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rkvriki · 7 months

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PAIRING ! ceo!jay x trophy wife!reader

SYNOPSIS ! A lavish lifestyle, the perfect rich husband, a full walk-in closet, expensive jewlery, expensive car, luxurious vacations... You had it all. Or at least everyone thought so. There was one thing missing for you and only your husband could give it to you. Was he gonna give it to you that easily?

WARNINGS ! SMUT! afab reader; jay praises reader; kind of dumbification of reader?? but not really; jay is a tease and kind of edges her; oral (f receiving); p in v; porn with unnecessary plot; handjob, reader calls herself a slut jokingly in the very end; jay smacks her ass once; this will be awkward get ready ! lmk if im missing any warning

word count: 4.3k

When you married Jay you knew what you were getting yourself into. Even when you guys were only dating, the tabloids’ front pages were already filled with pictures of you two in any situation they could catch you in. It was expected, of course. Who would ignore the fact that the daughter of one of the biggest CEOs of the country is now married to the young rich CEO who took over his father’s positions in one of the biggest companies out there? Everyone who looked close enough could tell you were both head over heels for one another, but that wasn’t enough to stop people from calling your marriage a mere deal or arrangement. Those headlines made you gag when you looked at them.

You couldn’t care less about them but something about people actually believing that made you get a sour feeling in your stomach. You were used to being a hot topic in magazines and whatnot. People always found a chance to make you a target of criticism, maybe out of envy, you wouldn’t know and never tried to do so. Ever since you were young you were taught the art of not giving a fuck mostly by your mother who knew you would deal with this kind of thing in your adult life.

Now ever since you got married people thought you were living the perfect life. I mean, you had everything you wanted in the palm of your hand, who wouldn’t want that? You spent almost all of your days at home, never needing to raise a single finger since you had a housemaid to do everything for you. But was it all that good? No one can imagine how boring that can get. It got to the point where you have asked, no, begged the maid to help her out just for the sake of doing something. And poor woman told you to do something simple because you don’t even know how to work with the laundry machine since you were never requested to do any house chores.

You gave up on trying to do anything, accepting that there would be days when you really had nothing to do. Unfortunately for you, today was one of those days. Or kind of one of those days. There was one thing you knew that could satisfy your craving for the day but said thing was not home at the moment. So you got up and went inside your closet looking for one specific thing. Browsing through one of your multiple drawers you finally felt the fine rich lace. Pulling it out, you stared at the beautiful two pieces of black lace lingerie that Jay had bought but you’ve never worn before. You quickly got ready, being extra careful with your appearance, and made your way out of the house, driving straight to your husband’s company building.

The sound of your heels clacking was the only thing heard in the big building’s hallway alongside the whispers of, mostly, female workers around you. The quiet voices were something you learned to ignore over time. Not that they were worth being heard anyway, being nothing more than jealous comments coming from women who envied you just for the simple fact you dated their hot boss. You were very much used to hearing Jay’s employees call you trophy wife, which wasn’t exactly a lie if you were being honest.

You were a stay-at-home wife, who spent her time relaxing at home or shopping, so cliché right? It’s just the lifestyle that was given to you by your husband. You had a college degree but Jay insisted that you didn’t need to work since he had more than enough to provide you with a comfortable lifestyle and who were you to deny him that? Everyone told you you were being ungrateful for wasting your precious superior education years but you knew damn well if they were given the same opportunity they would take it.

You’ve always been privileged since you were little, being born into a family of old money who had always been involved with multiple big companies, which brought you to meet Jay. You were invited to a party that one of your father’s associates hosted and everyone who owned big businesses like his’ was there. Later that night, at the after party when your parents were already home, you met Jay. You would love to say you weren’t expecting it, but you spent the whole evening eyeing him, trying to get his attention, because no, just having a pair of perky tits and round ass wasn’t enough to get a man like Jay. You knew the moment you saw him silently reject other women that you would need to work hard for his attention, and it worked out just fine for you. Needless to say, the night went to your accord and somehow it ended up with you two getting married two years later.

You looked in the direction of the people whispering, seeing the two workers who were always running their mouths about you when you were present in the building. You simply looked at them with nothing but disgust in your eyes and kept making your way to the big tinted door. You don’t even bother to knock as you make your way inside Jay’s office. He looks up from his computer, making eye contact with you, seeing you smiling and all pretty for him. “Didn’t expect you to come here, baby.” Jays said as he smiled at you, motioning for you to come closer. You walked up to his side, towering over him as you gave him a tight hug. “I missed you and there was nothing to do so I came to see you.” You told him with a pout, making Jay laugh at your behaviour.

“It’s not funny, Jay! You’ve been so busy lately, we barely spend any time together.” You said with a huff, crossing your arms while avoiding looking at him. “Baby, I already told you that we’ve been dealing with this very important client and I can’t just drop this.” He said with a sigh. “I understand you feel upset and I’m not trying to discard your feelings but I also need you to understand that this is a big thing for the company, yeah?” You held back a sigh, trying not to sound too upset. “I know that, but you barely pay any attention to me when you’re home.”

Many were the nights where you waited patiently for Jay to arrive in bed, seeing the clock hit 11pm and not seeing any signs of him coming anytime soon and before you could help it you would fall asleep curled to his side of the bed. There was only one time when you were able to stay up until he came, sitting all dolled up pretty while you waited for him in your most expensive silk nightgown. Jay didn’t seem to get the hint of you needing and craving his attention, because he simply kissed you goodnight before making his way to the bathroom to get ready to sleep. You decided that you were gonna give him the silent treatment, but you couldn’t ignore someone who wasn’t even in the house. You stopped trying to wait for him, you were only wasting your efforts so you just waited for this dry spell to be over. It’s not like you only missed Jay for sex, but you were a healthy woman with needs and your ovaries were screaming at you.

“You know I don't mean to do that, baby.” Jay said as he got up, making you turn your back to him. You knew your sulking was being unreasonable but if you didn’t exaggerate in your reactions Jay wouldn’t do anything about this. “Y/n, please look at me, princess.” your husband said, grabbing your arms to turn you around. You faced him, looking up at him with the best puppy eyes you could pull. Jay brought his hand up to brush your cheek, making you lean into his touch. “You know I love more than anything in this world, don’t you?” He asked as he held your face, making you look at him in the eyes. You nodded at him, your eyes drifting from his eyes to his pouty lips you adored and missed so much. He seemed to get the hint and sat back in his chair, patting his lap, motioning for you to sit on his lap.

You wrapped your arms around his neck as you got comfortable in his lap. Jay leaned forward, capturing your lips for a passionate kiss. You kissed him back eagerly, trying to get as close as possible to him. His pillowy lips fitted perfectly with yours and you felt like you were getting on cloud nine. His tongue licked at your lips, indulging them to open up, making you do so. His tongue danced around with yours, not trying to fight for dominance with yours. You moaned in his mouth as he sucked on your tongue, making you clench your thighs together. You pulled away from the kiss, feeling your cheeks grow hotter and hotter with each second passing by.

“Jay…” You said, your voice merely above a whisper. “Yeah, baby?” He leaned his forehead into yours, making you close your eyes shut. “Need you so bad, Jay. Please.” You whined against him, your ass slightly grinding against his crotch. Jay laughed at your answer, almost feeling bad for what he was about to do. “Yeah? Tell me what you need me to do. Use your big girl words.” He said with a smirk, his lips brushing against yours, making your craving for him grow even more. “Need your cock, Jay. Need you to fuck me so hard. Please…” You buried your head in the crook of his neck, embarrassed by your own neediness. “Such a good girl using your words, aren’t you, pretty girl?” He asked not actually looking for an answer but you nodded anyway. “That’s right, baby.” He started. “It’s a shame I need to leave for a meeting now, isn’t it? But big girls like you can wait, don’t they?”

Your eyes widened at his words. Your hands went to his shoulders, grabbing his suit jacket in desperation.“No, no! Please, Jay. Don’t do this, please.” You begged, making Jay chuckle. “Look at you. Going dumb for my cock.” He said grabbing your chin with his soft hand. “I thought better than that didn’t I? If you don’t behave you might not even get anything tonight, get it?” You felt tears of frustration prickling in your eyes, but you blinked them away as you nodded at him. “Use your words.” He demanded, grabbing your face harder. “Yes, I understand.” You answered, feeling pathetic for how you felt yourself getting even more wet. “Good.” He said releasing your face. “Now, go home and wait for me. And don’t you dare touch yourself until I get back tonight.” And with that he walked away towards the meeting room, leaving you alone in his office with all your efforts of looking good going to waste.

You felt like you would burst with how desperate and needy you were. Jay had sent you home more than 3 hours ago and he still hadn’t come back. If this was some stupid test where he was trying to test your patience, well, it can end right here right now, because you had none, at least at the moment. You were lying in bed staring at the ceiling, feeling your panties uncomfortably stick to your core. You tried to distract yourself with anything you could. You scrolled endlessly through your phone and even spent a good amount of time and money in online shopping just for the heck of it. You sighed for the nth time that evening as you closed your eyes trying to think of something that wasn’t your husband or his dick inside you.

You looked at the clock on your nightstand seeing it was way past 6pm and just as you were about to get up from bed, you heard the front door slam open. Your face quickly stretched with a smile as you looked at the door waiting for Jay to make his entrance. You heard his footsteps getting close, making you bite your lip with anticipation. The door finally opened revealing your husband loosening his tie, his eyes sharp and dark with what could only be lust. He walked to stand at the foot of the bed, admiring you, still wearing the outfit from earlier, your thighs pressed together.

Jay’s knees dipped the mattress as he got up on the bed, towering over you, making you look up at him with those doe eyes of yours. His hands grabbed both of your knees, pulling your legs apart so he could lean down to your height. His lips brushed against your neck, sending shivers down your spine before spreading kisses all over the skin there. You closed your eyes with a moan as he sucked that one spot that made you weak, sucking on the area before soothing it with his tongue. He pulled back looking at you in the eyes. “Poor baby.” He said caressing your cheek with his thumb.

“Waited so patiently for me, didn’t you, pretty?” You nodded your head at him as a whine escaped your pouty lips. “Think you deserve a reward, no?” He asked rolling his sleeves up his forearms. “Yes! Yes, Jay. I waited for so long. Deserve it so bad, please.” You said as you felt your eyes tear up from the relief of finally getting what you’ve been waiting for. “That’s right, baby. Been so cruel to you, haven’t I? Making you wait like that.” His face leaned closer to yours, your noses brushing against each other before Jay crashed his lips against yours in a needy kiss.

The sound of your lips smacking filled the room. Your teeth clashed against each other, but nothing mattered right now. Jay’s hands roamed up from your thighs until they reached the hem of your top, pulling it off of you easily, revealing your lacy bra. “Fuck.” He muttered under his breath. “You’ve been wearing this the whole day?” He asked making you nod at him. “Wore it just for you, Jay.” You said in a whiny tone. “Yeah? It’s a shame it’s coming off later. Or should we keep it?” He didn’t allow you to answer as he captured your lips in another kiss, biting your lower lip, making you let out a low moan.

The air in the room seemed to be getting hotter, the sound of your breathy moans started getting louder the needier you both got. Jay laid you down on the bed, settling himself in between your legs. His hands circled your hips, searching for the zip of your skirt. He got up to pull off your skirt leaving you in your lacy set. He licked his lips as he looked you up and down, his eyes stopping at the dark spot in your panties. You closed your thighs shut, suddenly feeling shy. He chuckled at you as he opened them back, sliding down on the bed, his face now eye level with your cunt.

He started kissing on your inner thighs, whiney moans leaving your parted lips as you laced your fingers in his hair trying to lead his head to the place you needed him the most. “Be patient, baby.” He said in a soft voice but it felt like a warning. You gasped when you felt his nose nudge against your clothed clit. “Please, Jay. Need it so bad, can’t take it anymore.” Jay let out a hum at that. “Need what, pretty? Need you to be more specific.” You held back a frustrated groan. “Need your tongue, please.” Jay seemed pleased with your words as he pulled your panties down, revealing your glistening pussy. He let out a shaky breath as he closed his eyes and inhaled your sweet scent. You felt your heart thump in your chest as you felt his hot breath get closer to your heat.

His tongue made contact with your clit in an experimental flick, your thighs wanting to close around his head as you let out a soft moan at the small contact. His lips engulfed your nub, sucking on your bunch of nerves as you pull his hair harder. Jay closes his eyes as he focuses on pleasuring you, giving you what you earned. His mouth moves south as his tongue teases your entrance, your sweet taste hitting his taste buds making him moan lowly, the vibrations causing you to squirm against him. He moved his tongue further, getting inside your warm cunt as his nose bumped against your clit, stimulating it. Your brain going numb from the pleasure you missed so much, your moans getting louder the further his tongue got inside of you. Jay twisted and turned his tongue in your insides, at this point doing it for his own pleasure as he rutted his hips against the mattress.

“Please, Jay. Need your fingers, fuck!” You begged him as you looked down to where his mouth met your cunt, making you moan at the sight. He didn’t speak a word as he obliged to your request. He pulled his mouth off of you and before you could complain, his two fingers replaced his tongue, entering you with ease. You let out a silent moan as his lips made their way back to your clit as his fingers kept thrusting in and out of you at a fast pace. He was hitting all of your favourite spots, making you see starts. You started to feel the familiar knot form in your stomach, your thighs clenching around his head as you grinded against his face, smothering him with your essence.

“Fuck, Jay. I’m so close!” You were panting at this point, holding his face in the spot, afraid you would lose the sweet pleasure you were feeling. Jay’s fingers didn’t falter and you felt yourself getting closer and closer, squelching sounds filled the room along with your rapid breathing. Suddenly his fingers hit the spongy spot inside you, making you let out a silent scream as you let yourself get the sweet release you craved so much. “F-Fuck Jay. Oh my god!” You said as he pulled away from your pussy, but kept his fingers going inside you, helping you ride out your orgasm. He leaned down, kissing your lips and swallowing your moans. You whined in overstimulation, pulling his fingers out of you. “Thank you, Jay.” You said smiling at him, making him laugh at you as he rested his forehead on yours. “You deserve it, baby.” He said as he lovingly pecked your forehead.

You got up on your knees in front of him as you started pawing at his belt, trying to undo it. “Wanna suck you off.” You said, batting your eyelashes up at him. “No need to do that now, princess.” He said removing your hands from him and undoing his pants himself. You pouted your lips at his rejection. “Please, Jay! I really wanna do it!” You whined against him. He closes his eyes, letting out a breathy shake. “Y/n, if I don’t fuck you right now I’m gonna bust in my pants, so shut up and just let me fuck your pussy, yeah?” Words got stuck in your throat at his words, eyes watching his every move as he removed all of his clothes, now standing in all his naked glory.

Your eyes roamed from his sculpted face, down to his abs and when they were reaching his crotch, his hand held your chin, making you look up at his smirking face. “Eyes up here, doll.” You blushed, smiling up at him making him mirror your expression. Jay leaned down and connected your lips with yours while slowly lying you back down again. He hovered over you, his cock bushing against your core just slightly but it still makes you shudder when you feel it.

You tried to sit up to remove your bra but Jay stopped you. “Jay- My bra!” You whined. “Keep it.” He said sternly and you obviously weren’t gonna deny him that. His lips went back to yours, kissing you passionately. One of your hands travelled down his chest until it reached his member. You wrapped your warm hand around him, making him hiss in your mouth. You gathered some pre-cum that leaked from the tip to aid you when you started stroking him. Your hand felt delicious around him. It squeezed and twisted in all right places, making him buck his hips in your fist. Jay took your hand off of him and went to reach his nightstand where he kept his condoms, but your hand stopped him. “Fuck me raw, Jay. Please.”

Maybe it was the way there was a slight whine or maybe it was the way your eyes looked up at him, but somehow, Jay found himself agreeing with his wife. “Fuck, ok.” Jay grabbed the base of his cock and aligned it with your entrance, not wasting any time to thrust unto you. The raw feeling of your walls wasn’t foreign to him, but it had been a while and he felt like he could bust a nut right there and then. You squeezed your eyes shut, feeling every vein and bump of his dick as you moaned loudly.

Jay stayed still for a while before pulling back until only his tip was inside before thrusting back in. Your eyes opened wide as you felt him hit seep inside you as he started fucking you at a fast pace. Your hands desperately scratched his back, in need of something to hold on to. Your moans along with his sounded like a melody to you. The sound of skin slapping and the lewd sounds coming from your wet pussy filled the room. The feeling of his tip almost hitting your cervix was becoming almost overwhelming to you and your moans were coming out almost silent from the immense pleasure. Both of your bodies were now covered in a sheen layer of sweat, making your husband glow under the warm light of your bedroom.

His body was gliding against yours just perfectly, intensifying your feelings. He propped himself on his elbows, now closer to you, making your nipples rub against his. Your moans were getting louder as his fat tip started hitting the spongy spot. “Need more. More, please, Jay!” You begged, taking all of your energy to voice out your request. Jay chuckled at you. “I’m already fucking you this hard and you still need more, huh?” He said making you whine. Suddenly he stopped, making you whine. He sat up on his knees as he grabbed your hips and turned you around, putting you with your ass up.

Your face was buried in your pillow as he rubbed his tip against your slit, making you moan as you squirmed your hips against his cock. He rubbed your butt as he inserted himself back into you, reaching deeper than before. You let out a scream you felt his hand smack against your ass cheek as he thrusts into you furiously. He groaned as he threw his head back when your cunt clenched around him, almost getting him stuck inside you. His hips were pistoning into you at a steady pace, going at the perfect rhythm. Your mouth was agap and drool was pooling on the side of your mouth. “Look at you. Dumb for some cock.” He scoffed, but his voice was shaky showing you he was just as fucked out as you. You whined into the pillow, hiding your face.

“Jay!” You screamed, “I’m so fucking close, please don’t stop!” His dick twitched when you raised your head to look back at him. Your face was flushed, eyes droopy, mouth parted as nothing but moans came out of it, completely fucked out to even think properly. His thrusts started getting slightly sloppy, but he tried his best to keep up. Your moans were staccato to the rhythm of his thrusts. Your chest started heaving up and down in fast breaths. “J-Jay, M’gonna cum! I’m gonna-” You were interrupted by your climax. spilling all over your thighs and his too. “Fuck!” Was the last thing Jay said before thick ribbons of his cum started filling you up as he stayed still inside of you, making you moan at the warm feeling.

Jay was leaning in your back, breathing against your ear. Both of you too gone to even speak. After you both came down from your highs, Jay slowly pulled out from you, making you whine. He stared at your pussy, watching as his cum mixed with his spilled out from you. You collapsed on the bed, breath still a bit uneven, with your eyes closed as you started feeling sleepy. Jay lays beside you with a thump, making you open your eyes to look at him. You both stared at each other before you both started laughing. Jay pulled you into his chest, embracing you, leaving a kiss on the top of your head.

You heard him take a deep breath before he spoke. “I’m sorry if I’ve been neglecting you. I never intended to do it, I promise I’ll try harder to be home earlier.” His words made you look up from his chest. “Jay, you haven’t been neglecting me. At all. I understand that you are going through something important at work, I just missed you, it’s all!” You said caressing his cheeks with your thumb. “And besides, you should know you were marrying a slut when you signed that paper.” You said, making both of you laugh. “You’re no such thing, baby.” He said laughing. “Yeah, whatever. Can we take a shower now? Your cum is drying inside of me.” “Whatever the lady wants!”

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steddielations · 6 months

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Eddie’s queer awakening Part 2 | Part 1

Steve doesn’t know what else to do to make Eddie realize he likes him. Never in his life has he had to work this hard at winning someone over. Never.

Even with Nancy in high school, there was always a hint that she wanted him to chase her, which made it worthwhile. Sometimes, Eddie will do something that makes Steve sure he feels the same, flirting back. Then Eddie will do something that makes Steve not so sure, laughing it off.

Steve doesn’t like resorting to bullshit queer stereotypes because he doesn’t exactly fit them either, but Eddie looks like those rugged guys on his posters and album covers. Sometimes it feels like a masculinity performance worthy of King Steve, but sometimes it feels genuine.

Eddie’s not dressing like Bowie, but he prances around on cafeteria tables yelling about sodomy and he’s never had a girlfriend that Steve knows of. He could like both, same as Steve, of course. Or it could be nothing, of course. Steve’s just putting all these moves on a straight boy, about to get his heart broken again.

Robin’s given him countless pep talks, assuring him that he’s right about Eddie when he starts to doubt it. “You sniffed Vickie out just from her VHS returns. If anyone has a functional queer detector here, it’s you. Trust it.”

“What if I ask him out and he rejects me?” Steve fully understands Robin’s worries now, it’s not the same as getting shot down by a girl. “I’ve got enough rumors about me already.” They all wanted to say it in high school, calling Steve a pretty boy in tight pants that spent too much time in the mirror.

Tommy used to shoot them all down. Now he’s not by Steve’s side, snarling at anyone who suggests it. Which was mostly just Tommy trying to convince himself that everything they did under the covers at sleepovers was “just guy stuff”, and he convinced Steve too. To the point where Steve hadn’t even considered any different until a few months ago when he told Robin and— yeah, that was an eventful conversation. The first time he stumbled across the word bisexual— from a Bowie interview in one of Robin’s magazines— it felt like something clicked into place.

“I don’t think Eddie’s the type to out anyone, either way.” Robin’s right. She’s not always right, everything would be easier if she was, but she’s right about that.

“I keep having to pretend to like his shitty weed to get him to come over. Not even the yawn and stretch move worked on him. Y’know, this,” Steve demonstrates, stretching an arm above his head and then draping it over Robin’s shoulder. She shrugs him off with a fake gag. “I kept looking at his lips and I thought we were gonna kiss, but he laughed and poked me in the ribs and called me dude.”

Robin listens to all his boy troubles and then they come up with a plan. Steve decides he’s going to come out to Eddie, just put it out there that he likes guys. In a totally platonic way and hopefully that gets the ball rolling the other way, where he tells Eddie he likes one guy in particular and hopes all his Romeo efforts don’t blow up in his face.

So he goes for it. Eddie strolls into Family Video and picks out a movie that Steve’s actually heard of for once. It’s easy for Steve to throw him a smile and invite himself over. “You know this is the closest thing to a romance movie you’ve picked? No way I’m letting you watch this alone, somebody’s gotta hold your hand through the sad ending, looks like it’s gonna be me.”

Several emotions fly across Eddie’s face, landing on overwhelmed disbelief. “I don’t get it, man. How do you not have a girlfriend? You’d be so easy to fall in love with. Hell, I feel like you've made me fall halfway in love with you already. If I was a girl, I’d date the shit out of you.”

It looks like Eddie wants to clap a hand over his mouth as soon as the words leave it.

Steve watches him carefully, trying to think clearly over his heart pounding in his chest because Eddie just said he loves him, kind of. This is it. “Would you still date me as a guy?”

Eddie’s nervous hands jingle with chain bracelets as they tug his hair and hide his face. “You mean, objectively? As a guy would I date another guy? I mean, could I want that? I hadn’t really considered that option until now. Uh. Shit. Wow, this is-”

“Because I would, you know,” Steve jumps to say, as earnestly as he can, needing Eddie to finally know. How could he not know? This is it. Steve didn’t come all this way just to tap out at the finish line. He goes for it. “I’d date you as a guy, Eddie. I’d date the shit out of you, too, just like you are.”

Eddie’s face is flushed now, his eyes wide and swimming with both questions and realizations. Steve snaps out of it for a second, looking around to see the store is thankfully empty, Robin’s still on her break, but this isn’t the place for this conversation.

“Wanna talk about it over the movie tonight?” He offers.

It moors Eddie, he relaxes more and Steve hopes he’s not imagining the faint hint of a smile. “Yeah, that’s— yeah, talk. I can do that.”

“Okay, it’s a date. See you then.” Steve hands over the tape, their fingers brushing and making warmth flutter all through him. He watches Eddie halfway trip out the door, running into it once and pulling on it three times before pushing it open.

Steve can’t stop grinning, thinking about later, determined to tell Eddie he’s already in love with him too.

#it’s hard work being eddie’s queer awakening but somebody’s gotta do it - steve #steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #steddie fic #steddie ficlet #stranger things #rueswriting #mp

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the-90s-music-colosseum · 6 months

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Quarterfinals, Match 2

expand to see all propaganda received! (wall of text warning oh my god this is a severe cautionary message)

Lauryn Hill:

"she paved the way and was hot as fuck the whole time"

"Girl c'mon. Look at her. You're gonna try and tell me that isn't the most beautiful and attractive person alive? Okay. You're lying but okay."

"if u freaks don't give ms. lauryn hill the respect she deserves..."

"actually one of the prettiest women ever I'm such a lesbian for her. like irl I'm already a lesbian but she is helping"

Damon Albarn:

"Don’t think Damon should be here? Why don’t you get your head checked by a jumbo jet? Maybe you’ll feel heavy metal and calm down."

"If Damon is in the “some guy” category, he’s the heavenly and heartbreaking version. Damon is the sort of significant stranger I’d see on the train out of Colchester but could never speak to, just a face seen in passing yet too radiant to be real. I’d fall in love for an hour and carry the ache for a month."

"Damon sets the standard for me. I think he’s the most fascinating man alive. What I find attractive in Damon is not just his gorgeous bone structure and boyish charm, but how wholly he’s committed himself to music. Damon is an artist who walked the walk: in one of his roughest years with some of his rawest songwriting, he said he was no longer excited by anything except the creative process. He was disillusioned with the celebrity of it all, with his relationships suffering for it, and only wanted to make art: nothing more, nothing less. He would go on to compose film scores, write operas and stage musicals, produce other artists’ records, form collectives to fulfill his passion for world music, and create some of the most globally successful music of his career in a completely innovative format that placed him as the phantom behind the characters. Whenever one band takes a break, he makes a solo record or puts together a supergroup to stay busy. He’s uniquely collaborative and still writes personal letters inviting artists to record with him, and yet can function as a one-man show, acting as a multi-instrumentalist, a singer-songwriter and a producer. He’s been a constant voice of bringing British music to the world *and* bringing world music into Britain. Sure, he’s won Brit Awards and a Grammy among others, but he also has a Guinness World Record and was named an Officer of the British Empire for his services to music; his long work with Africa Express earned him respect even from peers who’d previously dismissed him, and his commitment to support his Malian collaborators in the face of violence earned him the title of Local King in Mali. There is so much talent in the world, but there is truly no one else with a career that looks like Damon Albarn’s. Damon is far more than just a prettyboy to look nice on a magazine cover, but looks are the ultimate point of this tournament, so make no mistake: he was terribly, terribly pretty. You watch him performing in the 90s, you sift through photoshoots and interviews and documentaries, and it feels *cruel* how beautiful he was. If his talent was god-given, so was his face. To put a bow on this thesis: I don’t know if Gorillaz and Damon’s musical universe would be the experimental, globe-trotting, boundary-pushing community affair it is if Blur hadn’t become such a central figure in Britpop and if Damon had not been made such a media spectacle, and I don’t know if Damon would have been that spectacle if he wasn’t so ungodly pretty. The domino effect is that Damon’s cherubic face launched a thousand multimedia art school projects for decades to come."

"I wish I was basically any bloke in the 90s so I could tongue Damon Albarn down. Damon will see a man and ask “is anyone gonna kiss that?” and not wait for a response."

"I have a pillow with his face on it. I sleep with it every night 😊"

"“I’m more homosexual than Brett Anderson, always have been. As far as bisexuality goes, I’ve had a taste of that particular fruit, or have been tasted you might say…” is just the rawest most Shakespearean statement ever"

"he is the ultimate Pretty Boy ™. his glorious golden locks, his electric blue eyes. he is if Princess Diana was a Britpop Dude. he is the Regina George of Britpop. he is if Aphrodite took male form. Zeus would come down to earth to fuck him if he knew. he is a caffeinated orange cat let loose. he is deranged. he is unhinged. you never know what will come out of his mouth. he had sexual tension with every single man who knew him. he pulled justine fucking frischmann. his aura knows no bounds. he is a siren. he is a weird guy. but being so gorgeous stunning ethereal didn't stop him from also being one of the most prolific songwriters of his generation"

"THE MAIN BLUR"

"literally where do i even begin. i could write entire essays on this man. a good place to start would be the beetlebum music video, i suppose. i'll never forget the first time i watched that music video. something in me changed, my brain chemistry was altered, my life was never the same, i view the world a lot differently now. and a lot of the viewing i'm doing is of pictures of damon albarn's face because of boy do i have a lot of those saved. every time i try to look for a photo of something on my phone i can't find it because there's so much damon. okay that's maybe an exaggeration but this man has the most unfathomable beauty ever. his eyes? HIS EYES. god dammit i love his eyes i want to stare at them until the end of time like nothing else exists. i'm so normal about this man (lying) and while i'm usually very shameless about my interests i'm actually incredibly glad this propaganda is anonymous because otherwise. yeah. but the world deserves to see damon albarn's beauty and also hear his fantastic voice because what the fuck. his voice is literally the most gorgeous sound ever produced like bro sounds like that and expects me not to fall in love? i want this man to sing his silly songs and talk absolute nonsense to me until the sun eventually blows out and the world ends. cmon damon girlies let's demolish this tournament i know there are a lot of you."

"He’s beautiful. He’s a little rat. He’s a sweetheart. He’s a dickhead. He’s a musical genius. He’s a dumb bitch. He’s a jock. He’s a weirdo. He’s real. He’s an illusion. He’s everything. He’s just Damon."

"DAMON DAMON DAMON where do I begin oh jeez I've hyperfixated on this man for a solid 4 years and still going strong. Damon makes me wish that British people are real. That says A LOT. This man created a whole ass ANIMATED BAND WITH A SHIT TON OF LORE as a SIDE HUSTLE??? Not to mention, what other man has collaborated with Stevie Nicks, MF DOOM, Del the Funky Homosapien, Snoop Dogg, AND Beck?! People, we're literally in the presence of a god. And he's STILL GOING. Anyways, TL;DR, damon is so so so neat and cool and he should definitely win this competition. Thank you."

"Okay 90s Damon is The Perfect Boy yes yes, but the people who parrot the Daily Mail and say "he's ugly now" will never understand. I would still suck every drop from him on his deathbed."

"Vote for whoever you want to. But Damon is so pretty."

"i did not spend hours admiring this beautiful man's face on pinterest just to see him lose."

"Damon Albarn just brings me joy. When I'm watching him perform, following along as the camera lingers on and adores his pretty face, I get butterflies like I'm 15 again. It's nice to still feel that totally unguarded giddiness sometimes."

"God let the intrusive thoughts win making Damon. What if he's a beautiful blond twink with eyes like saucers and dick to his knees, he reads Herman Hesse and plays footie and is insufferable about both, he'll be the most prolific musician of his generation and write operas and seminal albums in 5 different genres and also he's gonna be the dumbest bitch alive? He'll also be kinda bi, but only kinda. And send."

"when i found out about his existence, my life was changed forever. i wish i could use him like the hannah montana boot milk pillow and chuck him at the wall so he makes a loud thud"

"Think of the drama and anon fights it'll cause if Damon wins it all! And think of how quiet it'll get after Damon's out. You'll miss him when he's gone, like memories of a noisy house years after it's grown silent. Choose Damon, and keep the messy train chugging."

"Even the Gallagher brothers have the hots for him."

"Kiss kiss I love him also you can't vote for any of the Seattle men they're literally copy and paste it's not fair. We need Brit representation"

"I want to take care of him, I want to provide for him. I need to gauge his baby blue puppy dog orbs out to I can clean them with wood varnish, paint shades of Pantone 320 C in his eyes, spray eau de parfume by dior in them and sew it back into his eyes like that scene in Toy Story 2."

"Seeing as simply filling the page with ‘Damon’ written 10000000 times isn’t going to cut it 😅 may I admit/submit: I DO have him tattooed on my being (no descriptive, is this anon?); he’s inspired somewhat unhinged late night/early morning fandom conversations in which I’ve served as ‘parish’ priest hearing confessions from all manner of folk about what they’d like to do to him/receive from him; sadly I lost an essay where I detailed why the letters that make up his name suit him so well, and described him as the hot caramel sauce to Graham’s cool vanilla ice cream. He’s a faerie princess with a nose that makes people weep and a voice that feels like the warmest home and he gives amazing hugs. He loves trains and chickens and his tuxedo cat. He’s annoying and sweet and somewhat unhinged and his music saves people and all this is on top of that fantastic dick. He’s a dream yet very real and we’re fucking blessed to be on earth at the same time as him, amen"

"Damon Albarn was a beautiful, beautiful boy. The world saw that, regardless of if every individual reading this has the same taste in men; it felt like a truth of the universe at the time. They don't make celebrities that angelic in face and erratic in personality anymore."

"I need to touch his eyebrows, nose and prostate just one time JUST ONE TIME COME ON"

#most attractive 90s musician #poll #polls #lauryn hill #fugees #damon albarn #blur #90s music #tournament

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woso-dreamzzz · 9 days

Text

Foxes II

Jenni Hermoso x Child!Reader

Summary: You draw Jenni

One of Jenni's favourite things is a slow day off after a match. She doesn't have to go out. She doesn't have to run or kick a ball no matter how much she loves it.

She can just sit, stretched out on the sofa, typing away at her laptop. You sit squished between her and the back of the sofa, down by her legs where you can rub your fingers on her fuzzy pyjama bottoms.

They match yours and you like that.

They're fluffy and that feels good under your fingers.

Jenni looks down at you fondly. She hadn't gotten you dressed today, content to let you just chill for the day in your favourite pyjamas.

You have major bedhead too but you don't really like the feeling of the hairbrush so Jenni's glad that she had the foresight to braid up your hair last night so it's not a tangled mess and she can go without dragging a brush through it today.

"What do you want for lunch today, Osita?"

You look up at her, brows furrowed in confusion. "Panini," You say.

That's your go-to when Jenni orders in. There's a café nearby that delivers and you've been obsessed with the paninis since you first went in. The workers just adore you there and whenever you go, you come out with a perfect panini and a new fox sticker to add to your collection.

"Mhm," Jenni says," Your normal?"

You nod. Your fox ear headband slips briefly over your eyes and you push it back so you can see Jenni.

"Alright, Osita. Let me up so I can call."

You pout a little when she asks that because she's comfortable and you just want to lay on Mami forever. But you let her up anyway because your normal panini is the best panini in the world and it's the only thing you want to eat today.

You watch Mami go to order the food and you huff, moving to the floor. Your sketchpad and pencils lay there abandoned and you pick them up. Usually, you enjoy drawing the same fox over and over again but today you do something different.

Your pencil scrawls over the paper until a Mami fox and a baby fox appear on your page. You tear it out of your book, slamming your eyes shut at the horrific sound it makes.

It bounces in your ears as you wander over to Mami. She's still on the phone because she's well known at the café and the elderly couple that run it like to talk.

You tug on her pyjama bottoms and she looks down.

"One second...Osita, is something wrong? What's up?"

You hand here your drawing. "Us," You grunt before turning on your heels to return to the sofa where some of your fox toys wait for you.

Jenni watches you go, returning to her conversation before looking down at the picture you've given her. You don't like sharing your work, mainly because after the third time of the same picture, people get bored.

The picture you've drawn this time is different.

It's still clearly of foxes because Jenni knows you'd rather do nothing than draw anything other than a fox. There's a big fox sitting down with a little baby fox next to it. It's a line drawing and not coloured in at all which is a little different than normal but Jenni thinks is sweet.

Your spelling is coming along well though because you've scrawled 'Mami' and 'Me' under each of them so Jenni knows who they are.

She doesn't want to fold up this picture because it's special so she gently tucks it between the pages of a magazine.

The picture circles through Jenni's mind through the next few weeks until she decides on a plan one random evening as you sleep on her chest like you used to do as a baby.

It's a bit spur of the moment but once it's done Jenni can't help but think it's perfect.

"Mami," You say as your babysitter leaves," You're back."

"I am," She says," Can I show you something?"

You nod.

There's very little space on Jenni's arms that isn't heavily tattooed but there's a patch on her inner arm that's just big enough for a Mami fox and a baby fox.

"My drawing..." Tentatively, you reach out to trace your fingers across the tattoo, giggling when Jenni flutters kisses over your face.

At first, she thinks that's it. You're not the biggest fan of touch even from her, at least not skin-to-skin so Jenni's a little surprised when you wiggle up to her chest the next day off.

Most of the time, you stick lower by her legs because you like the feeling of her pyjamas against your face but Jenni welcomes you up higher with her as you try to find a comfortable position.

Your head rests against her collarbone as she types on her laptop, occasionally tilting her head down to give you a kiss.

Your hand reaches out slowly to touch Jenni's skin. You freeze but Jenni doesn't react in any way. A singular finger gently traces over her new tattoo.

Mami put your drawing on her body. Tattoos are forever, you know that and Mami put your drawing on her body forever.

That makes you feel nice.

Of course, the kisses she gives you whenever you complete a full trace of the tattoo is nice too.

#woso x reader #jenni hermoso x reader #jenni hermoso #woso community #woso imagine #woso fanfics #woso

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moonmunson · 8 months

Text

electric touch - eddie munson x reader

summary: eddie hasn't had much luck with dates - not until you.

warnings: ppl being mean to eddie (only for a little bit!) and some discussion on eddie's penchant for kinda being used by the popular girls but there's so much fluff and some kissing at the end

word count: 2.8k

a/n: i started this when speak now tv came out and then completely abandoned it but she's my little brain child

When Eddie was in eighth grade, he spent a week rehearsing the best way to ask a girl out on a date. He practiced in the mirror every day, making sure to sound hopeful, but not desperate, eager, but not pushy. He’d almost given up and asked his Uncle for advice, but in case it didn’t go the way he wanted it to, he didn’t want Wayne to be waiting for an update.

There was a new horror movie premiering in the theater downtown, and he’d heard that scary movies were the best to bring a girl to - because if she got scared, Eddie could put his arm around her and protect her from the fictional monsters.

He never even got the chance to ask her. He’d tried, to be sure. Monday morning of the next week, when he’d worked up enough nerve, he walked up to the group of cheerleaders she was a part of, and didn’t even open his mouth before the group of girls ganged up on him - asking him what he wanted, calling him a freak, telling him to get away from them. Later, the girl he’d been pining after approached him - sans clique - and apologized on behalf of her friends. She didn’t feel the same as them, but she couldn’t ruin her “reputation.” They saw each other in secret for half a year before she got a boyfriend on the basketball team. Typical. It hurt Eddie more than he was comfortable admitting.

Eddie doesn’t love referring to himself as a cynic, but the repetitive cycle of being used by popular girls for a night of fun - fulfilling their dream of sleeping with the town’s resident bad boy before never speaking to him again, exhausted Eddie to the point of declaring that true love was a capitalistic ruse created to sell laboratory made diamonds. It would never work out for him, and he convinced himself that he was okay with that.

For the remainder of high school, Eddie continued to play the part. Rich kids invited him to ragers and tried to weasel their way out of paying full price for his weed, even though they were buying with daddy’s money, not their own. He hooked up with random popular girl after random popular girl, always leaving immediately and feeling like shit after. But at least he was getting laid, right?

✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩

Now, Eddie is sitting on the couch in his living room, meticulously arranging and rearranging Wayne’s automobile magazines that live untouched on the coffee table. Has there always been this much dust on them? He wasn’t sure, and the thought only offered a momentary distraction before the nerves swept him back into the electric current of anxiety running through his body.

He’d already spent most of the past hour making sure there was no visible trash laying out in the open for you to see. He’d even gone so far as to make his room slightly presentable in case you wanted to go in. He wasn’t expecting anything - quite the opposite, actually. He was sure that you’d see the place he lives, turn around and walk out without giving him a chance, and never speak to him again.

Logically, he knows that this won’t be the case. He knows that Dustin wouldn’t lie to him about your reciprocated interest. He’d spent the entire drive back to Eddie’s trailer for their Hellfire meeting trying to convince him that he saw how giddy his sister had been when she opened the door and saw him standing there. She’d known Eddie was coming to pick her younger brother up, and she’d put on mascara to greet him - as if Eddie truly knows enough about girls to take that as a surefire sign that you were excited to see him. Dustin hears you talking over the phone to your friends about him all the time, and he only shares with Eddie that what you say is positive - not wanting to disclose the nitty gritty. It’s not your fault that the walls of your adjoined rooms are thin, and your friends are loud.

Still, Eddie is nervous. When he gave you his phone number under the assumption that you might want to call to check up on Dustin, he was shocked that you called days after the Hellfire meeting had ended, and Dustin had returned home. So shocked, in fact, that he wasn’t even the one who had answered the phone - Wayne was. When he’d heard the sweet lilt of your voice on the other side of the line, he’d practically shoved his uncle to grab hold of the phone. You sounded unsure saying hello to him - nervous and breathy and a little bit quiet, but not unenthusiastic - and Eddie knew that Dustin had been telling the truth.

Eddie spoke to you for an hour that night before he worked up the nerve to ask if you might want to come over to watch a movie. “No funny business, just the sweet sight of David Bowie in tights that no other man would ever be able to pull off.” You’d giggled - a sound Eddie was determined to hear again - and asked how he knew that Labyrinth was your favorite movie. The truth was that he’d overheard Dustin complaining about how you chose it every time it was your turn to pick for family movie night, but he brushed off the question and said that he just “Had a feeling.”

The sudden appearance of headlights beaming through the trailer window brings Eddie out of his reverie long enough to remember to wipe the dust from his hands onto his jeans. The sound of your car door opening and closing, and the crunch that your shoes make on the gravel pulls Eddie like a siren song from the couch to his trailer door, and the creaking of the wooden steps leading up to said door, has him pulling it open faster than he means to.

You’re a vision of comfort. Of soft things. Of light wash jeans with no rips in them, of cardigans and sweaters and rose perfume. Your fist is raised in the air like you were about to knock, and for a moment, Eddie thinks this whole thing was a mistake.

“Oh-”

“Sorry, I-”

There’s a beat of silence. The energy between the two of you is almost palpable - eyes wide and palms clammy - before he breaks the connection and moves out of the way for you to come in. He knows he can turn on the charm once you’re settled, but this has been the part he’s been dreading the most.

It doesn’t matter to his friends that he lives in a trailer. It doesn’t matter when there are beer bottles on the coffee table or old socks on the couch, he knows the guys won’t care. But as you step in, and your eyes begin to sweep over the small living room, the reality of his economic status has never felt bigger, or made him feel smaller.

As he looks at you though, he notices the soft smile on your face. Taking stock of the collection of hats and mugs lining the walls, of the throw blanket laid over the top of the recliner.

“The uh, the hats and stuff are my Uncle’s.”

“They’re really cool,” his eyes trace your movements as you walk along the edges of the room, arms at your sides, reading the puns and state names embroidered on them. “has he always collected them?”

Eddie makes his way to the couch, and sits - trying to direct his line of sight to the same ones you’re looking at. Trying to put himself in your shoes and guess what you might be thinking, but coming up short.

“Wayne was a trucker for a few years,” you turn to look at him, to pay attention to what he’s saying. Eddie does a lot of stupid shit to get people to look at him, he knows that. It doesn’t matter that the expressions he receives the most often are sneers or ones of annoyance. Exasperation. But you look genuinely interested in what he has to say, and it throws him for a loop. “And then he got stuck with me, so he doesn’t really get to buy new ones anymore.”

“Stuck with you?”

“I mean, yeah, kind of. It’s a long boring story,” Eddie claps his hands together and launches himself up and off of the couch, and you know to stop pushing. “Want the grand tour?”

“Absolutely,” you nod.

“Well, my lady,” you watch from your position by the recliner as he struts to the middle of the living room, puts his arms out horizontally at his sides, and bows deeply, “welcome to Castle Munson. The maid did actually remember to show up tonight.”

“Oh yeah? She did an excellent job,” you huff out a laugh, and Eddie snaps back up to a vertical, a smile on his face that showcases the lines around his mouth.

✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩

“Eddie? Can I ask you something?”

After giving you a short but enthusiastic tour of the main parts of the trailer and presenting you with the array of snacks he'd gotten for the movie, you both settled on the small couch in the living room. You'd had to resist the urge to curl up into his side, and instead curled up into the arm of the couch.

“Anything, sweets. Go for it.”

“How did you really know this was my favorite movie?”

“I’m psychic,” He taps his index finger to his temple a few times. “I didn’t tell you that?”

“Eddie.”

“Y/n.”

“I’m being serious!”

“So am I!” He matches your raised pitch - teasing, but not condescending - and you almost raise your hand to hit him on the shoulder, but you don’t know if you’ve reached that level of familiarity yet.

“You don’t have to answer the question if you don’t want to. I’m not weirded out or anything - just curious. Honestly, I’m kind of like, flattered, I guess? I don’t know.”

Had you overstepped? Eddie’s eyes flit over different things in the room in rapid succession, and he exhales - you can almost see the cogs turning in his head - like he doesn’t know whether to keep joking or offer a moment of true vulnerability. You don’t think the latter comes naturally to him.

“I heard Dustin complaining to Wheeler that you always pick it for family movie night. It seems like the kind of thing you’d like. Very dreamy and hazy, that kinda thing.” Eddie shrugs and looks off to the side, trying and failing to put on an air of nonchalance, but his tinted cheeks suggest otherwise.

“Is that how you think of me? Dreamy and hazy?” You duck your head to try and meet his gaze, and when he turns to look at you, you think it’s the first time you’ve ever truly seen him. The boyish, innocent version of him that he doesn’t allow to rise to the surface all that often. His charm is still there, and bright as ever, but you can see the uncertainty in the way he struggles to keep his eyes on yours.

“Maybe. Is that a problem?”

“Not at all.” The smile that graces your features is so easy and genuine that Eddie has no choice but to beam his own right back at you.

You settle into an easier silence for the remainder of the movie, save for the comments the both of you share. You think it’s especially funny when Eddie compares The Fireys playing volleyball with their own heads to a “Muppet snuff film on acid.” When it’s over, he grabs a few Dr. Peppers from the fridge and asks if you want to smoke with him before you head back home. You decline, because driving while high makes you nervous, but you don’t mind sitting with him for a bit longer.

“Plus, there’s one more room I haven’t given you the tour for, if you’re interested…”

“I get to see the King’s quarters?”

“More like the dungeon,” he gestures to himself, still clad in his Hellfire shirt, “but yeah, totally.”

“Lead the way then, dungeon master.”

He looks behind himself to see if you’re following, and extends his hand back so you can hold onto it. It’s not like you’re gonna get lost - the hallway is less than ten feet, but it gives you an excuse to finally touch without overthinking it. Eddie doesn't care to ask whether the jolt of static he feels when your hands meet for the first time is because of your shuffling socks on the carpet or the nervous current running between the two of you. Guessing by the way you suck in a soft breath - one he could barely hear - he doesn’t think you care either.

✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩

“All I’m saying is Jareth’s a weirdo for wanting a whiny sixteen year old to be his queen.” Eddie is laying on his stomach, legs bent at the knee and ankles crossed in the air. When you’d entered his room, he’d shown you his favorite things before quickly ushering you to get comfortable on the bed. He said that he needed to have an in depth conversation about the movie you’d just watched.

“The age gap is bad for sure, and she is whiny, I totally get what you’re saying, but-” You’re sitting across from him, elbows resting on your criss-crossed legs.

“But? Y/n. Are you about to defend him?”

“Let me finish!” You giggle and Eddie swears that he can feel it in his chest - another spark.

“I cannot let you finish if you’re about to say what I think you’re gonna say. Morally. Ethically. I cannot let you finish.” In true dramatic Munson fashion, he sweeps his hands in front of him, palm facing out for you to see. He’s almost pouting, lips folded in and corners turned down.

“What I’m trying to say,” you look pointedly at him to see if he’s going to interrupt again, “is that I think that his proposition isn’t so bad when you really think about it.”

“Well now I have to hear your reasoning behind this.”

“Think about it. He’s offering her literally anything she could possibly desire, and all she has to do is love him back.”

“Oh that’s all? I think you’re forgetting the part where he says she has to obey his every whim or whatever the fuck.” Eddie fights the urge to change his tone from teasing to serious - his heart twinging at the idea of making you uncomfortable.

“You don’t think that love is enough? Or that maybe all love has a level of devotion attached to it?”

“I think my idea of love is too fucked to give you a real answer.” He’s refusing to look at you - gaze directed towards his ringed hands fiddling with the metal tab of the soda can, eyebrows furrowed.

“I could fix that, if you wanted - make it all dreamy and hazy for you.”

Eddie can feel the wires in his brain short circuit. In the back of his mind somewhere, he knows that he only has a few seconds to respond before you start to think that maybe you said something wrong, but he can’t seem to reconnect in time. All he manages is an out of breath -

“Yeah?”

“If you wanted, yeah,” you nod, like you’ve decided something, and slowly reach to pull his hand from the soda can - taking it with you and setting it down on the crowded bedside table. “I think you deserve it.”

“Really?” He’s looking at your joined hands, but he doesn’t wrap his fingers around yours. Not yet.

“Yeah, Eddie. Really.”

His fingers finally wrap around yours as you pull him from his position on his stomach to lean over you - rising onto his knees and walking on them before planting his arms on either side of your torso. He can feel your breath, soft against his cheeks as he leans in and connects his lips to yours - once, twice, three times.

That same sparky feeling that Eddie has been getting in his chest all night finally rumbles to life. Like a car being hotwired, he can practically feel your hands pulling wires he thought were long dead and breathing life back into them - rubbing them together until the spark catches and the engine starts.

“That was-” You pull away slightly to look up at him, lovesick and dopey.

“Dreamy? Hazy? I think those are two words I would definitely-”

You laugh, already pulling his face back towards yours.

“Shut up and kiss me again, Munson.”

✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩

a/n: ahh! thank you for reading!! if you enjoyed this story please like and reblog i would appreciate it endlessly !!!

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fic #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson my beloved #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things imagine

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audisive · 1 month

Text

♪ MILLION DOLLAR MAN. (💌)

౨ৎ simon 'ghost' riley | reader

synopsis: you need a bodyguard, and simon's the only one you can trust. for now.

tags: fluff, angst (ish), hurt/comfort, romance, soft!simon, bodyguard!ghost, model!reader, trust issues, hints to a panic attack, you have a bad dad (and family)

There's an ugly yellow folder on your vanity, sticking out like a sore thumb.

That's the first thing you see.

There's a hitch in your breath before you speak. "Vel," you walk over to your desk and call out to the lovely girl with your coat over her arm, your favorite maid. "What's this?" With manicured nails, you pick up the folder cautiously with the feeling of familiarity and déjà vu.

Veliana tilts her head to the side, the clueless little bird she is. "A folder, miss." You huff a smile out at her simple response, the pretty little thing never knowing better. "Please give Noah a call." You tell her and she nods her head automatically, still smiling at you.

When she carefully places your coat on the rack, she scurries off to who knows where. You're left in the comforts of your too-large room, a delicate piece of work that you'd paid thousands of dollars for after your face had snatched the interests of magazines, reporters, and such. You find that there are even uglier men inside when you open the flimsy thing in your hand.

Veliana is breathless when she comes back to you like the obedient girl she is, handing over the phone with your manager's name on it.

"What's wrong, darling girl?" Noah asks, annoyance seeping into his tone despite the usual pet name. "What's with the profiles?" you question right back, flipping through the folders, carefully scanning each gruesome man with horrifying detail. You already know the answer, but you dread it.

"About time you actually considered my suggestion," he voices out. "You need a new bodyguard."

You find that your new bodyguard is just as noticeable as the folder you threw away without much thought. There's people staring at him when they would be gawking at you.

Simon Riley is a trusted man; at least that's what you try to tell your manager. A remarkable 6'4 military man who should be off in a bar with beer – he drinks whiskey, imbecile – or resting in a broke-down apartment, not babysitting his model of a friend. Honestly, you wouldn't have minded it if he acted just a little annoyed at you, but he doesn't even spare you so much as a glare. You're not sure if you should be glad or not.

You have to admit that you do feel a little smug when your manager avoids yelling at you with Simon glaring daggers at him. Then again, there's this anxious feeling pooling at your stomach when he gets a little too close. He's certainly scarier than the last one.

His large hand calms you down when it lands on your lower back and sneaks his warmth through your thin clothing. You let out a breath, as if he'd just commanded you to do so without a word.

Simon should be in his awfully empty apartment, sleeping the day off or making a small trip to the groceries for necessities fresh out of deployment. But when he opened the door to you, who's clearly so troubled and almost begging to help you out with.. whatever it was you asked, how could he say no?

"It's just temporary, I swear. I just need some time to do a proper background check on the other bodyguards."

Given that your shitty father's in jail with unfinished as well as illegal business, it wouldn't be proper of him to let a civilian walk around with danger right at her back. That's what he says to himself, anyway.

He's just not so sure he signed up for the right job as a bodyguard. Truth be told, he would've preferred to be your boyfriend.. but as long as he has rights to protect you, then he won't complain.

He's well aware of the men coming for your neck for a variety of reasons. Some out of jealousy – Simon thinks that the fashion industry might as well be a warzone. Maybe that's why he accepted this in the first place – and some because of your problematic family.

He's also heard about your past cowardly bodyguards, if you can even call them that after they'd left you in the face of death. It's a wonder how you're still alive, but he wouldn't dare question it.

It doesn't help, not really, when there's an ear-deafeaning explosion and a panicked angel in his arms, clutching onto him for dear life. "Simon," you all but whimper, labored breaths and uncontrollable tears slipping out of you.

He hushes you, coos at you as sweet as he possibly can. He soothes you and cradles you against his chest as he shoots back at death and carries you to safety when the storm of chaos calms. And he never leaves. Not once.

Not even when you're well and sitting on the cold bed of an even colder hospital room. You'd begged him to stay and lay with you, and when he does, you insist that you owe him your life, and he tells you he's just doing his job.

Still, you can't help that you push yourself closer to him. "Thank you," you whisper, "for staying."

"'M yours to keep." Simon gruffs out, "my loyalty and life belongs to you. All of it." And so does his heart.

(bodyguard!ghost is just modern knight!ghost to me :3c)

divider by @cafekitsune !

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queenimmadolla · 11 months

Text

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐫, 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫

(eddie munson x reader)

Summary: . . . In which you show Eddie's forehead some much deserved love.

𝐚/𝐧: 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐧'𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐩 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬. 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚 𝐛𝐢𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝, 𝐢 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬 𝐢𝐭 𝐭𝐨𝐨. 𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫.

“Alright─”

“Baby, I—“

“What a way─”

Eddie broke off again, soft airy laughter escaping him as your kisses rained over his face in a frenzy.

You had him trapped (he was a willing participant) underneath you, thighs spread on either side of his waist as you bent over at yours, to deliver smooch after smooch to every inch of his skin from his cheeks, raised from how hard he was cheesing, to his jaw—soft save for the barest hints of stubble, his nose and the sides of it, his cupid’s bow, and his mouth (but that’s a given).

It wasn’t often you attacked him with affection and confined him to his bed, normally that was reserved for wednesdays and weekends, but when you’d walked back into his room after using the bathroom and saw him flipping through a Heavy Metal magazine, sporting a black tank top and some sweats, you’d decided plastering that beautiful face of his in kisses was more important than whatever mind boggling scene was being depicted on those glossy pages.

The approach had been a little aggressive, magazine pulled from his hands and tossed across the room as you settled in place. From the sparkle in his eyes, you could tell he had no qualms with it.

You pulled back, sitting up as you admired the flush in Eddie’s cheeks, skin slightly shiny due to his body’s sudden rise in temperature.

His breathing was a little labored despite the innocence of the occurrence, and he spoke after heaving a sigh, “Cover all of your bases?”

Your eyes scanned over his face, and while you weren’t wearing lipstick—meaning there was no obvious trail—you knew exactly what spots your lips had touched. Just about everywhere. Almost.

“Not yet.”

You reached a palm down to cover his eyes and Eddie squawked in surprise.

“Uhm, okay… we playing a game now or─”

“Shhh.”

“I’m just—“

“SHHH. Just let me do what I need to do.”

Eddie held his palms up in defeat, knuckles stroking over his bedsheets.

Your hand slowly trailed up, moving away from his eyes and lifting the brown curtain of bangs to reveal more skin.

And more skin.

And more, until you reached his hairline.

Jackpot.

“Eddie, do you know what having a big forehead means?” You asked, thumb stroking over the skin you rarely saw exposed.

His brows below furrowed, more so in amusement than offense, “That the moment is over because you killed it?”

“No.” You laughed with a shake of your head.

“That you’re insulting me by saying I have a big head?” Eddie tried again, the corners of his lips twitching as he tried to fight a smirk.

“Big foreheads don’t always equal a big head. Try again.”

“Mmm,” he hummed, one eye squeezing shut as he pretended to mull it over, “I’ve got a big brain.”

“No,” you started, laughing again when he let out an overtly affronted gasp before you continued, “It means I have more space to work with.”

You dove down once more, pressing a multitude of kisses along his forehead. There was no planned pattern, you just pecked and smooched wherever you could, over and over again, heart filling with love for him as his boisterous laughter boomed through the trailer.

His hands moved from their place on the bed to rest on your hips, basking and glowing under your attention.

Eddie still couldn’t believe you were real, that you cared for him enough to spend the majority of your free time with him, let alone be so clear and apparent with your feelings for him.

He was so very content with life. It had fucked him over for more than half of his times around the sun, but Eddie would go through it all over again if it meant he’d find himself in this exact position every time.

Eddie Munson was lovesick.

It was all over his face, swirling in those warm brown eyes as you pulled away to admire your work. You moved your palm away, though his bangs didn’t resettle over his forehead, they remained sticking up and in disarray.

You leaned down once more, this time bracketing his head in with your forearms, nose nudging against his, breath ghosting over his lips. Then you were brushing yours against his—just barely, only enough to have his neck working to chase the taste of you before you whispered into the charged sliver of space, “You do have a big head, though.”

“Oh, that’s it—you’re done.”

Eddie flipped you over, your back hitting the mattress as you let out a shriek mingled with surprised laughter.

He hovered over you, chuckling along as he waited for you to calm yourself. Once you did, you sank back into the mattress and reached a hand up to stroke up his jaw, towards his forehead so you could move his bangs out of the way, adoration clouding your eyes.

“It’s beautiful. You’re beautiful.”

When you looked at Eddie like that? He believed it.

#eddie munson x reader #boyfriend!eddie munson #eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x reader fluff #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson drabble #eddie munson fic #eddie munson x black!reader #eddie munson blurb

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meyousing · 5 months

Text

𝐋𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭, 𝐀 𝐒𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐝

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: you’re used to light being distant, so when he decides to lay the affection on heavy and proposes a new idea to you at the same time, you’re helplessly intrigued. 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: nsfw, yandere light yagami x reader, idk if this matters to say right off the bat but you’re wearing a skirt :] also mentions of death like always lol but none fr! alsoalso this idea has probably been done to death by now but to be fair I started this A YEAR AGO!! pls enjoy despite that lol ily <3

“What is it?” his eyes sharpened as they narrowed at you from across the room, voice laced with blatant boredom. That was what you told yourself anyway, truly hoping that it was boredom and not annoyance because the look he always gave you at times like this made you cave in on yourself, instantly regretting whatever you had done to be such a bother. All that you were doing now was laying idly on his bed, legs swinging out of habit as you were on your stomach and flipping through a magazine that he had given as a pacifier. Maybe he knew that you were actually keeping your eyes on him this entire time, rather than the sheets before you.

“What do you mean?” playing dumb never worked with Light, but you would always do it anyway. It could provide a delay of the inevitable if nothing else.

You heard the tap of his pen as he dropped it on his desk, followed by the soft thud of his notebook closing before he stood from his chair. A regular notebook, you noticed, thankfully.

“Trying to outsmart me again?”

Right, his interpretation of your playing dumb was much less simple than what you intended to get across. Of course, he knew that you knew better, so your deception was instead seen as defiance; a flaunt of superiority.

“Of course not,” you shut your magazine, sliding it to the side of the bed and cringing when it slid off of the bed, crumpling up in an ironically tense pile on the floor. Surely Light wasn’t too attached to it, as he merely spared it a passing glance before casting his eyes upon you once more. Then he began to approach, making you swallow a newfound lump in your throat as you scampered back to sit up on your haunches.

“Then what is it?” he leaned over you, his hands resting at your sides with your faces inches apart. His breath was slow through his nose, soft and cold as each exhale blew onto the tip of your nose.

How to tell him that the stupid magazine didn’t pacify you at all, that only his attention could soothe you? And how embarrassing it could get if you admitted to the exact type of attention that you needed.

He began leaning closer as your mind raced, thinking of a different possible answer, but then it went entirely blank as he was close enough to brush his lips over yours. Tantalizingly, the gentlest nudge and he only did it once before pulling back slightly, you could have missed it had your brain continued thinking so hard. The sensation nearly made you crumble, a chill shooting down your spine as you inhaled and resisted the urge to wet your now trembling lips, focusing on maintaining your posture. He knew how to break you, you didn’t want him to see it happen this soon.

“Nothing” was all you could say without simply blabbering out every dirty thought plaguing your mind.

“You never stare at me like that for nothing,” he said pointedly, even adding a cheeky but very slight tilt of his head. Had your stare really been so obvious? You truly did try to be subtle. Either way, you found it humorous how he could go from cold with seemingly deadened emotions to a teaser within minutes. Finding it humorous helped you cope with how scary you knew he could be.

With the lightest shove to his chest you could muster alongside a bashful turn of your head, you tried creating some space between yourselves to alleviate the fast beating of your heart.

“Really, it’s nothing. I didn’t mean to distract you from your work…” Your hand lingered on his chest after the little push, kneading the material of his shirt idly as you hoped this excuse would suffice. This mannerism alone proved the opposite of your hopes to him.

When the full press of his lips fell upon yours in a genuine kiss this time, you knew that you had failed. Even more so when you subconsciously deepened it with a lean closer, making your grip on his shirt firmer to keep him from moving away. Though it seemed he had no intention of doing so, instead easing you down to lay your back against his mattress, crawling over you as soon as you were horizontal.

This kiss, unlike all of his others which would be quick and half-assed–your lips barely meeting before he was already turning his head away to tend to some other matter–was compassionate. One of his hands found the side of your face and he caressed your cheekbone with his thumb, his other fingers which became entangled in your hair from the placement were massaging your scalp soothingly. The sensation lulled you and had you sinking even deeper into his bed while pulling him along with you, your fingertips meeting at the back of his neck and fiddling with the ends of his hair. While this kiss was unusual, it was not unwelcome.

You didn’t know that there would be a catch to this sudden affection.

You could feel Light smirking against you, his entire aura darkening once he did, so much that you could feel it–and your reaction to such a peculiarity was communicated with a tensing of your shoulders. Upon sensing this, Light was quick to groan and prod his tongue against your bottom lip, which surprised you further and allowed him to invade your mouth. The intimate sound he let out and the way he just seemed so infatuated with you right now had your heart racing.

This moment ended almost as quickly as it started though, he pulled away from you and nudged his nose against yours. You tried not to show your disappointment, but you knew that it must have been obvious when a frown graced your lips.

“I want to try something.”

This could go in any direction. He was always so unpredictable, mood changing on a dime whether it was for better or worse.

“What’s that?” you asked with a small voice, indicative of your anxiety about the unknown. You were already playing right into his hands.

“I want to reward you for being so obedient.”

A reward? Who is this and what has he done with your Light?!

His hand on your cheek rubbed it once more before he lifted himself off of you, steadying himself with hands on your waist as he did. You remained in your place, only watching with your eyes as he leaned over to reach into his desk and a drawer.

The drawer.

You turned your head with a gulp as you watched him retrieve his arm, now holding the dreaded notebook that you had tried to shield yourself from, trying to stay ignorant for the sake of keeping your relationship peaceful with the man you couldn’t help but love.

“So long as your obedience remains the same, you’ll be rewarded. We’re going to test it right now.”

He placed the book by your hand which had fallen to your side once he moved, putting his pen between your loose fingers and adjusting it until it stayed still there without tipping over. Your limbs had frozen, so it was no tough feat for him. You were shocked even further when Light’s expression altered somewhat once he actually took notice of how tense you were. Last you could remember, he couldn’t care less when your discomfort was so obvious.

“It really is going to be rewarding for you. Don’t you trust me?”

He always had to ask you that. How much more obvious could you be about your unequivocal devotion to him, your infinite trust? You’d been by his side all this time, yet he would still ask, nearly daily, most commonly before asking you to do something that you didn’t want to do. As if anyone else would remain with him when finding out his secret, and he still doubted you.

“You know I do.” You murmured, fingers twitching around the cold pen in your grasp.

“Then at least hear me out” he chuckled dryly, not with any sense of legitimate humour. You tried to be subtle as you swallowed the lump in your throat, having heard such an impatient laugh come from him countless times before.

“This won’t be going away any time soon,” he patted the notebook, “and I can tell that you won’t be either. I mean, as long as you keep following along with me, here.” He glimpsed at you differently then, as if his eyes were asking you to challenge that statement.

You only nodded. Light grinned.

“Good.”

His fingers moved to peel open the book, and you glanced away from it as he skimmed past so many pages that were filled from margin to margin with names. The crisp sounds of paper brushing together stopped once he found a blank one.

Your eyes stayed on him, and you could feel some burning bile churn and slosh around in your gut as a little smirk pulled at his lips. His eyes darkened when they met yours.

His free hand, which was out of your line of sight, traced the waistband of your skirt. You flinched slightly in surprise, and Light’s smirk widened as he leaned closer to you.

“Write your name.”

Despite being unmoving already, you froze even further, stiffening like a stone and watching him desperately, trying to detect any hint of jesting in his demand. But the wickedness surrounding Light was unrelenting; he meant what he said.

“What?” you asked quietly, needing to hear it again to really believe that he meant it.

“Start writing your name. Trust me, won’t you?”

“I-I do–”

“I know. So do it.” Light’s tone was more firm now.

You could only hold your breath when your eyes flitted over to your hand, your fingers readjusting the pen as you tried to point it toward the paper. The book itself felt alive, you could sense its unreal gaze–like it was taunting you, mocking and laughing at you, tempting you to write, and calling you a coward if you dared to show any hesitation because it shouldn’t be that hard.

Having been with Light for so long now, you fully understood the notebook’s functionality. Knowing that, would it really be so crazy if you were being a coward about this?

“Any time now, love” Light’s voice became impatient, and when you looked up at him, his kneeling posture was equivalent to being on the edge of his seat. He looked like he could implode had you made it this far and chose to back out now, he was so eager. You’d hate to disappoint him, even if his little pet name for you was clearly insincere.

Your body went cold and numb once you pushed the tip of the pen against the page, watching the smallest droplet of dark ink soak into the lines. Your hand remained stagnant following this, and you spared a short glance up at Light, noting how his eyes were stuck on the pen. You took in a breath, holding it and letting your lungs fill so you’d become a little lightheaded–a little less aware of this horrible reality–before moving further with utmost reluctance to drag the tool, lining the shape of the first letter in your name.

You could hear Light exhaling as you finally did. You couldn’t let out that breath of your own just yet. Maybe your cause of death would be suffocation, then.

Your focus was ripped away from the note in an instant once you felt a cold fingertip trace over your clit from above your panties, making your body jolt as you met eyes with Light. He wasn’t looking at you yet, only doing so once you stopped writing.

“Go on. I’m staying true to my word.” To emphasize this, he pressed down against your clit again, his push firm but gentle–leaving you on the cusp of craving more as the sensation gave you chills, yet also sent heat through your lower half.

So pathetically, that small second of pleasure was enough to incentivize a continuation, and you managed to finish printing that very first letter.

“Good…”

He resumed what he had been doing, gently circling your bud and using the advantage of that added layer from your panties to optimize the friction; encouraging you. You could feel the way that you were starting to get wet, soaking the material and only making such movements smoother for Light.

You paused as the feeling grew slightly more intense, coping, and your pause made Light do the same. You two were playing a little game, it seemed, and you obviously didn’t want it to stop–you had to keep going. You had wanted him minutes before this, after all, and you were finally getting what you craved.

Letter two manifested; your grip on the writing utensil weakened as he pulled your panties aside to touch your skin directly.

You shuddered from the sudden cool air that brushed along your exposed skin, and he dragged some of your slick up from your pussy, using it to make rubbing into your clit that much easier, that much more pleasurable. Your limbs shuddered and you had to breathe out a more vocal huff of air in exasperation, your lungs aching while your muscles tensed in delight from Light’s direct tending to such newfound sensitivity.

You remained paused with your eyes shut firmly as you became accustomed to the bliss that he inflicted. Light, seeming to understand exactly what he was doing to you, was a bit more forgiving now–continuing his ministrations even when you stopped, but not changing his pace or furthering the intensity enough for those feelings to grow, to bring you closer to any type of climax. It still made you moan though; still made your heart skip a beat and made your walls tighten around nothing.

Perhaps you had been successfully swindled into playing with fire because now your mind understood a simple formula; if you wanted more, you had to keep writing. Would he let you come if you wrote your entire name down?

Would you even feel the aftershocks of your release before you died?

The prospect of death hit your lust-fogged mind like a truck, and your eyes shot open–that slowly building knot in your abdomen became a tightrope clenching out of fear rather than anticipation. This was a death note, and you were already on track to penning yourself down within it.

Light could sense your change in stature and returned his gaze to your face once again. His hand slowed, but it was as if he could detect your worry and didn’t want to let you succumb to it–he wanted to keep you within the cusp of pleasure, to keep you malleable and submissive to his desires, not whatever lies your mind was telling you. So he kept touching you.

“You know that you can’t stop now that you’ve started, right?” He looked cocky, like he had you right where he wanted you. And it seemed that he did, because now with such confusion and so many conflicting feelings plaguing you, you weren’t sure about that–could you back out now? Was the damage already done now that your first name was almost down entirely?

Your drying lips parted as if to ask, but you couldn’t find your voice. Light let out a short, dry laugh and nodded his head, his face inches away from yours, like he fucking knew.

“Mhm. You have to keep going, now. You’d better hurry, too. You know that there’s a time limit… don’t you?”

Your lungs were burning and your hips squirmed as he traced his fingers around your core, swirling them within your copious wetness and gently prodding his fingers, hardly getting inside of you, yet you still writhed from the sensitivity of such a precise, close touch.

You shook your head deliriously in delayed response to his words and all Light did was nod his own head toward the book again. Suddenly you were reminded of the pen in your grasp which had now absorbed the growing heat from your palm; hot to the touch.

Noting that apparent time limit, you felt your heart thrumming as it raced and you started writing again. The pace of your fingers scraping the pen back and forth was a little quicker than before, yet you couldn’t shake that lingering hesitance even while knowing that you really should have been rushing. Light hummed as he watched, nonchalantly pushing a finger inside of you as you progressed, which made a whiny sound catch in your throat, and made your back lift slightly off the bed.

Your arm trembled and your chicken scratch ceased again, but Light knew that he had you, because you hurried to carry on with haste once more, and he didn’t bother to stop stroking inside of you anymore. He even slid in another finger following the last time he pulled out, the added thickness made your thighs attempt to close from the new nerve-tingling pleasure that it gave, even despite the way that his body between your legs kept you nice and open for him.

“Please,” you bartered, voice muffled and representative of the state you were in; wholly weak. He grinned and kept going, his body solid in its place on top of you, forcing you to take it even as his skilled fingers overwhelmed you so deliciously. You wanted the end result now–you wanted to come, to feel that sweet release by his hand.

Light initiated this entire thing, he set his rules, and you knew that finishing wouldn’t happen just like that, because it wasn’t what he wanted.

“Please what, Y/N? You already know what you have to do. Don’t play stupid.”

The little jab at the end hurt only a little bit, making your stomach drop, making you feel as stupid as he said–but his fingertips rubbed along and pressed into your sweet spot which made you whimper, and that feeling was all you could focus on now; remedying the sting of the insult with the soothing cradle of his fingers. Oh, how successfully he was able to distract you and change the path of your thoughts once again. You could hardly bring yourself to care about such blatant manipulation, because release was getting closer and closer, and that was all you wanted.

You couldn’t even tell if the pen was pressing into the paper hard enough to leave any writing behind at all; your hand was hardly moving because your eyes remained shut in elation, and you chose to squeeze the pen in your fist as you coped with his touch, but Light just seemed content with the fact that you were resuming any transfer of penmanship at all. He was certainly rewarding you as he promised, keeping his fingers inside of you until his knuckles pushed into the plush of your pussy lips, and they rocked into you so good that you could almost feel that hard pressure in your stomach.

It was starting to become too much–you knew how close you were getting, but you didn’t know if that’s what Light wanted. He liked to be in control of most things in his life, and you were at the very top of that list.

“I-I can’t, I’m gonna–”

A gasp-like mewl left you once you felt a hot, wet stroke against your clit at the same time that Light pushed rather hard against your g-spot, holding his fingers there and making you squirm. Your eyes shot open and you craned your neck off of the mattress to look down, watching as his lips closed around your clit and sucked it into his mouth, rolling his tongue over it and keeping his eyes on yours the entire time. Your entire body shuddered, it was so intense that you had to try and pull away, but he wasn’t having it, using his free hand to pin your hip down and keep you still.

“Light,” you whined, a warning to him that he was pleasing you too well too quickly, you were about to come and you were hardly finished with writing down your first name.

His eye contact only became bolder, he didn’t relent, if anything he was trying to get more out of you; intent on making you come now. He hadn’t instructed you otherwise, so you felt safe enough to finally give in–with a weak, raspy whimper you felt yourself release that buildup of desire, your vision turning into static behind closed lids as your body writhed and churned even while he kept you down, putting himself against you with more force. Your hips rocked into his mouth to ride out every last remnant of your orgasm until you felt no more, the only sound that you could hear was your own heavy breathing and Light’s last few caresses against your audibly sopping wet pussy.

Light moved off of you slowly, and you noted that his eyes were trained on the book rather than your body that now glistened with a light sheen of sweat. Before you could say anything to him (but even then, what could you say?), his eyes scanned over the page and your writing while he nonchalantly wiped your release off of his fingers, onto the material of your skirt.

You followed his line of sight and looked over your work, seeing how scribbled and disastrous it was. You had probably produced better writing back in kindergarten.

Now that your heat had finally been tended to, however; your arousal sated, you blinked a few times, then realized exactly what you were looking at: part of your name, written in the death note.

What about the time limit? Was your first name enough to make it work either way? Your heart began to race and so did your breathing–were these the side effects of the incoming, inevitable heart attack?!

I suppose the cause wasn’t suffocation after all, a fleeting voice said so sarcastically in the back of your head, making you grimace. You propped yourself up on your elbows in a panic and your eyes flew back to Light, who was still skimming over the page with a look of maintained scrutiny. He was so… calm. Were you not about to die? Did he not care?

“That’s a good start,” he murmured, reaching out to trace his index finger (the one that wasn’t just buried in you to the hilt) along the shaky lines that hardly resembled any of the alphabet.

“Wha–” You could only heave the word out since it felt like your heart was beating in your throat, though your body gradually relaxed as Light seemed completely neutral to the situation. The longer that he did nothing, the more time passed, and you realized that… you were still here.

When silence fell completely between both of you, Light looked over with such casualty that you felt like none of what just happened even did.

“If we can get to your last name next time, too, maybe I’ll actually fuck you.” He slid off the bed as he spoke, his tone so normal as if he was just talking to you about the weather, making your jaw drop. He grabbed the book and closed it, walking over to the drawer and taking his sweet time ensuring that it was properly put away.

All you could do was lay there in silent disbelief, watching him with wide eyes while he acted like nothing even happened.

“I’m fine, then?” you asked, your voice firmer and a little louder than normal, more demanding for direct answers. Light glanced over at you and laughed coldly, standing up straight once the drawer was closed once again, his hands on his hips lazily.

“I like that you’re a little dumb, Y/N. It makes things like this more exciting, don’t you think?”

Before you could respond verbally–only able to scoff for now–Light turned to leave the room, murmuring a nearly inaudible “I’ll get some water” before the door closed behind him. His muffled footsteps became more distant as he descended downstairs, isolating you to the top floor.

Helplessly flumping back against the bed, you stared at the ceiling, reliving everything that had just happened in a mental state that you imagined neurosis to feel like. Although, you didn’t have to worry for long… you would get used to it. You understood that this was not going to be the first time something like this would happen, Light was truly only getting started with you.

#✧meyou #✧musinghxhmasterlist #death note #light yagami #death note fanfiction #death note x reader #yagami light #light x reader #light yagami x reader #light yagami smut #light yagami x you #light yagami x y/n #death note x you #i hope this doesn't have any typos lmao i'm sorry if this comeback sux

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ewanmitchellcrumbs · 4 months

Text

Cozened Indigo - Part One

Pairing: Modern!Aemond Targaryen x f!reader Warnings: Mentions of murder, dark themes. Word count: ~4k

Summary: Unhappy with the assignment she has been given to work on for the Duskendale Gazette, she opts to pursue her own story, not quite realising what she's getting herself into. Series masterlist.

Author's note: For @humanpurposes. I have put my journalism degree to use here, to ensure as much accuracy as possible. However, as Westeros is a fictional place, I have warped certain laws and regulations regarding court reporting for the purpose of the story. Please suspend your disbelief for the sake of a fictional tale. No tag list. Follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications. Community labels are for cops.

Chewing the end of her pen, she leans closer to the computer monitor as her eyes scan the Reuters website almost frantically.

Aemond Targaryen, son of late billionaire, Viserys Targaryen, charged for the murder of his nephew, Lucerys Velaryon. Case pending trial.

Nervous excitement swirls in her gut, as she leans back in her uncomfortable, creaky office chair. This is the first mention she has seen of such a scandal, unsurprising considering how high profile the Targaryen family are in Westeros. They’ll have worked hard to cover this up, however, with a court case imminent, the news is now public knowledge.

She knows that every media outlet from Dorne to Eastwatch will be all over this, but it will be nothing beyond surface level detail, the most basic of coverage. None of them will be able to get the family to talk, but she can, that is her specialty – was her specialty.

Essos Fraudster Glorified by White Cloak Magazine.

The headline passes through her mind like a stormcloud, a dirty mark upon her career that she can never scrub out. She had been duped, it was an honest mistake, but it had cost her dearly.

When whisperings began regarding an oligarch from Essos having shady business dealings in King’s Landing, she had set out to investigate, feeling it was a story worth telling. To her surprise, he had agreed to an interview, and she had been spun a tale of a man born into tremendous wealth, who was now looking to give back by setting up charitable foundations across Westeros.

She had done her due diligence, followed up on all of the sources at her disposal. Every phone call she made checked out, verifying his claims, and so the glossy double page spread had run in White Cloak Magazine, painting a picture of a misunderstood, altruistic individual who just wanted to share his wealth.

It had been the crowning achievement of her journalistic career, until two days later when the Blackwater Post had run their own story, utterly destroying hers. The oligarch was in fact guilty of tax evasion and money laundering, the charities he had founded mere fronts, empty shell corporations and hedge funds used to hide large sums of money that were never intended to be donated. The sources he had provided to back his claims had all been disreputable business associates of his, posing as bankers, accountants and employees.

He was jailed for his crimes and White Cloak was made a laughing stock for the piece they had run. As the person who had written it, it was her head that was placed upon the chopping block, a blunder of such enormity could not be overlooked.

Her humiliation had felt as though it would swallow her whole. She ought to have been more thorough in her research, but hindsight always possesses more clarity than what is right in front of you. She had considered just giving up and pursuing a different career path entirely, yet despite the shame that shrouded her, she had known that the urge to write would never leave her, an insatiable itch that must be scratched.

For a year she had looked for another job, had applied to just about every magazine and newspaper that existed in Westeros. If she had to relocate to Dorne, The Reach, or even The North then she’d do it for the sake of her career. Unfortunately, the blemish on her record was well known, and nowhere reputable would touch her.

That was until the Duskendale Gazette had taken a chance on her. The pet project of Royce Baratheon, it is a small, localised publication, a far cry from the nationwide reach of the high end White Cloak, but they were willing to hire her, the salary covers her rent, and it means not having to move away from King’s Landing.

For the last eighteen months she has occupied a desk in a darkened corner of the Duskendale Gazette’s offices, lovingly nicknamed “The Wall” by those that sit there - a place where writers at the end of their careers or close to retirement are sent to die.

It has been a slow, painful death, covering everything from disputes over fishing permits in Blackwater Bay to the implementation of a one way traffic system in Rosby. Discovering the news regarding Aemond Targaryen feels like the shot of adrenaline that her career needs to bring it back to life, provided he’s willing to speak to her – provided she can get sign off to write the story in the first place.

She sets down the biro she has been gnawing on and looks at the time on her computer. 9.02am. Glancing over her shoulder towards the big, glass walled meeting room that sits at the centre of the newsroom, she can see that Royce, along with the other editors and department heads are settling around the table, preparing to plan the next round of commissions.

Anxiously biting her lip, she considers her options. It would look bad to just walk in uninvited, however, if she doesn’t ask now then she’ll never get to do it. This is a story worth writing, surely they’d see that? Abruptly, she stands up, drawing in a steadying breath.

Fuck it, I’m going in.

She knocks at the door, not awaiting an answer before pushing it open. The men around the table furrow their brows, falling silent as they turn to look at her.

Royce shuffles the papers in front of him, sighing in irritation. “We’re in the middle of a meeting.”

Undeterred, in spite of the way her heart thunders in her chest, she steps further into the room towards the head of the table where he sits. “I know and that’s why I’m here. I saw on Reuters this morning that Aemond Targaryen has been charged with the murder of his nephew. I–”

“You won’t be covering that,” Royce interrupts, standing from his seat and lifting a sheet of paper from the pile. “I’m putting you on the upcoming curfew that’s to be implemented in Flea Bottom.”

“Royce, please, there’s something here, I know there is,” she presses, attempting to push down the anger that simmers hotly under her skin at his dismissal. “This could be huge for us.”

“You’ll write the story you’re assigned,” he insists, thrusting the paper towards her, “the last thing we need is a profile of some spoiled aristocrat, especially from someone with your track record.”

There it is. Someone with your track record.

“Just give me a chance–”

“You will write what I’ve commissioned, and be grateful you’re getting anything at all.”

“So you’re just going to ignore this?”

“We’ll place a court reporter on it once it goes to trial, but that is not your concern. Focus on your own assignment.”

She turns on her heel, storming back to her desk. Her skin burns with humiliation, tears blurring her vision as she sits down, slapping the commission sheet down next to her keyboard. Drawing in a steadying breath, she scrubs her hands over her face in an attempt to calm herself.

Scanning the assignment she’s been given, she scoffs. A curfew enforced by King’s Landing Constabulary as a means to curb the violent and drunken behaviour that’s rife in Flea Bottom. It's a soulless story, she knows she’ll be expected to simply present the facts, alongside a media ready quote from the police force, instead of addressing the rampant poverty in the area that is the catalyst for such problems. The final product will be better used as ad space.

It’s better to ask for forgiveness than permission, and wanting to prove Royce wrong, she decides to press ahead with the story that she wants to write anyway. Opening her internet browser, she searches the Targaryen name, presented with hundreds of links and articles regarding the family.

There is nothing she doesn’t already know; they’re from old money, own most of the banking and legal services from here to Oldtown and there is a rift that divides Viserys’ second wife, Alicent, and her children from his first daughter, Rhaenyra, and her family.

The remaining patriarch of the family, Otto Hightower, owns a law firm called Red Keep Solicitors which is based in the centre of King’s Landing. A good enough place to start for her background research. Scanning the office to ensure no one’s looking, she stuffs her assignment sheet into her bag and slips out unnoticed.

As she steps out of the taxi that has pulled up outside of the high rise office block, she is surprised by the lack of media presence. She had assumed that with the information that leaked this morning, there would be a line of news station vans parked along the pavement, with journalists all clamouring to get a vox pop from someone from either the Hightower or Targaryen family. Besides a steady flow of traffic down the street, it’s dead. Whoever is working to keep the media away is doing an exceptional job. For once, she is thankful she works for a small, local newspaper; no notoriety means being able to fly under the radar.

The polished black marble of the foyer floor causes each of her footsteps to echo around the lofty reception. The space is modern and minimalist; the reception desk placed at the far wall, the motif of a castle with the company name emblazoned across the wall behind it. A forest green, crushed velvet sofa sits off to the side, serving as the waiting area.

“Good morning,” the young woman seated behind the desk greets her. “How may I help you?”

“I’m here to see Otto Hightower,” she says, smiling politely. The less she gives away, the less likely she is to be turned away.

“Do you have an appointment?”

“I’m afraid not. I was hoping he might be able to squeeze me in for a quick consultation?” She asks hopefully.

“Hmm,” the receptionist’s eyes narrow, regarding her with suspicion, before she taps delicately at the keyboard of her computer. “I’m afraid Mr. Hightower is fully booked for today. Can I take a message?”

“No, it’s fine, I’ll wait,” she replies, keeping her tone light, attempting to appear casual. She moves to the sofa, taking a seat and crossing one leg over the other. She ignores the receptionist, who is now eyeing her intently.

Plucking her mobile out of her bag, she pretends to look busy as the woman behind the desk picks up the phone and speaks in a hushed tone into the receiver, clearly alerting whoever is on the other end to her presence.

Thirty minutes tick by in uncomfortable silence, during which she has checked just about every app on her smartphone and read through most of her emails. Her head snaps up upon hearing the elevator ding. As the doors slide open she sees a tall, much older, bearded man step out. There is no mistaking that this is Otto Hightower.

Jumping to her feet, she follows him as he walks quickly past her, out of the building.

“Mr. Hightower, might I have a moment of your time?”

He doesn’t slow down, doesn’t even turn to look back at her, his tone clipped as he tells her “I have no interest in speaking to the press.”

Undeterred, she lengthens her strides to keep up with him. “I understand your concern, but I’m not here to drag anyone’s name through the mud. I’d just like to understand more about what happened with your grandson.”

“No comment,” he says flatly, pulling open the rear door of a sleek, black Mercedes that pulls up to the curb and climbing in.

Before she has the opportunity to say anything else, he’s slamming the door closed and the car is pulling away.

She groans in frustration, walking back towards the entrance of Red Keep solicitors and leaning against the wall. She isn’t ready to give up, not when she’s had a small taste of what it’s like to work on something she actually cares about again. This is just a minor setback, she’ll find someone willing to speak to her. For now, she just needs to get back to the office and plan what the next step of her strategy will be. Pulling out her phone, she opens the taxi app, preparing to head back.

“You’re as subtle as a sledgehammer.”

The quiet voice pulls her attention away from her screen and she glances over her shoulder to be met by a dark, curly haired man, leaning heavily on a cane, an orthopedic shoe on his left foot.

“Excuse me?”

“You couldn’t really have believed that showing up here unannounced would get you an interview, surely?”

She scowls. “And who might you be?”

“Larys Strong,” he replies, eyes never leaving hers.

She turns fully to face him. “And how do you know what will or won’t get me an interview?”

His lips quirk into the faintest of smiles, eyes moving slowly from her head to her feet and back up again. It unnerves her and she can feel herself involuntarily shrinking away from him.

“It’s my job to know. The Hightowers are keen to prevent any unwanted…whispers from occurring, as I’m sure you’ll understand.”

“So, no one from the family would be willing to speak with me?”

“Absolutely not. But I might be.”

“You? How would you be able to help me?”

His eyes seem to glitter, almost malevolently, as he stares at her. It sends a shiver up her spine.

“Oh, I provide all kinds of help to all kinds of people.”

He produces a business card from his inside pocket, handing it to her.

Larys Strong, Harrenhal Associates.

She gives a quiet thanks, fishing around in her bag and handing him one of her own. He glances at it quickly, before slipping it into the pocket from which he’d taken his own.

“Come by my office around seven this evening,” he tells her. “I’m sure we have much to talk about.”

Watching in stunned silence as he turns and shuffles back inside the entrance of Red Keep Solicitors, she knows she should feel excited – she finally has her in, dubious as it may be – however, she cannot shake the feeling that she has just unwittingly stepped into the midst of something sinister.

She whiles away the remainder of the day back at the Duskendale Gazette, ensuring she knows everything there is to know about the Targaryen and Hightower families – at least everything that’s publicly available anyway. She also looks into Larys Strong; there’s little to be found about him, but what she is able to dig up is impressive. He’s a solicitor, and has seemingly never lost a case for any of the clients he’s defended. She has an eerie feeling that the means through which he achieves this are far from ethical.

By the time seven o’ clock rolls around, she’s stood outside of a dingy brick building, located off of the Street of Silk. It does not even come close to the grandiosity of Red Keep Solicitors, without even so much as a sign to indicate it’s a place of business.

Ignoring the voice at the back of her mind that screams at her to turn and run, she presses the buzzer, pulling the door open as it’s released and making her way up the rickety wooden staircase to the top floor.

The room is dimly lit, small and stuffy, worn out carpet lines the floor, complete with furnishings that are likely older than she is. What strikes her as most odd is the abundance of flowers, there’s a vase on every flat surface and they look strangely out of place, a lurid splash of brightness against their darkened surroundings. She wrinkles her nose, the cloying scent of patchouli is overpowering. It’s either being used to cover up the odour of something else or is a misguided attempt to suggest opulence, but instead comes across as tacky.

Larys hovers in the doorway to his own personal office, watching her as she takes in her surroundings.

“Thank you for meeting with me,” he eventually says. “I appreciate that an out of hours visit is less than ideal, but I’m sure you understand the need for discretion.”

She nods, nerves swirling in her gut at the sudden realisation that no one knows that she’s here.

“My secretary has left for the day, so please leave your phone and any recording devices on her desk. I trust you realise that anything discussed this evening is strictly off of the record?”

“Understood,” she replies, deciding to just leave her entire bag on the desk as she follows Larys into his office.

It’s even smaller and more cramped than the tiny space that serves as the reception area. Overstuffed shelves of books line the walls, and the room’s only illumination is a lamp which sits upon the desk.

Larys settles into a leather armchair behind it, gesturing for her to take the seat on the other side.

“Can I ask what your involvement with the Targaryen family is?” She finally asks, once settled across from him.

He sits back, fingers moving absentmindedly over the grip of his cane. “I provide counsel to them. I will be acting as Aemond’s legal defense in the upcoming trial.”

She raises her eyebrows in shock. It’s surprising to know a family as wealthy as the Targaryens would be willing to trust such a delicate matter with someone who operates their business out of a seedy back alley. “You? Why?”

He huffs a humourless laugh, upturning the palm of his free hand. “Who else would? No one from Red Keep Solicitors could represent him, it would be a conflict of interest. And besides, I get results, as I’m sure you know.”

“Yes, I do, as I’m sure you know all about me. Which leads me to my next question, if the Targaryens don’t want the media involved in this then why have you agreed to speak with me?”

Larys is silent for a moment, fingers stroking delicately over the petals of a red flower that sits within a vase upon his desk. “My reasons are twofold,” he says, finally looking up at her. “First, both sides of the family have come to a mutual agreement that neither one will talk to the press. I feel that is a mistake. Aemond needs all the help he can get. I don’t necessarily mean starting a media circus to report upon his every move and dig into his past, just one reputable source to give him a leg up while he’s at a disadvantage. Second, I have chosen you because I’m aware of your past…indiscretions. The future of your career rests upon this, so I know you will treat it with the due diligence it deserves.”

She scoffs in disbelief, running a hand through her hair. “The guy’s been charged with murder, how much care could he possibly need?”

“The prosecution will be pushing for a sentence for murder, yes. I’ll be arguing for a lesser sentence of manslaughter.”

“So, he didn’t mean to do it?”

“I think it’s better said in his own words.”

“You can arrange an interview with him?”

“I can arrange a visit for you to speak with him where he’s currently being remanded in custody, at Dragonstone Prison, yes.”

She attempts to remain neutral as her excitement bubbles unrestrained internally. “When is the trial?”

“In three weeks, so we have to act swiftly. I believe this concludes our discussion. I shall be in touch regarding your visitation.”

She is taken aback by the abrupt ending to their conversation, rising slowly from her seat as she leaves his office and collects her bag. It’s unnerving that even as she descends the staircase she can still feel his presence, the sweet, heady aroma clinging to her clothes like an invisible fog.

True to his word, Larys gets her her visit, and two days later she sits in the ferry terminal for Dragonstone Prison. Having had her identification checked, and her details input onto the system, she is issued a number and has to wait for it to be called before she can board.

The wait is agonising, and a full hour passes before she is called forward, scrambling to her feet towards the boarding area. The grey waters are choppy, causing the ferry to rock slightly on its short journey across the Gullet, until the craggy isle that houses the criminals of Westeros comes into view. The high, cement walls of Dragonston Prison are imposing and bleak against the skyline.

Disembarking the ferry, she is guided through the visitors’ entrance and searched, her personal effects rifled through as she walks through a metal detector, and her electronic devices taken away, to be returned to her upon her departure. Her identification is checked once more, and her details input onto the system again. She is told to take a seat, her name will be called when it’s time for her visitation to begin.

The hard seat is uncomfortable, and without the distraction of her phone she is left to stare at the clock on the wall. Its relentless ticking is maddening, the minutes feeling as though they crawl past. So absorbed in watching it, she jumps when her name is finally called, struggling to compose herself as she’s ushered through into the visitation area.

A series of tables and plastic chairs make up the startling white windowless room, and she is led to one in the far corner. Unsure of what to do, she simply stands beside her seat, awaiting the man she is to meet.

From the photos she has seen, Aemond cuts an imposing figure, dressed all in black. She hopes that the softness of the grey prison uniform will render him less intimidating. However, those thoughts are dashed the moment she sees him walk slowly through the door on the opposite side of the room.

He is in no rush, his steps are methodical, unhurried, a predator stalking its prey as he moves towards her. The photographs do not do justice to his height, long and lithe, he towers over her, and she feels herself holding her breath as she takes in the sharpness of his features. His long, platinum hair is pulled back into an immaculately styled ponytail, giving her an unhindered view of his chiseled jaw, aquiline nose and prominent cheekbones, though spoiled slightly by the ragged, angry looking scar that runs the length of the left side of his face. The eye within the socket sits milky and lifeless, but it does little to lessen the intensity of the brilliant blue of his right.

She notices the slightest dilation of his pupil as he stares unblinkingly at her, making her heart race as the cold sweat of fear prickles the back of her neck. So preoccupied with simply getting her story, it has not occurred to her until now that she would be face to face with a killer.

Certain he senses her fright, she sees his lips twitch with the faintest of smirks. The fact that it does not reach his eye makes her blood run cold.

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celestibabs · 5 months

Text

pairing; billy hargrove x f!reader

contents; 18+ mdni. boudoir photography, heavy petting, dry humping if you squint | wc: 1k

note; starting off simple for my return to writing... nothing too long or too spicy, but we all know that won't last very long.

Billy snatches the cigarette from his mouth as if it scolded his taste buds, flipping the envelope you’d handed him in his hand with intrigue. His perfect blonde eyebrow raised in query, he raises his gaze at you pointedly.

“What is it?” He speaks flatly, exhaling the smoke in his lungs slowly so it kisses at his cheekbones.

“Just open it,” you murmur quietly, worrying your lower lip with your teeth. Billy hums softly, fussing with the lip of the envelope with his fingertips and teasing your nerves.

You’d tortured yourself over a Christmas gift for Billy, thinking of all possible options and how he’d be entirely unimpressed. Minus a new set of weights or a large tub of some kind of protein-shake powder, you knew he’d probably shove your gift in a cupboard and forget about it until he needed to take the Christmas lights out next year.

Desperation had kicked in around two weeks before Christmas day. Wandering in and out of the few shops in Hawkins like a demented zombie had resulted in empty hands and muttered curses of frustration. Unprompted comments by Billy insisting that he didn’t want any gifts had fueled your indignation, especially given his tone had somehow strayed into something pitiful in comparison to the monotonous, bored drawl he usually offered.

The idea came to you spontaneously. Nancy had called to tell you about a playful tiff she’d had with Jonathan over some Playboy magazine’s she’d found in his bedroom while moving her things in for Christmas. Her voice had practically faded into oblivion when you’d remembered the torn-out Playboy pages plastered to the wall above Billy’s dresser.

It had seemed like a good idea at the time, but now that Billy was pulling apart the ribbon you’d tied around the neatly wrapped gift, you’d begun to feel queasy.

Before tearing the wrapping paper, Billy prolongs your suffering with a smug smirk, clearly noticing your anticipation. He lifts the item, shaking it like a five year old rattling their present box as though it would offer insight into what lay inside. “Give me a hint.”

“Billy,” you huff, exasperated already with his antics, “Just open the stupid thing before I take it back.”

He hums, finally pinching the edge of the wrapping between his thumb and forefinger before pulling upwards, the paper ripping open to reveal the contents inside.

Billy paused, slowly exhaling the dregs of his cigarette in a gentle stream of smoke through his nose.

Your heart catches.

The glossy pages of the personalised Playboy Magazine rippled slightly as Billy brought the images closer for a better look. It was unmistakably you on the front cover, perched in a seductive position on a stool dressed in an unbuttoned blouse with peaks of the black, lacy lingerie you wore underneath.

Poor Jonathan had been mortified when you’d begged him to take the last minute images. Despite his reluctance, and Nancy observing his every move to ensure he didn’t stare too long, he’d worked hard to ensure he could emulate the magazine quality. Of course, you hadn’t told him who they were for.

You knew you looked fantastic, but Billy’s silence was unnerving you.

“There’s more inside,” you murmur, cheeks burning, “Some don’t have my face in them so you can tear them out and put them on your wall.”

Another slow exhale, Billy’s eyes flitting over the magazine cover had your heart lurching in fear. Was he angry? He still didn’t say much when he began to thumb through the pages, stopping on a particularly scandalous page where you swept aside the bounce to reveal the curve of your breast, lips parted seductively but the image excluding the rest of your face.

“Billy, I’m–”

“Look at you,” he murmurs, taking his cigarette from his lips and stubbing it into an ashtray settled on the arm of the sofa you’re both perched on. “You want me to pin photos of you half naked on my wall, for everyone to see?”

Billy reaches forwards, taking a hold of your chin in his palm and pulling you forwards so your noses bumped together. Your breath hitches, seizing in your throat when you feel Billy’s breath fan across your face.

“You little slut,” Billy coos, his free hand working its way between your knees to inch up the inside of your thigh. His touch leaves a delicious burn, like the smouldering embers of his cigarette end had set his fingertips alight.

Billy’s lips brush against your own as he speaks, his fingers ghosting over the seam of your trousers to apply slight, teasing pressure to your clit. “I’ll put them up on the wall opposite the door. Make sure everyone gets to see how much of a slut you are for me.”

You can see Billy’s cock straining against the right denim of his jeans. He’s all worked up at the idea of showing you off like this, and seems intent on dragging you down into a horny-haze too.

“If you’d like that,” you whisper, voice catching slightly in your throat as Billy leans his head down to drag the flat of his tongue across your pulse point. You hear him chuckle softly, feel the rumble against your neck, and you’re almost certain it’s because he can somehow taste your arousal through your skin.

“I’d love that,” he smirked, his hands slowly working their way beneath your shirt and pushing it upwards to expose the naked flesh of your stomach, squeezing at your breast when you arch your back for him.

“Merry Christmas, Billy,” you laugh at that, your giggle faltering into a soft whine when Billy punches at your nipple, rolling the stiffened bud between the pads of his thumb and forefinger to tease you further. “Mhmmm,” Billy hums, nipping at your neck and slowly laying you back against the couch. He doesn’t seem to mind that the ashtray that had balanced on the arm of the sofa tips off onto the floor, or that the magazine falls to the floor. He’s far too busy grinding his hard cock against you. “A very merry Christmas it is.”

#— not sfw !#billy hargrove concept #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove x fem!reader #billy hargrove x you #billy hargrove x y/n #billy hargrove imagine #billy hargrove smut #stranger things #stranger things smut #stranger things imagine #divider made by /@saradika

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theemporium · 1 year

Note

Hi, do you think you could write something with Steve and inexperienced!reader? 🩷

thank you for requesting!🖤

“Oh.”

Your relationship with Steve Harrington was fairly new, still in the early stages considering you had only really been dating for the better part of two months.

Steve had been completely enamoured by you the second you walked into Family Video. From the pretty little sundress brushing your knees to the way your cheeks flushed and the shy smile you sent him when your hands accidentally touched as he handed you back the tape you were renting out—he was a complete goner.

You were fairly shy, not that Steve minded all that much. If anything, it flattered him when you revealed he was your first boyfriend during an ice cream date on the hood of his car. It made him feel all warm and fuzzy inside that you were letting him show you everything, that you trusted him with notions as silly as your first kiss to your first proper date.

He liked being the person to show you that, and he didn’t mind taking it slow because he liked you. He really fucking liked you and he didn’t want to scare you away.

Your dates with Steve had remained quite wholesome, a few shared kisses exchanged here and there. There had been more than a handful of times that ended with you on his lap, his hands gripping your waist as you made out but it had never gone beyond that. Steve was respectful of your wishes and it made your heart swoon.

Tonight was no different. Steve had been all giggly and smiley about a tape he snuck out from work, some movie that was supposed to be released in a few weeks. He had invited you over for a movie night, a harmless date that you didn’t blink twice at.

He had given you a peck on the lips when you arrived, muttering about how he needed to take a quick shower. He told you to make yourself comfortable in his room, making a teasing remark about keeping you on his bed (you had yet to stay the night at his). But you just smiled and blushed, rolling your eyes as you made your way to his room.

You didn’t mean to see it. At least, you don’t think you were.

Really, you hadn’t found it on purpose. But you were laying on his bed and you noticed a magazine popping out from underneath his pillow and your curiosity got the best of you as you pulled it out.

Your eyes went wide when you saw the cover.

Your lips parted in shock when you began to flip through the pages.

You were so shocked you hadn’t even heard the shower stop or Steve enter the room, hair went and chest bare and sweatpants low on his hips.

“Whatcha got there?” Steve’s voice was teasing and light as he approached the bed, leaning over to see what had caught your attention. His eyes instantly widened and he sputtered out some weird mix of a laugh and a gasp. “Baby, where did you—”

“I-I didn’t mean to find it,” you kept your head down, unable to bring yourself to meet his gaze. “I wasn’t snooping, Stevie, I promise—”

“Hey, hey,” his voice was soft and his fingers ducked beneath your chin to tilt your head up to him. “It’s fine. I…I mean, I don’t wanna hide anything from you.”

You nodded.

You weren’t naive. You knew what sex was and you knew Steve had his own needs, that he was probably getting himself off to the pictures you were looking at. He respected that you wanted to take things slow, but that didn’t mean he had to stop everything.

You glanced back down at the magazine, the ones you had heard about and been told were sold behind the counters at stores. You imagined Steve flicking through the pages, his hand around his cock and—

“What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?” Steve asked after a few moments of silence.

“Does, uh,” you cleared your throat, your whole body feeling like it was on fire.

“Words, honey, use your words,” he said in a gentle voice.

“Does that actually feel good?” you whispered, your face burning in embarrassment as you stared at the page the magazine was open on.

Steve watched you carefully, his lips twitching a little. “Yeah, baby, it does. It feels really good for her.”

“Oh.”

He waited a few moments, a slight hesitation in his voice as he spoke again. “Do you want me to show you?”

Your head snapped up to look at him.

“Only if you want to,” he added, smiling softly in reassurance. “You can say no, and I’ll put the movie on.”

“I–” you paused, letting out a shaky breath. “I wanna try it…with you.”

Steve had to bite back the grin that was threatening to spread across his face as he nodded. He ducked his head down, pressing his lips against yours and feeling your body sag a little in relief.

“I’m gonna make you feel so good, honey,” he murmured against your lips as he crawled onto the bed. “Now lay down and spread those legs f’me.”

#steve harrington #stranger things #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fic #steve harrington one shot #stranger things x reader #stranger things x you #stranger things x y/n #stranger things fic #stranger things one shot

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kiame-sama · 3 months

Text

Of Cats And Hawks- (Yandere!Hawks x Reader) pt 3

Warnings; yandere behavior, yandere relationship, yandere temperament, possessive behavior, various animal courtship behavior, perverse Hawks, NSFW themes and content, nesting behavior, item theft, scent kink, oral (fem receiving), tail pulling, feathers, bit of a masochist Hawks,

~~~~~~~~

"Just like that..!"

The voice panted and huffed in exhilaration, hands working tirelessly to get everything he needed how he needed it. It was almost a frenzy of movement as the soft sound of fabric sliding against fabric could be faintly heard. Each desperate breath working on getting that scent and drowning in it like some sick degenerate.

He is a sick degenerate.

As far as Keigo was concerned, he was a filthy and depraved lunatic when compared to you and how calmly you seem to have approached it all. Countless hero centered magazines put the two of you in the headlines and numerous fan-clubs did analysis of the potential conflict the two of you would endure as a couple. Keigo was thrilled to have claimed you so obviously and had been working ever since your last meeting.

Keigo had more things to do, but he did allow himself a nice recreational distraction every now and again. Buying clothing your size and grabbing whatever he can from your room while you weren't there, replacing your old clothes with the new ones and hoping you don't notice. Taking your scent soaked clothes back to his apartment to add to his current shrine, as unconventional as it was.

"Smell so good..! Make me lose my mind..!"

Keigo groaned into the clothes he held up to his face, drinking in your natural scent and moaning in bliss. After another long inhale, he lovingly wove it into his current obsessive project. His sparse and near dismal apartment was already rather barren compared to how others thought he lived, so it wasn't like the odd nest was in the way of anything.

Nesting was a new behavior, even for Keigo, and he was curious to see just what this new development did for him. He had approached the hero association about it- seeing as they controlled almost every part of his life- and their response was not as he expected. Instead of making him remove his dearest darling from his life, they encouraged him to advance the relationship. Having been given the all-clear to push the relationship forward, Keigo found himself nesting.

The nest itself was an amalgamation of clothing, pillows, and blankets. Despite how garish or gaudy some may find it to be, Keigo thought it was beautiful. He was especially pleased with the many colors that were in it, vaguely understanding that it was likely a bird instinct that demanded the multitude of colors.

"Need you so much...!"

He panted softly and nuzzled his face against the clothing that he had so lovingly woven into his nest, his wings fluttering rapidly behind him. It was during this affectionate display that a knock came at his door, breaking through his concentration sharply. The silence that followed almost made him believe that whoever it was went away before there was another knock followed by a familiar voice.

"Keigo? The others sent me to check up on you. You haven't been to the agency in days and no one has heard from you since."

Oh, Darling, there you were.

Did you know he has been waiting for you anxiously to arrive? Did you know that he was building this fantastic nest for you? Did you come to help soothe the itching and frustrating ache inside of him? Did you see how many colors were in his nest just for you?

"Keigo," your voice called again, spurring the Hawk hero to stand and rush to the door, "say something so I know you are okay."

When he threw the door open, you clearly had not expected him to rush forward to see you. Your tail was fluffed and your ears were back as Keigo pulled you inside, slamming the door behind the two of you loudly. Your eyes easily adjusted to the dark of his home and you tried to take in as much as you could about the situation despite the sudden way you entered the room.

"Please... Help... Please, I need... I need help..!"

You felt genuine concern hearing how out of breath and frantic Keigo seemed at that moment. Usually Keigo was very level headed and confident as the hero Hawks, but something about his tone sounded truly pitiful to you as he hung onto you and whimpered like an injured animal. It was then another scent registered to your mind, one that was sharp and intense. Your brain recognized it almost immediately as pheromones coming from Keigo, and those pheromones told you just what exactly he needed help with.

You had agreed to try a relationship with Keigo and it wasn't far into that relationship when you learned how you were the only truly stable partner he has ever had. He told you about the Hero's Association and how he had been drafted in as only a child, meaning you were the only support Keigo had in and out of the hero world. Though the Association did attempt to have you keep an eye on Keigo, you refused to be another spy in his life.

Keigo was whining and slowly grinding his hips against you, letting you feel the rather hard erection he had as he continued to whimper softly. His hands were clinging to you desperately and he panted heavily in your ears, feeling almost feverish to the touch.

You took a moment to decide what you wanted to do, and the obvious choice was the one you settled on.

"Such a bad birdy," your voice was a soft croon, "already ready to go and here we both are, far too dressed for this situation."

The second Keigo actually registered your words, you felt his feathers rip through the clothes you were wearing. You knew he had stolen a fair portion of your clothes as the ones he replaced them with were covered in his scent, but you knew now why he so desperately wanted them. Each piece of clothing he had taken was woven into his nest and even as the scraps of what you wore fell to the ground around you, his feathers tried to weave the scraps into the nest as well.

Keigo fell to his knees and gripped your thigh, pulling one of your legs over his shoulder as he buried his face between your plush thighs. His tongue was hot as it wormed its way into your soft folds, slurping and lashing against you. You couldn't help the surprised gasp as Keigo almost viciously worked you over with his tongue.

His wings slowly came up, feathers moving from where they were to lift you up, holding your legs spread for the blond. Keigo looked like a wild animal as he crouched between your legs, eyes rolled back as he shoved his face against you, refusing to pull back for air. You whined and gripped his hair, feeling one of his hands suddenly grip the base of your tail and give a light tug.

He pushed two fingers into you, working your hot hole open enough to add a third finger. Each pump of his fingers was accented with a light tug at your tail, leaving you mewling in pleasure. The sensation of him pulling your tail, working you with his tongue, and sliding his fingers into you had you cumming roughly, holding his head with your hands as you whined and rocked your hips.

Despite how early in the relationship it was for you, you also felt sorry for Keigo and the state he was in. You knew very well how hormones from your animal quirk impacted the way you reacted to certain situations. Clearly Keigo was pleased as he kept his face buried between your thighs and worked almost tirelessly to lap up the plentiful juices your body provided.

"That's enough," you panted, pulling a desperate Keigo away from your weeping folds, "no more for you."

"N-no! No, please! Please, I need-!"

"No more standing, Keigo. You built a nest for a reason, right?"

His golden eyes were almost completely black with how his pupils were blown wide and dilated. Of course, once your words registered to his hormonal mind he was throwing you down onto the plush nest he built for the two of you. Most of your missing clothes were present in the nest along with any blankets Keigo had to his name. He clearly spent quite a lot of time on the nest and had likely been building this nest since he had last come into work.

He climbed on top of you much like a predator stalking up on his prey, his wings were flared to either side of his body as he panted heavily. Something about the way Keigo looked- wild and untamed- sparked interest in your mind as you let the red-winged hero run his hips against yours. Every thrusting motion slid his hot cock through your folds, slicking him up with your juices.

"Soft 'n good... So warm..!"

Keigo was nearly drooling as he continued to rut his hips, whining from the blissful sensation running through him. His hands were kneading your soft breasts and his lips roamed over your warm skin all while he continued to whine and gasp. He still didn't enter you as he struggled to line himself up, doing what he could to not have to pull his hands away from your soft figure.

"Keigo," you almost growled in frustration at the lack of contact, wanting to reach down and grab him yourself, "just... get in, damn it..!"

He finally managed to angle himself well enough to prod at your weeping hole, pressing into you with a loud groan of pleasure. You gripped his shoulders tightly as that thick length bullied its way inside of you. The stretch almost seemed like it would be too much for your soft body to handle. It was only when he bottomed out that you realized he wasn't just thick, but he was long too.

"F-fuck! So good..!"

Keigo actually was drooling at this point as he gasped and tried desperately to keep himself still. Regardless of how clouded his mind was by instinct and pleasure, he still kept in mind how fragile you possibly were. Holding himself still was proving to be a difficult task but one he was dedicated to.

"Move..!" You gasped and tried to slightly adjust your hips, "Move, Keigo..!"

The hawk hero didn't need to be told twice as he set a quick and brutal pace, his wings spread and flapping behind him. Your hands were buried in the feathers along his wings, pulling a few as you held to the feral hero. Similarly, Keigo's hands were busy roaming your body and pausing to palm your soft flesh appreciatively.

It was only when Keigo gripped your tail and gave a particularly rough tug that you became much more vocal. You let out a yowling moan as he continued to tug and toy with the appendage, claws sinking into his wings. Keigo moaned deep and rumbling sounds as he continued to tug your tail, relishing the sound of you yowling for him so sweetly.

"Good-! Good kitty..! Claw me up, pretty kitty, please..! Fuck, I need you to do it!"

Soon his pleas became breathless babbling and appreciative moans as you did exactly what he was begging for. All he could do at that point was hold your tail and piston his hips into you wildly until he could no longer move. Everything he wanted and a precious lover the Heroes Association actually allowed, it was all he could ever ask for. Well, the current sex was great too, but he hoped it would be an ongoing arrangement.

Keigo could feel the way your walls tightened up around him and he lost all sense of self. The quick witted and resilient hawk hero was little more than a mindless slave to the feel of your body and sound of your voice. Truly nothing mattered to him beyond pushing you into as many orgasms as he could wring from you.

He knew you could handle it well enough. After all, you were his feral Street Cat.

#kiame-sama #yandere #x reader #yandere x reader #reader insert #tw yandere #yandere bnha #bnha yandere #yandere hawks #yandere keigo takami #yandere keigo x reader #x fem!reader #fem reader #x female reader

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cupidsdolll · 8 months

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𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬; best friend!harry styles x best friend!fem!reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭; 2.8k

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲; harry’s always been there to lend a listening ear to his best friend. he shows her just how much he cares for her in the best way he knows how.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬; childhood friends to lovers, just fluff.

Y/N and Harry have been friends for as long as either of them can remember, all they can remember is that as little kids Harry would constantly come up to her in school and compliment her choice of nail polish. Time seems to blur by after that, the two young kids would spend their time discussing anything and everything that came to mind, the conversations never seeming to dull as they grew older. They stayed close throughout their school years and the years after they graduated, that was until he signed up for the X-Factor and won, being grouped together with four other boys and hence One Direction was born.

She was always supportive of his dream and wanted nothing more than him to be happy, so she happily sat on the sidelines and cheered from a distance. She was always one of the first to get their albums and she would attempt to get in contact with Harry as much as she could, but his rising fame and busy schedules it was hard to find the time to carry out a conversation. Conversations over the phone skimmed down to brief texts to check in, FaceTime calls filled with jokes turned into seeing him on the television screen, he barely had time for her anymore and it sucked.

Neither one had ever thought about the idea of not having the other in their life and now that it seemed it happening, she wishes they’d gotten the chance to talk about everything before Harry left to be a star. It was a big change to try to adapt to if she’s being honest, she went from seeing him numerous times a week and hanging out in her room to only being able to see him through a screen, it’s almost as if he was never there to begin with. If it weren’t for the woven bracelet sitting on his arm, she’d think he’d completely forgotten about her and that’s the worst thought ever. As happy as she is for him, the thought of him never being in her life again stirs a terrible feeling in her chest.

Years go by and it seems like Harry’s trying harder now to bring back the friendship, he’s texting more responses and making conversation while he’s getting his hair done, she expects pictures each time, sending her snippets of the songs they’re currently working on and she listens to each one right before bed in order to feel closer. She watches him grow up through a screen and magazines, his band goes on more interviews and they release more music and they go on tour. It seems as if so much is happening in such short time, and that feeling in her chest is back again when she realizes she’s missing out on all the major turning points in his life.

It saddens her to think about how much information she actually misses out on one day when she’s sprawled out on her bed in comfy clothes, her phone propped up on a pillow as she stares at the screen. Harry’s face fills the screen as she’s on FaceTime with him while he’s getting his hair ready for their tour.

“I still say you do a little ponytail.” She can’t help but laugh at her poor excuse of a joke, she’s been at this for the past couple minutes and the hairstylist has given up on listening to her ideas. He laughs loudly before clearing his throat.

“I’ll stick with my curls. How’s everything over there?” He asks and she sighs sadly, it’s when she has to be reminded that he isn’t here sucks.

“S’fine, I just miss you.” She doesn’t miss the way his face lights up at her admission.

“Miss you too, hopefully I’ll be home soon for a bit.”

More years passed, he came home whenever he was able to their friendship remained the same, while it’s not back to normal - it’s as normal as it’ll get when you’re friends with a member of a very popular boy band. He’d eagerly wrap her up in his arms before greeting the rest of his family, breathing her scent in deeply and he pulls away with a smile reserved just for her. It’s one that’s full of happiness and longing, she know that smile all too well because it’s the same one she gives him over the phone. She’d follow him around as he talks with everyone, only adding her input in when necessary. His family is hers as well, she’d even started making jokes with Anne about calling her mom in which she’d laugh before agreeing in how she sees her as one of her own.

It was the days he left to go back to his fame that hurts the most, a day full of holding back tears as she bids him goodbye with a tight hug and word’s whispered in each other ears. He would always promise to call as much as he can and she would simply nod with teary eyes. After several emotional goodbyes, Harry finally tears away from her and waves one last goodbye and he’s off. He’s off to go back to being a pop star, surrounded by his new found friends and his adoring fans and she already misses him more than ever.

She stayed with him throughout the entire span of his band and when he’d come home years later and said the band had broken up, she couldn’t help the part that was relieved that he was back for good now. He was home and she couldn’t have been happier, well maybe Anne and Gemma were happier but it doesn’t matter, she has her best friend back and that’s all she cares about. He spent as much time as he could with her and before they know it, the friendship was actually closer than it was before. He’d never judge her for her choice of men she’d date and she was always the one to reapply the coat of paint onto his hands.

Years passed and he released two albums, and in the process of writing another one, he was just stuck on a couple of songs. So while he was stuck working on his music, she’d go on dates. She’d managed to have several relationships throughout the years but Harry was always there to lend an ear as she would about horrible they are. He’d always known how a date when by how she entered the house, a door slamming shut accompanied by the sound of her bag hitting the floor her bag and plopping herself on the bed indicates a bad date or an ending of a relationship and today is no different.

He hears the sound of the door slamming shut accompanied by a loud huff as she stomps towards his bedroom. He can’t help but to sigh as he turns off his phone and setting to the side, ready to give her all of his undivided attention. Her footsteps become louder as she gets closer until he can hear her in front of his door, a soft knock fills the space and he quickly tells her it’s unlocked. She barges in with teary eyes and her body radiating anger, plopping herself into his bed and looking at him for the green light to begin her rant.

“Go ahead, what happened this time?” She nods softly before her mouth opens and words spill out of them.

“He’s such a dickwad, Harry. A misogynistic asswhipe. It’s been a month Har and he’s already talking about he wants me to stay home. He barely even talks to me as is!” He nods as he listens, he can’t help but to feel bad for his best friend to listen to her stories about guys that don’t care about her the way she deserves.

He’s heard almost every story in the book and he despises every time she gets excited about a new date. She’ll get happy and bounce around while she asks for his opinion on what to wear. He listens as she rambles on about hopefully this is different, she just has a feeling, and every time it’s just the same outcome just a different story line. It’s always ghosting after they hook up, they take advantage of her sweet personality, or they always assume she’s gonna put out before they even start the date. He knows she hates having to constantly have sex with so many people but in her words, it’s the only way she’s able to have somewhat of a love life.

It seems almost every other week, it’s the same story just different people and he takes notes of all the names listed. He remembers the most recent one, the one that would barely converse with her until late at night because he doesn’t wanna sleep alone, the conversation would linger for the day after in order to keep her hooked just for it die right back out and get her hopes up. All of her stories break his heart piece by piece, it clicks in his head as he holds her on his arms and allows her to let out all the emotions.

He’ll stay up late as he writes down lyrics in his notebook and record voice notes on his phone as he plays with the structure. He needs this to be just right, to portray the story and emotions he has in his head from his best friend. She never once questioned why he listened more intently now and would tap his thigh after she said certain things, would just bask in the moment and care for her best friend after a bad day.

At the beginning of April, Harry would mention how he’s performing for Coachella and offered to take her with him, so she can experience him in concert first hand. He’d beg and plead but ultimately left the decision up to her. He’d never force her to do anything she didn’t want to do, he just wanted to experience this first hand in a futile attempt to show he was listening to every word she said, to show he cares for her deeply and to attempt to make up for the years they’d lost while he was in One Direction.

She ended up agreeing to go, and he quickly bought her tickets and make sure she has the best seats and the best view always, after all this could possibly change everything and it’s important to him that she gets this experience. So they drove over to California, the sound of their curated playlist just for this occasion blasting through the speakers as they drive down the street. Both parties happy as ever as they continue their journey across states, taking turns singing their favorite songs when they happen to come on.

----

The crowd is loud, full of fans waiting to see their favorite artists. The air is filled with the buzz and excitement mixed in with eager anticipation. Harry slowly walks up on stage and the crowd yells, going crazy as he prances down the catwalk wearing a rainbow sequined jumpsuit, catching the light and reflecting it back onto the fans. She watches with eager eyes as he introduces himself, resulting in more screams and she can’t help but to chuckle lightly at his adoring fans.

The show passes, he sings and she’ll sing along to the ones she knows, she’s happy to be able to watch him in his natural habitat. He pauses the show real quick to introduce the next song.

“Alright, we’re gonna sing a new song for you. This is the first time we’ve played it for anyone, so please be gentle. Who in the audience has ever had a boyfriend?” The crowd erupts into loud yells and whoops in agreement, and her eyes stay on Harry drinking him in.

“Who in the audience has never had a boyfriend?” More screams fill the air and she laughs lightly.

“This song is special to me, and I hope that someday it’ll be special to you as well. To boyfriends everywhere… fuck you.” He smiles lightly and grabs onto the mic, the crowd becoming even louder as the beginning chords begin to play through the speakers.

Boyfriends, they think you’re so easy. They take you for granted.

She can feel her heart shrink and then begin to swell as the melody and the soothing sound of his voice flowing into her ears. His eyes are closed as he sings, and she can’t help the tight feeling in her chest with every line. She knows why he was so adamant on her coming to this show and why he didn’t let her hear the album when he finished with it, it’s all clicking with every minute that passes.

You, you love a fool who knows how just to get under your skin. You, you still open the door. You’re no closer to him, now you’re halfway home. Only calling you when, don’t wanna be alone. Oh, and you go. Why? You don’t know.

She can’t help the sob that escapes from her lips, her body shaking at the realization of just how good of a best friend she has. He’s been there since day one and hasn’t let the fame or fortune change their dynamic and she’s never been more grateful. His eyes open and they wander over the crowd until he spots her, teary eyes as she furiously wipes them away in an attempt for him not to see them.

His heart softens as he watches her, her gaze never leaving him other than to close her eyes to try to stop more tears from falling. He can’t help the warmth rising through his body at the sight, he’s proud of himself for being able to write this song so perfectly but he’s mainly proud of her for choosing to wanting to continue dating, for choosing to keep putting herself out there. He tears his eyes away from her to look over the crowd again, smiling softly at a fan before waving at them, their faces match hers and he smiles. He’s made such an impact and the album isn’t even released yet.

The show ends and he runs off stage only to be greeted with his best friend’s angry face, her cheeks coated with tears as she walks towards him.

“This is why you wanted me to come so bad?” He nods his head as he holds out his arms, he knows she needs a hug.

“Don’t want it! You should’ve told me, you fucker.” He knows she’s been bad at expressing her emotions so she doesn’t mean it to sound so harsh. Out of the corner of his eye, he spots his bodyguard standing straighter, preparing to protect him from the emotional girl but he simply holds his hand out and shakes his head.

“M’sorry lovie. Didn’t wanna ruin the surprise. Wasn’t meant to make you cry.” His voice is soft and she shakes her head and laughs.

“Well you did, and everyone else watching was crying too!” Her voice wavers as she yells, her fist coming in contact with his chest so he quickly wraps his arms around her.

“I will listen to you always, you deserve the best. You don’t deserve the way those boys treat you, promise you’re worth so much more than that.” She sniffles as she wraps her arms around his waist, burrowing her face into his chest.

She feels overwhelmed with everything happening, all springing in her face at once, emotions she never realized she had for her best friend hit her like a truck and that’s all it takes for the dam to break, tears flooding onto his t-shirt as his grip on her tightens. He gently kisses the top of her head before she pulls away, her eyes glassy and puffy but full of love and appreciation.

“Love you, Har. So much.” He smiles before kissing her head once more and she sighs happily.

“I can give you the world, it’s always been you. No one else, just you. I’ve loved you for as long as I can remember.” She nods before her eyes glance to his lips and back, quick enough to see his eyes dart back to hers. The world seems to fade away as they stand in their embrace, staring into each others eyes, in this moment it’s just them.

No crazy fans, no cameras, no loud music. He’s not some famous celebrity, he’s just Harry and she’s just his best friend as they teeter over the thin line. She leans forward slowly, allowing him time to reject her advances and for them to stay friends, but it never comes. He leans in as well, and before they know it, their lips mesh together softly. The kiss is soft, sweet and tender, one that replicates their friendship over the years and the amount of pure and genuine love they shared. She pulls away with a soft giggle and he gives her a gentle squeeze before they head back to their car, hand in hand and both of their bodies radiating nothing but happiness.

He’s never been one to keep secrets, but he’s glad he kept this one.

#harrystyles #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfic #harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles writing #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fluff #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #my writing

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