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celiastjamesoscar · 1 year

Text

Exile

Pairings: Wednesday Addams x fem!reader

Summary: you and Wednesday were best friends when you were kids, but after Nero’s death, she became cold and distant, and your former friendship turned into a rivalry. Ten years after your friendship ended, unusual circumstances force you two back together.

Trope: childhood friends to enemies to lovers

Warnings: small violent at beginning, angst, death of Nero. Let me know if I missed any!

My Masterlist

Word Count: 12.3K (what’s a word count?)

The sound of children laughing rang throughout the woods on a crisp fall morning. The trees were beautiful vibrant colors that painted the landscape with shades of fiery red, golden yellow, and earthly orange. The crisp air that one could taste in their lungs carried a gentle rustling of fallen leaves while the scent of decaying foliage filled the atmosphere. The ground was adorned with a carpet of fallen leaves that created a soft crunch when the two children ran through the serene woodland.

Even though one child chased the other with a small ax, the two had the same fun. The one with the ax was a taller girl with jet-black twin braids who wore all-black clothing, expert for her white collar shirt. She wore a giant smile on her face as she chased her best friend, Y/N.

You were shorter than Wednesday but had just as much fire in you as Wednesday did. Where Wednesday’s eyes were as black as night, you had a gray and green eye that you used to hide behind sunglasses until Wednesday told you they were the most beautiful things in the world, “You shouldn’t hide what separates you from others, Y/N. Especially if it makes you all the more beautiful.”

You wore brighter colors than Wednesday, but you both shared a love for darkness. You were nothing without Wednesday, just as Wednesday was nothing without you.

The two made an odd pair, but one was never seen without the other. There were times when Morticia had to pry her daughter away from you to find that you had snuck back over sometime in the moonlight. Whenever Wednesday would practice her cello, she would invite you to play the piano, and together you two would create the most heavenly sound that would make angels cry. The contrast was there, but they fit together like puzzle pieces.

As they ran through the woods, you tripped on a small branch and fell to the ground, causing worry to overtake Wednesday as she sprinted to the fallen girl. “Are you alright, Y/N?” Wednesday asked as she knelt beside her friend, but her worry quickly disappeared when you sprang up and tackled her to the ground. You removed the ax from the taller girl’s grasp and held it to her neck. “I appear to be the victor,” you said with a giant smile contrasting Wednesday’s grim expression.

Wednesday leaned up and shoved you off her as she stood up and brushed herself off. “That’s hardly a win; you cheated,” Wednesday replied dryly as she helped you off the ground.

“I might have cheated, but you’re still the loser,” you shot back while standing up. You lived for the playful banter with Wednesday and would rather lose your tongue than go without annoying Wednesday for a day. You handed Wednesday the ax back so she could be the Hunter again, and she placed it in its holster on her hip.

As you two were getting ready to start a new game, a voice rattled the trees around you, “Wednesday! Y/N! Time to come home!” The two shared a look and rolled their eyes simultaneously; they both hated it when Morticia ruined their fun, but they started their walk back to the house nonetheless.

As they walked, Wednesday felt bold and pulled you into a headlock and brought the smaller girl’s head against her ribcage. You didn’t even have time to protest before you felt Wednesday’s knuckles dig into your scalp. You squirmed against Wednesday’s hold, but it was useless; the taller girl was stronger than you. So, you did what any sane person would do; you bit down on Wednesday’s forearm that was keeping you in place. Not enough to hurt the assailant, but just enough to let go of you. And just as you predicted, Wednesday let go of you and grabbed the area that the smaller girl just bit. “Why did you do that?” Wednesday questioned as she rubbed her arm back and forth.

“Uh, because I can?” You retorted as you motioned with her hand, giving Wednesday an attitude that the other girl scoffed at. “Let us go, my compact companion; we have tasks at hand,” Wednesday said as she grabbed your hand, and the two ran back to the Addams’ residence together.

“You have to stop calling me that,” you whined. Wednesday had her collection of names to call you, and the shorter girl hated them.

“It’s not my fault you’re shorter than me; blame your genetics,” Wednesday replied with a dry tone but a slight smile that caused you to smile once you saw it. Wednesday never smiled at anyone except you; Wednesday made a lot of exceptions for the more petite girl, even though she would never admit it.

When they arrived at the mansion, both girls were out of breath as Morticia came outside to greet them. “Hello, my little doves. Did you two enjoy the hunt?” Wednesday’s mother asked them as they went inside and took off their shoes.

“Yes, Mrs. Addams, I always have fun with Wens. She’s the best,” you breathlessly replied as you followed Wednesday up to her room.

Morticia was always fond of you; she loved how her morbid daughter seemed to light up when she was around you, and she knew that her daughter could always rely on and trust you. But all great things must come to an end.

Wednesday held her bedroom door open for you as they entered. The room was dark and cold, but it had character, like Wednesday. There were two giant windows that Wednesday always kept covered on the opposite wall of the door. There were collections of knives hung up on the walls, and the shelves were littered with bookshelves, and in the corner of the room was a cello right next to Y/N’s piano. A small fireplace was built into the wall and had a black, round table in front of it that sat only two. A black bed was in the center of the room with its headboard against the wall, and at the end of the bed was a small bed bench that was purple, Y/N’s favorite color. Above Wednesday’s bed were two swords mounted onto the ceiling; one had a black handle with the purple initials of W.A. etched into the ricasso, while the other had a purple handle with your initials engraved in black. You found the swords a bit odd, but according to Wednesday, it made her feel like Damocles.

You messed with the record player beside the fireplace and put on your favorite record. Soon, the upbeat saxophone of ‘Bop’ by Dan Seals filled the room. Wednesday rolled her eyes when she saw you recreate John Travolta’s ‘Twist’ dance from Pulp Fiction.

I want to bop with you, baby, all night long

I want to be-bop with you, baby, till the break of dawn

I want to bop with you, baby, all night long

“Come on, Wens. You know you wanna dance with me,” You said as you started making the swimming motion from the dance. Finding that she could never say no to Y/N, Wednesday rolled her eyes again before copying Uma Thurman’s dance to match you. When Wednesday did the snorkel dance move, you laughed at the taller girl’s awkwardness, and Wednesday smiled at the thought of making you laugh.

Out of breath, the two finished the dance, and they both had giant smiles as their eyes copied their lips. “Shall we dance again, my fair lady?” You asked as she stuck out your hand and slightly bowed.

“You’re exhausting,” Wednesday stated but took your hand and allowed the girl to spin her.

Twenty minutes had passed when the clock on the fireplace dinged, telling Wednesday it was time to walk Nero. “It’s time for me to walk Nero, but I will see you when I get back,” Wednesday stated as she moved toward the area that was reserved for Nero and got him out of his cage, and put him on his leash.

The three walked down the front door together and left the house together. “See you in a minute,” you said as you walked away from Wednesday. The taller girl sent you a small wave as she walked toward town with Nero.

You arrived home and did what you usually did when Wednesday was away; you waited. You knew Wednesday’s schedule to the tee: wake up at six, morning torture with Pugsley at six-thirty, breakfast at seven-thirty, play with Y/N at eight until her walk with Nero at ten-thirty, come back at eleven and practice her cello with Y/N until twelve-thirty and have lunch at twelve-thirty five. The hours between one and three were filled with any ‘spontaneous activities’ Wednesday might want to do, and at four, she read until five, had dinner at six, and did nightly torturing with Pugsley (or Y/N if you consented) at six-thirty until bedtime at eight-thirty.

So when you checked the clock and saw it was ten-thirty-five, you left her house and skipped to Wednesday’s. As you approached the house, there was a sudden shift in the air, and you could taste it on your lips: death had arrived. You cautiously walked up the stairs and knocked on the door, something you never did. You were always around Wednesday so much that Morticia told you that you didn’t need to knock anymore as she could ‘sense’ the girl’s presence.

When the door opened, you knew that something had happened; you just hoped that Wednesday was okay. Gomez was standing before you with a grim expression as he ushered you in. Your eyes landed on a weeping Wednesday, and your heart broke. You moved to sit next to the goth girl and opened your arms, and Wednesday immediately hugged you and buried her face in the crook of your neck. You rubbed her best friend’s back as she continued crying; you didn’t know what to do, but you only knew that you wanted to be with Wednesday.

The following day, Wednesday had a funeral for Nero, and no one but Y/N could attend. The two girls shed a tear as they both placed a flower on his grave, and you comforted Wednesday once more. Later that night, in Wednesday’s room, Wednesday had allowed you to sleep in bed with her. The two girls were cuddled together, staring at the swords above them, when Wednesday broke the silence, “You are far too dear to me, Y/N. The pain I have felt the past two days is something I never want to experience again, and I certainly do not wish to experience it all over again because of you.”

“Don’t worry, Wednesday. You’re stuck with me till life do us part,” you replied as you hugged your best friend, never wanting to lose the girl.

At just six years old, Wednesday had lost her beloved pet and experienced grief for the first time, and she knew that she would have to grieve every single person in her life at some point. So that night, she made a vow; never to be close enough to someone where she would shed a tear because of their death, and that meant letting go of who she loved most: Y/N.

At first, it was very subtle: Wednesday would smile less around you, and she would spend less time working with you on your music. It was so subtle that no one but you noticed, and it hurt you. Then, more significant things began to happen; Wednesday would purposely fill her schedule with things to do that didn’t involve you, and when you two did hang out, she made sure to try and distance herself from you. And then it all came crashing down on Wednesday’s seventh birthday.

You had a small box in your hand as you walked up the steps to the front door of the Addams mansion and knocked, patiently waiting for someone to open the door. Only a few seconds had passed before Morticia opened the door and towered over the small child. “Hello, my darling. Wednesday is in the greenhouse,” Morticia said as she stood aside and let you into the house before shutting the door.

“Thank you, Mrs. Addams. I haven’t seen her in a couple of days, so I hope she won’t be angry,” you innocently said as you ignored the pain in her heart that Morticia seemed to pick up on.

Eager to change the subject in fear of you becoming sad, Morticia asked as she led you to the greenhouse, “I’ve already told you that you can stop calling me ‘Mrs. Addams,’ My child, so why do you continue?”

You shrugged your shoulders at the comment. You didn’t know why you still spoke to the woman in a formal tone, but it felt weird on your tongue to call her anything else. “I don’t know, I think it’s a respect thing for me,” you replied as you opened the door to the greenhouse. Morticia nodded at the child’s words before whispering, “Have fun with my little death trap.”

You smiled at Morticia’s words as you entered the greenhouse. You knew precisely where Wednesday would be and didn’t pretend to look for the goth girl.

Wednesday was cutting black roses from their stem when she heard soft footsteps behind her. She didn’t bother turning around; she could recognize those footsteps in the crowd of a thousand people. “What are you doing here, YN?” Wednesday asked in a dry tone that caused you to stiffen.

“It’s your birthday, and I wanted to give you something,” you said as you approached Wednesday and set the box next to her. “I know you love your birthday, as it is one more year closer to your death, so here’s your present to celebrate.”

Wednesday gave the more petite girl a suspicious look before putting down the rose and scissors and picking up the box. It was unnaturally light, so she doubted it was a weapon or bomb. She slowly took the lid off the box, and any words died on the tip of her tongue once she realized what it was.

It was a small, black, crocheted scorpion that took you hours to make. She also saw a small note underneath the scorpion, but she didn’t pick it up as her vision became red.

She didn’t know why she was angry. All Wednesday knew was that she wanted you gone. “Get out,” Wednesday hissed as she set the box down and grabbed a knife from her boot.

“What? Why?” You asked as you slowly backed up from Wednesday as your eyes fell on the knife. Of course, Wednesday would make the occasional threats, but you had never believed them; until now.

“Friends are nothing but liabilities, and they only hold me back. So. Get. Out.” Wednesday repeated as she backed you against a small flower pot. She no longer had control over her emotions, and every second she spent with you only seemed to anger her more.

“Wednesday, please. I didn’t mean to upset you. I thought you would have liked the gift. Please, I’m your best friend, and I-” Any words you were about to say got caught in your throat as Wednesday brought the knife up, cutting a straight line on your left eye. The cut was three inches below your eye and an inch above it.

The two stood there in disbelief as neither could believe what happened. Only when blood started pouring out of your cut, and you collapsed onto the floor did Wednesday do something; she called out for her mother’s help for the first and only time as she held you in her eyes, trying her best to fight back tears.

Morticia ran out to the greenhouse and instantly scooped you into her arms as she yelled for Gomez. The man came burling down the stairs and could not contain his tears as she saw your blood-covered state.

The couple quickly rushed you to the hospital, and once you were checked into the ER, the couple notified your parents. They arrived within ten minutes of the phone call, and they were everything but calm, from questioning how Morticia and Gomez allowed this to happen to demanding that Wednesday be punished.

The two sets of parents seemed to be at each other’s throats while Wednesday tried her best to disappear. She felt nothing but guilt for hurting her Y/N, and she wanted to do everything possible to make it up to the girl. So when Wednesday got her chance to see you, she practically sprinted into your room.

You were lying in a hospital with the entire left side of your face bandaged up, and Wednesday could see some blood seeping through. Wednesday slowly approached the bed and gently grabbed your hand. As if repulsed by the touch, you quickly pulled your hand away from Wednesday’s and brought it to your chest. You glared at Wednesday with your right eye before hissing, “Get out.”

“No, Y/N, you don’t understand-” Wednesday started but was quickly cut off by Y/N.

“I’m nothing but a liability to you, Wednesday, so leave,” you said as you crossed your arms and looked away from Wednesday, refusing to cry in front of the taller girl. ‘I think I’ll miss you forever; like the stars miss the sun in the morning skies,’ you thought as you watched your best friend leave.

Wednesday nodded her head and slowly walked to the door, and turned to face you one last time. “Please don’t ever become a stranger whose laugh I could recognize anywhere.”

You were once her crown, and now she was in exile seeing you out. She gave you so many warning signs, but you never learned to read her mind.

When she left the hospital, she felt nothing but shame and guilt that filled her body the entire car ride back home. She cleaned the blood off the floor before going to her room, where she sobbed for the second and last time.

School was different after that happened; the former best friends refused to meet each other’s gaze and soon found that their previous partnership turned into rivalry, constantly competing to be number one. It was an unfair competition, as Wednesday was more naturally gifted than you, and she seemed to beat you at everything, but you refused to give you. You would spend hours perfecting your craft, and when it came time for the archery competition, you beat Wednesday by a single point. Any chance for friendship was ruined when you accepted the first-place trophy and sent Wednesday an evil glare when she was awarded her second-place trophy.

Their rivalry continued like this for numerous years, always for captain for a particular activity or number one in their grade, but just as before, you always seemed to fall short. It continued for three years until you suddenly stopped showing up for school.

Wednesday believed that she had beaten you so far into the ground that you decided to stop coming to school. But after two weeks had passed and Wednesday had not seen her former best friend, she became curious and decided to stop by your house.

Only when Wednesday saw the ‘for sale’ sign in your yard, she allowed herself to be swallowed by guilt. She had pushed you too far in their competition for first and had made you move. Wednesday realized that she might never see her Y/N again, and regret flooded her mind as she slept on the purple bed bench with your sword in her arms.

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“I think we are getting a new student today, and I'm totes excited!” Enid exclaimed as she skipped to Wednesday’s side of the room. The last person to arrive at Nevermore Academy was Wednesday herself, so naturally, Enid was ecstatic to meet someone new.

“You know I do not care for new faces who share the same boring personalities as everyone else here,” Wednesday mumbled while she typed on her type-writer.

Enid huffed at Wednesday’s remark before glancing at her roommate’s work. Wednesday noticed the action and quickly sent an elbow into Enid’s side, causing the girl to groan in pain. “You also know I hate it when you try to read my work. I have no idea why you keep trying to read anything; you know the result,” Wednesday stated as she continued typing.

“Whatever. Just humor me for a moment,” Enid said as she put some space between her and Wednesday, avoiding any elbows that might be sent her way. “I will not humor you but continue.”

“So, from what my sources tell me, she’s from Italy, not like the normal part of Italy, but the mob part!” Enid informed while using her hands to talk.

“Enid, just because someone is from Sicily doesn’t mean they are in the mob. And if she is, I would like to interrogate her about it; it could add a new element to my novel,” Wednesday said.

The brighter girl walked to her side of the room and grabbed her phone. When she picked it up, she made an obnoxious sound before sprinting to Wednesday. “She’s here Wednesday. You have to come and meet her!” Enid exclaimed as she lightly pulled on Wednesday’s arm, causing her to receive a death glare, but she allowed herself to be drawn from her seat.

The two quickly walked down the stairs and arrived at Weems’ office. “Why are we standing creepily outside Weems’ office?” Wednesday questioned as she glanced over her shoulder at her roommate.

“Because, silly, she’s in there talking to Weems right now, and when she comes out, I want to be the first to greet her. And I’ve already volunteered to give her a tour of the grounds,” Enid exclaimed in a hushed tone as if the stranger and Weems were pressed against the door, spying on their conversion.

“And what will I do? I am certainly not talking to another half-brain student,” Wednesday said dryly as she stared at the door.

Enid rolled her eyes at the goth girl’s statement; she had made Wednesday talk to someone new only once to find out that the person only talked about horses and the patriarchy. “You can glare uncomfortably on the sidelines then,” Enid replied.

Wednesday was getting ready to retort when she heard shuffling from behind the door and soft-spoken words that she could not make out.

“Howdie, friend! I’m Enid, and I’ll be giving you the tour!” Enid enthusiastically said as she attacked the girl with a hug.

All the air from Wednesday’s lungs had been sucked out as she stared at the stranger before her. She prayed to the old gods and new that this wasn’t some evil joke, her punishment for raising the dead. But when she saw the stranger smile, she knew this was her Y/N.

You stood before Wednesday with a human highlighter wrapped around your waist. You were wearing black slacks with a black button-up, and Wednesday felt a heart pick up as she admired you in her color. Where you once had chubby cheeks, they were now thinned out, and you had a jawline that could cut glass. You were once a short and stocky kid, but now you towered over Enid, and your muscular arms wrapped around the rainbow girl. It seemed like everything about you had changed, but nothing at all as well. You still had that bright smile and charming personality, as always, but Wednesday’s heart sank when she saw the scar on your eye. It took her a moment to notice it as you wore black sunglasses hiding your beautiful heterochromia.

“Ah, good, you’re already here, Enid, to give Miss Y/L/N a tour, and you’ve brought Miss Addams as well,” Weems said as she stepped out of her room and stood next to Enid and you. Wednesday nearly melted onto the floor when she saw you pull back from Enid and stand up straight, just a few inches shorter than Weems. She noticed how your smile faltered at the mention of ‘Addams’ before you played it off and plastered a fake smile on your lips. The air that was once filled with playful curiosity was one of tension, anger, betrayal, and longing.

“Addams,” you said with no emotion in a thick Italian accent as you extended your large and callused hand toward Wednesday that engulfed the goth girl’s small and cold hand. When your hands touched for the first time in ten years since the hospital, you both felt an electric charge pass between you two, and time seemed to stand still for a moment while the rest of the world disappeared around them.

Your covered eyes locked with Wednesday’s, and you both knew you felt an undeniable spark that sent shivers down your spines. Unspoken words seemed to flow between their fingertips as if their souls were communicating through the simple touch. They both felt the unexplainable and undeniable chemistry rushing back and flooding their minds as they looked at each other for the first time in seven years.

“Y/L/N,” Wednesday replied as she eagerly dropped your hand and wiped her palm on her pants as if it would erase the spark she felt.

Enid and Weems both shared a look as they watched the awkward encounter between the two girls, clearly displaying that they have a history between them. Enid cleared her throat as she stepped between you and Wednesday, “alrighty then, shall we get started with our tour?”

Your mood switched on a dime, and you instantly beamed at Enid’s words. You smiled down at the girl and locked your elbow with hers, and rested your hand gently on her arm, “Of course, my dear, let us begin our journey.” Wednesday pulled her eyes at your remark but walked a few paces behind you and her roommate; she knew this would be the start of a very unfortunate friendship.

“Welcome to the quad,” Enid said as she unlocked your arms and motioned around with her hands. “It’s a pentagon,” you replied as you looked at your surroundings.

Enid rolled her eyes at your comment; great, now she’d have to deal with two Wednesdays as if one wasn’t enough. “You know, Wednesday said the same thing when she first arrived too. I have a feeling you two will be the best of friends!” Enid stated in a cheerful tone after releasing that her roommate can have more than one friend.

“No,” the formal best friends said simultaneously and sent each other a glare, and if Enid picked up on it, you were glad she didn’t say anything.

“Allow me to give you a rundown on the social scene here at Nevermore,” Enid said as she walked around the ‘quad.’ “There are many flavors of outcasts here, but the four main cliques are Fangs, Furs, Stoners, and Scales,” the brighter girl stated while counting her fingers.

As Enid gave you the tour, you half paid attention out of respect for the girl trying to sell Nevermore to you, but all you could think about was the more petite girl standing a few feet behind you. You could feel her eyes burning holes into your back, but you couldn’t face her again, not after everything you’ve been through. There was once a time when you would have laid down your life for Wednesday; now, you could barely breathe the same air as her without getting angry. You knew it was stupid to hold a grudge for this long, but Wednesday was your first and only love, and you would be damned if you let her see you weak again.

When you finished the tour, Enid took you to your room, which was, unfortunately, in Ophelia Hall. “O-M-G! You’re rooming with Yoko! She is my best friend,” Enid announced before looking over at Wednesday, “well, besides Wens, obviously.”

Your heart sank at the nickname for Wednesday. Only you were allowed to call her Wens when you were children, and she barely let you do that. And now, here she was, allowing someone dressed like unicorn vomit to call her that without so much as an idle threat.

“‘Wens?’” You questioned with an eyebrow raised as you looked between the two roommates. You were glad you started to wear your sunglasses again so that neither girl could see the sadness in your eyes. But Wednesday knew you all too well, and she saw how your posture faltered when Enid called her that, and she saw the barely noticeable frown that tugged at your lips. ‘My name should only ever leave your lips,’ Wednesday wanted to say, but she held her tongue.

“Oh, yeah. That’s my nickname for Wednesday. She told me that no one has ever given her one before, so I decided to give her one,” Enid said as she ushered the two girls back to her room, “Come on, I wanna show you mine and Wednesday’s room.”

At the mention of Wednesday never having a nickname, you dropped your fake smile and looked at Wednesday, who was refusing to meet your gaze. ‘Do I mean that little to you where you would erase even our happiest memories?’ You thought when Wednesday finally looked up at you, and for the first time today, you saw emotion in her dark eyes: regret.

“I love the window,” you said as you entered Enid and Wednesday’s room. You loved the contrast between the two girls and how they seemed to get along perfectly; it reminded you of when you were young and Wednesday’s favorite person. Now, the girl barely looked at you.

“Thanks; the first day here, Wednesday took off her side of color and then put tape down to divide our room. And now look at how far we’ve come! I’m like the only one here who Wens actually cares about!”Enid exclaimed as she spun in her circle with her arms outstretched, clearly happy to be buddy-buddy with Wednesday. You nodded your head, trying to push back the tears that weld in your eyes at the mention of Wednesday caring for someone else before your eyes snapped to something on Wednesday’s wall.

“What’s this?” You questioned as you moved to get a closer look at the object that had caught your attention, causing both of the roommates to follow you.

“Oh, that’s one of Wednesday’s favorite weapons. She doesn’t let anyone touch it, not even me,” Enid said as her eyes fell on the sword mounted to the wall above Wednesday’s writing desk. Your eyes scanned over the sheathed sword and fell to the purple handle before you turned and looked at Wednesday. “May I?” You asked in a barely audible voice.

You expected Wednesday to shoot you down before you even finished speaking, but the girl gave you a curt nod, not trusting her voice at this moment. Your hands reached up and took the sword off its mantle, and you slowly took it out of its sheath and set it down on Wednesday’s desk. You turned the sword over and admired the sharp edge as you carefully ran your pointer finger along the blade’s edge; you could easily tell that Wednesday had been sharpening it routinely. Your finger finally made its way to the helm of the sword, and you turned it over and sucked in air as you let out a small chuckle.

You read your initials that were still engraved in the sword before your saddened eyes finally looked up at Wednesday’s guilt-ridden ones. Wednesday thanks the gods that you had your eyes covered, as she knew her heart would have broken ten times over if she saw the sadness in them.

“Well, then,” you said with a shaky breath as you sheathed the sword and placed it back on its mantle, “it’s a beautiful blade, Wednesday.” Your eyes caught something in the corner of Wednesday’s desk, and you felt every single emotion wash over you like waves crashing onto the shore: a small, black crocheted scorpion sat on top of an unopened note. Before you could comment on it, Wednesday’s voice pulled you out of your thoughts.

“I know it is,” Wednesday spoke honestly as her eyes danced across your face while you picked up on the double meaning behind her words.

After several seconds of awkward tension, you cleared your throat and walked to the door, “Alright then, I’ll, uh, leave you guys to it.”

Wait!” Enid shouted as she skipped over to you with her phone in hand. “Let me get your Snapchat so we can talk some more,” she said as she pulled up Snapchat. You smiled politely as you pulled your phone out of your back pocket and opened up Snapchat, and allowed the werewolf to add you, and you accepted her friend request when it popped up.

“I’ll see you later, Enid,” you said as you opened up the door to walk out, but you stopped and turned around to face Wednesday, “see you around sometime, Addams.” As you left, only one thought ran across both of your minds: ‘I can’t say hello to you and risk another goodbye.’

When you left the room, Enid immediately turned to face her roommate. “What was that about?” She questioned while staring down at the goth girl.

“I have no idea what you are referring to,” Wednesday replied as she walked over to her desk and began working on her novel. She had emotions come back that she had not felt in nearly ten years, and she needed to get them off her chest, writing out different scenarios of her killing Y/N.

Enid stomped to Wednesday’s desk and turned the small girl around in her chair. She grasped Wednesday’s shoulders and tightly gripped them as she spoke, “Yes, you do. Do not lie to me, Wednesday, or I will paint the side of your hot pink.”

The more petite girl rolled her eyes at her roommate’s comment before prying the hands off her shoulders and returning to her typewriter. “We used to be friends, and now we aren’t; end of story,” Wednesday flatly replied.

“I don’t believe you, I know there’s more to the story, but I won’t pressure you,” Enid defeatedly said as she walked over to her bed and lay down. Of course, she was dying to know the history between you and Wednesday. Still, she would never force Wednesday to talk about something uncomfortable, so she decided to wait it out and see if she could get an answer from either you or Wednesday first.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The two roommates walked into fencing class and heard the ringing of metal crashing together, and saw that Bianca was in a match with you. The two watched as you blocked Bianca’s advances and matched each of her assaults with double the force, causing the siren to walk backward toward the end of the mat. With one final blow against Bianca’s foil, you cause her to step backward off of the mat and ultimately lose the match.

Bianca let out an angry huff at the loss but shook your hand afterward. “You gave me a nice challenge, and I respect that. I hope to go up against you again soon,” the siren said as she walked off the mat.

“Maybe you’ll get lucky next time and beat me,” you joked as you started to take off your gear when your eyes landed on Wednesday. Before you had moved, you and Wednesday were always in fencing competitions, and it seemed that the two of you were always paired to go against one another. Naturally, you lost every time you went against her, but that was seven years ago, and you spent the past seven years perfecting every little thing that Wednesday was better at.

“Coach Vlad, I was wondering if I could go against someone else before class ends?” You questioned as you stood up. You knew that if you publicly challenged Wednesday that she couldn’t turn it down, and you also knew that she believed she was still the better fencer, so both of those gave you an advantage.

Coach Vlad studied your expression and determined that you only asked to prove a point, so he let you. “Who will you be challenging, miss Y/LN?”

“Addams,” was all you said as you stared at the girl dressed in an all-black fencing attire. Wednesday’s ears perked up at you challenging her, and she knew she would clear you.

“Very well, Wednesday, if you accept the challenge, stand the opposite of Y/N,” Coach Vlad stated with a hint of excitement. He loved watching the way the Addams sparred with his students; she was graceful yet coarse, which reminded him of when he was a student here at Nevermore.

Wednesday walked over to the mat you were standing on, her eyes locked with your covered ones. She wondered what made you wear those sunglasses again, and she missed those eyes she once called home.

“En garde,” Coach Vlad yelled as the atmosphere crackled with tension. The room falls into a reverent silence as the match begins. With grace and precision, you and Wednesday engage in a mesmerizing dance of footwork and technique, each exchange showcasing your guys' skill and determination.

Their moves were swift and calculated, their attacks and defenses fluid, each striving to gain the upper hand. The crowd of students watched in awe as they witnessed a display of finesse and competitive spirit.

Wednesday made the first aggressive move, launching a series of rapid lunges, attempting to catch you off guard. But you proved your prowess with deft parries, countering with swift ripostes that keep Wednesday on her toes.

As the match progressed, the intensity escalated, and their footwork became even more intricate, seeking to exploit any opening in their opponent's defense. The clang of metal echoed through the hall as their foils met in a series of fierce clashes.

Neither competitor gave an inch, their faces showing steely determination. You and Wednesday are evenly matched, your skills complementing each other, creating a mesmerizing spectacle for the crowd.

With each point you and Wednesday scored, your fellow students held their breaths, afraid that if they cheered, it would mess you two up. Yours and Wednesday’s adrenaline surged, and your focus sharpened, all distractions fading away as you two immersed yourselves entirely in the moment.

Time seemed to slow down, the seconds stretching into eternity as the match neared its climax. With one final burst of energy, you executed a daring feint, catching Wednesday off balance. In that split second, you placed your foot on top of Wednesday’s and advanced, causing the more petite girl to fall backward onto the mat. You stood over her and shoved the tip of the foil into her chest armor.

“I appear to be the victor,” you said as you towered over Wednesday before she quickly jumped up from the ground and stormed out of the hall, with you right on her heels.

“That was hardly a win; you cheated,” Wednesday stated as she stomped toward Ophelia hall. “And stop following me.”

“I might have cheated, but you’re still the loser,” you retorted as you quickened your step to walk beside Wednesday. “And I’m not following you; we live in the same hall.”

Wednesday said nothing; she couldn’t argue with the fact you two shared a hallway, but she still didn’t like it. You watched as Wednesday threw her door open and slammed it shut with a smile on your face; it felt good to have that playful banter back.

Naturally, your rivalry with Wednesday continued as if it had never left; you two constantly competed for the correct answers in your classes, and you two refused to fence with anyone else. It became so toxic that teachers started putting you two out in the hallway during class, like little toddlers who were being disruptive.

“I had a marvelous time ruinin’ everything,” you joked with Wednesday as it seemed you two were sitting outside your potions class once more. You had your back pressed against the stone wall next to the door, and Wednesday opted to sit next to you but kept a few feet between you.

“I do suppose ruining the activities of others is tolerable with you,” Wednesday said as she looked over at your beautiful smile that she once loved and felt her own lips twitch upward.

“I know my antics should be celebrated, but I’m glad you tolerate it,” you said once you saw her scary attempt at a smile.

At the week's end, Enid invited you to her room for some “girl talk.” You had no idea what girl talk would involve, but you wouldn’t pass up a chance to piss Wednesday off.

“Welcome to my dreamhouse!” Enid exclaimed as she opened the door and ushered you into her room. You knew it might be ill-tempered to say this, but you were jealous of Enid’s room. You loved the giant window in the center that emitted different colors throughout the room, highlighting and contrasting the two drastically different sides.

You followed Enid to her side and sat down on her bed with her. You allowed the werewolf to paint your nails a dark purple. She asked you questions about your past and what you wanted to do in the future. You told her that Criminal Justice intrigued you and you thought about becoming a detective at some point. In turn, you asked her what her future plans were, and she told you that if her parents allowed her, she would want to explore the world and see all the beauties she offered.

After you two had fallen into a peaceful conversation, she finally asked the question plaguing her mind since you first arrived, “So, how did you get that scar? If you don’t mind me asking.”

You swore you could hear a hairpin drop right when you felt the moment stop. It was as if someone had sucked all the air out of the room and replaced it with tension. Your eyes shot to Wednesday, who was previously typing on her typewriter but stopped when Enid asked the question. You quietly cleared your throat before speaking, “I, uh… it was my fault. I did something stupid without asking for permission, and I paid the consequences. That’s all.”

Wednesday felt her heart shatter into a million pieces when she heard you blame yourself for what happened. She wanted to run to Enid’s side of the room and tell you that it wasn’t your fault and that she would do anything she could to take it back, to have you back. She felt a single tear run down her cheek as she returned to her novel.

Not believing your story, Enid didn’t say anything else. She knew there was something more to the story, but she didn’t want to pressure you into telling her. “Well, I think it makes you look ten times hotter,” Enid confessed with a sly smile and a wink. She ignored how her hearing picked up on Wednesday’s heartbeat increased with jealousy at the comment.

You slightly chuckled at Enid’s comment before looking at Enid’s own scars that she sometimes tried to cover up. They were out of place on the brightly dressed girl, but it added a hint of toughness and bravery to her look that almost made you laugh. “What about your scars?” You politely asked, but Enid tensed up at your question.

“Oh. I got them from saving Wednesday last year,” she responded quietly as she continued painting your nails. She refused to meet your gaze, and you felt bad for asking about them, but you wanted to know more. “Why do you cover them up then? You shouldn’t be ashamed of your scars; they prove your loyalty to Wednesday.”

A slight grin tugged at Enid’s lips; she had never had anyone, but Wednesday tell her she was brave. “Thank you, Y/N. It’s just,” she paused as she glanced up at you before continuing her work on your hand, “my mother hates them and says I should be ashamed of myself for ruining any chance I have at finding someone.”

“You shouldn’t listen to your mother, Enid. I think those scars are beautiful, and they display your bravery,” you said as you reached up with your hand and gently traced the scar above Enid’s eyebrow. When a small tear fell down Enid’s cheek, you wiped it away and gave her a soft smile, and Enid knew right then that you were the most authentic person she had ever met. No one has ever been this honest with her, and she cherished your friendship.

Enid let a few quiet minutes pass by before she asked you about your first week at Nevermore, and you told her your honest thoughts. You enjoyed the classes but felt that some students cared too much about their social status and that you loved walking in the woods at night, causing the girl to stop painting your left ring finger.

“You do what at night?” Enid questioned harshly as her bright blue eyes stared into your soul.

“I go for midnight strolls by myself. Weems never told me not to.”

Enid scoffed at your words before glaring at Wednesday, who was working on her novel. “Wednesday is actually the reason we can’t walk around at night.”

At the mention of her name, Wednesday straightened her poster and turned around to face you two.

“Do not blame me for the shortcomings of the town sheriff for being unable to keep the people safe from his own son,” the goth girl stated in a threatening manner with an undertone of regret that you picked up on. You noticed the way Wednesday’s eyes seemed to gloss over with anger when she mentioned the sheriff’s son, and you could only assume something happened between them, which caused your heart to stink at the thought.

“I’m not blaming you, Wens. I’m just stating that you and your boy toy did play a part in ruining our time outside at night,” Enid said innocently as she went back to pairing your nails; she didn’t notice how you tensed up, and you're surprised that she didn’t hear your heart break in two. Your heartbroken eyes shoot to Wednesday’s pained ones, and you can practically read the thoughts behind her eyes, ‘I lost myself when I lost you.’

Even though you still had your eyes covered, Wednesday knew what you were thinking, ‘how could you betray me like this?’ You two were children when you last saw each other, but now as almost adults, you knew that all those feelings you felt for each other were more than platonic; it just took you two a lifetime and a half to realize it. As you two stared at each other, you felt all the love you once felt for each other return in an instant; feelings that come back are feelings that never left.

“‘Boy toy?’” You questioned as your eyes refused to leave Wednesday’s. You knew you would only get hurt by asking, but you had to know.

“It was a moment of weakness, Y/N. Nothing more,” Wednesday spoke with emotion for the first time as her voice broke off towards the end. She quickly cleared her throat and excused herself to the balcony with her cello before you had time to respond to her.

When Enid finished up your nails, you two were getting ready to do a face mask when she got a text. “Yes! Ajax just texted me to hang out with him! Is it alright if I leave you here? Or you can go back to your room if you want?” Enid asked as she stood up from her bed; you ignored the name at the top of her screen that read ‘Yoko.’

“I think I’m going to stay here for a while and hang out with Thing but go have fun,” you said with a faint smile as you watched Enid leave. Honestly, you missed Thing almost as much as you missed Wednesday. Anytime Wednesday would be away, and you were over, you would always hang out with Thing, and right now, he was definitely your favorite Addams.

You chatted with Thing over the sound of Wednesday’s cello for nearly twenty minutes as you did his nails and filled him in on what has happened to you in the past seven years. You told him stuff that you would be too afraid to share with Wednesday, not out of trust, but in fear of what she might do to the people that hurt you.

Only when Wednesday’s cello started to pick up and play a heavy melody did you stop talking. You listened to the way the smaller girl seemed to pour all of her emotions into her song, a song that was full of yearning, hurt, and regret. You listened as there was a slight shift in the music that resembled anger and frustration before turning into a declaration of love. And when the song finally ended on a note that sounded like longing, you got up and walked out to the balcony.

“That was a lovely song,” you said as you walked past Wednesday and rested your elbows against the balcony edge.

Wednesday gave you a quiet ‘mhm’ as a response as she set her cello to the side and joined you at the stone railing, making sure to keep five feet between you for homosexual purposes.

The two of you quietly enjoyed the starry night with a crescent moon above you.

“The sky is so beautiful tonight,” you said, gazing at the stars and moon with your sunglasses still on.

“It is,” Wednesday agreed, but she wasn’t looking up at the sky at all.

When you looked down at Wednesday, she was already staring at you with a tiny glint in her eyes. She subconsciously moved closer to you til she was standing a few inches away from you, and she slowly reached her hands up to take your glasses off. You turned to face her, quickly backing away, and put a foot between you two, “the fuck are you doing?”

“Take it off,” Wednesday stated in a dry tone.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because this ‘nerdy girl takes off her glasses and everyone finds out she’s actually really hot’ will not work on you,” you replied with sass in your voice.

“No, it won’t because you are not attractive in the slightest way,” Wednesday retorted while still staring into your soul.

“Thank you, Addams.”

“It wasn’t a compliment.”

“I know,” you said with a smile as you turned and leaned your elbows on the railing once more and continued staring at the stars. “You are my compact companion, after all,” you teased.

Wednesday rolled her eyes at comment; it felt like it was a lifetime again when she would call you that, and now you turned it against her. She had to agree with you, it was an awful nickname.

“All the pretty stars shine for you, my love,” you said after a couple of minutes had passed. “it’s from a song,” you added to clear up any confusion that might have been stirred.

Wednesday looked over at you, but you still had your eyes fixed on the sky, but she noticed how your hand slowly inched toward her own, and she picked up on the double meaning as she placed her palm over the back of your hand. She gave your hand three gentle squeezes before returning inside with her cello.

After that night, you two continued with your rivalry, of course, but something had changed that worried Wednesday. She didn’t know what that change was, but she felt it like a gentle shift in the air before a big storm; she knew something had changed between you two, but she didn’t know what.

On Tuesday of the following week, Nevermore was hosting an archery tournament that lasted all day that you and Wednesday were competing in. As the day dragged out, numerous Nevermore students were booted from the competition, and when it came down to the final two competitors, no one was surprised when they saw you line up next to Wednesday.

“I think I’ve seen this film before,” you said as you grabbed an arrow and notched it before slightly pulling back on the string. The memories of your last archery competition came flooding back as you watched the beautiful girl to the left of you grab an arrow.

“And I didn’t like the ending,” Wednesday finished as she notched her arrow, drew, and let it loose, nailing the target's bullseye. You scoffed at her words before drawing back your arrow and firing, hitting the bullseye a few centimeters away from Wednesday’s.

As the contest continued, you and Wednesday engaged in a back-and-forth display of remarkable archery skills. Each shot was precise, and the competition grew fiercer with every arrow released. The crowd of students that had formed around you two was captivated, witnessing a display of talent that would mold the archery competitions of Nevermore for ages.

As the final round approached, you and Wednesday were neck and neck. The tension was palpable, and the spectators held their breath in anticipation. You looked over your left shoulder at Wednesday as you notched and drew your arrow. The smaller girl’s eyes stared into your covered ones, and you saw the way her eyes danced across your face as if she was trying to place a curse on you.

With a shaky breath, you turned away from Wednesday and looked at your target before you slightly lowered the tip of your bow; it was so unnoticeable that no one picked up on it besides the girl who was soul bound to you.

You let the arrow loose and smiled slightly when you saw it hit the outer ring. Wednesday sent you a slight glance before drawing back on her arrow and letting it fly, nailing it right in the center of the bullseye.

The crowd around them let out a few cheers and applause as Weems got the trophies ready. “I knew you could do it, roomie!” Enid exclaimed as she skipped over to Wednesday and gently shook the girl’s shoulders. Wednesday nodded her head at Enid before she walked onto the makeshift sports pedestal podium for first and second. She stepped onto the stage for first and watched as you stood on the one for second, and you sent her a smile that confirmed everything she needed: you threw the match for her.

When Weems handed you two your trophies, you had a giant smile as people took your picture, while Wednesday bore an uncomfortable expression.

“I appear to be the victor,” Wednesday said as you two walked back to Ophelia Hall together. The sun was just setting, and the light seeped into the hallway, creating a romantic lighting that seemed a bit on the nose for you.

“It appears so,” you replied with a gentle smile as you flipped your trophy around and read the words “2nd place winner” underneath your name.

Wednesday scoffed at your comment before glaring up at your towering figure. “You aren’t going to finish the saying?”

You tapped your pointer finger on your chin, acting as if you were thinking profoundly. “Why would I? You didn’t cheat,” you said honestly and dropped your hand back down to your side.

“No, but you threw the match,” Wednesday said as she approached her door with you a few paces behind her. She wanted nothing more than to bring you inside and cherish you, but she would never stoop to her mother’s way of life.

“If I am capable of such an outlandish thing, I’m sure I would not do that just so you-of all people-could win,” you said with a serious tone but your smile told Wednesday you were joking and it made her cold, black heart ache for something for had felt once and only with you.

Deciding against her better judgment, Wednesday set her trophy on the ground, and before you had time to ask her what she was doing, her left hand gently grabbed your neck and pulled down as she stood on her tippy-toes to place a chaste kiss on your cheek. Your entire body heated up at the contact, and a smile overtook your face. The kiss lasted longer than it should have, as Wednesday’s lips lingered on your cheek as if she was making you a promise that she would one day taste your lips.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” Wednesday said as she picked up her trophy and entered her room, closing the door on your shell-shocked expression. You had butterflies dancing in your stomach as you walked back to your room with a gentle smile on your face and went to sleep with the thought of Wednesday’s lips against your skin. As you drifted off to sleep, Wednesday stayed up all night writing out the way you made her stomach feel like a thousand spiders lived there and the way your hair warmed her black heart. She once vowed to push you away to avoid the pain of losing you, but every waking moment she spent without you had caused her to feel that pain tenfold. Even if she would lose you at the end of your lives, at least she would have had the honor of calling you hers.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The eerie gothic ballroom was cloaked in darkness, dimly lit by flickering candlelight that cast haunting shadows upon the ancient stone walls. Heavy velvet drapes, tinged with a rich deep crimson, adorned the tall arched windows, adding a sense of mystery and opulence. Gothic-style chandeliers hung from the vaulted ceilings, their twisted metal work resembling gnarled branches, and their candelabras emitting a spectral glow. The air is filled with a subtle scent of incense, adding to the mysterious ambiance of the room as Wednesday prepared to entire the ballroom.

It was the Grimoire Soiree, Nevermore’s official gothic ball, that was hosted at the end of the Fall semester every year. Wednesday was naturally intrigued when she heard of a gothic ball and believed attending one might add a new element to her novel, including murder. Still, now, as she watched her peers walk into the ballroom, she felt out of place. Her heart yearned for the one who wouldn’t be attending.

It had been several months since the archery contest, and you and Wednesday had not talked to each other. Neither of you knew what to say, but you both wanted to say everything. You two continued with your rivalry, but there was a shift in the air when you two competed against each other, like you two were silently rooting for the other, and it gnawed at both of your hearts.

Deciding to face the music and the calling of her heart, Wednesday walked down the stairs and entered the room.

The polished black marble floors, etched with intricate patterns, mirror the gloomy setting as if reflecting the dark secrets concealed within the ballroom's history that enticed Wednesday. Elaborate gargoyles and stone statues of long-forgotten figures stood sentinel in the corners, their solemn expressions lending an air of solemnity to the space. Crimson roses, tinged with black, were carefully arranged in vases throughout the room, their haunting beauty contrasting with the darkness surrounding them.

As the haunting melody of a haunting organ filled the air, the students of Nevermore were clad in elaborate gothic attire and moved with an aura of elegance and enigma. The atmosphere was both haunting and enchanting, transporting the attendees to a realm of forgotten tales and otherworldly delights that overwhelmed Wednesday. Just as she was about to leave, an overly happy voice exclaimed, “Wednesday! You look amazing!”

The smaller girl wore a mesmerizing black gothic ball gown that is a sight of dark enchantment, featuring a flowing skirt that gracefully grazes the ground. Small black accents on the skirt add a touch of intricate detailing, enhancing its allure. The black corset, elegantly laced in the front, complements the gown's bewitching aesthetic and leads to long, puffy sleeves that exude an air of Victorian charm.

A small cutout on the chest, just above the corset, added a daring yet sophisticated touch, leaving a hint of mystery while maintaining an elegant appeal. The gown encapsulated a perfect blend of gothic elegance and captivating allure, making it an ideal choice for Wednesday's hauntingly beautiful ballroom event.

Wednesday turned around, and she noticed that her flamboyant roommate, who usually wore bright, borderline blinding colors, was in a darker-colored ball gown. The ball gown itself was a mesmerizing creation, enveloped in an enchanting dark purple hue that exudes an air of mystery and sophistication. It had a black corset adorned with dark purple accents that added an element of striking contrast, enhancing its captivating allure. Its intricate lacework and velvet accents add an extra layer of elegance. At the same time, its flowing silhouette gracefully captures the essence of gothic charm, something that Wednesday had never seen on Enid before.

The gown caught Wednesday off guard, and she believed that Enid somehow pulled it off, highlighting her piercing blue eyes that would blind anyone. Wednesday might have even given Enid some form of a compliment, but she knew that Enid didn’t need that kind of ego inflation.

“I appreciate your words, Enid. And you,” Wednesday wanted to be nice tonight but struggled with the words, “Do not look ridiculous.”

The werewolf beamed at her roommate's words, and a smile formed from cheek to cheek. “Awww! Thank you, Wens!” Enid said as she turned to walk toward Ajax but then suddenly turned back to Wednesday as if she had forgotten something. “Oh, and your lover was looking for you earlier; she said she has something to tell you.” And with that, Enid disappeared into the crowd of dancing students with Ajax. Wednesday’s cold heart picked up at the mention of you wanting to talk to her and beat rapidly against her chest. Her eyes scanned the room for you as an all too familiar saxophone interrupted the organ.

As if it was magic, Wednesday’s dark eyes immediately found your heterochromia ones in the vast sea of swirling gowns and powdered faces. You were standing on the opposite side of the room, wearing a gothic suit that consisted of a slightly ruffled white shirt, adding a touch of romanticism to the ensemble. Over the shirt, there was a black cavalier vest adorned with mesmerizing purple tapestry, creating a captivating contrast of colors and textures. Completing the look was a sleek black jacket, lending an air of sophistication and dark allure. The suit is further enhanced by a small yet elegant collar chain featuring a black scorpion on both collars, adding a subtle yet distinctive element of gothic charm to the overall attire.

Put on your Bobbi-sox baby

Pull up your old blue jeans

There’s a band playin’ down at the armory

Know’s what rock and roll really means

You two gravitated towards each other at a slow pace before picking up as your hearts quickened with excitement, and soon, you two were standing face to face. “Hi,” you said breathlessly as you got lost in Wednesday’s eyes.

“Hi,” she replied as she looked into your beautiful eyes for the first time in seven years. She had forgotten just how beautiful they were; the green eye seemed to dance with the room's lighting while the gray one gave Wednesday a feeling of comfort, the dark color reminding her of her own material home in New Jersey.

I want to bop with you baby, all night long

I want to bop the night away

I want to make it a night like it used to be

“May I have this dance?” You asked as you slowly started to do ‘The Twist’ from Pulp Fiction. Wednesday smiled and began doing Uma Thurman’s part of the dance as if you two were just six years old again and dancing in Wednesday’s room. You two smiled and joked the entire dance and felt the whole room disappear as the song drew to a close. “Shall we dance again, my fair lady?” You asked when the dance was finished as you stuck out your hand and slightly bowed, just as you did ten years ago.

“You’re exhausting,” Wednesday replied when the room began waltzing to the beautiful melody of ‘Merry-Go-Round of Life,’ but she took your hand. You placed your free hand just underneath her shoulder blade as her spare hand rested upon the shoulder of the arm that was under her shoulder blade. As the music played, Wednesday allowed you to lead the dance and found herself in a trance as she stared into your beautiful eyes that she missed.

“Stop staring into my soul,” you commented as you spun around with Wednesday.

She huffed at your words and playfully stepped on your foot before continuing the dance. “I’m not staring into your soul; I am just admiring your breathtaking eyes,” she confessed honestly while you two continued your fluid movements. “Why did you start covering them again?”

You tensed up at her words but continued with the graceful dance. “The only person who found beauty in them was gone,” you said shyly as you gave Wednesday a tight-lipped smile. The smaller girl frowned at your words; she didn’t know what to say without confessing her undying love for you. So she stayed quiet and let her eyes drift over to the scar on your face and let regret and pain wash over her like waves on the shoreline. “I never meant to hurt you,” Wednesday mumbled out as she let the pain show on her face. You were her best friend, her soulmate, and her home, and even though she didn’t know that it was either you or no one when she was just a child, she now wanted to wrap you in her arms and never let anything or anyone harm you again; even if that meant protecting you from herself.

So, she dropped your hand while dancing and left you out there standing. Crestfallen on the landing as Wednesday left you in the ballroom and disappeared outside.

You snapped out of your disappointed state and were quick on her heels as you followed her outside. “Wednesday, what’s wrong?” You asked as you followed her to a water fountain and watched her sit down on the side.

She was sick to her stomach; she could hear her heartbeat pounding in her ears as she had an internal battle with her heart and brain. Her brain told Wednesday to run in the opposite direction, never to talk to you again. But her heart was telling her to run toward you, to embrace you with her loving heart that seemed to only beat for you. She felt nauseous as her thoughts bounced around; what if you didn’t feel the same way toward her? The last time you two were friendly with each other was almost eleven years ago when you guys were six. What if by showing you this much softer side of her, you reject her and use her weakness as a spear to her chest? Nearly killing her but leaving her alive just enough to continue living a life of nothingness. Your heart was glass, and she dropped it.

But what if you felt the same? What if your heart only beat for her, and you would rather die than not have been able to call her yours? All the moments you two spent at each other’s throats during competitions as you sent her little glances and silently prayed she would win so that you could see her eyes light up.

“Enid said you had something to say to me, Y/N,” Wednesday finally spoke as her thoughts ran rapidly in her mind. She needed to know what you wanted to say to her; she could not die in peace without knowing.

You stared at the alluring girl who refused to meet your eyes. There were thousands of things you wanted to tell her, but you didn’t know how. “Wednesday, there’s things I wanna say to you, but I’ll just let you live,” you said quietly as Wednesday’s eyes finally met yours. Wednesday dryly laughed at your words as her eyes glossed over with tears. The last time she had cried was because she lost you, and now, she was crying because she had finally found you. All of this silence and patience, pining and anticipation, was killing her. Wednesday’s hands were shaking from holding back from you. When you said her name, everything just stopped; she didn’t want you like a best friend.

Wednesday’s eyes darted across your face, looking for anything resembling rejection. When she found only love and longing in your ocean eyes, she took in a deep breath and spoke in a broken voice, “I used to look at you and see my best friend, and now I can hardly look at you without picturing our bones resting together in a grave dug for two. I left you in there because I cannot live without knowing if it meant more to you too as well. I would rather die than bear these feelings alone.”

The words that left Wednesday’s lips took you off guard; you had a speech, and now you’re speechless. “What do you mean by that, Wednesday? Are you telling me that you have feelings for me?” You asked with disbelief on your face; you needed to know if she was confessing her love for you, but you weren��t quite sure if that’s what she meant.

“The sun rises and sets with your smile. At least it does for me. You’re the only thing on this planet worth worshipping. In simpler terms: I want you. I’ve always wanted you. It just took me ten years to realize it. I’m your jazz singer, and you’re my cult leader,” Wednesday confessed as she stared into your eyes, already accepting rejection.

“Wednesday, you don’t have to bear those feelings alone,” you stated with a sigh of relief. Wednesday’s eyes smiled for her as she pushed herself off the fountain, and slowly walked toward you. She stopped a few feet in front, giving you space to run away if you desired.

“I once had someone tell me I was destined to be alone, but I would like to be alone with you. If I’m enough - if you want me, if you’ll have me - I’m yours, only yours, Y/N,” Wednesday admitted with a silent prayer.

“Wednesday, I have only wanted you since we were kids. I only wanted you as a best friend then, but now, when I look at you, I only see my other half. I would rather die than not be able to call you mine, even if it’s just for a second.”

Slowly, Wednesday stepped to you until you were close enough to touch, begging you to make the first move she has always been afraid to take. “For the past ten years, I have been trying to form a way to apologize for the way I treated you, but every time I come up with something, I only see you in that hospital bed,” Wednesday admitted.

You gently reached out to Wednesday’s hand and brought it to your cheek. You gave a small kiss on the palm of her hand before moving it to cup your cheek as your free hand wiped away the lone tear that fell down Wednesday’s cheek. “I forgive you, Wednesday. I had forgiven you the moment I moved; I thought I would never see you again,” you whispered with tears in your eyes as you brought your forehead against Wednesday’s.

Wednesday sighed in relief as she brought up her other hand and cupped your cheeks. You pulled back from her, and Wednesday wanted to cry. You placed a kiss on her forehead that felt like a promise, then kissed her nose, silently telling her everything will be alright, another on her cheek that felt like you would wait however long for her, and finally, you kissed her lips with so much love Wednesday almost died. She let a small, choked-up gasp escape her lips before gently kissing you back. For the first time in ten years, you both finally felt at home.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A blanket of snow fell upon the Addams’ residence that coated the peaceful house as Morticia Addams shot up in bed. She gasped for breath as her eyes panicky shot around the room.

The action woke Gomez up, and he reached over to the bedside table to turn on the lamp before reaching out to his wife. “Cara mia, what’s wrong?” He asked with worry laced in his voice, but his worry faded when he saw a giant smile plastered on Morticia’s face that accompanied the tears of joy in her eyes.

She wrapped her arms around her husband and pulled him against her, in complete disbelief at the vision she just had of her daughter. She pulled back from the embrace before exclaiming, “Our darling viper has found someone to share her grave with!”

Gomez lit up with excitement at the mention of Wednesday having a lover; words could not express his joy when his daughter finally fell to the Addams Family Curse. “My love, this is dreadful news! I cannot wait to meet them,” he said with a smile on his face.

Morticia laughed at her husband's words before placing a hand on his cheek and stroking it with her thumb. “Don’t worry, Gomez. You have known her since she was a child.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

AN: if you recognized ‘the sun rises and sets with your smile’ quote, I love you so much 🫶

#wednesday addams #wednesday x reader #wednesday addams x female reader #wednesday addams x reader #jenna ortega #jenna ortega x reader #wednesday #enemies to lovers

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venus616 · 2 years

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Hi!! Requesting a spicy tasm!peter fic where he puts his photography skills to use if ya know what I mean 🔥🫶🏽

his muse; {p.p.}

Pairing: peter parker x f!reader (gif is tasm but you can interpret this as any peter parker)

Summary: peter puts his photography skills to use when you're naked

Warnings: established relationship, smut, vaginal fingering/sex, oral sex (blowjob), praise kink (if you squint), photos during sex, language, unprotected sex, 18+, NSFW

Word Count: 3.8k

A/N: hi. i love this trope So Much… like more than you will ever know, but bc i love it and i’ve seen it done multiple times with peter i was very scared to even do anything with it sjnksks but here is my finished product, i hope you like it~

(Also- it is my gift to anyone who actually likes reading my content bc ive been gone for a While and will be gone for another 2-3 weeks bc finals are not fun! so i hope this is good, enjoy!)

You’re putting away your shared laundry when you hear a loud noise on your window sill. You don’t even flinch this far into your relationship and only shake your head, separating your clothes from his. The window opens letting in a cool breeze and Peter’s book bag hits the ground before he gets inside.

It's only then you look and give his body, clad in his suit, a scan and smile. “You okay?” You ask. The sun already set and the crisp winter air started to fill the room.

He scoffs before shutting the window. You turn your body around from the basket in front of you to see Peter shaking his head while taking his camera out of his bag.

The professional camera Peter spent a year saving up for when he was 18 was sat next to your much less efficient Polaroid camera. On it, there was a photo of you two celebrating your anniversary together recently. The flash showing you kissing Peter on the cheek, he’s blushing at the attention and eyes closed from the flash.

Peter smiled at the memory before he continued speaking.

“Why do people think it’s okay to commit crime when I’m just getting off my shift?” He sighed before setting down his bag next to your bed.

“They’re so inconsiderate,” You pout playfully while folding his clothes into his reserved drawer at your place.

Peter looks up from unpacking and focuses on your ass poking up from your position. You feel his eyes on you as your t-shirt hangs loosely on your body, and the hair on your legs prick up from the cold in the room.

Peter takes off his mask revealing his disheveled hair and takes in the sight of you like it’s his last.

Your lacy underwear decorating the plump flesh of your butt, reminding Peter of how quickly he had to leave this morning before getting to appreciate for bandaging him up last night.

His eyes continued to scan up, seeing the old t-shirt frame your shape, admiring it as if he had x-ray vision.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

Peter is brought out of his thoughts hearing your soft voice, taunting him for his staring problem.

“Don’t tempt me,” Peter quips back. He shakes his head before tossing his mask in your empty hamper. Sitting on your bed and bending over to remove his boots, his ears don’t miss your footsteps as you saunter to him.

You place your feet in between his while he looks back up to you, removing the rest of his suit.

“It’s never stopped you before,” You cross your arms while he slips out of his suit, leaving his web shooters on. The suit is strewn across the floor and your eyes focus on Peter’s body.

No matter how beat up he was, Peter remains to be the most beautiful man you’d ever seen. You ran your hands over his, now, yellow ribs. Compared to the purple constellation he had yesterday, you were grateful for his superhuman healing.

He had a nasty fall yesterday, left with some scars and bruising, but thankfully this time you didn’t have to stitch him up.

You even notice the scratch on his arm is almost gone but Peter liked wearing your special bandaids. He likes giving you a reason to buy more cartoon ones for him.

Peter watches your eyes carefully scan his body for anything else and adores you for it. Still, he hates making you worry.

“You weren’t naked before.”

A smile creeps up on your face, a giggle disguised as a scoff when you answer: “I’m not naked.”

You don’t realize you set yourself up for Peter’s response until he smirks. His hands snake up underneath your shirt to toy with your nipples, already hard because of the cold air lingering in the room.

A hiss escapes your mouth at feeling his larger, colder hands grip your boobs. Peter slightly grins at his effect on you. He pulls at the bottom of your shirt before raising it up your body. You oblige, pulling it over your head to toss it across your room.

His face lit up at your frontal nudity, hands placed on either side of your hips tugging at your underwear.

“Let’s change that.”

You roll your eyes at his response, but not without a smile plastered on your face. You could feel the heat pooling in between your thighs and the excitement in your stomach.

“What position should I be in?” You shudder under his callus fingers. Peter lightly furrows his eyebrows when you turn, gesturing to your polaroid camera from your bedside table.

His face relaxes when he registers what you guys are doing, not realizing how serious you were being.

Your eyes flicker up and down his body when you turn to face him, noticing his erection bulging out of his briefs. Leaning down you use your hand to palm him through the fabric, feeling his cock pulsate in your hand.

“On your knees,” You whip your head up when Peter says that, his hands still roaming around your body.

You quirk your eyebrow up in response. Pressing your forehead and nose to his, you plant a kiss onto his lips. Your hands are now on either of his thighs, sinking lower onto the ground as the kiss deepens.

Before you can fully get down, you hear a light thwip and break the kiss.

You see Peter’s wrist is flicked out with his web shooters activated, latched on to your polaroid camera. There’s a glint of mischief in his eyes before he pulls it into his hands.

Resting on your knees, you’re before him with your fingers tracing the waistband of his boxers. You carefully watch for his reactions, but he’s refamiliarizing himself with your flimsy camera you got in your teenage years as a novelty.

You cross your arms on his legs and look up at him, the camera points at you and all you can focus on is his wide smile behind the camera. “Let’s see if I still know how this works,” Peter jokes.

You repose with both your hands on your knees, pushing your breasts out in between your arms. You didn’t realize they were hardly the focus of the photo (but still included, Peter was only human after all).

The photo snaps and you remember you have to get used to the flash again. Blinking a few times to get used to the discomfort, the photo prints out and Peter seems pleased with himself already.

“It hasn’t even developed yet,” You taunt, you resume palming him as you assume that was the extent of his practice shots.

Peter shrugs while shaking the photo as gently as possible. “Hey, who’s the photographer here? I know a good subject when I see it,” He nudges you.

When the photo barely develops, he shows you and you see yourself: half naked on your knees with your face fully in the photo. You were surprised he included that much of your face, and managed to catch you looking as confident as you could. But it was easy when Peter was behind the camera, he never fails to make you feel like his only muse.

You blush and look away from the photo as you continue to massage him. Peter’s breath hitches at the rate at which you go at, and you smirk to yourself.

No matter how much control Peter took in bed, he wasn’t afraid to show you how quickly he’d fold for you. It was one of the many things you appreciated about him. Another one was just how vocal he was, his whimpers before you even got to touch him were making your underwear dampen.

When his dick starts twitching, you pull his boxers down, his cock slaps up to his stomach while he watches your movements. Locking eyes with him, you wrap both your hands around his shaft before slowly jacking him off.

You’re mesmerized by the way his body is flexed under your touch, you almost don’t hear what he says.

“Your mouth,” He breathes out.

You sit up higher on your knees and kiss up his happy trail, lingering when you get closer to his cock. You hear his groan and look up, meeting his eyes.

You raise your eyebrows. “My mouth, what?”

Your lips quirk up again, teasing him. “Use your words.”

He rolls his eyes in response but you shake your head. “I can stop,” You remind him.

His brown eyes almost bulge out his head when you say that, wrapping his own hand over yours to stop your movements from pausing. He leans over to get closer to your face, the scent of you surrounding him. Peter’s face softens at your smugness.

“Baby,” He starts. You wait to listen to how he pleads for you to stay while he leads your hands.

“I need that pretty mouth of yours to suck my cock,” He gasps out and removes his hand when you loosen your wrist in response. Your eyes soften at the praise and Peter mentally celebrates when he leans back to his original position.

You reposition yourself as well, with your neck getting to work as you lick a stripe underneath the shaft of his cock. Peter sharply inhales at the feeling and brings his head back up.

You lock eyes with him when you feel the jolt in his body and open your mouth in an ‘O’ shape around the head of his cock.

Relaxing your throat, you lower your head on his length and feel the tip of his cock hitting your uvula before you begin bobbing your head.

Caught off guard, you could taste the saltiness of his precum on your tongue now. You gagged a bit and popped off him to lick it off in the most obscene way you could think of.

Peter mutters, “Just like that.” and you look up.

Forgetting he had a camera, the shutter went off to capture your tongue on the underside of his wet tip.

You collect more saliva in your mouth while you run your hand up and down his shaft. Feeling prepared enough, you go back down on him with the drool dripping on his cock on your hands.

Peter went crazy at the heat of your mouth and the sight of your lips around him. The only thought he had was to get the camera out again to keep this moment forever.

Getting slack jawed at this, he tangles his hands in your hair but doesn’t change your pace. He only starts pushing it out of your face as it gets in the way.

You look up at him and see Peter pointing the camera at you as you have half his cock in your mouth. The first shot is taken, and he tries to not move too much as the photo prints out immediately. He releases a few breathy moans at the pace you're going at while he places the new photo on the side.

Peter silently gestures to you to get him out your mouth so you release him with a pop, flipping your hair to the side as you continue to jack him off.

“That’s good,” He mutters, when he places the camera at his eye before snapping a new photo.

“I probably look insane,” You grumble, already feeling self conscious at how messy your hair looks, coupled alongside the drool and precum at your mouth.

Peter shakes his head and pulls you in closer by your waist and you yelp, finding yourself now pinned under him on the bed.

“Never,” He shakes his head, attaching his mouth to your tit as he pulls your underwear off. You immediately moan at his aggression on your sensitive nipples and he chuckles against your skin when he feels you flinch.

Peter’s calloused hands find your clit and start massaging it, and you throw your head back in pleasure when he finds his rhythm.

You feel a twinge of disappointment when he removes his mouth from your tits but you look up to see the camera watching you, and a shutter going off before you are even ready.

“Pete,” You warn. Your sternness doesn’t last when he slips in a finger in your embarrassingly wet cunt. You almost mewl at how full he makes you with just one finger.

“You looked so pretty moaning like that,” Peter explains while his finger curls into you. He knew what he was doing when he smiled again, leaning down to kiss you on the lips.

Your annoyance was no match for his desperation as you eventually gave in. One of his hands cupped your cheek while his lips were frantic on yours. He’s greedy for you, almost lapping up your tongue with his own before he pulls away.

“Just let go, forget the camera is even there,” He mumbles in your neck when you gasp at the absence of his lips.

He slips in another finger and thrusts faster, making you nod mindlessly as you surrender all control.You grip onto his bicep as he pumps in and out of you, begging him for more friction. You can hear how wet you were, and while you were embarrassed, Peter relished in it.

“Can you take a third for me baby?” He asks in a low voice as he sits up on the bed in between your legs. You nod vigorously but he quickly removes both fingers.

You open your mouth to complain but instead yelp out when Peter pulls both your legs closer to his chest as he kneels on the mattress. He set aside the camera briefly.

“Yeah?” He searches for an answer.

“Yes,” You grunt out, already desperate for much more than his fingers.

He massages your heat with his fingers again before he inserts three fingers in, jolting your body to sit up. You let out an obscene moan and couldn’t help but to massage your clit while he fucks you with his fingers.

One hand being in competition with Peter’s while the other massages your boobs, you’re almost too dazed to notice the shutter then went off while you were closer to an orgasm.

“Fucking incredible,” Peter breathes out before putting the camera with the new photo down, and leans down to kiss you. His pace never falters, making you whimper against his lips.

“I’m about to cum,” You announce shakily. Peter swallows your pleas with a kiss and just curls his fingers against your g-spot faster. You feel that familiar build up in the pit of your stomach and the pace of your clenching pick up.

“Cum all over my fingers baby,” He answers, and you immediately let go. You hold Peter closer as you cum, heaving underneath him like you’re in heat. Your body Peter continues to finger you but only because he loves the way you suction around him.

He still lets you come down from your high, kissing you through it and massaging your breasts with his free hand during. When your breathing slows down, he sits back up and removes his fingers from you.

“Need you inside of me,” You remind him as you reach over to palm his already hard cock against his stomach.

“Gonna let me cum inside of you?” He asks, holding his cock in his hand already glistening with your wetness. He readjusts to line himself up to your pussy awaiting your answer.

You cock your head with your arms supporting your body from the bed. “I’ll let you cum wherever you want,” You say.

Peter grunts at your answer before inserting himself into your entrance, and immediately throws his head back at the feeling, your warmth and wetness engulfing him.

“So fucking tight,” He comments, and you silently agree as you feel yourself stretching out on him. Your eyes fluttered shut as you clenched around him.

“Fuck,” you moan out as he finds a comfortable pace for the both of you.

Or that’s what you thought.

You hear a shutter from your camera and realize he took a picture (or two) of you in this position beneath him, moaning out for him flat on the bed with his cock inside of you.

You didn’t have time to care as when he got his shots he immediately started to rock into you, and you felt the strength of him against your thighs before he picked up the pace.

You watch him thrust into you and slowly lose himself above you.

“I love the way you feel around me,” He pants out, closing in on your body with his forearms framing your face. You nod as the bed squeaks and your hands roam his body, stopping at his shoulders and the nape of his neck.

Peter obliges to your physical demands and dips down to suck on your neck, causing you to whimper as your body continues to jolt from his thrusts. His soft brown hair tickles your skin as his teeth chew at the sensitive skin in your neck. You don’t know whether to giggle or moan, but you’re vocal regardless.

“Go faster,” You whine, becoming impatient with him.

“I’m not gonna last if I go faster,” He growls against your skin, sending vibrations down your spine. He thrusted slower, bringing his hand down to the back of your knee to bend it closer to your body. You felt him hitting your g-spot repeatedly that you knew you weren’t going to last any longer like that.

“I don’t care,” You cry out. Peter scoffs in your neck as if to say a begrudging ‘Fine.’ and kisses you on the cheek before kneeling back up. He’s already twitching inside you before he begins thrusting again. You almost forget what you got yourself into until you feel his balls slap against your cunt repeatedly.

A string of curses escape both your mouths, yours because he’s just so big and you can feel the tension build up in your stomach again. Peter’s cusses are because you just won’t stop clenching around him in response, he feels like he might burst the next time you tighten around him.

“Fuck, fuck fuck,” He mutters before spilling into you.

You go slack jawed at the feeling of him cumming inside of you. It feels hot between your thighs, in between the burning feeling of his hard thighs slapping against your softer ones, and feeling him twitch and coat your insides and the outside of your cunt with his load.

You cry out as he almost slips out of you, but realize he’s gonna take another picture. You’re not sure what to do, or what exactly he’s capturing but you decide to listen to his earlier advice and let it happen. Peter places the camera on his eye while his cock almost goes soft half away inside of you, and you can feel him rubbing his cum around your thighs and up your hips.

He mutters another curse, before snapping the picture. You close your eyes and your legs when you decide that that was the last photo and miss how Peter compiles all of them on your bedside table.

Eventually, you look up and see him pulling back up his underwear and beckoning you to see the photos. When you get up and see 6 photos lined up from tonight.

One of you on your knees, your breasts protruding and almost being the main focus of the photo if it wasn't for your face. You want to laugh at how excited your eyes looked but you know it was only because of who was behind the camera.

Two more during and after the blowjob, one of you in the middle taking Peter in your mouth and giving the camera (but really, Peter) siren eyes. The other was you slightly disheveled, but Peter swore you were the prettiest girl in the world with drool around your mouth.

A third of you being fingered, your head is thrown back in unfiltered pleasure from his fingers, your breasts sitting high on your chest as you’re on your back and your nipples were glistening in the photo due to the suckling that happened off camera. While scanning this photo, you realize that being caught in the moment wasn’t such a bad thing and Peter is silently celebrating he caught your O face in action.

The fourth was similar but you had more control over your pleasure as you’re on camera massaging your breasts and hand on your pussy. You feel like a vixen with the way you’re fondling yourself, Peter silently agrees as he knows you look like one.

Fifth and sixth photo show the before and after of Peter fucking you senseless. Fifth with your body being still underneath his, and the photo displaying that exhilarating feeling you both get when your bodies meet in the first thrust. And the sixth photo when you’re both comfortable enough to come down from your high together. The sticky, white cum is slayed over your sopping, wet pussy and Peter’s fingers and cock in the frame to remind you who fucks you like this.

“Do you like these? I can burn them away if you don’t,” Peter runs his hands through his hair nervously, not trying to make you uncomfortable if the bit had gone too far.

You only shake your head with a laugh bubbling in your throat at his consideration and hug his much taller frame from behind. It felt good to rest your head on his back, while his arms engulf yours from the front.

“I love them, I love you,” You speak low but loudly enough so he can hear, and feel, your words.

“Which ones do you want to keep?” He asks.

You know it’s out of courtesy, just one of those things you two got used to asking each other after taking pictures on this camera. You kept the silly anniversary photo while he kept the very nice one he took of you.

“It’s all for you,” You answer. Peter sputters quickly, turning back around to see your face when you say it, you only nod in full seriousness.

He leans down to kiss your cheek as a thank you and you only smile back.

“I think you’d get more use out of it than me,” You add with a tinge of humor. Peter only plays it off with another suggestion while hugging you from the front. His arms wrap around your shoulders while you rest your head in the crook of his neck.

“You know what though?” He asks, trailing his hands down to your naked hips, stopping to cup the round of your ass.

“What?” You mutter in his hold, already feeling your body heat up at the thought of round 2.

Peter smirks before snaking one of his hands to your pussy. Knowing that you’re about to start throbbing, at the thought of him. You gasp before he speaks and he chuckles while he proposes his new idea.

“I think it’s only fair if we make a movie now.”

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mandarinmoons · 1 month

Note

Hi Kettle, I was wondering if I could request perhaps a small fluff blurb where you and Spencer get married and live happily ever after in ur dream house. No pressure xoxoxoxo

You know I'm not one for writing something too self indulgent, but I could never pass up a request from you sweetheart hehe. Not exactly written as per request, but I think it's cute and that's all that matters x

“Hold on, I got it!”

Spencer grabbed the box out of your arms after you not even holding it for five seconds. You weren’t the strongest person, sure, but you were able to lift a few pounds, or twenty.

“Spencer, I can handle it. I’m not going to crack like a piece of China.”

“That might be true, but you definitely need to be handled with care as if you were a piece of fine porcelain.”

A chuckle left your lips as Spencer pressed a kiss to your cheek and strode off as he took a box of kitchen ware to the correct place.

A cool breeze brushed over your skin and you went to close the ajar patio door, but the sight of falling colorful leaves invited you to step outside and admire the beauty. Fall was your favorite season and no one was going to stop you from taking a moment to enjoy it.

Walking out and breathing in the crisp morning air felt satisfying beyond words. Spring is usually the time of year for people to start anew and get a fresh start, but for you, that feeling crept up during the last few weeks of summer. Relieved didn’t even begin to describe how you felt when your skin didn’t feel as clammy anymore due to the sweat brought on by the summer sun and as you packed away the swimsuits and made room again for the cozy sweaters.

You nearly jumped out of your skin when a hand snaked around your waist and were brought against their chest, but feeling the familiar sensation of nuzzling against your hair made you keenly aware who the person was and accepted the sweet gesture.

“What’re you thinking about?”

“Just how perfect everything seems.”

“I second that thought.”

Spencer’s thumbs caressed your side as you both took in the sight in front of you. Piles of red, orange and yellow foliage gathered around the backyard and in the distance you saw squirrels gathering up all the acorns they could find. All the greenery around you seemed to be wilting, but you found comfort in the fact that in due time it would bloom all over again.

“Do you want to go in and have some tea?”

“In a moment, I want to savor the feeling just a little bit longer.”

“Aren’t you cold though?”

You chuckled as you turned your head to look at the man behind you. His cheeks were already tinted pink from the cold, meanwhile you hadn’t felt a chill go down your spine since he took you in his embrace.

“As long as I’m in your arms I could never be cold.”

Spencer nuzzled his face into your hair more, leaving a trail of light kisses behind, “Good to know I’m doing my job well.”

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bamboozledbird · 2 months

Text

Written in the Stars // Stiles Stilinski Imagine

Characters: Stiles Stilinski, fem!reader Pairing: Stiles x Reader, Stiles x You (no use of y/n) Word Count: 5k Tags: fluff, fluff, fluff, i love my men nerdy and desperate, all characters are over 19, my vibe is it's like their sophomore or junior year of college Warnings: NSFW, MDNI, unprotected pnv (terrible advice, babes, don't listen to these idiots)

Request: stiles smut plssss!!! anything fluffy??? A/N: request mixed with a lil bit of an old work to ease me into my first smut. still coming across virginities at 27, and that is really something. s/o to the anon who requested it lmao.

Stiles’s childhood bedroom is an assortment of Star Wars paraphernalia, baseball posters, and bundles of wrinkled flannels squeezed to fit within four faded blue walls. There are a few books stacked on top of his desk, coated in a thin layer of dust from the semester away from home, and little plastic stormtroopers stand at attention on his dresser corners. It smells a little musty in his room, a little like damp earth, but you’ve always liked that smell. You especially like how his cologne smells here—like spice, like fallen leaves, like Christmas morning.

“The curtains are blackout,” Stiles says. He pulls the heavy navy curtains over the window facing the small backyard. The grass is yellowing from the cold of winter, and the air is crisp with the same bitter chill. You shiver and burrow further into the sweatshirt you’d somehow commandeered long before you and Stiles were a we. A few flecks of dust float off the plaid bedding when he sits down on his bed. He looks up at you and grins at the sleeves hanging limply below your fingers, “Flip off the light.”

You turn off the light and shut the door. It’s dark inside the room now—almost completely black. What little remains of the sun is gone, and now you can only see the glow-in-the-dark stars sticky-tacked to the ceiling. “You must have taken a lot of people up here,” you hum, grinning at him coyly over your shoulder. You’re not quite sure if he can make out the glint in your eyes under the pale fluorescent glow, but you’d like to think he can. Either way, you’re sure he knows.

Stiles laughs easily and scoots himself down to the edge of his bed, “Why?”

“For kissing,” you say, matter-of-factly, but you’re still grinning. You make your way towards him, and your prowl is far less smooth than you’d like it to be—the piles of books and a couple month’s worth of dirty laundry make an already difficult path downright hazardous. You count it as a win when you end up in his lap without tripping on anything, “Doesn’t everyone want to be kissed under the stars?”

His hands, his wonderfully large and veiny hands, find their way to your hips. It’s instinct for him, reflexive at this point, and here in the dark it feels like the only thing he knows. You can feel his grin against your neck, “Do you?”

You hum, playing coy, and absently curl your fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck, thick and curling a bit at the ends. It’s grown out over the last few months. He’s been too busy with studying for finals and working at the library to bother getting it cut. You like it like this, long enough to hold onto, long enough to yank. “I like the stars,” you sigh—so close to his mouth, but not touching—and then you pull back, smiling fondly when you see his mouth is already puckered. “Tell me about ‘em.”

Stiles groans and falls onto his back, pulling you down with him. You end up tucked against his side, shivering as he slides his hand under your sweatshirt to trace a feathery line up and down your back. “That’s like the worst possible genre for innuendo. I can’t woo you while I’m David Attenborough-ing about astrology.”

You smile against his shoulder, and he yelps when you nip at his skin through his thread-bare t-shirt. “You like a challenge.”

He wraps a strand of your hair around his finger and pulls a little, just hard enough to tip into a reprimand. It’s at least half the reason you turn into a brat when he’s this close. “There’s Andromeda,” he hums against the top of your head, pointing towards a small cluster of stars. “Those are supposed to be her legs, and that’s her head, and the ones over there are her arms—fuckin’ uneven, I know. I think that side kinda looks like she’s holding out one of those canes with tennis balls on t—”

You smile and knock your head into his chin lightly, “Wooing, Stiles.”

He tugs on your hair again and swears under his breath when a little whimper tumbles past your lips. “Anyway, she’s next to Perseus—who looks a lot more like Patrick than a demigod. I mean, look at him; his body type is like…something between Dorito and spanakopita.” You laugh, and Stiles squeezes you closer to his side, tangles your legs together, and kisses the tip of your nose like he just can’t help himself. “Story goes, Andromeda's mom royally pissed off Poseidon, so he sent a sea monster to destroy her kingdom—as one does when someone’s talking shit.”

“Naturally,” you hum as you reach for the hand he has cupped around your waist.

“Naturally,” Stiles agrees, nodding against the crown of your head. You try not to get too distracted by the length of his fingers, bending them and straightening them out one at a time, as he carries on with the story, “So Andromeda’s mom is up there with the titans of bad parents—like right next to Vader and every Disney step-mom ‘cause she fuckin’ ties Andromeda to a rock as a sacrifice for the mo—” He sucks in a shallow breath through his teeth when you start kissing along the row of his knuckles, first little soft brushes that almost tickle and then a few lingering ones that wet his skin. He swears again and ever-so slowly shifts his hips against the thigh tucked between his legs. You take pity on him and rest your entwined hands in the small gap between your breastbone and his ribs. His exhale is warm against your forehead, “Obviously, Perseus swoops in at the last minute, slays the beast, gets the girl, etcetera, etcetera.”

Humming, you tip your chin up against his chest and look at him through your lashes, “What happens during etcetera, etcetera?”

“I think,” Stiles rolls over so that he’s on top of you, bracing his weight on his forearms, caging you in delightfully close to his broad chest, “something like this.”

You forget about the game for a minute when he starts mouthing at your skin with just the right amount of teeth. His hair, adorably messy and sticking up in little patches from your fingers, tickles the hinge of your jaw. “Didn’t Perseus kill Medusa?” you mumble, head tipping back into the mattress, eyes closed.

“Uh,” Stiles keeps kissing along your neck, obviously distracted by the hitches in your breath and the soft sighs you let out when he breathes against spit-slick skin, “yeah?”

You can feel the heaviness of his whine against your mouth when you pull away, blinking up at him with big, round eyes—the picture of innocence. A little lamb, an unplucked daisy, a gossamer butterfly wing, entirely unaware of the raging hard-on pressed against your inner thigh. His skin is warm through his shirt, so warm you feel it on your legs when you wrap them around his waist. “While she was sleeping?”

“Uh huh,” Stiles slides a hand up your thigh. The other one is pressed into the mattress, and the muscles in his forearm flex under his full weight. You’re pretty sure he’d agree with anything you say like this.

Unfortunately for the pulsing between your legs, you’ve fallen victim to your own ruse. Your head tilts as you recall all the unsavory details of the Medusa myth, “After she was literally assaulted by his dad?”

Stiles drops his head against your chest and groans, “You’re killing me, baby.”

You grin and curl your fingers in his hair, petting him gently and squeezing your thighs against his hips, “Tell me another one.”

He sighs and rolls over, starfishing his right arm and leg over the edge of the bed with a dramatic flop. “We’ll skip Orion and the seven girls he stalked.”

“Smart choice,” you hum and snuggle into his side. His chest is firm from hours of trying to lift enough to play lacrosse with werewolves, but it still makes for a nice pillow. Stiles’s fingers find their way into your hair, and you swallow back the purr rising in your throat for his sake. He’s been so good for you, after all. You don’t want the torture to be too painful.

“And the swan-fucker,” he adds, scratching lightly at your scalp.

“What?”

Stiles ignores your wide eyes, smirking, and continues playing with your hair, “Altair and Vega. That’s a good one.” In the blanket of darkness and under the strain of yearning, his voice sounds soft and crackly, like one of those singers in the black and white movies, the ones that dance with the microphone. “Starts with a gorgeous, sexy, incredibly charitable goddess falling for a lowly mortal,” his grin is sly as he hikes your thigh over his, squeezing just under your ass, “a lot like us.”

“Boo. Awful.” You pull a face as he drops a flurry of kisses over your cheeks, nose, chin—your laughing mouth, “Disgusting. I’m disgusted.”

His fingers dip into the waistband of your leggings, tauntingly close to just where you want him, “You don’t feel disgusted.”

Now, that won’t do. You’re just getting started. You trap his hand with your thighs and tap your finger against the slope of his upturned nose, “Finish the story.”

Stiles whines a little and then sighs, returning the palm of his hand to the little dip above your hip. “Her dad is disgusted that she wants to bring a loser human home, so he turns them into stars on opposite sides of the galaxy.”

Frowning, you squint at the collection of stars he’d pointed to. They don’t look so far apart on his bedroom ceiling. “That’s…depressing.”

“It’s not over yet,” Stiles pulls on your hair and does his best to look annoyed, but the nip to your bottom lip feels far more like a reward than a punishment, “hush.” He waits a minute for you to comply—or, more likely, not comply—and you settle back on his chest and arch your brow, waiting. He arches his brow right back and then keeps going, “One day a year, on the seventh day of the seventh month, Altair fills the galaxy with his tears, and every bird in the sky makes a bridge with their wings so that they can spend one more night together.”

The corner of your mouth tugs into a little grin, “That is a good one.” You trace little patterns on his bicep, little swirls and stars, and rest your chin on his shoulder so that you can see his pretty face, “But just for the story. Only one night a year would kill me.”

“Baby,” Stiles clicks his tongue against the back of his teeth and shakes his head like he's disappointed, bottom lip jutting out slightly from under his top, “it'd take a helluva lot more than a couple light-years and an immortal father-in-law to keep me from getting to you.”

It’s such a line, but the dopey grin he gives you while he says it somehow makes it charming. Maybe you’re just a little bit lovesick. Okay, maybe a lot. “You can kiss me n—”

He’s on you before you can finish, but you don’t mind being interrupted when he's slanting his mouth against yours just right and groaning into your sighs with a gravelly pitch that makes your toes curl. “Fuck me,” Stiles sighs. He dips back in before you can quip something bratty, something that would definitely earn you another yank on your hair—later perhaps.

You straddle his waist, sit back in the cradle of his pelvis, and lace your fingers together on the mattress against the sides of his head. He whimpers. You curse. “Off,” you mutter against his mouth, tugging petulantly on the hem of his t-shirt. Stiles is quick to comply, like always, but the fabric gets stuck around his shoulders. You let him struggle for a minute, just long enough to hear more of those petulant little whines. When you finally help him wrangle his shirt over his head, you’re up close and personal with his mouth. His lips are pretty—swollen, pink, and shiny with salvia and your lip balm—and you’re filled with the overwhelming urge to bite. You toss his shirt somewhere on the floor behind you and lean down, your chest pressed against his. You can feel his heartbeat stutter, like a rabbit in a trap, when you stroke your thumb over his bottom lip. It’s soft and wet against your finger, and you sigh high in your throat, “Pretty.”

His chest warms, and you wish you had more light to admire the flush spreading from his neck to his cheeks. You know it’s pink and pretty too, but you’d enjoy seeing the proof. “Pretty?” Stiles echoes, cocking his head slightly, and slides his hands from your ass to your hips. He continues his path along the sides of your ribcage with the bottom of your sweatshirt bunched between his fingers.

“Pretty,” you nod, sharp and definitive. You sit up a little so that Stiles can pull your hoodie off, and then it’s lost to the dark abyss. Frankly, you aren’t that worried about if you ever see it again. You can always steal another one after you’re done.

He shakes his head and runs his hands over your torso, your collarbones, your stomach, just under your tits—he can’t see that well in the dim light, so he’s damn well going to see you the only way he can. “Pretty,” Stiles groans, cupping your tits and gently thumbing over your nipples through the thin fabric of your cotton bra. It’s simple, white, unadorned by lace or a pattern—and it’s sexier than it has any right to be, he thinks. He’s eager to rip it off.

You shudder through the entire length of your spinal column, through all the nerves attached, and arch into his touch, “Yeah?”

He coos, and your nipples pebble in response. It’s embarrassing but soon forgotten when Stiles cups your face, big hands encompassing almost the entire length of your jaw, and whispers, “Pretty girl. My pretty baby.”

It’s even more embarrassing how quickly you feel your underwear dampen under the scrutiny of some simple praise. Now, you’re whining, and he’s letting out a string of guttural, “Fuck,”s as you grind down against the increasingly painful bulge in his jeans. Your nails leave little pink lines along the sculpted v of his pelvis, just deep enough to sting a bit—enough to send his head back towards his shoulders. He sits up a little more so that he can grip your hips, holding them still as he catches his breath, and you’re only a little ashamed of the way you mewl his name in protest. Stiles shuts you up with a kiss and shakes his head, “Can’t come in my pants like I’m 17 again. That’s the worst possible ending to our constellation. Like a 1/10, definitely certified rotten.”

You grin against his throat, and he swallows at the sharp press of your teeth. “Oh, I don’t think that’s the worst ending. Wouldn’t the worst be the one where you don’t come at all?”

Stiles’s fingers dig into your hips and he pulls you down firmly against his lap, like he’s scared you’ll get up and leave him with a weeping cock and teary eyes. “Baby, don’t even joke about that. That’s a billion times worse than letting a sea monster rip me in half.”

“Guess you can split me in half then,” you shrug a little, and Stiles goes taut under you, fingertips flexing into the small of your back, “unless you want me to tie you to a rock. I’d be into that.”

He growls in your ear, nipping at your jaw and flipping you onto your back. You laugh, a little breathless, as you bounce back on the mattress from the force of it. “Definitely wanna split you in half,” Stiles mutters as he shucks off his pants and kneels at the edge of his bed. He starts peeling back your leggings, taking his time to kiss each sliver of skin revealed to him despite the urgency in his eyes, despite the ache in his white-knuckled grip on the buttery martial of your bottoms. “Gonna wreck you,” Stiles promises as he brushes his lips over your ankle a few times. His words are filthy, but his eyes are honey-sweet and lit with nothing but complete and utter devotion—like you really are a goddess in the sky. You’re already wrecked, probably have been since he kissed you for the first time, entirely ruined for anyone else.

“Did’ya know that Vega is brighter than Altair,” he says, quiet and reverent as he drops your leggings. You blink at him, a bit dumbly, but it’s his own fault for trying to have a conversation while he’s sliding your legs over his shoulders and fiddling with the hem of your underwear. “By, like, 5 places? I think? That’s us too—can’t even look at you sometimes,” he hums, warm against your wet cunt, and hooks his thumbs around your panties. You shudder, and he smiles. You aren’t quite sure if he’s talking to you or to the glistening flesh he reveals when he yanks the baby pink cotton to the side. Either way, you understand his dilemma. It’s torture to watch him sometimes. You have to close your eyes when the pink tip of his tongue darts out, wetting his lip, tasting the air.

There’s a sigh. So soft. Really more of an exhale, and you aren’t sure where it came from. It could’ve been you, or him, or the stars. “You talk a lot,” this time you know the sigh is coming from you.

Stiles smirks a little and slips his thumb inside your panties, swiping through your slick folds like he’s fingerpainting, “Is that a complaint?”

Your hips stutter, and his other hand is quick to clamp down on your skin, stopping any attempts to skitter away from his light touch. “I love it when you talk,” you hum, leaning up onto your elbows so that you can watch him work. He grins up at you, almost shy, and presses down against your clit. A wet gasp bursts through swollen lips as your back arches, and Stiles isn’t so shy when he bends down to drop a gentle kiss over his thumb. “But I, uh,” you brush your fingers through the dark hair flopping over his forehead and squeeze your eyes shut when his kisses become kitten licks, “I also love it when you use your mo—” His finger (his long, gifted finger) slides into your cunt with an embarrassing squelch, and his lips wrap around your clit as he sucks. “That,” you whine, back arching a little until Stiles spreads his fingers over your stomach and presses down, “I also love it when you do that.”

His laugh vibrates deliciously against all the places he’s trying to devour, and you think it wouldn’t be such a bad way to go—being eaten alive by your gorgeous boyfriend. He pulls back to slip another finger in your pussy, spreading them just enough to burn in the best way, and then he’s prodding at the spot inside you that sends a jolt up your spine—makes your fingers wind in the bedspread, pull on his hair, fly to your mouth when you start to cry a little. It didn’t used to be like this. Sex. Getting fingered, fucked, even eaten out—it never felt like this before him. It’s…overwhelming, sometimes. Most of the time, actually. You keep waiting to get used to it, for the newness, the discovery of it all, to wear off. Hasn’t happened yet. You don’t think it ever will. Certainly not tonight.

“Good?” Stiles licks his lips, at the glistening corners of his mouth, and you toss your head back—overwhelmed. “Good,” he concludes, and he’s not even smug about it. More like he’s making a note in one of his case files, something to look back on later when he needs it. He’s quick about getting what little remains of your clothes off, and when he crawls on top of you, you’re immensely grateful for it. Skin on skin, nothing quite like it. Quick romps in the jeep, up against alley walls, the sink of the occasional bar bathroom—all fun, but not nearly as satisfying as being completely pressed against his naked body, completely caged in by his large frame. Sappy, maybe, but it feels dirty when he drags the tip of his cock through your folds. When he bumps against your clit, you mewl and dig your nails into his back. He sucks in sharply and buries his face in the crook of your neck, “There’s a condom in th—”

“Forget it,” you whimper, carding your fingers through his hair. It’s a little sweaty where it meets his neck, and it’s so soft, and thick, and perfect, and—he’s stopped breathing against your neck.

He groans from a place deep in his gut, deeper actually, and his arms shake, “Are you su—”

“Yes,” you nod rapidly and wrap your legs around him, arms too, and your fingers join in on the clinging when they twist in his hair. “Absolutely. 1000%. Please don’t make me say please.”

He lets out a little laugh that stirs the hair framing your face, and he traces your cheekbone, barely touching your skin. Your head swims with the look in his eyes: amber, warmth, and worship, “But you’re just so pretty when you beg.” Not that you’ve ever had to for long. Stiles gives you anything you want if you ask him the right way. If you look at him with big, wet eyes, if you jut out your lower lip just so—wet as well, the little lick of your tongue is part of it; that took him months to figure out—he crumbles. He’s said many times that better men than he have fallen victim to far less beautiful schemes.

Stiles kisses the pout off your lips and nudges the tip of his nose over yours, grinning like a drunken idiot, “Told’ya, baby. Not a light-year, definitely not a little latex.” His grin slides into a little ‘o’ when you slither your hand between your bodies and grip his cock, sliding the first inch into your cunt, impatient. “F-fuck—fuck-ing hell,” he grunts and takes over for you, squeezing your hip until it starts to hurt a little. You’d say something, but then he’d stop—and you like the way it aches. You like knowing there will be a bruise. He’ll fret over it later, kiss each mottled spot better a million times, and you like that too. You like being taken care of, almost as much as he likes taking care of you.

When he bottoms out, when his pelvic bone ruts up against you, a long, drawn out whimper spills through your pout. “Yeah? Feels good, baby?” Stiles watches your face closely, brushes away the hair sticking to your forehead, and drops a few kisses on your shut eyelids. You nod, and nod, and nod, until he stops you with another kiss to your lips. He kisses you slowly, presses his tongue against the seam of your lips, and you sigh. The kiss quickly becomes wet and filthy, and you’d be embarrassed by the sound of your tongues sliding together if you could actually hear it. At the moment, all you can hear is his cock sliding in and out of your dripping pussy—and that’s definitely sending a dizzying heat up your neck. You don’t worry about it for long when his hips shift and he starts hitting that spot inside you again. After that, neither of you can hear anything over your squealing. Stiles kisses away the tears gathering at the corners of your eyes and licks his lips, chasing the taste. “Right there, huh?” You babble an incoherent answer, and he strokes your hair and noses at your cheek, “Yeah, right there. I know. It’s okay.”

Stiles slides his hands under your back and sits up, taking you with him. The new angle is impossibly deep, and you bite down on his shoulder and wind your arms around his neck to keep yourself there. With him. In the moment. “It’s okay, baby. I got you, promise,” he squeezes your hips, and despite his reassurances and the strength of his grip, you know he’s falling apart too. He’s close. You can feel it. His hips stutter a little, change direction, lose their dedicated pace—and it’s perfect because you’re right there with him. It’s been building for a while, probably since he led you by hand to his room, maybe even before that when he smirked at you behind his cup of tequila and (mostly) pineapple juice.

You cry a little and bite down on your bottom lip, hard. Stiles kisses the sting away, and your eyes screw shut as you start babbling again, “I’m—”

He kisses you again and lifts his hands from your hips to cup your face, thumbing along your bottom lip when he pulls back—not far, just enough to look at your face, shiny with sweat and tears. “I know,” he stills for a moment, pausing the movement of his hips so that he can just feel you pulsing around him for a moment, “me too.” You aren’t sure if you want to hit him or kiss him for stopping, but you don’t have the strength to do either when he starts what must be his final round of thrusts. It has to be—you’re a few seconds away from collapsing or coming, whichever comes first. When Stiles moans your name in your ear, soft and high like he does when he’s right there, and he slides his hand down your stomach to rub firm circles on your clit, you’re happy it’s your orgasm that happens first. Your abs convulse a little as you twitch around him, and you curl in on yourself as much as you can with Stiles in the way. He’s not in the way for long. Growling, he shoves you back against the bed and mumbles, “Where?” after a few sloppy thrusts.

You mewl as he keeps the pressure on your clit, reach for his wrist and try to pull his hand away, but he’s determined and you’re tired. You twitch and throw your head back, whimpering, “Inside,” before you can think better of it. It’s his fault, you’ll decide later, for prolonging your high with his mean, unforgiving, wonderful thumb.

He’ll blame you, for feeling so perfect around him—for fluttering, and leaking, and trembling better than…anything he’s ever seen in porn, and he’s watched...a lot of it, so he’s a bit of an expert on the cinematic orgasm. “You’re so fuckin—you,” he shakes his head against your heaving chest and groans, “you’re everything.” And when he finally comes in you, you’re okay with taking the blame for something that feels so good. He manages a few more thrusts, and then he finally lets you pull his hand away from your cunt when he collapses onto his forearms, barely holding himself up from crushing you with his full weight. You’d tell him to roll over, but then he’d be over there and not in you, so you put up with the sweat and heaviness while your head spins.

“Baby?” Stiles hums noncommittally in response to your soft prodding, and you smirk against the top of his head. All the smugness leaves you when you finally feel the foreign sensation of his cum leaking out of you. Shuddering, you kiss his hair a few times and scratch up and down his back lightly until he’s able to breathe normally. He pushes himself up onto his arms and glances down when he pulls out, staring for a moment at the way your pussy gapes a bit, watching the trickle of cum drip down your folds and onto the bed. He rubs his hand over his jaw and licks his lips, shaking his head—at a loss for words for the first time in his life. Your tongue is a little thick when you fill the void for him, “Next time, towel first.”

He finds it within himself to tear his eyes away from your cunt and gives you a crooked little grin, “Next time?”

You roll your eyes, but your grin is stupid with affection, “Sure, next time. Maybe. If you’re good.”

It’s a little disgusting, the way he just rolls over and pulls you on top of him with absolutely no regard for the various bodily fluids sticking to your skin, but you forget about the unpleasantness of drying cum and cooling sweat when he kisses you. “I’m always good,” he huffs against your cheek. You shoot him a look, brows arched and eyes narrowed, and he smirks, “Okay, maybe not, but I’m always good for you.”

You nuzzle in a little closer and scoff, but it’s true. Stiles is so good, always—especially for you. “I guess you did manage to woo me. You’re very sexy when you’re talkin’ astrology, you know that?”

He smiles, wide and happy, and wiggles his brows, “An absolute banger of an ending, right? I don’t think they could chart it in the stars without ruining your pretty face, but that’s probably for the best.” Stiles brushes his fingers over your lips when you let out a little questioning hum and takes your hand, growling playfully as he nibbles at your fingertips, “You’re mine. Nobody’s allowed to see you like this but me—definitely not horny little nerds with their telescopes.”

You grin and bump your nose against his, “You’re a horny little nerd with a telescope.”

Stiles tips his head with a sly grin, and you already know what he’s going to say—it’s still devastatingly adorable when he whispers, “No, I’m your horny little nerd with a telescope.”

Adorable enough to make you consider pulling him into the shower with you, and if the heavy-lidded look he’s giving you is anything to go by, you’d say he agrees.

#stiles stilinski #stiles stilinksi x reader #stiles stilinksi smut #stiles stilinski x you #stiles stilinski imagine #stiles stilinski fanfiction #teen wolf #teen wolf imagine #dylan o'brien imagine #stiles stilinski fic #teen wolf fanfiction

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cheollipop · 10 months

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☂˚.⋆｡ 𝙨𝙬𝙚𝙚𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙣 𝙥𝙞𝙚𝙨

navi | taglist | part of svthub's fall-ing collab

pairing: lee seokmin x afab!reader

w.c.: 5.0k

genre: smut, fluff, established relationship, apple picking and pie baking and some sweet lovemaking <3

a lovers’ retreat—golden rays cast shadows over high, blushing cheekbones, flour-kissed noses and eye smiles as warm as the oven’s embrace, secrets and tender kisses shared with the starry night, and in a wooden cabin fragrant with the aroma of cinnamon and caramel, the love shared was sweeter than the finest apple pie.

☂ warnings: food/eating mentioned, unprotected sex (👎), creampie, praise, edging, some begging, some cockwarming, overstimulation (m), multiple orgasms (f), nicknames (min; baby, babe, love), some aftercare, seokmin is so fucking whipped (so is reader), there's so much love talk in this, I hate myself.

☂ A/N: nobody come for my inconsistent pie recipe, I didn't use one (also idc if you don't knead the dough, i needed it to describe seokmin's bulging muscles tyvm). other than that, this fic means a lot to me and despite struggling for the most part, I really enjoyed writing it. happy reading! :]

nsfw under the cut—minors dni 🔞

Slender fingers rounded the hanging fruit, examining for imperfections with eager eyes and the tip of a tongue held between pearly whites. The crisp air contrasted the solacing warmth of the morning sun under which you basked, strolling between green leaves and bright reds with a near-empty basket dangling at your side. You wanted him to work faster, to disregard whatever negligible bumps lay on the apples’ exterior, but you opted to remain silent, simply watching him from the sidelines while he carried on with his meticulous inspections.

Seokmin was spring. Smiles that could bring a barren land to life, vivid flora and singing birds fluttering around within the glimmers decorating his irises. But spring had long since ended, now treading deeper into the cooling weather of autumn, and yet, Seokmin still offered verve to everything he touched. Even as green turned to yellow then amber, and tanned skin rested beneath thick layers of cashmere and fleece, he still wore his spring smile—a reminder that the season of life will come again. He carried warmth wherever he went, and the biting chill attempting to penetrate thick layers of clothing stood no chance while his towering figure remained by your side.

You watched him throw the fallen end of his scarf over his shoulder, a woven cream he’d worn on your first date. Hoary yarn ends peeked out along its length, and you reminisced the store tag he’d forgotten to remove while he fiddled with his fingers and laughed anxiously before you all those years ago, so young and eager to impress. You’d mused over the giggles shaking his tense shoulders, the pretty pink painting his face and ears when you failed to rip it off in a discreet manner, and though the embarrassment was debilitating in the moment, the worry weighing down on Seokmin’s shoulders faded away as you laughed. It was well into winter when you’d walked alongside the river, steaming cups of hot chocolate resting between your palms—going cold before you had the chance to sip on them, only there to fight off the bleak midwinter breeze numbing your appendages. Young and dumb, you both were, walking by the river on a chilly day, but young and dumb brought upon you years of easy smiles and hearty laughs, unconditional love and unending happiness, all sprouting from sharing arbitrary details about yourselves with that same cream scarf draped around you both.

Dark locks now dyed the colour of changing leaves, the morning rays casting their golden hue over the wavy strands and reflecting off the specs perched over his nose bridge. Seokmin was a few inches taller now, and his shoulders broader, but the smile he wore, the sparkle in his eyes as he laid them on you were no different than those from that day by the river.

Chatter at your side dragged your attention off Seokmin’s profile and onto the family walking past you—two curious children and their parents inspecting the ripe fruit hanging before them. Scripts of late-night conversations you’d had with Seokmin flooded your mind, your face flushing and butterflies swarming your lower belly at the thought of starting a family with the man. Seokmin's fascination with learning how to braid your hair, his whispered comment—’for the future’—did not go unnoticed as he brushed gentle fingers through the stands he’d tangled in his attempts, a hint of a promise in his tone. He also promised to never leave them alone with Hoshi, which you appreciated. For obvious reasons. You were still young, and had much to experience together before taking a step that significant, but part of you was ready to offer Seokmin the world. A man who’d brought nothing bliss and warmth into your life, how could you not?

Turning your head back to the man in question, your eyebrows raised as you watched him eying the passing family alongside you, and you wondered whether the same thoughts were running through his head as well. But then his attention shifted back to you, and the amiable smile while he took you in told you everything you needed to know.

The curve of his lips persisted as he reached a hand to push the stray strands blown by the chilling breeze off your face, pinching the fat of your cheeks between his pointer and thumb before dropping them back to his side. A gentle gesture, but it lit your insides on fire, blinking quickly as you processed an action so natural to him, yet one that set you ablaze. Swallowing nervously, you redirected your gaze to the three apples resting over Seokmin’s palms as he presented the flawless, shiny Honeycrisps with a proud grin.

You giggled, “those look great, Min.”

“Only the best for you,” he leaned forward to plant a kiss onto the cheek he’d just pinched.

Flustered, you watched him throw the apples into the basket you held, his fingers brushing against yours as he swiftly pulled it out of your hand and carried on walking through the orchard. You might have missed a few additions to the small pile while you pondered about a lifetime by Seokmin’s side, and yes, the basket was significantly more weighed down now that he did. But it wasn’t that heavy.

You skipped a few steps to catch up with him, your bottom lip jutting out in protest. “Min. I can carry it myself.”

“Mm, I know,” he hummed, eyes trained on the novel batch of apples swinging gently at his eye level. “Don’t want you to, though.”

You pushed away the fondness warming your chest, capturing his coat’s sleeve between two fingers as you sulked at his side, his attention still set on those damn apples. He moved the basket to his other hand absentmindedly, allowing you more space to come closer to his side, his free arm wrapping around your waist, and head twisting to look over your moping features with tender adoration gracing his own. Leaning down, he pressed soft lips to your forehead, their warmth seeping into your skin and fluttering your eyelids shut.

Placing another one at your temple, playfulness mingled in his tone as he spoke, “Stop complaining, you’re not getting it back.”

And this time, all you could do was laugh.

The hours hurried by while Seokmin’s endless chatter kept you company, and perhaps you wish it hadn’t, wanting to treasure each passing second you shared in the presence of the man with the unwavering smile. You walked between the endless trees with leisure steps, the fingers entangled with yours occasionally dragging you with them to inspect the gradient of red and green. Some apples made the cut, thrown into the pile of spotless fruit he’d gathered over the past few hours, while others remained swaying with the gentle breeze, bruised exterior reflecting the golden rays.

A particular shade of green caught Seokmin’s eye, leaving your hand behind at your side to wrap slender fingers around the glossy circumference, rotating it gently to inspect it, going as far as leaning forward to get a closer look. Nodding to himself, he snapped its stem off and placed the weighted basket down, wrapping the apple in his cream scarf to give it a good wipe. You felt yourself salivate at the satisfying crunch sounding as Seokmin’s teeth breached the unblemished skin, and you watched the pucker of his lips as he chewed with wide, expecting eyes. A breathy chuckle contained within tightly pursed lips echoed in the back of his throat upon viewing the anticipation etched into your expression, and he moved the unbitten side towards your already-parted lips. Too focused on the apple nearing your waiting mouth, you’d missed the sly smile, the giggle he’d nearly failed at suppressing, and bit into the polished green.

A stream of its juice slipped past to flow down your chin, bitterness overwhelming your tastebuds and forcing your eyes firmly shut. A shiver ran down your spine as you struggled to chew on the unripe fruit, tears prickling in your eyes as you willed them open to glare at the man before you, hints of guilt mixed in with amusement on his face. Underneath all the kind smiles and caring gestures, Seokmin loved being an asshole.

He’d watched you persist and push through finishing the bite, too many people around now to spit it out. He even leaned forward to kiss away the tangy juice cooling over your skin, scrunching his nose at the sourness he’d willingly stolen another taste of. At least he was aware enough to take a step back once you’d swallowed the unpleasant bite down, what you thought was fear flashing across his features.

“Hey,” he put his hand up in defence before you could speak, “we share everything, right?” He took another step backward while giggling anxiously, and he nearly tripped over the apple-full basket he had resting over the soft grass. “Why should I make an exception for fruit?”

“Bad fruit,” you corrected, an eyebrow raised.

“Babe,” he started, but didn’t know how to continue, perhaps hoping the sparkling brown of his irises would do the trick.

And it almost did, you admit. But the bitterness lingered over your tongue, and Seokmin found himself scurrying away and out of the fire zone of the incoming apples you’d launched at him, laughing while you entertained the couples and children harvesting their own fruit with your lively act of revenge.

You smoothed your hands down the fresh set of clothes you’d thrown on, the fleece warm against your skin. The ligneous scent of your rented cabin added to its coziness, gentle winds blowing against closed windows and floorboards creaking with every socked footstep guiding you to the small kitchen.

Said footsteps quickened upon spotting bright green reflecting off the sharp metal of the very large knife in Seokmin’s hand, eyebrows furrowed as he focused on dividing the apple into even crescents. The hurried shuffling drew his attention, twisting his head just as you reached for the sharp tool, gently untangling his fingers off its handle to set it down over the cutting board alongside the botched fruit.

“Baby?” Tilting his head to the side, he stared at you in confusion.

You held both his hands in yours, flat over your palms as you inspected the tanned skin. Running your thumbs over polished nailbeds, you followed the protruding veins lining his slender fingers, all the way down each knuckle until you’d made sure he was unharmed. You enclosed his fingers within your palm, bringing them up to press your lips against, finding his pointer to plant an especially tender kiss over the scar stretching across its side.

“I was being careful,” he spoke through a melodramatic pout.

You smiled. “I know you were, Min. But let me handle the chopping this time, okay?”

Averting his eyes to the side, pretending to focus on the yellowing trees past the windowpane, Seokmin nodded, his hands limp in your hold. You lowered them to his side to cradle his jaw, tilting his head down to meet your eyes once again and staring him down in hopes of breaking his composure, but Seokmin’s pout persisted. And so the kisses began, soft and delicate over his cheekbones, forcing his eyes shut as you trailed your lips over the trembling skin. Leaning your head back, you watched his evident struggle against a betraying smile, finally curling the corners of his mouth when you’d dragged his head down with a forceful kiss to his cheek, the skin stretching under your lips while you kept them pressed there for a few more seconds. You moved away with an audible smack, Seokmin’s pout nowhere to be seen as he stared down at you with an uncontainable smile.

“Why don’t you make the dough instead?”

You picked up where Seokmin left off—half an apple chopped sloppily, which you ended up munching on while you worked—going through the washed apples to pick out the greenest, cutting them into even pieces and throwing them in a bowl of cinnamon and sugar. You remembered the nutmeg later on, after the frustrated noise at your side caught your attention, confusion raising your eyebrow when you’d noticed the powdery dough Seokmin was working with. He’d forgotten the eggs. The embarrassment on his face was adorable, rose-tinted cheeks and restrained smile while watching you crack an egg into the crumbly mess he’d been working on for a shameful amount of time. A quick kiss to his jaw and a whispered ‘it’s okay, Min’ seemed to do the trick, though.

Tossing the last of the apples into the seasoning bowl, you sprinkled nutmeg over the shimmering crescents before grabbing a clean spoon from the dishrack, the spices’ aroma wafting in the air around you as you mixed them in with the fruit. Glancing over at Seokmin, you realised he’d begun kneading the dough, flour dusted over the marble counter as he rolled the raw crust in on itself, and as you took in the hard muscle bulging against the sleeve of his t-shirt, your fingers unconsciously loosened around the spoon you held. Your eyes wandered over flexing biceps and defined, broad shoulders, veins protruding from tan skin as he worked the dough under his palm. Bottom lip tucked between a set of pearly whites, his eyebrows furrowed occasionally while the ball gradually smoothened in his hands, growing less crumbly and eventually forming a near-perfect sphere.

Absentmindedly tumbling the apples with a limp grip around the spoon, you followed Seokmin’s movements, lower belly fluttering with every faint, airy grunt sounding in the back of his throat as he worked the dough. Your thoughts strayed as you eyed the distracting flex of his muscles—the smile he wore, so sweet and tender, contrasted broad shoulders and the strength to manhandle you without much thought. You were almost certain Seokmin had no awareness of the fact, going about what he was doing without much regard to the blushing mess he’d left behind, the butterflies violently thrashing around within your stomach. The sparkling orbs with which he gazed at you, with charming innocence, oblivious to the effect he had on you. Perhaps that was for the best; you weren’t sure you’d want to find out what would become of him should he learn of the hidden power he’d been holding this entire time.

Sudden eye contact dragged you out of your daydreams when the man before you turned in your direction, the smooth doughball resting over his palm, and a proud smile on his lips. You held back the one threatening to break out on yours when you’d spotted the white dusting the pointy tip of his nose, some lightly powdering his cheeks as well. Instead, your chest warmed at his wordless flaunting as he slowly moved the undented dough towards you, sparkling eyes fishing for praise. And sure, you basically made the dough for him, and yes, all he did was mix the ingredients together with firm, hard-earned muscle, but the slight falter in his smile the longer you remained silent was enough to sway you.

“It looks great, Min!” You stepped closer, inspecting the roundness with wide eyes for a few seconds before straightening up to meet his eyes, “I’m proud of you, my love.”

Though a simple gesture, Seokmin’s face lit up, all but hurling the dough onto the counter to pull you into his arms, grinning into your shoulder while he squeezed your laughing frame closer to his chest. His arms still around you, he pulled away slightly, stars dancing in his eyes as he gazed at you gleefully, smiling against your lips as you got onto your tiptoes to kiss him lightly. But that didn’t satisfy Seokmin, his arm wrapping across your back to pull you back into him, locking his lips with yours once again, this time with hunger and hints of desire laced into the action. He kissed you once, twice, until he’d had a taste and realized he’d never have enough, needing sweetness and plush lips to forever bless his senses. While you held on to his biceps for balance, Seokmin was everywhere—hands up your back, over your arms and waist, and suddenly he was kissing you harder, deeper, tongue swiping across your bottom lip and teeth digging into it with a fervent want that sent waves of heat soaring through your body.

Pulling away for air, your chests heaved in unison, flush against one another as Seokmin peered down at you with hooded eyes, a spark of lust igniting the dark irises. And suddenly you were back in the present, the forgotten apples browning in their bowl, and the dough witnessing the heated exchange from its place on the counter.

“T-the pie!” you quickly diverted, pushing Seokmin away to shift your focus back to the task at hand, but you could feel his eyes boring into the back of your skull. “Can you preheat the oven please?”

An amused laugh sounded behind you at the shakiness of your voice, “yes, boss.” Just as you were about to sigh in relief, you heard him take a step towards you, his chest bumping into your shoulder and a gentle whisper blowing against the shell of your ear. “You have flour all over your face, by the way.”

And your pants, you thought, as his palm landed a playful slap onto your ass before he made his way to the other side of the kitchen.

The heat coursing through you dwindled as you fixated on the unfinished pie, save for those resulting from the not-so-hidden glances you’d stolen of Seokmin’s defined biceps as he moved the rolling pin over the dough. It was smooth sailing after that, though, missing the heart eyes directed at you as you spooned the filling into the rolled-out crust, perfectly fitted into the baking mould. You attempted to control your expressions as Seokmin tried and failed to cut straight lines out of the leftover dough, begrudgingly allowing him to place the uneven lattice in a questionable pattern, the chipper smile stretching his lips while he worked more than enough to excuse an ugly pie.

Carrying the raw pie over his head like Simba, Seokmin made his way to the oven. You held the door open for him, eyes following the baking mould as he transferred it onto the rack, gasping when his finger met the scorching metal. He placed the pie down and pretended nothing happened, ignoring the forming mark on his knuckle as he swung the oven door shut. And despite the whining and attempts of reassurance, you dragged Seokmin to the sink and ran cold water over his hand, once again kissing his pout away while you stood with barely any space separating your bodies.

His free hand slid across the small of your back, his other leaving its place under the running water to shut it off, wiping the droplets over his sweats before holding onto your hip. Leaning down, he met your lips once more, then again, until short pecks deepened, and a sharp nose nuzzled into the side of yours as he pulled you further into his body.

You pulled away with a gasp, startling Seokmin away from your lips, “the sweet potatoes!”

The initial shock replaced by softening eyes and a breathy laugh, Seokmin squeezed your waist once before releasing you. He stood to the side while you wrapped foil around the sangria exterior, offering to put them in the oven for you, but backing down at the disapproving glare you threw at him. Perhaps Seokmin had unintentionally caused a case of Pavlovian conditioning, one you remained unaware of, because the very second his bottom lip jutted out, yours were pressing consoling kisses over its plushness. Sometimes it took a few tries, but that’s only because you enjoyed watching the man—broad shoulders and all—sulk and whine when he didn’t get his way, only to lighten up and grin once your lips met his. It’s unclear who the winner was in this game, both parties working with a motive and ending with a satisfying result. Peculiar, really.

You settled down on the creaky floorboards across from the oven, your back to Seokmin’s chest and his thighs on either side of yours. His arms rested comfortably around your waist, hands limp at your hips, occasionally squeezing at the clothed flesh. Watching the pie crust brown through the glass, you basked in the cosy aroma circulating the cabin, the heat emanating from Seokmin’s body gentler and more comforting than that caramelising the sugar drizzled over the wonky lattice. Delicate fingers smoothed down your hair, and a silky voice lulled you to a tranquil state of comfort, strong arms holding you within the aura of warmth until a sharp click sounded, with the nostalgic scent of cinnamon and caramel to guide you out of slumber’s enticing grip, and back to toothy smiles and a cordial embrace.

The night’s breeze was crisp against slick skin, the warmth encased within the confines of the thick blankets now infiltrated through a window forgotten open. Seokmin noticed the raised goosebumps over your arms, and lowered his body until your chests laid flush, his forearms on either side of your head keeping his weight off your form.

“Cold?” he asked, lips pressing against your jaw and up to your cheekbone, over the frosty tip of your nose.

You shook your head, “not anymore,” and wrapped your arms around the soft skin of his waist.

Seokmin smiled, gentle features illuminated by the moonlight peeking through the cracked-open blinds—a cool-toned hue casting shadows over his face, moving as he pressed his pelvis closer to yours with an exhaled moan. Moving his weight over to one arm, he slid the other down to your core, splaying his palm out over your lower belly to thumb at your clit.

He’d been teasing you for so long—his cock filling you up the way you wanted, but only barely teasing your g-spot, refusing to move despite your repetitive whines; instead, he occasionally reached two slender fingers between your legs to relieve some of the arousal burning underneath your skin. This time, though, you’d reached your limit, clenching around him as a sudden high rushed through you, shaking your body within his hold.

Despite a day’s worth of lingering touches and heated kisses, a hand placed a little too low on your back, and eyes lit with unconcealed glints of want, the patience Seokmin exhibited as he guided you through your orgasm was not surprising. He’d always enjoyed giving—curling his fingers just right to take in the elegant arch of your back, your sweet taste on his tongue while he nuzzled his nose into your soaked pussy. But most of all, Seokmin savoured the tight squeeze around his cock as he fucked you through an orgasm, his breath heavy and eyes lidded with the pleasure your walls lavished upon him.

Slowly fading back into the present, you peered up at the man atop you, the column of his throat stretched as he took in the violent fluttering of your walls. But you wanted more, pent up and restless with his scent, his warm touch, occupying your every sense. And he still won’t move.

You rolled your hips experimentally, a startled hand rushing to stop you, fingers digging into the flesh to stifle the motion. “Please,” you whined, “Min, please move.”

Groaning at your tone, cock throbbing between your walls, “oh baby,” he breathed out, bumping his forehead with yours and allowing his eyelids to fall shut. “I’ve been thinking about having you like this all day. I wanna last for you, my love, ‘wanna make you feel so good.”

Arousal boiled in your lower belly, eyelashes fluttering and a shaky breath escaping your parted lips at the words whispered in the air between you. “Min-”

“Let me be good for you.”

A kiss to your temple and a few inhales were all it took Seokmin to regain his composure, his forehead still pressed to yours as he tugged you closer by the hips, languidly rolling his own into your heat. The leisure glide wasn’t much, but it sent a shiver through your body. It was as though Seokmin could read the wordless pleads sparkling in your eyes, pulling his face away just enough to adjust the angle before settling back down onto your body. Fingers tangled in your hair to keep your eyes on his, blinking in unison while you breathed the same air, gentle waves of pleasure drawing breathy moans out of the both of you, his cockhead brushing against your sweet spot every time he drove it inside your cunt.

Sliding a hand over his sweat-coated nape, you dragged Seokmin down to your lips, the sweetness of a pie forgotten outside enriching your tastebuds, the single remaining piece left over the picnic blanket alongside crumbled foil—the unintentionally discarded dessert serving as breakfast for the blackbirds to nip at when the morning came.

The hand lost in your hair found its way to your jaw, cradling your face while he devoured you, the kiss growing deeper the farther Seokmin sunk down the blazing pit of lust growing within him. His cock twitched erratically within you, pace picking up until the echo of skin-on-skin danced between the four walls, hips slamming against yours with fervour as his eagerness finally won over him. Unable to focus on anything but the mind-numbing heaviness of his cock pounding into you, your lips parted to release a staccato of ah’s, his own relentless as they peppered wet, open-mouthed kisses all over your face.

“God, you’re perfect,” he grabbed your cheeks with the hand previously on your jaw, squishing them together to lay his lips onto the forced pout on yours, “all mine.”

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head at the repetitive abuse to your cunt, squelching obscenely every time Seokmin fucked his entire length inside. “All—hngh—all yours,” you repeated, exhaling a breath you’d been holding when sudden warmth spread through your abdomen.

“I—hah—‘m sorry,” he stuttered as his rhythm turned sloppy, shuddering when he finally came. Sheathing himself deep withing your heat, he fed ropes of translucent white into your womb while attempting to keep his eyes on you, long eyelashes fluttering while ecstasy flowed through his body. “Felt so good, I couldn’t…” he paused to lower his head, interrupted by a string of airy moans as the last, weak spurts of cum emptied out of his twitching cock. “I couldn’t help it,” he muttered.

The reassurance died on your tongue when the sensitive cock drew out halfway, only to slam back into you as though the arms bracketing your head didn’t continue to tremble with the continuing effects of his orgasm. Lifting his head back up to meet your gaze, he lowered his hand back down to play with your cunt, dipping down to feel around your stretched hole and back up to circle your clit with the slick he’d collected, a silent promise of “I’ll be good” glimmering in his lidded eyes while he watched you fall apart under his touch.

And he was, so good.

You tumbled over the edge unexpectedly, cockhead pounding into your cunt while he rolled your clit underneath his fingertips until your features contorted gracefully, fireworks exploding behind your eyelids as you shut them and tilted your head back to welcome a stupefying orgasm. You tensed for a moment, then began spasming uncontrollably in his arms, hips simultaneously jerking towards and away from his touch as he guided you through your high, languidly gliding his cock along your dripping, clenching walls, both hands now gripping the soft flesh of your hips.

And when the stimulation sent pangs of pain up your body, a whispered repetition of his name paired with limp tugs at his wrist finally broke Seokmin away from you and the bewitching melody he drew out of the perfect circle shaping your mouth. He slid his softening cock out of your heat to allow thick dollops of pearly cum to stream out of your pussy, watching as your hole clenched uselessly until your abashed whine dragged him out of his thoughts.

You found yourself tucked in under layers of thick blankets while running water sounded in the bathroom, bare feet padding over the floorboards until Seokmin—with his boxers on backwards—reached under the covers to blindly drag a warm washcloth over your skin, hoping it would catch all the sweat and cum without having to expose you to the chill air. You drew your lips into a straight line to avoid laughing at the concentration furrowing his eyebrows, cheeks flushing as he washed your middle. Any other day, Seokmin would make a big deal of cleaning you up properly, but you could see the hair on his arms raising, the autumn night’s chill piercing through his skin.

He didn’t even bother with returning the rag to its place, tossing it over his shoulder to dive under the cosy blankets with you, limbs tangling as soon as he made it there—arms circling your tired frame and legs pushing between and over yours. The momentary frigidity dissipating, his body heat seeped into your very being, and you inhaled the fresh scent of laundry mixed in with remaining hints of his cologne. Nuzzling the pointy tip of his nose into your hair, he planted a kiss onto your crown, the gesture faint as his steady heartbeat lulled you to much-needed slumber, the serene trip to dreamland occupied with solacing thoughts about a forever home within Seokmin’s tender embrace.

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pickingupmymercedes · 4 months

Text

All these little things pt.2 - Lewis Hamilton

The other 9 snippets of fluff (as promised) - If you want here's the first batch - All these little things

Also there's 20 more fluffs just like these ones here - Ways to say I love you and Ways to say I love you pt. 2

pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Reader!

wordcount: +3k

a/n: More fluffs, because we need it! Also, some of the prompts I used here were requests, so if you'd like a specific drabble do send them in and I'll put them in a potential new part?!

As always, I'm open for feedback, come say hi!

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Adventures

The crisp autumn air danced through Y/N's hair as she tossed a worn leather satchel into the back of Lewis's sleek car. A mischievous glint twinkled in her eyes as she turned to face him, holding a folded roadmap in her hand.

"Okay, champ" she declared, a playful smile tugging at her lips. "Ready for an adventure?"

Lewis, not yet totally used to her spontaneous ideas, raised an eyebrow. " What kind of adventure?"

"The kind where you're in charge," Y/N announced, thrusting the map towards him. "Today, you're the navigator, and we're going wherever you point on this map."

Confusion flickered across Lewis's face. "No destination? You serious?"

"Absolutely serious," Y/N confirmed, her grin widening. "I drive, you tell where to. Consider it a chance to reconnect with your inner explorer."

Lewis chuckled, the challenge sparking a competitive glint in his eyes. "Alright. But don't blame me if we end up lost in the middle of nowhere."

With a playful swat at his arm, Y/N climbed into the driver’s seat. Lewis unfurled the map across his lap, his brow furrowing as he studied the intricate network of roads.

"Let's head for the mountains. Looks scenic." he announced, pointing at a winding route that snaked through a vibrant green patch on the map.

Lewis, tried to meticulously charted their course. Y/N, on the other hand, reveled in the unexpected detours – a charming roadside diner with a menu scribbled on a chalkboard, a hidden waterfall cascading down moss-covered rocks, a winding country road lined with vibrant yellow leaves.

They got lost, of course. Inevitably, they took a wrong turn, the map momentarily betraying them with its two-dimensional representation of a world full of surprises. But instead of frustration, a shared amusement filled the car. They stopped and asked for directions at a quaint gas station, the attendant drawing a squiggly line on their map with a permanent marker.

As the day wore on, he realized they weren't just exploring new places, they were rediscovering each other.

They talked about everything and nothing, their conversation flowing as effortlessly as the winding roads they traversed. Lewis, usually focused on the finish line, reveled in the simple joy of the journey. Y/N embraced the freedom of not knowing what lay ahead.

By the time the sun began its descent, casting long shadows across the landscape, they found themselves at a secluded beach, the golden sand kissed by the retreating waves. They sat in comfortable silence on the hood of the car, watching the fiery hues paint the sky, a shared sense of accomplishment settling over them.

"So" Lewis finally spoke, his voice tinged with wonder, "lost or found?"

Y/N turned towards him, a smile gracing her lips. "A little bit of both," she replied. "We might not have known where we were going, but we definitely found something."

Lewis leaned in, his lips brushing against hers. The journey, with all its twists and turns, had been a reminder that sometimes, the most beautiful destinations were the ones discovered along the way.

Naptime Cuddles

The roar of the crowds had faded into a distant memory, replaced by the gentle hum of the air conditioner and the rhythmic rise and fall of Lewis' chest beside her. A street lamp illuminated the room in the late afternoon, painting dappled patterns across the plush white duvet. Y/n snuggled deeper into Lewis' embrace, the familiar scent of his bodywash a comforting balm.

The post-race adrenaline rush had finally subsided, leaving behind a pleasant exhaustion. The flight back from had been a blur of cramped airplane seats and fitful sleep. But in the quiet sanctuary of their home, true relaxation finally claimed her.

One of his arms was draped possessively across her waist, his fingers unconsciously tracing circles on the small of her back. The warmth of his body was a comforting weight against hers, a silent invitation to surrender to sleep.

Y/n shifted slightly, her head burrowing into the crook of his neck. A contented sigh escaped her lips, and she felt Lewis stir beside her.

"Still awake, love?" he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep.

Y/n hummed in response, nuzzling closer. The sound seemed to be all the answer Lewis needed. He wrapped his arm tighter around her, his breathing falling back into a steady rhythm.

Silence settled over the room once more, broken only by the soft sounds of their sleep. The weight of the trophy he'd secured earlier that day seemed insignificant compared to the quiet comfort of this moment. For Lewis, victory wasn't just about the checkered flag; it was about the moments of peace that followed, moments shared with those he loved, where he could simply be Lewis, and the world could wait.

As sleep finally claimed Y/n, a single thought drifted through her mind – this, the quiet intimacy of a shared nap after a hard-fought win, was a victory all its own.

Season Calendar

The crisp scent of freshly brewed coffee mingled with the faint aroma of toast as Y/N fumbled with the calendar sprawled across the kitchen island. Lewis, a gentle smile playing on his lips, watched her wrestle with colored pens and sticky notes.

"So, Australia's a definite yes" Y/N declared, highlighting the season opener in Melbourne with a flourish. "Suzuka, is my favorite" she added, etching a bright pink heart beside the Japanese Grand Prix. "Miami for the after-race parties."

Lewis chuckled. "Since when did you become a party animal?"

Y/N winked. "Don't underestimate the allure of a good poolside DJ after a long race weekend."

Their fingers brushed as she reached for a blue sticky note, marking their planned trip to New York just before Monaco. "Monaco it’s…well, it’s Monaco," she continued, a playful glint in her eyes.

"Maybe another European race before Silverstone?" Lewis suggested, tracing a finger across the calendar. "Spa or Monza?"

Y/N hesitated for a moment. "Hm… I’d say Monza. Oh, and Silverstone's too," she declared, scribbling her name beside the British Grand Prix. "Promise to your mom"

A grin spread across Lewis's face. "Right"

"Monza," she added after a thoughtful pause "because it's your first race in Italia, as a Ferrari driver."

Lewis's eyes softened. "It is."

She nodded, a mischievous glint returning soon after. "Singapore, too. Night race fix."

As she marked Interlagos in São Paulo with a heart even bigger than Suzuka's, a blush crept onto her cheeks as Lewis smiled at her antics. "It’s your second home race and that little beach vacation before Vegas is too tempting to resist."

Vegas, the season finale, received a quick tick with her name next to it.

"Abu Dhabi for the closing ceremony?" she mused, tapping the last race tentatively.

Lewis raised an eyebrow. "You're practically attending the entire season, love" he teased with a hint of amusement in his voice.

Y/N looked up, feigning innocence. "Am I? It doesn't seem like that many."

Lewis laughed, shaking his head. "Babe, you've mapped out nearly the whole calendar”

"Well, someone has to support you, champion," she replied, a playful jab disguised by a loving smile. "Plus, there's the cultural immersion, the delicious food, the..."

"The endless supply of post-race champagne?" he finished her sentence, a knowing grin on his face.

Y/N winked. "There might be some of that too."

Tough Race

The air in the motorhome hung heavy, a stark contrast to the usual pre-race buzz. Lewis sat slumped on the plush couch, his helmet resting dejectedly on the coffee table. The screen of his phone displayed the stark reality – a disappointing qualifying position and a car that no one understood.

Y/N watched him from across the room, her heart heavy with empathy. She knew Lewis thrived on competition, on pushing himself to the limit. Seeing him so dispirited was a sight that tugged at her soul.

Placing her laptop aside, she walked over to him. Without a word, she sat beside him on the couch, her hands instinctively reaching for his shoulders. He flinched slightly at the touch, as if startled from his introspection.

"Tough day, huh?" she asked softly, her voice barely a whisper.

He sighed; the sound heavy with disappointment. "Yeah," he mumbled, avoiding her gaze. "Just feels like everything's going wrong."

Y/N remained silent, allowing him to express his frustration without words. She knew that sometimes, the most comforting thing was a quiet presence, a silent acknowledgment of his struggle. After a moment, he lifted his head, his eyes meeting hers. They held a vulnerability she rarely saw, a glimpse of the man beneath the champion's mask.

"Come here" she said gently, opening her arms for him to fall into. He leaned closer, his head resting on her chest. Instinctively, her fingers reached for his scalp, their gentle pressure working their way through his braids. It was a routine they'd developed over the years, a silent language of love and support.

As her fingers began a soothing massage, kneading away tension at the base of his skull, a soft sigh escaped Lewis's lips. His muscles, which had been coiled tight with frustration, started to relax under her touch.

"You have the talent, Lewis," she began, her voice barely louder than a whisper but filled with warmth "You have the dedication. This is just a bump in the road."

They sat in comfortable silence, the only sound the rhythmic hum of the motorhome and the gentle ministrations of her hands. Slowly, a spark of his usual fire began to return to his eyes.

"Next year can’t come soon enough" he finally murmured, his voice regaining its strength. "I’ll be the one in red waiting for you” her lips close to his ears, attesting to her loyalty to him.

Workouts

Sweat beaded on Y/N's forehead, blurring her vision slightly as she pounded the treadmill. The rhythmic thump of her feet echoed in the home gym, the only sound competing with the pulsing techno beat blasting through her headphones. She was lost in the zone, pushing herself further with each passing minute. Today's run was all about endurance, a long, slow burn to build her stamina.

Suddenly, a flicker of movement in the corner of her eye caught her attention. She glanced over, momentarily breaking her focus, to see Lewis bent over a weight bench, curls glinting in the afternoon sun streaming through the window. He was shirtless, his muscles flexing with each controlled rep.

Y/N looked away, forcing her gaze back to the treadmill display. “Great”, she thought, cheeks burning. “Now you're distracted.” She tried to refocus on her breathing, on the rhythm of her run, but the image of Lewis, sculpted and confident, kept intruding on her thoughts.

A mischievous glint entered Lewis's eyes. He knew he had her attention, even if she wouldn't admit it. With a slow, deliberate movement, he placed the dumbbells down and reached for the hem of his workout shirt. A slow peel, a suggestive glance thrown in Y/N's direction, and the shirt landed discarded on the floor.

Y/N let out a groan of frustration, more with herself than anything else. This was supposed to be a focused workout, not a session in ogling her impossibly attractive boyfriend. She cranked up the volume on her headphones, willing herself to ignore the blatant display happening across the room.

But Lewis wasn't done yet. He sauntered closer to the treadmill, a playful grin on his face. "Need anything?" he asked, his voice a low rumble.

Y/N gritted her teeth, refusing to make eye contact. "Nope, all good here" she mumbled, her voice strained.

Lewis chuckled, the sound rich and warm. "Alright, but if you do, I’ll be right here" he teased, leaning against the treadmill console, effectively blocking her view of the television and forcing her to acknowledge his presence.

Y/N glared at him, a flicker of amusement battling with her annoyance. "Seriously? I'm trying to work out here."

"And I'm trying to offer some motivation," he countered, his eyes twinkling. A small smile tugged at the corner of Y/N's lips. "Fine," she conceded, a playful challenge in her voice. "If you're so good at motivating, why don't you join me for a run?"

Lewis's grin widened. " Was just waiting for you to ask."

Grocery Shopping

Jet lag, like an unwelcome koala clinging to their luggage, had followed Y/N and Lewis all the way from Europe to Australia.

Yawns punctuated the silence as they stood in the brightly lit grocery store aisle, their usual meticulous list forgotten somewhere in their luggage.

"Alright," Lewis announced, rubbing his eyes "Essentials: Bread, milk, some fruit..."

Y/N's stomach rumbled loudly, betraying her fatigue. " chocolate… " she mumbled, grabbing the first bar her hand encountered, a garishly pink confection with a name that promised "explosive berry flavor".

Lewis chuckled. "Y/N, love. Maybe we prioritize some greens? " He reached for a bag of pre-washed salad mix.

"Fine." she conceded with a sigh, "But we're getting ice cream. My brain cells need a sugar rush."

He shook his head fondly, adding a carton of plant-based milk to the basket. "Alright, sugar monster."

Y/N scanned the shelves, her eyes landing on a display of colorful cocktail umbrellas. " Lewis" she said, her voice tinged with mischief "think these would look good on an Almave cocktail?"

Lewis raised an eyebrow as she shrugged, a playful smile on her lips. "Just planning ahead"

Alright" he conceded, tossing a pack of the umbrellas into the basket. " Healthy stuff now, babe. We need to get through the week"

Y/N groaned dramatically. "Ugh. Let me get some of those roasted chickpeas they have by the checkout, at least. They're practically healthy, right?"

Lewis laughed, pulling her close for a quick kiss as she reached for some sort of processed sugar. "Roasted chickpeas it is."

Weird dreams

Sunlight streamed through the blinds, painting golden stripes across the bedroom floor. Y/N stretched luxuriously, the remnants of a strange dream clinging to the edges of her consciousness.

"Lew" she mumbled, reaching for him on the other side of the bed. His side was cold, the sheets neatly pulled back. She sat up, a frown creasing her brow. "Lewis?" she called out a little louder.

He emerged from the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his hip, a face cream in his hand. "Morning, love" he greeted with a sleepy smile.

"Good morning" Y/N replied, her voice laced with a hint of confusion. "You were gone?" She gestured to the empty space beside her.

He paused, a puzzled look replacing his smile. "Gone? I haven't left the bed all night."

"Oh" Y/N said, feeling a wave of disorientation. "Must have been the dream then."

Lewis raised an eyebrow. " What kind of dream?"

Y/N hesitated for a moment, the strangeness of it all making her smile. "Well," she began, "It was the weirdest thing. We were both at the factory, but you were giving a motivational speech... to a room full of chickens."

Lewis burst out laughing, the sound echoing through the room as he doubled over, wiping tears from his eyes.

Y/N couldn't help but join in his laughter, the absurdity of the dream washing away the lingering confusion. As they lay back down in bed, Lewis pulled her close, y/n laying her head on his chest.

"So," Lewis said, his voice tinged with amusement "what motivational speech did I give to the chickens?"

Y/N snuggled closer, a playful glint in her eyes. "Oh, you know, the usual," she said, her voice laced with laughter. "Conquer the coop, dream big, peck your way to the top."

Lewis chuckled, nuzzling his face into her hair. "Sounds like something I’d say"

Y/N swatted him playfully on the arm. "Hey, maybe even chickens need a little inspiration sometimes.” a smile playing on her lips and he squeezed her softly.

Sickness

A crumpled ball of tissues lay discarded beside Y/N on the couch, a relentless battle she'd been waging with a head cold all morning. Her throat felt like sandpaper, and her entire body ached with a dull misery. Across from her, Lewis, usually thinking of what to do next, sat slumped on the armchair, a mug of lukewarm tea clutched in his hand.

"Alright," Lewis declared, pushing himself up from the chair with a grimace, "I'm going to tackle those emails. You just relax on the couch some more."

Y/N croaked out a protest. "Lewis, you look like you could use the couch more than me. Those dark circle under your eyes look awful.

He swiped a hand across his forehead, a frown creasing his brow. "Nothing to worry, love. Probably just didn’t get enough sleep."

Y/N sighed, a weary smile tugging at the corners of her lips. Ever the workaholic, even a mild illness couldn't keep him from his commitments. "Alright" she conceded, her voice hoarse, "but promise me you'll rest too?”

He flashed a reassuring smile, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Of course, lovely." He retreated to his office, leaving Y/N alone with the sniffles and the blaring silence of the weekend they'd both been looking forward to.

She tried to sleep, to watch tv, to lose herself in a book, but her eyes burned in their sockets. Frustrated, she finally reached for the thermometer. The red mercury climbing far too high for comfort.

Panic clawed at her throat. Lewis couldn't be getting sick too, not with his packed schedule for the next two months. Steeling herself, she pushed off the couch and made her way to the office. Lewis sat hunched over his laptop, his brow furrowed in concentration.

"Lew" she said softly, her voice thick with concern.

He looked up, startled. The feverish flush on his cheeks was undeniable now.

"What’s up babe?" he mumbled, his voice raspy

"You're burning up," she declared, placing a hand on his forehead. "We both are."

He let out a shaky sigh, finally acknowledging the truth. "This is the worst timing." he muttered, running a hand through his hair.

Y/N hugged his shoulders from behind his desk chair, her heart softening at his dejection. "All we can do is focusing on getting better" she said gently.

Lewis turned to look at her, his eyes filled with a grateful vulnerability. "Yeah" he conceded, a tired smile gracing his lips. "Let’s go back to bed then, we're watching all the cheesy rom-coms we can handle.”

Y/N laughed a bit before suddenly turning her head to the side to sneeze, a chuckle coming from Lewis as he got up and embraced her. "Deal" she finally agreed.

Morning rituals

A faint sunlight danced playfully across the open space of the kitchen; Lewis’ heavy steps caught y/n attention as the aroma of brewing coffee gently invited him to greet the day. A soft groan escaped his lips as he stretched, muscles protesting.

"Rough night, champ?" A voice, laced with amusement, drifted in from the kitchen. Lewis cracked open an eye mid-stretch to see Y/n leaning against the island, a steaming mug in hand.

"Just a bit" he admitted, a smile tugging at his lips as he flopped down on the sofa "That car is giving me a real workout."

Y/n chuckled, padding across the room and placing the mug on the coffee table "Well, here’s some fuel." She leaned down, brushing a kiss across his forehead, the scent of her minty shampoo lingering in the air.

Lewis inhaled deeply, the familiar scent a welcome comfort. He reached out, his hand landing on hers. "You shouldn't have gotten up so early" he mumbled, squeezing her fingers gently.

"Nah" Y/n replied, settling onto his lap "Early mornings are my secret weapon. Peace and quiet before the world wakes up."

Lewis raised an eyebrow. "You mean to tell me Roscoe snoring and the fog outside are your weapons?"

Y/n laughed, caressing his beard. "It might not be perfect, but it’s mine."

A comfortable silence settled between them, broken only by the soft clinking of mugs against the table’s glass. Lewis took a sip of his coffee, savoring the warmth that spread through him.

"So," Y/n began, a thoughtful look on her face as she slid to the sofa and rested her head on his shoulders "what's on the agenda for today?"

Lewis set down his mug. "Just some online meetings with the engineers in the afternoon. We can have a lazy morning if you’re not busy" his hopeful tone hung in the air for a beat too long.

Y/n took a slow sip from her mug, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "Actually," she said, a playful smile tugging at the corner of her lips, "I woke up feeling surprisingly productive. Maybe I'll finally tackle that mountain of emails I've been putting off." A flicker of disappointment crossed Lewis' face, until he realized what y/n had actually just said, quickly stamping a playful smirk and a light grab of her ass. "The hell you are."

______________________________________________________________

TAGLIST - @saturnssunflower @xoscar03 @chocolatediplomatdreamerzonk @happy-golden-hour @vicurious28

@0710khj @thecubanator2 @neilakk @bigratbitchsworld @adriswrld

@fearfam69691 @cmleitora

If you’d like to be added to my taglist you can leave a comment or send me a dm/ask.

#lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton x you #lewis hamilton imagine #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #lewis hamilton #formula 1 #f1 fanfic #f1 fic

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pitchsidestories · 11 months

Text

Welcome to New York II Ali Krieger x Reader

"Everybody here was someone else before And you can want who you want Boys and boys and girls and girls." Welcome To New York, Taylor Swift

masterlist I word count: 2901

The first thing you thought as you spotted Ali Krieger standing on the steps of the Metropolitan Museum was that this could have been a scene from a romantic comedy. A warm smile played on the defender’s lips while she had two cups of coffees in her hands:” Hi.” “Hi. Is this one for me or do you just need a lot of caffeine today”, you asked her teasingly.

Amused she shook her head: “No, the second one is for you. Ocean and Sloane let me sleep long enough today.” “Oh, lucky for me. Thank you so much.”, you answered grateful for her thoughtfulness. Still smiling Ali handed you your coffee: “You’re welcome.” Nervously you put a string of your hair behind your ear: “I hope you didn’t wait too long for me.” As much as you loved this city, the public transport was against you coming punctually to your coffee date with the equally busy soccer player today. Kindly she waved at you:” No, I didn’t. Do you want to keep standing here or walk around?” “Let’s walk around a bit.”, you decided.

Side by side you started walking, clearing her throat Ali admitted with a shy grin: “Alright. To be honest, I’m so glad Jason Sudeikis introduced us to each other at my last league game party.” “Oh, me too. Trust me. It was nice to get a look inside a soccer team.”, you agreed with her. Curiously the older woman looked at you:” As inspiration for your upcoming leading role in the female ted lasso spin off?” “You can never have enough inspiration. And to be honest, I’m a bit of a perfectionist, so I want to portray my role as realistically as possible.”, you declared slightly blushing.

Playfully the defender pouted: “Oh, and I hoped you were really interested in me as a person and not only in the soccer player part of my personality.” “Not at all. I think the soccer player part is impressive but it’s not the most interesting part about you.”, you told her. “Oh really?” The blush on your cheeks intensified: “Maybe your good looks were also a part of it.” “And the glasses of wine we shared.", she winked at you. This comment made you chuckle:” I can only say that they definitely kept the conversation going.”

“Not only that.”, Ali added grinning hinting at what happened as the night turned over into the early morning, the time in which the never sleeping city was buzzing with life and excitement and the sexual attraction between you could not been denied any longer. “Ali!”

“What? It’s true.”, the football player shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly. You scoffed: “You’re terrible.” “Yes, but you don’t mind it.”, she observed. Laughing you confessed: “Actually, I kinda like it.” “I can tell.”, Ali nodded satisfied. “I’m sorry.” “Don’t be.”, the defender whispered. Elegantly you changed the topic: “It’s really beautiful today. The weather is perfect.”

Ali let her gaze wander over the autumnal scenery of the Central Park. The yellowing leaves were contrasting against the blue sky. “Agreed. New York in fall is stunning.“, she smiled. “It is.“, you agreed, taking in the crisp air. “Have you always lived in New York?“, Ali asked, genuine curiosity on her face. You shook your had and admitted; “Actually, no.“ The football players eyebrows knotted together; “No?“ With a sigh, your gaze dropped down to the fallen leaves on the ground; “Although I wished…“ “Tell me about it…“, Ali implored.

“Actually, I grew up in a conservative midwestern town.“, you started to explain. The defender grimaced, understanding the implication; “Oh. I’m sorry.“ “So coming to New York as a young adult did feel liberating in every way.“, you continued with a sad smile. Ali sipped on her coffee; “You know, a lot of my team mates who are queer had similar experiences.“ “Similar to some of my acting friends.“, you added. Ali shrugged with a sigh; “I’m always glad to hear when queer people from difficult places found a safe space.“

Nervously turning the cup in your hand, you asked; “You came out quite late to the public too, right?“ “Yes, that’s true. I thought it’s no one’s business but mine.“, she replied, nodding in thought. “What made you change your mind about it?“ “I realized that I can be of better use as a role model.“, she answered nonchalantly. You bit your lip, moved by revelation; “That’s very brave of you.“ Ali gave you a wry smile; “Thank you. But that wasn’t an easy decision for me either.“ “No, I understand that. Being queer wasn’t something that people in the movie industry liked to see a few years ago… sometimes even now.“, you told her. “I’m sorry.“ You shook your head; “It’s fine, really.“ “I guess we all have our struggles.“, the defender thought out lout. “Yes, we do.“

You were grateful when Ali finally offered; “Do you want to change the topic?“ Smiling, you gave her a soft nod to leave that topic behind; “Yes, please. I don’t want to ruin the mood during our little coffee date.“ “You couldn’t. I really enjoy talking to you.“, Ali said, carefully taking your hand into hers. “Same.“ „You do?“ “Yes, even though I told you about my sad little childhood.“, you laughed, your cheeks turning slightly pink as you wondered if you had overshared. But the smile on Alis face made that thought immediately disappear; “I appreciate it. Really. I’m glad you shared it.“

“That means a lot. So, what about you? Are you excited for the play offs?”, you asked her. The eyes of the defender lit up:” Yes, absolutely. I’m happy about every game I get to play.” “This must feel very special.”, you said, her excitement was infecting you too. “It is. If you’d like to get some more inspiration you could come.”, she offered you without hesitation.

Delighted you replied:” To your game? I’d love that.” “I’ll make sure you get some tickets.”, Ali continued happily. “Thank you.” The football player could not stop smiling: “You’re welcome.” For a second you looked worried:” You don’t think Ashlyn would mind, right?” “She won’t. Trust me.”, she reassured you quickly. Relieved you sighed:” Okay. Good.” Don’t worry about it. This is over.”, Ali confirmed. With a remark you tried to lighten up the mood again:” Yes, you made that very clear when you kissed me at the doorstep after your party.” “You asked about her.” “Sorry, I’m an idiot.”, you hid your face in her hands. Softly the football player disagreed with you: “No, you’re not.” “So that means I can kiss you? This time without alcohol breath?”, hopeful you looked up to her.

Amused Ali glanced at you:“You can always kiss me. Doesn’t matter if it’s on parties or in the Central Park.” “Although, I’d argue that this here is way more romantic.”, you chuckled. Expectantly she threw a look at you:” You can argue all you want but I’d rather you just kiss me.” “As you wish.”, you said before your lips met her who were waiting for that to happen since they departed from another.

After the training ended for the Gotham players Kristie let out an excited shriek: ”Oh my god, Ali ! I’m so jealous!” Confused the captain looked at her before the blonde showed her an article on her phone which contained photos of Ali and her new girlfriend kissing romantically in the Central Park. Laughing Kelley intervened:” Jealous about the fact that they had a romantic moment in the autumnal Central Park or that she made it into the news with that?” “Actually.. both.”, Kristie admitted.

Surprised the dark-haired defender mumbled:” Oh no, they wrote about us.” “What’s wrong? It’s a cute photo.”, Kelley furrowed her eyebrows. Enthusiastically Kristie reminded the older player: “Exactly and you’re allowed to have fun, Ali. You’re in your lemonade era, remember?” “Still, I wasn’t ready to go public with that yet. And I don’t know if she was either.”, Ali bit her lip. Empathetic Kelley put an arm around her shoulder:” I get that too.” “I need to call her.”, the captain announced.

You were on set, spending your lunch break with the other actors, when you noticed your phone ringing. Seeing Alis name appear on the display made your heart jump unexpectedly. Happily you took the call; “Ali, Hi.“ “Hi.“, she replied. The tone of her voice made you frown; “What’s wrong? You sound a bit upset.“ The football player sighed as if to brace herself; “Have you seen the article yet?“

You grabbed your coat and your bag and hurried away from the other actors, ignoring Jason Sudeikis’ sceptical glance; “Uhm no. What article? We were busy filming the new tv episodes.“ “They photographed as kissing.“, she came straight to the point. You froze in place; “Wait. What?“ “I’m sorry.“ Your thoughts began racing, bringing you back to how exhilarated you felt during your date. Even though Ali couldn’t see you, you still shook your head; “No, I’m sorry. If I hadn’t kissed you there… this article would not exist.“ “I don’t regret the kiss… really.“, the defender replied with determination in her voice. “But you wish to have been private a little longer, right? Which is understandable considering your divorce is still fresh…“, you were thinking out loud.

Ali confirmed your thoughts; “Actually, yes. How do you feel about it?“ You let a few seconds pass before admitting; “It feels very early.“ “I know.“ “But you should know that I’m serious with you.“, you added truthfully. Ali let out a small breath, relieved; “Me too. I want this.“ Your smile was back in place; “Jason gifted me an Ali Krieger Fan club - shirt. Should I wear it to one of your games or would this be too much?“ “Please do it. If they won’t let us have our privacy, we can at least have some fun with them.“ You could basically hear Ali grinning through the phone. “Exactly what I thought too.“ Ali laughed; “I like that. You get me.“

“So, I’ll see you at the stadium? Will Sloane and Ocean be there too?“, you asked. You had the chance to meet Alis kids briefly for a few times and they had already won your heart, so you got even more excited when you heard Ali say; “Yes.“ “Great. Because I already miss them while being away on the set.“ “I’m sure they’re happy to see you again too.“, Ali said, her voice soft. “And I miss you too of course.“, you added quickly. “I do hope that!“, the defender teased. “So much.“, you admitted and with a quick glance on your watch, you ended the call; “Okay, break is over. I’ll call you back tonight.“ “Talk to you later.“

The team of Gotham FC was buzzing with excitement as they stepped on the field in Portland. If the players won, this game they would make it to the final. Grinning Lynn Williams touched the shoulder of her captain: “I spotted your girl, Ali!” “Really?”, Ali wanted to know from the forward, trying to discover your face in the crowd at Providence Park. Equally thrilled Kristie pointed to the direction where you were standing: “Over there.” “Oh. She’s wearing the shirt.”, the defender observed with a hint of proudness in her voice.

Amused Kelley remarked: “Not subtle at all.” “It’s not supposed to be.”, Ali told her. A bright smile was on Kristie’s lips:“I love it, I’m obsessed.” “Of course, you like that, Kristie.”, Kelley threw in unsurprised. Clearing her throat Lynn drew all the attention on her:” Yeah, so that’s all cute and sweet but we’ve a game to win girls.” “Yes. We got to focus on that.”, Ali agreed with the forward. Gotham’s number 5 nodded along:” Yes, we’re making sure that Ali has another game to play before her retirement.”

“What retirement? With those many games, I guess you can’t really call it retirement yet.”, their captain corrected her smiling. Winking Kelley reminded the dark - haired player: “Yes, but it’s one game before the final.” “And I’d love to get to the final, girls.”, with a cheeky grin Ali glanced at each of their teammates to give them that extra motivation tonight.

The game was really close, and they had to went into overtime but thanks to Katie Stengels goal in the 107’ minute against the Portland Thorns, they won this important match and would make it to the Final. After the referee blew the final whistle, Kelley cheered loudly:” She’s not done yet!” “I’m not leaving without a trophy!”, Ali shouted happily. Ecstatic Kristie who played her first minutes after her injury in today’s game screamed: “We won, bitches!” “Who are you calling a bitch?”, Ali threw an eyebrow up at the blonde before the two and Kelley started to dance out their feelings. The words to describe their emotions would be found later, now was the time to just be in the moment and celebrate.

Meanwhile Sloane made her way through the soccer players:” Mummy!” “No more b-words here, Mewis!, Ali warned her fellow teammate before pulling her daughter into a hug, Hi, baby.”

“Okay, but your new girlfriend has a nice ass.“, Kristie commented with a smirk, disregarding Alis warning, while Sloane jumped into her mums arms; “You won!“ “Mewis!“, Ali yelled before turning back to her daughter and agreed with a much softer voice; “Yes, we won. That means mum has to play one more game.“ “That’s okay. Love to see you play. Ocean was such a baby though. He fell asleep in her arms.“, Sloane rolled her big brown eyes and pointed in your direction where her little brother was sleeping in your arms. With a laugh, Ali explained to her daughter: “He is still small.“ “Yes. I’ll forgive him that.“, Sloane nodded. Alis eyes met yours and you both had to suppress a laugh.

Slowly you bridged the few steps between you two; “Hi. Sorry, someone is very sleepy. As is the big one who pretends she’s wide awake.“ You nodded first into Oceans, then into Sloanes direction. Ali put Sloane down who pressed into her leg with a yawn. “Let me take him.“, Ali offered, holding out her hands to take her sleeping son from you. She gratefully smiled at you; “Thank you so much for taking care of them. I appreciate it.“ “You’re welcome.“, you replied, leaning over to kiss your girlfriend passionately but careful to not wake up Ocean.

“Excuse me! Those kisses are not child friendly either!“, Kristies voice interrupted the two of you. Alis face was still close to yours as she rolled her eyes; “It’s a kiss. You do worse things with your girlfriend!“ “Ali is right about that!“, Lynn chimed in. Ali shook her head and you noticed the adoration for her teammates in her eyes, even though she wanted to seem annoyed; “Sorry about them.“ “It’s okay, trust me. My acting friends are even more dramatic.“, you laughed. „Yeah, I can imagine.“, the defender grinned, leaning in for another kiss.

Next to you, Lynns face brightened while she pointed to her teammate; “I bet Kristie would have been great in drama school too!“ “Yeah, but she can’t remember shit.“, Ali interjected. Kristies mouth fell open in outrage; “You guys are so mean.“ “Only because we love you.“, Kelley now joined your group, winking at Kristie. Ignoring the others, Kristie turned to you, her phone in hand; “Can we take a selfie together? My girlfriend Sam is such a fan of you and can’t wait for your upcoming tv show.“ “Sure, but I’m for Ali tonight…“, you answered politely. You posed for the photo together, grinning into Kristies phone camera while she smirked; “Yeah, we noticed that.“

“The shirt spoke for itself, huh?”, you laughed with her. An amused smile was on the blonde’s lip:” I can assure you it did.” “Good.”, you nodded satisfied. Slightly displeased Ali asked her teammate:” Are you done now, Kristie?” “Yes, sounds like someone is missing her girlfriend.”, the younger player winked at you.

The older woman rolled her eyes before turning her attention to you:” Ignore her.” “With a pleasure.”, you told her as you kissed her again. Expectantly Ali looked into your eyes when you two ended the kiss:” I hope you know that you have to come to the final now too.” “That’s alright with me.”, you replied happily. The defender whispered into your ear:“You seem to bring me luck.” “Meaning I need to wear the same shirt too?”, you asked her, throwing an eyebrow up.

Innocently Ali played with a loose hair string of yours:” Actually, this time I’d like to see you in my jersey.” “Your Jersey? Okay.”, you agreed. Softly your girlfriend blushed:“It’s a bit more.. official.” “I see.” “If you want to of course.”, Ali’s face went serious. Quickly you replied: “I do.” “I’ll bring you one.”, the older woman decided. Proudly you glanced at her:” Thanks, it’ll be an honour to wear it.” “It’s an honour for us that you support us.”, Ali corrected you. Looking at her children you said: “The children look tired.” “Let’s take them to bed now.”

“Good night you three.”, you wished them warmly while you all four were slowly falling asleep in the hotelroom. With a bright grin on her face Ali answered:”Good night.”

#ali krieger #ali krieger x reader #woso x reader #uswnt x reader #gotham fc #woso #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso oneshot #nwsl #uswnt #uswnt imagine #kelley o'hara #lynn williams #kristie mewis #woso one shot #lgbtq #ted lasso

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yeonjuns-beanie · 1 year

Text

Licentious Affairs

warnings: 18+, smut, unprotected sex, definitely dub-con, a little non-con, use of restraints, having sex with a demon, some animalistic behaviors, descriptions of blood, biting, degrading, hair pulling and i think that's everything

summary: you and dalton grew closer over the course of the fall semester. you sense a mutual feeling but still, a crush feels forbidden. on the night that dalton decides he needs to unlock all his memories for good, something possesses his earthly form and you’re left at its mercy.

a/n: when i saw the new installment of this franchise, something about him being possessed had me kicking my feet and giggling. this is 100% self indulgent bc I feel like this is so niche lol. it strays from the events in the film(obvi) but I hope whoever comes across enjoys and i'll get back to my kpop postings shortly :3 ~nero

possessed!Dalton Lambert x female reader

word count: 4.4k

pt.2

The breeze was crisp and the trees were warm bouquets of orange, yellow, and sun-bleached green. As you walked across campus, the leaves crunching under your feet you appreciated the change in season. Wrapping yourself a little tighter in your knitted cardigan, you pulled out your phone checking your notifications. Swiping out of your social media a message from Dalton popped up on your screen.

van gogh: r u out of class yet

y/n: walking to the dorm rn

van gogh: okay, i’ve got something to show you

Turning the volume up on your music and stuffing your phone back into your stubby front pocket, you continued your walk to the dorm. Your mind was scattering all the different possibilities of what Dalton could’ve found out. Since the beginning of the semester, his art professor had been unleashing techniques on him to tap into a deeper artistic space. Through this theory of unlocking, he opened up memories that were tucked away so tightly that he forgot they were his own. Throughout the semester, you’ve been forced to be around his revelations as you were his dorm mate, but you’d be lying if you said that you didn’t enjoy his company.

At first, you thought it was just you being good-natured and wanting to extend a hand to him in a time of need. But as his walls crumbled down you wormed your way in and slowly you found you guys becoming quite close. Opening the main doors to your dorm building the way the air felt never failed to bother you. The brick walls made it constantly humid and it was borderline suffocating with how many bodies passed through the day. Dragging your feet across the floor, you began to feel the day place its weight on your body. You felt another vibration in your pocket but ignored it, deciding to look at the notification once you got settled in.

Opening the door to your room, you were met with Dalton hunched over the canvas of his current piece. He was so focused on the painting that he didn’t hear you come in until the door clicked shut. You dropped your bag on the floor and he finally looked up.

“Hey. Didn’t hear you come in.”

“Yeah, you looked pretty focused on that freaky ass painting.”

“If not for this freaky ass painting, I’d still be “boring.”’

Flopping onto your bed, you chuckled remembering the first interaction you guys had with each other. You so desperately were trying to break the ice with your roommate and least to say it was the smallest bit painful getting some info out of him. As Dalton added the last few strokes of creativity, he put down his brush and wiped his hands off with a rag. Meanwhile, you were getting lost in his every move. You were tracing him, the way he moved, really just the way he existed. Losing yourself in your thoughts you didn’t hear him calling your name.

“Y/n…y/n? Are you even here right now?” “Huh?- Sorry was spacing out, long day.”

You were praying that somehow he wouldn’t think too much of it and just pass it off as you disassociating and not internally doting on him. You sat up as he walked over to your bed, the mattress shifting as he sat.

“So you know how we learned I can astral project right?”

You nodded and raised your eyebrows urging him to go on.

“Well, I think, whatever I’m remembering–if I finish that painting I’ll remember everything.”

You looked at him, brows furrowing and your eyes showing an incredulous type of fear. Memories from the last time he projected flooded your mind. Whatever was stalking that other plane had it out not only for Dalton but for anyone in his vicinity. It left you stricken, but subconsciously you knew you couldn’t leave Dalton to deal with it alone.

“You wanna…go back again?”

“I think it’s my only option y/n.”

You sighed knowing there was really nothing you could do to get him to think otherwise. You stared off toward the cryptic painting searching your brain for a solution that didn’t involve him going back to that other world. Nodding, more towards yourself, you looked back at Dalton.

“Okay. When are we doing this?”

There was a small flash of a ‘thank you’ that graced his features. The relationship you shared was beyond the parameters of normal but it was exactly that that allowed you guys to grow so close with one another so quickly. He let out a sigh a dour expression taking over.

“Tonight.”

You pressed your lips into a thin line forcing yourself to become comfortable with the reality of the situation. Slightly nodding, you stood up grabbing your bag from the floor.

“Alright. I’ll be right back. Just gonna run and grab some fairy lights so I can have some source of light in here while you play Sherlock Holmes in the upside down.”

Dalton cracked a smile, a small chuckle escaping him. It was something that softened the heaviness of the situation, lifting the tension not only between you two but for your anxieties. It also made something flutter in your stomach, something you’ve desperately been trying to swallow scared of what would happen if he were to find out. You were about to open the door but a hand on your shoulder stopped you.

“Your phone.”

A gentle smile stretched across his face and there was something softer about him in this particular moment. Maybe it was the knowledge of the impending doom that would ensue in a few hours or maybe it was just two people being vulnerable. You weren’t sure what came over you but the urge to hug him was impossible to pass over and your body moved faster than your mind could react. Your arms wrapped around him finding relief and comfort in him returning the gesture so quickly.

Pulling away from him you found a certain softness swimming in his eyes that you never noticed before. Feeling slightly overwhelmed and bashful you fiddled with your fingertips attempting to wash away the anxiety that was running through you.

“Thanks. I won’t be too long.”

Dalton nodded and you slipped out of the doorway. As you walked down the hallway to leave the building you were fighting a more than enthusiastic grin as you felt those same pesky feelings flutter through your being. If only you had a similar gift to Dalton’s you’d be able to see that he was feeling the exact same way. As soon as you left the dorm he sat back on his bed, his hands trying to wipe away the elation he felt from the hug you shared. He was fighting a similar demon as your own, the fabrication of feelings–a crush.

As he laid back on his bed he was running through all his favorite parts of you, something that he didn’t think he could say out loud. His mind was in too many places at once, going back and forth between the budding feelings he felt for you and the unfortunate calamity that he was going to have to face not long after you came back.

Coming out of the corner store, you were surprised by how fast the sun began to tuck behind the mountains. You had an interesting relationship with the fall season, loving how the weather changed and the natural warmness that fall carried. By the same token though, you wished daylight lasted a bit longer, especially tonight. You wished the sun would never set so neither one of you would have to experience the ire that attaches itself to Dalton when the night approaches.

When you got back into the dorm building, there was a formidable sense of dread that you felt settle in your stomach. You tried to brush it off as anxiety now that the navy blanket of night was cast over the sky, but as you approached your dorm the feeling only worsened. Taking a deep breath as you turned the handle of the door, you exhaled as you entered the room, dropping your bag by the door and tossing the bag of lights on your bed.

You were about to announce your arrival to Dalton but were surprised to find him asleep on his bed. You were gone for maybe half an hour so you didn’t think he’d be too deep in sleep. Admiring his form you quelled your thoughts by grabbing the box of lights out of the grocery bag and began to unravel them while calling out to Dalton.

“Dalton…Dalton.”

Plugging the lights in the wall, you called for him one more time before deciding to walk over and shake him up. But when you turned around, he was already sitting up on his bed. It spooked you because you didn’t hear him move.

“Jesus! Make a noise or you know, yawn or something. Scared the shit outta me.” You nervously giggled. That sickly feeling found its way back in your stomach again and you couldn’t quite figure out why. Moving the string of lights around your bed, you found Dalton being more quiet than usual and you ruled that to be the reason why your stomach was turning in knots.

“You alright man? You’re being more weird than usual.”

Silence. Crippling silence.

Chills ran up your body and you tried desperately to feel some sense of normality about the situation. Dalton got up from his bed and walked over to his canvas, running his fingers over the freshly dried paint. He forced some extra air out of his nose somewhat resembling something of a laugh. You kept yourself on high alert as you walked over to your bag to grab your phone. As you got your phone and turned around your eyes met Dalton’s frame huddled in the corner of the room closest to your bed.

The way the string of lights illuminated him caused that sinking feeling to turn into something more dire. You started to go beyond the safety of things just being “weird” and recognized it was fear settling into your bones. Dalton’s shoulders were quivering almost resembling what a laugh would look like but no noise was coming out.

“Dalton, what’s going on? You’re freaking me out.”

Ignoring your intuition, you slowly walked over to him, hoping that the lights would let you see something that you were missing from your distance away from him. You left a couple feet in between you two and you called out to him again, only this time he turned his head slowly in your direction. Any rumination of worry about your friend was quickly replaced with terror once his head turned enough for you to see his eyes. They weren’t his own. They were yellow and held malicious intent.

You wanted to stand your ground but the gasp that left you made a sound before you could stop it. You watched a smirk grow on Dalton’s face and as you broke your chains of frozen fear, you turned around in an attempt to reach the door. Before you could take your second step towards your escape, your feet left the safety of the ground and your body was flung through the air.

Hitting the art wall adjacent to Dalton’s bed your body flopped onto his bed, a shield of sheets as your protection. In a poor attempt to quickly figure out an escape you instead were met with the evil incarnate of Dalton. Your heart was pounding, fear and a dread of the unknown at the forefront of your mind. His frame was looming, staring you down like fresh prey. You gripped the bed sheets staring him down trying to convince yourself you weren’t fearful. Your plan was successful, but the longer you looked at him the easier it became for something more sinister to eclipse your emotions.

Lust.

A salacious intent swapping out the fear of him for the fear of yourself and your own emotions. Why were you feeling this? Could whatever was using Dalton as a vessel hear your thoughts? How could you look at him the same way after this? All of your questions were pushed to the back of your mind as the door to your dorm slowly opened and Dalton turned towards it. You saw nothing in the doorway but almost like a warning, a low timbre shriek echoed from his throat as a bloody goop tumbled out of his mouth.

Whatever was entering the door from the other side left, the door clicking shut and his attention was unfortunately back on you. With a feeble bid, you hoped that calling to Dalton would release him of whatever had a hold on him. As Dalton turned around to grab the cord of lights from the wall, the way he stalked back over to you sent a familiar feeling to pool in your stomach.

“Dalton…I know you’re in there. Dal-”

“-To be face to face with what was keeping me from him recently was not what I expected to see. Nor did I expect it to be so filthy.”

It felt like someone was trying to steal your heart from its chest. There was a certain grit to his tone that was not Dalton’s and you weren’t quite sure if it frightened you or excited you. As he wrapped the cord around his hand he stalked closer to you on the bed.

“Most would be terrified in a situation like this, but you? I can smell you. It’s hard to ignore really.”

You backed further to the wall suddenly facing the reality of your situation. Your heart sped up but not out of fear. The closer he got the more aroused you became but you didn’t want to admit that to yourself just yet. Before you had an understanding of what was going on in front of you, your wrists were taken and tied to the bedpost with the cord Dalton was winding up.

“No!”

A sudden urge to fight back, you weren’t sure if this was something you wanted under the given circumstances. As you tried to push back against the cord, an unseen force was pinning your body to the bed. Your vision was obstructed by the fabric of Dalton’s baggy long sleeve but the overwhelming feeling of arousal was something you couldn’t ignore when he moved to face you and you looked directly into his yellowed eyes.

His hand snaked down the front of your body leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. It was a twisted feeling, you dreamt of a moment like this but with the given situation you were struggling if it was right. As his hand toyed with the button of your jeans any doubt about the situation was pushed to the back of your mind and a gritty tone echoed in the silence of the room.

“It’s funny. Hearing you think you have enough strength to deny yourself pleasure.”

You arched your eyebrow confused by his admission. He took heed of this and answered before you had a chance to vocalize your thoughts. He leaned forward stalking over your body before he placed himself next to the shell of your ear.

“Your thoughts are so loud. Louder than his–if only…he could be the one to see you like this. He’s wished for it.” He pulled away grinning at you in a way that made your walls flutter around nothing. You wondered if the confession of your Dalton “wishing for it” was real or just something the entity used to get under your skin.

You didn’t have much time to think on the matter as your heart rate picked up again at the unfortunate realization that you, were enjoying this. The smirk that rested on Dalton’s face let you in on the sadistic pleasure of whatever was taking control of him was feeling. Before Dalton moved away from the shell of your ear, he took a deep inhale of the scent of your neck.

Humming in relish, he nipped at your earlobe gingerly pulling at the skin as he snaked down your body once more. You wish you had more control but the whimper that left your throat was something instinctive. As this primal version of Dalton reached your hips, your zipper was quickly unfastened and your pants were tossed to the other side of the room

Dalton moved his legs so that he was no longer straddling your own and situated himself in between them. Sliding toward the edge of the bed, he slid down enough to be face first with your messy cunt. Your desire soaking through the fabric leaving no room for doubt in your feelings. Shoving his nose into your drenched panties, he huffed the scent of you a second time causing you to squirm away from the action.

Closing your eyes and rolling your lips around your teeth, you tried to silence your whines to collect yourself. Once again trying to convince yourself that you had more power over your bodily wants and needs.

“Stop, please.”

Your plea was met with a sardonic giggle and as you looked down and was met with the sick glow of his yellow eyes. Dalton stalked back up your body, hovering over your face and clicking his tongue at you mockingly. As you were entranced by the figure above you, you failed to realize that he unbound your wrists from the cord. The sudden freedom surprised you but was swallowed by the feeling of his hand slithering in your panties and rubbing his finger across your slick folds.

Your body shuddered in hedonism, rolling your hips up into the feeling. As one finger slipped its way into your slick cavern your hands found solace in fisting the sheets. As he entered a second finger you couldn’t contain your sounds.

“Ah~! I can’t believe this is happening. I can’tbelievethisishappening.”

In your stupor of sexual panic, a low chuckle brought you back down to your body. His fingers curled inside of you repeatedly hitting the special spongey spot you cherished so much. As your moans became more frequent and less controlled, he removed his fingers from your pulsating hole and ripped your panties off of your sensitive frame. You whined out not only at the loss of contact but at the sudden cool air that breezed over your skin. Settling into your body you were panting heavily as you stared down Dalton.

His yellowed eyes still igniting fear but simultaneously leaving you wanton and in a state of ache. That conflicting feeling flooded your brain again and soon felt guilt peering over the horizon. Before you were given the chance to wrestle with your thoughts, Dalton straddled himself over your body. One hand grabbed your face, squeezing your cheeks to pry your mouth open just enough to shove his fingers into your mouth. He looked down at you, a small smirk adorning his face.

“Suck.”

Overwhelmed by the sudden roughness you complied immediately not wanting to make the situation even more escalated. Your eyebrows furrow, your face plagued with anxiety as you watch Dalton come closer to your face. The leftover stain of blood that was on his chin smeared across your lower cheek as his breath fanned over your skin leaving your body wanting more. As he removed his fingers from your mouth, he licks from your chip up to the tip of your nose. Dalton pulls away slightly so he can get a better look at your face as a venomous smile pulls at his.

He takes the hand that was holding your face and drags it down the side of your cheek as he exhales a phrase that would chill your bones.

“Everything I’m going to do to you…he wishes he could do himself.”

The anxiety you felt prior was beginning to trickle back in as you realized the tank top you were wearing underneath the cardigan provided you little safety from the one above. Dalton’s hands slid up your torso underneath your tank top, his hands massaging over the soft flesh of your breast. Undoing the front clasp, your tits pancaked out of the fabric only for one to be caught by Dalton’s rough hand and the other encased by his lips.

You tried to keep a coherent thought, to push back against him but you lacked the mental will due to the rapture spidering through your body. As his mouth left your nipple, the cold air sent shivers through your chest and rippled down your back as his lips savagely placed open mouth kisses along your jawline, nipping at your skin with each release.

Caught up in the feeling you almost blocked out the sound of his belt becoming undone. But as soon as you were aware, the time to react had come to pass. His cock, hard and heavy was pulled out from the layers of fabric and you felt it tap against your inner thigh. You were suddenly hyperaware of how exposed you were and the understanding of what was about to happen next rushed through you.

“W-wait! I don’t, I can’t I~ah! Fuck!”

Before you had the chance to form a coherent thought, his cock entered your seraphic walls and his teeth bit at the skin on your neck. A mark that would surely leave a stain in the aftermath. Having already been overstimulated by the situation itself, the stretch of his cock was horrifically sinful. You couldn’t help the fluttering of your walls as he rocked his length in and out of you at a harrowing pace.

As he finally let go of your neck he huffed out in the intersection of your neck and shoulder. His exhales made your skin humid and left you with another layer of unwanted pleasure. Trying to bring yourself back down to your body, your hand released the binding grip it had on the bedsheets and sought refuge in Dalton’s sweatshirt, something proving to be a mistake.

A low growl erupted from Dalton’s throat and before you could register what was happening, he had pulled himself out of you and manhandled you to get on your hands and knees.

“What made you think that you could touch me, hmm?”

Like a viper his hand webbed itself in your hair, gripping it at the base and pulling your body up. Adrenaline pumping, you were searching for a viable response but came up with nothing but babbles.

“I-I don’t, I don’t know. I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”

He controlled the movements of your head, forcing you to crane your neck and stare at him in his amber orbs one last time. Mocking your apology, he cooed at you.

“Aww, you’re sorry? Why don’t you show me how sorry you are?”

Punctuating his statement by rushing his cock back into your ruined cunt, you cried out at the feeling. He shoved your face back into the bed, his pace now unrelenting and no longer a derivative of pleasure but rather of power. With every thrust you felt the tip of his cock assault your cervix, causing tears to well up in your eyes and dry into the sheets beneath you. It was overwhelming, feeling like all decision was stolen from you.

The only thing that filled the room now were the occasional groans from the figure above you and muffled sobs from yourself. You hated that you could feel the approaching feelings of ecstasy building in your lower stomach. The heat was building and the suffocating squeezes from your gummy walls around his cock were more than enough to alert him to your demise.

“You gonna cum around me, you filthy slut? Enjoyed every second of this didn’t you?”

The guilt you were warding off finally made its way to the forefront of your emotions but you couldn’t find it within yourself to admit that you did, in fact, enjoy all of this. You settled for denial. Denial would save you from the inevitable self reflection you’d have to face.

“No, no no I didn’t! I didn’t enjoy it. I didn-!”

Your body cut you off, your orgasm washing over you reluctantly but comedically in timing. As your body shuddered around him, you heard that same derisive chuckle leave his throat mocking you yet again.

“Keep telling yourself th~aht.”

He pulled himself out of you, spraying his seed across the exposed portion of your back. The warmth felt overt, wicked, and it was something you didn’t want on you. You didn’t have the gall to face the being behind you. Instead, you let your body fall limp against the bed as the being fronting as Dalton stood up and fixed himself back into his clothes. From behind you heard him.

“Say hi to him for me.”

Not expecting a response from you, he left Dalton’s body. His earthly form collapsing on your dorm floor. You didn’t have the strength to turn and help him up as he came to, too busy wrestling with your emotions as tears pooled out of your eyes. You heard your Dalton groan and stand up reaching to turn on the lamp light on his art desk. As the warm light illuminated the room, he turned around silence and shock devastating him as he took in the sight of you.

You tried to quell your sobs, but your body kept shaking them out. Dalton slowly walked over to you trying to survey your body without touching you. When his eyes landed on the alabaster stains that painted your lower back a terrifying realization overcame him.

“Y/n…? Y/n, talk to me.”

The gentle tone was something you missed dearly despite only being gone for such a short amount of time. It comforted you knowing that the worst was over for at least right now. Dalton kneeled on the floor resting his upper body on the side of the bed. You turned your head slowly, still somewhat expecting to meet those hideous yellow eyes but when you saw the gentle and disconcerted brown pupils you were swamped with relief. Tears still were falling across your face, their frequency diminishing.

You gave him a weak smile, a small “hey” leaving your lips. Like cracked porcelain, he wouldn’t dare touch you. He couldn’t break you more than he already had. His tone weak and regretful, he scanned over your fragile body trying to understand how this happened. He let his head fall next to yours, burying his head in sheets.

“What did I do to you?”

#dalton lambert #dalton lambert x reader #dalton lambert fanfic #insidious #insidious the red door #horror smut #dalton lambert smut #insidious fanfic #horror fanfiction #horror imagines #ty simpkins #dalton lambert imagines

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timetodecidedjo · 8 days

Text

The Poolverine Wedding Fic is here ❤️💛

Huge thank you to @avenging-captain for being my beta reader, and just genuinely being so sweet and supportive of my work!

It’s also posted over on my AO3 under I Never Loved A Man (The Way I Love You) by xuaerduobb if you wanna leave some love 🥺

I Never Loved A Man (The Way I Love You)

The air was crisp and filled with the earthy scent of fallen leaves. The sunlight, a vibrant golden amber color, was preparing to set on the day and transition into the evening. Logan felt the cool chill of the wind down his adamantium grafted spine and made a joke in his head about getting cold feet.

It was the evening of his wedding, and minute by minute, it was getting closer and closer to ceremony time. Most of their guests had already arrived and were seated in their mismatched chairs on each side of the aisle, waiting with excitement and anticipation for the happy couple. Everyone looked so nice and dressed up for the occasion, clad in scarves and warm coats to combat the chill of the October air. Logan had decided he wanted to be in full black for the wedding, black suit, black shirt, black tie. His blushing “spouse to be” always said he looked so good in dark colors, minus his iconic yellow suit.

The rolling hills of upstate New York made for such a breathtaking backdrop that Logan couldn’t help but to keep thanking Vanessa over and over for the help finding the perfect venue. Wade had said on so many occasions that it didn’t matter to him where they had the wedding, that he would’ve married Logan Howlett right there in their crummy apartment. Logan knew that he wasn’t kidding, but also knew that Wade deserved to have the perfect day he had always dreamed of.

“Logan, I have the rings, do you have your vows?” Laura asked, pulling Logan back into the present. He nodded and pulled out a folded up piece of paper from his jacket pocket, waving it in front of her. Laura was wearing a floor length black satin dress, gold jewelry and a pair of short heeled nude shoes. Her long hair was pulled back into a messy bun, with a few pieces of hair framing her face. She had a simple makeup look for the day to celebrate her TWO dads.

“You look beautiful, sweetheart,” Logan beamed as he took his daughter’s hand into his own.

She smiled and pulled him into a loving hug, so proud to be a part of their day. She pulled back when Vanessa tapped on her shoulder to alert her that it was almost time, and that everyone needed to get into their positions. Laura gave her father a reassuring smile and followed Vanessa back to the barn on the other side of the lawn where Wade and the rest of the wedding party were waiting.

Logan walked up the aisle to stand at the front of their entire family, smiling and waving at the guests that were there. The sight was so surreal. Never in his 200 years of living did he think that this would be his life, that he would get to experience falling in love and getting married to the person of his dreams.

Wade had asked Colossus to be the officiant for the wedding, and he was there waiting for them at the end of the aisle. Logan reached out to shake the steel man’s cold hand as a thank you again for agreeing to be a part of their special day.

“It is no problem, Logan,” the man made of organic steel replied as he shuffled through the book he needed to read from. “I am very happy for you and Wade.”

Just then, the hired DJ began playing the orchestral music that the bridal party was to walk down the aisle to. Wade had picked a classical version of pov by Ariana Grande, and though Logan was pretty sure he had never heard the song before, he had to admit that it was just as beautiful as the evening had turned out to be. First to come out was Yukio and Ellie, both dressed in similar black dresses to Laura’s. Their floral bouquets were decorated with sunflowers and red roses, a nod to Wade and Logan’s suits.They both had big smiles on their faces as they walked down the aisle to end at their respective spots, Yukio on Wade’s side and Ellie on Logan’s.

Then it was Vanessa and Laura’s turn as the maid of honor and best woman. Vanessa’s long black hair spilled over her shoulder and onto her back, her pale skin contrasting from the black dress she had on. They walked together with their arms linked until they had to separate, Laura standing by her father’s side, and Vanessa waiting for Wade. She looked over at Logan and mouthed, “He can’t wait to see you.”

Next, arguably more the star of the evening than Wade was, Mary Puppins pranced her way down the aisle with a basket of red and yellow flower petals hooked to her back. She ran straight to Logan and hopped up into his arms allowing all of the petals to finally fall out of the basket and onto the ground. She gave Logan quite the stinky kiss before he put her back down where she sat at his feet, like she could finally relax.

At long last, it was time. Logan was about to watch the love of his life walk down the aisle, dressed in his best suit, looking as handsome as ever, and when they’d walk back down said aisle, they’d be husbands. There was a mix of gentle, swirling energy inside of Logan’s abdomen, like his stomach had been doing flips. Before even seeing him, Wade gave him butterflies.

The barn doors opened completely this time, revealing Logan’s future husband and mother in law. Althea, who had been like Wade’s mother figure over the last 10+ years, shuffled her way down the rocky aisle, arguably Wade moreso escorting her. Though she was blind, there had been no one else Wade would’ve wanted to walk with on this special day. It was funny really, because it was kinda like a metaphor, right? Wade, blindly finding his way to the person who would be his soulmate to the altar, the aisle being the time it took for them to get to this day. The writer is hoping that makes sense…

When their eyes met, everyone else faded away, and it was just the two of them. Time had immediately slowed down. The noise, the people, the nerves… it all became a blur as Logan’s full attention shifted to Wade. He could feel his eyes soften and his vision become blurry as they filled with tears. Happy tears. Wade helped Althea to her seat and made his way to the spot next to Logan’s, where he wanted to be for the rest of their lives.

“Hey, Honey Badger,” the merc smiled, looking so incredibly handsome in his all black suit to match. “Or should I say Mr. Logan Howlett-Wilson.”

“Not just yet,” the Wolverine teased, taking his fiance’s hand into his own and kissing it. “I have some things to say to you first.”

They both turned their heads to face Colossus, but stayed in place, hands still intertwined. Wade’s hands were so cold. They always were. Logan made a mental note to send someone for gloves once the ceremony was over.

“Friends and family,” Colossus began, reading from the book in his hands. “We are gathered here today to celebrate the love between these two men, Wade Wilson and Logan Howlett. They are two of my closest friends, and I am so appreciative of their friendship. I have known Wade much longer than I’ve known this Logan, but now I don’t think I could ever know them separately ever again.”

“That’s right,” Wade grinned, still gripping onto Logan’s calloused hands tightly. “I’m not letting you go. Ever.”

Logan shook his head, but couldn’t help but feel a smile creep up onto his face. His cheeks hurt like hell from all the smiling, but it was a good hurt. One of the best hurts he’d felt in a long time.

“It is now time to exchange the vows. Who would like to go first?”

Before Logan could even say Wade, the merc with the mouth was already pulling out the sloppily written notes out of his pocket with one free hand.

“To my Honey Badger, my sweet boy, my Logan:

You know, they say don’t meet your heroes… that most of the time, these idealized versions of people will only set us up for disappointment. People have flaws, imperfections, make mistakes, and sometimes make choices that aren’t always the best. But meeting you, Logan, and getting the chance to fall head over heels, slit my own throat in love with you, has proven all that to be wrong. I did have a glamorized idea of you in my head, and you’ve exceeded it in every way possible. I know that it’s hard for you to see the things that I see in you, but I think I always knew deep down that you were and still are the best Wolverine. You’re the best Logan. Especially for me. I wanna fight with you. I wanna hold you when you’re feeling anxious. I wanna make you breakfast in bed on the weekends, even though I’m always burning the eggs. I wanna make sure you know how loved you are. Most importantly, I wanna make everyone in our apartment building uncomfortable when we’re taking a trip to pound town.”

“You do that already!” Althea called out from her seat in the front row. “The landlord gets at least 10 complaints every week. I know. I’m 7 of them.”

Everyone burst into nervous laughter, except for Althea and Ellie. It wasn’t funny.

Wade looked back down at his vows, and continued on with reciting them, this time not reading from the paper, but looking into Logan’s tired eyes.

“I call you by so many names: Wolvie, Honey Badger, Peanut, Angel Baby, Loverboy, Sweet Cheeks, the list goes on. But you’re also: my protector, my teammate, my best friend, my soulmate. I love you with every cancerous fiber of my being and I’m so excited to spend the rest of eternity with you.”

The emotions that Logan was feeling in that moment, all of them, hit him like a ton of bricks. He was never one to cry or show any emotions really. Other than anger. For so long, it was just anger. But from the moment they had met, Wade was one of the only ones who could ever break down his walls, brick by brick. No matter how hard he tried to hide it, he just couldn’t anymore. One single tear finally fell from his eye and rolled down his cheek. The merc released his grip on Logan’s hand in order to use his thumb to wipe away the wetness. Logan leaned into the touch and smiled softly before pressing a quick kiss onto Wade’s palm.

“Sorry I made you cry, Wolvie,” Wade apologized as he took his hand back and brought it back to Logan’s.

“Wait till you hear his,” Laura whispered with a small smile.

The mutant pulled out his written vows from his jacket pocket and opened them up slowly. This was hard for him. Being vulnerable like this in front of so many people… it was like knocking the wind out of his chest. He felt paralyzed, frozen there in his spot at the altar. Laura pressed a supportive hand to his back, quietly giving him the strength that he needed to say what he needed to say.

“Wade, that day in the bar when you found me drunk, wallowing in my self hatred and filled with so much anger… you literally showed up out of the blue and dragged me back to reality. You reminded me of who I am, who I was always meant to be. You continue to make me a better man every single day, teaching me patience and taking me out of my comfort zone. Wade, you keep me focused on the present and more importantly, our future… and you never make me feel bad about my past. You never stop making me laugh. Even when you’re being the most annoying person on the planet, you’re still making me laugh. You’re the funniest, sweetest, most thoughtful person I’ve ever known. You’re also a bit of a fuckin’ lunatic, but that’s just part of the Wade Wilson charm.”

Again, another laugh from the crowd, even Wade joining in. His eyes were just as glossy as Logan’s were before.

“You do these little things to show me how much you care; things that most people don’t ever see. In the middle of the night when I’m having a bad dream, you help me to wake up and realize that it was nothing but a nightmare. You’re always bringing me back little trinkets from places you travel to for work, and I still have every single one. When we order pizza on the weekends and they put mushrooms on it even though I always tell them not to, you pick them off for me before I ever notice that they’re there. You brought the daughter I never knew I needed into my life, and you love her as much as I do.”

Logan took a small breath so that he could finish his vows, his stomach in knots from all of the emotions running rampant.

“You’re the anchor being of my universe, and I’m so grateful that you made an educated wish two years ago. Our love transcends time and space. It’s a love I never knew I was capable of. It’s a love I never thought I’d ever get to experience. I love you, Wade Wilson.”

Not a dry eye in the house. Classical fucking Logan… swooping in and making a bigger impact on the audience, as always.

“Who has the rings?” Colossus inquired, primarily asking Logan because everyone knew not to allow Wade to keep them in his possession. He could be trusted with getting milk on the way home from a mission or feeding the dog every single night, but when it came to their wedding rings, it was better to be safe than sorry. Laura pulled out a small velvet jewelry bag that contained the rings out of her bouquet and passed it over to Logan. He took the ring he had picked for Wade out of the small bag and placed it onto his ring finger. Being an expert sword fighter, Wade could always keep a steady hand. But now? His body was shaking. He was barely keeping his shit together. It felt like his entire body was vibrating with excitement, anxiety, joy, adoration, desire… Once the ring made its way down his finger, the mutant brought Wade’s hand to his lips to press a kiss onto it.

Logan flipped the small bag over and out plopped the ring Wade had picked out for Logan. It was beautiful. Both rings were. The pair had been specially made out of adamantium and each had one singular garnet gemstone and a yellow sapphire embedded in. Wade had saved up every penny he could to get those rings and did NOT steal them in any way, shape, or form. Got it? Good.

Colossus continued to read from the book he held in his hands, flipping to a particular page.

“These rings represent infinity, signifying your eternal love and bond. It is a visible promise that you are forever devoted to each other through the highs and the lows, the hardships and in prosperity, when the sun shines and when it rains-“

“Hey, big guy,” Wade whispered, giving the steel man his best side eye. “That’s all very sweet, and I love the sentiment, I really do, but I’m dying to kiss this smoking hot, very soon to be completely off the market hunk right here. Finish strong, ‘kay?”

The steel mutant sighed and rubbed his forehead with his palm, closing the book he was reading from in the other.

“I am not really sure if any of this is actually legal due to Logan being from another timeline, but, by the power vested in me by the state of New York, I now pronounce you… married! You may now share a kiss.”

Wade had practically launched himself into Logan in an effort to be as close to him as possible. If body parts happened to rub against each other in the process, that was just good luck. Not for everyone else attending the wedding, but that's neither here nor there. Logan took Wade’s face into his hands and they shared a deep kiss, a familiar warmth consuming both of their mended hearts. It was a kiss that hit both their bodies like a tidal wave, and sent all of their emotions into a frenzy. Every guest broke out in a supportive cheer, and the orchestral music began to play again. When the two men broke away from the kiss, they walked back down the aisle, hand in hand, as newlyweds.

_________

Set against the rustic charm of the old barn on the venue’s property, the wedding reception was this small and cozy atmosphere. There were golden string lights hung up all around the ceiling that gave the inside of the barn just the right amount of glow. It was enough to see one another, but it was dark enough that you could relax and unwind from the evening. Every table was adorned with lanterns and floral arrangements that accompanied the bridal bouquets from the ceremony. There were several fire pits set up outside so that guests could go outside and drink under the stars. The DJ had a steady stream of music pouring out of the speakers, and people were already starting to drink and dance on the makeshift dance floor. It was utterly perfect.

The DJ lowered the volume on the music and started to speak on the microphone.

“I’d like to turn everyone’s attention to the doors at the front of the barn to give a warm welcome to the newlyweds…”

The barn doors opened allowing Logan and Wade to walk in together, hand in hand, all smiles and full of so much joy.

“Please clear the dance floor so these two lovebirds can share their first dance as a married couple.”

The entire barn erupted in applause as the happy couple walked inside and onto the dance floor, people moving out of their way so that they could share their first dance.

Aretha Franklin’s I Never Loved A Man (The Way I Love You) started to play softly from the speakers, the sultry jazz and blues music adding to the coziness of the atmosphere. It was an interesting song choice for sure, but the couple had made quite an interesting pair.

Wade pulled Logan close and wrapped his arms around the older mutant’s waist, the biggest smile permanently fixed onto his face. Logan looked at Wade, his eyes softening, and draped his arms around Wade’s shoulders. They slowly grooved together to the music and took another opportunity to kiss each other, this time a little more risque than it had been back at the ceremony. It was their wedding, damnit, and Wade could NOT be expected to keep his hands or his lips to himself for the rest of the evening.

“You know, I keep waiting to wake up from this dream. This just can’t be my life,” Wade murmured as he danced with his new husband. His husband. His Logan.

“Wow, and you didn’t even say ‘wet dream.’ I’m a little offended. I got all dressed up in this nice suit, let Yukio fix my hair, and you’ve hardly made any inappropriate comments about my ass. I’m even wearing that thong you bought that says ‘eat me.’”

“We’re gonna come back to that last thing, but I’m a married man now. That’s like, major adult-like behavior,” the merc replied back, watching Logan immediately rolling his eyes and laughing at his response.

“Plus, I promised Colossus that I would act appropriately tonight. As soon as he leaves for the mansion though, I’m not gonna stop making inappropriate comments about your ass. I’m gonna say absolutely vulgar and obscene things about it, to be quite honest. And don’t even get me started on the kitty ears you got going on up there,” Wade yapped on, taking his index finger and swirling the little cowlick on top of Logan’s head. “And good choice on the whole monochromatic black look. A callback to 2013’s The Wolverine when you attended Yashida’s funeral? Arguably one of the only good decisions Fox ever made.”

Logan did what he always had to do to get The Merc With a Mouth to shut up and planted another big sloppy kiss onto his lips, successfully getting his message across. Loud and clear. They continued like that for most of the night, swaying together to the music, hands all over one another, drunk off of the bliss they felt just being with each other like this. Married. In love. Soulmates. Forever.

#deadpool #wade wilson #poolverine #deadpool and wolverine #wolverine #logan howlett #deadclaws #marvel #deadpool x wolverine #poolverine fanfic #fanfiction

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nonushu · 1 month

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11:07 am - xmh

genre: fluff [ a/n: fall is coming soon... goodbye summer & HELLO MINGHAO, you own this season, cutie ♪(´▽｀) I WANT TO BE SILLY WITH HAO SO BAD. p.s. i know it's still august ]

hand in hand, a day in autumn, minghao couldn't have it any better.

the park was oceans of fiery reds, burnt oranges, and golden yellows as this season embraced the landscape. he led you along the winding path, the crunching beneath your feet like nature's own band. the crisp air was refreshing, with a hint of earthy musk from the fallen leaves.

minghao, bundled in a cozy scarf and a long black coat, was grinning like a mischievous child. his usually sleek self was present visually, and knowing him, he was probably up to something.

“why do you look like your about to audition for a halloween horror film?” you remarked, kicking a large pile of leaves toward him.

he scoffed, letting go of your hand and playfully shoving you. “what, i can't admire you now?”

you let out a giggle. "no, but you're just smiling weirdly."

minghao lowered his gaze to the leaves in an attempt to shy away, because why wouldn't he be smiling like an idiot while he was with you?

suddenly, a gust of wind swept through the park, sending a flurry of leaves swirling around you. minghao caught a few in his hair, his gaze now meeting yours again in shock.

you stifle your laughter as you watch him try to brush the leaves off. "hao—"

"great," he said, deadpan. "my hair is all dirty now."

you reached out and helped him clear the leaves from his hair, your fingers brushing against his scalp in the process. you hadn't noticed the playful glint in his eyes.

before you could respond to comfort him, he scooped up a handful of leaves and tossed them at you with that same childish grin. the leaves exploded around you as you squealed in surprise.

“oh, it’s so on!” you laughed, grabbing your own pile of leaves and hurling them back at him.

the lively fight erupted into a whirl of colour. minghao ducked and dodged, his coat flaring out like a cape as he moved. the park echoed with your joyful shouts and the crunch of leaves being scattered.

his laughter was infectious as he chased you, making exaggerated leaps to catch you in a shower of leaves. you retaliated with your own well-aimed throws, each pile of leaves landing with a satisfying chomp.

you lost track of minghao for a moment amidst the chaos. when you turned back, he was standing right in front of you, his eyes soft and affectionate. you were still catching your breath, not fully noticing his sudden proximity.

he gently pulled you close, his hands resting on your waist. with a tender smile on his lips, he leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to the tip of your nose.

you blinked in surprise, your heart skipping a beat. “hey—”

"you know, y/n," he chuckled softly, his breath warm against your skin. "this feels like a rom-com more than a horror film,”

you only jokingly roll your eyes at him as you place your arms around his shoulders, pulling him down to face you. "oh yeah? at least we're the stars in it then," you whisper to him.

minghao snorts at this, lowering his head closer to you, his nose touching yours. without thinking, you take this opportunity to peck his nose.

now it's his turn to blink, but that doesn't linger for long before he holds you against him tighter with a chuckle.

love, minghao thinks, much like the changing leaves, has a way of falling into place when you least expect it.

#디에잇 #nonushu fic #minghao x reader #seventeen x reader #minghao x you #seventeen x you #minghao x y/n #seventeen x y/n #minghao imagines #seventeen imagines #minghao fluff #seventeen fluff #minghao fanfic #seventeen fanfic #minghao #the8 #seventeen

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a-court-of-fics-and-errors · 3 months

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Keep Moving Forwards, Part 30

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Azriel x Reader Fic

Summary: After finally deciding to leave your abusive and manipulative mate for good, you find unexpected companionship with Azriel, the Shadowsinger of the Night Court. As you navigate the aftermath of your traumatic relationship, you struggle to understand where the mating bond went wrong and contemplate your path forward, vowing never to return to the past.

Find other parts here: Master List

To follow this fic, follow tag "Keep Moving Forwards Fic" or comment to be tagged in future parts.

Content Warning: This story contains depictions of extreme emotional manipulation and abuse, detailed descriptions of direct physical abuse, and scenes of men hunting women with implied sexual assault. Please read at your own risk.

Word Count: 2.7K

Author's Note: This is a multi-part series. Unlike my previous works, this fanfiction delves deeper than just fluff, exploring complex emotional landscapes. As I navigate this new writing journey, I kindly ask for gentle feedback. The topics addressed are profoundly impactful, touching many lives with diverse experiences. Please be gentle with yourselves and others. Healing is a journey, and everyone processes it differently. Be kind to yourself. Take what resonates, and leave what doesn’t.

Please continue reading, being aware of the above content warnings, ensuring you are in a healthy headspace. Give yourself time to process and be gentle with yourself.

In the days that followed, you did your best to brush off Azriel's lingering looks, rationalizing away the soft touches he gave your shoulders when you seemed nervous, or the small bowls of berries he brought when you appeared too lost in thought to eat. You couldn't let yourself get attached again, and you most certainly wouldn’t allow another person to be harmed because of you, even unintentionally. Each night, Azriel still crawled into bed with you, his warm body pressed against yours as you stared wide-eyed at the moonlit balcony, the gentle glow casting a silver sheen over the room. You’d feel his unconscious hand slide up your midsection until he held you against him, and while you yearned to sneak away to the other side of the bed, you couldn’t help but melt into the warmth he provided.

As the weeks turned into months, summer gracefully gave way to fall. The trees on the surrounding mountains ignited in a breathtaking display of oranges, yellows, and reds, painting a vibrant picture against the crisp, azure sky. The air carried a hint of earthy musk and the sweet decay of fallen leaves. You had started visiting Titania twice a week, giving her a break from the little ones who ran amuck in the house, barging into rooms without a second thought. The once daunting pleasure house, now a warm refuge, had become a second home. You became acquainted with the other residents, many of whom had children of their own, though none had been around during your earlier years with your mother.

Azriel often accompanied you on these visits, doing his best to navigate the admiring glances from both the female and male companions with a mixture of amusement and discomfort. Titania delighted in nudging you about how Azriel followed you like a lost puppy, her red, pointed fingernails tapping against your arm as she teased about the longing looks he cast your way and how he would talk about you to the children. You always rolled your eyes at her comments, though secretly they made your heart flutter.

Back at the House of Wind, the great hall was a hive of activity as preparations for the Autumnal Ball reached their peak. Nesta had taken charge, orchestrating the event with the precision of a general, her frustration mounting as Cassian and Rhysand debated over the shade of burnt orange for the decorations. The grand hall transformed under her meticulous care, wreaths of autumnal leaves strung about the room as though the guests would be dancing beneath a golden canopy. Faelight candles twinkled among the leaves, casting a warm, golden glow over the entire hall.

The Autumnal Ball, you knew, was more than just a lavish party. It was part of a delicate and ongoing effort to mend relations between the Autumn and Night Courts. Tensions had simmered for centuries, rooted in old grievances and power struggles. Eris, the Autumn Court’s heir, had agreed to this event as a gesture of goodwill, Rhysand hoping to bridge the gap and foster a fragile alliance. The symbolism was everywhere: the blending of traditional Autumn Court foods with the Night Court’s celestial touches, the mingling of courtly guests who had once been wary of one another. The ball was a dance of diplomacy as much as it was a celebration, a careful balancing act where every detail mattered.

The preparations had been intense. Nesta had demanded the finest bakers in Velaris learn to craft Autumn Court pastries and savory treats, adding a “Night Court spin” to each. The end result was a delectable spread featuring spiced apple tarts dusted with stardust sugar, warmed brie and cranberry compote, and no shortage of spiked ciders directly from Autumn Court vineyards and orchards, courtesy of Lucien. The scent of freshly baked goods and mulled spices filled the hall, mingling with the faint, earthy aroma of the fall leaves, creating an intoxicating blend.

You spent the afternoon assisting Nesta with the final adjustments—redraping tables that seemed no different to you after each attempt, readjusting punch bowls, and repositioning leaves for a more “rustic look,” as Nesta put it. You hadn’t expected to attend the ball, content with simply being part of the preparations. After all, you were just a guest in the House of Wind with no official standing in the Night Court.

But as the final touches were made, Nesta pulled you aside, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “So, how are you planning to do your hair for the ball?” she asked.

You stuttered, taken aback. “I didn’t realize…I mean, I didn’t think I was invited.”

Nesta’s face softened as realization dawned. “Of course you’re invited,” she said, almost scolding herself. “I’ll have a dress sent up to your room. Just do your hair however you like, and be ready to have some fun tonight.” She flashed you a foxlike smile, her eyes twinkling as she winked and scurried off to handle last-minute details.

—

You sat at your dressing table, wrestling with a particularly stubborn knot in your hair. The door creaked open behind you, and Azriel’s head appeared, his eyes reflecting the soft faelight from the room. You caught his gaze in the mirror as you tugged at the knot, wincing at the unpleasant “schrip” sound of the brush pulling free. Azriel’s face mirrored your grimace.

“Do you need help with that?” he asked gently, stepping into the room.

You sighed, your fingers running through your slightly damp hair. “No, I think I got it.”

Azriel nodded, Just checking in on you. Heard you got blindsided with an invite.”

You rolled your eyes playfully as you managed to smooth out the last of the knots. “A little bit.”

He gave you an easy, albeit apologetic smile. “Mind if I come in?”

You nodded, watching in the mirror as he slipped into the room. The suit he wore was all black, with spirals of sparkling blue embroidery swirling down the lapels, the same signature blue as his siphons. The polished shine of his dress shoes clicked against the floor as he dropped into the sitting chair beside the dressing table, slumping down with a casual grace, his fingers idly massaging his temple.

“Nervous?” he asked, a hint of amusement in his voice.

“Not at all,” you replied, though your voice betrayed you as another knot gave way with a wince.

Azriel chuckled lightly, standing to move behind you. “Your heartbeat’s going a million miles an hour.” You ripped another stubborn knot from your hair. “Want me to take over?”

Reluctantly, you handed him the brush, leaning back slightly as Azriel took it. He began at the ends of your hair, working his way up with gentle, careful strokes. His fingers brushed against your neck, sending a shiver down your spine. “These things,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing, “they’re just posturing.”

You looked at him in the mirror, noting how his focused gaze made his eyes seem softer, more earnest. “Nesta thinks this one’s important,” you replied.

Azriel’s brows lifted slightly as he continued to brush. “They are important. But a lot of it’s just about ruffling feathers and showing off wealth.”

“But we do care, right?” you questioned, your eyes meeting his in the reflection.

His hands paused for a moment as he pondered the question. “We definitely care. But I think there are better ways to handle diplomacy than by throwing parties.”

You quipped, “Is it just because you have to wear a suit and can’t wear your training clothes?”

Azriel’s eyes flicked to your reflection, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. “That’s part of it.” He gave you a gentle bop on the crown of your head with the brush, making you feign a greater deal of pain than it actually caused.

“Thanks,” you said as he handed the brush back to you.

Azriel sighed, settling back into the sitting chair, his knee bobbing up and down. You noticed the anxious energy in the motion, a tell you had come to recognize.

“What do I need to know?” you asked, and Azriel’s brow furrowed in mild confusion. “I mean, about the whole court ball thing,” you clarified.

Azriel shrugged, “Just chat with courtiers. Smile. Shake hands if someone offers. Feign interest in stories that bore you.”

“Is there anyone I should or shouldn’t talk to? Things I should or shouldn’t mention?”

Azriel grinned, “Maybe don’t insult anyone to their face.”

“Wasn’t planning on it, but thanks,” you replied, rising and wandering to the closet. Nesta had brought a dress into your room, wrapped in a dressing gown bag. You hadn’t yet had the heart to unzip it. Running your hands down the front of the bag, you sighed, pulling it from the hanger and trudging into the closet to change.

“Just stay close to me,” Azriel hollered from the room. “I’ll help you through it.”

“I don’t know why I’m going at all,” you called back, letting your robe drop from your shoulders.

“Why wouldn’t you?”

As you unzipped the bag, your breath caught in your throat at the sight of the gown. You exhaled slowly, pulling the dress from the bag and hanging it in front of you. “Just seems like I wouldn’t really need to be there,” you said, stepping into the gown.

“Well, Nesta wants you to come,” Azriel replied.

You slipped your arms into the sleeves, trying unsuccessfully to pull the zipper up behind you. You huffed, stepping out of the closet into the main room. “I need some help,” you said, showing Azriel the zipper you couldn’t reach.

But Azriel didn’t respond immediately. His eyes widened slightly as he took in the sight of you, his mouth agape.

“Too much?” you inquired, glancing down at the iridescent blue silk of the gown. Embedded with small stones that mimicked the night sky, it flowed in a gradient of burnt orange, deep red, and gold as it cascaded to the floor. The bodice, a deep midnight blue, was adorned with delicate embroidered patterns of autumn leaves and moonlit branches in metallic golds and silvers. The sleeves were sheer gauze that clung to your upper arms before billowing down, catching the light like mist.

Azriel blinked, shaking his head as if to clear it. “No, no,” he stammered. “It’s gorgeous. You—you look breathtaking.”

You let out a breathy laugh, feeling a blush rise to your cheeks. “It’s definitely more elaborate than anything I’ve worn before.”

“You make it look effortless,” Azriel replied, his voice soft with admiration.

You peered over your shoulder. “Zip me?”

Azriel quickly moved behind you, his touch gentle as he pulled the zipper up slowly. His eyes traced the small of your back to your shoulder blades, lingering for a moment before meeting your gaze in the mirror.

“I’m glad you like it,” you said, running your fingers through your hair.

Azriel glanced down at his own suit, a wry smile tugging at his lips. “You’ve certainly outshone me.”

You rolled your eyes, moving to sit at the dressing table, pulling on a small necklace of silver moons. Azriel watched you, then suddenly exclaimed, “Wait one second!”

You paused, turning to see him hurrying out of the room, his shoes clicking on the floor. He returned moments later, holding a small jewelry box. “Here,” he said, extending it to you.

You looked between him and the box. “What is it?”

“Just a necklace I think would look nice with the dress.”

You took the box, opening it to reveal a simple silver chain with a crescent moon pendant, hugging a small blue gem similar in hue to Azriel’s siphons. Your mouth dropped slightly. “This is beautiful.”

Azriel smiled, a light blush dusting his cheeks. “I’m glad you like it.”

Shaking your head lightly, you murmured, “I can’t accept this. It’s too much—”

“It’s nothing, just something I’ve had lying around,” Azriel interrupted, though his voice held a note of hesitation.

Not wanting to disappoint him, you smiled up at him. “Thank you,” you whispered.

Azriel’s eyes softened as he helped you with the necklace, his scarred fingers clasping it gently around your neck. The pendant fell against your skin, the blue gem catching the light. His touch lingered on your shoulders for a moment, his eyes meeting yours in the mirror.

“You really do look beautiful,” Azriel noted quietly.

You smiled at him, feeling warmth spread through your chest. “Thank you,” you replied, even more softly.

Azriel seemed to take you in, his gaze filled with pride and tenderness as he saw the transformation in you—the once broken figure now standing strong and radiant. His eyes shimmered with unspoken emotions, reflecting the light of the faelight.

“I should go check on Nesta,” Azriel finally said, “Make sure Cassian is still alive.”

You chuckled softly. “Good plan. I need to finish up anyway.”

Azriel gave you one last smile, his hand resting on your shoulder in a reassuring squeeze. “I’ll come back up in an hour and we can walk down together?”

You nodded, your heart swelling with gratitude and something deeper you couldn’t quite name. He squeezed your shoulder again, his fingers brushing against your hair as he turned to leave, his heels clicking softly down the hall. You looked into the mirror and for the first time in a long while, you almost liked what you saw.

To my consistent, readers, I'm sorry for the lapse in posting yesterday, I've had some family stuff come up that I had to take care of and writing took a bit of a backburner. Hoping to continue to post regularly from here on out! @thatacotargirl @mcuamerica @lilah-asteria @florabelll @fightmedraco @marvelbros-oneshots @mariahoedt @quinzzelx @romantasyreader28 @minnieoo @mysteriouslydeafeningwerewolf @annabethgranger123 @krowiathemythologynerd @scatteredstardustt @romantacyreader28 @caroline-books @slytherintaco @sevikas-whore @sidthedollface2 @405rry @sleepylunarwolf @acourtofbatboydreams @quiettuba @julesofvolterra @skylarkalchemist @darling006 @rhysandorian @loglady00

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cultofdarkwood · 1 month

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If you'd like a fun and silly prompt, Cats of the Cult vs Lanolin. (Or even Leshy vs a Lanolin-high Yellow Cat.)

oh my godddd yes yes. Yarrow, yellow cat, they/them!

Leshycat and narilamb, but its mostly leshy teasing nari. i alsooo wanted to try writing from solely leshy's perspective, which is why there are no visual descriptions :3 unfortunately this means leshy cant see yarrow's HUGE giant kitty cat pupils

The first winter after the seasons had begun to change again was harsh. Unused to the cold weather, the Lamb's flock did what they could to stay warm, huddling against each other in the temple, day and night. The fields withered and died, and those who died succumbed to either chill or hunger.

The second winter was different. Determined to embrace the new seasons as they changed, the Lamb was prepared for winter this time. They stockpiled food in the autumn to prepare for the barren fields. They built better shelters. They dug out all their shearings of wool from over the years, brought them to the cult tailor, and instructed them to create as many warm pieces of clothing as possible.

What nobody was prepared for were the cats.

Leshy remembered what winter was like. Though it was a dim, distant memory, he remembered the chill and cold, the snow and how the beautiful leaves of Darkwood would change color and fall. It wasn't his favorite season, but he found that after all these years, he missed it. He had been enjoying kicking up snow and shoving ice down the robes of the Lamb's followers before the Lamb forcibly confined him to the dining hall, where the cooks of the cult were preparing lunch. Now, he sat in the corner and brooded.

"Leshyyy!" The familiar voice of the first friend he'd made in the Lamb's cult had him turning his head, despite the fact that he could not see. The sound of footsteps and the sudden rush of cold air announced the arrival of Yarrow, and the fluffy cat sat down next to him. He barely said a word before they pushed their whole weight against him.

"Yarrow-!" Leshy said in surprise, his leaves flaring up as the cat began to purr loudly and nuzzle their head into his shoulder. Despite the fact that there were other people around, eating lunch and staying warm and looking at them, Leshy couldn't find it in himself to push the cat away. He huffed, shoving down an involuntary chitter. "What are you doing?"

"Leshyyy," Yarrow purred, grabbing his arm and pushing their head underneath it to snuggle into his side. "You're so soffft."

"Did the Lamb open the drinkhouse when I wasn't paying attention?" Leshy asked with a grin, confusion and amusement creeping into his tree bark voice. "Why are you-"

"Warm," Yarrow said firmly, as though that explained everything. They purred again, nuzzling into Leshy's side. "Smells nice."

The familiar scent of bones and cat fur approached, and Narinder sat down on his other side with a huff. They had hurt each other in the past, but now that Leshy was mortal, Leshy wanted to hold on to the present, and Narinder seemed to feel the same. Leshy tilted his head towards his brother with a questioning sound low in his throat, and Narinder sighed.

"Damned lamb fucked up," was all he said, and Leshy snorted.

"That's not hard for them to do," he said with a grin, poking his brother in the side. Narinder swatted at his hand, and Leshy laughed. "Where are they, anyways? The two of you are hardly two steps apart these days."

"Not important. Every cat in the damn cult is-" Narinder paused. Leshy could almost picture the look of contemplation on his face. "Well. Like the one clinging to you currently."

"Warmmm," Yarrow said helpfully, purring as they nuzzled closer to Leshy.

"Are you not a cat too?" Leshy asked through a creaking chitter, bringing a hand up to run his claws through Yarrow's soft fur. "Why are you not- what's causing this, anyways? Did the Lamb bring back catnip from Darkwood or something?"

Narinder muttered something so quietly that even Leshy's crisp hearing couldn't decipher it. His leaves rustled, and he poked Narinder in the side again. Narinder hissed, but it was Yarrow who answered.

"Wool," they purred, their fur brushing against his leaves as they leaned up to rub their cheek against his. "Leader's wool... smells so nice."

Leshy turned his head and Yarrow's nose pressed into the leaves of his face. The fluffy cat was close, judging by the warm purring breaths he could feel against his mouth. Taking a deep breath, he had to will himself not to bloom, knowing that Narinder would most certainly tease him for it. Instead he carefully felt over Yarrow's clothes, the thick, soft fabric they wore covering most of them up.

"Narinder!" the Lamb called as they entered the dining building. Narinder stiffened up. Leshy immediately put two and two together.

"Are you avoiding them? Are you avoiding them because you don't want to make a fool of yourself?" Leshy laughed, a loud cackle that immediately caught the Lamb's attention, judging by the quick jingle of their bell from across the hall. The worm grinned, ignoring Yarrow's snuggling for the moment. "Damned lamb this, usurper that-"

"Shut up," Narinder hissed, shoving Leshy before getting up and all but fleeing. The Lamb called after him, and followed him as he left the dining building.

"Leshyyy," Yarrow purred, and Leshy turned his attention to the cat that had all but just crawled in his lap.

"Okay," he said, more affection than he'd meant to let out bleeding into his voice. He scooped them up carefully into his arms, laughing as they let out a delighted noise and clung to him. "Let's get you home."

#leshycat #narilamb #cult of the lamb #cult of the lamb fanfic #cotl leshy #cotl narinder #cotl yellow cat #my writing #fic reqs

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frenchkisstheabyss · 11 months

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✶ Pendulum ✶

✶ Pairing: model!hyunjin x model!chubby!fem!reader

✶ Genre: fluff, angst, smut

✶ Summary: You visit Hyunjin on the night of his big art exhibit intent on closing this chapter of your life but he's not willing to let go that easily.

✶ Word Count: 1.2k-ish

✶ Warnings: Hyunjin's a lil bit possessive, fingering, nibbling, marking, and that's about it my loves

✶ A/N: This is part two of a Hyunjin/Minho love triangle fic that has come to emotionally wreck me but I love it and fingers crossed you will too! 🖤 part three is here 🖤

It’s been three weeks since Paris Fashion Week. Three weeks since you fell in love with Minho. Three weeks of falling asleep on FaceTime and sneaking little moments in with each other between your busy schedules. There was no way to anticipate that you’d come to mean this much to each other, your feelings deepening as the days go on.

Saying yes to that date with Minho opened the door to a new way of being cherished that only he can offer. But there remains a thread tied to the corner of your heart, tugging you back to your past. If you’re to step through the door that lies before you, you must first shut the one that lies behind...

And that’s what brings you here...

to an upscale art gallery a half hour before Hyunjin’s first exhibit. Crisp autumn leaves dance along the pavement, a ballet of deep reds and vibrant yellows, as you flee the chilly night air for the warmth of the sleek, rustic gallery. Matte black walls combine with polished cherry wood accents to give you the sense that you’re somewhere you can be comfortable. But not too comfortable.

You can already smell his cologne, cedar and spice, coasting through the air to greet you before he appears at the top of the stairs to your left. “You came,” he says, feigning indifference as he takes his time descending the stairs. After he broke your heart you insisted that he no longer held any power over you. The spell had been broken, or so you thought. So you hoped. But no such thing is true.

Hyunjin moves like a gazelle, his limbs long and graceful. He somehow manages to make the simple act of walking feel like a performance art piece. Tonight he’s pulled his hair back into a high ponytail, a few delicate strands left hanging to frame his now smiling face. Standing before you, he extends an arm, his hand patiently at your service. You slip out of your jacket, tossing it over his arm.

“Well, you said you wanted to talk so I’m here.” Hyunjin laughs, finding amusement in the way you’ve turned the tables. Pretending not to care when you both know you wouldn’t be here if you didn’t. “I was going to take your hand—” he starts, his gaze trailing behind you as you journey deeper into the gallery.

You always thought it a shame that people could never seem to get past his physical appearance long enough to see what’s truly special about him. Surrounded by his art, drawings and paintings he’d once only been brave enough to reveal to you, you can’t help but feel proud of him. “Hwang Hyunjin, jack of all trades” you sigh, stopping to get a closer look at a watercolor painting of butterflies whose wings seemingly melt down the canvas.

Hyunjin joins you, ignoring the painting to admire your silk black dress.

“Jack of all trades, master of none, but I’m still, I guess, better than a master of one.”

“Mmm, I don’t know about that. What’s so bad about a master of one? Maybe the master of one just knows where his heart is.”

The back of his hand strokes your arm, sending an electric current through your body. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice that he’s moved closer. Close enough for the sensation of his breath on your neck to give you shivers when he asks, “Where’s yours?” “Where’s my what?” Your head snaps toward him, the accusatory tone of his voice triggering your defenses.

“Your heart. Do you know where it is?”

“You have no right to ask me that. Not when you broke it.” Every fiber of your being is telling you to run away and Hyunjin must sense it because his arms are around you before you can make your grand escape. “Don’t run from me” he pleads, “Just tell me what I can do to fix it.” You’ve never seen Hyunjin cry before but the moisture pooling in the corners of his eyes is a sure sign that you might.

Nothing can erase the pain that he made you feel yet you can’t deny what he’s done since to ease it. Showing up to Paris Fashion Week alone, refusing to arrive with any woman who wasn't you. Admitting where he went wrong when it came to being honest with you. Apologizing in every language he knows and in a few he doesn't. Professing his love for you openly among your social circle without a care for how sensitive they may think he is.

He’s stepped so far outside of his character that occasionally you had to pinch yourself to make sure his efforts weren’t all in your head. To ask more of him feels almost sadistic. “It’s not you” you admit, lifting some of the pressure from his shoulders, “I’m just, I don’t know. Afraid?”

“Afraid? Of what?”

“Of the piece of my heart that’s still here with you.” You love him still. And you can’t outrun it any more than you could the way your heart ached for Minho when he first touched your hand, comforting you before the red carpet all those nights ago. You hate yourself for it, wishing that you could make these feelings disappear, all the while surrendering to Hyunjin’s kiss.

He sweeps you into it without warning, no longer able to control the need to feel your tongue against his. Kissing him is that first bite of your favorite food after you’ve been deprived of it for far too long. Your senses are aflame, moisture creeping between your thighs as he presses your back to the wall. Hyunjin buries his face between your breasts, his tongue lashing and nibbling as they rise and fall with each bated breath you take.

Your fingers tangle with his hair, the tie that keeps his ponytail secure quickly slipping to the floor. “You have to be mine again,” he says, not asking but telling. Demanding. He raises one of your legs to straddle his hip, pushing a hand between you to knead your pillow soft thighs. “He can’t have you. I won’t let him.” Hyunjin kisses you all over, suckling at your sensitive skin to mark his territory.

Pushing his hips further between your legs, he teases the wetness of your panties, your clit already stiff enough to feel through the thin cotton. “Hyunjin, please—” you beg, not quite knowing what you’re begging for. Less? More? The arch of your back as his fingers dive into your core decides it’s ‘more’. He pulls back, his free hand reaching up to cup your cheek, “Say my name again.”

His fingers pick up speed, your walls spasming with each unforgiving twist of his wrist. “Hyunjin” you whine, gripping his shoulders to keep yourself from crumbling to the ground. He missed seeing you this way. Dressed up all pretty, lipstick smeared across your face, moaning his name. Your juices stream down his wrist, leaving tiny drops of your arousal on his sleeve. He welcomes it. Welcomes anything that’ll leave your scent behind for later. “Mine. Always mine” he repeats, circling your clit with his thumb.

You should’ve never come here. You should’ve stayed as far away from this man as possible. But there’s no use crying over spilled milk. The reality is that you didn’t stay away. Hyunjin called and you came now you’re coming around his fingers, allowing yourself to be claimed once more by the lust filled demons of your past. And, oh, what a glorious one he is.

#hyunjin x you #hyunjin x reader #hyunjin smut #hyunjin angst #chubby reader #stray kids x female reader #stray kids x chubby reader #stray kids x you #plus size reader #stray kids x reader #stray kids smut

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sweetsweetjellybean · 1 year

Text

Forgotten sons, Forgotten dates, Eddie coming to your rescue & Florence.

Masterlist Listen to Disarm Here

What to expect: Second Chance Romance set in 2012 Chicago. Eddie and Steve are in their 30s. Fem!Reader is given a pet name from each of the guys. No other name mentioned. No use of Y/N. No physical description. Reader does have a bit of personality, as I find it nearly impossible to keep her blank for such a long fic. You may find yourself at times making choices that you wouldn't normally make, but I hope you can put that aside and enjoy the ride. Sensitive Content. 18+ Mentions of DV. Smut Guaranteed happy ending. This is my love letter to Eddie Munson.

WC:8554 beta'd by @superblysubpar

The slow roll of red and blue lights reflects on the big picture window in your living room, casting a glare across the TV screen. Shifting from your stomach, your head turns to meet the anxious expressions worn by your parents. The handful of popcorn you were holding falls to the beige-colored carpet where you’d been sprawled.

‘Honey…” your dad’s concerned voice cautions, but it’s too late. You are on your feet, greasy fingerprints transferred to your flannel pajama pants as you walk straight toward the door.

“Honey, don’t. It’s not our business.”

As the door swings open, a gust of frigid November air washes over you. Your bare feet meet an icy sting from the frozen boards of your porch. The staticky voices from police radios crackle through the cold night air, their words blending into an indecipherable hum as they float down the street. The wood underneath your feet turns to the scrape of cement as you leave the warm safety of your home and run down the rain-washed street towards the ambulances and police cruisers. Fallen red and yellow leaves stick to the pavement, their colors vivid in the flashing lights reflecting off the wet road.

Time stretches like a rubber band, lengthening each moment. People in uniforms hurry past, paying you no attention as you call out his name. The smell of damp earth mixes with the acrid scent of diesel from the idling vehicles. Bright lights from inside the house spill out into the dark from the open front door.

“Eddie,” you cry out again as a hand closes over your elbow, tugging you back.

“You can’t be here.”

You struggle, attempting to break free from the policeman's grip as he pulls you away. Your head turns, and your eyes finally find his. Frightened doe eyes peer back from a pale face tinged with blue. Sitting in the back of the ambulance, he looks much smaller, like the world has pressed its full weight down on him. The gray blanket covering his shoulder doesn’t protect him from the shattering of the only life he knows.

“Eddie,” you whisper his name, your voice trembling. He tries to stand, shrugging off the woolen blanket, his hand reaching out as the EMT seals the doors. The ambulance roars to life and speeds away, leaving you alone with the taste of salt from your tears mingling with the cold, crisp air. A gurney rolls past, bearing a figure lying motionless beneath a white sheet. Only a portion of her face is visible, her features obscured by a patchwork of black and blues, her dark hair falling to the side like a shroud.

"I've got her."

Your dad's strong voice breaks through the chaos as he sweeps you up from the policeman's grip. He holds you close, carrying you away like he did when you were much younger, your face buried in his shoulder, tears dampening the fabric of his jacket. The world blurs as his steps bring you closer to home. You cry for the boy who will face the rest of this world alone.

“Egg-white omelet with tomatoes, mushrooms, and onions. No spinach. And I’ll have a side of bacon, very crispy but not blackened,” Nancy says, handing her menu to the waiter before shifting her eyes toward you.

“Two eggs over easy, please–avocado toast and the fruit salad.”

“I’ll do the brioche french toast with the salted caramel and bananas. And extra whipped cream, please. Oh, and a side of sausage links.”

“What?” Robin asks after the waiter has left. “I’m hungry.”

“We just worked out,” Nancy scolds.

“I did hot yoga. I need to replenish,” Robin explains, raising a mug of tea to her lips.

After moving here, a night out always ended with breakfast at The Friendly Toast, welcoming the sun as it rose over the city. As habits and routines changed, it evolved into a standing brunch for just the ladies after morning gym sessions. The diner’s retro black and white flooring and red vinyl upholstered seating still bears the same traces of syrup as it did all those years ago, but the food is good, and the wait is never long.

"Was it the hot yoga or you're Saturday night with Taylor," you tease, earning a dreamy smile from a pink-cheeked Robin.

"Yoga actually wasn't that hot this morning," Robin admits, biting her lip, reaching for the creamer pitcher at the center of the Formica table.

Now that you all have a bit more cash to spare, Nancy leans towards the idea of brunching in a bougier spot in your shared Gold Coast neighborhood, but Robin is a stickler for traditions. The charm of Nancy Sinatra playing over the speakers and the selection of boozy milkshakes are what win your vote.

The food arrives quickly this morning. “Three hot plates for three hot ladies,” the waiter winks as he delivers generous portions on the ceramic oval plates. The smoky scent of bacon mixed with the sweetness of caramel. He pulls a silver canister from his apron pocket, giving Robin’s dish an extra squirt of whipped cream.

“Oh, he’s getting a very good tip,” Robin says, placing her napkin in her lap.

Laughing, you pick up your fork and break the yolk, letting the soft yellow drip onto the smashed avocado. Nancy rolls her eyes and picks up her beeping phone.

"No phones," Robin chides around a mouth full of French toast.

"Sorry," Nancy says, tapping out a quick reply before placing her phone face down on the table, "My brother is driving everyone crazy.” She unwraps her silverware before continuing, “He wants us all to come to Florida for Christmas since it will be the first one in their new house, but Hawkins is so much easier for everyone. Holly is still in school, and Jonathan doesn’t want to take that much time off from work.”

“Sounds like Steve.” Your eyebrow lifts as you take a bite.

“Steve only works so hard because he wants to take care of you,” Robin says, pointing her fork in your direction.

“He adores you,” Nancy agrees, “You're lucky.”

“I know.” You pick at your eggs. It’s moments like this that make it clear they’ll always be Steve’s friends first.

“Did you get the Bulls tickets for his birthday?” Nancy asks, before picking up a piece of bacon with her fingers and biting into it with an audible crunch.

“I ordered them last week,” you tell her, taking a bite of pineapple.

“I hope you got extra,” Robin says, dabbing some whipped cream from the corner of her mouth with a napkin.

“You're not thinking of going now?” Nancy looks at her, surprised.

“No. Not for me,” Robin says, waving her off, “I’m sure he’ll want to invite Eddie now that he’s back in town.”

You sit up straighter in your chair, just the mention of Eddie's name has tension rippling down your spine. “I got him six tickets. He’ll have three extra to invite whoever he wants,” you say, settling the matter.

“Let me know how much I owe you for me and Jonathan,” Nancy tells you.

“I got it,” you assure her, “Just buy him a foam finger or something.”

“It’s his birthday. You’re really not going?” Robin prods, her voice carrying a note of judgment.

“Not if I can help it. You know I don’t like sports.” It's the same answer as the first time she brought it up, a few weeks ago. “He’ll have more fun with people who appreciate it. I’ll celebrate with him when we’re alone.”

“Say no more,” Nancy says, raising her hands as she looks down at her plate.

“Come on, Nance,” Robin laughs, “You used to celebrate with him in the exact same way.”

“Robin,” Nancy whispers through clenched teeth, darting her eyes toward you.

“I don’t care, Nance. It’s ancient history,” you chuckle. Steve’s high school relationship with her ended with a lot of heartache, but they obviously weren’t right for each other. The friendship that they share today is different from his and Robin's. She understands the pressure that he's under.

“I’ve always wanted to know,” Robin says, her eyes glinting with mischief, “Who is better, Steve or Jonathan?”

“Don’t answer that,” you chuckle, patting Nancy’s hand as her face cycles through several shades of pink.

“I won’t,” she glares at Robin. “Oh, wait. I don’t owe you,” she says, turning back to you and shifting the conversation, “You owe me. I can’t believe you scooped us on Eddie’s studio opening.”

Sighing heavily, you fill your mouth with a big bite of your breakfast, but the taste is off now. This story is a relentless storm cloud, always hovering, disrupting the peace. He's only been here a week and here's another argument. Hurricane Eddie. He must be pleased, relishing the storm he's brought into your life.

“Spectrum doesn’t even write about music,” Robin points out with a slice of banana at the end of her fork.

“It would have been a great piece for Chicago Lifestyles. We even could have hyped it up on an episode of Chronicle,” she complains, mentioning the human interest show that Spectrum runs profiling things happening in the city. “I’m the one that organized his welcome night, and this is the thanks I get.”

“Don’t look at me." You raise your hands in front of you.

“Why did he tell you and not me that he was moving here?” Robin adds her own touch of gripping. “I should have been in charge of that.”

“Because then it wouldn’t have been a surprise,” Nancy tells her, “You’ve never been able to keep a secret.”

“But you’re very pretty,” you chuckle, diffusing the situation.

“Thank you. I am,” she responds, swirling her last bite in caramel before popping it into her mouth.

Your laughter blends with the background din of conversation and the gentle clinking of silverware as you savor the last bites of your meal. When the check arrives, Nancy insists on covering the bill, urging you to put your share toward the cost of Steve's tickets, and Robin leaves behind the promised very generous tip. With your plates cleared and goodbyes exchanged, the three of you leave the crowded restaurant.

As you trail behind Robin and Nancy, your phone starts vibrating with an incoming call. Fumbling through the pockets of the jacket you're carrying, you step out onto the bustling sidewalk, teeming with people entering and exiting the diner. Lost in distraction, you collide head-on with a solid chest. Strong hands instinctively grasp your biceps, preventing you from stumbling further. As your gaze lifts, you're met with the chestnut eyes that have been the wind, stirring up your world.

“Whoa. Careful, doll,” he says, surprise lacing his tone.

“What are you doing here?” You demand.

Flecks of gray paint pepper the tangle of dark curls pushed back from his face, joining the streaks and spatters covering his ripped jeans and a long-sleeved white tee, his wide eyes drinking you in.

“He’s meeting me,” Robin says, appearing beside you. “I’m taking him to meet an artist he’s commissioning. See, I can keep a secret.”

He’s still holding you, his eyes locked with yours, each ridge of his fingertips searing into your skin, the pressure of grip alternating like he’s reluctant to let you go.

“I’m late,” you murmur, pulling away from his touch and turning in the opposite direction to walk down the road toward your car.

"I’ll be right back,” he tells Robin before his footsteps echo on the sidewalk behind you. He waits until the restaurant is just out of sight.

“Doll-”

Keeping your pace purposeful, you push past people heading in the opposite direction, feigning deafness to his voice amidst the sound of traffic.

“Doll, just wait,” his hand brushes your elbow, but you spin before he can secure a grip. “Jesus. Will you give me a minute,” he mutters, frustration etching lines on his forehead as he rakes his hand through his hair.

“What do you want?” You ask, cradling your jacket closer to your chest.

“I had no idea you were here. I wasn’t trying to ambush you back there,” he tries to explain.

“It’s fine, Eddie.” Your eyes glance at the people passing around you. “You made it perfectly clear you’re going to go wherever you like.”

His tongue peeks out, wetting his top lip as he shakes his head. “Look, I wanted to tell you I don’t want you to do the interview.”

“Wow, okay.” Your eyes scrunch as the sting of rejection overpowers the butterflies filling your stomach.

“No,” he winces at his choice of words. “I want you too.”

“You’re giving me whiplash here.” You finally meet his gaze.

“What I’m trying to say is that I want to see you. Talk to you, but I don’t want you doing this interview hating me because you were forced into it.”

“It’s a little late for that-”

“No. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable. I can tell them…I can say I changed my mind.” His words carry a weight of earnestness, a sincerity that chips at the wall you’ve built between you. The instinct not to trust him, to remember all the times he’s let you down, wars with the truth in his eyes, begging you for acceptance.

“We are both professionals. I can write it.” Your foot taps a quick rhythm against the pavement, as your face stays blank with defiance.

“If you’re sure...” he trails off, his eyes burning into yours as he waits for your answer.

The words form and reform on the tip of your tongue until the truth slips past, “I don’t hate you, Eddie,” you admit just above a whisper.

“Well, that’s something,” he murmurs, searching your face.

The buzzing from your pocket resumes as the world shifts back into focus, breaking through the momentary understanding.

“I’ve got to go,” you tell him, motioning towards your car. “The magazine will call and set something up soon.”

He blows out a breath as his shoulders lower. “I guess I’ll see ya round then,” he says, shoving his hands in his pockets.

You nod, turning in the direction of your car, leaving him standing on the sidewalk to watch you walk away, the city filling the space between you.

Steve’s assistant is at his desk, fingers flying across the keyboard as he speaks into a headset. With a pleasant smile and a wave, you pass by him, pausing at the double doors to knock once under the brass nameplate reading Harrington. You turn the knob without waiting for a response. Steve is seated behind his immaculate metal and glass-topped desk, not a paper out of place. The floor-to-ceiling windows behind him frame a breathtaking view of the city's skyline while the afternoon sun casts long shadows across the plush beige carpeting.

"Damn." He pauses with his coffee cup suspended halfway to his mouth, eyes roaming up and down your body. ‘Someone's a lucky guy.”

Biting your lip, his compliment has a smile lifting your cheeks. The velvet blazer covering over your shoulders crowns the plunging black silk tank you put on this morning. Its lacy edges trace the curves of your breasts, while your faux leather pants and ankle boots make your legs look miles long and hug your curves just right.

“Yeah, well, big assignment today,” you reply, running your fingertips along the edge of his desk.

In the past six years at Stax, you've delved into Ozzy's addiction, engaged Thom Yorke about climate change, and held the hand of a teary-eyed Taylor Swift as she cried over her ex. Your words have canonized the music that has woven the fabric of our culture. Eddie Muson is going to see you're not the same girl with stars in her eyes and headphones pressed to her ears.

Steve’s brow furrows, etched with a deep V. "I was talking about me. Date night tonight, or did you forget?"

The blood drains from your face as you respond with a forced smile, "Of course, I didn't forget." The lie tastes bitter in your mouth. “I always want to look pretty for you.” Spinning his chair, your knees find their place on either side of his thighs as you straddle his lap. Your fingers gripping his starched collar. The notes of sandalwood from his cologne hit your nose, mixing with the scent of coffee. His features soften as his hands glide to your hips, and you tip your head and press your lips to his. “We’re meeting Robin’s new girlfriend tonight, right?”

“Taylor,” he confirms with a nod. “You’ll like her. She paints naked while listening to Jane's Addiction.”

“And how do you know this?” You laugh, your lips meeting his for the second time.

“I met her the other day when I took Robin to lunch.”

“Ahh," you respond with a playful grin, your thumb tracing along the stubble that lines his jaw. "That explains it."

“So, just an hour at the gallery, okay? We’ll have a drink and say hello-”

“If Robin lets us go,” you interrupt.

“Just an hour,” he reiterates, “Then I’m taking you to dinner alone. And we’ll go home for dessert,” he promises as his lips find their way to your neck.

“Hmm. Where are you taking me?” You ask as your eyes flutter closed.

"I'm not sure," he mumbles against your neck, “My assistant booked the reservation.” His lips trail lower, his grip tightening as his phone suddenly dances across the glass surface of his desk, its baseball jingle shattering the moment.

He picks up the phone, checking the number before setting it back down. “I’ll call them back,” he says absently before turning back to you. “Not that I’m not happy to see you, but I have a conference in fifteen minutes. What are you doing here, Ace?” He asks, his eyes glancing towards the desktop screen that has been chiming with incoming emails.

“I’m meeting Jonathan. He’s driving over to CursedSound,” you say, climbing off him. “Thought I’d come say hi before I left.”

"Okay, you can tell me about it tonight," he responds, his tone distracted, as if he might not have truly registered your reply. He adjusts his glasses before refocusing his attention on the screen.

“Alright.” The clacking of his keyboard drowns out your quiet tone. You smooth out your shirt, sensing that you’ve been dismissed. He squints behind his glasses, tugging a handful of hair. Worry nags at the edges of your thoughts–he’s pushing himself too hard.

“See you tonight,” you call over your shoulder as you leave his office, not bothering to wait for the response that won’t come.

"All set?" Jonathan asks as he slides behind the wheel of his Volvo XC, his camera equipment already secured neatly in the back.

"Yup," you reply, clicking your seatbelt into place and settling into the plush leather seat.

"You know you didn’t have to come today," he comments as he maneuvers onto the bustling streets of the Loop, navigating the notorious Chicago traffic. "I’m just taking a few shots of the inside before it’s all put together and maybe a few portraits for the digital content."

"Yeah, I know.” You glance at him, offering a warm smile. "But I wanted to run through my outline for the series with him so he can be fully prepared," you explain, pulling your phone from your pocket and opening your email.

Eddie hadn’t reached out or texted once since the diner. The clock ticked slowly all week long, surrounded by magazine articles and album inserts, piecing together clues about what Eddie had been doing for the last eleven years while your outline came together, his silence crawling under your skin like a nagging itch. Maybe press for the studio had been all he was after, and his interest after all this time had nothing to do with wanting to see you again. Well, this time, he doesn’t get to dictate the terms, to decide if you’re useful or if you should be discarded like a day-old newspaper. Given the circumstances, showing up uninvited and unannounced seems fair.

After circling the block once, Jonathan finds a space to park across the street from the old brewery.

"Is this it?" You ask, using a hand placed over your brow to shield your eyes from the sun.

The older building stands out amidst the sleek, modern high-rises that dominate the commercialized neighborhood. Its rough limestone-clad facade wears the scars of time, with colorful graffiti adorning any surfaces within arm's reach of the fire escapes and a rather questionable-looking bodega with covered windows attached to the corner. However, the copper-framed bay windows gleam with a warm, aged patina, and the asymmetrical turrets, adorned with stamped rosettes and scallop patterns, give it a soul hiding beneath the urban decay—very Eddie.

"I wonder how much he’s paying to rent for this place?" You mumble.

"I think he bought it," Jonathan says, coming up beside you, weighted down with bags full of equipment.

You follow Jonathan around the corner to a rusted metal door adjacent to a brushed steel sign displaying the CursedSound Recordings name and logo, securely affixed to the brick wall. He presses the buzzer next to the door, and a screeching bell reverberates from inside. Metal grinds against metal as the locks release, and the door swings open.

"Right on time, Jon," Eddie greets, his eyes widening when he catches sight of you standing behind Jonathan. Your lips raise into a smirk as you stride past him, catching a whiff of the smoke and leather that cling to his skin as you enter through the open door. The short hallway opens into a bigger space. The heels of your boots clack against the scuffed parquet flooring as you move further into the room. Sofas and chairs covered by sheets surround a custom reception desk in the dimly lit room. Dust motes float in the beams of light that pierce through the rips in the brown paper-covered windows, revealing that this is inside of the bodega.

"This, uh... this will be the lobby," Eddie offers, gesturing vaguely around the room before his fingers rake through the curls at the back of his neck. He’s clad in a pair of expensive jeans that seem tailor-made for him and an open light grey dress shirt with a white tee underneath. His hair and beard are freshly trimmed but not too short, giving off that effortless California cool vibe. He’s grown into himself, carrying a confidence that comes with age and success. He looks good – it's annoying.

His stare prickles on your skin as he blinks at you like maybe you’re really a ghost of his past come to call.

"Is there more?" You ask, your tone haughty.

"Yeah. The studios are upstairs." He nods toward the propped open door, revealing a stairwell behind. He takes one of the heavy bags from Jonathan before following him up the stairs. You grip the green-painted metal railing as you climb the grey-bubbled stair treads, pausing at the landing to take in the view of the street. The city moves by at the same blurring pace, unaffected and unaware of the collectives of its inhabitants. Someone should stop and look once in a while.

The door at the top of the stairs leads to the wide hall that smells of drywall and paint. The deep red wall-to-wall carpet, the kind you’d find at a theater, looks new and plush, a contrast to the stark walls primed but not painted. Heavy black doors with the silver letters – A, B, & C denote the entrance to each studio.

Jonathan sets the bag he’s carrying down by his feet and eyes the room. "Mind if I look around?"

"Knock yourself out," Eddie tells him, placing the other bag beside the first. "Studio C is the farthest along."

Jonathan crouches to unzip a bag, pulling a camera from its depths, fitting the strap over his head before he wanders to the first door marked A and lets himself in.

"Didn’t expect to see you here today, doll. You aren’t on my calendar til next week." Eddie turns to you once Jonathan disappears from sight.

"I came to see what I was working with."

"By all means." He waves you forward.

Moving down the hall, you choose the door on the opposite wall – Studio C. The carpet is different in here, a rich velvet blue. The glass wall that is already in place reveals a spacious live room with strips of soundproofing covering half of the walls and more neatly piled on the floor. An isolation booth, where artists can focus on their vocals without distractions, has been framed out but remains unfinished.

"Well, what do you think?" Eddie asks.

An Interesting question. Your eyes wander, exploring the mixing room, where an impressive-looking soundboard remains veiled in plastic. A newly painted mural dominates the entire back wall – graffiti art portraying a massive skull shedding tears made of music notes that cascade onto yellow-bricked path winding through a cityscape. It exudes raw emotion and authenticity, just like the music that will soon resonate within these walls. You can already sense it murmuring from deep within, poised to fill the voids in people's souls, for that's what music does – it's an indelible tattoo on the heart, amplifying both pain and joy. This music – his music, will endure.

Standing in the room's center, you take a slow spin before locking your gaze with Eddie's.

"What a dump."

A deep furrow appears on Eddie's forehead as his lips press into a disapproving line.

"Should I be wearing a hard hat?" You raise your hand above your head and inspect the sturdy ceiling like it might collapse at any moment. "Has a building inspector been out?"

He crosses his arms over his broad chest as his eyes narrow, pausing for a breath as his lips part. Jonathan strolls into the room, unaware of his interruption, surveying the space with a thoughtful expression.

"Nice art. Is this the guy Robin hooked you up with?" He questions Eddie, who remains locked in his scowl.

"Yeah, it is. He’s coming back to do a wall in the lobby," he answers without looking away from you.

"That will look great," Jonathan says, nodding. "I’m going to set up some lights and get a few shots in here."

Eddie waits for Jonathan to wander back into the hall before he crosses the room in three big strides, stopping directly in front of you, closer than what would be considered polite. But this is Eddie, and it’s all part of the game. Your hands move to your hips as you straighten in defiance. The scent of mint on his breath reaches your nose as his index finger barely brushes your skin as he lifts the gold circle and bar necklace that rests at your throat.

"Harrington’s money has sure got you spoiled, princess," he mocks, giving it a light tug, causing the anchor end of the chain to rise up the valley of your breasts. When your eyes flash, his lips pull to the side, twisting in a smirk.

"I make my own money, Eddie." You remove your chain from his hand. "You sure have a lot of opinions about my life, considering you don’t even know me."

"I think I know you, plenty–"

He steps back when Jonathan reappears, bags in tow. He sets them down lightly before casting glances back and forth between the two of you, "Have you gone over your outline?" He asks.

"Not yet," you reply, flashing a sweet smile up at Eddie.

Jonathan clears his throat, growing slightly impatient. "Well, this won't take me long, and I'll be ready to head back. Why don't you go downstairs? I don't want you in my shot."

As you stomp down the stairs behind Eddie, the echo of your boots reverberates off the empty walls, the window glass reflecting an image of the unassured, sad girl you left in Hawkins. He’s wrong. He doesn’t know you or the lengths you’ll go not to be her anymore.

The reception area sits in hushed stillness, broken by the distant hum of traffic outside and the gentle ticking of pipes like a clock counting the seconds. Eddie pulls the sheet covering an orange velour couch, sending a light cloud of construction dust into the air. Without waiting for an invitation, you take a seat at one end of the sofa. He settles next to you, spreading his legs wide and crossing one over his knee, his arm landing on the top of the cushions behind you. He’s sitting too close, the heat of his thigh pressing against yours, the spice of his cologne surrounding you. Close enough to see the light stubble on his jaw as he swallows. You shift forward to the edge of your seat, creating some space between you.

"You can’t even sit next to me anymore?" He asks, his tone a mix of disappointment and irritation.

"I’m sitting next to you right now." you point out, straightening your back further.

"Then relax. Jesus. You used to get mad if there wasn’t a seat for you next to me."

"Well, we’re not in high school anymore, Eddie."

"I’m not talking about high school," he murmurs, looking down at his lap before he raises his eyes to lock with yours.

The first few notes of a song you never wanted to hear again ripple to the surface, dragging up memories that should have remained weighted down in the cold depths of things forgotten. He disarms you so effortlessly, whether with a smile or his words. This was all a big mistake.

"I'm sorry," his fingers encircle your wrist, knowing he crossed a line he shouldn't have. You pull your hand away from his grip, and he quickly changes the subject before you have a chance to stand up and leave. "Did you want to tell me about the article?"

Lips parting, you pause to exhale, the sting slowly dissipating. "My editor…" you clear your throat, reaching into the pocket of your blazer for your phone. "My editor wants a series. There will be three featured articles." You tap on the screen bringing up your notes. Eddie raises his eyebrows and leans in, trying to read over your shoulder, but you angle it away as you continue, "That means I'll need three interviews…will you stop," you say when he tries again to see the screen.

"It's about me. I just want to see it," he argues, leaning further into your space.

"My god, you're like a little kid." Switching the phone to your opposite hand, you hold it at arm's length, "Haven't you grown up at all?"

His lips turn up until his dimples are on full display. "Why would I want to go and do a thing like that?

The exasperated scoff that leaves your throat is accompanied by your eyes rolling to the side.

"Not like you," he admits, his gaze roaming over you from head to toe. "After you interviewed Win Butler, he told me he couldn't have denied you the truth, and I'm beginning to understand why. Harrington’s got good taste. You've only gotten more beautiful."

Your features remain even as a gentle heat rises up your chest. "I'll be sure to pass on your compliments. I'm sure Steve will appreciate it. Three interviews," you say, displaying that number of fingers, dragging his attention back to the matter at hand. “The first will be on your past – early career, your move from Hawkins to LA. Then we'll move on to your present. Why you chose Chicago.The work you're putting into the studio and any projects you have booked when you open." You refer back to your notes, and this time, his eyes don't leave your face, intent on studying you. "The big finale will be the future. Where you see the studio in five years, your predictions on the direction of the industry. "

With a final tap, you show him the mock-up displayed on your screen, "I’m titling it Behind the Mixer: The Past, Present, and Future of Eddie Munson's Cursed Sound." You look up from your phone, your gaze locking with his.

His eyes are hesitant before he breaks your connection to look down at the device in your outstretched hand. "Wow, I'm impressed, doll." A rosy tint colors his cheeks. "It's so professional. Not used to seeing my name printed like I'm somethin'."

"You’ve had plenty of press," you remind him. "What did Rolling Stone call you? The man with the ear for platinum."

"Yeah, that's true. I've been written about before." He looks up, brown eyes burning into yours, your heads now just a few inches apart. "But never by you. They weren't your words."

The weight of his stare is too heavy. You turn your head to look around the room. Liar. The familiar itch prickles beneath your skin.

"I’ve read everything you’ve written," he prattles on as you cross your arms over your chest, your fingernails leaving half moons in the fabric of your jacket.

"I buy a subscription to Stax every year. I get Wayne one, too. Do you know he saves every–"

“Stop, Eddie,” you say, cutting him off. “You don’t need to do this.”

“Do what?” He asks, his brows sinking.

“This.” You wave your hand between you. “Whatever this is. I’m going to write a good story. You’re getting what you want.”

“What I want?” He looks surprised. “You think this is about the article?”

“Isn’t it?”

His mouth parts, words teetering on the edge of his tongue, when Jonathan's footsteps cause the stairs to groan under his weight. "Finished?" Jonathan inquires, "I'd like to wrap up with a few shots of Eddie by the sign."

"We're done," you confirm, slipping your phone back into your pocket.

"No, we're not, doll," Eddie argues, "Actually, you go ahead, Jon. I'll give her a ride home."

"No, you won't." You stand, not sparing him a glance. "I have somewhere else to be."

"We're losing the light," Jonathan laments, camera in hand, gesturing for both of you to follow.

“You got big plans tonight? Sure you aren’t looking for an excuse not to finish our conversation?” Eddie presses, trailing behind you as you step through the side door out onto the street.

“Believe me, it’s definitely finished,” you state, firmness lacing your words, stepping aside to get out of Jonathan's way.

"Just stand in front of the brick," Jonathan directs, "To your left," he motions with his hand.

“And not that it’s any of your business," you let an air of condescension lace your tone, "But I have a date tonight with my fiancée.”

“Relax, Eddie. Don’t look at the camera," Jonathan instructs when Eddie's jaw clenches.

Eddie's thumbs hook into the pockets of his jacket. "Sounds romantic," he snarks. "How long have they been engaged now, Jon? Two years? And we still haven't received a wedding invitation. Someone's having cold feet. My money's on Harrington."

"His name is Jonathan. No one calls him that, Eddie." You cock your hip, crossing your arms.

"I'm sure he would tell me if he minded," Eddie retorts, matching the irritation in your voice.

"I don't care," Jonathan sighs, "Can you just move around a bit and look down."

You narrow your eyes, inspecting Eddie as he gets into position."Did you cut your hair again?"

"I'm a thirty-two-year-old man. Sometimes I do that," he responds, scratching at his beard.

"Tip your chin to the right," Jonathan instructs from behind the camera, the shutter clicking in short bursts.

"Well, it looks stupid."

"Okay, I think I've got it," Jonathan says, lowering the camera. "Jesus, what is it with you two? If I wanted to listen to bickering, I’d go home to Nancy," he complains, with a red face. "Let's go."

The rush of water as it overflows from the upper stone basin into the fountain's pool blends the conversation of the other diners at the 3 Arts Club into the background. The atrium is dimly lit, relying on the massive crystal drop chandeliers cascading golden light and the flickering hurricane lanterns spilling candlelight onto the marble-topped table you're seated at. Steve smiles, holding your gaze as the waitress sets the plates in front of you. Swirls of green in his soft eyes are set off by the towering olive trees behind him, that give off a subtle woody aroma.

“For a minute, I thought we weren't going to make our reservation.” He unwraps his silverware from the cloth napkin and places it in his lap.

“We almost didn’t,” you point out, “I think Robin wanted us to stay and join them after Taylor’s show.”

“I’m glad we didn’t. I want some time alone with you.” He reaches across the table, fingers closing over yours.

“Thank you for bringing me here. This place is really beautiful.” Your gaze sweeps upward toward the towering glass ceiling, where the night sky glows a deep plum hue painted by the lights of the city.

“Is it?” he asks, his eyes locking onto yours, giving your hand a gentle squeeze. “All I see is you.”

Your cheeks warm, a shy smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. “Eat your salad, you charmer.” You roll your eyes before looking up at him from under your lashes.

The side of his mouth lifts as he lets you go to pick up his fork, mixing the shavings of parmesan in with the crips romaine and the delicate bites of chicken. Your phone vibrates against your hip through the pocket of your blazer.

Eddie: What I said had nothing to do with the article.

Without answering, you place your phone on your thigh, picking up your fork to break off a piece of salmon. The honey and black pepper melt on your tongue as you take your first bite.

“What did you think of Taylor?” Steve asks, spearing a few of your truffle fries with his fork and setting them on the edge of his plate.

“You were right. I liked her,” you tell him as a faint buzzing emanates on your thigh.

Eddie: If you would quit running away, I would have told you that in person.

Run away? A knot ties itself in your stomach as you blink down at the message on your screen, only hesitating for a moment before tapping out a reply.

You: I didn't run away. I had something better to do.

"Did you like the blue watercolor of the thistles she did?" He asks as you look up, placing your phone face down on the table.

"It matches the blue of the built-ins in your office. We could get rid of that old chair from your parent's basement. Redo the whole thing." His eyebrows lift hopefully as your phone rattles on the marble.

Eddie: Is that why you're texting me right now because you're busy doing something better?

“You're not touching my chair. My entire office is off-limits. I like it the way it is,” your voice comes out too sharp. Your gaze flickers between Steve and the glowing screen of your phone as you type your response.

You: Good point. An error on my part. Goodnight.

“I can always hang it in the guestroom. Who are you texting?”

His question captures your full attention. “Sorry. It’s for work.” You switch the button at the top to silent and set it back down on the table. “You bought it, didn’t you?” You ask, sinking your fork into a few fries before dipping them in aioli.

His eyes crinkle at the corners as he takes a big bite of his salad, avoiding your question as he chews.

“Steve, the house is going to be a museum to her ex-girlfriends. We’ll be able to give guided tours.”

He laughs, wiping his mouth with his napkin. “Art is an investment. Even my dad agrees.”

“Oh, your dad, huh? I didn’t know he agreed with anything. Can I have a bite of your salad?” Your fork hovers over his plate as you catch the light of your phone screen lighting up out of the corner of your eye.

“Yeah. Go for it.” He pushes his plate closer to you. “How was the salmon?”

“Good. You want some?” You ask around a mouth full of lettuce.

“I’ll try a little,” he says, swapping around your plates as you set your fork aside and pick up your phone.

Eddie: I bet Harrington took you somewhere real fancy. He’s probably hoping it will get him laid.

Your eyes narrow at your screen as your jaw clenches and your heel taps beneath the table.

You: He doesn’t have to hope. Don’t you have anything better to do than annoy me?

The wait for a response is short-lived as an image pops up on your screen. Sockclad feet are propped up on a coffee table beside a take-out box of tacos and a half-drained glass of beer, its foam running down the side. A hazy view of a television screen in the background.

“Is that still work? Who’s texting you?” Steve asks, his eyes speculative as he leans forward and glances at your screen.

“It’s just Eddie,” you dismiss the question with a wave of your hand as you darken the screen. "What about you? How are things with the radio launch?"

He studies your face a moment longer before his features soften, and he answers, "My workload has more than doubled. City Beats has as many divisions as Second City collectively, and I’m overseeing all of it.” His elbows land on the table as his hands tug through his hair. “I’m coordinating with marketing trying to promote it all across the city, and today, Richard called me into his office and said he wants me to meet the sponsors with Ted. Doesn’t think he can handle it on his own. Says I’m more advertiser-friendly.” He uses his fingers to quote the title.

“Can you tell him no?” You reach across the table for his hand. “It’s too much, Steve–for anybody. You've been working like this for months.”

“I can’t. The launch is in a few weeks, then I'll talk to Rich—” He stops mid sentence as his ringtone breaks through the peaceful ambiance. Pulling his phone from his breast pocket, he squints at the screen in the low light, a frown making him look more weary than usual. “I’m sorry, Ace. I need to take this.” He stands, giving your hand an apologetic squeeze before walking towards the entrance. “Hi, Richard. No, you're not disturbing anything…”

As Steve's voice trails off, leaving you on your own in the dimly lit atrium, the room continues to hum with conversations, laughter, and intimacy. You pick up your wine, the cold glass feeling delicate in your fidgety fingers, the crisp acidity of the sauvignon blanc offering little comfort. Dining alone shouldn't feel strange. People do it all the time, relishing their own company as they leisurely turn the pages of books or savor each bite. It's a skill you've yet to master, haunted by an irrational discomfort under the imagined weight of judgmental eyes, a residue of being the girl no one would sit next to in Hawkins. It's absurd, of course, but that old fear lingers, an uninvited companion.

As you reach for your phone, Eddie's name sits at the top of your notifications, and this time, the distraction is welcomed.

Until you read it.

Eddie: I read your album review of Lungs. You really stunk up the page with that one.

You: Lungs by Florence and the Machine? That was two years ago!

Eddie: I told you I read all your work. x

You: And what exactly did you take issue with?

Eddie: You trashed her. You said her vocals were overpowering and meant to cover up mediocre musicians. Said she was an alt Britney Spears.

Your nose scrunches with wince, recalling the words you choose to print.

You: I wrote what I felt at the time.

Eddie: The album sold 3 million copies. Don’t worry, Flo forgave you.

Eddie: Eventually

You: I doubt Florence Welch reads Stax.

Eddie: Well

Eddie: I had a copy.

You: YOU SHOWED IT TO HER!

Fury. Blind, hot, raging fury rolls through your veins. Your hand smacks onto the table with a resounding crack, causing the silverware to clatter and plates to rattle. A few diners stop to look at you, and you give them a bashful smile as heat creeps up your neck.

You: I’m going to hurt you. Slowly.

Eddie: Relax. No need to get kinky. It’s all water under the bridge. I worked on that album, and I intentionally asked for that bold, unapologetic vocal style. It was meant to be raw. It seems like the fans agreed. But, hey, everyone gets it wrong once in a while. Maybe you were on your period or something.

Your fingers dance across the keyboard, a torrent of response surging, ready to pour out, but you restrain the urge to send them – every ugly word remains unsent. His three dots flicker on the screen, and another message swiftly follows.

Eddie: The only reason I remember it was because her album dropped the same week you got engaged. At first, I thought it might be personal, but I wondered why after all these years. Then I realized you were probably far too busy writing Mrs. Harrington with big hearts around it in your diary to be worrying about me.

Words, false as a cracked melody, slip from your fingers with practiced ease, but beneath it all, guilt settles in your chest like a haunting refrain, its weight growing heavier with every truth left unsaid.

You: I don’t remember if I knew you worked on that album.

Eddie: I’m sure you didn’t.

He went down this path searching for something. Unspoken lyrics to a hidden refrain that have long evaded his grasp. Whatever he’s uncovered and what it means to him isn’t clear, but for now, he’s letting you off the hook. Relief sweeps over you like the final notes of a song, the recording skipping and cracking, ushering in something new between you– a tune you haven’t heard before.

Eddie: Thanks for clearing it up. I should let you get back to your date. Steve probably has steam coming out of his ears.

You: He had to take a call.

Eddie: He left you all alone? It’s a good thing I was around then.

Steve approaches the table, his smile painted on but not quite reaching his eyes. You discreetly slip your phone away into your pocket.

"Investors from Tokyo," he explains with a sigh. "Richard wants me on all the calls with them until we launch."

You reach out, your fingers tracing the contours of his stubbled jaw, "You're exhausted, baby."

"I know." He turns into your touch. "I've already paid. We can go if you're ready."

He takes your hand as you rise from the table, leading you through the restaurant and out onto the street. His arm goes around to waist to hold you close as you walk home. His hand occasionally dips lower than your waist as he presses a kiss to your temple. It's easy to take the comfort he offers.

His warm, eager lips meet the sensitive skin of your neck, kissing, nibbling as he pushes you against the inside of your front door, sliding your blazer from your shoulders until it catches on your elbows.

"I thought you were tired," you gasp as his mouth journeys lower, leaving sparks of heat behind. His lips trace the curve of your collarbone, descending to the crest of your breast, where delicate black lace meets flushed skin.

"Not for this." He moves down to one knee, removing your boots one by one. "Never for you." They hit the hardwood with a clatter, their sound reverberating up the stairwell.

He moves back up your body, cursing when he struggles to find the zip at the back of your pants. Your laughter earns his smile as your head rolls against the thick oak door, your fingers searching for purchase on the soft material covering his forearms.

“Steve,” you breathe, your voice a heated whisper, just before his mouth finds yours.

The baseball rounding of the bases blares from his pocket like a hammer shattering glass. He pulls back, breathing hard, closing his eyes as he leans his forehead against yours. The ringing continues, too loud, echoing off the quiet walls of your home. His apologetic eyes lock with yours before he steps back, pulling out the ringing device.

“Fuck.” His knuckles turn white as his grip tightens, Richards's name lighting up on the screen. He holds it a little higher for a moment like he’s preparing to smash it on the ground.

"It's okay, Steve." You move closer to his side. Your hand gently glides down his arm, offering reassurance. "I've got a little work to do anyway. Take your call."

"Yeah?" he questions, his thumb hesitating over the accept button.

"Yeah, go ahead." You smile, giving his arm a squeeze.

Steve answers the call with a hint of annoyance in his tone, "Richard." His voice gradually fades as you make your way down the hallway to the small office you've claimed as your own, tucked away behind the kitchen.

With one hand pushing up the creaking door, your fingers fumble along the wall for the switch to the banker's lamp perched at the corner of your desk. A faint light filters in as the first raindrops ping against the glass, leaving meandering trails down the black-paned windows dominating an entire wall. You approach the peacock-blue shelving that Steve had crafted to house your ever-expanding collection of CDs, records, and books. Running your fingers over the album spines, you find the one you're looking for and slide it out of its protective sleeve.

The mauve vinyl reflects the lamp light as you place it onto the waiting turntable. With a twist of a knob and a careful drop of the needle, the soft crackle emanates from the speakers, filling the room's quiet spaces. A honeyed voice purrs the lyrics as you settle sideways into the old leather chair rescued from your parent's basement. Legs dangling over the patched arm, you reach for the half-smoked joint in the ashtray beside you, lighting in time for the drumbeat to pound out a steady rhythm while the mild burn travels down your throat and into your lungs.

The soft haze reaches your brain, quieting the uncertainty as the scratch of the guitar joins in with the melody. Curls of thick smoke spiral and twirl with your exhale, dancing through the air. You sink deeper into the embrace of the leather, taking a few more deep puffs before returning the burning joint to the ashtray and pulling your phone from your pocket.

You: Yeah, Eddie. It’s a good thing.

AN: Sorry I'm a day late. The holiday weekend kept me busy. I'd love to hear from you. Comments, reblogs, and asks are always welcome and appreciated. I'll be doing some traveling soon, so updates might be affected but I will be writing.

Read Song 4 Remix Here Follow @tornupdates for notifications

Hugs and kisses for all my kittens - Jelly

P.S. To the lovely person who suggested Linger. I can't find your ask because my brain is broken or Tumblr is. I just wanted to know that your song inspired an upcoming scene in chapter 5 that I'm so excited to write. I can't imagine this story without it now. So, extra big thanks.

So everyone keep sending me your song suggestions, please! I promise I'm listening to everyone.

#steve harrington #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #stranger things #steve harrington x reader #eddie munson fanfic #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington smut #stranger things fanfic #torn series #torn #Spotify

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