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depravitycentral · 9 months

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Yandere! Illumi Zoldyck General Profile

Yandere! Illumi Zoldyck x fem! reader

Tw: kidnapping, stalking, non-con, breaking and entering, slight somnophilia, misogynistic undertones, traditional gender roles, mentions of forced breeding/forced motherhood, murder, violence, lots of descriptions of killing methodologies, slight mentions of self induced wounds, fem reader, MDNI

I do not condone any of the actions described in this post - this is fiction and should be treated as such. If you or a loved one is in a similar situation to anything contained in this post or my blog in general, please seek help. You're in charge of your internet consumption; please make responsible choices. With that, enjoy!

WC: 11K

DARLING PROFILE:

Gentle

It takes Illumi a long time to develop feelings for his darling for a multitude of reasons.

Emotional unavailability, high expectations, and disinterest, just to name a few, and while he isn’t actively searching for a partner, there are a few base requirements he knows his future partner must meet.

Strong, intelligent, hard working, everything desirable that he knows both he and his family would approve of.

But once he meets his darling, his interest slightly peaked in them, that list begins changing slightly.

Because while the feelings are slow to solidify, Illumi notices quickly that his darling is so, so painfully averse to being harsh.

They’re not confrontational, treat others with a level of attentiveness and care that initially makes him scoff, and he doesn’t think he’s once seem them ever lose control of themselves and explode.

It’s uncanny, unnatural, as far as Illumi is concerned, and yet it’s fascinating. He slowly grows to admire this trait in his darling, how they can be so unconditionally soft with everything and everyone around them, eventually finding himself more and more attracted to them with every kind deed they do. It makes them weak, easy to manipulate, easy to kill, but Illumi finds it oddly endearing.

He’s always firmly believed that mothers should be nurturing to their children, to help them grow and shape them into the best versions of themselves possible, and while they’re opposite to his mother in many ways, maybe that gentility they possess is a the perfect thing needed.

Once he’s decided that his darling is his future wife, he’s immediately moving to experience this kindness for himself.

He comes back from missions with a little more blood and bruising than was necessary, but the way his darling gasps and quickly grabs the medical kit makes Illumi blink in wide fascination, unsure what drives them to eagerly spring into action but more than ready to feel their soft touch.

(They don’t need to know that Illumi allowed the target to get a few more hits in than necessary, just to keep them fawning over him as long as possible, or that he had to refuse ten different medical personnel in the mansion before making it to their shared ‘bedroom’.)

He likes the juxtaposition between his darling and him, and while it occasionally irritates him that they’re so soft and weak, it’s more endearing than anything else – just don’t be soft with anyone else but him, yes?

Smart

Illumi may be morally misguided, but the man is intelligent. He knows more about the human body than many doctors, and is skilled beyond belief in the art of combat and stealth.

He understands the best ways to go about gathering intel on a target without being traced or caught, and is able to apply that knowledge to set up traps correlating to his employers’ requests.

And this is a trait he’s simply unwilling to compromise when it comes to a partner – they must be able to keep up with him mentally.

They don’t need to have the same kind of intelligence as him, but the ability to critically think and quickly understand is a necessity. Illumi has very little patience for stupidity, and the thought of spending time with someone who doesn’t understand most of what he says is irritating.

And so, once his feelings for his darling begin appearing, Illumi is putting them through a small series of tests to make sure they live up to his expectations. It’s nothing too intense, nothing he wouldn’t be able to do himself.

He’s leaving extra clues that he’s been in his darling’s apartment – clumsy signs that he’d never normally leave, in the hopes that they’ll realize they’ve had an unwanted guest.

Cabinets are left ajar, their bed slightly unmade, though the thing that really clues them in is the presence of long, dark locks of hair around their apartment that they know aren’t theirs.

They’d never leave hair on the kitchen table; they’d see it and remove it, mildly disgusted. And yet, here three locks lay, making them a bit paranoid as they call the police.

Illumi intercepts the call, making sure it never rings through, but he’s still proud of his darling, satisfaction pooling in his chest because he just knew they’d pick up on it.

He likes knowing his darling is competent, and that their future children will be so too – the next Zoldyck heirs can’t be clueless, after all.

Generous

In general, Illumi isn’t particularly selfish with those he holds dear.

With the exception of Killua, Illumi has always willingly done as he’s been told.

He’s never demanded much from his parents, never insisting on material goods. He’s never felt cheated out of anything, either – his parents have molded him into the perfect assassin, and he couldn’t be more grateful for the rigor and training he received as a child.

And yet, once his darling enters his life, Illumi finds himself feeling strangely overwhelmed. They always seem to be giving things away – their time, bits of food they’ve cooked, their love, other things material and not alike.

It confuses Illumi; it makes him wonder why they’re wasting their resources on people they don’t know well, on those who likely wouldn’t reciprocate.

It’s a mystery, and frankly he finds his darling to be foolish for it – until one day it’s focused at him.

Illumi can’t comprehend why his darling is willingly giving away a bit of their time when they encounters him – in another body – disguised as a homeless man begging for change.

There’s a pitied look in their eye as they hand him the bills – two dollars, just what they had in change and could afford to give away – and tells him there’s a gas station nearby with cheap snacks he can eat.

Illumi just stares at them, not understanding why they’re helping, and soon he’s asking just that.

They startle and awkwardly laugh, telling him it’s because they don’t like seeing others in need, and they were only planning on spending that money to buy junk foods for themselves, anyways.

Illumi blinks, but his darling is soon speed walking away, the interaction feeling strange and uncomfortable.

Illumi still doesn’t understand, but it becomes another one of the facets of his darling that he simply learns to enjoy.

He yearns to understand what compels them to put others before themselves (something that yet again irritates him a bit), but he finds that the more he interacts with them, the more he enjoys being the recipient of it.

He’s finally receiving a bit of love and support that isn’t forced from his parents, and he quickly grows addicted.

Enjoys children

The reality of the situation is that as Illumi’s darling, they will be forced to interact with children whether they want to or not.

Namely, their own.

Having a family with him is not optional, and Illumi will never present it as such – once he decides his darling is to be his partner, they automatically become his future wife, the future mother of his children.

He cannot be swayed, regardless of what his darling wants.

However, while it’s still possible for him to grow obsessed with a darling who isn’t especially fond of kids, it’s much more likely that he grows attracted to the ease with which they’re able to communicate with them.

He likes the way they get so happy when a child walks up to them, how they’re immediately squatting down and smiling, playing hide and seek with their own face as the child giggles and beams.

He never knew that sort of innocent and sweet interaction when he himself was a child, but he doesn’t view it as a bad thing if his darling is able to make a child happy.

It’ll only benefit them as parents – it’ll help strengthen the bond, and make their children more malleable and receptive to their guidance.

Besides, there’s something about seeing his darling next to a baby that makes his skin feel hot, eyes blowing wide and his trousers tightening.

The image just looks so right, so natural and perfect that Illumi has to hold himself back from bending them over and fucking them right then and there.

Talent with children is an incredibly attractive trait for Illumi, and likely it's the final nail in the coffin that seals his obsession with his darling – one giggling toddler is all that’s needed to seal their fate.

GENERAL YANDERE TRAITS:

Stalker

More than anything, stalking you is the only method of ‘interaction’ with you that Illumi feels truly comfortable with.

He knows how to stay invisible; tracking others is easy, as is staying in the shadows and keeping that wide, unnaturally glassy stare on them. He’s used to watching but not being seen, and it’s only natural to extend this towards you. It feels right to be watching you, like he’s where he’s meant to be, and for the beginning of his obsession he spends every free moment stalking you, hiding in corners or shadows and just staring.

(And really, this behavior lasts all throughout his infatuation, even when he’s got you trapped in the Zoldyck manor, even when you’re nursing his baby, even when you’ve both grown old and death approaches – it’s just that in the beginning, you’re not aware of the black eyes that follow your every move. And that’s a luxury that gets taken all too soon, as you find yourself longing for ignorance of Illumi in every possible way.)

Not to mention, there is no part of him that feels any guilt for it – he’s a cold-blooded assassin, of course, but at no point does it occur to him that it may be strange to be following you, or that you wouldn’t appreciate him watching over you (and watching you, generally).

He doesn’t understand that he shouldn’t approach you like he approaches a target – of course, you won’t be on the receiving end of his needles (at least, not with death his ultimate goal – perhaps something less lethal, like love or submission or lust), but otherwise his intentions are the same.

(Well, mostly – not really, actually, because Illumi doesn’t feel this strange, pleasant warmth in his chest when he’s watching his targets, nor does he feel particularly intrigued when he’s staring at them as they sleep, watching their chest rise and fall and the relaxed, utterly content expression on their face.)

The process of stalking you is remarkably similar to his jobs – first, he’ll choose a place within your home that gives him a good, solid vantage point with minimal risk that he’ll be noticed.

(Though, it’s not exactly hard to hide when you’re so damn oblivious – Illumi swears you have little to no awareness of your surroundings, if the way you sometimes knock into tables or trip over shoes in your doorway is anything to go by.)

His stand-by places are usually in a rarely used storage closet with the door cracked open, just wide enough for his dark eyes to peer through, or perhaps behind a chair you rarely use, crouched and peeking behind the cloth, and when you sit down in said chair, it gives Illumi the opportunity to stand up slightly, towering over you and getting a perfect view of your pretty body and smelling your hair.

But if it’s nighttime and you’re already snuggled up in your bed, eyes glued to your phone screen as you scroll and scroll and neglect your sleep, he'll stand silently and deathly still in the corner.

He’s able to stay perfectly still and maintain the same position for hours at a time, hardly blinking, hardly moving, hardly even breathing, it seems.

And he’s utilizing this skill set to its full potential when it comes to you – Illumi is greedy, and while this doesn’t initially get channeled into being overly possessive of you (though that certainly comes later), it instead translates into this insatiable need to constantly have his eyes on you and to be in your presence every moment he isn’t needed on a job.

There are no boundaries with him, because Illumi genuinely doesn’t see the need to have them. You’re already destined to spend your lives together, so why shouldn’t he start the process of learning more about you?

Autonomy doesn’t really exist with him – he could be considered clingy if his view of your lives being so irreversibly intertwined wasn’t as clinical and matter of fact.

And so Illumi doesn’t operate barred by any sort of moral guidelines – so when he’s using his needles to morph into another face so that he can practice the lines and compliments he’s been told by his mother that will make you swoon, it doesn’t register to him that it might be creepy that he’s practicing wooing you in another body.

(The man is disturbing, and you’re uncomfortable with the way this stranger doesn’t seem to be getting the hint that you want him to leave you alone; why is he standing so close to you? Why is he staring at you like that? Why is he following you?)

It doesn’t register to him that it’s a breach of trust to be pretending to be someone you love and trust, just to extract more information about you.

(Your cousin is acting strangely when they speak to you – their words are clipped and sound just slightly off, and you’re sure they already know what your dreams for the future are. You’ve talked about this with them before, so why are they questioning you on what your ideal house looks like, your ideal partner, your favorite baby names?)

He spends a lot of time observing you, collecting information on you in every way he can, and this doesn’t stop once you’re trapped by his side and with the rest of his crazy, horrible family – it’s a habit, more than anything, but it’s so much worse when you’re aware, when you can see and feel his dark eyes boring into you, making you squirm under the intensity of his gaze.

Of course, talking to him about it won’t do a single thing – only earning you a slight head tilt and a question of does it bother you when I watch you? I apologize, I only meant to keep an eye on you, my dear.

He genuinely doesn’t understand that stalking you and keeping a tab on you at all times is something that you very much don’t appreciate, but you’ll quickly come to learn that with Illumi, there’s only so much you can change – so much being quite literally nothing.

Controlling

This particular manifestation of his obsession with you is a culmination of many different things.

Firstly, it’s simply his personality – when he loves, he possesses, this ugly, carnal feeling stirring in his gut that pushes him to be in control, to guide and oversee every little thing the target of his love does. He’s always felt this way with Killua – he loves his brother immensely, but that love translates as being controlling and always keeping a finger on what Killua does, says, and feels.

Secondly, it’s the intense pressure coming from his family. Kikyo expects your total obedience both to her and her son, and while Illumi can sometimes stand up to his mother on matters where your safety and wellbeing are concerned, he can’t deny her expectations of you being absolutely subservient to him, bending to his every whim and allowing him to dictate every aspect of your life.

And finally, it’s his own paranoia that pushes him to micromanage you in every way possible. He’s never had someone to call his before – he’s unselfish in nature, dedicating himself to his family in every possible way, and now that he’s been given a woman to call his own, to spoil and love and keep by his side, he’s not entirely sure how to react.

Your presence soothes him in a way he’s never experienced before; you’re so soft and caring and warm, all things he’s never had. His life has been hardships and tough love, training and never being good enough, and now that you’re in the picture, Illumi isn’t entirely sure how to handle himself.

He doesn’t doubt himself, per se, but he’s unsure how to successfully navigate a marriage. Would you like it if he was more physical with you? Perhaps you’d like more hugs or for him to hold your hand or kiss you more often – that’s what all the popular media resources he’s looked into have told him.

Or maybe you’d prefer a more quiet, subtle kind of love, where you both support one another with meaningful looks and the occasional touch, whispered words that carry more weight than they seem.

He’s not sure, despite all the stalking and information retrieving he’s preformed in your name, and that makes him nervous. He doesn’t like that he can’t anticipate what you’ll want or how to make you happy – it makes him feel less-than, as if he’s not quite the perfect match that his mother and father have always said his wife will be.

He doesn’t like not being sure of himself, and so this worry manifests itself as becoming firmer in his treatment of you, locking down on the few things he’s absolutely sure of.

It comes off as controlling, sure, but Illumi doesn’t mean to be when he’s telling you what to wear, rifling through the closet he procured for you and pulling out a dress he thinks suits your complexion – you may hate it, but he likes it, so you’ll wear it.

He’s not trying to be controlling when he’s clicking his tongue lightly and telling you to keep your posture straight, dear every time you sit down, even if your shoulders are only barely, slightly slumped.

He’s not trying to be controlling when he’s standing over the bathtub and watching you wash yourself, telling you to use more soap, darling, don’t you want to be clean?

(Nevermind his dark eyes blinking slowly and getting stuck on the soapy outline of your breasts under the warm water – surely you’re just imagining that, along with the tent forming in his trousers.)

He’s not trying to be controlling when he’s roughly grabbing your hand and forcing you behind him when you’re walking through the hallways of the manor, his gaze narrowing at the butler standing at attention, paranoia eating away at him because he could have sworn the man was staring at you as you entered the room, and he can’t have that. Even as an employee of the family, no one but Illumi can look at you with any degree of desire – you are his, and if it means cleaning up a body and finding a new butler to replace him, Illumi will do what is needed to keep you his.

IIlumi is quite frankly totally unaware of his controlling behavior – he doesn’t realize anything is wrong because in his eyes nothing is wrong. This is love – it’s how his father always treated his mother when he was young, his eyes cold and his heart even colder, his words cutting her down and remolding her into a woman more fitting of being the matriarch of the Zoldycks.

And while he doesn’t want to break you down or remake you, he’s following his father’s example in making sure that you’re entirely accounted for. You’re his responsibility, and while he doesn’t view you as merely a pet, you’ll often feel like a glorified dog with the way he controls your life down to every second, always telling you that it’s time to go eat, or time to sleep, or time to shower, or time to kiss him and let him undress you.

He's pushy without even meaning to be, but if you bring this behavior up to him, he’ll be surprised. Genuinely – his brows will quirk up ever so slightly, his already wide eyes getting a hair wider because really? I had no idea, my dear. Thank you for bringing this to my attention; I will reduce the frequency on my instructions towards you.

But he doesn’t, even if he promises he will.

And it’s not entirely his fault – he thinks he is, even going so far as to be expectant of your praise when he holds himself back from telling you to use the other fork when he’s dining with you privately. Surely you must be proud of him – he’s doing as you asked, being a good husband and fulfilling your desires and wishes.

So why aren’t you praising him?

Why aren’t you mentioning anything about how generous he’s being, how considerate he is?

You’ve blatantly disregarded his attempts at trying to be less ‘controlling’, as you claim, and Illumi takes this as a sign to only double down and become more omnipresent, because obviously you haven’t quite learned how to be a kind, grateful, adoring wife.

You haven’t quite yet learned the lessons he’s been trying to teach you – so you need more guidance. You need more advice, a firmer hand to push you towards becoming the best, most noble version of yourself, and lucky, lucky you has a loving, oh so eager husband right there willing to step into that role.

He’s domineering and in control of every aspect of your life, but there’s almost a small sense of relief that you’ll eventually feel. Because really, while it makes you feel weak and pathetic and pitiful to have him controlling how long you brush your teeth every morning and night, isn’t there something kind of nice about relinquishing your responsibilities? Isn’t there something oddly nice about not having to make your own decisions, to let Illumi take care of everything, to not have to worry about anything ever again?

It's the Stockholm Syndrome talking, and you may even know it – but it doesn’t matter, because the longer you spend under Illumi’s thumb, the less you’ll find yourself caring about things like choice and autonomy and preference. All that matter is what he wants, what he thinks is best – because really, doesn’t he know best?

Isn’t he superior to you in every possible way?

Protective

Illumi has a very, very good understanding of the human body.

He has to – his job depends on it, after all, and Illumi is nothing if not dedicated to his work. He knows every muscle, vein, and bone, their purpose and exactly what it would mean if it was removed.

He knows what organs must stay in tact for survival, how much blood a person can lose and stay conscious, how cold temperature can drop before hypothermia begins, even how long a person can survive without sleeping.

And it’s this wide breadth of knowledge that leads Illumi to know just how pathetically weak you are.

There are so many possible ways to hurt you – everything from a gunshot to a paper cut could potentially end your tragically fragile life, and the longer Illumi watches you, the more uncomfortable this knowledge becomes.

It’s not that you’re objectively incapable of defending yourself – perhaps you know some basic self-defense, or perhaps your survival instincts are sharp enough to keep you away from dangerous situations. No – it’s more that Illumi knows what other people are capable of, what nen is capable of, and he knows that you’d simply be no match if someone were to attack you.

And so, this puts him into a rather uncomfortable spot; at the beginning of his obsession with you, when his feels were still freshly formed and underdeveloped, he felt no sense of protectiveness over you. You’re an adult, you can care for yourself – you’ve survived this long, haven’t you?

But then he starts noticing how wide your smile can get, or how soft your hand is when you’re sleeping, or how pretty your voice sounds when you’re singing in your kitchen and making yourself dinner.

He starts noticing that you’ve been biting your lip, the skin a little puffy and swollen and stinging a bit. Did you know that your lip could get infected, and if you don’t get to a doctor fast enough, that infection could cost you your life?

He starts noticing that the skin of your hands is a little dry, and you keep getting hangnails. Did you know that dry skin can be a sign of serious nutrition deficiencies, and if you don’t enough potassium you could end up in the hospital and slowly waste away until you eventually can no longer hold on?

He starts noticing that sometimes your voice gets a little hoarse after you try to sing a particularly high note, your voice cracking and a series of coughs racking your body. Did you know that if you cough too hard, you can actually strain your lungs and affect their ability to take in oxygen, potentially suffocating you?

Time passing brings him to the realization that the idea of you dying makes him frown, something unpleasant brewing in his chest that he guesses is sadness. He doesn’t like the idea of you passing away – he wants you alive, and if you were to die, he wouldn’t be able to watch you anymore, to feel that warm, addicting feeling in his heart you give him. If you were to suddenly keel over and die, he’d be left all alone – like normal, yes, but now that he knows what it's like to have someone, to want someone, Illumi doesn’t think he could return to his old existence.

And so, the solution is simple: keep you alive.

Except, it’s much harder to keep someone living and breathing than it is to simply kill them, and quickly Illumi is realizing just how tall an order this is. Because really, there’s just so much that could potentially injure you, that could potentially lead to your life being in danger.

You’re just so damn clumsy – he’s watched you trip over air, and if you’re that naturally unaware of your surroundings, who’s to say you wouldn’t be susceptible to even the most minor injuries? How can he be sure that you’ll manage to evade even the most innocent of accidents?

You won’t. He’s sure of it.

And so, he’s growing slightly paranoid because every new object you encounter is immediately a threat to him, five different ways that object could endanger you immediately flashing through his mind.

A pair of car keys? They’re dull and blunt, sure, but if they were thrust into your chest just right they could rupture something, cause you to bleed out, give you tetanus or metal poisoning.

A book you’re obsessing over? You could get a papercut, a slice across your pretty skin, and Kalluto has proven that paper can be incredibly deadly.

Your damn cell phone? Well, the screen is horrible for your eyes, your information could be sold and land in the hands of someone nefarious, and he knows you look at it while you’re walking on busy streets.

There’s just so many avenues for you to get hurt, and Illumi works himself to the bone to prevent any of them from successfully causing you harm. And he’s effective, too – you’ll find your knives have suddenly disappeared, your razors too, even any sort of pill you have that’s stronger than Ibuprofen.

All your outlets have suddenly stopped working, your ovens too, even your dishwasher.

Your shower doesn’t seem to be able to get as hot as it used to, and you don’t remember your pillows being as fluffy or numerous as they currently are.

You’ll know something is wrong, your anxiety shooting through the roof because someone must be robbing you, setting foot into your home and stealing all your things.

The reality is much more sinister, much more terrifying, and as soon as you wake up in Illumi’s hold, you’ll realize that your situation is much, much worse than you’d imagined.

He’s going to every length to keep you safe and sound from potential harm, even if it leaves you feeling pitiful and beyond ashamed, the babyproofed bathroom he lets you use making you ill when you see the way there’s locks on the cabinets to prevent you from rooting around for anything that could cause irreparable damage.

It’ll make you feel incompetent, embarrassed even when Illumi tries to comfort you by saying that he doesn’t think you’re incapable, just not entirely trustworthy, my dear. There’s a difference.

(His voice is always just slightly condescending when he talks to you, and this is surely no exception – it’ll make you feel worse, but he doesn’t seem to notice or care.)

Because really, all that matters to Illumi is making sure that you stay alive – he’s selfish, wanting to keep you solely to himself, and even if that means making sure you go nowhere unaccompanied, to nothing without his help, make no decisions by yourself, he doesn’t mind.

He’s doing it for you, for your shared love, for the good of your relationship.

And if you don’t seem to understand that for now, he’s sure someday you will. Someday you’ll realize the extent to which Illumi cares for you – why else would he do so very much for you, his devotion to you spanning long before he finally got to sink his claws (and cock) into you?

So really, shouldn’t you be grateful?

DEALING WITH RIVALS:

Jealousy is very much not something Illumi has ever really had to deal with.

His whole life has been training, killing, devotion to his family and the Zoldyck name, and as an assassin he’s never really been envious of anyone, or really had strong enough feelings about anything to want something.

It’s a concept he understands in theory but begins questioning it when it comes to the way it makes people crazy, the way people act so strangely in circumstances where envy and jealousy are concerned. It seems entirely stupid, something that only serves to derail situations.

And yet, once a strange nagging feeling begins at the edges of his mind, Illumi finds himself wondering if this is the famous jealousy he’s always heard of.

It doesn’t feel good – it’s like there’s something pulling at his heart, a hand wrapped around it and squeezing every so often, the feeling almost painful and certainly irritating.

But the more he’s around you, the more it persists – almost seeming to grow by the day, even if you’re fully alone, in your apartment reading a book or scrolling through your phone. Illumi very suddenly understands why jealousy is known as something so horrible, something that eats you up inside and won’t leave you alone – that is, Illumi quickly begins noticing that he isn’t the only man vying for your attention and love.

Because he’s constantly watching you, following you and making sure that he knows everything there is to know about your life and relationships with others, he doesn’t miss the situations where you interact with another man, where you smile and laugh and even compliment other men, all right in front of him.

(Illumi tends to conveniently disregard the fact that you aren’t able to sense him, that you aren’t aware that you have a dangerous, murderous stalker trailing your every move.)

It’s irritating, frustrating, distracting enough to be seriously affecting his work – he’ll have a fleeting thought of the way you’d smiled at that other man a week ago as he goes for the final stab into the target’s chest, but the slight snarl he lets out has him missing just slightly, instead nicking the target in the shoulder and giving them an opportunity to scramble away.

Illumi’s irritation only increases at that, and soon there’s blood splattered along the floor as he breaths deeply, the red staining his clothing standing out bright.

He really tried to ignore it at first, but once it began affecting him even when he’s not in your presence, Illumi knew he had to solve the problem. And after a quick, rather detached conversation with his father about it, Illumi was quickly enlightened that he was in fact jealous, his father having laughed lightly and patting him on the arm, telling him that it’s natural to feel that way about your wife, Illumi. Your duty is as an assassin, but as a member of this family. If the woman you’ve chosen to bear your heir is giving you such feelings, I see no harm in acting upon them. It will serve you well to focus more on your work, as well.

And so Illumi embraces this newfound permission to foster this emotion - it’s odd, the way what he’s fairly confident is anger coils around his heart, making his fists clench slightly, his nails digging into his palms as he watches you talk and laugh with that man. That man, who probably doesn’t even know how to use nen, who probably doesn’t even understand how perfect of a wife you could be, how good of a mother and perfect addition to his family you’d be.

It’s strange, and while Illumi doesn’t particularly enjoy it, he can’t deny the odd sense of finality that comes with killing without being paid to, the strange sensation of enjoying ending a life. He finds himself smiling after plunging his nails into a man’s jugular, but Illumi isn’t too horribly bothered.

It’s new and strange, but so is everything else you make Illumi experience, after all. Why should this be any different?

As he trails behind you in the shadows, his dark eyes train in on your figure as you bite your lip and look over the selection of fruit displayed out on the cart of the farmer’s market.

Illumi stays perfectly still, completely focused on watching you. You’re wearing a pair of jeans today, pants that hug your figure a little too tightly for his tastes, along with a sweatshirt that does quite the opposite – hiding your upper body, which Illumi only finds slightly more agreeable.

(In the back of his mind, he makes a mental note to have a talk with you about proper dress for a woman such as yourself – a woman who’s to become part of a powerful, wealthy family, and as such must represent them - and her husband - with her head held high and confidence oozing from her. He’s sure a nice skirt and blouse will do the trick – silky or satin, shimmery and soft like you. Or, perhaps, a dress – maybe a floral pattern or a deep magenta. Of course, you’ll eventually be wearing purple, the Zoldyck family color, but he knows women enjoy fashion, and he's interested to see what you’d pick.)

As he thinks through what he’ll say to you, already planning out how the conversation will go, he notices a man with shaggy brown hair and honey brown eyes take a deep breath and walk beside you, standing next to you and looking over the selection of apples, pears, oranges and various other fruits.

Illumi’s expression makes no change as the brunette says something about how there’s always too many options at markets like these, types of fruit that he’s never heard of making it difficult to choose, to which you laugh and full heartedly agree.

The assassin makes no move, but as he watches and listens with distaste lodged in the back of his throat, you continue on the conversation, asking the man’s advice on which type of apple you should get.

It’s a short interaction, in all honesty - maybe a minute maximum, but Illumi is still watching with a heavy, piercing gaze, feeling the same odd, sickly feeling rise up from his chest.

He’s already decided that if the man moves to lay even a finger on you he’ll emerge from the shadows, swiftly and triumphantly piercing his chest with his entire hand.

Maybe that’ll get him to stop talking.

But the man doesn’t, and so Illumi begrudgingly lets the conversation run its course. You eventually say goodbye to the man and ask him if he’d like to meet up at the same booth in a week to compare the types of fruit.

Immediately Illumi’s fist clenches, his nails sharpening and digging into his palms, drops of blood littering the pavement below him as his eyes never stray, keeping trained on you as you walk in the opposite direction of the man, who is now blushing and smiling like a fool.

Disgusting, Illumi thinks as he follows the man.

The world won’t miss him, is all he’s thinking as he pulls a pin and flicks his wrist, the needle sinking into his neck. He watches with a dull gaze as the fast acting poison renders the man immobile, falling to his knees as his chest slows its breaths, eventually no longer moving.

You most certainly won’t, he thinks as he picks up the body, unsheathing the needle after life has left the body, finding a nearby trash bin to stuff the man into.

It isn’t the most efficient method of dealing with a body, but Illumi can’t be bothered – after all, in the some thirty seconds it’s taken him to deal with the man who thought he had a chance with what Illumi has already claimed as his, you’ve managed to make it a bit further from him, wandering through the maze of stalls with the bag full of produce in your hands.

He’s immediately falling into step behind you, the flexing of his fingers doing nothing to distract him as he brings back his stare, internally sighing as he sees another man – this time blond – look over at you and not so subtly rake his eyes up and down your body.

Illumi’s brow twitches – he only brought twenty needles this morning, and you’ve only been at the market for some fifteen minutes. Already he only has three left, and with a small sigh he reminds himself to bring more tomorrow, as he’ll surely use them.

And really, while Illumi doesn’t enjoy that other men are looking at you, being deluded enough to believe that they have a chance with you, he needs to make sure that there are no complications with your union, that there will be no problems to take care of when he eventually whirls you away to his home, where you’ll be his lovely wife that provides him with children and a warmth he can’t explain.

There’s a certain thrill that comes with letting himself feel, with not pushing down the emotion as his father said – a certain thrill that he can only feel where you’re concerned.

After all, you’re just that special.

TAKING HIS DARLING AWAY:

From the moment Illumi decides that you’re a good match for him, it becomes a known fact (at least, among his family) that you would eventually be living alongside him in the Zoldyck manor.

You don’t have a choice, really – all of his family lives together on the mountain, and you will be no exception, despite your temporary status as an honorary member.

(This status is temporary if only because now you aren’t an official Zoldyck, but the moment you become pregnant with his child, this status changes – you’re a real Zoldyck then, because inside you grows the family’s next assassin, a product of Illumi’s devotion to you and proof of your resolve to commit yourself to the Zoldycks. It’s all terribly romantic to Illumi, even if it makes you want to hurl, and he’ll have no qualms telling you this information – he’ll even frame it as if it’s some sort of incentive to get you eagerly spreading your legs for him. He treats it like you want to be accepted into the family – like it’s your deepest desire, and no amount of arguing or pleading with him will convince him otherwise.)

You will be sharing a bed with him, living under the same roof and spending all your time beside him when he’s not away for a job, whether you like it or not, and Illumi has known this from the very beginning. You’ll be curled up in his arms, his skin cold and slightly clammy as he holds you, his grip much too tight and stiff even as he sleeps – you can hardly move, every breath you take feeling constricted and controlled, as if Illumi is doing you a favor by allowing you just a bit of space to breathe.

It takes him a while to fully develop and understand what his feelings mean, but once he does he isn’t holding back in any form - his family was, for lack of a better word, floored the night that their eldest son casually mentioned having selected his future wife. Kikyo was immediately pressing him for details, wanting to know every fact and scrap of information about her future daughter in law, which Illumi was happy to provide.

He immediately spouted off your name, age, basic personality, physical features, hobbies, interests, important life events, past and current jobs, relationships with your parents, friends, partners, anything and everything he can think of, Kikyo listening all the while with a scowl on her face. She’s confused on why her precious son has chosen you, considering you weren’t a skilled nen user, a fighter or even someone of great importance.

She’s not completely convinced of her son’s choice, but there’s a strange determination to Illumi’s normally lifeless eyes that she can see that makes her back off a bit, leaving her with an odd sense of finality in his words, confidence in his decision that makes it hard to argue.

(Besides, everyone knows Killua is the true heir of the family – as long as Illumi produces members to join the Zoldyck ranks, it’s not so important who chooses to wed. As long as they’re suitable for conception, she’ll begrudgingly accept – perhaps not with enthusiasm, but she’ll relent nonetheless.)

Silva is listening as well, though not as intensely as his wife, and after Illumi finishes his some twenty minute recall of your information, he merely takes a sip of his drink and nods, telling his son to treat her with care, she sounds weak in comparison to you.

Milluki is rolling his eyes, wondering why his brother decided on someone so normal, though he doesn’t dare say anything. Internally, though, he’s already imagining what you look like, his mental picture of you built upon Illumi’s descriptions, but with just a bit more detail – things his brother hadn’t mentioned, like the size of your chest or if you’re clumsy or if your voice is high and feminine and whiny.

Kalluto only nods, wondering what you’ll be like in person if you’ve managed to catch his older brother’s eye.

His mother is still disappointed in his choice, but wastes no time helping Illumi prepare for your eventual arrival, helping him create a regiment for how to integrate you into the family, how to work with your needs, considering your status as a mere commoner.

And while Illumi lets his mother plan and schedule and bustle about, he’s merely thinking of how he should take you away, tuning out his mother’s shrill words as she yells and commands butlers, telling them to prepare and clean and do everything so that Illumi’s new wife will be received well.

In all reality, Illumi – while very much concerned with his family’s acceptance of you, considering the tightness and loyalty instilled into him – isn’t especially concerned about the plans his mother is running wild preparing. He knows that with enough time and training, you’ll eventually fit right into the mold his mother wants you to, or at least as far into it as Illumi is allowing.

Because really, while he agrees that you need to be toughened up at least a little bit in order to survive in the mansion and be strong enough to bear his children, he doesn’t want your core personality to change – he fell in love with you for a reason, and while you must be trained a bit to survive as a Zoldyck, he doesn’t want you to become a stranger.

And so instead of listening to his mother’s plans, he’s slipping out under the cover of nightfall and climbing through the familiar window of your bedroom, your sleeping form laying so still and peaceful, like you’re just waiting for him to come steal you away.

A pin (as much as he hates piercing your skin with the needle, it must be done) is applied to your shoulder and your sleep is suddenly much heavier, your body visibly going limp, your breaths getting longer and deeper, and for a moment he worries that he’s infused too much nen into the needle, that your breathing will just keep slowing until it eventually stops.

His grip against his spare needles tightens at the thought, the force so strong that it snaps the metal in half, the sound knocking him from his thoughts as he blinks down at you, a small sense of relief filling him because your chest is still steadily rising and falling.

Illumi carries you in his arms back to the manor, not minding the weight of your body holding him down.

And just as he passes through the gates, he feels what he thinks might be excitement brewing in his chest.

Life with Illumi will be, in all honesty, hell.

It’s not so much that he enjoys making you miserable or seeing you uncomfortable, but rather that he’s grown up with such intense expectations, such strict regimes and schedules that he upholds you to similar standards.

Of course, you won’t be going through training to become an assassin while you’re with him – no practice with combat or anything so violent, if only because Illumi’s worry over your safety prohibits him from allowing you anywhere near a knife or a fist cocked and ready to be swung.

(Not to mention the fact that he plans on you going absolutely nowhere without him, and as such there’s no reason for you to learn how to defend yourself. You don’t need to build up immunity to poison, how to most effectively snap a neck, or to learn any number of the cruel things that he thinks are much too unwomanly for someone like you.)

No, the schedule and timetables he puts you on are much more general, humiliating, dehumanizing – being told when you can and can’t use the restroom is something you’ll quickly come to realize takes away even the barest scrap of dignity and independence you have left under Illumi’s control.

He dictates what time you wake up, what you eat for each meal of the day, and your activities between meals - comprised mostly of more feminine things, as his mother advised you learn, like sewing and mending, floral arrangement, proper dining etiquette, and of course, lessons on how to properly raise children, taught by Kikyo herself.

(From the get go, it will be extremely apparent to you that the entirety of the Zoldyck family – Illumi included – expect offspring, assuming with little thought that you’ll be bearing the eldest son’s children in what Silva has expressed as sooner than you think with a small nod and poignant stare. Shivers had run down your spine at the way Illumi’s gaze on you seemed to only grow in intensity at his father’s comment, his cold fingers pressing against the small of your back in a way that made your skin crawl. Besides, the built in conception time, as Illumi so lovingly puts it, makes it more than obvious that he’s fucking you with the intent of getting you pregnant.)

It’s demeaning, the way you’re treated like some toddler, some incompetent idiot with the way Kikyo flutters around you, her shrill voice echoing through the corridors as you cower and obey.

It isn’t that you want to be obedient to a family you’ve come to realize is beyond fucked up, but you’ve also seen Illumi at work. He’s come home to you covered in blood, giving you a small smile as he awkwardly leans down to press a chaste kiss against your lips, his dark eyes staying open the whole time.

You don’t particularly want to be the submissive, obedient future mother of Illumi’s children like everyone in the manor is expecting you to be (with the exception of Killua, whom Illumi desperately wants you to get along with, and he may honestly be the only ray of light within this dark, musty home – at least he somewhat understands how fucked up the situation is, though he’s told you many times that there’s nothing he can do to help you).

But the constant threat of the fact that anyone in the house could kill you with a simple flick of the wrist is not lost on you, and while Illumi genuinely terrifies you for much of the first few months of your captivity, you quickly learn to obey his every word, to live to please him.

He’s really the only ally you have – he’s more forgiving, easier to try and wiggle your way out of a less severe punishment with, especially as you learn to predict his wishes.

He wants you to wear a certain kimono that he thinks looks beautiful on you? You hate the pattern on it and the way the style makes your figure look, but you scramble to slide into the fabric, trying to ignore his ever present stare boring into your naked body.

He wants you to come play with his hair, because he’s been told by his father that it feels nice and he’s seen couples do it? immediately you’re clambering to sit on the chair behind his seated position on the floor, running your fingers through his dark locks while he sits stick straight, silence enveloping the two of you.

He wants you to lay beside him while he rests, recovering his energy from a recent mission? You’re already slipping underneath the sheets, clearing a space for him and letting him wrap his arms around your waist and pull you against him.

(He’s so stiff even when he ‘cuddles’ you – his skin is so cold, his back straight, his grip on you tight enough to make you squirm, and the hot breath against your neck when he tells you that he’s missed you, my dear, my day is less bright without your presence will make you wince.)

Some of his wishes are, admittedly, much more difficult to obey than others, however – when he tells you to lay back and spread your legs while he’s shimmying off his pants, it’s difficult to not fight, to not cry and scream as he pushes into you, his eyebrows twitching together and his pale fists clenching by your head as he slowly begins humping into you.

He isn’t necessarily bad to you per se, though quickly his family picks up on his cluelessness on how to truly treat a spouse, and so after a few comments from Silva about how to properly woo you (maybe she will be less unruly, and you may have more luck producing children this way as well) he actually does take his advice and try to make at least some attempt at romancing you.

He’s telling you robotically delivered compliments, buying you bouquets of roses, even rewarding your good behavior with small knick knacks from your old apartment and life – but it’s not enough; the fear of him is still far greater than the almost charming awkwardness he exudes in moments of intimacy and tenderness will ever be.

You’ll essentially become a submissive, sweet little housewife under Illumi’s care, and even if you hate it, even if you try with everything you have to not be subjected to the future of bearing his children, holding the famous last name of Zoldyck, and being completely subservient to the man who kidnapped you and forcefully began a ‘relationship’ with you, Illumi and the rest of his family have ways of making sure you stay in line.

And before long, you’ll grow to accept your place, to realize that there is absolutely nothing you can do.

PUNISHMENTS:

In all honesty, Illumi rarely gets actually mad at you – he’s much more frequently disappointed when you don’t behave correctly, when you fight him or make some weak attempt at escaping.

He doesn’t get mad, but there is this small sense of pity that he feels when he watches you cry and beg him to not come any closer, to please let me go, I promise I won’t tell anyone what happened! Please, I don’t want to be with you or your sick family!

It hurts, if he’s being honest, but he knows that in order to train you, to mold you into the perfect spouse and future mother of his children, he needs to be patient.

Dogs can’t be expected to follow commands from the very beginning, right?

And so, when he kneels down to where you’re curled up in the corner of your shared room, his dark hair hanging around you like a curtain while his wide eyes never blink and stay situated on you, he’s merely tilting his head and asking in a voice much too serious to be natural, oh but darling, can’t you see you’re already part of this family? Now, dinner is to be ready in thirty minutes. I need to properly prepare you.

He actually has a surprising amount of patience with you – you make him soft (or at least as soft as he can be, though anyone that knows him well can spot the differences in his treatment and air around you), and he doesn’t really want to harm you or scare you.

It’s a necessary evil in his eyes, though if he had his way, he’d train you to the point where you’re willingly looking at him with love.

He’d train you until you’re welcoming him home with a sweet kiss to his cheek after a long job with a toddler clutching at your legs, a baby suckling at your breast and a swollen belly telling him and the rest of the world exactly who you belong to, your lovesick cry of his name when you see him making the smile plastered onto his lips that much more genuine.

You make him feel, something so foreign and strange, and to Illumi this new, small amount of emotion feels downright overwhelming, something so strong and powerful and wonderful. It’s addicting, truly, something that he finds himself actively wanting, a concept he’s never felt before towards anything except bringing back Killua.

And so while he doesn’t particularly enjoy punishing you, it’s worth it to keep those feelings alive, to build up to the point where his fantasies of your domestic future with one another come to fruition.

So really, while he doesn’t get mad at you very often, he won’t hesitate to dole out punishments where he sees fit – it’s all for a greater purpose, he tells you, though you have your doubts.

Besides, there’s something even more disturbing about him punishing you when he isn’t even angry – it’s worse because it all just seems so pointless; maybe if he was yelling you would understand why he’s doing what he’s doing. He’d seem human, maybe, capable of emotion – instead, you get those familiar, dead eyes staring at you, his expression carefully neutral as he tells you that this is for your own sake, my dear, and one day you’ll see that.

When it comes to actually punishing you, Illumi’s aversion to causing you any sort of physical harm prevents him from inflicting a whole varietyof punishments onto you – he doesn’t want to taint your delicate skin, to break a bone, to do any number of things that he’s been told over and over by his family would help.

(Milluki insists that breaking both of your legs would be a good way to prevent any kind of behavior targeted around trying to escape, and while Illumi understands the logic and even agrees with it, the look of your teary eyes staring up at him and your desperate pleads to not hurt you are simply too much.)

(Milluki also suggests, with a crude grin and a gulp, that perhaps letting him try a hand at getting you to cooperate would be helpful – besides, he’ll add with a smarmy smile and his tongue flicking out over his lips, a Zoldyck heir is a Zoldyck heir, doesn’t matter who knocked her up, right? That night, Milluki ended up with the broken bone rather than you.)

He isn’t sure why he’s so incapable of hurting you considering his profession, but he just can’t – and so, he finds other methods.

Namely, your mental state is completely fair game; he’s training you after all, and when the basement of the Zoldyck mansion is just so expansive, so cold and wet and so very dark, how can he not use that to his advantage?

Your eyes are casted downwards, your voice soft and unsure as you ask if you can see my family again? Kikyo mentioned that it’s December, and there’s an important birthday in the family this month that I’d like to celebrate with them…

Illumi had been cuddling you (or, at least holding you in his arms while he lay on his side, completely frozen and inhaling the scent of your hair again and again while you uncomfortably squirmed around), but the moment those words tumble from your lips, he’s blinking pensively, pondering your statement.

I don’t know of any birthdays in the family this month.

When you try again, telling him that it’s your family you’re talking about, the one you were raised in and that you love, immediately he’s cutting you off.

My dear, you must be mistaken. The nearest birthday is Grandfather’s, and that isn’t for another month.

His voice is firmer this time, as if he’s trying to tell you something, but some part of you refuses to silently accept his blatant dismissal of your request.

Illumi you don’t understand, it’s –

his grip is tightening even more, practically suffocating you as his nails dig into your exposed arms, his voice somewhere between a hiss and a scold.

No, my love, you don’t understand. Don’t speak of them. They are no longer your family – you are a Zoldyck now, and you’ll forget all of those past imposters. You will not, under any circumstances, be allowed to see them again. Now, come with me.

And it’s not like you have much of a choice – as he picks you up and brings you down the stairs, endless winding hallways that steadily grow colder and colder the deeper you head, you’re flailing, apologizing profusely, anything to not have to spend another few nights in the basement.

And while Illumi doesn’t enjoy the tears that stream down your cheeks, he stays strong and ties you to the chains connected to the walls – loose enough that you can be seated on the ground, but tight enough to restrict any movement.

Once you’re stationary, he stands before you and stares, the light from the door behind him illuminating his figure.

I expect you to tell me who your real family is when I return.

And with that, he’s walking out the room and slamming the door shut behind him, leaving you shrouded in darkness, with nothing but the sound of your own breathing and heartbeat to entertain you.

He generally leaves you down there for three days, give or take – enough to have you dehydrated, your stomach growling and rumbling painfully at the lack of food, cold seeping into your bones and leaving you shivering and shaking, all the while fear envelopes you because there’s something here with you, you just know it.

The sounds coming from the corner of the room are too difficult to ignore, though you have no idea what it could be. You presume it’s some sort of creature, designed to kill you if Illumi so desires, the scuttling noise making fear creep up your spine every time you hear it. The sounds are ryhtmic, predictable, always going off in roughly thirty minute intervals, leading you to believe the creature is smart, or at least trained to be so.

It’s terrifying and your mind will conjure up images of terrifying, grotesque beasts in its bored and fearful state, but in reality the monster in question is Illumi himself – he grows so dependent on you that he can’t be away from you for more than about a day, so he treats himself to hiding in the shadows and simply watching you.

You’re very pretty, even when you’re crying and covered in dirt and covered in your own piss, and it’s in those moments that Illumi truly realizes how deeply his feelings for you run, how badly he wants you to be his everything. He just can’t stop looking at you, those dark eyes raking over your figure over and over and over, moving his position roughly every thirty minutes to get a new angle of you.

(Though, it’s not like he needs to see you to remember what you look like from this angle, he’s stalked you so thoroughly and so heavily that he could draw your face in his sleep with pinpoint accuracy, your features metaphorically carved behind his eyelids so that he’ll always see you you you when he blinks.)

And when he eventually opens the door once more, light cracking into the room and making you violently blink, he’s asking if you’ve learned your lesson yet, if you’re finally understanding who your real family is, and immediately you’re practically yelling that yes, I understand! I’m a Zoldyck, the Zoldycks are my real family! I love them and I love you, Illumi, because I’m your wife and that’s all I’ve ever wanted to be!

(If you were in a better state of mind you’d have the energy to be ashamed of yourself, but you’re so desperate to get out of this cellar and into the warmth, to drink something and eat something and be away from the thing trapped in there with you that you just don’t care.)

He nods, satisfied, and opens the locks, only to blink in surprise when you wobbly embrace him, sobbing into his chest and clutching onto his clothes because even though he’s unnaturally cold, he’s still warmer than the hell you’ve been in for the last three days.

And while he’s not the best at physical affection, he’ll wrap his arms around you and pull you tighter, crushing you against his hard chest whispering in your ear that he’s so glad you’ve finally accepted your place.

OVERALL DANGER:

9/10

The danger that lies with being Illumi’s darling is honestly just the fact that once he chooses you, there is absolutely no chance of escaping him.

He’s a trained assassin with connections everywhere; outside of death itself, there’s no way for you to get away from him, no matter how hard you try or who you manage to recruit into aiding you.

(And even if you were to somehow manage to kill yourself, Illumi will keep your dead body by his side – holding it at night while he sleeps, propping you in a chair across from him while he eats and carries on a one sided conversation about work that day, even going so far as to fuck your cold, lifeless body just to feel you.)

He’s lived his whole life feeling nothing at all, and the second that you inspire any bit of emotion within him, his whole perspective seems to alter just slightly, something warm and strange and good blooming in his chest. It’s something completely foreign, but the longer it goes on the more he decides the likes it, growing used to the feeling and craving more of it, finding himself yearning – yes, yearning – to feel it once more when he’s been away from you for long periods of time.

Once he realizes that the common cause of this feeling is you, Illumi is deciding that you’re the one he’ll be adding to the Zoldyck family as his partner, his spouse, his lover.

You’ll be the one to bear his children and continue on the name, all while he gets to enjoy the strange warmth in his chest, the odd protectiveness that forces him to keep you locked up, safe from the outside world, the strange urge he feels to reach out and touch you, to see you smile, to feel your lips against his own.

And so while he won’t ever directly physically harm you, your mental state will be destroyed, and you’ll be in constant fear that someday he’ll decide you aren’t worth the trouble, that once he impregnates you and you give him a few heirs, he’ll kill you off effortlessly.

These fears will never, ever see fruition of course, but the trouble with Illumi is that you just never know.

He’s skilled in the art of killing, but his skills in lying are quite formidable as well – you can never truly tell when he’s being honest with you, and while he’s never fully lied to you (only misrepresented facts and led you to believe something that may not be entirely true), you’ll live in a constant state of unease because you’re so, so very aware that he could kill you with a mere flick of his wrist if he so desired, and what’s stopping him? He claims to be in love, but in what world is this love?

And you, lucky lucky you, get the lovely package deal of not only him, but his fucked up family as well – so good luck, and really, just let him mold you into the perfect, obedient little wife he wants you to be.

You’ll be much, much happier in the end.

#yandere hxh #yandere hunter x hunter #yandere illumi #yandere illumi zoldyck #_hxh #_illumi zoldyck #_lee's profiles

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lilislegacy · 2 months

Note

Personally I think Percy and Annabeth have absolutely ridiculous chemistry and always have. I’ve never interpreted relationships that are built on a strong basis of friendship as having less physical attraction/intimacy or whatever. Sometimes you’re just best friends with someone and you’re in love with them and think they’re hot af, life and relationships contain multitudes :)

their chemistry is absolutely ridiculous. there’s so much spark between them it’s not even funny. like that line when they were arguing and percy says it hurts to be around her but also hurts when he’s not with her?? and when she touched his back and he said it felt like electricity all over his body?? or… literally every single conversion and interaction they ever have?? they are so down bad for each other. always have been and always will be.

and 100%. if anything, i think relationships built on strong friendships are wayyy more intimate than ones that’s aren’t. because as friends, they got to truly know each other and love each other for who they are, not just in a romantic/sexual way. it means they truly love being together, no matter what that looks like. so adding all that attraction and romantic chemistry on top just makes it even better.

you know what they say: marry your best friend. percy and annabeth both fell in love with their best friend. and that’s why they’re perfect together. cause in addition to heat and attraction and chemistry, there’s trust and admiration and true friendship.

#anon ask #answered ask #pjo #percabeth

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hayakawalove · 4 months

Text

A Man In Love

A/N: I wrote a version of how Suguru shows his love as well, that one was called "Love". This one will be about Gojo! I can't get enough of poly satosugu. It's just the best to me.

Summary: Satoru Gojo wants to love and to be loved. It's a good thing he has you and Suguru.

TW: Fem reader, a couple of dirty jokes

W/C: 2,873

Golden rays pour in through the parted blinds, heating up a sliver of Satoru’s exposed tummy. He had been awake for the past hour, but he dreaded the idea of leaving the warmth of your shared bed. If he cracked his eyes open he could see his two lovers tangled together, limbs crossing over limbs. Your light snores filled the room, making Satoru’s lips split into a soft grin. He teased that you sounded like an old man when you slept, your snores could wake the whole neighborhood!

He actually loved the sound though. It reminded him that you were here, right beside him.

Satoru carefully pulls himself from the sheets, being attentive to not wake you or Suguru. Both of you had a late night, not that that was anything new. You two were night owls compared to Satoru. He much preferred to get an early start to his day while both of you could stay up all night if given the chance. He stretches his long arms above his head, his shirt riding up slightly. There was a list of things he wanted to get done before waking the two of you, so he better get started.

He exits the bedroom and strides into the living room, noticing the remnants of your love strewn across the room. A blanket Suguru had gotten you tossed haphazardly across the couch, candy that Satoru had gotten Suguru lay on the coffee table, and pants you ordered Satoru sat folded on the bar. He was sure Suguru folded them, he was like that.

Satoru pads around sleepily, getting dishes out of the way first. He moves around the kitchen doing a multitude of tasks, feeling energy begin to spread across his body. He was super excited for the day he had planned ahead of you three. No one would be caught up in work so it was perfect. He could hardly contain the excitement, images of your and Suguru’s happy faces filling his brain. Satoru briefly cleans the coffee maker and remembers how you refused to let him indulge in it.

Coffee? Satoru, we don’t need you caffeinated, that would be a nightmare.

He supposed you were right, not that he needed it today.

After getting all tasks out of the way he crept back into the room and saw you and Suguru cuddled in together. You pressed yourself against his torso, his strong arm wrapped around you.

“Come on sleepy heads.” Satoru tries to keep his voice soft.

Suguru’s brows furrow, tugging you closer to his body. You turn your head and bury it into Suguru’s chest, trying to block out Satoru.

“I know you guys are up.” Satoru murmurs and walks over to the edge of the bed, reaching out to grab your foot.

You inhale sharply, yanking your foot up, tucking it against you.

“Keep your cold grubby paws to yourself.” You mumble against Suguru.

Satoru thinks he catches a glint of a smile on Suguru.

Had Suguru always been so ethereal? Of course he had. Satoru was just amazed by it every single time.

“How mean!” Satoru sighs loudly, and flops onto the bed.

He wriggles his way up in between you two, forcing himself in.

“And on our anniversary too, no less.”

Not even a second later you're scrambling away, reaching for your phone to check the date. Satoru looks up at Suguru and sees his lids open slightly, a peek of caramel gracing Satoru.

Satoru looks micheviously at the other man, waiting for your reaction.

“It’s not our anniversary!” You groan, falling back into bed.

“Is too! Anniversary of our first date.” Satoru snides back, and wraps his arms around Suguru.

Suguru breathes through his nose and closes his eyes again, a finger strumming against Satoru’s arm. He was used to his antics by now, and knew the one thing Satoru craved was a reaction. He refused to give in that easily.

You murmur under your breath while wiping the tiredness from your eyes. Satoru soaks up the feeling of contentment seeping in the air.

There was nowhere he’d rather be than right here in this bed with you.

“Plus I have a day planned. So you need to get up and get ready to go, I’ll time you.”

“Satoru.” Suguru chides.

You slide back down and reach a hand up across Satoru, patting around until you reach Suguru’s mouth. You keep it clamped over him while situating yourself.

“Don’t talk to him, maybe he’ll leave us alone if we pretend we're asleep.”

Satoru clicks his tongue and jostles you.

“Come on! I promise it’ll be fun!” He rolls away from Suguru and crawls on top of you, pressing kisses against your neck.

You try to shove him back unsuccessfully, wanting sweet sleep to over take you once more. Suguru slides out of the bed once he realizes Satoru won’t let up. He stretches and watches Satoru’s onslaught against you, sleepy gaze trained on you two.

You eventually start to giggle underneath Satoru.

His heart may burst if you laugh like that.

You never could resist him. Suguru reaches out and grabs the back of Satoru’s shirt.

“Come on, we might as well entertain him for a little bit.”

It takes you both far too long to get ready, Satoru decides. He’s about to crawl out of his skin at your slow pace. You and Suguru move in sync getting ready for the day. Satoru can hardly keep his hands to himself, the peak of it showing through once he offered to help you shower. You slammed the door in his face, leaving him to pout.

Once you finish showering, without his help, you exit the bathroom with hints of your soap filling the air.

Satoru watches you, with his brain fogging up.

Fuck, he loves you two.

And he knows you both love him as well. Your love never failing to strike him. There was never a time in his life when he felt such love from other people. Admired, sure, but never love.

There were many things about him that changed once you came into his life. For instance, Satoru had never been so selfish before, not until you. Now he found himself wanting more, all the time, unabashedly. Maybe that was something he liked about you two. You allowed him to want. He was never granted that privilege before. Then again there were many things he liked about you.

Satoru knew for a fact that there were less stars in the sky than things he liked about you.

He liked how Suguru’s hair hung in curtains around his broad shoulders.

He liked how your eyebrows shot up everytime he spoke.

He liked how Suguru had endless bouts of love.

He liked how your fingers tugged his a little tighter when the world outside was silent and no one existed but you three.

Warmth drips from his fingertips, if he had the option he would never let go of either of you.

Funny, that was. Satoru didn’t remember being filled with such warmth before you and Suguru. Had he just been an iceberg floating through life before you?

Satoru looks up and catches your eyes, watching a small smile grace your lips. The sight sent his mind reeling.

Did you know how deep his fingers were dug into you now that he had you? Did you know not even the gods would be able to keep him away from you two?

He watches the way you and Suguru weave between each other, getting ready for the day.

How mundane.

He’s amazed at how you love him in the mundanity of life.

So many people want him for things. And he gets it, he really does. He has a role to play. He enjoys helping. But he wants to be loved without being needed.

Love me when I have nothing to offer. Love me despite it.

Love me when I bring nothing to the table besides a gaping wound in my chest, my heart in my hands, trembling and tender for you.

“Ready, handsome?” Suguru asks, a finger underneath Satoru’s chin, tilting his head up.

Satoru blinks several times, snapping out of his amatory thoughts.

“Huh?” He whispers.

“You forgot already?” You say.

Satoru clears his throat and stands up, taking you two in.

Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful.

“How could I forget!”

Satoru grabs onto you both, dragging you outside.

“What’re we doing today?” You ask from the front seat in the car.

Suguru’s always the designated driver, his hand resting against the wheel while his other strums against your thigh.

Satoru shuffles in the back seat, peeking his face in between you two.

“We’re going to the mall today! I’m gonna spoil you both, so buy whatever you want.” He grins.

“We got ourselves a sugar daddy don’t we Suguru?” You turn your head, looking at Suguru.

“It appears so.” He says with a smile.

His face was set in a serene look, the idea of spending the day with you both making his heart soar.

“Aw, you wanna call me daddy?” Satoru teases, reaching his hand forward to pinch your cheeks.

You swat him away while his laughter fills the car.

“There’s no room back here!” He pouts and gives up, leaning back.

His long legs try to spread out only to be blocked by the seats.

“Poor baby. Maybe you can buy us a bigger car?” Your eyes flick up to meet his in the rear view mirror.

“Careful darling, maybe I will.”

His eyes wrinkle in amusement, a rush of heat spreading through your cheeks. You tear your eyes away and look out the window.

“We could just strap you to the roof of the car and call it good.” You say, although your words have no mirth.

“People would think I’m being kidnapped!”

“Who would kidnap you?” Suguru teases, a hearty laugh falling past his lips.

The mall comes into view shortly after, you and Satoru continuing to tease each other the whole time. He stands in between you both so he can hold both your hands, swinging them back and forth. Satoru decides it’s your turn first, dragging you to the nearest clothing store.

Suguru and you take your time striding through the store while Satoru seems to make a beeline to the dresses. The idea of buying you something and seeing your smile from it made his heart strum in his ears.

How grateful he felt to be able to spoil you.

Once you and Suguru catch up to him, you idly flip through dresses, not finding anything particularly good.

Suguru watches you point out several and nods, making idle comments. Satoru pulls a dress from the rack and holds it up, showing you.

“You should get this! White, to show how pure you are.”

He holds up a velvet white dress, his eyes bright.

Suguru snickers beside you, pushing dresses aside to find something.

“Good one Satoru.”

Satoru clears his throat. Suguru had no idea the effect he had on him. Satoru loved the way his name tasted on Suguru’s lips. It always sounded a little more sweet when he was the one saying it.

You're at a loss for words, eyes widening. You grab the dress away from Satoru.

“You just want me to wear this cause it matches your hair!” You accuse.

Satoru smiles and leans against the rack. You roll your eyes.

“What about this one?” Suguru asks, pulling out a dark purple dress.

It’s mid thigh length, with a cinched waist. It looked perfect.

“Oh that looks so cute Suguru, how much is it?” You ask and reach for the tag.

“Don’t worry about it!” Satoru interrupts, plucking the dress from Suguru’s hands.

You bite your cheek and follow him to the check out line, watching as he hums to himself. Early on in your relationship you learned to never question his spending habits. Everytime you told him he didn’t have to spend money on you, he’d laugh and brush you off.

“Will this be all sir?” The worker asks, scanning your dress.

“Yeah!” Satoru responds happily, fishing out his credit card and passing it over.

“That’ll be 5050.”

“$50.50? That seems a bit expensive. Or is it? I guess I’m not sure.” You murmur to yourself.

“My bad, I should have said it better. $5,050.” She exclaims.

“Huh?!” You squeak out, lurching forward.

Satoru slides behind you, throwing his arms over your shoulders to pull you back against his toned chest.

“Hush now bunny, you’ll make a scene.” He cooes at you, waiting for the worker to insert his card.

“As if you care about making scenes.” Suguru says incredulously.

“Why didn’t you say anything Suguru? I'm sure you saw how expensive it was!” You fumble.

Suguru turns his head and looks away, purposefully not making eye contact.

He enjoyed spoiling you too, you know.

Satoru hears you grumble to yourself while you look around the store, noticing details you hadn’t picked up on initially. There was a crystal chandelier, sleek floors, and expensive brand names plastered on the walls. You must’ve been too distracted if you were only noticing now. How cute.

Satoru’s cotton lashes flutter down, taking your beauty in as you gaze around.

He could stare at you all day if you let him.

“Alright, next up Suguru!” Satoru cheers, grabbing the bag and heading towards the door.

“He’s out of his mind, he must be.”

Suguru links hands with you and pulls you out.

“Yes he is.” Suguru agrees.

You all debate over where to go for Suguru, but ultimately decide on a jewelry store. The two men lag behind, taking their time.

Satoru watches you stroll through the store, noticing how you linger by the wedding rings.

Soon, soon.

He and Suguru had already known they would marry you a month into you joining their couple. They just wanted to wait a bit longer, not wanting to jump the gun. He notices how your eyes look curiously at the ornate jewelry, wondering what thoughts were going on in that pretty head of yours.

You had nothing to fret over, he would buy you the perfect ring. And if you didn’t like it, he would buy you ten others. And if those didn’t suit your taste either, he would buy the whole damn store. Money wasn’t a concern when it came to you. It never was.

“Hey Suguru, maybe we can get some new jewelry for your belly or your n-“ Satoru teases.

Suguru shoves a hand up to cover his mouth, not allowing him to continue.

“This isn’t that kind of store!” Suguru flusters.

“It could be, maybe they have a special glass case for that.”

You stop in front of the necklace section.

“Satoru!” Suguru begins to lecture.

“Excuse me, can we see this one?” You ask the attendant.

He nods and slides the case open, pulling out a delicate silver chain. You turn around and motion for Suguru to come over.

“Bend over.” You ask and grab the chain.

Satoru snickers causing you to glare at him. Suguru bends over beside you in front of a mirror, lowering himself enough for you to reach around his neck.

“What do you think?” You ask, making eye contact through the mirror.

“It looks really nice.” Suguru says softly, slightly taken aback by how much he likes it.

Satoru knew Suguru never really cared for jewelry before, but if you insisted on it, Satoru knew Suguru’s resolve would crumble. You had that effect.

Did you know just how tight you held their chains? That one word from you would have them falling to their knees?

Oftentimes Satoru wondered if you invented love. There was no other explanation.

“We’ll take it!” Satoru says, talking to the worker.

“I don’t even wanna know how much it is.” Suguru sighs out, watching Satoru happily pay for it.

The drive home was much more calm, Satoru’s antsy energy from earlier seemingly contained now that he got it out of his system.

Satoru sat behind Suguru on the bed, thumbing over the clasp on the necklace.

“Why do they make these things so small?!” Satoru complains.

You stand in front of them, admiring your new, expensive, dress.

Satoru grumbles out loudly.

“Scooch.” You murmur, sliding behind Suguru.

Satoru stubbornly allows you to take over, watching your fingers grasp on.

Soft fingers graze over Suguru’s exposed neck, if Satoru looks closely enough he could see a thin trail of goosebumps break out over Suguru’s neck.

He finds himself jealous at the gesture.

Touch me too.

“Needs the nimble fingers of femininity.” You tease.

“What would you oafs do without me?”

Don’t even say that, Satoru had no clue what he would do without you.

The necklace easily latches on, a sight Satoru complains about.

“Thank you for today Satoru.” You say, planting a light kiss on his lips.

More, more, more.

Satoru was like a man starved, craving your touch.

“Of course.” Satoru’s face melts into pure joy.

Suguru slides his hand around the back of Satoru’s neck, pulling him in for a kiss.

“Thank you.” He breathes.

Not even the gods could take you away.

#my writing #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #suguru x reader #suguru geto x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk

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draeisgrayte · 11 months

Text

Hot and Tasty| Kyojuro Rengoku

Synopsis: Your best friend introduces you to one of her friends since you’re introverted and don’t get out much. The two of you hit it off and come to find out, this new friend is a lot closer to your heart than you previously thought.

Warning/contains: cam!boy rengoku, blowjob, mature content, mature language, oral sex, fem and male receiving, maybe a little crush, vibrator on male, slight angst

word count: 7.4K

a/n: i’m finally back, thank goodness. Finals week and then Tears of the Kingdom took over my life. This fic is a small idea I had thinking about Rengoku’s moobies. Like how nice would it be for him to stream with those? Fr, he’d be the type to not understand why he got all the hype. So I dedicate this fic to Kyojuro’s perfect pectorals.

If there was one thing you knew about yourself, it was that you were a visual person. You learned better visually, vision was your favorite sense. You used it constantly in your line of work, watching how people interact with one another, shows, and how words could come together to form a story. You wrote and you were damn good at it. Though, books hadn’t been flying off the shelves as you had hoped. So you used your skills of being an introvert and lack of a care to create a streaming channel. Fans suddenly started flocking to you and your following grew and grew until it was apparent you could make some good money off of this. You could combine your passion with something you were good at and get paid for it.

So yeah, visuals made you pretty happy. So happy that even when you touched yourself you couldn’t do so without watching someone else enjoy themselves. Though you couldn’t think about that right now because you were supposed to be meeting up with your close friend Kanroji. She had invited you out to lunch last night and who were you to decline the loveable best friend you’d had for many years now? She’d even offered to pay for your food since she knew times were a little tough for you at the moment. You couldn’t tell her that you’d had a drunk night and accidentally (on purpose) made a big donation to a streamer you watched often. She’d start to ask questions and those questions would lead down a harsh road of embarrassment for you. It’s then that you feel your phone buzz almost as if you’d summoned Kanroji.

Kan_deez_nutsfitinyourmouth

Great news! A friend I haven’t seen in a while is going to meet us there. He told me he just got a huge bonus from work so he’ll treat us to lunch! I can’t wait for you both to meet each other! I hope this is okay. ~11:37am

You read over the text for a few moments before thinking about what Kanroji’s friend would look like. She had a multitude of friends and they came in all different shapes and sizes. Surprisingly she thought of you as her best friend, out of everyone she was friends with she chose you. It meant a lot to you and even though it was narcissistic, being favored by Kanroji Mitsuri made you feel better about yourself. What if she liked this other friend more? That was something you couldn’t let happen. You’d have to make sure Kanroji didn’t abandon you. This fear was probably irrational and you might need to see a therapist about it. You shrug it off and move off your plush bed. You needed to find something nice to wear because you couldn’t show up wearing the same outfit you’d been in for the last 3 days or so. This old friend had to know you meant business. You decide on a short green floral dress that has a stretchy bust to help contain the gravity sacks. The skirt of the dress fell nicely around your stomach and covered enough of your thighs that you didn’t feel super insecure about them. You once yourself over in the mirror leaning against your wall. You looked cute, cute enough to kill. Which you were willing to do if it meant keeping Kanroji to yourself. You slip into some comfortable off-brand white tennis shoes and glance at your phone for the time. It was nearly noon, you should probably start the short journey to the quaint restaurant.

You arrive a little past noon and spot Kanroji seated near the window. Your eyes instantly track the man sitting across from her. He has long blonde hair with red tips. It falls past his shoulders in spiky waves. His shoulders are…incredibly broad, and muscular, and you find yourself staring at the lines of his muscles through his shirt for longer than you would like to admit. You move shyly toward the pair and before you can appear fully in front of them Kanroji notices you. Her face lights up with an excited smile as she waves you over.

“Y/n you made it!” She beams. The man slowly turns and then he abruptly stands up. You slightly jump at the sudden movement but watch as he bows his head and then extends his hand. You look between his massive hand and his bright red and yellow eyes.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you y/n, my name is Kyojuro.” His eyes seem to glow as he grins warmly at you. You take his hand in yours and shake it. A pull of electricity courses through you once your skin makes contact with his. He motions for you to sit next to him with a friendly smile. You accept only because he smelt like delicious food and maybe expensive cologne. He wore a fitted black tee paired with simple blue jeans. You don’t know how he did it, but somehow he looked incredibly good-looking. Maybe it was because he was just that good-looking. How the hell were you supposed to feel confident when you sat next to two beautiful people?

Rengoku was nervous. He’d never seen someone as effortlessly breathtaking as you. He’d never known love before, but he was starting to understand what the phrase love at first sight meant. You were meadows kissed by the sun. You were birds soaring in the sky. You were melodies played by a symphony. Kanroji should’ve warned him that you were more than his type, you were perfect. Rengoku sends a glare toward Kanroji, who smirks his look off and turns her attention to you.

“So what have you been up to this fine morning y/n?” Kanroji inquires. You glance at the man next to you who doesn’t seem too interested in the conversation, so you decide to tell the truth.

“Well, I woke up pretty late, but once I cooked myself a nice breakfast I was pretty pumped to get some work done.” You reply, fiddling with the skin on your thumb. Kyojuro peers at you with an inquisitive look.

“What do you do for work?” He asks, his eyes searching your face like they’ll reveal the answer before your mouth does. You smile kindly and gesture to yourself.

“I’m a self-published author who also likes to stream on Twitch for some extra cash.” His eyes light up like a fire.

“I like to stream too.” He exclaims. You feel your heart soar. For a moment you thought Kyojuro would ask you the same line of questions everyone else seems to. When will you get a real job?

“Really? What platform do you stream on? Maybe I know it?” You quiz. Kyojuro quickly looks away from you. You furrow your brows and observe a red tinge to his ears.

“It’s…pretty unheard of. I don’t think you’d know it…” He trails off. Why did the mood change so suddenly? Did you say something wrong? All you wanted to do was support Kyojuro since it felt like the two of you were becoming friends. Anxiety thrums in your chest. Maybe you weren’t as likeable as you had originally thought. Kanroji’s favor had gotten to your head.

“Well, I have an idea.” Kanroji pipes up, breaking the silence you had inevitably created. You turn to look at her, who had been silent strangely for a while. “Why don’t you both exchange numbers and then Rengoku can send you some of his content when you get to know each other better.” She smiles slyly and Kyojuro shares a strange look with her. He presses his full lips together and lets out a short breath. She pulls out a pad of paper from her bag and passes it to you with a pink pen. “Write down your number. I’m sure Kyojuro will contact you as soon as possible.” She grins, but you can see the mischief in your friend’s green eyes. What was she planning? You scribble down your number and tear out the page it’s on. You hesitate for a moment before sliding it over to Rengoku. His eyes are trained on the piece of paper like it holds the world's secrets.

“Thank you…” He mumbles softly. You nod your head and look away from him.

“No problem.” You respond not sure what just happened. You hear Kanroji giggle and look up to find her covering her mouth in an attempt to stifle her laughter. “What is it now?” You ask, frustration dripping from your tone. This only fuels her laughter more.

“You both are just so…” She shakes her head and gestures to you and Kyojuro. “So cute. We have to hang out more.”

“We haven’t even ordered our food Mitsuri. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves” Rengoku glares at her. She gains a shit-eating grin on her face. You stare at the shoes you had slipped on, doubt that you should’ve even came today seeping into your thoughts. Did he not want to hang out with you again? He didn’t owe you anything, but did he have to make it so obvious that he wanted to never do this again?

“Well by all means let’s eat because I’m starving.” She grins and clasps her hands together. You peer up at Kanroji, observing her beautiful hair and sharp face. She was the type of girl that people stopped to stare at. You were always the glance, never the double-take. The small lunch ends with mainly Kyojuro and Kanroji catching up about what they’d been up to lately. You sat watching the two interact, mostly entranced with the way Rengoku’s smile seemingly brightened up the dim restaurant. You wished you could watch his mouth all day. The way he formed words was somehow sexy. His whole face expressing his emotions without a filter or care how others would react to him. Kyojuro was beautiful. A ray of warmth in your somewhat cold life. The time ticked by in an instant, and suddenly you were standing to leave. Kyojuro had left to pay for the food and you stood waiting for Kanroji to gather her things. “So, do you like him?” She suddenly blurts. Kanroji had a sixth sense of matching people together. It was like she was a matchmaker in her past life. She just had these feelings when two people would click together in the type of love you hear about in the fictional world. Your eyes widen at her blatant question.

“I just met him.” You hiss, narrowing your eyes at the obvious answer. Kanroji on the other hand sighs loudly and rolls her eyes. You weren’t even sure if he liked meeting you.

“Y/n, I’m not asking if you want to have his children, just a simple ‘Do you think he’s a cool person’? What are your opinions on him at this moment?” She restates. You flush and look away from her prying eyes.

“I…I mean he’s really cool…” You mutter. You know Kanroji is smirking even without looking at her. You can’t seem to stop the confessions, even though you knew she’d tease you about it later. “I think his smile is the most attractive thing I’ve seen on someone, besides his obvious muscular body. He feels safe, which sounds weird because I’ve only just met him, but I think I’d grow to trust him.” You rant, embarrassed that your mouth won’t seem to close. Kanroji pats you on the shoulder and her sly smirk changes to a smile of compassion and understanding.

“I’m really glad it seems you want to be friends with him. My little introvert is growing her social circle.” She wipes away a fake tear and you shove her slightly. Her mischievous glow comes back as she pushes you back. “So you do want to have his babies?” She teases. You’re about to object because even if you want to be friends with him that doesn’t mean he wants to be friends with you, but you feel a presence and you know exactly who it has to be.

“Who’s babies?” Kyojuro’s deep voice asks from behind you. Your whole body freezes and then goes warm. Kanroji on the other hand starts to laugh. At times like this, you really hated your best friend.

“Doesn’t matter.” You grumble and push past the both of them. “I’m leaving.” You don’t wait for either of them, just walk out the door and start the short walk to your apartment. What were you thinking? You got too comfortable with something you didn’t even have. It’s not like Kyojuro would ever look at you like that. You were stupid and… and insecure. Stupidly insecure about your body. What Rengoku lacked in body fat you surely made up for. He probably wanted someone built like himself, able to keep up. You’d just end up slowing him down. You feel a cold coil of anxiety and sorrow wrap around your body. It’s then that someone runs up behind you. You turn around expecting it to be Mitsuri, but Rengoku stands there panting slightly. He was a sight to see. The dimming light of the evening made him glow like an ember. In a way he reminded you of the sunset; once he left you’d be all alone in the dark with only the light from your monitor illuminating your face. He searches your face for some sort of sign that you were displeased. He was worried he’d said something that offended you. He didn’t want to admit it, but he wanted to get to know you enough that you might consider becoming intimate with him. He’d never met someone like you and he was damned if he let you go now.

“Did I say something wrong?” He finally asks. Might as well get to the point. There was no need to dance around what he wanted to ask you. You raise your brows and shake your head slowly. Why would he think that? Was he being serious? Never the less, it wasn’t him who had sent your emotions necessarily into a frenzy. It was the pushiness of your best friend.

“No Kyojuro, Kanroji just takes her jokes too far sometimes. I shouldn’t have stormed out like that…” You sigh and press your lips together. Kyojuro’s face relaxes and you are blessed with another one of his smiles.

“Yeah, I know what you mean. Can I say something weird?” He rubs the back of his neck and looks off to the side. You tilt your head and shrug, but you can’t help the nervous butterflies the creep up to your sternum. You want to shove them down and tell them there’s no place for them here, but you almost enjoy the way they make you feel.

“I don’t have a problem with whatever you want to say. Go ahead.” You reply. He clears his throat and your eyes meet.

“I’m glad I got to meet you today. You seem really cool and I look forward to getting to know you better.” He mumbles shyly. You can’t help but swoon at the adorable tone of his voice. All your anxietys melt away and are replaced with a steadily beating heart and throbbing lower region. This man had such a hold on you after a few hours of being next to one another. Your face contorts into an idiotic grin.

“Me as well.” You pause and you notice your heart pounding in your chest. You can’t tell if you are nervous talking to someone you want to be friends with… or if it’s the easy attraction you have for him. You decide it’s probably a mixture of both. You also decide to be bold. “Make sure to text me, I want to see your content sometime soon.” You bow your head and go to leave, but before you turn around you catch Rengoku’s face flushing a bright red. Hmm… what an interesting reaction. Maybe…just maybe you should give love another shot. If with anyone, surely Kyojuro would be an excellent choice.

Kyojuro’s heart was nearly pounding out of his chest as you walked out of his view. He watched you until he couldn’t anymore. He stumbles toward the wall and braces himself against it. He attempts to catch his breath and places a hand over his heart. How was he supposed to show such an innocent person the type of content he made…? He couldn’t possibly share his deepest darkest secret with you. You would surely leave him behind if you learned of it. Maybe it was time for him to branch out into the gaming genre so he’d have something to show you.

You got home around 5:30. It didn’t seem like you’d stayed out that long, but here you were nearly 5 hours later finally getting home. You’d somehow made a new friend. This was huge. A momentous occasion. You should celebrate. You look down at your phone and then remember the pounding of your heart earlier. You knew an excellent way to relieve some stress.

It’s not long before you’re in your room propped up on your bed. You grab your laptop from your bedside table and place it on a pillow in front of you. You type in the URL of one of your favorite sites. A horny smile curls the corners of your lips upwards as you search for one of your favored content creators. Yoro was a hunky man, with huge pecs. You could only imagine what they must feel like. His content was very straightforward, but he specialized in role-play, pillow talk, and was famous for his incredible whimpering. It…did things to a person. He always had his hair tied back into a low ponytail, so it had to be long. You wonder how much he’d beg for you if you pulled his hair…Needless to say, this man had you wrapped around his finger. If you ever got the chance to meet him… goodness you don’t even know what you’d do. Probably drop your pants to let the flood free. Yoro also wore a black mask and sometimes a black cap that he pulled over his eyes. It was a little disappointing that you couldn’t see his face, but the rest of him more than made up for it. His body was a work of art and you’d never seen a cock prettier than his. It had to be around 5 to 6 inches long and was so girthy. You wonder if he’d be able to fit inside you. In fact, he was the biggest expense in your life. He was the reason you had spent a lot of money when you were drunk. You had to be his number-one fan. Had to be.

You pull up one of his recent videos and lean up against your headboard. Yoro’s setup was very simple; a view of his bed, which had deep red sheets on it, his gray walls, and a small view of his desk where he sat for Q and As at times. He starts off the video sitting at his desk and explaining that he’ll be trying out a new toy a fan had sent him. It was a small vibrator that could be wrapped around the penis. He looked excited from what you could tell and that made you horny for some reason. You shimmy out of your underwear and toss them on your floor. You spread your legs like you’re showing Yoro your pussy. He’s already strapped the toy onto his cock and has it turned on a low setting.

“Fuck, this feels weird.” He chuckles in a deep voice. You bite down on your bottom lip as your fingers duck into your folds. “I’m going to turn it up higher.” He explains and presses the button a couple of times. You can hear the buzzing from here and your heart pounds with lust. You wanted to be there teasing him with the vibrator. Making him whimper and whine for you give him sweet release. Your eyes close slightly as you gaze at Yoro on your screen. His hair was tucked into his hat this time and you never desperately wished to see someone’s face as they were being pleasured as you do with his. Yoro doubles over on the bed and his legs start to shake. “Ngh. Fuck. It feels so good.” He whines. His eyes dart to look at the camera as he struggles to stay standing. You flutter your eyes closed as you massage your clit with your fingers. God this was so hot. “I think- ahh- close. I’m going to,” His breath shakes as he tries to talk. His muscular arm contracts as he grips the sheets of his bed. “F-fuck, holy shit.” He sputters out as cum spurts from his tip. You bite back a moan and fall off your climax with a shiver running up your spine.

“Wow.” You pant as the video ends. Your eyes shut. You were worn out from everything you did today. Socializing and now this? You’d clean up tomorrow. Right now you were going to fall asleep.

You wake up with a notification from an unknown number. You rub your eyes and read over what the number had said.

‘Did you get home safe?’

It then clicks that this must be Kyojuro. You smile to yourself and save his name as apricot since that’s what his name and hair reminded you of.

Yes, I got home safe and sound. I Fell asleep right after I got in the door.

Apricot

hahaha, did you fall asleep in the entryway?

Lmao, no I at least made it to my bed.

Apricot

damn, so I can’t bully you about being one of those people who sleep on the floor?

I’m afraid not 🙁

Apricot

dw, I’ll find something else to bully you about

jeez I thought we were friends, but now I find out you’re actually a horrible person

Apricot

yup, I’m a monster 👾

wtf emoji is that

Apricot

he’s a cute lil monster wdym?

oooh sure, ‘cute’

Apricot

>:( so now you’re bullying an inanimate object? Who’s the monster now?

caught red-handed, I actually eat children in the night

Apricot

:0 how scandalous

You shake your head and toss your phone to the side of your bed. How could one person be so damn adorable? You remember last night as your face flushes. You should probably clean up and then start planning out your next few streams. After donating nearly 1k to Yoro, you needed to pump out some streams to earn more money.

Apricot

What’s your favorite color?

You bite your lip and think for a beat before typing a response.

I’m partial to greens and pinks, but I can’t lie and exclude reds and purples 🙂

Apricot

I like red too, it was my mother’s favortie color

Is she…?

Apricot

Yeah…it happened when I was young so I’m mostly over it

You don’t have to be over it Kyojuro, grief doesn’t have a deadline

Rengoku doesn’t respond quickly so you set your phone to the side of your desk. You’d put in a load of laundry and starting scheduling streams for next week while texting him. You’ve barely begun to move some items around in your plans when you hear your phone go off.

Apricot

You’re right, my father was never the same after she died and I think he took it out on me. Maybe that’s why I’ve made some of the rash decisions because I wanted to live up to the disappointment he thought I was. It didn’t help that my little brother watched as our father beat me down with his words nearly every day. That’s why I’m working so hard, so I can provide a better life for my brother…and for my father.

You stare at the message, tears threatening to spill from the corners of your eyes. The thought of anyone thinking Kyojuro Rengoku was a disappointment was practically unthinkable to you, and you just met him yesterday. You feel angry, sad, and sadistically happy that he felt comfortable enough to tell you this.

Firstly, I want to tell you thank you for sharing. That was incredibly brave of you.

Then there’s what you said, Kyojuro I don’t think you could ever be a disappointment. You’re a product of what happened to you and the environment that was pushed upon you. You grew up damn well, you’re kind, funny, and intelligent. Grief effect people in the strangest ways, I’m just sorry your father got the short end, I can’t imagine how it must of been for all of you. Your father lost the love of his life and you lost a mother. I hope you and your father can make up.

Apricot

I will fight my whole life if it means I can see him. That’s what love is. Thanks for listening to my rambling. Sorry if I overwhelmed you with the sad boy vibes.

No no no, it’s nice to know you’re human. When I met you yesterday I was convinced you were some sort of God

Your face flushes as you boldly send the last text. You flip your phone over and ignore the buzzing. You had to get back to work anyway.

Rengoku was curious what you meant, but for some reason you weren’t reading his messages. He sighs loudly and presses his lips together. You were too cute for your own good. The beast inside of his chest was throbbing. Then there was the aching in the confines of his pants. He was a gentleman, but you were making him think of ungodly things to do to you. How cute your face would look high on pleasure, cumming for the 100th time for him. You’d be such a good fucking girl for him. Opening up your sweet legs and exposing your cunt for him to taste. You’d be absolutely delicious. Thats when he notices a text back from you.

I never thought I’d see a sunrise and sunset simultaneously. That’s what it’s like being with you. Is that weird? You’re a very warm person lmao

I feel like that’s weird.

Ignore that.

Kyojuro, don’t get the wrong idea

Fuck

He can’t possibly contain his smile. Delicious.

It’s been about 3 months since you initially met Kyojuro Rengoku. The two of you had been messaging back and forth nearly everyday, hanging out occasionally, and it was apparent how attracted you were to him. He was intoxicatingly charming over text and when you’d see him in person his smile would wrap your body in a warm coat of giddiness. No longer were you controlled by the cold hands of anxiety. Rengoku’s presence and persisting nature made you realize that you simply shouldn’t give a fuck. You’re you and that’s priceless. Kanroji was ecstatic when you first told her Rengoku asked you to hang out alone. She was convinced you were in love with him, which… probably wasn’t far from the truth. You knew so much about him, but the one thing you were still curious about was the content he made. One part of you felt like it was too late to bring up that topic, but the other part was dying to know if he played games or was more of a talking streamer. What type of things did he do to entertain his viewers? As if summoning him a text message buzzes from him on your phone screen.

Apricot

You wanna come over and chill tonight? I got that new movie you were asking about 😎

Ahh sick, yeah I can be there by 4

Is that good?

I could come earlier but I have some work to finish up before I can make it

Apricot

Yeah that should work

I do have some things I’ll need to finish up in my office though, so if you’re fine just chilling by yourself for like an hour or so until I’m finished then we should be all set

Hell yeah man, I’ll take a nap on your comfortable ass couch

Apricot

Just don’t drool on my poor pillows like last time 🙁

Yeah sure, or I could just not come over

Apricot

FINE, at least hide the massive puddle from me instead of showing me like some proud child who just drew on my walls 😭😭😭😭

Sorry you give off daddy energy 🤷‍♀️

Apricot

It’s my daddy issues rubbing off on me 🚩😭

🚩🚩🚩🚩 problem child alert

Apricot

Hey! You have no idea how evil Senjuro can be. He may look cute, but he uses that against you

Sounds like a child is able to outsmart you

Apricot

Just hurry up and get your ass over here

Yes sir 🙄

You grin to yourself and those happy butterflies fill your chest yet again. Over the past few months you’d gotten used to the wishy washy way they made you feel. Kind of like you were sinking through a cloud, but a big hunky man would catch you when you fell through. It’d been a while since you masturbated to Yoro since you mostly thought about Kyojuro now. In a way you felt bad, but not too much. You hum happily to yourself and finish up the last minute touches to a cover you were working on. You shut down your computer and glance at what you were wearing in your mirror. Oversized gray sweats and a knit blue tank with a heather gray cardigan loosely covering your shoulders. You looked incredibly sexy. A large grin overtakes your face as you make your way to leave for Kyojuro’s, who happens to live a small jaunt north of you.

Rengoku paces nervously waiting for you to arrive. Tonight was the night he wanted to tell you that from the beginning he thought you were the most attractive person he’d ever met. How he would say that without sounding creepy…? He didn’t know. He just hoped you’d take it as a compliment. His breath was short and for a moment he thought he might pass out. He feels his phone buzz in his pocket and instantly reaches for it. When he realizes it’s a call from his manager he furrows his brows. He hesitantly answers.

“Yoro, listen, I need you to stream sometime tonight. Views of your colleagues are down to I need you to fill in the donation gaps.” Before he can argue the phone goes silent. His eyes darken and he throws his phone against the couch. He’d planned on editing some videos, but now he had to stream by contract.

“Fucking hell.” He curses lowly and clenches his fist.

You arrive within 10 minutes of leaving, the wonderful air making you in an even better mood. Your smile hadn’t left your lips since your conversation with Kyojuro. You take the elevator and knock on his door around 4:33pm. He opens it briskly, his blonde and red hair in a mess around his face. His chin is scruffy and he wears a loose fitted white shirt with black sweats. He looks amazingly sexy.

“Hello Kyojuro,” You sing and step into his apartment. You wander over to his plush couch and flop down into the cushions. “Don’t mind me, I’ll be here watching some videos while you busy yourself with important secretive content things.” You tease. Little beknownst to you this stikes a nerve in Rengoku. He grits his teeth together and stalks past you.

“Just stay quiet. I’m going to lock the door.” He quips sternly, barley looking at you. You furrow your brows and watch as he stomps into the office and closes the door. You listen for the click of the lock but it never comes.

“Who peed in his cheerios?” You whisper to yourself and sigh loudly. His grumpy demenour had certainly put a damper on your mood, but you were too excited to take another nap on his couch to really care. You were sure when you woke up he’d be back to his bright and cheery self. Not long after you lay your head down you fall asleep.

Rengoku is in your dream, but so is Yoro. They’re both looking at each other and then Rengoku is shirtless and you don’t really care about Yoro anymore.

You awaken from what seemed like a short dream to a loud noise coming from Kyojuro’s office. You grunt in response, upset that the real Kyojuro probably won’t become shirtless. Your eyes slowly adjust to light and you stretch out your legs and arms while making a silent screeching noise. Not sure why stretches felt so good while making a noise, but it had to be scientifically proven. You should probably check on Kyojuro. You glance at your phone and realize you’d been asleep for nearly an hour. How long does it take to become shirtless? You roll your eyes and smack your dry lips. You stand and stretch one more time before wandering over to the office door. You grab hold of the knob and knock softly.

“Kyojuro?” You whisper hesitantly and twist the knob. The door slowly opens into the office, or what you thought was the office. Your eyes first land on the bed over to the left of the room covered in red sheets. Your eyes flick to the gray walls and then to Kyojuro, who’s eyes are widely looking into yours. It’s then you realize this Kyojuro is in fact shirtless. And pantless. Dick out. Mask on. Hair tucked into a hat. Yoro. The man you touched yourself to and would do anything to fuck. Shame for watching Kyojuro’s content without his consent rushed through you for a moment. It wasn’t like you had purposefully sought out what he posted, but happened upon it before you even knew each other. As long as you never told him you were a fan, things would work out. You wanted to keep this between the both of you for as long as you could. You notice the camera flashing and scoot back toward the door, eyes still trained on the magnificent body in front of you. A wash of overwhelming feelings crash into you, but for the sake of whatever the fuck was happening, you stayed calm.

“Sorry guys, my cat almost knocked over a plant.” Kyojuro laughs and turns back to his audience. You notice the vibrator strapped to his dick again and the hunger you had tried to keep calm all this time nearly bubbles out. You’d definitely have to talk this out later, but right now you didn’t want to leave the room. You observe him glance at you a couple of times, but he’s trying so hard to keep his cool. He must think you’re in shock. Appalled. Grossed out. Nope. You’re just really fucking horny. It’s taking all your being to not jump him in front of his camera right now. Everything seemingly clicks into place. Why he got so weird at the restaurant. He didn’t want to tell you he was a cam boy. Why he never shared his content with you. Why he was always so secretive with his office and planning. He also happened to be the one streamer you would do anything for. Which meant in a way you were double horny for him? Maybe after he was done you could convince him to give you a private show? Or was that weird? Maybe that was weird. No harm in asking though. “Yes yoroslut the donations are hooked up to the vibrator. If you send a certain amount it correlates with a certain power setting on it.” He smiles as he replies to a comment. Your heart beats faster in your chest as you watch the live show. You could have some fun with this…

You pull out your phone and notice Kyojuro tense. You smirk and sit down on the ground, back against the wall. He furrows his brows as he watches you, obviously confused on what’s happening. You pull up his stream on your phone and lick your lips with anticipation. You click the donation button and the small gift option. After a couple seconds a low buzzing can be heard from Kyojuro. He tenses and his eyes widen as he realizes what you’re doing. His cock stiffens and you can feel your pussy throb hungrily. He’s trying to pay attention to the stream in front of him, but you were distracting. You donate a medium gift. Louder buzzing and Kyojuro lets out a breathy moan, eyes trained on you. He was searching your face, his muscles tensed because of you. His chest is heaving and you enjoy the way his cock twitches because of the donations you’re sending. Next was the large gift. Incredibly loud buzzing fills the room and Kyojuro doubles over gripping his desk. He whimpers and it cracks into a loud moan. You can hear his breathing from where you sit on his floor. The buzzing continues and Kyojuro starts to shake, his muscles flexing like crazy as he tries to contain himself. You read some of the comments flying by.

Great show. This is so hot!

This is why Yoro is my favorite!

So glad you decided to stream tonight!

Rengoku is letting out soft moans and his eyes squeeze shut. You can’t handle the hunger building in your chest and pussy so you crawl over on all fours to his chair. He’s already scooted out pretty far from trying to contain himself, so crawling under the desk is a simple task. Once you’re there you peer up at him. His blazing eyes meet yours and from the way he’s breathing you can tell he’s close to climaxing.

“I want you to be a good boy and cum in my mouth.” You whisper ever so lightly. His eyes widen slightly but then they flutter shut and he gives you the tiniest nod. You rip off the vibrator from his throbbing and twitching cock. You wrap your hand around him, but since he’s so girthy your hand barley covers any space. You work him as best you can nevertheless. Kyojuro grunts softly and he tries to look back at the comments. You like the way his dick feels in your hand, theres a slight curve at the tip that helps him not slip out of your handjob.

“I-I like,” He groans and his eyes shut again. “I enjoy ramen.” He pants. He must be answering a comment. It’s time for the finishing move. You smirk to yourself, even though you’re a little nervous. You were having fun now, but what about later when everyone had their clothes on and it got serious? You push those thoughts to the back of your head and kiss Kyojuro’s tip and make eye contact with him. You smooch it again and his body visibly shudders. You then take him in your mouth, lips curling around his length. “F-fuck.” He curses and you hear him hit the desk above you. “Sorry guys, I-I-I,” His eyes roll back into his head and without finishing you hear the end of the steam noise. You still bob your head up and down his cock. You can feel him tensing in your mouth. He tears off his mask and hat, watching you suck his pretty cock. He runs a hand through his hair and leans back in his chair, letting out a low rumbling moan. You hum against his dick and his hand is suddenly in your hair, tangled with the soft locks. He pulls your mouth off him and stares at you, breathless. “What the fuck are you doing princess?” He growls. The angry look on his face tells you that you should be scared, but the fact he called you princess in that tone makes you squirm with excitement.

“Reciting the declaration of independence.” You reply like a smartass. Kyojuro looks you up and down, spit dripping down your chin and a bit of his precum smeared under your lip. You glance down at his erection and then meet his gaze again. “Are you going to let me continue…or?” You trail off moving closer to him on your knees. Kyojuro’s last bit of humanity is thrown out the window as he can smell your delicious scent.

“No.” He replies in a raspy voice. You tilt your head as he stands from his chair and flops down on the bed. “Come over here y/n” He commands. Your eyes widen and heat crawls all over your body. Rengoku lays on the bed, putting a pillow underneath his head. His eyes track you as you slowly rise to your feet. You sheepishly drop the cardigan and step out of your sweats. Your tank top is easy to slip off over your head and your sports bra comes off with it. You then slowly shimmy out of your underwear. Rengoku’s eyes flit over every inch of your body. He looks away before glancing back. Taking a double take. You feel your whole body warm. “Now get over here princess.” His usual fiery eyes are dark and hungry. With the way your needy cunt pulses, you don’t waste any time. You crawl up on the bed with him and slowly start to position yourself over his chest. His eyes practically eat you up as you scoot a little closer. “Come on my love, you need to be on top for me to use my mouth.” He coos. You nervously bite your lip and sit down on his face. His nose to your clit and he doesn’t miss this oppurtunity to be smothered by your thick thighs. The tip of his nose rubbing against your clit and a soft moan slipping from your mouth. Before you have any time to react his tongue slips between your folds. A surprised yelp comes from your mouth as he continues to explore you with his tongue. It swirls against your clit, prodding the sensative spot like it was something stuck in his teeth he was trying to get out with his tongue. You try to find friction against his nose, biting your lip to contain your moans. Your breath becomes heavy and labored as Rengoku fucks you with his long tongue. You bring your finger to your mouth and bite down.

“Ah, Kyojuro, oh my god.” You murmured. Your words must motivate him to not let up on nudging your clit with his nose and lapping up your juices. “F-fuck, ungh, yes, right t-there.” You can feel the pressure of an orgasm building in the pit of your stomach. You feel like you’re seeing stars as he continues. Your hands are suddenly tangled in his hair holding him to your pussy. Your legs start to jerk as you ride out the shockwaves of your orgasm. You let out a howling moan, finally not holding back the sounds you wanted to make. You slide off his face and flop down on next to him. Kyojuro pants and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. He licks the juices off his hand and maintains eye contact with you.

“Fucking tasty. Best thing I've ever ate.” He pants, looking you up and down. “Don’t hold back those beautiful noises from me my love.” A boyish grin replaces the serious look on his face as he props himself up on his elbow. “So I guess you know what I do for a living now.” His cheeks are red and your heart pounds in your chest. Yeah and you were his top donator. “I hope you don’t mind, I mean it seems like you didn’t because…you know…we…” He glances away and bites his bottom lip. “What I’m trying to say is…what are you thinking right now?” His eyes meet yours again looking for an answer.

What were you supposed to say? You knew about him before so the shock of finding out that Yoro and Kyojuro were the same person hadn’t phased you. What was bothering you was Rengoku finding out that you were a fan of his. You feel like that would cause problems between the both of you and all you wanted was to be able to fuck him as you pleased. Hell, maybe you’d even start to date. You didn’t know, but him figuring out that you’d watched him before wouldn’t be good news.

“I think we should continue where we left off.”

Yeah, this was for the best.

777 notes · View notes

azsazz · 1 year

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Here for You

Azriel x Reader (Zuzu Centered)

Summary: Anon Request: could we get something zuzu centered? we don’t get enough of the girls, and it would be so sweet to see az being a girl dad and y/n being a girl mom for a bit 🥹 maybe them being super excited to finally have a baby girl, when she’s really young or something? whatever you thinks best!

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1,076

_________________________________________

“C’mon Zuz! Keep going, you’re almost there,” Azriel shouts from your side.

You can’t contain the smile on your face, beaming as your daughter races across the open field on her little legs, kicking the ball with a determined look on her face. Her sleek black hair is twisted into tight plaits courtesy of her father, who had – like all things – studied the intricacies of braiding until he was near perfect. There had been many late nights you and your husband had spent together, letting him practice different hairstyles on you while you read, tucked up as far into his warmth as you could, giving him gentle reminders and praises on his final looks.

Zuzu also has dark streaks of paint on her cheeks, a gift from Uncle Cassian, who’d also given her a pep talk before her Moonball game had started. Between him, Azriel, and Rhys, you didn’t know who was cheering the loudest for your little girl, and your heart is bursting with joy at the pride your family is showing in the matching ‘Zuzu Rules’ shirts Rhysand had made for their final game.

Malos pouts where she’s been jostled in Azriel’s arms, on the verge of falling asleep when he’d excitedly begun cheering as Zuzu was passed the ball. Nesta notices at the same time, and is quick to take the babe and soothe her, waving a dismissive hand to Azriel who gives her an apologetic look for a brief moment before returning his gaze to the Moonball game before him.

He’s nearly vibrating with excitement, and you’ve had to pull Baz out of the way as his wings flared when one of the children on the other team had stolen the ball from Zuzu.

She’s certainly come a long way since her first game, where the same thing had happened and she’d tried to pummel the child into the ground for doing so. You had glared at your husband and his brothers who had all ducked their heads to hide the grins they were biting back. That was their girl.

Even your older sons had stopped their game of playing warrior to come cheer on their sister, their cousins pushing between all of the tall adult legs for a better view.

One of the children in a navy jersey chasing Zuzu towards the goal suddenly trips and falls into the grass with a surprised gasp but Zuzu doesn’t take notice. Unfortunately, you do, shooting Baz a warning look that says he’s going to get in trouble when he gets home. He’s only eight but he’s already learned a multitude of tricks with his shadows, and to an untrained eye they would’ve thought the child had merely tripped. You knew better than that, and by the way Baz switches sides with Wren so he’s standing further away from you with red cheeks and hunched shoulders, he did too.

Even Knox is intently watching his sister race across the grass. The midnight purple of her jersey brings out the ribbons in her hair, provided by her Auntie Elain and Uncle Lucien, who hadn’t been able to make it, as they were visiting Day for a surprise getaway.

“Come on baby, come on baby,” you mutter under your breath as she goes. Two children from the opposing team are blocking the way and if she uses her wings again she won’t be able to join the team next season, so you pray to the Mother she doesn’t flare those little wings wide and sweep these kids off of their feet.

“Yes, Z!” Wren jumps, shouting at his sister as she side-steps the offending players. He’d taught her that move when Uncle Cassian hadn’t been playing very fair in the backyard. Everything she’s learned about Moonball had been from her brothers and the rest of her family. She’s a warrior through and through, tough as nails and never backs down even when she was learning with all of the roughness her brothers and male cousins showed. Asteria hadn’t shown interest in the sport, instead she liked playing with her dolls and putting them in poses to draw in her coloring book.

“You got this, Zuz,” Baz encourages, while Jax claps his tiny hands and chants her name over and over again.

Your entire family holds their breath as she sets herself up to kick the ball into the goal. The child in the goal has a ready stance that’s startling for that of someone so young. He looks nearly professional, arms spread wide, knees bent, with a determined look in his eye. He and Zuzu had faced off before, and even her brothers had complimented how good he was at the sport.

Zuzu had scored against him this season once. The other time she had the chance, the little boy had blocked her ball from hitting the goal and you almost hadn’t stopped the rest of your sons from running out onto the field to defend their sister from the goalie who had gloated more than Cassian when he’d won the annual snowball fight, a smug smile on his face.

She’d been more determined than ever, immediately asking her brothers to go out into the yard with the instruction not to go easy on her.

Zuzu cocks her leg back. There’s steely determination in her fierce eyes. Her mouth is set in a firm line as she stares down the child like he’s her worst enemy.

And maybe he is.

The entire field is silent as her leg swings forward. The ball goes soaring through the air, looking like a shooting star, and everyone waits.

The child in the goal pushes off of the ground, throwing his body sideways into the path of the ball.

But he’s too late.

Your family erupts in mass of cheers and excitement, storming the field to gather the star player in congratulations and celebratory hugs.

She’s beaming, grinning like the day you and Azriel had told her that she was going to have a little sister.

Azriel hikes her up on his shoulders, spinning her around as the other parents gather their children and usher them away, but you don’t care, so utterly proud of Zuzu for scoring the winning goal of the game.

Her braids flop against her shoulders as she twirls, giggling like a mad woman and hands raised in the air in victory.

“I did it! I did it,” she screams.

And you couldn’t be more proud.

#azriel x reader #daddy azriel #azsazz next gen #azsazz #azsazz zuzu #azriel #dad!azriel #daddyaz #acotar #acomaf

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quixoticall · 2 months

Text

This Could Get Ugly Track 5: The Beginning of the End

Summary: It's 1983 and The Downsides need another lead singer and you just happen to need a band--it's a perfect match. The only issue? You have to pretend to be in a relationship with your bandmate, Steve Harrington, but you can't help but be drawn to the band's broody guitar player.

pairing: s.h. x fem!reader, e.m. x fem!reader, j.b. x n.w.,

warnings: ANGST, drinking, drug use, smut, oral and fingering f receiving, p in v sex, the Harringtons make an appearance.

a/n: It has been a while my loves! If you've been following me at all, you know I've had a rough month. I really, truly appreciate every single one of you who has reached out and checked in! I appreciate you! This chapter is extra long to make up for lost time and it contains smut. It's my first time writing smut, so hopefully, I did not disappoint.

wc: 11.2K

MASTERLIST🎸

PLAY PREVIOUS TRACK 🎵

APRIL 28th, 1984 PHILADELPHIA , PA—THE UPSIDE DOWN TOUR

If you wanted to be technical about it, the whole thing started with Argyle.

The two of you were backstage, sitting outside the dressing rooms killing time during the opener—some local band that you weren’t previously familiar with.

You had always appreciated Argyle’s ability to be friendly with everyone and float above the tensions, that was the case especially now when things with the others seemed to have fallen apart a little.

You were sitting next to each other on the floor, backs against the wall, as you were running him through some of the songs that had made the preliminary list for the next album and asking for his input while he threw a bouncy ball against the opposite wall. You liked working with Argyle, he was out of the box, creative, and one of the most technically skilled band members. You had been sitting with him for only 30 minutes and he had already made one of your songs infinitely better.

“What’s the move tonight, dude?” he asks you, nonchalantly as you scribbled down some of his suggested changes.

You shrug in response, “I dunno, I might just go home and sleep after this, maybe work on the arrangements for this—” You wave your beat-up notebook in the air, and he scoffs.

“You like never come out with us anymore,” he exclaims, “I miss when we all used to party together, dude. Now you are all dropping like flies and it’s not as fun anymore!”

It was your turn to scoff at him, “Please, I was never the life of the party, Argyle, c’mon.”

“Are you kidding, dude? People would always show up in droves to see you. Plus, you’re like totally fun. Remember when you and Steve did karaoke in Austin and you both got on the bar? That was totally cool.”

You chuckle at the memory and concede, “Yeah, that was pretty fun, but you still have everyone else!”

“Well, you took my dude Eddie too,” he points out without malice.

“What do you mean?”

“He hasn’t come out since St. Louis—keeps saying he’s gonna stay in just in case you want to write with him.”

Of course, this is news to you. You hadn’t taken up Eddie’s offer to write together since he had spurned you in Missouri (and since he starred in a very vivid dream of yours). It wasn’t that you didn’t accept his apology (presented in the form of a ridiculously large flower bouquet) it was that thing would have been far too awkward at this point.

It wasn’t that you had a crush on him necessarily, you were pretty sure that mantle was still taken up by Steve to some extent, it was more that there was an undeniable sexual something between the two of you below the surface that your dreams had made obvious and you didn’t trust yourself to be alone in a room with him without wanting to rip his clothes off.

Obviously, giving in to your desires was a bad idea for a multitude of reasons but chiefly, because:

a. It would wreak havoc on the band.

b. You were certain Eddie wouldn’t reciprocate your advances.

But then… you had heard what Argyle had said.

“Wait, are you saying Eddie has been hanging out after shows just on the off chance that I may call him?” You confirm incredulously.

Argyle nods in response, “Yeah. Did you put a spell on him or something?”

“No,” you respond wryly, “I’m not that type of witch, I’m the bad kind of witch.”

“Well, you definitely did something to the dude, he’s been obsessing over whether or not you hate him and keeps trying to get me to ask.”

This takes you aback completely. Eddie caring so much what you thought of him that he’d be willing to ask Argyle, of all people to discreetly scope that out seems improbable so you continue to probe.

“What do you mean by that?”

“Well, he obviously thinks you’re pretty and he’s just been waiting around for you to call him up, and he cares a lot about what you think of him, which is weird because last time I checked he kinda hated you—no offense.”

“How do you know all this?” You ask, ignoring the offense.

“He told me, duh.”

“Have you told anyone else this?”

“No one else has asked,” Argyle says plaintively.

“Well, how about we keep all of this between the three of us, then?” You propose.

Before the drummer can confirm, the thundering applause signaling that the opening act had wrapped up cut the conversation off.

Neither of you has the chance to continue the discussion before being rushed onto stage by a harried and high-strung stage manager.

Without knowing, Argyle had invertedly changed the course of everything.

***

EDDIE: We were in Philly. It was a great show—probably one of the best of that tour. The audience was feeling us the opener was sick and we were just gelling for what felt like probably the first time. It was like we were all finally on the same wavelength if that makes sense. No more guessing what the next move was or fighting to keep up. It was like we were finally learning to trust each other.

***

The Philly show was electric, all the elements had come together perfectly. You and Steve were particularly reveling in it. You spent most of the night singing into the same microphone, lips inches from one another, your hand grasping the back of his neck, fingers carding through his hair, and eye contact unbreaking. At one point, you were certain by the way he had captured your bottom lip under the meat of his thumb, that he was going to lean in and kiss you on the mouth, a barrier that the two of you had managed to maintain this whole time.

The audience must have had a similar thought by the sounds of their cheers—a sound that seemed to have shaken both you and Steve from whatever spell you had been under because the next thing you know the pressure of his thumb was gone and his eyes were turned away from you and towards the crowd.

The rest of the show was spent similarly—the two of you toeing the line and the audience following your every move. It was easy to get addicted both to the applause and the intimacy.

After the encores were sung and the last bows were taken, though, Steve was back to barely being able to look at you.

The only time his gaze does flit to you, ever-briefly, is when you politely decline Argyle’s invitation to go out after the show.

“Come on dude, you said you would come if I looked at your song,” the drummer gives a half-hearted attempt at bargaining which only makes you giggle.

“I never said that Argyle,” and truly you hadn’t, “I said that I couldn’t go out because I had to make those changes you suggested.”

In response, Argyle begins to boo you, loudly and the others join in eagerly.

You roll your eyes playfully and bid goodbye to Argyle and the rest of the band when you part ways for the night and you notice that other than yourself, Eddie is the only one missing from the boisterous group but you try not to think too much on it.

Your efforts to push all thoughts of Eddie out of your mind seemed to have the opposite effect and it was like the thoughts themselves were digging their heels in and had found your mind to be a welcoming home.

You had made the song changes you had told Argyle you would and even tried to make some progress on your plethora of unfinished songs. As it turned out, you worked slower when you wrote alone.

You knew that as the remaining tour dates dwindled and the band’s return to LA drew closer, you eventually would have to approach Eddie again to write together. It was indisputable that whatever the two of you produced together was almost always better than what you accomplished alone.

How could you possibly approach him when you could barely look at him without dying of mortification? With Steve, at least, you could get some of the sexual energy out on stage, but with Eddie you didn’t have the same luxury and it stayed bottled up.

All of this, along with Argyle’s words from earlier in the evening made focusing nearly impossible and you gave up on writing all together, deciding to call it a night and head to bed. To your chagrin, the better part of the night was spent tossing and turning trying to evict the thoughts and ideas that had begun to formulate in your mind fueled by a lack of sleep, stress and desperation. And suddenly, you had an idea.

Admittedly, it was not a very good idea. It was actually probably a very bad idea. A ruinous idea even. And yet, you found yourself pulling the covers off yourself and stumbling into a pair of slippers, perplexed by your actions. You wondered, as you blearily shuffled down the identical hotel halls why you weren’t trying to talk yourself out of this idea—one that you were certain was going to change everything. Perhaps you were itching for a new thrill. Or maybe you were as selfish as everyone seemed to believe. Maybe it was the poison that had settled in your heart before you were old enough to know better, insisting that there was no other option for you. Or maybe you were giving yourself far too much credit and you were simply horny.

Whatever the reason, it brought you directly to Eddie Munson’s door.

***

EDDIE: I swear I thought I was dreaming when I saw her there, standing outside my door in this tiny pajama top and even tinier short. They had little cherries on them. I remember thinking they were so cute. Her hair was all a mess. I thought that was cute too.

After probably 5 minutes of us standing there in the doorway, I finally got my brain to work enough to invite her in. She seemed nervous at first. Sort of paced around the room, not saying anything for a while and then—I swear to God—she asks, “Do you want to sleep with me?” out of fucking nowhere. If I hadn’t been there myself, I would’ve never believed it. Hell, even telling you now, part of me thinks I made it up.

My brain short-circuited because I couldn’t even respond. I just stared at her with my jaw on the fucking floor, trying to remember what the signs of a stroke were.

***

“Are you serious?” Eddie spits out, voice hoarse with shock at your overly-direct question.

You nod, wordlessly, trying to ignore the panic that has begun to set in.

“Why?” he presses.

You shrug, which he doesn’t find sufficient because he nods along, trying to draw the reasons from you.

“We both like sex,” you explain, clumsily, “and I find you attractive and I think you find me attractive, too—” he nods feverishly at this—“so why not have some fun?”

You try to say this last part enticingly but aren’t sure you pulled it off until you see a flush play itself across his pretty features.

“Why me? Why not Harrington?”

Even though you had anticipated the question, you can’t help but steel yourself as you respond, “Because we like each other enough for it to be fun but not enough for either of us to get attached.”

You watched, with bated breath as the thoughts played out over Eddie’s features and when you see a flash of what could be hurt you entertain for the briefest moment, the idea that maybe someone could get hurt but the thought is pushed away as a lazy grin begins to spread over his face and a newfound cockiness color his features.

Suddenly, he is much closer, and the space between your two bodies draws thin.

“Now?” he asks.

“Yes, now,” you squeak out as he encroaches in on you, fingertips grazing the bare skin on your hips.

You take a step towards him, moving to stand flush against his hip, invitingly and weave a hand through his unruly bed head curls. You want him to know how much you want this—how much you’ve wanted this. It was inevitable really, there had always been a tension between the two of you. Whether it was the hot friction of dislike , the bold spark of creative partnership or the hot embers of sexual tension, the two of you burned for one another just the same.

He leans in for a kiss when your impatience gets the best of you and you rush to meet him halfway.

He tastes like cigarettes and cherries, a taste you revel in as his lips move languidly over yours. Suddenly, he takes your bottom lip between his teeth and lightly tugs, and a moan tumbles out of you.

“We can’t tell anyone,” you mutter into the kiss and it goes unacknowledged.

The cold of his rings meets your nipples through the thin fabric of your strappy pajama top and your body arches in response.

The kiss is broken you are left gasping for air. Eddie wastes no time in attaching his lips to your neck, his tongue tracing over your collarbone hotly.

The straps of your top are shucked of your shoulders and the fabric bunched down towards your middle and a trail of kisses following in its wake.

Your knees hit the edge of the bed, and the hands in your waist guide you down in a fluid motion.

Your eyes flutter as wet kisses are peppered over your breasts.

“Come on princess, let me hear those pretty noises,” Eddie murmurs into your skin, his hot breath covering you in goosebumps.

A heady moan escapes you, almost on command. It would’ve embarrassed you if you still had the decency to care.

A trail of kisses and suddenly Eddie is thumbing at the waistband of your shorts. You nod fervently when his eyes suddenly trail up to find you, but that’s not enough for him.

“Come on, baby,” he teases, “tell me what you want.”

You throw your head back in frustration and want and Eddie takes this lapse in response to run his hand sloppily over your clothed core.

“So wet,” he murmured, “so pretty.”

You let out a desperate laugh at this and his eyes are back on you, expectantly and any resistant you have dissipates.

“Touch me, please,” you sigh, half plea, half demand.

It’s not a hard sell because your shorts and underwear are gone in a flash and cold rings are pulling your thighs wide open.

You reach out towards Eddie’s curls for purchase, gently tugging him closer to your core, hoping he’d get the message.

A moment of clarity cuts through your haze and suddenly you’re pulling him up by his hair, forcing eye contact.

“No one can know,” you insists.

He’s all half-lidded eyes and dazed smile when he’s looking at you.

Leaning in to grab his jaw in your palm, you pull him close. This is important.

“Eddie, no one can know. Promise me,” you repeat again.

He nods in agreement, even though his expression leads you to believe you could’ve asked anything in that moment and he would’ve readily acquiesced.

“No one can know,” he affirms before hitching your body closer with a harsh tug on your thighs and disappearing in between your legs, mouth latching hotly to where you need him the most.

***

EDDIE: We started sleeping together that night. A no strings attached type thing. We had to keep it a secret. She didn’t want to hurt Harrington’s feelings which I understood. He was a good guy and anyone could tell he was head over heels for her.

And she was just… well, I guess she was just afraid. We were kind of the same in that way. Couldn’t hold onto anything without crushing it into dust.

***

MAY 1st, 1984–STATEN ISLAND, NY—THE UPSIDE DOWN TOUR

Eddie’s hands are curled around your thighs, keeping your body balanced on the flimsy tour bus bathroom sink. His silver rings dig into the soft flesh of your thigh in a way that you are certain will leave bruises in their wake.

You have to be quiet, you know that. Even if the rest of the band had taken a quick pit stop between Philly and New York to explore the Staten Island Zoo and the likelihood of them coming back this early was low, it wasn’t non-existent . This left you stifling your own moans into the back of your hand as Eddie rocked into you languidly and delicious.

Your hand moved to steady itself behind you as he lets go of your left thigh and places the pad of his thumb on the soft flesh of your clit, causing you to forget nearly everything.

He seems to anticipate your next move though, because his mouth is quickly on yours, tongue gliding over your bottom lip and effectively keeping you quiet.

The angle of his hips meeting your core and his nimble fingers worked together to bring you closer to your release.

“I can feel it, baby, you’re close aren’t you?”

You nod feverishly, eyes screwed shut, “Yes, so good Eds. I’m gonna cum,” you manage to squeak out.

“C’mon pretty girl, look at me,” Eddie instructs firmly, but you can tell by the strain in his voice that he’s not too far behind, “wanna see you when you cum.”

You force your eyes open and he rewards you by pressing his unoccupied thumb into your bottom lip which you greedily take into your mouth.

Your release washes over you in a wave and you watch moments later as Eddie finds his own.

The two of you are left panting for a few moments as you try to steady yourselves. Once you find your bearings, you lower yourself from the sink and adjust the sundress that was so carelessly shucked to your hips and Eddie busies himself with disposing of the condom discreetly.

Turning to the bathroom mirror, you make an attempt at taming your haphazard hair and fixing your smudged lipstick before making a move for the door.

“Well, that was nice,” you offer before spilling into the tour bus’s common space.

“Wait,” Eddie cries out as he’s still adjusting his belt, “where are you going?”

You shrug nonchalantly in response but don’t turn around, “Back to the girls’ bus.”

“You don’t want to… you don’t want to stick around maybe? We could do some writing?” Eddie sounds out of breath when he asks but you chalk it up to the sex.

“Better not. It might look suspicious,” you explain as you take the stops down from the bus, two at a time.

“Right, wouldn’t want that,” Eddie squeaks out and you smile back at him, grateful for his understanding.

“See you later, Eds.”

Eddie doesn’t say anything back, but when you look back after having boarded your own bus, he’s still standing on the bottom step, eyes still on you.

***

EDDIE: Let’s get the record straight about something though, I didn’t steal her away from anyone. She is her own person first of all, not some thing to be stolen. And second of all, she came to me first. Not the other way around. And! She and Harrington weren’t even really seeing each other. So, other than the lying, it truthfully wasn’t that bad.

But then again, does the truth even matter? Especially now? After everything?

INTERVIEWER: It does to me and to you too, I think, otherwise you wouldn’t be here.

EDDIE: Has anyone ever told you you’re too smart for your own good?

***

MAY 3rd, 1984–NEW YORK CITY, NY—THE UPSIDE DOWN TOUR

It was easy, really, to keep your fling with Eddie a secret from the rest of the band. Most of them were barely paying attention to what you were doing anyway.

Nancy and Jonathan were once again preoccupied with waiting by the phone to hear from Jonathan’s mother, Joyce. Will’s condition had once again worsen and the two were on high alert.

Robin and Steve were busy sightseeing and pointedly only talking to you when necessary. They weren’t hostile, per se, (or at least, Steve wasn’t) but they also made a point to not invite you to their outing. You want to tell them to be wary of the paps since the city is crawling with them in a matter akin to cockroaches but you know better than to try to tell Robin what to do.

Argyle, for his part, is in his own world.

The two of you were essentially in the clear barring rehearsals, shows and any stray public appearance. Still, you couldn’t help but want to take precautions.

***

EDDIE: She would never sleep over. You know, after. She was too worried about what would happen if Steve or anyone else went looking for her.

It shouldn’t have bothered me as much as it did, she—we had made it very clear that this was a purely physical thing but, well, between you and me kid, I always knew it was never gonna be like that. At least not for me. I was in deep for way longer than I had realized.

***

Long, skilled fingers trace patterns along your naked spine. The movements are comforting, calming, you almost find yourself lulled to sleep. Except you know you shouldn’t—that you can’t.

Your eyes flutter open as you fight against the sleep that sets in. This isn’t your bed, you remind yourself, and you feel that in the brush of the sheets against your naked body that definitively do not feel like the sheets of your bed merely a few doors down. It’s a silly thought, truly, these sheets are probably the exact same as the ones on your bed and more so, you haven’t slept in your bed, a bed that is truly, strictly your own in years . Still, this does not feel quite right.

You will your body to stir, working actively against every nerve that is telling you not to move from the warm, comfortable haven you had found and the warm body next to you but you know better. This is a dance you’re familiar with: they ask you to stay but don’t really mean it and if they do it’s only to squeeze another quick fuck in.

“Why don’t you stay?” Eddie grumbles into your shoulder even though both of you already know the answer.

“What if someone comes looking for me, huh?” A question for a question, “it’ll be hard to explain to Hopper why I’m naked in your bed.”

“Bullshit. You’re one of the only ones Hopper doesn’t have to keep tabs on,” Eddie’s only partially playful in saying this.

“I miss my bed,” you rebut, plainly and the guitarist pouts in response.

“This is like the same bed, dude.”

“ ‘Dude’? You’ve been hanging out with Argyle way too much.”

“Whatever,” Eddie dismisses as his hand travels down along your spine to circle around the rise of your hip to the front of your body to pull you closer against his chest and you squeal.

His skilled fingers travel down to the apex of your legs and two of them swipe through your still-wet heat making you jolt. You’re still sensitive from earlier in the night and Eddie is using that to his advantage as he swipes over your clit.

You moan at the contact and your hips canter forward embarrassingly quickly.

“Don’t want to leave now, do you?” Eddie teases as he moves away from your clit to tease your entrance and you mewl in response. Before you know it a pair of lips are attached to your neck and two fingers are slowly, deliciously rocking in and out of your core. A hand moves up to grip Eddie by the hair as you moan.

“Just like that, please keep going.”

You feel Eddie’s length begin to harden against your back as his pace quickens and his thumb circles your clit bringing you closer to your third orgasm of the night.

“No fair,” you pant, as you feel a tightening in your lower stomach. “You can’t keep me around by giving me orgasms.”

He laughs at this, full-blown guffaws. “There’s no rule against it,” he says as his tongue slides over the shell of your ear. His fingers curl inside you and you gasp at the sudden pressure before succumbing to the feeling. Your release washes over you, unexpectedly and you cry out.

A few seconds reprieve give you a moment to come back to earth. You sigh contently feeling Eddie’s harden length against the swell of you ass.

It would be impolite to leave him hanging.

***

EDDIE: Not that I could complain about our arrangement.

***

You had fallen asleep. Accidentally, of course, but erroneously still. You realize this far too late as the harsh red numbers of the hotel room alarm clock blare at you angrily: 11:52 AM.

You scramble out of bed, covers flung in the process and you make a grab for your clothes that litter the floor. The sudden, frantic movement had inadvertently awoken the man sleeping next to you and you could hear the sleep in his voice as he tried to grasp the situation.

“Woah, woah where’s the fire, princess?”

“It’s nearly noon!” you respond, panic clear in your voice. “I accidentally fell asleep and now it’s almost noon!”

Your mind is overcome with worst case scenarios and conclusions that are easily jumped to as you imagine how this late morning can turn into your downfall.

Eddie tries valiantly to calm you down to no avail. You had done the one thing you said you never would: you stayed the night and now you didn’t know what to do with that other than panic and rush out the door half dressed and fully angered with yourself throwing a paltry goodbye to a very disoriented Eddie over your shoulder as you did so.

You try to fix your hair in the elevator along with your harried breath. Most of the band wake up late into the day, you try to remind yourself, especially after a night out.

It was not unusual to be walking the halls of your hotel room at this time, but you still felt overwhelmingly nervous walking back to your room in a way that you felt obviously gave away that you were coming back from a night of raunchy sex.

Your heart dropped to your stomach as the elevator doors slid open to reveal Steve Harrington waiting outside your door. This is what you were afraid of. Certainly one look at you and he’d know exactly what you were doing and probably with who and that would spell the end of the Downsides, you were sure of it.

You didn’t say anything as you exited the elevator and slowly made your way over, hoping to prolong the moment before everything came crumbling down as much as you could.

A few steps in and you had caught Steve’s attention. When he looked at you though, it wasn’t with anger or disappointment but with nerves.

***

STEVE: My parents moved around a lot after I left home. Indianapolis, Chicago, Phoenix in the winter and Bridgeport in the summer, you know, regular rich folks shit.

It’s not like I could ever go back home but when they heard the band was planning on making the stop they wanted me to visit them and they wanted me to bring my girlfriend to meet them. I hadn’t wanted to ask then, things were kind of awkward between the two of us, but they kept insisting. It’s like they didn’t believe I could’ve bagged a girl like her and they were willing to call me on it. So, I had no other choice but to ask.

***

You understood where Steve was coming from, truly, your own parents were rich and demanding. Plus, something about seeing your fake boyfriend waiting at your door after a night sleeping with someone else really made you susceptible to his request.

And really, there wasn’t a universe where you would say no to a request from Steve Harrington, so of course you were going to meet his parents.

***

MAY 6th, 1984–NEW YORK CITY, NY—30 ROCKEFELLER PLAZA

“So I heard you’re meeting the in-laws,” Eddie plops down in the makeup seat next to you

You’re backstage at The Nightly Show with Chris Palmer, getting ready for one of the few media appearances Hopper had managed to schedule during the band’s short stint in the city.

You can tell by the pinching between Eddie’s eyes and the snarl in his tone that he’s not in a good mood. You chock up his demeanor to the same thing that has dampened yours: the upcoming interview.

The lack of media appearances had been a welcomed change during the band’s time on the road and the adjustment back to them have been rocky. You, for one, are on edge at the idea of having to sit down with the smarmy, sexist, Chris Palmer who, on his late night show, had already taken a few swings at you for laughs and the thought of him having the chance to do so to your face, made you sick.

Which was why you barely responded to Eddie’s attempt t goading you and instead, shrug in response, tightly, “I guess.”

His eyes flit over you and his demeanor shift to one approximating concern. “Hey, you doing okay?” He moves closer, but not enough for it to be noticeable to anyone but you.

“Yeah,” you try to smile but it comes out a grimace, “just out of practice I guess.”

“Well, if it’s any consolation, I have an extra copy of Baldwin that I brought on accident if you want a distraction,” the book flashes in your periphery and this time your smile comes out genuine and unprompted.

While you can’t be one hundred percent certain, you’re familiar enough with the guitarist’s ways to know that this was no accident—he brought the book with you in mind.

You make a grab for it but have to keep yourself from leaning in for a hug at the risk of the others’ scrutiny and your makeup artist’s ire. Not knowing how else to communicate your appreciation, you give his shirt a quick—and hopefully discreet—tug. He seems to catch your drift because his fingers graze yours purposefully as you move your hand away.

The brief touch shoots electricity through you.

“Thanks,” you murmur before watching him jaunt away to his spot between Argyle and Jonathan, both of your moods seemingly lifted, if only for a moment.

You’re grateful for the distraction although it barely keeps your attention and instead end up thumbing through the pages anxiously to the chagrin of your makeup artist who is clearly relieved to pass you onto hair once the final touches of lipstick are applied.

You thank her profusely before moving next door where, to the surprise of exactly no one, you’re sat next to Steve. Or at least you think it’s Steve you’re sat next to given how little you can see through the thick mass of hairspray clouding the air.

“They don’t call me ‘The Hair’ for nothing, right?” He says when you catch his eye through the fumes.

His hair stylists laughs a little too hard for your taste and you can’t help but roll your eyes.

“I thought you hated that nickname,” you say, settling into your chair, ready to play your part as the doting girlfriend.

He shrugs nonchalantly, “there are worst things to be called.”

You scoff in response, your previous concerns regarding tonight’s host bubbling up again, “I am sure there are.”

Steve turns to you fully now, offering a charming apology to his stylist that leaves her a giggling puddle, and you can feel his eyes scanning you in assessment.

He suddenly reaches over to the vanity in front of him, “The vending machine in the hall is totally broke, it gave me four candy bars. Do you want one?”

You look over at the bars in his hand which he has fanned evenly and is waving as if they’re a wad of cash and you grab one out of his reach.

“These are my favorite,” you point out as you smooth a hand over the wrapper, remembering all the times you would raid the vending machines at venues or backstage before an interview for them.

“I know,” he says, impishly.

“Harrington, be straight with me, is the machine really broken or did you get me my favorite candy bar just to butter me up?”

He nods, self-satisfied, like a little kid happy to be caught doing something that they’ll know they’ll get away with. Your joint hairstylists coo in adoration at your dotting “boyfriend” and you can’t help but roll your eyes affectionately.

“You seem a bit nervous,” he explains, “and candy usually helps.”

You exhale a laugh at this and admit that he’s right, “candy usually does help,” before nibbling on the bar carefully for the sake of your lipstick.

“So, what’s up?” He asks after a beat, while the hairstylists are preoccupied cleaning their tools, “are you nervous about doing our thing again?”

He says the last part with an overly-dramatic eyebrow waggle and you giggle.

What do you mean?” You ask, avoiding his glance.

He almost rolls his eyes at this but catches himself, knowing better.

“You just seem off, like nervous almost? But not in the usual way you are nervous about interview, but like different. Normally you’re just nervous because you overthink it but now it’s like you’re dreading it.”

You snort at the way he saw right through you.

“It’s stupid but, Chris Palmer has made jokes about me in the past, you know, about my dating history and things like that and I’m not really looking forward to hearing what he has to say tonight,” you explain, bashfully.

“What do you mean? Do you and Chris know each other?”

“No,” you respond, shifting uncomfortably in your seat, “he just is, you know, one of those comedians who pokes fun at celebrities and he loves making fun of women who ‘get around’ or whatever and well, that was my reputation before you… and the band.”

You see realization dawn on Steve’s features, it’s almost like he doesn’t believe anyone could ever be mean to you. Realization quickly turns to anger.

“And you think he’ll make fun of you tonight in the same way? In front of everyone?”

You shrug at this, “maybe, he’s not exactly known for taking it easy on his guests, but I’m used to it, it’s annoying though.”

Steve shakes his head aggressively at your dismissal and bolts up from his char, “No, I’m going to go talk to Hopper or something, have him tell Palmer’s people he needs to cool it or we won’t perform.”

He’s marching down the hall now, purposeful and quick. You make a beeline after him running ahead to cut him off.

“Woah, hey, Steve, you do not need to do that.” The last thing you want is the band being labeled as difficult to work with this early on.

Standing in front of him with your hands flat on his chest, you suddenly become very aware of all the eyes peaking out of the different green rooms to watch the exchange curiously, band mates and crew alike.

Steve grabs one of your hands lightly in his and gives it a tepid squeeze.

“I’m sorry but I am not sitting up there tonight and listening to anyone say anything bad about you. That’s just not going to happen, okay? Please trust me, I won’t do anything crazy, I’ll just talk to Hopper and we’ll figure this out. I have your back, remember?”

You study his face as he says this and are caught up in the earnestness etched into every corner of it.

“Okay,” you finally say, softly and back away from his path, “thanks.”

And you watch him go.

***

STEVE: Hopper hadn’t known about the Palmer thing. He wouldn’t have booked us if he did. When I told him, he was pretty peeved and we immediately went to go talk to the stage manager—some smarmy guy whose name I don’t remember.

Told us essentially, that it was no use, that Palmer wrote his own material fresh before each show.

Well, after that, Hopper and I track down Palmer in his dressing room and, you know, we give him a shake down. Old school style. Like back when Hopper was on the force. … he did most of the shaking down, don’t get me wrong, I was definitely going to get in there, but he seemed to really enjoy it. Plus I had just gotten my hair done.

***

When Steve reappears in the green room half an hour later, Hopper is trailing him smiling giddily.

Coming up to your side, Steve wraps an arm around your shoulders and leans into your hair to murmur, “We took care of it.” The giant grin Hopper is sporting lets you know that they had and you exhale a sigh of relief, curling a hand against his bicep gratefully.

You spring back a few seconds later when you feel Eddie’s heavy gaze from the spot he occupied next to you, eyes boring into all the places your body is touching Steve’s.

You can sense Steve’s confusion at the lost contact but before anything else can be said or done, the stage manager appears to move escort the band to the sound stage saving you from having to navigate the complex social dynamic of interacting with your fake boyfriend who wants to be your real boyfriend and your band rival turned friend-with-benefits. Gratefully, you allow yourself to believe for the first time, that maybe luck would be on your side and tonight wouldn’t be so bad.

***

NANCY: Do I think Chris Palmer had a personal vendetta against her? No, not going into that night, anyway. I think he was just a misogynistic idiot who didn’t know what to do about a talented and beautiful woman who also did whatever she wanted. His mind couldn’t wrap around that.

That was true for a lot of men back then. And now too.

JONATHAN: It felt like Chris had a personal vendetta against her.

***

The first half of the interview went well enough.

The band was welcomed with great fanfare and everyone filed towards the couches in the center of the stage next to the large mahogany desk Chris sat behind. You and Steve were, of course, together at the forefront and you could hear the collective cooing when he helped you down the platform.

The interview started out mild, questions about the tour and being on the road. Thankfully, Steve took the helm for most of them with the band weighing in throughout.

To your surprise, Chris directs his next question to you and Eddie.

“You two are the newest additions to the band, how has the transition been coming from working as a solo artist and from a band of a whole different genre to the Downsides and what made you want to make the change?”

The question was surprisingly insightful which took you a second to process and come up with an answer that wasn’t “Well, Chris, we were forced to join The Downsides at the risk of our careers ending completely.”

Eddie beats you to it, “The royalty checks are better than they are when you’re in a metal band for one—“ it takes the audience a second to realize this is a joke, but when they do the laugh pays off— “but honestly, I like the stability. What they don’t tell you, kids, is that too much rock and roll can be bad for you.” He says this part directly to the camera with a devilish grin.

“What about you?” Chris turns to you once the laughter subside, “do you miss being a free agent?”

You ignore how pointed that feels and smile in response.

“Not at all, the band has been super welcoming and there’s something really rewarding about working together to make something great happen.”

“Don’t miss your old duet partners at all?” The host needles.

“No, not really. At the risk of sounding cheesy Chris, I think I found my forever duet partner,” you punctuate your response with a pointed smile at Steve.

The audience eats your response up but you can tell that Chris is not ready to let it go. Luckily for you, a well-timed commercial break saves you from further questioning.

When the cameras start rolling once more though and the segment is reintroduced, Chris flashes you a wolfish smile.

“So, does this mean you’ve settled down a bit more, now that you’re a one-duet partner type of gal?”

The question makes your throat run dry because you know that there’s another, much tricker question behind it.

“No, not at all. It’s nice to be a part of something,” you respond placidly.

Chris barely lets you finish before launching into, “well the press sure does miss writing about you! Did you know that, in the last year, you were one of the most mentioned stars on Subrosa, popping up a total of 65 times only rivaled by one Evelyn Hugo in 1967.”

You don’t really know what to say or where this is going but the feeling of dread in your stomach grows.

“In fact,” he continues, “why don’t we play a game that we cooked up with the help of your Subrosa mentions?”

Games were something Chris did with his guests pretty frequently and they varied in execution but in nature there was always something a bit embarrassing to them and tonight was no exception. But instead of going after the band as a whole, this game was targeted specifically at you .

It was a guessing game, “Simple enough,” Chris touted as his assistants bring out giant blown up headshots of various male celebrities, guess which of the men you had been involved with according to the media and which ones you hadn’t been. The joke of course was that you had been linked to all the men whose pictures had been provided.

The looks of shock on your bandmates’ faces perfectly countered the one of self-satisfaction painted on Chris’s smarmy face.

You felt Steve stiffen beside you, leg twitching as if he was getting ready to stand up and leave. Or punch Chris. Before he can, you place a stabilizing leg on his thigh and giving a squeeze. You didn’t want this to diverge into a fight and you refuse to let this vile man make a fool of you on live television.

“Well, this won’t do,” you smirk at Chris. “You only have half of my list out here, Chris! You’re missing quite a few other fellas. I thought you wanted to make this difficult.”

“Oh?” The host is clearly not expecting your response but has no choice to lean in since you clearly have the audience’s attention, “and who could we possibly be missing?”

“The crown prince of Monaco, for starters,” you respond, evenly, “and the entire Harlem Globetrotters ‘83 starting lineup—“ the crowd guffaws at your clear exaggeration, “—and most importantly, this guy,” you reach over to grab Steve’s chin and affectionately squeeze his face. At this, laughter turns into applause and from where you are sitting on the shared couch, you see Chris’s jaw tighten.

“Is there anyone who’s hasn’t made the list?” he cries, trying to turn the joke back on you.

“You, for starters,” you respond playfully, and then add before he can say anything, “but who knows? Maybe this band thing doesn’t work out and in a few years time I’ll become washed up and lower my standards and you and I can give it a shot.”

Before Chris can retort, Steve cuts in with an over-exaggerated, faux-jealous, “what about me?” That kicks off a jokey bit of banter between the three of you that takes the show all the way up to comercial.

***

NANCY: There was a second part to the game.

ROBIN: Yeah, that second thing was just mean. It was essentially the same premise as the first guessing game but instead of guessing different men she had been associated with, it was different nicknames she had been given by the media. They were not very nice names either, “Siren of the Strip”, “Heartbreak of Hollywood”, “Pop Music’s Maneater”, you get the gist.

Of course, like with the last “game” the joke was that it had been all is them.

***

The names had been a surprise. You didn’t know how to react and neither did your bandmates although you’re pretty sure you can feel the heat from Eddie’s glare from the other end of the set.

Still, you kept your cool and immediately admitted that all of them seemed familiar and instead turned the conversation into criticisms of each of the names, which was gaining too many laughs for Chris to try to stop it.

“See this one I don’t like at all,” you say, pointing to Malibu Minx that had been professionally printed on a giant poster board in newspaper font.

“Whys that?” The host asked wolfishly.

“Malibu Minx? Are you serious? Anyone with half a brain knows I’m from the Hills, not Malibu. Honestly, it’s a little insulting.”

“Come on, they can’t be that different,” Chris still plays along, even though your comment did not go where he wanted it to.

“Not at all! The Hills is where all the directors and actors live, Malibu is where divorced dads take their kids during their monthly weekend visits. It’s like, here on the east coast… well, I can’t think of an East Coast equivalent. Chris, help me out, where do you take your kids during your monthly visits?”

***

ROBIN: You should’ve seen his face when she said that.

NANCY: His first divorce had just gone public a few weeks prior. Guess it was still a sore spot. Not that he didn’t deserve it, he did, but he wasn’t used to his guests fighting back like that. The rest of the show was… tense and then after the show ended Palmer lost his cool.

STEVE: Honestly, I wanted to punch the guy since he brought out his stupid little games, but I was willing to leave things as they were that night, especially after she had put Palmer in his place, but we get backstage after the show and he starts yelling at her about having “embarrassed” him or something like he hadn’t essentially called her a bunch of names on live tv. Before any of us could even do anything though, Hopper had him pinned against the wall, saying stuff like “I thought we had come to an agreement about the jokes, Palmer.”

He gave him a good shake down, you know how intimidating Hopper can be. Plus Chris looked like he had never been in a fight in his life so he was shaking in his boots immediately. Security had to come to get Hopper off of him and we were all thrown out after that.

ROBIN: Yeah, we were never asked back after that not that we would’ve gone back.It was a shame for him, really, that 1984 episode of The Nightly Show with Chris Palmer was one of the most viewed episodes in the ten years he was on the air.

***

You return to your hotel room in the early hours of the morning, after having gone for celebratory drinks with Hopper and the rest of the band. Everyone had been thoroughly impressed with the way you had held your own against Chris and even previously-icy Robin seemed impressed and warmed by you.

You hadn’t had much of an opportunity to talk to Eddie throughout the night, something about the undecipherable expression he wore most of the night had left you curious and you couldn’t help but wonder if maybe hearing your entire history splayed out like that in front of him and the rest of the world had soured you and he no longer wants anything to do with you.

As you’re getting ready for bed, the ringing coming from the hotel phone jolts you.

“Hello?” You breathe out, harried and confused into the handset.

“Hey, I didn’t wake you did I?” Eddie’s concerned question statics over the line.

“No,” you respond, relief coloring your tone, “What’s going on?”

“Nothing, really, I was just thinking how hot it was when you told that dickbag off and I was wondering if you’d be up to me showing you that.”

“Showing me what, exactly?”

“Showing you how hot I think you are. If you’re up for it, of course?”

25 minutes later, with Eddie’s face buried messily in your pussy you’re near inching closer to release when you hear him muttering into the soft skin of your thigh while two of his skilled fingers begin pumping in an out of your tight heat.

“You know, if I didn’t know better, seeing you all hot and desperate to come on my fingers like this would make me think you are a minx.”

Hearing him call you that so low and growly, left you burning all over and you keen into his hands. Knowing his words had the intended effect, Eddie smirks into your thigh and speeds up his fingers.

“Only for you,” you respond once you can find your voice again.

Eddie give a low moan at this and in an instant he clamors up onto the bed and moves to replace his fingers with his dick.

“Say that again,” he challenges as he swipes his tip through your folds and you cry out.

“I’m a minx for you,” you nod along to what you’re saying, hoping that it makes him more eager to stop teasing and finally push inside you.

He does exactly as you hoped and pushes his hips into you hungrily, setting a punishing pace, “Only for me right?”

You nod along, fucked out and on the verge of coming agian, “Yes, only for you, Eddie.”

You don’t make it back to your hotel room that night either.

***

MAY 11TH, 1984–BRIDGEPORT, CT—THE UPSIDE DOWN TOUR

“Are you sure the’d still want to meet me?” You ask Steve one evening, brushing your hair standing in the doorway of the door that separated your hotel room from his.

“Yeah, of course! Why do you keep asking that? Wait… do you not want to meet them anymore? It’s okay if you don’t,” Steve is already trying to hide his disappointment.

“No,” you rush to correct as you follow the sound of his voice to the bathroom, “it’s not that at all it’s just that, well with all the Minx stuff in the news, I worry that maybe they won’t think I’m worthy of the Harrington brood or whatever.”

You’re of course referring to the drama that had followed the band’s appearance on the Chris Palmer show where Chris had given an interview to Subrosa after you had affectively embarrassed him on his own show calling the band talentless and you worthy of every bad name that the press could call you and more.

In response to the interview—and partially inspired by your encounter with Eddie following the interview— you had gotten the word ‘Minx’ embroidered on the back of your favorite suede jacket which you made sure to wear to all of your subsequent interviews and media appearances for the rest of the band’s time in New York.

“First of all,” Steve begins, rubbing shaving cream over his chin “neither of my parents would ever dream of reading a gossip magazine and even if they did, they hate Chris Palmer, always said he was too ‘blue’ whatever that means. Plus, historically, dinners with my parents haven’t been the most enjoyable affairs, so having you there would really mean a lot to me.”

You smile understandingly at him through the mirror and suddenly the whole domesticity of it all strikes you. In another life, the two of you could’ve simply been a couple discussing meeting one another’s parents in the bathroom of a shitty apartment the two of you shared.

The fantasy is interrupted abruptly by a bright cacophony of knocks at your door.

“That must be Eddie,” you explained, “he’s coming over to write.”

(He really was.)

With all the fucking the two of you had been doing, writing music had fallen to the wayside and as the end of the tour was insight and Murray’s quota of songs still not met, which meant you had to get writing.

You scramble over to your door and let Eddie in. He almost leans in for a kiss but catches himself when he notices the open door leading into Steve’s room where he is very much watching the interaction with prying eyes.

The two nod at each other in greeting. You linger in the middle between either sides the awkwardness tangible in the air. You look at Eddie’s urging eyes and then flash back to Steve whose puppy dog gaze and newly received information about his parents make you do something that is surprising even to yourself.

“Do you want to help us write, Steve?”

The situation is awkward at first, especially with the glares Eddie seems to shoot you and Steve’s shy insistence that he’s no good at writing music but eventually, after two bottles of wine, the tension subsides, at least a little.

Eddie and you had presented Steve with a few songs that were very close to done but just needed a bit more work on the melody hoping that maybe he had suggestions.

He scans over a song that Eddie had primarily written, “Wild Ride”. Steve had an idea for a rhythm that could match the song and before long, he and Eddie were fully invested, both of them bent over their guitars trying out the rhythm and shooting notes at each other. Arrangement was definitely not your strong suit, however, you were more than happy to watch the two guitarists work

Steve was fascinatingly somber when it came to writing. He would play the notes over and over again until he found what came next, treating the whole thing like a puzzle that needed to be solved and running his hands through his hair when he was particularly stuck on something. His eyes would close while he was thinking, his lashes fluttering on his cheeks and then blinking open prettily when he had finally thought of a solution.

Eddie was much less delicate and would play around with notes, sometimes scrapping what he had all together and starting new. He tucked a pen behind his ear and was constantly scribbling and crossing out. When he focused on playing, his tongue would stick out from the corner of his mouth a bit.

They worked well together, never talked over each other, and were always willing to listen to what the other had come up with. As Eddie would write notes down in his notebook, Steve would lean in really close, so they were almost cheek to cheek looking down at the paper together. It almost seemed like they’d forgotten you were there and you were too busy refining some lackluster choruses to notice.

Eventually, they hit a wall in their writing and more drinks were ordered through room service, and soon the three of you are sprawled across your bed, drinking French 75s and watching a late night marathon of “Night Court”.

“Hey Harrington, you excited to see your folks soon?” Eddie asks during a comercial break.

You turn to look and see Steve grimace at the question. You know Eddie means well in asking, but the question ruffles Steve nonetheless.

“Not really. We were never really close on account of them sending me away to boarding school when I was eleven and then when we were together my dad’s favorite pastime was criticizing me and my mom’s was drinking,” Steve says, finally, “seeing them once a year is probably the most I can stand, honestly.”

A beat of silence settles over the group before Eddie finally speaks.

“Sorry to hear that man. If it makes you feel better, my folks weren’t exactly parents of the year either,” Eddie responds.

“That sucks, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it, my uncle took me in. He’s a great guy. What about you, Princess? Were your parents the perfect image of love and support?”

You scoff. “Barely. I went back to their house right before the tour started, to get some of my things, and they thought I was breaking in and called the cops.”

“Well,” Eddie bristles, “looks like being a terrible parent can happen across all tax brackets, huh?”

“Yeah, we kinda got fucked over, a bit,” you say and the other two murmur in agreement.

The three of you stay silent for a bit, processing what had been shared and how to possibly move past such a heavy topic.

It’s Steve who finally breaks the silence, “Do you guys think Dan and Christine will ever get together?”

“Oh, yeah.” “Definitely.”

***

“This restaurant is obscenely nice,” you shift uncomfortable in your chair, taking in the surrounds and the unfamiliar unease of being somewhere where you felt out of place. Of course, you had grown up in fine dining establishments in California, but East Coast wealth seemed like a different beast entirely.

“Yeah, tell me about it,” Robin huffs next to you, “but what else can you expect from Stan and Carolyn? They’re obsessed with letting everyone know how rich they are.”

She of course, had the advantage of knowing Steve’s parents after over a decade of friendship and it made sense that Steve, wanting as much of a buffer between himself and his parents during this dinner, had invited her along as well. So far, she had only been a little hostile towards you which was a personal victory.

The two of you spot Steve entering the restaurant at the same time along with two middle-aged companions that, based off resemblance alone, you knew were his parents.

Steve’s father had the same starkly defined chin and nose as his son, but none his face didn’t turn up into a natural smile like his son. He stood stately and stern, eyes surveying the room with little interest. His wife, Steve’s mother, was made up of refined, delicate features offset by the bright eyes that were clearly passed on to her son. Her entire outfit was meticulously perfect in a way that almost seemed artificial.

Steve introduces you with fanfare and pride that you don’t consider yourself worthy of but you smile along anyway and graciously shake Mr. Harrington’s hand and exchange dotted cheek kisses with Mrs. Harrington.

You exchange niceties and think to yourself maybe they won’t be so bad.

“Stan, Carolyn, it’s so nice to see you again,” Robin grits out through a tight smile.

Carolyn pats her on the shoulder in response and says,, “Please dear, call us Mr. and Mrs. Harrington. We’re out in public after all.”

***

ROBIN: Yeah, Carolyn and Stan hated me. It was like they could smell the gay on me. Or the poor. From the moment Steve had invited me over to spend spring break with them in the Hamptons they did not like me. They despised the idea of their son’s best friend being some scholarship kid whose parents were public school teachers. However bad they were to me though, they were far worse to Steve, which is why I ever even bothered going to these lunches. I didn’t want him to have to suffer through them alone.

***

“Sorry we’re late,” Mr. Harrington drawls as the three of them take their seats at the table, “our idiotic son forgot to bring cash for the valet.” His statement is punctuated by a mirthless laugh and you can tell by the matching expressions on Steve and Robin’s faces and the way Mrs. Harrington makes a grab for the bottle of wine on the table that this level of disparagement is normal for the Harrington household. You remember the comment Steve had made a few nights ago about his father’s favorite pastime

“Don’t worry,” you respond with a smooth smile, “we’re so used to having drivers back in LA—“ a lie “—I can see why Steve forgot about valet. Although, I’m sure you both know what that’s like.”

Mr. Harrington stalled. Everyone at the table—including you—knew that the Harringtons were nowhere near wealthy enough to afford personal drivers but if there was one thing insecure men, like Stan Harrington would never do is admit that they couldn’t afford something.

You were familiar with these types of ego games from your youth, although you took no pleasure in them.

Your youth was spent tucked into your mothers skirts during luncheons and tea and fashion fittings, listening as the women would eviscerate each other with laser-edge precision. If there was anything your mother had taught you was how to sow the seeds of insecurity in someone and although it did not come naturally, you could make an exception for Stan Harrington.

***

ROBIN: It was easy to forget most of the time that she came from money but damn, the way she handled Stan that night made me think that some politician was missing out on having her as their cutthroat third wife. It was like watching an artist paint or someone do sleight of hand magic. He would say something mean about Steve and she would just turn it right back around on him but she would be smiling and batting her eyes the entire time. Even with that though, it wasn’t an easy lunch to get through.

***

“It’s so nice that Stevie was able to make something of himself through his little music,” Carolyn fawns. She means well, for the most part, but the four glasses of wine she’s downed during the last twenty minutes makes her words come out just a tad but demeaning.

Her husband sneers in response, “You say that now, Carolyn, but soon he’ll be back here asking for a spot in the firm.”

“Hopefully not too soon,” you giggle in response running a hand alongside Steve’s arm, “the studio wants us recording our second album as soon as we get back and then we’ll be touring again and we’ll need him for that.”

“But darling, you can’t possibly expect to do that for the rest of your life,” Mrs. Harrington sighs, “eventually the two of you will want to settle down and have children, live a normal life.”

“Well, yeah Mom, but that’ll be a long time down the road—“

“Making music is our life, we don’t want to ever stop—“

You and Steve halt your explanation once you realize what the other is saying. The two of you exchange blank, confused looks and it’s not until Robin says, “I’m sure that they’ll decide what their next move is when the time comes. We still have plenty of time.” That the two of you jolt back into the conversation.

“Right,” you add, “plus with the royalties deal we just secured on this new album, we will be pretty stable financially.”

The rest of the lunch is spent fielding Mr. Harrington’s questions about financials and Mrs. Harrington’s questions about grandchildren. It’s exhausting but the three of you come out mostly unscathed.

The five of you part ways outside of the restaurant, and not a moment too soon. The wave of relief that washes over the three of you once the Harringtons have been sent on their way in a taxi is palpable.

You and Robin offer to buy Steve a drink for having survived the lunch and Steve offers to buy the two of you a drink as a thank you for playing roles in that. Soon, one drink each turns into multiple rounds of drinks spent recounting all the agonizing points of the lunch.

This leaves the three of you stumbling into your hotel in the early hours of the evening, completely and utterly drunk. You ride the elevator together, a mess of laughter and then bid goodbye to one another in front of Robin’s door. She’s ready to sleep off the drinking and you do not blame her.

This leaves you and Steve to stumble back to your joint rooms together.

“You know, seeing you today having dinner with my parents and my best friend almost made the whole thing feel real,” Steve says lowly, standing in your doorway.

“Steve don’t,” you plea softly.

“I just don’t get it,” he cries in response, “we would be so good together. We are good together: we have so much in common and we just make sense, everyone thinks so except for you. Just… tell me why wouldn’t you give us a shot?”

You’re in your room now, perched on the edge of the bed , teary eyes focused on everything in the room other than the man who stands in front of you.

“Steve that’s not fair. It’s just never going to work, why can’t you accept that?”

“Because I’m in love with you,” Steve blurts out, “and I know I may not be your first choice, but if you give me a chance I will prove that I’m good enough—“

“Steve, stop please don’t say that, you’re plenty good enough for anyone,” you stand now, to face him.

“Just not you,” he says devastated.

“No, listen, it’s not like that. I just, I don’t know if I can be with someone in the way that you want me to, okay? You want someone to eventually settle down with and I’m not that girl. I’m the fucking Minx for God’s sake not someone’s future wife. In another life maybe, we could’ve made each other very happy, who knows? But in this one, I can’t be what you want.”

The two of you stand there in silence for what feels like an eternity. Finally, Steve moves, walking past you to sit in your vanity chair.

“Is there someone else you have feelings for?” He asks, timidly.

“No, no,” you insist. “I told you, I don’t do that.”

He laughs mirthlessly in response, “I think you’re wrong about that. I think you’ll find someone, maybe not now or in a year or in five years, but eventually you will find someone and they will make you want to try and you will love them and I will have to watch you fall in love with them and we will both realize I was just not worth it.”

PLAY NEXT TRACK🎤

Taglist: @rexorangecouny , @persophonekarter @mystargirl-interlude @brinleighsstuff @thegaysaretired @nothing2-see @harrysvirgogf @Prior-antidote @stardustofyesterday @buckleyverse

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lunareiitic · 11 months

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CANTO 4 SPOILERS BE WARNED

I think it's really interesting (and clever) that we're a third of the way through Limbus' plot (theoretically. 12/4 = 3 after all) and we've split the focus characters in half based on who is actually growing because of their Canto and who isn't, while also showing multiple narrative ways to show that progression (or lack thereof).

Gregor and Rodya have already done their growing. Gregor's a war veteran whose traumatic past should be long behind him, and his character didn't shift after his Canto. His refusal with regards to the whole Yuri thing wasn't a shocking twist, it was the culmination of years of rejecting the life that his mother made for him.

Rodya rejects the idea that she has to develop as a character entirely. Canto 2 is mostly a celebration of Rodya- she makes her own luck and doesn't require these things like "character growth" and "dynamics". She was a one woman wrecking crew then and she's one now, plans and friends be damned. It's why she's able to reject Sonya's olive branch: he's predicating his entire plan on the idea that Rodya would have learned from the Tax Collector Incident. But she didn't, and she knows that.

Sinclair's Canto 3 marks the first Canto where we're actually examining the failings of a member of the team. Sinclair's immaturity, fawn response and unwillingness to take responsibility did directly lead to all of the bad shit that happened to him. Even if Kromer would have done it anyways, Canto 3 takes Sinclair to task for what he did, but in the end, he can't follow through. It's beautiful and tragic that he needs Demian to bail him out of what should have been his cathartic moment of triumph. Sinclair's growing is actively still happening. Canto 3 is only the beginning.

Which brings us to the most recent Canto and Yi Sang. Yi Sang in hindsight is the perfect character to follow up Canto 3 with because Yi Sang is essentially Sinclair if Demian wasn't around. Yi Sang's narrative is about apathy and passive suicidality- he doesn't care what happens to him because life has lost all meaning to him. Sinclair still has some fight in him, all Yi Sang has is ashes. Or so he thinks. Dongrang and Dongbaek are characters who will never move on from their past, despite what both of them think. Yi Sang, through mirroring them, ends up with the most radical character development we've seen so far: true catharsis. Unlike our three previous characters, Yi Sang's Canto manages to get down to the core of his issues and he's able to understand what he must do to get better and does. He conquers Dongbaek (embodiment of rage) and Dongrang (embodiment of despair) and ascends to a place of healing away from them. This is a very conventional, classic character arc structure seen in fiction since the dawn of time, it's classic because it works. But it feels so refreshing and new here in Limbus Company because we waded through three quagmires of difficult regrets, abuses, and traumas that refuse to be handled so easily. Given that our remaining characters are based on murderers (Hell Screen, The Stranger), self-saboteurs (The Odyssey, Moby Dick, Don Quixote, Faust), and the legacy of racism (Wuthering Heights), I'm betting that Hong Lu's might be our brightest spot moving forward. (But who knows. They could give us another goofy Canto out of nowhere like they did in Canto 2. Limbus Company contains multitudes.)

#limbus company #canto iv spoilers #unrelated but it was also so so so funny that yi sang is canonically some kind of heartthrob for toxic science men like. gay helen of troy #I haven't read dream of red chamber because holy shit its long and in a language I can't read but I know it's much less hardcore than-#-hell screen or the stranger or crime and punishment etc

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neoneun-au · 7 months

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CAN’T HELP MYSELF; CHAPTER I: BADBADNOTGOOD

―PAIRING: wonwoo x fem!reader, mingyu x fem!reader ―GENRE: love triangle au, fluff, mild angst, romantic comedy, suggestive, smut (later chapters) ―CHAPTER WORD COUNT: 5.8K ―CHAPTER WARNINGS: break ups, angst, mild language ―STATUS: ongoing

―SERIES M.LIST HERE

i: badbadnotgood

“It’s literally fine,” you state, voice edging on manic as you take another sip from the iced coffee clutched in your (only slightly trembling) hands, “I’m literally so fine.”

It’s a Thursday afternoon in September and you find yourself once again sitting at the counter of your friend’s day job, taking advantage of her waning generosity (i.e. free coffee) while avoiding doing any of the multitude of things you should be doing at this moment in time. The aforementioned friend, Seulgi, stands in front of you–lower half obscured by the fake marble counter–clad in a coffee-stained apron and fixing you with an expression of open concern. “Are you sure you’re okay? Because you look…I don’t mean this to sound insensitive, but you look a little insane. Are you developing a twitch?”

“I think I might take up running,” you drown the manic edge in your voice with another sip of iced coffee–groaning in disappointment when all that greets your lips is faintly coffee flavoured melt water from your ice cubes. You shake the container to check the contents and with a wave of bitterness confirm that it is, indeed, very empty.

“You should consider taking up drinking water as a hobby first,” she says, snatching the cup away from you and tossing it into the garbage can under the counter behind her, “and then maybe we can go from there.”

You heave a sigh and turn to stare out the window, deepening the cliché of the afternoon. A forlorn widow at a bar draped in pearls and fur.

Thursdays were slow, so you always took your time chatting with Seulgi and sipping whatever drink she was gracious enough to make for you. Today had been a “three iced coffees in a row” kind of day and due to extenuating circumstances (read: an incredibly recent breakup) she was being patient. For now. If the steel in her gaze was anything to judge by, her patience was beginning to run thin.

“I just think that this is the perfect opportunity, Seulgi.” She keeps her eyes trained on your face–steady and unblinking–as you continue to ramble off your tired-but-wired thoughts. “I have so much free time now to do whatever I want, be whoever I want. I haven’t been single in over three years. That’s so long.”

“It is long,” she nods cautiously. A glass of water is set down on the counter in front of you, condensation dripping down the sides, and without thought, entirely on autopilot, you raise it to your lips and take a sip. A small wave of relief ripples over Seulgi’s face as you do.

“I’ve been living with Wonwoo for two of those years, as well,” you choke the name out despite how it still stalls in your throat, threatening either tears or a coughing fit or both. You’re too bolstered by your false sense of optimism in the present moment to let it stop your monologue in its tracks. “Not going out, only cooking at home, spending more time playing video games and watching Netflix on the couch than I ever have in my life. I don’t have to think about what he wants to watch anymore, I can watch what I want. I can go where I want. I could watch Glee!”

“Do you want to watch Glee?” She narrows her brows in suspicion but you wave the glance away with a breezy hand gesture.

“It doesn’t matter what I want to watch,” you shake your head in frustration, “the point is that I can.”

“Right,” she nods, “you’re single now, which was sort of the goal of breaking up with him in the first place. So…live your life.”

“Yes,” you nod, mentally shoving the words ‘breaking up’ into a small closet in your mind. Not to be opened until you were sufficiently under the influence of a massive amount of alcohol. “Yes, I can live my life.”

The bell over the front door of the cafe rings out clear through the air, drawing your attention towards a young couple striding in from the windy day outside. Seulgi pushes herself off the counter in front of you and heads to greet them and collect their order–leaving you to continue to stew in your own thoughts.

Breaking up with Wonwoo had never really been a part of the plan. Two years ago when you moved in with him, you were certain that it was going to be the last relationship you ever had. The hopeless romantic in you had hitched your wagon to him and he made it so easy to build a home around. Your relationship existed as simple domesticity; in simple romance and simple companionship. It was comforting and easy. And that was what scared you the most, in the end.

Maybe it was too easy. Maybe you were settling. Maybe there was something more out there that you weren’t seeing because you were too content eating the same meals and telling the same stories. Part of you started to ache for a break in routine–some excitement and adventure that he wasn’t able or willing to offer–and after months of turning it over in your mind you finally figured what you had to do to make that happen.

“Have you found a place to stay yet?” Seulgi’s voice calls to you–yanking you unceremoniously out of your brain-stew before it hit the boiling point. The young, beige clad couple had settled themselves into a corner booth and Seulgi had come to take up her spot leaning on the counter across from you once more.

“No,” you sigh, shoulders falling. The one sticking point in your resolve to leave your boyfriend (ex-boyfriend now, you suppose) had been the apartment. Aside from it being the home you had made together, you didn’t really have any idea where else you could stay. For the past week you had been sleeping on the couch and disappearing as fast as possible before Wonwoo could wake up. Avoidance became key to your survival.

A few friends had suggested you keep the apartment and he could move back in with his old college friend Jihoon, but you already felt too bad breaking up with him in the first place to then subsequently kick him out of an apartment that he also had every right to live in. So, maybe somewhat foolishly, you volunteered to leave.

“What about Jeonghan, didn’t you say he had a room free at his place?” Seulgi nudges the now lukewarm glass of water towards you as she speaks and you take another sip, wincing at the mention of Jeonghan’s name.

“He did,” you reply, setting the glass back down on the counter with a satisfying thud. From the moment he heard about the break-up he had offered as much accommodation to you as possible. You had been roommates for six months in college and it went as smoothly as it possibly could have at that age, so you knew you could live with him in a pinch. Although you suspected the main driving force behind his offer was to keep his own rent at his massive condo as cheap as possible.

“And his place is a bad idea because…?”

“He has like three other roommates already,” you groan, dropping your head into your hands. That was the only catch to rooming with him–strangers. All sense of optimism and bravado vacated your body at the thought of having to get to know new people. You no longer wanted to change your life for the better, you wanted to dig yourself into a soft pit in the earth and sleep for 1000 years.

“So?” Seulgi asks and you groan deeper at her blatantly missing the source of your frustration, “you’ll have your own room. Besides, haven’t you been friends with him for like…ever?”

“But they’re all dudes, Seulgi,” you whine, splaying your arms out across the counter.

“You’ve lived with a dude for the past two years, what’s the difference?”

“I’ve sworn them off,” you state as if it’s the most natural thing in the world and she just stares blankly back at you.

“Dudes?”

“Yes.”

“You’ve sworn off…all dudes?”

You nod, grateful she finally gets it, “yes.” Her steady gaze bores into you as you straighten your posture and readjust your hair before finally coming out with the question you had been meaning to ask since you stumbled into the cafe three hours ago, “can I move in with you?”

She barks a short laugh, shaking her head–her bright orange ponytail waving behind her as she does. You sit, patiently waiting for her response and ignoring the pit of vipers in your stomach biting at your nerves. After a moment she sobers up and brings her expression back to one of practised neutrality, “oh, you’re being serious.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You know I live with my parents, right?”

“Yeah, but they know me. I’ve met them.”

“You’ve met them once,” she clarifies, stressing the last word. “I don’t think they really want to have another body in our house. It’s not exactly palatial.”

“That’s fine, I don’t need much room,” you shrug and she heaves a sigh.

“_____, you need to find a place that is a more permanent solution than crashing on my parent’s couch. Just look around online for some roommate ads, you can find plenty that are female only.”

“Yeah,” you sigh, gathering your bags to leave. “You’re right, I should just do that.”

“You’re leaving before close today?” She asks, slightly taken aback at the sudden shift in routine.

“Yeah, I mean I don’t want to keep loitering and distracting you from your customers,” you nod, slinging your purse over your shoulders. Seulgi takes a cursory glance around the cafe–eyebrow cocked. The singular couple that had been occupying a table in the small space had already left, leaving behind a wayward glove as the only sign they had been there in the first place.

In an effort to avoid as much contact with Wonwoo as possible, you had been doing all of your work (read: moping and avoiding your actual job) from the safety of the cafe walls on the days Seulgi worked, and the library on days she didn’t. It was a nice cafe but with the university students not yet back for the start of fall semester, it wasn’t an especially busy spot this time of year.

“Besides,” you start, pushing yourself off the stool and stretching out the kink that had developed in your spine from leaning dramatically over the counter for the past 3 hours, “Wonwoo is usually working late Thursday nights so I can have some time alone to browse through rental listings.”

“Oh okay. Well good luck,” Seulgi waves you off and you think she might look slightly relieved as you push open the door of the cafe and step out into the fresh air.

Wonwoo, as it turns out, was not working late this Thursday night.

Instead, as you walk into the apartment at a quarter past 5 in the afternoon, you find him leaning against the kitchen counter waiting for a pot of water to come to a boil.

His back is turned to you, head bowed forward as he scrolls through his phone. You freeze in place, bag swinging at your side, for a moment–staring at the back of his head as he remains blissfully unaware of your presence.

If you were still dating, you would have snuck up behind him and wrapped your arms around his slender waist, tucking your face into the space between his shoulder blades. He always smelled like the faint remnants of his cologne–softened with wear throughout the day–and a strange combination of mint and coffee that you could only ever describe as ‘Wonwoo’.

If you were still dating, he would have laughed softly–silently–at the sudden intrusion while twisting around the pressing his lips to your forehead, mumbling a quiet “hello,” against your skin.

If you were still dating, you would have taken half of the ramyun he was cooking and sat together eating on the couch while chatting about your days, or watching whatever TV show had been in your rotation at the time. A comfortable stillness would have settled over you as you sunk back into each other as you so often did. With ease and flow.

If you were still dating you wouldn’t be standing like a deer in headlights, staring at the back of his head. Waiting for the pin to drop. You wouldn’t be frantically trying to think of an exit plan before he took notice of your presence in the room. Your muscles tense to bolt at the slightest movement from him.

If you were still dating you might have known what to do when he finally did notice you there. When he turned to face you and you could see, even in the dim lighting of your small apartment, the redness in his eyes. But you weren’t still dating, so instead of instinctively knowing what to do you just waved at him with your pathetic, useless hands.

“Umm hi,” you stutter the words out as you let your bag slip off your shoulder to the floor, kicking it to the side of the entryway. “I didn’t think you’d be home until later.”

“Took the day off,” he replies, turning back around to add two packs of noodles into the now boiling water. You nod and slip off your jacket, feeling distinctly like an intruder inside of your own home.

The obvious bags under Wonwoo’s eyes didn’t help with that feeling.

In fact, the more you watch him out of the corner of your eye, the more you start to feel like at your core you were actually a very evil person. Here he was, standing unkempt in the t-shirt you had bought for him last Christmas while you stood on the other side of the room from him alive and breathing and like you hadn’t broken his heart only days prior.

The tense silence from moments before is replaced by static in your mind as you let the guilt consume you–raging like a fire through your thoughts and burning everything it touches. ‘Evil, awful, terrible, horrible, bad, bad, bad person,’ it chants–over and over twisting and turning inside of you. A mantra for all the things you’ve done wrong. It buzzes inside of your head so loudly that you hardly notice Wonwoo speaking to you until he clears his throat in question and calls to you by name.

“Sorry,” you start, putting a lid on the buzzing in your mind, “I didn’t hear you. What?”

“Are you hungry?” he repeats himself, already setting out two bowls of ramyun on the small kitchen table before you can muster up a response. You take a seat without a word, wincing at the sound of the chair scraping against the vinyl flooring, disturbing the silence like nails on a chalkboard.

“Thanks,” your voice is sheepish. He nods in acknowledgement and begins to slurp back his noodles, eyes trained on his phone screen as he avoids meeting your gaze.

For a few minutes, the only sound in the room is the occasional clinking of chopsticks against the sides of your bowls. You sit, watching Wonwoo and waiting. Waiting for something to happen to break the stalemate. To cut the tension and alter the current status quo.

You want him to scream. To yell at you, to throw something. Anything more than just…sit. In silence. Looking at his phone. ‘If you get mad at me I will get on my hands and knees and beg you for forgiveness,’ you think to yourself, telepathically sending him the hint you so desperately want him to pick up on. ‘Give me some emotion, for the love of god.’

The sticking point in your relationship had always been his introspection. Sometimes it was a boon. He went inwards to see things you often couldn't see on the outside. It was nice, having someone so thoughtful. Someone who sat back and observed; taking note of everything, never reacting blindly.

But as the days ticked ever onward, and you remained in that same place of ease and comfort, you began to wish he would. React. Make any move purely on emotion. Share his ugly, dirty, messy thoughts–even if they were never fully formed, even if they were retracted a second later.

Instead he remained–steady, stoic–and the desire inside of you for passion and change burned brighter and brighter until you couldn't stand it anymore. Until it nearly blinded you with its intensity.

Even during the break-up, when you sat across from him at this same kitchen table, with a combination of tears and mascara running down your face, he sat still and calm. Listening. Observing. You sat there with your heart bared blood red on your sleeves and your feelings spilling out before him from the open wound of your mind–more vulnerable than you had ever felt in all your years of dating. And you watched, splayed open, as he retreated further and further from you, locked his emotions and heart back up into himself. He remained even as you pleaded for him to give you something–anything–other than that.

So you left.

And then came back an hour later because you didn’t know where the hell you were going in the first place and besides you had left your wallet and phone behind and what were you going to be able to do without those aside from sit on a park bench. You snuck back in through the front door and expected to see him in shambles on your bed or wailing dramatically along to a comfort film. Instead you found him three games deep into an extended Overwatch session.

Now, days later, you find yourself once again hoping against hope for him to give you something. Something other than the (mostly) cold-shoulder you had received for the past few days when you did accidentally bump into him. You needed it. It might feel less painful if it felt like he cared more. More than hiding his tears behind whatever wall he had built inside of himself.

The silence bites at you again as Wonwoo gathers the bowls to clean up–checking yours first to see that you’ve finished, the way he always does–and you trail behind him into the small galley kitchen.

“So, umm,” you start, unsure of what you’re about to say but unable to stop yourself from saying whatever it was anyway. If he wasn’t going to talk, you would. “How’s work?”

“Same as usual,” he shrugs, setting the bowls into the sink. You can see his shoulders tensing under his shirt as you talk, and that monster of guilt peeks its head up inside of you for a split second before you shove it aside and continue.

“I think I might have found a place to live,” you say suddenly, surprising even yourself.

“Oh?” His hands still in the sink, and he turns towards you–fully facing you for the first time since that night. The eye contact makes your breath catch in your throat–you can see more clearly now the redness in the whites of his eyes, the dark rings encircling them. Guilt rears his head once more. Regret. And a small–incredibly small, but still present–flush of victory. A reaction, finally.

“Yeah,” you nod, spurred on by nerves and a desire to keep the tense silence at bay for as long as possible, “umm, Jeonghan offered me a room at his place.”

“Jeonghan?”

“Yeah, you remember him. Blonde guy–well I guess he wasn’t blonde when you met him, I think his hair was like…long and purple, or maybe blue–?” you catch yourself rambling, Wonwoo stands–hands poised still over a bowl–clutching a dripping dish rag.

“I remember him, yeah,” he turns back to the dishes, scrubbing at the bowls but you can tell that you still have his attention.

“Anyway, he offered to let me move in there. I just need to let him know when and then the room is mine,” you finish the thought and nod as if signing the lease agreement with your words despite this being the first time you’ve even seriously considered the offer.

“Doesn’t he have a bunch of roommates already?” Wonwoo shakes the water off the bowl–from a set of dishes you had bought together shortly after moving in–and sets it gently in the drying rack off to the side of the sink before moving on to the next one.

“Yeah, like three,” you state, watching his forearms flex and unflex as he scrubs at an old stain in the grey ceramic, “but it's a five bedroom condo and one of his old roommates–Dino, I think was his name? I only met him once at that one murder mystery party they were throwing,” you catch yourself rambling again and take a quick breath to rearrange your thoughts, “anyway he just moved out so now they have an empty room.”

Wonwoo nods, the way he always does when he is considering what to say, and you wait. Silence creeps back in for a moment–the only sound is the water whirling through the drain–before he turns back to you with one eyebrow slightly raised, “do you even want to live with that many people? You like having your space.”

“I mean,” you hum, “I don’t really have many other options.”

“You could stay here,” he says after a breath–voice barely above a whisper–and you feel your heart stutter in your chest. Is this it? Is this the moment he breaks through his walls and fights for what he wants? Fights for you? Wonwoo clears his throat, and you wait, breath held, for him to continue, “at least until you can find something better.”

The hope you had built–a delicate house of cards stacked on his words–crumbles and you can feel yourself physically deflate. “No,” you shake your head, “thanks but…I think this will be good. I feel good about it.” You’re not sure who you’re trying to convince more with this statement.

“Well,” he nods once, slowly, one eyebrow raised in suspicion, “as long as you’re sure.”

“I am,” you try and offer the most assuring smile you can muster despite how entirely unsure you feel about the snap decision, only letting it fall from your face once he tucks the last bowl away and slips into the dark of the bedroom.

“Okay,” Jeonghan grins, taking the seat across from you at the kitchen table, “house rules.”

After your last interaction with Wonwoo you had tried in vain to think of any possible reason you could back out of the spontaneous declaration of your new living arrangements. Even going so far as to dig through the personal ads on numerous websites, seeking any even remotely attractive alternative that you could use to move into immediately and hide your shame before it grew big enough to swallow you whole.

It took only two hours and 10+ ads seeking “female companionship for free room and board” with blurry attached photos for you to give up and just message Jeonghan. To which he promptly replied with an ‘I knew I’d hear from you ;)’.

The move had been relatively simple after that. Jeonghan had roped one of your new roommates, a guy called Seungcheol, into hauling nearly all of your stuff down five flights of stairs to the moving truck you had rented for the occasion and then back out of the moving truck and into your shared condo. Two days and nearly twenty boxes later, you sit across from Jeonghan in the condo you were now going to have to call your home for the foreseeable future.

“Rule one,” he begins, holding up a finger to emphasize the number as if it wasn’t abundantly clear, “wash your own dishes. If the dishwasher is full and clean, empty it and then add your stuff.” You open your mouth, poised to speak, but he stops you with a dismissive wave of his hand, “I know you will, I’m not worried about you, I just have to be excessively clear on this point after the last incident we had.” Jeonghan ends the sentence with a somber shake of his head and you decide it’s probably best not to ask what said “incident” was.

“Second, the movie The Notebook is banned from this apartment.”

“What? Why?”

“The last time we watched it it took three hours to peel Mingyu off the couch,” he shakes his head, “trust me you don’t want to see a six foot tall man in that extreme of a state of distress. It’s…hard to watch.”

“Okay…” the worry you had felt prior to moving your stuff into the apartment metamorphosizes now into pure confusion. You weren’t sure what exactly to expect living with four adult men, but suffice it to say this was not it.

“Rule three is simple: no overnight guests on Sundays.”

“Why Sundays?”

“It’s the Lord’s day,” he explains, face showing no hint of a bluff as you flounder for a response, mouth agape. “Kidding, it’s really just because if we didn’t have a set day there would always be someone here with the amount of people that live in this condo. It’s just for my own peace of mind. Not that Dino was much of a concern with that and considering…circumstances you won’t be either.”

“Got it,” you nod, ignoring the sleight and wondering if you should have brought a notepad.

“Honestly, that’s pretty much it for the hard rules. Everything else is just…be conscious of the people you live with. But I know I don’t have to worry about that with you, you lived with Wonwoo,” he laughs but stops himself as your expression falters, clearing his throat with a cursory cough. “Anyway, we’re all really excited to have you here.”

“Yeah,” you sigh, feeling the weight of the world settle back on your shoulders. You can’t remember ever being so tired. “Thanks again, Jeonghan, for letting me stay here.”

“Of course,” he smiles, patting your folded hands in a gesture of comfort, “this is your home now, and we’re happy to have you.”

You glance around the room, trying to place that word in with the surroundings you find yourself in. Trying to make it fit. “Home”.

The kitchen is a good size, with more than enough space for multiple people trying to cook at once. The fridge is relatively new, stainless steel, and equipped with a water dispenser which was something you definitely did not have at your apartment (Wonwoo’s apartment, now, you remind yourself). The dishwasher is also a welcome addition, and you're happy with the prospect of not having to hand wash every dish you use.

The apartment in general is in good condition. It is clear, despite your previous assumptions, that everyone here puts some level of care into their living space and you appreciate that. It makes you feel a little better about living with a group of men who (beyond Jeonghan) you barely know.

But still, despite the relative cleanliness and general coziness of the space, it is still hard to envision yourself ever being able to fit the word ‘home’ here in these four walls. Home is still a word that until recently had only made sense in one place–in the arms of one person. And you had destroyed that. Chopped it's head clean off like a Thanksgiving turkey.

Maybe you don’t deserve the word anymore.

“So,” Jeonghan begins, offering you a wide smile, “we were thinking pizza for dinner. Something fun and easy to welcome you into the place. Mingyu wanted to cook but I talked him out of it, it’s too formal. Mingyu and Vernon will be home later. I think you might have met them once before. Seungcheol you already know, he’ll be back later too, he spends a lot of time at the gym. If you ever need a gym buddy I’m sure he would salivate at the opportunity.”

You nod, unfocused. You’re following his words but your mind is a million years away. Jeonghan, tuned in as ever, notices you drifting and stops in his tracks. “You must be tired,” he concludes, a knowing glint in his eyes, “why don’t you head to your room and I’ll leave you be for a while. Let you get settled in. Feel free to come out and join us whenever.”

“Thank you,” you breathe, already halfway out of the kitchen.

“I’ll call you out for dinner later, if you like,” he turns to you, a soft encouraging smile painted over his lips and you can’t help but return it in kind before disappearing down the hallway.

Five minutes alone and you dissolve completely.

Every emotion you had been holding back behind the dam of your desire to keep a straight face for the sake of everyone else around you floods forward as you unpack your first box and you fall onto your bed in a what can only be described as a fainting spell interspersed with waves of crying and not uncharacteristic wheezing. All thought to your roommates completely ignored in the midst of the hysterics.

Somewhere in the middle of the wailing, you think you hear Jeonghan call your name through your door but you’re too all consumed by your sadness to reply to him. Instead you bury your head into your pillows like a flamingo in the sand to muffle the sound of your crying until you fall asleep with your tears drying to a crust on your cheeks.

When you finally come to, the sun is gone and your room is lit only by the light pollution of the city seeping in through your blinds. Your face feels swollen and puffy from all of the tears and your throat is sandpaper–for a brief second you’re afraid you might have lost your voice. A dull headache pounds through your entire skull. You feel as miserable as you’re sure you deserve to feel at this point in time.

With a sigh you slide off your mattress, letting your feet fall to the vinyl floor with a thud and reach to grab your phone from the nightstand that Dino left behind when he moved out.

A single text notification sits unopened on your phone.

[jeonghan] there’s pizza in the kitchen if you get hungry. introductions can wait until tomorrow.

So they did just decide to leave you alone for the time being. Good. Considering your current emotional state, you didn’t think meeting new people was a good idea. The first impression was already shot since you’re sure they heard you wailing through the thin walls of the apartment.

You consider just going back to sleep without any dinner, but your stomach answers the thought with an insistent rumble that you don’t think you’d be able to stave off for too long before it gets cavernous. You push yourself from the bed and pad out into the hallway–cautiously stretching your head out first to see if anyone else is wandering around.

Three slices of pizza sit wrapped on a plate in the fridge, illuminated in the dark of the kitchen and you feel your sour mood lift slightly at the sight. You eat them cold, standing in your bare feet and wrinkled clothes alone in the kitchen.

The dishwasher is clean when you go to place the plate inside, but considering time you decide it would be worse to unload the whole thing for one measly plate so you run it under the tap for a few minutes–scrubbing at one stubborn spot of hardened cheese with the sponge.

“I think it’s clean,” a voice calls out behind you and you startle–nearly dropping the dish in the sink at the sudden intrusion.

“Wha–! Fuck,” you exclaim, inhaling a sharp breath to slow your heart back down to a normal pace.

“Sorry,” the voice chuckles, low and easy, and you find yourself praying that if you pretend he’s not there he will leave before you have to turn around and face whatever man the voice belongs to. “Did I scare you?”

No dice. “No, it’s fine I was just thinking about something–” you pivot slowly on one foot and are immediately grateful that you’re lit only by ambient lighting, “–else.”

Immediately upon turning around you come face-to-face with a dripping wet and uncomfortably bare torso. You snap your gaze up to his face, avoiding further eye contact with his nipples, and the knot of nerves in your stomach tightens.

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” he laughs again–casual despite his state of undress and your clear distress. You feel your head shake no without your permission, betraying you and forgiving the hidden apology in his words. “Not a great first impression, I gather.” His smile is bright, but a little lopsided and bashful. It conjures up images of your childhood dog when he would track mud in through the house from the backyard, eyes big and wet and brown and sure that any sleight would be forgiven immediately based purely on his cuteness.

“It’s fine,” you clear your throat, words finally returning to you, and glance around for a possible exit strategy while still trying to avoid staring directly at his (admittedly very well built) chest.

“I’m Mingyu,” he smiles, extending a hand to you and you take it briefly, feeling the warmth of it on your own like a shock. Not an entirely unwelcome one.

“Mingyu?” you ask, partly to clarify and partly to give yourself a chance to regain your thoughts. You notice his hand is still in yours and you drop it, letting your own hand fall back to your side–flexing the fingers as if to shake off the warmth of his.

“Yeah,” he laughs again and you wish he would stop.

“You live here?”

“I do,” he nods, still smiling. “That would be why I am standing in the kitchen at 1:00am.”

“Oh, umm…yeah of course. Yeah,” you slide sideways against the counter behind you until you’re no longer parallel to him, preparing to bolt back to your bedroom at the slightest provocation.

“Anyway, sorry we had to meet like this, it’s not really ideal.”

“No,” you shake your head–thoughts numb from hours of crying and the shock of his arrival in the kitchen.

“We can re-do our introductions in the morning, hey?” There is a hopeful lilt in his voice and you can't help but agree–feeling a little like a nervous rabbit being placated by clumsy hands. He steps aside and you slip past him, grateful at being on the other side of the kitchen and not trapped between his body and the counter. “Sleep tight.”

You feel his eyes lingering on you as you shuffle back to your bedroom, but you resist the suffocating urge to turn around and check. The door closes behind you with a soft click and you lean all of your weight against the wood, unsure of your legs' abilities to keep you upright for more than a second longer.

“Fuck,” you whisper into the darkness and are answered by sirens as they race by outside of your window. “This is not good.”

#svt x reader #wonwoo x reader #mingyu x reader #svt fic #seventeen fic #seventeen x reader

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