere and Hyunjin chuckled, a low, sultry sound that made your heart flutter.

Untangling himself from your hold, he slid his hand into your own before leading you through the sliding doors toward the specially booked suite that had been your home since the beginning of the eventful week.

With a swipe of the key card - which wasn’t easy with your barely muffled giggles and wandering hands - you were finally welcome to the privacy of four walls yet again; stumbling through the door with your new goal set on removing your heels first and foremost.

Hobbling your way to the large king bed, you watched as he shrugged off his leather jacket in record time, breathing a sigh of relief as he dropped it to the couch before unceremoniously following suit with a loud “Oof”.

You giggled to yourself, managing to undo the straps to let each shoe fall one at a time, humming softly as you flexed your slightly achy feet until something shiny caught your eye.

Resting atop his suitcase was a familiar golden crown he’d received mere hours earlier, and you found yourself padding over to the accessory instantly.

The second your hands touched the plastic gold, you instantly brought it to your head and placed it atop your curls, feeling the coils cushion the new weight before sauntering around the back of the couch with an extra sway in your hips.

“How do I look?” Placing your hands on your hips, you carefully angled your head like the models you’d seen on the runway, “Am I fitting enough for the prince of Versace?”

You’d expected a fit of giggles, a bemused chuckle even, but when your eyes met his, you were subject to a gaze that had your breath catching in your throat.

Hyunjin’s hungry stare traced your face before trailing down, taking in the black corset top that was so simple in design, yet held a level of elegance on your body that he couldn’t begin to comprehend as it further accentuated the curve of your waist while the neckline cradled your breasts. Observing further, his tongue peaked out to lick his lips as he scanned the skirt that was just under his fingers mere moments ago, admiring the design as if it were a sheet artistically draped around your hips, yet despising the tantalizing hint of your right upper thigh in its slight asymmetrical fitting - it had taken an ungodly amount of willpower to keep himself from leaving the party early just so he could get you to himself.

All of that, paired wonderfully with gold accessories that matched his shirt and the accessories he had on himself, combined into a recipe for his downfall - and, boy, was he falling.

“Fitting enough for me?” He breathed as his eyes flicked up to meet your own, “Baby, you should’ve been out on that runway,” reaching his hand out, his fingers wrapped around your own before gently tugging you closer, “if it were my show, you would be the only model I’d need.”

His sentiments sent waves of chills down your spine, though it did nothing but feed the growing desire the high of the alcohol left in your system, curling in your abdomen and sprouting warmth that bloomed like a spring flower.

Wetting your lips, you squeezed his fingers softly, “Those are bold words from the Prince of Versace.”

The words fell in a whisper, dipped in honey and wrapped in the finest silk crafted by the wisest hands.

“I can only hope my words are enough for a goddess like you, my love.”

His voice was crowned in gold and anointed with the sweetest nectar, the sound dancing from lips that held their own form of enchantment.

“Why hope,” slipping your hand from his, you made a slow path to the side fastens and hidden zipper of your skirt, “when I can show you what your words do to me, my prince?”

It was all too easy to let the skirt fall to your polished toes, just as easy as it was to undo each tedious hook of the ribbed corset until you were able to take a fuller breath of the lust-tinted atmosphere - all the while, the golden crown remained in its place amongst your curls.

In the same breath, it was all too easy for him to undo his pants just enough to free his hardening length from the leather confines and boxer briefs.

You took your rightful place in his lap, a throne unlike any other, specially curated just for you, and eagerly accepted his confident touch; warm palms following the curve of your thighs to the width of your hips, up the flesh of your stomach to the dip in your waist, higher and higher until his fingers were playing with the simple gold necklace resting against your sternum.

“It’s a shame,” Hyunjin murmured, one hand working the necklace through his fingers while the other slid down to cup your breast, “even the most elite designer clothes don’t hold a candle to you wearing absolutely nothing.”

“You’re one to talk, Hyune,” bringing your hands to the hem of his shirt, you gently dragged the material up, “everything makes your candle burn brighter - it’s no contest.”

“Then let me take it off so we can burn together.” As his hands left your chest to meet the ones resting against his stomach, you tightened your hold on the hem of his shirt, prompting him to raise a brow. “My love?”

“I… I want you to keep them on.” Widening your stance against the couch, you dropped your hips to grind along the underside of his cock, the thin lace of your panties leaving nothing up to imagination. “Please, keep them on?”

Hissing out a short breath, his hips canted up into the slick mess dampening the gusset of lace, bringing a breathless chuckle from the depths of his chest.

“Anything for you.”

Anything for you - it echoed as you rose to your knees just enough to use your fingers to tug your panties to the side, paying no mind to the way it hugged your hips just a bit tighter in the process.

A slow drag of your bare cunt along the underside of his dick brought a shivering breath from the two of you, and he worked a hand between your thighs to catch the tip against your fluttering walls, licking his lips in preparation for what was to come next.

Breathless moans filled the room as you slowly sunk down, relishing the stretch you’d been craving since the beginning of the party - though, if you were honest with yourself, the desire had been simmering since the runway viewing.

“Beautiful,” he breathed, eyes trained on where you were both connected as his hand caressed your thigh.

Lifting your hand from his, your fingers instead found their new home on his chin, gently tilting his head back to have his fiery gaze meet your own, a new heat enveloping you in the process; igniting, burning.

“Gorgeous.” The word escaped him like a sacred prayer, a whisper intended only for the sole recipient before him.

You ran your thumb along his bottom lip, toying with the plump flesh before he dipped his chin to press a slow kiss to the pad, and if his effect on you wasn’t shown through the catch in your breath, then the clench of your pussy was a clear indicator.

There was a tentative roll of your hips, a slow rock to seat him as deep as he could go, before you began to ride him in languid, hypnotizing bounces - kindling the all consuming fire that only served to burn brighter and hotter with each bump and grind.

Hyunjin’s hands made their home on your hips, squeezing the supple flesh as he guided you with each rise and fall, his sharp gaze bouncing between your bliss-wrapped face, the sparkle of the jewelry whenever it caught the light just right, and the short glimpses of his arousal-coated dick leaving and entering your heavenly cunt.

Each panted moan that left you was mirrored by a breathless grunt by the man underneath you - an airy cry of his name floating by when his tip would graze that spongy spot just right, and a whimper working its way into the mix with each sinful roll of your hips.

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, further wrinkling the designer article as you fought to keep yourself upright, your head dipping slightly as pleasure steadily rendered your limbs useless.

“Chin up, my love,” he moaned, velvety voice invoking your attention with ease, “keep your crown on for me.”

The crown - you’d forgotten about it the minute you sat in his lap, and him turning your demand on yourself had your abdomen clenching.

The subtle correction of your head hadn’t gone unnoticed, nor did the way you tried to spread your legs that tiny bit more to meet his hips more flush.

Licking his lips, Hyunjin moved his hands to your forearms before tugging gently, leading your torso to rest against his and the once thorough bounces turned into short back-and-forth rocks.

Resting your forehead against his, your lidded eyes met his with ease, countless emotions floating in the blown out brown of his irises, unsaid words understood through the beating of your hearts.

You brushed your lips against his, languishing in the feeling of them as if it were the first time all over again, until your body jolted with a sharp thrust that had your lazy kiss connecting.

Whatever sound that intended to leave you was now muffled against his mouth as the thrusts continued, his hands interlocking at the base of your spine as he fucked up into your heat, the soles of his feet digging into the poor leather of the couch for leverage.

The room was soon filled with the noise of straining leather, the wet drag of your walls along the length of his cock, and needy moans broken up by the messy smack of lips and tongue.

It wasn’t long until your body was trembling above his, your face dropping to his shoulder in hopes of catching the loud cries against his shirt, “H-Hyune, I’m- oh fuck, don’t stop-”

“I won’t,” the needless promise came through gritted teeth as he splayed his left hand against your lower back while his right slid to your ass cheek, squeezing the swell graciously, “come on, love, give it to me - please give it to me.”

Your body reacted before your mind could even process, the sound of threads snapping at the seams under your relentless tugging at his shirt going unnoticed as you came with a cry of his name on your tongue.

He did his best to ride you through your orgasm, but the rhythmic pulsing of your walls quickly shattered his resolve as he found himself chasing his own climax with heated breaths against your bare shoulder.

“Muse, I’m- I-” Hyunjin choked back a whine, trying to blink away the fog clouding this mind, “I-I’m gonna come, fuck-”

His arms wrapped around your back once more as he held you as tight as he could, rutting his hips against yours until he came with a shivering moan, coating your walls with his release.

Littering whatever place you could reach with kisses, you slowly lifted yourself up to admire his euphoria filled features; basking in the glow of his sweat-shined face and rosy cheeks, and marveling in the contrast of your lipgloss’s tint against his skin - that is, until your eyes trailed to his shirt.

Immediately recognizing the stain of your foundation against the black fabric, you didn’t try to hide the embarrassed laugh that breezed past your lips.

“I might’ve flown too close to the sun here, baby…”

Clocking the insinuation without bothering to look himself, he shook his head with a dazed smile on his perfect lips, “I don’t care - make a mess of it, ruin it, I’ll just get another one,” bringing his right hand to your face, he cupped your cheek softly, “and when that one gets messed up, I’ll buy another one.”

You scoffed incredulously, lips curling into a small smile, “The prince of Versace ruining his clothes for me? How scandalous.”

“If it’s by the request of my goddess, then so be it.” His eyes sparkled as he ushered you closer, leaning in just enough to graze your lips, “Anything for you.”

✧. ┊Tagged lovelies: @having-an-internal-crisis-rn, @midnightfrog625, @anyhow-everything, @bangchanbabygirlx, @sweetracha, @nightimescapes, @caitlyn98s, @ch4nn13luv, @ihrtlix, @jeonjungkookenthusiast1997, @maximumkillshot, @y-ur--i, @acker-night, @dreamescapeswriting, @specialstay, @s00buwu, @tinyelfperson, @jj-stay, @katsukis1wife, @inlovewithmusician, @keen-li, @armystay89, @main-character0, @vampcharxter, @ddyskz, @prettymiye0n, @bbgnyx, @ivyisnotokay, @bahng-chrizz, @milknhoneyracha, @hann1bee, @palindrome969, @newhope8, @softkissfelix, @luvyev, @luminouskalopsia, @kpopsstuffs, @luvyev, @starquokka, @wolfs-howling, @laylasbunbunny, @zaethefangirl, @chxnb97, @4-chan-inpadella

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#skz smut #stray kids smut #hwang hyunjin smut #hwang hyunjin x reader #hyunjin x reader #black reader insert #black! reader

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buckets-and-trees · 1 year

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Unholy Errand

Characters/Pairings: Lloyd Hansen x female!Reader, God the Bounty Hunter x female!Reader, Ransom Drysdale Word Count: 4k

Summary: You're caught in the crosshairs when a hit goes out for your boss.

Content Warnings: non-consent and dubious consent, cuckolding, bondage, knife play, dacryphilia, oral (m and f receiving), cumplay, spitting, facial/marking, groping, spanking, clothed males naked female, coarse language, mild but irreverent use of religious terminology/themes (we’ve got a bounty hunter who refers to himself as God – we’re not committing hard to the bit, but we are using the bit), use of pet names + no y/n

Notes: I was happily working on some other lovely things last weekend, and then Sunday afternoon, totally unprovoked, a rogue muse crept up and whispered, "Lloyd and God..." and my brain broke, and I told @navybrat817 and she immediately enabled/encouraged the sprouting of this fic (and helped identify exactly who these two would be after). I thought this might be fifteen hundred words... and then it hit 2k, and then 3k, and they still weren't done with poor Reader, so...

Additional Notes: First time writing Lloyd, God, or Ransom in any capacity. This is also straight up the filthiest thing I've gone all in on. Is it the filthiest thing that exists on the internet? Of course not, but my filthiest and READ THE TAGS. This is NOT your standard Aspen fic. But was this a bit of a riot to write? Yep. It had a chokehold on me all week, and I stayed up far too late to finish it off tonight because... if I didn't, life would've prevented me finishing for a couple more days, and I've been too eager to push this out.

The clearing of his throat is what pulls your attention. You look up from your desk, taking in long legs in impossibly tight white slacks showing too much ankle, and a torso clad in a black turtleneck and blazer. A thick mustache lives above his smirk. He was too silent entering the offices, and he knows it, seems to revel in unsettling you. “Lloyd Hansen, the six o’clock appointment.”

“Yes, if you’ll follow me right this way,” you proffer politely, and move smoothly out of your chair, leading him to the door of your boss’s office. You give a short knock and open the door, announcing, “Lloyd Hansen, sir,” as you briefly step inside, holding the door open for the man.

He’s still smirking as he passes by, and then you sweep back out, but not before hearing Lloyd whistle and say, “Fancy shit you got yourself in this office, Ran,” as you close the door on them.

You sigh as you sit back down at your desk. Lloyd is your boss’s last meeting of the night, and he had seemed more than perturbed when he said to go ahead and accept the last-minute request Lloyd had made for the appointment. While this is the meeting of the day, Mr. Drysdale had made it clear he was staying late, which means you are also staying late, so you pull out the file of menus you keep in your desk and begin mulling over where to order dinner from tonight.

There’s a succession of loud thuds on the other side of the wall, and you only hesitate for a second before rushing into the office.

You stop dead, a small cry escaping your lips as you watch Lloyd wrestling Ransom to the ground.

“You may be sorry you disturbed us, sweetie, but since you’re here, be a good girl and close and lock that door so we don’t get interrupted by anyone else.”

You hesitate, staring in horror at the display before you: books knocked off the shelves, everything that’s usually so immaculately placed askew on the desk, a lamp overturned, Ransom Drysdale on the floor of his office with Lloyd Hansen’s knee pressed into his back and both arms pulled taught behind him while Lloyd binds his wrists together with the Hermes ascot scarf ripped from Ransom’s own neck.

Lloyd clucks his tongue. “Lock the door or I start cutting his fingers off. Barnes and Rogers only said they want your boss alive; they didn’t say how much of him still needs to be intact.”

“Do it,” Ransom grunts, turning his head away from you, clearly embarrassed at his predicament.

You turn and slowly close the door. You know there are still people working at Blood Like Wine tonight, and while it’s not likely that any of them will be passing through this wing after normal business hours, it’s probably safer that they stay out than accidentally stumble into whatever this dangerous mess is evolving into. You wished you had suppressed your own urge to investigate.

When you turn back around, Lloyd is unbuckling his belt as he continues to kneel against Ransoms back. He pulls it out, uses it to gag Ransom, giving it an additional tug after already pulling it tightly, and fastens it off.

“There, that’s just about perfect.”

“What are-?” You venture to ask, but he abruptly cuts you off.

“No one asked you to talk, sweetie, now come away from that door.”

You only take two reluctant steps towards them when there’s a scraping of wood that draws everyone’s attention to the opposite side of the room.

A piece of the floor is slowly being lifted from below, pushed out of the way, and then another man pops up from out of the floor. He hefts himself out of the hole in the floor and then drops a duffel bag on the floor, the heavy sound of muffled metal hinting at the equipment he’s brought with him.

“Oh, good, you’ve already done some of my work for me,” the tall, dark-haired man appraises the situation he’s just stepped into.

“Who the fuck are you, and where’d you come from?”

“Clearly you watched me ascend from a trapdoor in the floor.” He stalks over to stand in front of the large mahogany desk and sits back on the edge. “You didn’t think Harlan Thrombey - noted mystery author - wouldn’t have a publishing house full of trapdoors and secret passageways?”

“Didn’t need to, walked right in the front door. Still waiting to find out who you are.”

“God the Bounty Hunter.”

“Ooh,” Lloyd cocks his head, and another one of his smirks returns, “I can’t say I hate the audacity. Very bold. But there are a lot of gods and only one Lloyd Hansen.

“Now we’re clearly both here because of the hit put out for this prick, but since there are two of them and two of us, why don’t you make yourself useful, God, and tie up this little Margaret while I get Ransom nice and comfortable here.”

“With pleasure,” God says, and beckons you over to him.

The way he fixes you with his gaze is so intense you can’t to resist his silent command. He stands when you’re just a foot or two away, puts a ringer under your chin to tilt your head up, and looks down into your face. You don’t dare look away, nor do you want to, for some reason.

After another moment, he lets your chin drop, and God begins to circle you, looking you up and down. You hold very still. “You don’t need to be tied up, do you? You like to behave, to be praised.”

Lloyd lets out a loud, longsuffering sigh. “Fine, it can be more fun when they’re tied up, but I’m not picky as long as I get what I want.” Then his tone changes, directing his next words at you. “Understand, sweetie?”

You nod.

“Good.” With that, Lloyd pushes his knee roughly into Ransom’s back, drawing a painful groan from the bound man, before standing and hauling Ransom up with him. He shoves Ransom down to sit on the couch that faces the desk in the small entertaining area of Ransom’s office. “Now Relax, let me pour myself a drink. No reason we can’t enjoy ourselves for a few minutes, for old time’s sake.”

While Lloyd pours some bourbon, God steps right up behind you, close enough that you can feel the heat of him. He moves your hair off your shoulder, and leans close to whisper in your ear, “You be very good, and I’ll make you my angel.” You can’t help but shiver - it’s the heat of his breath at your neck and the promised threat - and you know he notices your reaction, because there’s a soft, dark chuckle before he presses a hot kiss to the base of your neck. His hand comes around to your front, toying with the edge of your open collar, and then he lightly draws his index finger along your clavicle and then up the other side of your neck. You don’t realize you’re holding your breath until you gasp when his other hand quickly pushes a small piece of metal right below your ear.

“And what’s that?” Lloyd asks, not missing the tagging.

“A little incentive for obedience,” God answers. “Fifty-thousand volts when fully unleashed.”

There’s a non-electrically generated jolt in your stomach, but it’s not pure fear, it’s tinged with a little adrenaline as well.

“Huh. To each his own. Now down to business, Ran.”

God steps back and then leans on the edge of the desk again. He pulls you to stand between his legs, your back up against his chest, and his hands settle on your shoulders. Standing against him like this has your hips aligned with his, and you have no doubt it’s setting the stage for his intentions, even if it seems harmless enough now. It mimics a familiarity between partners that is both soothing and unsettling.

Across the room, Lloyd takes a seat on the other side of the couch from Ransom, drink in one hand, and draping his arm casually along the back of the couch. “It was quite a convenient circumstance that even had me nearby to make this social call Ransom. Couldn’t be happier that I’d get to drop in on you for something like this. Ransom and I both went to Yale, you know,” he tosses this part across the room to you and God. “Even ended up in the same fraternity. But he was a senior, I was a freshman. Didn’t spare me the time of day except for the hazing, right?”

His focus shifts back to Ransom, who only gives Lloyd a cold stare, unmoving, clearly not wanting to give Lloyd the satisfaction of any emotional reactions.

God’s hands shift from your shoulders and begin to stroke up and down your arms.

“Why am I boring us all with the backstory though? Old college buddies is pretty typical. You know what’s not typical? Barnes and Rogers putting a bounty out for someone. They’ve got their own guys, and you’re not hard to find.”

The hands move from your arms to your waist, moving up and down your ribs, and still Lloyd keeps talking.

“So, either you’re too important and they wanted the closest person available to pick you up and make a rush delivery to their door, or you’re not important enough for them to want to dispatch any of their own men to deal with you. Outsourcing because you’re still an inconvenience to them, and they can’t let you go unpunished.

Strong hands on your hips.

“Maybe you can prove to be useful tonight, sweetie. How long have you worked for Ranny here?”

You don’t know if you should be surprised that he’s turned his attention to you for questioning, but you do your best to keep your mind focused as you answer him. “I’ve worked for Mr. Drysdale for – oh –” God starts rubbing circles over your hipbones, applying more pressure and pushing you back against a very prominent erection “– a little over seven months.”

“Mr. Drysdale, eh?” Lloyd’s perennial smirk grows, and he tilts his head, tsking again. “You don’t have to pretend like you’re not assisting him after hours, I told you we were in the same frat, so I know what this bastard gets up to.”

Your mouth drops open a little, and Lloyd looks from you to Ransom, whose cold stare has turned into an unmistakable glare.

“Oho! So, she does only assist you professionally?” Lloyd laughs, seemingly out of genuine amusement. “You really are useless, Ranny.”

God is still relentless in touching you, exploring over and even under the clothing, one of his hands sliding down your leg to slip under your skirt to skim up your thigh, and the other stroking just under your breasts, calculated touches to evoke responses but not yet to take or give any more satisfaction.

Both strangers are demanding your attention, and you’re almost evenly divided between Lloyd’s words and God’s actions.

“She probably would’ve slept with you the first two weeks on the job, but now she’s gotta know you’re an insufferable prick.”

Would you have? You don’t think either statement is true. You were never drawn in by Ransom, and since working for him, you’ve only been focused on doing your job well, getting a good paycheck, and going home. Ransom wasn’t particularly demanding compared to other executives, and so you had only wanted him to continue to respect and rely on your assistance so he’d find you indispensable and raise your salary regularly.

God finally speaks again. “We should let the man see what he’ll never have.”

Lloyd sits back in the chair. “I’m not opposed.”

Your face burned. There was no question what he meant, and you did not want Ransom to see you on display, but Lloyd is intimidating and God is intoxicating, so you can do no more than comply as God unzips your skirt and pushes it to the floor.

Next he turns you around and works on the buttons of your shirt, in no hurry, putting your ass on display for Lloyd and Ransom while torturing you with more of the heated, intense eye contact that makes you nearly forget to breathe.

You’re only warned that Lloyd’s behind you when God looks over your shoulder, and you turn your head, but before you can fully face him, his hand has come down against your ass with enough force that you fall against God’s chest. He spanks you again, harder, and you whimper in God’s arms, your head falling against his shoulder with the sting and shock and humiliation.

Then, in another quick turn of events, Lloyd grasps the waistband of your panties with one hand, and you briefly feel the chill of metal against your skin as he slips a knife under the fabric and then slashes them away with two strokes and throws the fabric on the desk.

“Move, God, I want her up on the desk.”

God stands again, and he pulls your shirt off your shoulders as he moves away.

Lloyd could unclasp your bra, but of course Lloyd uses the knife to slice through the band.

“Drop it,” he instructs.

With a deep, steadying breath, you do as he says.

“Turn and sit up on the desk for us.”

You’ve taken hundreds of orders from this office, completing tasks you enjoyed and hated, this can be just another of those.

“Open those thighs for us all to see, sweetie.”

You close your eyes. You know what they will see, and the shame burns in your stomach.

Lloyd taps the flat part of his knife just above your knee. “Now.”

You bite your lip and look at the ground as you spread your legs. Lloyd presses the edge of the knife to the flesh of your inner thigh, forcing you to spread even wider if you don’t want him to cut into you.

Lloyd brings his knife to your chin to tilt your face up to look at him as he traces your wet folds with two fingers. The smirk is gone, replaced by a wicked grin. “Nice and slick for us.”

“God’s handiwork,” the other man is quick to note.

“Sure. A nice little sacrificial offering. Now, Ransom, since you’ve never had a taste, seems a shame not to give you a sample,” Lloyd says.

Ransom shifts and begins to stand, but Lloyd turns abruptly and points at him with the knife. “Stay there, you dumb fuck.”

Ransom sits back again.

“And don’t you dare look away.” He looks to God. “Shoot him if he does.”

God pulls a gun from behind his back that he must have had tucked into his waistband. You watch as he moves to the other side of the room and stands behind Ransom. He plants his gun at the base of Ransom’s skull, then locks eyes with you again. It’s clear he doesn’t want take his eyes off you if he’s going to have to ensure Ransom doesn’t either. Something in your chest stirs under his rapt attention.

Lloyd demands your attention again as he grips your hips and pulls you to the edge of the mahogany desk. He slaps your pussy, drawing a sharp cry from you, then drops down to delve between your thighs. He gives your clit a vicious nip, and you bit back another yelp. His tongue plunders into your cunt, licking and sucking, and your hands are moving to grasp his skull to anchor yourself, but he’s already pulling away. As he stands, he yanks you off the desk, and strides across the room, dragging you with him.

He spits directly in Ransom’s face – a combination of Lloyd’s saliva and your slick that he’s not able to do anything but let drip down his face. Your mouth is agape, truly shocked. Ransom’s entire body radiates rage and embarrassment.

“That’s all you’ll be getting from her, Drysdale.”

Then Lloyd’s shoves you to your knees, putting you on display in profile to the other men. He undoes the zipper of his pants, releasing his cock, no underwear to fuss about.

“Open up,” he demands, and you comply, unwilling to provoke this demon who clearly doesn’t play by any rules.

He slips the angry red tip of his cock into your mouth. “Be good,” he warns. You give a small nod, closing your mouth around him. With one hand, he grips your head and begins to thrust in and out of your mouth. You and gag, and your eyes close as you try to focus very hard on breathing through your nose. He’s hitting the back of your throat with each brutal thrust, and the tears spill quickly down your face.

“Eyes on me,” he grunts, and you force them open and look up at him, knowing what he wants to see. He groans in approval. “You are a pretty little trinket, prettier when you cry.”

Then he abruptly pulls you off his dick and grips you by the chin and turns your head for Ransom and God. “Fucking look at her, swollen lips, gasping for breath, desperate.”

Just as quickly he slots his dick back in your mouth, this time gripping your head with both hands and he fucks your face with abandon. Fast. Hard. Your whimpers turn into sobs, and your hands come up to brace and grasp desperately at his thighs. “You can still take it,” Lloyd growls, undeterred, and you’re powerless to stop him. The tears are not just running but flooding down your cheeks. It’s too much now, and you can’t get enough air, and vision is going black. Finally he throws you off and away from him, and turns to aim his cock at Ransom, shooting his load over his face and shoulders, letting out a hiss that turns into a hum.

You’re hunched over and you wretch – blessedly only once – bracing your hands on the floor, and you gulp and heave, lungs fraught for the necessary oxygen.

Lloyd is talking again. The voice registers, but not the words.

And there are warm hands on you again. One rubbing small circles at the base of your spine, the other pushing your hair out of your face and coaxing you to look up at him.

With enough soothing, God has you breathing evenly again, and you’re still crying a little, but he helps you up onto the couch and sits next to you, very close, and he tucks a hand under your chin and lifts your face up, then he licks your left cheek, then the right, lapping up the tears. You hiccup, not sure how to react. Then he merely strokes your cheek, and the fingers trail down your neck, down your chest, down, down…

“Boring,” Lloyd announces.

You look up at him for a moment, but then God’s questing fingers reach the point he really wants to concentrate his might on, plunging into your wet cunt, and your eyes flutter closed.

“I’m eager to be done here,” Lloyd continues while God continues pumping his digits in and out of you. “We don’t need any more dumbasses showing up for this fool.”

“Agreed,” God says, casually as if he’s not beginning to pull you apart softly but surely. “You take him. I’ll keep her. There’s room for her in the trunk next to the cargo.”

“Fine, I wasn’t fussed about the goods anyway, I only took this job for the satisfaction of humiliating Drysdale, and that’s already exceeded my expectations. I’m sure Barnes and Rogers will give you enough for the recovered inventory even without him, and I’ll do you a solid and not mention the little side piece you’ll be keeping for yourself.”

God moves you off the couch, coaxing you to lean over the coffee table and kneels behind you. “Good.”

You moan as God slowly pushes his hard length inside your cunt.

There’s a thud next to you, and you turn to see a pile of Ransom hit the floor a few feet away.

“I assume you’ve got a way to move this man through down in that passage?” Lloyd asks, dragging the unconscious figure across the floor by his feet.

“Mhmm,” he responds, more intent on the movement of his hips against yours, slowly pistonning in and out of your tight heat.

“Good. This was fun enough, but let’s not do this again.”

God pulls your head up roughly to look at Lloyd just as he’s about to drop into the floor. “Say goodbye to Lloyd, Angel.”

You’re barely able to make the, “Bye,” tumble out of your lips, you’re so full of this man behind you, and his sudden roughness taking you by surprise.

Lloyd chuckles, then disappears.

God lets you drop back down, leaning on your elbows.

“I thought he’d never stop talking,” God murmurs.

It’s bitter, but a laugh actually falls from your lips, but you still can’t form words.

“There’s other things I’d rather do with you around than talk.”

He adjusts his angle from behind you. It allows him to plunge more of his cock into your slick channel, and you groan, but then after only a few thrusts, he pauses, balls deep inside you.

“You took what he gave you, but I think you don’t want me to stop, do you?”

You’re breathless. You can’t speak. You don’t want to speak?

He places his right hand, palm flat, at the base of your spine and presses it slowly up your back, his middle finger trailing up the ridge of your vertebrae, and you can feel the metal of his ring draw a line along your skin.

“You were very good.”

He rocks his hips against you, and you whimper.

“I said I would make you mine if you were good.”

Another rocking. He moves his hand from the nape of your neck around to grip it fully, and he pulls you back up against his chest, and you’re gasping for air for a moment, both hands coming up to clutch at his arm.

He lowers his voice and delivers his next words right into your ear. “You want to be mine, don’t you?”

Your pussy clenches around him, and he presses a kiss against your throat, and you feel the smile of his lips against your skin.

His other hand moves down across your hip, to your vee, and his deft fingers stroke your throbbing clit. He doesn’t move his cock, but he does move those fingers expertly, drawing tight little circles that wind you up to the top until you’re flung off the edge and into pure pleasure.

Coming down from your first orgasm, you sink against him. As your breathing returns to normal, the hand on your neck remains like an anchor, but his other hand moves up to tilt your chin to the side and up to meet his lips. The kiss claims you, and you part your lips for him, just as you’ve parted your legs for him – willingly.

“That was one, but I want a trinity to secure your devotion here tonight. I’m going to fuck you dumb, dress you, and then you’re going to walk out of here like a sweet little angel and get in my car. Then I’ll let you choose. You can sit up front and keep my cock warm or you can crawl in the back of the trunk. Your choice.”

How are we?

I'm ruined.

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https-yeonjun · 4 months

Text

ghostin (l.dh)

wc. 2559

genre. angst

tags. haechan x fem!reader, the one who got away (kinda), unrequited love, warnings: infidelity (kind of, emotional, very much one sided), mentions of alcohol

a/n. this is based off of ghostin by ariana grande. this is really sad (like even as i was writing this i was like that's a new low even for me) but i really hope you enjoy it because i really enjoyed writing this. this is the first thing i've written for haechan, my muse , my angel, my sunflower but i have so many ideas now hehee. this was also supposed to be like 400 words, oops.

more of my work

one: he leaves you

from haechan 🤍: i just got the keys to my new place from haechan 🤍: it’s so much better than the pictures from haechan 🤍: i really wish you were here

your phone buzzes on your night stand.

picking it up, you can feel your heart breaking into pieces all over again as you read the text messages. i really wish you were here. you try to stifle the tears bubbling up in your eyes, so as to not wake up the man sleeping beside you.

but it is no use. you can feel your boyfriend stirring awake beside you. “are you okay? who was that?”

“just haechan,” you respond, in between sniffs. “he just moved into his new place.”

with an understanding nod, he pulls you closer to him, wrapping his arms around you. you nuzzle closer to him, taking up all his warmth. it isn’t what you want, but it is what you have. he lays beside you, gently stroking your hair. “it’s okay, i got you.” he whispers until you fall asleep.

if only that could solve everything, but at least it brings you comfort in this moment.

two: he loves you

from haechan 🤍: hiiiii from haechan 🤍: im sooo drynk riggt now from haechan 🤍: can i calll you??

you can barely respond when his call comes in.

you’re sitting on the couch of your boyfriend’s friend’s apartment. all night, they’ve been playing drinking games and you’ve occasionally joined in, but you mostly sat with your boyfriend’s arm around you as you nursed your diet coke.

when your phone rings, everyone stops to look at you. “i, uh, i should take this.” you stammer, walking out of the room, but not before shooting your boyfriend an apologetic glance.

“hae, are you okay?” you whisper into the phone.

“that rhymes,” he giggles on the other side of the line.

“i know,” you can’t help but smile, thinking about just how much you wish he was here with you. “are you okay?”

“things are so different here,” he begins, “especially without you.”

you feel your heart skip, but then you look back into the hallway and you see your boyfriend and his friends laughing together and you can’t help but feel a pang of guilt. “haechan, i don’t know what to say.”

“i know, i’m sorry. i shouldn’t have called you.”

“no, it’s not that. i don’t want you to feel like i’m not here for you anymore, just because you’re not here anymore. just tell me what’s up? how’s your life there?”

you sit on the floor in the hallway listening to haechan ramble about his apartment, and how his neighbors are super loud at night, and how the doorman always glares at him when he walks in, and how the old lady that lives above him always bakes him cookies to thank him for bringing in her groceries. he goes on about his job, and his coworkers, and his bosses, and the friends he’s made there. and he does this until he falls asleep.

all eyes are on you when you walk back into the living room after you hang up. you return back to your seat. “i’m tired, i wanna go home.” you tell your boyfriend, who is shifting in his seat beside you.

he bids his friends farewell and the two of you leave.

the car ride home is completely silent, save for the pop song playing on the radio. “what did he want?” your boyfriend finally asks you.

“i don’t know,”

“you were on the phone with him for an hour and a half?”

“i think he just needed someone to talk to.”

you can’t tell if he was jealous or angry at you at this moment but you both leave the car enveloped in a quiet unease that neither of you address ever again.

three: you lose him

from haechan 🤍: i’m going to be in town this week from haechan 🤍: i would really love to see you

you stood in front of the vanity in your bathroom, re-applying your lipgloss for the third time already. the day you would see haechan after eight months was finally here and you just wanted to look perfect.

your boyfriend appears next to you as you put your things away. “how do i look?” you asked him, staring at him intently through the mirror.

“you look beautiful,” he says. the sadness that is always lingering in his eyes and in his voice is still there, but you don’t seem to notice.

“i’m really nervous,” you hold a mirror close to your face, anxiously monitoring how your makeup looks.

“do you want me to drive you there?”

“you don’t have to,”

“i want to,” he tells you before leaving the room. “i’ll be waiting downstairs.”

you sit in the passenger’s seat of your boyfriend’s car, twiddling with the hem of your skirt, excitedly counting down the minutes until you’re in the booth of the diner that you and haechan always would go to before he moved.

you finally arrive and your boyfriend parks at the front. “call me if you need anything.” he leans in to give you a kiss.

pulling away, you open your purse and reapply your lipgloss.

“thank you again for driving me here.”

“it’s not a problem. i love you, you know that right?” he asks you.

“yeah, i do.” you exit the car, closing the door behind you.

you pick your booth by the window and watch your boyfriend’s car drive off. the soft hum of the conversations around you weave through the air as you patiently wait for him, your fingers tracing the condensation on the side of the glass of water you ordered when you got there.

finally the door chimes, signaling his entrance. he walks in holding the hand of a girl whose presence immediately sends ripples of disappointment down your spine.

time seems to pause as you observe them approach your table. a myriad of emotions danced across your face, and as he looks into your eyes, you try your best to stop your smile from faltering.

“it’s so good to see you,” he greets, a genuine warmth in his voice. you stand up to hug him and you enter into a collision of past memories and present uncertainties.

“you too, haechan. i’ve missed you,” you reply.

and then he introduces her – the girl whose hand he held, whose presence altered the dynamics of this reunion. “this is my girlfriend.”

that ten letter word that you were dreading. you knew it was true but you were hoping that you could somehow convince hope to make it not true.

you had been so consumed by the fantasy of what could have been – what should have been.

it should have been you. he should have told you that he loved you. he should have asked you to be his girlfriend. he should have told you to drop everything and run away with him. he should have chosen you every step of the way,

but he didn’t.

and maybe if he did, it would have been you sitting beside him in the booth, holding his hand so tightly, like he would disappear in a moment. it would have been you causing his eyes to crinkle in the way that it does when he laughs. it would have been you making him feel so happy and so complete.

but it wasn’t.

you wanted to be happy for him. because he was finally happy again and that was the most important thing to you – his happiness, and his smile, and his joy that just hasn’t been there in a while. but how could you be happy when you’re mourning the greatest loss. you always lived with the thought that there could, possibly, sometime in the future, be a chance that the two of you could make it work. but as he fed his girlfriend a fry from off his plate, you realized that was never going to happen.

“do you want us to take you home?” haechan asked after he had paid the bill.

you could think of about five hundred and fifteen things you would rather do than be in the car for even ten minutes with them. “no, my boyfriend isn’t too far from here.”

you stand outside the diner as your boyfriend’s reliable gray car pulls up to the front.

“how was it?” he asks you when you sit down.

“i don’t really want to talk about it,” you say quietly.

you spend the rest of that weekend wrapped up in your comforter, only coming out of bed to eat when your boyfriend begged you to.

on monday morning, he comes into the room. “do you still want to go to my sister’s engagement party? it’s fine if you’re not up for it. i’ll just let her know.”

“no, i think i’ll be fine.” you weakly answer, “i want to go.”

that evening you manage to get yourself dressed and dolled up even though you feel completely lethargic. when you arrived at the party, you stood at your boyfriend’s side as he greeted his sister and her fiancée. the four of you stood for a while, chatting. at least the three of them were. you, on the other hand, were trying to find the easiest way to slip away to the open bar.

eventually you found your out – your boyfriend was called to talk by some family friends and you could finally escape to the bar. “can i get a martini, please?” you ask the bartender.

you sit at the bar, scrolling through your texts with haechan again. he had texted you a few times since you saw each other at the diner, but you just didn’t have it in you to respond to him. locking your phone, you look around the party, spotting your boyfriend talking to some of his old friends. he looked so happy and you couldn’t help but feel sorrier and guiltier for the way you’ve been feeling the past few days. but that didn’t stop you from flagging the bartender again to order another martini.

the bartender had replaced your drink twice already when they called you for dinner. you stand up from the barstool, your movements betraying the effects of intoxication to the bartender. “i think we need to cut you off now,” they joke with you.

you laugh it off, but still appear unsteady. you make your way over to your table, a slight sway in your posture. you kept telling yourself to keep walking straight, but as you weaved through the tight dining space, your steps were marked by a wobbly and lurching quality.

you finally make it to the table, not so elegantly sliding into your assigned seat.

“where were you?” your boyfriend leans in to ask you.

“at the bar,” you whisper yell in response.

“we can tell,” his sister jokes across the table from you. you give her a tight lipped smile.

the waiter places the dishes on the table. everyone digs into the meals in front of them, but your appetite is absent. instead of savoring it, you absentmindedly toy with the food on your plate. your boyfriend, concerned, softly encourages you to eat but you brush off his suggestion, insisting that you’re not hungry.

“you haven’t eaten all day,” he persists and for some reason, that just sparks frustration within you. you abruptly excuse yourself from the table, stumbling as you hastily exit the dining hall. you hear your boyfriend hurriedly apologize to the rest of the table before following you outside.

“what’s going on?” he calls out after you.

“nothing, i just don’t want to be in there.”

“you told me that you wanted to be here.”

“well, i don’t anymore.”

“can you please talk to me?” he pleads, genuine concern in his voice.

“i can hear everyone talking about me,” you confess, your emotions bubbling to the surface.

confused, he asks, “what?”

“i know your friends hate me. your sister hates me too.”

“what? no one hates you.” he insists, trying to reassure you. “they love you; they just don’t know you like i do.”

with a straight face, you dismiss his words. “you don’t have to lie to me. no one loves me.”

his eyes widen in disbelief. “i love you.”

“well, haechan doesn’t,” you declare softly.

“what?”

“haechan doesn’t love me.” his name heavy on your lips, like it was a bad word that you weren’t allowed to say.

a moment of silence hangs in the air as he processes your revelation. he scoffs, running his hands through his hair in disbelief. “what is this about?” he sits down beside you.

“he has a girlfriend,” a heavy revelation hangs in the air. the dim lighting of the quiet street casts a shadow on both of you.

“oh,” he pulls you into him, his strong arms enveloping you. the scent of his cologne surrounds you as you rest your head against him, closing your eyes to shield you from your reality. unbeknownst to you, he struggles to keep his bittersweet smile at bay. he wants to comfort you and be there for you but he can’t help but love knowing that now he doesn’t have to share you with someone that you never belonged to.

the silence stretches, broken only by the muffled sounds of distant traffic. his soft hands caress your arms in an attempt to soothe the storm of emotions raging within you. your tears stream down your face onto his suit jacket as you find solace in the warmth of his embrace.

after a while, you sit up straight. “i’m sorry,” you say, your voice barely audible.

“it’s fine,” he reassures you. “i can get it dry cleaned.”

you shake your head. “no, not the suit.” he cocks his head in confusion. “i mean for everything.”

“y/n,” he begins, but you cut him off.

“i’m a terrible girlfriend.”

“no you’re not,”

“you’re so good to me and i’m terrible to you. that’s why your friends hate me. that’s why your sister hates me. i’m so selfish. i’m so horrible. i–”

“you’re not selfish or horrible.”

“i am.”

“you’re not.” he lifts a hand to gently wipe away a lingering tear on your cheek.

“i spent a weekend crying about some guy who has a girlfriend, while you were at the door waiting for me to come out,”

his sighs, taking in the weight of your words but refusing to let you dwell in self blame. “you guys have a history that i guess i don’t understand.”

“i heard your sister telling you to break up with me.”

he looks down the quiet street, a furrow forming on his brow as he recalls that conversation. “i-”

you look at him, your eyes searching for answers“i know you defended me, but sometimes i wonder why you don’t just break up with me.”

“because, i love you.” the words echo in the quietness.

“i hurt you. every day of our relationship, i have hurt you. you never say anything, but i know it hurts watching me cry over him.”

he meets your gaze, sincerity in his eyes as he navigates the intricate web of emotions between the two of you. “i still love you.”

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 6 months

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When The World Is Crashing Down [Chapter 7: Keep Quiet, Nothing Comes As Easy As You]

A/N: Hello everyone! Thank you so much for reading and loving this fic. 🥰 We are now officially halfway done with WTWICD, can you believe it?! I hope you enjoy Chapter 7. 💜

Series summary: Your family is House Celtigar, one of Rhaenyra’s wealthiest allies. In the aftermath of Rook’s Rest, Aemond unknowingly conscripts you to save his brother’s life. Now you are in the liar of the enemy, but your loyalties are quickly shifting…

Chapter warnings: Language, warfare, violence, the smallfolk having a bad time everywhere you look, Aemond being a menace, serious injury, alcoholism/addiction, references to sexual content (18+), discussions of pregnancy/babies, dragons, murder, some new perspectives! 🥰

Series title is a lyric from: “7 Minutes In Heaven” by Fall Out Boy.

Chapter title is a lyric from: “Nobody Puts Baby In The Corner” by Fall Out Boy.

Word count: 6k.

Link to chapter list: HERE.

Taglist (more in comments): @tinykryptonitewerewolf @lauraneedstochill @not-a-glad-gladiator @daenysx @babyblue711 @arcielee @at-a-rax-ia @bhanclegane @jvpit3rs @padfooteyes @marvelescvpe @travelingmypassion @darkenchantress @yeahright0h @poohxlove @trifoliumviridi @bloodyflowerrr @fan-goddess @devynsficrecs @flowerpotmage @thelittleswanao3 @seabasscevans @hiraethrhapsody @libroparaiso @echos-muses @st-eve-barnes @chattylurker @lm-txles @vagharnaur @moonlightfoxx @storiumemporium @insabecs @heliosscribbles @beautifulsweetschaos @namelesslosers @partnerincrime0 @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics @yawneneytiri @marbles-posts @imsolence @maidmerrymint @backyardfolklore @nimaharchive @anxiousdaemon @under-the-aspen-tree @amiraisgoingthruit @dd122004dd @randomdragonfires @jetblack4real @joliettes

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In the Eyrie, Rhaena is praying for one of the three dragon eggs in her keeping to hatch. In the shadowy ruins of Harrenhal, Daemon and Nettles are bathing in rooms thick with steam, while outside by the lakeshore Baela brings plump goats to Moondancer. In King’s Landing, Rhaenyra’s Master of Coin Bartimos Celtigar is levying heavy taxes on the smallfolk: taxes on wine, taxes on ale, taxes on inn beds and shop goods, even taxes on the bittersweet parody of love purchased in brothels, taxes on every possible distraction from the ceaseless bloodletting that has infected the world like plague. In the North, Cregan Stark is following the Kingsroad towards Moat Cailin and imagining what you will say to him when you are rescued from the clutches of the Usurper: Oh my love, my champion, my savior, my lord. But south in the Reach, Daeron is flying.

Tessarion’s scales are a blue sheen like light on the ocean; the flapping of her wings is a deafening, roaring wind. She is nimble in the air, lethally quick, banking seamlessly when Daeron asks her to turn towards the Hogs Head, an inn from which torrents of men and women run shrieking. They do not run fast enough. Tessarion’s flames are an electrifying cobalt blue like lightning. Flesh melts away, bones are charred black, screams evaporate as lungs are singed, consumed, destroyed. Daeron’s own lungs work perfectly fine; he is cackling, almost loud enough to hear over the wings and inferno of his dragon. After the inn, Tessarion burns the sept, the marketplace, the castle that is the seat of the disloyal House Caswell. There is a stone bridge, after which the town is named, traversing the Mander River. People are fleeing across it. There are children on the bridge, but this does not stop Daeron. Maelor was a child when these traitors ripped him apart with their bare hands. Jaehaerys was a child, and so is Jaehaera, who may be alive in Storm’s End or may be dead but in any case has suffered the decimation of her family, her brothers and her mother and her grandsire. Daeron is burning Bitterbridge for the Greens, yes. But he is also doing it for himself. And in the wake of Tessarion’s fire, Lord Ormund Hightower’s forces pour into the rubble of the town to seize whatever treasures it has left.

In the Riverlands, Aemond and Vhagar are setting fields of wheat ablaze and incinerating cattle, pigs, sheep, forests that can no longer be used by the Blacks and their supporters for timber. In the Citadel, white ravens are being sent out to the great houses of Westeros to proclaim the end of summer. And on Dragonstone, the Beggar King heals.

He spars with guards that Larys found, is tended by maesters that Larys recruited from the turncoat houses of the Crownlands, rules over a microcosm kingdom that Larys built for him. Aegon tires quickly, sleeps often, aches and collapses and bleeds, gets sunburned when he is outside too long on those rare clear days. But he always rises again. “Perpetual Resurrection,” he says, grinning through the pain when you caution him to be patient, to be careful. “I’m not dying. I’m becoming brand new.”

You hunt for softshell crabs together on the rocky shoreline, fill a basket with them, bring them to the cooks to serve the skeleton crew of the castle for supper. You walk through the gardens, a pine-smelling woodland of towering coniferous trees, thorny rose bushes, blood-red cranberries, indelicate creatures that can thrive in the thin, inhospitable earth here. You study the books of the castle library—an impossibly vast, ancient collection, safeguarding texts from Old Valyria—while Aegon swims in the ocean with Sunfyre, laughing and diving as the dragon glides around him in large, lazy circles. Sunfyre can fly, but only a very short distance at a time; he is ungainly when he walks on land with his improperly-healed right wing. But in the water, he and Aegon are both unbroken again. Soon they will be ready for battle. Soon they will have to leave this island, this mist-and-smoke haven, to rejoin the war effort; soon they will have to leave you.

You crave Aegon like some people need wine, rum, gin, gold, power, violence, milk of the poppy. He is ecstasy, he is consolation, he is a spell. He is your home; and any place you’ve ever mistaken for home was only an echo of the truth that you would one day find him. Even on that very first night, as the storm raged outside, you whispered to Aegon when you both woke long before sunrise: “I want you again.”

“You’ll be sore,” he warned, a warm murmur against your forehead. “We can wait. I can wait.” But already his hands were moving, and your thighs were opening, and he followed your body and your words when they told him yes, now, and tomorrow, and the day after that, and the next day too.

You smile when Aegon calls you insatiable, but you know that’s not quite it.

You are acutely aware that nothing lasts forever, not even him, not even you.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Are the days getting shorter?” you ask, your bare feet ankle-deep in wet sand. Sunfyre is out in the waves eating dolphins; a slippery-looking grey tail hangs from his snaggletoothed jaw.

“I think you just want the nights to be longer.” Aegon winks up at you. His head is in your lap, his arms linked around your waist. You are weaving his little braid for him. His hair is just above shoulder-length and as choppy as ever. He periodically takes his dagger to it and hacks away haphazardly, determined to never look like Aemond, Daeron, Daemon, his father. He burrows into the softness of your belly and shuts his eyes. “Perhaps winter is coming.”

In more ways than one, you think bleakly, picturing Cregan Stark on the Kingsroad with snow in his long dark hair and dirt on his hands. “We should ask Lord Larys if he’s heard anything.” As the Citadel—and most of the rest of Westeros—believes Dragonstone to be unoccupied, they would not have sent a white raven here. But several times each week Larys receives visitors from Eagle Harbor, and they bring him rumors in exchange for gold coins and promises that when Aegon once again sits the Iron Throne, their faithfulness will be generously rewarded.

Aegon hums agreeably; he is dozing. After a moment he says: “I keep dreaming of her.”

“Who?”

“Helaena,” Aegon says, his voice lethargic and eyes still closed. “She brings me things. Butterflies, crabs, snakes. Things that are reborn. She puts them in my hands or in my bed and won’t take them away when I ask her to. She keeps telling me: Don’t fall, don’t fall.”

You finish Aegon’s braid and comb his unruly hair back with your fingers, soothing him, listening to him. You try not to think of the way Helaena died, crushed and hemorrhaging on golden sandstone. Instead, you picture her living: strange yet gentle, tragic but kind. You see her children as well, white-haired and beautiful and doted on not by their parents but by Alicent and Otto and you…and Aemond. You remember Aemond’s quiet resentment, his simmering and dangerous envy. You recall Aegon’s half-flippant accusation: You’re always developing attachments to things that are mine. Targaryens have wed brothers to sisters since long before the Conquest, but that doesn’t mean they always got the combination quite right. “Aegon, was Aemond…was he in love with Helaena? Did he desire her?”

“No. Not like that. He cared for her, but I don’t believe he had any lust for Helaena. He just thought he would have been a better husband to her than I was. That he would have caused her less misery. That he was more worthy of carrying on the bloodline, of being the children’s father. And he was right, of course.”

“What happened to Helaena is not your fault,” you say. “And neither is what happened to Jaehaerys or Maelor.”

“I’m glad Daeron burned them all,” Aegon says quietly, meaning the people of Bitterbridge, a tale ferried to Larys from one of his numerous, nameless informants.

“I know you are, Aegon.” You can’t bring yourself to agree with him. Does one dead child bring back another? Does each swatch of flesh burned away from a supporter of Rhaenyra replace one that was sheared off the bones of a Green? No, of course not, but the wheel goes around and around and around.

In the sky, another sort of wheel: a sun that burns cool and muted behind a thicket of iron-colored clouds. High above where you and Aegon are entwined on the beach, something crosses in front of the shrouded sun, casting an impossibly large shadow. You gasp; at the sound, Aegon bolts upright onto his palms and knees and follows your gaze. There is a profound, archaic rumbling, something old and intractable like thunder, earthquakes, floodwaters rising.

A dragon, you know immediately. You try frantically to determine whether you recognize its voice. Too large to be Tessarion or Syrax, too deep a roar to be Caraxes. Sheepstealer?? Vermithor?? But no, you have heard this beast before after all, it’s—

“Vhagar!” Aegon shouts, and scrambles to his feet. As the massive swamp-green dragon disappears behind the castle, soaring rather sluggishly, Aegon sprints as fast as he can up the stone steps towards the entranceway. You follow Aegon into Dragonstone and there the visitor meets you both, sailing down a staircase with eerie lightness, his boots hardly making a sound, his long silver hair secured in a single thick braid. Larys arrives as well and stands in the dreary, torchlit chamber, appearing as he always does: face servile and tactfully intrigued, hands laced together overtop the handle of his cane, back stooped as if to make himself smaller, less threatening, more invisible.

“I got to thinking you might be here,” Aemond tells Aegon. He sounds pleasantly surprised. “You look better.” Then he notices you. “Oh. Perhaps that accounts for some of it.”

“Where’s Criston?” Aegon asks. Meanderingly, so it is sufficiently subtle, he takes several steps until he has placed himself between you and Aemond.

“Somewhere near Saltpans.”

“You left him?” Aegon is incredulous, furious.

“Temporarily,” Aemond says. “It is not the first time. Between battles Vhagar and I raze the farms and villages of the Riverlands. Criston and his men are more than capable of fending for themselves. I’ll be back in a day.”

“You’re supposed to stay with Criston,” Aegon insists, speaking slowly and deliberately as if to a child who might have difficulty understanding. “You promised that you would. The war is on the battlefield, not on goddamn farms.”

“And what feeds Rhaenyra’s forces? Is it not grain and cattle? And so if I destroy their food supply—while our own soldiers are still receiving regular shipments from the Westerlands and the Reach—am I not inflicting catastrophic damage to the Blacks?”

“You’re burning…civilian property?” you say to Aemond. “You’re killing women and children and old people? You’re laying waste their homesteads?”

“It’s total war.” Aemond stares at you defiantly; there is no suggestion of self-doubt in his face. “It is a well-documented strategy employed across continents and centuries. We kill soldiers on the battlefield. We endanger their families back home. Many men will desert to return to their imperiled wives and children. Others will starve. All are broken. All are rendered ineffectual to our enemy’s cause. And thus we will triumph.”

You and Aegon gape at him, not knowing what to say, not knowing what is right or wrong in a world where children are slaughtered and grown men murder with impunity. When will this war be over? How can we end it? Will any of our souls survive the choices we’ve made with our backs to the wall?

“My prince, you chose an excellent time to pay us a visit,” Larys offers diplomatically. “I have just received news that may be of interest to you. And you can bring it back to Sir Criston and his men when you return to the Riverlands tomorrow.”

“What news?” Aegon asks.

“Wait,” Aemond says; and he smiles, dark and hungry like a wolf, like a dragon. “I want to see the place where my ancestors made their war plans. I want to sit in Rhaenyra’s chair.”

On the top floor of the Stone Drum, the main keep of Dragonstone that booms and growls during storms, servants light the candles beneath the Painted Table and bring wine, ale, bread, cheese, honeycomb, jam, candied walnuts, red cherries and violet grapes. The map of Westeros, older than the Conquest, is striped with snakes of fiery luminance like lava. Aegon twists the gold dragon ring on his finger, its jade eyes sparkling. You gave it back to him the day after you arrived on Dragonstone; he says that when he wins the war, he will have a matching piece made for you, but with a crab in place of a dragon.

Larys cautions before he begins: “I cannot tell you the perfect truth. I can only tell you what I’ve heard from the whispers that make their way to me.”

“And what have you heard?” Aemond says. Aegon glances petulantly at him, as if debating whether to remind his brother that a prince regent is not quite a king.

“The Dragonseeds known as Hugh Hammer and Ulf the White—and with them, Vermithor and Silverwing—have officially declared for the Greens.”

“Yes!” Aegon beams and raises his wine cup. He refuses milk of the poppy, even on his worst days; he does not want to be senseless, he does not want to leave you unprotected. But he drinks red wine often and grows ill if he is without it for long. Aemond is laughing victoriously. The brothers are momentarily united.

“There was a battle at Tumbleton in the Reach,” Larys continues. “Lord Ormund Hightower was slain by Roddy the Ruin who, allegedly, managed the feat after one of his arms was severed clean from his body. These Northmen are formidable beasts, to be sure.”

Aegon looks at you, a fleeting, fearful look.

“The people of Tumbleton believed the battle to be over, but then Vermithor and Silverwing joined Tessarion in torching the city. All the Blacks’ commanders were killed, along with most of their soldiers. And the city was sacked. There are reports of looting and…well, all manner of indecencies being committed against the civilians of Tumbleton, mostly women and children. Even septas and silent sisters.”

Now an awkward silence settles over the Painted Table. Ruin, heartbreak, agony, death; but somebody else’s. It could have been yours instead. Perhaps tomorrow it will be. Perhaps there is no end to suffering, only a reallocation of it to people who you do not know, do not love. Perhaps the debt can never be satisfied but only passed to another.

Larys goes on: “The people of King’s Landing are petrified that the Greens and their dragons will descend upon them and subject the capital to the same atrocities that Tumbleton experienced. Rhaenyra had to order the gold cloaks to seal the city gates to keep her supposedly loyal subjects inside.”

“The smallfolk’s support for her continues to weaken?” Aemond says.

“It does more than weaken. Many people there detest her. Bartimos Celtigar has imposed heavy taxes upon the city. The smallfolk fear that Daemon has abandoned Rhaenyra, and therefore that they cannot expect protection from Caraxes and Sheepstealer. And…” Larys peers around the Painted Table apologetically.

“…And?” Aegon presses.

“Rhaenyra’s youngest son…Viserys…” Larys sighs, an anemic, perfunctory breed of sympathy. “He is dead. Of illness, it seems. The luckless lad.”

“He was always sickly,” you say, remembering his unwaveringly watery eyes and dripping nose. And you almost say Poor Rhaenyra, but then you remember how the Blacks celebrated Maelor’s death with cheers and rare, bloody boar meat.

“Yes,” Larys concurs. “That is what the people believe, that he perished due to natural causes.”

Aemond is watching the Master of Whisperers closely. “What does Rhaenyra think caused it?”

“She suspects poison,” Larys tells him. “She is convinced of poison, I should say. She raved and she threatened and she spewed accusations. She executed a dozen people, none of whom could be connected to the death of the boy with any certainty. The smallfolk feel she has gone mad. And there is one more crime the people have branded her with.” Larys turns to you.

Your heard pounds wildly, hot blood thuds in your ears. “Has something happened to Everett—?”

“Not him. The Celtigars themselves are safe from her wrath. Bartimos is too near to the throne, and Rhaenyra trusts him. But the servant girl—Autumn, you called her—she went into labor a month early and was delivered of a boy.” Now Larys’ eyes flick to Aegon, whose face goes pale and panicked. “A boy with blue eyes and silver hair.”

Aemond rocks back in his chair and shakes his head.

“Oh,” Aegon moans. “Oh.” He clutches his chest with one hand and looks to you. He says weakly: “I’m so sorry, Angel. It didn’t mean anything. The child…it…it will never really be mine—”

“It won’t be anyone’s,” Larys says. “Rhaenyra had him run through with a sword.”

“What?!” Aemond exclaims. “A baby? An infant? In her own castle, in the Red Keep?”

You are horrified. “Did Autumn witness this?”

“I’m not certain, my lady,” Larys replies. “What I have heard is that Rhaenyra proclaimed it vengeance for agents of the Greens murdering her youngest son. She declared all bastards of the Usurper to be enemies of the realm and thus sentenced to death. She has offered rewards for anyone who brings a white-haired child to her for execution. And the smallfolk are absolutely, viciously appalled by her. The Street of Silk in particular is rife with people plotting the so-called queen’s downfall. She is surrounded by enemies. And she has only two male heirs left.”

“Two more than Aegon,” Aemond mutters.

“Is Autumn alright?” you ask Larys. “Did Rhaenyra harm her?”

“Your brother Everett attempted to advocate for Autumn and the child. He was ignored; your father and eldest brother were vehemently in support of the murder. Shortly after the baby was killed, Autumn disappeared from King’s Landing. I’m sure Everett facilitated this escape. No one knows her present whereabouts.”

“She’s just gone? No signs whatsoever?”

“Nobody ever knows anything.” Aemond waves at Aegon. “They think he’s in Dorne.”

“Seven hells,” Aegon whispers, rubbing his face with his hands.

“Rhaenyra is destroying herself,” you say. “She is doing the work for us. If you try to take King’s Landing with dragonfire raining down on Green supporters who are effectively held captive, there will be ill-will against you in the capital that will last for generations. But if they overthrow Rhaenyra on their own, you can reclaim the city bloodlessly.”

Larys taps his fingers meditatively against the Painted Table. “I do wonder if Daemon would intervene to support her. His present motivations are…somewhat nebulous. To Blacks and Greens alike. But he controls their most powerful assets.”

“You haven’t crossed paths with Caraxes and Sheepstealer in Riverlands, I assume?” Aegon asks Aemond.

“No. We are locked in a dance of sorts. I’m not certain that Vhagar can win against two dragons of that size; they must know that it is almost certain that at least one of them would be killed in the struggle even if they defeated me. This Nettles girl’s dragon riding skills are unclear. Perhaps Daemon is training her, perhaps he is now sufficiently attached that he does not want her in combat. So we avoid each other. But when the girl is gone—when Daemon tires of her, or when Rhaenyra sends assassins to murder her, or when she is removed from the board by some other means—I will meet Daemon in battle and end him.”

“Your priority is protecting Criston,” Aegon orders; but there is trepidation in his large, ocean-blue eyes, there is defenseless worry there. “Wherever Criston goes, you go with him. I’ll be ready to fight again soon. I’ll be able to help you.”

“Daemon is mine. I want to face him alone.”

“I am the king!” Aegon thunders, and you can see the strength leaving him like birds taking flight from cold, bare winter trees. “You will not behave recklessly. You will not abandon Criston. We are winning in the Reach, and we are winning in King’s Landing without even being there, and we will win in the Riverlands too if you don’t sabotage us with your relentless fucking pride.”

You and Larys study Aemond. He examines the flame-colored light of the Painted Table, tracing the etchings of rivers and mountains with his fingertips. “Fine,” he concedes, very quietly.

“And one more thing,” Aegon tells his brother.

With great reluctance, Aemond meets his gaze. “Yes?”

“If you have the opportunity to burn Cregan Stark, take it.”

~~~~~~~~~~

When Aegon collapses into the bed you share, you curl up against his scarred chest, listen to his heartbeat, breathe in heat and rose oil and the salt of the ocean. He does not ask you what is wrong. He does not speak of Autumn or her child, his child, no matter how indifferent or remorseful he might have been. He holds you knowing that there is nothing he can say to make the world whole again. He can only rest until he is well enough to fly into battle, where he might be further maimed or taken captive or murdered. And what then? What was this all for?

“Somewhere there are people just living,” you marvel. “They’re reading books, they’re having supper, they’re getting married, they’re tending to their crops and their animals. And none of them are thinking about war or massacres or dragonfire.”

“Yes,” Aegon says simply, pulling you in closer, one palm pressed to the small of your back and the other brushing your hair away from your face so he can kiss you, soft and slow. “But they’re not us.”

When Aegon is on the edge of sleep, you tell him that you love him, as you do each day. He has not heard it enough in his life; you are trying to remedy that now. And as always, Aegon does not say it back. Instead, he murmurs something in High Valyrian that you cannot understand. Now you commit it to memory, repeating it silently to yourself again and again until Aegon is sleeping deeply and you can rise from the bed without disturbing him. You go to your writing desk and scribble it down on a small piece of parchment: the way this word sounds in the letters of the Common Tongue. You have no way to translate it. There are books written in High Valyrian in the castle library, but you do not know the alphabet of the language, and you have yet to find a text that can teach it to you. When you ask Aegon for lessons, he demurs and says that he doesn’t know High Valyrian well enough to teach you. You think he just wants a way to say things you won’t be able to comprehend. You squirrel the parchment away in the pocket of your gown and slip out of the bedchamber you share with Aegon.

It is far too early for your mind to stop racing, only sunset. You wander down halls of shifting shadows and iron dragons, fantastically high ceilings and narrow slits of windows. Questions fill your skull like rushing blood in the chambers of a heart: Where is Autumn? Is she alright? Is she safe? Is Everett, is Jaehaera, is Alicent? Are Criston and Daeron? Are any of us?

When you cross through the doorway and onto a balcony that overlooks the ocean, Aemond is to your left. He is nursing a cup of wine and leaning over the stone wall that separates you from a long, treacherous fall onto black rocks that jut out of the sea like the hilts of daggers from a corpse’s back. You whirl away from him and towards the craggy staircase that leads down to the beach.

“Now you’re going to pretend you didn’t see me?” Aemond calls out.

You halt mid-step, consider it, then return to him. “You’re just so undistinguished in appearance. So easy to miss.”

He gives you one of his enigmatic, teasing smirks. His hair blows in the breeze that tastes like salt and sulfur and mist. He wears a dark, lush green. Then he peers avoidantly down into his wine. “I…I don’t think I ever adequately apologized for what transpired regarding the brothel. The Pink Pearl.”

“You didn’t.”

“It is a place…” Aemond pauses. He chooses his words cautiously, like handling something that could easily break, a glass goblet, an egg, a butterfly in an open palm. “It is a place that I associate with great unpleasantness. I made assumptions about where your loyalties lied. I felt that you had hurt me, that you had caused me to suffer. And I wanted you to suffer in return.”

“It was a horrific thing to do,” you say pitilessly. “It was cruel. It was evil.”

“Yes, I’m aware of that now. That’s why I’m apologizing.”

“Then do it properly.”

“I’m sorry,” Aemond says. It takes some effort. “I was wrong.”

“You were.”

“And I’m glad Aegon was able to haul himself out of bed to rescue you. It’s not often that he gets to be the noble brother, the gallant one.”

“It happens more often than you’d think.”

Aemond raises his eyebrow. Beneath his eyepatch, you know, is a winter-cold sapphire in a bed of mangled flesh, a treasure steeped in corruption. “How long have you been here?”

“Two months.” No, more than that. “Two and a half, or thereabouts.”

“And I assume there has been no shortage of…horizontal activities with my brother.”

“Not exclusively horizontal,” you snap, to make him regret being so forward, to make him uncomfortable. “We are more inventive than that.”

It works; Aemond flushes a gory mottled pink. Still he manages: “And you have not yet conceived?”

You glare at him, ice and fire at once. “No.”

“Why do you think that is?”

You shrug, exasperated, dismissive. “Aegon has been through so much physical trauma, perhaps he is no longer capable of having children. Perhaps I never was. Perhaps it will happen in a month or six months or a year. Perhaps it is not meant for us. Only the gods know.”

“You aren’t at all concerned?”

In truth, no; you are so consumed by whether Aegon will survive the war with any vestige of humanity intact that anything beyond this seems hopelessly distant, a constellation, a shadow on the moon, the silvery gleam of a comet. “It’s not something I spend much time thinking about.”

“It should be,” Aemond insists. “If the Greens expect men to go to war for us, for women to give up their husbands and sons to us, we should have a stable succession to offer them in return. Jaehaerys and Maelor are gone. Jaehaera is a girl and cannot inherit even if she is alive and well in Storm’s End. Aegon needs an heir.”

“Aren’t you next in line for the throne, Aemond?” you say cuttingly. “And isn’t that the role you believe yourself best suited for? Being king? Proving how worthy you were all along?”

He is uneasy, perhaps ashamed, evading your eyes. “Regrettably, I cannot begin trying for my own sons until the war is over and I marry Borros Baratheon’s daughter, as I pledged to in return for his support for our side. Daeron will not be able to marry for several years. In the meantime, there is this…disquieting lack of certainty. To complicate matters, Aegon has bastards in King’s Landing, I’m sure. The red-haired girl was far from the first whore to lie with him. If he does not have a trueborn son, claimants will appear to challenge mine or Daeron’s for the throne.”

You search yourself—unspoken longing and ancient cobwebbed fears—for any desire for a child of your own. You cannot find it. You are fond of children, you find fulfillment in caring for them, but the need to carry and deliver one yourself? It is not something you can remember ever yearning for. It always felt like yet another way in which your body would be used to further some man’s legacy, to give him pleasure at your expense. “Can you tell me what this means?” you ask, handing Aemond the folded piece of parchment that you’d tucked into the pocket of your gown. He takes it with one long, lithe hand. “I’ve probably spelled it wrong. I’ve never seen it written, only heard it spoken aloud.”

Aemond opens the parchment. His river-blue eye narrows; thoughtful creases appear in his brow. “Aegon has said this? To you?”

“More than once.”

“What prompted it?”

“Does your translation depend upon the context?”

“Hm.” Aemond skates his thumbprint over the dried black ink. Then he looks at you. “It means: To your misfortune.”

The alarm must show on your face.

“Not like a threat,” Aemond clarifies. “It is a common expression. It suggests that someone has entrusted something of value to the undeserving. It implies naivety. Unwise benevolence. But it is certainly not malicious. It is usually said fondly, like a backhanded compliment.” He returns the parchment to you. You rip it over and over again until it is only scraps that vanish in the wind, Aegon’s voice speaking to you: I ruin causes. I ruin people.

“Why did you kill Luke?” you ask Aemond, not accusingly but with hushed, weary wonder. “There was very little strategic advantage in it. There was great peril as a result. Rhaenyra will never surrender, never negotiate. You will forever be known as a kinslayer. You could have taken him captive. You could have humiliated him, you could have shown the world how weak he was. Why did you have to kill him?”

Aemond says nothing for a long time. He stares out over the ocean where the sun is setting, dolphin fins cut in swift arcs through the surf, Sunfyre dozes on wet sand, the sky glows dream-lavender and blood orange. He sips his wine and contemplates things that are mysteries to you. Aemond keeps his thoughts like untrustworthy animals: in cages, in darkness, turning fierce and feral, snapping jaws and rattling chains. At last he says: “They’re all dead anyway. They were from the moment Aegon was born and my father refused to name him the heir. It’s all of them or all of us. You think there is any scenario in which Aegon reigns as king while Rhaenyra’s children survive? No, no. Someone will always be willing to fight and die for them. Just like Green loyalists would have been willing to fight for Jaehaerys and Maelor.” Something shifts in his face like the breaking of a wave, and for a second you can glimpse the deep well of dark, helpless misery inside him, filling up drop by drop since he was a boy. Then Aemond is steely again. “Luke had to die. So did Jace and Rhaenys and that eternally sniffling toddler Viserys. And all the other Blacks will follow. Unless you care to see Aegon’s blood spilled. And mine, and Daeron’s.”

“No,” you say softly, an agonized little whisper that understands, that surrenders. “No, that cannot happen.”

Aemond takes another swallow of his wine and drums his fingertips restlessly against the cup. “Any heir our side puts forth must have undisputed parentage and Valyrian features. Aegon’s wife is dead. He can marry you. You are a Celtigar, you share our blood, you carry the memories of silver hair and rare magic in the marrow of your bones. These attributes are dormant in you, yet could be passed on to a child. A son of yours could secure the succession and one day inherit the Iron Throne. But the father has to be a Targaryen.”

You turn to Aemond, perplexed and wary. His wording is strange. “Well, it has to be Aegon.”

Aemond is impatient, irritated. You have not been keeping up. He says, his eye on the darkening horizon: “There are other Targaryens.”

You stare at him. You don’t understand, you don’t understand, and then suddenly you do. “What?”

This is not the reaction Aemond had hoped for. He gulps down the last of his wine, leaves the cup on the stone wall, storms down the staircase to reunite with Vhagar and resume burning the noncombatants of the Riverlands to ash.

~~~~~~~~~~

He finds her at the shore of the Gods Eye, rippling blue like a vast mirror. The Isle of Faces—forbidden, undiscoverable—is a faint mirage in the distance. Moondancer is circling overhead. Baela is perched on a large rock by the water’s edge and fishing; she is intrigued by tales of the strange creatures that dwell here, the hungry currents, the way this corner of the world has only a translucent, threadbare veil between our world and the realm of spirits, ghosts, demons. She has always been curious and bold by nature. She has always been his most beloved child.

“You found your way out of Nettles’ bed,” Baela pitches, a jest but not a judgment. She is already developing an appetite of her own that renders monogamy woefully lacking. She mourns Jace, but not the woman she would have had to pretend to be for him. “I’m shocked.”

Daemon smirks, tilting his head to the side like a wolf does as it’s listening. “You know how sheets have a way of getting tangled. Around ankles, around wrists…sometimes it is difficult to free oneself.”

“You were fighting hard, I’m sure.”

“Yes, all morning.”

Baela chuckles, reels in her fishing line, recasts it. She cares deeply for Rhaenyra and is loyal to her still, but Baela shares her father’s pathological aversion to weakness. She feels that Rhaenyra has driven Daemon away with her moodiness, her melancholy, her unmooring from the fearless, ardent woman she once was. Daemon says that being with Nettles is like being with a young Rhaenyra again. It would not be just to condemn him for seeking out what Rhaenyra took from him and has no intention of returning.

Daemon says: “I want you to go to Dragonstone.”

Baela is aghast, betrayed. “You are getting rid of me?”

“I am entrusting you with a vital enterprise.”

Now she is intrigued. Now she is considering it.

“Moondancer is too small to fight Vhagar, Tessarion, Vermithor, or Silverwing,” Daemon says. “If Caraxes and Sheepstealer meet Vhagar in battle, you cannot go with us. Nor should we leave you here unprotected. And I know you have been impatient for an opportunity to play a more…consequential role in the war.”

“I long to be useful,” Baela agrees. “More than anything.”

“Go to Dragonstone,” Daemon says. “It is vacant, it is safe. But it must remain under the Blacks’ control. Patrol it and ensure the Greens do not try to take the island and find riders for Grey Ghost or the Cannibal. Rhaenyra will return to Dragonstone if she is ever forced out of King’s Landing. I have tasked you with making it ready for her.”

“And I have permission to execute any traitors who might appear there?”

“Yes. You may swing the sword yourself. Or feed them to Moondancer, whichever you prefer.”

Baela smiles, a slow, toothy grin that spreads across her face like plague, like fire. “When can I leave?”

#aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen #aegon ii #aegon targaryen ii #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon x reader #aegon ii x y/n #aegon ii x you #aegon ii targaryen x reader #aegon ii x reader

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white-poppie · 10 months

Text

𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐘-𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐘 𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐑

A shrill shout causes you to dart your attention in the direction it came from. You leave all the work you were occupied with and run towards the source of the sound, which was the master bathroom.

You knock on the bathroom door, panicking, where your lover is supposed to be taking a bath. All kinds of scenarios ranging from scalding hot water burning his skin to him slipping and getting a concussion, keep running in your head, "Babe what's wrong?"

You hear hurried, wet footsteps thumping on the marble-tiled floor. He opens the door with a loud bang, making you flinch. He is standing in front of you, wearing nothing but his bath towel around his waist, leaving his torso for you to marvel at.

"What's wrong?" You ask, looking into his restless eyes.

He rests a hand against the doorframe, water dripping down his body and creating a puddle. Whatever the matter was, it was far more critical than drying himself or looking decent.

"Spider," he says breathlessly, "there is a spider in the bathroom."

You blink. Once, twice, thrice and then stare at the man in front of you. You say the S-word again to confirm if you are hearing correctly or if you've turned into a sixty-year-old grandma, "a spider?"

"A spider," he says and nods aggressively, "get it out of there."

You don't know whether to be amused or irritated. Is there a camera anywhere? Is he filming a prank?

"What do you want me to do?" You ask, keeping your hands on your hips.

"Kill it," he says with wide eyes and you can't help but grin a little at this absurd situation of a behemoth of a man being scared of a tiny spider.

"Aren't you the man here?" You muse, playing along a little as he stands there, half-naked.

His brows furrow and he stares at you in offence. "Oh so now patriarchal standards come into play? In this situation? We are in the twenty-first century! And what about 'equality' and this 'willpower' you talk of when I say I'll pay for our dates? However, you either split the bill or make an advanced booking and now I have to make an advanced booking before your advanced booking."

"Okay, Okay I get it." You say exasperatedly and walk into the washroom and ask him to point at the tiny predator, "How big is it?" You say and immediately think of a 'that's what she said' joke, but he is too stressed to notice.

He makes a gap between his index and thumb and implies that the spider is about half an inch big- Wait hold on, that's one huge spider.

Your eyes widen as you finally understand his fear. You remove your slipper and wield it like a weapon and look around, "where is it?"

He stands beside you but sweatdrops as he realizes the spider is nowhere to be found. "It's not there anymore."

You look around the bathroom, panicking from your position and find the spider nowhere.

You then look back at your beloved with a mutual understanding of what to do next, "pack your things we are leaving."

KURAPIKA, Leorio, SHINICHIRO, Benkei, BAJI, GOJO, Getou, MELLO, Matt, Kuroo, BOKUTO, SAKUSA, LEV, OIKAWA, ASAHI, Atsumu,

A/N: But spiders are not that sc- *is shot dead.*

-- Fanfictions

TAGS: @akumicchi, @denkis111, @jazzylove, @lordmypantsaresocool, @futuristicallykawaiiturtle, @kristaline2dmensimp @rintaroubby, @nanaseishiro @cleaningfairylevi, @itoshirinpdf, @renster05, @ratna-the-furball, @buttercupspotify

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marvelsswansong · 2 years

Note

I love your stuff and I've been dying to send in this request for Eddie 🥰 could you do something where he finds his S/O sobbing in the bathroom and just take it from there? I'm sure you'll come up with something wonderful. 😊😊😊

summary: in which Eddie can't find you anywhere during a house party and then finds you sobbing in the second floor bathroom - but for an unexpected and hilarious reason.

tags: Eddie x gn!reader (no pronouns/descripitions), pure fluff, pure hilarity, getting drunk, lots of petnames (sunshine, angel, love), I loved writing this one

☆ word count: 1.2K+ ☆

a/n: ahhh YES I hope I did this justice! btw since you said S/O I made it a gn!reader

⚠️ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐈 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲, 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐮𝐫𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐥𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐞.⚠️

If being at a loud house party filled with people Eddie doesn't recognize isn't enough to get his anxiety acting up, not being able to find your sweet familiar face in the tangles of sweaty bodies on the dance floor is.

You're the one that dragged him here in the first place. Eddie probably would've showed up with a lame present for Steve, had one drink and then left within an hour, but you were insistent on sticking around until "the party dies down." Which, by your standards, is when the red-orange sun is coming over the horizon and the Harrington household's floorboards are indiscernable amongst the mess of empty beer bottles and plastic potato chip bags.

Shoving past a couple making out heatedly against the kitchen counter, Eddie's worried eyes scan the crowd once more. He spots Robin drinking alone by the balcony and Jonathan and Nancy sitting by the couch, but there's too many new faces. Most importantly, still no you. Narrowly missing a drunk girl stumbling past him and pushing through an argument between two jocks, he manages to reach Robin who grins at him, amused.

"I see you're still surviving this, and I quote, 'pretentious party.'" she teases, taking another swig from her bottle. Eddie rolls his eyes, rolling back his shoulders.

"Steve's a great dude and all but being the former king of Hawkins High has consequences. That being he invites practically half of the school, many of whom are slaves to the popularity rat race."

Robin chuckles at that.

"I won't disagree with you about that."

Eddie's trying to pay attention to the conversation he's having with Robin but it's hard when your missing presence feels so pronounced. Usually, you'd be right by his side, his fingers gently holding yours as you sway back and forth tipsy on alochol. The fact that he's standing there empty handed makes his stomach churn and head swirl with anxiety before looking back into the crowd once more, hoping to finally catch a glimpse of you.

"Hey, have you seen-"

Eddie doesn't even have to say your name before Robin's cutting him off.

"The love of your life? Your muse? Your sunshine? The person who makes you mushier than a plate of cafeteria mashed potatoes? No. Maybe try the second floor, I haven't been up there yet." she suggests, smirking when the slightest flush can be seen creeping onto Eddie's neck, semi-masked by the bright flashing party lights up ahead.

"Thanks."

Eddie dashes up the stairs in record time, the soles of his shoes squeaking against the floor as he surveys the empty hallway. Since most of the party is happening downstairs, it's remarkably quiet up here compared to the rest. There's a couple sharing a cigarette by an open window as well as a guy using the house phone to call someone, but otherwise, it's practically deserted.

Frowning, he walks forward hesitantly, pausing momentarily when he hears the muted sounds of someone crying on the other side of the bathroom door. He carefully knocks against the door a couple of times, back straightening up instantly when he hears your voice yell out from the other side that the bathroom is occupied.

His knuckles wrap around the door handle quickly before pushing, but it's locked.

"Sunshine? It's Eddie. Please let me in." he yells, softly budging against the door.

You sniffle once more.

"GO AWAY EDDIE! I don't wanna see... you."

You're slurring your words a bit, so he figures you're drunk or at the very least, very tipsy. It makes him even more desperate to be on the other side so that he can be comforting you (and more importantly) keeping an eye on you, because drunk you often likes to throw all logic and precaution out the window.

"I hate it when you're sad, love. Please let me in so I can help you." he begs, gently knocking against the door again.

The door rattles open after that and Eddie's quick to slip inside and lock the door behind the two of you. The sight he sees makes his heart break - your glassy eyes are staring hopelessly at the floor, irises red and tears falling carelessly down your cheeks. Your hair looks a bit messy, like you've been pulling at it in frustration, and you're curled up inside the bath tub in a fetal position.

"What's wrong? Are you okay? Are you hurt? Who did this to you?"

The questions fly out of his mouth immediately, worst case scenarios flooding his mind as his hands carefully cradle your face. You let out a sad chuckle in response, before pulling his arms back down to his sides.

"Nothing's wrong. No one did anything. I-I... I DID THIS TO MYSELF! I'M SO STUPID." you wail, bursting into tears once more. You're hysterical, hyped up on alcohol and heightened emotions, and Eddie's quick to envelope you into his arms.

"You are NOT stupid. Far, far from it. In fact, you're the smartest person I know. So why are you crying?"

You choke on a sob, peering up at him cautiously.

"I-I heard you telling Chrissy that you're not single anymore and that you can't go out with her on a date." you mutter, making his eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

"Oh?" he's confused, not sure of how that would be a problem.

"Eddie, I've been in love with you since I was eight, and now I'M TOO LATE! Y-YOU'RE TAKEN AND NOW I'M GONNA HAVE TO WATCH YOU BE IN LOVE WITH SOMEONE ELSE-" you dramatically flail around in the bath tub and though Eddie feels a bit bad for doing so, he can't help but let out the rambunctious laugh bubbling in his throat.

In fact, Eddie's laughing so hard that it hurts to breathe, his body doubling over so that he can attempt to catch his breath whilst you pause your ranting and look up at him, hurt.

"W-why are you laughing?" you question, bewildered. But Eddie's face just softens at that, voice dropping to a low tone.

"Because, angel, I'm dating you. You're the one that took me off the market." he responds coolly, metal rings brushing against your cheek. His words and the cold texture of his rings wash over you like icy water, realization beginning to seep in.

"Oh..."

You're embarassed now, dropping your head and twiddling with your fingers. Eddie's grin is permanent and obnoxious, heart melting at how adorable drunken you can be.

"Then yay!"

You suddenly leap forward and hug Eddie by his waist, pulling him backwards into the bath tub. He manages to stop himself from falling completely on top of you by breaking his fall with his left arm, before twisting you around so that you can lie on top of him.

The melachonic expression on your face is no more, your eyes bright and your lips outstretched into a wide smile.

"You're dating me! I'm the one you're dating!" you repeat to yourself out loud, as if you can't believe it amongst your drunken haze. It elicits a chuckle from his chapped lips, your legs straddling his as Eddie sits up against the marbled tub to caress your cheeks. He smiles, pressing a chaste kiss on your forehead.

"Yes, sunshine. You're the love of my life."

#x reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x male reader #eddie munson x gn!reader #eddie munson #1k #2k #3k #4k #5k

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bellaxgiornata · 10 months

Text

All These Years [Part 6: "The White Whale"]

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader

[You can find the full series summary and masterlist of installments for All These Years here.]

Warnings/tags: 18+ for this series; contains emotional hurt with no comfort until the final installments, angst, pining, friends to lovers, slowburn, and eventually smut

Word Count: 4k

a/n: This installment is entirely in Matt's POV! Probably one of the only ones in this series that will be. As I was writing I knew I needed to do a last minute title change to this installment, too, because it went in a different direction. Hopefully what you learn from this installment only makes everything in this series hurt so much more. There are end notes on this, too because I feel like you'll need it. Feedback is always appreciated!

Tag list: @acharliecoxedfan @theetherealbloom @rotscinema @magnumstyles @roseallisonparker @ofmusesandsecrets @readerhead @paracosmic-murdock @v4leoftears @why-always-me-gosh-please @redbircl @keepingitlokiii @yarrystyleeza @mattkinsella @ms-murdockswift

“This place isn’t so bad,” Foggy mused.

Matt could hear the way Foggy’s head turned, clearly taking in the view of the dive bar around them. It smelled pungently of must and mildew and clearly there had been a good bit of alcohol spilled and left to dry along the floors, but otherwise it was alright here. At least it wasn’t too loud. The classic rock music playing over the speakers wasn’t blaring like the pop music playing in most bars he’d gone to always was. It never failed to give him a headache and make him duck out early.

“Well it’s not that loud, at least,” Matt replied.

Foggy nudged Matt’s arm with his elbow sharply. Matt could hear the pull of Foggy’s muscles drawing his mouth into a smile. He wished he could work himself up into even a sliver of that excitement for tonight.

“Come on,” Foggy pressed. “It’s the first night in a while that we’ve gotten out and have been able to do something that doesn’t involve paperwork. And we’re getting the three amigos back together again! Smile, dammit!”

Matt’s focus dropped towards the table, his hand tightening around the neck of his bottle of beer. He hadn’t had a chance to see you in weeks, and it had been weeks before that, too. Landman and Zack had managed to keep him and Foggy plenty busy since the three of you had graduated a few months back. And he was happy to finally see you again–that is, he would’ve been if it actually was going to be just the three of you tonight. But no, you were bringing a boyfriend . The first one you’d actually ever had since Matt had known you.

And it had made him sick to his stomach thinking about it all day today.

“Yeah, it’s been a while,” was all he could muster in response.

He drew his beer to his lips, taking a long pull. He was hoping to get at least a buzz going before the two of you showed up. He didn’t want to be sober having to listen to the way your body reacted to your boyfriend all night.

The truth of it was, Matt wanted you. And he’d wanted you since he first met you.

No, actually, that wasn’t accurate, either.

Matt had wanted you for an entire semester before he’d ever actually met you in the library. He had first encountered you on campus in the late evening. He’d overheard someone trip on the sidewalk farther up ahead of him, spilling their books and their papers everywhere. They’d quietly cursed to themselves as they knelt down to collect their things. Matt could tell they’d been close to tears, too. He figured they’d been having a bad day already as they quietly fumed to themselves while others just passed them by on the sidewalk, leaving them to pick up their scattered belongings alone.

But then you’d stumbled upon them, stepping off to the side and crouching down to help them pick up the mess without hesitation. You’d sounded sweet and gentle when you’d greeted them, offering them some kind words and a warm smile that Matt thought he could almost feel as he eavesdropped. He’d oddly found himself affected by you, taking a moment to pause on the side of the sidewalk, pretending he was checking a voicemail on his phone as he tuned into your interaction. He had felt like a creep but he couldn’t seem to stop himself.

And then he'd been fascinated by you afterwards, your voice and the scent of you plaguing his mind. He'd spent weeks trying to run across you on campus again. He'd lied and told Fog he'd actually bumped into you that night since he was unable to tell him how he'd really stumbled on you. His heightened senses were a secret even to Foggy. But then he and Foggy had often talked about you afterwards–the pair of them had spent all semester referring to you as Matt's White Whale. He'd been relentlessly searching for you around campus whenever he wasn’t busy with his studies or on a date. But then he'd discovered you around the science buildings right before the beginning of winter break. Unfortunately you’d managed to disappear during those few weeks before the next semester started, Matt being unable to pick up on you again.

He'd then spent all of winter break telling Fog how he'd planned to linger around that building when classes resumed, hoping to catch your voice again–or in reality, the scent of your pheromones and the beat of your heart. He was certain he’d recognize both of them. Him and Fog had spent many a night throwing back beers and coming up with many amusing and ridiculous schemes of how Matt might actually have a chance to meet you.

When classes did resume that following semester, Matt had often frequented the science building in his free moments. And even though Matt had still gone out and enjoyed the attention of other women during that time–something that had been quite a thrilling contrast from his life before college, considering he’d come fresh from St. Agnes–he couldn’t seem to shake you from his mind. Many times he caught himself wondering where he could take you on a date, or what your favorite food might be. He desperately wanted to know what subject you studied. He wanted to know your name and how your voice sounded when you finally said his. He wondered what music you liked and what your shampoo would smell like if he ever had the chance to press his nose into your hair.

And then one fateful day when he’d been at the library working on research for a class, he’d caught the scent of you unexpectedly. His mouth had gone dry and his mind had momentarily gone blank in surprise. You were there. In the library. With him.

It had sounded like you were on your phone and making your way towards him. Matt had panicked, unsure in the moment how to actually catch your attention and strike up a conversation. In his haste to make sure his chance hadn’t disappeared on him, he’d abruptly stepped out of the aisle he was in, arms laden with books, and accidentally miscalculated how far away you were. You’d ran right into him and startled him in return, causing him to drop his books on the ground and your toe. He felt awful when he’d heard you shout but then he couldn’t resist the laugh at your strange outburst.

But when you’d actually looked at who you’d run into, Matt had instantly picked up on all the telltale signs of your physical attraction to him. The increase in your pheromones had driven him crazy and his nerves completely disappeared, that confidence he had with every other young woman he’d flirted with on campus quickly taking over.

He thought he’d had you that day. It seemed a sure thing when he’d asked for your number and you’d given it to him. But then he invited you over to his dorm a few days later on Saturday night. He had every intention to take you out on a date and bring you back to an empty dorm room–if he was lucky enough and you’d wanted that. Because God he had certainly been thinking about you in very sinful ways over those few days. His thoughts had been driving him wild and he desperately hoped sex with you would help ease those persistent and nagging desires. If he could just experience it, maybe you wouldn’t be clouding his damn senses and taking up so much space in his thoughts. Though he worried if he got a taste he’d just want more, like you were some sort of drug to him.

But you’d shown up early that night, and Matt hadn’t technically called it a date. He’d asked for you to ‘hang out’, which admittedly was what he always called it. Usually the women he spent time with knew what he meant, but you’d shown up early and Foggy hadn’t left yet. He’d inevitably introduced the pair of you, hoping to segue into you and him leaving–but you and Foggy had instantly hit it off.

You’d both bonded over a Red Hot Chili Peppers song Foggy was playing, apparently it being both of yours’ favorite song by them. And then that turned into a long discussion about music and the bands you’d both seen, which had led to jokes being shared. Your laughter had sounded amazing to Matt’s ears, but he’d sat there on the end of his bed dumbfounded. You and Fog had almost identical interests. You so quickly warmed up to him. And he could read your body’s reaction that night–you were eliciting all of the signs of attraction.

To Foggy.

While Matt was just sitting there on his bed, you were beside Foggy displaying every sign to Matt that you were interested in Foggy . Not him.

It had crushed him. All of those weeks of trying to find you, all of those nights of you plaguing his mind, and you liked Foggy . He hadn't even told Fog you were the White Whale ahead of time, hoping not to jinx things, but in the end things had wound up going awry for Matt anyway.

He’d tried to remain hopeful that he’d gotten it wrong, but then the pair of you began Saturday nights as a weekly thing. Both of you were always texting after that. And you always seemed so eager to come over to see him. Always spending so much time with him. And every time you showed up, you’d be giving off every damn clue that you were attracted to him. It only took a couple of weeks before Matt gave up and went back to what he’d been doing–sleeping around. He couldn’t have you, so he figured he’d have whoever else he could. And when Foggy had asked him about his White Whale again, he’d sadly told him it hadn’t worked out. He’d never mentioned the White Whale again.

Though it was always strange to Matt that you’d never done anything more with Foggy. Anytime Matt hadn’t been around for the Saturday nights the pair of you spent together and he had occasionally popped back in, you often reacted like he’d interrupted something, your body going into overdrive. But you were always studying or hanging out, never anything more.

It didn’t make sense until he’d finally gotten something like an answer out of you that one night he’d upset you at the bar. He’d had a brief moment of hope when he heard your body reacting as you were looking at him, wondering if it was actually him you were reacting to like that first time in the library. He’d somehow hoped in that moment that he’d gotten everything all wrong, that it was him that you somehow liked all this time, and in his haste to say the right thing, he’d said the wrong thing. Especially with that stupid comment about being your wingman. And he’d really upset you to the point that you’d left the bar early near tears. He wanted to chase after you but he had no reason to realistically do so–he wasn’t supposed to be able to know you were crying as you walked back to your dorm, but he did. So when Foggy had spotted Marci, he’d been thrilled to have an excuse to leave, dodging some woman who’d tried to sleep with him before hurrying after you.

But then you’d broke his heart again because you were upset over Fog. He couldn’t deny it after you’d admitted to only being seen as a friend by the person you had feelings for and then breaking down crying on him. Because Matt had been too thoughtless with his words and told you Foggy was chatting with Marci–the girl you both knew he’d been talking about recently. Why else would you have started crying? If you’d had feelings for him he was certain you’d have said something then and there with how he’d been trying to talk you up all night. Telling you any guy would be lucky to take you on a date–which obviously included him.

That night had cemented it for him. You were in love with Foggy. As much as Matt hated seeing how hurt you were sitting in the friend zone with him, he selfishly didn’t want to bring it to Foggy’s attention because he knew it would absolutely kill him to watch Foggy with you . The one he could never get out of his head. He did his best to ignore it as the months and years went by, intentionally trying to ignore whatever your body was doing because it hurt too fucking much to listen to it.

When Elektra had come into his life, she’d certainly been the first one to come close enough to shaking you from his mind. He’d fallen for her fast and hard, especially when she saw every single dark part about him and still never turned him away. She saw him for everything he was–including his heightened senses that neither you nor Fog had any clue about–and she loved him for it. Or, he thought she had. And even she had pointed out how crazy you seemed about Foggy. How you were attached to his hip like a lovesick puppy she’d said. How you always spent all your time with him. Her words only further cemented it in his mind that he would never have you. Not as anything more than his best friend.

That knowledge broke him twice as hard when Elektra left. Because you’d been there for him, encouraging him. Being the absolutely wonderful, beautiful person you were. He didn’t deserve it, either. He’d been an asshole to you when he’d been with Elektra. He was still being an asshole to you when he continued to keep his mouth shut to Fog about your feelings–because he was selfish and never wanted to see you with him. Instead he’d eventually gone back to burying himself in a different girl when he had the chance, especially the closer it had gotten to graduation. He was afraid he’d lose you after the three of you graduated from Columbia, the dark thought constantly lingering in his mind.

He’d almost kissed you that night, too. That night it was just you and him cuddled together on his bed after graduation. The last night in your dorms. He’d been overcome with the urge to just tell you everything and kiss you, but then he’d caught the feeling of your panic when he’d so carefully cradled your face in the palm of his hand, desperate to finally feel your lips on his. To hear you tell him you cared for him, too. But all he’d felt was your fear in that moment instead. You must’ve realized he was about to say something, that he’d been about to possibly kiss you, and you panicked at the thought of it. Because Foggy was asleep in the bed across from both of you and you loved him . So he’d bit the words back and said the first thing that came to his mind instead of what he really wanted to. And it fucking killed him to do so.

Now, here you all were getting together months later, and you were bringing your boyfriend. Clearly you’d tried to move on from Fog, but that didn’t make things hurt any less for Matt. He hadn’t moved on from you. He wasn’t sure if he ever would be able to at this rate. And he certainly tried–he’d fucked a few interns at Landman and Zack, but none of them made him forget how it felt to wake up beside you that morning he had after Elektra had left him.

“Oh hey, I think that’s them!” Foggy said excitedly.

His words drew Matt back to this miserable moment, the sound of Foggy’s hand waving the pair of you over only deepening the frown on his face. He didn’t want this asshole here with his arm around you. Probably kissing you in front of him. He wanted to be the one doing that. Not this random guy who’d recently popped into your life and didn’t know you like Matt did. It felt wrong .

“Hey guys!” your cheery voice greeted the pair of them.

Matt quickly did his best to tune out the sound of your body and ignore the faint scent of your arousal that abruptly hit him when you’d reached the table. His hand tightened around his bottle of beer again. Your boyfriend’s scent was mixed with yours and it didn’t sit right with Matt. It pissed him off, actually. For some reason he really wanted to hit this guy.

Foggy greeted you brightly with your name and then he felt your eyes land on him expectantly. The smile noticeably faltered on your face, he could hear it in the way your muscles shifted. Raising his head from the table, he forced a smile onto his mouth and greeted you with your name in return.

“Guys this is Liam,” you said, introducing your boyfriend.

“It’s so nice to finally meet you!” Foggy exclaimed, reaching out a hand. “I’m Foggy.”

Liam reached out, accepting the handshake in return. Matt ground his teeth together as he listened to the interaction.

“I’ve heard so many stories about you both,” Liam was saying, his attention turning to Matt as Foggy released his hand. “You must be Matt, right?”

Matt knew Liam was extending a hand out towards him, he heard the air shift in front of him when he did. He also knew it was usually the polite thing to do to at least extend his own hand out when he introduced himself, allowing the other person to reach out and shake his hand. But he didn’t want to shake Liam’s hand. He didn’t want to be his friend. He didn’t want him here .

“Yeah, that’s me,” Matt replied.

He heard the way Liam’s hand awkwardly lowered back to his side after a few uncomfortable seconds. He could practically feel the three sets of eyes on him. That had been rude, but he didn’t care.

“How about I get us a drink?” Liam asked, turning to you.

“Sure, that’d be great!” you responded. “A beer would be good.”

When Liam leaned towards you and kissed you, Matt thought he was going to break the beer bottle with how hard he was gripping the neck of it. He even caught the light tap to your ass before he’d sauntered off to the bar, wishing he could’ve been as oblivious to that as Foggy was. Or to the way it’d made you blush.

“You seem happy,” Foggy said, reaching across the table and playfully slapping your shoulder. “How’ve you been?”

“Good!” you answered, your tone bright. “The job’s gotten a lot better now that the stress of being the newbie is past. How’ve you guys been? How’s the internship going? Still busy?”

Foggy blew out an exaggerated breath. “ Exhausting . We’ve been drowning in paperwork and menial tasks, but there’s apparently two positions opening up in a few months and I think Matt and I are in line for it.”

“Oh my God!” you exclaimed, your attention turning towards Matt. “That’s awesome! You guys deserve it!”

Matt’s heart might have skipped a beat at the sound of your excitement for them. He noticed your eyes lingering on him. Probably because he was being uncharacteristically silent tonight. And rude.

“So how’d you meet Liam? How long have you both been together?” Foggy asked, bringing his beer to his mouth for a drink.

Matt could tell you’d nervously ducked your head at the question, tucking some hair behind your ear. It was cute. You were cute. He wished you acted like that when asked about him instead of Liam .

“Just a couple of weeks,” you admitted. “It’s still new. I actually met him at a coffee shop–or, technically outside of it. We sort of grabbed each others’ drinks on accident. He was the one who’d noticed, I was just hurrying to get back home for work. He’d had to chase me down a block.”

You laughed and the sound was like a knife to Matt’s heart. You liked this guy. And that fucking hurt.

“He was sweet and had some terrible jokes,” you continued. “For some reason he asked me out to dinner and then, well–” you shrugged, “–here we are now.”

You cleared your throat, your attention nervously darting to Foggy and then back to himself before you ducked your head again. Matt’s eyes narrowed behind his glasses curiously, wondering what that had been about until you spoke again.

“So uh, are you two seeing anyone?” you asked.

Your tone was pitched higher than usual and Matt instantly guessed the reasoning. His eyes closed behind his glasses, his heart further sinking in his chest.

You still liked Foggy, didn’t you? He’d never have a chance with you.

“Well it turns out Marci is actually interning at Landman and Zack, too,” Foggy replied. “But uh, she still isn’t too interested in being serious. But I’m working on her!”

Your attention shifted to him, your heart having sped up at Foggy’s words. Probably upset because he was still pursuing Marci instead of you. He could sympathize with your heartache.

“And…what about you, Matt?” you asked, voice suddenly quieter.

He focused on you standing directly across from him at the table. You were gripping it firmly in both of your hands, your heart still beating a little faster after Foggy’s admission. He swallowed hard, trying to hide his emotions behind his glasses.

Still hopelessly in love with you.

“Ever the bachelor,” he said with a tense smile. “You know me.”

You’d opened your mouth to respond, but Liam had appeared at your side, cutting you off. He handed you your beer and you’d smiled when he’d kissed you on the cheek. Matt’s attention dropped back down on the table, his jaw clenched yet again. This was going to be a long night, he could already tell.

Maybe he could find an excuse to head out early. Claim he wasn’t feeling well or something. There was something he was thinking about doing tonight, something he’d recently picked up. The thought of it was sounding better and better the lower Liam slid his hand down your back. And it’d certainly be a better outlet beating an asshole who truly deserved it than your boyfriend. Plus if Foggy wasn’t at the apartment, well, then it’d be all the easier for him to slip in and out. Though he really needed to focus on getting his own place soon so he could keep his nightly activities private. He certainly couldn’t tell either of you what he got up to in the evenings. Maybe he’d just use the excuse to Fog that he needed his own place to bring women back to without having to constantly worry about a roommate. He’d surely buy that line. He already thought he was often out sleeping around as it was.

For the next half hour, Matt quietly drank down his beer, barely adding much to the conversation unless you or Foggy had directly acknowledged him. Shortly after he’d finished his drink, he’d made up an excuse about a bad headache. Despite the boisterous round of protests from you and Foggy, he’d departed the bar and made his way back to the apartment. When he’d gotten there, he’d wasted no time quickly dressing in the all black outfit he kept hidden in the false bottom of his father’s steamer trunk at the foot of his bed. Pulling the fabric of a mask over the majority of his face, he slipped out of his bedroom window, landing on the fire escape almost soundlessly. And then he was off scouring the rooftops of Hell’s Kitchen, ready to loose the anger he’d kept inside of himself tonight on someone who truly deserved it.

[END NOTES--which are always on my AO3 fics and give more insight & I figured some of you might want it for this installment]

Reader has a boyfriend in here! And we find out Matt has had feelings for Reader long before that interaction at the library. And he's been repeatedly misinterpreting her body to think that it's Foggy she's reacting to instead of him (even if he's aware of the physical attraction she has to him), especially with the knowledge that she has feelings for a friend. Doesn't help that Elektra intentionally fed him lies to further push that idea into his mind. Not to mention, Reader does panic when Matt is about to kiss her on graduation night, and Matt completely misreads the reasoning behind her body's reaction. And these idiots both keep saying that they're each other's 'friend' repeatedly. Plus it probably doesn't help that Matt intentionally tries to ignore her body so he doesn't have to hear it reacting to Fog (when really its him). And clearly Reader is often misinterpreting Matt's reactions to things (and he's also hiding it).

There you have it folks. They're both hopelessly in love with each other and have been for years. But no one is opening their damn mouth. Now Reader is dating someone else.

Oh, and Matt is now becoming the Devil of Hell's Kitchen, if you didn't catch that. But Foggy thinks he's out sleeping around. And therefore Reader probably does, too.

#matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x you #matt murdock angst #matt murdock x f!reader #matt murdock fic #daredevil x female reader #matt murdock

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