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sophiethewitch1 · 5 months

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What We Want - Prologue

In Which A Romantic Breaks The Universe

(Yandere!batboys x f!reader) 18+ MDNI!

SUMMARY

Another lonely birthday, another empty year. You miss your family. You're late for your bills and rent, and even then, you got robbed last Tuesday.

Still, you buy yourself a cupcake, because you need it. I mean, hey. What's dessert for if not to get over cheating boyfriends and dead relatives?

As you blow out the candle, watching the clock switch from 11:59 pm to midnight of the next day, you make a wish.

And because the world doesn't like to make much sense, it comes true. Your life is suddenly flipped on a dime, and you're stuck trying to catch up with it. Fantasy becomes reality. You're a Wayne now, apparently. Or you used to be. You're loved, you're rich, you're talented and powerful.

Well, sort of. Careful what you wish for, right?

(TRIGGER WARNINGS AND MASTERLIST HERE)

PREV - NEXT

The cupcake is smashed. Pink icing and gaudy star-shaped sprinkles coat the interior of the box, and the pastry itself has devolved into crumbs. You just stare at it. It had cost you seventeen dollars. It was expensive, yeah. But you’d spent the last three months walking past it every morning and afternoon in the bougie cafe’s windows. You’d waited. You’d wanted.

And it was destroyed. Completely. The perfect swirl of the buttercream was no more. The single, delicate flower made of frosting had lost half it’s petals. You weren’t sure how you could eat it. The wrapping had been warped, but maybe a tea spoon would work?

You let your head fall into your hands, a sob wracking your shoulders. And then less than a second later you swallow down the feeling, and stride over to your shitty apartment’s tiny kitchen. You grab a lighter, a plastic wine glass and the bottle of white wine Molly had given you earlier today. You hadn’t told her what happened yet, but she could tell something had. She’d gave you the wine, a hug, and the promise to always be by your side.

Despite today’s circumstances, despite this week’s circumstances, despite this decade’s circumstances, you were going to have a good birthday getting black-out drunk.

You weren’t going to let yourself sink into one of your funks. Even if it was the worst day of the year by far. Even if it was the second worst birthday of your life.

You just don’t. It’s not allowed.

Your phone rings. Sliding it out of your pocket, you stare blankly at the name on the screen. Speak of the devil, and he shall appear.

Malcom. One of George’s friends. You reject the call, block the number, and slide your phone back in your pocket. See? Dealing with things like an adult. Not throwing a temper tantrum, not crying, not… well, destroying your life in an epic meltdown. You’d had a few of those. Still, despite your obvious erraticness, you hadn’t been fired this year. Yay!

You told yourself you were getting better, even as the universe seemingly conspired against your happiness. You were kind of convinced it was.

Turning, you play with the cap on the wine, walking over to your old ratty couch and falling into it. The beast groans at the contact, but you pay it no mind. The thing was probably older than you, and you were celebrating your twenty-first today.

You were an orphan in Gotham, it was not your first time drinking. Molly had dragged you to so many awful parties over the years. But this wine was probably the fanciest you’d ever been given. Scratch that, definitely was. You pour yourself a glass, stick the birthday candle half-hazardly into the largest chunk of cupcake, and grab the remote.

The only true comfort you can get on this day. A woman, a reporter. She speaks, but you can’t really hear what she’s saying. You chug down a glass of the wine, apologising in your head to Molly, and then pour yourself another.

It takes a few minutes, but your muscles relax, and her words tune into focus.

“Today’s memorial, is once again sponsored by the Wayne foundation.”

Yeah, because they’re the only charity organisation in the city. The family of billionaires were debatably the only good ones in existance. Debtable because you weren’t sure if they were good enough themselves. As an orphan who’d known the cruelty of the system yourself, you were a mix of bitter and grateful towards them. Sure, they’d been the only thing that kept you out of true poverty. You were still an awful bitch about it.

You always had been the jealous type. The other kids who got better backpacks or toys or whatever had you seething with fury. The multitude of orphans Bruce Wayne risen out of poverty were not safe from your envy. It didn’t matter if you were… Well, a little bit, just a teeny-tiny-tiddly-little bit… obsessed. Obsessed with them. Kind of manic about it, actually.

You were working on it. Today was a bad day, and you were a little too raw. So, like every little dumb animal on the planet, you went straight to your creature comforts. You pretended you were a roman eating and drinking on their chaise lounge, watching their magnificent entertainment.

Delusional. Your sofa was falling apart at the seems, your cupcake was debris and your entertainment was a memorial service. Wine was good, though.

Gotta focus on the good parts.

You watch the TV screen, the reporter’s voice drifting in and out of focus. There was a family photo of the Waynes and their family friends, all in perfect suits and dresses and pearls and fancy watches. You’d bet that those little accessories were worth more than a year of your rent.

And you lived in fucking Gotham, both the most expensive city to live in, and the worst at the same time. A miracle, truly.

Anyway, they were all stunningly beautiful, even some of the guys. God knows how much the internet went on about Richard Grayson’s long eyelashes. You’d always been enamored with Dick’s good looks. Even Damian Wayne who had only turned nineteen a few months ago and was three years younger than you was already being fawned over by the tabloids.

Gotham’s newest young rich bachelor. Bitterly envious, that was you. You didn’t like that emotion, though, so you turned your attention to others. Namely, delusion.

You let yourself get swept up in daydreams. Of having a rich family, of one so close knit as the Wayne’s. Of having a handsome, loving, kind partner. You don’t let yourself dream about your real family, of a George that was faithful.

You just don’t.

Maybe someone like Tim Drake. Loyal, everyone who knew him described him as loyal. His romances with Bernard Dowd and Stephanie Brown were famous. There were hundreds of papparazzi photos of him with big bundles of roses and a sweet look on his face. You thought someone like Tim Drake would probably be like one of the heroes in your romance novels. Something silly like a meet cute in an airport, or maybe a bookstore or a cafe. He was pretty famous in Gotham’s niche hipster coffee scene, right?

Yeah, you could see it now. Some dumb but cute scene where you get confused and accidentally take his order. You get the same drink, and bond over your shared love of caramel syrup. Like he didn’t live on the opposite side of the city from you, and you probably couldn’t afford whatever fancy shit he drunk. Italian coffee beans versus… well, you didn’t actually know what you bought. You knew it didn’t taste very good, but it was dirt cheap.

What were you doing? Ah, yes, silly daydreams about romance.

But even as you think of Tim, Dick Grayson was so pretty, and he’d had his fair share of partners too. Someone with such an angelic face had to have a personality to match, and the media agreed. Of course you didn’t really know what he was like, this was all just fantasy. Other than numerous tabloid interviews and television, which suggested he had a kind heart and a love for bad jokes you truly knew nothing about the guy. Still, he’d be the golden retriever trope, you think. Or the knight in shining armor, saving his heroine from one of the many disaster’s plaguing Gotham and confessing his love in one big final act. His meet cute would be the airplane one. The blue of his eyes, it makes you think of the sky. You’d take his seat, but he’d be super sweet about it. Like he didn’t have a private jet, and would never be caught on economy.

You think Damian Wayne could play a good romance lead as well. From what you’d seen, he seemed to have a terrible personality, which was perfect for any modern romance. A classic enemies to lovers, with some bickering. Maybe he’d have secretly loved her the entire time, and maybe there’d be a good grovel at the end. So, appreciating his character, he’d have to have a meet ugly. Probably get stuck in an elevator with him or something, and he’d get to display his keen intellect and argumentative nature.

You swirl your wine, nodding your head. Brilliant ideas today, you should talk to Molly more. She’d definitely appreciate your wisdom. She wanted to be a screen writer one day, and all this would be very helpful. She was going to college for it. You couldn’t afford college.

Maybe you were drunk. Maybe you were a genius. It was hard to tell, so you take another sip. That’ll help you figure things out.

“As always, the Wayne families’ faces are morose as they celebrate the late Jason Todd.”

And as always, you felt an odd connection with the dead man. Your lives had both technically ended the same day, in the same grand calamity. Sure, you were still technically alive. Kicking about. But everyone you loved dying in one fell swoop, right in front of your eyes? You felt more like a ghost these days.

Weren’t you supposed to be fighting those sorts of thoughts off? Whatever, it was too much effort anyway.

Your slight obsession with the Wayne family had been initially started by Jason Todd. You hadn’t been thinking about him as much recently with George in your life, but he swung right back into place as soon as George left your life. Like a magnet, or more likely, a compulsion.

But now you were brought right back to the morning after. Seeing the entire city grieving the day after you’d lost your family, your first thought had been ‘Good, I’m not the only one,’ and then you’d stopped being an idiot and realised the city was mourning Jason Todd, heir to the Wayne name. Sure, there’d been hundreds of others who’d died, but that was Gotham. Your family had gotten a plaque filled with tens of other forgotten names, Jason had gotten framed photos hung around the city.

Today, his photo was once again surrounded by thousands of bouquets. Peonies, roses, daffodils, lillies, a rainbow of petals that almost covered his memorial stone. It reminded you of your sad-ass cupcake. When the camera zoomed out, you could see your smaller set of poseys against one of the thirty towering monuments, the tiny names crammed into the rock. Your families name was on line fifty-two, near the bottom. You could only afford the flowers once a year, but you visited once a week at least.

There were other flowers. Other offerings. Other candles. Jason’s dwarfed them all.

You sometimes couldn’t tell if you hated the dead man or were hopelessly in love with him. Obviously it didn’t matter. Even when he was alive he was out of both your league and your tax bracket.

Still, you were absolutely certain of it, Jason Todd would beat up George Lancaster. So fucking bad. To a bloody pulp. He’d be eager to do it, as well. You could hum and haw about how you thought violence was bad but he’d see right to the core of you.

The part of you that wanted George Lancaster to suffer. And he’d do it with a kiss and a promise that he’d make it slow. He’d save you from all your monsters, and he’d do it eagerly. And that was the fantasy of it all, wasn’t it?

You lift your glass, in celebration of your dead parasocial imaginary boyfriend. You hoped he wouldn’t be jealous of your new living parasocial imaginary boyfriends. Hiccuping out a laugh, you swallow down another gulp.

And even then, of course you wanted Bruce Wayne as a father. As someone who has seen the worst of the world, and would protect you from it. As someone who would wipe away the tears, who would save you from your own self. And you wanted Cassandra as a sister, someone to groan over guys with and steal clothes off. You wanted the close relationships they shared with Barbara Gordon and Stephanie Brown, with Duke who’d only recently come into their fold. You even wanted their dog you’d seen in photos, the cat that Damian posted on his instagram, the fucking cow they kept for god knows reason inside the estate. You wanted everything, every part of their lives. You were a jealous person, but more than that, you were a greedy person.

You glance at the clock.

11:57.

You shakily open the candle packet, picking a green one out. That had been Sam’s last favourite colour, but he switched them so often it was hard to remember. You stab it into the pink frosting. Julie always chose pink for her cake. Chasey loved flowers, particularly poseys. The flowers had looked like posesys before they’d been crushed.

You light the candle. It’s tiny flame flickers in the dark room, the warm light overpowered by the cool from the television. You peek back over to the clock.

11:58.

And Mum always made her wish at midnight, because she believed that was when it was most likely to come true.

What would you wish for? You never did, because you never knew what you wanted to wish for. Everything you wanted, everything you could’ve wanted, was gone. It couldn’t come back, it was impossible.

11:59.

You look at the TV, at the blinding forms of the Wayne family. Of their graveyard, with the manor in the background. It’s as impossible as everything else. But that’s what they represent for you, isn’t it?

Something hopeful. Something impossible.

You wanted impossible.

12:00.

You lean over the messy cupcake, and blow the candle out. It disappears in one blow, and you sink back into the couch. You take a few crumbs from the cupcake and sneak them past your lips. In your drunkenness, you probably get more on the couch than in your mouth.

You let your eyes flutter shut, and because only you can, you give yourself the comfort of lies. You imagine loving embraces, whispered platitudes. You imagine that today was a good day, that you’d find yourself tomorrow happy. That you wouldn’t wake up with a hangover, that you wouldn’t have a shitty job, an evil ex, and mountains of debt.

That you’d have people who loved you, who could ease the pain.

And you don’t even care who they are.

MASTERLIST - NEXT

#Series:WWW #yandere batfam #yandere dc #yandere batfamily #yandere batfam x reader #yandere x reader #dick grayson x reader #nightwing x reader #jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #tim drake x reader #red robin x reader #damian wayne x reader #robin x reader

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aphrogeneias · 4 months

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1) We’re having a movie night, just like we’ve always done. Your thigh is touching mine, and my thoughts won’t stop wandering.

this screams eddie omg

best friend!eddie munson x fem!reader + we’re having a movie night, just like we’ve always done. your thigh is touching mine, and my thoughts won’t stop wandering.

warnings: a bit of perv!eddie. a tiny bit. mentions of oral sex (fem receiving) and fingering. i kind of went a little off the prompt? oopsies?

Eddie can't pay attention.

He should be. Dustin is going to quiz him about this movie’s entire plot, ask him who his favorite characters were, what he thought of the lore. The boy, a senior now, much to his disbelief, had begged him to go see it after watching it himself.

It's not like he's hard to convince. A noble dwarf sent on a quest to save an innocent child from an evil sorceress. His bread and butter. Extra buttery popcorn, chocolate, you. Right beside him, wearing his jacket, feet tucked under yourself as you lean sideways over him, bare knees touching his denim covered thighs.

You're barely touching, but he can't help but let his eyes travel to your thighs, stretching the skirt you are wearing. The hand he keeps diligently on the arm rest flexes, the other grips his drink harder.

This attraction isn't new — it has been here since you started tutoring him on English at the start of his last senior year, and it remained, ever blossoming, every time you were around him — but his wandering thoughts recently grew a mind of their own.

The film’s dialogue and epic soundtrack are only background to his own private fantasy. Eddie can barely touch the popcorn, barely listen to your commentary, as he thinks of what he'd do if you let him do what he couldn't stop thinking about.

Would you let him touch you? Slide a hand over your thigh, feel your skin under his palm. Would it be as soft as he imagined? Softer, maybe. He thinks about what you would do if you let him squeeze you as he wanted, part your thighs with his rough hands, spread you open.

You're sitting in the back, no one would catch you. Would you be quiet as he kneeled at your feet? Would you be quiet if he asked? He'd ask nicely. You'd be good, he knew you would.

Would you bite your lip, taste your own lip gloss the way he dreamed of tasting, as he pulled your panties past your hips, and down your legs? What color would they be? Red, black, white? Cotton or lace? He wanted to taste them. He could practically smell you.

Would you keep quiet as he feasted on you, made out with your pussy like he wanted to? How would you sound keeping those sweet moans back, biting your hand, pouting those lips at him? Would you whimper, would you pull his hair? God, he wanted you to.

He wanted to suck on your clit until your pretty eyes rolled back in your head. Fuck you with his tongue until you cream on his mouth, and squeezed his head between your thighs. Would you let him fuck you with fingers after? Would you feel as tight, as warm, as he dreamed? He knew you would.

“Eds?”

A snap of your fingers brings him back to reality. You're still in the same position, he's still staring straight forward, eyes glazed, mind far. His head snaps to the side, meeting your gaze. “Hey. Yeah?”

“Are you listening to me? Where were you, man?”

You're whispering, a smile on your face. Your face is closer, and his eyes wander yet again, this time to your lips. He's still not paying attention — his Levi’s feel tighter, his heart is racing. His mind must be playing a trick on him, because your eyes are also wandering, to his lips and back up.

“I'm here.” His voice falters.

“You sure?” You don't move. Your perfume makes him dizzy, but he doesn't move either.

“I'm all ears, sweetheart.”

You chuckle, “Forget about it.”

It feels like a test. It must be, because you're resting your head against his shoulder, and going quiet again. Something different hangs in the air.

He's still gripping his arm seat. He's still not paying attention.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson fanfic

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dragon-ascent · 1 month

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You face off against the Geo Lord in an epic showdown.

"The moment is now, Rex Lapis," you announce, staring down at him from where you are perched. "I have come to challenge you!" Every single moment of your journey has culminated into this moment right here.

What you were made for.

And if fate has willed it, it's what your foe was made for, too. The older man is poised, golden eyes shining in amusement as he looks up at you. "You have done well to come this far, esteemed one. If a battle is what you seek, then so be it. Ready your weapon!"

"Weapon?" You laugh mockingly. "No, I need no weapon to fell you!"

The god smirks in response. "Then nor shall I use one." He gets into position, eyeing you like a hawk. Waiting for your first move.

"Here comes...the cuddle monster!" You jump off the couch and glomp your husband. "Raaaaaah!"

"A formidable move," commends Zhongli, holding you tight, "but can you counter...this?" He squeezes you, but you squeeze back with as much vim and vigor.

You cackle. "You're no match for me, Deus Auri!" You kiss his cheeks repeatedly, tackling him onto the soft sofa.

"Ah...you are strong..." he murmurs, holding you by the waist. "However, do not underestimate me, Huggable One." He takes your mouth by surprise in a deep and passionate kiss, rubbing your hips as he does so.

You find yourself melting, turning limp atop your husband. "Oh my," you sigh dreamily when he pulls away from the kiss. "Perhaps I'm no match for the Geo Lord after all..."

But just when Zhongli thinks the match is over, you grin and slide your hand teasingly lower, cupping him between his legs, eliciting a moan of surprise from him.

"I know just how to vanquish you," you tease, giggling at the way he closes his eyes with a small smile as you gleefully advance your surprise turnaround attack.

Suffice to say, the victory goes to you tonight.

#sini writes #zhongli #genshin impact #zhongli x reader #fluff #drabble

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rebelfell · 6 months

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Surrender

Eddie Munson x fem!Reader x lesbian!Chrissy Cunningham

When your boyfriend Eddie wants to introduce you to his old friend, you can't help being worried he’s secretly interested in her. As it turns out, he’s not the one you had to worry about.

Part One┃Part Two┃Part Three

cw: established relationship, platonic!hc (eddie and chrissy are college besties), jealous/insecure reader, alcohol use - nothing too explicit yet because this is mostly establishing and setting up. Time period is modern-ish. Everyone is aged early 30s.

18+, MDNI 5k

“Are we sure tonight is the best night?”

You hate the whininess in your own voice as you call out to Eddie from the bathroom. Hearing your petulant question, he promptly materialized in the doorway, leaning against the frame with his head tilted at you and a sweet smile on his lips.

“What’s up, princess? You don’t wanna go?”

He’s already dressed for your planned night out and, of course, looks perfect. Black jeans and a black dress shirt, untucked and unbuttoned at the collar to reveal the guitar pick hanging around his neck. Sleeves rolled up to his elbows to show off his forearms and tattoos, chunky silver rings catching the light as he drums his fingers on the door jamb. His hair is down and loose around his shoulders, looking hydrated and bouncy from the cream you bought for him after he went through a whole tube of your own. It never made your hair look as good as it did his, anyway.

You, on the other hand, are a mess. Hair falling flat despite being freshly styled. Wearing a flippy-skirted sundress you normally liked for the way it cinched your waist and accentuated your shape, but tonight feels more like a vice you’ll be prone to spill out of. Sweating through your light make-up and struggling to get your winged eyeliner to match—a losing game if there ever was one.

The past ten minutes you’ve done nothing but huff and grunt and sigh at your fruitless efforts, hands only getting more unsteady the more flustered you became.

For weeks, you’ve had these plans to meet up with Eddie’s friend who was back in Hawkins for a visit. But now, less than half an hour from when you were due to meet them at The Hideout, all of your resolve is crumbling. And it’s not so much the thought of going out that has you fledgling, but rather who you’re going to meet.

You’ve heard a lot of stories over the years about Chrissy Cunningham.

You knew she and Eddie had attended the same high-school, along with most of his other closest friends. But unlike the rest, Chrissy and Eddie’s knowledge of each other was mostly peripheral until they wound up at the same small liberal arts college after graduation.

There were tales of them pulling all-nighters in the library, dominating beer pong and flip-cup tournaments at frat houses, leading epic tee-peeing sprees across campus on Halloween. Somewhere in there was an ex-boyfriend of hers Eddie would refer to as the human incarnate of spoiled milk—evidently this was the same guy who had labeled Eddie as the local demon summoner of their hometown.

“I stole his yearbook and drew a pentagram on the last page. Pretty sure he burned it,” Eddie told you once, lips spread in a devious smile.

In none of these stories had there been mention of anything romantic; nothing even hinted at other than a platonic with a capital “P” friendship. But still, you couldn’t help but wonder. Surely being that close there had to be something more. They were both attractive, clearly got along well. They’d kept in touch all this time, and if she didn’t live so far away you’re sure you would have met her long before now. She sent him postcards from all the varied places she traveled for work, and always signed them with three little x’s.

Sensing your frustration in the way only he can, Eddie quickly closes the distance separating you. He comes to stand behind you with his chest pressed against your back and winds his arms around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder to meet your gaze in the mirror.

“Come on, baby,” he coaxes you gently. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“I don’t know,” you mutter. “I’m tired and stressed out. Not in good first impression mode.”

You use these meaningless descriptors because you can’t quite articulate the way Chrissy makes you feel without sounding like a big baby. Eddie’s Hawkins High yearbook is basically a shrine to her, plastered with seemingly endless pictures of her cheering and being crowned as queen of something no less than three times. And even in those grainy black and white photos, she’s completely radiant. Meanwhile, all you could find of Eddie was his standard portrait and one shot of him in the club photos with his D&D group, making his favorite devil face.

“Hey,” he coos, low and soft in your ear. “You’re gonna be great. She’s gonna love you as much as I do. Well, almost.”

You huff, unable to fully enjoy the warmth of his breath on your skin, because you’re not exactly worried whether or not Chrissy will like you.

You’re trying not to be needy; trying not to feel so insecure at the prospect of meeting Eddie’s old friend; trying not to compare yourself to someone you’ve never even laid eyes on in person. But it’s so unbelievably difficult. Because as far as you can tell…she’s basically his dream girl.

You’d already quizzed him about it relentlessly, but the urge to rehash it one last time is too strong. Some part of you knows it’s pointless—that there’s nothing he can say to assuage this relentless doubt gnawing at your insides. If there was, he would have said it. And yet…

“So you guys were just friends? You never dated?”

“Nope. Never.”

You frown, despite his answer, chewing on the inside of your lip and staring at the sink to avoid his gaze. He places his fingers beneath your chin and tilts your face back up.

“What?” he asks with a smirk. “You don’t believe me?”

“Of course I do,” you groan. “It just doesn’t make sense—you say she was like your best friend, and you guys were doing everything together, and yet somehow you never ever considered, even once, asking out the prettiest, most popular girl from your high-school?”

The whine in your voice finally cracks into something resembling a cry. You can feel it in your throat the moment it starts to break through and instantly feel the sting of tears welling behind your eyes. Perfect, you think.

That’s just what your eyeliner needs.

You hated feeling like you were about to step inside one of those horrible rom-com scenarios where the two best friends, after years of denying their feelings for one another (or being completely oblivious to them), magically discover that they’re madly in love and have been all along. More than likely at the most inopportune moment possible, like right before one of them gets married.

Because it had to really suck being the partner of one of those dumbasses.

And, yeah, maybe you and Eddie weren’t engaged. Although, he had been bringing it up more often and you were almost certain one of your rings had gone missing for a good day and a half before reappearing in your jewelry tray on the dresser. Still, this was probably as inopportune a time as any for him to realize he was secretly in love with his best friend.

“Did you ever think about dating her?” you ask. “Like were you ever out at a bar or stayed up late after a party talking and just thought to yourself maybe, someday…”

Maybe, someday was the clarion cry of these horrid arrangements. If you had a someday person, you were basically earmarking them in your mind for later and it was only a matter of time before the two of you got together. Someday was this magical time that could be years and years from now or it could be fucking tomorrow. And if it was tomorrow, that made you the one the someday person trounces over on their way to true love. It was going to be your heart that wound up shattered and no one watching in the movie theater would even care.

Eddie starts to sway gently, rocking you with him as he mulls over his answer.

“Honestly? I had, like, a glimmer of a crush on her in high-school, but I barely knew her then. And the more we hung out…it just wasn’t something to pursue.”

“Why not? What happened?”

“Nothing happened,” he says. “We were better as friends.”

Your face sinks into a pout and you make no attempt whatsoever to disguise it. You can’t put your finger on exactly why, but you feel like there has to be more to this story. She’s pretty and thin, funny and exciting, glamorous and worldly, and Eddie just magically never had feelings for her? Never considered her romantically in the slightest? It doesn’t add up.

“It’s not like that, I swear,” Eddie says when he sees you sulking, arms wrapping tighter around you, trying to reassure you with his touch.

Normally, it helps. But not tonight.

“I feel like there’s something you’re not telling me,” you admit with another sigh.

His eyes are waiting for yours in the mirror. A pair of deep brown pools as warm and comforting as a freshly poured cup of coffee stare back at you, but fail to have their typically calming effect.

Against your back, you feel Eddie’s chest rise and fall as he takes a steadying breath.

“Well, there kind of is,” he says. “But I swear it’s got nothing to do with that. It’s just not mine to tell. I don’t know if Chrissy wants you to know or if she wants to tell you herself.”

It’s not the worst thing he could have said, but it’s also not, not the worst thing. You groan and bury your face in your hands.

“Maybe I shouldn't go,” you grumble into your palms.

Staying home suddenly feels like the only solution. Leaving them alone might only hasten the inevitable. But if they were gonna fall in love, you shouldn’t have to sit around to watch.

“No,” Eddie whines, tugging insistently on your wrists to pull your hands from your face. “Don’t say that. Please come? I’m really excited for you two to meet.”

“I’m only gonna be in the way,” you sniffle, unable to look at him. “You guys will be reminiscing all night and I’ll just sit there like a mute idiot.”

Third wheel to your own boyfriend.

His jaw ticks and he clenches it in that way he always does when you talk down about yourself. He doesn’t have time right now to go into just how wrong you are. And he can tell you won’t be receptive to it in your current state. He’ll take care of it later, when he has you pinned beneath him, driving his body into yours, making you gasp and pant and plead until you’ll say whatever he asks—including admitting how fucking perfect you are.

“I want you to meet her because I think you’ll get along.” His breath ghosts across the nape of your neck as he presses his lips to your skin. “Because she’s great…and you’re really great…and I think you’d be great together.”

At last, you swallow the tears rising in your throat and nod. You lift your head and find his pretty doe eyes in the mirror again. Eyes that love you. Eyes that would never compare you to someone else.

Eyes that are only for you.

You and Eddie walk into The Hideout, your hand held firmly in his. The bouncer and bartender nod at you both in acknowledgment, too inundated with customers for a longer interaction. They knew Eddie well from the many years his band had spent here playing to nearly empty rooms, as well as when he started working as a barback on the weekends to earn some extra cash. And they know you from the number of “dates” you’d spent visiting him during a shift.

Chrissy spots you immediately and throws her hand up in the air, wiggling her fingers excitedly. Her strawberry blonde hair was swept up in a ponytail, soft curls bouncing with her every move. She’s in cream-colored trousers cuffed at the ankles with a wide black belt holding them up so they sit high on her tiny waist. Her top is a sleeveless black turtleneck, cropped to reveal a little sliver of her abdomen. It’s one of those cool-girl outfits that’s so effortlessly trendy and chic it instantly makes you feel overly plain and unassuming in your sundress.

Jesus. Did she have to be that pretty?

She was cute as a goddamn button with big, round eyes and full, cherubic cheeks that only grew as she flashed a smile with enough wattage to power the whole bar. Maybe the entire town. Like in her picture in Eddie’s yearbook, one of her front teeth was a little crooked. Yet somehow it only made her smile, and her by extension, all the more charming.

Every pair of eyes in the room is watching as she scoots out of her seat in the corner booth. With a wide grin, she stretches up on her tiptoes to throw her arms around Eddie’s neck as you and he approach the table she’s secured. He slides his free arm around her waist, wrapping her up in a tight squeeze, but keeps your hand in his the entire time. You can’t say it’s not a relief, having already loosened your grip in anticipation of him dropping it as he went to hug Chrissy.

Only when he steps back from between you does he let it go, placing his palm on your shoulder as he gives Chrissy your name. She beams at you, eyes sparkling even in the dim light of the dive bar. You feel your cheeks pinch and your teeth clench as you force a smile.

“Hi! It’s so nice to finally meet you!” She reaches out to take your hands in hers and gives them a gentle squeeze. Of course her skin is as soft as velvet. “Gosh, you’re even prettier in person.”

A waft of her perfume hits you, fresh citrus swirling in your nose, and you falter slightly at her words. In person? In person as opposed to what? Your social media was private, as was hers, and neither of you had yet to extend a friend request or so much as a DM. You only knew her face from Eddie’s yearbook. How did she know yours?

“You need a drink, yeah?” she asks. “I’ll get the first round, my tab is already open.”

Eddie’s hand rubs across the small of your back in a soothing circle. “I’ll get you something,” he says to you softly. “You guys sit.”

Chrissy grins and ushers you into the booth as Eddie heads for the bar. You slide into the center and nod at the pink cocktail garnished with an orange curl that sits in front of her.

“What are you having?”

“A cosmopolitan,” she says. “Not normally my first choice, but Benny makes them so well I always order one when I’m here. He loves to bitch about it, but I know they’re only as good as they are because he drinks them himself.”

She smirks at the bar where the massive, burly bartender is talking animatedly with Eddie as he pours drinks. You can’t help but giggle imagining him sipping Chrissy’s bright pink cocktail.

“I’ve never tried one,” you say. “Is it good?”

“Have some,” she chirps. “Just know it’ll ruin you for all other cosmos.”

Dainty fingers adorned with thin gold rings push the glass towards you and you bring it to your lips for a taste. There’s a little smear of her lip gloss on the rim and the peachy flavor of it mixes with the taste of the drink in your mouth. You let out a little hum of approval as it splashes on your tongue, a perfect balance of sweet and sour.

“Wow, that is good,” you say. “I never would have pegged that as Benny’s drink.”

Chrissy smiles knowingly. Most of the Hideout’s bartenders looked like they shower in scotch and use bourbon as body wash. She leans in close and lowers her voice to a conspiring whisper.

“He’ll never admit this…but he’s a huge Sex and the City fan. I came in once to pick up a jacket I'd left, and he had it playing on the TV.”

Your eyes go wide at the revelation and you shoot an appraising glance towards the bar. “I feel like he’s a Samantha,” you say with an impish smile.

“Oh, definitely!” Chrissy laughs and then nods in the direction of the bouncer. He’s smaller than Benny, but still woefully intimidating, especially as he’s frowning and turning away a couple of kids with fake IDs at the door. “And Luke acts like a Miranda, but he’s a total Charlotte.”

You both giggle at that and your shoulders brush as you lean together. The warmth of her skin on yours surprises you, but not nearly as much as when she reaches out her hand and lays it gently on your wrist. Her eyes land on your face and you feel your breathing stall as you stare back into them. Deep blue-green like the ocean, framed by her long lashes and accentuated by the pale wash of shadow she’s swept across her lids.

“Your eyes are so pretty,” she says softly. “I can never get wings to match that well.”

“Thanks,” you breathe out, heat rising in your cheeks. “I really like your eyeshadow.”

“Aww, you’re adorable.” Chrissy smiles and her lashes flutter, showing off more of the shimmery powder blue there. “Eddie was right, you’re such a sweetheart.”

Her words ignite a little flicker of excitement that trickles down the back of your neck. You shift slightly in your seat and look down at your lap, hoping she can’t see how it affects you. You tell yourself it’s not her, just her use of your favorite pet name Eddie uses for you. Very different.

The more you talk with Chrissy, the harder it becomes to keep up the animosity you’d been stewing in the past few weeks. She’s just so…nice. In the time it takes for Eddie to get drinks from the crowded bar, you two have already brought out your phones and started cooing over pictures of the other’s cats. She’s in the middle of a story about her fat gray tabby Templeton when Eddie returns carrying his pint of amber colored beer and a rum and ginger for you.

He places your drink down on the table first, but passes his own glass into your waiting hand. You sip his beer and he chuckles at the sour face you make before sliding into the booth next to you and tucking you securely under his arm.

“Not poisoned,” you tell him, still grimacing. “Just disgusting.”

It’s an old bit, one that goes back almost to your first date. You weren’t a big beer person, but you still liked taking little tastes of the ones ordered by friends on the off chance of finding one you did like. Eddie had then offered you a sip of his and basically beamed at the adorable way your face scrunched at the taste you considered vile. He suggested in a past life you were probably one of those servants who had to sample a king’s wine before he drank.

You had laughed and rolled your eyes, but leaned hard into the joke from then on.

“My liege, no!” you’d exclaim anywhere—at dinner, a bar, one of Steve’s keggers that was masquerading as a barbeque—hand dramatically outstretched, eyes bulging with fear as he paused raising his glass to his lips before descending into a throaty chuckle. It didn’t take long before he got in the habit of handing over his drink without even thinking about it.

Eddie slots easily into the conversation with you and Chrissy. All three of you chatter back and forth about Chrissy’s work, Eddie’s music, your impending thesis. You feel all that apprehension you’d been building up finally retreating and let yourself relax a little.

And if Chrissy is harboring some ulterior feelings for your boyfriend, she’s either terrible at showing them or incredible at hiding them. She listens raptly to boring stories about all your upgrades to Eddie’s house since moving in, and earnestly asks about your relationship.

“Okay, so you have to tell me everything. How did you guys meet?”

Chrissy sits forward in her seat and sets her elbows on the table, folding her delicate fingers together and resting her chin on them as she looks back and forth between you and Eddie with those sparkling eyes. They’re bright with interest like she literally can’t wait to hear what you’re about to say. If she’s only acting, she’s incredibly gifted. Truly Oscar-winning caliber.

“Oh, jeez,” Eddie groans and covers his face with his hand as he starts to tinge pink. He peeks out at you from between his ringed fingers and a bashful smile curls up the corners of his lips, showing his teeth. “Do we have to?” he asks. “It’s not exactly Romeo & Juliet.”

You nod back at him, flashing a mischievous smile of your own as you sip your drink. Eddie’s hand drops to the table and he sighs, playing up the dramatics you assume for Chrissy’s benefit. She’s eating it up, practically wriggling in her seat like a little puppy waiting for a treat.

“We were…at a strip club,” he says.

“Oh, of course you were!” Chrissy snickers and her eyes dart to you. “Here I was thinking you’re such a good girl and you're secretly a little vixen.”

You shiver instantly and look down at your lap again trying to hide your reaction. Her eyes flit across your body and that familiar little thrill runs up your spine, stirring something inside of you that makes you tingle all over. You let yourself imagine, if only for a moment, maybe you are the little vixen she’s imagining. Ridiculous a thought as that may be, it makes you feel extra bold.

“Hardly,” you laugh. “I was in town for my sister’s wedding. I’d been here like a week already and I was staying with her through to the ceremony to help coordinate and stuff. We went to the club for her bachelorette party, but I was essentially their chaperone. Or maybe more like a wrangler for all her friends? It was like herding cats. Except the cats were drunk. Drunk and in heels.”

The most boring possible reason to be at a strip club? Check. Chrissy doesn’t seem to judge, though. If anything, she tilts her head a bit and smiles like she’s endeared by you even though you completely failed to live up to that visage of a bad girl she thought you might be.

Still, it was fun to pretend it might be true for a second.

“And what were you doing there, Mr. Munson?” she asks, arching her brow at him. “Gathering material for your spank bank?”

“It was for Steve’s bachelor party,” Eddie says pointedly. “It was basically mandatory according to all his finance bros. I wanted to play laser tag, but I had to appease the dark side.”

“Right, because you would never deign to set foot in the Lusty Leopard otherwise,” you say with a teasing smile. Chrissy’s eyes glint as they meet yours and she jumps in seamlessly.

“Yeah, Eddie, we know how much you despise looking at butts and boobs on pretty girls,” she says, giving you a little nudge with her elbow.

“I had to look into getting mine replaced! He can hardly stand the sight of them!”

You feel a bit giddy as you and Chrissy toy with your boyfriend, exchanging your wry smiles and sharing in bubbly laughter. It’s almost like being drunk, even though you’ve only had half of your drink. It sits neglected in front of you and most of the ice has melted, watering down what was left.

Eddie lets you have your fun, but his hand finds your knee under the table and he gives it a firm squeeze. Not mad, just a signal to look at him. His eyes flash when you meet his gaze and his mouth curls into a cool, confident smile that tells you in no uncertain terms he’ll remind you of this later. Another little thrill runs through you and makes you quiver with excitement.

“Anyway,” he continues. “I thought we won the lottery or something. Not only were there gonna be strippers, but there was a whole party full of girls too? We were stoked.”

His eyes flick to yours again. This is where you come in.

“Except someone failed to check their website and see that it was Ladies Night…and an all-male revue. Which is what we were there for.”

“Oh no!” Chrissy exclaims, covering her mouth with her hand, unable to hold back her laughter.

“I have a photo of Steve getting a face full of banana hammock that is pristine.” Eddie cackles and does a little chef’s kiss as you go on.

“So our two parties kind of merge and Eddie pretty much throws himself at me—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, that is slander, sweetheart,” Eddie interjects. “I was valiantly keeping you occupied to spare you Steve’s antics.”

“Uh-oh, what was Steve doing?” Chrissy asks.

“He was wasted, trying to convince the girls at the party to strip once the guys were done.”

“Yeah,” you scoff. “In the name of justice and equality.”

“Oh, Steve,” Chrissy let out a gentle sigh, shaking her head at their mutual friend’s foolishness.

“Exactly,” you say. “Anyway, we wound up playing Truth or Dare and Eddie dared me to do an Irish Car Bomb with him. And whoever finished last, their group had to perform on stage.”

“So, who won?”

Chrissy’s eyes flit between you and Eddie as the two of you share a coy glance. After letting suspense build for a few seconds, Eddie sighs and tips an imaginary hat to you as you smile proudly. Chrissy beams back at you, her hand shooting up for a high-five..

“I knew it!” she says. “Nice one!”

You grin as your palms meet, heart fluttering in your chest. You think back to that night and how your adrenaline had spiked and coursed through you, making your fingers tremble as you held the shot of Bailey’s and Jameson over the pint of Guinness while Eddie stared you down across the rims of the glasses. It was the first time his gaze had completely stilled your breathing and it was strikingly similar to the feeling you got when Chrissy’s eyes had roved over you tonight.

“So, wait, did they actually strip?” she asks. “Please tell me you have a video!”

“I wish!” you laugh and shake your head. “They wouldn’t let anyone on stage. But Eddie did a very tasteful lap dance to I Want it That Way and I was powerless. He asked for my number after and I just had to give it to him.”

“That’s adorable,” Chrissy says, looking at you both all wistful and moony like she was reading some harlequin romance novel.

Eddie looks down, a happy and bashful smile tugging up the corners of his mouth and making his deep dimples appear in his cheeks. His hand rested on the leather booth between you and he slowly slides it over, linking his pinky with yours. You can practically hear what he’s dying to whisper in your ear right now.

Best night ever.

“Gosh, Truth or Dare really takes me back,” Chrissy sighs as she starts to sit back and then jolts forward. “Oh, my god! Is that what we were playing that first time we…you know? Or, wait, it was Never Have I Ever?”

In an instant, your spine went stiff. You withdrew your hand from Eddie’s, the loss of the heat from his pinky leaving a cold ring around your own, and stared cautiously at Chrissy.

“Um…the first time you, what?”

“You know,” Chrissy says, bouncing her brows suggestively. “Our thing.”

“Wh-what thing? What does that mean?”

All the airiness you’d felt just seconds ago has been vacuumed straight out of your chest. You look over at Eddie with wide eyes and find his face is panged with regret.

Chrissy glances at him warily.

“You didn’t tell her?” she asks. Oh no…

“No, not exactly,” he says. “I wasn’t sure if you wanted her to know about…you know…”

Jesus fucking Christ if someone doesn’t finish an actual sentence I’m gonna scream.

“Oh my god, Eddie! Look how panicked she is!”

Chrissy scoots closer to you, placing a gentle hand on your back and rubbing it in small circles. It’s almost calming right up until the moment you imagine her fucking your boyfriend, or blowing him, or jerking him off, or a million other things that apparently didn’t qualify as “dating.”

“I’m so sorry we upset you, babe,” she says. “I swear, I figured you knew. It’s not a secret, it just might sound a little scandalous.”

You swallow hard, throat clenching, trying to bring some relief to your mouth that has gone impossibly dry. Reaching for your drink, hoping neither of them can see how your hand trembles as you do, you take a long gulp and place the glass back down a touch too hard.

“Can one of you please just tell me what you’re talking about?”

“Of course, of course,” Chrissy says. “We had a, um…” Her eyes sweep to Eddie. “What would you call it? An arrangement?”

Eddie shrugs as he takes a nervous swig of his beer. “An alliance?”

Chrissy’s head bobs, ponytail swinging back and forth, not entirely satisfied with that either.

“Well, whatever you call it…we were sharing girls.”

Of all the things you expected to come out of Chrissy’s mouth, that didn’t even make the list. You can feel your mouth parting in confusion, brows marrying together as your face furrows.

“Wh…what does that mean, exactly?”

“We would hook up with girls together,” Chrissy explains. “He and I never did anything, but if we found a girl we both liked, we’d take her home.”

Your brain scrambles, trying to make sense of what you’re hearing.

“I-I’m sorry, I don’t get it. How…how, um, did that work exactly? Why would you…”

“Did you tell her anything about me?” Chrissy demands, her gaze whirling onto Eddie.

“I didn’t know if you wanted it broadcasted,” he says, voice hushed as he glances around.

Chrissy shakes her head, a long-suffering kind of motion like he was her little brother who had left the toilet seat up. Her attention turns back to you and she lowers her voice seriously.

“In that case, I’ve been holding this in long enough and it’s high time you knew the truth.” She reaches out to take your hands in hers and arranges her face in the most solemn expression possible. “My name is Chrissy Cunningham…and I fucking love pussy.”

Part Two

#eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie stranger things #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson smut #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson fluff

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achaoticeternal · 7 months

Text

electric touch

aemond targaryen x niece!reader

summary: while taking a visit to the royal library, you come across aemond who seems to have a small gift for you. word count: 1.1k warnings: afab!reader, targcest, reader is mentioned to have violet eyes but that is the only descriptor. a/n: this was just a little drabble I thought of. i'm trying to get back into the grove of writing after my summer hiatus.

Though King’s Landing was quite an enticing place to visit, the climate at Dragonstone seemed to accommodate her taste better. Where Dragonstone held warm air and cooling sea breezes, King’s Landing lacked such a luxury. Whenever Rhaenyra made visits to the capitol with her daughter, neither princess slept well for their own reasons. Both, however, missed their own beds and comforts of home.

Currently, the younger Targaryen princess was making her way down the aisles of the library. Particularly, she found herself in the special collection that her uncle had curated. Books that varied from philosophy, the history of Old Valyria, and even strategies of ancient wars. However, sprinkled in between were books that contained the sweetest words held in between pages. Yes, both she and Aemond held a secret bond over the lines of fine poetry.

It was a love they learned as children. Whenever Aemond was not training or being tormented by his brother and nephews, he would accompany his niece at the weirwood tree. Helaena would not be too far off either, allowing the creatures in the gardens to climb into her gentle hands.

Such a memory caused a small smile to grace her lips as she reached for a book that had been well-loved.

“Have you come to wreck my shelves?” The voice interrupted her abruptly.

She jumped away from her spot, the breath returning to her lungs when she recognized the man. Her hands went to smooth out her skirts, “Good day to you, uncle…”

The lady went to reach for the book again. Still, it remained just out of reach. The scoff sounding next to her changed her focus once more.

“Have you not considered using your words to ask for help, riñītsos?” He questioned.

Little Girl.

Sighing at his question, she moved back from the shelf. As she faced him, her eyes flicked from the book to his gaze. Though her actions were childish, she did not anticipate being denied her wish, “Kostilus…” Please.

His dismissive hum could be heard as he moved in front of her. With ease, he gripped the spine of the book before bringing it down. Aemond held onto it for a moment, eye scanning over the cover. Epics of Old Valyria.

“I see you’ve been working on your native tongue,” the prince stated nonchalantly, “Though it is still peculiar to me as to why you deem it fit to borrow from my personal collection?”

The corners of her lips dropped at his words, “And do you enjoy withholding the pleasure of knowledge?”

His violet eye slowly trailed up her height. Both of them had grown since they’d last shared each other’s company. This was evident to both parties. Her eye then met her own violet ones as a chuckle played on his lips, “Withholding pleasure is enjoyable for some people.”

Her posture straightened immediately, the innuendo not going unnoticed. She took the book from his grip, preparing to move past him and back to the security of her mother’s chambers.

The princess did not make it more than two paces before his hand shot out to grasp at her forearm. His touch was not harsh, yet there was no warm to it either, “What are you forgetting?”

She breathed out in audible frustration. Her eyes still trained toward the exit of the library, keeping her distracted from his intense gaze, “Are you not supposed to be in attendance of the small council meeting? Or has your seat been taken?”

Aemond’s jaw tightened at the taunt. However, his demeanor remained relatively calm.

Finally, she answered him properly, “Kirimvose.” Thank you.

After a pause of silence, she craned her neck to look up at Aemond. Her gaze was met with a playful smirk, “Issa daorun” You’re welcome.

However, his hold did not retreat from her forearm. Instead, he continued, “I have a little gift for you. Consider it a welcoming present for my favorite niece.”

“Careful, uncle,” Her eyes refocused on his face. The rest of the library remained at a soft focus, “You wouldn’t want to hurt poor Jaehaera’s feelings.”

His upper tip seemed to curl into a snarl at the quick-witted comment. Releasing his hold, his hands went to the pockets of his doublet, eyeing the item within it. Pulling out the piece, a finely forged Valyrian steel chain dangled from his nimble fingers. Resting at the bottom of the chain was a pendant of a singular dragon with a sapphire for an eye. The craftsmanship itself must have cost a fortune, not to mention the installation of such a fine gemstone.

“Kepus,” Her voice lulled, “Gevie…”

Without a word, Aemond moved to stand behind her. His gentle touch caressed her upper back as he moved her hair onto one shoulder. The cool pendant rested atop her bosom, sending tingles throughout her chest. The chain itself snaked around the delicate skin of her neck where he now clasped it together, “Dōna zaldrītsos,” Aemond purred.

As she turned back to face him, her lithe fingers toyed at the pendant. She quickly grew accustomed to the weight of it and the metallic feel against her skin, “Where did you find such a necklace?”

The look on his face was passive as if he could not drop his uncaring disguise, “I had it made for you.”

As her browed raised in motion for him to continue, Aemond added on, “I figured it would be to your liking.”

She took a moment, eyes flickering from the leather he wore to the steel chain at her neck.

“I see,” She nodded, “And what moved you to commission such a fine piece?”

Unbeknownst to the lady, Aemond fought an inner battle. He wished to step closer to her and reach out once more. He hated that he could easily despise his nephews, but never her… Not the girl whom he read poetry with between lunch and tea time. The girl who was now a woman grown before him. His greatest torment and object of his deepest affections.

Aemond faced her once more, bringing up his hand to toy with the pendant at her chest now, “The thought of you wearing it for me…”

---

all feedback is greatly appreciated. my ask box is open for requests.

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emilsendo · 6 months

Text

(Dom)Baji Keisuke x (Sub) Top!male reader

Type: Smut

Warnings: Dom Baji, gay sex, riding, stimulation, etc.

Author Note: Hiya! I finished this one oneshot and I hope it will be good for you guys to read 👀👍 I started to writing a request with Drakenxtop male readerxMikey, so I just reminding xD.

_____________________

— Baji.... — you gasped hoarsely as your boyfriend bounced heavily on your dick.

Baji was insane, not even giving you time to breath as he rode you hard. You could feel his entrance squeezing you with pleasure with each firm bounce.

You tried to calm his movements by holding the brunette's toned waist, but Baji seemed even stronger now, not all the strength in the world could stop him now, he even had an expression of lust as he sat frantically on your dick, his walls sqeezing and sucking your dick in a delicious way.

Not that it wasn't good, on the contrary. It felt so good that you were almost drooling, it was so good that you felt like you were about to cum at any moment, but you didn't want to be there so early. Not that Baji cared about it, in fact it seemed like that was exactly what he wanted.

Every drop of your cum inside him.

— Baji......If it continues like this-Aah~! I'm going to....— you tried to warn while sqeezing his waist between your fingers, Baji's waist was firm, of course, he had a lot of muscles due to begin a delinquent, anyway he was beautiful, and he loved it when you held his waist.

— You will come? Do it inside me. Go on, cum in me, darlin'~ — the delinquent seemded fascinated with the idea of you cumming inside him, so he sat on you with all the strength he had, eliciting not only a moan of pleasure from both of you, but also one of surprise from you.

— Damn, Baji.....f-fuck! — you exclaimed, starting to tear up, with delicious suction that the brunette's hole made around your cock.

Baji's little entrance was sucking you in, he was tight and hot, it was comfortable to be inside him, but at the same time you felt like your dick was going to melt.

The room was stuffy and almost completely dark, if it weren't for the sunlight that the curtains let out. The only thing you could hear was your moans and muffled breathing.

Baji wasn't very affectionate when he grabbed some strands of your hair, throwing it backwards, so he could give himself space to bury his face between your neck, clean of marks, of course not for long, until he slid his tongue over the spot, that made you twitch slightly in pleasure. Having Keisuke suck on your neck was the least of the problems, considering the orgasm you were needing to get to.

— Hey, M/N, why don't you call me by my first name? — he moves a little away from your neck to ask, not far enough since you could feel his breath hit the spot.

It seemed to be a serious question, although Baji continued to move on your lap.

— I-I don't know, I just..... MH! Ah... I'm used to calling you Baji.— you replied sincerely.

Baji pulled away completely from your neck, holding both sides of your face, looking at you intensely seriously.

— Call me by my first name.— He demanded. You sighed a bit confused, but you didn't have time to reason when Baji doubled the speed of jumping on your dick, you gritted your teeth when you felt your dick hit your boyfriend's prostate. — G- ugh! S-shit...call me by my first name.—

— Kei.....— you tried to complete, but the words came out shaky as Baji's entrance practically devoured your cock.

— C-Come on, M/N....I know you....you can do it.— He encouraged with a strange smile, as he fumbled over his words. It was difficult to have a serious expression on his face when your length was literally widening his hole.

— Keisuke! F-fuck. Keisuke, please, I'm going to cum. Please let me!

That was epic for Keisuke Baji. He only needed a few more slightly sloppy bounces for his pleasure to fill him.

— Fuck. Cum inside, M/N. I want to feel ya, got it? Do it! —

You then came with streams of milky cum begin sucked into Baji's gaping hole. He moaned feeling filled, he came soon after, his cum got all over your and his chest.

Little by little Baji stopped moving and you fell silent, sweaty and panting.

— Are you okay? — You asked.

Baji nodded with an amused expression on his face, you smiled embarassedly.

— It's incredible that.... even though I'm bouncing like crazy on you, I can still feel my legs.— He joked ironically.

— Yes, I think that for you to stop feeling your legs you would have to sit on me a lot more.— you joined in, letting out an amused laugh.

You didn't even notice the suggestive smile that spread across Baji's face after your words.

— Then it looks like I'm goin' to have to sit on ya until tomorrow morning, my darlin'.

— What...?

The confusion on your face replaced by a noise of surprise when Baji sat on you once again, you grunted with your sensitive dick to the recent orgasm once again begin stimulated.

— Baji, I can't do it anymore! I-I....— you tried to protest desperately but was silenced by the full lips.

For Baji, nothing would be over until both of you had no more strength.

— I loved how you said my first name, from now on ALWAYS call me that.—

#tokyo revengers x male reader #baji keisuke #male reader #sub top #oneshot #gay #anime #tokyo revengers #top male reader #dom bottom

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starrynights-sunnyskies · 1 month

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⋆*·ﾟIf only for a little while... misa x putellas!femreader

⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ

all you want is for the time to stop and for you to stay and spend this slow morning in the bubble you created with the woman next to you. but fear fills you when you realise what that means.

or; part of the as the flowers bloom, my heart does too universe (can be read as standalone). requested.

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A soft breeze from the window you'd opened the night before made the curtains dance. The summers in Barcelona could be relentless, and since you'd been sharing the bed with someone this night, that added body heat had made your bed a whirlpool of lava. White noise of the city waking up and starting their commute to work filled your ears. You stretched your limbs and crooned, not having had such a nice sleep in quite some time. The sun was directly casted on your bedroom window, the curtains only slightly keeping its rays at bay as the rest casted on the vase with flowers from your unknown admirer on your windowsill. You looked to your side, where Misa rested, deeply nestled into the covers, hand tightly curling them against her chest. Misa had the most relaxed look on her face. She was still far gone, hopefully having as good a sleep as you'd just woken up from.

Your eyes raked over her sleeping form, watched how she puffed out quiet breaths, how she looked as peaceful as she made you feel whenever she so much as looked at you. You turned on your side, to face her better, leg popping out under the duvet, away from the heat, as you rested your forehead against hers. You closed your eyes again, hoping that sleep would take you once more, wanting nothing more but to fall asleep next to her again. You were already addicted to how it felt.

It wasn't enough. You wanted her arms around you, her comforting touch, her soft eyes telling you that you were her entire world, that you could take the leap and she'd catch you, her voice lulling you to sleep with her promises and confirmations. But Misa deserved the rest after the hectic month she'd had. So you stayed put, careful not to wake her, patiently waiting for sleep to take you or for her to wake up. You deemed it pathetic how much you could miss her when she was literally right here, next to you, or when she wasn't even yours to miss to begin with. She was puffing out air from her nose onto your cheek, a tangible reminder that she was alive and well and not going anywhere.

A group of children laughed below your window, no doubt on their way to school. Next you heard two cars honk at each other, and one of the neighbours on your block threw their door shut with a loud bang. Still, it seemed that none of the outside noises could wake Misa from her deep slumber. The realisation made the corners of your lip turn upwards into a sleepy smile. You looked at the woman, so blissfully unaware of time passing around her. You wondered if she knew you'd stopped the time for her as well.

You shimmied down, dipping the bed and rustling the covers as you tried to find a more comfortable position, realising you'd be here for a while if Misa was so far away. You dared to nuzzle into her warm chest, cocooning yourself underneath her arm as the linen covers got pulled up to your knees. You knew she was a deep sleeper if she hadn’t woken you up by tugging back the covers you’d stolen during the night, so you dared to pull her against you. You covered her sleeping form, further tucking her in.

With the constant rising and falling of her chest against your cheek and your body dipping away into the mattress, you swore you were on cloud nine. This. This was what you'd dreamed of as the hopeless romantic you thought you would be when you would find your one epic love. This feeling was what you had waited to feel during the three relationships you'd had in your life, your first one finding you at age eighteen.

She had been kind. Pretty. Very caring, too. She was similar to you, and perhaps that was why you liked her. You'd lost your virginity to the girl, and even to this day, it wasn't something you felt uncomfortable about when being reminded of it. She'd been a good person. You had been in love, or so you thought, when you'd heard one of your friends talk about her boyfriend, realising you never quite felt your love for her that deep. There was sexual attraction and you cared for her, sure, but if she was the one, surely you would feel a little more euphoric whenever she looked your way, right? It didn't bring out the hopeless romantic in you, but perhaps you just didn't have that side to you after all, you'd thought. She was good to you and you had the most of fun with her, always giggling whenever you were with her. But there was always something missing. The fireworks had quickly dwindled after that realisation and you had both agreed that a friendship was more in order. But you had lost contact when she had changed her major and switched colleges, your only point of contact now from likes on each other's Instagram posts. Still, you were thankful that your first relationship hadn't ended in a screaming match. At least that was something.

Then at twenty-two, there'd been your second love. A thirty year old woman, something that definitely had taken away some of Alexia's life the moment you told her, because someone older than her wasn't meant to date her youngest sister. She was easygoing. Very considerate and caring, almost like an older sister would be. She'd guided you through the insecurities and worries you had as a young adult and her maturity had grounded you and pulled you to her like an anchor. But she always wanted you to talk and open up, saying that communicating was healthy, not realising that you weren't one to easily share what was on your mind. So she pushed and pulled the thoughts out of you before you were ready and didn't give you the time to give your heart some seconds to feel before you could properly express yourself. You hated how she could dominate you that way, how she enjoyed being the older one, knowing she used her age as a reason to have the last word. As soon as you had unsurely voiced your interest in her after she had guilted you into admitting them, saying that surely you would feel something for her after all your talking, she'd staked her claim. But your heart wasn't in it anymore with the way things had gone, and you hated yourself for knowing you'd let yourself get talked into things. And so you distanced yourself, pulled back, slowly but surely. Not picking up calls and rescheduling meet ups. You hated yourself for it, but knew that she would not take it lightly if you would just tell her you weren't interested in her anymore. She'd probably want to talk about it again, thoroughly, and that was something you wanted even less. She'd stressed countless times before that she felt time was running out for her, that she wanted her happy-ever-after, her white-picket-fence kind of life with a few pets and a baby. You didn't know why in the world she'd let herself fall for you, at twenty-two, when she wanted all those things she also knew you couldn't give her yet. So what did you really have to offer her? She had never faulted you for your age, not when it wasn't to her advantage anyway, but you felt the imbalance nonetheless. She wanted things, preferably within the next year or two, while you were far from ready to settle down like that. She had a steady job, an income, her own home and a car. She had her shit together, while you didn't even know what you would be doing tomorrow. That stark contrast scared you off. You weren't on the same page of life, and you knew that. You knew she knew too, even if she refused to acknowledge it. After she realised you were pulling away, she'd blamed you for only using her for her wisdom and guidance, for not letting her stick around to see you blossom into the woman you were becoming, for taking up her time for nothing when she could've been with the guy that had pursued her and she'd denied for you. She was right. You could see how it looked from her perspective, but at least you were free again. Besides, apparently your relationship hadn't been too serious to her anyway, seeing as she ended up with the same guy a week later. It didn't even hurt you when you saw the pregnancy post two months later when you looked her up again.

Then came a time of enjoying your last few months of university, something that once again took away some of Alexia's lifespan. You'd let go entirely, having been scared off by the prospect of adult life from the relationship you had just escaped from. Soon you would have to work for the rest of your life, be responsible, stick to social norms, find yourself a partner to settle down with until your last breath. The lack of freedom that seemed to come with scared the living shit out of you. So, you went out whenever you could. Kissed whoever took your breath away. You needed to know what was out there, what you could get, what you liked and disliked, before you could let yourself decide what you wanted for the rest of your life so that you would not use up precious time and energy from someone again. You tried to keep this from your family as best as you could, knowing they would worry or disapprove. Especially Alexia, who'd never had these kind of young-adult worries. She had her football, her one big love, something to focus on. What happened along the way, she would figure out if it came to it. She'd always been level-headed. That had never been you. You envied her for her tranquility, resilience and perseverance. But you knew you would never be like her, so you had given up trying.

It was through that exploring that you found her. And oh, how you wished you could rewind time and stop you from all the horrible decisions that followed. But that was life, wasn't it? Teaching you its lessons in the harshest ways.

You'd fallen, hard, and it made bile form in your throat even now, years later. She was everything you'd ever dreamed of. Attentive, controlling, loyal and ever-present if you needed her, possessive, kind, only when things went her way, always giving you things and taking care of you, to persuade you to stay, doing everything for you, to make sure you were dependent on her, and spending all her time with you, so that you would not be with your friends and family. She looked like a doting and generous girlfriend, who was clearly head over heels for you. Which she really was, in her own fucked up way. She had you fooled. Hell, she even had your family fooled, and that was serious. But how would they know you weren't happy when you barely saw them? When they thought that was the case because you were so in love that you had only eyes for your girlfriend and not because she'd guilted you into not leaving her alone?

Time passed and while that honeymoon-phase was still there, things slowly turned normal. The more comfortable you got around her, the more you thought she'd love and respect everything about you. That wasn't the case. She didn't like the normalcy of you going out with your friends or sisters, supporting Alexia whenever you could, visiting your mum or uncle. She didn't like that you seemed to take everything for granted now, as she'd said. Her words had surprised you at first. You thought she wouldn't mind you having a life beside her because you would come home to her, talk to her while giggling about the adventures you'd gotten up to, cook dinner for her, wind down and spend the night loving her. You thought she wouldn't need the constant reminder that you loved her, because you were there, you were hers. But she grew hostile after not seeing your commitment the way she wanted. She'd guilt you into things, brought up all the things she'd done for you and made you realise that yes, she had done more for you than you for her, if you looked at it in the transactional way. She soon crossed all your boundaries with her words and persistence, and it had tired you out mentally. You loved her, but not this side to her. She had been so good to you, and she still had her good days. You’d even convinced yourself you could fix her, heal your relationship to go back to how it was, that maybe you had been a little inattentive to her, after all. It had been your first genuinely long relationship, maybe you were just clueless and she was right for telling you what she needed. Because communication was key, right? And you knew it hadn't been your strongest skill in your last relationship either. But then she'd say those things again, filling you with the insecurity that it was your fault. She'd made it sound like you would never find anyone willing to put up with you. That you didn't have it in you to truly love, but that she would love you anyway. You didn't want to listen to her, but when someone keeps making you feel like shit, you eventually convince yourself you start to smell like it. You didn't want to be around her anymore. You didn't want to make love to someone who had made you cry mere minutes before, and she'd let you feel how she felt about being denied like that.

The last straw had been when she'd claimed you on the one day that was reserved for you and your family. You'd cried big silent tears all the way to your date, clutching the bracelet with dolphin and daisy charms your father had given you years ago. The bracelet she still had, by the way, but you wouldn't dare tell your sisters that, wanting them to live their life outside of prison walls. She'd made you feel guilty that those tears were even falling after she reminded you that she was doing this because of that day, telling you how ungrateful you were of her gesture to be there for you during dark times. She'd faulted you for not letting her in again, something that had quickly become one of your biggest insecurities. It was when your phone had lit up with your sister's name, probably worrying what was taking you so long, that you absolutely broke. You'd secretly accepted the call, knowing she would hate it if you would let your sisters invade the time she wanted with you. Alexia had grown incredibly worried by the sobs and mumbles she couldn't make anything of, her body growing rigid with anger when she heard her. Or her words, more like. Words directed towards you, words that broke you to your very core, words that you were crying your young heart out about, words that had made Alexia tear up herself in anger, sorrow and guilt. You, her little sister, the person she was supposed to protect from all the bad things in the world, especially after your father hadn't been there anymore. She'd hated herself for not realising she'd let you live with the devil all this time.

"Hey, sssh,"

You felt the warm pad of a thumb brush against your cheek. Your watery eyes looked up at Misa's warm ones, squinting into the light, but willing herself to open them further because of her worry for you. You realised you were clutching her shirt and that it had woken her up.

"Fuck, I'm sorry," You reared back and sat up against the headboard, quickly wiping your tears away. Ignoring Misa's worried eyes, you glanced at the chipped doorpost of your bedroom, remembering the story behind it. The story that had occurred on the same day where your daydream had just ended. Alexia's eyes would still flit to it each time she would walk into your room, that same guilt eating her up all over again.

"Y/N-" Misa was awake within the flick of a finger, sitting herself up and leaning forward to hold you. Then she halted. She knew the relationship you'd had with your ex, had seen you flinch the first time she'd wanted to hug you when she'd seen you cry on that curb. But that was then, weeks ago. Now, well, she was in your bed now... so she closed the gap, sensing you trusted her enough to do so.

Her cheek immediately rested against your messy hair when you buried yourself into her safe embrace. You should've felt better, but you felt fear eat you up. It terrified you to no end that you were starting to like someone so hard and so fast again, that you were letting her in faster than you'd ever had someone. This wasn't your usual... letting someone sleep in your bed and actually sleeping in it. And only sleeping in it. Together. In each other's arms. Waking up together, even. No kisses and no shy touches. Just... together. But Misa was different, you'd felt that from the start, so you knew you needed a different approach altogether. You needed to change something. Heck, you needed to change too and not let yourself be driven by fear and insecurity originating from obstacles of the past. Still, you knew a lot more needed to be done before that dark cloud looming above you would blow over.

Her arm pulled you closer, squeezed you against her, her warm lips grazing kisses against your hair. Whatever it was that had turned you so miserable, she hated how she had woken up after the damage had been done. That she hadn't been able to distract the thoughts from developing the second she'd see them appear in your eyes. She'd caught you turning quiet on numerous occasions now, usually whenever she was getting a step closer to getting to know you, a step closer to you letting her in. You had opened up to her about your situation, as you'd called it, as soon as you'd realised were things might be going, not wanting to disappoint Misa out of nowhere should you get the need to run. She didn't know everything about you yet, but she did know that whatever you thought was wrong with you, had been put in your head by someone else. It worried her, how she saw you downward spiral whenever you let your heart lead. And she knew this might be too good to be true, to have you in her arms right now and to think that she could have you in them forever. Which was why she cherished it even more. You were hurting, had scars on your heart. She couldn't blame you for distrusting love after never having truly experienced the good kind of love, the kind she could show you. But she would forever blame herself if she didn't wait for you to be ready to let her.

Admittedly, you were already comforted by the subtle scent of her perfume that had stuck to the shirt you'd given her to wear. You'd gotten it a few years ago while accepting a big burger challenge on a dare with your childhood best friend in some questionable joint downtown. Obviously, you'd failed, but they'd given you the shirt anyway after you'd gotten sick in their bathroom. You used to do stupid things like that, but you had been young, fuelled by heartbreak, the need to live with no regrets and by the stupidity of your other half, Abril, who had been one of the best additions to your life ever since kindergarten. You took in a sharp breath, realising that this moment, this entire thing you had going on, could very well be added to the that list of stupid things. You'd promised yourself never to lead someone on again, to not take their time only to pull away eventually. Still, this was Misa. She wasn't just some college fling or pretty face in a club you wanted to kiss.

You felt your heartbeat pick up when she let out a content sigh. This was Misa, you told yourself again, who was giving you all these feelings you had never felt in any of your past relationships. And to top it all off, she was making you feel like this and you weren't even together. Perhaps you needed to stop it before you would truly be deeply in love only for something to make the tables turn and have you want to undo this mistake as well. But Misa could never be a mistake in your eyes. You were. You'd known that from the countless of times you'd been told those three words. But your last ex didn't have to say that you were when you'd come to that conclusion all by yourself after realising what that gnawing worrying feeling in the pit of your stomach was. Love wasn't meant for you, or rather, you weren't deserving of it. Where you were a mistake, Misa was so so so right. She deserved better than the train wreck you were.

"You've got me." She mumbled against your head, sensing you weren't ready to tell her the reason behind your tears, and she was okay with that. It was a boundary you'd set and she respected. You would tell her if you wanted, and if you didn't, she'd find other ways to make you smile again, "I'm here, I've got you."

You sighed against her. Of course she wouldn't pry, wouldn't push you to communicate when you needed to come to terms with your feelings first. And of course, she would be here in your bed just to be with you, without expecting anything else from you or trying to pry your shirt off you with innocent arguments and pleas.

You let yourself go, willed your fears away and let your heart roar. Maybe you could be selfish and think you deserved her love, even if it was only for a little while.

She pulled you to lie back down, gently placing the linen covers over your body, making sure you were comfortable. Her hands rested above your waist over the sheets, her drowsy eyes making your stomach flutter with the utter delicacy of how she looked at you. She didn't say a word, not knowing if you even wanted her to continue to comfort you or if you wanted to forget about it as quickly as you could. So, you grabbed her hand, your thumb grazing over the valleys and hills of her knuckles before you placed a kiss on them.

"I slept really nice."

Misa smiled, adorably, as she finally seemed to properly wake up.

"Me too," She cleared her throat, growing uneasy by the flutters of her stomach as you kept looking up at her through your eyelashes. She'd never come across a woman who was as gorgeous on the outside as she was on the inside, but the proof that they really existed was resting in her arms. It hurt her that much more how you couldn't see how special you really were. How one of a kind you, Y/N Putellas, were.

"Thank you. For letting me stay."

You hid the yawn that crept up behind the covers, "I think that by now, I have more to thank you for." You quipped, that iresistible teasing glint to your eyes reappearing. She loved how you could entice her so quickly, know just how to look at her or what to say to tease her, then pull back just as quickly as if it was only normal to you. She'd been surprised by it at first, having only known your sister who was generally speaking usually more awkward than suave. Still, you were also related to Alba, so that probably explained it.

"Not really," Misa replied and lovingly tapped your nose, watching you scrunch it, "That was just me being a decent human being."

She watched as your grin disappeared, being reminded by the lack of such decency around you that had made you so foreign to being treated right.

A dog barked, people chatted, a tram whizzed by through the street. These sounds had been here ever since you had rented it when you landed your first job after uni. They had accompanied many a lonely night, been background noise to your crying and had lulled you to a slumber after an argument had left you panicking. You were so thankful that your friends had kept the place sacred by visiting almost every day, the memories with them outshining those bad ones. Knowing them, they'd done so with clear intention. It was exactly why you loved them with your entire being.

You swallowed, voice wobbling, "I should keep you around then."

You meant it, you did, you just couldn't help but see the irony in going against the fear that had just yelled at you from inside the moment the words had left your mouth. You were sure the angel on your shoulder was currently sticking her tongue out at the sulking devil on the other side.

Misa saw the conflict, "Well, I'm here if you want me around."

Her promise, one without any buts or ifs, without needing anything in return, made you let go again. At least, for now. At least for a little while.

"I want you to stay today."

She brushed your tousled bed hair out of your face, the simple gesture visibly making you calm down. She wanted to cling to you and never let go, but knew she had to stick to the promise she'd made herself— to let you set the pace.

"Then I will."

She reciprocated the adorable grin that made your face turn into one of pure childlike glee.

"Yeah?" It was pathetic, but you needed her to say it again, to hear her promise and to have it hit you in the heart. Perhaps if it heard Misa's promises often, it would thaw and finally let you love her.

"I promise."

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songs:

something better - sofia camara

heart of gold - griff

you're here that's the thing - beabadoobee

ceilings - lizzy mcalpine

#aaaand after this they got the flu (for those of you who follow the smau lol)#misa rodriguez x reader #woso x reader #woso imagine #woso fanfics

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topguncortez · 2 months

Text

Slap Shot || Chapter 1

A Jake Seresin Hockey AU

previous part | masterlist | next part

synopsis: You arrive at your new job in North Island, and are hit with memories that you'd much rather leave behind. Jake faces the repercussions of his fight on the ice with his teammate

word count: 2.9k

warnings: grief, mentions of sexism, injuries, losing a parent, locker room talk, hockey inaccuracies, mentions of cheating, workplace harassment, mentions of sex

When you were about five years old, your kindergarten teacher asked you what you wanted to be when you grew up. Most of your classmates gave answers such as “teacher” or “doctor” or “superman”. You, on the other hand, stood in front of the packed gym on the night of your kindergarten graduation, your head held high as you gave your answer.

“A Stanley Cup Winner.”

Of course at the time, you didn’t understand that women could not win the Stanley Cup (you figured that out at age 8 and it caused the meltdown of all epic meltdowns). The closest thing women could get to the Stanley Cup was a gold medal at the Olympics. You worked your ass off from the time you could successfully skate without falling, to your senior year of highschool. Every waking moment you had was spent at the rink, running drills from sunup to sun down. You lived and breathed hockey, and as the daughter of the late great Michael L/N, you had big shoes to fill.

You just never imagined the moment it would all come crashing down.

It was a dumb idea, in hindsight. It was a really dumb idea. Weeks from the US Olympic team tryouts, you agreed to joining your friends at the lake. A place you liked to avoid like the plague. It wasn’t that your parents and coach kept you away from having any fun in your life, you simply chose to ignore the dangerous stunts your friends like to partake in. But for some reason, you decided to take a chance and take a break from the grueling training schedule your coach had created. It was a hot summer day in the middle of July, and a day out on the boat sounded like heaven.

You should’ve said no to trying to wakeboard. You should’ve just stayed on the boat, watching the epic wipeouts by your friends. It would’ve been the smart choice to make. . . but you never were that smart. One bad landing into the wake created by the boat, had you breaking the surface with a horrible scream. Your friends reacted quickly, jumping into the water to help you stay afloat as you screamed in pain, your collar bone protruding awkwardly under your skin. They got you to the hospital quickly where you were told you had broken your collarbone and torn your ACL in your knee. The physical pain wasn’t even as bad as the emotional pain that came a few weeks later.

“I’m sorry, but you will never play hockey at the level you are playing it now. I suggest. . . quitting altogether if you want to avoid having a shoulder replacement before you’re 30.”

A bullet to the chest would’ve hurt less.

At first, you laughed at the doctor’s suggestion, all but telling him to fuck off and asking to see his credentials. Your parents had tried to talk some sense into you, telling you that maybe heeding the doctor’s advice could be beneficial. Your dad knew guys from the league who had shoulder or knee injuries, and it never ended up in their favor. Years of pain and suffering, turning to questionable methods of dealing with the pain, missing out on crucial time with their families or significant others. But you were stubborn, and didn’t want to quit playing when you were about to try-out for the biggest moment of your life.

But you never made it that far. In fact, you never finished your senior season. From the first puck drop, everything was shit. You weren’t as strong as you had been, having lost muscle in both your arms and legs. You felt off balance, and were cautious of every move you made on the ice. You knew the statistics, you were at a higher risk of tearing another ligament in your knee after tearing the first one. Your collar bone, even though it had healed without having to have surgery, clicked and popped anytime you tried to make a slapshot. You were making mistakes you hadn’t made since peewee hockey. Your teammates were growing increasingly annoyed, your coaches were becoming exasperated, and your dreams of making it on the US Olympic team had slowly drifted away. It was a hard choice, but in the middle of your senior year, you decided to hang up your skates for the last time.

Even though you weren’t actively playing, your love for the sport didn’t die along with your Olympic dream. In fact, you found a new way to get involved with the sport, deciding that you were going to major in public relations and team management. Your goal had shifted, and now you wanted to be the first female Hockey manager.

But like most goals, that was easier said than done.

It was 2024, and even with the establishment of the Profession Women’s Hockey League and the US Women’s Hockey team winning numerous gold medals on the world stage, women in the league still weren’t taken seriously. You were told all through college, as you sat in your team management class to choose a different sport like swimming or volleyball or gymnastics. More “women friendly sports”. You weren’t going to throw in the towel and give up on your dream, no matter how many teams had denied you.

When you were hired by the North Island Daggers, you weren’t sure what to expect. They were known as the joke team of the NHL. Always finishing last every season, being most teams shoe-in win when they played against one another. Having gone from working as a PR rep for the Dallas Stars, you felt as though this was a demotion, a punishment for a freelance article you had written about how women were being treated in the NHL. You knew the article was going to be risky when you sat down and wrote it. You just didn’t expect to get a call an hour after the article was published telling you that you were being sent to work with the Daggers.

“We’re happy to have you here,” Beau Simpson, spoke as your heels clicked down the long hallway behind him, “As you can see, we need a little PR help.”

“Yeah, I saw that fight between Holloway and Seresin the other night.” The whole NHL fan base saw the fight, but you weren’t about to tell Simpson something he was probably painfully aware of, “Interesting decision to bench him before going against Endmonton though. He’s your strongest player.”

“Can’t let him get away with bad behavior,” Simpson shrugged, stopping outside a large conference room with glass walls and a large oval table in the middle, “Hey, I’m sorry about your dad. I got the honor of playing against him my rookie year. Hell of a player. Terrible thing, cancer is.”

“Yeah, thanks,” It had been months since your dad died from cancer, shocking the world of hockey. You thought by now you would have been used to hearing condolences from strangers, but they still made your ears burn and your face flush.

Simpson nodded courtly, opening the door to the conference room where two sharply dressed men and a woman sat.

“Gentlemen, this is Y/N L/N, the new PR rep for the North Island Daggers,” Simpson introduced you as the two men stood up, and you immediately knew who they were.

“Pete Mitchell and Tom Kazansky, co-owners of the North Island Daggers,” You answered, shaking both of their hands, “An honor to meet you, both.”

“The honor is all ours, Miss Hamilton,” Pete smiled at you as he sat down.

You wanted to correct him, but decided not to. Sometimes, it was easier to let people call you by your father’s last name, than try and explain why you dropped it and took up your mother’s maiden name. The world of sports was a game of who you know and who you belong to. If your last name was that of a hall of famer, you were almost guaranteed anything and everything you wanted, and you hated that. When you were vying for the spot on Team USA, you wanted it because you were skilled, not because of who your dad was. The same stood now, as you were trying to work your way up in the hockey world. You wanted this job because you were good at it, not because your dad was hockey royalty.

“I’m Mrs. Wright, the executive public relations and human resource officer,” The woman, who’s blonde hair was slicked back in an impressive bun, held her hand out to you.

“It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Wright,” You smiled at her, trying hard to not gawk at the huge diamond ring that sat on her finger.

“We’re glad you could join us on such short notice,” Tom spoke, “We know that you just got let go from the Stars for a shit reason if you ask me.”

“Thanks,” You muttered, clasping your hands on the conference table in front of you, “I am happy to be picked up by the Daggers though. My dad really enjoyed his time here as a rookie.”

“Damn, we missed him when he left,” Pete shook his head, as if he were remembering the “good ol’ days” as your father referred to him during his rookie season.

“The reason we hired you, Miss Hamilton,” Mrs. Wright spoke up, breaking up the reminiscing, “Is because we are in the middle of a PR storm. We have a player who has caused quite the controversy lately and is in danger of losing his sponsors. From our research, we know that you do fantastic work with building player profiles, turning rookies into known players, making the bad guys look like the good boys. We need you to do that.”

“Okay,” You nodded, “So am I taking over the social media accounts like I did in Dallas, or-”

Mrs. Wright looked apprehensively at Pete and Tom, who sat up a bit in their seats.

“Not necessarily,” Pete cleared his throat, “You will be paired one on one with one of our problematic players.”

Your eyebrows furrowed, before realization struck you, “Wait. . .” You held your finger up, “You hired me to be a glorified babysitter?”

— — —

“I don’t need a babysitter.”

Jake grunted as he set the barbell back on the rack above him. His gray workout t-shirt was drenched in sweat as he sat up, looking both his agent and trainer in the eye, “I’m fine on my own.”

“You got in a fight,” His agent, Steven, deadpanned.

“Everyone gets in fights, its hockey,” Jake shrugged as Javy handed him his water bottle.

“With your own teammate.”

Jake glanced over to the other side of the workout room, where Wren Holloway was working out with Bradley Bradshaw, still supporting a black eye from the fight that broke out a couple of days ago on the ice. The fight, which was being dubbed “The Dagger Civil War,” was definitely not a highlight Jake liked to have hanging over him. But in the game of hockey, sometimes the tension runs high, and in that particular game, Jake had gone out looking for a fight from the moment the puck first dropped. It was just unfortunate that his opponent was his teammate.

“Look,” Steven shifted on his feet, crossing his arms across his chest, “The fight is the least of our issues right now. We have sponsorships ready to pull out on you because you’ve been labeled the “hot head” and the “problematic child”. And what is this that I hear about an affair with the coach’s wife?”

Jake groaned, standing up from the workout bench, and taking the sweat towel from Javy’s hand. Both of them followed Jake through the weight room. The Daggers might’ve been the worst team in the NHL, having a history of one play-off appearance in the 70 years since they’ve been a team, they sure did have one of the nicest facilities Jake had ever been in. State of the art work-out and physical therapy rooms. Rehabilitation pools, and an indoor track. In-house chefs that served breakfast, lunch and dinner, plus tons of snack shops throughout the building. And the best part, two full sized practice rinks.

Jake walked over to the smoothie shack, where a bright-eyed hopeful girl sat down his regular smoothie order, his name with a heart around it.

“Here you go, Jake,” She batted her eyes as Jake took the smoothie, making a clear display of taking off the sticky note with her number on it and setting it back on the counter.

“Not interested, but thanks,” He nodded, turning back to Javy and Steven, who glared at him, “What?”

“You sleep with her too?” Steven asked and Javy snickered. Jake was going to shake his head no, but had to double check who it was behind the counter, before shaking his head. Steven rolled his eyes as Jake walked towards one of the rehab rooms.

The moment Jake laid down on the exam table, Javy got right to work. Javy and Jake were like a well oiled machine, they knew one another since they were kids, growing up next door to one another. They played on the same youth hockey team, until it became too expensive for Javy’s family to afford. It broke the young boy’s heart to have to give up the sport he loved, and Jake had begged his parents to help Javy be able to play. Even though the Seresins insisted on paying for Javy’s fees and equipment, the boy didn’t have the same passion for the sport as Jake did, and he thought it would be a waste. Instead, Javy found another way to be on the bench next to Jake, working as the team equipment manager, to athletic training assistant, to athletic trainer for the Daggers.

“Shoulder still bothering you?” Javy asked, grabbing Jake’s arm and moving it in a variety of ways.

“Yeah,” Jake grimaced, “Still has that whole clicking thing going on. Guess that hit from Svec was harder than I thought.”

Javy snickered, remembering the hit Jake suffered a few weeks ago, “He laid you out flat, man.”

“Shut up,” Jake grumbled.

“Mhm,” Steven cleared his throat, directing Jake’s attention back to him, “We weren’t done talking yet.” Jake rolled his eyes, which only seemed to infuriate his manager, “This is serious, Jake,” Steven sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, “Simpson wants you out, wants you so far gone from the Daggers, hell, probably even the National Hockey League.”

Jake scoffed, “I’m the best on the team."

“You haven’t been for weeks.”

Jake huffed again, knowing that Steven was right. He has been off his game for the past couple of weeks. Missing key plays and open teammates. Almost all his shots were deflected or totally missing the net. Not to mention, he felt like his skating had modeled that of a newborn calf, shaky and off balance. The hit from Svec several weeks ago, was just the tip of the iceberg of the list of injuries Jake seemed to have racked up in the past couple of weeks.

“Look, your spot is in danger.”

That got Jake’s attention, making him sit up from his laid back position, “What are you talking about?”

“There’s a kid down on the juniors that is amazing. He’s either been breaking or matching all your records. They are calling him the next you.”

Jake’s eyebrows furrowed. He didn’t really pay attention to any other league but the one he was currently in. Of course, he kept his eye out for any information about the national team. It had been his dream since he got to the NHL to play for Team USA and make it to the olympics. Playing on the junior team had been one of his greatest memories, and when he felt for the first time, he could actually make it in this sport.

How could he have ignored that there was someone breaking all his records?

“Who is this kid?” Jake asked.

“Drake Silvia. He’s signed to UMich, but also a projected first round draft pick,” Steven clenched his jaw, “They want him. And they will have him. . . at your expense.”

Jake felt like his heart dropped to his ass. He had never felt the feeling of fear for his spot on a team before. He’s always been the best. Always been the hot commodity that every team wants, that every coach would roll out the red carpet to get him to visit their team. Before he decided to go straight to the drafts, he had nearly every single college in the country and some in Canada, begging for an ounce of his attention.

“However,” Steven looked around the empty rehab room before leaning in close, “Henderson signed his retirement forms this morning.”

“What?!” Jake spat out, “He’s retiring?”

“No announcement will be made until the season is over,” Steven nodded, “But Henderson is done after this year. . . and the captain spot will be open. It could be yours.”

Besides making Team USA, being named captain has also been on the list of dreams for Jake. All the hockey greats have been captains. Gretzky, Crosby, Hamilton. Jake’s childhood bedroom had their jerseys hanging up in frames. To Jake, no one remembered you unless you were the captain, or won a Stanley Cup. And Jake wanted both. He wanted both as badly as he needed oxygen to live.

Jake sighed, knowing what the answer to his question was going to be, “So what do I have to do?”

A smirk arose on Steven’s cheeks, “If you want to stay on this team, and make captain, you need to abide by the rules. And that means having a babysit-” He shook his head correcting himself, “A personal PR rep.”

“Fine, I’ll take the babysitter.”

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lilacgyuvin · 4 months

Text

out of my league — k. gyuvin

pairing: nerd!gyuvin x popular!gn!reader

synopsis: it’s valentine’s day! what better way to confess to your longtime crush (and the highschool’s most popular student) than with a letter shoved through their locker. just don’t let jiwoong find out.

wrd count: 6.3k (DAMN OKAY BITCH!!!)

warnings: highschool!au, slight hurt/lots of comfort, bully!jiwoong (srry someone had to do it), bullying, one km s joke, reader isn’t a bully, eunseok of riize sneak, jiwoong is really mean 😭 a little crack, funeral talk, not to be taken seriously this is fiction!!

a/n: yk i had to write smth with valentine’s day coming up!! i lobe gyuvin gyuvin pls be my valentine pls plsplspls

“I put a note in their locker.”

It probably wasn’t the best sentence starter, which Gyuvin realizes only after Taerae starts to choke on his strawberry soda mid-chug. Despite his eyes practically bulging out of his head paired with a boisterous gasp amidst hearing Gyuvin’s doings, Eunseok reaches a lending hand out to his suffocating friend’s back.

“You what?!” Eunseok screams in a hushed tone, despite being the only three occupants of the classroom. If Gyuvin didn’t think it was a stupid idea then, well, he certainly does now. He honestly wasn’t going to tell anyone at first; the embarrassment mixed with the fear of rejection almost made him drop the whole plan as a whole. However, binging 3 romance dramas back to back gave him the confidence he’d never thought he’d have otherwise if it weren’t for the male leads and their suave ways, which is what leads him to where he stands today: sending a confession letter to his longtime crush which also ended up being the cause of his friend’s premature death. Thanks, Choi Woong!

Taerae unfortunately survives his cough attack and uses his regained ability to breath properly to discourage Gyuvin’s efforts even more. “Jiwoong’s gonna kill you man.”

Yes, that’s exactly what he wanted to hear right now. He decides against answering with sarcasm and opts out to rolling his eyes as hard as he can at the mention of he-who-shall-not-be-named.

“He didn’t see me put it in,” He certainly didn’t, and Gyuvin knows this because he showed up an hour earlier than normal to slip the note in, partly to avoid Jiwoong and to also beat his inevitable numerous contenders. “Plus, they’re not even dating. They don’t like him.”

Eunseok and Taerae share a glance. They look back at Gyuvin. “Did they tell you that.”

Gyuvin’s starting to get tired of rolling his eyes. Of course they didn’t tell him that, they’re nowhere near close. While they’ve coexisted in the same space for the past four years, their friend groups are on complete opposite sides of the spectrum. They’re admired by everyone, in numerous clubs, and is practically known by the whole school. The only club Gyuvin’s a part of is the Epic Gamers Club™ held at Eunseok’s house every other day. And as far as being admired goes…

“Yo. Gyuvin.”

Oh fuck, it’s so over. Gyuvin is going to die. What’s-his-face is here and Gyuvin is going to die, all because he couldn’t confess to his crush like a normal person. How did Jiwoong even see him? It’s not like he handed the letter to them in plain sight, and there’s no way in hell Jiwoong showed up to school an hour early.

Well, none of that matters anymore. Jiwoong is now walking into the once peaceful confines of the classroom, his goons right behind him, and Gyuvin’s about to meet his end.

All he asks is that Y/n is at his funeral.

Despite coming into the classroom for Gyuvin, Jiwoong is kind enough to make time to mess around with his friends first. Wedging himself in between the three desks facing each other, Jiwoong snatches Taerae’s glasses off his face and tosses them to the floor, and at the same time shoves Eunseok’s tuna mayo kimbap out of his hands. So much for escaping the lunch room.

After watching his friends scramble for their discarded items, Jiwoong turns his back to them in favor of facing Gyuvin, his signature smirk plastered on his face.

Kim Jiwoong: The entire school’s boy crush and simultaneously Gyuvin’s worst nightmare. Going into high school, Gyuvin didn’t think he’d have problems with anyone, his plan was simple: make a decent amount of friends, stay in the honors program so he can get into his dream university, and best his all-time score in Super Smash Bros Ultimate. Oh, and get into his first relationship (since the girl he ‘dated’ in the second grade didn’t count, according to Taerae).

He guesses he strived too hard at the second thing though, as in their freshman year Jiwoong was left at second place in their classes overall academic ranking, and Jiwoong was never second.

Ever since then, Jiwoong has tried everything to sabotage Gyuvin’s grades, which ended in failure each time. So, he just stuck to messing with him. Now Gyuvin wouldn’t really mind if he had got reprimanded for his actions, but he gets away with it— every time. Sneaking slaps upside his head when passing him through the halls, pushing and tripping him during gym, and ‘accidentally’ spilling his drink onto his uniform (which is what initiated classroom lunches amongst him and his friends in the first place): he got away with it all, for four damn years. All because of that facade he puts up in front of everyone. With his perfect grades combined with his charm, he’s adored by students and faculty alike— all but the few who were unfortunate enough to be victims of his ridiculing, Gyuvin included.

The devil himself opens his mouth once again. “I haven’t seen you in a while, you hiding from me?” His smirk forms into a smile, yet it doesn’t reach his eyes, and it holds the same sinister tone as his previous expression did.

Gyuvin looks up at him, disdain hidden behind the neutral shield he’s learned to master in favor of avoiding a swift blow to the face (not that it ever stopped Jiwoong from landing one, anyway). “No.”

At that, Jiwoong’s smile drops, his eyebrows furrow in fake confusion and he starts to look around the empty room. “But… you’re having lunch. In an empty classroom. When there’s a perfectly good cafeteria waiting for you downstairs.” Jiwoong’s friends snicker by the door as he leans down to be eye level with Gyuvin. “Don’t you find that rude, Gyuvin? The staff make sure the cafe is cleaned spotless for scum like you to eat, and you’re eating in the classroom?”

Literally what the fuck is he even talking about. It isn’t uncommon for students to eat in the classrooms, and he knows this because Jiwoong’s literally done it before. It’s in that moment that he realizes Jiwoong just came in here to mess with him, which means he doesn’t know about the letter which means that he won’t die today. Looks like he’ll live to see another day after all!

His newfound happiness isn’t long lived, as in the span of one second, Gyuvin blinks and his food is nothing but a pile of solids and liquids on the classroom’s floor.

Jiwoong gives him a mean snare, despite the fact that all of Gyuvin’s attention is to his now germ-infested food. “And now look, you made a mess.”

Gyuvin can barely hear him and his friends laughing with the way his ears are ringing— no, practically blaring throughout his head. His bulgogi over rice is on the floor. His fucking bulgogi over rice, the last of its kind (as his mom let him have the last of the leftovers), is now nothing but a concoction of soggy meat and rice sautaed with his strawberry milk.

Usually, Gyuvin would be the bigger person and walk away; he’d shut his mouth, clean up the mess, and go about his day. But for some reason, he doesn’t feel like being the mature one today. Maybe it’s the never ending grating laughter coming from his friends, maybe it’s because he’s tired of Jiwoong pushing him around, or maybe it’s just because his mom’s bulgogi is the best bulgogi, and now he can’t have any, all because Kim Jiwoong was bored.

Without a second thought, Gyuvin rises from his chair, lifting his arms to push at the chest of an unexpecting Jiwoong, who stumbles onto the desks of Gyuvin’s friends behind him (he’ll apologize to them for that later). Jiwoong unfortunately finds his footing rather quickly, and doesn’t waste a second as he roughly grabs Gyuvin by the collar, dragging him to the nearest wall and slams him against it. “You fucking crazy? Huh?!”

Those dramas must be really getting to me, Gyuvin thinks. It becomes obvious when he doesn’t shut his mouth after Jiwoong’s question. “Fuck you, Jiwoong.”

He doesn’t even mean to spit in his face, but it happens when he speaks, and he can feel his past self crying tears of joy. He’s been wanting to do this for four years. Maybe the bulgogi sacrificed itself for this very moment. Thanks, Bulgogi. I’ll never forget you.

Jiwoong dryly laughs, lolling his head to the side like the psycho he is. “Yeah, you’ve clearly lost your mind. I’m gonna fucking kill you.”

Okay, remember when Gyuvin thought he was free from begging murdered and would live to see another day? He’s starting to think he spoke too soon.

It’s like things are moving in slow motion; Jiwoong releasing a hand on his collar in favor of making a fist angled straight at Gyuvin’s nose, his friends standing from their seats in dreadful anticipation, and the swift breeze that comes from the door being swung open.

“Leave him alone, Jiwoong.”

Ah, his guardian angel.

In less than a millisecond, Jiwoong’s vice grip on Gyuvin’s collar is released, and the fist ready to knock him out is lowered to his side. A deep sigh escapes his throat before he turns to the agitated student. “Go back downstairs, Y/n. This is nothing.”

Gyuvin almost laughs wholeheartedly at Jiwoong’s weak attempt to redirect them. As if he could get them to do anything he said.

Y/n cooks their head to the side, which in Gyuvin’s book is a telltale sign that they’re about to read the fuck out of Jiwoong. “Yeah, it was nothing, until you decided to come in here and bother them for literally no reason. Do you seriously have nothing else better to do?”

Gyuvin can feel an amused smile crawling onto his face as he watches Jiwoong scramble to find an excuse. Seeing Jiwoong try his hardest not to physically deflate in front of his friends would never get old.

And neither would his good-boy facade, apparently! Despite being caught in the act by Y/n for the millionth time, Jiwoong still attempts to save face by pulling out the puppy eyes plucked from the deepest pits of Hell, paired with the fakest apologetic look Gyuvin’s ever witnessed, and turns to be face to face with Y/n, caressing their arm in what he thinks is a comforting gesture. “Come on, don’t be like that. What, you want me to apologize?”

“Yes.”

Like he’s just heard he’s due to get castrated tomorrow morning, his hand’s cease the petting motion and Jiwoong does a double take. “You serious?” He looks into their eyes for any signs of humor behind them (which is stupid for issuing an apology, Gyuvin thinks), and when he doesn’t find any, he drops the act faster than Gyuvin can say ‘COD sucks’ and pinches the bridge of his nose, letting out the loudest groan known to man. “Oh my- fine.” Jiwoong looks to his right, locking eyes with him, “Sorry for knocking over your piece of shit lunch, Gyuvin.”

Piece of— his mom’s bulgogi?! Of course Jiwoong wouldn’t know the significance the lunch held for Gyuvin, but he wouldn’t care anyway, so Gyuvin breaks eye contact and rolls his eyes as far into his head as humanly possible.

Gyuvin, now making his way to his book bag to retrieve napkins for his late lunch on the floor, can’t see the look of disbelief on Jiwoong’s face, but he sure can hear it. “What, you’re not gonna accept my apology?”

Gyuvin doesn’t stop fetching for the tissues even when he hears Jiwoong’s footsteps approaching him, and neither does he stop when they come to a halt. “He doesn’t have to do anything,” When he finally retrieves the napkins, Y/n is at his side on the floor, grabbing the empty plastic bag on his desk. “Now if you aren’t going to help clean up, then leave.”

Jiwoong furrows his eyebrows. “You don’t need to help them, Y/n.”

“I also don’t have to meet with you at the cafe after school.”

Oh, Gyuvin knows that one hurt. Everyone knows Jiwoong’s been dying to ask Y/n out for a while now (mostly because he’d never shut up about it), and boy was Gyuvin right. He stumbles over his words as he raises his arms before dropping them. “Come on, Y/n. It’s Valentine’s Day.”

Despite the obvious hurt in his voice, they don’t even spare him a glance, focusing on the mess in front of them. “..So? We’re not dating, take Minjeong or something.”

A beat of silence passes, and he thinks Jiwoong died of embarrassment until a scoff erupts from his throat. Okay, there was no way Gyuvin would miss out on seeing Jiwoong’s face after getting rejected before he could even confess, so he raises his head and fully suspects Jiwoong to be sulking or something. He was so wrong. When Gyuvin looks up, Jiwoong is staring right at him, his eyes holding nothing but disdain and revulsion. Wow, Gyuvin thinks, if this is how he reacts to them just simply helping me, what’s he gonna do when they accept (which they hopefully will) my confession? He’d rather not think about that right now actually, and he doesn’t have to any longer, as Jiwoong turns on his heels and makes his way out of the classroom, his goons behind him, but not before mumbling a parting gift for Gyuvin. “Fuckin’ freak.”

So original. Anyway, Gyuvin’s just glad he doesn’t have to deal with him for the rest of the lunch period. His friend’s are quick to his side, and he reassures them that he’s fine. “I’ll go get more napkins.” Eunseok nods and rises from the floor, and is halfway through the door before he stops when he realizes Taerae isn’t behind him.

He cranes his head to the side, and from the corner of his eye he can see Taerae still at Gyuvin’s side. Unbelievable. “Um, Taerae.” He raises his head to his friend standing, and doesn’t get the hint until Eunseok is nudging his head towards the hallway in a ‘get-the-fuck-out’ sorta way.

He looks between Gyuvin and Y/n before his whole body straightens, finally getting up from his crouching position. “Oh! Um, yeah. I’m going to get napkins too.” While Taerae walks towards his other friend, Gyuvin raises his head, and Eunseok gives him a thumbs up in support. It’s in that moment that Gyuvin decides pizza’s gonna be on him at tonight’s Epic Gamers Club™ meeting.

A beat of silence passes, only the sounds of his poor lunch being scooped up into the bag are heard, until Gyuvin musters the courage to start the conversation.

“Thanks for helping me.” He doesn’t have to stop his task to know that they’re smiling. “Of course, I’m sorry about him.” They say in a remorseful tone.

Gyuvin hates the way they apologize on Jiwoong’s behalf, but at the same time he can’t help the way their kindness makes him feel all warm and gooey inside— They're just too good for this world. “You don’t have to apologize for him. You’re not his babysitter.”

His last comment seems to make Y/n laugh. ‘Huh, I’m just funny like that, I guess’ (It’s what he’s thinking, but his friends would agree to disagree.) “It sometimes feels that way.”

Gyuvin hesitates to ask his next question; they’re not exactly close, but he’s been feeling all sorts of confident recently, so he does anyway. “Why do you hang out with him? With them?” ‘Them’ being the rest of Jiwoong’s posee who think they’re hot shit; being all types of mean to other students just because of their looks or their parents’ social statuses. Gyuvin doesn’t think he hates anything more than a snobby rich asshole, which is what induced Gyuvin’s question in the first place, because Y/n isn’t a snobby rich asshole, yet they hang out with a group of them. It’s a question he’s been dying to ask for years now, and all it took was for Jiwoong to fuck up his lunch. Gyuvin almost mentally thanks him, but he barfs in his mouth a bit just thinking about it.

A few seconds pass, and it seems like they’re trying to find an answer to the question themselves. A nervous sigh passes through their lips as they wipe at the strawberry milk staining the floor. “Well, I guess I just fell into it? The friend group, I mean. When I first transferred, I thought they were really nice. At least they treated me that way. I don’t know why.”

‘Because you’re smart and all types of talented and you’re fucking gorgeous’ and a thousand other things is what Gyuvin wants to say, but he keeps his thoughts to himself and lets them continue. “But yeah, they’d always push me to hang out with them, and I guess by the time I realized who they truly were, everyone had already established their friends groups.” At this point is where they ran out of napkins and there was still a bit of the mess left over, so the two sit across from each other, leaning on the legs of the desks behind them. Despite loving the alone time they’re getting, Gyuvin hopes Eunseok and Taerae come back with more tissue soon, or else he’d have to explain the mess to his teacher, thus taking the fall for Jiwoong once again. His sulking that came from just thinking about the possibility is interrupted when Y/n speaks again, in a more hushed tone this time. “I guess I’m just scared of being alone.”

Woah, Gyuvin’s never thought of it that way. Having no friends was a valid fear, hell, Gyuvin felt that way before he met his. He can’t imagine how it would affect Y/n. The school’s most popular student: a loner— they’d never hear the end of it.

He hates that they feel like they need to hang out with pieces of shit to avoid being lonely, when that isn’t the truth at all. As delusional as it may sound, Gyuvin is right here. Who cares if they don’t have similar interests? They can introduce each other to all their different hyper fixations and special interests. And so what if they’re from seemingly different worlds? Gyuvin would swim across all the oceans and walk over thousands of miles if it meant getting to be with Y/n. Every time they’re paired to work on an assignment together, whenever they congratulate him on yet another academic achievement, when Y/n spots him in the hallway and stops to talk to Gyuvin and only Gyuvin. It never gets old, his heart beating a million times over with how kind and effortlessly funny and drop dead gorgeous they are. Fuck, he thinks, I don’t know if I’ll be able to go on if they reject me.

Gyuvin never wants them to feel alone, he needs to let them know that such a thing can never happen. He can tell his silence goes on longer than expected with the way they start to nervously fiddle with the edges of their uniform sleeves. He says it before he can think about it for another second. “You don’t have to be alone. I-I know we’re not close, but you can talk to me.”

With the speed in which their head lifts from their fixed view on the ground, Gyuvin doesn’t know if he’s successfully swooned them or if he effectively fucked up his chances at being anything to them. He needs to save face, so he raises his hands in defense, his eyes widening in pure fear. “O-only if you want to! Like. Just in case you felt like it or whatever.” Yeah, it totally wouldn’t put me into anaphylactic shock if you were to seek me out in any way shape or form!

Gyuvin lowers his hands, leans back on the legs of the desk, and watches as Y/n’s expression transforms from one of shock, to pure adoration. Their eyes soften in a way Gyuvin’s never seen before, and if he were to look a little closer, he swears there are tears swimming at the brim of them, threatening to fall.

‘FuckifImadeY/ncryI’mgonnaenditall’ is the one thought running through Gyuvin’s head as he waits for a response. He isn’t joking either— he’s sorry to his loved ones and all that, and he supposes the Epic Gamer Club™ would have to go on an indefinite hiatus with the emotional trauma it’d leave on his friends. He wonders if his dog would be brought to his funeral?

Turns out he won’t have to plan out his funeral arrangements after all, that becomes clear when a warm smile meets their eyes, and the tears dwindle to a glassy thin layer over their eyes. “I’d love to. Thank you, Gyuvin.”

Oh Gyuvin thinks his heart just exploded, but like, in a good way. A love explosion, if you will. He doesn’t waste a beat before he’s sporting a smile of his own, sitting straighter than before. “Anytime.”

His friends aren’t back, the period isn’t over yet, and he doesn’t want to stop the conversation there. So, he talks about the thing that’s been plaguing his mind for the past week. “I saw your locker. You got a lot of letters.”

Y/n laughs bashfully at the mention of the hundreds- no, thousands of letters they received today. When they arrived at school, they opened their locker and was bombarded with a sea of pink and red cards that practically drowned them, and by the time second period rolled around, their desk was stuffed to the brim with even more advances in the form of candies and cute plushies. “Yeah, I haven’t even gotten to a single one yet! I’ll do it before school ends, though. I’m glad people like me enough to get me things.”

They’ve got to be kidding. The spring semester of freshman year was absolutely rocked by the wave that was Y/n’s arrival. Despite coming from a normal, middle class family, they were quick to rise in popularity. At first, it had just been their beauty that seemed to draw everyone in, but as soon as they were able to showcase their physical and academic skill, along with their endless heaps of kindness, they became more than just a pretty face, and the whole student body can testify to that. Unfortunately, by the 4th day into the new semester Jiwoong and his loser-ass friends had already sunk their claws into Y/n and scooped them up before any other group could. But yeah, anyone who doesn’t love Y/n is crazy and is probably most definitely going to hell.

‘I hope you read mine.’ It’s at the tip of his tongue, he’s straightening his posture to sit taller and ask them with his whole chest, and—

“More napkins!” is the opener Taerae decides to go with as he and Eunseok barge into the confines of the classroom. “Uhh sorry we took so long, we were arguing about…” he turns to Eunseok who just shrugs his shoulders before turning back to the two. “.. who the strongest avenger is.”

Gyuvin wants to roll his eyes, partly because they couldn’t have come up with a lamer excuse even if they tried, they unknowingly sabotaged his unplanned confession, and cause the strongest avenger is obviously Scarlet Witch.

He decides against it, rather locking eyes with Y/n who he finds is already staring at him, and they exchange equally bashful smiles. Gyuvin isn’t mad at his friends, not when they invade his and Y/n’s space to help clean the last of the mess, and not when they use the rest of the lunch period to bombard them with questions like, ‘have you read kimetsu no yaiba?’ and ‘where would you go if a zombie apocalypse broke out?’ (they answered with staying in Seoul, which prompted Taerae to blatantly tell them they’re going to die, which in turn earned himself a slap from Gyuvin).

He isn’t mad because he still has a chance: today, at 3:00 in room 124 after school like his letter specified. He hopes, some way, that through the piles of letters and candies and plushies and whatever the hell else, they somehow recognize Gyuvin’s from the crowd, and pick him.

It’s time.

It’s time, and Gyuvin’s got it all figured out: Although school’s ended 45 minutes ago, he knows Y/n is part of the cooking club, so he isn’t keeping them behind or anything. He used that time to run to the flower shop a few minutes away and get them their favorites along with a stuffed animal. The classroom he initiated the meeting place in was one that was barely used by students, let alone teachers, so they wouldn’t be disturbed. Oh! And it’s on the first floor, so if Jiwoong happened to find out about his advances and decided to sabotage him with his friends, then he could jump out the window without sustaining any injuries.

Gyuvin’s got it all figured out, so why’s he practically shitting bricks right now?

There are a lot of reasons really— the main one being the fear of rejection which he’s afraid he’ll never be able to live down which will lead to him maybe most certainly doing something drastic.

But it’s 2:58, two minutes before Gyuvin’s letter says for them to meet, and he has to pull himself together. He decides pacing around the room a billion times isn’t gonna do the trick, so he opts out to sitting on the teacher’s desk instead, setting the flowers and plushie behind him. He pulls out his phone and at the same time receives a text from Eunseok.

eunseokie <(˶ᵔᵕᵔ˶)>: let us know how it goes 🫡 also please don’t die today

eunseokie <(˶ᵔᵕᵔ˶)>: taerae brought danganronpa and you know how he likes to voice the lines aloud. you’re nagito we need you

Along with Taerae’s ridiculous gaming antics, Gyuvin finds it amusing how Eunseok also thought about the possibility of Jiwoong finding him out, and it makes him laugh, somewhat calming his nerves down. It’s comforting to know that if this confession doesn’t end up going well, he’ll at least have his friends to fall back on.

“What’s so funny?”

The sudden voice echoes through the empty classroom and Gyuvin almost lauches his phone through the ceiling with the way he jumps.

His heart drops a million times over and he nearly passes out, but he doesn’t, as an angel was sent before him. The angel, if you will.

Standing by the now closed door was Y/n, the sun cascading over their skin to only amplify the seemingly everlasting glow on their face. The same tender smile that they gave Gyuvin a few hours earlier was back, and he looks down and—

They’re holding his letter.

Out of the swarm of all the pinks and reds, through the heart-shaped candies and the softest plushies, none of them are in sight but Gyuvin’s. Gyuvin’s, with the stupid Evangelion washi tape on the side preventing the envelope from falling open after he accidentally ripped it, the one with animal crossing stickers plastered every which way because Y/n mentioned the game once, the one with emoticons drawn on by Gyuvin himself in hopes of standing out in the sea of letters: it was in the grasp of Y/n’s hands, fiddling with the edges as they approach Gyuvin in what to him feels like slow motion.

He honestly feels like he could cry. Oh shit, is he crying? Gyuvin sets his phone down to raise a hand to his cheek, which is thankfully dry, but the action brings him back to reality and he realizes that he’s been staring for longer than normal, so he manages to use the little breath he has left to muster what he can.

“You came.” It’s not much, but it’s the best he can do, and way better than just staring at them in pure silence.

“Of course I did.” They say it like it’s the most obvious thing ever, which only serves to throw Gyuvin off even more.

“But- what about everyone else?” What he really wants to say is ‘why me?’ Throughout the day he’d pass by their locker, their desks, even Y/n themselves; everyone seeking them out were more than worthy candidates. Whether it were their looks, their popularity, or the fact that they were confident enough to confess straight to their face— all of them were more worthy than Gyuvin could ever be. So why were they here, at 3:00 pm in room 124 like the letter read?

They shrug, a knowing smile plastered on their face. “You said you wanted to talk?”

“Oh! Right. Yeah.” He opens his mouth, breathing in a handful of air before speaking again, “...I forgot what I was gonna say.”

It wasn’t a total lie! He was caught completely off guard, it was kinda expected to forget the speech he’s been practicing for weeks now. It doesn’t seem to phase Y/n though, for they simply shrug again, and begin to remove the letter from the envelope in their hand. “That’s okay. Maybe if we read your letter it’ll jog your memory.”

‘Dear Y/n,

I know we aren’t close, but you’re not like anyone I’ve ever met before. Please meet me in room 124 @ 3:00pm today, so that I can express my feelings in full.

— Kim Gyuvin’

It sounded like poetry when Gyuvin read it in his head, aloud in his room, and then to his mom for a second voice of opinion (she said he was better than Shakespeare, which went straight to his head). But now Gyuvin isn’t too sure how that made the final cut, he cringes a million times over when they read it out loud.

He scratches the back of his head and tries to hide his mortification as much as possible. “Sorry, I know that’s pretty vague..”

“It’s okay! You can say whatever’s on your mind, I’m all ears.”

Holy shit, this was really happening. He doesn’t know why, but he wasn’t expecting to get this far. Maybe he thought Y/n was too good for him, and he really did think about the possibility of Jiwoong finding him out, but none of that matters anymore— not when his dream come true is standing right in front of him, when they could be doing anything else right now and they decided to be with him. The fact that they’re even giving him the time of day is enough to fuel him with more confidence than those romance dramas ever could.

He stands up from the desk, and takes a deep breath. “I really like you Y/n, I have for a while now. You’re smart and funny and really pretty, and you’re always nice to me. I know we don’t like all of the same things, but that doesn’t bother me. I want to learn more about you, I want to learn everything about you. I hope you feel the same way, and if not, I understand. I just wouldn’t be able to live with myself if we graduated without letting you know how I feel.” Without turning around, he reaches for the flowers and stuffed animal, trying his best to steady the nervous look creeping onto his face as he holds the items out between the two of them. “Please be my valentine! And then something more. If you wanted to.”

Gyuvin’s rant has finally come to an end, and he doesn’t realize they’re tearing up until he’s holding the items up for them to take.

Oh my God he’s seriously made Y/n cry, he’s got to end it now. It’s what he’s thinking until his personal space is being invaded by the warmth of the bone crushing hug Y/n has them in before Gyuvin can even apologize.

Despite their face being shoved into his chest, tears wetting his uniform vest, they still manage to muster a coherent response. “I’m glad you told me before graduation. Of course I’ll be your valentine.”

Wait, what? Gyuvin stiffens in their hold when he both realizes that he hadn’t returned their hug and that they said yes?! “Oh my God really? Wait. I’m sorry, I know this is what I like, wanted, but can I ask why?” their hold on Gyuvin releases a bit as he continues, “Is this just you being nice? Cause if so—”

In the span of two seconds, their warmth is gone, and Gyuvin can’t even sulk the lost feeling before he’s being punched in the arm. “Ow!”

Their tear stained face holds a look of offense, like Gyuvin just wronged their entire lineage. “You think I’m crying just to be nice?” Oh, he thinks, thats a good point. “I like you too, dummy. You’re really smart, and you never stoop to people like Jiwoong’s level whenever they bother you. Also, you get really cute when talking about your dog or those games you like.”

They actually listened to his stupid rants? How could he not blush at that? It spreads from his cheeks, all the way to the tips of his ears, and fails to go unnoticed by Y/n. “And when you blush. You’re just a big cutie.”

Oh Gyuvin’s having one of those love explosions again, but like, a million times worse. This can’t possibly be good for his health. In a poor attempt to hide his bashfulness, Gyuvin brings his hands up to cover his face, his words muffled by the makeshift shield. “Oh my God. I can’t believe this is happening.”

And apparently Gyuvin’s suffering is funny? Because now they’re laughing, coming closer and raising their own hands to grab at Gyuvin’s wrists, successfully pulling them away from his face. “Don’t be shy now! You’ve come so far.”

They’re right, he has come so far. So why cower away now? He’s quite literally got them in the palm of his hands (or vise versa, he should say), and he’ll be damned if he lets them slip away now. With their hands now holding his wrists at their sides, Gyuvin doesn’t have half the mind to think before he’s leaning in, landing a feather-light peck to their lips. ‘Oh fuck, am I doing this right?’ It isn’t until now that Gyuvin remembers he’s never actually kissed anyone before, and panic follows quickly as he pulls away, their faces still mere inches away. “I-I’m sorry. I don’t really know what I’m—”

Their lips are suddenly on each other again, but it’s Y/n who initiates the kiss, and it's beyond better than Gyuvin’s. It’s light and refreshing, like how Gyuvin feels whenever they’re around. Their lips are as soft as their hands in his grip, and he can feel them smiling against his as they continue. He never wants to let go of this moment.

He ends up not minding when it does end though, for when they both pull away, Y/n finally lets his wrists go in favor of holding his face in their hands, which has Gyuvin practically melting into their touch. “If you apologize one more time, I’m going to punch you again.” They smile, despite having just threatened him.

Gyuvin doesn’t mind, though. They could hit him with the force of a hundred meteors, and he’d still forgive them. So he just smiles, basking in the warmth of their hands. “So, what’d you wanna do now?”

Y/n ponders for a moment, and perks up not long after. “Wanna go grab food?”

Oh, Gyuvin could cry. Y/n came straight from the cooking club, where they make full course meals that they get to eat at the end, so there was no reason for Y/n to be hungry. Yet Gyuvin’s lunch was ruined by what’s-his-face, and there was no way he wasn’t starving by now, and they remembered that.

He doesn’t wanna ruin the mood with his crocodile tears, so he sucks up his tears as much as he can, and smiles fondly instead. “Sounds perfect.”

Gyuvin’s still in a minor state of shock when they walk out of the school's doors. The person who he’s been pining over for the past four years likes him back, and they’re going on a date. Is this a date? He doesn’t want to ask, rather basking in the sun from both the sky and the one right next to him. He’s kind of worried that Jiwoong is gonna find out, but he can’t find it in himself to care all that much when his valentine is holding his hand as they make their way to the train station.

He takes note of their warning from earlier, but he has to ask. “Are you okay? Sorry for making you cry.”

Gyuvin’s ready to take a punch, but he’s lightly shoved instead, making the both of them lose their footing a bit before walking in tandem again. “It’s okay. And yeah, you’re just really sweet.” They turn to him and smile, squeezing his hand lightly. “Okay, let’s learn more about each other starting now. What kind of ramen do you like?”

“Wanna check out the new spot downtown and find out?”

Gojo’s boy toys (◕ε◕*)

3:40 pm

You: bros.

eunseokie <(˶ᵔᵕᵔ˶)> : bro??

taetae ˶^•ﻌ•^˵ : was that a good bros or a bad bros

You: we kissed

You: we’re going out for ramen now

taetae ˶^•ﻌ•^˵ : ?$/;&/??@

taetae ˶^•ﻌ•^˵ : BROOOOOO

eunseokie <(˶ᵔᵕᵔ˶)> : omg i’m crying

eunseokie <(˶ᵔᵕᵔ˶)> : gyuvin im crying

taetae ˶^•ﻌ•^˵ : he is crying gyuvin

taetae ˶^•ﻌ•^˵ : we’re so happy for you bro.

You: thanks guys 😄

i’ll still be home in time to play so

just sit tight

taetae ˶^•ﻌ•^˵ : tell y/n i say sorry for saying they have zero survival instinct!!!

eunseokie <(˶ᵔᵕᵔ˶)> : AND FUCK YOU JIWOONG

a/n: in no way am i implying that doing things like reading manga or playing smash bros is weird, i just took things that’ve gotten me called a nerd 😭😭 also being a nerd isn’t bad i love my nerds 🫡 stream beautiful monster stan p1h get get get get a guitar bai

#yall ngl i don’t watch romance dramas #so idk if that choi woong is a good guy fr #i just looked up male leads don’t come for me!!!#also eunseok is a good wingman bc he has a girlfriend. who is me. im his gf #ZHANGHAO OST SNEAK #gyuvin x reader #gyuvin x you #kim gyuvin x reader #zb1 x reader #zb1 x you #zerobaseone fanfiction #zerobaseone fanfic #zerobaseone x reader #eunseok fanfic #taerae fanfic #gyuvin fluff #gyuvin angst #zb1 fanfic #noelle.writes

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nia-jul · 5 months

Text

LATE NIGHTS AND STAR-CROSSED MARGINS

Jason Todd is the most beautiful boy in your lecture. Luckily, fate lands you a seat next to him

college!au, fluff, pining, happy ending

——————————————————————

This has to be some form of epic karma.

You’ve never been late to a lecture before. At least, not this late, where you’re sure Professor Levine will not hesitate to slam the two double doors in his face when you eventually make it there.

You’d overslept horrifically. After a night spent with your roommates over board games and shitty wine in cracked mugs, you’d been too tired to remember to turn on your alarms. You didn’t regret it. It was hard to find time to spend together, and even if it was just a couple of hours of UNO, it was nice to catch up. Unfortunately, the drinks your friend Wendy had kept pouring into your mug had lulled you into the best sleep you had in a while. Which, unfortunately, was interrupted by a confused knock on your door, a concerned friend wondering why you were still in bed so late.

Now, without a shower and the outfit you’d worn yesterday, you were practically running to the hall to try to make it in time. Feverishly checking your phone, watching the minutes go by, as you finally stop outside the doors.

You pause for a second. Do you knock? Just walk in? Professor Levine wasn’t necessarily strict. He’d never kicked anyone out before, but you’d never seen him angry. Would he even be angry? You didn’t know. God, you were being so dramatic.

You push open the door. Immediately, a couple dozen eyes lock on you, dishevelled and anxious at the door. You could die. Really and truly, just drop down on the floor and die. You glance at the professor. He just nods slightly, and you take that as a sign you’re in the clear. You start walking to your seat, relief flooding your veins, to see that it’s taken.

Your second dosage of karma. You’re not sure what you’ve done to deserve such cruel treatment. You sat in the same seat every say. Far enough front the front that you didn't get picked on, and far enough from the back that it didn’t look like you were hiding from Levine. You quickly scan the room and see the only spare seat is right at the very back. Right next to Jason Todd.

You knew who he was. Everybody in your literature class did, everybody at your university did. He was six foot tall, with hair that curled perfectly over his brown eyes, and a body that looked like it had been carved by the gods. As if that wasn’t enough, he was also nice. Boys that attractive were usually paired with a big ego and an obnoxious personality, but he had neither. He kept to himself, was polite and respectful. Jason Todd was like every guy you’d spent hours reading about and analysing for your English classes, the perfect man in every way.

Which, of course, meant he was also horrifically out of your league.

You take the awkwardly long walk to the back. You drop your things on the floor, and sit down. He flashes you a small smile and your knees feel weak. You hope the one you give him back makes you look normal. You fiddle around with your things, bring out your laptop and books, and sigh.

Crisis averted. You made it in one piece. You tap the power on button, turning your laptop to face you. Wait a little bit. And nothing.

It's out of charge.

You tap furiously on the button, as if it will somehow make something happen.

“Fucking shit.” You whisper, digging in your bag for the charger, that you know is not there.

You feel eyes on you, and you look to your side. Jason is watching you, an amused smile gracing his lips. You feel heat rise to your cheeks and you look away.

“Sorry, I just- I forgot my charger. And my laptops out”

He hums under his breath, low and deep in his chest. “Not your day, is it?”

“No, it’s really not. It’s where I take all my notes.” You slump in your chair, rubbing a hand over your face.

He slides a piece of paper over to you. “It’s okay. Professor Levine won’t call on you if you sit this far back. He takes offence. Makes him think you’re avoiding him.”

“Surely that would make him want to call on us.”

Jason shrugs. “He’s different like that.”

You huff. You open your anthology. You’re studying Keats, one of your favourites. Despite the constant reminders that your chosen degree would get you nowhere, you love literature, evident by the copious amount of annotations you’d done. It wasn’t part of the syllabus but you thought it was fun.

A hand reaches over, hovering over your book. Jason’s, bigger thank yours, with a large watch around its wrist. Not that you were checking.

“Can I look?”

You nod. You try not to watch his deft fingers slip between the pages (try not to think about where else they could slip) and write meaningless things on the sheet of paper he’d given you. You can’t focus on the lecture, only your need for his approval of your work.

“This is incredible. You did this all on your own?” His eyes don't leave the paper as he continues to flick through.

You laugh nervously, “Yeah, I’ve got a lot of free time.”

“Oh, I love this one.”

He points to Modern Love. You smile, nodding excitedly.

“Yeah, that’s my favourite! I don’t know why, but there's something so cool about one of the best Romantic poets ever writing a poem about how people put so much pressure on romance, you know? Especially in the era he was in.”

You mouth shuts. You laugh nervously.

“Sorry. I'm rambling.”

“Don’t be sorry. It’s cute.”

You don’t have time to try and dignify a response through the shiver that runs down your spine, because Professor Levine clears his throat loudly from across the room. You look over and he’s staring right at the two of you (who are considerably closer than you were when you’d sat down).

“Is there something more interesting you two are discussing? Like perhaps how to show up to my lectures on time?”

Jason snorts and you duck your head. “Sorry, professor.”

The rest of the lecture is spent like something out of a high school classroom. He scribbles notes in the margin on your paper, and you draw little stars across the page. You’ve not spoken before, but you spend the whole time whispering to each other. He shows you his favourite poems, and you pretend they aren’t yours too.

It’s a shame, really. Deep down, you wish you didn’t get along with him so well. If not for the way he looks right at you when he speaks, breath fanning over your face as he leans down to say something, but for the fact you’ll never speak again. The two of you will pack your things and part ways, and you’ll spend the next lesson in your usual seat with a fully charged laptop, thinking about him. He’ll just be another story your friends will drag out of you over a glass of wine, the day when you sat with the sexiest boy on campus.

The lecture ends, and the two of you leave side by side. You avoid eye contact with your professor and pause outside the door.

“Thank you for the paper. And letting me sit next to you.”

Your hands awkwardly grasp at the straps of your bag. Of course today of all days you’d look so messy. You’re not wearing makeup, and you know your shirt is wrinkled. He looks effortless in a shirt that curls over his biceps oh, so perfectly.

“It’s no problem.”

Silence spills between the two of you. You nod once.

“Well. Bye, Jason.”

You turn to walk away, but you don’t make it far. A hand grabs your arm. You look back, and it's Jason, all smiling and nervous. He drops your arm, and shoots you another one of his boyish grins.

“Do you want to get some coffee? We can go over our notes. Get you back on Levine's good side.”

You should probably say no. Boys like Jason are the kind that could ruin you.

“Yeah. I’d love to.”

—————————————————————-

AUTHORS NOTE

my first oneshot!! I hope you all like it, and plz leave requests or if u want a part two 🩷

#jason todd x reader #jason todd #Jason todd oneshot #oneshot #fluff

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elexuscal · 1 year

Text

The "Top" fics in fandom are not the "Best"

I've seen a couple of posts here in there implying that the ways to find the best fics in fandoms are just to go to ao3, and sort by 'Most Kudoses', 'Most Bookmarks', 'Most Comments', etc. I've also seen some folks say they feel like their fics are failures if they don't make it to the front page(s), or at least near there.

But the simple fact: this is not true.

Now, I'm not saying that the top-rated fics in a fandom are bad.

Far from it! They're often very popular for a reason. Well written, fun dynamics, cool plots, etc. A lot of my own favourite fics have made it to the first page when you sort by "Most Kudos"-- but then, a lot of mine also haven't.

Why?

Because those selections are inherently biased.

What do I mean by that? Just that there are other factors influencing what stories accumulate the most comments/kudoses/etc in a fandom, meaning none of these serve as a neutral metric of quality.

I'm going to explain some of these biases briefly, just so folks get a sense of what I mean:

Age Bias This, I think, is the easiest to grasp. A fic that is three years old just has had more time to gain views than a fic that's three days old. Also, consider that pretty much any fandom needs time to grow. If you're in the first days/weeks/months of a fandom, there probably just isn't that much content being made. If there's only 10 fics on the archive, then 11th one stands out. It'll get a lot of attention. But if that same fic were to come out a couple years later, when there were 11 fics published in a single day, well, people are more likely to miss it. If you doubt me, take a look at the front page of 'Most Kudos' for a fandom of your choice. You'll probably see a lot of the stories there are on the older side- and this is exactly why.

Multi-Chapter Bias There are a lot of ways people find new fics to read, and one of the most basic is just: look at the front page of the most recent updates. Now, this way of sorting fics is exactly what it sounds like. A list of fics in order of when they were most recently posted/updated. But, obviously, if a fic has multiple chapters, it's going to appear on that front page way more often. A 50 chapter epic has 49 more chances to get seen this way than a one-shot. This issue becomes even more intense when you consider the Most Comments sort option. For a one shot, a person is probably likely to only comment once. Maybe if they really love the story and revisit, they'll leave a second or third. But multi-factor fics? By design, people come back every update. And that means a lot of people leave comments every single time. (Or at the very least, after big plot developments and twists!) This is what leads to long-running multi-chapter epics dominating the 'Most Comments' rankings in most fandoms.

Popular Pairing Bias Again, this is just obvious. Some pairings are more popular than others. A rare-pair fic can be just as soulful, hot, and well-written as a story featuring the fandom's powerhouse fic, but if only 30 people are interested, well... [shrug] Less people will click on it, kudos it, and leave a comment. To a lesser extent, you can expand this to any trope. 'Coffee Shop AUs' just seem to be more popular than, say, '1930s Mobster AUs'. That effects what tags people search, and what fics they find. But shipping is such an important element of many fandom cultures I thought it would be the most illustrative.

Positive Feedback Loop Bias And honestly, this is maybe the real clincher. Because I've established some of the things that can cause a story to start gathering lots of kudos, comments, and bookmarks in a first place. But once that starts, you get a positive feedback loop going. Because what's one of the first things a person does when they're looking for good stories in a fandom? They sort by 'Most Kudos'. And then they select the first story on the list, and they like it. So they leave a comment and kudos and... Yeaaaah.

So... What do we do about it?

Well. Nothing really. This isn't really a problem. It's just something to be aware of.

Any attempt to put metrics on something as subjective as art is going to fall short. So don't go rating the quality of your own stories about how well it performs, and don't go chasing those coveted top spots. You'll have a lot more fun if you just write stuff that you enjoy, make some friends, and recognise a lot of factors influence fanfic statistics beyond just quality.

Searching via most comments/kudoses/bookmarks remains one of the easiest and quickest ways to start diving into a new fandom. It's often the first things I do, and found stories I love that way.

That said: I highly encourage you to search for fics beyond just that method. Here are some of my suggestions if you want to figure out ways to get started:

Search up Fanfic Rec Lists. Lots of people put them on their blogs, and websites like TVTropes even have that as a whole feature

Ask for fic recs! Seriously! Post about it in the fandom's tumblr tag, join Discord communities, etc, and just say, "Hey, I'd love to read a story where... [insert the general themes, characters, or plot points you like". People will be EXCITED to share.

Search by specific tags Like, do you really, really love time loops? Search the 'Time Loop' tag in your favourite fandoms. A lot of specific tropes, AUs, etc. are canonized, so you can find a lot of stuff up your alley that way

Browse the most recently updated fics Yeah, I know, it's old school. But seriously, you can find some awesome stuff there-- including stories from new authors just starting out, who could really use a boost!

And hey... if you find some stories you like... Consider writing some fic recommendation lists of your own. Spread the love!

#fanfic #archive of our own #ao3 #fandom

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florisa6s · 1 month

Text

A idea- Damian

I love the idea of Damian going to far extents to mess with people using animals

----

Tim: I swear to God Bruce you gotta believe me!

Bruce: Tim...theres no way in Damians limited time he taught birds to learn your cars color and to poop on it.

*arguing*

Damian in the background: I did do it...he made fun of the haircut Grayson gave me a month ago

----

Jon: Damian why did you send me a message through an owl?

Damian: I was grounded by father so I used the nest best thing besides calling, bird travel....

Damian: And did you get that package I sent?

Jon: You sent a package?

*que a tiny robin panting and trying to fly with a giant package*

----

Damian taught the rats to dance just to confuse the villains and he tamed Penguins birds and Harleys hyenas.

(he asked Hartley for help with the rats)

He trained the rats to watch over Jason and the other bats whenever he is grounded and there's definitely been a time when Damians animals have saved the bats, like Joker is about to make a epic speech but a bat slaps him in the face. Or he uses them as a distraction

---

Dick: how the fuck did you do that?

Damian: do what?

Dick:...Damian you taught a pigeon how to do the cha-cha slide it's dancing!

Damian: so? I think his dancing is adequate?

Dick: his-

Damian: his name is Jeffrey and I won't let you slander his skills! He's doing his best!

#dc prompt #jason todd #tim drake #damian wayne #batman #bruce wayne #jon kent #dick grayson

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ladykailitha · 1 month

Text

Everything I Ever Wanted Part 1/4

The much anticipated sequel for "Not All That Glitters is Gold" the omegaverse epic that I recently wrapped up. The first chapter is here as I highly recommend you read it first.

Each chapter is based on something Steve wanted from the first story. Being a top omega escort and retiring at the top of his game. Having alpha health be brought to the forefront and actually studied. Being married and bonded. And finally having children of his own.

Just a few notes here: This not to say that surrogacy or adopt is lesser or not as important as biological birth. Because it absolutely isn't. This is about Steve being told he was only good for one thing and to learn his worth was far greater than anyone imagined.

This story is mature. There are sex scenes in here as well as full nudity, but also the first chapter has some awful pretty non-binary and sex worker prejudices that if you feel like you can't handle, don't read.

Each chapter is however long it took me to fill out that part. So some chapters are shorter than others, some times by almost 1000 words.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy this as much as you enjoyed the first one!

****

Steve had finished packing up the last of his stuff. Chrissy would be moving in next week and fill the suite with everything that made her unique.

But as sad as Steve was to be leaving, he knew it was time. Twelve years as one of the best escorts Starcourt had ever seen was long enough, he thought.

A warm pair of arms wrapped around his waist and a wet kiss was placed on his bonding gland.

“Hey, honey,” Eddie cooed. “You ready to go?”

Steve wrapped his arms around Eddie’s arms and sighed happily. “Yeah, love, I am.”

“You going to miss this?” he murmured, squeezing Steve tightly.

Steve hummed, thinking about it. “To some extent, but doing this well into my fifties and sixties was never in the cards for me.”

“No?”

He shook his head. “I was always too much of a romantic for that. When I first learned I was infertile it was a relief that I didn’t have to live to my parents’ high expectations for me. I had looked up to Roxie because they were living the life young me always wanted, freedom as an omega.”

“I’m glad you got that freedom, sweetheart,” Eddie said softly. “You really grew into your own. If you want to keep working for another couple of years, you’ve got it. I won’t stop you.”

Steve turned in his grasped and kissed him soundly. “No, Eds. This is what I want. I want a life with you. I want to bond and mate you. I want to carry your pups. As many as you want. Because if I was given the choice as a sixteen year old to have that freedom I always craved and the chance to marry and bare children? I would have taken it in a heartbeat. But when they thought I was infertile, the glamour of being an escort was the only choice for me.”

Eddie nuzzled Steve’s scent gland. “Okay, Stevie.” He nipped under Steve’s jaw. “Fuck, you are so hot when you get all passionate about shit. I could have you right here, right now on this floor if you’d let me.”

Steve slipped out of his embrace with a giggle. “As tempting as that would be, darling, the movers will be here in ten minutes and the cleaners in thirty. And I’m not as fast as I used to be.”

Eddie huffed impatiently.

Suddenly there was a knock on the door. Eddie and Steve shared a confused glance.

Steve walked to the door and opened it.

He stood there in shock for a moment. There on the side of the door frame was Roxie. Steve’s idol.

“Holy shit,” he breathed. “Come on in. You’ll pardon the mess, I’m moving out today.”

Roxie stepped in.

They were as beautiful in person as they had been on the poster on Steve’s wall as a teenager.

They were tall and thin, with long black hair and piercing blue eyes. No one was sure what race Roxie was because they had an exotic look no matter where they go.

Roxie was also the first non-binary omega escort the world had ever seen.

In short Steve was enamored.

Eddie gave his shoulder a squeeze. “I’m going to meet the movers.”

He kissed Steve’s cheek and slipped out of the door that Roxie had just walked through.

“He’s cute,” Roxie said with a smile.

Steve blushed. “I like him.”

Roxie threw back their head and laughed. “I would hope so considering you’re bonding next month.”

Steve cocked his head and grinned. “Yeah...”

Roxie held up their prizes, two champagne flutes and a bottle of champagne. “I’ve come to celebrate!”

Steve took the glasses and wandered over to the sofa. It hadn’t been moved yet, so they at least had a place to sit.

Roxie produced a bottle opener from the confines of their coat pocket and opened the champagne. Steve held out the two glasses and Roxie poured the bubbling liquid.

“Come, come,” they said. “Sit. Tell me all about the hottie that just left.”

So Steve did.

“I’m happy for you,” Roxie said. “It took me years to find my soulmate.”

Steve blinked. “Are you–no...really?”

“A golden omega? Oh yes. Really,” Roxie said with a laugh. “I just didn’t meet my bondmate until I was much older, and we never wanted children so we bonded and just never share my heats.”

“Doesn’t that get lonely?” Steve asked. “Spending your heats without your bondmate?”

Roxie shook their head. “No. We still share his ruts and we use as much protection as we can. But, no. I’ve gotten used to having my heats alone, adding another person would just be complicating things at this point.”

“I guess that makes sense,” Steve said with a nod. “I guess I’m young enough to miss the connection that he and I share during his ruts when I have my heats.”

Roxie smiled. “I hear you had to jump through a few hoops to bond.”

Steve sighed heavily and took a long drink, nearly draining the glass. “It was a mess. I would be the first official golden omega to retire from active escorting and that was something they wanted to carefully curate. They didn’t want a scandal like what the church had last year when Chrissy broke open the illegal nature of the amount of omegas they took in.”

“That was a nightmare,” Roxie agreed. “I was shocked by it all.”

“I’m just grateful that I’ll have a few months to prepare for the fallout before the shit hits the fan,” Steve said. “After all it won’t come out until Eddie and I get pregnant.”

Roxie hummed their agreement.

“If you’re really lucky,” they said, “maybe a year or more.”

Steve threw back his head and laughed. “That’s what Eddie’s hoping for, but I’m fine with either, honestly. My two biggest dreams growing up were having pups and being an escort, how that would have worked out biologically, I had no idea, I was just dumb kid. But actually getting both feels like a miracle.”

Roxie smiled, their eyes crinkling. “I’m almost sad you’re a golden omega, because I really thought you would be the one to take my place as top earner when I retired next year.”

His jaw dropped and his eyes went wide. “Wait, really?” He couldn’t believe it. Roxie retire? That was unfathomable. Oh and the other thing, too.

Roxie must of read his mind because they laughed. “Yes, I’m retiring. I turn sixty-five next year, and I really can’t see myself doing it for much longer. And as for you, yes, darling. You. You are the best escort this industry has ever seen and you have the receipts to prove it.”

“They do want me to come back and teach the next batch of incoming escorts,” Steve said with a sigh smile. “From the ages of sixteen to eighteen, I’ll be teaching them everything I learned to make them better. And that’s more important than any glamour or glitz being an escort could possibly give me.”

“Then the agency is in better hands than I thought!” Roxie cried, gleefully clapping their hands together.

Steve smiled and shook his head. “You know, it’s funny. The only reason my dad even allowed me to be an escort was because there had never been a Harrington omega who wasn’t a trophy wife. They never worked a day in their lives. So when I offered to become a wet nurse to save up money to become a teacher, he blanched and said that I was going to be an escort. At least I could make money for them that way.”

He poured himself another glass and filled Roxie’s when they put out their own too.

“Well,” Roxie said smiling over their glass, “as long as you don’t start work until after you’ve bonded Eddie, that could still be true about the whole ‘no Harrington ever being a teacher’ thing.”

Steve laughed, his eyes squeezed tight, mouth open wide and just laughing with his whole chest. “Here’s to that!”

They clinked their glasses together. They talked for a little while longer, but soon Roxie had left and the movers and the cleaners filed in.

“These knothead movers,” Eddie said darkly, “were trying to duck out of doing the job because you were celebrating still.”

The older of the alpha moving team glared at him. “How was I to know that Roxie was in there?”

“From believing me when I told you?” Eddie asked, waving his arms out in front of him.

“He is so gorgeous,” one of the omega cleaners twittered.

“They,” Steve said with a frown. “Roxie uses they/them. Unless you're talking about someone else.”

The cleaner rolled her eyes. “He was a him for decades and then decides to come out non-binary? Whatever.”

“Out!” Steve said, barely containing his rage. “I will put in complaints with your bosses and management will get in new teams if they know what’s good for them.”

Eddie grinned. “You’ve got it, babe.”

Everyone filed out, the other omega cleaners hissing and snarling their dismissal at the other girl. The movers got what they wanted so they didn’t care.

As the lead mover was passing by Steve, he muttered, “Slut.”

The alpha was on the ground trapped in an arm bar, Eddie’s knee in the middle of his back.

The alpha cried out in surprise and pain. “What the fuck?!”

“That’s my omega you just insulted,” Eddie snarled, his alpha fangs extending. “And I don’t take kindly to that sort of thing. I will make sure that your company never gets a single celebrity client ever again. Steve will make sure Starcourt never uses you again, nor any other escort agency.” He yanked on the man’s arm causing him to gasp in pain. “Now I’m going to let you up, nice and slow and then you are going to apologize to Steve. Understand?”

The man nodded and Eddie got up. After a moment the alpha mover got to his feet.

“I’m waiting,” Steve huffed. His arms were crossed over his chest and he was leaning on his back leg.

“I’m sorry I called you a slut,” the man groused, rubbing the arm Eddie had yanked.

“Just because my work is different from yours doesn’t mean it’s not work,” Steve hissed. He waved his hand. “Now get out of my sight.”

The man followed his team out and Eddie slammed the door behind them.

“I’ve already contacted Powell,” Steve said. “They’ve already blacklisted both companies and have new crews being sent over.”

“Do we need to be here when they come?” Eddie asked.

Steve shook his head. “I was just cutting it fine getting the last of my stuff being packed away.”

Eddie grinned and pulled Steve in for a kiss. “Then why don’t you and I get out of here and celebrate a little bit on our own?”

“That sounds good,” Steve said, throwing his arms around Eddie’s neck. “Because that little display of yours taking down that mover was super hot.”

Eddie drew Steve in closer so they were flush against each other. “Yeah?”

Steve bit his bottom lip and nodded.

“Did my pretty little omega get wet watching his alpha take down a disgusting pig?” Eddie teased, cupping Steve’s ass with both hands.

“So wet,” Steve breathed. “Almost as wet as our first meeting, rockstar.”

Eddie licked his lips slowly and then nodded.

“Your stuff is already at my place,” he growled. “So I’m going to take you back there and fuck you into the mattress. Sound good, baby?”

Steve kissed him deeply. “Sounds so good.”

****

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

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#my writing #stranger things #steddie #ladykailtiha writes #omegaverse #omega steve harrington #alpha eddie munson #rockstar eddie munson

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sherifftillman · 2 years

Text

False Idols

alternate ao3 link

Pairing: Eddie Munson x f!Reader

Genre: smut

Tags: 18+ (minors DNI or I'm shattering throats n slicing kneecaps), unprotected sex (also pls do not do), oral (f receiving + m receiving), deepthroating, handjob, fingering, light degradation, p in v, cumming inside, eddie's got a god complex

Summary: One revelation leads to another, and another...

Word count: 3582

A/N: Sorry it's been so quiet on the writing front! I'm getting back into the swing of things :)

“Phoenix, this is Hellhound, do you copy? Over.”

You love that Eddie’s got more friends now, you really do. And him being friends with those freshmen who loved their AV club sure has come in useful for you to be able to communicate with him uninterrupted, pretty much wherever you may be. But maybe he got a little too into making codenames for the two of you.

Reaching over to pick up your walkie-talkie, you hold it up to your mouth and squeeze the button. “Yeah, I’m here, Eds. What’s up?”

“Would it kill you to use the lingo just once?” Although his voice is warbled from the radio, you can hear the disappointment in his tone.

Rolling your eyes, you reply, “Uhh, ten-four, reading you loud and clear, Cap’n Hellhound, what’s your coordinates? Over.”

“Funny. Someone get this kid on stage,” Eddie deadpans. “Are you free to come hang out at the trailer, if I pick you up? Like, now?”

“Uh, sure! I’ll need to get ready first, how far away are you?”

“Uhh…”

“You’re outside, aren’t you.” Silence. Tells you everything. “Read you loud and clear, Hellhound. Phoenix over and out.”

You slip on the first shoes you find and head straight out the front door to your front yard. You probably should have picked up a jacket, considering how you’re dressed, but you’re not thinking about that right now. What’s important is being there for your best friend. The way you always have been, and always will be.

Being Eddie Munson's best friend meant playing the most epic of fantasy games growing up. Being Eddie Munson's best friend meant having to stand back while he got bullied, because having a girl defend him only made it worse. Being Eddie Munson's best friend meant always having a front row seat to Corroded Coffin gigs, even though there was never a massive crowd, you knew there would be someday. Being Eddie Munson's best friend meant always having someone in your corner, and always being there in his, too.

You knew exactly why he wanted you out here. Now that he’s all up and graduated, the endless void of The Future beckons, and it scares him. All his other, more age-appropriate friends have plans and that scares him because he doesn’t. His plan was to graduate with you the year prior. You’d joked that he was always destined to be held back a year so you could leave that place together. But you managed to get through senior year unscathed. Eddie still didn’t quite make it until the following year. But he met his little baby nerds this past school year, so perhaps it was all part of his divine plan after all.

Everyone around you always had an opinion about your choice not to go into college right after school. You’re smart enough. It’s the usual way. What else are you going to do with your life? You always tell them that you’ve got your whole life to figure out what you want to dedicate it to working as, what’s the rush? But deep down, you know there’s another reason you haven’t left Hawkins.

You and Eddie had driven in silence for the most part. Whenever Eddie suggested these drives, it’s usually because he wanted to be alone, except for the pair of you, that state is only safe when it’s the two of you, even if it’s to sit in total silence. You felt the cold, remnant-of-spring breeze hit your skin and quickly pulled Eddie’s spare jacket from where he usually “stored” it beneath your feet and threaded your arms into it, suddenly very self-conscious about the choices you’d made - or rather, not made - before you left the house.

He finally breaks the silence after he’s parked up outside his uncle’s trailer, though he shows no sign of getting out. “I can’t believe you’re still here.”

You frown, "Why wouldn't I be? You drove me."

He chuckles softly, stroking his chin. "You know what I mean, smartass. You were made for college. You could be anywhere in the whole United States right now, kicking ass and taking names. Your whole world shouldn't start and end at Hawkins."

You want nothing more than to shake him by the shoulders and tell him that your whole world is right here next to you, but of course you can't do that. "Well, that's why I'm gonna be the Coffin's number one roadie, right? So I can see the world."

Eddie scoffs as he gets out of the car, "Please, give yourself some credit. You'd be our tour manager, at least."

"See?! Fuck college, I've got my life planned out already, seeing the world with my best friend in tow," you grin, hopping out the other side.

Eddie looks at his trailer, shakes his head softly and gestures for you to walk around some more with him. You follow in tow, feeling the cold air hit your chest, and cross your arms around it, desperately hoping you can continue to hide what the air exposes.

Eventually, Eddie smiles softly, "Alright, in reality, I am pretty glad you didn't go to college."

"Me too," you nod back, walking into his arm to nudge it lightly.

After a few beats of walking in comfortable silence, Eddie chuckles again. "Speaking of life plans, you still gonna marry me when we're 35?"

You collapse into laughter, remembering the pact you made when you were kids. "Oh my god, stop! And I swear it was when we were 40! It definitely ended in a 0."

"Fine, then when we're 30," he muses. "Still down?"

"What's the rush?" you ask. "C'mon, don't you wanna find your soulmate first?"

He snorts with laughter, "Again with all the ‘fate’ stuff. You're so corny."

You stop walking and gasp in half-mocked offence. "What do you mean?!" You continue your pace deliberately back towards his trailer, having almost come full circle, and he follows, "Do you not believe that one of these days, when you're out on tour or whatever, you're gonna meet someone who you're gonna spend the rest of your life with?"

Eddie shakes his head and laughs in disbelief, muttering, "Oh, sweetheart, if you only knew."

Your heart sinks. "What's that mean?" you ask, but Eddie stays silent. "Come on, you can tell me!" He remains quiet. Trying to remain light-hearted, you tut, shaking your head. "Well damn, some future husband you'll be if you're already keeping secrets from me…"

He finally breaks, clearing his throat. "Um. Well, uh, maybe that… Person, is… Not somewhere out in the big wide world to go looking for after all." His gaze quickly turns to you to gauge your reaction before he turns away again. You wonder if, after all this time, or maybe just for now, he feels the same things you do.

You decide to test the waters, stepping closer to him and letting one arm fall, brushing your knuckles against his. "That's true, the world is a big ol' place. Maybe they're closer than that. Maybe they're still in America."

You see the corners of his mouth turn up as he takes your hand and squeezes it. "Maybe - maybe they're still in Indiana."

You've both stopped walking now, once again back at the van. You're looking into his eyes, his deep, dark, warm, rich eyes. He's looking at you with mixed eager anticipation and sheer awe that this conversation is even happening. "You think they might be in Hawkins?" You ask, an obvious sense of smugness present in your tone.

He leans into you, with just as prideful a grin as he admits, "I think we both know you're right here."

Your hand cradles his jaw into the first kiss you two have ever shared. Silent years of pining, of being afraid to lose him over this, of jealousy over everyone he ever showed an interest in, of guilt that you could never get over him. All of that melts between your lips. But there's more than just that. Not only is he matching your energy entirely here, he's one-upping it.

His hands start to slide down your back slowly. Tantalisingly. They stop at the small of your back, fingers drumming impatiently. You hum a sound of consent against his lips, and Eddie wastes no time in taking your ass into both of his hands and squeezing. As he pulls you close, your hips instinctively start to grind against his. Your moans harmonise in each others' mouths, though yours falters into a shiver. Eddie breathes out a laugh, rubbing your arms over his jacket. “Wanna head inside and warm up?” he purrs, pressing his forehead against yours and then leaning his head up to kiss your forehead softly.

You nod and step away from him, once again keeping your arms tightly wound across your body to keep yourself warm as he fumbles through his pockets to find the key to the trailer. You follow behind him up the steps, practically feeling the physical anticipation between the two of you like static electricity. He wrenches the door open, holding it out for you and lingering as he watches you walk in. He quickly follows though, not even allowing enough time for the door to close behind him before snaking his arms beneath yours and pulling you close to resume kissing you.

He blindly guides you towards the couch until you both fall into it, grabbing your thighs to wrap them around his hips before sliding his hands up beneath your skirt to this time grip your bare ass. The metal of his rings press contrastingly cool and smooth to his warm, wide, worn hands. You squeeze your knees into his hips now that you’re straddling him, your hips desperately seeking friction which he happily provides, bucking up to meet you.

He makes quick work of throwing his jacket off of your shoulders, and you break the kiss to lean back and shake it off your arms. His eyes trail down to your chest and he sucks a long breath in. "Holy fuck, angel, I thought you had your arms crossed because you were mad at me for something, but…" He slowly drags his knuckles up and down against the sensitive nubs practically bursting through the thin cover of your dress. You breath hitches once, twice, three times as you gasp at the contact. "Now I see why."

"Yeah, well… I just threw this on because - it was easy and I - was just having a lazy day," you whine through his touches.

Eddie pauses for a moment to bring your jaw down to look him in the eyes as he raises his eyebrows. "You just "threw on" the one dress that makes your tits look like works of fucking art? Please." He tugs at the front of your dress to expose your breasts, and you slip the straps down to give him full access to take one out and start suckling on your nipple. He continues to rub the other between his finger and his thumb, and you rake your fingers into his hair as you cry out with pleasure.

Eddie looks back up at you as if he's high off the taste of your skin, smiling dreamily. "Would I be right in assuming, based on what I felt earlier, that your bra isn't the only underwear you forgot?"

You bite your lip and jump up, pulling your dress up over your head and throwing it at him. "Come see for yourself," you smirk, pushing your chin into your shoulder before running into his bedroom.

He chases you there, throwing his shirt off in the process. You sit perched on the edge of the bed and he looks at you in awe, slowly sinking his knees lower as he approaches you until he's on the floor at your feet, throwing your legs over his shoulders before burying his face between them and sliding his tongue deep beneath your folds.

Your hands once again take residence in his hair, scooping it all to one side so you can watch his tongue fuck you before pulling out to lap your clit rapidly. One hand is rested on your inner thigh, ready to plunge his fingers inside of you whenever his tongue is focused on your clit, and the other rests on top of your other thigh, ready to rub at your clit in circles whenever his tongue is inside you. He manages to find the one spot that causes you to feel a euphoria you've never known before, with his tongue and with his fingers, and holy shit, does he know how to work it with them.

"Oh, my - Eddie," you groan, and you feel his chuckle vibrate against your core.

"You know, sweetheart, I believe the phrase people use is oh my god."

Groaning at the sensation, you cry, "Fuck, when you make me feel this good, what's the difference?"

Eddie's entire demeanour changes. He looks at you in a way that excites you from the inside out. Yearning becomes possessiveness, along with a confidence you've never seen to him. He ducks back down to ravish you with the fervour of a man on death row eating his last meal, still massaging your clit just as gently as before. All of it is enough for you to climax over your best friend's tongue, screaming a string of mixed encouragements and profanities in the process.

You barely have time to appreciate the look of his ecstatic face absolutely smothered in your juices before he stands up, licking all around his mouth and pulling his belt undone. "Get on your knees, on the floor," he commands, and you instantly comply, though your legs feel weak when you bear your weight onto them.

Eddie's jeans and boxers fly to the floor with an almighty thud, which almost distracts you from the sight of his hungry eyes on you as he lazily strokes his cock. Thick, but not painful-looking. Long, but enough to not let any go to waste. Pink at the tip, veins all around. Adorned with a bushy mess of hair. Just perfect. "Say it again," Eddie commands, his tone deeper, darker.

You look up at him with a genuinely innocent curiosity. "Say what?"

"Fuck, you - you calling me a - a god really fucked me up, just, please say it again."

Biting your lip in anticipation, knowing you could make him feel things he's never felt before with one sentence, you look up at him and grin, "Eddie Munson, you are a total sex god."

However, it's you who's enamoured as he groans, his hand moving faster than ever, twisting around his member as his free hand beckons you to kneel up higher. You do so and he commands, "Spit on it." You comply and sink back down to sit on your knees, knowing you now want nothing more than to follow Eddie's every word to a T. Maybe he is a sex god. Eddie holds his palm out flat beneath his cock to also spit on it himself, lubing himself up and moaning the whole time. You watch the way it moves and you feel your mouth start to fall open. He smirks when he notices, "Go on, see what happens."

You let your jaw drop and your tongue loll out wide and flat as you keep watching intently. Your whimper almost comes out as a full-on cry as he flicks his spit-drenched erection all across your face - except for on your tongue, where you craved for him to be inside of your mouth. In a desperate plea, you cry out, "Oh, p-please, fuck, I'll do anything!"

Eddie worries his lower lip beneath his teeth in contemplation for a beat. A fistful of your hair flies into one hand, pushing it back until you're looking up at him, your neck taut. He holds his cock just below your lower lip with the other hand. He looks down at you, his eyes so blown out that they look black, and with the most confident tone you've ever heard from him, he asks, "You gonna pray to me while you're on your knees? Devote every waking moment to worshipping me?"

"Y-yes, god." You expect to do a lot more convincing than that, but something about looking Eddie dead in the eye and calling him that has him sliding his head just over your lip gently before roughly pushing your head down and thrusting up until your nose is nestled amongst the wiry hair spread beneath. You quickly try to remember all the tricks you'd read in the magazines: squeezing your left thumb in your fist, focusing on breathing through your nose. You manage to stay long enough for Eddie to let out the most pornographic of moans before tapping out, to which he hurriedly takes himself out and looks at you with great concern.

You meet his gaze with an appreciative smile and a nod, completely ignoring the trail of drool still connecting you to him. Before he can say anything more, your hand is wrapped around him, pumping his cock with ease, "Gonna -" you pause for a second as you realise how gravelly your voice is after that, but continue - "gonna wake up, every day, n' worship your cock, however you want me." Eddie again grabs your hair, affectionately pushing your head around in all directions. Feeling a spike deep within your core at the sensation of your hair being pulled around too, you whine as you add, "'m gonna be there… Whenever, wherever you need me, an' - I'll only fall asleep while you're deep inside me, holding all your cum." Needing him in your mouth again, you suckle on his balls while playing your fingertips around them, too.

"Fuck," Eddie yells, "Alright, get back up, onto the bed, on your back." You don't need to be told twice. You practically launch yourself onto the mattress, the creaks of the springs foreshadowing the symphony you're about to create. He throws your legs upwards and outwards, and you silently comply with holding the backs of your knees as close to your shoulders as you can. You feel him trailing the tip of his head along your folds, so close. Your hips start to wriggle instinctively, but you hold back, seeing in Eddie's expression just how much he gets off to being in control. He notices and smirks, "Oh I know, aren't I being terrible… Is my sinful little slut resisting temptation for me?" You nod, and honestly, the way his toothy grin ever so slowly creeps along his face is the truly sinful act here. "Words, please."

"Y-yes, god, want you to fuck me, please," you beg. "Am I worthy now?"

"Always have been," he breathes before finally sliding into you. He feels so full, but effortlessly so. Like a key that finally presses all the lock mechanisms just right. And fuck, was he pressing all of you just right. "Yeah, I know, baby, I know," he soothes as you writhe against him, leaning over you to kiss down your jaw to your neck.

"Fuck, Eddie, wanted this for - so long," you mewl as your hips buck down onto him every time he pulls back.

"Yeah?" he smirks, knowing what you're craving and pulling out further every time before pushing in just as deeper. "My little pervert's been thinking about this, has she?" You look away bashfully, but he moves your face to look back at him. "Hey, hey," he soothes, "you know how hot that is, now I know? Because fuck knows how many wet dreams you've starred in."

He doesn’t give you the time to imagine him masturbating over the thought of you, all alone in this very bed. Angling himself to lean back just a little, he aims himself just at that part he was hitting with his tongue and his fingers earlier, that drove you wild. Your eyes roll back as your grip falters from your legs. You dig your fingertips into the mattress as you feel yourself starting to come apart once again. "Hnnn, fuck, I'm gonna - please, can I -?"

"Shit, I'm close, too. Ah fuck, look at you, look at me! Getting to fuck the most beautiful girl in the world, and she's my best friend? Fucking jackpot." He leans over you, fists pushing into the mattress either side of you, his nose barely touching yours, as he looks you deep in the eyes, his still blown into dark voids of total corruption. "Now c'mon, baby, tell me again. Who's your fucking god?"

You groan, "It's you, god, Eddie, god!" You clench around him just as you feel him filling you up, warm spurts of cum lining your insides. He stays inside of you, thrusting more and more gently until he eventually comes to a complete standstill.

He still remains inside you, hovering over you, but his tired expression is far softer. "Holy fucking shit," he breathes, "that was intense."

"Yeah," you admit, "but in a good way, right?"

"Oh, absolutely," Eddie leans down to kiss you sweetly, gently. He caresses your face with a genuine adoration. "So, uh… If that's just a taste of what sex with you is like… Wanna bump that whole marriage thing up to next week?"

You reach up and cup his jaw, cocking your head. "Oh, sweetie. Go get us cleaned up, then find a suit. We're going to the courthouse first thing tomorrow morning."

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x you #stranger things x reader #stranger things imagine #eddie stranger things #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson smut

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