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afewproblems · 7 months

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Season Two Halloween AU Part Five

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four

Synopsis: What if Eddie had been at Tina's Halloween Party in Season Two? Featuring Steve!Whump, Stancy Breakup, and Eddie just trying to keep up with all these new revelations about who King-Steve actually is...

Huge huge HUGE shout-out to Jess @strangersteddierthings for being my sounding board and letting me send such long messages full of spoilers!! I can't thank you enough!

***

“Dustin, what the hell are you doing here?” Steve says as he hurries towards the kid, he looks around as though expecting another person to follow behind him.

“I can’t find Nancy or Jonathan, you’re the only other one who knows about--”

The kid, Dustin, tilts himself to look past Steve at Eddie with suspicious eyes, “you know”.

Steve freezes, his shoulders a rigid line of tension as Dustin steps around him to head for the screen door.

Eddie had to give it to the kid, he certainly had guts just waltzing in here like this.

“You still have your bat?”

Steve looks from Dustin to Eddie and lowers his voice to mutter something that has Dustin shaking his head rapidly.

"The one with nails, Steve".

"Your what?" Eddie blurts out, forcing the other two to turn towards him. Dustin full on glares. His eyes narrow in irritation while Steve's face pales before smoothing out in that same guarded expression from earlier.

Dustin steps closer to Eddie and crosses his arms over his chest, "who are you?"

"Dustin--"

"That was a rule," Dustin cuts across Steve, smacking the back of one hand into the palm of the other, "no one else gets to know, and I can't tell Max, so you can't just tell him--"

Steve jerks his head as if slapped, a flush building on his cheeks and ears, "I haven't--Eddie's not, I don't--"

Dustin waves his hand dismissively and turns towards Eddie once again.

"Look, it's cool that Steve is expanding his social circle but you should leave".

The attitude on this kid.

Eddie holds out a hand at Dustin and laughs but it tumbles out with a tinge of hysteria, "I'm sorry, I'm still stuck on the whole Nail Bat thing?"

Steve groans, his head swings back and forth from Eddie to Dustin as though he's not sure who to answer first.

He sighs and runs one hand over his face, roughly from the slight wince he makes as he brushes the black eye, "look," Steve barks out, "he's a friend".

Something in Eddie's chest warms at the words despite the incredulous scoff that threatens to tumble out. Steve Harrington, friends with Eddie Munson?

Dustin snorts, "you don't have friends? I only ever see you with Nancy and Jonathan".

Steve flinches slightly at the words, but Dustin carries on talking, brushing past Steve to the house.

"We don't have time for this, I've been looking for you guys all day and now it's dark and there are lives at stake--"

"Je-sus, okay, okay," Steve takes three long strides to catch up to Dustin and steps in front of him, he reaches out for the kids shoulder but seems to think better of it and instead runs the hand through his hair.

"You said lives are at stake?"

It's like a switch is flipped in the kid, he whirls around on Steve, a stream of near gibberish falling out of his mouth at a mile a minute, Eddie can hardly follow it.

"And now he's this big," Dustin hisses, throwing his hands nearly two feet apart from one another.

Steve holds up his hands, "okay, Christ, how do you know it's not just a lizard, Dustin?"

"Because its face opened up and ate my cat, Steve".

Steve looks up at Eddie, meeting his gaze with a nervous laugh, "listen, Dustin, uh, he watches too many B-Monster movies, I'm just gonna take him back to his house".

Now Eddie wouldn't say he's necessarily a, 'go-with-the-flow' kind of guy, but he can roll with the punches --any Dungeon Master worth their salt needed to be able to think on their feet when the time came.

Which is probably why he opens his big fucking mouth.

"I mean, life and death situations with cat-eating Kobolds sounds exactly like my kind of night fellas".

Steve frowns and tilts his head, staring at Eddie while Dustin perks up, his eyes widen in surprise.

"Kobolds? You play D&D?" Dustin says skeptically, pushing past Steve to make his way up to Eddie now.

Eddie laughs at the question, "kid, I run the D&D club at Hawkins High".

Suddenly it's like there's a different kid standing in front of him, his face lights up in wonder and he opens his mouth to continue when Steve makes a sputtering noise behind him.

"Henderson," Steve bites out, hands on his hips, "I swear to God, if you interrupted us for some Halloween prank, you're dead".

He stands there for a moment scowling at the pair of them before turning on his heel and walking towards the house.

"It's not a prank," Dustin huffs defensively, his arms cross over his chest and his face scrunches into a frown.

He looks up at Eddie briefly, all good will from the D&D revelation earlier now forgotten as Dustin follows Steve's path towards the door.

Eddie sighs, he could just leave at this point. Either this is the most elaborate way someone has ended a smoke session with him, or the weirdest role playing game Eddie has ever found himself in the middle of.

But something about the fear in Dustin's voice has Eddie lingering beside the abandoned loungers. He bends down to pick up the forgotten joints and puts them back in his lunchbox before putting the lunchbox back in the backpack. No sense in letting some perfectly good jays go to waste.

The screen door slides open again revealing Steve, who blinks in surprise, "you stayed?"

Eddie shrugs, "I said I would, didn't I?"

Steve nods, and ducks his face, but he can't quite hide the smile that blooms, his eyes crinkle at the corners for the briefest moment before it falls.

"Listen, I know that it sounds like a load of shit--"

"Understatement," Eddie cuts in with a shake of his head.

"Yeah, but you need to know, if you come with us, you're in it. I'm not joking, this is your chance to just walk away".

It's almost as if Steve is pleading with him, and it's then that Eddie notices what Steve has gripped between his hands.

A fucking baseball ball bat, studded with nails that have been haphazardly hammered into the end of it.

Eddie looks from the bat, to Steve's face as Dustin steps out of the house now with two walkie talkies in his hand. He reaches for Steve's backpack and unzips it to place them inside before zipping it up again. There's a grim determination on both of their faces that Eddie has never seen on another person in real life and suddenly he's speaking without thinking again.

"Well, what are we waiting for?"

***

Eddie swipes a shaking hand through his sweat matted hair as he watches Steve and the rest of the party move about the Byers living room.

As though mere hours ago they didn’t just fend off a group of flower faced creatures hellbent on entering their fortified school bus to tear them apart.

It was crazy.

It was absolutely batshit that all this time there were creatures from another dimension running around their sleepy little backwoods town.

Eddie shudders at the memory of the sounds they made, the horrible grating wails like metal on metal, echoes in his mind.

And now…a person was dead. Mr. Newby.

Eddie had met him once while buying a used amp at the Radio Shack just a few months ago. He was nice, asked about the band and what instrument Eddie played. He had even offered to help Eddie get the amp out to his van.

And now, he was dead.

Mr. Newby would never take Joyce out for another date, he would never walk into his job and help take inventory, he would never offer a helping hand or piece of advice ever again.

Eddie can't help but think about how close they had all come to ending up like Bob, how one of these things had almost crawled into the bus.

What if they hadn't been called away? Bob had a gun and that hadn't been enough to stop the pack of creatures from…

Eddie looks to Steve.

Steve who hasn't stopped pacing the Byers living room since Hopper herded all of them into the house.

He takes five steps to the window at the front of the room, and five steps back to the door of the kitchen, again and again.

And suddenly, things make so much more sense.

The strange haunted expression on Steve's face Eddie would see between classes whenever he thought no one was looking.

The way the three of them, Jonathan, Nancy, and Steve never let the kids go anywhere without a ride.

The way Steve had looked at his empty pool yesterday.

Things happen in the dark, in the woods.

On the fifth pass, Eddie reaches out to Steve and catches the hand closest to him.

Whatever trance Steve was in dissipates, leaving him to blink once and look down at Eddie's hand before slowly curling his fingers more firmly around Eddie's and squeezing gently.

"How're you holding up?" Steve asks quietly as he drops Eddie's hand to pull a dining chair up to where Eddie is seated on a beaten up recliner.

Eddie scoffs at the question and shrugs, "when I figure that out, you'll be the first to know".

Steve nods, a small half smile climbs up his face.

It drops as he looks across the room at Will.

Jonathan kneels beside the couch, talking quietly to his brother, who stares blankly at the ceiling while Nancy watches on beside them.

Eddie's eyes follow Nancy's hands, the way she hesitates to touch Jonathan before eventually giving in and draping her hands over his shoulders.

He looks back at Steve who also seems to be watching Nancy. He breathes out a long sigh and shakes his head, before turning back to Eddie.

"If it makes you feel better, you're taking it better than I did the first time".

Eddie raises one skeptical eyebrow and smirks, "I highly doubt that--"

"I ran away," Steve cuts across him with wide eyes, "I almost left Nance and Jon with a monster, one of those things that took Will," he holds Eddie's gaze for another beat before dropping it to the floor.

"So, don't sell yourself short".

Eddie opens his mouth to tell Steve he should take his own advice but Hopper suddenly makes his presence known once more as he closes the door to Joyce's room behind him and walks back into the living room.

"Okay, we may not have backup on route for a few more hours--"

"If they're even coming," Mike scoffs from the corner, "who says they believed you anyway?"

"Listen, until we are told otherwise, we need to sit tight," Hopper barks, sending a glare Mike's way.

Hopper deflates slightly, as though realizing who he's talking to, and takes a deep steddying breath which he releases slowly through his nose, “we can't just charge in without backup--"

"If we sit here on our asses those things will eventually make it to town, you saw the tunnels Hop," Dustin bites out this time, shooting his own fierce glare at the chief as he stands beside Mike.

"They'll tear everything apart," Max says softly from the floor. She's settled against the back wall of the living room against the collage of drawings that Will had completed in his frenzied state, Lucas sits closer and takes her hand in his own.

"Oh no," Steve mutters under his breath, he spares Eddie a glance before standing up from the chair, "no, no, we can't fight these things by ourselves, we're outmatched here Henderson".

"Not if we know how they work," Mike insists. He walks towards where Max and Lucas are sitting, nearly stepping on the pair of them in his haste.

"Jesus Mike," Lucas hisses under his breath while Max settles for stomping her foot against Mike's own. He jumps at the sudden pain and the three of them dissolve into vicious bickering and name calling until Steve and Nancy pull the kids away from each other.

"Okay, just, keep going Mike," Nancy tells him, once everyone has settled down once more. She gestures to the drawings taped up around the room.

"As I was trying to say," Mike sneers at Max who scoffs and crosses her arms, "what if it's all connected, the tunnels, the dogs, Will?"

No one speaks, the words seem to hang in the air as all eyes move to the couch where Will lays wrapped in blankets and staring unseeing at the ceiling.

Mike continues, "this all started after that day in the field--"

"And if he was infected," Dustin interrupts with a gasp as Mike nods rapidly, pointing at him and then the drawings again.

"It's like a virus, connecting him to this, this--"

"Hivemind," Lucas supplies, his voice hollow as he stands up to join the rest of the kids, "like what Mr. Clarke told us".

"Okay, okay, slow down God Dammit," Hopper huffs as he lifts his hand to pinch his fingers into his eyes.

"Hivemind?" Steve says slowly, as though rolling the word around on his tongue, "like bees?"

Dustin blinks once, his face morphing in surprise, "kind of, it's like a superorganism made up of several others all working together, one collective consciousness".

"A Mindflayer," Eddie whispers, just loud enough for the kids to turn their heads towards him.

He's been quiet for so long, sitting on the sidelines of this group that had clearly worked together in a crisis before. It was almost like listening to Jeff, Gareth, and Grant in a Hellfire session, watching them work out a trap in real time before executing their plan.

It would be endearing if there weren't actual monsters running about.

"Holy shit," Mike breathes out while Dustin darts off towards the bookshelf in the corner.

He flips up some of the drawings until he finds what he's looking for and loudly crows, "yes!"

Dustin marches back to the kitchen table and slams the book down on the surface before flipping several pages. He slaps the back of his hand on the page in triumph as he sends Eddie a confident grin.

"This isn't a game kid," Hopper sighs but steps closer to look at the book nonetheless.

"But it's the closest metaphor we have," Dustin argues back.

"Analogy," Lucas says as he steps towards the table, a shit eating grin pulls at his mouth as he catches Dustin's eye.

"Fine, analogy, whatever!" Dustin mutters, a red flush climbs up his neck until it settles on his ears, he slaps his hand on the books again, "can I get on with it or do you have more vocab for me?"

"Dustin," Nancy sighs, reaching out for his shoulder with one hand, she gives it a slight shake, "what would this even tell us?"

"Well," Dustin turns to Nancy now and points at a section below a horrifying drawing of a humanoid man with a squid for a head. Four tentacles point in all directions while its hands wield a terrifying glowing orb.

It's not something that Eddie has thrown at his players in years now that he's managed to figure out how to balance his encounters properly.

Because Mindflayers…were horrific.

"They're basically from another dimension, and they travel to different worlds to conquer other species that they see as inferior to themselves".

"Conquer," Steve breathes out beside Eddie who can't help but shuffle closer to brush his shoulder against Steve's own.

Steve gives Eddie a brief smile before looking back to where Dustin and Hopper are arguing once again.

Eddie lets his gaze drift only to find Nancy staring at him curiously, her sharp blue eyes flit from Steve and back to himself, the weight of her gaze makes Eddie want to pull away from Steve but he holds his ground and stares right back.

Nancy offers him a tentative smile, which does nothing to ease the sudden tension in Eddie's chest, feeling as though he's been caught.

He could easily explain this away, despite the rumors running rampant at school about Eddie, there is no way anyone would believe the same would be true of Steve Harrington.

Eddie ignores the unhappy weight that settles in his stomach at the thought, he let himself get way too close, way too quickly.

Besides, there wasn’t a chance in hell that Steve was, that he could be…

Eddie shakes himself and moves away, lamenting the loss of Steve’s warm shoulder as he lets Hopper's voice pull him back to the matter at hand.

"Okay then," Hopper nods, looking around the room.

"How do we kill it?"

***

They have a plan.

Or at least, half of them do.

Going based off a thirteen year olds hypothesis that their friend is basically a spy for a creature from another dimension -which in hindsight is definitely not the craziest thing they’ve experienced today.

Is it something that Eddie would have never come up with in his wildest dreams? Undoubtedly.

But that was before a girl with literal mind-powers showed up and tossed a dead demodog through the Byers window.

Jesus Christ.

So, with El and Hopper on their way to the lab, the rest of the party busies themselves by packing the Byers Station Wagon for the drive to Hopper's cabin.

They have to flush this thing possessing Will out of him before it's too late and the cabin is far enough out of town that whatever happens hopefully won’t affect anyone else.

Eddie tries not to think too deeply about what that might mean.

He manages to find another portable heater in the Byers basement and hauls it into his arms before turning around to walk back up the stairs.

When Eddie reaches the landing his heart stops for just a moment when he realizes he can't see the kids. He takes another step into the kitchen and breathes out a sigh of relief when he sees the four of them huddled around the kitchen table with the still open Monster Manual.

Eddie pauses for just a moment when he spots a Hawkins County map beside the book.

It's covered in red marker.

An intricate design of lines ending with two circles…both around areas outside of the city center.

Eddie shakes his head and keeps moving, much to the visible relief of the kids as he makes his way to the back door.

One problem at a time.

He knows that Steve is around here somewhere, he was helping Jonathan carry Will to the car while Joyce and Nancy gathered as much rope from the shed as they could carry.

God, it's so dark now.

Eddie understands what Steve meant before, the way the trees rustle in the wind and the moonlight catches on animal eyes that shine in the dark. It's enough to put him on edge as he makes his way around the Byers property.

Every snap of a branch was a demodog prowling in the brush, every distant howl was a monster coming to drag him into the Underdark.

He shivers and keeps moving, fighting the urge to look over his shoulder every few steps.

Eddie finally makes his way to the shed, peering inside only to startle as Nancy's voice floats through the cool November air.

"Thank you, for staying with the kids," she says quietly.

Eddie freezes where he stands with the heater in hand. He knows he shouldn't be here for whatever this is, listening in on yet another private conversation between Nancy and Steve but his feet remain planted in the earth.

"Yeah well, I might be a shitty boyfriend, but it turns out I'm a pretty damn good babysitter," Steve hums so casually that Eddie wonders if it's really him speaking. They’re on the other side of the Byers shed, Eddie can almost make out their shapes between the uneven slates of the wood.

"Steve--"

"It's okay, really," Steve takes a deep breath, "you should go with Jonathan".

"Steve," Nancy's voice is wet this time as she speaks but Steve hushes her with a sigh.

"It's okay Nance,” he pauses for a beat, “all I want is for you to be happy, and I don’t think you’ve been happy for a long time”.

“What about you,” Nancy whispers, so softly that Eddie almost misses it this time.

Eddie hears the sounds of footsteps and the rustle of fabric, a muffled sniffle and several whispered words that he can't make out from this distance.

The whispering goes on for another minute or two before they fall silent, only the sound of cicadas and frogs echo in the midnight air around them.

Eddie takes this as his cue to begin to loudly walk over, purposefully grinding his steps into the gravel and walking more heavily than he normally would.

He comes around the corner of the shed to find Steve holding Nancy, his head on top of her own as she presses her face into his chest.

Eddie clears his throat and watches as Nancy steps away from Steve. He lets her go, both of their movements lighter than they have been in days.

"If you guys checked the shed, Joyce said it's now or never".

Nancy nods and walks over to take the heater from Eddie, giving him a warm smile as her gentle hands brush his own, and huh --he kinda gets it now. How Steve could have fallen head over heels for this secret badass girl, Nancy Wheeler.

"Thank you," Nancy smiles and Eddie sputters, running his now free hands through his hair.

"For what, I didn't--"

She raises a single eyebrow, and looks from Steve, before bringing her gaze back to Eddie.

"For being there, for all of them".

With that, Nancy walks back towards the house leaving Eddie to feel as though he missed a lot more of that conversation than he should have.

***

They finish refortifying the Byers house, boarding up the broken window that El had tossed the dead demodog through. Eddie adds one last nail and hammers it in before stepping back to admire their handiwork.

Steve lowers his hand from where he held the board in place and shoots Eddie a grin before he collects the box of nails from the floor and turns to put it on the coffee table.

"Steve?" Eddie says quietly. He doesn’t need to really, the kids aren't paying attention to the pair of them, but this is just for Steve. Eddie doesn't need four pairs of eyes staring at him as he tries to say this.

"I just, I'm sorry about Nancy".

Steve tilts his head in confusion, but Eddie keeps going.

"If we do make it out of this, I don't want you to think you were a 'shitty' anything".

Eddie winces as Steve's eyes narrow slightly.

"I'm guessing you were standing by the shed a lot longer than we thought," Steve says slowly as he looks back at the kids and takes another step even closer.

Eddie winces at being caught and nods, “I was looking for you originally to see if you guys needed any more help, and then I heard voices and just,” he shrugs, “I wasn’t sure if you’d be okay or not, after that”.

“And for what is worth, you definitely have changed,” Eddie offers with a sly grin, “I don’t think anyone would have expected Steve-the Hair-Harrington to use Faberge, let alone let us plebs in on his secret”.

Steve’s mouth opens and closes before breaking into a wide grin, a startled laugh falling from his mouth, growing in volume until Eddie can’t help but join him.

Steve raises his hands to run over his face and into his hair as he looks at Eddie, the grin on his face softens slightly the longer he looks.

Suddenly, his eyes harden and the look of determination from yesterday takes over. Steve squares his shoulders and breathes out a strangely broken sigh before he reaches out for Eddie's hands. He takes the hammer from him and sets it down on the coffee table beside them.

"My Nonna told me once," Steve whispers, using his hand to point into the middle distance, "Steven, people will come in and out of your life all the time, and the ones that are meant to be there will stay, and if they go, then it wasn't meant to be".

Steve breathes out a sudden nervous laugh, "she was so straightforward and I loved that about her".

Eddie doesn’t dare to breathe as Steve shakes his head.

"And you, you stayed," Steve continues softly, "and I just…"

Eddie's own breathing picks up as Steve leans closer, enough that Eddie can count the freckles on the bridge of his nose.

"Fuck what Dustin said, I think I need more people in my life like that".

Eddie's eyes widen slightly as the words begin to register. No, no way, this can’t be happening.

He lets out a strangled laugh and leans away from Steve’s space, “more friends in your life right?”

It all happens so quickly after that.

Steve freezes where he stands. His face moves through several expressions, some so brief that Eddie can’t quite tell what is going on before it smoothes out once again into something blank; Steve lifts his hand to pinch the bridge of his nose before dropping it to his side and nodding.

“Yes, right, friends, duh,” Steve laughs but it's not at all like the bright wild one he let out just a few seconds ago.

This one was dull, hollow.

Eddie opens his mouth to say something, anything to wipe away the horrible emptiness in Steve's eyes but Dustin suddenly pushes past Eddie to grab the sleeve of Steve’s jacket.

"Steve!" Dustin says frantically, "Steve, we have a problem!"

The sound of a car door slamming outside catches their attention and a sinking feeling begins to form in the pit of Eddie's stomach. There's no way Hopper and El would be back from the lab yet, and Jonathan said they would radio if there were any changes.

So who the hell was outside?

Part Six

Tag List:

and for some peeps that I think may be interested! @steddierthings @steddie-there @steves-strapcollection @henderdads @stevesbipanic @spooky-brakers

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yandere-daydreams · 5 months

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Title: Idolification.

Pairing: Yandere!Itadori Yuuji x Reader (JJK).

Word Count: 5.0k.

TW: No Curse/College AU, Fem!Reader, Non/Con, Prolonged Stalking, (Unintentional) Emotional Manipulation, Oral Sex, Drunk Sex, Unprotected Sex, Age Gap (Reader's 27, Yuuji's 22), Intimidation, Brief Mommy Kink, Pepper Spray, and Obsessive Behavior. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.

“I’m so, so, so, so sorry.”

“It was an accident, you don’t have to—” Yuuji was cut off by another splash of milk, quickly followed by another jet of water. Her makeshift treatment was harsh, the temperature alternating unpredictably between ice cold and scalding hot, but Yuuji took the abuse with a smile that was almost bright enough to distract you from the red, aggravated skin around his eyes. Almost. “It’s alright,” he managed, eventually, doing his best not to sound like he was being slowly drowned in your bathtub. “Believe it or not, that’s only the second worst thing I’ve gotten in my eyes.”

Knowing him, it was probably closer to the fourth or fifth, but that did little to ease your guilt. He’d been leaving as you were getting home from your second twelve-hour shift of the week, and from there, it’d been a comedy of errors. He spotted you coming down the hall, haggard and bleary-eyed, and saw the babysitter who’d spent more summers than not keeping him (and, by association, his older half-brother) out of trouble before their family fell off of the face of the planet, and reacted the way Yuuji reacted to most things – with open arms and a contagious smile. You’d looked at him, a far cry from the kid you’d spent so much time looking after, and seen a very strange, very grown man loitering outside of the door to your shoebox of an apartment before charging towards you with a manic expression and, well, you had always wanted an excuse to use the pepper spray you carried near-religiously. It was only a shame it had to be on someone as sweet as Yuuji.

Now, you were on your knees on the floor of your bathroom, your fingers tangled in Yuuji’s hair as your roommate gently waterboarded him with a cartoon of organic oat milk in one hand and your decade-old showerhead in the other. The front of his t-shirt was soaked through, his lung half-flooded at least, but he was still grinning like you’d greeted him with a blank check and a litter of puppies. “Honestly, it’s on me,” he insisted, his enthusiasm too potent not to be genuine. “Miss Shoko mentioned she was living with someone.”

At the mention of your roommate, Shoko Ieiri, your attention shifted to the woman in-question. You weren’t an idiot. After the shock died down, it hadn’t taken long for you to piece together why a young man would be rushing to get out of your apartment while your attractive (albeit, socially dead) roommate was home alone. When she met your prying eyes, you shot her a pointed glare. “Cradle rocker.”

She threatened to turn the showerhead on you, but relented as soon as you flinched away. “He’s in one of my classes,” she muttered, then pushed herself to her feet with a soft groan. “We’re out of milk,” she said, shaking the empty carton. “Let his eyes air-dry. I’ll be in my office – come get me if he starts crying again.”

“I’m a doctor too, y’know.”

“You’ll be a doctor in another year. Right now, you’re an intern.” She eyed Yuuji wearily. “An intern who physically assaults her patients, at that.”

Without any real way to retort, you stuck your tongue out – a gesture Shoko mimicked as she slipped out of the crime scene that was your bathroom. Despite Shoko’s advice, you fished a towel off the nearest rack and handed it to Yuuji, who accepted it with a grateful hum. “I really am sorry,” you repeated, burying your face in your hands. “It’s just, it’s been so long, and you look so different, and god, it’s been—”

“—ten years,” Yuuji filled in, probably tired of hearing you repeat the same two excuses. “I remember, ‘cuz you invited us to your graduation that year. I wanted to go, too, but Gramps got sick and…” He trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck with an airy chuckle. “You know how it is.”

“Oh my god,” you gasped. “I loved your grandfather. How is he?”

Yuuji’s smile wavered for the first time. “He passed, actually. A few years ago.”

Fuck.

If the building was going to collapse and bury you in the rubble, that would’ve been the time.

“Sukuna’s doing good, though,” Yuuji went on, kind enough to pretend there hadn’t been a lapse. “He opened a restaurant a few months ago. It’s a hole-in-the-wall kind of place, but it’s been keeping him out of the ring.” His expression brightened. “And you’re a doctor! I mean, I knew you would be, but you’re a doctor!”

You felt your face heat up his brother’s name, your eyes falling to the tiled floor. “Almost a doctor. I just started my internship.” And they’d already managed to work you half to death. “You’re in med school, right? Shoko never teaches undergrad.”

“It’s my first semester,” he said with a slight laugh. “It’s harder than I thought it’d be, though. Miss Shoko offered to give me a few pointers, but, y’know—” He sighed, let his head lull back. “I’m starting to think I’m just not smart enough for stuff like this.”

“You shouldn’t say that kind of thing about yourself. You’ve always been—” You cut yourself off with a sudden gasp, clapping your hands together. “If you’re struggling, let me help you study! I have tomorrow off, and I promise, I’m not as strict as Shoko.”

Immediately, he straightened up, your towel still strung around his neck and his smile returned to its full brightness. It only dimmed slightly when he glanced down at his damp shirt. “…there won’t be as much pepper spray this time, right?”

His smile was as contagious as it’d been when he was still a kid, begging you to let him stay up yet another hour past his already-lenient bedtime. Despite his bloodshot eyes and your lingering, only slightly lessened guilt, you found yourself biting back a grin.

“No pepper spray, this time. I promise.”

“Room for one more?”

She glanced over her shoulder as you struggled past the jammed sliding door, taking a moment to evaluate your stiff shoulders and strained smile over the thick frames of her glasses before nodding curtly. Your relief was immediate and all-encompassing. Honestly, you should’ve known better than to do anything but shake your head and flee the country when Yuuji invited you to hang out with a few of his friends, but he’d sworn up and down that it wasn’t a party and promised that you wouldn’t be out of place and pouted in a way you’d never been able to resist. You were starting to think that, no matter how old you got, you’d never learn to say ‘no’ to Yuuji.

The blaring music was only vaguely muffled by the glass, the blurry outlines of other guests playing behind thin curtains. There was a red solo cup in your hand, a lipstick stain on your cheek from a girl who’d passed out half an hour ago, but you were hyper-aware that you were too old to be at a college party with people at least half a decade younger than you, in the best cases. You braced yourself against the balcony railing with a soft groan, crossing your arms and hanging your head low enough to warrant a hum of sympathy from the woman next to you. She held up a box of cigarettes – the cheap kind you and Shoko used to split on the days you had to decide between food and rent – and you accepted her offer with the kind of gratitude you could only assume a starving lion would’ve shown to a limping gazelle.

“Maki,” she said, shaking one into your open palm and fishing a lighter out of her pocket. “You’re one of Itadori’s friends?”

“You could say that.” You let her light you up before taking a shaky drag, the bitter taste a welcome distraction. “I’ve been tutoring him for a few weeks. I think he just invited me as a way to say ‘thank you’.”

Her eyes flashed with recognition, the corner of his lips turning upward for the first time. “You’re the chick who used to babysit him. (Y/n), right?”

“He’s mentioned me?”

“He won’t shut up about you. Every other word out of his mouth is ‘(Y/n) this’ or ‘(Y//n) that’.” She tapped her cigarette against the edge of the railing, sending a few flakes of ash fluttering down to the street below. “Megumi gets it the worst, but we’ve all had to see the fucking pictures.”

“That… that sounds like him.” You forced out a half-hearted laugh, then wavered. “I’m sorry, pictures?”

Maki opened her mouth, but the balcony door was jerked open before she could respond. Yuji appeared in the open entryway, cheeks flushed and grin wide. He drawled your name in a single slur before moving on to more important topics. “We found a—We found a karaoke machine! ‘gumi thinks he can get it running!”

You sent Maki an apologetic look, but she only shrugged, a sliver of a grin. “Better get him tucked in.”

This time, when you smiled back, it didn’t quite reach your eyes.

It took a month for Yuuji to start ‘forgetting’ his textbooks when he came over for your little study sessions.

It took three for Yuuji to drop the pretense of studying at all – calling you out to some late-night diner or lethargic early-morning café or, better yet, showing up at your apartment door unannounced and empty-handed with only that unnerving smile and a half-baked excuse to spend time with you.

It took six for his hand to drift just a little lower than your shoulder while you watched some awful, b-rated horror movie on your well-beaten couch. You let him reach your waist before clearing your throat and shifting away, your smile pained.

“I… I think you should probably leave,” you half-mumbled, your voice shaking. “It’s getting late.”

“We haven’t even gotten to the best part yet.” Predictably, Yuuji was undeterred. His persistence used to be endearing, but now, it just felt unfair. “I don’t mind sleeping over, if that’s what you’re worried about. It’s not like we’ve never spent the night together.”

A nervous laugh, his hand planted just a little too close to your thigh. “I wish you wouldn’t phrase it like—”

“I mean, I know I’m your type.” It was almost impressive, what he could say with such an innocent expression. His free hand found its way to your other side, pinning you between the arm of the couch and his broad chest. “I know you had a thing for Sukuna, and everyone says we’re practically identical. That means you should be into me too, right?”

“Yuuji,” Your eyes darted to your phone, left absent-mindedly on your coffee table. The urge was there, but it wasn’t like he would actually hurt you. He’d always been a sweet kid – a little overzealous, but that wasn’t a crime. This was just… a bad decision, one you had to stop him from making before he did something he’d regret. “Sukuna is my age, and—”

“I don’t care about that.” He cut in swiftly, definitively. His bright eyes had glazed over, catching the dim light of your T.V. as he leaned in further, as his face came to hover less than a full breath away from yours. “I’ve loved you since I was eight. Can Sukuna say that?”

“That’s not—”

“I know you used to fuck him.” His chest was touching yours, now, his breath hot against your skin. “I know you’d fuck him again, if he was here. I know—”

You didn’t give him a chance to finish. It was a weak blow, simultaneously hesitant and instinctual, but your open palm made contact with his cheek with a deafening crack, his head snapping to the side and putting that much more distance between his body and yours. He moved to cup his swelling cheek, and you took the opportunity to slip out from underneath him and stumble to your feet. “I think you should leave,” you repeated, the words spat hastily enough to blend together. “Please, Yuuji.”

For a second, he didn’t move, didn’t speak.

Then, he turned to face you, his smile wiped away and his expression so blank, you couldn’t remember how you’d ever looked at him and saw anything other than void.

He didn’t say anything, only pushing himself to his feet and shambling out of your living room. You kept your eyes on the ground until his footsteps faded out of earshot, until you heard the front door creak open and slam shut with enough force to shake the walls.

When you were sure he was gone, you collapsed onto your couch and laid motionless while an actress screamed in the background.

“Your golden boy’s asking about you, again.”

You groaned, buckling at the waist and burying your face in your arms. Shoko glanced up from the exams she was grading, but whatever sympathy she might’ve felt apparently didn’t warrant the effort it would’ve taken to reach across the table to comfort you. “Satoru’s been getting it, too,” she went on. “That’s how you know it’s bad. I can’t remember the last time someone managed to talk over that narcissist.”

“I’m sorry.” You couldn’t remember how many times you’d already apologized for Yuuji’s recent fixation. “He’s… probably just worried about his grades, or something.”

Her lips quirked into a frown. “What are you talking about?”

“I was helping him study,” you admitted, reluctantly. As much as Shoko had to hear about your unruly patients and patronizing coworkers, you’d been less open about how much time you were spending with a student fresh out of undergrad. “He’s never been that good with school. I used to have to help him with his homework in elementary school, too.”

This time, she decided your conversation was important enough to earn her full attention. “Itadori’s one of my best students.”

You felt your chest tighten. “But, the first time he came over, you were tutoring—”

She said your name, curt and blunt, and you went quiet. With a sigh, she shook her head, dropping her pen entirely. “When was the last time I offered to personally tutor a struggling student?”

You swallowed dryly. “Never.”

“And when was the last time I gave our full address out to literally anyone?”

“Never,” you said, again. After a second, you added, “Well, there was that one time with Iori…”

“Not the point. I know you don’t want to hear it, but the kid’s a creep. You might have to—”

She was cut off by your phone buzzing against the table. Your eyes scanned over the caller’s name scrawled across the dim screen before moving back to Shoko, her gaze now narrowed into a sharp glare. “Don’t.”

And, for a second, you didn’t. You convinced yourself that you wouldn’t. You told yourself that, after you bought Satoru around of drinks as an apology, you’d do… you’d do something about Yuuji, even if you weren’t sure what you could do, just yet.

Then, you let yourself picture the kid you used to watch for a few dollars an hour while his grandfather was sick and his brother was on the other side of town doing something dubiously legal at best, dead in a ditch at worst – all wide eyes and scuffed elbows and lopsided grins. You let yourself remember the way he’d ramble about his day after you picked him up from school, and how excited he was the first time you made it to one of his school’s sports days, and how he’d clung to you and sobbed the day before his family moved to the other side of the country. At the time, you’d been thankful to have one less responsibility, relieved that you’d never have to see Sukuna again. You’d been selfish, even for a kid.

The phone was in your hand in a moment, the call answered in another. You stood as you brought it to your ear, hoping that would be enough to block out Shoko’s mumbled cursing.

“Yuuji?”

The silence in your car was thick, nearly suffocating.

It’d been one of Yuuji’s friends calling from his phone – the dark-haired one with the monotone voice, barely audible over the blaring music of whichever nightclub they were standing outside of. He’d asked you to, in his own words, ‘come get your problem child’, and when you’d asked why Yuuji needed you specifically, he’d only handed the phone back to Yuuji and let you listen to a full minute of whining, your name the only coherent thing to make it off of Yuuji’s tongue. Shoko urged you not to go, and yet, twenty minutes later, Yuuji was slumped over in your passenger seat, his eyes narrowed and his lips pursed in an uncharacteristic frown.

He was less talkative than he’d been on the phone. The clingier stages of his inebriation had passed, leaving room for a disassociated sort of passiveness that meant, even if you’d been brave enough to try and start a conversation, his response wouldn’t be anything worth that kind of effort. By the time you reached his apartment complex, the knot sitting at the pit of your stomach was equal parts dread and second-hand embarrassment, but you tried to keep your tone light as you turned to him. “It’s time to get out, Yuuji.” And then, when he failed to move, “You’re on your own from here.”

He looked at you, eyes unfocused and hands folded almost childishly over his lap. You softened more than you should’ve at the sight. “…do you need help getting home?”

A second of thought, a quick nod. You shouldn’t. You knew that you really, really shouldn’t.

And yet, somehow, you found yourself in front of Yuuji’s door, fussing over the lock as Yuuji clung to your side, his face buried in the dip of your shoulder. He was cooperative enough; able to stand on his own with minimum swaying but not so lucid that it took more than a gentle suggestion to lead him to his bedroom, where he was more than happy to collapse onto his unmade bed. With a shaky exhale, you turned to leave, but something caught on your sleeve – Yuuji’s hand, when you could bring yourself to check.

“Stay,” he mumbled, his voice dampened by the sheets his face was buried in. “Please?”

You felt your throat go dry. “I can’t.”

You expected him to go shrill and whiny, but he proved to be a touch more mature than the ten-year-old you used to babysit. Rather flatly, he asked, “Why not?”

How were you supposed to answer that? Would it be good enough to say that you didn’t want to, that you couldn’t spend your night looking after a drunk kid you’d known a decade ago, that you’d already done more than you should’ve just by giving him a ride? Was it worth trying to talk to him at all when he could barely hold his head up? Would it do anything to soften the burn of the bile rising into your throat to point out that, the last time you’d been in the same room as him, he’d tried to—

No, it wasn’t and it wouldn’t and you had to leave. With your heart racing in your chest, you tried to jerk yourself out of his hold, but his vice-grip only grew tighter, his head rising up from the mattress just enough to let him stare at you with those big, bleary eyes. “Why not?”

“Yuuji, this isn’t—”

He was so, so much stronger than he had been, the last time you’d seen each other. One second, you were on your feet, at his bedside, and the next, you were on the floor of his bedroom, forced onto your hands and knees while Yuuji’s body pressed into yours from above. “I love you,” he said, his voice as steady as it’d ever been. “I love you, and I—Fuck—” He panted against the back of your neck, something uncomfortably stiff grinding against your ass. “It makes me so fucking hard when you say my name like that.”

A hand slipped under the hem of your top, his palm pressing into the small of your back. You moved to speak, then thought better of it, biting into your bottom lip as your anxious squirming turned to full-blown struggling. Yuuji only laughed, the noise airy and affectionate, winding an arm around your waist and pulling you that much closer to him – making it that much more impossible to get away. His free hand worked clumsily at your top; drawing it up and over your head. You fought against it at first, but froze the first time you felt something stretch a little too far, heard fabric tear. This couldn’t happen, but you absolutely couldn’t be stranded in Yuuji’s apartment with no clothes and no way out.

With his face buried in the back of your shoulder, he cupped your chest, catching your nipples between his forefinger and thumb and pinching with just enough force to draw a low, strained whimper from the back of your throat. “So cute…” He nuzzled deeper into your neck as his touch drifted. Your skirt was drawn downward – a long piece, something you’d thrown on without much thought – then discarded completely, his own shirt wrestled off in the same motion. You felt his fingertips slip under the hem of your panties, but he pulled away and straightened his back, instead. For a second, you let yourself believe that he’d come to his senses, that whatever sick idea he’d gotten into his head had finally worn off, but the arm wrapped around your waist only drew tighter, hauling you off of the floor and into his arms. You were dropped unceremoniously onto the edge of his bed, and Yuuji sunk onto his knees between your open legs.

“I know you’ve probably slept with other people – aside from my brother, I mean. It’d be nice to find out you haven’t, though.” His tone was distant and dreamy. He was still drunk, but not drunk enough for how he’d been acting earlier. Not drunk enough for what he was doing now. He traced the pad of his thumb over your clothed slit, keeping a hand curled around your ankle to keep you in place. “I used to hear you with Sukuna – in his car, and his room, on the couch after you two thought I’d fallen asleep …” He trailed off into an airy laugh. “He likes to show off – always has. If he wasn’t my brother, I think I’d kill him.”

He sighed, pressing a lingering kiss into the inside of your thigh before shifting his attention to your pussy; his tongue laving over the thin material covering your cunt. You were crying, now, openly and audibly – your choked sobs almost loud enough to block out Yuuji’s quiet groans and pleased grunts. However his obsession might’ve made him think he felt about you, your distress didn’t seem to affect his appetite. Your panties were pulled down your legs and slid into some unseen pocket. With the last barrier between you and him gone, he was free to trace his tongue over your slit, to latch onto your clit and suck in a way that made you want to bury your face in your hands and scream. You tried to – crossing your arms over your face, but any sound you tried to make was quickly strangled into a broken moans as his tongue fucked shallowly into your pussy. It was invasive, disgusting, but your body didn’t care. You felt cunt clench around him as his nose ground into your clit, his need for air irrelevant while he spread you open with his tongue. Your thighs clenched shut, attempting to block him out, but his only response was a reverberating groan – and hand on your thigh encouraging you to squeeze him that much tighter.

You couldn’t tell which you hated more; the unwanted stimulation or the fact that your body was reacting to it, heating up where you needed it to go cold. As he sunk further into you, ate you out like a beast starved, you clenched your eyes and willed yourself to go numb, to ignore the sloppy sound of your slick on Yuuji’s lips. It was useless, though, as futile as trying to ignore him in the first place. Your back arched off the bed, legs twitching where they hung limply over his shoulders, and—

—and Yuuji pulled away with a sharp gasp. He was on top of you before you could process that he was moving, his mouth crashing into yours before you could think to avoid him. The kiss was brutal, rushed; all teeth and tongue and lips shoved against yours with enough force to bruise. The only hint of tenderness was the soft, satisfied noise he let out as his tongue raked across yours, the bright grin painted across his lips when he drew back from you. “It’s alright.” He brought a hand to your cheek, cupping your face and brushing away tears with his thumb. “I’ve slept with other people too, ‘cause I knew I’d need a little practice to catch up with you. Could never go all the way, though. I just thought about you, and…” He blushed, simpered, like he thought he could pass himself off as the shy, lip-biting schoolboy with your slick coating his chin. “I guess I just didn’t really want anyone else to touch me. Not when I knew I’d see you again.”

A horrified sob bubbled up from somewhere deep and primal in your chest. Yuuji didn’t seem to hear it, only sighing as he pressed a lingering kiss into your forehead. “You don’t have to do anything,” he muttered, his hands falling to your waist. “I want to take care of you, tonight.”

You watched in stunned, paralyzed horror as he pushed himself to his feet, as he hastily worked off his jeans, his boxers (the dark material already notably stained with proof of his arousal). You made one more feeble attempt to squirm out from underneath him, to get away before his attention turned back to you, but confused and betrayed and so, so exhausted, you didn’t stand much of a chance against Yuuji. All he had to do was glance your way, his expression as warm as it was soulless, to leave you helpless against him.

He was eager enough not to reposition you, not to draw this out with the pretense of romance. With one hand on your hip and the other planted near your head, he lined the head of his cock up with your entrance and forced himself into you, bottoming out in a single thrust.

It was agony – pure and unrelenting. Any semblance of gentleness, of restraint fell away as soon as Yuuji was inside of you, as soon as your hyper-sensitive cunt clamped down around his cock. He cursed under his breath before collapsing, his chest pressing into yours as he tried to bury himself that much deeper inside of you, to chase the feeling of your pussy milking him for all he was worth. As hard as you tried not to think about Sukuna, Yuuji hadn’t been lying when he said they were alike. He was just as insatiable as his brother had been any time you let him but his hands on you; just as rough in the way his hips ground into yours between sporadic thrusts. There’d been bruises, the next day. At least Sukuna had been the type to make sure he was gone by the time the damage set in. You doubted Yuuji would be so kind.

“I—I’m sorry,” he managed as he buckled into you. Panting against the dip of your shoulder, he took your hips in his hands and dragged your ass of the mattress, his brutal pace stuttering as he found a new angle to abuse. “Next time—I’ll be gentle next time, I just need to—”

His cock hit something soft and sensitive inside of you. Reflexively, your hands shot to his back, your nails finding skin and tearing. The moan Yuuji let out in response was nothing short of sinful; hitched and guttural, ragged and loud enough to block out the wet, slick sound of his cock pumping into your cunt. “M—” His hand wraps around your thigh, catching you under the knee and dragging it towards your chest, letting him fuck into you that much deeper, that much faster. His face never left the crook of your neck, as if he was afraid to give you space to breathe. “Mommy, ‘m sorry, I need to—”

His teeth sunk into your throat as something hot and thick flooded into your cunt, as your body went stiff and your vision burned white. While his climax was sudden, intense, the peak to a decade’s worth of patience, yours had to be dragged out of you despite your attempts to hold it back, to deny yourself pleasure in the vain hope that it’d somehow be able to convince Yuuji to stop what he’d already finished. It seemed to hold you there in that state of dark, distorted euphoria for minutes – Yuuji’s movements turning slow and languid as he nursed you through your orgasm.

Eventually, mercifully, he went still, going limp above you with his canines still planted in the curve of your neck. If there was any pain, any other unwanted burdens he could force onto you, you were too lost in your own despair to notice, too distant to feel anything other than the mildest tinge of dread as he pulled back, raising his head just far enough to stare down at you, adoration heavy in his eyes and his grin wide and love-struck.

A small, naïve part of you found the sight suffocatingly familiar, while the rest could almost convince itself that you were looking at a stranger.

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unclewaynemunson · 10 months

Text

Water was wet. Nights were dark. And Steve Harrington was straight. Those were all facts. Sure, Steve could see what made a man attractive, but that merely meant he wasn't blind, not that he wasn't straight. He loved girls. He loved holding delicate hands, he loved feeling soft curves underneath his fingers, he loved the taste of lipgloss on his lips, legs sticking out of skirts, the sound of high-pitched giggling, elegant feet in high heels...

So yeah, even if he saw what made a man attractive, he was still straight. Even if he could, hypothetically, see himself being attracted to some abstract man in some abstract scenario, he was still straight. He loved girls, so who cared if every now and then, he would turn his head to stare at a strong pair of male arms or a particularly well-shaped male bum? Who cared if, by high exception, he could lose himself in some fantasies of doing certain things with a guy instead of a girl? He loved girls. He would fall in love with a girl, and she with him, and they would get married and have kids, and he would be perfectly happy with that. So he was straight. It was a fact.

Or, well, it was a fact until it wasn't. Until the most mundane afternoon possible happened. Until he was sitting on the steps in front of the Munsons' trailer, with Eddie beside him and a sixpack placed between the two of them. It was one of those early spring days, when birds chirped louder and the sun made all the colors pop out just a little bit more and life was good.

Their beer wasn't cooled properly. Their snacks were very mediocre. They weren't talking about anything remarkable. And yet, they were only one moment away from Steve's whole sense of identity changing irrevocably. They were headed right towards a moment he would remember for the rest of his life.

Maybe deep down, he knew that he had been falling for a while, but he was an expert at ignoring inconvenient things. He had been able to call it friendship, or fascination, or even annoyance when he needed to get creative. So later, whenever someone would ask him when he fell in love with Eddie, he would always go back to this particular moment.

Eddie laughed about some lame joke Steve made and took another sip of his beer. And Steve's senses zeroed in on him like he had just unlocked some higher plane of existence. He noticed everything like he had never done before. The movement of his adam's apple when he swallowed, the curve of his neck, the way his curls cascaded over his shoulders looking as soft as sheep's wool... And, when he tilted his head back and looked at Steve again, the color of his eyes when the sun hit them just right: brown as rosewood and dark chocolate and acorns. As a small piece of autumn undefeated by this early spring day.

He felt an overwhelming urge to clash his lips against Eddie's right there, to feel stubble instead of lipgloss and wrap his arms around someone who was made of sharp edges instead of soft curves, to hold a big hand adorned with rings that were anything but delicate, to hear deep laughter instead of high-pitched giggles, maybe even a low moan against his ear...

It was in that moment that he understood what it really meant to be straight – and that it wasn't what he was.

He understood that it didn't matter how much he loved girls. It didn't exempt him from loving boys, and he couldn't choose who he'd fall in love with like he thought he could. He loved this boy right in front of him, the one who was currently talking a mile a minute and didn't notice a thing about the current drastic renovation of Steve's entire brain chemistry. And if he allowed himself to keep falling, he might just end up loving boys just as much as he loved girls.

---

(idc how overdone the eddie-being-steve's-bi-revelation trope is, you can pry it from my cold dead hands. Here's yet another version of it and yes i will project my own experience on steve, no one can stop me)

#bi!steve ftw no i won't take criticism #i should be doing tourist stuff but instead i wrote this whoops #don't mind me rambling about stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #stranger things #fruity ficlet

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chronically-ghosted · 5 months

Text

i crawl home to her

rating: 18+ explicit

pairing: dieter bravo x f!reader

word count: 8.2K

summary: you bring dieter home to meet your family over the holidays.

warnings/tags: discussions of food, mentions of weight gain, brief biphobia, bad family dynamics, hiding parts of yourself to make yourself more palatable, dom!Dieter when his type-A girlfriend needs him to, smut in places it shouldn’t be, a family can be two people, bad jokes, mentions of marriage and kids, one light booty smack, peep the super obvious bob's burgers reference, minimal edited, you can pry the image of dieter in ugg's from my cold dead hands

a/n: i've caved and finally added to the evergrowing pile of "Pedro boy fucks you in your childhood home". @sp00kymulderr i told you i'd get it out today -- it might be tomorrow for you, but it's not yet midnight! i present to you part 2 of merry thanksgiving nonsense2023!

🤍Masterlist

You nearly miss the exit off the gray-slushy highway because you’re trying to remember Aunt Gayle’s food allergies.

And Uncle Rick’s preferred way of taking his coffee in the morning.

And the right detergent to use when washing your niece’s clothes, or else your sister will come after you with a hatchet.

“Baby, you’re gnawing your fingernails bloody.”

You blink, surprised to find your hand anywhere near your mouth, the other white-knuckling the steering wheel, and to your enormous embarrassment, he was right – you’d pulled up several hangnails, leaving tiny pink gouges, right under your immaculate holiday nails you got for the express purpose of looking presentable in all the inevitable Insta photos your sister demands every year.

“Fuck,” you mutter and curl your fingers into your fist as if to hide temptation. From the passenger’s seat, Dieter frowns.

“Twizzler to make it better?” He spins the red, bendy candy enticingly. Your mind suddenly flashes back to the time you both got way too high on his new bong and he made the exact same motions with his dick. You had never laughed so hard in your life.

The red candy whipping around in a circle, you groan into the steering wheel.

“I’m turning around. This was a terrible idea.”

“What are you so nervous about?” Dieter half-way laughs. He pulls his Ugg-stuffed feet off the dashboard and sits up. Crumbs from the Starbucks Christmas sugar cookie spill off his “Kris Kingle My Jingle” sweater and onto the seat, but it’s those fucking earnest, curious eyes that always seem to rock your world. You occasionally don’t like to be touched when you’re stressed, so out of the corner of your eye, you see his hand waver before falling back in his lap. “It’s just dinner.”

“Yeah, but it’s holiday dinner with my family. They’re all so judgy and mean and every time I come home for more than twenty-four hours, I’m reminded exactly why I fucked off to California.”

“Maybe they’re jealous you’re a hot shot director,” Dieter suggests. “Or that you have a ruggedly handsome movie star boyfriend.” Eyebrow raised, he twirls the Twizzler again and manages to bite it out of the air. You half-way expected it to smack him in the face. “They know I’m coming, right?”

You bite your lip, the last phone call with your mother still achingly heavy in your chest.

“You know what she asked when I told her I was bringing home the one and only Dieter Bravo as my boyfriend to meet my family?” You don’t need to look at him to see the furrow in his brow, the slight curve in his shoulders. You prop your elbow up against the window, rubbing your forehead with your fingers. “She asked if it was a career move. If I was dating you to get ahead in the industry . . . like I’m trying to sleep my way to the top.”

There’s a fraught silence. You listen to the wheels churn dirty black snow so you don’t have to look at him.

“Then why in the world would you start with my dumb ass?”

Despite yourself and despite what’s coming, you smile. But you fight it, wrapping your lip up between your teeth. So he continues:

“If you really want to make it big, you gotta date someone at least forty years older than you. So, what? We’re talking seventy. But, wow, think of the money. Bet he has his dick dripped in gold just to keep it hard–,”

“Dieter!” You swat at him, smile too big to contain, and he grins, grabbing you by the wrist. “That’s terrible!”

“But I made you laugh, didn’t I?”

You smirk. “Barely. More like ha ha than a big chuckle.”

He nips your palm, the rough hair on his chin scraping the soft skin.

By some minor miracle and a forcible act of God, your mother is allowing you two to share a bedroom. Not out of respect for your relationship, of course, but there is simply not enough room to spare. You watch those perfect lips imprint themselves in the cup of your hand and you’ve never been more thrilled to have to share a double bed. God, you cannot be this wet before you have to look your mother in the eye. You retract your hand with a breathy exhale.

“We don’t have to stay long,” Dieter says, a weight to his gaze that proves he hasn’t completely blown off your concern. He twists his body in the seat and crosses his arms, his shoulder pressed into the seat. He watches you with his head against the headrest. “I hate seeing you like this.”

“I’m already on thin ice because we’re just staying two days.” You shake your head. “My sister and her family have already been there since Monday and plan to stay the rest of the week.” You inhale, hold, and exhale until you can feel your shoulders drop. “It’s just . . . I’ve worked so hard to make something of my life, to be someone I can be proud of, and it just doesn’t matter to them. They want me to marry a banker or something, and quit my job to do cutesy family blogging on Instagram. They’ve never, ever liked the real me.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see something come over Dieter’s face. Not annoyance, or irritation, but as if someone kick started his brain. But it passes and he brushes the back of your hand resting over the gearshift with his fingers.

“I like the real you,” he says quietly. “In fact, I really, really, really like the real you. I gotta keep you around. Who else is gonna remember the name of the best Chinese food place when I’m high?”

Dieter is sweet, knows the wonders his smile can accomplish, with a twinkle in his eyes. A bit crude, a little distractible, but ultimately, well-meaning. However, he seemed physically incapable of maintaining sincerity. Which in the beginning, was also cute, but now, in a moment of crisis, it was boyish in a way that made you worried. A little scared. Like too much pressure and he’d break.

Is Dieter Bravo someone you could rely on?

History says no.

So, maybe you’d just carry everything.

You smile at him and return your hand to the steering wheel.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

The car squeals as it stops in the driveway, wheels crunching the cold ice. You look up at your childhood home with the same unease and trepidation that’s been there since childhood.

“Go let ‘em know we’re here,” Dieter says as he unbuckles his belt. There’s still crumbs in the knit of his sweater. At least his sweatpants are clean. But there’s nothing you can do about those Uggs right now–

His hand squeezes yours, centering the universe that’s spinning like the inside of a martini shaker. You can feel the weight of his gaze press into your chest – heavy, warm, forgiving. He smiles, then slides into a smirk.

“Chillax, bro. Your vibes are not gnarly.”

You huff, trying to offer a smile that’s not a grimace. This was such a bad idea. Maybe it’s not too late to go pay for one of those mail-order boyfriends and keep Dieter in his nice California, hippie plastic wrap.

You hear your name being called from the porch and that smile fully plummets into a grimace. Gathering from that reserve of confidence that makes you look at male writers, directors, and (yes) actors and tell them they’re idiots and get the fuck off your set, you open the door and head around the corner to the front of the house.

Yeah, in the face of your mother, that reserve is basically a trickle.

She’s waiting for you on the porch, red dish towel in hand.

“I thought that might be you, darling! I’d recognize that squeak from that rust bucket anywhere.” She smiles, arms wide, as you bend down to give her a hug. You've had to bend down to hug your mother for years now and you still feel about two feet tall. “How are you? You’ve been good? You look pale, but you’ve definitely been eating, haven’t you?”

She pinches your cheek as if to show you all the extra fat you have on your face.

“Where’s Dad?” You try not to look like you’re tearing your face out of her grip and glance into the surprisingly quiet house over her shoulder. “Aren’t Emma and Dan supposed to be here?”

“Your father is out finishing his latest woodworking piece. He’s been at it for days, no matter how much I beg him to help with the food or the house. It’s all on me again to save the holidays.”

As it is every year.

“Your sister and her family went out to get more sweet potatoes. They eat sweet potatoes in California, don’t they?”

Here it comes.

“Yes, Mom, they eat sweet potatoes.”

“Oh good, I thought it’d be considered a carb.” She frowns, hands on her hips as if you’re about to get a proper scolding. “Now you told me you’re going to be bringing your fancy actor boyfriend. Damian Bravado, right? I cooked for exactly seven people, darling, a single empty chair will throw the whole thing off!”

“Yes, Mom, my boyfriend, Dieter Bravo, is here. He’s just in the–,”

Someone, distinctly not your boyfriend, or at least not the boyfriend you left in the car, waltzes up the front steps.

Rings gone.

Earring gone.

Gloves that would make Ryan Gosling seethe with envy covering the tattoo on his hand.

His hair slicked back and curling deliciously around his ears, his dark jeans cover the laces of maroon Timberland boots. His black turtleneck clings to his wide chest, the leather jacket broken in enough to be soft, but not so used there’s tears in the seams. And, to top it all off, his cream-colored scarf curled around his throat looks like it came out of a Hallmark movie.

Maybe you are in a Hallmark movie. Maybe on the way up the porch, you slipped and banged your head and all of this is a bizarre, weirdly-erotic dream. Maybe someone actually did call in a mail-order boyfriend who looks exactly like Dieter and the real one is hog-tied in the trunk of your car. Maybe –

You’d heard of quick costume changes, but this is ridiculous.

“Debbie!” He calls out, like they’ve been best friends for twenty years. He flourishes a wrapped bouquet of flowers, bright red against the white snow, and hands them to her after bouncing up the steps. His cheeks are tinged pink, as if he’d run the block, but without a drip of sweat on him, he’s simply glowing with what could be presumed as the holiday spirit.

To your never-ending and horrific surprise, your mother squeals as she takes the flowers.

“Poinsettias! My –,”

“Favorite, I know.” You stumble out of the way when he leans down and kisses her on her cheek. “And they’re fake, so you can reuse them next year. But you’d never know it at $300 a pop.”

Okay, yes, this is a clone of your boyfriend, a walking holiday Ken doll – Dieter never, ever brags about money.

“I’m not a banker or anything, but I like to spoil my girls.”

The bastard winks at you.

Your mother has turned to gooey, drippy putty in his hands. She’s redder than the hand towel and the poinsettias combined. She flounces, flutters, eyes springing back and forth between the ruby-red flowers in her hands and Dieter’s achingly handsome face – one that hasn’t dimmed that thousand gigawatt smile since he first arrived.

“Oh, oh my goodness – well, this is just lovely – it’s so nice to finally meet you – I can’t believe she’s been hiding you from us all this time – please, please come in, you must be freezing!”

She backs into the house, still staring at the flowers, then as if she hadn’t been living here for the past fifteen years of her life, she bounces towards the dining room, then on a quick turn, heads for the kitchen, then turns again to the hallway closet.

“Oh gracious – where did I put – it must be – come in and shut the door behind you – you know where your room is, darling, I’ll be back in just a second, I just have to – ah, these are spectacular –”

A door down the hallway finally swings shut and muffles your mother’s insane rambling.

So dazed, you don’t see him move until he’s pressed you up against the glass etching of the door, his hand palming your hip and the other diving to cup the back of your neck. He tugs you down into his mouth before you have time to blink.

Jesus Christ, mint? His breath smells like mint??

God, he even fucking kisses like a Hallmark Prince. His mouth pulls you into him and your brain whites out – careless of the little whimper you make, careless of the fact that literally any one of your family members could walk in right now, careless that you’re teetering into him as if on string. Your breath flutters down his throat and he huffs through his nose. The tips of his fingers are chilly enough that you shiver at his touch.

He edges the bottom of your lip with his tongue before pulling back and tightening his grip in your hair.

And there’s that Dieter smirk you are all too intimately familiar with.

“How’m I doing?” He mutters. His gaze flickers between your eyes, your nose, and your kissed-pink lips. “I’d say I got Mama Bear on my side.”

Maybe it’s a good thing he isn’t always like this. Between the fresh breath scent in his mouth, the fragrance of his much-too expensive cologne permeating your senses, and his thick thigh shoved under your groin, you are embarrassingly boneless in his arms. You pluck your fingers over the soft leather collar at the back of his neck, just as much to inspect the jacket, as much as to release more of that delicious smell.

“Who are you and what have you done with my boyfriend?” You mutter, smirking, as you wind your fingers into his curls. “Spoil my girls, what the fuck was that?”

“Ah, ha, ha, ha,” he gloats as he lowers his head to your neck. You expect a warm kiss in the length of skin you’ve exposed to him, but instead his teeth lightly tease your throat above your pulse point and you feel your knees buckle as your face warms. “I can be very charming when I want to be.” He squeezes your ass as if to make a point.

You hold back a moan, flattening it to a shudder in your chest. You can feel his grin in your neck and he shifts you, pulls you closer and compresses you deeper into the wooden door. You can feel your conscious thought melting through your fingers so you blink, lick your lips, try to wiggle out from under his teeth.

“This isn’t a Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner. This is Invasion of the Body Snatchers.” You gasp his name into the foyer of your childhood home when he licks you from the curve of your shoulder up under the soft place below your ear. Your hips jerk unconsciously, baser instincts seeking out the friction of his jeans, and you push against his biceps. “Dieter, she’ll be back any minute. She can’t – can’t see us like this.”

You’ve never heard him chuckle like the way he does, so darkly pleased with himself.

“Once I’m done schmoozing her, your father, your sister and her – what did you call him – cardboard husband, we’ll fuck in front of them and they won’t say a word.”

“Dieter!” You shove him just as your mother returns from the kitchen.

She frowns and you feel the scolding coming, the scent of Dieter so obviously entangled in you. You might as well be wearing a sign that reads, hi, yes, I’ve been recently groped why do you ask?

“Did you forget where your room is? Honestly, what would you do without me? Now, follow me and I’ll remind you.”

Schmooze he did.

From the same magical bag of weirdly specific and perfect gifts, Dieter presents a bottle of Buffalo Trace bourbon and two very illegal, but very Cuban cigars. Your father forgets to scowl in the face of some of the most expensive bourbon in the world.

For your sister, he somehow senses that material objects won’t go as far, so he endears himself to your niece first. Asking her questions about her doll, about her school, what she likes to play with her friends and how crazy it is that hopscotch is his favorite game too.

In twenty minutes, he’s on his hands and knees, black sleeves pulled up over his immaculate forearms, and etching out a hopscotch board with pink chalk. He nods and interjects while your niece runs around him, demanding a dragon in the corner, or a crown in another, and suddenly your biological clock starts blaring like an air-raid siren.

“He’s so good with kids,” your sister mutters to you from the door to the garage. A single glance tells you she’s under the same effect of watching a hot man play with a child. You’re so aroused and confused you can’t even eye her with jealousy.

“Mhmm hmm.”

“When are you going to have some of your own?”

And you’re back inside before you can see the look on his face as he lifts his head.

It would be insulting to call it eerie.

It’s not like he’s physically incapable of smelling clean, or dressing nice, or even combing his hair. You’ve seen him do it time and time again for galas and interviews. Hell, that time he took you on a date to get sushi in the tallest building in Toronto, he didn’t look that much different from how he does right now . . . and yet . . .

You feel your face scrunch in suspicion when he remembers your aunt’s food allergies, how your Uncle Rick likes his after-dinner coffee.

Dieter might forget to put on pants, but he’s never forgotten the important dates of your relationship. He remembers what you were wearing the first night you kissed, but can’t remember to take out the pizza before it burns in the oven.

This, this Dieter, feels wrong.

You watch him laugh with your father and uncle by the fireplace with brandy in his hands as you work with your mother and sister to unwrap a dozen saran-wrapped pies. He comes by later and takes the stack of plates from your mother’s hands and assures her he’ll do the dishes, as thanks for such a wonderful meal.

This Dieter Bravo needs a smoking jacket and uses words like “wonderful meal”.

Initial surprise at his near magical transformation from the car this morning long gone, you sit with this uncomfortable feeling, as everyone around you eats pie and laughs and looks all the part of a fucking Hallmark card for “joyful festivities”, long enough to finally understand it for what it is:

Anger.

Shame. Guilt.

Hot embarrassment.

You look at the man who’s invaded your boyfriend’s body as he charms the pants off your mother and father, and ugly, heavy embarrassment boils over in your chest. Washing the knife in your throat down with your fourth glass of wine all night, you excuse yourself with the last bit of breath in your lungs before ducking upstairs, then stumbling to your childhood bathroom you once shared, and share again, with your sister.

You lock the door forcefully in lieu of slamming it shut and sit down on the tile, your head against your knees. Rationally, there’s a part of you that knows this shouldn’t affect you like it is. Women would kill for a boyfriend like this – your sister very nearly jumped him in the garage.

But that’s just the thing – this isn’t your boyfriend. This isn’t the man you spend your days and nights with and this isn’t the man you fell in love with. This isn’t the Dieter you want to show the world.

A soft knock comes from the other side of the door and it breaks you out of your self-deprecating spiral.

“Just a second,” you call out as you stand. You flush the empty toilet (this night is filled with ruses after all) and twitch the faucet on for two seconds. But when you open the door, you’re immediately cowed back in.

“Dieter, what are you–,”

“Are you okay?” Beneath the veneer of the Million Dollar Man, his eyes are soft, coaxing the anxiety out of you. “You looked pale when you left.” He tucks an escaped strand of hair over your ear, watching how his fingers brush up against your skin. He gently tangles his fingers in your hair as he pulls back. He smirks. “Mom’s dressing wasn’t that bad.”

White-hot shame blooms again and you turn your head from him, tugging your hair out of his reach. You catch his hurt expression out of the corner of your eye.

“I’m fine. Just needed some air.”

“You’re not a good liar. I’ve told you that.” His voice is clipped. Not irritated, but not interested in lengthy bouts of misdirection either.

“Well, I don’t feel like bearing my problems to Mr. Perfect.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He crosses his arms, shoulders swelling in the space of the tiny bathroom, and he leans on the sink.

“It means you’re a better liar than me so I guess you’ll have to do it for the both of us.”

You know it’s ridiculous to try and move around him – but maybe this Dieter wouldn’t care if you left angry. Even sober, he could manhandle you without a second thought, but between the heat of the drink in your throat and he’s blurred at the edges, you know you’re fighting a losing battle.

“Dieter, please, just –,”

He stands his ground, effectively blocking the door, and you huff, pushing up against his waist with your hands, your teeth bared behind your lips. He steps back, you think you’ve won a mile, but then his hands grasp so firmly around your elbows, your entire consciousness is pulled into where his fingers curl against your skin.

He gently, but seriously, shakes you slightly.

“Stop fighting me. You tell me what I did wrong and we’ll talk about this.”

The past two weeks of dread, and fear, and worry, and shame – shame that this is your family, this is how you go to pieces around them, this is all you can offer him – slam into your chest and your breathing hitches. The fingers at his chest dig into his shirt. The fourth glass of wine makes your eyes hot and tight.

“This isn’t you.”

You grimace in the bright light of the bathroom and your confession. But beyond your closed eyes, his demeanor hasn’t changed.

“What’s not me?”

A tear slips out the moment you open your mouth, your throat closing and gagging on your words. You swallow and try again, eyes peeling open to stare at the curve of his shoulder.

“You’re Dieter Bravo. You dry-clean your favorite pajamas to preserve the material. You do astrology charts of people who piss you off to find out how to best get back at them. You paint until four in the morning and sleep in our bed until I wake you up–,”

Your heart thrusts its way into your airways and cuts off your ability to speak. You know you’re not making a lot of sense, but all you can think of right now is how much you want to peel this fucking black, Steve Jobs-esque, goddamn ugly-ass turtleneck apart with your bare hands. Like freeing a mermaid from a net. He squeezes your waist, his broad palm settled in the curve of your lower back.

“Darling, I don’t see why this has you so sad –,”

“They won’t fall in love with you like I did.” You lift your watery gaze to him, unable to stop the spilling of tears. You always got teary when you drank a bit too much, but fuck, if you didn’t love him so much, you wouldn’t be so mad . . . at yourself. “I hate that you feel like you have to do this to be accepted by my family. I hate that they can’t see what makes you so special to me. I hate . . . I hate that they don’t see the real you.”

And out of nowhere, he smiles.

Never one to shy away from bodily fluids, Dieter kisses your tear-soaked cheeks, his hands rising up your back, taking their time to press into the curve of your hips, the bones of your ribs, the high arch of your spine, before settling on your cheeks. He kisses your wet mouth, thumbs against the corners of your lips like a soft leather bridle. He holds you, just like that, until your heart eases, stops racing in your chest, and you lean more into the kiss, chasing instead of hiding. You wrap your fingers around his wrists as he pulls away.

“With all due respect, this is just another gig for me.” His gentle smile hides no bitterness, no anger. No disgust. “I know what people like this are like, how they think, what they want. What they value.” He smears away the cold tears from your skin with his thumbs. “It’s fun, in a way, to infiltrate their little circles. It’s all fake, it’s all bullshit, and fortunately I’m fantastic at bullshit.”

You let out a watery laugh and he reaches behind you for some toilet paper to dry your tears. He blots your eyes for you before you can even take the tissue.

“You’re not forcing me to do anything, baby,” he murmurs. “My family was exactly the same way, so I know how the game is played.”

“Yeah, and you don’t talk to them anymore. I just wish I had your bravery to cut them out of my life like you did.”

Dieter’s mouth twitches. “Well, that had more to do with the fact that I like to occasionally make out with boys, than dysfunctional family dynamics.”

You squeeze his forearm as he continues to clean your face, trying to catch his eyes but they’d gone hard where a moment ago they were soft. He thinks, using the silence to carefully fix your make up with his thick thumb under your eyelashes to lift off the smeared mascara.

He didn’t talk much about his life before Hollywood, but when he did, you understood why he was so closed off about it.

“Let’s put it this way: they did the cutting off, not me. And even if we have to be completely different people, your family still talks to you. I’m not saying that to guilt you, or compare trauma scars, but . . . most times we can’t pick who we love, but sometimes we have to.”

You nod, a sense of ease washing over you. His small, I don’t know if I should say this but I’m gonna smile widens across his mouth.

“It’s okay if they don’t see the real me, because I know you do.” He finally pulls away the tissue, his mouth pulled up in sweet earnest. “What can I do to make you feel better?”

A physical string connected between your ribs and his could not have tugged you faster. Tripping into his wide, warm chest, you drop your head onto his collarbone as you wrap your arms around his torso tighter than his own rib cage.

“Just . . .”

His bulky arms pull you into his chest, the bristles of his beard scratching at your temple. It’s not until you sink away from your own thoughts, into the silence in the bathroom, that you realize your breathing is synced with his.

That realization hits you particularly hard, that without trying, without meaning to, you become one with him – you turn and bury your face into the pulse of his neck. If you can get to his heartbeat, maybe that’ll calm you too. Dig through the crust of the earth and end up in China. You shift in his arms, and he does too. Dieter cups the back of your head, thumb rubbing the arch of your skull. His entire arm circles your back.

“What do you need, hm, baby? What can I give you, huh?”

You know he doesn’t mean it like that, but the girth, the weight of his voice has your toes curling in your shoes. His rasp is so often used to light that first spark.

“Dieter –,” the moment shifts and so do you. You squirm, itching for his face in your hands, his mouth over yours, but he holds you steady. Holds you firm. So firm, you can feel he’s half-hard in his jeans.

Oh.

Maybe he did mean it like that.

You press your tongue against his pulse point, your fingers splayed across the back of his rib cage, and he shudders. You’re about to bite down, when his hands peel your fingers from his back and pinch your wrists in one single, meaty grip. Heart suddenly thundering in your chest, he steps back to allow for just enough room to turn you – barely any at all – and pushes you face down on the sink counter, your wrists clasped over your ass behind you.

Cold marble pressing up against your tits, your face turned towards the window and the towel bar where you used to hang your Barbie swimsuits when you were seven, you feel his other massive palm dip under your sweater and press flat against the ridges of your spine. He hums when you let out a small whine. Flexes his fingers when you wiggle your ass against him. You seek out the marble with your cheek, heat rising under your skin, arousal suddenly burning hot in your low belly.

“This is what you need, hm, baby? Need me to touch you? To feel you?” He murmurs. Dieter always did like playing with his food. You nod helplessly, cheek sticky against the marble. He shifts his hips into the crack of your ass, with just enough pressure to have you bucking back against him, but not enough to find relief from the stirring between your legs.

He strokes your hair away from your neck, fingers brushing over your collarbone, gaze languid and slow. Like he can see where he needs to pluck to unravel you.

“Why is my baby so tense?” He muses quietly, patronizing. His hand maps your spine in a single palm, edging slowly up your back until, with two fingers, he pinches your bra open. You feel the snap of the release and you rub your nose against the edge of the counter, whimpering. “Don’t I take care of you?”

You gulp. “Y-y-yes, you treat– treat me so good. I want it.”

He has you pressed too tightly against the counter to slip his hand down your front, the edge pinching your hips. So, instead, with your hands still pinned against your tailbone, he palms your ass and rubs a thick finger down between your legs and up over the seam of your jeans. The whine building in your throat breaks into an open moan when he presses your zipper teeth into your clit.

“Want what? Tell me and I’ll give it to you.”

“F-fingers – tongue – fuck – y-your cock. Anything inside me.”

The surprised, breathless chuckle that reverberates down to the button of his jeans seared against your ass has you bending, stretching, just for a glimpse of his face in the mirror.

His mouth open, tongue curling back and forth over his bottom lip, he’s hungry. Wants so much. Can’t satiate this need without something between his teeth. Grinning around a mouthful of incisors. Patience has never been Dieter’s strong suit.

With a firm jerk around your wrists, your back arches up off the counter, shoulders pinched, hands caught low near his groin. You know he wants you to watch him touch you in the mirror – he’s stopped before when you close your eyes – but it’s hard to look at the woman reflected back at you, with her bleary eyes, mussed hair, heaving chest, and exposed belly button where his hand hovers between the waistband and a green sweater, and recognize yourself.

“No one can take you from me. Do you understand?” He dips his head, arched nose dragging up the curve of your neck, breathing hot through his teeth against the lines where your hair and your skin meet. You can’t help but arch up into his waiting mouth. “Not your family. Not mine. You’re so greedy for me – who else is gonna make you feel this good?”

“N-no one, Dieter, no one can.”

His hand rising under your sweater, thumb first at your belly button, then up between the spread of your ribs, and finally, it catches under the wire of your bra and he tugs it down. The material rubs against your sensitive nipples – it almost stings, your body pulled taught like a bowstring – the straps falling low off your shoulders, but your sweater keeps it from falling off completely and he goes no further. You whine, eager for something other than the scratch of the bra – something warmer – and push your sensitive tits into his soft hands, but his hand drops, fingering the waistline of your jeans instead. He ignores what you want to show you what you need.

This is a thing he did. He watched you wind yourself up with deadlines and scheduling and meetings and arguments on set and and doubt and worry and fear and then he took it upon himself to tire you out enough that all of it shattered – crashed and consumed under the white noise in your head. Dieter liked to play however you needed it.

You can feel the seam of his jeans hover just beyond your fingertips, as though his hips swing unconsciously forward while he nips and sucks on your neck. God, you’d give anything to have the weight of him between your palms.

When he speaks again, you realize at some point you squeezed your eyes shut, forgoing sight to chase the sensation that sparks across your skin every time he touched a new bare patch of skin on you. He pulls his head up from fixating a tender purple blush just below where your sweater covers your shoulder to catch your gaze in the mirror. Panthers do not watch with such hungry eyes.

“Arms up.” It’s not a command, a request, but the words drip from his mouth, rich and sweet. He lets go of your wrists and your arms flutter above you, his fingers already rolling up the edge of your sweater. He drags it up, snagging your loose bra with it, and peeling them both off you. The immediate heat of his chest on your bare back is so hot, it burns cold.

“Dieter,” you cry, nipples hardening in the cold air, goosebumps spiraling out along your skin. He’s there for you in an instant.

He bites the soft, invisible hairs at your jaw, thick paws coming up to clutch your breasts, the sudden swap in temperature making your head swim. He pulls you against his chest, a new outer skin that breathes and moans and gasps, one that has a steady heartbeat your own has synced to.

With his eyes fixated on you in the mirror, he molds your breast to his palm, rounding your nipples with his thumbs before sliding down between the curves of them. He licks the back of your neck.

“Face down, baby,” he says.

“But it’s cold,” you huff, pouting. You smooth your hands over his, his angular wrists, his broad thick forearms entombed in long back sleeves, then settle with your fingers in his hair. His height over you has your torso stretched, your tits bare and ripe, and he palms your stomach to the top of your ribs in two hands. He grunts when you twist his curls, keeping his head still so every bruise and wet spot on your shoulders and throat are all too visible. “Don’t you want to see all your good work?”

He blinks, slow and purposeful, his eyelids heavy, mouth parting. You can’t be sure of his decision, of what he wants, what he’s going to give, when his hands arch up the cradle of your arms, soft enough to tickle below your elbows, then around your wrists. He’s done this enough for you to know he wants you to let go.

You do.

Fast as venom moves from fangs to flesh, he plants your hands on the counter, forcibly gripping the edge. This is how you hold on.

He steps up against you again, iron-hot cock pressing without hesitancy between your ass cheeks, and unbuckles your pants without preamble.

“I’d rather just show you.”

Broad hand bending your shoulders forward, fingers pressed flat over your shoulder, you gasp when your tits make contact with the cold counter, and an instant later, he’s filling your open mouth with his fingers. He wets them against the slip of your tongue and grabs your jaw.

Your mind fracturing like cracking ice, you don’t hear the zip of his jeans, the groan as he takes himself out – barely feel the rub along your wet slit, the arranging of his fingers around your bare hip, the widening of your stance with his ankle.

But you do feel it when he’s suddenly hilt-deep inside of you.

You lurch forward with the weight of it, whining as though scalded at the sudden blinding pressure of pleasure and pain, and you slap a palm against the mirror to keep yourself from shattering through it. Behind you, Dieter looks like someone dislocated his kneecaps.

“You good, baby?” He pants, drawing his hand out of your mouth, wet spit between his fingers as he cups your hanging breast. The sensation bleeds hot, then cold. Unable to help himself, he nuzzles your shoulder blades.

You nod, eyes shut, the magnetic north sense of you spinning wildly off-kilter as you try to gulp in as much air as you can. You know you’re about to lose it anyway. He stands upright, not so much as inching out of you, when he plants his feet and nestles your ass against his hip bones, hands wiggling you further down his cock.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous.”

It’s said with such wonder, a breathless reverence, that you think he might not have realized he said it out loud. You glance over your shoulder, turning your head instead of finding him in the mirror.

The facade of the Brooklyn banker is gone. Your Dieter stares, awe-struck, at the body he’s got impaled on his cock like it’s the first time he’s seen a naked woman. Soft, pliant, eager to please, your Dieter lets you collar him, peg him, and give it to you exactly as you ask.

“How do you want it?” The phrase is so familiar, so intimate when spoken from his pink lips, you shudder, a Pavlovian response that’s got you drooling somewhere else than your mouth. He lifts his gaze and finds you staring.

There is no one else in that moment. Not a single living soul besides you and him in this white-tiled bathroom. You can almost hear the absence of people ringing in your ears. His open, hot mouth draws your eyes away from his and you want every bit of him as stuffed up inside you as you can handle. Twisted around, you lick his bottom lip over your shoulder before offering your tongue for him to suck.

He groans, and you breathe in intimacy you’ve never experienced before. A flushed ache rises from your chest, a precursor to the aches he’ll leave you with by morning.

You tip your head back and thumb the bristly skin against his chin.

“Hard, baby. Please.”

For all his faults, for all his forgetting, Dieter switches brain waves as fast as you do, tethered together like the gravitational spin of space rocks in the wake of a gleaming comet.

“Okay.”

He distracts you from the pain of that first rough thrust by biting down on your shoulder.

His motions are short, targeted, and right up into the cradle of your cervix, the pace driven, unrelenting and hard. You shake with the force of them, as fragile as silverware on a table near the drop of an atom bomb.

“Oh – fuck, Dieter–,”

He pins your arm that had touched his chin to your chest, then his chest to your back, sealing your damp skin to his shirt. The curl of that wretched black turtleneck scratches deliciously against your low back.

Grunting in low, short bursts, Dieter sabotages his own breathing by crushing you so tight to his chest. He sucks on your neck as if to draw the oxygen straight from your blood. The fingers on your hip steady you, just for his cock wrecks your insides.

“You wan-na – ngh – you wanna know why it doesn’t bother me?”

Each word is spat out from between his teeth. He’s giving you your requested punishment as much as he is sprinting after his own release.

“Tell me. Tell me please.” Your voice is scraped raw, breathless and gooey at the same time.

“Because when you’re my wife, they won’t be able to do a fucking thing about it.”

Around him, your cunt squeezes, his words sending shocks through your nerves. You whine as if he’d smacked your ass.

“I fucking felt that. You like that. You want that. You want my fucking cock every day.”

Again, he plants your hands on the cold counter.

“Push back against me, baby.” You anchor yourself, ass out, elbows and knees locked. “That’s it, that’s my fucking good girl.”

He lifts his body up right, off your sweaty neck and back, and with both hands pinching your waist, he yanks you up and down on his cock in long, rough thrusts, knees bending with enough force to send you onto your toes.

“Gonna have to take it. Just – fucking – take – it –,”

His leaking cock drives up against that spot inside of you that makes your eyes roll back and body tense again and again, but yanks back before that hot feeling swells. It’s so close you’re dizzy from it.

You want to fuck yourself on his cock but you can’t time your aching hips right, so you stop trying and bend forward more, exposing more of your cunt to him.

“Dieter, please –,”

“Baby, you gotta be quiet. I know you feel good, but you can’t let them hear us.”

The words are out of your mouth, breaking through the thick, drowning fog and through the hindbrain barrier.

“Fuck them. Let them hear.”

Dieter’s hips slow, punch not as deeply, as if he’s curious what you’re going to say next.

“Take off your shirt. I wanna feel your skin.”

He listens immediately, a very good boy at heart, and the first press of his soft chest against you nearly has you coming then.

“Harder again, please.”

Again, without a second’s hesitation, he kisses your ear before grappling your shoulder with one hand and your hip with the other and he takes up his position as owner and keeper of your sloppy cunt.

You cry out, high and wrecked, some semblance of sanity knowing you’re being far too loud, and he bucks the words out of you.

“I wanna suck on your earring, Dieter.” He grunts as he doubles over as if trying to yank back an unrestrained and early release. He rubs his damp forehead in the patch of soft skin by your shoulder blade.

“Say it again.”

With every rock of his hips, you swing up higher, and higher, your thighs tensing, nails scraping the counter.

“Wanna put it between my lips and suck until you’re cherry red. I wanna choke on your rings. So far down my throat I gag. Wanna – wanna – lick your tattoos – all of them – ‘til the ink blurs from my spit. I –,”

The noise he makes is pained, weak, a man at the end of his rope.

He pops your ass. “Shut up. You’re gonna come now.”

His sweaty palms slip against the soft skin of your hips, and he keeps slipping with no leverage.

“Stand on your toes.” You do and for an absurd second, you think he’s going to pick you up in a bear hug. He wraps his arms around your rib cage, his face nestled into the hot, sticky curve of your neck, in the flipped image of when he takes you after your legs get sore from riding him. Your tits spilling over his forearms, he keeps the ludicrous bend in your spine as well as the short, rough pace. You reach your fingers around the back of his head and hold on for dear life.

The change in angle has stars blowing across your eyes, has you whimpering strings of pleas, veneration, and curses all threaded together. His own thighs shaking, he rubs the pads of three of his fingers across your clit and you’re over the edge.

“Oh – oh, shit –,”

The electrical storm that’s been building one wiry shock at a time finally bursts and you go rigid from head to toe, turning to marble, to steel, bright and sharp. You can feel your own release dribble down your thigh, Dieter stuttering behind you.

“Wait – fuck,”

He tries to speed up, or press harder, but he’s coming so hard you feel it expand your cunt and ends up just making a leaking mess. The sensation shivers you through another minor wave. The crest goes high, then crashes, and you slump forward, cold nips be damned, and he follows you down a second later.

The heated weight at your back and hard, cool marble squishing your tits is too much for your dazed brain to handle. Any looser and you might slip off the edge of the earth.

Dieter seems to be in a similar state. He not so much pulls out of you as he goes weak-kneed to the floor. A single tug on your hip has you stumbling down with him.

Despite the garland around the stairs, despite the smell of cranberries in the air, despite the veneer of perfect holiday wholesomeness, it’s the slick layer of sweat, grime, and cum over your skin that has you finally smiling.

You recognize you have been gone far too long – there’s not enough spiked hot cider in the world to ignore two missing bodies and a locked door. Dieter puts his barefoot preemptively up against the door frame and you giggle into his shoulder.

“Oh, there’s the sound I’ve been missing!” He nuzzles you, a blissful smile breaking open his face, sunlight over storm clouds. He wiggles beneath you, trying to tug you on top of him, but with your jeans constricting your thighs, and his barely below his hips, all it really accomplishes is the two of you rolling around on the bathroom floor.

In a heap of limbs, slick skin, his knee catching the button of your jeans, you bump your nose against his chin, there’s something bright building in your chest – it’s twisting your mouth, pinching your cheeks – his fingers grab your elbow, his eyes lock into yours –

And you’re laughing.

You’re laughing too loud, all pretense gone. You can’t honestly care what they’re thinking downstairs.

He manages to get you under him, his damp hair clinging to his temples and tangling down in frizzy strands.

“I’m gonna say this and I need you to actually hear me.”

You nod, grinning up at him and lightly tracing his clavicle.

He swats at your hand and holds it to your chest.

“Don’t wait until it’s that bad, okay?” You chuckle and he bites the tip of your nose. “Listen to me, you little goblin, I’m trying to be serious for a second.”

You settle under him, fingers intertwining with his over your chest. Sincere Dieter is a beautiful thing to look at.

“This holiday bullshit can be a lot. Spent a lot of them either in coke up to my eyeballs, or in the bathroom the next day. It fucking sucks that these are the people we can from, but we can’t change that. What’s important is the family we build right now–,”

Your mouth drops open, his words suddenly illuminating a future that had always seemed so blurry and distant.

“Dieter, I –,”

“I’m gonna marry you someday, so let’s start with us.” He kisses the back of your hand. “We carry each other, okay?”

You nod, the white light of that future searing a hole in your chest, exposing your heart to the open air, and bringing tears to your eyes. You nod, more assured, before kissing him on his bottom lip.

“Okay.”

The next few minutes play out just like they would if you were at home: cleaning each other up, trying on clothes only to realize he grabbed your sweater instead, and bumping affectionate kisses wherever they could reach.

At the top of the stairs, you don’t know what awaits you in the living room. What exactly you’ll be returning to. Who will catch you and who won’t.

But it doesn’t matter. His hand is around yours and he’s grinning petulantly against all the world.

Is Dieter Bravo someone you could rely on?

Your heart says yes.

#dieter bravo #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo x f!reader #dieter bravo fic #dieter bravo x female reader #dieter bravo fanfiction #dieter bravo x oc #pedro pascal character #pedro pascal character fanfic #the bubble fanfic #the bubble #pedro pascal #merry thanksgiving nonsense 2023

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enviedear · 6 months

Text

holy terrain ⟶ anakin skywalker

description ⌙ anakin can't deny the pull his bratty princess has over him, or rather, has always had over him.

pairing ⌙ anakin x f!princess!reader

warnings ⌙ nsfw, 18+ mdni i will block you. mean(ish)!anakin, equally mean(ish)!reader, they're toxic 'friends', an unreciprocated childhood kiss, also an unexpected kiss, mention of alcohol, brief mention of anidala (they're not tg), a flashback (it's not long dw), improper acts in a royal garden, fingering f!receiving, use of the nicknames petnames princess and jedi, no use of y/n.

word count ⌙ 4.1k

— request | masterlist

ur gonna have to pry anakin & princess!reader fics from my cold dead hands

loosely based off of mother's song.

to the untrained eye, the elaborate ball around you would seem perfect, flawless even. a truly divine display of political power and proceeds all around, but all you're able to take note of is the glaring absence of a certain jedi knight.

it's not your place to ask for his whereabouts, and the idea of anyone knowing that you're looking for him has your head throbbing.

you'd grown up with him, running around the halls of both the jedi temple and your castle respectively.

while your mother, the queen, would discuss and debate with the senior jedi and pompous planetary delegates— you were off getting the young padawan into trouble.

you've never been the most considerate to him— rather, you liked to tease and push him around. anakin was your first and only acquaintance to allow you to deter from the rigid nature of your regality.

he'd take your witticisms and throw some back at you with even more vigor, and when you'd roughhouse with him he never drew back his hits.

he was anakin, and to him, you were just you.

but since the war, and its recent end— you've seen little of him. the most, if only, of him you've seen has been on your holopad.

'hero without fear', the words most always surrounding his likeness.

you're half inclined to think that the boy you grew up with may now be too substantial for you.

you fiddle with your dress' skirt, trying to keep your eyes from drifting back to the jedi and their apprentices who are present, lined in an almost perfect row against a wall. one more glance and you fear you may be drawn into a long conversation about the force, and you'd rather brood in your corner than deal with that.

your body goes stiff at the feeling of two hands coming from behind to clutch your shoulders, "princess, don't tell me you're sulking."

the voice that hits your ears is familiar and warm, and you fight back a grin as you turn to face the young man, "no. but i will now you're here."

his lips upturn in a simper, "oh, then shall i leave you? all alone?"

you hum, in faux thought, "never! i always need a jester at my side. what could be better than your funny face?"

you take him in while he laughs off your quip. his hair is neatly out of his face, longer and more curly than you've ever seen, and his long arms have become fuller, muscles apparent even with his tunics and robe.

his black and flowing garments starkly contrast your fitted and fair-shaded gown, and you take it as a reminder of your evident differences. anakin is a warrior now, while you're left to relegate menial court duty. in a strange way, you envy him.

his path has standards and steps to prove to him and everyone else that he is growing, learning, and becoming more. in your case, you come up lacking.

most people look and speak to you as though you're an idea. a sheltered royal with little to no concept of the galaxy around her.

you like to believe their whispers weren't true, but as you look upon your jedi companion, you feel a deep sense of ineptitude. how could you compete or compare to someone who has seen more planets than you could even name?

you put a small smile on your face, trying to block out your thoughts, "how have you been? i heard a certain senator has been keeping a close eye on you."

anakin's eyes narrow, "royal gossip? may i be privy to such information, your highness?"

he's being coy and you know it, you bring your voice to a whisper, "amidala. i hear you've been seen fleeing her chambers."

he hums, hands coming to rest at his hips, "well, princess, are you asking if the whispers are true," he pauses, head dipping closer to you and whispering, "or are you confused as to what goes on behind closed doors?"

you roll your eyes, "i most certainly do not need any aid in understanding such matters. i have my fair share of suitors. i just wonder how long until such information finds itself back to your council."

he gives you a contemptuous look, "you think too highly of my affection toward her. besides, i've heard she's found someone new to engage with."

"you've heard, or you were told?" you can't help the smugness in your words. truthfully, you've known of anakin's obsession with the young senator for years, and when you learned of her shared interest in him at the beginning of the war you had a strange aggression towards the idea.

the knowledge of the endeavor finally coming to an end relieves an unidentified weight on your chest.

anakin waves you off, "the specifics aren't important, however..." he trails off, looking you up and down.

his words and look pique your interest, "yes, anakin?"

you watch as his eyes leave your form to scan the ballroom. guests are everywhere, leaving the room crowded— and the walls seem to reek of whiskey and nectar wine— usual amongst 'high status' officials.

anakin leans down to you to whisper into your ear, "follow me."

your eyebrows knit together but you do as you're instructed, slipping away from the noisy ball and out into the night air.

there are a few stragglers outside, either intoxicated, engaging in less than pure actions, or a mix of the two.

you look away from a couple touching each other hungrily to glower at anakin, "why are we out here?"

his head turns to look back at you before he continues forward, "patience, dear princess."

your face scrunches in confusion but you continue on, hands pulling your skirts off the ground as you enter into the royal gardens.

you've walked the path beneath you countless times, and one of your earliest memories of the footpaths was shared with anakin. his boyish face covered in dirt after you had convinced him to unearth a large plot of soil for a lake— in your honor of course.

he had spent hours on his assignment, promising that you'd get what you desired.

in truth, a twelve year old you desired no lake, you simply wished to see how far you could get him to go for you.

it was you who held the power then, and he was a faithful devotee— albeit to his masters' chagrin. No one was able to really understand the hold you held over him.

not even the pair of you.

the incident landed both of you in a great deal of trouble, and you were forced to spend the next morning filling said hole. little you was apt to make anakin do most of that chore himself.

not that he had complained.

after a few quiet minutes of walking, anakin stops at one of the smaller fountains in the green. one of the oldest landmarks in this garden, predating the lavish castle on its horizon. it sits surrounded by tall fruit trees, leaving the area sweetly scented and mostly hidden.

"do you remember when i pushed you into this fountain?" anakin asks, voice deviant and deep.

you ponder up at him, "yes, and i also remember how i pulled you in with me."

he hums, a light chuckle falling out of his lips, "hm, and what did i do right after?"

you think back to the day, you, fourteen, and he fifteen. your defensive action had made him so outraged at you. his teenage face had been vibrant pink and his knuckles white.

"maker, you're such a brat!" anakin's voice was riddled with annoyance as he pushed himself out of the fountain, "look at me! i'm all wet and master obi-wan is never going to let me hear the end of this."

you had simply laughed, following him out of the chilly water, "i'm not a brat, and you pushed me first! goodness anakin, you're so boring now."

he turned to glare at you, "don't say that— i am not!"

you rolled your eyes, "are too."

in one quick movement, he had your back pressed hard into one of the trees, "i'm not boring. and if you say it again i'll make you regret it, princess."

you weren't scared of him, you could never be scared of anakin, "well, skywalker, if you're not boring, why don't you prove it."

it had been a silly and childish remark, and you weren't exactly sure how you wanted him to showcase opposition to your teasing. you weren't sure if even he knew how, but his thumbs traced along the veins at your wrists. his touch had left the air around you soft and hushed.

his blue eyes met your own for a split second before he leaned down to you, flushed lips parting ever so gently. he let his hands drop from your wrists down to your hips, and you stiffened at the touch. he had never behaved in such a way before, and the contact had your heart racing.

with little time to think, you watched him erase the space between the two of you, pausing for a short instant, before closing the gap between you. your eyes had gone wide at the feeling of his lips on yours. those perfect lips, full and chapped, lamented at your own— so foreign and new to you.

there wasn't much to the exchange, very little movement on your end and your eyes had stayed open in shock the entire time. just as you thought to kiss him back— he had pulled away.

He had then wiped his lips with the back of his hand before speaking, voice higher than normal, "there. i'm not so boring." and with that, he ran away, back to the castle, and you didn't see him again until months later.

you'd never brought it up and neither had he, so his question had you reigning yourself in, eerily motionless. he had taken your first kiss and never mentioned it again, why would he bring it up now?

you can't shame him much for it, as you had replayed the memory back in your mind thousands of times. commonly going so far as to try and remember what he had tasted like, to memorize the feel of his hands on you.

your mind often wondered what your reaction would be now, you hoped you'd at least be able to kiss him back now. but anakin didn't need to know that.

with a sharp look at him, you reply, "you robbed me of my first kiss, jedi." you inflect when you mention his title, reminding him of his virtuous position.

his left hand finds a place on your waist, drawing you into him, "i've never been considered a thief before— is that really how you recall it, princess?"

you fight your fluster, refusing to cower down to whatever game he's playing at, "oh? what would you call it?"

he quirks an eyebrow, "unfinished."

your stare up at him, body turning to fully mirror his own, "excuse me?"

"incomplete, insufficient," you watch as his other hand, metal, and cool comes to a rest at your shoulder, tugging you even more so to him, "i'd hate to think that was as good as you could do, sweet princess. you couldn't even rally the courage to kiss me back."

you look at him and decide that the jedi knight before you has changed. no longer was he the boy who followed along with your every whim with silent invocation, no longer the young man who engaged in your childish games— instead, the man before you had a presence that alone could send your mind rushing into quite debauched places.

"who said i ever thought about kissing you back in the first place." your voice is barely a mutter, despite the teasing intention.

anakin gives you a smug look, head tipping to the left, "you've grown to be quite the liar, princess."

your words go pointed, "you've grown overconfident."

in truth, he hadn't. his assumptions were correct, but how could you give in to him so easily? anakin is almost entirely overpowering, but you can see the soft pink tint on his cheeks. and you know you have an equal, if not greater, effect on him.

his metal arm is stern against you, and you feel his grasp growing stronger, almost evidence of your words.

lips upturned, he speaks, "overconfidence isn't what this is, i only wish to be useful, princess. how cruel it is to have my dedication be met with apprehension."

his words inflict a firey sensation deep within you, and the atmosphere between you seems to build, fizzling around. you feel as though your sanity has become severed— evolving into an amalgamation entirely made of him.

"and how remiss would i be if i didn't let you fulfill your favor?" your voice feels shakey, but you allow your own hands to find his shoulders, digging in ever so gently and forcing him closer.

he chuckles, eyebrows darting up in surprise, "horribly remiss i'm afraid."

your lips curve, "and this favor," you pause, narrowing your eyes, "you think it should be a kiss? that seems self-seeking."

the knight looks down to your lips, mirth clouding his features, "this is purely for your benefit, princess. don't you deserve the practice?"

in the back of your mind, you could find a tactful solution to this situation. perhaps something that involves stepping farther away from the man peering down at you, but strangely, you've never wanted to be closer to him than you do now.

"as if i need it, jedi." your voice is low when you speak, and you catch anakin's adam's apple hitch up.

you feel like your body is humming as you slide your hands from his shoulders— grazing over his clavicle, up, and towards his neck. you watch his eyes widen slightly, and you can hear his little intake of breath— you got him right where you wanted.

you look up at him once more, silently looking for approval, gratitude, need— something. the blue eyes peering down at you fail to disappoint.

you let yourself stand a bit taller and pull him down to you, inching up until your lips graze his own. you feel his smile when your lips brush, and you bite your tongue before kissing him.

your kiss is deliberate and delicate, but you're fully in control.

he gives into you so easily. he waits for you to pull him closer before he follows suit, nose pressing into the side of your own. he tastes of fruit, and you let your tongue slide into his mouth, greedy for him.

he exhales at that, palming your hips and pressing himself into you ever so slightly. you let out a lewd breath at that, and anakin breaks the kiss to lean his forehead on your own.

you wait a second before looking up at him, and he stares back down at you. his lips part again, but this time you expect them to be followed by words. possibly an apology or a rejection.

he surprises you instead, by dipping down to you once more. his hands trail up from your hips, stopping just below your breasts. you groan when you feel his lips begin to leave kisses along your jaw, trailing down toward your neck.

your shared behavior is absolutely improper for both of you, but you can't seem to care while he's leaving lingering kisses upon your neck, sending goosebumps along your flesh.

your hands push upward, fingers knotting themselves in his hair. you let yourself give his locks a little tug just as he begins to suck on your skin.

you catch your breath from his raw and desperate action. your heart pounds harder, the sensation overcoming you, sending a swell of pleasure through you. he takes every signal you give him, pulling himself closer to you until you can feel the flutter of his heartbeat against your chest.

his lips graze your ear before he speaks, voice barely a whisper, "i'd say we're even now, princess."

your eyes remain closed at his words, enjoying the feeling of his breath against you, "i'm not so sure, jedi."

his hands find a home at both sides of your face, and you look up at him, "and how does my crime of stealing your first kiss continue to go unpunished?"

you're not sure of what to say for a second, shocked still by the look of conviction caught in his eyes, "i never said i wanted to punish you for it."

he moves one hand from the side of your face, tracing it back down towards your hips. he smiles at your words, and looks up at the sky before answering in a low voice," then how else should i show my appreciation?"

you take a step back, leaning against the tree for support. you can feel his gaze on you, but before he can say anything your own bravery speaks up, "appreciation?"

He lifts an eyebrow at your remark and tilts his head inquisitively in response, "yes princess, don't you want me to show you how grateful i am?"

You grin devilishly in response and answer him confidently, “i think i could come up with something."

he grins back lazily, humming a response, and moves closer, hands still firmly positioned on either side of your face. his lips meet the corner of your smile. he leaves a gentle kiss there before meeting your lips with so much passion that your body feels faint.

each trace of his lips sends electric sparks through your body as his kisses fall down your neck towards your collarbone. you shiver at the touch, as he brushes across each sensitive spot. you feel as if he's satirizing you in some way until his lips finally meet the delicate area around your shoulders— leaving soft nipping kisses that cause an uncontrollable moan to escape from you.

you feel his hands drop to your dress' skirt, bunching up the tight fabric and inching it up. when his skin makes contact with the flesh of your thighs, you let your forehead drop to his shoulder.

anakin seems to like this motion, breath hitting against your ear again, "do you want me to touch you, princess?"

you feel overwhelmed, unable to speak past the lump in your throat. you manage a slight nod before finally croaking out, "yes."

anakin's hands immediately respond, brushing up the side of your thighs until they find their way near your pulsing cunt. you feel obscene and exposed by your own need, but anakin seems to grow more confident the closer his fingers dance to you. you hear him laugh lightly as you press yourself into him, silently begging for more.

he abides by your wish, nimble fingers beginning to stroke your clothed slit. you moan at the contact, voice somewhat muffled as your head remains at his shoulder. anakin however chooses this moment to speak, tone falsely saccharine, "sweet princess, aren't you going to tell me what you want? use your words."

for a brief second, you feel impossibly hot and annoyed. you'd rather not voice your desperation for him. you'd be reckless to follow his orders so blindly.

"you're the one with your hands under my dress. what is it you're wanting, jedi?" you finally draw your head back from him, eyes catching his.

anakin lets himself grin, haphazardly letting his thumb brush your needy nub. he watches as you attempt to hide the roll of your hips, "i want you."

he doesn't continue with words, no, he slides your underwear to the side and feels your wetness against his fingers. he lets out a low groan when you grip him tighter.

your back is pressed into the tree behind you and anakin's body seems to lock you in place, not that you'd move away from him now. not when he's teasing your opening and causing your mind to go wild.

"tell me what you want," he smirks, one digit dipping ever so slightly into your heat, "and i'll obey."

you screw your eyes shut, trying to calm yourself. your voice is uneven when you respond, "touch me, please."

he doesn't neglect your demand and he lets his finger slide into you, slow. you clench around the digit, hands snaking into his hair and forehead pressing against his own.

he lets you feel him, as deep inside you as he can possibly get, before sliding out and back in again. you want to scream at the way his digit barely hits the spongey part inside of you, but instead, you let your hands grasp him harder.

he takes pleasure in your whiney noises, pushing further into you before sliding out once more. you whine at his teasing, and you catch the softest grin on his lips as he presses into you, two fingers this time.

you feel more full of him, and the notion has you reeling.

"maker, anakin." you barely hear yourself when you speak, voice so low.

he arches his fingers inside you, hitting the spot that sends your weight fully into his being, "yeah? am i doing a good job princess?"

you hum in assurance, blissful and teetering the edge. you feel drunk with how good he feels, how good he's making you feel.

"good," you moan. "so good."

you cry out his name in praise, only to be met by a lament. the rumble that answers you sounds like distant thunder colliding with sand and stone. a rolling sensation races through your body at the sound of it. your heart thuds in your chest and he watches its movements in delight.

he seems to like the way you're falling apart for him, eyes unwavering in their view of you. slowly but surely, you feel him putting pressure right where you need it until you can hardly handle it anymore. anakin thrusts his digits faster and faster, and you can't help but pull quite firmly at his curls.

his throat elicits a wanton groan at the feeling, and you feel yourself rock your hips to meet his hand. you're so close to the brink.

"do you want to come? hm, want me to make you feel good." you can hear the strain in his voice.

"please, ani." your voice begging, warm at your own words.

his thumb finds your clit again, this time though, his touch isn't feather-light. no, instead he's cruel in the way he massages the bundle of nerves, leaving you a moaning mess beneath his body. he knows exactly how much pressure to use as he presses down on your bud repeatedly. making it impossible to form a coherent thought inside your head.

instead, all you can focus on is the thumb on your clit and the two digits in your core—driving into you relentlessly and the other pressing into you until your eyes shine white, you can feel yourself blanking.

his digits continue to pump in and out of you, humming his approval at your vulgar display— your eyes are heavy, legs unsteady, and lip slightly raw from biting it.

"i'm so close, anakin." you pant, fingers stiffening in his hair.

he whines, "yeah? let go, princess, i've got you."

and with one final plunge of his digits in and out of your warmth you feel a rather sudden wave overcoming your body, jolting everything inside and outside too. the sensation is a pure high, and you claw at anakin's shoulders until the feeling begins to subside. the night air suddenly feels so chilly, but you nuzzle closer into anakin. with you face hidden, you allow yourself a satisfied smile upon your, as well as anakin's, lips.

anakin grins down at you and kisses the top of your head in adulation before slowly removing his hands from you. you feel him trail his fingertips up your spine before speaking in a raspy tone, "how was that, princess?"

your body feels as if it could quaver at the sight of this man before you— a strong and assertive jedi warrior— so taken with you, eyes brimming down with a mixture of pride and adoration.

he pushes himself back slightly, still hovering above you, and looks down into your eyes with an unmistakable warmth in his gaze. you'e sure no one had ever looked at you like that before—like they wanted to consume every fiber of your being, of your soul.

anakin's eyes search yours for a moment before he presses his lips gently against yours in a temperate kiss.

as he moves away again, this time, drawing away enough to extend his arm above your head, fingers now clutching the tree's trunk.

you both remain still there for some time, taking comfort in each other's presence, until finally, anakin speaks softly again,"i thank the force to have met you, to know you. i've missed you, princess." his voice sounds brazen yet gentle.

his free hand lifts, raising your chin up to look into his eyes once more.

you hum, "you've grown better with apologies."

anakin huffs, lips upturned, "maybe, or perhaps solely for my benefit regarding you."

you roll your eyes, "is that what this was? some self-aggrandizing ruse?"

he smirks, eyes widening in faux horror, "never, princess. i only mean to say that i seem to behave best in your company. you wield a tight reign."

you can't help but smile at the compliment, unabashed. "i have no hold over you, jedi."

anakin's lips quirk into a fiendish grin as he reaches up to gently brush his thumb along your chin, "of course you do, princess," he murmurs softly. "of course you do."

#anakin x reader #anakin smut #anakin skywalker smut #star wars anakin #anakin skywalker #anakin skywalker x reader smut #anakin x reader smut #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin fluff #anakin skywalker x reader fluff #anakin x you #darth vader #vader x reader

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topguncortez · 3 months

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Maybe blurb from crying prompt idk if this would be a hide or hold maybe both? But the reader holds her emotions in during a family thing because she's the oldest sibling and she feels like she has to be strong because that's how her family was raised and then she gets a moment and they tell her to stop being strong and that it's okay to let it out. I'm thinking either Bradley or Jake?

Hold My Hand - J. Seresin x Reader

synopsis: you get a phone call that no child ever wants to get, and as the "rock" of the family, you aren't allowed to break.

warnings: parental death, trauma, parental abandonment, incorrect medical jargon, mental abuse, grief, depression

note: I know this was supposed to only be a blurb, but I started writing and I couldn't stop. These past 16 days have been hell and there was something about writing this that just felt so freeing, like the cloud hanging over me has finally been lifted.

it had felt like a lifetime had passed, but in reality, it had only been 10 days.

10 days since that frightening phone call on that cold January day.

10 days since your mother called you, sound incoherent on the phone but you managed to gather the gist of it.

10 days since you had rushed out of your house, your hair half done, your husband chasing after you like you had lost your mind.

10 days since your father so bravely rushed into a burning building, saving other children and leaving you, your siblings and your mother behind.

You were angry, at first. Angry at the world for allowing this to happen. Angry at your father for playing superman when he was just a regular man. Angry at the other people standing around who didn’t have the same courage to run into the fire instead of standing by and yelling at your father to turn back. Angry that this was going to be the end; that your mother would be a widow at a young age, your youngest sisters wouldn’t have their father to walk them down the aisle, your children wouldn’t ever have another “grandpa day”, that you’d never get another hug and an “i love you” from your father again.

You wanted to cry. You wanted to shut out the world, force the cameras away, force the sorrowful looks from others away, force the heavy weight of your heart onto someone else.

But you couldn't. You had to be the strong one. For your mother. For your siblings. For your own children.

Jake had been watching you like a hawk since you had gotten that phone call. The morning started out like any other morning, with the two of you waking up before the sun was in the sky, making sure you had enough time to do a quick at-home workout and a run. You had been working on packing the kids' lunches when you got that call. He had to pry the keys out of your hands, telling you that your mother didn't need you and your father in the hospital.

Jake had eyed you the whole drive, noticing the redness and the unshed tears in your eyes. The way that you clutched the dainty silver cross around your neck between your fingers. The way that you sniffled every so often, trying to hold back the tears. But the second you stepped into the hospital, seeing the distressing look on your mother's face and the waiting room full of fellow firemen, you rolled your shoulders back and pushed back your own sadness and grief.

Those 10 days had been the best and worst of your life. You hardly left the hospital, unless Jake was physically forcing you to leave. You hardly ate, hardly slept, hardly took care of yourself. Your mind was so worried about everyone else except yourself. For 9 days, you had believed that maybe, just maybe, your father would pull through. But that all came crashing down on day 10, when your father's brain had swelled and his doctor's pronounced him brain dead.

"Y/N," Your mother had spoke, looking over at you as the doctor stood in front of your family. Jake shifted in his seat, putting his hand on your thigh, "You need to do it."

"What?"

"No," You and Jake spoke at the same time.

Your mother shook her head, "I can't be the one. . .," Tears clogged her throat, "I can't be the one who takes him-"

Jake scoffed, sitting up straight in his chair, his grip tightening on your thigh, "And you want your daughter to-"

"Jake," You sighed. There was no use in fighting. After all, you were the eldest. You knew eventually you would be the one who gets stuck making the medical choices for your parents. You just assumed you'd have more time to prepare. You rolled your shoulders back and looked at the doctor, "What do I need to sign?"

"It was such a lovely service," Your aunt Marjorie said, patting Jake's hand as he spoke to him. It was true, you had done a fantastic job planning a funeral for your father, all by yourself. Jake had helped you the best that he could, going with you to pick out a casket and a grave plot and music and flowers, "That Y/N was always Lee's favorite."

"I know," Jake gave Aunt Marjorie his best gentleman smile, the one that made his dimple pop out, "She's a special girl."

"Oh and how brave she was standing in front of everyone and speaking?" Aunt Marjorie placed her hand on her heart. Jake nodded his head, wishing that he could be anywhere else than in a conversation with Aunt Marjorie, "And that Miranda," Aunt Marjorie scoffed, looking over at where your mother sat stoic on the couch, "Looks like she's going to be the next to go."

Jake clenched his jaw, pulling his eyes away from your mother. He had his own thoughts and feelings about her, ones that he had shared with you one night during a heated fight.

"She has abandoned you!" Jake yelled, as you angrily pulled the blankets back on the bed. You were exhausted and just wanted to sleep in your bed for one night. You had managed to get your mother to stay with your father for the night, which was like pulling teeth, "You need her to be the parent and she's not."

"She is grieving too, Jake," You sighed.

"And you're not!?"

"I am," You ran a hand down your face, "I just handle it differently. I've always been the strong rock. The one who doesn't cry. The one who holds others when they cry," You sat down on the bed, your body heavy with exhaustion.

"And I know that, baby," Jake rounded the bed, and sat down beside you. He grabbed your hand, holding it in his own, "You are strong. You are incredibly fucking strong. . . but you shouldn't have to be the strong one right now. You shouldn't be the one pulling all nighters by your dad's side. You shouldn't be the one making medical decisions on your father's behalf. Even though you are an adult. . . Y/N, baby, you're still his child. Your mother should-"

"I don't want to have this conversation anymore," You pulled your hand away from Jake, "My mom isn't well, and she needs me to help her-"

"Bullshit," Jake scoffed, "She is abandoning you and you know it."

You clenched your jaw, holding back the anger radiating in your body. Jake held a tiny bit of hope that maybe, just maybe you'd lash out at him. That you'd show some type of emotion after being a near zombie these past 8 days. But instead, you stood up quietly and left the room, choosing to go sleep in your son's room instead.

Jake had drown out Aunt Marjorie's talking, his eyes landing on you across the room. You had opened up your home to your family, your father's fire crew, Jake's squad and friends for a meal and drinks following the funeral. You had done a great job at not falling apart during the service or the burial, but Jake could tell that the rope was starting to fray. And right now, it was about to snap as you were talking animatedly with your sister across the room in a small alcove.

"Hey, Aunt Marjorie," Jake turned back to look at the 80 year old woman, "It was lovely catching up with you, but I need to go help Y/N with something. We should do coffee some time."

"Oh yes, that'd be-"

"Great, see you later," Jake quickly made his way over to you, not bothering to hear the rest of Aunt Marjorie's response.

The last thing you wanted to do in a houseful of guests from your father's funeral, was get into an argument with your sister, but here you were. Claire was the baby of the family, the one who got away with the most. Your relationship with Claire was rocky, as the line between sister and mother-figure had gotten crossed while you were growing up. You wanted what was best for Claire, and sometimes that required extra tough love and parenting.

"You are high!" You exclaimed.

"I am not," Claire's voice was slightly slurred. Jake's nose scrunched up as he walked into the room, smelling the distinct scent of marijuana.

"My whole damn shed smells like marijuana, Claire," You crossed your arms over your chest, "This isn't like you. What is going on? Talk to me."

"Oh god," Claire rolled her eyes, "Here she goes again. Acting like my mother!"

"Well!" You scoffed, throwing your arms in the air. Jake stood behind you, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. In the past couple days, you had shrugged off any sort of comfort that Jake offered you, but now, you welcomed it, "You smoked a joint before you walked into dad's funeral! Smoked another one in my shed, where your niece and nephew play. And don't even get me started on how you reeked like vod-"

"Y/N," Your mother's voice filled the air, making all three of you look towards her, "Let's not do this now."

"No," You shook your head, "Let's do this now. Your daughter is high. She smoked up in my garage and then walked into my house smelling like a dispensary."

Your mom looked over at your sister and then back at you. You felt a pang in your chest as you watched her silently side with your sister. The familiar burning sensation of tears prickled at your eyes and nose.

"She's grieving," Your mother simply answered.

You scoffed, "And who isn't?"

"Y/N,"

"Forget it," You shook your head, "It's nothing, it's fine. It's always fucking fine."

For the rest of the afternoon, you made yourself busy, staying far away from your mother and sister. Jake remained within arms reach of you, his presence comforting and not overbearing. You had finally sat down, and managed to get something in your stomach. It must've been evident on your face, but the guests had only said a couple words to you before going on their way. It took nearly four hours, but all the guests had left, filling your house with a silence you hadn't heard in nearly 10 days.

Jake had taken the burden of cleaning everything up, while you sat on the back porch, watching the sunset with a glass of wine in your hand. The cool San Diego winter breeze felt nice against your heated skin.

"The house is finally, back to normal," Jake announced as he walked out onto the back porch. Natasha had gratefully volunteered to take your children for the night, so you and Jake could decompress.

"Thank you, daddy," You smiled sweetly at him, as he sat down next to you on the porch swing.

"Of course, baby," He said, and held out a white gift box, "Someone left this for you."

You furrowed your eyebrows, taking the box from him and lifting the lid. Your breath caught in your throat as you lifted the small, gold pocket watch from the box.

"Y/N," Jake said softly.

You looked up at him with tears in your eyes, "I always wanted this," You ran your hand over the engraved hummingbird on the gold casing, "It was from my grandfather's jewelry store and it quit working. My dad said he was going to get it fixed and give it to me as a wedding gift, but he lost it. . . I-I don't know-"

"Well, does it work?" Jake asked.

You swallowed, opening the face of the watch open. To your surprise, it did work. The second hand ticked around in perfect time as the watch seemed to already be set to the correct time. The beautiful watch had a colorful humming bird painted onto the face in the middle of the black Roman numeral numbers, and gold watch hands.

"It's perf- oh, c'mon," You cursed, as the watch stopped ticking. You tapped the glass face a couple of times, trying to maybe, just maybe get it up and ticking, "C'mon! You just. . . worked! C'mon!"

"Baby," Jake spoke, gently placing his hand on your wrist.

"No! It has to work! It has to!"

"Baby, it's okay," Jake assured you, "It's o-"

"Nothing is okay!" You snapped, looking up at him as the tears had finally escaped your eyes, "Nothing about any of this is okay!" You pushed yourself up from the porch swing, rushing to the edge of the patio and throwing the watching across the yard with a scream. Jake closed his eyes as loud sobs escaped from your lugs, as the grief had finally seemed to rush to you.

He stood up from the porch swing and enveloped you in his arms. You sagged against him, feeling his arms tighten around you to be able to hold you up. Jake hushed you, placing a hand on the back of your head, and his chin on the top.

"Let it out, baby," Jake encouraged you, running a hand over your hair, "Let it all out, baby."

You weren't sure how long you stood there in Jake's arms and cried, but he eventually picked you up, after feeling your legs grow weak. He carried you through the house, to your shared bedroom, sitting you down gently on the bed. You didn't even need to tell him what to do as he moved through the bedroom with familiarity, grabbing you nightgown, taking you out of your dress, washing the make-up from your face and applying your moisturizer.

"What do you need from me, baby?" Jake asked, as he kneeled in front of you, sliding your socks on your feet.

"I don't know," Your voice was raspy as you looked at him confused, "I've never. . . I've never felt-"

"I know," Jake nodded his head, "I know you haven't, and it can be scary the first time you just. . . lose it all." Jake could remember the first time he had ever broken down like you had. It was terrifying as he cried and destroyed the things around him. It felt like it was never going to end as one thing after another had set him off, until he was on the ground in the fetal position, withering, "But it will all be okay. I'm here to help you. Let me help you."

You nodded your head, tears springing to your eyes again. Jake cooed, and pulled you into his arms again as the tears fell down your cheeks.

taglist: @desert-fern @mygyn @cherrycola27 @sio-ina-bottle @seitmai @topgun-imagines @bradleybeachbabe @na-ta-sh-aa @startrekfangirl2233 @xoxabs88xox @atarmychick007 @lunamoonbby @sophiaslastbraincell @bradswolfe @fandom-princess-forevermore @thedroneranger @angelbabyange @dempy @lovelywiseprincess @krismdavis @eternallyvenus @dakotakazansky @pono-pura-vida @starberryhorse @daggersquadphantom @gspenc @poppyalice2001 @els-marvelvsp @nyx2021 @frazie99 @t0kyoreveng3rs @kmc1989 @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @malindacath @badasspizzalover @justenoughmadnesss @sagittarius-flowerchild @hardballoonlove @harrysgothicbitch @hookslove1592 @yujibubs @noonenuts @marvellouscroissant

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sassycheesecake · 2 months

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It’s a beautiful day during the fall season, the different pretty colors of the leaves that have been changed after summer was over, fall into the cold ground.

Two individuals, one man, with hair as dark as the midnight sky and a woman, drop-dead gorgeous, rest underneath a Japanese Maple tree. But they are not just any individuals.

The 6'3 tall man named Kiyoomi Sakusa, is secretly a yakuza member of the Jackals, one of the most feared mafia groups in Japan. The woman however, is a mere citizen but also the lover of said man. Sakusa took some time off his job to spend it with you instead, Meian thankfully granting him the request.

Collecting bounties and income, smashing a few heads and breaking some bones here and there, Sakusa is a ruthless, cold-blooded hunter when it comes to his position in the yakuza. To you however, he is the most sweet and softest puppy dog.

Sakusa is just relaxing with his head on your lap with his eyes closed, when he felt a very light weight on his head.

Opening one of his dark orbs, he sees that you placed something upon his dark curls, adjusting it as you focus highly on your task.

"What did you put on my head, my love?" He asks you, opening his other eye now as he looks at you with a breathtaking smile.

You’re quiet for a few seconds, when you gaze back into his dark eyes.

"A gift. Now you look even more handsome." You gush at him, blushing slightly at seeing his one-in-a-million-smile that just you get to see.

Sakusa chuckles lightly at your words, reaching up to find out what you placed on his dark curls only to get his tattooed hand slapped away from you.

"Ow. Why did you slap my hand away?" He pouts as he rubs his hand over the one you slapped, even though it barely hurt him.

"I just spent an eternity making you a magnificent flower crown and placed it on your unruly, complicated black curls, if you even move a single millimeter you will ruin my perfect placement." You scold him while waving a finger in his face.

"I didn’t know an eternity in your language means five minutes."

Sakusa snatches your hand and brings it to his face, pretending to bite it.

You screech in fear while quickly pulling your hand out of his and the ravenette chuckles darkly at your action.

"That’s what you get for trying to bark orders at me, you little germ." His hand finds yours again, intertwining your fingers with his big, slender ones. And you remember, that these fingers carry lots of blood on them, yet you don’t care. If anything, it makes Sakusa even hotter than he already is. And he is yours alone, as much as you are his.

"What? I can’t bark orders at you but Meian can?" You arch in eyebrow in annoyance.

"Yes." He bluntly states as he continues to look up at you.

"And why’s that?" You pry further.

"Because Meian pays my bills and he is my boss." Sakusa explains as if he’s talking to a toddler.

"What if I were your boss? Would you listen to me then?" You make a cute face, batting your eyelashes at him.

"No." Your lover disagrees.

"WHAT?!"

"I wouldn’t be able to take you seriously. And I don’t think any of the guys would. You’re too cute and you have the face of an angry wet kitten whenever you are mad at me." Sakusa explains with a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders.

"Also. I know that Miya and Joffe keep eyeing you whenever they think I am not looking. And I could smash their skulls through the nearest wall whenever I see them do that. You’re already a distraction to me. Imagine the chaos if you have more guys than me thirsting after you." Sakusa adds with a grumble, as he crosses his arms across his chest.

"Awww look at you, Mr.Big-Bad-I-Beat-Up-People-For-A-Living-Kiyoomi Sakusa. What will those poor people think of you when they find out you’re a big fat softie underneath all those tattoos and that mean scowl of yours?" You tease him, laughing at his scowl that’s directed at you.

"Don’t call me a big fat softie in front of the others. They won’t live to tell the tale." Sakusa closes his eyes again, snuggling more into your thighs.

"Not even Miya?" He can almost hear the grin in your voice.

"Especially not Miya." The man mumbles as he starts to drift off.

#haikyuu!!#haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!! x reader #haikyū!!#hq x reader #hq fluff #sakusa x you #hq sakusa #sakusa kiyoomi #haikyuu sakusa #sakusa kiyoomi x reader #sakusa x reader #sakusa fluff #sakusa kyoomi x reader #sakusa kyoomi #yakuza!sakusa #yakuza!au #yakuza

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trippingontheescalator · 2 months

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Curious about the direction the HP fandom has gone

Okay, so as an old HP fan from way back when the books were first coming out, and then getting hit with the nostalgia and decided to return after years and years of not interacting with the fandom at all, the changes are truly mindboggling and I'd love to get to the bottom of some things.

Like, the disappearance of Blaise Zabini. Blaise was a fan favorite way back when we only knew his name but now I barely hear a whisper of his name. Now, the obvious answer is racism, which I think is the #1 reason why Blaise-pairings have dropped of significantly. Back then we all thought Blaise was a hot Italian girl, and then we found out he's a black man and suddenly people stop writing about him? Hm, yeah, seems the obvious answer (especially considering the popularity of other characters who are just a name on a page *cough*regulusblack*cough*).

Or the rise in Snape-hate. Like, Snape used to be the fan favorite. Everyone loved Snape. The meaner he was, the more we liked him. Being mean to children was a plus, not a negative lol. And this was back when we all thought he was a pureblood who came from a wealthy family like the Malfoys. Now by the time the 7th book came out I had pretty much moved on and so I didn't really see the fallout of readers discovering his actual background, so I don't know if his drop in popularity is classism and learning that he isn't a palette-swapped Lucius Malfoy or not, but honestly I would figure his impoverished background would be a plus in these times. Like Snape is obviously one of JKR's least favorite characters, and considering how she-who-must-not-be-named has destroyed her reputation with her increasing radicalization you'd figure the poor, abused, author-hating character would become more beloved instead of the rich, white, heteronormative bullies who barely even show up in the books. Like with our increasing knowledge of social injustice, I just don't understand why the fandom would want to latch onto the Marauders? And I just can't believe Snape's handful of snippets with Lily is the cause of his downfall (like what's there is barely enough to fill up a few pages, and there are certainly more toxic relationships in the series that are still beloved), or the fact that he was a Death Eater or that he inadvertently caused the deaths of the Potters (we already knew that in GoF and HPB respectively and he was still beloved, and this was when we assumed he didn't give a shit about the Potters or if they died when he went snitching). Draco is still popular. DRACO who doesn't give two shits about slinging around the word "mudblood," as opposed to Snape who actually changed for the better.

Am I just too old to understand? Is this like 90s fashion coming back in style (no, I won't do it again, I don't care if it's cringy I'm sticking with my millennial styles, I did the platforms and the slip dresses and the cargo pants in high school and I'm not putting myself through that again lol you gen z's can pry my comfortable mom jeans from my cold, dead fingers, I don't care if it makes me look old, that's the point, I AM old). Like, in addition to 90s fashion, has the 90s obsession with luxury athletic fashion like Lacoste come back in style? All those fashion ads of rich white people on yachts with popped collar polos? Are people starting to obsess over the Marauders because nouveau riche conspicuous consumption is coming back in style? It can't all just be young kids who have only read AtYD and have never actually opened one of the books, can it?

There also seems to be a trend of treating characters as if they're real people. I mean, we've always done it (Snape Wives, I'm looking at you), but now it almost feels as if the crimes characters commit are treated as if they're real crimes and that liking them is somehow a moral failing on the reader's fault. If you were to say "I don't like Snape, his douchy actions anger me, I'd rather skip all the parts he shows up in" I'd say, cool, I get that. That's normal. But "Snape is an abuser, a racist, and an incel and if you like him you're probably those things too" is fucking weird. Like, Harry and Hermione are not real children. Snape is not a real person. The things that happen in this book have as much influence on the real world as me imagining ninjas breaking into my workplace on a slow day. And that "media does not exist in a vacuum" pisses me off because it's blatantly misused. The pieces of media that have had serious consequences? Jaws, The Birth of a Nation. One resulted in the culling of sharks, the other helped restart the KKK. Do you know what those two pieces of media have in common? They're not about fucking wizards and magic schools. They instead paint a target on real groups. After twenty years nobody has ever tried to hurt a marginalized group of people because of a harry potter book (except for JKR herself).

Anyway, these are just some random thoughts, feel free to chime in with your own.

#pro snape #severus snape #pro severus snape #snapedom #mostly snape some blaise #would love to hear form some marauders fans but im not touching that tag with a ten foot pole #yikes

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dollsbite · 2 years

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- WRAPPED AROUND MY NECK ; the addams family.

pairing: wednesday addams + gn! reader

contains: adult wednesday (19), mentions of blood, mentions of a noose (not in a suicidal context), written with a wlw reader in mind but all can read, wednesday being wednesday.

"there you are, wednesday. i've been looking everywhere for you," a sickly sweet voice cut through the silence of the night, "you're going to freeze to death out here."

"i hope i do," wednesday declared, eyes wandering onto the patio below. though the stroke of midnight was fastly approaching, the party was still as lively as ever. an eruption of loud, roaring cheers emitting from the ballroom accompanied the chirp of crickets, along with the cooing of the wind. my parents must be putting a show on, the black-haired woman concluded.

"you're not going to die tonight," wednesday melted upon hearing her lover's voice, "at least, not without me."

for the first time, wednesday experienced what she assumed to be fear. however, it wasn't as dreadful as many described it: it was almost. . . exciting. it left her craving for more, more of you - the one person that made her faltering heart beat out of her chest. when was the last time she felt this sickening, but intriguing feeling? if any, at all?

a shadow cast over wednesday, feeling a familiar weight drape over her shoulders. with the fabric brushing her skin, she instantly knew you wrapped your jacket around her. the crisp air no longer nipped at the exposed skin of her lower back, where her black dress was cut.

"how generous of you; i'm surprised i didn't have to pry it from your cold, dead hands," wednesday teased, hugging the garment closer to her chest. she could fondly recall nearly fighting to the death with you for the same jacket, the blade of your sword resting coolly against her neck. she was impressed with your swordsmanship, though, you'd never be able to tell with her blank face. wednesday nearly cut your arm off after that, pugsley cheering her on.

"you'd like that, wouldn't you?" your tone was smug, the smirk on your face evident of that. for years, it seemed as though she had a goal to scare you to death. from a deceased relative reaching beyond the grave to grab your leg to a shadowy creature with multiple fearsome eyes stalking you (who you soon learned was her cousin), you've seen it all. however, her efforts were futile; you never even flinched once.

"i wouldn't be so cocky if i were you. i'll get you one of these days, you'll see," her words had a hint of teasing to them, however, she sounded eerily determined. wednesday fully intended to keep her promise.

"looking forward to it," you grinned, shoving your hands into your pockets. wednesday quirked her lips.

without another word, the two of you observed the rest of the party from the balcony. you spotted shaggy-haired cousin itt dancing with his wife in the crowd, as well as fester moving to the rhythm with a knife in his mouth. the thing was seated on his shoulder, wiggling his fingers enthusiastically.

morticia and gomez weren't difficult to find, they stood out the most with their extravagant waltz. with brilliant twists and spins, the lovers stole the show. gomez spun morticia around, holding her close to pepper her shoulder with many kisses. their obvious display of affection sent shivers down wednesday's spine and put a smile on your face.

wednesday tore her gaze away from her parents, nose scrunched up. out of habit, she reached for the charm dangling from her choker. inside the clear crystal was something so precious to her: a few drops of your blood. a similar vial hung from a chain around your neck, wednesday's blood filling the jewel.

she caressed the smooth surface, eyes darting back to see if you were staring at her. once she noticed you were still focused on the party, she pressed a small kiss to the crystal. it felt foreign and unnatural to her, yet, she should help but grin wickedly. you had her wrapped around her finger; the necklace clung around her neck tightly like a noose, wednesday struggled to breathe, gasping for air. the sensation left an almost unbearable stinging in her lungs, yet, it left her selfishly wanting more.

those amber eyes twinkled chillingly in the moonlight. she was going to enjoy scaring the pants off of you.

— [♡] ; reblogs & feedback are greatly appreciated! thank you for the support

#wednesday addams #wednesday addams x reader #wednesday x reader #the addams family #the addams family fanfic #the addams family fanfiction #the addams family x reader #reader insert #gender neutral reader #gender neutral #gn!reader #x gender neutral reader #x reader #fanfiction

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hmspogue · 1 year

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Outer Banks Season 3 Shot by Shot Trailer Rundown

I do not own any clips or screenshots, all rights to Netflix and the creators.

To say I'm still reeling would be the understatement of the century, let's get into it.

John B: "From the very beginning, it was always Kooks..."

Even though they're set on us prying this orange filter from their cold dead fingers, these first two shots are actually stunning?

"...and Pogues"

Holy hell, we know we have all the ohter Pogues reuniting with their parents after they get back home, so JJ being all alone at this house is actually so heartbreaking.

Jiara nation rise, it looks like Bracelet Touch™ takes place at the empty Maybank house I'm not well.

"Some people with everything..."

Why are season 3's always everyones haircut season in shows like what is the source of this phenomenon?

But Rafe and Barry with the key

This hiding job is on par with JJ throwing pew pillows over it in the church.

Although, kind of think this is them getting ready to try and melt the cross down (which makes me so beyond furious), because off to the side you see the lighter fluid and the muffin tins, then later there's shots of gold.

"...and some with nothing."

The DIVIDE. I actually love the dynamic of Kooks vs Pogues heating up and the two cultures that try and exist on a very small island together. Especially since this season seems to be Kiara centric, her whole identity being called into question about where she falls I NEED IT.

I cannot even begin to express how sad I am that we're probably going to get approximately 3 seconds of them hanging out on Poguelandia because look at them!!! Let them be happy!!!

"That's the way it's always been."

SDHCULAISUEHLWAG JIARA FISHING ISNT JUST A MONTAGE I REPEAT JIARA FISHING WILL NOT JUST BE A MONTAGE.

I LOVE HER SO MUCH YES BABE GO FISHING!!!

Pope and Cleo making a signal fire together. Looks like that scene from the teaser of them walking in the field was probably them trying to scout out a good spot for it.

Jarah B looking fine as hell John B I know that bandana is your father's but i cannot even begin to imagine how disgusting it is at this point I'm sorry-

IM BEING SO NORMAL ABOUT THIS!!!!

I feel like both this shot and the previous one are them being saved by the plane that lands.

(@whitetrashjj the mullet truther, your time has come).

"Until now."

This may be my favorite John B set up narration so far.

Also, like I said, them getting rescued by the plane. Kiara looks almost hesitant? Could be the same shot as above where her and JJ aren't too sure about this plane or the people on it.

MMMMMMMM VERY concerning JJ bike crash. Pope and Cleo (or maybe Kie?) in the back of the truck with a crate.

Okay this is SO intereting to me because Ward with blood all over himself (whatelse is new?), Rafe, and Sarah helping him? I can't tell what's in his hand. But the family dynamics this season are goign to be somehow even messier, I can feel it.

Kiara getting kidnapped and taken to wilderness camp, I'm so not ready for this like. It's for sure the Carrera house in the back, the two shirts say Kitty Hawk Adventure.

For a long time, we all thought this was going to be something they ended the season on, but now it seems like it'll be a plot point in the middle. Thanks to @sun-undone and her unhinged costuming documents, we know that this yellow halter top is after the Carrera anniversary party we got BTS from (with the Jiara gate fight and John B rocking Topper's shit and Mike's "see, this is what I'm talking about, JJ"). We know Kie is seen later witht he Pogues, so Blue Ridge may be a quick, one episode plot mid season.

If they've been holding Blue Ridge over her head the whole season, then John B beating the shit out of Topper at the party is sort of the last straw, I cannot een begin to imagine the fight that he and JJ will have about it????

JJ and Kiara INSIDE the Chateau and a fire being lit OUTSIDE? If someone's trying to burn the house down witht hem trapped inside there will be heLL TO PAY.

IF THE CHATEAU GETS BURNED DOWN IM COMING FOR THE PATES I STG DON'T DO THIS TO ME WHY DO I FEEL LIKE IT WOULD BE MY CHILDHOOD HOME BURNING KJDFLAIUDHFAL??????

I know that Cline talked about having to mentally take Sarah to some very dark places this season and this shot just confirms my theory that I seriously think Sarah's going to kill someone and deal with the emotional consequences of that.

I want this to be feral JJ so badly after Kiara's taken, but, sadly, he's not in the right outfit. Not the first time we've seen machete!JJ though.

We saw this shot in the teaser, but looks like they're climbing up an abandoned elevator shaft. They're in their clothes they have on get reunited with Kie. I think it's from the same abandoned hotel the Pogues (minus Kiara, probably because they're going to save her) are in front of in a different shot.

Andd here it is: the new plot of the season and confirmation they're going after fucking EL DORADO NEXT LIKE.

Important to note this is shot on a plane as well.

Oh the Twinkie, how I missed you.

oh look they remembered a mom besides Anna this season WHY MY EYES WET LIKE THESE REUNIONS ALSO WHILE JJ IS COMPLETELY ALONE. HEYWARD, ADOPT HIM YOU COWARD!

Kiara's relationship with her parents is so askjhfailsuh COMPLICATED because I think they really do love her. And she wants more than anything for them to understand her and they just keep missing each other.

"My father and me..."

This shot is very aesthetically pleasing to me. That's all I have to say about it.

YEAH OKAY AND THEN I STARTED FUCKING WEEPING BECAUSE THIS?????? I CANT BELIEVE THEY PUT BABY JOHN B IN THE TRAILER?????

If they only do baby Sarah and Baby John B I will do something so drastic-

"...the treasure was our way out."

The way he's looking at his father? Like the pride in his eyes? I know this relationship is going to sting so badly with the way the Pates have talked about John B having to reconcile the idealized version of his father in his head with the one that left him for gold.

This is a kid that hasn't been hurt by the world or his father yet and I wanna hug him.

(post will be continues apparently i can only up load 30 images at once)

#outer banks #outer banks season 3 #shot by shot trailer rundown #john b routledge #jj maybank #pope heyward #kiara carrera #sarah cameron #jiara #obx3

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afewproblems · 7 months

Text

Season Two Halloween AU Part Eight

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six Part Seven

As always, thank you thank you to the lovely Jess @strangersteddierthings for letting me brainstorm and send spoilers!

***

Eddie pulls gently on the strap of Dustin's safety goggles, trying as much as he can not to snag his curls in the process.

Almost everyone is decked out in their make-shift protective gear, with bandanas over their mouths, swim goggles --hell, even an old diving mask that Lucas found in the Byers basement. Mike won the painters mask, even though it's slightly too big on his little face.

When Eddie asks if all of this is really necessary, Dustin, Lucas, and Mike all glare ferociously at him before shouting over top of one another about how the Upside Down is toxic and that Will had been lucky last year, and to stop being an idiot.

Eddie looks to Max who shrugs and pulls down her own swimming goggles over her eyes.

"Don't look at me, I'm new here remember?" She mutters, walking towards the pile of various items the kids brought with them. She grabs a pair of rubber gloves and tosses them at Eddie who manages to catch one while the other falls limply into the dirt.

"They went in full body suits last year, on oxygen, to save Will," Dustin adds, his voice slightly muffled by the floral scarf wrapped around his face, "as little exposed skin as you can, it isn't safe".

Eddie can't help but picture the last Sci-Fi pulp story he read in a zine with government conspiracies and men in yellow suits investigating supposed 'crash sites' in the desert.

He shivers and pulls his own black bandana from his back pocket to put on.

Steve hasn't moved since they parked and hauled everything out of the van for their descent.

He sits in the sliding side door of the van with his head between his knees and the bat between his hands. Steve had insisted on coming with them, despite the fact that he'd only just managed to stop vomiting about five minutes ago and the nausea is still kicking his ass.

Stubborn idiot.

Eddie shakes his head as he turns back to Dustin to find the kid has wandered closer, standing right beside him now.

"He's dating Nancy," Dustin says quietly, tipping his head towards Steve as surreptitiously as he can.

Eddie freezes at the words and tries to keep his face blank in the way he's seen Steve do, he's not sure he's managed it but the way Dustin rolls his eyes.

Eddie opens his mouth to respond, with what he isn't sure of given the chorus of shitshitshitshitshit playing on a loop in his head.

Dustin beats him to it.

"But Mike told me they've been fighting lately, if it helps?"

Eddie just stares, his mind running a mile a minute, his eyes search Dustin's face for any hint of malice or disgust. But there's nothing.

"You don't…care?" Eddie says slowly, softly, he looks around to the other kids to see if anyone else is listening.

They all continue to argue and bicker over the equipment except for Max who has walked over to Steve to hand him a pair of rubber gloves. She leans down and tilts her head to look at Steve who still hasn't moved from his position in the van door.

Dustin shrugs, "why should I? I know what people say about it, but you protected us, you stayed," he looks at Eddie with fierce blue eyes, "bullies talk a lot of shit about other people for what they like".

"And you're not bad Eddie, you're good, just like everyone here".

Eddie blinks trying to ignore the tightness in his chest at the words and the sting behind his eyes.

'You're a good kid Ed, that's all that matters,' Wayne had told him the day he came out. 'And I'll love you no matter what'.

So that was at least two people who didn't think he was the town 'freak' -- but a stubborn image of Steve's expression that night by the pool comes to mind as he vehemently argued against being scared of Eddie during the now infamous Halloween party.

Three people then.

"If it helps, he wouldn't shut up about Dallas after he and Nance watched the Outsiders last year so," Dustin shrugs again, this time with the slightest teasing grin.

Eddie is overcome with such a strong feeling of fondness for the kid that he reaches out and pulls Dustin into a one armed hug that's really more of a headlock than anything else. Eddie takes off Dustin's hat to ruffle his hair before putting it back on and tugging it down over the kids eyes, he snorts at the squawk that Dustin makes in response.

"Dallas huh?" he says with a grin before clearing his throat, "I've always been more partial to a pretty boy myself".

He laughs as Dustin pushes him off muttering under his breath, "everyone's obsessed with relationships," which only makes Eddie laugh harder.

Maybe it's the hysteria of the situation, maybe it's the exhaustion loosely wrapping itself around his hands, but in this moment Eddie lets himself push away why they are standing in the middle of this field in the pitch dark, and lets himself reach out for what was previously impossible.

He claps Dustin on the back and tips his head towards the rest of the party getting ready.

"How distracting can you be?" Eddie asks in a low conspiratorial voice.

Dustin frowns, his eyes dart from where Max is struggling to pull on a second blue rubber glove after getting the first one on to where Steve is finally managing to sit up in the van, pulling on the gloves Max left him with, and rolls his eyes again.

"Yeah, yeah, you get five minutes," Dustin drops his voice slightly, and if it's an imitation of Eddie barking orders at the kids earlier, it's pretty good actually.

Eddie huffs and sends Dustin a wink before turning on his heel and making his way to the van.

Steve has managed to finally sit up properly and in the moonlight it appears that the green caste to his face is also gone. He looks up as Eddie approaches, and sends him a wane smile.

"How you feeling?" Eddie says softly. He crouches down on the balls of his feet so he and Steve are at eye level and reaches out for his shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. It's as though a dam has burst ever since he was able to gather Steve in his arms in the van, he can't stop reaching out for him.

"Like my head has a pulse," Steve answers after a moment, "kinda how it felt after Jon cleaned my clock last year, but worse".

He shrugs and gives Eddie a small smile that stretches his split lip until a small bead of red appears, Steve winces and swipes his hand over the cut, "I'm kinda hoping it doesn't become a yearly thing, you only get so many concussions ya know?"

No Eddie doesn’t know, but he was also never a jock, dodging elbows, or balls, or apparently monsters in the woods on the regular.

He looks back at the kids, only to see Dustin pointing at the watch on his wrist; even in the dark Eddie can read Dustin's expression.

Hurry up.

Eddie swallows roughly and turns back to Steve, who doesn't move his gaze quickly enough to hide his own stare.

The wistful pinch of Steve's brow is still there, plain as day, and it cements Eddie's decision.

He leans closer, close enough that his nose is nearly touching Steve's own.

"I need to tell you something, and I need you to let me get through it because we don't have a lot of time, okay?"

Steve blinks once, his wide hazel eyes search Eddie's face as he slowly nods, his mouth opens but Eddie reaches up and presses his palm to gently cover it.

"You caught me off guard before," he whispers quickly, before Steve can move the hand on his mouth, "when you told me about your Nonna".

He sees Steve's eyes go even wider and feels him freeze under his hand, but he has to keep going.

"And I thought, you couldn't possibly be saying what I thought you'd were saying, I couldn't--"

Eddie forces himself to meet Steve's gaze this time, as though he could simply transfer his thoughts directly, save himself the embarrassment of trying to make the words come.

He takes a deep breath in, releasing it slowly through his nose.

"I couldn't let myself hope, not then".

"But when I thought you were dead on the floor, that Billy had broken you into a million pieces and we would never be able to put you back together again and I realized," Eddie moves his hand now, letting it travel along Steve's jaw, to the back of his head. He swipes his thumb along the crest of Steve's cheekbone and tries not to let the way the other man holds his breath deter him.

"That I might not get another chance to be that person your Nonna told you about, if I didn't tell you how I felt".

Steve blinks again and Eddie halts, letting go of Steve completely as he watches the wide hazel eyes grow shiny in the moonlight.

Oh fuck.

Steve's nose flares slightly with how rapidly he's breathing and his mouth opens and closes in quick succession as he seems to struggle to find the words to respond.

"I--"

"Steve! Eddie!" Mike calls out from behind them, "we are running out of time! Let's go!"

Eddie curses under his breath and whirls around; Mike stands at the edge of the cavern, his hands on his hips in a similar position to one Steve held earlier, the painter's mask pulled up to reveal the irritated frown on his face.

Dustin has his own face in his hand but looks up soon enough to offer Eddie a resigned shrug.

He catches Max watching the exchange with curious eyes, her face tilting between Eddie, Dustin, Mike, and Steve, but he can't think about that now.

Not with Steve pushing himself up from the van on unsteady legs, he brushes past Eddie, reaching up with a shaking hand to pinch his nose.

Eddie darts a hand out to catch Steve's elbow, halting his path.

Steve lets him.

Eddie takes a step closer, wracking his brain, trying to figure out what he could have said to make Steve so upset, had he read him wrong after all, had he overstepped somehow?

"Steve," he says softly, his grip on Steve's elbow is loose but steady as he pulls him closer.

Steve doesn't turn to look at Eddie but he doesn't move away either.

"What the hell is the hold up assholes!" Mike barks out again and Eddie lets himself throw a dirty glare at the kid, which Mike merely rolls his eyes at.

The attitude on these kids.

Mike does eventually turn, pulled by Dustin, back to the rope that Lucas is securing to the nearby fencepost, hopefully distracted for long enough to let Eddie figure this out.

But before he can say anything, Steve is pulling himself away from the grip on his elbow, “Eddie--”

"Please,” the word falls out of his mouth, desperate, louder than he wants, “please Steve, just, promise me we'll talk”.

Steve turns his face slightly, just enough that Eddie knows he sees him.

His eyes are no longer wet, but still red rimmed, his nose slightly pink, the same way he looked that night at the halloween party sitting on that rock in the dark.

“Okay,” Steve whispers into the night air, quickly and quietly before he presses forward.

Eddie lets him go, his empty hand drops limply at his side as he watches Steve make his way back to the kids. He snatches an unused pair of goggles from the nearly empty pile on the ground and checks the post where Lucas had secured the rope.

Eddie watches from the sidelines as Steve seamlessly moves back into Babysitter mode, and while some part of Eddie is relieved at this, he can’t help but miss the way it felt to hold Steve, to put him back together again.

Even if it was just for a moment.

Part Nine Now Up!

Tag List:

@eriquin @luvinthefreaks @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @goodolefashionedloverboi @ellietheasexylibrarian @bambibiest @sadboislovebeans @howincrediblysapphicofyou @coleys-a-nerd @whycantiuseunderscore @airconditioning123 @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @corrodedbisexual @starman-jpg @ilovecupcakesandtea @yoriposts @clumsiluni @pelinelin @phantomcat94 @lololol-1234 @anaibis @steveshairspray @hellfireone @eddielives1986 @sunswathe @tentativeghost @robin-not-batman @estrellami-1 @manda-panda-monium @tinyplanet95 @perseus-notjackson @queenie-ofthe-void @rainbowsaw @sp0o0kylights @littlebluejane @hi-im-eff @phantypurple @just-ladyme @thoroughlycollected @justrandomfandomstm @swimmingbirdrunningrock @finntheehumaneater @dynamic-powerm@nightmareglitter @genderless-spoon @zaddipax @thebiblesays @pyrohonk @emly03 @geekymagicalpotato @sidebarre @lemon-astra @cipounette @discreetapple @starlitlakes @saphhicwitchbitch @marvel-ous-m @lingeringmirth @honorarybrit81 @bookbinderbitch @finntheehumaneater @lololol-1234 @eddie-munsons-missing-nipple @monsterloverforhire @gaydrieeen @starlight-archer @homosexual-having-tea @devondespresso @rennnnon @my-hyperfixations-hell-blog

And a few people I think may be intersted!

@steddierthings @steddie-there @stevesbipanic @henderdads

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dameronscopilot · 2 years

Text

burning up

Dmitri Antonov x Hopper’s Sister!reader

Summary: When Hopper crawled back to Hawkins, half-dead but miraculously still in one piece after his lengthy ordeal in Russia, your brother arrived with a straggler in tow—a man named Dmitri Antonov.

Cut to several months later, Hopper has no idea that your “friendly outings” spent introducing his house guest to “American culture” have turned from museums and shopping to a hot, sweaty, in-depth practical study of Dmitri’s very attentive hands and mouth on your writhing, naked body.

While the two of you have been successful in keeping your sultry little secret thus far, Dmitri’s patience may finally snap when you arrive at the Byers’ new house for their ‘Welcome Back to Hawkins’ barbecue, clad in a flowy little sundress.

…the same little sundress that you were wearing the night that you and Dmitri finally stopped pretending you weren’t attracted to one another. The night that he bent you over the hood of your car and fucked you until your voice was hoarse from screaming his name.

So yeah. It’s going to be a long afternoon.

Rating: Explicit, 18+ ONLY

Word Count: 6k

Content: NSFW, SMUT, unprotected p in v, creampie, oral sex, choking kink, spit kink, anal play, cum eating, thigh riding, mutual masturbation, mild jealousy, inappropriate use of an ice cream spoon, fluff, feels!

A/N: This story is canon divergent in that it assumes life has returned to normal in Hawkins without the impending threat of otherworldly doom, etc. Also, you're Hopper's adopted sister.

“Jesus Christ.”

You heard the sound of Dmitri’s voice before you saw him, and a tickle of triumph peeled through you. Acutely aware of the searing gaze that was now wholly focused in your direction, you reached down to brush a nonexistent speck of dirt from your soft, flowing sundress, which was adorned with a pattern of oranges. Casually pushing your sunglasses further down your nose, you glanced over to find Dmitri’s blue eyes staring at you incredulously. You grinned, and he huffed in response, shaking his head and running a hand through his hair.

“Fancy seeing you here,” you chirped as you shut your car door and strode up the driveway, heading toward the backyard of the Byers’ new house, where a lively party was taking place to celebrate the family’s return to Hawkins.

You lazily grazed a finger over Dmitri’s chest as you passed him, and as your hand reached for the latch to the gate, you heard the sound of metal crunching as he clenched the can of soda in his hands. Biting your lip, you turned back to look at him, your eyes sparkling in amusement as you followed the slow sweep of his eyes, which had stopped to focus on where the hem of your short dress fluttered high against the backs of your thighs.

Ignoring the heat that bloomed in your chest under his rapt attention—and the sight of his forearms in the white button down shirt he was wearing, the sleeves of which were rolled up to just before his elbows—you strode away toward your brother, who was (unsurprisingly) guarding his post in front of the grill. When it came to barbecues, anyone interested in helping with cooking the burgers and hot dogs would have to pry the spatula from Hopper’s cold, dead hands.

“Hey, Hop!” you called over to him.

He looked up and grinned, pulling you into a tight, one-armed hug as he asked, “Hey! What’s this, I thought you had work?”

You shrugged. “I convinced someone to cover my shift. I didn’t want to miss out on all the fun.”

“Joyce is going to be so happy to see you, and Enzo will probably appreciate a familiar face. I’m still working on convincing him to go out and meet more people around town.” Hopper jerked a head in the direction of the man in question, who had made his way back into the yard shortly after you, and you willed your expression to remain neutral.

When Hopper had finally returned to Hawkins four months ago, he’d arrived with a straggler in tow—a Russian man named Dmitri Antonov, or “Enzo.” You’d offered to help Dmitri acclimate to life in the United States, much to your brother’s relief, as he already had his hands full trying to explain his own mysterious resurrection. And while Hopper was well aware of the time you and his new house guest spent together, he hadn’t the slightest clue that your polite, educational “American culture” outings generally ended with you naked and writhing under Dmitri’s touch.

After flitting around the decorated yard to say your hellos, receiving a bone-crushing hug from Joyce along the way, you excused yourself and walked into the kitchen to grab a drink from the fridge. You bent down, hand grasping a cold can from the bottom shelf, and when you straightened back up, you nearly jumped out of your skin when you felt somebody standing behind you.

A hand reached out to curl around your waist, and Dmitri’s lips brushed against the shell of your ear as he murmured, “You wore this dress on purpose.”

You smirked, turning to face him, and your breath tickled his lips as you spoke into the scant distance between your mouths, “And you refused to let me cum for hours last night. Let’s call it even.”

He sucked in a breath, heat flashing in his eyes as he remembered you splayed underneath him the night before, moaning, whining, and unashamedly begging him to push you over the edge toward your aching release. Entranced by the warm, golden glow of the setting sun pouring in through the windows on either side of your bed, he had instead taken his time kissing, biting, licking, and sucking his way across every curve and plane of your beautiful, naked body. He’d edged you for hours, fighting the urge to wrap a palm around his length, but the way you’d held on to him for dear life and screamed his name when your cum gushed over his cock had been worth every second.

So did he deserve for you to show up at the barbeque wearing his favorite little sun dress? The one that generously accentuated your breasts while leaving little to the imagination in its meager length? The same dress that had dealt the final blow to his crumbling self control the night that you both stopped denying the way you naturally gravitated toward one another? The night that he’d kissed you until you were breathless? The night that he’d fucked you right then and there, bent over the hood of your car?

Perhaps he did.

You had flushed at the memory of that day when you pulled the dress out of your closet before the party.

---

You’d picked Dmitri up for another outing, and the weather had been sweltering hot. Internally warring with himself, the poor man had spent most of the drive trying (and failing) to avert his gaze away from the trickles of sweat that dripped down your cleavage and the indecent tease of your upper thighs that became exposed with each gust of wind that sliced through the open windows. Was it a cheap shot? Maybe. But in the two months since he’d arrived in America, Dmitri had been nothing short of a complete and total gentleman to you. You could hardly complain about that, but the problem lay rooted in the fact that the soft looks, the comfortable silence, and the unabashed laughter that quickly became a staple of your budding friendship cracked open something inside of you—a warm, fond feeling that left you missing him each night that you dropped him off, counting down the days until you could find a reason to invite him out again for some other mundane activity.

And you knew your utter enjoyment of his company wasn’t one-sided, because you watched the reserved, tentative way that he interacted with anyone else that you, Hopper, or Joyce introduced him to. He carried the burdens of his past with him like heavy, cumbersome walls, hesitant to let his guard down lest the other shoe drop. But with you? With you, Dmitri let himself smile.

However, be it your brother’s looming metaphorical presence (there wasn’t a doubt in your mind that he’d had a chat with Dmitri before introducing the two of you) or a casualty of his unfailingly respectful nature in your presence, all of your interactions were—on the surface—wholly platonic. So when an abnormally hot day in May gave you an opening to wear one of the less wholesome dresses in your closet? Well, you couldn’t pass up the opportunity to try and pry a reaction out of him.

Your day had been spent trailing the vast halls of a large museum that was a few towns over, and it had been difficult to ignore the way that Dmitri had lingered closer to your side than usual, the backs of your hands occasionally brushing. Later, after the sun had dipped well below the horizon, he’d offered to drive home, because he’d caught you yawning repeatedly. And when he’d opened the passenger side door for you, you had shivered at the feeling of his hand when it brushed the small of your back for but a moment. The skies were uncharacteristically clear that night, so you’d waved off the exit to Hawkins and directed Dmitri further down the highway toward your favorite deserted hilltop spot to look at the stars.

Leaning back against the hood of the car, he’d reveled in the way your eyes lit up as you pointed out the constellations. And when you’d inadvertently leaned into him after a chilly breeze passed, the day’s hot weather giving way to a cool evening, he’d casually placed an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer to him. You’d then found yourself caught in a silent battle of will as you were enveloped in the pleasant scent of his cologne, earthy with a hint of citrus and spice.

Feeling a brush against your thigh, you’d looked down to see Dmitri thumbing the hem of your dress. He’d spoken his next words so quietly. “You’re very beautiful. I hope…you don’t think that I don’t notice.”

Your breath had caught in your throat as you turned to look at him, feeling warm all over at the imploring look in his blue eyes and the sincerity of his gaze. Huffing out a small laugh, you’d replied, “I was beginning to worry that maybe I just wasn’t your type.”

Choking out a strangled laugh, Dmitri had leaned his forehead against yours, cupping your face with both hands. You’d closed your eyes for a moment at the comforting sensation, only to open them wide as he stated with a fierce conviction, “You are perfect.”

“But…,” you’d trailed off.

“You deserve far more than what I can offer you. Not to mention, your brother will, as he so politely put it, ‘shove his entire fist up my ass’.”

You’d let out a long suffering sigh. “First of all, I’m a grown woman, so Hopper doesn’t get a say in what, or who, I do. And Dmitri, I couldn’t care less what you have to offer. I just want you, plain and simple.

Running a finger over the shoulder of your dress, Dmitri had replied matter-of-factly, “A man like me is no good for a sweet, clean girl like you.”

“Well maybe I want to get dirty, Dmitri.”

You’d boldly locked your eyes with his as the words fell from your mouth—a challenge. And in turn, you’d watched as his resolve crumbled, making way for him to stop toeing the invisible line he had drawn in the sand the day he met you as he brought his lips crashing down onto yours.

Once you’d started kissing him, you couldn’t stop, a small whine building in the back of your throat as his tongue sought entrance into your mouth to devour you further. And when you’d urged him to touch you, granting him the consent he’d needed lest you’d changed your mind, the exploration of his deft hands across your body had left you keening under his touch.

And thus, that was how you’d found yourself bent over the hood of your car, your dress hiked up and your panties pushed aside as Dmitri fucked you. Gripping the edges of his jacket, which he’d insisted on laying across the cold metal of the hood before he began to work you open with his fingers (an exercise that was purely performative, given how you were already dripping wet for him), you’d screamed his name repeatedly as he pounded into you from behind, intense waves of pleasure rocking through your body. Afterward, Dmitri had pulled you to his chest and held you tight against him, peppering kisses along the curve of your jaw.

After that night, it was like a switch had been irreversibly flipped. No longer forced to keep his feelings at bay, Dmitri lavished you with attention whenever you were alone. Be it the way he took advantage of being able to freely drink you in with long, appreciative stares, his tendency to kiss your hands while you were driving, the utter enjoyment he found in making you squirm by whispering things that ranged from sickeningly sweet to downright filthy in your ears when you were in public, or his newfound addiction to experiencing each and every exquisite way you came apart under his touch.

And you couldn’t get enough of him.

---

“Even? Mm, we’ll see about that, Лисичка.” (little fox) Dmitri smirked, reaching into the fridge behind you, and his chest brushed against yours as he grabbed a bottle of water. Still pressed up against you, he twisted off the cap and slowly ran the tip of his tongue around the circle of the opening before taking a deep sip, eyes fluttering shut and throat bobbing while he swallowed. When he lowered the drink, he noticed your mouth had fallen open ever so slightly. He gently pushed upward on the bottom of your chin with his pointer finger, tapping the center of your closed lips afterward, and he winked before turning on his heel and heading back out the sliding glass door. Alone in the kitchen once more, your eyes darted to the freezer. You grinned.

If Dmitri thought you merely arriving in the dress would be the extent of his teasing for the day, he had another thing coming. And as he stood across the yard, caught in an uncomfortable conversation with an eager woman named Kathryn that Joyce had pawned off on him with a thumbs up, he was wholly unprepared for the scene that unfolded a few feet away. There you stood with…Officer Callahan was it? It didn’t matter. What mattered was the way you glanced over at him with a mischievous twinkle in your eyes before turning back to the other man, nodding enthusiastically at whatever he was saying and twirling a red, white, and blue popsicle in your mouth.

Dmitri felt a hand on his forearm, and he shrugged Kathryn’s touch off as casually as he could before turning back to her and saying, “Sorry, what?”

She repeated herself, “I’m going to head over to try and talk to Officer Callahan about the kids that’ve been dumping trash in my driveway. You’re welcome to join me.”

While he wasn’t sure how much he trusted himself to maintain his composure in front of you, one glance at the way Callahan’s eyes were nearly glazed over by the sight of you slowly licking a stripe up the side of the popsicle had his feet moving before his brain could protest.

Pulling your lips off of the popsicle with an audible pop, you smiled widely when Dmitri approached. Turning to the man beside you, you asked, “Phil, have you had a chance to meet Dmitri yet?”

Callahan tracked the way Dmitri gravitated to your side, close enough to make a silent statement but far enough away that anyone else standing further off would think nothing of it. He nodded slowly. “Yeah, Hop brought him by the station a few times. Nice to see you, man.”

Dmitri’s face remained impassive and he nodded by way of greeting, noting the way the man’s eyes continued to flick to you as you resumed slurping on the frozen treat in your hands far more enthusiastically than necessary. He feigned interest for a few minutes as you chatted with Kathryn and Callahan, only allowing himself to finally give in and look over at you again when he heard a small yelp leave your mouth. He nearly choked on air as he took in your current state: lips wet and stained red, drips of color splashed all over your chest, and a piece of the popsicle was nestled—cold, sticky, and melting—between your breasts.

“Oops,” you giggled, laying it on a bit thicker than necessary because you just knew that the frayed rope of Dmitri’s patience was on the precipice of snapping. You scooped the stray piece of the popsicle out of your cleavage and tossed it into the grass.

Looking down at the mess you had made, you excused yourself to go inside and clean up. Although Kathryn immediately resumed her side of the conversation, Callahan turned to watch you go, as if he were contemplating giving you a hand. At this point, Dmitri’s dick was too fucking hard to give a single shit about how it looked, so he shot Callahan a warning glance before following after you (although he did make sure Hopper was still standing vigil at the grill before closing the back door). Silently making his way toward where he assumed the bathroom to be, Dmitri rapped a knuckle against the door.

At the sound of the single knock, there wasn’t a doubt in your mind as to who was on the other side. You turned the knob, and before you could blink, Dmitri had swiftly shut the door and clicked the lock into place before hoisting you up on the counter. You bit back a moan as he gripped your hips and buried his face in your neck, pressing wet, hot kisses to your collarbone. Your hips snapped forward at the feeling of his tongue trailing down your chest, sliding down to lap up the sticky, flavored mess that was splattered across the swell of your breasts. As his tongue darted lower, dipping below the fabric, he outright groaned when he realized that you’d taken things a step further by foregoing a bra for the day.

“It would be a shame if this dress got wet,” he murmured, letting his tongue slide lower to graze your nipples, and you sucked in a breath as you felt them stiffen underneath his touch. Wrapping your legs around his waist, you unzipped his shorts and snaked a hand inside of his boxers, your arousal growing as you felt the way he was already throbbing for you. As you began to pump his cock, Dmitri lifted one of your breasts out of the dress, taking the tender skin between his teeth, biting and sucking until a generous red mark appeared.

His hands slid up your dress to slide your skimpy excuse for underwear down your legs, discarding the white fabric on the floor. A moan teetered on the edge of your lips as he teased the damp mound between your legs with two fingers before sliding them in, his own pleasure rumbling in his throat upon finding your channel slick with arousal. Perhaps far too eager to chase your release after Dmitri’s edging marathon, you bucked into his hand.

“Sweetheart, are my fingers not enough?” Dmitri drawled, taking your bottom lip into his mouth to suck on it. He crooked his thick fingers inside of you, and he swallowed your answering whine with his mouth.

“...Need your cock, Dmitri,” you panted, whilst he slid a third finger inside.

Obliging you, Dmitri scooped you into his arms and turned away from the sink, sheathing his cock inside of you as he began to mercilessly fuck you against the wall. His lips grazed your neck, blazing a trail hot, open-mouthed kisses, and his voice was on the edge of desperation as he spoke between grunts, “Ты такая красивая, my lovely girl.” (You’re so beautiful)

Your hands were fisted in the back of his shirt as you spread your legs wider, the angle allowing Dmitri deeper access to your cunt; you were desperate to feel the pleasurable stretch of his large cock bottoming out inside of you. He continued to hammer into you before eventually slowing down, gently placing your legs on the ground and turning you around to face the wall. You braced yourself as he hiked your right thigh up into the air, hooking his arm under your knee before thrusting back in again so deep that you felt a line of drool slip from the corner of your mouth as you silently screamed in pleasure. You turned your face to the side to look at Dmitri, licking your lips and letting them fall open. In turn, he wrapped a hand around your throat and squeezed as he roughly spit into your mouth.

You swallowed, and Dmitri tightened his grip on your throat, plunging in and out of your pussy with fervor. A dizzying orgasm punched through you, and your pussy clenched down on Dmitri’s thick cock as he rocked you through the waves of your pleasure before reaching his own peak, shooting thick ropes of cum inside of you. A fond chuckle tumbled from Dmitri’s lips as he kissed you tenderly, putting your leg down and helping you regain your balance.

Straightening your dress and making a halfhearted attempt at taming the results of you eagerly raking your fingers through his hair, you reached down to pick up your underwear, which were nowhere to be found. You were on the verge of asking Dmitri where they had gone when you looked up and watched as he placed them in his pockets.

You gaped, and he smirked. “I think it’s only fair that you match,” he said, gesturing to where your hard nipples were prominently showing through your dress. You rolled your eyes, and he cupped your face, placing an affectionate kiss to your cheek before adding, “Though…we should probably clean you up first.”

He looked pointedly at where the mixture of your cum and his had begun to drip down the inside of your thighs, but before you could reach for a tissue, he had you pressed up against the sink as he dove back under your dress, lapping at your folds. You gripped the edges of the counter as he slipped his dexterous tongue into your hole, caught between the feeling of overstimulation and the crest of another wave of release. Your legs spread wider of their own accord as he began to outright fuck his tongue into your cunt, and when you felt Dmitri pull you forward slightly to drag a wet finger over the tight ring of muscle between your ass cheeks before sliding the tip of it inside, you had to bite down on your palm to muffle the sounds of another orgasm ripping through you.

---

The rest of the party was fairly uneventful after you and Dmitri took it upon yourselves to christen the Byers’ new bathroom, though you found most things paled in comparison to his company as of late. Well aware that you both shared an insatiable desire for one another, something you’d been pleased to discover early on when your trysts began, you made a valiant effort at mingling with the rest of the guests—if only to keep yourself distracted from the amused, knowing glances that he periodically shot your way every time you subtly adjusted your thighs. (And in turn, he would conspicuously reach a hand into his pocket, where you knew your underwear were held captive.)

Later, after excusing yourself from a long-winded conversation with one of Joyce’s neighbors, you glanced around the yard—which was bathed in the glow of lights strung about from the fence and the trees—in search of Dmitri. Eyeing where your brother was seated beside the fire with a guitar in his hands, belting out a song terribly off-key for Joyce and those who remained, you shot a glance in the other direction toward a dark, unlit corner. Rounding the tall hedges that hid a small table and chairs behind them, you found Dmitri sitting there, casually leaning back in a chair with his legs spread invitingly while eating a bowl of ice cream. He smirked, as if he had known you’d come to find him eventually.

You waltzed over to him, plopping down on his knee and turning sideways to face him. He stiffened for a moment, and you giggled, “You hear that terrible noise that sounds like a dying bear? Hopper’s busy performing for everyone around the campfire right now. Nobody will notice we’re over here.”

He relaxed at that, putting the bowl aside and wrapping his arms around you. In turn, you ran a hand through his hair and pressed your lips to his. Dmitri hummed into the kiss, deepening it and licking into your mouth, sliding your tongues together. You felt a pull of fabric, and you glanced down to see him untying the strings ruched over your breasts, which were meant to keep the front of the dress snugly in place. With the tension released, he trailed his hands along your shoulders to push down your sleeves, allowing your naked breasts to spill out.

Your eyes widened at his boldness, and he shrugged as he began to palm them. “Relax, I’m keeping an eye out. And if I die here tonight by way of your angry brother, at least I die a very happy man.” He winked.

You laughed, and you were about to adjust yourself to fully climb into his lap, but with a firm grip from his large hands on your waist, he spun you so that you were facing away from him and straddling his right thigh. He began to fondle your breasts, eagerly groping them while pinching your nipples and lavishing your neck with hot, open-mouthed kisses. Purposely shifting his thigh slightly, you bit back a whine as your bare cunt rubbed against the fabric of his shorts, the friction sending pleasure straight to your core. He tugged on your hair, pulling your head back for a messy kiss, and you cried out into his mouth at the sudden feeling of something cold biting at your nipples. Twisting your head back around, you looked down to find Dmitri was running a spoon along your swollen breasts, which were now dripping with remnants of his vanilla ice cream. Your hips pushed forward, and you began to grind down, seeking friction as heat licked in your belly in response to the cold metal teasing its way across your chest.

“Come here,” Dmitri murmured as he turned you around, still straddling his thigh but facing him this time. He dipped his head and took it upon himself to clean yet another sticky mess from your tits with his mouth, licking them generously and obscenely sucking on your pert nipples. Unable to hold back any longer, you shamelessly began to ride his thigh, cunt sliding in the pool of your arousal coating Dmitri’s shorts.

“That’s it, good girl,” he purred as he roughly began to palm himself over his shorts, looking into your eyes with a heated stare. “Cum on me, малыш, it’s okay.” (Baby)

You buried your face in his neck, and he gripped your hips tightly as your orgasm hit you in a wave of pleasure. You had but a few stray moments to pant against his neck before the sound of a snapping twig had you rushing to tug your dress back into place, jumping into the chair beside Dmitri just as he leaned an elbow on his leg to cover the mess you had left there, feigning an air of casualness.

Hopper approached, a slightly drunken stumble to his step as he peered over at the two of you in the darkness and barked out, “Why are you guys sitting over here in the dark? Was my singing that bad?”

You snorted, and Dmitri covered his mouth with his hand to stifle a laugh. Hopper scoffed, crossing his arms as he continued, “Well, whatever. Joyce hid the guitar from me, and they’re all roasting marshmallows now, if you’re interested.”

Feigning a tired stretch and forcing out a yawn, you shook your head. “I actually think I’m going to head home, Hop. I’m pretty tired.”

Hopper nodded in understanding and replied, “I don’t want Joyce running around cleaning everything up herself tomorrow morning, and I’m not exactly in driving condition anyway, so I’m going to crash here.”

You leveled him with a stare, a retort asking why he didn’t just move in with her already after making headway with his monumental emotional constipation while they were in Russia on the tip of your tongue. But you’d save your regularly scheduled nagging for later. In the meantime, you had your own love life to secretly carry out. “I think Dmitri was ready to go, too, so I can just drop him off instead of him driving your truck home.”

Hopper nodded, “Good, yeah, I have to head to work early in the afternoon anyway, so then I can head straight there from here.”

After saying your goodbyes to those that were left mingling, you couldn’t walk to your car fast enough, keenly aware of Dmitri right on your heels. The moment that the doors were shut, you turned to him and asked, “Want to stay the night?”

Dmitri reached over, lacing his hand with yours. “I’d like nothing more. Well…that, and finally getting you out of that dress.”

You grinned as you put the car in reverse, swinging your head around as you backed out of the driveway. For as extensively as the two of you had already mapped out one another’s naked bodies, nights spent sleeping cocooned in Dmitri’s embrace were dreadfully few and far between, carefully orchestrated around Hopper’s rare overnight shifts. However, before heading back to your place for some much needed alone time behind closed doors, you abruptly made a right turn, courtesy of an idea that had just formed in your head.

Dmitri looked at you expectantly when you eventually pulled into the dark, deserted parking lot of the town’s public pool. You shrugged and said with an air of nonchalance, “It was so hot today, I’ve been dying for a swim.”

Never one to question your ideas, no matter how brazen, Dmitri simply shook his head and smiled at you as you both let yourselves out of the car and approached the pool’s locked gate. Dmitri looked poised to hoist you up over the fence, but you walked a few paces away, returning a moment later with the extra key that you had learned the lifeguards kept stowed away under a rock.

Dmitri followed you to the pool’s edge, looking down into the gently rippling, illuminated water. You turned to him, plucking at the buttons on his shirt as he shucked off his shorts. Remembering his comment about your dress earlier, you opted to leave it on for your late night swim. You knew there was a sweater and shorts stuffed somewhere in your trunk, anyway.

When you jumped in, you were pleased to find that the water was still warm from baking in the hot sun all day, and you beckoned Dmitri to join you. He sighed dramatically before backing up for a running start, folding his body up into a ball before he landed, which sent a wave of water crashing down on top of you. You sputtered and laughed as he swam over to you, moving your wet hair from where it was covering your eyes and kissing you. You slotted your lips against his for a moment before pulling back and putting distance between the two of you. His brows furrowed in confusion, only to realize once it was too late that you were winding your arm backward to drag it across the water and splash him.

A chase ensued, in which you would swim fast and hard to escape Dmitri’s grip for a minute or two, he’d catch you by the ankle or the shoulder and bring you in for a heated kiss, only for you to slip away and start the process all over again. Eventually, you reached the ladder, and you made a swift exit from the pool before Dmitri could stop you.

You glanced back at him with a mischievous look in your eyes. Dmitri’s mouth went dry as he treaded water, drinking you in. He found himself unable to tear his gaze away from the way your soaking wet dress clung tightly to the curves of your body, your breasts on clear display with the thin fabric rendered nearly see-through.

Fully aware that he was staring, you slowly lowered yourself onto one of the pool’s lounge chairs, loosening the ties of your sopping wet dress to allow your breasts to spill out freely once more. Dmitri climbed out of the pool, making his way toward you. Keeping your eyes on him, you lifted your dress and spread your legs wide open, reaching a finger down to tease your slit. You were still sensitive from the stretch of his cock in the bathroom and from your shameless performance on his thigh, but your stolen moments throughout the day had been too brief, too rushed, and you desperately wanted to savor Dmitri this time, to drink him in.

“Гавно,” (shit) he breathed out as he approached you, watching as you spit on your fingers and resumed your steady ministrations on your cunt. He came to sit down on the chair beside you, pulling his hard shaft out of his boxers. As he began to lazily stroke himself, eyes raking over you with admiration, you inadvertently felt your cunt flutter and clench down on the two fingers you were pumping inside of yourself, eager to feel the stretch of something thicker and larger plunging in.

Holding his gaze, you began to play with your breasts and brought your arousal soaked fingers to your lips, licking your juices from them. Dmitri bit his lip as he tightened his grip on his cock, a shallow moan leaving his mouth. You stood, motioning for him to lay down on the chair, and you peeled off your dress and settled your naked body between his thighs, where he was still tugging at his shaft. You replaced his hand with yours, leaning in to lick stripes up and down the side of his cock. He groaned your name, hips pushing upward into your teasing touches until you finally slid your open mouth over him.

You eagerly bobbed up and down on his cock, taking him deep into the back of your throat repeatedly until he began to shudder under your touch. You slowed to a stop, pulling off of him with a line of split trailing from his tip to your bottom lip. Dmitri beckoned you closer, and he sat up at the waist as you climbed into his lap. You keened in pleasure as your wet folds slid against his erection, and he chased after your lips for a searing kiss. Wrapping his strong arms around you, he lifted you, lining up your glistening hole with his thick, waiting cock. A rush of adoration burned through you as you locked eyes with Dmitri, who was staring at you reverently, and you both simultaneously cried out when he finally sunk into you.

Cradled intimately in Dmitri’s arms, tremors of pleasure poured through your body as he made love to you. The slick sounds of him sliding in and out of you were punctuated by a string of sweet words and phrases that he desperately spoke between your heated kisses, fluidly switching back and forth between English and Russian. When your whines grew more desperate, your fingers digging into his back, Dmitri lifted you up slightly so the head of his cock sat nestled at the edge of your hole before plunging back in, burying himself to the hilt. Suddenly, your orgasm rocked through you, and you desperately cried out against Dmitri’s mouth, tears falling down your cheeks from the intensity of it. Dmitri’s release came shortly after, and he embraced you tightly as his cock pulsed, filling you deeply with his hot cum.

You didn’t move afterward, and Dmitri’s arms stayed wrapped around you as his cock softened inside of your spent cunt, cum beginning to dribble out onto the chair below. He kissed the tears that stained your cheeks before nuzzling into the side of your neck.

The next morning, you awoke in your bed to the rare feeling of utter contentment that sleeping beside Dmitri brought. His arms were wrapped around you, his head resting on top of yours, and you snuggled further into his chest, clinging to him tightly.

Voice slightly muffled, you quietly said, “I’m not ready to wake up yet. I want to enjoy this for a little longer.”

Dmitri smiled, breathing in the floral scent of your shampoo. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

—

Comments, reblogs, and/or asks are always appreciated!

» DMITRI ANTONOV MASTERLIST

#dmitri antonov #enzo #enzo stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #dmitri antonov smut #dmitri antonov x reader #enzo x reader #dee writes

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jessybarnes · 1 year

Text

Love Dust

Title: Love Dust

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Rating: 18+ Only! Minors DNI!

Word Count: 2,245

Tags: SMUT, Angst, fluff, sex pollen, kink: harder, find the cure, arguing, sexual tension, minor injuries, masturbation, mutual masturbation, wall sex, unprotected sex, choking, biting, oral sex (female receiving), kissing, multiple orgasms, explicit sexual content, explicit language, and I think that's it but please let me know if I forgot something.

Written For: @kinktober2022 , @buckybarnesbingo , and @badthingshappenbingo

Square(s) Filled: Sex Pollen for Kinktober // B2 - Kink: Harder for Bucky Barnes Bingo // O1 - Find The Cure for Bad Things Happen Bingo

Beta(s): T. Thompson and A. DiLorenza

"Bucky? Hey, Buck can you hear me?"

You were partnered with the super soldier on the most recent mission, and things started out bad and kept getting worse.

The two of you didn't really get along, to begin with. Add that to the fact that neither of you agreed with the other's decisions, and well, that's how you ended up here, in this dark, dilapidated room.

The walls are cement, the floor is concrete, there are no windows, and the only light is coming from a little vent on the wall by the steel door.

Neither of you is restrained, but you're a hundred percent certain the door is locked. Instead of wasting your time trying to pry it open, you decide to check on Bucky. After all, he's the one with super soldier serum running through his veins, and with his super strength and metal arm, he's your best bet at getting out.

You crouch down and brush his shoulder-length hair out of his face. He really is beautiful, but you'd never tell him that to his face. He'd never let you live that confession down.

He's got a pretty gnarly gash above his eyebrow but other than that, he's unscathed. Well, from what you can immediately determine anyway. You gently roll him onto his back and press two fingers to his neck to check for a pulse.

Okay, so at least he's not dead.

His chest rises and falls and you can't help but run your fingers over his silver hand. The metal is cool and you flatten his palm to look at the intricate grooves. You've always been fascinated with the inner workings and design of his prosthetic, but never had a chance to look at it up close. Until now.

"The fuck are you doing?"

You jump and scoot back to give him some room, "sorry… you were out cold and I couldn't get you to wake up."

He raises an eyebrow, "so you decide the best way to do that is to play with my metal hand?"

"Just shut up and help me get us out of here."

Bucky sits up and looks around. He doesn't remember much other than the stubborn tactics that got the two of you surrounded by Hydra agents.

He stands and rolls the sleeve of his red Henley up to expose his metal forearm before gripping the door handle.

"You should probably stand back."

You roll your eyes, "I'm fine. Would you just do it already? I'm hungry and want to shower."

He shrugs and gives the handle a hard tug. Nothing happens so he fixes his stance and uses both arms to pull as hard as he can.

You stand and watch with your hands on your hips. Even though his efforts didn't work it was still nice to admire his back and arm muscles flexing. Just because you think Bucky's insufferable doesn't make him unattractive. You're only human.

"Good try and all, but I don't think the door's gonna budge."

Bucky sighs and lowers himself onto the floor again, the back of his head resting against the wall. Out of all the people he could have been trapped in a ten-by-ten empty room with it just had to be you.

He's honestly not sure what Fury sees in you. Sure you're skilled in combat and can hold you're own on missions. He'd be lying if he said you weren't pretty, but your arrogant personality rubs him the wrong way. It's just like that saying goes, you can't have everything.

"So, any ideas?"

He doesn't even bother opening his eyes.

"Not unless you got a way to bust through that thick, steel door."

"So, we're just supposed to sit here then?"

Bucky sighs, a twinge of annoyance hints in his tone. "Well, seeing as there's only us in here, and I'm the only one who would have been able to open the door, I don't see how we can do anything else."

"That's really helpful," you deadpan. He grunts and you roll your eyes. You watch him from the opposite wall. He's always so nice to everyone else at the compound. Granted he doesn't talk that much or participate in the parties that Tony holds, but he never seems unpleasant with anyone else. So why is he that way with you?

You can't put your finger on it, and so long as you are stuck in this tiny ass room with him you're going to figure out why.

"What's your deal?"

Bucky cracks an eye open and subtly tilts his head toward you, "excuse me?"

"Why are you always such a dick to me?"

He snorts and shakes his head, "I'm not getting into this with you, Y/N. My head hurts, I'm tired, and I'm not in the mood to open this can of worms right now."

You open your mouth to respond, but before you can a hissing noise catches both of your attention. You look at the vent and begin to panic at the sight of a pale yellow mist flowing out.

"Bucky? What the fuck is that?"

"I…don't know…but whatever it is it can't be good."

He stands and goes to pull on the door handle again, but to no avail. The dust-like substance floats in front of his face and he stumbles back, his body becoming overwhelmed with heat.

"Bucky?!"

He collapses onto all fours, his chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath. He's hot all over, and even though he hears you call out to him, he can't focus on anything but the thick, molten heat pooling in his groin.

Once he can finally catch his breath he realizes something else.

He can smell you.

Bucky grits his teeth and tries so hard to ignore the intoxicating scent of your arousal. It's surrounding him, and he can't help the tent forming in his jeans. He's hard and leaking, his cock begging to be touched, and it's taking everything in him to keep himself from tearing your clothes off and pounding it into your tight, wet heat.

You slowly get closer to him avoiding the yellow dust as best as you can. He's doubled over like he's in serious pain, and even though the two of you don't see eye to eye it doesn't mean you want him to suffer.

Your hand gently touches his shoulder and he immediately whips his head around to look at you, your eyebrows shooting up in shock.

Bucky's unrecognizable. His skin is flushed, his pupils are dilated, and his nostrils flare as his lip curls upwards. He looks absolutely feral and you aren't sure if it's because he wants to kill you or if he wants to devour you.

He stands and turns to you, his shoulders moving up and down as he breathes. His fists clench at his sides and he inhales deeply, groaning as he closes his eyes.

"You smell so fucking good, Y/N…"

"Bucky?" You hold your hands up as he stalks toward you, "please…y-you don't have to do this!"

He backs you into the wall and plants a hand on either side of you. His face lowers down to yours and you turn your head to cower away. You're unsure what his motive is. Is he going to eat you? Is this some sort of cannibalistic dust that infects the people that ingest it?

Bucky leans into your neck, his nose dragging along your throat as he breathes in again.

"Mmm, wanna taste you…"

You push on his chest but it's no use. Trying to move him away is like trying to move a brick wall.

There's no where for you to go. Bucky's blocking you from the front and the dust is slowly surrounding you from both sides.

The first flakes of it dance across your face and it's like you've been dipped in a sea of lava. Your back arches off the wall and your panties immediately become soaked through. The throbbing between your legs is so intense that you can't even think straight.

One of your hands slides into your panties and you immediately push two fingers inside of yourself. It does nothing to soothe your need for release, but you just can't stop.

Bucky growls and nearly tears his own off so he can fist his cock. He thrusts into his hand as he watches you, his eyes wild and primal.

Your orgasm comes suddenly and you cry out as slick covers your hand. Bucky’s isn't far behind, seemingly endless ropes of cum bursting from his tip.

Although it felt good, reaching your high did nothing to satiate the unbearable ache in your core. You rub fast circles on your clit while Bucky strokes up and down his still leaking cock.

"Bucky," you whine desperately, his eyes fierce as he looks down at you, "i-it won't stop…"

Bucky closes his eyes and swallows hard. He can hear how wet you are and the last shreds of his self control are dwindling away.

"Buck, please I-I can't… We need to… to find the cure."

"Fuck!" He growls and drags you down so you're laying on the floor, "gotta taste you, doll. Smell so fucking good."

At this point, you'd let him do anything if it made you feel better. You lift your hips and he strips you, tossing your clothes somewhere behind him. He spreads your thighs apart and curses under his breath.

"Jesus, you're dripping all over the floor, baby."

You whimper and circle your clit again, but he swats your hand away.

"Please!" You beg. "Just please do something. I can't take much mo-OH, FUCK!"

Bucky dives between your legs like a starved man. He uses his thumbs to spread you open, his tongue diving into your soaked cunt. He's relentless as he licks and sucks your pussy, bringing you closer and closer to your second orgasm.

You're practically crying from how intense it feels and when he slips his tongue inside of you, it hurdles you over the edge. Bucky doesn't stop, his low groan vibrates through your core and makes you scream and squirt all over his face.

"Bucky! Bucky oh, my g- oh, fuck! Baby please!"

He finally lets you go and pulls his face away so he can look at you. His chin is shining from your cum and it's one of the hottest things you've ever seen. There's still a dull, pounding heat and your eyes fill with tears as your hand works its way to rub your clit again.

"B-Bucky…"

He shushes you and lifts you into his arms, "shh, I've got you, doll. I know, I know it hurts, but I'll make it better, okay?"

You nod and grab onto his shoulders as he pushes you against the wall. His kiss is needy and rough as his cock stretches your pussy.

Bucky can't fuck you fast enough. He's never been more feral for anyone than he is right now. His body pins you to the wall, his mouth ravishes your exposed skin in open-mouthed kisses, and the way your velvety cunt pulls him in is intoxicating.

"Oh, baby," he groans deeply, "you feel so fuckin' good… taking my cock so well…"

"Harder, Bucky!" You cry out and throw your head back, his metal hand coming up to close around your throat.

"Yeah, princess? You need me to fuck this little pussy harder?" He grips your side with his free hand, his hips pistoning upward with reckless abandon. "I'm gonna ruin you, doll. No one else will ever fuck you like this."

"Oh, shit! Bucky! I-I'm gonna cum! You're gonna make me cum oh, my god!"

He squeezes your throat a little tighter and kisses you vigorously, "yeah, that's it, pretty girl…cum…cum all over my cock."

His words are like a trigger, sending you over the edge for a third time, and it's intensity makes little spots dance in your vision. Bucky's release is right behind yours, his legs shaking as he cums with an animalistic shout.

Bucky pants wetly against your lips and lets his metal arm slide down to grab your other hip. He turns around and sinks down to the floor with you in his lap, his cock slowly softening inside of you.

Your still shaking as you lay limp in his arms, his fingertips rubbing lightly up and down your back. It's quiet other than your breathing and you realize that you finally feel relief.

You raise your head to thank him, but before you can, the door is blown off its hinges and hits the wall behind you making you jump.

Bucky wraps his flesh arm protectively around you and raises his metal one to block the debris. He pulls you off of him and stands to put himself between you and whatever’s behind the dissolving dust. Naked or not, he won't let anyone hurt you.

"Buck? Oh, thank god we found y-...wait, why don't you have clothes on? What's going on?" Steve gazes from him, to the yellow pollen-like substance on the floor, and back to Bucky. He's thoroughly confused until he notices you behind his best friend. He shakes his head and chuckles to himself.

"I don't know what happened in here, but whatever it was I'm glad you two aren't at each other's throats anymore. The tension was getting to be too much, so I guess all I have to say is…

It's about damn time."

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jo-harrington · 3 months

Text

Substratum (Eddie Munson x Reader)

Pairings/Relationships: Eddie Munson/Reader

Warnings/Themes: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Ideas of Afterlife, Allusion to Trauma, Injury, and other Character Deaths, Violence, Blood, Self-sacrifice, Reader Character Death, in a theoretical S5 world where Eddie returns and then I hurt him more, allusion to Kas!Eddie or some kind of resurrection where the UD/Vecna was responsible for his return, DEAD DOVE: ROMANTIC CANNIBALISM

Note: This is jarring and I will say beautiful but not for the faint of heart. Shout out to @storiesbyrhi who wrote an amazing AU of Bones and All that touches on a lot of these themes and is the person who got this ball rolling and @courtingchaos for saying the magic words "fingers sneaking past your teeth" to spark inspiration god damn you both for always knowing the way to my heart. Pun intended.

You can find my masterlist here.

Please do not interact if you are not 18+.

Enjoy!

---

Substratum - Definition

an underlying support

the material of which something is made and from which it derives its special qualities

It was a long and difficult fight.

Full of sacrifice.

But in order for it all to end, there would have to be an even greater one.

How it all came down to the two of you, neither of you knew for sure. But it did.

The Upside Down was ready to be cut off for good, but the closing of one world from another demanded blood.

Eddie, as one of the final beings in existence with ties to both worlds, needed to be the catalyst of said blood. Whether it was expelled or consumed.

Which meant one of you needed to die.

What a cruel irony that Eddie was seemingly resurrected only to be put in this predicament, and you who had to mourn for him once, facing the possibility that you had to do it all over again.

You argued for a while, as the world burned around you.

"It has to be me."

"No. I'll do it. You've already killed so many, let me be the last one. End this all now."

"I need to be the one, I was always meant to die to the Upside Down."

He swore up and down that he would die a thousand deaths for you, but it was your insistence that he could die a thousand times, but he'd never save you.

"I won't survive if I lose you again."

He's about to say the same, about to say that once you're gone, he'd be soon to follow, but you don't let him protest. You take his hands and place them softly around your throat, to snap your neck like the hundreds of other necks he'd snapped at Vecna's will.

But your love, your Eddie, couldn't let you go in such a cold and impersonal way.

His hands retreat from your neck, they climb upwards and settle on your face. So soft and alive; in mere seconds, he would never witness this again. He aches at the thought of your eyes cold and unstaring, of never hearing a laugh come from those lips again.

He leans in close, a whisper of a kiss as your lips touch for one last moment of worship before he destroys you; all the while, his thumbs collect the tears that escape from your eyes as you realize this might be the last time you see him too.

His first death had brought about some sort of hope for a great beyond, though. You threw yourself into books and myths and stories for hope that you would see him again. You'd told him so when you'd finally reunited, and you both grasp onto that same shred of hope at this moment, that there would be some palace of light where you'd sit and wait until he could join you.

Then he begins your undoing.

His fingers start to pry your mouth open, they explore past your teeth, they make your jaw go wide. You choke as he hand follows the fingers, into your mouth and down your throat.

A great sob escapes you but it is stifled as your voice box is crushed with the intrusion and you fight for air as your windpipe is squished.

Those fingers are searching, tearing through the delicate flesh within you that has never known the pressure of anything other than the weight of your consciousness and your soul. Meanwhile you’re silently enduring the torture; choking, asphyxiating, and focusing on one simple image: the ouroboros...eating itself.

It's fitting, because you have been and always will be one. Here you are consuming him...and soon enough he will consume you too.

Those searching, destroying fingers find their target as your body fills with blood. Their grip tightens, and then pulls, and that is your demise. Jaw snaps, eyes wide, heart quite literally broken as it’s extracted from the depths of you.

Eddie considers the ache in his own chest as he backs away from your broken, empty husk; what an odd thing, to have destroyed his own heart as thoroughly as he's destroyed yours.

His grip is soft now, delicate as the world roars around him; the sacrifice has been demanded and so close to being fulfilled. Still, he takes the time to hold and caress and worship your most vital organ.

He examines it with a critical eye. Ventricles and chambers and the trailing remnants of sinew that are just as beautiful as you, and he thinks it's fitting. Where else would your soul live, but in your heart; surely they both would be this complex.

And your carcass?

That's always just been the meat that kept the real you hidden.

Silly that you'd insisted he had always been the one to see the real you...and now he was.

"I'll be with you," he promises with one last, loving caress. "This will all be over and we can be together."

He kisses your heart, the last thing your physical form might feel, and then you're pushed between the sharpness of his teeth as the tear and gnash and funnel you down his throat.

Eddie swallows as the final gate closes and is sealed for eternity, one terrible world's door shutting swiftly on another.

At that moment, the recognition hit. He felt you you settle there, in the depths of him, for all eternity too. You filled him with golden light. And he realized you had been right all along. You had returned to each other again, and you didn't even need to wait very long.

The two of you.

Together as one.

Complete.

#tw: death #tw: blood #tw: cannibalism #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #Eddie munson angst #stranger things fic #kas!eddie

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qierxing · 7 months

Text

Painting the Roses Red

Commissioned by the delightful rainbowsillz Yan!Riddle x F! OC | Continuation of this TW/CW: Non///Con, Oral Sex, Manipulation, attempted murder, unhealthy relationships

And many a tear we shed Because we know They'll cease to grow In fact, they'll soon be dead

Her fingertips are oily.

It’s a gross thing to fixate on, but she can’t help it. For the past few days, she has been running her fingers through her hair out of an instinctive habit. Yuu keeps hoping that her fingers will snag on silk and the familiar tug of a hair strand will happen, but to no avail. Instead, her fingers only get stuck on tangled curls and greasy strands of unwashed hair.

Automatically, her hands drop to her collarbone, but reality is still cruel. All her prized possessions are gone no matter how much she wishes for it. Perhaps if she closed her eyes, she’ll be able to find them in her dreams.

Three hollow knocks echo through the house.

Her stomach twists in on itself. She knows it’s silly to be so afraid. If she must get morbid, then she would know better than anyone that he would not be the one waiting on the other side of the door. No, in the end, it most likely will be her succumbing out of desperation. At least that’s what the writer in her mutters bitterly.

And yet, she pauses before the main doors of Ramshackle.

What if it is him? Then what will she do? Her eyes slide to the side of the door to the shoe rack before stopping at the umbrella leaning next to it. For a moment, she wonders if it’ll be enough if it’s used as a bludgeon. Yuu quickly snaps her gaze away, shaking her head. How crazy has she become these days?

When she opens the door, a familiar figure greets her eyes and she almost collapses from relief.

“Can I come in?” Trey asks, head tilted in a weary smile while carrying a tin of cookies.

–

The cookies pair extremely well with the cheap tea bags Yuu got from Sam’s store.

“Sorry to disturb you like this out of the blue.” Trey is so polite, letting her snack on most of the lemon cookies he brought over. He’s barely even touched his cup of tea, which is a shame, because the tea and cookies are quite tasty together.

“No, no, you’re fine, Clover-senpai.” She says. “Is something the matter?”

Trey gives that sheepish looking smile again, meanwhile rubbing his hand over his neck. It’s a nervous tick that she’s familiar with. After spending so much time in Heartslabyul, it’s nearly impossible to miss it.

“The thing is…” He starts slowly. “The dorm’s fine and all, but the mood’s been off these past few days.”

Cold chills run down her back.

“Ever since the tea party, Riddle’s been a bit…tense.” Trey sighs, finally meeting her eyes again. “Did…you guys have an argument or something?”

An argument. Despite the dread and nausea curling in her gut, she refrains from giving a sharp laugh. She settles on saying, “That’s one way to put it.”

There’s a pause while Trey purses his lips while clasping his hands.

“I don’t want to pry, and it’s not any of my business,” Trey finally says, breathing out a heavy sigh. “But Riddle is my friend and I don't want to see you two go through this.”

Her fingers are already shakily combing through her hair (she should really wash it soon). Another silence goes on. Trey clears his throat, fiddling with the teacup in front of him.

“…also Riddle wanted me to tell you that he has your hair ribbons and brooch.” Crushed flowers and grass flashes in her vision and the urge to vomit rises within her throat. How despicable. Knowing full well what those items meant to her and holding it above her head can only be a childish tyrant’s actions. Still, he has her right in the palm of his hand. It’s a subtle ultimatum that already speaks for itself.

“…will a letter suffice?” Humiliating defeat. Blood roars through her ears, and yet she can only manage a pitiful response.

It’s obvious Trey is taken back, but after looking at the expression on her face, he drops his eyes and nods. “I can make sure it gets to him.”

Her lips curl into a cracked, sharp grin. If she couldn’t have the honor of saying what she wants to the culprit himself, then she can make sure the words written in smooth cursive will carry all the fire and spite she harbors.

“Wonderful.”

—

“You’re back.”

Trey nods uneasily at Riddle’s greeting. His housewarden doesn’t have to say anything else, merely holding out a waiting hand. There’s a small pause, a questioning whether Trey should really do this, but it’s gone the moment Riddle’s eyes narrow in impatience, and the letter is in his gloved hand without another word.

Trey watches apprehensively as Riddle slices open the envelope with a letter opener. Bronze handle, with the blade being a sturdy iron. It’s a little thing that escapes most people’s notice, but he remembers. The gift is something Riddle cherishes deeply ever since he received it. After all, only two people send letters to Riddle: his mother, and the Ramshackle prefect.

Trey waits. Riddle’s eyes scan over the papers in his hands. He’s not sure what is going through Riddle’s head right now. He wasn’t privy to what Yuu wrote in her letter nor did he want to be nosy. But he remembers her face. That alone itself is enough for reservations.

Riddle laughs, jarring Trey from his train of thoughts. Trey watches in intrepidation as his housewarden chuckles as if he’s been told the funniest joke of them all.

“Yuu has quite a sense of humor.” Riddle’s laughs finally die down to amused chortles, still reading the paper as fondly as one would read a love letter. However, Trey is quite sure that the contents within that paper are not professments of affection.

“Trey.” The vice housewarden straightens out of habit at Riddle calling him. His tone indicates an order to be bestowed. “Prepare for another tea party.”

The fifth day of the month has passed a week ago. There’s no Unbirthday parties scheduled in the near future. It’s evident this tea party will not be a public one. But what can he do now? He is only a subject under Riddle’s iron hand—and it is his duty to serve his Queen.

“Of course, Housewarden.”

—

Yuu arrived five minutes early, to account for unexpected matters.

Things such as being stopped for holding a cast iron pan and a dark expression. Thankfully, it seems that other Heartslabyul students knew better than to stop the Ramshackle prefect, and especially not when she’s mad. They quickly slink to the side as they side eye her walking past, casually swinging the pan back and forth in time with her steps.

She’s sure at the very least it will give Riddle some pause, even if it’s suspicious. It’s not like she has any magic to defend herself with. So he must give some lenience where due.

Trey is waiting for her by the door to the garden. His gold eyes drop to the pan in her hands for a quick second before meeting hers again. He nods in gentle encouragement.

“Go on in. Everything’s set up already.”

Yuu still isn’t really prepared when she steps through the door. She thought the pan in her hand would give enough courage to get through the freezing fear of seeing red. It’s not the same setup as before. There’s no whimsical decorations. Just a simple table with refreshments. And yet, her grip on the pan almost loosens at the sight of the boy sitting at the table.

“You’re on time, for once.” He smiles over his cup of tea, not caring at how her face twists in instinctive disgust. If he’s noticed what’s in her right hand, he gives no indication. “Come, sit.”

Still, Yuu is annoyed–she should be the one driving this conversation, not him. She makes a point by deliberately setting the pan on the quaint table, right next to her teacup. Riddle finally acknowledges the action with a frustratingly fond smile that has Yuu’s blood boiling. She huffs, and allows Riddle to pour her tea.

“Where’s my brooch and ribbons.” It’s not a question. She doesn’t really care for where he has them, all that’s needed is for him to do his part and hand them over. That was part of the deal they made. She hoped that that rigid, upright part of him would still be somewhat intact, even after everything.

Riddle clicks his tongue in mock disapproval. “Patience, my love.” The nickname is enough to have her gripping her teacup too tightly. She’s starting to reach for her pan when thankfully, he reaches within his overcoat and brings out her precious items. They bear no sign of being under duress, all sparkling clean within his palm. Yuu pushes away the thought of how it was like the perfect crime scene; unblemished with no traces to the culprit.

But when Yuu reaches out desperately to grab the accessories, Riddle curls his fingers around them and pulls them out of her reach. Like a cliffhanger, she is left exclaiming in barely contained rage and confusion.

“Give them back! You–” She has to stop herself, remind herself where she is on this precarious slope. “Riddle. Please. You promised to give them back if I came here.”

“I did.” Riddle once again raises his tea cup to take another agonizing long sip. “I’m simply adding some terms before I do.”

The urge to bash his head in comes back in a violent rush. Who does he think he is?

“And what exactly are those terms?” Yuu asks, curling her fingers once again around the pan next to her. Riddle’s steely eyes only glint in amusement.

“First, you are not to associate yourself with those underclassmen ruffians anymore.” The verdict is delivered as a death sentence: cold, unfeeling, and absolutely unreasonable. Before Yuu could even try to protest, he continues without even pausing.

“Second, you are to stay by my side as often as possible.” This term has her stopping in her tracks. Ironically, it was more reasonable than the first one. But this is not a contractual term. No, it’s one of his beloved rules-meant to uphold the core of his world.

“My world does not revolve around you, and yours shouldn’t revolve around mine.” Yuu spits the words in choked frustration. “Even if you’re my friend, you’re going way too far.”

Riddle only stares, iron hues boring through her. Yuu feels like she’s being chipped away, slowly but surely against her will. Heartslabyul’s housewarden has always been noted to be headstrong and stubborn. These traits are what won him his throne, after all.

“To correct you, we’re not friends,” Riddle closes his eyes while taking another sip. “How can we be friends, after sharing such an intimate moment together?”

He’s not listening. Of course he isn’t. Why would a Queen deign to listen to a puny subject’s pathetic cries? It doesn’t make her any less angry though.

“You’re crazy, “ she seethes. Riddle laughs, stern face breaking into a hauntingly delighted smile.

“Am I? I must say, you’re crazier for thinking you can just walk away from me.” His chilling words don’t match his smug face at all.

She doesn’t hesitate or pause, yet by the time she’s grabbing the pan and bringing it over her head, Riddle’s eyes flash and she’s restrained by some unknown force. It digs into her wrist, making her release the iron pan by instinct and it clangs upon the ground, sliding away a good few feet. Damn him, she couldn’t even see how he activated his magic–his magical pen is nowhere to be found.

“Oh dear, you weren’t going to resort to violence, were you?” Yuu snarls at Riddle’s condescending chuckle. “It would be most unladylike. Besides, I think you’re forgetting that I’m one of the more powerful mages at this school.”

“Spare me the lecture,” she hisses, tugging at her wrists, desperately trying to dislodge whatever is pinning her in place. Sadistic bastard.

“There wouldn’t be a need for a lecture in the first place if you would just listen.” Yuu doesn’t miss the sharp edge to his scolding. She finally realizes something about this unknown force purposely digging into her skin, pinpointing her veins and nerves—it reminds her of curved rose thorns, sharp and unforgiving, and completely nasty to remove.

She had walked into a trap.

—

In a way, Yuu was glad to be inside. There were many outdoor elements she would not be fond of at the moment.

She would still rather it not happen at all. The unknown force had returned at full power and dug into the junction of her wrist and waist when Trey asks her if she is okay. Yuu can only smile as pain flares from nerves being stretched to their limits, assuring him she’s fine. Riddle only took advantage of her inability to speak more to override her completely, sweeping her away to his bedroom with the excuse that she needed rest.

He’s gotten better, she notes. As she lays upon velvet covers with hair and clothes fanned around her like a halo, it’s the only thing that she can really think of without wanting to vomit. A high pitched moan echoes in the room and Yuu realizes through groggy dizziness that it was from her. The realization is snuffed by another bolt of pleasure wracking through her body, making her arch her back and scream.

Riddle rises above her spread legs, ironed shirt and blazer discarded, humming in satisfaction. A lithe pink tongue peeks out and swipes away shiny liquids coating the lower half of his face. He runs a careless hand to push back his hair, smirking down at her boneless form and glazed eyes.

“Good girl.” Shame floods her as more cum drools out of her hole in response, a deep seated wanting burning through her body. Gritting her teeth, she can barely even push herself up on a pillow in an attempt to orient herself when Riddle traps her with his arms on the headboard.

“Now, now,” he coos. “We’re not finished here.”

Her breath is stolen away in a single, feral thrust that has her scrabbling for hold on Riddle’s shoulders.

—

Something shiny draws her eye from the nightstand. When she strains her neck to see what it is, her chest tightens.

The antique letter opener was one of the most expensive items she had bought when she arrived in this world. Yuu would never have bought it, even for herself. It would’ve been a waste of madol and she could not afford to, what with caring for Grim and their living expenses. As much as she would have enjoyed it as an avid novelist, there simply would have been no point to, especially when she would be returning to her own world.

The circumstances just happened to line up. Riddle’s birthday was nearing, and she had been out for a lark in the town square. A quaint little antique shop had caught her eye, and despite Grim’s bored protests, she dragged her companion to the store’s door eagerly. She had only meant to be window shopping—but the letter opener was too beautiful to pass by.

The storekeeper chirped something about it being a perfect gift for a significant other when ringing up the purchase. Something about how the creator first carved the symbols of roses around the handle for his wife (for those were her favorite flowers) and gifted it to her, so she would always remember him when she used it. At the time, Yuu only blushed and politely thanked her, and left the establishment with swirling feelings. She thought it preposterous that Riddle and her could ever have such a relationship.

It’s sitting askew on the nightstand, next to an opened letter. She knew whose it was without even looking. Who else sends him letters besides his mother? Yuu only wishes she could reach further and tear that paper to shreds, burn it all to ashes. Riddle stirs, face still buried in her bare chest, soft breaths tickling damp skin.

She thought of how delighted she was that she had a pen pal in this world. Even if their letters were mostly nonsensical past times, Yuu thought she knew the Riddle everyone else was afraid of.

Thankfully, Riddle doesn’t stir when she wriggles an arm free of the sheets, slowly, cautiously reaching out towards the nightstand. Her fingers brush against cold metal, barely able to tilt the handle enough to make it slide towards her opened palm. Yuu just barely is able to catch it, the awkward position making the sharp part dig into her flesh.

Adjusting her hold, she raises the blade above her head. For a moment, she’s frozen in place as her eyes examine the sleeping body laying upon her. Not in hesitation(she is long past morality at this point)—but to figure out where best to strike.

The head is viable, but the blade might be too dull to do any real damage. If she aims just right, she could try going for the heart through his pale shoulder blades. But she’s a novelist, not a mad scientist. The chances she actually manages to pierce his heart is too low and risky (as much as she would love to try).

His throat, however…

She swears he was sleeping. His eyes were closed, and his breathing slow and steady. But somehow, her aim still misses, just barely slicing skin and missing important nerves to be a fatal blow. Her wrist is caught in a tight grip as Riddle looks up at her with a wry smile.

“Using your gift against me? Rather rude, don’t you think?” His sleepy voice dances with mirth even though his neck bleeds little droplets of crimson. Her eyes follow the trail down his Adam's apple, down his collarbone, and finally, it trickles down and stains the white bedsheets a bright scarlet tint that reminds her of the roses that symbolize the dorm.

“I’ll kill you.” The words are murmured with quiet conviction. A promise.

The Queen of Hearts laughs.

“Good luck, then, my dear.”

#yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twst #my works #commissions

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