#this will never be canon in a million years but it's canon compliant and that's what's important to me lol | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

carolmunson · 7 months

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you get me closer to god | kas!eddie (dark)

entry for my fall frenzy requests. this request comes in from @edsforehead: 'something with kas!eddie in a graveyard.'

a/n: y'all, i don't know. i kind of snapped with this one. sort of canon compliant. inspired by a post that i saw that said that after vampires feed they have an insatiable desire to breed afterwards. steve also makes an appearance cause i love him.

tw: 18+ MDNI, dub-con, dub-con, dub-con (reader does get into it). use of hypnosis, coercion. blood play, blood drinking, biting. very obvious power dynamics at play here. death of minor character mentioned. p in v smut, rough and sensual. oral (f-recieving), monster-type-fucking. mild chasing trope. some religious elements if you squint??? anyway i listened to closer by nine inch nails on a loop for this if you wanna know the general vibe. let me know if there is anything i missed and need to put on here!

October 31st, 1998

Your niece had a better haul than you ever did at this age, it seemed like every house on the fancy side of Hawkins was giving out full size candy bars. No one ever gave you full size candy bars. The Harrington's had outdone themselves this year, hoards of kids picking out wrapped caramel apples and passing out spiked cider to the parents. Humming and smiling while the adults hugged their parkas to their chests, kids running up and down the stairs of the cul de sac of Hawkins Mansions. Decorated to the nines -- you were happy that most of the street would tire her and all of her friends out. "Auntie!" she calls out, hurrying over to you while her pink and purple puffer coat swishes with her. Alycia glitters against the lights of the houses in the dark of the night, the red sequins on her leotard making her easy to find. Your sister-in-law made her a headband fitted with red horns with a pointed tail sewn into the back of the red tu-tu from her Spring recital to match. A Dancing Devil she called it -- for newly six, she was a pretty creative little bug.

"Auntie look," she yells, running into your legs. The spiked cider sloshes in your cup that you hold high over her head so it doesn't spill onto her. She holds up a decorated caramel apple covered in eyeballs made out of sugar.

"Gross, Leesh," you giggle, "It's got eyeballs all over it!"

"They're fake eyeballs, Auntie," she explains like you're stupid, "They're not real eyeballs."

"Oh, thank you for telling me. I didn't know," you giggle, catching Steve watching the two of you chat. Your cheeks burn, that crush from when you were fourteen and he spent the summer working at the mall never fully fading. He's married with four kids now so you should probably get over it. "How're things?" he asks from the curb, coming over to sneak Alycia a couple of Reese's cups. "They're good," you shake your head with a shrug, "They're fine. Out here with the rugrat while her mom's at work." "How's the family, your mom?" he presses, arms crossing over his broad chest that stretch the sleeves of his tan workwear jacket.

"She's doin' okay," you smile tightly, "Always a little hard for her this time of year."

"Five years now, isn't it?"

"To the day," you say with a lilt, "Gonna go visit him after I drop her with her grandparents. My dad'll be so thrilled to steal half her stash."

Your laugh is a little hollow when he squeezes your shoulder comfortingly, he slips a candy bar into your hand, too before saying his goodbyes -- set of twins running around his ankles.

Hawkin's bravest fireman somehow off duty on a night like this turns before you take your niece's hand to leave, "Be careful out there at night. You know it's not always safe."

"You don't believe in all those rumors, do you Harrington?" you laugh.

"Don't have to believe them or not," he says seriously, pushing his wire rims up his nose, "I know they're not rumors."

"Happy Halloween, Steve," you say dully, "Goodnight." You both wave, Alycia's little hand in yours while she rattles off a million words a minute about the skeloton outside of the Sinclair house. The moon glows down over the street, dark clouds slicing it like a broken plate.

You rarely visit your brother on the day of, especially since there's always idiot teenagers running around the place. Not exactly easy to mourn when some loser in a Scream mask keeps trying to scare you.

It was quiet, your Docs crunching on mid-fall frosty grass -- some of it already half dead with the season. Commotion from the town in the distance had dulled into mostly nothing now that the kids had turned in for the night. Families turning their porch lights out, settling in for scary movies and sugar highs.

You squeeze the bouquet of baby's breath and eucalyptus a little hard in your hands when you walk through the tombstones. The low lamps along the walk way casting the grass and asphalt in a looming orangey glow -- not offering much light beyond their posts. The moon does the work, still looking shattered amongst the thin gray clouds sliding through the sky.

You hear some giggling, the rustle of leaves, the snap of twigs. Always an outlier of kids doing spells or a Ouija board out here this time of year -- old Chief Hopper coming down to make them scatter and take their weed. You walk off the path when you get a decent way in, crossing away from where the cemetary mostly turns to forest. Four 'Happy Birthday To Yous' into the brush and then a left, two head stones, then a right -- it's the third headstone on the fourth row. No light to shine down on you this time, just whatever's left in the sky. You take your big yellow scarf off from around your neck to lay over the grave, giving yourself a place to sit so your spandex covered thighs didn't have to touch the grass. Your mom would kill you if you got grass stains on the red trench she let you borrow -- a makeshift Carmen Sandiego costume if anyone asked.

You sit, laying the bouquet right at the granite edge, tracing his name before letting your hand drop. You don't say anything for a while, letting the cool wet air run over you in waves. You wonder if the wind blowing is him saying hey.

A few cemetery patrons come by, pay their respects to their loved ones and leave. Some superstitious, some religious. They fade out after a while. The loneliness is comforting, just you and your brother hanging out together like before. Despite being six years apart, it felt like you both always had some weird wonder twin telepathy. He was never really one for a lot of words.

"Didn't that guy tell you not to come around here so late?"

You jump at the sound of an unfamiliar voice, turning around to see an even more unfamiliar person. Wild curly waves messy around his face, cut in 80s shag perfection. His face chiseled, jawline pronounced with soft stubble, soaked in fake blood. It trails down his neck and stains the white of the baseball tee underneath a leather jacket; fitted over top with a battle vest that rivaled the metal heads of the 70s.

"Who're you, huh? You following me?" you ask. You swallow nervously, finding solace in seeing a few other cemetary visitors mosying around. The faint giggle of more mischeif causing teenagers in the distance.

"Sorry," he laughs, a warm laugh that meets his eyes, "Didn't mean to scare you. I um, I saw you over by the cul de sac, overheard him say somethin' to you. I was with my little cousin -- dressed like a mermaid, I don't know if you remember."

You think back to Leesh's pal of trick-or-treaters, scanning them in your head to recall a little girl with big brown eyes and a makeshit Ariel costume on under her jean jacket -- covered in patches much like his.

"Yeah," you smile, "I remember. But that didn't answer my question -- are you following me?"

"Nah," he grins, shaking his head, "I'm visiting someone -- this was just a happy accident."

"Oh," you respond quietly, "Who're you visiting if you don't mind me asking."

"My mom," he shrugs, scrunching his nose, "Halloween was her favorite holiday so I always try to come say hi."

"Oh, I'm sorry," you offer in condolences, "Did you um -- did you grow up here? I feel like I'd remember you."

"Nope," he sighs, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans while his wallet chain jingles next to his thigh, "Grew up with my uncle."

"Oh, nice," you nod, "Well um --"

"Who're you visiting?" he interrupts, sitting on the gravestone next to your brother's; hardware tinkling prettily as he does.

"Pete," you say, hand out to gesture towards the shiny granite in front of you, "My brother."

"Nice to meet you, Pete," he turns his head, curly hair flouncing over his shoulder, "Pleasure."

You laugh, he laughs with you -- you have to laugh about it or else you'd have to deal with the alternative. You're pretty sure you're all cried out about your brother now.

"What happened, if you don't mind me asking?"

"He worked construction," you shrug, "Took an overnight shift five years ago by the quarry, an' it was Halloween so he was workin' by himself -- no one to spot his safety gear. Must've fallen off the rigs or something and since it rained a lot that year the quarry was basically a lake at that point, hit his head and drowned. His body was completely banged up and waterlogged, they could only ID him from his pass in his pocket."

"Shit," he nods, "That's -- that's fuckin' awful. I'm sorry."

You shrug, "Bitch of living, I guess."

"Hm," he nods, "I wouldn't know."

"What do you mean?" you ask with a cocked head, eyes lingering on him while his linger on you. "Don't worry about it," he smirks, the kind that makes your heart flutter; cheeks getting hot at the sound of his voice. "You know something," you start, "With this whole get up -- and you're not from here so you might not know -- you look just like --"

"Eddie Munson?" he asks, with raised brows, "Yeah, my aunt's been telling me that forever. That's why I sorta dressed up like him for Halloween."

"That's dangerous around Hawkins, especially this time of year," you warn him, standing up from your spot and picking up your scarf. You shake it out to get some of the grass of the underside. You hardly notice the way his eyes trail from your shoes over your calves to your thighs.

"Some people say that he went right to hell after that earthquake since he killed that girl," you explain, shrugging the trench off some to fit the scarf on under it, "And now he's a demon that haunts Hawkins and terrorizes the town."

You both laugh, though his drops to a low and guttural hum. Nearly a growl. You lift your head to see him just a foot in front of you now, and you can really look. You can really see him. The paleness in his skin, tendrilled navy veins raising through it as he leans close to you.

At this distance it's clear that the hollowness in his eyes isn't makeup, but the sparkling brown is sunken into his skull. His brows darkened and determined while he looks at you.

At this distance, it's clear that the blood on his jaw is real.

"They're close," he says with a sly smile, "Really should've listened to Harrington, sweetheart."

You swallow hard, icy sweat in a film on your body while he takes a step forward.

"Those rumors are true."

The icy air shreds your throat as you run, heaving it in and out in gasps. Your calves scream, thighs aching while you sprint through the brush of the forest; trench and scarf long forgotton somehwere amongst the trees. You try to ignore the way twigs and branches swipe at your face, slicing you and scratching you with unforgiving whips. You let out a cry while you speed, leaping over roots and piles of leaves all while trying to listen with peak percision. Is he close? Is he getting closer? Can he see you?

You stop behind a log near a dip in the earth, rocks above it. Climbing in you heave, trying to catch your breath -- you aren't really made for this. You don't know how girls in the movies can run that long without needing a break.

With a deep inhale in, you hold, using the quiet to try and hear him but there is nothing to be heard. No rustling, no creaks in the wood or in the wind.

You catch your breath, slowly creeping out of your hiding space while the darkness hones -- trees blocking out some of the moonlight. You take a step and then another, trying to make as little noise as possible.

Your efforts are of no use though -- you stomach turns at the sound. The flap of wings, leathery wings -- big. A shaky breath in gives you the courage to turn your eyes up. On one of the taller branches above you he sits, pale and domineering, "Hi, sweetheart."

You bolt again, depserate and sobbing while the cold air is no longer a hello from your brother but mother nature's cruel bite on your wet cheeks. You can barely take in breaths without pain in your throat and chest, turning left and right and left again to lose him but from above he can predict your every move.

When you hear silence again you take another turn, a mausoleum broken down a short distance away. You crawl your way in, wet earth and cement hitting your nose while you gasp and heave for the second time. You listen for the wings for moment, a few moments -- a calm washing over your back when you're sure he's gone.

You take a step back further into the darkness to be sure you're unseen. Deep breath in through your nose and out through your mouth. One, twice, three times.

Another step back and you bump into a pillar making you jump, a screech wrenching from you.

Not a pillar no, not by the way a set of claw bites into your shoulder.

"Would've been a good hiding spot if it wasn't for me finding it first, right?" he quips, "Bummer." "Y-you can't d-do this," you cry, "The r-rumors are true they'll -- they'll look for me! Steve knows about you!"

"Oh, babe, that's so cute," he muses with a giggle, "Why do you think I'm still here, huh? Steve's just like me, he's bitten too."

"B-but--"

"Why do you think he believes in all those rumors, huh baby?" he asks with a lilt, "Cause he's one of 'em. Well -- not all the way, I guess. Not like me."

"He blows my cover he blows his whole operation," he grins, sharp teeth bearing themselves at you, "Why d'you think he only works night shifts?"

"I -- don't -- I don't," you sputter, "Pl-please d-don't bite me, d-don't eat me I -- I'll do whatever."

"You're too funny," he says in your ear, deep and grizzly while you're rooted to the spot under his clutch, "I already ate, sweet girl. But you'll make a fine dessert."

You don't know how you get there but it's not like home -- it is but it isn't -- dark and deadly; covered in slithering vines. You're too petrified to ask; but whatever this place was, despite the spores in the air and the rubble from the walls -- it was much nicer than the trailer he grew up in.

"Shh, shh, shh," he coos, claws deep in your shoulder while he wrenches you to a bed covered in plush linens -- satin and full. In the blur around you it could almost be a movie set; the booms of red lightening, dripping pillar candles in heaps around the room.

You whimper at first when his claws release, hot blood oozing against your sweater. The pain pulses like a dull thud, spit flooding your mouth while you move to your side to wretch but he catches you by the root of your hair. You wail in fear, smelling the decay in his breath, the sweet subtle rot of your surroundings.

"It's not polite to cause a scene in a stranger's home, right princess?" he asks with a soft lilt. He holds your gaze, warmth spreading over you when he smirks again -- and despite your fear, you can't look away. You aren't even sure if you want to look away.

Your body goes slack on the comforter, melting into itself like a dropped marionnette. "Very good," he purrs. Hazy, you feel his hands on you -- losing their warmth while they sneak under the hem of your sweater. The pads of his fingers are soft in comparison to the tips of his nails, grazing your stomach and sternum before reaching up to cup your breasts. He lets out a shallow breath, squeezing the delicate flesh softly in his palms -- so gentle despite his rough demeanor.

His thumbs graze your nipples in slow circles earning him a mewl from your dry throat.

"So easy," he giggles in a whisper. You nearly pout when his hands slide down and away from you; beginning the unhurried removal of your clothing. He moves glacially, eyes remaining on yours, wraiths of whispers in a lanuage you don't understand fluttering in the air around you -- in one ear and out the other. Part of you wants to scream and thrash while he slides off your spandex, rips the seams of your panties, destroys your socks.

His clawed hands shred your sweater, snap your bra at the straps until all your clothes are left in a heap on the dusty floorboards by a forgotten desk. He crawls over you like a predator, undressed himself now: some how bigger, more hulking than before. His shoulders are broad, muscles flexing while skin so white it's nearly blue stretches over it. Whatever is down here has completely infected him, you can see it in the color of the veins beneath his skin, the slight red in his pupils, the dark blue hues under his eyes.

His wings lift high around him in an arched half circle, tips appearing behind him like a hybrid of horns and halo at once.

"Could smell you from here," he leers, "since last night. Christ, fucking drooling over you like a kid."

You whimper again, body jolting in pain when his nails pierce your thighs when he parts them. Fresh ichor spilling from the wounds in deep sanguine and he doesn't seem to care about the mess he's making while it drips onto the sheets. His cavalier manuevering comes off as though he likes to play with his food before he eats it.

"And I don't know what it is, angel, how my senses find the right ones," he rasps while he leans forward to your blood soaked shoulder; serpent tongue slipping out to lave over it, "But you really called to me this year; think you might be the one."

"The o-one wh-what?" you sniffle. His tongue slides over the lacerations on your shoulder again, sucking slightly from the new wounds. He lets out a groan, using free hand to rest on the side of your rib cage for support.

He deatches from the well he drinks from, tip of his nose running over your decollatage and up your neck. In inhales over your jugular, pressing a wet kiss under your jaw before getting to your ear.

"The one I mate with, sweetheart," he breathes, "The one I breed."

Breed? You heart sinks like a stone into your belly, body tensing in a freeze while you think of what to do. How to get out of here.

"Wait," you gasp, arms coming up to push at his chest and push him away, "No, please, wait -- you can't."

You push and push but he's a stone pillar, he barely moves, his muscles barely push inward at your assault. He tuts, the click of his tongue between his teeth almost a chitter. He noses your cheek before looming over you, tips of your noses brushing. He catches your gaze again, the whispers start while the air blows in through the broken window. Obedire domino tuo, obedire domino tuo, obedire domino tuo. His lips aren't moving but you can hear his low voice in your ears, barely there, swirling around in your subconcious while the wind whispers with it. Another flash of red lightning illuminates him in a streak, the rumble of thunder vibrating your belly and chest. His hand floats up from your rib cage while you settle, cupping your cheek to slide down to your jaw and over your neck. The touch is nearly comforting, dipping you back into a haze like before.

"You were saying?" he asks.

"Hm?" your brows pinch, his voice muffled and far away.

"That's what I thought," he says smugly, head dipping back down to your neck where his lips drag over your delicate skin. His breath leaves a patch of wet heat that lingers when he moves down over your chest, fangs peeking out behind his full lips when he drags them over the swell of your left breast.

A gentle gasp escapes you, eyes fluttering closed when the tip of his tongue teases your pert nipple, blowing cool air against it once soaked with his spit. He flicks against it again, alternating sides, presses kisses over them in clear ownership. The more he tasted of you, the more it belonged to him.

With each touch and tease of your tits the more you gasp and whine beneath him, he chuckles from his belly, moving down to your sternum.

"And I died a virgin, can you believe it?" he asks with a cocky lift to one of his brows, "Now all I gotta do is smile and girls like you 'll just fall into bed with me."

There's cotton in your ears, all you can do is nod slowly while blood still leaks from your shoulder and thighs. All you can feel is his mouth and hands travel further and further down. The wind howls and the low chant in the back of your head changes tune but in the same cadence; over and over again: vis, sentis, obedis. Vis, sentis, obedis. Vis, sentis, obedis.

He licks a stripe up the back of your thigh to catch a bead of blood before it reaches the mattress, savoring you. He feeds from the gouges he left behind for a moment before inching forward to the apex of your thighs. Eddie inhales your scent deeply, the earthly musk of you making his mouth water in a mix of metal and spit. His nose brushes against the untrimmed hair of your mound, ghosting himself over it drunk with attraction.

Your body heats up with mild embarrassment, flexing while your hips writhe slightly underhim. Almost as if he can hear your thoughts he kisses the crease of your thigh, "Nothing to be embarrassed about, baby. Girls don't let it grow like this anymore n' it's such a shame."

You want to speak up and explain it's just 'cause you haven't had the time but your tongue doesn't know how to move anymore. Too tired to speak, too caught up in how he feels, how he touches, how he takes what he wants. You relent again, body relaxing; pliant while he spreads you apart for him a desperate moan pulling from you when his tongue -- still soaked in your blood -- glides from the pool of slick at your opening all the way up to your clit.

You almost gag at the way your body betrays you, sending a spread of electricity over your nerves from your core to your finger tips. "More," you whisper, not even believing you're begging for him, "Please, more."

Eddie's smug in his response, smiling with his eyes while he looks up at you from between your legs, "And good manners? You spoil me, princess."

Your back arches in a soft curve when your hips push back into the mattress, pressing yourself into his waiting mouth. He groans again when your body drips for him, leaving a damp sheen on his cheeks and chin. It's not about your pleasure despite how much of it he's bringing you, but about your consumption. He's devouring you. Licking his plate clean from the outside in.

The moans he takes from you spur him on, getting you further and further away from the fight you put up before. Spilling over for him like a puddle while you writhe, a hand reaching out to rake through his hair. His own reaches up from aroud your thigh to hold you by the wrist tight to your side.

"Hands to yourself," he murmrs, soft lips wrapping around your swollen clit to suck expertly on the bud. You whimper, tugging at his hold but it only makes his grip more intense, pinning you there without much a fight. Not even enough to distract him from the task at hand.

When his tongue sinks back down into your soaking core you feel it, the heat pulsing through your belly while he lets the muscle dip and swirl in your wetness. Your thighs twitch and shake when his nose bumps your sensitive clit, his free hand coming up to gingerly rub circles over it in tandem.

"Oh my god," you whine, "Oh my god -- K-kas don' -- oh my god, ohmygod." He snickers, contining his movements, murmuring a quiet, "God's not here, baby."

Another roll over your hips sends you reeling, his tongue gliding in long strokes when finally the coil in your belly snaps. You fall apart beneath him, loud moans and high pitched squeals while he consumes you through it. Your body vibrates, thighs clamping down over his ears, blood from the slices in your flesh staining his hair and jaw.

He hums low when you settle, gasping for breath on your already dry and scratchy throat while you come down.

Eddie rises slowly, shoulder blades and wings moving with him while he crawls up your body. Smooth and languid like a snake, his torso hovers above yours while he settles his hips between your thighs. You look up at him, his shape, the way his eyes have blown black, the newfound sharpness in his features. A creature, a monster in your wake — not the same person you saw at the cemetery.

“Oh,” he coos when he sees your eyes glassy and rounded upon him, “So precious.”

You're much weaker now, mind and body, the stings across your skin from the broken branches and his sharpened nails a pain you've become better accquainted with. You take another breath of calm, arms resting by your head with your palms up towards the ceiling. He takes the moment of surrender to hold them down against the bed. The pressure of his hips against yours keeps you pinned, but you barely fight -- maybe squirm, maybe whine. No thrashing, no screaming, the whispers echo through the wind again:

Vis, sentis, obedis. Vis, sentis, obedis.

"So, so, precious," he whispers while he leans forward, kisses pressed to one cheek and then the other slow and controlled. He inhales again when he dips down to your neck, piercing fangs dragging over the vein there. You feel the push and then the pain, the unbearable blinding pain of his teeth ripping through you. Through your skin, through the muscle, the pulse of his mouth while he holds himself there.

You cry out, nearly a scream while he holds himself there -- just enough to infect you, just enough to get the poison in. The pain reaches a blinding peak, bile growing up your throat, eyes filling with a white hot surge of anguish and then -- Nothing. Euphoria. An unknown lightness you hadn't felt before.

He releases, still holding tight to your wrists above your head when he raises up over you again.

"Open," he instructs, and in your hazy gaze you obey. Your tongue flattens against your chin without command.

"Very good, sweetheart," he praises, collecting the blood left on his lips and in his cheeks to spit it directly into your waiting mouth.

"You can close now," he grins, "And swallow."

He grunts, hips sliding against you so that you can feel his length between your legs; the girth alone sends a chill to the part of you that is screaming inside your head. How is it supposed to fit? How is he supposed to get this inside you? "Don't worry," he laughs, "It'll fit."

When your vision snaps up at him he laughs again, "I can hear you in there, princess. I can always hear you."

He dips down again, tip of his nose sliding over your cheek to your ear, "So be very careful what you think about."

He doesn't need his hands to guide the head of himself into your already needy center. It's a stretch, delicious but nearing painful. It's not something you've ever even dreamed of taking before; thick, large, inhuman.

Your legs lift on their own accord while he pushes in further, getting half way while you let out a choked sob.

"Aw, shh, shh, shh," he mocks, easing in more, "C'mon you can take it."

"You can --" his hips snap in hard for the rest of him, letting out a ragged grunt when the rest of him disappears inside you, "--take it."

You mouth hangs open in a desperate oval, face crumpling when you become so full of him -- all encompassing. A part of you now, buried deep within. He moves, dangerously slow and controlled; methodic in how he thrusts himself deeper and deeper inside. "Mmm, that's it," he growls, chest to chest with him while his hip grind at a deliberate pace. You feel his hot breath fan out over your lips, forehead pressed against yours. He's not hot, he's not cold, just skin against yours while it flashes with heat. You go from shaking to sweating with minutes in between.

When your hips roll to meet his thrusts you moan, the tip hitting you so deep in your core that stars burst behind your eyes. "There we go," he grins mischeviously, "S'at feel good, pet?"

"Ooh, yes," you hiss through gritted teeth, actively trying to bounce yourself againsth him now that your body has started accommodating his sheer size. He raises himself up on his hands like a cobra, snake like peering down at you while he meets the roll of your hips with an unforgiving thrust.

"Good," he oozes the word out like smoke, deliciosly deep seated in his belly when he thrusts hard again. He mumbles a quiet musing to himself that you can't hear -- too gone in the lightness in your body, in the way nothing hurts, in the way you're so full.

Can finally fuck you how I wanna.

He gets up, sitting back on his haunches while still inside you, pushing your legs up so your knees end up by your ears. With this leverage he sinks in deep. You don't even know how far in he is, just that he's in and he's there, he's everywehre, he's outside and in.

Eddie locks eyes with you, that same smirk from the cemetary that made your stomach flip dancing across his devilish features, "Tell me you like it."

Your mouth moves before your brain can hesitate, "I like it." "Tell me you need it," he demands, tone measured and sure.

"I need it," you say back, your voice coming out broken and weak, "Please, I need it."

He pulls back and punches forward, hard enough that you gasp at the impact. He grips you hard by the backs of your legs, thrusts starting slow and building at an unrelenting pace. His eyes are wild; boring down at you through from under furrowed and determined brows. If you had any mind left, you'd think that he hates you by the way he stares.

"Fuck," he snarls, leaning forward over you, one hand pressing down on the mattress next to your head, "Shit -- fuck, that's it. That's fuckin' -- shit, you're fuckin' mine." "Say you need me."

"I need you," you choke back without thinking, barely able to breathe at his speed. The coil tightens deep inside of you again, tears pouring down your cheeks in waves -- not even crying, just recieving. Absorbing him. Your body rocks like a boat on unsteady waves pinned beneath him, the only sounds are the whispers in your subconcious, his growls and sputters like an animal above you. The lewd slaps of skin against skin, the squelches of him pushing you to your limits.

He steadies himself over you, nose to nose again while he fucks you. Really fucks you. Impressed with himself, he lets out a breathy chuckle when you throw your head back -- eyes shutting tight with a pornographic scream.

"Oh GOD!" you cry out, "Oh my god."

His fingers and claws catch your chin with a firm shake, eyes snapping open to meet the knowing glare of his ruddy brown ones.

"Your god," he starts, panting into your mouth, "is right here in front of you."

You swallow, mouth falling agape again when you feel the bite of his nails on the fat of your cheeks. "Right here," you repeat, dazed and overwhelmed, "N'..n'fronname."

"Right here in front of you," he nods, leaning down to brush his nose against yours while his thrusts slow to a steady pace. It's then that his lips meet yours, the kiss searing with desire and claim when his tongue slides into your mouth. You can taste the metallic twang of your blood in his mouth, sighing into it while he guides the kiss. Breaking away and coming back in; rushed and heated each time while he feels himself get closer to his peak.

His forehead presses against yours, one hand finally releasing your wrist to hold your head in place over your hair. You keep eye contact with him, not even sure if you're blinking, if you even need to blink. You rasp breaths, mouth and throat dry and aching while you breathe into him. You're close, teetering on the edge while he pushes you up with his hips to rest your lower body on his knees and thighs.

"Come undone," he murmurs, "Let go for me."

The command ripples through you, bursting through your belly with a warm heat. You welcome it, eyes rolling, cries pouring from you in words you don't think you understand. He encourages you, offering you rough sweet nothings while you pray to him, beg for him, ache for him.

That's enough to send him over; seeing you completely at his mercy now. Obedient, trained, devoured.

He snares and snarls, growling while he comes deep inside of you. The hand on your head wraps painfully in your hair like it did before you started -- uncaring, brutal. The heat of his seed pools deep within you like the heart of your orgasm. Glazed over you groan, hips rolling up in one final cant to receive him fully. Your vision vingettes while he unsheathes from you; fluids leaking onto the sheets. You're empty and the room spins with a new blackness, you're fading. Fainting? Dying?

The fuzziness continues to darken arouns you, around him, until he's all that's left in the tunnel of your vision. "That's a good girl," he soothes smugly, "Very well done."

Your gaze and mind fade fully to a staticky black.

You wake, you’re not sure how much later.

Still on the bed and still undressed but your arms feel tight – a tug reveals your current state. Bound to a post on the headboard by a triple handcuff knot, dense hemp rope keeping your arms above your head.

You whine and struggle, coming to your senses now – no one knows where you are, you barely know where you are. An underworld – hell. Somewhere.

“Don’t look so terrified, sweetheart,” his smooth honey voice is heard before he appears in the candle light again, “I’m right here.”

“Wh-why am I –” you swallow thickly, coughing and sputtering with how dry your mouth and throat are now, “Why am I tied up?”

He looks at you with faux concern, brows raising, “Oh honey, are you okay?”

He reaches out, pushing your hair away from your face, “Don’t be stressed. Y’know something – I just realized, I never offered you anything to drink.”

“My uncle always told me you should take a girl out to dinner before makin’ the van rock and look at me,” he gestures at his chest, tutting at himself, “Where are my manners, huh?”

Your lip wobbles while he looms over you, “Are you thirsty?”

You nod, he grins – cheshire like, fangs glinting in the light, “I thought you would be.” He gets up, lazy and confident in his walk across the room. His body looks like marble, chiseled with the running and hunting you realize he’s been doing for over a decade. Stronger than ever; ethereal in his post orgasm glow.

He pulls his hair back while he walks, holding it up away from his neck while your eyes travel down his back where his wings have tucked in under the skin. You gag when you see them move above his blades, rippling beneath the tattoos he has there. He’s dressed in only shorts; silk – likely stolen to really own the whole vampire thing he has going on.

You take in a shaky breath when he gets what he needs, dropping his hair back to his shoulders when he makes his way back to you.

He holds the dagger coolly in his hand before gliding the tip down the center of his wrist. Blood blooms from the wound; he doesn’t even flinch.

“Open, princess,” he murmurs. Your lips clamp shut, shaking your head no while fear takes over – rot in your chest. He catches your chin again, forcing you to look at him like before.

“Open,” he repeats, slower. His voice reverberates like a gong between your ears.

Your mouth opens on its own accord and the smell of his blood becomes the most alluring scent you’ve had pass your nose in years. You latch on to the laceration, swallowing and sucking deeply on the wound while his blood and body quench and feed you better than any meal you think you’ve ever had. You feel revived as you devour him, eyes fluttering closed while the fill feels never enough.

“That’s it, keep goin’,” he encourages under his breath, “Won’t have to keep asking you to do things twice once this is all over with.”

You break away to breathe, gasping like you’re coming up for air, drowning in him.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean you’ll be just like me, sweetheart,” he says, chuckling when you eagerly lean forward to drink him again, “After a night of some deeply insurmountable pain; and then nothing. Just mine. Undead and mine.”

“But y–you said you were – I’m –” your brows knit in confusion, “You didn’t h-have to d-do this; whatever you um – whatever you bred me with will die if you do this.”

“Oh, no, no,” he laughs evilly, “I didn’t breed you quite yet.”

He pulls his arm away, wiping the blood from your chin with his thumb roughly.

“Consider what we did a, uh…hmm,” he takes a second to think about it with a hum, shrugging cheekily, “A soul bonding experience.”

“You’re disgusting,” you spit.

“I’m delicious,” he corrects, smearing his blood from your chin to your cheek, “If you do say so yourself.”

He gets up again, pulling the covers out from under you to tuck you in. The chill getting to you in a way it never gets to him; you might as well be warm while you turn into actualized death.

“I can hear you, remember?” he asks, tapping your head, “You won’t be totally alone with me. There’s…shit there are plenty just like us.”

“Like Steve,” you pipe up groggily.

“More than just goodie two-shoes Harrington,” he groans, “God, do you ever shut up about him?”

You sniffle in response.

“I mean this place, this – dimension,” he says, “It’s more than just Hawkins, and there are so many more like us; even up there.”

He points upwards with a sharp nailed finger, “All around.”

“And now that you’ll be just like me,” he smiles, sitting on the edge of the bed next to you in the crook of you waist, “There’ll be all the time in the world to breed you.”

Your vision blurs, either from tears or from another fade, you aren’t sure. You can feel a slow burn through your veins, a rush of blood. You whimper.

“So it begins,” he smirks, running the tip of his finger over your nose bridge.

“Oh!” he says, eyes bulging, “Before I forget, and before I lose you – because you’ll be such a pretty blank slate when you come to – I felt like I should be honest.”

He gestures dramatically, a maniacal grin pushing his cheeks up to his eyes while they spark, “Again with my manners, it was so rude of me to introduce myself to Pete’s grave at the cemetery. We’ve met before! Can’t believe I had almost forgotten.”

Ice in your body fights the burning in your veins, you gag, bile coming up to singe your throat.

“And y’know, I didn’t mean to drop him in the quarry when I was done with him,” he says with a scrunch of his nose, like he accidentally wrote the wrong tip on a restaurant check, “Really, my mistake, but Christ did he hit every piece of limestone on the way down.”

He lets out a hearty laugh while he remembers it, your brother's body bouncing off rocks and metal before slipping under the water. You swallow your sick only or it to rise back up with a vengeance, staining your skin red while it seeps out of the corner of your mouth. You tug on the ropes in retaliation, hot angry tears stinging your eyes.

“All that fallin’ did a number on him – which is good because it really took the heat of anyone knowing it was me. I just wasn't as clean about it back then. Much better now though,” he nods, finishing with a superior and charming look like he just told a bedtime story.

He leans forward close to your face while your vision pulses in fuzzy black, browning out while he looks down at you.

“And I’ll tell you something, babe…”

Fading, fading, fading.

“He tasted divine.”

masterlist | fall frenzy | ko-fi

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson x you #kas!eddie #kas!eddie munson #vampire!eddie munson #vampire!eddie #eddie munson smut #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fan fiction #tw: dubcon #tw: dub-con #dark!eddie #dark!eddie munson

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astronomoney · 28 days

Text

Waitress

Pairing + WC: Jason Grace x mortal!reader, 2.1k Warnings: NOT canon compliant, this takes place in my world where Piper and Jason realized they were best as friends right after lost hero and Leo never got with Caylpso. also TOA never happened because it makes me sad. Also somewhat not proof read Summary: Jason has been sneaking off for weeks and Leo is detirmened to find out why. Or alternativly: Leo, Piper, Annabeth, and Percy go snooping in Jasons buisness Authers note: Hey hey! first fic in what feels like a million years! I definitely have to shake the rust off a bit but this was a fun one to get back into it! I was listening to Waitress at work and got this idea so i ran with it. Honestly not much of the actual relationship, theres a lot of set up and other characters but I think I may do a part two if this does well :)

Jason Grace was a busy man. Going between camps, building shrines to all the minor gods, serving as Pontifex Maximus, taking trips to Olympus to meet deities, and head counselor duties. Everyone knew he had no time on his schedule. His friends were lucky if they could get him to spare an hour to catch up, much less get him to a bonfire. So why on earth is it that Jason Grace would take upwards of two hours out of his day, three days a week, to walk out of camp and go to who knows where?

Leo was determined to find out. He’d watched Jason sneak off for the past month, and he was sick of wondering. He tried to bring it up but just got a red-faced muttered excuse about it’s just a walk in the woods and I have to finish my work before he'd disappeared into his cabin.

“I think we’re lost,” Percy said, stopping suddenly and causing Piper to almost slam into his back.

“We are not lost!” Leo exclaimed, “I swear he went this way,”

“We’re miles from camp,” Piper butt in, “he could be anywhere,” she crossed her arms and glared at Leo.

“We should turn back before someone notices we’re gone,” Annabeth added, looking up and down the road they were on. Leo had seen Jason sneaking off just before lunch and had convinced his friends to follow him. Now, here they were, on some back road heading through the woods surrounding the camp a mile and a half away from the border.

“Guys, c'mon! Don’t you want to know where he’s been going!” Leo turned back to the group. “He can’t have gotten far.” He kept walking backward in the same direction they’d been heading for the past 10 minutes. For a little while, they could see Jason walking along the side of the road, far ahead, but they’d kept their distance so he wouldn’t notice them. Then he made a turn at an intersection, and they’d lost sight of him.

“Maybe he really is just out for a walk?” Piper offered.

Leo hualted now, “For two hours? No way, he’s definitely up to something out here.” He stared at the group, waiting for someone to disagree. No one did. It was definitely unusual behavior from the son of Jupiter to take so much time away from his work.

“We’ve been walking for 25 minutes. I say we go 5 more and then head back,” Annabeth spoke up, sending Leo a you owe me glance.

“Perfect, 5 minutes!” Leo returned an appreciative smile before turning on his heel and continuing down the road with his friends in tow.

They rounded a corner a minute later, and Leo couldn’t help the I told you so grin that came across his face. In front of them, just a few more meters down the road was a genuine 1950s-style roadside diner with the name The Doo-Wop Diner plastered over the door. “See!” Leo pointed triumphantly, “Now imagine if we had turned back when you quitters had wanted to,”

The group walked up to the diner, rolling their eyes at Leo’s antics. They peered in through the windows that lined the front. It was cute, with pastel blue on the walls, 50s-style booths, a jukebox in the corner, and a countertop bar.

“Is he even in there?” Percy asked, huddled next to Annabeth and scanning the restaurant.

“He’s got to be,” Leo squinted from Annabeth's other side.

“There he is!” Annabeth pointed to the far end of the bar where Jason was sitting. He had a cup of coffee and an open book in front of him.

“What’s he doing in there?” Leo asked as if any of them knew. “He walks all the way out here for ‘New York's best black coffee’?” He read off the sign in the window.

The group looked at him for another minute in deliberation before Piper let out a quiet gasp. “It’s not the coffee he’s here for,” she was staring at something on the other end of the restaurant with wide, knowing eyes. “Look,”

When the three others looked back at Jason, they saw a soft, almost nervous smile on his face while he gave a slight wave. When they followed his gazeto the other side of the resturant, they all came to the same conclusion that Piper had. Jason Grace had walked nearly thirty minutes away from camp to a rinky-dink old diner on the side of the road to see you.

You were dressed in a 1950s waitress uniform and serving some of that aforementioned black coffee to an old couple. When you caught sight of Jason, your face lit up, and you waved back. As soon as you finished pouring the coffee, you brought the pot over to where Jason was sitting, even though he still had a full cup in front of him. The four standing outside were frozen in place as they watched the two inside interact.

“Hey!” You said as you approached. The smile you had on now was so much more genuine than your usual customer service smile. “I missed you last week,”

Jason’s smile mirrored your own as he put a napkin between the pages of his book to mark his place. “Hey. Yeah, sorry, I had a last minute thing, uh, out of town, I had to do,” he had been called back to Camp Jupiter to resolve a minor god conflict and hadn’t been able to come in at his usual time.

“Ooo, more of your mystery out-of-town work?” He’d mentioned it several times but, for obvious reasons, couldn’t tell you the whole story, and being the golden boy he was, he couldn’t bring himself to flat-out lie. “Is it something illegal?” You asked.

Jason let out a laugh at that. “It’s definitely not illegal.” He pushed his glasses back into place.

“Are you sure? Because based on what you’ve told me, it’s out of town, it’s odd hours, it’s highly secretive, and it’s hard work.” You listed things out, counting them on your fingers. “You’re either selling drugs or possibly a secret agent.” You finished with wide, questioning eyes.

He laughed again at your list. You always had a way of putting his mind at ease. When it was swimming in work, and he couldn’t think straight, you always managed to bring him back to sanity. “It’s all boring, I promise. I’d much rather be here.”

Your grin returned. “Oh really? I didn’t know you held our fine establishment in such high regard.” While you spoke, the cook rang a harsh bell and shouted, "Order up!”

“Thanks, Cal,” You called while you grabbed the two burger plates from the kitchen and walked them around the counter to deposit them at a table nearby. Jason watched you while you worked, the soft smile never once leaving his face as you handed out napkins and refilled some water.

Once you were back, the conversation picked up exactly where it had left off. “It has its selling points,” he mused. The other half of that sentence, mostly about cute waitresses with the brightest smiles and the prettiest eyes, stayed caught in his throat. The pair slipped into an easy routine they’d established long ago. Jason would sit and drink his coffee while you bustled around, taking orders, running food, cleaning the occasional spill, all the while keeping up a steady stream of small talk.

It was a mutually beneficial relationship. You got a bit of conversation to distract from the monotony of your work, and his blue eyes always seemed to make your day go smoother. Jason got a much-needed break from everything Greco-Roman. At camp, he always had so much responsibility, and so many expectations were weighing him down. Here, he didn’t have to worry about all that. You didn’t know who his dad was or what quests he’d been on, and you didn’t care. You liked him for him and not for the hero he was supposed to be.

You returned to your spot across from him and picked up a rag to look like you were still doing something. “Have you told anyone at that camp of yours about this place?” You knew Camp Half-Blood existed. You also knew it wasn't anywhere close to normal based on the folks that came through, but they had the best strawberries even in the off-season, so you didn’t ask many questions.

“No way. Trust me, you do not want them coming here,” Jason had told you about his friends, minus a few details, but he had always emphasized that they were trouble.

“Uh huh, so then, who's staring at us from the window?” You asked with a sideways grin on your face.

“What?” Jason wiped his head around in time to see four panicked faces duck below the window sill outside. “Oh, by all the gods!” He muttered angrily under his breath and made a beeline for the door. “I’ll be right back,” he called to you, knowing you’d watch his book and half cup of coffee.

“Take your time,” you called back as he pushed open the door and stepped outside.

For a second, all the demigods stared at each other without moving. Four crouched on the ground, wishing he hadn’t seen them, and one glaring at the group from above. Jason grabbed the front of Leo’s shirt and hoisted him up so he stood with his hands raised in surrender. “What are you doing here,” he hissed.

“Hey! Calm down, calm down,” Leo tried a friendly smile but was met with a glare. “We just, uh went for a walk?” He offered an explanation that sounded more like a question

“Wrong answer,” Jason sent his glare at the other three. “Did you all follow me?” He let Leo go and took a step back so he could glare at everyone all at once instead of having to shift his gaze.

“Leo made us come,” Piper threw him under the bus.

“Oh gee, thanks, beauty queen. It's nice to know where your loyalties lie.” Leo shot back, adjusting his shirt front.

Percy gave Jason a sly grin. “We were curious, but we never would have come if we knew you had a secret girlfriend out here,”

“She is not my girlfriend!” Jason cut him off.

Percy put up his own hands, “Sorry, secret crush,” he corrected.

“She isn't! I don't-” Jason was full-on flustered now.

“Does that mean she’s up for grabs?” Leo asked. He looked back inside before getting smacked upside the back of the head by Annabeth. “What? She cute!”

When Jason looked back through the window he caught your eye and you sent him a questioning, yet very amused, glace. Jason had a bit of panic at that and quickly moved to usher the four away from the window and back towards the road. “Absolutely not! First of all, she’s a person; she can’t be up for grabs, and secondly, you can’t meet her!”

“What? Why not, she seems nice,” Annabeth asked.

“She is nice! And she's normal, and she doesn’t need to know any of you,” Jason managed to get them all about 10 feet from the front door. “Go back to camp. Just follow this road east for a mile, turn right at the second intersection, go straight for another half-mile, and you’ll see the border.” Jason gave the hurried directions and prayed to whichever god would listen that they’d all just leave.

“Whoa, man, we walked all the way out here, and now you're just gonna send us away?” Leo asked, putting a hand over his chest in fake offense.

“Yes,” Jason shot back flatly.

Piper spoke up next, “Wait, what’s her name? How long have you been coming here? How’d you even find this place? Does she like you back? It looked like she did.”

“Really?” Jason asked before shaking his head and focusing again. “I mean, I am not answering that,” he was still trying to shew the group away, but clearly, it wasn’t working.

“Well, do they have good food here?” Percy added

“I saw ‘Breakfast all day’ on one of the signs,” Annabeth walked around Jason and back towards the door.

“And that burger meal she brought out looked really good,” Leo added. The four demigods went right past Jason and headed for the front door.

“No, no, no, no, no,” Jason muttered as his friends ignored him and went in. “This is not good,” he said to himself, following the group back inside. They obviously had no intention of leaving, and he figured the next best course of action would be to simply die of shame. He knew this day would come; someone would catch him sneaking off, and his best-kept secret would become his worst nightmare. He just didn’t think it’d be so soon.

≻───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────≺

Ahhhh first fic in a long ass time, its not my best work but personally I liked the plot so I got a little carried away and might have to make a part 2

#x reader #jason grace x reader #jason grace #jason grace x y/n #jason grace fluff #jason grace x mortal!reader #pjo x reader #pjo #percy jackson x reader #heros of olympus #heros of olympus x reader #hoo x reader #pjo hoo

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leclsrc · 6 months

Note

hi auds!! it's my birthday today ;) i never send reqs i know you get a whole ton of them but if you ever got around to this- i think the f1 fic world has a very worrying lack of aus. so could i get a band!charles au drabble where he writes a song about reader and she hears it on the radio? any song you like. reader could be driver or something or connected to f1 if thats cool !!! thank you sm!! i love you

knee socks – cl16

There’s a certain inevitability that comes with having sex with a misaligned, conceited lead guitarist of a band. You aren’t aware of this fact until it hits you in-between your brows with the force of an 18-wheeler truck, at 8AM, through the radio in your car.

genre: drabble... lots of smutty allusions

auds here... happy birthday anon, one month and then some later! to be completely honest i almost deleted this... but through some twist of fate, it was the only thing i could bully into completion lol (aside frm long form fics that i'm still working on) this is 1000% for u and i hope u accept it as a belated bday gift :) i agree btw! id love to see more au fics but it is still nice reading the canon compliant type ones hahah. also the song in this and its and title is of course from this

It was surprising enough to hear an announcement of a new single by The Incident, one that seemingly sprouted out of nowhere, sans promotion. The morning BBC show clobbered the song with theories before finally letting the drawled-out, sticky guitar filter through and into your car. That in itself was odd, sure. Maybe shocking a little. But you leaned into the leather seat and remained quiet.

When you were fifteen, you were convinced the lyrics to Hall & Oates’ “Rich Girl” pinned up perfectly to your (insufferable) personality of the time. Raised in a big family and working in a career of refined prestige, your budding skill and already-cemented name in the modeling industry were just two small indicators of your parents’ massive wealth. Of course, neither Hall nor Oates were actually sitting and writing songs and singing about you—you just found it made sense in one way or another.

That was three years before you met Charles three years ago, at a pub in Soho. His band had only just spilled out of the confines of Soundcloud and seedy managers; they’d broken five million monthly listeners and the throng of people were there to watch them live. You were at the pub for a pint with another friend and left him with your number, a slip of paper tinged with beer; he fished out the nearest surface you could write on from a nearby bowl. Do I Wanna Know? it read in rushed cursive. It was a song request that went unfulfilled.

Rumors flew in your circle. Your father soured at the idea of you seeing somebody he wasn’t actively doing business with, but he failed to realize how limited your dating pool would be if you followed his wishes. Your interactions with the Formula One men he sponsored or worked with, however few and far between, were rancid and impolite. The drivers wore expensive brands, ones that didn’t even fall familiar on people’s ears, but refused to tip beyond three pounds. It came as both a shock and no surprise that the nouveau rich rock singer treated you with more decency than any of them did.

He was shy about it first, knowing how filthy rich you were. He made jokes about how his flat could fit in your kitchen twice over. He spoke what little French he remembered from childhood to impress you, paid for takeout, wore Lacoste when he came over to drink—then fuck—because it was, at the time, the most decent brand he owned. It’d been January when he came over, caught a sight of you at the foyer with all your expensive coats hung up. Your tongue was blue with a lozenge. It was the only thing he could look at while fucking you.

He wore a light blue variant once, fit and snug on him. You wrestled it off him in-between hot, sweet kisses, kept it on your bed so it’d be the first thing you tugged on in the morning before a shoot for a brand you can no longer place.

The last time you saw him he’d shown you lyrics, sang them aloud, drummed the beat he thought of on the skin of your thigh. His accent disappeared into rasp and notes. You told him to perform it live and he fucked you splayed up against your door, bent over your counter, then with your knees pressed to your chest on your white sheets, warm from the laundry. S’good for me, aren’t you, princess? All for me. My filthy girl.

Two hours later: I’m going on tour, sweetheart, he’d said while he cleaned you up.

’Til? Or… like, for long? Naked, you wrapped your blanket around your frame.

Ah, oui. For a while.

You failed to answer amicably, your eyebrows twisting. You didn’t think to tell me? Just up and leave then? No number, no text, no announcement, just— You exhaled tightly. You knew he didn’t owe you anything of the sort; the sex, you guessed, the company had been so good you’d deluded yourself into thinking so.

Kitten—

Don’t call me that, you huffed, angrier now. Petulant. You got up and crowded him ’til you got to the door. Get the fuck out.

You watched him leave, brown leather jacket and black tee disappearing into London, and wrenched memories of him from the depths of your brain, the two years of your back and forth rendezvous. You wondered why you didn’t get a song in that time, after his ascent to fame, after the release of other hit singles inspired by his bandmates’ gossip rags and measly shags.

So a year later, when the memories have just begun to purge themselves—when the lyrics, which already have sent a swoop through your stomach, progress into the line When you walked around your house wearin' my sky blue Lacoste… and your knee socks, you effectively choke on your a.m. cappucino. It’s like “Rich Girl” all over again, but this is overt, it’s targeted. Like whoever wrote it must’ve known you’d be listening right now, en route to a shoot at eight in the morning.

“All good, miss?” Ed, your chauffeur, meets your eyes in the rearview, concerned.

“Perf—” your voice cracks. “Perfect.”

You screw your eyes shut and try to collect yourself, zeroing in on the lyrics that’d been foggy before.

Curing his January blues—the month you two started sleeping together.The fact that he’d had your number, a famous stranger, before you had his. Every beat, every word, every deep-voiced lyric traces back to you (unless, of course, he’s busying himself shagging any other girl in London on rainy Tuesdays and letting her wear his now-old polos. The thought sends a pang of jealousy through you.)

But you know better. You know you’re the only one.

Because your phone’s the only one buzzing late into the damp night—when the zeroes line up on the clock by your bed, the one he fixed up for you—with a number you’ve removed the name of, blocked at some point, but can still memorize in his absence.

Maybe tonight you’ll pick up.

#f1 #charles leclerc #charles leclerc imagines #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc drabble #charles leclerc smut #f1 x reader #anonymous

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niki-phoria · 1 year

Text

re2 leon is so cute :((

pairing: leon x gn!reader (no pronouns used) genre: comfort word count: 746

includes: leon has a nightmare, didn't actually play re2 so maybe the raccoon city parts aren't canon compliant oops, not much dialogue in this, maybe ooc leon ?? hopefully not tho lmao

a/n: i wanna start taking reqs for leon

summary: cuddling with leon after he has a nightmare

requests open !! read my rules first

“leon!” you nearly flinch back when he jolts awake, panting as he moves to sit up. his eyes are wide and frantic as they search through the dark room until you reach out and gently place your hands on his shoulders. “hey, it’s okay, i’m here.”

leon pants, slowly sitting up. your touch is gentle as you hold his face in your hands. his face is flushed and you can hear his heartbeat beating erratically. slowly, he raises a hand to wrap around your wrist. he’s careful - almost as if you’re a fragile piece of glass that will break at any movement too harsh. “you’re here.”

the words are quiet. they feel more like a confirmation to himself than a question for you, but you repeat them all the same. “i’m here.”

you carefully bring your hand up to brush a stray strand of hair out of leon’s eyes. blue irises follow your movements as your hand falls from his cheek down to rest on his shoulder. he wraps his arms around you, tugging your body even closer to his. leon’s body warmth has always been welcome - especially on cold nights during rough missions when your only company is each other and a dirty, concrete floor.

“do you want to talk about it?” you whisper. leon’s answer comes in the form of a warm hand rubbing against your back. he stares up at the ceiling deep in thought as you lean down to lay your head against his shoulder. you bring your hand up to rest on his chest to feel his heartbeat. it’s a habit you’d picked up over the years of your careers. you’d spent hours laying at awkward angles next to tables just watching leon breathe to make sure he was still alive.

the beating has slowed underneath your touch, returning back to a steady rhythm. leon’s hand slips underneath your - his - shirt to rub against your bare skin. it sends shivers up your spine. physical contact has always been leon’s preferred form of intimacy. his brief touches and long, wistful gazes in public turn into loving hugs and eye contact where both of you refuse to be the first to look away in private.

“just a nightmare.” leon finally replies. you can think of a million things that could possibly be haunting him enough to follow him into his dreams. despite his somewhat vague answer, you know better than to push it. instead, you lean up to press a kiss to the underside of his jaw. it’s the closest place you can reach without moving too much. “i couldn’t save you.” you had grown so accustomed to the silence it nearly startled you when he spoke again. “we were in raccoon city. you were trapped. i was running, and… i couldn’t save you.”

“but you did.” leon shifts to look down at you. “when we first met in raccoon city and i was trapped, and scared, and you found me, you promised you would save me. and you did. and now, we’re here, and we’ve spent the past six years together, and you always save me.”

leon moves to intertwine your fingers together over his chest. he squeezes your hand gently before raising your hands to press a kiss against your knuckles. “you know, you made a promise to me, too.”

“hm?” you lean to look up at him.

“after our first day of training. you held an ice pack against my shoulder for an hour even though the bruise was barely there and you promised to protect me. you’ve never broken your promise either.”

you smile, leaning up to pull leon into a kiss. it’s sweet and short. most of them are. you can feel leon’s lips quirk upwards into a smile of his own until you pull away. “why don’t i make you another promise?” he raises his eyebrows; a silent signal for you to continue. you shift slightly so you’re hovering over him. “i promise to love you. until death do us part.”

you stifle a laugh as leon’s face flushes a light pink. he chuckles, bringing a hand up to cup your face. “then i promise to love you,” he strokes his thumb against your cheek. “until death do us part.” your smile grows as leon leans up, gently pulling you into another kiss. you lay back down against leon’s chest, letting his heartbeat lull the both of you into a now peaceful sleep.

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seishiroh · 11 months

Text

“THREE KNOTS.” / itoshi sae x f!reader.

— sfw. angst. non-established relationship. long distance lovers. pining. fluff. mentioned rin itoshi (not too canon compliant vague state of their relationship.) insecurity. some jealous undertones. misunderstandings. no real comfort.

— not proofread. might be a bit too wordy. also some chance of ooc-ness cause, idk, i tried though. :] ending might've sounded a bit rushed but i was trying to do something and it was not... doing anything. loosely inspired of NIKI's Autumn.

it's a tempestuous relationship—whatever you have with itoshi sae. but he's all you've ever known. whatever love is, it's defined by him.

you met him only three years ago. when he flew to japan to renew his passport only to stay because of blue lock—and whenever you think about it, it's almost like it was meant to be—you and sae.

the meeting him, the wanting him, the wanting you.

you're not sure what it is about him and what it is he saw in you that kept you together then.��but his nights were yours. you'd trace your name against his exposed skin and you know he can tell, because you can feel him tense up whenever you do it.

he never stopped you then.

and you wonder which reaction was the most real from sae: the way he'd tense up as you traced your name or that he never told you to stop.

like you could.

like you had him.

you were both only eighteen; it's the first love you've ever known—maybe it's the only love you'll ever come to know.

but sae itoshi's reality is far from yours. so, so far from yours. that's why you're gripping his hand in yours like you'd fall from the earth or float away from it if you let go.

sae doesn't tell you this, not when he needs to board his plane with only a few minutes left, but he almost wishes he could stay with you.

play house, play lovers.

maybe he won't be itoshi sae, and you won't be y/n, but he'd love you the same.

you've gotten only barely a year of you and sae, but at the airport, you hold out your heart—soft and beating fast.

"i love you," you whisper against the pulse right under his ear, like if his heart could hear it, then maybe he won't have to go.

he hears you loud and clear. only because the language of your love is something he could recognize from a mile away.

sae itoshi is only barely nineteen. and i love you are foreign words even if he means to say them.

his thumb brushes against your bottom lip. it's gentle, along with his gaze, trained on the movement.

sometimes you wonder what goes through his mind whenever he does this, just right before he tilts your chin up, teal eyes meeting yours. you're also unsure what it is about sae's eyes that makes them look so piercing; you only ever see it when he's looking right at you.

he leans in, eyes flickering from yours down to your lips, then he brushes his lips against yours—it's barely there—like he's testing it like he hasn't done this a million couple times before.

then he presses a kiss on the corner of your mouth, butterfly kisses, fleeting then coming back for more.

only then—does he really kisses you. he kisses you like it's enough to make up for the words he's not saying.

"i'll come back," he says in between kisses; even at that, he can feel the smile on your lips. it's just a promise, but you smile like you trust him—like you genuinely believed it, like you'd hold him to it even if it took a decade.

"i'll call you when the plane lands," he adds.(because it's the best he could say.)

"it'll be midnight here," you reply, while still gripping on his unzipped tracksuit, your other hand against his chest—because he could keep the words to himself, but you figured the wild thumping of his heart couldn't lie, couldn't ever keep a secret.

"you'll answer," he tells you.

and he's right. he always is.

and one day, you'd wish all of these stolen moments with him were enough. only because they had to have been, only because itoshi sae knew little else outside football, but he knew you.

sae thinks you're quite easy to read from the get-go, but in the months you've spent together, sae has learned you. as though you mattered that much.

you were only barely nineteen. you think you might've shot to the stars when you dreamt about sae itoshi not leaving you or maybe keeping you.

"sae-chan!" his manager yells from a distance, "we have to get in now!"

it's barely there, but you can feel the way he sighs. when sae lets you go and walks away, he doesn't turn back, doesn't wave, doesn't glance to see if you're walking away too.

he doesn't look out the window once he's seated inside the plane; he doesn't watch the view of japan fade away.

but at one thirty-six am, your phone is ringing.

you pick up at the first ring—because you haven't slept, subconsciously waiting for his call.

his voice filters in first, too monotonous for the words he's saying, "i should've asked you to come."

you laugh. only because you know he doesn't mean it, not really.

you miss him already, though. so you allow his little lie. besides, maybe it's not a complete lie. perhaps he really thinks so, but even if he did, he'd never allow it.

unlike you, allowing his calls at midnight to talk about the day and whisper empty promises for the next few months.

"after soccer," he says silently, "we can stay together."

his voice is warmer through the phone, mostly from his exhaustion than anything, but you think it must mean something at least—that it's always you on the other end of the line whenever he comes home, it's always you on the receiving end of his smile through the screen, always you that you see him texting after his team wins a match.

"after soccer," you echo him with a laugh, "i don't think there's an after soccer for you, sae."

your tone isn't malicious when you tell him this, and he's not sure what comes first—that he knows he's hurting you or that he loves you more for understanding.

"i'll figure it out," he answers you, completely serious. he says he will like he could do it all on his own.

"i'll figure it out with you," you say. "i'm right here with you, sae," and you tell him because you think he needs the reminder.

it's odd, you hope you're not wrong, but you can feel sae smiling through the phone in the silence.

when you whisper these promises to each other, promises that are as empty as they are pretty—you think it must mean something.

sae only wanted things that pushed him towards his goals but then there was you... and for a while, you thought you belonged there.

it must mean something, that there was you—running and trying so hard to catch up to his dreams because he wanted you there. running eastward to the warmth that sae had reserved only for you.

but if you were more honest with yourself, there is nothing between you and sae.

sometimes, when sae is gone from you and far into his own world, you think perhaps you might've truly been delusional to think you ever had a shot at calling him yours.

that's why when he gets involved in a dating scandal—with someone who's not you—you have to pretend everything is fine. you think it shouldn't be much of a challenge to do so, since no one even knows about you and sae.

as for sae, you wait for his calls, but for the next few weeks, they never come.

still, you try to think maybe it's your fault. you haven't reached out since then, but he hasn't either; you're stuck with nothing but a promise that you're starting to doubt ever even existed.

you know you love him, and you'd like to think that somewhere in his heart, sae loved you too.

except it's not enough to keep you from doubting otherwise until itoshi rin comes knocking on your door, plane ticket in hand, like whatever you had with sae hadn't ended when you stopped talking to him weeks ago.

but sae's little brother is there, telling you to come to sae because his brother's not doing well without you.

you're not sure what it means because sae seems to have been doing just fine when you saw his recent game—especially when you saw a picture of him leaving a building with the rumored girlfriend.

that's why you're shaking your head at rin, who's still standing by your front door. at rin, who's sighing and finally relenting.

"i don't care what you do, i'm just here to give this," he tells you (and you can't help but pick up on the way he speaks like sae) but he reaches out and takes your hand, leaving you the plane ticket and walking away without so much as a goodbye.

the flight isn't til three more days.

you stare at it, laid on the palm of your hand, and somehow you feel like crying. sighing, you close your door and leave the plane ticket on your coffee table.

maybe the universe would do you a favor and let the wind take care of it, fly out the window or fall somewhere you couldn't find.

the next morning, it's still there.

when you come home, it's still there. you consider ripping it, hoping you won't let yourself stumble over and stupidly back into sae's arms somehow.

but when the night comes and there's a gaping hole in your chest where sae resides, you miss him so much you think you'd die—your resolve breaks. you think about texting him because that's the easiest part, but the curtains of your window sway forward at the wind, and it makes you think of sae and the way it's the first thing he does when he wakes up, opening the window and letting the air in, and how it would be so lovely to see him do it when you're there.

there's a plane ticket taunting you.

you figure flying all the way to spain for sae is crazy but if it meant seeing his face, hearing his voice—if it meant you'd have the chance to keep him in any way he'd allow, perhaps it'd be worth it.

rin sends you a message just as you're boarding the plane the next day; it's an address to an apartment in spain and instructions to contact sae's manager once you land.

you follow it all—heart over head until he's right in front of you, lithe fingers curling over the handle of your luggage and rolling it inside his apartment—where all his windows are open, all wind and sunlight pouring in.

"rin said you didn't wanna come," he speaks up, turning to look at you awkwardly standing by the door.

"i didn't—" you try to say, but it feels like a lie, "but i missed you more."

sae walks up to you, his hands tucked inside his jacket and his stare that never really gives away how he feels.

"why not?"

you give him a shrug. "is there someone else, sae?" you ask, so blunt and earnest that his lips twitch in a smile.

sae reaches out, holds onto your hips, "you've got a good brain in there. use it," he replies, lets your question fall back to you, "is there, y/n?"

you frown at him like you're a child telling him he's being unfair. "there might," you pause, "but then i'd have to leave," but your hands moving to his chest doesn't make it convincing.

his heart jumps at your touch, it beats steadily. it's a rhythm only you're privy to.

"...there isn't," he says finally, eyebrows furrowing. "you're with me."

you smile because you believe him, "you stopped calling, though?"

"you were upset," he quips.

you nod, point taken. "and you let me be upset at you, itoshi sae? just like that? and let me think maybe you don't love me after—?"

the scowl on his face is quick to form as you spoke, "shut up," he says, completely serious.

"will you say sorry?" you say instead, trying to sound teasing, but your voice is soft and it's the easiest thing in the world for sae to pick up on.

"no," he whispers, pulling you even closer.

"make it up to me?" you continue even though you know he'll shake his head, stand his ground. not scared enough to test his patience, even though maybe you should be.

you want to let up, to take it as it is. to love him with no need for anything else, but the reality of your feelings win and you're asking another question before you could stop yourself.

"am i with you, sae?"

"stupid," he mutters. "i love only you."

right there, in his hold and the sunlight hitting him just right, you find yourself in itoshi sae's apartment for the first time, finally offering you his affections.

perhaps the world can have him every other way, but him just like this, you get to have all for yourself. in the way he pulls you in, presses kisses to your skin. in the way he comes through the door and searches for you in the room, and he smells so good and feels so safe for no reason at all.

while you're there, still unknown to the world, your hands are intertwined beneath the tables when he takes you out, it feels just enough.

in the mornings, you wake up early with him. it's contagious—he's contagious. his habits and idiosyncrasies. when you're brushing your teeth, he's carelessly littering kisses on your neck until you're scolding him about how you can't move. he gives your hips a pat—once, twice—peers at you through the mirror, then he's off.

sometimes, you wonder what it would be like to be able to call him yours. say he's your boyfriend, mean something more.

you think about how nice it would be if you could stay here with him. play house, play lovers.

and no one had to know, because he was enough.

but when sae's stopped for a post match interview and they're asking about her—the girl in the pictures—you wonder if you're enough. because sae stops only for a moment, then he’s sneering at them to fuck off.

under the sheets and a few hours left before you fly back to japan, sae's room is dim in the night. you tug on the necklace he keeps on all the time, bodies pressed together in a bed only fit for him.

he hums, eyes sewn shut still.

"are you only ever with me, sae?"

there's a beat of silence. sae knows exactly what you're talking about, but he's almost sure nothing he could say will never stop you from wondering what if.

so he doesn't try to dispel it, but at least he pulls you in and presses a kiss on top of your head.

he offers you a whisper of yes, and that's all you get.

you're not sure why sae is risking this, when the media always has their eyes on him, but he insists on bringing you to the airport.

there's a sinking feeling in your gut you can't quite shrug off. but sae is holding your hand, igniting your body aflame, peering over you like there's so much he wants to say.

your anxiety insists that it's nothing good. the words never come, though; just sae hooking a finger around one of the belt loops of your jeans to pull you in.

he tugs one, two, three times more, securing you close to him and then he's cupping your face in his hands, kissing you like it's the last time.

all sweeter, all slower. like if he could pause the time, stay there forever, he might actually do it.

you wonder if he feels it now, the way you felt a year ago. in the airport, not really sure when you'd see each other again.

sae doesn't tell you to call him when your plane lands.

instead, he tells you to send him a message when you're home. you nod only because it feels better not to shatter this now, when he's all affection and the one who loves you most.

it's the first thing you do.

your chest is burdened with a weight that doesn't truly exist until his message comes before yours.

we're done.

you'd think that if you anticipate the pain, it would hurt less. but it doesn't, not for the quick sob that rips itself out of your chest, not for the tears that start falling before you make sense of it.

it's only a two-year run and you're barely twenty-one, but you think you'd be sae's forever.

it's a love hard-earned, hard-learned. a love letting go of you before you even stood a chance.

you tell him you're home, just like promised. right before you delete his number, because if you knew sae at all, he'd have your contacts deleted soon enough—if you're optimistic, maybe he'd do it more for him than you.

and miles away, you're right. while you grieve the love you'd always want, sae makes sure he won't crumble from thinking what if.

this is the choice he made for your sake, for his. he could only hope to god if he could finally keep you close to his chest, that you would still let him.

it's a terrible fate, though.

sae could only come back when the chance no longer exists.

#itoshi sae #sae x reader #bllk x reader #blue lock x reader #:: thread of fate #sae angst #blue lock angst #can u guys believe this is like almost 3k words #where did fjat come from.

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slashersteve · 2 years

Text

Just Friends

requested by anonymous

pairing: Steve Harrington/Female Reader

summary: There's a reason Steve keeps making fun of the guy you're going on a date with, you just don't know what it is and he'd like to keep it that way.

warnings/extra tags: one-sided love (or is it), some ~tension~, slightly angsty i can't let it gooo, cursing, beta read, edited by me and auto correct, non-canon compliant as I mention Starcourt

note: this got out of hand, but i was having so much fun writing this! This could potentially have a part 2???? hmmm....anyway thank you for reading and enjoy!

✧ ✧ ✧

It was your first date since graduating, or well, if you were being honest it was your first date ever, or at least a real date. You were nervous, incredibly nervous, and as the weekend inched closer to your small movie date with a guy you actually graduated with the year prior who never gave you a second look in High School, your nerves were only getting worse.

No really, you didn't even know somebody could sweat this much, and you don't know how many times you've asked Keith to turn the AC on in the Video Store you worked part-time at.

It must've been a lot because he basically banned you from his office, so instead you were passing the time by stacking returned videos on the front counter in your feelings when someone snapped their fingers in front of your face.

You nearly dropped your stack of videos when that happened, and shot your gaze to whoever had done that, thinking maybe it was a customer (it's happened before), but instead you were met with the brown eyed concerned gaze of your friend and co-worker Steve Harrington.

"Woah sorry, god your glare could kill somebody if it wanted to," he joked lightly as your glare softened, "I called your name like 3 times, I just need you to...uh, is everything okay?" His prior request of whatever it was he wanted to do faded into a question as he watched your gaze grow distant the longer he talked.

You blinked and nodded, "Yeah, everything's fine. Sorry, I'm just a bit...nervous."

Steve's curiosity peaked then, and he no longer was going to ask you to help him stack the towers of videos onto the cart, and rather leaned on the counter and asked you why.

"I didn't tell you?" you questioned more to yourself, as Steve was a pretty close friend of yours so it was hard to believe you didn't, humming you continued, "I have a date…and before you say 'oh it's just a date' because I'm sure you've been on millions of them, it's my first real date, so you know...I'm nervous."

You didn't look at Steve when you said this, thinking that maybe that was why you subconsciously decided not to tell him. He goes on dates left and right, and you couldn't imagine Steve not teasing you about this one being your first or something. So instead, you returned your focus to your stack of videos, patting the sides so that they all aligned.

"You have a date?" Steve asked in what you mistook for disbelief, "Wait- with who? When? With who?"

"You don't have to act so surprised," you told him, already growing a bit agitated with him. Steve was quick to shake his head then run his hand through his locks of brown hair.

"What? No it's not that, I just want to know who's taking my friend out, and when..."

You huffed softly, not toward Steve, but toward the uncomfortable feeling in your stomach that made you want to throw up your lunch. And maybe a little toward him too.

Quietly, you mumbled the answer, "Saturday night, it's with Timothy Taylor from High School-"

"Timothy Taylor?"

Steve's voice echoed across the video store, causing some patrons to turn and look at the both of you. Your cheeks heated up with embarrassment, and you grasped the sleeve of Steve's sweater and pulled him toward you as you hissed, "Not so loud."

He cringed and apologized, but something told you the cringe wasn't toward him being so loud, especially when he said your name as if disappointed in you.

"Timmy T. is such a clown," he said, and you scrunched your face up in confusion.

"He is not- wait weren't you guys on the basketball team together?"

"Yeah, but that doesn't make him any less of a clown, guy couldn't even make a proper pass, I don't even know how he was on the team...well Coach Taylor was his dad so that explains that-" Steve's reply turned into him trailing off and you flicked his shoulder, "Right, okay, when did he even ask you out?"

You sighed at Steve, but were a bit curious as to why Steve might say an old teammate was a 'clown' so you told him how all last week he'd come into the video store and talk you up, and how you didn't think it was going anywhere or maybe he was trying to get a free movie until he asked for your number and called you earlier this week asking if you wanted to go on a date with him.

"How romantic," Steve said, though you couldn't tell if he was being sarcastic or not, and he laughed, "I was wondering why he was asking me about you."

You paused, "He...he asked you about me?"

"Yeah, last week when you went on break, asked Robin too," Steve said as he crossed his arms as a customer approached the counter.

"Excuse me-" the older woman began, but was quickly cut off by Steve.

"Sorry we're a little busy, I recommend Fast Times. It's over there," Steve said without looking at her, and pointing in a vague direction of the video store.

You deadpanned at Steve for his recommendation to the nice older woman who stared blankly at the both of you and told her you'd be happy to help her when you were done. She seemed content with that, and stepped away to browse a little longer, not before she gave Steve one final offended look.

"You can't always suggest Fast Times, Steve, oh my god," you told him, fighting an amused grin growing on your lips at the face the lady had given him.

"Why not? It's a good movie- okay we're getting off track here," he waved his hand in your face before you both fell into your actual job of stacking the cart with video tapes side by side, "Yeah he asked about you, and I told him you were...you know cool."

"Cool? Just cool. You couldn't talk me up more than that?" you asked with a scoff. Steve rested his gaze on yours for a second, squinting his eyes slightly at you and your eyes that had gone starry and warm.

"I don't know if you should be this excited about going out with the guy," he admitted to you, making a frown come over your lips and your eyebrows to furrow questionably at him and he replied with a shrug, "He kinda sucks."

"He...sucks?" you repeated incredulously at his choice of words to describe an ex-teammate and friend once, "I don't even- can you just tell me what's wrong with him?"

"He's just...I don't know, lame? Okay no, that's too mean-"

"And calling him a clown who sucks wasn't?"

His cheeks burned a soft scarlet as he cringed once again, "Okay yeah that was also mean, I'm not denying that, just- okay- I just never imagined you dating someone like Timmy T alright?"

He grabbed two videos in each hand, his side of the cart getting fuller by the video while you stopped to stare at him with both of your eyebrows raised now, not understanding what the heck he meant by that. Was it an insult to you? At Timothy? Based on the track record of this conversation, it was probably toward him but still...

Shaking your head, you said, "Why are you imagining the person I'll end up dating anyway..."

Your statement made the tapes Steve was holding fall and the movement he made to try and catch them caused him to hit his other stack of videos. All of them crashed to the floor in a span of a few seconds, and you huffed loudly, thinking a single hah before you left Steve to his own devices to help the customer who was starting to look a little impatient.

✧ ✧ ✧

It was clear the following day you were ignoring Steve, and honestly, it wasn't the first time you've ever ignored him, but it was the first time your glare was actually toward him.

He stood by the fact that your glare would be able to kill someone if it could.

Still, it hurt that he was the one you were upset with, but at the same time, he couldn't really blame you. Clearly, you were nervous about this date, and his stupid mouth yesterday was not helping.

And he knew that. He knew that as he was saying those dumb things about his old basketball teammate, knew that as your replies got more and more agitated. He just couldn't stop even though he wanted to.

God, that was why Robin needed to be on shift with the both of you because she typically stopped him from acting so stupid, especially with you (sometimes she did the opposite but he had she been there she would've shut him up and saved him the embarrassment).

The point was, Steve was aware that you were just in need of support from a friend, because that's what he was to you right? Your friend, nothing less...and nothing more...unfortunately, but Steve didn't want to unpack that stupid warm feeling he typically got whenever he was around you lately.

Rather, he wanted to tell you he was sorry for being a dick, and that he was excited for you, even if it wasn't true when it should be. Friends, Steve had to keep reminding himself, you were friends and friends should be excited whenever another goes on a date, you certainly were whenever he did...well for the first few times because he admitted he did go on a lot of dates that you resulted to saying a single 'oh have fun' and nothing more. Still...it was support, and way better than whatever the hell he was telling you yesterday.

He couldn't even tell you he was sorry anyway because you were hardly giving him a chance to speak.

"Do you know what you're wearing?"

Steve was handing a video to a customer when he overheard Nancy's voice, and he turned because he hadn't even seen her come in. She was talking to you at the counter while you were typing onto the video store's computer.

"No, I do have some options though, but I haven't settled on anything..."

"Wait, so you have them already or?" Nancy sounded confused, and Steve watched your features contort into almost shame as you told her you didn't, and Nancy said your name exasperated and said, "You haven't even bought anything, your date is tomorrow!"

"I know, I know, I just couldn't decide and then the time just passed me with work and stuff," you said sheepishly, "Can you take me today? And help me?"

Nancy frowned, "I can't, my deadlines tonight for the paper and it needs extensive review before being published."

You groaned, "Damn, curse you and your dedication to the school paper."

Nancy shook her head at you, and looked around before her eyes fell upon Steve as he tried to make it look like he wasn't eavesdropping by poking around at the videos on the shelf closest to him. She raised both brows, before looking away in thought.

"Steve can take you?" He overheard her say. He paused, but decided not to look over and only listen for your response.

"No thanks, I can find something in my closet," he heard you respond groggily. After that, Steve heard Nancy say something, but he couldn't hear exactly, so he glanced over as discreetly as he could and saw her leaning toward you and saying something only loud enough for you to hear.

Your face contorted into irritation as you replied to her, and Nancy had scoffed, and turned to look at Steve again with a raised brow. Clearly you had told her about his stupid words yesterday. He cleared his throat, and forced a grin on his lips as some kind of greeting to her and she narrowed her eyes at him before returning to look at you.

Deciding that he didn't want to stand around anymore, he approached you and Nancy and said, "I was eavesdropping, but yeah if you need a ride to the mall, I can take you. We're off at the same time anyway."

You met his gaze and replied, "No, I'm fine."

He hated how his heart dropped at your dismissive tone, and said, "Look, I'm sorry about yesterday okay? Timmy T. doesn't suck, and he isn't a clown, he just..." he quickly thought up an excuse, "One time during a game he missed a pass and cost us a win, and I'm still a little...irritated because like I said he wasn't a good player and his dad got him on the damn team-"

Nancy elbowed him, acting like how Robin might and he coughed and crossed both arms, "Just I'm sorry, okay, he is a nice guy regardless of how he played."

You rested your gaze on Steve, visibly contemplating if he was being genuine and Steve was, slightly. He was sorry, but Timmy T. still sucked, but you didn't need to know that.

When you didn't speak, Steve decided to say, "Also...I do know him, and I think I would be better help or something- you can trust me, I was just being uh- stupid yesterday."

You stared at him for a moment longer, before looking at Nancy and Steve watched as a near telepathic communication passed between the both of you. He awkwardly stood there for a good minute or so before you sighed deeply.

"Fine, okay, yeah you can take me," you said, and Steve snapped his fingers and grinned.

"Great, we'll leave for Starcourt right after our shift ends," he told you, and you nodded.

"Sounds like a plan."

It was only 2 hours later you and Steve were walking into the semi-full Starcourt Mall together side-by-side and making a beeline for the clothing store where you had told him (well actually Nancy) potential outfits for your date were.

Steve had been forced to take your hand though as he didn't want to get separated from you in the crowd that was only getting bigger. The feeling of your hand in his caused heat to rise to his cheeks, and he hoped you didn't notice the scarlet color of his cheeks.

"Steve, I'm not a kid, you don't have to hold my hand," you had joked from behind him, but didn't move to let go. He laughed nervously, making sure to keep his eyes forward as you entered the clothing together.

"I know, sorry," he apologized sheepishly before finally letting go of your hand, "So uh- where is this outfit?"

You took his hand again, much to his surprise, and led him with you to the other side of the store as you corrected him and said, "Outfits, Steve, outfits."

There was a lot of clothes you were grabbing, different tops, skirts, shorts, jeans, and a few dresses too that Steve had wondered for a moment if you were actually just searching for a new wardrobe. He realized when you were asking for a changing room when he remembered that you had asked Nancy specifically to help you pick an outfit.

A job that was his now.

He stood outside the fitting room door, which was just a wooden bi-folding door that had the various clothes you had elected to take with you hanging over the top.

The worker there was standing nearby, always making sure to glance over at Steve because she's probably had to deal with couples trying to sneak in there all the time.

Steve wanted to say nope just helping the girl I just so happen to think about romantically from time to time find an outfit for a date that isn't with me, but that would be sad, and even though he liked to say his reputation wasn't important to him...admitting something like that would definitely put a dent in it.

"Okay, so this was the original one I wanted to wear," you were saying as you were moving the door open, "And it's cute right-"

Steve turned to look at you then, and his breath was caught in his throat at the sight of you. You were wearing a blush pink top that hung over both of your shoulders and a pair of denim shorts. It was a simple outfit, nothing risky, nothing out of the ordinary of what girls wore today, but Steve's heart nearly hopped out of his chest when he saw you, especially when you turned from him to look at the mirror that was on the right of him and your left.

God, he was never so jealous of Timmy T in his life until right now.

"...so I'm not sure..."

His eyes moved from your outfit finally, and he stupidly asked you what you had just said. Scoffing you rested your hands onto your waist and turned away from the mirror to face him.

"I was saying that I think it's too...casual now, because he called last night and said he's taking me to dinner before the movie, so I was thinking more a dress...I don't know...what do you think?"

His eyes fell back down to the outfit, and he was lost once again...very visibly.

Because of this, you grew nervous again, not understanding why he was so quiet. Did he hate it? Did he think it was too casual? Was he thinking about what his ex-teammate might think? Was it good ? Why wasn't he saying anything?

"Earth to Steve? Hello?”

His eyes snapped up to yours, and he said, "Well uh- we won't know until we see the dress...but this is really pretty on you...like really pretty. Yeah, you should probably actually get this anyway because...yeah. Look at you."

You grew warm at his compliment, especially at the fact that he had said the word pretty twice. And the way his eyes kept looking at you, and drinking you in, had also caused a wave of confidence to join that warmth as you turned back to the mirror to admire yourself.

"I actually might," you said, moving side to side while Steve tried to retain his beating heart and wandering eyes, "Okay, I'll try the dress on."

You were back into the fitting room, leaving Steve back to his own devices and he cursed under his breath because to him he had thought he was being a complete weirdo when he was simply awestruck with you.

Friend, Steve kept having to remind himself, he was your friend and friend's don't oggle each other in fitting rooms.

"So uh..." your voice caught Steve off guard, and he looked at the closed door, "What does he like in a girl?"

"What?" Steve called.

"Timothy...or Timmy T whatever you call him."

Steve raised a brow, "Does it matter?"

You scoffed from within the fitting room while stepping into the dress, "You said you wanted to help me Steve because you, in your words, know him...so you know...what does he like...look for in a girlfriend?"

Because you couldn't see Steve, he let himself frown deeply at your question because of the clear implications behind it, "You...you want to be his girlfriend? I thought it was just a date..."

"No! I mean, yeah it's just a date, but I don't know...would be nice to be with someone," you called back. Oh, how Steve was really starting to hate the empty feeling that was washing over him and how his first thought was it would be nice to be with him and not Timothy Taylor.

"Look," he started, a little defeated and slightly heartbroken but hopefully it wasn't too obvious, at least in his voice "I'm saying this as a good...friend- it shouldn't matter what he looks for...you just...you know be yourself."

You didn't reply to that for a few seconds, and Steve was afraid he had said the wrong thing and you'd do a reenactment of the end of yesterday's shift and today's. Then, you laughed, and he tilted his head and asked if you were okay in there.

"Yeah, I just...I thought I could reach the zipper on the back of this dress," you said. He leaned back onto the wall and crossed both arms.

"Oh," he said, having to stop himself from asking if you needed help or something because then he'd feel like he would be crossing a line with you.

It was surprising then when you opened the door, holding the top of the burgundy colored sundress to your chest with one arm and asked him if he could come in and help. Steve's eyes widened, and he subconsciously turned to look at the worker who was suddenly, and conveniently busy with a customer.

"Uh...yeah- if you're comfortable that is," Steve told you, and you nodded.

"Well, there's no one else here so...and I do trust you not to be weird or something," you said, adding a nervous chuckle after that. Steve's lips turned to a small smile, and he nodded before squeezing into the small fitting room with you, sliding the door closed behind him.

There was a mirror on the wall to the left, and you turned so that you were facing it, and Steve took his place behind you, his eyes trailing down to the zipper you were talking about. It ended at just above your lower back and he tried not to stare too much at your bare skin, or think about how warm you were.

“I don’t know about this one,” you admitted to him, “I’d need help and my family’s out of town tomorrow.”

Steve cleared his throat gently, finally moving his hands so that he could finish zipping it up for you, and he said, “Well…I would obviously help you again if you decide to get it.”

You looked at him in the mirror, catching his eyes as he looked up momentarily. He casted you a smile before his eyes moved back down, and you felt him grasping the zipper, and slowly lifted it upward.

You observed Steve for a moment, taking in how focused and careful he appeared to be in just zipping the dress up, as if he didn’t want to touch you by accident or something.

To be fair, there was something inherently intimate about this fitting room, with the way the lights were dim and how close two people had to be if they were in one together. And it was pretty close, your own face was inches away from your reflection and you could feel the heat radiating off of Steve from behind you, making you feel slightly anxious and even more warm from his presence.

You had flinched suddenly when Steve’s fingers eventually brushed against the skin of your back, but what you didn’t expect were the sent pleasant chills up and down your spine and even on your scalp. Steve reacted to your flinch with a soft, breathless chuckle, and the heat of it had hit the back of your neck, causing those chills to make a quick and gradual return and you sucked in a shaky breath.

“Sorry, it got caught on the fabric,” he told you, his voice slightly husky from having to talk so low. You simply nodded in agreement, and you leaned a little forward as he lowered the zipper and carefully brought it over the stitch, gently grasping a bit of dress underneath it.

“So…be myself?” you asked him quietly, wanting to focus on something else and not his hands just barely touching you, “Any other great advice?” You meant it as a joke, and Steve definitely took it as one as he finished zipping the dress up then grabbed the two waist ties to finish it off and laughed.

“I mean, it’s what got me a lot of dates after my dating drought,” Steve told you as he finished the knot and looked up at you in the mirror only for his eyes to catch one of the ruffled straps of the dress you chose falling over your shoulder. Without thinking, he was reaching up to fix it.

You sucked in a deep breath when you felt him fix the strap for you, wondering for a second how you didn’t even notice to fix it yourself. And damn…were his hands always that soft and smooth…did it feel like that when he was holding your hand earlier in the mall or when you took his and dragged him all over the store?

A sense of guilt came over you then, wondering why you were standing here thinking about how good Steve Harrington’s hand felt on you when he was just being a good friend. He was simply trying to make up for his weird behavior yesterday and here you were melting at every single touch or obligatory compliment he threw your way.

You shook him off of you, and he dropped his hand to the side, feeling equally as guilty as you, but once again, when he looked at you in the mirror and saw the dress for what it was, his head went completely empty.

The sundress was long, and burgundy with a white floral design that complimented you well, but it was the front of the dress that had Steve awestruck. It was a laced up top, tied delicate down the middle of the front, and the bodice was lined with a lace fabric.

“Holy shit,” Steve said from behind you, making you look at him in the mirror once more.

“Is…is that a good holy shit or a bad one?” you asked him nervously, and Steve’s eyes met yours once more.

“Yeah,” he replied, making you furrow your eyebrows at him because which was it, but when you really saw the look in his brown eyes, you knew it was good. And it was this moment you realized that nobody’s ever looked at you the way Steve was right now, so wide-eyed and visibly struck with you.

“Steve?”

He blinked quickly, and you watched his face turn a slight pink and he said, “I’m being weird, sorry, you just look…wow.”

“No, it’s not that, I just…thank you,” you finally said, “For uh- apologizing for yesterday, and helping me today. I’m really glad to call you my friend.”

Steve’s eyes had fallen along with his heart, the word friend coming from your lips directly to him serving as a cruel, but well needed, reminder that yet again that’s all you both were. He moved away from you until his back was hitting the wall opposite of you, and he said, “Yeah! Anytime really- so you’re getting this dress…or the other outfit…or…both?”

Your eyes shifted to the folded clothes on the small table in the fitting room and you nodded, “Yeah…I think I’ll take both.”

Steve was fast, picking up the blouse and shorts for you like his life depended on it or something.

“Great! Well, I’ll just wait for you out there and-”

“Well, I need help unzipping the dress,” you started to say until there was hard knocking on the door and the sound of the same employee who kept watching Steve telling him to get out of there with you. Your cheeks grew hot with embarrassment, and so did Steve’s.

“I was- god this looks bad-”

You covered your mouth, your embarrassment turning to amusement before you slid the door open and told her that he was simply helping you zip up and tie the back of the dress. The woman eyed you both suspiciously, before claiming that she would help you while shooting a warning glare at Steve.

“Hey, we’re just friends, alright?” Steve told the woman defensively, “And even if we weren’t- I would never try to hook up with her in there…for one it’s not romantic and two…there’s literally no space.”

“Oh my god, Steve,” you said, placing your palm over your forehead as the embarrassment returned and you asked the woman to please help you.

Steve left the fitting room then, still holding the blouse and denim shorts in his left arm while the other went to push back his hair, shooting a quick look in the mirror. The guy he saw wasn’t the guy he typically saw in the mirror, the suave guy who goes on dates with multiple girls because they’re really into him, no…instead there was a guy who was absolutely smitten with the girl he has called his friend for over a year now who was going on a date with Timmy T tomorrow night.

“Get it together man, for your sake and for hers,” he threatened himself quietly in the mirror, even pointing at his reflection for good measure. When it seemed he got the picture, he settled back against the wall and dropped his head with a deep sigh, “I’m not going to get it together…”

#get more creative with titles challenge @ me #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x you #steve harrington #stranger things #stranger things imagine #reader insert #female reader #imagines #lys writes again

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rainbowstargazerlilies · 4 months

Text

Mechs Ships Tournament: Shipping Round 4 Poll 1

Propaganda:

Polymechs:

They're inseparable they hate each other they would die for each other they actively enjoy killing each other ect ect ect

Look they're immortal and stuck in a spaceship you don't think they've hit all possible combinations over the years and settled into a weird comfortable vibe you can only get if youve murdered, been murdered, and had sex with every one (maybe minus nastya) of your friends?

immortal space pirats.... cuddle piles, romantic... not romanticm... poly mechs <3

(Points to every album) there thats my propaganda. But in all seriousness they are a group of immortals with nothing to do but sing and love each other in their own fucked up ways <3

Chaotic little guys on a ship for a long time, the relationship web they got going on could rival the coven web

you cant tell me you would live with people for millions of years without it getting even a little gay.

Polygamy

when you spend millennia doing music and violence and shenanigans with the same 8 other people on a ship (and when the ship is technically another person), there's bound to be some group canoodling

i care them

they're everything to each other!!!

i refuse to pick

it’s polymechs!! what isn’t to love

Look at them.

how could you pick individual ships when they are so good together!! with the exception of nastya + jonny cos they are siblings your honour.

a lot of people have polymechs with her and aurora being monogamous but she canonically has queer orgies. on mechs tumblr account she describes herself as "The only one seemingly capable of a committed, responsible and fair relationship" so polymechs with all of relationships besides nastyaurora being on and off and everchanging is both the best polymechs and the most canon compliant polymechs to me

The idea that they're crewmates. You ask one of them what their relationship is with another and they say, "That's my crewmate". And then, maybe one of them meets someone on another ship, and they mention they don't have strong feelings about someone because, "they're only my crewmate" And they just cannot comprehend the idea of being crewmates with someone and not having strong feelings about them. They're immortal and half of them hate life, but even if that wasn't true, they'd die for any of the others a million times over. They've murdered billions of people on a whim, but even if that wasn't true, they'd murder anyone if it made one of their crewmate's lives a bit better. Remember how Tim blew up a moon for Bertie? He had only known Bertie for about 10 years. What would he do for people he had known for about 10 millennia? What would Ashes do for the people who would never betray them? What would Nastya do for the people who would always spend time with her and never die? What would Brian do for the people who would always forgive him for following his beliefs? What would Raphaella do for the people who are always willing to help her with her experiments? What would Ivy do for the people who'd always stay and tell their stories? What would the Toy Soldier do for the people who only ordered it to do what it wants to do and always lets it be involved? What would Jonny do for the people he could never permanently hurt? What would Marius do for his family? They all love each other more than anything, even if they don't have the words for it. (via @mchasmfiend)

Loki/Sigyn:

https://youtu.be/TdKCUmOa5Jw?si=Y3owraM96zp4kdrs and https://youtu.be/nxVjWJJmt9Q?si=76dQ6LBg00eldlUY

anti ship lesbians/sappics

Transgender lesbian anarchists.

spsaphics

Round-up for the round here :)

#Mechs ships tournament #the mechs #the mechanisms #shipping round 4 #tournament poll #spumblr #loki tbi #sigyn tbi

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propertyofkylar · 6 months

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I really love what you write about Whitney 😍😍 I’m not sane about him at all, especially after everything Vrel unloaded… good dad Whitney, Whitney loft event, Whitney and his plushies. I LOVE HIM SO MYCH😞😞(sorry.) he’s so real tho. Would you write anything soft about him spending time with his family? Like him, PC, and his son in their new home after skipping town. I think he would be a boy dad tbh. Sorry for my long ask 👴🏻👴🏻

eeeee anon thank u that's so nice! and no need to apologize. this is a whitney lover safe space.

i LOVE this prompt....gonna go crazy with it.

cw: not much, just mentions of previous dol canon-compliant abuse

Whitney quietly closed the door behind him, instinct telling him that someone inside was fast asleep.

He was right. The first thing he saw walking into the tiny flat was you and your son, curled up on the couch, fast asleep. The sight brought a smile to Whitney's face.

It was still such a novel concept to him. Never in a million years did he expect to have his own small family, much less enjoy it. But here he was.

It hadn't been planned, Whitney thought as he took a spot next to you on the couch. But when you told him you were pregnant and he was the father, he knew he had to make a change.

The two of you had worked hard. You took the money you had and ran. Now, you were here. Far away from that godawful town and all the horrors that resided in it.

Whitney worked in the day and took classes in the night. His free time was spent with your child. You worked odd jobs like babysitting and cleaning homes - jobs you could do with the baby - and took online courses. Life was busy and exhausting. You didn't have much, but Whitney was working towards a better future. For his family.

You stirred next to him on the couch, letting out a yawn with your eyes closed. "Thought I heard you come home."

"Morning, slut," Whitney teased. The afternoon sun was starting to set.

You weakly smacked him on the arm. "Told you not to call me that in front of the baby."

Whitney rolled his eyes. "He's asleep. He won't know."

You opened your eyes finally, just to roll them at Whitney. You handed the slumbering child over to him. "Your son has been a needy shit all day. Just like his dad."

Whitney chose not to point out the hypocrisy of your language, opting to be nice. He wrapped his free arm around your shoulders, admiring the tiny family he had.

"Got a nice tip today," he announced. "What do you say I treat my slut to a nice dinner?"

You sat up, raising an eyebrow at him. "A nice dinner?"

"Fish and chips is nice!" Whitney protested. "Whatever. Can't you just be grateful?"

"Mm, no," you said with a smile. "But I'll take the dinner anyway."

Whitney leaned back and sighed, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "I thought after all this time, you would stop being so annoying. Guess I was wrong."

Your grin grew wider. "Yeah, but you're stuck with me now."

"Guess I am," Whitney said with a smile back. Only, he didn't feel stuck.

In fact, he felt freer than he ever had.

#degrees of lewdity #dol #whitney the bully #dol whitney #ooc whitney probably #but oh well #writing #im a simp for him #ignore the fact that canonically bailey would come hunting you #and so would kylar #but we dont deal with canon here. what i say goes!!

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lokislytherin · 1 year

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devil by the window

pairing: current canon idol!dg x gender neutral journalist!reader

summary: you’re just going to interview dg - your bias, your celebrity crush - on behalf of dispatch. what could go wrong?

chapters: one / two

a/n: dg being sus, as y’all are interested 👀👀 this fic does not have any sussy content as in dg will not be taking his pants off. tits may or may not be bared but his pants and yours will be staying firmly on! title from ‘devil by the window’ by tomorrow x together (txt)! enjoy~

warning: canon compliant violence. also reader is kind of horny but that’s the majority of tumblr dg stans so y’all should be thanking me really

there's no way around it: dg is your ultimate bias.

you've been enchanted by him since the moment he debuted - visuals, vocals, dancing, rapping, he's the epitome of talent. he's young and charismatic too, charming half the women in seoul the second he steps foot on stage for the first time. according to the news, he's only a month older than you. he'll change the idol industry, you told your boss back at the time, eyes bright. he'll change the world.

your boss looked back at you, a lowly intern fresh out of high school with nothing to your name, not even a bachelor's degree, only raw enthusiasm for hunting down the truth. okay.

it's very obvious he didn't believe you. you were a nobody, after all.

now, you're twenty-one and studying media and communications at seoul national university, the most prestigious university in south korea. you've got more experience and reference letters to boot. you're interning for dispatch, the most (in)famous entertainment news company in korea. they say they're willing to take you in as an official journalist the second you graduate.

even if dispatch is pretty shitty to idols, your old boss can suck it. you’re working for dispatch now.

it's been four years since dg debuted, and you're still his biggest fan. if dg has a million fans, you're one of them. if dg has ten fans, you're one of them. if dg has one fan, it's you. if dg has no fans, you're probably dead.

which is why you're currently panicking, bouncing off the walls with hysteria at four in the morning. all your colleagues know you as the local dg hard stan, so as the one with the most knowledge about dg you've been scheduled to shadow a sunbae from the journalism department to interview the one and only dg for a cover article in twelve hours.

dg doesn't know who you are, but you've been to every single one of his concerts and fan meets, bought every single one of his albums and made a shrine to him out of photocards. you know him - or at least the version he shows the public - as well as you know your own skin.

you've got yourself a nice outfit: a white blouse with flowy sleeves, a black corset to accentuate your figure, black pants that are just long enough to show off your nice legs. it's better than you've dressed for any date, which would probably explain why you've never had a romantic relationship before. you've always put dg and your studies before everything else, after all.

you’re not sure how long you sleep for, but you shoot out of bed immediately after your alarm starts screaming, and the rest of the morning passes in a similar haze. you don’t even remember getting to the interview spot, but when you do, you’re a whole fifteen minutes early. at least your make-up is looking fabulous.

“excuse me,” says a familiar voice, “are you from dispatch?”

your heart skips a beat. you turn around, and-

“oh,” you breathe, feeling a little weak in the knees.

dg is tall.

he’s taller than he looks on television, and even though he has only the slightest of makeup on his face, the ceo of ptj entertainment is as beautiful as any renaissance painting. he looks almost unreal.

he smiles down at you, warm and friendly. he feels like someone you can trust. “i’ll take that as a yes, then.”

all you can do is nod, because you don’t trust yourself enough to speak.

“would you like to head in first?” dg gestures towards one of the rooms - there are two security guards outside, both of them shooting you dirty looks. you catch dg shooting them an even dirtier look, and they look away, like wounded dogs with their tails between their legs. “you’re the newbie, aren’t you? we can have a little chat before your colleague arrives.”

that sounds a little like a threat, now. but at the same time, dg could make you do anything he wanted and you’d probably thank him for it. “i- i-”

“be not afraid,” he says, still smiling at you, almost inhumanly beautiful. it’s almost like he knows how you joke about him being angel incarnate. well, you’re not scared of him, you’re scared of you. “i don’t bite.” he leans down, and you go cross-eyed at the proximity. “unless you want me to.”

“i- i-”

“i’m kidding, i’m kidding.” he guides you into the room, relaxing onto the couch opposite yours. you’re a rabbit who strolled into the den of a lion, timidly perched on the edge of the loveseat. dg has no shame in reclining across the back of the couch, legs splayed out so he takes up most of the sofa even though he’s only one man. you try your best not to look at the space between his toned thighs, because even if you want to know whether dg really does have the biggest cock out of all the idols, now is not the time to find out.

only then do you realize you haven’t introduced yourself. you jump up and bow, ninety-degrees. “my name is y/n! it’s a pleasure to meet you, sir, i’m a really big fan!”

that doesn’t even begin to cover how big of a fan you are, but he doesn’t have to know that.

he gestures towards your bag, and you finally notice the limited edition that’s been hanging there the whole time. you had to fight people for that. “i could tell.”

ahhhh, that’s so embarrassing! and unprofessional!

“it’s cute. you can call me dagyeom, by the way. that’s my name, after all. no need for dg-ssi. we’re around the same age anyway. as for sir...” he smirks. “you can save that for elsewhere.”

“elsewhere? like... where?”

he spreads his legs wider, like he’s making space for something. he raises an eyebrow almost invitingly. “where do you think?”

is he... flirting? with you? oh god, he’s flirting with you.

nothing in all of your years as a journalist or a dg fan has ever prepared you for this. you’ve never heard anything about him flirting. he’s insanely good at hiding from the press and the cameras. you’ve never been assigned to professionally stalk him before (you’re much better with a frontal approach), but some of your colleagues have, and all of them were caught in the act. he barely even does aegyo for the fanservice.

you give yourself a mental smack in the head. this is the interview of a lifetime! you are face to face with the person you’ve admired for years! you cannot let yourself be horny on main!

he laughs, amusement dancing on his lips as he watches countless emotions flicker across your face in the span of a few seconds. “cute.”

ehhhhhh?

just as that moment, your sunbae barges in. he’s huffing and puffing, clearly having run here, but he’s on time. nobody had told you which sunbae you would be shadowing, but you had been desperately hoping it wasn’t him. you’ve shown nothing but respect for him, as you should, but let’s not even talk about inches, not once has he ever shown you even a centimeter of respect. so he’s late, huh? it feels mean, but you hope he made a bad impression in front of dg. “dagyeom-ssi-”

dagyeom smiles, frigid and unamused, a stark contrast from the way he’d smiled at you. even his spread legs feels less like a calling and more like a threat, although it’s dominant and overbearing either way. “call me dg.”

your sunbae swallows and nods. “dg-ssi, we can begin the interview now.”

wow. dagyeom is really, really biased.

it looks like there’s still a lot you don’t know about him, but your heart flutters in your chest at the feeling of being able to know more.

you’re pretty experienced with interviews - you know the journalist should lead the conversation, and always ask for elaborations from the interviewee. but this time, dagyeom is the one in the lead, constantly offering you chances to speak and ask questions while blatantly ignoring your sunbae.

both of you journalists are helpless under the full force of his charisma as he drives the conversation, one hand on the wheel, the other resting on your shoulder. if this interview was a car, your sunbae would’ve been stuffed in the trunk, or tied up with a rope and dragged along behind the car. but when you ask about his past and why he became an idol, he becomes tight-lipped.

there’s probably a reason why he never talks about his past, after all. you were just trying to see if you could get a scoop out of things, or be the first to find out.

“i just thought it was neat,” he says with a shrug. “singing and dancing and making money off that.”

you ask him about his thoughts on aegyo next, and giggle when he makes a face. dagyeom has always hated acting cute for the cameras, but you think he’s cuter when he’s pouting like that and complaining about fan-service.

(you are a much bigger fan for the more… physical kind of fan-service, so to speak. but you would die of shame before admitting to his face that you got all hot and bothered when he ripped his shirt off for a show in the middle of a rap. and that time when he modelled for calvin klein, with the waistband of his boxers peeking out under his tight jeans. and the rich boy concept photos with him in the pool, smirking lavisciously. those toned pecs… the lick-able abs… hhhhnnnnnggggg~

enough, enough! you’ll die of shame right now if you don’t stop thinking about that. luckily, you’re good at multitasking, and you’re fully capable of taking notes dutifully while imagining dagyeom bending you over the table.)

the interview comes to an end all too soon, with all your questions answered except the ones about his past, or his worst fears. he’s been rather vague about some of them, but as an idol and ceo of an entertainment company, dagyeom likes to keep whatever privacy he can, and as a respectful journalist you won’t pry too deeply. even if you did, you’d find out in your own time and never tell him.

just before your sunbae drags you off, dagyeom holds you back, grabbing your hand and pulling you towards him. you gasp as he catches you gracefully when you stumble, steady hands on your waist. his hands are big enough to wrap around you entirely, and the realisation makes your cheeks heat. “i’ll keep in touch. i’ve seen your other works. you’re too good for the likes of dispatch.”

“my other…?!”

you can feel his minty breath fanning across your cheeks when he speaks. “see you soon, jagiya. don’t let me down.”

you’re not sure how you don’t faint on the spot, or collapse completely when an email from ptj entertainment pops up in your inbox half a day later, formally requesting you to join the company as part of the media and communications department.

you email them your cv, resume, all your reference letters. i’m still doing my bachelor’s degree in journalism at snu.

this time, kang dagyeom emails you back personally. that’s perfectly fine with me. you can start as soon as next week.

you terminate your internship contract at dispatch at the end of the week. good riddance to the sunbae who had disrespected you. you’ve got the job of your dreams.

#dg #diego kang #kang dagyeom #lee jihoon #james lee #lookism #lookism fic #dg x reader #lookism x reader #me before: ok after i finish sonny x reader i'll never write x reader again. fuckin cringe #me doing this bc i could not resist the idea of dg [redacted for spoilers read to find out]: oh. damn #and then i saw someone say jagiya instead of jeogiyo n i was like oh! byelingual dumbhead gun moment!#and now i have not one but 2 lookism x reader fics #how?? where?? nani tf???#i swear to god i come up with x reader fic ideas every now and then and i Hate it #mainly bc i find reading x reader awkward #bc hello... yn is another character... they aint me...#but writing yn tho. developing yn as their own character even tho that is most definitely not the purpose of x reader fics.#i like that #i tried reading dg x reader fics to see how u guys write dg in general but literally everything was smut #please i am jus a fluff/crack/crime writer

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astronomoney · 9 days

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bookends, bestfriends, deadends

Pairing + WC: Jason Grace x reader, 1.6k Warnings: slow burn, once again and as always with my love Jason this is NOT canon-compliant, Jason may be a tiny bit ooc but I tired Summary: In the months between saving Hera and setting sail for New Rome, Jason finds himself making a friend Authors note: ok, y’all, here’s the deal; I took a nap and woke up with an idea, so I started writing; then I realized I needed set up, so I wrote this. Now I have a full fic that doesn’t include my original idea, so I will have to make pt: 2, but at least it’s already almost all the way written

Camp was far too busy this year; even for the off-season, it felt like there were campers everywhere. With all the bustle, it was hard to find a moment of peace. That’s why you’d taken to the woods that day. Following the path you’d walked a million times to a little outcrop of ruins not far from the beach, deep enough to not be disturbed. You’d taken a thick blanket and draped it over a vaguely couch-shaped block of stone ages ago to use as a reading nook. It was calm and peaceful and empty, usually.

This time, when you got close enough to see your little piece of peace, there was already someone there. A blonde boy with a scar on his lip sitting on your faux couch and squinting at the book in his hand. Jason Grace. Of course, you knew who he was, everyone knew of him and Piper and Leo, all working to get ready for the next great prophecy.

Sneaking up on a former Roman soldier didn’t seem like the best plan, so you’d spoken out. “Guess this place isn’t so secret after all,” geez, what an opener.

Jason looked up with a start and got to his feet before you could say anything else. “Hi, hey, sorry, is this your spot? I wasn’t sure who’s it was, so I stayed to read some. I can go.”

“Oh no, please, you don’t have to,” you were quick to put up your hands and stop him from leaving. You two hadn’t necessarily talked before, but he had always seemed nice at meals and campfires, if not a little awkward. “You were here first. I can leave if you want to be alone.”

Jason paused, it seemed he was actually taking you in now, noticing the book in your hand, Don Quixote as opposed to the copy of War and Peace he held. “I don’t mind company,” he offered you a small nervous smile, it was so pure you had to just stare at it for a second before responding.

“Neither would I,” you finally said, returning the smile. You walked over and sat down tucking your legs under you and leaving plenty of room for Jason to sit on the other side.

He joined and read next to you for what felt like both hours and minutes. Two days later, you had beaten him there, so when he arrived, you smiled and scooted to the left, giving him room again on your right. Over the next month, you crossed paths at the ruins what must have been a dozen times. There was never much conversation; it was more of a silent agreement to enjoy each other’s company, and each day, the distance between your shoulders seemed to get ever so slightly smaller.

After a while, you got comfortable being directly next to him. Your shoulders would brush each time Jason moved to turn the page, and you couldn't help but notice how warm and strong he was. Silent meetings became small discussions about your current read, which turned into talks about other books you’d recommend to each other, which eventually morphed into a solid friendship. You would invite him to eat with your cabin since he had no one else at his. He would update you on the progress of the ship and the quest, you even got to know the other campers involved.

Over the next few months, your lives became completely intertwined. You spent most of your day with each other. You watched him train for the quest, pushing his limits in sparring sessions until he was too exhausted to do much of anything. You would drag him out to your spot in the woods on days when he’d gotten so focused he had to be forced to take a break. You’d even tried to help him get some memories back. He would eat with you, read with you, help you with whatever chores you had around camp, anything to spend more time with together.

He was the first person you turned to when you had something to say. He was the only one who remembered which campfire songs were your favorites or which books you’d reread depending on your mood. You cared about him so deeply, and you weren’t even sure how you’d come to feel so much in so little time. You truly hadn’t realized how much you needed him around you until you thought about just how soon he’d be leaving.

Of course, he would go back to Camp Jupiter; you knew that. This was never meant to be permanent; you were sure he missed his old life, his old friends, his old home. But part of you, somewhere in the deepest, most selfish part of your heart, wanted him to stay. You wanted him to forget about Rome, and Jupiter, and the quest. You wanted him to stay here with the strawberry fields and the books and the beach and with you. You wanted him to forget his sense of duty to a place that never cared and stay with someone who would give their whole heart away just to see him be happy for a moment longer. It was a feeling that filled you with guilt every time it crossed your mind.

It had occupied your thoughts nearly the entire day when Jason came to your cabin that evening. He knocked on the door until one of your siblings answered, and they called you over, muttering something about stupid and lovesick and so annoying that you hadn’t totally caught.

You stepped onto the porch and closed the cabin door, leaving Jason and you alone in the dim light of the setting son. He was handsome as ever, a fact that you had resolved not to dwell on; plenty of people found their closest friends to be stunningly beautiful, it wasn’t a big deal.

In fact, it was totally normal for someone to notice exactly when their best friend had skipped their usual haircut and started letting the military style grow or how their eyes exploded with color when the sun hit them just right. And, of course, there was no deeper reason for why you would pick up on every scrape or bruise he’d gotten from training. You were just hyper-observant, never mind that it only applied to one person.

As you took him in, scanning for the weariness you so often saw and he so often dismissed, you noticed more than anything how nervous he was. “What’s up?”

“Hey, um, I just wanted to, well.” He took a deep breath and let his words spill out a mile a minute. He told you that the Argo II would be ready to fly any day now. He told you how they were going to find Percy and how the first place they were going to check was New Rome. He brought up his old life, a life he wanted to remember, a life he thought he would remember when he got back there. These were all things you’d know and that filled you with dread, but you let him talk without interrupting. His rambling soon turned to a topic you haven’t expected, it turned to you. He told you how important you were to him, how much you’d helped him adjust to life at camp, and how much he appreciated everything you’d done for him.

As he went on and on, you felt your heart begin to pound. The way he was talking lit a spark inside your gut, and the borderline desperation in his voice made you dare to hope. The emotion in his eyes made you think maybe, just maybe, he felt the same kind of connection that you felt with him. You could tell it was going somewhere important, somewhere that made him nervous and hopefully at the exact same time.

“I guess I just realized while we were planning in the bunker,” he began to close in on his point. “How important you are to me, and I can’t imagine what it’d be like without you. You can say no of course, it’s a lot to ask of anyone but,” he took another breath. “Do you want to come with me to New Rome?”

That wasn’t exactly what you were expecting. The funny feeling in your gut shifted and morphed, flashing through disappointment for a brief moment. As Jason waited for an answer, you had to process exactly what he’d asked. Going back to New Rome meant he was going back to his old life, a fact you were all too aware of, but now, maybe you didn’t have to lose him to it. He still wanted you by his side. He still wanted you to be a part of his life.

“Yes,” you finally replied. “Yes, of course, I’ll go,” you watch the relief wash over him, his nerves visibly dispersing as one of the widest smiles you’d ever seen etched itself across his face.

In the next moment, he wrapped his arms around you. It was a bone-crushing hug that squeezed the air from your lungs, and you wrapped your own arms around him as tightly as you could. “You have no idea how happy that makes me,” he whispered to you as you tried to stop your heart from exploding. This wasn’t how you wanted it, but at least for now, this would be enough.

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There's pt1 :) part two is almost done already because I wrote most of it before I even started all this, but what I can say, the keyboard got away from me. let me know if any of y'all want to be tagged in pt2 or in my general Jason taglist.

#jason grace x reader #percy jackson #writing fanfic #writing fanfiction #jason grace #jason grace x y/n #percy jackson x reader #pjo x reader #x reader #pjo x you #pjo hoo #hoo x reader #pjo hoo toa #heroes of olympus #heros of olympus x reader

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