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queensunshinee · 2 days

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His favorite toy- Part 2 || Art Donaldson x reader

Rating: Explicit (18+)

Warnings: SMUT (p in v sex, oral sex), super toxic relationship.

Word Count: 6.5k

(part 1)

His favorit toy- Part 2:

Two months have passed since the last time Art and I fucked. Although it wouldn’t be fair to call it that, because I don’t fully know what it was. I only know he said he thinks he loves me. Neither of us made the minimal effort to rekindle any kind of relationship. I kept sitting with Janet and Shane, and he stayed in his place next to the friend he invented.

Occasionally, if I focused, I could feel his gaze on the back of my neck, but maybe I was imagining it. Maybe I also imagined his declaration of love, maybe I lost my grip on reality for a moment. Maybe more water needs to flow under this bridge. Maybe Tashi Duncan needs to be his, like he is hers, so I can stop dreaming about him at night. How did I become so dependent on the emotions of a girl I have no desire to exchange a word with? How did I lose someone I’m not sure was ever mine? And more than anything- what made me spend so much time in this endless whining?

A few days after that party, Luke sat next to me in one of the classes we share. He looked so good that if I close my eyes, I can imagine it's Art. A remarkably pathetic thought, but it works. Except he isn’t cruel. He doesn't try to deceive me or lead me to the point he wants me to reach. He’s interested in me and my hobbies, and sometimes he walks me from class to class, but in these two months, he hasn’t made any move beyond placing his hand on my shoulder. Maybe he thinks I have lice. Maybe he thinks I won’t be good enough in bed to risk our boring conversations about the eco-intro professor.

Maggie, the girl I work with, canceled at the last minute, so I ended up alone at the smoothie station and the register. I took comfort in the fact that it's exam season and not too many Stanford students would prefer to stand in line for a smoothie instead of grabbing a spot in the library on a Sunday night. "The usual?" I heard Art’s voice and lifted my gaze from the book I was reading. I blinked at him a few times, as if trying to figure out if I was imagining his smug smile. Maybe it wasn’t smug, maybe that's just how he always smiles when he sees me. Like he knows a secret he’ll never tell me. "I..." I tried to hold onto the reality as I knew it, "I don’t remember," I smiled without showing teeth, half-forced.

"Peach—" he stopped himself in the middle of the stupid nickname. Apparently, he understood from my look that it wasn’t appropriate after two months of radio silence. "Almond milk, banana, pecan, and coconut," he mumbled. "That’s $4.50," he nodded. I wondered if he was surprised, because I’d never asked him to pay before. I’d always used the free smoothie I got during my shift on him. "How a—" he started to speak, and I turned on the blender, seeing out of the corner of my eye that he was smirking and shaking his head. "Fair," he muttered. "Here’s your smoothie. Goodnight," I handed him the cup after a few seconds, with the most forced smile I could muster. He rolled his eyes in response and sat down in one of the empty chairs.

"What do you think you’re doing?" I asked. "Sitting and drinking my smoothie, obviously," he spoke again as if I were two years old. Like I needed him to mediate reality for me because I couldn’t understand it on my own. "Do you see anyone else sitting here?" I asked. "Just because the tables are empty because it’s ten at night and you’re working in a cafeteria-" he began. "This isn’t a cafeteria. It’s the—" "Doesn’t mean I can’t sit at one of the tables and drink my smoothie. Or are there new rules I’m not aware of?" I rolled my eyes in response. Smug dickhead. I was definitely not going to give him a second of my time. I went back to the book I was reading for my philosophy exam, trying to ignore his presence but realizing I was reading the same sentence five times in a row.

"What are you studying?" he asked after a few minutes of silence. "Why are you doing this?" I threw the question back from behind the counter, sighing in frustration. "What am I doing?" The usual smirk was plastered on his face. "Why are you here on a Sunday night, Art?" If I could stomp my foot to express protest, I would. "Because you’re here on a Sunday night." The smirk turned into a smile. I couldn’t tell if it was sincere. I never know if he’s sincere.

"What do you want?" I rolled my eyes and sighed, realizing he wasn’t going to leave. I knew he was stubborn in an almost inspiring way (or nauseating, depending on who you ask) and that he was always at an advantage with me. He always had the last word. All I had left was to let him say it quickly and move on with life. "To ask how you're doing?" he half said, half asked. He sounded hesitant, but I knew he wasn’t. I knew he was as confident as any other day. He knew exactly what he was doing. "Amazing. Anything else?" I found myself crossing my arms under my chest and saw him, without shame, shift his gaze, well… to my chest, raising an eyebrow.

"Arthur!" I felt like I was his aunt as he shook his head, almost playfully. "I missed you, Peaches. Is that so hard to believe?" He chuckled, still completely shameless. "Well, I didn’t." That was the first thing that came to mind, and the face Art made, along with the eye roll, only emphasized how much he didn’t believe me. "Why are you so mad at me?" His voice was amused as he approached the counter with his smoothie, grabbing the book I was reading without asking. "What course is this?" "Philosophy," I snatched it from his hand, and he grabbed mine with the speed of an athlete who works too much with his hands. "Let go," I muttered, not sure if I wanted him to release my hand or release me. But I was scared he'd agree and disappear again, and that was so fucking pathetic. "Never," he replied, keeping his gaze on me and giving my hand a squeeze. "It’s not fair, Art," I hated how my voice sounded. "What’s not fair?" he asked, tracing small circles on my hand the moment he felt me relax the muscle that had been trying to pull away from his touch. "What you're doing right now," I sighed. If he weren’t in front of me, I probably would’ve started crying out of frustration. "What am I doing right now?" The smirk was once again plastered on his face. "Trying to convince me everything's okay between us," I hesitated, and he shook his head from side to side. "Nothing's okay between us, Peaches. I hate it. I actually hate it. I think about you 80% of the day. Every time I want to talk to you, you're either with your friends or with Luke." He wrinkled his nose as he said his name.

"Why do you know his name?" I asked, studying him. "Because I looked him up, and I'm telling you, Peaches, he's fucking weird—" "You're fucking weird," I shot back, and he laughed, trying to move the hair from my face with his free hand. "Well, maybe you like us weird, maybe you've got a type," he tried to joke, making me roll my eyes. "Who said I like you, Donaldson?" I tried to defend myself, and Art wasn’t laughing anymore. He wasn’t smiling either. He just looked at me, not letting me read his expression. His hand, which had been playing with mine, tightened its grip, and his gaze locked onto me as if I was on trial for the words that just came out of my mouth.

"Let’s study for the statistics exam together tomorrow?" He changed the subject, not breaking his intense gaze. "Art—" "Study for the exam. Just that. I won't pass it if you don't help me," he flashed his most charming smile. The one he fakes in seconds. The one he uses for interviews with the Stanford magazine and in photoshoots for the tennis team posters. "Study with Dylan," I suggested, raising an eyebrow, referring to the imaginary friend he chose to sit with instead of me. "You want me to beg?" he asked, poking my shoulder with his finger, causing me to shift slightly but still not letting go of my hand. "Maybe," I teased. "I can. My ego will survive if you study with me for statistics tomorrow." He said it quicker than I expected.

"I have a philosophy exam at eight. Can you do twelve?" I asked. "I can when you can. Where’s the exam? I’ll wait for you," he said. "Meet me at the economics library. There’s a room where you’re allowed to talk if you’re working in groups," I explained my choice. "That’s ridiculous. Let’s study at your place or mine—" "We’ll study at the library, take it or leave it," I stated firmly, even though the temptation to go to his dorm was strong since he never invited me. We always went to mine. "Library it is," he agreed. "What’s your philosophy exam about?" he asked, finally letting go of my hand, which had been holding the book I was studying from. "Aristotle and eudaimonia. What he thinks about happiness," I muttered, opening my notes again. "What does he think about happiness?" Art asked, leaning on the counter. "You wouldn’t get it," I smiled at him, and saw him nod with a somewhat thoughtful look, as if his combative spirit and desire to argue had evaporated the moment I agreed to study statistics with him. "Tomorrow at twelve, Peaches. Don’t break my heart and ditch me," he threw into the air, leaving the booth with the same dramatic flair he had when he entered. . . . I walked into the economics library, which was packed with people. Art was already sitting there, messing with his phone more than with the notes in front of him on the table. He hadn’t noticed I’d entered, giving me the chance to observe him. His blonde curls fell over his eyes in a way that likely bothered him. He was wearing his red tennis outfit (the one I liked the most, I should mention) and looked carefree. He always seemed too relaxed, maybe that’s how it is when everything comes to you with an ease that’s almost disgusting.

"You need a haircut," I muttered the first thing that came to mind as I approached, seeing him look up immediately. "Hey," he said, smiling from ear to ear, "I saved a spot because I knew it’d be crowded," he added. "How long have you been sitting here?" I asked as I took the seat next to him. "Since about ten," he chuckled, probably at himself, "How was the exam?" he asked. "Long. Have you gone over any of the material?" Yesterday, I decided I’d be practical. I’d promised to help him, and honestly, I always understood the material better myself when I explained it to him. And if Art Donaldson could take advantage of my knowledge in statistics, then I could take advantage of the situation too. Not just him. "A little, I pretty much lost track in the middle of the course." Art had taken this course as an elective. I always found it funny because who takes statistics as an extra class when it’s not even required for their degree?

"What, Kevin didn’t let you copy his notes?" I looked at him with a raised eyebrow, and he lightly tapped my shoulder. "You’re mean. Since when are you so mean?" he responded with a humor I couldn’t fully read, unsure if he was joking or if part of him actually thought there was some cruelty in me. Maybe it was the philosophy exam I couldn’t shake off. Obsessive thoughts about happiness and potential. "I’m going to get myself some coffee, want me to bring you something?" I asked, changing the subject. "Sit down, get settled, I’ll get it for you," he nodded toward me and stood up, not giving me a chance to refuse before he disappeared from my sight, leaving me alone.

Art Donaldson will be the end of me. I’m certain of it. "My brain is fried, Donaldson. I can’t look at any more averages," I summed up after two hours of studying. "Yeah? Already gave up?" he asked, amused. "I remind you that I had an exam today! I don’t think I’ve eaten anything other than my own brain," I tried to remember what I’d actually eaten today. "So let’s go eat something," he smiled. His eyes practically sparkled. "Art," I sighed, resting my head on my hand. "What? We can’t go have lunch?" he asked with mock innocence. Speaking to me again like I was a child. Like I didn’t understand what he’d already figured out long ago. "No, of course not," I wanted to smack him on the head as if he were the dumbest person I knew. "I can’t let you stay hungry, Peaches, my grandmother would be mad at me," he quickly replied. Where was your grandmother every time you humiliated me to the core? Every time you made me feel empty and stupid? So stupid. "Your grandmother will survive," I rolled my eyes. "She’s a very sick woman, you don’t know that. I’ll tell her I let you starve and she’ll have a stroke. You won’t be able to live with that on your conscience. You’ll drag us into lives full of guilt—" "Okay, you’re giving me a headache, God," I mumbled, standing up. Art Donaldson’s smug smile returned to his face in an instant.

That’s how I found myself sitting across from him at the fancy cafeteria for athletes, eating nuggets after the woman working there flirted with him and gave me a threatening look. "Don’t hate Rosie, she always gives me extra pie," he said after I pointed out that she looked at me like I was the reason the Beatles broke up. "Because she wants to sleep with you," I rolled my eyes. "So she has a reason to look at you like that. Makes sense," he replied with a chuckle. "Okay, what is this?" I dropped the nugget I was holding and pointed between us as I leaned back in my chair. "What?" he continued eating as if nothing unusual was happening. "What are you doing, Art?" I asked, feeling my leg start to shake out of frustration.

"I’m eating and making sure you’re eating," he replied, taking another bite of his food, as if we were having a completely normal conversation. "We’re not going to fuck again just because you invited me to eat nuggets at the cafeteria, you know that, right?" I blinked at him, trying to signal that he was delusional. "Of course not," he said, leaning back in his chair as well. "I have principles, Donaldson," I continued. "I know," he smiled. "I’m not some girl you found on the street that you can treat however you want, disappear for two months, invite her for nuggets, and she’ll take off her bra just so you can vanish again until the next time you’re horny," my voice rose a bit, despite my effort to keep it calm. I saw his jaw tighten, his expression shifting from amused to cold. "Is that what you think this is?" he asked, and all I could do was shrug.

"It’s not like you’ve given me any reason to think otherwise, Art," I looked at him and felt that if I stayed there much longer, I’d start crying. "I told you that I lo—" he began, but I stood up. "Thanks for lunch, it’s definitely nicer than the regular cafeteria," I forced a smile, and he closed his eyes. "You didn’t eat anything," he replied. If I focused, maybe I could have seen his frustration growing. But I was trying to focus on not crying. Art Donaldson’s ego didn’t deserve to see me cry over him again. "I’m really tired, I need to sleep a bit before my shift," I mumbled. "Will you come to my match tomorrow?" he asked quietly. "Art—" "You don’t have to, but I’m saving you a seat, okay?" he cut off my answer, not wanting to hear a refusal, maybe not believing there was a bone in my body capable of saying no to him. . . . And it’s a little pathetic how I ended up walking onto the tennis court the next day, giving up the last shred of my self-respect. I was surprised to see how many people showed up to these things, especially at the end of exam season and right before the break. The place was packed.

‘You came’ -A- I got his message and tried to look around, searching for where he might be. ‘Down on the court’ -A- I could practically see his smirk in the words. I glanced toward him and shrugged. ‘Front row, saved you a seat next to Patrick’ -A- he added.

‘What the fuck is Patrick?’ -(Y/N)- I replied, not moving toward where he told me to go.

‘A friend. Please sit there.’ -A- He answered shortly. ‘Want to lift my head and know where you are’ -A- And when he says things like that, I almost forget how cruel he can be. So I find myself rolling my eyes and walking toward the seat he saved for me.

"Are you Patrick?" I mumbled, feeling my cheeks flush from the awkward interaction with the guy sitting next to the empty seat. "Depends who’s asking," the curly-haired guy responded, flashing a mischievous half-smile. I can see why they’re friends. Fucking twelve-year-olds in the bodies of twenty-year-olds, how is that even possible?! "Don’t be a dick," we heard from down below, and I turned to see Art approaching us. "Who’s this?" the guy I didn’t know asked, as if I wasn’t standing right there—seriously, rude as hell, but whatever. "Patrick, behave," Art wasn’t joking, not even smiling, scolding him like you’d scold a misbehaving pet. "You came," Art looked me over, grinning from ear to ear. "Don’t let it go to your head, I had some free time," I muttered, sitting down. Art nodded. "Will you stay after the game?" he asked. I think it was the first time Art had to look up to talk to me. "I don’t know, I need to keep studying for statistics," I answered. "Me too," he replied. "We’ll study together," he shrugged, not giving me a chance to respond before he walked off, taking his position. Getting ready to serve.

“Interesting,” the guy next to me said. “What exactly?” I asked, rolling my eyes and still not looking at him. “You, of course,” I could hear him smiling. “What’s so interesting about me?” I kept staring into the air, unsure if I should focus on Art, who still hadn’t started playing, or the phenomenon sitting next to me. Arrogant, just like the blond guy who’s been emotionally torturing me for months. “Well, first of all, I’ve never heard of you. You’re a surprise,” he said as if it was obvious. And it stung a little, even though I knew the chances of Art talking about me were slim to none. “Maybe you’re the problem, Pete,” I muttered, snapping my fingers like I was trying to recall his name. “Patrick,” he corrected, laughing, making me look at him. He had a loud laugh, unapologetic. I knew his name was Patrick, and he knew I knew, but he still found it amusing.

“Maybe you’re the surprise,” I told him. “He doesn’t talk about you either.” I tried to sound unaffected, like everything was fine. The game started, and Art looked distracted. Maybe he always looks like that when he plays tennis- I’ve never watched his games before, he’s never invited me. “You’re supposed to watch the other side too,” Patrick whispered in my ear, causing me to roll my eyes. “Hey, Stats Girl,” I heard the familiar voice of Tashi Duncan just before she sat next to Patrick, cursing the day I decided to trust Art Donaldson and show up at his game. “The one and only,” I muttered with the best smile I could muster, feeling myself blush at the ridiculous nickname she gave me. “How’s he doing?” she asked Patrick. I wondered what their connection was. “He’s good, you know, as usual. Ice.” he replied, and they started talking quietly about the game, about Art, and about the opponent.

All I could think about was how good Art looked. He looked as if everything came to him effortlessly, as if he didn’t need to try for anything—everything just happened. And I knew that wasn’t true, I knew he worked hard, trained, ate properly, invested in his studies, and that he was probably a good grandson and a good friend. He was good to everyone except me. “Are you enjoying the game?” Tashi asked, pulling my gaze away from Art for a moment. “Huh?” I asked, not understanding what she wanted. “The game, are you enjoying it? He’s playing well,” she clarified. “Yeah, he’s really good,” I mumbled. I didn’t know what else to add to make it sound convincing. “Leave her, Tash. She doesn’t know anything about tennis, she’s his cheerleader,” Patrick answered her, snickering. I shot him a murderous look. “Patrick, don’t be rude,” Tashi said, “I’m sorry about him, he doesn’t know how to behave around people,” she turned to me, as if he wasn’t there. “It’s fine,” I replied, feeling my leg start to shake from the frustration. They went back to talking about the game, and I suddenly felt how pathetic it was, showing up to watch him play. To come and see him in his element, when he wasn’t part of my life anymore. When his friend sat next to me, mocking me to my face. “I’ll be right back…” I mumbled, walking toward the exit. I had no intention of coming back. . . . Two hours later, there were chaotic knocks on my door. “You left,” Art walked in without waiting for an invitation the second I opened the door. He looked angry. “I told you I didn’t know if I’d stay, I have an exam tom-” “Bullshit. What’s your deal? Why did you come?” He practically shouted as I closed the door. “You asked me to come,” I mumbled. “I also asked you to stay, but you left in the middle, so what was the point of you coming?” He crossed his arms. I don’t think I’d ever seen him this angry. He’s always calculated and calm. “Did he say something?” he added, asking a question. “What?” I returned, not understanding what he was talking about. “Patrick, did he say something to you? Why did you leave?” He asked again, speaking to me like I was a child. “He didn’t say anything to me. I left because I didn’t understand what I was even watching. I don’t know anything about tennis, Art, and I have an exam to study for,” I tried to justify. “Enough with that exam. I heard you studying for it yesterday, you know the material, we both know you know it.” He sighed. “I didn’t ask you to come to give tennis commentary. I asked you to come because I wanted you in the crowd. I wanted to see you in the crowd,” he continued. I could hear the effort in his voice to keep it together, to not lose control.

“Tashi was in the crowd; that should be enough for you,” I muttered, lifting my gaze to him, seeing that he was already staring at me. We had never talked like this about Tashi. She had always been this figure hovering above us. He talked about her constantly, unrelated to anything. He talked about her like she was a god. He talked about how she played tennis, about her training, how she helped him. He talked about parties he only went to because Tashi wanted to go. But I never responded in a way that would let him understand that I knew. That I wasn’t completely clueless. That I knew he was completely in love with her. That he loved her the way I loved him and that nothing would change that. “Oh, so that’s the problem. You could’ve started with that. It bothered you that Tashi was in the crowd?” He chuckled. He fucking chuckled. “Why did it bother you?” He moved closer to me, and I had no choice but to avert my gaze from his piercing blue eyes, which felt like bullets at that moment. “It didn’t bother m-” “Look at me.” He was close enough to grab my head and turn it back to face him. “I asked you a question,” he added, not letting me escape. And if there’s anyone I didn’t want to talk about, it’s Tashi Duncan.

“Why did you invite me? Why did you want me in the crowd?” “Because I wanted you to see me play,” he answered without blinking, as if it was obvious. As if there wasn’t a single question I could ask him that he wouldn’t have an answer for. “You love Tashi, Art. You lo-” His lips were on mine the second I said it. Again, there was nothing calm or calculated about this kiss. He was trying to prove that he didn’t, that I was wrong. While we both knew I was right. “You can’t say things like that, Peaches. You have no idea what you’re talking about,” he mumbled as he pulled away from me to catch a breath. “It’s okay that you love her. I’ve made peace with it. I just need you to let me move on, Art,” I sighed, trying to catch my breath again. “I don’t fucking love her.” He was angry; I could hear it in his voice. “What do I have to do to make you understand that you’re the only girl for me?” He kissed me again, and I could feel him getting hard from the way he pressed against me, causing me to moan into his mouth. “Yeah? Is this the only way I can get through to you? Is this the only way you believe me?” he asked, running his lips down my neck. "Art," it was half a moan, half a cry. My eyes closed, and as they did, I felt the weight of his hands on my shoulders, pulling me down until I was on my knees in front of him. I unbuttoned his jeans and quickly pulled down his boxers. I felt almost possessed as he sat on the edge of my bed, forcing me to crawl toward him. “There we go. Is this the only way I need to treat you for you to understand your place?” he muttered as I knelt before him again. I felt a light slap on my cheek from his cock, much more humiliating than painful. “I asked you a question,” he continued.

“N-no,” I mumbled. “Even your voice is annoying me right now,” he muttered, and without warning, I felt his cock in my mouth. He didn’t give me a moment to adjust, punishing me for leaving the match, maybe for bringing up Tashi, maybe for everything combined. You could never tell with him. I felt him hitting the back of my throat, and I tried to suppress my gag reflex with little success. Three months since he’d been in my mouth showed signs. “Shhh, you can do better than that,” he half-stroked my hair, half-held me in place by it. Then he pulled me back, leaving a trail of spit and precum. “You’re such a mess,” he chuckled, and again I felt a light slap of his cock against my cheek. I put my lips back where I knew he needed them the most, and this time, there was no gentle stroking of my hair. There was only a hand forcing me to stay in place as he used my mouth however he wanted. “Nothing to say now, huh?” he said, not very coherently, as I began to feel the warm, thick liquid spill into my throat. “Atta girl,” he patted my hair twice before letting me pull back.

I stood up slowly, trying to catch my breath. “Come here,” he mumbled, pointing to his thigh. I can’t refuse Art Donaldson, so I sat on his lap, placing my hands on his neck in an almost embrace, watching him smile. “Why is everything so hard with you?” he muttered, and his lips lazily found my neck. “I just don’t know what you want from me,” I responded, trying to focus on anything other than his lips currently on my collarbone. “I told you I love you,” he mumbled, his eyes locking onto mine. “You don’t mean that,” I shot back.

“Oh yeah?” His smirk spread across his face, and in seconds, he tossed me onto the bed as if I weighed nothing. He was above me. “For now, the one acting like a brat is you,” he said, his presence casting a shadow over me like a predator playing with its prey. “The one who left in the middle of my match is you.” His lips again left trails on my skin. I don’t even know when he took my shirt off. I felt a light bite on my nipple that made me moan. “Fuck, fa- Art,” I mumbled, unable to focus. “The one avoiding interaction with my friends is you.” His hand joined in, starting to torture my other nipple as his kisses moved further down. “I’m not,” I managed to respond, just as he easily removed my panties.

His breaths hovered over my pussy, short and hot, and if I didn’t know Art Donaldson so well, I would’ve thought he was looking up at me with almost a pleading expression. But he was in complete control. A small kiss on my lips, but not where I really needed him, made me shift my hips a little, and he chuckled- a laugh that was almost childlike. “Hey, ask nicely,” he managed to say, and I returned to the position I had before, legs around his head. “Please, Art,” I knew there was no point in arguing; he always got what he wanted in the end. “No problem, baby,” in seconds, his tongue was on my clit, starting slowly with circular motions and picking up speed with every moment. “There you go, you’re almost there,” he muttered, pulling back just before I could come. “What-” I tried to catch my breath again, craving the euphoria only he could give me at that moment. “I want to be inside you,” he answered without waiting for the full question, and in an instant, his cock filled me, making me moan. “Fuck,” I managed to mumble, feeling my eyes roll back. “Hold on a little longer, Peach,” he said, slipping his finger into my mouth like he liked to do, watching my lips close around it. “Now,” he muttered, pushing it deeper into my throat while he thrust into me, feeling me tighten around him like only an orgasm from him could make me do.

He fucked me stupid. There’s no other way to describe what I experienced, and as we both tried to catch our breath, I wondered how long it would take for him to leave this time and what his excuse would be. “Don’t you have practice tomorrow?” I quietly asked, trying to throw him off balance for a moment. “No, but I don’t know anything for the stats exam,” he admitted and chuckled. “Art! I taught you all the material yesterday,” I rolled my eyes. “I can’t concentrate when you’re teaching me.” “Then why did you ask for help?” It was my turn to laugh. “Because you’re the most beautiful when you’re in your element,” he shrugged like it was obvious. Like hearing me talk about statistics would make him fall in love with me. Like it wasn’t what I felt two and a half hours ago when he played tennis, until I almost choked on love.

“When are you going home?” he asked, probably knowing my last exam was in statistics. “I’m not,” I replied casually, and he quickly shifted positions. “Why the hell not?” he asked, and I saw a small wrinkle form between his eyebrows. “It’s no big deal, Donaldson,” I chuckled, “I picked up extra shifts, and I have a paper to work on. Speaking of shifts, I need to get ready for mine.” I added as I checked the time. He watched me as I walked around the room, trying to decide if I smelled too much like sex to push the shower until after work. “Are you coming to the study marathon tomorrow before the exam?” he asked, starting to get dressed too. “Of course,” I looked at him like he was crazy. “Don’t think about skipping it, Art. You need it,” I said, knowing exactly who I was dealing with. “Okay, Mom,” his voice was amused, and I rolled my eyes, looking at him for another moment. We don’t get too many moments like these. Almost domestic. Almost mine.

"Hey, we're good, right?" he suddenly asked, holding my hand and not letting me continue running around the room. "Yeah, Art, everything's fine," I smiled half-heartedly, feeling a bit embarrassed. "Because I don't want another two months like these," he muttered, and I knew it was hard for him to admit. It was hard for him to say that the past two months had been strange, to say the least. Difficult, to be honest. "Me neither." I nodded at him. "When are you flying home?" I asked as we were both already outside the door, after I had locked it. "Four hours after the exam, I’m supposed to be on a flight," he chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Wow, two weeks at home, excited?" I asked. "Not that much, mostly glad I get to visit my grandma. She follows my matches with her entire retirement home, it’s a big deal for her." "Ooooh, you've got fans, Donaldson?" I joked. "You know I do," he replied. "Seriously though, why aren’t you going home?" he added. "It’s not that deep, just an opportunity to make some extra money. Plus, my mom and I aren’t in the best place right now," I shrugged, as if it wasn’t a big deal. "Don’t you miss home?" he asked. "Not like most people probably do," I smiled at him. "I hate it when you smile like that," he said and suddenly stopped. "How?" I asked, looking at him as if he were crazy. "Without teeth. That’s your fake smile," he replied without blinking, as if it were strange that I was even asking. "I didn’t think you noticed," I mumbled. And I really didn’t think there was a possibility that Art Donaldson paid attention to details that, until now, I thought only I noticed about him. "I’ll see you tomorrow at the marathon?" he asked when we reached the point where I was supposed to head to the cafeteria and he to his dorm. "Don’t be late," I ordered, giving his face a small push, watching him chuckle and walk away from me. . . .

The next morning, I woke up with the worst headache I’d ever had in my life. I felt my nose was blocked, and I knew for sure I had a fever, though I had no way to measure it. 'Where are you?' -A-

'Sick, I’ll come for the exam' -(Y/N)-

'What’s wrong with you?' -A- I didn’t respond to that message, preferring to sleep a bit more before waking up for the statistics exam.

I got in the shower, and when I got out, I looked at myself in the mirror, seeing my flushed cheeks as a contrast to my pale face. There was no mistaking it when you looked at me- I wasn’t at my best. The auditorium was partially full when I entered, people chatting among themselves, and I looked around, seeing Art already staring at me before he approached, getting ahead of Janet, who shot me a questioning glance. "Well, you look like shit," he stated, placing his hand on my forehead. "Fuck, Peaches, you’re burning up," he muttered, looking at me with an almost angry expression. "How did you manage to start dying in the minute and a half I left you alone?" he said. "I’m talented, Donaldson. Can you not yell? My head hurts," I mumbled, sitting in the empty seat I found.

The exam went smoothly and ended faster than it began. I physically couldn’t wait for Art to finish, so I texted him, hoping he’d enjoy his time at home, and I went to sleep. Half an hour later, there was a knock at my door, chaotic like the one from the day before. "Hey," he muttered. "You’ll miss your flight," I replied, running a tired hand over my eyes. "I’m not flying," he said quickly. "What?" I asked, not understanding what he was talking about, seeing him take off his shirt and pants, left only in his boxers. "Art, I physically can’t have sex," I chuckled, not understanding what was happening. "We’re going to sleep," he declared, pulling me toward him, leaving me no choice but to get into bed next to him. "Your bed’s worse than mine. Tomorrow we’ll sleep at my dorm," he stated.

"You're going to get sick too" I rolled my eyes, "Why aren’t you going home?" I asked quietly, while his hand traced shapes on my shoulder. "It felt weird going home when you’re sick and staying here," he replied, not ashamed for a second. "Your grandma must be disappointed," I mumbled. "I told her my girlfriend is sick," he said. I wanted so badly to see his face, but I had my back to him. "She must’ve been surprised you have a girlfriend," I said the first thing that came to mind, feeling my heart race. "Not at all, I talk to her about you all the time."

. . .

So here it is. The second part I didn't plan. Hope you like it even tho I wrote half of it while being super sick and didn't check my own grammar at all, so bear with me (a reminder: English is not my first language). Let me know what you think. It's always the best part. Also, I think I'm up for some requests. Let's see what we can come up with. Love you guys

#challengers fic #art donaldson #challengers #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson smut #his favorite toy

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lionneee · 1 month

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Perfect Match

English is not my first language, please be kind

Masterlist

Taglist

•Warnings: masturbation, nudes, kissing, taking of sexual themes, smut.•

Part One -> Part Two -> Part Three -> Part Four -> Part Five

Modern!Aemond x Fem!Reader

When you’re rich, but still a teenager, and too mature for your age, it’s kinda complicated to actually have fun.

Especially if you’re also empty inside.

And if your parents really don’t care about you.

They care about image.

Surely, you were a peach to everyone. The perfect daughter in the perfect family in the perfect house.

Also, be mentally mature doesn’t mean you can’t like childish things.

Your room was something that you were extremely proud of. Everything was just perfect. Baldacchino bed, always with pink feathers and pillows, and giant stuffed animals on it. Walls? Pink. Wardrobe? Pink, with some decorations in a darker shade of pink. Your desk? White, but everything on it is pink.

Obviously, the perfect daughter in the perfect family in the perfect house couldn’t not have a boyfriend.

You tried a few, actually. Lost your virginity with some douche who didn’t even make you come, so he was out pretty fast. The others were too self centered or ended up actually falling for you.

You didn’t feel love.

You never loved anyone.

You just wanted someone who was in the same situation, didn’t look for love either, and was up for a completely fake romantic relationship and a very true sexual relationship.

Good at bed, good looking and… likable.

So when the Targaryen moved a couple of houses from yours, and the three brothers started going to your same private school, you suddenly found it.

Aemond Targaryen.

A bit mysterious, he didn’t talk much, he barely even smiled, if not when forced to for convenience.

So that was when it rang a bell.

Your heels ticked on the floor, the pink skirt moved at every step, as you held your pink notebook close to your chest, covered by a light pink blouse.

You walked in the private room in the library, the one you knew Aemong booked. You opened the door without knocking, and stepped inside, stopping at the entrance as you let the door close behind you. Aemond looked up at you and raised an eyebrow, annoyed.

“You book these rooms to not get bothered, you know?” He scoffed as he leaned back on the chair, glancing you up and down.

“You know who I am.” You stated. It was impossible not to, everyone loved you. “And I know who you are.” You sat in front of him, leaving your notebook on the table. “But what I care about is how you really are.” You smirked as Aemond looked at you carelessly.

“We are alike. We can work together.” You stated confidently. Aemond almost laughed.

“If you believe you are the different girl that is supposed to make the cold guy fall in love, you’re wrong, honey.” He shook his head, amused by your silly attempt as he turned his eye on the book he was reading.

“Oh, baby…” You looked at him with a pity face.

“Who talked about love?” That made his eye come back to you.

That day, you even realized how sexually compatible you two were. He fucked you on that same table like an animal, and you’ve came hard.

So that’s how the day after, you two walked into the school hand in hand, smiling to one another, with love, puppy eyes.

Such a show you put on.

But everyone loved you as a couple, To them, you were just perfect.

Reality? You liked to fuck together. And that was it.

No cuddling, no silly kisses, no texting.

You had to look in love at school, sneak in some corner to make out like you wanted to devour each other, post photos together on instagram, hang out sometimes with friends, or dates where you knew you would have found people you knew, so everything would have been more believable.

Usually there was a moment when both you and Aemond couldn’t stand your friend’s stupidity and after a shared eye contact, you would make some nauseating excuses about how you needed some time alone because you’re just so in love, and then you would display your make out session.

Though, considering how Aemond was being so needy today, you guessed he might have something in his mind that made him angry.

You didn’t care what it was, but you really hoped he it would stay in his head until late after high school, when you would to his or your place and fuck.

He kept grabbing the skin of your ass, pulling it as he kept kissing you, biting your lips or pushing his tongue deep in your mouth. You wrapped your arms around him, pulling you down so you didn’t have to stand on your tiptoes despite the heels.

Aemond grabbed your tight, squeezing it tightly in his hand as he bent his legs to be at your level as his hand moved up, enough to slip his hand under your skirt and manage to squeeze your bare ass with a low moan.

“Slow it down, you’ll get too worked up.” You mumbled between a kiss and another.

“Shut up.” He growled back as he rubbed his hips against yours, you felt a hint of herection against you.

There it was.

His long, thick, pale cock. It was a sight, really, veiny with a red tip when it’s full hard.

More to that, he knew how to use it.

That, and his mouth, his fingers, his tongue…

Aemond suddenly pushed you, pressing you against the wall as he kept grinding his hips, panting and moaning slightly as he tried to be as careful as possible to not be seen.

“I told you.” You hissed as you grabbed his cheeks in your hand, squeezing.

“And I said, shut up — Fuck -“ He breathed deeply as he stilled, just pressing hardly against you. I sighed as you felt your panties getting a little wet.

“We’re at school, Aemond. We can’t fuck here.” You rolled your eyes as he leaned his hands on the wall, trying to hide his more than visible tent on his pants.

“You sure, honey?” He chuckled bitterly, frustrated.

“You brought this upon yourself, you’ll fix it yourself.” You glared at him as you picked your pink bag from the floor.

“Hold on.” He grabbed your arm and tugged you back, smiling sweetly as some student passed by, kissing your forehead. As soon as they went away he looked down at you coldly.

“Send me the picture.” He ordered.

“What are those?” He asked as he caught a glimpse of your phone gallery.

"What are what?"

He took a drag from the cigarette, the smoke leaving his nostrils as he exhaled, before he leaned closer to her, so he could look at her phone properly. "Let me see." He ordered bluntly as he looked at the gallery.

You looked at him, annoyed.

"See what?"

"The nude pictures you have of yourself." He said, his eye still looking at your phone. "Let me see."

"The nudes?" You raised an eyebrow at him.

"Yes, the nudes, I've never seen them, so I'm curious." He took your phone and continued to look at the various photos in your gallery. "Why haven't I seen them, anyway?"

"Because they're on my phone." You answered matter of factly as you gave him your phone

He rolled his eye at your answer, but he started looking through her camera roll and all the photos that you had in there, looking for the pictures that he would never have thought you would have in her gallery.

His eye scanned over the naughty pictures, looking at you in all kinds of positions.

"Well, well... look what l've found." Aemond's voice was low and dark as mumbled to himself, looking at the pictures. His eye roaming over you body, the body he knew all too well, but never like this.

He could feel himself growing stiff just from looking at them.

He looked through the pictures, each one different from the next, as you posed for the camera by yourself. "When did you take these?" He asked in that low and dark tone.

He was starting to get really excited, and it was beginning to show in his jeans, straining against the fabric.

"A couple of days ago." You raised your shoulders

His eye roamed back over the photos, seeing your body in all these positions. He could already feel the growing bulge in his jeans, and it was only growing more as he kept looking.

"And why didn't you send these to me?" He finally asked in a low tone.

"Why should I have?"

"I'm your boyfriend, aren't I?" He said flatly. "I'd expect to get these kinds of photos from you." He put the cigarette between his lips again, as he scrolled through the pictures, choosing a specific one.

"We're not like other couples." You scoffed.

"I know we're not." He said back to her as he looked at the certain picture he had chosen, his eyes running over your body. "But we are still a couple, and that kind of gives me the right to see these, don't you think?"

"You're seeing them now, aren't you?" You sighed as you got your phone back.

“Send me that one. I want that one.” He pointed at your phone.

“Not happening.” You answered as you turned your phone off. He scoffed and rubbed his hand over his forehead.

“Suck my cock, these jeans are killing me now.” He groaned as he unbuttoned his pants.

“I’ll tell you again, I’m not sending you that picture.” You whispered. He breathed in sharply and grabbed the back of your neck.

“Send me that picture, or I’ll drag you in the bathroom with me and I’ll choke you on my cock.” He growled as he looked in your eyes. The bell rang, signaling the beginning of your class.

“Fine. Get off of me.” You said annoyed as you pushed his hand away. Aemond smiled and kissed your temple as you passed beside him to get to your friends.

Made his way to the bathroom quickly, trying to cover himself as much as possible.

He went into one of the stalls, locking it behind him before he unbuttoned his jeans and undid the zipper, letting the material fall down

He groaned as the pressure on his erection lessened, as he was finally freeing himself from his constricting pants. He closed his eye and leaned his forehead against the

cool metal wall of the stall, letting out another low growl of annoyance at the situation he was in. He hated that he was this turned on by her in an inconvenient place.

He closed his eye and let his mind think about all the ways he was going to ruin her later.

He could feel himself harden even more just thinking about it, his mind running wild.

«Send me the damn picture.» He texted her quickly.

When she sent the photo he quickly opened it, his eye widening slightly as he saw the photo again.

She was on all four, her legs widened, wearing a piece of light pink lingerie that had two straps that rubbed outside her sweet cunt, covering nothing. She was looking back at the camera with a smirk as one of her hands was on her breast.

She was leaking in the photo.

He had to bite his lip, so he wouldn't curse out loud.

He took a deep breath to try and calm his growing frustration. He took his hand and started to slowly pump himself as his eyes never left her form in the photo.

He had put the phone down on the toilet paper holder, so he could pump himself faster, his mind running wild with thoughts of her as he started to moan softly, not wanting to be too loud. The coolness of the metal wall against his forehead, was a nice contrast against the heat he was feeling now.

He panted softly, his breathing coming out shaky as he continued to work himself furiously. His mind was running wild with thoughts of her, all the things he wanted to do to her, all the ways he was going to make her pay for putting him in this situation.

Her and her hot body.

He could hear another student walk into the bathroom, and he had to bite his lip again to muffle the moan that tried to escape from his lips.

He kept pumping himself, his breathing coming out in gasps, he knew he had to keep quiet. The other student in the next stall peeing, unaware of Aemond’s state, tried to keep his sounds to a minimum, as he felt the coil in his stomach tightening, his breaths coming out shaky and uneven. The other student finished up and left the bathroom again, leaving Aemond alone again. He felt a small sense of relief when he left, so he didn't have to keep quiet for anyone.

He started to pump himself faster, his panting growing louder and louder, his volume raising a bit as he was now the only one in the bathroom. He could still hear voices from outside the bathroom, people walking by and chatting, but he was too far gone to care.

He was getting closer to the end, his eyes closed and his mind completely lost in thoughts of her, the picture on his phone, the sounds of her moaning, her whispering in his ear. He had one hand on himself, the other one on the wall, for support as he was starting to feel his legs getting weaker

He came with a groan, making a mess on the wall and his phone.

“F-fuck!" He panted.

He leaned his forehead back against the cool metal wall, trying to catch his breath, as he tried to come down from his high. His legs were shaking slightly as he tried to keep his balance, feeling weak. He let out another deep breath, closing his eye, as he tried to make sense of his blurry thoughts.

He looked down at his phone, realizing that he had also made a mess on it. "Damn." He muttered, as he looked at the white streaks on the screen, he quickly wiped it with some toilet paper, and threw it away.

Once he was done, he unlocked his phone again and quickly tapped out a text to her.

«Thanks.»

He locked his phone and pulled up his pants again, before leaving the stall and going over to the sink to wash his hands and compose himself.

«That was quick.»

Oh, so funny. Little bitch.

Part Two

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#aemond fanfiction #hotd s2 #aemond smut #hotd season 2 #aemond fic #hotd aemond #prince aemond #aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #ewan mitchell #ewan #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond x reader #aemond x y/n #aemond x you #modern aemond x you #modern aemond #modern aemond x reader

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oddinary4bts · 3 months

Text

Chasing Cars | ch 8.5 (jjk)

☆summary: when your brother goes to study on a semester abroad, your life collides with his best friend Jeon Jungkook, who's coincidentally your roommate. Will you survive the collision, or will you crumble into dust?

☆pairings: brother's best friend!Jungkook x younger sister!female reader

☆rating: 18+ (minors DNI, this chapter contains mature content)

☆genre: forbidden love?au, college!au, slice of life!au, smut, angst (as usual a lot of it), fluff

☆warnings: peach, curses, luxury, alcohol, jungkook's family, they are so gone for each other my dude, explicit content: hickeys, dom!Jungkook, big dick!Jungkook, jerking off, oral sex (male receiving), exhibitionism (sort of but not really), protected sex, marking, ass slapping, praising, clit play

☆word count: 6.7k

☆a/n: tried writing smut in jk's pov, i hope you guys liked it <3 also this is supposed to be a drabble but it's literally a full chapter HAHA hope it doesn't disappoint :')

☆join the discord server here!

☆series masterpost

☆☆☆☆☆

If I lay here If I just lay here Would you lie with me and just forget the world?

Chasing Cars, Snow Patrol

☆☆☆☆☆

Jungkook has been happy. Ever since you got to New York yesterday, he’s been happy. It’s a feeling he’s not accustomed to when it comes to the city he grew up in, yet one he’s finding to love far more than he ever imagined he would.

Maybe it’s you, and the dress you got yesterday. To say that you stole the breath from his lungs when you stepped out of the changing room would be an understatement. The second he saw you, he felt like all the stars had aligned in his night sky, with you as the centerpiece. It felt like you were the center to his universe, and frankly, it’s a feeling he wants to get used to.

If he wasn’t sure about you before yesterday, he sure as hell is now. No matter what Taehyung says, what anyone says, he knows he wants to be with you.

He can’t wait for you to charm his brother, too. He’s not stupid enough to believe you’ll charm his parents as well - they are extremely classist, and they hate everything that Jungkook likes. You could be the goddess of a religion and they would still hate you. But Junghyun… Jungkook hopes Junghyun will love you.

Something aches in Jungkook’s chest, because he should have warned you about his parents. Should have told you, and anxiety stabs him in the gut. He glances at you, and you look just as anxious as him, which he reckons is comforting somehow.

He’s not alone for this engagement party. Not when you’re here, even though maybe he was a dick not to tell you anything.

“Smile, peach,” he forces out as he nudges you with an elbow.

You glance at him, your light makeup accentuating your features in a way that makes him gulp as your gazes connect.

“You smile,” you throw back at him, and he finds he can’t resist.

He smiles, laughing lowly. “Do you want something to drink?”

He reckons it could help. Both you and him, chasing away the lingering anxiety.

You look down at yourself, wincing. “I’m afraid I’ll ruin the dress.”

You’re adorable. Downright adorable, and he holds in a laugh as he looks at you, heart fluttering in his chest. “So you’re just going to stand still the whole evening because you’re afraid to ruin your clothes?”

A muscle feathers on your jaw as you roll your eyes. “Precisely.”

“Loosen up, peach,” Jungkook teases.

He hopes you know that he wants you to be comfortable more than anything. That he wants you to prove everyone wrong, to prove that you belong to his strange, ridiculous world. And maybe that’s why he invited you here: to prove himself, too, that you can handle being in his life, with no secrets between you. Because he knows you deserve it, he’s just afraid his world will chew you out.

You don’t deserve that.

“You know what?” you let out. “Sure, I’ll take a drink.”

Jungkook sighs in relief, and he grabs glasses for you and him from a passing waitress, and you drink while talking about the skyline, which he has to admit is not half as beautiful as you.

Not that he would ever tell you.

You’re almost finished with your drinks when Jungkook glances at the door, noticing his parents walking in. Everything stops, and he feels like someone is clutching his heart, a second away from crushing it in their hold. His mother notices him, and he stiffens even more, preparing for the inevitable fight.

“Are you okay?” you ask, resting a hand on his arm.

Jungkook startles, and he pulls at his piercings, nodding curtly. “All good.”

“Is that…” you trail off.

“Yep.”

“What should I do?” you ask, tugging on his arm.

Jungkook finally looks at you, and he wonders if you can hear the loud beats of his heart. Hell, he thinks he even has trouble breathing, and he gulps before saying, “Just be yourself.”

Because you’re perfect just the way you are, and he wouldn’t want you to change, ever.

You offer him a small smile, and his gaze drops to it. It warms something in his chest, soothes him like a lullaby, and he finds he’s finally able to breathe. He’d thank you for it, for your presence here, but his mother is upon you, and he readies himself to face her.

“Jungkook,” she says, voice just as grating as it always is.

“Mother.”

“Glad to see you came around and decided to come.”

He doesn’t reply right away. Instead, he wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you just a little closer. Your presence is steadying, and he knows that, for the first time in his life, he won’t fail in this fight against his mother.

“I wanted to introduce Y/n to the family,” he says.

His mother looks at you, and he hates the way she cocks an eyebrow in judgment.

“I don’t think we know each other,” she says, contempt dripping from her tone.

Jungkook wants to intervene, but you’re ready. You reply, “I don’t think so.” You bow your head, much more polite than Jungkook has even seen you, before adding, “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Jungkook’s father, who’s been standing next to his wife the whole time, pats his wife’s hand before leaving, like he doesn’t even think you’re worthy of his attention.

It’s nothing new - Jungkook knows he is not even worthy of his father’s attention.

“Likewise,” his mother replies to you. She scans you up and down, noting the dress Jungkook got for you, and then her gaze stops on your heels. “Nice shoes.”

Now, Jungkook is done. You don’t deserve his mother’s contempt, not when you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to him.

“Mother,” he intervenes.

“You thought dressing her up in a nice dress would make us forget that she’s not from our class?”

Jungkook hates her. He’s always hated her, felt like an outcast in his own family, but the insult makes it starker, truer, like the hate he holds for his mother is a law of the universe.

“Excuse me?” you let out, surprising Jungkook.

Surprising his mother, too, as she glances at you, eyes slightly widened. “At least she’s got a tongue on her.”

Because obviously that’s something his mother respects, in her own twisted way.

“And I’ll ask you to make a fucking effort for once,” Jungkook spits in his mother’s face.

She frowns. “Do not curse, boy. It doesn’t suit you.”

Jungkook sees red, and he laughs dryly. His mother clenches her jaw, and he wonders if he should tell her just how shitty of a person she is. Instead, he holds her gaze, refusing to back down from the fight like he would have if you weren’t here.

It lasts for longer than he expected, his mother not once blinking. But then she looks away, and Jungkook almost screams victoriously as she looks at you again.

“Where do you come from?” she asks.

Jungkook listens to your answer, still reeling from the victory against his mother.

“What do your parents do for a living?”

He’s surprised that his mother is trying. That she’s actually talking to you, and he thinks maybe you actually impressed her more than he imagined you would. Which, he’d thank his stars for it, because he really wants you in his life.

“My mother is a nurse,” you reply. “And I do not know my father.”

Jungkook’s mother blinks once before looking at him again. “Junghyun will be happy you came.”

She turns on her heels and walks away, and Jungkook looks at her back. He waits until she’s out of earshot and out of sight before glancing at you, his heart skipping a beat in his chest by your calm beauty.

“I apologize for this,” he says, and his arm drops from your shoulders.

“I think I’m starting to get why you wanted me to come with you,” you say, meeting his gaze.

He sighs in defeat. “I honestly didn’t think she would be flat-out rude like that.” He downs what’s left of his champagne, hating that there aren't more than a few sips in his glass. He puts it away on the tray of a server as she walks past, before saying, “I promise we can go home as soon as Junghyun shows up and sees that I came.”

Because he wants Junghyun to see you. Wants his brother to like you, to approve of you, because his parents never would.

But at least Junghyun can.

“We can stay longer too,” you reassure him. “I can handle the aristocracy.”

Jungkook can’t help his laugh, especially not when you look at him with that mischievous twinkle in your eyes. “The aristocracy?”

You nod wisely. “Yeah. Because obviously we’re not from the same class.”

He’s falling in love with you. Inevitably, irreversibly falling in love with you, and he’ll forever be thankful for meeting you.

“Fuck, peach.”

And just like that, you fall back in your usual playful banter, and Jungkook forgets all about his unease. It helps that you drink more, the alcohol numbing his senses slightly, and Jungkook introduces you to some of his cousins, those that he knows aren’t as judgy as his parents. Though there’s a language barrier, Jungkook translates for you, and he’s decently buzzed by the time Jungyun shows up, his fiancée on his arm.

Jungyun grins at the sight of Jungkook, immediately making his way towards where Jungkook is standing with you. Jungkook prepares to make the introductions, his heartbeat picking up in his chest as he can’t help the anxiety from flooding back in.

“You didn’t tell me you were coming,” Jungyun says as he stops in front of you, pulling Jungkook into a tight embrace.

Jungkook grins. “I thought it’d be a good surprise.”

“It sure is,” Junghyun agrees, pulling away. He glances at you, offering you a welcoming smile. “And you are?”

“My girlfriend,” Jungkook says before you can say your name. He’s proud to say it too, like you’re the best thing he’s done in his entire life. And though right now it’s false, and you’re not really his girlfriend, he really does believe you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to him. “From college.”

“Nice to meet you,” Junghyun says.

Jungkook is happy after that. Laughing lightly, smiling wide, and he loves how more comfortable you seem now. Because Junghyun and Nara, his fiancée, are welcoming, much nicer than his parents were earlier, and you enjoy their company until they excuse themselves to go greet the other guests in the room.

Jungkook smiles at you. “Do you want me to go grab a refill for you?”

You nod, gaze shining. “Yes, please.”

Jungkook obliges, walking away to do so. He has to go to the refreshment table, so it takes him almost a minute before he’s walking back towards you. He notices his mother with you, and his grip tightens on the champagne flutes he’s holding, so much so he thinks they might shatter in his hands. The second you catch sight of him you walk away from his mother, and the tears pooling in your gaze are enough to make him want to go up to his mother and punch some sense into her.

“What did she tell you?” he asks in the gentlest voice he can summon.

“Nothing,” you say, and he knows it for the lie it is as you blink some tears away.

“I’m really sorry,” he apologizes. “She’s…”

“It’s whatever,” you interrupt before he could finish his sentence. “I just want to spend time with you.”

After that, Jungkook finds he can’t leave your side. And so he stays with you, enjoys his time with you, too, because there’s nothing else he’d rather do right now. Later, after his brother does a speech, he suggests to go eat something, mostly because he’s starving and the entrées they are serving here would never be enough, but also because he wants intimacy with you, a moment just for you two to erase everything his mother said to you.

He knows she likely told you something shitty, because you seem uncomfortable, like it’s troubling your thoughts. He doesn’t want to mention it right now, though, not when you’re still at the engagement party.

You accept Jungkook’s suggestion to head to a restaurant nearby, and Jungkook looks at you. Truly looks at you - you’re an angel overlooking the city, in that blue dress he got you.

He feels small in your presence, and it’s a humbling experience.

“Then wait for me here,” he says and, unable to help himself, he leans closer to press a kiss on your forehead.

The look on your face is entirely worth it, making his heart beat just a little louder in his chest, and he walks over to his father and brother with his heart feeling full and warm, a feeling he’s not too accustomed with, but a feeling he definitely wishes to get used to.

Junghyun notices him first, and his eyes slide to you over Jungkook’s shoulder as Jungkook stops in front of his brother.

“We’re leaving,” Jungkook says, not wanting to beat around the bush when you’re waiting for him.

His brother cocks an eyebrow, chuckling. “Not her crowd?”

Jungkook widens his gaze. “What?”

Junghyun sighs, looking almost apologetic, and he leans closer to speak directly in Jungkook’s ear, low enough for only him to hear.

“Listen, Jungkook, you know she shouldn’t be here,” Junghyun says. “She’s not from our social circle, the parents still want you to marry Gabrielle, and they will literally drag Y/n to hell if that means you break up with her.” He pauses, and Jungkook feels his heart sinking in his chest, all the warmth gone and replaced with winter cold. “She’s clearly just in it for the money anyway.”

Jungkook clenches his jaw, not knowing what to answer. Not expecting Junghyun to say something like that at all, but then again, Junghyun is his mother’s son. Jungkook should have expected it. And he wants to say you didn’t even know anything about the money before yesterday, so he clearly knows you’re not in for the money, but he’s silenced.

Especially when he knows you’re not in at all anyway. You’re just a fake girlfriend he invited so that this party wouldn’t be so excruciating. Yet his heart sinks all the same as he realizes it, like the Titanic headed for the bottom of the ocean.

“Anyways,” Junghyun adds. “Have fun while it lasts.”

He pulls away, enough to look Jungkook in the eye, though Jungkook can’t find the strength to hold his brother’s gaze. Junghyun scoffs condescendingly, and then he’s walking away, their father in tow.

Jungkook hasn’t spoken to his father in years now. Ever since he decided to study at that college almost four years ago, instead of attending Harvard like Junghyun. It still hurts to be ignored by him, part of Jungkook still begging for his father’s attention despite never really having it, and Jungkook feels his nails digging into his palms as he clenches his fists.

He watches Junghyun leaving, their father leaving, while his heart bleeds. Does Junghyun know how much Jungkook wanted his approval?

He was stupid enough to believe he’d get it. Hell, he’d thought you’d charm Junghyun easily, yet it seems he was wrong.

Of course he was. He’s always fucking wrong anyway, isn’t he?

It’s hard to think about something else after that. To escape the prison that’s been built around his mind, and when he finds himself alone in the elevator with you, he does the only thing he thinks could help.

He kisses you stupid, kisses you dumb, craving to remind himself that you’re real. That you’re here with him, that what his family believes doesn’t matter. And it doesn’t. Not when you’re with him. Not when he apologizes for his family again, and you tell him that you’re happy to be here with him. It undoes him, and he decides to let it go.

To let his family go, to focus on you. You’re the center of his universe, after all.

And so, for the rest of the evening, Jungkook decides to show you how much he appreciates that you came with him to this stupid engagement party. He forces himself to smile and laugh, and after the first fifteen minutes, it comes naturally to him, like it always does when he’s with you.

He thinks, the evening can only get better from there on. And it does - the club you find yourself in later is electrifying, buzzing with an energy Jungkook loves, and he drinks with you, dances with you, kisses you like you really are his girlfriend.

Like Taehyung doesn’t exist, like it’s just you and him. And for a very selfish moment, Jungkook wishes it could be that simple.

“Fuck, JK,” you whisper when you pull away from said kiss, breathing raggedly.

“What?” Jungkook lets out.

“Kissing you like this, where anyone can see…” you trail off, glancing at the crowd. Jungkook waits for you to finish, his blood slowly heating up in his veins. “It’s turning me on.”

He’ll go insane. As a matter of fact, he thinks he’s gone insane a long time ago. But right now he wants you so bad he almost wants to fuck in the bathroom of the club, which he reckons would be disgusting.

You deserve much better than that.

“Peach,” he says, voice low and husky. He feels his dick twitching in his pants, his arousal suddenly so intense he needs to make you his. “Then I’ll bring you here more often. I’ll show everyone that you’re mine, mmh?”

He doesn’t know how he makes it to his childhood home, later. Doesn’t know how he manages to keep his hands off you the whole way from the club to the condominium, except for holding your hand. He’s relieved he can steal a languid kiss on your lips when you ride the elevator, and he’s about to explode by the time you walk into the condo.

He wants you. So damn bad, yet when you say you have to take a shower, Jungkook agrees. If only so that he can calm down, because he knows he’ll bust the second you start fucking if he doesn’t calm down first.

You head to his room, and Jungkook watches you as you watch the city skyline. You’re beautiful, so beautiful he wonders how he’ll be able to survive if he can’t make you his.

“Do you want to take a shower with me?” you ask as he’s helping you out of your coat.

His mind empties out, and it turns him on even more. “Want me to wash your hair?” he teases, flicking your nose.

You scrunch up your nose as you instinctively move your face back, and he can’t help but smile at the sight.

“Yes,” you say, smirking mischievously. “Maybe if you’re nice I’ll wash your back.”

He narrows his gaze. “I’m always nice.” And then he walks to the walk-in wardrobe, putting your coat away and then taking his off.

“Are you?” you ask as he walks back into his bedroom.

He can’t help himself. He bends down, picking you up bridal style, and he chuckles as you yelp. “Always,” he says, pecking your cheek as you wrap your arms around his neck.

“You scared the shit out of me,” you grumble as Jungkook carries you to the bathroom, setting you down on the counter.

“I’d say I’m sorry but I’m not even a little bit sorry,” he teases, and he steals a quick kiss on your lips.

He walks away, heading towards the shower so that he can turn it on. He feels your eyes on the back of his head as he does so, and he glances back, smiling softly. His heart flutters as you smile back, and it takes everything in him to focus on the task at hand.

“How hot do you want the shower to be?” he asks.

You smirk, and it nearly undoes him entirely. “What kind of hot are you talking about?”

He laughs, rolling his eyes. “Water temperature, dummy.”

“Doesn’t matter,” you say, shrugging your shoulders. “Just put it how you like it.”

He nods, and he adjusts the settings until all the shower heads are on, steam soon wafting out of the shower. He then walks back to you, toying with his piercings. He watches as you spread your legs for him, and it’s so sinful he thinks he won’t be able to make it through the shower.

Jungkook manages to wrap his arms around your middle, and he pauses as you rest your forehead on his shoulder.

“What are you doing?” you ask in a murmur.

He wonders if you can hear the beats of his heart in his chest as he picks you up, and then puts you on the floor.

“Gotta get you out of your dress, mmh?” He lightly brushes his fingers on your arms as you hold his gaze, your pupils blown wide. “Turn around, peach.”

You obey, and Jungkook starts to unzip your dress, admiring every inch of skin revealed. Once he’s done, he pushes the dress off your shoulders, holding on to it just long enough to press a soft kiss on the back of your shoulder, and then he lets go. The dress falls, pooling around your ankles, and Jungkook feels so much for you he wonders how he’ll make it out alive.

“You know,” he breathes. He eyes your perked nipples in the mirror in front of you, and he wraps his arms around you, pinching the sensitive buds. “Every time I see you, you get more beautiful.”

“JK…” you breathe out.

“It’s true,” he insists. He turns you around, his eyes getting lost in yours. “There’s something about you…”

That makes me insane, is what he was going to say. But you pull him down into a soft kiss, one that means so much more than words ever could. At least to Jungkook, and he holds your waist as you kiss, his heart soaring in his chest.

“Peach…” he sighs.

He watches you as your eyes flutter open, stark emotion swirling in their depths.

“I think you’re supposed to undress too,” you whisper.

He chuckles, and he forces himself to take a step back. “Wanna help?”

You gulp, yet don’t answer as you raise your hands between the both of you so that you can unbutton his shirt. Jungkook watches you as you do so, his eyes never once shying away from your pretty features. When you’re done, you push his shirt off and rest your hands flat on his chest, right above his racing pulse.

Jungkook takes over then, taking off his pants, and they fall to the floor to meet your dress and his shirt.

“I’m so going to take my time with you tonight,” he breathes.

He cups your cheek, thumb swiping at your skin, and you lean your head into his palm.

“Yeah?” you let out.

He tilts your head back with a finger to kiss you softly. It grows hungrier, needier, yet he pulls away. “Definitely.” His hands slowly go down your body, stopping at the hem of your panties. “Can I take this off?”

You nod. Without an ounce of hesitation Jungkook drops to his knees. He hits the floor hard, and he’d wince if he wasn’t entranced by you. Instead, he slowly takes off your underwear, trying his best to ignore how your pussy is already glistening for him.

The second he straightens, Jungkook takes off his underwear too, and he sighs in relief as his dick is freed. You eye the precum leaking from his slit, and Jungkook wonders if you can see how he’s shaking from the restraint of not taking you right now.

“Shit, Jungkook,” you breathe.

“I know,” he lets out. “I’m fucking hard for you.” He chuckles and grabs your face to force you to meet his gaze again. “From the mess I saw in your panties, I know you’re already soaked for me too.” He pecks your lips, and then your forehead. “But shower first, right?”

He wants you to say fuck it, to touch him right now. When you kiss him, he thinks you’ll succumb to the desire too, and he sucks on your bottom lip, teasing it with his teeth.

“Shower first,” you agree the second you pull away.

Jungkook hides his disappointment behind a smirk and a wink, and then he walks over to the shower, stepping in as you follow him. He closes the glass door behind you, waiting for a second as you turn to look at him.

“What?” you ask.

He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know what is going on, just that he’s drunk on you and it’s the best feeling he’s ever experienced before.

“Nothing,” he replies. “Pass me the soap?”

You nod, and then the shower passes in a blur of him washing you and you washing him. Jungkook can’t really produce any coherent thoughts, especially not as you say, “Now that you’re clean…” You smirk, and Jungkook knows he’s about to crash into his lust for you when you add, “Maybe I can actually take care of you?”

You really make him insane. Indeed, the second you drop to your knees, Jungkook goes insane, feral, so much so he thinks he’d be your slave if you asked.

“Yeah?” he lets out. “You want to suck me?”

He carefully redirects the shower heads away from your face, and then you jerk him off, once, and he reckons he might be in love with you. You swirl your tongue around his tip, the sight sinfully hot, and then you suck on it lightly.

“Fuck…” he breathes out, and then he leans a hand on the wall for support he knows he’ll clearly need. “Don’t be shy.”

You smirk before dragging your tongue on the side of his dick, from base to top, never once breaking eye contact. Especially not as you wrap your lips around him, hollowing your cheeks as you take most of him in. Your mouth is hot and wet, and Jungkook moans softly as he hits the back of your throat, cursing underneath his breath.

Your mouth is heaven. Your mouth is ecstasy in its purest form, and Jungkook is swimming in bliss when you suck harder, your eyes fluttering shut as you start bobbing your head on him, jerking him off at the same time. He instinctively holds your head, yet he lets you take the lead as you start moaning around him, the vibrations sending lightning strikes to his balls.

He clenches his jaw around his next curse, his head throwing back as you tease his frenulum with your tongue. His breathing is ragged, and he realizes he’s about to come the second you take him all the way in again, and he feels your throat closing around him.

“Peach,” he moans, quickly pulling out of your mouth so that he doesn’t come.

You lick his slit, and his balls tighten. “That feels good?”

He nods. “Way too much.” He chuckles breathlessly, then adds, “I’m going to fall in love with your mouth if you keep sucking me like that.”

He wants to pull you away, but you’re back on his dick and he feels his climax lingering nearby, though it doesn’t hit yet. His dick is rock hard, and it only gets worse when you tentatively tease his balls with one hand. He moans, not caring that the sound might be weird. All he wants is your pussy on him, now.

“Peach,” he lets out, a whiny sound he’d be embarrassed for with anyone other than you. “Stop. I want to fuck you now.”

You pull away, offering him an innocent look that is far too sinful for him, especially as you keep jerking him off quickly. “You don’t think you’d be able to go for round two?”

You’re a brat, and he fucking loves that about you. He chuckles, slightly shaking his head. “Not when I drank. And I really just want to make you feel good too.”

He pulls you up to your feet and, unable to resist, he pushes you against the wall as he ravishes a languid kiss on your lips. You moan as he pushes his tongue in your mouth, and a second later, he feels your fingers wrapping around his shaft as you jerk him off again.

He hisses, pulling away from the kiss, and then glances outside of the shower at his discarded pants. “I have condoms in there,” he says before meeting your gaze again. “But you deserve better than to be fucked in a shower, mmh?”

He means it. He wants to take you in his childhood bed, to feel your pussy wrap around his dick where the whole city lies at your feet. And even though some twisted part of him wants people to see, when you’re in his room a few moments later, he asks, “Do you want me to close the curtains?”

“You think people can see us?” you let out, glancing at the windows.

“Maybe if they’re looking up here,” he says, shrugging his shoulders. “It’s never bothered me, but I’ve never been with anyone in this bed, so…”

Your gaze widens in surprise, and it’s a comically cute expression on your features. “You’ve never fucked here?”

He realizes the confession too late, and he scratches the back of his neck, his cheeks burning. “I’ve never brought a girl here at all.”

You let out a laugh. “I’m sorry what?”

All he can do is wink at you, eyes going down your frame. They stop on your perked nipples, sitting so prettily on your chest he wants to touch them, to have them in his mouth again.

“You’re the first girl who’s ever come here,” he says. “The first I’ll fuck in this bed.” Lust clouds his thoughts again, heating up his blood and making his dick twitch. “And maybe I do want the city to see me fucking you. I want them to see how beautiful you are when you come.”

A few steps towards you is enough for him to kiss you again, savagely, his desire for you getting the best of him. He pushes you back towards the bed, up until you fall, looking up at him.

“I’ll be right back.”

He goes to retrieve the condom from his wallet, and he makes sure it’s safe to use on the way back. A moment later he’s putting it on his dick, eyes trailing to you when he’s done. He steps closer to you, kneeling between your thighs as you spread your legs wide open for him. Your pussy shines from your arousal, and he has half a thought that he wants to taste you again, though he needs you on him before.

“Already?” he teases you as he strokes himself slowly, mindlessly, at the sight of your spread thighs. “I thought you’d need a little bit of foreplay before.”

“Trust me,” you let out. “I’m already wet enough for you to rearrange my guts.”

He knows. He can see it, and it’s so hot he might burst into flame right then and there.

He moves closer to you, rubbing his dick on your folds to collect your juices. “You are.” He aims for your clit, smirking as your mouth falls open, your eyelids fluttering shut. “So you want me to fuck you? To rearrange your guts?”

“Jungkook…”

The sound of his name in that breathy tone of yours almost makes him come on the spot.

He pushes his tip in, stopping himself there. “Tell me what you want, peach.”

“I want you,” you say in a whiny whisper.

“Where?” he asks, and he pulls out to rub on your clit again.

You reach for his dick, and Jungkook grabs your hand, pinning your wrist over your head. “Be nice, mmh?”he says in your ear, and then he straightens again.

“I want you inside of me, Jungkook.”

“Yeah?” He pushes in, stopping with just the tip in again. Even then you still feel heavenly, and he knows the sex tonight will be amazing. “Like this?”

“Fuck, stop teasing,” you grumble.

Jungkook laughs, but he too is done with the teasing, needing you more than he needs oxygen. He slams home, pushing all the way in until he feels his balls hitting your ass. You moan, and he wants to give you time to adjust, wants to be gentle with you, yet he’s possessed by lust. Indeed, he grabs your waist, and he starts pounding into you almost right away, establishing a wild rhythm of skin slapping against skin.

Your walls clench around him, the friction so good on his dick he imagines just how good it would be without the condom on.

He bends down slightly, aiming for a better angle, and you moan loudly, indicating that he’s reached his goal. You say his name, and this time he bends down all the way, leaning on an elbow. He holds your shoulders in place so that his thrusts don’t push you back on the bed, and then he’s jackhammering into you again, his bed starting to bang into the wall.

You’re a whiny moaning mess underneath him, and when your nails dig into the skin of his back, Jungkook grunts. His pace doesn’t falter, not when he thinks he’s in nirvana, and though sweat is clinging to his forehead, he never stops.

“Shit, peach,” he curses, and then he pulls out. He wants to see your ass, to feel the way that his pelvis hits it whenever he pushes in, and so he spins you around, and you let out a surprised sound as he repositions himself over you.

His dick rests between your ass cheeks for a fraction of a second before he pulls away enough to align it with your entrance, and then he’s pushing in again. He doesn’t move right away, instead massaging your ass, loving the way it feels in his hands.

You have the best ass he’s ever seen. He slaps it, admiring the way the skin tinges with red, and you push your hips back into him, seeking friction.

“You want some control, mmh?” he asks, and he pulls back to give you some, watching as you start fucking yourself on him, his dick going in and out of you in a relentless race, coming out covered with your juices each time. He hits your cervix, and you roll your hips. It’s almost enough to make him come again, but he holds it in, not wanting this to end already.

“You’re so big,” you let out. “So deep.”

He curses. “And you take me so well, peach.” He slaps your ass again, massaging the sting away. “Like your pussy was made for me.”

“It was.”

Damn right it was. You’re his - no matter what happens, you have to be his in the end.

He thrusts once, so hard the bed slides on the floor, and you rock forward, though he holds you in place.

“Good girl,” he says in a low, husky voice, and then he goes back to pounding into you as you clutch the sheets.

This time, he’s determined to make you come, and he leans on one hand, wrapping his free hand under you, blindly searching for your clit. He knows he found it the second you moan unabashedly loudly, and he rubs on it in quick circles as he keeps fucking you, your pussy growing impossibly tight. A few snaps of his hips later and you’re coming around him, your walls pulsing on his dick so devilishly good he lets out a moan.

You, on the other hand, have been moaning since you started coming, and it just keeps on coming as your back arches into him, your legs twitching. He milks it out of you, slowing down to help you ride the wave, and when you finally calm down, he stops, pressing a feathersoft kiss on the side of your face.

“You came hard.”

“Holy fuck,” you curse.

He chuckles. “One day, I want to feel you come on my dick without a condom on.”

The mental image that it gives him unleashes him completely, and he rams into you, chasing his own high. It almost hits when he feels you coming again, yet for some reason, he can’t climax, his orgasm evading him. He pulls out then, flipping you on your back, and then he’s kissing you, pushing back into you.

He establishes a slower, deeper rhythm, his lips never leaving yours. Your hands get lost in his hair, and you pull on the strands just enough to hurt a little. He loves it more than he’d admit it, the pain setting his nerves alight with desire, and his balls tighten, a sign that he’s finally nearing his high.

You wrap your legs around his waist, and he hits deeper then, the drag of you on his dick so completely perfect he knows he’ll finally be able to come.

More than that, he knows he’ll never be able to fuck anyone else again.

“I’ll fall in love with your pussy,” he whispers against your lips.

He means more. He means you, in your entirety, but he’s not stupid enough to say it, not when it would probably scare you away.

He rests his forehead against yours, and your grip on him tightens.

“JK…”

“Peach,” he echoes. He kisses you again, all the while fucking you slow. Once he pulls away from the kiss, he straightens, going back to kneeling between your legs. “Now be nice and let me come, mmh?”

You smirk, your blown wide pupils finding his. “Come for me.”

Fuck.

“On it.”

He’s close. He’s so fucking close all he can do is pound his hips into yours, watching you as you moan, your nails digging in his thighs. He nears his high like the crescendo of a song, and then he explodes, his motions growing sloppy as his dick twitches and twitches. He releases his load in the condom the second he pushes deep inside of you and he stills there, cursing and grunting as he comes.

He doesn’t move for a while, just enjoying the feeling of your pussy around him, and then he pulls out, lying next to you. You’re visibly fucked out, and he’s proud of himself for it - he hopes no one’s ever fucked you like he fucks you.

His hand rests on your stomach, and you slowly regain your breath. Jungkook feels the need to clean himself - the feeling of his dick swimming in his cum growing uncomfortable - and so he kisses the side of your face, going to the bathroom. He quickly cleans up, needing to be back with you as soon as he can. He walks back to the bedroom with a wet washcloth, and he lets you clean yourself as he looks outside, admiring the way the rain on the windows distort the lights of the city.

You go to the bathroom, and Jungkook settles in bed as he waits for you to come back.

“Come here,” he says as he opens his arms for you to come cuddle.

You do so, pushing one leg between his as you wrap an arm around his waist. He feels content, perfectly so, his heart so full and warm in his chest he feels like maybe he’s born again. Maybe he didn’t live before you, and you blew life into his lungs, into his heart and soul.

He’s falling hard. So hard, and though he should be scared, he finds he isn’t, not when he’s falling for you.

There’s nothing scary about falling in love with you.

Read chapter eight here!

☆☆☆☆☆

soooo how did you guys like it?? jk is so in love with her, help :')

#chasing cars ch 8.5 #jungkook smut #jungkook angst #jungkook fluff #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook fic #jungkook #jjk smut #jjk angst #jjk fluff #jjk x you #jjk x reader #jjk fic #jjk #jeon jungkook #btswritersclub #chasing cars #chasing cars series

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narrycherries · 2 months

Text

call it what you want✨pt.4

Things have changed, and it’s a lot harder to deal with than you anticipated..

masterlist

word count: 5.4k

warnings/tags: harry x reader, secret relationship, friends to lovers, fluff

It had been a couple of weeks since your last intimate encounter with Harry. That also meant that you really hadn’t be able to see him privately since then. You saw each other twice within the two and a half weeks, and that was very odd for you. Harry had a lot of stuff going on with his classes and his internship, while you had a lot going on with your family. You had to take a weekend trip with your parents to visit some family - they pressured you into going, so that sucked up one of your opportunities to see him.

Tonight was finally the time you got to see him for more than half an hour, except like the other two times, it wasn’t private. Your friend group was celebrating someone’s birthday, so there were plans for a dinner at a restaurant and then possibly something after. You weren’t sure if you’d attend the after dinner plans, because you were hoping that Harry would suggest you and him ditch everyone.

You arrived at the restaurant with your friend, Stephanie, who picked you up from your apartment. You followed her inside the restaurant and towards the back where you had been told your table was. Your friends were gathered around a long table, which looked a little too small for everyone, but it was nothing they weren’t used to. It’s hard to accommodate this many people. Nobody ever complained.

One side of the table was made of chairs, while the other was a long bench against the back wall of the restaurant. You gulped gently as you saw Harry was sitting on the outside of the booth, a space between him and your brother, of all people. He was busy looking down at his phone, texting you actually, when you walked up to the table. You were quiet as you appeared next to him. His phone screen was sort of dimmed, but you could see your name and the text he was waiting for you to reply to.

You cleared your throat and tapped his shoulder. He jumped, looking up expecting to see a stranger. As soon as he realized it was you, he laughed and went to stand up. You backed up a little, but he didn’t let you get far. He put his arms around you, giving you a tight squeeze. You did the same, but only allowing one arm to go around his torso. You didn’t want to look too affectionate in front of everyone, especially your own brother.

“Haven’t seen you in forever.” He mumbled against your ear before pulling away.

“Yeah, you’ve been neglecting me.” You laughed slightly, making him grin.

“You’re the one who keeps coming up with plans.”

“Things I can’t get out of.”

Harry decided to let you win the little spat. He sat down and slid over towards Austin, who was not even paying attention to your arrival. That was a relief, though. The less he watched or noticed, the more you could get away with.

“Saved you a seat.” He patted the space next to him, waiting for you to join.

You smiled sweetly and sat down on the leather booth bench. It was comfortable, but definitely a little squished. You were practically hanging off the edge.

“Can you scoot over a bit?” You asked him, glancing down at your thigh spilling over the side of the bench.

“Not really.” He sighed back, but he leaned a bit closer to you and lowered his voice. “Get as close to me as you can, peach.”

“I can’t get any closer.” You whispered back, a little bit frustrated with the arrangment.

Harry glanced towards Austin and your group of friends, who were not paying you any mind. He swatted the long, thick table cloth that was draped over the table and did something you didn’t expect. Your eyes went wide as he grabbed your thigh and hoisted your leg over his. He pulled the table cloth back, which perfectly disguised your leg. It gave you more room on the booth, which you were grateful for.

“That better?” He asked with a smirk.

“A little.”

Harry’s name got called, so you were now put on the back burner as he turned his head to answer. You scoped out your surroundings while you had the chance. Stephanie had sat in the chair left open at the other end of the table. There was an empty space in front of you but the chair was missing, which was nice because you didn’t like people watching you as you ate. The person in front of Harry wouldn’t be paying you any attention either. Jessie was a good friend of yours, but she was fairly new to the group. She was dating one of the guys and this was her first time at a big outing. Her eyes seemed to be fixed on the other end of the table. Of course, your brother was next to Harry and he posed the biggest threat.

You huffed to yourself as your eyes fell to the utensils rolled up in a napkin in front of you. A month ago, you wouldn’t have thought twice about who you were sitting in front of or who was by Harry. Things have changed, despite how many times Harry’s said nothing would.. It was different. You weren't going to show some crazy public affection or anything, definitely not kiss him in front of your friends, but you were becoming paranoid of someone watching. What if they caught on to the way Harry looks at you now or how close you desire to be to him? What if they notice any little thing that’s out of place?

You opted to distract yourself as Harry was still lost in conversation. You pulled your phone from your purse and decided to read the text Harry had sent that you missed while coming into the restaurant.

From Harry: are you close yet? I got you a seat next to me.. cant wait to see you been too long

You smiled at his sweet words and the gesture of saving you a seat, that was always something he did for you and you greatly appreciated it. While you enjoyed everyone’s company, you preferred to be next to him or at least across from him. Texting seemed to be a good idea, it would be more incognito and secretive for you both. You started to type a message to him, hoping he would hear his phone ding or feel it vibrate in his pocket.

To Harry: thank you for saving me a seat xx

To your surprise, he felt his phone vibrate under his leg. He picked it up and read the message on the screen, a smile shaping to his lips. You were typing another one, so you didn’t get to catch his smile.

To Harry: by the way.. my leg is starting to hurt.. can’t sit like this :/

His brows furrowed as he read the second message. He tried to think of something, but he couldn’t come up with anything. Nothing made sense and frankly there was nothing he could do it to fix the situation.

From Harry: I’m sorry peach.. i should’ve got us chairs

From Harry: you look beautiful.. is this a new dress

You giggled a little at his words just as your leg fell from his. He hated that you couldn’t be comfortable, but at least you were next to him and not across the table. Now that everyone was here, the waiter returned to the table to start drink orders. You weren’t going to stop texting Harry, though.

To Harry: It’s okay I’ll be fine.. and yes, i got this last weekend. Does it look okay?

Harry nudged you with his elbow to get your attention. You lifted your head and realized the waiter was there to get you drink order. Harry got a beer, which you thought was nasty, but you just asked for a water. Once the guy walked off, you looked back down to your screen.

From Harry: the dress looks perfect on you. Now, talk to me in person for a bit.. please

You took a deep breath, but figured you could do as he asked. You sat your phone down on the table and turned your head towards him. He was looking your way, of course, and gave you a smile.

“Are you going to the thing after we eat?” You asked curiously.

He shrugged. “I dunno. Are you going?”

You licked your lips and let your eyes fall down to his shoulder. “I.. was gonna see if you wanted to.. just go home or something.”

His lips shaped to a smile. “We can do that. My place or yours?”

You thought for a moment about how much you liked being at his place, but then you remembered a key thing made everything a little easier. “We can go to mine. No roommate for the weekend.”

“We gon’ throw a rager?”

You rolled your eyes and nudged his side with your elbow. “Shut up.”

Just as he was about to say something, someone called his name again. He gave you a frown before turning his head towards the other end of the table. Even though you didn’t discuss with him the importance of flying under the radar, he seemed to be on the same page as you. The less he seems invested in you, the less likely they’d be to say something or notice something. A con of that? Well, you weren’t getting much of his attention..

You picked up one of the menus and began to read over it, trying to determine what you wanted. You never liked to pig out in front of Harry, whether was at a restaurant or in your own home. It just seemed unappealing to you. But you were starving, and you loved the food here.

“Hey, Harry.” You said at a volume he’d be able to hear over everyone else.

His head turned towards you. “Yeah?”

“What are you getting?”

He leaned into you so he could peek at the menu. “Probably a pizza. What about you?”

You gulped gently, a lie was sitting on your tongue ready to be told. “Um, I dunno. M’not really hungry.. for like a whole plate.”

“I’ll get a large pizza.. you can eat with me, if you want.”

You thought for a moment, but then pursed your lips. “You get mushrooms.. I don’t like mushrooms.”

He chuckled, then moved his hand underneath the table cloth. You were beginning to get a little anxious, but when his heavy hand sat down on your thigh, you let out a sigh of relief. He didn’t realize how much he helped you, but you sure did appreciate it.

“I won’t get any mushrooms.. we can order it how you like it.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. I’ll buy it, you order it how you want.”

You let out a huff. “We can split it.”

“I will buy it.” He said with a shrug, knowing that he would win if a disagreement came about anyway.

You didn’t feel like arguing with him over this, even if it did mean his attention would be fixed on you. You decided to let it go and just decide what kind of pizza you wanted to get. You knew the things Harry liked, which is all the things you liked - the issue was always you being picky with the things he liked.

“Can you-“ You stopped your sentence when you looked his way and realized he was talking to one of your friends again.

Don’t be needy, don’t be clingy. You had to remind yourself of that over and over in your head. Don’t make it obvious, don’t draw any attention to yourself. You swallowed harshly and let your eyes fall to your lap. Harry had moved his hand by now, which was upsetting you.

The light purple fabric of your dress caught your attention. When you bought the dress, you thought maybe the tiny flowers all over it made you seem childish. But it was so pretty and the shade of purple was so gentle and light, you adored it. Part of you wondered which aspect of the dress was Harry’s favorite. Did he like the flowers or was he more a fan of the color? You wanted to ask him, you usually do ask him things like that, but he was distracted.. You were unsure of how long you sat there in your own personal silence, ignoring the world around you.

You weren’t really paying attention to the conversation but when Harry spoke, you immediately began to listen to what he said.

“I don’t think I’ll be able to. I’ve got a shit ton of work to do tonight.”

“Oh, c’mon, just a couple hours, couple drinks.” Your brother was encouraging him to go to a bar with them after dinner to further celebrate.

“I would if I had time, but I just can’t this weekend.”

You knew that was a lie. Harry was going to follow you when the dinner was over, whether you wanted to go home or go get ice cream or for a drive - whatever it was, he was with you. Now, telling everyone else that would be a little suspicious. They knew you spent extra time together, you were super close to each other. But, that didn’t really mean they never once thought something was going on. The goal was to keep things as a wonder and not as a suspicion.

Before you had the chance to talk to Harry about what you wanted to eat, the waiter returned and began taking orders. He started at the other end of the table, so you had time to tell Harry. But the issue was, he was talking to your brother again.

“Harry.” You mumbled quietly, hoping he’d hear you since the noise level had gone down. He didn’t.

You tried again, a bit louder. “Harry.”

He was still fixated on whatever he was saying to Austin. You huffed and finally said it at a normal level.

“Harry.”

“Yeah?” He finally answered, his eyes meeting yours with a little bit of worry. You sounded a little nervous when you spoke.

“Can you order it?” You nodded towards the waiter, not sure if Harry had even noticed him return.

“What do you want on it, love?” His brows furrowed slightly as he waited for your answer.

“Pepperoni.. and extra cheese.” You mumbled back, a little hesitant to say anything.

He smiled. “Should’ve known that, hm? Your favorite.”

“Are you.. going to order it?” You were fumbling with your fingers in your lap as you tried to stay calm and patient.

“Yeah, peach. I know you don��t like ordering.”

You rolled your eyes and let your head lower. You felt a wave of heat rolling over your cheeks as the waiter made it to your end of the table and Harry told him what you wanted. It wasn’t a problem that he ordered for you, but it felt embarassing. You usually ate out with him alone, not with other people, so it was such a normal thing for him to order for you. It felt odd to ask him, especially since your brother was so close. If you were being with honest with yourself, your anxiety was unusually through the roof tonight. Normally, you weren’t this worried.

After the waiter double checked everyone’s order and walked away from the table, the conversations picked back up and Harry, once again, turned his attention away from you. It made your heart sink. It felt like you didn’t even exist. You were usually upbeat and quick to make a joke or start a conversation. But tonight was different. You didn't want to be with your friends, you wanted to be with Harry. And that desire was much stronger than anything else you ever experienced. You wanted him all to yourself, and this night felt like torture.

As Harry’s deep laugh rumbled next to you, you were starting to get jealous more than you had been already.. You didn’t want him to laugh at anyone else’s words, you didn’t want him to respond to anyone else’s questions, you didn’t want his eyes on anyone else’s as he talked or listened to someone, you didn’t want him focusing on anything or anyone but you..

Without thinking twice, you clutched your purse and stood up from the booth. You swiftly walked away without catching anyone’s eye, or so you thought. You weaved your way through the restaurant, dodging waiters and people walking to their seats as you tried to get to the restroom area quickly. Thankfully, you were familiar with this restaurant and kenw exactly where to go. It was on the other side of the building, which meant you had to pass by a lot of people - most of whom never paid you a glance. It was nerve wracking and made your heart flutter. You wanted to disappear.

It felt like a century had passed by the time you reached the door to the restroom. You were thankful it was just one toilet and no stalls. The last thing you wanted was to be surrounded by people. You turned the lock and sat your purse on the counter. Of course, you weren’t really that surprised when you looked down at your phone screen to check the time - hoping this dinner party would end quickly - and saw a text from Harry.

You didn’t know, but the moment you jumped up, everyone noticed and began to ask about you. Your brother said he knew you weren’t feeling well earlier in the week, so that could be what was wrong. Harry mentioned, even though it was a lie, that you said you were feeling off. He didn’t want anyone to question it too much. They did talk about how quiet you had been, but Harry assured them that you were okay with them not making a big deal out of it.

From Harry: is everything okay peach? Ran off without saying anything..

You huffed at his message, only because it seemed so obvious to you but not to him. Does he not realize how much he had ignored you this whole time? Maybe he didn’t care, maybe you were just being a cry baby about it and it was all stupid. Harry doens’t belong to you, he isn’t yours.. He has no obligation to speak to you.. You began to overthink and worry about everything now.

To Harry: just going to the restroom..

Of course, Harry was not stupid and he knew you entirely too well. If you just wanted to use the restroom, you would have told him or excused yourself. You practically ran from the table like someone was chasing you.

From Harry: :/ are you okay?

To Harry: if i said no would you believe me…

From Harry: what’s the matter lovey? Are you uncomfortable on the bench? I can find you a chair

To Harry: no.. I’m fine

From Harry: clearly you're not fine.. please tell me what’s wrong.

His message made your eyes start to water. You waved your hand in front of them quickly, trying to prevent any tears from actually forming or spilling from your eyes. You couldn’t cry right now. This wasn’t the place for a breakdown. Despite not wanting to get emotional, you knew you had to be honest to him. These past few weeks have proven to you that if you’re honest with him, then he’d understand and things would go much better. Like with the kissing, you were honest about what you wanted and he agreed - even though it might have been hard to understand for you both.

To Harry: i miss you. That’s what’s wrong.

From Harry: darling I’ve been right beside you this whole time..

You felt like screaming now. Crying didn’t seem to be a good enough option. Why wasn’t he understanding you? It had been days since you last seen him, and you wanted nothing more than to just talk to him and have his attention for a while. Sure, you were going to have him all to yourself after dinner, but that meant waiting for a long time.. You just needed him..

To Harry: that’s not what i mean.

When Harry didn’t respond right away like he had consistently been doing the whole time, you started to feel your stomach churn. What if you upset him by being so annoying? You pressed your back against the door and closed your eyes tight. The last thing you needed to do was start to cry and ruin your makeup. Having smudged mascara and red eyes would definitely show that you were upset. You took a few deep breathes, pushing them out slowly.

Thoughts of being a brat were starting to circle your mind. Austin always likes to say that you nag on and on until you get your way with your parents and it’s annoying. Maybe you’re doing that same exact thing with Harry and he’s had enough? The options seemed to be endless at this point.

There were a few knocks on the door all of a sudden, which made you jump. You realized you weren’t locked away in your bedroom but in a public space. You grabbed your purse from the counter and quickly turned the lock, pulling the door open.

“Sorry-“ You paused as you looked up and seen a familiar face - not a stranger waiting for the bathroom.

“Hey.” Harry’s voice made your stomach erupt with butterflies. “Can we talk?”

“I don’t wanna.” You muttered out, tearing your eyes from his so you would be less tempted to cry.

Harry gently grabbed your waist on either side and guided you back into the bathroom. You didn’t protest, only because you were scared of crying and ruining everything for yourself. He let you go once you were back in the bathroom, and he turned the lock before facing you again.

“Tell me what’s going on.” He said in a calm, smooth voice.

You shook your head, but opted to grab onto his waist. You twisted your fingers in his shirt and pulled yourself against his chest. You needed to be close to him more than anything right now.

He licked his lips and embraced you with both arms, hugging you tight like he hadn’t seen you in years - and it felt that way. “I miss you, too, peach. A whole bunch.”

Your lip was quivering, but you were trying so hard to control it. “M’sorry.”

“Hey, hey, why are you saying sorry?” He asked with a sigh.

“Cause.. I’m a big cry baby.”

He gave you a gentle chuckle and pulled back so he could see your face. Of course, you were trying to avoid him. He softly touched your chin with his knuckle and tilted your head back. There was a sad look on your face - a pout on your lips and a sadness in your eyes - that didn’t sit right with him.

“You’re not a cry baby.” He assured you with a quick peck to your forehead. “Now, tell me.. what’s going on?”

This was your chance to actually speak to him for more than a minute at a time, so you wanted to just let it all out. Taking advtange of this moment might make things worse, or it could be extremely helpful. Either way, you were about to find out.

“I hate being with everyone.” Your fist relaxed on his side so that your hand could shape against his body. He was glad to feel your warmth through his shirt now. “I just wanna talk to you and.. and get to see you but.. everyone always wants to talk to you and.. and it’s not fair.”

He lifted his brows a little. “There’s no need to be jealous, honeybun. Y’know that you’re my favorite person, yeah? We can talk all night if you want.”

You shook your head. “You keep.. keep ignoring me and talking to everyone else.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize I was ignoring you.”

“I was talking.. and they interrupted me.” You whined back, trying to get your point to be evident to him.

“I’m sorry. I.. I guess I’m just used to.. how we used to be.”

That choice of words made your heart stop and your eyes widen. You feared this would come up. Your decision to ask him to kiss you had really ruined everything.

“I.. I’m sorry. I.. I shouldn’t have ever.. did anything with you. Now we can’t even.. have fucking dinner-“

“Hey, shh, don’t say that, darling. That’s not what I meant.”

You let his body go and stepped back. “You don’t have to say it, Harry. We can’t even.. sit at a damn restaurant anymore. Things are too different.”

Harry was not on the same page as you, and he had to get that across to you somehow without overwhelming you. He stayed where he was though, in attempt to not make things worse.

“Listen to me, sweetheart.” He said with a slightly stern voice, trying to get your attention.

You huffed, crossing your arms over your chest. “I want to leave. I have to go home.”

“No, you’re not leaving right now.” He threw that staying in his spot idea out the window and closed the space you shared.

His big, heavy hands grabbed either side of your waist and he pulled you closer. Your head naturally leaned back to look at him, even though you didn’t want to.

“What I meant was.. this is the first time we’ve been with everyone since.. the kissing and all that.. We’ve always been a lot different in private, yeah? Before everything happened. We’ve always been touchy, haven't we?”

He was waiting for you to reply, and when you nodded to him, he took that as you staying on track with what he was saying.

“I’ve always tried to tone things down in front of people.. just so they don’t bug us about it.” He said with a slight frown, which made you feel upset - you wanted to comfort him just as much as he wanted to comfort you. “And m’just trying to do that now.. If you wanted to go out there and make out in front of everyone then I’d gladly do that, but I know you don’t.. and that’s okay. We don’t have to. I’m.. just trying to keep everything the same for their eyes.”

You soaked in his words and stayed quiet for a few moments, not sure if he was finished or not. He lifted one hand up to your jaw and carefully cradled your head in his palm. You wanted to cry, but you hated it when you did that in front of him. You had to be strong and understand what was happening right now, instead of overreacting and losing your control.

“I get that.. I do.. and thank you for.. for trying but.. it still sucks that you’re not.. paying attention to me.”

Harry’s heart was breaking for you. He could tell you wanted to burst into tears, and it was obvious you were bothered by all of this. He took a deep breath and leaned down to your face. He pressed a soft kiss to your lips, which were still in a pout and swollen from how hard you had been biting them since you arrived at the restaurant.

“I didn’t know that you wanted me to do that much. I’m sorry, I should’ve asked.” His voice was in a whisper as he spoke against your cheek.

“Just.. at least just talk to me.. like in a normal way. I don’t like.. being ignored.” You said quietly, still surprised that you hadn’t began to cry yet.

He smiled, then tilted your head back. “I will. I’m really sorry, okay? I’ll make it up to you later.”

You finally let out a little laugh, and it gave him some relief. He really thought he had messed up big time. He figured you were on the same page as him when the night started, but he realized things had really changed.. It wasn’t just cuddling and staying the night with each other that you were having to cover up or try to downplay anymore.. it was much more than that.

“How?”

He chuckled, glad to see the sparkle had returned to your eyes. “However you want, peach.”

You brought your hand up to his wrist and coiled it around him, thinking about how you held onto it the night he was touching you. He licked his lips again, his tongue was enticing you but making out in a bathroom wasn’t on your bucket list as of now..

“I.. I think I have an idea.”

Harry’s lips shaped to a smirk. “I’m sure you do.”

To avoid any suspicion, Harry returned to the table before you did. Stephanie had texted you, asking if you were okay, and you told her you were just feeling a little uneasy. Nobody questioned it once you returned to the table and sat down beside Harry, who was glad you were finally back next to him.

A conversation was going on between everyone, except for you because you chose to occupy yourself with your phone. You were mindlessly scrolling just to avoid having to talk to anyone. Despite lying about feeling sick, you actually didn’t feel completely okay. You weren't physically sick, but you were tired and just ready to leave.

After a few minutes of talking, Harry decided to withdraw himself from the conversation and turn his attention towards you. It was a bit easier now since you had admitted to not feeling well to everyone else. They would just assume he’s checking on you, and pay you little to no attention at all.

“What are our plans for after dinner?” Harry kept his voice down low as he gently hit his hand against your thigh.

“I dunno.” You shrugged. “I kinda just want to go home.”

He frowned slightly. “No ice cream? No movie? Nothing?”

You thought for a moment, then sighed. “A movie would be nice but I don’t know what’s playing.”

“What about a walk at the park? The sky’s clear.. we could look at the stars.” Even though you enjoyed doing that, you weren’t thrilled by it tonight.

“I.. I just wanna go home, Harry.. I wanna.. be somewhere.. private.” You muttered the word as quietly has you could manage.

“Alright, whatever you want to do, peach.”

You sighed softly. “Do you still wanna come over?”

He smiled. “Of course.”

Of course that made your heart flutter. You glanced down at your hands as they laid perfectly on your lap. “Can you stay the weekend?”

“Yeah, I can.”

You noticed he was leaning on you a bit, but it wasn’t an issue. You quite liked being close to him, and right now you couldn’t care less about what anyone else thought or might be assuming. You just wanted to be with him.

“Okay. We can plan something to do tomorrow night.”

He smiled, a few things popped into his mind but he figured he’d save them for a later conversation. “Sounds good.”

Austin hit Harry on the arm to get his attention. He gave you a quick sigh before shifting his attention from you. It was disappointing, but you knew it had to happen. Things were already hard to navigate in front of other people, you didn’t need to make it any worse by getting so worked up again and risk blowing your cover.

You knew that Harry would never tell anyone about what he did to you the other night, or about the kissing, but something in side of you just kept screaming about it. It was a fear that you never imagined you’d have. Just as you were about to take your phone out to distract yourself, Harry’s hand moved under the table and onto your lap. He had it laying palm up, allowing you to take it and do whatever you wanted.

A smile grew on your lips as you looked down at his fingers. They were relaxed against your palm as you cradled his big hand in yours. You thought about the feelings those fingers gave you that night - thought about how good it felt to feel them rub against you. For once the entire time, you felt that burst of energy he always created - you felt special.

#harry styles #harry #harry styles smut #harry styles x reader #harry styles blurbs #harry styles stuff #harry styles fanfiction #one direction #harry smut #friends to lovers #call it what you want #harrysmut #harry styles mature #harry styles fluff

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yourlocalzombiewriter · 2 days

Note

Okay May I request Lego monkey kid Wukong and Macaque with minor deity Reader? Reader lives in a garden and was isolated for so long she genuinely forgot what the outside world was like at times. (Cause humans were getting greedy and they been emotionally and physically hurt at times). Reader values connect so deeply and the garden is hidden by a talisman and guarded by her pet aka giant monster. Headcanons pls and apologies if it too much. I love your work. You can do Black myth Wukong too if you want

Oh, but love grows where my Rosemary goes,

And nobody knows like me.

(Lego Monkie Kid head-canons,

Black myth: Wukong head-canons.)

Author note: hello!, thank you so much for your request!, I hope you enjoy. Thank you for requesting!. ♡´･ᴗ･`♡

Just to reiterate, English isn’t exactly my first language so I apologize for any spelling or grammar mistakes.

★ ✵ ★

Lego Monkie Kid:

☀︎Wukong☀︎︎

Loves visiting frequently!, especially when your peaches are in season if your garden homes them.

This is a little head-canon of mine, but he knows how to make flower crowns. He use to make many when he was younger for the other young monkeys.

He always picks the ones he deems prettiest for you.

Depending on if he met you when he was younger (during Journey to the west) or older (during the time of him mentoring MK), he use to love playing hide and seek in the lush trees and bushes. But now older, he loves taking naps under the shade the beautiful trees provide.

Shoo’s off any demons or humans wondering too close to your garden for his liking. Especially after hearing what happened in the past for you to disconnect yourself from the outside.

He knows you have a guard animal but he still does his part as a boyfriend, after all he doesn’t want you to go through unnecessary stress.

Loves your guard animal!, though, the few first times of visiting your garden he either had to trick it or you had order them to stand down.

Once him and your guard animal are more acquainted he loves messing around with them, or feeding them treats. He knows their supposed to be scary and all but he just can’t help it!. Also does that thing where one person is the owner and the other isn’t and sees who the animal chooses first.

If you ever do wish to go outside, he’ll be right there to help you, and lead you to wherever you desire to go.

He loves watching you maintain the garden, he usually hangs up on a tree munching away at whatever fruit is nearest as he watches you water the flowers and crops with such care.

Brings you gifts from the outside as frequently as he can, and if your interested he’ll catch you up on the latest news.

Sometimes he manages to bring two steaming bowls of noodles from pigsy’s to you.

He loves admiring you as you relax on the soft grass, and the sun bathing you softly with its light, you look un-real to him.

Sometimes, when it’s a particularly hard day, he enjoys hiding away in your garden as well. Cuddling up next to you for comfort as you both lounge around the garden.

He doesn’t mind quite moment’s, when it’s so silent you can hear the grass shift with the soft wind, or hear the leaves rattle. How could he?, with you sitting there looking off so peacefully, and him looking at you so happily.

You are his version of your garden, a safe place, and home that no one can intrude upon.

★ ✧ ★

☾Macaque☾

He teleports over frequently when he feel’s overwhelmed with the noise of the outside world.

Because all he can hear is your sweet voice and the comforting sounds of the nature your garden nurtures.

He loves sneaking up behind you from the shadows of the trees. He loves the reactions he gets from it!.

Keeps his distance from your guard animal, but warms up to it eventually!.

Loves visiting at night and seeing the moon light bathe the place with its soft light.

He adore the tranquility of it all, it feels like time slows when he’s there with you. His fast paced days now coming to a slow stop when he’s laying in your arms and watching the flowers dance and sway side to side from the soft blow of wind.

Uses his shadow clones to help around the place if you ever need extra hands.

Has memorized every plant and flower you grow in your garden, but doesn’t stop you from spilling facts about them.

Mk sometimes wonder where he lounge around at when he’s not with the group. Of course, a good guess is his dojang (I believe that is what his home is called apologizes if it’s not!) but in reality he’s resting with you on flower beds.

Never mentions your garden to the crew unless you give the go ahead, but even then he tip toes over the subject, knowing your past experiences.

Puts on shadow plays for you on a particularly uneventful day. He likes seeing the smile that graces your face everytime.

His ears always picks up someone approaching your garden before your guard animal does so he’s quick to alert them.

He adores you, he truly does believe that your as beautiful as your garden, the center piece. He doesn’t understand the good karma he has received to meet you but he’s so greatful.

☀︎ ☁︎ ☀︎︎

Black myth: wukong

Bajie probably stumbled upon your guard animal and Wukong had to jump in.

Paranoid of leading enemy’s to your garden, not that he isn’t assured in himself that he can beat it. But he’d rather you not be stressed out or worry about it.

This doesn’t stop him form pranking you from time to time by transforming to a bug and buzzing around annoyingly. Prepare to have your patients tested by him.

If you have a big enough tree, he probably climbs and chills out in the branches.

Sometimes pulls you up with him and lets you rest and balance on him. He counts this as rest and bonding time.

Absentmindedly picks a flower and places it in your hair in the middle of a conversation.

On cold months, depending on how your garden on works, he either brings the finest cloths and blankets to you. Or if your garden is magically frozen in a spring or summer season then he spends the whole winter season with you, so good luck with that.

Although not one to be picky with fruits, he just prefers the one from your garden the most. To him they taste richer, and juicer.

When a certain fruit is growing on a tree and it’s time for them to be picked, he always picks you up and lets you rest on his shoulder so you can reach them easier. Could he just pick them himself?, yes, but how could he pass an opportunity to show his strength to you.

If you ever wish to venture out of your garden, he’d greatly recommend his mountain as its already protected from demons. He’d happily feel you cling onto him as he flys you over in his nimbus cloud.

On his way to visit your garden sometimes he does see people or demons lingering too close for his comfort. He easily scares them or defeats them before your guard animal encounters them.

Speaking of your guard animal, he’d be pretty neutral about it, he’s glad that he can keep some sort of peace of mind when he’s away from you knowing your under protection. But at the same time not very interested in it. Maybe annoys it from here to there when it’s off duty but aside from that let’s it do it’s job, knowing how important it is.

Brings you some souvenirs, ranging from gold incrusted bracelets and necklaces. To flower’s you may not have in your garden that he thinks you’d enjoy!.

You have on multiple occasions, almost ran out of peaches due to his rapid consumption of them. It’s almost concerning watching him be able to stomach all of them in one sitting.

He likes the peacefulness you and your garden bring him, like as if nothing was wrong, the world is silent and inhabited by only you two. He gets agitated when this peace is disturbed by intruding strangers. And although he has learnt the virtue of patience’s, he can’t help but take offense on your behalf for the intrusion. He likes the thought of you and your garden being only something he gets to indulge in. Your to much of a lovely sight for mere demons and humans to admire.

❁ ☀︎︎ ❁

Thank you so much for the request!, i hope you enjoyed it!.

( ⸝⸝•ᴗ•⸝⸝ )੭⁾⁾

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vixstarria · 11 months

Text

Another gift

This is a continuation of my headcanon of Astarion’s romance with bard Tav. I can’t remember the actual chronology of cutscenes, but let’s assume this takes place after you’ve started a sexual relationship with Astarion and are beginning to grow closer. I was going to take it in a different direction initially, but these things have a mind of their own once they get going.

If you like it, check out my first fic. I do plan on writing more!

P.S. I may have taken some liberties with the game background story and DnD lore and magic system here – if it doesn’t really match up or make sense – sorry! Also I’m still only on Act 2.

Tav tries to comfort or distract a brooding Astarion.

Astarion x Reader, Astarion x Tav, Astarion x Bard Tav

Comfort, fluff, budding love, humour, angst, banter, no spoilers, non-explicit

Approximately 2,000 words.

AO3

Astarion was standing outside his tent with his back to the camp, staring into a silver mirror. The man had either lost his vampiric condition, lost his mind, or was simply brooding.

“Looking at something?” he asked absent-mindedly, as you approached.

Brooding. Definitely brooding.

“Looking for something.”

“Oh?” He turned towards you. “Just my company, or is there something else I can offer you?”

“I'm the one making an offering, actually. I thought I’d bring you a little snack”

Astarion grinned and beckoned you inside his tent.

Inside, aside from his bedroll, was a trunk with a large mirror opposite, a lit lantern and a scattering of weapons, equipment and books. You assumed your usual position, cross-legged on the bedroll, and offered him your wrist. This didn’t take long. Just a little pick me up.

He finished, planting a light kiss on your wrist, reached for his amulet and whispered an incantation to heal the wound. He kept hold of your hand, lacing his fingers through yours.

“Do you have any idea how much I appreciate that you don’t sexualise this?”

“I haven’t thought about it... Really?”

“Well imagine that any time you went to, say, take a bite of a turkey leg, there was someone staring, groping themselves and wagging their tongue at you. When you’re just trying to perform basic functions to stay alive.”

“Sweetheart, that’s an average evening at the pub for me, when I perform. With or without me biting on anything. ...But I see what you mean”. You contemplated what he just said in a brief silence. “I can't believe you just compared me to a turkey leg.”

“You’re more of a ripe, juicy peach” he said. You found yourself oddly pleased to be compared to fruit rather than poultry.

You glanced at the large mirror standing on the floor of the tent.

“You own an awful lot of mirrors for a vampire. Why do you even keep this here?”

“That? Oh, it reflects light... makes the tent appear more spacious... prevents anyone from sneaking up on me. ...Unless they’re another vampire.” Astarion said contemplatively. “And I figured, I woke up once with a tadpole in my brain that let me walk in the sun again – who's to say I won’t catch another parasite tomorrow that might cure my vampirism entirely?”

“Do you miss it? Seeing your own face?”

“Preening in the looking glass? Petty vanity? Of course I miss it. I’ve never even seen this face. Not since it grew fangs and my eyes turned red. My face is just some dark shape in my past. Another thing I’ve lost. I wouldn’t even recognise myself anymore. It’s been two hundred years.”

“But...” you fumbled, trying to wrap your mind around that. “You could have found a street artist to sketch you since then.”

“In the middle of the night?”

“Or commissioned a portraitist, those artistic types would accommodate you any time of day or night”

“Commissioned a - …I’m sorry, at what point did I give you the impression that Cazador paid us an allowance..?” Astarion was growing agitated. “And before you say I could have stolen – remember, everything I had, anything I acquired by any means, the clothes on my back, my body, my will – it all belonged to the master.” He paused, regaining control of his demeanour. “There was no point in having any possessions, it would all be the bastard’s in the end. I didn’t want to give him any more than I absolutely had to.”

You kicked yourself in the ass mentally.

“Well how’s this... We get to Baldur’s Gale. We exterminate Cazador and take over his palace. Then we rip out whatever he’s got as décor, commission all the best artists, and hang paintings of you on every wall. There will be nothing but portraits of Astarion everywhere.” Astarion’s eyes softened as he watched you gesticulating and getting carried away by your own imagination. “Astarion in shining armour. Astarion on a horse. Astarion on silk bedsheets, half-covered in rose petals. Pirate Astarion. Astarion stroking a cat. Historic events, but every single person depicted is Astarion. Oh! And in the main banquet hall, there will be an enormous mural of you, fully naked, lounging on a divan and being fed grapes by a cadre of nymphs.”

“With a fig leaf covering my unmentionables?”

“A comically large fig leaf. Or better yet, no fig leaf, just your full unmentionable glory looming over the dining table” You paused, as if sobering up after being lost in your grand vision, and added in a more serious tone: “We can commission busts and statues, too. Get a mold of your face for a hyper-realistic one.”

“We” he whispered, as if to himself, with a scornful chuckle.

“Oh? Do you have someone else in Baldur’s Gate you’d rather spend time with?” You realised how callous that might have come across as soon as the words were out, and cringed inwardly.

“...No, I don’t” he said absently.

“Elves live long lives... Do you still have real family there? Friends from... before? ...A spouse? Children?” You'd wondered about this before, and figured you may as well lie in the hole you’d dug for yourself.

“Gods, no!” Astarion blinked in surprise. “I wasn’t even considered a full adult by elven society then. No, mercifully I didn’t leave any little Astarions behind. All my friends from my youth are either dead or have blissfully forgotten me. And I don’t even know where my family is.”

You gave him a sympathetic and questioning look, waiting for him to go on. He sighed and continued.

“As you might expect, Cazador placed a restriction on me, preventing me from telling anyone about my affliction. I couldn’t approach my old acquaintances and go ‘Surprise! I’m actually alive! ...Sort of. I’m just someone’s vampire spawn slave now!’. No. I was to turn around and walk the other way if I ever came upon anyone who might recognise me. I was supposed to be devoted only to my new ‘family’.” he scowled. “I feared that Cazador would use anyone he thought might be important to me against me - for fun, or to teach me a ‘lesson’. And he would have, too: the mental torture he unleashed on his spawn was far worse than physical.” He paused and took a deep breath. “I couldn’t go and see my family, but as soon as I had my wits about me, I managed to arrange for one of the mercenary guilds to quickly escort my relatives out of the city. They were to be told that I made some powerful enemies who had me murdered, and that these enemies would come for them next. That they had to leave, change their names, and never return. I don’t know where they went. I can’t know, if I want them to be safe.” He looked away. “I can’t imagine how much they hated and cursed me. I ruined their lives.” he whispered.

“You saved them!” you objected, taking his hand. He shrugged but squeezed your hand back.

“I suppose I might have. Cazador would’ve left their heads on spikes in my crypt by now, otherwise.” He met your eyes again. “So yes, if anyone is going to be helping me decorate a palace, it’s you.” he added with a false cheer, clearly finished with the topic of Cazador.

You thought he might want to be alone then and were about to leave, but he gently pulled you towards himself. He was sitting on the ground with his back against a trunk. You settled between his legs, your back against his chest, his lips right at your ear, one arm across your shoulders and chest, the other playing with your hair. The large mirror was on the ground right in front of you. He studied your reflection over your shoulder. You appeared to be lounging suspended at an odd angle.

“How does it even work, anyway... It’s not just your body that disappears, it’s your clothing, too”. You grabbed a hat from the top of the trunk, holding it by its crown, and held it over Astarion’s head, moving it in circles against his hair. “Now you see it...” You let go and watched it disappear in the reflection. “Now you don’t.”

“I’m actually not sure, darling. Maybe it needs to be supported solely by me. Or it’s got to do with movement” He threw the hat back onto the trunk, where it reappeared in the reflection.

“Say...” threw your head back to look up into his eyes “Do you think my reflection would disappear... if a part of you was inside?” you bit your lip and grinned mischievously.

“I don’t think so, but I love how that dirty mind of yours works” he purred in your ear. “Let’s check and find out” His hand slid towards the clasp of your pants, but you swatted it away.

“Later.” Suddenly you were on a mission. “I have an idea.”

The rest of your group were gathered around the fire as you made a dash for your tent and grabbed your kit of stage paints and powders.

“Chk, are you doing each other’s makeup in there?” came a scoff from Lae’zel, as you rushed past.

“Don’t be jealous, Lae. We’ll have a girls night and braid each other’s hair tomorrow” you retorted, making Shadowheart choke on her drink.

Back in Astarion’s tent, you reached for one of your loose facial powders.

“You really don’t need to do anything, I’m used to it and nothing will work anyway” protested a confused and weary Astarion.

“Astarion!” you said gravely, “This isn’t for you. This is for science”, and you blew the powder hard into his face. Sure enough, an outline of his features appeared briefly in the mirror, as the powder flew all around him. “It worked!”

“Fan-tastic! Too bad you had to blind me to achieve that split second of a silhouette!” he coughed and rubbed at his eyes.

“It should work with water, too, if you want me to pour some over your head. You need to wash all that powder off anyway, you look ridiculous.”

He glared at you through the still flying powder particles and pointed a finger at your face.

“No.”

“Actually, hang on, I have a better idea.” You heard him groan into his hands behind you, as you ran back to your tent, to return with an amulet.

“So, the good news is, I am really, really bad at this.”

“If this involves setting me on fire again...”

“That was an accident. Anyway... No, this lets me create a fog cloud. Or so it should. I can just barely manage some fog tendrils. Now if I just aim them at your face...” You concentrated on the spell. Whisps of fog appeared around Astarion. “Look...” As the fog tendrils twisted in the air, you could just make out a form that they floated around, in the reflection, one unmistakably of a face.

“Well...” breathed Astarion, transfixed by the reflection, trying to make motions with his head to make the fog recoil. “It’s not much, but it’s more than I’ve seen in centuries”

“Come on” you grasped his hand. “Let’s go outside, it needs a different light and a slight breeze”

Astarion snatched his handheld mirror and followed you. He was actually eager.

Outside, Astarion spun in the whispy fog, gazing at the mirror in disbelief, as you continued to concentrate on the spell. It was actually working. Your conjuration magic was just bad enough to make the thinnest layer of fog, framing his face like a delicate mask and reflecting in the mirror. What would have been considered incredibly precise work by a wizard, was made possible entirely thanks to you borderline failing.

“That’s better... I’ll channel the fog right, you turn left against it. No, your other left! No, don’t go into the fire, you idiot, it won’t be my fault this time”

You grabbed Astarion by the hand and tried to guide him away from fire and anything he could trip over – he was paying exactly zero mind to anything around him, as he semi-stumbled in circles, looking in the mirror. Scratch ran around you, barking, excited for a new game, and eventually tripped you both.

“Another gift...” Astarion smiled at you, as Scratch did his utmost to lick his face.

Meanwhile, the group watched the two of you from a distance, dumbfounded. Lae'zel broke the silence:

“Your people have the strangest mating rituals.”

“Should I... should I tell them I can probably just cast mirror image on him? I’ve only done it on myself, but it should follow the same principle” added Gale.

“Maybe tomorrow” said Shadowheart. “Just let them enjoy this tonight.”

~~~~~

Next in series

AO3

#astarion #baldur’s gate 3 #bg3 #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #bg3 fanfic #astarion fanfic

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acoraxia · 10 months

Text

What are your thoughts on shadowpeach?

Fandom wise? I do not care for it.

Canon wise? I believe in men committing crimes while forming the most toxic, unhealthy attachments to one person could lead to such a dysfunctional relationship that it, eventually, turns into a functional one. And also they’re trans and aspec.

Disclaimer: this is all my opinion and people can do whatever they want, i simply have my gripes with some of the fandom stuff. this is just me explaining what i like and dislike about shadowpeach.

I think the most common thing people fall into when it comes to ships—or shipping in general—is how to domesticate these two characters without fully addressing their flaws, personalities, behavior, and their overall choices throughout the original media/show they come from.

Macaque and SWK both suffer equally through this mischaracterization: Macaque is often painted as this shy or “edgy” character with little to no ties to his actual character in canon and, more often than not, he is perceived as this “dad” type of character when, in fact, he should not be allowed near children for I fear he will bully them nonstop until they sit there in the corner feeling disheartened and miserable about themselves; Sun Wukong is often portrayed as this dumb himbo with little-to-no means of understanding social cues, not understanding emotions in a way that’s very frustrating, and be this yearning, pining idiot who’s still longing for his childhood crush when he did not hesitate to punch this guy in the face multiple times throughout the show. So when they are paired up together it’s this weird mash of people believing Macaque is the better dad with more understanding of human behavior and Wukong is his dumb, doting husband who’s doing his best and cannot stand up for himself when confronted about things.

The amount of times people choose to make Macaque sympathetic by having Sun Wukong’s family side with Macaque when it comes to Wukong’s actions/choices is so vast I could not count them all on one hand. The common trope of having Princess Iron Fan (Sun Wukong’s sister-in-law) become Macaque’s sworn sister is so disheartening to see for someone who read through Journey To The West and thought of how silly the overall family dynamic of the Demon Bull Family and Sun Wukong’s troops was. Removing Iron Fan as Sun Wukong’s literal sister just to have someone backup Macaque and sympathize with him is funny and a bit silly.

That being said… the canon version of Shadowpeach and its possibilities are, in fact, very delicious.

Canon wise this is what we know about Sun Wukong and Macaque’s history together:

Sun Wukong and Macaque meet

The brotherhood is formed after Azure meets Sun Wukong, Macaque tags along with Wukong (note: Macaque is not addressed as “brother” by the characters, only Wukong is)

Macaque tries to warn Wukong about how dealing with Heaven might be a bad idea

They share a peach under a tree; Wukong reassures Macaque this plan will work

Wukong carries on with Azure’s plan anyway (yes, azure lion’s plan, not wukong’s)

The brotherhood is defeated and Wukong gets trapped under a mountain

Presumably no one comes to visit Wukong, only Macaque

During his final visit, Wukong is angry that Macaque is free and can’t see the fact that Wukong was trying to do everything for them and his kingdom

Macaque snaps back at Wukong and calls him an obsessive demon before leaving

They have another fallout and fight

Wukong ends up killing Macaque in the aftermath

500~ years later, Macaque and Wukong fight again with Wukong being more apathetic towards their reunion than Macaque is

Macaque obsesses over Wukong continuously (coughs)

Macaque is biased in his retellings of his and Wukong’s relationship (see: all of shadowplay and the scrolls memories)

They fight (again) throughout S3

They somewhat reconcile by the end of S4

We will address the fact Sun Wukong was groomed into going to war by this former celestial warrior instead of having it be because of his own want to protect his family and friends after Heaven refused to pay him the respect he wanted when he first joined their ranks later. Right now we focus on the fact that Sun Wukong is canonically a person people easily fall in love with (platonically) and have a tendency to want to stay close to regardless of what his future actions will be like and Macaque is sequentially obsessed with him throughout the show.

“The hero and the warrior were like the Sun and the Moon. Their light, a protective glow, shining upon the world. Together, there was nothing that could stop the two of them. Either in the Celestial Realms or on Earth. As time went on, the hero attained power beyond comprehension. As the hero's light grew, so too did his shadow. And soon, the warrior was cast in that shadow. In the darkness, the warrior was forgotten by the hero.”

Fun fact: Macaque is never going to be on par with Sun Wukong’s power and he works best as support than he does a duo-attacker along side Wukong. Wukong is on his own power level and Macaque, while being able of holding his own against enemies, could be stomped to death by Xiaoijiao is he crossed the line.

Macaque’s obsession with Sun Wukong comes from the inability to move on from the past; Macaque wanting things to go back as they were is a subtle theme going through the show — he keeps latching on to biased memories and avoiding the actual problems that caused their relationship to fall apart and it isn’t until Season 3’s big confrontation with Long Xiaojiao’s Samadhi Fire ritual. He realizes he abandoned Wukong during a time of need and proceeds to flee, abandoning him again.

Macaque has issues. More often than not people call out on Sun Wukong for abandoning Xiaotian or the Monkie Kid Crew all while ignoring the fact Sun Wukong does not purposefully leave Qi Xiaotian, he tries his hardest to make it back in time and is visibly scared/horrified when LBD attacks in his absence. Sun Wukong tries his hardest to comfort Xiaotian while Macaque tries to torment him.

Regardless, Sun Wukong and Macaque’s relationship is unique to most media’s portrayal of friends turned enemies. Because Wukong does not see Macaque as a threat up until he teams up with Lady Bone Demon — he is only scary by association, not by anything he has done up until that point. You can tell with the way Wukong mocks him and calls him something akin to a puppet during their interaction in Season 3 when Macaque trapped him and Nezha in the ice.

And even then Macaque doesn’t even bother trying to engage with Wukong in a friendly manner because kindness is for losers HA i’m not apologizing for anything, bye Sun Wukong, you big old LOSER [proceeds to possibly live on the streets and stay homeless until wukong allows him to return to ffm under certain house rules]

You’ll notice that Sun Wukong barely has any opinions on Macaque.

This is because Macaque is favored by the narrative more than Sun Wukong is so we have very little context as to how Sun Wukong genuinely feels towards Macaque.

Sun Wukong sees Macaque as an annoyance, a bother, a threat, a coward, an imposter and then, finally, an ally.

But all we get from that is Wukong handing Macaque a peach-flavored ice cream pop as a parallel to him sharing a peach with his old friend back when they were young monkeys before he was trapped under a mountain for 500 years as a result of his abuser’s power hold on him that forced him to fight heaven as a way to “make the world a better place”.

We love to see it.

Macaque and Wukong’s relationship goes from mutual interest and a supportive friendship established years prior to the original building of the brotherhood to a very weird, uncategorized type of dynamic. The only way to characterize Sun Wukong’s “affection” towards Macaque is, possibly, the same way most people would characterize Macaque to be towards Wukong. Y’know the slightly judgmental actions and eye rolls and scoffs of affection most people write about Macaque when Wukong does something stupid? Yeah.

“But Macaque said “this guy” when Wukong was presenting his plan to defeat Azure—“ yeah have you considered Wukong does a lot of masking in the presence of the entire Monkie Kid Crew and Macaque has a tendency to present himself as this cool persona when in fact he’s just a homeless monkey who’s been crashing on his ex’s couch for the past weeks since the ending of Season 3?

“OK…. but why QPR Shadowpeach?”

Sun Wukong throughout the course of Journey to the West and all its past and future iterations have always had him be uninterested in both men and women. There are multiple instances where he’s capable of courting women and he instead backs away or does not pay it any mind; aside from this he’s heavily implied to only care about familial love and friendships. He does not see his pilgrim brothers as anything more than family and he views Tripitaka as a mentor rather than someone whom he was chained to. And Azure was his idol and he was groomed by him, and everyone else was viewed to him as a troop — or, y’know, a family.

This and the fact that— both Sun Wukong and Macaque are over a thousand years old. Why on earth would they have a normal type of relationship? Giving them a checklist of what passes on as romantic and platonic when to them the line is so blurred it’s barely existent to them is amusing.

Sun Wukong and Macaque having their own weird relationship where it changes from frustrated best friends to partners to angry middle aged demons to the tired traumatized immortals who sometimes cuddle while still beating each other up is so deliciously interesting and unhealthy to the point where it is healthy.

Also Celestial bodies are not the same as mortal bodies; canonically Sun Wukong has transformed into women before and people have addressed him with female-leaning pronouns before. my personal headcanon of sun wukong being genderfluid lves on and now we can have sapphic shadowpeach with transfem macaque.

also im still feverish so if this doesnt make sense then too bad damn im sorry

#analysis #lego monkie kid #monkie kid #six eared macaque #lmk six eared macaque #lmk sun wukong #sun wukong #shadowpeach #qpr shadowpeach #ok im tired #goodbye forever now im going to get a haircut #and then maybe go to the movies ig #lmao

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harrywavycurly · 6 months

Text

What You Deserve Part 3: Start Small

Masterlist: Here

CW: Tiniest mention of your toxic ex

Tag List: @littlered0000 @saramelaniemoon @ali-r3n @sapphire4082 @sweetmoonlove0214 @eddies-girl-22 @darknesseddiem @peaches-roses-sins @blckburd @comeonatmebruh @daisy-munson @cultish-corner @mrsjellymunson @aol19 @micheledawn1975 @2000babies

A/N: You might be nervous but don’t worry Eddie’s got you also it’s a long one so I split it up into sections and it’ll make sense as you read, enjoy🫠✨

“Good Morning.” “Good Morning…uh you didn’t have to knock on my door you could’ve just honked or-” “honked?…sweetheart I’m not sixteen and running late to school….I’m here to pick you up so that means I knock on the door or ring the bell…whatever you prefer and walk you to my car.” “Oh…Steven just honks…it’s not that big of deal really if it’s easier than getting all the way out-” “it’s not your job to make things easier on anyone…especially Harrington.” “Sorry…I’ll uhm work..on that.” “You don’t have to apologize…so shall we exit the porch now or did you want to stand here for a bit longer?” “Oh yeah yeah we can go…holy shit is that your car?” “One of them yeah…do you not like it? I went with the one that has the smoothest ride…since I know feeling comfortable while inside a car is important to you.” “It’s so…nice I don’t want to like…get it dirty or anything.” “Sweetheart…it’s car…it’s gonna get dirty and that’s fine I’ll just wash it…trust me…there’s nothing you could do that I can’t fix…so please…get in the car.”

“Okay…” “Your coffee is right there…and feel free to change the radio to whatever you want.” “Thank you…oh you don’t care if I touch this stuff?” “Well you’re going to have to touch it if you want to change the station…” “I’m uh not used to being able to mess with the buttons in the car if I’m not driving.” “Please tell me Harrington-” “No no Steven lets me but him and I listen to the same stuff so it was fine…it was uh…my last uhm boyfriend he..didn’t let me control anything in the car.” “Well let’s get this out of the way now okay?…I’m Eddie…or to you I’m sure you’d prefer to call me Edward but either way…I’m not your ex…so whatever he was like and by the sounds of it he wasn’t a very…nice guy…so just know I’m not like him…so feel free to touch all the buttons and change the station..hell roll your window down if you want I don’t care…what’s mine is yours okay?” “Really?” “Yes..that’s a big part of this…type of relationship…whatever I have you also have…and if there’s something you want then just tell me and I’ll do my best to get it for you.” “Oh wow…okay…uh so when you say relationship what uhm…what would I call you?” “What do you mean?” “Like…when you drop me off today and someone asks oh who was that? Is that your boyfriend? What…what should I say? I can’t just be like oh that’s just my…sugar daddy Eddie.” “Yeah that’s sort of a mouthful isn’t it?” “I mean that’s uh just assuming you….you want to be my daddy…sugar daddy…sorry I’m just nervous and you’re…a uhm little intimidating in person but not in a bad way it’s…it’s like in the same way I’d feel around Tony Soprano or someone like that.” “Did you just compare me to a mob boss? That’s the vibes I give off?….if so then me and my stylist need to have a conversation about my wardrobe.” “You have a stylist?” “She does my shopping for me once every two months or so because I hate shopping for clothes….but Tony Soprano…really?” “I mean…you just look like you could easily have someone whacked with the snap of a finger and…yet you also look like you give really good hugs which is important because sometimes a good hug can just fix everything and…and you just…I feel…safe? Even though I don’t really know you…I’d trust you with my drink at a party.” “I’m honored that you’d leave your drink with me at a party and I’m glad you feel safe with me…but you make me sound like I’m some super badass dude…when I’m just a business owner who doesn’t have any mafia connections at all so no matter how many times I snap my fingers no one is getting whacked…” “damn..I was going to give you a list.” “But I have been told I give good hugs.” “That’s good…that’s really good to know….so uhm…how do we actually do this? Do I sign something? Do you want a trial run to see if I annoy you or not?” “I don’t need a trial run…also this isn’t fifty shades of grey I don’t need you to sign anything.” “You’ve seen those movies?” “No I read the books.” “Oh…you…you like to uhm…read? That’s…great.” “So why don’t we start small for now?” “Okay…what does that mean exactly?” “You let me take you to and from work this week and we can get to know each other more and…you let me buy you dinner Friday night?” “Okay that…sounds fine.” “And Friday over dinner we can discus what we both want out of this? Does that sound doable?” “Yes…that’s doable.” “Perfect.”

“Harrington isn’t even here yet and the store opens in five minutes?” “Yeah but that’s fine I have a key and can open the store up.” “By yourself?” “Yeah? I do it all the time.” “That’s…not safe…Steve should know better than that.” “It really is okay…oh are you going to see Dave today?” “I am…I’m actually going to work on him myself.” “Really?” “Yeah I figured he deserved to be worked on by someone that knows his life story…I’m gonna do what I can for him don’t worry.” “Easier said than done…” “I know…oh look who decided to actually show up to work.” “He’s not late so that’s actually good timing for him…so uhm I’ll see you later?” “Yeah I’ll be here when your shift is over.” “So uh have a good day Eddie…” “thanks sweetheart…tell Harrington to call me.” “Uh oh he’s in trouble isn’t he?” “No…not at all…” “what are you-” “you didn’t think I’d let you open your own door did you?” “Oh…uhm well thank you.” “Have a good day…oh and please don’t wait for me outside when you’re done working okay? I’ll come inside and get you.” “Okay…I’ll see you later then…” “Yes…now I gotta go but I’ll tell Dave hello for you.” “Thanks…for uhm…everything.” “You’re welcome.”

#what you deserve series #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson au #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x y/n #sugar daddy!eddie #eddie munson x you #eddie munson social media au #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #Eddie Munson x fem!reader fluff #Eddie Munson #stranger things series #eddie munson series #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things au #my little dungeon master baby

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mango-bango-bby · 1 year

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Hello! I have a platonic yandere Miguel request!

So platonic yandere Miguel with reader who’s been on a strawberry kick lately. Like they will just make strawberry things(ie cakes cupcakes smoothies milkshakes extra.) and will just eat them as a snack. Reader has gotten used to being kidnapped by him and just makes food for themselves like that. He notices and is like: is this healthy? And asks Lyla if it is and stuff.

I’ve been on a strawberry kick for the past few weeks so yeah. Thank you so much! Have a good day/night/morning/evening!

♡ Strawberry ♡

Content Warning ⚠️: Yandere, platonic yandere, dad!Miguel, teen!reader, mentions of possible kidnapping, Lyla messing with Miguel, I didn’t proofread this 💪

Summary: Your father is concerned for your health because you seemingly only eat strawberries (Platonic!Yan!Miguel O’Hara x GN!teen!reader)

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

You only ate strawberries. Every single day, all day. You had strawberries in your oatmeal for breakfast. You would have a salad with strawberries in it for lunch. You’d have strawberries with your dinner. And then you’d end the day with strawberry ice cream. It was almost all you ate and of course Miguel took notice of this.

He didn’t mind but the amount of strawberries you ate per day could not be healthy. Even if you wanted a snack, it would always be strawberries. He wants you to be healthy. And yet you’re so sarcastic with him, yet you’re teenager so he guesses that’s what happens.

“Is that even healthy?” he asked one day, watching your eyes focused on the TV in front of you. You hummed, taking a bite out of one of the strawberries you were eating as a snack.

“Hmm, strawberries are fruit. Fruit are healthy. Maybe you should try it sometime” you say, sitting in the couch, not taking your eyes off of the TV. You even had a bowl of strawberries in your lap, snacking on them. It’s like you’re being frustrating on purpose sometimes.

He let it go but he still couldn’t help but be worried for you. He wants you to be healthy, he looks after you. He is your father, even if you refuse to call him that. He’s supposed to protect you. And that also means he’s supposed to make sure you’re healthy and safe.

Miguel stands in HQ, looking over his monitors. But he can’t focus. “Lyla?” He asks, her immediately appearing in a flash of peach and pink. “What?” She asks, she can see he’s frustrated. But he’s always frustrated so it didn’t bother her much.

“Are strawberries healthy in a large amount? What the limit per day to still be healthy?” He asks, immediately hearing her start teasing him. The hologram can’t help but snicker. “Why? You eating to many?” She laughs out loud but Miguel only huffs at her. “It’s not me, now answer my question” He scowls, seeing her adjust her heart sunglasses as she realized

“Oh-” She mumbles in realization, immediately smirking at him. “It’s that kid you stole, huh? I’m right, aren’t I?” She smirks, squinting at his reaction. She chucked at him once again “You worried about them?” She coos, pouting to tease him,

Miguel rolls his eyes at her. “I didn’t steal them, I saved them. Answer my question” He practically growls, she sighs dramatically as she finally caves. She pulls up a small hologram monitor, looking over it as she reads.

“They should be fine. It should be healthy. It’s recommended only eight strawberries a day though” She says, her eyes focused as she reads the screen. Miguel murmurs something, nodding his head.

Well, you’re definitely eating more than eight. He’s going to have to cut down how many you’re allowed. Although you’re definitely not going to be happy about that. But he’s your father and it’s his job to keep you safe and happy.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Thank you for reading, darling!!

(A/N: I wrote more Miguel for you all, I’m on a Miguel kick, like I can’t stop writing him!! So I hope you guys like Miguel O’Hara because I’m writing a lot of him run 😭😭 I thought this idea was so cute, plus I liked writing Lyla, she’s so fun to write. I definitely think her and reader would be friends 🫶)

Masterlist ➸ ♡

#soft yandere #platonic yandere #platonic yandere x reader #platonic yandere miguel o’hara #platonic!yandere!miguel o’hara #platonic yandere miguel #platonic yandere miguel o’hara x reader #yandere miguel x reader #yandere miguel o'hara

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antoncore · 5 months

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just relax, and i’ll take care of you | s. es

now playing: mary j blige - mary jane (all night long)

contains: smut (minors dni), fluff, softdom!eunseok, oral (fem receiving), lots of praise, reader is kind of a pillow princess (as she should after a stressful day!!!) and extremely fluffy ending!!

word count: 1k

synopsis: you’re at home on a friday night after a hectic week and watch a movie to relax. you can’t relax so eunseok has… another idea

5pm on a friday. finally. the weight of all the responsibilities and stress of life are finally gone (for a couple of days, at least). you just couldn’t wait to get home and relax. you walk through the door to see your boyfriend eunseok who was making himself a peach iced tea. he didn’t even need to turn around to look at you to sense that you had a stressful day. “hey love” he said in a calm voice, “rough day?”. “yeah, it’s been a hard day” you said, holding back your tears.

eunseok walks over to you wrapping his arms around you. “i’m sorry, my love,” he said in the most soothing voice knowing his voice often calms you down. “at least you’re home now, we can spend all night together and i can help you feel better. sound good?”. you nod, feeling the relief from both his arms around you and his comforting words. “you’re the best, eunseok” you whisper. “only for you, my sweet y/n,” he said smiling, “now go and sit down, i’ll make you some dinner and peach iced tea”. you sit yourself down on the sofa, getting yourself comfortable as eunseok prepares dinner for you.

he comes back with a tray of pasta (which you both loved) and peach iced tea with the warmest of smiles on his face, “here, sweetheart. wanna do a twilight marathon? i know that always makes you feel better. and also we need to get you into something comfy, ok sweetheart?” “of course,” you reply as you smile at him, feeling so much gratitude for having him in your life. he comes back with one of your oversized t-shirts and a pair of his boxers (which you always stole from him because you loved how comfy they were) to put on. he turns on the tv, choosing the first twilight film to watch as you both start eating.

as the night continues you change positions on the sofa, cuddling with your head on his chest. while you felt calmer than when you first walked in the door, you still felt tense (which of course eunseok picks up on). “how you feeling, y/n?” he asks with a gentle voice. “still tense” you reply with a frown. “i know what i can do to take all the stress away, just lay down” he says with a loving smile as he stands up. you do as he asks, lying down on your back.

he kisses you, starting from your forehead all the way down to your thighs, touching and leaving hickeys along the way too. it was kind of embarrassing how wet you were simply from the kisses and his touches but you couldn’t help it; you loved the way his lips and hands felt on your body. “what do you want, hm sweetie?” he asked, smirking at you. “i think you know, seok” you replied. he quickly replied “hmm, i think i know too”, kissing up your thighs and on the boxers you were wearing. he couldn’t help but notice how wet you were, simply from kisses. “so wet, sweetheart. don’t need to do anything, just let me take care of you” he said softly, making you feel even more relaxed. he pulls off your boxers, revealing your bare pussy. he wastes no time and starts slowly rubbing your clit in circles just as you liked. “feels good, hmm?” he asks gently, looking up at you. you nod at him, telling him everything he needs to know to keep going.

he starts using his mouth, kissing your clit gently and using his fingers to tease your pussy to get you ready for him. he then starts licking you slowly ensuring he takes his time with you, his pretty girl. “so good eunseok, thank you” you moaned, knowing that he loved when you moaned his name while he made you feel good. “so pretty for me, y/n. gonna make you cum i promise” he says before going back to making you feel good, going faster than before. he places your hand in his, warming your heart from how intimate it felt to be holding hands as he eats you out. he starts sucking on your clit, making you moan loudly from how amazing it felt.

he keeps going as he looks up, loving your reactions as he does it. his lips and fingers work together together, hitting all the spots to make you feel relaxed. “mm seok, think i’m close” you whine. he goes slightly faster, making sure you cum for him. your moans get louder and louder as you get closer. “that’s it sweetheart, cum for me. you deserve it after your stressful day” he says as he uses his fingers. “hnnn eunseok, i’m gonna cum,” you moan while trying to hold back your tears from eunseok eating you out so well. you cum as eunseok licks it all up for you, making sure he doesn’t waste a drop. “fuck, thank you seokie. that’s exactly what i needed,” you say between breaths. eunseok laughs softly as he pulls away from your pussy. “let me clean you up and then we can go to sleep, sound good my love?” he says breathily as he smiles at you. “mmm yeah, feel a bit lightheaded after how well you made me cum,” you reply, giggling.

he grabs a cloth from the laundry room, wetting it with warm water and then cleaning you up gently, making sure everything is cleaned up. as you get up, he holds out his hand for you to hold as he smiles at you. you think “god he’s so beautiful, how did i ever get so lucky?”. you both walk to the bedroom, getting into bed instantly. you both get comfortable with eunseok spooning you like you loved as it always made you feel safe, peaceful and at home. “i love you, seok” you whisper, thinking that he’s already asleep. to your surprise, he responds with a soft “i love you more, sweetheart,” which melted your heart completely. you could both feel each other’s heartbeat, feeling so connected and close to one another as you both drift off to sleep. you smile contentedly, knowing that eunseok will always be there for you no matter what and you’d always do the same for him.

a/n: i loved writing this, i’m a huge eunseok soft dom enthusiast!!! hope you guys enjoy :D feel free to send in requests/asks <3

#riize hard hours #riize smut #eunseok hard hours #eunseok smut #song eunseok #riize hard thoughts #riize eunseok smut #eunseok hard thoughts #tonisbabydoll writes ✎ᝰ.

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theragethatisdesire · 6 months

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quick bright things - eren jaeger x afab!reader, 18+!!

okay hi. after my many-months writing hiatus, i am offering up this humble creation. welcome to the world of quick bright things, caught somewhere between a fairytale and a shakespeare play and a priceless piece of jewelry. this was inspired by....a lot of things, from midsummer night's dream to saltburn to the secret history to romeo & juliet like, you name it and i've probably crammed it in here. eren is a lot different than i normally write him (or read him, for that matter), i hope you all find him as lovely as i do! this will be 2 parts (for now...), i'm not sure what else to say except i'm happy to be back and i hope you all love part 1 ₊˚⊹♡

pairing: eren jaeger x reader

wc: 10.4k

DISCLAIMER: this post contains MATURE CONTENT that is intended only for those over 18. if you are a minor, please do not read below the cut.

cws: alcohol, swearing, smut, fingering, reader has female anatomy, wet dreams, allusions to cannibalism (idk that's a stretch it's more of a metaphor), exhibitionism, cum-eating, creepy stepsiblings, rich assholes, throat-closing amounts of sexual tension, i honestly don't even know what to put here

without further ado...

"Last year I abstained / this year I devour / without guilt / which is also an art."

“Now don’t forget: university is for discovery, for adventure.” Your mother tucks the front of your shirt into your skirt, tugs at your collar until it’s sitting prettily against the cliff of your collarbones. It’s not a good fabric, this shirt; it’s cheap and scratches uncomfortably at the summer sunburn still lingering on your chest. “It’s for finding your passions, your life path, yourself…”

“Darling, you’ve been philosophizing since breakfast. You’re going to give the poor girl a conniption.” Your father chuckles lightly, swinging the hammer at the wall of your dormitory and finishing the hanging of one of your many posters over your creaky, lofted bed. The posters are bright and colorful, almost garish in the pristine, ancient light pouring in from the windows. With a slow blink, you realize you’re going to take them down later, that they feel incongruous with the dust particles and the oak furniture.

“It’s alright, really.” You manage a smile of compromise, lips clamped tight to hold the flutter of nerves in your throat at bay. “I think I’ve got it from here.”

There’s an expectedly teary goodbye, a small monologue from your father about how much you’ve grown, and a few reminders from your mother to separate the darks and the lights when you do laundry, to focus on your studies. Just before she slips out behind her husband, she grabs you by the shoulders and presses her lips to the side of your head, kisses a blood-red print into the shell of your ear.

“Don’t forget. Find something.”

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

Whether it started with that conversation or with the buildup that accompanied the thirty-six months of monotonous paper-writing and numb boredom of your first three years at Oxford, you can’t be sure. In truth, maybe your first three years weren’t all that boring, and they only seem so by comparison of everything that came after, but you can’t be entirely sure of that either.

What you can be sure of is that something down the line—between meeting Sasha in that class on Milton and squeezing her hand as the plane landed and the dozens of bottles of champagne you’ve consumed over the last weeks—something led you to this moment, standing in this kitchen somewhere outside Verona with your bare feet against the hot clay tiles, staring at the sharp angle of an unfamiliar, tanned collarbone.

He’s coated in linen: a half-unbuttoned, burnt-orange drape of a shirt is rolled carefully up around strong forearms, and one large, boyish foot peeks out from his baggy jeans, propped up on its throne upon the opposite knee. A golden cross winks at you from his chest, nestled in the sparsest dusting of chest hair and dripping with the same peach juice that’s sliding down his Adam’s apple, from his strong chin, from the crooked smirk that’s pointed at you like a knife.

You recognize him before he speaks– this must be Eren. Sasha’s mentioned him enough times: the shock of rich, dark hair, the lakewater eyes, the way he leans back in his chair like a king and cocks his head like a trickster. This is Eren, and you tell him so.

“Guilty.” The sun compliments everything about him but his smile, a little too sharp with too much danger behind it. It’s a smile made for moonlight. “And you are?”

A memory surfaces in your mind, a cautionary childhood tale. “You can never let a fairy know your name,” Emma tells you, graver than death, crouched in the bushes beside you, “or they steal you away, and you can never be human again.”

“Well?” Eren says expectantly, head leaning even further to the left. He’s studying you, the baggy linen pants pooling around your toes and ruby-studded ears poking out of a fray of frazzled bedhead. You feel naked, feel a wild urge come over you and wonder how his eyes would glow at you if you were. You shiver, goosebumps raising in the stuffy summer air. When his lips twitch, you realize Eren’s noticed; you feel feverish.

You mumble your name at him, as if it’s something given unwillingly. Waking the espresso machine seems like the right thing to do with your hands, and you’re grateful for the noisy mechanical sounds it provides to shatter the still morning. You bring an absentminded hand to rub over the tip of your ear, feel if it’s grown to a point yet.

“We haven’t met, have we? I feel like if we had, I’d remember.”

God, you wish he’d stop talking.

“Well, do you go to Oxford?”

“Sometimes.” You roll your eyes, and he laughs, little bells and glass shattering. “I’ve been abroad for the last semester. I flew in from Egypt a couple of weeks ago.”

“Hm,” you hum to yourself, choosing a small red cup for your morning coffee. You aren’t sure what to say; the most exotic place you’ve ever visited was a seaside town three hours from your house.

You can hear his newspaper crinkling; the sound of him putting it down betrays his arrival behind you, but you still don’t expect the puff of warm breath over your shoulder. He comes into your space like he belongs there, like there’s never been a door that wasn’t held open for him to stride through. “Are you still asleep?”

Before you can answer, you hear a shriek from down the hallway, and you breathe a little sigh of relief, thanking whatever ancient gods that belong to the hills you’re in for the interruption. Venus springs to mind, and you swat her and her entourage of Graces away from you with a huff.

“You absolute asshole!” Historia comes barreling into the kitchen, dramatic, fluffy dressing robe spilling out into the unrelenting summer heat behind her. You realize that in the three weeks you’ve spent with her, you haven’t once seen her in the actual kitchen, watching the way the breakfast chef’s eyes widen at the sight of her as he hurries by with an armful of eggs.

“Stori!” Eren elegantly catches her best attempt at a tackle with the good grace you assume he does everything with, breaking out into a warm peal of laughter. “Since when do you not love a surprise?”

“Since always.” Historia’s face is scrunched up where she’s buried it into the crook of his neck, forehead red with the effort of squeezing Eren as hard as she can. “You could have at least called, I mean– ugh, I didn’t even get the chance to get your favorite–”

“Relax.” Eren urges her, rubbing soothing circles into the small of her back. He carries them both over to his seat, plopping down and curling her up in his lap like a child. Eren holds his cup of coffee to her lips temptingly, and Historia shoves it away with another scowl. You hide your giggle at her antics behind your espresso, not wanting to remind them of your presence, but enjoying the show all the same. “Brat.”

“Ow,” Historia hisses when he pinches her thigh, expression lightening when she catches sight of something on the wall. “I always forget how pretty the kitchen is here.”

“Where’s your brother?”

“Still getting dressed.” Historia’s blue eyes turn to the frescoed ceiling with an irritated huff. “You know he can’t stand to be seen in his pajamas.”

“That’s because he doesn’t wear any,” Eren remarks with an eye roll of his own. “You could have called to let me know we’d adopted such a pretty houseguest for the summer.”

Your face burns with acknowledgement, and you can feel your toes curling into the clay bricks of the floor hard enough to scrape the tip of your pinky. Eren seems satisfied at your bewilderment, letting his eyes drag over your hardly-covered chest lazy as a wandering mouth.

“Why would anyone wear pajamas under those heavy duvets? It’s almost thirty-two degrees out.” Armin breezes in in a feigned display of nonchalance, but you can see the way his eyes skim over Eren like a ship narrowly avoiding an iceberg. The Titanic was inevitable, and so is the gravity of Eren sitting golden on the other side of the room.

“You look good, Min.” Eren squints his eyes at Armin’s shirt, nearly identical to his own. “Where’d you get that?”

“You left it last summer,” Historia hums, tucking her head under Eren’s chin and nuzzling into his chest more completely. Armin makes a soft snort of irritation, grabbing for a fig in the bowl of fruit on the counter and beginning to rummage through the cabinet drawers.

“Do you want half a fig?” Armin’s cool gaze slides to you, and you shake your head, feeling a little underwater as two lifelong relationships unfurl in front of you, your mind still fuzzy from last night’s wine. “Historia?”

Historia says no as Eren says yes, and Armin makes his sound of annoyance again before continuing his rummaging, muttering about the inconvenience of finding a knife.

“Do my eyes deceive me?” Sasha, still disheveled with sleep and grinning bright as Christmas morning, pops her head around the doorway. “Shouldn’t you be overseeing the construction of your pyramid?”

“I’m not dead, Sasha,” Eren laughs—it really is distracting when he does that—pulling Sasha onto his other knee, ignoring Historia’s grumbles of discontent. The NYU Men’s Lacrosse t-shirt that Sasha cropped too short rides up, exposing the swell of her breast, but no one acknowledges it. Eren’s hand tucks in snugly around the curve of her hip, easy and natural, and you wonder if his fingers have ever itched to travel up under the hem of her tiny sleep shorts.

“Not dead yet.” Historia glares up at him venomously, reluctantly making room for Sasha to pile onto Eren and smother his face with kisses. Sasha pulls away from him suddenly and frowns.

“Peaches?”

“Where are the knives in this fucking kitchen?” Armin’s growl of frustration is loud enough to make you jump, and Sasha giggles at you.

“Jesus, Armin, you’re going to kill her, and it’s not even noon.” Sasha slips off of Eren’s knee, practically bouncing over to where Armin’s viciously jiggling a locked drawer. She slides open the drawer next to him and draws a long, wide knife from it, passing it to him with the blade extended and her eyes on you. “Did you meet Eren?”

“Careful of his hand!” Historia squeals, shooting an arm out towards Armin as if she can deflect the tip of the blade from across the room.

“It’s fine, Stor.” Armin’s voice floats across his nearly-bare shoulder, mild and careless as it grazes the collar of the too-big button down sliding off of his slim frame.

“That knife’s a little big for a fig, Sasha.” Eren stands, placing Historia on the table and pinching her cheek when she scowls at him.

“There’s no such thing as a too-big knife– listen to me. Did you meet Eren?” Sasha’s fingers are gripping into the flesh of your arm– hard. Your eyes widen in surprise at the urgency in her eyes, like if you haven’t been introduced to Eren, there’s grave danger afoot.

“We met.” It happens quickly and easily, the slide of his heavy arm around your shoulders. You can feel your body tense under the lazy weight of him, big hand wrapped around you like it belongs there. “I don’t think she’s particularly fond of me.”

Eren shoots you a wink that you’re sure is intended to mean something, a reference to an inside joke that you have yet to establish, maybe.

“I didn’t say that,” you say in your own defense, wanting to yank Sasha to the side and demand to know why she hadn’t warned you that Cupid himself was going to greet you in the kitchen this morning. Armin slices the fig neatly in half, a strangely practiced motion performed by small, soft hands. He offers it to you again insistently, and frowns when you shake your head.

“I said I wanted it, ‘Min,” Eren says with a hint of red to his words, snatching the halved fig from Armin’s hand and biting into it voraciously, little pieces of the flesh spattered around the corner of his mouth.

“You’re such a brute,” Armin scoffs, picking the meat of his half out gingerly with an oyster fork that you don’t remember him grabbing from the drawer.

“Why don’t you like Eren?” Sasha pouts at you, grabbing the hand that’s squashed between yours and Eren’s hips. Your palm feels hot against her fingers.

“I said I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t say much of anything, to be fair.” Eren’s got the fig pressed to his mouth, digging his teeth and tongue around in the husk of it obscenely enough to make your cheeks warm. Being so close to him is filthy, that cross around his neck is looking you straight in the eye to make sure you feel it.

“Eren’s always a pest,” Historia provides from her perch on the kitchen table, picking at her perfectly manicured toenails, “why would she like him?”

“You like him plenty,” Armin says, not looking at her. It’s not the first time that’s been brought up, if Historia’s answering sneer is anything to go by.

“You’ll love him if you give him a chance.” Sasha smiles hopefully at you, nodding.

“Yeah,” Eren grins down at you, teeth colored with fig, “give me a chance.”

“Eren, you’re going to scare her off,” Armin says with a roll of his eyes, peering around Eren’s broad shoulders to look you up and down. The way his eyes drag over you makes you feel like there might be a stab wound somewhere on your person that you don’t know about yet, the adrenaline of the moment keeping you numb.

“Back off her, Eren,” Historia echoes, “she’s fun, I don’t want you to make her leave.”

“She’s not going to leave.” Eren looks directly at you as he says it, something in his smile growing imperceptibly darker. A dare. How much will you let me get away with?

You stare and stare at him, ignoring the continued bickering of Armin and Historia in the background. He’s golden and blood-red, oil smeared on his forehead and a crown of thorns nestled in his dark thatch of hair if you look close enough. If you’re not imagining it, his hand might be tightening around your shoulder, maybe he’ll leave a purple bruise on it.

“Of course not,” Sasha interrupts your thoughts, thumbing at your cheek affectionately, “she belongs here. With us.”

“She’s our little fairy,” Historia giggles dreamily, referencing the long-winded fairy tales you drunkenly make up every night, casting each other as heroines and knights and dragons.

“Right,” Eren agrees, not breaking your gaze, “our little fairy.”

The only thing that comes to mind is your childhood friend, Emma, looking on at you sadly with her muddy toes, watching the wings sprout from your back.

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

Days lug themselves by, barefooted and dragging their heels, and most of the time, even the monotonous rise and fall of the sun doesn’t help to differentiate one calendar block from the next. Like a bat, or maybe a slinky, silvery fish in an underwater cave, you rely on your other senses to track the passage of time.

For example, today, you know it’s a Wednesday because Maria, one of the three house chefs, brings fresh peaches up from the co-op down the hill every Wednesday. Sasha’s spent the last thirty minutes hand feeding you peach flesh as you lounge by the pool, insisting that you suck her fingers clean of juice and feeding you little sips of champagne each time you sober up enough to tell her that that’s lewd. Historia swats at you and giggles at the smacking and slurping sounds you make around Sasha’s fingers, oiled-up palm landing on oiled-up hip with a wet slap; Armin admonishes her quietly from his seat beside her, insisting the girlish noises emanating from the three of you are tearing him from his book. You can feel Eren watching, too– that’s all, though. Always just watching.

You wonder how opaque the lenses of Armin’s sunglasses are, perched haphazardly on your nose, wonder if they’re doing a good job of masking the slow lick of your gaze over Eren’s skin, wonder if you care. Maybe the champagne is finally getting to your head.

“We should go in soon,” Historia sighs, a hand tossed across her forehead. She’s a little movie star, built for the golden age. “It’s so hot.”

“It’s always this hot,” Sasha argues, and you can practically hear the furrow in her brow, not willing to take your eyes off of the trickle of sweat running down Eren’s chest to see it for yourself. You’re really getting the hang of it, this opposite-sense thing. Everything’s upside down here in the heat.

“She’s getting hungry,” Armin supplies, wiping the sweat off his palms to reach up and turn the page of his novel. Brideshead Revisited. A little on the nose, isn’t it?

“I am not!” Historia hates when people point out her appetite, but not really. She kicks up a fuss because it’s “ladylike”, and she’s advised you to do the same.

“You are,” you sigh, really feeling the heat sink into you even with the heavy, lazy movement of lolling your head to face her, “you always get hungry around this time.”

“What time is it, then?”

You don’t reply– you don’t know the answer.

“I think we’re all hungry,” Eren, ever the peacemaker when he can find the time to be so, sits up, letting the shirt that’s been shading his face fall into his lap. Your eyes track its descent– even that seems slow. He says something to you, managing a crooked grin while he squints in the heat of the sun, but you don’t hear it.

“Huh?”

“Everyone except you, anyway,” he repeats himself, reaching over Sasha and smearing his thumb through the peach juice collected on your chin. Eren’s thumb disappears between his pink lips, and when he sucks on it with a satisfied hum, your jaw clenches hard enough to hurt.

“I guess it’s getting close to dinner,” Sasha says regretfully, picking her wristwatch, a priceless Braus family heirloom, up from a puddle of orange juice and tanning oil. “We should probably clean off.”

“I might even shower twice,” Armin rubs a hand over his belly with a grimace, “this tanning oil makes my skin greasy.”

“I feel disgusting,” Historia agrees, sliding red toes into her sandals and standing with a dramatic stretch.

“Filthy,” Eren murmurs in agreement. He’s still staring at you.

“I’ll be in soon. I’m so close to the color I wanted for today– I just need, like, ten more minutes.” You peel down the strip of bathing suit stretched over your hip, showing off the distinct mark of yesterday’s color and today’s tan.

“You’re crazy,” Sasha scoffs, throwing some designer sarong her mother lent her over her shoulder, “I’m melting.”

Armin and Historia pause their bickering over who gets to wear Armin’s Cucinelli belt to dinner—Armin wants it for his trousers, Historia for her maxi dress—just long enough to offer a momentary goodbye, breezing along into the house with Sasha. You settle back into your chair and take a deep breath, letting the sun sink into you just long enough to forget that you’re not alone.

“Open up.”

You’ve been enjoying this game of trading one sense for another, and you keep your eyes shut firmly, letting your jaw fall open and your tongue hang out. A piece of peach, fleshy and dripping with juice, finds its way onto your tongue, pinched too roughly between strong fingers. When you close your lips around the fruit, the fingers stay with it, frozen in their pinched position and forcing you to suck the peach from them, to swallow around them, to run your tongue along them and get as much of the meat as you can. When the fingers withdraw from your lips, you open your eyes and gasp quietly.

Eren’s leaning over you, a solar eclipse that smells like tan skin and sounds like Campari, and in the silhouette of the sunlight, you think he’s smiling.

“You’re still hungry,” he says, a question that’s left its punctuation mark behind. You think of Historia, of the improper shame of revealing your appetite. You dodge.

“I’m never hungry.”

“Never?” Eren crawls over you to kneel between your legs, propping one of your ankles up on his shoulder. The game you started is ripped out of your hands, chess pieces flying into the pool, scattering across the table, knocking over bottles and matchbooks. It’s so silent out here in the sun it hurts, and you almost miss the constant buzzing horseflies of early summer.

“Never.”

“If you’ve never been hungry,” Eren muses, tilting his head so that his cheekbone fits into the sensitive arch of your foot, reaching a hand down to splay it wide on your belly, “you’ve never been full.”

“How do you figure?” Your words come out throaty, waterlogged.

“Can’t have one without the other.” Eren shrugs, turning his head to the side. His lips brush against your heel, your Achilles’, the swirly seashell dangling from your anklet. You dig your teeth into your bottom lip, toes twitching behind his ear. “I don’t believe you, anyway.”

“No?” You try to tilt your head coyly, like your heart’s not clawing and scratching against your throat to get to him. Hungry, indeed.

“You wouldn’t stare like that if you didn’t want to.”

You’re taken aback, but not enough to fall out of the moment– Eren’s lips closing around the knob of your ankle slowly, like the pit of a fruit, make sure of that.

“Didn’t want to what?”

Eren’s hands meet the cushion on either side of your head hard enough to rattle the chair, his long, tanned body stretching over yours. He’s close enough to brush his nose against yours, but you can still see the hazy green of his eyes flicking here and there on your face: from your eyes to your lips to the beauty mark on your cheek. Your poolside lounge feels more like a butcher’s block under your taut spine.

Sasha’s told you about the wolves in these hills, that they howl murder at night, but they’re sleepy and indulgent in the heat of the sun. One of Eren’s canines catches the light and glints at you as he grins.

“Eat yourself sick.” He practically spits it into your mouth, one thigh pressed into where you’re sticky and sinful, and he chuckles under his breath when you shudder under him, feverish in the late-afternoon heat.

Before you can even think of biting back, Eren’s off of you, picking your sandals off of the ground and sliding them gently onto your feet, stopping to run his palm from your ankle to your kneecap with an appraising hum.

“We should head inside,” he says evenly, offering a hand to pull you to your feet, “I’d hate for us to miss dinner.”

You don’t have anything to say back to him, letting him lace his fingers through yours like lines in a play, interspersing seamlessly with the summer scenery. Eren leads you through the kitchen, waits patiently for you to take your sandals off, and waves you on your way up the stairs, saying he needs a cigarette. As the distance between you grows, your mind grows clearer, and you turn on your heel, calling down to him from the top of the stairs.

“Eren? Eren? Where are you, Eren?”

“Call me something else,” Eren pokes his head around the corner, smoke pouring from the grin on his face, “whatever you want, really. Make your own name for me.”

“You stare at me, too,” you say, tearing through his impishness. Eren cocks his head, unperturbed, smile growing wide as he nods.

“I do.”

“So you’re…” You can’t bring yourself to say it, not where it might echo in the cavernous hallway, where it might take the form of a confession. You scamper down the stairs, nearly sliding on bare feet, almost crashing into Eren when he appears at the foot of the staircase, catching you with two broad palms on either side of your ribcage. You pluck the cigarette from his mouth, stick it between your own teeth, narrow your eyes accusingly, and whisper: “You’re hungry too.”

“For every man hath business and desire, Such it is.” Eren takes the cigarette back, pulling on it and making a clear show of trying to hide a smirk.

“Hamlet?”

“A woman with teeth and a brain,” Eren tilts his head at you, “aren’t you something?”

“Do you always quote Shakespeare when you want to fuck somebody?”

“Only when I want to fuck you.” Eren stubs the cigarette out on the ancient oak of the staircase railing, grins up at you brilliantly, smiles brighter when he notices how obviously flustered you are.

“I need to go take a shower,” you say hurriedly, choking on the remnants of your shame and your confidence as they burn out in your throat, making an attempt to back up the stairs away from him. Eren laughs at your attempted escape, catching you by the wrist and pulling you close to him, close enough to dizzy you on the tendrils of smoke still sticking to him. Your breath stills, your heart slows as Eren wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you together, skin on tacky skin.

“Oh, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied?” Eren coos to you, mouth moving against your cheekbone. “C’mon, just one bite.”

“He that is proud eats up himself,” you hiss a quote back at him in response, ripping yourself from his grip and scrambling up the stairs, heart pounding and cheeks burning. You can hear a lovesick sigh follow you up to your room, and hope that the slam of the door behind you is enough to keep it from touching you.

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

The murky waters of your vision ripple out into clarity, and you’ve found yourself in a forest. You’ve been here before, you recognize the tall, thick trunks and the bed of fallen leaves under your feet. You’ve been coming here since you were a little girl, been wiggling your toes in the greenery since before you could remember. You never come alone.

It appears just as you remembered: a blinding glimmer of light, a flame for a head, and ribbonlike wisps of energy that beckon you like arms, like love. One step towards it, and it disappears, vanishing into nothing with an echo that might be laughter. You think it’s happy to see you.

When it reappears a few feet away, you take your first steps, sighing at the feeling of the wild enveloping you, of the prickling of your skin, kissed by the chill winding through the trees. You wish you could explore this place, so familiar and so strange all at once, but you know you have to keep moving, keep following the lights as they lead you deeper and deeper into the forest. They won’t hurt you; you aren’t sure why that’s true, aren’t sure why you keep moving. You just know better than to stop.

They lead you over a familiar path, winding past a creek, over a bed of flat stones with an ice-cold creek running over them. You never tire here, legs pumping and arms working to push yourself faster. You’ve never caught the lights, and you aren’t sure if you ever will, but again, you know better than to doubt. It feels like hours, feels like minutes, feels like purpose, chasing these lights through the forest, but suddenly, something’s new.

There’s a little chirping sound, almost conversational and too high-pitched for you to understand; you’re not even sure if you recognize the language. It ricochets around the bones in your body, touches something ancient in their marrow. You almost jerk your head to the right to find the source, but you resist, pushing ahead on your path as the lights lead you deeper. You get the feeling that you’ve gone off-script somewhere, that this is a part of the forest you haven’t seen before, but the warmth in your bones shoos your doubts away. You’ve never been this far, but it feels like home.

A growl curls around the shell of your ear, plants fear right in the center of your chest. Your eyes widen at the light before you before it disappears; you frown at the next one, not daring to speak but demanding an answer anyhow. The lights will save you, won’t they?

Shrieks from overhead, guttural, animalistic calls, howls and chatters of excitement; you never presumed to be alone in this forest, but you never presumed to be in danger, either. The lights urge you on, vanishing and regenerating at an alarming rate, your feet drumming against the forest floor faster and faster. A sliver of moonlight begins to glow from the trees a ways off, an indication that there’s a clearing ahead, and you shove the bile in your throat down, swing your arms faster, ignore the frantic fluttering of your pulse in time with the bestial chorus ringing clearer and louder from the trees with each passing second.

You do, against all odds, manage to launch yourself into the clearing, and the moment you feel the soft cushion of moss under your feet, as opposed to the branch-littered, crunchy path of the forest, you nearly stumble to your knees as your eyes adjust to the sudden brightness of the clearing. The grumblings of the woodland entities have quieted, an almost awestruck silence settling in the open space around you.

“There you are.”

Your head snaps up comically fast– “You?”

“Me,” Eren says, that razor-sharp, moonlight smile lighting up his face. He looks…right here, as if the forest is extending a sense of belonging, as if he’s been here longer than the ancient trees themselves. Even the little crown nestled atop his head is fitting: a tangle of brambles and thorns and leaves tucked into his dark locks. Is that a throne under him, that mass of branches and leaves and some silvery metal you can’t place?

His eyes glow in the starlight, illuminated with a certain hunger that you can feel reverberating through your bones. It should be frightening, but it’s enticing. You feel welcome.

“What are you doing here?” Your tongue is slower on the uptake than your mind, and you can feel the suspicious expression folding your facial features, hiding the thrum of anticipation the sight of him brings.

Eren cocks his head pityingly, smiling at you in a way that would seem predatory if it wasn’t so entirely disarming, so entirely inviting. Your feet are bringing you closer before he even speaks— you know why you’re here before he says it.

“I’ve been waiting so long,” Eren beckons you onto his lap, firmly grabbing your shoulder and silently demanding you straddle him when you try to turn away from him, “you’re beautiful, so…alive here.”

He takes a bit of your hair between your fingers and rubs it, satisfaction flickering over his face. It’s then that you realize how little fabric covers you; really, it’s only a thin, wispy excuse of a dress, hanging in tatters around your body and leaving your skin free for the taking. Taking notice of your dress leads you to take notice of another pressing matter: Eren’s naked beneath you.

“Where are we?”

“Does it matter?” Eren reaches up to toy with your hair again, smiling gently. He tilts his head up, asking you for something you can’t identify, but that you already know you’re willing to give. Your soul, maybe.

Your lips meet his in a tentative brush, a motion that feels shy, but practiced. It’s a reflex, an instinct, to kiss him this way. Eren groans gutturally against your mouth, pressing into you deeper, digging his fingertips into your bare skin. The chorus of inhuman chatter erupts around you both again, and you jump, almost pushing away from him before he stops you with a firm hand against the small of your back.

“Sh,” he whispers, nipping at your chin, “don’t pay them any mind. You’re with me, remember?”

It’s difficult at first with the ever-growing hum of life around you, but it grows increasingly easier to melt into him, to lose yourself in the rhythm of him. He’s thick and hard underneath you, pressed right where you’re already slick and ready for him, and he’s got a tight grip on your hips, working you against him to make sure you feel it and oh– do you feel it.

A debauched gasp pours from your mouth to his; Eren sinks sharp teeth into your bottom lip with a grunt of approval, pulls you up to situate you over his twitching cock. You can feel the lecherous eyes of the woodland creatures, spirits, monsters, whatever they may be around you, looking in on the sticky, tangible arousal building between your bodies. The steady glow of Eren’s eyes, the prick of the thorns in his hair under your fingertips, the insistent weight of him pressing against the wet heat of you: all of it keeps you grounded, keeps your hips rolling into Eren like your life depends on it, like it’s what you were born to do.

“Are you ready?” Eren murmurs, quiet as the grave, stilling your hips and lifting you.

“I’m not sure, I–”

“I’ve been waiting so long,” Eren interrupts, “so long for you– you’re ready for me, I know you are.”

And with that, he’s sliding you down onto his cock, splitting you open, dropping your jaw. The cacophony from the forest grows deafening, but the glowing eyes in the brush streak and blur as your eyes flutter closed, a stuttered moan falling from your lips.

“Oh–”

“Knew you were ready,” Eren sinks his teeth into your collarbone, lets you wiggle and roll your hips until he’s situated comfortably inside of you. “You were born for this. For me.”

You can’t even bring yourself to disagree, to refute, to question. It’s godly, the way he fills you, the twinge of pain in the pit of your belly that doesn’t waver, no matter which way you squirm. The longer you sit, perched upon him– you feel something akin to divinity, akin to prophecy ringing through your bones. You were born for this.

“Eren…” It’s more of a sigh than anything, a confession and an admittance of guilt, a repentance. He likes the way it tastes, you can tell by the way his hands grip you harder, roll you along his cock faster with an urgency that betrays his calm, adoring gaze. He’s sinking his claws into you, bit by bit, and you’re better for it. You belong here, with the night on your skin and Eren nestled inside of you.

“Don’t ever leave,” Eren smiles gently, as if it’s a choice, “stay with me forever.”

The pleasure’s beginning to peak in your stomach, the howls swirling in the air around you start to feel more like a blanket, the moonlight like a crown. His hands are so hot they almost burn, his tongue licking up your neck feels like a baptism. Your back is arching, your blood is rushing, the stars are speaking to you– what are they saying?

Your fingernails have left angry indents in your throat where you’ve clutched into the skin in a desperate attempt to regain your breath, shooting up out of your slumber with a vicious jolt. Your head spins with the sudden movement, the antique furnishings of the room bleeding into candlelit blurs as you heave for breath.

“Sleeping?”

You nearly jump out of your skin at the gravel of Eren’s voice, having believed yourself to be alone. Some instinctual part of your mind almost remembers falling asleep on the loveseat in the glass-enclosed sunroom earlier, one too many martinis to thank for that, but you can worry about that later– Eren’s your priority now, shirtless and leaned against the doorframe with one eyebrow raised and a very telling flush rising to his cheeks. The chilly wetness between your legs brings your dream to the forefront of your mind. Had he heard, somehow?

“What are you doing down here?” You do your best to narrow your eyes into something convincing enough to pass for annoyance, unsure if you’ve managed to pull it off with the rapid rise and fall of your chest.

“Water,” Eren says simply, raising a glass you hadn’t noticed he was holding, “but it seems like you might need it more than I do.”

“I don’t–” He ignores you, crossing the room to hand you the ornate glass. Your throat is dry, and so you drink, eyeing him suspiciously as you sip.

“Dreaming?” The corner of his mouth twitches almost imperceptibly.

“Nightmare.” You push yourself up to sit, crossing your arms defensively over your chest. “How’d you know?”

A long pause, Eren’s eyes dragging over you slowly, your skin burning. “You were squirming.”

“It was disturbing,” you say truthfully, looking over your shoulder and half-expecting to see some horrible monster leering at you from the doorway, salivating over you and Eren, “but I’ve had this same dream since I was a kid. Part of it, anyway.”

“Need company?”

“No,” you say quickly, shaken by the dream and how low Eren’s pajama pants hang on his hips, “I just need to get to my real bed. I’m sure sleeping outside had something to do with it.”

“That’s not true.” Eren’s scooping you up into his arms before you can open your mouth to argue, as if you even would. This isn’t unusual for him; you’ve grown used to his tendency to touch you, to hold you close to his chest as though you belong there. It echoes in your head, you were born for this. A shudder wracks through your body. “Cold?”

“Mhm,” you hum, not trusting your own voice. Eren nuzzles your head deeper into his shoulder, lets you get a noseful of the scent of him. Dewdrops, mankind, a rotting forest floor. It gives you a disconcerting sense of deja vu.

“Sleeping outside is good for you,” Eren goes on, scaling the stairs with impossible ease, “my mom used to tell me that.”

“Is that so?” It brings a sleepy little smile to your face, despite yourself: the image of a messy-haired, fussy baby Eren, curled up in his mother’s lap and looking up at the night sky.

“Sure.” You can hear the nostalgia in his voice. “The stars can talk to you that way, through your dreams. They show you where you’re supposed to go.”

Your blood runs cold at that– does he know? How could he? He’s a man, not a mind-reader, not a mystic. Right? You let him carry you to your door in silence, the only noise being the padding of his bare feet down the Turkish carpet runner in the hall. When he gets to your door, Eren finally starts to move to let you down, and your mouth moves without your permission, voice small and echoing in the still nighttime air.

“Eren?”

He freezes, muscles locking you in place against his chest. “Yeah?”

“Was I talking in my sleep?”

Eren settles you on your feet before answering, leaving one lingering hand on your hip and bringing the other up to brush at your cheek. Your eye must have been watering– his thumb catches a stray tear. His smile is a little too sharp when he answers.

“No, why?”

“Just wondering.” Relief courses through your body, but your muscles stay taut under his touch.

“Okay,” Eren looks you up and down one more time, as if he’s making sure you’re all there, “goodnight, then. I hope your dreams get better.”

When he turns to go, the broad silhouette of him growing darker as he retreats, you remember something fragile underneath the floorboards.

“Wait, Eren! You forgot your water.”

“My what?” When he turns to face you, he’s still grinning– baring his teeth, more like. You think you’re imagining the glow in his eyes, too fresh from that dream.

“Your water. I think I have a cup in my room if you need it.”

“Oh.” Eren waves a hand nonchalantly through the air, catching a stray stream of moonlight. You can see the dust particles dancing around his hand, enchanted by his movement. “Wasn’t thirsty."

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

It’s a slinky, dazzling dress; Elie Saab, Spring 2005, maybe? 2006? Sasha had lent it to you, insisted upon you taking it, really. It’s got to be worth at least your years’ rent payment, dripping with Swarovski and cut low and square across your chest, and easily the most decadent thing you’ve ever worn but– it’s family dinner night. No expense is spared.

Historia sits across from you, reaching one dainty hand out for Armin’s negroni, nearly dipping the massive drop-pearl charm on her bracelet into the first course: a cold, cucumber soup. Armin nudges her meaningfully, scowling and handing his glass to her, glancing apologetically at the stiff-backed butler across the room, who wasn’t looking anyway. Sasha’s at the head of the table, working on Historia’s serving of the cucumber soup, dunking focaccia bread into it in a voracious manner that you’re sure wasn’t outlined in the etiquette courses she’d endured as a child. And he’s next to you, naturally.

His dinner jacket looks out of place on him, oddly enough: angular and overly formal, as well-fitting as it is. You wish it was a little greener, a little more playful, something to match the Eren you’ve gotten to know under all the glitz and glamour. It’s too human for him, really, but that thought makes you shudder faster than you can shove it to the side.

“Wasn’t that the girl from Luxembourg?” Sasha asks through a giggle, finally leaning back to allow the butler to collect the remnants of her first course. Historia frowns at her, gulps back nearly half of Armin’s cocktail.

“No, the girl from Luxembourg was a slut. He wouldn’t have touched her.”

Armin and Eren exchange a look that implies that, whoever the slut from Luxembourg might have been, she didn’t escape their clutches unscathed. Historia notices the guilty smile dimpling Eren’s cheek and smacks Armin in retaliation.

“Ouch, Stori!” Armin scowls right back at her; if you didn’t know about Armin’s father’s remarriage to Historia’s mother, you’d think they were actually related.

“She was a slut,” Historia sniffs, finishing the rest of Armin’s cocktail in a second swig.

“It was Eren’s idea– you’re always punishing me for what he does.” When the staff place the second course, some sort of ceviche, in front of him, Armin crosses his arms over his chest and looks away like a huffy child. Sasha laughs and swats at his shoulder.

“Don’t pretend you don’t have your own hand in things. You can’t blame everything on Eren.”

“Maybe he can,” you shrug, the champagne going to your head. You’re feeling impish, feeling like one of them. Wildly, you reach a hand up to pinch at Eren’s cheek, smiling to yourself when you feel it turn warm under your fingers. “I mean, just look at him. He’s a devil.”

“Am not,” Eren scoffs, slapping a hand on your leg and shaking it playfully, “you weren’t there anyway. Min’s very convincing when he wants to be.”

“I am.” Armin smiles at you, head tilting intrepidly. “I can get Eren to share anything I want, I bet.”

It feels loaded, like a challenge, and Eren’s fingers tighten where he’s gripping your leg. When you chance a glance to the side at him, his jaw is tense, gaze focused on Armin like a threat, like a predator.

“Not anything,” Eren says, voice low and dangerous, more somber than you’ve ever heard him. Armin’s face falls for a millisecond, scrunching his nose at the murderous glint in Eren’s eyes, before he clenches his jaw and glances between the two of you with a haughty smirk.

“Est-ce vrai? En êtes-vous sûr? Tu l'as dit toi-même - je suis convaincant quand je veux quelque chose.”

“Ne commencez pas avec moi, pas pour ça.” It’s hardly louder than a murmur, but the threat carries all the same. You look to Sasha with widened eyes, hoping for a translation, but she’s chewing slowly on a bite of her ceviche, looking at Armin, Eren, then Armin again with a strange expression you’ve never seen before.

A heavy silence settles over the table, Eren’s fingertips leaving sore spots through your dress where they’re digging into your thigh, and Armin’s eyes dancing over Eren’s face, that same smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. Daring.

“You two are so in love,” Historia gripes with a roll of her eyes, smashing the carefully-cubed ceviche on her plate into a mush. You eye the smear of meat on her fork disdainfully and set down the bite you had been about to pop in your mouth, opting for your glass of bubbles instead.

The jokingly grumpy lilt of Historia’s comment seems to cut the thread of tension that had grown taut between the two men, as Armin allows Sasha to pull him away from Eren and back into his corner of the table with her and Historia. Their conversation drones on, the ethics of Eren and Armin’s tendency to tag-team women fading into the background as you wait for Eren’s hand to slip from your thigh. It doesn’t.

His thumb rubs idly over the slit of your dress, brushing it back and forth over your bare skin for just long enough to get you used to the pressure of his palm beaming heat through the thin fabric, get your guard down. And then his fingers slip underneath, grabbing into the hot flesh of your thigh.

You jump ever so slightly, flighty as a fawn, and Eren chuckles under his breath beside you when you choke a bit on your champagne. He’s cool—stoic, even—as he bashfully bats away the scandalous insinuations of Sasha and Historia’s storytelling, the lewd raise of Armin’s eyebrows at the mention of a certain leggy redhead in Prague. His hand stays steady, possessive and permanent on your leg. When Armin and Historia start arguing over yet another of Armin’s alleged missteps with one of her college friends, Eren takes the opening to lean into you, murmuring into your ear.

“What’s got you so jumpy?” His breath puffs out hot and sensual against the shell of your ear, and you can feel your earring lifting with the movement of his lips. He’s so close.

“Not jumpy,” you answer under your breath, trying to keep your composure.

“Hm,” Eren hums, leaning back just enough to study your profile, “wasn’t sure if you’d dozed off, started dreaming again.”

Your head whips towards him in what is surely an uncouth accusation of insinuation, borne of shock, but luckily, Armin’s too busy being hand-fed ceviche by Sasha and scolded by Historia to notice. Other than his eyes, Eren’s stiller than death, watching over the antics with the littlest smirk pulling at the corner of his lips. His eyes, though, flick down to you, glinting like a dare.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means something?” It’s a challenge, and you realize too late that the rope around your ankle has cinched, and you’re caught in his trap.

“No,” you say, hoping for more conviction in your voice, but it comes out as a breathy whisper. The corner of Eren’s mouth twitches, and it pulls an irritated huff from you.

“Tell me about your dream. The one that woke you up the other night.”

“Tell you– w-what? Here?”

“Yes, here,” Eren repeats you, quiet and calm, keeping one eye on your bickering friends to ensure you’re kept all to himself, “unless it’s something you can’t share.”

The blanching of your face tells him everything he needs to know, and that sickening admission almost overshadows the fact that he knows. He undeniably knows, now; maybe not the specifics, but enough to know that you had woken up sticky and gasping after a sinful dream. Maybe he even knows it was about him.

You’ve given up on trying to understand the otherworldly elements of Eren; the way he seems to appear at inopportune moments and know what you’re thinking at every turn, but this is too much. You quickly realize that while you’re not sober, you’re certainly not drunk enough to deal with him, and you finish your glass of champagne in a single gulp.

“You’re one to talk about sharing,” you hiss at him, trying to will away the goosebumps prickling your arms as his fingers inch higher, skating along soft skin. Eren’s demeanor falters, if only for a moment– he looks frustrated.

“Didn’t you hear me?” Eren leans into you, brows furrowing. “I don’t share just anything, and especially not just because ‘Min wants a taste.”

“Am I yours to share?” That heavy swig of champagne has gone straight to your head it seems, as you turn your face up to him defiantly, finally saying the quiet part out loud. The weight falls off your shoulders like a head, and you can almost feel the itch of the guillotine at your neck as the words leave your mouth. Eren, ever the gentle executioner, only lets the calm fascination return to his face, brings his fingers further up your thigh.

“Tell me about your dream, hm? They’re not listening, it’s just you and me.”

He’s only inches away from where you’re already beginning to grow hot and wet– he hasn’t even done anything, and you want to chastise yourself over the undeniable need beginning to bubble inside you. Eren’s smiling so sweetly, as if he’s lulling you into a sense of complacency, and your tongue hangs heavy in your mouth, eager to spill your secrets.

“I…I’m scared.”

Eren’s eyebrows raise and his smile grows a bit toothier, disbelief written plain on his face. “Of me?”

“Sometimes,” you say, small and honest as the grave, “it’s like you aren’t real.”

“I’m very real,” Eren insists, two fingers pressing against the damp silk of your panties, his eyes lighting up when you stifle a gasp, “doesn’t that feel real?”

“Wait–”

“The dream,” Eren says again, increasing the pressure of his fingers, “were you scared of me there, too?”

“Yes,” you whisper, ashamed and painfully cognizant of the feel of him between your legs, “I was in a forest, running after the little lights, they– I’ve seen them for a long time.”

“Since you were a child,” Eren repeats your confession from the other night. He’s reading you, you realize, not like a book, but like a poem. You couldn’t put the difference into words if you had to, but there’s a certain melody to the flickering of his gaze over your hot face.

“They’ve never led me anywhere before,” your words hitch in your throat, stopped dead when Eren’s fingers start rubbing circles over your swollen clit. The silk is thin and soaked, and his fingers slide over you in a way that feels god-given. Your jaw hangs ever-so-slightly, the butlers coming to change the course. You wait for Eren to slip his hand out from under your dress, fearful of the staff watching as he toys with you, but he only nods encouragingly.

“Keep going.”

“Um,” you stammer, swallowing thickly and glancing at the plate of bleeding, rare filet in front of you, “they took me to a clearing in the forest. There were creatures, ones I’ve never seen before.”

“Did they hurt you? Any of them?” A furrow appears between his eyebrows, deep and concerned. Some small part of your brain, muted since Eren’s hand slid beneath your dress, worries itself with why Eren seems so disquieted with your dream– it’s not like you actually could have been hurt, it was only a dream. Wasn’t it?

“No, they stayed away. They just made a lot of noise, but they all got quiet when…”

A knowing smirk. “When?”

“When I saw you.”

Eren pats your thighs gently, urging them apart; he looks relieved, exhilarated, unreal. If you didn’t know better, you’d think his eyes were glowing in the candlelight. Armin, Historia, and Sasha’s clamor across the table grows louder with each passing second, but as soon as you begin to wonder if you should be doing a better job of hiding what’s very clearly happening under the slit of your dress, Eren’s fingers have wiggled their way beneath the fabric of your silk thong. Your teeth dig into your bottom lip, eyes widening.

“I was glad to see you,” Eren says quietly, “in the dream, I mean.”

“You said you’d been waiting for me,” you whisper, keeping your voice low to hide the whine scratching at the back of your throat, “that you’d been waiting a long time.”

“I bet I was,” Eren hums thoughtfully, grinning viciously when he sinks a finger into you, clearly relishing the way your fingernails tighten into his wrist. “I never lie.”

“Even in a dream?” You feel fuzzy and warm, blinking moony, worried eyes up at him. Eren shakes his head in confirmation, curling his finger and making your thighs clench. “You put me in your lap, and–and, you had a crown. It was nighttime, I think, and the moon was really bright. You were inside me.”

Eren slides another finger in to match the first, and you’re hardly able to stifle a moan when it comes fluttering through your teeth, a breeze of a sound compared to what you’re struggling to keep captive in your chest. Eren’s other hand reaches forward to grab a small piece of the carved steak, brings the meat up to your mouth and brushes it over your lips.

“Eat,” Eren instructs, smiling placidly as you mindlessly obey, biting into the red meat, “but keep telling me.”

He waits patiently for you to chew around the bite of steak he’s offered you, eyes searching you for something– what it is, you can’t be sure. Your mind is wobbling around the flashes of memory of your dream, distracted every few steps by an overwhelming rush of pleasure from between your legs, Eren’s fingers curling incessantly against your walls. You swallow, never taking your eyes off of him.

“You fucked me.” The confession is breathless when it leaves you, and even through the haze of what you pray isn’t a rapidly-approaching orgasm, you don’t miss the way Eren’s shoulders stiffen, the way his eyes flash.

“Did I fuck you, or did you fuck me?” Eren murmurs back to you, mischief in his eyes and a tense gravel to his voice. “You said you were in my lap, after all.”

“I—oh, god—I don’t know,” you’re barely able to keep your voice low, a little whimper interrupting you, “Eren–”

“Keep going, it’s okay,” Eren’s fingers don’t slow– in fact, they begin to move more harshly, “you’re safe with me, you know that. I showed you in the forest, didn’t I?”

“Mhm.” You can’t stop your forehead from falling onto his shoulder, teeth digging into your lip so hard you aren’t sure if that coppery taste is from the steak, or your own blood. The conversation in the room, despite being made by only three people, feels like a deafening rush in your ears.

The realization hits home that Eren’s going to make you cum all over his fingers in front of your friends, the staff, and your dinner, and he’s going to wrench it out of you in a matter of seconds, if the tightening of your gut is anything to go by.

“What else?” Eren practically growls in your ear, low and hoarse. “Is there anything else?”

“You asked me– fuck, you asked me something.” Your hips are canting forward into his palm, your face tacky and warm thinking about the couture fabric under you, now drenched in your cum and sweat. “Eren, you have to slow down, please–”

He’s merciless, pumping his fingers into you ceaselessly, rendering you a lost cause. “What did I ask you?”

“You asked—oh, my god—asked if I, if I would stay with you forever.”

“What was your answer?”

You can’t respond, not with the way you’ve stopped breathing to swallow down the debauched moan bubbling in your chest. Your entire body tenses, strung tight as a bow around Eren’s fingers as the knot in your stomach unravels, cool, inevitable release finally crashing over you. Eren works you through it, murmuring little hushes into your hairline, and placing a comforting hand over your fingers that are digging into his wrist, smiling against your forehead as you slide your hips back and forth over his hand.

You manage to pull the whole thing off impressively subdued, no more than a tinny whimper leaving your lips, only to be absorbed by the sleeve of Eren’s dinner jacket. When you dare to sit up, to meet Eren’s eyes, he’s still looking at you expectantly, as if that wasn’t enough.

“I can’t believe you just did that,” you whisper, waiting for Historia to chastise you, or Armin to make a lewd comment. The three of them are still arguing, Sasha stealing bites from Armin’s plate each time he turns to snap at Historia, who’s now sitting amongst a crowd of empty crystal glasses.

“What was your answer?” Eren says again, pulling his fingers from you and smirking at the glisten that stretches down into his palm.

“I woke up,” you say with shaky conviction, trying to glare at him.

“Are you still scared of me?” Eren asks innocently, picking up a piece of his steak with his hand and feeding it to you again. Your cum mixes in with the flavor of the steak, gives it a certain tang and salinity that makes your heart beat faster, even though you’ve just floated back down to consciousness.

“I– I don’t think so, but…” you trail off, looking down at the plate. Eren brings another piece to your lips, letting you bite half and giving the rest to himself, not missing the opportunity to suck on the tips of his fingers. Your thighs press together when his eyes flutter shut, knowing what he’s tasting and watching him revel in it.

“But what?”

“I don’t think I understand you,” you confess breathlessly, “I think that’s what scares me. I spend all day looking at you, and I never feel closer to understanding you, to really touching you. It’s like you’re not…” you trail off in search of the right word.

“Real?” Eren cocks an eyebrow at you.

“Human,” you say without entirely meaning to, widening your eyes at him in apology. “I’m sorry, not in a bad way necessarily, but– you feel…like you’re above me. In a sense.”

“Above you?” Eren frowns, forgetting his dinner entirely and looking straight at you with rejection written all over his face, wrinkles you want to smoothe over with your thumb.

“I just…” you sigh, finding it harder to meet his gaze by the second, “I don’t understand what you want with me.”

“Still?” Eren tilts his head. “Even after that?”

“The dream?” You nearly chuckle in exasperation. “It was just a dream, that’s all.”

Eren frowns a little, reaches for your glass of champagne– oh, god, when had that been refilled?– and hands it to you. He watches you take one sip, and then another, that concentrated pull of his eyebrows never ceasing until you reach a shaky hand out for your fork, beginning to feed yourself small bites of steak. His perplexed expression ripples out into one of contentedness, smiling gently as he watches you take care of yourself.

“All days are nights to see till I see thee, and nights bright days when dreams do show me thee,” Eren finally says, looking at you very much like you’re supposed to be parsing something out from his quote.

“On to the sonnets now, are we?” You cock a playful eyebrow at him, despite your tired, slouching posture and your repeated attempts to keep your guard up. Eren grins mischievously, leaning in as if he means to press the tip of his nose to yours.

“I know no ways to mince it in love, but directly to say–”

“If it be love indeed, tell me how much?” You’re quicker than him on this one, a vicious little smirk cutting across your face when you manage to cut him off. Eren’s eyebrows raise, impressed, but you don’t keep him down for long.

“There’s beggary in love that can be reckoned,” Eren finally says, twirling the ring on your pinky absentmindedly. You don’t even remember when he laid his hand atop yours, but it feels heavy and comforting, and so you let it lie there, just for the time being.

Your post-orgasm exhaustion hits you like a train, the temptation to slump against Eren’s shoulder winning out over your propriety. You’ll sit back up by the fourth course, you tell yourself, nibbling on a large piece of parsley that had come as a garnish on your plate. Eren doesn’t seem to mind the weight of your fuzzy head nodded into the cotton of his shoulder; in fact, he seems to adjust himself so you can nuzzle closer, eyes blinking owlishly as you reach for your glass of bubbles. You’re teetering dangerously close to the edge of unconsciousness, and you almost wouldn’t care, until something catches your eye.

Over the rim of your glass, Historia is staring at you. It’s not a look of admonishment, but more…caution? Concern? Pity? All you can discern for certain is that Historia must have seen everything Eren did to you, everything he’s still doing to you, taking a caviar bump off the back of his hand and laughing at Armin, shoulder shaking under your cheek. Historia’s brows furrow at you, her bottom lip wavering slightly.

You sit up suddenly, ignoring the way the room spins with the speed of your action. Eren turns his head to you, surprised, only to follow your gaze across the table to Historia. You’re trying to keep from looking at him, but you can’t help yourself, watching his expression crumple into something stern and disparaging.

Historia withers for only a moment, before narrowing her eyes at him threateningly. Eren squeezes his hand around yours. Sasha shoves Historia admonishingly for not listening to her joke. Armin’s eyes focus in on where your fingers grip your champagne flute hard enough to turn white.

You think you see a few pairs of familiar, glowing eyes in the bushes outside, peering in on the scene at the table. You think you need to go to bed.

#eren jaeger x reader #eren yeager x reader #eren jaeger smut #eren yeager smut #eren jaeger fanfiction #aot #aot fanfic #eren jaeger x you #eren yeager x you #attack on titan x reader #aot x reader #that's all for now folks!!!!#more to come in part 2<3

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