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sinsofsummers · 1 year

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push & pull

5.7k | din djarin x f!reader

summary: after convincing him to help you hide from the guild, you teach mando how to enjoy himself. this is the way. warnings: smut (duh), 18+, mdni. canon-typical violence, but otherwise it's super canon divergent. din is a touch-starved virgin, soft touches, lap-sitting, the helmet stays on, mask kink, din does lots of whimpering, experienced!reader, mutual masturbation, virginity loss (m), praise kink, creampie, brief aftercare at the end. note: look me in the eye and tell me he wouldn't crumble at the thought of skin-to-skin contact. yeah. you can't. anyways this is so long and so self-indulgent. pls forgive me. if mando takes his helmet off by the end of this, mind ur business this is sooooo not canon. note p.2: i'm so sorry this took so long but i was hungover. also this was not meant to be this long. so count this as a big fat thank you for 1.4k as well as my bday present to you guys (for my bday.) impaired editing i apologize.

With the light of both suns in your eyes, forcing you to blink the spots from your vision, you brushed a hand across your forehead. The dry, dusty atmosphere of Tatooine was no joke, and you scowled under the cloth you'd brought with you to cover your mouth and nose.

"Figures," you mumbled to yourself, looking down to see a small pile of sand building on the tops of your boots, the wind blowing it into place. "Why would anyone choose to live here?"

Of course, you weren't looking for a resident; you were looking for a fugitive. The infamous Mandalorion, no less. You'd been given less-than-satisfactory information on the bounty hunter and the reasons for such a high reward for his capture, but it wasn't like you had much choice than to accept the job. Despite what you told yourself, you did actually need the money.

That was before you'd figured out that everyone else in the Guild had been tasked with the same job, turning a high stakes bounty hunting gig into a near-definite suicide mission. Something you didn't want anything to do with.

But alas, here you stood, practically sinking into the hot Tatooine desert. You had to keep shifting your weight to keep at least one foot above the surface. You never knew when you'd have to make a quick getaway. There were still a handful of Guild members left that presented a challenge to collecting your bounty, and of course they were the most dangerous ones.

You kicked a foot forward and watched the sand shift, cursing the trouble that was inevitably on its way. You'd managed to bribe your way to Tatooine, where the Mandalorian was apparently hiding from the Guild. And if you had found the Mandalorian, there was almost no possibility that the others hadn't found him.

Because, if you were being honest with yourself—the one task you excelled in—being a bounty hunter wasn't exactly something you were good at. In fact, you were far from it. With luck and just enough anxiety to keep your feet moving, you'd floundered your way through three years in the Guild, searching for a way out just as quickly as you'd begged for a way in.

So you'd gotten yourself into this mess. Wasn't that how it normally went, though? Quick decision-making skills weren't necessarily a blessing if the decisions you made would determine your chances of living past thirty (spoiler: the chances were significantly slimmer).

You rubbed the dust out of your eyes once more and saw some movement in the distance, the subtle glint of beskar blinking toward you as it reflected the sunlight. Gotcha, you murmured inwardly. The Mandalorian was here, and you were going to get him. Not to turn him in, no; you held no loyalty to the Guild and its cult-like policies.

This job was an escape mission. If he could stay hidden, maybe he had room for one more. You'd cut a deal.

There had to be something you could offer him, if not your skills in combat, or stealth, or—

Or simply human mobility, you groaned inwardly as you felt your ankle roll underneath you, the sand softer than you'd anticipated. It'll be a good day when I leave this damn place.

—

It was a wonder that the two of you had survived. You'd hardly gotten the chance to give your proposal before he was aiming his blaster at you, and then at the Guild members that showed up in droves behind you. It was all you could do to get out of the way, knowing you'd be hopeless in the fight.

Now, with their bodies scattered around your feet, the Mandalorian standing a few feet from you with his chest heaving, and his beloved ship somehow still functional, you had your chance.

"You're not...very good at this," he said, the helmet masking his voice in a way that made it scratch along the insides of your ears as it traveled to your brain. "You do know that?" he asked, but it sounded more like an accidental insult than a real question.

You threw your hands up, letting them fall heavily to your sides. "Yeah, I told you that," you scoffed. "That's why I'm asking to go with you. Wherever you're headed."

His head tilted, the beskar shining in the setting suns, and you wondered what his eyes looked like under that helmet. Would they be sparkling with mirth or lined with mockery?

"I thought you were kidding," he said sheepishly, shifting his weight. "To get me to underestimate you." He looked like the picture of careful relaxation, although his blaster was still held tightly in both hands, poised in case he needed to aim and fire.

You couldn't help the exasperation in your tone as you lifted your head to the sky, squeezing your eyes shut and placing a curled fist over your eyes. "Why would I do that when I don't want to turn you in?"

He didn't answer.

"You know that there's only two ways out of this, right?" He still didn't answer you, just held his blaster taut and his head tilted to the side, so you continued. "You killed every Guild member that's left. Now it's just you and I. If I don't bring you in—which I'm not exactly dying to do—those rich fucks that are more powerful than us are gonna come find us."

"Find you," he corrected. "Why would I want to add another target to my ship?"

You shrugged. "Yeah, they probably will. But that's only part of the first option. Either they come for me, and you leave me here, and I die—also something I'm not particularly thrilled to think about—or the two of us..." you gestured with your hands to imitate the pair of you getting on the Razor Crest and flying away from Tatooine and its dusty expanse of a landscape.

"Could be a third option," he said quietly, "if you think about it." He lifted his blaster until it was lined up with your chest. "I might just kill you and cut my losses."

Fear might have struck you, but you didn't have the energy to entertain the panic unspooling in your chest. "That wouldn't be very humanitarian of you. Besides," you insisted, hands lifting to portray the image of surrender, "I'm light. I'm quiet. I won't stay with you longer than I need to. Once you get me off this planet, I'll find a place for you to drop me off."

He didn't answer for a moment.

"Literally," you pushed once more, "you can open the back door and push me out for all I care. I just want out of the Guild and all their dumb shit."

You'd known Mandalorians to be quiet, pious, and ruthless, but something about the way his helmet betrayed no hint to what he was thinking or how he might respond...it made you more anxious than you'd ever been in your life. Finally, he spoke, his voice calm. "Well...you're not coming with me. Ship's full."

"Your ship?" you said, incredulous. "That thing would be gone without me."

"Damn luck, that was." His voice had gone hard, but his body was still.

This was...partially true. Your mind flashed with a memory of the way you'd accidentally pulled the trigger on one of your blasters, effectively stunning the last Guild member who'd been attempting to strap explosives to the hull of the Crest. It was the only good thing that you'd done all day.

You curled your lip, annoyance rippling off you in waves. Lifting a middle finger in front of the helmet, you scowled. Hope he can see this under all that beskar, you snarled inwardly. "Still counts."

With a soft huff that you could hear come from under his helmet, the Mandalorian lowered his blaster. "One jump into hyperspace. The first little space rock that's big enough to stand on—"

"Perfect," you interrupted firmly. "I'll be out of you...armor...soon enough."

—

You'd missed your stop about three years ago. One jump into hyperspace had turned into four, and then ten, and...now you had your own spot to rest your head at night on the Razor Crest.

On that first day, you hadn't known the Mandalorian—"Din Djarin," he'd introduced himself reluctantly one day—was still traveling with Grogu, the sweet child that had begun his journey across the galaxy, hiding from the Guild. But you'd quickly decided it was nice to have another partner in crime, to interact with whenever Din was in the middle of one of his quiet days.

As the days had turned into months, and subsequently into years, the inability to meet Din face-to-face had become less frustrating, although sometimes you wished you could sneak a glance at his hands, or his wrists, or something that might resemble the human underneath the armor.

Once in awhile, deliciously, you could tilt your head just the right way and look forward at him when he was in the cockpit, his helmet pulling away from the cloth under his armor. Between helmet and armor, a sliver of golden skin would glimmer back at you, just begging to be touched. Of course, you never gave in to your silent desires.

This was not the Mandalorian way; you knew this well. Even when you felt his head turned toward you, even when you were sure his hands were reaching for you when you needed his help climbing somewhere, you kept your distance.

Well, for as long as you could. Until he forced your hand.

It wasn't long before you were unable to keep your hands away from him; going up and down the ladder on the Crest, or climbing over the occasional boulder on the routes you walked along when forced to take a respite on an unknown planet. His gloves were always rough in your grip, but you couldn't ignore the way his hands seemed to squeeze yours, tighter than might have been necessary.

And you'd begun letting your hands linger on the beskar of his armor for moments longer than you should—his helmet, tracing the indented curves of the spot where his cheekbones rested underneath, or on his chestplate, where you swore you could feel him lean into you, as if pressing your hands closer and closer to his skin beneath the armor.

You stood beside him as he sat in the chair in the cockpit, guiding the Razor Crest through the galaxy once more, aiming for some undisclosed location he'd neglected to tell you. He usually did things like that; you'd learned not to be offended by his unbreakable instinct to keep things to himself.

It hadn't occurred to you just how long he'd been wearing that helmet until you looked toward him again and noticed the soft curl of a few brown strands of hair that crept from the edges, kissing the back of his neck. They were short strands, but they were long enough to wink up at you as they curled around each other, begging to be touched.

"Din?" you asked, hoping to distract yourself from the thought.

He didn't look at you, but he tilted his head in your direction, just a centimeter. It was enough.

"Why'd you let me stay with you?" you gripped your hands together, as if they had a mind of their own and couldn't be trusted to remain at your sides. "I was horrible at any aspect of being a bounty hunter."

You were used to the way that it always took him a few seconds to answer, coming up with an evenly-expressed response. This, of course, gave you more time to stare at the tendrils spilling from the edges of his helmet.

"You were a risk," he admitted with a shrug, the helmet (of course) not betrayed anything. His voice was calm, even as he continued softly. "I have a particular...proclivity for picking up foundlings," he said with a tilt of his head toward Grogu, who cooed at the mention of him.

You lifted an eyebrow. "I'm not a foundling, though."

If you could have seen his eyes, you were almost positive that they'd be giving you a look that said, are you sure? Instead, he only spoke in his perpetually smooth voice. "You were lost, though, mesh'la."

You still weren't sure what each word in Mando'a meant—he'd been dropping a few words here and there, as if he knew you couldn't interpret them—but you blushed all the same. Before you knew it, your hands were releasing their grip on one another and reaching up to comb through the curls at the base of his neck.

They were softer than you'd imagined; smooth and thick in your grip. "Alright," you said gently, "maybe I was. I never got to thank you, you know."

Your hands were moving on their accord now, silently twirling the curls around the tips of your fingers. You were used to his silent, immobile exterior, so you didn't think he'd be able to feel the way you pressed your hand to the back of his neck. He'd never said anything before that gave the impression that he was aware of your ministrations, so when he leaned back into your touch then, something strong and addiction bloomed in your gut.

When he spoke, you were surprised to hear how shaky his voice was. After three years of hearing nothing but steady syllables fall from his masked lips, you nearly flinched at the stutter in his voice.

"Thank me?" he said quietly. "For..." you could have sworn you felt his heartbeat flutter rapidly in his neck when he trailed off. "For what?"

You pulled your hand away, pretending not to notice the way he shuddered at the loss of touch, his shoulders slumping as if in a pained relaxation. You hid your smirk. "You're not seriously asking that, right? Without you, I'd probably be dead by now." Or worse, you reflected with a quiet pang in your chest.

Din's response was quick this time, an unusual—but not unwelcome—surprise. "And without your perfectly timed luck, I might be without a ship." His voice was thick, trembling with something that might have sounded like desire had it been someone else speaking.

You didn't even think Din had the capacity to know something as heavy as desire. Well, not that he was incapable of feeling desire, just...you'd never thought about what he might do if he did feel it. Would he shove the temptations down, destined to die in the corners of his mind and body?

Your cheeks warmed at your next thought. Perhaps he took care of it himself in the dead of night on the Razor Crest, or on those mysteriously long patrol walks that he insisted on doing alone.

"Yeah, well..." your answer was pitiful and you knew it. But you were too busy looking at the way his body was slumped in his seat, facing forward despite every limb beginning to turn toward you, as if you were a magnetic beacon.

His fingers twitched in his gloves, angling toward you just as his knees began to do the same thing. "Will you..." he trailed off, clearing his throat awkwardly. "Mesh'la," he breathed, and he leaned to the side, as if his shoulder was chasing your touch. "Put it back."

You were going to ask what he meant, but you didn't have to. Even with his helmet on, you could practically see the pleading in his body language. Here he was, a devout Mandalorian, begging you to put your hands back on him.

"Please," he said quietly, almost a question. It sounded so unlike him that you wondered briefly if he'd been killed and replaced with an imposter. But by the way that his hand trembled as he took his focus away from flying the Crest and moved it toward you...this was Din.

"You...okay?" you asked, but you obliged his request in return, replacing your hand at the base of his neck. You watched in an unfurling dizzying sense of satisfaction as he reached up his own gloved hand to cover yours, squeezing it gently. "Din," you started, but he shook his head.

"I've never disobeyed the Way of the Mandalore," he said, his voice muffled under the mask. You strained your eyes, wishing you could see beneath the beskar. "I've never wanted to. Not before..." he brought your hand around to rest on his chestplate, and you could feel the pressure of his chest leaning into your touch. "Not before I knew what it might feel like to want someone like this."

Your eyes widened, but you didn't pull your hand away. "You...what?"

His head tilted down. "For once, I don't know how to manage this." He stood up, and suddenly he was towering over you, the cloth under his armor making your fingers itch to tear it off. "How do I manage this?"

"I..." you couldn't hide your shock. "I don't know. It's...isn't it against your religion? It's not the Way."

Din shook his head. "No, it's not." He spread his hand down your wrist and extended it toward your own chest, the leather of his glove seeping into your skin. "But I've also never told anyone my name. Never heard it spoken since I was a child."

You swallowed roughly. "So?"

He huffed a chuckle. Lifting your hands to his helmet, he let your fingers find the divots of the beskar. You didn't miss the way his chest shuddered with a stuttering breath at your touch. "So," he said, "to hell with the Way. For tonight, at least. I need to know you in every way I wish I could."

Such a harrowing request, given the circumstances. But you couldn't stop your hands from tracing the lines of his masked face. "Din..."

"Please." His voice cracked over the single syllable, and it was all you needed.

To hell with the Way, your thoughts echoed his words, and you nodded softly. "Alright," you acquiesced. With one look down, you saw the tent growing in his pants, sending a spike of desire down your spine, settling in your core. "How'll you have me?" you asked.

He let out a soft noise that sounded like a whimper. "Any way that I can," he choked out, his hand returning to your wrist and enclosing it in his grip. "I'll have you any way you'll have me."

You could hardly speak, so you didn't. With a gentle nudge, you pushed him back into his seat. When he sat back, his legs fell open; there was an inviting space between them.

Standing in the spot, just inches from his face, you stared into the black mass of his helmet, hoping you'd get a glimpse of his face. Of course, you knew he would only go as far as he wanted to. If the mask was destined to remain, then...so be it.

With your eyes on his, you moved his hands to your waist, pressing them to your skin and enjoying the feeling of his leather against your body.

He shook his head. "Take them off," he said, again with that whimpering voice. "Please."

You nodded wordlessly and shed his hands of the barriers, heat pooling in your core at the sight of long, thick fingers, his skin finally exposed to you. Returning his hands to your waist, you tilted your head back at the sensation. You were never going to forget what his skin felt against yours.

The melody of shuddering breaths that fell from his lips was unreal, and you wanted to soak up every second of it. Without more than a second thought, you slid your legs over his, straddling his hips and pressing your chest to his chestplate. His hands remained on your waist, but he let them wander, curling them around to cup your ass.

The feeling of his hands on your body made you unconsciously roll your hips forward, which released a strangled moan from his lips. "Oh, god," he mumbled. "Mesh'la, please take it off."

You paused. Your hands fell to your lap, and your eyes were wider than saucers in the reflection of his helmet. "What?"

He picked up your hands in his own, the rub of skin against skin an intoxicating intimacy. "Please," he begged. "If I'm going to touch you like this, I need to see you, cyar'ika. Nothing in the way."

You were going to argue further, but you couldn't ignore the pulsing need that was clouding your thoughts, the same need that pushed your hips further down into his lap. It was impossible to miss the way his cock twitched against your clit, eliciting a soft moan from your lips.

“Are you—”

“Don’t fuckin’ ask me if I’m sure,” he begged, and he squeezed your hips under his hands. “Never been more sure, mesh’la.”

This time it was your turn to let out a shaky breath. “Okay,” you whispered, more to bolster your own confidence than his own. His resolve was clearly rather strong in this matter, and nothing would change his mind.

With a hand on either side of the helmet, you gently pulled it up and away from his face, hardly able to believe that he’d agreed to let you rid him of his every barrier. For a moment, as each inch of skin was revealed to you, you caught yourself frantically wondering what he might look like.

Would he look like anyone else? Would he look familiar to you in that way that only lovers can? Or would he be hiding a deformed brow bone or an abnormally small nose or a crude smile?

Of course, you shouldn’t have even worried. When the helmet lifted off of his head and you let it fall to the floor with a hard thud, you smiled at the face that blinked back at you in wonder. With those brown strands that were just long enough to hang down over his forehead, and the matching brown eyes that twinkled with the moonlight in his pupils, Din Djarin was exquisite.

“I knew it,” you hummed, your eyes tracing every line on his face, every strand of hair that clung charmingly to his forehead.

His response was a strangled moan, and his eyes fluttered closed of their own accord when you dragged a finger along his jaw, then the hooked line of his nose. “Knew what?”

“I knew you’d be one of the pretty ones,” you grinned, and you leaned down to press your lips to his, swallowing his groan of ecstasy.

You drank it down like the sweetest liquor, the sound pulling your own moan from your chest. His lips were chapped and dry from lack of care, but his mouth was warm and wet and his tongue was deliciously shy as he darted it towards yours. His hands stuttered as they pressed further up your chest and felt for your breasts. You weren’t sure how long he’d last; his chest was already heaving.

“Din,” you pulled back with a grin. “Din,” you repeated when his eyes remained closed. “Thought you wanted to look at me?”

“I do,” he said, his voice choking in his throat. “I do, mesh’la, I just…I think I might come in my damn suit if I look at those lips too long.”

You cooed, letting a hand search for the roots of his hair, finding a home on his scalp. You curled your fingers in the strands and watched his eyes squeeze shut, his jaw go slack, and felt his hips buck up into yours. “You’re so sensitive, baby,” you hummed, your mind running wild with thoughts of what this could mean.

“Never been touched like this,” he mumbled, voice cracking again. “Feels perfect, mesh’la.”

“I need you to look at me, Din,” you nodded. “It’ll keep feeling good, I promise. I just need you to look at me.”

When his eyes opened, you could have fallen apart right there at the sight of his glassy brown depths. His lip quivered and you almost thought he’d cry, but then he was letting his hand fall from your chest to your waistband, trailing his thumb along the skin there. “Can I?” he asked gently.

Nodding, you stood up. “Just keep breathing, pretty boy,” you said softly. “I’ll make you feel good. Show you just how good it can be.” You guided his hands to your waist and let him pull your pants to your ankles, revealing the front of your glistening slit to him.

Din was just starting to understand the drug-like effects of physical touch, so you weren’t surprised when he leaned forward, fell to his knees, and pressed his forehead to the soft skin of your stomach, breathing deeply as if he were a zealot bent to pray at the altar.

“C’mere,” you whispered, though unable to hide the growing smirk on your face. There seemed to be nothing more addicting than the sight of the Mandalorian on his knees before you. “Sit back down for me, baby,” you said, tilting his chin up to look at you. “Take those pants off, they look awfully restricting.”

He nodded quickly and obeyed, slipping his pants down to his knees as he sat back on his chair. It was downright sinful—the beskar on his chest but his helmet removed and his cock springing free, the tip red and angry and leaking. “Please,” he begged. “I—”

“I know,” you breathed, stepping closer to him. “We’re gonna make each other feel good now, yeah?”

Din nodded once more, his eyes fluttering shut. “Please, please.”

Well, how were you going to deny him then?

You straddled him once more, your clit throbbing at the sight of his cock underneath you. But rather than shock him with the feeling of your pussy milking him for all he was worth, you hovered over him, just enough that the head of his cock lay just an inch from your entrance.

“Mesh’la,” he begged, “please don’t tease. I’ll be good. I’ll make you feel good, I swear to everything I’ve ever believed in—”

A finger pressed to his lips, you shook your head. “I know,” you repeated. “Deep breaths for me, Din.”

He inhaled sharply and shoved his breath out of his chest. For a moment, his eyes cleared.

“Good,” you encouraged him, relishing in the look of his wide eyes at the praise. “Such a pretty boy, baby.” You moved his hand to your core, guiding his fingers to your clit. “Rub little circles for me, baby. Make me feel good and I’ll make you feel good.”

He obliged quickly, rubbing tentative circles to your clit in a way that had you smiling gently, loving the sacrilege you were participating in. “Is that g—oh!”

Din’s question was interrupted by your hand reaching down to grip his cock, delivering a quick stroke and making his hips stutter. He tried his best to lift his hips from the chair, clearly aiming for your entrance, but one hand on the beskar on his chest had him sitting back.

“It’s okay, baby,” you cooed, “just like that. Just touch me for a while.”

Ever the gentleman, Din kept his eyes on you and his hand on your pussy, pulling sweet sounds from your lips just as you wrecked him beneath you. Your thumb slid against his tip and he almost came; you could tell by the way his breath caught in his throat and his eyes squeezed shut, lip trapped between his teeth.

You wanted his fingers to wander toward your dripping entrance, but you knew he might not last long enough for any more foreplay. Next time, you thought smugly.

Now…now you needed him inside you.

“Gentle, baby,” you reminded him when he gripped your hip too tightly. You didn’t want to tell him you enjoyed the near-bruising strength; that would be for another time. You could already see that you were close to losing him, and you weren’t going to end this experience without riding him until the both of you saw stars. “One more deep breath, yeah?”

He was a mess of tumbling words in Mando’a that you didn’t understand, and his brow was furiously furrowed, as if it was taking all of his focus not to come on your hand. As a matter of fact, it probably was taking all of his focus. “Please, mesh’la,” he said again.

You wondered briefly if you’d begin answering that now; treating it as your name. Mesh’la.

“Deep breath, baby,” you reminded him, and when he obeyed, you sank your hips towards his. The tip of his cock slid in with no resistance; you were wetter than you’d ever been in your life. “Good boy,” you moaned as you kept your hand on his neck, softly cupping the underside of his jaw to look at you. “So fuckin’ pretty like this.”

The stretch of his cock inside you was delicious, and pleasure licked sharply at your insides, begging for a quick release. You knew he wouldn’t be able to hold himself together much longer based on the whimpers that still crumbled from his throat, broken and jagged.

“So fuckin’ pretty?” he repeated, his voice a high squeak. He gripped your hips and threw his head back. “So fuckin’ pretty for you?”

Your breath rushed out of your chest in a strong blow and you had to take a deep breath yourself to calm down. “All for me, Din, that’s it,” you continued, and you lifted your hips up. Dropping them back into his lap, you soaked up the feeling of being filled so completely by his cock. With every shred of patience left in your body, you pushed your lips back to his and tasted his moans on his tongue.

His hips began lifting into your own, the only clue you’d get to his desperation for more. Without a word, you began moving faster, more rhythmically, as you bounced gently on his cock. With the base of his cock pulsing against your clit at every drop of your hips, you were approaching that edge quicker and quicker. “Din,” you moaned, “baby, I’m gonna—”

“Please,” he said, “I want you to feel good, mesh’la. Use me, please, use me, please…”

You were sure your brain short circuited. With no more patience left in your bones, you picked up the pace and chased your own orgasm, knowing he wasn’t far behind. With every squelch of your pussy on his cock, your moans became less coherent, and you leaned your head forward against his neck.

Pulling back to press a kiss to his jaw, you felt his loins tense beneath you. Something nearly snapped inside you at the sound and sight and sensation of his pleasure so close to release; at the knowledge that it was you who had done this to him. “Good,” you mumbled against his jaw, getting closer to his ear. “Pretty boy, just for me,” you mumbled.

Din’s chest tightened and his moans became longer and more high-pitched, true whimpers if you’d ever heard one. “Mesh’la,” he begged, “Mesh’la, I—”

You dipped your head down and, while grinding your hips back and forth on his cock at a feverish pace, you darted your tongue out to his neck. Licking a stripe from the crevice of his neck to the spot just behind the soft part of his ear, you groaned in his ear as you crumbled on him, releasing the tension in your body as you came hard.

Din was ruined beneath you, with his neck bobbing and his eyes shut, his head thrown back. Mouth opened in a wide moan, his voice broken over the sound, you felt his release sink into your fluttering walls. He let out a deep cry of words that you didn’t recognize, but you blushed all the same. With the way that his eyes glossed over when he said it, you were sure it was something that reeked of sin and sweat and sacrilege.

“So good,” you mumbled again, “you’ve done so good for me, Din.” Your face tucked itself into the crook of his neck, and you inhaled the heady scent that belonged only to him. You sat motionless on his lap, but you could still feel his head pulse inside you at the overstimulation. “Did that feel good?” you asked, your hand reaching up to smooth down his hair comfortingly.

He let out a breathless laugh. “If this is sin, I’ll want more of it,” he replied, his arms snaking around your middle to tug your chest closer to him. “I’ll never know how to thank you,” he finished, sighing deeply. His eyes twinkled at you when you pulled away to look at him.

You shook your head. “No need,” you assured him. “Just catch your breath, brave Mandalorian. Then we’ll talk.”

He nodded, his eyelids growing heavier with the expense of energy now catching up with him. His cock had grown soft inside you, but he made no move to lift you from him. “I did well?” he asked. This wasn’t surprising; you’d known him to be quietly confident, but the Mandalorian was never one to pass up the opportunity for someone to reassure his talents.

You grinned and leaned forward to press your lips to his hooked nose, fighting the urge to nip at it with your teeth. Next time, you reminded yourself. “You did well,” you nodded. “Feeling okay?”

He splayed his hands on your back and inhaled near your chest, his face buried into the soft skin of your breasts. “Never better,” he reassured you, rubbing his hands along your spine. “So sweet to me, baby,” he murmured, repeating your own affection back to you.

The two of you remained like that, just wrapped together in a mess of limbs and sweat and come mingling together. When he began to wince with the overstimulation, you lifted off of his cock but remained in his lap. You pulled back and leaned your forehead against his. You watched his lips, plump and sitting perfectly, waiting to be kissed again.

“What does mesh’la mean?” you asked instead, the word strange and unfamiliar on your tongue.

He looked at you for a long time, bringing a finger up to trace the line of your mouth. “Put your lips on mine again and I’ll teach you,” he offered casually, as if his pupils weren’t still blown wide, his eyelashes still fluttering from the power of his release.

You smirked. “This is the Way, huh?”

For once in his life, Din Djarin smiled at you. “This is the Way.”

tysm for reading! so glad to be back, i'm sorry if the smut scene seemed rushed and out of pace! again: i was hungover. pls forgive. lemme know what you think!

adding tags here cause i'm going grocery shopping at 8:30pm BYEEEE

this is a good morning fic for @thetriumphantpanda and the aftercare bit at the end was specifically for @cavillscurls i know u crave it girl

the rest of the taggies: @mingiast @iluvurfather @cupofjoel @morning-star-joy @darkroastjoel @tightjeansjavi @chaotic-mystery @dinsdjrn @huffle-punk @tommymilllers @milly-louise @struig @butiknewyoudlinger @alejaa-a @worhols @thegreat-annamaria @easaud @country2212 @sleepdeprived-feelalived @pertinentpostmortem @lailaispunk

#din djarin smut #din djarin x reader #din djarin x f!reader #virgin!din djarin #din djarin x experienced!reader #the mandalorian fic #the mandalorian fanfiction #mandalorian #star wars #star wars smut #star wars fic

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hazbinwhoree · 8 months

Note

Can you do an Adam x angel reader (romantic) one shot where Adam is at a gig (cus he’s canonically in a band) and he takes notice of the reader in the crowd. Yk just kinda do what you want with it (maybe you could make it a little smutty😏) thx 💜💜

Fucking the Guitarist

A/N: Again, I wrote this high, so I’m sorry for any mistakes ✌️

Warnings: Semi-public sex

(Name) wouldn’t consider herself a groupie by any means, but she did make a point to go to every single performance that Adam’s band put on. She had a massive crush on him, but so did half the girls there. She didn’t feel like competing, so she had never met Adam before, seeing as he was always swarmed by girls as soon as the show ended.

It was another night spent watching Adam’s band, and they had just finished their final set. (Name) slipped out some side doors into an alley to have a smoke. She was lighting up when she heard the doors open again. She turned to see who her company was, and almost dropped her lighter when she saw Adam himself.

He glanced at her then did a double take. “Sup.”

Oh my god, he was talking to her.

“Hey.” (Name) tried to play it cool.

“I know you. You come to every show.”

(Name) was shitting herself. He had noticed her?

“How come you’ve never come up to say hi?” Adam asked, walking over and taking the lighter out of (Name)’s hand. He flicked it open and lit her cig for her.

“Because,” (Name) said after a long drag. “I’m not some groupie.”

Adam was looking at her with an expression she couldn’t quite place. “I know that,” he said, handing her back her lighter. (Name) eyed him, taking it and screaming internally when their fingers touched.

Adam held out a hand, and (Name) passed him the cig. He took a long drag from it before handing it back, making sure their hands touched again. “Did you enjoy the show?”

“I always do,” (Name) replied.

“What’s your name?”

“(Name).”

They chatted for a while before Adam needed to get back to his band. “I’ll meet you here next time?” He phrased it as a question. (Name) was star struck. “Yeah. Okay.”

“Okay,” Adam smirked, backing up and making finger guns at her. “Next time, (Name).”

To (Name)’s surprise, he did meet her in that alley again after his next show. And the next show. And the next show. They kept meeting until (Name) would dare to call them friends.

It was after a show and they were talking in the back alley as they normally would. “How’d you get away from your adoring fans this time?” (Name) teased. Adam chuckled but didn’t answer. “I don’t know why you spend time with me instead of getting laid. You’ve got plenty of options.”

Adam smiled, looking away. “Yeah, it would be nice to get laid after my shows more often.” (Name)’s heart dropped. “But there’s only one person I’ve wanted to fuck lately.” He pointedly looked at her and she blushed.

He grinned, backing her against the brick wall. “You’re so cute when you’re flustered.”

“Who-” (Name) swallowed. “Who do you want to fuck?”

Adam rolled his eyes, caging her in with his arms on either side of her head. “You, bitch.”

(Name) floundered for words and Adam suddenly looked slightly unsure of himself. “If you want, I mean.”

Of course (Name) wanted it, she’d wanted this for months. Boldly, she reached up and grabbed his collar, dragging him down to her level. She pressed her lips to his. She could feel Adam smile against her mouth, pleased.

His hands traveled down her sides to her ass, which he lightly tapped to indicate what he wanted. (Name) got the signal and jumped, Adam picking her up, and (Name) locking her legs around his waist.

They made out passionately, (Name) holding onto his horns. When they pulled apart for air, (Name) dared to ask, “Can I see you without your mask?” The question threw Adam off.

“How about we go back to my penthouse?” he finally asked.

That was a big step, (Name) hadn’t been expecting, but they were taking a lot of big steps tonight. Adam set her down and offered her his hand, and together they flew off to Adam’s apartment building. They didn’t bother with the elevator, flying straight to Adam’s balcony.

As soon as they landed, Adam was on her, pushing her onto a couch, not even bothering to go inside. He nudged her legs apart with his knee and settled between her thighs, pressing his erection against her crotch.

They fervently reconnected their lips, teeth clashing and tongues rubbing against one another. When they separated for air again, (Name) reiterated her question. “Your mask?”

Adam hesitated.

“You’re about to be inside me,” (Name) pointed out. “I think that’s intimate enough for me to see your face.”

Adam hummed. “That’s a good point, sweetie.” He leaned back and grabbed the bottom of his mask, slowly pulling it up and off his face. (Name) stared at him starstruck. Adam looked unsure without his mask, so (Name) reached up to cup his face in her hands.

“You’re so handsome,” she whispered.

Adam smiled.

They kissed, and (Name) moaned at the sensation of his human lips. The noise spurred Adam on, who snuck his hand up her shirt to grope her breast. (Name) moaned again. Adam pulled back and ripped off her shirt. Shame, she had liked that shirt.

She didn’t have time to be annoyed about it though, as Adam was climbing off her and tugging down her pants. He pulled her up and (Name) went to question him before she was cut off by him bending her over the arm of the couch. He ripped her panties off too.

He knelt down next to the couch so he was looking at (Name)’s face as his hand massaged her ass before his fingers crept to where she wanted them most.

“You’re so wet~” Adam smirked, enjoying the expressions on (Name)’s face. He slid one finger inside of her, then two. When he was met with no resistance he added a third finger. He watched (Name)’s mouth fall open as she moaned again, burying her face in the couch.

“Ah ah,” Adam pulled his fingers out. (Name) whined at the loss. “Let me see your face.” (Name) turned her head, blushing. “Good girl~” Adam’s long fingers slid back into her and she sighed contentedly.

“Adam,” she whined. “What, baby?” Adam teased. “You want my cock? Can’t wait to get a taste of the original dick, huh?”

He thrust his fingers in and out, revelling in the facial expressions of pleasure (Name) made. “Please,” (Name) begged. “I want you.” Her words made Adam’s dick twitch, and he decided he’d had enough of teasing her.

He pulled his fingers out and stood, undoing his belt and pulling his pants and boxers down, kicking them off. He stood behind her and gripped her hips, fingers digging into her flesh. He lined himself up, and slowly pushed in.

(Name) let out an unabashed moan. “Adam~”

Adam couldn’t go slow for long, quickly bottoming out with a groan. “Fuck, (Name), you feel so fucking good.” (Name) clenched around him at his praise. After giving her a moment to adjust to his size, Adam began thrusting.

He started at a steady pace, but very quickly lost in, pounding into (Name) with no regards. Her ass jiggled as his pubic bone slammed against it everytime he thrust in deep. His grip on her hips was almost bruising.

(Name) was gripping the couch cushion for dear life as Adam fucked her. She realized, vaguely, that they were on his balcony, where anyone could possibly see them. The thought only made her more excited. Maybe she was a bit of a freak.

Adam reached a hand around her and down to her clit, circling it with one slender finger. (Name) cried out, the pleasure intensifying tenfold.

“I’m fucking close,” Adam grunted. His hips stuttered, his thrusts becoming sloppy. “(Name)!” he moaned her name as he came, bending over her to bite down on her shoulder as he unloaded his seed into her womb.

His fingers didn’t cease their minstrations, and (Name) came shortly after with a drawn out gasp.

They both panted, coming down from their highs. They were sticky with sweat, and (Name) was sticky with cum when Adam pulled out.

He slid an arm under her breasts and pulled her up, holding her steady by the waist.

She turned around in his hold and looked up at him, looking utterly fucked out. It was Adam’s new favorite sight.

“Let’s get inside,” he said, bending down to kiss her forehead. “I think we both need a shower.”

#hazbin adam #adam x reader #hazbin alastor #hazbin angel dust #hazbin charlie #hazbin husk #hazbin vaggie #hazbin vox #hazbin hotel #hazbin lute #x reader #smut

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hbdttg · 2 years

Text

Part 1 / tag list below the cut

“I’m quitting,” Eddie declares, “I’m out. Call me a tree, ‘cause I’m leaving. Call me a banana, ‘cause I’m splitting. T-t-t-t-that’s all, folks!” he adds, doing his best impression of Porky Pig’s signature stammering.

Chrissy’s laser focus doesn’t stray from her monitor, even when Eddie bodily throws himself into the chair across her desk with a long, strangled groan. Wordlessly, she raises her left index finger at him in a silencing gesture. With her brows furrowed in concentration, she drags her mouse around on its pad and double-clicks something on her screen before nodding decisively to herself. After another few clicks, she finally lowers her finger, raises her eyes, and meets Eddie’s gaze.

“Would you mind grabbing what I just printed? Please?” she asks, smiling at him imploringly.

Chrissy could ask Eddie to bleach his hair and shave off an eyebrow and he’d do it. She’s actually who he has to thank for landing such a cushy job with HHH—a referral from a trusted associate like her goes a long way in a place like this.

And despite Eddie’s many complaints about becoming a corporate sellout, he can’t deny that it certainly has its perks. The office is only a ten-minute commute from his apartment, the compensation agreement he signed amounted to more money than his last two jobs combined, his benefits package is frankly ridiculous, and he gets to work with one of his best friends in the world. Overall, not a bad gig.

Even so, he makes a show of sighing, loud and longsuffering, before doing as Chrissy asks, leaving her office to grab her job off the printer. Eddie knows she works in HR and some of her stuff can get pretty confidential, so he doesn’t even try to skim the contents of the page as he walks it back over to her.

“Here,” he says, thrusting the paper at Chrissy facedown.

“Thanks!” she says. She makes no moves to take it from him. “That’s for you, actually.”

Curious, Eddie takes the paper back and flips it over. In the center of the page is a graphic of safety sign one might find in a cartoon factory, though Chrissy had edited the original from “[___] Days Since Last Accident” to “[___] Days Since Eddie Last Threatened to Quit His Job”. There’s a big red zero in the counter box.

Eddie tries to glower down at Chrissy, but it’s sort of hard to maintain when she bursts into laughter. It’s been years, but the sound of Chrissy laughing like this, all bright and breathless and unrestrained, never fails to transport him back to his (third) senior year of high school, when they first became friends over a failed drug deal.

“Don’t be cute,” Eddie says with a laughable lack of authority, dropping heavily back down into the chair.

“Do you know who you’re talking to?” Chrissy counters, brow raised archly.

Eddie rolls his eyes, crumpling the page into a ball and lobbing it in between them.

Chrissy lets the ball land harmlessly on her desk before sweeping it into the trashcan by her feet. “Just so you know, I’ve had that saved on my desktop since Monday—and I haven’t had to edit the days count a single time.”

Eddie scoffs, but it’s hard to defend himself when this current visit marks the fifth day in a row he’s floundered into her office, vainly announcing his resignation. “Yeah, well,” he says weakly, “printing it seems like a gross misuse of company resources.”

“What are you going to do, report me?” Chrissy says with a mischievous sparkle in her eyes.

“Let me guess: you’re the one who receives those reports?” Eddie says dryly.

“Yep!” she says cheerfully. “Now, go on and tell me about your latest trainwreck of an interaction with Steve Harrington.”

“Christ, Chris!” Eddie hisses, leaping to his feet and immediately spinning around to check if anyone was around to hear her damning words. The coast is clear, luckily, but he still scrambles to shut her office door before falling back into his chair. “You can’t just go around saying his name all willy-nilly.”

“He’s not gonna suddenly appear if you say his name three times, Eddie. See, watch. Steve. Steve. St—”

“Don’t risk it!” Eddie squawks loudly, cutting her off.

“You’re an absolute mess,” she says through a laugh, shaking her head at him.

And well, Chrissy’s not wrong.

Eddie’s been a mess since Monday morning, when he unknowingly produced, directed, and starred in The Roast of Steve Harrington. He blames his shitty memory for forgetting what floor his new office was on—if he’d known he was sharing the elevator with someone he could have potentially worked with (let alone someone whose surname made up a third of the company name), he wouldn’t have opened his big, fat mouth in the first place.

When he finally gathered the courage to make it back down to the fifty-second floor and show his face at the HHH office, he kicked off his onboarding with Chrissy with a strangled, “I know it’s my first day and I technically just started ten minutes ago, but I quit. Thank you for the opportunity and good-bye forever.”

Chrissy, the traitor, spent a full five minutes laughing in his face over his shamefully recounted story before patting him twice on the head and informing him he wasn’t allowed to quit for at least six months. The overly saccharine tone of her voice alone told Eddie there was no room for argument there.

Still, that didn’t stop him from following her into her office after the all-hands meeting on Tuesday, all the while whining in her ear, “I can’t thrive in these conditions, Chrissy. Please, I beg of you—accept my sincere and humble resignation from this cursed hellscape.”

‘These conditions’ consisted of any rooms and/or conversations that contained Steve Harrington. Eddie hadn’t been expecting to see the guy doting over the catering when he walked into the conference room that afternoon, and he certainly wasn’t expecting his supervisor and trainer, Murray, to lead him over to Steve to introduce the two of them (though that was likely just an excuse to head straight for the sandwiches that were laid out for the meeting).

While Eddie choked on his own tongue trying to spit out some generic, inoffensive greeting, Steve merely watched him with an amused smirk before thrusting his hand out and offering a perfectly friendly “It’s nice to meet you, Eddie, I’m Steve”, as if Eddie didn’t have Steve’s name and face (and stupidly fit body—who the fuck looks that good in a pair of khakis?!) burnt into his memory from the day prior.

Afterward, Murray, who most assuredly did not have a filter of any kind, bluntly commented on Eddie’s awkwardness, then spent the next five minutes trying to determine if it was normal, strangers-meeting-for-the-first time awkwardness, or something more sensational. Eddie stubbornly kept his mouth shut until the meeting started.

Wednesday followed a similar pattern, with Eddie flouncing into Chrissy’s office with a dramatic “I choose to break my blood oath. At this point I’d welcome the sweet release of death if it meant I didn’t have to work here anymore.”

Chrissy just corrected him, patiently explaining that he was employed at-will, rather than by blood oath, and that if he left before his sixth month, she’d personally skin him alive. Eddie had to pause and weigh the pros and cons of being skinless. Surely it couldn’t be worse than his latest exchange with Steve—via email this time, mercifully.

He’d just learned how to field helpdesk tickets and received one from Steve Harrington himself. It was a simple enough software request ticket, so he assigned it to himself and replied with next steps, asking Steve for a code so he could remote into his computer and install the program.

Steve replied back, asking where he was supposed to find the code. It was an innocuous enough question, but then Eddie noticed something a little off about his email signature: his last name was bolded.

Eddie ignored it, assuming it was a stylistic choice—nothing to read into, surely—but then Steve sent another email shortly after to let him know to disregard his last email; he’d found the right app and was just waiting for it to generate a code. This time, Harrington was bolded and at least two sizes bigger than his first name.

Then, in Steve’s third email, sent not a minute later with the requested code, Harrington was bolded, two sizes bigger than his first name, and highlighted yellow—a tactic Chrissy found so hilarious that she had to shoo Eddie out of her office with tears in her eyes so that she could compose herself and actually get some work done.

Thursday was a blessed reprieve from Steve’s unique brand of psychological warfare, but Eddie still somehow managed to royally humiliate himself in front of him. After he slunk into her office and silently pushed a scribbled-on napkin across her desk—

Please accept this letter as my formal resignation from my position as Systems Analyst II at HHH, effective immediately. Effective yesterday. In fact, I’ll pay you back the entirety of my wages earned if we just forget I ever worked here.

—Chrissy tutted at him sympathetically before taking the napkin and reaching over to dab it at the large wet stain on his shirt.

He’d been walking back to his desk from the breakroom when he rounded a corner and bumped into Steve in the hallway. Literally bumped into, bodily contact and surprised yelps and everything. And it probably wouldn’t have been such a big deal, really, if not for the fact that he had a newly refilled mug of coffee in his hand.

“Eddie, oh my god, are you okay?”

No, Eddie wasn’t okay, because he just splashed himself with hot fucking coffee and now Steve Harrington was worriedly fussing over him and tentatively trying to mop up the liquid with his own fucking hands for some reason, and he was embarrassed (and a little turned on?) and he had to get the fuck out of there now.

“I’m okay, sorry, it’s fine—” he managed to squeak before whirling around and scurrying to the bathroom.

So yes, Eddie’s been an absolute mess the past few days, and today is no different.

…Actually, scratch that. Today is different. Today is worse.

“Okay, now spill,” Chrissy says. “What happened?”

With another drawn-out, pitiful groan, Eddie sinks down in his seat and lets his neck hang off the backrest, blinking up at the ceiling.

“Talk to me, Eds,” Chrissy says, concern starting to bleed into her voice. “If he’s actually bullying you, you can file a complaint. I have a form here somewhere.”

Eddie hears her open one of her desk drawers and reluctantly sits up. “He’s not bullying me, Mom,” he says with a huff. “We actually…we talked.”

“You talked?” Chrissy asks, eyebrows raised.

“Yeah, about the elevator. Buried the hatchet and everything. I said sorry, we laughed about it, it’s over and done with.” Eddie’s gaze darts around Chrissy’s desk, searching for something to distract him from the warm and fuzzy feeling growing in his stomach at the memory of their conversation.

“That’s great, I’m so proud of you!” Chrissy says cheerfully. “But wait, if you two are good now…”

Eddie doesn’t want her to ask what she’s about to ask, because the answer might be more embarrassing than all of his other Steve stories combined.

“Why are you still going on about quitting?”

Eddie drops his face into his hands, feeling totally and utterly pathetic. “Um, because I think I’m sort of, kind of, just a little bit…in love with him?”

-------------------------------------

tbh I didn’t think I’d be writing a second part, but if strangers on the internet validate me enough, I guess I’ll do anything~

Y’ALL. I’m blown away by the response to part one of this silly lil au. I didn’t reply to any of the lovely comments or tags, but please know if you engaged in any way (or even if you just read the fic and snorted a little through your nose at a bit you found funny) I love you with my entire heart and you’ve made my entire life.

[Now for the tag list, which I’ve never done before. Sorry if you didn’t actually want to be on here! Or, sorry if you’re stumbling upon this post on your own after asking to be tagged and I missed you oops.]

@messrs-weasley @n0-1-important @bornonthesavage @thing-a-ling @eddiemunsonswife @changenamelater @ispyblu @thesuninyaface

@invisibleflame812 @4nemo1egend @ikolanatari @mavernanche @songbird-garden @trashpocket @original-cypher @over7joyed

@commonxsenss @justdyingontheinside @mojowitchcraft @maya-custodios-dionach @justmiiriam @imzadidragonfly @lillemilly @gay-stranger-things @child-of-cthulhu @bleedingoptimism @lemanzanabizarra @melaniehere91

@iswearitsjustme @silver-snaffles @csinnamon-fox @paint-music-with-me @epicsteddieficrecs @sweetcreaturetm @hxneyfarms @bossyknow-it-all @vecnuthy @stevethehairington @anything-thats-rock-and-roll @nburkhardt

@gayngerthings @patchworkgargoyle @violetsteve @henderdads @2btheanswertothequestion

#stranger things #steve harrington x eddie munson #steddie #steddie fic #modern office au #corporate steddie au #platonic hellcheer #okay obviously eddie's not actually in love with steve #in this au he's a dramatic bitch on top of being a cringe fail loser boy and it's so delightful to me #when he says 'in love with' he means in that superficial infatuated way you sometimes get #when you're suddenly super into someone you don't actually know #let him liiiive #fic writing #hbd

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yourfavoritewitchbitch · 3 months

Text

Chapter 4 - Illicit Affairs

A Mafia!Steve Harrington AU (featuring Mafia!Eddie Munson)

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Masterlist

Summary: Tired of heartbreak and tiptoeing on eggshells, you intend to take matters into your own hands until new things come to light. A long overdue conversation of the past and hopes for the future once you let your guard down and show Steve where your loyalty lies.

18+ Minors DNI!

CW: Slow burn. Exes to lovers. Minimal use of Y/N. Reader is referred to as "Dove." Angst. Pining. Spousal abuse (mental and physical). Nefarious deeds and scheming. Smut-ish (you'll see).

WC: 8.8K

If Nik had come home the previous night, you hadn't heard. Your body and mind were so worn down with exhaustion, sleep pulled you under for its sweet embrace without any protest. It was the first time in weeks you had a full night's rest.

With the new day, came a renewed sense of hope.

Hope floundered momentarily as you stared at yourself, a shell of the woman you used to be all because of him.

It was unfortunately unusually warm, but your husband's brutal touch left you no alternative when you woke up to fresh bruises yet again, opting for a turtleneck to cover the ugly blemishes.

You couldn't let him win. He would not take away the one thing in your life that you yearned for, willing to have no matter what the cost.

A plan was carefully laid out in the recesses of your mind that you were about to set into motion.

Lunch arrangements were made with your father almost every Sunday. You could decompress and relax in your childhood home without worry or fear of being scrutinized for your every move.

“Daddy?” Your voice carried down the hall as you closed the door behind you.

“Hey kiddo!” Shouting back, rounding the corner, meeting you halfway to pull you in for a warm hug, kissing the top of your head as you melted into his chest.

“Thought we'd do lunch in the sunroom. It's too nice to be cooped up in a stuffy dining room.” Briefly letting you go to pull you into his side.

“Sounds nice. What're we having?” You beamed up at him as he led you to the table. He'd been getting more gray hairs in the past few months, most likely from stress and the pressures of the business, something the two of you rarely talked about. It weighed on him more heavily as he aged.

“They whipped up some Bolognese pasta with a nice Greek salad and of course, wine from your Nonna's vineyard.” His smile widened, knowing it was your favorite.

“Sounds amazing!” You kissed his cheek and took your seat across from him.

The food was brought out as you chatted about mundane things, such as how the gallery was doing. You told him how the wedding went, leaving out the rendezvous with Steve but letting him know that he and Nik did have a few unsavory words.

“That man is such an arrogant hothead.” Sighing as he sipped his wine, looking as annoyed as you were at the behavior. You took it as your chance to speak up.

“Daddy, I know we don't talk about business, at all, but Nik is ruining everything you've built. You're right, he is that arrogant hothead and does nothing unless it's for himself.” You pulled your lower lip between your teeth, carefully thinking of your next words watching as your fathers' eyes drift to the table, seemingly lost in his own thoughts.

This was it. Sow the seeds of doubt. Let it sprout and spread. Maybe your father would finally see the kind of man Nik had become was not at all what was needed for business or for his daughter.

“I'm not happy. I haven't been happy for a long time.” You solemnly spoke, sighing and melting further into your chair as he reached across the table taking your hand in his.

“I know.” Your head shot up at his admittance. He quickly looked away, unable to meet your narrowed gaze.

“What do you mean you know?” Raising your voice slightly, pulling your hand away, brows furrowed with confusion.

“Your dear old dad isn't blind. I know you aren't happy. And I also know about his side gigs.” Letting a sigh escape him as his shoulders slumped.

Your confusion quickly bubbles into anger. Has he known all this time and turned a blind eye? For what? An alliance with a family that brought him a little more power, treating you like nothing but a pawn in the process.

When your father first brought up the prospect all those years ago, you were hesitant. A marriage to this family would secure his hold in Chicago for the foreseeable future but he assured you then that he wouldn't pressure you into a marriage with someone you didn't know.

When you met Nik for the first time, he immediately caught your attention. Confident, charming and handsome. Not at all what the rumors had suggested.

He swept you entirely off of your feet while impressing your father, agreeing to marry him after only six months of dating. It seemed like you were finally getting your fairytale ending, even if it was with the wrong prince.

He had completely fooled you both, conducting double dealings behind your father's back before the honeymoon phase had ended.

“You know?” Shaking your head, with disbelief. “And you've stood by and done nothing?” Practically shouting at him as you swiftly stood, almost knocking your chair over in the process.

“Y/N, it's complicated. If I knew then, I would have never asked you to get involved. I'm sorry.” He replied, suddenly slamming his fists down on the table, as the fine china and glasses rattled. “Goddamnit!”

His sudden outburst made you jump and flinch away from him. Your knee jerk reaction didn’t go unnoticed, as he quickly stood, rounding the table.

“Hey, kiddo. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” He spoke softly, coming to reach out with open arms but you quickly sidestepped him putting some distance between the two of you.

“I need to go. I can't be here right now.” Quickly shooting down the hall and back out the door as your father called out your name.

Your driver was leaned up against the car, straightening up and tossing the smoke he held between his fingers to the ground when he saw you rush out.

“Miss?” He asked when he saw the burning fury etched across your face.

“Take me home.”

He nodded, opening the door without another word.

Feeling utterly alone in this, that hopelessness began to edge its way back in. You took a deep breath as the car sped off, your phone continuously vibrating in your lap; “Dad” popping up each time, until you finally turned it off.

You couldn't ignore him forever but right now some distance would do you some good.

It was quiet when you arrived back home, but Nik’s car was outside.

You didn't bother looking around for him, heading straight up to your room. A million things going through your mind at once, so lost in thought you didn't notice the door to your bedroom sat ajar. You never left it open, typically locking it before leaving for the day.

You barged in, grimacing to yourself when you spotted him sitting on your bed, stopping you dead in your tracks. He lifted a bottle of whiskey to his lips, looking out the window.

He was more than disheveled, hair unkempt, shirt unbuttoned and his tie undone, hanging haphazardly around his neck.

“What the hell are you doing in here?” Asking while maintaining your distance, eyeing him warily.

He finally turned his head, eyes glassy and bloodshot, taking another sip from the bottle. Some liquid dripped down his chin as he finished, brushing it away with the back of his hand. It was then you noticed his bloody and bruised knuckles. An instance wave of worry rushed over you.

“Have a good lunch?” Falling from his lips, a little slurred, in a mocking tone.

Ignoring his question, you quickly surveyed the room. It was in complete disarray, with clothes and other belongings strewn about laying on the floor and bed. He’d shattered the mirror above your vanity, a smear of blood across the spiderwebbed reflection.

“What the hell are you doing in here, Nik? We had an agreement.” You huffed out, his presence only worsening your already perturbed mood. You knew you shouldn’t aggravate him further, but it was too late.

He swiftly stood, although stumbling just a bit, righting himself with a deep chuckle, confirming he was indeed drunk.

“Agreement?” He snarled, lip curling as his eyes trailed down your body. “I think we both know that little agreement is done.” Swaying as he took a heavy step toward you, making you take a step back.

“Oh, kitten, come on now. You can't be that stupid?” Taking two more steps, as you followed suit, your back hitting the wall behind you. No where else to go, you watched, eyes going wide, as he eased forward.

His large frame towered over you, placing one hand on the wall caging you in and leaning down into your space as he spoke. His whiskey laced breath fanned over you, making you wince at the smell.

“You're not going to make me look like a fool and get away with it.” He spat, you closed your eyes, bracing yourself for anything. “You're my fucking wife. My fucking property.”

Sliding his hand down, grabbing your hip, pulling you sloppily into him leaving you no choice but to take hold of his shirt to steady yourself, opening your eyes in time to see his face lean in, his lips pressing forcefully into yours.

His tongue darted out, trying to prod your lips open but you kept your mouth clamped shut, pushing him back as you yelled “Get off of me, you fucking asshole!”

He stared at you for a moment, almost bewildered before taking another long swig on unsteady legs.

You breathed in a small sigh of relief, as he stalked away, but your reprieve was quickly dashed when he stopped short of the door, glaring back at you.

“Fucking whore!” He shouted, raising the whiskey bottle, drawing back, and throwing it with all the force he could muster directly toward you.

You screamed; ducking as it shattered above your head, the shards raining down, hitting your body and littering the floor.

“You deserve worse, you ungrateful bitch.” He laughed, walking out to leave you to deal with the aftermath.

Hurriedly, you rushed to the door slamming it shut, but it was only then you noticed the lock was broken.

It was as if Nik had been looking for something, tearing your room apart.

It dawned on you then. The dress. The closet was in shambles, much like your room. After looking around, rummaging through things on the floor you realized it wasn't there.

Wrapping your arms around yourself, you walked back out into the room, looking at the destruction more closely, eyes suddenly homing in on the smoldering fireplace in the far corner.

You caught sight of a small piece of wine-colored fabric sitting within, the rest of what Nik had deemed such an offending piece of clothing had been reduced to mere ashes.

Collapsing in on yourself, your knees suddenly hit the floor.

That feeling of hope from this morning was fading fast, as you knelt there, tears spilling hot over your cheeks as your body began to tremble.

If you were going to make it out of this alive, you had to be smart.

You wiped your cheeks, with shaky fingers as you stood. No more feeling sorry for yourself. You were done crying and being told what to do. It was time to take matters into your own hands.

The rest of the evening was a blur. Between cleaning up the room, along with yourself you worked late into the night.

A chair was pushed up under the handle, bracing the door in case he tried to come back in but thankfully he had slept the rest of day leaving late that night.

Still on edge, sleep eluded you until the early hours of morning. It wasn't until the sunlight streaming through your shades that you woke, reaching for your phone, gasping as you jumped out of bed, you'd slept straight through your alarm.

You had numerous missed calls from Abigail, along with your father who was just as stubborn as you. He wouldn't give up, but the wounds were still too fresh for you to speak with him.

You typed out a quick text to him, hoping it would buy you a little more time before you had to deal with him. Then it was a call to a very relieved Abigail before getting ready.

Once you finally stepped into your office, after Abigail had given you the rundown for the day, you were met with a fresh bouquet of dark red roses atop your desk, much like the color of the dress he had gifted you.

“Those arrived first thing this morning.” She commented before excusing herself.

A note was nestled among the petals just like all the ones that had come before, except this time you were hesitant, leaving it there to jump into work instead.

The day flew by, playing catch up from the late morning, as the sun finally sits low, throwing its golden hues across the city announcing its departure and closing the day.

You lean back in your chair, stretching as Abigail throws you a quick goodbye. Tossing your glasses to the side, eyes now tired from overuse, the note finally caught your attention once more.

You plucked it from its place, tearing it open with a long exhale before flipping it over to read.

I'm sorry.

Always Yours, S.H.

He had nothing to apologize for.

The thought that he must have conveyed the worry and fear from being caught as a rejection passed through your mind, but nothing could be further from the truth.

You had to get in touch with him to make your intentions known.

It came to you suddenly; you keep a log of anyone who buys from the gallery. A list of clients for important events or the occasional reminders that go out for new exhibits.

You immediately opened your laptop and pulled up those important contacts, opening the “H” section with a few clicks.

“Bingo.” You whispered out. Abigail had taken his information the day he had bought the painting. Your hand reached for your cell, but you stopped. It could be monitored too easily.

You reached for the desk phone instead, dialing the number with ease and placing it to your ear.

The seconds ticked by as it seemed to ring for an eternity before you received his voicemail. You sighed, as the brief message played, alerting you that you had reached Mr. Steve Harrington’s personal cell followed by the beep.

“Steve, hi. It's Dove. I— I just wanted to thank you for the dress, it was beautiful. And the flowers, I just read your note. I— Well, I mean you have nothing to apologize for. It's all complicated but, I think you know that. I really don't want to say this all over a voicemail, just please know that I'm sorry and I hope to see you again soon.”

You blew out a heavy breath, as you cradled the phone, sitting back in your chair hoping it wasn't too late to let him know how you truly feel.

His answer came in the form of an email to your business inbox a few hours later. He left it vague, knowing you would decipher it easily.

Ms. Alexander,

I won't be back in town until the end of the week, at which point I would love to see what you have on hand so I can get a better idea on which direction I should take.

Until then, Best Regards, S.H.

You laid in bed reading over the words, feeling those wings of hope flutter in your chest once more.

It wasn't over yet.

Unbeknownst to you he had been out of town checking Pip into a very remote rehab facility. They kept her whereabouts secret, going as far as taking her phone away, remaining that way for the duration of her stay.

He was elated to hear your voicemail, sending an email to your office immediately. He didn't want to keep you in suspense since he wouldn't get the chance to see you in person until much later in the week.

He and Eddie had a few meetings to attend, more business to discuss with some colleagues in other cities to get all of his affairs in order. He was getting the numbers and allies behind him.

Once his plane touched down back in Chicago early Friday afternoon, much to Eddie's dismay and disapproving grumbles he had them heading to see you.

He was silent most of the ride, knee bouncing the entire time, stewing in his own thoughts until he just couldn't handle it anymore.

“Steve, may I be blunt?” He asked from his seat beside him.

“Of course.” He sat his phone in his lap, giving the other man his full attention.

“I know you love her, but she's married, to a Petrov, no less. I hope you know what you're doing.” He reached for a cigarette, extending the gold case toward Steve offering him one.

He didn't immediately answer, taking one of the hand rolled cigarettes between his fingers. Sliding it between his lips, as Eddie pulled out a matching gold lighter igniting the end for him.

He inhaled deeply, letting the nicotine fill his lungs. Throwing his head back to release it as he watches the smoke rise and waft around them.

“Ed, I always know what I'm doing. Don't sweat it.” It comes out as nonchalant, making Eddie raise an eyebrow toward him.

Eddie knew Steve was always thinking at least five steps ahead but when it came to matters of the heart things could sometimes get muddled. That’s when things could go awry.

“Care to tell the rest of the class or are you just going to keep me in the dark?” He inhaled his own cigarette.

“There's a lot of moving parts with this one. I'll tell you when you need to know. And right now, you don't need to know. There's more at stake than just her right now.” He sighed, looking out the window. “But I'll protect her at any and all costs.”

Eddie knew better than to prod any further. Steve would tell him when he was ready.

The driver slowed as he pulled up to the building.

“Understood boss. Just know that I'll have your back no matter what.” Clasping Steve on the shoulder before exiting the vehicle.

The driver opened Steve's door as he quickly got out.

Both men headed around back, per usual, to gain entrance to the building.

Steve spotted Abigail asking if you were available.

“I'm sorry, Mr. Harrington, she just stepped out for lunch, shall I take a message down for her?” She asked cheerily, grabbing her pad and pen.

“That won't be necessary, but do you happen to know where she went? I'm feeling quite famished myself, my flight just got in, maybe I'll see her in passing.” His smile lit up, no woman could ever truly resist that Harrington charm once he turned his attention solely to them.

“Of course, it's just down the road. Bistro Auclair. I'm not sure if she was meeting anyone or not.”

“Thank you, Ms. Shepherd. Have a lovely day.”

He walked the few blocks down the sidewalk, spotting you on the terrace as his heart fluttered. You were distracted by a book in your hands, as he strode up beside you. A little pinch of concentration was etched across your brow, which he thought was adorable.

He loved to see you in the ordinary, everyday routine of your life, longing to be there with you, enjoying the quiet company of one another. Seeing you now, he almost didn't want to disturb you.

“Ti sono mancato, little dove?” He spoke, unbuttoning his jacket before taking a seat at the table next to you. “I'd kiss your cheek, but eyes are always watching.” He flashes that million-dollar smile and sends you a wink.

“Always.” You reply, an answer to both his question and observation not entirely surprised to see him, taking a sip of your coffee. You mirrored his own cheeky grin behind your cup.

“So, from now on I think it's best if you want to have a chat, meet me at the gallery instead. My so-called guards are under strict orders to stay out.”

You glance around, brief worry flashing across your face. He's trying to be discreet, but if anyone happened to be spying it would be a little too obvious. He knows your tails are parked around the corner right now, not bothering to watch you. Eddie's stationed close by keeping an eye on them.

“As you wish.” He states, flagging down the waiter. “I heard your gallery is hosting a charity event tomorrow. How would one go about finding themselves on the guest list?”

“I suppose you would have to know someone.” You shrugged. “But, since you're a paying client, your name is already on the list. I'm sure Abigail sent you an invitation earlier this week.”

“Of course, I haven't been home to check.” His smile never wavered, as he sat up a little straighter. “I'll see you tomorrow then.”

You began to gather your things, leaving cash on the table for your bill as you stood.

“Those goons don't come in during events either. I make them hang in the back alley. You and Eddie can get in no problem. I'll have his name added too.” He nodded in understanding as you slipped past, his eyes trailing your curves as your hips swayed with each step that took you further away from him.

Soon. He thought to himself. It was just a matter of time.

The day of the charity gala brought its own stresses and challenges. Getting the gallery ready for events of this caliber was always a hassle but at the end of the day they were worth it.

Decorators, caterers and entertainment was brought in for the evening. All in a rush of madness, vying to get everything ready on time. The large space was filled with high top tables for guests to congregate and drink to their hearts desire all while bidding for some magnificent pieces.

One hundred percent of the profits for all of the art donated would go to charity. Something you were truly proud of.

Mood lighting in muted blues and purples was set around the space making sure that the art still remained in the spotlight. The lighting was set so it also provided a little seclusion and privacy in some corners of the room.

You directed everyone around until the very last minute. Abigail had to practically shove you away to make sure you were able to change, everything in your office already laid out.

The dress you had chosen was an elegant, but not over the top floor length, slip style silk gown with a thigh high slit. It fits your curves but not overly exaggerating them. You'd chosen black to stay on theme with the event. Thankfully the small remnants of those last bruises had faded.

You took the opportunity to make sure your makeup was just right, and every hair was in place.

As you walked out into the hall, chatter and soft music filled the air. Soon the gallery would be filled to the brim, exactly as you planned.

An hour quickly passed as you made your way around the large space, exchanging pleasantries with all the guests but you were distracted. Eyes drifting, continuously scanning the room looking for him the entire time.

Across the room, he had already made his entry, searching for you as well. He weaves his way through the outer edges of the crowd, always cautious and on high alert.

He spotted you first, your back turned speaking with an attendee he paid little attention to as his focus was solely on you.

Finishing up your conversation, you turned abruptly, as if you could feel his eyes. You caught those warm, honey hued irises looking right at you. You threw him a warm smile, nodding toward the far corner of the room, sitting your champagne down on a nearby table as you began walking.

You navigated the crowd easily, moving to a more desolate spot.

He met you there a moment later, wearing a simple and classy black tux and matching bowtie. It was then you noticed he held a single, dark red rose.

“For the beautiful host.” Extending it forward.

Your fingertips pinched the stem gingerly, as you took it from him with a shy smile, lifting it to your nose and breathing in the intoxicating aroma.

“I think we should go somewhere more private.” Sitting an electronic key card on the table to the side of you and continuing to slide past him. Being cautious to not linger too long out in the open like this. “Access to the balcony, down the corridor and to the far left. I'll meet you there in ten.”

It felt like your feet couldn't carry you fast enough. Your nerves were electrified, buzzing with anticipation as your heart rate ticked up, navigating through the crowd and finally reaching the empty corridor back to your office. You swung the door open and quickly slammed it behind you, letting out a heavy breath.

You could feel the change as if it were all around you. After tonight, there was no going back.

You reapplied your lipstick, looking over yourself once more. You weren't the same woman from eight years ago. Time and a million miles had separated you. You both had changed but you still saw that handsome boy, who wore his heart on his sleeve, hoping he still saw that foolish girl with eyes only for him.

Using the door from your office, you didn't realize he was already perched in the corner until he spoke, startling you just a bit.

“Beautiful view, tesoro.” Eyes cast toward the twinkling lights of the city instead of you. “Eddie's watching the hall. I can hear you worrying from here.”

You crossed the small space to come stand beside him, as you too looked toward the soft glow and twinkling lights, suddenly feeling his eyes lingering on you instead.

“I'm not worried about that. No one's going to come back here.” You sighed, suddenly feeling a light chill, wrapping your arms around yourself.

“But you are worried, no? Tell me, what's on your mind?” He knew you all too well.

You had a million things you wanted to say but suddenly you weren't sure where to start. Standing by him now it seems like none of it mattered, as the trepidation melted away.

“I can't live like this.” You finally spoke, voice wavering the tiniest bit, catching him a little off guard. For once he wasn't sure where you were going with this.

“Dove, just say the word and I'll stop everything. The flowers, dropping by. If it's too forward or making you uncomfortable. The situation isn't ideal but…” he cleared his throat, to bite back what he truly wanted to say. “If you want me to stop, I will.”

“No, it's not ideal.” You slowly looked over to him, his tough exterior melting away showing you the vulnerable man you loved underneath as he searched your face.

“I could never ask you to stop, but we aren't stupid kids anymore.” Your emotions were getting the better of you. Feelings welling up with nowhere else to go but out, as you were thrust back into a memory you had tried to bury.

“He's sending me away.” He spoke softly into your hair, placing a kiss there. Your head was laid on his bare chest as you let your fingertips trace patterns onto his torso.

It had been another night of you two tangled beneath his silk sheets forgetting the rest of the world for just a little while. You didn't want to think about family or what comes next, but he couldn't help himself in these moments.

Everything heavy on his mind was laid out before you in the small quiet of the night. It wasn't unusual. He trusted you. He loved you.

“When?” Your voice trembled. Afraid of the answer but it was better than the unknown.

“A couple of weeks. He doesn't want me to be in his way. He knows he's in the wrong. It's better to send the opposition away than try to see the old way doesn't always work.”

Steve had seen things changing, he brought new ideas and a fresh way of thinking that Richard didn't like, determined to do things his way.

“Steve, he can't do that. You're taking over for him eventually; can't he see how stupid that would be?” You were already mad. Knowing that Richard Harrington hates his own son enough to send him away from everything he knows.

“He can. He's sending me over there to head the small operation he has. Eddie's coming too.” As if some small comfort knowing he wouldn't be alone would make it any better.

He was leaving you. Who would be here for you?

You lay there knowing there was nothing either you or he could do.

A small tear you were holding back pushed past your lashes and hit his chest. He felt it but didn't say anything, only pulling you closer into his warmth.

“Dove, I won't be gone forever.” He held your chin, moving your face towards his. Your eyes were closed as his lips brushed yours as he spoke, “I promise.”

“You promised.” Whispering out, your gaze back out toward the city instead of him.

“What?” He asks, suddenly confused.

“You promised you wouldn't be gone forever and yet here we are. It feels like an entire lifetime has gone by.”

His mouth parted but words weren't enough. He didn't know what to say.

When he didn't say anything, you filled the silence, turning to face him.

“You were 22 Steve; you could have told him you were staying! You weren't a boy to be ordered around anymore!” Your shouts felt like knives slicing at his heart.

“Dove,” he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. Gathering his strength for a fight he wasn't ready for. “What was I supposed to do, disobey my father? Turn my back on my family? You know better than anyone that wasn't possible.”

“Yeah, we both know family duty all too well.” Scoffing slightly. “Did you think I wouldn't notice you never responded to my wedding invitation? Not even a card or text.” Your eyes began to sting and well with tears.

“Little Dove,” he lifted your chin, pinched softly between his thumb and forefinger, leaving you no choice but to turn your focus back to him. “Do you know what that did to me? What it would have done to me to watch you marry someone else?”

“What about me Steve?” You moved out of his touch. “The entire time I was hoping you would burst through those doors and take me away from all of it. I never wanted any of this.”

“Goddamnit,” he hissed. Thinking back to when he had received that invitation. It was like a death sentence, yet this was a fate worse than death. He had to live the rest of his life knowing your heart belonged to someone else.

“Oh, Steeeeeeviieeeee!” Pip’s voice rang out, as she opened the door to his small office in the back of the villa. He didn't look up, only silently cursing himself for not locking the door.

“What the hell do you want?” He asked, already fearing an impending headache his little sister would undoubtedly bring forth with whatever antics she was about to start.

She tiptoed up to his desk, hands behind her back.

“Mail for you.” Promptly dropping an envelope addressed to him on top of the stack of papers he had been going through and plopping herself down in the chair across from him.

He glared at her as he picked it up. It was an off-white envelope with roses embossed along two of the corners. Taking his letter opener and cutting into it, he finally spoke back up.

“Do you mind? When the hell do you ever bring me my mail?” Sliding what was clearly some sort of invitation out.

“Oh no, I'm not going anywhere for this.” A grin lifted the edges of her lips as she looked back at him. “Mamma already opened ours, this one is all for you.”

He sighed, holding it up as he began to scan it over.

“David Alexander requests the honor of your presence for the marriage of Y/N Y/M/N Alexander and Nikolai Dmitri Petrov…” The rest of the words went fuzzy as he focused on your name. His stomach felt like it dropped, time seemed to slow as his heart began to beat radically in his chest.

“Get out.” He spoke, eyes never leaving the invitation.

“Oh Steve, you can't possibly think she was going to wait around on you forever. You should be happy fo—”

“I said get the fuck out, Pip!” He yelled, rising from his seat pointing toward the door, closing his fist around the paper.

She rolled her eyes, huffing as she got up and crossed the room, murmuring a quick “asshole” before slamming the door behind her.

He unclenched his fist, tossing it to the side.

“Fuck!” He hisses out, moving to the small liquor cabinet in the corner of the room pouring three fingers of bourbon and downing it in one gulp immediately pouring another.

This couldn't be happening. Not like this. He picked up his phone, dialing a number he knew by heart, but he stopped.

He hadn't lurked on social media in several months, but he was suddenly on autopilot, pulling up your Instagram with a few swipes and was immediately met with weeks of smiling, happy faces from you and Nik.

His face flushed hot as his heart beat wildly, scrolling through an endless stream of photos, pausing when he caught sight of the one that took his breath.

A close up of your left hand, a big diamond engagement ring adorned your ring finger. A blurry image of you kissing Nik in the background.

His nostrils flared, releasing the breath he was holding when he suddenly slammed his phone against the nearest wall. The glass of bourbon came next, shattering as shards flew across the room.

It was the first of many, lonely nights he locked himself away and drowned himself in liquor trying to forget all about you.

For three agonizing months he hid it as best he could, until it all came to a head the day of the wedding.

Eddie knew when to speak freely and when to keep his mouth shut. He'd watched his best friend's mental and physical health decline, hiding it well from his mother and Pip but it was getting worse. The business was taking a hit, and he knew Richard would be coming for Steve's ass if he didn't straighten himself up. He'd seen him work too hard to let this be the end.

Eddie tried knocking first, but was met with silence on the other end, then trying the handle but the door was locked.

“Steve, unlock the door. We need to talk.” There was a beat of silence before he spoke up.

“Go away, Eddie.” It came out low and muffled.

“I can't do that. Either you unlock the door or I'm busting it down. Your choice but I know if Sophia has to replace a broken door, she isn't going to be happy.” A few seconds ticked by before he finally heard shuffling and the door flew open.

Steve was disheveled and swaying just a bit as he lifted a bottle of bourbon to his lips, chugging a few large gulps.

His shirt was unbuttoned, tie abandoned on his desk and hair falling in and around his face. Eddie knew he'd been drinking most of the day. He finally made a gesture with his hand, bidding him to enter with glossy, half lidded eyes barely watching as he passed, shutting the door behind them.

“Look, man you have got to pull yourself together. It isn't the end of the world.” He began, as Steve crossed the room, plopping himself at the end of the sofa. “If your dad gets hears about any of this shit he—”

“You ever been in love, Eddie?” The interruption came as a surprise as the older man looked down at Steve, the two never talked about their feelings or such frivolous topics as love. They were close but left things of this nature close to their vest.

“Wha— I mean, I—”

“No, you haven't.” Steve finally looked up, crestfallen and broken.

“Steve, man—”

“No, don't come in here and presume to know anything about how I feel and tell me it's not the end of the world when my entire world is about to marry someone else.” He stood on unsteady legs, taking a few steps to close the distance between the two of them, pressing a finger into his chest.

He closed his eyes against the stinging sensation, pinching the bridge of his nose and taking a deep breath, suddenly laughing out.

“Eddie, just fuck off tonight.” He took a step back, and stumbled, almost toppling over before the other man caught his arm.

“Woah there, big boy. Let's just…” He helped guide him back over to the sofa, prying the bottle from his hand as he sat down.

His breaking point came a few moments later. His phone alerted him to a new text. He immediately regretted opening the picture from Pip.

You were stunning, with a huge, beaming smile. You were positively glowing, and it made his stomach churn. Burning liquor threatened to make its escape back up.

He knew he'd made a huge mistake.

Steve broke down, laying his head in his hands letting his tears fall freely.

Eddie was taken back. In all the years they had known each other, he'd never seen him quite so vulnerable.

“It's all my fault. I should have never left.” Suddenly lifting his head, wiping those errant tears and sniffling. Eddie just stared on in disbelief letting him continue. “I did all of this shit thinking it was the right thing, for the both of us. I started pulling away instead of telling her the truth. Instead of going back to Chicago and bringing her back here, where she belongs. Now I've lost her.”

In Steve's mind, he had become much too wrapped up in the business. He had pulled away hoping you would find happiness with someone else that wasn't involved with the drama this life inevitably led to. He hoped for someone who could give you the normal life you longed for.

It's what you deserved. He wanted to give you that life but being here it seemed less and less possible with each passing day. He wasn't returning to Chicago anytime soon.

He had to let you go.

He never imagined you would marry into another family. It tore his heart into. He'd seen firsthand what it could do to a family. He had been trying to spare you from all of it, yet you had been sucked right in anyway.

“Steve, it may not feel like it, but you did the right thing.” Eddie tentatively laid a hand to the younger man's shoulder in a reassuring manner. “This line of work is hard enough. I can't imagine being tied down like that with one more piece to worry about. People like us aren't meant for happy endings.”

Steve simply nodded, sinking back further into the cushions. You'd both made your decisions. He wouldn't stand in your way. It was a decision, he feared, would haunt him for the rest of his life.

You shove past him, knocking him from the memory, heading back to your office but his hand wraps around your wrist, halting your movement.

“Dove, I swear to God if I had known it wasn't what you wanted, I would have been here. You have to believe me.”

You took a breath and slowly turned back toward him, unable to contain the tears from falling, as you let him guide you into his chest.

He tentatively rested his hand on your hip, a warm palm through the thin silk, sending goosebumps across your skin.

“I let you go so you could be free of all this so you could marry some finance guy and live a halfway normal life.” You huffed out a small laugh at the absurdity of it. As if there would have ever been anyone else but him.

His free palm came to rest on your cheek as you nuzzled into his touch, closing your eyes as the pad of his thumb wiped the tears from your eye. Craving and longing for something you'd never thought you'd feel again. You needed more.

“Steve, I would have waited a lifetime for you.” Words coming out breathy, knocking the wind from his lungs. A knife straight to the heart.

“Dove, look at me.” Those hazel pools filled with so much adoration looking back at you, also reflecting a pain that was palpable.

So much lost time and things left unsaid.

“Steve.” You grasp the back of his hand, lips meeting his palm planting a small kiss there.

“I need you to tell me what you want.” His face inches closer. Waiting for your words. He nudged his nose into yours, titling his head slightly as his top lip grazed yours sending a jolt of electricity through you.

“Kiss me, please.”

His lips envelop yours, a soft press turning eager with one taste. It was a tidal wave of relief, being pulled out to an endless sea, floating and falling all at once. It was familiar and warm, like finding your way back home after a long journey but the butterflies fluttered in your ribcage all the same.

He kissed you with a passion and fervor that was unmatched, as your lips began working in tandem, stealing your breath and making you weak in the knees.

The hold on your hip tightened as you gripped the lapels of his suit jacket, pulling him further down into you.

He licked at your lower lip, yours parting for him. Tongues finally meeting in a slow rhythmic dance. You could taste a hint of the warm bourbon he had been sipping earlier but everything underneath was Steve.

His hand reached your lower back pressing you further into him, suddenly feeling an aching need growing in the pit of your stomach.

Reluctantly, you pulled back to finally catch your breath, you were both panting as your foreheads met, grinning down at each other wildly until his smile fell a little.

“I'm sorry. I'm so goddamn sorry I wasn't there. I thought it was what you wanted.”

“I've only ever wanted you. I need you, Steve. Please.” You gave him no time to respond, taking his hand into yours, and promptly dragging him back through the door.

You turned to shut it and he was instantly behind you. His hands wound around your waist, pulling you back into his chest as his lips ghosted the shell of your ear as he spoke.

“I want nothing more than to have my way with you. Let me worship you.”

Goosebumps erupted across your skin, his words sending a shiver down your spine as you faced him.

“We don't have that kind of time, but I need you. I haven't—” You shied away from the confession you were about to vocalize, as he began kissing down your jaw.

“You haven't what?” He asks in-between kisses.

“I haven't been with anyone for a long time.” He paused, pulling back to look at you, eyes narrowed and brows meeting with confusion. “Nik and I— we haven't been intimate in years. He— he would rather fuck the whores at his club. We just stopped after a while. I didn't want him touching me anymore.”

Your confession both elated and enraged him. He knew Nik was an idiot, but to ignore you for some common whores? This beautiful, amazing woman he had no idea how to handle or take care of. It all suddenly made sense why you two never had children.

“Tesoro mio, that has nothing to do with you. He's an idiot. He doesn't deserve you.” His lips find yours once more, this time less urgent, moving languidly as his nose presses into your cheek, as pulling you further into him.

He began to walk you back, your thighs hitting your desk making you break free for a moment, frantically shoving papers out of the way as they cascaded to the floor. Something you would worry about later.

He wound his arm around you, helping to lift you up, parting your thighs as far as the restrictive fabric of your dress would allow as he came to slot himself between them. His eyes never left yours, leaning down to capture your soft, supple lips once more before he began trailing kisses along your jaw and down your neck.

Your hands reached for his belt buckle, but he stopped you with a tsk, stilling your movements.

“Uh, uh tesoro. Let me get you ready. This is all about you right now.”

His hands trailed lower, reaching the hem of your dress, pushing it further up your thighs until your red panties came into view.

“Mmmm… my favorite color.” He growls, his fingertips trace the top of your thigh softly, bringing his other hand to the desktop beside you, palm planted firmly against the cool wood, leaning close to your ear.

“I know you taste just as sweet as I remember.” His words make you bite down against your lower lip, your body rife with anticipation, his lips peppering softly along your cheek meeting yours once more.

His fingertips trail lower, to the inside of your thigh, you gasp out releasing a breathy moan that his lips and mouth swallow. He would gladly drown in those sounds, letting you pull him under.

You further part your thighs, the damp silk of your panties were sticky, clinging to you. If you weren't so needy, you'd feel slightly embarrassed at how soaked you already were.

His finger inches closer, grazing that crease where your panties lay.

Your hips suddenly jolt forward when he presses into the wet fabric, immediately finding your puffy, aching clit applying just the right amount of pressure.

You moan obscenely at the miniscule amount of relief it provides, not finding it in yourself to care who could hear as he hooks his finger into the fabric, and ever so slowly begins to pull it to the side revealing your glistening pussy. You needed him to touch you.

“All this for me?” He hisses, looking down admiring the sight before him, ready to dip his finger into the sweet nectar. His cock already hard, stirring within its confines, aching at the thought of your warmth wrapped snugly around him.

Suddenly, a loud knock came at the door, pulling you both out of your lust fueled haze, as he quickly withdrew his hand helping you pull your dress back into place. Your heart was hammering in your chest.

“Uh… Steve?” Eddie's voice came muffled through the door.

“Fuck!” He hissed through gritted teeth. Resting his forehead to yours.

Eddie cleared his throat. “Sorry to… uh… interrupt but we've got some business to take care of.”

“Just give me a sec.” He grunted, cupping your cheeks gently, bringing his lips to your forehead placing a soft kiss there.

“I'm so sorry. Please forgive me.”

“It's okay Steve. It's okay.” You smile, pulling back slightly. You knew what kind of things could draw him away. You'd seen it countless times with your father.

“I should get back out there before someone starts looking for me anyway.” Saying with a slight shrug, as he helped you down slowly from the desk, holding you close to his body.

Neither of you are quite yet ready to say goodbye, helping him straighten his suit and tie.

“I'll be in touch soon, I promise.” Wrapping his arms around you, as yours found their way around his neck, holding each other tightly as if it might be the last.

You weren't sure what to say, or if anything needed to be said so you stayed silent letting the stillness of the moment take over.

“I've got to go.” He reluctantly spoke, releasing his grip, only for his hand to find its way back to your cheek tilting your head gently for one more kiss. It was quick, because if he stayed any longer, he wouldn't be able to pry himself away. You both longed for so much more.

He let you go, taking a few steps to the door before he walked out of view.

You sighed, leaning back on the desk, head cloudy with thoughts of Steve. Giving him a head start, straightening your makeup and hair before heading back to the event.

Thoughts lingered on him the rest of the evening; a smile was plastered across your face as your cheeks began to ache later into the night. You were glowing after your interaction and wanted to hold onto this blissful high for as long as possible.

As the night came to an end, you were left with the cleanup crew once you had sent Abigail home. Typically, there was no reason to stay behind with them, but you were trying to avoid the inevitability of going back home.

You eventually retired to your office for a brief moment of peace before calling your driver.

Immediately you notice a small black box sitting on the top of your desk, as you shut the door behind you.

Quickly shuffling over, the fear that spiked your heart rate was swiftly dampened down when you spotted the key card you had snuck Steve earlier sitting beside it. You hadn't thought to retrieve it when you were interrupted, though you wouldn't care if he had kept it.

A small note was carefully laid out across the top. The first handwritten note he'd sent you in a long time, but you still recognized his articulate scrawl, as if every letter had been written with intent and purpose. You suppose it had.

For emergencies, or really anything. I don't like it when we can't keep in touch.

S.H.

A phone. A burner, you surmised, in the event you were caught with it no one could trace it back to him.

You held it in your palm, pulling up the contacts to a number that wasn't labeled.

You typed up a quick message and hit send. His response was almost instantaneous, as if he'd been waiting for it.

Sent 12:04 AM: Thank you.

921-987-5555 12:04 AM: You don't have to keep it on you. Just be careful if you do.

Sent 12:05 AM: Of course.

921-987-5555 12:04 AM: Have a good night, Dove. We'll chat soon.

Not soon enough. You thought to yourself, deleting the conversation before putting the phone away in the drawer and locking it. Better safe than sorry.

It was a silent ride home with a mind full of racing thoughts.

His lips, slow and passionate. Making sure you would never forget how he tastes.

His touch, yearning and possessive, sending your skin aflame; molding your pliable flesh to him.

When you were together, it didn't matter how much time had passed. There was only him. There would only ever be Steve.

You didn't bother trying to stay quiet as you entered the house, uncaring if Nik was already here. Things beyond your control were already in motion. You felt and air of change as you crossed the threshold.

Your heels clicked across the white marble flooring, as you reached out to take hold of the banister, but a guff voice drifting from the study suddenly made your blood turn cold.

You only knew him by his nickname that Nik and other Russian mob men call him, “Boogeyman.” His true identity was a secret, but Nik had called him in on occasion for unsavory propositions before.

In layman's terms, he was a hired hitman. One of the most ruthless hailing from Russia. Everyone knew of him and what he was capable of.

Stopping momentarily, you caught a bit of their conversation.

“Yes, of course old friend. This is just a precaution. Nothing set in stone, yet, as long as he stays out of my way there shouldn't be an issue.”

“No matter, young Petrov. I’ll be ready.”

They both laughed out, as you tried to swallow the lump in your throat, hurrying up the stairs without a glance back.

Suddenly a whole new set of worries began to bubble up inside you as you found the safe haven of your room, thanking God for the newly installed lock.

The night full of promise and happiness was quickly turning into a nightmare. This was becoming far too much.

This journey wasn't going to be an easy one, it seemed at every turn there would be a new obstacle destined to cruelly keep you from the man you love.

This wasn't the end.

It was now up to you to move forward.

Taglist: @teen--marvel @micheledawn1975 @thecreelhouse @girlwiththerubyslippers @bunnyhargrove @taccobelle @madaboutjoe

Want to be added? Just let me know! ❤️

#steve harrington #king of hearts #KOH #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fic #mafia!steve harrington #mafia!steve #mafia au #eddie munson #mafia!eddie #mafia!eddie munson #Joe Keery #fuck nik

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thewritetofreespeech · 2 years

Note

hii! can you do a scenario about the obey me boys finding out MC wears glasses?

*insert anime glasses flash gif* it is done

Obey me + MC with Glasses

Lucifer

You rush down the hall, skipping as many steps as safely possible down the steps, to try and make it to the auditorium on time. A benchmark you were well past, but still holding out hope for.

You were supposed to meet Lucifer that morning, before school, to go over some of the details for the culture festival. But your alarm didn’t go off, and you had overslept, and now you were rushing to make up time.

“I’m here! I’m here!” The door made a loud clatter as you burst through it. Trying to catch your breath now that you had crossed the finish line.

“Your late.” Lucifer replied sternly. Apparently also cross. “Being on time is an important part of your commitments [Y/N]. It shows respect.”

“I know, I know.” You reply as you stood up straight. “I didn’t mean to. My alarm malfunctioned. It was an honest mistake.”

The eldest demon brother stared at you with a perplexed expression. “You’re wearing glasses.” He said finally. You which, you were very surprised, and nervously adjusted your frames out of habit.

“Y-Yeah. I am. I usually wear contacts, but I was in such a rush to get here I didn’t have time.”

Lucifer continued to stare at you for a moment before he smiled, “they look nice.” You blush at the compliment and fidget with your glasses again. “Despite that, please be on time for our next meeting. In contacts or glasses. You look nice either way, so your appearance is irrelevant as long as you’re here on time.”

“….thank you….” You supposed that was a compliment.

Mammon

“I’m gonna take one of these. One of these. Ooo…two of those.”

You walk behind Mammon with a grin as he went through the boutique like a kid in a candy store.

He’d just gotten paid from one of his new modeling gigs. Which meant that he was due for a reward, in his opinion. Which also meant that he was going to be broke again here in a few hours but….he was having fun.

“Oh hey, these are cute.” You turn towards the luxury eye wear display when a cute set of frames caught your eye.

Mammon seemed to pick up on your interest and came over. “What do you need those for?”

“Uh…to see…?” You reply as you try the frames on for size. Hmm….not a fit.

“You don’t wear glasses.” He replied with a know-it-all tone.

“Yes I do,” but he clearly didn’t know that. “I just usually contacts. Have you seriously never seen me in glasses?” You try on another pair and turn to him. Looking for his opinion. Mammon seemed so flustered though that he couldn’t get a word out.

“I-I…I knew that! I just meant…you don’t wear ‘em that often…so…so you don’t need new frames. But…if you really want those, I guess I’ll buy them for you. You should have only the best. To protect your eyes I mean!”

You giggle a little at Mammon’s floundering, and hand the frames back to the woman behind the counter to buy them. “Thank you Mammon.” You coo at him. The demon getting red at the tips of his ears as you continue shopping.

Levi

“I’m so excited we get to work on costume’s together [Y/N]!”

“Yeah! Me too!” You cheer along with Levi as you get ready to work. “It should be a fun performance. And the costumes that Asmo designed look really brilliant.”

Levi let out a small huff and crossed his arms. “I guess they’re ok. They don’t really capture the essence of the series though. Only the general design. Which is typical for a normie.”

You giggle at Levi’s otaku elitism. “Well, I’m sure your otaku love will pour into the costumes, and give them that flair that’s missing from the pictures.”

“Do you really think so [Y/N]?” He asked hopefully.

“Of course I do!” You said with encouragement. You then reach in your bag to pull out your glasses. “Ok! Let’s get to work.”

You looked over at Levi, who seemed stun into almost a petrified state. His blank expression just locked on you. “Levi? What’s wrong?”

After a long pause, he finally said, in a quiet voice, “….Hime-sama is wearing glasses…..”

“Oh, yeah. It’s a little easier to for me to see the stitch work with my glasses instead of my contacts. I thought you knew I wore glasses? I mean, I wear the color contacts for cosplay, and I’m really good at them. I thought that was a hint but….Levi!”

The demon had stopped listening halfway through your explanation as his nosebleed caused him to faint and pass out. Otaku Megane Overload.

Satan

Of course, everyone knew that Satan’s favorite thing to do was to read. Second to that was spending time with you.

He tried to deny it, that you were his priority, but you knew where you stood. You couldn’t beat the mythical love stories between pages. The bonds he had built over years with the characters in some of these books. But it was nice of him to act like you could.

In any event, you were both doing his favorite activities of spending time together and reading. If there had been a cat here, he could die a happy man.

“Could we turn up the light in here?” Satan looked up at your question perplexed. “It’s just that it’s kind of dark in here, which makes it kind of hard to see by candlelight.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Satan apologized. “I only have the candles unfortunately. I’ve never really liked modern lighting. It’s garish, and excess lighting can be damaging to the books. I can light more candles if it’s an issue.”

You sigh loudly, then rummage through your bag. “You and your gothic aesthetic.” You mutter as you put on your glasses, and tuck back in to reading.

“You wear glasses?” Satan asked. More perplexed than ever that he didn’t know that about you.

“Only when my eyes are strained, or lighting makes it difficult to see.”

The demon seemed torn between his desire not to bring you discomfort and his desire of finding something new about you. “Well, they look nice on you. They suit your face. Very…scholarly” He complimented.

“Thanks,” you reply, “that’s totally the look I was going for.”

You both chuckle for a moment before returning to your books. Spending the rest of the evening peacefully together.

Asmo

“[Y/N]-chaaaan!” Asmo called as he let himself into your room. “Are you ready to go?”

“In a second!” You call back from your closet. Merging a few minutes later with some different top options to try on. “I just need to pick out a shirt, shoes, and accessories, and then we can go.”

“So not done at all.” He bemoaned before shuffling over to your bed and dramatically flopping down on his back on top of the covers. “Oh well, I suppose beauty can’t be rushed.” There was a long pause, only the sound of the hangers in your hand clacking as you demoed each top, before Asmo popped up again. “Hey wait, are you wearing glasses?”

You turn to Asmo with a startled expression and touch your face. “Oh…yeah…” You forgot to take them off when he showed up. Usually you put your contacts in as part of your getting ready routine, but rushing around you forgot to take them off. Now Asmo knew your secret.

“Why didn’t you ever tell me?!” He asked. Bounding off the bed and over to you. “Think of all the accessory options we have now! Plus, they look super cute on you.”

“I…I thought you’d make fun of me for wearing glasses.”

“Why in Devildom would I do that?” He asked. Seeming genuinely confused. Like it was never a thought to make fun of someone for their glasses, or hair color, or anything else about them. That just showed how beautiful of a person Asmo really was.

“Yeah, your right.” You agree. Adjusting your frames with a small smile. “You know what, I’m gonna wear them today. This will be a lot faster too. Let me finish getting ready and I’ll meet you in the lobby.”

“Oh~!” Asmo beamed, before leaning in to give you a peak on the cheek and wait for you downstairs.

Beel

It was your turn on kitchen duty tonight, and you were trying a new recipe you found online.

“Ok…a pinch of salt….6 harlequin leaves….fire moss….”

“Hey [Y/N], you need some help?” Beel asked as he came into the kitchen.

“No! Out!” The demon stopped, like a startled deer, as you yelled at him and pointed for the door. “Last time you ‘helped’ you ate all my ingredients, raw, and broke two bowls. You can’t help me this time Beel.”

Beel hung his head and shoulders a little at being scolded. Looking like a sad, wounded puppy with it’s tail between his legs. “Ok [Y/N], I’m sorry. I just wanted to help….”

You sigh heavily, feeling bad now, and call to him before he could make it to the door. “Wait Beel. I’m sorry. You can help.” The redhead immediately perked up and came over. “But no eating the ingredients.”

Beel nodded enthusiastically as he posted up beside you. “What are you making?”

“This new recipe I found on Devilgram.” You show him your phone with a picture of the final result, and he already started to drool. “But it’s a little complicated. No like…complicated, complicated. The instructions are easy. Just precise. So it’s hard to-“You’re wearing glasses.”

You stop your rambling when Beel cut in. Having put your glasses back on your nose as you were talking. “Oh. Yeah. I don’t need them all the time, but the font is really small on my phone. Helps to see it a bit better.”

“Can I try them?” The tried-and-true question of all non-glasses wearers.

You take them off and hand them to Beel. He carefully took them in both hands and put them on. “How do I look?”

Your immediate thought was ‘cute’, but you decided to go with, “very distinguished.” Which made Beel’s chest puff up. “Now, give those back so I can read the recipe. Or we’ll never have dinner ready.” He immediately handed them back.

Belphie

You opened your eyes with a flutter. Confused where you were for a moment before you let out a groan. Realizing you had fallen asleep.

“Belphie get up.” You urge in a groggy tone and give the demon a nudge. “We fell asleep.”

“Uh, yeah.” Belphie replied before breaking into a yawn. “It’s kind of my thing.”

You sigh and roll over to the edge of the bed. “Ok. We were only out for an hour. So we still have time to study before we head downstairs for dinner.”

“Are you wearing glasses?”

You stop as you realize you had gone through your morning routine without thinking about it. Putting on your glasses before you get started for the day. “Yeah. What about it?”

Belphie reached out and carefully took your glasses from your face. Trying them on. “Oh wow. You can’t see at all.” He stated as his eyes adjust to the frames. “Like…not see at all. How do you not run into more stuff?”

“I’m not blind!” You argue.

“Barely.” He retorted, and gave you your glasses back. “Ugh. Now I have a headache. I’m gonna lay down for another hour until it passes.”

“Belphie, no! We have to get up and study. The test is in two days and we need to…..” He was already snoring half-way through your speech. Pinning you down with his arm across your waist.

You sigh again, then pull out your textbook. If you were going to be trapped, might as well make use of the time.

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daisystwistedgarden · 4 months

Text

𝒇𝒊𝒄𝒔 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒈𝒂𝒛𝒂 - 𝒕𝒘𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝒘𝒐𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒆𝒅𝒊𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏

✿✿ 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐝𝐮𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 & 𝐫𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐬 ✿✿

hello! i'm joining other lovely fanfic writers with @ficsforgaza to help raise money for the folks in need in palestine! i wanted to show my support in the best way i can, and this to me is a wonderful effort to bring the community together to do some good.

to participate, make a donation to a vetted fundraiser found on @ficsforgaza's page (aka, don't send me any money!) and send me a screenshot (with your personal information removed, please!) along with what you'd like to request to my ask box. please do not "double dip" aka use the same donation for several writers-- this is a fundraiser, after all! here is what a request looks like:

hello! can i sponsor your mermay fic? i donated $5 to gaza, here is the screenshot! thank you! [insert screenshot]

my pricing will be as follows:

❀ sponsor-a-WIP: $1/100 words ❀ drabbles: $2-3/100 words (elaborated below) ❀ no money to contribute, but you want to support the cause? that's okay. sign a vetted petition from the @ficsforgaza page and send proof, and i'll add a sentence to a WIP of your choosing.

if you have any questions, feel free to take a look here on @ficsforgaza's page or reach out to me. be patient, i will work on these fics at a good pace for me. thank you so much for helping me raise money for a good cause :D

✿✿ 𝐖𝐈𝐏𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐫 ✿✿

❀ the high school years

before night raven college, each student had their own lives and experiences in high school. what did those years look like? how did they affect each student at the arcane academy now?

headcanon paragraphs for each student. college!au. estimated length = unknown. characters completed: none. wc: 0. current sponsors: none.

❀ mermay: azul, jade, & floyd

you're a researcher and rehabilitation expert at an injured merfolk sanctuary near the coast in a small city. one day upon arriving to work, you're greeted with news of a new arrival. he's a bit... odd, it seems, but you're determined to coax him from the depths of his tank and help him recover from the injuries that landed him here in the first place.

small fics for each character. x reader. nonhuman!au (aka no school, no transformation potions). estimated length = unknown. characters completed: none. wc: 449. current sponsors: two! sponsored word count: 449/1000.

❀ summer camp collab

a super secret collab with two other amazing writers! support this fic if you want to sponsor a fun project i'm keeping under wraps for now...

fics for each character (limited cast). college!au. estimated length = unknown. characters completed: none. wc: 0. current sponsors: none.

❀ escape room hcs

in a convoluted set of circumstances, the members of night raven college are paired up together in completely random groups for an escape room bonding exercise. how does this go? who thrives, and who flounders? which groups make it out alive?

character groups made up of main cast of 24 (22 main students + yuu and grim). six groups of four chosen at complete random by a spinner wheel. college!au. estimated length = unknown. groups completed: none. wc: 0. current sponsors: none.

❀ tattoo/piercer!au

you're looking to start your apprenticeship in tattooing and piercing at a small shop on sage island. there, you study under an employee at the shop meant to take you under his wing. who is he? does your apprenticeship land you your dream job (and relationship), or is it a disaster from the moment you lock eyes?

fic, x reader. limited characters. post-college!au, tattoo/piercer!au. estimated length = unknown. characters completed: none. wc: 0. current sponsors: none.

❀ yandere!fem!vil x reader

vil never expected you'd ever break up. the split was blinding, leaving her in a stupor as she stumbled through coveted on-screen roles and modeling gigs for the most prestigious publications in twisted wonderland. in her mind, you're still hers. it's only when she finds out that you've found another lover that her world-- and mind-- officially crumbles. it's time she takes matters into her own hands.

fic, x reader. trigger warnings: murder, stalking, general yandere behavior. post-nrc!au. estimated length = unknown. characters completed: none. wc: 0. current sponsors: none.

✿✿ 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬 ✿✿

i'll be accepting drabble requests for the main cast. i write in a collge!au unless otherwise stated, elaborated further on my page here. drabbles are estimated to be ~500 words. they can be sfw/nsfw, tropes, fluff, etc. please specify what you'd like to see in this drabble, whether you only have a character in mind or a very specific scenario! (note: anon MUST be off for you to request nsfw, and you must be 18+).

since requests require a bit more work, i'll be pricing them at $2 per 100 words for sfw drabbles and $3 per 100 words for nsfw drabbles.

do you want to support gaza and request fics for obey me! or obey me! nightbringer? check out my other blog here

#fics for gaza #sponsor a wip #disney twisted wonderland #disney twst #twst #twisted wonderland #twst college au #twst x reader #twst imagines #twst headcanons

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akkivee · 5 months

Text

The Rosho Special☆ Cream of the Crop Curry: Hypmic Curry Drama Track TL

Sasara: Oh, you’ve really been cookin’!

Rei: That curry smell is really making me hungry!

Rosho: It’s a miracle I was able to even decipher what you meant in that text! Why am I the only one working on this??

Sasara: Don’t sweat the small stuff! Have you finished making our super interesting curry yet?

Rosho: I did my best to follow your recipe but…

Rei: Hm? You didn’t make a normal curry?

Sasara: Tut tut tut! You see, this curry was made with some special ingredients!

Rei: It looks brown like any other curry, so I can’t tell the difference.

Sasara: I’ll give you a hint! I was thinking of calling it, "This Curry's Got You Gigged!!" Setting off any bells??

Rei: You can’t be thing about… Actually, no, that hint was so stupid, I got nothing for you.

Sasara: Hey now!!

Rosho: I used flounder in the curry, but if you can’t tell that at a glance, that’s gotta mean your joke’s fallen flat, right?

Rei: The curry’s meant sell, so it should have a little more impact.

Sasara: I guess you’re right… It’s gotta be appealing televised too…

Rosho: Let’s take a moment to brainstorm.

-----------

Sasara: *pops a cold one open* Man, nothing’s coming to mind at all…!

Rei: The theme you had settled on was, “A Bizarre Brown Curry,” right?

Rosho: We shouldn’t even try to be teeming with themes! It’s all about the flavours!!

Sasara: “Okra-zy Curry” doesn’t sound too bad!

Rosho: Okra me a river!!

Rei: How about “Kelp!! Addicted to Seaweed Curry”?

Rosho: Oh, now you’re just sailing on his coattails!

Sasasa: “Ya Kraken Me Up Squid Curry”!!

Rosho: Quit it with the seafood puns!! Geez, you’re not even trying to solve the root of the problem.

Sasara: Nyahaha…! No, yeah, you’re right.

Rei: But curry’s just curry, isn’t it? How can you even get someone to give a laugh at it at just a glance?

Rosho: How many times do I gotta say, that’s why we’re sittin’ around thinkin’ about it!!

Sasara: I think the alcohol’s getting to us~ Let’s get some food down, so we can sober up.

Rei: I agree. I’d like one order of flounder curry with rice!

Rosho: You takin’ my home as an izakaya?? Serve your own curry!!

Sasara: Phew whee, Mista Rosho here sure is stingy!

Rei: Well, sounds like I got no other choice.

---------------

Rei: Hey, so this is getting annoying to handle, you mind if I use this whole pot?

Sasara: Rosho, whatcha want me to do with this bag?

Rosho: Shut up, the both of you!! For now, just bring everything to me.

Rei: And there. Rice is served~

Sasara: And here’s a bit of the curry to top it off!

Rosho: Oh yeah, we’re using this too!

Sasara: “A White Stew for Rice”? You brought out some boil in bag goods you had bagged up?

Rosho: A student of mine gave it to me as a souvenir from a Hokkaido trip. It apparently has some Hokkaido specialties in it.

Rei: Their milk is incredibly tasty. And so… *pours it in*

Rosho: Hey!!!! What the heck are you doing??

Rei: This is my specialty, “Stew On This Rice”!

Rosho: The bag wasn’t even boiled yet… I guess I’ll stick it in the microwave.

Sasara: Wait a sec!

Rosho: What are you making that serious face for?

Sasara: If it’s cream… How does “Cream Of The Crop Curry” sound??

Rei: Ohhh, we are aiming for something eye-catching but… Wait, actually, this might work.

Rosho: It’s more of a stew though…

Sasara: Let’s have a taste test first!

*microwave dings*

DH: *eats*

Sasara: Woah??? This creamy stew and rice pair together so well!!

Rei: And this white colour gives it quite the impact.

Sasara: This is it! This is the curry that’s going to carry Dotsuitare Hompo to victory!

Rosho: But this isn’t curry?? What do you mean we’re going to use a stew??

Rei: Why’re you fussing? All we have to do is say we made a white curry.

Rosho: Then how do you explain how we made it??

Rei: White curry does exist, you know. There are spices for it and everything. Curry connoisseurs would be familiar with it.

Sasara: Is that so?? Well, there you have it, Rosho! I’ll let you figure out what those spices are!

Rosho: No, you won’t!! Shouldn’t we all be trying to figure this out??

Rei: Ahaha! I believe you’ll figure it out somehow.

Sasara: Alright! “The Rosho Special☆ Cream of The Crop Curry” is definitely going to take us to the top!!

#sasara nurude #rosho tsutsujimori #rei amayado #dotsuitare hompo #hypmic #hypnosis mic #HOW DO DH TRANSLATORS DO IT I WAS MISERABLE TRYING TO MAKE THEIR STUPID PUNS WORK #a lot got lost in the sauce i'm sorry i'm not better at this lol 🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️#first and foremost is that the title in romaji reads 'omoshiroi karee'#and that the word for 'white' is 'shiroi'#'omoshiroi' and 'shiroi' you see the pun right lmao #i decided to tl it as cream of the crop bc cream is a shade of white and it has milk lol win win i think #this whole thing was made of little puns like that i'll type them out if you ask but i won't in the tags lol #also if you've had a rice and chicken casserole add some curry spice to it and that is exactly this curry LMAO #i understand why rosho was concerned lmao but it was incredibly tasty lol #a very familiar tasting curry bc it tasted like a casserole but idk i kinda wanna dock points off for it lol #we'll see how it falls in the end lol #curry tl

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divinehedons · 1 year

Text

a madness all-consuming.

Pairing: dark!raider!Joel Miller x fem!reader

Word Count: ~2k

Summary: There's a few rules that aid one's survival in a post-apocalyptic hellscape. Stealing from Joel Miller is, of course, the fool's road to hell. But you just couldn't resist it. Now you have to face the consequences.

Warnings: This is a dark fic, minors DO NOT interact! This fic contains explicit non-con, allusions to canon-typical violence, elements of torture (mostly psychological, slightly physical), explicit unprotected sex (wrap it up!), gun kink, hard dom!joel, angry sex, this version of Joel is a real meanie poopie head, biiiig legal age gap.

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! Comments and reblogs are much appreciated; requests welcome!

You figured it would be easy. He wasn't in the prime of life, after all. He couldn't even hear properly out of one ear. If you were going to steal from anyone at the end of the world, you'll take all the advantage you can get. So when you heard the clear sound of a gun's safety clicking off in the dead of night, you swore there was never a time you turned around faster.

That's how he found you, clutching a looted bottle of whisky, eyes wide and trembling. Joel Miller was many things. You heard whispers of that quiet man who spoke with his eyes. You knew people who fled from him, even in their sleep. Never look him in the eye, kiddo.

Was he some modern Titan, you wondered once, with his Medusean gaze and Midas touch? Whatever it was, you had tried so hard not to run in with him. And yet, here you lay, right in the belly of the goddamned beast.

You never should've taken the gig for some crumbs to live off of.

"Put it down, little lady," he mutters gruffly, motioning with the barrel of his gun as your breath hitches, the words escaping your throat as you slowly allowed yourself to place the bottle back on the floor. "Atta girl. Now, we can be civilised, can't we? You'll tell me what you're doin' here, and I won't shoot your pretty little head off."

You had begun to stammer out some semblance of an explanation. I was starving. I hadn't eaten for days. I'm trying to be good-

The cool metal barrel stares you down as the gruff man presses it against your forehead, finally shushing your panicked cries as the free hand cups your cheek, rough hands belonging to the much taller man, somewhat attempting to soothe and relax.

"Use that pretty li'l mouth of yours, sugar, c'mon."

"Th-they told me they'd give me more rations if I g-got something for you," you said between shaky tremors. "I don't have anywhere else to go, sir, please-"

"Are you gonna start being more specific or do i have to get it out of you myself?"

Perhaps it was the sobs that escaped you. Perhaps it was the sheer panic in your eyes. Either way, Joel Miller immediately knew you weren't going to be as easy to talk to as he thought. He sighs, returning the pistol to his holster as his large hand takes you by the scruff of your shirt- a grimy little thing, really, stolen from one body or another- dragging you to the rickety dining table, slamming your rigid frame, face up and floundering just as he tethers each limb to each wooden leg, leaving you spread eagle, the perfect little victim.

You try to peer at him from the darkness, squinting through the warm yellow light overhead. You barely make out his figure, the soft sound of tools clinking as you try, once more, to beg.

Argumentum ad miseracordiam. An appeal of misery. You try to tell him, in broken fragments. "The other raiders said they'd give me food- oh, God, please! I haven't eaten in days and I was desperate!" A cry escapes you as he returns with a knife in hand, looking to you with a gaze that you only understood for what it was: of a man without morals, stumbling upon a mode of release.

He moves closer, and you can feel his breath on your cheek as that cool blade presses against your exposed throat. You cry, you scream, you thrash, even when the rope on your limbs dig deeper into your aching skin.

"Give me a name, sugar. Wouldn't want to hurt your pretty little neck," he threatens, just as you feel that blade cut against your skin when your breath hitches.

"I-" you try and think, try and remember, try to shake off that looming cloud over her brain. The blade again, slicing as warm rivulets of blood stain his fingers. The answer never came faster. "I don't know!"

He stabs the stained knife right beside your left ear, so close you swore you could've heard your own hair tethered to the same table as you cry out from sheer panic. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry- Please, I won't come near you ever again, just... please don't kill me-"

"So fuckin' mouthy," Joel finally says, glaring up at you with those same relentless eyes, retrieving his gun from his holster, pressing it against your lips as you sob harder. "Open your fucking mouth before I shoot your brains out, sugar." You obey, the idea of death so foreign and terrifying that it shocks you to consciousness. Making you all the more aware of the hell that comes next.

Slowly, Joel fucks the barrel of his loaded pistol, in and out for a few times as he watches you struggle against the sheer size of it. Finally, he presses it deep, despite your gagging and whining. "That's it, baby. Keep that pistol warm for me." All at once, you feel the heat in your cheeks, the tears wetting your skin, spread wide open and weak. "The only time you should be talking to me is if you're gonna tell me who sent you, peach. Got it?"

You try your best to nod, horrified of how much further he could go. You whine when he tears your shirt, uses his knife to cut open your pants. Within minutes, he has you how he wants you: bare, trembling, and completely at his mercy. It is then that he takes the gun away, chuckling darkly at the string of spit that clings against the muzzle.

"Ready to give me a name, darlin'?"

You sob, and try again. Like a fool, you think. "I didn't know, I swear!"

You feel his fingers take one pert nipple, pinching so hard you squealed and swore you almost saw stars. You look down, seeing the reddish-purple marks of his fingers. "Such a waste, baby. We could be having fun by now, but you're so fuckin' stubborn."

There's something else. You feel the slightly warm sensation of metal drifting against your stomach, lower and lower until he reaches that sweet cunt of yours. He watches, mesmerized by that strip of flesh that had never looked more delectable. And his beloved pistol is there, finding your needy little clit with ease.

"Tell me, sugar. Or else, you're fuckin' my gun."

You looked to see his expression to see if he was joking. If this was his sick form of pleasure, watching the fear enter your gaze. Only when you look, his gaze only carries burning clarity.

You feel white-hot shame cover you, and you hear yourself saying the words. "There was a blond!"

He pauses, just enough to see if what you were saying had any relevance. "He said he... he said it would be funny if I succeeded-"

"Interesting," interjected your captor, pausing momentary as he positions his gun right at your entrance. "Interesting, but not good enough."

With that, you feel something fucking up into you as you screamed, thrashing against your bindings as he chuckles, first sinking his pistol's entire barrel, only to recede and fuck back into you at a much more brutal pace.

The agony was indescribable. The pistol helped with nothing but your spit, your body, at first resisting, only to keen when the metal brushes against somewhere so deep within you. Wetness secretes from your very essence and makes it easier. You fought again, knowing just how much sickening pleasure it would bring him to know his gun had gotten you wet.

But he knew. Of course he knew.

He knew from the way your body tenses, builds up, locks itself. He knew from the miniscule way your hips chased his motions, the way your lip trembles, your eyes closing, only for your orbs to roll back. Fight as you must, your body told him you wanted this too. And that was enough to make him smirk.

You hear it, despite your whimpers. The distinct click of the safety turning off as he focuses on your needy little cunt. "That's it, baby. That's fucking it-" He smirks up at you as you shake your head, begging him to stop as he continues.

"Fuck no, baby." He leans closer, free hand holding your face and making you look at him. "I want you to look me in the eye as you cum."

That was all you needed. Just as he says it, your hips tense, your cunt clenches, your scream echoing throughout the house as your orgasm takes over you so wholly and completely, your spend making it so much easier to fuck you through your peak.

It was utter humiliation, seeing Joel pull away the pistol for it to be soaking, the evidence of your arousal dripping directly from the end of the muzzle. You whine, shivering where you lay as your eyes water.

"I-it was a raider too," you try again, wracking your brain throughout the darkness in an attempt to remember.

That seemed to peak his interest, looking up to you again, hands reaching down to unbuckle his belt. He smirks again, as if pushing you to say more in the chance that he'd stop. You start panting, squirming, struggling once more as you tried to remember anything else.

"Please, I've given you everything!"

That made him chuckle. Smug, collected, cool. "I don't know 'bout that, darlin'," he says in that significant southern drawl, leaning down to spit directly on your fucked out cunt, climbing up on that same dining room table, taking his cockhead to spread his own spend. His last kindness. Carefully, smilingly, biding his time. Like the monster that plays with his meal, as if the fear would make you taste as sweet.

You will always remember those brief moments. Where everything falls silent and all you can hear is the soft pleads, your wit's end hanging on to the desperation in your voice. You remember those dark eyes glinting in the darkness, as if he's still waiting, eternally watching, just how far you'll be able to beg for your dignity.

Perhaps that was why he bit down on your shoulder when you screamed as his massive girth spread you wide open in one solid thrust. From then on, he doesn't wait anymore. He fucks you through your tears, your screams, your fingernails digging into the hard wood of the table as he takes his pleasure, methodic, repeatedly, without satisfaction in sight. When he fucks you, he does so in a way that seemed to claim, carving a home for himself within your walls. A home for his spend when, some time after, he kisses your mouth needingly as his hips stutter and fuck his orgasm right against the very entrance of your womb.

He stays there, collecting himself as you wince, sniffle, turn your face away out of embarrassment, humiliation, feeling that finally, despite surviving another night in your post-apocalyptic reality, that you lost something anyway. That you weren't human anymore, anyway. Just a ghost inhabiting the body that was once your own.

"Blond, you said?" he asked, brows furrowed as he pulls himself out of you, tucking himself back into his pants. When you nod, you hear him depart into that darkness.

The peace felt jarring, silent, without a threat to the warm evening. But as soon as it started, so soon too, did it break.

All you hear is the clatter a few rooms away from you. Incomprehensible yelling from Joel and someone else, and, soon too, the rhythmic sound of pounding, grunting, the second voice falling silent.

Joel takes you again when he returns, turning you over and gripping you with sticky fingers. You shut your eyes and cry. You do not want to ask. You do not want to know.

But when he forces two fingers past your lips, the heavy taste of blood settle on your tongue. It tells you enough.

Was it madness if you felt relieved?

#joel miller fic #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #raider!joel #joel miller #joel miller dark fic #dark fic

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tgifridaysisdaycare · 29 days

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A few months before joining Smosh, Angela tweeted "I wish I could buy some good news about my career at Target" (like a day before/after the talent at target tweet) and I think about that a lot.

If only you knew!!! It reminds me of the Phrase "The Night is Darkest Before the Dawn" (which is used in cinderella's castle tee hee) and it just serves as a reminder to anyone who thinks they're not going to make it, who is floundering out in the open and looking for a life preserver, just wait a little longer. Hold on. Keep going. It'll come to you. It's similar to the story Shayne tells- how he was going to quit acting and go back to school... then he booked Smosh.

I think we've all, at some points, felt that dejection. Like we're not going anywhere. Don't give up- you might just book a gig that will change the trajectory of your career and bring you a new family to boot (or... whatever your goal happens to be)

#angela giarratana #smosh #shayne topp

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allyricas · 2 years

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i know most steddie fics usually go the route of gay eddie who's always known and steve who undergoes a bisexual awakening but...hear me out... what if they're both gay and they're each other's awakening?

clueless eddie and steve who both think they're straight. yeah, eddie doesn't exactly have a ton of experience with the ladies because most of the girls in hawkins aren't lining up to get with him. he's fooled around with a few girls after gigs.

fumbling handjobs and sloppy makeout sessions that lead to subpar sex in the back of his van. and yeah, it didn't exactly rock his world but it felt good and if it didn't exactly feel right, he assumes it's because of the situation not the gender. it never crosses his mind that he is allowed to want more. eddie is content with hellfire and his band. he stays busy and doesn't let himself think too much about why he's so disinterested in girls.

steve has experience. he's both hooked up with girls and had a serious relationship. he likes sex and he likes girls. it never occurs to him that maybe something is missing. that his desire to be wanted by girls perhaps overpowers his genuine desire. sure, he notices guys. thinks some are attractive, but it just never occurs to him that it can mean anything.

he's a boy so he's supposed to want girls. sure, he loved nancy and he did enjoy being with her but it didn't exactly set him aflame. he wanted to be loved and desired. she gave him that for a while, until she screams the word bullshit and it reverberates in his brain.

bullshit bullshit bullshit

he's upset because she's right. it is bullshit. so steve swears to change. he decides to be himself and stop trying so hard to be popular and wanted. it's lonely until a gaggle of children and robin buckley show him true friendship. but he still tries to date. flirts with lots of pretty girls and it leaves him emptier and confused than ever.

the upside down returns with a vengeance. steve and eddie are thrown together and eddie finds himself joking with steve. talking with him. seeing him in a new light. steve realizes that eddie is hilarious and nerdy. they settle into a friendship that is strengthened by matching scars and trauma. it's deeper, somehow different than other friendships the boys have had in the past. there's a tension that neither of them understand simmering just under the surface.

they all survive. eddie's name is cleared. life goes on. the boys decide to get a place together. eddie is working at the new record shop in town and steve stays at family video. neither are quite ready to leave hawkins despite everything. they rent a decent apartment together and throw a party, because fuck it. they deserve it.

more people show up than were invited. eddie finds himself on the couch next to steve and some girl they went to high school with. she's cute and she's flirting with both steve and eddie. really laying it on thick. eddie can't quite place the feeling that hits him as he watches her giggle at steve and put her hand on his chest. she's saying something and steve's eyes widen, looking over to eddie.

"eds, you up for it man? it's cool if you aren't." steve tells him, his cheeks flushed. eddie has no fucking idea what this girl has asked. he simply blinks at steve who seems to realize that eddie didn't hear. "she wants to hook up. with, um, the both us. like a threesome. you in?"

"what? both. me and you...?" eddie is floundering. why is this making him short circuit worse than usual?

"yeah, big boy. all three of us." steve smirks and eddie feels his heart racing.

eddie tells them yes. he says it before his brain can even catch up to what he's just agreed to. he's a bit tipsy and horny. and confused and intrigued, but he's shelving that.

when the girl first propositioned him, steve was in shock. she whispered in his ear "can your friend join?" and really filthy images flashed across his brain. things he couldn't fully make sense of. steve didn't understand why he was so keen to get eddie to join them, but as soon as, um, carrie? cherry? no, cherie. as soon as she asked, it was like he couldn't stop himself.

so he asked and eddie's reaction was objectively hilarious but steve couldn't even make fun of him. he was too turned on by the idea of the whole thing.

he takes them both to his room. sets the mood with soft lighting. stares at his best friend. considers that he's a little too excited about eddie being a part of this night, but is in it now. wants it too bad. the threesome, of course. with the girl. he wants to fuck this girl with his best friend- that has to be why is blood is zinging and his mouth is watering.

eddie is nothing if not bold and he straight up asks how this is going to go. no finesse, no flirting. he's in over his head. the girl giggles and tells the boys she wants them to all three enjoy the night. together. the boys just stare as she tries to explain that she means more than just a boring threesome where the dudes don't interact.

"can you guys kiss?" she asks, sweetly. "it would be really fucking hot."

steve and eddie stare at each other. neither of them have really considered kissing each other before. steve studies eddie's face. he has full, soft lips. he's taking ragged breaths, deeply affected by this situation. steve thinks it over for a second. eddie is his best friend. god, he has eyes. he knows eddie is objectively beautiful. prettier than any man has a right to be. he's had the errant thought of how good looking he is. so, why not kiss him?

however, eddie has lost all ability to have coherent thought. the girl and goddammit eddie cannot remember her name, asked them to kiss. eddie and steve. eddie and steve kissing. the thought of this short circuits his brain. steve. his best friend.

the only thing eddie manages to think is that yes, he would love to kiss steve. it's like his world just suddenly made sense for the first time. he wants to kiss steve like he's never really wanted to kiss another person before. it's a desperate longing that is building and building. he's dying of thirst and the only thing that can quench this desire is for eddie to find out how steve tastes. he needs it.

the girl is looking between them, but neither of them see her. steve makes the first step forward and pulls eddie into him. slides one hand around eddie's jaw and the other around his waist. presses his lips against eddie's and kisses him softly.

it's a fucking revelation. it's permanently altering steve's brain chemistry. there is now, only, before the moment steve knew what it felt like to kiss eddie munson, and after. his lips are soft and he tastes like the shitty mixed drinks they'd been drinking all evening. it's intoxicating.

the kiss deepens and eddie feels steve's tongue against his own. his fucking knees nearly buckle. he's swooning like a schoolgirl and he cannot get enough. shit, he's gay. he's gay for his best friend.

kissing steve harrington feels so right that he can't even panic in the moment. eddie thinks he could do this forever. have they been kissing for a minute or for hours? he gently bites steve's lower lip. steve whimpers in response. oh shit. it goes directly to eddie's dick and it cements into his brain.

yeah, i am so fucking gay.

they finally pull apart and just stare at each other. steve glances over to the bed to find it empty. she's gone. steve isn't too worried about that. he's a little more concerned with the news that he is apparently very, very gay. because kissing girls never felt like this. he feels more from kissing eddie than he did in his entire relationship with nancy. it feels natural. it doesn't feel like trying to earn affection or trying to be wanted.

it feels like the first real moment of his life.

"I think I'm gay" they blurt out at the same time, causing them to burst into unrestrained laughter. the kind of laughter that makes them double over and cry.

eddie collapses onto steve's bed while he tries to catch his breath. steve is looking down at him and god, eddie can't believe he didn't realize how much he wants him.

steve climbs onto him and smiles before he kisses him again.

"this feels right, eddie. nothing else has ever felt so real." steve tells him softly.

"me and you, big boy. it is right. it is real, stevie." eddie replies, kissing steve back.

maybe they just had to find each other all along.

#i don't know what this is #steddie #gay steve harrington #gay eddie munson

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fastcardotmp3 · 2 years

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Thinking about Eddie and how it probably takes him some time to figure out what he wants from life after having his whole worldview sent toppling and very nearly dying in an alternate dimension.

Like after he gets his GED it's odd jobs and moving town to town looking for a place that isn't put off when they do a background check and find out what he'd been accused of (no matter that he was cleared of all charges) and it's changing his last name and just surviving for a while rather than chasing down any sort of passion projects.

Maybe he tries the music thing out a few years in, figuring people probably care less about who's playing a gig so long as they know their way around a guitar, but he's still young and stupid and traumatized and it becomes very clear to everyone putting in the effort to stay in touch with him that he's about to be taken majorly advantage of by the industry so that's kind of a bust. He gets out as fast as he can, can't face the reality of his name ending up in the press anymore than it already has for Wayne's sake as much as his own.

And it's hard. It's messy and it's survival and it's just a lot for a guy who never really planned to still be alive this many years after that guitar solo in the Upside Down but he has to stop running around the country at some point and hey, Chicago's as good a place as any right?

Robin's working on her Master's out there and Nancy's at the Herald kind of kicking all kinds of journalistic ass. Steve just finished up his degree after floundering a bit like Eddie for a few years there when all the head trauma caught up to him and chronic tinnitus finally started turning into hearing loss and he's working at a school for HOH and Deaf kids now, genuinely actually thriving.

And Eddie feels a little bit like he's still the third-try senior at Hawkins High because what has he done? Lots of false starts and changed minds and spontaneous moves cross-country because he got too restless being in one place for too long, what has he really done?

He moves to Chicago, though, gets a job at a bookstore which is really far from the worst gig he's had in the past five or six years and it also just so happens to only be a handful of blocks away from the Art Institute where he happens to know one of the top undergrads.

The first time Will Byers comes in it might as well be because Steve is dragging him by the ear, because Eddie's only lived here three weeks but Steve has spent every day of that time making sure Eddie is getting settled and acclimated and has people. Almost like he's worried about Eddie leaving again.

Almost like he wants Eddie to stay.

And he drags Will Byers into the bookstore, eggs them into catching up outside of the Monster Hunter Reunions Joyce tries to make happen around major holidays. And then he does it again. And again.

It's Steve and Will bringing him lunch or bringing him coffee when it starts getting cold in the windy city and Eddie is loathe to admit it, but it's nice. It's not some big revelation, it's not Eddie's chance to change the world or anything, but he's got people around who keep making him aware that they're around and he's more settled than he's maybe ever been.

And then one day it's--

"Hey, Byers, you tell Ed about that thing you've been working on?"

If Eddie's hands weren't busy designing a killer fantasy display (if he does say so himself) he would be noticing the sly smugness in Steve's shoulders. He would know this was a set-up. He would just know.

The thing Will is working on is a graphic novel.

The thing Will is working on is a fucking metal ass premise of a graphic novel, taking no shortage of inspiration from the kid's quite frankly too insane for fiction experiences while still somehow putting so much of his own voice into it and Eddie is obsessed, Eddie is enthralled, Eddie is--

"Would you mind giving me feedback sometime? It's just-- I've got all these ideas, but I never know how to streamline them. You were always so good at that as a DM-- making everything make sense, you know?"

On that day, Eddie is mostly just honored that Will sees him for more than a guy without any formal creative writing education and trusts him enough to look at his work.

A matter of weeks later, Eddie is somehow not just giving feedback, he's basically a co-author. They use the big empty wall above Eddie's couch in his tiny studio apartment for storyboards and beat notes and it's on accident, the way Eddie finds this thing he loves.

Except for the fact that it's only an accident for him.

"You're such a fucking meddler, you know that?" he says to Steve over beers at Steve's apartment one Friday afternoon after gushing over Will's new art drafts for the book for approximately 45 minutes straight.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Steve smirks, not even trying to hide it.

"Oh, come on. Will told me he came to you asking if you thought I'd be interested in helping out and you came up with this elaborate slow-burn plan. The gig is up, Harrington, I'm in your head."

Steve just telegraphs his movement as he reaches up and shuts off his hearing aid, "Sorry, I can't hear you, man. Maybe if you wrote it in a book for me, drew some pictures--"

Who would really blame Eddie for kissing him on the mouth?

Someone needs to shut that guy up every once in a while.

#steddie #steddie fic #steve x eddie #eddie munson #eddie & will #hoh steve harrington #stranger things fic #dot post #graphic novelist duo eddie and will is something that could be so good actually

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waxsuyaaa · 7 months

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more paul headcanons

alright time to listen to some wall of text, fragil-ey broken up by paragraph breaks hope you’re ready

okay so paul lives together with the rest of sashimori somewhere in splatsville, near flounder heights (so further away) because they just do that— the buildings look similar. and everytime sashimori needs to perform, they take the overhead train above splatsville (the one where you look up and its like oh hey sky train)

yeah, this is the highlight of EVERY SINGLE PERFORMANCE in paul’s eyes, the feeling of watching over splatsville where the light hits the windows of the train in just the right way and it makes those rainbow shimmers off the LED signs. mhm.

the other highlight of performing is after the concert/gig/whateveritscalled, going to the local café or food truck and getting the kelp and biscuits and bonus drink. sashimori regularly goes to one of the marigolds in one of the cafés, she knows them as regulars and will give them discounts!! yayy

and their apartment’s got a view of the flounder heights battlefield (not really a view, more like you can see it between the buildings. just a bit) and paul will just stare. at these crusty splatlandian youths trying to turf war. paul doesn’t turf war much. hes too focused on hanging out with sashimori and talking to the beat-making jellyfish at the top floor of the splatsville lobby.

his sister, ahato, made a camera for him (or rather, fixed it up out of old parts) as a present before she left (to g-g-get sanitized!!) and even if the audio doesn’t really work, he loves it soo much and carried it all the way out of the octarian army and into splatsville where he brings it everywhere to record memories.

also paul is shorter than most octolings his age because of malnutrition, maybe, he hasn’t seen sunlight for most of his childhood. and also didn’t really participate in training that much.

in conclusion, paul is super paulicious and paultastic.

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ladykailitha · 2 years

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Star Child Part 3

In which we learn a little backstory about why Eddie was so resistant to playing with Steve and that the Harringtons are so so much worse.

Part 1 Part 2

Eddie woke up alone with the worst hangover and if his day couldn’t get any worse there was someone banging on his door.

“Hold on, damn it,” Eddie mumbled, stumbling to the door.

He threw it open to see all three of his bandmates standing there, looking far too chipper for this ungodly hour.

“What do you want?” he bit out.

“Someone struck out,” Jeff teased.

“How could you possibly strike out,” Gareth hissed, “when the dude was practically throwing himself at you?”

“What. Do. You. Want?” Eddie asked through gritted teeth.

“We wanted to see if you wanted to go for breakfast before head out of town?” Brian said.

Eddie closed his eyes. “Yeah, just give me fifteen minutes, I still need to pack up.”

They all nodded and Eddie slammed the door in their faces. He realized he didn’t have any of his stuff. He looked around the room frantically before his cell phone went off, announcing its presence on the table.

Eddie let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. He unlocked the screen as he pocketed the keys and wallet.

-I hope the hangover isn’t too terrible this morning.

Eddie grinned and typed out his reply.

-Doing better now that I’ve heard from you.

-Glad to hear it. Sorry I didn’t stay, I had an early morning radio show to do this morning.

Okay, Eddie thought, that was a valid reason. Still made him grumpy.

-Why would you do something that early in the morning?

-I take it you’re not a morning person?

Eddie huffed out a laugh.

-I’m barely a person before noon.

-lol. You doing anything later today?

Eddie pulled his hair in front of his face and sighed.

-On the way to Chicago, we’ve got a concert tomorrow night

Eddie stared at the three little dots for what felt like forever before the message filled up his screen.

-Damn. I was really hoping you’d come with me when I went to visit the children’s hospital this afternoon. The kids would have been over the moon. But if you have a gig, that’s fine.

Eddie had the feeling that Steve was floundering on the other end of the phone.

-Yeah sorry. Being from Hawkins and considered the town freaks makes us not want to stick around. But you do you man.

-Yeah I hear that. My own experience with the town is pretty shit too. I feel I have to give back after being the little shit I was when I was in school.

Eddie paused. Yeah. He knew all about that.

-Making up for being the school bully the reason you did last night’s concert?

Eddie had finished packing all his shit up and patted his pockets, making sure his keys and wallet were still there by the time he got a response from Steve.

He opened the door when his phone trilled in his hand.

-In part, yeah. Calling kids queer or fag when you are bisexual is the worst kind of dick move I can think of.

Eddie slumped against the door frame staring at his phone.

Shit.

-You’re pulling my chain, right?

Suddenly his phone was ringing.

“Yeah?” Eddie answered.

“Hey,” Steve murmured. “I’m really not pulling your chain. I swear on it.”

“Holy shit, man,” Eddie said. “Who knows?”

“You, my parents, my agent, my manager, my record label,” Steve muttered.

“That’s why you’re parents wanted you committed, isn’t it?” Eddie asked.

Steve hummed. “They tried conversion therapy first. It’s where I met my best friend and manager, Robin. We escaped and she took over as my manager. My parents tried to sue the courts to say I was crazy, but when I told them that would have to say why they wanted me committed, they dropped it.”

“Fuck, man.” He looked at his watch. “I’ve got to go. So if you still want to chat, text me, okay?”

“I’ve got to go, too,” Steve whispered. “I know you don’t have any reason not to tell anyone about me. About what I said. But...can it wait a year? My contract with my label will be up and it won’t matter after that.”

“What?” Eddie squeaked. “No, man. I’m not going to out you. Shit. You do you. Come out when you feel comfortable, okay?”

Steve let out a shuddering breath. “Thank you. Drive safe.”

“Yeah, and tell those kiddies, Uncle Eddie says hello, k?”

Steve laughed. “Will do.”

They said their goodbyes and Eddie slipped into the elevator, feeling like his whole world had just bottomed out.

Eddie slept off his hangover in the tour bus. They were about half way to Chicago when he woke up.

“He lives!” Jeff said from the table where the rest of the band was playing cards.

“Fuck off,” Eddie grumbled. He grabbed a water bottle and some aspirin. He swallowed the pills and came to sit next to Gareth.

“You still in denial about Pretty Boy Stevie?” Brian asked.

Eddie threw his head back and rested it on the back cushion. “I don’t even know anymore, man. I have this image of him in my head from high school and shit, I don’t know.”

“Well he’s certainly got us convinced he’s a pretty cool dude,” Jeff said. And began ticking off the reasons on his fingers. “He writes all his own music, plays guitar and piano, that arrangement of ‘Low Key in Love’ was bitching as hell, man. And that’s just the stuff I saw. That’s not even the stuff we were hearing from the people close to him.”

“Yeah,” Gareth agreed. “You can always tell the fakes from the real stand up dudes from how their people talk about them. The sound guy at the venue said Steve offered to give him a ride home, because his car broke down.”

“Even gave him money to get it fixed or replaced,” Jeff said.

“The night was filled with other stories like that,” Brian agreed. “It looks like he’s honestly trying to give back to the town. Which is amazing, by the way.”

Eddie sighed. “You guys were sophomores when Steve was still at Hawkins High, right?”

The three of them looked at each other at the strange non-sequitur.

“Yeah,” Gareth said. “So?”

Eddie licked his lips before pressing them together. “Did you ever run afoul the popular seniors’ group?”

Jeff scoffed. “No. We were too insignificant.”

“Lucky you,” Eddie dead panned.

“Oh shit,” Brian said. “You’re saying Steve bullied in at school?”

Eddie sighed. “Stood by and watched was more like, but yeah. The Kings were a good name for those assholes.”

“Fuck, man,” Jeff muttered.

They were silent for a moment before Brian looked up at him. “Did–did you ever meet Steve’s dad?”

Eddie scoffed. “Once, but I was too drunk to remember it. But from what I’ve been hearing lately, I want to reach down his throat and pull out his blackened shriveled heart out through his mouth.”

Brian raised an eyebrow. “Nah, that would be too good for the asshole.” He bit his lip. “I honestly don’t know how Steve survived let alone became as big as he is.”

Eddie frowned.

Jeff and Brian shared a glance.

“My older sister used to run with some of the cheerleaders when she was on the drill team,” Jeff said. “She was pretty sure Mr Harrington was beating him when he was in town. Which, admittedly wasn’t often, but it was enough that you could sense a pattern.”

“Holy shit,” Eddie whispered.

Gareth sighed. “We aren’t saying this to excuse what Steve did in high school but it seems to me that he was dealing with some shit you know?”

Eddie sighed. “Still is, apparently.”

They all stared at him in shock.

He half shrugged, tilting his head. “I don’t know, he’s told me some pretty heavy stuff. Like career ending stuff. He trusted me and I really don’t know what to do with that.”

“Sounds to me,” Gareth said, “like he’s trying to make amends but doesn’t know how.”

Eddie’s lip quivered. “I think I like him. Like a lot.”

“Well, you’ve got time I think,” Jeff said. “Deciding what to do with that. I mean we’re still on tour for the next two months and his manager, Robin was saying that Steve was getting ready to go into the studio for his last album. He’ll be in LA about the time of our last concert. If you still feel that way about him by then ask him out.”

Eddie blinked. “Yeah, okay.”

Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16

Tag List: @whatthemeepever @cutepumpkin4 @spectrum-spectre @livelaughlexa @ohlook-afrog @linkydinky06 @goodolefashionedloverboi @moonshadows-13 @eboyawstenn @avacrebs @bejeweledbaby

#My writing #stranger things #steddie #rockstar au #song fic #ladykailtiha writes

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your-divine-ribs · 7 months

Text

Red Part 9

Words: 2.5k

Y/N is trying so hard to stay away from Van but she can’t avoid him forever… no warnings for this part ❤️

Red Masterlist Main Masterlist

You can't go on like this... you have to end things with Van...

You repeat the same few lines over and over in your head like a mantra over the following two weeks, almost like it's a sacred incantation that might somehow ward off these feelings that haunt you. It doesn't work though, your heart lurching every time your phone vibrates with a text message. Van's insistent, that's for sure. His texts start out flirty with plenty of innuendoes, but by the third day of you blanking him they take on a more serious tone.

Van: This won't go away just because you're avoiding me. I need to see you.

Van: We need to talk. You can't just keep ignoring me.

Van: I miss you x

The last one just rips into your heart brutally, and from that point on you hit delete quickly every time his name flashes up on your phone screen, trying not to read the contents of the messages. It's safer that way.

Of course ignoring Van doesn't mean that you automatically stop thinking about him though. He lingers there in your mind frustratingly, refusing to budge. He's the first image that pops into your head on waking and the last thought intruding on your mind as you battle with sleep. His whispered seductions in your ear, his hot breath fanning against your neck, the plushness of his lips as they press feverishly against yours... and those eyes... captivating and impossibly blue in the sunlight, drawing you in.

You've stayed away from Larry's ever since the day after the party, feigning a mystery illness, even going as far as insisting that Larry steers clear of your house too in case you infect him. He argues at first, but you insist. After all you are sick. Sick with guilt.

For the first time in all the years that you've been together you find yourself imagining a scenario where you two break up, playing the scene in your head like a movie. Larry shocked and disbelieving, pleading for you to reconsider through his tears. Van there waiting in the wings to move in and claim you, the duplicitous victor who steals you right out of his best friend's arms. No matter which way you play it, the outcome is always the same. Heartbreak for all involved.

You just can't do it.

"You can't still be ill, surely?"

Larry's tone is disbelieving and you're glad that you're on the phone and not face to face where he could see your flushed cheeks and guilt-ridden expression.

"Honestly, I've never felt so bad in all my life. I don't know what's wrong with me."

"But Sophie says she saw you in town yesterday, you were just coming out of that cafe on the High Street. You can't be that bad if you're out and about."

Sophie.

So she's still on the scene. It surprises you and that familiar jealousy comes flooding back, but you remind yourself that you have no business feeling it. If you don't want Van you're going to have to get used to seeing him with other girls. It's actually a good thing.

It doesn't feel good though.

"Errr... well, I guess I am starting to feel a little better." You flounder at being caught out. "I only popped out for a moment."

But Larry doesn't seem concerned that your excuses could be lies, he's got no reason to think that you'd be so devious in trying to avoid him. He just sounds happy, his voice raising up in excitement.

"Ah great, if you're starting to feel better then you'll be okay to come to the gig on Friday night."

"Gig? What gig?"

"You know... the lids are playing the O2 Academy. It's gonna be great. Tickets sold out in about 5 minutes."

"Oh..."

You're struck with anxiety at the thought of seeing Van again, but you know that you can't hide away forever. Sooner or later you're going to have to face him so it might as well be sooner. And he'll be up on stage for most of the night which should make staying out of his way even easier.

"Yeah... yeah. I should be alright. I'll come. Should be a good night."

You try to inject some form of enthusiasm into your voice but it's strained, not that Larry seems to notice. He's off on an excited rant, enthusing about what a good opportunity this is for the band and his best friend. It twists your heart to hear how proud he is of Van, and this just confirms to you that you're making the right decision by ending things.

"Ahh yeah it's gonna be class, and Dan the manager reckons this is just the start of it. He's just in talks with some of the major festivals and there's a good chance they'll be booking loads over the summer. They're really going places, I can feel it. Next year is gonna be immense! And Van's writing some quality tunes at the moment... proper anthems. Hopefully he might play one of the new ones on Friday."

You find yourself zoning out, Larry's words becoming indistinct until you hear something that makes your ears prick up.

"I'm just hoping this gig'll sort him out. Honestly I don't know what's got into him at the moment, he's been moping around with a face like thunder, ignoring Bondy's texts, shutting himself away in his room... he's been a bloody nightmare. Sophie says he's been snapping at her too..."

You close your eyes and screw up your face, your gut twisting as you listen to Larry's account of Van's mysterious uncharacteristic behaviour. What the fuck have you two been playing at? You're not just risking messing up your own lives, but also dragging other people into this whole sordid mess.

You need to rid yourself of this notion that you're somehow falling for Van. It's lust, that's all it is. Plain and simple. And you can soon put a stop to that. You just need to control your urges and see Van for who he really is. It wasn't so long ago that you were disgusted as he paraded a string of lovestruck girls into his bed. He's only on his best behaviour right now because he's on a mission to bed you. And that's never going to happen. Never. Never in a million years. It's over.

Gig nights are always accompanied by a mixture of emotions. Bob and Benji are a bag of nerves even though Benji tries to play it down, a contrast to Bondy's quiet, chilled confidence. Van's always hyper and tonight's no different. He's pacing back and forth in the back room of the venue, practically bouncing off the walls. At least the excitement is overshadowing the awkward moment that you two first clapped eyes on each other. Your train of thought had been utterly derailed and you were rendered speechless as you'd pushed through the door and seen him standing there, your breath catching in your throat as he'd greeted you with a rush of words which sounded very much like relief.

"Y/N! You made it. I really didn't think you'd come but here you are!"

"Here I am," you echo weakly when your power of speech returns, immediately dropping your head down to study the floor to hide your red cheeks. Thankfully everyone's so caught up in the pre-gig excitement that they don't appear to notice Van's eyes lingering on you and your obvious discomfort, but you announce that you're going to the bar nevertheless, keen to be released from Van's stifling gaze.

You turn quickly on your heel, head still down, making for the doorway that you've just come through. Various cries sound out from the lads, placing their orders, but you don't turn around. You just carry on walking, through into the corridor where you stop, taking a deep breath and leaning up against the wall, tipping your head back and closing your eyes.

Fuck... you hadn't been expecting the strength of emotions that had come crashing down on you when you'd seen Van. It had hit you like a ten-tonne truck, a wave of longing and craving and pent-up desire, a rush that made you feel weak, your head still spinning as you curse inwardly, trying to compose yourself.

"Are you okay Y/N?"

The female voice catches you by surprise and your eyes flick open quickly to see Sophie standing there, eyes wide and brimming with concern.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine... good... really good actually. I just felt a little... I don't know... faint I guess. It's so hot in there." You fan yourself with a hand, glad to have an excuse for your scarlet cheeks.

"Larry said you'd not been very well so I thought I'd come and check on you. It's not like any of the lads would think to… am I right?"

She rolls her eyes and grins, linking an arm through yours, friendly and conspiratorial. You smile back, pushing your body off the wall, letting her turn you both in the direction of the venue foyer and bar.

"Yeah, guys are shit like that aren't they? Completely wrapped up in themselves."

"Totally! Oh god, especially Van. Sometimes I wonder whether he notices that I'm even there at all!"

You can't help the satisfaction that floods you at her words and you hate yourself for it, pushing it away and playing the understanding confidante, glancing over at Sophie as you walk along.

"Oh, well that's Van for you, he's so easily distracted. So... are things not... errr... going that well with you two then?"

Sophie lets out an audible sigh as you arrive at the bar, both leaning on it with your elbows. "I don't know. He's so moody at the moment, and it's like his mind's always somewhere else entirely when we're together."

Your mind goes to the frequent text messages you've been receiving. You dig in your bag for your purse, ordering pints for everyone. "You do realise that the band always comes first don't you?"

Sophie shrugs, shaking her head slightly, her glossy brunette locks falling perfectly to frame her face. She really is gorgeous, Van must be crazy.

"I know that... and I mean I know we've not been together long, but sometimes I wonder whether he's just stringing me along. You know, until something better comes along."

"Well I don't know about that..." you begin, but Sophie talks over you, eager to tell you her woes, reaching for the first freshly poured pint.

"I mean you did warn me didn't you? About what Van was like? Maybe I should've listened... but I keep finding myself going back for more. He's just so bloody gorgeous it's like I can't help myself. D'ya know what I mean?"

You almost mumble out an agreement before you stop yourself, dipping your head to take a sip of your own pint instead. Sophie's not waiting for an answer anyway, she's on a roll. And what she says next shocks you.

"It's funny really, I've fancied Van for so long. I tried to catch his eye for ages, turned up to all his gigs, went to all the same parties, then after months he finally noticed me. I thought it was like a dream come true, but now I'm not so sure. I'm beginning to think that maybe Van's not the real catch here... maybe it's your Larry instead!"

You splutter in surprise, nearly spraying her in a mouthful of lager, swallowing it too quickly and making yourself cough. "Larry?" You croak, wiping the drink that's dripping down your chin.

She throws her head back with a hearty laugh, a hand reaching out for your arm. "Oh my god Y/N! You should see your face! Yes Larry... your Larry! There's not many Larry's around here last time I checked!"

You crack an awkward smile, setting your drink back down on the bar. "Yeah, I guess he's a good one."

"The best!" Sophie giggles. "Honestly, he's such a sweetheart. When I got upset over how Van was acting the other day he was so lovely. And he's hilarious too, he had me in stitches telling me stories of what the guys all get up to when they're touring."

Her eyes are all lit up as she speaks and you suppose you should feel threatened that this gorgeous girl's so taken with your boyfriend, but you don't. You just listen on, smiling and sipping your drink as she tells you a story of Larry picking her up from a party when she'd had too much to drink as Van wouldn't answer his phone. You hadn't realised how close they'd become in such a short space of time.

Suddenly she stops mid-sentence, eyes wide and cautious. "Oh bloody hell, listen to me going off on one! I hope I'm not over-stepping the mark. You do know that Larry adores you right? I really don't think that he'd even so much as look at another girl. Ahh shit I feel bad now! Me and my big mouth!"

"No, no it's fine," you assure her. "Larry's one of the good guys, nothing's too much trouble for him. He's like everyone's best mate."

Sophie's wariness evaporates instantly. "Yes! That's just it!"

"Alright ladies?"

You feel an arm on your shoulder as you hear the familiar voice in your ear and you whip your head up to see Larry's wide grin. He's got his other arm curled over Sophie's shoulder and she shrieks excitedly on seeing him.

"Larry! Oh my god, we've literally just been talking about you! Bet your ears were burning!"

"Hope it was all good," he grins, giving you a kiss on the cheek, murmuring a quiet "hiya love".

There's a flurry of greetings and hugs, and again you marvel at how seeing Sophie obviously so close to Larry isn't setting off alarm bells in your head. Maybe it's because you're so secure in the knowledge that he'd never stray. Or maybe it's something else. Maybe the spark really has gone from your relationship, that giddy breathless feeling that Van gives you, so addictive that you're always left craving more.

As Larry picks up the pints that you and Sophie can't manage and you all turn back towards the green room, thoughts are thundering through your head like a hurricane. You know damn well that you'd be foolish to think that the rush of excitement from a new relationship can be sustained, and the comfortable companionship that usually ensues is really the ultimate goal, but you still can't shake that disquieting feeling that your relationship with Larry has run its course.

But this isn't the movies. There won't be some dramatic scene accompanied by emotional turmoil that ends up in life lessons and everyone living happily ever after. The fact remains that not only are you a dishonest cheat, you've done the unthinkable and embarked on a illicit affair with your boyfriend's best friend.

Again the words ring through your head, and a quiet determination blooms inside you.

You can't go on like this... you have to end things with Van...

#red #catfish and the bottlemen #van mccann #van mccann x reader #vanfic

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