#make me shut up if you got the guts <3
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So Gina keeps the pocket watch after DGS 2, right? It’s something that’s extremely important to her - one of the few things of Gregson’s she has left. She’s not good with numbers or telling time, but she’ll always keep it on her and wind it up everyday without fail. It’s something she’d seldom take off her person, much less place in the hands of someone else.
Of course, we also know that Susato LOVES taking things apart (and putting them back together!) to see how they work. Especially mechanical things! It was something she often did to her father’s pocket watch when she was younger.
And the thing is - Gregson’s watch is no different. Susato wants to take it apart. Whether or not it’s because it’s special - given to Gregson as a present from the prosecutors’ office, or because it’s a part of Gina herself, or because it’s simply something she enjoys - she wants to take it apart.
Of course, Gina is a bit nervous about the idea. Susato never asks her in the first place - she would never put Gina in such a position, but Gina gives it to her all the same. She puts it in her hands like it’s her heart and she lets her take it apart. Even though it’s cracked and fragile and one of the most valuable things she owns she lets her take it part - screw by screw, cog by cog - because she trusts her to put it back together. Because she trusts her to. Put it back toget
#NOT TO MENTION THE FACT that gina didn’t grow up with many things she could call her own#so that makes placing the pocket watch in someone’s else’s hands even harder for her#obviously she she doesn’t think that susato would steal it or anything#but it’s more of a gut reaction for her#i will say though that she likes showing it off#just. no touchy allowed#gina: look at this SICK ASS watch the boss got for being so cool and good at his job. touch it and you die#etc etc#anyway. thank you to pringle for letting me scream about this <3 i’m still ill about it tbh#ginasusa#dgs 2 spoilers#shut up may
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some cockwarming and belly bulge with ellie <3
18+ below! smut smut smut
“just like that, baby. doing so good for me,” ellie coos, her eyes dark with lust as she watches you straddle her lap, your cunt stuffed full of her strap. there’s a bulge in your lower belly, a slight protrusion that ellie admires with those half-lidded eyes as a smirk pulls at her swollen lips. “god, look at you.”
one calloused hand smooths over the supple flesh of your belly, her fingers dancing over the bulge where her strap sits snugly beneath the skin. she’s in your guts.
the worst part? you’re not allowed to move - not if you want to come. ellie had told you herself, stroking her strap and pretending not to notice the way your eyes lingered on her hand as it wrapped around the silicon cock. but you had nodded anyway, agreed without a word, ever-desperate to be her good, sweet girl.
and now you’re paying for it.
it’s infuriating, the way ellie watches you struggle to stay still, her self-satisfied expression almost daring you to roll your hips down against hers. you’re so full, every inch of your soaked cunt stuffed to the brim, your walls clenching down around ellie’s strap as if seeking pleasure. as if your body itself is willing you to move.
“ellie, mmm,” you whine, tossing your head back and squeezing your eyes shut. your cunt pulses again and again and again. if only ellie could feel it - how desperate you are.
“yeah, princess?” ellie offers you a crooked grin. her arms are folded behind her head now; she’s the picture of relaxation, while you’re burning with unkempt desire.
you peer down at her with your best puppy-dog eyes, lips curved into a pitiful little pout. “n-need more, el.”
she arches a brow. “more what?”
her hips flex as she asks the question, the slightest upward movement that pushes her strap just that much deeper. you nearly go cross-eyed. a whiny moan rips from your throat.
“like that, ellie - mm, fuck me like that.”
she lets out a mocking chuckle. “god, you’re needy. what was that? five minutes?”
it might have been less, you think, but you just nod.
“tell me how bad you want it,” ellie says. “sound so pretty when you beg.”
“want it s-so bad,” you slur, clit throbbing between your legs. ellie’s cheeks go pink as you bring your hands up to massage your own tits, fingers pulling at your tight nipples. “need you to fuck me, el, i’m so wet - please? please make me feel good?”
eyes still glued to your tits, ellie grins. “you’re so lucky you’re this hot.”
she folds her legs, planting her feet flat on the mattress. every little movement makes her shift inside you, and your eyes threaten to roll back into your skull from the sheer pleasure of it. you close your eyes, teeth sinking into your lower lip as ellie finally, finally thrusts her hips upwards. it’s a slow movement, teasing, but it’s enough to make you moan.
“hey,” ellie says, her hand suddenly closing around your chin. your eyes fly open. “look at me while i fuck you.”
so you do. you keep your eyes glued to ellie, lids fluttering, as she brings her hips back and fucks into you again. and again. and again. you’re so full you swear you can feel her in your throat. and ellie’s got that self-satisfied expression again, that fucking smirk, as she finally gives you what you want. like it’s charity. her hand gropes at the bulge in your tummy and you’re too fucked-out to care that, since you had barely lasted five minutes unmoving on her cock, she’s probably going to punish you for it.
you might even be looking forward to it.
#ellie williams x reader#ellie williams smut#ellie x reader#ellie smut#ellie williams fanfic#ellie williams#ellie williams fanfiction#ellie tlou2#ellie williams tlou#ellie fanfic#ellie the last of us#ellie tlou#ellie x fem reader#ellie x you#ellie x y/n#ellie x reader smut#ellie x reader fic#ellie x masc reader#ellie x gn reader
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KEEPING UP WITH THE LECLERCS | Leclerc brothers x sister! reader
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Pairings: Charles, Arthur, Lorenzo Leclerc x sister! reader (model reader)
Summary: As Arthur and Y/N are on live together, Arthur accidentally spills his guts on Y/N crush on this mystery man, who is this man? And what will her brothers’s reaction be.
Warnings: I’m using meeya dugied’s photos as a reference! But reader has no faceclaim!
Author’s note: WHOO it’s been a while, hope you guys have been well, I just wanted to say Thankyou for being so patient with me, I’ve had a lot going on in my life but just know your requests are in the process of being finalized! I’m the meantime, this is just a little short fic for everyone!
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“Do you think the chicken came first or the egg?”
“….Shut up Arthur”
The boy narrowed his eyes at his twin, the two youngest leclercs were on Y/N’s Instagram live because they were so bored and since then it’s been a blur.
“Y/N who is your favorite brother out of the 3, Lorenzo for sure” she reads out the question and answers it without hesitation.
“Girllll whats up your ass today, did Jo-” before he could say more, the girl quickly covers his mouth, “Shut the fuck up Arthur! I swear I’m never telling you anything again!” She says, pushing his face out of the frame.
“Ouch! See guys this is what happens when you’ve had the fattest crush on this dude named J-” She interrupted him once more.
“Ok everybody! That’s it for this live, Thankyou so much for keeping us entertained and I hope you all have an amazing day! Love you” she says quickly before turning the live off.
“You’re actually such a cunt Arthur” she says as she pushes him again.
“What? It’s not like I said his name” he responds standing up
“it’s not your place Hoe” she responds standing up.
“Whatever girl, talk to the fucking hand” he says raising his hand in the most sassy way possible before walking off.
What in the sassy men apocalypse, she shook it off and just allayed down on the couch, before she got a text.
She rolls her eyes again, “I’m so sick of them” she scoffs.
She smiled at the replies her tweet got, the f1 fanbase has got to be the most creative one yet to exist. Tired from scrolling, she shuts her phone down and decides to rest her eyes. However, her peace only lasted for 20 minutes as her phone rang for a Group FaceTime call. She lets out a loud groan but answers it.
“So Y/N, Tell us who this man” Lorenzo asks.
“Again, no hi, no hello” she responds.
“Y/N I swear!” Charles interrupts her.
“Oh my god, for fucks sake, it’s Jo-” Arthur starts but is immediately interrupted,
“STOP, fine, I’ll text it to you” she says before shooting the groupchat a text.
“Oh Y/N, you know that never ends well” Charles says.
“Says you? Let me ask all your ex girlfriends” she responds in a very snarky way, Charles looked taken aback.
“Ok damn girl, calm down no need to get all violent🙄” he says visibly rolling his eyes.
“Sorry Charlie, i didn’t mean that, if Alexandra and Charlotte are there tell them i love them and that they’re way better than their mans, anyways bye goodnight, have a good trip” she says.
“You too Chérie, hope your photo shoot goes well tomorrow!” Charles says before hanging up, Lorenzo adds to that with “and goodluck with J-”
“OK GOODBYE” she says hanging up, she lets out a sigh and puts her hand on her face. She gets up and does her skincare routine, and goes to sleep.
The next morning, her flight to Milan was very early so she was at the airport by 6.
She hugs Arthur, “Bye tur tur, hope your race testing goes well” he hugs back tight, “you too Y/n/n”
She hugs her mom tightly, “Love you Maman” she squeezes her, Pascale reciprocating the action. “I love you, text me when you land” her mom says, and the young girl nods. She waved one last goodbye to her mom and her brother before boarding the flight.
She makes a quick post on her Instagram before shutting her phone off for her flight.
y/n.leclerc
y/n.leclerc june with my fav people ever🫶🏻 p.s. Alexandra is the best photographer
tagged charles_leclerc, arthur_leclerc, lorenzotollotaleclerc, alexandrasaintmleux, carla.brocker, charlottedipietro, pascale_leclerc
Liked by bengals, charles_leclerc, alexandrasaintmleux, and 1,000,000 others
arthur_leclerc WHATS 4+4😝
^y/n.leclerc ATEEEEEEE
^charles_leclerc girllll more like -8
^y/n.leclerc I’m gonna beat your ass.
alexandrasaintmleux my chérie😍
^y/n.leclerc THE LITERAL LOVE OF MY LIFE😍
bellahadid let’s get married
^y/n.leclerc I’m gonna bite you☺️
leclercupdates NOT THE BENGALS LIKING
^wags4life LIKE ARIANA WHAT ARE U DOING HERE?
y/n’swhore SHES LITERALLY THE MOST BEAUTIFUL PERSON EVER😞
What the girl didn’t expect was to get a text from one of the most popular teams ever.
Bengals Hello! We would like to host a partnership with you, we wanted to invite you to one of our games as an honorary guest, you can bring up to 6 people.
……
#f1 fanfic#f1 imagine#f1 x reader#charles leclerc x reader#charles leclerc x sister!reader#arthur leclerc#arthur leclerc x reader#charles leclerc x female reader
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nine facts, one lie
summary: It didn’t matter that your best friend Robin claims he’s changed, you do not like Steve Harrington. He used to be egotistical, a player, an asshole — and you’re not in any hurry to believe he’s changed his ways.
Never mind that he seems terribly kind now, compliments here and there, or even that he’ll pick you up from a date gone horribly wrong… [16.5k]
[one sided enemies to lovers — you hate steve and by god, does he want to change that] dedicated to my dearest kenny
Fact #1: You did not, under any circumstance, like Steve Harrington.
It doesn’t matter what Dustin says nor the smug roll of Robin’s eyes, you knew it yourself even if no one else believed it; you did not like Steve Harrington.
From everything you’ve ever heard about the guy, it was a surprise that he still had any friends — especially with the likes of your friends, a fact that makes you gag when Robin brings it up.
Robin, lovely best friend Robin, who completely betrayed you by associating herself willingly with Steve.
Since the beginning of high school, the two of you had been thick as thieves. Gossip was spilled between the two of you frequently, juicy enough to make even Carol Perkins’ head spin — you talked often enough that it got you split up during class time constantly, giggles too loud to be contained.
Being at the bottom of the social food-chain —or maybe worse, completely unseen to your peers— there was nothing like sharing snarky remarks between you and Robin about the dunderheads who ‘ruled’ the school through idiotic popularity.
Robin had a particular dislike for Tina Burgess ever since she’d started the rumour that girls in band were freaks in the sheets and would put out to anyone who would ask. You weren’t sure what had been worse: the obvious dig that Robin wasn’t getting any or the slimy guys who believed it and had the guts to ask.
You, however, distinctly despised the likes of King Steve.
It was impossible to pinpoint what about him grated you so much; maybe, it was how he seemed to have girls in and out of his bed like he was playing a game, trying to rack up as many points as possible. Or maybe, it was that even you, invisible and not even on his radar let alone on his list, could see the appeal.
Even better than easy on the eyes, Steve Harrington is one of those guys that makes you understand the word gorgeous.
It doesn’t help that he’s rich as well, with a huge house with a pool and even a swanky car to pick you up in. A complete daydream. Swept away into sheets softer than yours at home, you’d get to spend a night in the arms of the most popular guy in school and if you’re really lucky, he’ll still pretend to know your name the next day.
What had really stuck with you was gossip you’d happened to overhear, head stuck in your locker as you fished around for your books and papers. Tommy H and Steve were 3 lockers over, at Tommy’s locker, and sharing the details of Steve’s latest conquest.
So was she any good? Tommy had been asking. I always assumed nerdy chicks weren’t as good- they practically cream their pants considering no one’s ever kissed em’ before.
Steve had laughed along too. Yeah, man. She was all over me. Had to keep picturing someone hotter though, you know those geeks aren’t the prettie— Your stomach had curdled and you had slammed your locker door louder than needed, just to shut him up. You were sure they both saw you leave.
It drove you insane. And even though Steve likely knew nothing of your existence — didn’t matter you had once been chem partners, nor the fact you shared English class— he was probably as close to an evil nemesis you’d ever get.
Hence the utter betrayal of Robin’s friendship with him.
Originally, when she’d told you over the phone, gleeful and gossipy, that King Steve had just been hired at Scoops Ahoy, the two of you had snickered. It hadn’t been enough to watch him drift from his other asshole friends, something in you burned deliciously hearing he’d fallen from yet another pillar.
It had only gotten better. Robin recounted countless stories where he had flunked out with girls — you’d nearly lost it hearing about her whiteboard, tallying up his ‘hits & misses’ when trying to score a date. It finally seemed Steve Harrington was somehow more of a loser than you.
On the 4th of July, 1985, Starcourt Mall burnt down — and the strangest thing about it all was that Robin suddenly didn’t seem to mind Steve so much.
They were friends. You’d been a little miffed at her quick change of heart as she doused your gossipy mood in an instant, insisting that Steve wasn’t so bad once you got to know him.
Rather reluctantly, your teasing remarks about Steve were brought to a halt as Robin retaliated each time, urging you to give him another chance. And while you agreed to be civil, especially considering you had to see him every time you visited Robin at work. But what could you do? Old habits die hard.
Fact #2: Steve Harrington is trying to be a better person.
Okay, you didn’t know that one, but Steve certainly did.
It means even though Robin had dropped several warnings and a few premature apologies, Steve was prepared to be absolutely lovely when meeting her other best friend (the other being himself, of course). Robin still seemed tense about the two of your meeting — so far you’d specifically come to visit her at Family Video when you knew Steve wasn’t there.
But a few shifts had been swapped around and on her late night Thursday shift where you always came by to keep her company, Robin was readying herself for the collision of her two friends.
Despite all her convincing, she could tell you weren’t sold on the new Steve she claimed to love and you hadn’t come by when he was there, meaning all your experiences to do with Steve were rooted back in his days of assholery.
It didn’t matter to Steve; he loved Robin and he had lots of practice trying to gain the ‘wow, you’re not a douchebag anymore’ gold star. He had this in the bag.
The janky chime of the door buzzer announces the arrival of someone in the store and being the one at the counter while Robin tends to the shelves, Steve’s head pops up, ready to greet.
“Hello! Welcome to Family Video!”
It sounds far too rehearsed, recognizing the customer service voice you put on at your own job. You nearly smile at the cheery greeting, taken aback by Steve’s handsome grin and his floppy hair, messed from the force of his movement. Then you clock yourself and have to fight off an urge to scowl.
Eyes already searching over the aisles for Robin, you’re just wondering if she’ll come save you from this conversation when Steve seems to realise who you must be.
“Oh, you must be y/n.” His easy smile, hands leaning forward onto the counter that separates you, takes you aback.
In your peripheral, you can see Robin spot you and head in the direction — but she doesn’t come quick enough to stop Steve from bungling the whole conversation with his next sentence.
“Robin’s told me a lot about you. I’m Steve,” His tone is friendly and at your silence, he continues. “Steve Harrington.”
Oh my God. He doesn’t even remember you.
Over Steve’s shoulder, you can spy Robin burying her head in her hands and muttering something to herself. Any annoyance you had pushed down springs to the surface. You school your expression as neutral as possible, though you’re sure your brow crinkles in irritation.
“I know.”
Okay, that was meaner than you intended, especially as you recall Robin’s plea to be civil at the very least. You clear your throat, unsure if you can completely hide your distaste for him.
“We were chem partners, freshmen year.” You remind him, attempting a smile. It might be a grimace. “And I was in your English class your senior year.”
Steve seems to realise his mistake, his cheeks turning rosy and his eyes widening almost comically — fuck, way to go, Harrington. All of his pep talks, amping himself up to be so friendly to you and then he goes and ruins it by not remembering you.
It’s embarrassing. Hawkins is a small town and practically everyone knows everyone, with the exception of popular kids who didn’t think they needed to. He winces, frustrated that his past has come back to haunt him yet again.
“I’m sorry.” He says, more sincere than you’re expecting. Well, you’re not expecting an apology at all — the Steve you remembered would’ve laughed it off, claiming that he couldn’t forget a pretty face and trying to brush over the fact he forgot you at all.
“Seriously,” he reaffirms at the hint of surprise on your features. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to forget your face. I’m pretty sure you’re the only reason I passed that chem class.”
Robin seems to sense your internal battle, baffled by his apology but still irritated by the fact his memory didn’t deem you memorable enough. She also wants to jump on the spot and say ‘told you!’ because the surprise you’d shown means you hadn’t believed her.
A part of her feels bad, knowing the battering Steve’s taken to his head too many times has undoubtedly knocked a few memories loose; but it’s not that they could explain that to you.
“I’m just shelving — want to come sit?” She offers, taking the conversation away from you and Steve. “We watched Highlander today and I could sit and explain the whole plot to you?”
It’s the usual activities you and Robin did when you came to bug her on her shift. You loved listening to Robin talk as she possessed a unique ability to turn a 10-minute retelling into an hour-long debate. Each subplot in the film needed to be discussed, with bad analogies that came out of left field and made you laugh til your sides hurt. It wasn’t a bad Thursday night all around.
Just as you’re about to respond, Steve cuts in and speaks instead.
“Robs, you’ve only got two hours left. It’s a Thursday, you could take off if you wanted? I don’t mind.”
Robs. Somehow the nickname for your best friend coming from Steve is more jarring than the polite offer he’s extended. Steve’s eyes shift back over to you, offering another weak smile and you wonder if this is a continuation of his apology.
“Really?” Robin’s excitement is evident. Bunking off early means you two will sneak a movie and have time to grab some greasy food for an actual hangout. “I mean- are you sure?”
Steve nods sincerely then cracks a grin, shooting a sarcastic smile at Robin. “What think I can’t hold down the fort for a couple hours?”
Robin is already peeling off her Family Video vest, digging under the counter to pull out her school bag. “I don’t think it, Steve. I know it.”
He laughs, meandering his way back to where Robin has left the returns cart and, furiously, you have to admit he’s being awfully nice. Robin nearly trips coming around the counter, her hand grasping your arm tightly to keep herself upright and she beams at you.
“C’mon!” She says, pulling you out the door, the buzzer chiming again as you both leave the store. Once outside, she pauses and you can feel her stare burning into your temple. She doesn’t say it but you can feel the beginning of an i told you so building in her throat.
“Don’t say it.”
“Say what?” She plays clueless but her grin gives her away. She links an arm through yours.
“Don’t say anything.” You say with a scowl, the two of you beginning to stroll down the stairs out the front. The crispness of the night makes you tug her a little closer. “I still don’t like him.”
Fact #3: Steve Harrington still likes to flirt.
In the beginning, the compliments are because Steve really wants you to like him.
He sees more of you with the change of shifts and perhaps, he gleefully thinks, you aren’t completely avoiding him anymore. You’ll come to see Robin in store even if he’s working as well and inadvertently, conversations spring up between the two of you.
The first time he tries to slip in a compliment casually, he’s not entirely sure what reaction he gets. On this day you’re waiting for Robin to finish out back, packing up some of the schoolwork she’d done in the backroom, and to Steve’s delight, you’ve opted to wait up by the counter with him.
You’ve already exchanged an awkward couple hello’s and now silence falls between you. Steve clears his throat and tries to earn his not a douchebag star.
“Did you get a haircut?”
You blink. Without thought, you bring up your hand and run it over the silky strands — cut fresh from yesterday. Surprise sprouts in your chest at the fact he noticed.
“Yeah,” you nod, tucking it behind your ears. “I did.”
“It looks good.” He compliments, pairing it with a genuine smile. “It like,” he gestures with a hand, hoping his ears aren’t as red as they feel. “Frames your face better. You look nice.”
For a moment, you forget to mask your emotions and the simple act of a compliment from an attractive guy makes your lips twitch into a smile. Robin bundles out of the back room before you remember to say something snarky, like What and my hair looked bad before?
Instead, it hangs in the air and when you leave behind Robin, you really consider smiling over your shoulder at him.
But it ruminates; the compliment loops in your mind until your insecurity unstitches it and it warps into something else entirely. His motivation is the question on your mind.
In what world does Steve Harrington flirt with you?
It has to be a joke. He must be making fun of you because that’s exactly what Steve used to do and if he’s not, that means he has changed and you’re suddenly worthy of his attention.
You recall the locker-room talk, his jeering tone and everything about his compliment turns sour.
Somehow, Steve’s worried he’s managed to make it worse.
His compliments dropped here and there — commenting on film choice, saying he likes your sweaters, all it seems to earn him is scowls. Your scrunched nose and heated glare from your distaste either means he’s worse at flirting than he remembers or it’s a painful reminder that still you see him as King Steve.
He’s not — he knows he is not. King Steve wouldn’t have bothered looking at the film you’d picked out, his comment would’ve been on your body not on the clothes you choose, and he certainly wouldn’t have noticed something as trivial as a haircut.
And because Steve is nothing if not a whinger, he tells all this to Dustin when the kid comes in to visit.
“I mean, I know I was bad but,” Steve cut himself off with a scoff, following Dustin through the aisles. Dustin didn’t even look as though he was listening, eyes trained on the shelves intently. “I apologised for not remembering her, like, an actual genuine apology— and that was years ago! I don’t get why she doesn’t like me, man.”
Dustin, who had indeed been listening to the rant of his older friend, promptly stopped and plucked a film off the shelf with a quiet aha!
“Are you even listening to me, Henderson?”
“Yes, Steve.” Dustin spun, eyes narrowed as he stared up at Steve intensely enough to unnerve him. “From what I’ve heard, you were pretty damn bad so I’m not surprised some people hold a grudge!”
“Yeah, but—”
“And you didn’t remember her. Maybe you did something rude in high school and completely forgot about it?”
Steve waved his hands dismissively, shaking his head in disagreement. Without noticing, you had slipped in the store up front, usual conversation struck up with Robin. However, you’d been quickly distracted as you searched the store for Robin’s other half and were baffled to find him following around a child.
“Looking for Steve?” Robin jibed when she noticed your gaze wandering across the store, your attention going with it.
You ignored the jab, rolling your eyes with a light laugh. “He wishes. Is he talking to a kid?”
“Who Dustin? Don’t let him hear you call him that.” Robin warned with a roll of her own eyes, shuffling about some stock room records in her hands. “He’s like Steve’s best friend. He was, uh, in the mall fire with us last year.”
The mall fire. Robin doesn’t talk about it at all, a hollow expression taking over her features that freaks you out far too much to push it. Pushing past your surprise, you decide to focus on the other part of her sentence.
“They’re friends?”
As if to prove your point, the two of them head to the front of the store in the middle of a bicker — Steve lags behind a bit, hands waving dramatically as Dustin calls over his shoulder, tone righteous and just a tad smug.
You catch the end of Dustin’s sentence— “Not every girl has to swoon over you, Steve, you know that right? So what if she doesn’t—” cut off when Steve shoves his shoulder, having spotted you.
Dustin looks as though he experiences a ripple of emotions; annoyance, as he whips around, ready to cuss Steve out for the shove, which quickly turns to confusion at the wide-eyed look Steve is staring down at him with. By the time he’s facing you something has clicked as he looks at you with renewed interest.
“Dustin.” He introduces, stepping forward with one hand held out for you to shake. “Dustin Henderson.”
Unwittingly, you peer over his shoulder and connect eyes with Steve — who gives a shrug in response, an awkward smile on his face. Taking Dustin’s smaller hand in your own, you smile and introduce yourself, unable to keep the hint of confusion out of your words.
“I’m Steve’s best friend.” The curly-headed boy explains, gesturing over his shoulder and Steve’s smile gets a little more awkward. He feels a smidge nervous considering there’s no telling what will fall out of Henderson’s mouth next. Steve’s a little relieved when it’s a typical plea for a ride, spinning back round to him.
“Andddd as my best friend, he’ll be totally happy to drive me to the Byers’ right now. Robin can handle the store for 10 minutes without you, can’t ya Robin?”
He slides the tape he’s grabbed onto the counter as he says it, a silent ask to check it out. Likely under Steve’s account which Dustin says it’s for the employee discount — which makes Steve scoff, considering he pays for it anyways.
All eyes move to Robin who freezes at the sudden attention, papers paused mid-shuffle in her twitchy hands. She narrows her eyes at Dustin and you find yourself watching Steve as he has a silent exchange with the girl — another halfhearted shrug that means he’s happy to take him if she doesn’t mind.
Robin swipes the tape and types the details into the computer hastily, waving them both off. “Yeah, yeah. y/n can always get behind the counter, worst-case scenario.”
Dustin fist-pumps, taking the tape back from Robin as she hands it over. He heads to the door and calls out to you as he goes, “And you’d look better than Steve in the vest too!”
It makes you laugh when Steve scowls, sidling up to you to lean over the counter and snatch up his car keys. He pauses, eyes roaming your face and looking as though he wants to say something to you.
“Steve!” Dustin’s voice pierces the glass and you look to see him waiting on the top step, hands raised, expression unimpressed.
Steve sighs, muttering the word dickhead under his breath and then he’s out the door.
Fact #3: You may have misjudged Steve Harrington.
It’s been just over a week since seeing Dustin in the store with Steve and though you’d never admit it aloud, it has shifted the way you see Steve.
A minuscule shift, you huff to yourself, tiny and not enough to completely dissolve your built in dislike for the Harrington boy. But you find the thought worming into your brain frequently, tripping over it in surprise when you realise you’re thinking of him again.
It’s just… it didn’t make sense.
Just like the flirting, it didn’t compute in your brain unless you rationalized it back to some asshole motive.
But Dustin had introduced himself as Steve’s best-friend, which was sort of weird enough on its own but you figured it had to be some insane trauma bonding from the mall fire.
Even if they had been the same age, Dustin didn’t seem like the company you’d expect Steve to keep— but neither was Robin, you thought after a moment of contemplation.
Robin’s knowing grin outside Family Video a couple of weeks ago that screamed i told you so floats up in your memory; you might have to concede she was maybe, potentially, just a little bit right.
The thoughts weigh on your mind as you wait in the kitchen for Steve’s car to pull into your driveway. A couple months ago you would have outright refused to accept a ride from King Steve and you still weren’t sure if you thanked him for his generosity tonight, whether it would come out snarky or genuine.
But he did offer, unasked.
You and Robin wanted to see a rerun screening of The Rocky Horror Picture Show that was showing a few towns over. Robin couldn’t drive and neither could you, which meant when she’d seen the poster, it had only been a fleeting moment of excitement before you realised you didn’t have any means of travel.
She must have been moping about it at work that day because it was sometime in the evening after she got off work that your phone rang and she nearly shrieked down the line that Steve would take you both.
So, here you were; waiting for Steve to pick you up.
God, even the sentence sounded odd in your head. A flash of amber headlights on the street grabs your attention and before you can delve into the flip of your stomach, you duck out of the house and slip into Steve’s car.
You take the front seat. Mainly because it would be too weird to get in the back, as though he was your chauffeur — though you suppose for tonight, he is. Steve smiles when you get in and you find it easy to mimic it. Gravel crunches as his tires pull away from the curb, gathering speed as he heads for Robin’s house.
Eyes out the window, you don’t see how he steals glances at you every couple of moments. The air feels tinged with awkwardness and Steve swallows, wondering if he’s allowed to break it. You’ve been a little warmer to him — I mean, hell, you just offered him a smile.
As he pulls the car up in front of Robin’s house, engine idling, he pushes out a breath and dredges up his courage.
Yes, in the beginning, the compliments were because he wanted you to not see him and scowl. Tonight, it’s because you look beautiful and he wants you to know it.
“You look—” Oh god, and now you’re looking at him, eyes a little wide before they narrow in suspicion. “—uh, pretty.”
“What?”
“I mean, you always look pretty!” He amends. “But, y’know, you look lovely tonight. Pretty.” Stop talking.
“P-Pretty lovely.” It falls off his tongue in haste, delivered so terribly he’s surprised he doesn’t cringe immediately after. God, it was like whatever flirting skills he had flew out the window with you.
“No, Harrington, I mean— why do you keep saying these things?”
Steve feels utterly lost, shown on his face as he blinks, once, twice, and doesn’t say anything. Your insecurity bubbles up, mixed with anger at the thought he might indeed be messing with you.
“I don’t know if this is funny to you, to- to like, joke that you like my clothes or- or to pretend to think that I’m pretty but it’s not. And I—”
“Woah, wait — who said I was joking?” Incredulity taints each word, his brows pulled high in surprise. Steve’s stomach twists, feeling his heart recoil at the complete seriousness in your words — you think he’s been making fun of you.
“Well, why else would you call me pretty?” You ask pointedly, crossing your arms over your chest.
“Because you are?” It’s faint, Steve’s voice suddenly a lot softer.
You’re not sure you can contain the ripple of emotions on your face, his words sticking you in the throat so you have to swallow thickly. It’s like a switch is flipped, each compliment of the last couple of weeks shifting into a new meaning in your mind.
It’s overwhelming and you find yourself searching Steve’s face desperately, drinking in his sincere expression, brows drawn together as he offers a weak smile. Fuck, you think and along with it, dozens of apologies fester and churn — god, you’d been so rude and—
“Um, backseat please!” A sharp knock at your window scares you, nearly jumping out of your skin and breaking your focus on Steve. When you turn, Robin’s standing on the sidewalk, bent at the waist to peer at you through the glass. You stare at her dumbly for a moment til she wiggles her eyebrows with a grin and it makes you crack a smile, finally reeling yourself in enough to move.
Unclipping your belt, you’re rather thankful to be shoved to the back of the car. Hidden in the dark, you shift to take the seat behind Steve. Your eyes spy a sliver of his neck, exposed skin about the collar of his jacket and it fixates you for a moment.
Because you are? Steve’s words follow you, plaguing you in the shadows of the backseat — you purposefully ignore how it makes your heart sing ever-so-slightly.
Fact #4: Bradley O’Connor is not to be trusted.
“Guess who came into my work today?”
It’s said all gleeful, your hands gripping the counter as you nearly launch yourself over it in your excitement. On the other side stands Robin, doodling in her notebook — or she had been, til your arrival had been announced by the door chime, her ‘Welcome to Family Video!’ cut off by your sudden commotion.
“Um,” Robin begins indignantly, brows raised high. “Half of Hawkins? You work at Bradley’s Best Buy y/n, like the whole town shops there.”
Her sarcasm bounces off you, undeterred in your good mood; it was like the sun was shining just for you today. You didn’t even mind Steve obviously listening in on you two, his hands frozen above the keyboard as he eavesdropped from his seat at the computer.
“Yeah, speaking of Bradley’s...” you grinned at Robin, hoping your hint was enough. It was, her expression shifting into something more enthusiastic.
“Bradley Bradley?”
You nod at her question, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip in an attempt to contain your giddy grin. But it’s hard when your long-term high school crush Bradley O’Connor came through your till, flirted like there was no tomorrow, and insisted you jot your number on his receipt.
He didn’t even seem to care that you worked at a supermarket. You knew well that he and all his friends lived in the cushy tax bracket which meant the first job they ever worked would be after college. Kids like you and Robin, stuck working hours in dead-end jobs to help pay rent, were often easy pickings for teasing.
It just made you lean into your naive feelings more, swooning at the fact he didn’t care. You had been too elated in your feelings to notice the piles of his friends waiting outside the store; if you had, it might’ve made you more cautionary.
“Bradley O’Connor?” Steve butts in, swiveling in his chair to question you. The way Steve says his name, tinged in disbelief, makes you narrow your eyes.
“Is that so hard to believe?” You say defensively and chose to not acknowledge Robin’s deep sigh. Eyes widening, Steve splutters for a moment as he shakes his head.
“What? No, not like that! I just mean—him? Really?”
You can’t quite pick what’s hiding in his voice, eyes instead following Robin as she whirls around and delivers a glower that makes Steve reconsider his tone, swallowing.
“I mean—” He starts again, clearing his throat, cheeks a titch pink now. “I didn’t realise he was... your type.”
You stare at Steve, your expression skeptical as you try to pull apart whatever the hell that was supposed to mean. When you can’t figure it out in a moment, you ignore the comment and turn back to Robin and ignore it.
“Asked for my number.” You lean closer to Robin, wiggling your brows as you lead her along the excitement you’d felt earlier today. “Insisted on it actually.”
Robin’s brows manage to raise even higher, nearly disappearing into her hairline and you’d be a bit offended if her grin didn’t match your own.
“Oh. My. God.” She says, her pen punching down on the pages of her notebook to punctuate each word. “Oh my god.”
You don’t bother trying to hold back your grin, nodding along, some form of a squeal escaping you — it vaguely occurs to you should rein it in with Steve listening in, but you can’t find it in yourself to curb your feelings for his sake.
“Finally!” Robin manages to break her script of oh my god’s. “You’ve only liked him for—what? Two years?”
You flush automatically at the admission, your grin becoming a grimace as you shoot a glare at your best friend. She means well, but you’re not exactly lining up to let Steve Harrington in on all your secrets.
Your eyes flit over to where he sits, still watching the conversation. As if he can read your unease, he mimes turning a lock over his lips and tosses the key behind him blindly in an exaggerated motion. You’re in a good enough mood that it makes you laugh lightly, breaking back into a smile and comforted that at the very least, Steve won’t go ratting out your affections.
“Hey, as happy as I am for you, aren’t you supposed to be helping your Mom today?”
Like a bubble bursting, Robin reminds you that, alas, the world exists outside the perfect moment of exchanging digits over the cash register at work. Your eyes widen, a little horrified as you spin around and squint at the clock on the wall. Shit.
“Shit.” You verbalize the thought and you’re out the door before you remember to call out your goodbyes.
Steve watches you go, your purple wind-breaker flapping behind you wildly as you all but sprint around the corner and out of sight. It’s a bit too comical and he can’t help but chuckle. The sound draws Robin’s attention and all too suddenly, Steve feels as though he’s been caught doing something wrong as she whirls around to face him.
For a moment, they just stare at each other. Steve wonders if he’ll have to remind her that despite the jokes they both make, he can’t actually read her mind.
She breaks the silence. “What was that?”
“What was what?” It’s genuine confusion, Steve’s head tilting to the right an inch.
“I didn’t realise he was your type.” Robin mocks, her voice high pitch and hands gesturing somehow sarcastically. “That! What was that?”
Steve frowns, defensiveness creeping up in his tone. “That was nothing!”
Okay, so, that sounded way less casual than he hoped. Steve clears his throat, spinning on his seat to face the computer again. It was nothing. Robin was being a vulture, picking at remains, picking at nothing — absolutely nothing.
“Nothing at all.” He mutters, beginning to type again and Robin snorts behind him, voice still doused in sarcasm.
“Mm, for my own sake, I’m gonna ignore the fact you’re clearly interested in her.”
Steve hits a wrong key in his surprise, an annoyed beep! coming from the computer. It sums up how he’s feeling. He turns his head back to Robin, brows furrowed as he shakes his head. “What? No, no way.”
“Yes, way.”
“Robin, no. Even if I did—not that I do but even if I— look, I’m not stupid enough to get a crush on someone who hates me.”
This puts out the fiery retorts for just a moment, Robin dimming as she recalls the bitterness you harbor for Steve. Well, harbored — she knows you back to front and she’s willing to bet money that if you stopped hating him for just a second, you’d probably like the guy.
“She doesn’t know you.” She lands on eventually, features softening as she recalls the bitterness on Steve’s face whenever some idiot from high school dragged up his past — usually, in an attempt to humiliate him.
“Look, I’m not interested in her.” Steve reiterates, though a little weak, waving his hands wildly as if it will help drive the point home. “Not gonna happen. Never gonna happen. “
The door rattles as it’s opened by a new customer. Robin and Steve both cease their conversation immediately, turning to greet automatically — and who should it be Bradley O’Connor, himself. He doesn’t spare a glance at the front counter, sauntering straight into the action movie aisle.
“In fact,” Steve begins, an idea formulating in his mind. He spins back to Robin with a grin. “I’ll happily help her get her next date.”
“Steve, don’t—“
Steve ignores her protest, sidling out from behind the counter and tracking Bradley down to where the rom-com section starts.
“Welcome to Family Video!” It’s a bit cheery and it makes the boy jump in surprise, surprised by the new voice. Steve continues. “Anything I can help you with today?”
Bradley chuckles stiffly, a little affronted at the enthusiasm Steve’s to help a customer. He clocks the double take he does, the glance down at Steve’s name badge giving away that Bradley’s well aware of who he is. Exhaling, Steve hopes he won’t bring it up.
It looks as though Bradley weighs something up in his head, taking another once over at Steve before he speaks. “Yeah, actually. You know what movies chicks dig?”
Steve can tell in the way Bradley says the word chicks that he’s an asshole. Not thinking of girls as people, more like scores: notches in his belt. It makes him tick, jaw clenching.
But he was like that once. Nancy Wheeler had found a genuine spot in him and coaxed it out. You — you could do the same.
So, Steve says, “Yeah, man. Anyone in particular? Usually depends on the girl, honestly.”
Bradley sniffs, one hand nudging under his nose as he skirts his gaze around the store. He lands on Robin, who thankfully, doesn’t look like she’s trying to eavesdrop at that exact moment.
“Do ya know y/l/n?” He jerks his chin in the direction of Robin. “Buckley’s friend?”
Steve nods, glad at the easy segue; now, all he had to do was talk you up. And Steve Harrington was nothing if not a flatterer. He halts a moment later with a frown, realising what a noncommittal date it was. You deserved better than that, Steve thought.
“y/n? You can’t just rent out a film for a girl like that. She’s a total catch, dude— you gotta do the whole nine yards, yanno? Cinema, popcorn, be a gentleman and all.”
He pairs his suggestion with a usual charming smile, crossing his arms across his broad chest. Bradley seems to pick up on the extra interest and his brows quirk up.
“You got like, a thing for her or something?”
His pink cheeks nearly give him away. Steve, to his credit, manages to not blunder his next response. It’s almost like Robin’s line of fire earlier prepped him for this moment.
“Nah,” he replies, coolly. “She’s just a friend.”
The next words are a little less casual, Steve straightening up as a surprising amount of protectiveness curls in his gut. “And as her friend, I’m just looking out for her.”
Bradley swallows, breaking eye-contact as if Steve could puzzle out his ill intentions if he looked long enough.
“So, be nice and take her out all proper.” Steve lets it sit in the air for a moment, then smiles, a polite way that’s well practiced in his line of work. “Can I get anything else for you?”
It might be the quickest customer Robin’s ever checked out, with Bradley managing to get the film rented and be out the door in under 2 minutes.
Thankfully, Robin is chuckling when he wanders back behind the counter. He had been harboring a thread of anxiety, worried he had really overstepped by thinking he knew best — it wouldn’t be the first time he’d done it. On top of that, Steve really doesn’t want this to bite him in the ass, especially considering it was to help you.
“Don’t—” Robin starts, a smile curling her lips. “—let this go to your head, but that wasn’t nearly half bad.”
Steve tries not to feel smug, settling instead on pleasantly content. He was in your good books after this, for sure.
When you call the store from home, wire twisted in your fingers and talking loud enough in your excitement that Steve could hear it from beside Robin, she makes sure to mention the good word he put in for you.
Fact #5: If you call Steve Harrington from a pay-phone on a Friday night, he’ll pick up.
The bleak cold of the night air isn’t anything compared to the shame that’s building in your chest. You’re trying your best to ignore it, to not give in to your anxious doubts — what did Bradley say on the phone?
It was supposed to be a movie night at his place — that was what he’d suggested when he toyed with your feelings at work, a handsome smirk on his face. You’d tried not to sound disgruntled at the hurried change in plans, instead trying to lean into your excitement that tonight went from casual to a definite date.
Bradley O’Connor didn’t just invite anyone to the movies with him. And he’d said 7 on the phone, you huffed to yourself.
7 o’clock. The showing of Ferris Bueller’s Day Off that was playing at Hawk cinema. Though, he did sound a bit distracted on the phone, his voice sounding distant.
You glance at the clock above the ticket booth. 7.13pm.
Heaving a sigh, you tuck your coat closer around yourself and wonder how long you should wait before it goes from sad to truly pathetic.
Five more minutes, you think, Give him five more minutes.
Because you hopelessly want his flirts, his coy smile, and charming winks to be real; you want to be swept up in a teenage daydream and have it all work out for you for once.
You swallow, picking at your fingers as you dredge up your hopes, convincing yourself he’s coming — because if he doesn’t...it means Steve and his confused tone were fucking right. That Bradley wasn’t the type to go for your type.
You shouldn’t have waited the five extra minutes.
Technically, you think bitterly, you were right. Bradley does show up.
You’re stepping out, wondering if you should brave the walk home in the dark — but a familiar group of raucous boys in Letterman jackets heading for the cinema freeze you in your tracks.
“Holy shit, she actually came.”
It’s not said kind, not in awed disbelief as you’d hoped. It’s cruel — jeering explodes in the group of boys, unkind laughs and snickers resounding off the bricks as they smack each other, all in on the joke. The realisation sinks into your stomach, staining it black.
Bradley looks smugly satisfied — a pompous conceited piece of shit that you should’ve known better than to believe.
You don’t even want to look at him, a hot sting of tears burning behind your eyes. You don’t want to give him a chance to taunt you. Your feet take you forward, barging through the group and smacking your shoulder against Bradley’s shoulder, hard. You hope it hurts.
“Tell Harrington thanks for the suggestion to take you to the movies!” He calls after you like he knows how it rubs salt into the wound. It does; it stings maybe more than the initial humiliation. “Guess he’s not an idiot all of the time!”
The boys laugh, a series of oohs that finally break your floodgate. Tears streak, hot and fast, and you brush them off before they reach your chin, sniffling. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck!
The humiliation is coating you, sticky and clinging like a fog and you squeeze your eyes closed as you inhale quickly. You round the corner fast, feet not stopping til you’re at least four blocks from the cinema, further downtown.
You feel dumb. Scratch that, you feel like a fucking idiot.
A stray tear escapes without permission and the next thought is that you want to go home. Blurry eyes scanning the street, you clock the phone booth and head for it, fueled by the urgency of your thoughts: get home, then fall apart.
The glass is cold as you push the door open, creaking and weathered. You close the door and turn, staring at the phone. Who do you call?
Your mom is the first thought. She’d driven you in — though, you’d told her you’d get a lift home with Bradley since he had a car. You’re not up for the coddling you’ll get when she sees the state of you in the slightest. Besides, she’d mentioned heading to a friends for the evening.
Robin is the next thought. And you would, except she can’t drive so all she’d do is ply you with a combination of questions and furious insults directed at Bradley.
Your next thought...No.
You sigh, leaning your head against the glass, not caring about how grimy it might be, and smack your head against it a couple of times. No, no way were you about to call Steve Harrington for a lift.
Not when he fucking set you up. Not when he’d just taken the shred of trust you’d granted him and torn it up immediately. Especially not after crying because you believed a date like that with a guy like Bradley O’Connor was genuine.
You were not calling Steve.
The Harrington household number is easy to find in the paper phone book.
It’s under Steve’s father’s name, some prick with big money who’d likely report you to the police for harassment if he picked up the phone. You stare at it and then at the phone, a frown set on your brow as you weigh it up.
Steve didn’t work Friday night — you know, because it used to be a night to go visit Robin, back when you avoided Steve.
A stray thought floats up, bringing back the words of Robin on the phone as she had celebrated the news. It’s a bitter memory now, made entirely worse as you recall what she had said. Steve talked you up, her voice crackled down the wire, when O’Connor came in. Put in a good word for you.
A new emotion surges in your chest and you’re relieved to shrug off some humiliation for anger. God, you feel even more stupid for thinking Steve would’ve actually talked you up.
As you punch in the number, the keypad taking a bit of a beating, you huff and think at the very least, he can owe you a ride for ruining your evening.
“Harrington residence, this is Steve.”
“Harrington.” You spit it out with venom. On the other side of the phone, Steve recoils a bit, surprised at the tone.
“y/n? I thought you were—”
“I’m on Cavendish Boulevard, right by Tony’s. Come pick me up.” It’s fierce and clipped. You don’t really want to unleash your anger on the phone, lest he leaves you stranded and you have to ring around your mother’s friends just to find her. You just want to go home.
Steve makes a noise of confusion over the phone, a bit slow on the uptake. “But I thought tonight was—”
“Harrington.” you say again, a little softer, your emotions leaking into your voice involuntarily. Fuck, you sound pathetic but in the moment you can’t bring yourself to care. You plead, “Please.”
“I’m coming,” He says, voice indicating he’s caught on to why you might be calling. “Yeah, I’m coming, just sit tight.”
Fact #6: When Steve Harrington says he ‘knows a spot’, he doesn’t always mean Skull Rock.
You’re angry.
That much Steve can tell. Steve’s reminded too much of the last ride he gave you when you pop the door, sliding almost uncomfortably into the passenger seat and turning your clenched jaw towards the window.
Unrest torments Steve’s head, unsure if he’s gained enough trust to ask what went wrong this evening. On the other hand, you had called him. At the very least, you trusted him to come and get you.
The tires groan as he drives out of Tony’s parking lot, the hood of the car dipping to the gutter and rolling out onto the quiet roads.
“Am I allowed to ask what happened?” Steve drives slow so his eyes can flick over to you, watching the way you smooth your hands down your thighs, a self-soothing motion. It makes his chest twinge, a tad more worry than he’s probably warranted to considering you are barely friends. If that.
“Depends.” you finally turn to face him, a pinch in your eyebrows. “What did you say to Bradley?”
Steve detects the cynicism of your question in a heartbeat. Even though he knows he was all charm, Robin even affirmed it, he still rehashes the conversation, scrutinizing it for what he had said wrong.
You take his silence as admittance. Scoffing lightly, you focus back out the window, eyes boring into the streets. You’re in the middle of a mutter, something like I was so right about you when Steve manages to find his voice.
“I—” Shyness has crept up inside, Steve suddenly worried you’ll find his comments odd and not endearing. Worse, you’ll think he’s being in-genuine again. You’re just quiet, waiting. “I told him that he should take you to the cinema, instead of just renting a film. That you deserved a better— a proper date.”
He shoots a look in your direction, trying to see how you take in the words. Your shoulders have bunched up stiffly, your body turning further away but he can still see the furrow in your brow, angry emotions emitting out in every direction from you — you don’t believe him.
“I swear,” He continues, more desperate to prove himself. “I said something about— that you were a catch and- and you can ask Robin, I swear to—”
“Steve, stop.”
Horror churns through his gut when Steve realises you’re crying, soft tears dripping off your cheeks. As if you can sense he’s about to talk again, ready to rattle off his insistence, you speak before him.
“If I believe you,” you inhale shakily, pushing your palms into your eyes hard. You don’t want to cry in front of Steve. “If you’re telling the truth, then that means...”
Your teeth chew on your lip, hiding its quiver as you relive the humiliation of earlier all over again. “It means, I was actually stupid enough to believe him.”
Painfully, Steve can feel the embarrassment rolling off you in waves as you bury your face away. He swears under his breath. He’d detected asshole from Bradley two words in but this? This was not even in the ballpark of what he’d considered happening tonight. How fucking childish to ask someone out as a joke.
You seem to be slipping into a ramble, uncaring that you’re pouring your feelings out to Steve — Steve who you hate, or at least you did. Steve who you were ready to verbally pummel a minute ago. Steve who is looking at you so gingerly that you might consider he actually cares about you.
“He- all his friends were there.” You admit, words wobbling and tone revealing your utter mortification. “It was just a big fucking joke.”
For a minute, the car is silent; you stare at the road and watch it get swallowed beneath the car.
“I’m— I’m so fucking sorry.” Steve starts again, feeling like he’s managed to take one step forward and fifteen backward with you. He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment. “I had no idea he would do that, I swear, I wouldn’t have—“
He cuts himself off, apparently out of words to say, or taking your silence as a cue to shut up. His apology sits in the silence and you know now, he means it. Bradley’s smugness compared to Steve’s sincerity leaves no contest; you’d been too in your own head to realise you’d muddled them up.
You’re faintly aware that Steve has been driving absently, guzzling up gas so you can have a moment suspended away from reality. But he seems to grip the wheel tighter, with more purpose, and instead of looping the block again, Steve picks a route.
You wipe under your eyes again, sniffling through your clogged throat. “Where are we going?”
Steve adjusts his grip on the steering wheel, throwing a glance at you.
“Where I go when I’m upset.”
A snarky retort rises in your mind on instinct, the hurt part that wants to lash out, make someone hurt like you’re hurting. You think about saying something like what does rich, popular Steve Harrington get upset about? when he says, “Helped me a lot after the, uh, the mall fire.”
You swallow the words on your tongue and guilt stains your throat.
It’s a short drive; Steve drives so comfortably that you question how many times he’s traced this route. Too plagued by horrid memories, forced into his car and driving until he’s tired enough to sleep without nightmares.
You can’t say you’re expecting the stretch of road that crawls out to Skull Rock. For a moment you regard him, wondering if he’s daft enough to try to get lucky right now. But the car veers off track, driving down a less traveled path.
He doesn’t stop til you’re surrounded by timber trunks — there’s not much room to open your door when Steve puts the car into park.
Normally, you make a witty comment — “You didn’t bring me out here to kill me, right? I can’t see how that would make me feel any better.” — but you bite your tongue. You feel too downbeat to be witty now.
Steve rounds the car and pops the trunk, leaning over it with one hand still gripping the top. He rummages for a moment, moving junk around til he pulls out a couple of items: a baseball bat, some bag that clinks noisily, and a few other items, stuffed quickly into the bag. He tucks the baseball bat under his arm.
“C’mon,” he murmurs and waves you to follow him, after shutting the trunk and locking the car. Again, you’re eerily aware that this route is well-familiar to Steve. You stumble to keep up, eyes on your feet so you don’t get a face full of dirt.
Eventually, the trees give way to a clearing littered with various junk, glittering broken glass all around making Steve tell you to watch where you step.
He makes his way towards a rotten tree trump in the centre of the clearing, poorly cut and barely a flat surface on it. Still, Steve digs around in the bag and fishes out an empty beer bottle. You think you can guess where he’s going with this.
Carefully, he manages to balance it on a slanted surface and as expected, he draws the bat out from under his arm and offers it to you.
The wood is warm from being pressed against his side and you curl your fingers around it, sapping it into your hands. He digs around in the bag for another moment, revealing a pair of safety glasses — damn, he’s really prepared.
Steve unfolds them and steps closer, offering them out to you — but you don’t remove your hands from the bat, instead jutting out your chin to indicate for him to put them on for you.
It makes him pause. Steve regards you for a moment, eyes unsure before he steps even closer.
It steals your breath, the intensity of his gaze as he pushes the glasses up your nose, his fingers tracing along the rims and down the arms of the glasses, tucking any stray hair behind your ears. It’s oddly intimate, watching him through the plastic, his expression focused, breath fanning over your face. He looks handsome — the shadows cutting his jawline nicely and you can smell his cologne when he’s this close.
When he steps back, you have to remind yourself to breathe — the scent of him still swirls in your chest.
Even though you know what he’s brought you here for — the bottle, the bat, the open junkyard already doused in broken litter — you still don’t make a move.
Steve gestures to the bottle. “Hit it. Hard as you can.”
It’s a soft instruction; you know if you wanted, you could turn around and he’d drive you all the way home, no questions asked. But then you’d spend the rest of your evening drowning your sorrows, wallowing in a pint of ice-cream and sniffling over the phone to Robin.
You turn to face the bottle, lifting the bat, and readying your grip.
Holy shit, she actually came.
The bat connects fast with the bottle, a loud crash pistoling off and filling the clearing — the brown glass dissolves into the night, pieces are thrown in every direction and you’re suddenly very grateful for the safety glasses.
You heave in a breath, surprised by how that felt. It’s thrilling. You whip around to look at Steve and choke on a laugh at what you see — he’s put on a ridiculous pair of sunglasses.
They’re not at all the usual stylish ones he’s worn to parties before. It’s likely didn’t want that pair damaged but still needed to protect his eyes. Instead, these pair look like women’s sunglasses, with big wide round frames. It’s a bizarre sight, Steve Harrington is women’s sunglasses, at night-time no less.
“Nice glasses.” The tease falls off your lips instinctively, a laugh contained in the words.
Back to poking fun at him — a definite sign you’re feeling better. He sighs, playing it up, popping his hip, and planting his hands on his sides.
“Yeah, yeah,” Steve says, but he’s smiling. “Be thankful I gave you the cool ones. Normally, it’s just me up here anyways.”
It’s somewhat of a lie. He’d bought two pairs of the safety glasses, one for Robin as well, but she hadn’t liked the loud noises of broken glass when he brought her with him.
But Steve thought the stupid oversized glasses his mom had tried to dump — he was going to offer them to Robin but it had slipped his mind — would be a better choice. You wouldn’t be thinking about fucking O’Connor if he’s in women’s sunglasses.
It’s surprisingly effective; a giggle titters out of you again and you cover your mouth as if it’ll help hide the sound. You’re a bit bewildered at how easy it feels to laugh so soon.
Steve pushes the glasses up onto the top of his head, his hair sticking up at odd angles and he narrows his eyes at you. His smile gives him away. He bends and roots through the bag, finding another bottle for you to smash. The sunnies slip back down to cover his eyes as he sets up the next one.
It wobbles precariously on the stump but you don’t wait for it to settle, baseball bat swinging and shattering it in a second.
“Fuck!” You scream and the curse is swallowed up in the splintering sound of glass. Steve whoops, looking almost like a suburban mom, cheering from the sidelines. The scream helped — hell, swinging with all your might and channeling your rage into demolishing a bottle was definitely helping. You don’t feel upset, you feel enraged.
The stump isn’t empty for long, Steve dutifully scoops up another bottle and places it out for you. He pauses, sunglasses back in his hair, and points at the bottle as he fixes you with a determined look.
“This one’s O’Connor.”
You meet his eyes, his brows knitted together and an expression that says he wants you to destroy it because he’s angry with you — angry for you. He steps back.
When you hit it, an earsplitting crack thunders out. The bottle fractures, fragments careening off in every direction. A wild grin sweeps across your face, knowing that whatever comes at school next week— whether Bradley went back to ignoring your existence or used tonight as fuel for taunting — you could just picture how you felt as you shattered that bottle.
“That felt good.” You breathe out, turning back to Steve. Your teeth graze your bottom lip, sinking in to stop from grinning like a lunatic. A delirious laugh wrestles itself out of your chest and you let your head drop back, eyes turning up at the inky sky, laughs petering out.
Steve tries to ignore how the sound lights up his chest like a Christmas tree, some part of him burning with glee with the knowledge you’re feeling better because of something he did.
He watches your gaze rove across the sky, searching for something he doesn’t know. He’s not sure if he should dig out the next bottle or whether this was it — that now, he’d take you home now and he’d be back to just a brief hint of a smile from you if that.
Head dropping forward, you offer back the baseball bat and Steve’s heart sinks.
Reining in his dejection so it doesn’t show, Steve takes it from you and pulls a polite smile; at the very least, he’ll get some credit with Robin for cheering up her best friend.
As he moves to tuck it under his arm, he freezes at your own motions. You’re bending down, rummaging through the bag, and scoring a bottle — this time, a big champagne bottle, left on the bench from the last time his parents had been home. Four? No, five days ago.
You plant it on the stump, hands hovering around it as it quivers for a moment, only dropping them when the bottle finally settles. You step back, look at him and Steve finally understands what you’re doing.
Surprise sprouts in his chest, his lips parting. You’re giving him a turn?
“Well?”
He’s been gawking a bit, he realises and Steve remembers to close his mouth. He shifts the bat out from under his arm and then pulls the sunglasses off his head. He offers them to you, with a nod.
“Swap. I’ll miss the bottle completely with these on.”
“But that’ll make me laugh.” You point out, tone cheeky as you pass them over regardless.
Steve slides them on, a dramatic eye-roll as he steps up to swing. He’s usually only here when his anger is feeling uncontrollable, like hot lava boiling over and burning him from the inside out. He’s calmer tonight, with no emotions running rampant — well, maybe not any bad ones at least.
He scrounges his brain to think of what’s annoyed him this week; Keith, as always. The champagne bottle on the stump, the only bitter evidence his parents had been home in the last week. The agonizing wobble in your voice as you’d cried in the passenger seat of his car.
There’s a familiar burn in his muscles when he swings, another bottle sacrificed to anger and destined to a life scattered in the dirt. You whoop loudly, just as he had, and Steve can understand why you’d laughed at the sight of him in those sunglasses. They’re huge and you look nearly bug-like, shiny round domes of black staring back at him.
“Nice glasses.” He grins cheekily, a copy of your own words. He doesn’t need to see your eyes to know you’re rolling them at him.
The bat and safety glasses get passed between you two, equal turns until the bottles run out. Steve’s only sorry he didn’t bring more, drinking in the giddy and wild grin that overcomes your face when another bottle meets its fate.
When you pack it in and stumble back to his car, Steve revels in the closeness you seemed to have gained. No longer three steps behind, your shoulders brush his on the walk and when you stumble over a root, your hand shoots out and grips his arm, steadying yourself. You hold it for a moment longer than you should.
The skin of your hand still tingles as you slide into the passenger seat. The air of the car is more comfortable now, cozy even, as Steve cranks the heat and the trees pass you in a blur as you drive out. Bruce Springsteen’s Hungry Heart is warbling on the radio, the volume turned low and you can’t help but stare at him.
You were so wrong about him.
You were so astronomically wrong about him; it’s the only thing you can think of as you drive home, amber streetlights illuminating the streets of Hawkins. The clock on the dash reads 9.57pm — meaning you’ve been with Steve for nearly two hours. The fact nearly draws an awed sort of laugh, but you press it down til it’s only a smile, hidden as you turn back to the window.
He drops you off by 10.14pm, insisting on buying you a milkshake to complete the night.
Honest, I get one after every time I smash shit. It’s hard work you just did! He’d said as he ordered. One chocolate shake for you, one vanilla, for him. You gotta, like, replace electrolytes and all. The fact you don’t think he’s said it to make you laugh, makes you laugh even harder.
The milkshakes sustain the silence on the final drive home and you quickly understand immediately the importance of the shake. After all the frustration, the sugar is near soothing as the cold sweet dances on your tongue.
The engine idles as Steve brings the car to a halt by the curb outside your house. You eye it, astonished by your reluctance to end the evening and you wonder if Steve can tell.
You don’t know if you want him to notice it or not; reading into your hesitancy feels like a whole new can of worms. The porch light is on, waiting for you.
Home. What you’ve been yearning for since 7.15pm this evening — finally, the roller-coaster of emotions has wrung you out and tiredness seeps into your bones. But you can’t leave without a goodbye. Not without telling Steve what tonight meant to you.
“Thank you.”
You don’t mean to murmur it, but it’s nearly a whisper as you take your eyes off the house to turn to Steve in the driver’s seat.
Steve somehow manages to soften more at the quiet words, an easy smile pulling on his lips. He nods. It means of course like you don’t even have to thank him for it. The car purrs beneath you, filling the silence with a quiet rumble.
You want to say it again, louder because it’s not just a thank-you — it’s thank you, I’m sorry, I was wrong about you, can we start over? I hated you for the longest time but do you ever think you could like me?
The last thought punches a breath out of you and it sets you in motion. You couldn’t be having those thoughts; not with the tension in the air, his closeness so enticing now you’ve tasted it once. You couldn’t be having those thoughts at all.
You’re on the sidewalk, about to close the door before you remember to squeak out a ‘goodnight!’. The walk to your door is short enough that you shouldn’t feel the cold of the night — besides, you’re too warm inside, emotions churning wildly to notice anyways.
It doesn’t help when you reach the porch and peek over your shoulder, the maroon BMW still waiting by the curb, amber headlights shining, for you to make it inside okay.
Fact #7: You’re way too wasted right now.
You’d started with vodka and that had been, what? An hour ago.
An hour ago when O’Connor had made his entrance with his buddies, stupid cheers erupted from the crowd of high schoolers that were stupid enough to worship the likes of him.
Or maybe, you’re the stupid one for hoping you wouldn’t see him tonight.
But if the open invite to Melody Carter’s house for a late-night Saturday party meant the likes of you and Robin could come, of fucking course O’Connor would be there.
You had been only planning on one more drink, the one you’d been pouring when O’Connor showed face, but his smirk across the room had you finishing it instantly. It burned as you swallowed it down, your hands already moving to pour more liquor into your cup.
Two more shots down of — what was it? The label tells you it’s tequila — and you’re thoroughly drunk. Which, honestly, might not be a great move considering the number of people at this party. There are a lot of people here.
What had started as a party for only the senior year had quickly snowballed, kids older and younger showing up. Hell, you were pretty sure you’d seen Aaron Bright pass through the front door, a boy two years out of high school.
Did that mean Steve was coming?
Oh-kay, that had to be the tequila speaking.
But once the thought is in your head, it spins out, unstoppable, careening and building up your hopes before you remember to crush them. You weren’t hanging out to see Steve; quite the opposite in fact.
The bottle-smashing adventure you’d shared with him had been just over a week ago and maybe your thoughts had strayed to him a couple of times. A couple of times might be putting it lightly.
You just— you didn’t know how to act around him anymore.
Without the shield of ‘Steve Harrington is a douchebag’ to give a reason for your scowls, you had to admit he was utterly charming.
You couldn’t tell if it was the shift in your own perception or if Steve really was this nice, each sentence flirty or teasing — either way, it meant you were as good as reduced to blundering through any interaction with him.
So, naturally, you’d resorted to avoiding Family Video instead, which, hey, might not have been your best idea.
Robin had tracked you down after you didn’t show up to two of her evening shifts to hang. Gossip flowed as you divulged her in your Friday night, the prank O’Connor had pulled, and the subsequent tears that had followed. With a guilty smile, you let Robin get wrapped up in her anger and forgive your absences — too distracted to even ask how you’d gotten home.
Technically, you hadn’t lied. You had just... omitted certain facts.
Besides, you were feeling confused enough about Steve all on your own. You had no doubt that adding Robin, the mutual best friend between you two, and her opinion would make it all the messier.
Or maybe she’ll tell you what you don’t want to hear. Something in your head whispers, the tequila burning a little fouler in your stomach. That you can’t have him. That she knows him and he would never want you.
For good measure, you chase down one more shot.
And that’s how Steve finds you — wasted out in the back garden of a party.
Robin had invited him, halfheartedly during one of their shifts. Honestly, a high school party had very little appeal to him — most parties had no appeal after the events that had transpired in the last couple of years.
But Robin had been a bit adamant as she realised he didn’t have a date lined up like he usually did. He’d winced as she connected the dots, counting on her fingers that it had been nearly two months since he’d used his weekend for social plans. That is, excluding hanging with Robin.
The fact he stopped going on dates round bout the same time you stopped completely ignoring him was completely unrelated. But Steve was glad Robin didn’t notice the coincidence, so she couldn’t grill him about it.
In fact, she was surprisingly mute over his sudden agreement when Robin purposefully mentioned you’d be there. Her twinkling eyes said she knew more than she’d let on.
And at first, it seemed like a colossal mistake to come.
Steve didn’t like alcohol like he used to. The last few years had birthed something in him that hated not being in control of his body, especially when dark corners seem to hold something more sinister, or the lights flickered.
Or maybe it was the fact he hasn’t really been to a party since Halloween ‘84. Steve shoves the memory of that night down, away.
He lasts two minutes in the crowded main room before he’s shouldering out, hoping the garden will provide some relief. It brings lungfuls of fresh air, the natural blanket of the night and you.
You’re fairly certain you came out here to fight the spinning in your head, desperate for fresh air but now, sprawled out on the cool grass, you’re completely distracted by staring up at the sky. You’re not exactly sure what you’re looking for, gazing into the stars.
A head pops into your vision, Steve’s hair flopping over as he peers down at you. “y/n?”
“Steve!”
Whatever he was expecting, it was not the unbridled glee in your voice. You squirm happily, like a slug in the rain, and if your slurring hadn’t given you away, it’s evidence of how drunk you are. It doesn’t matter that something in his head says she’s drunk, he still finds himself smiling.
“That’s me.” He scans the garden for Robin, assuming the two of you would be together. Concern laces his next words. “Why ya out here on the grass, sweetheart?”
It’s the wrong thing to say. Steve’s not sure what it is he’s said, but he’s never seen a reaction like this out of you before; your hands cover your face, giggles slipping loosely out as if you’re hiding a secret.
Sweetheart. You hide the flame in your face behind your hands. There’s nothing to be done for your giggles, loud and drunken, not stopping no matter how much you will yourself. The pet-name brands itself onto your heart, the heat of it racing under your skin.
Steve tries again. “Where’s Robin? I thought you two came together.”
“We did.” You remove your hands to reveal your wide-eyed expression as if just remembering the fact yourself. Man, that must have been ages ago. “She was talking to... to...”
“Vickie?” Steve supplies, with an amused smile.
“Yes!” You snap your fingers at him, expression showing a little bit of disbelief mixed with awe. It shows in your words. “How did you know that, Steve?”
Steve. Not Harrington. You’ve called him by his name twice and Steve’s a little embarrassed by how much he likes it. Likes the sound of his name in your mouth, on your lips.
He shakes his head like an etch-a-sketch to get rid of the thought, mind stuck on your lips too long. Stay focused, Steve chides himself. Extending out a hand, he offers it to you with the intent to have both of you track down Robin.
Though, if you’d last seen her with Vickie, there’s a chance Robin would bite his head off for interrupting the two of them. Vickie, apparently, had a hard time believing the fact Steve and Robin’s relationship was entirely platonic in nature. Tracking her down at a party might not help.
He’s pulled out of the tangent of thoughts when you slap your hand into his — and tug.
Steve topples, immediately grateful for his lack of alcohol because, with any less coordination, you’d be squished beneath him. A hand plants on either side of your head, catching himself just above you. You grin, alcohol on your breath and Steve isn’t completely sure whether he’s imagining the pink on your cheeks.
“Uh,” Steve says, before scrambling off you hastily. He wasn’t sure if he could be so close to you without his face growing warm; or worse, he didn’t want you to be uncomfortable. Though spying your amused expression, as if you’d known the closeness would make him blush, maybe Steve didn’t need to be worried.
“S’just,” you say, words a bit mumbled. “s’lay down on the grass. Y’know, look at the stars.”
You point up at the sky in case Steve didn’t understand. The grass is still cool under your back and your head isn’t spinning so much but you don’t really feel like moving. Something in you knows that your limbs will feel like cinder-blocks and movement will send your head back into a tizzy.
Without thinking, your push your lips into a pout and aim it at him. Steve flops down without argument.
“You didn’t tell me why you ended out here,” says Steve, wanting to keep you talking. He’s not entirely confident you won’t just fall asleep if the two of you lapse into silence.
You swing your neck, head lolling to the side to look at Steve. Eyes narrowed, it’s like you’re trying to see if he’s genuinely asking. Whatever you find in your search must satisfy you, because you speak, rolling your head back to peer upwards.
“O’Connor’s here.” You say, bitterness in your tone. “Then my head started spinnin’.”
Steve watches as you tilt your head back towards him, pulling a smile that doesn’t reach your eyes. “S’now I’m here.”
You’re not sure what convinces you to do what you do next.
Perhaps, it’s because Steve’s expression is tilting too close to pity and you don’t want it; or that you feel lonely enough that you’ll take touch whenever you can, brave enough with the alcohol in your blood to ask.
Or maybe, you just want an excuse to touch him.
“Gimme your hand.” With a gesture of your own, you hold your hand up like you might be asking for a high-five. It wavers, fingers quivering if he looked close enough. After a moment of confusion, Steve humours you.
You feel the callouses first, rough skin scratching against yours as Steve gingerly holds his hand out, letting your press your own against it. It’s warm, warmer than your own and you wish you could twist your fingers until they slotted in with his.
Don’t says a voice in your head, drowned out in the drunkenness. Don’t do this to yourself. Maybe, it’s the voice of reason. It seems you’re very good at building yourself up just to get torn back down.
Hand pressed to hand, you can’t find it in yourself to care about that; you want to touch him, so you ask, and he gives it to you. The alcohol makes it black and white.
You hated him. You did, but now it’s all garbled and wonky and different — and you don’t hate him at all. Not anymore. Every complication you had worked up, all the knots tied in your brain seem to dissolve; hand to hand, it’s easy to admit what you’d been denying to yourself.
“I used to hate you, y’know.”
Steve’s not sure if this will ever get easier to hear. That people he’s grown close to carry reminders, unshakeable memories, of an old ego that still haunts him.
He doesn’t know what to say. He knows you know he’s sorry, that he’s different now. So, he weakly says. “Used to?”
“Yeah.” A smile finds your lips, tugging them up slightly. Steve thinks he could marvel forever at how your lashes kiss in the corner when you smile. It’s aching. “Used to.”
“S’kinda hard to hate you,” you sigh, eyes turning skyward. “I should. You didn’t even remember me a couple months s’ago,”
Steve focuses on your hand against his to deter the twinge in his heart. Your hand is smaller than his and when he curls his fingers, they hug the top of yours. A breath bursts past your lips, loud enough he hears it.
“M’sorry.” he whispers, though he’s said it time and time again.
He doesn’t care; he’ll say it a thousand it times if you’ll keep looking at him like that. Features soft, so different to the glare he’s all but memorised — instead, your eyebrows drawn together like the sight of both your hands, palm to palm, might be the most devastatingly beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.
Steve feels you push back against his fingers, a gentle pressure like you’re trying to hug him back.
“And now I can’t stop thinking about you.”
Even while drunk, you can’t look at him while you confess. If you look at him, then it’s real and logic will prevail and you’ll rein everything back in.
Looking at both of your hands, feeling the yearning spool in between your ribs — none of it matters. You like him so much that it feels woven into everything else; weaved into the noises of the party, the black of the night, the grass tickling the back of your legs.
You like him so much it makes you sick.
On second thought, that might be the alcohol.
Steve’s response, whatever it might be, vanishes when you rip your hand away and sit up suddenly — emptying to contents of your stomach into a lovely rosebush to your right. Disgusted with the sudden visual aid to what you had for dinner, you groan. The movement has sent your head spinning again, rotating out of the same orbit as Earth.
Steve’s palm soothes down your spine, rubbing warmth as he murmurs comfortingly.
“Shit, sweetheart,” he mutters, more to himself. “You’ll be feeling it in the mornin’.”
You groan again, eyes sliding shut and tumbling you into darkness.
Fact #8: You’re never drinking, ever again.
You’ll be feeling it in the morning. The last memory of last night curls up like smoke in your head and all you can think is Steve was fucking right.
The sheets feel scratchy as you release an agonised noise into your pillow, coiling in tighter. There’s a pounding in your head, bleeding out of your ears and eyes and you don’t think you’ve ever felt so terrible in your life.
Eyes screwed shut tight, you move slowly and draw your head up. Sneaking a look, relief fizzes in your chest as the recognition of your sheets — you made it home, you’re in bed. Never mind that you can’t quite remember how you got here. A shuffle of your legs tells you, uncomfortably, you’re still in last night’s jeans.
What time is it? There’s sun coming through the gap in the curtains. Daytime. Some sleep-covered murmur escapes you, though even you can’t tell what it’s supposed to mean.
Plopping your head back down, you search your memories. It’s an effort to push past your headache to put together the puzzle of last night. Visions of arriving at the party, of drink number one, and dancing with Robin are clear but sometime after O’Connor shows up they begin to get hazy.
You remember the cool grass. The moon. Steve. God, that’s right, he was there — what you might have said to him is anyone’s guess. Another grainy and fogged memory of puking in the bushes. The rest of the night is locked behind a tequila fueled paywall in your brain
Burrowing back into your sheets, the hangover takes priority and you only hope to sleep it off.
—
The next time you wake, the pounding in your head has shifted to the door.
You can’t have been asleep for more than an hour according to your alarm clock, blinking midday numbers back at you as you drag your head up. Thankfully, a large portion of your hangover has been cured with sleep — otherwise, the unending knocks on your door might be the end of you.
You struggle to speak, aware of your sandpaper throat but whatever gurgle you produce is good enough for whoever is on the other side of the door. Robin, judging by the intensity of their knocks.
Lo and behold, Robin bowls into the room once she hears signs of life.
“What did you say to Steve?”
Oh.
That has you sitting up, wincing at the pain it brings and you nurse your head in your hands. “What?” you rasp out. “Nothing!”
That might be a lie. You wince again, searching through you scrambled memories for what she could be referring to and come up short. Robin can read your genuine confusion.
“Why?” The word comes out a bit shot. You clear your throat. “Did he say something to you?”
“Nothing specific,” Robin grimaces a bit. She’s never been the best at hiding her emotions. “He just— he asked if you’d talked to me. Said he was checking if you were still alive. Which, yanno, thank god you are! He said you barfed in Melody’s mom’s rose bush, which quite frankly is hilarious and—“
“Robin.” you moan, trying to cut off her ramble. “Why are you here?”
Robin seems to remember the original reason she was nearly breaking down your door, body jumping like she’s been zapped. “Right!”
She suddenly seems to reconsider herself, ducking her head and beginning a well practiced pace across your carpet. “I know you said you don’t like him, which I get, I know- he was the worst! But I dunno, you seemed to, like, I don’t know? Warm up to him? I guess, he just seemed real bummed on the phone when I said you hadn’t called me.”
A series of emotions jolt through your nerves, none as strong as the elation at hearing Steve had called to ask about you. You push it down with another groan and fling yourself backward, bouncing on the springs of your mattress.
Hands hiding your face, you mumble the next words as if you don’t quite want Robin to hear them.
“I don’t not like him.”
“And I can’t tell what that is supposed mean.” Her pacing hasn’t ceased. Her arms gesticulate wildly as she speaks. “You don’t not like him sorta, to me, just sounds like you like him!”
“Robin,” you whine, well aware of the way she can read you like words on a page. “What do you wanna hear? That you were right?”
Robin halts her pacing, leaning her knees onto the edge of your mattress. You peek at her through your fingers. She’s looking a little more wide-eyed. “Yes. Absolutely. If my two favourite people in the world could suddenly get along, maybe even be friends, I think I’d like to know.”
“We’re not—”
“But that is not why I’m here.” She’s gone serious, brows raised as her voice turns softer. You nearly think she’s taunting you, a hint of a smile hidden in her expression.
“I’m here to discuss the distinct possibility that you have managed to skip the part where we become a cool trio of friends and have traveled into more than friends territory.”
Damn her. She’s too good, unspooling your secret right after you’ve only just managed to admit it aloud (not that you could remember that thought). Dragging your hands down your face, you groan again — there’s no point in hiding it from Robin, especially when she seems to have you all figured out.
“I’m gonna take that as a ‘wow Robin, you’re incredibly smart and totally right’.” She jibes, looking far too smug.
Perplexingly, she doesn’t appear to care that you confirmed Steve had you feeling gooey inside and weak at the knees. You dredge yourself to a sitting position, blankets pooling at your waist, and regard her with as much sarcasm as you can.
“Wow, Robin,” you drawl tiredly, still a bit catty from your lack of sleep. “You’re so totally right.”
“Don’t forget the incredibly smart part.”
You wallop her thigh with your sleeve, halfhearted and not at all mean. She grins. For a moment, you’re monumentally relieved to be sharing this with her — you’re best friends, talking about a boy you like, back to feeling thick as thieves with her.
“You gotta talk to him though, you know that right?”
A sigh. “Yeah, I know.”
—
By the time you’ve rinsed the last of your hangover down the shower drain, washed down with the suds of your strawberry shampoo, the sun is nearing the horizon.
Droplets cling to the ends of your hair, leaving a trail behind you on the carpet as you don fresh clothes. You try your best not to analyse each piece, shoving down any self-doubts and recalling Steve’s generous compliments littered through the past couple of months.
Tonight. It had to be tonight, you decided. Any longer and you’d lose the nerve, crawl back to avoidance because you’re not really sure you want to hear what you said to him in the garden.
You can only imagine it’s some confusing amalgamation of your complicated feelings — mixed with the amount of alcohol you had drunk? It was a stab in the dark trying to guess what you had said.
The plan you have is half-baked at best. The walk to Loch Nora isn’t far — but if your plan goes south, you’ll have plenty of time to wallow and clear your tears on the walk home. Thankfully, It’s still too early for dinner. You can smell the beginnings of it bubbling on the stove as you creep down the stairs.
As soundlessly as you can, you slip out the front door. Warm air greets you. The sunbeams trickle across the sky, dipping lower behind the horizon and painting soft blemishes of pink and orange across the sky.
The other perk of the walk is that you’ll have ample time to decide what you’ll say to Steve; you can deliberate each word, orchestrated so that it can be played down if need be. Minimal cringe and hurt feelings.
You’re running a few options over in your head when the rumble of a car cruising down your road draws your eyes. With a startle, you realise it’s a familiar maroon colour — a car you’d been in just over a week ago.
You watch as Steve parks, evidently so entrapped in his own thoughts to notice you on the doorstep. He’s messing with his hair anxiously, eyes on the ground and when you look closer, his mouth is moving, an indication he’s talking out loud to himself.
He makes it halfway up the driveway before you stumble out to meet him.
“Steve?” You call out and his head shoots up, a little alarmed to see you. His steps falter, the pair of you met in the middle of your drive.
“Y/n. Hi.” For someone who had come to your house, he seems a bit affronted to be seeing you. Acutely, you realise that he’s nervous. He jerks his thumb over his shoulder, gesturing to the road. “Were you— is this a bad time? I didn’t mean to intrude—”
“No!” You squeak. “No, I was just... coming to see you, actually.”
“Oh.” Steve blinks. He ducks his head for a moment, clearing his throat but you still spot the pink on his cheeks. “How’s your head? You’d had, uh, a lot to drink last night.”
There’s only a mild rush of embarrassment to your system, a sheepish grin playing at your lips. “Right. Last night- I’m sorry you had to, er, see that. Or rather, thank you for taking care of me.”
Steve smiles back. One hand reaches up to scratch the back of his neck, a nervous motion. You don’t mean to zero in on his large bicep, tan skin on display with his short sleeves but it’s impossible not to — Jesus Christ, it’s like he’s doing it on purpose.
You smile timidly, willing your cheeks to cool.
“Yeah, about that.” He starts, eyes shifting about nervously. He can’t pick a spot to focus, too nervous to look you in the eyes.
Steve’s been throwing around your words ever since you uttered them to him in the garden. And now I can’t stop thinking about you. Tone so sweet, so sincere, your brows drawn together like it hurt you to admit how much Steve had been on your mind.
His stomach had nearly turned itself inside out at your reveal, nerves flaming and relief coursing at the realisation that it was mutual. You’d been on Steve’s mind since even before you’d given him your softest smiles after bottle smashing, sugary grins over your milkshake, a genuineness you’d never shared with him before — and after? God, it had driven him mad.
But then you’d scampered out of the car like a spooked animal. Stopped coming by Family Video and cursedly, seemed to slip back into an old pattern of ignoring him.
Then, the garden.
God, if you hadn’t been drunk, and maybe if Steve wasn’t so surprised by the sweetness you showed him, he might’ve kissed you.
Holding your palm against his, you might as well have been grabbing his hopes and hoisting them out of the depths — that perhaps, your avoidance stemmed from something different this time round.
Steve takes in your shy expression, bottom lip trapped in your teeth, and prays it’s all for the same reason he’s nervous and not instead, because you’re trying to awkwardly figure out how to tell him it was all the alcohol talking.
“What you said…” He’s trying to be nice to his feelings, on the defence in case he’s so terribly wrong about this. About you. “Did— did you mean that?”
The face you pull doesn’t instill him with confidence, his stomach plummeting at your hesitance. Fuck. He’d overshot, as usual, clinging too tightly to the threads of affection you’d shown him.
“I…” You’re unsure where to begin. God, what did you say?
Steve thinks he can garner what reaction that is; it’s the exact opposite of what his heart had managed to convince him. You went back to avoiding him on purpose. He cuts you off hoping to save himself some awkward rejection, shaking his head and taking a step back.
“Don’t worry. It was— you were drunk,” Embarrassment starts flooding in, a hot uncomfortable flush up his neck that makes Steve want to sink into the ground. “I shouldn’t have— it was weird of me to ask.”
He’s rambling too fast to get a word in. You take a step forward as he takes another step back, worried that he’ll leave before you can even get a word in. Never mind that all plans for orchestrating the perfect thing to say are out the window — you have to say something.
“I don’t know what I said!” You blurt, desperate to halt his retreat. It works; Steve stops, taken aback by your words. Oh God, what now? You debate where to start.
“Seriously, I— Robin came over and was talking about how you’d called and— I-I remember some of last night but it’s a bit—”
“You don’t...” Steve interrupts, giving a confused shake of his head. The wind ruffles his hair, strands dancing over his forehead. “Remember any of it?”
Why does it feel like you’ve disappointed him? Despite your initial wish to not relive whatever you’d said in the garden, you’re suddenly dying to remember. Even now, you can feel yourself combing the hazy memories, hoping there’s a stone you’ve yet to turn. It’s fruitless.
“I remember embarrassing myself by puking in the bushes.” You grimace as you say it, heat rising in your face. You can feel your nerves fraying, heart pounding but none of it in a good way. “Look, Steve, does it matter what I said? I-“
“It does.” He says, voice suddenly lower. It rasps, more serious than before. “It matters if you meant it. Do you?”
He takes another step forward, close enough that you can smell his cologne again. The same comforting musky scent as when he pushed the safety glasses up your nose and tucked your hair behind your ears in the woods together, touch gentle and eyes kind.
“You said,” He breathes, his honey eyes hopeful. “You couldn’t stop thinking about me.”
Oh.
It seems to be a habit of yours; rewinding through your actions towards Steve in the past, heavy with regret. He’d still been sweet, checking on you out in the garden even though you’d left him in the dark for a week. After managing to make you forget the worst date ever.
Then you’d upchucked your feelings, so drunk you couldn’t remember it, and then your dinner too. You were a mess; Steve Harrington made you a lovely absolute mess. Fuck, you’d likely ruined whatever chance at something with him.
But then again, here he was.
Still showing up, enough hope to dredge together the courage to drive over and ask you what it meant.
“I meant it.” You say, softly. You feel captured in his gaze, pulled into his orbit with no choice about it. He’s like the sun, gravity pulling you closer the longer you stand this close to him. Your heart feels like it’s made of jelly, each thump echoing out into your limbs. “I— fuck, you made it so hard to hate you. I used—”
“—Used to hate me.” Steve recites the words before you can say them, amusement in his voice. Some of his nervousness has leaked out, shoulders less tight. You can nearly see a glint of his Harrington charm in the curl of his lips. “Yeah, you said that last night too.”
It’s said to poke fun, teasing you for last night’s loose tongue. You groan, head tilting back. “God, anything else I said last night that I should know about?”
Steve steps closer. It makes your breath hitch, your head straightening up and bringing your faces closer still. You’re not sure where this is going, not sure what he’s thinking, if he can hear the thunder of your heart — he hasn’t even said anything that implies the feelings are mutual.
You vaguely wonder how he knew that your words held more weight than they appeared. He’d been paying more attention than you’d expected; knowing that I can’t stop thinking about you meant more than what was on the surface.
This time, you know him well enough to know that his teasing is not mocking. That the Steve in front of you is not at all like the one you’d remembered from the school hallways, the one who’d thrown around shitty comments, had notches in his belt, and didn’t care who got hurt as a result.
He doesn’t answer your question. Instead, he says, “I can’t stop thinking about you either.”
The world doesn’t stop spinning, but for a moment, it certainly feels that way. Blood rushes in your ears, blooms under your cheeks, and the words sink in. The wind sounds like the sweetest music, the colour spread across the sky is a shade that could only be called love and a boy is telling you he likes you too.
It faintly occurs that the silly teenage daydream you pictured with Bradley — you’re instead getting with a boy you swore you hated not two months ago.
It makes you like him even more.
He’s earned it, your trust, your affection — your kiss.
Wordlessly, you surge forward at the same time Steve does. You clash, gifting each other an awkward headbutt instead of some swooning kiss. Pain splinters momentarily across your forehead, gone after a moment.
You can’t help it, a laugh bursting from your lips. You’re so nervous. It doesn’t deter you, peering up at him with adoring eyes. Somehow, you still manage a tease. “Were you trying to kiss me, Harrington?”
His hands cup your face, fingers tucked under your jaw, and thumbs stroking your cheeks. His own smile barely contained, elation shining in his eyes.
“I will if you stop calling me that.”
He kisses you before you even get a chance to agree.
There’s bliss hidden in his lips, you think happily. Steve kisses soft, plush lips that mold to yours like its second nature, two pieces of the universe aligning.
You can feel the heat of his mouth, the scratch of his thumbs upon your face and you sigh, content, into the kiss because no one has ever kissed you like this.
He kisses you and suddenly, there is no war-torn battle in your mind. Your hands have twisted into the fabric on his shirt, tugging him closer. It’s unbearable. You want him, completely, embarrassingly, and undeniably. You’ll take anything he’ll give you — you want him to give you everything.
When the kiss breaks, it’s only for a moment; Steve presses another, short and gentle, then another, and another, like he can’t handle not stealing another taste of your lips.
“Steve,” you rasp, chuckling a bit. Your eyes are still closed, like you’re worried it’ll all be some dream if you dare to open them. His nose nudges yours, crushing closer to you, unwilling to relent the closeness he’s finally been granted.
“Let me take you out.” He whispers and it’s enough to open your eyes, lashes crinkling as you beam up at him. Steve drops a kiss on your cheek, thumbs stroking with a tender care that makes you shiver. “Please.”
As if you could say no. You give a minuscule nod but your delight is given away in your smile, eyes bright as you admire each detail of his face fondly. “Yeah, alright.”
It makes him laugh, amusement dancing across his features, and God, he looks so handsome you have to kiss him again.
You do, hands escaping the confines of his shirt and twisting around his neck. Steve hums happily, something you’ll come to learn he does whenever you kiss him first. It makes you gleeful, a shot of pure euphoria tipping down your spine. You shiver, wonderfully.
“Just promise me,” you say when you pull back, breathing a titch ragged. You grin. “Not a movie date.”
Steve grins, one hand leaving your face to curl around your waist. It’s warm, heat radiating into your skin.
“Still no faith in me, sweetheart?” He chides, fingers dancing along the skin of your waist, giving away his joy. The pet name makes your knees weak, a flash of a forgotten memory in the garden breaking through.
“Something tells me you’ll convince me.”
Fact #9: The first fact is a lie.
His next kiss feels like a promise; that he’ll do the work to convince you, just like he’d done the last few months. That he’d be more than happy to. You drink in affection from a boy who’s so sweet on you with a happy sigh.
He tastes like sunlight.
Fact #10: You might just be falling in love with Steve Harrington.
taggin sum mutuals below!
@hawkinsindiana @spideystevie @harringtonbf @writtenbybelle @hoesbloated @familyvideostevie @lurkymurker @sattlersquarry @steddiesandwich @circesstars @upsidedownwithsteve @raggedyoldwitch @sunshinehollandd @ohschmidts @appocalipse
#this... was so scrummy to write#i can't believe i pumped out that many scenes#i think i started this wanting to prove that i could indeed write a fic past 5k#LO AND BEHOLD 16K LATER#good god i hope u love it#anyways i'm LITERALLY IN LOVE WITH HIM!!!!#steeb...come gimme kiss#i deserve to be called sweetheart by my babygirl bf <3#ruby writes#ruby writes steve#steve harrington#steve#harrington#steve harrington x reader#steve x reader#steve harrington fic#steve fic#steve harrington imagine#stranger things#stranger things imagine#stranger things fic#sending a sacrifice (my sleep while i wrote this) to the fic gods....
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hehe for your summer fic fest!
“are you okay? is the heat getting to you?” w/ shy!reader x steve harrington! <3
maybe something like established relationship (or not) and he knows shy!reader won’t ever complain :)
love ur writing <3
thanks so much for your request angel! hope you like it!! — the one where you get sunburnt and steve calls you his lobster as a declaration of love (shy!reader, hurt/comfort, 2k)
bug's summer fic fest ♡
Steve emerges from the blue pool water with oversized goggles covering the top half of his face. They leave a soft red indention around his eyes when he shoves them to his forehead to push back his wild strands of wet hair.
His chest heaves with labored pants, lungs aching after being denied air for over three minutes. He blinks salt water from his eyes and squints across the patio. Your lounge chair has your beach towel thrown over it but is entirely vacant of you.
His heart deflates with a boyish disappointment when he realizes you weren’t around to see him break his breath-holding record.
“Where’d she go?” Steve shouts to Robin over the sounds of splashing water and roughhousing teenage boys.
The brunette girl looks up from her book and glances at the empty chair beside her. She turns back to him and shrugs, all cool with dark sunglasses over her eyes. “Um, I don’t know… She went inside, like, a minute ago, I think.”
Steve pouts. “So no one was keeping time?” he wonders with an unabashed whine.
“I was... Then I got bored.”
“Great. Thanks, Robin,” the boy deadpans.
He backstrokes to the steps of the pool and tries to avoid the splash war between Lucas and Dustin on the way there.
He wipes his dripping skin with a fluffy towel before wrapping it around his waist. His wet feet leave dark prints against the burning pavement, drying just as quickly as they’re made. He walks by Mike and Will sitting beneath the poolside cabana, and then by Robin who doesn’t look up from her book, as he heads to the backdoor.
Steve stumbles backward when the glass entrance slides open. Max and El giggle into their ice cream cones as they walk by him, paying him exactly zero attention as they go. They both wear matching Xena Warrior Princess t-shirts over their bathing suits.
“Can you guys save me one of those? Jeez,” Steve asks with a laugh, only half-joking in his complaint. “You’ve both had, like, ten since you got here.”
El smiles shyly at him, tilting her chin to her chest as she peers up at him through her lashes. Her cheeks reddened — a combination of misplaced embarrassment and sun exposure.
Max is a lot more sneering with her glare. She arches an auburn brow in a challenging leer. “You should go get your girlfriend,” the redhead monotones just before licking at her vanilla cone.
Steve’s brows furrow. “What?”
“She looked sick,” El concurs with a firm nod.
“What do you mean she looked sick?”
“She means that she looked like she was seconds away from puking her guts out,” Max explains in her usual dramatic inflection. Her lip quirks at the look on Steve’s face, the corner of it stained with ice cream.
“Oh. Jesus. Okay,” Steve murmurs with a scrunched face — a mixture of concern and disgust.
Worry blooms in his chest at the thought of you being unwell. He hates the idea that you might’ve felt sick and were too nervous to tell him. He loves how soft you are but despises how polite you are shyness. You’re still frightened of being a burden, even though Steve tells you all the time you don’t have to be scared of being human.
The cool air of his house makes his skin prickle with goosebumps. It soothes his reddened skin as he ascends the stairs on a quest to find you. The door to the main bathroom is shut. A yellow light glows beneath it. The soft hiss of the faucet sounds muffled in the hallway.
Steve taps his knuckles at the closed entrance — gently in a mindful attempt not to frighten you.
“Babe?” he calls, face absentmindedly contorted with worry. “Are you okay?”
You mumble something unintelligible in response. He can’t quite make it out. The distance and the sink drown out your soft voice.
“Can I come in?”
Again, you just mumble.
Steve’s chest burns with a fleeting panic. He’s momentarily terrified that you’re halfway passed out on his bathroom floor, lying barely conscious on the tile. He opens the door, slowly at first, just in case you want to slam it in his face for barging in. He knows you’re too soft for that, though.
When you don’t protest, he walks all the way in. The door squeaks when he shuts it behind him.
He finds you, not on the floor, but leaning against the sink. You’re drowning in the t-shirt he gave you to wear as a cover-up. It’s oversized even on him, so it swallows you whole entirely. You blink at him with wide, glassy eyes while you press a damp rag over your face. Your skin is tinted a warmer red after spending the afternoon in the sun.
You look beautiful, but very unlike yourself. Max wasn’t lying — you looked like you were seconds away from being sick all over his bathroom. He rushes to you, anyway.
“What happened?” Steve wonders quietly, brows pinched in concern. “Are you okay?”
You shake your head, slow and lazy.
“Was it too hot outside? Is the heat getting to you? Do I need to fight the sun?”
You nod this time, holding the cloth to the burning apple of your cheek.
“Shit, babe. I’m sorry—” He doesn’t know what he’s apologizing for, only that he feels the need to say it.
He reaches out to touch you, to hug you to him so he can absorb all the sick you feel and take it all for himself — but you jerk back before his fingertips can reach you.
“Don’t,” you tell him quickly as you step backward. You drag the wet rag down to your chin and pout. “Don’t touch me. I think I might burn you.”
Steve grins a lopsided and very pink grin. “Yeah, I’ll take that risk, babe.”
When he reaches out to touch you this time, you don’t protest.
You feel like an inferno. The cold rag is hardly making you cooler. Actually, you think your fiery skin might just be warming it all over again.
It makes you feel sick — not a stomach kind of sick, or a simple-head cold kind of sick. Those you can fix pretty easily. This is different. Whatever this is.
You feel icky all over, and with no real root to the problem, you don’t know how to fix it. You just have to hope the A.C. will eventually break through the barrier of fire dancing over your skin and that Steve’s magic touch will be able to help you through it.
His hands curl around your elbows, much cooler compared to how hot your skin feels. His fingertips just barely graze your arm before he jerks them away again. His face scrunches in a halfhearted frown, feigning hurt as he pulls back like you’ve burned him.
“Ooh,” he winces playfully.
You pout while Steve laughs at his own dumb joke.
“I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” he assures through his laughter.
He swipes his fingers over your cheek to smooth the damp hair sticking to your temple — maybe from sweat, or water from the rag, or a combination of both. His face contorts with concern all over again. “You are warm, though, babe. Like, crazy warm.”
“I think the sun is trying to burn me alive,” you monotone, only half-joking.
Steve takes the damp rag from your weak, trembling hands. He sticks it beneath the running faucet to rewet it for you. When it’s sufficiently soaked, he wrings it out with one hand and turns the sink off with the other.
“Here. Up,” he commands with a halfhearted wave, motioning you to sit on the counter.
You try your best to abide him, but you’re too tired to do anything more than rise to the tips of your toes. Steve helps urge you backwards with his broad hands on your hips, encouraging you further back until your feet are dangling off the ground.
He stands in between your thighs. You lean into his touch when he dabs the colder rag against your forehead.
“Why didn’t you say something earlier?” Steve wonders with worry softening his tone. “I coulda got you inside before it got this bad. And I would’ve made all those shitheads go home before they made it worse.”
“That’s why I didn’t wanna tell you,” you confess, slurring from the sudden exhaustion that settles heavy on top of you. He brings the rag to your right cheek and presses it there for a few beats. “Everyone’s having such a good time. I didn’t wanna ruin it because I’m a baby…”
Steve scoffs out a laugh and holds the cloth to your left cheek. “You’re not a baby because you’re melting like an ice cream cone, babe. That’s not your fault.”
“Well, no one else is getting a cold rag pressed against their face by Steve The Hair Harrington,” you retort in a tone so soft that he can’t tell if you’re joking or not. He figures you might be toeing the line between both, still halfway delirious in your heatstroke.
“Yeah. ‘Cause I don’t love them like I love you.”
You cower at his words, not expecting him to be so suddenly affectionate.
You’ve had a hard time getting used to that — his incessantly flirtatious disposition. It’s hard having an aversion to compliments, but it’s harder dating someone who loves to give them.
Steve smiles when he watches you go all shy. You always get so sheepish when he loves on you, so pretty in the way you get all bashful. It isn’t any wonder why he loves to do it so much.
“Feel any better?” the boy asks when the corner of your lip quirks in a shy half-smile.
“A little… Do I still look sick?” you question, blinking at him with your eyes not as glazed over. “Maybe don’t answer that,” you protest quickly after.
Steve drops the rag to the counter and drags his knuckle across your cheek. Your skin isn’t quite as warm, but it still glows a faint red — obviously sun-kissed. “You look beautiful, babe. You always do. Even though you kinda look like a lobster.”
“I just said not to answer!”
“Lobsters are cool!” Steve defends at your pouting. “I like lobsters! Everyone likes lobsters!”
You don’t want to laugh, still feeling a bit too sick, but he makes it dreadfully hard not to. A halfhearted giggle sputters from your lips at his high-pitched assurance before you can stop it.
He smiles at your smiling, wide palms squeezing gently at your knee. “Lobsters actually mate for life,” he singsongs with raised brows and a crooked grin. “Betcha didn’t know that…”
“I think that was disproven, actually,” you squint.
“No, it’s true! Wanna know how I know?”
He’s fishing for a reply. You know it, but you bite anyway. You humor him with a nod, the corners of your lips lifting in an anticipatory smile.
He steps closer to you. His hips press into the edge of the countertop as his palms smooth up your thighs and settle on your waist. His honey eyes sparkle at you when he tilts his head and peers at you from beneath his lashes.
“’Cause you’re my lobster,” he confesses with a scrunched nose. “And you’re also my soulmate— and one plus one equals two, and blah blah blah…”
“I’m your lobster?” you humor in a high-pitched whisper, eyes twinkling with fatigue and adoration.
Steve beams, grinning at you like the lovesick idiot he is. “Yep. You’re my lobster. Take it or leave it, sweetheart.”
“I’d love to be your lobster, Stevie,” you tell him, giggling through your promise.
“We’ve said that word too many times, I think. It’s started to lose meaning now,” he says with his own breathy chuckle right before pressing his mouth to yours. He tastes like sunscreen, blue skies, and vanilla ice cream — like heaven and the rest of your life.
Steve kisses you breathless, telling you all the words he can’t say out loud with his pink lips slotted between yours.
He hopes you know that was his dumb, roundabout way of promising forever with you. You kiss him like you do, anyway.
#published by bug#steve harrington x reader#stranger things x reader#steve harrington x y/n#steve harrington x you#steve harrington#steve harrington fluff#steve harrington fanfiction#steve harrington fic#stranger things#stranger things imagine#stranger things fanfiction#stranger things fic#st drabbles#stevie drabbles#bug's summer fic fest!
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k.taehyun — dangerous woman!
[ 📚 ] after accidentally eavesdropping taehyun talking with his friends, you've got a question unanswered, a question which is straight up hilarious because it shouldn't be asked in the first place.
content : plot sprinkles, dom!reader sub!tyun, taehyun goes around calling the reader his wife/girlfriend, 'taehyun likes smart girls' agenda, public (in the empty auditorium), blowjob, degradation (m. rec.), making tyun swallow his own cum hah
a/n ; NEEDS TO BE EDITED! idk why I named it dangerous woman for angie and smiles txt birthday event + technically written off of my this thought but it doesn't appear in the limelight as brightly. though i still abide by it and always will. i have no clue how auditoriums look in your guys' vision but 🙏
"what're you even trying to do? makeout with me?" he asked as you pulled him aside from the piled hallway and led him to the top floor.
"trust me," you looked back at him, agony filled eyes. "kissing you is the last mistake I want to make, and I make a lot of mistakes."
he chuckled, god, he chuckled. he has some guts. "if you've started to make mistakes, then I'm a failure, noona."
he's always been like this. you wondered if he had some borderline obsession with you. which, now that you've found out the shit he's been going around blabbering — he definitely is obsessed with you.
almost throwing the two of you into the auditorium when you spotted a council member; you shut the door behind yourself as you stared at him, pulling his backpack onto his shoulder. "I'm actually starting to think you want to kiss me. it could've been in the cafeteria, no? why hide like we're middle schoolers?"
you shook your head no. "i already told you, I'd never kiss a dumb dog like you."
"then what are we here for?"
"why are you telling your friends I'm your girlfriend?"
silence. for about a minute. or two.
"i didn't." he said, turning back and walking to one of the chairs, sitting on the one at the corner. he's seriously planning to pretend, that he didn't go around saying you both fuck everyday.
"I don't like liars." you mumbled, walking behind him and letting yourself fall onto the chair right beside him, knees buckling. "what kind of a lie is this? we both are stuck in a loop of arguments and flirting. what makes you want to go around saying I'm your girlfriend?"
"I felt like it." he said dryly, eyes cast down at his fingers as they fidgeted.
"felt like it? you—" you closed your eyes in annoyance, nostrils flaring as your neck turned to look at him. "you felt like telling everyone that I'm your girlfriend? me of all people?" you hissed, he's such a bitch. fucking asshole.
it takes the average human being to start dating after 1-3 months of knowing each other, but it took taehyun one month to walk you down the aisle in his puerile dreams.
"well, why not you?" he asked, looking down at your fingers that were sprinkled with ink. you'd never dated any of the guys around here — because they're such bitches. what about the one in front of you? very evident.
"because I'm never going to really date you!" you almost yelled, lowering your noise when you heard your voice hit the walls of the empty auditorium.
"okay whatever, what're you gonna do about it?" he huffed out, his arms escaping the straps of his backpack.
motherfucker.
you looked away, this boy was making you so demented. you wished you were corrosive and could just touch him and destroy his entire existence in the moment.
and that's when it hit you. your touch... could destroy him. hell, it could probably make him dumb, to say the very least. you looked back to see taehyun, sitting there, staring at you with big big eyes, looking like he's going to swallow you whole.
"what?" you tore the silence apart, taehyun fluttering his eyelashes as he eyed you. the boy is still checking you out. "have some goddamn decency."
"I can't." he said, leaning in, leaning in close so close you wanted to flick his forehead and slap him across the face. he's always been like this for you since the day you put him in his place. he's been like a damn dog, like he wanted to be walked around by you since that day.
"then learn how to!"
"teach me, noona."
and so you did. so you did. and he's going to learn. he's going to learn to never annoy you again.
"noona—"
his eyes widened when your hand went straight for his crotch. fuck. you placed your hand on his cock, in the corner of the auditorium, after school hours.
"shut up. this is what you wanted, didn't you? you're filthy." and he, an exuberant kitten had turned into a lethargic dog. a dumb dog. "you're welcome for this. you're welcome."
"you— you-. what are you even thinking?" he asked, eyes wide as he leaned back, growing motionless. well, one thing was definitely in motion.
"shut the fuck up." you rubbed the tent in his pants as it eventually grew — still no consent of his, but his expression and activities history doesn't seem to be convincing you that he'll say no. you grabbed his face, making him look at you after his eyes had set down onto your hand on his dick. "tell me, taehyun. do you think from your dick or something?"
"y-you can't ask a question like— that.. h-hah." he groaned, a pretend exasperated tone when he was clearly enjoying this. he looked... desperate. it was scaring and making you want to fuck him at the same time. "please, noona."
"please what? use your words, bitch." you said, finger twirling the zipper of jeans, or more like a synonym for a cock cage.
"what're you gonna do?" he asked, eyes shooting around the hall as his knees buckled up, trying to squirm your hand away. this felt so emasculating to him — that you just basically palmed his dick from above the denim.
you were everything he wasn't — smart, perfect and untainted. but you were everything he wanted.
"maybe suck your dick," you said and the statement was definitely sent as an electric signal to his dick and his brain. "give you a reason to go around saying absolute bullshit, hm?" and he closed his eyes shut. his head fell back on the back rest as you unzipped his jeans, letting out a sadistic chuckle. "aw, is the delusion wearing off?" placing a hand under his chin and tilting his head to your side. oh lord, he was blushing. his ears were heating up and his cheeks went pink. "n-not bullshit.. not—"
"shut up." you attempted at a slap but only smacked his jaw, making his head turn away. lightly squeezed to his dick through the Calvin Klein and he whimpered. rubbing the tip with your nails.
if someone asked you if your panties were dry you'd have to deny it. his condition only got more tortured and jittery, you were chuckling like watching a stand-up comedy. you got up from the seat, kneeling in front of him. "h-hah, noona. shit— pl-please."
a malevolent expression, you took his dick out, cockhead lathered in precum — manwhore !
"you like this?" you asked, placing your hand in front of his mouth. "spit, whore." and he did, so fast like he was already preparing to, preparing to be sucked and jerked off.
"mmm, noona, i— h-hah." taehyun scrunched his knees together when your hand twisted at the tip, going down on his dick and his eyes shot open. "i l-love- this."
"of course you do, slut." you mumbled, licking the underpart of his tip, looking up at him as his hands reached to the back of your head to push you down on it unprovoked. he has the audacity to try to fuck your mouth. but no, you slapped his hand away. "behind your back."
he arched his back in sole pleasure, hands behind him now, he let out short, rapid pants. you opened your mouth wide, making him assume you'll finally take his dick, only to start pumping his dick rapidly.
"shit— shit, shit. noona no—"
"take it." you cut him off, using both hands, twisting. your lips set on the edge of his tip, rubbing against it. his brain was vacuous; and it got worse when you held the base of his dick and swallowed him whole.
"oh fuck, oh fuck fuck fuck." he whispered as you glide your hand up his hoodie, staying at his abs making him suck his stomach in. shook your head, the friction too much for him to bear. "noona, noona please."
pulling away, strings of saliva connecting you to his dick as his head flung back, closing his eyes shut when your nails slid up and down.
"keep it down, my god. the president might just hear you, would you want to be seen getting your cock sucked by me?"
his nails of each hand were digging into each other, his jaw clenching. "it— it'll make for a good s-sight."
"'m so close, pleasepleaseplease." he groaned as you completely stopped even the slightest of fuckery he was receiving from his imaginative slut. "no!"
you giggled at the sight — brain-dead taehyun, with his hands behind his back that were desperate to come forward and get him to cum, his embarrassing, dumbfounded state. a slap to his dick and he thrust into the air.
he could fuck any object that moves right now.
"you just love having your cock shoved down throats, don't you?"
hollowing your cheeks around him, the pleasure too much for him to bear. his hands escaped from behind and almost reached for your head but stopped mid-way, balling into a fist as his brain began jarring.
"noona please please please I'm gonna—" and before he could even warn you, prevent your annoyance and the malice you might have, he spilled into your mouth. and to his surprise, you kept his tip in your mouth, tasting him.
"noona?"
a pretend swallow that made his brain cloudy, did you just swallow his cum?
you got up, his eyes tracking up as you leaned down and pulled him by the collar of his hoodie, clashing your lips onto his and his mind skipped a function or two. you seeped his cum into his mouth, wiping your hands on his chest and he did not give the reaction you expected, the reaction you wanted him to give you — instead, to your surprise, he kissed back, his hand slipping up to catch yours. he didn't expect this at all but the whore didn't give a fuck. you pulled away, displeased that he wasn't mad you just made him eat his own cum.
"you ain't my boyfriend." you hissed, picking your backpack up.
and he was all gone to hell, no place for him in heaven, staring at the high ceiling, panting, beatific.
are they dating? no. do they both have mutual thoughts of fucking? absolutely.
I wrote this in like one hour forgive me
#sub!idol#txt smut#taehyun smut#txt x reader#sub!taehyun#taehyun hard hours#txt hard hours#sub!txt#taehyun x reader#taehyun hard thoughts
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exes and oh’s — billy the kid
pairing: billy bonney x fem!reader
warnings: mentions of violence, Y/N usage, established relationship, possessive!billy, arguments, standard billy the kid warnings.
authors note: im starting to think i have a problem.. 3 fics in one day lmfao. this one was based off of this request— thank you anon. i hope you all enjoy this one <33
masterlist
Ever since the day Billy had asked you to be his, he had thought the constant bugging of men around you would come to an end. But it seemed to be that the Bonney man only noticed those men’s stares towards you even more.
He sat at the bar you currently worked as he watched yet another man eye you from the corner of the room. It made his blood boil, his knuckles turning white from the harsh grip on his shot glass.
“Baby, leave the glass alone.” You teased with that charming smile that made him weak in the knees. “It ain’t done nun’ to ya,”
He put it down, your soft southern accent making his anger simmer down in a instant. “Sorry, honey.”
“What’s got you starin’ daggers over there?” You re-poured his now empty glass with whiskey.
“Them men starin’ at you.” His eyes darkened as he looked at you through his brows, his fingertips circling the rim of the shot glass.
Your tongue darted out across your bottom lip at his admission, his words making a deep want towards your outlaw settle in your gut knowing how protective he was of you.
“They can look all they want, darlin’.” You tried to ease his anger. “You’re the only one that I’d ever let touch me— you know that.”
“It’s not you I don’t trust.” He leaned back, his eyes boring into yours. “It’s them.”
“Hey, foxy..” One of the men he was talking about now stood in front of you, slurring his words. “You’re mighty fine, mind if we.. talk somewhere privately?” He winked, making you want to throw up. “I’d love to see how you look under them fine clothes of yours,”
You looked him up and down in disgust. “I’m alright, sir. Got someone else in mind for tonight,” You looked at Billy from the corner of your eye— your cowboy smirking up at you. You sighed as you went to grab the drunken man’s glass to refill— he was still a customer after all.
His grueling grip caught your wrist before you could even grab it— almost pulling you over the bar.
“You little bitch, can’t take a real man, huh?” He spat as you let out a yelp, trying to get out of his grasp.
“Back the fuck off.” Billy’s menacing figure appeared from beside the man, throwing the man back by his shoulder, causing him to fall on his ass.
He groaned, but was back on his feet within seconds. “The fuck it mean to you, huh? I wan’ her, so she’s mine.”
The second the man finished his sentence, Billy’s fast fist made contact with his jaw hard, the man being back to his spot on the floor. “Don’t you ever fuckin’ say those words about her.” He hissed, leaning down to place more punches to the man’s bloodied face. You watched in a mixture of horror and admiration— mostly admiration.
The man below him only let out a cackle in return. “Oh, I see. She’s your whore,” He spat blood into Billy’s face, and you swore the whole room stopped at his words.
Billy’s cocked back arm stopped at his words, and within seconds his pistol was pointed at the man’s forehead. “What did you just say?” He yelled. “I’ll fuckin’ kill you—”
You grabbed his forearm, pulling him back up. “Billy, please—” He turned to you, panting as you tried to calm that wild look in his eye. “That piece of shit ain’t worth it, c’mon, baby.” Your eyes flickered between his, and after a moment, he sighed before relenting and putting the gun away.
“Yeah, gotta get your bitch to sort out your favors—” The man continued to talk shit, but Billy cut him off with a swift kick to the ribs.
“Shut the fuck up,” Billy rasped out, looking down upon the man.
“C’mon,” You pulled his hand, taking him to the room in the back. You were glad it was around last call— the bar being mainly empty. You sat him down on some old crates before you turned to grab the spare med-kit you had hidden back there months prior.
Once you had everything ready, you held your hand out, signaling Billy to hand you his cut and bruised knuckles. He did, knowing better than to argue with you on the matter.
Your heart sank in your chest when you first saw them. “Billy, you’ve gotta stop gettin’ into fights over me.” You whispered, your eyes not leaving his hand.
His other hand reached out to angle your jaw so your eyes would met his. “Darlin’, I’m never gon’ stop fightin’ for you. You know that.” He shook his head with a smile. “He ain’t even get a lick in— I’m fine.”
“I know you can handle yourself.” You said. “I just don’t like seein’ you hurt. Regardless of how bad— I don’t like it. Nor do I like watchin’ you put yourself in danger for me.”
His gaze lowered. “Now, lady, let’s not pretend you haven’t done the same. I’ve witnessed some pretty crazy cat fights after hours at the boardin’ house,” He teased, his hand now cupping your jaw.
You sighed, trying to fight back the smile that threatened to break free. “Jus’ please, be careful.”
“Always am.” He leaned forward to kiss the frown off your face, his hands sliding down your body in order to squeeze your hips.
Your arms wrapped around his neck, drawing him closer to your body as you smiled against his lips.
He pulled back, leaning his forehead onto yours. You both sat there for a couple of moments, enjoying the comfortable silence.
You placed one last kiss to his plump lips. “Alright, let me see that hand of yours.” You asked, and when he placed it into yours, you got to work. You disinfected and bandaged it to ensure it wouldn’t get an infection. “That should do it,” You whispered as you finished tying the cloth, leaning down to press a kiss to his knuckles. “Thank you for defendin’ me, honey.”
You swore that even in the darkness of the room you were currently in that you could see his cheeks turn a light shade of pink. “I’m always gon’ defend you, baby.” He whispered, pulling you up by your hand to place you in his lap, his arms slithering around you as he placed a kiss to your cheek. He went quiet for a moment before he turned to grab something. You looked at him questionably when you saw that glint in his eye.
He smirked as he placed his signature hat onto your head. “There.” He admired his work as he fixed your hair, styling it to compliment the hat. “That should tell all those fuckers that you’re mine.”
Your teeth sunk into his bottom lip at his words as your eyes flickered between his. “I wouldn’t have it any other way,” You whispered, the tip of his hat hitting his head as you leaned in to reconnect your lips again.
He didn’t mind— He thought it looked better on you anyways.
#anon asks#tbosas#coriolanus snow#billy antrim#billy bonney x fem reader#billy antrim x reader#billy bonney#billy the kid#billy bonney x reader#billy the kid x reader#billy the kid gifs#tom blyth x reader#tom blyth#coriolanus snow x reader#coryo snow#the ballad of songbirds and snakes#william h bonney#william h bonney x reader
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hold on
carmen berzatto x fem!reader
summary : reader reveals to carmen that she has a hard relationship with food.
a/n ; content warnings for disordered eating, throwing up, talks of disordered eating. i am not romanticising eating disorders !! loooong boy. 1.2k words
𝐍𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍
you never thought this would have been an issue.
you had never been in a relationship long enough for it to be important.
but 3 months.
you had to tell him.
but you had no idea where to start with admitting it.
somehow in the three months of dating carmen you had managed to avoid any conversation relating to your issues.
you had been out to dinner a few times, but every time you managed to find something easy or small.
and if you weren't able to do that, you had gotten good at making a plate look like you had eaten some if not most of it.
the issue only really came to a head when you had arranged to stay over at carmen's place after he cooked for the both of you.
you had been stressing over it for the last two days about something so simple as him cooking for you.
along with his insistence to keep it a secret what he was making, you were getting anxious about it.
your anxiety riddled mind was quietened when carmen opened the door to his apartment and your eyes met his.
the soft, relaxed smile on his lips mirrored onto your own.
" hey sweetheart, come in. dinner shouldn't be too long, just finishing up "
the mention of food brought almost all of your anxiety back.
you shut the door behind you as you walked in, setting your bag down on his couch as you headed towards the kitchen.
" gonna tell me what you're making yet ?" you questioned, keeping your voice level as you leant against the counter.
you could spot a few elements of the meal carmen was making, but none that would tell you what he was making.
you were almost relieved to spot a salad on the counter.
you might be able to get through this meal without feeling the urge to throw up.
" spaghetti bolognese "
two words that had your stomach falling.
carbs were very hard for you, but you couldn't not eat what carmen had cooked for you.
you took a slightly shuddering breath which was thankfully hidden from carmen as he tended to his sauce.
" sounds delicious "
thankfully, both of you talked through most of dinner, and it wasn't out of place for your fork to just rearrange your food instead of pick it up and eat it.
the few bites that you did take were mostly salad, apart from two initial bites of the pasta when you first sat down, which was hard to swallow.
after dinner you offered to do the dishes, practically insisting. you didn't want carmen to see how little of his food you had eaten.
he wouldn't let you do it all on your own and offered to at least dry up after you.
he didn't see the amount of food from your plate that ended up in the trash.
you definitely felt guilty about throwing it away, but you couldn't physically stomach the food or telling him after he made so much effort.
after you finished cleaning up the two of you were quick to retire to the couch for a movie.
carmen's arm wrapped around your shoulders and the steady beating of his heart underneath your ear wasn't enough to erase the burning feeling in your stomach or the gags you could feel climbing up your throat.
it got to the point where you couldn't take it anymore.
you muttered a quick excuse before rushing towards the bathroom.
you should've known that carmen would be hot on your heels the moment he heard you emptying your guts into the toilet.
you heard his voice behind you muttering a short string of curses when he opened the door.
the next thing you knew, his hands were swiftly collecting your hair from the base of your neck to keep it from getting messy.
after you had nothing more to give, you flushed the toilet and leant back to move away from it, only to be met with the solid feeling of carmen's chest against your back.
" 'm sorry. didn't mean to ruin your night " you muttered quietly, your eyes not lifting from your lap.
" baby, you didn't ruin anything. just want you to tell me why you're throwin' up after you barely ate anything "
a shiver of dread raced down your spine.
" thought maybe you just didn't like the food but now i'm thinking that something's wrong "
his voice was warm and comforting even if what he was saying was chilling you to your bones.
you had to tell him.
you began twisting the towel that carmy had handed you in your hands.
" what's going on, baby ?" he questioned, his hand lifting to brush some hair behind your ear as he dropped his head down onto your shoulder, pressing a soft kiss onto the fabric of your sweater.
you were silent for a few minutes, but carmen never pushed you to speak, only waited until you were ready.
" there's something wrong with me carmen... i- i hate feeling full. i can't eat like a normal person. i don't- " a sob wracked through your chest as you spoke.
carmen's arms wrapped tighter around you as tears began falling down your cheeks.
he held you there until the tears stopped, and even a little bit longer.
when he finally stood from the floor and walked out of the bathroom you thought he was done.
that he didn't want to deal with a girlfriend with these kids of issues, especially as a chef.
but when he returned a few moments later with your pyjamas and your toothbrush all of those feelings disappeared.
he delivered them to you with a kiss to your temple before he was back out again.
you didn't question him, or say anything, just brushed your teeth and washed your face before changing into your pyjamas, a pair of long pants and a t-shirt that carmen had given to you with 'the beef' logo on your chest.
after folding up your other clothes you padded out into his living room, keeping your head down as you put your clothes in your bag.
but you couldn't avoid it any longer.
you found carmen in the kitchen pouring hot water into two mugs from his cabinet.
you were only sat down for a moment before he came over with both mugs in his hand and slid one towards you.
chamomile.
your hands wrapped around the warm receptacle.
there were a few moments of silence before you heard the voice you found so much comfort in.
" why didn't you tell me ? " he questioned, his voice the farthest thing from accusational.
" didn't want to scare you off. most people go running when they find out. wanted to hold on a little bit longer " your voice was nothing more than a whisper and your eyes were burning into the mug of tea in your hands.
carmen wasted no time in moving around the counter to stand beside you, his hand moving to tilt your chin up and bring your gaze towards him.
" i'm not goin' anywhere, baby. but you gotta let me help. "
his thumb began moving against your cheekbone, and that simple action was all you needed before you wrapped your arms around his torso and buried your face into his t-shirt. his arms held you close to his chest.
" could you give me a ride to my therapists tomorrow ? "
" anything, baby "
#·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳ 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐞𝐧 𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐳𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐨#·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳ 𝐟𝐢𝐜#carmen berzatto fluff#carmen berzatto fic#carmen berzatto x you#carmen berzatto smut#carmen berzatto x reader#carmen berzatto#carmy berzatto fluff#carmy berzatto imagine#carmy berzatto smut#carmy berzatto x reader#carmy berzatto#carmy x sydney#syd x carmy#carmy the bear#carmy x claire#the bear spoilers#the bear fx#the bear hulu#the bear fic#the bear meta#the bear fanart#sydney adamu#sydcarmy#jeremy allen white#jeremy allen white calvin klein#jeremy allen white x reader#tw : ed#tw disordered eating
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lucifer, mammon, diavolo apologizing after a fight
includes: lucifer, mammon, diavolo x gn!reader (no pronouns mentioned)
wc: 1.2k | rated t | m.list
a/n: i guess i was in the mood for some mild hurt/comfort and fluff lol. thanks for reading and my inbox is open for reqs, feedback, and just to talk so come talk with me!
please reblog <3
lucifer shuts the door behind him quietly, listening intently. the house is silent, but he knows you’re still awake. trying to shake himself free of his nerves, he checks over the bouquet of flowers, making sure they’re in top shape, then straightens his tie.
making his way through the house, he checks each room for you, each as dark and empty as the last. until he gets to your shared room, where the door is shut. he listens at the door, and can faintly hear music and running water. you’re likely in the bath.
pushing the door open, lucifer sees then ensuite bathroom’s door cracked and can now distinguish faint splashing. you’re definitely in there. calling out your name so he won’t startle you, lucifer waits until you allow him to enter.
“what?” you ask irritably, not meeting his eyes, and his heart skinks. he feels terrible for the earlier argument especially since it’s clear you’re still upset.
“darling, i wanted to apologize for earlier,” he says, dropping to his knees outside of the bath. you pop some bubbles, resolutley ignoring him, so he goes on. “i was being stubborn and knew even in the moment you were correct. there are no excuses for my earlier words and actions and i am truly sorry.” he offers you the flowers. “will you forgive me?”
you finally look up at him, and his gut tightens. how could he have been so cruel to you?
you take the flowers, smelling them for a long, painful moment. then you give them back and he feels like he’s been punched. until you speak.
“thank you for the apology. and for the flowers. of course i forgive you. but,” you warn, “you must never, and i mean never, lucifer, speak to me that way. do you understand?”
“yes, darling, anything,” he promises, overpowering relief crashing through him. you lift a wet hand up and pull him to you by the tie, bringing his face to yours.
“good. and i’m glad you realized i was right.” you give him a peck, lips there and gone before he can act. “now, to fully make it up to me, will you wash my hair?”
“you don’t even have to ask,” lucifer replies, already rolling up his sleeves. as he helps you wash, a finally peaceful silence falling between you, he thinks of how lucky he is to have you, something he’s aware of each and every day.
mammon jumps up when he hears the door open, rubbing his sweaty hands on his pants. you’d gone for a walk after the earlier fight and every moment without you was excruciation, especially after he’d finally admitted to himself he was in the wrong.
“hey,” he breathes as you remove your coat. you give him a look, and he knows he’s got to do better. “i’m sorry, mc,” he amends, feeling like he’s speaking too loud for the distance between you. “i seriously fucked up and i’m so, so sorry. i was angry but that was no excuse to treat you like that or speak to you that way. i’m really sorry.”
“thank you,” you finally say, breathing out a sigh. “and i’m sorry too. i overreacted.”
“no!” he says quickly. “you were only reacting to my aggression. it was my fault. and you were right. i understand if you want more space from me.”
“to be honest,” you begin. “that’s the last thing i want right now. come here and give me a hug.”
mammon moves faster than he should, almost tripping over the coffee table, and wraps you in his arms tightly. it’s only now that he realizes he’s practically trembling–man, he must have been really nervous. you hug him back, just as tight, and his eyes are only bringing because he’s got some dust in them, okay? absolutely no other reason.
after a long, long moment, you pull back from him, giving him a watery smile. “i love you,” you say, and he presses his forehead to yours, feeling your warmth.
“i love you too. i’m sorry.”
“you already said that,” you tease, and he smiles sadly.
“’m still sorry. and, to be honest, don’t want to cook. so whaddya say we go out for ramen tonight?”
“only if i get to pick where,” you say. “and if you pay.”
“well i thought that was obvious,” he huffs. your stomach growls then, and he grabs your coat, motioning for you to let him help you put it on. he grabs your hand when it’s all buttoned, wrapping his fingers around your tightly. he made the mistake of letting you go earlier and he’s not going to do anything like that now.
diavolo frets, looking over everything once again. he truly has no idea how to apologize, and though asking barbatos had crossed his mind he knew he couldn’t ask another man to help him with this. not when it concerns you.
as son of the demon kind, diavolo’s never really been wrong before. demons just kind of…listened to him, and in cases where he was really off the path barbatos and lucifer would often guide him without explicitly crossing his orders, something he knows they think he hasn’t noticed. but navigating life with you is nothing like ruling over the devildom, and in many ways, diavolo finds it much, much harder.
but he’s going to admit he was wrong and apologize! if there’s one thing he can remember from when he was very, very young, it was watching his father, the king, apologize to the queen, much as he’s doing now. the only difference is that he hasn’t officially made you ruler alongside him but that can be thought about later.
he checks his ddd for the time, and exhales nervously. he’d asked you to meet him at the spot of your first date and it was nearing the time that he’d written, and you never were one to be late. as if he imagined you, you appear, hesitant and nervous. but you’d come, and that’s enough for him.
“diavolo? what is all of this?” you look over the picnic, from the expensive chocolates to the wrapped gift and then back to him.
“i wanted to say i was sorry,” he says nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. “when we argued, i wasn’t fair to you, nor did i listen. and then i reacted poorly and in a way that’s never okay. and i truly apologize.”
“you did all this to apologize?” you ask, and he nods.
“was it too much? i don’t really know what i’m doing but i know i want to make it up to you. can you forgive me?”
“of course,” you reply, and he feels like he can finally breathe. “and while this is nice, it is a little much. i really only wanted to hear you say you were sorry.”
“i’m sorry.”
“i know. thank you for saying that. and for doing all of this. and i’m sorry too,” you continue, holding up a hand before he can say you have nothing to apologize for. “i should have talked to you instead of just running away. now, let’s enjoy this wonderful picnic you’ve prepared.”
“i love you,” he says. “so much.”
“i love you,” is your simple reply, but for him, it’s more than enough.
leviathans-watching's work - please do not copy, repost, or claim as your own
#obey me#obey me game#obey me shall we date#obey me x you#obey me x reader#obey me x mc#obey me x y/n#obey me fluff#lucifer obey me#mammon obey me#diavolo obey me#obey me lucifer#obey me mammon#obey me diavolo#diavolo x you#diavolo x reader#mammon x you#mammon x reader#lucifer x you#lucifer x reader#obey me hurt/comfort#leviswriting#leviswriting-obeyme
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AHHHH FIRST FIC OF COMFORTEMBER YEAHHHH >:D
comfortember day one: safe
aaron hotchner x gender neutral reader
after having a rough night out, you call aaron and he rushes to find you immediately. he fixes you up and the two of you finally admit how you feel about each other.
word count: 1.5k
warnings/content: mentions of fighting and alcohol but mostly fluff.
comfortember masterlist here!
also on ao3 <3
you make me feel safe
Aaron wakes up to the sound of his phone ringing beside him. It gets to the fourth or fifth ring by the time he grabs it and anxiety bubbles low in his gut when he realises it’s you calling at almost three in the morning. Answering the phone, he immediately asks, “Is everything alright?”
“No.”
He’s up and out of bed instantly, throwing on the first shirt he finds and the closest shoes to the bed. “Tell me where you are.”
“I’m at, uh, I don’t, I’m… somewhere. My mind is all over the place.”
Aaron’s heart hammers widely in his chest. “Somewhere? Can you look around for me and see if you recognise something? Anything?”
“Okay,” you reply, voice shaky. After a few moments, you clear your throat. “I’m outside the bar we all went to a few weeks ago.”
“The Tipsy Ship? The one closest to work?”
“Y-yeah, yeah.”
Aaron grabs his keys and runs out of his house, not even thinking about locking the door as he runs toward his car. Jack is sleeping over at JJ's; the house will be fine unattended for now. “I’m on my way. Are you hurt?”
“I think so.”
“You think–” Aaron stops to take a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose for a moment before shoving his phone into its holder and slamming his car door shut. “Don’t worry, I’m on my way.”
“Can you stay on the line with me?”
“Of course.”
***
When Aaron reaches the bar, his heart breaks at the sight of you standing alone outside. He tenses up once he notices that, not only are you alone, but dry blood covers your face, there’s a large bruise forming on your cheek, and the knuckles of your dominant hand are cracked and bloody. “God,” he mutters, running straight for you and grabbing you by the shoulders. He can smell an overpowering scent of alcohol on you and he winces. “What happened? Where’s the bastard that did this to you?”
You point toward an ambulance down the road. “The coward freaked out when I punched him back and thought he needed medical attention. Most they’re gonna diagnose him with is Dumbassery and Stupid Prick Disease.” You look back at Aaron and weakly smile. “And maybe a concussion.”
Aaron can’t help it, he laughs. “At least you haven't lost your sense of humour. But let's get you home and cleaned up, alright?”
“Can I go to yours? I don’t really wanna be alone right now.”
He smiles. “Of course you can.”
***
Aaron holds a wet cloth to your face, reaching out to grab your chin between his fingers gently when you flinch away. “Sorry, sorry.”
“It’s cold, is all.”
“Sorry,” he repeats, gently dabbing away the dried blood under your nose and the corner of your lips. “Do you want to talk about what happened?”
“I got into a fight.”
“I can see that.”
You shrug, stumbling on your feet at the movement. Aaron gently grabs you by your elbow and shuffles you toward the kitchen counter so that you’re leaning against it for support. Once you’re stable, he begins to dab the other side of the cloth over your knuckles. “It was stupid, really.”
“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”
“I know,” you sigh. It’s quiet for a few moments as you watch Aaron continue to clean up the blood. “He… the guy who punched me… I was on a date with him.” Aaron tenses. “And he kept buying me drinks and told me I had to drink them. I did because, well, free drinks, y’know?” You sigh and shake your head again, letting out a groan when it results in pain. “So stupid of me.”
“Hey, none of that. You’re not stupid.”
“Whatever you say. Anyway, I think he was trying to make sure I was drunk enough so that he could take me home without much complaint. I don’t know. I refused because I really wasn’t in the, uh, mood, and the night was a bust anyway, and he started… tryna touch me, grab me and all that, his hands were everywhere and I didn’t want them to be and…” You stop to take a few deep breaths, feeling sick at the thought of what could have happened. Aaron feels anger rip through his veins. “Anyway, he ended up punching me and I guess he wasn’t expecting me to punch back.”
Aaron grits his teeth. "Twice as hard, yeah?"
"Twice as hard," you grin.
“Good. That’s what I expect to hear.”
You tilt your head at him, trying to read his expression. “You’re not mad at me?”
Confused, his eyes meet yours. “Why would I be mad at you?”
“I don’t know,” you shrug, watching as his large hand moves over yours, his thumb gently sweeping over your skin. “I woke you up.”
“You woke– You– That’s what you’re worried about?” He gives you a fond look. “Yes, you woke me up. But I’m glad you did. Thank you for calling me. And for trusting me to help you.”
“I don’t think I trust anyone more than I trust you.”
Aaron’s hand stills as the words sink in. When he looks up at you, he notices that you’re staring at him with so much love that his breath catches in his throat. He hasn’t been looked at like that in… he can’t even remember. But when he thinks about it, eyes never leaving yours as you blink innocently at him, not understanding his revelation at that moment, he realises it’s the way you’ve always looked at him. With complete and utter adoration.
As if he hung the moon and the stars.
“Oh,” is all he can get out.
“Oh?”
“Yeah. Oh.”
Your face falls and he feels guilt grow deep in his gut. “You don’t trust me back?”
“What? I never said that.” He steps closer, moving a hand to your shoulder and looking into your eyes. “Of course I trust you. More than most people. More than anyone else, really.”
“Really?”
His eyes search yours and he nods firmly, squeezing your shoulder. “Really.”
You look all over his face before looking down at his lips, licking your own as your mouth immediately goes dry. “I didn't want… I… I didn't go home with that guy because of, uh, well, you. I couldn’t stop thinking of you... when I was with him.”
Aaron hums as his gaze drops to your lips. “That’s why I don’t go on dates.”
“Hm?”
“Because I can’t stop thinking about you either.” He inches closer, moving a warm hand up to cup your cheek. “Can I kiss y–"
“Yea–"
And your lips are pressed together before either of you can finish. The kiss is soft, sweet, gentle, and full of so much raw emotion that it’s almost suffocating (in the best way). Aaron moves his lips against yours desperately, holding your face in his large calloused hands as if you might break at any moment, and you wrap your arms around his neck to pull him closer. The moment your tongue brushes against his bottom lip, though, he pulls back with a heavy sigh. “Shit, you’re drunk. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be, it’s okay.”
“No, it’s not. I’m totally taking advantage of you and–”
“Aaron.”
“I should know better and–”
“Aaron!”
“You should feel safe here–”
You press your lips against his again, effectively shutting him up. It’s a much shorter kiss this time, but not any less enjoyable. “I do feel safe, Aaron. Here, with you.”
“You do?”
“Of course. You make me feel safe; you always have.”
He visibly relaxes and pulls you into a hug. “So have you.” He sighs against you, resting his forehead against your shoulder. “I like being with you.”
“I like being with you too, Aaron.”
He smiles against you and holds you for a moment more before pulling back, hands still wrapped around you. His heart breaks at the sight of the dark bruise forming on your face and he leans forward to press a tender kiss against the skin, careful not to hurt you in any way. “I wonder how long we’ve liked each other.”
“I fell in love with you the moment I saw you, I think.”
Aaron’s breath hitches at the admission. “You’re in love with me?”
You tilt your head at him, fighting back a smile. “Did I not make that obvious enough?”
“I… didn’t want to get my hopes up.”
“Well, get them up, Hotchner, because I’m in love with you, and I’m not going anywhere.”
Aaron’s face softens and he presses a kiss to your cheek, sighing in relief. “I’m in love with you, too.” He runs his hands lovingly over your back. “Now let’s get you changed into some comfortable clothes and into bed, yeah? It seems like we have a lot to talk about tomorrow.”
“Can I sleep in your bed with you?”
He presses another kiss to your cheek. “There’s no other place I’d rather you be, sweetheart.”
tag list: @criminalskies @ssahotchnerr @hotchs-big-hands @citrusiove @sillyhotchsgirl
lemme know if you wanna be tagged in future fics
#RAHHHHHH SO EXCITED TO POST THIS#aaron hotchner#aaron hotchner x gender neutral reader#aaron hotchner x reader#aaron hotchner fluff#cas writes#criminal minds#comfortember 2023#comfortember#writing events
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hi sweetie! <3 i was wondering if i can request some fluff (maybe with a smut in the end it’s up to you) with ghost and innocent!girly!reader where ghost got all overprotective over her when some guy is harassing her and she got really scared and anxious?
feel free to ignore if you don’t feel like writing this! have a wonderful day, sweetheart ₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊
hi angel!! i hope you enjoy! <3 i didn’t add smut at the end it kinda got more serious i hope that’s okay!!! <33
(sorry if this is bad i wrote it in class KANDK)
(unmasked! ghost)
(this is kinda an au! type of thing so most everything is completely inaccurate to COD)
warnings: blood, slight violence, reader is shorter than ghost, reader is lifted up by ghost, innocent!reader, slightly dark!ghost, possessiveness, size difference (i pinned ghost as 6’6 hehe woops), tattooed!ghost (U WILL NEVER STOP ME)
♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧
ghost has always been overprotective of you, ever since the day you two met—not just when u guys started dating.
his hands always find their place on ur body, making it known to everybody you were his and only his-and he was yours and wholly only yours.
so when u two went out with price and the rest of the team to a busy bar out in the city, ghost’s hands never once left your body.
even when u two were sat next to each other at the booth, his bulky arm stayed draped over ur shoulder, ur hand fiddling with his big tattooed one as he gave dirty looks to any man that dared to look in your direction.
everything was going smoothly until your small voice made his ears perk— “gotta go to the bathroom, be right back..”
you began to part from ghost’s grasp before he caught ur small hand in his. “do ya need me to go with ya?”
u giggled, blushing slightly. “simon, i don’t need ur help going pee!—ill be right back.”
ghost wasn’t always one for extreme PDA, but he could see the hungry looks of the men at the bar staring at you. and he didn’t like that. not one bit. before u could escape, he adjusted his grip on ur hand to on ur forearm, pulling u towards him as he kissed u possessively.
he heard ur small, surprised yelp as his soft —but bitten lips moved over yours, his tongue beginning to slip into ur silky mouth before u pulled away—face burning of shyness as soap and price looked away, a small smile playing on their lips out of amusement from ur embarrassment and ghost’s act possessiveness.
“love you.” simons gruff voice spoke; a slightly smug smirk playing on his pink lips.
“i love you too.” you spoke quietly biting ur lower lip as butterflies fluttered in ur tummy.
simon watched as u walked away, ur short skirt swaying as u stepped through the crowd.
“obsessed much?” soap chuckled, and price laughed with him.
“yes.” ghost replied shortly, taking a sip of his whiskey and setting it next to your strawberry daiquiri, cool water droplets beading off of ur drink.
three minutes passed and ghost started to feel unease settling in his gut.
turns out, his gut was right to feel that nagging way.
“stop!” through the music and loud chatter of people, he could hear your small voice shout. his heart dropped, and he immediately peeled through the crowd, his height making it easy for him to see over everyone’s head.
a thin man with blonde hair groped at ur body from outside the restroom door of the bar.
“jus-“ the man laughed sickeningly, grabbing ur breast as u tried to squirm away from him, tears streaming down your face. “stop movin’, baby, just wanna feel you.. bet ur nice and tight.” he smacked ur butt, cries escaping ur throat as u tried to gasp for simon’s name but nothing came out of your mouth as u shut ur eyes tightly. maybe this was a dream—maybe the man would go away—just maybe.
ghost’s body filled with an unimaginable amount of rage, and from the corner of the room, konig (who was drinking and leaning against a wall chatting up an older woman), confusedly looked at simon as the wall blocked his view of you.
he knew that deadly look in his friend’s eyes when he saw it.
shit.
loud thunks of simon’s combat boots pounded on the ground as he ripped the disgusting man off of you, his height towering over the man.
he could see the way you cried, eyes shut and whimpering as you choked on your sobs.
“hey!” the man shouted, right before ghost smacked his head into the wall; ghost’s fists colliding with the man’s face.
anger crawled throughout his body as he almost went on autopilot, the man’s face bloody and battered as simon repeatedly punched him.
punch, punch, punch—
“ghost!” price barked, trying to pry simon off of the man. “ he’s done, ghost. enough!”
your eyes peeled open as you cried, gasping as you saw the mess of a face of the man that assaulted you. his nose crooked as it took konig, price, soap, and gaz to pull simon off of the limp man.
the bar was quiet besides the music and ur little cries. blood splotched simon’s knuckles as he breathed heavily.
the man on the ground groaned, and simon almost broke through the grasp of his team behind him before the cloud of anger subsided when he heard your small, “s-simon.”
stepping on the man’s leg, simon’s large, bruised hands cupped your face, your eyes glossy with tears.
“cmon.” he spoke gruffly, holding you against him as you both made your way out of the bar to the back alley where it was quiet.
“i-“ you choked on a sob as ghost pulled you to him, his large frame dwarfing yours as he shushed you, kissing the top of your head.
“no one’s gonna hurt you like that again. i would’ve killed him—“ his accent was thick as his grip on you tightened. he took a deep breath.
you sniffled into his warm chest, ur arms wrapped around him tightly.
“are you okay?” he asked after a moment of listening to your small weeping cries.
you nodded. “‘m okay now, just scary ‘s all..” you hiccuped, and simon easily picked you up to be closer to you. you nestled your face into his neck, his large hand rubbing along your back.
“i should’ve been there.” he spoke quietly.
you sniffled, pulling away from his neck to look at him. “you didn’t know, ‘s okay.”
simon didn’t say anything, he just adjusted you in his grip and wiped the tears from your face gently with his calloused thumb.
you kissed his lips gently, giggling when he sucked on your lower lip tenderly.
simon’s body warmed at the sound.
he always knew immediately when he met you that he would kill for you.
and this night just proved that further.
he would do anything for you.
anything.
#mail 💌#simon riley x reader#simon ‘ghost’ riley#ghost cod#ghost mw2#ghost x reader#blurb#<3#drabble#ghost x innocent!reader#possessive#possessive!ghost x reader#dark!ghost#dark!simon riley#innocent!reader#simon riley x innocent!reader#simon ‘ghost’ riley x reader#simon ‘ghost’ riley x innocent!reader#possessive!simonriley#konig mw2#cod
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౨ৎ. not the same. — c.yj
synopsis - waking up a week after you and yeonjun’s breakup, only to remember it was supposed to be your anniversary today.
warnings - angst with no happy ending ;(, yeonjun cheated, gn!reader, mentions of alcohol and being drunk, cursing, not proofread | wc : ??
notes - do not read if u get sad easily…
head pounding headache, heavy heart and chest, blurry eyes and a dried face was all you could feel right now. ever since you and yeonjun broke up only a week ago, your routine has been much different.
no motivation to go out, the feeling of your phone vibrating with notifications from your friends trying to get you to go out, occasionally some from yeonjun still attempting to apologize for his actions.
LAST WEEK
it was your bestfriend, yuna’s birthday party. she was a huge party person, so it was basically a whole frat/house party just celebrating her birthday. a dj blasting music, self serve bar with lots of alcohol, and food.
you came with yeonjun, but were soon separated after he told you he would just get another drink and maybe say hi to some friends who he passed by while walking with you. you trusted yeonjun with your whole heart, of course, how couldn’t you after dating for almost 2 years?
the minute yeonjun left you alone with your friends, something in your gut was telling you something bad would happen, but you couldn’t get yourself to believe it.
that was until about 10 minutes later, you told your group of girls you would be back to find yeonjun, leaving to the kitchen and searching for him everywhere, even asking his friends you never talked to. you soon spotted a familiar head in the corner of the dining room, that was also filled with many people.
you didn’t want to believe it, you wanted to rub your eyes and make the sight you were seeing blur away, you wanted to cover your ears from the music and shut your eyes just to tell yourself it wasn’t true, but it was. you stood there for a good 3 minutes, tears well falling out of your eyes and down your face already, your shaky hand making its way to cover your mouth that was wide open.
“y-yeonjun..?” you called out as loud as you could, watching the boy turn around after separating his lips from the girl he was cornering, face turning red as soon as he saw your crying figure, you could tell he was horribly drunk but definitely sobered up in some way from the sight of you. “what are you.. doing..?” was the last thing you could murmur out before breaking into tears and turning around, pushing past people to make your way to the front door.
you heard yeonjun shouting your name and telling you to stop and turn around, his voice desperate and almost sweetly convincing. but it was shut out by your mind, your eyes were blurry as tears flowed down your face, everything that entered your ears sounded drowned out, all you could think of was how you needed to get home and just rot in bed.
“y/n, please talk to me! it’s not what it looked like!” he finally said as he got to you, holding your wrist to get you to turn around and face him. after yanking your wrist from his hand, you could see the visible hurt on his face, forcing everything in you to stop yourself from pulling him into your embrace and apologize for “overreacting”.
“don’t start with that bullshit yeonjun! what do you mean its not what it looks like? you wanna sit here and lie to my fucking face and say you weren’t full on making out with that girl? who knows what would even happen if i didn’t catch you, you probably would’ve took her upstairs and fucked her for all i know!” you shouted at him, watching the waterline of his eyes fill with tears of guilt, knowing he messed up bad. you knew yeonjun, and the look he had on his face looked like he just wanted to crouch down and rip all his hair out from guilt, all you could think of is hugging him tightly as if he just had a bad day, but you knew you had to end it here. “you know yeonjun, if you wanna do this shit at parties like you did before we met, you can now. we’re done.” you stated, trying to sound as stern as you could, only to break down after taking a few steps away from the boy.
after walking away, you heard yeonjun break down into tears and sob while watching you walk away, but you knee you had to fight yourself from running back to him and taking him in your arms.
AND HERE WE ARE NOW …
you finally decided to pick up your phone, looking at the time and date, tears welling up once again after seeing it was you and yeonjun’s second anniversary, but it broke you knowing you weren’t together anymore to spend this special day.
unlocking yourself and checking your notifications just broke you more, seeing the messages yeonjun left you after the break up.
my jun ♡
APR 7TH . 8:39 PM
my jun ♡ : hey yn, can we please talk?
my jun ♡ : i know i fucked up
my jun ♡ : just please let me know you’re okay
APR 9TH . 11:46 AM
my jun ♡ : i know you probably don’t wanna see my messages
my jun ♡ : but i can’t stop thinking about you
my jun ♡ : it’s not the same waking up without you
my jun ♡ : i hope you know you’ll always be the one i love with my whole heart
my jun ♡ : i’m so sorry y/n
APR 9TH . 5:34 PM
my jun ♡ : hi y/n, i hope you’ve eaten today
my jun ♡ : i know you have a hard time eating after your classes
my jun ♡ : i’m sorry i can’t be that reminder for you anymore
APR 10TH . 4:26 AM
my jun ♡ : i miss you so much
my jun ♡ : i would do anything to go back and never leave your side at that party again
my jun ♡ : i would do anything to have another chance
my jun ♡ : fuck i’m probably bothering your sleep
my jun ♡ : i’m sorry, i’ll always be sorry. sleep well y/n, 🤍
APR 11TH . 6:38 PM
my jun ♡ : you haven’t been active on any of your social medias
my jun ♡ : are you okay?
my jun ♡ : well i know you aren’t okay
my jun ♡ : i didn’t mean it like that i know you could be okay of course
my jun ♡ : fuck i’m sorry
APR 12TH . 2:17 PM
my jun ♡ : hi y/n
my jun ♡ : i feel a little stalkerish continuing to text you even when you don’t reply, kinda funny isn’t it?
my jun ♡ : what am i kidding, nothings funny to me anymore
my jun ♡ : i can’t even bring myself to talk to anyone anymore
my jun ♡ : i hope you’re doing okay, and not crying anymore
my jun ♡ : you know i hate seeing you cry
my jun ♡ : even tho you look gorgeous when you cry
my jun ♡ : i love you y/n
APR 13TH . 1:07 AM
my jun ♡ : i hope you remember what day it is
my jun ♡ : because i sure do
my jun ♡ : here i am, sitting in my bed alone
my jun ♡ : our song playing on repeat
my jun ♡ : i would do everything and anything just for you to forgive me
my jun ♡ : even just a hug would get me to smile again
my jun ♡ : happy anniversary, i love you forever y/n, even if it’s not the same anymore.
authors note - thank you for reading! i’ve always been bad with angst so this might be total booty cheeks but.. oh well its worth a shot ^-^
PLEASE DO NOT STEAL NOR REPOST !
#౨ৎ antoncyng#౨ৎ antoncyng txt#౨ৎ antoncyng angst#antoncyng#txt#tomorrow x together#yeonjun#choi yeonjun#txt yeonjun#tomorrow x together yeonjun#txt angst#txt x reader#yeonjun x reader#yeonjun angst#yeonjun x you#txt imagines#txt scenarios#txt soobin#txt beomgyu#txt taehyun#txt huening kai#angst
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Cabin in the woods (yan!slasher!Konig x fem!Reader x yan!slasher!Horangi) part 3
Little birdie got caught. Konig is simply too excited to let you go.
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
AO3
TW for the chapter: Light blood and gore, dead bodies, mentions of drugs, spanking, kidnapping
— Those fucking bastards killed Karen! Don’t you care?!
Shouting at your friends was never your forte, but you expected that it would come out at some point in your unwilling journey, You never knew it would because of the psycho killers on the loose, wanting nothing more but to make a nice set of decorations from your bones and eat your liver.
You try to scream some senses into Chad’s tough skull but, just like his name suggests, this is a useless endeavor and you would be far better off running for your life, abandoning your friends, and hoping that killers would be satisfied without your sacrifice. But, you’re too nice. But, you have a bleeding heart and a death wish – and you feel guilty over not feeling guilty that Karen is dead. This is a new, overwhelming feeling for you, the one that almost revamps your whole essence. There are changes occurring, and you would rather die than acknowledge those changes.
— Listen to me, goddamnit! We’re all going to die!
You must be looking horrible – mouth covered in blood like you just ate a bunch of raw meat, smelling of dirt and fresh guts, hands shaking and your face resembling the horror mixed with anger – even Marty is surprised to see the resident mouse behave like this. God, even you are surprised to see just how horrified you look, screaming at them in the hope of saving at least someone.
Marty drops a hand over your shoulders, pulling you to the side. You try to resist, but his clanky figure is surprisingly grippy and strong – you are being pulled to the nearest tree branches, just out of the range of the group. You spend the previous few hours trying to find them and yell some senses into their heads – and the only thing that they advised is that you should stop drinking for today and that stealing pills from Marty’s stash isn’t very nice even if he kinda doesn’t care where his junk goes. Still, you are fucking trembling.
Marty pushes you to the tree, whispering in your ear – you feel his hot, deranged breath on the side of your face, making you wince. Even compared to the killer’s smell of sweat and blood, they still were nicer to be around than Stale-Beer-And-Cheap-Weed-Breath Marty.
— Hey. Heeeeey, doll, what was happening back there?
— Karen is…
— Nah-nah-nah, this is where you should shut up, yeah? Karen isn’t dead. I mean, I’m glad you think she is, it means my prank is fucking awesome.
Prank? Her fucking head was chopped off and then tossed over to the nearest creek when the shorter killer decided that he wants you to perform a blowjob on his knife, making sure that you are licking all the blood away. You don’t think that there are ways to fake this – and if there are, then your friends and their hired goons are no better than actual killer psychos anyway and you’d still want out.
— I saw her!
— Sure you did, hon. Listen, I’m really glad you were the first to notice and everything, but keep it down for now, yeah? I have this sick mask and I was actually planning to prank the group later at night, but if you found it first…
— Prank?! There are two actual killers on the loose, this is the worst time to do pranks!
— God, you’re annoying. This is why I fucking asked Jenny not to invite you. There are no killers, alright? Karen agreed to partake in the prank, so she is hiding somewhere in the forest until I’d pull out that sick knife and fucking scare everyone shitless. You were probably hallucinating from booze.
— I saw her severed head!
— Sure you did. Listen – you can help me, yeah? Just rile everyone up a little, then you will come back and say that…hmmmm…that Marty was taken! Everyone panicking, screaming, crying, and then I show up with this big-ass knife and…
You never heard the last of his amazing, perfect, simply brilliant idea – because before he could finish it, his head was impaled with…oh, no. No-no-no, you can’t do this anymore, not so soon after Karen is dead, not when you are still shaking and can barely think straight not when you are far away from others because Marty fucking led you to another secured place just to get his stupid head impaled with a fucking crossbow bolt – something that you only saw in video games or historical dramas.
This was completely silent – the quiet music of the bolt flying through the air, a small grunt that escaped Marty’s lips before he fell to the ground beneath your feet. You didn’t even manage to see from what direction this thing came from, too disoriented to observe the world around you properly. You feel the adrenaline running up again, probably breaking the record for you in the whole year – you jump from the body on the ground, tears dwelling in your eyes. You can’t do it, you can’t do it, you won’t do it, you were never a fighter, the freeze-fight-flight instinct always coming up to curling down in a small ball and sucking on your thumb.
Some people are simply not built for survival – this is a natural order, something that Darwin was talking about. Soft, weak humans are meant to die, meant to be the food for stronger predators, for monsters dwelling in the shadows. Some creatures are never meant to exist – fleshy cute creatures, the ones that melt at the slightest touch, someone like you – when your first answer to a threat is to roll on your back and show your belly to a mountain lion, you just knew that evolution never meant for you to live past the crib. And yet, civilisation allowed you to survive. To thrive even, before you were put in this fucking forest.
You run before everything else can kick in – at least some of your instincts are working properly, adrenaline running through your veins as you are leaving Marty behind, not even bothering to check if he is still breathing or not. The man was never thinking with his head – not the upper one anyway – but you doubt that he would survive a bolt shot perfectly between his eyes, separating his brain in two perfect halves. Like a fucking apple.
You ran
and you ran
and you ran some more
And you ran right into his chest.
Wall of muscles, no less – you aren’t even sure if this is a human’s body, too sturdy and hard and perfect to belong to something less of a Roman statue. You feel tears running down your face, panic not even bothering to settle in – you know you would be dead in the next few moments, brain tragically easy saying goodbye to being intact. A pathetic sob escapes your throat as you are caught for the second time in this night – lady luck might be smiling upon you the first time, but you doubt you can be her favorite for long.
— I thought the rule of escaping was to run away from danger.
This is the tall killer – low voice, secured by the mask, making it almost unrecognizable. You shake as a big, glowed hand goes on your back, laying there heavily. Even more pathetic sounds are produced from your lips, and you are almost ready to beg him for a quick, painless death – his hand is big enough to cover your head and you don’t want to think of the implications that he might crush your skull with just his fingers.
König listens to your sobs, doing nothing but keeping a firm hand on your back, securing you in place. You sob and whine and tremble in his hold – and he was never more hard in his life. What an adorable, pathetic little creature you are. Helpless in his hold – even squirrels can fight, scratching and biting. You were sobbing in his hold like the perfect kleine prey you are, and he could almost pretend this was a hug.
— Tshhh, Hase, don’t cry. I won’t be able to let you go if you’d proceed with those sweet noises, ja?
His revelation only makes you squirm more. You finally try to get out of his bear-like hug – only to realize that all of your little movements and struggles fit perfectly with the enormous, pulsating bulge in his pants that can probably be considered a murder weapon on its own and shouldn’t be concealed since this is an obvious threat to…ah, on second thought, running around from a serial killer who has his monstrous dick hanging out would be worse. Much, much worse.
— Let me go!
You squirm one of your hands, punching his chest. Feels like punching a marble statue – the only thing you are hurting is your own hands. You try to resolve to a different form, jerking up your knee to land a blow on his crotch.
He fucking moans.
— Never knew you were such a fighter, Schatz. But I warned you, aren’t I?
You don’t understand what he is talking about before he suddenly lifts you in his hands, dropping you on his shoulder like a bag of potatoes. You are crying, trying to get away, [unching him with your legs and your hands, all the adrenaline in your veins working solely for the purpose of inflicting as much pain on this enormous figure as possible.
You tug on this weird hood he is wearing – if you are going to die, at least you would die exhausting all possible options, not feeling like you gave up without a fight. This is still a journey of self-respect and deep insight searches for the mysteriously hidden backbone of your body – maybe, yoga classes would be more effective and less dangerous but, unfortunately, you’re not a rich white housewife in her thirties, so not like you have money for a guru who would spend hours trying to convince your ovaries to stop dying on the inside.
— Let!
You punch him on the back, a multitude of well-served punches right into his back. He laughs, spreading his shoulders, cocking his chest forward like you were giving him a massage. With a groan, you made a very deliberate punch right in the middle of his back – and he moans from satisfaction, probably releasing some pent-up tension that he got from killing grandmas and destroying hotels.
— Me!
You tried to kick him in the chest, your legs working overtime as you cosplayed a rabid rabbit – only for him to laugh even more, his arm securing you holstered across his shoulder like your punches meant nothing. They probably didn’t – he is literally still holding a fucking crossbow in his other hand, managing to secure it on his side while moving towards…you only assume it to be a murder cabin because of course those freaks would have a murder cabin, why the hell not – probably with some cool classy furniture made out of bones.
— Go!
You finally manage to secure hold on the edge of his hood, yanking it upwards in hopes of actually revealing who the fuck is he – a dirty businessman who doesn’t like those damn kids and their dog to ruin his plans for burning down the forest to create a shopping mall? A nice old man who showed you the road when you were lost, but he is actually on a spree to get revenge on all young people for killing his pet chicken in 1997? One of those creepy guys at the corner store who was weirdly obsessive over you, talked like a serial killer, and was constantly and also came in pair with the guy whose height and manner perfectly resembled a pair of killers that are after you now?
Probably the grandpa.
You yank the mask up and…
Ah.
Of course, he is wearing a freaking balaclava. The only thing that you managed to see were his eyes – blue, icy, pretty, filled with anger as he pulled the hood down, concealing his features again, without you even managing to take a closer look. You gulp loudly, preparing to die.
He smacks your ass with a power that would be enough to break a bone – your only saving grace is that the flesh of your butt provided some cushion, instead leaving a nasty bruise and inability to sit for at least a few days. That is if you would even survive long enough to have problems sitting on your backside. You won’t have such problems if you’re dead, right?
— Quiet, Schatz. I already breaking the rule for taking you too early.
— Br…breaking a rule? Do you have a freaking hunting pact?
— I promised Tiger that we’d let you roam around a little. Make things interesting.
Ah, yes, because letting you go the first time was such a brilliant idea on their behalf. The only reasons you didn’t go straight to the police is because A) You don’t speak rural Austrian German, B) Your phone can’t connect to anything, and C) You don’t even know in what part of the forest you are. Also because you’re scared that the police are going to turn out treacherous people, just like in horror movies, and that it would fucking destroy your trust.
— I can roam around. I can roam around just fucking perfect, ass…
Another loud smack on your ass makes you feel like a misbehaving kitten. He grips your ass through your jeans and you whimper a little bit, starting to cry again as his hand goes straight for the bottom, gripping your cunt through the tough layer of denim. You thank every god you know for making you wear ugly, but protective and thick jeans. Every time his hand goes to cup your most intimate parts, the fabric of your jeans protects it – you don’t even feel too violated when he pushes his fingers even more, desperately trying to get a reaction out of you.
— Language, Hase. Don’t make me discipline you, ja?
— Fuck you!
— Very gut then. That’s what you will do very soon.
Oh, but the rough material grinding over your delicate, thin panties and the sensitivity of your cunt really makes you feel…something. You won’t want to admit it, he smells like blood and sweat(still better than Marty, but you shut down that thought before it was born because fuck the new abortion laws), and he spanks your ass only to grope your pussy right after – and he also has masterful fingers that are working at the hem of your jeans, making the fabric press even more against the sensitive skin and…
You try to think of something – anything.
Dead bodies, dead bodies, a lot of dead bodies, and there are some dead puppies too and everything is gross and smelly and…ah, it’s not working.
König touches your lower parts with a wide grin under his hood – you’re fucking perfect, a nice addition to their house. You bite when he needs a little fight and you shut up when he touches you – perfect birdie, adorable birdie, Horangi will probably be bitching about spoiling the fun since you’d be stuck with them without a proper chase like he wanted, but the tiger would come around once he’d emptied himself on your warm body just once.
You squirm under his touch, moan and cry and tremble and he can’t stop imagining you in millions of different positions. Stuck in the basement of their house, on your knees like a good girl you are, maybe with some branding or a collar – it’s more of a Horangi’s thing, even though König hopes he won’t have to break you too much until you’d call him daddy – pushing you to their shared bed, making sure that you’re nice and stuck in some open positions, allowing them to take you without much repercussions.
— Let me go.
— Nein.
— Please?
— I like your begging, Spatz.
— It means you’d let me go?
— Nein. You will tell your little friends, and then you will run to the police, ruining our fun. You are not going anywhere.
— But, um…your culprit will be mad, no?
As cunning as you can, you’re trying to seal the seeds of destruction among them. You’re trying your damn best not to act too charming or too fake, just so he won’t fall in love with you for real and would try murder-suicide you, but also with enough charisma checks so you’d actually convince him.
But, it’s not really working – maybe, you aren’t as good at spreading havoc as you thought you were.
— He’d live. We would get to hold you in your house, little one. It’s enough to make him understand my reasons.
It’s definitely enough to make you want to puke. He is fast, not even bothering to check on the body of your friend as he goes past it – he just marks it with something that resembles a piece of torn fabric and pushes some leaves and sticks on the body, probably signalling to his friend to come and get rid of the body – and then he changed your position a little bit, securing a hand on your ass he goes deeper into the forest.
You’re trying to remember the location, maybe counting the trees and every bush that seems like a good mark – but you, a city girl raised on a cocktail of Google Maps and a constant internet connection, have already grown tired of trying to remember everything. Every tree is the fucking same, every turn feels like the one before and, at some point, you were sure that he is actually going in circles to make you understand the location even less. Your blurry vision obstructs the goal even more – you cried so much, it feels like your very eyes gave out. With a sigh of defeat, you metaphorically roll over to your back and present your belly to the predators.
After a hike that felt like hours, but was probably like 10 minutes long – this guy has long legs and the determination of a dog dragging a really cool stick home and, before you know it, you’re standing in front of a…house. Nice house. Expensive house, a big house, something less of a mansion, but more of a shed that you thought he was going to live in because he is literally a serial killer.
Even serial killers made good property investments in the respective years – and you were too busy with useless stuff, like learning how to walk or trying not to choke yourself on a piece of carrot.
— Welcome home, Schatz.
He gently lets you down from his shoulder, allowing you to take a closer look at your surroundings. Normal living room – literally nothing weird. Maybe a bit too much hunting trophies, maybe a lot of guns lying around, some overly manly decorations, and very questionable art pieces but if you’d see that house advertised on the property website, you wouldn’t even consider it too weird. You were expecting…something. Blood on the walls, furniture made out of human flesh and skin, a devilish feast for imps and every like them…
You saw nothing as König punched the back of your head, putting you to sleep.
You fucking hate forest trips.
#cod#call of duty#cod x reader#cod x you#konig x reader#yandere konig#konig mw2#reader insert#yandere cod#yandere x reader#horangi x you#horangi x reader#horangi x könig#kim horangi hong jin#horangi#modern warfare 2#mw2#yandere imagines#yandere#male yandere#slashers#horror
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Stunt Work | Johnny Cage x Trans Male
Pairing: Johnny Cage x Male Reader (trans male/masc)
Summary: you’re a stunt double working on one of Johnny’s films, he’s annoying to work with and you think you both mutually hate each other…at least you thought.
Warnings: NSWF! 🔞 MDNI!!, mentions of afab anatomy, there’s almost no plot but I tried my best so it’s a little layered.
Word Count: 3.2k
A/C: I didn’t really proof read this a whole lot, so ignore any errors pls <3
Part 2 here <-
“Alright, Cage, you gotta commit to it man stop flaking— grab his shoulder, flip him over and leg lock.” The director instructed Johnny who was shirtless, sweating and in an overall fussy mood because he couldn’t for some reason commit to performing the stunt on you all the way.
“Hop off my sack, man. I’m trying.” Johnny breathed heavily.
“If I may-“ you tried to put in a word of advice but it was quickly shut down.
“Listen, G.I Joe, zip it-“ Johnny barked, all cocky.
“You both been acting like cats and dogs all day, cut it out!” He yelled and then turned to Johnny, “What’s gotten in to you? You’re literally a martial artist, an actor, and you keep stopping at a simple leg lock?” The director whispered at him, patting his back.
The director not reprimanding his shitty behavior and only talking about his stunt block made you scoff loudly.
Johnny gave you a brief look before looking away and shaking his head, “I know I am, I’m the best there is— I’m Johnny Cage for god’s sake.”
“That’s the spirit! Now, another take! We’re gonna get this!” The director yelled.
You rolled your eyes and got to position, as well as Johnny getting in to fighting stance in front of you.
“Action!”
Johnny started throwing his moves at you, you dodged them successfully and then the sequence he struggled was next. He grabbed your shoulder, flipping you over on to the padded floor harshly which made you groan, and then finally performing the leg lock on you— extending your leg between his thighs on the floor as you grunted. You thought he finally got the move down until you felt something firm against your thigh as he kept it in a hold. You hesitantly look down and notice that between his legs was a rock hard erection making you go completely still and your eyes widen. Of course, he noticed your reaction and he immediately let you go and stood up with an embarrassed look on his face. A blush covering his cheeks as his shades hid part of his face.
“Way to go, Johnny! That’s my boy!” The director yelled.
You got up from the padded floor and cleared your throat, a heat coming from your neck. Not really looking at him as you were ready to run off set to your trailer.
“Are we done?” You look at the director and ignore Johnny’s flushed face.
“Yes yes, go ahead and take your breaks.” He patted an immovable Johnny’s back.
Without even a second thought you rushed to your trailer, a bunch of feelings and thoughts flooding your head. You were confused as to why you felt an attraction to the asshole, you were supposed to hate his guts, right? But now, since it’s pretty obvious he didn’t wanna do a leg lock all day was because he didn’t wanna reveal the rock hard boner he got in that position with you it made any rationality of in your head vanish.
An hour passed since you were trying to relax in your trailer, that is until you heard a few firm knocks on your door making you jolt and walk to it.
“Listen, if the stunt needs more rehearsing I might shoot myself-“ your words caught at the back of your throat as you saw a showered Johnny in front of you with a raised eyebrow and an amused expression.
“Easy, G.I Joe. It’s me.” He grinned at you.
“No- we ain’t doing this shit. You cannot just knock on my door with a smile and expect me to forget how much of an insufferable dick you’ve been.” You went to close the door on his face but he shoved his foot in and firmly moved his way in.
“What the-“
“Unclench your ass, I just need to talk.” He walked in with his hands in his pockets, he was wearing slacks and a navy blue dress shirt with his usual shades.
You slam the door closed as you turn around and near him, “The only reason why I’m letting you in is because I need this damn job— I would have kicked your ass by now.”
Johnny smirked, completely not phased by your red angry face, taking his shades off and looking in to your eyes with his big brown warm eyes. “Listen, I know I was a bit of a dick but I like you despite our quarrels on set. It’s an eat dog eat dog world out there, baby.”
You scoff loudly, “Baby?”, a redness in your face.
Johnny walked around your trailer, looking at your room and decorations on the walls. “Never had anyone call you pet names huh, stud?”
You shake your head and follow behind him, “Forget that. Why the hell did you have a boner when you did a leg lock on me?”
His cocky smile suddenly falters as he turns around to meet your eyes, his face uneasy. “That’s what I came to chitchat about. I’d appreciate if you didn’t go around to gossip about that. It wouldn’t be good press.”
You laugh dryly, “So you didn’t come to explain yourself but rather save your ass?”
Johnny rolled his eyes, “I’m a star, I don’t need any bs like that getting out there you understand? Plus, do you honestly think I could have controlled what happened?”
You shake your head, “That’s not the point. You know how many accidental boners I’ve experienced while doing stunt work? There’s friction when doing stunts it happens, it nothing perverted, But all of the actors I’ve worked with have apologized, just out of decency.”
Johnny actually stayed quiet, pondering on what to say, “I’m…I apologize. You know, I don’t usually apologize— I’ve been so out of it today and you being around just messed with my focus.”
You approach him more, “You’re blaming me for not being able to perform a stunt? I was distracting you?” You say bitterly.
“I’m not blaming you. Only explaining. I- I didn’t want to do the stunt all the way because I knew the second I got you on that leg lock…you’d feel it.” He looks away, a hint of vulnerability for the first time all day.
You sit down on a chair, taking a deep breath, “It wasn’t the friction.” He continued, looking at you with a certain emotion that you couldn’t quite tell what it was.
“What-“
“It was you. Moment you walked on set.” He played with the rings on his fingers, a more serious look on his face.
There was a warmth that overtook your body, a shock. “But-“ you were cut off.
“Just let me get this out alright, G.I Joe? I know what it looks like; ‘Johnny Cage getting a boner over another guy’, it’s not ideal for my image. It’s not ideal for Hollywood if it got out that their poster boy for masculinity, heterosexuality and womanizing was…not necessarily that all along.” He swallowed deeply now, sitting down next to you and looking away.
“…I guess you’re more layered than I thought. A dick with shades of gray.” You say, trying to be somewhat lighthearted at the rather shocking truth.
Johnny chuckled softly playing with his hands, “I am a dick sometimes, that I don’t deny. But the truth is, most of what people see is a facade— As most publicity of actors in hollywood is. I was raised in to this industry to fit a certain mold and you do it long enough you sort of become that regardless…” he trailed off, now looking at you, “As corny as it is, I haven’t felt a more genuine attraction in years.”
You blush, taking a deep breath, “So, have you always liked guys? Or is this something…new?”
Johnny thinks deeply, “Always. I get with anyone really. I’m an actor, of course I’ve gotten with dudes.” He grins at you, a hopeful look in his eyes that urged you to elaborate on your own thoughts.
“I guess we finally found some type of common ground Hollywood, I’m pretty…fruity.” You cheese.
“You are..?” His brown eyes turned to a dark color suddenly, a sort of hungry expression in his face. “And you…fancy me also, right? I see it in your face…”
You take a deep breath, “Careful with the ego but yes.” You chuckle, “Think I was…quite mad that your little slip up on set didn’t turn me off.”
Suddenly you feel his hand on your knee, his thumb grazing over your pants, “Come on then stud…we both want it.” He says in a deep husky voice.
A shiver runs down you leg, “Isn’t it unprofessional to get involved with- with coworkers?”
He chuckles, “Oh sweetie, unprofessional is my middle name.”, he glided his hand up your thigh now, studying your every expression as he did.
“Good point…” you breathe faster, a warm feeling festering in your lower abdomen.
“Shhh…shhh.” He whispered, “Let me just…I’ve been harboring a boner all day because of you, we’re doing this…” he trailed off, his hand now reaches the button on your jeans undoing it.
“Wait I-“ you stand up in a slight panic, “There’s something I gotta say before we proceed…”
Johnny raised an eyebrow at you, confused and stands up with you, studying your face.
You start pacing around, “I’m trans. A trans guy. I just wanted to say something before we-“
Johnny chuckled softly, a relief on his face, “Sweetheart, I thought you were gonna tell me something horrific.” He touches his chest, “Don’t worry about it, stud.”
Your face turns amused, “Are- are you sure you know what I’m saying?”
Johnny approaches you now, rubbing the back of your neck with his warm hand, “You’re a trans man, I understand. But a man nonetheless.”
You grow goosebumps as he touches you, “That doesn’t bothe-“
“It doesn’t, This is Hollywood baby, you know how many different folks I’ve gotten down with? I got you.” He now made his hand trail down your chest, rubbing it passionately.
Your breath hitches and you become warm all over, his hand then trails down your abdomen to under pants, his hand reaching the waistline of your briefs. Pulling you close against his chest with his free hand, “Now, come here, be a good boy…” he kisses your lips for the first time firmly, all warm and wet.
You sync your lips with his and hum against his mouth, a groan leaving his throat the deeper he went. Sliding his hand in your briefs now, rubbing your crotch up and down making you moan against his mouth.
“Fuck…” you hiss, making a grin form on his lips.
Johnny then suddenly slips his hand out and starts undoing your pants, but before he pulls them down he looks in your eyes for approval. When he sees that you nod with a gulp he immediately pulls then down to your knees leaving you in your briefs, “Don’t worry, honey…” he whispers as he cups your jaw and kisses you on the cheek. He pulls back while gently guiding you to the couch, your back against it as he finishes pulling your pants off. There was a primal look in his eyes as he crawled between your legs and was on top of you, his chest laying against yours as he leaned in and kissed your neck desperately.
“Shit-“ your breath wavers, your skin hotter than the sun.
“Mmm- taste so good-“ you heard a groan leave the back of his throat, he then trailed his hands down to your hips and gripped them tightly. “You okay? You ready?” He looked in to your eyes for any hesitation— as cocky as he was you saw an undeniable softness in them now. A want to please, a want to do something for someone. The way his eyebrows quirked up slightly waiting for your answer, like a kid looking for some sort of validation. For someone to tell him yes and that he’s doing well. It made you reconsider everything you knew about him so far. Maybe he was just a man desperately trying to look for connection in an otherwise soulless industry that broke people. He wanted connection, he craved it— he wanted realness with someone.
You nod, rubbing his sides tenderly. He closed his eyes briefly at that, sighing deeply with a small smile on his lips. Then, he reached the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his shirt, immediately going to unbuckle his belt and his pants. At a point, you saw he was struggling to get them off, maybe it was nerves, maybe it was frustration, so you sat up sightly between his legs and reached up gently to his belt undoing it with ease. You later unbuttoned his pants as well, but giving him space to take off his pants on his own. Johnny stayed completely quiet when you did that small act for him, observing you with a want that grew tenfold but with a side of that softness he emitted no matter how hard he tried to hide it. Big brown eyes like chocolate itself.
You chuckle up at him, “What, Hollywood?”
The actor snapped out of it, shaking his head, sliding his pants down and throwing them to the floor with the other clothes. “God, I wanna fuck you.” He said bluntly, taking his boxers off now, his dick in full view and without any hesitation going back between your legs, touching the hem of your briefs with his fingertips and with a sudden halt.
“Johnny, it’s okay…” you look down at him with a shy yet flushed face.
Johnny nodded, a grin back on his face as he used both of his hands to slide your briefs off— your heart accelerating at how slow he was going. He finally slid them down your legs and immediately his vision went your throbbing pussy— like an inevitable reaction. The actor licked his lips as he positioned his thighs and hips accurately, leaning over you. He looked in to your eyes as you felt his burning cock hitting your inner thigh, teasing your entrance.
“Hnnngh-“ you groaned, almost desperate now as you moved your hips against him, a trickle of sweat down your temple.
Johnny let out a chuckle as he placed his finger below your chin to look at him, “I ain’t even in yet handsome…take a breather.”
“Don’t tell me what to do you ass.” You chuckle and playfully slap his shoulder.
Johnny smirked at your behavior, reaching down between his legs and grasping his length that was oozing with precum already. Positioned it at your core and carefully slid past your folds with his hips— carefully studying your face as he laid down over you, wrapping his arms around your shoulders.
“Ahh-“ you moaned softly, digging your fingers in to his lower back…trying to push him faster inside.
“Easy…easy….” He said with reassurance, his mouth agape as he finally made it all the way in making him grunt as he felt your walls clenching around his cock.
Johnny then took no time nuzzle in to your neck as he pulled his hips back slightly and then rammed in to you with no warning, making you let out an earth shattering groan against his ear. His arms locking around your waist tightly now as he held you against him like you were air itself and he’d die without it. There was a slight tremble to his body the more he rammed in to you.
“Jesus- fuck-“ your eyes grew a bit watery as you cursed, a coil already tightening in your lower abdomen while you tried to gain your breath.
“Oh- Wrong J name, baby-” He moaned with a bit humor beneath, peppering your neck and jawline with kisses as his buckling against your wet tight pussy became more frequent.
It was a cumulation of moans, groans, curses and senseless phrases between you both. You noticed his face was flushed, his cheeks pink as he pulled back a bit to study your face. “That feel good, sweetheart? That feel- Fuck-“ he whimpered, and it was the hottest thing you’ve ever seen. “Answer…” he continued, with a stern tone now.
Your chest heaved faster as he picked up his speed, “y- yes, god- so good-“, your hands gripping his lower back more as he pushed in and out of you.
“You’re gonna take it like a good boy- mmm, sweetheart-“ He groaned as he grabbed your hips now more harshly, you could tell he was close as well the way he became more direct and possessive. A constant harsh rhythm was formed by his hips, his dick reaching in to the deepest depths inside as he hit your g spot over and over with no mercy. With no breaks or signs of stopping, you whined loudly and shook— feeling your height coming.
A the coil inside you soon snapped, making you whimper as you reached your climax— coming all around his swollen length. Johnny leaned in to your neck, moaning against it as he came right after you— his warm come filling you up to the brim.
“Fuck- fuckkkkk-“ he groaned as he bit down on your neck and then licked alongside your jaw.
Wrapping your arms around his neck, you held him close as you tried to come down from the electricity that was currently running through you both. Johnny then reciprocated… sighing loudly, still inside you and wrapping his toned arms around your waist not caring how sticky and sweaty you both were against each other. He was content of sorts, a small smile playing on his lips, closing his eyes against your chest as he listened to your quick heart.
“You okay, Hollywood?” You rub his back tiredly.
Johnny chuckled lowly, “I feel like a million bucks, baby.” He leaned in and took a long sniff of your neck, “I love how smell-“
“That’s sweat, don’t patronize me-“ you laugh, your face red and full of embarrassment as you realized he hasn’t made any attempt of moving out of you.
“Oh shush— you have a musk. You might get me addicted, sweetheart.” He rubbed your sides now, his hair sticking in all directions.
You snort loudly now, rolling your eyes at his charming yet annoying behavior, “Okay fancy pants, can you pull out of me? I need to pee, I don’t want a UTI!”
His eyes widen at the realization and he carefully pulls out, “Oh- oh I apologize, stud. Next time I’ll remember-”, the actor says apologetically and stands up with a slight tiredness, carefully helping you up as you wince.
“You’re getting pegged next time that’s what.” You say humorously with a grin as you walked to the bathroom in your trailer and he walked behind you like a lost puppy.
“Oooh, challenge accepted, G.I Joe!”
#johnny cage x reader#johnny cage#there needs to be more x trans male fics#johnny cage x you#johnny cage x male reader#johnny cage mortal kombat#mlm#johnny cage is bi#idc
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My Miguel O’Hara Headcanons! (18+)
fem!reader, 18+
CW: descriptive talk of kinks & body stuffs, pure smut and lewdness, sex, more sex, and my darker hcs at the bottom.
You’ve been warned :-)
Oh Miguel where can I even begin
Tall, strong, and handsome. In his younger days he’s buff and muscled, peak physique with dark brown hair and a smooth complexion. Thick brown hair slicked back, every chiseled part of his face visible to everyone around him.
When he’s an older dilf he’s got a little bit of a dad bod, still buff but he’s still got it. Hair still slicked back and dark brown eyes that could melt your heart.
Sure he’s stoic and comes off as crabby and rude but we don’t care :3
I never see any tomboy representation so I like to imagine his type is a strong willed tomboyish type of woman. Does it matter how she looks? No! But me personally I like to think he loves women with short hair, an attitude, and boyish mannerisms.
It doesn’t matter how tall you are— he’s always taller. You could be petite or curvy and he’ll still toss you over his shoulder and make you beat at his back to put you down.
Now into the NSFW 😏
Miguel, the thick man he is, has a fat cock— just difficult to stretch to his size. It’s not impossible but somehow it feels impossible when it’s stuffed in those guts mmmhhhh and it goes so deep it’s delicious
His dick stands proud at 7 and a half inches long, and is thick like a mf. I like to imagine he’s uncut and it’s slightly darker than the rest of his body. Thick veins that you can trace with your fingers or your tongue, his cock swollen and slightly redder at the tip than the rest of the member. Tilts downwards for the best gspot stimulation and slightly tilting towards the left…
Don’t think his sack won’t do anything because when he has you bent over in doggy the way those nuts hit the clit is so !!!
In bed he’s dominant and mean, having you helpless in his arms while he makes you a whining, whimpering mess under him. Soft dom, only a hard dom when he’s had a bad day at work or is pent up and angry.
He will fuck anywhere, anytime, and he has a ridiculous amount of energy. It’s actually unfair how he can go round after round without getting exhausted. Both of your sweaty bodies laying on the bed, you’re sore and used and you feel him stiffen and slowly push back into you, kissing you to hush your whines as he quickly picks up the pace again.
Predator/prey dynamic 😋 as a vampire he loves marking you up and leaving hickeys and love bites everywhere visible and invisible. He’s yours and you’re his, his precious little mami.
Service dom 100% AND a praise kink that drives you wild. Showers you with praises as he bullies his thick cock into your pussy. He loves to make your orgasm, never having the heart to deny you the pleasure of cumming for and on him.
“Mi nena, you’re doing so good taking it all, mm, t’so good amor,”
“Give me one more, baby, jus’ one more cariño, don’t cry just let me use this perfect pussy tonight…”
Breeding kink. Round after round of rough fucking and he’s still not done— being his universe’s spiderman gives him an unfair amount of stamina during sex— filling you over and over with his seed until you’re slightly bloated and dazed.
And when you get pregnant he’s all over you, showering you with love and affection for the baby in your belly. And he has a deep carnal desire to fuck you deep and sensually while you’re swollen with his child, his mouth latched onto your leaky, milk-engorged tits.
My Darker Headcanons below!
CW: somno, CNC(?), free use, more edgy fantasy but not necessarily dead dove do not eat (idk)
Turn back now, you have been warned
I fantasized that Miguel just wants to take reader captive & use them as a toy, to fuck senseless even if they’re whining and protesting and clawing at his back it’s just so hotttt
You’ll beg and whine and plead for him to go easy, take a break, and he shuts you up with passionate, sloppy kisses before he cums deep inside you. So deep, you’d think he’s trying to get as much of it as possible directly into your womb.
And he’ll fuck a baby into you trust me, he’ll be so happy that he can’t help but give you more after the birth of your first baby, just a few more, he loves stuffing his loads into you and seeing you slowly grow his baby.
Definitely into the free use kink or even somno…
When he comes home from a rough day of being spiderman, he sees your soft sleeping body in one of his shirts and he can’t help but nestle behind you, pulling his half-chub cock out and lazily dragging it between your folds. You wake up to the feeling of him pushing his fat cock inside you, and he covers your mouth before you can make any noises.
He’ll sink his fangs into the soft flesh of your neck, groaning as he hears your soft muffled cries, stretching you around his girth and slowly rutting inside those slick walls.
Or for free use maybe you’re spiderwoman from a different universe and he sees you and he can’t help but feel horny and aroused seeing you in your spidersuit but you love being bratty and misbehaving… also goes back to the predator/prey dynamic
He’ll track you down and corner you in a dark alleyway, throwing your small body on the ground, tearing off your suit and having his way with you, rutting into you and forcing you all the way down on his cock while his claws dig into your skin. Your helpless moans and cries go unheard as he groans filthy words in your ears, snarling at you to shut up and take it.
And when he’s done he’ll leave you to pick yourself up, of course after giving you feverish kisses and love bites to your neck to remind you that you’re his and only his. But he’ll leave you, pussy swollen and his cum gushing and pooling between your legs, thighs twitching and body trembling from the orgasms he ripped from you.
Oh but I’d still give him a bit fat sloppy kiss :-)
#miguel ohara#miguel x y/n#miguel o'hara smut#miguel smut#miguel x reader#miguel o'hara#miguel o’hara smut#miguel o’hara noncon#miguel o’hara headcanon#miguel headcanons
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The Sublet - Roommate!AU
Warnings: She/her pronouns, slow burn, angst. Tags will be added as the fic goes along. Angst (come on its me), feelings of sadness and betrayal, discussion of domestic abuse.
Pairings: Modern!Aemond x Reader
Summary: Living with Helaena Targaryen was one of the best decisions you had ever made. Meeting at university, the two of you became thick as thieves and quickly best friends, moving into a flat together. But what will happen when Helaena has to leave, and her quiet, brooding, brother moves in?
Notes: I was stuck in a bit of a writers funk there for a moment, but I think I'm out of it which hopefully means I can start slanging dick from my requests. Also as a side note, abusive relationships are really hard to escape, and often very confusing for the victims and people around them. Anywaaaaay, enjoy! <3
Chapter 11: Scars Of The Past
Work had been something you wished would go faster, eyes cast up to the clock on your wall, watching the seconds tick by painfully slow.
You glanced intermittently at the time on your computer, or the one on the screen of your phone. The day seemed to crawl at a snails pace as you eagerly wished to get home to see him.
Aemond had changed, for the better, and the dynamic that had grown between the two of you had, in your opinion, perhaps gone past a casual escapade.
Cregan had never spent days on end with you in your bed, nor had he cooked every single night for you. Nor had he read to you, or indulged you in your every want and wish.
This was much different to the casual dynamic that you had with Northerner, and the more you thought about it, the more you wondered what you were to Aemond. Did he feel the same way? Was he too having these thoughts today? Watching to clock slowly roll by as he waited at home for you?
Was he jogging to fill the time until you would return?
Did he feel the same pull? The same shift? The same longing for more?
It was something that you clearly needed to talk about, and something that you planned to tonight. You weren’t one to beat around the bush, and you felt that Aemond was the same.
When the clock finally struck 5, and the work day ended, you all but raced from the office and to the train, stopping by the grocery store to buy ingredients to cook him your favourite meal, grabbing your shared favourite ice cream tub to share afterwards as a treat.
You had to force yourself to not skip home, a sweet giddiness spreading into your chest warmly as you sped walked with grocery bags in tow, work bag slung over your shoulder. Your heart raced in your chest as you thought of if he would like your meal.
It raced even faster when you began to roll words around your mind on how to ask him what this was. It was too heated to be casual. Too chemical to be a one time thing. Too high strung for just a month of fun. And you had hopes that it would continue after Helaena came back.
Helaena.
That was another hurdle that you would eventually have to take.
After your talk with Aemond, of course.
When you got to the door of your apartment, you had to juggle your bags to reach for your keys, placing the groceries on the floor awkwardly as you fished around in your work bag on your shoulder.
When the tips of your fingers sought them out, pulling them from an inside pocket, a sound inside the apartment caused your ears to prick up. It was a sound that should not have been there, all things considered.
Your heart began to race in your chest.
But the sound persisted, low and steady.
Behind the door of your apartment, came the hum of a feminine voice.
Your brows pulled together.
Was Helaena back early? She hadn’t told you that she was coming back yet.
Something uncomfortable settled in your gut.
You pushed your keys in the door and opened it slowly, careful to not make noise, picking up your groceries as quietly as you could to enter, shutting the door behind you. You placed your keys in the bowl, heart sinking into your gut.
You could hear it now, a singsongy purr from a woman and the quieter, softer timbre of Aemond.
You got to the end of the corridor and your eyes fell to the couch.
Aemond’s head flicked up to you, hair tied back away from his face in a low bun, wearing all black with his shoes on.
It looked like he had been out for a run.
His body was tensed, shoulders rolled back and hands in fists at his sides.
Beside him, a woman you recognised.
Alys Rivers sat prim and pretty on your couch.
In your apartment.
Next to your-
Next to Aemond.
She wore a green top that hugged all of her curves, breasts pushed high and forward on her chest, cleavage on show by the low cut of the top. Her waist was tiny, pulled in by high black pants, and on her feet were a pair of shiny, black stilettos. Her dark hair was brushed over her shoulder, long and straight, and her red lips pursed as she looked at you.
Bright green eyes became narrowed, and all of a sudden you felt unwelcome in your own home.
You watched as her lips parted and her tongue pressed into the tip of her canine before she shut her mouth, saccharine smile pulling on her painted red lips as she turned to Aemond, hand rested on his knee.
“Aemy, you didn’t tell me you had a friend coming over.” Her voice was melodic, and if you didn’t know about her character, you would say that she sounded almost sweet.
But you knew it was a sirens song.
Your hands tightened around the bags handles, “I live here.” You grit out.
Alys turned her head back to you, and your eyes stayed on her as her thumb stroked against his knee, his fists tightening at his side, pale knuckles looking paler. But Aemond did not tell her to stop, and only looked at you with an expression you couldn’t decipher.
“Oh.” Alys responded, eyes roaming across the apartment at your furnishings slowly, far too slowly to be admiration, subtle judgement in her eyes, “It’s a lovely home. Quaint.”
Heat rose in your cheeks and you had to force yourself to move, unsticking your feet from the floor. You moved towards the kitchen, sparing Aemond a concerned look as you began putting away all your groceries.
“Thanks.” You told her stiffly, back turned, eyes narrowed at the splash back tiles of the sink.
“How do you and Aemond know each other?” She enquired from behind, and before you could turn to face her and tell her, Aemond answered for you.
“She’s Helaena’s roommate.”
Your heart sank.
Helaena’s roommate.
Not friend.
Not lover.
Not undecided whatever the hell you were.
Helaena’s roommate.
Anger began to rise inside, followed with jealousy and hurt. A most dangerous trio.
You wrenched the freezer open, carelessly tossing the ice cream inside.
Why was she here?
Why did he let her inside?
Why was she touching him?
You turned back to the couch standing in front of Aemond and Alys.
She stood, tall on her long legs and reached a hand out to you, red painted nails like sharp claws pointed at you, “Alys.”
“I know.” You looked at her hand, not dignifying her with your name nor pleasantries.
She was an abuser, and with the way her face fell, the smile dropping completely, you knew the act was all fake.
Alys dropped her hand and stepped back to sit back down on the couch again, using it as an excuse to sit closer to him, thigh against his and hand back on his knee. You watched as Aemond’s eye flicked down to the hand, lips parting as he breathed shallowly.
The tip of her nail scratched against his thigh.
A false laugh fell from her lips, “Bad day at work, I’m guessing?” She smirked at you.
Your teeth ground against each other, “Work was fine. Just wasn’t expecting…” Your eyes flicked to Aemond, wishing he’d look at you, give you any indication that he needed help, but he didn’t, and when his eye met yours, there was resignation in it, “Company.” You spat.
Her pale hand lifted, tucking a strand of stray silver hair that had fallen in front of his face, behind Aemond’s ear.
He didn’t flinch.
He didn’t shy away.
He sat stiffly and allowed it.
“It was a spur of the moment visit.” A small giggle fell from her lips, “It’s been so long since we have seen each other, and I thought a reunion was in order. We have had a lot to catch up on.”
“Have you?” You asked, but your tone was directed to him.
Please give me a sign you need help.
Give me a sign you want her gone.
Aemond hummed, nodding in agreement.
Your heart sank again.
“I was thinking of cooking-“
“-Oh, we’ve already eaten. Haven’t we?” Alys interrupted you, looking at Aemond with a wide smile.
Your lips parted, and it felt like she had dug her perfectly manicured claws into your chest, gut turning.
Aemond didn’t meet your gaze, eye looking anywhere but you.
“I hope he hasn’t been causing you trouble.” The woman lightly joked, hand rubbing up and down his thigh.
The urge to cry reared its ugly head inside of you.
“He’s been the perfect gentleman.” You responded quietly, feeling all hope be sucked out of you.
You didn’t know what to do.
Another laugh, the sound grating in your ears, “That doesn’t sound like you.” She purred, double meaning not lost on you.
A blush creeped across your cheeks, and Alys narrowed her bright eyes at you once more.
Silence settled over the three of you, and you wished he would say something, or show you a sign that he wanted or needed your help, but no matter how long you stared at him, he refused to meet your gaze.
Alys cleared her throat primly, eyes sweeping across the room in mock discomfort, “I’m sorry, we haven’t spoken in some time.”
She was trying to dismiss you.
In your own home.
The anger was back.
Your arms crossed over your chest.
“And?” You held your ground.
This was his chance.
His last chance of an out if he wanted it.
If he needed it.
Alys sucked her tongue, jaw shifting in annoyance as she looked at you.
She thought this would be easy.
“I had hopes that me and Aemond could catch up…” She looked at you pointedly, “Alone.”
“You’re in my house.” You all but sneered.
“Y/n.” Aemond’s voice finally rose from the couch, but it did nothing but serve as a warning to you.
Stand down.
One last chance.
You looked at Aemond, pleading him with your eyes, asking him if he needed an out wordlessly one last time, but he didn’t take it, nor did it look like he needed it.
Aemond nodded at you with a slow blink.
And there it was.
Your dismissal.
Any hope that you had crashed back down to earth, shattering into a thousand different pieces as Alys smirked at you triumphantly. You set your jaw in a hard line, and turned on your foot, heading straight to your room and closing the door behind you.
Tears immediately overflowed from your eyes, sliding down your cheeks wetly. Sharp pain twisted in your chest and stomach, and a sense of shame and embarrassment curled around you.
How stupid had you been?
Why did you feel this way?
Did he invite her here?
Did he want to get back with her?
Were you nothing to him?
The way he had dismissed you hurt. The way he had stopped you from coming to his defence had hurt. And the way she had looked at you in triumph, the way she had touched him, and the way he didn’t stop her, hurt.
You laid in your bed, not bothering to get changed and cried into your pillow until the room grew dark, and the realm was bathed in night. You laid numbly in bed, stomach grumbling with hunger.
You checked your phone.
10pm.
Fuck.
You didn’t want to go to the kitchen, to eat and see her again. You knew that your eyes would be red, that you would be teary and emotional, and you didn’t want to give her the satisfaction.
Not too long after, you heard footsteps behind your door, the steady click of heels disappearing down the hall before you heard the front door open and shut softly. Your heart raced in your chest as you sat in the dark, listening and waiting to hear his footsteps disappear into his room so that you could leave yours.
You listened to the soft footfall as it came up the hall, pausing at your door.
Holding your breath, you sat up in your bed, looking under the door, the shadow of two feet blocking the light from the lounge room.
Time seemed to stretch forever and then finally-
Knock Knock.
You let out the breath you had been holding, looking at the crack beneath in the dark, mind turning a million miles an hour.
Do you go to him? See if he was okay?
Do you respect your own need for space?
Did he need comfort?
Was he angry?
A new thought turned in your mind. More bitter than the last.
Why would he be angry?
He’s the one who dismissed you in front of her, and all you could see was her smug smirk at you when he had done it. It had made you feel so small, so foolish, so unwanted and like a child again, sent to bed with no supper.
Knock Knock Knock.
You stared at the door.
You didn’t know what to do.
You didn’t know what you could do.
“Y/n. Please.” His quiet voice came from behind the door.
You blinked in the dark, feeling tears begin to gather in your eyes again. Time stretched, and you watched his feet shift his weight and shuffle.
Aemond sighed from behind the door and you watched as his feet disappeared from view of the light underneath. Your stomach clenched, and an ache spread further into your chest.
You waited until you were sure that he was gone before you crawled out of bed, stomach pulling painfully in hunger.
You pressed an ear to the door, listening for any sounds of him outside, and when you heard no sign of his footsteps or the tv, you decided to leave your room.
You were halfway to the kitchen when you saw him, head in his hands on the couch.
He looked halfway to defeated, shoulders hunched forward as he breathed slowly. But he had heard your approach and you watched as all vulnerability bled out of him and he straightened, lifting his eye to look at you.
You locked in a stare, unsure of what to do as you looked at him, hoping he would speak first, hoping he would make the first move, because you didn’t know how to in that moment.
Didn’t know how to move forward or talk about what had just happened.
It didn’t help that you felt used.
And hurt.
And cast aside.
And you knew it was more complicated than that, but there was just something about the way he had dismissed you in front of a woman who had done so much damage to him. Dismissed you as though you were nothing. Called you his sisters roommate and not even his friend. Acquaintance. Someone he had spent over a month getting to know. Someone he had spent over a week sleeping in their bed, cock or tongue between thighs. Gentle whispers in the morning, soft smiles in the evening.
It made you feel like nothing.
It was clear that Aemond wasn’t going to say anything as you waited another pregnant pause, so you tore your eyes away from him and continued into the kitchen to make yourself some two minute noodles, meal that had been planned for the both of your forgotten.
You could feel his gaze on the back of your head, heated. It made your skin ripple in discomfort.
Filling a pot with water, you set it on the stove to boil, moving as quickly as you could to pull down a bowl and grab the noodle packet from the cupboard, tearing the sachet open and dumping the flavouring into the bowl.
You felt his presence behind you before you heard him speak.
“Are you okay?” He questioned you, and you fought to not scoff.
Why was he asking you that?
“Are you?” You replied back, turning to face him against the bench, waiting for the water to boil.
“I’m fine.” He said flatly, and you raised a singular brow at him in question.
Aemond’s face remained stoic.
“Why was she here, Aemond? If I had known-“
“-Why does it matter?”
You blanched.
Why did it matter?
Why did it matter?
“What do you mean why does it matter? She abused you, Aemond! I was worried about you.”
His brows pulled into a frown, “She didn’t abuse me. We just fought a lot.”
Denial.
“Aemond,” You said, voice softer this time, “It was abuse.”
Anger rippled across his face, “I wish you would just drop it. I shouldn’t have even told you.”
You stepped back in shock, hip bumping into a drawer handle sharply.
“I won’t just drop it. I’m worried about you.”
Aemond sighed through his nose, “I don’t need you to look after me.”
The water began to boil, and so did your patience, “I’m not saying you need me to. I care about you, Aemond. And so naturally it was a shock to come home and find her in the apartment after what you had told me- what- not even two weeks past?”
“She’s my ex, what did you want me to do?” He asked you incredulously, and you turned to dump the noodles in the water, watching them be swallowed down into the bubbles.
“I just don’t understand why you would bring her here in the first place without even telling me.” You looked up into his eye, and you could tell he was noting the way your own were red and puffy from crying.
His lips pursed and then flattened, “I’ll make sure to tell you before next time.”
“Next time?” You had to force yourself to not yell, feeling anger and sadness swirl around in your gut like a whirlpool, dragging you under.
“I didn’t- She just rocked up.”
You scoffed, “Yeah, but how did she know where you were, Aemond?”
The man stayed quiet, and there was something about it that made you step back away from him.
“Are you getting back with her?” You asked, voice quiet and weak, praying that you didn’t sound as pathetic as you thought you did to your own ears.
Silence again.
You blinked, feeling the sting of tears in your eyes again.
“After everything we- After- I thought-”
“-You thought what?” His voice was cool and even, void of any emotion, as though he had put himself behind a very thick door, lock and key.
“Are you getting back with her?” You asked again, voice uneven, cracking at the end heavily with emotion, thick lump stuck in your throat that wouldn’t go away no matter how hard you swallowed.
Again, silence, though something flickered behind Aemond’s eye, and you watched as his brow pulled froward.
Your heart raced in your chest, “Okay. So what was this then? Was this nothing?”
Aemond’s lips opened and then shut, once, twice, three times before a large sigh came from his lips, “I don’t know.”
Pain ravaged you sharply, tugging at your chest as you looked up at the man. You moved to the pot, straining the water out, turning your face away from him as you blinked away tears.
“You don’t know?”
His gaze was hot on the side of your face as you plopped the noodles into your bowl, turning to face him again, biting the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from crying. The only thing keeping you together, the process and mechanical way you made your dinner.
“I don’t know anything right now.” Aemond’s voice was low, “My heads a mess. Seeing Alys-”
Oh.
A terrible realisation dawned on you.
He still loves her.
A lone tear fell down your cheek, and you watched as Aemond’s hand twitched at his side, arm beginning to lift towards you.
You shook your head angrily, stepping away, swiping up the bowl of hot noodles, “I need to think.”
“Y/n, wait.”
You didn’t wait, and stormed away to your room, kicking the door shut behind you as you sat down, noodles forgotten beside the bed, sobs wracking your body as you cried.
He still loved her.
He still loved her, and you had been a fool to think that what you shared was anything else than casual to him.
At times you could have sworn his gazes lingered moments too long to be anything casual, but you guess you were wrong.
Wrong about it all.
An idiot.
But some of the grief that you felt was for him. He couldn’t see. He couldn’t see how bad she was for him. Couldn’t see how he didn’t deserve it. He was trapped, and there was nothing you could do to make him see.
People will only accept help if they allow it. And you could not force help on him. It was something he had to come to terms with on his own.
What was more, the guilt inside of you had been steadily eating at your resolve, gnawing away at you as you betrayed your best friend by sleeping with her brother.
But not only that, you think you were falling for him.
You reached for your phone, calling the only person you knew who would listen to you.
“Hey scuttle bug!” Helaena’s voice chirped sleepily from the other end, “Don’t tell me you’re drunk.” She joked, and a sad sob passed through your lips at the sound of it.
She was going to hate you.
She was never going to talk to you again.
And you deserved it.
“Hey,” She cooed into the phone, voice suddenly alert and filled with concern, “What’s wrong?”
You sucked in another sob, chest aching and stomach feeling wrought with anxiety, “You're going to hate me.” You cried, hiccup stuttering your uneven breath, “You’re going to hate me so much, Hel. I’ve ruined everything.”
You heard shuffling in the background, as though Helaena had sat herself up in bed, “What?” She listened to another broken sob come from your chest, “Y/n take some deep breaths, okay?”
You did as she said.
“What’s happened?”
This was it.
It was now or never.
No going back now.
And once the words would leave your lips, you would be banished from her life forever.
You were about to lose two people you held dearly to you.
You swiped tears away from your face in agitation, angry with yourself for what you had done, “I slept with Aemond.”
Silence on the other end.
Your heart broke.
“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, Hel. I’m a terrible friend. I know I fucked up, I just don’t know what to do. I'm sorry. I know you hate me, I-“
“-Hey, hey, hey, slow down, bug. I don’t hate you.”
Your nails dug into your palm as you apologised again and again, the words tumbling from your lips before you could stop them.
Helaena tried to calm you on the other end, asking what happened, and so you told her everything, from start to finish, all the way up until your encounter not too long ago, bar the personal things about Alys that Aemond told you. That was his story to tell.
“I know what I’ve done is wrong, and you’ll never forgive me-“
“Y/n,” Helaena cooed on the other end of the phone, “I don’t hate you at all. Disappointed you didn’t tell me sooner, yeah,” You winced, another tear falling from your cheek, “But I had a feeling it would happen.”
You sniffled, “What?”
Helaena laughed on the other end softly, not at you, but in a knowing way that she always had, “I mean, I always assumed it would. You’re both so similar. You’d be perfect if he wasn’t such an asshole.”
“He’s not an asshole.” You immediately defended him, cringing at your own voice.
Helaena hummed in a way that Aemond usually did, and it made your heart clench.
You heard shuffling on the other end of the phone, followed by some muffled whispering.
“Where are you right now?” Helaena asked softly, mumbling to someone again.
Confused you responded, “In my room?”
You thought it would be obvious where you were.
“Daeron’s just organised a ride and a plane for you to come to the Keep.”
You blanched, surprised, “Hel, I can’t. I have work.”
“Fuck work.” She exclaimed on the other side, “My best friend needs me, and I need her. Besides, can’t cancel it now, the drivers on his way.”
“What?” You were breathless, panic rising inside of you.
You heard Helaena yawn on the other end, “Better pack your bag quickly, should be there in like twenty if we’re lucky. I’ll tell mum to tell Larys you need time off. He won’t and can’t say no to her.”
“Hel-“
“No ‘ifs’ or ‘buts’. You’re coming.”
You smiled sadly, grateful that she was such a good friend but feeling like a burden. She was going to fly you to her, whilst her dad was sick, and because what? You had fucked her brother, developed feelings for him, and he had all but rejected you?
But Helaena knew you too well.
“You’re not a burden, and you need some space right now. Aemond does too, and he won’t come here. He needs some time alone to think of what he wants and process seeing Alys.”
You bit your lip and chewed on it softly, “Okay.” You paused not sure what to do, “Thank you, I know I don’t-“
“-Shush. You already had an invitation to come here anyway, so no time like the present. You can atone for your sins by giving me a hug when you get here and telling me the longer story of what has happened. Not to mention get Aegon out of my hair. He’s been such a pest.”
You chuckled softly. You didn’t know what you would do without her, you felt relieved that she wasn’t going to cast you out of her life, though the guilt still lingered, multiplying tenfold by her generosity.
Helaena stayed on the phone with you the entire time as you packed, telling you what to bring and what not to bring. By the time your bag was full and you were ready to go, the driver was downstairs.
You opened your bedroom door, darkness shrouding the apartment.
Your eyes immediately flicked to Aemond’s.
It was closed.
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