#when I say 'this is all i could think about' i meant it
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ZERO-SUM GAME
It’s different with Aventurine. You like being his luxury hand watch. You like being his elegant knife, his liar’s dice, his pretty poker chip. You want to be his object—the object of his affections, something he can parade around just like his expensive suits and his beautiful jewellery and his ostentatious furs. Look at me, he uses them to say. Look at what I own. Look at what I own despite this code on my neck. Look at what I've won despite my eyes and my blood.
(Or: Aventurine wins you in a game of poker. He decides to cash out his prize right then and there—to enjoy you on the card table, laid out among all the chips and cards.)
8.6k words of psychological issues, explicit smut, and deranged characterization. aventurine tops, reader bottoms. public sex, voyeurism from strangers, piv, oral (reader receiving), fingering with gloves on, creampie. mild dubcon but the reader is ultimately into it. afab gn reader, they are playing a fem-coded role for an espionage assignment (dress, heels, makeup). themes of objectification. discussion of slavery and sa during slavery (not explicit). dead dove do not eat, mdni.
You are in the grandest casino of Kinyoshi Moon Colony, and Aventurine is running your latest husband into life-ruining debt.
You aren’t cut up about it. If your marriage (or concubinage, rather) were genuine, you'd maybe be annoyed about the loss of capital. But as it is, this relationship is an assignment from the IPC—one of the longest and most excruciatingly boring yet. Fortunately for you, Aventurine’s presence tonight means that you've finally gathered enough intel for Diamond’s needs. It is time for the IPC to terminate your latest contract, and Aventurine is here to collect you.
Which is a little funny, given your relationship. It is strange sitting across from your boyfriend, draped over another man and thoroughly ignoring him. You’re entirely focused on fawning over your husband instead—laughing into his ear, lighting his pipe and filling his whiskey glass, and oh, Mister Li, you're so funny, you're so clever, I think you should go all in!—but Aventurine doesn't react. He only smiles at the two of you, like he isn't bothered by the sight.
This is, of course, an act: when you came home from your last marriage (assignment), he'd made sure to pleasure you so thoroughly that you forgot all about your ex-husband (mark). Aventurine did not openly admit to any kind of jealousy at the time, but you could tell he hadn't been keen on letting another man touch you. He usually isn't too keen about anyone touching any of his things, in fact. Despite appearances, he always abhors the thought of losing anything important.
But any fears he might have are concealed right now. They’re always concealed. Hidden by the expensive suit, the countless stacks of chips, the golden walls and high-vaulted ceilings of the Venetian Zhijin, Masked by his generous gifts, his easy laughter, his careless frivolity. You can see right through his gilded smile. The rest of the table cannot.
They are all intrigued when Aventurine asks, a playful lilt in his voice, “How about we make this game a little more interesting, gentleman?”
The other players at the table consider him. The other plus-ones—concubines, courtesans, gigolos, and so on—look at him with calculated expressions of cursory interest. You do so as well, but only for a moment. Your gaze quickly returns to Mister Li’s face—your husband is meant to be your true focus, after all, not the game. You are not a player at this table, but an accessory. Closer to an expensive watch than a human being.
Some business magnate from the Triangulum Galaxy leans back and raises a brow. “I'm listening,” he says. You watch a bead of sweat travel down your husband’s neck.
“How about we up the ante,” Aventurine says, his voice light, “but instead of betting more money this time, we bet our dates?”
You think, in other star systems, other worlds, such a suggestion would invite riot. But Kinyoshi Colony being what it is, and the Venetian being the establishment that it is, the other players at the table only laugh. Nearly half of them deal in the trade of human beings anyway—this is nothing novel for them.
“Well,” one of them says, “it’s not like winning more money’s gonna make a difference to any of us.” A round of chuckling. He turns to his date—some noblewoman from Jarilo-IV who seems greatly out of her depth—and says, “What do you think, love? How do you feel about being part of my wager?”
She doesn't like it. She clearly doesn't like it, and she also clearly doesn't know how to say it. Were you not on the clock, you might intervene. Maybe. As it is, though, all you can do is observe quietly. All the power in this gambit lies with Aventurine. Even when surrounded by men who manipulate the wealth of entire cities, planets, galaxies—he remains in full control.
“There’s never any shame in folding,” he says, magnanimous. Then he looks your husband in the eye, smiling conspiratorially. “But I know there are some of us who aren't afraid to take risks.”
Li laughs. “You’re right about that, Mister Aventurine.” He gives you a fond smile. And of course he does—you’re his last shot at winning back all his losses for the night. “I think you'd make a pretty little chip, don't you?”
Although Mister Li is clearly less distressed at the thought of betting you than he was at the thought of betting his company just last round, you notice, out of the corner of your eye, a muscle in Aventurine’s neck twitching. It’s very, very subtle, and he'd have never let himself do it if the table’s attention were on him, but he did it. Perhaps it was involuntary. Your mouth curls.
“Sure, darling.” You try not to sound too giddy. “I’ll be whatever you like.”
Ordinarily, you wouldn't be so happy about this farce. This is, put plainly, a stupid way to extract you from your mission. Were the cards in anyone else’s hands, your husband could win and you might be stuck with him for another several weeks, at least—assuming that you aren't discovered and killed first. Or you could go home with another man and be subjected to the kind of things that men do when they trade human beings, and you don't think the IPC would care too much if you were. You are an asset before you are a person, after all. At this table, you are closer to an expensive watch than a human being—and at the Company, you are an overpriced knife.
But to Aventurine, you're a chip in one of his games, and you don't mind that so much. Men who only know wealth will throw around their riches thoughtlessly, but men who have endured poverty will hold onto them tightly—desperately. Aventurine takes care of his luxury watches, his elegant knives, his liar’s dice. His capital. And he never loses anything. He always comes to collect. You trust him to collect you, even with this stupid plan, so you are calm as you watch the dealer shuffle the cards.
The table makes their bets. Most of the players go all-in. A couple fold, perhaps feeling some degree of concern for their partners, but it's more likely that they just have shit hands. A lot of the ones who continue playing have shit hands anyway. Your husband doesn't do too badly—a straight flush. He seems confident.
Then Aventurine lays out his cards. Ten. Joker. Queen. King. Ace.
All hearts.
You have to take a sip of your whiskey to stop yourself from laughing.
Aventurine, himself, has the grace not to look too smug about the outcome. Or maybe it's very unremarkable for him, all these winnings being pushed over to him—poker chips and human beings. Some of the other dates are clearly anxious as they move toward him (they are expected to be loyal to their husbands), and some are clearly excited (they are expected to be frivolous, hedonistic playthings). He humours them all, for a little while. Puts on the usual show as they crowd around him, charms them because it'll be good for business partnerships in case any of their husbands care even a little bit about them. You'd do the same in his shoes. But in your current ones (six-inch heels, black leather, red bottoms, luxury), all you can do is seat yourself on the card table and light up a cigarette. Waiting.
Aventurine eventually sends them all off. All I wanted was to get to know you, he says cheerfully, which is probably not a lie. After they leave, he asks the dealer to close the table and go on break. Turn a blind eye. You raise a brow when they obey him.
How interesting.
You're still enjoying your cigarette by the time he turns to you. You flash him a smile, one of the ones that you use for work. His expression doesn't change, but his thumb brushes against one of his many rings—switching off your synesthesia beacons for some privacy—and he leans back to study you. You know he's admiring you, but it could be mistaken for a leer.
“Well, well,” he says, “If it isn’t the esteemed concubine of Li Fengzhi.”
“The esteemed fifth concubine,” you correct. He hums, looking surprised.
“I thought you were the fourth. Did I misremember?”
“No, just misinformed. He took another concubine right before I arrived on Kinyoshi. He acquired a sixth just last week. Turns out he picks up paramours like they’re strays.”
“How inconvenient.”
“It made no difference to me,” you dismiss. “I’m his favourite anyway, but I’m sure you knew that already.”
“I’d have had to be blind not to notice it. You have the man wrapped around your finger.” Aventurine leans back, studying you as you smoke on your perch. “But before we continue—why don’t you come a little closer, esteemed Fifth Concubine?”
You make a face. “That title doesn’t sound as nearly as flattering in Avgin dialect as it does in Zhijinese,” you note, though you get off the table anyway. You don’t go very far, electing to seat yourself on his lap, your arms draping around his shoulders. The feathers of his jacket tickle at your bare shoulders; the satin of his gloves glide down the skin of your thighs before settling on your calves. “Since you’ve won my company for the night, though,” you sigh, “I suppose I can humour you, Mister Aventurine.”
“Lucky me.” He leans in, his breath sweeping the shell of your ear. His fragrance surrounds you, your body warming at the familiar scent of ambergris and vanilla. You realize, all of a sudden, how much you missed it. You have to stop yourself from pressing your face into his neck and melting—it would be a dead giveaway for your identity and also too revealing of your feelings. Aventurine might be endeared by it, but he might also find it disconcerting. He often needs to be tricked into intimacy.
He does enjoy being wanted though, and he can obviously tell that you want him. He pulls you closer, one of his hands giving your thigh a generous squeeze. It makes you throw your head back in a laugh, exposing the soft skin of your throat. You aren't surprised when he takes the opportunity to kiss it, his lips gentle against your pulse.
“You’re being very forward,” you tease him. “Did you miss me?”
“I’m just trying to be careful,” he defends himself between kisses, his breath warm on your skin. “We should try to conceal our mouths as much as possible. No one can intercept our synesthesia beacons, but someone could still read our lips.”
You give him a funny look. “We’re the only two speakers of Avgin in the known universe. Who could, other than ourselves, could read our—mmph…”
Aventurine has caught the rest of your sentence with his mouth. He’s hungry and wanting for you, the heat of his lips overwhelming. Your tongue is as practised as his, but you find yourself too distracted by your thrill to focus, your kiss wet and eager. Messy. Unprofessional.
You’ve never kissed any of your husbands like this. You’ve never kissed any of your other owners like this. You feel dazed when he pulls away.
You compose yourself. “So you did miss me.”
He smiles. “Guilty as charged.” A gloved hand rests on your face, satin tracing your lips. “How could I not? You’ve been away from the house for so long.”
Your eyes narrow. There’s no idiom for this in Avgin, so you flip briefly to Interastral Standard: “Pot, kettle, black. You leave home all the time.” You smack away the hand at your waist, petty. He looks amused. “And you almost always die.”
He switches out his smile for a pout. “Don’t tell me you’re still mad about last time.”
“You nearly got yourself blasted with atomics, so yes, I’m still mad at you.”
Now he’s frowning. “Am I going back to sleeping on the couch when you come back?”
“Yes,” you say. His deepening frown is meant to be read as a joke, but you know better. Deciding to throw him a bone, you lean in, whispering playfully into his ear: “You can still fuck me on it though.”
Aventurine hums, as if considering. His hands traverse your sides as he contemplates your suggestion. You move to straddle him, your thighs squeezed around his hips. When you grind against him, you can feel how much he wants you despite his composure, his control—his length straining in his pants, pressed against the silk covering your core.
“I don’t think I can wait long enough to fuck you on the couch,” he says, voice teasing.
“No?” You hum as his hands travel upward, feeling every inch of you. “The ship on the way home, then?”
“We don’t leave until tomorrow. Do you really think I can wait that long?”
You don't expect to feel the warmth of his hands on your chest. Your breath hitches when he starts palming your tits through your dress, neon eyes admiring the curve of them. One of his thumbs skims over the peak of your breast, and his mouth curls when your nipple hardens. “No bra? That's convenient.”
“I—” You squirm in his grip, whining. It just makes you grind against his lap more, your cunt moving against his slacks. A wave of heat runs through your lower half, and you clench around nothing. You can see people from a nearby table glancing at you, doing double takes. You can feel their lingering gazes on you, and you know Aventurine can too.
“I—are you going to”—your voice shakes as he pinches your nipple, as his other hand moves to squeeze your ass instead. Your dress is short—designed for easy access—and his fingertips easily skim the underside of its skirt. You wonder if he’s going to pull it up. You wonder if he's going to go even further than that.
But that would be an absurd thing to do in the middle of the busiest casino in the colony, which also happens to be the busiest trade hub in its star system. It would be absurd even for the two of you. Nevermind the reactions of the other players in the room—the staff here would immediately blacklist you, and so would every other gambling house in Kinyoshi.
You try to calm yourself. “Are you—ah—going to take me upstairs?”
He's fully kneading your breasts now. You can feel your clit throbbing, your body responding to his rough and unrepentant touch. “Hm… I don't think I want to.” Aventurine’s voice drops. His smile takes on a distinctly wicked quality. “I think I'll take you right here.”
“But we’ll get kicked out,” you whine. Even as you protest though, you're panting and moving your hips now. Grabbing at his arms, rutting against him like you're in heat. His fingers hook around the thin straps of your dress, pull them down your shoulders, already starting to indulge despite your reservations. You bend into his touch.
“Kicked out? By who? The staff?” He smiles, as always. “I own the place now. I don't think they'll be giving me trouble.”
“Y—you what?” For a moment, you're too shocked to keep up the wanton show. “You do? Since when?”
“Since last night.” He thumbs one of the straps that's fallen halfway down your arms. The rest of your dress threatens to come down with it. “Technically it's the IPC who acquired it—or, well, their shell company did—but I'm their designated representative here. I signed the contract.”
“The IPC isn’t going to be upset that you're fucking a concubine, who's not even your concubine, on their new property?”
Aventurine shrugs. “They know the kind of establishment the Venetian is. People gamble with humans here all the time, you know, so this has definitely happened before. The IPC definitely expects it to happen again. And besides”—he returns his attention to your dress, starting to slip the fabric down your shoulders—“I'm just cashing out my winnings. I'm sure they wouldn't deny a gambler his vices. That'd be bad business.”
You want to say more, but then he tugs, suddenly exposing you. You’re bare in front of him—in front of everyone. You can feel eyes on you. Heat curls in your gut as he grabs your tits again, his satin gloves smooth across your skin, and your nipples pebble beneath them. “Hm… much better.”
“But…” You bite your lip, glancing around. There are so many people watching now—so many voyeurs, who've forgotten about their games and their slots. Though there are a greater number of people who are continuing as usual, studying their hands, smoking their cigarettes, unperturbed. All regulars and VIPs, you know from your intelligence.
Aventurine pauses as you catalogue the room, raising a brow. Probably he's surprised at your sudden modesty; you usually have none when his touch is involved.
“Of course,” he adds, “if you'd rather enjoy the suite upstairs…”
“No—I don’t mind staying down here… it's just that I’ve never…”
Your voice trails off. Your eyes traverse the space again. There are people who’ve fully thrown their cards down, greedily drinking in the sight of you instead. Even some of the dealers are watching between hands, glancing at you instead of watching for cheaters. Like this is public entertainment, like you're a show.
Aventurine tilts his head.
“You've never had sex with an audience?” he guesses. He sounds surprised—perplexed. You don't know why. You know he knows it's a stupid question. You know he knows the answer.
You had sex in front of people all the time before you met him. You did it for the exact reasons that he’s almost certainly done the same. To this table of business magnates, you are closer to an expensive watch than a human being; to the IPC, you are more like an overpriced knife; to this gambling hall, you're an interesting sideshow.
To your captors who fucked you in public, you guess you were something like a toy.
The thought sitting in your mouth is this: you've never had sex with an audience and enjoyed it. It was painful—not painful for the heart or the mind or anything else sentimental, but painful like it felt you were a fish being gutted open by a knife. And even beyond that physical pain, you simply didn't enjoy being passed around. You didn't like being owned by those people. You didn't like being an object for their entertainment, a spectacle to be consumed.
But it's different with Aventurine. You like being his luxury hand watch. You like being his elegant knife, his liar’s dice, his pretty poker chip. You like being his plaything, spread for his viewing whenever he wants. You want to be his object—the object of his affections, something he can parade around just like his expensive suits and his beautiful jewellery and his ostentatious furs. Look at me, he uses them to say. Look at what I own. Look at what I own despite this commodity code on my neck. Look at what I've won despite my eyes and my blood.
You want him to own you too. You want him to show everyone that he won you, that he bought you, that you're his possession now. That he, and he alone, is free to treat you like a toy.
You're getting wetter just thinking about it.
“Nevermind,” you whisper. “Let's do it.”
His smile widens ever so slightly. Slyer than usual.
“Good,” he says. He guides you into standing. “Let’s get you settled then.”
You're seated back on the card table. The cigarette is forgotten in the ashtray next to you. Aventurine takes the time to straighten out your dress, lifting the straps back up and affording you some modesty—before he gently lays you out.
You look up at him as you're spread in front of him, laid out next to his royal flush and winnings. Like you're another chip in his stacks, the most expensive one. He puts a hand beneath your leg, drapes it over his shoulder. He takes the opportunity to kiss your calf, his lips delicate.
You glance at the tables around you. You watch the business owners and politicians as they watch Aventurine. You watch them as they watch your boyfriend pepper kisses up your leg, unless he's settling in between them. Your thighs spread easily for him, and you don't resist as he hikes up your skirt.
Then he frowns.
“I’ve never seen these panties before.”
“They’re new,” you relay.
“From your husband?”
“Yup.”
“I see.”
You can't see his face, but he sounds distinctly displeased. You expect him to complain, to say they're not expensive enough or not designer enough or just plain ugly.
You don't expect him to tear them right off.
“Aventurine?!”
You're so surprised you sit up, just in time to see him throw tatters of silk to the floor.
“What?” He looks up at you, expression unbothered, almost mild. “It wasn't your colour.”
Your mouth opens. “But it was still very nice!”
“I'll buy you nicer ones later. I’ll buy you a whole drawer of nicer ones later, when we’re done here.”
He looks down again, humming. Your cheeks flush as he spreads your legs again, baring your glistening sex to him—this time completely bare. Satin glides along the inside of your thighs, and your breath hitches when he reaches their apex. You feel the light touch of a finger along your opening, and you feel your body responding, tightening around nothing.
“Tell me,” he says, “What else did your husband do with you?”
His voice is casual, almost disinterested, but you know Aventurine is listening carefully.
“Not much,” you answer truthfully. “I haven't cum in months, you know.”
“Oh?” He sounds surprised. “You don't have sex with him?”
“No. He's fucked me a lot. It”—you whimper, pausing when you feel his fingers spreading you open, fluttering hole and swollen clit exposed to him—“it just wasn't very good.”
“Then”—you feel a thumb press against your clit, and you swallow—“he never touched you here?”
“N-no.”
“Stupid of him.” He’s drawing slow, lazy circles into the bud now, making you squirm on the table. You press yourself eagerly toward his familiar touch, having desperately missed it for months. Aventurine, perhaps sensing your neediness, asks, “And you didn't touch yourself?”
“He didn't let me,” you whine, and now he's frowning at you.
“I knew I should have gotten you out of there sooner,” he says, and you have to bite back a laugh. Aventurine’s mouth curls at the sound, and he leans in to place a kiss on your thigh. “But that’s fine. I'll make it up to you now.”
Aventurine kisses are soft and precise. They pepper a path up your thigh while his fingers continue to play lazily with your clit. You want—need—to feel something inside you, but he doesn't oblige. His fingers merely run along your entrance, teasing your dripping pussy with luxury satin, and that's all they do, even as your hips buck needily toward him.
He pauses for just a moment. When you look at him, you see him staring at you—at the brand on your inner thigh, the commodity code that your captors left on you, branding you as a product to be used and sold.
His voice is almost soft when he asks, “And what did your husband say when he saw this?”
“He never did,” you reply. “He always fucked me from behind. And he never went down on me.” You pause, thinking about the way he spoke of his business. Of his trade partners. Of what your captors had done to your home when you told him about it, feigning intimacy only to be matched in cruelty. You think about the way he fucked you, how it felt to be gutted open on his expensive, silk sheets.
None of it matters to you, really. This is behaviour that you’ve long accepted, that your body always anticipates. But you always like to offer Aventurine intimacy, whether real or feigned, whether he returns it equally or responds with undeserved cruelty: “I think it wouldn't have bothered him if he had noticed it.”
You can't see Aventurine’s eyes, but you can feel his reaction when he places a chaste kiss on your product code.
“I should have gotten you out of there sooner,” he repeats. Then he pauses. “Maybe I shouldn't have let you go at all.”
“I didn't mind,” you say. You aren't lying. “You gave me up for a reason.”
He stands. Cups your face with a palm, luxuriant fabric and gold rings pressed against your skin. Sometimes he's given up the aventurine stone temporarily for assignments, parting with it in elaborate gambles that he always manages to win. The way he’s touching you now reminds you of the way he holds the gem whenever it returns to his hand.
“Well,” he says, “I’m sorry it took so long to get you back.”
Aventurine tilts your chin up for a kiss. You meet it eagerly, and it's so tender in its familiarity that every memory of your husband fades. There's only Aventurine, and his gentle mouth, and the way his hands slide your dress down again, how he palms your breasts again. How he teases one nipple with his expensive rings until you're moaning into his mouth. How his other hand travels down until his gloved hand is cupping your heat. You drag your hips against his touch, desperately seeking some kind of friction, your wetness drenching the cloth. Your cunt clenches around nothing, your body aching to be filled by him, aching in a way that it does for no one else.
It’s one of the most addictive feelings you've ever known.
Aventurine only stops touching you so he can push away all the chips, clearing space on the table. He ignores the cacophony as countless stacks fall over, not sparing the plastic coins a single glance. Like you're the only prize that matters to him, even though the sum of his winnings come out to more than you ever were worth.
He lays you out on the table again, flat on your back, exposed, before kissing a path down your body—your neck, your breasts, your stomach, between your thighs. He deigns to give your product code one more kiss, his lips so gentle that it makes you tremble—and then he finally puts his mouth on you. He licks a hot stripe from your dripping pussy up to the crest of your sex, and your eyes close in bliss.
If you felt any uncertainty before this, it's completely gone now. Your hands ghost over your tits, playing with them as Aventurine’s tongue plays with you. He sucks on your neglected clit, fingers squeezing your thighs, keeping you spread open and still for him. He presses in, lets you drag your cunt over his greedy mouth and grind your clit against his face. Heat and pressure coil tight in your belly as he pleasures you, your body flushing with the kind of bliss only Aventurine can give you. You’re so lost in it that you almost don’t notice how quiet the rest of the hall has gotten, the cacophony of chatter and slot machines oddly subdued—almost missing. In their absence, the obscene noises that Aventurine is drawing from your mouth and body are louder than they should be.
The pleasure in your belly is just starting to swell when he pulls away. You give him a pleading look as he leans over you, but before you can start begging for more, you feel his fingers press against your heat. He watches you with keen eyes as he starts rubbing your pussy, maybe enjoying the desperate noises you make at his touch. You buck your hips, moaning as your clit and entrance grind against the fabric of his gloves, seeking friction. You’re empty, aching, desperate to be filled, but you think you can finish like this, just by rutting against his satin fingers—
Aventurine withdraws his hand, and you whine.
“No,” you beg, “please, please keep going, I was getting close—”
He raises a brow, feigning surprise. “Keep going?” He brings up his hand, shows you his gloves. The satin is soaked, shiny and stained with your slick. “I don't think I should. Look at what a mess you’ve made of my gloves.” Aventurine hums, frowning. “These are designer, you know. And limited—there are only 95 pairs of these in the whole universe. And you're ruining them.”
“I'm sorry,” you say, mind so fogged with lust that you can't even return his teasing. “I'm sorry, I'll make it up to you, I'll do anything, just—just let me cum—”
“Anything?” His smile is sly.
“Anything.”
“Well. I suppose if you help me clean this up, I wouldn't mind rewarding you with more.”
You don't need to ask what he means by that. When he holds out his hand to you, runs a finger along your lips, you obediently open your mouth for him. Your tongue slides along the wet satin, only making his glove messier—but he seems not to mind. He merely watches intently as your tongue cleans his fingers, taking in the obscene image of you hungrily lapping your own slick off the expensive fabric.
He lets you ruin his glove thoroughly before finally drawing back, peeling it off.
“I'm not sure that did any good,” he says, frowning. “I’ll probably need to buy a new pair. But”—he pulls away, and you feel him settle between your legs again, his hands spreading them. “I'll still reward you for the effort.”
Aventurine is quick about getting his mouth back on you. His tongue is hot on your skin, expertly teasing your clit. You feel his fingers running along your entrance again, growing sticky with his need. He laughs when you press your hips toward his hand, desperate to be filled.
Then he's pressing his bare fingers into your heat, and your back is arching off the table.
The moan you let out is obscene. It only gets worse when his fingers curl, making the pressure in your belly even heavier. Utterly shameless, you beg for him as he fucks you with his fingers: Aventurine, please, please, I need more, please, I'm so close, I'm so close.
As if taking pity on you, his mouth finds your clit again, his fingers pressing into your sweet spot at the same time. And he doesn't let up, pushing into it even when you think you can't take anymore—tongue swirling against your overstimulated bud, fingers making you gush uncontrollably. You practically sob when you cum, a noise of desperation that echoes in the gambling hall.
His smile looks a little fonder than usual—or maybe just entertained—as he stands again and leans over you. You taste your own release in a messy, open-mouthed kiss, and he strokes your face when he pulls away.
“So good for me,” he praises. “Are you going to let me do more?”
You nod eagerly. “Whatever you like,” you say, all sense of shame gone from your body, “and however you want.”
Aventurine’s mouth curls. “Your husband fucked you from behind, right? Why don't you bend over for me, then? Let's show him how he should have been doing it.”
You see the diamond pupils of Aventurine’s eyes glance off to the side, where, sure enough, your husband is spectating with some of his business partners. You force yourself to turn away before you can smile, hiding your expression from the other men. You’re not meant to derive any real pleasure from any of this, let alone pleasure of the vindictive kind. Your relationship with Aventurine is supposedly nothing but a gambler and his newly won, human plaything. It would be suspicious if you appeared to be anything else.
You slink off the table in a distinctly performative way, and Aventurine plays equally into the show—probably an act as familiar to him as it is to you. He guides you into turning around, your eyes falling on the scattered cards on the tabletop, the casino’s eyes falling on you. His hands waste no time in pulling down your dress and reaching around to knead your breasts, in full view of the rest of the gambling hall. You're only vaguely aware of your audience now, registering the interested, hungry stares, but not really caring. You're too focused on the way that Aventurine is tugging and twisting at your nipples, at how he’s pressed up against your ass, his cock straining through his pants. You grind needily against him, whining.
Aventurine kisses your shoulder. “Poor thing. You've been neglected for so long, haven't you?” His hands retreat, and you hear the sound of a zipper being undone. Then your skirt’s being pushed up and you're being bent over, your dripping pussy fully presented to him. When you feel the press of his cockhead against your entrance, you desperately try to push yourself back onto him. But he doesn't allow you to—only running the tip along your wet folds, still sticky from your release, while he stills you with a gentle touch on your hip.
You make a pathetic, desperate noise. Aventurine chuckles, though there’s now a breathy quality to his voice.
“Be patient,” he chides. “I'll take care of you.”
You know he will. He always takes care of you, in a way that no one else ever has. Even when he gambles your life for some mission, even when he can barely afford you the barest hints of intimacy, even when he displays your body to an audience of slave traders and murderers—he always takes care of you. Even if you are only a knife or a wristwatch or a chip in one of his games, he still treats you like you're worth holding onto.
Aventurine finally moves. Your eyes flutter shut as you feel his cock sliding into you. Usually he needs to be careful after your long missions away from him, knowing you'll be tense. He understands that your body always anticipates being in pain after being touched by other people. But he has you so worked up right now—still dripping from your release, still pliant from his fingers, still eager to please him before the crowd—that your cunt easily swallows his length. The stretch is pure bliss, pleasure unfurling in your body as you're filled up properly for the first time in months. He's just as affected as you, breath shaking as he bottoms out.
“Fuck,” he breathes—laughs. “Nearly forgot how good this feels.” He pauses, his breathing slowing—almost stopping each time you squeeze around him. You turn back, throwing him a pleading glance, and he meets it with an endeared smile. “Eager today, aren't you?” He hums, a hand sliding along your waist. “You really do need to be properly fucked.”
He's stalling. Trying to give you a moment to adjust, but you don't need it. “Yes,” you encourage him. Aching for the press of his cock against your walls, you grind against him, and you hear a strangled groan as you force him to move inside you. “Please, Aventurine—please, please fuck me, I need it so badly—”
He hums, both hands grabbing your hips, his fingers sinking into you. “Well. Since you asked so nicely.”
The first thrust has your eyes going wide, your hands reaching for the card table as you’re forced to bend over. You spread our palms next to the mess of heart cards and shiny tokens, bracing yourself for the way your body’s about to be used. He doesn't give you time to breathe after, each stroke filling you deep and fast. The rest of the gambling hall grows very, very quiet as Aventurine fucks you, and suddenly all you can hear is the appreciative murmur of the crowd, clink of ice cubes in aged whiskey, the noisy flick of lighters as more patrons opt to pause their games and enjoy the show. You hear the shattering of all the stacks beside you, hundreds of thousands of dollars in chips fall over beside you, tokens clinking as they roll across the tabletop. But all of that is soon drowned out by the wet noise of your pussy being fucked open, the squelch of your slick around his cock. You moan each time he bottoms out, eager to be filled.
When you feel his cock press into your sweet spot, your moans quickly turn into cries.
You hear something like a breathy laugh from Aventurine. Your body always reveals itself so easily to him, and you know he enjoys it. He hits that spot again and again, builds an agonizing tension in your body with every thrust of his hips. It has your pussy gushing around him, your thighs growing wet and sticky with your need.
Just when it feels like you can't take anymore, he reaches down and presses his fingers against your throbbing clit. Your knees buckle as he toys with you, chest heaving against the table as he sets a brutal pace. You're—overwhelmed, mind going hazy as you're fucked mercilessly. So far gone, you can hardly register the disgruntled expression of your husband, the hungry gazes of his companions, the way that other players are starting to shift in their seats, palming themselves at the sight of your pussy being split open. There's only the tight coil in your gut, the chips between your fingers as you grab uselessly for something to ground you, the cock that's filling you over and over and over—and oh fuck, you’re going to cum, you're really going to cum after being won in a game, from having your pussy used like a sleeve, from being watched by men who will never own you no matter how many times they trade you, no matter how many times they fuck you, no matter how many times they pass you around, because you'll only ever belong to Aventurine—
Your orgasm crashes through your body, and you sob.
It's a broken, blissed out noise. Your pussy is equally shameless, gushing as you pulse around Aventurine’s cock. You go limp as he fucks you through your orgasm, uncaring about the mess you're making. He only groans as you squirt all over him, hips stuttering as he reaches his own peak—spilling himself inside you, pumping you full. Aventurine’s body slumps over yours as rides out his high, his face pressing into your shoulder. You find the wherewithal to shift yourself, just enough to your lips against the tattoo on his neck. He looks at you for a fleeting moment, the blue ring of his eyes electric on you, before capture your mouth in a desperate, messy kiss.
The two of you stay there for a long moment, panting into each other. Then Aventurine collects himself, remembers how to talk: “Fuck.”
You piece yourself together just as easily. Maybe even faster. Smiling into his mouth, you ask, “Enjoy yourself?”
“Clearly.” Aventurine presses his lips into your neck, lingering only briefly. “Can you walk?”
“I think so.”
Aventurine takes his time with moving, as if basking in the afterglow—or bragging in it. But he does rise, eventually. Pulls out slowly, making you shudder. He helps you to your feet, lets you hold onto him for support. His spend drips down your thighs as you right yourself, messy and hot on your skin. You can feel it sliding down your legs as you walk, braced against Aventurine as he guides you in the long walk toward the elevator. It slips all the way down to your calves, to your expensive heels, even onto the marble floor.
You're fairly certain that it's not an accident when Aventurine flips up your skirt as you pass your ex-husband. At the very least, it isn't a mistake when you stumble in that same moment, bending over and giving him a good look at your well-used pussy, now overfilled with your boyfriend’s cum. You don't stop to look at him, but you know he must be red-faced, displeased—aware that he’s been humiliated. Beaten by a Stoneheart, concubine stolen by Sigonian, one of his favourite possessions claimed by a former slave. You'd laugh if you could.
You can't help but kiss Aventurine while the two of you wait for the elevator, a smile glowing into his lips.
It's absurd, but a staff member approaches the two of you as you indulge in one another. Aventurine pulls away as you’re approached, looking mildly annoyed as he switches on his synesthesia beacon.
“Sir,” the staff says, “you’ve left your other winnings at the table.”
Even in his post-orgasm bliss, Aventurine responds promptly. “I’ll cash it all,” he says. “Send the money to my room. I'm not coming back tomorrow.”
“Very well. And the terms of the… human resource exchange that just happened?”
Aventurine’s jaw clicks. It's quiet, but surprising. You watch him carefully.
“We didn't bet contracts,” he says. “This is a concubine, not a slave. But tell Mister Li I'll buy them anyway. I'll pay whatever price he wants, which I’d wager is the company that he gambled and lost to me. Maybe suggest that to him.”
“Of course,” the staff member replies, bowing. Despite the first-rate service, Aventurine looks like he can't get out of there sooner enough as he guides you into the elevator. You give him a curious look as the door closes.
“You're going to give up a multiplanetary corporation just for this?” you ask.
“Not entirely. The IPC was planning to acquire it anyway. It'll be ours again in a few months.” He stares at your reflections in the mirror, his strange eyes lingering on your dishevelled form. “We’ll put your intel to good use,” he adds, and although Jade or Diamond or any of your real bosses would say this with a smile and reward you with a bonus, Aventurine’s expression is unreadable.
“What's on your mind?” you ask, fingers brushing against his hand. “You’re worried about something.”
Aventurine blinks, and it takes him a moment to recover.
“Nothing. Just hoping we didn't give our relationship away just now.” He cups your face with a hand, guides you into looking at his smile. A deflection. “I might have gotten carried away.”
You lean into his touch, eyes playful: a performance. As if he's some stranger that you're servicing, a captor being entertained; as if you're a plaything about to be used. As if you expect to be treated like the disposable commodity that your husband just gambled away.
“I wouldn't worry,” you reassure him. “I'm sure after the show we put on, it'll be clear to anyone that you're only keeping me around for sex.”
It's very, very subtle, but a muscle in Aventurine's neck twitches. He'd never allow it in a game of cards, never before the IPC, never before the prying eyes of slavers and killers—but he allows it in front of you. He always unwittingly bares himself to you, even as he swallows his discomfort before adopting his usual, vulpine expression. You don't think anyone else would notice what lies beneath the gilded surface of his smile, his liar’s eyes. You don't think anyone else would notice his tells, his vulnerabilities, his quiet fear of loss.
After all, there is no one else in this universe who knows how to trick him into intimacy.
Winning has always come with a certain emptiness for Aventurine. Gambling is, after all, a zero sum game. He plays a royal flush and people lose their homes. Winner takes all. He survives the fighting pits, his blade dripping red with the lives of other slaves. Winner takes all. He runs from the stench of blood and burning flesh, praying for thunder and rain loud enough to drown the screams of his dying kin. Winner takes all.
He alone survives. He alone enjoys his riches. Ever since the Avgin died, he has always been by himself. There is no amount of coin nor credit that will ever change this.
Here is another unyielding fact that hollows any win: that no matter how many credits he collects, he will always be a chip himself. He will always be a plastic token worth sixty coppers. Gambling is a zero-sum game, and ever since the day he was chained, Aventurine has been the pool of riches divided among winners. He has always been the commodity being traded between hands. He has always been the prize to be cashed out and used. Even now, with all this money and power, it will never be him who comes to collect: it will always be the IPC. Winner takes all.
Such is his fate. Luck is always on his side, but he has always had the losing hand against destiny. No matter how many times he wins, there is nothing that will ever truly belong to him.
But then he met you.
Then he met you, and now his luck does not always feel like such a cruel or empty thing. Now the zero-sum game has meaning. He hedges his bets in the market and buys out a planet, and acquires you along with the shares. Winner takes all. He gambles his life against a nuclear power and comes out on top, and the IPC allows him to keep you by his side. Winner takes all. He plays a royal flush and wins at a table of slave traders, and he gets to fuck you until you can't think of any cock but his own. Winner takes all.
Gambling is a zero-sum game, and when you're the reward, Aventurine wouldn't have it any other way. He’ll never share you with anyone. He'll never sell you to anyone.
He’ll never lose you to anyone.
Sometimes it surprises him, this attachment he feels to you. He doesn't quite understand it, but he thinks it mostly just has to do with how good it feels to fuck you. Much like gambling, Aventurine has never enjoyed sex until you came along. Sex for him has always felt like a humiliation, like being gutted open as a captive animal, like being won and passed around in the grand hall of some gaudy casino.
Which is, in fact, another thing he never thought he'd enjoy: having sex in the Venetian Zhijin before an audience of revolting men. He'd resented having to do it as a slave, but he’d enjoyed doing it with you as a Stoneheart. He'd even do it again if he could—take you over and over again on that card table, fill you up with his cum. Spread your cunt in front of everyone, so they could see for themselves that you were now his. Winner takes all.
Winning doesn't feel empty when you're his reward. Sex doesn't either. Because Aventurine isn't a chip or an animal or a commodity when he fucks you—he's a player. Someone with a seat at the table, as just as wealthy and powerful as the slave traders around him. Someone who’s allowed to own something—really own something.
Really allowed to own you.
Aventurine owns you. When he fucks you, he is a player at the table, and you are the prize he gets to keep. And no matter how you feel about him and how you act toward him—this is all the two of you will ever be. He knows this. He knows that you know it too.
So sometimes he can't fathom it, the way he treats you in bed. The way he always kisses your commodity code when he sees it, the way he allows you to kiss his own. The way he always thinks about pleasuring you until you're drunk on his cock, so addicted to him that you’ll never want to be touched by anyone else. The way he always likes how your body feels when it's being shaped by his hands. How different it feels from being forced to touch other people.
How badly you make him want something that he's always hated.
And this is what he understands least of all: how he doesn't like to hear you say aloud the true nature of your relationship. How he doesn't like it when you accept this reality and say, you're only keeping me around for sex.
It hollows him out when he hears it. A bitter feeling swells in his throat, and he forces himself to swallow.
Aventurine keeps his face neutral as he enters the suite with you. As soon as the door is shut, you pull him close—close enough for him to see the blurred lines of your lipstick, smudged from his mouth; close enough to see the white diamond necklace on your neck, a collar for a concubine; close enough to see the finger-shaped discolorations on your throat, poorly hidden by your foundation.
Close enough to see all the things done to your body by others—all the things you didn't choose for yourself.
“How do you want to have me next?” Your fingertip traces his lips. “On the bed? In the shower?” Your eyes are playful. “Maybe against the window?”
Aventurine’s hand cups your cheek, gold rings pressed against your skin. His hold is delicate, more careful than with anything else he's ever handled—any of his watches, his furs, his jewellery. Even more than with the aventurine stone.
“I want to kiss you,” he says.
You blink.
“Kiss me?” Your brow ticks up, but then your face lights up in supposed understanding. “Okay. You can kiss me. And then?”
“And then I'll keep kissing you.”
You tilt your head, not understanding. “Really?”
“What? Is that off-limits now?” He leans in, expression playful. “Don't tell me I've got to go back downstairs and win back permission to kiss you from your husband.”
Before you can say anything else—ask anything else, perceive anything else—he presses his mouth to yours. Your eyes widen for only a moment before falling shut, your arms wrapping around his neck. Your lips part for him, and he delights in the noise you make as he deepens the kiss.
He did lie, in a way. The two of you do end up fucking again—this time in bed, your mouth gasping into his as you fall apart for him, wet and needy around his cock. You're so warm around him, so pliable beneath him, so desperate when possessed by him. He knows that he could keep going, that he could do anything to you, that you'd be eager to let him use you however he wants.
But all he does afterward is kiss you.
This is yet another act that he never thought he'd enjoy. Kissing has always felt like a chore or a power play or a manipulation. It has always come with a certain emptiness—just like gambling, just like sex. And then he met you, and now it no longer feels so hollow. Because when he wins bets for the IPC, he feels like a poker chip in one of their games, but when he’s fucking you, he feels like a player at the table. And sometimes, when he kisses you—when he holds you close, when you come down from your high and press your face into the crook of his neck and in the vulnerable haze of your bliss, tell him, I missed you—
—he finally feels like a human being.
end notes: christ alive I have never written anything so horny glddjsksjs. I apologize for both my mid smut writing and deranged characterization 💔
initially this was supposed to be brainless pwp about aventurine eating you out on a poker table but I kept asking myself “why the hell did aventurine gamble for human beings and why are these two insane enough to be fucking in a casino tho lol”, and thus a coherent narrative was born from my shameless lust for this guy! but please also don't take the story too seriously because this is a dumb smut piece first and foremost and I mostly wrote it with my clit 😔✌️
that being said, if you are curious about the subject matter that I covered – here's an afterword expanding on my intentions with the themes.
#aventurine x reader#aventurine smut#hsr smut#hsr x reader#honkai star rail x reader#x reader#im so tired of editing this the quality of this piece is a lost cause sldkfjsldkfj#DIVIDER BY @/CAFEKITSUNE BTW it is so cute i thought it was perfect for this fic#anyway. sorry to everyone for character assassinating our favourite gambler#yueshuo.fics#dead dove#cw.slavery
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dime, ¿esto es lo que tú quería'?
charles leclerc and oscar piastri x fem!reader
how about a reward for monaco's p1 and p2?
warnings/notes: smut, threesome, a blowjob, slight degradation, dirty talk, unprotected sex (wrap it up, people!!!), cumshot, creampie, gagging, light choking
a/n: very ambitious and would not set me free until i wrote it...so please enjoy <3
.
You really had no idea how you ended up here.
Arthur is a good friend of yours, having met him when you first came to work for Ferrari under the communication department, mostly being assigned to handle the Academy and development drivers' communication needs. You and Arthur got on well, and eventually, you were hanging out with him and his other friends on the weekends.
The two of you were strictly friendly, something you've had to clear out multiple times to work superiors, nosy colleagues, insistent reporters, you name it.
Arthur isn't your type, point blank, period.
His older brother was a different topic altogether.
Charles was sensitive, artistic, a prince charming in all aspects. Being in close proximity to Arthur meant you spent some time with Charles, too, but those were few and far between and every time you were within five feet of Charles, you were reduced to a tongue-tied mess.
Regardless, Arthur insisted you come along to the celebrations after Charles' most recent win in Monaco.
"Charles knows who you are and you're my friend. He won't mind," Arthur pleaded earlier that day as you were packing up after the podium celebrations.
"What if you go running off and I'm left alone?" You asked, raising an eyebrow.
"I won't go running off," Arthur promised. "I'll be with you the whole night. I'll even help you look for a guy you can go home with!"
And yet you're here in the present, sitting on a couch in the VIP section, alone.
Well, not really. You're surrounded by people but none of them are talking to you. Arthur had gone to get more drinks half an hour ago and you know by now that he probably was sidetracked by other friends or something to that effect.
You have half a mind to call it a night, your hand already reaching for your purse, when you hear a voice call out.
"________! You're here!"
You look up and your heart seems to jump right into your throat.
Charles is beaming down at you, a flag of Monaco draped around his shoulders, his previously styled hair now sticking up in all directions.
You caught a glimpse of Charles earlier when you arrived with Arthur, but the race winner was too busy doing shots for you to have properly said hi.
But he's here now. And he's sliding into the space beside you.
"Where's Arthur?" Charles asks, reaching for an unopened Heineken on the table in front of you.
"I have no idea," you half-yell, leaning closer so Charles could hear. You feel goosebumps erupt on your skin when Charles lays a tentative hand on your back.
"You can spend time with me, then," Charles grins, moving his arm further so it fully wraps around your shoulders.
A nervous laugh escapes you but your instinct is to lean even further into Charles' touch. He's still smiling at you, though clearly inebriated with the way his eyes seem out of focus.
"Ah, Oscar!"
You turn your head to see the other third of the podium finishers, Osar Piastri himself.
"Hey!" he calls over the din of the music. "I can't find anyone! I think they just abandoned me," Oscar adds, laughing.
He takes the seat on your left, effectively sandwiching you between him and Charles. You smile politely at Oscar, reaching your hand out.
"Hi, I'm ______," you say, smiling wider as Oscar takes your hand in his and squeezes.
"I'm Oscar," he says then pauses, realizing that you probably already knew who he was if you were any friend of Charles'. He laughs, practically giggles, hiding his face in his hand.
"Sorry, I see you around the paddock sometimes, so I probably didn't need to do that," Oscar explains, cheeks turning pink, or at least you think they do, given that the lighting in this club is atrocious.
Oscar is still holding your hand and you can tell that he's tipsy too by the way he's smiling, eyes hooded and sleepy-looking.
"________ is part of communications in Ferrari," Charles explains, rubbing his thumb over the exposed skin of your shoulder. You turn to look at Charles, and the way he gazes back at you, a half smile on his lips, breath hot on your cheek, has your heart pounding incessantly against your chest.
"She's very efficient," Charles praises with a chuckle. "I like seeing her around when she works."
You make a move to swat at Charles' thigh as if to tell him off. "Stop it, I'm not at enough races for you to see me that often."
You're laughing, mostly in disbelief at the words that just came out of Charles' mouth. He likes seeing you around?
Charles shrugs. "But when you are, I notice."
You feel your neck heat up and even more so when Charles maneuvers you closer, seemingly protective. If you moved any more, you'd be on Charles' lap.
Oscar eyes the two of you and you'd give anything to read the thoughts in his head right now. The younger man locks eyes with you and smiles, sweetly at first, but then his pupils glance down briefly at your chest, barely covered by the tube top you decided to don for the evening.
The sweetness quickly melts away as Oscar bites his lip.
"You're close, then?" Oscar asks casually, scooting closer to you and Charles.
"Arthur and her are good friends," Charles points out.
"So I guess by default, _______ and I are good friends, too."
You laugh and Oscar is grinning once more at you, and god does he look handsome under these lights. You can tell that he wants to come even closer, his fingers tapping nervously on his knee. Some slow song is playing over the speakers, bass loaded and making the entire place vibrate.
You reach out, laying a hand on Oscar's thigh, squeezing just enough to get the point across.
Oscar looks over at Charles and you follow his line of sight, seeing some sort of unspoken agreement cross the two drivers.
Charles dips his head, moving even closer to you. He breathes out right next to your ear and you shiver.
"Ma chèrie," he begins. "I think we need to take this somewhere else."
You turn to look at Charles, blood roaring in your ears. "What?"
Charles looks straight into your eyes as if searching for something. He rubs a soothing hand down your back, letting it settle on your waist.
"You want to, no?" Charles asks, momentarily glancing up at Oscar. "With me and him?"
You feel a rush of excitement course through you. Surely, this isn't happening. The idea of Charles bringing you home crossed your mind briefly the moment he touched you earlier, but that's as far as you allowed yourself to imagine. But the remnants of alcohol in your system and the intoxicating atmosphere of the club must have gotten to you with the way you so brazenly made a move on Oscar.
And now you reap what you sow.
"We can hang out at my place," Oscar throws out nonchalantly as if he was simply inviting you and Charles to more drinks at his apartment.
"I just moved in and it could use a little...housewarming," Oscar adds with a pointed look.
Charles bursts out laughing, leaning down to press a kiss to your shoulder before nuzzling into the side of your neck. You glance around, hyperaware that all eyes have been on Charles the whole night, and for sure it isn't any different now.
"Andiamo," Charles whispers. "We'll make it good."
Let's go. Your months of Italian as a prerequisite to working in Ferrari barely register with you now.
Oscar slips his own hand over your thigh, his large palm covering an expanse of your skin.
"You'll love the view from my balcony," Oscar offers, tilting his head towards you. He smiles, innocent and sweet once more, simultaneously squeezing at the flesh of your thigh.
You bite your lip, suppressing whatever sounds that threatened to come out.
-
You thought you'd never make it out of the car ride to Oscar's place.
Oscar had brought his own ride and being much, much more sober than both you and Charles, he took the initiative to drive. You and Charles piled into the backseat, giggling.
"Not fair, you guys," Oscar teased from the front, eyeing you through the rearview mirror. Charles merely snickers, hands sneaking up over your chest as you settle on his lap.
"Eyes on the road, Oscar," Charles ordered, yanking your top down, exposing yourself fully to Oscar. You gasped, the cold air of the air-conditioning lending to the stiffening of your nipples. Charles began to toy with them, pinching and rolling them between his fingers, reducing you to a speechless mess. You noticed just how hard Oscar was gripping the steering wheel, tight enough that his knuckles were drained of color.
You barely had time to cover yourself back up once you got to Oscar's place, with Charles tugging you out of the car as soon as Oscar killed the ignition. The younger of the two comes around to your side of the car as you and Charles stumble out. Oscar takes your hand in his and leans down briefly to kiss you, tongue darting out to lick at the seam of your lips.
Oscar pulls away, sending Charles a look. "I was on the podium, too, mate."
"Ah, sorry Oscar," Charles says lightheartedly. "Sharing isn't really my strong suit. But for her, I will try."
Charles lands a smack on your ass, the sound loud enough to make you flinch. You involuntarily whine at the sting, tripping over your feet a bit. Oscar steadies you, laughing along with Charles.
"We're gonna have so much fun with you, chèrie," Charles teases, kissing your cheek.
The elevator ride is even worse. Or better. You can't decide.
It's just the three of you, and you're backed up into the corner, Charles being the handsier of the two, creeping both hands up your sides, his knee pushing between your legs.
"Ch-Charles, not here," you manage to warn. He increases the pressure against your core, grinning as he watches you shiver.
Oscar watches from the side, arms crossed, leaning casually against the elevator wall. You meet his gaze and he winks, smiling languidly just as Charles kisses down the side of your neck.
Soon enough, the elevator doors open and you push Charles away, startled to see a pair of middle-aged women waiting on the other side. You hurry past them out into the hallway, following Oscar who saunters down towards the end with an easy step.
"Right here," Oscar declares, unlocking a door at the very end. Charles guides you inside just as Oscar turns the light on.
The living room is spacious, with a single couch and coffee table occupying it. A deep blue rug breaks the cream flooring. Past the receiving area is the dining and kitchen, set against floor-to-ceiling windows, a staple of Monegasque apartments, as you've come to figure out. A hallway veers to the right.
"You weren't kidding about the view," you comment, taking in the night sky and the sprawling harbor.
Oscar turns back to you, and only now do you get a good look at him. The first three buttons of his shirt undone, his hair the right kind of messy, and his eyes, darker than what you're used to.
"The view in here is just as good," Oscar replies, eyes raking over your body. He reaches out, a hand resting on your waist.
"May I?" Charles whispers from behind you, tugging down the zip of your skirt. He gets it open and you let it fall to your feet, kicking it off to the side.
"So pretty," Charles adds, kissing along your upper back. Oscar hikes your top up and you let him pull it over your head, leaving you bare, save for your panties.
"I could see your tits through your shirt the whole night," Oscar comments, pointer fingers ghosting over your nipples. "Imagined what they might look like."
You gasp, leaning further back into Charles. You had no idea Oscar had that kind of mouth on him.
It turned you on to no end.
"Better than what you imagined?" You breathe out, Charles' fingers making their way over your mound, pressing over the wet spot on your underwear.
"Chèrie, you're so wet," Charles curses, rubbing you through the thin fabric. "Will you let me get a taste of you, hm?"
You nod frantically, already buckling under the lightest of touch from both men. You can only imagine how pathetic you look right now, stripped bare, with them still fully clothed.
"We should move this to the room," Oscar offers, delivering a final pinch to both of your nipples. You yelp as Oscar chuckles darkly, taking your hand in his.
It hasn't even fully started and you're already made to do the walk of shame.
Oscar's walls are still mostly bare but you feel exposed somehow, shivering despite the fairly warm temperature. He leads you and Charles to the door at the end of the hall, stepping inside while undoing the rest of the buttons on his shirt.
You're met with large double doors on one side of the room, leading to, what you can only assume, is a large balcony.
"We can do it with a view, amour," Charles says, wrapping both arms around your waist.
Oscar shrugs his shirt off and you watch as his muscles flex beneath his skin, taut and defined.
"We sure can," Oscar agrees, flinging the doors to his balcony open. The cool night breeze blows past your face and you sigh, heart rate picking up even more.
Charles gently maneuvers you closer to the open doors and your hands start to clam up. Shit, are you really doing this?
"W-Wait," you mutter. "Won't anyone see?"
Oscar approaches you, pointer finger hooking into your underwear. He tugs at it harshly, yanking it halfway off.
"We don't have to do it outside if you don't want to," Oscar says, voice low. He looks at Charles. "Don't wanna get kicked out after I've just moved in."
Charles snickers. "The bed is right there. We'll leave the doors open and let them hear you, instead."
And it's true. The bed is directly in front of the balcony doors, moonlight spilling onto Oscar's navy blue sheets. Oscar grabs fully at your soiled panties now, ripping them clean off.
You gasp, but any shock is melted away when you see Oscar ball up the torn fabric in his hand, bringing it closer to your face. He raises his eyebrows as if questioning you.
"Yes? No?" He asks, tapping beneath your chin. It clicks a little late what Oscar is asking of you but you nod, parting your lips.
Oscar grins, pushing your panties into your mouth.
Fuck.
You hear the metal clang of a belt being unbuckled behind you, followed by the crinkle of fabric as Charles lets his pants and underwear pool around his ankles.
"You and I are going to have so much fun with her, no, Oscar?" Charles asks, a hint of mischief in his voice.
Oscar undoes the button of his pants as well. "Yes, we are."
"How do you want to do this, baby?" Charles addresses you, taking hold of your hips. "Tell us."
"And maybe if you're good, we'll give you what you want," Oscar adds, a hand sliding up your chest before resting around your neck. Your breath hitches as you feel Oscar test the waters, squeezing lightly.
"Oh, wait," Charles laughs condescendingly. "She can't talk."
There's a glint in Oscar's eyes as he adds pressure around your neck. "Guess we have to decide for her then."
You whimper, arms reaching out to wrap around Oscar's own neck. He smiles at you, almost warmly, but you can still see the bubbling desire in his irises.
"You can take the gag out any time you want," Oscar instructs softly, releasing your neck. You take in a big breath through your nose.
"And if you don't like anything we're doing, say 'Monte Carlo'," Oscar adds. He nods at Charles and you feel yourself being pulled backward.
"Get on the bed," Charles commands and you scramble to do so, crawling over the mattress before turning around and laying back on your elbows.
Charles and Oscar eye you intently and you're tempted to cover yourself, but with how they've been acting the whole night, you're not sure how that would be received.
"You wanna go first?" Oscar nudges Charles lightly. The Monegasque grins widely like a kid on Christmas.
"Oh, yes," Charles concedes, getting on the bed with you. He scoots down so his face is level with your cunt.
"Hold tight, my love," Charles says before licking a thick stripe up your core. Your whole body jerks and you cry around the gag in your mouth.
Charles continues to work on your dripping pussy, alternating between flicking against your clit and circling your hole. You moan and whine and whimper, eyes tearing up as you look pleadingly at Oscar.
"Look at you," Oscar laughs. "We've barely done anything."
Charles spreads your legs even wider, licking even deeper. You're fully crying now, the buildup proving too much as you feel your body shake at your approaching orgasm.
Oscar reaches over and toys with your boobs, brushing over your nipples just the way you like it. Without warning, Oscar dips his head down and takes one in his mouth, circling the nub with his own tongue.
The added sensation nearly drives you crazy. The pressure builds rapidly inside you and you're left incoherent as you beg without words.
Not yet, fuck, I can't cum that fast–
You twitch and involuntarily press your pussy harshly against Charles' mouth as you come undone, toes curling and body seizing up. Oscar pulls away and watches as you throw your head back, fingers twisting into the sheets.
"Already?" You hear Charles' voice through the ringing in your ears. "You must really want it."
You blink through your tears, momentarily confused as you see Oscar reach for your face. You cough as you feel the dry fabric being pulled out from your mouth. Oscar tosses your ruined underwear to the side.
"I think she deserves a reward for getting there so fast," Oscar suggests, turning to Charles.
"Which one do you want a taste of first? You get to pick, sweetheart," Oscar says, wiping a stray line of drool dripping down the side of your mouth.
"Ch-Charles," you croak, throat still dry.
Charles and Oscar share a curt nod and the former moves to the head of the bed.
"Hands and knees, my love," Charles orders and you follow, getting on all fours. He settles against the headboard, leaning back as you take his cock in your hand.
"Guess you want me here, then?" Oscar says from behind you. You turn to peek over your shoulder to see Oscar stroking languidly at his cock, one of his hands coming down to spread your ass apart.
"Fuck, this view," Oscar hisses, smacking your ass once.
"I reckon, you don't need me to prep you? I can just–"
You shriek as you feel Oscar push in without warning, and though it was a surprise, the obscene amount of arousal coming from your cunt aids in the stretch that Oscar's cock brings.
He fully sheathes himself inside and he groans, grabbing your hips with both hands.
"Chèrie." Charles' voice forces your attention back to him.
"Don't forget about me, hm?"
You try to compose yourself as best as you can as Oscar starts to fuck you at a relentless pace. You lower your mouth down to Charles' cock, wrapping your lips around the tip.
You take half of him in, coating him in your spit, going lower each time you come down. Charles is nearly as incoherent as you were earlier, curse words in three different languages falling from his lips.
You feel the tip of his cock reach the back of your throat and you stop, gagging around it. Charles threads his fingers through your hair, yanking you back up.
"Open your mouth," Charles says, tightening the grip on your hair.
You do as you're told and Charles angles himself better. He holds you in place as he fucks up into your mouth, hitting the back of your throat each time. You will your breathing to slow, but the constant assault on your pussy muddles your brain and destroys your focus.
"She's so fucking tight," Oscar says through gritted teeth. You can feel his nails dig into your sides.
"Here as well," Charles agrees. "So warm and so wet."
All you can do is sob as you let the two of them use you, filled up on both sides, reduced to nothing but two holes.
"Fuck, I wanna cum on her face," Oscar says hurriedly, hips slowing down, probably in an attempt to keep his orgasm at bay.
Charles pulls you back off of him and he surveys you for a second.
"And I'll do it inside," Charles says. "Will you let me cum inside, chèrie?"
You nod, unconsciously clenching around Oscar. He curses, speeding up his movements again.
"Mate, I can't take it anymore," Oscar rushes, pulling out. You whine at the loss but Charles is quick to get off the bed, replacing Oscar's place behind you.
You feel the Charles' tip press against your hole and you plead, rocking back, desperate to be filled up.
"Charles, please, n-need your cum in me," you stutter. "Wanna be filled up, I need it, need you, please–"
Charles slides in one swift motion and your eyes roll all the way back in your head. He's thicker than Oscar and the stretch is almost painful but in the best way possible.
The older of the two wastes no time and starts pounding into you, rendering you speechless at how brutal his pace is. You're dizzy with arousal, spit and tears mixing on your chin and cheeks.
"Look here, sweetheart," comes Oscar's voice, rough around the edges, his hand cupping your chin.
He's stroking his cock at an impossible pace, bottom lip caught between his teeth. You look straight into his eyes as you stick your tongue out, waiting for him to release all over you.
"Fuck, you really are desperate for it," Oscar sneers, gripping harder at your face. "Open wide."
A warm spurt of liquid shoots straight onto your tongue, landing on your cheeks as well. You squint as it hits nearer to your eyes but you obediently lick up everything you can from your lips, swallowing Oscar's thick cum down.
"Oh god, baby," Charles warns. "Je vais bientôt jouir–"
Charles presses you closer to him, caging your hips against his own. He groans and you feel him twitch within you. You clench down as hard as you can around him, earning your hair a harsh tug from behind. Charles yanks you back against him as he gives a few more thrusts to ride his orgasm out.
"We are not done with you yet, amour," Charles warns.
Oscar's face comes into view and he's eyeing you up and down, his thumb swiping at a stain of himself on your cheek. He brings it to your lips and you lick his digit clean.
"Good girl," Oscar praises. "But he's right. You can give us a few more, right?"
You swallow.
You nod.
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hii i just read your kissing the batboys out of the blue and i loved it!! i was thinking that maybe you could one of how they react when they realize they’re in love with the reader? tysm!!
Jason had a feeling that he knew he was in love with you, he had read enough romantic novels to know that what he was feeling was romantic.
He thought of you day and night.
Everything reminded him of you.
He couldn’t wait to be near you, craves it even as his mind raced with all the things that you could do together in his apartment as though you were an already pre-established couple.
He practically ticked off every box imaginable and he knew it but he wasn’t quite sold on this alone until he woke up to you cuddled up into his side, looking as though you belonged there, even tightening your grip on his shirt when he dared to move even in the slightest.
‘Five more minutes.’ You muttered into his neck, causing him to freeze but he was quick to relax and throw his arms over your waist to keep you close.
It was the domesticity of the moment that made Jason realise that he was in love with you, deep unadulterated love. He wanted to spend the rest of his life waking up to you and falling asleep with you in his arms because you fitted together like two missing pieces.
You were what he was missing and he wasn’t going to let you go anytime soon, not when he was brought to realises that he couldn’t live without you, not anymore. Jason swore to himself that he’d protect you no matter what while he finds a way to tell you of his feelings, but until then Jason was more then willing to keep it to himself as to remind himself that he now had someone to fight for.
Dick didn’t know he was in love with you until someone brought it up to him about how often he seemed to bring you up in conversation regardless of its relevancy.
You’ve had a flirty relationship with one another that Dick had lead himself to believe was strictly platonic all the while wanting more at the same time. He wasn’t fond of commitment, it was an issue of his but you made it all the more worth it if it meant he could get the chance to call you his.
‘You sure do talk about them a lot.’ Garth said.
‘Who?’ Dick asked, confused.
‘Them.’ Raven gestures towards you and immeditly sees the way Dick’s eyes practically glowed when they looked at you, she looked over at Gar who saw the exact same thing as she did and was looking at her for confirmation that he wasn’t seeing things. Their wild theory has been proven to not be so wild after all.
‘It’s not my fault they’re an awesome teammate.’ Dick replied as he looked back at Raven and Garth as they looked back at him knowingly.
‘You often talk about them as though you’re in love with them.’ Raven countered.
‘I don’t talk about them like I’m in love,’ Dick laughed before looking over at Garth, ‘do I?’ He asks and Garth hummed. ‘You do. If you like them so much why don’t you ask them out on a date or something?’
Garth’s question stayed with Dick for the rest of the day as he recalled the times where he talked about you nonstop and wanted to smack himself for not seeing it before, he was so hellbent on never committing to something that he didn’t see that he was practically confessing his feelings for you in other ways.
Dick was scared, genuinely scared. So he decided to keep this revelation to himself and hope that one day it would fade away but he knew all too well that he was in too deep for that to be the case. Now he just keeps a tight lip on what he says to certain people in hopes that they don’t go back to you and spill everything.
Dick wanted to tell you himself but he fears that he might bring himself to do it in time.
Tim would be spending time with you when he realised he loved you.
Being with you just felt natural for him as he let you press up against his side as you did your own thing and he did his own on his laptop.
You could both exist in peaceful silence together without it getting awkward and that’s what Tim liked the most about you, he didn’t have to force anything to keep you engaged in anything he liked.
He even liked how you could match his sarcasm at times while also being caring about his well-being and mental health.
‘When was the last time you actually had decent sleep?’ You asked.
‘When did this become an interrogation, and a lacklustre one at that.’ He replied as you raised your brows to look at him. ‘Since you keep thinking it’s fine to neglect your basic human needs, wise ass.’ You told him. ‘keep this up and I’m wouldn’t be surprised to find you passed out on the floor somewhere.’ You add before putting down a glass of water and a plate full of food before leaving the room.
Tim glances over at the water and food and feels a warmth spread throughout him when he saw that you remembered his favourite meal.
Tim could show you anything technical and while you may not understand everything that was being said, it was the fact that you even bothered to continue to listen to him that made him realises that he might be in love with you. Your eyes held intrigue as he went over how his weapons worked, even giving you live demonstrations, but he couldn’t help but feel a little exposed under your gaze, you looked at him as though he was the most interesting person alive and he could feel his cheeks burn.
Tim knew he was in love with you for a long while but it just took that one moment for it to click within him.
#dc imagine#dc x reader#dc x you#dc fanfic#dc fic#dc comics x reader#dc x y/n#dc fanfiction#jason todd imagine#jason todd fluff#jason todd x reader#jason todd imagines#dick grayson x you#dick grayson imagine#dick grayson imagines#dick grayson x reader#dick grayson fluff#nightwing x you#nightwing fluff#nightwing imagines#nightwing imagine#nightwing x reader#red hood x you#red hood imagine#red hood x reader#red hood imagines#tim drake x you#tim drake x reader#tim drake imagine
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BABYGIRL, Challenge for you:
Slutty little Drabble, kinky and the first character you think about.🤭🤭
| CottageCore | 18+ MINORS DNI
Everyone Knows to steer clear of the small cottage in the woods. Everyone except the Princess. Now she must deal with the consequences of her own actions — not that she’s complaining.
✧ Pairing ✧ Beast!Ari Levinson x Princess!Reader
✧ Warnings ✧ Size Kink, Dom!Ari, Rough PinV sex, Unprotected Sex, Dacryphilia, Breeding, Dirty talk, Squirting, Dumbification, Overstimulation, Belly bulge, Cum swelling, Knotting, A little Aftercare but definitely not enough for what you’ve been through - Any more lemme know!!
✧ Author Note ✧ Ohhh bbg thank you for the request, I’ve got a lil something for ya ~ ALSO my first time writing for someone that isn’t a Sebby character but @buckys-wintersoldier will tell you I have been OBSESSED with this man, I’ve written so many little drabbles about him and annoyed her with them 🤭🤭
✧ Word Count ✧ 799
Skirting about the palace halls unseen is virtually impossible when you’re 7ft tall. Yet Ari does it effortlessly. Each night since you invaded his cottage some time ago, professing your name and title he’s come for a piece of you. And every time he’s left you writhing underneath him.
You slipped on the silk sleep gown, sighing satisfyingly at the feeling of it draping down over your bare ass before slipping under your heavy sheets. Your eyes tugged downwards with sleep when the soft nocking has them snapping open again.
You should’ve been more embarrassed at the feeling of your slick arousal coating the tiny gusset of your thin panties. Behind the door, in all his glory was The Beast. Or as you’d come to find he preferred, Ari.
You’d heard stories of Ari from when you were a wee one “Don’t go into the cottage in the woods” this and “there is a hideous creature who calls that place home, people who have gone seeking it have not returned” that. You didn’t think the man eyeing you like prized venison was ugly at all, he was huge; his thin shirt ripped and ragged, barely covering his corded muscles each time he moved a little, the coarse hair over his chest and arms making your mouth dry.
Then there was that thing between his legs. You didn’t think you could ever go back to another man after Ari had plunged himself into you the first time, almost splitting your hungry snatch in two. That definitely wasn’t ugly.
✧ ✧
“Ari! Ari Ari” you moaned like a madman, hips pushing back to meet every one of the beast’s delightfully hard thrusts, tears flowing down your cheeks. His huge hand clapped over your mouth, thumb running up and down the bridge of your nose soothingly.
“Gotta be quiet little queen, don’t want the king to hear you” he snarled, sharp canines nicking the stretched skin of your neck as he pulled your face back.
For someone so concerned about your father hearing you both he certainly didn’t care about the loud squeaking of your thick mahogany bed, the headboard thumping dents into the wall it rested on. No, it was his beastly nature to have full control over you, that meant subduing your noises when he saw it fit.
Every time his thick, heavy cock pulled out a stream of your juices squirted onto the steadily soaking sheets, your walls singing at the small reprieve before squealing again when he speared it back in. Your cervix was most definitely bruised, the pain was almost too much for you to bear each time his plush tip kissed it.
“Aughh little queen, nothing but a village whore for your beast’s cock. What would your kingdom say when I pumped that belly full of cum, giving you my cubs…mmm shit squeezing me, you want your belly swollen because of me?” He groaned animalistically, his free hand pressing down into your tummy. His pace slowed for a second, a whimpering sound falling from his lips before he pulled you up into his chest, his paw for a hand grabbing your clenched one and pressing it to where he just had.
When you felt it you came undone, his head poking against your belly each time he sunk in; it was too much, far too much to hold back.
“Mmm flower you’re milking me, you like the feeling of me in there? So deep in that little body…fuck…oh little Queen beg for my come, beg for it inside that little womb” Ari’s voice wavered, his thrusts increasing to an almost impossibly fast pace and leaving you almost completely dumb with overstimulation.
“Want you cum Ari…fuckfuckfuck! Please Ari need you to swell me up please please ahhhh” you screamed, uncaring of volume as you came again with Ari, your vision going white as he held your body still, strumming your little clit as he filled you.
His hand moved with yours, running it over your now swollen tummy. His knot sitting thick and heavy at your entrance stopping any of his thick cream from slipping out.
He lay you on your side, his heavy body plastered on your back, his lips kissing up your neck before licking at your ear.
“Good little queen, all swollen with beast’s essence, make adorable babies…keep you to myself and make sure my queen is happy for the rest of her life” Ari mumbled, his settling finally and his arms holding you tighter.
You weren’t sure how much of it Ari meant, was it just talk from his high or was he planning on giving you everything he proclaimed? You weren’t sure and you were too dumb to think right now, but the thought of living in his small cottage away from the limelight, having his babies. It made you safe.
✧ ✧
I DO NOT give permission to have my work copied, translated or reposted. If you see my work anywhere else except on this page I have not given consent for it to be used.
Comments, Reblogs & Likes are always appreciated. They let me know that you are enjoying what you read and give me motivation to write more
Thank you for reading~
#ari levinson#ari levison x reader#ari levinson fic#ari levinson fanfiction#ari levinson imagine#ari levinson smut#ari levinson x female reader#ari levinson x you#ari levinson x y/n#ari levinson x reader#beast!Ari#princess reader#chris evans#chris evans imagine#chris evans character fanfiction#chris evans characters#chris evans smut#drabble#ari levinson drabble#ari levinson one shot
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@waning-croissant well... I had to.
"Nope. Outside of D&D, I am no hero," Eddie talks as he keeps walking, a step ahead of Steve. "I see danger and I just turn heel and run. Or at least that's what I've learned about myself this week."
Eddie's not even sure what he's saying anymore, he just knows that if he doesn't keep talking over the nightmarish ambience of this hellscape, he might actually go insane. Hearing his own voice, he can at least pretend like he's just narrating a game, and the rest is his overactive imagination. Not that he actually believes that, of course, it's just... irrationally comforting.
"Give yourself a break, man."
Steve reaches for him, but Eddie's body reacts on autopilot to an unexpected touch, practically slapping the boy's arm away. He's on a roll here, words still spilling right over the all-too-late pang of regret in his chest. It would have been nice to experience, that pat on the chest or squeeze on the shoulder, whatever Steve was going for, if it weren't for Eddie's perpetual skittishness.
"See? The only reason—"
"Did you hear what I said?"
"—I came in here was 'cause—"
"Eddie!"
Eddie's head snaps to Steve as he cuts off the rest of his semi-planned speech, which was suddenly inspired by the sight of Nancy Wheeler ahead of them. If he was the cowardly bard in the story, the least he could be useful for is cheer on the real hero of it. Give the courageous bat-biting paladin the motivation to keep fighting.
"Huh?"
"Do you ever stop running your mouth and listen?" Steve's brows are furrowed, but his tone isn't mean, and there's an amused smile playing on his lips. "You're almost worse than Dustin, Jesus Christ."
Eddie opens his mouth, lets his jaw hang for a second, and closes it again with a click of the teeth, as he processes the words he would have perceived as an insult, had he not been piecing together what the kid meant to Steve for the past several days. It was a bit of a revelation that their relationship ran far deeper than just some giant one-sided platonic crush on Dustin's part, like Eddie had mistakenly assumed throughout most of this year.
Steve takes a small step closer, the first one to invade Eddie's personal space for once, after Eddie's been doing it for the better part of their walk together. Unconsciously, like his body just decided that being tucked into Steve meant safety from the bloodthirsty bats, and the creepy vines, and that Vecna guy they could run into any minute.
"We all ran, all four of us. Just now, when we saw that giant swarm of bats in the distance, remember?" Steve speaks softly, waving his arm vaguely in the direction behind them. "Because sometimes, running and surviving is the only thing you can do."
Eddie doesn't know what to say to that. He just focuses on looking at the boy's eyes, like a normal person, and trying not stare at his lips moving. But then, when he pauses, Steve's eyes flicker down, and... huh. Huh. Wait, what?
"Of course you've been running. You couldn't have fought Vecna when he took Chrissy. Or Carver's crazy mob, or the entire police force of Hawkins," Steve keeps talking intently, looking into Eddie's eyes again like his gaze never wavered south. "Any more than we could fight that whole swarm. Because we'd definitely be dead now if we tried, no matter how metal you think I am," he adds with a tiny smug smile that's entirely Eddie's fault. "So there's a difference between being a coward, and acting stupid and reckless."
Steve pats his shoulder twice, then turns and keeps walking, and Eddie moves to follow him like on a tether, before his flustered brain even catches up.
"H-hey, I never said you were metal! I said what you did with that bat was metal," he grumbles, thankful for the darkness concealing his undoubtedly flushed face.
"I beg to differ," Steve turns around to tease, grinning, and pointedly tugs on his own collar. "You're the resident metalhead, and I'm wearing your vest, that does make me at least a little bit metal."
Yeah, thanks for the reminder, Harrington. Eddie's not sure what possessed him to throw that thing at the boy. At the time, he only thought of how he wouldn't survive the whole ordeal of Steve's hairy tits on display for much longer, but him in Eddie's clothes? Even worse.
"Fine," Eddie rolls his eyes and shoves his hands into his pockets, catching up to Steve in three quick strides. "Only a little bit though." He sneaks a glance at the boy; Steve's not looking back, once again on guard, surveying their surroundings with his flashlight, but the pleased smile makes its way to his face regardless.
"Doesn't matter why you jumped after us, Munson, you're here now. And don't try to act all modest when you've just saved a guy's ass. Which, by the way..." Steve turns his head to Eddie again. "Nice job with that oar. Too bad you hate jocks, you'd have made a fine hitter on the school baseball team."
Eddie gasps and grips his own chest in mock offense, even as warmth spreads up his neck and pools in the tips of his ears, thankfully hidden beneath his hair.
"How dare you, with these vile insinuations."
"I'm just saying," Steve shakes his head, laughing. "You're pretty... bat-ass, too, Eddie." He glances over again with a shit-eating grin. "Get it? Bat-ass?"
"Oh no, Steve Harrington is actually a dork with terrible puns," Eddie mumbles to himself and sighs, rolling his eyes up to the dark sky.
"Shut the fuck up, my puns are amazing." Steve elbows him in the ribs and chuckles. "You know what, I'm starting to understand why Henderson was obsessed with getting us to hang out."
What is that supposed to mean?
"He... he was?" Eddie gapes.
Another earthquake saves him from the mortifying ordeal of re-assessing the whole Munson doctrine, for the hundredth time this week. And as they hurry along to catch up with the girls, and Steve's hand grips his bicep whenever he falls behind, Eddie wonders if maybe he should just set fire to the doctrine and let it turn to ash.
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World Cup Results II
Part 1
Ona Batlle x Reader
Summary: The beginning of Ona's Pregnancy
A/N: At least one more part to this of the pregnancy, might continue it after the baby too. But if anyone has a request please feel free to put it in my asks! I work much better and faster with ideas. I'm open to writing anything, smut, fluff, angst, kid fics, just let me know what you want to read!
You and Ona couldn’t be more excited on the drive home from the clinic. Neither of you could wipe the smiles off your faces as your hands were held together and rested in your girlfriend’s lap. The entire ride home was full of loving sentiments exchanged to one another and plenty of blushes being spread across faces.
Arriving home began your new train in following the advice from the doctor as closely as possible as well as going a bit overboard. Your girlfriend was starting to get annoyed with you, but even she would admit it was sweet how caring you were. Ona never opened her car door, never lifted anything too heavy, didn’t carry her bags to training, and you hardly let her do household chores. Every night for dinner you cooked a meal full of all the proper nutrients the doctors had advised eating and made sure to buy Ona only the best prenatal vitamins.
You both had agreed to not tell your teammates until you reached the 15-week mark, until then Ona didn’t have to alter her trainings and could still play in games. You had let the coaching staff and medical staff know as soon as you found out so they could monitor the Spaniard closer, but as of now you wanted to keep it on a need-to-know basis.
It was around the 8-week mark, right after the first ultrasound, that some of your teammates began to catch on that something was happening. Any slight bump or tackle Ona took during training led to you sprinting to be by her side checking up on her. The brunette found it sweet but needed you to let up a little bit before they had to tell your team sooner than expected.
Your worries weren’t without their reason, the chance of miscarriage was drastically higher through IVF and until Ona was outside her first trimester you had every right to worry. The days leading up to your 8-week scan were some of the most stressful days in your recent memory. You and Ona both were worried sick about having the scan show that you had lost your baby.
Ona was more stressed than you were due to her late-night research of her symptoms which often times resulted in her reading many horror stories of parents going to the first ultrasound and finding no heartbeat. The internet on top of her raging hormones led to many tearful nights where you tried to alleviate her fears but knew that the only thing to help the brunette’s anxiety would be seeing your baby.
Thankfully one day after training the two of you were able to go to the clinic for the scan and see your baby for the first time. Tears immediately came to both of your eyes as the doctor told you your baby was not only alive, but healthy and thriving inside your girlfriend. You weren’t one to cry, but Ona made a comment that she thinks you’ll be a mess at every ultrasound, and you couldn’t help, but agree. There was something about seeing your baby on that screen that made everything seem more real. Therefore, the attentiveness only got worse.
Your English teammates were the first to confront you about your recent behavior. The pair was sat alone at a table during lunch when Lucy pulled you into a seat, “What’s wrong with you?”
You gave the older woman a confused look, “What the hell do you mean?”
Kiera slapped Lucy’s arm and muttered something you couldn’t quite make out under her breath. She looked over to you, “What Lucy meant to say,” She sent the brunette defender a glare, “Is that you’ve been acting a bit different during training recently.”
You truly hadn’t caught onto what they were referring to yet and raised an eyebrow at the pair, “Is this your guy’s subtle way of telling me I’ve been playing badly?”
Lucy slapped the back of your head and groaned, “No you idiot,” You slapped her right back, “Every time someone so much as touches Ona you act like she got shot.” Lucy slapped you again, “And you’re always watching her like a hawk,” You slapped her back.
Kiera grabbed her arm before she could retaliate, “Would you two stop acting like children already.”
This wasn’t surprising behavior for you and the outside back, ever since you arrived at Barcelona the two of you grew much closer. Lucy helped you a lot to settle into the team and lifestyle of Spain, so overtime you grew a lot closer. Hence, why she was one of the first ones to notice a change in your behavior.
You suddenly realized what they were referring too and tried to hide it best you could, “I’m not acting any different, I always worry about her.”
Lucy gave you a dumbfounded look, “Yeah, but this is even pushing it for you,” She began to dramatically mimic you, “Oh my love, Ona, someone leaned on you during our full contact sport, and job, are you sure you’re going to survive this,” She leaned back with an arm laid against her forehead dramatically.
You started slapping the older brunette again, “Oh shut up, I am not acting like that.”
Kiera sighed and pushed the two of you apart, “Would you two seriously stop it,” she looked at Lucy, “Luce stop being dramatic,” and then turned to face you, “You’re not acting like whatever the hell that display was, but you are acting extra protective over her.”
You ultimately made up some excuse about Ona having reinflamed her ankle and that you wanted to make sure she didn’t seriously injure it again. The pair of English women didn’t seem to believe your excuse, but let you go on your way.
On the ride home you had told you told Ona about the confrontation with Lucy and Kiera which she followed up by agreeing that you needed to tone down the protectiveness and worrying. She had begun to notice it too and believed it was sweet but agreed that it was about to get out of hand and was only a matter of time before more of your teammates began to catch on.
---
It was a couple weeks later, around the 12-week mark, when Ona was quieter than usual after training. The car ride home was nearly silent, but you didn’t mention it and assumed she was just tired. As the pregnancy progressed Ona was starting to become increasingly more tired throughout the day, so you assumed that alongside the hard training today was the cause for her quietness.
It wasn’t until a little later when you walked into the living room and found the Spaniard sitting on the couch with her head in her hands that you finally asked, “Is something wrong babe? Are you not feeling well?”
Her head remained in her hands as she softly muttered out, “I need to tell you something.”
You quickly sat down next to her with you hand on her thigh and concern lacing your voice, “Is it the baby? Do we need to call the doctor?”
She quickly sat back and leaned against the couch quickly alleviating your worries, “No, no the baby is fine. It’s just, es posible que accidentalmente le haya contado a Aitana sobre el bebé.” She had rushed out the last sentence in Spanish making it difficult for you to understand.
“Slower, por favor, you know my Spanish isn’t good when you talk fast.”
“I accidentally told Aitana about the baby today,” Feeling increasingly guilty she began to ramble, “I know we didn’t want to tell people about the baby this early, but she cornered me and you know I’m bad at keeping things to myself when someone asks and it just slipped out. I am so sorry mi amor.”
You chuckled at her rambling but let out a sigh of relief knowing this was the cause to Ona’s mood shift and not something more serious. Ona and Aitana had always been close, growing up playing for the academy together and since Ona returned to Barca they became even closer, so part of you was more surprised it took this long for her to find out. The outside back also was known for being bad at keeping secrets. Anytime someone would ask her about something she wasn’t supposed to talk about she would begin rambling making it obvious that she was hiding something and would usually end up saying it anyways.
You dropped back to lean against the couch and moved your hand from her knee onto her, hardly noticeable, bump, “Oh thank god, you had me worried, love.”
Ona covered your hand with hers, “There is nothing to worry about, I’m sorry she found out.”
The outside back when onto explain that Aitana had cornered her in the locker room after training when the rest of the team had already filed out. Instead of the usual comments which were about how protective you had become, Aitana had brought up how happy the two of you had seemed and that you were touchier than usual. She also had picked up on Ona subtly rubbing her stomach and your hand grazing over it after you would hug. She had straight up asked Ona if she was pregnant, and there was no escaping it from there, your girlfriend didn’t know how to lie.
“And you know I can’t lie, amor, she caught me so off guard and I must’ve taken too long to try and come up with an excuse, but she just pulled me into a hug saying how happy she was for us.”
You laughed again, wrapping an arm around her shoulders to pull the smaller girl into your side, “I’m more surprised you lasted this long without everyone finding out.”
Ona rubbed a hand over her stomach instinctively, “As long as everyone keeps bringing it up to you instead of me, we should be okay, there’s only three weeks until I can’t play in matches anymore and then we’ll have to tell them.”
You looked down to her face as you smoke softly, “We can tell the team now if you want, you’re out of the first trimester, we just saw the baby, and everything is healthy, there’s no big reason to keep it from them anymore.”
“No, no, I like just keeping it to ourselves. Our own little bubble outside of football for now,” she leaned up to connect your lips softly and full of love.
---
Aitana did much better of a job keeping the secret to herself than you originally expected. The midfielder took her job as being the best friend and only teammate who knew very seriously. Anytime your teammates would begin on the topic when she was around, she would quickly shush their comments and would back any lie you made up to cover your secret.
You and Ona were grateful for her efforts, but in a way, it only increased your other teammates suspicions. You also were now partially convinced much of the team actually already knew what was going on. As the last two weeks have gone by Mapi, Ingrid, and Alexia had completely stopped asking anything about the topic. Originally Mapi had been one of the most vocal players about finding out what was going on, but now had completely stopped in her efforts.
The truth was Ingrid, being the observant and caring teammate and friend that she was, had picked up on the same signals Aitana had. She obviously told Mapi about her suspicions who then confided in Alexia about them. Therefore, they came up with a plan to get the two of you to admit it to them.
It was after the last game of the season before the Christmas break that Alexia decided the team would go to a club to celebrate before everyone left to their respective homes. You and Ona were going to see your family in England for the break, so you tried to get the two of you out of going by saying that you had to finish packing before your flight. Alexia wasn’t taking this as an answer and needed the both of you there to try and get an admittance from you, therefore, said it was required team bonding and you had to be there.
The original plan was for Alexia and Mapi to call Ona out on not drinking and essentially for her to expose the pregnancy, but this plan was quickly stopped when the two of you entered the bar, keys in Ona’s hands, clearly having drove the two of you there. Anytime she was asked about a drink it was easy for her to say she was driving that night, plus she didn’t have to lie so there was no worries about her slipping up.
Alexia and Mapi were still trying to come up with a new plan when, surprisingly, you were the one to let it slip.
You were sitting at a table with many of your teammates while Ona was dancing with Aitana, Patri, Claudia, and Cata when a guy walked up behind Ona and placed his hands on her hips. You were on your feet and dragging the man off her before she had the chance to pull away.
The man turned around to be face to face with the hands that had just pulled him off the girl he was obviously interested in, “What the fuck do you want?”
You stood tall with your chest puffed and harshly spoke, “I want you to get your hands off my girlfriend.”
He scoffed, “Girlfriend? Sorry bud, I don’t think she’s the girlfriend type.”
You laughed, “Sorry, bud, but I’m the one she’s woken up next to for the past 8 years so I think I might know her a bit better than you.”
“Yeah, well I didn’t see you anywhere until after I came over so looks like I’ve beat you to it.”
“Oh, fuck no,” You tried to shove past him to get to Ona, but he moved to block your path.
“Why don’t you prove it to me then?” By now a decent amount of your teammates had noticed what was going on and began to come over to help deal with the man.
This sent you over the edge, it might’ve partially been at fault to the alcohol you had that night, and you being a little more than drunk already. But with one big push to his shoulder you announced, “I think the fact that she’s pregnant with my baby proves enough,” this left him shocked and gave you enough time to walk over to Ona with your back turned to the man and place a hand on the side of her face, “Are you alright, love?” Most of your teammates were now standing around you with their jaws hanging open clearly in shock.
The man clearly wasn’t over the embarrassment yet, as he pulled your shoulder back to face him and landed a hook across your cheek, you threw one right back getting him across the nose before security was dragging him away just as Lucy was doing the same to you. You looked back to find Ona and saw Alexia standing in front of her having clearly dragged her back and away from you and the man, likely assuming the altercation may escalate and after your confirmation didn’t want the Spaniard anywhere near the potential of a fight.
After clearing some things with the security guards, they let you stay and Lucy was dragging you over to the table many of your teammates had gone to sit at, the rest following close behind you.
Ona slid into the booth next to you with a bag of ice in her hand, and reaching up with her free hand to grab your chin and turn your head to assess the damage, “Are you okay? You know I hate it when you do that.”
You were waving your arm dramatically, clearly still affected by the alcohol in your system, “He wanted to take you home I was protecting you both.”
She had a soft smile and pressed the bag of ice to your cheek, which you took over holding against your face, “I know you were, but you could’ve gotten hurt a lot worse.”
“I don’t care,” You leaned closer to whisper in her ear, clearly having forgotten you had already spilled your secret, “You’re carrying precious cargo, Baby Mami.”
Ona chuckled and patted your thigh, “No point in whispering now, amor, you already announced it.”
You turned to see the rest of your team giving you both dumbfounded and shocked looks, but Alexia, Aitana, Mapi, and Ingrid just smirking to themselves.
Alexia was the first to speak up from across the table, “So, you two are having a baby?”
You moved your free hand to rest on your girlfriend’s stomach and smiled as Ona replied, “Yep, baby y/l/n-Batlle is due in May. We were going to tell you all after the break, but tonight was my last match for the season, I’m about to be fifteen weeks, so no more matches.”
You were met with a lot of congratulations from your teammates when Lucy finally connected the dots and pointed at you, “So this is why you’ve been so unbearably protective over her recently.”
You defended yourself, “She’s carrying precious cargo, that’s the future best player in the world in there,” You patted her small bump, and the brunette covered your hand with hers.
This caused a smile to breakout on Ona’s face and laughs spread around the table. Ona had decided you had enough to drink, and she was exhausted having played 70 minutes today, so announced that you would be heading home. It took a few minutes before you were finally out the door, having to go through and hug every one of your teammates and being told congratulations by each one of them.
The next day the two of you flew to England for the first half of break, you would spend Christmas with your family before coming back to Spain to spend the rest with Ona’s family who you saw more often.
Since the secret was already out to your teammates and your families had already known for weeks while home in England you and Ona were able to tell a few of your England and former Arsenal teammates you were closest with.
While in London and met up with Leah, Lia, Lotte, Alessia, Beth, and Viv for lunch to share the news with them. Leah was especially moved when you told her, having been much like a big sister to you during your time at Arsenal. She couldn’t get past how grown up you were and that now were having a baby. Alessia did a lot of claiming that this all happened because of her setting you two up. While you’ll go to your grave denying her you can’t help but thank her slightly.
---
Thanks for reading everyone, I hope you enjoyed! Again, please leave any requests or prompts in my asks!
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Evidently never gonna be done with thoughts of these two... 18+, MDNI 4.8k
older!fem!Harrington!reader x eddie munson
cw: unprotected piv, finishing inside
cont'd from here
The ride back to the house is silent.
No music playing. No words being said. Just the rumble of his van’s engine and the spin of its tires making the floor vibrate underneath your feet. Eddie’s hands keep tensing, his white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel never loosening as he navigates the deserted, winding backroads.
The trip that seemed to take only minutes on the way now stretches on interminably. Like when you wake up from a dream and the elasticized time snaps abruptly back in place and you realize your alarm has been going off for over an hour and now you’re definitely late for work.
You swallow thickly as you stare out the window at the blur of trees whipping past, your fingers twisting in your lap as you pick at the skin around your thumbnail. You rack your brain for some words, any words, that might be helpful. That might somehow fix this mess you’ve made.
But there isn’t a lot left to say after the lake.
Eddie, don’t, you can’t say stuff like that.
Why not? It’s the truth, it’s how I feel, I—
Because this can’t go anywhere! I’m leaving, I’m going back to—
Then I’ll leave too! I’ll go with you, I’ll go wherever you go, I just want to be with you.
Stop it, you don’t know what you’re saying.
He tries to tell you he does mean it. He means it more than he’s ever meant anything in his whole life. He doesn’t care about Hawkins or his stupid community college classes or his handful of odd jobs he could do literally anywhere. He’ll pick up and move. He’ll work. He’ll take care of you.
He’ll do anything so long as this doesn’t end.
What about Steve?
You stare at him plainly, certain you’ve delivered a death blow. And his face does flicker, if only for a moment, as the guilt that’s been festering in his gut for months finally shows through. And even as he shakes his head as determinately as he can, the waver in his voice is unmistakable.
I’ll…I’ll explain it to him.
Explain what? That we fucked on every available surface in his house?
Eddie shrank at your harsh words, not ready for the anger that flashed in your eyes, nor the vitriol that rose in your voice when you so crassly described the best summer of his life.
No! Well…yeah, but—I don’t know, I’ll figure it out!
Okay, and then what? We date? You practically spat the word out. Show up for Christmas dinner at your best friend’s house? Sit across the table from him as his aunt’s…as my…
You can’t even say the word “boyfriend”—it feels so juvenile, so high-school.
The argument drags on until the deep, brilliant midnight blue sky begins to tinge gray with the arrival of a cold and sickly dawn. Eddie probably would have kept going until the sun rose, until it hung in the middle of the sky, until it had set and come back up all over again. But you told him as calmly as you could that you had to go back.
It was time.
His van practically crawls to a stop in the driveway, the screech of his brakes mixing with the soft tweets of birds just beginning to stir. He shifts it into park and reaches up to grab the keys and cut the ignition, but you lay your hand on top of his to stop him.
“I don’t think you should stay,” you tell him, forcing back the wobble in your voice.
And the way he looks at you when you say it makes you feel like you’ve been stabbed. His face crumples, his brow pinching together, his mouth contorted in an ugly shape more snarl than frown.
“Don’t do this…” he says, gritting out the words through a clenched jaw. “Please.”
And it’s not the sort of begging you’re used to hearing out of him. It’s not an eager plea for you to kiss him or touch him, nor a cheeky request to fuck you somewhere you could get caught. This is real begging. It’s him clawing at you from behind a chain link fence, a lost puppy who wants only for you to take him home from the pound.
Not asking for anything but you.
“Eddie, we can’t—”
He reaches out for you, his hands coming up to cup the sides of your face, his touch somehow soft and tender despite the rigid tension you can see in his arms, in his back, in his shoulders.
“We can do anything we want,” he whispers.
His breath is warm on your lips as his forehead rests against yours. He really believes it. And god do you want to believe it too. But…
“I’m sorry.”
Tears brim along your lashline as you wedge your fingers under his to wrench them from your face, rushing to get out of the van before he can stop you. Your footsteps thud on the concrete as you retreat inside the house and lean on the door in the foyer until you hear him backing down the driveway and the glow of his headlights has disappeared completely from view.
You drift back upstairs, heading for your sister’s room that has lain untouched since they left. Past all the places you and he defiled this summer. Past your bed with its rumpled sheets that still smell of Camels and cologne. Past the guest room where Eddie barely slept, lying awake at night thinking of you instead. Past the answering machine and its flashing red light that signals a new message has been left, one you’ll listen to in the morning with bleary bloodshot eyes.
It’s your sister letting you know they’ve changed their flight. They’ll be home tomorrow.
Which is now today.
Having John and Viv back in the house is an adjustment.
Upon playing their message, you and Steve did a sweep of every room trying to get it back up to his mother’s impeccable standards you’d let slide since your arrival…in more ways than one.
You don’t see much of Steve’s father, which feels normal because you never do. Even after all the deals he closed this summer, he somehow only has to work more now that he’s home. Most mornings, he’s up and headed to the office before the rest of the world has hit the first snooze on their alarms. And some nights he stays until long after the rest of the house has gone to bed.
It gives you and your sister lots of time to talk. Well, it gives her time to talk. And the one thing she simply can’t seem to stop talking about is how incredible the yard looks.
She keeps looking out the windows and sighing wistfully as she stares at the haven Eddie has created. She starts to take her morning coffee, her afternoon tea, her evening glass of port out on the patio just to marvel at the perennials just beginning to flower. She’s beyond thrilled.
And you’re…fine. At least you can pretend like you are. Most days.
It’s easy to slip back into the state of numbness that was your home base after everything with your ex. But with him, you had just felt mad. There was no guilt or remorse eating away at your insides. No bottomless pit of doubt in your stomach, no needling thoughts of regret gnawing at you constantly. No part of you left wondering if you’d made a terrible mistake.
Or rather, another one.
What’s really not helping is Viv going out of her way to berate you about how you’re going about this all wrong. She’s quick to scold you for moping around the house, asking if this is what you’ve done all summer. She’s adamant you should be getting back out there—back on the bike or the horse or whatever other tired ass cliche you preferred.
It’s during one of these rants that the phone rings and mercifully cuts her off. Steve is calling. He left his lunch at home and he’s wondering if someone can bring it to him. Vivian grins.
“Your aunt would love to. She was just saying she needed to get out of the house.”
And she’s not wrong, even if it’s her and not the house you need a break from.
But as you make the turn into Family Video’s lot, your stomach drops at the sight of the brown and white van parked out front. Eddie’s long frame leans on the hood, unlit cigarette dangling out of his mouth, his hands resting on the hips of a girl he’s got pressed up against him, his fingers toying with the frilled hem of a baby pink top that flashes the bare skin of her lower back.
Your neck is as stiff as death as you walk past, keeping your eyes glued to the door in front of you, trying to ignore the breathy laugh that floats on the air and punctures your brain. You yank on the handle a little too hard, the silver bell overhead even louder in your already ringing ears.
Steve lets out a loud groan of relief when he sees you, or rather when he sees his lunch, and he tears into it right there on the sales floor. He’s the only one on today and the store is deserted— everyone likely at the pool or out enjoying the last few weeks of freedom and warm weather.
Or going for a gold medal in tonsil hockey.
You fold your arms across your chest and lean on the counter, sneaking a glance over your shoulder you know you’ll regret. Most of the display going on outside is obscured by the decals and posters on the windows, but you can still see plenty.
Eddie’s head dips to whisper something in that girl’s ear and you feel about as tall as the crumbs scattering from Steve’s sandwich.
As he chews, your nephew’s gaze follows yours out the window. His brows raise as Eddie grins and he starts to run his hands down the curve of her spine, slipping them snugly into the back pockets of her jeans. Unable to see the grimace on your face, Steve just nods approvingly.
“About time,” he sighs as he rips off another bite. “He’s been like…catatonic lately.”
The sourness in your stomach only curdles further until you mutter out a goodbye to Steve and turn to make your escape. But the very moment that you do, that girl is taking Eddie by the hand and pulling him along behind her into the store. You and she nearly collide at the door, close enough you can smell the sickly sweet peach lip gloss she’s wearing.
“Oh! Sorry, ma’am,” she says, blithely smiling as she floats over to the new releases.
Behind her, Eddie stands staunchly in the doorway. He takes up the entire exit, his dark clothes seemingly absorbing all the light in the room as you lift your chin to look him in the eye.
You expect to find contempt. Something callous and unfeeling. More than merely smug, you’re sure he will be dripping with arrogance and condescension. Because he’s got every right to be, doesn’t he? You really think I cared about you? Don’t you see how fast I can replace you?
But when you do look at him, there is only pain etched into his features. He holds your gaze for no more than a few seconds, but it feels like an eternity. You think that all of civilization could be crumbling into ruin around you and you would never know because you can’t stand to tear your eyes away from his. And you don’t, until he drops his head and turns sideways to let you pass.
His cologne stings in your nostrils as you do, and your arm brushes the edge of his denim vest. And you don’t make it but a block away before you have to pull off onto a side street and cry.
For the next two weeks, the sky is permanently gray.
Dark and mottled clouds roll in sometime that evening and suddenly even the smallest sliver of sunshine becomes as precious as real gold. Their coverage is dense and the air becomes thick and muggy with humidity that only gets more oppressive, yet never gets any closer to breaking.
Every day, the house seems to get smaller. It’s like you’re a rat in a maze and the scientists who are studying you keep removing portions of it until you’ve been boxed in with no escape. But the idea of going out, the thought of running into Eddie again, is too much for you to bear the risk.
The only thing that brings you any sort of solace is that the school year will start soon and you’ll have work to distract you again. Truthfully, the only reason you have yet to extract yourself from Hawkins is because your new housing—a little craftsman you’re going to rent from the head of your department at the university—won’t be ready for you to move in until the end of August.
But the looming threat of your departure somehow only encourages Vivian.
You should have known something was up the moment she said she wanted to have a “family dinner” to celebrate your last night. You should have known when you came into your room and found a bag from her favorite department store sitting on your bed containing a sundress far too floral for your taste. It might as well have had a post-it on it that said “Wear Me” like your mother used to put on your school clothes when she laid them out for you in the morning.
If you were smart, you might have thrown it out the window. Or maybe even climbed through it yourself and scaled down the trellis to make a run for it. Instead, you put it on. And your feet are like lead on the steps as you come down to find your sister bustling around the dining room.
Your brow furrows as you count four place settings. “I thought Steve had a date,” you say.
“He does,” she hums, shooting you a sidelong glance. “And so do you.”
“Viv, no. Please don’t do this—”
“I haven’t done anything!”
She throws her hands up and smiles, but all the faux innocence in the world can’t disguise that glint of mischief in her eyes. You open your mouth to protest, but you’re cut off by the doorbell.
“That must be him,” she titters, flapping a napkin behind you to shoo you into the foyer. “Go on, now, don’t keep him waiting!”
Eddie parks his van down the street from Steve’s house, under the cover of some tree branches that hang low over the road. He smokes two cigarettes down to the filters and debates on a third as he tries to summon the courage to get out of the car. Every part of his body seems to be at odds with him, unwilling to settle until he finally kicks open the door and gets out.
His feet carry him forward in long, determined strides but they falter when he sees a car he isn’t expecting sitting in the driveway. It’s a cruiser. One Eddie found himself pulled over by on more than a few occasions, being scrutinized by the giant hulking man now ringing the doorbell.
Hopper.
He’s not in uniform. In fact, he’s more dressed up than Eddie has ever seen him, all trussed up in a sport coat over a button down that he’s actually buttoned. Shit, is his shirttail tucked in?
“Munson?” he says in surprise. “What brings you here?”
But before Eddie can answer, the door is opening and it's you on the other side. Eyes widening when they land on him and then blinking furiously when you realize Hopper is there as well.
“Um…hi.”
It’s hard to say who looks more uncomfortable as you step aside so Hopper can come in and you exchange some stilted pleasantries. You remember him from high-school and you aren’t all that surprised the town’s terminal bachelor is the one your sister has decided to foist upon you.
What is surprising is that Eddie is here. And his eyes are searing into you, while you have yet to fully acknowledge him. In all honesty, you're not entirely convinced he isn’t a hallucination. Only when Viv appears and glides into the chaos like a parade float do you actually believe it.
“I thought that was you, Chief. So glad you could make it—Oh, Eddie!”
Her eyes fall on the boy still hovering in the doorway, her hand coming up to her chest.
“I’m so sorry, dear, but Steve’s already left for his date. Wait right here, though, I have some money for you for all that work you did.”
“No, you don’t have to—”
Eddie takes a hurried step forward, his white sneakers finally breaching the threshold. Vivian is already gone, though, rushing up the stairs. Leaving you alone. With both of them.
“Hey…Hop. John’s in the den, if you want a drink,” you tell him, pointing the way.
With a terse nod and a gruff sound you presume is him answering in the affirmative, Hopper heads down the hall and leaves you and Eddie to your uncomfortable hovering. He leans on the narrow table in the entryway, staring at his own hand as he traces the edge of the wood with his finger, the rest of his hand closed in a fist. He won’t look at you now. Won’t lift his chin an inch.
“What are you doing here?” you whisper.
Eddie just shrugs, staring now at his sneakers he’s scuffing against the oriental rug under his feet. His mouth parts slightly, but no words come out. His chest rises with the breath he draws, but he swallows his non-response when he hears Vivian at the top of the stairs.
“Here you go, dear,” she says, handing over the envelope full of cash with his name written on it that’s been sitting on her bureau for weeks now.
His head shakes. “You really don’t have to—”
“Nonsense! You did such beautiful work out there, it was so wonderful to come home to. You ought to think about going into landscaping.”
Vivian just about forces the envelope into his hands and he mutters out a thank you, tapping his fingers on it and making furtive glances towards the door as she whirls around to you.
“You two met, right?” she asks. “He must have been here all the time working.”
“Y-yeah, yes, we—”
“Thank you,” Eddie says, stuffing the money into his back pocket and reaching for the doorknob in one motion. Still not looking you in the eye. “I’ll, um…I’m sorry to disturb you…”
He goes to leave, one foot already out the door when she suddenly stops and looks back over his shoulder. You feel your breath catch, his gaze finally lifting to meet yours.
“Have a good night,” he says quietly. And then he’s gone.
The door doesn’t slam. He doesn’t even shut it particularly hard. Still, you can’t help but flinch as it closes soundly behind him. There’s something so final about it, but it doesn’t feel like enough after everything that’s happened—it doesn’t feel right for it to end with something so hollow.
Vivian just smiles and loops her arm with yours.
“Ready to go find the boys?”
You walk Hopper to the door after dinner, more or less coerced into it by your sister.
There’s a slight scuffle as you try and figure out how to say goodnight to one another. He winds up reaching out a hand as big as a bear’s paw and clumsily pats your shoulder, almost like he is one, when he seemingly can’t decide between hugging you or shaking your hand.
Chuckling through it the best you can, you keep the same fake smile you’ve worn all night firmly plastered in place until the door closes with him on the other side. And you stand there for a minute, not too keen on going back in the kitchen for your impending cross-examination.
But then your eyes land on the vase sitting on the table in the entryway. More specifically, on the folded piece of paper tucked behind it with only a ripped edge peeking out.
You reach for it, flashing back to a ringed finger tracing the edge of that table, fist clenched around something, and your hands shake as you unfold it to read Eddie’s note scrawled inside.
I’m parked down the street.
It’s just starting to rain as you hurry down the driveway, skulking through shadows as you walk along the quiet street. In the distance, you can hear the rumble of the approaching storm as fat raindrops hit the top of your head and slide down your scalp through the forest of your roots.
A pitch black sky overhead matches the road under your feet, scantly lit by a lone streetlight. The wind picks up as you look around for Eddie’s van and just when you’re starting to think he must have left already, you spot him on the side of the road under the cover of some trees.
At first all you can see is the glowing orange dot at the end of his cigarette, but his face steadily comes into view as you approach the driver’s side door. A blatant attempt to avoid what you know will happen if you climb in the passenger seat.
The rain starts to fall a little harder as he rolls his window down. It soaks the ground at your feet, clouds of steam rising from the pavement. The air is thick and heavy, like standing in a bowl of soup. It has your shoulders sagging with the weight and your lungs struggling to draw breath.
At least that’s what you let yourself believe.
“How was your date?” Eddie asks with a bitter laugh that does little to disguise his disgust. You shake your head, pushing back a wet piece of hair clinging to your cheek.
“It wasn’t a…It was just dinner.”
The hurt in your voice makes his eyes round and soften, cheeks hollowing as he takes a long drag. Seemingly breathing in as deeply as he can to steady his own frayed nerves.
“I was afraid you might have left already,” he says.
“No,” you tell him, eyes falling to your feet. “Not ‘til tomorrow.”
He nods.
“I, uh—I know I shouldn’t just show up like this. But I wanted to tell you…” His jaw is clenched, bottom lip shaking almost imperceptibly, corners of his mouth turning downwards as he stubs out his smoke. “I need you to know that I don’t regret it. Any of it.”
He lifts his gaze to meet yours on the last words, brown eyes like twin black holes that hold all the mysteries of the universe. There’s a terrifying vastness to them, a depth you’ve only barely scratched the surface of. Your lips press together and you pinch your eyes shut as your hand creeps up to rest on the door, fingers curling around it as raindrops splash on the interior.
The thunder only gets louder as the storm nears, the rain now falling in a rapid patter. Here it is, you tell yourself. This is what you knew was coming. This is where you knew you’d end up.
“I don’t regret it either,” you say, raising your voice over the sound of the rain, forcing down the tremble in it. “And I…I’ll never forget it.”
You can only hold his gaze for a second before you have to look away. And as you do, you give the door a tight squeeze, wishing it was his hand instead.
“Bye, Eddie.”
Your feet carry you away like you’re on autopilot.
You’re barely conscious of the steps you take or the direction you head in as the rain ramps up to a downpour and fully soaks through your clothes. Your head is spinning and foggy, unable to register much of anything until one sound breaks through—the creak of the van door swinging open and slamming shut, followed by the splashing of water under sneakers.
The solid weight of his hand on your shoulder makes you start as he turns you towards him, the rain falling harder and the wind blowing faster all around. The trees overhead whip back and forth in a frenzy, their branches dipping low and their leaves swirling wildly in the air.
“Eddie, someone could see—”
He wraps his hands around your wrists to wrench you closer, pulling you into his body, both of your faces splattered with rain, barely able to see anything beyond each other.
“Let them,” he breathes out before his lips slam into yours.
The sound of the storm is only magnified inside of Eddie’s van, every drop of rain on the metal roof practically deafening as you climb through the rear and your bodies slide against the floor. The carpet inside is rough and scratchy, the fibers imbedded with decades worth of dirt and crumbs and tobacco and weed particles, but you can’t find the will within you to care.
All you can think about, all you can focus on, is him.
His kiss is harsh and punishing, lips mashing rough against yours, teeth clacking as he devours you. Aggressive and bruising in a way that, deep down, you know you deserve.
Your wet clothes cleave to your bodies as you struggle to drag them off, steadfast in their refusal despite your feverish attempts. Eddie’s jeans and boxers only make it to the middle of his thighs before he’s pushing inside of you and a strangled moan releases from his throat.
The stretch makes you writhe, the stinging pain quickly becoming an afterthought as your need for him overrides everything else. You fist his wet shirt in your hands, rivulets of water trickling down your forearms as you clutch it tight to pull his body as close to yours as it can get.
Adrenaline races in your veins as he begins to thrust and you realize it’s the first time he’s taken you bare, the velvet of his skin dragging against your walls with nothing to separate you.
He fucks you fast and hard, your legs kicking up to wrap around his waist, your ass burning from the friction, your muscles tightening and tensing with every move. His whole body is quaking as he drives himself inside, the van rocking, teetering like it’s about to tip over the edge of a cliff.
He fucks you like it’s the last time he’ll get to, because he’s pretty sure it will be.
“Let me come in you,” he groans in your ear, more command than request. “Want to fill you up, want you to feel every…fucking…drop…”
The words are grunted out in time with his thrusts, his hips pushing deeper with every heaving breath, his cock twitching inside you as your walls pulse and tighten around him.
“Fuck, Eddie, oh my god!”
Your fingers weave into his wet curls, twisting them in your grasp at the root, tugging his head up and holding him there so you can stare into his eyes, your own vision strained in the dark.
Lightning flashes through the windshield, followed instantly by a clap of thunder. So close it could have struck right outside. For an instant, the van is illuminated and you see his face fully—eyes wide and wild, hair half-dried in damp coils, tattoos stark against pale skin that glows white.
It only lasts a second, but it shows you everything you need to see.
“Come, Eddie,” you gasp as the lightning dissipates and the whole van rattles from the force. “Want you to come for me, come in me—”
And he does. As fast and hard as the lightning strike, Eddie’s cock bursts with rope after rope of his release spurting inside of you, your center tingling as the feeling of it spreads throughout your body. The noise he makes in your ear is ungodly. It pours out from deep in his throat, guttural and resonant as the echoing claps of thunder. He drops all of his weight onto you, shaking from the force of his orgasm as you’re flattened between him and the floor.
“It’s okay,” you coo softly, your fingers loosening your grip on his hair to stroke it instead, nails dragging soft and slow against his scalp.
He shivers at your gentle and soothing touch, inhaling shaky breaths of you with his face pressed to the juncture of your neck and shoulder. Safe and dark and warm.
“I love you,” he says, his voice cracking in a dry sob as his tears slide off his cheeks to mix with the rainwater and sweat on your skin. Your throat clenches as you swallow, still trying to force down the words that have sat heavy in the center of your chest for weeks now, fighting to be said.
Finally, finally, finally, they make it out.
“I love you too.”
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requested tags: @winchester-angel @nope-thanks @skyfullofsong123 @mmmunson @woahnotmecryingoverafanfiction
#eddie munson#eddie munson x you#eddie munson x reader#eddie stranger things#eddie munson fanfic#eddie munson fanfiction#eddie munson blurb#eddie munson angst#eddie munson smut
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It's a bit long - maybe it a two-parter? But reader is in love with Eddie and tries to show him, sending him love notes in his locker but he thinks (hopes) they are from Chrissy so she decides to just give up, thinking he will never see her like that so she distances herself completely and he doesn't understand why - she even changes direction when they are about to run into each other in the corridor - and when he finally manages to confront her she just tells him "You won't ever love me like I love you so I am just trying to move on" and he's like "well, how do you know that, you've never given me a chance to love you, you just bailed when I didn't realize you were the one sending the notes!"
Request by @somethingvicked 💞
Angst, fluff, pining.
💞
For the last two weeks you had a secret. It was something you hadn't told anyone, not even Robin.
The note in your pocket is carefully sealed in an envelope that you are going to try and sneak in Eddie's locker.
In the last few weeks you have been leaving love notes for your long time crush Eddie Munson. You had poured your heart out in the notes, it was cathartic. A way to express your feelings that were bursting to be let out and it was nice to watch the sweet smile on Eddie's face when he read the notes.
They were all signed anonymously and you disguised your handwriting just enough so that Eddie wouldn't notice it was you. To be honest you were trying to build up the courage to confess to him.
Cautiously you look around and there is a rare occurrence where the hallway is pretty much empty so you quickly rush over to Eddie's locker and slip the note in.
Heart hammering you hurry away from the locker and feel nerves swirl in your stomach. This note was different, a lot more detailed and lovey dovey than the others, you couldn't help it. You were head over heels for Eddie and even though the notes were anonymous, it felt cathartic to say how you felt.
When Eddie finds the latest note at lunch time, the whole of Hellfire is gently teasing him. His cheeks are pink but his eyes are full of excitement, and an anxiousness to know who they are from.
"Who's going to send this doofus love notes though really?" Gareth jokes and ducks to miss the pretzel thrown at his head while laughing his head off.
Then Eddie perks up, smiles dreamily and sighs. "Hey maybe they are from Chrissy?" He looks so hopeful and the words immediately crush any thoughts that you had in which he might feel the same.
Chrissy. He wanted it to be Chrissy, of course he did. She was the sweetest and prettiest girl in Hawkins High, there was no way that Eddie was immune to her charms.
It hurt you though. All this time he talked about not conforming and yet he falls for the beauty queen. Not that you could be too mad at him, it's not like anyone could help who they fell for. You wish you could have that power, to erase these feelings you have for Eddie.
The thoughts still make you feel faintly nauseated and you get up suddenly, "Sorry guys, uh headache'' it's all you can do not to run out of the cafeteria while blinking away tears.
Thank god no one saw you crying. Then you'd really have no way to explain yourself.
That night you're laying in bed and listening to the most angsty music you can find, your thoughts racing about what happened today and stomach churning at what it meant.
You knew deep down that Eddie might not feel the same and at least that was confirmed. It was time to stop indulging in dumb fantasies, it felt like the small bit of hope you had clung onto had faded and now you had given up. Eddie was never going to see you as anything more than a friend.
Maybe it was the push you needed to move on? Or at least distance yourself a tiny bit until these feelings faded.
But how long would that take? The thought of not seeing Eddie every day is awful, you don't know what to do and the worry and despair keeps you up all night.
By the morning you feel numb but full of acceptance at what you need to do.
💌
Distancing yourself from Eddie was hard. He was so ingrained in your usual routines, you were so used to seeing him practically every day that there was this ache in your chest that he wasn't around.
It didn't help that Eddie looked at you like a lost puppy and it shook your resolve every time. You missed the guys at Hellfire too, instead of your usual spot at the table you talked to Robin or Nancy, aware of eyes on you when you didn't sit down beside Eddie.
It was a catch-22, you desperately wanted these feelings to go away so things were back to normal but you missed Eddie like crazy, it felt like a piece of you was missing.
When you saw him in the corridor today, you froze and went in the other direction but you didn't miss the look on his face when you did. It was so hurt and it crushed your heart even more.
You couldn't leave things like this, you would have to say something. Eddie must be so confused and you didn't want to hurt him. But how could you explain how you felt about him, that you're the one who sent the notes?
What if finding out how you felt ruined your friendship? What if what you were doing was ending it, honestly your mind was racing a mile a minute.
Shit you haven't sent any notes in over a week, you didn't want Eddie to get his hopes up wishing it was Chrissy only to be disappointed that it was you.
Obviously you and Eddie really need to talk. Eddie must be thinking the same thing because he shows up at your house around an hour later with a determined look in his eyes.
He's angry and you can't blame him. If the situation was reversed you would feel the same. His furious gaze softens as he takes in your tears.
"Why have you been avoiding me?" His tone is gentler than you'd expect and that makes you feel worse. God you've missed him, you've really missed him.
"I'm sorry" you murmured and made your decision to tell Eddie about the notes, hoping that he wouldn't hate you. "Eddie, I-" he speaks before you can get the words out.
"I know it's you sending the notes" oh...oh shit. You're nervous so that makes you babble and grow even more flustered because you don't know how Eddie would react.
"How?" is the last question you ask and he smiles, all dimples. The smile that you love.
"When you started avoiding me after I said I hoped the notes were from Chrissy, the look on your face...I'm not stupid sweetheart, it became pretty obvious" so much for thinking that you had covered up your feelings, you should have realised eddie would figure it out.
He could be annoyingly perceptive. "I know you don't feel the same Eddie, you're panicking now so you're basically word vomiting, "I've been trying to get over these feelings so that's why I've been distant, I'm sorry"
He frowns, "Sweetheart, I don't want you to avoid me" you bite your lip, emotions rushing to the surface. Frustrated you wipe the tears that are building in your eyes.
"I don't know what else to do Eddie! You won't ever love me like I love you so I am just trying to move on, I'm trying to do that so I don't mess up our friendship" you choke on the words and try to stop the tears that are blurring your eyes. he stares at you looking absolutely stunned.
"You love me?" his voice is so small and you swear there's a hopeful edge to it but you must just be imagining it.
"Yeah, I'm the one who's been sending the notes, but you wanted it to be Chrissy and like I said you don't love me like I love you so I need to move on" Eddie groan exasperated and runs his hand through his hair in frustration. It tugs on his unruly curls and he groans, once his hand is free, he's gesturing widely.
"Well how do you know that? You've never given me the chance to love you, you just bailed when I didn't realise you were the one sending the notes" he snaps and you're seriously frustrated.
"Because you wanted it to be Chrissy! And give you a chance to love me? You either love me or you don't Eddie. I can't just sit around on the off chance that you might feel the same way when you obviously don't"
Tears roll down your cheeks and you wipe them away shakily, you're emotionally spent and you just want to go home and have some time for yourself.
Eddie softens and his hands are on your shoulder, soothing and tender. "You're not listening, I want a chance to love you because I am in love with you"
Oh... "You do, you reply hopeful and he nods, keeping his gaze on you. What about Chrissy?" he shakes his head and his hand moves up to caress your cheek, his gaze is soft and full of adoration.
"Just a dumb crush. I'm over her now. What I feel for you...you're all I think about sweetheart, shit I think almost losing you helped give me a uh, knock on the head" you giggle and he ducks his head looking almost shy.
"Can I kiss you?" you nod eagerly and it doesn't take long for his lips to meet yours. Eddie pulls away after a few seconds and looks completely blissed out. It's exactly how you feel. Wow.
"Shit, I am an idiot, could have been doing that for a while now if I wasn't so oblivious" you stifle a smile and he's grinning too, smiling as he kisses you again.
And again. Showing you how much he loves you.
💞💌
#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x you#eddie munson angst#eddie munson#eddie munson fluff#friends to lovers#eddie munson x y/n
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Mr. Miller's Injury ; Mr. Miller viii
[not my gif]
pairing: joel miller x fem!reader (afab, some use of she/her, use of the words girl/woman)
rating: explicit. [18+. mdni]
word count: 7.8k
summary: ❝"you aren't doing anything, Mr. Miller," you tilt your head, bending to fit level with his face. "if you recall, you're too injured to even leave the bed."❞
warnings: storm vibes, fairly tame compared to other parts, being stood up, dom!reader, sub!joel (FINALLYYYY), brief slapping, injured!Joel, anger, spitting, brief edging, choking, PiV unprotected, this is porn with no plot, masturbation, slight voyeurism, begging, degradation, age gap kink if you squint, calling joel 'old man', v brief praise kink, lots of pet names SORRY
notes: thank u all for ur patience, it's been SO LONG. I am sorry this isn't the longest update but i hope you still enjoy! switching things up a bit bc they're learning to Talk about their Feelings <3 finally <3 there will be another update v v soon as well!!! hope you all enjoy.
[previous. this is part eight of the Mr. Miller series.] [masterlist]
[important - i no longer use a taglist. I've made a notifs blog - @tremendumnotifs - for ppl to follow for notifications. tysm!!]
★
to say you're pissed is an understatement.
forty-five minutes, you huff as you stare at the ground, forty-five minutes standing alone, looking like a fool in this fucking dress.
the rain sloshes down on you, sending muddy streams down the sidewalk and under your boots to kiss the streetwater. it's been raining for days - ever since that black out the other night, it's barely let up; you're getting permanently used to your hair heavy from the drops. you glare sharply down at yourself, watching as sheets of water slap against your soaked corduroy jacket - the vibrant thread that sewed it together again all those weeks ago wilted by the water. you pull your jacket tighter over yourself, as if that could help at all.
you shouldn't fucking be out here right now, getting soaked to the bone.
sighing harshly, you squint up the street to your own house, lights off and waiting sadly; when you'd left, you'd expected not to return until the morning, anyways.
but here you are, an hour later, dateless and more furious than you've been in ages.
you feel like a fucking idiot.
serves you right for trusting that Joel would bother to put on a nice button-up and walk down to the bar to see you.
you try not to glare against the rain when you pass his house; the lights are glowing from the upstairs window, and your blood boils - he's probably in there sitting around doing nothing because he's too terrified to be a man and face you in person. the bitter taste in your mouth only grows at your brief concern - you didn't see him yesterday at all, but you'd just assumed he was on patrol.
you're about fifteen steps away from your your front door, already planning on downing a whole bottle of liquor in your bathtub by the time you hear it.
someone shouting your name.
turning your neck, you spot Ellie, waving her arm from only twenty feet away; the onslaught of drops has quickened, and you can't hear what she's saying. gritting your teeth, you trudge over to her, trying to hide your exasperation, "what's going on?"
"been looking for you!" is what she shouts as you walk towards her, shouting through the rain. "-just asking where you've been lookin' like that." she gestures to your dress, one definitely meant to wear at backyard barbecues and not in the middle of torrential downpours. she pulls you by the wrist onto their porch; the lights flicker slightly and it's just barely less dry - you ignore the wall behind you, thinking back to all those months ago when Joel'd had his cock shoved down your throat with your head pressed up against it.
you blink away the memory, anger simmering in your stomach; you ignore the heat in your abdomen.
"I had plans." you grunt, crossing your arms. her brows raise doubtfully; so full of sass for a teen. "you seen Joel lately?" you ask, hoping to sound nonchalant; she must pick up on the anger that flows from you; frowning, she jerks her head, "seen him? that's why I was lookin' for you. I've been babying him all day."
you stare at her, lifting a brow. "babying?" you parrot.
she frowns, tilting her head; the water sprays in a mist onto you, out of the direct exposure but still splattering fat sheets of rain onto your ankles. "didn't Tommy tell you?" she asks, but you're nearly out of patience.
you sigh sharply, "no, I haven't seen Tommy. been busy all day at the gardens dealin' with this shit."
this shit has been stressing you out beyond belief - a near monsoon in fucking Wyoming, drowning the crops you very desperately need for the commune. root rot is one thing, but losing all the food you'll need for months is something else.
"well, neither have I, but if you see him, tell him I could use a hand with his brother." Ellie sasses, arms crossing. for a moment, you nearly laugh - she's standing like Joel, a look of defiance in her eyes. she huffs, "I've been trying to keep Joel in bed, but you know how stubborn he can be. he got injured on patrol yesterday."
a flicker of concern betrays the anger in your heart. you blink at Ellie. "injured? he's injured?"
she glances towards the door then back at you, her own shirt pelted with rainwater. "he dislocated his shoulder. it's pretty bad."
you let out an exasperated sigh; that's where he's been? fucking injured and didn't bother to tell you? you purse your lips, feigning calm as you actively fight off the sense of embarrassment at your own irritation. "I can help you, don't worry." you promise, wishing you'd had a chance to change out of the dress. "if you want a break, I'll make sure he doesn't kill himself for a while." even if you wish he would.
she smiles, nodding as she turns on her heels, "thank you - you know how he is. didn't even mention he was hurt 'til I found him trying to hide it. been trying to tough it out, I guess."
you follow her into the house, gritting your teeth as you wring water out of your hair. "unbelievable," you mutter under your breath.
Joel is lying in his bed.
You resist the arousal that climbs at the vision of him outstretched in bed, propped perfectly on a pillow, hair grown out and curling; instead seething with irritation at him.
"what the hell is this, Miller?" you say in lieu of a greeting, crossing your arms the second he makes eye contact with you. he's surprised to see you, but not as surprised as you'd hoped.
he looks as terse as ever, eyes darting from you to Ellie, who lingers in the doorway. he grunts, shifting slightly and wincing. "hurt m'self."
you resist a laugh of disbelief, smiling sarcastically, "I can see that."
he is too fucking stubborn - you're too fucking stubborn, too; there's a beat, then you give in, "you couldn't have sent someone to tell me not to show up? I looked like a complete dick down there by myself." you snap, wounded. he rolls his eyes, "well I sent her to ya, didn't I?" he snaps, gesturing to Ellie with his good hand. she shakes her head, throwing her hands up, "I don't want any part in...whatever this is."
she disappears after muttering something about finally getting some peace and quiet - it's silent until you hear her bedroom door slam, the rain pelting down against the windowpanes.
unable to hide any longer in the quiet, you cross your arms. he sighs. "look..." he mutters, wincing as he sits up slightly. "I'm sorry I couldn't find ya. y'don't deserve t'be sittin' alone by yourself like that."
you clench your jaw, nodding, "you're right, Joel. I'm sorry you're hurt, I understand, it's just-" your doubts creep back in and you shake your head. "I don't know what I thought." you chicken out, looking away.
you hear his breathing; it seems to move with your chest - a patient, quiet breath that waits for your anger to subside.
"this ain't 2003, sweetheart," he finally says, but there's a warmness in his voice; it is wholly familiar and foreign at the same time. "can't jus' text you to let y'know I fell and dislocated my shoulder." he sighs gruffy; you huff, walking closer to the bed. "yeah, that and if it was 2003, I'd still be learning to ride a bike."
his eyes are sharp on you - a reminder of that unspoken thing, that tension that lives between you and him, pushes you further "don't." he says lowly, eyeing you stormily as the rain forges on outside. "don't remind me of why I shouldn't be doin' this."
the hesitation that always lingers between you sneaks up like mist through a forest; you push at it, wading through until you're next to where he reposes in bed. you can't resist the smirk that plays at your lips. "you aren't doing anything, Mr. Miller," you tilt your head, bending to fit level with his face. "if you recall, you're too injured to even leave the bed."
he hums, eyes stirring with that playfulness that you never quite expect; he tilts his chin up and it's all you can do to not kiss the lips that part beneath you. "c'mere an' make me feel better then, would'ya?"
you lift a brow, letting your lips brush just over his cupid's bow, imbued with the thick hairs of his mustache. you shake your head gently; he thinks everything's fine after a measly sorry?
"really?" you whisper against his lips, "you expect me to come play nurse and give myself to you just like that?" you tut. a swirl of desire in your gut when his good hand slides up the back of your thigh, squeezing the round of your ass.
you hope he cannot see the goosebumps up your thighs at his touch.
"y'didn't even play nurse." he argues, tilting his head up at you. you cross your arms, unimpressed; he sighs sharply. "sweetheart, 'm sorry." he offers again. you roll your eyes, "whatever, Joel." you whisper, leaning close to him; the way he looks up at you is saccharine; revenge must be the only thing sweeter. an idea creeps into your mind; a taste of his own medicine.
you let your lips brush his, but then pull back slightly. "if I can wait for you, you can wait for me." you say, pressing a chaste kiss to Joel's lips. his eyes are no longer clouded in that warm brightness; no, he is cloudy with irritation. you bite back a grin as you pull away from him, eyeing the chair next to the bed. "the fuck's that mean?" he grunts, eyes hawkish as they travel with you, lowering until you're comfortable in the chair. you let his gaze travel the expanse of your legs; the dress you chose to wear to your date is soaked - it sticks to your thighs and reveals more than you'd expect - you don't shy away, though. when it's Joel, you can never shy away.
"what are you doin'?" he questions again, voice deep with growing interest.
you smirk sultrily, tilting your head as you hum, propping your foot just next to his leg, on display for his gaze.
you spread your legs gently, letting your hands explore the planes of the body you know so well; over your chest, you flick wet strands of hair away from your slick skin before skimming over your curves. a flicker of lightning in the window and Joel's eyes are darker than before; you hum, "I'm keeping you company, Joel." you simper, letting the strap of the dress slip slowly off your shoulder on one side, your hand traveling down your chest and imagining his own rough, calloused ones. "unless you'd prefer I leave?" you ask with a small pout.
"I'd prefer if you stop bein' a brat and get the fuck over here." he snaps; patience worn thin, you just smirk, knowing he's enjoying the display of your body for him in the dark room.
you slowly lift the hem of your skirt up, over your hips; his eyes hungrily devour the lace you wore - a treat for him at the end of your date, you'd thought - now teasing.
you make a show of slipping a hand into your underwear, gasping gently as your fingers slide through your folds. you flush at the arousal that has gathered there - there might be something to say about how turned on you get when you're pissed at Joel - yet you let yourself relax, gently moaning as you rub your sensitive clit with one finger.
Joel sits up, his eyes dark and lip caught between his teeth as he watches you; he winces slightly, but ignores the pain, “let me.” he says, trying to sound authoritative. you just smirk, shaking your head. “no.”
Joel ought to learn to be patient.
so you resume, your finger gently sliding inside you; it’s nowhere near how it feels when Joel touches you, but you'd never dare admit such secrets out loud. instead, you add another finger; curling them, you let out a moan, biting your lip only when you remember there is another person in the house. thankfully, the rain slams on the windows hard enough to mask what noise you've let escape your lips.
Joel stares at you as if it's torture; you can see his own arousal growing in his pants; even as he adjusts, his brows drawn and breathing sharp. sliding the other strap off your shoulder, you let the top of your dress fall; your breasts on full display, nipples perking at the cold nip of the air.
"god damn it," he hisses, "quit your fuckin' teasing."
you don't, though: and he cannot conceal the groan he lets out as you push your chest out, arching your back as you start to thumb your clit. pleasure courses through you, soaking your panties as you watch Joel watch you.
his hand barely twitches before you shake your head, "don't touch yourself." you snap, eyes sharp as you watch his palm press over his obvious hard-on.
he glares at you.
"y'think you can tell me what to do?" he snaps, eyes sharp though you can see the flush on his cheeks at your words. this makes you stop; instantly you're pulling your fingers out of yourself, sitting forward - his eyes widen only slightly when you stand, suddenly standing over him again.
he is a dream - laid back, cheeks red and eyes sharp from the tease, straining nearly out of his pants in his desire. he pants, swallowing as you trail your fingernails over his chest slowly; up, higher...
your hand wraps around his throat - it looks small, next to his tanned skin, but the way he swallows, the way his cock twitches - he loves it. you do, too. you lift a brow. "don't think I won't fucking leave you here like you left me alone at the Bison." tilting your head, you smirk. "someone has to put you in your place, right?"
his jaw is taut as he blinks at you, not daring to argue. you tilt your head, staring at him until he rolls his eyes, shaking his head. "fine, darlin'." he grunts, "have it your way."
his hand slides away from his crotch and with a satisfied smirk, you let go of his throat. "don't move your hand from the mattress unless you want me to leave." you snap, sending him a look, "okay?"
his jaw ticks, as if deciding how much power to give up. he sighs sharply, "fine."
satisfied at his answer, you slide your underwear off your legs, leaving the dress on your torso.
Joel swallows hard, cheeks pink with desire as you climb up onto his lap; his eyes watch you warily, knowing you well enough to know you wouldn't give in this easily.
and you haven't.
instead you slide back slightly onto his thighs, relieving the brief pressure of your heat over his clothed cock; you snake your hand down, returning your fingers to your heat to find the velvety arousal waiting for you. he watches with lidded eyes and a slacked jaw. sighing, you wiggle your hips, gasping as the tips of your fingers brush your sensitive clit. your other hand rises to pinch a nipple gently, eyes locked on Joel's. he's halfway delirious - exasperated, irritated, melting with desire.
"is this better, Joel?" your voice drips with antagonism as you slowly slip two fingers into your dripping cunt, "you wanted me close, didn't you?"
he says nothing; watching you, his hips move with yours, providing you with friction as you touch yourself on his lap. a muttered curse under his breath until you whine gently, fingers stretching yourself as you wish it was him.
"god damn it." he mutters, head falling against the pillow, staring up at the ceiling as if in silent prayer. you can see him searching for some god, high up there, who will take him out of this torturous pleasure. there is a burning desire, a sweet pride, knowing that you are the only one who can. "-gonna be the death of me, darlin'."
it is not the first time he's said this. in fact, the night you first fucked around with Joel he said something very similar as you walked the patrol logs to Maria and Tommy's; the memory makes you flush, the anticipation, the butterflies, the shock.
the first time Joel put his hands on your skin, caressed you, fucked you.
"y'gonna let me fuck you, sweetheart?" his voice always slips into that Texan accent more when he is aroused; the heat spreads over your body and goosebumps crawl over your legs as you let your head fall back - moaning his name, you thumb your clit gently. it never feels good enough when you do it yourself; hiding this truth, you hum, sending Joel a salacious smirk. "if you want me, you're going to have to beg for it."
this seems to have brought him back to Earth, back to this bed, to remember who it is that straddles him, who it is he desires most in this town. he bristles at your play for dominance. "-oughta fuck you 'til you remember who you're talkin' to. remember your manners." he snaps - his desperation is leaking through; you can only smile knowingly as you buck your hips on his thick thighs. pleasure starts to pool in your stomach as you tilt your head back, your thumb flicking over your sensitive nipples. he watches the movement like a hawk; angry, straining with pleasure but unable to do anything against your ministrations.
you lean yourself, not daring to stop your movements - instead, your hand slips from your breast to return itself to Joel's throat; squeezing as you feel yourself tremor with ecstasy. the want in his eyes drives you forward.
"where are your manners, old man?" you whisper, breath hot as it fans across his lips. "standing up a pretty girl like me?" you tut, shaking your head. "such a mean man. you know, I could have my pick here in Jackson-" you sigh, feeling yourself pulse with your imminent high, your fingers pumping into yourself and pleasure coursing through you.
he lets out a sigh, a whisper upon your own lips, "-I know, baby." he grunts, hips bucking against yours, seeking any kind of friction for himself. something about his desire, how you've rendered Joel Miller completely desperate and breathless for you, nearly pushes you to the edge.
"-fuck, 'm sorry, darlin'," he grunts; his hand grips the sheet below him, his voice quieted with the knowledge that Ellie remains somewhere in the house. You swirl your hips, nearing your high as your head tilts back; you move, your tits bouncing as you do, gasping gently. a part of you wishes to see how far you could push it - could he cum in his pants like this, barely touched?
but a yearning desire to be filled by him overtakes that thought.
"see-" you cut yourself off with a quiet, sweet moan, pulsing around yourself, "see how wet I am?" you spread your thighs open further, leaning back; his eyes, hungry and unrelenting, stare down at the apex of your thighs, where you've made a wet patch upon his pants, where you fuck yourself on your fingers. "yeah, baby. let me feel that pretty pussy, then." he grunts.
you lift a brow. Joel lets out a desperate moan, eyes rolling gently as you pitch your hips forward, grazing his straining cock. You eye him coyly. "where's that please you love to hear so much, Joel?" you hum, your thighs trembling as you stave off your orgasm. "or have you already forgotten how to speak?"
his eyes strain as he resists the urge to put his palm over you - your tits, your face, your cunt - you grin in satisfaction. good. "jesus," he grunts, "lord- just-" he clenches his jaw, hips bucking up against you; you gasp at the friction it causes, pushing your palm into your clit hard. "-let me fuck you." he tries to order.
you shake your head, "beg for it." you says, breathless as you scrunch your eyes shut, nearing your orgasm. "beg for me, Joel." you say again, clenching- so close-
his grip finds your hand, tugging you away from your seeping cunt so quick you barely know what's happening. you gasp, eyes flying open; his eyes are not nearly as sharp as they were- no, they're begging, pleading: wide, staring up at you like you floated down from Heaven above.
"-don't cum yet, please." he says, voice breathless, "wanna feel you 'round me. promise, I'll do anything you want, anything - please."
you could cum untouched at just the words, the arousal dripping from his lips, the way his eyes drink you in like he never wants to see anything else.
the breath tumbles out of your lips, staring at him with satisfaction, your own cheeks flushed. "was that so hard?" you pull him in for a kiss that has him keening, tongue struggling to fight for the dominance you refuse to give up. even if it took Joel dislocating his shoulder, you will not let him take away your first real breath of control over him. you lean in to his ear, biting his lobe softly as his breath hitches, "now let go of my fucking hand." you whisper coldly.
he drops it like dead weight.
smirking, you lean back, lifting your fingers between you and him; your slick coats them, shining with your evident arousal and desire. you don't have to ask; he's taking your wrist gently and pushing your fingers to his lips in a second.
you watch in awe, desire simmering deep within you as his tongue laps every drop of your arousal from your fingers, his eyes rolling back in his head, groaning gently at the taste of you. "fuck, sweetheart-" he moans and you're unsure if you've ever heard something so delicious. "please, let me feel you."
you hum, roving your hips over his, sliding until you straddle him properly; his fist, squeezed and wanting, clenches against the sheets below him. a part of you flourishes within your chest as you watch him - so clearly aroused, yet letting you take the reins for once and doing what you say.
experimentally, you drag a hand down his chest. careful to avoid his left shoulder, which is propped up and slung with a makeshift sling from an old t-shirt, you explore him.
Joel has never really let you look at him very much before; you smile, eyes trailing over his puffing chest, his stomach, down to where you roll your wet cunt over the fabric of his jeans. the texture is rough - you nearly yelp as your clit catches on the cold metal button; Joel's lips quirk up in a small smirk at the noise you let out.
you ignore his stare, not letting yourself think about how full of admiration it is at the moment; no, you let yourself bathe in the arousal, in the waiting that Joel has patiently gone through for you. your eyes find his face - that rugged, guarded expression: you see the flicker of vulnerability within them that you're slowly getting used to, that warmth that always catches on your heartbeats and makes them skip or pound just that much quicker.
so patient now, but where was he hours ago, when he could have come told you in person he couldn't make your date, or hell even just sent Ellie?
"somethin' wrong, baby?" he asks, voice low - his brow is similarly so, drawn over his eyes and you nearly lean to kiss the concern away; you remember the stares you'd gotten at the Tipsy Bison just an hour ago, sitting alone - another bout of irritation washes over you. "y'tired of tryin' to tell me what to do?"
you let out a small huff, "thinkin' about what I was gonna let you do to me in the bathroom at the Bison tonight."
it's barely a hint at anything, but his eyes shut at the image. "I'm s-"
you really don't want to hear it - he's already apologized several times, and you forgive him. now, you're much more focused on giving what you get. "-shut up, Joel." you snap - and he does.
jaw snapping shut, he watches you as you move on him, eyes desperate, hungry.
you let your hand slide over the wet patch you've made to palm him, squeezing his cock experimentally. it throbs, twitches; the breath catches in his throat at your palm and you hum. he lets out a low moan when you unclasp his jeans, tugging then down enough to let his cock spring free.
he's impossibly hard; leaking precum and throbbing, Joel stares up at you as you dance your fingertips around the course hair at the base, watching him move under you. his lips are parted, but nothing more than grunts and breaths leave them; you grin. "what's wrong, Mr. Miller?" you tilt your head, "scared you'll cum too quick?"
his eyes roll at your sass, but whatever lip he was about to deliver is cut off when you move your hips upward; grazing over his aching cock is your wet arousal, your cunt enveloping him in your heat. it's as much a tease to him as it is to you - you're aching with need, cunt swallowing around nothing each time you slide your hips against his cock and feel it slide through your slick.
"please." it is like a breath in the wind, but it makes you smirk. your hand slides to hold his jaw, tilting his head until he looks at you straight-on - his eyes are wide and pleading, begging. it coils something very deep within you.
"you're real handsome like this, Joel." you say, just to watch the blush over his cheeks. his brows furrow, nostrils flaring; irritated, bashful, embarrassed. "I love it when you're so desperate you can't think straight."
he lifts a brow, not daring to say anything - you see the knowing look in his eyes, though; he loves it just as much as you do. you wonder, briefly, if he's ever really let go like this before, let someone else take control. it makes you throb to think you might be the first one. your clit brushes to head of his dick and you both gasp; your hand slides until your thumb pulls on his bottom lip. parting his mouth, he watches you expectantly - a tingle within you as you realize what he expects without having to tell you, and so you do it. spitting, you watch as your saliva mixes with his on his tongue and he groans, swallowing it quickly.
fuck, it feels good; your slick has ruined his jeans and you've run out of patience.
slowly, you rise to your knees and grasp his cock, giving two pumps that have his eyes shutting and swears tumbling from his bitten lips. but then, you notch him at your entrance, swallowing thickly at his size - no matter how many times you take Joel, it's always a stretch.
he feels it too, his eyes widening in bliss. "c'mon, now-" he becomes impatient; you serve him a warning look, lifting a brow. his expression is one of pure resentment and arousal - you're relieved for a moment that he truly is injured, otherwise you know your ass would be spanked completely raw and you'd probably be fucked out on the floor having alerted the whole neighborhood.
"quit actin' like you've never done this before," he snaps, clearly fed up with playing around, "like you weren't made to slut yourself out on my cock. let me feel you." but his eyes meet yours, and he tilts his head, adding a small, sarcastic, "please."
a shiver of desire cascades over you; irritation at him standing you up, at getting injured and not telling you, at the storm for ruining your crops - all the frustration dissipates when you sink yourself slowly onto Joel, feeling him split you open.
you moan in tandem with him, taking him as low as you can go until you let out a short whine, feeling his cock punch your cervix. deep- he always gets so fucking deep.
you remain slow because you know he wants it fast. a rise and fall of your hips, teasing, as he drags alongside your channels, your cunt squeezing him deliciously. you're already nearing bliss once again, eyes fluttering at the feeling; using him, taking what you need.
his own eyes are screwed shut, jaw more tense than you've seen before; breathing heavily, it's as if he's trying to fight an orgasm already. you smirk, shaking your head, "already so close, old man?" you tut, leaning back to balance one hand on his lower thigh, the other hiking up your dress so that he can see your slick, where his cock is swallowed by your greedy pussy.
you sigh, the feeling euphoric as his hips slowly buck to meet yours, fucking into you as you bounce on him. you try not to let your eyes roll back, taking in the slow sweetness of him filling you to the brim. "you're so fucking lucky, you know that?" you hiss, eyes knitting together. "such a fuckin' asshole, yet here I am letting you fuck me."
he groans, head falling backwards and his free fist not wrapped in the sling fisting the sheets with a death grip. you slow your hips slightly when he doesn't respond, watching him with arousal swirling across your vision. a low fire burns bright within your core, your orgasm building up again.
“fuck," he nearly moans it, "I know. I know. just- don’t fuckin' stop, baby.”
you've never heard him this desperate; it shoots ecstasy through your very veins, curling your toes and making you clench around him, throbbing in pleasure. "pussy's fuckin' heaven." he mutters to himself. you flutter, shivering down your spine.
"dirty man," you whimper, starting to fuck yourself onto him harder; you bite back a moan as you hear your wet cunt against him, legs beginning to shake. "how long did you know me before you decided you wanted me, hm?"
he lets out a low groan, hand flying to rake through his curls as he bucks his hips with yours. your hand flies to his cheek, landing a smack upon the apple of it. a light slap, one to make sure he's paying attention; the doe-look in his eyes makes your arousal coil, that spring getting tighter and tighter.
is this how he feels when you're underneath him, looking up at him like that? "I asked you a question." you whisper.
"m-moment I saw you," he says, "y'know that, baby." he affirms, barely able to string his words together. warmth courses through you at the admission, so free, so honest.
"fantasized about me for months, didn't you? and now you have me, and you're leaving me all alone on our first date?" you shake your head, pushing your hair away from your face before toying with your tits once again, sighing as you shiver. you're chasing your high already, spurred on by his flustered state, by the power you've found within it.
the rain slams on the windows outside, but you couldn't care less.
you know he's injured; you know Joel, he wouldn't intentionally hurt you - but standing you up on your first date still stings, and you're not afraid to let him know.
you're close to your orgasm, and Joel can tell - his thighs are thick cords of muscle beneath you as he begins to fuck up into you, tip of his cock pushing against your cervix and making you bite back a scream of pleasure.
you cast yourself forward, avoiding his injured shoulder as you nip along his neck, tongue sliding against the damp, hot skin. "we can play games all we want, Mr. Miller," you whisper against his ear, relishing in the deep spot he hits within you, "but we both know. I own you."
he lets out a groan at this, his hips bucking up into you; you gasp as his cock punches your cunt, hitting so deep you keen upwards, toes curling. fuck. "yeah baby, I'm yours-" his voice nearly breaks as he says it, looking as if fighting an internal war over risking further injury to his shoulder if it means pulling you down harder against him. "fuck, so fuckin' pretty like this, all mine."
his chattermouth seems to have returned; in great time, too, as you grip the hand he's cemented to the sheets and shove it between you two, gasping as you near your high.
"make me cum," you instruct, "make me cum, then maybe I'll let you cum. can you do that?"
it is an echo of what he'd asked you just days ago in your own bed; with the rain pouring down, flickering in candlelight.
"fuck," he mutters, "yes." he affirms; you nod, too blissed out to respond more. his fingers spring to life desperately, his own thrusts sloppy as he seemingly tries to stave off his own orgasm. your body is on an electric wire; every muscle clenches when his rough fingers find your clit, toying and rubbing furiously to bring you to that brink. "g-good, that's so good-" you moan, trying desperately to control the volume of your voice as you shake with pleasure. "don't fucking cum, Miller." you order, hand falling to his throat. he moans, nodding.
"please," he says it quietly; you see the hunger, that darkness in his eyes as he strains. you gasp, a wave hitting you as he begs, "please, cum for me, pretty girl." he groans, "wanna feel it. c'mon-"
you hit your orgasm with a gasp and a low, drawn out moan. it rolls over you in waves, pulsing, dragging you into the current and spitting you, heaving, back into the universe. he's pressed his hand over your mouth; a desperate plea to remain undiscovered, as your hand falls similarly to his mouth from his throat.
you feel his lips form your name under your fingers; it feels like home.
his eyes fall shut in pleasure and his head tilts back, exposing the entire expanse of his throat for you to claim; he looks like fucking heaven.
you kiss Joel's neck lightly as you pick up the pace, bouncing on him steadily as his fingers fly up; too weak of desire, you let him grip the side of your thigh. "shit," he mutters, "darlin', I'm close-"
shaking your head, you stare at him, "didn't tell you you could cum yet, did I?"
the taste of his own medicine looks divine upon his face; the graying facial hair glinting in the rainy light outside, his thick neck on display again. he growls and it stirs something delicious within you.
you feel your grip on reality - on your control, on him - start to loosen as your thrusts become sloppy. "Joel," you whine looking into his eyes. it's as if he snaps.
he’s surging up, kissing you deeply as groans fall from his lips, his arm rising to your waist to hold you as you move. this position hits the perfect spot inside you that you have to bite hard on his good shoulder to avoid screaming in ecstasy.
the rain washes away the sound of skin against skin but you feel it, you feel him everywhere.
"I'm close," he mutters. your eyes are screwed shut; you jolt when you feel the pad of his thumb rubbing figure-eights on your clit and you nearly writhe in his hold, whispering, "don't- you'll hurt yourself."
"don't fuckin' care." he almost growls, beginning to drive up into you, tilting until your toes curl and your whole body shakes. "jus' wanna cum with you. can I cum with you, baby?"
his voice is so desperate your eyes nearly roll back. you move your hips, chasing the high that you can feel coming. you clench, feeling the familiar feeling creeping on you, your cunt puffy and spent; hungry. his hand grips tight on the junction of your leg and hip, fingers squeezing the sides of your ass as he pulls you down onto him, grunting with his eyes closed.
he looks angelic like this, flushed and wide-eyes as he bites his lip. your eyes meet his and you nod, "cum with me, Joel, yes-"
you shake as you hit your high, legs giving out a bit as you pulse and clench around his cock. it immediately makes him cum, thrusting into you and shooting hot spurts deep inside you, his moan desperate and full of pleasure. "could stay with you forever," he says, voice hollow and spent, warm and tired as he pushes his length impossibly deeper into you, sending you keening. your thighs quiver, feeling the cum that leaks from you drip onto his jeans; your heart stops, a wash of flattery over you suddenly as you register his words. "keep you with me forever."
your heart is suddenly pounding, chest heaving, eyes blissful. you stay, arms on him as his good arm stays around you, pulling your weight on top of him. his cock still throbs gently inside you as you press your cheek against his chest.
keep you with me forever. you sigh at the thought, blinking syrupy, pressing a kiss over his chest.
you open your mouth; in fact, the sentiment is there, unspoken and unadmitted but still lingering like clouds and sunsets and uncertainty and fear in your mind. something like love.
but he cuts you off before you can even speak, "I'm sorry," he mumbles, lips brushing against your hairline, "I wanted tonight to be perfect. I'm sorry I got hurt, 'n I'm sorry I didn't tell ya."
you swallow back your words, nodding, "Joel, I understand. tell me next time."
he nods, "jus' gotta stop fucking this up." he says, voice slightly anxious. furrowing your brows, you sit up slightly; you both wince at your sore bodies, but you don't mind. frowning, you take in the melancholy that's settled now that the haze of lust as subsided. this isn't normal; trying to navigate any kind of relationship itself is difficult, let alone your rocky start with each other - god forbid you have rough patches, misunderstandings.
Joel has shown his capacity to mature, to work on himself, and you wouldn't dare write that off as nothing. you know it isn't - you know just a few of the many things Joel has seen in his time. you will learn when he is ready, but for now you wait, patient.
"hey," you say softly, guiding his cheek in your palm. he looks at you with large eyes as you shake your head, "you care about me" you affirm.
he nods with no hesitation, "yes, I do. I-" he cuts himself off, looking away before taking a breath, "jus' don't deserve you, s'all."
you shrug, "well, I care about you too. that's what matters. everything else, we're just..." you purse your lips with a small smile, giddy at the thought of his words earlier; in this life, finding any kind of happiness is wholly unrealistic and more than a privilege. and yet, you have this man in front of you; a protector, a friend, a lover - things are fucked up, yes, but there isn't anything in this world that isn't.
perhaps it's time to start maturing; perhaps it's time to start seeing things for what they are.
"figuring it out?" he offers, looking almost hopeful. you nod; he kisses you fully, lips tasting a faint hint of your arousal from earlier.
he hums as his hand trails over your back, up your neck. "your hair's still wet." he observes against your lips, hand carding through the strands. you nod bashfully, "was pouring out earlier." you remind him.
he hums, "still is." he observes, chin jutting to the window. you look on, taking in the tears that slide down the panes violently; a cry from the world, though your heart is filled with something much more joyous. "s'ppose it's too late to take you to get drinks, then?" he suggests, giving you a look. you look at him wildly, "you're injured, Joel."
he sighs, "don't matter, like I said." he argues. you huff, shaking your head, "I heard you were being babied all day, and now you want to walk down into town in the torrential downpour?"
he stiffens, lifting a brow; you flush when you feel his semi-hard cock warm inside you. "who the hell said I was bein' a baby?" he says; you laugh. he laughs, too. it's nice.
shaking your head, you sigh. "we'll wait until you feel better, Joel. then you can take me for as many drinks as you'd like."
he sighs, "get'ya all the liquor left in this place if I can help it." he mutters, kissing your hairline again, "I'm sorry, again."
you kiss his lips, knowing he means it. "I know you are." you whisper back, a hand soothing over him. his eyes are a deep honey, searching yours with vulnerability; you're reminded of his words from just moments ago and flush.
Joel speaks up again first. "would you-" he swallows thickly, and you turn to watch him, still bathing in the afterglow of two orgasms, his cock still snug within you. his good hand slides over your spine, "would you stay the night?" he asks, eyes vulnerable, "y'can borrow some clothes." he offers, looking over your soaked dress hopefully.
something flutters in your stomach and you nod, "sure, I'd like that."
he's never invited you explicitly like this; you smile gently, deciding not to tease him for the blush upon your cheeks. you watch the curve of his nose, the curve of his jawline as he suppresses a bashful grin - you flicker with a stir of arousal. "can I use your shower?" you ask, eyes flickering to the bathroom that connects to his room. clearing his throat, he nods. "'course."
you purse your lips, "can you get in the shower with your shoulder like that?" you ask; his brow lifts in interest, some kind of arousal swirling in the depths of his eyes. "for a piece of this ass?" he mutters, hand groping your left cheek hungrily, "I can at least try."
you roll your eyes, ignoring the newly restored desire that grows between your thighs, smirking. "I should say you should take me to dinner first."
he chuckles, "ship's sailed on that, I think." he slaps your ass, watching with sharp eyes as the flesh bounces with the impact. "I'll make y'dinner when I'm healed, though."
you hum against his lips, sliding off of him and gasping at the feeling of his cum slipping between your thighs. you yelp lightly, grinning as you rise up and he slaps your ass again. "help clean me up first," you whisper, pressing a kiss to his nose, "then I'll consider it."
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#joel miller smut#joel miller x reader#the last of us (tv)#let’s chat abt mr miller#the last of us x reader#the last of us smut#joel x reader#joel the last of us
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ᯓ seasons — ot7
syn i used to hate it, until i found out it was your favorite thing. (1504 words)
pairs ot7 + reader | cw petnames — mlist navi
note synopsis was actually more of a prompt but err i hope you guys enjoy anyway >< also im writing this half asleep so im sorry if there are any mistakes !! everybody thank peng cause without her this wouldn’t even be here rn
LEE HEESEUNG
“why don’t you warm me up?”
heeseung never liked winter. he hated the coldness and the gloom that came with it. ever since he was young, he’d stay cooped up in his room refusing to go out and play with the snow.
even as an adult, heeseung would be more silent during the season, chattering his teeth even though he wore about a dozen coats.
well that was until he knew you. you were the complete opposite. you loved the coldness and the festive feeling of winter. finding the beauty in the falling snowflakes.
ever since heeseung started dating you, your love for winter created a small fondness in him. he loves it when he gets to see your pretty smile and your nose red-tinted from the cold.
he loves it most when you both would take the train back after a day out and you would fall asleep on his shoulder, hands tucked on his to keep yourself warm.
PARK JONGSEONG
jay had never really been picky with anything. having being the cook back at home and even now cooking for you made him accustom to people’s likes.
one thing, however, that never had he enjoyed was caffeine. he hated the bitter aftertaste of it. the smell that always lingers.
but when you once bought him an americano back when you both were still friends, he downed the whole thing. making you laugh, he liked hearing your laugh, it was addicting. he saw how you were savoring the taste after every sip. thinking that if you liked it, it shouldn’t be that bad.
and now, every morning before you woke up, he’d add coffee-brewing to his routine. making both of you coffee before heading for work. but really, he just loved seeing you hum in delight after a sip, a small smile on your lips.
“you’re so good at this, babe” you say, complimenting his brewing skill.
“why don’t you give me a kiss for it then”
SIM JAEYUN
you loved musicals. from hamilton to phantom of the opera, you’ve always loved watching them if they played in theaters near you.
jake, however, would rather spend his time playing soccer or watching a movie at the comfort of his home. he didn’t find musicals interesting, refusing whenever his friends offered to go watch one together.
however, when you offered, he found himself sitting near front seats in a large theatre. completely invested in the story line. he took down internal notes in his head knowing you’d start talking about it the moment you both walked out the theatre, just so he could give his own perspective in case you asked.
he would listen to you talk all day if it meant having to watch musicals often. asking you to repeat things to see your smile grow. his eyes linger on you, observing the pretty smile you have and the excited glint in your eyes as you talked away.
“wait, can you explain again about what happened to her in the end?”
PARK SUNGHOON
possibly the biggest hater of mint chocolate chip ice cream, sunghoon would not get near it. if he had a choice, he’d rather choose something more simple like vanilla.
but all in all, sunghoon never really liked ice cream. he doesn’t understand the enjoyment people get whenever they’d crave it.
apparently all it took for him to finally try the flavor he most despised was for you to (barely) beg him to hang out with you. he was too flustered when you asked him what flavor he wanted and when you asked if he wanted the same order as you did, he just nodded. barely registering what you said.
he unfortunately did not realize this until he scooped up a spoonful of the ice cream and tasted the familiar, yet, unfavorable taste. however, after much thought and probably the sweet smile you were giving him, he concluded that it didn’t taste as bad as he thought it would.
after dating, sunghoon would often pick up ice cream for you two after a long week, eating it together while huddled up watching a movie in your living room.
the taste of it was always there, but he understood why you adored the flavor. it growing on him more than he’d expected, especially when you’re the one he’s eating it with.
KIM SUNOO
being alone creeps him out. he gets terrified if he was ever left home alone. that’s one of the reasons why he loved going out.
he finds it comforting being surrounded by people, chatting along with anyone and everyone, catching up with them.
before you were in his life, he felt like being alone further makes him feel unwanted. busying himself with anything if, in a case, he were to be left alone.
when you did come into his life, though, it was like you rearranged the meaning of being alone. you love the peace and quiet of being alone. the silence that seems to fill the room letting you breath for a moment.
technically, he still didn’t really like being alone. sometimes, he’d call you to his apartment to ‘be alone’ with you. none of you speaking any words to each other, just laying down and listening to each other’s breathing. so many words unsaid but the feelings able to be conveyed through gestures.
you’d taught him how to enjoy the quietness. he finds that when he’s alone he felt more calm and centered. still, as a person who loves talking, he would always prefer being with people.
but, you redefined the meaning of being alone and he loves you for it. he loves the way you look happy and at peace all the time, he loves it when you both be alone together.
YANG JUNGWON
“babe, can you get my socks pretty please?”
as a person who gets cold easily, you love bundling yourself up before sleeping. your necessities were your 2 blankets, a pillow for your side and socks.
jungwon always found it iffy to wear socks in bed. even if he were to buy new ones to wear only in his house, he still wouldn’t like the feeling of it.
that was until he was introduced to you by a mutual friend. when you two started talking, he found your many quirks adorable.
however, one that he only found out when you started dating, was that you loved wearing socks to sleep. his horror back then showed on his face when you asked him if he were okay.
overtime, you gradually convinced him. especially if it was winter and the coldness would go up by twice the usual weather. being used to your routine, he didn’t even realize he started wearing socks to bed until you pointed it out when he was sleeping over.
the realization he had was baffling, but as he accustomed to it he didn’t find it weird at all. he would start buying you both matching socks when he was out and was thinking of you.
NISHIMURA RIKI
“let’s get back to bed, love”
everyone knows riki is not a morning person. he hated waking up early more than anyone. it’s not weird to find him coming out of his room at 1 pm.
by 1pm, you’ve probably already went to a cafe, had breakfast, catches up with a friend, and had a 2-hour lecture.
when you got involved with riki, you tried your hardest to wake him up early. his friends had told you to give up many times saying they’ve tried over and over again.
but miraculously, on your 7th try, he woke up. although, grumbling, he started sitting up and asking what you were doing at his dorms.
the first time you tried you were just there to drop off some food to your big brother. but when you knocked and no one answered, you were about to leave. until one of his dorm mates opened the door to let you in.
they were all stood crowded in front of his room, shouting at him to wake up, but he never moved. still sound asleep after a whole debate session ensued in the dorms.
after your brother and his friends collectively decide to leave him alone instead of trying to wake him up, you put it upon yourself to try as well. little did you know, he’d heard all your wake up calls, just too afraid to face you, seeing his bedhead and all.
7th times the charm however, when he finally braved himself to wake up and reply to you, although his heart pounding abnormally when you smiled at him.
when you two started dating, he couldn’t not wake up before you. much more aware of his surroundings when he’s around you.
riki however is riki. if he were to wake up earlier, then you would also have to wake up later sometimes because of him. deciding to stay in for a bit longer when he asks to, surrounded by his warmth.
© junislqve 2024. liking, commenting, and rebloging are appreciated.
#── 🐚 junisfics ᝰ.ᐟ#© junislqve 2024#enhypen smau#enhypen texts#enhypen angst#enhypen fluff#enhypen imagines#enhypen x reader#enhypen smut#lee heeseung x you#lee heeseung x reader#park jay x you#park jongseong x reader#park jay x reader#sim jaeyun x you#sim jaeyun x reader#sim jake x reader#park sunghoon x you#park sunghoon x reader#kim sunoo x reader#kim sunoo x you#yang jungwon x reader#yang jungwon x you#yang jungwon x y/n#riki nishimura x reader#riki x reader#riki x you#niki x reader#niki x you#niki x y/n
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Hiiii I’m the anon that sent this: Reader gets broken up with by a guy that she actually really liked but in reality this guy was a douchy football player that was rude to her friends (but she didn’t know about that.)
It was meant to be a request if you’d wanna write it!
And id say that Eddie does have a crush on reader.
I hope this is what you wanted and you enjoy it. Thank you for requesting 🫶🏻
The friend
Y/N waited years and years to fall in love. She grew up watching princesses find their prince, and she wanted to feel that. She wanted to feel loved by someone who chose to, someone who looked at her and would do anything to be with her. Even if he had to fight everyone to do it. She wanted to see what it felt like to be cared about.
To her, Greg did just that. She was smitten with the jockey football player the second he sent her a dazzling smile during a game. It was like his eyes found hers in the crowd, it was fate.
It didn't take long for him to ask her out and for her to say yes immediately. She was swept off her feet and never landed. He was sweet and romantic. He showered her in love and compliments. She thought he was perfect all around.
Eddie and her friends had other thoughts. Greg was two-faced but Y/N wasn't aware of that. Chrissy hated Greg, and she hated cheering for someone like him. He was selfish, cocky, and an ass. It took a lot for Chrissy to dislike someone, and she hated Greg, that meant something.
Eddie had two reasons to hate Greg. One reason was that Greg never had nice things to say to or about Eddie. Greg believed he was trailer dirt and a freak, just like everyone else. But Y/N didn't know that. The second reason was that Eddie was helplessly in love with Y/N.
Did he have the chance to go for it? Definitely but he was terrified. It was scary enough to tell a girl he liked her, but to tell his best friend? He wasn't sure he could handle the rejection.
Eddie and Chrissy grew closer over their dislike for Greg. Chrissy knew Eddie was in love with their best friend before Eddie realized it. Chrissy never understood how Y/N didn't catch on. Eddie was in no way good at hiding it. He stuttered over sentences, clumsier than ever, smiled the second she looked at him, and he'd do anything she asked.
Once Eddie saw her with Greg, he believed that was his sign that they would never be anything more. Eddie and Greg were two completely different people.
When the news broke out that Y/N and Greg broke up after almost a year together, many people had things to say. But no one would say it to her. Eddie felt relieved that his year of suffering was over. But he knew it was a matter of time before some new guy came along. He wasn't sure he could let that happen.
~~~
"I don't understand why he broke up with me," Y/N sobbed. Her head was in Eddie's chest as she soaked his band tee in her tears.
Eddie softly held her in his arms. His chin was on her head as his fingers ran through her hair.
"I don't either, babes." And he was honest. He couldn't imagine ever breaking up with her. She was easily the best person anyone could be with.
"Do you think it's because I'm not pretty enough?" She sniffled, her head facing him as she pulled back away, letting him search her face for the flaws she believed she had.
Eddie smiled and cleaned off her tears with his thumbs. Her red puffy eyes, wet cheeks, and trembling bottom lip. He couldn't lie to her.
"No. I think even right now you are the most beautiful girl I've ever seen."
Eddie was dead serious. A sense of truth in his eyes as he barely blinked. His voice was deep and low, with no sounds of jokes.
The intensity in his face made her nervous and shy. She dug her head back into his warm chest as she held him tighter.
"He's the idiot who let you go."
~~~
Eddie was patient as his best friend recovered from the breakup. Chrissy and Eddie high-fived behind her back, sharing smiles and looks.
"I heard you and Greg broke up! Congratulations that guy was a di-" Dustin's voice was cut off, replaced with a groan.
Y/N turned around confused, Eddie standing next to Dustin with a smile. Dustin held his arm with a whimper.
"Congratulations? What does that mean?" Y/N pushed further.
Eddie and Chrissy looked at each other, trying to think of a fast lie.
"I know someone who likes you! It's a congrats to him!" Dustin said with a smile as he covered his lie. He looked to Eddie for approval and his smile dropped at the look on his face.
"Who?" Y/N perked up. For once, after a long week of crying, she smiled.
"That's not his place to tell. Why don't we go to lunch?" Eddie said, grabbing Dustin's arm and dragging him down the hall.
"That was weird," Y/N said as she turned to Chrissy.
"Why are you smiling like that?" Y/N asked. Chrissy stood with a huge cheesy grin.
Chrissy snapped out of her daydream of Eddie and Y/N finally together. Quick with a lie.
"It's good to see you smile again, now let's go eat."
~~~
Another week passed. Two weeks since her heart was shattered but she could feel herself healing. She had to thank Eddie for all of it. He was always there, holding her as she cried and talking her through everything.
Her mind was still thinking about who Dustin was talking about. The idea of a guy liking her made her feel less insecure. Maybe Greg was the problem and not her. She drew blanks as she tried to think who it was.
She hoped it was Eddie, but that felt like throwing wishes in an empty fountain. She was nowhere Eddie's type. She wasn't edgy enough or listened to the same music he did. She barely understood Hellfire and his ideas. He wasn't much of her type either, but there was something about him that she would never find anywhere else. He was one of a kind and she figured that's why she fell for him so hard.
Eddie never made moves, so she figured he didn't like her. That's why she had no problem going out with Greg. She thought maybe if Eddie showed jealousy, she'd have her answer. But he was just the same, nothing changed.
She was staring at the wall as Eddie woke up from his sleep. His tired eyes took her in. He had his arms around her already, he pressed his chest against her back tighter. She felt her body get warm as his arms squeezed her against him and his face snuggled into her neck. The soft breaths of his nose hitting her skin, his warm body against hers. Do all best friends cuddle in the same bed?
"How long have you been awake?" His deep and tired voice made her bite her lip. She wiggled in his arms, he loosened them as she turned around to face him. She kept herself in his arms, snuggling closer until she was nose to nose-with him.
"I never fell asleep," she whispered
The moon shined into the room, reminding her she had been trying to sleep for hours.
"How come?" He asked, his palm flat against her back as he softly rubbed the bare skin as her tank top slid up. She shivered as his hands touched her skin.
"A lot on my mind," she said truthfully. She admired his eyes. No matter how many times she looked into them, the brown continued to take her breath away. She took in the rest of his face. The bridge of his nose, the red lips she craved to taste. The slight hair growing above his lip, she knew he'd shave in the morning, but she loved being the only one who got to see it. His frizzy hair spread out on her pillows.
"Greg?" Eddie asked, admiring her face the same way she was with his.
"No," Y/N said, "about who that guy is Dustin brought up." She nervously bit her lip as she watched Eddie's reaction.
"Oh, how come?" Eddie asked, he hid his nervousness with a yawn
"Do you know who it is?"
"Uh no," Eddie said his eyes looking elsewhere
"Then why are you looking away?" Y/N smiled, she poked his cheek
He nervously laughed
"I don't know who he is," Eddie said, looking into her eyes as he finished the sentence.
"Such a bad liar! tell me," she squealed excitedly. He groaned as she left his arms. Sitting up, she looked down at him.
"Why do you want to know so bad? Are you ready to move on?" Eddie asked, maybe this was an opening.
"I don't know. Feels nice to know someone else likes me. And depending on who it is, I think I'm ready to give it a shot." She shrugged
"I can't say who it is, but I'll give you some hints." Y/N smiled as Eddie sat up.
"He has dark hair and dark eyes, he admires your beauty. He likes how smart and creative you are. He loves it when you laugh, it makes his heart race. He smiles whenever he thinks of you. And he's been dealing with these feelings for years." Eddie said, too lost in his confession that he was scared he gave too much away.
"So you are close friends with him?" Y/N asked, she turned her head in confusion. She would not believe that any of Eddie's friends had a crush on her.
"I think I said too much," Eddie chuckled nervously and laid back down. His head hit the pillow and he closed his eyes. "Let's go back to sleep."
Y/N thought in silence for a few seconds. She thought long and hard about what he said. The guy he described matched his appearance. Eddie always complimented her looks and laughed at all her jokes. He seemed nervous to talk about the guy, scared he said too much, which meant he was worried she would find it out. He dragged Dustin away when he brought it up, which told her he was worried Dustin would spill the beans.
"Y/N?" Eddie asked, cracking open one eye
It was Eddie
Eddie had a crush on her!
"Y/N" Eddie said again, both eyes open as he went to sit up
But Y/N pushed his body right back down as her lips smashed on his. Eddie's eyes widened in shock as her lips moved against his. Her hands were on his shoulders as she leaned down.
After his shock, he kissed her back. His hands reached up and held her hips. Their kiss grew deeper as Y/N straddled his lap. He sat up, lips still attached to hers. He moved on hand up to her head and pushed her head further into the kiss.
Y/N felt every part of her body light up with electricity. Her hands moved into his hair. Something she spent years wanting to do. His lips tasted better than she imagined. He was soft but controlling. It made her head spin.
Eddie pulled away, his eyes heavy in lust.
"That was...wow." Eddie breathed out, he blinked a thousand times. Believing if he blinked hard enough, this moment would vanish. But to his luck and prayers, she was still on his lap.
"You are the friend," she said, breathy as she still waited for air to return to her lungs
"Uh yeah," Eddie nodded
"Thank god," she smiled before her lips smashed into his again.
Tags!
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#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson#eddie munson fanfic#eddie stranger things#eddie munson x female reader#eddie munson request#eddie munson fluff x reader#eddie munson angst#eddie munson angst x reader#ashwhowrites
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~2.5 words
From me: Just a silly little thing I was thinking about. Not a lot of background. Probably has some plot holes. Currently thinking it will not continue.
Warnings: Enemies to lovers (you came, you called)
Summary: She doesn't like Harry. Which is fine because Harry doesn't like her either. Except both of them are lying.
Harry didn’t like her. But to be fair, she didn’t like him either. For albeit stupid reasons on both their parts that had prolonged throughout their lives. She was best friends with Eleanor. By proxy Eleanor’s boyfriend Louis and his circle of friends were therefore inextricably linked to her. Which meant she and Harry were around each other.
A lot.
To everyone’s dismay.
It was an offhanded comment, one that Harry never should have made but it soured her to pieces. “Only an idiot would do something like that,” he said, quietly. Only Louis overheard.
And her.
That was Harry’s mistake.
But she wouldn’t take it lying down. Harry could call her stupid all he wanted; she wouldn’t let anyone get away with saying it to her. So she told him off.
It was probably the first time in his life anyone had ever stood up to him. She found that when people were attractive, they were more likely to get away with bullshit that others would put up with even though they didn’t need to. Someone like Harry was more likely to say whatever he wanted and just assumed no one would tell him off because he was pretty.
Harry shouldn’t have called her an idiot. It wasn’t kind. Maybe he was jealous because honestly, watching her follow her passion was admirable and if the light hit her just right maybe he would have agreed that she was cool for doing what she wanted despite all the naysayers like him.
Even if it was embarrassing to be told off in front of their friends.
“Damn,” Louis whispered making everyone snicker. Harry was fuming. His eyes practically turned red with anger while he glared at her.
So, they weren’t friendly.
But given they were stuck in one another’s lives they learned to be... cordial. As cordial as two people could be when she absolutely wanted to claw his eyes out.
*
An hour.
That was how long she waited inside before she realized it was no use. No new messages, no phone calls. Nothing.
For whatever reason, she imagined Harry’s smug smile saying something to the effect of “I told y’were an idiot.”
It fueled her anger, and she silently blamed him for her date’s inability to appear. Which made no sense at all. Harry had no idea she was even on a date. But she had waited too long and honestly couldn’t disagree with the British voice mocking her inside her head. She was an idiot for waiting so long.
Her phone gave her more disappointing news but she was grateful she had service.
“Hey, uh... Uber is going to be... a wait,” she mumbled quietly standing just inside the entryway of the restaurant she had stayed at far longer than any sane person would have. “I know you’re on a date, I’m so sorry. I just... any chance you’re around to come get me?” She asked through her phone. The anxiety filled her lungs and a single tear rolled down her cheek. It was so typical that she didn’t have anyone to come get her.
“Oh, babe, I’m so sorry. Louis and I have been drinking and—”
She nodded, closing her eyes. She knew it was a long shot. If it were any other time, she had no doubt Eleanor and Louis would be there for her. “Oh, you know what,” she laughed quietly. “The app just updated their time. They’ll only be five minutes,” she assured her. “Sorry to bother you,” she sighed looking at the time on the app that increased by another half hour.
“Not at all, you know I’d be there as soon as I could,” Eleanor assured her.
She texted her mom, her sister, even her sister’s boyfriend and was met with no response from any party. Her toes were numb from the chill in the air and uncomfortable shoes. It was unfair. No one was there for her when she needed them. Ever. It sounded so dramatic but it was true. She wanted one nice thing. She wanted a nice date. A night out. It wasn't supposed to be hard.
Anxiety rolled through her with each passing second on the cold street. Her throat felt tight as she scrolled through her contacts one last time and realized there was one and only option left. But she sure as hell wasn't going to call him.
Are you busy?
Is this a joke?
Well, that was a short-lived idea. God, he was the worst.
Forget it.
What? Your date stood you up?
I said FORGET IT.
Why did you text me, then?
Lapse in judgment. Won’t happen again.
Her phone illuminated with Harry’s contact, no picture. Just his name. Not even an emoji to recognize she had known him for ten years. She may as well have had his number for no longer than a week. “What?” She snapped.
He snorted. “Let’s get it straight, love. You contacted me.”
“And I told you to, ‘forget it.’”
“Are y’seriously that stubborn y’won’t tell me?”
“No, I’m not stubborn,” she was very much so stubborn. “I will not let you berate me and call me stupid or make fun of me for going on a fucking date. I needed help and I will admit. I was stupid to call you thinking you would do anything but sit on your throne of self-adoration and help someone else. As I said, it was a lapse in judgment. Good. Bye.”
*
With an invigorated sense of frustration and anger, she had determined walking was her best bet. It had only been five minutes since she spoke to him. Her feet were aching, the chill gripping every inch of her body, when a car slowed beside her. It parked and she heard the door open. She didn’t turn around. Anxiety crept through her veins. Her heart pounded heavily in her chest, and she tried to remember the self-defense moves she had learned in a seminar put on by her dorm her freshman year of college.
“How much for an hour?” Harry’s voice cut through the cold air. She wanted to be mad. Wanted to snap something at him. But the relief crushed her; she couldn’t help but feel grateful for his familiar voice.
“You couldn’t afford me,” she grumbled turning back toward him. He was leaning against the side of his car—just by the front wheel. Ankles crossed; hands stuffed in the pockets of his jacket. He looked like a model for either the car or his coat. Hell, he could have been a model for the laces of his shoes. He was utterly beautiful.
He scanned her up and down. “S’that how you dress for all your first dates?”
“Shut the fuck up, Harry,” she muttered. A blush painted her cheeks as he scanned her. It felt so judgmental she wanted to punch him. She stood in front of him several feet away, eyeing him suspiciously. She didn’t know how he knew where she was. Didn’t know why he even decided to show up. Honestly, she thought maybe he was just driving around and was going to just get back in his car and leave her.
He snorted, scuffed the bottom of his shoe on the sidewalk. “You look nice.”
“Nice?” She repeated. “Is this a joke?”
“A lapse in judgment,” he rolled his eyes. “Are you getting in or what?” He asked pushing himself off his car and opening the passenger door.
“Why did you even come here?” She asked. The warmth from his car hit her like a blanket and she wanted nothing more than to dive in and snuggle into the front seat, blast the hot air at her toes, and fall asleep against the heated seat he knew she had from all the times Eleanor talked about it.
But she was stubborn.
“Obviously it was a mistake,” he closed the door again and made his way toward the driver’s side. “Could leave you here instead,” he shrugged eyeing her over the top of his car. Like a game of chess. It was her move. She glared at him and put her hand on the car handle. He locked the door as she pulled and smirked at her. “So easy,” he mumbled.
She thought taking her chances walking would be better—her toes were going to fall off and the numbness was creeping up her ankles and making way for her legs. “Oh, forget it,” she grumbled and stalked back down the sidewalk.
Harry groaned as if truly pained by her existence. “Oh, for God’s sake, love! It was a joke,” he was by her side before she had taken ten full steps.
“What are you doing here, Harry? Huh? Just here to rub salt in the wound? I got stood up, okay? You were right. Happy? I just wanted to—”
“Idiot.”
Fury pulsed through her at his interruption. At the insult. She slapped his cheek before she could say anything else. Before she could think of anything else. His head was still turned to the side when she marched further down the street without waiting to see his reaction. The numbness of her legs didn’t deter her. The heat of her embarrassment flooded her and warmed her plenty to make it somewhere nearby that would have more accessible Ubers.
“What the fuck was that?” He snarled, grabbing her wrist and spinning her around. It shouldn't have been a surprise he caught up to her so rapidly.
“You called me an idiot,” she snapped back.
He chuckled darkly. His grip tightened on her wrist, and he shook his head. The laugh hadn’t a trace of humor in it. “He. Your date. He’s an idiot.” She glared at him waiting for him to make another joke at her expense, but it never came. They stood still on the sidewalk. Harry’s hand holding her wrist like she might bolt at any second. Lord knew she was thinking about it. His gaze didn’t stray from hers. Intense.
And really fucking beautiful.
“Get in the car,” he ordered.
Which she didn’t take kindly to. “I’ll take my chances,” she sniffed and tugged, trying to release his grip. He didn’t budge, not even a millimeter.
“M’not asking,” his voice was low. “Get in the car, or I’ll drag y’in,” he promised.
“You wouldn’t.”
“Try me, love.”
The thought of Harry dragging her in the car didn’t seem like a good idea. It would only embarrass her further. “Why did you even come here? I told you to forget it,” she muttered.
He opened the passenger door and the warmth once more enveloped her like a hug. He gently touched her shoulder. She turned in the space between the opening of his car and Harry. He stared at her again. “You called me,” his voice was gentle. Unlike anything he had ever heard from him—especially directed toward her. There was no shrug, no indifference, no irritation. He was breathing evenly. As if they had done this a thousand times. As if he looked at her like she was... precious all the time.
There was a thud in her chest, her heart stuttered unevenly against her ribs. Her lips parted and she didn’t know what to say or do. Her toes weren’t numb anymore. She wasn’t cold. There was a silence that filled the space between them as he stared at her and part of her believed if they just never spoke again maybe they could be friends.
“If some idiot guy can’t see how special you are then s’his loss. Only his loss. Standing up anyone is horrible. Standing you up...someone so pretty, so intelligent, so kind, should be a crime.” The words escaped her. The air in her lungs was gone. “M’always gonna be there for you,” it felt like a trap to let him say something like that to her. His hand reached up from his side, he brushed the back of his fingers along her cheek. “I don’t know what happened, love,” he murmured. “I... I was so worried. And I truly would pity the person that tries t’take you on,” a smile danced at the corner of his lips. It wasn’t smug. It was beautiful and melted her further and it wasn’t even a full smile. “And I was still so worried... I jus’,” he shook his head. “I think I ran two stoplights,” he admitted. “S’like a switch flipped, love. Never been so worried ‘bout anyone like that,” he continued holding her gaze.
She bit her lip and looked at his chest. “Are you fucking with me?” She asked quietly. Her voice defensive but low. Afraid to believe him.
But more afraid to not believe him.
“No, love. Not even a little... well, jus’ the part ‘bout taking you on. S’quite the slap y’gave me,” his smile grew, and he rubbed his cheek as if it really hurt him. Maybe it stung, but she didn’t think it really was all that hard.
“Been like ten years of build up to that.”
He chuckled quietly. “S’all you could muster?” He challenged.
She rolled her eyes. “Thank you,” she whispered. Genuinely. It felt weird to say it to Harry. Felt weird to be in such a position. But she couldn't help but feel that she liked it.
“Always, love. And I meant it. Y’look beautiful.”
Her heart was doing things that she didn't know Harry could do to her. She blushed, looked at her shoes; her toes numbing in the chilly air. “Well, his loss right?”
“My gain,” he winked at her and gave her arm a gentle squeeze as he left her side of his car for the driver’s side.
“Have you just been jealous all this time?” She asked as he settled behind the wheel.
“No,” he rolled his eyes. The silence was companionable. The first time in knowing Harry that it felt anything other than hostile. “Maybe,” he mumbled.
“Maybe?” Her eyes were delighted, and she smiled at him. “You like me.”
“Oh, bite me,” he grumbled. “I do not.”
“You so like me,” she teased. Her cheeks were warm making her forget about the cold. He didn’t say anything. Just the gentle hum of the road filled the car. “For what it’s worth, I like you too,” she murmured tucking herself to turn sideways in the seat. Her face squished against the back of the warm seat. “Probably more than a lot,” she admitted. “I guess," she took a deep breath, scared to say it, but Harry had called her pretty, intelligent, and kind. She couldn't let that go unnoticed. Her declaration wasn't as pretty as his but she needed to say something. "I think my brain mixed up my emotions. I was... very unhappy that you didn’t like me all these years.”
“God, love, you're ridiculous,” he grabbed her hand without moving his eyes from the road. He squeezed her fingers but it felt tied directly to her heart. “How could I not like you?"
--
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I'm sorry if I missed anyone in the taglist. Please let me know if you'd like to join, if it didn't work, if you no longer want to be included, etc. :)
If you like this, check out my masterlist here
#harry#harry styles#harry styles imagine#harry styles blurb#harry styles fanfiction#harry styles x reader#harry styles smut#harry styles fluff#harry styles writing#harry styles angst#harry styles blurbs#harry styles imagines#harry styles x y/n#harry styles one shot#harry styles fic#one direction#one direction writing#enemies to lovers#lapse
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Kill Bill P.7
Charles Leclerc x famous singer ex!reader
Author’s note : all the songs are real although I’ve played around with who’s featured on what, but I recommend everyone listen to the songs I’ve chosen not for any particular reason just cause they slap and I had such fun creating a playlist for this AU.
Also, I have WAYYY too much time on my hands now that uni is over… so hope you enjoy - Algae🌱
•••••
INSTAGRAM
yourusername
liked by y/bff/n, lewishamilton, charles_leclerc, oscarpiastri and 32,324,487 others
yourusername : ‘TIDES’ out now on all streaming platforms 💚
y/bff/n : Now you did not play me Cellophane when i listened to this earlier! Why do you have me crying in walgreens by the edamame beans??
— yourusername : girl? do you want me to come get you?
— y/bff/n : please.
— y/bff/n : HURRY UP nobody gets me started playing and the cashier is wondering why I’m using grapes to dry my tears.
user1 : y/bff/n is so real for that cause what do you mean, “didn’t I do it for you, why don’t I do it for you?” y/n please explain yourself STAT!
— user3 : no cause the most devastating part, ‘WHEN ALL I DO IS FOR YOU’ y/n I’m in your walls, how dare you start an album like that wtf?
user4 : oh okay 😀
lewishamilton : So fun collabing with you
user5 : no cause we were robbed! we should’ve had XNDA on girls need love.
— yourusername : I was not about to sing about fucking and sucking with my surrogate uncle! Even could’ve been was too much for me. y’all should be lucky I brought the old man out of retirement
— lewishamilton : glad you made that executive decision but I’m not that old :(
danielricciardo : me rn - 🎧😭🕺🪩😭😢
— yourusername : I appreciate you Danny 💚
— yourusername : but make sure you give your therapist a ring yeah?
— danielricciardo : on call with her rn!
user5 : what’s everyone’s favourite track and why is it love on the brain?
— user6 : how could you even choose?? This might be a no skip album I fear.
user8: I’m sorry y/n did not lay out the 5 minute from the heart ballad that is Ex-Factor for y’all to just not talk about it??
— user9: “no one loves you more than me, and no one ever will!” You listening Lord Perceval????
— user16: “no matter how I think we grow you always seem to let me know… IT AIN’T WORKING.”
— user13: but like if she’s trying to send a message to Charles it’s a bit disjointed no?
— user10: ex-factor isn’t to Charles Leclerc
— user11: be so fr who is it for then??
— user10: it’s obviously y/n grappling with her conflicting emotions… it’s not meant to be for Charles. This whole album is her going through it. She’s sorting thru her emotions. Are y’all dumb or stupid?
— user15: alright now
user21: AHHSHHEJSJSJSKEDVDKZKSUDJ
— user23: real.
hallebailey: call me asap for any more collabs, had such fun on Forgive Me!
— yourusername: love you hal x
— chloebailey: do not call her! She got her chance call me! (liked by yourusername)
y/bff/n: SUPERMODEL??!!?? Another one you didn’t let me listen to???
— yourusername: cause I knew you’d smack me upside the head for begging a man to see me as pretty enough.
— user24: WHO DIDN’T THINK YOU WERE PRETTY ENOUGH?! CHARLES?!! LET ME AT HIM!
oscarpiastri: on repeat 🎶
— user31: Oscar 😭 it’s giving desperate
— user26: keep commenting, she’ll reply one day!
— user27: bros talking to himself in her comments
sza: album of the year I fear
— yourusername: Solana 💚 couldn’t have done it without you
user32: @oscarpiastri are you the homeboy she’s been secretly banging like she says on supermodel?
— yourusername: I have NOT been secretly banging anyone’s homeboy! Supermodel is the only track with joint writing creds! I fear @sza came up with that lyric. (Comment deleted by yourusername)
— user34: NO Y/N let Charles think you’ve been secretly doing Oscar!
— user35: @user34 love me some psychological warfare!
landonorris: first!
— yourusername: you literally are the last person to comment😒😒
••••
Y/N Strips Off Expectations on Her New Album ‘TIDES’
R&B superstar delivers sharp barbs and haunting melodies on her long-awaited LP, amidst relationship drama with ex Charles Leclerc.
By Will Dukes
June 10, 2024
If you thought the singles released prior to the album were indicative of the direction this LP would take, think again. Y/n’s highly anticipated latest release, "TIDES," is an ambitious and masterful exploration of love's euphoria and its darker, toxic undertones. Known for her sultry R&B style, y/n transcends genre boundaries in this 15-track opus, weaving together dance, electronic, pop, and reggae influences to craft a cohesive narrative.
The album opens with "Cellophane," a haunting electronic ballad reminiscent of FKA Twigs' ethereal work. This opening track is something we’ve never seen from y/n, yet her delicate vocals float over a sparse, echoing production, setting a tone of vulnerability and foreshadowing the emotional journey ahead. This track is a stunning prologue, drawing listeners into a world where love is as fragile as the titular cellophane.
As we transition to the 3rd track of the album "Forgive Me," the album's pulse quickens. The track opens with a haunting, ethereal intro that quickly gives way to a pulsating beat and assertive bass line, setting a commanding tone. Y/n’s and Halle’s harmonies are immediately striking, blending seamlessly while each woman’s distinct vocal timbre adds depth and texture to the song. Their voices convey both strength and a sense of liberation as they sing about reclaiming their power and refusing to apologize for their choices. Mid-album, "Doo Wop (That Thing)" introduces a surprising but seamless shift. The pop-reggae rhythm provides a laid-back contrast to the preceding tracks, reflecting a momentary calm in the tumultuous relationship. Yet, y/n’s lyrics hint at something more sinister, the song can be seen as a warning, y/n clearly saying to her listeners I’ve made mistakes and here is how you can avoid them.
I won’t blame anyone for mistaking her single “Kill Bill” as the climax of the album. That is what y/n wants you to believe but the climax arrives with "Mary Magdalene" an electronic ballad that ties with the opening track “Cellophane.” For me "Mary Magdalene," is a standout, embodying the album's central themes. Drawing on the figure of Mary Magdalene, y/n reclaims and redefines her story, exploring themes of femininity, devotion, and resilience. The song's intricate layering and hypnotic rhythms create an almost spiritual experience, inviting listeners to delve into its complex emotional landscape. The production is haunting, with distorted synths and echoing beats mirroring the disintegration of trust and affection. y/n’s vocal performance here is raw and powerful, her pain palpable as she sings, "a woman’s touch, a sacred geometry. I know where you start where you end. How to please, how to curse.”
"TIDES" concludes with "Mirrored Heart," a poignant ballad that brings the narrative full circle, echoing the album’s opening. With an album so tumultuous listeners would probably wish for a sense of closure. This song does not give you that, rather you’ll be left questioning ‘what’s next.” y/n’s voice, both fragile and resilient, lingers long after the final note.
In "TIDES," y/n not only expands her musical palette but also delivers a profound and relatable story. This album is a testament to her artistry, marking her as a versatile, timeless and fearless force in contemporary music. It’s a disjointed album, songs sometimes seem out of place, but like the title “TIDES,” suggests, and given the situation that inspired the album, that is exactly the atmosphere y/n was looking to create.
••••
INSTAGRAM
charles_leclerc
Liked by landonorris, danielricciardo and 1,256,712 others
charles_leclerc : best believe I’ll move on to better things
user1: do y’all hear that?
user3: not you using lyrics from y/n’s song it’s giving desperate.
user4: poor Alex
landonorris: what is bro doing lmao
user5: oh -
arthur_leclerc: if before you had a chance now you have 0 😂
— user5: oh Arthur’s messy messy
—lorenzotl: we want our sister in law back, and this idiot isn’t doing us any favours.
user6: I’m sorry this is so disrespectful to Alex. Just cause you guys broke up doesn’t mean you can do this
user7: lmao get a life
carlossainz55: cabron… this is not what we agreed you’d do 😅
lewishamilton: 😒
— danielricciardo: 😒
— georgerussel63: 😒
— y/bff/n: 😒
— francisca.cgomes: 😒
pierregasly: brother delete this 😔
— oscarpiastri: 😂
(this post has been deleted)
••
TAGLIST
@forevercaffeinated-lee @callsignwidow
#charles leclerc smau#f1 smau#charles leclerc x black!reader#charles leclerc x female reader#charles leclerc x reader#formula 1 smau#f1 fanfic#f1 x reader#formula one smau#oscar piastri x reader
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Hey there!
Saw your requests were open (if it isnt,just ignore this)
But i just love your satoru x reader and co parenting megumi????and i would KILL to see like, something bad happening to reader (like a mission going wrong,she passing out or getting sick or all) and boys just panicking cause satoru loves reader,and megumi sees her as his mother???
Sorry,im a sucker for hurt/comfort trope
Lots of love!!! you're amazing!
aww this is so cute, thank you for the request anon <3 wrote it as sick fic instead of injury since i,,,, have written like 3 things with that trope recently so let's do a fluffy sick fic instead lol. hope you like it :))
cw/tags: established relationship (pet names babe, baby, sweetheart), gn!reader, some explicit language, mention of eating
"the kid thinks you're gonna die," your boyfriend says as he enters your room, setting a grocery bag on your desk and digging around for the bottle of orange juice. "you're starting to worry me too, honestly."
"i'm not gonna die, babe; i think it's just the flu," you groan, propping yourself on an elbow and attempting to sit up. you're unsuccessful, the throbbing in your head and the chills in your arms too overwhelming. you fall back against the pillow with a less-than-ceremonial thump. satoru crouches in front of you, eyebrows drawn and forehead wrinkled in concern. he pulls down his blindfold and you're met with the bright blue eyes you loved so much.
"yep. looks like you're dying soon," he declares with a curt nod and you scoff, a chuckle turning into an aggressive fit of coughing. satoru is lightning-quick, grabbing a new bottle of water and snapping off the cap before holding it up to your lips. "here, drink." you push his hands away, wordlessly insisting that you can drink on your own while still hacking relentlessly. "nuh-uh, just let me help you." with a frown, you let him tilt the bottle toward you and take a few careful sips. "you are frustratingly stubborn," he sighs.
"i have to be if i need to deal with you all the time," you joke hoarsely, sips of water becoming gulps.
"yeah, but you love me for it," he finishes and you agree with a shrug. "easy, there," he warns as you keep downing the water. "don't want you choking again."
"i'm fine, satoru."
"you've been working yourself too much, you know."
"hypocrite," you counter and he frowns, taking a seat on the edge of your bed. you were right, even though he didn't want to admit it. satoru was always the first one to say that someone was working too hard, just to take the burden for himself. it was a red flag, you said a few weeks ago over convenience store sushi; you also noted his 'concerningly inflated ego, lack of spatial awareness, and general disinterest in things that could be momentarily unpleasant.' you'd finished it, though, with a long-winded comment about how his red flags, in all their scarlet glory, made satoru himself. maybe it was just his melodrama, but he'd cut off his hand if it meant you were able to joke like that again.
"i'm serious. i think your body's shutting down because-"
"because i've been away too long, i know. i don't need a lecture right now, satoru." you swallow the last of the water and settle back onto your pillow, grumbling when you feel the side of your bed sink with your boyfriend's weight. "baby, you're gonna get sick, too."
"that means i get to take a day or two off," he points out, fitting his face into the divot between your shoulder and neck. despite your complaints, he throws off the comforter and replaces the blankets with his arms. "don't grrrr me, babe. you need to burn off your fever and i run warmer than any of these sheets."
"aren't i sweaty and stinky and yucky? how can you be touching me when i'm all gross?"
"you mean, how can i love on you right now when you're just being a human?"
"mhmm. you don't find it gross?"
"of course not, sweetheart," he reassures you with a kiss to your shoulder. "i'd be a real dickhead if i only loved you when you were feeling 100%."
"yeah, you're only half a dickhead for other reasons," you murmur into the pillowcase and he laughs, the sound reverberating against your back. before your eyes settle shut, you catch the door of your room opening and vaguely make out a messy head of black hair peeking around the corner. "megs?"
"oi, adults only," the other occupant of the bed threatens, pulling you closer and attempting to flip you to your other side to face him. you unbuckle satoru from around you, though, and manage to sit up. megumi pads carefully into the room, like you'd crumble into sand if his steps were too loud. "come in, i guess," your boyfriend says dramatically with a wave of his hand.
"satoru, i swear-"
"sorry, baby. shutting up." satoru flops back onto your bed and you reach out to megumi, who stares at your hand for a moment before rushing into your arms. "hey, megs. since you're here, you mind grabbing me a soda from the breakroom?"
"i thought you were shutting up, satoru," you remind him, voice poisonously sweet. he echoes your reminder in a mockingly high-pitched voice. "i'm gonna kick you out of my room if you don't stop, mister."
"you wouldn't dare," he gasps.
"oh, i would."
"yeah," he concedes. "you definitely would, but i love you for it." with satoru temporarily placated, you return your attention to the small child in your arms.
"you doing okay, megs?" he nods, eyes shut against your chest and holding you tight. "i'm not gonna die, buddy. i promise." you rub your hand up and down his back, combing your fingers through his hair when you're abruptly swung backward onto the bed. "jeez, satoru, what are you-"
"get the kid, it's nap time," he mumbles with finality, resecuring his body around yours and motioning for megumi to climb in. he does, and you drift off sandwiched between your boys, feeling a little lighter for the first time in days.
if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)
#gojo x you#gojo x reader#gojo x y/n#satoru x you#satoru x reader#satoru x y/n#jjk x you#jjk x reader#jjk x y/n#gojo satoru x you#gojo satoru x reader#gojo satoru x y/n#jjk fluff#ask iris!
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compliments to the chef
Momo x gn!reader
synopsis - momo falls for her new chef’s flavor🤭 (she’s the sole heiress of the Hirai culinary empire and hiring you spices things up a lot more than she intended.)
wordcount - 14K (please don’t say damn when you see the price)
T/W - kinda chaebol!momo - chef!reader - mentions of food, knifes etc… - nothing violent tho - slowburn? but make it angsty? - light cussing - you lowkey hate each other but not really - enemies to lovers? - guest starring bc that’s fun - that’s all i can think of, tell me if i missed anything
Momo sent a polite smile to the man sitting across from her. The fourteenth in the past half hour.
She’s been keeping count, along with the minutes, the grains of rice left on her plate, and the amount of times he’s mentioned one of his accomplishments.
Thirty-three, seventy-eight, and six; in that order. Only two questions about her so far, one if you remove the one about her name.
She almost left right then and there, but the respect she had for her mother weighed her down on that chair. If she wasn’t going to take over the family empire, the least she could do was find a worthy successor.
A soft sigh escaped her as she pushed her food around. Being an only child was way more fun when all it meant was that she didn’t have to share it with anyone. Or get it stolen, according to the venting of her friends when younger.
She finished the few bites left, trying to drown out the sound of his voice by focusing on the flavours. She closes her eyes, appreciating their delicate yet bold dancing on the tip of her tongue.
Maybe it was the boredom clinging onto whatever could keep her mind entertained, but the taste reminded her of herself. A small smile spread across her lips, the first real one of the day.
The next one came when the man asked for the bill. Her lungs could finally grasp the air around her, her nose picking up on the different notes and aromas of the dishes around her.
She sent her compliments to the chef, adding to them a generous tip she had no idea who’s pockets it’d really land in. It’s the thought that counts.
Her senses were in heaven walking out, engraving her mind with a memory that will stick longer than the guy who’d just made her split the bill, unevenly that is.
“Let me take you home.” He said once out front. His hand held the door open to the leather seats of a luxurious car she was too familiar with.
“Oh, no it’s fine thank you.” She declined quickly. “I actually have a meeting scheduled right after this.”
“I can drop you off.”
Momo almost laughed. She found his use of the personal pronoun very funny. She almost forgot he would just be sitting near her some more while the chauffeur did the sexiest part. If the latter were to her taste, she’d have driven off with her.
“I’d rather not.” She declined. “Business confidentiality and whatnot.”
The lie was forced through an awkward smile that he found endearing enough not to question. Relief washed over her when he finally let go of her, climbing into the car, but not without asking her to keep in touch.
Another sigh, a heavy one, loaded with all those she’d held back until now as she watched the car drive away. The pressure was off, but only for a second as her thoughts soon spiraled.
No way she had to do this again… She reached in her purse, looking for the one thing that could get her out of here.
All this junk, where is it—
“You’re awful at lying.”
Her phone almost dropped to its death from the startle you gave her.
Momo had a few questions at the sight of you. Your presence and your eavesdropping were the first, but the white apron half folded around your waist and the cigarette in your hand answered most of them.
“What,” was all she managed to say though, and a smile pulled on your lips.
“I mean, I’m not fond of lies, but when you’re famous for turning your back on business, you should probably come up with a better excuse.”
“Who even are you?”
“Right, I guess that’s fair. I’m Y/n. You’re Momo, right? Hirai?”
“Y-Yeah.” Her eyes squinted, desperately trying to see what you were leading to.
Your name sounded as unfamiliar as you looked, but you seemed well informed. She didn’t like that.
“Nice to meet you,” You greeted simply, eyeing the contrast between her features and the neat clothes on her back, “So how bad was it? You look… Worn out.”
Her chuckle was distasteful, and she tried to suppress its bitterness at the reminder of her lost time. “Awful. The food caught my eye more than he could ever hope.”
You smiled, “He wasn’t bad looking.”
“But he was a bore.” She argued. “Borderline narcissistic too.”
“Deal breaker then?” You guessed, turning her laughter a little sweeter.
“Pretty much.” Her gaze found the ground in a nod before focusing back on you. “I do like it better when it’s a two way conversation.”
“Does that make me cute?”
She scoffed at the brazen question. “You wish.”
“I don’t.” You dropped your cigarette on the ground, stepping on it in a way she found more hot than revolting to her surprise. That cheeky smile of yours was most likely to blame. “Thank you for the compliments by the way. I’m glad you liked it.”
Your bow was quick, desultory out of rehearsed respectfulness. As much as you appreciated her compliments, you had better things to do in the kitchen that could get you some more.
You caught a glimpse of her jaw dropping on your way back in, and it was enough of a sight to revel in for a few days.
—
It took Momo a couple weeks to pick her jaw back up and swallow her pride. It seemed as though the latter was the only thing she inherited from her family, and she managed to set herself apart yet again.
Her parents would have never set foot in your restaurant again. Not that you had lacked respect or anything, but the fact that you managed to set her off balance… Something about it she didn’t particularly like.
Why was she back then?
You asked yourself that same question when you stormed out of the kitchen at her request. If it weren’t for your manager and his speech about image and reputation, you never would have allowed her to interrupt you and abandon your brigade mid-shift.
Hands on your hips, dragging your feet, you walked into the office she awaited you in and felt your voice die down on your tongue at the sight.
Beauty or surprise, either way it came down to her presence.
The way her hair fell down her back, delicate and blending in with the fabric of her perfectly tailored shirt. The sleek black attire formed a shadow, painting a hole cut against her silhouette and into the spring she admired in the sakura tree out the bay window.
“Hi.” She smiled, her voice a fitting melody to the sights now behind her. Enchanting, sure, but odd.
She wasn’t exactly known to be a warm one to strangers. More power to her, you could understand that. But why didn’t it apply to you?
If it weren’t for the stories associated with that voice suddenly popping into your mind, she’d have lured you in. Nothing too bad about them; only testaments of her success. Rumors about the danger surrounding her, setting her apart from her family. You didn’t care for the big industry names, but theirs always had you curious.
“You asked for me?” Your voice rang in the quiet space.
Momo didn’t seem to notice your apprehension, her smile ever so welcoming, “I did.”
It felt as though she owned the place for a second.
“Do you have some more compliments?” You wondered, eyes following her figure as she went to take a seat in the armchair across your manager’s desk.
“I do actually.” She turned the seat to face you as she mused, “That black cod was to die for.”
You nodded, thankful. “Glad you liked it.”
As much as you didn’t like the way her family capitalized on the food you took such care to value, you couldn’t deny their expertise. Even if not a lot to you, Momo’s compliment did mean something.
“But that’s not all.” Her voice pulled your eyes back on her.
You found her posture quite imposing, matching her tone, but her infamous shyness was something she never got around to master. Her gaze held yours but it lacked control.
It was hard to ignore how endearing the attempt looked to you. It just made you want to give her whatever she wanted. Reward her efforts.
“What is it?” You wondered, curious.
What could she possibly want from you? This restaurant wasn’t yours. The only thing you had control over was the kitchen.
“I want you to cook for me.” She said, and you didn’t leave room for a breath before responding, “Excuse me?”
“I meant I’d like to hire you.” She clarified, a smirk dancing on her lips at your transparent thoughts. You tried to make sense of her proposal, but she didn’t waste any time in providing details. “I’m sure you’re familiar—the annual Hirai banquet my mother holds for shareholders. I never cared for the specifics, but I want to do good by her. I haven’t been the best daughter lately so I thought I’d make it up to her by holding it this year.”
It all clicked at the mention of her mother. Of course she wouldn’t be back with her own motives.
The Hirai Culinary Group was an empire. A home to the most prestigious restaurants of the country. All housing different specialties, techniques and themes… Quite a whole lot to manage yet the quality remained flawless. Fifty years of irreproachable cuisine, you could only respect it. If only they didn’t care about business so much…
Those banquets were popular, talk of the town within the industry as it usually set the next trends and whatnot. Make no mistakes, you were tuned in as well. They did bring in some interesting elements, but you hated the way they set it all up. A disguised year-end performance meeting. White collars expecting numbers and being served them on gold plates, horizons and growth perspectives hidden in desserts.
“So she’s actually the one that asked for me.” You smirked, unexpecting of the way she’d wipe it off just a second later.
“No.” She said simply, a serene smile gracing her lips. “Why would she know about you?”
You scoffed. Good point. You could recognize that despite the blow to your ego.
“Fair enough.” You nodded. “But why should I help you?”
“Help me?” She repeated, a hint of offense creeping into her whole being. “I’m offering you to work with me.”
Perhaps she wasn’t that much of an ugly duckling among the Hirai’s.
“My question still stands. Why should I?”
A silence followed your words, hanging low over your heads and expecting the next ones to come out of her. Hopefully they’d be good enough.
Momo’s gaze suddenly drifted from yours, finding interest in her surroundings. A few details she’d noticed earlier, various frames highlighting the establishment’s foundations. She could count three of them : its history, the owner and visibly the most important—you.
“Are you happy here?” She finally spoke, tearing her eyes away from your latest reward.
“I am.”
“I’m sure you are,” she remarked, tone striking a nerve. “Highest rank, valued both within and outside—you’re basically ruling the place…”
“What’s your point?” You asked, growing impatient.
“You’ve hit the ceiling, Y/n. It’s time for a new challenge, don’t you think?”
Silence enveloped you again as you found yourself contemplating her proposition.
Momo took the sight as a sign of her job being done here, and you watched as she left her business card on the desk before gracefully excusing herself; leaving you to deal with your internal struggle.
—
In the days that followed, her offer continued to linger in your thoughts, and with each passing day, the idea of a new challenge began to take root in your mind.
It spread enough to takeover a good portion of it, sending it all elsewhere. Far enough for your closest friend here and sous-chef to notice.
“What’s up with you, you’ve been all over the place lately.” Jeongyeon asked after you nearly knocked an nth plate to the floor.
“Nothing, I’m fine.” You met her gaze and it was enough to backtrack on your words “Okay, fine there is something, but… I don’t know it’s pointless.”
The empty pot you were carrying resonated as you put it back into its designated place, partially covering Jeongyeon’s words. “Does it have to do with that Hirai girl?”
“How do you know?”
“It’s the only thing out of the ordinary enough to throw you off your game.” She chuckled, drying her hands on her apron.
Weird way to tell you to live a little more, but okay.
“So what did she say to you?” She sighed, leaning her back against the sink. “What even happened in the office, you never told us.”
“Well…” You trailed off, gettng that business card out of your back pocket. You handed it to her, and it took her a second to notice what it was.
“What are you waiting for?” She scoffed, causing your eyebrows to furrow together.
“What do you mean?”
“Whatever she proposed just accept it, Y/n”
You spotted a hint of annoyance in her voice, but you had trouble seeing if it was about you or Momo. She sure was scrubbing that counter pretty hard.
“Why?” You asked, watching as she practically polished that stainless steel by hand. Something bothered you, and it wasn’t her cleaning technique. “Are you not even gonna fight for me?”
Jeongyeon paused to look at you, catching the slight pout on your lips. Her own twisted along her features in disgust, teasing you, and you let out your first laugh of the day.
“I should be the one asking you that.” She pointed out. “The fact that you haven’t thrown that card as soon as she left tells me enough.”
“I was just thinking about it…” You admitted, only proving her point.
Jeongyeon chuckled, shaking her head. “You’re past the point of even considering it, I mean… You’ve been walking around with that business card glued to your ass for the past week, yet you haven’t told me a thing about it.”
“You think you know me so well.” You grimaced. It was playful, but part of you wanted to provoke her. You didn’t blame her for that small jab at you, but it did hurt to think she didn’t put turning your back on this place past you.
She did know you so well, though. That’s why she continued to argue her point.
“What is there to think about, y/n? The heiress of the most acclaimed and prestigious restaurant chain of the country is asking for you. No sane person would say no, never mind a chef!”
The sigh that pushed past your lips came as far back as your lungs.
“Would you say yes?” You hesitated after a while, but her answer was much faster. “With no remorse.”
“I mean, have you seen her?” She added and you laughed.
“Fine. I guess I’ll call her…” You picked up the card from the counter and stared at her name.
Well… It’s not like she had asked you to quit your job…
—
“Oh, that’s exactly what I’m asking you to do.”
“What?!”
Momo pulled the phone away from her ear at the sheer volume of your voice through the speaker. How unprofessional. Her eyes rolled soon after, once she registered what your reaction held and meant for her plans.
“Y/n, this isn’t some side hustle for your experience.” she sighed, “I’m offering you the opportunity of a lifetime. If this all goes well, you could become our youngest chef in history.”
A point was made. As much as you were cautious of her voice, it seemed you couldn’t do much about the way it managed to get to you. The words she used were ambitious, they spoke to you.
But she failed to measure just how ambitious you were.
“Why can’t I do both?” You finally asked, prompting a string of arguments being thrown to one another. A futile game of ping-pong you were determined to win, only irritating the woman at the other end of the line.
All this whining, it was like dealing with a child, and truthfully you felt like one. Asking for the best of both worlds seemed completely reasonable to you, so why wouldn’t she give it to you.
“Listen, you can’t give your all to something if your attention is split in two.” She said, losing the last bit of patience she managed to keep today. “You can’t expect to grow by splitting yourself in half, and if you think otherwise, then consider my proposal void.”
A small silence fell over the line. She made sense. She was right. So why couldn’t you bring yourself to accept it?
“If you actually stepped foot in a kitchen once in your life you’d know two isn’t even the minimum.” You scoffed.
Whatever you wanted to mean by that… even you didn’t know, but apparently it was worth thinking over as you heard Momo sigh.
The woman closed her eyes to think.
Why couldn’t you just say yes like everyone else she approached. Maybe she should have made you say it back in the office, use that pathetic confidence of yours against you.
Oh how easy you were to read and see through. Pushing buttons was so much easier when people stood in front of her.
That’s why she hated phone calls. How could she know what to say—oh.
The light bulb went off over her head.
Right… That pathetic confidence of yours.
“I’ll step in if you do.”
—
It shouldn’t have been so easy.
All it took was a half-genuine smile, and a simple promise to make things different this year with a focus on the culinary side of things. Sure, she had to admit to scouting the area in search of the most skilled and promising, which eventually lead her to your restaurant, and then… you. But it was all ego strokes. Child’s play.
Part of her was disappointed. She’d hoped for a little more resistance, a challenge promised by your initial tone and attitude towards her.
“Damn it!”
She should be more careful about what she wishes for… Momo sighed, expecting your face to peek in by the doorframe of the manager’s office, and it did just seconds later.
“Momo, it’s not working.”
“What isn’t?” She said, confused. Machinery’s top-notch, brigade is her best, there was no way anything would stop working out of nowhere.
“What did you do?”
“Nothing, just come and see.”
Momo stared at you, noticing a smile fighting to make its way onto your lips. She was apprehensive but followed you anyway.
You’d been working on a technical plate : a type of hybrid dish-dessert. An ambitious idea you’d prompted to Momo during one of the early meetings to work the menu out.
Only she had to make it an order. A boring one and near impossible to pull off. She wouldn’t listen, so you decided to show her.
As you led her to the kitchen, you couldn't help but start venting away about everything that went down since the last time she'd stepped foot in there, which was a day or two ago.
"So, first, the soufflé collapsed twice because someone—I won't name names, but it rhymes with 'intern’—forgot to preheat the oven."
Momo sighed internally. Why were you so fixated on every little mistake? Who cares about interns and their mistakes, that’s what they’re here for. She could excuse a non-preheated oven, but forgetting her birthday? Yeah, that Boo Seungkwan is definitely off the list. He had a good run, only regret was he was good with her dogs. And nice maybe.
"Then, the new mixer decided it wanted to be a blender, and let's not even talk about the chocolate ganache incident."
She nodded absently, her mind drifting to the text she received earlier from another potential suitor. The daughter of her family ‘s right hand man, Jihyo if she remembered correctly? The Park’s had a rocky history though, she took note to raise her guard on that one before your voice pulled her back.
"And of course, the sugar sculpture? Total disaster."
Momo glanced at you, wondering if you realized how whiny you sounded. She had bigger fish to fry than a failed sugar sculpture, like figuring out if she even wanted to leave this family business. If it meant she had to deal with one more daddy’s pocket leech…
"On the bright side, we finally perfected the citrus glaze for the salmon, and the guests couldn't get enough of the hors d'oeuvres last night, so I guess the test was a success.."
When you finally stopped talking and walking, she found herself face to face with an… interesting looking thing on a plate.
“What is that?” She said, dumbfounded.
“Oh, that’s the lemon pie thing you asked for.” You answered nonchalantly. “I told you it wouldn’t work.”
“Are you serious?” Her stance and tone changed, cold and threatening like you had the joy of experiencing earlier this month. Didn’t shake you anymore though. The dumb smile on your face was still there, dangerously creeping into a smirk. She couldn’t wipe it for some reason.
“Yeah, that sucks. I guess I lost three hours of my life.” You shrugged, eyes lingering on the edible failure staining the porcelain. “Doesn’t taste bad, though.” You handed her a piece with a spoon you’d clearly already used, and Momo’s stare hardened.
“Fix this.”
Obviously, you would. But you couldn’t let it happen without messing with her first. So you stared right back into her eyes, holding her gaze just long enough to make her doubt and fear the opposite. The tension hung thick in the air, reaching a new high, until she finally broke away and walked off, her frustration evident in every step.
You watched her walk, the smirk now very apparent and mocking her back.
“I’ll do just that, you don’t have to worry.” You cupped your hands around your lips to make sure she heard it, distracting a few chefs around you.
You were oblivious to the looks they threw your way, your gaze was focused on Momo’s retreating figure.
"I'll leave you some on your desk, make sure to try it!” That smirk was evident on your lips, and she could hear it in your voice, feel it getting under her skin.
You were a challenge alright. A damn good one.
—
Momo walked back into the building only days later. You frowned at the sight of her, shoulders obviously tense paired with familiar sour features. The exposed skin told you a lot about her potential whereabouts these past few days. Added to the rumors going around, it didn’t leave that much of a mystery…
“Oh, we’re cooked.” Ryujin, the intern, mumbled under her breath, catching yours and a chef’s attention.
“Yeah, we should have seen it coming.” The chef, Mingyu, sighed, dropping a heavy pan on top of the counter beside you.
“Why, what happened?” You asked, easing yourself into their conversation.
Ryujin’s eyes widened, startled by the interruption. “I uh,” she stammered before Mingyu spoke up.
“Word on the street is, her father set her up with Park's daughter.” He chuckled to himself, making you curious.
“Park’s daughter… The Park branch daughter?” You asked, the name ringing more and more familiar. “You mean Jihyo? Isn’t she managing the H-Lounge?”
H-Lounge was a private, high end rooftop lounge managed by Mr.Park, Mr.Hirai’s right hand man. Big bar, little food, and big walls; a white collar’s favorite and the Hirai’s most profitable branch. From what you knew, Jihyo’s been pretty much running things for years now, her father only still there because of Momo’s.
“Yeah, but she’s on her way to the throne basically. Her dad’s been pushing for her to take the reins for a while now. Old man’s tired.” Mingyu commented, pulling a laugh out of Ryujin.
You squinted, watching as Momo disappeared around the corner to her office.
“Yeah. But didn’t they try to go solo with the Lounge once?” Ryujin asked, furrowing her eyebrows as she recalled rumors from a year ago. “Sounds kinda fishy.”
“And shady.” Mingyu nodded. “Seems to me like Boss Hirai’s desperate to make her stay.”
“Which one?”
You were confused out of your mind, and Mingyu could tell. He was amused when you met his eyes, begging for some clarity.
“Both,” he said. “Power play. Or two birds one stone type of deal. A Park-Hirai marriage would be beyond convenient for him—Jihyo’s a hot head, she could never hold this whole thing together without Momo stepping in at one point, he knows that. It’s the only way he gets to keep both of his most precious assets.”
You shook your head. There was no way. The idea didn’t even match with the Momo you knew. "I don't see it. Momo's way too stubborn and prideful to let something like this happen to her. She's not the type to be manipulated like that."
"You think?" Ryujin asked, raising an eyebrow.
You nodded. "Yeah. I mean, you see how she handles things... Father or not, she won't just bend to someone else's will.”
Mingyu shook his head, a knowing look in his eyes glued on Momo’s figure passing by. "I think she already is..."
You all watched as she disappeared around the corner to her office, and you noticed her shoulders slump for the briefest of moments
It was a slight, almost imperceptible shift, but it struck you deeply for some reason. For the first time, you saw a crack in that impossibly unyielding façade.
A mix of concern and confusion washed over you. Despite the fierce exterior she projected on that comeback walk, there was clearly more weighing on her than she let on. Could Mingyu be right? Was Momo already being pulled back into the company's grasp despite that stubborn pride of hers?
You felt a rush of protectiveness overcome you, but quickly pushed it aside. What a useless, unbased feeling. Momo was fine. She wouldn't let herself be manipulated so easily… Right?
You pondered on the question for a while, but came up with the same answer every time.
She’ll be fine.
You sighed as the day wound down, leaning against a counter. Your gaze wandered to the door to Momo’s office, finding it closed as always. Come to think of it, you hadn’t seen nor heard it open since earlier that afternoon…
Was she still there?
Curiosity and concern got the better of you, and you decided to take the opportunity to show her the new and improved lemon pie she’d asked you to fix.
You made your way to her office, the building now eerily quiet. You didn’t wait for an answer before walking in. It was surprisingly dark, only lit by a small hanging light attached to the wall above the desk. This place was such a broom closet… You almost felt sorry for her then remembered what she’d told you.
"Technically this is still the kitchen, this wall is literal plastic."
You mentally scoffed at the memory. You couldn't believe the pettiness of that woman.
"What is that?" Momo asked, her eyes lifting from the paper for the first time in what felt like days.
Whatever was in that plate definitely looked better than the last thing you’d presented her. It held a certain finesse she wasn’t indifferent to.
"It's the pie you asked for," you said, eyes twinkling in pride. “Well, a deconstructed version of it.”
“It’s not what I asked for,” she trailed off, observing the fine details. Her eyes traced the delicate swirls of meringue and the vibrant yellow of the lemon gel. It wasn't what she had originally envisioned, but there was a beauty to it she couldn't deny. "But it's pretty."
You smiled, taking a seat on a corner of her desk as you pulled out a spoon as an offering. A clean one this time.
She was hesitant. Messing the dish up would feel like a crime, but so was leaving food unattended. So she finally dug in, picking up a bit of everything before humming at the taste of it all.
“Tastes the same as the failure, just… so much better.”
Your face lit up at the mention of that failed attempt a few days earlier. You’d kept your word and left it at her desk, hoping she’d have a taste despite the failure. It still had potential, and you wanted her to know.
“You had some?” Your eyes sparkled, and it made you look so much sweeter than you’d been lately. Momo felt herself falter for a second, slipping you a gentle smile before catching herself.
She cleared her throat, lowering the spoon down, the latter clattering on the porcelain as she went for another bite.
“I did.” She nodded. “You were right by the way. It wasn’t bad at all, just… unfortunate looking.”
You were only surprised she was admitting it; and this easily no less.
“So what do we do now? Do we listen to me more, or…?”
Momo sighed, and a victorious smile made its way to your lips before she even uttered the words. “Fine. You can freestyle a bit.” You cheered, and it took a lot for her not to mirror your happiness. “Don’t get too excited. You better follow the menu.”
“Or then what?”
She only glared at you, and the switch in her gaze was enough to turn you down. Or on. [What?]
“I’m kidding. Glad to be working with you.” You said, flashing her a grin that she could only see as cocky.
Momo's eyes rolled in annoyance, getting up from her seat and picking up the blazer on the back of it. As she gathered her stuff, you understood she was going home for the day. It was getting late, the restaurant had closed a couple hours ago and all the staff was gone too. You should get going too, but you feel a sudden pang of reluctance…
“You're going already?" You blurt out, unable to suppress the urge to keep her here just a little while longer.
Momo raised an eyebrow, clearly taken aback by your sudden change in demeanor. "You just shook my hand," she pointed out.
"Well, yes, but..." you trail off, grasping at your brain for any excuse to keep her here a moment longer. You couldn’t explain it. You didn’t understand either, but there was something about her presence that you find strangely comforting in the moment.
Maybe it was the lack of noise and chaos in the background, behind the office door she kept closed; only for you to burst it open anytime you had a complaint or an idea.
The silence, the dim lighting, their absence or her presence… Or the fact that she was actually pleased with your work for once. Explicitly at least. Most likely a gas leak you didn’t know about that messed with your thoughts—you couldn’t tell. But it was something.
There was something keeping you glued to that desk.
She was about to leave again, but this time you reached out and grabbed her hand, your fingers closing around hers in a firm grip. Both of you froze, the air suddenly charged with… again, something as you held her gaze.
"You said you'd be stepping in," you blurted out once more, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. You weren’t sure what possessed you to say it, but now that it was out there, you couldn’t take it back.
For a moment, neither of you spoke, the silence stretching as her mind raced to make sense of your words.
When she’d told you she’d step in, she didn’t think you’d take it seriously. That was her first mistake maybe, but to her, stepping in meant overseeing the preparations, making decisions about the menu, and handling the logistical details of the banquet. She never intended to actually cook alongside you, and quite frankly, she didn’t know how you could possibly think she would.
Were you stupid or purposefully getting on her nerves like you so often seemed to enjoy? Didn't you realize she had other responsibilities, obligations she had to take care of over cooking?
This was literally why she’d sought you out.
"What do you mean?" she asked, her voice tinged with disbelief.
"You haven't helped once in the kitchen since we started, and it's basically been a month," You retorted, your tone edged with frustration. "For someone who prides herself on integrity, you sure are amazing at keeping your word."
Your words were like a slap to the face, and Momo felt a surge of defensiveness rise within her. Your claims sure were bold for someone who did nothing but defy her words ever since the beginning.
But beneath the anger, there's a stain of guilt, a nagging feeling that maybe - just maybe - you might have a point. From a certain angle, you could say she did kind of manipulate you into working for her by throwing that phrase; or let’s call it as it was : an empty promise.
Momo sighed as she struggled to find the right words to get herself out of this. Your gaze was merciless on her, probing and insistent as you waited for an explanation. Or just admittance.
"I meant overseeing things, making decisions about the menu, handling the logistics, the usual," she finally explained, her frustration evident in her tone. "I still have a million other things to take care of for that banquet, you know. It's not like I can just drop everything and spend all day cooking with you."
She paused, searching your face for any sign of understanding or sympathy, but all she found was a stubborn determination. A refusal to back down from your position. And despite herself, she felt a small spark of admiration flickered to life within her.
"Look," she continued, her voice softening slightly. "I appreciate your dedication, I really do. But you have to understand that I can't just drop everything to cater to your whims. I have a responsibility to my family, to our guests, to ensure that everything goes smoothly. And if that means I have to delegate certain tasks to you, then so be it."
Her words were only met with silence. She waited for your response, bracing herself for another confrontation. But to her surprise, you nodded, a hint of understanding in your eyes.
The relief washing over her heart at the sight startled her. Why did she want to see it? Why did she want you to understand anyway?
"Alright," you said, your voice calm and measured. "I get it. I just... I guess I was hoping for more, you know? More than just orders and instructions. I wanted to be a part of something. Contribute in a meaningful way."
“You are a part of something, Y/n,” she reassured, and the hand she dropped on your shoulder caught you off guard. Her gaze had softened, but it only made you panic.
Here comes the guilt tripping, you mentally sighed, bracing for impact.
Before you could even muster an attempt to deflect the incoming emotional onslaught, she continued, her words flowing with as much determination as you were used to. "You know, this banquet isn’t just another project for me. It may not seem like it, but I care about it a lot. I take it as a farewell, a thank you to my family and the opportunities they’ve gifted me."
You opened your mouth to intervene, to offer some semblance of resistance, but she plowed on, crushing any attempts to cut in. "And not only are you a part of it, you’re leading it, Y/n. I trust you."
The words hit like a ton of bricks, and for a moment, you were rendered speechless. One of the rare times in your life. Here you were, caught in the midst of a heartfelt moment, unable to muster even a hint of humor to lighten the mood. With a silent sigh, you resigned yourself to the inevitable, silently acknowledging her words.
All you could do was drop your gaze, nodding. You almost felt shameful for trying to ignore her possibly having feelings.
“Thank you for trusting me.” You muttered, fiddling with your fingers before looking back at her. “I’ll make sure everything goes smoothly. Food wise at least.”
Momo nodded in acknowledgment, finally removing her hand from your shoulder. Her feet stuttered before turning away. She’d made it to the door pretty quickly, but a sudden thought halted her tracks.
The sudden stop in the sound of her expensive heels caught your attention, and you looked up at her. Your gaze and eyebrows silently inquired her, and she smiled sheepishly. Another display of vulnerability that made your heart jump.
“Can I bring that home?”
Momo nodded towards the desk, referring to the unfinished dessert you’d brought her. She wanted to take it to her mother. Give her a preview of what was to come in a couple weeks.
The request made you smile. A little happy if you dared to say so. You reached for the plate to hand it to her, only to take it with you as you finally got up from that desk. “Wait, let me get you a takeout box.”
“We have takeout boxes?” She said, dumbfounded. You only stared at her, speechless but not surprised. You could only shake your head, before leading the way to the kitchen.
“I was just kidding by the way, I know we have them.”
She didn’t. Something you proved when you made her search for them. You let her walk around and act as though she had any idea where anything was in that kitchen before she gave up and surrendered to your amused, almost mocking gaze.
You added a few more of the day’s tests and leftovers into the box before packing it all up before sending her home with a smile.
She was nice to be around when you weren’t trying to step on each other’s toes.
—
The dining room of the Hirai residence was bathed in soft candlelight, casting a warm glow over an overly elegant table set for two. The head of the table felt empty with her father’s absence, a recurring one lately as he tended to matters deemed important for the company. Momo usually sat on his right, like she did tonight. Her mother, Mrs. Hirai, took her seat right across. Despite the picturesque scene, a palpable tension lingered in the air. Another recurrence Momo dreaded every day for months now.
Momo longed for the laughter that used to bring her family together around this table. The same one she announced her intent on renouncing to the heiress title. The same seat she’d left holding back tears at the words her father had thrown at her over a year ago.
Mr. Hirai never meant any of them, she knew that. He’d told her that, apologized soon after and long ago. But the thought, the scene, the sound… It’ll always tug at her heart, and dig the tears from deep within.
Momo swallowed hard at the sudden flashback, suppressing the pain. She managed to do that quite well; better as time passed.
The only problem was how she still couldn’t say a word at this table.
Conversation flowed in fits and starts as both women picked at their plate. Mrs. Hirai seemed determined to bridge the gap growing between them, her attempts at small talk falling flat against Momo's stony silence.
Then came a time where she was unable to bear the awkwardness any longer. The older woman cleared her throat and fixed her daughter with a searching gaze. "Momo, dear, I must say, this is all absolutely divine. You must have put a lot of thought into it."
Momo glanced up, her eyes meeting her mother's briefly before returning to her plate. "Actually, it’s Y/n who’s behind it all," she admitted, her tone guarded.
Mrs. Hirai's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Y/n? The new chef at your restaurant?"
Momo nodded, her mind already bracing for the inevitable conversation about her future. “A real talent for sure. Lots of potential. The whole experimenting thing is something we needed.”
Concern etched Mrs. Hirai's features before she composed herself, her expression becoming more serious. "Momo, don’t you want to reconsider at least once?”
Momo's shoulders tensed, steeling herself for the argument she knew was about to unfold. "Mom, we've been over this. I've made up my mind."
Mrs. Hirai regarded her daughter with a mixture of resignation and disbelief. "Think about what you’ll be leaving behind, it makes no sense! This company is your birthright, it’s your legacy, you have to uphold it."
Momo sighed, frustration bubbling to the surface. "I know, Mom, but I just don't want it. You’re asking me to be the head of it all as if I haven’t just been taking orders and following plans my whole life. I’m telling you I can’t bear all that, I don’t…"
Tears pricked at Momo’s eyes, “I don’t want to fail.”
"I understand, dear.” Mrs. Hirai's expression softened, a hint of sadness in her eyes. “But you have a responsibility to the family, to your father's legacy."
"I'm trying, Mom! Why do you think I go on all these dates for?" Momo's frustration boiled over, her voice rising slightly.
Mrs. Hirai recoiled slightly at the sudden outburst, her expression pained. "Well, it is taking a while," she murmured, "Maybe you should reconsider your approach."
Momo's jaw clenched, her frustration only mounting. "It's not my fault they're all brainless," she muttered, stabbing at the poor short ribs you’d braised to perfection. "Half of them are grossly aroused by your pockets. If you're fine with that, then tell me, and I'll gladly shorten the process."
Mrs. Hirai sighed, a mix between sorrow and anger. "Momo, we just want what's best for you. The company is important, yes, but so is your happiness."
As much as the company mattered to her parents, Momo’s happiness came above all. They’d worked so hard to provide for her, to ensure she never lacked anything. Especially love. Theirs had birthed this wonderful girl, whom they nurtured with, only wishing for her to find her own.
Seeing their daughter ready to sacrifice such a value broke their hearts more than her leaving the company.
"I know, Mom. I just wish..." Momo's shoulders sagged, her anger dissipating as she met her mother's gaze.
Mrs. Hirai saw the opportunity to mention what's been lingering on her mind. "I noticed your father has been setting you up with Jihyo. She's a capable woman, and the Park family is influential. It could be a good match for both of you, professionally and personally."
Momo scoffed, tearing through the last of her cutlet. "Jihyo’s basically the daughter of our closest enemy. She’s a wild card, Mom.”
Mrs. Hirai blinked, taken aback by Momo's bluntness. It was a true definition, but such frank acknowledgment of their family's associates was rarely spoken aloud. It felt like breaking a taboo.
“Momo—”
“Listen, she's a nice enough person, but she's not what I need nor want. I know Dad thinks that pushing me towards her will make me stay in the company and keep things stable. Nice try, but we’re not six, and it's not fair to either of us."
Mrs. Hirai's face softened, "Momo, he just wants to make you jealous,” she said, a light chuckle leaving her lips.
“What?”
“You’re giving your father too much credit, as always.” She shook her head, clearly amused. “Remember when you actually were six and didn’t want to go to bed? The way he went to grab the dog and act all cuddly with it, instead of you? He’s doing the same with Jihyo. Grabbing the closest thing to replace you, hoping you’ll come tear it up and claim your place again.”
Momo's eyes widened, processing her mother's words. She was over here claiming she was so old and mature now, but he was doing the same thing as when she was young. Getting a hold of the closest, emotionally threatening enough thing around to get her to listen to him.
"So... he's not serious about Jihyo?"
Mrs. Hirai sighed. "He's serious about wanting you to stay. He thinks seeing Jihyo in your place will make you reconsider."
Momo shook her head, feeling the tears well up in her eyes again. "I don't want to be manipulated like this. I want my decisions to be mine, not because Dad is playing games."
Her mother reached across the table, placing a comforting hand on her daughter's. "I understand, dear. But sometimes, those who love us most will do anything to keep us close."
Momo's lip trembled. "I don’t care, it's not fair, Mom. How can you be okay with this?"
Hearing her mother back her father’s insane behavior was heartbreaking. Disappointing. Momo's chest tightened, a nauseating mix of frustration and betrayal surging within her as she caught her mother’s eyes glistening with unshed tears.
"I'm not saying I agree with his methods, Momo. But I know he's scared. Scared of losing you."
Momo looked down, her tears finally spilling over. "I just want to live my own life, make my own choices. Why can't he understand that?"
Her mother sighed, squeezing her hand gently. "Because he loves you, and he's afraid. Afraid that without the company, without us, you'll be lost. He doesn't realize how strong you've become."
Momo shook her head, frustration and sadness mingling in her heart. "I wish he could see that."
Mrs. Hirai nodded, her voice gentle. "Show him, Momo. The banquet is yours. Let him see what you can achieve on your own terms. Prove to him that you're capable of making your own choices and succeeding."
Momo took a deep breath, trying to steady her emotions. "You really think that will make a difference?"
Mrs. Hirai offered her a soft smile. "I do. Just be patient.”
Momo nodded, though the weight of her father's manipulations still pressed heavily on her heart. As she focused back on the food on her plate, her thoughts wandered back to you, and she couldn't help but feel a glimmer of hope.
That glimmer of hope, it burned softly within her heart. Still too weak for her to feel anything other than relief at the thought of you.
—
“Can you at least pretend to be useful?” You snapped, slamming an oven door shut. “I need everyone on deck, and you’re just standing there complaining!”
The kitchen was bustling, the whole brigade rushing around to perfect their dishes as the deadline for the banquet loomed closer. Momo had scheduled a tasting tonight, placing you at the heart of the chaos. You tried to maintain control and ensure everything was perfect, but it was hard doing so when someone seemed determined to get in your way.
Momo's behavior had shifted over the past two weeks. She'd started paying more attention, trying to be more involved. It wasn't purely altruistic—she saw a silver lining in your presence. One that could solve all her problems. You challenged her in ways she hadn't experienced since her rookie days, igniting a new source of motivation. For once, she felt driven, compelled to prove herself.
So she decided to make you feel at ease—for her own gain, yes, but you won something in the deal, didn't you?
After that night in the office, she made it a point to be around more, offering assistance, and listening to you more.
It was promising.
But she had to ruin that too.
Today, she decided to supervise the brigade as you prepared for tonight's tasting. Her presence was only getting in the way of everyone, especially you. You tried to keep your focus, but Momo's constant hovering and her split attention were grating on your nerves.
As she stood in the kitchen, her phone buzzed constantly with texts from Jihyo. She tried to juggle the mounting pressure from her father, the complications with Jihyo, and her responsibilities; but it was obviously getting too much on one plate.
You glanced at Momo, noticing the tension in her posture, the way she bit her lip as she read her messages. The way she moved, the way her eyes sparked with intensity—it all captivated you for a second, distracting you in ways you didn't need at the moment.
Momo’s irritation mirrored yours. She snapped her head up from her phone, eyes blazing. "I would if you gave me anything remotely interesting to do. I won't just fetch things for you like some errand boy."
You scoffed, crossing your arms, trying to ignore the way her anger only seemed to add to her intensity. “Seriously? Picking and choosing at a time like this? If you were just going to screw me over you shouldn’t have bothered in the first place!”
Momo only chuckled, “Really? Because I could have sworn you’d begged for me to be here.”
“Right.” You nodded. “When I did that I didn’t think you’d take it as an invite to smear yourself all over anything I do again. We agreed you’d let me handle the kitchen, why are you so hellbent on keeping tabs, just let me do my job!”
“This whole thing was my idea.” Momo shot back, stepping closer. “You wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for me. That name you’re so proud of means nothing without my backing.”
“You’re not doing anything but sabotaging yourself.” Your voice dropped into a dangerous whisper. “I’m gonna need you to take your eyes off your own ass and look around you. Who do you recognize?”
Momo stayed silent, her mind racing. She glanced around, seeing the faces and eyes focused on her—some confused, some irritated. She realized she couldn’t put a single name to any of them. Her heart sank as the reality of her detachment hit her. The bustling kitchen, the brigade working tirelessly, and she couldn’t even acknowledge their efforts properly.
She felt a knot of frustration and embarrassment tightening in her chest.
You chuckled, “See what happens when you’re too busy playing corporate princess? Just let me f****** handle it.”
Her anger flared again, some kind of defense against the sting of that realization. “You think you’re so indispensable, don’t you?” she hissed. “That your presence is the only thing holding this together? Get over yourself, Y/n.”
“Sure I will. Please, lead the way like you so beautifully know how!” You gestured, hands as sarcastic as your tone.
The tension was palpable, your breaths mingling as you stood face to face, neither willing to back down. For a moment, it seemed like the argument might escalate further, but then Momo broke eye contact, her gaze shifting to her surroundings.
“Your arrogance will be your downfall,” she spat, voice trembling with suppressed rage. “You think you’ve done such a great job running this s***show, huh?”
When she looked back at you, her eyes met yours with nothing but anger as something else she couldn’t quite place tried to ease itself in. She hated the way you managed to make her feel—vulnerable, exposed.
“You better prove it tonight or I’ll make sure you’ll regret ever stepping into this kitchen.”
Without another word, she turned and stormed out of the kitchen, leaving you standing amidst the chaos, that short and fragile truce between you two shattered yet again.
Tasting sure was going to be interesting…
—
That same night, the dining room was elegantly arranged, a stark contrast to the chaos of the kitchen earlier in the day. The table was set with fine china and crystal glasses, casting delicate reflections under the soft, ambient lighting. Momo sat between her parents, a tight smile on her face that didn't reach her eyes. Around the table were key senior staff members, trusted friends, and a few family members, all eager to sample the menu.
You, along with your brigade, moved seamlessly between the kitchen and the dining room. You made sure to put your hard earned skills to use, presenting each course with a practiced grace, detailing the inspiration and techniques behind every dish. Despite the tension in the air linking you to Momo, your professionalism never faltered, though your eyes rarely left the plates you were serving.
Each course was met with nods of approval, murmurs of appreciation, and the occasional question, which you answered with an admirable precision. Momo, however, remained silent, her gaze fixed on her plate. Her parents exchanged glances, concern etching their features.
When dessert was finally brought out, a hush fell over the table. You presented the dish—the deconstructed lemon meringue pie—explaining the delicate balance of flavors and textures. The room filled with the scent of citrus and caramelized sugar.
"Momo," Mrs. Hirai's voice cut through the murmurs, "you haven't said much tonight. What do you think?"
Momo looked up, her eyes meeting her mother's before shifting uncomfortably to the food in front of her. She felt the weight of everyone's gaze, including yours as you had paused in your explanation to listen.
"It's... it's very well done," she finally said, her voice painfully devoid of any enthusiasm. "The team has done an excellent job."
Her father frowned, leaning forward. "You can do better than that. Your opinion matters here. Speak up."
Momo's jaw tightened. She spent the entire evening avoiding your gaze, the argument from earlier still fresh and raw. Both of you were acting like children after a petty feud over a toy, going out of your way to avoid acknowledging each other.
She took a deep breath, trying to steady her voice. "The dessert is innovative and beautifully executed. It’s exactly what I envisioned for the banquet."
Your eyes flickered with a mix of surprise and annoyance, recognizing the lie she’d just pushed through her teeth. She hadn’t envisioned anything—you’d fought tooth and nail over every detail up until hours ago.
"Thank you, Momo," Your voice strained in an attempt to stay polite. "I'm glad it meets your expectations."
The air grew thicker with obviously unspoken words. Momo’s parents exchanged another glance, sensing the underlying tension.
Mr. Hirai cleared his throat. "It’s important for us to be honest during these tastings. If there’s anything that needs to be improved, now is the time to speak up."
Momo felt her irritation grow. "I said it's fine, Father."
"Momo, we're just trying to help.” Her mother interjected gently, “If there’s anything you're not happy with, you need to communicate that."
That’s when you decided to step in, your tone sharp. "I think we all understand the importance of feedback. I have to say Momo's input has been invaluable—despite her current silence."
Momo's eyes flashed with anger. "Invaluable? Really? Seems to me like my input has been more of an inconvenience to you."
Your jaw clenched. "I never said that. But if you actually participated instead of hovering, it might be more constructive."
"Participated?” She shot back. “You mean following your every whim? I have better things to do than micromanage your kitchen."
The room fell silent, the tension palpable. You caught Momo's parents looking between you and their daughter, realizing just how deep the rift had reached.
Mrs. Hirai spoke up first to try and defuse the situation. "Let’s not forget why we're here. The food is excellent, and we’re all looking forward to the banquet. Let’s focus on that."
Momo took a deep breath, faking a smile. "Yes, Mother. You're right. The food is great. Let's enjoy it."
But the damage was done. The altercation had cast a shadow over the evening and lingered in the air, unresolved and simmering just below the surface.
—
The kitchen was finally empty, the last of the staff having been dismissed for the night. You leaned against the counter, the cool steel pressing into your back as you took a moment to breathe. The day had been long and grueling, but at least the tasting was a success, earning yourself and your brigade a few days of rest before the banquet.
You should feel relieved, at least a little bit, you knew that. Yet you couldn’t break free from the weight of the air around you, mounted with tension from yours and Momo’s altercation.
It was suffocating. The hold she had on you, you could say you’d allowed it if only you could put a stop to it. If you at least wanted to make it stop…
The sound of the door to the kitchen creaking open halted your thoughts and Momo stepped inside. You could tell by the heels clicking softly on the tiled floor, and the way you instantly straightened yourself.
You watched her approach with guarded eyes, noticing her arms crossed over her chest. You mirrored her posture when she came close enough, crossing your own, guarding yourself up.
Momo noticed, eyes flickering to the tattoos peeking from beneath your rolled-up sleeves. She hadn’t seen those a lot, only finding out you had them when she started hanging around the kitchen more. Might have been a reason for her to do so, asking you to go and reach for utensils high-up just to peek.
She shook the thoughts away, finding your eyes and focusing on them. “Hey,” she began, her voice softer than you were used to. “Good job.”
The words almost made you choke. You swallowed hard, mouth drying up at the bitterness suddenly filling your heart. Momo waited for an answer, probably feeling entitled to one before she remembered you’d never given in to her.
“How are you feeling?” She tried again, leaning against the counter across from you. Her soft tone matched her eyes this time, so you allowed yourself to answer her.
“Fine, I guess.” You shrugged, eyes sweeping the floor. “It went well.”
She nodded, hesitating. “Yeah, it did. My parents were impressed.”
“That’s good to hear.” You replied, not looking at her.
Momo took a deep breath, steeling herself. "About earlier... I'm sorry. I’m the one who started yelling. Wasn't really professional of me."
You chuckled, finally meeting her eyes. "Did you just apologize? Didn't know you had it in you."
Her irritation flared once more. "I'm serious, Y/n. I get that this isn’t something you’re used to from me, but I can admit I was out of line."
"Okay, okay," you said, raising your hands. "Apology accepted."
You were so… nonchalant about it. As if you couldn’t care less. If you were honest, you could, but the reaction you were having didn’t exactly reflect that. It wasn’t the one she expected and she didn’t like it.
She almost started another argument before catching herself. Her jaw clenched, holding back some words to replace them with others she deemed more… gentle. Better suited to air out her frustrations. “Why are you still so defensive? The tasting went well anyway, didn’t it? Everything was perfect, my parents loved it, and everything has your name on it. You got what you wanted so why the attitude? Stop being so childish.”
That kind of shut you up. Momo couldn’t believe the silence that followed her words. She was right, you were adult enough to admit that. Just not enough to do it out loud. Not enough not to talk back.
You just had to do it for some reason. Maybe it was because her words struck a nerve, hitting closer to home than you were willing to admit.
"Fine," you muttered. "But you’re not exactly making it easy."
You honestly felt like a child, not being able to process or understand what's happening, so you took out your frustrations the only way you knew how to : throwing a tantrum.
Momo sighed, exasperated. "Are you going to keep this up during the banquet too? Does talking back to me and disregarding me turn you on or something?"
You scoffed, but it’s painfully evident in the moment, that you’re indeed attracted to her. But you’d never admit that either. You wouldn’t because, apart from her being attractive, you can’t tell why that is. “You wish.”
“You know what, maybe I do.”
You felt your breath catch in your throat, and Momo caught you struggling. She wanted—no, she needed—to let you know. That you couldn’t hide from her. Yet her lips refused to do anything else than let you know her own truth.
“Maybe then I could make a reason out of your behavior,” she whispered, words trembling in frustration.
Silence. Not an uncomfortable one, but odd. Eerie. Neither of you knew what the next words would be or where they’d come from, but you sure were getting ready for them.
Her eyes weren't looking into yours anymore. They were searching, reflecting, maybe even reaching out to her own fears. You saw it—the shift, the hesitation.
You didn’t expect her to speak up first.
“If you can’t do it for me then do it for yourself,” she started, “If this fails my family will take a hit, sure, but ultimately you and I both know we’ll be fine. Your career’s the only thing on the line here.”
Her voice was cold, icy, cutting through your ego with reminders of where you stood in this environment. In this industry. She jabbed her finger against your chest, making each one of her points clear and painful.
So you grabbed her hand, pushing it down with enough force to make a statement and let your stubbornness shine through yet again
"Don't," your voice low, enough of a threat to pull a reaction out of her too.
Momo's patience snapped. She grabbed a fistful of your white button-up, creasing up your pride and pulling you closer, her eyes not leaving yours.
You noticed for the first time, just how pretty she was and how dangerous that is. Your heart was desperate to make you feel it, practically racing against her own.
“You know what,” a smirk quivered on your lips at how tightly she held onto you. “Maybe this is all about more than just work.” You strained out, words slipping and pushing through the limits you’d drawn around her.
You reveled in the way she let you go. Her fist released your shirt, pushing you away only for her fingers to linger on the fabric and keep you from going too far.
You made a point to step back, biting the inside of your lip when she took a stepped forward.
Maybe it did turn you on a little.
"I warned you earlier, didn't I?” Her eyes burned into yours, as if trying to distract you from the weakness she’s been displaying. “You do whatever you want on Friday. One wrong move, and I might just keep my word this time."
"Maybe you should," you retorted, your eyes flashing with defiance, provoking the spark of anger in her own.
Her proximity was intoxicating. It would be betraying your own words, painting a coward out of yourself, but you still tried to step away. Your foot carefully slipped back, ready to carry you elsewhere and flee.
Halfway there, and you were back to square one. Suffocating under Momo’s impulse, drowning into the feeling of her lips continuously crashing against yours…
She pulled you back in even closer, her fist having claimed itself around the fresh crease of your shirt. You didn’t fight to remove it this time, finding it much easier and pleasant to surrender.
Your kisses were vicious against each other’s. Anything but gentle, fueled by anger and weeks of built up frustrations.
You lost yourselves into a simmering attraction neither of you wanted to acknowledge. Even when you found enough strength to pull apart. And even less when you realized just how much it took to do so.
The air seemed to thin out, charged with more tension than it held moments ago. More than ever before.
Your breaths were heavy, mingling with hers as you stared at each other’s features in shock and confusion.
Momo’s eyes were hazy, lips a neat mess and swollen from the kiss. “This doesn’t change anything.” she whispered, visibly shaken by her own actions.
You only nodded, busy trying yet unable to process the depth of what just happened. She slipped herself away from your arms and you watched her go, a mixture of frustration and longing churning in your chest.
The night felt colder, the kitchen emptier as you stood there, thoughts in a whirlwind. The kiss had changed everything and nothing, leaving both of you with more needs and questions than before.
—
“You kissed her?!”
“No, she kissed me!”
“That doesn’t matter!”
It really didn’t, Jeongyeon was right. So you let her slap you on the arm, the sting a light and playful discipline.
A couple of days passed, and you wasted two days of your hard earned break wallowing on your couch until Jeongyeon came by to drag you out of it for brunch. You complained the whole time, for entertainment purposes, but you were thankful for her.
With how busy you’d been since joining Momo, the two of you had only seen each other once. You made sure to keep her updated though, or rather she did by pestering you and teasing you about both your behaviors. She managed to keep herself up to date with every single little thing that had happened between you and Momo.
All except the latest.
“Like it’s my fault?” You argued, “Who wears a cropped dress shirt to a tasting…”
Jeongyeon chuckled at the state of you. All sprawled out on the table, chin resting on your forearm as you played with a few crumbs of your toast. She noticed the way your eyes wandered far away from this table, probably digging into your memories of Momo in that cropped dress shirt.
How pathetic, to her delight.
She shrugged at your words, reaching for her cup. “Less fabric, less stain prone. She’s got a point.”
You threw a piece of bread at her, but she dodged. “Why did she wear a tie then?” You straightened yourself up in your seat. “Seems to me like that would be just as much fabric as a regular dress shirt.”
Jeongyeon rolled her eyes, “Stop blaming the shirt, and get a grip. You kissed her because you like her.”
“Back. I didn’t kiss her, I kissed her back.”
“That’s still a lot of kissing. So you’re not denying it, huh?” She raised an eyebrow, and snickered when you sighed. “You like her.”
You ran a hand through your hair, exasperated. "I don't even know what I feel, Jeongyeon. It's... complicated."
Jeongyeon smirked, leaning back in her chair. "Feelings usually are. But denying it won't make it any less true."
You groaned. "She's infuriating. One minute she's criticizing everything I do, the next she's—."
"Kissing you," Jeongyeon finished, taking a sip of her coffee.
You wanted to knock that smirk of hers (lovingly) off her lips, but resigned, feeling yourself smile at the joke. Too bad she was being truthful too.
"Yeah.” You fiddled with a napkin in your reach, your smile fading as you thought back to the moment. “And it wasn't just a peck, you know? It was... intense."
Jeongyeon chuckled. "Sounds like there's some serious chemistry there. Maybe all that fighting was just foreplay."
You glared at her, but couldn't help the small smile tugging at your lips again. "You're not helping."
She leaned forward, her expression softening. "Look, Y/n, you've always been passionate about your work. Maybe she sees that and respects it, even if she has a hard time showing it. She's probably just as confused about her feelings as you are."
You sighed again, feeling the weight of her words. "Maybe. But what do I do now? She’s git the worst timing ever, we’ve got the banquet coming up; I can't afford any distractions."
Jeongyeon smiled knowingly. "Just be honest with yourself. And let go of your pride a little, who knows, maybe then she’ll be nice to you. If what you both truly want is for that banquet to work out, you’ll know to set this aside for now. Behave, and the rest will follow. Probably."
You gave Jeongyeon a pointed look, clearly unimpressed by her attempt to absolve herself of responsibility. "Probably?" you repeated, raising an eyebrow.
Jeongyeon shrugged, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Hey, I'm just here to nudge you in the right direction. The rest is up to you. Relationships are messy, but you'll never know if you don't try."
You sighed, running a hand through your hair again. "I guess you're right. It's just... a very uncharted territory right now."
Jeongyeon nodded, her expression turning sincere. "I know. But she might just be worth getting into it, I mean… I wouldn’t mind letting my guard down around her.”
You rolled your eyes, "Of course you wouldn't."
"You should do the same," she said teasingly. "Seriously, Y/n."
You looked down, a small smile playing at your lips. "Maybe. We'll see."
"That's the spirit,” Jeongyeon grinned. “Now finish that toast and get back out there. You've got a banquet to hold. And a girl to figure out."
You chuckled, “Yeah, I do. Thanks, Jeongyeon."
"Sure. Just invite me to the wedding."
—
Momo stood in front of the grand mirror in her room, adjusting the final touches of her outfit. The sleek black suit, paired with a statement pearl choker, gave her an air of authority and elegance she loved to see on herself. The sharp lines of the fabric contrasted with the delicate jewelry, creating a powerful and refined look.
She glanced at her reflection, taking a deep breath to steady herself. Her mind raced with thoughts of the evening ahead, the guests, the speeches, the food, and most of all, you.
Since that kiss, everything had become a whirlwind of confusion. You were infuriating, challenging, and utterly impossible to read. The kiss had only complicated things further, as if that relationship needed another tangled strain. What was she thinking… It was hard to focus on anything else when she replayed the moment in her mind, over and over again. Your lips on hers, the intensity, the fire—it had been unexpected, unplanned, and yet, it felt strangely good.
And then there was Jihyo. The situation with her was just as headache inducing. Jihyo's texts, her father's manipulations, and the pressure to stay in the company-everything just kept weighing on her. Yet somehow, in the midst of it all, she didn't mind any of it. As if the kiss had awakened something in her, something allowing her to bear all that weight. She hadn't felt that in a long time. It made her question everything, including her feelings for you and what she truly wanted for her future.
She didn’t like that. But she didn’t exactly mind it either.
As she walked into the venue, her eyes scanned the room, filled with guests fighting for best dressed mingling along with some others… settled for comfort. The atmosphere was buzzing, poking at Momo's racing heart. She felt nervous, not just from the pressure of the evening, but from the thought of seeing you again. She hadn't seen you since that night in the kitchen, and she wasn't sure what to expect.
It took a while, but her eyes finally found you across the room, looking dapper in your chef's uniform. For the first time, as a sign of gratitude and hopefully good news for your future, you were made to wear the official uniform of the Hirai kitchens. The jet black jacket, adorned with the restaurant's insignia, felt weird and new, but the colors … You could get used to them, and the material was soft enough.
You were talking to one of the guests, a polite smile on your face, but she could see the tension in your posture. You must have felt her gaze because you looked up, eyes locking with hers for a brief, electrifying moment.
You took Jeongyeon's advice to heart, determined to behave, to keep things professional despite the need to lash out at your own confusing feelings, and by extension; her. So you approached her cautiously, using the distance separating her from you to try and calm that pounding in your chest.
"Momo," you greeted, your voice came out steady enough, but your eyes betrayed your nerves.
"Y/n," she replied, her own voice calm.
You stood there for a moment, the silence hanging heavy with the memory of your kiss, a palpable tension neither of you could ignore.
"You look nice. Very professional," You finally said, breaking the silence. Your words were sincere, and for a moment, Momo's heart slowed.
"Thank you," she replied, a small smile playing on her lips. "You look... different."
You chuckled, the sound easing some of the tension. "Yeah, I do. It feels weird but... good."
You stood still. Just there, awkward and unsure, the weight of the evening pressing down on you. Anyone passing by could tell there was something between you two, although not able to put their finger on it. Not any more than you could. But you tried; to find a way to move forward without letting your emotions get in the way of the night's success.
"I think we should... talk maybe," You said, your voice dropping to a low, almost hesitant tone.
Thankfully Momo nodded, wanting nothing more. Until she remembered where she was. "Yeah, we do. But maybe not here. Later?"
"Later," you agreed, relief evident in your eyes. "For now, let's focus on tonight."
"Agreed," she said, her resolve strengthening. "Let's give them a night to remember."
—
The banquet was in full swing, and Momo couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride as she watched the guests enjoy the evening. After her brief but intense interaction with you, she’d thrown herself full swing into hosting, greeting the most important guests warmly and ensuring everything was running smoothly. She could see you, now dressed in the official Hirai colors, making your rounds with the staff in the kitchen through the glass doors.
She liked the sight. Enjoyed it even.
As the main courses began to be served, Momo took a moment to catch her breath, her eyes scanning the room. Everything seemed perfect, but she knew better than to let her guard down, and just as she was about to step back into the fray, one of the staff members approached her, looking visibly distressed.
"Ms. Hirai, we have a problem in the kitchen," the staff member whispered urgently, causing a surge of anxiety within her.
“What kind of problem?”
"The main course... there's an issue with the meat—well, it’s more the ovens not working properly—but we don't have enough time to fix it without some quick thinking."
Momo's heart picked up the pace again. This could ruin the entire evening.
Without a second thought, she hurried towards the kitchen, her mind racing with solutions. As she entered, she found you there, looking equally concerned.
“Y/n,” she called out, catching your attention. “We have a problem.”
The tension between you both flared up instantly, old arguments resurfacing in the heat of the moment. You tried to stay focused, but her presence was both a distraction and a relief. You were stressed, and seeing her only added to the pressure.
Momo crossed her arms, her eyes narrowing slightly. "What's going on? Why wasn't I informed earlier?"
Your jaw tightened, trying to keep your frustration in check. "It's under control. We have a backup plan. I'm using the emergency meat, but we need to cook it quickly and differently."
"Good," she said, biting back her irritation. "Is there anything I can do to help?"
You paused, debating on teasing her about stepping in, but it wasn't the time nor place. "Can you go around and make sure everyone is on time? Report back to me if there's any issue."
She nodded, her gaze softening slightly. "Got it."
As she moved through the kitchen, checking on the staff and ensuring everyone was on schedule, she couldn't help but notice the tension in your posture. Despite the pressure, you remained in control, your hands moving with precision as you prepped the backup meat. She saw the way your brows furrowed, the way you bit your lip in concentration. It struck her how much you actually cared, how deeply invested you were in all this.
When she returned to you, she gave a quick update. "Everyone's on track. No issues so far."
"Good," you replied, a brief moment of relief flashing in your eyes before the stress settled back in. "Thank you."
Momo only nodded. She wanted to say more, to ease your tension, but the words wouldn't come. So she just took a step back, intending to head back out when her eyes caught sight of a pile of uncut vegetables next to you.
"Is anyone on these?" she asked, motioning to the vegetables.
You cussed under your breath at the sight of them, wiping the sweat from your forehead. The meat chaos had messed with your train of thoughts... "Damn it, no. I completely forgot."
Momo stepped closer, pushing her sleeves up. "Relax. I'll handle it."
"What—Are you sure?"
You would question the move, but the help she was offering was too precious.
Momo nodded, already reaching for a knife. "Yeah. How do you want them cut?"
The way she proceeded to handle that knife shouldn’t have been a surprise. She did belong to a respectable culinary lineage, but seeing her in action was something else entirely.
You felt a strange sense of relief wash over you as you witnessed her skills from the corner of your eye. The fact that she was actually helping you made the situation feel a little less overwhelming.
The two of you worked side by side, and you could feel the tension easing up its hold onto the two of you as the minutes passed.
It was suddenly easier to breathe.
—
Much later in the night than you’d have liked, you stood outside the restaurant, the air of the night cool against your skin as you savored the last drags of your cigarette.
The streets were calm, the occasional hum of traffic in the distance adding a weirdly soothing track to the end of it all.
The banquet, everything had finally come to an end, and successfully, but the lingering thoughts of Momo and your unresolved tension clouded your mind.
You mindlessly watched as the guests left one by one, their laughter and chatter fading as they climbed into expensive cars and drove away. The soft glow of taillights disappeared around corners, leaving the street empty and silent every time.
You exhaled slowly, watching the smoke curl into the dark sky above.
Sure, that little moment in the kitchen earlier was nice, but… There was still a lot to work through.
A familiar sound of stilettos against the rough concrete pulled your eyes off and away from some sweet looking Mercedes. It didn’t compete with the sight you knew was awaiting
Momo stepped outside and startled you with a soft, “You smoke too much.”
You looked over, a faint smile on your lips. “Well, I’m trying to quit, but I deserve this one.”
She chuckled, taking a seat beside you. You watched her, feeling bad for the expensive suit you’d eyed any chance you got. All night. “You’ll mess your pretty clothes up,” you said, stubbing out the cigarette.
“Who cares,” she brushed off. “Night’s over anyway.”
You nodded. Couldn’t argue with that. “Congratulations, by the way. Was your mom proud?”
Momo smiled at the recent memory of her parents congratulating and thanking her for her hard work. “Yeah, they both were.”
You eyed her fingers as they fiddled with each other. It made you smile, how no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t seem to hide that shy part of her.
“Was the outfit supposed to be a statement?” you asked, and she shuffled, telling you it might have been. It amused you. “You shouldn’t have. Did it shake you up that much?” You smirked as though you hadn’t gone to cry about it to Jeongyeon.
“About that night…” she trailed off, silently hoping you’d take the reins.
“It’s okay. I won’t tell your suitors.” You shrugged, half-jokingly.
A small, playful but sincere gesture that slapped Momo in the face. She had completely forgotten about her little side quest with the pressure of the past few days. And also because you’ve been the only thing on her heart’s mind since your kiss. Before stepping out to join you, she even cut things off with Jihyo through a text, thinking it was finally the end of it all. She’d forgotten about all the other ones.
“Oh.” She managed to say after slowing her thoughts down. “Thanks.”
“No problem…”
A few long and awkward seconds passed.
“Wait, are you gonna carry on with those?”
Momo pursed her lips, thinking. “I don’t know.”
She really had no idea. She wasn’t even sure she wanted to quit the company anymore. Until her dad told her he’d slowly been warming up to her decision as he left moments ago, she forgot this was her last project.
It was great news, yeah, if it weren’t for one little detail you helped her realise a little too late.
She didn’t want it to be.
Momo cleared her throat, her lips opening and closing a few times before managing to get the words out. “Are you going to stick around?” she tentatively asked.
You shrugged, playing it cool although you had a feeling her question meant good news. Hopefully in both professional and personal parts of your life. “If you want me to.”
Momo grinned, “I wouldn’t mind.”
You nodded, suppressing a smile. “Will you?” you asked, and she furrowed her eyebrows in confusion. “Will you stick around too? Or are you quitting and leaving the country to become a dance teacher on the other side of the world?”
“How do you know I dance?” She laughed.
“You’re a public figure, Momo. Investments make headlines, especially the heartfelt ones,” you reminded, referring to the time she donated a generous amount to her old dance school in need.
“You’ve been keeping tabs on me?”
“Not really. Just news stuff.”
“Right.” You felt her eyes on you, rightfully suspicious. Another silence settled, although this one was a little less awkward and shorter. “Have you always wanted to be a chef?”
You simply nodded at the question, not wanting to dull the moment with details. “Thank you for the opportunity by the way. I don’t think I’ve ever thanked you, how rude of me.”
“You’re welcome,” she chuckled. “You deserved it. A lot of guests asked me to send their compliments to the chef.”
Her nudge to your ribs made you pull away instinctively, the sudden contact sending a rush of warmth to your chest. You looked down, hiding your smile as your mind rewound back to your first meeting. “You never called me chef, by the way.”
“And I never will,” she said assuredly, making you chuckle. It was all you could do for now with your focus on her hand fiddling with your own, watching as she intertwined her fingers with yours, the other caressing the exposed and sketched skin of your forearm.
She sure had gotten comfortable. The way she leaned into you, her touch becoming more familiar and assured... You wondered where it came from for a second before remembering how bad of a job you were doing at hiding the effect she had on you so far.
Well, if that’s what it got you…
“Bet on that?” You teased. A little provocation, for grounding purposes.
Momo just nodded though, still assured, and it made you even more curious about what she had in mind for her to be. “Why not?” you probed.
She only smiled, observing your features long enough to make you blush in the night. She inched her face closer to yours, her hand squeezing around yours. It felt only natural for you to lean in, and the nose scrunch she did was new, but the grin that came with it had you guessing it was a good thing. She couldn’t help but giggle as you leaned in, and you almost forgot what had pushed you so close until she spoke up.
“I’ll call you much better, and more flattering things than ‘chef’… darling,” she whispered.
You folded immediately, and this time, you were the one that kissed her. This one was much sweeter, softer. Flavors from the night dancing on your lips, teasing the ones on your tongues. Dessert and smoke, a blend of sweetness and bitterness that felt just right.
When you finally pulled apart, breathless, you felt her lips turn into a smirk against yours.. “Doesn't mean we’re done arguing, though.”
“It doesn't?”
She shook her head, her free hand reaching for a displaced lock of your hair. “Not until you quit smoking.”
“I told you I’m already trying to.”
“I know, but I also happen to think you look hot doing it.”
“Can’t wait to fight about me being hot then.”
———
@cry4mina thank you for supportively bullying me to finish this i hope you liked it
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two become one || bruna vilamala x reader ||
minors dni, 18+, smut ahead
you have sex for the first time with bruna.
you felt like a madwoman running around like a headless chicken. seven months. you and bruna had been together for seven months already. the question of sex had come up, but neither of you had lived on your own until now. you loved your girlfriend's roommates, but they were always there in some capacity. as for you, it was not at all possible to even attempt sex while you were living at home. that was why you were so nervous to have bruna over for the first time to your new apartment.
there was no guarantee for sex. bruna knew that you had never gotten that far with anybody, not fully at least. there had been a lot of makeouts with past partners and a bit of over-the-clothes grinding. bruna had a bit of experience, but had admitted that a lot of things were very new to her. essentially, it was like the first time for the both of you.
all that had been agreed upon was that bruna was staying the night. you had a plan that didn't necessarily include sex, but you had prepared for it. bruna had dropped a couple of hints as well, but you could tell that she was too nervous to outright say that she wanted it from you.
dinner had been light. you didn't talk much, both of you absolutely entranced by the reality tv show that you'd been binging together. after dinner the two of you continued to watch your show until bruna asked to see more of your apartment. you happily gave her a tour, which ended with the two of you curling up in your new bed.
"i can't wait to hang out with you here all the time," bruna said as she rested her head against your shoulder. you casually had your arm slung around her waist, tracing little patterns on her hip. it was nice, and either one of you could have fallen asleep in that moment. however, both of your minds were racing at the thought of going further. it would be so easy, just a slip of your hand beneath her waistband to get things started.
"i can't wait to have you here. you can stay over more without the fear of us getting interrupted." bruna blushed at your words. you hadn't meant staying over after sex, but it seemed that the shoe fit. your brain caught up a bit slower than bruna's did, and she laughed at your late reaction. "i didn't mean it like that…"
"it would have been okay if you did. most relationships get there eventually. jana and esme have been asking about that. even vicky is getting curious, but alexia usually shuts her questions down early. i think she's kind of afraid that i'll corrupt you or something," bruna laughed nervously. she had thought about that a lot. alexia was nice to her, but it was obvious that there was a bit of strain whenever your relationship was brought up. the captain was protective of you, she always had been. your family had moved from her hometown so that you could play for barcelona.
"what do you tell them?" it wasn't a question that you wanted to ask, but you were curious. there was nothing to tell really, but you wondered sometimes. some of the girls made jokes whenever they saw the two of you together. you'd always run away blushing, often leaving bruna to stand up for the both of you. you didn't mean to, but a part of you felt embarrassed for not having had sex with bruna yet.
"i don't tell them anything, it's none of their business. we will take the steps whenever we're ready," bruna answered. you cracked a small smile as you pressed a kiss to bruna's forehead. bruna glanced up at you for a moment, and you swore that you could see how much she loved you. it was scary sometimes, to love and open yourself up to being loved. there was always the nagging voice in the back of your head reminding you that you hadn't completely opened yourself up to bruna yet.
there had been times when the two of you had gotten close to sex. usually, they were interrupted by either one of her roommates or a member of your family. one time, whenever the two of you had gone out with the rest of the team, alexia had walked into the bathroom to find you with bruna pinned against the wall by the door. that one had been so mortifying that you hadn't accepted another offer to go clubbing with the rest of the team.
"is this okay?" bruna asked as her hands hovered over your waist. it was a bit higher than where she normally placed them, but that wasn't why she was asking. your shirt had ridden up a bit, and her hands would burrow beneath it to rest against your bare skin.
"yeah, of course," you told her. bruna smiled up at you as she placed her hand down. her fingertips brushed against the elastic band of your sports bra, but neither of you mentioned it. you reached down to cradle her jaw as you pulled her up for a kiss.
kissing bruna was your absolute favorite thing to do. you loved everything from the little taste of her chapstick that was always left on the tip of your tongue to the little whine she'd give you when you pulled away. this kiss was no different than the other ones that you had shared, aside from the extra vigor from bruna. she moved to straddle you, her hands fully pushing up your torso until she held your breasts in them.
"it's not too much, is it?" bruna asked you. you were too caught up in the feeling of her hands on your body and the way that her breath felt against your cheek to care about anything else. this wasn't the closest that the two of you had gotten to sex before, but it had never felt so possible before. you hadn't wanted her like you did in this moment.
"i don't think that it's enough. bruna, i want you to take me," you told her. bruna's eyes widened like saucers with excitement. she wanted to ask if you were sure, but bruna knew better. there had been no hesitation with you, just full confidence. "please. it feels right."
"i love you, and i promise that i'm not just saying that because of you know…" bruna trailed off as she motioned between the two of you.
"i know, and i love you too," you told her. bruna pushed you back down against the mattress fully once again with a kiss. she briefly broke it to pull her shirt off. bruna knew that she didn't have to, but she wanted to lead the way for you. she was the one with more experience, she was the one who had been naked in front of another person like this. you had always been a bit nervous changing in the locker room, and while this was different, it was also scarier.
"here," bruna said as she took your hand and placed it on her stomach. your fingers spread out wide before you inched your hand up to touch her like she had touched you before. bruna noticed the way that your hand stalled, almost like you were waiting for her to tell you what to do next. "have you ever touched yourself?"
"once or twice," you admitted. bruna tilted your chin up and pressed a kiss to the underside of your jaw.
"touch me like that," she told you. your brain blanked for a moment before you finally made another move. you brought your other hand up to push her bra up and off of her body. bruna let out a little shiver as the cool air of your bedroom hit her bare skin. "can i take your shirt off?"
"you can take everything off if you'd like," you told her. it felt a little eager, but you really wanted bruna to touch you. you wanted to feel her in every way possible, every way she'd let you.
bruna moved off of you and the two of you both stripped yourselves. bruna had seen you naked before in the showers, but it was different in your bedroom. she felt her throat go dry as you turned to her with your body on full display. you weren't the least bit shy, which absolutely amazed bruna. even she had felt a little awkward showing herself to you like this.
"should we go back to the bed?" you asked. bruna nodded, letting you lay down first. bruna laid next to you, unsure of where to put her hands. like she had done for you, you placed hers on your body. that seemed to be all that bruna needed to take charge again.
her hands were gentle as they explored your body. most of the touches weren't too different from things that you had felt before. bruna liked to hold onto you whenever the two of you did little things together. however, it was the feeling of her fingers brushing over your nipples that really seemed to shock your system.
you let out a soft that very obviously surprised you. bruna seemed to get a little giddy at the sound you let out and slotted her knee in between your legs. this new contact caused you to moan again, but this time, bruna's mouth was waiting to cover yours and seemingly swallow it up.
"bruna, please." you didn't know what you were begging for yet, just that you wanted more. bruna smiled into the next kiss as she settled more of her weight down. this time, she rolled her hips as she let you grind against her. you were so lost in your own pleasure that you failed to notice the growing wetness of bruna's cunt as she ground against your thigh at first.
"kiss me." bruna didn't give you a chance to answer as she cupped your cheeks. you let yourself be pulled into the kiss, a messy and desperate attempt to cover up the sounds of her moans. you moved your legs just a bit, spreading yourself wider for her.
"i want you to touch me," you mumbled against her lips. bruna nodded as she let one of her hands fall in between your legs. bruna kept herself grinding down against your thigh as her fingers teasingly ran through your folds. bruna collected a bit of wetness on her fingers and brought it up to her own lips to taste. she let out a moan at the taste of you as she ground herself down particularly hard against your thigh.
the strokes of bruna's fingers between your folds synced up perfectly with the rutting of her hips against your thigh. she was working quickly to try and get both of you to cum at the same time. the wetness you felt against your skin from her arousal had you practically dripping onto your new sheets. you didn't know that it was possible for you to even get so wet.
"bruna, i'm close," you whined. you clawed at her arm, but didn't make any moves to stop her or slow her down. if anything, you started to get antsy, shifting your hips to meet her a little more than you had been doing before. bruna's eyes stayed on your face, holding eye contact with an intense stare as she watched you cum.
you looked away first as your orgasm tore through you. your body shook beneath bruna's, muscles flexing to allow her to hit the perfect spot. her peak quickly followed yours, both of you coming down around the same time. bruna dropped her weight partially onto you as she laid flat against the mattress. she kept an arm around your waist and her legs entangled in yours.
"can i tell you something?" you asked her.
"please don't tell me that you expected more," bruna pleaded with you.
"i love you, and i'm not just saying it because of the sex. i really do love you so much. sometimes, i want to cry when i think about it," you admitted. the sex was clearing your head out in a way that only left the mushiest, sappiest of thoughts. you felt like you had to get it off your chest.
"i love you too. i don't know if i've ever wanted to cry because of it, but i know that i couldn't bare to think about losing you," bruna said. she pulled you in for a kiss, one that had you melting against the mattress once again. "now, i know that you want to lay here forever, but there are some things we have to do first. if you go start the shower, i'll put the sheets in the washer."
"i should have bought an extra set," you muttered to yourself. bruna chuckled as she watched you groan and grumble all the way to your bathroom. she was quick to put the sheets in the wash, eager to join you in the shower. it wasn't as nice as laying around with bruna for the rest of the night, but you were glad that bruna had the sense to do the little things when you didn't.
#minors dni#minors do not interact#woso x reader#woso fanfics#woso imagine#woso smut#bruna vilamala x reader#bruna vilamala imagine
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