#tea parties w/ her
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if i fell through the floor i would keep falling ; suguru geto
synopsis; geto knocks at your front door one morning ten years after leaving everything he knew behind, fully expecting to be met with a middle finger or a hand to the throat.
when you invite him in, instead, he can’t help but feel somewhat perplexed.
word count; 7.5k
contents; suguru geto/reader (platonic or romantic, up to u!!), gn!reader, geto-typical angst with lots of yearning, open-ended, geto’s pov, reader is a softie, mutual pining kinda, geto is terminally bitter and terminally lonely and also kind of a bitch but we love him
a/n; i’m extremely normal abt suguru geto and the debilitating loneliness he must’ve felt during the ten years after he left <33
”it’s been a while.”
the smile on his face must be sweet, he thinks, illuminated by the blurry light of the morning sun. as charming as it’s always been. coated in a thin layer of lighthearted deceit, a cruelly projected sense of normalcy.
with a hand raised up in cheerful greeting, geto gazes down at you.
— admittedly, he’s a little underwhelmed by your reaction.
astonishment or bafflement was maybe a little too much to ask for. you don’t look very surprised to see him at all; almost as if you were expecting him to show up in front of your apartment at the break of dawn.
and, really, maybe you were. after all, satoru must have told you already. why wouldn’t he let you in on their touching reunion, the promise of war that spilled so easily from his lips?
of course you would have heard of it by now.
still, geto can’t deny that it’s just a little bit disappointing. he would’ve liked to see your wide eyes, would’ve liked to hear you stammer a bit. the expression you’re currently sporting is something else entirely.
you look sad.
there’s a fondness in your eyes, though, unmistakable. a spark of it, entirely impossible to ignore, that catches him off guard. and there’s a softness in the way you raise your head to look up at him, a familiarity that flickers in the depths of your irises.
geto is just a little bit put off by it.
it looks the same as always. you look the same as always. and geto’s heart constricts, where it rests, tucked away deep within the confines of his ribcage.
a moment passes. the sun peeks out from beneath the curtain of the horizon, the violet and indigo of the morning sky melting into that familiar burst of ochre. and geto is content, to silently admire the way that you glow in its light.
he waits, patiently, for your expression to shift. to melt into one of anger, or repulsion, or any other kind of bitter hue.
it never does.
a sigh flows from your parted lips, instead. a soft little breath. in the bitter cold of a morning such as this, it turns into vapour as it drifts through the air. you blink, tiredly, eyelashes fluttering with something akin to exasperation.
”you’re a cruel guy, you know that?”
geto blinks. a fickle moment passes.
then, he smiles.
you’re admonishing him, but you’re doing so almost gently — with an easygoing kind of disapproval. as if you’re still in high school, huffing over the teasing bout of laughter he lets slip when you trip over air.
geto’s lips curl up, smoothly, an action he’s grown awfully used to over the years. smiles are a form of currency, he has come to realize — smiles of deceit, of fondness, of barely contained disgust. all kinds of smiles, whether plastered on or genuine. a means to meet an end.
a single tug of his lips, encompassing an immeasurable number of unspoken words.
the smile that geto graces you with is an amused one. it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, but it’s friendly enough. ”so i’ve been told.”
for a minute, you do nothing but observe him. there’s a turmoil behind your eyes that seeps out in the way you look at him, the way you shift from foot to foot and gnaw at your bottom lip anxiously. geto doesn’t interrupt, observing you in turn. waiting for one of you to move the first piece of this little morning game of chess.
in the light, he can almost delude himself into thinking that your eyes change colour, different shades and hues dancing around your dilated pupils. as you gaze over the contours of his face, a certain kind of affection blooms within them, one that geto expected to have faded over the years.
but it’s still there. and it’s the same. a little more blurry, maybe, a little faded at the edges — more matured. but still the same, despite that.
(a memory comes to him. one of you, and him; sharing a bag of chips on the school’s rooftop when neither of you could sleep.
bathed in the light of the moon, your eyes glimmered with that very same affection, like a shooting star breaking out across the night sky.)
one long, careful, tender moment passes by.
the intense contemplation on your features is almost enough to coax a chuckle from the depths of his throat. an urge to tease you creeps up on him, slowly, but before he can open his mouth you seem to come to a kind of conclusion.
and so, you step to the side — allowing him to see inside your apartment, catch a brief glimpse of the interior. you look oddly comfortable, at peace, having made your move; the next piece is his to place.
what a surprising move, though. geto can’t help it if his eyes widen just a smidge, if he blinks in a way that could almost be interpreted as briefly confused. out of all the possible scenarios he’s played out in his mind over the years, this wasn’t the one he expected to merge with reality.
”wanna come in?” you ask, tentative. your voice is inviting. a little clumsy, although he supposes that could just be because of fatigue. it is early, after all.
geto takes a moment to think.
as far as he can tell — and he always can, in one way or another — there is no deceit hidden in your expression. no signs of bloodlust, no spark of violence, no quiet resentment bubbling beneath the surface. earnest. that’s all it is. a little awkward, but candid. pure, in a way.
you aren’t trying to trick him. you’re genuinely, seriously, honest-to-god inviting him inside your apartment.
the next move is his to make.
and geto knows exactly what he should do. he should decline, politely, excuse himself with feigned remorse and a jovial invitation to his own personal hell.
(surely, you already know. the others have almost certainly told you by now. geto just wanted to personally invite you, himself. face to face.)
right. that’s what he should do. that’s the winning move.
and yet, he finds himself moving.
lips curling up on their own, without his approval, geto moves forward. one step is all it takes for him to cross the threshold of your home; a boundary he didn’t expect you to offer up so callously, truth be told, but who is he to deny the wishes of a dear old friend?
”why, thank you,” he smiles, voice pleasant, smooth like silk.
(for just a little while, he supposes he can indulge himself in the opportunity you’ve so graciously given him. just for a bit.)
geto doesn’t bother taking off his footwear, and he knows you couldn’t care less either way. allowing him to pass you by as he waltzes into your very own space, you close the door behind him. he half-expects to hear the click of the lock, but it never comes.
a particular scent envelops him, as he stands by the coat rack, unmoving — he has no intention of taking off his robes, heavy with his carefully nurtured devotion. a symbol of his choice.
the scent is familiar, but also unlike anything he can recall within the borders of his memory; a soothing blend between fresh laundry, and sunlight, and cat fur, and something rather sweet.
there’s more to it than that, though. a certain scent geto could only ever describe as you.
(his heart aches with longing.)
as he ponders the intricacies of the fragrance, geto is acutely aware of the stare burning into his back. how careless of him, to leave it facing you, unguarded and vulnerable.
what a perfect opportunity he’s presented you with; the great curse user suguru geto, forever exiled and wanted dead, now merely a fly at the mercy of the web you’ve created. trapped in your apartment with his back turned to you, a mere lamb to the slaughter.
how easy it would be, for you to plunge a knife into his flesh. to curve your way along his spine.
you do nothing of the sort, though. and for some reason, the realization that you aren’t going to irks him, even though deep down he knew that would be the case. still, it crawls its way under his skin, along the arteries of his forearm, an itch he yearns to claw away.
how foolish. how very like you.
(what a cruel thing change can be, when no one else seems to succumb to it.)
unable to do anything but accept it, however, geto turns towards you once more. you stiffen, as if burned by his gaze, and a part of him delights in it.
”how have you been?” he asks, bright and courteous. there’s a genuinity to the question that geto can’t deny. something about this situation sends a spark of fondness running through his veins.
at the sound of his voice, your eyes soften again. it’s a subtle shift, but he doesn’t miss it. doesn’t think he ever really could, because even though the light inside your eyes makes him uncomfortable, down to the very marrow of his bones, he can do nothing but bask in it. in your attention, in that heavy gaze.
a single word could never hope to faithfully describe the emotion smouldering inside it — but if forced to, geto would humbly settle on resignation.
it’s almost as if you still haven’t fully accepted it, ten years down the line, that you’re only just beginning to. like even now, you’re convinced that it’s nothing more than one big joke; that he’s about to reveal a hidden camera, and gleefully tell you that it was all a prank to get back at satoru.
naive, naive, naive. but geto can’t deny that it tastes sweet, on his tongue — to imagine that you might still have some faith in him, after all this time.
a sigh leaves your lips. you sound a little bit exhausted. it sends a pang of ache to the very center of his heart, and a part of him yearns to soothe you. another part relishes in the pain he must have brought you over the years.
the rest of him smoothly tucks those stray thoughts away, as he brushes non-existent dust off from his robes.
then, your eyes take on a more tender hue. you ignore his question entirely, and speak in a low voice. raspy and sincere, and maybe just a tad bitter, given everything.
”those robes don’t suit you, suguru.”
— a shiver travels down his spine.
suguru.
(the way your lips form around the syllables is still so lovely.)
you’re full of surprises, as always. at least to a certain extent, he was expecting you to settle on geto, to draw a firm line in the sand between him and you. the ocean and the land, always meant to be separated by that thin line, kept apart in each other’s best interest.
but geto is beginning to accept that you’re going to do this your way — sincerely.
the statement is a veil, obscuring a million unspoken thoughts, double meanings that aren’t particularly hard to discern. a silent rejection, a quiet disapproval. there’s a grief to it that sits heavy on your tongue.
taking a moment to collect himself, geto meets your gaze, and all its weight. his lips curl up into a sad smile, a little fatigued. he wonders if you can hear it, in his voice.
(maybe it was stupid of him, to think he could keep this meeting professional.)
”… is that so?”
you continue to look at him, as if waiting for something else. but geto doesn’t give you what you want, that touch of tender honesty he’s sure you’re hoping for.
”i think they suit me just fine,” he playfully disagrees, instead, tone bordering on something childishly stubborn.
you wait just a single moment more, still clinging to that hope for something sincere, anything.
then you huff. it sounds vaguely amused.
”you look like a con artist,” you deadpan, eyes flitting down to examine the outfit again. geto would be offended by your rudeness if you didn’t also happen to be right.
”how sweet of you,” he purrs, shooting you a smug smile. the words are lighthearted, mildly teasing. “that’s exactly what i’m going for.”
you give him an unimpressed look, that he mirrors with a perfect smile — and then you give in to another amused exhale, paired with a soft shake of your head.
there it is again, geto thinks. that sense of déjà vu. it’s equal parts eerie as it is comforting.
silence lingers in the air around you, as hazy sunlight flits in through the gap between your curtains and cascades across the floorboards. until you clear your throat endearingly, and walk past him.
”well, make yourself at home,” you murmur in passing.
considering the circumstances, the words are spoken fairly naturally, and geto has to resist the urge to laugh at how ridiculous this is. inviting a wanted criminal into your home, a literal mass murderer, and treating him with the same politeness you’d show to any other guest.
what would the elders think, he wonders, if they knew? would they brand you an accomplice, question your motives? put your head on the chopping block right next to his? he wouldn’t put it past them, the pieces of shit.
but despite his amusement, geto doesn’t laugh. he only watches as you make your way to the kitchen counter, a firefly catching his eye in the summer night.
(except you aren’t a firefly, and it’s not summer. it’s winter, and you’re someone geto wishes he didn’t still care for.)
”i was thinking of making tea,” you hum, voice soft but still easy for him to discern from his spot in the living room. ”do you want some?”
geto’s lips quirk up into a tiny smile. his voice is teasing, as it flows out from his lips.
”how generous,” he chirps, still idly watching the way you move around the open space, your hair changing colour in the flickering light of the sun. ”satoru could learn a thing or two from you.”
he expects you to flinch. a suitable reaction, to how casually he brings up his reunion with his best friend, like it’s nothing. like it means nothing. like nothing’s wrong.
geto knows it’s cruel, which is exactly why he does it.
but you don’t flinch. you don’t even stiffen. and he senses no anger in your body language, in the silence that settles in the space between his words and yours. all you do is exhale sharply, a little exasperated.
”you shouldn’t be so cruel to him.” a beat. your voice sounds just a little smaller when you continue. ”he’s missed you, you know.”
the reply is nearly instantaneous, and it’s bare. honest. you sound like you’re scolding him, but it’s more protective than angry. and it’s gentle, like you’re patching him up after a mission, reprimanding him for not being more careful.
at this point, geto can tell you have no intention of playing along. how annoying. he wishes you would — that earnest sadness and regret of yours is almost unbearable, and the gentle bluntness you present him with cuts much deeper than his casual cruelty ever could.
you aren’t going to play along, aren’t going to pretend you don’t care. geto wonders why you won’t, why you’re the only one who still refuses to.
satoru certainly has no issue with it. playing along, putting up a front. attempting to treat him coldly, as an enemy. but geto knows him, knows his soul like the back of his hand, and he could tell it was trembling when their eyes met. from underneath those bandages of his, the thin layer of cowardice that shields those precious eyes from the rest of the world. from geto.
and shoko is just as unbothered as ever. always playing it cool, never caught off guard or shaken to her core. geto can’t even tell if it’s an act or not, anymore. but he knows that she was angry, when they spoke that day, ten years in the past. knows she wanted to tell him off, but chose not to.
both her and satoru are like that. always have been. closed off, accustomed to bearing an unbearable weight, resigned to the ache that it brings them. acting distant in a desperate attempt to mend it.
you, though?
you were always a little too sincere for your own good, a little too true to yourself. it must hurt you, he thinks. it must hurt you even just to look at him. yet you continue to do so, unflinchingly.
that’s simply how you are.
you’ve always enjoyed dipping your toes into the grief of it all, leaning into the pain. always the first to take that step into the abyss. content to tear yourself open for everyone to see, even if no one follows suit.
never averting your eyes. never taking the easy way out.
(unlike him.)
geto hums, smiling a little at the sickening irony of it all.
the gentle clinking of ceramic resounds throughout the kitchen, and geto’s ears perk up. his gaze follows your hands, as they move to grab two cups from the wall cabinet. floral designs, he dully notes. blue bells on one, red camellias on the other. a porcelain teapot rests on the kitchen table, but no flowers adorn it.
without your expressions to keep him entertained, geto decides to wallow in the fleeting peace and quiet. aside from your soft breathing and the occasional clinking of teacups, there are no sounds to be heard.
a moment that seems to exist outside of time and space, where time passes backwards and your shuffling in the kitchen is his only concern.
eager to satiate the mellow boredom in his chest, geto’s eyes begin to flit across the space of your apartment. greedily drinking in every detail he can see, as if he’s trying to memorize it all. maybe he is.
everything he can see is a piece of your existence, in one way or another. every inch of the apartment is littered with your fingerprints, your choices and fickle tastes.
like the rich yellow of the curtains you’ve picked out to frame the glass of the windows, bright and stark and blending smoothly in with the cream colour of the wallpaper surrounding it. or the forgotten cup on the table in front of the tv, a faded green. he vaguely remembers seeing you drink out of it back when things were still good, when you both thought of the school as your home.
a book rests on the duvet pillows of your couch, but he sees no bookmark peeking out from between the pages. geto wonders if you still dog-ear your books, and thinks to himself that a crime of that calibre would warrant your own exile if the world was only fair. alas, it isn’t. war of the foxes, he reads from the cover. ironic.
along the windowsills are potted plants, stacked up next to each other, green and flourishing despite the snowy wonderland of the outside world. their leaves differ in shape and size, some accompanied by blooming flowers. he imagines you watering them, dutifully, nurturing them with gentle hands and sleepy smiles.
there are many things to look at, more and more little fragments sprouting up the longer geto continues to do so. a knitted sweater thrown over the wooden armrest of a chair. colourful candy wrappers littering the table. an old radio tucked away in a corner of the room.
geto drinks it all in — a home you’ve painstakingly created, that you’ve allowed him into. he examines it thoroughly, the way an art dealer judges a painting on display. turning the image over inside his mind, twisting it, burning it into his retinas. soaking in every little detail he manages to find.
your home.
(it’s so like you that it hurts.)
finally, geto thinks he’s had his fill of the living room. so he ventures into the kitchen, only a couple long strides away.
the scent that greets him this time is comforting, homey. the aroma of coffee grounds, a touch of leftover curry, a strong fragrance of blooming hyacinths and dried lavender sitting contentedly by the windowsill. through the translucent glass, geto sees layers upon layers of snow on the rooftops, and the gradual rise of the glittering sun.
the quiet buzzing of the electric kettle is the only sound he hears, along with the rhythmic ticking of the clock on the wall, as his eyes wander along the kitchen.
the shelves are stacked with a variety of different spices, and glass jars of honey and jam. along the counters rest a wide array of kitchen appliances, from blenders to rice cookers to french presses. mugs with silly designs are stuffed into an opened wall cabinet, and geto recognizes some of them, to his silent delight.
there are colourful post-it notes stuck to the fridge, messy scribbles of recipes and reminders. meetings, birthdays, grocery lists. even just little doodles, smiley faces and napping cats that make his lips quirk up. and polaroids — he tries not to let his gaze linger on the picture of satoru sleeping in the most uncomfortable, inhumane position he’s ever witnessed, nor the blurry image of shoko smoking by a balcony railing, sleeves cuffed and expression forlorn. he can’t imagine either of them noticed you snapping the photos.
(no polaroids of him. of course not. why would there be?)
geto tries not to look over at the fridge again, examining the floor and furniture instead. over in the corner stands a bowl of cat food, seemingly untouched. the kitchen table is covered with a checkered cloth, kept down by a plate of chocolate chip cookies.
your kitchen is fairly small, but it’s cozy. rays of fresh sunlight envelop it in a giddy, ruminating glow. like something out of a dream.
when geto enters the space, your eyes flit over to him briefly, and he shoots you a friendly smile. your eyes do that thing, again, where they crumble a little at the corners and get a tad softer. like you’re looking at an old friend.
(he supposes you are.)
you clear your throat before speaking, as he takes in all the sights.
”what kind of tea do you want? i’ve got, uh…”
with gentle movements, you open a wall cabinet, eyes swiftly scanning over the different labels of the many boxes, jars and sachets of tea inside. dutifully, you list off the ones you can see.
”earl grey, chamomile… oolong, rooibos…” you continue, seemingly never running out of options, fingers tapping at the handle. ”ah, this one’s kinda weird. it’s supposed to be, like, cherry flavoured? don’t ask, satoru picked it out — but it tastes more like laundry detergent.”
a pause.
”it’s pretty good, though.”
geto can’t help it. the comment coaxes a chuckle from out his chest, and he’s surprised at how genuine it sounds when it spills from his lips.
you seem to notice it, too, seeing as you perk up where you stand by the counter. out of the corner of his eye, geto thinks he almost catches the fleeting glimmer of a tiny smile on your lips.
and for a moment, everything feels familiar. eerie and comforting, in equal measure. a sense of nostalgia drifts throughout the kitchen, mingling with the scent of tea leaves and sunshine and freshly baked cookies.
this is the opportunity you’ve given him — a slice of normalcy. as close to normalcy as one can come to in a situation such as this. a soft bout of laughter, shared between estranged childhood friends, one of which is a mass murderer. it’s really not normal at all.
normalcy is no more than a fever dream. that much has always been the case, but —
there’s a comfort in it, in this. the familiarity of it all. the way you settle into old roles, share knowing looks and cycle through old memories he knows you’re both haunted by.
it’s soothing.
he’s changed, and you’ve changed, but there’s still a sense of belonging between the two of you. in this moment, this sole flicker of nostalgia. in this kitchen.
and for a moment, geto almost forgets why he’s there. almost forgets the unforgettable, the inevitability of a choice he made long ago. it stings, and he wonders how you can bear it; this thin line between longing and awareness.
”so? what’ll it be?”
your voice rings out across the open space, face angled towards the table to meet his stare.
geto hums, absentmindedly, and takes a step closer.
the narrow distance between you two lies heavy, as he shuffles up right next to you, haphazardly sweeping his eyes over the wide assortment in front of him. he can almost, almost hear your breath hitch when the fabric of his clothing grazes your shoulder.
he wonders if the tea is just an excuse, to be able to come so close. to bask in your warmth.
you don’t move away.
”oolong,” he firmly decides. he doesn’t really need to think about it.
then he swiftly turns on his heel, and takes a seat by the kitchen table. confident and graceful — as if this isn’t your kitchen, but his. unconcerned over table manners, his elbows resting on the wooden board, as his jaw meets the heel of his palm. he bites into one of the chocolate chip cookies, the sweetness crumbling on his tongue.
this time, you finally do stiffen — though geto doesn’t see it. he does, however, feel your lingering stare, and when he tilts his head in your direction he catches a glint of sorrow passing through the depths of your irises.
geto blinks. he tilts his head questioningly, a cue for you to follow.
and finally, finally, you stammer. barely, but it’s there. that nervous shiver of your voice.
”ah — sorry,” you mumble, gaze falling down to the floorboards. you seem almost flustered. ”it’s just…”
there’s something raw in your voice, something that wavers.
”back then, you’d always choose earl grey.”
a long moment of silence passes.
there are a million unspoken words in that sentence, geto knows. words you’ll never say, words you’ve always yearned to say. though he has no intention of digging them out.
the sentiment is more than enough.
a bitter taste settles on his tongue, but he smiles, careful to keep his voice light.
”well,” he hums. ”some things change, i suppose.”
to that, you huff out a breath of amusement, turning around to face the counter once more. but not before eyeing his robes again, expression rich with humour.
”yeah,” you hum, lighthearted. something close to a chuckle. ”i suppose they do.”
geto grins softly, in tandem, from his spot by the table. like you’re still teenagers, sharing a look over an inside joke no one else is privy to.
after that, he simply watches you work, chewing at the treat while he waits for the tea to be done. the light of the electric kettle flickers off, and your hands curl around the handle, bringing it to rest next to the teapot on the tablecloth. he watches, expression mildly bored, as you grab the ceramic cups and the silken sachet bag of dried tea leaves.
a strong scent of oolong tea wafts through the air, when you flick your fingers to pour some of the leaves into the teapot. there’s a certain elegance in the way you pour the boiling water, slowly, in a smooth circular pattern. geto follows the movement, the rise and fall of the leaves as water fills the strainer.
you’re unhurried, methodical. there is care in the motion of your hands, the intense gaze you bear as you perform it. every slight twitch of your knuckles, the soft exhale you emit when the teapot has been filled.
geto can do nothing but watch, in silent admiration.
you put the porcelain lid back on, blocking the steam rising up in a flurry of warmth. while the tea simmers, soaking up the flavour of the leaves, you busy yourself with readying two teaspoons.
”how do you take it, these days?” you ask him, as you languidly pour hot tea into the cups. ”any sweetener? milk?”
”one cube of sugar. no milk.”
at that, your eyes flit up, recognition blooming in them as you hear the familiar sentence. but geto keeps his gaze glued to the hyacinths on the windowsill, never meeting yours.
truthfully, he says it mostly to appease you. he figures he can give you this one thing, at least — this one hope that maybe everything hasn’t changed, after all. that he hasn’t changed, in his entirety, that there’s still some remnant left of who he used to be. even if all that’s left of him is just one single cube of sugar.
it’s kind of funny. but geto doesn’t laugh.
you place a cup in front of him. the one adorned by red camellias. geto racks his brain, flitting through past conversations with florists and paragraphs memorized from non-fiction books on botany. what was it, again?
eternal love. long-lasting devotion.
the petals and the calyx of a camellia always fall together.
geto bites back a laugh. some part of him wonders if you’re making fun of him, if this is how you’re planning to release your pent-up anger — in such a petty, roundabout manner. but deep down he knows it was no more than an absentminded choice, on your part.
(you always hurt him most when it’s not your intention to do so.)
as you take a seat on the opposite side of the table, he gingerly touches the rim of the cup. soft steam rises from the liquid, its colour marigold-esque, and geto breathes it in deeply before bringing the ceramic to his lips.
you watch, in anticipation. intensely enough that he can feel it even when his eyes flutter shut, your gaze prickling his skin as he sips from the cup.
the warmth of the tea is comforting, a distinctly floral taste spreading along his tongue. there’s a slight nuttiness to the taste, a rich sweetness. as it runs down his throat, geto hears himself hum softly. a satisfied smile slips into the curve of his lips. inside the depths of his chest, a light nostalgia swirls, pleasant and tingly.
he remembers moonlit nights, whispered secrets you could only ever tell each other, the glimmer of aluminium and rush of caffeine as you gulped down the too-sweet coffee that the vending machines had to offer.
he remembers sunny mornings, muffled laughter shared in the solitude of the kitchen, basking in the floral scent of chamomile and lavender and everything in between as the world woke up around you.
with a clink, geto sets his cup down on the table, pinkie raised lightly. smile a tad bittersweet.
”this is good tea.”
a moment passes. you break out into a genuine smile, nearly beaming, delighted by his approval.
”isn’t it?” you chirp, fingers curling around your own cup, the little painted flowers adorning it. blue bells. geto recalls that old wives’ tale — how wearing a wreath of blue bells compels one to tell the truth. ”nanami got this one for me, actually.”
he smiles, perking up ever so slightly. a little more animated. ”oh?” he takes another sip. ”he always was a snob, wasn’t he.”
that makes your own smile grow, lips twitching upwards, and an amused exhale flows from your lips. a gentle breath. you always were very fond of your grumpy underclassman. ”yeah.”
there’s something familiar about this, geto can’t help but think. eerily so. an acute sense of déjà vu, the same one that’s been plaguing him all morning.
the way you’re treating him isn’t how one would treat an enemy, nor a stranger — it’s how one would treat an old friend. that, and nothing more.
(geto wishes he could say it didn’t soothe his heart so terribly.)
he allows himself to sink deeper into the rotten sweetness of it all. indulges in this one fleeting moment, before everything crashes and burns.
the world outside your kitchen is a cold one, he knows, blanketed by snow and frost that has yet to be stained red. the pure white is a warning, not a consolation — a reminder that there are still things to be lost.
the world of curses is an empty promise, the promise of suffering being rewarded. the idea that the sun will melt the frost around your legs if you wade through enough snow.
(but geto knows better.)
outside your kitchen, only one path exists for him. it isn’t a kind one, nor is it particularly comforting. but, unlike those empty promises, that path has a truth to it. an end point, that isn’t just wait and see what happens, maybe the sun will rise if you’re lucky.
he isn’t a fool. the world is as cruel as it is beautiful, which is a false simile because cruelty is only ever beautiful when you aren’t a part of it. another one of those empty promises. geto has no idea how they kept him going for so long.
but here, in this moment — the world feels rather kind. kind in the sense of being just enough, the kind of brief solace that used to give him enough hope to get through the day.
for now, this aching gap of yet-to-be-ruined is enough. it’s all that he cares about, all that exists.
— but all good things must eventually come to an end.
geto knows it better than anyone, so he isn’t particularly surprised when he looks up to see your face set into hard lines.
you meet his eyes with a certain flickering determination, a conviction — and geto knows you’re about to cross the comfortable line he was hoping you could both maintain for just a little longer.
”suguru.”
he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t need to. a smile is enough. so his lips curl up, silently.
”can i ask you something?”
every move geto makes is calculated, a performance, as your words sink into his subconscious. dragging the silence out, as if trying to waltz around the inevitable end of this sickeningly sweet game of morning chess.
the slow circling of his spoon, creating a vortex for the oolong tea to follow, as it catches the light falling from the window. the way he leans back, to make himself comfortable, letting his jaw rest on the heel of his palm as he dissects your expression from across the table.
there is something almost taunting in his eyes.
but he smiles. courteous, bright. ”go ahead.”
for just a second, he sees you falter. just a smidge, but the way your nails dig into the skin of your palm is telling, just like the way your eyes choose to linger on the tablecloth a second longer than they need to.
then you meet his eyes once more, and begin to speak. geto hangs on to your words, as if they even matter.
”i’m not expecting you to be honest with me,” you state, bluntly. he’s glad to know you’re on the same page for once. ”but i’d appreciate it if you could. just this one time. i won’t ask for anything else.”
another long and tactful sip of his tea. he wasn’t lying, before — it really is very nice. the flavour is strong and thick on his tongue, sweet and bitter all in one. expensive. the pads of his fingers tap along the ceramic of his cup, right over the red flowers that seem to taunt him so.
here it comes. your lips part, but no sound comes out, and geto knows you’re thinking of how best to phrase your inquiry. it doesn’t take you long to decide, a firmness blossoming in the scope of your iris. a sense of finality.
”are you happy?”
despite everything, his breath hitches in his throat. the movement of his fingers halts.
your question comes out clear, candid, sincere. the look in your eyes makes him feel a little like he’s being devoured. vaguely aware of how his smile wavers, for just a split second, geto can only hope you don’t notice it — but he doubts you do, because you only continue to speak, unperturbed.
”i’m sure you’ve changed a lot, these past ten years. and i’m sure you’ve had more than enough time to convince yourself that you’re happy, even if you aren’t.” you bite your lip. ”i should’ve asked you this a long time ago. but now — i’m asking.”
geto’s eyes never leave your face.
”are you happy? are you genuinely satisfied with your life? are you happy with your choice?”
there’s something desperate in your eyes, now. something geto can’t look away from, despite himself. all he can do is touch the ceramic beneath his fingers, hot enough to burn, and listen to you speak.
”if… if you are, then —”
you take a deep breath, a sharp inhale that geto would mimic if he wasn’t dead set on maintaining his composure.
”— then i won’t get in the way. i’ll let you live your life the way you want to. just as long as that’s true.”
geto looks at you, smile nowhere to be seen. time itself seems to halt, in the space of your kitchen. the current center of the world.
he doesn’t dare to even breathe.
”… but,” your voice trembles. you stare intently at your own cup, surely beginning to grow lukewarm at this point. what a waste of good tea. ”if you aren’t happy, then —”
a pause. no one says a thing.
”then what?” geto spits. his voice comes out sounding just a tad sharp, cold like the frost outside your apartment. more so than he meant it to.
your pupils waver, before you lift your head to look at him. the resolution in your eyes makes his breath hitch. an unflinching kindness, one he can’t remember you ever not having.
”— then i’ll do whatever it takes to change that. no matter what.” a beat. “even if it makes you hate me.”
such immense honesty.
geto wonders why he came here, in the first place.
to declare war. was that his genuine desire, though? or was it just another excuse?
with satoru, he can pretend. with shoko, he can pretend. with himself, he can certainly pretend.
but with you?
his fingers leave the ceramic, eyes burning with a decision mirroring yours.
geto’s burned many bridges, in his life. but this particular bridge is one he’ll miss. the cinders that follow won’t keep him warm, that much he knows.
but in the face of such honesty — such genuine kindness — he couldn’t bear not to give you a serious answer.
(it’s the least he could do for you.)
”i am.”
a moment passes. the center of the world shifts.
”i’m happy with my choice.”
it was the only one worth making.
as they fall from his lips, the words taste heavy, absolute. in the light of a morning still yet to be broken by the passage of time, your eyes shift. for a moment geto wonders if you’ll close them. if you’ll give yourself that one relief.
you don’t.
instead, you bite your lip, eyes stubbornly never leaving his own. now you look a little angry, a little frustrated. he’s glad to see that flicker of fury directed at him, at last.
”but are you happy?” you persist, frustrated in a way that buzzes with kindness and concern. a way that makes him feel rather lost.
geto hears himself speak before he has a chance to think about his answer. the voice that comes out of his throat sounds oddly soft.
”that doesn’t matter.”
”it should.”
your reply is equally instantaneous. and geto feels a tremor run through his heart.
”are you happy, suguru?” you try again, pleading. that hope of yours is back, the hope that he’ll be honest just this once. sincere, even just for a syllable or two.
the clock on the wall ticks, hands moving methodically and cruelly, second by second. another moment of time burned to cinders. geto knows what must be done.
this mindless self-indulgence was nice, for a while. but geto has more bridges to burn. more wars to brew.
one final touch. that’s what he’ll give you, in return for your generosity. one final touch of tender honesty, even if it burns his tongue.
”i will be,” he exhales, breathless. ”once all this is over.”
then he gets up from his chair, the squeaking of wood against the floorboards signaling a parting. your eyes never leave his face, as he dusts off his robes absentmindedly, glancing at the half-finished cup on the table.
then geto smiles at you. there’s a fondness to it, one he’d only ever show you. his eyes crinkle, just barely, and the dark brown of his iris shifts into a mellow amber as sunlight cascades down the contours of his face. a genuine smile.
”thank you for the tea.”
there it is. your eyes soften, again, helplessly.
you aren’t satisfied. geto doubts you ever will be.
but you’ve always been the only one to tear yourself open, the only one to step into the abyss. geto has always admired it, just as much as he’s always found it foolish. not once has he ever followed suit.
things like honesty and tenderness don’t suit him. he doesn’t think they suit any sorcerer, except maybe for you.
at last, that grieving resignation finds its way to your eyes again. it doesn’t hurt him as much this time, perhaps because he was waiting for it.
”… you’re welcome,” you breathe. a sad little breath.
geto allows himself to look at you for just a moment more.
then he turns on his heel.
”well, this was nice,” he hums. ”but i really must be going now.”
pleasant and jovial. a voice unsuited for a situation like this. geto wonders if it hurts you as much as it hurts him.
rubbing salt into wounds is all he seems to do these days, anyhow. so he smiles. ”i’ll see you on the battlefield, i hope —”
”suguru.”
…
deep down, geto knows that there’s no going back from this. that the moment he moves his feet, the moment he leaves your apartment — the moment he steps over the threshold in front of him — he can never return.
your kitchen was never his to walk into, in the first place. he was never meant to set foot into your home. that was your choice. geto can’t help but think that it’s every bit as cruel as the one he made ten years ago.
your voice is the same as always. sad and fond. familiar, in how it twists and tugs at his heart in a way nothing else can anymore.
geto waits. he’ll let you have the final word. the final piece moved into place. checkmate.
he’ll let you be the one to devour that aching gap.
curse me, he whispers to the confines of his mind. resent me. i’ve caused you so much pain.
curse me yourself, so i can hate you properly.
”if you ever want another cup, i’ll be here.”
silence falls upon the kitchen.
geto stands still, feet rooted in the spot by the threshold separating the kitchen from the living room. the ticking of the clock is the only sound he hears.
there isn’t a trace of resentment in your voice.
(he wishes you would play along, even just once.)
a low hum buzzes in his throat. the seconds stretch on; more hands moved, more time burned into nothing. the silence is deafening, thick and heavy. an intense moment of contemplation, as geto tries not to shiver under the warmth of your constant gaze, burning into his back.
the center of the world shifts, once more. the gaze of fate falls upon the two of you, bathed in the rays of the rising sun, in a kitchen where normalcy is a little more than just a fever dream.
it doesn’t mean anything, anything at all.
geto knows it. he knows it better than anyone. but maybe he can allow this mindless self-indulgence to carry on, for just a little longer. if only to give him the excuse he needs to see you again, to stand in your kitchen like this, like the view of the rising sun is something he’s allowed to behold.
how greedy. how callous. hasn’t he always been, though?
just for a little bit longer.
”… you know,”
geto takes a step forward, robes fluttering with the movement, heavy and pious. he crosses the threshold, words just above a whisper, just loud enough for you to hear.
(in the space between the words, laced together with the silence, lies the ghost of a smile.)
”it’s been a while since i had earl grey.”
#something something geto being represented by a setting sun vs reader being represented by a rising sun…. u get the vibes.#this was supposed to be completely angsty but i got attached to the final line LOL. so now its just a tiiiiny bit hopeful#i mean hes still probably dying lets be honest but theres some room for interpretation if ur delulu like me#tbh the idea of geto continuing his genocidal agenda while casually having tea parties w/ reader on sundays is just.. INSANELY funny to me#every girlboss needs her selfcare day <3#suguru geto#suguru geto x reader#geto angst#jujutsu kaisen#jjk#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jjk x reader
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GOD I love her design 🗣️🗣️🗣️
Original character by @sketchbook-and-tony-adventures !1!!!
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some blorbos you carry around with you like you are a rottweiler and they are your favourite chew toy. other blorbos you carry around with you like you are an exceptionally well-mannered little child and they are your favourite and most beloved little dolly
#eliot posts#currently thinkin abt amity and how she is definitely the latter to me#tucking her gently under my arm and walking around w her#brushing her hair and putting little bows in. having a tea party with her. tucking her into bed and giving her a lil forehead kith#she is my child she is just lovely
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after seeing all of lysithea’s supports with hubert and ferdinand in three hopes i firmly believe they end up adopting her in some sense after the war while theyre investigating a way to extend her life
it would be EXCELLENT bc hubert is so irritating to her in a classic big brother way which we know is BECAUSE she reminds him of his little sister but just that paired with ferdinand actually being very good with her and giving her tea and sweets just think of the shenanigans of it all
#they r truly a trio i didnt kno i needed#just watching the ferdie support where shes trying to be all grown up and proper abt the tea party w/ him nd then hard cut#to hubert pretending he wont give her candy bc she was rude to him#top tier content#fe3h#few3h#lysithea von ordelia#ferdinand von aegir#hubert von vestra#txt.#games#it is law to recruit lysithea into the black eagles always in both games
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being the same age as most long term lolitas were when they started getting into it but its different now bc there is just so much less of a community it feels like... like for me i feel more like i am finding a lot of individuals but no local communities bc its just rlly died down i think... like i found a 2013 pph article about a lolita meetup downtown. i dont think that wld happen now even if i COULD find a local community
#i think if theres not a lolita tea party/panel this year at pcm i will host one next year...#by then ill have been actively in the subculture for like a year and ill know a little more.. rn im JUST starting out i wld have no clue#what to do... but like i have ideas for stuff that wld be soo fun and ive always wanted to host/participate in an event or panel#once i was picked to participate in the fandom state alchemist test or w/e its called but then they wldnt let me after they saw my boot#which was so fail bc i absolutely cld have done tthe challenges with a broken foot. BLAH anyway#or like i hope they try the jfashion show again UGH probably not since it had to be cancelled due to lack of participation...#i jst would looove to have lolita friends in the area... idk how successful i wld be at converting someone and my sibling doesnt count#or ONE lolita friend... i only know of one lolita in maine and shes pretty well known in the NA lolita community from what i can tell so#ive met her a couple times actually she is very nice. idk what i am trying to say tbh#im more open to making friends at pcm in a lolita context and not a cosplay context bc every cosplayer ive interacted with for more than a#passing comment or picture turned out to be like umm a freak#or one of my moms students <- student who made all the dresses for the haunted town tour cosplaying kanaya that one year and then me showin#my mom the meetup pictures and her going omg.... thats d///////#she was a really really incredibly seamstress btw her costumes were beautiful. anyway. iconic.#i think probably i havent talked to anyone in a while and it is wearing me down i have to make these massive posts every day
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#swtor#idc for the jedi code#dulce meets up w her siblings once a year and#they have a kitty tea party#i have spoken#dulce furtuna#star wars#cathar#star wars the old republic#swtor oc
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need me submas interacting with chulip characters so bad...............................................
I wanna see em interact w that coin person at what i remember? as a train station idk it's been a while since I've seen that game
#and of course and interaction with my personal fave mika they would love to have tea parties w her 😤#also hehe target audience >:) i made that post cause i saw ur icon in my notifs lol#i love being reminded of chulip funny lil game#asks#scarecrowfields
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Sleepy -> pure Ethan fluff here
Ethan’s best friend likes him more than she’ll admit, and he has a habit of sleeping on her.
Tara caught you the first time it happened.
You were at Ethan and Chad’s dorm, studying for your Econ exam with Tara, when you’d found yourself curled up against Ethan, head in his lap, dozing away from boredom.
“Look how cute.” Tara whispered to Chad, pointing her pen at the two of you. Ethan’s head had fallen back to rest against the wall, his eyes closed as the two of you slept.
The next time was at the Halloween party. This time it was Ethan, exhausted from the alcohol and the noise, that had sat next to you on the couch beside Anika and Mindy. And when his head had moved to lay against your shoulder, his breaths slowing as he found comfort in your presence, you’d had to shush Mindy so she wouldn’t wake him up with her loud gossiping.
Most recently, you’d been found by Chad, curled up together under the covers in Ethan’s bed, his arm slung over your waist as your head burrowed in the space between his neck and shoulder.
No one in your friend group understood why the two of you weren’t together. It made no sense—you were always attached at the hip and, whenever you hung out, you always inevitably seemed to be napping with one another. For Ethan, it was because he was constantly stressed, and with you he could relax, breathing in the scent of your perfume and running tentative hands over your soft skin. For you, it was…
Well, you weren’t entirely sure.
So when you began receiving messages from your friend’s shared group-chat you gave a wary glance to Ethan where he laid curled up in a ball beside you, his head in your lap.
Core Four
Chad: Alright Y/N, spill the tea. What’s going on w you and E?
Chad: That rhymed
Chad: lol
Y/N: nothings going on why?
Tara: surrrre
Tara: *image*
Tara: looks like a whole lot of ‘nothing’
Y/N: stopppp when did you take that??
Chad: what the HELLL 🔥🔥🔥
Y/N: Tara delete that pls
Tara: no I’m making it my lock screen 😏
Chad: I thought I was your lock screen
Mindy: As long as his Ghostface ass stays away from me I don’t care who he naps with. Next subject.
Chad: don’t be boring
Y/N: *left groupchat*
Tara: noooo
You sighed, turning off your phone and chucking it to the end of the bed before running your nails absentmindedly through Ethan’s curls. Truth was, you did like your friend. You just didn’t know how to tell him.
“Y/N.” Ethan grumbled, lifting his head a fraction as he blinked sleepily. “What’s going…on?”
“Hey, Sleepy.” You smiled down at him, then squeaked when he wrapped his arms around your waist and tugged you under the covers next to him, his head moving to rest on your stomach. “E, what the—”
“Just go to sleep, please.” He grumbled, voice drowsy. “Need your…” he trailed off and your face flushed, but you made yourself comfortable, resting a hand against his head as you relaxed, your eyes slowly closing.
-
“Come on.” Tara was urging, watching as you did your makeup and ignored her. “Just get together all ready I’m sick of this.”
“He’s my friend, Tare.” You argued, raising a brow at her in the vanity mirror. “It’s not like that.”
“Really?” She asked, flouncing over. “Because I heard that Chad says he likes you.”
“Chad likes me?” You asked, confused, and Tara rolled her eyes.
“No dumbass. Ethan likes you.”
You blinked at her for a moment before shaking your head.
“I call bullshit.”
“What kind of friends nap together all the time?” She pushed, approaching to crouch on the floor beside you, crossing her arms and resting them on your legs. “I mean—come on. Come on. The boy can’t keep his hands off you.”
“That’s bull—” your phone rang and you both jumped. You reached out but Tara grabbed it first and you yelped, diving for the brunette as she giggled and ran, answering the call.
“Hey Sleepy.” She cooed, reading off Ethan’s contact name. She shot you a wink as your face burned. “What’s—” she paused. Then she looked at you, a curious expression on her face. “Yeah, yeah. She’s here, hold on.” Tara passed you the phone and you snatched it away, heartbeat quickening as you answered.
“Hello?”
“Y/N.” Ethan’s voice met your ear and you tensed. He sounded…sad? Distressed? “Can you come over? Please?”
“Why what happened?” You asked, already standing up. Screw it, you’d take your makeup wipes with you and remove your half-finished look. Tara was watching you, looking a bit worried, as she handed you your purse.
“I don’t know I just…can you just come?”
“Yeah. Yeah, E.” You said, listening to the phone click as you looked to Tara. “What did he say to you?”
“Nothing he—he kind of sounded like…like he was crying or something. All he said was ‘Tara, give me Y/N please.’” She paused. “Is he okay, or—?”
“I don’t know. I’m sorry for leaving. Dunkin in the morning?”
“Yeah. Yeah.”
So you left, going to Ethan’s dorm as fast as you could. You knew Chad was out with Mindy and Anika, and assumed that that’s why Ethan had called. But why did he sound so…upset?
You used your spare key that Ethan had made you to enter, knocking first, then pushed inside. When you got to Ethan’s room you saw him sitting with his head in his hands, but he soon looked up at you. His expression was pained and you felt a stab of anxiety run through you.
“What’s wrong?” You asked, setting your stuff down as you moved to him, sitting down beside your friend.
“I um..” he trailed off, looking at you then away. “this is embarrassing. I’m sorry.”
“No, it’s fine.” You said, reaching out to rub his back. “Tell me what happened.” Baby. You’d almost called him baby at the end of that sentence. You were insanely glad that you hadn’t.
“I have night terrors.” He said after a weighted pause, his eyes shifting to yours. “I cant sleep sometimes. When I’m alone I—I just…I just toss and turn. Everything freaks me out I don’t like to be alone.”
Your eyebrows furrowed as you looked at him.
“Night terrors? About what?”
“Well,” his face turned a shade of pink and he looked away. “well I was trying to go to bed and then I saw you and—” he paused, breath hitching, and you felt your chest tighten. “It’s fine. You’re here now, right? You’re fine.” He seemed to be trying to convince himself, his eyes darting across your face like he wasn’t sure this was real, and something in you cracked.
“Is that why you’re always so tired with me?” You asked, frowning. “Because you cant sleep alone?”
“No.” He said, and you stared at him in confusion, but he cut you off before you could speak. “I sleep with you because I feel…safe with you.” He seemed embarrassed again and glanced down at his hands. “I don’t feel comfortable with anyone else. Not like—not like you..” he sighed and blinked up at the ceiling, seeming to fight back a wince. “Im totally weirding you out right now, aren’t I.”
You watched him for a moment, contemplative, before you kicked off your shoes. He could only stare as you moved to the opposite side of his bed and shoved your shorts off, left in a huge t-shirt curtesy of Ethan himself.
“It’s not weird.” You said, slipping under the covers, and smacked the mattress next to you. He still stared, and you rolled your eyes. “Come on, E. Get in the bed.”
A hesitant laugh left him as he did so, climbing in beside you. It was muscle memory, at this point: your head on his chest, his arm around your waist, pulling you into him. You felt his soft breaths on your hair as you settled, adjusting into the familiarity of his body as you rested.
“You know I care about you, right?” Ethan asked into the darkness, his thumb brushing soft strokes against your waist. “Like..more than anyone.”
You smiled against him.
“Are you saying you have a crush on me, Sleepy?” You teased, and he startled you by instantly saying, “Yeah”.
You sat up a bit, looking at him, and you could’ve sworn his cheeks had gone red. You brushed his hair away from his forehead and ran your fingers across his cheek, your head tilting.
“Then do something about it.” You whispered, feeling his chest rise and fall beneath you, before he lowered his head and pressed his mouth to yours.
-
Core Four
Chad: Y/N?
Chad: Y/N I know you’re getting these messages. I added you back to the groupchat a week ago.
Y/N: what do you want
Chad: my BOY over here says he’s going to his GIRLFRIENDS HOUSE TO WATCH A MOVIE
Chad: WHICH?? GIRLFRIEND???
Tara: WHAT
Mindy: Ew.
Y/N: he has a girlfriend?
Chad: …
Chad: it’s not you??? he just left the house like an hour ago
Y/N: why would you think it’s me??
Chad: BECAUSE
Tara: nooo my fave ship
Mindy: Thank God.
Y/N: *image*
Y/N: idk what movie he was planning on watching because this man is out like a fuckin light
Tara: AHHHHHHHHHHHJOANASKNKSN
Chad: WHAT THE HEEEEEELLLLLL🔥🔥🔥🦅🦅🦅🦅🦅
Mindy: I hate you all.
#ethan landry#ethan landry fanfiction#ethan landry oneshot#ethan landry x reader#scream six#tara carpenter#Chad meeks Martin#mindy meeks martin#scream 6
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⋆｡𖦹 °.✩ 𝐈’𝐦 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 ✩⋆｡𖦹 °.
Chris Sturniolo x Fem!Reader
Genre - Fluff :)
Synopsis - Reader is a shy introverted person, she rarely adds on to convos. But when she finally tries to she’s ignored, but Chris is the one willing to listen to her.
I’m someone who doesn’t really talk. Not because I can’t, just because I choose not to. I just feel like I really have nothing to say. I just sit there and listen to others. It’s the way I prefer it.
I’ve been friends with the triplets for over 2 years now. But with them it’s a little different. I do talk when I’m around them, I just feel more comfortable. They always let me speak; unlike with big groups of people they tend to ignore me or just not care for what I have to say. And I guess I understand it. I mean I’m a quiet person, my voice in general is quiet. Why would anyone want to listen to what I have to say?
“N/n you ready to go?” Chris asks, calling me by my nickname.
“Uh yea I’m ready” I nervously respond. We were all going to some birthday party for one of the triplets friends. I don’t really know them but I was invited too and since the triplets are going I guess I am too.
“You ok?” Matt asks noticing my nerves.
“Yea why?” I reply trying to hide my emotions.
“No reason” He rubs my arm and walks away to the car.
I look around as we enter the house. It’s quite big, it’s filled with balloons and decorations all over. The neon lights making it hard to see the colours of things. It’s loud. Very loud. Too loud for my personal liking. Chris on the other hand is already talking to half of the people here. I’ve always admired him. The way he can just talk to everyone so easily is mind blowing to me. And everyone around him just seems to like his energy. I don’t understand how he does it. But I’m sure his looks have definitely something to do with it.
“Matt and I are gonna go look for Larray, are you ok staying with Chris or do you wanna come with us??” Nick asks me knowing I don’t like to be alone at parties.
“I can stay with Chris I don’t mind” I smile back as they nod and walk away.
“Chris?” I quietly say tapping his shoulder.
“Hm? You ok? Where’s Nick and Matt?” Chris asks starting to panic a little.
“I’m ok, I was just gonna ask you if I could stay with you because Matt and Nick went to look for Larray” I reply back, looking down at the floor intimidated by his stare.
“Of course you can stay with me. We’re all gonna go outside to talk come on” He smiles and I grab on to his arm as we move to the outside patio.
This is the part I hate the most. The talking. Makes me look like an idiot who can’t speak. Not to mention I look like a child holding on to Chris’s arm for dear life because I’m too scared to let go. He doesn’t seem to mind, but the stares other girls are giving me are telling me for some reason they mind.
“No yea I agree dude like I can’t believe she would do that to him”
“So what are you guys doing for summer? We should throw a big summer party and the beach”
“Did you guys hear about the tea with Kate and her boyfriend??”
I try and tune out all the different convos that have been happening. I have nothing to say about them. Until one. Kate is my best friend. I know everything that’s happening with her and her bf. Should I say something? I can’t. But I really want to. My mouth twitches. I want to talk I really want to.
“Y/n aren’t you like best friends with Kate?” Some girl asks me.
“I- I am yea” I stutter. Already growing nervous with all the eyes looking at me.
“So like is it true that she fucked another guy and cheated??” The girl asks smiling.
“What? No she didn’t” I reply quietly my hands sweating and slightly shaking. I feel Chris rub my arm, drawing little shapes with his fingers as if he’s telling me to relax.
“Yea she did I know she did” She says laughing.
“N-no that not what happened. It w-was the other way around” I stutter again, feeling embarrassed.
“Why do you stutter so much? Did the cat get your tongue?” She spits out giving me and nasty look.
Everyone laughed. Every single person there laughed. All looking at me judging me. I want to cry. There’s tears pricking at my eyes. My throat closes up. I hate this all I wanna leave.
“Dude what the fuck leave her alone” Chris raises his voice at the girl.
But before I can hear what that bitch has to say I get up and speed walk away to somewhere quiet.
Tears run down my face as I go upstairs and find an unlocked room. I go to the balcony and sit on the chair with my knees up to my chest. My heavy breathing filling up the room. How pathetic of me? Having a panic attack over talking?
“Oh baby” I hear a familiar voice say. I look up with tear filled eyes and see Chris approaching me with a small comforting smile on his pretty lips.
“C’mere” He opens his arms up to me inviting me into his warm embrace. Without a thought I wrap my arms around his torso and lay my head on his stomach since I’m still sitting down.
“It’s ok, you’re ok. Breathe for me yea? Nice and slow. Just like that pretty girl” The praise giving me butterflies as I follow his instructions which help me calm down.
He suddenly picks me up with ease and sits on the chair I was once on. I stare at him confused for a second; he chuckles and grabs my hips making me sit on his lap sideways. Chris then holds my head with one hand keeping it close to him, and rubs my back with the other hand.
“I’m listening ma” He smiles. I blush at the nickname and look down.
“No no none of that, don’t shy up on me” Chris laughs and tilts my chin up for me to look at him.
“Will you really listen or are you just saying that because I’m crying?” I say quietly as I sniffle and nuzzle my head into his neck.
“Of course I will listen, I want to hear your pretty voice” He rubs my knee in a comforting way while smiling down at me.
“Ok well first it’s not true what that girl said because you know Kate she wouldn’t do that” I started off.
Chris only stared at me in adoration with the biggest smile on his face. He’s the one that truly listen to me.
“But then she found his phone and saw the text!” I kept on going on about the story till the end of it.
“Well now I know the truth ma” He says using that nickname again.
“Mhm” I hum blushing because of the nickname.
“It’s cute when you blush after I call you ma” He laughs making me blush even harder.
“Come on let’s go find Nick and Matt so we can go home and watch a movie yea?”
I tried to do something diff and wrote about Chris cuz I just felt like it would be fun yk. So I’ll be doing fics about the Sturniolos too so pls pls request anything I’m in need of ideas I beg 😣🙏
#chris sturniolo#matt sturniolo#nick sturniolo#sturniolo triplets#christopher sturniolo#chris sturniolo x reader#anakin skywalker#anakin x reader#star wars#anakin skywalker x you#y/n#matt sturniolo x reader#ani skywalker#anakin x you#the skywalker saga#nicolas sturniolo#sturniolo fanfic#sturniolo x reader#matthew sturniolo
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Here's a little wip of their tea parties! The first image is basically the idea I had in mind but i dont have the energy to finish it. He is her favor ite w izard,,,,.,,, <3
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Ridlington Park | I | Eddie Munson regency!au
Author's Note: It has been a long, long time, but I am back with another obnoxious AU. I hope you enjoy as we embark on this new adventure in Regency England. This story has been in the works for almost 2 years and is still far from finished, but I am having too much fun with this and have way too many ideas on where to take it, so suggestions are very much appreciated.
Word Count: 10k
Do be warned, Dear Reader, for this story in its entirety may contain:
female!reader. slow burn. forbidden romance. jealousy. pining. smut. alcohol consumption. swearing. OC family. horses. talks of arranged marriage. historical facts as well as trivial inaccuracies.
Due to the adult nature of the story, this author also kindly but sternly requires underage readers to pursue other works.
Author's Previous Works | Correspondence | Join the Taglist
Chapter One: A Game of Perseverance
“I do not want people to be very agreeable, as it saves me the trouble of liking them.”
– Jane Austen, Letter to her sister Cassandra, 1798
Three stories high, full of balconied windows, the house stood tall and overlooked the entire street. Ridlington Park, they called it, and situated at the centre of life–that is, London–the front door of the building was enveloped in flowers matching the seasons all year long. Currently, it was bright peonies that caught the onlooker’s eye. The perfectly trimmed bushes and trees were planted symmetrically, leading up to the front doors, giving visitors the right impression of what they could await once they stepped inside.
The residing family had spent a good fortune and effort ensuring the house represented them perfectly: clean, fortunate, and grand, but all done so in the utmost respectable and modest fashion as they were never the ones to boast. The walls had a light, warm tone reminiscent of early mornings in Spring, and the interior was decorated with portraits, new and old, beautiful oil sceneries of lands near and far, and busts and vases.
The evening was slowly approaching, the sun setting over the windows of the drawing room, enwrapping everything in a golden glow. The family sat silently around the room, giving each other the peace and quiet required for an uneventful afternoon followed by a slow night of fortunate sleep. The only sound appreciated was the pianoforte siding against the window, gracefully played by Mother. Four children sat around the separate corners of their world, enjoying the music while focusing on their own activities. Like most nights, these consisted of either reading or needlework, engaging in small conversations with one another occasionally.
As typical as any evening at Ridlington Park, it was highly unusual for the rest of London– a city which runs on scandals and gossip. Outside, the streets were bustling with lords and ladies of the Ton making their way back home from the markets, gardens and their fellows’ tea parties, gossiping about the latest impropriety to have occurred. After all, such topics, no more than nonsense really, were simply inescapable. And no matter how hard they tried to ignore it all, one way or another, it would always find its way up to the Byrnwick family. Most of the time, you, Gentle Reader, could hold yourself accountable for introducing the rumours proudly, much to your brother’s annoyance, who did his best to turn the pages of his novel as loud as possible as you talked with your mother from across the room.
‘Have you heard what happened at Lady Faulkner’s ball?’
‘Yes, sordid, really.’ Your mother sighed, turning around. ‘I am sure her family is in quite the uproar.’
‘Please,’ Christopher, your brother, shut his book down in frustration, clearly incapable of making any progress amidst the conversation. ‘If she had not wanted to get caught, she should have maybe ought to think twice about being out with a man in the middle of the gardens for everyone to see.’
You glared up at him. ‘Well, it is absurd that a woman cannot even stand in a public space with a man without bringing disgrace onto her entire family.’
‘Believe me; she did much more than just standing.’ Christopher scoffed, quickly receiving a cold stare from your mother.
‘Still, it is unjust.’ You ignored his insinuations. ‘Think of how men are free to go out at any time of day or night with whomever they please.’ You stabbed your needle through the cloth a bit harsher than intended.
‘My, you sure seem to be giving all this much thought. Have you any plans we should know about, sister?’ Your brother smirked.
‘Christopher!’ Your mother scowled. ‘That is quite enough.’
‘I was only joking, Mother,’ Christopher sighed, ‘we all know she is not going anywhere anytime soon.’
You were ready to retort angrily, or at least throw your needle at him, when the doors to the drawing room opened, catching everyone’s attention by storm. Five pairs of identical eyes directly aimed at the door frame, only softening when recognising the intruders. A welcoming of surprised gasps greeted the Lord and his eldest, Nicholas, as they entered the room. Not one foot in the room, and all activities were being put to a halt as the rest of the family gathered around the men—a loving reunion after a months-long journey from the Americas.
It was a surprising return, for father and son had yet to write of their plans in recent times. The last letter was received at Ridlington Park over three weeks ago, stating that the weather was amiable, if not a bit too humid, and that the family missed each other deeply. The lack of correspondence, therefore, was also an immediate subject.
‘But why did you not write, dear?’ asked Mother, after embracing her son. Nicholas was too occupied by his youngest sibling to answer; airways tightened in the arms of his 11-year-old sister, Marjorie. His father responded instead:
‘How could we write at sea, my love? The message would not have gotten here any faster than we did,’ the lord chuckled to his wife. He was correct, too, of course. His eyes seemed to surpass the gaze of his present family members in search of the one missing piece. ‘Where is Annabelle? I thought she would be home by now.’
‘She is home, with her husband,’ you explained carefully. Your father blinked slowly, coming to terms with this fact he had tried to avoid for so long. Annabelle had married last season and was very well off, to a Duke, no less, but it was still a big adjustment for the family seeing her gone and out of the house. Even with her frequent visits, it was strange to have one head less at the dinner table; one less chair occupied each evening, one less song played on the pianoforte.
‘Ah, well then,’ Father cleared his throat, ‘then we are complete.’ He looked at his wife and five children. One day, there would be even fewer of them. They will all be leaving the nest one by one. For some, marriage was long overdue, and as a man of high society, he could not wish his children a suitor or a lady soon enough, but as a father, he dreaded the day that the following proposals would take place.
Marjorie, becoming impatient and not as sentimental about her family’s reunion, tugged at Nicholas’ sleeve. ‘Come, you must tell us everything about your journey!’ She kept pulling until the eldest brother had no choice but to follow her and sit on the couch. Soon, everyone else joined on the chaises.
‘I am afraid there is very little to tell,’ Nicholas said, taking a chocolate biscuit off the tray beside the sofa. ‘It was all rather dull.’
‘Do not be ridiculous, brother,’ Fitzwilliam, the second-youngest and still hungry for adventure and the world outside of the Ton, looked at his older brother with high expectations. ‘I do not believe you and Father had been gone this long and did not experience anything worthy of a tale.’
You listened on as your siblings bickered, arguing over the value of a story, and its worth of being told and heard. Finally, after listening to it for about a quarter of an hour, you had to agree with Nicholas; it was all rather dull. No wonder neither he nor father did not bother to mention anything but the weather in their correspondence. Their days quickly grew into a pattern one is used to in travel and business. A pattern you might have understood if you cared to pay attention.
This attention only returned to the room when you heard your name being spoken. The conversation had shifted from the events that had been missed overseas to the town's happenings. Just as dull and irrelevant, some might say, the most interesting thus far was the staff changes at the house, and even these held very little consequence to you, but to this, some may disagree wholeheartedly.
‘So, the season has begun, has it not, sister?’ Nicholas asked.
‘Some weeks ago, yes.’ You did your best pretending not to feel an effect from this, occupying yourself with your needlework that was turning out far below the usual standard. ‘But do not worry; you have not missed much. In fact, I think things will finally begin to get a bit interesting with you back home.’ Nicholas had always had a taste for dramatics and had been known for having a very… loving nature. In the past years, you must have witnessed him falling in love at least a dozen times, preparing a proposal to half of these women, going through with it twice now, with one nearly making it to the alter if not for the bride getting caught in quite a compromising position with a footman.
For the next few weeks, Nicholas was known as the heartbroken gentleman, and you would have felt bad for him… if it was not for the fact that women from all over town came around to console him, day after day, of course not knowing that when his bride-to-be had been making arrangements with other men, your brother had been too busy charming ladies himself. It took a month for him to proclaim his love to another woman again.
‘I do not know what you mean,’ Nicholas deflected your comment, quickly looking over to your mother and second oldest brother, Christopher, ‘any fitting suitors I should be aware of?’ As the eldest brother, Nicholas made it his duty to ensure his sisters found good husbands. That meant status and wealth but, above anything else, a good and genteel nature. You remembered how picky he was when Annabelle had been searching for a husband, even more so than your parents. Still, it was something you appreciated about your brother. His protectiveness showed the little heart he still held for you and the rest of your family, as much as he tried to hide it away.
Your mother bit her cheek, holding in the many thoughts and opinions she must have kept for herself. So did Christopher, who shared a very knowledgeable look of many words with Nicholas, one he understood clearly but you could not decipher just yet. However, you assumed the general message had been sent and received.
‘If you had seen the choices, brother, you would understand my predicament and situation all too well, believe me.’ Pretending to seem unbothered by the encrypted messages being sent around the room, you preoccupied yourself once more with the needlework.
‘I believe it is what you believe, sister,’ Nicholas turned back to your mother, ‘do you have a list of names? I shall go through them in the morning, see if it really is as bad as we are being told.’
You had wanted to reply, most likely in a dishonourable way, but you held your tongue and fell back in your seat, letting the rest of your family plan out the rest of your life, just like they had always done.
Unbelievable, Nicholas was home for all of five minutes, and he was already making lists. And knowing him, which you would like to think you did, it was merely a formality for your sake. He would already have a dozen names at the top of his head, ready to send out invitations to men for an audience with you.
Therefore, you were not surprised when, only a few days later, at the breakfast table, Nicholas told you about all the guests Ridlngton Park would soon be welcoming.
‘There is Mr Elton, and Mr Brookes will be coming over for tea; I also heard Lord Frankworth is interested in a visit, so is Mr Campbell, and—’ he kept on giving you names, with all of them entering one ear and immediately leaving through your other. You could not care less who wanted to see you, not after spending the last month trying your hardest to escape all of their attempts at promenading, lunching, and chatting of sheer nonsense.
‘I must ask you to be ready for your first audience before 10; a dress is already prepared in your room.’ Of course, there was a dress. All you could do was smile as you bit into a forkful of egg.
‘Oh, and there is one gentleman I would particularly like you to meet,’ your father chimed in, almost as if with an afterthought that he recollected at the last minute. You looked up at him apprehensively. ‘I had made a nice acquaintance of his father on our travel. What was his name– Harrolds, no…’ ‘Harrington, father. It was Mr Harrington.’ Nicholas corrected before looking over to you as he shared more. ‘He is a tradesman, quite successful. His only son had joined us on the ship back to England.’ The emphasis on his lineage was made with an apparent inclination. There were no more heirs, meaning the son would inherit the man’s entire wealth. ‘Certainly seems like a reasonable young man, clever too. The two of you will have lots to speak of.’
Well, I certainly cannot wait to meet him,’ you forced out a smile before quickly getting on with your meal despite losing all your appetite. At that moment, your stomach felt like a hollow pit, eating away at you, ironically.
‘You know, if you gave this all a chance, you might find yourself to actually enjoy it in the end,’ your mother commented with a tight lip.
‘I am sure I shall enjoy it then, as it means that it has all, in fact, ended.’ You sighed deeply, ‘I simply do not understand why this is a must in my life? Why must I marry this instant?’
‘Do not worry, dear. You are still young; you still have plenty of time, ' your father said, missing your point entirely and making you roll your eyes. ‘But your mother is right, too, a more agreeable attitude towards this will make things much easier.’
‘For whom, exactly? Is it for me to enjoy myself, or for everyone else as you will not have to endure me any longer?’
‘Can you really blame us?’ Nicholas mumbled, receiving a kick in the shin in return. He spent the rest of the discussion rubbing the targetted spot on his leg with a pained crease between his brows. You, besides gaining the small victory of maiming your brother, found yourself yet again on the losing side of another family dispute. Like all its predecessors, this battle ended with you pushing back your chair with a harsh scrape of the panelled floor and slugging back to your room where a dress awaited.
It was beautiful; you could not deny that. Elegant and straightforward, it accented all your finest assets for interested suitors. It was comfortable: not too heavy or too textured in its pattern, it was made of soft material that slipped right on, with the fit of a well-tailored glove. Your hair was pulled up and out of your face, leaving nothing to hide behind.
‘You look lovely, miss,’ your maid said with a kind smile as she put the final pin in your hair.
‘Thank you, Claire.’ You muttered, noticing the saddened sympathy enveloping her features as she knew like no other how much you detested everything about what you were about to go through. ‘Have you got any advice? On how to endure it all?’
‘I’m afraid not,’ she shrugged, brushing something off your shoulder. ‘I suppose you could try making them uninterested in you, so they will want to leave sooner.’
‘That thought has crossed my mind,’ you admitted, ‘but I also do not want to put my entire family to shame.’
‘Of course, miss.’ Claire nodded. As she finished working on your presentation, you pondered over your possibilities. Indeed, presenting yourself as improper had been your first idea, and its appeal remained, but you were too afraid of the repercussions. If the gentlemen were to think of you as a lady without any manners, all it would do was put your upbringing up for question, something your parents did not deserve whatsoever.
You also considered spreading gossip about the men coming to introduce themselves, which would scare your mother off them immediately, ensuring they were never to return by your parents’ preference. But it felt cruel to make up such lies. You were sure that in other circumstances, these were perfectly fine men. At this particular moment, you just happened to despise them and everything they stood for.
Perhaps the most appealing option was to simply not attend the audience. To run away and never to return… at least until the afternoon, once all the men had lost all their patience. But that would only cause you more trouble.
The ideas rolled around your head for the rest of the day, even once the suitors sat opposite you in the room. It was all incredibly dull, if not just mortifyingly humiliating, with your mother sitting only across the room, occupying herself with a book, or so it seemed because she most definitely was listening to the conversations attempted on your part.
‘So,’ as most of the dialogues began, the Lord whose name you already forgot spoke, clearing his throat, ‘I hear you read.’
‘Yes, ' you said, blinking to avoid staring too blankly at the wall behind the man, ignoring the balding patch atop his head.
‘Grand,’ he smiled, somehow satisfied with your response already.
‘Do you… ride?’ you asked, hoping that at the least your mother heard your attempts at making a connection and would release you from this torment soon enough on the principle of your good sportsmanship.
‘No, God no, horses are far too beastly for my liking, unless we are speaking of the track, of course.’ The man scoffed, ‘However, I prefer more dignified activities, such as hunting.’
‘Of course, you do,’ you smiled, but the expression never reached your eyes. ‘What about chess? Do you play?’
‘I do not have the patience to commit to such silly games.’
Patience, you thought, or intelligence? And how ironic of him to speak of perseverance. You watched him take another small sandwich from the tea tray provided on a side table, which you were taught to ignore so as not to be observed as “gluttonous”. After all, no one wanted to marry a lady that ate all day.
Considering that, you grabbed a plate and a piece of cake from the top of the tray and bit into it. The soft sponge melted on your tongue. In the meantime, you were asked a question, but you could not possibly answer with a mouthful of cake, could you? Once you had finished, you considered grabbing a second portion, but you could feel the judgmental look of your mother digging into the back of your head.
You put the plate back down and your hands on your lap.
‘I’m sorry, my lord, could you repeat the question, please. I fear I may have lost myself for a moment.’ And so, it continued. Thankfully, the man excused himself not long after, thanking you and your mama for the time, just for his seat to be replaced with someone else almost immediately. This time, the gentleman was significantly younger, with thick hair atop his head and charming eyes, but the second he spoke, you knew this would not reach much further than the comfort of this room. At the least, you did not see this relationship going any further than any of the other acquaintances you had made that day.
By lunchtime, you felt your eyes burning with fatigue, possibly caused by a constant suppression of tears. How much more could you possibly take of this torture?
‘Mr Elton was quite a charmer, was he not?’ Your mother commented as she sipped her tea.
You suppressed your initial thought, rephrasing it to cause less offence, ‘He is too stubborn and self-centred. He barely let me speak a single word, too occupied by his own achievements to expect me to have any.’
‘Well, Lord Frankworth seemed to care very much for what you had to say.’
‘Only because he barely managed to string any thoughts together himself,’ you sighed.
Your mother tightened her grip on the teacup before smiling. ‘Soon enough, we will find you a perfectly fine young man, dear. You just have to remain open-minded.’ She glanced at the clock. ‘Speaking of, your next suitor should be here shortly.’
You did everything in your power not to groan at the announcement and instead nodded politely. ‘Who is it?’
‘Mr Harrington, the one your father was so keen on you meeting.’
‘Ah,’ yes, the American. The only thing that gave you some slight hope in the situation was that Mr Harrington had already spent plenty of time in the company of your father and brother Nicholas and had seemingly gained their blessing. But nothing could help you gain the energy to entertain yet another man with polite conversation. The sun had been beaming into the room since the early morning, only growing warmer and warmer, making the hairs at the small of your neck stick.
‘Will you just excuse me for a moment, mother.’ You got up.
‘Is something wrong?’ She looked suspicious but with a glint of worry in her eye.
‘I am quite fine, just require some fresh air, I think,’ which was not entirely a lie.
‘Alright then, just make haste, child.’ Mr Harrington was on his way, after all. ‘We do not want to keep the man waiting.’
‘Of course not,’ you smiled, heading towards the door. When the large panels closed behind you, you picked up your skirt and ran toward the gardens. Your footsteps echoed through the corridors, and you caught several members of the house staff glancing your way with inquisitive looks.
Ever since you could remember, the grounds around Ridlington Park had a fantastical power about them. It had been the turf on which you would spend countless childhood summer days playing games with your siblings, whether the competitive or imaginary type. But no matter what the six of you could think of, your favourite game would always remain Hide and Go Seek. The gardens were a perfect place for it, with endless nooks and crannies one could disappear into. It was nearly a giant maze, and you had mastered it from a very young age. Whilst most got lost between the shrubbery and flowers, you knew exactly where you had found yourself.
There were plenty of hiding spots you enjoyed over the years, some that to this day remain a mystery to the rest of your family, but nonetheless, it was the stables you adored the most. It was a safe haven for you on many days, to the point that you had nearly become invisible to the staff working there.
The stables were located in the far east corner of the grounds, and the walk towards it already cost more time than you had if you had ever planned on returning that quickly. Undeniably, there was a pinch of shame and guilt nipping at your heart towards the strange Mr Harrington, but that soon dissolved when you heard the neighing of Barley Sugar, a golden-brown mare you proudly called yours. A gift and result of a successful business trade made by your father years ago, the horse technically belonged to all of the Byrnwick children, as much as any of the other horses under the family’s possession, but the bond between you and that particular horse just turned out to be that much stronger.
This was visible as soon as you entered the stable. Barley Sugar went wild at your presence, happily swinging her head from side to side.
‘Oh, we can both use an escape, I see,’ you grinned, petting the horse, who leaned into your touch immediately. ‘How about I get you out of here, hmm?’
But your plans were quickly interrupted by a voice. ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea, ma’am.’
❀❀❀
An average sea voyage from the Americas to England should take approximately 16 days, considering the weather corresponds with the sails of the ship. During this journey, passengers would most likely endure days upon days of heavy and tall waves bashing across the ship’s sides, and that is to be expected in favourable conditions.
As Lord Byrnwick and his eldest had boarded the ship headed to London, the sky had been bright blue, and it did not change far beyond that. There was, of course, a risk for the two of them to sail across the world as they did, them being head of the family and its heir. A journey such as this one can go awry in many ways, and if it were not for the dangers of seafaring, there were the Anglo-American tensions to consider. After all, the previous year's war was still fresh in everyone’s mind, and one could not be careful enough when entertaining both sides. Luckily for the Byrnwicks, they were not of the superstitious kind, and good fortune had always seemed to be in the family’s favour up until the very moment they stepped on the boat to return home, many years beyond that.
Ever the convivial one, the most considerable success of the trip, according to Lord Byrnwick, was not the business or diplomatic aspects of their ventures but the social. The man immensely enjoyed meeting other like-minded spirits from across the pond, and there had been plenty of fine nights at gentleman’s clubs spent over fine spirits and betting games, discussing all sorts of topics and exchanging information on all subjects. Promises were made to keep in touch whilst arrangements were made for more future meetings. It was only the polite thing to do.
But aside from acquaintances and business partners, an addition to the household had also been made. Of some sort, that is, for it seemed that the two had found a new groom in America.
Now, Gentle Reader, do not conclude of the worst, as the groom we speak of is not the sort one is meant to meet at an altar but the kind who spends his days tending the horses and carriages. The young man, Mr Munson, had been doing precisely that when the Byrnwick heir stumbled upon his conveyance services in town, in dire need of transport for his regular means, which had already been occupied by his father for the day. It was an encounter by utter chance but certainly one with greater consequences.
Several days later, coincidentally, a letter from London had arrived. Five pages long, each written by a member of the family recounting their most notable memories of the week. The children spoke of the ton's gossip and anecdotes of what occurred at home. Mother, however, took it upon herself to write of more important matters regarding the household. Many topics had to be discussed, but in the middle of her letter, there was mention of the unfortunate passing of the family’s barn manager, Mr Falstipp. It was an unexpected death, leaving the entire house in shock as the man had been working for the family for longer than the children had been alive. But it also resulted in the question of what was to be done now?
It was likely only because the interaction had been so fresh in his mind that Nicholas suggested finding a replacement for Mr Falstipp here in America. This was an unusual offer, as his father commented, especially since they would not leave for home until another few days, but that was to be resolved by having the footmen take care of the horses for the time being. Besides, Nicholas was sure his siblings would be more than happy to help with the chores.
The next day, he returned to the public stables and immediately noted how much cleaner they seemed than any other in town. The horses also looked exceptionally well taken care of and content.
Mr Munson had just been feeding a colt when Nicholas eagerly announced, ‘Mr Munson, may I offer you a proposition?’
This, to no surprise, startled the other man for various reasons. ‘Sir?’
‘This must be a peculiar request, but you see, as of recently, my family has found itself in need of a new stablehand and from what I have seen you do, you, sir, would be the perfect candidate.’ Nicholas had the smile of a man losing his sanity, but his words could not be more genuine.
‘Your family—’ Munson blinked, ‘you mean in London.’
‘Yes, and I understand that this might be a problem, but trust me when I say that you will most certainly find England to your liking, Mr Munson.’
‘Please, call me Eddie.’
‘As you wish,’ Nicholas agreed.
Eddie pondered over the offer for a short moment. It would have taken him no time to decide if it was not for what he was to leave behind, but he knew that his current employer would be able to find his replacement in no time, as jobs in town were hard to come by.
But what must have been even more challenging to obtain was a ticket out of the wasteland he called home. For years, he had dreamt of an escape, never imagining it to be possible, and suddenly, here comes this stranger offering it to him on a silver platter.
It would be terrifying to move so far away, he knew that, with many risks, but the further away he could manage to go from where he was now, the better.
Eventually, after a minute of silence that left Nicholas restless and on the verge of embarrassment, Eddie smiled: ‘It would be my pleasure to work for you, sir.’ And he had meant that wholeheartedly. While it had only been a short few interactions that he had had with the man, the young Mr Byrnwick had already shown Eddie far more kindness than any of his prior employers, or any other man in his life, for a fact. Most importantly, the man knew nothing about Eddie’s past, which must have been the biggest selling point in the life-changing choice.
‘Marvelous. You will not regret this, Eddie.’ Nicholas leaned in to shake his hand, only to realise that Eddie was still carrying the giant bucket of feed. ‘Well, we shall finalise everything on the boat, shall we?’ And so they did.
A week later, Eddie found himself still in shock at his circumstances. He could not believe he was really to be leaving for England until the moment he set foot on the boat, and even once the sails had set and the American coast was nothing but a grim line on the horizon, the fact did not seem to settle in his mind just yet.
Over the next 16 days, he had encountered the Byrnwicks only a handful of times. First, to meet Lord Byrnwick who, as head of the household, wanted a final say on the matter. A bit late, thought Eddie, as the boat had long departed the harbour by then, but his ticket had already been paid for, and thus, he had little else to complain about. He had quickly made peace with the idea that he could make his new life across the ocean work no matter the circumstances. He had done it before, so what is one more homeless night under a new sky?
But the lord seemed all too happy to have found his staff replacement. Overall, the man was nothing like Eddie had expected a gentleman of English high society to be. From his previous experiences, the type often was rather conceited and arrogant, with a transparent opinion of anyone below their class. His new employer and his son, while undoubtedly lordly, had a modest nature about them. Quickly, Eddie had also gathered that the spontaneity with which Nicholas Byrnwick had called upon him for a job opportunity was not uncharacteristic of him, as the young man was rather energetic in his step and impulsive in his actions.
But no matter how unassuming the men were, they did belong to a different rank of man and, therefore, stayed on the boat to the upper decks, engaging with the rest of their kind.
The travel moved on slowly, but in the end, it was also a mere blink of an eye moment, and before he had realised it, Eddie had reached the shores of England. It was another day or two of travel to be done by horse. A carriage had been acquired for Nicholas and his father, but Eddie and the rest of the staff that travelled with the family for their adventure rode on horseback. No matter how much Eddie enjoyed the form of transportation, it was a tiring experience after several hours, but it also allowed him to meet the people he was to work with and, through that, those he would work for.
‘So, what is the rest of the family like,’ he asked Mr Trowbridge, the lord’s valet. If there was anyone who could tell Eddie something, it would be this man.
‘Well,’ Mr Trowbridge had a particularly nasal tone about his voice that especially came forward at the beginning of his sentences, ‘I do not believe there is much to tell. They are as any other family, really.’
‘My good man, you can hardly expect me to believe there is nothing worth telling about these people,’ Eddie laughed. ‘If it puts your mind at ease, I am only asking for the simplest facts—nothing to interest my fancy.’
The valet pondered over this for a moment. ‘Very well. You have, of course, met the Viscount and his eldest.’ He took a moment for Eddie to respond with a nod in agreement. He then took another moment to consider his following words. The longer he took, the more keen Eddie felt to suggest what to speak of.
‘What about Lady Byrnwick?’
‘Lady Byrnwick is most amiable and has a very caring character, but you will not find her in the stables often unless she is searching for her children.’
‘Not fond of horses, is she?’
‘Rather the outside—-’ Trowbridge cleared his hair vigorously. ‘In the sense that the sun and pollen often leave her poorly. But the children…’ he punctuated his half-sentence with a heavy sigh.
‘They are a handful?’ Eddie assumed. To this, Trowbridge searched for another description but found himself lacking the vocabulary, leading to a confirmation.
‘I have worked for this family for nearly three decades, and I will assure you that each member is as proper a member of society as the next. While boisterous, they have been taught to be independent individuals.’ The valet's tone made Eddie consider how much of their good decorum was in gratitude for the man’s own intervention and guidance.
‘At 27 years, Nicholas is the eldest, and the responsibilities of this role are one of the few aspects of his life which he takes seriously, I cannot put any doubt behind that.’ Indeed, whilst extremely impetuous, the heir’s son also understood the duties of his position and towards his family.
‘Then there is Christopher. The boy has immense athletic abilities but not much beyond that. For a young man of his age of five and twenty, one would assume he would be able to compose himself with a bit more propriety, but it is very difficult for him. He is adventurous and rarely can sit still for an extended period of time, including his mouth. It is suggested that people be careful of what they say around the man.
‘The eldest daughter, Annabelle, married just before we had departed for America, thus is now the lady of her own house.’ Something in his tone suggested he was sad to see the young woman leave home. This possibly has to do with the fact that Miss Annabelle (Now known as Duchess Annabelle Ramsbury) was the most dutiful and respectful of the six children. ‘The marriage had been long overdue as she had just turned 22 on the day of the ceremony, but a love match was found nonetheless.’ The valet guffawed with pride. It was clear to Eddie that, while considering them a nuisance, the man cared deeply for the family he served.
‘I must admit, Trowbridge,’ Eddie chuckled in this horse’s trot pattern over the uneven paths. ‘When you began speaking of the family, I had imagined the children to be… well, children.’
‘How old are you, Munson?’ Trowbridge asked, somewhat bluntly.
‘Twenty, sir.’ Perhaps closer to his next birthday than the last.
‘Ah, just the age of the second daughter then,’ he nodded in agreement. ‘She may perhaps be the most… rebellious of the kin. It is all in good spirit, as you must imagine, and I am sure the interest in such nonsense will dwindle as she matures. She is also the most fond of the family horses; thus, you will see her quite often, I expect. But as her sibling, she has mastered the care for the animals as well as the equipment.’
As he spoke of your skills, something about Trowbridge's expression communicated particular dismay to Eddie. ‘Is that bad? For a young woman to know how to carry herself around a horse?’ He, for one, certainly did not see a problem in it. On the contrary, it was an instrumental skill to develop for anyone.
‘It is not exactly lady-like, is it?’ Trowbridge spoke as if that was the only relevant argument on the matter. Eddie had learned from a very young age that some opinions were better left unsaid, and seeing him as the senior in age and position, Eddie thought it unwise to argue with the valet on his first official day of employment. He instead simply nodded in understanding. Instead, he opted to continue the civil interrogation—
‘What of the youngest two? What are they like?’
‘Fitzwilliam is a dapper fellow. He is but seventeen, but very accomplished, though I cannot say he knows how to put his acquired skills to good use. He has ambitions that cannot be denied; it is just a question of whether these ambitions can ever be met.
‘And lastly, we have Miss Marjorie. A darling girl, I assure you,’ Trowbridge stated. I can only suggest not letting her size fool you, Munson. She has managed to wrap her family around her little fingers the moment she learned to mumble a word, leaving her to cause quite the ruckus for the past eleven years.’
‘I do not see how that involves me, Sir,’ Eddie said. By this time, the sun had begun to set over the fields they passed, and soon, the company would break for their overnight travels at a nearby inn.
‘It had come to my attention over the years that Mr Falstipp–the previous groom, that is— had been quite lenient on the children and their usage of the horses. This has caused a number of incidents that I would rather not see a repetition of.’
‘Understood.’
‘I am unaware of your er– American customs,’ the valet began his lecture, ‘but you must also know that here, ladies are not to ride unaccompanied—something that has been protested in the family to no avail, but it is simply the procedure. There must always be a chaperone nearby to supervise, whether that is a senior member of the family or an entrusted member of the household.’
‘I do not expect to have gained that trust just yet,’ Eddie said earnestly.
‘But let us hope you will.’ The smile Trowbridge gave Eddie was kind at first glance, but the movement of his eyes that inspected him told an entirely different story. He knew he still had much to learn about navigating himself around the kinds of people that were the Byrnwicks, even those who worked for them. The moment he set foot on English soil, he knew it would be challenging to fit in if he ever planned to do so.
The truth is that he did not plan such a change. For you see, Dear Reader, Mr Eddie Munson was also a radical. He did not believe in adapting to society, which was visible in his entire being. One can also imagine the struggle he had to endure when given a uniform to wear. Frankly, the ensemble did not differ much from how the man dressed himself before, but the simple fact that he was told to wear this particular set of clothing upset him severely.
On the first day after his arrival at Ridlington Park, he had managed to justify himself out of dressing in the required clothing by claiming that the trousers were a smidgen too tight. Without another size available, he was told to wear the clothes on his back until the new, fitted attire arrived.
But the clothes did not even begin to reach the problem of the horses he was meant to care for.
Turned out, while he had been given all sorts of warnings against the family, what Eddie should have been preparing for was the beasts that homed the stables. The stubborn animals would not let him touch them, and any attempts were met with angry stares and stomping of the hooves.
‘Easy, there,’ Eddie spoke as softly as he could, taking small steps in any direction that would not enrage the stallion whom he was currently attempting to feed. White Liquorice, a white Arabian, was undoubtedly an animal worthy of a viscount, and from the moment he had stepped into the Ridlington Park stables, Eddie knew that the Kentucky Saddlers and Quarter Horses he grew up with were no match for these and he would quickly have to learn to get on with them if he was to stay here.
Yes, the first days were hard, but not even one week later, he had gotten used to the rhythm of operations. It helped that, working as the barn manager, he was the one in charge and mostly left alone. Mr Trowbridge had visited him to ensure he was adjusting to the new working conditions, which was kind, but besides that, Eddie rarely saw anyone but footmen requesting the carriage to be prepared for the family.
That is until one afternoon when he heard the doors open and someone walking inside. He had been around the corner of the stables, cleaning some grooming tools.
‘Oh, we can both use an escape, I see,’ he heard the intruder speak. It was soft and gentle, most likely referring to one of the horses. Immediately, Eddie was reminded of one of the conversations shared with Lord Byrnwick’s valet. He swiftly got up from his seat and immediately found the culprit.
He watched you pet one of the horses—Barley Sugar, was it—-petting her in a way he had not yet managed to do confidently. ‘How about I get you out of here, hmm?’ These words triggered him to jump into action.
‘I don’t think that’s a good idea, ma’am.’ He stepped forward, but his words startled you, causing you to turn around. As you did so, your foot got caught in an old set of bridles Eddie had still planned on detangling and putting away. The surprise coming with the unexpected presence of someone else, combined with the awkward position of your foot, led you to fall over with a shriek.
Eddie cursed under his breath as he watched you huff on the ground. ‘Let me help you,’ he extended his hand to you, ‘and my apologies, it was not my intent to—’
‘Who are you?’ you said in a tone that could only be deemed skittish, if not directly fearful, but not enough to deny his offer to help you stand. Your reaction was validated as you had never met the man standing before you. You eyed him up and down, and the more details you noticed, the more you were sure that you had just stumbled upon a robbery, nay, a kidnapping.
The man's presentation spoke for itself, truly. His long hair was dark and unkept, well over his shoulders. His clothes were nothing like the workers around your house were meant to dress like, making him stick out like a very sore thumb. The trousers were old and worn, and the shirt was loose over his upper body, revealing—oh god, was that a tattoo?
It was clear this is how you were to die.
‘Are you here to steal my horses?’ you blurted out before you could think.
‘What?’ He blinked. ‘No, please, listen—’ but you did no such thing. Instead, you did the only thing a lady in distress could do.
You screamed bloody murder.
‘Help! Anyone! Help—’ you would have kept on going, shouting over his attempt at reason until he finally shut you up by placing his hand over your mouth, his other hand sturdily over your upper arm. The two of you stood there for a moment, chests both heaving in all forms of panic, listening for footsteps or any other presence, but the only sound was the soft breathing of the animals around you.
‘I will let go now, miss,’ Eddie said slowly. Both your eyes were wide from the uncultivated situation that had just occurred. ‘And I will explain everything to you, just, please—and I beg you— do not scream.’ You nodded your head beneath his palm in agreement. Eddie counted to three as he stepped back and finally let go of you. Despite him never blocking your airways, you inhaled deeply.
‘There is absolutely no reason to panic, ma’am.’ His accent was distant, one you had never had the pleasure of hearing before. His eyes, large and dark, locked you in, almost making you lose count of the lingering feeling of his hands on your body. He had given you a moment before he continued speaking, ensuring that you would not resume your screaming or make a run for it.
‘What is your reason of being here?’ You inquired.
‘I work here. Have been, for the past week. I think it was your brother, in fact, that gave me the position. We met on his travels.’
Now, come to think of it, you remembered your family's conversation on the day your father and brother returned. There had been talk of new staff—a young man they had brought along with them from America as an official replacement for the late Mr Falstipp. But that did not explain his attire.
‘You could be fired for breaking the dress code alone, you know. Not to mention for the, uhm, actions you had just performed.’ You commented.
‘Well, you can always report me, miss.’ Eddie, against all his better judgement, smiled.
‘Maybe I should.’ Your heart was still pounding, and you felt so disoriented that even a simple smile made your head spin. ‘What is your name?’
‘Eddie.’
‘Well, Mr Eddie—’ you began, just to be quickly interrupted.
‘No, just Eddie.’ Eddie shook his head.
‘What do you mean? Do you have no family name?’ You had heard of men bringing in street urchins to work for them, but surely, this man was too old for such charity. And you could not imagine your brother to perform such acts of kindness anyway.
‘I do.’ His smile only widened in amusement at the conversation. ‘Eddie Munson.’
‘My, is it usual in America to introduce oneself like that?’ Never had you heard of a man introducing himself by only his first name, let alone a byname.
‘It is usual to me,’ he quipped, ‘And it is more common than not introducing yourself at all.’ The way in which he looked up at you from under his lashes felt accusatory, but you could not find it within you to be upset at the critique, so you gave him your name instead.
‘Pleasure to meet you, Miss Byrnwick.’ He gave you a small, polite bow that reminded you more of how children play Lord and Lady rather than a gentlemanly act. Next thing you knew, a smile was pulling at the corner of your lips, and a small giggle was ready to escape.
For some reason, you hesitated to say your following words: ‘It is a pleasure, Mr Munson.’
‘Please, call me Eddie.’ While always respecting the titles of others, Eddie never saw himself as one to follow such formalities.
‘That is most improper.’ You held back the urge to scoff.
‘But I insist.’ There was something in the corner of his eye that you managed to catch a glimpse of—this spark that no sunlight or fire could match. It was pure mischief, a spirit of chaos. But still, to call a man you barely knew by his first name was simply not right. Your family may jest as they please about your rebelling attitude to primitive customs, but you had to admit that some things ought to be done in a proper manner. And this was certainly not it.
However, Mr Munson saw it in another light but did not find enough of an interest in the subject enough to argue it further. Rather, he cleared his throat briefly and observed you for a moment.
How silly you must look in your fancy dress! Your hair was done up to match, and your shoes were most likely covered in mud. There was also no doubt that he had overheard you talking to your horse about running away. You had good faith that he could connect the pieces to form the complete picture.
A bird flew past a window, making you glance past Eddie’s shoulder in haste.
‘I hope I am not keeping you from any other plans, miss?’ He finally asked. Could you be so bold as to admit that he was saving you from other commitments by conversing with you?
‘No, of course, not Mr Munson,’ you persisted. ‘I am simply cautious.’ Come to think of it, your screams must have been heard all around the grounds. If those who heard, in turn, had an ounce of common sense amongst them, they would have called for someone in the house. If that was the case, your mother would be here momentarily, and then it was back to the house for you. All you could do now was hide.
‘May I ask what are you being cautious of?’ Eddie followed you with his eyes as you walked through the stables, looking for a hiding spot.
‘If you must know, I am currently on the run,’ you stated while looking over a haystack in the far corner.
‘Ah, so whilst you had accused me of being a criminal, it was you who had been committing the crimes then? Should I now scream for help?’
‘I’d rather you didn’t, ' you said, attempting to climb the hay to get past it. ‘I have already brought much too much attention to myself.’ Your foot slipped, making you tumble back down to the ground. The accident made you stop for a moment before attempting to climb again, looking over your shoulder at the man. ‘Are you not going to even try and stop me?’
‘Oh,’ it was as if he had awakened from a deep thought or had just realised that what you suggested was exactly what he ought to do. ‘Well, would you listen if I told you not to climb up there?’
You pondered his question for a short moment. ‘No, I highly doubt it.’ Thus, you resumed your climbing. As you did, you heard the shuffling of his feet behind you. The next time you slipped up, this time from a far higher distance, he had been in precisely the right place to catch you in his arms.
‘I cannot assure you I will be able to catch you once more, so it is in good conscience that I suggest you stop, ma’am,’ he said as you got back to your feet.
‘You are right,’ you admitted. Then you realised just how close the two of you stood and quickly occupied yourself by looking for another hiding place. That is when you noticed it. You had spent years in this stable and knew every inch of the space, yet… ‘Have you moved things around?’ You looked back at Eddie.
‘Only a little. I’m afraid my predecessor did not have a flair for organisation,’ he explained.
‘That may be so, but I would prefer you would put things back as they were.’
‘Excuse me?’ Eddie could not help but laugh at the demand.
‘Your new floor plan has completely disoriented me, ' you admitted. ‘It is unbecoming.’
‘My apologies. I will be sure to put things back as they were, then.’ His laugh still echoed his words.
You had not expected him to actually agree to this request. ‘You will?’ But quickly, you regained your composure and tried to hide the surprise in your voice. ‘Very well, thank you. Then, since you have discarded all of my possible hiding locations, what do you suggest I should do?’
‘I suggest you run.’ But it was not Eddie who had answered you.
‘Mother, ' you gasped. What was it, in God’s good name, with everyone sneaking up on you today? Lady Byrnwick stood at the threshold of the stables with her arms crossed. Her lips tightened into a thin line as she took a step inside. You prepared yourself for a disciplinary outburst, but instead, your mother focused on the man standing next to you.
‘You must be Mr Munson.’ The kindness in her voice was laughable. The overcompensation of her kindness threw both you and Eddie off.
‘Yes, Ma’am.’ You noticed that he bowed his head in a much more orderly fashion than he had done to you.
‘I hope my daughter has not been too much of a nuisance.’
‘Not at all.’ Eddie politely replied.
‘Good, good. Well, I can already see that my son did a good job in finding you,’ she stated as she looked around the retouched interior. ‘And I hope that you will grow to enjoy England.’
‘I’ve had nothing to complain of yet.’ Eddie proudly said with that smile of his, and for a moment, you thought to have caught his eyes on you for just a second. Your mother nodded along with his words in satisfaction, but this cheeriness dissipated as soon as she directed herself to you.
‘Has your headache cleared, dear?’ Her eyes were spitting fire.
‘Yes, mother.’
‘Then we will be on our way.’ She stepped aside, giving you room to walk outside. ‘Goodbye, Mr Munson.’ Eddie had become the unintentional victim of the venom that perferred your mother's words.
He was polite enough to look away as you made your shameful walk through the aisle between the horses’ stalls, but you couldn’t help but look behind you one final time as you left and catch his favourable grin. What a peculiar man he was, indeed—one whose presence you immediately began to miss.
Perhaps that was because of the company you were in at the time.
‘Have you gone completely mad?’ Your mother scowled. ‘Mr Harrington has been waiting for well over half an hour.’
‘He is still here?’ You stopped in your tracks. This day could not have gone any worse. It seemed like everything you had been doing was working in your favour.
‘Yes, so you better come up with a clever excuse for your tardiness as I will not be embarrassed any longer. I swear, have you no shame?’
‘I am truly sorry mother, I had lost track of the time.’
‘Doing what exactly? What were you doing in the stables, exactly? Considering you had told me you were going out for some fresh air.’ Yes, the air around the horses was not exactly to be called “fresh.”
Unfortunately, you had no satisfying answer to any of your mother’s questions. Come to it, you yourself were unsure what exactly had brought you there in the first place, not to mention what made you stay. It must have been a sense of child-like naivete to think you could hide from your problems the way you attempted.
Problems that were coming closer as Mr Harrington walked towards you through the aisle of hyacinths that grew all around you in various colours.
‘What is he doing here?’ you mumbled towards your mother.
‘Considering the lovely weather, I had offered for us to sit out in the gardens.’ Your mother spoke out loud. That is when you noticed the set table and chairs under a large parasol on the patio.
‘I hope you do not mind. I took the initiative of taking a stroll in your absence.’ Mr Harrington spoke in a cadence that would have been new to you if not for the fact that you had spent the last hour in the presence of a very similar tone.
‘Of course, not,’ your mother had regained her ability to smile. ‘May I introduce my daughter.’ And so she did.
‘I am sorry to have kept you waiting, sir. I completely lost track of time.’ You apologised and were ready to offer your hand to Mr Harrington when you noticed how filthy your gloves had become. In a panic, you pushed both your hands behind your back, trying to distract the man with a wide grin.
‘The important thing is that we are all here now,’ he manoeuvred, which you could not help but agree with, then led you to the patio.
The next hour went by faster than you had ever imagined it would. Mr Steve Harrington turned out to be not only a great conversationalist but a rather fascinating one at that. It was only a fault of your own that you were distracted for a larger part of the conversation. There was simply something about the man’s brown eyes that constantly reminded you of somewhere else. He was very charming and, abiding by your brother’s promises, had a great, though perhaps somewhat awkward, wit. It seemed that his confidence, once clearly overt, had been lowered, causing him to stumble over his words at times and laugh at his own mistakes in a deprecating manner, but never enough to make it a bother in your eyes. Truly, it was all rather endearing.
But you could not, for the life of you, figure out what exactly caused these fumblings in his character, as nothing seemed to be particularly wrong with the man. Though you did not see him as an academic or scholar of any sort, from the way he spoke, you could tell he was one of the more clever men you had the fortune of meeting. And his looks were certainly no topic of discussion either. He was tall and lean, with a wonderful smile and soft brown hair that apparently was more common than imagined, as were those dark eyes and the way he held you in his arms—
You took a sip of the cold water as Mr Harrington expressed his gratitude to your mother for the audience and made sure the message would be conveyed to Lord Byrnwick, too. You nodded and smiled along. Even when he bid you farewell and bowed his head, your mind was elsewhere. As if expecting something to emerge from behind the hyacinths, you could not help but glance in the Eastern direction of the gardens.
‘See, it was not all that bad, was it?’ your mother immediately said, pulling you back to the patio. By then, Mr Harrington had excused himself and was crossing the patio to the exit from the grounds but had turned briefly for a final goodbye, which you met with a polite wave.
‘No, I suppose you are right, mother.’ You had persevered against all odds. As you watched the gentleman leave, you felt quite content with the meeting—happy, some would even say. The only problem was that you could not make quite clear what, or rather, who brought on this particular mood.
To be continued...
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#eddie munson#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x y/n#eddie munson x you#eddie munson au#eddie munson fluff#eddie munson angst#eddie munson smut#eddie munson fanfiction#eddie munson fanfic#eddie munson imagine#eddie munson fic#fanfic#fanfiction#smut#angst#fluff#regency au#eddie munson regency au#regency!au#regency!eddie munson
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Haikyuu men as fathers pt 3.
Part 1, Part 2, Part 4
Ft. Sakusa, Iwaizumi, Kageyama, and Osamu.
The age range of the kids will differ for each character but it’s from babies up til like 17 or 18 (also sometimes I model the parenting off of the way my parents were w me n my little sibs lol)
CW: Indication of pregnancy, relationships, marriage, certain styles of parenting,
Enjoy lovelies <33
………………..
Sakusa Kiyoomi:
The panic on his face is pure gold. “Babe… Babe she’s drooling on me!” You whip out your phone so fast. “Smile for the camera, Kiyo!”
He’s pouting, but you don’t really care. Not after you told him to grab her bib because she might drool. He insisted that ‘my little girl won’t drool on me.’ And now here he is panicking about it.
It’s not that he minded her saliva… it’s that he’s in uniform because he wanted to hold Kokomi before heading to work.
Your nine month old daughter is clapping her hands at her dad. You’re sure she finds this whole ordeal hilarious just like you do.
“Stop recording me and get the bib. It’s gonna get on my uniform.” He says with his eyebrows furrowed. “What happened to ‘oh she won’t drool on me’ I thought you didn’t need the bib.” You mock your boyfriend of three years.
He frowns and sets Kokomi onto the floor. “Go crawl to mommy, yeah?” She immediately starts crying and you knew this would happen. Your baby is most definitely a daddy’s girl.
“Kiyoomi, pick her back up. She wants her daddy.” He glares at your statement because you’re still mocking him. “This is not funny.” He states. Just as you were about to make a comeback Kokomi took the both of you by surprise.
She was crying and crawling over to Kiyoomi, “Da- DAA!” Both your eyes widen at the realization that’s she’s saying ‘da da.’ You open up your phone and press record. “Kiyo! Make her say it again.”
“I can’t just magically make her say it.” He says sarcastically and you roll your eyes. “That’s not what I mean! Start walking away I’m sure she’ll say it again.” Kiyoomi walks very slowly so she has time to catch up by crawling and sure enough she says it again, “DA DA.”
You stop the recording and clap your hands. “Good job, princess! That is da da!” Kiyoomi picks her up and wipes her tears with his hand.
“Don’t cry little one, da da’s right here.” He assures her and she claps again.
And for the next couple of weeks all Kiyoomi heard was “da da.”
Sure you were bummed she didn’t say “mama” first, but guess what? You aren’t the one who has to go help her when Kiyoomi’s around because all your little princess wants is her “da da”
He’s so sensitive abt her, for example he cries on her first birthday because “she’s growing so fast”
He teases you for being jealous of your daughter, but you can’t help it! She’s getting all his attention :( (he tends to you later <3)
He seems like the type of dad to sign his kid up for a bunch of sports/activities so he can try to find something for her to become good at
He has tea parties with her, she loves when you play the charming prince and kiyoomi plays the pretty princess 😂
OMG whenever she has nightmares he’ll follow her back to her room and sleep in her bed w her (you keep telling him he’s gonna break it lmfao)
Doesn’t let her date for a LONGGGGG time
He spoils her absolutely rotten
He cried tears of joy when he saw his little girl walking down the aisle being the cutest little flower girl at your guys’ wedding
SUCH A SOFT DAD, she’ll ask for something and you’ll give him that look so he’s like “N-no.” And she gives him those eyes and he’s like “baby, how I can say no to those eyes?!”
Iwaizumi Hajime:
“HIGHER DADDY, HIGHER!” Your seven year old daughter screams as Iwaizumi launches her into the air and catches her.
“Sato has to have his turn, pumpkin.” He sets his little girl down and comes over to you with grabby hands for his son.
“He’s one Haji, that might scare him.” You reason. He takes him anyway and you shake your head.
He throws Sato up into the air, it’s not too high. He catches the chubby little baby and you wait for the crying. It never comes though, because you hear your little boy giggle.
”What’d I tell you, sweetheart?” His face is smug because he was right.
“Daddy lift me up too! Mommy says you’re very strong!” She too has grabby hands. “Oh really?” He says smirking. The brunette lifts up his daughter so he’s holding both children in his arms.
You’re staring, hard. You and Iwaizumi have created a beautiful little family that’s bound to grow bigger at your surprise.
“Take a picture, Mommy. It’ll last longer.” His tone is laced with smugness. “Yeah yeah.” You roll your eyes. Even though his statement was meant as a joke you pull out your phone and take a picture anyway.
As he’s about to set them down you stop him, “wait we gotta get one more with me in it!” You say walking over to them to take a selfie.
“We don’t want our other little one to feel left out, now do we?” It takes him a second to realize what you said. It was too funny not to document his response so you snap pics of his surprised face.
“You’re pregnant?!” He says in shock. “Yeah, thanks to somebody.” Your daughter is next to speak.
“It’s because of the baby fairy, right?!” She asks excitedly.
Iwaizumi laughs, “yeah, the baby fairy is bringing you another little sibling.” Iwaizumi explains with a big smile on his face. You want to flip him off but not in front of the kids.
He’ll take his little girl to the gym (and his son when he gets older) and use her to do his work outs (She’ll be on his back while he’s doing push ups, “five more, Daddy!”)
teaches his children the importance of health
i can see him empowering his daughter and telling her if someone hits her then she has permission to hit back
sometimes he misses his children’s events but he’ll make up for it with something fun
He seems like the type to want a lot of kids (enough to have his own little volleyball team lmao)
He’s always telling them to not be like their uncle oikawa
ALWAYS taking pics of the little cuties
Idk what it is abt him but Sato it his only boy, something abt him just makes me think he’d have almost all girls 😂
Invested in a suv so he can drive the kiddos to school
such a fucking dad boss, he goes to all the parent teacher conferences, etc etc.
I’m 1 mil percent sure he makes his kids wearing matching pjs and they love it at first but they hate it when they get older lmao
he’s the strict but nice dad (pretty chill until one of the kids fuck up or if he isn’t a fan of something)
Not only does he get on his kids for eating junk food he nags you about it too
has all his kids stuffies names’ memorized “daddy! Popcorn has a boo boo!”
he’s big on family outdoor trips (you suggested glamping and he told you that’s such an oikawa idea and your fam is gonna do camping the right way)
Hesitant on letting his kids use technology, he didn’t want them to become fully dependent on tech (they aren’t 🫶🏾)
Kageyama Tobio:
“That’s my boy. When you’re setting you don’t want to slap the ball up with your palm, it’s more like slightly tapping it with your fingertips, uhhh does that make since?” Kageyama tries to explain to his twelve year old.
“I think I get it?” Kaito says in a questioning tone. Kageyama scratches his head. “I wonder when your mom will get home with the girls.” Kageyama thinks aloud.
Kaito shrugs and returns to practice setting the ball. He’s done it a few times and Kageyama praises everyone of his sets, even if some of them are really crappy.
“Dad, you don’t need to praise the bad ones. It doesn’t make me feel better. If you praise my trashy work then I’ll settle for being trashy.” Kaito explains to his father. Kageyama puts his hands on his hips, his face turns into a smirk.
“If you want real practice don’t get upset when I criticize every little thing. You know I’m nit picky when it comes to volleyball.” With that he removes his hands from his hips. His steps were even and he asks his son for the ball.
“Mom says you’re bitchy about volleyball. She says it’s gotten better though.” Kaito says, meaning little harm. He knew that would get Kageyama riled up.
“Huh? You’re joking, right?!” Kageyama’s squeezing the volleyball and Kaito is suppressing a laugh.
“Well she says that’s what uncle shoyo says and she agrees with him.” Kageyama mumbles something about you and Hinata. Kaito is sure it’s something along the lines of, ‘I’ll show them a true bitch.’
Kaito gets some good practice in, mainly because his dad is somewhat upset.
You’re finally home with your twin daughters who are two. You find your husband and eldest in the backyard together playing volleyball.
“Kaito, you’ll be as good as your dad one day!” You praise seeing the results of Kageyama’s practice with him.
“What’s this talk about me being bitchy when playing volleyball?” Kageyama confronts and your eyes immediately land on your son.
“Kaito! You cannot keep a secret for the life of you, huh?” You say with a chuckle.
“I get it from you, Mom.” He says seriously.
“Babe, it’s nothin serious. Just a small observation of Shoyo. It’s not supposed to be in a mean way.” You try to coax him. He isn’t having it though.
He starts fussing so you tell Kaito to get his sisters and take them to go play with toys.
As soon as they’re out of sight you walk up to your husband and give him a warm, loving kiss.
“Tobio, you are not taking this to heart right now,” a small chuckle leaves your lips. “As your wife I make comments about you all the time cuz you know as well as I do that I mean it in a loving way. I’m still not over you calling me a swelling balloon when I was pregnant!” You rant, the ending part of your rant earns a snort from your husband.
“You’re my swelling balloon.” For some reason that almost sounded sexy but you aren’t going to let it slide. You give him a playful punch.
“Can you guys quit being saps?” Kaito yells from the door.
“It’s your night to help potty train.” You say with a wink and Kageyama groans.
If he sees his child showing any interest in volleyball he’ll do his best to make his kid a next gen star
he despises that you make the family match for holidays and you send the photos out to family
He lets his kids run around butt naked when they’re little (until you scold him)
he wouldn’t see the problem in letting the twins have ice cream for breakfast
he learned how to do hair so he can braid his little girls’ hair 🥺
he and his son argue abt the dumbest things (got that Kageyama and hinata energy)
Also the competitive dad who wants his kids to be better than everyone else’s kids
he will literally bully any little kid to the point where they cry if they mess w his kids
I don’t think he’d freak out when his daughters start their period he’s just like “okay. I think ur mom has pads somewhere 🧍🏻”
Miya Osamu:
“Pa! Come quick!” 6 and a half year old Haruki yells from the bathroom. When Osamu hears him he comes running up the stairs and into the bathroom.
“The heck ya doing in here? Yer ma’s gonna tear ya a new one!” Osamu examines the mess his son has made with finger paint. “I was trying something, Pa. Then my tooth came out cuz I was wigglin’ it!”
It isn’t until his son says that sentence that he notices there’s a small empty space in his mouth where his little tooth should be. “Huh? This yer first tooth?” Osamu asks.
“Pa, I been talking about this darn tooth for weeks!” His son responds with sass.
“well ‘cuse me for forgettin’ little man.” Osamu says with a roll of his eyes. This boy has got your attitude big time.
“You stay right here, ima go get ya some warm salt water. Don’t ya move.” Osamu warns as he goes to fetch some water for his son.
“So I can’t even breathe?” He asks sarcastically.
“Quit bein’ a lil smart aleck.” Osamu demands with a little bit more strictness in his tone. He’s usually pretty laid back with his son but sometimes Haruki hears the way his Uncle ‘Tsumu talks to his dad and he thinks he can talk that way.
Osamu runs down the stairs to the kitchen and scrambles around for a cup. He finds the salt and sprinkles some in. He puts the cup in the microwave for about a minute and it feels like the longest minute of his life.
“Hurry, Pa! The blood’s gettin’ everywhere!” Haruki yells out of worry.
Osamu retrieves the cup from the microwave and stampedes up the stairs to the bathroom.
“Here, swish it. All of it.” He commands.
“Pa I don’t wanna swish all this salt water it won’t taste good.” He explains to his pa.
“Do ya want the blood to go away or nah?” Osamu asks and Haruki shakes his head yes.
Your mini me began to swish the water as Osamu cleaned up the bathroom.
“Yer lucky I saved ya. Shoulda told yer ma ‘bout the mess you made.” Osamu snorts.
“Do ya think my baby sister will look like you or ma?” Haruki asks instead of thanking his father for cleaning his mess.
“I reckon she’ll get my beautiful eyes that drew yer ma to me n my thick brows.” Osamu says proudly puffing his chest.
“‘s not the only thing ma calls thick.” Haruki mutters which makes Osamu look down to him.
“Whaddya mean?” He asks his eyebrows scrunching up.
“She always talks to Uncle Rin ‘bout how thick ur butt is but she says it with two c’s at the end instead of T-H-I-C-K. What does the one with two c’s mean, Pa?” Haruki asks out of pure curiosity.
Osamu’s face goes red and he covers his face.
“It don’t mean nothin’ at all son. Don’t listen to what yer ma says that’s just her talking crazy.” Your husband explains.
“So when she tells me to go to bed-” Osamu cuts him off.
“I outta pop you for how smart yer acting.” Osamu says firmly.
“Sorry Pa, I’ll stop.” Haruki has a cheeky little smile on his face. He knows Osamu isn’t going to do anything. You handle all the discipline.
Osamu’s phone buzzes loudly in his pocket and he takes it out to answer it.
Osamu’s face goes still and then his eyes about pop out his head. “Slow down honey one word atta time.” Haruki hears you yell over the phone.
“We’re on our way right now.” Osamu says in quickly.
“Let’s go pack yer bag Haruki, yer staying with Uncle ‘Tsumu.” Haruki doesn’t move a muscle but then his dad gives him the look that says ‘do not test me right now’
“Is Ma okay?” Haruki asks his dad slightly worried.
“As okay as you can be goin’ into labor.” Osamu responds. For Haruki’ age he’s an advanced child but he’s picked up on the twins vulgar language and their accent. He knew what it meant when Osamu said you went into labor.
“My sister’s comin’?!” He asks excitedly.
“Mhm, now go pack yer bag. Ya need three shirts, three pairs of pants, some underwear and matching socks. Yer uncle will take ya to school. If I don’t come get you within the next three days just ask yer uncle to wash yer clothes. We’ll most likely see ya tomorrow but yer gonna stay with yer uncle to yer ma’s outta the hospital.”
Osamu explains all at once. “Okay Pa!”
let’s his kiddos get away with a lot more than they should
teaching them to cook was like his favorite thing to do
he lets you handle the punishments because Osamu is a soft dad
Whenever atsumu is over and you aren’t around he’s swearing like a sailor to his brother and his kids pick up on it 😭
100% a cuddler (Haruki acts like he hates it but he doesn’t)
idc what y’all say but he takes his daughter shopping like prom coming up? He’s there when she’s trying on dresses
no phones at the table enforcer (believes in quality family time)
he was relieved to not have twins like his brother did 😂
always teasing Haruki (for example he hates seeing u guys kiss so Osamu purposely kisses u in front of him just to upset him lmao)
the poor man tries his best w homework but geometry doesn’t make any sense “why are there shapes in math ya only really need to know how to add, subtract, multiply, n divide”
something just tells me he has a bird feeder and he enjoys drinking his coffee in the morning (little ones have hot chocolate) and watch the birds come and eat
#kageyama tobio#kageyama x reader#sakusa kiyoomi#sakusa x reader#iwaizumi hajime#iwaizumi x reader#osamu x reader#miya osamu#miya osamu x reader#haikyuu x reader#haikyuu dads#dad!haikyuu#haikyuu characters as dads#haikyuu!!#haikyuu
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My lovely Wife
Aka Arlecchino and reader short! More baby lynette mentions as she is my favorite
Alrecchino is a dangerous woman. No woman or man dare to think otherwise. Many orphans are taken in across Tevyat and turned into perfect spies and warriors. She herself was one of them, she herself slit the throat of the previous Knave, taking his crown and dawning it herself. Indeed she is a woman who blood has stained her hand. So much so she’s certain there’s still dried bits under her nails that she cannot reach.
Still its in moments like these that her heart seems to make its presence known. She watched as her new caretaker was enjoying a tea party with the children. Using normal cups, some actually having non caffeinated tea. She recognized it as not being apart of the regular set in the kitchen. Oh how soft they look like this. On their knees as the children pretend to be discussing high topics or drama of fictional adults as if they were elitist ladies. Lynette in particular seems to enjoy this play. She sips her non caffeinated tea like a proper lady, her tail relaxed as she is sat right next to her mother. She notices how safe Lynette seems to feel around her mother. As shes close to her and seems to constantly look over at her to mimic her holding of the cup and posture. There are a set of small scones and treats too, likely prepared by mother as well. Lyney and Freminet being the only boys at the table. Most of the girls seem to be enjoying this play. Arlecchino smiles at this domestic scene, but she heads to her office before she is spotted. For blood is staining her sleeves and she wouldn’t like to ruin the moment.
When she comes back the children and them are still playing now a new game. This one being hide and seek. She smiles from the shadows spotting Lyney behind the couch. He spots her and seems embarrassed but she puts a finger on her lips. He nods in understanding as she approaches her beloved, her back turned as she counts down.
“Are you having fun?” She asks quietly, but her voice still sends shivers down their veins.
“O-oh! Yes. Yes.. did you need something.” Embarrassed they quickly turn around.
“No no. I just like watching you play with the children. You don’t mind if I watch correct?” She asks. She spots the blush on their cheeks.
“N-no its quite fine.” Arlecchino smiles as she sits on the couch. “Would you like anything?”
“Maybe some tea.” She asks. They nod as they quickly get her a cup to pour. Arlecchino watches Lynette emerge from her hiding spot as if to get some tea herself. Her little tail seems excited as she stealthy approaches her mother figure. Arlecchino smiles as Lynette appears to be eyeing the teacup. She quickly hides as to not be caught, while Arlecchino carefully takes the cup from their hands. Immediately upon turning around she watches as Lynette is caught. She smiles as Lynette now joins her mother in finding the others.
Its a rare sight to see the Knave smile. So for the children upon noticing their father they’re also surprised to see her smile. Nervously Lyney approaches her, his hat is still too big for his head as it regularly moves downwards to encompass his face. He quickly pushes it up.
“W-would father like to join?” He offers innocently. Arlecchino looks at her children with a rare hint of vulnerability.
“I’d be delighted to.” She said.
#genshin imagines#genshin x y/n#arlecchino my husband i love her so much#arlecchino x y/n#arlecchino x you#alrecchino#arlecchino x reader#arlecchino#arlecchino content
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kiss of a vampire | w. maximoff
pairing: wanda maximoff x fem!reader
summary: injured and alone, wanda finds herself out in the middle of the night, searching for the one person she can trust to help her. on that night, you find out what she truly is.
content warnings: 18+ minors dni. vampire!wanda, human!reader, victorian era, blood, very tiny mentions of homophobia, loss of virginity (?), smut! making out, biting, marking?, soft sex, fingering and oral (r receiving), praising
wc: 3.9k
note: surprise this is my singular contribution for kinktober hehe, happy halloween everyone!
Fall of 1863 in New York was more or less an uneventful time of the year for you. Your mother insists you read as many books as you can find in the manor’s library, and your father insists you go out and attend all those fancy balls and infernal tea parties—all in an effort to make you more presentable for any of your future suitors. It made sense for them to do so. Your mother was a respectable woman in the town, and she married your father, a man of riches, all thanks to that company he founded many years ago. You could honestly care less, not really having to do anything but read your books all day. Occasionally, in the evening when the sun has already set and you got too fed up with turning pages, you went out for a walk down that nice, pebbled trail through the woods, leading you down to that stone bridge over the river.
That’s where you met her. Wanda.
The moon was out. The sun was gone. She didn’t wear a fancy dress like you did the first time you saw her. She wore an unbuttoned vest over her white, well-made dress shirt, black pants, and riding boots to match. Her hair was red, and for a moment, you thought her eyes were the same color. It went away when you blinked, and suddenly, her eyes were green. You had never seen a woman like her before, much less someone similar in town. All the ladies and their voluminous skirts really only had boys, and gossip filled their daily conversations. It was tiring to be around them, but being with Wanda was relieving.
She told stories. Of adventures. Of distant lands you could barely imagine. She’d tell you about the sea, the moon, and the world beyond this little town you lived in. You found solace during your time with her, and you began to look forward to your walks through the woods every evening you could. She’s always there. Like she knows everything… She was your friend. And each time you met her, your heart beat faster than you’d like to admit, and your stomach fluttered whenever you thought about her. You always wondered, does she feel the same? You supposed you’d never find out, because who in their right mind would confess to having feelings for another woman?
Forbidden. Unthinkable. Criminal. That’s what they would say about you. So, you stayed quiet.
During the latest hours of the night, sometimes you’d see the glow of torches outside your window. You hear the noises first. A woman screaming. Pitchforks and shovels thrown up in the air, metal and iron clinking against each other. The sounds of arrows cracking through wood. Monsters, your father would say. They lurk out in the night, waiting and waiting until they come up to their prey and kill… You’ve heard the stories of those vampires, wolves, demons or whatever it is they are. You found it hard to believe. Even more so that so many people are afraid of what they probably haven’t even seen.
But then you see Wanda again. Not on your walk through the woods. Not on the bridge. A quiet knock is what you hear first. You look up from your book in surprise, then see her outside your window, clutching her shoulder in pain. She’s seated on the edge of your window on the other side of the glass, giving you a weak smile despite seeing how confused and worried you were. You rushed over and opened the window immediately, telling her to get in—of course, after you yelled—or whispered, really—at her for showing up at this ungodly hour.
“What in heaven’s name are you doing here?” You exclaimed as you pulled her into your room.
But the moment she winced in pain, you immediately pulled your hands back, afraid that you might have hurt her. You watch her move to lean against the wall underneath the window. She sighs in relief, still clutching her shoulder. Your gaze falls to her hand, right where you see the stains of red seeping through her dress shirt.
“It’s not as bad as it looks,” she says through gritted teeth.
“You’re bleeding…” You think out loud, carefully watching her as you hold your breath.
The faint glow of torches outside your window shows up in the corner of your eye—people bustling loudly in your street. You could see Wanda duck even further beneath your window, staring up at the ceiling as you began to put two and two together.
“No…” You shake your head and take a few steps back. “You’re the one they’re looking for, aren’t you?”
Wanda’s gaze softened as she turned to you. Her mouth opened for a moment to say something, but she sighed and laughed sheepishly to herself as she shook her head. Then, you see it in her smile.
She looked up at you again, with those kind and caring eyes you’ve seen on her from the moment you met her, “Please, don’t be afraid of me.”
“Your teeth…”
“I know,” she nodded. “But, I need your help. Please. I’m begging you.”
You didn’t know what to do. “Wanda.”
“They’ll come after me if you tell me to leave, (Y/n),” she reasoned, leaning up to show you she was telling the truth.
“Did you… Have you killed someone?” You could barely get it out.
“No!” She said, “I-I haven’t hurt anyone, I promise you! I-It’s my brother. I’ve been looking for him. He’s…”
“He’s what?”
Wanda sighs and turns away from you in shame. “He’s hungry. We… We haven’t eaten in weeks. He’s got a bigger appetite than I do… I-It’s harder to control him. I think he might’ve hurt someone tonight.”
You stare at her. Her eyes were red now. Her breathing was heavy. Her fangs darted out slightly past her parted lips. You take a second to process what she had just told you. And in truth, you should’ve been scared. You should have been throwing her out of the manor, calling for your father to deal with such a monster.
But to you, she was still… just Wanda. If she wanted to kill you, you’d imagine she’d already done it by now.
You left for a moment to head into your washroom in the corner your room where you tried to find all of the medical supplies you currently had. It wasn’t much—a wet rag, a few bandage wraps, and a kit for stitches. You returned with all the items in your arms, and Wanda looked up at you with a thankful smile.
You sat on the floor with her, your white nightgown bunching up against the wooden paneling. “I… I have bandages—”
Wanda shook her head, looking down to avoid your eyes. “Thank you… But, that won’t help.”
“What will?”
Her eyes bore into yours, but her mouth doesn’t move. She has that look on her face that tells you she's too embarrassed to say or ask for it. Her hands squeezed her shoulder in pain, trying to stop the bleeding.
“Tell me, Wanda.” You say firmly, your gaze unwavering, and for a second, you thought she was intimidated by you. She was, in truth, because of her feelings for you.
“Blood.”
You pause. Then, she repeats it again.
“Blood will… replenish my energy. I haven’t eaten, so I’m weak. On a good day, this wound would not even phase me.”
“My blood?”
Wanda nods. Your prolonged silence tells her that there is no way in hell you’d allow her. Her love for you has her hoping for the best outcome—that you’d have mercy on her and help her relieve the pain. But then again, you don’t owe her anything, and this was a lot to ask. The idea of asking felt impossible even though Wanda had already mentioned it, worried that you might refuse or be horrified by the notion.
“Okay.”
She blinks at you. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure. As long as you don’t turn me into a vampire or anything. I don’t mean it to offend you, but it would... complicate things.”
She nods once again, more eagerly this time. “You don’t have to worry about that. That’s, um… That’s a completely different process.”
“Okay,” you repeat, scooting closer to her, looking down at your dress and your hands as you begin to wonder if you should get a knife. “I-I’m not sure how to… do this.”
“Your neck.” She tells you. Of course.
You don’t ignore the way her red eyes darken and the way her ears perk up in excitement as you move your hair carefully to one side.
“Is it going to hurt?”
Wanda’s gaze softened at your words, “I’ll be as gentle as I can.”
She watches you nod and holds her breath as she inches closer to you. Your sweet scent fills her nose with a much stronger fragrance than ever before. She has always loved the way you smelled. It soothed her in ways many other things couldn’t. It was divine, enveloping her senses each time she was near you, and she found herself utterly addicted. She had never been this close before tonight, her breath tickling the side of your neck. She could hear your heart beating fast as she moved closer.
You braced yourself, your heart pounding in anticipation for the expected pain of a vampire’s hungry bite. But it didn’t come. Instead, you felt Wanda’s soft, warm lips meet your skin, kissing it so gently in a way that sent shivers down your spine. You could feel her other hand, resting itself on the curve of your waist. Your breath caught in your throat, and your lips parted slightly as Wanda continued to press her mouth to your skin, littering your neck with the softest kisses she could possibly give you. You couldn’t help but notice the frailty and gentleness of her touches and her kisses, as if they were delicate and almost fragile.
Wanda was lost in the feeling of your skin. Every kiss left her craving for more, and she found herself losing control of the overwhelming desire she had been suppressing for so long.
You were so distracted by the soft kisses she left on you that you barely noticed the faint, almost imperceptible sensation of Wanda’s fangs piercing your skin. She was so gentle, and you expected much less when she had promised, but this… It felt too good. A moan slips past your lips as Wanda bites into you. Her first taste of your blood was nothing short of divine. So sweet. So warm. The most delicious thing she had ever put her mouth on. The flavor of you was unlike anything she had ever experienced, and it sent shivers of pleasure coursing through Wanda’s body. Every second that passed as she drank from you, Wanda began to feel her weakened body begin to mend itself. It was as if your blood had breathed life back into her. Wanda’s senses sharpened, and she felt a profound sense of rejuvenation. The pain in her shoulder began to fade away.
Wanda pulled away from your neck, running her tongue softly against the bite, before turning to look at you. The prettiest thing she ever laid her eyes on.
And Wanda couldn’t resist. She pressed her lips gently against yours and sighed against you. You gasp at the feeling as she places her hands over your waist, then down to your hips, pulling you closer against her. A soft moan falls from your mouth and into hers, and Wanda can’t help but groan. She swiped her tongue on your bottom lip, and naturally, you opened up for her, letting her in to explore the expanse of your mouth, the slight taste of iron on her tongue.
Your lips were parted slightly, and your eyelids felt heavy. But you started to feel weak and lightheaded. You found yourself leaning towards Wanda’s touch, unable to hold yourself up without tipping over, and the next thing you knew, she gently scooped you up and carried you to her bed with her mouth still pressed against yours. Kissing you became the next addicting thing for her. Wanda hovered over you as she laid you down on your back.
She pulled away from the kiss and smiled softly, “You’re so beautiful.”
Her lips traveled down to your neck once more, kissing your skin softly as she felt your arms wrap around her neck. This time, you feel it when she bites you again, unable to stop the moan that escapes your mouth. Wanda smiled as she continued to drink softly from you, her hand reaching up behind your dress to pull at the string that was holding your nightgown together as you arch your back and pressed your front against her. Your dress comes loose with a simple tug, and your cheeks flush, a deep shade of red donning your face as you feel Wanda’s hand cupping and groping your breast over the fabric.
After she pulls away, Wanda kisses your skin again, her lips traveling further south and her face coming up in between your plush breasts. She moans against you, your scent filling her nose in the most addicting way. She could smell you. How aroused you were. How wet you were. And tonight, despite all that you’ve given her, she was feeling a little greedy.
“I want you. I want to make you feel good,” she tells you, her voice all breathy against your skin. “I want to touch you.”
“Please,” you begged her, running your hands in her hair as she began to pull the dress off of you, agonizingly slowly.
When your body comes into full view, Wanda can’t help but stare. She mutters a curse under her breath before letting her fingertips run along your stomach, your nipples, your hips, and your thighs, and Wanda feels like she’s in heaven.
“Stop staring,” you say, pouting shyly as the vampire continues to ogle you.
She only smiles, fangs darting past her lips, “I can’t, angel. You look so pretty like this.”
Wanda leans down to litter your skin with wet kisses and small bruises. She eventually makes her way down to your legs, holding your plush thighs in her hands, and she kisses you, running her tongue over each part that she kisses. You allowed her to spread your knees apart, exposing your glistening sex to her shyly as she leans over, her kisses traveling closer and closer to your wet core.
“Spread your legs wider,” she said, unable to take her eyes off of you.
You do as she says, your hands now gripping your bedsheets slightly. Her fingers make their way in between your folds, softly touching your opening. She lets them move up and down, collecting your slick and spreading it all over, down in between and up to your clit, where she presses slightly harder against your bundle of nerves. She sees you when you bite your lip to stop a moan from falling past your lips. Wanda smiled at the sight. Her love bites are littered all over your skin; the bite on your neck looked more delicious than ever, and your pretty face looked up at her like she was the only one who could ever make you feel like this. Hell, it drives her crazy.
With a new sense of determination, Wanda finally slips her cold finger into you, your tight and warm walls wrapping around her digit. She sighs and leans forward to lay her head against your tummy, watching closely as she pushes her finger in, then pulling out with a squelch.
“You’re so wet for me,” she thinks aloud.
She groans, listening to the delicious sounds of your softest whimpers as she fingers you. Another finger slips inside of you, pulling them in and out of your pussy at a faster pace. Your breathing got heavy. You could feel your stomach getting tighter, but before you could come undone, Wanda pressed her thumb to your clit, working you up to your orgasm. Her fingers are long, and she can’t help but add another one into your tight, dripping sex. Her other hand holds your quivering thigh down as you tremble against her.
“W-Wanda, I’m—”
Your mouth falls open at the feeling of being filled up with her fingers. She’s much faster now, curling her fingers into your walls sloppily as she continues to press your clit, pushing you closer and closer to your high. And then, it comes. Wanda travels up and kisses you, swallowing your moans as you fall apart on her fingers, cumming all over her hand. Your back arched and your legs jerked closed as she pushed your legs back open.
Wanda carefully pulls her fingers out of you, but she doesn’t stop rubbing your clit, making you shiver against her. She rubs it in tight circles as her kisses travel back down to your neck, where she takes another greedy bite into your skin, welcoming the taste of your divine blood into her mouth once again. She groans when you pull her hair slightly, getting drunk off of your essence and the way your hands feel on her head.
When she pulls away, she kisses you again. And when she pulls away for a third time, she makes her way down your body, traveling through the valley of your breasts, over your stomach, and then her destination—back in between your legs. Her nose nuzzles against your clit, your scent filling her senses all over again.
“W-Wait, Wanda this is…”
You had never done this before. And now that Wanda was face to face with your glistening pussy, you got shy. Wanda only looks up at you and smiles, pressing gentle kisses along your inner thigh.
“I want you,” she reminds you, pulling you closer to her face. “I want to be the first one that makes you feel good. I want it to be me. Only me. Inside of you. I want to see how pretty you’ll look when I have my mouth on you.”
She says it so absentmindedly, her eyes not leaving the sight of your pussy as she spreads your lips apart with her thumbs. You couldn’t help but blush at her words, your face getting hotter each time you felt her breath on your pussy. You felt like time was ticking so slowly, with Wanda staring at you for what felt like hours. You grew tense with anticipation, waiting and waiting for her to do something. And when she finally does, your jaw drops, and a silent moan falls from your mouth. Wanda memorizes every little noise you make, the way you arch your back, or the twitch of your thigh.
She was in heaven. Your inner thighs glistened with arousal as she held you down against your bed, noting the way your hands made their way back to her red hair. Your body was a hot, trembling mess right underneath her as she devoured you, licking every space she could reach with her tongue.
When Wanda looks up and sees your mouth wide open in silent screams, arching your back off of the mattress, your soft hand tugging at her locks in a pitiful attempt to slow her down, she knows you’re close. She grew desperate. She keeps licking you, eager to get you closer and closer to your climax. You’re chanting her name as quietly as you can, eyes closed shut as the pleasure keeps building and building inside of you.
“Wanda, I-I’m about to—”
You whimpered, your legs closing around Wanda’s head. She hummed into your pussy and continued to eat you out right as you came into her mouth. She ran her tongue through your folds and over your clit softly, easing you through your orgasm with a satisfied moan. Wanda practically forced herself away from your sex, wishing for nothing but more time with you. She pulled back and sat on her legs to stare at the beauty right in front of her. She rubbed your soft thighs in soothing circles with her hands as she smiled down at you. You trembled slightly, still shaking from the orgasm she had given you.
You reached out to her, your weak arms lifting from the bed, wanting to be in her embrace again. She obliged happily, leaning down to hover over you once again. Wanda kissed you up your neck, to your jaw, and, lastly, to your lips, the taste of you still lingering on her tongue. She moaned against you and smiled into the kiss when she felt your hands slide from her neck to cup her face.
Then, you remembered.
You pushed her away softly, just so you could look at the blood stain on her shirt, where an arrow had struck her earlier tonight.
“I’m okay, now,” you heard her say.
Running a slow and gentle hand over her shoulder, you took a peek, pulling the fabric down a little bit to see her wound, but nothing was there.
“It’s gone,” you said in awe.
Wanda smiled softly at you as you continued to inspect her shoulder. You looked so beautiful. So unafraid of her. And it made her the happiest woman on Earth. She sighs and leans down to pepper a few kisses on your cheek, still surprised by her healing abilities. But you got distracted again, feeling her soft lips against your skin. The light of a candle on your night table danced across the room as she kissed you. Wanda was so gentle. Like she promised.
After a moment, Wanda turned to look out your bedroom window, where she had come in. Her senses immediately took notice of how quiet it was and how dark it was outside. The night embraced the world outside of your bedroom, blackness stretching as far as her eye could see. It was different from the warmth she felt in this sim room—a room with you, her love. It reminded her of the world and now, the secrets you both carried together.
Your voice pulled her out of your thoughts. “You have to go, don’t you?”
Wanda smiled, knowing you already knew the answer to your own question. “Your mother would throw a fit if they found me here.”
You shake your head and roll your eyes at the thought, smiling sadly as you begin to play with the fabric of her shirt.
“I’ll come see you again, angel. I promise you.”
“Tomorrow?” You ask, looking up at her with hopeful eyes.
Wanda turned her attention back to you, and her heart skipped a beat. You were the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. Unable to stop herself, she leaned down and kissed you once more.
“Tomorrow,” she said firmly.
With one final, lingering kiss on your lips, Wanda whispered three little words. Then, with a graceful and silent movement, she made her way over to the window through which she had entered. Wanda disappeared into the night, leaving the room she made love to you in. You lay in bed, contentment washing over you as a soft smile played on your lips. She was different from the stories you’d hear about vampires. People called them monsters, and even though you only knew Wanda, she was miles and miles away from being one.
You missed her already.
But just as she promised, you saw her again the next day. This time, with more kisses and closer encounters.
— navigation!
#bellaveux writes!#happy halloweeeeeeen#wanda maximoff#wanda maximoff x reader#wanda maximoff fanfiction#marvel x reader#vampire!wanda maximoff#marvel#elizabeth olsen x reader#mcu x reader#avengers x reader#elizabeth olsen#fanfic#vampire#halloween#kinktober
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Consider: something like this w/Peter.
https://vm.tiktok.com/ZGed5Ysh5/
Like, Peter gets hurt on a mission and he comes back with just a couple bruises and he's like, "it's just a bruise, I was shot in my costume".
[Cue the touch bit here]
Idk, I'm just,,,,, thinking,,,,, 😳😳😳
A/N- I made this wayyy longer than it had to be but.. sue me? I decided to do Reader/Peter’s introduction too because why the hell not! Also, whats a fic of mine without smut, huh?
Medical Malpractice and Awkward Interactions🔥
Peter Maximoff x fem!reader SMUT 🔥
Summary: Many times Peter Maximoff embarrasses himself in front of you, and one time you patch him up… and screw him against a shower wall. It’s standard first-aid procedure, right?
Warnings: slow burn (kinda), pining, blood, wounds, LOTS of sexual innuendoes, Nurse/Patient role-play, handjob, p in v, oral (Peter receiving), dirty talk, grinding, public humiliation, creampie, shower sex
Word Count: 9905
Taglist: @kaismanwich @evpeters87 @pretzel-bunnie (Please ask if you want to be added/removed!)
—————————————————————————
For most of his thirty plus years of his life, Peter Maximoff considered himself as a relatively easy person to get along with. He had friends who were somewhat happy to have him as company, despite his overly-outgoing nature and lack of social cues.
Magda had raised him to the best of her ability, or at least until the damned speedster mutation kicked in at twelve. After school nights of pretend tea-parties with Wanda or playing kick-the-can with the neighborhood children turned into petty-theft and a challenge of sending poor mama Maximoff on the brink of insanity and financial instability.
So yeah, said mutation sorta sent Peter into a boisterous, thieving tailspin. But hey, at least he wasn’t a complete jackass.
He never smoked, never drank, and since joining the Xmen, Peter only stole things from major companies that wouldn’t notice it was missing in the first place; and occasionally the few Rainbow or Jimi Hendrix vinyls that caught his attention passing by. ‘No one’s perfect, prof!’ Peter would tell Xavier as he returned to the mansion, only to be greeted by an unimpressed shake of the head.
And yes, he did pay back the money his mother paid for the local police to keep the mass amount of snack cakes in his basement under wraps. Once again, Peter wasn’t a complete jackass.
But then, he met you. You were a fellow professor at Charles Xavier’s School for Gifted Children, and were renowned across campus - if you weren't teaching music theory, you could either be found giving study sessions for students falling behind or making your famed lasagna bake whenever the Xmen came home from a mission - and you were loved for it.
And you were pretty. Like, shit! Hella pretty. Whether it was your skill at engaging everyone in your lectures or your jaw-droppingly gorgeous face, you held the unofficial record for the most loved on campus. Peter, as the school’s physical education teacher, was second place, and for once he didn't mind getting the silver medal.
He'd heard about you in the staff room one morning. All good things. A real glowing report card. Everyone loved you and for good reason, apparently. But you hadn’t met yet.
That was until Peter realized your class was in the morning and an hour before his PE lesson began, so he decided to snoop around to check out if you were as good as everyone said you were.
Arriving at the back of the classroom, Peter pushed his goggles up to his head, tufts of silvery soft hair coming with it.
And there you were in all your glory, sitting back on your desk and waving to everyone as they walked in, the occasional student getting 'Love your new look, Cynthia!', 'Ready for class, Michael?' or a giant grin and the sporadic finger guns.
Okay, so you were kind too. Kind and pretty. Kind and pretty and obviously smart enough to get a doctorate. Though, how hard was it to get a degree in music; what did you even have to know? Def Leppard formed back in ‘77, Neil Peart is the best drummer of all time, blah blah blah. Pssht, enter Peter into an exam and he’d have a degree in lickedey split!
The fact you had devoted your life to getting a music doctorate compelled Peter to wonder what your taste in said music was. Admittedly, he wasn’t so keen on the idea of you lecturing if Charles had formulated the curriculum himself. What did that old man even listen to? Peter found it hard to imagine his higher up rockin’ it out to Journey.. and God forbid- Black Sabbath?!
Definitely not. Xavier would be limited to the likes of Beethoven. Peter's skin crawled at the thought. Expand your horizons, you powdered-wig wearin’ maniacs!
No matter. If you did turn out to be some kind of sonata orchestral devotee, you wouldn’t be able to resist Peter’s charisma and persuasive techniques. Said persuasion would be helluva lot of nagging in your ear until you subsequently cave; and you would, because everyone does. And eventually you would join the light side of the force, and Peter would teach you the music ‘way of the jedi.’
"Hi! Hello everybody!" You greeted cheerfully and stood up, waving your arms around for emphasis. “It’s great to see you all back looking nice and refreshed!”
Peter normally would have snorted in irony. In most cases, an hour-long lecture at six am in the morning wouldn’t have people ready to learn and raring for the day ahead. In Xavier’s literature lectures, one could easily mistake the students to be flesh-eating, grumbling zombies who hadn’t seen a ray of sunlight in a millennium.
However, as he looked around the room from his seat in the very back, the students filing in had almost cheshire grins on their faces, smiling eagerly at your buzzing figure and sitting up straight in their seats.
Peter’s eyes flitted back to you. The bell bottom jeans you were wearing were dark and fit you perfectly, the flare swishing around as you slowly paced around the room. For the first couple of minutes, he didn't hear a thing you were saying because the swaying was far too distracting.
His eyes trailed upwards. A faux shearling collared leather jacket hung off your frame, belt loose at the hem and clashing against your hip when you took a step. You looked like something straight out of the 60s: and Peter was totally diggin’ it.
The zip was undone, allowing a slither of your t-shirt underneath to show the letters “ardbi” peaking out in a red font. His heart leapt. The Yardbirds, nice, and fitting. Right this second Peter’s walkman hummed the tune of ‘Layla’ by Eric Clapton through his headphones. Quiet enough so he could hear your voice, but loud enough so his head could bop along to the instrumental. Shuffling in his seat, Peter adjusted his RUSH t-shirt, as if wanting him to catch your attention so you could strike up a conversation about it.
What would he say if you did? He needed to impress you, stat; before Scott could find you and chat you up with his extensive motorcycle knowledge that seemed to be all the rage nowadays. Pfft. RUSH was cooler anyways.
All in all, you didn't look like the stereotypical lecturer. Your outfit was far from professional attire, but it didn’t matter; the kids loved you.
Peter was addicted to all of you; from the browline glasses on your head to the Mary Janes on your feet. It was comforting.
"I know you’ve all been working so hard this past semester," you began, leaning against the podium casually, your arms folded as you eyed the students. "And the lovely gentleman that is Professor Xavier would never allow this, but I've decided we can allow ourselves a breath of fresh air and watch a film today."
Cheers and excited whispers rang out in the room as the students smiled impossibly harder, rushing to shove their textbooks into their bags so the film could start.
“Now hold on!” Your laugh graced Peter’s ears, holding your hands up to settle the class. “We haven’t yet discussed the film options! How do we feel about ‘Bobby deerfield’?”
Groans and scoffs resonated through the classroom, and a girl with pigtails a few rows in front of Peter spoke out. “You’re not kiddin’ anybody miss! Everybody knows that film is wack!”
You laughed and stood off the podium, moving towards the open window that was letting in a cold draft. “You know me too well, Jubilee. No one likes that film.” You bent over an empty desk to reach over, closing the window and turning the lock to the right “How about The Empire Strikes Back?”
In a moment of total stillness in the classroom, Peter let out a choked-off groan. Whether it was the sight of you bent over a desk or the mention of that god-tier film, he wasn’t all too sure.
Silence.
Peter knew he had royally embarrassed himself yet again when howls and giggles erupted in the classroom, some students convulsing in laughter and others wolf-whistling as you paused, turning to look back at him.
Jubilee turned around in her seat to stare at her PE teacher, ponytails swinging wildly as she covered her mouth with her hand and guffawed. Peter’s cheeks burned.
"Excited for the film are we, Mr Maximoff?" You quizzed, bemused.
Oh, you noticed too. Great. But you knew his name. Cool, less sarcastically speaking. You were both staff members of the same school so it wasn't that outlandish, but Peter’s stomach still flipped nonetheless.
"Yeh.. aha.. Erm- yunno Luke became a Jedi master in this film, right?" Peter blurted out instinctively, his thoughts in overload under your stare. He kissed his teeth and nodded his head in affirmation. “Pretty.. Pretty cool stuff.”
Congratulations, you thirty-somethin’ year old virgin. You have well and truly out-nerded yourself. This chick will certainly be beggin’ for you to burrow yourself between her thighs now.
Peter swallowed, waiting for someone to say something. Literally anything. All he was met with was muffled giggles and snorts echoing around him. He teaches people in this lecture, dim-wit! How were they gonna respect him and do laps in his classes now, O’ Jedi Master connoisseur?
You grinned sweetly, amused, silently waving your hand for your students to quieten down "Thank you for sharing that, Mr Maximoff, truly. Although I have seen this film before." You nodded in acknowledgement to his RUSH shirt and then returned your focus to the class before Peter could word vomit anything else.
You began to ramble on again. It made sense. Why would you pay attention to him when you had a job to do?
What could he do? Embarrass himself further by standing on his desk and demanding that you have a conversation that ends with you saying, 'Wow, Peter, you're so smart and fast and criminally handsome. Would you like to go to a record store so you can continue to impress me with the sheer amount of knowledge you have stored inside that adorable silver-haired noggin’ of yours?'
A mumble still traveled across the class, primarily because one of their teachers is a raging airhead, but you shushed them quickly by clapping your hands together. It was a casual movement, but one that got everyone's undivided attention again.
"Can anyone guess what year it came out?"
Out of the corner of your eye, you saw the blur of a hand go up but you weren’t going to call on them, and so, Peter was left with his palm awkwardly facing towards the stage. You reiterated your question, "Can any of my students take a guess? Mr Maximoff, I'd appreciate it if you could give my class at least 2 minutes so they can discuss the answer."
Peter’s hand lowered slowly and he narrowed his eyes at the person snickering next to him.
“Don’t make me give yer extra laps next lesson, Christopher, the weather forecast ain’t lookin’ so good fer this Friday.”
Christopher abruptly stopped and faced back to you.
Once again, silence met your question until it was broken by a timid voice. A boy in the front row with curly brunette hair was looking at you unsure. You smiled encouragingly and nodded for him to speak up louder.
“1980?"
"Like always, Bobby, you are correct!" You exclaimed happily. Bobby blushed, embarrassed by the attention and compliment but smiling nonetheless as you moved on to another question. "The film came out in 1980. Does anyone know who it starred? Don’t be afraid to speak up!”
The film started soon after and for the entire time, Peter was completely transfixed by you. You leaned against the door and peered up at the projector screen, a smile on your face as you snuck a few handfuls of popcorn out of Bobby’s grasp as he watched the film intently. He now understood the enthusiastic compliments from the staff room, and why you were so loved by everyone. You were infectious.
He couldn't help himself, Peter found his eyes wandering over every part of your body, studying every inch of you before he'd had the chance to properly comprehend that he was being a creep. Appreciating beauty was one thing, leering at women he hadn't met before was another. Keep it in your pants, Maximoff.
As the students piled out of the lecture hall, all chatting loudly as they walked out, Peter waited. A group of girls surrounded you and asked you a bunch of questions, and you answered them all like you were their cool older sister rather than someone who was paid to teach them things. Then they left too, and you were alone.
"Did you enjoy the class, Mr Maximoff?" you asked kindly, a smile tugging at your lips as you turned around slightly. You sat on top of the nearest desk and folded your legs under yourself, resting your elbow on your knee and your head on your fist.
Blinking, Peter froze before nodding vigorously. So vigorous, in fact, that his goggles slid from his head down to the apex of his nose. He huffed in irritation and the exhaled breath fogged up his lenses completely. Peter bets he looks so irresistible right now.
Say something- think of something fast, moron! Isn’t that your whole gimmick? Impress her with your natural God-given charm!
Who are we kidding, this is Peter Maximoff. Master of the Jedi’s and embarrassing silences.
He wiped his goggles with the end of his shirt "I would think a music teacher would be lecturin’ about music, not films.. But yes, yer were- the film was.. very entertainin’."
Shit. Your lip twitched. Did he do somethin’ wrong? Of course he did- he just insulted a Professor’s lecturin’ to their face, ewok!
"You're a professor of...?"
"Err, I teach PE.. yunno.. I just make the kiddos run laps ‘n kick a ball around, basically." No shit, doofus! Maybe stop mansplainin’ what workin’ out is and apologize? “Fuck i’m so sorr-”
You cut him off with a simple wave of your hand, that gorgeous smile of yours decorating your face once again. “It’s alright, honest!” You say, observing his exasperated look as his mouth parts, ready to apologize “Jean told me that your mouth moves faster than your brain sometimes, I don’t take any offense to what you said.”
Peter sighs, relieved yet processing your words. “So, uh..” he hesitated, an awkward yet boastful smirk building then “Yer talk about me? All good things, I hope.”
You felt a heat rising to your face immediately and you looked around the room to avoid his intense stare, your eyes falling to another window you had yet to close. The cogs in your head turn and you whip around to face Peter, fanning yourself with your hand and beginning to shrug off your jacket. “Is it hot in here, or is it just me?” You faux panted, moving away from him to open the window like you needed a cold breeze.
Peter watched as you bent over, much closer now and able to see you from straight behind. His eyes grazed your body with a suggestive smirk.
“Just you, babe.”
Okay, babe?! Not helping your flushed state, at all!
You muffle your sputter by coughing, turning around once again and sitting on the desk. You watch as Peter walks up to you, standing close enough that his thighs force your legs a little wider around him.
The silence is unbearable, so you break it. “I mean, of course I've mentioned you once or twice, dude!” You chuckle nervously, “It’s hard to miss someone that looks like you speedin’ around the mansion.”
You register the confused shift in his gaze and now it’s your turn to run back on what you said, jumping in realization and your knee knocking into his trouser-clad outer thigh. “Not that you look weird in any way! I just meant the whole ‘silver’ aesthetic is totally bitchin’! And obviously I’ve heard about that whole Apocalypse fiasco in ‘84. It was really brave, what you did, and I can’t help but thank you for savin’ the whole world.. and whatever..”
You trail off as you babble yourself into a frenzy, Peter’s delighted grin humiliating you further as he wiggles his eyebrows.
“Thanks, babe.” You let out a shuddery breath. Again?! Where was this confidence when he was making a fool out of himself not just a minute ago?
Peter gave in at your pleading gaze and stepped back, a sheepish smile on his face as he looked down to the floor, shoving his hands into his pockets. He swayed back and forth on his heels. “I better go anyway. Places to be, worlds to save.. Y’know how it is, babe.” The uneasiness on his features left as soon as it came, now replaced with a cocky smirk and a sly wink.
“Well, if you come back in one piece, maybe we could, I dunno, go out for a movie or somethin’?” You ask apprehensively “since you seem to like Star Wars so much.”
“Y-yeah!” Peter said almost too quickly, clearing his throat before gathering his thoughts and masking the elated grin battling to appear. “I mean, only if yer gonna be makin’ that lasagna, right?” He quipped, stomach rumbling at the thought.
You nodded in answer, grinning. “Just come stop by whenever you’re free and we’ll figure out a date, yeah?” Your eyes widened. “I mean date as in time!”
Peter wiggled his eyebrows again, speeding to the door and saluting you before making his way to the training room, fistbumping the air. Fuckin’ score!
For the remainder of the day, Peter couldn’t keep his mind off of you and the promised movie date you were set to have after his mission, uncontrollably vibrating in excitement whilst boarding the X-jet the day after.
“Promise me you’ll stay safe, yeah?” You ask him, standing on the runway as you smooth out the wrinkles in his uniform, your palm flat on his chest.
A broad grin spread across Peter’s face as he placed his own hand above yours, running his thumb smoothly over your skin.
“Don’t worry about little ol’ me, ‘kay? A promise is a promise, sweet-cheeks.”
——————————————————————————
Peter’s not a jackass. He would never intentionally go back on his word.
But that was a pretty damn hard promise to fulfill.
As soon as the jet landed four hours too late, Peter crashed into the living room couch, ignoring any questions of passers by for medical assistance. He practically melted into the linen cushions, exhaling deeply.
The kid previously sitting on the couch scowled as Peter stretched himself across the furniture, waving the younger student off with his hand. “I’m an Xman, I have the authority here.” The cushions muffled Peter’s grumble.
All in all, he wasn’t that hurt. In reality, the mission was fairly easy-going. Peter was barrelling through an evacuated suburban village, rescuing any stragglers that had found themselves lost or stuck under rubble, whilst the other Xmen dealt with arresting the rogue mutant. Blurs of grays and browns passed him at rapid speed as he did one last sweep of the area, confident in the fact that all people had been safely vacated.
Leaning onto a particularly large mound of debris, Peter swung his leg in boredom, waiting on Charles to give him the go-ahead to start the X-jet back to the mansion. The wind picked up, sending his tufts of hair back and away from his forehead.
Abruptly, a flurry of white flew into the air, startling Peter as he whipped around, ready to attack.
The sight wasn’t as menacing as he thought, though. Small seeds dispersed across the terrain, each carrying a bundle of fluffy white bristles in its wake. He looked down to the sparse grass and was met with a patch of green stems, like a blossom without its petals. Peters brows furrow. What a funny lookin’ flower.
Crouching down, Peter plucks the base of a stem with all its remaining puffballs, cupping his hand in the direction of the wind so it wouldn’t fly away. He grinned, standing up again and inspecting it. It looked peculiar, and rather outlandish. Just his style.
He was halfway through tucking the flower carefully into his back pocket before something slammed into him, sending Peter tumbling into a jagged pile of rubble and fragments of serrated wood.
Motherfucker! He groaned, feeling a searing pain shoot through his stomach. A pile of dust shot up into the air almost comically, leaving a tangy taste on his tongue. Bleh. With feeble limbs, Peter lifted himself onto his elbows, looking down from his cracked goggles to shakily unzip his uniform halfway, revealing a hefty patch of crimson fluid staining his white undershirt. Scraps of wreckage tore holes through the fabric, revealing shallowish wounds littering his chest and stomach. Fuck!
Peter blinked slowly, turning his gaze to try and detect who or what had struck him. Just to the right of his aching body, a sizable slab of concrete stuck out of the ground, that had presumably collapsed from a nearby building.
How fuckin’ embarrasin’! Peter was probably gonna scar from this incident, and he would have to tell people the ‘heroic’ tale of how it went down? That he was assaulted by a chunk of rock? The students barely respected him from the whole classroom debacle with you the day prior; how were they ever gonna treat him with high regard now?
That’s right. You. How were you gonna react when he tells you? ‘Oh, How am i doin’, sweetcheeks? Thank yer for askin’, i got a real wild story fer these battle scars. What was it, ya ask? Hand-to-hand combat with buildin’ material. Sexy, right?’
Yeah, no. He had already embarrassed himself enough around you.
Once he had been strapped back into his seat, with the help of Hank, Peter now had to endure two hours of throbbing pain, and Scott giggling next to him.
Peter slumped into his seat, whining into his dust-cracked hands. “What the fuck am I gunna tell her, man? I can’t keep on embarrassin’ myself like this!”
“Don’t worry too much, dude, you’ll forget about this in no time.” Scott assured, smiling and placing a hand on his shoulder, before screwing his face up and wiping the dust frantically on his sleeve. Peter hummed, albeit confused. When was Scott ever the one to give Peter actual reassurance?
“All in all, it’s just another brick in the wall, man.” Ah, there it was. Peter slowly turned to face Scott, deadpanning and watching the boy’s shoulders shake from silent laughter.
Scott shrieked as Peter shook his head like a wet dog, showering his best friend in a flurry of dust.
Once the flight had come to a halt, Peter limped through the mansion's corridors, hobbling to the living room couch as he was in too much pain to climb the few flights of stairs to his room.
Peter grumbled into the couch, eyes hooded as he melted into the material, ready to fall asleep.
And then you came barreling into the room. Peter sat up as you rushed into the room, nudging him into the back of the couch and placing your knees either side of his quivering hips, clutching his face. Peter really wished he had showered now.
“Take off your shirt.” Come again? Were Peter’s wounds making him hallucinate some filthy apparatition?
He blinked. “Eh?”
“When did you get back? No one told me you got back and I've been worried like crazy. You were four hours late, Peter!” You stressed, eyebrows furrowed and eyes wide. “Kurt told me you were injured! Did the mutant hurt you? He said you went flyin’ into rubble and practically got impaled!”
You were speaking in such quick succession that it had impressed Peter by your pace. He merely blinked once more, too caught up with your smooth hands against his cheeks and your frantic words. You were worried about him?
“I’m fine, babe.”
You glance down to his stomach, however you couldn’t see much of anything due to the dark hue of his uniform. “I can’t believe you were impal-”
“Not that I don't appreciate yer concern fer me babe, but 'm fine.” You glared at him “Honest! It’s just a few scrapes. Nothin’ i can’t handle.” he grinned, attempting to ease you up a little.
Despite Peter’s best efforts, you still seem just as on edge as before. Taking your hands off his cheeks, he whined at the loss of warmth, chasing your touch. Instead, you reach down to grasp hold of the zipper at the top of his ensemble, zipping it down to just above his hips. His mouth makes a small ‘o’ before contorting into a lazy smirk, glancing up at you.
“Easy there, tiger.”
A glimpse of his stained undershirt tells you all you need to know. You meet his gaze anxiously as Peter gives you a guilty grin, shrugging his shoulders at being called out. “Okay, maybe it’s slightly worse than i let on but-”
“Take your shirt off.” You urge imperatively, and he flushes.
“I dunno babe, I'm like, supeerrr sore. I don't think I can do it by myself, yer gonna have to help me.” He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. It was blatantly obvious Peter was flirting, any common idiot could tell. But he looked pretty beaten up, and you were mostly sure that moving him around too much would not feel too great for the speedster, so you obliged.
You lift his shirt up in gradual intervals, keeping your focus on the garment as he grins straight at you, clearly wanting to catch you peeking a glance at his body.
“Normally I'd be buyin’ yer dinner before showin’ off the goods… but-” Peter cuts off as you peel the shirt away from one particularly deep wound, the skin sticking to the material. You whisper apologies, lifting the shirt off his head and discarding it to the side. You glanced back down.
Peter noticed your blatant staring and looked up at you, tilting his head to the side. "So are you goin’ ter look me up and down like that ‘er are yer gunna patch me up?"
“Shush, ‘m not looking at you like anythin’!”
“Mhm, sure yer weren’t sugar.” He beamed. You redden, his thoughts transmitting like a beacon through his facial expression.
“Dont make this sexual..” You mutter, avoiding his gaze as you look around for the medkit you brought with you. Peter follows your movements with his gaze, head leaning back to rest of the edge of the couch whilst you shuffled about the room.
“Now what fun would that be, hm? Can’t I enjoy some attention from a beautiful woman like you?”
With the supplies you return to your earlier position, standing over his shirtless body and desperately trying to keep your thoughts at bay.
Finally taking a closer glance, you see his wounds, shallow, but littering his stomach and chest. There was a fairly large but not too serious cut on the right side of his abs and you lightly gasp, your fingertips reaching for it. “Can I touch you?”
Peter groaned “Ooh, yer can touch me anywhere yer want sugar.”
Choosing to ignore him, you open the first aid box with a satisfying click, taking out a roll of bandages, cotton pads and a bottle of rubbing alcohol, placing it down on the couch next to you. As you do so Peter takes a deep breath, letting him savor the scent of your perfume before the alcohol’s smell eclipsed it.
“So are ya my nurse now?” Peter observes “Kinky. Didn't know yer were into roleplay, but i'm not gonna lie, im kinda diggin’ it babe.”
You choke, smacking his arm. Too far, maximoff.
Peter winces, “Hey! Do ya hit all yer patients? This is medical malpractice right here! I was just sayin- this is like the start to every porno ive ever see-” he hisses as you press down the alcohol soaked cotton pad on his wound.
“Sorry, this may sting a little.” you say half apologetically.
“Well it don't mean anythin’ if yer warn me after, babe!” He whimpers, reaching to grab your hips for support from your position above him. You suppress the urge to rut into his lap, continuing your cleaning as you feel an onslaught of slick ooze from your core. You tried to keep in the sigh, but it fell so easily from your mouth at his touch.
“Ouch. Ow. Ow, ow oW OW!! Babe?! Does the word ow mean anythin’ to yer? Ye- agh-OW!” Peter shrieks, and you wince at the voice crack “Jesus christ! Who taught yer how to tend to people’s injuries? A construction worker with a jackhammer? OW!”
Despite his clear pain you stifle a laugh, swiping more gently this time. “It’s all part of the process, Peter. I’m trying to help you here.”
“Oh really? Are yer tryna help me or finish the fuckin’ job, babe?!”
A moment of tranquility passes, and just before you think Peter will stay quiet and let you get on with your work his voice drops, a sultry tone now teasing your ears. “I've got ter say babe.. when I pictured ya with yer hands roamin’ my chest, the wound was conspicuously absent.” You failed to keep in your reaction this time, a shuddery whimper leaving your mouth as you tense. Peter bites his lip, grin impossibly wide and his hands snaking around your hips.
You feel him pull you in closer and you oblige, facing him as you sit down onto his lower thighs as carefully as you can, not wanting to cause him any further strain. He grins.
“Okay, one more cut to clean and I'm done, yes? Then you can be bandaged up.” Clearing your throat, you await his response.
Peter inhales, screwing his eyes shut in preparation “M’kay, ‘m ready. Jus- FUCK.” You press the cotton ball onto his wound, watching as his muscles tense up and he grips onto your hips for support. Chewing on his lip in anguish, his head throws back once more. You refrain from looking at his adam’s apple bobbing up and down his throat.
His tight grip on your hips loosen after a minute and you hum, proceeding to unravel the bandages and wrap them around his torso.
Peter looks at you seriously for a moment, breaking the silence in a much more apologetic way this time. “ ‘M Sorry about blowin’ the whole movie thing, I know yer wanted to go out after i got back.. I guess this will have to be our version of a first date, huh?” He chuckles half heartedly, but his eyes oozed regret and mourning for your date to the theatre.
You move a slither of hair out of his eyes, smiling. “I don't mind either way, we could always go out another time, yeah? And no one predicted you were gonna get hurt like that, it’s not your fault, Peter.”
“Yeah, thanks babe.” your heart clenches as his dimples show through his toothy smile.
Clearing his throat, Peter’s large hands splayed across the small of your back, sliding you from his lower thighs to be flush against his crotch. He grins cheekily as you gasp, feeling his semi hard cock through the soft material of his unzipped uniform.
Hands laying to rest on his bare shoulders, you smooth your thumb over his collarbone. You move your other hand down from his left shoulder, your fingertips grazing down his arm before reaching his hand. Gently coaxing his grasp away from your hip, you interlace your fingers, clasping them together as his other hand frames your jaw.
“Hey.. uh, I think I might have a little scratch up here on my lip. I don't s’pose yer would be interested in checkin’ it out, doc?” Peter’s sweet, chocolate browns shed a spicier shade when he captures your gaze.
Your body answers before you can talk, tongue wetting your lips, leaving him in suspense for a moment.
You faux sigh in thought, “I guess I can’t leave a patient suffering. It would be medical malpractice, and I always make sure my patient gets the care he deserves.”
Peter’s eyes dilate then, and you begin to question whether or not he was joking about the roleplay kink. Alas, you had no more time to ponder as he didn’t waste a single second, bumping your nose against his before seizing your lips.
Kissing him sensually, your tongue swims smoothly against his as you move to scrape your fingers across his scalp. Whining in response, Peter’s head lolls back at the stimuli as you nibble his lower lip. You could feel Peter’s cock twitch and you grind slowly against it, eliciting a filthy moan from his mouth into yours.
As you swallow and get over the initial wave of adrenaline, a bitter and rather tangy taste invades your mouth, forcing you to pull back as Peter chases your lips. You place a hand to his chest, breathing hard and scrunching your face up. “Bleh!”
Peter’s half lidded gaze snaps back open as he observes your clear disgust, swiping his tongue over his own lips in questioning. “Uh- yer.. yer alright over there? I know ‘m sorta outta practise but-“
You swipe your thumb over your lips, noticing a few specks of dust covering them. Peter notices and brings a hand to his forehead, slapping himself at his idiocy.
“Shit! Sorry, babe. I totally just crashed here when i got back, forgot about the whole.. grime situation.” Peter grimaces, cursing himself under his breath, “Way to kill the fuckin’ mood, Maximoff.”
To his surprise, you only lean in closer, batting your eyelashes at him. “Patients have to be clean before assessments can begin. Standard procedure. I hope you don’t mind if I scrub you down?”
Your sultry voice forces a heat to pool in Peter’s belly, and he chokes on his own groan, pupils dilating further.
Fwip. You don’t even get the chance to scooch off his lap before Peter had you in his bathroom, shirtless and with his navy uniform dangling around his v-line. Another Fwip and Peter turned on the shower before pulling your back against his chest, tugging at your t-shirt as a silent plea of desperation and unbridled horniness.
Your mouth parts as his head dips into your shoulder. You swore you could hear the faintest of whimpers leave his mouth as he tenderly kisses your clothed shoulder, his lips humming small vibrations of aroused distress.
What choice did you have but to comply?
As you turned around, undressing yourself before him, Peter’s eyes drunk you in, his eyebrows twitching and his teeth sinking into his lip at your little strip show. Down to the last few articles of clothing, you removed your underwear slowly, a thread of wetness connecting your pussy with the soaked fabric.
“Jesus Christ.” He muttered, his hands quivering as you then slung your t-shirt somewhere around the room, eager to surge forward and grasp at every part of your body.
You smiled, flattered yet unsure of what to do, your eyes too preoccupied with Peter’s uniform, of which was slowly sliding down his hips, revealing the black band of his underwear.
“So.. nurse, I think 'm ready fer my physical.” Peter chuckled, observing proudly as your breathing sped up rapidly, gazing at his torso.
“Need any help undressing?” You asked, motioning to his bandaged chest and bruised arms. “It must be sore.”
“Yes please, nurse.” Peter replied flirtatiously, maintaining his character as patient. You stalk over to him, getting on your knees as you start pulling his uniform and boxers down as slowly as possible without Peter getting frustrated. As you do so, you notice his painfully hard dick slapping upwards from its confines. Smiling, you innocently glance up at Peter’s blushing state, inching forward as if you were about to…
Peter’s cock twitched and he gasped as you surged forward, only to completely pass where he needed you most as you teasingly peck the inside of his thigh, eyes still boring into his own.
“C’mon babe.. That ain’t playin’ fair.” A mix between a whine and a growl left Peter’s throat as you stood up to face his pleading eyes. Taking his face in your palms, your soft lips tease him by brushing against his lips, but not yet giving in to kissing him.
“I think It’s best if I check your temperature orally first.” You mumble. Capturing his lips roughly, your kiss turns into a wet, dueling passion. As you battle for dominance, Peter kicks off the clothing pooling around his ankles, guiding you backwards and into the awaiting shower.
Hot water cascades over you as he pulls you close again, diving in for another heated kiss that you’re all too eager to return.
You have no idea how long your tongues swirl around one another, but eventually a hand grips your wrist and tugs you away. You go easily, and when you look up at Peter, he grins giddily and places a bar of soap in your hands. You lick your lips, this time no longer unwelcomed by the taste of dust and plastering, but of Peter.
The room becomes stuffy as the water from the shower starts to get hot. You sigh as the hot water caresses your skin, or maybe it was from Peter running his hands over your body. They stop on your breasts before gently squeezing them, looking down at you with a dopey grin. You throw your head back as the water runs over your chest.
As Peter prodded and squeezed your tits like they were some new gadget you began the slow, worshipful task of running your soapy hands across his chest, making sure to leave the bandaged areas alone.
"I would really appreciate it if you communicated every ache, any pain that needs tendin’ to, sir." You say, moving to whisper the words in his ear sweetly, the filthy undertones dripping from your tongue.
Peter pauses briefly before managing to regain control over himself, grabbing your arm and pulling you impossibly close. He nuzzles into your neck as he whispers back in a playful manner. "I've got one in a specific place. Maybe yer could help me by usin’ those magic hands of yours, doc?"
"Mhh, or do you need me to kiss it better, Peter?" You tease, licking your bottom lip suggestively before biting the plump flesh with a wink.
Peter’s face turns into a huge blush and his heartbeat starts accelerating even more as he watches you move in close, staring into his eyes. His mind goes absolutely blank and he can only stare at you in shock. His breathing becomes heavier as he looks at your lips and how you bite them; and with that a strange flurry of stammers leave his mouth.
“Nghnaawhaaaaat?”
"Peter? Can you show me where it hurts, honey?" You continue to tease him with a pout. God, you were such a fuckin’ brat.
He can't help but feel both embarrassed and surprised at how forward your question is. He clears his throat "Uh... R-Right here, doll..." He says in a nervous manner as his blush deepens even more, then he points at his twitching cock. You follow his line of sight and smile, watching as beads of pre-cum drizzle out of his tip.
"Aww, poor baby. How long has it been hurting?" You furrow your brows, a mischievous look in your eyes as you place your hands on his chest, traveling downwards.
Peter looks at you with a shocked expression for the fifth time that night, tilting his head much like a puppy as he watches you in awe.
Shiit... Are you really doing this? It’s a good thing you didn’t fully embrace the doctor-patient performance with a stethoscope and all, because you’d certainly be worrying about the freakishly-fast roadrunner beat Peter’s heart was jammin’ to. Fuck.
"Do you want me to kiss it better, baby?" You quiz sweetly.
Peter starts to feel his breath getting heavier as his heart is racing faster, wayy too fuckin’ fast. "Ah... Y-Yeah..." He replies softly, still feeling his face turn into a brighter red as he slowly nods.
Every nerve in his body went on high alert as Peter watched your fingers close around his aching cock and move over the swollen flesh. A tortured gasp escaped his lips, and he threw his head back against the shower wall, panting; it felt so good, your smooth palm creating a delicious friction. He thrust forward into your hand, wanting you to continue, his shame at being naked and aroused gone entirely.
Your face was still close. Close enough to observe his face, fascinated at the raw sensuality flickering across it. Drops of water freckled Peter’s cheeks and forehead; you weren't sure if it was the spray from the shower or his own sweat. His mouth was open slightly, and his rough breathing was causing yours to speed up as well. You smoothed your hand back down his wet length and drew the other hand down to cup his balls.
Peter hissed loudly and pushed his hips forward again, cursing. You couldn't tear your eyes from his profile; he was flushed, his lips dusky and moist, the silver of his eyelashes standing out against his fevered cheek. Simply delectable, and you wanted to have a taste.
The touch of your lips on his neck brought Peter to the surface as you pressed your breasts to his chest, your lips everywhere. They ghosted over his collarbone, shoulder, neck and jaw before closing over his earlobe. He moaned, turning, seeking out your lips.
Peter's eyes opened as you released your hands from him. In no time Peter had locked lips with you once more, in a clash of teeth and moisture; whether it was spit or water you weren’t entirely sure. He raised his hands to your breasts at the same time your tongue parted the seam of his lips, and the two of you moaned together before fusing your open mouths.
Your eyes fluttered closed as Peter ground the raised centers of your nipples into his large palms, then rubbed a thumb over each in rhythm. Your initial intentions were to tease the ever-loving shit out of the speedster, but you couldn’t but melt into a puddle at his tender touches.
Peter’s erection was pressing into your belly, hard as steel. You ground against it, wanting it lower and inside, quickly losing your intention to mess around. Abruptly breaking the kiss to breathe, you quirked an eyebrow at Peter. "So, have you made up your mind?"
"Wha-?" He was adorably confused, his pupils dilated in the shadowy light. You grinned and reached between yourselves to stroke along his cock lightly, picking up the trickle of pre-cum on his cockhead and rubbing it around the smooth, ragingly red area.
Lightly pushing Peter back under the full spray, you sank to your knees in front of him. Handling him gently, you sucked the tip of him into your mouth, savoring the much nicer tangy sensataaion.
"Oh Fuck," The speedster moaned on a sharp inhalation of breath. This was progressing past the realm of sweaty-palm fantasies and straight into the embodiment of every pornographic dream he'd ever had; only those dreams had never felt quite so hot.
Your mouth was liquid fire over him, your tongue circling and teasing, making him grow even larger.
He resisted the urge to grab your head and thrust into your mouth like he had seen in the pornos, giving you free reign over his pleasure. Instead Peter coursed his hands through your damp hair, giving you wordless pats of praise when you traced up a particularly sensitive vein.
Already weak at the knees from your mouth, Peter nearly shot when he looked down and caught you watching him with feverish eyes. The image was so blatantly erotic, he couldn't help but complete it by curling his fingers deeper into your hair.
The slight jerk of his hands on your scalp told you that Peter was close to going completely out of control. His slight grunt and increased participation, in turn, increased your enthusiasm. Releasing your grip around the base of his cock, you tried to take him deeper. This you had tried before with varying amounts of success, usually gagging as the overzealous recipient tried to choke you.
However, with an untried Peter, you were having a great deal more success with the technique.
After figuring out how to time your breathing with the motions, you crept forward and began in earnest, taking Peter in until your nose touched his silvery pubic hair. His hands tightened again, and this time his whimper of pleasure was louder, needier.
He was so close, water pounding his chest, blood pounding in his ears, lips, tongue and friction at the center of it all.
Nearly mindless now, searching for that sweet release, Peter thrust forward a bit, searching for the movement that would send him over the edge. When he encountered no resistance from you, he thrust his hips in rhythm with your mouth until he could take no more.
You could feel Peter's flesh tightening and knew he was ready to blow a load. He tried to push you away before he let go, but you gripped the back of his thighs tightly and sucked hard, an explosion of cum shooting down your throat and tongue.
You gagged a little when the first stream hit the back of your throat, but you recovered enough to hear the incoherent whines Peter made. Another grunt escaped from him as you rubbed your soft tongue over the underside of his dick, moving over the pulsating veins there.
It was all Peter could do to keep from crumpling as he shot harder than he ever had in his life, knees weak from the sheer force of it.
If you hadn't been there to maintain the grip on his legs, he would have melted into a pile of jelly at your knees.
Once you had ridden out his orgasm and released him you stood back up, pushing back the soaken strands of hair that hung off his forehead. Peter grinned, chest heaving as he watched your tongue come out, licking a spot of his release you had missed on your lip.
“Feeling any better, sir?”
Again, Peter felt tongue-tied. He wasn't sure what to say or do. Even though he'd had the most soul-sucking orgasm of his life, his dick was still half-hard. Typical speedster sex drive.
The water was still hot, yet wouldn’t be lasting for much longer. He had to make this count.
Your breasts brushed his chest again when Peter leaned in to capture your lips with his. A slight squeak of surprise escaped you when he separated the seam of your lips with his tongue and pushed forward aggressively. Your tongues duelled, battling for position. Peter could taste the musky odor of his own arousal on your lips, strangely exotic. His hands were tender when he lifted the weight of your breasts in his hold.
Nothing in his fantasies matched the feel of your nipples as he circled over them. Softly puckered flesh dragged under the smooth calluses of his thumbs, causing you to moan softly and push your torso against his.
Straightening up, Peter grasped your waist tightly and with a smirk, swiftly spun you around, pushing you forward into the shower wall.
You let out a hiss as your nipples came in contact with the cold tiles, them becoming painfully hard. Peter gently pushed your hair aside before placing a chaste kiss on your neck; you moved your head to the side, allowing him better access.
Peter rested his forehead between your shoulder blades as the water ran down his back. He took a deep breath in, trailing a hand down your back before pulling back and slapping your ass. The loud moan that fell from your lips made him chuckle, "You've done yer job doc, now yer need payment.”
You nodded your head as you whimpered, feeling yourself become more and more turned on and unbelievably wet. You feel Peter’s tip rubbing your folds, spreading your moisture around as you whimper in anticipation.
You looked back over your shoulder to Peter glancing down at where you two meet. Raising an eyebrow, you went to say something but Peter's quick thrust into you made all the air in your lungs escape. You were wet enough that it didn’t hurt, but the delicious stretch it provided you made your eyes roll back into your head.
Hands slipping as you try to hold onto something, your breasts bounce into the wall as you whimper, legs spreading further so Peter could fully enter you.
Without stopping and with a thoughtful hum, Peter reached up towards the detachable shower head and flicked the setting to a steady stream of fast water, pulling it down.
You could hear him doing something and looked back over your shoulder to see him messing with the shower head, "Are you about to-" You let out a cry as you felt the pressure from the water on your clit, "Shi- shit! Peter!" The pleasure making your eyes roll back.
You attempt to snap your thighs shut, trying to escape the intense pressure on your bundle of nerves. Peter, however, had other plans as he huffs breathlessly, lips dragging up the sensitive skin of your neck. He nips at your ear, using a free hand to spread your legs apart.
“Yer need to keep ‘em spread for me. Y-yer can do that fer me, can’t ya, babe?” He grunts into your ear. You whimper, nodding.
“That’s a- f-fuck.. good girl.”
In a carnal rage, a clatter sounds as Peter drops the shower head, gripping your hips with both hands as he fucks up into you, leaning his bodyweight onto yours to give him more leverage. The faster he fucked into you, the faster the feeling of your climax crested. This one felt different, more intense, and you both knew it.
You make a pitiful noise, again and again as Peter drives his cock into your cunt, hitting your G-spot every single time.
“Therrre she is. Is that it, yeah? That spot feel good, honey?” You could feel Peter’s grin against your throat. “Yer squeezin’ me so fuckin’ tight. Can yer hear that?”
The slick sounds of his cock fucking into you was loud over your pants for air, and you nodded weakly. You felt slick and pre-cum run down your thighs as Peter moved in and out of your heat in rapid succession, much like an animal in heat. "I think yer might even squirt fer me, doc.”
A shuddered moan fell from your lips before you agree. Sharp, white hot pleasure tore through your body, from head to toe, and you keened as Peter forced himself deeper. "Yer pushin' me out, babe-lemme in, need to feel it," he moaned. "Fuck, yer so pretty; that's it, that- Fuck!"
You felt the dampness of your thighs before you could comprehend the heightened pleasure, and you glanced down to watch Peter’s lower half become soaked from your climax. "Oh-" You turned your head as much as you could to face him, eyes half lidded.
From his position behind you, Peter crashed his lips to yours and forced his tongue into your mouth, fucking it languidly while his hips stuttered in their rhythm. You panted as he pulled back, his breath fanning over your spit-slick lips.
"I need ter cum, baby-" he pleaded, thrusting deeper.
"Please, please-lemme cum in-"
"Yes," you rasped, nodding. “Please- i need you to cum in me so bad-”
Peter groaned and shuddered. He lowered his head to your shoulder and rested his forehead on vour collarbone. You could hear him panting over the slapping of skin and slick noises of his cock in your cunt, and you matched his thrusts in an attempt to bring him closer to the edge.
"Oh, fuck," he rasped. Each thrust sent a shock of pleasure curling up your spine, but you brushed it off, intent on making Peter cum - you squeezed around him and circled your hips. The whimpery noises he makes only make you clench harder, wrapping him in a vice you never want to let go of.
Suddenly, the hot spray of water turns cold and you gasp, arching your back and clamping yourself down on Peter’s cock with all the strength you could muster, tipping him over the edge.
“I-ngh.. Shit!” Peter panted and his hips faltered, a warmth soon blooming in your cunt, filling you up to the brim and leaking out of your quivering body.
The slow, rocking rhythm Peter set with his hips soothed you, bringing you slowly down from your high while he descended from his. "Fuckin' hell, babe," he murmured, and he kissed you on the lips, then the forehead.
The room is full of the scent of arousal, and it makes you feel high up in the clouds, filling your head with the syrupy-sweet fuzziness of speedy contentment.
You must have zoned out for a little bit, because the next thing you’re aware of is the sound of the shower being turned off, and strong yet shaking arms scooping you up off your feet. You were deposited outside the walls of the shower, and then a soft towel is being worked around your body, collecting the droplets of water falling off your hair and frame.
"Let's get yer warmed up, babe."
Before long, you’re bundled up in a bathrobe, hair perfectly brushed out, and being placed gently onto the couch you had been making out with Peter on not too long ago. The volume of the TV had been lowered, allowing you to hear Peter's soft mumblings of praise in your hair as he lays below you, arms cradling you to his chest. His sweatpants feel comfy against your bare legs, and your palms rest on the cotton of his white t-shirt he had changed into.
“Can we watch The Empire Strikes Back?” Peter murmurs into your hair, making you grin as it takes you back to the day you met him in the auditorium. Humming contently, you fish your hand down the side of the sofa in search of the tv remote. You furrow your brows however as you feel something rather furry brush against your fingertips.
Pinching it between your two fingers you pluck it out of the couch, inspecting the small… seed?
Peter’s eyes follow your gaze as he gasps softly in remembrance, craning his head to the side to see an abundance of dandelion seeds littering the couch. Peter frowned. He had forgotten about the strange flower he had plucked due to the abrupt slab of concrete disrupting his day. The seedlings must have fallen out of his uniform when you were tending to his wounds.
“Shit! That was meant ter be a surprise, babe.” Peter frowned sulkily, plucking the puffball from your fingertips. “I found these weird lookin’ flowers on the mission and wanted to show them to yer. Thought i discovered a new species er somethin’.”
Despite your heart warming at the kind yet failed gesture, you laughed. “Peter, honey, they’re dandelions. Weeds.” You grinned, watching as his mouth forms an ‘o’ in realization.
“But.. at least they’re rare, right?”
You thin your lips out into a line whilst shaking your head, trying not to laugh as the speedster groans, throwing his head back.
“Ugh, I could’ve totally avoided that wall if it weren’t fer these fuckin’ things,” Peter drops the dandelion seed, letting it float to the polished wooden floor. “All that fer nothin’!”
You snuggle further against him, grazing around his bandages with a confused expression. “I do appreciate the gesture, but I thought you got these from the fight? Not from.. A wall?” You appear more perplexed as you try to imagine the scenario. “Did you.. run into it or somethin’?”
Peter sighed. Another point to add too his ‘you royally suck, dude!’ tally chart. How many times had he embarrassed himself before you now, five?
“No, it-” He grimaced “-it slammed into me.” He watched as you squinted your eyes, picturing how it went down. “Don’t fret though, babe, I totally showed it who’s boss. Knocked some sense into it.” He grinned, stroking your drying hair.
“Oh, I don’t doubt it,” You grin, tracing further down the trail of wounds and scratches. “Seems like it knocked more sense into you, though.”
Peter scoffed, waving his hand in dismissal before looking down at you, smiling lopsidedly. “Do I get a lolly fer bein’ so brave, doc?”
He smirks at your flushed expression and you still for a moment, before reaching into your bathrobe pocket and pulling out the panties you had strewn across the bathroom earlier. Peter's eyes widen.
“Here, take these.” You say simply, lazily dropping the material into his hand. Peter beams, face dusted pink. He’ll find some use for those, you’re sure. It won’t be a surprise if you find them framed up in his room, next to his Greta Van Fleet poster.
The next morning you change, treading down the corridor into the living room. Scott is slung across the sofa’s armrest watching the news as Jean sits on the other end by his socked feet, reading a book. Kurt and Ororo share a large armchair nearby, also watching the TV as Peter leans against a wall, sipping a steaming cup of coffee. Not like he needs it anyway.
As you walk in Peter raises his mug at you, nodding and grinning toothily as you greet him back. You silently hope he hadn’t mentioned the prior events to the others.
You ask Scott to turn the volume up and he groans tardily, reaching down the back of the sofa to fish for the remote. You go into shock, however, when he furrows his brows, pulling out a lacy pair of underwear instead. Your underwear.
Scott holds them up in the air with his index finger and thumb, flushing wildly and looking around the room in search of answers. Jean lowers her book, giving you a disapproved stare before continuing her new read of the day. Ororo squeals in laughter and Kurt goes a deep shade of bluey purple, his gaze anywhere but your panties.
“Well, what do we have here?” You could hear the smugness through Scott’s voice as you look wildly across the room to Peter. He only hums, as if in question, no doubt reminiscing on the memories of last night as he sips his coffee, pleased.
You meet his eyes, desperately searching for something to say as he winks at you, strolling up behind the couch to inspect your underwear like he didn’t know whose they were.
Sighing in relief, you thought you were going to get away with it, the embarrassment slowly ebbing out of your head; that was until Peter’s voice piped up.
“Babe, I swear those are your panties, right?”
Okay, maybe Peter was a little bit of a jackass.
#peter maximoff#evan peters#quicksilver#xmen#evan peters masterlist#peter maximoff x reader#peter maximoff fluff#peter maximoff x y/n#peter maximoff x you#peter maximoff smut#quicksilver smut#xmen peter maximoff#evan peters x reader
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scientist showing off to an investor: heh, wait till you see this.. one of our rarest and most prized specimens
the heedlessly elegant titanium watch on the investor's wrist looking up at him: it is friday 3:24pm!! traffic is going to be horrible (:
the scientist hastily typing on his old yellowing and buckling spring keyboard: chckchckchck chckchckchck chhck chck..
one of the investors polished shoes: tap tap tap, tap the ground! i am tapping, tap tap tap!!!!!!
lab computer: beep.
investor suddenly taking a step back out of fear, but he cant pull his eyes away: h-how is this possible?
the overhead monitor proudly displaying data:
SOUL RATING: exclusively dope
SMOKES: too different
SWAG: immeasurable
the scientists pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose: science may not always be probable... but possible.. well thats a different story my lavish friend
the pressure in pneumatic blast doors slowly being released to reveal a glass box: scczzzssss
the glass made out of 2 foot thick reinforced bullet proof glass, sleek and shiny with no imperfections: ✨
me inside the chamber, wearing a plain white dress and im playing with one of those kid toys where you have to put different shapes into holes, but im forcing every shape through the square hole: *looking up suddenly* EEEEEEE>.< umm hi everyone ^w^ did you know.. you are all invited to my tea party!!!? it would mean a lot to me if you guys could come cause like.. well can you keep a secret? tehehe! i didnt want to spoil this but.. it is also my birthday party!!!!! :D i just.. said it like that cuz i dont want anyone to feel pressured into getting me a gift...
investor: ...
scientist: we have to attend or she will kill us both with her mind powers
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