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#as always if you would like to see more of/learn about anything in particular leave me an ask :)
groguspicklejar · 3 months
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I desperately want to see the mafia!141 realize that they've been raping her, and actually use that word, because sex under duress is not sex, it's rape, and I desperately want to see them realize that she's only been having sex with them to try and save her own life, and thus they are all rapists. Couldn't get their heads out of their asses long enough to realize that she didn't even want to, they were too caught up in all of their needs and their wants
this. is an excellent take on it and here's why; this is sort of an analysis of the past events + an update of approximately an hour after [cracks in the wall] [part of mafia!141] warnings: dark themes, talks of dubcon/noncon (though, it's kind of accidental??? just that lines were blurred), +18 smut/mentions of smut, whump/whump aftermath, guilt and regret, implications of kidnapping and imprisonment.
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it's kind of been implied since losing interest in this particular paragraph;
and it's been easy to let them do whatever they wanted. sell your little apartment. move you into another one. take you to their base. sit on their lap. kiss them. have sex with them. let them pump you full of cum whenever they like. it's easier that way because you don't want to have to think about what'll happen if you refuse to do any of it.
especially that last line. from the moment you came to the conclusion that you are not in an ideal situation, that these men, no matter how good they've been to you and that they haven't physically (or emotionally) hurt you, it does not make them any less dangerous and in your mind, it does not mean that they won't turn on you at any given time for whatever reason.
so you're kind of stuck in this state of awareness, after seeing how they were around someone who's not to be trusted, how 141 gets when they don't like someone or they aren't getting their way. things get nasty for the other party. you've seen it with the two guys who mugged you (by the way, you still doesn't know what really happened to them but you doesn't think it's anything good).
and if you've learned anything about dangerous men, it's that they're easier to handle when they get what they want. so you gives them what they want, regardless of whether you want to or not because again, in your mind, they can turn on you if they're angry for being denied certain things. and where did you learn all that? yes, you guessed it, Blair.
though in that same chapter, Price tells you that you doesn't have to give him sex if you don't want to, and it kind of reassures you for a second that at the very least, you doesn't have to worry about being violated in that regard, that feeling of safety is wiped out in the next chapter when you feels the iron fist clamp down on you and keeps you grounded when you try to flee.
because you may have escaped and outlived your first captor, but you've now gained four more;
and there it is. always the same damn problem, always the same shtick. same man, different faces. you feel the sting at the corner of your eyes, your heart beating too fast for your lungs to catch up.
so of course you apply the same rules. of course you apply the same methods that have kept you alive before. complacency. silence. submission. on repeat. all day, every day. and it wears you down faster than when you were with Blair because there's four of them, you have to do it more often since they're constantly around. at least with Blair, he was around for a couple of hours max before he got bored and sought the comfort of another woman, leaving his wife to rest a little bit. survival mode, you'd would call it.
now from the boys perspective, it looked more like staring down a brick wall. sure, you smiled and laughed and went along where they guide you, but it felt hollow. there was none of the spark and natural emotion on your end.
it felt manufactured. some days, you were better at hiding it, some days, you were not. it just depends.
on days when you hide it well, they thought you felt better about the whole ordeal, that you were starting to accept that keeping you here was for your own good. especially since you'd been followed and nearly been abducted by one of their enemies, it was evident that you were in danger and you needed their protection, so the best way to receive it is by listening to their instructions and staying put.
so things were easier. for them. they saw a pretty smile and didn't want to question the validity of it. they'd hoped, at least, that you'd cooled down enough for them to try and soothe whatever ire was left.
they approached you with caution, with soft words and heated mouths to try and seduce you back into their bed. although you went along with it, let them lie you on your back and spread your thighs, you don't quite fully put your mind into it. just go with the motions until it's over and leave right after.
it does help that they make it enjoyable. makes it easier not to restrain the urge to struggle or push them away. but you wish you didn't have to spend so much energy catering to that specific need, even if it is for your own survival. it is, at the end of the day, a necessary evil.
but even if you do enjoy it, it doesn't mean that the boys would've gone through any of it if they knew you didn't want to. Kyle had suddenly suspected that in cracks in the wall in this scene;
"then please explain what exactly it is he meant." you said, putting the bottle down and swirling the half-full glass. "because i've done all you guys have asked without one complaint." he doesn't like the way you phrase that. it implies you've been forced to do things you don't want to do and that's not... true... is it? Gaz tries not to think about that for a minute. tries not to think about what that could imply.
because what it does imply is what @slasherfantasy pointed out.
and it is not something that sits well with 141.
they know they should've paid more attention. seen the signs. the very brief hesitation in your eyes when they approached you or initiated sex before it was replaced by a smile. the stiffness in your posture, the tremble in your hands, your dull eyes feigning all the emotions they wanted to see, instead what they should've seen.
a cloud of remorse fall upon the four of them as they sit at the table in silence. each nursing a glass of hard liquor of their choosing. and don't think Ghost is guiltless in all this, he's still beating himself up for not speaking to you sooner while all of this was happening.
"i think i'm gonna be sick—" Soap immediately went to the bathroom to hurl out his insides. he could almost hear his parents severe disappointment. his mother and sisters out casting him from the MacTavish clan, casting him aside for being such a disgrace to them.
same with Gaz and Price. it's a bit different with Ghost because he abandoned you and couldn't save you, the same way he couldn't save his mother.
the echo of your voice, calling Price by a different name. calling him Blair because that's who you saw in him. in all of them.
none of them slept that night. Price, through the tightening in his throat, rubbed Gaz's back while the Sergeant quietly wept. Price trashed his office that night, feeling the last bit of control slip through his fingers. a failure. an abuser. a monster.
Ghost, in his absence, turning his back on you. and he felt like with his insight, his experience with living under survival mode and living with someone else in survival mode (his mother), he would've been able to tell. to at least see what was going on with you. but no. he turned a blind eye to you because he was too stuck in his own anger for you trying to escape a situation his mother would've probably tried to escape too. he may not have raised a hand to you, but he feels just like his father.
and Gaz? your best friend. your confidant. the one who communicates and knows your thoughts better than all of them because you trusted him, trusted that he wouldn't hurt you. he should've been the first to know. should've been the first one to fucking tell. and he was, which was the most fucked up part. but he didn't want to think that he (or Price, Soap and Ghost) were the direct problem, just the rules they implemented. he didn't think... he didn't think the problem wasn't that extensive. he assumed that you were just upset you don't get to go anywhere anymore.
all four of them grieve for what they'd unconsciously done, for being worse than Blair even.
they couldn't look you in the eye next morning. didn't dare to touch you, knowing you wouldn't appreciate it. for the first time in weeks, they kept their distance out of fear of upsetting you even more. each of them kneeling at your feet, uttering endless apologies and promises of "never again".
you didn't talk to them. went completely silent after your outburst. truthfully, you were exhausted. too drained to spew any more fire. you just wanted to sleep.
and maybe never wake up if it meant looking any of them in the eye again.
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banner by @cafekitsune mafia!141 masterlist offer a note in the picklejar
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xxbimbobunnyxx · 5 months
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Best Mates
(Fuck boy!Aplha!Eddie Munson x Bestfriend!Omega!Reader)
Summary: You’ve always been in love with your bestfriend, you never thought anything would ever come of it until you present as an omega and he spends your heat with you. WK: 5.5k My Masterlist
Warnings: 18+MINDI Omegaverse so generall a/b/o behaviors. Scenting, knotting, marking, breeding kink, unprotected sex, possessiveness from both Eddie and reader, pining, heartbreak, Eddie leaves reader after her heat so there some angst but they get a happy ending. Pls lmk if I missed any!!
A/N: So this is my first time writing both omegaverse and angst, so I was pretty nervous going into this but I’m actually pretty proud of how it turned out! I’d love feedback, and reblogs are greatly appreciated! Also shout out to my Lessy poo for giving me some advice @lesservillain (divider used is by @firefly-graphics)
Eddie has been your best friend since middle school and you realized pretty early on that you were in love with him. You remember the exact moment, you were both 16 when a senior cheerleader pulled him into a janitor's closet and he fucked her up against the wall. He told you about it excitedly, in a particular Eddie fashion but each word felt like a knife to your heart. He got the van a few months after that and it only got worse from there. If it wasn’t cheerleaders sneaking around with him behind their boyfriends backs it was band girls who heard through the grapevine how good of a fuck he was asking him to take their virginity.
He would always rant and rave to you about his escapades during your weekly Friday night hang outs and each time it broke your heart. But you listened, because that’s what best best friends do. You’ve had a few boyfriends and you were no virgin yourself but you hardly ever went into details with him and it never worked out because none of them were Eddie. No matter how hard you tried not to compare them to him, you always did.
When you were 18 he presented as an alpha, you graduated and he didn’t, so you hoped maybe he would settle down and find an omega but even if he didn’t at least you wouldn’t be around him everyday anymore to see it. But that didn’t happen, instead he kept fucking men and women alike, omegas, betas, it didn’t matter to him as long as he had a warm hole to fill. You didn’t escape having to see it either, he would take people into the bathroom after shows at the hideout, leaving you to ride home with one of the other guys. You would overhear girls in your college classes whispering about him, how big he is, how hard they fucked them, and it not only broke you but it just made you want him more.
At twenty one you’ve yet to present and at this point you’d given up hope of it ever happening. Your mom is an alpha and your dad is an omega so you always thought you’d present, but you were starting to think you were wrong. That is until today.
You were laying in your bed, your sheets soaked through with slick and sweat, whining with your hand between your legs desperately trying to relieve the pressure, even just a little bit. But nothing was helping, you even tried to use your toy which you quickly learned was a mistake, the vibrations too much for your sensitive clit. You considered calling Eddie, more than once, even going as far as to pull up his contact on your phone before talking yourself out of it. You didn’t want him like this, not just because he felt obligated to help you but because you wanted him to want you because you were you. That’s all you ever wanted.
He had texted you several times, and called twice but you couldn’t bring it in yourself to answer him. He would know something was off with you immediately and wouldn’t believe you if you lied. You felt hopeless as you rolled around in your bed, the only thing that offered you any sort of comfort was the flannel he had left at your house last week. You hugged it tight to your body, the bottom half clenched between your thighs, the other end held up to your nose as you inhaled his scent.
You were half drifted off, still clutching his flannel for dear life when you heard a knock on your door. You groaned, rolling over and deciding to ignore it, there was no way you could answer the door like this. You ditched your tank top and panties hours ago, your hair is all over the place from rolling around in your sweat, and most of all you physically don’t feel like you can move right now. That plan was quickly thrown out the window when you heard it again, this time it wasn’t just a knock though, someone was pounding on your door.
You didn't have to wonder who it was for long, his voice yelling out your name as the loud knocks persisted. Why the fuck was he here? You knew he had plans tonight so you figured he wouldn’t notice you hadn’t replied until later. It only made you want to ignore it more, you couldn’t face him, not like this.
“Open this fucking door or I’m going to break it down!! I know you’re in there I can smell you!”
Fuck. You didn’t even think about the fact that he could probably smell your heat, even from where he was. You wanted to ignore him, let him bang on the door until he finally gave up, but something told you he wouldn’t. That he would really break down your door to get to you, and you couldn’t help the warm feeling that filled your insides at the thought of him breaking down the door just to get to you. You knew you couldn’t resist him, not physically, even if your mind really wanted you to.
You groaned as you peeled yourself from your bed, grabbing some soft cotton panties out of your drawer and throwing his flannel over you without even really thinking about it. You felt dizzy and weak as you dragged yourself to the front door, but as soon as you hit the hallway it was like someone woke you up. You could smell him and the smell instantly brought the same kind of comfort as the flannel, if smelling him from here felt this amazing you could only imagine what it would be like to shove your nose in his neck and just inhale.
Suddenly the doubts in your mind were gone, you couldn’t even remember why you didn’t want to answer the door in the first place. You just want Eddie. Your pace picks up as you walk down your small apartment hallway and rip the door open. You smell him two seconds before your eyes meet and you feel like someone just knocked the wind out of you. His nostrils are flared, his pupils are dilated to the point that his eyes look black, the look in them wild.
“Why the fuck didn’t you call me?”
He doesn’t wait for an answer, just pushes past you into your apartment, slamming and locking the door behind him. He walks up to you so you’re toe to toe with him, he’s towering over you, staring into your eyes with lust and fury.
“I’m serious, why didn’t you fucking call me? I called you, you could’ve told me what was going on, you know I would’ve helped you.” His voice is deeper than you’ve ever heard it, that combined with smelling him this close makes you whimper and you feel a rush of slick drip down your legs, right through the panties you just put on.
“I - I didn’t want you to feel pressured to help me Eddie, I know you’d only be doing it because you feel bad.” You wanted to break eye contact but you felt like he had you locked in place without even touching you.
“Pressured? You really think I would feel pressured? You don’t think I’d come just because I want to help my best friend through this?”
Best friend. Hearing those words come out of his mouth right now almost makes you gag.
“I don’t know.” You just shrug, not sure what else to say.
It’s then that he takes a second to take you in. You’re wearing his flannel and it’s not even buttoned so he can see everything but your nipples, you have on these little white cotton panties, there’s slick dripping down your legs and your fucking smell. He’s never smelled anything like it, anything better. He’s scented and knotted several other omegas, but no ones ever smelled as good as you.
He inhales deeply, reaching out to rest his hands on your shoulders.
“Let me help you little omega, you smell so good, I can smell how badly you want me.” His hands run up your shoulders and rub over your neck, right where your scent gland is, and even just this simple touch makes your head spin even more. You want him to kiss you there. Bite you. You wanted him to mate you, but you’d never tell him that.
“Okay.”
It came out small and shaky but it was enough for him. He surges forward and crashes his lips against yours, his tongue immediately swiping over your bottom lip. When it intertwines with yours you moan at the taste of him. He pulls away, kissing down your jaw to that spot on your neck and your knees buckle. He catches you with ease, picking you up bridal style and carrying you to your room.
He tosses you on the bed and it causes the flannel to fall open, exposing your tits fully to him. Your legs are spread without you even realizing it and he can see how truly soaked you are now.
“Look at you baby, wearing my flannel, you have no idea what that’s doing to me. You look so fucking sexy and smell so fucking good. Gonna make you mine, my omega.” He’s not even really thinking about what he’s saying now, your scent and the sight of you so desperate for him clouding his mind. “I need to taste you.”
He lays down between your legs and immediately attaches his mouth to your clothed core, swirling his tongue over your overly sensitive clit with a groan. You moan loudly and arch your back.
“Eddie, Eddie, please please don’t tease me, make me feel good, I need you. I can't wait anymore.” He continues lapping at your clothed pussy for a few more seconds before pulling away.
“You want my knot, princess? Is that what you’re saying? I wanna hear you say it.” The people who you are outside this moment are completely gone, all thoughts of friendship and consequences out the window.
“Please please please, want it so bad.” You’re wiggling under him, your hips rocking back and forth in search of friction, you can’t take it anymore you’ve been aching for hours and your body knew it was aching for him.
“You don’t need to beg, sweet girl, I’ve got you. Let’s get these off…”
You barely have time to process what’s happening before he’s ripping your panties clean in half, bringing them to his mouth and sucking your juices before throwing them over his shoulder. He hastily rips the flannel from your body before tossing it in the same direction. He stands up momentarily to hastily rip off his own clothes, your eyes widen when you see him fully bare in front of you.
He’s more buff than he used to be and his pale skin is littered with more tattoos than he had a few years ago, his brown curls are even messier than usual and when your eyes trail down his body they pause at the little trail of hair under his belly button before stopping at his cock. You’ve heard rumors about it for years, you’ve seen it through his sweatpants more times than you could count but nothing could’ve prepared you for the real thing.
“Alpha, I want you inside me, fill me up please please.” You hardly even recognize your own voice anymore but you’d do or say anything to have him inside you right now.
“It’s okay baby, I’m going to make it all better, make all the pain go away, yeah?”
He comes back up onto the bed between your legs, grabbing them and placing them on either side of his thighs. He grabs his cock in his hand and pumps it a few times before slowly inserting the tip inside you. He wants to take his time with you, he really does, but he just can’t. He slams the rest of the way into you in one stroke, he leans over you on his forearms and starts fucking you at a brutal pace.
The weight of his body and the feeling of him filling you up so perfectly has an unexpected orgasm crashing through you immediately. The relief you’ve been seeking for hours brought onto you in mere minutes. He continues to pound into you, his cock hitting that perfect spot over and over again. You turn your face to run your nose along his neck and inhale his scent, the smell sending you hurtling into another mind blowing orgasm. He kept fucking you hard and deep, pushing you to the edge over and over again.
“Fuck! Eddieeee you feel so fucking - so fucking good, so so good. Thank you alpha thank you thank you.” You’ve been moaning and saying things you never thought you’d have the courage to say, the moans coming out of your mouth were sounds you didn’t even know you were capable of making.
“This pussy feels so fucking good, feels like it was made for my cock. Tell me it’s mine, tell me this pussy belongs to me.”
“It’s yours - it’s yours! Only y-yours, my pussy belongs to you alpha!”
He growls into your neck as he leaves hot wet kisses over your scent gland, his thirsts start to grow sloppy and you feel his teeth nipping lightly at your flesh and you want him to just bite down.
“You’re so fucking good for me, such a good fucking girl. You’re gonna make me fucking cum.” You feel his cock twitch inside you the same moment you feel his teeth sink into your neck, the feeling sends a warmth through your body you’ve never felt before and you barely have time to process that feeling because seconds later he’s painting your walls with his cum. The feeling makes you cum right along with him but the euphoria is short lived when you feel a stabbing pain inside you.
“Shh shh, baby it’s okay, it’s just my knot, it’s only gonna hurt for a second I promise.” His voice is soft and calming, a stark contrast from the deep commanding tone he’d had since he showed up at your door. His hand reaches up to cup your jaw, rubbing his thumb over your cheek while his nose nuzzles into the bite on your neck. After a moment the pain subsides and is replaced by overwhelming pleasure, sending you into a final orgasm.
“You okay?” He pushes up on his forearms to look at you and he almost feels like he’s gonna cum again. Your hair is a mess, your face is flushed, your skin slick with sweat, and his bite mark, slightly bloody, is displayed on your neck. He knew it wouldn’t take, since you didn’t ask him, but that didn’t stop him from imagining that it did, imagining you were his.
“Yeah, I’m good, I still - I’m still…” you struggled to find the words to describe how you were feeling.
“You feel satisfied but like you still want more, is that it?” His thumb runs over your cheek again and he leans down to rub his nose against yours, the gesture so gentle it almost brings you to tears.
“Mhm.” You nod.
“Well don’t worry babe, you’re stuck with me for the next week. I’ll be here for you, okay?” He grabs onto you so he can roll over onto his back with you on top of him. He lightly puts his hand on your back, pushing you down so your chest is flat against his and he can run his hands along your bare body.
“Okay Eddie, thank you…”
He kept his word and stayed with you through your entire heat, having one of the guys drop some stuff off for the both of you. He doted on you, fucked you and knotted you more times than you could count that it almost made you forget that he wasn’t really your mate, that he was just doing this to help his best friend. So the day you woke up feeling normal and he left to return to his regular life, to return to just being your best friend, you felt like he took a piece of you with him.
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You hadn’t seen Eddie all week, which wasn’t that out of the ordinary these days since you both had work and you had classes. He’s called you a few times but you dodged them, only responding to a few of his many texts with short replies. Even managing to dodge your Friday night hang out under the guise of helping a friend with guy troubles.
But tonight Robin and Steve were dragging you to a party and you knew Eddie would be there because he asked you if you were going. You didn’t go overboard getting ready but you did wear your favorite little black dress and add a little more makeup than you usually would. If you were going to see him you were at least going to look hot.
When you get to the party you can already tell he was there. You haven’t laid eyes on him yet but the moment you walked into the door you could smell him. Even through all the smoke, bodies, and spilled beer you could smell his warm musky scent clear as day. It made you dizzy, it made you want to run. You weren’t sure if it was towards him or straight out of the party, you just knew you wanted to run.
You were one drink of mystery punch in when you finally laid eyes on him and you immediately knew which way you wanted to run. He was in the living room, with this beta girl from your English class pressed up against the wall. Your red cup slipped from your grasp and crashed onto the floor, the remaining liquid splashing all over the ground and your feet. You immediately dashed for the door, slipping in the liquid and bumping into a table that had a game of beer pong going on it.
The beer spilled all over the ground and the table tipped back and forth for a moment before landing back on its four legs. Almost every set of eyes there was on you, including the pair you wanted on you the least. You locked eyes with him for a moment, his filled with concern and something else you couldn’t decipher and yours brimmed with tears. You saw him start to untangle from the girl and took that as your sign to bolt. You ran out of the party and down the street, not even caring how you got home.
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It’s been a few days since then but it felt like weeks. Eddie had called and texted you more times than you could count at this point. You had avoided every single one up until he threatened to just come over again to which you responded “I need time.” He stopped texting you after that.
You were on autopilot, work and class going by in a daze. You finally had the day off and Robin agreed to come over to keep you company. She brought snacks and you watched a few movies together. You were worried that you would feel different around her after you presented since she was an alpha but she didn’t smell any different to you. When you realized you couldn’t smell any of the alphas you’ve been around, it hit you, Eddie mated you that day.
When Robin leaves you’re back sitting with your thoughts of Eddie. What he might be doing, who he might be doing. You missed him and you hated it. You sighed as your hand subconsciously made its way up to the now almost healed bite on your neck. It had started to scab and show signs of scarring and each time you saw it your heart broke a little more. How could you be so stupid? You thought since you didn’t vocalize that you wanted him to mate you it wasn’t supposed to stick, but it did.
Once you realized it, everything started to make sense. The way you could smell him the minute you walked into that party, how you couldn’t smell any other alphas, the piece of you that felt like it was missing without him around. Eddie was your mate and he was still out fucking around with other people. It made you sick.
Your thoughts are disrupted by a banging on the door and the minute you hear his voice calling your name it’s like you're sent back to that day that he came to you when you needed him most. Part of you wanted to ignore him, let him bang on the door until he gave up, but the part of you that wanted to see him outweighed it.
When you open the door he’s standing there looking just as wild as that day but something about his scent is off and it makes you gag.
“We need to talk.” He looks and sounds pissed and it makes you scoff.
“Yeah? Why don’t you go talk to whatever fucking omega you smell like right now because you fucking reak.” You wrinkle your nose at him and scowl. Was he seriously pissed at you right now?
“That’s what we need to fucking talk about! Can I please just fucking come in?” He can tell you’re about to argue with him further so he just walks past you, leaving you in the doorway with your mouth hanging open.
“What the hell do you want from me Eddie!? You fucking mated me and then you left me! I see you a week later with your tongue down some girl's throat and now you show up at my door smelling like another omega!? Asking to TALK!? Okay let’s fucking talk Eddie. We can talk. Let’s talk about how you’ve made me feel for almost our entire lives!! From the minute you fucked Allison in that janitors closet you’ve been breaking my fucking heart! Every single time you tell me about your hook ups it makes me want to fucking DIE Eddie!! But I sit there and I listen because I’m a good best friend and I could take it as long as you were still in my life! But then you come here, you spend my heat with me and you treat me like I mean the world to you, like your mate, then you just LEAVE and act like none of it ever happened!! I can’t take it anymore!! I can’t let you hurt me like this anymore Eddie I can’t!”
Tears are streaming down your face and your voice is cracking from yelling, you bang your fits on his solid chest while you sob. “FUCK YOU EDDIE MUNSON!! I hate you I hate you I-“
Your rant is cut off by him grabbing your face and kissing you roughly. You grab onto his hair and pull him closer, no matter how much you want to push him away your body betrays you. After a second you pull back with a fire in your eyes, and slap him across the face.
“Princess… baby, you need to calm down.” His voice comes out stern, matter of fact, and it takes everything in you to resist his command.
“Calm down!? Calm down!? You told me you wanted to talk, kissing me to shut me up isn’t talking, Edward!”
“You WEREN’T LETTING ME TALK!! If you just listen to me for five fucking seconds!! I didn’t fucking know okay!? I didn’t know I mated you until TODAY. I thought since you didn’t ask me to mate you it wouldn’t stick, it never has before, but you’re different. You are my mate and I think my heart always knew that even if my brain was too dumb to realize it!”
“So what? It took you fucking TWO other people for you to realize I was the one for you? How fucking romantic!!”
“I didn’t fuck them!! I couldn’t, okay!? After I smelled you at the party from across the room I tired to fuck that beta chick at that party to get you off my mind but I couldn’t even get hard. I figured maybe it was just because she was a beta so I tried to be with another omega and she smelled DISGUSTING to me, the minute her arms wrapped around me I GAGGED and I came straight here!!”
“You didn’t fuck them but you still let them touch you!! You went to them! You tried! When you’re fucking mine Eddie! Do you know how much that hurts!?” You try to push him back but he grabs onto your wrists to hold you in place.
“You’re saying all this but I can smell alpha on you, and all over this entire apartment!!” He’s holding your wrists to his chest to keep you close, his eyes are boring into yours and you feel like he’s trying to look into your soul.
��Yeah ROBIN!! She came over to keep me company because I was wallowing in self pity over your dumb ass!! I CAN’T EVEN SMELL HER EDDIE! I can’t smell any other alphas besides you!!” You struggle against his hold, just wanting to back away from his scent that’s clouding your mind.
“Princess… calm down.” He’s using his alpha voice on you again and even though your body wants nothing more than to obey his command your anger outweighs it.
“Take your clothes off and get on the fucking couch Eddie. Now.” Your voice is stern and matter of fact, your eyes filled with fury so he decides not to question you. Dropping your wrists from his hold, stripping himself before walking over to the couch to lay back on it. He wanted to please you just as much as you wanted to please him. At this point he would do anything to prove to you that he’s yours.
He watches with wide eyes as you strip yourself as well, walking over to stand over him. The look on your face is one he’s only ever seen a few times, pure rage. You looked like you wanted to rip him to pieces, it was honestly turning him on. You swing your leg over his hips so you can straddle him and he moans when he feels your wet pussy touch his thigh.
“Ugh - god you smell fucking horrible Eddie.”
The scent of the other omega still lingered on his skin and you wanted to rip it off. You glare at him as you grab his cock in your hand and spit on it, pumping him a few times before raising up to line him up with your entrance, immediately slamming down on him and inserting him fully inside you. You don’t even give him time to process the feeling of your warm pussy engulfing him, you just start riding him like your life depends on it, because right now it feels like it does. He’s a moaning mess beneath you, his hands gripping onto your hips for dear life while he watches you bounce on his cock, mesmerized by the sight of you.
“Tell me whose cock this is Eddie, tell me who you belong to.” Your hips are flush against his while you rock back and forth on his cock, his head rubbing against your g-spot deliciously. Your hands are planted on his chest and your nails dig into his flesh, wanting to mark him in any way possible.
“It’s your - yours baby! I promise I p-promise, it’s always - fuck! - it’s always been yours!!” You start bouncing on his cock again, using his chest for leverage to slam up and down on him over and over again.
“You’re fucking mine Eddie, my Alpha!! Mine mine mine.” You drag your nails down his chest before leaning forward to rub your nose along his neck. You felt a rush of relief when it only smelled like him, she might’ve touched him but she didn’t scent him.
Your hips slowed and Eddie took it as an opportunity to tighten his grip on your hips and start fucking up into you.
“I’m yours and you’re mine princess.” He’s pistoling his cock into you now, getting deeper and going harder than you could yourself and an orgasm quickly creeps up on you. He feels you clench around him while your cum coats his cock. “This is my fucking pussy, you’re my fucking omega.”
You’re moaning so loud you’re sure your neighbors can hear you, your nails digging so deep into his chest that they’re breaking skin now and your nose is shoved into his neck, inhaling his scent while he fucks you so hard it makes you whole body vibrate. You latch your lips onto his neck and suck causing him to throw his head back and growl, fucking you impossibly harder.
“Gonna fill this fucking pussy up, maybe I’ll knock you up then everyone will know exactly who you belong to. Who I belong to.” His hands grip onto your ass and he plants his feet onto the couch as his thrusts pick up, the thought of you with his baby inside you making him insane.
“Yes y - yes! Breed my pussy alpha! Fill me up! I want it I - f - fuck! I want it so bad please please.”
“Yeah baby? You want that? Want me to fuck a baby into you?” You whimper and nod into his neck but that’s not enough for him, he grabs you by your hair pulling your face up so he can look you in the eyes. “Tell me you want it, tell me you want me to fuck a baby into, tell me you’re mine.”
“I’m yours! I’m yours! I’ve always been yours, I want it, I want you to breed me alpha!”
The sound of you begging him to begging him to do the one thing his body is programmed to do above all else drives him insane. He knows you aren’t on any kind of omega safe birth control yet and the possibility of it sticking makes him absolutely feral.
“Mark me Eddie, I want you to mate me!” He looks at the almost healed bite mark on your neck, you both know he technically already did but he understands what you mean, understands that you want to know it’s happening this time. So he runs his nose along the mark before sinking his teeth into your throat.
The feeling sends you both over the edge. Your walls tighten around him while he pumps you full of his cum. A few seconds later you feel that now familiar stinging as his knot expands inside you. He grabs your face in his hands and kisses you with a passion that you’ve always dreamed of. This kiss feels like your real first kiss and it makes warmth blossom inside you. He pulls away so he can look you in the eyes, his hands still cupping your face while he rubs his thumbs over your cheeks.
“I love you, you know? I’ve always loved you. I just never thought I was good enough, never thought you would feel the same way. So I pushed those feelings down, and buried them in person after person and I know that’s awful. But please let me prove to you how much you mean to me, forever.”
“I love you Eddie Munson, even though you’re a huge idiot sometimes, how you didn’t see it is beyond me. I feel like I was blindingly obvious.” You chuckle and playfully roll your eyes at him.
“I’m sorry, for all the hurt I’ve put you through, I promise I’ll never hurt you again, okay? You’re my mate now, I’m only going to protect you from here on out.” He places a gentle kiss on your lips, just basking in the feeling of you.
“It’s okay Eddie, you’re mine now, and I’m not letting you go.” You lay your head on his chest and reach your hand up to tangle your fingers in his hair, running your nails over his scalp.
“You think it’ll stick?”
“You were serious about that? I don’t know, only time will tell. If it doesn’t, we could always try again.” He groans and you feel him twitch inside you.
“Okay maybe let’s talk about this later because my knot is never gonna go down if I keep thinking about getting you pregnant and I really want to take a shower.” You both laugh, the kind of laughing you’ve always done together and it makes you feel whole again.
“I love you Eddie.”
“I love you princess, I’m going to spend every single day until my last proving that to you.”
You giggle and nuzzle into his neck, it feels so right, being in his arms like this. It feels like home.
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ovaryacted · 6 months
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Rookie Mistakes
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Pairing: RE2!Leon x Sergeant fem!Reader
Summary: When Leon seems distracted and makes a mistake during a call, you ensure your rookie gets his head together as his sergeant.
Content/Warnings: 18+/MDNI. NSFW. Porn with plot. Dom/sub elements. Femdom/msub. Praise kink. Slight degradation. Needy/subby Leon. Oral sex. Fingering. Handjob. Office Sex. Slight age gap (reader is older at around 25, Leon is 21).
WC: 4.7k
Notes: Finally this is out. I know I know, I'm a liar! But, I had fun with this one, so I hope you like it. Shoutout to the babe @cinnarette for beta reading this and giving me her approval lolz. Anyways, reblogs & comments are always appreciated!
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Leon had always been one to find the good in a shitty situation. Someone with a warm heart that matched the moral compass he developed despite the constant bullshit he experienced daily.
From his hectic childhood to his experiences in the police academy, he had to overcome many trials and tribulations on his own with nobody in his corner. All of those struggles to get the pure sense of relief once he felt his diploma in his hand made all the stress worth it.
When he first arrived at the R.P.D., he didn’t know what to expect. The anxiety of starting fresh in a new city with a new career clouded his mind with a paranoia he seemed to carry in his youth. Walking into the police department he’d call his new home, Leon was fairly surprised to be greeted with a welcome party.
Balloons and confetti filled the common room as he moved around the crowd, bombarded with introductions and greetings as he tried to memorize the names that were thrown his way. Still, the small games and blue cake he indulged in brought a smile to his face, topped off with the polka-dotted party hat he was forced to wear and the words Welcome Leon hung up on the ceiling for him to see.
What Leon didn’t expect was to be assigned to your personal detail the next day. A police sergeant on the force, a bit older, no more than 25 he first assumed, more refined and seasoned with one hell of a glare. First impressions? He was terrified, nervous as hell to fuck anything up seeing how you ran a tight ship, taking your job too seriously for comfort. Of course, you had to. You were working in a male-dominated field, forcing yourself into a mold so you could be taken seriously by those around you.
He took his hand out when being introduced to you, unstable grip and a nervous smile to match as he looked directly into your intimidating gaze. You shook his hand firmly, the strength of your grasp parallel with the small grin you offered him almost made a shiver roll down his spine.
“So you’re the new rookie huh? Well, it’s nice to see a fresh face in here. We have some serious work to do. Let’s get started.”
-
You were particular about how you wanted things done, very precise in your words and your delivery. A harsh leader, one who easily reprimanded the other rookie officers but was particularly picky with Leon. In a way, he started to feel like you were targeting him, pressuring him so he would crack and leave the force. He knew he couldn’t leave, that this was the career path he chose, and he was too anxious to say anything so he’d let it slide.
You didn’t let up on his training either, always making sure your rookie was on top of what was expected of him. The slight fear Leon had when first meeting you quickly turned into admiration. His stress-induced feelings morphed into respect, now wanting to learn everything you had to show him.
That was when it started. Leon now tried any little thing to get in your good graces, to see even the slightest sign of a smile or to hear you laugh. He started coming to work earlier to help with the case filings you had piled on your desk, organizing them the way you taught him whenever you assigned him grunt work. He wanted you to take a breather and start your day with a clear head, maybe even enjoy your coffee for a bit longer.
When you saw how tidy your work environment was, you went up to Leon who you saw was typing away at his desk diligently. His head lifted up to look at you, blue eyes glancing over your face to read your expression.
“Morning. By any chance, did you fix all the files on my desk?”, you asked curiously, making the blonde rub the back of his neck shyly.
“Yeah, I did. Wanted to help you out a bit and give you an early start to the day” he responded, silently hoping you wouldn’t be upset at him for entering your workspace. Instead, he was met with your look of genuine surprise, followed by a twinkle of gratitude.
“Thank you for that, I appreciate it. Keep up the good work Leon”, you praised him, offering a small smile, one that he made sure to burn into his memory.
“Yes ma’am”, his face was practically beaming at your words as he watched you walk back towards your office, trying to hide the sudden warmth flooding his cheeks.
Your words kept repeating in his head nonstop throughout the entire day. Not only did you acknowledge him in a positive light, you also addressed him by name, which was rare. He was more present at work, his posture straighter, and more eager to help. From that point on, he made it his mission to make sure his sergeant was stress-free, doing anything to see you smile at him again.
Working with Leon, you quickly learned that he was perceptive. A smart cookie, and probably the smartest one out of the current bunch of recruits. Despite the tough love you gave him, especially because he was your professional responsibility, he was the only one truly receptive to your teachings. Like a sponge, he took in everything you gave with a certain wonder you hadn’t seen in anyone else. It was cute really, how he was so ambitious and doing his best to get your approval.
What you liked the most about working with Leon was how he addressed you. He took your authority seriously, seeing someone in charge instead of your appearance. He didn’t say your name, not your first or last out of respect, but rather he always addressed you as Ma’am. You never had someone say that to you directly, thinking it makes you sound older than you actually are. But with the way his eyes warmed up when he’d say it with full confidence, you didn’t have it in you to tell him to stop.
-
Over the next few weeks, Leon became part of your daily routine, integral to the start of your day. He’d walk in a few minutes early as expected, with two coffee cups in his hands as he waited for you outside your office. Spotting the top of your head coming from speaking to the chief, you were heading his way. You had the same soft smile reserved just for him, one that he always looked forward to seeing when you worked together.
“Got you your usual”, he offered one of the cups to you, your fingers lightly grazing his when taking the warm concoction into your hand.
“Extra caramel?”
“With oat milk, vanilla and cinnamon. I triple checked”, he said enthusiastically, observing you as you sipped the drink. A soft hum escaped you while you closed your eyes in satisfaction.
“You know how to spoil me”, you gave him a wider smile now, seeing how his cheeks blushed the slightest bit at your expression. His reaction made you chuckle, a sound he’s come to enjoy the more time you two spent together. 
“Now come on, we need to work on this case before we patrol at 12. The chief’s on my ass again so let’s get this over with before lunch yeah?”, and without fail, he’d give you the same ending response every time.
“Yes ma’am”
The more you invested in Leon’s skills, the more you realized small things about him that were fairly telling. You weren’t stupid. Anyone with a brain could see that the respect and admiration he had for you was turning into something else entirely. You could tell with every passing moment you had with him, noticing how the tension between the two of you would get thicker after every interaction. You didn’t comment on it. Instead, you enjoyed toying with him, a part of your ego feeding off on how he’d say yes ma’am in such a way that would make you want to hear it more often.
The faint touches between the two of you got more frequent. Your fingers would brush his during the exchange of files, you saw how he’d always be within a hair’s distance when standing near you. Moments spent training in the shooting range were where the intimacy seemed to skyrocket, putting your hands on Leon’s arms to keep his form up as he shot towards his target.
You didn’t need to do that. Leon was a good shot, accurate too. But you enjoyed the way he released a shaky breath whenever you were close to him or touched him, how the tips of his ears reddened when you praised him for hitting the bullseye.
In one certain instance when the R.P.D. was extra busy, you were being hammered with files and administrative work. The coffee sitting on your desk was no longer doing its job of waking you up, and the constant bombardment of having to organize new information was starting to make your head pulse. You stood up from your seat to give your back a break, bending backward until you felt a satisfying crack in your spine. Hearing a knock at your door that brought your attention, you noticed Leon on the opposite end.
“Hey, my bad if I caught you at a bad time. The investigators wanted to review those files on that drug bust we did yesterday, something about missing information”
“Oh yeah yeah, it’s right behind me. Hell, I don’t even know where I put it”, you turned to face the mess behind you, lamenting at the stack of files you have yet to sort through today.
“Don’t worry about it, I’ll look for it. You stay focused on what you’re doing”
Just like that, Leon came over behind you, going through the files while you stayed reading over the papers in your hand. The both of you made quick conversation, commenting on how busy it became. The increase of instances flooding the department only added more to your workload. Leon kept digging through the pile, turning his body to go to the other side of you.
In the process, he put a hand on your hip and muttered an apology, slightly making you jump and walking behind you to go to your left side. You tried to pay no mind to the gentle touch, going back to refocusing on the case at hand. He found the document folders he needed, suddenly too close to your body when the second he turned, you moved backward into him. Leon’s hips pressed against your rear, his hands reaching toward your hips instinctively despite the hitch in his breath at the contact.
“S-shit, I’m sorry…”, he mumbled, cheeks flushed red as he walked out of your office. You didn’t get a word in, but his reaction was enough to tell you about what you already knew.
The ghost of his touch filled your mind for the rest of the day, and it was worse for Leon. He tried so hard not to think about it. Not to fantasize about how your hips would feel bouncing against his with force, what you’d sound like when you’re aroused. It was practically impossible for him. His imagination went haywire the second he got home, jerking himself off to relieve the hard-on he’s been managing since earlier this afternoon.
He couldn’t get the image out of his head. He thought about how you’d praise him, call him a good boy for making you feel good. Deep down, he wondered if you were equally as authoritative in the bedroom as you were outside of it. As he released all over his hands with a whine, he sighed to himself, fully aware that he had reached the point of no return with his own thoughts about you. 
-
It was a Tuesday afternoon when both of you were assigned to handle two suspects committing a robbery. Called to the scene, you trailed them down to a nearby commercial street. They were careless too, throwing their guns halfway into the chase and the items they stole slipping from their grasp onto the concrete floor. Catching them felt easy, handcuffing one to the ground and throwing him to the backseat of your cop car. Leon seemed to be distracted, with what you didn’t know. When the second thief seemed to slip from his grasp and started to make a run for it, you knew he needed to get his act together.
“Get your head out of your ass Kennedy! Before I put my foot up there instead. Now move!”, you ordered him to get back into the patrol car. Turning on the police siren, you drove to track down the next suspect and apprehended them with quickness.
The drive to the station was quiet besides the two handcuffed men grumbling behind you. Leon kept his mouth shut, refusing to look your way, and focused on listening to the chatter on the radio. He knew you were pissed, and he didn’t know what had gotten into him today but he couldn’t focus for the life of him. The nagging voice in the back of his mind was telling him to be prepared for the worst, because he fucked up, and worse yet, he fucked up with you.
After bringing the two robbers down to the precinct, you couldn’t erase the irritation from your face. You couldn’t even look at Leon, upset that someone like him after so much training made such a rookie mistake. You only offered a glare, knowing for a fact you’d have to talk to him later on when your temper wasn’t so flared up. For now, you made Leon sit at his desk to do filing work, deciding not to berate him in front of the other officers and saving him the embarrassment.
Knowing you were giving him the silent treatment, he avoided you for the rest of the day, staying late at the R.P.D. in hopes of being able to talk to you. Leon drummed his fingers on his desk absentmindedly, until you came up behind him and got his attention.
“Kennedy, to my office. Now”, your tone of voice was harsh, making the hairs on Leon’s neck rise as he got up to follow you back to your workspace.
You locked the door once the both of you were inside, leaning back against your desk with your tactical belt off so your hips pressed against the wooden edge. Arms crossed over your chest, your head raised at the cop before you, watching his feet anxiously moving as he looked at the floor with slight shame.
“I want to know what happened out there. You messed up, and that’s not like you. You don’t make rookie mistakes anymore, we’re passed that”, you started to speak. Leon’s gaze was pinned on you, trying to hide his humiliation but it was clear as day.
“I know. I know I fucked up, it was a stupid mistake. I’m sorry”
“Yeah, it was. I didn’t invest all this time in training you personally for you to let things like this slip. You’re better than this, you know that”, your tone changed from irritation to concern, trying to get him to see the bigger picture.
“You’re my responsibility, Leon. I’m this harsh and this strict for a reason, and it’s because I care. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t give a shit what happened to you, but I do. This reflects back on me, so just get your head together alright?”, you saw how his brows furrowed a bit in slight confusion at your confession.
You cared about him.
“Yes ma'am. It won’t happen again, I really am sorry”, his hands started to fumble with his tactical belt.
“I know you are, but sorry’s not gonna cut it. I can’t have you distracted like this. Not on my watch”, you said, now walking from the desk until you stood in front of him. He didn’t move a muscle, not knowing what else to do besides stand there.
“If you’re really sorry you’re going to have to prove it. You’re not getting off that easy. You got that rookie?”, your eyes held that intimidating stare that made Leon tense, you could practically hear him gulp. 
“I-I understand ma’am. Whatever it takes I’ll do it.”, he was still oblivious, having no idea what he just got himself into but he wasn’t complaining, not when you were this close to him. Your hand went up towards his belt, a singular finger curving into one of the loops to yank his body forward. Now standing chest to chest he shivered at the close contact, holding his breath and waiting for your next words.
“You’re gonna use your pretty mouth to prove that you won’t mess up like that again. Maybe if you’re good enough, I’ll think about being nice and rewarding you. That okay?”, your words were laced with pure temptation, making Leon nod, too scared to speak up. He didn’t know what to expect, but lord if he wasn’t going to pretend he wasn’t enjoying it. 
“Use your words baby”
“Yeah, f-fuck it’s okay”, he was shaking in front of you, a blush on his cheeks so intense you could feel the heat radiating off of his skin.
“Can I kiss you?”, you tilted your head up towards him, his warm breath against your lips as the ends of your noses touched.
“Please do…”
You didn’t waste another second, lips colliding against his as Leon finally released the breath he was holding. He let you take control, his mind turning to complete mush at just the feel of your mouth against his. Tongues dancing together, you ran your fingers through his hair, his own hands going to paw at your hips. He released needy faint moans, holding on to you as if you were going to leave him any second now. When you pulled away from him and bit his bottom lip he whimpered, a sound you didn’t expect him to make. You fucking loved it.
You walked backward while he followed you on jittery legs. With your back now pressed against the desk again, Leon’s face dug into your neck, leaving a path of kisses in a way that made you chuckle. His hands were everywhere, overwhelmed with what to do or where to touch. You brought your fingers into his hair again, giving him a soft yank as he groaned out from the action. Pupils already dilated, you eyed him closely, how he seemed so far gone when you haven’t even started.
“You want to be good for me Leon?”, your voice was soft, almost patronizing and it only made Leon’s dick pulse in his pants.
“Yes, I wanna be good for you. Don’t want you mad at me”, Leon pouted, and you fought the urge to kiss him again.
“Then get on your knees and start working on your apology”, you commanded, watching how he bit his lip and nodded.
“Yes ma’am”, he was already shifting down to the ground, diligent fingers on the button of your cargos and undoing them, while you threw your shoes off.
Pulling the zipper down, he started to drag the fabric to your knees until it hit your ankles, pants discarded to the side and leaving you in your panties. Sitting on top of the desk, his eyes looked up at yours, coming face to face with where you wanted him most.
His large hands moved from your shin to your knee, then towards your thigh and hip to hook his thumbs into the waistband of your underwear, noting the wet patch that was already staining the cotton material. He dragged them down with ease until they hung at your ankle, lifting one of your thighs onto his shoulders to admire all of you with a soft moan.
“Can I taste you? Please?”, he mumbled against your thigh with a soft kiss. He was already playing the part so well, offering him a smirk as you drank in the way he begged you for more. You didn’t even have you train him.
“Yeah baby, you can”
Without hesitation, his mouth made contact with your body, the taste of your wetness filling his tongue and making his chest rumble. It was better than he imagined, moving his tongue up and down against your slit to collect the developing slick. You released a low hum from your lips, already pent up from the stress of your job and your day, now having your favorite rookie tending to you on your orders.
Leon was anything if not keen, tongue lavishing against your throbbing clit and his lips circling around it as he began to suck. You threw your head back at that, hand holding his head in place and hips moving towards him shamelessly. He was grunting under his breath, growing obsessed with the way your body twitched anytime he touched you just right. 
“You’re doing so good Leon, so damn good for me”, you praised him again, feeling the sounds he’d release when you did talk to him. It was debauched, how his senses were filled with just you with no end in sight.
This was how you wanted to see him. On his knees and eager to please.
His attention went back to your opening, feeling it flex around nothing with every flick he gave you. Inserting his tongue into your cunt, your hips arched towards him again, moaning louder than you anticipated.
You were silently thankful your office was a bit farther away from the rest of the department, and being it was later at night, you didn’t have to hide much of anything. You moved Leon’s face closer to your body with a pull of his head, clit pressed against his nose as he sucked at your essence greedily, taking in everything he could get. 
A warmth started to develop in your gut, pleasure like liquid fire making your body twitch. The high you so desperately craved was in near sight, grinding yourself against Leon’s face and using him to get off. He didn’t object, moving his mouth to suck at your clit again, two fingers teasing your entrance before inserting them inside. You cursed under your breath, the dual sensation of Leon’s fingers curling against your g-spot and his consistent sucking brought you closer to your much-needed climax.
“Fuck you’re gonna make me cum”, you could almost taste your release right at the edge of your tongue, could imagine the way it would feel to finally let go.
You looked down to watch Leon at work, how he’d pump his fingers at just the right pace, how his eyes grew hazy with pleasure when they looked up at you.
With one soft nip at your clit your release hit you full force, a small squeal leaving your lips as your gummy walls clenched around his fingers. Your grip on the desk and his hair were both tight, knuckles turned white as stars filled your vision. Leon kept moving his fingers and mouth the whole way through your orgasm, groaning loudly against you and refusing to stop. He couldn’t get enough of you or your taste, forcing you to pull his head away before the overstimulation made it too much to handle.
The both of you were panting, eyes widening when Leon pulled his digits away and inserted them into his mouth to lick off what remained of you. You pulled him up towards his feet, dragging him down to kiss you again and chasing your own taste that flooded his tongue. If you weren’t on a time crunch, you would’ve gladly let him go down on you again.
“Did I do good ma'am? Do you feel good?”, Leon asked, thumbs rubbing your trembling thighs as you came down from your high, flushed face waiting for your approval.
“Yes, you were so fucking good for me. You ate my pussy so well”, your words made him smile then, a dopey lopsided grin that seemed to ease his doubts from earlier.
“I think you deserve a little reward now. You want some help with that pretty boy?”, your eyes gestured to the tent in Leon’s pants, looking up at him from your long lashes.
“God, please touch me”, he begged then, blue eyes engulfed in pure lust.
You didn’t want to tease him any longer, undoing his pants and slipping your hand inside. With a gasp he felt your fingers wrapping around his cock that pulsated with need, knowing it wouldn’t take him long to cum either. He had been on the edge for too long, imagining you like this for what seemed like months. You pumped him, twisting your wrist and pressing your thumb against his slit, feeling the precum that was already making a mess in his briefs. 
“You get hard when you have your superior’s pussy in your face huh? You like being used like that baby?”
“Y-yes, yes I do. God I fucking love it”, he nodded dumbly. “Love the way you taste, the way you feel…”, he didn’t even know what he was saying anymore, mind so blurred with just you that he was losing track of time and himself.
You smirked, kissing his neck and pressing your lips against the mole on his throat. Leon swallowed, hands pressing into your thighs for stability but he was so close to losing it. He thrusts his hips up into your hand, chasing his own high and you gladly let him, whispering sweet nothings into his ear and biting at the lobe. The sounds Leon released were downright pornographic, whines and lewd wet sounds filling your office. 
“S-shit I’m gonna cum. Can I cum? Please ma'am, I’m so close”, he begged again, his cock throbbing and hot in your hand as he spoke. He bucked his hips more into your squeezing fingers, your pace picking up as you jerked him off more persistently. He felt like he could barely breathe, the prickly feeling in his lower spine getting more prominent the closer he got to his orgasm.
“Be a good boy and cum for me Leon. I want to see you cum baby”, it was your final order, and those words alone were his undoing.
His body shook above you when he fell over the edge, his lower stomach flexing hard as he came all over your fingers. He cursed and whimpered, an array of thank yous were said against your neck, hands pressed into your thighs hard enough to bruise your skin. His cum dribbled out of him as his body jerked, still pumping him to the point of sensitivity. He clutched your wrist to signal you to stop, half-lidded eyes looking at yours that filled with mischief.
You took your hand off of him and licked the remaining fluids, purring at the taste of him filling your mouth. Leon bit his lip when watching you, already starting to feel his dick twitch again for more.
He leaned down towards you, kissing you hard and chasing his taste, just like how you did with him. The eroticness of it all overwhelmed him, rasping against you as you pulled away. You looked over his face, cheeks flushed pink and lips plump from their usage. You burn that image into your mind, saving it for later when it would be more helpful. 
“No more distractions or mistakes from here on out Leon. You come to me if you need to clear your head. Understood?”, he released a dry chuckle, placing another kiss against your lips, much softer than before. The intimacy made your chest warm, your smile matching his own.
“Yes ma’am”
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starphasedd · 1 year
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Ghost makes sure Graves knows his place.
Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!reader drabble (nsfw)
I'm obsessed with the idea that once Ghost finds out that Graves has a thing for you, he toys with him in the worst way. Because Graves is down bad--and he's a slimey punk. He deserves it.
I did not proofread this. Just pure, unfiltered, smut straight from my noggin.
It was an uncontrollable urge.
Your secret relationship with Ghost had only been full-fledged for a few months. But in those few months--you spent an extraordinary amount of time together. You got to know him better than anyone--he opened up to you. Not much, but more than you'd seen him with anyone else. And the sex? It was fucking incredible.
He got to know your body extremely quickly. Anytime you got to be alone, he had you half naked and buried underneath him. His massive hips smashing forward into yours--his big cock splitting your tiny cunt open. He made you feel so fucking good, any chance he got. He learned your body with expertise you'd never seen before. It wasn't experience-per say. Because he wasn't that sexually experienced. But he was an expert in combat techniques. He was good at analyzing and planning his attacks with a one hundred percent follow-through. He did the same with your body.
He loved the feeling of your core wrapped around him. He loved the sound of your sweet mewls as he wrought pleasure on your body that you'd never felt before. He loved the way your face curled into that same cock-drunk expression--how your glossy lips parted to reveal pearly white teeth as you let every sound slip out naturally.
But he especially loved how your tiny hands frantically grabbed for him--how you'd rather hug him close to you than anything else. There was something so intimate about the way you made love to him. And it drove him wild.
So when he started catching on to Graves--he had to physically contain himself.
On one occasion, he came around a corner to see Graves nearly boxing you in against a table. You had your arms crossed, a blank expression on your face as you tried your best not to snap at him. Ghost knew you had a particular dislike for Graves--you were annoyed by his presence alone. Graves was, again, trying to convince you to go on a date with him.
You and him went way back--all the way to the academy. He's had a thing for you since then. But you never gave him the time or day. And with your growing liking of Ghost, Graves knew his time was limited.
He tried every time he saw you. And you gave him the same response every time. Well, a lack there of, actually. You blatantly ignored him--like he didn't exist. And when Ghost was around, you always gave all your attention to him. Graves was threatened by this, and it showed.
Ghost was so fucking proud of you for this.
He wanted to make a lasting impression. So every night Graves was around, Ghost marked you. The two of you never had loud sex--your relationship was kept private. And Ghost didn't want any other man to have the pleasure of hearing your sweet moans. But he found his ways to mark his territory. He would leave little bite marks on your neck, or fuck you particularly hard so you wobbled a bit the next day. And Graves knew. Fuck yeah, he knew alright.
Graves got more aggressive after that started. He even put his hands on you on one occasion. Ghost's fingers twitched at his side as he watched Graves slide his hand up the curve of your spine. Only to see you pull away and give him a mean look before walking towards Ghost. He couldn't help but grin under his mask.
That night, he fucks you hard. Whispering sweet praises to you in the dark.
"This little cunt belongs to me. Yeah, sweetheart?" He groans in your ear, his thrusts are hard and unfaultering.
All you can do is cry out for him, eyes screwed tightly shut as your hands reach for him. But he isn't there, when you grab for him. You open your eyes to see him leaning up. Now he's sitting up straight on his knees, cock still thrusting into your wet heat as he reaches into his pocket.
He pulls out his phone.
His free hand comes down to lift your shirt over your breasts, revealing the swollen lumps bouncing harmoniously under your black sports bra. He keeps fucking you like this, and the flash from his phone turns on.
It isn't a picture--it didn't flash once. No, he's taking a video.
You blush at the thought--but can't help the sweet moans that tumble from your lips as Ghost keeps fucking you. His free hand moves your panties to cover what he can of your sweet pussy.
You imagine the camera can see his big cock filling you repeatedly, but he only moved your panties to the side this time--not ripping them off per usual. Now you can tell his true intentions.
You thought for a moment this may be for him--but no. If it were for him, he'd have you bare assed like he usually does. No, your important bits are all covered. Your plump breasts are concealed under your bra. The naughtiest part of your cunt is covered by your panties. The only thing he can see is his big cock thrusting into your wet cavern.
He continues recording as he fucks you, and his free hand comes up to slip his thumb into your mouth. You close your eyes, closing your lips around the digit to suck down hard.
"Perfect little minx, just for me, yeah?" He groans out.
The camera light on his phone nearly blinds you when your eyes snap open. You cum hard and he quickly follows after.
You lay there, his cock still burried inside you. He drops his phone, bracing his arms on either side of you as he catches his breath.
"He'll regret the next time he puts his hands on you."
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whateveriwant · 3 months
Note
could i request sumn real quick..
TF141 with a s/o who does archery, with those Japanese longbows (they’re called yumis, i think😭) ??
This was completely foreign to me so I hope I at least kinda did it justice 😭
Gaz
When you first told him about your hobby of choice, admittedly, he was unfamiliar with it
Archery as a whole was nothing new to him, but knowledge about your discipline in particular had entirely evaded him up until now
However, after learning more about it from you as well as researching on his own, he's now become your biggest cheerleader, literally and figuratively cheering you on from the sidelines
Whether you do it just for recreation or you do it for competition, he's always there to support you with 110% enthusiasm
He's like a proud dad whenever he gets to watch you in your element, always pulling out his phone to record you so he can show off to his mates later
Major cheeseball that he is, he's even gotten custom decals on his car to brag of your accomplishments, so that everyone can know about you and your unique skill
Soap
His interest was immediately piqued when you first brought up your incredibly specialized sport
You see, he used to do a little archery himself back in secondary school, and (not to brag) but he was actually pretty good at it
Of course, that confession gets your interest piqued, so you invite him to take some shots with your bow, which he readily accepts
He's positively preening as he nocks an arrow, confidence oozing from him as he takes aim… only to turn a shade of red just shy of tomato as he misses his shot by about 10 feet
He tries again and again, somehow getting worse with each shot, the frustration and embarrassment coming from him clearly palpable
Though you try to encourage him to keep going (after all, no one’s good at anything their first try), eventually, he timidly hands the bow back, saying he thinks he’s better off just leaving it to you
Price
He's a very physically active man himself, so learning that you're involved in a martial art was a major turn on for him
And him being in the military and thus heavily trained in all sorts of weaponry, the fact that it's a weapons-focused discipline was doubly appealing to him
From the first moment you brought your hobby up, he was practically begging to watch you shoot
It didn't matter if you had all the bells and whistles ready or not; hell, you could’ve been dressed in a flour sack aiming at tin cans in his backyard and he’d have still been over the moon
Wanting some privacy though, he took you to a range where you could show off your skills without distraction or disruption
And when he saw you take that first shot, hitting your target dead center, he would never tell you, but his pants got a little tighter after that
Ghost
While he finds what you do very intriguing, he wishes there was a more “real life” application to your sport
He knows how dismissive that might sound, but just think about it. In an emergency, are you going to whip out your two meter long bow to defend yourself? Exactly.
Ideally, he'd like to teach you how to use a gun. And you'll agree to let him… only if you can teach him how to use a bow
You might have some lighthearted bickering where he stubbornly insists that a gun is much more useful when it comes to personal protection
But well wouldn't you know it when one night he's awoken by the sound of someone trying to break into your flat, and what object should his fingers find in the dark? Yeah, I think you know
To you, your bow seemed like a perfectly good weapon when he used it to whack the would-be thief over the head…
Yeesh, now that earned you the side-eye of the century. But alright, he eventually conceded, maybe it does have its merits
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fatesundress · 11 months
Text
⭑ patience, please, and thank you. tom riddle x reader
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summary. you and tom have always sought to best one another in school. it doesn’t help that upon graduating, you work for opposing shops.
tags. rivals to … rivals with benefits? lovers? there’s no real animosity just #flirting so i don’t know, SMUTT minors begone, fluff that may be ooc to some but Not Me, reader literally learns archaic latin for this man, poor boy x rich girl trope if you squint, pureblood reader (and mentions of pureblood marriage politics), explicitly f!reader this time sorry!, fem anatomy, fingering, piv, tldr tom riddle would be turned on by the culminated tension of an eight-year-long academic rivalry.
note. i was 5k words into something else (that is probably better) before this came to me and would not go away so. here it is. don't know where all the smut is coming from. head empty
word count. 6.4k
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The bell to Borgin and Burkes knells low and hollow in your ear as you enter, and there he is. Prim waistcoat and perfect hair, tucking books away with a wave of his wand. Far too pretty a thing for a dusty place like this, you think, and you smile with your head held high, pretending to take in the inventory as if that's ever been your reason for coming here.
“You mightn't consider leaving at all," Tom says, regarding you briefly before returning to his books, “if you're going to return this often."
“Oh, Riddle, but then what would you do without my company? Talk to the bones?"
“A tempting offer when considering my alternative.”
He leans against the counter to watch you as you make your way down the aisle, fingers jolting as they brush the shelves of dark paraphernalia, preemptively casting a locking jinx on a particularly nasty skeletal hand that grabbed you once last year.
“Is there anything you're looking for?"
“Nothing in particular,” you hum as you peruse, “Curiosities of your friendly competitors.”
“Friendly,” he repeats, like he’s tasting a strange flavour.
You smile with just enough polished barb that you hope it bothers him. “Most cordial. And I am nothing if not the dutiful volunteer for the task." 
It is an objective truth that you are good at many things. Tom is good at all of them and perhaps one more: being pushed significantly and never showing symptoms of breaking. You'd like to be the one to change that.
“I presume you intend to leave with something?" There's a challenge in his voice, clear as day, as he stands straighter, but — not bothered. Not bothered, just intrigued. His hands fold behind his back and his chin comes up, daring you to say a single snarky thing that isn't true — that you're here to taunt him. Not to buy a thing, and not to enjoy his company.
It was such a boring day before this. If he only knew, he might have a tad more sympathy.
“Breathe, Riddle — if you can through all the dust in here — I've plenty of money to spare; there’s no need to fret about me leaving empty-handed." You select a book at random to prove your point, waltzing closer to hand Tom four sickles from your coin purse.
You're pleasantly surprised to see him actually smile, the corners of his mouth stretching with only the slightest degree of mirth. He reaches out and takes the coins, setting both upon the counter before turning up his nose at the book in your hands. “It must be an enthralling read to capture your attention."
You smooth the cover over with manicured hands and shrug at the indecipherable title. “Well, I’m remiss not to have a clue. I believe it's in Latin."
He runs his hand along the book, thumbing the pages with a raised brow. “It’s a history text. Ancient Roman institutes of magic.” His gaze returns to you. “Will that be all?”
You roll your eyes. He would know a dead language — it's such a remarkably Riddle thing to do — probably just for the sake of knowing it. 
“Yes, if that's satisfactory enough that I may be permitted to walk the premises without causing offence."
“Of course. Though I do expect a review of it soon," he adds, “to know whether my time hasn't been entirely wasted."
“A review?" You laugh. “And I suppose you ask that of all your customers? Mind the matter of it being in a language I don't know; it would take me a few months for a crude translation at best."
“Only my best customers," he says with a small shrug, as if that isn't a completely arbitrary standard he's just pulled out of nowhere. “In that case, you've the better part of a year to read it," he adds, and the smile on his face is less thin, less restrained, more cocky.
You raise a brow, scanning over the words on the first page as if hoping something will stick out. It's all gibberish. “I'm being timed now, am I? I don't recall accepting the task."
"Do you not?"
You scoff. "Of course I do."
“Or perhaps I could translate for you?" he suggests, “It's really no bother for me."
You should be offended — he's eternally eager to see you fail — but your stomach flips at the premise of a challenge you haven't felt since you were in school together, and most importantly, you never fail. “Give me a date, Riddle.”
“I think by Christmas would be fair. Does that give you enough time, or shall I set it a bit later?"
“Christmas," you agree, shaking his hand with all professionalism you can muster (this is, after all, a very professional exchange), turning away, and smiling to yourself as the shop bell tolls again.
It’s only weeks before Christmas when it occurs to you that this isn’t even for anything. There’s no prize should you win, no one else is aware of it, it’s a great waste of time when what began as a passable weekend hobby has now drowned you in English-Latin dictionaries and histories of Ancient Rome. The shop surpasses last year’s sales and you’re dozing off into your mother’s pastry dish during the family celebration. Even your father telling a rather pitiful tale of his Polyjuiced visit to Borgin and Burkes can’t keep your attention when he drones on about how easily he fooled Mr Borgin into remembering the details of some spat twenty years ago. Your brain is in a half-scattered language. It tugs you to what might be the most depressing December 25th of your life if you’re forced to give Tom the gift of your failure.
So you double-down. Your social life is nonexistent. You’re three quarters through the textbook and dreaming about duelling Tom under the Arch of Constantine, and he wins, and he wins, and he wins each time. It only propels you more. You’re downing Invigoration Draughts like a drunkard with a cradle of firewhisky. 
And you do it. 
You finish the damn book, you think you might have actually fucking learned Latin with how deep the words have rooted in your skull, and you win.
You win, in your prettiest dinner dress, snow clinging to your hair, wrapped in a brand new coat as the shop bell tolls and you step inside.
You’re grateful you don’t say as much (which you were planning on doing — planning on slamming the door shut behind you and carolling your bloody success) because it’s Mr Burke at the counter this Christmas evening, not Tom.
“...Miss?” He regards you with perplexity behind the counter.
You blink, recollecting yourself and stepping forward to shake his hand. “Mr Burke. My family wished to extend their best wishes for the new year.”
“Quite a gesture," comes a familiar voice from behind you as Tom steps out from the staircase, dressed in a dark suit and overcoat, like he’s just been out. He’s smiling. He looks disgustingly well.
You glance between the two men, and Burke bows curtly as if made aware of something he’d previously been warned of. “To yours as well, miss.” And then he’s off to assist the only other customer, an elderly woman in fur-lined green with so many glittering pins in her hair she resembles a Christmas tree.
“Riddle,” you say, facing him, unable to hide the triumphant grin that digs into your cheeks. You hand him the book, and atop it, your three pages of articulate, edited review.
“You made it. You read it," he acknowledges, though you doubt he’s surprised, and then nods to the stairs. “Come.”
You follow him up the narrow spiral into a short corridor, taking one look back at the old woman, now clasping a shrieking bauble you gladly turn away from. The door Tom opens is unlocked, presumably where he’d just come from, and — you feel a bit overwhelmed if you’re correct, but you have no idea what else it could be — presumably his flat.
When you enter, the door shuts behind you with an empty click of the latch. The room before you is rather sparse, a kitchenette in one corner, a cramped study in the other, with books upon books and scrolls stacked high on shelves along the dark walls. There's only the barest of seating, two armchairs beneath a dim desk lamp, a small table beside the fireplace, and… a bed, of all things, separated only by a thin divider and the courtesy of enough distance not to immediately draw the eye. You, of course, can't quite help it, gaze lingering on the tidy sheets and back to him.
It isn’t a thought you do well to dwell on. Too many directions for your imagination to roam.
“Well then," you say, hanging your coat at the door and trying not to display any overt anticipation as the parchment rustles in his hand, “Shall I just sit and await your evaluation?"
He raises a brow. “I was going to ask if you’d like tea. Do sit, though.”
Oh. Yes, right, you’re rushing things. Hospitality. Decorum. Consideration. You suppose Tom Riddle would extend those things for the sake of posterity if nothing else. “Something black, if you have any, please.”
The water comes to a boil quickly under the steady heat of his magic, and you’re sinking into a shockingly comfortable armchair taking in every shape and blemish of the room while you’re in it. You don’t have to guess that he doesn’t have many guests.
“Darjeeling,” Tom says as he offers you a steaming cup, “if that’s satisfactory.”
You resist a scowl at his mocking tone, placing the tea on a glass coaster and glancing purposefully at your work (your magnum opus, really) once more. “Perfectly.”
Tom notes your look with a smile, settling into the seat opposite yours. 
You take a sip of tea and lean back. “Do go on.”
“Eager,” he mutters, but begins.
He skims over the opening line before flipping the book open as if to be sure you haven’t made it all up, and then you think you probably could have made it all up if you wanted. Read one of the hundreds of magical histories of Rome that certainly existed — probably in your own shop, at that — and gathered much the same conclusion. But you did not. Tom must know you did not. 
The silence is thick as he reads, waned only by the crackle of the fireplace and the occasional turn of a page. His brows furrow the way you always remember catching in school, like he's concentrating on a particularly hard puzzle, and you have to busy yourself with a nearly empty cup of tea to pretend not to notice the way his beauty is something almost delicate. Framed by firelight and the indigo gloss of the night shining in through the window, you imagine his hair mussed, his long eyelashes speckled with snow, his cheeks pink from the cold. You wonder about him in a nicer suit than this. You could buy him one, if you liked.
And then, at last, he looks up over the parchment, expression carefully measured. “I'm impressed.”
You put your cup down and you can’t help it. You're smiling. You're proud. His approval is like bottling the tail of a rainbow (which you’ve been told is possible), and it's a feeling that’s been absent from you for so long, it's never come from him — Merlin, you've always wanted it to come from him, haven’t you?
“You’re impressed?” you ask, as you love nothing more than to push. “Is that all?”
He loves nothing more than to keep his face impassive, but there’s a twitch there. Something you’re aware you can only spot because of how much attention you pay him. 
“I enjoyed your perspective on the Romans’ utilisation of firedrakes. It was well-thought.”
“Well-thought?”
“Quite good, yes.”
“Good," you say, grinning in the bulk of your triumph, “I suppose that means I win."
Win. You’re not winning anything but the implication that Tom is somehow losing. Still he does not break, and you think at seventeen he would have. At nearly twenty his smile just grows. “Have you ever done anything less?”
Is he pushing too? That could be fun.
“Oh, first year tribulations. Nothing since — you wouldn’t remember.”
“Hm, I do recall an unfortunate lesson with a matagot in Beasts, and that must have been, what—” He tilts his head as though to ponder it— “fourth year?”
You narrow your eyes. “Paid an ever-close watch on me, did you, Riddle?”
“As close as anyone else.”
“And by that you mean to say—?”
“Only that it’s a most fascinating custom, the matter of pureblood marriage. It was hard to avoid your name in a common room full of your particular politics.”
“Ah,” you hum, summoning the teapot from the kitchenette to pour another cup, “so my potential marital affairs are what drew your attention. And here I was thinking it was because I was the only person who could ever best you.”
He stops your tea mid-motion, and you still as he sends both the pot and the cup to the table beside you. “Can it not have begun as one and have become the other?”
“Well, your curiosity knows no end; I should be flattered by such multifaceted interest.”
“So you won’t mind my inquiring.”
“Whatever you wish, Riddle.”
“Upon the current status of your betrothal.”
You blink, and then laugh. “There is no betrothal. At present.”
“At present. Is it subject to change?”
“There’s always talk,” you offer, and it offers impressively little.
“Elaborate...”
“I don’t know that you’re in any position to be making demands,” you gibe, “considering I paid four sickles to prove you wrong and I haven’t anything to show for it but my pride.”
He smiles. “Not enough to sate your desire to make me grovel, it seems.”
“You? Grovel?” You gasp, fingers circling your knee idly. “What a fascinating concept… Wait now, I’m trying to paint the picture.”
“Is that not what you came for?” he asks, and it’s odd to see him amused by the idea. You push and push and he just continues to take. “To prove me wrong? To puncture my pride?”
You shrug innocently, even though you’d just said as much. “I’m here to wish you a Merry Christmas.”
He laughs, a warm, quiet laugh — more of a breath than anything — but true if you can read him at all, and that’s a bit alarming. “Of course. Near nine months of exhaustive translation all to bid me a nice holiday. It sounds almost like grovelling, doesn’t it? Wait, now, I’m trying to paint the picture.”
You bite back your smile. Damn him. He’s never been funny before. That’s a problematic development.
“Fine.” Your legs are already crossed and now you’re crossing your arms too, and you look very reserved compared to his relaxed stature. “A match would, of course, need to be of good title.”
“Of course,” Tom says, without even an attempt at masking his amusement.
“And he would need to be rich.”
“Naturally.”
“It would help to be from one of the Sacred Houses.”
“I should not expect anything less.”
“And I suppose age is a factor,” you go on. You push, and push, and push. Tom is impervious. He takes.
“What age would do well?”
“Near enough to my own. For health, of course.”
“For health,” he agrees delightedly.
What the hell are you talking about?
“It would be preferable that he be handsome.”
“And of his character?”
“Most agreeable.”
“Docile?”
“Hm, docile, yes.”
“It is a long list.”
“I’ve been told I’m a difficult woman to sate. Far too prideful, apparently.”
Your fingers are drawing figure-eights on your thigh now, and Tom’s eyes flash briefly to the motion. You stop as though caught, and you aren’t sure why.
“A defamatory accusation,” he says quietly.
You wonder if his voice has always had that tinge to it: the gravel underlining his polish like the crack of the fire, and — that must be why it’s so warm in here, too. It has been that way since you arrived, hasn’t it? Such polarising temperatures between your walk in the snow to this, you must have only just adjusted… an hour after arriving. It’s completely logical.
“So there are talks,” you repeat, if only because you’ve blanked on all else.
“Well,” he says, eyes boring into yours in a way that makes you feel transparent, “I wish you all the best. If it at all helps, you can now add a moderate understanding of Latin to your list of virtues.”
You drape an arm across your chair to match his easy posture. (And how is it he manages to look regal and informal at the same time?) “My list of virtues? Elaborate.”
He shakes his head with a small smile and you point an accusatory finger at him. “Ah, ah, Riddle — I won, remember? And I indulged your inquiring regardless.”
His eyes narrow. “You do want me to grovel.”
“It’s Christmas.”
“I don’t believe that’s the purpose of the day.”
“And that matters to you?”
He leans forward, looking over you as if your supposed virtues will reveal themselves upon scrutiny. It’s a bit offensive, really. You’d hope he could find more than enough with one glance.
He settles, after a long moment where you feel almost bare, on, “Your pride is agonising.”
It’s — not exactly what you were hoping for. Not quite grovelling, by any definition, but then, what did you expect from him?
“Excuse me?”
“Your stockings are ripped at the calf.”
“Riddle—”
“Your lipstick may have stained my teacup. It is a shade I’m rather fond of, but I do not wish to see a trace of it left behind.”
“Quite good,” you say through gritted teeth.
“And I should not be agonised — incautious and unfettered at a sliver of skin or the gesture of your mouth —” You realise with horror that he’s speaking through something constrained too — “and yet I am.”
It’s — is that a confession? Have you broken him? Have you won again? Your stomach flips and it doesn’t feel at all like winning. He certainly doesn’t look like a man who’s lost. In fact, he’s watching you intently, and at your lack of response, the constraint forming a taut line on his lips seems to slip back into something deliberate. Curious.
You recover to the best of your ability. “It is a short list.”
“Shall I go on?” he asks, and it’s an answer, too: no, you have most definitely not broken him. He looks a bit like he’s found a neat pathway to breaking you instead.
“I’d hate to debase you further.”
He leans in, and he might be about to stand, and that might be an irreversible thing to do. “Are you sure? I can’t imagine you’ve painted the picture yet.”
Oh, you’ve painted the picture. You’ve painted a gallery.
“I find the image regrettable half-done. No point finishing it now.”
You do not.
“And besides,” you add, “I know my virtues.”
He smiles, and he’s half orange in the firelight and half blue in the night, green somewhere in the middle, and he should be condemned for being this beautiful. “Elaborate.”
You shouldn’t. “I’m intelligent.”
“Mhm.”
“I’m a quick learner.”
“So I’ve seen,” he agrees, still leaning in.
“I’m good at my job.”
And then he stands.
It is an irreversible thing. Your heart lurches like it knows he’s going to do something that cannot be undone. Your heart lurches because it is a thing you’ve anticipated, quietly, on late nights in scrolls of Latin so you might be able to pretend to mistranslate them — you know, in your first tongue and any other, that you do not want it to be undone.
“Anything else?” he asks. You aren’t sure if you’re resentful of the proximity of his seat to yours or grateful for it, because it takes no time at all for him to be standing before you.
“I’m well-mannered,” you say, and it comes out quieter than you mean for it to. “Lettered in etiquette.”
“Etiquette," he repeats slowly, in a voice dripping with sarcasm, and you don't quite know how he manages an intonation like that, but there it is, dripping with so much contempt you’re surprised he doesn’t fall over.
It wouldn’t be terrible if he did. He’d land right on top of you and put this little game to rest.
Instead he reaches a hand to your cheek — your hair — and brushes it like it’s an absolutely standard thing to do. He pulls away just the same. As if his hand is familiar with the shape of your face because it’s been there before. You'd definitely remember if it had.
“Of course,” you breathe, “patience and pleases and thank yous.”
“In all your manners, you might provide an example.”
Fine. If he’s going to be difficult. “I’d say I’m displaying great patience right now.”
“Hm.” His hands find yours where they sit on either arm of your chair, and his figure is blocking all light now. It shines on his shoulders, casts him like an aura. “That’s one.”
You look at his lips, and don’t bother to look away. You incline forward as much as you can when you’re caged in like this, until his breath is on yours and you can smell his cologne.
“Please,” you say, and for the challenge in it you don’t feel too humbled.
He is most obliging.
His lips just barely brush yours at first, and you did say you were patient — so you wait. The feather-light touch of them stills before it deepens, his hands pressing down on yours. Your open mouth. His tongue. You're kissing him, breathlessly and frantically and completely, and it is all you want.
Tom pulls back and you instinctively push forward. You will your eyes to open and he’s still right there — he hasn’t gone anywhere (what a deranged concern that is) — lips an inch from yours, and he’s smiling.
“That’s two.”
Oh. Oh, he’s an aberration in human variance. There’s something incredibly wrong with him.
There isn’t a way of turning gratitude into a challenge, you think. It doesn’t ask for anything. It appreciates. In this case it would more closely resemble worship. Thank you for your kiss, Riddle, I’d be nothing without it.
So you search to find a way around it that still gets you what you want.
“I’ll need a bit more than a lousy kiss if you want to see me grovel, Riddle." Your voice is a bit rough. You don’t know that your confidence lands the way it typically does.
But you came here to — what was it — puncture his pride? Push him until he breaks? You’ve already made it halfway, and you are, after all, very good at it.
And you suppose he wants to earn the third, because he scowls and then he’s kissing you again and this time his hands are on your face, and perhaps they are somehow familiar with the shape because they fit around you in some inexplicably whole way, like they were made for it. With your hands free, you’re carding your fingers through his hair, hoping for that vision of him you imagined earlier, with thick, messy waves and flushed cheeks.
Tom brings a hand to your waist and tugs you in, and you’re partly pulled from the chair by his insistence and overwhelmingly pushing to get out of it yourself, lips never leaving his as you stumble past the meagre divider to his bed.
The backs of your thighs hit the footboard and your knees buckle, gasping away from Tom’s mouth as you reach for the bedpost. His breath is heavy as his hand curves to the small of your back to keep you steady, your dress bunched in his fist, and there’s a heat in him pressed against you, like a match being held to kindling. And in the flash of fire when it finally strikes, everything in his eyes is clear, singularly focused, and he's pushing you to your back, splayed across his tidy sheets as he kisses you with bruising ferocity.
There's an urgency now to his movements that wasn't there before, and it's a stark contrast to his usual calculated demeanour, but that feels like winning. That feels like breaking Tom Riddle, whittling years of practised constraint to… this. That draws the third: makes you nice and grateful like he asked, because no part of you wants his careful fortitude here. You want to ruin him.
He appears to want the very same from you, which wrecks the whole thing.
Your legs move to wrap around him and he stops you, one hand pinning you by the hip and then down, past where you think he’ll go, as he finds the hem of your dress and lifts it from your calf to your knee. He draws circles over the thinly-clothed skin and you can do nothing but lie there, panting a little, staring at him with less patience than you’d proclaimed to have. And then his fingers move upwards, and they’re drawing figure-eights, and you understand that if this isn’t a taunt, nothing is. He copies your earlier motions. He does not kiss you. His fingers trail higher and higher and they’re soft like the shadows framing his face.
Finally he finds the waistband of your stockings and begins to tug them down your hips, stopping when he reaches that sliver of skin revealed by a tear in the fabric, taking your leg and hiking it up so he can look closely. He smiles, finger sliding down the tear in such a precise, meticulous fashion you can’t help but think he’s doing it on purpose. The moment does not linger when he pulls away, shuffling your stockings down the rest of the way so your legs are unclad before him, your heels already kicked off somewhere across the floor.
He watches your sharp exhale when he ducks down to kiss the skin of your thigh. A shiver runs through you at his softness, another when you see his face, see his eyes go dark with want of you.
His constraint is back, and it’s fucking detrimental. The only silver lining you can find in it, and you hope to be correct (haven’t you been so far?), is that maybe that means Tom Riddle can be broken in litany. Maybe he amends his ruination now but you can carve it out of him again later.
“Come here,” you say, your voice ragged.
Tom frowns, one hand pursuing a dangerous path up the inside of your thigh. “And here I was under the impression you wanted me to grovel.”
“Oh,” you huff, “is that what this is? Not some feeble attempt at winning after I —”
You grip his hair as his fingers curl under the lace of your underwear, as he smiles at the dampness there, the way your argument dissipates beneath his touch. “Winning?” he derides, breathy to match your tone in a way that feels cruel rather than considerate. You nod even as your breathing accelerates and he lifts the skirt of your dress to rest over your thighs, his eyes darting between your legs and your own heavy gaze as if he can't decide which is more intriguing. And then he slides a finger across your heat and you think he’s made his choice. "Is that what you think I want?"
You blink, feeling a bit lost. "What else is there?"
“Will you thank me after this?”
Right. That. You swallow, head falling back on his pillow. “Doubtful.”
“Hm,” he mumbles, some kind of consideration that can only be answered by the movement of his fingers against you, slow as they seek to learn you.
You arrest the moan that rises in your throat, teeth clenching together as Tom climbs over you once more, his body keeping you in place to watch the sustained details of your expression as one of his fingers dips inside you. You hiss, and his gaze burns into you, his mouth parted with a degree of awe and you think perhaps this is the picture he painted — you, under him, eyebrows pinched together as your hands scramble for purchase on his chest, fighting to remain intact.
But then his thumb brushes up against your clit and you let out a sound — half a moan, half a mewl. Tom doesn't give you a second to recover as his lips come down on yours again, hard, desperate, like he's trying to inhale you. And you let him, you take the little bit of ruin he surrenders in the great expanse of yours.
Even if you could quiet your noises you stand to think Tom would feel them, taste them, bite down on them like he does your lower lip, a second finger coiling into you. Your hand smacks at his wrist, clutching his arm with such intensity you can feel every sinew of his movement as he works away at you. Your legs are trembling, pressing around his waist an act of simultaneous resistance and desperation as you push upwards for friction and conquest.
You find both. Undeniable hunger — how he groans softly against your open mouth, how the imprint against your thigh is hard under his trousers, how he wants you.
His ministrations only intensify when your hand searches for the buckle of his belt, gripping your jaw like he needs to watch you fall apart before you can find parity in your desperation. It isn’t an impossible wish; your mind is hazy at the push and pull of his fingers, curving where his thumb draws ceaselessly on the other side, and you think, as much as you’re able right now, that he could succeed. But you force your eyes open to the space where your hand is wedged between your bodies, yanking hastily at his belt and sighing into his shoulder as it unfastens.
His trousers are unbuttoned, unzipped, and you’re arching into him with laboured pants even when your hand slips past them to find skin you've never travelled before.
Tom’s motions stagger when your fingers brush experimentally over his length, and you suddenly understand his ardent focus. You can’t help but stare at the way his jaw ticks, a hiss parting through gritted teeth, and the fact that you’re doing this to him is almost enough to push you over the edge. You grip him in one hand, and his fingers move again like some act of defiance, tightening his hold on your jaw. And then you’re pumping slowly, carefully, the only way you think to with the intention of pleasing him. Of weakening him.
He turns your head so you’re gasping into the pillow, neck exposed for him to press his mouth to. His teeth and tongue are on you and your hand slips from him for a moment as you shudder. Fuck him. This isn’t enough. You won't lose like this.
You tug at his waistcoat now, snapping open the buttons until the last few are clinging on by cheap threads. You’ll buy him that suit, you think. One that you can shrug off as fervently as you like without worrying about tearing the seams.
Your removal of his shirt is not aided by the swelling fire inside you, how the attention of his fingers has remained steady through your squirming and it feels like it’s culminating to something fatal. Your fingers grow shakier but don't stop their pursuit until every button is undone and you can soothe their trembling by pressing your palms against the warm expanse of his chest.
And then they’re back in his trousers, pushing them down his thighs as he continues to chip away at you. You bite back moans and blink through your dizziness.
Tom stops, and it might be more devastating than if he hadn’t. Your body is taut, a fine, thrumming wire spared a moment before snapping.
“More,” is all you say, tracing the shape of him through his briefs.
“More?” he asks. There’s a small mercy in the rasp within in his voice, the uncertainty despite himself. “I suppose that means I win.”
“Win?” 
His gall almost, almost pulls you back to reality. But he’s — he’s pulling his trousers further down and your body, like some separate entity to your mind, is flush against him when he’s finally free of all obstructions. 
“Mhm,” he hums, and almost-reality dwindles away into fucking nothing — disappears before your eyes when he brings his finger to his tongue and tastes you.
You tear him back to your mouth with a sound that so desperate your humility shouldn’t be able to take it but that's all gone now. His lips are wet and swollen and you’re adjusting yourself so his hips are lined with yours, and your head rolls back when he positions himself against your core and stays there.
“I win,” you breathe. “Everything else is just—”
He moves, hands on your waist as he presses ever-so-slightly inside you. You clutch wildly at his arms, your eyes wrenching shut.
“Look at me,” he says softly. His thumb caresses your cheek as if any act of his acts of tenderness are at all actually tender and not depraved requests for your resignation. 
You shake your head. “It’s ju-just—”
He sinks further, unhurried, and you feel like crying, your body clenching around him as the pressure deepens.
“Just what?” he asks, peppering kisses along your jaw.
“Just… um, just…”
“Hm?”
“I win... s’just… cheating…”
You feel him smiling against your neck, and then he detaches his lips to observe you, nodding with false sympathy. “You win.”
And he shifts himself forward so he’s pushed to the hilt. 
It’s a lie. It’s a lie as Tom holds you against him, carving kisses into your skin that burn, as you shudder a moan into the thick, hot air, as he begins to move rhythmically inside you, your fingers digging crescent moons into his spine and dragging.
You don't win.
If you are steel honed over years, it’s this moment that you melt, and you think if you were to be fused again it would be in a different shape.
And you mean that. You honestly feel liquified when he splits you slow like this, rolling his hips as you cling to him for strength like he isn’t the thing shattering you. 
You rock to meet him, you bury your nails in his back, you rest your moans with your teeth in his shoulder — whatever you can think to make this fair. Make true to your word. You are going to break, it's true, but you are going to break Tom Riddle too.
“Fingers,” you mutter, far too much of a demand for the way it almost stumbles into a sob, but Tom makes a strained sound in the back of his throat as if it gratifies him that you want it enough to ask.
“Thank me,” he answers on a harsh exhale.
You bite at his collar, shaking your head, but your legs are starting to shake and you wouldn’t ask if it was something you wanted — you mask it as an order because you need it. Because you imagine what he’s doing now combined with his thumb on your clit and it’s enough to make your abdomen clench just thinking about it.
Instead one of your hands forsakes the sweet curve of his muscles every time he thrusts into you so that it can snake between your own legs, and you mimic his earlier ministrations just long enough to drive a moan from your lips before Tom’s eyes dart from your lips, the rise and fall of your chest, to the hand missing from his back.
He grabs it with a scowl, pinning one wrist and then the other above your head.
“Stubborn,” he hisses, and he buries himself inside you like it's something personal, persistent in his strokes when his fingers finally rub over you how you wanted.
And you know you’ve done it when his head falls on your shoulder and you feel yourself tighten around him. His grip on your wrists is punishing. His mouth on your shoulder is stringent. He’s hard and full inside you and his fingers slide against you in delicate, torturous contrast. You know because it all stutters a bit when you pull him into a kiss, when you know you’re about to plummet into oblivion and he���s gripping you through it like you might steady him — like you aren’t the thing shattering him.
When you do, it’s something visceral. You think you might be spinning, or floating — screaming, maybe — spilling ill-mannered expletives in strings with his name because your hands are still trapped under his and your body can do nothing else. What you know, undoubtedly, is that you’re coming down from it for a long time, in a haze when you manage to breathe the words into his ear. “Thank you.”
Tom breaks. It’s the most beautiful you think he’s ever looked; eyebrows cinched and pink mouth parted, hair mussed like you wanted, neck tense as he stills inside you and you feel every part of him let go.
Your legs are too weak to cling to him through it, and you just pant under him, blinking languidly and in awe.
You stay like that for a long time.
He leans in when he finally pulls out of you, kissing you like one form of contact must be replaced with another. It's the same with his hands. He sinks into the space beside you and releases your wrists just to cup your face instead.
Yours come up instantly and shamelessly to his hair, craving nothing more than to curl your fingers through the dark mess of it. You trace the sharp shape of his cheeks, too, like his did to yours, like you need to memorize the lines of his expression and the heat of his skin before the world outside seeps in and it all goes cold.
But you pull away and you can't imagine it will.
There’s something in his eyes that feels new. Longing like he’s shed all pretence of acting like nine years of treading the lines of this rivalry has ever been anything but a pathetic display, like he knows you've shed it too. It makes you catch your breath to think this is what it feels like to be desired by Tom Riddle; that you desire him all the same; all this time.
“You know,” you say, and your voice sticks dry to your mouth, “I still win.”
He shakes his head. He smiles. You want terribly to kiss him again.
“I’ll just have to find something else to best you in, won’t I?”
You pretend like you’re considering it and not just staring at him. 
“I think by Christmas would be fair.”
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lifeonmarz-blog · 5 months
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Moon through the zodiac
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Aries: Your blunt and it often comes across as insensitive. Yet at the same time people may think your too sensitive. Growing up your household was very busy and or very gossipy. People may question your intentions alot with this placement even if your not doing anything some may still assume your up to no good. Its almost like damn all that assuming you might as well actually do something. The way you express yourself is always being judged and people are always trying to ''correct'' it. Causing you to be anti social, very particular on who you share your personality with or a bully. The way you express yourself is very unique just like your sense of humor you be accidentally funny as hell and thats needed in this world dont give away your power to people and allow them to change you into a dolice version of yourself. Light fire under they ass the way you how to. Anyways I wouldnt be surprised if you daydream about your ideal life alot, careful not to be in your head too much and create unrealistic expectations for yourself or others to uphold. I want yall to stop being so hard on yourself. If nobody else tell yall ima tell you i love how passionately you express yourself. The purpose of your moon being here is for you to learn more about yourself and who you are and how your actions/reactions affect others. Step away from whats familiar and comfortable and dig deep. Listen to your intuition. Have some fucking fun.
Taurus: Its your way or the highway HUH? Your moon chose to be here becasue you are the defender. There will be times were you feel your back is against the wall and you face alot of scrutiny from the world. They may come down on you hard but if you can withstand the pressure you will be rewarded. Willpower and self discipline comes easier for you. You have the tendency to be arrogant, domineering and passive aggressive. A good leader keeps those emotions in check. Yall get stuck in yall ways fr i want yall to put more energy into leaving your comfort zone and taking risk. Slow down smell the roses and enjoy where you are. Dont be all work and no play.
Gemini: Yall love some drama. Somehow always ending up in the middle of some shit. Seeing others as competition even when them ppl not worried about you. You like being the center of attention and dont care if its in a postive or negative light. It works for yall though because popularity comes easy for you. This is one of the most social placements for the moon to be. Your reputation means alot to you and networking is high on your priority list. Its common for yall to feel like you always have to choose between something. It may be hard for you to balance your work life and home life. In friendships and relationships you choose to keep the blindfold on ignoring whats really in front of you, procrastinating to handle your problems just hoping theyll go away on there on. You end up in situations where people are betraying you. With the two sides to gemini its like a secret element to your life. Your no stranger to scandal. I feel for you, this isnt a easy place to have the moon be. You care so much about your relationships with people but yet often have issues with ppl. This couldve stemmed from feeling like you were a target growing up that people always chose to pick with you. Or that you were punished more extremely than others. With this placement you've probably seen or experienced things that really made you question humanity. Dont let those experiences shape the type of person you'll be. You gotta learn to let shit go and not be bitter or have a victim mentality. Be careful not to burn yourself out. Drowning yourself in work to ignore your feelings. You dont always have to do everything on your own... collaborating is just as rewarding i promise. It would be beneficial to learn how to except help, knowing when to back down and not being so critical of yourself.
Cancer: If they dont appreciate everything you do FCK EM. No but fr with moon here you may feel like people overlook the things you do for them. Cancer moons can be way to stubborn and stand in there on way because of the fear of change. Repeating the same lessons way more than they should have to. When your redirect your energy to new experiences and growth your determination and passion unmatched. This is type of person you want to have on your team they bring so much positive energy and comfort.
Leo: Main character syndrome AF lol Unnecessarily rebellious at times growing up you may have felt your parents were controlling on how you expressed your creativity or because of the way you grew up you express your creativity in a rebellious way in relation to your family. Your career could be taboo. I could see a lot of onlyfans stars having moon in leo. Success in career comes more natural for you because of your consistency and ambitious nature. Yall really find pleasure in chasing money. Dont get so carried away with fulfilling your material desires that you dont leave time for introspection and searching for who you really are away from the titles.
Virgo: How does it feel to be kids favorite? A happy home life is important for this placement. Theres an innate need to belong. You love parties, holidays and kids ofc. Hosting parties and having a full house will give you happiness. Where this placement gets stuck is not being able to let go of the past. Getting sucked into the loophole of self pity and regret. Focus your attention on what you can do and what you can change. You work better with other ppl there to bounce ideas off of. Let your gaurd down, Succuss is reached quicker for you when you collaborate. Having this placement is testing your ability to strengthen your willpower and resourcefulness. Once you can do that you'll manifest way easier. Careful not to live beyond your means. Dont let desires put you in debt. Trust your intution, take the first step and take the risk. You go be perfectly fine.
Libra: Your love language is def quality time and acts of service this is very important for this placement to feel loved. Yall thrive in group settings and really value friendships. Even if you dont talk that much it makes you feel better to be around others. If you want to get with a Libra moon the best way is to become their friend first. You may have a tendency to put yourself in drama and create chaos among your inner circle though lil messy ass. Always wanting to be right, when this placement is in its lower natures is a good example of the native american folklore of the hunter that stuck a blood coated blade in ice knowing the wolf couldnt resist. It licked the blade continuously not realizing it was slowing bleeding out. The only way for the wolf to survive is to acknowledge its self destructive behavior. Bottom line just because you can ignore something doesnt mean others are going to do the same. Just becasue it didnt effect you doesnt mean it didnt effect them. Make the effort to listen to understand not listen to respond. Your words matter use them responsibly and take breaks from people or things when you feel you need to, your mental health will thank you.
Scorpio: Transformation happens with this placement alot. Moments of feeling isolated or depressed may be brought on by extreme emotional shifts. Anxiety and fear is no stranger to the scorpio moon. It can be to the point of really debilitating you. You've experienced things you've kept to yourself or have repressed but the issue continues to reappear time after time like a broken record. If it hasnt been dealt with it way on you really heavy and appear in your dreams often. You've felt shame, not understanding how you couldve allowed yourself to be in that predicament in the first place but seriously bro shit happens. It can be hard to maintain emotional balance with moon in scorpio, so its essential to have methods to release your emotions in healthy ways. Careful not to become bitter or victimizing with things dont go the way your controlling ass intends. Vengeance doesnt work well for you it often backfires, you'll try to set somebody house on fire and you burn yourself in the process. You may feel that people often oppose for no reason that you have to go through power struggles to be heard or to get the things you want. You may second guess opening up and are critical of yourself and others but opening yourself up to the world will be one of the best things you can do for your relationships and career. Your maturity and originality is threatening. Express yourself in your full nature and make people adapt to you not the other way around. You have authoritarian energy and if your putting yourself out there which ik you are, yr often mistaken for the boss. That is if your not already the boss. Im sure your that your the boss. Mwahahaha. Your demeanor comes across as serious and strict. Ppl naturally think let me not play with them. Your standards are high for yourself and your partner. You wouldnt be with somebody who doesnt match up to your standard. You need to feel like the person you’re with is equally as respected as you in any room you walk in.
Sagittarius: Im sure you believe you were meant to be famous. Sagittarius moons are very charismatic and great negotiators with a very convincing personality they are great at creating solutions quickly. So ofc that makes its very easy for them to make friends. In relationships they attract and are attracted to more dominate personalities. Loving the idea of love but really being in denial about that. Def gives player vibes they have flirtatious ass whore ways lmao. If you cheating ik you not even finna try hard to hide it. Easily bored they will chase thrills lowkey in a running from your problems type of way. Where sag moons can grow is appreciating the value they bring and not feeling the need to always compare themselves to others. Don't attach your self worth to financial security. Be more secure in what you believe and don't back down so easily when others challenge your ideas.
Capricorn: The moon doesn't like being here. Its emotionally depressing actually lol. I'm sure you've already read enough depressing interpretations on cap moons tho so this one is not going to be that. This one is meant to empower you. Youve experienced alot of chaos anger and pain. You've experienced very intense situations that have completely emotional up rooted you. But the smoke always clears and its important for to spend time away from the people and places that have caused this. Take the steps needed to regroup to be by yourself to develop better understanding of your emotions and learn what it is that truly want from your life. If you are not following your intuition it is easy for you to end up in friendships and relationships that do not mean you well. Your not the type of person who can just hang with anyone you need to very intentional about who you allow into your life. Communicate your feelings stop keeping everything bottled in. That shit will drive yo ass crazy. You dont have to be the strong friend all the time your emotions are valid, open up to ppl and share that shit because you dont share often you open up and talk people listen. Use that power to help others that have been through similar experiences to you. When you succeed in whatever obstacles you overcome ppl cant do anything but respect it bc your road was slow and steady but you stayed with it. When it comes to relationships you are very black and white you'll commit yourself fast but if you feel you cant trust the person you may still deal with them but emotional you shut them out. You like being partnered up rather its a relationship or situtationship you deal with the person for a long time.
Aquarius: I want to give you a hug, you are too analytical for your own good. Baby you need to stop thinking so much and you need to feel, you need to experience, act on impulse, dont give yourself time to think about everything that could go wrong. You sabotage so much of your own happiness that way. But i understand people have disappointed you so many times you feel you must do everything on your own. Its like nobody understands you or that people are committed to misunderstanding you. But news flash your not that expressive with your feelings how is anybody going to know if you dont tell them. Yall are cute though with yall dry ass humor. Listen stop being such a fly on the wall you hold as much value as anyone else stop acting like your presence is a fuckn burden. You dont have be agreeable all the the time they will be O FUCKN K. You are very intelligent and more people need to know that. Believing in yourself and communicating is your lesson. Shine your light and stop playing like fr...
Pisces: Ok we’re gonna get the sad shit out the way first. Just how yall like. I really feel like yr parents just let yall cry it out as a baby and you took that personal lmao. No but fr i feel like you always came across like you can handle things so you weren’t really checked on everyone just assumes you'll be ok. You come across as very strong and resilient which is beautiful but everybody needs a shoulder to lean on. Okay now remember how i said yall took that personally ummhm you can be very vengeful never forgetting he littlest slight somebody done towards you. Yall resort to committing crimes rather easily if you need some money lmao im not mad at it though. Literally rationalizing damn near anything if that means youll get what you want. And another thing yall be lying fr. lol sometimes it really do be on accident though you just forgot what really happened and your imagination is very vivid you thought that was the truth. You can be too hard on yourself sometimes you see very clearly the person you want to be so you put so many time limits and expectations on yourself. Chill out enjoy the journey and flow through life the way you know how to. You have very high standards so anything you invest your energy too is executed properly. I honestly cant even imagine a Pisces moon not running their own business. Im sure you cant either. You naturally have very authoritarian energy. Theres not much push and pull when it comes to you getting your way people go with your flow pretty easily. Naturally you wouldnt assume a pisces to be practical but they actually are. Sure they dream big but if they didnt know how to practically implement that into this realm that would just be depressing as hell. When yall find something that works for you, you are very disciplined at seeing it through. Very protective over those you love yall def give stand up when i walk in the room vibes lol
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literaila · 19 days
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how do u think satoru would react to reader in a depressive episode, especially what do u think the kids would do
obviously, they’ve all noticed.
the past couple of weeks have not been lived through ignorantly. and you have not been acting normal.
the differences are just that, at first. tiny inconsistencies in your otherwise normal personality, your routine.
and then it becomes more than just a… change.
it starts off simple; megumi’s brows furrowing when you ask him a question—something about his teacher, or what kind of drink he wants in his lunch that day—and then forget what you’ve just said as soon as he answers.
tsumiki watching, smiling along idly, as you rub your temples, sighing with every other sentence and squeezing your eyes tight like you’ll be able to wake up if you try hard enough.
and satoru noticing when you linger in your room a bit longer, as the days pass. staring when you freeze looking at the wall in the morning, zoning out so hard that he has to shake you back to life.
just an accumulation of things that might indicate that something is up.
but as these moments—moments when you’re lost in your head, trying to conceal your entire being from all of them, and pretending that it’s all normal—increase, the three of them learn a little something about observing.
and lying to themselves, of course.
eventually, though, when megumi or tsumiki inevitably say something—usually when you’re not in the room, off hiding somewhere—satoru just shrugs.
(he’s going to lie his way through this, just like everything else, thank you).
“it’s a bad day,” he’ll say, like the two children will comprehend that. like they don’t know what a bad day means. “she’s just tired.”
he could make a million excuses for you. oh, you didn’t get enough sleep last night. oh, you’ve only had one cup of coffee today. oh, the world is a truly terrible place and it’s only natural that it runs you down.
but he leaves them with the simplest of explanations, instead. maybe it’s his subtle way of denying that there’s anything wrong. that you could be upset about something. it doesn’t matter, anyway.
and tsumiki, ever so trusting of all of you, listens to him. if satoru says that you’re okay, then so does she. she’ll draw you a picture at school or try to help you make their lunches in the morning, but you’re fine. her questions end with an answer.
megumi, on the other hand, has never believed a word that satoru has said.
so when the older man swears that you’re okay, that they don’t need to worry, megumi only begins to worry harder.
he sees that look on your face when you walk in the room, and megumi knows. maybe it’s because he’s the most attuned to you, out of everyone, in particular. maybe it’s because he’s observant, or too worrisome for his age (as you tell him).
but he knows.
and if satoru says one thing, megumi’s going to believe the other.
(plus the two of you have always had a symbiotic relationship. you worry about him, and he worries about you. you laugh at him, and he gives a little lip twitch in return).
so satoru is not surprised when megumi brings it up for the fourth time in a week.
“you want me to what, exactly?”
“you can talk to them, can’t you?” he repeats, giving satoru a bland look. something like ‘are you serious.’ “they know you.”
satoru snorts. “i don’t think my bosses will appreciate me telling them what they can or can’t do.”
megumi gives him another look.
and yeah, so satoru already does that. they still don’t appreciate it.
he sighs, smiling at the boy. anything to mess with him, really. he ruffles megumi’s hair. “kid, she’s fine. i can’t just tell them to give her a couple of weeks off. there has to be a reason. and,” he adds, cheerfully. “i’ve been told it’s impolite to speak on someone’s behalf without their input.”
“you don’t care about being polite,” megumi argues, crossing his arms.
satoru groans internally. he’s really not going to let this go.
it’s not that satoru necessarily disagrees, but anything he does to help you is going to be refuted with a “butt out,” or “leave me alone, satoru.”
“true,” he says, grinning as he mocks the boys stance. “but i do care about being yelled at. particularly by your mother.”
“she needs a break.”
satoru rolls his eyes. “she’s getting one. the next couple of days are free, and she’s taking a nap right now.”
megumi frowns, even deeper than usual, and stares satoru down until he breaks.
“megumi,” the man groans, childishly, pushing the boy out of the room. “you don’t need to worry about her. chill out. just go back to reading about rocks or whatever you were doing.”
“it’s geology.”
satoru waves a hand, indifferent.
(secretly trying to come up with a way to get you to talk to him. he can’t ask because you’ll just ignore him. he can’t force it out of you because that would get the two of you nowhere.
what other options are left, really? you’ve put satoru in a terrible position).
“then can we get something, instead?” megumi asks, almost pleading. “flowers, or… whatever girls like.”
“y/n already has flowers. i bought them.”
“buy something else.”
“who taught you to be this stubborn?”
megumi only scowls at him.
satoru sighs, scratching his head. he knows he should do something—but he’s so used to sitting around and waiting for you to fix everything.
yes, he does recognize that it’s a terrible habit, and completely unfair. he also recognizes that he is the worst person in the world.
eventually he sighs. “okay. how about i order dinner?” he asks, almost wincing. it’s the most natural response—everything can be fixed with food, in satoru’s sophisticated opinion. “that’ll be easy. want to go ask mom what she wants?”
megumi practically runs to your room, leaving satoru with no time to remind him that you’re probably asleep, knocking just briefly—from what satoru can hear—before going in.
he tip-toes up to the door, also wanting to check in.
satoru is nothing if not nosy.
and he might as well let megumi do all of the dirty work.
“um, i don’t care,” he hears you saying. “whatever you guys want.”
“it’s for you.”
there’s a pause. then, “really, megs, i’m not very hungry, so…”
megumi is frowning down at you when satoru steps in.
“good nap?” he asks, smiling and sitting at the edge of your bed.
“you don’t need to get dinner. it’s my turn.”
he waves a hand. “i feel like takeout.”
you frown, about to argue when megumi speaks up, glancing between the two of you with an almost furious expression.
“what’s wrong?” he asks, his voice soft but mad. like usual. satoru realizes that he’s been tricked into contributing to this.
“what?”
“why are you upset?”
“upset?” you repeat, eyes widening. “i’m not upset, megu—“
“are you sick?”
“no,” you say, immediately. “i’m just a little tired but it’s—“
“megumi,” satoru interrupts, trying to ignore the almost hurt look on your face—the glance you send his way, pleading and worried. he knows you hate this the most. “let’s let mom sleep some more, okay? tsumiki and you can decide what you want—“
“no.”
and neither of you can argue, or console the confused boy, before he’s climbing into your bed with a determined look on his face.
satoru tried to grab on to him, but megumi is having none of that, shaking him off before he can get a good grip. you’re looking at satoru anxiously, and this is the worst.
if satoru knows anything about you, it’s that you don’t want to be coddled. you don’t want to accept any help, even if it’s from your sweet, concerned son.
“megumi—“ you say, though, satoru notes, don’t make any attempts to move him when he struggles to get under the covers with you, or when he just sits by your side, barely touching you.
“i’m staying here.”
“really, bud, i’m okay. you don’t need to worry about me.”
“you’re sad.”
“i’m not.”
megumi looks at you, and satoru watches as you both share a glance. an internal conversation he’ll never get to be apart of.
for once in his life he’s not even jealous about it.
“it’s…” you say, but the two boys watch as your shoulders slack and your face drops. all at once, you lose color, life, and just sit there. “it’s fine.”
you say it to them, but it sounds more like a reminder to yourself.
satoru’s face falls. he has no idea what to say, what to do to help you—he’s spent so much time denying that there was anything wrong, that he could do anything to help, and now he’s got no answers.
he feels like an idiot, sitting there. megumi shouldn’t be taking more initiative, he should be the one worrying about you, the one to go to—
megumi doesn’t say anything though. he only moves closer to you, not complaining when your arm wraps around his shoulder and you hold him to you.
like a life vest. a support in all of the vastness.
he doesn’t need to say ‘it’s okay,’ or ‘i’m here for you,’ for the words to ring out across the the air.
and, satoru realizes, quickly, he’s only doing what you do for them. what you do best.
climbing in beside them and making sure they know that they’re not alone. being that support, no matter how unwanted.
megumi’s learned from the best.
“sorry,” you mutter to him. “i know im gross.”
megumi shakes his head and settles into you even further. and the boy doesn’t cuddle—or, at least, without being forced—but your face softens as he leans against you, allowing this kind of intimacy.
and, maybe, satoru thinks, that’s the problem with all of you.
no one knows quite what to say. what to do to help someone with something that they can’t understand. neither he or megumi is sure how to dig you out of this hole.
none of you are very good with words.
but, at least, satoru knows how to be good at this.
he sets his glasses on your bedside table, and he moves you both over with ease, smiling when you both grunt at his intrusion.
and then you’re a tower of people, all leaning against one another. building blocks stacked on top of each other.
you relax into satoru almost instantly and he kisses the top of your head, feeling some sort of pride—just at the fact that you’ll let him be here, with you.
maybe that’s the thing with families, he thinks. no one needs to say anything for it to be okay.
and the uneasiness sits there with all of you. the past couple of weeks—the distancing and disassociating—linger there.
there’s nothing he can say to make everything all better. he could destroy the entire world right now, save for your house, and it still wouldn’t be enough.
but this is nice. a hug might not fix everything, but it won’t make anything worse
and after a minute or two, you say: “where’s tsumiki?”
and she peeks her head out from your door, smiling at all three of you. it takes her three seconds to jump on the bed, having been waiting there the whole time, the final piece to your messed up puzzle.
375 notes · View notes
theendisneat · 1 month
Text
Patterns
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Pairing: Tighnari x gn!reader
Warnings: None
It stretched from the tip of your right middle finger to your left ear. Across your arm and chest and neck, a dark swirling tattoo of intricate patterns that indicated you your fated one was to be. When you were little, you’d like to imagine them, the person attached to the matching pattern. You’d think of the hair they’d have or how they dressed. You’d think of how they smiled or how they fidget.
Truly, you were a romantic child. Imagining eyes and nose and wispy bangs, staring off into space with what your parents had told was the most intense look they’d ever seen.
Soon though, you had to grow out of your fantasies and accept your patterns as simply part of your body. Rigorous studying did not leave time for daydreaming, working did not give you enough of a break to sleep let alone dream (it was a luxury at this point). You figured the time would come.
Soulmates always meet. If they didn’t, what was the point of two people being perfect matches if they never collided? It’s never confirmed when you and your soulmate would meet. Some meet when they’re children and others have met on their last day alive. It was a worrying prospect, but the fact that you’d get to meet them at all comforted you as you put your mark out of sight and out of mind.
And after hours and hours of hard work over the years, you finally made it to the Akademiya in Sumeru.
It was a struggle to get in, with your family not being particularly wealthy, well known, or even from Sumeru, so you had to overcompensate greatly purely through your academic prowess. You spent days writing till your hand felt like it would fall off, detailing your research and studies of the fauna of your country. Not simply limiting yourself to the animals, you studied the monsters as well. It was those studies that pushed you through, that willingness to put yourself on the line for important research.
Perhaps it wasn’t the healthiest mindset to have, forcing yourself into such dangerous situations, but you did genuinely love your studies, loved the creatures you followed and learned about, and now you could learn more, have access to more. It was a shining opportunity that had you burying your face in your hands to cover the blinding grin.
-
The years at the Akademiya were hard, harder than you were expecting. The classes on top of your personal studies were ruthless and oftentimes you went without sleeping for a couple nights in a row.
But you made it. You passed your classes, your work was recognized, you were a contender for funding. It was that funding that brought you to the Avidiya Forest.
Lush and green and beautiful, the forest surrounded you. The towering trees protected you from the sun, their branches and vibrant leaves stretching so far and so long shadows danced across the ground, only slivers of light shining through. The air was thick with heat, dirt, and a light, sweet ting of Sumeru’s natural flora.
You were crouched behind a bush, dirt staining your clothes and face. Tracking this particular monster was not the easiest. It liked to move, and prowl close to the ground, climb to the highest tree and soak in the sun.
You hand darted across the page, writing down every molecule of information about the beast in front of you. Its body was covered in shimmering, silver scales, giving in the appearance of an automaton. Its claw scratched deeply into the soft dirt of the forest.
You were so entranced by the being you didn’t hear the loud ‘move!’ before you were being pushed to the dirt. Your head was held down, and from the corner of your eye you could only just see the skittish creature skitter away.
With all your strength, you pushed the person off of you, hearing a faint ‘oomph’ as you sat up, glaring. “What the hell?!”
Anything else you had to say died immediately in your throat. Sitting in front of you, with hard, not cold, eyes and an almost pout to his lips, was a man your age. Choppy black and green hair framed his sharp face, a complicated outfit littered with bottles and what looked like first aid. Ears like that of a fennec fox stood straight up on his head, only slightly tilted back to signal growing aggression. But the thing that drew your eye the most, was the twirling, complicated tattoo that peaked out just by his neck.
The man couldn’t see the shock that captured your mind. “I’m sorry, did you just want me to let you get yourself decapitated by a carnivorous plant?”
“A what?” You murmured absentmindedly. Turning your head up you saw a wiggling vine connected to a head similar to that of a venus fly trap, a head whose teeth were now buried into the bark of the tree it rammed into when you had been moved out of the way. “Woah.”
“Woah.” The man mocked, his face set in an unimpressed frown. “Have you no awareness?”
“I was focused.” You defend hotly, an embarrassed heat on your cheeks.
He rolls his eyes and you feel your own twitch. “Really, you couldn't have been more unprepared.”
“I’m sorry.” You ground out. “I was unaware that this area was infested by people eating plants.”
“Perhaps you should look into that.”
You shot up, brushing the dirt from your clothes. “I’ll be on my way then, I have research to conduct and if I have to deal with your insufferable attitude, I might just pop a blood vessel.”
“My insufferable attitude? At least I’m not so ignorant as to not notice a giant plant about to strike!”
You were about to yell at him some more when your eyes once again caught the patterns peeking from his shirt. You knew it was your pattern. With the days you spent sitting in front of the mirror, gliding your fingers over the swirls and tangles and dots, how could you not recognize that which you knew so intimately?
You stepped closer to him and caught his suspicious gaze. You noticed his ears flick, for irritation, anxiety, you didn’t know, and chuckled, which only made his eyes narrow.
“Hey, I didn’t think to mention it because you were so irritating-” a scoff, “-but we have matching patterns.”
“What?” His ears when stock still, pointed straight up, and the tail you just saw froze, the fur bristling.
“Your pattern.” You repeat. “I know it like the back of my hand. We match.” You moved your hair and the scarf tucked tightly around your neck to reveal your own whorls over your skin.
Emotions you couldn’t name flashed through his eyes like bolts, his ears twitching only slightly.
You waved your hand in front of his face. “Hey, you in there? I know this isn’t how soulmate meetings typically go but you could try and look like this isn’t the end of the world.”
His blank face had snapped back to awareness, lips turning down. “I hope you don’t expect this to develop into some kind of romantic-”
“Excuse me?” You raised your eyebrow. “When did I ever imply-”
“It has been said that on multiple occasions that soulmates are expected to be romantic-”
“How long have you been in this forest?”
His ears bristled and puffed. He frowned further. “I don’t think my assumption is wrong, and the forest is much more welcome company than any ‘intelligence’ back in the academy.”
“Hey, at least we agree on one thing. Though I prefer the creatures of the forest to the forest itself.”
He scoffs again but this time it sounds more like a laugh, something that brings a bit of a smile to your face.
“Hey,” you stuck your hand out. “Acquaintances? Tenuous colleagues? Hate to break it to you, but I’m staying in Avidiya Forest for a while for research purposes.”
The man sighed but stuck his hand out, grasping yours. “Tenuous colleagues it is then. I’m Tighnari.”
“[Y/n].” You responded.
-
The months passed by quickly.
Soon after that conversation with Tighnari, you had bought a small little hut in Gandharva Ville. It became an immediate mess, covered from floor to ceiling in pages, diagrams of creature anatomy from all across Teyvat, paragraphs upon paragraphs of analysis and theorizing. The only place that was safe was your bed, but even with that the blankets were crumpled, the pillow nearly falling off the side.
Despite your mess, your research was going along perfectly. The opportunity to stalk so many gorgeous creatures, to communicate with them and study them was like a dream come true to you. Long days were spent out in the wild, more often than not, you came home covered in dirt.
During these months, you and Tighnari had grown closer. You ran into each other on multiple occasions, him sometimes following you out on your excursions when he had the time to make sure you didn’t get your head bit off by another carnivorous plant (you didn’t want to count how many close calls there had been already), and you sometimes crashing into him while running from a particularly aggressive creature you accidently startled.
Sometimes those encounters ended with you getting scratched and Tighnari pulling you back to your home, where he would then berate you for your horrible living state, and sit you down on the edge of your bed. He’d manhandle you, though you noticed he was never violent. His ears would go down with worry, pupils contracting every time he caught sight of a cut.
-
It was a bad cut. A truly terrible cut that went from the left side of your hip to your right shoulder. It was deep, flowing red so quickly your white shirt couldn’t even be called white any more. It came from an animal you weren’t expecting, one that had been stalking you as you quietly followed another.
The slash had left you disoriented, stumbling as you ran. You were lucky to find that the creature didn’t care to follow you, seeming to like the idea of playing with you. The blood gushed, sticking uncomfortable to your skin as you trudged back to Gandharva Ville, doing your best not to pass out.
In your delirium, you could only be glad that the slash missed the majority of your pattern, only getting the part on your chest. You held a worthless hand to the wound, pressing down with the fleeting thoughts of ‘pressure, pressure’.
You didn’t even notice when the sun caught your eye as you finally broke through the dense foliage of the forest. Screams went in one ear and out the other, sweat pouring from your forehead and into your eyes, the heat making your shirt stick horribly to your aching body.
Hands gripped your shoulders. Hands were the only thing you could think of, them wrapping around your waist and legs, pulling you into a bridal carry. Your head resting against a shoulder, the scent of earth and berries and blood invading your nostrils. Your head felt fuzzy and your breathing shallow.
It wasn’t long before you passed out.
-
You woke up in bed, aching, torso tightly wound with itchy gauze turning pink. A groan was caught in the back of your dry throat and your limbs flopped uselessly when you tried to sit up.
A door slammed open. “Honestly, this is why I track them. Can’t keep themselves safe and want to prance around a deadly forest. All this gauze…” You hear the muttering and couldn't stop a fond sigh.
“You complain,” your voice is rough, ugly in every sense of the word. “But I’m still alive now.”
“Yes, because of my expertise.” There was no ‘you’re awake’ no ‘thank goodness you’re alright’ no ‘don’t sass me while you’re at my mercy’. There was just a quiet relief in his sigh, the fond quirk of his lips, the with which he shot back at your words. It was comfortable and comfortable must’ve felt good after such a scare.
He sat on the edge of the bed, gently pulling you up so you’re sitting straight. “Come on, let me change your bandages.”
“Can I have some water afterwards?”
“So high maintenance,” he grumbled, and with the serious look on his face, it took you a moment to realize he was teasing. “First I use all this gauze, then I have to spare my water?”
“Oh please ‘humble one’. Let me have just a sip?” The back of your hand delicately touched your forehead in a dramatic swoon and you would’ve fallen back onto the bed for a little extra if Tighnari’s hands weren’t keeping you upright.
He huffed. “Alright, alright. I’ll get you some water, just be still.”
The rest of his care was spent in silence. Sometimes his hands would brush your skin and you would shiver, or his eyes would linger on your shared pattern and you felt this primal instinct to puff out your chest, to show it off with pride.
When he made to leave, probably to get the water you were oh so desperate for, you caught his risk. Looking up at him through your eyelashes, you smiled nervously at his inquisitive gaze. “After all these months, can we finally upgrade from tenuous colleagues to friendly acquaintances?”
His hand grasped your own wrist, squeezing gently. He rolled his eyes. “Friendly acquaintances then.”
-
Two years had passed from the time you and Tighnari first laid eyes on each other, a year and a half from when you became acquaintances, and now it had been two days since you’d upgraded to friends.
Just thinking about it, as you lie in the crumpled sheets of your messy bed, makes your heart thump wildly.
Two days ago, you and Tighnari had run into a researcher from the Akademiya. Haughty and aggravating, the two of you listened as he leveled thinly veiled insults at Gandharva Ville’s less than elite beauty, at Tighnari’s work ethic (because how can the forest still be so over run with withering zones if he was doing his job correctly?), and sneered at your choice of research, not so subtly referring to you as ‘one who likes to walk among their own kind’.
It was a hit to the heart, one you hadn’t heard in a while, but nothing new. Insults towards you have always followed a certain path. You were beastly as you like to roll in the mud just like the very beasts you followed. You were just so disoriented with the world of the elite Akademiya because you couldn’t possibly fathom such glamor from the hick town you grew up in. You didn’t belong in Sumeru itself, not even among the common folk, because did you really know how things worked over here? After all, you were from so far away.
But Tighnari had never treated you as anyone lesser. Not less knowledgeable or intelligent. Not less adaptable or sincere. Through working with him, you grew to respect him, not only his work ethics, but his aloof compassion and charm, something that made your heart sting every day, and you knew he felt that same respect for you.
Now, you couldn’t be more happy. The scowl that pulled back Tighnari’s lips was so fierce, the researcher had taken a step back, a thin sheen of sweat lining his forehead. “Are you always so obvious with your insinuations?”
“Mr. Tighnari-”
“Actually, with how obvious they are, I’d say they’re blatant insults.”
“Mr. Tighnari, please!” The researcher chuckled nervously. “It's not like it's personal, only jokes. Everyone made them back in our Akademiya days.”
The ease with which these statements against you were brushed off had Tighnari bristling. “Everyone? Who is everyone?”
“Sir,” you say, finally deciding to step in. “While I don't appreciate the familiar words, I do enjoy the fact that because you're so disgustingly arrogant and rude, you will never find yourself free to stay in Gandharva Ville.”
The researcher's face had gone from blanched to colored an angry, splotchy red that was particularly unattractive if you said so yourself. “What?! That can't be! I've got permission from the Akademiya to conduct my research here!”
“But I have final say if you stay here.” Tighnari’s smile was sharp and uncomfortable to look at. “So please, find your way back out of the Avidiya Forest. Your stench is creating more withering zones than I can handle.”
The researcher had run, tail between his legs and face that ugly crimson. You couldn't stop yourself from laughing and in all honesty, you didn't try to. From the corner of your eye, you saw the self-satisfied smirk on Tighnari’s face.
“What a minx you are. Did you have fun watching the blood drain from his face?” You teased.
He scoffed, ears twitching. “Of course I did.”
You hummed, smiling softly. After a moment’s hesitation, you wrapped your arms around his neck, hugging him close and resting your head on his shoulder. “Thank you for being such a good friend.”
Tighnari was stiff in your hold, at first, but he soon relaxed, returning your embrace with a little smile you could see as he buried his face in your hair. “We’re friends now?”
“Yeah, sorry. I’m not asking for this upgrade. We’re friends.”
With those words it seemed Tighnari hugged you tighter. “Alright.”
-
When you and Tighnari became lovers, it was a year later.
There was nothing special about the morning it happened. The sun rose the way it did everyday, shimmering through your too thin curtains to shine directly on your face, you groaning in defeat as you failed to fall back asleep, and the not so quiet slam of the door as Tighnari let himself in, as you told him he could.
While you loved your job and did the work you had to, needed to, you also enjoyed being horrifically lazy. Laying in bed and sleeping the day away every once in a while sounded like a dream (no pun intended), and like every morning before, you lounged for far longer than you should’ve just to think if today could be one of those days. But alas, it was not, and Tighnari entered your bedroom unceremoniously, his lips pressed into a fine line.
“Get up. I let you sleep longer today because you stayed up late last night, but you have work to do today.” He pulled the covers from your sleepy form and you let out a petulant whine.
“Tighnariiiiiii nooooo,” you groaned into your pillow, not moving from your spot.
He grabbed your hands and tried to pull you out, rolling his eyes at your stubbornness while you rag-dolled. “Come on.”
He yelped when your hands shot out to catch his own. “Tighnari, cuddle with me.”
“No.” He deadpanned.
“Tighnari-”
“No.”
“Please-”
“You have to get out of bed.”
“Pleeeease-”
“No.”
“Pleasepleasepleaseplease-”
“Fine!” He ground out, much to your delight. “Five minutes.”
He moved a blanket so he wasn’t directly on the covers and laid down, letting out a small grunt when you flopped on top of him.
“You're always so warm. It's very nice.” You mumbled, nuzzling into the crook of his neck.
Tighnari’s breath hitched and you pulled back, confused. “Tighnari?” His eyes were wide, lips pressed tight. The one arm that had been around your shoulder, holding you close now laid limp on the bed, his other hand clenched over his stomach. “Hey, Tighnari, are you okay?”
“Yeah, I'm fine.” But some part of him looked far away, eyes glazed. His limp hand went to cup the side of his neck and it was then you realized you had nuzzled into your shared pattern.
“Oh, Tighnari, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. I know you don't… really… we’ve never brought up the whole soulmates thing… I shouldn't have done that… I know touching your soulmate's pattern is really intimate… I'm sorry.” The more you spoke the quieter you got, overcome with embarrassment. You sat up and turned away from him, pulling your knees close to your chest and hiding your face.
The truth was that the past three years had hit your romanticism hard. Tighnari was wonderful. A strong and caring person, passionate in everything he does, snarky is just the way that made you laugh. Every little thing he did endeared you, from the way the fur of his ears stood up when he was annoyed to the way his nose scrunched when he tried not to laugh at something you did that truly amused him (he never wanted to give you the satisfaction).
You fell fast and hard. Really, how could anyone blame you? Your heart burned every time you thought about the day the two of you met, remembering the words he spoke.
“I hope you don't expect this to develop into some kind of romantic-”
He never wanted romance. It was just your traitorous heart that couldn't help loving him. So you didn't mention it. Your friendship was wonderful enough for you. And sometimes soulmates stayed friends! You reasoned. You were lucky enough to see him so young, now your friendship can last the rest of your life!
But now you messed it all up.
While it wasn't taboo to show off your pattern, it was taboo to touch other's patterns or let people who are not family or your soulmate touch yours. Some of the most conservative families don't even allow family members to touch the pattern after the child is a certain age.
Now, it wasn't uncommon or anything for soulmates who remained platonic to touch each other's patterns, as really the idea was more to show the depth of the bond, how much the other means to you. It wasn't inherently romantic or platonic or familial, though some could definitely make it that way, but you had always known of Tighnari’s prickly nature so you avoided doing anything too much. Occasionally your arms would brush the pattern with hugs and whatnot, but nothing ever so intimate as cuddling and nuzzling, laying in your bed like you were more than what you were.
A large part of you wanted this, this casual domesticity with him. Tender brushes of his fingers against your skin, tracing the loops and swirls, little kisses from your ear to your neck to your chest, down your arm until he reached your right middle finger. The whole thought brought tears to your eyes, and now your knees were pressed into your sockets, trying desperately to stop any of those tears from falling.
Skin, bare skin, shocked you from your sadness. The back of Tighnari’s right hand was brushing against the left side of your neck. Ever so gently, his hand twisted and cold fingertips were gliding across your skin. The fingers followed the pattern down your arm till they intertwined with your own.
A little tug had you looking into Tighnari’s eyes, wide and hazel and worried. “[Y/n]... I know we have not discussed the soulmate… thing, but I was not unaccepting of your affection. Just surprised.”
You sniffle. “Really?”
He nods, a small smile on his thin lips. “Would you like to touch patterns again?”
You were about to say yes before biting your lip and shaking your head. It was different for you and you didn’t want to indulge your little romantic fantasies or take advantage of the intimacy Tighnari was granting you.
He tried to brush his hand along your neck once again but you leaned back. The hurt in his eyes stabbed into your heart.
“It’s different for me ‘Nari. I just don’t feel the same way about this as you do.” You mutter.
Tighnari’s eyebrow raised in question, a challenging look in his eyes. “How do I feel then?”
“What?”
“Tell me how I feel, that's so different from you.”
“Don’t be ridiculous ‘Nari! We’re friends and that’s all we are!” Your voice breaks as you cry and a heat crawls over your cheeks. “This is too much, it’s…” You took a deep breath. “You said when we first met, you did want me to think of this relationship ever turning romantic, but I just can’t help it! I love you, I love you so much and the thought of doing this with you with us thinking different things… it hurts.”
“I said that three years ago.” He deadpanned.
You only shrugged.
“Don’t you think, in the past few years we’ve known one another, my feelings could have changed?”
You stared at him till he sighed with annoyance.
“Stupid…” He rolled his eyes and practically fell on top of you in a hug, his face pressed directly into the junction of your neck where he nuzzled a beautiful little loop in your pattern.
Your whole body shuddered at such a display of affection, but as much as you wanted to lean into it, you stayed stiff in his arms. “What is this?” You whispered tearfully.
“Reciprocation of romantic affection.”
Was it really so simple?
“You love me… the way I love you?” You were almost scared to ask, terrified that this was some kind of joke, his sarcasm taken too far.
Tighnari pulled back and cupped your face within his chilly hands. His eyes were the most intense you’ve ever seen them, wide and dilated, bright and covered in a soft sheen of tears that made them shine. “Yes.”
You finally smiled, leaning into his hands. “Then, can we upgrade again?”
“To?”
You hummed in thought. “Soulmates?”
“We’ve been soulmates since we were born.” He denied.
“Lovers?”
“Too cliche.”
“Partners?”
“Clinical.”
“Bedfellows?”
“Are we four hundred?”
“I don’t know then.”
Tighnari was quiet for a moment. “Life companions.”
You perked up. “Life and death companions!”
“Why death?”
You leaned over so you were draped over his body. “Do you really think when we die, I’m going to let you go? We’ll reincarnate together and be soulmates all over again!”
“Oh great, I can have you for multiple lifetimes. Yayyyyy…” His voice petered out slowly as he looked at you with dead eyes.
“Don’t sound so enthused ‘Nari, maybe we’ll be reincarnated as flowers right next to each other, or maybe as lovebirds, or or we could be giant trees that reach the sun, but below the dirt our roots are intertwined so we’re forever holding hands!” You giggled.
“I cannot believe we are still so young and you are already thinking about our deaths.” He chuckles fondly. “Besides that fact, why do you think we’ll die with so little good karma that we won’t become human again?”
“It’s not that, but don’t you think being a big tree, basking in the sunlight, entangled with me and me with you is such a more romantic concept?”
“Your mind runs away from you sometimes.”
“Then I hope you’ll always be there to ground me, hm?” You meant it to be only teasing but you noticed Tighnari’s eyes darken, the way his sight flickered down to your lips. “Tighnari?”
His hands led you to lay back on the bed and he hovered over you. His gaze was heavy, never drifting from your eyes, you were locked into his heated stare. “May I kiss you?”
“If you kiss me, I won’t be able to stay on the ground.” Your voice was breathy, you felt like you couldn’t breathe, stifled by his earthy scent. “My head will go up to the clouds.”
“I’ll pull you back down, just as I always have.” He was resolute, his tone rough and husky. He leaned closer, his lips brushing against yours in the slightest touch. “May I kiss you?”
How could you say anything but- “Yes.”
His smile was tender as he finally caught your lips in a gentle dance. He was warm, warmth that you felt creeped from your head to your toes. A hand to the back of your neck, a thumb brushing your shared pattern as his insistent lips kissed fervently.
The love you never thought you’d get was here, in your arms, sucking your soul out and pressing you to your mattress. It couldn’t have been any better.
242 notes · View notes
bugsbia · 6 months
Note
Xiao nsfw alphabet too?? Thank u for the meal MWAH 😘
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ʚ NSFW Alphabet with Xiao
ʚ BEFORE READING: Kind of gender neutral to a degree, Xiao is pretty gentle
ʚ WARNINGS: Xiao is a bit possessive but not overly so, just don't read if you don't like NSFW
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A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)
He's a bit of a softie beneath that rough outer shell, he'll take care of you. Make sure you're okay and he didn't push you too far, especially since he's quite strong given his nature as an Adeptus and the fact he thinks humans are quite fragile.
B = Body part (Their favourite body part of your body)
Xiao isn't too particular when it comes to bodies, doubt he's ever really had the time or care to think about such a thing. But if you asked him he'd eventually settle on saying your neck is his favourite. He just loves biting you neck or burying his face into the crook of your neck while he fucks you.
C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically)
Cumming inside you would be something he'd want to do, it's less messy than cumming on your skin and also far more intimate. He also finds the sight of his cum dripping out of you to awfully erotic.
D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)
He's a bit possessive of you, over protective so to speak. He'll try to hide it from you because he doesn't want to come off as overbearing but deep down inside he is very possessive. It's all out of care though, he just can't stand the thought of losing you the way he lost his friends. It'll be more obvious during sex how possessive he is, when he mutters into your neck about how you're his, wrapping his arms around you tightly so you can't escape.
E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)
Oh he has no experience, human relationships are something he does not understand in the slightest, but he's willing to listen to you and learn how things work. He'll pay extra attention when it comes to learning how to pleasure you, he'll be sure to learn every little sensitive spot that drives you crazy.
F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying.)
He likes the kind of position where you're close together, maybe where you're sitting on his lap and riding him while he sits with his arms around your waist. It's intimate and close, he can see every reaction on your face and also get close to leave bites down your neck and shoulder. It's perfect really.
G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)
Xiao is a serious guy all round, he'll rarely be caught acting very silly and that carries on into sex.
H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes)
He has a fair amount of body hair, shaving and general hair grooming isn't something all too important to him, but he isn't picky about it. So if you show an interest in him doing something new, like shaving or trimming, then he'll do it. Colour of his body hair is just the same black as on his head.
I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)
Not so much romantic but he is intimate, he doesn't really understand human romance and the romantic traditions of our society but he'll be peppering kisses across your skin during sex, leaving hickeys down your neck.
J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)
Masturbation isn't something he cares for most of the time, he'd rather wait for you even if it means he'll be waiting a while, but if push comes to shove and he gets too needy then he'll take care of it himself.
K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)
Biting, he's a biter. His teeth are fairly sharp and he can't deny himself the pleasure of marking your pretty skin. It plays into his possessiveness a bit, since everyone will be able to see the marks on your neck and they'll know not to hurt you.
L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)
Isolation is something he prefers, he doesn't want to be seen during an intimate moment by anyone but you, so it'll always be secluded places. That doesn't mean he's not adventurous with it though, he isn't opposed to taking you to the most secluded spots of the liyue mountains so you can both be as loud as you want without any worries.
M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)
Anything can get him going if it's with you, just brush your hand against his thigh and he'll start getting turned on. He'll try hide it but if you push his buttons enough he'll just give in.
N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)
Xiao cannot be very rough with you, he doesn't want to see you in pain even if it's something you asked for. So he'll say no if you want him to get super rough with you, he'll try compromise with some lighter stuff, but even then he might feel a bit guilty. Biting is about as much as he can do without worrying, maybe some light slapping.
O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)
He probably won't want to admit, but he loves receiving oral, it's super intimate to him since in a way he's at your mercy. Plus, you just look so nice on your knee's for him, so pretty as you make him feel so good. He's careful with it though, he'll never push your head down or even ask for it, he'll just wait for you to bring it up. In regards to giving, he's more than willing. He will GLADLY go down on you any day, he loves making you feel good.
P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)
He's a bit of a mixed bag, he'll start off slow and sensual just taking his time to adore you and feel every curve of your body, but when he gets close he'll become more animalistic. Rutting into you with desperation as he chases his release, but he'll keep a close eye on your reactions just to make sure he isn't pushing you too far.
Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)
Not a big fan of quickies, he thinks it kind of defeats the purpose of sex since to him it's a very personal and close experience which he wants to spend his time with. He just wants to take his time adoring you and your body.
R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)
He's willing to try new things for the most part since he's so new to this part of human relationships, it doesn't hurt to try new things. Risks though are not his thing, especially when it comes to the risk of being caught. He doesn't want anyone seeing your body and he absolutely will not allow anyone to see or hear the way you look and sound during sex. That's for his eyes only.
S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)
As an Adeptus... he has great stamina, he can go on for quite some time since, it usually depends a bit more on how long you can go on for. Either way you'll be left pleased and satisified.
T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)
He does not know what the fuck a sex toy is, and would probably confused if you showed him one. Would he use them? maybe, MAYBE, if you convince him enough. But he'd never really want to use it on himself, only on you.
U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)
Xiao would not be very unfair, he wants to bring you pleasure, he wants to make you feel good. So he won't tease or torment you, at least not a lot. He's a nice lover.
V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)
He is not the loud type, not at all. He's actually almost silent and got embarrassed when groans slipped from his lips for the first time, but you told him how hot it was so tried to loosen up a bit and allow himself to be louder. Still it doesn't come very naturally to him, so quiet groans and stifled moans are what you'll get.
W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)
He is a bit of a switch, at first he's super dominant and won't want to give you the control out of fear BUT after some time together and a lot of trust being built he will let you take control if you want to.
X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)
Oh his body is gorgeous, slender but meaty in all the right places, nice muscles from all his years of fighting. His dick though is slightly above average, about 6~ inches, give or take. But it's perfect, reaches all the right spots and makes you lose your mind with pleasure.
Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)
His sex drive isn't awfully high, but it is higher than the average person, though he chooses to ignore it. He sucks at expressing his desire to you, so he just waits for you to make a move, unless you're too shy. At some point he'll get too desperate and practically pounce on you because he just cannot wait any longer.
Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)
Xiao does not need his sleep as he's mentioned before, and as such will not sleep after sex since it's unnecessary. He will stay with you while you sleep though, making sure you're comfortable and cosy in his arms, and of course he won't let anyone disturb you.
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dreamcubed · 7 months
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me! | george weasley x reader
song; me! [taylor swift, brendon uri(n)e] pairing; george weasley x fem!muggle!reader genre; accidental marriage, s2l, fluff, comedy word count; 7,8k timeline; post-second wizarding war (fred lives au) warnings; swearing, referenced alcohol consumption, references to hook-ups, references to sex, references to the war summary; after waking up in bed with a red-haired stranger and no memories of the night prior, you run off as quickly as you can. it isn't until months later when you're trying to buy a house that you learn that you can't just leave that forgotten night in the past
thought it would be ironic to have the song with the lyrics "i promise that you'll never find another like me" and "i'm the only one of me" with one of the twins lol
masterlist
"you're the kinda guy the ladies want."
————————————————
Typically, you were more responsible than this. You had always stayed away from drunk hook-up culture, hoping (perhaps too idealistically) to find organic love. Yet, on the night of your cousin's bachelorette party, you got so drunk that you found yourself in bed with a stranger the next morning. And you didn't know what to do.
All you could do for a few moments was look around the hotel room that you had evidently decided was necessary for the hook-up - and although you couldn't remember a single thing after your tenth shot at the club, the fact you were both naked gave away the events of the night prior.
He was red-haired, and quite nicely toned, but he also donned a partially missing ear. You couldn't see his face, so at that particular moment you couldn't judge whether or not drunk you had good taste. You pushed that thought aside - that was the least of your concerns. You needed to get out of there and forget that anything had ever happened, which shouldn't be too difficult thanks to the alcohol-induced memory loss.
So, with that, you slipped out of bed and scavenged for all your clothes around the room, and then quickly departed. You made it all the way down to the lobby without any human interaction, but it was there at the desk that you finally had to communicate.
"Heading out for a bit, Mrs Weasley?" the receptionist smiled at you.
You frowned, not understanding why they would address you as such - probably had mistaken you for someone else. But, you were in a hurry, so just grinned and nodded, leaving to never return.
***
Not many people were fortunate enough to buy their first home (alone) at the age of twenty-four without any help from their parents, but you had chosen a rather well-paid career path and had been meticulous with your money savings, so this was a reality for you. After a few months of working with a real estate agent to view houses and find the perfect home for you, you had finally come to a decision.
You had stumbled upon it really, when travelling from London to visit your family, you came across a road that you had sworn hadn't been there before. Curiosity had overcame you, and you had driven down it to find the cutest village named Godric's Hollow, which could also be described as peculiar. A lot of things in the village didn't make sense - like the fact they all seemed bewildered at the sight of your car - but the architecture was gorgeous. When you drove past an adorable rustic cottage with a 'for sale' sign out front, you didn't even have to think twice about viewing it.
It was a strange process, however, as the sign didn't have a number for the real estate agency, but instead read 'owl Cauldron Realtors for more details'. You asked around for information about Cauldron Realtors (a particularly strange name, comparable to the robes many of the older members of the village wore), and they pointed you in the direction of the realtor's.
From then on, the process to view the house and apply for a mortgage had been relatively normal, if not a bit old-fashioned in the lack of technology used. However, you reasoned that it was a small village and that they merely hadn't updated themselves like cities just yet.
***
"Why have you asked me to come here?" you asked as delicately as you could upon entering Cauldron Realtors.
"We have had something come up," Mr Linseed said to you. He was an eccentric old man, constantly adorning a pair of half-moon spectacles perched on the tip of his nose.
"Like what?"
"You told us that you weren't married."
You frowned.
"And I thought it was a bit strange given your muggle situation, but honestly I had simply assumed that you were a squib."
He was using a lot of words that you didn't understand. You had heard the word muggle passed around in the time that you had spent in Godric's Hollow, but had been unable to find out what it meant online or in any dictionary. Everyone used it so commonly you had felt too embarrassed to ask.
"Obviously, this changes the process for you to apply for a mortgage. We need your husband to sign off either that he will partially own the house or have no claim over it."
"I don't understand- I'm not married," you said.
"No?" the man raised a brow at you, "When we searched for legal documentation of your name, we found that it hadn't been Y/N L/N for a few months, but instead Y/N Weasley. I didn't think much of you not having gotten around to changing your bank details yet since it hasn't been long, but going by your maiden name is a little strange. So, I assumed that the marriage was short-lived."
Why did Weasley sound so familiar? You wracked your brain for when you had heard it before.
"Heading out for a bit, Mrs Weasley?"
Your eyes widened.
The guy from the hotel.
"What did you say my husband's name was?" you said slowly.
"I didn't, but George Weasley," Mr Linseed replied, "You knew that, though, correct?"
You nodded, "Yeah... just making sure."
The man frowned at you, "He is quite well-known I suppose - the shop Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes is quite famous. Anyhow, here are the new forms that I need you to fill out and then we will be back on track."
You accepted them in a daze, but snapped your eyes up towards him again, "Where can I find Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes?"
"Diagon Alley, of course," Mr Linseed was clearly confused that you didn't know where your husband worked.
You had never heard of Diagon Alley, and he sensed that.
"You know? Through The Leaky Cauldron? On Charing Cross Road?"
Finally, a name you recognised.
"Oh, yes. Thank you, Mr Linseed, I'll be back soon."
God, what a process to get yourself a house.
***
You were pretty sure that in all your visits to Charing Cross Road, you had never seen that pub squeezed between those buildings before. But, you weren't about to complain, as you were desperate to find George Weasley and sort everything out. You couldn't remember his face, but you remembered his red hair and partially missing ear - that should be enough to identify him.
You hoped, anyway.
Upon entering the gloomy pub, you were met by quite a shocking sight - but one that wasn't entirely indifferent to Godric's Hollow. Except, you would describe the pub as having a more creepy ambiance, in a way. Beady eyes peered in your direction as you walked up to the bar, and you tried to hold your own as a woman with matted grey hair and disturbingly long fingernails smiled at you with missing teeth. You forced a smile back.
"Excuse me," you said to the bartender, who was similar to the woman in energy, "How do I get to Diagon Alley?"
He pointed to the door out the back.
"Just through that door?"
"You'll need your wand too," the woman who had smiled at you said, "To tap the wall."
"Wand?" you squeaked.
"I'll show you," the woman said eerily.
In any normal circumstance, you would have declined the offer, but you had already had so many new experiences you found yourself following her out the back.
"You're not one of us, are you?" she asked with a giggle of glee, pulling out a wooden stick from her pocket.
You didn't reply, watching as she brought it up and tapped some of the bricks on the wall. To your amazement, they then parted, presenting to you the most bustling and magical street that you had ever seen.
"Diagon Alley," she stated, "Although I prefer Knockturn Alley."
You thanked her, and hurried into the street.
***
The pet shops were strange: mostly having owls, cats and toads. The book shops were strange: having cages of moving books in the display windows. The clothes shops were strange: pretty much exclusively selling robes and pointed hats. All in all, Diagon Alley was the most eccentric place you had ever been.
There was a broomstick shop, a wand shop, and a place to buy cauldrons. You were so out of your depth that you decided you should focus on the task at hand.
It wasn't long before you found a bright and buzzing shop named Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, looking ten times more exciting than all the shops before it. You were almost overwhelmed with all the young people inside once you entered, and it finally became obvious to you that it was a joke shop. The numerous prank items on display were clearly enchanted in a way too, only furthering your amazement at this street.
You scanned around for a redhead, but it was really difficult to spot anything within the chaos. Eventually, you located a flash of red by the till and hurried over. The queue was unfortunately long, but you waited impatiently nonetheless.
When you finally reached the front, the red-haired man behind it looked at you, and you couldn't help but noticed he had two full ears.
"Are you buying anything, miss?"
"I'm looking for George Weasley," you said quickly.
He rose an eyebrow at you, "What for?"
"It's a long story, I really need to talk to him."
"I'll fetch him," he said, and disappeared out back for a few moments before returning with a man almost identical to him save for that all-too-familiar ear. He didn't look at you like he recognised you - maybe he drank so much he had memory loss too? That would make sense, considering he hadn't tried to find you either.
"Can I help you?" George Weasley asked, gesturing for you to move to the side so that his twin could continue at the till.
"This is gonna sound crazy, but," you took a deep breath, "You're my husband."
"You're right, that does sound crazy," he chuckled.
"You woke up in a hotel room a few months ago, right?"
His eyes widened, "I thought I hooked up with someone," he said, "Wasn't sure, though, because I woke up alone."
"Sorry about that. I don't really do hook-ups, I kinda freaked out and bolted."
"I don't really do hook-ups either," he shrugged, "No hard feelings."
"Anyway, as I said, it turns out we got married that night."
"Wow. I honestly can't remember anything."
"Me neither," you shook your head, "And we can't get an annulment - the cut off is three months. And we were way too efficient with sending off the marriage registration - we did it immediately."
He hummed, "That's quite a predicament. Divorce, then?"
You nodded, "Yes, obviously. But that will take ages, and I'm trying to buy a house for myself right now. I need you to sign off that you have no claim over it."
"That's no problem," thank God he was agreeable, "But what's your name?"
"Y/N L/N," you said, "Well, legally Y/N Weasley."
The man smirked at you, which admittedly made your stomach flip. Drunk you definitely had good taste: this man was gorgeous.
"Where's the house you're buying?" he asked.
"Godric's Hollow."
"Ah, my sister lives there," he hummed, "Nice village."
"Can I ask you a question - since you're my husband and all?" you didn't know why you added the last bit.
"Fire away."
"Why does everyone keep going on about muggles and wizards and witches and magic? I'm so lost, I don't know what's happening."
"Wait- you're a muggle?"
"As everyone apparently keeps saying."
He chuckled, "Oh, wow. My wife's a muggle."
"What does it mean?"
"I'll explain," he gestured towards the door to the back room, "But it'll be a lot to take in."
"I don't care, I just want an explanation."
And so, your husband, George Weasley, explained about the wizarding world that he was a part of. And how, by marrying him, you had automatically been granted permission by the Ministry of Magic to be an exception for all anti-muggle charms. Which was why you discovered the road to Godric's Hollow all of a sudden as a non-magic person, which you learned was what muggle meant.
At the very end of his explanation, you sat back in the armchair he had offered to you, "That explains so much. It's insane- but I'm relieved that it's not me going crazy."
"Must be quite a shock," he hummed, "I can't believe we got married. Are there any photos?"
"I mean, I suppose we could find the chapel we got married at and ask."
"Maybe it will trigger some memories of that night. I got drunkenly married - who knows what else I did?" he sighed.
"I don't know if I want to know."
George shrugged, "Better to find out that way than have a random woman come into your place of work and announce she's your wife."
You grimaced, making him laugh.
"I'm just teasing."
"Can I get your number? So I can contact you when I need to?" you asked.
George stared at you, "Number?"
"How do wizards and witches communicate?" you exasperated.
"By owl."
You blanked.
"You might want to get yourself one if you're moving into a wizarding village."
"How do they know where to go?"
"They just do."
You sighed.
***
"So, I phoned the chapel that we got married at and they confirmed that we signed the marriage registration and sent it off immediately," you said to George, taking a seat opposite him in your flat that you currently resided in, "They also posted this to me." You presented a large envelope to your husband and watched as he carefully opened it - even though it was already unsealed thanks to you.
He pulled out a marriage certificate: lettered in italic gold writing and clearly signed on the bottom two corners. As he pulled that out, another piece of card fluttered to the ground. You chewed your lip as you watched him pick it up.
"Wow," was all he said.
It was the same reaction you had when looking upon the photo of you and George at the alter: lips pressed together with smiles creeping on to your faces.
"We look so happy."
You hummed, "The photo hasn't triggered any memories for me."
You watched curiously as he waved it about. "It's weird that muggle photos don't move," he commented, "But- yeah- I can't remember anything more either."
"Maybe it's been too long," you reasoned, "Perhaps if we'd seen the photo the day after, it would've helped."
"Probably," he shrugged, "I can find a charm or potion that will help us remember - if you want to."
It hadn't occurred to you that magic was now a readily available tool.
"I'm not sure, to be honest," you said after a while, "I just really want to seal the deal on my house."
George nodded, "Of course, I'll sign the papers saying I have no right to it."
"Thank you for making this so easy," you said, giving him a warm grin, "When I found out I was married, I was so worried it was to a complete asshole."
"When I found out I was married, I thought it was simply a cute way a gorgeous woman had of flirting with me."
You felt heat rush to your cheeks at his comment. George was a stunning man: his damaged ear only added a rugged element to him, enhancing his beauty in a way that you didn't know possible.
He noticed your flustered reaction and chuckled a bit, "However, there is one problem with me signing those papers that your real estate agent really should've mentioned."
"What?" you filled with worry: that house was your dream house.
"If you're buying a house in the wizarding world, you're going to need a wizarding bank account."
"He kept going on about galleons," you thought for a moment, "But then he converted to pounds so I didn't think much of it."
George hummed, "Yes, but you're still going to need to pay in galleons."
"How do I get a wizarding bank account?"
"Only wizards, witches, squibs and muggles married to any of the former can access one. Oh, and muggles with magic children, even if they aren't married."
You realised what he was getting at. "So I can get one, but..."
"But it has to be a shared one with me."
You pulled your hands down your face, "But I love that house so much."
"I promise you I'm not trying to trap you."
"No, no- I get it. I just- that means I'd have to stay married to you until my mortgage is paid off. And that takes like thirty years."
"Even then, the bills would still need to be paid in galleons."
"Oh, fuck," you muttered, "Fuck, fuck, fuck."
George watched you in silence.
"I'm sorry. I'll divorce you and forget about the house," you said eventually, "It's not fair for me to force you to stay in a marriage for the rest of your life - I mean, I can't force you."
"I didn't say anything about that."
You frowned. In your mind, there was no other option.
"I'm willing to do it."
"George, it's just a house, you really don't need to-"
"I will," he reiterated, "You realise that if you divorce me, you won't be able to access the magic world anymore?"
It had become something you were so excited to explore that you were disheartened by that fact.
"It would be cruel for me to take it away from you, I think."
"But-"
"So, I will set you up on my bank account, sign off on the house, and stay married to you."
Your mouth was opened wide as you stared at him, and in a flash you had leaped across the coffee table in order to pull him into a hug.
"You're so amazing," you mumbled, hugging him tighter as he returned the embrace, "Thank you so much."
"Hey, anything for my wife," he chuckled.
Your heart stopped.
***
"I've had to change my name on my driver's license and passport and bank account and everything else," you sighed, "Such a hassle for a fucking house."
George, who was walking with you throughout the empty house that you had just officially bought, chuckled, as he seemed to enjoy doing, "You must really love this place."
You shrugged, "The house, I would probably get over. An entire magical world that I would lose access to? Not so much."
He hummed, gazing around the place. You had decided that he at least deserved to see the property that he had given up so much for you to own.
"I can't wait to begin decorating," you sighed, "I have big plans for the downstairs rooms and the master bedroom."
"What about the other bedrooms?"
"I'm not sure, to be honest," you pondered, "I'll probably make one of them an office, but the other two, I honestly don't know. It'll be a while before I have any kiddly winks running around."
"How come?"
"I need to find a man to create them with first," you reminded, "And that will be especially complicated since I'm married."
"Not if it's with me."
You were pretty sure his words held a joking undertone, so you laughed.
"Well, I shan't keep you any longer," you said, "I guess we'll keep in touch?"
"Stop by my shop as much as you can," George replied, but you sensed a slight trace of sadness in his voice.
Nonetheless, you smiled, "Of course."
***
Was two days later too soon to take George up on his offer of stopping by? Maybe, but life was too short for you to not do the things that you wanted to do. Plus, you were exhausted from moving furniture and painting (since you were stuck doing it the 'muggle' way), so a getaway from your new home was needed.
After getting someone from the Leaky Cauldron to let you into Diagon Alley, you made your way down to the corner that Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes sat on. You couldn't help the fond smile that tugged on your lips as you pushed open the door and heard the tinkle of the bell above you. The last time you were there, you had been too nervous about meeting your husband to properly appreciate the joyful buzz of the shop; it was truly a marvel to witness. You wish you had grown up with access to such extraordinary things.
"Hello," a redhead popped up beside you.
You jumped a little, not failing to notice the fact this man, although initially appearing to be George, had two full ears.
"Hello... Fred?" you attempted to recall his name.
He nodded, "I must say, I wasn't expecting my sister-in-law to pop by today."
It hadn't occurred to you that George would have mentioned his marriage to his twin brother, but now it seemed obvious that he would have.
"Is my husband here?" you asked, adding a joking undertone. Nonetheless, you couldn't help but notice how warm saying that made you feel.
"Of course, he's out back."
"Should I...?" you trailed off.
"You don't need to ask permission to go out back," he chuckled, in a strikingly similar way to George, "You're married to one of the owners."
"Yeah, but-" but before you could finish your sentence, your brother-in-law had disappeared. With a sigh, you proceeded on your way to the staff-only space, unable to push aside how special you felt being able to freely enter the area.
It was only when you caught sight of George's back did you realise that you had nothing to say and had simply stopped by.
"Y/N!" he smiled, turning around upon sensing your presence, "What brings you here?"
You shrugged, "You said to stop by often."
His grin stretched wider, "That I did, I'm glad to see you."
You felt shy after hearing him say that, and avoided eye contact.
"How's moving in going?"
"Oh- well. Exhausting, though," you sighed.
"I can't imagine having to do everything without magic," he said, "If you want any help to speed up the process, I'm more than willing."
You shook your head, "You've done enough for me."
"I could never do enough for you," he half-mumbled, but you heard it. You couldn't believe it, but you heard it. "I'm free this weekend," he said at a more regular volume.
"I mean- if you're sure-"
"Of course I'm sure."
"I-" you stopped yourself, "Thank you, George."
"Georgie!" a voice called from the front of the shop, not long before a short plump woman appeared in the doorway. "There you are," she said with hands on her hips.
"Oh, hi, mum," he said, "I wasn't expecting you."
"I was just in town looking to pick up your father a new shirt - I don't know how he wears them out so quickly!" she sighed, "I thought I'd take the chance to invite you over for a roast on Sunday."
You smiled at the evidently kind woman.
"And who is this?" she asked.
"This is Y/N."
"How did you two meet?" this time she had a glint in her eye.
"Uh, funny story, actually," George scratched the back of his head, "We're married."
You were surprised at his honesty with his mother.
The woman's eyes widened, "And you didn't tell me!"
"No one knew, mum- not even us," he quickly added.
She seemed to ignore what the last part of his statement implied, and swooped you into her arms, "Welcome to the family, my dear, we have a lot of time to make up for! You'll be coming on Sunday too, yes?"
She didn't give you a chance to reply.
"I'll have to tell your father immediately - do all your siblings know? I expect Fred does. Probably Ron too." She paused, "I haven't even introduced myself! Molly Weasley - call me Molly, of course."
"Mum-"
"Godric- I have so many people to tell! I'll see you both Sunday at four o'clock, please don't be late."
And with a hug to both of you, Molly Weasley departed just as rapidly as she had arrived.
"I'm sorry about that- my mum can be very full on," George apologised.
"I think she's sweet."
A soft smile graced his face, "Yes, she's a very lovely woman."
You hummed.
"I'll get you out of the dinner."
You frowned, "Why?"
"Well, my family will think you're- well-"
With a shrug, you replied, "I don't mind."
"I have a big family."
"I know."
"Most of them are quite loud people."
"That's okay."
"They'll ask a lot of questions."
"George, I want to meet your family," you realised as soon as you said them what your words could potentially mean.
"It's just- I- I don't want them to scare you away."
"Scare me away?"
He nodded.
You chuckled, "I'd like to see them try."
***
Sunday rolled around quickly, and as promised, George showed up at your house to pick you up at five to four. You figured that his parents must live very nearby if he was picking you up so late, but you hadn't given it much thought. All you had done was focused on yourself, dressing up what you deemed the adequate amount for a family event.
A knock sounded on the door, and you quickly rushed to open it, smiling when you were faced with the red headed man that you could call your husband. He was wearing a knitted jumper and baggy jeans, which was a relief to you since you also sported a knitted jumper, just with a skirt instead.
"Hello," you said, almost shyly.
"Hey," he replied, "You ready to go?"
"Yep, let me just-" you hurried back inside to grab the bouquet of flowers that you had bought for his mother, you weren't familiar with the guidelines for meeting family as you had never been in a relationship long enough to reach that stage, but flowers had felt like the right thing.
"Oh, for me?" he said teasingly.
You shook your head, dramatically holding them away from him, "You would be so lucky."
He chuckled, "Right, let's get going," he held out his arm for you to take, "You're gonna want to hold tight."
You frowned, but took his advice nonetheless, taking a firm grip of his bicep which had a hardness that made your heart flip. But before you could dwell on that thought, you felt like you had been sucked into a vacuum and spat out again in a split second. Your stomach cramped up and you felt nauseous as you fell on to grass in a completely new location.
"Sorry, that often happens the first time," George quickly helped you up along with the flowers, which thankfully were unharmed.
"Did we just- teleport?" you asked, holding your stomach. Thankfully, the nausea was already dissipating.
"We call it apparating but yes, we did."
"Why couldn't I be born a witch?" you whined, following George as he began walking up the path ahead of you.
You could only be amazed when the strangest house that you had ever seen came into view: looking like it should tumble over instantly with the mismatched extensions stacked on top of each other. Not too long ago, you would have been worried about its sketchy looking state, but now you immediately concluded that it was kept steady by magic. Even at the distance you still were from the house, you could hear a lot of noise coming from it.
"I bet you anything Fleur and Hermione insisted on being early," George grumbled, "Making my brothers look like angelic sons."
You smiled to yourself: his relationship with his siblings was making you want to reach out to your sister.
George didn't bother knocking when you reached the door, simply throwing it open and grinning at everyone who was stood around the kitchen. You couldn't help but feel some level of nerves as you were faced with so many strangers.
"George! Y/N!" Molly beamed, pulling you both into a hug, "I'm so glad that you could make it."
You presented the flowers to her, "I got you these."
"Oh, they're gorgeous!"
You watched as she pulled out her wand and arranged them in a vase without even using her hands. You didn't think observing magic would ever get old.
"Thank you, dear," she said, before turning to the others in the room. There was Ron, who you vaguely recognised from the shop, with a curly brown-haired woman on his side. Then there was the most ethereal woman that you had ever seen next to one of the more rugged looking men that you had seen in your time. There was also an older, balding, red headed man, who you suspected to be George's father.
"Y/N, you might remember Ron here," George said, and you nodded, "And this is his fiancée, Hermione. This is my dad, and over there is my oldest brother, Bill, and his wife, Fleur."
"Our little shit of a son is running around here somewhere," Bill added.
"Pleasure to meet you, Y/N," George's father shook your hand, "You can call me Arthur."
"I didn't realise you were bringing a guest, George," Hermione said.
"Oh, she's no guest," Molly smiled, "She's family."
The only person who didn't exchange confused glances was Ron.
"I'm his, uh, wife," you said, feeling awkward. You didn't really want to say it, because it felt like you were lying to them even though you weren't.
What followed was an array of congratulations, and Hermione accusing Ron of not telling her when he clearly already knew. And then, upon being asked, you both finally revealed that it was an accidental marriage upon which you were both very drunk. Molly was new to this news as well, but nonetheless, before you could give any more detail on where your 'relationship' with George currently stood, she spoke.
"As irresponsible as that was, I think there's something beautiful in the fact that you're now happily married."
While you weren't unhappily married, you didn't know how to say that you didn't know you were married until a couple months later, and that you weren't in a relationship with George. He said nothing to clarify, either.
That was when a small boy tumbled into the room.
"Ah, zis is Victoire," Fleur said, "Our son."
He was just as red headed as his father.
God, your kids with George would probably end up redheaded.
You internally froze at that thought - why had it seemed so natural to imagine yourself having kids with George?
You were yet again distracted from your mind, as seemed common in the Weasley household, when more people arrived. It was Fred and his fiancée, Angelina, as you soon learned. Shortly followed by Harry Potter, allegedly quite a celebrity, who was dating George's only sister, Ginny.
The only person to arrive alone was Percy, who had a much less chaotic energy than the rest of his siblings.
"You'll meet Charlie at some point," Molly said to you, "But he lives in Romania for his work with dragons."
It was insane to you that George had five brothers and one sister; having six siblings seemed like such a hectic upbringing. That thought almost led you to brush over Molly's mention of dragons - dragons?
Once again, you were introduced as George's wife, solidifying you in their eyes as a sister-in-law. These were your in-laws, you realised.
"Dinner's almost ready," Molly announced over the noise of all the people.
Many people rushed forward to help the woman with the finishing touches and laying the table, and you felt like an ass for not assisting as well, but you would have been of no help. They were all using magic, which was ten times faster than you could complete any task.
"What year did you graduate school? I can't remember you," Ginny said, evidently assuming that her lack of recognition was because you had been in a different year at Hogwarts from her. George had told you how most witches and wizards in a similar age group knew each other because of there only being one magic school in the country.
"I didn't go to Hogwarts," you said.
"Oh, did you study abroad?" she asked, walking over to the table with you.
"No, uh, I'm a- I'm a muggle."
Her eyes widened in realisation, "Oh! I see," she hummed, "That makes sense now that I think about it."
"You're a muggle?" Hermione, who had overheard, said.
You nodded.
"I'm muggle-born," she said, "I was raised muggle."
"I was raised muggle too," Harry added on, "But I'm not muggle-born."
After that point, Arthur Weasley kept posing an array of questions to you, explaining that he was fascinated by muggles, and it was even what had led him to having the job that he did. Wanting to be liked, you answered all his questions as best as you could, and found his childlike curiosity quite endearing.
"Leave the poor girl alone, Arthur," Molly scolded her husband.
"I don't mind," you replied, and, really, you didn't.
The food was absolutely delicious, to the point you almost moaned when you first put it in your mouth. You didn't think you had ever eaten such delectable food before, and you made sure that Molly knew.
Once the first course was finished and dessert was being brought out, Bill and Fleur stood up.
"We have an announcement to make," the latter smiled, looking to her husband.
"Fleur's pregnant," Bill grinned, placing his hand on her abdomen.
"Oh, that's wonderful news!" Molly exclaimed, "How far along?"
"Twelve weeks, two days ago," Fleur said, "In ze clear zone, as zey say."
"We don't know the gender yet," Bill added.
"For your sake I hope it's a girl," Molly sighed, "It took me six tries."
"We will be happy eizer way," Fleur said simply.
You couldn't help but get the sense there was some level of tension between her and Molly, so you leaned over to George as everyone began chatting again, congratulating the expecting couple.
"Do your mum and Fleur get along?" you whispered.
"Well, yes, but they haven't always," he whispered back, "My mum thought she was vain at first, even thinking that she would call off the wedding when Bill got that scar." He was referring to the large mark on his eldest brother's face.
You hummed.
"They've mostly resolved their problems now, but I think there will always be a bit of tension."
After dinner, you wandered around the home, observing all the moving pictures of the family.
"Aw, you were so cute back then," you said to George, looking at a photo of him as a toddler on a mini broomstick.
"Are you saying I'm not anymore?"
You shrugged.
"And how do you know that's me and not Fred?"
"You may be a twin, but there's only one of you, George," you said in passing, not realising how much those words meant to your husband. As much as he loved being an identical twin, there were times where he didn't want to be seen as part of a package deal. Even his mother struggled to tell him and Fred apart before his ear injury, but you- you could recognise him instantly.
Your gaze moved up the wall.
"That's an interesting clock."
It didn't tell the time, but instead had a hand for all of Molly and Arthur's brood, all currently pointing in the direction of 'home' apart from who must be Charlie, which pointed at work.
"Even on Sundays, he works," George sighed, "You know, there was a time where me and Fred had the same hand."
"Really?"
"Yeah, but after he moved in with Angelina, mum had it altered."
Your eyes flicked over the 'mortal peril' section of the clock, and you didn't realise you had read it aloud til he responded.
"Thankfully that hasn't served a purpose since the war."
It was unbelievable to you that such a life-changing war had happened while you remained completely oblivious.
"I suppose we'll have to expand the guest list for our wedding," Angelina approached you, making you turn away from the clock.
"Oh, you don't have to do that," you said.
"No, no. An extra person is hardly anything," she smiled, "You're family, of course you're coming."
Family.
"Well, thank you."
"Of course."
***
As you and George said your goodbyes and departed, you couldn't help but let out an elated sigh, "Your family is so warm."
He smiled, "I'm glad you like them."
"They're like, everything I want my in-laws to be."
"Really?"
"Yeah! Loud, happy, there for each other - with the slightest hint of drama, of course. They're perfect."
"We've been through a lot together."
"Yeah, I expect so."
You both fell into a comfortable silence, one that had you feeling content with your life in the most heart-warming way.
"You ready to apparate again?" George broke the silence when you reached the end of the path.
"As ready as I'll ever be," you grasped his arm tightly, prepping yourself for what was to come.
You didn't fall to the ground this time when you appeared outside your house, but you did still feel nauseous for a few moments.
"I'm really glad you came," George said.
"I'm glad too," you smiled.
And then there was silence - tension-filled silence. The kind of silence that led up to what you had secretly hoped would happen this entire time.
His lips on yours.
You moved your hands up to his hair as the kiss got more heated, flashes of memories dancing through your brain.
You met at the bar your cousin's bachelorette party was at, and began chatting. He was charming, and funny, and you were both really drunk. You went on a walk together - you walked past a chapel.
You had suggested getting married - jokingly, but he had then said.
"Why don't we?"
And so you did, giggling and laughing the entire time, even when you kissed. The kiss held the same magical feeling as it did now, that's what had triggered the memory.
He had kissed all along your jaw and neck as you both filled out the forms, and it wasn't long before you both booked a hotel and by all technical terms, consummated.
"I remember," you parted from him breathlessly, only to kiss him again.
"Me too," he mumbled, pushing you back against your front door.
"Do you want to come in?" you asked.
***
This time, you were the one to wake up alone in bed, but that wasn't the only difference. You remembered every single moment and sensation from the night before - and from your wedding night, for that matter. A smile almost crept on to your face, but it dropped when the panic set in that George had upped and left like you had before. You scrambled out of bed, pulling a shirt and some pants on, and then rushed down the stairs to see if he was anywhere in your house.
And he was.
There your husband was, in the kitchen, cooking a full English breakfast - using magic, of course. You had electric appliances installed when you moved in, since most magic homes didn't generally possess them, but with George there, you supposed they weren't really necessary.
"Hey, love."
Love. That's what he had called you all of last night and your wedding night.
It made heat travel to your ears.
"Hi," you replied shyly.
"Take a seat, I'm almost finished."
You obeyed, deciding to let the wizard take care of you, even though he really had done too much for you ever since you met him - the second time, that was.
Your dining table was a temporary one, as your entire home was still a work in progress: it wasn't easy decorating an entire house by yourself, especially without the assistance of magic. Nevertheless, it did the job. George came over with the food and sat opposite you, gesturing for you to dig in.
"Thank you," you smiled, picking up the cutlery.
"I told you, anything for you."
"You're too perfect," you mumbled, making George chuckle.
"My ear may be injured, but my hearing's fine."
You looked up at him to make eye contact, feeling like he could read you with his gaze, "Your ear makes you even more perfect."
"I'm glad you think so, would be a bit upsetting for me if you didn't."
"I aim to please," you grinned.
***
"You didn't tell me the wedding would be quite so soon," you huffed, straightening out the pastel pink dress you adorned in the mirror.
George shrugged, tightening his tie, "Didn't think about it."
You were, of course, in reference to Angelina and Fred's wedding, merely two weeks after the dinner in which you met the former. Out of all the moving boxes you still had left to unpack, you had been forced to dig for a suitable outfit that fitted the colour scheme.
Aside from work, you and George had been practically glued at the hip in the days since he first stayed at yours - and he had been consistently staying at yours ever since. He had probably spent about three nights total at his own flat in that time span. So much to the point that when he came over the day prior, he had brought his suit for the wedding with him, fully anticipating that he would be spending the night.
You hadn't put a label on what you currently were, other than legally married, as it was.
"We have to be early," he said, "Since I'm the best man."
"I'm aware," you replied, sitting on the edge of your bed to pull your shoes on, "I'm pretty much ready."
"Alright, let's go."
***
The ceremony was a beautiful occasion: held at the Weasley house, The Burrow. The entire garden was decorated beautifully in shades of pink, purple and white, with bouquets of flowers adorning every table and chair. Obviously, a drastic difference from your own wedding.
You were sat in the crowd while George was up near the altar with the maid of honour, but he was not your focus. Angelina was a transcendent bride.
When it came to the meal, you were - to your shock - sat on the primary table where the newly weds were. You supposed that it made sense, since George was obviously going to be sat by his twin brother, and you were his wife. Generally, married couples weren't separated at events. You were certainly relieved, since you hardly knew anybody else.
The only other people on the main table were Molly, Arthur, Angelina's parents, and Angelina's maid of honour and her partner. There was a second table for the rest of the Weasley siblings and their partners, and so on and so forth for more distant relatives and friends.
Once the toasts were made, the meal commenced, and you hadn't realised how hungry you were 'til that moment.
"Slow down, love," your husband commented, "I'd prefer if you didn't choke."
You shrugged, your mouth full. Once you had eventually swallowed, you said, "Much grander event than our wedding."
"We could always renew our vows," he said, and even though he had made many comments about wanting to do anything for you, and had done many intimate things to you in the bedroom (and elsewhere in your house, for that matter), it felt like the first real confirmation that you were in a relationship. Even more, that you weren't just in a marriage out of convenience, but instead because you simply wanted to be.
You parted your mouth to reply, when some children from Angelina's side began causing chaos by running around. "Lord, our kids better behave," you muttered.
George turned to look at you, and it was then that you became aware of what you had said.
"Our kids?" he was grinning.
"Shut up," you mumbled.
"Never - just let me know when you want to start, love," he winked at you.
"A bit too soon, I think."
He shrugged, "We got married within a few hours of knowing each other."
"We were drunk."
"We can get drunk again."
You sighed, "We don't even live together."
"I can move in."
You didn't have anymore rebuttals.
"Are you out of arguments now?" he asked.
You reluctantly nodded.
"Perfect."
***
Instead of apparating directly to your house, you and George decided to take a late night walk around Godric's Hollow. It was such a pretty village, and you had yet to appreciate its beauty in the dark, with all the magical lamps glowing around you. But, you knew that you and George needed to have a conversation, especially after the kids talk from earlier.
"Are we together?" you asked him, even though your interlocked hands should have answered the question.
"We're married, love."
"Yes, but are we together?"
"I'd like to think we are - do you?"
You remained silent for a few moments, before nodding and looking at him in the darkness of the night.
"Then there you have it."
"I just don't get why."
"Why what?"
"Why you've done so much for me when you hardly knew me."
George chuckled, "I admit, I don't know exactly when I made the decision to do anything for you, but when you strutted into my shop, determined as ever, and announced that you were my wife, I just-" he paused, squeezing your hand, "You looked so cute and I knew- in that moment- that I would never meet someone else like you."
You felt like you were melting on the spot.
"It may have seemed selfless that I helped you get the house - but, to be honest, it was the perfect excuse for me to trap you to me- make it easier for me to pursue you, that is."
"I love you, George," you sighed.
"I'm glad, because I've loved you for quite some time now."
"Love at first sight?"
"You would be so lucky."
You let out a childish giggle at that.
"But, yes, I think it was."
——————————————————
masterlist
written; 18/08/2023 —> 03/09/2023 published;04/09/2023 edited; —/—/——
614 notes · View notes
lovebugism · 1 year
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the customer’s always right just gave me life, they're just so sweet AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
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THE CUSTOMER'S ALWAYS RIGHT | heart-shaped
summary: you think you might be falling in love with eddie. eddie thinks he might be falling for you. a series of stashed away insecurities threaten to get in the way. pairing: virgin!eddie munson / f!reader word count: 10k holy moly warnings: talks of drugs, shitty boyfriends, and being a whore <3 also reader gets fingered <3 a lil bit of angst, smut 18+ mdni a/n: ah shit here we go again!! thanks for waiting so patiently for me to get over my writer's block and finally post! reading all the feedback for this series has been so nice, all of you guys are so so sweet <333 anyway, pls enjoy this installment and if you don't.. maybe don't tell me :^) happy reading ily!
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Truth be told, working the lunch rush at Enzo’s wasn’t the worst thing in the world.
It meant you got to miss out on serving all the wine snobs at dinner who send back devoured dishes like it’s their job — insistent on a refund because their food was “unsatisfactory” just to get twice the meal with half the tip.
The rich country club goers you waited on were far more docile in comparison. They arrive dressed in pastel-collared shirts and pretty athletic dresses after finishing up their tennis practices or games of golf.
They sit and talk for hours, dine on the most expensive shrimp and wine, just to leave a tip so ginormous that you have to thank them before they go. It’s a flaunt of wealth more than anything. It might’ve felt the least bit demeaning if it wasn’t going directly into your pockets.
And it would be way too lame of you to say that getting to see Eddie Munson after your shift was the only thing getting you through it at all. That sort of puppy love belonged to high schoolers who don't know any better, you know that… But screw it— knowing you were going to meet him after was the only thing getting you through this mind-numbing, foot-aching, brain-cell-losing, eight-hour shift.
The days, of which there had been four (but, then again, who’s counting?), had been excruciating without him.
You couldn’t even sleep the first night you left his trailer. You felt him everywhere — your mouth, your chest, and between your legs — still buzzing with his touch even halfway across Hawkins.
It had you swearing up and down that the Dungeon Master had some actual powers you didn’t know about. That he’d cast some sort of love spell on you after getting you to come on his thigh.
You quickly learned that Eddie Munson was the kind of boy that girls lose sleep over; the kind of boy that reduces you to your basic schoolgirl tendencies as you grin into your pillow and kick your feet in the air.
It was embarrassing, the effect he had on you.
And you so desperately wanted to blame it on whatever witchcraft the town thought the leader of Hellfire possessed. It was easier than facing the fact that you were head over heels for a stupid boy. 
You didn’t even have time to face it, really, because you were already too busy falling for him. He had you tripping all over yourself and face-planting into the petals of a thousand roses — it was pathetic.
You’d catch yourself smiling whenever you thought of him, grinning like an idiot while you rang up customers at the register — more ecstatic at the idea of Eddie than the hundred-dollar tip they’d left you. It made you giddy to think about seeing him again, enough that it distracted you from the fact that you hadn’t sat down since your shift started.
Eddie had you full of sunshine and rainbows and mirth, like something out of a damn GAP commercial. It was a particular sort of happiness you thought abandoned you a long, long time ago.
Apparently, you were wrong.
You think of Eddie, and a foreign feeling of anticipation swirls in the pit of your stomach. It almost makes you sick with childlike excitement. You didn’t know another person was capable of making someone this happy. It’s unfamiliar and daunting and euphoric and really fucking scary. 
It’s an otherworldly feeling that feels like it’s only happening to you. A secret you want to keep to yourself and shout from the rooftops at the same time. People bustle around you, keep on living their mundane lives, and spare not a glance to their lovesick waitress.
No one knows I’m falling in love right now, you find yourself thinking.
But that isn’t exactly true. Jim Hopper knows because that asshole knows everything, and notices almost immediately how strange you’re acting.
The chief of police was always a comforting sight amidst a sea of strangers, most of whom made more in a week than you could ever hope to make in a year. He's a breath of fresh air, as it were, which is strange considering the two of you spent the entirety of your high school career playing cat and mouse.
He’d catch you smoking, threaten to turn you in, and you’d beg him not to — pull out all the stops, the puppy dog eyes, the innocent schoolgirl charm, the whole damn nine to make him melt.
He’d take pity on you and let you off with a warning, as long as you promised never to do it again. And you’d lie to him, tell him it was a one-time thing, and he’d catch you a week or so later — getting high at the quarry or with your hand shoved down the pants of a man too old for you at Lover’s Lake.
And the cycle would keep on repeating for the next four agonizing years until you graduated.
Strangely, somewhere along the line, the two of you became pretty good friends.
Everyone once in a while, he’ll stop by Enzo’s during his breaks to keep you company. He never actually orders food, though, just binges on the endless free breadsticks until the buttons of his uniform threaten to pop. He'll bathe in yellow candlelight and chi-antee for an hour or more and then leave you a too big tip you always have to fight about when he goes.
Your pour the crimson colored wine he’d ordered into his rounded glass, flashing him the label before describing the vintage to him, per your boss’s demand. 
It feels foreign to be so formal in front of Hopper — because, after catching you with a mouthful of Tommy Hagan in a car back in '83, nothing makes either of you uncomfortable anymore. But sometimes it feels like your asshole manager is lurking over your shoulder every damn second of the day.
And having a job is more important than your pride, you figure.
“This is a medium-bodied, acidic tart, ruby red wine. The earthy aroma pairs nicely with the cherry and strawberry notes…” and blah, blah, blah. You’ve repeated the same couple of lines so often you’ve started to say them in your sleep.
“Well, shit, teacup. If you put that much effort into school, you coulda been valedictorian,” Jim quips with a signature dad smirk that’s half-hidden beneath his bushy mustache.
It’s not the first time he’s made that dumb joke, and it won’t be the last.
You roll your eyes more at the nickname than the backhanded compliment, because it isn’t your fault the sasquatch is six-foot-four.
“How much is this one gonna cost me?” he asks you and leans in his plush seat to reach for the wallet in his back pocket.
“Don’t worry about it, lurch. It’s on the house.”
A mischievous glint twinkles in Jim’s eye as he squints up at you. He tucks the leather back into his khakis. “Sure Enzo won’t mind?” he asks you because he hasn’t yet bothered to acknowledge that your boss wasn’t actually named Enzo. 
“Yeah, he’ll be pissed,” you confirm with a shrug. “I just don’t care.”
“Well, you’re in an unrealistically good mood after the lunch rush,” he sing-songs.
You don’t miss the suspicious lilt in his voice. Your smile is equally sarcastic and sickly sweet as you tell him: “It’s ‘cause my favorite customer is here—”
“Yeah, I don’t buy that,” he interjects with a curt shake of his head. He sits up straighter and leans his elbows on the white linen cloth of the table like he means business. “Who’s the boy?”
“What— I don’t— What are you— boy?” you sputter with a half-hearted laugh. Your stammering isn’t the least bit convincing.
“It’s a boy, right?” he monotones. “You only get all giddy and gross like this when there’s a boy.”
You hate that he knows you so well. It might’ve been sweet if it wasn’t totally infuriating.
To be fair, you did tend to wear your heart on your sleeve, even when you didn’t want to. When you were falling in love, it poured out of you like sunshine and blinded anyone who dared to look too closely.
Golden rays shoot from your fingertips, shine in the irises of your eyes, and flash from your smile — like the one tugging at the edges of your lips now.
It leaves no room to deny what he already knows: that you’re a stupid girl with a stupid crush on a stupid boy because she hasn’t learned from her stupid mistakes.
“Fine,” you concede with your sheepish gaze flitted to the ceiling. “It’s— It’s dumb. It’s a silly crush, it doesn’t mean anything.”
Hopper nods, like he’s giving you some kind of blessing. “Good for you. It’s about time you moved on from that asshole— what was his name again? Harrington?”
It makes you roll your eyes. You can’t tell if he’s actually confused or if he’s making fun of you. It would be all too like a middle-aged man to make a misogynistic joke about a girl who’s had more partners than years she’s been alive.
“Hargrove,” you correct in a monotone. Your tone is as bitter as thinking about him makes you feel.
“Him, too,” he quips.
There it is.
“It’s not even like that, okay? It’s not like anything,” you try and deflect like you aren’t beaming and trying horribly to hide it. “He… He probably doesn’t even like me like that.”
“Well, it’s about time you got over that boy, is all I’m saying. You deserve a good guy. A boy treats you right, who has actual aspirations in life, and keeps his nose clean—” he rambles as he brings the wine to his mouth to take a drink. He stops himself to ask: “What's his name again?”
You fidget ahead of him, shifting your weight on your feet awkwardly because good guy who stays out of trouble and has actual aspirations in life isn’t how most people would describe the Munson boy. Jim least of all.
He’s got a similar relationship with Eddie to the one he had with you, though there was little room for friendship between the two. It’s just an outlaw making a living on drugs and a chief trying to catch him dealing it.
“Eddie,” you answer and then clear your throat. “Uh, Eddie Munson…”
The life leaves Jim’s eyes.
There’s no amount of wine in Enzo’s cellar that could’ve prepared him for that — or you, for the twenty-minute lecture that followed.
“I have no words,” he’d scolded you like a disappointed parent but proceeded to rant for nearly half an hour after the fact, in true fatherly fashion.
Hopper knows when you’re falling in love. It’s all sunshine and rainbows and blue skies. It’s all so sweet he could gag. But there’s always another side of that coin — a dark, colder, meaner one. 
Because sometimes boys are cruel, sometimes you really are in over your head, and sometimes relationships don’t work out. And when things go bad, they go rotten, and he has to deal with the storm cloud you become after the fact.
Taking care of you becomes his part-time job, and his check-ins become endless as he makes sure you don’t fall back into your old ways — using and getting used.
And truth be told, you don’t have the best track record with men, and Hopper tries to tell you all this, but it doesn’t get through.
Because you have a good feeling about this. About Eddie.
Fuck all the rest.
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Today marks your thirteenth meeting with Eddie.
For such an unlucky number, it’s got you squirming from all the butterflies fluttering in your belly with an excitement more innocent than you’re used to. Like standing in the queue for a rollercoaster in a childlike mixture of apprehension and animation, somehow both frightened and enraptured for what’s to come.
And you’re absolutely bouncing with it. Smiling to yourself in the car with the radio turned all the way up and the windows all the way down, thrumming your fingers on the steering wheel as you belt the lyrics to “Super Trouper” with a beam that could make the sunshine cower. 
It’s all completely and utterly perfect until you become suddenly aware of how unearthly happy you are.
Then it hits you like a ton of bricks and you shrink into yourself because… maybe you shouldn’t feel this way. The last time you saw Eddie, he came in his jeans and you got off on his thigh — there was never any room for daydreaming and pining and puppy love-ing, not when you so quickly gave yourself away.
The thought of Eddie not nearly being as happy to see you is what hurts the most. How he had you once and now you’re back to just being the customer he sees once a week.
What if he doesn’t give you weed for free anymore? Fuck that — what if you’re not his favorite? 
And maybe it’s just you, maybe you’re the problem. Maybe you should be passed the point of giddy excitement, maybe it’s uncool, maybe you’re wearing your heart on your sleeve and it’s leaving the door open for too much hurt. Maybe Hopper was right.
But you’re happy, at least for right now, and you don’t get the chance to be too often.
Most days, you’re just an accessory — a pretty pebble someone finds on the ground and spends a couple of seconds ogling at before leaving and never thinking about again.
You deserve the chance to be held, don’t you? You should get to be praised and coddled and worshipped like the pretty girls do.
And Eddie makes you feel held. 
So you’ll stick around until he gets bored of you, until you stop being so fun for him. You’ll take the moments of happiness as they’re spoon-fed to you and taste them, really taste them, until you’re starving again. You’ll stay full of this pure puppy love you have for Eddie until it’s time for you to go. 
Because, for now, you’re happy. And isn’t that what matters most?
You don’t know it, but Eddie’s caught in a similar dilemma.
He waits for you at the bench you meet him at every week, like you’ve done for months now, but he’s filled with an unfamiliar gaiety as he anticipates your arrival.
He’s so goddamn excited to see you that he doesn’t know what to do with himself. It borders on a slight uneasiness that makes him sick to his stomach.
Eddie never gets nervous around customers. Not once, not ever.
He’s dealt to weirdos who live on the wrong side of the track, preppy douchebags that shove him into lockers at school, and pretty cheerleaders who pretend he doesn’t exist outside of dealing.
He’s seen it all, really. But you’re the one that’s got him bouncing his knee something fierce beneath the table and tapping his fingers against the rotted top of it while his heart races a million miles a minute.
He’s frightened of being too overeager. He’s scared that you’ll come here, all cool and collected about all of it, and he’ll be the freak show acting like a pretty girl’s never given him an ounce of attention before. They haven’t, but he’d rather not project that sort of disposition. Not to you, at least.
He guesses, more than anything, he’s just afraid of scaring you away.
So Eddie tries to keep the smile on his face hidden — not knowing that it’s your favorite part about him. He tries to be as stoic as possible. He wants to be this cool and mysterious and sexy guy he thinks you want, having no idea that you’d already fallen in love with him before he even realized he needed to be those things for you. 
He’s just about able to wash away his grin when he sees you emerge from the woods and into the small clearing where the lone picnic table lives. 
The pinky plaid skirt you wear rustles against your legs with the breeze, the pleated edges brushing against the skin of your thighs. You pair it with a white piece of Beatles merch that clings to your torso — and fuck he hates the Beatles, but you’re the prettiest thing his cynical eyes have ever seen.
He’s beaming at you before he even realizes it. And by the time he does, he doesn’t feel like the idiot he thought he would.
You’re both sporting matching grins, trying to hide them and failing miserably. His is pursed softly to the side and yours is pulled between your teeth.
You look like the rays of sunlight filtering through the trees, Eddie thinks to himself. 
His eyes must be the golden of them, you conclude.
When you settle on the bench in front of him, you tuck your skirt neatly beneath you and focus on smoothing out than fabric rather than meet the boy’s gaze. You sport a meek smile and a pair of fidgeting hands that ache to touch him.
“Hi,” you greet sheepishly.
He sees your face scrunch in embarrassment at how shy you sound, and the way you almost reach out for his hand but stop yourself just as quickly. He wishes you wouldn’t. He wishes you knew how perfect you were, even when you weren’t totally graceful.
“Hi,” he repeats with a mocking, but no less loving grin, tilting his head towards his shoulder. “How’s it going?”
“Oh, you know… overworked and underpaid,” you shrug. “Just the usual.”
You’re grateful for the small talk. It leaves little room for the awkwardness swimming in your belly. He doesn’t immediately mention what happened the last time you saw him, like people often do when they want to do it all over again. But he isn’t in a hurry to give you your weed so you’ll leave him alone either. That's what people usually do when they want nothing to do with you anymore.
It’s almost like it never happened. 
Or rather, like it did, and he isn’t treating it like a spectacle.
It’s refreshing.
“Boss giving you a hard time?”
“Oh, always. I’m pretty sure that’s what he gets paid to do, actually.”
“Right,” he breathes out a laugh.
Silence hangs in the air for a moment, just a blink of a second, but it’s noticeable. The sudden quiet floats on the cool breeze that ruffles Eddie’s wild hair and sends a shiver down your spine. 
In a split-second decision, you decide not to deprive yourself of the urge to touch him. Partly to distract from the stillness, but mostly because the ache had reached a fever pitch.
You’re so enthralled by his hands resting upon the old wood — the veins that decorate the back of them like the roots of a tree, the way his fingers thrum to a beat only he can hear, and the rings that wrap around them.
“Is this new?” you wonder aloud. You take his wrist in one hand and trace the glinting silver on his pointer finger with the other. It’s the bony fingers of a skeleton curved to form a heart. He’s taped the sides to make it fit better. It didn’t belong to him before now. 
Eddie watches, pleasantly surprised, as you dote on him. 
Your eyes glitter golden beneath an early setting sun. They dance with amusement as your fingertip traces his heart-shaped ring. He smiles to himself and wonders how often you’re looking at his hands to notice he’s got a new ring on.
“Oh, yeah,” he shrugs. He plays it cool, like his heart isn’t thrumming like a hummingbird in his chest at your touch. “Got it a couple days ago at the thrift store outside of town. It was a whole seventy-five cents.”
“I like it. It’s cute.”
“Cute?” he repeats with a scrunched nose and blushing face.
It makes you giggle. “Yeah. You can be cute and badass at the same time, you know?”
“I didn’t know those were mutually exclusive.”
“They weren’t. Not until you came into the world, Eddie Munson.”
He feels cold when you drag your hand away. The kind, almost teasing grin you flash his way warms him all over again. He’s still trying to get used to being so loved on.
You can see the way he gets lost in you for a moment. His cinnamon-tinted gaze, made golden in the sunlight, glazes over as his head gets stranded in the clouds.
The only reason you notice it is because it happens to you. Eddie makes it so terribly easy to float in the deep galaxy of his eyes. Your heart swells to know that it’s happening to him now. Happening to him because he’s looking at you.
You didn’t know you were the kind of girl people could get lost in.
Eddie clears his throat and shakes his head, mostly to himself, but enough to jostle the soft curls that frame his face and sit above his eyes.
“Well, I’m honored, sweetheart,” he grins his signature grin, the bright and cocky one, though he’s too shy to make it reach his eyes now. He busies himself and his restless fingers by rifling through the product sitting in the tin box at his side — baggies full of green nuggets and white powdery pills. 
“So, uh, what’s on the menu this week? The usual?”
“I’ve still got my stash from last week,” you confess. “Haven’t really had the time to smoke it yet.”
His eyes flit up to yours again. “…Yeah?” is all he can think to say to you because internally he’s buzzing — you didn’t even need weed, he thinks to himself, you just wanted to see him.
You only shrug. “I’ve just been, like, crazy busy this week.”
Eddie nods understandingly, but can’t help but to joke: “Is that why you haven’t called?”
Because, fuck, if the past couple of days without talking to you haven’t been complete and total agony. He knows it’s a little too brash and brave of him to wonder why you went AWOL when he hasn’t exactly made an effort to seek you out either. 
Not for lack of wanting to, though. He’d like to put that on record.
“Well, I didn’t call because I don’t have your number,” you retort with a smile that toes the line between cunning and timidity. “So, you can’t really blame me for that.”
He huffs dramatically. “Guess not.”
“It’s probably for the best. If I could call you, I’d never leave you alone.”
“Bold of you to assume I’d want you to,” he dismisses your negative talk with ease.
You warm with his words and duck your gaze on instinct. You keep your eyes on your hands while you fidget with your fingers, wishing that they were his instead. “Just don’t want to bother you or whatever, you know?”
“You could never bother me.”
“Promise?” you ask him. Your smile is playful, but your words are sincere.
Eddie’s is much of the same. “Cross my heart.”
“How about this — I give you my number and you just call whenever you’re free,” you offer, more confident at the boy’s admission and glowing with it. “‘Cause, you know, Wayne probably wouldn’t appreciate me clogging up the phone line very much.”
“He wouldn’t notice… Or care,” he tells you and pulls out an old pen from his tin box. His sparkling deep brown eyes stay locked on you as you rise from your side of the bench and round the table to sit next to him.
You’re obviously not as nervous as he’d been at the trailer all those nights ago, when he had to practically be beckoned over to realize you wanted him beside you.
You sit opposite him, with your knees pointed away from the bench. You get to be closer to him this way. Your thigh presses against his as you twist towards him, your chest mere inches from his arm, your mouth even closer.
You write a series of numbers on his forearm that Eddie can’t make out because he’s too busy looking at you. He admires the frown between your brows as you struggle to get the ink to write and the way your lips purse to the side in concentration.
“Wayne would actually be pretty stoked I was talking to a girl—” he jokes with a laugh though he’s quick to cut himself off like he’d said something he wasn’t supposed to.
His admission was supposed to be funny, something the rest of Hellfire would’ve laughed at because they know him. But you don’t, and he doesn’t really want you to. You’ve already got this idea of him in your head. He lives in agony that he won’t be able to live up to it.
He’ll just have to fake it, he concludes. Fake it until he doesn’t recognize himself anymore.
Fortunately enough for him, you don’t read into his words too much.
“He wants you to settle down, huh?” you joke back, half-distracted as you doodle a heart onto his skin.
“Wants me to move out, more like.”
“I’m sure he’d appreciate the bed.”
Eddie scoffs. “Yeah, right. That old geezer’s practically in love with his Laz-E-Boy.”
He watches with glimmering eyes as you laugh. Then he’s smiling because you’re smiling. He isn’t sure how else he’s supposed to look at you. How could anyone possibly look at you and not hold so much love in their eyes?
You haven’t yet let go of his arm, he notices, as you cradle his wrist in your grasp and swipe your thumb over the blotchy blue veins there. Your gaze is pointed down to where you hold him. There’s a distant grin on your face as you admire such a minute piece of him.
He wants so badly to kiss you.
He could. All he’d have to do, really, is move his head a couple inches and he’d brush the apple of your cheek. The skin would warm against his lips until he ducked down to kiss you for real. 
And he feels just bold enough to ask you, but not quite enough to say the words out loud. Instead, they sit impatiently on the edge of his tongue while he waits for the right moment to say them. The wind blows, and it passes.
“It wouldn’t be totally crazy if I kissed you right now, would it?” you ask him first, looking at him through your lashes like you’re scared he might reject you.
He glows pink, momentarily stunned that you beat him to the punch, then worried that you might’ve read his mind. He plays it cool with a shrug and a shake of his head. “No… Not unless it’s totally crazy how bad I want you to kiss me right now.”
You don’t waste any time. You gravitate towards him like you were made to do it and he meets you easily halfway.
When your lips lock, it feels like a routine. Kissing you is like a cup of coffee and the morning paper and a rocking chair on a front porch — something he could do forever and ever and not get bored of.
You kiss him so soft, more gentle than anyone’s ever been with him, but your tongue swipes into his open mouth, and it’s dirty. 
Eddie still isn’t sure how a person could touch him the way you do. You’re all sweet, like you’re frightened you might break him, but you aren’t scared to kiss him like he’s yours.
As good as it feels to have him against you this way, the position you’re in isn’t any less awkward. Your upper-half is still twisted to face him and he has to lean slightly over to touch you completely.
He explores the cavern of your mouth with a more confident tongue than you remember him having while ten ringed fingers press into your ribs. 
Eddie can feel your mouth contort in a smile. He thinks it’s because he’s tickling you, but you’re just in love and totally giddy with it.
The wooden edge of the bench digs into your spine. The ache distracts you from feeling him the way you want to — the way you need to — so you make a split-second decision to rise from your seat and rest your bottom on the table.
Your lips click wetly, almost out of protest, when they part.
You use the palms of your hands to lift you and prop your sneakers on the bench seat when you sit down again. You wait patiently for Eddie to accommodate you, to rise and keep kissing you the way he was just kissing you. 
He does. Eventually.
He just needed a few moments to gather himself when your new position flashes him the faintest glimpse of your panties — all black and dotted with little red hearts that have started to fade with time.
His eyes widen and he everts his gaze immediately. His cheeks and the tip of his nose go red, like he’d been caught looking at something he wasn’t supposed to be looking at. It’s sort of stupid. You were getting off on his thigh some days ago, and now you’re kissing him like you mean to swallow him whole, surely you wouldn’t mind him peeking.
If he were someone totally different, he might’ve spread your legs, dug his fingers into the fat of your thighs, and put his mouth on you like he wanted to do three nights ago — like he’s been wanting to do for ages.
But he doesn’t.
He just sits there, for what feels like forever, feeling like a total idiot.
But if you notice his hesitancy, you don’t show it. You just cup his warm cheeks in your hands and drag him up to you. Eddie isn’t enough of a dumbass to reject your affections.
He happily melts into your touch once more while the both of you maneuver like a bunch of lovesick teenagers around the bench — rather than just part momentarily to move more efficiently.
You round the table so you’re propped on the outside of it and Eddie’s no longer confined in the seat. If making out and multitasking was an olympic sport, you and Eddie would take the gold, no doubt.
It’s hopelessly high school, the way you make out like teenagers in some clearing, known only to Eddie’s most loyal customers and a golden orange sky. 
It feels rebellious and raunchy, like you’ve just snuck out of Mr. Kaminsky’s lecture on chemical bonds to fuck under the bleachers. You kiss each other and it feels like you’re doing something so much more than yourselves.
Eddie touches you and you feel like a kid again. Everything’s just new experiences and stomachs full of butterflies — heartache is virtually nonexistent. 
As far as you’re concerned, you’ve never been kissed before now. 
You had no idea someone could hold so much love in their mouth and then kiss you with it. You’re so used to tongue and teeth and spit, not these slow and sweet pecks that feel like white clouds and summer rain.
Every now and then, Eddie will slot his kiss-bitten bottom lip between the plush of your swollen mouth. And he’ll just stay there, for several long moments, just to feel you. His ringed fingers rise to cradle your jaw to keep you against him. His nose knocks against the bridge of yours and his heavy breaths fan against your cupid’s bow.
You’re not sure why he does this, why he chooses to be so soft with you when he knows he could have you however he wants. You’re a kitten purring against his chest now, all pliable and willing for him, but he just likes how still and soft you are like this.
You let him kiss you the way he likes. You notice he takes acute infatuation with your bottom lip, biting softly and pulling at the skin until it’s a plump pink thing for him to suck into his mouth.
Every swipe of his tongue against yours is experimental and methodical. He finds what makes you exhale the heaviest moans and keeps doing that until you’re a puddle of a woman in his hands.
Oh, god. His hands.
It’s almost unfair how kind they are. 
One keeps a steady, warm hold on your cheek. He can feel the way you start to soften as you lean more and more into his touch. The other has fallen to your thigh. His fingertips settle beneath the skirt you picked out specifically for him, but don’t move any further than that.
He just likes the feel of you, it seems, as he pets the softness of your skin. Occasionally, he’ll squeeze and marvel at the feeling of your thigh in his grasp and the way it makes you moan against him. The feeling of his silver rings against you makes chill bumps erupt on your skin.
You’re unsure if he knows the effect he has on you. Surely, he must, you figure — just days ago you were falling apart on his thigh and here you are now, willing to do it all over again. 
He touches you like he knows. Like he takes pleasure in teasing you until you’re all but begging for more. And you’re not the least bit ashamed to do it, either. His touch, his hand down your panties, it isn’t a want — it’s a need.
You take Eddie’s wrist in your impatient hand, moving his palm further and further beneath your skirt until it’s pressed against the dampening cotton of your underwear. “Touch me, Eds,” you plead against his mouth, already breathless.
The boy tenses.
It’s a dream come true in the most literal sense, to feel you like this. You cling to his consciousness wherever he goes. You’ve spent so many nights plaguing his dreams that they’ve started to feel like nightmares. He’d wake up in the middle of the night, achingly hard and shuddering with cold sweats at the mere thought that he’d never get to have you the way he always dreamt of having you. 
But it’s here now, lying beneath a heart-patterned cloth, and he doesn’t know what to do with it. 
He’s not scared of you exactly, just of everything else. 
His hand has never gotten anyone off but himself. He’s scared that he won’t make you feel good, or worse, that he’ll hurt you — he’s scared of himself. He’s terrified of losing you and you’re not even his. 
It’s everything else that frightens him, but not you. Not when you’ve got your legs spread out before him and begging him to touch you. Not when you act like you want to be his.
Rather than deprive himself of the dream of you, Eddie decides to hook his pointer finger around the hem of your panties and slide them to the side.
With your pussy concealed by the pleated skirt you wear, he’s forced to work blindly while he touches you. He doesn’t mind, though. He takes the opportunity to feel you as it’s presented to him on a silver platter — the softness of your lips, the trimmed mound of hair above them, the slick coating your warmed skin.
You feel like silk and velvet. A material that’s far too expensive to touch. It makes him feel like he’s ruining you in some way.
Eddie’s open-mouthed, heavy breaths fan against your lips, all nicotine and mint gum. Your eyes flutter shut at the feeling of him — billowing across your jaw, pressed between your thighs, fingers treating your pussy like it’s a piece of delicate art.
“More,” you beg in a dream-coated sigh and spread yourself further for him. You’ve got one hand twisted in his leather jacket and the other flipping up the skirt of your dress, putting yourself on display for him — a piece of delicate art indeed.
You’re laid out before him, all at once, bare and glistening with need. 
He’s seen plenty of vaginas in his time, usually photographed in a centerfold of a magazine or half-blurry through a botched VHS tape. But, for obvious reasons, you’re quite different. 
You’re beautiful. The kind of beauty that men would’ve fallen on their swords for a time ago, the kind you’re lucky to see in a lifetime. That’s a bit what it feels like to look at you. He looks at you, and he sees a cotton candy sunset over mountains that touch the clouds or clear blue waters that go on for infinity.
Even like this, with your pussy on display for him — in a moment that’s supposed to be dirty — it’s a serene sort of beautiful. You need to be hung up in a museum, Eddie thinks to himself, in the Louvre or some shit — because a freak show from the middle of nowhere shouldn’t get to just have you like this.
He slots his middle finger between your lips, for once not overthinking when the urge to feel you takes over. You soak his appendage with ease, the slick only adding to your softness. He dips down to the dimple of your opening and rises to the peak of your swelling clit. He notices how it makes you twitch against him. 
It feels like being you’re touched for the first time. Unfolded and cherished like some sort of expensive gift. You’re not used to this sort of tenderness. No one’s taken things this slow with you before. The way he’s making you feel good is for him just as much as it is for you. It’s unfamiliarly blissful to be handled with so much care.
Eddie watches with heavy and attentive eyes as your head tips back, like you’re starting to drown in your own pleasure and unbothered to keep yourself afloat. Your contented sighs and gentle tremors spur him forward. Those subtle praises almost equal the pleas that spill from your kissed mouth. 
It makes him stop worrying about how to do all this without being totally obvious that he’s never done any of it before.
Everything he knows, he’s gotten from poorly produced porn. He doesn’t want to treat you like that. Like you’re some toy or plaything or a game to be won. He wants to take things slow and treat you right because it’s becoming more and more obvious to him that no one’s ever done that for you.
He’ll be your first, if you’ll be his.
He finds himself grateful for how responsive you are. He doesn’t need to know everything there is to know about sex or ask you for direction like an idiot because your pussy tells him what to do. 
You tremble every time the pad of his finger swipes against your clit. He can feel you clench around nothing every time he dips towards your opening, as if in a silent plea. You tell him what you like without saying anything, but rather by drenching him in clear-coated honey.
His eyes have trouble flitting away from your pleasure-ridden face and down to where he coaxes you open. His finger glistens with your wetness. Beneath a setting sun, it looks like the sparkling rays over an ocean.
“Fuck,” he huffs, almost moaning. “You’re so fucking wet.”
“Sorry…” you mutter meekly.
“What?” Eddie finds himself laughing softly, brows furrowing in confusion at your sudden embarrassment. That’s not the response he was expecting. “Why are you apologizing?”
Your skin burns hot at his question — no longer warmed from pleasure, but out of pure self-consciousness. It’s a conversation you’re used to now, but it hasn’t gotten any easier. With his finger still caught in your drenched pussy, you find it suddenly hard to meet his gaze and instead peer at him through your lashes.
“I don’t know,” you murmur. “Some guys think it’s gross… And messy—”
“Screw ‘em,” he blurts. His brown eyes twinkle with a newfound confidence, not one of the unabashed metalhead drug dealer, but one of a boy whose head over heels for a girl who doesn’t know what it means to be truly cared for. “It’s sexy,” he assures you.
A shy smile hints at the corners of your lips, innocently comforted by the promise and pleased by the compliment. “Really?”
“I promise, sweetheart,” he tells you with a wholehearted nod. He means it more than anything he’s ever said. “Cross my goddamn heart.”
He leans in to press his lips against yours then, just because it feels right to, and you graciously accept his affection. 
Eddie’s kisses come in innocent, loving pecks that are far too sweet in comparison to the way he’s making you feel. His finger traces the slick gathering at your opening, not having to force his way in because your pussy is more than wanting.
Both of you let out low moans when he’s finally inside of you. He doesn’t stop until the silver of his ring is pressed into the outside of your pussy.
You’re wrapped around him like velvet, warm and tight velvet that won’t let him go. He works hard to find a steady rhythm that you like and watches your every reaction intently.
You’ve got your lip dragged between your teeth, biting so hard that the fragile skin has started to blanch. Your eyes have fluttered slowly shut with a frown forming between your brows in a vague concentration as you focus on your own pleasure.
You seem to like it most when he’s crooking his finger rather than thrusting them inside of you. At least, that’s what he assumes, as he reaches a much softer spot within you that makes you jolt against him.
Your hand darts to his wrist, not to tug him away or pull him any closer, just to tether yourself to him.
“Can you— fuck—” you sputter when the palm of his hand bumps against your clit. “Can you add another finger? Please?”
You’re all whiny and breathy like you’re begging him, like there’s any chance he might deny you. Eddie’s not exactly in the business of saying no to you. 
He slides his ring finger in with his middle. He marvels at how snugly they fit inside you and how the sticky nectar coats his skin. Your wetness has gathered around his silver rings, including the one with the skeleton hand you were complimenting earlier.
He doesn’t ever want to wash them again... Not that he ever did in the first place, but he makes a vow not to start now.
Eddie doesn’t know it, but this is the part where you usually get embarrassed. Sometimes you think you’re too sensitive, too responsive. You’ve found that there’s a threshold between being sexy and being needy that most guys tend to enjoy. But, for you, it's a finicky thing and you find yourself crossing it before you realize it.
You moan too loud, talk too much, whine too often. Nearly everyone you’ve ever been with has said so in some way or another — mostly in gentle approaches that are observations more than anything. But some boys aren’t so nice. They say that you get too turned on, the wetness coating your pussy is evidence of that, and they tell you that’s it’s gross.
But here, now, with Eddie, there’s little room for embarrassment.
He tells you that you’re pretty, swears up and down that the way your slick trickles down his fingers is sexy. And for the first time in your life, you find yourself actually believing someone who tells you that.
You let him pry you open with slow and meticulous touches. You can feel his bent fingers deep inside you, exploring the slick velvet of your walls, and rubbing at the spot that makes you keen. It’s got your back arching and thighs trembling by his waist, toes curling inside your sneakers while you keep a tight grip on his wrist.
“Rub my clit, Eds,” you plead breathlessly with your eyes shut tight. You’re about to come, you can feel the tightening coil in the pit of your belly, you just need a little bit more. “Please, Eddie— please, touch my clit—”
He’s hasty in his attempts to comply to your request. He barely lets the words leave your mouth before he presses the pad of his thumb just above the hood of your clit. And it doesn’t feel bad per se, it actually feels pretty damn good, it’s just not where you need him most.
It’s not the first time a guy’s had trouble finding your clit and you figure it won’t be the last, so you opt guide him with a helping hand. You maneuver his thumb until it’s pressed snuggly against your swollen button. 
Eddie watches attentively as it makes you whine. You arch your back, pressing yourself further against him, as a moan rises from the depths of your chest and spills out of your mouth. You pull him somehow closer by the lapel of his jacket. 
He takes every unspoken criticism to heart, along with every one of your wordless praises. His acute attention to what you like the most — how his thumb on your clit makes you clench around him, how you moan every time he rubs against that foreign spongy spot inside of you, and how he keeps on doing that because he can tell that you like it — sends you to an otherworldly place pleasure.
It’s different from guys that are just good from experience. Most do the same old shit that gets their girl off because they know they’ll get off in the end, too.
Eddie’s attentiveness is unfamiliar and spellbinding, all-consuming and unavoidable. A pleasure you’re both chasing and wanting to run away from out of fear it might be too much.
“Is this okay?” he whispers to you, breath fanning across your cheek.
You nod wordlessly in reply, with your lip caught between your teeth as you fight to bite back the cry building in your throat. It’s hard to when he’s so intently hitting every spot that makes you dizzy. The moan that inevitably spills from your mouth sounds wet, like you might really start to cry.
“Fuck,” you wail when your stomach tenses. His fingers, deep in the confines of your pussy and rubbing at your clit, are relentless. Pleasure’s biting at your ankles now and you have no way to stop it from swallowing you whole. “Feels so good, Eds—”
Your mouth hangs open as you drop your head down to watch him work you open.
His ringed fingers are coated with you, a sheen of honey that drips down his fingers and onto the silver wrapped around them. You’re hopelessly spread open for him, your pussy blooming like a flower at the promise of springtime for the boy, and then tightening around him to keep him trapped inside you.
It’s dirty, like a lewd piece of art that you can’t help but gawk out.
You fight to keep your heavy eyes open. You want to watch what he’s doing to you, but it’s a harder feat than you could’ve ever imagined. Pleasure rises so violently in you. You’re frightened you might burst entirely.
“I’m gonna come,” you whimper. It’s a warning to you but for him, it’s a promise. Your head tilts back again, face scrunched in a gentle sort of horror, like you’re scared at how good you feel. “Please don’t stop. Oh my god, Eds— Please don’t stop. Please, please, please—”
Eddie presses a gentle kiss to the buzzing skin of your cheek. He whispers his slurred promises there, too. “I’m not gonna stop, sweetheart. Not gonna stop until you want me to, ‘kay? Not until you’re pushing me away. Wanna make you come so many times you can’t take it—”
You clenched around him at his words. His fingers, trapped in your velvet, struggle to move within you as you tighten. The thumb on your clit works you through your orgasm.
Your mouth hangs open in a silent moan while your hand grips his wrist something fierce. Pleasure builds and builds and builds, striking you like lightning so suddenly, and reducing you to a shuddering mess on the picnic table in front of him.
“There you go,” Eddie whispers in your ear through his own trembling breaths. “Yeah, keep going for me— keep coming.”
You comply.
You don’t have much of a choice in the matter, anyway.
Your orgasm runs over you like a dozen fucking freight trains. You’re caught in your own riptide of pleasure, drowning in it with no way of getting out. With no choice but to endure it, you whine and writhe against him while his hand stays trapped between your trembling thighs. It forces you to feel all of it until you can’t take it anymore. Just like he promised.
The pleasure passes. The vice-like grip your pussy had on his fingers lessens. The high fades. But Eddie keeps going. You don’t feel much of it at first, still pleasantly numb and buzzing, then you realize how sensitive you are.
He crooks his fingers faster, rubbing against the swollen spot inside you, while the pad of his thumb presses steadily against your clit.
You’re sloppy and wet and still gushing from the fading orgasm. A second one wouldn’t be too hard to reach, not with Eddie touching you the way he is just now, but you’re scared that it might be too much.
The I can barely see, we need to lay down a towel, hold me while I float into subspace sort of too much.
“Mm-mm,” you hum softly in protest, twitching against him while you squeeze his wrist. You feel his fingers still within you.
A lazy smile plays on your lips as you tilt your face towards an orange sun, all fucked out and beautiful. Eddie could stare at you for ages and find something new to love.
“No more. I need… Need a break.”
You shudder when his fingers drag slowly out of you, trying hard not to jostle you too much. The pads of them have started to prune slightly. His ring and middle finger stick together with a mixture of your come, he separates them to watch your honey stretch and break apart. 
He doesn’t know what to do with them. If he should wipe them on his jeans, or if that would be too barbaric of him. If he should stick them in his mouth to finally get a taste of you, or if you might think that’s too much.
You beat him to the punch, just like you always do, as you grab him by the wrist and bring his fingers to your mouth. Your eyes are still half-closed as you run your tongue over his skin, sucking at them like they were his cock — god, he wishes it were his cock.
He watches you with his own heavy gaze and an agape plump pink mouth, stunned at how you could do something so sexy without thinking. He has no idea how you manage to find ways to become more beautiful just when he thinks you’ve run out.
When you pull off of him, you do it all slow, like you’re teasing him. A soft, wet pop sounds when your lips leave his fingers. You smile like a fucking minx at him when you do.
“Was that— Was that good for you?” Eddie asks you with a nervous, doe-eyed chocolate button gaze. You’re unsure how he could make you feel so good and then worry that it still wasn’t enough.
“It was perfect, Eds,” you promise, then joke: “If you don’t believe me… believe the wet spot you made me leave on this fucking table.”
It makes both of you laugh like a pair of lovesick idiots. 
Your hands rise to his jaws, fingers getting lost in his wild curls as you drag him to you again.
He keeps a pair of steady hands on your hips as you lick hungrily into his mouth, kissing him like you haven’t gotten tired of kissing him yet. And when you part, you leave one, two, three more pecks against his lips.
“So… This is what you came out here for, huh?” Eddie jokes with his signature stupid grin that you want to kiss all over again. “You didn’t even want the weed, you just wanted to use me. I’m wounded, sweetheart. Truly.”
“Mm-mm,” you shake your head with your bottom lip caught between your teeth. “Came out here to see you… This part was just a bonus.”
He happily accepts the kiss you give him, though he tenses against you when your hands travel from his jaw and to his chest, trickling down his torso like drops of rain until they rest on his belt. 
“Something tells me you don’t mind either way,” you murmur against him when your palm settles against his hard cock trapped in his tight jeans.
He can hardly hear you, though, too trapped in his own head. 
He can’t fuck you out here, not like this.
Maybe it’s too stereotypical for a virgin, but he wants his first time with you to be on a real bed and not some bench that threatens you with splinters. He wants to wine and dine you, and treat you right like he’s supposed to, not fuck you in the middle of nowhere like you’re a plaything he can do whatever he wants with.
But he doesn’t know how to tell you all this, so he parts from you with a wet click and shakes his head. “You don’t— You don’t have to—”
“I want to, Eds,” you assure him. “I promise.”
“I can’t… I mean, I guess, I’m not really…” he stammers out. He has no idea what to say to you, totally at a loss of how to turn you down. The way you clutch his covered dick, make his toes curl in his sneakers and his brain go all stupid, doesn’t exactly help either.
“What?” you tease with a light-hearted chuckle as you squeeze his rock-solid cock through the denim. “Not really hard?”
“No, it’s just…” he breathes out a laugh, or rather tries to.
He watches with wide and frightened eyes as you work at his belt buckle, struggling to unfasten it without his assistance. There’s a tug-of-war playing in his brain right now, because he wants you — he wants you so bad — but not like this.
Not when he hasn’t been completely honest with you.
It’s not fair to either of you. 
Least of all when he has to turn you away without explaining why.
“I don’t think we— we really shouldn’t,” he tries to let you down easy, but to you it just sounds like he’s being coy, playing with you so you’ll beg to suck his cock. And you keep on going because you’re not totally above that. “No, really. I can’t— seriously, stop. We need to stop.”
The sudden firmness in his voice makes you still. Eddie’s never talked to you like that before. The stern, foreign words he spits at you tells you that he’s serious.
You jerk away from him like he’s burned you.
Embarrassment sets fire to your face.
“Sorry. I just— I thought that— I just wanted to return the favor,” you stammer out in an apology, frightened you’ve crossed a line with him.
No one’s ever turned down a blowjob from you before. Most times, that’s all guys want.
“No, yeah, I know,” Eddie nods understandingly when he sees how you’ve started to shrink into yourself. He steps back from you and tucks his belt back through the loop of his jeans “I just… I— I have more customers coming… And everything, so…”
“Right.”
“Yeah. And I don’t really, you know— I don’t want them to see…” he trails off with a shrug because that’s easier than saying, I don’t want them to see you sucking my dick. No one deserves to see you like that. That’s for my eyes only.
It would’ve been something short of a compliment had he said it out loud. You would’ve blushed with a shy, cheeky smile — “For your eyes only, huh?” you would’ve teased like you weren’t enlightened by the prospect of belonging to him and him only.
But because he doesn’t say that, you take on a whole other meaning to his words. I don’t want them to see me with the town whore, you can imagine him thinking. I might be the freak, but being associated with the slut would be a whole new low. 
Maybe it’s irrational thinking, but it wouldn’t be the first time it’s happened to you. The fear has turned into a full-blown phobia.
You’ve made a boogeyman out of the clothes in your closet because you’re so frightened of him leaving you. And he doesn’t even fucking belong to you.
“Right,” you echo with a nod. “Okay.”
You find it suddenly hard to meet his gaze as you slip off the bench, sliding your panties back into place before pulling your skirt down again.
You’re so deep in your own head, wallowing in your woe, that when Eddie leans down to kiss you, you jerk away from on instinct. Like your body’s telling you not to play with fire, something that’s destined to burn you.
Because Eddie can’t ever belong to you. In some ways, you can’t really belong to him either, not when you’ve belonged to half of Hawkins.
But your wordless rejection sends a shock to his heart, a bolt of blue that pierces the beating organ. Your denial feels like heartbreak and you can see the anguish coat his features. He looks at you look a wounded puppy, glassy eyes going wide and thick brows frowning softly as he wonders what he did so wrong.
You kiss him anyway, if only to tell him that he didn’t do anything wrong — that it’s all you and your stupid brain that won’t let you enjoy a good thing while you’ve got it. It’s the briefest little peck, a brush of your lips against his, and it has his mouth tingling anyway.
“I’ll call you later?” he says to you, though it comes out as more of a question than he intended it to.
You shrug with pursed lips, then try your best to smile. “Whatever you want.”
Eddie watches you walk away and feels like an idiot to let you go. 
He can tell that he’s upset you. You’ve had too many shitty experiences with guys not to be weary of another, and he knows that.
But he also knows he’s a total fucking coward — he’s always ran away from things, never towards something. Because that shit? — That shit was fucking scary, even for a so-called devil-worshipping freak.
But he finds himself hurrying towards you anyway.
His raggedy sneakers practically float on air as something short of muscle memory carries him towards you before you can get too far away.
And when he reaches you, he takes you by the arm, spins you and pulls you towards him. You barely get the chance to blink before he presses his mouth against yours.
He cradles you by the neck, resting large palms on either side of it, as he slots his lips against yours. And he does that thing where he just rests his kiss there, just feels you. 
Eddie notices when you relax against him. You sigh against his cupid’s bow, your hands fall to his waist, and you melt totally into him. Your lips untangle slowly and tingle when he parts from you. You know you’ll be feeling him there all night… there and everywhere else.
“I’m gonna call you later,” he tells you, voice confident and unwavering.
He hopes you understand what he really means by them — whatever you want, you’d said when you saw how unsure he was. And now he’s telling you what he wants, not to make some stupid phone call, but that he wants you.
He can tell you get the hint when you smile at him. It looks like the pinky-orange sunset that bathes you in warm-colored hues. 
You nod. “I’ll be waiting.”
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have any more virgin!eddie thoughts? or just thoughts about my writing/requests in general? leave them here if you want! ꒰◍ᐡᐤᐡ◍꒱
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delulujuls · 28 days
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friends don't know how you taste | ms47
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hi! i know that i have a lot of second parts to write, like for example for this one, but i just cant write other stuff when i am having particular ideas in mind, ya feel me? but dont worry, i remember all of the requests and i will write them in the sooner than later future, i promise!
but here comes the mick schumacher's one and i hope that you will enjoy this while waiting for the next parts for other shots, so bon apetit!
summary: when you are in love with your best friend and only alcohol can untie your tongue to reveal your feelings
warnings: reader being drunk, mentions of alcohol usage
pairing: fem!bffreader x mick schumacher
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"Careful, watch out."
The tipsy giggles intensified as Mick steadied his friend's waist a bit more securely while they exited the elevator on the correct floor.
The girl struggled to maintain her balance, and despite being upset when her friends ordered transportation to the hotel for her, she was delighted when Mick turned out to be her ride.
"We're almost there, you're doing great," he reassured her.
Occasionally, he glanced at her, wanting to ensure that the alcohol wasn't taking a negative toll on her. She, however, was in great spirits, giggling and being very talkative.
"When they told me to go back to the hotel because 'I've had enough,'-" she mocked one of her friends, hiccuping, "at first, I got mad. But when I saw it was you who came for me, you have no idea how happy I was to see you!"
She stopped and embraced him, hugging tightly. Mick chuckled softly and reciprocated the hug. He knew he was in for a rather amusing evening with his friend, whom he had no intention of leaving in such a state, even though he could see that she had indulged in one of those harmless ways that shouldn't lead to any harm. Nevertheless, he wanted a clear conscience.
"I'm happy to see you too, liebling."
The girl lifted her head, smiling at his face. Her mascara was slightly smudged, her eyes sparkling, and a wide smile stretched across her rosy lips. Mick returned her smile, looking at her affectionately. She looked charming, staring at him like a painting in the middle of an empty hotel corridor.
"Liebling," she repeated, trying to mimic the German accent, "am I your liebling?"
Schumacher laughed, hearing her feigned accent.
"Of course you are."
She giggled again and hugged him once more. Shortly after, they managed to reach her hotel room. Mick closed the door behind them and seated his friend on the bed. She immediately sank into the soft mattress, feeling everything around her spin. Mick put her purse aside and took off her shoes.
"We'll get you into something more comfortable, okay?"
"Just say you want to undress me."
She joked, giggling. Mick chuckled and shook his head. He was genuinely curious about what interesting things he would learn from his intoxicated friend, with whom he had been friends for many years, and who had never made him feel that there was anything more than friendship between them. However, with alcohol, the girl always became more open, and whenever he was around, she enjoyed his company. Mick decided to play along.
"No, absolutely. After all, we're just friends, right?"
He said, taking off her leather jacket.
"Friends, just friends," the girl sighed heavily, sitting down with difficulty, "of course, as you wish, liebling."
Mick laughed when she again used the term he often called her, this time with an exaggerated German accent that amused him.
"Do you even know what that term means?"
"Liebling?"
"Mhm."
He said, squatting by her suitcase and looking for something for her to change into. As he searched through her clothes, to his surprise, he came across his own T-shirt, which she must have borrowed from him at some point. He smiled to himself. It fit perfectly, being a bit too big for her and, as a result, comfortable.
"Of course, I know."
The girl snorted. Mick stood up and approached her again, holding the T-shirt in his hand.
"So, tell me, and I'll get you changed, okay?"
The girl nodded, a shadow of intense contemplation appearing on her drunken face.
"Liebling," she said again, with the feigned accent, "means darling."
Mick smiled, squatting down and unbuttoning her pants.
"That's right, it means darling."
"I'm your darling?"
She asked, looking at him. He lifted his gaze, and their eyes met. His once amused blue eyes suddenly became serious, and the girl's intoxicated, gleaming eyes also became a bit more serious, too. Nevertheless, a smile still lingered on her face.
"Am i?"
She repeated the question, but Mick couldn't bring himself to utter a word. However, he thought that the next morning, his friend probably wouldn't remember half of the evening, so why worry about what he would say? Even if he revealed his long-hidden feelings to her now, he could gauge her reaction even if it wasn't positive. Everything would return to normal the next morning. He decided to take the risk.
"Of course, you are, liebling."
The girl smiled. Mick returned her smile. He took off her pants and tossed them aside, leaving his friend in just the top and underwear. He stood up and handed her the T-shirt, which she clutched in her hand.
"Can you manage the rest? I don't want you to feel uncomfortable."
"You promised to dress me, so you should keep your word."
She said confidently, looking into his eyes again.
"However you wish."
He replied softly, smiling slightly. He took hold of the bottom of her top and carefully removed it. He tried not to stare; that would be impolite. He grabbed his T-shirt and helped her put it on, tucking her hair behind the collar.
"We'll remove your makeup now, okay?"
The girl nodded and pointed to the bathroom. Mick disappeared for a moment, returning with micellar water and cotton pads. He sat next to his friend, looked at her face, and warmly smiled at her, sweeping her hair from her face and tucking it behind her ears. The girl closed her eyes and nestled into his hand. Mick stroked her cheek with his thumb, looking at her affectionately.
"You have pleasant hands. I like your hands."
He chuckled softly.
"Is there anything else you like about me?"
He asked, after a moment, taking a cotton pad and soaking it with makeup remover. He placed one hand on the back of her head and gently started removing her makeup with the other.
"I really like your eyes," she said after a while, without hesitation, "they're beautiful. Like the sky on a summer afternoon."
Mick smiled, hearing that comparison. With careful movements, he swiped the cotton pad over her cheek.
"I love your smile. And your laughter—whenever you laugh, you brighten everything around you." As she said this, she smiled herself. Mick couldn't hide his own smile.
"God, I think there's nothing about you that I don't like."
"Really?"
He giggled, taking another cotton pad, and he applied it to her eyes.
"Although, no, there's one thing I don't like about you."
"I'm all ears then."
"That you haven't made me Mrs. Schumacher yet."
Mick smiled. For a moment, he worried if he had missed something.
"Would you like to be Mrs. Schumacher?"
"Oh God, yes!"
She replied without hesitation, making him laugh. He set the cotton pads aside and leaned in, examining her face carefully, checking if he had done well in the task entrusted to him—removing her makeup.
The girl bit her lip, watching his face.
"You're doing great. This is the moment when you give me a kiss."
Mick was taken aback by her confidence. Even though, he looked into her eyes and smiled.
"Like this?"
He asked, touching her cheek and kissing her. He felt her smile against his lips, deepening the kiss. Although her lips tasted like alcohol, the kiss was filled with emotions. Not wanting to overdo it, he intended to pull away, but she grabbed his hoodie and pulled him closer.
After a while, they separated, but their foreheads were still pressed against each other.
"You have no idea how much I like you."
Mick confessed quietly.
The girl laughed softly.
"And you're telling me this now, when I'm drunk?"
"You probably won't remember it in the morning," he replied, stroking her cheek, "so I'm not worried that it will change anything between us."
"And you don't want anything to change?"
Mick sighed and lowered his gaze, leaning back a bit. He took her hand in his.
"You're drunk, baby."
"No, not at all."
She replied quickly, but hiccups got the better of her. Mick smiled, stroking her hand with his thumb.
"I'm afraid you won't remember anything from this conversation tomorrow."
"Answer me, Mick," she said, looking into his eyes, which were now avoiding hers, "you don't want anything to change?"
He looked at her. He felt that this joking conversation had taken on a completely serious tone. So, he decided to go all-in.
"I'd like to stop pretending that I only want to be your friend."
The girl smiled.
"So let's stop being just friends."
Mick was about to say something, but she kissed him again. Despite the taste of alcohol from her lips, he also felt the taste of change.
After all, friends don't know how you taste, right?
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cepheustarot · 2 months
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What kind of vibe do you have?
Attention! This reading is for entertainment purposes only. This tarot reading does not give a 100% guarantee that all the describes being ultimate truth. Only you know yourself best.
Paid readings
Pick a pile. Choose one or more pictures. Trust your intuition.
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Pile 1: You’re the vibe of a strong person who’s determined, productive and active, and people see you as a leader who can inspire and lead people, you motivate others by your example. You are one of those who are not standing still and constantly busy with anything, you are constantly in motion, around you are always a stormy activity. Along with this comes the vibe of a person of cool head and rational thinking, you know a lot and have a lot of experience behind you, people see you as a wise person, they see you as someone who gives the right advice and can always help. To some extent you can call a genius of some kind, because you will definitely find a way out of any situation, find a solution to any problem. Also you are very curious by nature, love to learn everything new, you literally absorb knowledge (I would also suggest that you’re very interested in sociology, psychology and the like, you’re one of those people who likes to study human behavior, society on the sociological side, human interaction and all that sort of stuff). I also want to note that if you are very interested in a topic or question, then you will definitely find the answer, no matter which way, but you will achieve your goal.
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Pile 2: From you comes the vibe of a person prone to melancholy, you can constantly be seen in a brooding state, you seem a little detached from the reality around you and you are immersed in yourself, in your inner world, constantly thinking about something personal, something only you understand. You’re just as hesitant by nature, you’re hard-pressed to make choices, because you weigh decisions everything carefully, consider every option from the outside, and you find pros and cons in every option, you think a lot about the consequences, what your decision will lead to in the future. You have the whole vibe of a person who has a tendency to analyze a lot, not only about yourself, but also about others, you think a lot about the actions of others and as if looking for a catch in their actions. Also, you have an inner linchpin and in stressful situations you become a person who remove his emotions for a while and faces the problem, successfully solving it. You may think a lot about problems, but you never dive into them, you are able to control your thoughts and actions. In other words, you never let problems get you unsettle. You are a pretty determined and hard man who will handle any obstacle. 
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Pile 3: You have the vibe of a person who is easy-going, you are easily interested in something and you are curious about many things, you can say that you have tried a lot in your life and you always have something to tell others, to share your history and experience in one or another field. Perhaps because you have tried a lot, you do not know what one to do in life, what particular area to choose, as you are attracted to everything. With this you have a vibe of an ambitious person, you most often follow the case to the end, most likely you have a lot of plans for life and you are the ones who think of any little things and details. People see you as a cheerful, friendly person, you always cheer others up and leave good memories, you have a good sense of humor and are able to conduct a dialogue so that everyone will be interested, including you. Partly,  you have the vibe of a somewhat naive person who often head in the clouds and build castles in the air. You also stand up your end and if you want something very much, you will certainly achieve, you do not care if people do not support your decisions, because it is only your life and you decide what it will be. 
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wandanatsgf · 1 month
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While You Were Sleeping
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Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Reader
Word Count: 6.3k
Summary: You work for the transit authority as an attendant in NYC where you see glimpses of Natasha everyday as she waits for the subway. You slowly gain a crush on the woman and fantasize about crazy things like marrying her or being in love with her, but you know realistically that would never happen. It’s just a way for you to pass the time. One day while waiting for the subway Natasha is mugged and left unconscious, which leads to a case of mistaken identity at the hospital where they assume that you are Natasha’s fiancée. You become caught up in everything and become too scared to tell the truth. Pretty soon you're hanging out with Natasha's family, but the longer you hang out with them, the more you fall in love with them, and especially one person in particular. 
Author's note: This is basically just the Sandra Bullock movie While You Were Sleeping, but with Natasha as Peter and Wanda as Jack. I made a couple of changes to speed things up and make it my own but the plot is pretty much the same.
Today was Christmas Day, a joyous time for everyone. New York was beautiful this time of year. Bells were ringing, snow was falling, and lights were glistening all around, but it’s not like you would get to see much of it because of your job as a transit worker. That is where you currently are, stuck behind a booth.
You sit behind the same booth day in and day out, giving out tickets and occasionally helping people with directions. You’re unable to see anything but the subway until you leave. It’s a very monotonous job, but it pays the bills, and you can’t complain about that.
Even your home life is rather boring. You live in a tiny, slightly run down apartment building, but at least the super is nice. You can’t say the same for his son, Leo, though, who hits on you every chance he gets. You take it though because you won’t be able to find an apartment this cheap anywhere else.
The only thing that makes your day better is her. She enters the subway station everyday at 8am to wait for the 8:15 train and then she comes back on the 5:15 train. Sometimes she stops to talk to you for a few minutes, and it always makes your day. So far you’ve learned that her name is Natasha, she works in finance, and judging by the gold ring on her finger, she’s engaged. But that doesn’t stop you from dreaming about her. It’s not like your little crush would ever lead to anything anyway.
She always has her red hair in a fashionable updo and her clothes are the latest styles. You can tell by the gold Rolex on her wrist and the tone of her voice that she is someone important, someone with money.
You like to imagine that it’s you she’s talking to in that stern voice whenever she's on the phone, you she goes home to in her, what you assume to be, lavish apartment. But you know that idea is just a fantasy that you use to escape your boring life, and you’re okay with that. It still doesn’t stop you from admiring her though.
“The things you’d give just to lay under her,” you think to yourself. The thought makes you blush and turn your head away from the redhead who is standing just a few feet away from you near the edge of the subway platform. 
You suddenly hear a scream and see two people running away with what looks like Natasha’s purse, but you don’t see Natasha. People start to crowd around the platform, looking over the edge at something. You run out of the booth you had been sitting in and you peer over the edge of the platform and there you see Natasha, lying motionless. Without thinking, you climb down onto the tracks next to her.
“Natasha,” you say, trying to coax her awake. “Come on, wake up," you say trying to wake her. A loud horn startles you, causing you to look up. A train is coming right for the two of you. You try to pull her off the tracks, but you’re too weak, so you do the only thing you can think of to do. You climb on top of her, wrapping your arms around her. You roll the two of you out of the way just in time, landing on the shoulder of the rails.
Your heart is beating fast as you check the two of you over, making sure the both of you are okay. Natasha still hasn't woken up, she must have a concussion or some sort of brain injury, you realize. With the help of some other civilians, you're able to get the both of you to safety. Pretty soon, the two of you are in your respective ambulances on the way to the hospital.
You're checked over pretty quickly and discharged. The only injury you had were a couple of scrapes, luckily. As you're being discharged, you ask the nurse about Natasha, but she says that she can't tell you anything.
"Ok thanks anyway," you say turning to leave.
"I was going to marry her," you say under your breath to yourself, referencing you silly little fantasies. You start to walk out the door when the nurse calls you back.
"If that's the case I can take you right to her," the nurse tells you. You don't have the heart to correct her and you're too embarrassed to say anything. You're not even sure why you said that out loud, but you did, and you're thankful because now you can check on Natasha.
She's laying in the hospital bed. She has a cut on her forehead and all sorts of wires and machines hooked up to her. You sit down in a chair next to her, telling her that everything will be alright, but you're not even sure that she can hear you. You continue talking to her until you hear a loud ruckus in the hallway that then enters the room.
In walks an older, tall bearded man, a shorter brunette haired woman, and another blonde haired woman, who looks to be close to your age. They all file into the room with the doctor and the nurse from earlier right behind them.
"What's going on, what happened?" the man asks at the same time as his wife asks, "What's wrong with my baby?"
"I'm sorry but you daughter is in a coma," the doctor says. All three of these strangers faces crumble. "She'll pull through. She's healthy, her brain waves are good," the doctor adds.
"Brain waves?" the blonde girl says, mostly to herself, you think.
This is when you try to make your escape. You try to leave the room unnoticed while everyone is talking, when the doctor brings the attention onto you.
"Your daughter was pushed off of the subway platform, but this girl right here saved her," the doctor says, shoving you forward.
"I'm sorry, who are you?" Natasha's father asks.
"Her fiancée," the nurse standing next to him says before you can explain. Suddenly the room is in an uproar with everyone talking over one another. You try to interject and explain that this is all just a big misunderstanding, but it's no use, so you just give in.
"Fiancée?" everyone questions.
"I didn't know Natasha has a fiancée," you hear someone say. "When did she leave Maria?" another person asks.
"I guess it makes sense that we don't know these things. We haven't really talked to Natasha in two years," the mother says. Everyone accepts this answer, and for that you are grateful.
You are about to try and leave again when someone starts speaking to you. "Thank you for saving our Natasha," Natasha's father says. He embraces you and it's then that you know that you can't tell this kind family the truth, at least not yet. You let him embrace you and then the rest of the family joins the hug.
"Natasha won't be up for a while, why don't the four of you go get something to eat and then come back," the doctor suggests. Before you can even answer you are being pulled along by the family and led to the cafeteria, where they buy you some dinner.
"It's the least we could do," they say, which just makes you feel guiltier.
"So how did you and Natasha meet?" Natasha's mother, who you now know is named Melina, asks.
"We met at my job, I work at the subway as an attendant. She always takes the subway and one day we just got to talking and really hit it off," you tell them. You know the more you lie the more dangerous webs you spin, but you can't tell this family the truth now.
"What first caught your eye about her?" Yelena, who you now know is Natasha's sister, asks.
"Her smile, it's truly beautiful," you say, answering honestly.
"They're caps, 600 bucks a tooth," Alexei says under his breath, laughing to himself. You can't stop yourself from laughing too.
The more time you spend with this family, the more you fall in love with them. They're bright, cheery, and just so much fun to be around. You can tell that they truly love each other. At the same time, it makes you long for your family who is now long gone. Your mother died when you were a baby and your father a year ago, leaving you all alone. It's nice not to be alone again, and you don't want to let go of this feeling, at least not yet.
The four of you check on Natasha one last time before everyone decides to go their separate ways for the night.
"Dear," Melina says before you leave. ""Come celebrate Christmas with us tomorrow. I know tomorrow isn't Christmas but with everything that's happened today we didn't get to celebrate and we'd love to have you over."
"I'd love to celebrate with you," you tell her.
"Oh and Wanda will be there too! You haven't met her yet but I'm sure she'll love you," Yelena adds. She gives you her family's address and a hug before you walk out of the hospital and go home for the night.
The next day you are up bright and early, excited about seeing people and getting to be apart of a family, if only for a little while. You get dressed in a nice sweater and jeans and pretty soon you are standing at the Romanoff's door. You knock and a beautiful girl with auburn hair answers the door.
"Hi, who are you?" the girl asks.
"Y/n, who are you?"
"Oh you must be Natasha's fiancée. I'm Wanda, her adopted sister."
"It's nice to meet you," you say.
"It's nice to meet you too darling," Wanda tells you. The nickname sends a blush to your cheek, but you're not sure why. Wanda lets you into the house and you're quickly enveloped in a hug by the family.
"Y/n we're so glad you could make it," Melina says.
"Thank you for inviting me," you tell her. "And here's this," you tell her, handing her a cake you had purchased for them on your way home last night.
"Thank you hon this smells delicious." Melina goes and sets the cake on the counter and then everyone sits around the couch and Yelena and Wanda start to show you baby pictures of Natasha.
"This one is from when she saved a squirrel," Yelena says. "And this one is from when she won a spelling bee."
"She won a lot of those," Wanda adds, making you laugh.
The three of you look at Natasha's pictures for quite some time, but the whole time you can't take your eyes off of the girl sitting next to you. There's something about Wanda that is just magnetic, but maybe that's just a family trait, you assume.
"Family picture," Alexei yells out.
The four of them crowd around the tree and you stay seated, not wanting to ruin this moment.
"Y/n get up here," Melina tells you.
"Are you sure?" you ask, not wanting to join the photo and ruin it.
"Of course I'm sure, you're family now." Melina pulls you into the photo, having you stand next to Wanda.
"Say cheese," Alexei says, holding the camera out in order to capture everyone.
"Cheese," everyone says in unison.
"That's an amazing picture. That's going on the wall." Alexei passes the camera around and everyone agrees. When the camera gets to you, however, the picture knocks the wind out of you. You hadn't seen yourself look that happy in a long time. You're smiling and it's a genuine smile, not the smile you give to the strangers at work, but an actual smile. You looked like you belonged in this family, even if you really didn't.
The next thing the family does is presents, which you did not come prepared for.
"I'm sorry I didn't get you anything," you tell the family.
"Your presence is enough dear. You've brought this family closer and we could never thank you enough for that," Melina tells you, making you tear up.
"We did get you something though," Yelena tells you after everyone has opened their gifts. Yelena hands you a beautifully wrapped package and inside is the most beautiful jacket you have ever seen. It's burgundy with a black fur trim. It's exactly your size and style and everything.
"It's perfect you guys. Thank you," you say, tears falling from your eyes.
"You don't need to thank us, you're family now," Wanda says.
The night goes by too fast for your liking, and before you know it, it's time for you to go home.
"You can't go home in that weather y/n," Yelena says. You know she's right, it's practically a blizzard out there, but you feel like you've taken enough of their kindness for granted.
"I should go home."
"That's nonsense," Melina says. "You can stay in the guest bedroom."
"Ok," you say quickly agreeing, not wanting to truly walk out of this home, and this family's life forever. Wanda shows you to the guest room and shows you where everything is.
"Let me know if you need anything honey," she tells you before walking off. The nickname once again causing you to blush.
You quickly settle into the room, but you have trouble falling asleep. It's like no matter what you do, you just can't sleep. You get up and out of bed, deciding to go get a glass of water. You pull a glass out of the cabinet and you start filling it up when you hear some noise behind you. You turn around to see Wanda.
"What are you doing up?" she asks.
"I couldn't sleep. You?"
"I couldn't sleep either."
The two of you stand their in silence for a while, neither sure what to say to the other, until Wanda finally breaks the silence.
"So how long have you and Nat been together?"
"About a year," you say, hoping that that is an acceptable answer. A low hmm is the only response that you get. You’re not sure what it means, but you try not to think too much into it.
“What do you do for work?” You ask the auburn haired girl, trying to fill the awkward silence.
“I’m an antiques dealer. I work for the family business.”
“That’s pretty cool.”
“It’s really not.” You can’t contain your laughter when she says this.
“Yeah it’s not but I think that’s still an interesting fact about you.”
“So what made you choose the transit authority?” Wanda asks you.
“Well a couple years ago my dad got sick. His bills were expensive and I just got the first job I could find. And then he died and here I am years later,” you explain. You don’t know it yet, but Wanda’s heart melts a little bit at this explanation, at how caring you are.
“I think that was very selfless of you.”
“Thank you Wanda.” Yet again a blush finds it’s way to your cheeks around this woman.
“So are you dating anyone?” You ask Wanda. You’re not quite sure why you asked her that. She thinks you’re with Natasha, but still a little selfish part of you wants to know.
“No I’m not. I’m single,” Wanda says, trying to slyly eye you up and down, but you catch her, which makes her cheeks pink. It’s a nice change of pace, being able to make her blush instead of the other way around. Wanda knows eyeing up her sisters fiancée is wrong, but it's harmless. It's not like she's going to act on her feelings.
Wanda looks away from you and moves to set her glass in the sink. She goes to walk away, when she turns around.
“Goodnight,” she says. She walks up to you, placing a light kiss on your cheek before making her way upstairs to her room.
“Goodnight,” you say back, not sure what else to say. You gently touch the place where her lips had met your skin and it brings a smile to your face.
After a while you decide to go to bed. You bring your glass of water with you and when you get to your room you set it on the nightstand. You climb into bed and drift off and as you dream, you dream of the beautiful auburn haired woman who is sleeping just a few doors down from you.
The next morning you have to work, so while the rest of the family is eating breakfast, you’re on your way out the door.
“We can’t wait to see you again,” Melina tells you while hugging you goodbye.
“I know we need to get together soon,” you tell her.
“We will,” she assures you. Alexei hugs you next, and wishes you well on your day.
After him the next person to hug you bye is Yelena, who promises that the next time you see her she will tell you plenty of embarrassing stories about Natasha, which you look forward to.
And then finally it is Wanda. “I’ll see you around,” you tell her, not quite sure what to say to her after last night.
“Yeah see you around,” she says back. She hugs you and you hug her back, neither one of you truly wanting to break off the hug, but you know that you have to.
You pull back from her and walk out the door, trying to ignore the strange feeling in your chest. You know what you’re doing is wrong, lying to this family. But it feels so nice to be apart of a family again, you don’t want to give it up. You decide to push these feelings down and make your out of the house.
Since you have a bit of time left before you have to go to work, you decide to go see Natasha. The drive to the hospital is quick and before you know it you're sitting beside Natasha, talking to her comatose body.
"Hi Natasha. I don't know if you can hear me, but I really hope you can. I'm the subway worker who saved you, I'm not sure if you remember me, but I hope you do. There's been a bit of a mix-up and everyone thinks I'm your fiancée. I've tried to explain but everything has just snowballed and I don't know what to do," you say. "I'm so sorry for what I'm doing. I hope when you wake up you can forgive me," you say. You go to stand up and leave, when a woman walks into the room.
"Are you Natasha Romanoff's fiancée?" The blonde woman asks. You assume she's a cop based off of the way she's dressed.
"Yes I am."
"I wanted to make sure her family got this," the woman says, handing you a small evidence bag that contains her wallet and keys, the two things the thieves didn't steal because they weren't in her purse.
"Thank you," you say to the woman, but you feel wrong for thanking her. You feel no better than the muggers who hurt Natasha. Because that's what you're doing, you're hurting Natasha and you're hurting her family with your lies that grow bigger and bigger everyday. But you can't tell the truth now, you don't want to lose them.
After the interaction with the cop you tell Natasha goodbye and you’re on your way to work. Your shift goes pretty smoothly, but the anxiety that has plagued you ever since this Natasha mess started doesn't go away, so you just try to ignore it. Pretty soon your shift is over and you're out the door.
Unbeknownst to you however, while you’re on your way home Wanda pays your apartment building a little visit, hoping to see you after your shift.
“Hi, do you live here? I’m looking for y/n y/l/n, this is her building right?” she asks a man who is outside working on his car.
“Yeah this is her building. I’m Leo the owner of this place,” he says, smacking the gum he has been chewing. If you had been there, you could've told Wanda that Leo was lying, that he's just the super's son, but you're not so she doesn't know.
Leo eyes Wanda up and down. The action gives her major creep vibes, but she stays rooted in her spot, determined to not let him know how he is affecting her.
“I was looking for y/n,” she explains. “I was just wondering if she’s here right now,” Wanda says, trying to keep her conversation with this man short and light.
“What do you need with my girl?” The sentence takes Wanda aback. What does he mean his girl?
“I’m sorry?”
“What do you want with my girlfriend?”
“I didn’t know she was your girlfriend.”
“Well she is, even if she told you differently,” the man says defensively. This sends alarms ringing in Wanda’s head. And it is at this time that you walk up to the building.
“Hi Wanda,” you cheerfully greet her. “Leo,” you say, unable to keep the disdain from your voice. “What’re you doing here?”
“I just wanted to see you and make sure you’re okay.”
“Well that’s very sweet of you. Why don’t you come on up?” Wanda smiles and shakes her head yes, letting you lead her into the building and into your apartment.
“So Leo is,” Wanda says, the end of her sentence trailing off because she’s not sure what to say.
“Yeah he’s weird, crazy, whatever you want to call him,” you supply.
“Yeah that,” she laughs. “He said you were his girlfriend.”
“He always tells people that.” You roll your eyes, annoyed at Leo for lying to Wanda. “I’ve turned him down like a million times but he never listens, but he’s pretty harmless.”
“I’m glad he’s harmless at least.” You nod in agreement.
“So how are you holding up?” Wanda asks, referencing Natasha. The sympathy in her voice almost makes you want to tell her the truth about everything.
“I’m alright,” you say instead. “I’m keeping busy.”
“That's good, you know my family and I are here for you. Whatever you need y/n/n, you just have to ask." Wanda's response brings a smile to your face.
"Thank you Wanda," you say enveloping her in a hug. She wraps her arms around you and you melt into her. The two of you only breakaway when Natasha's keys, that you had forgotten about until now, softly poke Wanda.
"What's that?" Wanda asks. She knows they're not your keys in your pocket because you had placed yours in a dish by the door.
"Oh they're Nat's keys. A cop gave them to me earlier at the hospital."
"Have you been over to her place since?" Wanda travels off, not wanting to truly mention Natasha's accident.
"No, not yet." You softly shake your head.
"We could go now, it might be helpful," Wanda suggests. You know you should say no. This is an invasion of Natasha's privacy, but your curiosity and desire to be with Wanda win so you say yes.
The drive there is pleasant, the two of you converse for a while before Wanda pulls into the parking garage. The two of you get out of her car and you walk into the building, letting Wanda lead the way since you have no idea were you're going.
"So how often have you been here?" Wanda asks as the both of you ride up the elevator.
"Oh just once or twice," you say, hoping to cover up the truth. A soft hmm is the only response that you get. You pray that Wanda isn't on to you. Wanda leads the way to Natasha's apartment and you unlock the door with Natasha's keys after a bit of difficulty.
Wanda eyes you suspiciously while you wrestle with the keys. You've been here once or twice, shouldn't you know which way the key goes? Maybe you're just stressed, Wanda tells herself. It would make sense because Wanda certainly is.
The two of you walk into Natasha's apartment and you stare at everything starstruck. This place is so much nicer than you could have imagined.
"Wow," you say under your breath.
"You're looking a bit starstruck y/n, you're acting like you've never been here." Wanda laughs and you laugh with her, trying not to let her on to the fact that this is in fact your first time here.
"It's just every time I come here it just gets more beautiful I feel like," you say, hoping that's a logical excuse.
"Yeah I guess it is pretty nice. I prefer something a bit more homey."
"This place is missing a bit of a personal touch," you say, agreeing with what Wanda said about Natasha's lack of homey vibes. "It's very Natasha though."
"Yes very," Wanda says, agreeing with you this time." You're about to say something else when Wanda's phone starts to ring.
"Hello," she says into the receiver. "What, really? Ok we're on our way," she says before hanging up.
"Nat's awake," she says. There is excitement written all over Wanda's face, which you try to reciprocate, but on the inside all you feel is dread. You know in a few minutes everyone will know that you're a liar and you'll lose this family that you have created.
"Come on let's go," Wanda say. "And grab Nat's car keys, I wanna take her car." You do as Wanda says and the two of you make your way to the parking garage.
You walk in the direction that you hope Natasha's car is in, praying you don't look lost.
"You know which one is Natasha's car right? You where it's parked don't you?"
"Of course I do," you say, totally bluffing. You hit the lock button on the key fob, waiting to see which car's horn goes off. As luck would have it, the black corvette stingray in front of you goes off.
You slide into the drivers side while Wanda sits next to you on the passenger side. The whole way there all you can think about is how you hopefully just passed whatever sort of test Wanda was just putting you through. You think you passed, because Wanda doesn't ask you anymore questions. Before you know it you're at the hospital freaking out over seeing Natasha.
"I don't know if I can do this," you mutter. You can feel yourself starting to freak out, your anxiety climbing higher and higher.
"Of course you can," Wanda says. "It's just Natasha." Wanda places a comforting hand on your shoulder. Unfortunately her words do not help, but her actions do.
"Thanks Wanda."
"Anytime y/n." The two of you walk to Natasha's room and soon you're face to face with the woman you have had a crush on for a while. She's laying in bed, looking rather worse for wear.
"Hey Nat, look who's here," Wanda says.
"I'm sorry who's that?" Natasha asks, sitting up.
"Your fiancée, don't you recognize her?"
"I'm sorry I don't," Natasha says. It makes sense to you because of course she doesn't recognize you, but Natasha's words make Wanda run for the doctor.
"Stay with her, I'll be back," Wanda says.
"So how long have we been together?" Natasha asks once it's just the two of you.
"A year," you say, telling her the lie you've been telling everyone else.
"Oh," is the only thing Natasha says.
"Yeah," you say, even though you have no idea what that oh means. Pretty soon the doctor and Wanda walk back in, bringing a sense of relief to you.
"Natasha what's the last thing you remember?" The doctor asks as he walks in.
"Umm," Natasha says, really trying to think on her answer.
"I think breaking up with Maria."
"Ok," the doctor says.
"And what month and year is it?"
"January 1994." That answer shocks everyone in the room because while it is currently January, the year is 1995, not 1994.
"I'm sorry Natasha, but you seem to be missing a year of memories," the doctor says before he slips out.
"I guess it makes sense why she doesn't remember you now," Wanda says.
The only thing you can think of when you hear this is how great everything has worked out for you. You're grateful that you can stay in this family just a little bit longer, but then your conscious weighs you down. You're about to spill the beans when Natasha starts to talk again.
"So I don't remember my fiancée," Natasha says to herself. "Well that's pretty shitty."
"You can always make some new memories with her Nat. Maybe this could be a blessing in disguise, you can fall in love with her all over again," Wanda says, trying to cheer Natasha up.
"Yeah maybe it can be a blessing," Natasha says. she grabs your hand, holding it, while looking in your eyes. It makes you smile, but she doesn't make you feel giddy like she used to when you'd interact with her. Instead all you feel is guilt and love, but not for her, but for her sister you realize.
You try to keep a brave face on the whole time, trying not to break down and spill the truth, but you're too far in now and you know it.
As time passes by the rest of the Romanoff family filters into the room. It's nice being surrounded by all of them, it brings you a sense of comfort, even if it is all based on lies.
"So what are you going to do about the engagement?" Yelena asks out of nowhere. "What?" she asks after noticing the stares she's getting. "I know we were all thinking it."
"I don't know," Natasha says. "Maybe we can start over?" she suggests.
"I'd like that Nat."
"Hi, I'm Natasha," she says, holding out her hand.
"I'm y/n, it's nice to meet you."
"It's nice to meet you too," you say shaking her extended hand.
"I'm sorry to interrupt," the doctor says, slipping into the room. "But Natasha, you can go home tonight. All for your tests cam back clear, except for the amnesia, but that should go away on it's own."
"Oh my god this is great news honey," Melina says. Everyone starts to celebrate and the excitement starts to wear off on you too.
"Wait where am I going to stay?" Natasha asks.
"You've got an apartment sweetie," Alexei says. "But if you don't want to be alone one of us can stay with you."
"Can y/n stay with me?" Natasha asks shyly, it's the complete opposite of the way you hear her talk in the subway.
"I can stay if you want."
"I do," she says.
"Ok that's settled then," Melina says.
After another hour Natasha is checked out and packed up and the two of you and Wanda who you need to drop off, are sitting in her stingray, you driving.
"Do you really not remember the last year Nat?" Wanda asks.
"No, I don't think so. I remember proposing to Maria, being rejected and then nothing. But clearly something happened from now to then and pretty quickly because I've got y/n and a pretty ring on my finger." You don't say anything, feeling too guilty.
Soon you're pulling into the parking garage of Natasha's building, letting Wanda out so she can walk to her car.
"Bye Nat, by y/n," she says.
"Bye Wanda," you say softly. You're sad to be watching her leave. You wish you were going with her, but you're here with Natasha.
You help Natasha into her house, making sure she's comfortable in bed, before you go to leave, but Natasha drags you back down.
"Don't go, please," she begs.
"Okay," you say, giving in easily. You climb into bed beside her, allowing her to cuddle into your side.
"Goodnight Nat."
"Goodnight y/n."
Over the course of the next few days, you spend all of your time with either Natasha or her family. The two of you spend your days getting closer and closer.
You try to ignore the nagging in the back of your head, your feelings for Wanda, the way your heart feels with the Romanoff family, but it gets harder everyday. You don't want to lose the Romanoff family and their love.
"I'm going to the store," you tell Natasha, just needing to get away and be with your own thoughts.
"Okay, hurry back baby." She leaves a soft kiss on your lips before you walk out the door. The affection brings your guilt rearing back up, urging you to tell the truth.
The trip to the store does wonders for you, and by the time you get back to Natasha's apartment, you decide that you're going to tell her the truth. Except when you get there, there's Natasha, sitting at her dining room table. A white cloth covers the table and rose petals lead from the door to your chair.
Natasha stands up and walks over to you, grabbing your hands and leading you to the table.
"Y/n, I know I barely remember you," she says as she sinks down to one knee. She pulls out a ring box, making you gasp. "But I know that I love you. I know that you mean everything to me and I don't want to lose you. Will you marry me?"
"Yes," you say, completely forgetting about your plans on telling the truth. You get caught up in the excitement.
"I want to marry you as soon as possible," Natasha says as she slips the ring on your finger.
"Okay whatever you want," you say, too happy to truly acknowledge her words right now, to truly soak in what she's saying.
"How about tomorrow? The courthouse?"
"That sounds perfect," you say, but on the inside you can think of a million reasons on why you should put a stop to this, but you don't because of your own guilty conscious.
That night Natasha makes all of the arrangements. She calls her family and some caterers for a small reception at her parents house. Pretty soon everything is in place, the only thing that's left is for the two of you to walk down the aisle tomorrow.
Tomorrow comes quickly and everything is a blur. Before you know it you're in the courtroom bathroom, Wanda putting the final touches on your makeup.
"Can you give me a reason not to marry her Wanda, anything at all?" you beg, breaking the heavy silence that had been between you two. Wanda looks away from you, saying nothing, bringing tears to your eyes. "Okay," you say before you brush past her. Your long, white dress, that you borrowed from Natasha's closet, scrapes against her side but you ignore it. You walk out of the room, ignoring Wanda and ignoring your now broken heart.
You quickly dry your eyes and meet Natasha outside the bathroom, the two of you walking hand in hand to the courtroom.
Her family, including Wanda, gather around the two of you. A few of Natasha's friends, who you had met throughout the past few weeks, are also there, you notice. There's about 15 people crowding around you. This is never how you thought this day would go, but you can't complain.
"Do you Natasha Romanoff take y/n y/l/n to be your wife?" the judge asks.
Before Natasha can answer the door to the room bursts open and an angry looking woman storms inside.
"Stop the wedding," she screams out.
"What?" you can hear people around you scream in confusion.
"What is this?" Natasha asks.
"This is me stopping your wedding. You're engaged to me Nat, remember me," the woman pleads.
"I remember. You came back to me, you said yes," you hear Natasha say after moments of silence. It looks like seeing Maria brought her memories back.
Suddenly the room erupts into chaos and you use it as your chance to escape, too ashamed to admit the truth to the Romanoff family.
The next couple of days you spend in solitude, ignoring anyone who knocks on your door. You hide out in your apartment, surviving off of delivery food, until you finally have to go back to work.
The walk to work is miserable. You have nothing to look forward to and to top everything off you've practically ruined your own life with your lies, but it's what you deserve. At least you think so.
You enter the subway station and slip into your booth, shrugging on your bright blue vest. You spend the day on autopilot, taking tokens and giving tickets, barely acknowledging the people you're helping.
A woman steps up to your booth and she drops her token into the token slot, but when you go to grab it, you realize it's not a token at all. It's an engagement ring. You look up and you see Wanda and her family, minus Natasha, the people you thought you would never see again. They're all smiling at you, looking at you with so much hope in their eyes. Wanda walks around to the entrance to your booth and you let her in. She drops down to one knee before she begins to speak.
"Y/n, over the past couple of weeks, I have gotten to know you, we have gotten to know you," Wanda says, gesturing to her family outside the booth. "And the more I think about it, the more I realize that I can't live without you. The past couple of days without you have been torture and I don't want to be without you anymore. I love you and I'm sorry it took me so long to say it. Will you marry me?"
Outside the booth you hear Melina and Alexei arguing about whether or not you'll say yes, while Yelena is chanting "say yes" over and over again. They bring a smile to your face. You don't want to live without them, and you certainly don't want to live without Wanda.
"Yes I'll marry you," you say, giddiness lacing your voice. Wanda stands up and kisses you, her hands cupping your face and it's the most perfect kiss you've ever had. It's full of passion and love. It's everything you ever thought it would be.
"I love you Wanda."
"I love you too y/n."
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WIBTA for taking my elderly, aggressive cat to a groomer?
My childhood cat is M16 going on 17. I lived with him for 13-14 years, and he’s always been very elegant and pretty. Growing up, he was meticulous about grooming to the point where it became a family in-joke that he was a movie star or a model or something in a past life. But he’s getting older now, and he had a particularly hard summer—in addition to slowly going blind, he escaped the house one night and no one could find him till the next morning, and which point he’d clearly been hit by a car or attacked by an animal. He had a broken leg and was slowly suffocating due to a hole in his lung, but somehow the old bastard pulled through and recovered surprisingly quickly (the vet clinic cheered when my parents gave them the update, it was so sweet).
While I’m beyond grateful that he’s still with us, when I came home for the holidays this year I noticed that he’s looking pretty rough. I keep seeing clumps of dirt (or whatever it is he’s getting into, at one point I swear it was chocolate despite my family NEVER leaving anything like that out where the cats can get into it) in his fur that he’ll just leave there. His back claws in particular look like they’re caked in mystery gunk. I don’t think he’s being neglected or anything, but between the blindness and all the crap he went through with his leg I don’t think he’s been able to keep up and groom himself as thoroughly as he used to. It looks really uncomfortable, especially considering how persnickety he was about keeping clean in the past.
I definitely don’t have the expertise to properly groom him myself, and given how old he is + his recent injury I don’t feel comfortable learning through youtube university and potentially hurting him. Problem is, he’s kind of a monster. He was half feral when we got him, and it shows. He’s sweet most of the time, but can get overstimulated with little warning and tends to bite or scratch when that happens. I don’t think he’s ever bitten anyone outside of the family, but he still makes the vet + vet techs’ lives a living hell when we take him for a checkup unless we drug him first. Even when we DO drug him, if he gets pissed enough he’ll sometimes fight through it and struggle and yowl as if he was 100% lucid. Old age has done nothing to temper this, when he got injured this summer he fought so hard at the clinic that they had to knock him all the way out just to get an x-ray.
It feels negligent to just let him be filthy now that I’ve noticed it, but I also don’t want to put an elderly animal AND an innocent groomer through an unnecessary amount of stress just because I think his paws look icky. *I* think he would be more comfortable if he was nice and clean, but he seems happy and perky so it’s very possible he doesn’t even care. I’ve never taken an animal to a groomer before and I have no idea what the etiquette is.
If tumblr doesn’t think it would be too bad, I’ll bring the idea of getting him professionally groomed up with my parents. If y’all think I’d be an asshole for putting him + a groomer through that, I’ll back off and let him live his best pigpen life.
Pet tax (blind old man in his “thank you for surviving” gift, a brand new heated bed):
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What are these acronyms?
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