#my number one comfort movie it has been there for me through it all and I love it with my whole heart
humbug-demartino · 2 years
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Submarine movie poster magazine collage
-"The ocean is six miles deep."
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astermath · 3 months
hiya! i’m a really big fan of your stranger things work and I was wondering, if youre comfortable of course, a steve x reader period imagine where reader tried to hide their period from Steve, but he finds out and is super fluffy and sweet about it? thank you!
HAHAH wow i have let this ask stew in my inbox since last year thats CRAZY im so sorry my dear,, i was going through old asks and i rlly like this prompt actually so here u go, i hope u enjoy!!!!
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pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader
tags: established relationship, obv mentions of periods / menstruation, reader is referred to as female, steve being dense at first lol, regular sized font below!
wc: 1.4K
notes: while the reader in this fic is female, i am well aware not everyone who has a period is a girl, and not everyone who's a girl has a period!
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Steve is one attentive boyfriend.
It’s the early stages of your relationship, the golden era, the honeymoon phase. And while you’re a still a bit nervous about it all, you couldn’t be happier, because he does it all right.
He knows your favourite snacks, what music you like, what makes you laugh, what makes you cry. He’s starting to figure out your ins and outs, and it’s almost crazy how quickly he’s catching on. You have no reason to feel judged by him at any point, he truly is comfort poured into the shape of a person.
So then why are you staring at your phone right now, struggling to dial his number and just tell him why you can’t make it to your date?
It’s not usually this bad, at least it hadn’t been for a while, so why now, of all moments, must you be forsaken to be terrorised by your period?
You bite your lip, laying flat onto your bed, hand over your lower stomach. It's right where the pain is just gnawing at you, just like the guilt is. But you know you’d feel even guiltier if you just stood him up, he doesn’t deserve that. You sit up, a tad slowly to save yourself from another cramp, and swallow your nerves for now.
“I’ll just… Tell him I’m sick. Yeah… Yeah I can do that.” You think to yourself.
The combination of his number had started to feel natural to your fingers now, unlike how anxiously you pressed the buttons the first time, triple checking before finally pressing call. You're triple checking again now, more so because you're not sure you can handle hearing the defeat in his voice when you tell him you can't make it.
The phone barely gets a moment to ring before he picks it up, and his all too familiar sweet voice comes through the device.
"Hey babe, everything okay over there?"
You pause a moment before replying. "How did you know it was me calling?"
"Lover's intuition." He chuckles, and it makes your heart flutter. It's not fair how easy it is for him to do that to you, but you enjoy it nonetheless. "So, what's going on?"
"I, uh..." God, getting the words out is like pulling teeth. But you'd rather die than let him think you just got cold feet about your movie date. "I'm really not feeling too well right now, Steve... I'm-- I'm so sorry, I'm gonna have to cancel for tonight." Your eyes are welling up with tears before he even gets a chance to reply, just imagining his pretty face losing its bright expression when hearing your unfortunate news.
"Oh," damnit, he does sound sad, "that's okay, uhm... Is there anything I can do? What kinda sick is it?"
Shit, he's gonna make you say it, isn't he? You know Steve is a mature guy, he knows about periods, knows how they work, but you've been told to suck it up and get on with it before... A part of you is still disappointed that you just can't.
"U-Uhm... It's more like, a stomach thing, I guess?" It's the best way you can put it for now, hoping it'll put his worries to rest.
"Okay, I see..." You can nearly hear him thinking, the subtle noise of bags being moved and a fridge being opened coming through the phone. "Uh, how aboouuut... I come over to yours, and we just watch a movie at home? I still got a couple of tapes we haven't gotten to, and I can bring some light snacks that won't upset your stomach too much."
The thought of Steve caring for you while you're sick sends a warm feeling through your entire body. God, how does he just keep getting better? But you can't lie to him, right? It's not like you're really sick, unless you count the curse of menstruation as a symptom.
Before you get a chance to explain, he's talking again, and by the ruckus in the background you can only guess he's rushing to grab all his stuff. "I'll be heading out in a bit, I'll stop by the corner store too, stay put for me alright? See ya in a bit!"
You're sure he didn't realize he wasn't letting you talk, but frankly, you probably couldn't even come up with a response on time anyways. Right now, you just have to worry about looking somewhat presentable, and maybe figure out a way to tell him you're not actually sick.
By the time you've brushed your hair and brushed some mascara onto your lashes, you're already hearing the doorbell. You just manage to pull a fresh shirt over your head, before stumbling down the stairs and stopping in front of the door. With a deep, loaded, sigh you open it, to reveal your boyfriend.
Hair messed up, plastic bag in hand, jacket haphazardly thrown on. He clearly rushed to be here, still panting a little, but in your eyes, he's the image of your guardian angel, your saviour in need.
Before either of you know it, you're crying again, your freshly applied mascara now leaving thin black streaks over your cheeks. Your hands go up to cover your face, embarrassed, not even sure why you're sobbing all of a sudden. The feelings just hit you like a freight train, rocking you before you even have a time to rationalize.
Steve's expression falters, the bag he had in hand dropping to the floor in an instant, stepping in closer so he can carefully wrap his arms around you and pull you to his chest. Not too tight, he doesn't want to startle you. He's a bit distraught; he's really only seen you cry at a sad movie scene before, so he's a bit unsure as to what's caught you to be so upset right now.
"I-I'm sorry..." you manage to mutter through your incoherent sobs and sniffs, effectively ruining the front of his shirt in the process.
"Hey, hey..." His big hands go up to your face, gently cupping your wettened cheeks as he looks into your teary eyes. Hell, the image of you is almost enough to make him break too. "What're you sorry for? You can't help it that you're sick, right?"
The reminder of your lie makes you want to break eye contact in shame, but it's hard to force yourself to lose sight of that soft, caring gaze of his.
"I," sniff, "I lied, I'm so sorry Steve, I-- I'm not sick, I just... I have..."
He watches you expectedly, not upset, just curious. You'd surely have your reasons if whatever caused you to cancel is making you this upset.
"I'm... I'm just on my period and it-- it hurts really bad, it's not even usually this bad, and I felt like I was overreacting and I feel so bad and--" Your ramble gets cut short by his chuckle, the same one that nearly caused you to melt over the phone earlier.
"W-Wha... Why are you laughing?" You're not sure if you should be happy or worried, you're already experiencing so much at once, it's hard to pick one emotion to feel.
"Nothing, it's just, well," he picks up the bag he dropped, opening it slightly to show the bars of chocolate, candy and your favorite chips inside. "I had a feeling."
The sight of it makes you snap out of your state of distress, and you can’t help but crack a smile through your tears. “Seriously? How?”
He shrugs, a sheepish smile adorning his face. “I told you, lover’s intuition.” He pulls you back to him and kisses your head. “There’s another bag in the car with chicken soup in case I was wrong.”
You both laugh, just hugging on your doorstep for a moment. You have to let it sink in, that maybe Steve just is that sweet and considerate of a guy.
“D’you wanna go inside, or does standing outside help with cramps?” He pulls back a little, and you fight the urge to poke him in the ribs for his sarcasm. You love it either way.
“Yeah, let’s go inside. We can watch When Harry Met Sally and I can cry my eyes out again. Sound good?”
“Sounds perfect.”
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aviawrites · 2 months
when we were teenagers (challengers)
pairings/relationships: tashi duncan x sister!reader, patrick zweig x fem!reader, art donaldson x fem!reader
summary: Tashi Duncan’s younger sister, Ava Duncan, never gets a chance to be seen past her sister’s shadow. When Ava gets injured and Tashi starts gaining fame, the two become more and more at odds with each other. Tashi juggles Art and Patrick while Ava struggles to keep up. When over a decade passes and a peace isn’t reached, either the Donaldsons or Zweigs, either Tashi or Ava, has to come out on top. (7.2k)
a/n: you know the movie was good when you have to rewatch so you have all the info for the fic🥴 with that being said, the dates and stuff may be a little off but i did my best with what wikipedia had to offer. regardless, im a patrick zweig stan 4L. anyway, as always, ur interaction is greatly appreciated, ily<3
warnings: description of injury, allusions to sex/almost a smut scene, swearing
in this story, yn is: Ava Duncan
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March 16, 2006 //📍home, 9:35pm
The goofy grin on the brunette’s face and the blond’s childish giggle replays over and over in your head. Your mother’s muffled snores mix with Art’s laughs as a smile grows on your face, your eyes closed. 
You’ve found yourself in this position too many times, imagining what could’ve been if the cute guys were eyeing you rather than your sister. But you’ve experienced it enough times to not even be hurt by it anymore. No guys approach you at volleyball events, especially not hot ones. So if anything, you find some comfort in lying upside down on the corduroy couch making up scenarios in your head. 
The click of the front door forces your eyes open, sitting upright and perking up like a dog as your sister tip toes through the door.  
“So…” You rest your chin on your fist, “Which one was it?”
“Shh,” Tashi smiles, pointing to your mom’s closed door. “Which one was what?”
“Come on,” You continue as she stands in front of you, “Which one did you…Y’know.”
“Oh my- Neither of them, Ava.”
You lower your tone, “Seriously? You were alone with them both and didn’t make a move?”
“It wasn’t like that.” She laughs, “They’re like…I dunno, they’re weird.”
You scrunch your face up, “What, are they gay?”
She pauses, cocking her head.
“They’re actually gay?”
“No, no they’re not.” She giggles, “I just didn’t do anything with them. I mean we kissed but that’s it.” 
“Did you kiss the blond?” You interrogate, “I really like the blond…”
“His name is Art and I kissed them both.” She smirks.
You roll your eyes, “Whatever.”
Tashi laughs at you, plopping next to you on the couch and resting her legs across yours.
“They did ask for my number again.”
“What’d you tell them?” You stroke her leg.
“I said whoever wins the match tomorrow gets it.”
“God, I wish.” You sigh, throwing your head back. “I’d kill to see Art just one more time…”
May 15th, 2006 //📍home, 6:00pm
You wince as your mom tightens the brace, covering your face in frustration.
“It’s okay, baby.” She kisses your head, “You tell me if you need anything, okay?”
You nod as she presses one more kiss onto your hair before walking out, leaving you alone with your thoughts. 
Almost every athlete you know has been injured before, half of the girls on your team are covered in braces and tape all season. A torn ACL seems more like a right of passage than a serious and life changing injury. But when you heard the pop and felt the ligament rip, it was almost immediate; The realization that you very well may never play again. You’re not sure if yours was worse than others or if you’re just weaker, but the trauma of the blistering pain has turned you away from getting back on the court for the last month. 
You already can tell who’s on the other side of the door from the lack of a knock. You internally sigh, wanting to be left alone, as Tashi sits at the foot of your bed. 
“Hey, I was thinking we could go to the courts today. I could practice with you.” 
“I know you haven’t been wanting to go but since you just hit a month I was thinking, you know, maybe you’d want to start working again.”
You shake your head, “Tashi, I don’t think I’m ready.”
“When will you be?” She asks, her voice stern.
You stare at her, “I don’t know, Tashi. Why?”
“I’m just saying Ava, it’s not good to stop for this long. Some people never get back out there and you have to at least try.”
“I am trying.” You raise your voice, “My insides tore apart. Sorry if I’m not eager to put pressure on myself again.”
“There’s no pressure I’m just asking you to get up and at least walk on a court again.”
“What if I don’t want to?”
“Why the fuck not?” 
“Because I’m fucking scared, Tashi!” You shout, tears falling from your eyes. “I’m fucking scared of it happening again! I am not ready!”
She stares at you, a look that you can only describe as disgust on her face.
“…You don’t even want to drive out there just to see-“
“Get out.” You cover your eyes, a headache creeping up on you.
“Ava, I’m not going to let you waste away in here-“
“Get out of my room or I’m calling mom.” You stare back at her, “Go.” 
She stands, giving you one last look of disapproval before leaving, slighting slamming your door behind her.
September 18th, 2006 //📍Stanford Tennis Courts, 5:00pm
“Passing…Down the line…Cross…”
Tashi’s grunts echo throughout the court as you throw shots at her, a pile of green tennis balls forming behind you. It took a few weeks but she got you back on the court, just not the volleyball courts. You’ve watched Tashi’s practices long enough to know the game, so when you reluctantly offered to help her train, she jumped at the opportunity.
You zone out, robotically tossing the balls as Tashi dashes across the court. You silently hope for a specific someone show up. Patrick Zweig had your sister in his phone and occasionally in his bed, but Art Donaldson was a free man. The only Duncan in his phone was Ava, an achievement that you pride yourself on even weeks later. 
Sure, the two of you aren’t a thing, not the way Tashi and Patrick are. But you’re happy to be anything with Art, so the talking stage that you seem to be stuck in doesn’t bother you at all. You can only pray that it’ll blossom into something. Something meaning you being Ava Donaldson in the near future.
As if you summoned him, a very familiar blond boy opens the wire door, locking eyes with you. Your heart skips a beat when he waves at you, your hand immediately dropping the ball and waving back.
Your sister turns around to see Art, a smile growing on her face as she walks over to him. She wraps her arms around him, pulling him in for a hug as you watch. They barely pull away before Tashi begins chatting, her face too close to his for your liking. 
Across the court, they’re too far for you to hear their conversation. But judging from Art’s hand draped over her waist and her arm resting on his shoulder, you see enough to be angry. You can only look down, waiting for the conversation, along with your humiliation, to end. 
After an abundance of giggles, Art turns and walks away, giving you another wave. 
“I’ll see you.” He smiles.
You purse your lips, terribly embarrassed as you nod, “Yeah. Good seeing you, Art.”
The door shuts and with it, your smile drops. Tashi gets back into position like nothing happened, waiting with her racquet. Playing along, you throw her the ball. Only, you don’t call the drill. You throw with a little more force and much more unpredictability as the anger in you rises. 
“Ava…” Tashi calls, frantically chasing the ball. 
It’s only when the ball flies past her head, barely missing her, that she stops.
“Ava, what the fuck!?”
She walks toward you, meeting you at the net.
She shrugs, “What’s up, what’s going on?”
“Are you serious?”
She only looks at you, confused.
“Tashi, come on. You were literally all over him.”
“Wh- Art?” She deciphers, “Oh, Ava my bad I didn’t mean- I really didn’t mean to.”
“Yeah, sure you didn’t.”
“Seriously, I didn’t. He’s my friend I was just saying hey.”
“Saying hey with your arms around each other? That’s bullshit, just say you still like him.” You look down, mumbling. “It’s fine, it’s just annoying that you go after every guy I like knowing they’ll choose you.”
“Hey…” Tashi softens her tone, stepping over the net and nearing you. “Ava.”
“What?” You look at the ground.
“I didn’t mean it like that…” She insists, “I’m just stressed with school and stuff, he’s the only one who gets it.”
“Right.” You roll your eyes, not in the mood for ‘I’m stressed,’ to be the excuse for going after your guy. “It’s not like I go to school too or anything.”
“No, I know you do. It’s just…Stanford’s different, you know?”
“Ava,” She lifts your chin to look at her, “I’m sorry, okay?”
The two of you ogle at each other as she waits for an answer. She always does this, almost forces you into accepting her apology which you do not.
“We good?” She asks.
“…Yeah, sure.” You shrug, pulling away from her, “It’s whatever.”
Tashi just looks at you once more, seemingly satisfied as she steps back over the net. She gets back into position as you pick up another ball, a look still on your face.
“Down the line.”
December 21st, 2006 //📍Stanford Dining Hall, 12:00pm
“How many?” The employee asks.
“Umm, can I have three?” You lean on the counter, “Or four, actually.”
She reaches under the counter before handing you four mayo packets.
You start the walk back toward the table, Patrick having picked the one in the far back. He clearly hasn’t returned from the bathroom as you see Art and Tashi still sitting alone. As you near them, you catch a glimpse of their conversation.
“Don’t you think you deserve it?” Art asks, his eyes so focused on your sister that he doesn’t see you walking up. “I mean, who wouldn’t be in love with you?”
Tashi doesn’t respond, only angrily stands and walks away, nearly knocking you over. She passes you, smoke practically coming out of her ears. You watch her go before sitting where she was, handing Art the packets.
“Thanks.” He smiles, “Patrick still in there?”
“I guess so.” You laugh, insecurity lacing your voice as you simultaneously try to decode the conversation they were having.
“I’m so not surprised.” He takes the bun off of his burger and tears open the white packet with his teeth.
You watch him, hesitant to speak. Though, your words spill out before you can stop them.
“Do you ever wish Patrick let you win the match?” You ask.
Art looks up at you, mid squeeze. He cracks an unsure smile.
“What kind of question is that?” He laughs.
“I don’t know,” You do the same, tragically self conscious. “Maybe you wonder what it’d be like to date my sister or something. I don’t know, it’s stupid.” You look down, fiddling with your fingers.
Art pauses, putting his burger down and placing his hands on yours.
“Hey,” He grabs your attention, “I’m here with you today. 
You smile, “No, I know. It’s just…She’s like better than me in every way so I wouldn’t blame you.” You chuckle.
“What? I don’t think so, I think you’re great.”
“Yeah, but I didn’t get in to Stanford. Nor do I win all of the tennis tournament or-“
“Ava,” Art stops you, shaking your head. “You’re just as good as Tashi.”
Your eyes tread on each other as you try your hardest to believe him. But you do realize that this is the exact same way he looked at Tashi on the courts. 
The two of you are snapped out of it as Patrick returns, taking his seat next to Art.
“Sorry, they had like no toilet paper.”
“Oh good, thanks for letting us all know you took a shit, bud.” 
“Whatever. Ava doesn’t give a shit, right?”
“No,” You laugh, “You’re all good, Pat.”
📍Tashi’s dorm, 2:00pm
“So if he’s seeing other girls I won’t even fucking know now.” Tashi vents, stretching for her match.
You scroll on your phone, sitting at her desk. “It sounds like he was just trying to be nice, Tash. He was trying to help you out-“
“No, he’s not nice. Nothing about them is nice, Ava. They’re fucking weirdos, both of them. Art just hides behind this persona that he’s so caring and team Duncan when really he wants the same thing from me as Patrick.”
‘He wants the same thing from me.’
You sigh, tired of hearing the same things and watching her run back to them minutes later.
“Then stop complaining and fucking leave him already.” 
Tashi stops in her lunge, “What?”
“You keep complaining about them.” You grunt, “If you really didn’t want the attention you’d just drop them both.”
“If I didn’t want the attention?”
“The fuck does that mean?”
“Exactly what I said.” You say, irritated.
“Ava…” She stands up, looking down at you. You continue scrolling until your phone is snatched from you. “Hey.”
“What the-“
“Do you have something to say to me?”
“Give me my phone back.” You stand up, reaching for it.
“No, say what you mean.”
“Really?” You grab for your phone once more but she pulls it away from you like a child, “Fuck - Okay, Tashi, all you talk about is how hard your life is. How hard training is for a tournament that you know you're going to win. How hard it is dating a famous and touring athlete. How hard it is being friends with the nicest guy who only wants to help you. How fucking hard it is to have two guys fighting over you. How hard it is to go to an ivy league. How hard it is to live the fucking dream. How about you actually do something about it instead of rubbing it in our faces that you're above us and can play with two guys at once because you're so fucking amazing?"
The two of you stand nose to nose, a stance Tashi used to always initiate in order to intimidate you.
“How long have you felt this way?” She asks, her breath shaking.
“Ever since you became the Tashi Duncan and I was left in the dust. Now give me my phone.”
“Are you fucking serious, Ava? You think I asked for this?”
“Asked for what? A great life where you succeed in fucking everything? No, Tashi, you didn't have to ask for it. We worked so fucking hard and only you survived it. I succumbed to my fate, I quit my dream, I went to a shitty college, had shitty friends, watched shitty games, and watched the boys I liked fight for my sister. But no; Please, continue bitching about your hard situation." 
You snatch your phone from her hands, walking toward the door. "Good luck at your fucking match."
You barely look up as you exit the library, occupied with connecting your earbuds to your phone. It’s only when you see a familiar black head of hair sitting in the common area that you stop. 
He looks back, taking his feet off of the Stanford branded coffee table.
“Oh, hey Ava.” He makes space for you to sit beside him on the small loveseat. “How’s it goin’?”
“Good, um…” You put your stuff on the floor and sit next to him, “Why aren’t you at the tournament?”
“I could ask you the same thing.” He smiles that same crooked smile from the night you met him.
You curl your legs up, leaving your arm on the back of the seat. “Did y’all fight too?”
Patrick leans back, looking over at you. “Yeah. Yeah, we did.” He laughs.
“What was yours about?” You pry, smiling.
“Uh,” He rubs his eye, “Just…not letting her control me. I’m my own boss kind of shit.”
“…Yeah, why?”
“That’s what our fight was about too!” You burst into giggles, “Well, not her controlling me but her controlling you. And Art, him too.”
“Shit, Art too?”
“Yeah, I mean, especially Art. You’re the only one who stands up to her bullshit.”
“Oh yeah?” He asks, “I don’t know, you seem to put up a good fight.”
“Yeah, but I’m her sister. It’s takes a brave man to break free of Tashi Duncan.”
“Oh god, did I break free?”
“You definitely broke free.” The two of you laugh.
“No but I see what you’re saying, she definitely had me whipped.”
“Yeah. Like I remember one time,” He turns toward you, getting comfy, “The first time her and I, um…”
“Oh, Jesus.” You cover your face.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” He laughs, “But the first time we did, I remember she said she’d leave me if I told anyone. And I was head over heels, so of course I didn’t want to tell, right?”
“But Art’s my guy, y’know? So instead of being straight up and jeopardizing Tashi’s love, we made this stupid ass signal.” He tells in between laughs, “The way that Art serves - Like, you know how he puts the ball at the neck of his racquet?”
“Yeah, yeah.” You listen intently.
“Well, if I served that way, that meant yes, we did sleep together, And if I served my way, it meant we didn’t.”
“Well, I put that motherfucker right in the middle.”
“Oh my-“
You and Patrick erupt into laughs, covering your mouths as the librarian eyes the two of you. Your stomach starts to ache, not being able to remember the last time you had this kind of belly laugh.
“Well, cheers to breaking free of her.” You put your fist up.
“Oh hell yeah, cheers to that.” He bumps it.
The crowd outside thins out as you and Patrick head down the back halls and toward the parking lot. In true honor of breaking free, the two of you decided to not say goodbye. Instead, you’d go home without saying a word to your sister. 
You’re a few doors down from the exit when Patrick stops in his tracks, looking into the nurses office.
“Tashi…” He walks in. 
You enter the doorway, peeking in behind him. Inside, you see Tashi sitting on the table, Art by her side.
“No, out.” Your sister points.
“I’m sorry-“
“Get out!”
“Tashi, listen to me-“
“No, get out!”
“Patrick, get the fuck out!” Art shouts, standing.
Patrick stays for a moment, taken aback as he looks from Tashi to Art. If he has the same vision as you, it’s clear that it’s them against him. It’s no longer Patrick and Tashi, but Art and Tashi. 
He looks back at you before obeying, walking down the hallway. 
Now alone, you come into full view, nearing your sister.
“Tash, what happened-“
“You too.”
You stop, tilting your head. “What?”
“I don’t want you here, leave.”
“Wh- Are you serious?”
“Ava, I think you should just go.” Art says lowly, wary to step in between you too.
You ignore him, “Tashi, I’m your sister.”
You get no answer, she only looks forward. You look at Art as he stands over her like some bodyguard. 
Just as Patrick did, you back away, realizing what this is. You frantically look between the two as you wait for Tashi to change her mind, to see that regardless of what fight you had you’re still sisters. Though, it’s clear that doesn’t mean anything to her, it’s been clear for a while now. 
Now, it’s only Art and Tashi.
“Coming in from Stanford; Student and highly lauded tennis player, Tashi Duncan, took a hard hit at her match against Pepperdine this afternoon. Sources say a hard fracture to the knee has Tashi in the care of medical professionals. It is unknown if she’ll ever be able to play again.” 
The blinding fluorescent lights of the cheap fast food place burn your eyes as you and Patrick look up at the TV. 
You bury your head in your hands, groaning.
“She probably thinks she’ll never be able to play again.”
“Please, please don’t say that, Patrick. I’ll feel so guilty.”
“Ava, there’s nothing we could’ve done.”
“We could’ve at least showed up.” You rub a hand over your head.
“Hey,” He forces you to look at him, “None of this is our fault, okay? Injured or not, she still treated us like shit. Art only gets to stay by her side because he’s whipped.”
“I just…” You sigh, “I just wish I had been there.”
The two of you stand up, leaving the restaurant. Outside, a huge Adidas billboard with your sister’s face on it dominates the sky.
The two of you get into Patrick’s car, him cranking it up and turning down the radio.
“Let’s talk about something else.”
“Okay.” He nods, looking at you.
“Like…” You think, “Your tour.”
“Oh, God.”
You laugh, “When are you set to go back?”
“Uh, next week I’m pretty sure. But if I’m being honest, I don’t even want to go. I’ve been getting my ass kicked out there.”
“Patrick, Tashi would lose it if she heard you say that.”
He leans in, resting his arms on the center console as he examines your face. “Let’s not talk about Tashi…” 
“Okay,” You hold the intense eye contact that he began, “What do you want to talk about?”
His nose is almost touching yours as you unconsciously near him, eyes flickering from his eyes to his lips.
“Let’s talk about you.” He grins, rubbing your waist.
“What do you want to know?”
“Tell me what you like.” He says, lowering his lips to your neck and softly pressing.
“I, um,” You tilt, holding the back of his head as he gets sloppier, “I loved volleyball. My team was out of California but we travelled for tournaments. We ranked…fuck…we ranked second in the country-“
Patrick cuts you off, his lips ravaging yours as he runs his hands over you. You can’t stop yourself from leaning into him, crawling over to sit on his lap. Both of your hands get more and more heavy as he pulls your shirt over your head, tossing it in the backseat.
“Fuck,” You say in between kisses, “Fuck, wait.”
“What?” He looks up at you, “What, is something wrong?”
“Is this wrong to do?” You ask, out of breath. “Should we stop? What about Tashi and Art?”
“They yelled at us to leave when we tried to help.” He reminds you, “Why should we stop when they treated us like that?”
You look at him, convincing yourself that you’re considering it when all you want to feel is your mouth on his.
And you do, pushing the thoughts of Tashi and Art far from your mind.
February 15th, 2011 // 📍Zweig condo, 9:30am
5 years later
At one point in your life, it would take you multiple seconds to figure out how to say the dollar amount that you and your husband had in your bank account. Now, as the number almost falls short of five figures, you feel ashamed just looking at it. 
You switch tabs on the laptop, the light from the ceiling to floor window behind it hurting your eyes. Scrolling through tournament options, the distances only get further and the prize money higher. Years ago, you and Patrick wouldn’t even consider the amount, as Patrick just wanted to play tennis; And that still holds true, only you’ve been stuck in your ways for so long that he’s forgotten how to play to win. 
Nails scratch the hardwood behind you as your golden doodle, Bear, comes barreling down the hall. Right behind him is your husband, chasing the dog around the living room.
“I’m gonna getcha, I’m gonna getcha!” He says, the dog running desperately from him. 
You chuckle, “Good morning.”
You hear Patrick give Bear a smooch before walking over to you, wrapping his arms around your neck.
“Good morning, baby.” He kisses your neck, looking at the screen. “Found anything good?”
“Not really,” You groan, frustrated. “I don’t know when these matches got so fucking far.”
“It’s okay,” He strokes your head, “I’m sure there’s one we can make it to.”
You continue scrolling, the qualifier maximum getting smaller and smaller.
“What about this one?” He points.
“Atlanta? Patrick, that’s on the other side of the country.”
“I know, I know. But we can make the trip, no? I hear some of our friends may be there.”
You turn your head, furrowing your brows at him. A sly smile plasters over his face, one that makes you realize all too quickly.
“They’re going to be there?” 
He nods.
“God, why would you want to be anywhere near them?” 
“We probably won’t even see them, baby. But if they’re there we’ll have a big crowd.” 
You think on it, the thought of seeing Tashi making your stomach turn in knots.
“…And look at that winner’s reward money.” He says convincingly.
A sigh escapes you before clicking submit, Patrick’s entry automatically being sent.
“Mm,” He kisses your wedding ring finger, “Thank you, baby.”
“Yeah, yeah.” You jokingly roll your eyes, pecking him on the cheek.
February 24th, 2011 //📍Atlanta, 7:40pm
Nausea consumes you as Patrick’s smell fills your senses. The aroma of the city is one thing, the aroma of your husband another, but the scent of your sister’s old perfume radiates off of him like a cancer.
You watch as he sets his coat down, coming behind the couch to kiss you. 
“Did you-“ You pull your face away, not able to let him touch you, “Did you see anyone we know?”
Patrick is taken aback, looking at you with a confused smile.
His eyes bore into yours as you search for any answer than the one you’re imagining. Though, as he hands you the chinese takeout bag and takes a seat next to you, you find yourself voiding the conclusion entirely; Your mind not willing to believe the man you love would be meeting her. 
He wraps his arms around you, watching the TV. As the smell seems to corrupt every sense you have, a tear sneaks into your cheek, the possibility still piercing your gut. Even so, you wrap your arms back around him.
As of this moment, the comfort of hiding in his arms trumps the possibilities of the truth.
June 3rd, 2013 // 📍Zweig Condo, 3:00pm
2 Years Later
‘Hey, I know it’s been a while. But if you’re willing, I’d love to come out and see you and the baby. - A ♡’
The ‘Read’ under your message seems to taunt you the longer you stare. Your phone screen is interrupted by a call, ‘Mom,’ at the top of the screen. You answer.
A small gasp escapes you as you’re immediately met with the smallest human you’ve ever seen. You’d know she was Tashi’s in a sea of babies. You wave your husband over, eyes staying on the baby.
“Oh my goodness.” You whisper, “Hi, baby.”
Her eyes stay closed, her hands in small fists.
“Oh, Ava, she’s so beautiful.” Your mom lowly says down the phone.
“Is…” You wipe away a stray tear, “Is Tashi okay?”
The camera flips from the baby to your mother.
“You know you could always ask her yourself, honey.”
“No, I know. But- Just tell them we said congratulations. She’s precious.”
Your mom lets out a sigh as she looks from you to behind the camera.
“Mom, who is that?” You hear your sister’s voice in the background. 
Your hands turn clammy, your heart beating faster and faster as she begins to turn the phone to Tashi.
“Um, Mom we gotta go, we’re breaking up. I love you-“
“Wait, Ava-“
“Love you, mom.” You spit out, hanging up and turning your phone face down.
You stare out for a minute, shocked at your body’s response to your sister’s voice. Sobs escape your mouth before you can stop them. You shove your face in your hands.
“Oh, baby.” Patrick holds you, rubbing your back.
“It’s been too long.” You cry, “She fucking hates me.”
“You don’t know that.” He reassures you, “She may come around. You did good.”
May 1st, 2019 // 📍New Rochelle, 10:00am
6 Years later
Making it to New York from home took up the rest of Patrick’s savings. The house that you downsized to is completely funded by you and your remote sales salary. Patrick continues to fight a losing battle with tennis, barely able to pay for food for himself every week. Straining your marriage was the last consequence of his money struggles. Though, it has the biggest impact on your day to day. Nonetheless, you remain by his side. In all honesty, you’re not completely sure how to continue anywhere else. 
“I’m going to see Art today.” Patrick tells you, downing a handful of trail mix.
“Art?” You ask, holding Bear’s paws on your
thighs, “Why would you do that? It’s been years.”
“I think it’s been long enough, we’re already here.” He shrugs, “I think it might be good for me.”
You focus on Bear, still not seeing a clear reason as to why he’d want to speak to Art after a decade.
“Maybe you should go see Tashi.”
Your eyes snap to him, her name barely being spoken in your house for the last six years.
“…And do what?”
He shrugs, “Might be good for you…”
Your stomach seems to twist in a thousand ways as you continuously fix your hair and outfit on the way into the far too fancy hotel. As you pass the lobby, you almost turn around and throw up. But as your sister heads for the elevator, you know this is your one chance to speak to her.
Your shoes thump against the marble floor as you jog after her.
“T- Tashi!” You whisper shout, reaching her just in time.
She turns around. Taking one look at you, she looks to your left and right, utterly confused.
“What are you doing here?” She asks, tone laced with disgust.
It’s been so long. She looks so different, her voice has such a maturity to it. But that dominating energy that she brings everywhere hasn’t changed a bit.
“Well I…” You fumble, all of your practice going out the window. “ I heard you were here, I wanted to say hello.”
“Say hello?” She looks you up and down, turning her full attention to you as she steps forward. “Honestly, I don’t want your fucking hello, Ava. Really, I don’t.”
You shake your head, “Tashi-“
"I can't believe you have the balls to be here. After what you fucking did to me."
"What I-“ You compose yourself, remembering exactly how arguments with your sister always go. “Tashi, what the fuck did I do to you?"
"Are you serious?" She asks, "You're joking, yes?"
"No, I'm really not."
"You left me for 13 years by my fucking self." She raises her voice, "I had a wedding, I had a baby, and where were you? My sister was too stuck on a grudge to ever come back into my life, you're a waste of my fucking time." She begins to walk away.
“Hey.” You follow her, grabbing her arm and spinning her back around.
“Get off.”
"Not one of those events was I invited to, Tash. Not one. If you wanted me back, if you gave a shit, you would've acted like it. But you're not going to sit here and act like I was in the wrong and I should've reached out to you. Hell, I did fucking reach out to you.”
“In the wrong?” She snatches her arm from you. “Ava, are you clinically fucking stupid? You're hung up on a situation from 13 years ago-"
"No, but it's not from 13 years ago, Tashi.” You cut her off, getting in her face. “Because you're doing the same thing right now that you did when you were 18. You're sitting here blaming the world for your life decisions. You're blaming me for being angry that you were and are a narcissist who wants someone else to be the athlete that you never were. Every time I thought of coming back l'd imagine what my sister would say and I couldn't do it. But guess what Tashi, now I see through you. I fucking see it, Patrick sees it, and when Art finally opens his eyes you'll finally see yourself for what you are."
She stares at you, a chuckle escaping her. "Ava, this is pathetic. Genuinely. Because at the end of the day, it's not my fucking fault that you gave up. Now l'm in a position where I don't have to be here. I have a life, a pretty fucking good one, outside of this. Outside of you. This Final, it's practice. It's fucking child's play for us, whereas for the Zweigs...This is it for you. Your last fucking loss.”
“Yeah. Okay Tash.” You roll your eyes, "Keep throwing insults at me to distract from the fact that you're a shitty person."
"I'm a shitty pers- You fucking abandoned your family for 13 fucking years!"
"Because my sister is an insufferable egomaniac who can't accept the fact that her husband doesn't want to do this shit anymore and her tennis life is over!” You shout back, your voices echoing throughout the hotel. “It's fucking over Tashi, give it up. That's why I left you, because you're fucking dreadful! You're dreadful and everyone knows it."
Tashi slowly nods, the hotel staff looking at the two of you.
"...Ava, do you know what your husband does late at night?"
Your eyes widen, your heart skipping a beat as she addresses the unspoken.
"Fuck you." You spit.
"I'm really asking, because from what I experienced...You're a lucky woman."
Now you’re the one with disgust in your eyes, the urge to spit in her face stronger than ever before.
“…Say hi to mom for me, Tashi." You say, your hands balling into fists.
“Happy to.” She utters, walking toward the elevator. “Tell Patrick I’m wishing him good luck.”
You only tell your husband bits a pieces of your encounter, not daring to remind him of the man he was in Atlanta.
“I don’t even know why I tried.”
“Both of them are assholes.” He agrees, “At least now we’re sure of it.”
“I guess.” You bite your nails, stroking Bear’s ears. “Patrick you have to beat him in the Final. We can’t let them win.”
“I know, baby.” He nods, on your wavelength. “I know.”
May 4th, 2019 // Night Before the Final, 11:25pm
“Pat, it’s really coming down out there.” You look out of the hotel window, tarps flying into the street. “What if they cancel the match?”
“They’d never do that.” He watches the TV, “It should lighten up by morning.” 
You hum, snuggling next to him as the bright screen flashes through an action sequence. Patrick’s phone vibrates, his phone brightness lighting the rest of the room.
“Oh, baby.” He shifts his body, making you sit up. “I gotta go.”
“Now? Why?” You try to look on his phone but he pulls it away, scrolling.
“I have to, um,” He rubs his head, looking stressed. “My racquet, I have to pick it up.”
“The fuck does that mean?”
“They just messaged reminding me that we have to have this certain racquet to compete tomorrow.” He stands up, rushing toward the door.
“What- Patrick,” You follow him, “It’s like a fucking flash flood out there, can you not do this tomorrow?”
“Baby, they close at midnight, I gotta go,” He kisses you, “I love you.”
“Patrick, wait-“
“I love you, I have to go!” He shuts the door behind him.
You have a strange urge to cry as you scroll through Art Donaldson’s instagram. Photos of him and his seemingly perfect family are plastered all over, an ‘@Tashidonaldson ♡’ at the top of his bio.
Patrick never wanted kids, said they’d cost too much and you couldn’t care for them. He was correct about the former, but care for children, you are willing and able to do. But when you married him, he did a lot of the decision making for you. 
Now, as he’s blown all of your savings, lost his tennis touch, and been out of the damn hotel room for an hour doing god knows what , you wish you could shout at past you to get a grip. 
Though, looking at these picture now, you wish you could do the same to past Art Donaldson too. 
May 5th, 2019 // 📍New Rochelle Courts, 1:00pm
Final Day
The crowd’s heads robotically turned side to side as Art and Patrick dog it out in a vicious match. You sit in your assigned seat next to your sister, the endless stream of slander not ceasing, not even today.
“Is he retiring after this?” You ask, your head still going between the men.
Tashi shrugs, her expression hidden behind her sunglasses. “Maybe.”
"...I don't think Patrick will ever retire. I think tennis is all he has."
She hums, "If only he'd start winning his matches."
"He doesn't always play for the wins, Tashi."
"Yeah, he plays for the participation money."
"Maybe he does." You say, "At least he does it by choice."
She looks to you, her attention no longer on her husband’s tie breaker. "Art does it by choice."
“Like hell he does.” You scoff, “He wouldn't be retiring after becoming a Career Grand Slam if he wanted to be doing this.”
“Art is an adult, he does what he wants.” She looks back to the court.
“Art is your slave, he does what you want.”
Tashi continues trying to get to you. As Patrick sets for his next serve, he looks in your direction. Only, he isn’t looking at you, he’s looking at your sister. He returns his gaze to Art, placing his ball in the neck of his racquet.
Both you and Art freeze, staring at your husband. The men seem to be in their own world, but Patrick must’ve forgotten that you know too. The word seems to muffle around you as you stare at your husband’s evil grin at Art.
You stand on shaky legs, grasping your stomach as bile threatens to come up. 
“Hey…” Tashi calls after you, “Ava, what the fuck are you doing?”
You run to the nearest exit, Patrick’s blatant disrespect and repulsiveness making you want to genuinely die where you stand.
It’s only as you stumble to your car that it truly hits you who the man you married really is, and how he really sees you. 
Like everyone else, he thinks you’re a pawn in Tashi’s game. A piece that can be battered and bruised but will never go away, as it’s crucial to the game of Tashi. You want to vomit as you sit in your car, Patrick’s scent sending you into a violent sick.
May 14th, 2019 // 📍Zweig home, 12:00pm
9 Days Later
Three knocks at the door echo through your almost empty house. You pause your show, unlatching the chain and opening it. 
Patrick stands in front of you, a hysterical attempt of a sad expression on his face.
“Everything’s here.” You walk him in, pointing to the boxes full of his stuff in the kitchen. “The only things that aren’t are your racquets, trophies, cups, stuff like that. Those are in the closet so they wouldn’t get mixed up.”
“Thanks.” He says, feeling like an alien in this house.
“Yeah.” You give him a thumbs up, returning to the couch next to Bear.
He spends an hour loudly moving his things from the kitchen to his car, the sound almost drowning out your show. Regardless, you stay put, wanting him to be done as fast as he can.
“Ava…” He calls over the reality TV. You ignore him, popping another veggie straw into your mouth. 
Suddenly, his arm comes from behind you, grabbing the remote and muting it.
“Hey.” You turn around.
“I’m talking to you.”
“Okay, well I don’t want to talk to you.”
“Ava, I’m sorry-“
“Pat,” You chuckle, not being able to keep it in. “Don’t even.”
“Baby, listen to me, okay? I fucked up-“
“Patrick, Patrick!” You stand up, “Just stop, okay? Leave me be, finish getting your shit, and I’ll have the papers served to you by the end of the week.”
“Baby, no. Please.”
“Honey, there’s nothing you can say.” You shake your head, having prepared for his begging days ago. “Go beg to your mistress, yeah?”
He continues rambling, stumbling over his words. “Ava, it was such a bad mistake. I told myself it was strategy and- And because me and her have a complicated past I couldn’t see straight-“
“But nothing about us is complicated, right? We are married, we’re supposed to be a team. But you betrayed me, plain and simple.” You lay it out for him, “You’re a cheater and we’re done, now go.”
“It was a mistake-“
“Patrick…” You inhale, “I’m trying not to lose it, you need to get the fuck out.”
“Just hear me out-“
“Get out of the house, Patrick.” 
“We can come back from this, Ava. We can.”
Your jaw hangs agape in genuine disbelief. He seems to notice he fucked up again as he stops speaking. You walk around the couch, getting in his face the same way Tashi used to get in yours.
“Patrick,” You begin, “I gave everything for you. I gave up my life, I gave up my family, I gave up Art, I left it all for you. I abandoned so much to be in your corner because I was in love with you, I really was. Whether you felt the same about me, I’ll never actually know-“
“I loved you, baby. I still love you-“
“But I thought you were the one who understood me, Patrick. But somehow every time I gave you a chance to correct yourself you threw it away to be with Tashi. Over and over. She’s constantly being picked over me, her feelings over mine, her body over mine, her opinion over mine…You’re just another one of her fans. You’re just like Art- Honestly, you’re fucking worse. At least  he pretended to like me all those years ago. Now, as my husband, you just don’t give a shit. Just publicly showing that you slept with my sister.”
“…Why do you keep bringing up Art?” He looks down at you, “Do you- Do you feel something for him still?”
“Oh my fucking-“ You cover your face, composing yourself once again before continuing. “Pat, it’s been a long, long time since this all started. And if I could go back I’d change many things. But at the end of it all, I’m here because I worked for it and I endured it. You and Art can stay stuck under Tashi’s finger, that’s fine. But I know that life is bigger than that. Bigger than this weird threesome love triangle shit that you circle back to every few years. I am a grown woman who is in control of her own life so if you don’t have anymore comments, you need to get out and sign the papers when they’re served to you, Patrick.”
“…Baby, please,” He cries, his lip quivering. “You love me, we love each other. Please just think about it.”
You tilt your head, “Do you want me to be honest?”
Patrick nods, hiccuping on his tears.
“…All of this is really really beneath me.” You quietly tell him.
He lowers his head, his hands covering his eyes.
“When I was 18 I might have been broken over stuff like this but…” You shrug, “Things are very very different from when we were teenagers.” 
550 notes · View notes
lovebugism · 6 months
“Remind me why I can’t kill the carolers?” with a grumpy scrooge eddie!! maybe he and reader move into a new neighborhood with friendly neighbors who go all out for christmas and are always caroling? i can’t imagine the people of hawkins showing up at his door lol
ty for requesting :D — the metalhead freak gets stuck with a bunch of carolers and runs to his girl for comfort (established relationship, fluff, eddie "loves being babied" munson, 1.2k)
blurbcember ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆。˚
Eddie moves to the nice side of Hawkins with you. Not the suburbs, exactly, but pretty damn close. 
It’s a house with stairs and a sliding back door, both of which only existed in movies for a kid who grew up in a trailer park. The backyard is fenced in, too — big enough for a dog. A couple of them, even. And maybe a pool if his music career takes off. The realtor also told you that the school district is “to die for,” and even though that’s not really an issue right now, Eddie figures it’ll be important sometime soon.
These are all things you’re supposed to care about when you’re settling down with someone you can see a future with. Eddie thinks so, at least. He can see himself getting old with you, in this house and on that front porch. He’ll be holding your hand on your afternoon walks until both of yours are spotted and wrinkly.
The only bad thing about life (halfway) in the suburbs is running into all the assholes he used to know in high school. Vicki Carmichael was walking her too-expensive dog yesterday morning, and the afternoon before that, Tina Burton had the whole cul-de-sac down the street shut down for her kid’s first birthday party. What the hell is a one-year-old even supposed to do with a bouncy house?
It’s totally trippy. 
But Eddie’s been able to avoid them well enough. Or maybe everyone else is avoiding him. Either way, he’s grateful.
“No— where are you going?” you whine as Eddie slides open the glass door of the shower. You’re still getting used to being able to do this with him now that you’ve moved into the new place. The bathroom back at the trailer was barely big enough for one person, let alone two.
“I’m already done, and you’ve barely even started,” he answers, laughing at the dramatic desperation in your voice. 
He steps onto the plush mat outside the tub and wraps a towel around his tattooed hips. Steam flows out, and the outside cold swoops in. It pricks your skin and makes you shiver. You duck under the faucet for warmth until he closes the door behind him.
“You’re gonna be in here forever, and I’m gonna get all pruney,” Eddie insists, right before shaking out his damp curls like a wet dog.
“You usually like it when I take my time,” you joke, laughing when it makes him silent.
Eddie’s brain gets all foggy at your words. Worse than the heavy steam filling up the bathroom. He’s contemplating whether or not to jump back into the shower with you — and really let you “take your time” — but a knock on the door throws a wrench in his plans.
“Can you get the door for me, honey?” you ask just to tease him, ‘cause you know he’s milliseconds away from pressing you against the shower wall.
He listens to you, because he always listens to you, and then ultimately decides he never will again.
Eddie leaves the warmth of the bathroom, shoves on a pair of sweats and a t-shirt that do little to protect him from the bitter cold outside, and finds a number of familiar faces standing on his porch. 
It’s an entire crowd of people who used to bully him in high school — plus a bunch of snotty private school kids — all dressed up in the most horrendous, white-bread Christmas outfits the world has ever seen.
“Oh, shit…” Eddie mumbles under his breath, the evidence of his words leaving in a thin white cloud. He hadn’t even meant to say them out loud. They just sorta spilled out in the moment. Honestly, he thinks he might be dreaming.
The town’s resident metalhead is forced to sit through a botched rendition of Deck the Halls and Holy Night. And since you’re still in the shower, you can’t even swoop in to save him from it all. He just suffers through the half-out-of-tune caroling while his drying hair frizzes, a wavering smile of confusion stagnant on his face. 
When they’re finally gone, Eddie shuts the door with a chest-deflating sigh. He isn’t totally sure he’s taken a single breath since he opened the damn thing.
“Who was that?” you call from the top of the stairs, a fuzzy towel clutched to your chest. The warm scent of your body wash flows from the opened bathroom door and down the steps.
Eddie turns to look up at you from the bottom of them. He feels so suddenly drained. Like he just ran a marathon or pulled an all-nighter — something utterly exhausting that’s taken a piece of his soul. Maybe it’s dramatic, but he feels a little like his suffering has stripped ten years off his life.
“Remind me again why we can’t kill the carolers?” he jokes as he trudges up the stairs, the railing of them lined with glowing garlands.
“Those were carolers?” you gape, eyes wide and brows raised to your hairline.
Answering the door isn’t really Eddie’s thing. Conversations with strangers at the door aren’t really his thing, either. You think he might’ve just lived through one of his greatest fears.
“Yeah,” he scoffs, laughing through an exhausted sigh. He walks to your shared bedroom and flops on the center of the bed. A heavy sigh falls from his lips like he just got done working a twelve-hour shift. 
You’d laugh at his dramatics if you thought they were anything but totally real. So instead, you sit gingerly beside him, careful to keep your towel from falling, and try to comfort him without giggling.
“Shit, babe. I’m sorry,” you mutter, rubbing a palm up and down the length of his back. You’re grateful he can’t see your smile from this angle, lest he think you aren’t taking this seriously.
“Oh, don’t be,” he tells you, muffled into his pillow. Sarcasm drips from his honeyed lips like venom. “It was tons of fun seeing Jason fucking Carver on our doorstep.”
“Jason was out there?” you gape, a little louder than you mean to. Your shock is palpable.
Eddie huffs and turns onto his back. “Yeah— did you know he has a kid now?”
“Uh-huh,” he nods with a small smirk. The life returns to the chocolate of his eyes now that he can gossip. “She was a really cute baby, you know, considering. The odds weren’t really in her favor there.”
You tilt your cheek to your shoulder and cup his jaw with a warm hand. Your thumb rubs gently over the flushed apple of it, tinted cold from the outside weather. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there to save you,” you tell him, half playful but with a sincere glimmer in your eye.
“No, it’s okay,” he says with a shake of his head. “I’m glad you weren’t there to see that.”
You can’t tell if Eddie knows you’re teasing him or not. Or if he’s joking about the whole thing ‘cause it’s over now. Your boy’s too hard to read for his own good. You decide to keep pitying him anyway. His love language is basically being babied.
“Want me to make you some hot chocolate?”
He nods, a small pout jutting out his rosy lips. “With the mini marshmallows, please?” he mumbles.
You bend at the waist to plant a kiss on his forehead. “Whatever you want, babe,” you promise in a gentle murmur.
558 notes · View notes
ilwonuu · 2 months
hiii love all of your work btw!!
hear me out please!, this might be a long one😭
okay so you and jaehyun (or whatever idol you may want to use) are best friends. and have been since childhood! your a dancer and he’s a idol so your schedules are complicated. your very close with each other’s families. so one day you visit his mom like usual and surprisingly he is there with his group visiting home too, which you didn’t know he was visiting. you guys are excited to see each other and everyone can see your chemistry ( you get introduced to everyone) but you guys say y’all are “best friends” even his family see it. y’all flirt. (a lot) boom spend the night smut and boom😭😭😭.
(ik it’s a lot i’m sorry😭)
thank u for saying u enjoy my work ily<3 NO NO ITS NOT A LOT ITS OERFECT KSJSHA,,, i love this idea and of course i love rhis idea with jaehyun ehehshs!! i hope u enjoy,,, thank youu for requesting <3
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⤑ jeong jaehyun
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𖤓 pairing- best friends to lovers, idol!jaehyun x nonidol!femreader, softdom!jae x sub!reader, established friendship
𖤓 warnings- lots of cringe flirting, kissing, fingering(f receiving), dirty talk, slight smut heheheheh(dw lmk if you want another smut part), lmk what else<333
𖤓 a/n- hiiiii im fulfilling my lovely anon’s ask!!! im so happy that u requested something!! i based this fic off of some of the lyrics from this song<3 thank u for reading🙃🙃
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you almost cry after finding out about your 4 days off. you’ve been working yourself to the core with dancing. of course it’s something you love but you really need a break. you decide to go your best friends house. you know he isn’t going to be be there but it’s fine because you’re just as close with his family. his mother always being there for you whenever you needed. today you could use the company. you knock on the door a couple times waiting for her to open the door. to your surprise your very handsome best friend opens the door with a big smile.
“get in here.” he pulls you into a big hug. “jae? you didn’t tell me you were free!” you roll your eyes at him, letting go of him to greet his mother. you hug her with a smile. “i came to see you.” you smile getting comfortable a little more. you wave to the other guys in the room. “hi guys! i’m y/n nice to finally meet you all. i’ve heard a lot.” jaehyun smiles as he introduces each of the members to you.
“yea we have heard a lot too!” haechan smirks at you and jaehyun, causing johnny and mark to snicker at him. “you’re so pretty!” jungwoo says after you compliment his outfit. you smile knowing that you two will be great friends. exchanging numbers with the guys as you and jaehyun basically have the same friends. jaehyun pulls your attention back to him when he grabs your hand.
“so you guys are friends?” yuta asks looking as you guys intensely. “yea- best friends.” you smile at jaehyun. they see right through what you guys are telling yourselves. “definitely.” doyoung says as he laughs at how red jaehyun got at the question. “okay! are you guys hungry?” mrs. jeong cuts the silence with a smile.
after dinner, you and jaehyun spent the night watching your favorite childhood movies laughing and fucking flirting. how could you not flirt with the boy? it’s hard having a hot best friend (a lot of people suffer from this!!!) he has you in his arms as he mindlessly rubs your sides. you are melting in his arms. “i missed you.” he says taking your attention from the movie.
“i missed you more jae.” you smile at him. he blushes hard at the gesture. “no like i seriously couldn’t wait to see you. i couldn’t stop thinking of you.” he holds you tighter. “ew you’re being cheesy all of a sudden.” you playfully push him away. “shut up you love it baby.” you choke on your spit. baby?? what the fuck he never calls you baby. obviously because you guys are just friends,,,,definitely! “im just messing with you.” he smiles at you innocently.
“you’re annoying.” he shakes his head. “you don’t really think so, you like me too much.” he kisses your cheek and at first it seems sweet until he moves his kisses down your jaw. “is this okay?” your breath hitches as he holds you in place. “jaehyun- what are you doing?” you look at him nervously. “tell me you don’t want this and i’ll stop right now.” he rubs your side gently. “no- i want this.” you nod at him and he smiles.
“relax baby.” he helps you out of your shorts leaving you in just your panties. your back is against his chest as you rest between his legs. “look at me- good girl.” he smiles at you pulling you to kiss him. “i’ve wanted you like this for so long.” his voice is quiet as it leaves his lips. he’s been trying to ignore his feelings as were you. anyone could see that you guys were more than friends.
“kiss me again.” you sighed against his chest. he chuckles a little kissing your cheek before turning your head to kiss your lips. you moan into the kiss as your legs spread. his hand snakes to your thighs rubbing it gently.
“jaehyun- touch me.” you whisper to him. he nods at you pecking your lips. you grab his hand to move it higher against your thigh. he just smirks at you teasingly. “you’ve been thinking about this for a while huh baby? my hands touching you like this?” he teases as he moves your panties to the side.
“look at how wet you are just from me talking to you.” you nod shamelessly laying your head back on him. you feel one of his fingers sink into your aching cunt. “dirty girl, you are soaking.” he smirks at you as he adds another finger inside of you. “feels so good.” you sigh at the feeling. he scissors his fingers inside of you making you moan out his name. “mm jaehyun-“ you start to squirm as you get closer to your high.
“yea, you gonna cum baby?” he kisses your neck as he curls his fingers. you cum undone on his fingers with a sigh. “fuck you’re perfect.” he pulls you into a kiss. “do best friends finger each other?” jaehyun asks with a laugh causing you to roll your eyes at him. “you ruined the moment.” he smirks at you. “come here baby.” he pulls you into his arms before smothering you in kisses. “i want you to be my girlfriend, not my best friend.”
254 notes · View notes
hier--soir · 6 months
raising cain | 001
din djarin x ofc
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pairing: spy!din djarin x spy!ofc rating: explicit, 18+ mdni summary: at a private gala in berlin, two agents slip inside, uninvited. unbeknownst to one another, and working for seperate agencies, they prepare to bring the same target to justice. the only problem is - one of them wants him dead, and the other wants him alive. who will succeed? will the strange connection they feel stop them from completing their mission? warnings/tags: modern au, spy!din can bring them in warm or he can bring them in cold, ofc is named + has short hair + is french, alcohol consumption, brief + unemotional mention of being an orphan, violence [including impersonal violence between din and ofc], descriptions of blood and injury and [briefly] brain matter, murder, very brief mention of sex trafficking, sexual tension like hello, choking [sexual and non sexual], ofc has an interesting relationship with pleasure and pain, fingering [not technically in public, but certainly not in private], kinda dom!din, explicit rough unprotected piv sex... on the floor... carpet burns... okay bye. word count: 9.7k series masterlist | main masterlist to raise cain means to cause a commotion, to create a disturbance, to make trouble. a/n: my only defence is that i've been watching too many james bond movies lately. also, for the record, i love berlin. also also, the smut in this made me blush. okay hope you guys like this one x follow @hier--soirupdates if you'd like to be notified when i share my writing this is part one of raising cain.
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It is bitterly cold, and she hates Berlin.
Not because of the weather, although it never helps to visit a city one loathes while the windows are covered in a thick layer of ice and the ground a slippery sheen of sleet.
No, Cain hates Berlin because it has always been a city of business for her. Never pleasure, nor entertainment.
In the car, en route to the gala, a driver escorts her by the Staatsoper Unter den Linden, the Berliner Dom, the Altes Museum, and each one passes her by in a blur of beige architecture and pretty lights. Endeavours for another trip, another year, another life.
She pays her driver in cash and thanks him for taking the scenic route. In broken English he slips his number into her palm and asks if she will use his services the next time she visits Berlin. She smiles and nods and doesn’t tell him that she hopes to never return.
Her dress is a flimsy thing. One of satin and silk that clings to the skin of her arms, her torso. It curls around her ankles, just shy of brushing the ground as she exits the car. The air outside bites against her skin. Her feet ache and cry out for reprieve, strapped into a skimpy pair of shoes that pinch at her toes as she glides across the cobblestone path.
A clean-shaven man stands at the door, adorned in a modest suit and a winding earpiece. He requests her name, notes her face, and grants her entry with a strict nod and an all too brief once over. Handsomely oblivious to the comforting weight of a weapon at the inside of her thigh.
The venue is small, but the crowd is thick, pulsing with life; dense enough for her to mingle, to go unnoticed as she glides through the ground floor, blending into a mix of countless other women dressed in long slinky dresses. She wears black because they all do; her makeup is simple because she did not come to be remembered.
She accepts a flute of champagne from a man with a tray. Offers him a graceful smile and a softly spoken danke schön, and waits until his back is turned before tipping the golden liquid into a plant at the base of the staircase.
Chancellor Karl Weber skirts past her, one of the most powerful men in the German government, and she does not meet his eye.
She is patient; thoughtful as she surveys the room. She knows better than to move too quickly. She counts the exits and entries, the number of security guards and wait staff. Assesses the balcony that overlooks the room, curving around the entirety of the upper level, and slips up a winding staircase when she is sure no one is watching.
With every upward step, the lengthy slit down the side of her dress parts, revealing the soft skin of her legs.
There’s something intimate about the balcony space. Red velvet drapery covers the walls, hanging from the roof and spooling against the floors in soft crimson swirls. She takes in her surroundings, fingers twinkling across the gorgeous fabric as she walks. A slim door around the bend, at the other side of the upper level, reads NUR FÜR MITARBEITER; staff only.
Another, a few paces behind where she settles, leads to a small bathroom. Six private stalls, one with a thin window above the toilet, just wide enough for her to squeeze through. Beyond it; open air, a thick pipe that leads down to the street. Perfect for scaling.
Assuming a position near the bathroom, she tucks herself amongst the drapes. Lets shadows and velvet caress her skin and hide her from prying eyes as she juts out a knee and slips a slender hand between her thighs.
The pistol is dense. Thick and black, it rests heavily in her palm as she slips a titanium cylinder from her purse. Deft fingers lead the butt of the suppressor to the mouth of the pistol. Pin meets groove and she lets it spin, stroking cool metal as she twists and twists until it clicks into place.
Ulrich Meier stands four metres from the stage, eight from the bar, and two from the closest security guard.
Another man—taller, leaner—talks down to him. Speaking in hushed tones, the two of them glance over their shoulders every few moments. Careful, cunning as they talk.
And as she watches them, her face remains neutral. But somewhere inside of her chest, somewhere forbidden and secret and soft, she feels a threatening rage begin to unfurl.
Because the longer she stares, the easier it gets to picture other faces. Men and women with sallow cheeks and fear in their eyes. Countless bodies strewn apart by weaponry they had no business being close to; rigor mortis setting their horror-stricken faces in stone.
Yes, that anger unspools inside of her. Burns through her veins like ice, chilling her blood until she feels nothing but relief as she bends her elbow and lines up her shot.
Cain does not think about collateral. Cain does not think about those standing close to him, ones who will no doubt remember this night for the rest of their lives. She does not think about his wife or his children. These things do not concern her. All that matters is the mission.   
Her hands are steady around the weapon, finger poised beside the thick trigger. She takes slow breaths. Deep inhales that fill her lungs, followed by warm exhales. Once, twice, three times until she is steeled. An eye pinches shut. Her finger slips over the trigger. Meier laughs at something.
And then a heavy palm lands on her waist.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” The man’s voice is a low, rasping thing.
She stiffens, grip freezing around the pistol. His breath hits the back of her neck, and a hundred little hairs there stand on end. She smells cologne, light and airy. Feels fingertips dig into the flesh around her hipbone. Ulrich Meier turns and walks towards a doorway, disappearing from sight.
“Take your hand off of me.”
“Lower your gun.”
Cain’s elbow whips backward, cracking hard against the centre of his chest. His fingers tighten then fall from her waist and she spins on her heel, the butt of her pistol colliding with his jaw.
He stumbles backwards and she advances on him, returning the gun to the holster on her thigh before striking him across the cheek with an open palm. His head hardly even turns before he’s batting her arm down with a stern shove.  
She throws a mean fist forward, but her knuckles barely graze his jaw before the heel of his palm snaps against her chin. The blow sends her staggering to the side, head bouncing off the wall with a low thwack. She tastes blood, the tip of her tongue stings, and when he steps closer she juts her knee into his groin. Feels the harsh rush of the breath leaving his lungs, exhaled roughly across her face, and snarls.
Cain wraps her fingers around the nape of his neck and digs her nails in, pulling him down to meet the knee that she drives into into his stomach. The man grunts against her chest, his hand grasping upward to wrap around her neck. He squeezes tight, dragging her toward him before rocking her skull into the wall again, holding her there. Stars burst in her vision, her nose tingles, and she spits a low curse. Music swells downstairs, a live band starting up on the stage.  
Neat curls and dark eyes dance before her. She blinks to stop the world from spinning. Firm jaw… strong nose. Moustache.  
“Din Djarin,” she rasps, voice strained from the pressure of his palm on her neck. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”
Recognition sparks in those dark eyes.
“Cain,” he grunts, pupils like pinpricks as he assesses her face, and then his free hand is sneaking past the slit in her dress, tapping the gun at her thigh.
“A Walther?” Din’s fingers squeeze ever so slightly tighter at the sides of her throat, callouses rough on her skin. "A little old fashioned, isn't it?"
“A German gun to kill a German cunt,” she whispers. The artery in her neck pulses and pounds, blood roaring in her ears. “It felt fitting.”
“No one dies tonight,” he grits out, and it takes everything she has not to laugh right in his face. He cannot see the way her arm is twisted between them, fingers working to loosen the tiny dagger resting just inside the sleeve of her dress free.  
“I should have known,” she smirks faintly, fingers grasping the hilt of the blade now. “The Guild do love to play around in international affairs these days.”
“Quiet,” he hisses, fingers sliding up to grip around her jaw now. His palm is hot against her lips, covering that sly smirk, the way she sucks in warm, grateful breaths. “Keep your mouth shut. Meier doesn’t die tonight. Not here.”
Smooth, careful, she presses the tip of her blade against his abdomen. Only 4 inches in length, but long enough—sharp enough—to penetrate through two layers of clothing and pierce the thick skin of his side. Thumb and forefinger tighten, begging for an excuse to press forward, to eliminate this new complication.
But then two things happen in quick succession.
Cain hears a peal of laughter raise from the staircase and glances past Din to spot blonde hair, a red dress, and slides the dagger back inside her sleeve. Moving fast, his hand falls from her face, body curling protectively around hers in a faux embrace. He tucks his face against her neck and the short hairs in his moustache raise goosebumps on her skin.
“Qu’est-ce-que tu fais?” she hisses. What are you doing?
“Shut up,” he bites back, jostling her against the wall once more.
Laughter dies down into awkward chuckles and murmured words. Cain peers over Din’s shoulder, understanding him then. Her fingers tangle in the loose curls at the nape of his neck and she watches them, ignoring how soft it is against her skin. Two women, eyes assessing them from the top of the stairs. The blonde frowns, wary; concerned.
“They’re looking,” Cain warns, hooking an ankle around the back of his.
Something soft skates down the side of her neck. Such a stark contrast to the rough grip of his hand before; a pair of lips tracing gentle kisses along her pulse point. For a moment, she holds her breath, focusing on the dull ache in the back of her skull, the feeling of his arms around her. 
“Make them look away,” he says plainly, the words a hot wash against her skin.
His palm tightens around her hip, and Cain tilts her chin upward, letting the women see her smile as he lays kisses against her throat, lips parting to form a loosely whispered oh. Through heavy lidded eyes she sees the women flush and look away, one of them giggling. But they do not leave.
Meier, where is Meier? The thought jolts through her like an electric shock, and her smile fades a little.
Frustrated, she skates a hand around his body; lets it fall to the hem of his suit jacket, rucking it up until her fingers are digging into the flesh of his ass. Round and thick with muscle, he tenses beneath her grip, letting slip a harsh grunt of surprise into her ear. The women balk at that, turning to begin their descent down the stairs at last.
Biting back a smirk, Cain’s fingers trail up up up inside his jacket, around the front of his body. Down the buttons on the front of his white dress shirt, the solid muscle beneath it, to where it meets his trousers. The tips of her nails flirt across the front of his pants, and she is certain he’s stopped breathing; entire body still beneath her touch, lips frozen against her skin. Searching, searching, she finally hums triumphantly, fingers sliding over the holster on his hip at last. Hidden beneath his jacket, she fondles the butt of his gun. Slim; inconspicuous.
“Hmm,” she purrs, lips brushing the soft skin of his earlobe. “I thought it would be bigger.”
“I thought I told you to shut u—”
Din flinches as her other hand touches the side of his face, a finger pressing swiftly into his ear canal. His head tilts to the side, trying to evade her touch, but she’s already pulling away, using his surprise to slip around his body and move towards the stairs.
She smooths fingers over her hair, neatening the mussed strands and tucking them behind her ears. Straightens the neckline of her dress, ensures her holster is hidden. From where she stands, Meier is nowhere to be seen.
Din calls after her, a low warning. She doesn’t look back, gripping the railing of the staircase as she begins her descent. The gala is in full swing, guests dancing and talking in every direction. A six-piece band performs a playful jazz song from the stage.
“There is no need to shout,” Cain murmurs, smiling when she hears a sharp intake of breath through the earpiece.
She doesn’t know if he follows her down. Keeps her gaze trained forward as she accepts another glass of champagne from another man with another tray. Drinks it this time, thick hurried gulps that wet the skin beside her lips and soften the rough scratch in her throat. She wanders, looking for the man she came here for, and in time she ends up at the bar.
“A vodka martini,” she tells the barman, slipping onto one of the plush highchairs at the counter. “Dirty.”
The blonde man grips a clear glass bottle from his station and asks, “Shaken or stirred?”
She waves a hand, unbothered. “Dealer’s choice.”
He’s short with thick hair and a reddish hue to his beard. Handsome enough. She watches him with a light curiosity as he finishes making someone else’s drink.
It doesn’t take long before Din Djarin slips onto the seat beside her, suit jacket straightened out, not a single curl out of place, and orders a cosmopolitan.
The barman pulls two frosted coup glasses from beneath the bar and Cain arches an eyebrow at her companion.
“You’ve a sweet tooth, Monsieur Djarin?”
“It seems that way,” he murmurs, turning on his stool to face her.
Brown eyes assess her face in this new lighting, pupils flicking across everything he can see. His hand reaches across the bar and peels a small square napkin from a pile. Slides it across the wooden countertop.
“Wipe your nose.”
She swipes the material beneath her nostrils and spies a small blot of blood on the fabric, crumpling it in her fist with a saccharine smile.   
“In Germany long?” he asks casually, nodding at the bartender when he places their cocktails on the counter.
“As long as it takes.” She wraps her fingers around the stem of a chilled glass, dragging it closer. “And it shouldn’t take long.”
He takes a lengthy sip, draining half the glass in seconds, and his eyes slip closed as the alcohol hits his tongue. Cain watches his throat move as he swallows and crosses her legs tighter on the stool. Feels her gun holster dig into the soft flesh there and welcomes the distraction.
He eyes her for a second, gaze momentarily dropping to the low cut of her neckline, the swooping curve of her shoulder. “I was.”
“Well,” she holds out her glass to him. “It’s an honour.”
A beat passes as he contemplates her—her words, her steadfast gaze—and then he knocks the rim of his glass gently against hers.
“I’d apologise for upstairs,” he smiles faintly, posture loosening. “But I’m sure you understand.”
“There is no need,” she agrees easily, taking her first sip. Cool vodka slips down her throat and she allows a pleased purr to fall from her lips. “Tempers are frayed. Patience is short. What’s a little scuffle between friends, hmm?”
He smirks at that, a miniscule upward twitch of his lip. Friends.
“You know, I’ve heard the stories about you,” he tells her.
His suit jacket is well tailored, she notices. Tight around those broad shoulders of his, hemmed perfectly around his wrists to reveal crisp white sleeves and silver cufflinks. 
“Is that so?”
He nods. “Cain, the femme fatale.”
“Mm,” she smirks, tracing a finger around the rim of her glass. He watches the sharp point of her red nail ping against the coup. Glances down to her toenails peeking past the tip of her heels; the same colour. She wiggles them for him, and he looks up.
“Then it appears there are equally silly tales about the both of us, non?”
“Do tell.”
Her grin broadens, something like excitement splicing through her veins. “Well, I had wondered if it were true. That you have your own little… catchphrase.”  
A low scoff rumbles from his chest, and his stare cuts to where the bartender stands, mixing a drink only a few feet away. Across the room, one of the musicians onstage starts up a winding piano solo. Sparse and melodic to start, he sprinkles his fingers against highest keys on the piano, and Cain focuses on keeping her gaze on Din. She never did care for jazz.
“Do you say it every time?” she teases in a whisper, eyes lit up with mocking glee. “I can bring you in warm, or I can bring you in co—”
Din’s voice is harsh, a little too loud for the quiet space by the bar. The word cuts through the soft music and has a few guests glancing in their direction. Cain laughs, unperturbed by the sudden attention, and plucks an olive out of her drink. A saxophonist joins in with the pianist, and he relaxes once more. Leans into this little game of hers.
“Don’t be a fool,” he softens, reaching over to tuck a short strand of hair behind her ear. His thumb brushes the curve of her jaw as he pulls away and she fights the shiver that trips its way down her spine. “Not every time.”
She laughs again, quietly eyeing the length of his fingers as his picks up his glass. His knuckles are thick. Warm blue veins spiderweb across the back of his hand, disappearing beneath his shirt. If she tries hard enough, she can still remember how it felt to have that hand pressed against her throat, squeezing.
“And what else do they tell you about me?” she licks her lips, elbow on the bar, leaning forward to rest her chin in the palm of her hand. Eager – hungry.
“I know you’re an orphan.” He is stoic as he says it; as if unphased, uninterested. But Cain’s eyebrows lift, delighted.
“Then it must be true of you too,” she posits slyly, left eyelid dropping in a wink. “No one is more eager to accuse another of being an orphan… unless they themselves are one also.”
He ignores that, though she can see the way his weight shifts in the seat and the muscle in his jaw twitches.
“A Valkyrie.”
“Common knowledge in our line of work.”
“You’re from Paris.”
“An easy guess,” she leans back, bored. 
“Your first name is Nikita,” Din says then, a teasing lilt to his voice. She considers that he may enjoy this game just as much as she does.
And that makes her pause. She lifts her glass and laughs against the rim, a soft tinkling sound that rings in his ears and has every man in earshot turning to look at her.
“You watch too many films,” she swallows with a smirk. “Think French, Monsieur Djarin.”
He ponders it for a moment, lips pursed softly, gaze darting somewhere over her shoulder and then back to her face. Takes a sip of his laughably pink cocktail and licks the residue from his lips, savouring every drop.
“Oh,” she rolls her eyes, fighting back a genuine smile now. “I know you can do better than that.”
It’s his turn to wink now, and for one fleeting moment she feels oddly at peace with the idea of spending the rest of her evening at the bar with Din Djarin. A stranger, yes, but a little less so than the others that crowd the room.
In a career so harsh, characterised by its solitude, its violence, Cain is unaccustomed to the feeling of being seen like this. She knows unfamiliarity and discomfort and pain like the back of her hand. Is no stranger to a man’s grip around her throat, her life in his hands. But not this… this twinkle of implicit understanding that she can see in his eyes. Those endless brown eyes that say we are not so different, you and I.
Despite the bloodied napkin in her lap and the ache in her jaw, it’s enough to loosen her shoulders; to set her at ease.
But then he turns to stare pointedly over her shoulder, and she snaps out of it. Twisting around on the stool, Cain follows his gaze until she spots Meier across the room. He stands with a few others, shoulders back, eyes bright. Perfectly oblivious.
The barman slips to the other end of the counter, serving a tall gentleman, and Cain lowers her voice.
“What does the Guild want with Ulrich Meier?”
Din takes a sip of his drink. Keeps his eyes to the right, glossing casually over guests, the band, and then back to the asset.
“Information,” he says finally—carefully. “He’s of no use to us dead.”
She hums quietly, plucking an olive from her drink. Eats it slowly, allowing the briny taste to wash over her tongue as she watches him. When he doesn’t speak again, she squints, unimpressed.
“Are you not going to ask me the same question?”
An amused sound escapes his mouth, and he meets her eye again.
“You want Meier dead,” he muses simply. “But why so abruptly? When there is so much to be gained from taking him in.”
“That is not an option for us.”
“Why?” His voice takes on a harsher quality now, eyes narrowing. Mistrust.
“Did you know that name Ulrich,” Cain murmurs, leaning forward to avoid any listening ears. “Comes from the Old High German name Uodalrich? Uodal meaning heritage. Rich meaning king; ruler.”
Din Djarin says nothing.
“Did you do your research before coming to Berlin?”
“Then you understand that Monsieur Meier is not simply an arms dealer.”
A beat of silence. His fingers tighten around the stem of his glass. “Yes.”
“He took his name personally, you see.” Her eyes float back to Meier. “Held it in his slimy little hands as a baby and said Oui Maman, I will rule. I will rule the desires of weaker men, and bring nightmares unto any woman that I can get these two hands on.”
“This is about revenge.”
“This is about justice,” Cain snaps, that calm façade slipping for a second. No more games. Din’s spine straightens. “Have you ever spoken to a human trafficking victim?”
He takes another sip of his drink and does not respond. She does her best not to remember the photos from her briefing. Not to remember the countless interviews, witness statements, and obituaries she’d had to paw through before her flight.
“Your silence is very telling,” she smiles, that easy composure returning. “But I trust that you understand my position now. Ulrich Meier will be of no help to your organisation after this evening.”
“Because,” she continues easily. “When I leave this building, he will no longer be able to speak. And if you wish to get in my way… then I am afraid the same fate will befall you, Monsieur Djarin.”
A soft announcement sounds through the speakers, and they turn their heads to listen. The Chancellor will be giving his speech in a few moments. That’s her cue.
“And Weber?” he asks, the words coming out stilted, rushed. “What do you think of him? He’s known for turning a blind eye to Meier’s dealings.”
She tilts her glass, swallowing the last of the icy liquid.
“I do my best,” she places it down on the counter with a soft clink. “Not to think of men at all. Unless it is imperative to my mission.”
“And yet you’ve thought of me,” Din asserts, gaze heavy. His eyes slip down, just long enough for her to notice the way he stares at her mouth, before his eyes return to hers. “You know me. Enough to recognise my face in a second.”
“As I said,” Cain smiles, stepping down from her chair. “Imperative to my mission.”
He is still as she leans in and presses a soft kiss to his left cheek, and then to his right.
“Take care, Monsieur Djarin. I would like to see you live another day,” she says, slender hand coming up to the side of his face. Her finger taps the piece in his ear once, and she is not smiling anymore. “I’ll be in here if you need me.”
Cain coasts around the edge of the room, keeping her eyes to ground whenever an unfamiliar sets of eyes strays in her direction. Swipes a finger beneath her nose once or twice, checking to see if any blood has returned. And as Chancellor Weber makes his way towards the stage, she makes her way back upstairs, quietly hoping that Din does not follow her again.  
Halfway up, a single word crackles through her ear piece.
Surprised, she grips the banister and almost turns around. But she can hear a woman speaking into a microphone in German, performing a plain and winding introduction for the Chancellor, and continues her ascent.
Reassuming her position on the balcony, shrouded in waves of those soft red velvet drapes, she watches Weber take his place on the stage. A hush falls over the crowd and her eyes move fast, landing easily on the thinning grey hair atop her target’s head. Every eye in the room is facing the stage. The Walther is thick and heavy in her palm as she ensures the silencer is correctly in place. Old fashioned indeed.
Cain’s breathing is calm, heart rate slow and measured as she raises the weapon and aims it at his head. And then, like a little ant crawling across her skin, she feels something shift. The air gets thicker, and a suddenly familiar shiver tickles its way down her spine.
Her eyes tick up and she pauses at the sight of Din on the opposite balcony railing. Almost hidden entirely by the shadows, pistol raised. And it is not pointed at Ulrich Meier, no… no it is pointed at her. And he is so handsome, even when he’s bluffing.
Grinning now, she lets the tip of her finger lightly caress the trigger. So gently, with no intention of doing any damage just yet. Some feeling akin to glee sparks up in her chest. Such excitement. The Chancellor’s voice fills the room, swelling from the speakers as he welcomes his guests.  
Din’s face is placid, unimpressed, and then that honeyed voice drifts through her ear once more.
Cain allows herself a brief laugh, eyes drifting back down to rest on the man she came here for. The target drapes an arm around his wife’s waist. She inhales deep, filling her lungs before letting the air spill from her nose. Calm, collected. All of it so easy for her.
“Wrong again.”
The Walther jerks in her hand, bullet flying silently through the air, and for a moment there is silence. Nobody moves.
And then Ulrich Meier’s wife releases a blood curdling scream, dropping to her knees and cradling what’s left of her husband’s head in her lap. Popping the silencer off her gun, Cain catches a glimpse of thick, dark matter across the woman’s chest, spilling down the bare skin of her arms, and then she is slipping away into the bathroom in search of that thin little window.
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Back on the cobblestone street, sirens wail through the air, police cars and ambulances roaring past as she traipses away from the scene. A little flushed, a little exhilarated, she blends into a crowd of pedestrians, hidden in the shadows. She cuts across the road, avoiding traffic, and heads toward Unter den Linden, knowing it is safer to walk. Don’t be seen by a taxi driver, don’t be recognised, don’t—
“That was a clean shot.”
The words ring in her ear, clear as day.
Cain’s feet drag to a halt against the ground, shoulders stiffening. She turns, eyes assessing the busy pathway behind her, a parked car idling by the side of the road a few metres back. But she can’t see him anywhere. Countless unfamiliar faces wander by, jostling her shoulders as they pass, but he isn’t amongst them. He’s hiding somewhere, watching her from afar – playing his own little game now. Shivering against the cold, she turns and continues walking.
And then: “I thought I might follow you home.”
The words are so confident, so self-assured, and they send a rush of jagged heat blossoming between her thighs. Her heels clip against the ground, knees feeling a little weaker all of a sudden.  
“Would you like that?” he asks, and she wishes she could see his face. Wants to see the desire burning in his eyes, the sharp line of his jaw as those words drift from his pink lips.
“Only if you can keep up.” A little breathless, the words form a soft cloud in the air in front of her face.
Din laughs, low and dark in her ear, but he doesn’t speak again.
She walks for a long time, ambling her way down dark streets, icy wind whipping at her hair for all of half an hour before she finally reaches the street of her hotel. And all the while, she spares quick little glances over her shoulders, trying to spot him in the shadows. Her clothes begin to feel too tight, too warm, despite the low temperature, and with every step her panties cling closer to her warm, wet skin.
The hotel doorman smiles tiredly at Cain as she approaches, holding the door open wide to welcome her inside. As her feet hit the entryway steps, his eyes flit over her shoulder.
“Ein freund von dir?” A friend of yours?
When she turns, she is quietly amazed to find Din there. Gait unhurried, only a few steps behind her. There’s an easy smile spread across his face. Hands tucked deep in his pockets; the top button of his shirt undone.
“Ja,” Cain murmurs, slipping inside.
Din nods to the doorman, following her in. “Guten Abend.” Good evening.
They do not speak as she leads him toward the elevator. Her numb fingers slide against the button with an upward pointing arrow, and together they wait. Heat radiates from his body, warming the skin of her back where he stands behind her, so close yet not touching her yet. Together they slip inside when the doors open.
She presses a button, the number twelve lighting up on the switchboard, and the doors glide closed.
Soft, tinny music plays in the elevator, and they stare at each other from either side of the small space. Din’s chest rises and falls with steady, measured breaths. He watches her and she watches the buttons on the wall, lighting up in turn as the two of them travel up, up, up.
Two floors below Cain’s, he speaks for the first time.
“Vivienne,” he says. “Final guess.”
Her eyes flash to him and she smiles, the skin beside her eyes pinching.
“It’s Remy,” she reveals at last, voice so soft, so forgiving now that her mission is complete.
“Remy,” he repeats. Rolls the r like she does, hums around the y. Sees how it tastes in his mouth and steps forward, saying it again, again. Remy, Remy, Remy, Remy Cain.
“Don’t wear it ou—”
His lips crush against hers, chest warm as he pushes her back back back into the wall. His hand flies up, cradling the back of her skull to protect it from the wall. Not a third time. Despite the softness of his hand, the way his fingers card gently through the short locks of her hair, his kiss is biting. A wet mess of clashing teeth and tongues as he works her jaw open, coaxing his way inside of her mouth. A rough exhale streams from his nostrils, warming the skin of her face. His breath tastes like Cointreau and lime, and she moans. 
His hand slips up her thigh, trailing past that slit in her dress for the second time this evening, until his fingers are brushing against the front of her panties. Feeling the thick damp strip in the lace, the way the thin material clings to her centre.
“Fuck,” he exhales, and when he meets her eyes again his pupils are blown fat and black with desire. Moving fast, he tugs the gun from her holster. She pauses, eyes narrowing, but then he tucks it into the waistband at the back of his trousers, simply allowing space for his forearm to rest between her thighs.
The elevator thrums around them, stomachs dropping as the metal box takes them higher and higher through the building. A finger curls around the edge of her panties, dragging them to the side, and when he finally slides through her wet cunt she sighs into his mouth, every muscle in her body pulling taut and warm. 
His touch is lax, almost taunting as he sucks her tongue into his mouth and traces a digit over the drooling mouth of her entrance, smearing it up to make a mess of her clit. When she moans he presses down; careful little circles there, messy figure eights, a sharp back and forth back and forth back and forth, trying to see what she likes best. And the second her eyes pinch shut, a low curse falling from her lips, the elevator dings.
His hand whips out, slamming against the red emergency stop button. The elevator jerks to an abrupt halt and then he’s on her again. Teeth at her collarbone, her neck, her jaw, fingers moving in a slick blur against her pussy. Her thighs splay apart, and she leans heavy against the wall, knees shaky, trusting him to keep her from falling to the ground. 
“So fucking wet for me,” he murmurs, the words brimming with pride, and she trembles beneath his touch, needing more and needing it now.
“Inside,” she pants, lips parted and searching for his again. “Want your fingers inside me.”
Din swallows those words down, pressing two fingers inside of her with a groan. Remy gasps, bearing down on the weight of his fingers and shivering as he curls them inside of her. Stretching her out and grinding his knuckles against her entrance with every deep thrust.
“Yeah?” he goads, watchful eyes drinking in the way she moans for him, turning her face into her shoulder as if to hide how good it feels. “You like that, hm?”
Warm wetness pools out of her, dripping past his knuckles and onto the inside of her thighs. Obscene sounds fill the tiny space as he pumps in and out of her, and she catches herself glancing upward, searching for a security camera. She spots it in the corner just as he fits a third finger inside and grinds the heel of his palm against her clit, her mouth falling open with a rough groan. Her shoulders tilt forward, forehead knocking against his shoulder, and Din grunts, fucking her harder. His fingers never leave her wet clutch now, the tips of them persistently working against that soft spot at the top of her walls.
“Such a tight little cunt,” he’s saying, nipping at her earlobe, but the words blur and warble around the rushing in her ears. “Squeezing my fingers so good, you’re so good.”  
She grips the back of his neck, squeezing desperately. Her jaw aches with the strain of hanging slack.
“Tell me,” he says roughly, growing impatient. Everything feels hot, too hot; the skin of her face against his shoulder, her chest, the sizzling tension coiling in her core.
“Close,” she chokes out. Din snakes his free arm around the back of her waist, steadying her loose-limbed frame between his body and the wall. “Just a little longe—ohhh, merde.”
He shifts then, the thick heft of his cock crushing against her thigh through their clothes. He presses a finger against her clit now. And that low rub, his calloused thumb paired with three thick fingers massaging into her, is enough to send her spilling over the edge.
A hoarse cry pries its way out of her throat, body shaking against his and he works her through it, still pressing down against the aching bundle of nerves at the top of her sex. She pulses around his fingers, everything pulling tight and wet around them as she comes. Teeth sink into the lapel of his jacket in an attempt to muffle her cries but his arm is dropping from her waist, hand coming up to grip her jaw and push her back.
“Let me hear it,” he purrs, voice like silk as it washes over the skin of her neck.  
“Ohh,” she moans, uncaring now about the camera, about who will hear. Focusing wholly on his fingers on her face, her cunt, the way her entire world seems to shake within his grasp.
He holds her there, lets her shake and shiver beneath his touch until the ebbs of pleasure finally fade and she’s strong enough to stand on her own. Remy watches as he takes a small step backward, pressing one hand over the front of his trousers and three slick fingers past his lips to taste her come. Din’s eyes slip shut at the taste, lips pursing as he sucks the remnants of her from his skin. Flushed and awed by the intimacy of it, the depravity of it, she looks away.
Her fingers tremble against the button as she presses it, and the elevator shudders back to life around them. Another sharp ding rings out again, the doors sliding open within seconds.
A few paces down the hall, the key card slips easily against her door, and she presses it open, flushed as she steps inside and kicks off her heels. She discards them somewhere to the side, turning to watch him follow her in, toes sinking gratefully into the rough carpet beneath her feet.
The door slams shut behind him and he tears his jacket off, letting it drop to the floor as he makes his way further inside. And he looks so much more intimidating like this, she thinks. Domineering as he advances on her, the thick length of his cock evident against the front of his pants. Despite him aiming a gun at her less than an hour ago, despite the way he slunk through the shadows to follow her back here, this is the first time all evening that she’s felt eager to bend to his will, his desire. Her heart races, thudding heavily against her ribcage, and he grins wickedly at her, as if he can fucking hear it.
They collide in the middle of the room, slick swollen lips sliding against each other in a mess of harsh exhales and lewd smacking sounds. Her hands roam across the vast expanse of his chest, trailing down to cup him through his pants. He groans at the feeling, hips jerking forward, seeking more more more. He rips the gun from his holster and tosses it onto the bed, her Walther following shortly from the back of his waistband, and then his hands are on her too. Fat palms pawing at her body, gripping the meat of her ass and squeezing, trapping her against his chest so he can rut his cock against her stomach. Din grips the back of her head then, thumbs rough against the apples of her cheeks as his mouth devours hers.
Thick fingers drift from the ends of her hair down the nape of her neck, the curve of her spine, until they slip beneath the back of her dress. Distracting her with his kiss, greedy and lustful and dominating – she doesn’t notice his curious fingers until they’re curling around the fabric and ripping. Remy staggers backwards with the force of it, gripping his neck. He snarls into her mouth, following her to the ground as she falls. The breath rushes from her lungs and her tailbone aches from how she lands but she doesn’t care. Doesn’t even care when Din straddles her waist, chest heaving, and continues to tear satin and silk from her body. The black material practically shreds in his hands. So thin and delicate, the threads fall apart with every twist, every yank, until he’s prying the ruined dress away and throwing it towards the bed.  
Remy’s fingers work hastily to undo the buttons on his shirt, but just as she reaches the fourth one, he’s gripping her hands, pinning them above her head. Din’s free hand works open his belt, the button and zip on his trousers, and then he’s dragging them down his legs, freeing the thick weight of his cock. She gasps, eyeing the angry red tip hungrily. He’s thick and long and leaking against the white material of his shirt. Her hands push against his and she grunts when he simply tightens his grasp on her, the friction of the coarse carpet harsh against her skin.
“I let you have your way back there,” Din says, eyes blazing. “Are you gonna let me have mine now?”
Her body stills, wholly captivated beneath the heat of his gaze, the weight of his thighs over her hips.
“Yes,” she exhales, mind a blur, limbs still loose and heavy from her orgasm. “Yes, Din, just fuck me.”
“The Guild are gonna have my fucking head for this,” he mutters, fingers falling from her hands to rest heavily at the waistband of her panties.
Remy isn’t sure if he’s talking about Meier or her, but she doesn’t fucking care. What happens to Din after tonight is not her problem.
He toys with her for a moment, tickling the skin around her navel, above the band of her panties, before his fingers hook around it and—snap. She flinches as the material is torn away, her skin pinching beneath the lace.
She stares up at him, clad in nothing but the pale material of her bra now. He watches the way her chest heaves beneath it, nipples painfully stiff against the thin lace.
“It was the right thing to do.”
“I know,” he snaps angrily. He shifts back, moving down her body until he can pry her legs from between his, spreading them open on the carpet to display her glistening cunt to him. The sight seems to stem his anger a little, jaw going loose as he gazes down at the shiny swollen mess of her.
A thick thumb swipes through her folds, pinching one of them back to hold her open for him to ogle at.
“Such a pretty little cunt,” he tuts under his breath, thumbing at the flesh between her clit and her hole.
Her face heats, heart stuttering in her chest a little at this feeling of exposure. Can feel the intensity of his stare practically inside of her the longer he looks, waiting for something.
“So take it,” she says finally, patience thinning.
She fists his shirt in her hands and tugs him forward, breath hitching when he grips his cock and jerks it slowly, smearing her wetness down the length of it before notching his tip at her entrance.
He pushes inside of her in one fell swoop, hardly giving her a moment to adjust to the fat girth of his tip before he’s pressing deeper. Lips on lips, sucking the breath from her lungs, their kiss vibrates with the strength of his groan. It tastes like relief, like understanding. And for a moment it’s just that. The thick weight of him seated inside of her, his chest against hers as they kiss lazily, sloppily, smearing spit across each other faces, tasting beneath tongues, behind teeth.
“So fucking tight,” Din bites out, forehead heavy against hers.
“Mm,” she whines, face screwed up.
A dull burn ricochets through her abdomen, the stretch more than she’s taken in a while. Remy wills herself to relax, but desire has her core tightening around him, sucking him in further and further until the coarse hairs at his base are flush against her clit and there’s nothing more to take. She loops a leg around his waist and ruts up against him, and anything soft about him vanishes.
Din’s thrusts are punishing. Hard and fast, the weight of his hips rocking her into the ground over and over, until she can feel carpet burns forming at the base of her spine, the soft skin of her ass. Every slick pass of the heft of his cock punches the air from her lungs and has her eyelids fluttering.
It’s greedy, the way he fucks her. Like he’s had it before, perhaps in a past life, and been deprived of her touch for years. He fucks her like he misses her. Like he loves her or hates her or something dark and grotesque in between the two emotions. Like if this were the last thing he ever got to do in this lifetime, then he was going to do it right.
So she says, “Harder,” and he grits his teeth, fucking her into the carpet until she’s sure there’ll be littles scrapes and bruises on her back in the morning.
The tip of his cock brushes near to the end of her, and every little nudge there has her gasping in an intoxicating medley of pain and pleasure.
“Yes,” she begs. “Fucking—yes.”
Din works her open like it’s his fucking job. Settles on his knees and drags her ass up onto his thighs, splitting her open with every brutal thrust, hands fitted over her waist in a vice.
Up close like this she can see past the collar of his shirt. Can see thick raised lines on his skin, pink and purple scars beneath his collarbones. She reaches up and lays a hand there, feels his heart jack hammering against the marred skin, and moans his name. Din, Din, Din.
And he likes that. Releases an almost pained moan at the sound of his name on her lips, leaning down to attach his mouth to her neck. He bites and sucks and kisses, leaving a trail of deep dark marks from the hollow of her throat to the hinge of her jaw.
“That’s it,” he snarls into her skin, hand lowering to press down above her mound, and that mixed with the sound of his voice makes a fresh load of slick gush out of her. Pushes her deeper into this depraved, endless pit of pleasure he’s raining down upon her.
He tells her again, say it again, and she cries out Din, head lolling back against the floor.
Something fierce begins to brew inside of her. A bright white twisting feeling that frays and sparks like a live wire, stoked by the speed of his movement, the firm press of his hand against her lower stomach. And just as she thinks she’s there, almost there, so close, a shrill ringing comes from the sofa to their left.
Din’s hips stutter against hers, head snapping to the side to pinpoint where the interruption emanates from. A little pink phone rings and rings, the sound piercing through her ears and setting her teeth on edge. She taps his chest quickly, urging him back. He frowns, opens his mouth to tell her no, tell her ignore it, but she pushes him harder, again and again until he slips out of her with a haggard moan.
He grips her waist and turns their bodies, landing on his back with a thud. Eyes trained on his face, the dark red blush on his cheeks, his swollen mouth, she reaches out blindly, snatching the phone from the receiver and putting it to her ear.
“Allo?” Remy breathes, eyebrows pinching together as she sinks down onto his cock, free hand splayed on his stomach. “Bonjour.” 
He props himself up in a seated position, resting back on one hand while the other comes up to grope at her chest. Cocky asshole. But her eyes glaze over as she takes in the tanned skin that peeks out of his shirt again, the soft smattering of hair between his pecks. Legs spread out wide on the carpet, he watches her bounce slowly on his cock, nodding in encouragement but careful not to speak, lest he be heard down the line by her handler.
At this angle his tip presses into her g-spot with every movement. It only takes a moment for that low burn to start up again in the base of her stomach. Her mouth is open wide, ragged breaths spilling from her lips as she listens to the words being spoken down the line.  
She says, “Ouais, c’est fait.” Yeah, it’s done.
Din’s fingers flex around the cup of her bra, tugging down the fabric to let one of her tits spill out. He sighs heavily, leaning forward to latch his mouth onto the skin there. Lathing hot, messy kisses against her sternum, her nipple, and then grazing his teeth over the sensitive bud. She trembles against him, hand coming up to grip the back of his head and hold his face there. He sucks it into his mouth, pulls it taut between his lips before letting it slip out with a wet pop.
“À bientôt.” See you soon.
She hangs up the phone with a rough clang, and then her mouth is seeking his out again. Teeth clash and she moans at the sharp pain, uncaring. Din’s grip on her waist tightens and he plants his feet on the carpet, fucking up into her at a break-neck pace. She cries into his mouth, a harsh animalistic sound, and her stomach is pulling tight, cramping up. Her cunt locks down around him, and when she comes it’s a low throb of a feeling. A deep swooping ache that spills from her core and spreads out through her thighs, her stomach, until her body is jerking and twitching above him.
“Fuck yes,” he grits out, white teeth flashing in her hazy vision. He doesn’t give out, spitting a mess of that’s it, fucking give it to me as her pussy flutters and drools around his cock. Her hips roll and stutter over his, the muscles in her stomach twitching beneath the skin, and Din swears under his breath. Her vision whites out, throat hoarse and head pounding as she succumbs to the pleasure. And he feeds off it.
“God, look at you,” he grunts, prolonging that low burn in her gut the longer he fucks into that softest warmest little spot. “Made to take this cock.”
“Say it,” he rasps urgently, eyes rolling back when her hand grips his throat for purchase, nails digging sharply into the skin over his thrumming carotid. “Say you fucking want it.”
“I want it,” she moans, back arching, knees on fire where they slide against the carpet at his sides. “Want your come, Din, fuck—fuck, give it to me, give it to me.”
His body practically vibrates as he comes. A thousand tiny little twitches and spasms rocking through this frame, the muscles in his thick thighs turning to tense stone beneath her. A gravelly shout falls from his lips, cock kicking hot and hard against her walls until she feels his spend begin to seep out of her around his length and pool around his base.  
It’s almost frantic, the way his hands clutch at her body, clinging to any part of her that he can. And when she thinks he might pull her closer, press himself deeper to keep painting the inside of her walls, he pushes her away, dragging himself from her clutch just to grip his length in a tight fist.
He strokes himself in tight wet movements, a few final weak spurts of his come shooting up to land over her mound and the swollen lips of her pussy. And only when he’s done, spent cock beginning to soften in his palm, does he pull her down a little. Resting wet hands over the base of her spine to feel the way she shivers, body shuddering its way through the aftershocks of her orgasm.
Remy’s chest expands with stilted, ragged gasps for air, trying desperately to fill her lungs as she folds against his hot thick frame, exhausted.
And after a few moments the foggy, erotic blur that held her mind in a vice for the past few hours slowly begins to lift. Din’s hand is on the back of her thigh, fingers splayed, tickling the skin there, and the weight of it suddenly itches. Reality drifts back in and it feels heavy on her shoulders. The clock beside the hotel bed reads 9:12 – her flight out of Berlin leaves in two hours.
His hand drifts up her back, nudging her down to rest her head against his chest. Her body aches suddenly; dull pains popping up in her neck, her jaw, her hips. She remembers the way it felt to have his palm strike her chin and almost smiles.
A metre away, her suitcase lies spread open on the floor. Clothes and lingerie and a gun peek out of the red trunk. She can see two passports beside it, stacked neatly atop one another. And she knows that his hotel room can’t look that dissimilar from his own, but it feels too much now. As their breathing starts to even out, vision swinging back into focus, this level of intimacy – having another person, even a colleague of sorts – seeing behind the scenes of what after looks like for her… it feels like a splinter in the tip of her finger. A sharp sting that won’t go away. Wrong.
Remy rests her chin against his collarbone and glances up at him. Din’s eyes are closed, lips parted as soft breaths puff out from between them. He looks tired – almost as tired as she feels.
“I’m going to shower,” she tells him, fingers brushing curls back off his forehead. His eyes are soft, warm as they open to watches her stand. Too much, that look in his eyes. Too close. “Be gone when I come out, okay?”
Remy turns, back to him as she grips the handle of the ensuite door, and for a moment she pauses. Feels the weight of the silence between them, the heady scent of sweat and come in the air, on her skin, and glances over her shoulder. Looks between him spread out on the floor and her things dotted across the room. An empty martini glass lying on its side. The blush-coloured rotary phone on the hotel sofa. Passports with different names, birth dates, home countries, addresses, and her face. She knows that has to be firm now.  
“Don’t give me a reason to kill you, mon chére.” My darling.
Din’s lips curl up into a smile and his eyes drift up to stare at the ceiling. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
She slips inside the bathroom and pulls the door almost closed behind her. Twists a nozzle until water is beating down against the floor of the shower and steam begins to fill the room. Silently, she pries open a cabinet and slips her hand beneath the sink, feeling around until her fingers grasp the pistol strapped there.
Bare skin of her back flush to the wall, thighs still wet with come and sweat, she peers out through the crack in the door. Still ajar, she can see him past the wooden frame. Sat on the edge of the bed with his back to her, looping his belt through the waist of his trousers. With her eyes trained on the soft skin of his neck, on messy curls, on shoulder blades and biceps that bulge out against the thin material of his dress shirt – she leads a silencer into place over the mouth of her gun. A rhythmic repetition, the exact same as earlier. She doesn’t even need to look down. Pin meet groove, twist, twist, twist.
Din slips his arms inside the suit jacket, elbows bending as he smooths his palms along the front of it. She holds her breath as he turns, as he takes three steps toward the hotel room door, and then—pauses. Hand on the doorhandle, he does not move.
Remy’s finger rests featherlight on the trigger.
She is calm. What happens next is his choice.  
And he must know this because he does not turn around. Does not try to catch one last look at her. His fingers curl around the handle and he slips out the door, closing it was a soft click behind him. The air in the room rushes to fill his sudden absence.
Only when there is silence does she exhale, dropping the pistol onto the marble countertop beside the sink. And she smiles as she slinks beneath the hot spray of the shower head, letting it rush over the crown of her skull and drench her hair.
Her scalp stings and pink water swirls in the drain, blood slipping from a little cut on the back of her head. She pays it little mind, tilting her chin up so the scalding water hits her face too, stripping away a thick layer of sweat and blood and secrets from her skin. The silence stretches, and her smile grows. He does not come back.
Smart choice, Din Djarin.
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thank you so much for reading! x
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reidsdaisies · 14 days
ᰔᩚ — may’s criminal minds fic recs! (for 1k)
- hii! so basically if you’re reading this then i’ve hit 1k followers, woohoo! it’s honestly crazy and a little nerve wracking to me that such a big number of people know of me. this blog was originally meant to be temporary, a way to give me something to take my mind of things but like wow ive had a great time. im so grateful for everyone here. even though im still writing, i don’t feel up for doing a whole writing event rn so instead, i thought i’d comprise a list of fic/blog recommendations 🤍 i saw someone else do something this for their 1k celebration and i thought it would be a good idea, so credit to them for giving me this idea! i really hope someone can find a new favorite fic out of this <33
- if you’re uncomfortable with me putting you on this list then you can ask to be removed, no questions asked <3
- below cut is recs x
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• @hotchfiles - a hotch writer/lover! atm she has an ongoing aaron x reader series, her writing literally made me feel like i was reading out an episode of the show. read it here – in nomine patris
@imagining-in-the-margins - all of the fics she’s written, i recommend them all. every fic she’s ever written is what i recommend. i have some that i read more often, but all are my favorites, she writes so beautifully and her Spencer is the best.
• @mandarinmoons - this one’s a given! not only is she my dear little moot, she’s also a very talented writer. she’s got a whole masterlist filled with fluffy and angsty spencer blurbs. check her tf out
• @mindfullycriminal - read all their fics please please read them all omg. so so good and she’s the sweetest and smartest person ever 😭
• @pathologicalreid - if you’re a dad Spencer lover then like wyd if you have not read one of margot’s fics?? do it, you won’t regret it.
• @reiderwriter - if i took the time to rec every fic of hers i enjoyed individually, i’d be here for days, though i will link some specific ones. she’s been writing primarily smut as of rn, but there is also fluff and angst on her masterlist. i advise you to scroll through it and her ao3, everything hits.
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- FICS -
key: f = fluff // a = angst // h/c = hurt/comfort // s = smut
‘dinner time’ | h/c
- this fic is too too good and too too heartbreaking ❤️‍🩹 it involves something i hadn’t previously thought of. go read it pleeaaseee
↳ @actually-safer-to-kiss
best buds | f
- FRIENDSHIP FIC! Penelope and Spencer :( penelope really stole the show and i love her and i love the Disney movies and Penelope the and squishmallows mention!
↳ @cumulo-stratus
‘daddy handles business’ | s
- this is me coming clean and confessing im an occasional daddy kink reid fic enjoyer 😓 it’s started because of this fic, left me craving
↳ @heavenbarnes
spencer x hyper independent!reader | f
- hah, so I melted reading this! from the hocus pocus sweater down to the forehead kiss, i enjoyed every word of this.
↳ @inkdrinkerworld
post-prison spencer comforts bau!reader | h/c
- i may or may not be biased to this one since I requested it, but it was executed so well and Spencer is the sweetest of sweathearts, so considerate
↳ @mandarinmoons
‘lean on me’ | f
- CUTEST FIC AWARD GOES TO THIS FIC! spencer feels so in character and he’s just a sick lil guy who needs some comfort, doctor who, and your lap as his pillow
↳ @milla984
‘birthday meal’ | f
- this one. this one omg 🤍 reader going down the relative rabbit hole and putting in all the effort to make this birthday special for him, + plus his reaction to the surprise - adorable, heartwarming, made me all fuzzy inside
↳ @mindfullycriminal
shy!reader x spencer blurb | f
- so good, so cute! spencer is too sweet and so him in this, and reader is literally me 🥲
↳ @moonstruckme
spencer babying an oblivious bau reader | f
- this one is just like, beyond words 😭 this reader is me. i need him to baby me badly, go out of his way to help me, favor me :( THE HUG?? gosshh i need him
↳ @reiderwriter
‘come and save me now’ | s
- MD Reid makes me crazy, and this fic turned my brain to mush. I’ve read this like 10 more times since I reblogged it originally 😓 sub spence makes me go brrr
↳ @stairain
‘mend my wounds’ | a, f
- so sweet :(
↳ @angellsell
sharing your strawberry mentos with emily | f
- this was the first emily fic i ever read and i think my brain stopped functioning from how cute it is. so well written too, i really need to read more of her emily fics 🥹
emily x mom!reader | f
- emily with kids! i repeat, EMILY WITH KIDS!! this was by far the cutest emily fic ive read 😭 and omg the way she interacts with Jane ☹️ all your fics are just wowww.
↳ @luveline
injured!reader x aaron | f
- sweet. and. tender. the. best. man. alive
↳ @dudeitiskarev
‘the comfort of you’ | f
- im a sucker for hair braiding fics :(
↳ @em-prentiss
- jj -
dancing in the raining drabble - jj, emily | f
- need. to. dance. in. rain. with. my. baes.
↳ @ddejavvu
if you fell asleep on her (and all the other character) | f
↳ @ithebookhoarder
jj being protective of you | f
- i had read this around the time she posted it i think, but i came across it again and wow. ive never been much of a jj fan but lately ive been rethinking things and.. i need to write for her ☹️ but this is not about me, this is about this fic and ahhh. down to every detail, i love it. i think i would have cried in that situation.. nvm i definitely would have. jj going off on him, protecting ‘her girl’ !! 🥺 jj is so jj.
jj x autistic!reader headcanons | f
- these are extremely cute and the way that reader ends up getting more comfortable is just too good, jj u considerate sweetheart. jj helping clean r up? ☹️
↳ @sundrop-writes
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‘this ain’t no empty home’ | f, s (eventually)
summary: After having worked for the BAU for two years, you have seen and experienced a lot, but after a series of murders of young married couples, you’re asked to do something that you never had thought you would have to do; going undercover, as an expecting, married couple, with Spencer Reid.
- the vividness of the writing is just chef’s kiss. the detail is so good and it all works to set the scene perfectly. so excited for whenever she puts up the next part, it’s such an interesting premise <3
↳ @springtyme
august | a, s (eventually)
summary: From the moment that you met Spencer Reid, you knew that he was the love of your life. You are faced with the harsh realization of your unrequited love whenever a heart wrenching confession is dropped during a hostage situation and derails all of your fantasies.
- im so normal about this fic (im not normal at all, you will not catch me being normal about it)
↳ @strawbeerossi
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167 notes · View notes
m-arkmywords · 1 year
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Strawberry Sorbet
pairing: mark x reader
genre: plug!mark, we have graduated from stoner!mark to plug!mark thanks to @markonthemoon, honestly a lot of fluff, smut, weed mentions and use
word count: 3,704
Pulling your jacket over your head, you ran to Mark’s car in your fluffy slides. You slid into the already-adjusted passenger seat to your liking and leaned in to hug him. “Greetings” you grabbed the back of his neck, letting your nails lightly graze his skin as you held him in embrace.
“You good?” He licks his lips, before taking a sip of his juice for his cotton mouth.
“Yeah, how you doing?” You both smile, instinctively. Every time you guys are together, all you can both do is smile. The shy glances exchanged, the extra effort in casual banter just to see each other laugh. You both are crushing on each other hard but neither of you want to admit it.
You met Mark a couple months ago, at a party, through a mutual friend. There was an instant connection when he joined into your discussion, abruptly. He challenged your opinion, which is something you’re not used to. “Ouch! If guys who make music are fuckboys then maybe women who are into musicians are haters!” His delivery was playful which made you want to bicker with him.
“Yo? Who invited this guy?!” You said pointing at him as everyone broke into laughter. You both introduced yourselves and continued the discussion for a while. Soon, you both settled outside, smoking a joint and he showed you the games on his phone. Ever since that night, you guys have been hanging out socially and you’ve been picking up from Mark. It has been so nice to find a plug in your social circle. It makes you less anxious not having to call random numbers and not knowing what to expect.
So tonight was no different when you got in his car to pick up some weed. As always, he had rolled you a little something in his special pink paper, with magenta hearts on it. “Let’s go smoke this and then I’ll drop you home, yeah?” He smiled, coyly before putting the car into gear and pulling out of your street.
Mark drove for a bit before parking near a canal and he passed you his lighter. “Would you be so kind and do the honours?” He teased and opened his hands in his lap. Motioning you to bring your feet to his lap so he can rub them. You lit the joint and took your first pull. “So, how was your day?” He asked and listened intently, as always. He leaned back in his seat, resting his head. The way the moon lit the outlines of his features, made him look angelic. His eyes were focused on you as his hands rubbed your feet. You told him about work and university drama and he contributed with facial expressions and giggling with you.
“Girl.” You’d say in one tone.
“Girl.” He’d say in another.
You both passed the joint between you both and talked about your day. The conversation flowed from, life to movies to music and then you both fell in a comfortable silence. Looking at the bright, silver moon reflecting on the water whilst Mark continued to rub your feet. His touch was innocent and gentle. You felt his gaze slowly shift from the water to you and your face felt hot. You wanted to turn your face and catch his big beautiful eyes but you felt so shy. Not knowing what your feelings for him meant, made your heart beat faster.
“Hey” He whispered, “look at me.” Sincerity in his voice left chills down your back.
“I’m really glad I met you. You’re my guy, my dude.” He said and you chuckled, turning your face to look at him.
“I’m really glad I met you too... dude.” You stuck out your pinky finger and Mark already knew the cue. He took your finger into his pinky and transitioned into a handshake. A month ago, Mark started giving you a little extra in the bags and he made you pinky promise not to tell anyone or that it would ruin his “street cred.” So you both came up with a handshake shared between just the two of you. That’s how life had started to feel for the past couple weeks. An inside joke shared between two souls. Were you falling for him?
“Alright!” He propped as you retrieved your feet back into your slides. “Let’s get you home, bab- dUDE” Mark panicked and cleared his throat. You opened your mouth to speak but he turned the volume of the music up and started driving once again.
“See I woke up having a bad dayy.. And I gotta get the dollar any fast way..”
He sang along to Way Back Home by Cordae and you took it as a prompt to not mention his slip up. So you sang along with him. Rolling down the window, the breeze felt nice on your skin. The warm yellow street lights lit up the blue atmosphere and it made everything feel like a Van Gogh painting. You couldn’t figure out if you had always seen life from such a romantic lens or was it just recently starting to feel more pink and purple. You looked at Mark, once again, taking in his features. Eyes trailing from his messy black hair, to his glasses, his Adam’s apple and how much you wanted to place a kiss on it to see his reaction. Your stare landed at his lips and you felt your own mouth slightly part. You thought about how his lips would feel pressed against yours in urgency. How his mouth would taste, if he would use his tongue straight away or wait a little? Would the kiss be rushed or would he take his time? Your mind went in loops and you swallowed as you felt yourself salivate at the thought. Shit. Maybe, you do like him.
Before you knew it, you were pulled outside your house once again but not a single atom in your body wanted to leave Mark. He turned to you again, smiling and opened the dashboard. Pulling out a package, he handed it to you. “Here you are.. and there’s a lil something extra. just like always but shh.” He handed you an A5 sized package. It was bigger than the usual extra but you decided to not question it. “Ok so, this is Strawberry Sorbet. I think you’re gonna like it. It’s gonna help your cramps and give you tingly feelings.. you know the kind you get when you see me?” He wiggled his eyebrows, earning a smack on the arm from you. He chucked, before continuing. “Nah but forreal, it’s really smooth as well. It’s a hybrid and kinda has like uhh.. a sweet candy-like flavour.. and DUDE. It slows down time SO much, its crazy. But uhm.. yeah, I hope you enjoy it.” He scratched the back of his head, realising that he might be talking too much but he relaxed when his eyes met your eyes, which were only focused on him. What was in the air tonight?
“Ugh dude, thank you so much. You are the best. Please let me know when you get home.” You gave him another hug, this time a bit shy-er than the first one. You felt your cheeks feel hot as Mark put his arms around you and give you a slight squeeze.
“Please, the streets should be scared that I’m not home yet.” He joked which made you roll your eyes.
“I’m being serious, Mark. Text me, okay?” You get out the car and lean in through the passenger window.
“Yes boss.” He raised his eye brow and smiled, playfully flirting with you.
“Okay, good.” And with that, he drove off. ________________________________________________________________________________
Dropping your keys in the bowl near your entrance, you walked back into your much warmer apartment, compared to the outside. You made your way to your bedroom and plopped yourself on the bed.
Wondering why the package is so big, you carefully opened it with excitement. You saw that he had your usual baggie in there but also a piece of paper. Confused, you pulled out the paper first, disregarding the weed. You hand flew to your mouth and you gasped, looking at the paper. Mark had drew an illustration of you with his copic markers. You always knew Mark was this skater guy, who liked to tag places with this friends but you never knew that he drew like this. You felt your stomach in knots as heat rose from your core, up to your cheeks, covering your entire face.
This. Fucking. Guy.
You thought to yourself and smiled. Your eyes trailed further along the paper to find a couple lines at the bottom, comparing you to a summer’s day with Mark’s own twist on it. “Nerd” You whispered to yourself, giggling. You felt your phone buzz and you jumped to pick it up. ____________________________________________
Mark 10:05 pm
home. the streets are safe now.
Y/N 10:05 pm
*attached pic* excuse me? what is thissssss?
Mark 10:06 pm
Looool Idk what you talking about :)
Y/N 10:06 pm
you nerd. I never knew you drew so well.
Mark 10:06 pm
you like it? hahaha
Y/N 10:06 pm
I love it
Y/N 10:07 pm
the poem too? where have you been hiding all this talent?
Mark 10:09 pm
Mark 10:09 pm
It make you smile?
Y/N 10:09 pm
Mark 10:10 pm
Throwing your phone, on the bed you fell back into your pillows and squealed into your hands like a love struck teenager. Ok. You definitely have feelings for him.
That night, neither of you could sleep. Mark felt nervous about his bold move and you felt giddy about your feelings. After a couple of hours of tossing and turning, your phone buzzed again. This time, it was a phone call.
“Sorry, who’s this?” You answer the phone jokingly.
“Ha Ha, very funny, asshole.” Mark dead panned, making you laugh. “Why you still up?” He asked softly.
“You can’t sleep either huh?” You could hear him smile through the phone and you bit your lip.
“So.. uhh.. you really like the drawing?”
“Dude, I love it. How do you know my face so well?” You exclaimed.
“Uhhmm.. I guess, I just know your face.. It’s a nice face.” Mark was being coy, yet again.
“Oh” You felt the shy spread from the phone and into you.
“I uh.. like your face.. I.. think uhm.. I.. like you” He mumbled, almost incoherently but you caught it. You both held your breath in anticipation of your reaction. You could feel your heart in your ears and your smile so wide, your cheeks started to hurt.
“You like me?”
“Don’t make me say it again.”
“I guess, you’re okay too Mark.” You teased him playfully.
“Woooow” He acted fake hurt.
“Come say it to my face, if you not pussy.” You suddenly felt a wave of confidence take over you.
“Oh yeah? Bet. Be there in 15.” And before you could tell him you’re joking, he hung up the phone.
Mark showed up at your door in exactly 15 minutes. You opened the door, staggering a little from being nervous. “Hi” You said with a smile.
“Hi” he walked in and you both stood there, in awkward silence. Not knowing what to say or how to stand, you both felt super nervous.
“You wanna uh.. go sit on the sofa?” You offered, walking over to the living room and Mark followed. You both sat comically far from each other, with body language stiff. Looking around the room, you tried to find something to make small talk about. As you opened your mouth to speak, so did Mark and you both cut each other off. The awkwardness was killing you. You both laughed a little.
“You go” You turn to finally face him.
“I was just gonna say um.. if you wanted to try the strain I got for you today.. but urm I mean.. we don’t have to.. only if you want to.. you know, whatever is cool with me” Mark rambled on as you nodded and got up to get the baggie.
Walking back in to the living room, he looked up at you. Eyeing you in your shorts and a baggy t- shirt. “And come sit next to me.” He patted his hand beside him and you sunk into the sofa.
Mark put his arm around you and used his other hand to lift up your chin to look at him. His eyes were soft yet intense. You had never seen this look in his face before and it made you feel dizzy.
“Hey you..” He smiled.
Mark wasted no time before taking your lips into his. All the air came out of your lungs and you melted into his touch. His lips were soft and tasted like strawberry candy. He moved his lips against yours, painfully slow before pulling back to look at you. “Hi” He pecked your lips and smiled. Leaning his head to the other side, he kissed you again, this time, a little harder. His hand moved from under your chin, to under your ear as he held your face and traced his tongue against your mouth. You opened your mouth some more, letting out a sigh into his mouth which went straight to his dick and he pushed his tongue in further, deepening the kiss. You both got lost in the kiss for a while there before pulling away and smiling at one another as if you’re already high. Even though, your lips were now disconnected. Your eyes stayed fixed on one another.
“You have really long lashes..” You said matter of factly, making Mark laugh.
“And you like me back” Nothing could stop you both from smiling like idiots at one another. It felt as if, nothing else mattered in this moment.
“I do.. I do...” You left another peck, not being able to get enough of him. Mark pulled his arm from over you to dig through his pocket. He pulled out the special pink papers and handed them to you to roll one.
The room felt like it was slowly spinning into you, a vortex of your feelings towards mark floated around you and time came to a halt. Your heart grew ten sizes that night, beating outside of your being, covering the entire room. You wanted to absorb him into your heart. The only way to express this to him was to have him inside you. Thinking about it, you felt your underwear pool and you moaned into Mark’s mouth. He squeezed your thigh tighter as a response, which brought you back to this room. On this sofa. On his lap. Tongue in his mouth. It was only then you realised, how time became warped from when you started smoking and Mark pulled you in for another kiss. Everything had been a blur since then. All you could focus on was how in such a short amount of time, this boy had become so dear to you.
Mark’s hands went to your ass to give it a handful squeeze and he got up picking you up with him. He pecked your lips once again.
“Hi baby” he smiled, taking in your features in awe.
“You okay?”
“Hi” you cheesed back at him, pecking his nose in response. “Of course.”
Mark carried you over to the bed and laid you down gently. Moving your hair out of your face, he hovered over you.
“God, you’re so beautiful” his ran his index finger along the side of your cheek.
“From the day I met you dude, I knew I was gonna like you.” He kissed you all over your face, filling the space with your giggles.
“Gonna make you my girl.” His lips, once again, crashed down into yours and he settled between your legs. You could feel him on your thigh and it drove you crazy. Adding to your arousal, he slowly grinded into you. He held your waist, before slipping his hands inside your shirt and squeezed one of your breast, lighting pinching your nipples in between his fingers. You swore you could’ve came right then. He lifted your t-shirt up to admire your body further. His eyes hung low from the weed and his mouth slightly parted. He smiled.
“Dang! They are so beautiful. Nice to meet you.” He left kisses along your breast, making you giggle and feel more comfortable.
Mid-giggle, your breath got caught in your throat when Mark licked a stripe between your chest, taking your nipple in his mouth. The shock made you arch your back and run your fingers through his hair before grabbing it. You let out a moan and felt Mark smirk against your skin.
Working his way down to your body, he took your shorts off. Coming face to face with your absolutely dampened underwear, Mark’s light hearted expression changed.
“Your panties.. are ruined” His voice, barely a whisper.
You felt a shift in the atmosphere. The air became heavy and thick with lust. You felt yourself clench around nothing when Mark pressed his thumb into your heat to check if this was real life. His eyes a little wider, and breath heavier. Mark wasted no time as he used his index finger to slide your panties to the side.
“Oh hi” his voice cracked a little, indicating that he was trying very hard to keep things light- hearted but his head was also spinning from the lust. He needed you.
“Baby?” He looked up at you with a glint in his eyes.
“Yeah?” You asked, rubbing head lovingly.
“Can I eat it baby?”
All you could do was nod and Mark didn’t need to be told twice. He dove right in with his tongue, kissing your pussy all over. He settled on the clit, making you move your thighs on his shoulders.
Mark took that as a sign to grab you harder and he moved his face in a zig-zag motion in your pussy. With every moan, Mark moaned with you.
“Does it feel good?”
He was absorbed in the act and it was now his turn to feel a vortex of his feelings slowly fade into him, from outside of him. The vibrations from his moan were only sending you over the edge and then he slipped his fingers inside you. You grabbed his hair again, letting him know he’s doing good. Mark was so focused, his eyebrows furrowed and mouth slightly open. He was studying your reactions to the different movements of his fingers. His eyes going from your face to your pussy and how it was sucking in his fingers. Mark felt entranced.
He was aching inside his sweats as he felt you cum on his tongue. Legs shaking around his head, hands grabbing at his hair for some sort of support. He took his other hand to find yours and interlocked his fingers with yours. Even though, you had came. Mark did not take a second to let you catch your breath as he carried on, making you cum twice more. He felt like he could’ve stayed in there forever. He was drunk of your taste and smell. Time was still warped for the both of you. It ceased to exist.
And when Mark was finally inside you. Both of you felt as though you have sunken into a cloud. With each thrust, you kept sinking, deeper and deeper. Going lower, and lower. The room was filled with your moans and the sound of how wet you were. You don’t think you legs ever stopped shaking from he first time, they had done that. “Oh my god, you feel so good.” Mark managed to get some words out, after a long time of scrunched up faces and moans. Mark felt like he was losing his mind. Every time you closed your eyes, you saw stars. You wrapped your legs around him and his movement staggered. “Wait.. wait.. you gonna make me cum like this.. turn over for me.” He placed a kiss on your cheek.
Now laying on your stomach, Mark slid into you once again. Immediately, realising that changing positions might have made things worse when he felt your ass cushion his thrusts, he fell onto your back and lightly bit your shoulder. Mark pounded into you with force, accepting his fate of climaxing very soon. His hand snaked onto your throat as he guided your head back so he could kiss you again. He lightly squeezed your throat as he pounded into you. Moans and curse words flew from both of your mouths and you felt him throb inside you. The movement, hitting your spot perfectly, made your legs shake once last time as you came around him and you swore Mark almost growled in your ear.
“Baby.. you’re pu..pushing me out.. ugh.. feels..s o.. good.” It wasn’t long before, he also came to his climax and pulled out, finishing all over your ass.
He collapsed on the side next to you as you both caught your breath and settled into giddy giggles again. “That felt like 10 years and 2 seconds, all at the same time.” You say, out of breath.
You were both so infatuated with one another. It was disgusting.
“Lemme get you a towel babe.” Mark groaned before getting up and walking over to the bathroom.
You admired his naked frame from the back. His muscly back and toned ass. He was sculpted by the gods and you just had this man moaning into your mouth. The thought of that made your core tingle again, confirming that this was only the first round of tonight.
“So.. Shakespeare, huh?” You called out to Mark from the bed, referring to his poem.
“Oh, he is the OG man.” You heard the water shut and he shouted back.
Walking back into the room in all his glory, now from the front. You admired him. “If you’re good, I’ll show you my stuff sometime.” He sank onto the bed and wiped your butt with the warm towel.
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finniestoncrane · 4 months
Ik this is sorta late depending on time zones and this ask being cheesy as hell but what would the Riddlers do for Valentine's Day with reader? Something cheesy asf? Or not celebrating it at all? I wanna know I'm curious as hell now
Valentine's Date
Riddler Headcanons gosh i rushed so fast to get this done today!! luckily, it was a blessing as work was SLOW! so here are the boys and how they would celebrate valentine's day in my mind because i am down bad for them all and live in a fantasy world where they would all try and do something nice for you 💚 request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: suggestive stuff but it's mostly fluff!!
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young justice
i can almost guarantee that if you're spending valentine's day with him, it'll be the first one he's had with a partner
so he is pushing the boat out. or... as best as he can... what with the nerves
he wouldn't do something too extravagant, not too fancy or big. that would only increase the number of people he might embarrass himself in front of
he's far more keen on taking you to a quiet, unexpected but comfortable restaurant with quiet music and only a few tables, so he can talk to you and hear you properly
he'd buy you a single rose, hire the violinist to play a song by your table, your favourite tune
no dancing, he's got two left feet, but he will reach across the table and hold your hand, stroking it with his thumb and looking into your eyes
and when he takes you home, he'll walk you to your door and offer you a shy, reserved kiss
whether or not you pull him through the door by his tie and ravage the poor beast is up to you
he wouldn't actually ask you out for valentine's day
he'd give you a rant about capitalism and how it's a made up holiday and that you should keep your calendar clear anyway just in case he decides to do an ironic date
you'd think his goal was to embarrass you, in fact, because he's showing up to your house with a little remote control and blasting your favourite song out of every speaker system you own
"hey, sh... don't ask how i know your favourite song or how i got control of your devices. just... stop thinking about it. hey. hey! you're thinking about it... don't think about it, sh you're too pretty to think about it. let me think about it, i'm smarter and prettier"
dinner isn't anything too special either. takeout pizza on a rooftop in gotham somewhere. it could be romantic though, and it would be to someone desperately in love with him like you
listening to him talk about light pollution, asking if you want to hear some riddles about constellations, pointing out the various places he's hid from his enemies
it's not traditional by any means, but it is oddly romantic. dinner, music, time alone under the dulled stars. maybe that was his plan all along
oh we are going WHOLE HOG here for valentine's day!! you know he's an old romantic, a sweet and gentle soul
so don't think for a moment that you'll be seeing any other people that day, your attention will be solely focused on each other
he's sent, uh... someone has sent in some miscellaneous threat to your workplace, so luckily for you(!) you're not required to go in! SO SURPRISE!! he's here to make you breakfast
and then a brief walk down some of the quieter streets, where he might be brave enough to ask if he can hold your hand
once you're at his apartment, you're in for some respectable but tension filled cuddles on his sofa while you watch some classic romance movies
and then he's making a beautiful three course meal for you both! pressed tablecloth on his little dining table, roses in a conical flask, candles in test tubes (is he stealing these from work?)
he'll feed you little bits of food, wiping your face with a napkin, staring into your eyes dreamily
and then the night will end with a perfect and very polite kiss that you'll wish wouldn't end
he knows how to do romance, he's been around long enough. it's more a question of whether he can be bothered to celebrate
but he'll pull himself together and act the perfect gentleman for you, regardless of how tired he is after a day of committing violent/cyber crime and being oddly agile for a man in receipt of a state pension
(a fact which will come in handy at the end of the evening...)
he'll start off the evening with the traditional gifts. a box of expensive chocolates or candy, perfectly suited to your dietary requirements of course. and a bouquet of flowers. not roses, but your favourites. he knows they'll make you happier
he's not one for being out in public, what with the whole "is he dead" thing, so you'll be dining in BUT to make it special, he has hired a discreet personal chef to provide the food for the evening
slow, quiet jazz playing in the background, just you, him, and the waiters he has hired and has threatened under extreme violence to keep their mouths shut about this particular shift
could it get any more romantic??
bless his heart but this eddie is forgetting that it's valentine's day until you're handing him a card, grasping it between his dirty fingers, smudging the soft pink colour with grimy fingerprints
then, you'll endure a fifteen minute long lecture about why you should have at least had the sense to warn him in advance, or to remind him, since you know how he can be
and when he's done, he'll be pushing you out of the room, getting rid of you so he can "finish his important work" and only then can you consider "doing something for this silly holiday"
really, he's just looking for an excuse to get you away so he can work on your very last minute present without you seeing
which of course, he'll present to you as though he had been pretending to forget all along
"i made you this, it's a symbol of our relationship"
it's the remnants of a neon question mark bent into place to resemble a heart. and there's hot glue still drying on it. and a screw stuck to it
but it's the thought that counts, and the thought is there! after all he loves you enough to have lied and put aside his important welding or whatever to haphazardly craft the lie
for him, valentine's day is about showing your love for someone. because you can love them every day, but this is an excuse to make a display out of it
so expect a myriad of gifts, food, perfumes, vouchers, jewellery, stuffed animals, flowers, a handmade valentine's card
enough that it makes you guilty (and enough that you wonder if he really has just been saving all his salary instead of spending it on... furniture or therapy)
then, the personalised activities! most of which involve you doing his quiz all about you and your relationship with him, solving several riddles that lead you to a hidden compartment in the wall of his bedroom (weird.) where he's stuffed his poems to you (sweet!) which he will then recite to you, stuttering over the words and blushing the whole time
but it's not enough for him, he wants to shout it from the rooftops, show the world how much he loves you and appreciates you
he's had all this love bottled up for so long with no one deserving to give it to! let's just hope it comes out in a healthy way...
he's swooping in to your apartment very late at night
"it's only 11pm, it's still valentine's day mi amorrrrr"
look, he's very sorry that he wasn't able to spend the day with you, and that he's incredibly late to the dinner you had planned
but he's a busy little criminal, he has so many things to do AND he had to do it all by himself because he gave miss tuesday the day off so she could go on a date of her own and-
oh see! you've changed your mind now, no longer grumpy, because he was actually doing something kind for someone else
he really is a generous soul, emphasised by the fact that the reason he was late was because he was pulling off a perfect heist in a jewellery store uptown
so... did you save any leftovers for him? or is he going to have to return this beautiful ring/watch/necklace he bought you?
he's a curveball, like seriously give you whiplash kind of valentine's date
you think it's going to be a very standard evening, after all there you both are in black tie best, sipping expensive champagne, him talking about himself while you try hard not to stare at his tits
but when the meal is finished, he goes to pay in secret and then rushes you out into a car with tinted windows, and it's lucky he can get you so hot and flushed and eager that quickly, since it's not long before you arrive at the next spot
a strip club
which is? i mean not a traditional valentine's day date location, but it could be very hot
and he's booked one of the private rooms for you both, so at least you won't have to hide your blushing cheeks from the rest of the guests
but it becomes very obvious that there isn't a dancer coming to entertain you, and you worry that he expects you to get up there and put on a show, which would be a disaster because you haven't planned anything and-
"happy valentine's day"
ah. of course. why would the world's most self-absorbed man think you would want anything else for valentine's day than a private strip tease from him
and he's annoyingly very right in that assumption
he absolutely does the most! and the most is often cheesy and dorky and therefor a million times more precious
the kind of guy who would buy you a rose for every day he's known you, regardless of how many days he has known you
the kind of guy who gets those little personalised lego figures made of you and him, or gets a plushie of him to give to you so he'll always be near you (and you know he's putting the personalised message in if he gets it from build a bear)
he knows your favourite starter, main and dessert are all from different restaurants, so he's made the reservations at all three with plenty of time for romantic rides in the back of cabs between each stop
it's important he has plenty of time to cover your neck with kisses, and for you to tell him how adorable he is
and then, because he is the cheesiest but in the best way, it's more than likely he'd use valentine's day as an excuse to propose to you, so he's down on one knee under the cloudy gotham night sky to ask you to marry him (and you're obviously not going to say no)
zero year
he doesn't do valentine's day, what a waste of time! he's nice enough to you the rest of the year, why should there be one day where he has to do something extra fo-
oh? oh! oh ok, if it means you have to do something for him too, then he's down for it
yes... that sounds like a wonderful excuse to get up to some mischief... (it's concerning how evil his little face looks when he's supposedly considering activities for the most romantic of holidays...)
although, why bother going out somewhere on a date, it's such a waste of time and effort
he has to keep his energy for more important things, and speaking of... he can think of very few ways to spend an evening that are better than taking you into the bedroom and sharing an exchange of giving for a few solid hours
no need to wear something nice, it's only going to get stripped off
no need to get him a gift, you'll be giving him plenty
and no need to eat something, he'll make sure you don't leave hungry, trust him
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willowser · 7 months
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now i wake up by your side—
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bakugou x f!reader
wc: 2.8k+
tags: u.a. college au, canon-compliant, reader has a telekinesis/telepathic quirk, references (and potential spoilers) for the current arc in the manga, angst, a lot of secret hidden feelies
tysm to @alrightberries for giving me the opportunity to bring this lil thought of yours to life 🥺 your patience and understanding during the time it took me to write this is so appreciated it, and tbh you're the reason i'm even still here right now LOL you're so sweet, and i hold your kindness so close to my heart. i wish i could convey how much it means to me. i hope i did this even a lil justice !! happy birthday dear !!!! 🥺🩷✨️
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Sero dreams of watching the sunrise on top of the Roppongi Observatory.
It’s a beautiful sight, one you’ve never seen with your own eyes, but you soak in the warmth flushing across his cheeks and the anticipated break of morning through the clouds. When he takes in a hefty breath, you feel the spring chill sting inside his chest, crisp and clear, like it’s you breathing instead of him, and it’s almost comforting enough to lull you to sleep, too.
But a clay pot shattering against a nearby bench has your eyes springing open, ripped from the haven you’d been lost to. 
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You have to blink several times in order to fight through the exhaustion wearing you thin, but the evening returns to you in small, bleary doses. It’s the middle of the night—or at least it was when you’d first wandered out to the training field, and you can’t be sure how many hours have passed since then. Across the yard, you’ve successfully managed to carry four pots from the garden plot near the entrance all the way to your feet with your Quirk— but number five sits in pieces in the grass.
You’ll have to clean that up by morning or Eraser will make you run laps until you puke. Again.
Kirishima flits through your mind in a suit and tie: not as a Hero, but a spy of some kind, chasing down men with masks covering their faces and wielding a gun that looks odd in his hands, even in his own dream. Despite being back in the dorms, stories up and near the end of the hall, you can see it—hear him yelling out at the criminal to stop, feel the thud of the ground under his feet. His own determination blares through you like a freight train, as strong and damning as he is, and you fight to force yourself back inside your own shoes as you try to carry another pot.
Recovery Girl used to tell you that you did this to yourself: all your worry about losing sleep psyching yourself out of it completely, chasing it away before it even had the chance. When everyone is getting ready for bed, heading out of the common room and hitting the showers, you can feel that suspense building; what will come across tonight while everyone dreams? Fantasies? Or nightmares?
During the day it’s easier to drown out the foot-traffic of everyone’s thoughts—you do it without trying, now—but your brain needs rest, too. Letting go of control for even a second, just to get some shut eye is—
Something frightening is outlined in your peripheral vision, the dash of a pale shape you aren’t able to discern before it’s gone. The air turns metallic and stale and you can hear water sloshing, though you’re nowhere near the pools. All your blood rushes in your ears and your fingers curl, like you’re gripping your seat—gripping the edge of the couch in the common room, where you’d been sitting beside Mina when Kaminari put on that horror movie. The one with the—
“The hell are you doin’?”
Your eyes snap open for the hundredth time that night—show over, credits rolling—and it’s Bakugou. Standing only feet away from the new set of clay shards of your failure, tangible and real and staring at you with an intensity not even your dreams could mimic.
You blink, eyes stinging and heavy. You must look insane. “Oh, hey,” the voice that comes out of you is far-away, chartered off to distant lands, and he notices immediately, focus razor-sharp despite how late it is. “What did you say?”
Bakugou wrinkles his nose, like he’s offended at having to repeat himself. “I said, what the hell are you doin’? It’s nearly 2 in the morning and you’re out here throwin’ shit around in your fuckin’ pajamas.”
Almost on cue, the breeze brushes past your legs, chilly enough to have you shivering, and you peek down at them as if you don’t know what they look like. The sweater you’re wearing is from second year and the U.A. logo is half-worn off, but it’s the comfiest thing you own and if you’re going to be plagued all night by the forced intimacy of your classmates’ dreams—you at least want to be cozy.
When you look back up at him, Bakugou is pointedly looking away, taking interest in something other than your wimpy state of dress. 
It dawns on you then that he’s out here, too, in sweats and a simple back sweatshirt, hair a messy, golden halo in the pale, buzzing field lights. If you didn’t know any better, you’d almost think his face was a little rosy, but—maybe you’re seeing things.
Still. Being out and away from everyone, alone with Bakugou, makes your stomach tighten horribly. Like you’ve done too many sit-ups.
You try to brush off your sudden bout of shyness, because you know he’ll clock that in no time, too. “Well, I could ask you the same thing.” At the raise of your eyebrows, he only tchs, and casts you a filthy look. “But I think maybe I’ll just mind my own business.”
The face he makes is so awful and hot-blooded that you laugh, truly and earnestly, enough that a headache pulses to life. You wince, and the stream of pain that shoots down the middle of your skull brings back that image of Kirishima’s action-thriller: blood and knives, the sound of skin on skin, a fist against cheekbones, the ugly snap of breaking—
Bakugou is closer than before, when you’re grounded back inside yourself. At least no pots have been broken this time. Less to clean up.
“Sorry,” you shoot him an apologetic smile that you know he must hate. “It’s just so—” your hand feels like it’s made of lead, but you drag it up to massage slow circles into your temple, trying not to grit your teeth and worsen the pounding in your head. “So loud sometimes.”
He’s silent until the pain ebbs out, and when you can blink without flinching, you peek up to catch how intently he’s watching your face. In the night like this, his eyelashes seem darker, longer, a kind of haunting beauty you would dream about, if you could get some sleep.
Again, you think of Kaminari’s horror movie, legs pressed against Mina’s under the heavy comforter she’d brought down from her room. It’s warm, the kind of pink, fluffy thing you’d imagine a girl like her to have—but it didn’t stop you from shivering every time you chanced a glance at Bakugou and found him already staring back.
The heat in your cheeks spreads to the back of your neck, so immediate that you think you might start sweating. “Dreams and stuff,” you murmur, by way of an explanation, “nightmares, sometimes.”
Bakugou's frown deepens, the muscle in his jaw tightening once as he grits his teeth. “What, you can just…hear that shit all night?”
“Usually,” you shrug, “It just comes in, you know? And I—” you steal another glance at him, aware, then, of just how intrusive you might sound. The veil of privacy is thin between you and others, and they don't often like being reminded of that. “Not for you, though. I don't—I don't get anything from you.”
And it's true, frustratingly enough. Not that you are ever intentionally peeking into anyone's head, but things slip through, occasionally—sudden reactions, wild, loose trains of thought. 
Bakugou's face twists, regardless, and you're reminded of all the times you've been forced to spar together, at Eraser's behest. One of the smartest in your class, quick on his feet and never without a plan; every time you've managed to get a hand on Bakugou, there's been nothing but a sea-shore calm.
It's hard to do and, at this point in your life, you've seen a thousand people try it—but he's the only one that's ever succeeded in keeping you at bay.
Nothing in his expression changes, but all your nerves spread to your voice until it shakes. “You're—I don't look in there, of course, but it's—you've always been…” Bakugou is terrible at taking compliments, you know that, almost as bad as you are at giving them. “Pretty, I guess.”
Awful, at giving them.
Embarrassment floods him, suddenly stained pink as he curls into himself. “Piss off,” he barks, and though he’s scowling at you in what must be disgust—you can’t help but to smile at how aggressively bashful he is.
You almost get the guts to make matters worse, just because you can. Admit how handsome you’ve come to find him, after the last few years, until his face is steaming in the sweet nighttime chill; the kind of intimacy you wouldn’t mind dreaming about again and again.
The absence of his thoughts are a comfort for your tired mind, has all the harsh edges of night fading into something a little easier to swallow, to breathe in. You know he does it on purpose as a strictly defensive move, but you almost want to thank him. For the quiet.
You don’t know if it’s from you or him, but when you reach a hand up to hover near his temple, the air buzzes between you, gently. Charged with that same thing that had you unable to look away from him in the common room only days ago. “In here, I mean,” you murmur, and the smile you pull on feels lame, but it’s as genuine as ever. “I don’t know, I don’t know how you do it. But it’s…nice.”
You’ve seen him die a thousand times.
Mostly in Midoriya’s dreams, sometimes in Eraser’s when he nods off during last period, but that horror—like many others, from that day—stains you all. When dinner is put away and showers are finished and the lights go out and the flood gates open, someone almost always relives the ugliness of it all; you’re more familiar with that moment than you are with any of your own.
Here and now, you close your eyes and see Jirou staring back at you, face beautiful and full of hope. You see Kirishima’s torn suit jacket and the blood on his cheek and the empty gun in his hand, the most dedicated secret agent. Aoyama is dreaming of his mother, something warm that makes you feel like you’re dazzling, too.
And yet—Bakugou is silent. Even right in front of you. Even after everything.
If anyone deserves the peace and quiet, you suppose it ought to be him.
“When’s the last time you got any sleep?”
You blink until his blurry figure is clear, and it’s like you can physically feel whatever energy you had left seeping from your body at the mere mention of sleep. “Maybe a morning or two ago,” you tell him truthfully, “I usually pass out after a few rounds of ‘throwin’ shit around’.”
Bakugou only stares at you as he digests the words, and once he’s gotten them down, he shakes his head before looking out over the mess you’ve made of the training field. With his head turned like this, you can take in the full weight of his scar—the one that’s wide and still baby-pink across his cheek. 
You almost get the guts to tell him he’s handsome. Almost.
Frustration is evident on his face when he looks back at you, but his voice comes out softer than you expect, like he's struggling to get out any words at all. “Can’t keep doin’ this,” he chastises. “Can’t be a Hero if you’re half asleep all the time. Gotta figure this shit out.”
“I am,” you give a lazy wave to your pots, “What’s wrong with this solution?”
“It's ass.”
“Alright, you have any better ideas, pretty boy?”
He bristles, visibly enough to have you snickering, and—you’re not sure what you expect of him; to continue his griping or leave you to your own devices, building his walls up high as he always does. Ever the fighter, ever the protector; maybe it’s a good thing, you tell yourself, because you’re weak like this and one of you needs to be thinking straight.
Despite his flush, there’s a playfulness to his grouchy expression, his raspy tone—and it has you leaning too far into things you don’t know how to name.
You never know what to expect of him.
There’s the slightest brush of skin against the back of your hand, and when you drop your eyes to the slowly-dwindling space between you—the rough pads of his fingers are touching you, gently. Softly enough to be the breeze, if it weren’t so warm.
You’re afraid to look at him, suddenly, like it will break whatever spell the night is casting over both of you; instead you press your lips together to stop their wobbling and the smile fighting to give you away. You’re waiting for that sea-shore calm, that quiet comfort, whatever it is he’s trying to offer you, strangely enough, in this moment. When you turn your hand over to catch his, the air buzzes again and the blood rushes in your ears.
You focus and—all you can see is your own face staring back at you. In a flash, like he’s cycling through his cards in a hurry, trying to find the best one.
You, across the arena during the entrance exam. You, in the locker room before the Sport's Festival. You, sitting in the common room during Christmas. You, ruined with tears and your own blood and covered in grime, on the darkest day of your life.
You, now. On the field in the stale light, prettier than you think you must look, for being so exhausted, the lines of your smile deep as you grin up at him.
—And then there's nothing.
The absence of noise is louder than anything. A stark, white silence that cuts through; a different world trickling away. A single touch and a little focus is all it takes to take root inside someone’s head and that’s always felt like a weapon, but now it feels like coming inside from a snowstorm, relief shuddering down your spine. Everyone else's fears and nerves and heartaches dissolve until they’re only a bitter taste at the back of your throat. Something far, far behind you
There’s just Bakugou. A strong silence that feels impenetrable, invulnerable to the outside. The steady beat of his heart is comforting in a way you didn’t realize it would be, has that bloody, dead-eyed image of him shifting into something else: another moment in Midoriya’s memories, of his silhouette standing in the sun, tall and fierce and alive.
Returned. Here and now with you, after numerous, unforeseen turns of events. You wonder if the ease surrounding you is his own, something else he’s sharing—or if this is just how it feels to be with him after so long. Maybe in the past it was different—you know it was; during the entrance exam, during the Sport’s Festival—but now you feel more relaxed than you ever have. A reminder that, no matter how dark the nights get, the sun is only just beyond the horizon. 
Returned, comforting and quiet.
(You won't know this until much later, but your hand will go slack in Katsuki's and his fingers will tighten around your own because he's not ready to let go yet. When your knees buckle, he'll already be there, awkwardly holding you up against his shoulder as his face flames and his eyes dart around the empty field, checking for any shitty snoops.
Ears is always up damn late, too, and there's a decent chance he'd get caught trying to haul you back to your room on the third fuckin’ floor, so there's really no better option than to gently lower you both to the grass. After a couple of minutes with no movement, the field lights will shut off and only the distant glow of the stars will remain.)
(You won't know this until much later, but Katsuki will arrange the both of you so that your head isn't slumped on the hard ground, but resting on the plush of his bicep, an arm around your shoulders so that the warmth can be shared between you both. His heart will pound hard enough in his chest to be worrisome, and every time you shuffle and scoot closer to him and nudge your nose into his sweater—Katsuki will fight to stay open and true, only honest with you in this wordless way.)
(You won't know this until the sun rises high behind your lids and your bones ache and he’s shown you things he could never say, but it's the best sleep you think you've ever gotten. With him, under the stars, surrounded by his calm and his constant.)
(You won't remember this but in your dream—your real dream, born from with solace Katsuki offers you—the morning will rise and settle in and he'll walk you back to your room despite the stares and in the elevator when you're alone, his lips will touch yours and you'll feel his  heart in your chest and his nerves in your stomach and his fear and relief all in one.)
(And right away, when you wake up, you'll finally have a name for this thing that's been blooming between you both for as long as you can remember—and he will, too.)
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Oh, Pretty Woman...
Steve Harrington x Fem!Henderson!Reader
Word count: roughly 5.5K
Y/N Henderson has been away from Hawkins for a while…but she’s come home only to realize her long held feelings for Steve Harrington. So when he invites her over for their usual dinner making hang out, things play out a bit differently than usual. 
Warnings: NSFW (mdni), terms of endearment, fluffy Steve, slight season 3 spoiler (Robin has a partner), one OC (Jude), very fluffy smut, watching of Pretty Woman, not proof read.
Author’s note: Ok this has been a long time coming BUT I wanted to make sure it was everything I wanted it to be before posting! Enjoy some very fluffy Steve smut!  
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Y/N had been pacing back and forth all afternoon. She was overthinking this. She was totally overthinking this.
“It’s just movie night and dinner,” she said aloud as she help up her outfit options, “Like you used to do…Stop being so…ugh.” Finally, she realized there was only one thing to fix this. She walked over, picked up her phone, and dialed the number she knew by heart. 
“Hello, this is Jude?”
“Hey, it’s Y/N,” Y/N said as she flopped down onto her bed, knowing they would set her straight if she was spinning out about this and not seeing it for what it was. 
“Holy shit what’s wrong?” They sat on their bed, hearing their friend’s heart beat practically echo through the phone.
“Nothing ... .ok um…” Y/N tried to think of how to start this, “You know Steve and I make dinner together whenever I’m visiting town?” 
“Oh my god,” Jude sat back on their bed. “Yes? Are you seeing him?” Jude’s brows were raised as Robin came in to water the plants in their bedroom. “Seeing Steve I mean.” They whispered to no avail, because Robin heard everything.
“Steve?” She asked. Jude motioned for them to be quiet.
“Oh god is Robin there?” Y/N asked as she could hear another voice, wanting to crawl up in a hole because if Robin knew she was overreacting she was totally gonna tell Steve.
“Hang on,” They tried to comfort Y/N. “Robin, honey, I need a moment.”
“No, no it’s fine as long as she swears not to mention this to Steve, ever,” Y/N said, emphasis on the ever. 
“No,” Jude said. “Robin, you know I love you. But I need a moment with my sister.” Robin nodded, ruffling Jude’s hair as she walked out of their tiny bedroom, closing the door. “Tell me.”
“Ok so Steve invited me over to do like dinner and stuff which we do a lot when I’m home since he can’t cook, well he couldn’t cook when we started,” Y/N rambled, “He’s actually really good now when he tries-”
“Okay Y/N, sweetie, get to the meat.” Jude was waiting with baited breath to hear what she said.
“I’m nervous,” Y/N finally admitted, “To go over. I’m nervous.” 
“And….is this… a new thing? You said you’ve been going over for a while now.”
“Yeah the nerves are new,” Y/N said with a sigh as she moved to look at the outfits she had been deciding between, “I mean it’s the first time we’ve hung out in a while and…I wasn’t nervous then but I am now. I mean, Jude, I’ve been through every outfit in my closet, I’ve showered and like an everything shower, and….ugh!” 
“Oh god, an everything shower?” Their tone, usually mocking, was warm. “Well…are you planning…well let me rephrase. Do you want something to happen tonight?”
“What?” Y/N asked, the thought suddenly coming to her mind, “I…oh my god…I….” 
“Do you?”
“Yes,” Y/N said honestly, “I…I really hadn’t thought about it because I was so busy with stuff,” a lie, Y/N had thought about Steve every day, “but…it would explain a lot of things.” 
“I mean,” she thought for a second before going, “I don’t know! I mean I’ve always thought Steve was handsome, he’s a good looking dude, everyone thinks Steve is handsome. And like sure there have been little moments where I wondered, what if, but I…I never really thought about liking him in that way but…then we were making dinner for the first time and he got that little smile and…and I fell for him. Deep and hard and- well not like that! But I just…I’m smitten Jude!” 
“I mean he has been a rock for you after everything,” Jude nodded totally following, “And he’s a good guy. He’s funny and awkward and charming and he…definitely cares for you. You two danced and-”
“But what if he’s changed his mind?” Y/N asked as she flopped down on the bed, “What if I go over there and he’s totally moved on and doesn’t feel the same way and now it’s like starting over from scratch or worse, what if he just wants to be friends and I have to bury it all down again?! Maybe he doesn’t feel that way and maybe he…I mean…I like him so much and I have since…jesus the seventh grade? On and off and…Jude what do I do?” 
“Oh Y/N,” Their voice consoling, for once no mockery. “You gotta go for it. You gotta. You have something special with him whether it’s romantic or not. And look at Robin and his friendship. They are still super close even after he confessed his feelings. He’ll always be there for you.” Relief did wash through Y/N in this moment only to be replaced by a new kind of trepidation. 
“Then what do I wear?” Jude cackled at their friend’s nervousness, finally indulging. 
“What are your options?” Jude said through laughter. 
The drive there was also easy with the radio on blast. Even the way up to Steve’s apartment was easy…it was knocking on the door that was hard. But she did it. And then she waited. 
Steve jumped and blew out the candle he lit. It’s not like that. Well maybe it’s like that. But remember what you’ve practiced. Follow her lead. See where she's at and make sure she feels the same still. He jumped to get the door, swinging the towel over his shoulder before opening the door. 
“Hey,” His jaw hung open slightly, seeing Y/N. Why the fuck did I blow out that candle? “You look beautiful.” Fuck that was way too forward. Can’t take it back now. He scratched the back of his head before backing up and letting her in. 
“Thank you,” She said, her voice so much shakier than she wanted it to be as she struggled to meet his gaze. She came in and kicked her shoes off as she always did out of respect. The lights had been dimmed significantly and there was already something cooking, as the room smelled of rich vivacious flavor. 
“Steve that smells incredible!” Y/N said as Steve shut the door, “What are you making?” 
“ I just made Penne Rosa,” He shrugged it off like it was the most casual thing in the world. Y/N just turned and looked at him, narrowing her eyes. 
“I leave for what…three months and suddenly you’ve gone world class chef on me?” She teased with a smirk, “Steve, there will be no point to me coming over if you can suddenly cook better than I can! Jeez.” 
“Hey now Y/N, just accept that I am officially allowed to be better than you at something,” He grabbed the spoon and offered her a taste. Y/N was far too excited for a taste as she followed him into the kitchen. Steve dipped the spoon into the sauce, got a bit, and without thinking much about it blew on the spoon to make sure it wouldn’t be too hot before passing it over to her. Y/N beamed as she took the spoon and popped it into her mouth letting out a hum in reply. 
“Oh my god that’s so good,” she praised. 
“You like it?” He beamed. “ I can relax now.”
“Like it? Steve that is the best sauce I have had maybe ever,” she said with a little sigh, “Oh that’s so good, wow.” He watched her enjoy it, before having to distract himself with his sauce. 
“The bread I got from a bakery because I didn’t have time to bake any. If you could cut some into slices that would be wonderful.”
“Of course,” she beamed, happy for a task to do as she pulled the bread knife from his drawer where she knew it would be, “So…have you been seeing anyone?” Steve dropped his spoon, splattering sauce on the ground.
“Oh god, I’m so sorry,” He exclaimed, immediately getting down to wipe his mess. “Uh, no. No I haven’t been. You?”
“No,” Y/N said as she passed him a paper towel, “I um…I haven’t been either.” 
“Oh,” Steve stood up and slung his towel over his shoulder, watching her back as she intently cut the bread. “Huh.” He went back to his sauce, stirring for a minute before finally giving in. 
“So,” Y/N turned to look at him again, facing him fully this time, trying to break the tension she had somewhat created though she was thankful for the relief that he was still single, “What else is new?” 
“Same old, same old”. He turned off the burden, allowing the sauce to still cook without the fire. “Nothing much to do other than work. Things just aren’t the same without you here.” Y/N’s cheeks went red and Steve smiled, confidence surging through him that spark was still there. 
“How’s my brother been?” Y/N asked as she watched him work for a moment, noting how at peace she felt here, with him.
“He’s the same as usual too,” Steve scoffed, “Cocky.”
“And who’s fault is that?” Y/N teased, “You gave him your hair products and since then-”
“Woah, woah, don’t blame the hair,” Steve said as he pointed to his favorite feature, “The hair is not the problem!”
“I’m just saying,” Y/N chuckled, “The hair and you being around boosted his ego…but it’s nice. Except the cat thing when he’s flirting.” Steve cringed at the memory of Dustin doing the “rrrrr” sound he so often did.
“Yeah I was kinda waiting for him to grow out of that.” The pair both fell into laughter at the thought of Dustin - someone they both held dear - only being brought back by Y/N asking,  “Can I do anything else for you?” 
“Just enjoy yourself,” He smiled at her. “Actually, if you could get the wine out of the fridge…..I might have splurged because you’re back.”
“Steve,” Y/N said as she cooed his name on her way to the fridge, “Don’t splurge on my account! I’m just happy to get to spend time with you.” 
“Welp, I should have kept the receipt then.” He plated the pasta. “ Oh, speaking of splurging...you’re gonna hate this,” He smirked. 
“Steve Harrington,” Y/N put the hand not holding the bottle of wine on her hip as she looked at him with mock scolding, “What did you do?” 
“I got Pretty Woman, definitely not because it’s your favorite movie. I just happened to be available at Family Video and I had Keith hold it all day for me.” Y/N literally melted on the spot. She just looked at this man and she knew she was down bad. She had no words and could only smile at him, like he had hung the moon. “Y/N? Hello Y/N?”
“Well I mean,” She started, coming back to earth with a blush on her cheeks, “If you went through all that effort, I suppose we just have to watch it, now don’t we?” 
“I guess so,” He handed her a plate. “Listen it’s a special occasion so if you don’t like the pasta we can order take out. I will not judge or be offended.”
“Steve, I will love anything you make because you made it,” shit, she thought, that was a lot…but I can’t unsay it. So she just walked over and set the bottle of wine down on the table and got two glasses - the only two he had - out of the cabinet. He brought both plates out to his tiny dining room table, practically only enough for two. But she was the only other person other than Robin who ate here, so it didn’t really matter. As they sat to eat, he couldn’t help but feel at peace. He couldn’t help but feel like spending the rest of his life in Hawkins wouldn't be so bad. Maybe getting out every now and then with her wouldn't be that bad. As long as they had a van to drive around in. 
The pair finished dinner and Y/N was up, taking Steve’s plate to wash it before he could get a word of protest in. 
“You cooked, I’ll clean,” she had said before he could speak, “That’s how this works.” He smiled, sort of relieved that he could rest for a moment. He chose to watch her do the dishes, not in a creepy way. You’re being creepy. He looked away, going to set up the movie. 
“Is it okay if I start it? You might just miss the opening.”
“I am so sure I have this movie memorized by now so feel free,” Y/N called from the kitchen as she continued to clean, making sure everything was dried and put away before joining Steve on the couch. 
Soon enough the two were invested in the action, Julia Roberts walking down the street to Pretty Woman, one of Steve’s all time favorite songs. He felt the couch shift ever so slightly as Y/N pulled her feet up, getting even cozier on the couch and moving closer to him as a result. He wasn’t sure what to do next. Should I put an arm around her? 
“I love this song,” He said. Smooth.
“Me too,” she said with a nod. The next pan had the pair watching as Julia Roberts caught sight of the store she had been turned away from earlier in the film…the same attendant on shift.
“This is my favorite part,” Steve whispered. 
“You have a favorite part?” Y/N whispered back. 
“Of course I have a favorite part. This movie is iconic. How uncultured do you think I am?” He nudged.
“Well between dinner and your choice in film clearly I have given you less credit than you deserve,” she shot back with a smile. He turned to her, not expecting such a  genuine statement, and watched the warm glow of the TV flicker against her face. It was soothing in a way. He felt a warm rise up into his face and quickly turned away. Get a grip Steve. 
“Hi. Do you remember me?”
“No, I’m sorry.”
“I was in here yesterday, you wouldn’t wait on me.”
Steve sat up straighter, hitting her thigh with excitement. 
“Oh my god, oh my god.” Y/N couldn’t help but chuckle at his excitement.
“You work on commission right?”
“Ah yes.” 
“Big mistake. Big,” The pair said at the exact same time. “Huge.” They looked at each other, their smiles faded and replaced with something else. Something deeper. 
And with that, Steve shifted his position on the couch, grabbed Y/N’s face, and pressed a long awaited kiss on her lips, finally. He had been thinking about kissing her from the day she kissed him when they were in the seventh grade. A quick peck, a bet, not a real kiss. It wasn’t fair she had kissed him first and that it was so short, not even enough time to blink. He knew that someday when he got to kiss her again, he’d cherish every moment of it. 
Y/N’s eyes went wide for a second, in shock that this was occurring before leaning in, totally reciprocating. She couldn’t help herself, deepening the kiss to prove it was real by placing a hand ever so slightly in Steve’s hair, her fingers running to his roots. Holy shit. 
They moved closer and closer together, continuing to kiss, neither pulling away for air for fear that if they stopped for even a second the other would disappear back into real life once more. Y/N’s heart was beating out of her chest as both their hands wandered, trying to touch everything all at once but also so unsure on where to put their hands. At this point she was basically sitting just to the side of Steve’s lap but he wanted her, needed her closer. In one solid motion, he pulled her into his lap, his hands roaming her body. There was urgency to both of their movements, both allowing soft moans to fall at how nicely they fit together. As much as Steve wanted to treasure each and every second, kissing her like she was his life support, he couldn’t help his hands from coming to rest on her ass. He used the next leverage to pull them even closer into each other which drew a gasp from Y/N - finally making him pull away. 
“You alright?” He asked breathlessly. 
“God, yes,” Y/N moaned as she kissed him again, keeping her hands in his hair, “Fuck Steve, please don’t stop.” 
“Fuck,” Steve swore as her begging without him even having to ask, instinctively grinding his hips against her. The whimper she let out had him on the verge and they were both still fully clothed. Her legs coming to wrap around his waist so that she could feel even closer to him was the nail in the coffin. He needed her. Now. 
Steve broke away from the kiss only for a moment but Y/N didn’t cease, beginning to kiss up and down his neck until she found a spot that made him groan. She focused on it with a fervor as Steve brought his hands up to the top button of her dress since the whole thing was a button down. He kept his hands there as a “May I?” and when Y/N pulled back to nod at him, he didn’t hesitate. Steve went back to kissing her as he slowly unbuttoned her dress, bit by bit, wanting to not look until he was fully done. This proved to be a difficult task too but luckily Y/N helped him out, starting at the bottom as he made his way down. The second their hands met and the last button was undone, Steve couldn’t help but to break their kiss to look at her. His hands came to rest on her hips as he pulled away, sucking in a sharp breath. Steve had never been one to believe in God but to see the woman he had been chasing after for years undressed in his lap wearing lingerie- and Jesus Christ not just any lingerie. His favorite kind. 
It was a light blue and mesh material, almost completely see through other than being covered in beautifully detailed lace flowers. Again, Steve Harrington was pretty sure he didn’t believe in God but seeing Y/N looking better than any porno he had ever even dreamed up - he was ready to start praying. 
“Is…is it ok?” Y/N asked quietly as she looked at Steve, her hands moving to her lap as she fidgeted with them, unsure of what to do. “I wasn’t sure if you’d like it and I know I um…I don’t look like a lot of the girls you’ve been with but-” Steve kissed her so hard and fast, one of his hands moving from her hips to tangle in her hair in an effort to keep her from falling off his lap with the force he kissed her with. He needed her to know, to feel how much he wanted her. How much it had always been her. 
“You, Y/N Henderson,” he whispered after pulling away, “Are the most stunning person I have ever seen in my life.” Y/N’s eyes went wide as she took in his compliment. How was this the same Steve she had known all her life? The Steve who didn’t know how to give genuine compliments so didn’t? The Steve who Robin constantly complained acted like a twelve year old boy and couldn’t say anything other than boobies? 
“And holy fuck,” Steve swore as he brought his hands up to her waist, just underneath her breast as he ran his thumb ever so gently over the lace. 
“You can touch me, Steve,” Y/N said gently as she brought her hand up to rest over top of his, “Please…please touch me.” 
“Fuck,” Steve swore under his breath as he didn’t think twice moving his hand up to cup her breast in his hand, marveling at how she felt under his touch. Y/N ground her hips against his with a little whimper and he fucking lost it. He pushed the dress off her shoulders so she was truly in nothing but her underwear before pulling off his shirt, not wanting her to feel like she was the only one undressed. Y/N admired him as he did and felt her heart skip a beat. Steve had filled out. He had always been a decently broad guy but the second he had allowed himself to breathe and live his life instead of merely trying to survive from disaster to disaster he had grown softer instead of being lean muscle. The muscle was underneath but he had become a bit self conscious about the additional mass.
“Is that why girls don’t like me?” He had asked Robin as they passed a joint between them, “Because I’ve…”
“Nah,” Robin had replied with a shrug, “If anything that would help your case. Like the chest hair. Girls like you just fine, you just don’t like them.”
“That’s not true-”
“Yes it is,” Robin had cut him off, “Because none of them are Y/N Henderson.” 
He had laughed then but as he had her on his lap, looking at him like he had brought the sunlight back to her dark world, he knew Robin was right. No one had ever compared to her, no one ever could. 
“I’ve wanted you for so long,” the words flew from Steve’s mouth before he knew what he was saying, “You don’t even know.” He wanted to take the confession back, afraid she'd vanish despite the grip he had on her hips but she didn’t. Instead she turned her gaze back to his face and leaned in, going to press a kiss to his lips but she stopped just short.
“I know because I’ve wanted you just as much.” With that her lips connected with his again and it felt like the sky burst open. He pulled her closer than he thought possible, her hands coming to tangle in his hair as they kissed, rough and messy, teeth clashing as they both took what they had so desperately wanted. While Y/N was content with her hands tangled in Steve’s soft hair, Steve’s hands explored every inch of her exposed skin, one arm wrapping around her low back to keep the two of them rocking against each other with abandon. Y/N’s soft moans and the feel of her lips against his had Steve barreling towards the edge with shocking speed but he knew he didn’t want to finish still dressed on the couch. No, he wanted to be in her. 
“Y/N,” He pulled away, the pair both breathing heavily, “I want to-”
“Me too,” Y/N breathed heavily as she looked at him, hands moving to caress his face and press kisses to his neck, “Your room?” She didn’t have to ask him twice, Steve’s hands coming to hold her ass as he picked her up. Y/N swore Steve took only three strides before she found herself pressed underneath him in his bed, his lips already back on hers. Her nails raked up and down his back gently and Steve wasn’t content with that. No, he wanted to be able to feel her, see evidence of this tomorrow, otherwise he wouldn’t believe it was true. His one hand came back to grasp at her one breast, tweaking her nipple roughly making her cry out in pleasure while his other hand trailed down to her underwear. The sheer material allowed him to feel just how wet she was as he trailed a finger up and down her slit, a gasp leaving her as her eyes flashed open. 
“Shit,” He swore as he felt her, “So fucking wet. For me?”
“Yes,” Y/N said through gasps as she grasped him tightly, “For you Steve, all for you.” Steve would have smirked under normal circumstances but he felt so out of control all he could do was groan at her words and continue to feel her, rocking his hips against anything he could to try and relieve some tension from his body.
“Please don’t tease,” she begged him without the man even having to ask, “Please Steve, I just…want you now.”
“My fingers?” He asked between kisses and hickeys he pressed to her neck, taking the time to claim her as his. 
“No, I want-”
“The answers are my finger or my mouth, baby,” Steve said as he pulled back, continuing to stroke his fingers along her slit, daring to dip just the tip of one in over her underwear but denying her more until she asked for it. “Can’t have anything else until you’re warmed up-”
“I am, I am, please Steve,” She begged, seeming to be on the verge of tears from how badly she needed him, “Can I…no more pants Steve. Wanna see you, all of you.” Steve wasn’t going to deny her a thing as badly as he wanted to finger her until she came around him, he would do whatever she asked. He climbed off of her and rose, bringing his hand to his jeans but Y/N moved and put her hand over his. 
“Can I do it?” Steve’s mouth dropped open ever so slightly but he nodded as he closed it, moving his hands to her hips to give her full reign. She took his moment of submission to undo the button on his jeans, and then the zipper, before putting her hands through the loops and pulling them down. They fell to his ankles and he took a moment to step out of them, his hands on her hips pulling her into him as all that remained between the two was their underwear, allowing Y/N to feel Steve so much more than she had been able to before. 
“Fuck Steve,” She swore as she brought her hand down to stroke him through his underwear causing the man to groan, “You’re so…wow…” Steve didn’t waste a second, kicking her legs apart a bit with his feet so he could bring his hand down to cup her sex once more, pushing her underwear to the side as he pressed a finger into her. 
“Shit,” Y/N’s knees buckled a little bit at the intrusion and her grip on him stuttered. 
“Lay down for me,” he commanded as he withdrew his fingers only for a moment, bring it to his mouth with a groan as she compiled, “Fuck you taste good.”
“Can I taste you?” Y/N asked as she laid in bed, his bed, and looked up at him with an angelic gaze. 
“Not today, baby,” he cooed as he climbed on top of her, his fingers pushing her underwear aside again with ease as he slipped two fingers into her making her moan, “I’m already close and if you blew me, I wouldn’t be able to do what I really want.” 
“And you want…?” Y/N asked between little gasps as he found that spot inside her that had her nails scratching into his back. 
“Fuck,” Steve swore again as he burried his face into her neck as her hand moved inside his boxers, stroking him in earnest. “To be inside of you. Please.” Y/N moved her hand and brought both of her hands down to her underwear, pushing them off and kicking them to the ground as Steve stripped off his own. She couldn’t help but look at him, fully naked on top of her and looking like a Greek god. 
“You’re so handsome Steve Harrington.” The honesty of her compliment had Steve melting as he reached into his bedside table and grabbed a condom out of the unopened box. Y/N took it from his hands and ripped it open with ease, slipping it onto him as he kissed up and down her neck.
“And you’re so beautiful Y/N Henderson.” Y/N smiled and allowed her one hand to come back to his hair, that combined with the way he stroked himself made him groan. He lined himself up with her entrance and ran his tip over her folds for a moment before remembering her beg not to tease - not that he could even if he wanted to. He was so desperate he knew the second she gave him the ok he would slip into her without a second thought. 
“Can I-”
“Please.” Without another word, Steve began to press into her as gently as he could manage. The room turned into a mix of moans and swears as Steve fell to his elbows, bringing them impossibly close as Y/N’s nails dug into his back as she buried her face into his chest. The first few inches already had her so tight around him as he paused to revel in the feeling. Steve gently tangled his fingers into her hair to move her head from his chest, wanting to see her. Y/N must have caught on as she allowed her head to fall back on the pillow looking up at him in awe. 
“You okay?” Steve asked as the hand that was in her hair moved to cup her cheek. 
“Feels so good,” Y/N breathed out as she looked at him, her eyes watery from the feeling as she allowed her one hand to fall from Steve back and down onto the bed. “S’big.” Steve would have normally chuckled and made some comment about his ego being inflated too much but he couldn’t focus on anything except the way she felt around him and that he was less than halfway in. 
“Doing such a good job,” He praised, trying to keep his voice even as he brushed some of the curls that had fallen around her face away so he could fully see her. “Too much?” She shook her head adamantly which made Steve smile. Seeing Y/N Henderson, one of the most composed and well spoken people he knew, reduced to nonverbal because of him was becoming his new kryptonite. He used his hand not bracing himself above her to hoist her leg over his hip, bringing them closer even still. He then took a moment to lace his hand with hers as he pressed her hand into the bed. Y/N was so distracted by this she didn’t even notice Steve pulling out almost all the way before fully pushing in. A soft moan slipped from Y/N’s lips as her eyes squeezed closed but that didn’t work for Steve. She was holding back. He knew it. And he didn’t want her to. 
“Y/N, honey,” he spoke between kisses to her neck and lips and pretty much anywhere else he could reach, “Wanna hear you. Maybe some noise for me, hm?” 
“But,” Y/N said as she looked up at him, her lust blown eyes blinking gently, “It’s embarrassing-”
“It’s beautiful,” he praised as he gently rolled his hips into her, getting her used to the movement and feeling, “Everything about you is.” Y/N melted and as she felt his tip prod that spongy spot deep inside of her she let out a real moan, her inhibitions slipping away with the pleasure. 
“That’s it,” Steve cooed, “That’s it-oh fuck-” Steve swore as began to rock into her at a harder faster pace as he felt her clench around him. “So damn tight, fuck Y/N.”
“Steve please,” she whimpered as she pulled him closer. 
“Yeah? That feel good?” He said, increasing his pace and making sure to press as deep into her as he could with each thrust. Y/N felt like she couldn’t breath, feeling like she could feel him all the way in her stomach. Steve clocked his too, their hands no longer laced together as Y/N had decided she needed one to scratch his back up and another tangled in his hair, so he was able to trail one of his hands down to where he knew he was in her. He pressed down and watched as Y/N’s mouth formed a little o, her eyes rolling back as he felt her cunt start to flutter around him. 
“All the way in there, honey,” he cooed, through gritted teeth as he tried to hold off his own end until she had found hers. Keeping his hand there, he used his thumb to draw soft slow circles on her clit. That contrasted with the way he was fucking her so rough but with so much passion and praise had her teetering on the edge. 
“Steve-Steve I’m gonna-”
“Let it go honey,” he whispered before pressing a firm kiss to her lips. “Cum for me.” And she did, hard. Her cunt clenched impossibly tight around him, her eyes squeezing closed and mouth forming an o in a silent scream as her release coated his lower abdomen. 
“Holy shit-oh fuck,” Steve swore as he fell to his other elbow, not able to do anything more than let his release follow hers. He came with a high strangled groan - a sound Y/N was sure had come straight from the heavens had it not been so damn sinful. He slowed the pace of his thrusts as he rode out his orgasm but didn’t pull out as he all but collapsed on top of her before he realized oh shit I’m crushing her. He went to move but Y/N’s hands held his head to her chest. 
“Stay,” her plea was a strangled whisper as she tried to catch her breath. And he did, knowing he’d never question her and her wishes, never for a second. He laid on top of her, their breathing syncing as he could feel himself soften, still inside her. He felt his eyes begin to droop and knew he couldn’t go to sleep no matter how comfy he was. Not until he had checked on her. 
“Y/N?” He asked softly as he pushed up on his elbows to look at her. Her eyes fluttered open as they had been previously closed as she just took it all in while playing with his hair. 
“Mhm?” She smiled at him, glowing with sweat and adoration. All words left him as he rolled onto his side, still inside of her and moved her to face him. He just wanted to hold her, that was all he wanted. So he did. Steve wrapped his arms around her, pulling her in so her face was nestled into his neck as he just took in the weight of her in his arms, memorizing every detail of this moment. He knew then that while this was the first night she’d rest in his arms, it wouldn’t be the last. This, Y/N was his forever. 
Yay! I do love Steve very much and while I mainly have written for Eddie in the past, this idea kept coming back to me! Hope you all enjoyed and requests are open!
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dailyadventureprompts · 8 months
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Tableskills: Creating Dread
I've often had a lot of problems telling scary stories at my table, whether it be in d&d or other horror focused games. I personally don't get scared easily, especially around "traditionally horrifying" things so it's hard for me to recreate that experience in others. Likewise, you can't just port horror movie iconography into tabletop and expect it to evoke genuine fear: I've already spoken of being bored out of my mind during the zombie apocalypse, and my few trips into ravenloft have all been filled with similar levels of limp and derivative grimdark.
It took me a long time (and a lot of video essays about films I'd never watched) to realize that in terms of an experience fear is a lot like a joke, in that it requires multiple steps of setup and payoff. Dread is that setup, it's the rising tension in a scene that makes the revelation worth it, the slow and literal rising of a rollercoaster before the drop. It's way easier to inspire dread in your party than it is to scare them apropos of nothing, which has the added flexibility of letting you choose just the right time to deliver the frights.
TLDR: You start with one of the basic human fears (guide to that below) to emotionally prime your players and introduce it to your party in a initially non-threataning manor. Then you introduce a more severe version of it in a way that has stakes but is not overwhelmingly scary just yet. You wait until they're neck deep in this second scenario before throwing in some kind of twist that forces them to confront their discomfort head on.
More advice (and spoilers for The Magnus Archives) below the cut.
Before we go any farther it's vitally important that you learn your party's limits and triggers before a game begins. A lot of ttrpg content can be downright horrifying without even trying to be, so it's critical you know how everyone in your party is going to react to something before you go into it. Whether or not you're running an actual horror game or just wanting to add some tension to an otherwise heroic romp, you and your group need to be on the same page about this, and discuss safety systems from session 0 onwards.
The Fundamental Fears: It may seem a bit basic but one of the greatest tools to help me understand different aspects of horror was the taxonomy invented by Jonathan Sims of The Magnus Archives podcast. He breaks down fear into different thematic and emotional through lines, each given a snappy name and iconography that's so memorable that I often joke it's the queer-horror version of pokemon types or hogwarts houses. If we start with a basic understanding of WHY people find things scary we learn just what dials we need turn in order to build dread in our players.
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Implementation: Each of these examples is like a colour we can paint a scene or encounter with, flavouring it just so to tickle a particular, primal part of our party's brains. You don't have to do much, just something along the lines of "the upcoming cave tunnel is getting a little too close for comfort" or "the all-too thin walkway creaks under your weight ", or "what you don't see is the movement at the edge of the room". Once the seed is planted your party's' minds will do most of the work: humans are social, pattern seeking creatures, and the hint of danger to one member of the group will lay the groundwork of fear in all the rest.
The trick here is not to over commit, which is the mistake most ttrpgs make with horror: actually showing the monster, putting the party into a dangerous situation, that’s the finisher, the  punchline of the joke. It’s also a release valve on all the pressure you’ve been hard at work building.
There’s nothing all that scary about fighting a level-appropriate number of skeletons, but forcing your party to creep through a series of dark, cobweb infested catacombs with the THREAT of being attacked by undead? That’s going to have them climbing the walls.
Let narration and bad dice rolls be your main tools here, driving home the discomfort, the risk, the looming threat.
Surprise: Now that you’ve got your party marinating in dread, what you want to do to really scare them is to throw a curve ball. Go back to that list and find another fear which either compliments or contrasts the original one you set up, and have it lurking juuuust out of reach ready to pop up at a moment of perfect tension like a jack in the box. The party is climbing down a slick interior of an underdark cavern, bottom nowhere in sight? They expect to to fall, but what they couldn't possibly expect is for a giant arm to reach out of the darkness and pull one of them down. Have the party figured out that there's a shapeshifter that's infiltrated the rebel meeting and is killing their allies? They suspect suspicion and lies but what they don't expect is for the rebel base to suddenly be on FIRE forcing them to run.
My expert advice is to lightly tease this second threat LONG before you introduce the initial scare. Your players will think you're a genius for doing what amounts to a little extra work, and curse themselves for not paying more attention.
Restraint: Less is more when it comes to scares, as if you do this trick too often your players are going to be inured to it. Try to do it maybe once an adventure, or dungeon level. Scares hit so much harder when the party isn't expecting them. If you're specifically playing in a "horror" game, it's a good idea to introduce a few false scares, or make multiple encounters part of the same bait and switch scare tactic: If we're going into the filthy gross sewer with mould and rot and rats and the like, you'll get more punch if the final challenge isn't corruption based, but is instead some new threat that we could have never prepared for.
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sanjisjuul · 6 months
Therapist Law!
Summary: Law is a kinky therapist
Cw: fem reader, cursing, spanking, fingering
Note: if you've seen this before it's because its from my old account! i'm working on recovering all my fics and thanks to @pileofmush this one has been located in its entirety!
Word count: 3.2k
Mdni 18+
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the ticking of the clock on the sad beige walls reverberates through your eardrums as you bounce your leg up and down in anticipation. a metallic taste tingles your taste buds as you draw blood from how hard you're chewing on your lip. 
therapy. something you've wanted to do, but simultaneously put off for years. a recent break up that you initiated caused you to finally seek a doctor. your past lover, while a good person, didn't provide the affection you so much craved. you felt ignored, a bother almost, everything you put in was almost consumed rather than given back. not to mention sexually you were more than less satisfied, your partner always getting their needs met and not bothering to give yours any attention. 
now you're sat in an uncomfortable leather chair, the squeaking making you cringe internally as you shift around. you try to search the walls for any distraction to calm your nerves, but the barren office offers absolutely nothing. 
"y/n?" the soft voice of the receptionist breaks you from your inner thoughts. you look up at her and hum in question as she smiles softly at you. "dr. trafalgar is ready to see you, he's in room 5 whenever you're ready." 
you stand slowly, the crack of your joints causing a jolt of pain to run through your body. you pull the sleeves of your sweater over your hands before heading down the hall in search of the room. blank white doors stare back at you as you trudge down the hall. each door with a large black number plastered on it. you come to a halt when seeing the door with a number five. you reach your hand to knock, but the creak of the door causes you to jump in place.
"come in," a deep man's voice speaks, quietly, but enough for the entire hallway to echo around you. without looking up you push past the door before closing it softly behind you. you turn around slowly, getting a glimpse of the room. Dr. Trafalgar's back is turned to you, he sits at a dark wooden desk adjacent to the door typing something rapidly on his computer. floating shelves litter the walls, filled with books, fidget toys, and what seemed to be action figures. a few posters hang from old movies and comic books which contrasts the sterility of the rest of the building, giving you a sense of comfort. there's a black leather chair sitting in the corner which rests next to a large monstera plant to which you take a seat. 
"you must be miss y/n." the doctor speaks his large back still turned to you. you fidget with sleeves, "yes," you smile although he still cannot see you. "alright then," he presses enter on his keyboard before swiveling around in his chair to face you. you almost choke on air upon his front side coming into view. piercing grey eyes bore into yours, a raven mop of hair sits atop his head styled a bit messily. his cheekbones and jawline defined with pretty pink lips and a black goatee resting on his chin. your eyes shamelessly trail down his body as yours heats up. he's dressed business casual, black slacks, black loafers, and long sleeved black button down. he wears two gold hoops on each ear, but what you least expected are the two large tattoos covering each hand, surprising to say the least, but you certainly aren't complaining. 
"so tell me," he breaks your trance, spreading his long legs to rest his elbows on each thigh, holding his face in his knuckles as he leans forward, eyes never leaving yours, "what brings you in?" he licks his lips, almost as if he's reading your mind. you could have sworn you saw a ghost of a smirk before you start speaking. "well um basically i just want to better myself. i just left a long relationship and want to understand why i stayed so long, why i put myself through so much mental anguish." 
dr. trafalgar nods his head, eyebrows furrowed as he actively listens to what you have to say, "well let's start with this. tell me about your last relationship. what occurred, and how it ended." he reaches for a notepad, pen and reading glasses on his desk, before sliding the glasses on and reassuming his previous position. 
you stumble a bit before starting your sentence, the glasses on his handsome face distracting you as you try to recall your memories. "um.. well yeah, i basically felt ignored, almost an afterthought," you start. you go on a long rant recalling all of your frustrating memories, the times you felt like a bother, the constant effort you put in to get none in return, and the way this affected you which ultimately led you to leave.
dr. trafalgar takes notes as you go, looking up every so often to give you a look of understanding, not one of pity which you've received far too many times as of late. you catch your breath as you finish, feeling a sense of relief as you finish your recollection. 
"well, if i'm going to be honest, he sounds like a complete idiot." dr. trafalgar starts, before leaning back in his chair. "i'm glad you were able to leave without many complications. it takes a lot of courage to leave something long term as you just have." 
you smile at his statement before continuing, "to me it should have ended long ago, being with him was more of a past time, i was just scared of being lonely. which in hindsight was a bit stupid because i have friends who have been there for me more than he ever was." 
your doctor smiles at you, "that isn't stupid miss y/n. many people fear being alone, it's completely normal. i am very glad to hear you have friends that support you" 
"i don't know,' you start. "it just feels like my life was on halt for such a long period of time. if anything i'm glad to be single now so i can actually explore other options." 
he cocks an eyebrow, "options?" 
you feel the blood rush to your cheeks upon answering, "options... as in other sexual partners, romantic or not." you close your eyes momentarily as you feel embarrassment creep it's way through your body. 
"were you not satisfied sexually?" he sets his notepad on the desk besides him, and removes his glasses, running a large hand through his raven locks. you try not to linger your stare on his long fingers, each digit tattooed, making you feel... things. 
"well to be completely honest no." you advert your gaze from your sexy ass therapist and chew on your lip before continuing. "it's just going back to effort. he didn't make effort for me emotionally, physically, nor sexually. i always made sure that he was taken care of.. if you know what i mean."
dr. trafalgar pauses for a moment, "well if you're comfortable we can go through that aspect of the relationship as well. just remember, this is all on your terms miss y/n." he locks eyes with yours once again, his face stern as he speaks. 
your face heats up as you look down. you planned on talking about this with your doctor, but didn't expect him to be so... attractive. you feel his gaze on your face before you sigh. you lift your head to meet dr. trafalgars gaze, to which he stares intently back at you.
his silence makes you continue, "in two years how do you not make somebody cum?" you question frustratedly. "he didn't even try, he even blamed me at one point, can you fucking believe that?" you sigh in anger. "i used to excuse myself into another room to take care of myself,"  you laugh in disbelief, "it was just so frustrating." you finish, if you were in a cartoon steam would be seeping out from your ears. 
"may i ask?" dr. trafalgar moves his chair a few inches closer, "when was the last time somebody besides yourself made you cum?" you're taken aback at his question, but not uncomfortable in the slightest. you lean forward resting your chin in your hands before pondering, "s' been years, i can't even remember to be honest with you."
your doctor bites his lip before speaking, "and would you say, that has caused some sexual frustration on your end?" you nod, too distracted to vocalize an answer as you watch him chew on his lip. 
"while in that relationship did you ever consider pursuing any other sexual partners?" he shifts in his chair crossing his legs. 
you pause in thought, "yeah, i honestly did. i never acted on those thoughts though, i would have felt terrible."
dr. trafalgar clenches his jaw, "how about now? do you have any desire to fulfill your needs as of late?" he leans back in his chair, legs still crossed as if he's hiding something. 
you feel feverish at this point, his line of questioning mixed with the pure aura of sex he exudes is too much for you to handle. "i-i... um yeah. i'm just waiting to find someone who is willing to do the same with me."
"can i be honest miss y/n?" he questions, his icy eyes trained on your lips before darting back to your face. you nod once again as you stare back in awe, nodding. 
"i find you to be incredibly attractive," he rolls up his sleeves, revealing more ink along his forearms. "fuck professionality, i want to make you feel good." 
you stare back in shock, your lips part slightly and your thighs clench together as you feel the heat in your body settle at your core, dampening your panties. you can't form a sentence even if you try as he stares back at you in dead seriousness. 
he rests his hands on his knees before standing, his stature making you feel small as he approaches you, bending down face level with you. . "let me repeat myself," he brushes your hair back, goosebumps forming at the warmth of his large hands. "i want to make you feel good, could i do that for you?" you shudder as his lips meet the shell of your ear, his hand resting on the nape of your neck, other in his pocket as he leans over you. 
"please," you squeak, eyes trained on the floor in embarrassment. you feel his other hand reach for your chin to which he tilts up, forcing you to look him in the eyes. his half lidded eyes meet yours as he bites his lip, "look at me when you speak miss y/n." your chest heaves at the proximity, his hand leaves the nape of your neck to grab a fistfull of your hair, holding it firmly to keep your gaze on his. 
"please," you whisper, your eyes darting down to his pretty lips, "make me feel good." he smirks, tugging your hair softly, "good girl." 
he closes the distance by pressing his lips onto yours. the kiss is soft and passionate. his hand stays wrapped in your hair as his lips dance on yours. he softly prods his tongue to tease your bottom lip. you open your mouth to accept his offering to which he presses his tongue fully in, savoring your taste.
you sigh at the intrusion, the feeling of being kissed correctly felt so foreign to you yet so fucking amazing. your tongues collide as you feverishly make out in his office. you gain the courage to grab the collar of his shirt, pulling him closer to you, however you didn't realize your strength as the first two buttons of his shirt ripped off completely.
you break the kiss to marvel at his bare collar bones, also littered with tattoos, you groan at the view to which he smirks. "miss y/n," he says in fake surprise, "didn't know you were so eager." you fake pout at his response and he chuckles before removing his hands from you to slowly undo the buttons of his shirt. as each button pops open, your gaze goes further down his body, taking in as much as you could. every muscle, every speck of ink prominent in your eyes as his shirt dropped to the floor. 
you reach your shaky hands up slowly to rest on his ab muscles, to which he grabs your wrists, planting them on his torso. you curiously glide your hands up and down, feeling the taut and warm flesh as your slick starts to seep through your yoga pants.
abruptly, he steps back from you, returning back to his chair and taking a seat, reassuming his manspread position. you now understand why his legs were crossed earlier, his cock is painfully erect through the fabric of his slacks. 
"cmere," he grunts, and you do as you're told, stepping closer until you're stood directly in front of him. he reaches his hands up to you, wrapping his arms around your torso, bringing you closer. "miss y/n," he speaks, causing you to look down at him. his face is yet again serious, his eyebrows furrowed. "we can stop at any moment you'd like, tell me if it's too much." 
you nod your head at his statement, smiling softly, "okay," you whisper. Dr. Trafalgar starts to kiss your stomach through your sweater, his hands raking down your back before reaching dangerously close to your ass. he suddenly halts, "want you bent over on my lap," he grunts, removing his face from your sweater to look up at you. "mhm," you hum as you position yourself over his lap before laying down. your ass is directly below his face, and your face almost touches the floor, but he holds your hair back to prevent that from happening. 
"i'm going to start now, tell me if this is okay," Dr. Trafalgar speaks before you feel his hand start to slide up the back of your thighs. he squeezes every so often, causing jolts of electricity to run through your body. once he reaches the crest of your ass he pauses, "this ok?" he questions. 
"yes, please continue," you pant out. he hums as his hand slides over your ass, he grips the flesh in his hand squeezing softly before letting go. "such a nice fuckin' ass," he growls before placing a soft slap on your right cheek. you moan in pleasure as he repeats the action to your other cheek. "hmm whats this?" he questions, moving his hand in between your legs, "this wet already miss y/n?" he starts to rub you through your pants collecting the juices that leaked through, humming in the process. 
you twitch as his hand makes contact with your clothed cunt. he rubs softly, the teasing driving you mad as your body slightly vibrates under his control. "so sensitive for me yeah?" he questions, before slapping your ass again, harder this time, causing you to moan loudly. "feels s'good doctor," you whine as he places another harsh slap on your ass, causing you to clench around nothing. "you can call me law sweetness," he sounds before spanking you again, this time leaving a stinging sensation behind. 
your clit starts to pulsate through your panties, your juices start to coat not only your opening, but now your thighs as well to which law notices, "you like it when i spank you miss y/n?" you yelp as another slap is placed on your behind, "fuck-law yes i love it." he chuckles above you, "good girl."
you feel his hands move up your ass and hook around the waist band of your yoga pants, "ass up," he commands to which you oblige. you arch your back as he slides your pants down your legs, revealing your soaked panties. he hums as his fingers come in contact with your cunt, rubbing circles around the area around your entrance, before slipping one finger inside the fabric. 
you shudder as he swipes his finger up and down, collecting as much wetness as he can while creating a delicious friction on your clit. "you like that huh?" he questions as he slips one finger inside of you. you twitch at the feeling, his long and slender finger moves in and out of you, pumping slowly as to warm you up. "y-yes," you pant out as you clench around his finger. 
before speeding up any further he slips another finger past your panties and into your entrance, stretching you out so good as you wail out. his grip on your hair tightens as you lose composure, your eyes screw shut in pleasure as his fingers work in and out of you. 
when his fingers hook over one particular spot, you twitch involuntarily causing him to chuckle, "so that's the spot huh?" he continues to hit the same spot, his fingers repeatedly hooking in and out of your hole as pressure builds in your lower stomach. curses and moans leave your mouth as you feel yourself losing complete composure. drool seeps from your lips as your body vibrates under his touch. 
just when you think it can't get any better he slips his thumb through your panties and onto your clit, rubbing circles as he continues the pace of his fingers. "f-fuck law," you cry out as a tingling sensation overtakes your senses. "yeah? tell me how good it feels," he groans. "feels so fucking good, keep going g-gonna cum," you whine out between breaths. he keeps the pace he set, not speeding up nor slowing down. he releases your hair as your head falls limp he reaches his forearm to catch you, hand moving down to your chest and flicking your nipple through your shirt adding a third point of stimulation.
"say my name," law commands as your climax approaches. your body spasms atop him, "wanna hear you fuckin' say it." you manage to choke out his name, "l-law oh fuck law gonna cum, please please please," you wail your legs shaking harshly. 
"that's it baby, cum for me," he grunts as your cunt flutters around his fingers. you cry out as your orgasm washes over you, the triple stimulation giving you the most astounding feeling ever. fire erupts all over your body as your juices coat his hand. his hands keep working you, making sure you ride out your climax fully, as your whole body shudders underneath him. chants of his name leave your mouth as a mantra as you pant for air.
he slows down his movement slowly but surely until he completely stills. your body lays limp on top of him almost collapsing on the floor before he catches you in his arms, pulling you to sit on his lap, wrapping his strong arms around you. you bury your head in the crook of his neck, gasping as you catch your breath. "how was that miss y/n?" law questions, his voice muffled by your shoulder, you feel the rasp of his voice rumble through your spent body. "so. fucking. amazing." you sigh becoming almost limp in his arms.
"i'm glad to hear that," you can feel his smile through the fabric of your sweater which causes you to reciprocate. he pulls you off his shoulder to look you in the eyes, smirking, "so, let's schedule your next appointment."
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love, bia ૮ • ﻌ - ა
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dark-mnjiro · 2 years
gift :: secret santa fic
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Author’s Note: hello everyone! Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays!!! This here is my secret Santa gift for @sweetbbyshion 💕 which was apart of @mekiza secret santa fic exchange! Merry Christmas Kora!! I hope you enjoy it.
Content Warning: miya atsumu x afab!reader, female bodied, unprotected sex, christmas lingerie, explicit language, biting, explicit sexual content, a small dash of angst, family drama mentions, comfort, “gift exchanges”, bruising, riding, dry humping, strip tease, pro msby!atsumu, aged up, established relationship
Network: @tokyometronetwork
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“…what do you mean you won’t be home in time?”
There was silence on the other end of the phone call as you waited for your boyfriend’s response. You felt your body tense before chewing nervously on your thumbnail as you recalled the conversation you had shared with him before he left for his away game. He had promised over and over that he would make it back to the city in time for the holiday.
“…baby I—”
“Just say it,” you sighed. “You won’t be home in time for Christmas…” You heard silence again on the other side of the conversation. “Tsumu…”
“I’m sorry,” he finally said. “I’m sorry, baby…”
The lump in your throat was too much before you quickly ended the phone call, practically tossing your phone across the bed. Tears burned in your eyes before glancing at the calendar. He was supposed to come back tomorrow to spend Christmas with you and your family the day after. You had planned out everything perfectly…
All you needed was him. 
Atsumu’s assigned ringtone echoed in the room as you decided to ignore any further communication from him for the rest of the night. You were furious and unable to stomach any one of his numerous excuses. A promise was a promise, and once again… 
He broke it. 
A couple of dings rang out and you knew he was scrambling to text you a slew of excuses now as you left your shared bedroom. It was too late. The hurt had already begun to sink into the back of your mind. 
You recalled a conversation with Atsumu that dating a professional athlete would be difficult. And you had ultimately accepted that fate, with one stipulation. No broken promises. 
If Atsumu had thought he wouldn’t have been able to make it home in time - he should have just admitted it. Instead, you had to explain once again to your family why your boyfriend had once again kissed another family function to meet them. It was becoming challenging to dodge question after question… and even some accusations that you both weren’t actually dating. 
A sigh fell from your lips as you went into the kitchen and began packaging up the food you had prepared to take to your family’s house. Frustration began mounting in the back of your mind. 
How many times has it been now?
Tears began sliding down your cheeks before a small sniffle managed to escape your nose. You gently wiped the tears away. Perhaps… it would be another holiday with your family. Alone. 
“Asshole,” you mumbled. “This isn’t going to ruin my holiday…”
You walked back into the bedroom and saw the flood of apologies that filled your phone from your boyfriend, Atsumu. Shaking your head, you ignored the messages before pulling up your contacts and finding your mother’s number, and calling her. 
Sometimes, a vent with your mother is all you need. 
“Mom?” you mumbled. 
There was a pause before she spoke again. “What’s wrong? Tell me all about it.”
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Stepping through your apartment door, a sigh fell from your lips as you realized the day’s festivities were finally over. You could spend the rest of Christmas relaxing at home, snuggled up with a blanket, and binge Christmas movies for the rest of the night. It was apparent that Atsumu had finally figured out you were angry with him since he had not responded to you all day.
You set your belongings down on the counter before making your way into the living room and freezing. “...what?”
The fireplace was lit. No other lights were on other than the dimly lit Christmas tree you had decorated alone. A soft melody of Christmas music filled the air before you noticed him standing in front of the fireplace with a long, wrapped box in his hands. 
He turned his attention away from tending the fireplace before his lips spread into a widespread grin. “Hey.”
Despite how angry you were at him, seeing him here… on Christmas.
“I’m sorry I was late-”
You rushed toward him before throwing your arms around his neck as his strong arms encircled your waist. Hiding your face into his chest, you felt his body relax. “…you’re here.”
“I am.”
“I thought…”
His grip tightened. “When I heard how upset you were,” he mumbled. “I knew I had to be home for Christmas.”
You pushed back as tears welled in the corner of your eyes before looking up at your boyfriend. Sure, he had missed the gathering with your family but… he had managed to make it back in time to at least finish the evening with you. You felt his lips press against your temple, causing warmth in your chest to just burst. 
“So I have gifts for you-!”
You pulled him back toward you. “I can look at those later,” you whined. “I wanna spend time with you.”
“And we will,” he assured you before pulling you to the couch and setting the gift in your lap. 
Smiling, you tore into the wrapping paper before opening the box. “Atsumu!” you hissed. He couldn’t stop the laugh from escaping his mouth as you shot him an almost offended look. You pulled out the article of clothing which seemed to be a lacy, red set of lingerie with a Santa hat… “This is more for you than me!”
He pressed another kiss to your temple. “Go put it on for me,” he said. “I haven’t seen you in weeks.”
Sighing, you went into the bedroom before slipping on the set of lingerie along with the hat and walked out. You stepped into his view in front of the fireplace before watching his honey-colored eyes widen before giving a quick look over. He leaned back against the couch before one side of his mouth tilted into a playful smirk. 
“Come here,” he drawled. 
Laughing, you moved to straddle his waist as his hands immediately came to grip your hips. His hands slid up the curves of the lingerie, giving your plush body a playful squeeze before tugging you closer. A giggle bubbles from your throat as your hands rested on his shoulders.  
“You’re fucking gorgeous…”
Pressing a kiss to his lips, you ground your hips against his. “I know,” you cooed, playfully before earning a groan from your boyfriend as you increased your movements against him. 
Another giggle escaped your throat as you began to feel his erection growing in his pants. “Excited already?” you teased, leaning into his ear before pressing a kiss against his throat. 
His grip on your hips tightened again as he urged your hips to move faster. “Take it off for me,” he mumbled. “Slowly.”
You pulled back while a playful glint flashed over your eyes. Your fingers slipped under the strap of the lingerie before slipping it off of your shoulder and then repeating the movement to the opposite side. His eyes immediately fell to your chest as the fabric barely held up to cover your breasts. 
“Tease,” he growled. 
You ground your hips against him again, earning a low growl of pleasure to erupt from his chest before you raised your arms just enough to let the delicate fabric finally fall and reveal your breasts. Hands immediately groped your flesh, earning a moan to slip past your lips. Your legs clenched as you felt a rush of pleasure pulsating at your very core. 
“I missed you,” he managed to say before his lips clashed with yours as his tongue managed to find its way into your mouth. A small whine erupted from your throat as you tugged desperately on his shirt to free him from the article of clothing.
“Fuck,” you heard Atsumu mutter as he struggled to strip off the rest of his clothing. His desperation was endearing as you slowly raised off of his hips so he could slowly remove the see-through panties you were sporting. Your hand encircled his half-hardened member before giving him a playful stroke, earning a moan from your willing partner. His hand quickly pulled yours away before lifting you up just enough so he could angle his cock just right with you. 
He pulled you back down, earning a surprised squeak to escape you. His grip on your hips tightened before forcing your body to bounce faster against his erection. His head pulled back against the coach as your desperate cries filled his ears. You anchored your hands on his shoulders, trying to help him angle just right as you increased your pace again, watching his face contort with pleasure. 
“Fuck… ‘sumu!” you cried out. 
His head lifted and you noticed immediately the lust-filled gaze that filled those honey-colored eyes before he pressed his mouth against yours. Whining into the kiss, you could hear him groan each time your walls clenched around him, knowing you were already desperate for release as the coil in your gut wound tighter and tighter with each thrust. 
“Fuck baby. You’re gonna make me cum already,” he growled. 
You whined back to him. “I missed you!”
He bit your shoulder before his movements stuttered for a moment. Another cry of pleasure left your mouth, knowing there would be a bruise there tomorrow… perhaps it was a godsend you weren’t going to face your family together and have to explain that.
“My pretty girl rides me so well,” he cooed, thrusting up into you faster. “Look at you. Look how pretty you are for me…”
He knew exactly what to say to rile you up. He always knew exactly what to do. It never failed. Squeezing your eyes shut, your grip on his shoulders merely tightened at his praise before the knot in your gut finally snapped. Pleasure washed over your body as you finally came. 
Atsumu grunted before his thrusts stuttered again as you felt his hot seed leaking into you. Panting, you rested your forehead against his shoulder as his hands came up, running up and down along your spine. 
“Merry Christmas, baby…”
You giggled. “Merry Christmas.”
“Forgive me?”
“…yes,” you whispered as your eyes slowly closed.
He gave you a light squeeze. “Good girl.”
964 notes · View notes
jangofettjamz · 7 months
Jenna Ortega x Autistic!Male!Reader
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Summary: Your were nervous about going to the Scream 6 premiere, but it turned out to be a lot of fun... until it wasn't.
Words: 1993
3rd Person POV
The premiere for scream 6 was but a few hours away. Tensions rose as Y/N tried to prepare himself for the event, despite being an actor he has very secluded and did not enjoy the limelight as much as his fellow peers.
He had been trying to muster up the courage to become more socially involved in his work such as: going to interviews, late night shows, going to dinner with directors etc. Unfortunately, It just seemed for too difficult.
However, this time was different. He was going to try this time; to attend a premiere. He knew this would be no easy feat, the camera flashes alone would overstimulate him into madness but he was determined, scared but determined nonetheless.
His girlfriend and co-star, Jenna Ortega has been helping him to confront his fear of social interaction through love and support. She had studied his language and helped him navigate in a world that didn't understand him.
Y/N has also made a life long friend in Mikey Madison, who also happened to be close with Jenna. Though she never was on the set of scream 6 due to her character dying in the previous film, she remained close with the cast and crew and treated him as an equal.
Y/N, although adamant in his choice to attend the premiere, was still absolutely terrified at the thought of hundreds of people in one space wanting him to sign autographs, take photos and pose on the red carpet. It made him feel ill.
Jenna was his shield from everything. She promised to protect him from the cameras, should he not want his photo taken. She promised to protect him from the hyper fans who have little regard for personal space.
"Alright sweetie, I've got all your stuff in my bag: stim toys, plushie and snacks if you need one. If you need a break or want to leave just tell me, your comfort is my number one priority."
One problem; Jenna didn't pack the headphones and Y/N was too stressed to even remember them aswell. The noise would likely send Y/N spiralling.
"Jenna how many people are gonna be there?"
"Atleast a thousand people honey" she says sadly knowing that this was going to be tough for Y/N.
"We don't have to go you know, we can just chill here for the night." She suggests not really thinking of the consequences that could have on her career.
"Wouldn't you get in trouble?" Y/N asks but imm receives an answer.
"I don't care, as long as your comfortable it's worth it" she states making Y/N feels warm inside, like a scarf wrapping him up in the cold winter but on the inside.
"It'll be fine Jen', we're all ready to go now anyway so there's no point in backing out now." He reassures making her form a toothy smile.
"Besides I know how much this movie means to you and I wanna make you happy aswell." She approached him with loving intent.
She placed a hand on his cheek. "Can i kiss you?" She asked, knowing he doesn't like spontaneous kisses without permission. He nods and she kisses him lovingly which he reciprocates, light pink blush painting his cheeks.
Their private car soon arrived and they made their way to premiere. Y/N was on edge, he wasn't as excited so much as he was nervous.
Jenna held his hand rubbing soothing circles with her thumb and he put his head on her shoulder as she held him tight around his waist for the rest of the car journey.
The premiere was more packed than usual, containing around 2230 people; far more than they anticipated. The movie drew more hype than Y/N and Jenna thought possible, some just there to see Jenna.
This troubled Y/N, yes he had prepared to undertake an entire crowd but not to this extent. Jenna could sense his fear as if she was some sort of telepath and held his hand tight.
He started to stim by clicking him fingers and tapping him knees, though seemed futile as the feeling of overstimulation didn't seem to falter.
"Y/N/N, do you need your stim toys?" He nodded violently, starting to sweat as the noises from outside became more irritable.
She grabbed a fidget cube for him to play with for as long as he needed until they had to walk onto the red carpet. He slowly leaned back into her shoulder and she held him tightly again, placing feather light kisses on his scalp.
"Remember, we can always leave if you want." She reminded him wanting to make feel as safe as possible.
"I'm gonna be with you the entire time okay, Mikey's gonna be there too and she'll protect you aswell; we both will I promise." He nodded and took deep breaths while Jenna rubbed soothing circles on his back.
He took one final deep breaths before opening the door of the car and out into wilderness of: fans, paparazzi, reporters and fellow actors. He was gonna hate this.
He instantly grabbed a hold of Jenna's hand and she squeezed tightly letting him know that she's there. Fans wanted to Jenna to sign stuff for them, but she made it a point that she's putting his comfort first, much to their dismay.
"Let's go find the others okay, I heard Jack's here aswell and I know how much you two get along." Jack Quaid visited set often in vancouver when he wasn't Filming for The Boys and the two of them clicked because of their shared nerdiness.
Jenna and Y/N made their way up the red carpet and were called for an interview by Vanity Fair. Y/N considered his options, he could either do this interview with Jenna by his side and be extremely uncomfortable or walk away and still be extremely uncomfortable. The choices were negligible so he figured he'd do the interview.
They walked hand in hand over to the interviewer for Vanity Fair. "Well hello you two, how are feeling about tonight's premiere." She started
Jenna was the first to respond. "I'm so excited, I can't wait for everyone to see this film we worked so hard on it and I think fans are gonna be very satisfied with what we've created." She says smiling.
"Y/N L/N so lovely to see you at the premiere, how was filming with veteran talent like Courtney Cox and Hayden Panettiere?"
He answers "They're very lovely people and easy to work with too. This film project is probably my favourite one I've done thus far." The interviewer asked more questions before promptly ending the interview.
"It was very lovely speaking to you two, congratulations on the movie." Jenna looks at Y/N with a proud look on her face which made Y/N's heart do cartwheels.
She cups his face making eye contact with him. "You did so well Y/N, I'm so proud of you for getting through that interview. You should be proud of yourself too."
Y/N kisses her on the cheek thankful for her words of encouragement, he felt elated on this new found confidence, he wanted to do more and that's exactly what he did.
"Y/N/N!!!" He heard and he saw Mikey and immediately tackled her into a hug. She had become a very good friend to him.
"I'm so glad you came, you having fun?" She asked and he was indeed having a good time.
"Yeah you know what, I think I am having fun." He said with a wide grin.
Everything went great, he did more interviews, conversed with his co-stars and even took a few pictures with fans. He was having a good time... until he wasn't.
The next interview he did was with Fox News and they did not hold back on their questions. He and Jenna both went up to talk with them.
"Hello Miss Ortega and Mr L/N, how's you're evening?" she starts "It's going great, we're having a wonderful night" Y/N answers with tremendous enthusiasm, which will be snuffed out soon.
"Y/N is it true you have spaz attacks when people are screaming on set?" He was confused, Jenna was pissed.
"I'm sorry?" He says politely but still confused. "We heard that you have spaz attacks on set, it would be really unprofessional if you did you know." Now he was annoyed "spaz attacks" who does she think she is?
"I don't have meltdowns on set, or "spaz attacks" as you call them when people scream on set. The screaming is on script so why would I complain? Has anyone ever told you you're extremely unprofessional and terrible at your job?" He says, his voiced laced with venom.
Jenna snickered, she was proud of him for taking a stand for himself, plus she thought is was hot. But that confidence soon faded.
The interviewer says under her breath "Yeah well atleast I'm not a retarded spaz like you" just low enough for the camera's not to pick up but Y/N and Jenna heard it well. Jenna was PISSED.
Suddenly Y/N felt his confidence diminish, the voices around him became louder, the camera flashes became more irritable, creating spots in his vision. He could practically hear all the clicks and cracks coming from each of the cameras as they snap photos.
The colors around him became more and more irritable to look at; too bright so he clamped his eyes shut. The voices and music hammered his ears drums, he held his hands to his ears and started to hyperventilate, thoat closing up in the process. He was having a meltdown.
Jenna saw this and instantly whisked him away from the crowd and into the theatre, they found a quiet corner and begun their techniques. She searched through her bags only to find that his headphones weren't there, he started to panic.
He babbled uncontrollably, he needed his headphones to block the noise. She pulled out her headphones that she carried with her 24/7 and moved his hands and put them over his head; noise cancelling too so that helped.
Once she put her headphones on his head she began to speak. "Honey, can I hold you?" She says, her voice quiet and muffled due to the headphones but he nodded nonetheless.
"We're gonna rock okay?" She says and he nods they begin to sway side to side. His head was in her chest and her head on the top of his, she was his safe space and he was so thankful.
After a few minutes he took the headphones off, but was still feeling non-verbal. Jenna continued her rocking as she began to speak.
"What she said was bullshit, you know that don't you?" He shrugged in response. "Sweetie, you're not a spaz or retarded or whatever horrible words she called you, she's just a bitch and she will be dealt with, believe me."
He nodded against her chest. "I'm so sorry you had to go through that, buddy. I hope you didn't regret coming here." He shook his head, he didn't regret it and he had fun.
She pulled something out of her bag. "Here, I've got your ghostface plush. You wanna take him with you while we watch the film?" He nodded and they made their way into the screening.
They sat down and Y/N put his head on her shoulder as she stroked his hair to keep him regulated, keeping a vice grip around his body as they watched their new movie.
In moments like these he felt safest, like no could hurt him as his girlfriend shields him from all the bad things in the world. It felt like home. She felt like home.
Despite everything that just happened, he was very happy.
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Like...You saw what he said to Gwen when she called it a watch (which IT IS).
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[omg she's so tiny small next to him]
He's a NERD. He thinks this stuff is COOL. He's WAITING FOR SOMEONE TO ASK.
Like I imagine he's used to it by now - people's eyes glazing over when he begins to explain something technical or program-y, like Lyla's algorithms or the Multiverse Anti-Glitch feature of the watches.
He's put SO much work into all of this, the whole facility and the tech.
He made Lyla himself, but he knows that most people aren't really interested in that. So he's learned to simplify things.
If you ask a question, like how he made Lyla - he'll answer it basic and to the point.
_-_ 'She's an AI. She's my assistant and the notification system within your watch.'
He probably won't even look up from his work, thinking it's just the routine questions everyone asks before moving on to the next thing.
BUT IF YOU ASK FURTHER - Miguel's like
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Because it's not often someone actually like...does that.
It's probably very rare that someone shows interest in his technological, engineering, or physics studies - all of which he's INCREDIBLY talented at and actively working on
You ask him how long it took him to make her, he says a year or two.
You tell him how impressive that is and BOOM NERD!Miguel.
He's telling you how her voice detection took the longest, and how her multiverse-monitoring probability algorithm was something he had to tweak twenty thousand times.
You compliment him about the design of the watch, he's like
_-_ 'I still have the protypes.' And he's ready to show you different ones, different shapes and materials he considered using, but eventually ruled out through experiments and tests
You mention the words 'String Theory' or 'Time Dilation' around him and you will NEVER hear the end of it.
He has so many opinions on it he's never had the chance to share.
Ideas and theories about things like fourth dimensions, worm holes, black holes, and dozens of other theoretical scientific concepts.
I mean, he MADE time travel. He is an EXPERT in that stuff.
I would KILL to have a Time Travel Movie Marathon with Miguel.
Sitting on the couch and watching things like Back to the Future, and he describes what they got right, what would be impossible, how it could work in theory.
He probably talks through the whole movie, and picks each one apart. You watch Doctor Who and he WILL NOT SHUT UP.
He's probably AMAZIINNGG at math.
Like math IS science. It's the answer for science. So he's probably a natural master.
You can be like 'Miguel, What's 34% of 12,967?' - Without blinking he'd be like
_-_'...I'm guessing 4408, or something? I don't know, am I right? Ask Lyla, don't ask me.'
But you don't need to ask Lyla cause HE'S RIGHT
I mean... the man time-travels. I think he'd have at least a good grasp on history, and time periods. Thinks like ancient roman historians and how their thoughts effect modern science, and how certain events effected the flow of time throughout history.
I imagine he finds it so fascinating, seeing the vast differences that can span in universes, just from one small change. Maybe he even finds comfort in it, seeing how histories and stories have a natural flow in a way fiction can only hope to imitate.
I love me some Nerd!Miguel.
I wanna get in bed with Miguel and by that I mean I want to sit next to him as he sits in bed reading a book on the Theory of Relativity with reading spectacles and a mug of sleepytime tea okay
A Miguel who runs up to his partner like 'Read this,' and he's all proud as he hands you a notepad full of numbers. But to him it's a formula he's been working WEEKS on, one that'll make Lyla run smoother, and everything much easier and he wants you to think he's cool for it
A Miguel who spends date nights watching NatGeo documentaries for fun
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