#this is something he could not tolerate just being at the store | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sarahscribbles · 25 days

Note

So I've been battling with this little idea for a few days but other projects keep me from writing it…

Loki takes y/n shopping and they end up in a lingerie store where y/n teases him by trying on some spicy sets. Of course Loki doesn’t like to be provoked like that and takes her in the changing room💚

Sorry it took me so long to get to this, my love! I hope it's what you had in mind!

𝐋𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐁𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐬

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐋𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐪𝐮𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐋𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝐱 𝐟!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: 𝐒𝐦𝐮𝐭

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟑.𝟐𝐤

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬: 𝐌𝐢𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐞𝐱, 𝐬𝐨𝐟𝐭!𝐃𝐨𝐦 𝐋𝐨𝐤𝐢, 𝐩𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐞 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤, 𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐬𝐦 𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐲, 𝐞𝐝𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠

𝐋𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

It’s well into the afternoon by the time you leave the fifth store that day still empty handed. The shopping trip has, so far, been entirely unsuccessful, and you know that Loki’s patience is hanging on by a very thin thread. He’ll never say it, of course, but you noticed the silent roll of his jaw when you emerged from the last changing room and announced that none of the dresses you’d tried on were The One.

He hadn’t believed you when you had told him over and over that finding the perfect outfit for Natasha’s birthday would be a marathon and not a sprint. Likely, he thought you’d emerge victorious from the first store and he could whisk you back to bed to celebrate, but you can feel the tetchiness and exasperation beginning to roll off him as you continue hand in hand down the street.

Your fiancè is an angel, he really is, because no one - not even Wanda - has lasted this long on a shopping trip without voicing their irritation. Given how long you’ve both been traipsing around Manhattan, you have no doubt that Loki’s tolerance is balancing precariously on a knife edge.

He hasn’t voiced a single complaint, though, something you take as just another confirmation that you’re choosing to spend your life with the right person.

“You’re being so brave,” you say with an exaggerated air of solemnity.

You turn to him with an expression that mirrors your tone and he responds with an elegant snort of laughter that makes you grin.

Loki’s hand squeezes yours and he runs the pad of his thumb over your knuckles. “Little menace,” he teases lightly. “Remind me to take you at your word next time, lest I have to suffer like this again.”

You know he’s teasing because the man would move mountains if he so much as thought you’d want him to, but you still nudge him with your hip as you walk.

“I promise that the next store will be the last! I feel like this one will be The One!” you assure him, already beginning to think of a hundred different ways you can make today up to him. Loki will never expect you to, of course, but how could you possibly turn down the chance of spending several hours in bed with him?

“My darling, you do realise you’ve said that each time we’ve stopped in the last hour?” Loki replies, but the affection colouring his words is impossible to miss.

“Yes, but I have a really good feeling about the next place! Trust me!” you tell him, tugging him down the next street Wanda recommended that morning.

It takes less than a minute to locate the boutique amongst the crowds of people. Typical of Wanda, it’s bright and loud and stands out like a beacon amidst the more neutral tones of the surrounding shops. You’re halfway towards the door, though, when something else catches your eye only a few doors down - a racy pink sign with an elegant script that you’re sure you’ve seen on bags scattered around Nat’s room.

A new idea begins to blossom and take shape in your mind.

With a casualness that would make the Black Widow proud you stroll past the boutique until you reach the lingerie store. It’s only when you’re standing right outside the doors that you peek up at Loki. He silently offers you a raised eyebrow and the subtle beginnings of a smirk.

“I’m going to need something to wear under the dress,” you say in explanation.

Loki’s hand leaves yours so he can gently pinch your ass through your jeans. “I believe you raise a very valid point.”

oOo

It’s over half an hour before you finally make it to the changing rooms. Unsurprisingly, Loki has found a new lease of life as you wander around picking out various items of lingerie, and each time you attempt to steer him towards the changing rooms, he finds something new and more risque than before.

Your previous mission of finding an outfit is long forgotten.

“Honestly, you’d think you’d never seen me in lingerie before!” you tease him as he follows you into the bright pink changing rooms.

“You’ll forgive me for never ceasing to be enthralled by how exquisite you are, darling,” he responds smoothly, locking one arm around your waist to pull you back against his chest and planting a kiss to your neck.

“Yeah, yeah, Casanova. I’ve already agreed to marry you. You don’t have to try and seduce me,” you reply.

“That is my life long intention,” he says quietly in your ear.

You fight the excited shiver that threatens to wrack your spine, instead turning to give him an affectionate roll of your eyes as you step into the changing room. “Just behave while I try these on.”

Loki looks back at you with an expression of feigned outrage. “How can you make those ridiculous requests of me?”

You catch his wink as you close the door and begin to sift through the seemingly endless fabric gathered in your arms. The first set you try on is pink and floaty and makes you feel like a cloud of candy floss, but when you open the changing room door, Loki’s eyes darken as though you’ve stepped out wrapped in leather.

“How innocent you look, darling,” he purrs, but you watch that trademark smirk curl across his face. “Although you and I both know that’s not the case. Remind me where that little mouth was last night?”

You playfully flip him off. “This is definitely going in the “no” pile. I feel like I should call you Daddy.”

Loki visibly cringes. “Please do not ever use that word in reference to me.”

“You got it,” you say and step back into the room.

The next set you selected while Loki was otherwise occupied. You have no intention of buying it, but it was impossible to pass up the opportunity to tease him. The bodice is plain but brilliant red in colour, and dips low enough to give you an amazing cleavage.

Yet, somehow, you don’t think that will be enough to redeem it.

Loki’s eyes shoot up the second you pull the door open, but his face quickly drops into a scowl when he sees you half naked in his brother’s colours.

“No,” he says immediately, though you notice his eyes roaming appreciatively over you.

“No? Really? I wasn’t planning on trying anymore after this. It fits perfectly, and I think it looks good!” you say brightly, fighting not to laugh as his eyes narrow.

“I am not above putting you over my knee in public, dove,” Loki warns you.

Warmth spreads shamelessly through your lower stomach until you feel that familiar, pleasant tingle between your thighs. You’re almost certain he wouldn’t, but you are dealing with the God of Mischief. It’s the lingering doubt that makes you sashay back into the changing room with Loki’s quiet laughter at your back.

With the door securely closed you begin to pick through the swathes of material still spread over the marble bench, but it doesn’t take long to decide what you’re trying on next. It’s another that you sneakily draped over your arm while Loki was elsewhere in the store - a feat you’re quite proud of given how he seems to notice everything.

This set is made of delicate black lace - Loki’s kryptonite - and has tiny gold beading woven tastefully into the bodice. The sweetheart neckline gives you an enviable cleavage and when you catch sight of yourself in the floor length mirror against the opposite wall, you can’t help but make an appreciative face at your own reflection.

You look good.

After a few circles in front of the mirror - and a brief moment of wishing you could pair the set with the matching stockings - you finally open the changing room door.

Loki is slower to turn his gaze to you this time, but when he does, it’s impossible to miss the pure lust that alights in his eyes. They run over you slowly from head to toe, like a starving man presented with his first meal. He swallows silently, wets his lips, and in two steps is standing right before you.

“Enough,” he says huskily, placing a large hand on your shoulder to push you back into the small room with him in tow.

The door clicks closed behind him, but his eyes never once leave yours. They’re dancing with raw desire, even though he’s seen you like this a million times before.

“It isn’t fair to tease, dove,” Loki says, reaching out to grab your chin.

You fix him with a look of feigned innocence. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, I think you do, you little minx,” he replies quietly. His other hand is suddenly on your other shoulder and he’s spinning you around until you’re staring at your reflection in the mirror. “Look at your reflection and tell me you aren’t testing the resolve of a god,” Loki murmurs lowly in your ear.

Ignoring the first flames of arousal that are beginning to lick through your core, you meet his eyes in the mirror. “I was just trying on lingerie. I’m completely innocent.”

Loki’s hand snakes around your throat from behind, applying just the right amount of pressure. “The God of Lies, darling.”

Even with his hand around your neck you smirk at him. “I think you’re losing your touch on that part.”

“Brat,” Loki growls in your ear.

Easily, he walks you forward until your knees hit the wide ottoman sitting just in front of the mirror. His arm curls around your waist before you can crumple, carefully guiding you into a kneeling position atop the soft velvet and slotting himself between your spread calves like a missing puzzle piece.

“Be a good girl and admit that you were being a tease,” he speaks quietly against your temple. There’s humour in his voice, but it’s mixing with a dangerous note that you’d recognise anywhere.

Loki’s hand is still locked possessively around your neck, making it near impossible to lean into the teasing brush of his lips against your skin. He knows this and continues to ghost them over your flushed cheek, refusing to reward you with the full, thrilling feel of them.

“Never!” you say through a laugh, and you’re rewarded with the quiet sound of Loki’s right by your ear.

“As you wish, dove,” he says, each word dripping with warning.

His free hand creeps slowly along the lace bodice, fingering the intricacies of the lace and the miniscule golden beads until it reaches the matching tiny black thong. With ease, he rips the fabric from your hips and tosses it carelessly to the side in one shocking - but equally arousing - movement.

“Hey! I haven’t paid for this, you know!” you cry out, attempting to appraise the damage but his hand holds your head firmly in place.

“That’s not my problem,” Loki replies, sinking his teeth into your earlobe and gently pulling on the flesh.

You groan and plant your hands back on his thighs, digging your nails through his jeans for an added kick. “I’ll make it your prob - o..oh!” you begin to mutter, but Loki’s fingers on your clit steal the words from your lungs. “Mm…fuck…,” you moan, letting your head dip back on his shoulder.

“Ah, ah.” Loki quickly chastises you, using the hand still wrapped around your neck to guide your head forward. “Eyes on the mirror, dove. Eyes on me.”

With another strangled moan as he skillfully circles your clit, you obediently keep your eyes trained on him. His face is pressed snugly against your cheek, and finally - finally - you feel the blessed press of his lips against your flushed skin. He leaves a wet trail of kisses all the way to your ear, then you feel the wet heat of his tongue trace a line along the sweet spot behind your ear.

The only thing keeping you upright is the hand still gripping your throat, but even it can’t suppress the shiver that wracks violently through you.

Loki’s fingers continue to rapidly propel you towards release, skillfully playing your body in a way only he can. Mixed with the filth that he’s whispering in your ear, you feel your climax begin to crest like a wave in your cunt, and when Loki decides to suck on your earlobe, you know you’re gone.

“Loki…m’gonna cum. ‘M…gonna…..urghh!!” you cry out in utter frustration when he pulls his hand away from your dripping cunt.

“I don’t think so, darling,” he purrs smoothly, running the tip of his nose along your cheek. “Not until you admit you were being a brat.”

The scent of him - the scent of your home - wraps around you like a favourite blanket. It’s patchouli and clove and that ever evasive “something sweet” that drags you under like a buoy beneath the surf. You want to surrender, to lose yourself in this man as he loses himself in you in return, but, unsurprisingly, your stubbornness prevails.

“Nope!” you say, trying to shake your head as best you can while he still holds it in place.

Loki releases an exaggerated sigh and dips his fingers back between your thighs. “Very well.”

Again and again he brings you right to the edge of a blinding release, each time letting your orgasm dangle enticingly before you and snatching it from your grasp when you still refuse to humour him. You whine and plead and beg, but he’s in a particularly sadistic mood this afternoon and refuses to grant you the climax you’re craving.

By the fifth time, you’re whimpering and wriggling in his grasp. Each of your stolen orgasms are burning through your blood and you’re desperate for what promises to be a cataclysmic release, so when his fingers return once more to tease your aching cunt, you crave.

“Alright! Ok, I yield! I was being a brat, you were right! I was being a brat and teasing you! Please let me cum now! Please!” you beg, not caring that you’re in a very public changing room in the middle of Manhattan.

Loki presses his lips to your cheek. “Now, was that really so hard?” he taunts, and brings his fingers to your mouth. “Open.”

Obediently, you clean your arousal off him and squirm with excitement when you hear him unbuckle his belt and free himself from his jeans. He moves closer still and his cock is achingly hard as he slides it along your slick cunt. You’re all but keening for him, about to burst with how wildly you crave him, but he repeats the motion again and again, laughing quietly as he does.

“Loki, please!” you whine, pressing your ass back against him in a flimsy attempt to encourage him forward.

It’s fruitless, you know; Loki does everything at his own pace.

The hand still wrapped around your throat glides upwards to your jaw, locking your head completely in place. “Your eyes are not to leave this mirror,” Loki murmurs with quiet authority. “I want you to see what this perfect little body does to me. I want you to watch your god come apart. Understood?”

You’re so madly aroused by this man that you can only manage a whimper, but when he lightly smacks your ass, you quickly find your voice.

“Yes, Loki!”

“Good girl. My good, good girl,” he praises you as his cock slips inside you inch by glorious inch.

You’ve had this man more times than you can count, yet you still groan in absolute bliss when he fills you with his cock. He’s ruined you for anyone else.

Loki’s face hovers near yours in the mirror and you delightfully watch in contort in pleasure with each thrust into your warm, welcoming cunt. His eyes slip closed in tandem with a broken stream of expletives spilling from his lips, words that you mirror when his fingers find your clit once again.

Your instant cry of pleasure makes him groan shamelessly in your ear and reward you with a particularly rough thrust of his hips. “Exquisite, darling. You are exquisite,” he rasps in your ear. “Look at what you do to me, you divine creature.”

And you do watch.

You watch as he throws his head back on his shoulders, half lost to the pleasure your mortal body is bringing him; you watch his carefully styled hair become more disheveled with each thrust, falling haphazardly around his face in a rainfall of ink black; you watch the deep furrow of his brow and the parting of his lips as his own release builds like a storm within him.

Watching him is better than any aphrodisiac. It’s addictively erotic - even more so at knowing it’s you that ignited so much desire in him that he had to take you here and now. His name is already etched across your heart, but you want to drown in this man until he’s all your lungs know.

Watching his ascent to orgasm has only stirred your own to life between your thighs. You’re right at the edge, and this time you know he’ll finally grant you that glittering release.

“Gonna cum. Loki…gonna cum…m’ gonna…,'' you slur out while his cock continues to brush against you at just the right angle and his fingers on your clit have you close to seeing stars.

“Cum for me, beautiful girl,” he says roughly, but with a gentle squeeze of your throat.

You topple over easily, groaning his name as your orgasm rips violently through you. Your nails dig deeper into his denim clad thighs for purchase and, seconds later, Loki freefalls right along with you. He catches your eye in the mirror as his own orgasm drags him under, repeating your name like an ancient prayer of salvation.

The sight of him lost to pleasure only magnifies your own until you’re almost sure you’ll pass out from the sheer force of your climax. You don’t break Loki’s gaze for a second, not until the very last aftershocks are rippling through you and you feel boneless in his grip.

Loki’s hand loosens from your throat in the wake of his own come down. Both arms wrap securely around your waist while his forehead falls to rest in the crook of your neck, his lips instantly latching on to your sensitive skin. You’re still spent and panting, and his cock is still buried inside you, but you gladly bask in the soft feel of his lips pressing along your shoulder.

“So…d’you think I should buy this one?” you say lightly after a brief moment of silence.

His answering laughter gently tickles your neck. “Darling, if you don’t, I will have no choice but to do this again and again until you see sense.”

“That’s…that’s not really persuading me,” you reply, taking one of his hands in yours and bringing it to your lips.

In response, you feel his teeth graze over your skin. “Hmm, how about this? If you buy this, we will return to the Compound immediately and I will lock our doors for the next few days.”

You make a show of considering his words. “It’s a start, I guess.”

Loki chuckles and nuzzles his face against your neck. “My darling, you have no idea what plans I have for you.”

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#loki #loki smut #loki x reader #loki fanfiction

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yanderestarangel · 1 month

Text

HEADCANONS JKK | DILF!NANAMI KENTO

A/N: It was very strange writing this to the sound of "snowy", sometimes I question my musical choices for inspiration ╰⁠(⁠⸝⁠⸝⁠⸝⁠´⁠꒳⁠`⁠⸝⁠⸝⁠⸝⁠)⁠╯

TW: afab anatomy, ftm reader, fluff, soft!dom nanami, hard!dom nanami, gentle sex, rough sex, v!sex, fingering, praise, body worship, age gap, vulnerable!kink, degradation, daddykink, eat out, mild bdsm.

♡ SFW :

He is a man so tired of the life of working and being a wizard at the same time that he just needs a release. You are his younger partner, a few years younger than the forty-year-old man. He was afraid at the beginning of the relationship because he didn't think he was as attractive as men his age, but as time went by he saw how much you loved that he was older than you, there was a charm in every dark circle cold expression on his frown that was too sexy in your eyes.

You'll also have to keep him updated on things that happen in your social circle ── he doesn't really mind but seeing you smile and talk so excitedly about a certain topic also makes him happy and much more relaxed from the daily routine. He doesn't understand half of the slang you and Gojo say when you get together, but he doesn't mind at all (just don't call him 'boomer' Satoru already does that a lot and it gets on the blonde's nerves.)

He likes to be greeted by you when he gets home. It may be a simple gesture but it fills your chest with a warm and fulfilling feeling as he kisses you on the top of your head, smelling you while an almost invisible smile appears on his tired face. "Did you behave while I was gone baby?" Nanami spoke with a hoarse and low voice, listening attentively to you about your day while smiling when he saw that at least his daily effort was worth it because it could give you a more tolerable and comfortable life. Even though he was tired, he would help you with dinner, lightly rambling about how tiring his day was and what you could do at the weekend.

If you mention that you saw something you liked in a store, Nanami will immediately write down the address and go buy what you want ── even if he works extra hours to pay all the installments, your smile is more important to him. "All for my boy right?" He would speak in a calming voice to your nerves, while his fingers tilted on your shoulder as a gesture of tender affection coming from the older man.

♡ NSFW :

The first few times you two fuck he will be a gentleman to you ── calling you "my sweet", "pretty little thing", "darling", "prince", "pretty boy"; talking about how your moans are the most beautiful thing he has heard. "Keep moaning boy... I want to hear everything from you." "What a beautiful voice you have, moan my name darling and let me hear more, say my name when you cum ok?" These would be some of the several phrases that Nanami would say while inserting two thick fingers into your swollen and wet pussy from the exaggerated stimulation he would do to your body.

He likes to eat out you, seeing you tremble and suffocate him between your soft thighs makes the blonde's cock practically cum without even entering you. He sucks your clit running his tongue in circles while his calloused hands keep your legs wide open for his warm ministrations ── Kento will whisper praises against your pussy making you shiver with each vibration welcome to your sensitive flesh. The blonde finds it cute the way you rub your hips desperately against his lips, making him place kisses on your abdomen and connect your lips, separating the kiss seconds later and looking directly into your eyes, watery with pleasure.

"Looks like you're in a hurry boy... Come on, come and ride my face, don't worry about your weight I can really handle it." Nanami moaned as he watched you obey his request and sat gently on his face ── your sweet smell and wet juices, the sound of your voice begging him 'not to stop' was like heaven to him. Nanami just wanted to make you ready for his cock.

When you reach your second orgasm of the night ─ crying and turning into a beautiful, stimulated mess for him, Nanami will finally shove his cock in your little pussy, moaning hoarsely and privately in your ear. "You can handle this, can't you little boy? You're going to cum on my dick again." Kento would groan, hands resting on the sides of your head on the mattress as he looked directly at every reaction you gave him ── from your breasts bouncing with each thrust of his hips, to the sight of your open mouth salivating and smearing your sheets, until your wet hole sucking his cock back into your throbbing heat. "Desperate to get fucked but too shy to do anything about it... my pretty little angel can't do anything but blush. Do you love my cock in you so much?" He smiled, as he accelerated his movements, intertwining your hand with his, feeling his balls hit your ass, making a slow, lazy wet noise.

However, if you want him to be rude and take out all the anger and stress on your body, Kento will do it with all the strength he has suppressed for years. Tying you with his tie and gagging your mouth with your own underwear ── you are not allowed to speak or ask for anything, at that moment you are his personal toy.

You saw Nanami's veins stand out from his forehead, neck and arms as he approached the edge of the bed, roughly opening your thighs ── your once gentle and sweet boyfriend gave way to a sadistic and cold dominator. He couldn't help but laugh when he saw your little fucked face just looking at him ── dazed and shaking, your pussy milking the air as he slapped your thigh hard, going to squeeze your breasts as you moaned against the fabric and tasted it of your own humidity. "That's what you get for being such a good boy." His voice was serious, as you watched him take the panties out of your mouth and take his cock out of his pants.

Kento would also have vulnerable!kink, meaning you will be totally naked while he will be clothed yet just taking his member out of his clothes and fucking you ── completely trapped by the weight of his body, gripping the sheets and whimpering as he pounds into your cunt, treating you like a personal cum dump. He would be rude and say the most vulgar things you had ever heard from anyone, the gentleman in him was gone with every thrust he made on your body. "You're nothing more than a pathetic cum dumpster," he hissed, his voice filled with biting contempt. "Do you like being degraded, my obedient whore?" he taunted, a sadistic gleam in his eyes.

He would fuck you to the point where you couldn't feel your legs anymore. With final painful strokes he breeds your pussy as he watches you cry his name. "shh... I got you boy, you were a good boy for daddy ok?" He spoke, returning to normal, holding your trembling body. After the rough treatment, you will be looked after like a prince by him ─ he will clean your body by giving you hot kisses on your face and offering you water. Kento would take you to the bathroom and clean up the traces of sex, while stroking your hair. "Sleep now, honey, I'll be here when you wake up." You knew he would be there like he promised.

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lovebugism · 4 months

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Heyo!

Can you pretty please with sugar on top do something with Steve and shy!reader and then passing notes?

Feel free to skip if you want, and thank you in advance! Your writing skills are so good!

ty angel! hope you like it xoxo — after a scolding from keith for talking to you on the job, steve takes matters into his own hands (shy!fem!r, fluff, established relationship, 1.3k)

bug's one year celebration ♡

Grieving, grieving, grieving.

Steve goes into his fourth hour on the clock mourning the lack of you. You’re sitting just beside him, click-clacking away at the chunky computer, but he misses you anyway. He hasn’t said a word to you in an hour. He’s pretty sure it has to be a record by now, especially with you close enough to kiss.

Keith got mad at the two of you for ‘fonduing on the job.’ Whatever that means. Now, the two of you are silent and unsure of what to do with yourselves. This job was only tolerable because he could spend eight hours with you. What’s he supposed to do now? Work?

“Have a good day,” he says, a bit robotically but with a smile, as he hands a customer their bag of movies. Killer Klowns, Poltergeist, and Basketcase — for what must be a horror movie marathon for a holiday season cleanse.

The customer service grin washes away the second the door dings open and shut again. The store is quiet and mostly empty, eerily so without you to fill the void.

A funny joke pops into his head then, and his first instinct is to tell you about it — just to see you smile ‘cause he knows you’ll laugh even if it’s not funny. He looks over his shoulder to make sure Keith isn’t looking, then finds the weirdo watching him like a hawk, only his beady eyes visible over the aisle of tapes.

Steve cowers beneath the ice-cold glare and turns away again. He reaches for a sticky note instead, bright yellow and with the Family Video logo printed in green at the top. The jotting of his pen against the pad fills the mostly silent store.

He yawns and fakes a stretch to stick the thing on the counter next to you.

You don’t notice it at first — because inventory has drained your awareness so much that it’s all you can focus on — but you’re smiling the second you do. It schlicks when you un-stick it from the laminate to find a sloppy drawing of a cartoon pig.

“Missing you pig time” is written in something close to chicken scratch just beside it.

You get all giddy, like a schoolgirl in the back of the classroom getting a note from their crush. Being with Steve feels exactly like that, all the time. On the legal pad next to you, you write a cheesy pun of your own — a plump hippo in a neater cursive that reads “I hippopota-miss you.”

You rip it from the notebook slowly and with a palm spread flat to avoid making too much noise. You crumble it up to pretend like it’s trash, then intentionally miss the bin beside you. The thing bounces by Steve’s sneakers before he bends down to pick it up with a golden hand.

He smooths out the paper as best he can on the counter. Then leans on his elbow and props his scruffy chin in his palm, using his fingers to hide the beam on his face. With his free hand, he draws you a hedgehog adjacent to the cartoonish animal you’d created — only he doesn’t really remember what a hedgehog looks like, so it’s more of a circle with spikes.

“Could really use a hedge-hug right now,” he writes.

He crushes the paper between his palms and tosses it into your lap.

You shoot him a glare, accompanied with a small smile, but he looks away too quickly to see it.

You begin to beam as your eyes dart over the crumbled paper, an expression so wide Steve can see it in his own head. He’s grieved to miss it, but he doesn’t want Keith to see him and think he’s distracted again. Besides, he knows if he looks at you too long, he’ll have no choice but to kiss you stupid.

Now all you are is unkissed and grieving, more so than you were just five minutes ago. You grow empty with the feeling. It makes the spark of bravery and sudden longing burn brighter behind your ribcage.

You rise from your squeaking swivel chair and walk the very short distance to Steve. Three steps. Five, maybe. Six at the very most. You don’t count them, too overwhelmed by your love for the boy who doesn’t see you coming.

You wrap him up in your arms, wedging yourself between him and the countertop. Your arms clasp behind his lower back as your cheek squishes into his sternum. He smells like home, cologne, and something warmer.

Steve tenses beneath your embrace. Not because he doesn’t welcome it, but because you’re not usually so affectionate this way. It took you months to kiss him first — longer to stop asking to kiss him before you did it.

And you’re a delicate little thing, too. You hate getting in trouble. Hate the thought that someone, somewhere in the world, was at some point unhappy with you. And even though you don’t particularly care for your boss, you’d think you’d probably cry if Keith ever scolded you.

Steve knows this, too. So he doesn’t give in to you so easily.

“Whatcha doing?” he croons lowly to you.

“Give you a hedge-hug,” you mumble into his chest.

He scoffs a faint laugh that fans across your forehead. “You’ll get in trouble,” he teases in a gentle whisper, slowly melting into your embrace. His wide hands smooth warm along your spine. He doesn’t press you anything closer with his touch, just cradles you softly against him.

“Don’t care. I just miss you.”

“Hippopota-miss me?” he jokes and noses into your hair. You smell like home, in both the figurative and literal sense of the word. Equal parts because you spent the night at his place and because your scent strikes something short of nostalgia inside his chest.

You laugh. He can feel the golden sound of it in his ribcage. “Pig time,” you answer.

“How’d you like that one, huh?” he asks, muffled against you.

“It was genius.”

“Right!” he chuckles. “Thought of it outta nowhere and had to tell someone about it.”

Your head shakes against him as a grin blossoms on your lips. He can’t see it from this angle, but he can feel it — in the way your cheek squishes harder against his sternum. “Your brain is so amusing, you know that?”

Steve, knowing that would be an insult coming from Robin, decides to take it as a compliment from you. He presses his petaled mouth to your forehead and lingers there for several moments. “Thank you,” he murmurs after.

The Robin in question turns out to be his savior, neither intentionally nor ungrudgingly.

She’s stacking VHS tapes on the shelves with Keith, both of them crouched to restock the bottom rows. She rises first, bones creaking in protest. “God, I feel like an eighty-year-old, man,” she groans and stretches her aching knees.

Back to full height again, she sees the two of you wrapped in an embrace behind the counter. She scoffs and rolls her eyes. Not because she’s jealous — she’s definitely not jealous — but because the two of you couldn’t last a whole hour not talking. It’s deplorable.

But despite her internalized complaints, she refuses to let Keith catch you fonduing a second time. Right before he stands beside her, she swipes a hand over the top row of tapes. Adventure movies titled L through M tumbled to the ground, a few of them knocking the older boy on his mulleted head.

“Ow!” he winces, nasally and whiny. He cradles the top of his deep brown, only slightly greasy hair and stares daggers at the girl above him. “What the heck was that for?”

Robin shoots him a shaking smile, freckled face blotched pink. “Sorry,” she lilts, voice trembling. “Spasm.”

#published by bug #steve harrington x reader #stranger things x reader #steve harrington #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x you #stranger things #stranger things imagine #steve harrington imagine #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfiction #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fanfic #st drabbles #stevie drabble #event: bug turns one

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emmyrosee · 11 months

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Don’t read this bc this is more cute aggression with mr sakusa and this is for me so

Also, yes, these are all things I’ve said to my niece in an act of cute aggression 💅🏼

“I could rip your teeth out.”

“That’s nice, baby.”

Kiyoomi is used to you. It’s the only reason, you’re convinced, that he lets you do the things you do, say the feral things you say. Your methods of making him swoon were, arguably, cuter than he’d expect, and he openly tells you that when you used to get self conscious about it.

(“It’s not every day someone wants to squeeze me until I pop.”

“Well, now, it will be. Welcome to your life.”

He smirks, “well alright then.”)

It’s not a lie- he’s never had someone as openly affectionate as you, clinging to his arm at the grocery store, biting his muscles and neck when he’s trying to cook dinner (his teammates ask him constantly what things you two get up to- he doesn’t have the heart to tell them you bit him when he was making some tea) just doing anything and everything to bug him domestically.

Its… comforting, in a bizarre way. To know you find him absolutely intoxicating and addictive. He’s not entirely sure he’d change it.

Even now, when you practically have burrowed into his skin.

“I could kick you; how dare you be so cute?” You pout, laying your head on his shoulder restfully.

He chuckles and continues to scroll through his phone, “it’s strange- I’m so used to Komori being the cute one.”

You roll your eyes and snicker, “you’re so full of it, and you know you are. You’ve always been the cute one, shut the hell up.”

“Handsome, maybe, but never cute-“

In an instant, he’s cute off by your hand immediately darting towards his face. Your fingers fly up at his mouth, trying to grip his teeth. It’s something you don’t do often because he can’t stand it, but it seems like today, you’re on a mission to be as close to him as possible.

“Ah!” He snaps, turning his head away. You retract your hand as he gives you a scolding look. Immediately, you feel bad that the impulsive thoughts won, and you made him so mad. “We talked about that. Don’t do that.”

“But-“

“No. Do. Not. Grab at my teeth.”

You pout softly at the reprimand in his tone, mumbling a soft ‘I’m sorry’ as you settle back down, your head dipping to hide in the crook of his neck. He lets out a sigh and plops his phone on the side table and shuffle a bit.

“You know I like your cute aggressions…. Except that one. Of all the things you do, that’s the one I can’t tolerate babe, you know that.”

“You’re just so pretty. I can’t help it.”

“Oh, so it’s my fault now?” He says, absolutely teasing you and you giggle as you hide your face in his neck. “Is biting me not good enough? Is sniffing me until you can’t breathe not good enough now?” He interrupts his own preach by pecking kisses all over your cheek, holding you tighter as you start to squirm away. “Is coming into my shower not good enough now? Is dropping by extra desserts at practice not good enough? Is sucking hickeys on my cheeks not good enough?”)

You move your head away from his neck to giggle more and try to make an attempt away from his kisses, but this gives him real estate, and he decides to take it. He starts to give you a taste of your own medicine, biting at your cheek and ear and neck and fingers now pinching up your sides and ribs.

“Omi!”

“Is crawling into my lap while I’m on a zoom call not good enough? Is stealing my pillows from under my head when you’re sleeping not good enough? Is taking my clothes when you’re sick not good enough? Is picking. My nose. When I’m mad. NOT GOOD ENOUGH?”

Your struggles to get away from him are in vain, he’s got you gathered in his big arms, your head tossed back and feet kicking for a meek attempt at freedom. He peppers bites and kisses continuously on your neck, smiling against your skin as you scream and whine into the air.

“Are all these things so boring now and you have to grab my literal teeth?”

“Yes!” You titter, and while it does make him stop in surprise, he’s quick to smack the facade back on, pulling his head back to glare at you. You flash him some puppy eyes while you reach up to card the curls from his face, “I’m just obsessed with you… always need more ways to get under your skin.” You laugh as he sighs and leans his forehead against yours, clearly not caring half as much as he says, and taking gentle breaths against you. “I love bugging you.”

“Well, how could you not when you do such a good job?”

“I know right?” Once again, he lifts his head up to glare playfully at you, snickering as you continue to flash him the same innocent beam.

“Can you promise me you won’t grab my teeth anymore?” He asks, shifting a hand to lace with yours; he brings the knuckles of your hand up to kiss them, a way to show his affection and also, sort of, maybe, convince you to promise.

You sigh softly and let him kiss over your fingers, letting the comfortable silence between you both relish. “No.”

“No?”

“No.”

He groans in faux agony, face crashing down to bury in your chest, and you cackle while he does, your arms tossing around his shoulders to keep him close.

“I hate you,” he grumbles.

“No you don’t. You eat this shit up and you know it.”

He sends a dirty look at you between his lashes before sighing and laying his head back down. “Don’t expose me.”

“That’s what I thought.”

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tootiecakes234 · 7 months

Text

Random MHA Relationship Headcanons

Includes: Katsuki Bakugo, Eijiro Kirishima

Katsuki Bakugo:

SFW

• Man is the most attentive. He has a great memory and knows all types of things about you which makes him an amazing gifts giver

• Starting off he’s not very comfortable with physical touch. He’s just not used to being cared for in that way. Even when he starts accepting it more, it takes him a while longer to get to a point where he will start initiating

• He’s so very blunt. You cook food and he doesn’t like it, he tells you. Pick an outfit he thinks looks bad, telling you to change immediately. Over time he gets to a point where he’s a little bit softer about HOW he says it, but he’s still gonna say it.

• Man’s does not tolerate disrespect towards you or himself but ESPECIALLY towards you! Will start blowing shit up if anyone says anything even remotely out of line to or about you.

• Yes he’s crass, he’s got sass and he can sometimes be a bit of an ass, but baby boy literally thinks you hung the moon and the stars.

Eijiro Kirishima

•Big guy falls hard and fast. You’d be on your second date and say something that makes you 2 cry from laughing and all of of sudden it just hits him and from then on out he’s whipped.

• Will never admit it, but he LOVES being little spoon. Even though he’s bigger than you, he feels so safe when you’re holding him.

•Eijiro love language is definitely quality time. Considering his life as a pro hero, he really values every minute he gets to spend with you.

• He is also the type to go into the store with full confidence when buying your period products. 100% confident in his masculinity. Now knows the exact products you need and when you’re running low. I feel like he also tries to track your cycle.

• He will 100% eat whatever you make for him. It could be a little burned, dry, or salty and he’s still going to scarf it down like it’s his favorite thing.

#bakugou drabble #bakugou x reader #imagine #katsuki bakugo mha #mha fanfiction #bakugo headcanons #drabble #bakugou katsuki #bakugou katsuki x reader #kiribaku #bnha kirishima #kirishima eijirou #mha kirishima #kirishima x bakugou #kirishima x reader #relationship headcanons

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wonijinjin · 3 months

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precious

author’s note: this is quite short, but was very fun to write.

synopsis: jealousy is a serious disease and your friends definitely have it; good thing that mingyu doesn’t care.

word count: 0.6k | genre: fluff, hurt/comfort and angsty a bit | pairing: mingyu x f! reader | warnings: curse words, betrayal kind of

you went into the changing room of one of the stores in the mall, excited to try on a new top which was quite your, and mingyu’s taste aswell. you could already see his face lighting up and drool dripping from his mouth when he saw you in it; he always thought you were the most beautiful woman on the planet but you always knew how to push his buttons even further to make him a stuttering mess.

“are you here?” one of your friends asked while wandering in the hallway so she could find your booth. you shouted from within and showed all of them your outfit. “so do you like it? i think mingyu will love it!” you squealed excitedly, twirling once then twice to give the full effect of the top. “yeah it is pretty!” your friend said while you went back to change into your original clothes, knowing that you will buy the piece for sure. you couldn’t fully close the door but you didn’t mind since you knew noone would walk in on you changing, so you went ahead anyway.

“i don’t know why she wants his approval all the time! he is so demanding and always takes up her time.” you heard a voice say. “yeah, right? he is so clingy all the time, she cannot catch a break. i would go crazy if my man was like that.” your eyes widened and you slapped a hand in front of your mouth to avoid making any noise. your friends were talking about mingyu, you knew this; he was all the things they had mentioned, but they were wrong; it never annoyed you, you loved mingyu so much you would give the whole world to him, and he would do the same for you. “but i mean, who am i to judge?“ they laughed, the fact that you heard them being unrevealed, obviously. you couldn’t take if someone talked lowly about your precious boyfriend, the most adorable person ever. you pushed the door harshly, stepping outside yet again, only this time to the horror of your friends. “enough. you always talk shit about everyone, that thing isn’t new, but i won’t tolerate you bad mouthing mingyu! i heard you two just moments ago, and you are right. who are you to judge? it is my life and i am very happy with how clingy my big puppy is! at least he shows how much he cares about me. so you can stop with this behaviour because this is not what friends do!” you explained calmly then stormed off, quickly paying at the cashier’s desk.

when you got home mingyu greeted you with a big hug and many kisses all over your cheeks. “what’s up cutie? you look kind of angry.” he pouted, continuously trying to smooth the creases on your forehead. “my friends are so annoying! they talked so badly about you because you are touchy and affectionate, like what is their problem? i love you more than anyone and i wouldn’t ever trade your personality for anything! i barely trust them anymore, never thought they would pull something like this.” you huffed while hugging him, burrying your head in his shoulder. he burst out in giggles. “awww, you are adorable my sweet baby.” he tickled you, which pulled a laugh from within your chest, exactly what he wanted to achieve. “don’t listen to them. they are just jealous because they got dumped a few weeks ago by their shitty boyfriends and because we are happier than ever. give them time to calm down.” you smiled softly, holding his hand in yours. “you are so perfect, so precious, puppy.”

#wonijinjin #caratsland #seventeen imagines #seventeen scenarios #svt imagines #seventeen fluff #mingyu x y/n #svt kim mingyu #mingyu x you #svt mingyu #mingyu x reader #seventeen kim mingyu #seventeen mingyu #kim mingyu #mingyu #svt drabbles #seventeen drabbles #svt scenarios

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arkhamknightz · 1 year

Text

TOLERATE IT

pairing: spencer reid x reader

summary; in which, spencer starts to get distant from you, and all you can do is sit and wonder why - part 2

warnings: age gap (just a few years, not specified but mentions of him being older) no happy ending, lots of angst, reader is angry and i mean very angry reader, sad spencer at the end, spencer before prison

notes: criminal minds obsession comes back every year and its on its annual visit rn! anyways I know reader kinda goes after him in their fight but I’m venting. i’m open to writing a part 2 with a happy ending if anyone wants it!

You sat on the other end of the couch while Spencer sat with his legs up reading a book, a small frown on your face as you watched him. He had suddenly become distant in the last few weeks. You had passed it off as a rough case, but usually his odd behavior never lasted this long.

You had asked the team if he had been doing alright, but to them nothing had been out of the ordinary, he was still the same Spencer at work that he always was.

You woke up next to him the morning after, and sat and watched him sleep. He looked so peaceful, but you couldn’t help but notice you didn’t wake up with your head on his chest or with his arms wrapped around your waist like you did before.

You sat and watched him for a while, savoring the morning. You knew things weren’t gonna be as peaceful when he woke up. He stopped waking up early to read to you at the kitchen counter while you made him a coffee before work, and he stopped rambling to you when he got back.

He stopped doing all the little things you loved, but you patiently waited for him. You waited for things to go back to normal and for him to stop treating you like you were some ghost in the house. It never happened. He started going to bed earlier, leaving the house later, avoiding your questions about what was going on with him. He stopped holding you at night and started facing away from you.

You laid on your back, facing up towards the ceiling. A million thoughts swarmed through your head at once. It wasn’t a secret Spencer was older than you. But had that started to bother him? He was much wiser than you were, even despite the fact he was a genius. Had you become too needy? Had something happened at work that none of them thought was appropriate to tell you about?

Spencer always told you when he was coming back from a case. He would always give you little details, not commenting much on the contents of it. He liked to keep you away from the horrors of his work, not wanting to subject you to such things. You would wait by the door and as soon as you heard the knob turn your face would light up like a kids in a candy store.

You stopped waiting for him. He stopped telling you when he was coming home. You turned your head, seeing he was still asleep. A small tear rolled down your cheek and you got up out of bed before getting changed and leaving the house. You walked to the small book store the both of you had met in, and you sat by the window.

You had put in effort to spend time with him, laying the table with your best dishes, his favorite food, but he brushed it off claiming he ate with the team. You made efforts to get him new books, make him coffee in the mornings before work, do his laundry and so forth. He never addressed it, never a thank you, you could hardly even remember the last time he said he loved you.

You thought it was all in your head, that maybe you had read things wrong and he was just having a really rough time. But his hard exterior hadn’t faltered in a while. Usually he was able to brush things off, talk to you after a few days and things would be okay. But there was this unsettling feeling in your chest, an ache. Things didn’t seem like they were gonna be okay.

You picked up a book off the coffee table of the bookstore. It was one of his favorites. You looked at the cover with a sad smile on your face. You used to greet him at the door like he had been gone for months, a hug and dinner waiting for him inside.

Now all that’s left were snarky comments when he got home, a bitter attitude and grumbles under his breath when you tried to talk to him. You sat and listened while he would poke at you after a long day, passive aggressive comments flying out of his mouth as you did dishes.

All you could do was just sit and listen. You couldn’t speak, couldn’t pull yourself away from your activities to be upset with him. You found yourself giving him the benefit of the doubt and more often making excuses for his behavior rather than addressing it to him directly.

It was getting a bit dark outside, the sun was starting to set and so you left the bookstore, the memories floating through the air as you left the shop. It felt like you left part of yourself in there somehow, you walked into the door of your shared apartment, dread seemingly started to fill your body.

“Where were you?” He spoke, his voice was quiet but you could tell he wasn’t happy. It wasn’t worry either, you know what he sounded like when he was worried. “I went out.” You put your keys down and walked past him, he turned around. “For hours? I woke up and no note, no texts, no calls, nothing.” You scoffed. “So you can do it but suddenly when I leave without saying something I’m the bad guy?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You shook your head. “You know what that means Spencer. Don’t sit and play dumb with me.” You looked over at him as he rolled his eyes. “Its my job.” “You know what else your job is?” He looked at you, waiting for you to continue. “To actually fill your title as my boyfriend. You stopped telling me when you’re coming home, you stopped talking to me completely. I feel like a ghost in this stupid apartment Spencer!”

You laughed bitterly. “I mean come on, why do you care I was gone for so long? You can hardly keep eye contact with me anymore. Why’s me leaving the house any different huh? Like I leave you alone all day by my OWN choice this time and you still find a reason to be mad?” Spencer furrowed his brows at you.

“Are you kidding m-“ you slammed your hands on the table, eyes brimming with tears. “No! No I’m not fucking kidding. Why act like you suddenly care about where I was when you’re the one pushing me away? Mind you, you didn’t make any effort to ask me where I was all day anyways. My phones been on the whole day so don’t even make some excuse that you called or texted me and I didn’t respond. So don’t sit and fucking ask me if im kidding.”

He seemed surprised by your outburst. But oh you weren’t done with him. “I mean come on? ‘Are you kidding’ like do you hear yourself? Spencer I have been nothing but patient with you for the last what, 2 almost 3 months? What happened to the man who would throw blankets over barbed wire hmm? What happened to him? Because you’ve done nothing but avoid me and shut me out. You’ve barely spoken 5 whole sentences to me in the last 2 weeks! Two!”

Spencer interrupted you. “For the love of god can you stop talking!” Tears of frustration were falling down your face. “No! No you don’t get to do this to me. I have spent so long giving you nothing but love for you to turn around and shut me out completely. I’m practically begging for you to even pay attention to me for more than 3 seconds. So what is it hmm? Did I start taking up too much space and time in your life? Because clearly it’s not work. I’ve asked repeatedly if something had gone on that I didn’t know about and they said you were acting fine so what is it?”

He said nothing and you scoffed. You walked away and went into your shared bedroom before grabbing a suitcase and shoving clothes in. He followed in behind you, seeming panicked. “What are you doing? No no stop packing talk to me please.” You shook your head. “I did. You said nothing.” He shut your suitcase and spoke, his voice cracking. “Please we can talk about this.”

That only made you angrier. “Talk about this? Are you fucking kidding me? You’ve had 3 months to talk to me about whatever’s bothering you and you still haven’t. I’ve tried my best I really have and that’s not enough for you apparently. I know you hear me crying at night. You’re a god damned profiler for crying out loud and you didn’t notice I’ve been trying to hold myself together in hopes you decide to care about me again?”

“I do care.” You opened back up your suitcase and stuffed in more clothes. “You didn’t think I’d leave? Spencer I love you but I’m not putting myself through this. When’s the last time you said that to me hmm?” He shamefully spoke. “2 months, 3 weeks and 5 days ago.” “Exactly my point.”

You went into the bathroom, Spencer pleading in the other room. You walked out with your stuff and put them in a backpack before gathering any other items you wanted to take with you. “I know my love should be celebrated. But all you do is sit there and tolerate it. I know I deserve better than to be shut out by you, I’ve tried my best to be patient, I really have. When you decide that you’re done dealing with whatever’s going on that you won’t tell me about, or you decide to let me back in call me. Otherwise don’t bother reaching out.”

“Where are you going?” He looked at you with tears in his eyes, voice shaking. “To stay with a friend. I love you Spencer, I really do. More than anything. But I won’t wait in this house any longer. Not when all you’ve done is shoot snarky comments at me when I’ve done nothing but care for you. I wont.”

You grabbed your bag and walked out the apartment. Tears rolled down your cheeks as you heard the door open back up. Not bothering to turn around. Spencer sat there and watched you walk into the elevator. A small whisper of his voice. “I’m sorry.”

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid angst #matthew gray gubler #matthew gray gubler angst #spencer reid #spencer reid taylor swift #tolerate it #evermore #taylor swift songfic #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds spencer reid #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid angst fic #criminal minds fic #criminal minds angst

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inourtownofhawkins · 10 months

Note

Babe, wake up, new prompt coming!

I found this cute image on Pinterest and it had me thinking: what if reader spends a whole afternoon crafting these little messages and then she sneakily hides them around Eddie's stuff. Every time he finds one, goes to reader and gives her a kiss, then stores it in a tin box 🩷💋

𝓵𝓸𝓿𝓮 𝓵𝓮𝓽𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓼

Summary: You make love letters for Eddie.

Author's note: Mea I'm so sorry it took me forever to write this request! I hope you enjoy it! Also thank you to @eddiemunsons-missingnipple, @ryan-waddell11 and @orchidmunson for their endless encouragement <3

CW: None, just a whole lotta fluff and Eddie being a dork.

Word count: 1.2k

Any hate will not be tolerated, constructive criticism is welcomed.

Being at Eddie’s apartment alone while he was away working wasn’t an uncommon thing for either of you, he had given you a key to his apartment for a reason, after all. Although you two hadn’t made the full step of moving in together yet, you still spent a lot of time at his apartment whenever you could fit it into your schedule.

You were sat at Eddie’s kitchen table with every kind of stationary imaginable scattered all around you; every shade of pink and white paper, felt tip pens, glitter and endless amounts of glue.

Since Eddie’s phone had broken several days beforehand and he was far too busy with work and couldn’t fit it within budget for the month to get it fixed, you decided to make love notes for him to read every day. You made notes for every occasion; if he felt sad, if he did something amazing, he missed you or even just needed to be told he was loved.

Although your arts and crafts skills weren’t perfect and you ended up with far too much glitter and glue all over your fingers, you were still proud of the notes you were able to make. You knew your art teacher from primary school would be proud of what you’d made, even if when you had lessons with her she hated your guts.

You had almost finished the final note and put them in a jar by the time Eddie walked inside, you felt him gently scratch the top of your head before wrapping his arms around you, pressing a kiss to the side of your head. “Well this is a nice surprise to come home to.”

You felt the warm burn inside your stomach as you squeezed his arm, happy to be back where you felt like you belonged. “I missed you, of course I’d be here.”

It had only been a couple of days since you last saw each other, but it always felt like an eternity. Being with Eddie was the only place you truly felt safe, it was like coming home every time he brought you into his arms.

Before you and Eddie had gotten together; you’d never believed in that kind of stuff, that home could be a person instead of a place and you thought the people who said that stuff were talking nonsense. But now you understood them, and you just had to wait to find your person.

Eddie glanced over at the mess on the kitchen table, not daring to touch anything with his dirty fingers from working on cars all day. “Whatcha doing here, princess?”

You leaned into him, rubbing his arm with your hand. “It’s a surprise.”

He placed a hand over his eyes once you revealed it was a surprise. “I’m not looking, I swear!” he moved away from you, keeping his hand over his eyes, causing you to laugh. “I’m gonna go have a shower, you wanna order a pizza?”

“Sure,” you answered through your continued laughter as Eddie felt around his apartment to get to the bathroom, hitting his feet and legs on various pieces of furniture along the way. Your boyfriend was an absolute dork, but you loved it far too much, although you knew he acted like that just to make you laugh and he couldn’t ever get enough of that laugh.

You waited until he was safely in the shower to finish the last note and put it into the jar before promptly hiding it in your backpack, being sure Eddie would never find it accidently, not that he’d ever go through your belongings, but you were still cautious. After washing your hands thoroughly, you cleared the kitchen table of your project and grabbed your laptop to order pizza.

Sure, phoning Dominos to place your order was easier but Eddie’s pizza orders were always special to put it simply. That man couldn’t settle for a simple margarita pizza to save his life, nay, he had to have some weird combination that changed in a frequent basis. His current favourite pizza? Tandoori chicken and burger sauce with stuffed crust. As odd as it sounded, you did have a slice and it was pretty good, so you couldn’t exactly hate him for that.

You’d just finished placing the order when Eddie came out donned in just a towel, another towel in his hair trying to dry it before lowering it to cover his face completely. “Is it safe to come out?”

You let out another laugh, nodding your head. “Yes, you muppet, it’s safe. Pizza’s been ordered and it should be here in a bit.”

Taking the towel away from his face, he smirked at you and began to slowly walk across his apartment towards you, deliberately allowing his towel to slip down his body. Watching him with a smirk matching his, you shook your head. “Don’t even think about it, mister, we got pizza coming and I don’t wanna get interrupted by the doorbell again.”

He pouted and pulled up the towel, sulking his way into the bedroom. He came back a few minutes later in his usual jeans and dark red hoodie, one you’d frequently steal from him to wear when the weather got a bit cold.

You closed your laptop lid as he wrapped his arms around you again, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of your head once you rested your back against his chest. The pair of you stayed in content silence until the loud knock on the door to signal your pizzas had arrived. You began to get up, but Eddie placed his hands on your shoulders to keep you seated, “I’ll get them baby,” he murmured into your hair before answering the door.

Eddie had fallen asleep after devouring his pizza and watching a season and a half of Derry Girls while cuddling with you on the couch, his head nestled into the crook of your neck, feeling his breath on your skin with his arms wrapped tightly around your middle, keeping you close to him.

You slowly got out of his grasp, being careful not to wake him up, although Eddie was quite a deep sleeper and not a lot of things woke him up. As quietly as possible, you moved around his apartment, tidying up the pizza boxes before turning off the TV and putting a blanket over Eddie.

Getting the jar out of your backpack, you began to place the notes around Eddie’s apartment; on every table, in some books, in the wardrobe, on the fridge and in every single pocket you could think of. Once you’d finished, you gently shook Eddie awake just enough to get him in bed and properly asleep before you followed him soon after, cuddling into him as you easily fell asleep.

In the morning, you were woken up by an endless amount of kisses all over your face, lips, neck, chest, and hands. At first, you were too sleepy and groggy to fully realise what was happening but as you slowly started to wake up, you moved Eddie’s kisses up to your lips and kissed him back. “What’s all the kisses for?” you whispered against his lips.

Eddie gave you a couple more kisses before answering your question. “I found some of your notes, and I thought since my girl was being so loving with her notes; I thought I would be loving back and wake her up with as many kisses as I can give her before work.”

#spilled ink #requests #lunatictardis #stranger things fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson #eddie x reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fanfiction

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sweetiecutie · 9 months

Text

Pairing: dark! König x fem! Reader

Warnings: yandere behavior, obsession, stalking, gaslighting, drugging, kidnapping. This is only fiction! Never tolerate creepy behavior

A/n: so this has been sitting in my drafts for a while so I decided to finish it as a part of writing event. I’m so proud of this one, like omg, look at me being a writer😆

Your head hurt. That was the first thing you registered as you started to slowly regain consciousness. Your face scrunched up in a grimace of pain as you let out a soft groan, your throat sore, only increasing your discomfort.

You tried to raise your hands to rub on your eyes in attempt to soothe the stinginess - point word - tried. You very soon found that your movements had been restricted by something that felt very much like rope. And not only your hands - your legs were bound tightly together at your knees and ankles, not allowing you to move.

- You’re awake now? - soft voice droned on, making you tense up impossibly more. The most terrifying thing was that you knew exactly who this voice belonged to.

You squinted into direction from which the sound came, your vision still blurry and hazy from the drug. Thankfully, the room was dark, small lamp on the bedside table was the only source of soft yellow light. You could only perceive a bulky figure sitting on a chair not too far from you, piercing blue eyes gazed at you unblinking.

- König..? What’s going on? - you asked, your voice was hoarse and weak from long lack of usage.

Suddenly, memories flashed before your eyes; it was late evening - about 11 pm - as you were walking towards convenience store not so far from your apartment.

You had been in a state of constant desolation lately - days were bleak and boring, blurring into one with their unchanging routine, sending you in deeper state of depression.

Breakup with your boyfriend took a toll on you. You loved König, you really did. Considered spending your life with him, even. But the longer your relationship lasted, the more of real him you saw - controlling, obsessive, manipulative.

It all started out small - constant checking in, questions about your whereabouts and your company, him following accompanying you wherever possible. Surely, it restricted your freedom, but König didn’t mean anything bad! He was just worried for you, concerned about your safety! Is that so bad?

So you let it slip. You overlooked his more controlling tendencies, agreed to giving him passwords to all your social media even, so König could make sure that “no freaks were texting you”. It unnerved you, but he didn’t mean anything bad, did he? He was just being a good caring boyfriend!

And it was like an avalanche. Constant calls and messages, controlling what you were wearing, unwillingness to leave you alone even for a few minutes - that and many other things made a list of what your boyfriend did, only adding to your anxiety. But you tolerated it all, because you loved him. Once, digging through your phone you found something that looked very much like a tracking app. You were outraged. But when you asked König about it - rather aggressively - he just blinked at you with wide innocent blue eyes, saying that maybe you installed it on accident? You know all these bots nowadays, you can never be safe online now. But you know that he would never do something like that, right? How could you even think of something like that?! König was genuinely offended, and you naturally hastened to apologize for your unwise accusations, trying to make it up to him. Deleting this app seemed to be impossible, though, no matter how many times you tried.

Last drop was, however, when König nearly blew out your best friend’s front door, threatening them to keep away from you. “This bitch is putting some fucked up ideas about me into your head” - was his reasoning. And that was it - hell was set free. You had an ugly shouting marathon for hours to no end, with lots of tears and profanities, ending up with a harsh breakup and you blocking König everywhere, cutting him off completely.

And since then you haven’t spoken a word to him. Of course, he came to your apartment countless times, sent numerous gifts and bouquets of your favorite flowers, practically begging for forgiveness. But you knew better than that - it happened before, and even if you forgave him this time, in a few months time everything would be just as it was before.

At present, you were walking down a sidewalk, asphalt damp under your shoes from recent rain. You needed to get some groceries, since your fridge was just as empty as your stomach; and this late of an hour promised as little people around as possible, saving you from unfavorable company of men.

Just as you rounded a corner - a pair of huge strong arms - obviously male - seized your sensibly smaller body; a weird-smelling cloth was pressed tightly over your mouth and nose. In your panicked state you tried to fight back, not registering your own breathing, inhaling lungfuls of drug. Darkness filled your vision rapidly as dizziness overcame all your senses. You felt consciousness quickly slipping away from you, neon lights of convenience store shone brightly before your eyes still.

Panic seized your throat and it was becoming harder to breathe - you tugged and pulled on rough ropes around your limbs, trying to either snap them or slip out of tight confines, thrashing around the mattress relentlessly. König didn’t do anything, just watching you silently with his icy orbs from his spot, not exactly amused not impressed by your behavior. Very soon fatigue took over your already exhausted body, you lay motionless once again, panting heavily as you glared at König’s dark form, vision still unfocused from the drug.

- Drop that. I made sure knots are tight, - he said coldly, continuing to observe you with a sharp stare of a hawk.

You just glared silently, trying to catch your breath. Your body felt heavy - extremely so, as if every limb was made out of lead and not flesh and bone; moving as much as one finger seemed harder than anything and you wondered how you managed to thrash around in the first place. Your head was aching irritably, not allowing you to think clearly - it had to be the side effect of whatever that was König made you inhale previously.

- König, do you realize what you did? - you managed to choke out, panic crashing over you in waves as realization of your current situation finally hit you. Hot tears streamed down your face as you tried to breathe evenly, but it did little to calm you down.

König just leaned in, cupping the side of your face with one of his huge hands, his thumb swiped under your eye, wiping salty tears away with calloused fingertip. You closed your eyes, averting your face from his touch. And oh, he didn’t like it.

König gripped bottom part of your face, force of his grip squeezed your cheeks together as he turned your head forcibly towards himself, making you squeal quietly as you faced him.

- You tried to leave me. And you are very dear to me. I can’t let this happen, - König explained, his voice calm, alarmingly calm. His scarred lips were pressed into a thin pale line, giving a little clue of his rage.

It was another side of him, completely different from what you used to see - a calm, ruthless and collected one; one that you could only imagine, based off some rumors you’ve heard about him and small cracks in his friendly mask König was too careless to hide from you during your relationship. You got glimpses of it a few times - when some drunk dude tried to hit on you when you and König were in the bar together, or when you mentioned how nice one of your male coworkers was. You always made one brutal mistake of brushing it all off, blaming it on König’s tiredness or fierce personality. And that’s where it led you.

- So what are you gonna do now? Keep me here forever? - you tried to scoff, but your trembling voice was way too weak to do so.

König cocked his eyebrow at your brave words, ghost of a smile played on his pursed lips. He shrugged lightly, grip of his fingers on your cheeks eased as he caressed them endearingly with rough fingertips, tickling you slightly.

- If that’s what it takes to keep you with me - then yes, - he shrugged slightly, propping his chin on his free hand, not a single emotion could be deciphered in his voice. These words made your blood turn cold.

He heaved a deep sigh at your frightened expression and trembling body, letting go of your face and reclining into his chair.

- Schatzi, you know I hate this just as much as you do. You think I’m enjoying this? - he asked, his tone was somehow sad and exhausted. But yes, you indeed thought, knew he enjoyed this. You kept silent, choking on your silent sobs, now being extremely aware of thick ropes digging painfully into your soft skin. Panic attack was full on taking over you, suffocating you with numerous sobs, body tensing and shaking incessantly, tears blurring your thus poor vision.

- Now, this all may end if you stop being a little bitch and start acting like an actual adult. We didn’t finish our conversation that last time, and you blocking me everywhere doesn’t make things any easier, - König said, his ice-blue eyes boring holes in your head. But you couldn’t comprehend the meaning behind his words, your brain short-circuited with fear and panic, turning you into a weeping shaking mess.

König heaved another sigh. He got up from his chair, taking a few steps towards your bed and dropping to his knees in front of it, so that his head was right against yours. His hand once again came to caress the side of your face affectionately, tangling into your messy hair and massaging your scalp, cooing soothingly at you.

- I know baby, I know. You need to rest. Don’t worry, I’ll keep you safe. And then, once you’re strong and rested, we’ll talk again. And we’ll sort everything out and be happy again, just like we used to be, hmm? - König murmured softly as he always did to calm you down during hard times. But it only made you weep harder.

König pressed his lips against your cold forehead, leaving a chaste kiss as he inhaled lungfuls of your scent. He then nuzzled his forehead against yours, mumbling quietly:

- You can’t imagine how much I missed you. How could you do this to me? Hurt me so much even though I only want the bestest for you?

He peppered your face with small kisses, whispering small nothings and caressing your shuddering back. This made you feel nauseous. Your consciousness started to slip away again, your vision darkening rapidly. And just before blacking out, you heard König’s voice, one you loved so dearly once, utter:

- You’re mine, always will be. I’ll make sure of that.

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amomentsescape · 7 months

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Can I request a slasher oneshot headcannon with freddy, both leather faces, brahms and Jason were either them or the reader gets drunk (drunk reader for the ones who don't seem like the type to drink) and the sober one tries to hug the drunk one and the drunk one is like "stay away from me b###h I'm in a commented relshinship and they're beautiful" and the sober one knows they're talking about them so they lovingly tuck the drunk one in

Slashers Drunk and In Love Headcanon

A/N: Thank you so much for this request! I absolutely love this prompt as well. Something about it is just so heartwarming to write/read! These did get to be a bit long, but I hope you like it either way!

Freddy Krueger

Thank God for Halloween

It was the one night you two could go out together and seem normal to everyone else

There was a horror themed bar in the nearby city that Freddy (of course) chose to go to

So dressed up in your costume with Freddy in his... normal attire, you two went

It was honestly a fun time

Good food, cheap drinks, and loud music

The perfect environment for you two

Although, Freddy seemed to be going a little harder than expected

His excuse being that he "only gets to do this once a year"

So you shrugged it off

As long as he was having a good time, then so were you

He was even able to talk to other people around him, and some of them convinced him to hit the dance floor

He was so drunk at this point that you were worried he wouldn't even make it out of his seat

But he just laughed and ran off with them

You let out a big sigh

After a few minutes of people cheering him on as he writhed around on the sticky floor, you decided that he could use a break from the alcohol

You ordered a water and made your way to him

"Freddy, take this-"

He grabbed it from your hand and began chugging it

His circle of new friends yelling and cheering as he did so

This is how you knew he was truly gone for the night,

But you couldn't help the small smile growing on your face

He seemed happy, and being a dream demon had its benefits

Like no hangovers the next morning

You wiggled your way into the crowd further and wrapped your arm around his waist

But he quickly threw your arm off and looked at you sternly

It was the most sober he seemed in the past 30 minutes

"Don't fucking touch me!" he spat. "I have a hot partner waiting for me at the b-bar," he hiccuped

You couldn't help but laugh at this

You wanted to be mad at his abrasive behavior, but you honestly felt butterflies at his devotion

"Well, your partner is waiting for you in the dream world. They're tired and want to go to bed."

Freddy's head snapped back to you

"Y-you've spoken to (Y/N)?"

You nodded

"Well, shit," he slurred. "Guess it's time."

And suddenly you both were back in his world, his body already tucked into bed

You heard his snores seconds later

"Well, that was easy..."

You gently gave him a kiss on the cheek and tucked yourself in moments later

Thomas Hewitt

For murderous cannibals, the Hewitts knew how to have a good time

They literally made their own alcohol from scratch

And of course, it was stronger than anything you could find in store

You decided to try some at the urgency of the family

Thomas wasn't really much of a drinker usually, but he found himself a little more comfortable since you were with him

You both took a sip of the alcohol together, and you found yourself struggling to keep it down

It burnt like fire

Thomas, however, barely reacted from it

He was a Hewitt after all

"Do you like it?" you asked

He kinda just shrugged and before he knew it, his glass was filled again

He looked at you for a bit, almost like he was asking for permission

You gave him a small smile "This is your family gathering, Thomas. Do whatever you want!"

You could see his eyes crease up a bit as he took a few more slurps

With his lack of tolerance however, it didn't take long for the alcohol to take effect

His body was slightly swaying back and forth, and he couldn't seem to keep his eyes focused on anything

Luda Mae noticed how he was acting and she looked to you

"Why don't ya take him to bed, hun? He could use some rest."

You nodded and helped him out of his seat, making your way to his room

Once he flopped into bed, you leaned down to give him a hug and a kiss like you always did

But you suddenly felt his strong hands against your shoulders

He shook his head back and forth frantically, keeping you away from him

"What's wrong?" you asked

He just pointed to the empty spot next to him in bed, looking back to you and shaking his head some more

It took you a moment to realize what he meant

"Are you waiting for... (Y/N)?" you questioned softly

He nodded

"Ohhhh," you responded, smiling widely. "Well, they're gonna come to bed a little later."

He looked down a bit sadly

"Don't worry, they'll be here once you wake up."

He finally nodded and rolled over, falling asleep quickly

Once you knew he was out, you crawled into bed beside him, still smiling from his loyalty to you

Bubba Sawyer

Bubba has seen his family drink plenty of times

But he honestly didn't like how mean and violent it made some of them

Because of this, he didn't have any interest in drinking the odd smelling juice

So after a long evening outside doing "work," he was worried to see you laughing and hiccuping over a deck of cards and the smelly drink

He quietly sat next to you, not sure how you'd react with that stuff in your system

However, you didn't really pay much mind to him as you continued your card game, barely able to grab them without dropping them back onto the table

You mostly seemed fine to Bubba, but he was still worried

He knew that his family always woke up irritable in the morning, and he was worried that would happen to you

After another half hour at the table, he noticed that your eyes seemed heavy and your head kept drooping towards the table

He finally decided that you should probably head to bed

He stood up and went to grab your hand to help you up, only to be met with a small push

"D-don't. I have a boyfriend who I love very much, so I'm not interested."

He cocked his head to the side at this

The rest of his family broke out into a fit of laughter

He hesitantly tried to reach for you again, only to be met with an annoyed look

"Seriously. Bub-Bubba will be here any minute so stop."

He finally understood that you didn't recognize him right now

The funny juice didn't seem to make you angry, just forgetful

Bubba wasn't sure what to do right then

So he ended up sitting back down, a swarm of butterflies in his chest

But after only a few minutes, you were drooling onto the table fast asleep

With you finally resting, Bubba picked you up and took you to the bedroom, tucking you in gently

He couldn't help but go to sleep beside you smiling giddily at your behavior

Brahms Heelshire

After a long process of manipulation, you finally convinced Brahms to help you with chores

The house was quite a mess, and it was certainly too big to clean all by yourself

While in the kitchen, you found a couple bottles of some old wine shoved in the back of a cabinet

"Hey, Brahms!"

After a few moments, you saw his curly mop of hair peak into the kitchen

"Was this your parents?" you asked

He walked closer to you and inspected the bottles, eventually confirming your speculation

"Hmm. Have you had this before?"

He shook his head

"This stuff seems expensive. Would be waste to just throw this out..."

So that's how you two found yourselves sitting in the middle of the living room, passing this wine bottle back and forth

Brahms wasn't sure how to feel about it at first, his only memories of it being the smell from his mother's breath

But now that he was older and he had you, he gave in

And it honestly wasn't too bad

It was similar to what he had in church growing up

So you both continued to take drinks together, only Brahms seemed to be acting especially woozy

He didn't drink regularly, so this was hitting him harder than you had expected

He excused himself to the bathroom and wobbled down the hall, you trying to conceal your giggles

After 20 minutes however, you grew a bit worried and decided to check in on him

You knocked on the door before carefully opening it

"Brahms...?"

When you peaked in, you saw the lanky man sat in front of the toilet, his head resting on his hand

The toilet water was now a murky red color

"Oh, Brahms."

You sat beside him and began rubbing his back

He suddenly jolted up and backed away from you, his body meeting the wall

You looked at him concerned

"Brahms?"

He shook his head

"How did you get here? Where's (Y/N)?" he asked hoarsely

You tilted your head

"It's me. I'm (Y/N)."

"No, (Y/N) is my beautiful partner. Now leave!"

You could tell his patience was wearing thin and you didn't want to be there for his outburst

"O-oh okay, right. Do you want me to get (Y/N) for you?" you asked

He nodded his head and crawled back to the toilet

You left and stood outside the door for a few minutes, not sure if your plan was going to work or not

You walked back inside carefully and found Brahms in the same position you left him

"Brahms? It's me..."

He looked up and wobbled towards you, his body flailing out at your feet

"(Y/N)? My stomach hurts," he groaned

You held in a laugh as you helped him back to his feet

"Let's go to bed. It'll make you feel better."

He simply nodded and shuffled to the bedroom with you, his dopey smile making your heart warm

Jason Voorhees

Jason was always told as a child that alcohol was the Devil's blood and should be avoided at all cost

This made sense to him since all the counselors and stupid teens seemed to be indulging in the beverage whenever he got to them

So he almost found himself in a frenzy when he saw you holding a familiar can in your hand one night

He grabbed the drink from you and threw it outside, its contents spilling into the dirt

"Jason!" you yelled

He just crossed his arms

"It's just a drink, Jason. It's not gonna kill me!'

He tilted his head at you, confused

You stood up and walked to the cooler, opening it up and grabbing a new can

Where did all those come from?

"People drink this stuff all the time," you argued, popping open the tab. "They even have this stuff in church."

Jason uncrossed his arms at this

He thought this stuff was bad

You went back to what you were doing, drinking the beverage and still feeling a bit peeved at the loss of your first drink

Jason almost sat down next to you, but he began to hear rustling outside the cabin, causing him to leave quickly

It took him quite a while to catch everyone since he had a couple runners

But he finally was able to return home

When he walked in, he saw you passed out on the couch, several cans scattered around you

He became worried and rushed to you, shaking you awake

You drearily looked up at him and quickly backed further into the couch

"Leave me alone. My boyfriend will be back any minute!" you slurred

He tilted his head

You began calling his name, making him even more confused

He was right in front of you??

"I hope he comes back soon," you muttered, turning around

Jason stood there for a bit, feeling confused but also a bit warm

The fact that you called out for him in your drunken state made him feel cared for

He lovingly reached down and grabbed a blanket from the arm rest, spreading it out over your form

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xazse · 4 months

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Hihihihihii!!! Just saw ur post so deciding to req (sort of ??????) for the first time!!

If your comfortable, could you write dom!scara x bratty fem!reader where reader was just being a stupid lil brat and scara decides to punish them. IF COMFORTABLE, could u also add some sex toys or spanking

Tyyyy! <3 your writing ><

Dom!Scaramouche x Fem!Reader

Notes: sorry it’s so short, I didn’t know if you wanted penetration or not so I excluded it, I’m so happy you enjoy my writing, btw if see this before anyone else lmk if you want me to add penetration. <333

Pairings: Dom!Scaramouche x Fem!Reader

Tags: Overstimulation, edging, spanking, use of vibrator, a little short sorry!

You had been in this position for at least an hour, your pretty white panties on display for Scaramouche to see, oh and he reveled in it, your embarrassment as he had bent you over on all fours and had you arch whilst spreading your legs. He had found the need to tie your hands behind your back as well, you kept attempting to rub at your neglected clit every time in disobedience, and he just wouldn’t tolerate that.

You can’t see him from your position on the bed but you know he has that look, the look that screams disgust, like he’s training a mutt, and from his point of view he most likely is. You hear him rummage though what sounds like cardboard, and some other clunking sounds. Your cunt practically purring in anticipation for what he has in store for you. The next thing you feel is slim but long fingers pulling your panties to the side and Scara slipping something small on your clit, the tightness of your panties keeps said object from moving.

A vibrator, one you don’t recognize at that, curiosity consumes you, you open your mouth to talk but before you can get a word out, a harsh slap is delivered to your asscheek, a loud whine leaves your lips, not expecting that at all.

“No talking” he says outloud

“Kuni- you never stated rules” you drawl out

Another slap is delivered to the same cheek, now that makes you flinch, the sting in the area is already deciding to show itself. He presses on the vibrator seemingly adjusting it as he sees fit.

Then he moves around the room a little more before moving back into the position: standing behind you. The vibrator starts up making you jump, it’s at a slow setting but nonetheless it still has your hips moving slowly, nonetheless it still has you biting your lip and groaning lowly.

A few moments goes by with the soft buzzing of the vibration around the room, then he presses a button which cranks the vibrator up high, too high for you to automatically adjust to: your thighs close around it and you move erratically, mewling scaras name out loud like a mantra. You can hear his wicked cruel laugh from behind as you attempt to shift your body in any sort of way to give your cunt some type of release.

It feels so good, you don’t stifle your moans, freely being as loud as you want: just how he likes it, A hand comes across your ass again adding stimulation with the vibrator, Scara repeatedly slaps your ass and messes with the vibrator going from low to high to high to low over and over. Every time you so much as approach your high he quickly rips it away from you by completely turning off the vibrator.

The white fabric of your panties gives him a view of just how soaked you are, with how their sticking to your folds, scara decides in that moment of looking at your fucked out body that you both will be here for a couple of hours as he edges you until he sees you’ve corrected your behavior.

#genshin smut #genshin x reader #zsworks #fem reader #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche smut #Dom Scaramouche #wanderer smut #wanderer x reader #wanderer x female reader #scaramouche x female reader #kunikuzushi smut

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 2 months

Text

Napoleonville [Chapter 9: Clarence House]

Series Summary: The year is 1988. The town is Napoleonville, Louisiana. You are a small business owner in need of some stress relief. Aemond is a stranger with a taste for domination. But as his secrets are revealed, this casual arrangement becomes something more volatile than either of you could have ever imagined.

Chapter Warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), dom/sub dynamics, smoking, drinking, drugs, Adventures with Aegon (ft. Sunfyre the Ferret), Willis Warning, infidelity, kids, parenthood, and no more hints for you, start reading!!!

Word Count: 8.9k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

Taglist: @marvelescvpe @toodlesxcuddles @era127 @at-a-rax-ia @0eessirk8 @arcielee @dd122004dd @humanpurposes @taredhunter @tinykryptonitewerewolf @partnerincrime0 @dr-aegon @persephonerinyes @namelesslosers @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics @daenysx @gemini-mama @chattylurker @moonlightfoxx @huramuna @britt-mf @myspotofcraziness @padfooteyes @targaryenbarbie @trifoliumviridi @joliettes @darkenchantress @florent1s @babyblue711 @minttea07 @libroparaiso @bluerskiees @herfantasyworldd @elizarbell @urmomsgirlfriend1 @fudge13 @strangersunghoon @wickedfrsgrl

Only 1 chapter left!!! 🥰🧁

He returns in an afternoon of inescapable golden sunlight, hot and muggy, bumble bees and ladybugs wheeling lazily above tall grass, cumulus clouds like tufts of cotton in a sky the color of Aemond’s eye. You hear him talking to Cadi—she’s out in the front yard making mud pies, earth for sugar and sprinkles of stray pelican feathers—and then the weight of his footsteps on the sinking, sloping porch. He opens the door, never locked, and walks through the living room into the kitchen. From behind, his arms circle around your waist; and you’ve missed him so much—dreaming of waves and storms, chains and blood—that you have nothing for him but softness, gentle smiles and a voice hushed with relief.

“How was Norway?” you ask as you roll out dough on the counter. You’re making a buttermilk pie.

“Fine,” Aemond says, resting his chin on your shoulder. But he sounds tired, low.

You turn around to look at him, raising your fingertips to his unscarred right cheek; he won’t tolerate you touching the left. You leave a dusting of flour across his skin like snow, which you have never seen in person and likely never will. The air conditioner is humming. The little pink Panasonic boombox is playing Africa by Toto. “Did something happen?”

“I just missed you.” Then he brightens. “But I was greeted by some very welcome news when I got back to the house this morning.” He’s wearing his neon teal duffle bag. He drops it to the floor and unzips it; inside you glimpse several Nintendo game cartridges, presumably for Cadi. And you think: I’m always here making things, he’s always bringing them from far away. Aemond takes two small dark blue booklets out of a pocket in the inner lining of the duffle bag and gives them to you. On the front of each is embossed in gold lettering, along with an emblem of a bald eagle: Passport, United States of America.

“…Aemond?!”

“There’s one for you and one for Cadi. I submitted the forms a month ago, but even with expedited processing it took this long. Ridiculous. What does the government do all day besides hunt down social programs to defund?”

“But…but…” You open one of the booklets. A photograph of your own face gazes back at you, serious and serene, taken against the white wall of your bedroom before you knew about Aemond being a Targaryen, or Christabel, or Amir’s exodus to San Franscisco, or the profound futility of everything, it seems. “How…?”

“I took the pictures, obviously. The rest was easy enough to find. You store birth certificates and social security cards the same place where you keep the business records that Amir showed me. Typically people have to go to a passport agency in person, but Criston and I have ways around that. Your signature might have been forged on the applications…but I suspect you won’t be filing any police reports.” Aemond grins, pleased with himself. “I wanted it to be a surprise.”

“It’s definitely surprising.” You stare down at the passports, amazed. “Aemond…this is a lot. But you already know that.”

“The whole time I was gone, I was wishing you could be there too. And now I can take you anywhere.”

Your heart is pounding, helpless childlike exhilaration. “Where are we going?”

“Clarence House in London.”

London: it’s another world, a distant planet, a constellation whose name you don’t know, the lost city of Atlantis.“Clarence House? Is that a hotel?”

“It’s a royal residence,” Aemond says, amused. “It’s officially the home of the Queen Mother, but the whole family goes to Balmoral in Scotland every summer, and while they’re gone they often rent out one wing to guests, not just anyone, trusted people like distant cousins or longtime, aristocratic friends. And the Targaryens…”

“You’re marrying Christabel, and she’s nobility. So you’re basically nobility now too.”

“Yes,” Aemond admits, a little guiltily, perhaps. “But you’re the person I’m inviting.”

“And Cadi.”

Now he’s genuinely puzzled. “Of course. We couldn’t leave her behind.”

Maybe I can handle this. Maybe I can make this work.

And you climb onto your tiptoes to circle your arms around the back of his neck, embracing him, thanking him, thinking: Christabel will have his ring, his last name, his family’s mansion, his acquiescent kiss at the altar of the Chapel of Saint Honoratus of Amiens…but I have what he’s made of, dreams, soul, bones in the abyss of an ocean of blood. Maybe that’s enough.

Maybe.

~~~~~~~~~~

First class, cheerful stewardesses, an array of magazines purchased from a gift shop in New Orleans International Airport: the National Enquirer and Food & Wine for you, The Face and Smithsonian for Aemond, and National Geographic Kids and Zoobooks for Cadi. The Zoobooks animal this month is the eagle, how quintessentially American. You are served antipasto Italiano, shrimp cocktail, Perrier, and champagne (Cadi gets a Shirley Temple) over the Atlantic Ocean. Aemond shows you and Cadi how to chew gum to pop your ears as the pressure builds to pain. When there is turbulence and he leans in close to tell you everything is fine, Aemond smells like Wrigley’s Doublemint, cologne, Marlboro cigarettes like the logo on his red and white jacket. You press your palm to the cool window, and clouds float by through the gaps between your fingers. The world is older than anything you could fathom; the world is brand new.

There is a black limousine waiting outside Terminal 3 of Heathrow Airport. The driver gets out to load the sparse luggage: Aemond’s teal duffle bag, a frayed and battered rolling suitcase that you borrowed from your mother, a Super Mario Bros. backpack that you found for Cadi at Kmart. Aemond doesn’t have much time to spare, only 4 days, practically a long weekend; but it feels like an eternity stretches out in front of you as the limousine zooms through the narrow, winding streets of downtown London, Starship’s We Built This City piping from the radio. You have never had more than a few uninterrupted hours with Aemond before. Now you will have a hundred.

The London air is cool, grey, misty; fresh rainwater bleeds into puddles, dark pools of mirrorlike reflections. With the windows rolled down and clean slate-colored air unfurling in your lungs, Aemond points to the landmarks you pass: Gunnersbury Park, Chiswick House and its gardens, cathedrals, museums, shopping districts, centuries-old cemeteries, stations of the London Underground, the River Thames, Hyde Park, the Ritz Hotel, Buckingham Palace, Saint James’ Palace, and at last Clarence House. It is a boxy white four-story townhouse with columns at the entranceway that remind you of the Targaryens’ estate on the shore of Lake Verret, the beautiful yet temporary home they call The Last Desire.

Aemond says that the entire first floor will be yours for the duration of your stay. There is the Lancaster Room, red and gold, and the Morning Room of creams and weak watery blue. There is the Library, the Dining Room, and the vibrantly pink Horse Corridor named for its ample equine paintings and sculptures; Cadi immediately proclaims this to be the best part of the house. She lingers in the hallway examining the art pieces as you and Aemond proceed to the Garden Room, which looks out upon a sea of lavender and shrubs meticulously shaped into a maze no higher than your waist. It has a golden harp and a grand piano, and a vast bed large enough for at least five people, in your estimation. I wonder if Aemond has ever tried that, you think distractedly. I wonder if there are temptations I can’t satisfy for him.

“You and Cadi can have this room,” Aemond says. He keeps wincing and bringing his hand up to the left side of his face; you doubt he’s even aware of it. “I’ll sleep on one of the couches.” Of course he will; Cadi thinks you’re just friends, and she’s aware he’s getting married to someone else. He knew exactly what it would mean when he bought a passport for her. “Queen Elizabeth and her husband Philip lived here before she ascended to the throne. They loved it so much that at first they refused to move to Buckingham Palace, which is the traditional residence of the reigning monarch. But their insolence was worn down. No one gets to break the rules.”

I shouldn’t be in this place, you keep thinking as you gaze around at the portraits on the wall, the stiff unnatural photographs of royals, the vases, the chandeliers, the fireplaces, the plush intricate rugs, the garden on the other side of the windows. People like me don’t belong here. “Aemond, are you alright?”

“It’s my eye,” he confesses with an uneasy, apologetic smirk. “Sometimes flights…the altitude changes…it aggravates the nerve damage. It’s like needles in my skull. But I’ll be okay.”

“You fly a lot for work, don’t you?” You hurt yourself for Viserys, in body and soul.

“I do,” he agrees. He unzips his duffle bag and produces a bottle of Percocet. “Why do you think I carry these around?”

“Take one,” you say. “Lie down, rest. Cadi and I can entertain ourselves for a few hours.”

He’s relieved, he’s grateful. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely. You can even borrow the bed.”

“Back between your sheets, huh?” Aemond says, in pain but smiling through it. He draws a semicircle from the part in your hair down to your chin, a weightless sweep of his fingertips like a kind breeze. “You are incurable. You can’t resist me.”

“I have my own scheme in mind.”

“Do you?”

“Yes.” You grab the front of his Marlboro jacket, appropriate for the overcast London weather. He belongs here, this house, this city, this way of life. He wasn’t made for the primordial heat of the swamplands. You fold into him, close enough to tease, to quicken his heartbeat and momentarily clear the wounded furrows from his brow. “I want my pillows to smell like you. I want to breathe you in all night. It’s how I sleep best.”

“I’ll try not to disappoint,” Aemond says, a little stunned; but he’s elated too. For a moment, you’ve distracted him from his suffering entirely. “I’ll roll around all over them. I will mar the bedding irrevocably, the Queen Mother will never invite me back.” And he watches as you leave, his gaze transfixed and meditative and—more than anything else—hopeful.

“Hey, honey,” you say when you find Cadi in the Horse Corridor, poking a 100-year-old oil painting that she is definitely not supposed to be touching. “Let’s go explore and grab some dinner. Aemond isn’t feeling great, but we’ll hang out with him later.”

“Is it his face?”

You are startled. She knows so much. “Yeah, actually, it is.”

“He showed me,” Cadi says casually, still peering up at the horse; and you remember the day when he took her out to the front yard after she said she wished you were more like her friends’ mothers. “He even let me touch it. Radical, right? It’s so gross, but super cool too.”

Aemond couldn’t stand for me to see how he was maimed, but he forced himself to endure it for Cadi. “What did he tell you?”

“That I should appreciate having a good mom, because not all parents treat their kids right. He said his dad let his eye get crushed. And he told me he’d bet $1 million that you’d snap someone’s neck if they hurt me like that.”

You reach out to skim your fingers through her dark disheveled hair, smiling faintly, fondly. Cadi doesn’t seem to mind. “He wasn’t wrong.”

“Can we get fish and chips?”

“Totally. I have 50 British pounds in my wallet, I assume that’s enough for dinner.”

“Wow! How much is 50 pounds in dollars?”

“I have no idea,” you say. “Let’s go spend them.”

~~~~~~~~~~

In the evenings, you, Cadi, and Aemond gather around the television in the Lancaster Room and help yourself to the extensive VHS collection stocked for guests. You let Cadi pick: Raiders Of The Lost Ark, The Terminator, Firestarter, the Karate Kid, Aliens. You make popcorn in the extravagant kitchen in the basement of Clarence House and the three of you devour bowlfuls of it as you giggle on the couch, engulfed with throw pillows and playfully kicking at each other beneath the blankets. One night at Cadi’s request you bake Betty Crocker’s Party Rainbow Chip cupcakes with mix purchased at a Tesco down the street; on another you make hot chocolate to sip from antique tea cups. Each day, Aemond has new destinations picked out to tour. You ride the Underground like true Londoners to the Hampton Court Palace, the British Museum, Westminster Abbey, the Natural History Museum, Big Ben, Trafalgar Square, Tower Bridge, the National Gallery, the Kew Gardens, Imperial College where Aemond received the petroleum engineering degree he never wanted.

As he shows you the classrooms where he attended lectures and seminars—you aren’t sure what the difference is, though you can sense that there is one—Aemond doesn’t talk about math or oil drilling. Instead, he tells you and Cadi about the people he learned about in the history classes he managed to slip into his exacting schedule like splinters into flesh: Sir Harold Gillies who pioneered plastic surgery in his treatment of World War I veterans, Phillis Wheatley who was enslaved as a child and became a renowned poet and abolitionist, Boudicca who led a rebellion against the Roman invaders and upon her defeat succumbed to some tragic, enigmatic doom. Aemond loves stories like this, you can see the light that sparks into the crystalline blue of his right eye. There is nothing he deems more heroic than people who took circumstances beyond their control and made something worthwhile out of them.

The night before the flight back to New Orleans, you’re staring at the crown molding of the Garden Room as Cadi snores softly from the other end of the massive bed and silvery moonlight covers the world. You can’t stop your thoughts from roiling like the North Sea; you can’t stop thinking about desks and chairs and books and clever blue-blooded girls jotting down in their notebooks not cake orders but mathematical equations or dates of conquest. When you breathe in the smoke and cologne Aemond left on your pillows, it tastes dark and forbidden. You climb out of the bed, roomy Bob Dylan t-shirt, pink cotton shorts, hair loose and wild, bare feet.

He is outside pacing around the sundial in the center of the garden, puffing on a Marlboro cigarette and pondering the full moon. “Can’t sleep?” Aemond asks, exhaling smoke as he glances over at you.

“You must think I’m stupid.”

“What?” He stops pacing. “Why?”

“Imperial College,” you say. “And the sorts of people who go to places like that. You must have known a lot of women who could recite Shakespear and name all the kings of England, all of Jupiter’s moons. Things I never learned. Things that I have no use for. I don’t write books or design machines or study the secrets of the universe. I bake cupcakes.”

“And they’re brilliant,” Aemond says, smiling. “I don’t think you’re stupid.”

“No?”

“No,” Aemond insists. “I think that if you’d been born where I was, you would have done far more with it.”

“Aemond…” You walk across the wet cobblestones to meet him by the sundial. It’s been raining again. The night air is chilly, foggy, painting you with goosebumps. “You still have time to become who you want to be.”

“No. I don’t.”

It’s coming from somewhere, distant but still audible, a parked car or a nearby building: Kyrie by Mr. Mister. Aemond chuckles, flicks the end of his cigarette into the lavender bushes—surely against the rules—and takes your hands in his.

“I remember this,” he says as he dances with you slowly, clumsily; you don’t know the steps. Still, you don’t want him to stop. “In your kitchen.”

He remembers everything. “Right before we went to Olive Garden for the first time.”

He sighs, pretending to be exasperated. “Of course that’s the part you committed to memory.”

“I’ve held onto a few other details too.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Like how small the back seat of your Audi Quattro is.”

“A limousine would be far more comfortable. I should invest in one.”

You laugh as he twirls you and you trip over your own feet; he pulls you upright before you can fall to the slick cobblestones. And you think: This is real. No matter what happens between him and anyone else, what we have is safe and extraordinary and real.

“I’m glad you’re here, Cupcake,” Aemond murmurs through your hair, holding you without seeking more. “You and Cadi.”

You want him again, or you’re so close to wanting him that the line is less of a boundary than a quagmire, indistinct edges and quicksand that can drag you down to drown in it. “I never knew that this was possible. Thank you, Aemond.”

“It can be like this all the time.”

Not all the time, you think, knowing that there will always be Jade Dragon, the Targaryens, the stock market, the world, the past and the future, Christabel. But some of it.

Is that enough?

~~~~~~~~~~

Willis agreed to you and Aemond taking Cadi out of the country on one condition: that you return her to him the second you arrive back in Napoleonville. It’s late Tuesday afternoon when the plane’s wheels hit the runway and squeal to a halt. Aemond has left his red Audi in the Park-and-Ride lot. You collect the car and soar west on Route 10 into the red-gold horizon, chasing the setting sun.

“Daddy!” Cadi bellows when she throws open the front door of the Assumption Parish Sheriff’s Office, waving his gift bag excitedly. Inside is a refrigerator magnet, several packages of McVitie’s Digestives in different flavors, and a miniature red-coated Queen’s Guard to keep on his desk, perpetually covered with disorganized papers and crumbs from innumerable desserts. From her poster on the wall, Heather Locklear simpers at you. At the center of the dartboard, poor Tommy Lee is impaled in four different places.

“Comment ca va, cherie?!” Willis opens his arms to hug Cadi when she barrels into him. He guffaws, his eyes are shiny; he has missed her. “Ya had a real good time, I reckon?”

“It was totally tubular. But I’m glad I’m home now. Can I get a horse? His name is Patches and I love him.”

“Huh? What the hell ya need a horse for?” He peeks around Cadi to look at you, a curious blue gaze beneath the thick dark bangs of his mullet. “What’s she talkin’ ‘bout, sugar?”

Beside you, Aemond groans irritably. Then you hear a voice from one of the holding cells, almost always empty: “Hey, cake lady.”

“Aegon?!” you and Aemond say at once, and sure enough, when you check the last holding cell there he is: unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt, blue shorts, rainbow flip flops, hair like he’s been in a hurricane, a new eyebrow piercing.

Aemond asks Willis: “What did he do?”

Willis picks up a clipboard from his cluttered desk and begins reading. “Possession with intent to distribute cocaine—”

“I told you, I wasn’t distributing anything! It was for me!”

“Aegon, shut up,” Aemond pleads.

“Possession with intent to distribute marijuana, possession of drug paraphernalia, possession of methamphetamine less than 28 grams, operatin’ a vehicle while intoxicated, possession of MDMA, possession of alcoholic beverages in a motor vehicle, operatin’ a vehicle with a suspended license, resistin’ an officer…” Willis flips the page. “Speedin’, reckless drivin’, disturbin’ the peace while in an intoxicated condition, possession with intent to distribute Xanax, theft—”

“What the hell did you steal?!” Aemond demands.

“Burritos. I forgot my wallet at home.” Now Aegon is indignant. “But I saidI’d get them back! They didn’t need to call anybody about it!”

“Aegon, Taco Bell does not offer payment plans!”

“I can release him to ya, I guess,” Willis tells Aemond in a slow drawl.

“I really appreciate that. I’m so sorry about him, I’m absolutely mortified, I’ll pay whatever fines you want—”

“Wait, no,” Aegon says, panicked. His hands are gripped around the iron bars. “I don’t want to leave.”

Aemond stares at him. “You’re asking to stay in jail…?”

“I can’t go home. Stephanie’s there.”

“Of course she’s there. You knew she was flying in for the wedding.”

“Please let me stay here until she goes back to Monaco.”

“Definitely not. How’s everything else?”

“There’s something wrong with one of the Lake Verret rigs. Viserys mentioned a…a…I don’t remember, a dirt dump or something.”

“A mud pump?!”

“Yeah! That’s it. That’s what he said. It exploded.”

“Fuck,” Aemond hisses, then remembers that Cadi’s still there. She gives him a sly grin. You messed up, she means. Aemond looks to you, apologetic, disappointed. “I’m going to have to drop you off and then head straight home. There are messes to be mopped up.”

“No,” Aegon moans as Willis unlocks the holding cell and then wrestles him out of it when Aegon resists. “No, I’m a felon! I’m a danger to the public!”

“Don’t,” Aemond snaps, and this time his brother listens.

You say goodbye to Cadi—she barely notices—but as you go to follow Aemond and Aegon out of the Sheriff’s Office, she has a question. “Aemond?”

He stops. “Yeah, Cadi?”

“Can I go to the wedding?”

“Weddin’?!” Willis exclaims. “Already?!”

“Not mine,” you say.

“You really want to go?” Aemond asks Cadi with some reticence. But he seems to be considering it.

“Well, yeah. Mom said she and Amir are going. You’ll be there. Lots of cake will be there. And I’ve never been to a wedding before. I want to see what it’s like.”

Aemond turns to you, then to Willis, searching for permission. “It’s alright with me,” Willis says. “As long as someone there is keepin’ an eye on her.”

“It’s your choice,” you tell Cadi. “If you’re interested, I have no objections. But you have to be nice to Christabel.”

“Christabel?!” Willis says.

“That’s Aemond’s fiancée.” And there is a collective uncomfortable silence: Willis nodding slowly as he squints at you, Cadi chewing on her thumbnail, Aemond looking down at his Adidas sneakers, Aegon staring vacuously at the Heather Locklear poster on the wall.

With Aegon squeezed into the back seat, Aemond drops you off at the home Cadi calls the Fall-Down House. The new house hasn’t closed yet, but probably will in the next week. The adolescent gator is sunbathing in the last of the daylight in one corner of the yard; you can hear the pink Panasonic boombox inside playing Another One Bites The Dust.

“Ho, you’re back!” Amir cries, jubilant. He hugs you energetically, staining you with the flour on his hands; he’s been watching the bakery while you’ve been gone and keeping every cent of the profits in recognition of his labor, as agreed upon. “How was London?”

You give him his souvenir: a purple t-shirt with Princess Diana’s face on it. “Rainy. Wonderful.”

“Did you have any kinky sex in the royal grandma’s bed?”

“No,” you say, laughing. “But it was…I don’t know how to describe it. Calm. Normal. Easy. Like we could live that way forever.”

“So you’ve decided to be his Camilla.”

“Some moments I have. Other times I haven’t. But more and more, I just…” You try to decide what you mean. “The thought of giving him up feels impossible. And Christabel…they’re so distant with each other, so disconnected, so platonic. Their relationship doesn’t feel real. Maybe I can ignore it. Maybe this is the best I can hope for.”

Amir pushes his tortoiseshell glasses up the bridge of his nose and raises an eyebrow. “It might feel more real in three days.”

The rehearsal dinner is on Friday; the wedding is only 24 hours later.

~~~~~~~~~~

“You really should consider writing a cookbook, dear,” Alicent says from where she sits across from you. The dining room table is covered with flickering pink candles, bouquets of wildflowers, drinks garnished with cotton candy and Pop Rocks. Balloons bump against the ceilings, their long ribbons streaming down like the tentacles of a jellyfish. The stereo is thumping out Caught Up In You by 38 Special. Everything is pink and red: the colors of love. Yet just like at the engagement party, no one is talking about the couple getting married tomorrow. You could almost forget that there’s going to be a wedding. That makes it easier; and if denial is the terrain you live on now, so be it. That is far less agonizing than the alternative.

“Oh, no,” you demur, taking a sip of a cotton candy cocktail. You exchange a glance with Aemond, sitting several seats down from his mother. He is in a suit—black and white, fitted, faultless—and smiling, proud of you. “A book?! I couldn’t. Not in a million years.” I never even finished high school English.

“But all of my friends from home are captivated by your recipes, darling, and it would be so much easier if I could simply send them a copy of a cookbook rather than trying to describe every dish to them! Please consider it. Do you promise?”

“That I’ll think about it? Not too taxing a commitment. I suppose so.”

“Good,” Alicent chirps, then turns to whisper something to Criston, who drapes an arm briefly across her shoulders and gives her a reassuring little embrace. Amir is chatting with Aemond about San Franscisco. Christabel is talking to Helaena, who has been forced into a voluminous, magenta taffeta dress that she clearly despises; her chameleon Dreamfyre lurches around the table, occasionally stealing tastes of people’s food. Daeron, with Tessarion perched on the back of his chair, is trying to discuss something called seismic testing results with Viserys but getting ignored. Viserys is deep in conversation with Christabel’s father, the marquess, a large loud man whose booming voice drowns out everyone else. The two of them seem delighted, celebratory, very much in their own world. Their schemes have come at last to fruition. Christabel has several younger sisters in attendance—her bridesmaids—but no mother. You gather from pieces of dialogue you’ve overheard that her mother died when she was a child, a terrible and irreparable loss. Otto is so bored he’s flipping through a picture book about Kiribati. Aegon’s wife, Princess Stephanie of Monaco, is a headstrong, charismatic, and rather critical woman with short dark hair. She notifies Aegon each and every time he fails her, which happens frequently: You’re using the wrong fork. You missed a button on your shirt. You haven’t fucked me properly in over two years. You didn’t send flowers to my grandma’s funeral. This is evidently Aegon’s worst nightmare; he has disappeared upstairs in an effort to escape her.

Dinner is finished, and dessert has been brought by the servants. It turned out more like a crepe cake than a Napoleon cake—the layers of puff pastry didn’t want to fluff up as much as they should have—but no one seems to notice. This time, you and Amir knew the dress code expectations. You are both wearing black to fade into the backdrop like shadows, like distant memories. You are invited guests, but you are also locals, inferiors, recipients of charity.

“Where’s Aegon?” Helaena says. “He has to try this cake, it’s delicious! The cherry jam cuts the heaviness of the cream and pastry dough and makes it a perfect dessert for summer! And the color is delightful! It looks just like blood!”

“Where the hell is he?” Viserys demands, looking around, twisting in his chair. “It’s his brother’s rehearsal dinner, for Christ’s sake. One night of this importance and he can’t handle it? I swear to God, if he’s snorting or smoking anything up there I’ll have him committed to an institution—”

“I’ll find him,” you offer as you stand from the table. You have to visit the bathroom anyway, too many glitzy pink cocktails; two birds, one stone. You depart from the table and Aemond’s gaze follows you, a low heat that is building towards incineration, a baiting promise of dark euphoria that you can no longer pretend you don’t want desperately, defenselessly. Christabel gives you a sweet little wave. She is dripping in gold—dress, heels, jewelry—and seems happier tonight, more self-assured. Perhaps with the wedding so close, her trepidation concerning Aemond’s commitment has evaporated. Surely it is too late to call off the ceremony now. Tonight they feast, tomorrow they recite their vows, and then…

But no, you don’t think about the honeymoon. You will not allow yourself to. It can’t exist to you, and that is how you’ll survive this. Christabel will be in one universe, you in another, two timelines that never cross like something out of Star Trek. And the way she and Aemond interact is so impersonal, so untactile, that it is not so difficult to treat anything beyond chaste pecks on cheeks as an impossibility.

At the top of the staircase, Vhagar is lurking. She wags her long twiglike tail when she sees you and licks the knuckles of your left hand. You give her a pat on the head—and then several more when she whines as you try to leave—then at last she lopes off down the hallway.

Aegon is exactly where you’d assumed he’d be. He’s in his bedroom hunched over his computer and hammering furiously at the keyboard. There’s white powder on his fingers and in his thin mustache. On the screen, bizarrely, is what appears to be neon green grass and an ox-drawn wagon like the ones from the pioneer days. Sunfyre the ferret is stretched out across the bed napping, his angular face resting on his paws.

Aegon whirls around to face you. He is wearing a lime green satin suit but has forgotten to put on a shirt under it. “What? What? What do you want? I’m playing Oregon Trail. I have dysentery.”

“You have what…? Never mind, it’s not important. You need to come downstairs and eat some dessert. People are wondering where you are.”

“I’m busy.”

“If you don’t make an appearance on your own, Viserys will come looking for you. Also there are some Cap’n Crunch treats I left on the kitchen counter that you might be interested in.”

“Consider me tempted. I’ll be down momentarily.”

“You better be,” you tell Aegon, then retrace your steps back to the kitchen. Amir and Christabel are both there getting cans of Pepsi from the fridge and making very cumbersome small talk…or perhaps only Amir thinks it is that much of a burden. Christabel is chattering blithely away about different types of wildflowers. He gives you a look like Oh thank God, an excuse to escape and wastes no time heading back to the dining room.

“Did you notice what’s playing now?” he asks you just before he vanishes, then points towards the stereo in the grand foyer. You listen; it’s Money For Nothing by Dire Straits. “You think they know this song is about class warfare?”

“You should tell them,” you joke.

“Yeah, if I want to end up on Unsolved Mysteries.” Then Amir is gone.

“How are you doing?” you ask Christabel to be polite. You open the refrigerator and start hunting for your own can of Pepsi. “Excited? Nervous? You seem a little more relaxed than the last time I saw you. Are the wedding jitters finally dissipating?”

“They are,” she says, and when you glance back at her she is wearing a bashful sort of smile. It’s not an expression you can read. You resume digging through the refrigerator for a can of Pepsi; Amir and Christabel might have taken the last ones.

“That’s good,” you say noncommittally, hoping she’ll leave. But Christabel doesn’t leave. She seems to have something she needs to say. Just as you spy a lone can of Pepsi at the very back of the refrigerator and lean in to grab it, she proceeds to unburden herself.

“Well, you know, I was so concerned about me and Aemond before. I had no conviction that he especially liked me, and we never had anything to talk about, and he was so dreadfully undemonstrative…I was just beside myself, truly. I didn’t know what to do. But I feel much better about everything now. Norway was so good for us.”

Norway?

You close the refrigerator, your ice-cold Pepsi can clutched in your hand. You’re going cold all over. Slowly, you turn towards Christabel, glittering in her gold dress.

Norway???

“He took you on the North Sea trip.” You hear the words, but it doesn’t feel like you’ve said them. They sound flat and dazed.

“It’s a bit of a secret,” Christabel says; and again, her smile has no cruelty or sharp awareness in it, but her cheeks are pink. She’s blushing. What does she have to be embarrassed about? “My father doesn’t know. He wouldn’t approve. But I just felt…I felt ready, you know? I’m sure you understand what I mean. You aren’t so clinical and aloof about everything. I had to know if Aemond and I really had something between us before we got married.”

“You felt…ready?” Ready for what? Ready for WHAT, Christabel?

“I asked Aemond to take me with him. I begged, actually.” She giggles. “I won’t try to be proud about it! And finally he said yes. We stayed at a lovely hotel in Bergen, and during the day he would have to fly by helicopter out to the rigs, but at night…”

You’re staring blankly at her. You can’t believe what you think she’s going to say. Surely it must be something else, anything else—

“It wasn’t my plan to ever be intimate with a man before marriage, but sometimes…things change. Minds change, circumstances change. And I knew I wanted it. And it went so well! Now what do I have to be nervous about? All the uncertainties are resolved. Now we just sign the paperwork and start our lives together.”

He took her to Norway.

He slept with her in Norway.

“I hope it was just as good for him,” Christabel muses, a compulsive sort of oversharing. But she has had a few cocktails and she thinks you’re nonjudgemental and there’s probably not a single other soul she feels she can be truthful with…so why not the girl who got knocked up at prom and had a baby at seventeen? Surely she’s in no position to judge. “It’ll be even better once we can…you know. When we’re officially trying for a baby and there’s no need to worry about any precautions. I want Aemond to enjoy himself as much as possible. I want to be a good wife to him.”

You feel dizzy; you feel violently ill. And now you see everything: Aemond kissing her with his mouth open and ravenous, his hands between her legs, his hips pressed to hers, peeling off her clothes and learning how to make her moan, make her wet, make her come, and you think of how careful he must have been with her, a girl with no past, no ex-husband, no childbirth that nearly killed her, no stretchmarks and no baggage, just a smooth pristine rivulet of flesh that was so pure and uncontaminated it was weightless, and you can hear—though you don’t want to, though it feels like it will kill you—how tender he was, how encouraging, not a dominant who drinks down fantasies like a vampire sustained by blood but just a man, and a man who has at last found a woman he doesn’t need to grab, bite, bruise, handcuff to a bedpost to feel satisfied with.

He took her to Norway and he never told me.

You are saying something, and Christabel is nodding appreciatively, accepting the sage wisdom of a tarnished life. Your words don’t matter. They are folktales and charms, the croaks of bullfrogs, the whispers of the wind through Spanish moss, the Morse code of ripples in the water of the bayou. You are a novelty and your counsel is a souvenir; one day when she is living in California or Argentina or Australia or Alaska or her ancestral castle back in the U.K., Christabel will tell Aemond’s children: Once I met a nice single mom from Napoleonville Louisiana, and she told me to follow my heart and not let anyone shame me for wanting to be close with my soon-to-be husband.

Vhagar trots into the kitchen and begins nudging her massive head against Christabel’s bare knees. “Hi, big girl!” Christabel coos as she pets the blue merle Great Dane, clearly accustomed to this. “Who’s a giant gorgeous girl? You are!”

What did I expect? I knew they were getting married. I knew they were going to sleep together.

Yes, you knew it, but you hadn’t felt it, and now you have.

I can’t do this, you realize. I thought I could but I can’t.

“Christabel?” Alicent is calling like a windchime. “Darling, there are just a few more things we have to discuss before tomorrow, will you come back to the table please?”

“On my way!” Christabel replies obediently, and she gives you a quick, impulsive hug before vanishing.

I’m going to be sick. I’m going to have a heart attack. I’m going to drop dead right in the middle of this fucking kitchen.

Leaving your can of Pepsi forgotten on the countertop, you escape to the living room and then out the French doors into the garden. You run past the pool all the way to the pond full of multicolored fish you once hadn’t known were koi. You drop to your knees, then lie down on the cold cobblestones, and when it hits you again—Aemond touching her, Aemond loving her—you rupture into sobs that are breathless and shuddering. You try to stifle the noise with your palms; you clasp them over your mouth and smother your wails. It feels like you’re being ripped apart; it feels like you’re in labor, but there is no end, no consolation of a new life, no point at which your body chooses whether you live or die. It is only a razored wheel that turns in you again and again and again, shredding muscle and splitting bones.

There is a hand on your shoulder; someone is patting it awkwardly. You look up to see Aegon standing there. “Sorry,” he says. “You look…not good.”

“I’m really not good. I’m fucking terrible.” Your face is soaked and stinging with tears, your voice is strangled.

“Do you want some coke?”

“No, Aegon.”

“Do you want a ride home?”

“From you? Yeah, for sure, getting impaled by a stop sign would be a great next move for me.”

“I’m totally fine to drive.”

“Can you just pull Amir aside without anyone else noticing and tell him to say his goodbyes and then meet me in the driveway, please? He drove me here. I need him to take me home.”

“Okay,” Aegon says, and then: “Thanks for the Cap’n Crunch Treats. Thanks for remembering something I like and caring enough to bring more. No one really does that around here.” And he’s gone before you can think of a reply.

To get to the driveway without going though the house, you climb over a 5-foot wrought iron fence swarmed with rosebushes and ivy, no easy feat in a black Kmart dress and matching ballet flats. You acquire a dozen shallow gashes on your hands and forearms, but make it to the Ford Escort just in time for Amir to meet you under the full, cloudless moon, tossing his car keys from one hand to the other.

“What did—?” Then he sees your face. He gasps, knowing how bad it is. He’s never seen you like this. He didn’t know it was possible for you to look like this. He unlocks the Ford Escort and joins you inside, turning the key in the ignition. “What the fuck did Aemond do to you?!”

“I have to go home. It’s over, it’s over, I can’t do this.”

Amir is spinning out of the driveway. “Did he hurt you, did he—?!”

“He fucked Christabel in Norway,” you say, sobbing uncontrollably. “And I know I have no right to be jealous, I know we don’t have a conventional relationship, I thought I could handle this but I can’t. I can’t stop picturing him with her, and hearing it, and I…I…I don’t understand why this hurts so goddamn bad.”

“Babe,” Amir says gently, a palm on your trembling thigh. “You’re in love with him. That’s why.”

“This is killing me,” you whisper. You’re shaking all over. You feel like you’re battling for every breath.

Your best friend—your only friend—is quiet for a long time. “Don’t go tomorrow,” Amir finally says. “You don’t need to see the wedding. You shouldn’t put yourself through that. I’ll go, I can handle the cake alone, especially if Cadi’s with me to help with carrying plates and stuff.”

You don’t say anything. You stare out the nightscape window and mop tears from your face with McDonald’s napkins you find in Amir’s glovebox.

“Did you hear me? I don’t think you should go to the wedding tomorrow.”

“I won’t,” you agree hoarsely. “I can’t watch them have my wedding.”

“Willis is dropping Cadi off in the morning, right? I’ll pick her and the cake up from your house and bring her back when it’s over. You can tell her whatever you want…you have another cake order to work on, you’re sick, you’re injured, your mom needs a ride to the doctor, whatever.”

“Okay,” you whimper.

“Hey, look at me.”

You do, sniffling, shivering, in agony.

“You don’t deserve this. You deserve better than this.”

I don’t think I do. I think if I did, it would have happened by now. But you know Amir will not accept this answer. “Okay,” you say again, trying to make yourself believe it.

In the gravel driveway of your sinking house, Amir asks if you want him to say. You tell him no, you want to be alone, you have to think, you have to plan. Really, you just don’t want anyone to see you this shattered. It’s humiliating, it’s like you’re an animal, like something less than human needing to licks its wounds in a dark place. You walk into the Fall-Down House and flip on the kitchen light, artificial yellow luminance. You don’t start the air conditioner. You don’t touch the Panasonic boombox. You stand there mindlessly in the sounds of the bayou: cicada screams, owl hoots, the far-away hissing of gators. The wedding cake is in the refrigerator, banana bread, cream cheese frosting, a kaleidoscope of wildflowers painted by Amir’s expert hand. He’s leaving. Aemond’s leaving. Everyone is leaving.

There are tires crunching on gravel in the driveway, there are footsteps on the sloping porch. He is able to yank the door open because you never lock it. He blows in like a storm that kills.

“What the hell happened?!” Aemond shouts. “Why did you leave?! You didn’t even have the decency to say goodbye to me—”

“You took her to Norway.”

Aemond’s face goes from furious to lost. “Why would she tell you that?”

Not That’s not true, not Let me explain, not It didn’t mean anything. Your stomach sinks, a basket full of stones. “Because she thinks I’m her friend.”

“It wasn’t…” Aemond sighs. “It was a last-minute thing, and it was her idea. She really, really wanted to go to Norway, and I figured…you know…what’s the difference between the wedding night and a few weeks before it? So yeah, it happened—”

“Oh God,” you whisper, starting to sob again.

“And then I came home to your house, to your doorstep, because I missed you the entire time. The entire time, every hour, every minute, and there are no exceptions, okay, are you listening to me? I took her to Norway because I had to. I took you and Cadi to Clarence House because I wanted to. What I do with her is a reflex, an obligation, I’m on autopilot, I’m thinking of you to get myself hard, I don’t know how else to express to you how completely different these situation are in every single goddamn way.”

“She said it was good,” you say huskily, tears snaking down your cheeks that are raw from trying to dab them dry.

“Of course it was good for her!” Aemond flings back. “I’ve had a lot of casual sex, I know how to make women come, it’s a math equation, it doesn’t mean we’re soulmates!”

“I know I have no claim to you, but I…” You gaze out the kitchen window, dark and still, nothing to see but stars and lighting bugs. “I can’t do this.”

Aemond asks, kindly now: “What do you want?”

I want to not have to beg you to choose me. “I want this to be over.”

“No,” he says, panicking. “No you don’t.”

“I do.”

“You’re going to give this up as soon as it gets painful? I’m not worth fighting for, what I can do for you and Cadi isn’t worth a little pain? Because I’m no stranger to it either. You think I’m not hurting, you think nothing ever keeps me awake at night?”

“You could leave your prison any time you want to. But instead you built a brand new one around me.”

“You don’t understand what the kind of responsibility I’m beholden to feels like.”

“Yeah, a town named after Napoleon is the right place for you,” you seethe, enraged. “You’ve felt so fucking small your whole life that now you’re starving for what it tastes like to be in control. But I can’t let you destroy me. I can’t let my daughter grow up watching me settle for less than I need from a man. She’ll learn to live the same way.”

“I can’t believe you’re doing this.”

“Aemond,” you say, and you wait until he looks at you. “Do you really want children?”

When he answers, his voice frayed and his right eye misty. “I love Cadi.”

“That’s not what I asked. Do you want children of your own with Christabel?”

“I have to,” he says, miserable.

“No,” you plead. “You cannot have a baby with that girl. You can’t, Aemond. You are going to ruin so many lives, not just your own.”

“I have to,” he says again.

“Then get out. Viserys owns you, and Viserys wouldn’t want you here. He would want you back at the mansion impregnating your child bride.”

“She’s a legal adult, she’s 19, and she wants me, she begs for me, I’m not twisting her arm—”

“Then go!” you roar, striking him hard, both palms to his chest. Aemond doesn’t budge. “Get out, go home, go have kids you won’t give a fuck about just like Viserys never cared about you. Go repeat the cycle all over again. I’m done. I can’t be a part of it.”

“I won’t be like him,” Aemond swears.

“You will be. You already are.” You shove him again, but still, Aemond doesn’t move. You know what he’s waiting for, you know the right word to say. But you can’t get it to launch from your lips; it catches in your throat like a blade through the windpipe. “Get out!”

Your fingers hook into the lapels of his black suit jacket and stay there; you can’t let go. You’re both breathing heavily; you can hear it, you can feel the heat in the air. You keep his jacket gripped in your hands, he can move no closer, no farther away. When he leans into you, you breathe in his smoke and cologne; when his hands cradle your face, you feel the benevolent power that once gave you peace.

I want him. I need him. Not forever, no, I understand that’s not possible. But just for right now.

You look up at him and Aemond kisses you, his lips and tongue claiming you like untouched land; he puts down roots, he slits the jugulars of trespassers.

Here. Now.

You drag him down with you. When you drop to the floor, you strike the back of your skull against the scuffed, sloping wood and bite back a yelp.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Aemond says, though it isn’t his fault; he reaches for your head and cushions it with his right hand. “Are you okay?”

“I’m okay.” You’re tearing open his white shirt; tiny translucent buttons go flying in every direction. Your palms glide over his chest, up to his throat, to his jaw, to knot in his hair. He reaches beneath your dress to slide off your panties, then buries his fingers between your legs. You moan helplessly, needfully, spreading your thighs wider for him. No man has ever been able to do this to you before: to make you forget everything, to make you feel—if only for a moment—beloved, worthy, chosen. He’s kissing you like he knows this is the last time. You’re touching the left side of his face and he doesn’t even notice, he won’t realize until later that there was a time when he was cured.

Aemond pulls his wallet out of the pocket of his suit pants, flips it open, and roots through it until he finds a condom. He starts to rip it open, moving with desperate speed, dire impatience.

“No, don’t,” you say. “Please don’t. I want all of you.” And I won’t get another chance.

He exhales in deep, ecstatic relief; he wants it too. You’re soaked, you’re ready, you’re aching for him like mending bones. He eases himself into you, gasping, and you are stunned by how good it feels already, how close you are, every rope of nerves and muscle glimmering with an opening heat that builds higher and higher, the reverse of a tornado finally touching down on earth. His hands are linked with yours and pinned to the floor above your head; he’s kissing you, he’s moaning into you, he thrusts deeper and harder when you beg him to do it.

Aemond untangles one hand from yours and reaches low to stroke you. Your fingers find his again and catch him, capture him, bring his hand back to the floor where it can be entwined with yours and his weight can hold it to the scraped wood. “I don’t need it, I’m close. Stay here. Stay with me.”

“I’m here,” he whispers, panting; and the friction of his body against yours overtakes you, and when you come it is blinding, bone-breaking, a whirlpool that traps you for what feels like over a minute, soaring highs punctuated by the illusion of fading over and over again until you think you can’t stand it, and only then does it end, Aemond collapsing on the floor beside you covered in your sweat and your wetness, you feeling the remnants of him bleeding down your bare thighs.

You drag yourself upright—muscles sore in your belly and back and thighs—and roll onto your knees so you can stagger to your feet. You tug on your panties so he doesn’t drip out of you onto the floor. Then you straighten the skirt of your black dress, turn on the little pink Panasonic boombox—it’s a U2 song, Where The Streets Have No Name—and begin washing a muffin tin that was left in the sink.

Aemond stands up and runs a hand through his hair, getting his bearings. He looks down at his pants and fixes his zipper and belt. He tries to close his shirt and then remembers you tore off the buttons. They lie scattered across the floor, useless.

As you scrub the muffin tin, you hear Aemond’s footsteps behind you. His palms begin at the small of your back and then skate around your waist to encircle you.

“Stop,” you tell him; and immediately his hands fall away. Aemond waits for you to say more, but you don’t. You don’t even look at him.

He walks to where the kitchen becomes the living room—you can tell by the creaks in the floor—and again, he waits. After a while he says: “I’ll call you when the new house is ready.”

“No. Have Criston handle it. I don’t ever want to talk to you again.”

“You get that I’m in love with you, right?” Aemond forces out, and when at last you turn to him there is the metallic glistening of tears on his right cheek. “I never feel this way about anyone. I don’t know how to handle it, I didn’t even know it was possible. But it’s true.”

“It’s not enough,” you say simply, and resume scrubbing the muffin tin.

He waits in silence, thirty seconds, a minute, two minutes. Then the door opens and shuts—like the jaws of a beast—and he’s gone.

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond x you #aemond one eye #aemond x reader #aemond #aemond fanfiction #hotd aemond

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sugarsweetmaya · 16 days

Text

♡ Sukuna as a father?

Warning : None! Just Sukuna being a good father.

Sukuna never really saw himself as a father. That was until he met you and all that sweet stuff. He couldn't help himself I mean like he saw how caring and motherly you were.

His baby girl would just be spinning around in her little princess dress and then she would just stop and ask him these random questions that popped into her head.

I mean like she would just ask him the most questions it was crazy and all he could do was sit there and just try to answer them to the best of his ability. He would always try to trick her into paying attention to something else like her dolls or the princess movie on the TV which would work but not for long.

"Dada why are you so tall?" "Dada why is your hair pink?" "Dada why do you have those lines on your arm?" - And she would just keep going asking questions about literally everything she could lay her 4 year old eyes on.

He would just sit and listen, he wouldn't get annoyed though surprisingly. He never got mad at his little girl because she was just curious. But his little girl being so curious and asking questions didn't just apply to him, It applied to other people too.

There was this one time at the store you, Sukuna and of course your little girl were shopping for things and she asked a simple question to this man and the man straight up yelled at her. She even started crying leading you to pick her up and comfort her.

Let's just say that man didn't see another day on earth after that because Sukuna just couldn't and wouldn't tolerate anyone yelling at his child. He didn't kill him in front of you and you guys' child but he did find where the men lived later that evening.

This isn't proofread so..if there's mistakes I'm sorry I'm like half asleep.

#sukuna #sukuna jjk #jjk fluff #ryomen sukuna #sukuna ryomen #sukuna ryoumen x reader #sukuna ryoumen x you #jjk men #jujutsu kaisen

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writtenfromhawkins · 2 years

Text

hoax.

ship: steve harrington x fem!reader.

summary: when his father lets him know his presence is expected at a company dinner party, steve blurts out he’d be taking his girlfriend. the problem? he’s very single. now stuck in a lie, he goes to you for help.

word count: 2.7k.

warnings: lots of pining, some curse words, mentions of migraines, steve’s dad sucks.

authors note: cliché, but i am simply a slut for the fake dating trope.

part two

let’s fall in love for the night.

“Are you fucking insane?”

“Come on sweetheart,” he begs, reaching over the counter to grab ahold of your hands, his gaze never faltering. “I can’t go alone.”

“You could,” you point out, wiggling out of his grasp, “if you just told the truth. “

"I’m already the loser son with a dead-end job.” Steve waves his arms around, motioning to the racks of videos in the dingy store as if to say see? “I can’t be the loser son with a dead-end job and no date.”

And just like that you falter, any arguments—and you have many—die before they can leave your lips. You hate that your good, kind, funny, absolutely incredible friend felt like anything but. You’d never verbalize it but you despised his father for being the only one capable of bringing that side out of him, turning him from the man you admired into the needy, desperate-for-acceptance and attention boy you barely remembered from high school.

“If I go...”

It’s a hypothetical, not a real answer but still, your words inflate him. He stands up straight, shoulders back, handsome features pulling into a grin.

“Steve...”

Before you can react, he’s up and sliding his long body across the counter. “Oh, sweetheart,” he coos, coming to a stop in front of you. Big hands reach out, grabbing ahold of each side of your face to pull you close and press a kiss to your forehead. “You are an angel, a goddess really, heaven sent.”

If his praise warms you, his lips set you on fire, just enough to make your brain go fuzzy and have you ready to agree to whatever he wants but you stop yourself, doing your best to hold on to some semblance of self-control.

This is your friend, one of your closest, and one you maybe have some confusing feelings towards. You don’t like-like him, no way. But, yeah, your heart would beat just a little faster when you saw him and, sure, when he’d touch you—God, was he affectionate—sometimes you’d get butterflies. He was also your ultimate confidant, the one you could complain to about your parents or rant to about your latest shit date. He was a safe place, a non-judgmental ear, someone you could always rely on. Again, confusing.

You worry the ruse he was suggesting would run the risk of crossing a metaphorical line, something you may not be able to come back from.

“Steve,” you say again, hoping to grab his attention, “Stevie, that wasn’t a yes.” His smile falls and you resist the urge to backtrack. “I was trying to ask what we’d be doing. Like... if I agree, what am I actually agreeing to?”

Just like that, he perks up again because you are considering it. That’s progress and he’s grateful; you were the only person he felt comfortable enough asking. Robin would just laugh at him, he could hear it now—like anyone would believe that, dingus, she’d say before bursting into giggles. Nancy was complicated, came along with too much baggage and too many hurt feelings. But you? With your kind eyes and warm demeanor, he felt like he could go to you for anything.

“It’ll be an easy night, I promise,” Steve assures you, desperate for you to believe him. “I’ll make up some excuse so we can just meet my parents there. We won’t even have to deal with them that long. Really. I’d just need you to tolerate them for dinner and, uh, you know... act like you like me.” He throws it out there like it’s nothing, like the thought of that doesn’t make him feel some type of way. “You can wear a pretty dress and get a nice meal out of it. And, I swear, I’ll owe you big time.”

You’re quiet, pretending to consider the proposition—as if you could ever say no to him. “Can we get ice cream after?”

With no warning, he’s reaching out for you again, pulling you into an embrace. “Whatever you want.” He means it too.

—

When Steve shows up at your door a week later, you can barely contain your relief when you see officially that you two match. Well enough anyway. Getting outfit details out of the man had been akin to getting teeth pulled—long and painful.

“What’re you wearing?” You’d asked one night, phone cradled between your ear and shoulder, cord fully extended as you dug through your closet.

“Uh... jeans and a t-shirt?” His answer had come out like a question.

“What?” You’d laughed. “Not right now, Steve. I meant for the dinner.”

“Oh!” You couldn’t see it, but he slapped his forehead, face flushed. “Right, yeah. Duh. It’s supposed to be fancy so like... a suit and tie.”

“Color?”

“Black.”

“Black,” you’d repeated.

“Is that bad?” Steve’s voice betrayed him, he sounded panicked.

“No, no!” You were quick to reassure him. “That’s classic. What color shirt?”

“Blue.”

You paused, waiting for further details that don’t come. “What kind of blue?”

Steve scoffed. “What do you mean what kind of blue? Blue is blue.”

“It’s really not,” you pointed out, arms crossing. “Is it dark or light?”

“Why does this even matter?” He didn’t mean to be short with you. Really, he didn’t. But anything involving his dad was enough to set him on edge. An already short fuse combined with genuine confusion didn’t make for the moment peasant conversation.

“So we can match. We’re supposed to look like a couple, right?” You chose to ignore his tone for the sake of keeping the peace.

Like a couple. “Oh,” he breathed. “Right, sorry. It’s dark.”

You’re about to ask if he meant more midnight blue or something a tad lighter but you stop yourself. No point, you could make that work.

And you did. The little number you’d picked out was navy, slinky, and fell to mid-thigh. With enough skin exposed to keep it interesting but just conservative enough to satisfy the stuffy businessmen you’d surely encounter.

“Hey,” you greet him, leaning against the door frame. You try to stop yourself but your eyes travel, taking in the perfectly coiffed hair, the broad shoulders, and the snug slacks. He cleaned up well.

The one imperfection—if you could even consider it that—is the loose tie hanging around his neck. He catches your gaze and lets out a dejected sigh. “Couldn’t get the damn thing tied and didn’t wanna ask my dad. Do you think...?” He trails off, sheepish.

You soften at the admission, happy to help with whatever he needed. “Of course,” you answer, stepping aside. “Come in. I gotta grab my purse anyway.”

He steps cautiously inside, taking the opportunity while you were busy to fully appreciate your attire. “I shoulda said it as soon you opened the door but you look incredible.” You were always beautiful, that was something he realized ages ago, but to see you dolled up for him was something new, something he thought he could get used to. “I’m gonna have the prettiest fake date there.”

You can’t help it, you preen at his praise. You were doing this for him, after all. You wanted him to be pleased, to think you looked nice. With your back to him, you’re able to hide just how much an effect those words have on you as you grab your back from an end table and slip the strap up your bare shoulder.

“Alright,” you say as you approach him, coming to a stop right in front of him, the toe of your heels just barely touching his Oxfords.

Almost hesitantly you reach out, hands taking hold of each end of the tie. It’s pretty, you decide. Navy with light blue and white flowers. You’re rusty but still, with minimal fumbling, you’re able to get a passable Windsor done. Carefully you tighten the knot, knuckles grazing his Adam's apple before your hands lower, smoothing the fabric down his chest to his sternum.

You hope he can’t tell your hands are shaking, he hopes you can’t feel how fast his heart is beating.

Satisfied, you take a step back, eyeing your work. “Looks pretty good to me.”

He nods in agreement. “S’perfect, sweetheart. Thank you.” A silence falls over you for a moment, it’s comfortable and nice, but Steve has to break it. “Ready to go?”

When you give the affirmative, he offers you his arm. You take it and soon he’s leading you out of your house to his BMW, opening the passenger side and getting you safely in the car before rushing around the other side, joining you.

—

When you pull up outside the banquet hall, Steve is quiet. Tentatively you glance over at him. Both hands are gripping the wheel so tight his knuckles are white, his shoulders tense, jaw clenched. You want to ask if he’s okay but before you can, he’s looking back at you, smiling although it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Let’s do this.” He doesn’t sound excited.

Steve is out of the car and making his way to your door before you even have your seatbelt undone. You thank him when he opens it, pulling the hem of your dress from where it’d ridden up on your thighs. His eyes follow your movements.

“Before we go in there, I just want you to know we can leave anytime, okay?” You’re doing him a favor, a major one, and he doesn’t want you uncomfortable, doesn’t want you in a bad situation just for his benefit.

You almost laugh, figuring that he’s being just a little dramatic but you refrain. “It’s just dinner, Steve. I promise I’ll be okay.”

He wants to point out you’ve never actually met either of his parents, making you woefully unprepared for what the night would entail. He wants to warn you, to protect you, but then you’re taking his hand in yours and any concern is forgotten.

—

That’s how you walked into the event: fingers interlaced, whispering to each other and Steve despised himself for how much he was enjoying it. You were his friend—strictly platonic. It should have felt weird or uncomfortable, but it didn’t. On the contrary, it felt nice, natural and he was hoping his parents wouldn’t see him, that he could keep the night just the two of you.

Those hopes are quickly dashed when his father, from across the fucking room, bellows out his name, waving. Steve can tell right then and there he’d been drinking and all he wants to do is turn you around and take you home but instead, he leads you right into the lion’s den.

He regrets it but it’s too late. “Mom, dad, this is...”

He doesn’t even get the chance to introduce you. His mother is squealing your name—he’s surprised she even remembers it—and is wrapping you in an embrace. It’s stiff, incredibly insincere and you don’t like it, but you smile anyway.

When she dropped her arms, you step back so you’re pressed tightly against Steve, his hand finding the small of your back. “Mr. and Mrs. Harrington, it’s so nice to finally meet you.”

“Oh,” his father breathes, “it’s nice to meet you too. We didn’t even think you existed, isn’t that right, honey?”

Wide-eyed, Mrs. Harrington almost looks apologetic. “We’ve just never seen you around the house.”

Steve grits his teeth, the irony in the comment not going unnoticed. They were never home enough to know what he had going on.

“More like we didn’t think a girlfriend could fit his ice cream shop budget.” He says it like it’s supposed to be funny. No one laughs.

“I don’t work at Scoops anymore, dad.” Steve sounds contrite when he reminds his father, but the older man simply waves him off.

You tug on Steve’s suit jacket, stopping him before he can say anything else. “Well, you have nothing to worry about, I’ve never been treated better. You really raised a perfect gentleman, you should be proud.” And they should. They ended up with an incredible son even if they did little to form him into the man he was now.

“I guess he was bound to inherit something from me.” Yeah, right. “So, what do you do? Steve said something about college?”

“Well, I bartend part-time at The Hideout.” You say it like either of the elder Harringtons would have heard of the shithole but they’re definitely not your usual clientele. “It’s a little bar on the other side of town. But yeah, I’m in school right now. I’m majoring in Early Childhood Education at Purdue.”

He whistles like he’s impressed. “A teacher, huh? An actual career.” He’s talking to you but he’s looking at Steve,

Your eyes narrow and you open your mouth, desperate to put him in his place, but Steve speaks before you get the chance. “Yup,” he agrees, “she’s brilliant. All future little gremlins are very lucky.”

You’re tense, frustrated by Steve’s father and the way he jumps at any opportunity to cut Steve down, but you allow yourself to be temporarily distracted. You could tell he meant what he was saying and it meant a lot to you.

“Oh, babe,” you turned to look at Steve, practically beaming at him. You catch the way he flushes at the pet name—a bold move for you, something you normally didn’t use but, hey, you were trying to sell it. “Thank you.” You turn your gaze back to his parents. “He’s so supportive.”

“He should be,” Mr. Harrington pipes up. “If he’s not gonna have a real job—”

Okay, that was enough.

“Hey—”

“Sweetheart,” Steve interjects, already knowing what is coming, “is your head feeling any better?”

You blink, totally caught off guard. What the hell was he talking about?

“Oh?” says Mrs. Harrington. “Are you not feeling well?”

“She gets these awful migraines,” Steve answers for you, just blatantly lying now. “Had one all day today.” He tsks as his hand moves from your back to your temple, fingers massaging soothing circles into the flesh. “I tried to get her to stay home but she was so excited to meet you guys. Nothing could have kept her away.”

“That’s so nice.” Her tone doesn’t suggest she actually thinks of it as nice, but she still presses a hand to her chest, feigning sincerity. “We couldn’t wait to meet you either, not after the way Steve talked about you.” The boy in question bristles at the comment, silently begging his mother not to reveal what he had actually said. “But if you’re unwell, you should really get some rest.”

“You are so right, mom,” Steve agrees readily, arm moving to wrap around your shoulder. “I know you’re disappointed, baby, but we should go.”

“Oh,” you say, back of your hand rising to rest against your forehead, “I guess you’re right.” You’re eager to go now, but do your best to sound reluctant, sad. “I’m so sorry we can’t stay for dinner.”

The goodbyes are brief and hurried, you have to resist the urge to run out the door, only fully relaxing once you and Steve are safely outside. “God, Steve,” you sigh, shaking your head. “They’re really awful.”

He can’t help it, he laughs. “I really should have warned you, huh?”

“Your father, I just...” You trail off, unable to even put it into words.

“Don’t worry about it, sweetheart. You were great in there, by the way.” He would be forever in your debt, you saved him from monumental embarrassment. “It’s still kinda early, I think I can get us in at Enzo’s. You know, if you want.”

Your nose scrunches up and you shake your head. “Let’s just go get ice cream.”

“No way,” he protests. “You need actual food.” A lecture you’d received from Steve more times than you could count. He was always making sure you ate, that you were hydrated, that you slept well.

It was nice to be looked after but that was not what you were after now.

“You said anything I want...”

How could he argue with his own words?

“I guess I did, huh? Let’s get you that ice cream then, pretty girl. You definitely earned it.”

Maybe tomorrow after the soft touches, the pet names and the kind words things would be awkward. Maybe your concerns were valid and a line had actually been crossed, maybe things would be different. But that was a problem for another day.

For now, you were keen to sit with your friend in your fancy clothes, hip-to-hip enjoying two scoops of mint chocolate chip.

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