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handful0fteeth · 2 years

Text

hot for teacher

summary: you’re going on your first date with steve harrington, and hours before he’s due to pick you up your best friend gives you some rather unsavory information.

pairings: steve harrington x fem!reader

warnings: smut, minors DNI, explicit language, dirty talk, (slight) rough sex

words: 13.6k

EDIT (09/24/2023): i am not a “no beta we die like men” person, but this?? she was not up to my standards. so i fixed her! enjoy ya horny bastards

"You know I heard Steve Harrington can't eat pussy?"

This announcement from your best friend is enough to make you choke on the mouthful of sandwich you're chewing on and spew chunks of it all over the table.

You drop your food noisily back onto its plate and reach for your drink, struggling to breathe while there's still turkey and lettuce lodged in your esophagus. The diner's patrons ogle you as you attempt to collect yourself, some concerned, some plain annoyed.

"Christ, dude!" Kelsey laughs, leaning over the table and thumping you hard on your back. You wave her hand off and guide your straw into your mouth, desperately gulping down Coke with one hand pressed to your chest as if that’ll ensure the food doesn't take a wrong turn on the way down.

"You have to - fuck, dude - you have to give a girl some warning before you just say shit like that, Kels," you sputter. You wipe a hand across your damp eyes and take a couple of steadying breaths, and finally, the reality of what Kelsey just said hits you. You look up and blink away the tears to get a clear look at her.

"Steve Harrington can't eat pussy?" you ask quietly, not wanting to attract any more attention. Kelsey nods, a smug grin plastered across her face. "Apparently, it's like a dog trying to drink water," she giggles. "Katie Kaspbrak went out with him last week, and she's been telling everyone how God-awful he is at head."

"Katie Kaspbrak? The same girl who swore half of the staff at school was in love with her?" You lean back against the cool vinyl of the booth and cough lightly, suddenly less interested in this gossip now that you've learned the source.

Katie Kaspbrak would lie about what she had for breakfast if she thought it would make her seem more interesting. Actually, now that you think about it, she has done that.

"That's what I thought too," Kelsey continues, "until Belinda Carter and Donna Greene overheard her, and they said the same thing. Belinda said she was so shocked that she just faked it until he thought she came and then made an excuse to leave."

You pause. Katie Kaspbrak is one thing, but two other girls? That can’t all be a coincidence.

But… it's Steve Harrington. Every girl - and some of the boys - you've ever spoken to have the hots for him, whether they want to admit it or not, and how could he be so sought after if he gives such a piss-poor performance at something so fundamental? You pick at an errant lettuce leaf that juts out from the edge of your disheveled sandwich, pretending to find it fascinating so you don't have to look at Kelsey's elated expression anymore.

"Why are you waiting until now to tell me this?" you ask. Kelsey leans back in her seat and pops a french fry in her mouth, glancing at the dusty clock that hangs in the diner's lobby.

"Just wanted to give you something to look forward to before your date, Y/N," she says with barely contained glee. "I can't wait to hear all about it tomorrow." You shoot her a dirty look.

"Who says we're even gonna go that far tonight?" you counter, but you both know you're full of shit. You look down and pick at the skin around your fingernails to avoid Kelsey's knowing gaze because if you meet it, she'll see the uncertainty written all over your face.

She loves messing with you like this; she's done it for almost every date you've ever gone on, regardless of who it's with. You pick up your sandwich and take a too-big bite to avoid having to talk anymore.

"Yeah, right. You've wanted to bang Steve since the moment you saw him, but you'll magically dry up the second you get the chance. Sounds legit."

You stick out your tongue, letting Kelsey get a nice view of the smushed-up chunks of meat and bread hanging off it, but it doesn’t deter her snickering.

Her smug declaration is all you can think of for the rest of the day. It's so distracting that, while getting ready, you accidentally kiss the burning hot barrel of your curling iron to your temple and put your shoes on the wrong feet twice.

Who says that you have to go down that path tonight, anyway? Who says Steve is even the kind of dude to want to fuck on the first date?

Well...everyone who attended Hawkins High says, actually. Son of a bitch.

Perhaps you could just go down on him and insist he doesn't have to return the favor; it's not like most of the guys you've been with haven't leaped at the opportunity to skip the preamble and shove their dick in something anyway. The only problem with that is…you really wanna fuck Steve Harrington.

Really, really badly.

And you want it to be as good as it possibly can be. You've wanted this for years, and now that you've both graduated, who knows how long Steve plans to stick around in Hawkins so you can have your chance?

The time Steve promised he'd pick you up rolls around quicker than you'd anticipated. In the mirror, you smooth down your skirt one final time and fluff up your curls.

Kelsey doesn't know what she's talking about, you decide. Who were you to listen to gossip spread around by Katie Kaspbrak anyway? You practice smiling brightly in the mirror and notice a smear of lipstick across your front teeth. You lick at the stain and then rub it away with your index finger. It would be fine.

Everything would be fine…right?

A car horn beeps twice before you can successfully reassure yourself.

He's here.

Oh, God.

You fly down the stairs two at a time, briefly worrying about how humiliating it would be to crack your head open before your date and snatch your purse off the kitchen table as you say goodbye to your mother. She reminds you of your curfew, and you give a vague acknowledgment as you pull the front door shut behind you.

In the faint evening light, Steve's maroon BMW is almost black, glimmering in the sour yellow streetlight like the shell of a beetle. Your heart leaps into your throat, but you croak a "Hi!" around it. Steve Harrington climbs out of his car gracefully, and his easy smile, accompanied by the bouquet of flowers he has clutched in his hand, is enough to make your knees wobble a bit.

"You look really pretty," he says, eyes flickering up and down your body. You're grateful for the dim outdoor lighting as your face flushes scarlet. "Thanks. Are those for me?" you ask, pointing at the bouquet. You wanna kick yourself as soon as you finish saying it. Of course, they're for you, you absolute buffoon. You’re on a date - who else would he be carrying flowers for?

Steve chuckles chuckles under his breath and extends them toward you. "You said these were your favorite, right? I saw 'em while I was getting stuff for tonight, so…Yeah." You gingerly take the flowers from him and bury your nose in the petals, inhaling their fresh scent as you look up at him through your lashes. He’s clenching and unclenching his fists by his sides, though his expression remains as casual as ever.

Is he…nervous?

He reaches in front of you as you walk up to the passenger side of the car and opens the door, bowing his head and gesturing for you to come inside exaggeratedly. You giggle and sink into the leather seats as he scurries around the car's hood. As he swings the door shut behind him and settles in behind the wheel, you silently draw a few steadying breaths.

The inside of his car smells distinctly of cologne and floral soap, so much so that you have to briefly wonder if he got his car detailed in anticipation of your date. His cologne is woody and sweet, not so strong that it stings behind your eyes, but you know the scent will stick to your clothes whether he lays a hand on you tonight or not. The thought makes your stomach flutter a little. As he revs the engine, you absently twirl the stem of a flower around your finger.

"By the way," he says as he pulls out of your driveway, gravel crunching beneath the tires. "If you hear something clunking around back there while we drive, that's just Lucille."

You cock an eyebrow. "Lucille?"

You swear you see the ghost of a knowing smile creep across his lips, but an evening shadow cuts across his face before you're entirely sure. "Just a safety measure, that's all."

~~~

The date is more perfect than you could have ever imagined it to be. Steve takes you to a restaurant near the video store where he works, a little Italian place that's surprisingly upscale - at least, upscale for Hawkins. Your fingers don't get the opportunity to graze a door handle or the back of a chair the entire time, as he's always right behind you, reaching around your body to beat you to it.

His gaze never leaves your face when you talk, and he's so clearly hanging on every word you lose your train of thought a few times. It's jarring to have the guy you've been obsessed with for so long give you his undivided attention - in a good way, of course, but that doesn't stop the words from getting caught in your throat.

He’s so pretty it's hard to maintain a coherent thought; all you want to do is stare at him and memorize the details of his face. The way his hair gently curves over his forehead, and he pushes a hand through the soft fringe to get it out of his eyes; the way his eyes sparkle in the warm, low light of the restaurant, transfixed on you like you're the single most intriguing thing he's ever laid them on.

You're not even halfway through offering to pay for half of the meal when he informs you he slipped his card to the host before you were even sat, and it's already taken care of. You insist he at least let you cover dessert - a small square of tiramisu you both nibble at - but he waves you off.

"You can pay for the next date," he says coolly, smiling behind a sip of his drink. You pull the cloth napkin from your lap and pretend to dab food from your mouth so you can hide your giddy smile and blushing cheeks. Next date, huh?

After dinner, he drives you to the outskirts of Hawkins, parking in a clearing in the forest that overlooks the blinking lights of the small city below. You have a perfect view of the moon as it gleams in the sky, full and white, and the stars glitter against the black velvet of the night without all the light pollution.

You sit on the hood of his car, legs crossed under you, picking at a loose thread on the hem of your skirt as it pools in your lap. You tug a too-big jacket tighter around your shoulders, a gift plucked from his trunk once he saw you shiver from the autumnal air against your skin.

Steve is leaning back on his palms, head dropped between his shoulders as he stares at the sky. Goosebumps ripple across his skin, and every so often, his body twitches forward with a slight shiver, but he seems content enough in his short-sleeved shirt.

He catches you staring and chuckles when you avert your eyes and pretend to be fascinated by the paint on his car.

"Whatcha lookin' at?" he asks.

"A cute guy," you respond, your voice smaller than you intended. You clear your throat.

"That's so funny; I was just looking at a cute girl!" he exclaims, and you laugh. "Crazy how that works, huh?"

"Aren't you freezing?" you ask. Steve shrugs.

"I'm alright. It's refreshing. Keeps me awake," he murmurs.

A few minutes of silence pass comfortably. You listen to the sounds of the forest around you, only slightly concerned when you hear a twig snap in the distance or something rustle in the foliage beyond the car. But Steve's lack of interest in either puts you at ease. After a while, he points at a random spot in the sky and announces, "Found it!"

"Found what?"

"My friend Dustin - total nerd, by the way - was talking my ear off yesterday about constellations, like, how to find them and shit, and I found one!" He gestures for you to scoot closer without taking his eyes off his discovery, apparently not wanting to lose his spot. You do so, body hovering close enough to his that you can feel the warmth radiating off his skin, and his cologne wafts pleasantly back up into your nose. You follow the direction his finger is pointing in, scanning the inky blackness of the sky.

"Do you see it?" he asks excitedly.

"Did your nerdy friend happen to tell you what this constellation was called?"

"Uh. Ursula…something…I think. He said it was "the littler one" of the two."

"Ursa minor?" you posit. Steve snaps his fingers and points at you affirmatively.

"There you go! Do you see it?"

You shake your head. The name is familiar, but you don't remember what it's supposed to look like. You mostly slept through your astronomy class in high school.

Suddenly, an arm drapes itself around your shoulders and pulls you in, and warm fingers caress the sides of your jaw, tilting your face further upwards. Apparently, Steve has decided that the best way to help you see what he sees is by manually guiding you in the proper direction, so he's pressed your bodies together and is trying to angle your head in just the right spot.

Your stomach flips, and your heart jumps into your throat. This time, you're worried you'll choke on it. You're sure Steve can feel the blush in your cheeks burning beneath his fingertips, but he's either too engrossed in Ursa Minor to care or is choosing not to mention it.

"Right…there. See?" Steve says, voice notably lower than before and now right against the shell of your ear. A shiver walks its fingers down your spine.

“O-Oh, yeah,” you stammer. You do see it, a tail of shimmering dots curling into a small rectangle of stars, but you're more focused on Steve's mouth right out of the corner of your eye, his lips parted and quirked up into a smile. His hair brushes against your cheek as he turns his head toward you, and his index finger presses itself against the curve of your jaw to encourage you to look at him.

His eyes shine in the moonlight, dark and kind, as they flit over the details of your face, lingering the longest on your lips. He's warm and solid against you, and you tentatively place your fidgety hand on his knee.

He's so beautiful, you think to yourself. It isn't a word you've ever used for the other men you've dated, but it fits Steve well. A square jaw still soft at the edges with youth, wide brown eyes framed by lashes so thick and long that they fan across his cheekbones when he blinks, full pink lips barely parted and pursed like he has something to say. Beautiful.

Steve’s finger slides down the edge of your face until it reaches your chin, pinching it between bent thumb and forefinger. He leans in close enough that you can feel his breath wash over your lips.

You, on the other hand, forget how to breathe entirely.

He hesitates, and you feel a tug in your stomach as the thought of him pulling away from you occurs. Does your breath offend? You did eat a lot of garlic bread at the restaurant. Maybe you should've packed gum in your purse -

"Is this okay?" he murmurs. You blink, a little caught off guard by the question.

“Huh?” Very astute.

“This,” he says, and his thumb presses itself briefly in the center of your bottom lip as if to punctuate what he means. “I mean…can I kiss you?”

You swallow hard to avoid swooning at the question and clear your throat. "Yes. Yes, please kiss me."

He barely even has to move to capture your lips, so softly at first, like he’s afraid you’ll suddenly change your mind if he applies more pressure. Electricity thrums beneath your skin, zapping every nerve you have until your entire body is lit up with excitement. Your free hand trembles as you rest it against his chest. His heart thumps wildly beneath your palm, indicating that Steve Harrington is just as nervous as you are right now. This helps you to relax a bit, strangely.

Steve's arm slides down from your shoulders to wrap around your waist and pulls you firmly against him. He smiles against your mouth as a contented sigh escapes you and pulls away just enough to mumble, "Still okay?"

You bunch up the fabric of his shirt in your fingers and bring your lips back together, kissing him with more fervor. He hums against your mouth, satisfied with his answer, and his smile grows almost imperceptibly.

When he swipes his tongue across your bottom lip, you gasp, and his hand slips up to the nape of your neck and buries itself in your hair. He doesn't pull, just holds you firmly in place, and though the act is relatively small, its possessive nature makes you unconsciously sink into his touch. Your mind races with thoughts of what it would feel like if Steve did pull, just a little - how your neck would bend forward, how your eyes would be forced skyward, and how you'd have no choice but to arch toward him as he kept you where he wanted you.

He keeps you still as he pulls away, chuckling at the little mewl that falls out of your mouth at the lack of contact. He soothes you with kisses peppered down the expanse of your neck, pausing only to nip and lick at random spots of flesh. You moan breathily into his hair as he sucks on a patch of skin just above the neckline of your shirt, and your hand creeps even further up his thigh.

"If you give me a hickey…my mom will kill me," you breathe, and Steve snickers against your neck.

"Do you want me to stop?" he asks. The thought is enough to make your stomach sink with dread. You shake your head ardently. He grazes his teeth against your throat, his satisfied grin tangible against your buzzing skin.

"I didn’t think so."

He makes his way back up to your lips after sucking another hickey into your flesh, this time thankfully below where your clothing can cover, and doesn't waste a second slipping his tongue into your mouth.

You swear you'll turn to liquid any second now and slip straight through Steve's fingers. Steve tastes faintly of tiramisu still, and you eagerly chase after the taste, your tongues sliding against each other. The hand in your hair glides down your spine and pauses above your ass. His fingers twitch hesitantly against the hem of his jacket, hiking it up only to smooth it back down several times. He waits for you to move to give him some indication that you want to go further.

So, you oblige him.

You pull away, a thin line of saliva connecting your lips. It's Steve's turn to whine at the empty space where your mouth used to be, and it's a sound that resonates right into the fingers still curled against his chest. It makes a feral heat stir in your belly, and you make a brief mental note to find what else elicits that noise from Steve Harrington's lips later.

You decide if there was any moment in your life to be bold - it's right now. You use the hand on his chest to nudge him up the hood of the car so his back is flush with the windshield, and before he can question what you're doing, you swing one leg over his lap and sit, straddling him.

He takes a surprised breath and smiles at you, the moonlight making his eyes shimmer like liquid bronze. You kiss him again, and he boldly reaches down and grabs two generous handfuls of your ass. With a groan, you roll your hips back into him, urging him to grab more, grab harder.

Your hands grip either side of his slim waist and dip below the edge of his shirt. His skin is so warm compared to the chill of the evening, and you find yourself wanting to do anything to obtain more of his heat.

"Do you…wanna head inside the car?" he asks breathlessly, kissing the corners of your lips and down your jaw. "It's a lot more comfortable."

"I'm pretty comfortable right here," you say, and Steve laughs. He sits up straight and slots his hands under your knees, pulling you forward and down so you sit directly on his crotch. Despite the multiple layers of clothing between you both, you definitely feel something hard nudging at your inner thigh, and you let out a noise that's half surprise, half arousal.

"He's getting a bit restless if you catch my drift," Steve drawls, capturing your chin between his thumb and forefinger again. Your eyes flicker downward as if you’d be able to see with your legs and his jeans in the way. God, you want to see it, though, need to see it.

"'Course, if you're uncomfortable, we don't have to,” he says quietly, earnestly. “It’s up to you, Y/N.”

Your answer is to grind down on his dick hard enough that he pushes air out through his gritted teeth and grips your ass tighter. "Like I said," you purr against the shell of his ear, "I'm plenty comfortable."

Though Steve helps you back onto solid ground gingerly, there's a tautness to his muscles, a stiffness in how he moves that belies how desperate he is to get you into the car. He tries to adjust the front of his jeans casually, and you pretend to be staring into the treeline when he glances in your direction. You cock your head a bit in confusion when you notice him pull something long and thin out from below the backseat. It appears wooden, and the flared nub at the bottom is familiar enough that you realize it's probably a baseball bat. However, the top of the bat is oddly lumpy and seems to be covered in something spiky; you can't tell for sure what that could be because it's wrapped tightly in a tattered blue towel.

He pops the trunk and throws it inside, acknowledging your puzzled expression after slamming it shut with a calm smile. "Lucille," he says simply. You decide you'll ask about it later. If you remember.

What you do remember, as soon as your back is nestled against the interior car door and Steve slots himself between your thighs, fingertips pushing the fabric of your skirt further up around your hips, is the conversation you had with Kesley.

"You know Steve Harrington can't eat pussy?"

You try to push the thought from your head by carding your fingers through Steve's hair, marveling at how soft it is while he plants kisses along your inner thighs. His lips brush across the intersection of your hip and thigh so gently that it makes you squirm a bit. Steve, despite your efforts, takes notice.

"Ticklish?"

"Uh. No?"

It's a lie. A bad one.

Steve smirks up at you and pushes your skirt past your pelvis, over your panties. Before you can stop him, his mouth is latched down over the sensitive juncture of your thigh, and you squeal in protest. Your breathless laughter and pleas for him to stop go unheeded, and he pins your writhing hips to the leather of the backseat so he can continue sucking a bright red hickey into your skin. Seemingly satisfied, he pulls off with a pop and strokes a finger over his handiwork. You bump his head with your knee, a halfhearted attempt to get him to stop prodding.

"Cute panties," he says lowly, and his finger follows the thick tendon that runs from your inner thigh to the edge of the cotton fabric. He drags the tip of it just underneath the seam of the gusset, pulling it far enough from your skin that it snaps back and makes you flinch. You remember agonizing over which pair to wear while you dressed - everything was too itchy, tight, plain, or extravagant for a first date. You only settled on the blush pink pair currently hugging your hips because they were the least offensive thing you could find.

You swallow hard, your hands fidgeting from their place atop your chest, and reflexively try to shut your legs. You're suddenly painfully aware of Steve staring at you, your most intimate part. A thin scrap of cloth is the only thing that separates your pussy from Steve Harrington's eyes, and while it's not like no one has ever seen you in states very similar to this, this time is…different.

The butterflies in your stomach are hammering against your ribcage and fluttering into your lungs, threatening to cut off your air supply entirely. You're sure you're going to suffocate before he can make any further moves, and you're gonna pass out right in the back of Steve Harrington's car before he's even really done anything -

“Y/N?”

Steve's warm hand squeezing your hip pulls you from your thoughts. You pull the pooled fabric of your skirt up against your stomach so you can look at his face. His expression is hued with concern.

"Hm?"

"Are you okay?" His thumb rubs in small, soft circles above the purpling hickey on your thigh.

"Yeah! I'm totally fine, I just…sorry, I kinda got lost in thought."

"Are you sure? I can stop if you need me to, yanno, if you're feelin'...like, weird about any of this."

You shake your head and smile, brushing a lock of hair off his forehead. "I'm absolutely fine, Steve. I promise you. Did you say something before? I didn't hear you."

"I, uh…" He curls the tip of his finger beneath the gusset of your panties again, this time tugging experimentally. "Just wanted to know if I could take these off."

Your face is scorchingly hot, and if it weren't for the shadows cascading over the both of you, you’re sure Steve would laugh his ass off at the shade of red your cheeks have achieved. Any verbal response you might muster is lodged impossibly tight in your throat, so you just nod, let your legs fall further apart, and lift your hips off the seat so he can work your panties down your legs.

He does so with something akin to reverence, inching the fabric further and further off your body until his warm breath unfurls over your bare skin in deep, measured breaths. He carelessly tosses your panties somewhere in the front of his car, eyes transfixed on the spot between your legs. You're torn between wanting to yank your shirt collar over your eyes so you don't have to look at the deferent expression on his face, the damn near worshipful look in his dark eyes, and wanting to sit up to get an even better look at him.

"Wow… you're…fuck." Steve Harrington is at a loss for words because of you. You keep the glow of pride you feel at that fact to yourself…for now. You pull your legs back toward your chest, hooking one hand under your knee ditch to hold it steady and give him a better look.

"Are you, uh…can I, like, eat you out?" he asks, and though part of you inwardly leaps for joy at the request, another part wants to suggest he do literally anything else.

You're being stupid, you chide yourself. Who gives a shit what Katie Kaspbrak or her stupid friends say? They're probably full of it anyway. Why are you entertaining the idea of telling Steve fucking Harrington he can't eat you out?

"Yes, please," you hear yourself breathe out despite your internal reservations. Steve smiles and raises a hand to replace the one keeping your leg pulled back. You take note of the way he licks his lips before he brings his mouth down against your pussy.

It's…well…it's interesting.

His tongue bypasses your clit completely and instead presses against your urethra, of all places. It isn't flat or relaxed; instead, a stiff pinpoint of muscle grinding uncomfortably into a spot that is decidedly not meant for that kind of stimuli. You shift, uneasy, but he seems to interpret it as a pleasured movement, which only spurs him on. He digs the tip of his tongue harder into your flesh, and you're grateful he can't see how your face is screwed up in distress.

Oh, God…oh, God. It really is awful. It's almost excruciating, and Katie Kaspbrak was fucking right. What do you do? What will he say if you tell him it's not good? Will he get embarrassed or hurt or even angry? Has anyone ever tried to tell him that this was wrong before?

You're conflicted and debating on just letting him finish up and possibly lying for the rest of time that Steve Harrington is a champion at eating pussy, until his tongue flicks upward and the unrelenting nub of his tongue stabs into your clit. You yelp involuntarily and yank your leg out of his hand, tightening your thighs. You press your fingers against your slit, hoping to soothe the throbbing ache Steve's harsh ministrations have brought on.

"What, what happened?" he asks, frantic, sitting up as much as he can in the confined space of the backseat.

He looks so much like a kicked puppy it's physically painful, maybe more painful than the burning sensation in your clit, and you consider for a moment just brushing it off as a leg cramp and letting him continue as if it's the best head in the world.

But you can't. You won't. If Steve doesn't know what he's doing wrong, he can't fix it, right? You just hope he's genuinely ignorant of how unrefined his skills are and not just overconfident and uncaring. The apologetic expression he's wearing is encouraging that it's the former.

"I…that hurt," you hiss between your teeth. "That hurt a lot."

"I'm so sorry," he says, reaching towards you instinctively, but then he seems to reconsider and takes his hands back. They rest atop his knees, clenching and unclenching, just like when he picked you up. "I…I thought that's what girls liked. I haven't…no one's told me any different, and I don't, like, have a bunch of practice - I mean, I've had practice, but no one's ever said anything before. I had no idea I was hurting you. I don't…I don't have to do that if you don't want it. I can do something else. I mean, Nance never really liked it when I did that either, so-"

He stops, eyes widening once it dawns on him what just came out of his mouth. Admittedly, you're a little shocked yourself. You attempt to keep your expression neutral to not make him feel worse, but you clearly fail because Steve cringes away when he catches a glimpse of your face.

"Shit…sorry. I shouldn't… it's not cool to bring up your ex on a first date. I know that. I'm sorry…Look, if you wanna go home, I get it. I kinda messed shit up, so I can-"

He's so fixated on his contrite ramblings that he doesn't notice when you sit up, nor when your hands cup either side of his face, and he only stops talking once you've pressed your lips against his, making it physically impossible. You feel the tension melt out of his body, and he tentatively grips your elbows.

"I'm fine," you start, leaning your forehead against his. His breaths escape in panicked, warm bursts against your lips. "I don't need to go home. I'm absolutely perfect here, with you. You didn't stab me with a burning hot poker or anything, so I'm doing pretty alright." The corners of his lips twitch upward in a sad suggestion of a smile. You should know better; you shouldn't ask about Nancy Wheeler even if Steve accidentally brought her up first, but you can't help the question that ripples from your lips.

"What do you mean, 'Nance never liked it?'" you ask carefully, and his muscles flex beneath your fingers. You're treading on thin ice. You rub your thumbs over his cheekbones, attempting to put him at ease and have his eyes meet yours.

"It's… it's stupid," Steve mutters, eyes downcast at his lap. "She…Nancy really, super hated it when I went down on her. I never thought about it too hard, I guess. I chalked it up to her being kinda uptight and just moved on, but now it makes way more sense. I suck. Of course, she hated it." He offers a dry, humorless sound you suppose is his attempt at a laugh.

"Did she ever, like…tell you what you were doing wrong?" you ask softly.

"Yeah…well, no, not exactly. I don't know. She'd usually just sit up and tell me she wanted to do something else, and when I asked what was up, she would just dance around the question, and we'd do something else and…I stopped trying after that. I should've asked questions."

"Well, you can ask them now. If you'd like."

Steve finally lifts his gaze to meet yours, and his eyes are markedly brighter than before. "If it's not too astoundingly lame…yeah, that'd be great. What exactly hurt about it? Was I too rough?"

"Partially that, and partially how rigid your tongue was," you giggle. "It feels much better if you loosen up. Think more like licking a lollipop than Vlad the Impaler."

Steve laughs sincerely at that one, and his head tilts forward to rest on your shoulder. "Vlad the Impaler, huh? That's pretty bad."

"It is, but it's nothing you can't improve on. I'll even let you practice if you want." Steve sits straight, his once crestfallen expression replaced with wide, hopeful eyes and a hint of a genuine smile on his lips.

"Seriously?"

"Mm-hm. I'll guide you through it, like, uh...like a pussy-eating professor."

Steve snorts and kisses you briefly. His hands move to your hips in twitchy anticipation, unsure whether or not he should settle on your bare flesh or the hem of your skirt. It's almost like he suddenly doesn't know where to start. You decide for him; you lay your hands over his and guide them toward your body, bringing them up beneath your skirt and settling them on the bare skin of your hips.

"Give me a reason to tangle my fingers in that famous hair, pretty boy."

Without warning, you're pulled forward hard enough to fall unceremoniously onto your back, nearly thumping your head against the door handle. Steve almost concusses you in his excitement, but you can't bring yourself to care once you feel his breath washing over your exposed slit in warm, quick puffs. You sigh contentedly and thread your fingers through the hair at his temples.

"Loosen up, right?" he hums, and you make an affirmative noise high in your throat when you remember he can't see you nod.

"Start at the bottom," you say quickly, "and work your way up. Don't go straight for the clit, just-"

The sensation of Steve's hot, wet tongue licking a flat stripe up your cunt, slowly and carefully, makes your brain short-circuit. The instructions fizzle and die on your tongue, and you forget why you were speaking for a moment.

"Like that?"

"Huh? Yeah…yeah, like that. You don't have to just lick, either. You can like, um…suck on certain areas, like the lips and the - fucking shit -"

Steve is, apparently, a fast and very ambitious learner - before you can finish a complete sentence, he's applying your advice fucking beautifully. He licks another long, languid stripe up your pussy and sucks gently on your labia, tugging lightly with closed lips. Shifting his face upward, his nose grazes your clit, eliciting an unexpected moan. One hand flies above your head, fumbling for the handle on the car's roof for purchase, and you keep the other firmly planted in his hair.

"Still good?" His voice has an edge, much cockier now than it was just a few moments ago. He's so entertained by your reactions, and you don't know if it makes you mad, turns you on, or both. You decide that's not important because his mouth isn't on you anymore, and you can't stand for that.

"Fucking fantastic."

"Any more lessons to teach me?" he asks smugly. His hands are splayed across your inner thighs, spreading you open just slightly, and his thumbs are massaging your outer lips as he talks. His tone ignites something defiant within you. You push yourself up on your elbows and stare down at him evenly, meeting his eyes. His rediscovered confidence is undoubtedly hot, so hot you can feel your arousal starting to leak onto the upholstery beneath your ass, but it's in your nature to want to challenge him a little bit.

"Here's one," you rasp. You fist a hand into Steve's hair, gripping it tightly by the roots, and shove his face deeper into your cunt. You toss both legs over his shoulders and lock them at the ankles.

"Give that mouth something useful to do other than fuckin' talk."

You swear to everything holy, you hear Steve Harrington growl.

He dives into your pussy with renewed fervor, fingers still keeping you opened up for him, and laps at the rivulet of slick drooling out of your hole. Once the taste hits his tongue, he moans into you and pushes his face so deep you can feel the light stubble on his cheeks grazing your sensitive folds.

Your back arches, lifting you almost entirely off the seats, and you bite your lip to stifle the noises threatening to burst from your throat. It's not to spare whatever stranger may or may not be lurking in the bordering forest but because your moans sound downright embarrassing. His tongue burns a wet trail from your weeping hole to your clit, where it laps experimentally at the swollen bud.

You twist and shudder beneath him, your body operating without input from your brain, but the feeling of Steve's hands slamming your hips down into the seats snaps you back to attention. You lift your head from its position against the car door, struggling to focus your eyes. Steve has laid himself as flat as he can across what little space remains in the backseat. His arms coil tight around your thighs, which keep both legs hanging limply over his shoulders. He stares up at you through his thick lashes, eyes gleaming hungrily, while he licks and sucks your pussy like it's the last meal he'll ever eat. His ordinarily perfect hair is trashed, sticking to his damp forehead in dark clumps.

You gnaw on your bottom lip stubbornly, clinging to what little rebellion still smolders inside you. Steve laughs; the vibrations feel like heaven against you, and you fling your head back down.

It isn't until his mouth has formed a near-vacuum seal around your clit that you unabashedly squeal into the humid air, unable to contain yourself anymore, pleasure wracking your body in unrelenting waves. Steve doesn't let up, swirling his tongue while he sucks, somehow keeping you glued to the seats without much apparent effort. You knew he was strong; he was an athlete the entire time you were in high school, but you didn't imagine his slender frame belied this much strength. The ease with which he's made you almost immobile is unexpected and very, very sexy.

"S-Steve, Steve - fuck - okay, God, you're getting me close already," you wheeze, voice straining high and desperate in your throat. You don't usually get close this fast unless you're alone and rubbing out a quick orgasm before bed or out of boredom. Still, the combination of his greedy suckling and licking, the sheer amount of enthusiasm he's displaying toward pleasuring you, and the fact that this long-held fantasy is coming to life right before you are making you hurtle toward the edge.

You inhale sharply, your body tenses, you're so, so close, you're about to cum -

Steve pulls off you, his lips making a wet, obscene pop before they curl into a fiendish grin. You whine, and he chuckles at you, rubbing your thigh apologetically. "You taste so fucking good," he says breathlessly.

"Why'd you stop?" you whimper. "And…thank you?"

"I'm having too much fun and didn't want you to cum yet," he says simply. "Plus, I wanted to ask something."

"Go for it."

You can't see them, but you can feel Steve's fingers on your pussy; his thumb makes a few small, tight circles around your clit before two more digits glide down the length of your folds and stop right at the entrance of your hole. They nudge around the rim as he speaks.

"Do you like getting fingered at the same time?" he asks, hopeful. "I know I'm at least good at that."

"Yes, please, do that," you beg, hardly letting him finish the sentence. You pause as the last part of Steve's sentence registers in your lust-addled brain. I know I'm at least good at that.

The corners of your mouth tug downward into a frown. Just as Steve ducks his head down again, you cup the sides of his jaw in both hands. He looks up at you, and the way his eyes flash nervously in the darkness doesn't escape you.

"By the way," you murmur, rubbing your thumbs into the stubbly flesh of his cheeks. "You've proven to be very…very good at…yanno, all this. Not just fingering."

"Yeah?" The hope in his voice is so genuine and sweet you could cry.

"Yeah. You just needed a little guidance, that's all."

He turns his head and kisses your palm, tracing circles into the back of your hand with his own before pulling it away and lacing your fingers together. Your interlocked hands rest next to your bare hip, and he presses a chaste kiss to your inner thigh. "Want me to get back to the, uh…fun part?"

You giggle. "I'm having a ton of fun, personally, but if you mean the eating my pussy part…yes, please."

"Gotcha."

Steve wastes no time reclaiming your swollen clit in his mouth, but he's decidedly gentler as he trails his two middle fingers around the rim of your hole. You can't tell if he's teasing you or testing the waters as he dips the tips inside you a few times, never edging past the first knuckles before pulling them back out again.

If he keeps this up, you’re going to go batshit insane. You're milliseconds away from telling him so before he swipes his fingers through the slick puddling beneath your pussy, and plunges them inside you up to the last knuckle.

"Oh my fucking God," you moan, writhing as much as possible while trapped between Steve's body and the car. His fingers curl, brushing against a spot that makes sparks fly behind your closed eyes, and he rubs against it purposefully once your voice pitches up and your breathing quickens even more. Both hands tangle in his disheveled hair, and you're torn on whether to push him away with how overwhelming the pleasure is becoming or pull him closer so he never stops. You settle on knotting your fingers at the roots and holding on for dear life.

Steve's fingers make lewd wet sounds as they pump in and out of your hole, and his free hand rests on the soft mound of skin above your clit. He pulls back just slightly, a stringy line of saliva connecting his tongue to your body, and his index finger stretches your skin up enough that the hood of your clit shifts backward. He chuckles.

"You should see how much of a mess your pussy is," he says. His tongue darts out to lick the slick shining on his lips. "It's so cute."

"Cute?" You don't know if that would've been the word you'd have picked to describe yourself right now, nor had anyone ever done so before. Despite the flush rising high on your cheekbones, you pretend to be more offended by it than you really are.

"Adorable," Steve coos, a smug smile sprawling across his handsome face. "And the noises you're making are even cuter. Have you been saving those just for me?"

You're speechless. You can't deny it, but you sure as hell aren't going to confirm it for him, either. His head will get so big you worry it'll fill the car's cab until you're both suffocated by the sheer mass of it. You sit up as much as you can against the car door, tugging the hand still woven with yours and smiling audaciously at him. You cross pinched fingers in front of your lips in a zipping motion, twisting them at the corner and flicking your wrist over your shoulder. My lips are sealed.

Steve scoffs. "Oh? We'll see how long that lasts, pretty girl."

Steve thrusts his fingers deep inside you again, fluttering them against your g-spot, then spits on your exposed clit. He dips his head and licks up the saliva trickling down your slit in one slow, hot strip, eyes never leaving your face.

You press your lips together tight, screwing your eyes shut and exhaling hard through your nose. Your legs are trembling, you're gripping his hand so tightly you're surprised he isn't complaining of bruised bones yet, and your chest is heaving with the effort of staying silent, but you're winning.

Or, at least, you think you're winning.

That is until he stuffs his fingers so deep inside you that it causes his hand to curl upward, almost cupping your cunt in his palm and grinding the heel of his hand into your tender clit. You can't help but gasp as he outright abuses your g-spot, rubbing circles against it with such pressure that even if you wanted to make noise, you can’t - the pleasure radiating from your core has snatched your voice away. You can't even draw in a satisfying breath and only manage a few sparse, shallow gasps.

"You done acting like you're not gonna give me what I want?" Steve asks, voice dripping with sweet condescension. You sob. It takes a stammering, whimpering, tear-filled moment before you gather enough oxygen to reply.

"U-Uh-huh, I'm - shit - I'm sorry, I'm sorry, please, Steve…."

"Atta girl." Though his fingers don't relent in the brutal pace they've set, he does bend his hand down enough so he can lap at your clit again. Tears eke out of the corners of your eyes and drip slowly into your hairline, and when you find your voice again, it bursts out of you in a broken scream.

It takes thirty seconds of consistent attention before he's got you close again, and you warn him of that fact by whining and tugging on his hair.

"You gonna cum for me?" he huffs, breath washing over your sensitive skin.

"Y-Yes, yes, yes, fuck - oh fuck me, Steve -!"

"Soon, baby," he hums.

Your orgasm crashes into you full force, and your throat burns with the force of your wailing as you arch off the backseat; you guarantee you're pulling some of Steve's hair out with how tight your grip is, but he is decidedly unfazed. He milks this moment for all its worth, never stopping or slowing in his ministrations.

Tears flow down your cheeks freely, soaking into the neck of your shirt and wetting the hair you'd spent so much time on. The pleasure crescendos into something too intense to handle quickly. You choke out a few half-assed pleas, your brain melting out of your ears at this point, far beyond being capable of intelligible sentences, and Steve ignores you.

Clearly, you don't decide when Steve Harrington is done - he does.

Your orgasm seems to go on for days, months even, and just as the pain begins to nip at the edges of your earth-shattering pleasure, as you almost snap your legs shut and beg Steve to please just give you a small break, you feel it.

Your second orgasm. Building, apparently in secret, riding the tails of your first one and sneaking up on you to the point you don't notice you're going to cum until your cunt spasms around Steve's fingers again.

"C-C-Cumming, cumming again, fuck, oh God, fuck, I can't - Steve, I can't-"

"Yes, you can," Steve assures, fingers working impossibly faster. You're astonished he doesn't have the mother of all hand cramps right now. Perhaps he does, and he just doesn't care. You don't think you care, either. "You can cum for me again, Y/N. Come on. Cum on my fingers, pretty girl."

This time, you don't even have the strength to scream. You weep and sag against the car door, body tremoring and barely managing a few pathetic pleas between hiccuping breaths.

You're drenched in sweat, and you're sure your makeup is fucked because of it. That and the tears, of course. You must look utterly trashed, but when Steve finally pulls off your poor, sore pussy with a pop, he looks at you like you're the single most beautiful creature on the planet.

He goes to wipe his lips with the back of one hand, and you notice slick shimmering down his chin and even splattered onto his neck. It's only then you feel the absolute lake of cum that’s accumulated beneath your ass, and your entire body burns bright red with embarrassment. He raises himself up on his palms, his arms boxing you in tightly.

"You are so gorgeous," he says, cupping your cheek in the hand that isn't glistening with your cum. You laugh shakily and lean into his touch.

"Sorry… 'bout your seats," you offer weakly, and he shakes his head. "You can ruin my upholstery anytime."

Steve leans down, dark eyes scanning your face, and smiles. It's a sweet, lopsided expression, nowhere near the self-satisfied, almost sadistic grin from earlier. They both quicken your pulse, but this one assures you you can at least take this moment to recover from possibly the best orgasm of your life.

First and second-best orgasms. Wow.

He kisses you, letting you taste yourself on his lips. He slots his leg between yours, narrowly avoiding the puddle you've made, and cradles your head as if he's the only thing keeping it from flopping sideways. Frankly, he is. When he pulls away, he kisses your forehead before leaning his own against it.

"You okay?" he asks. You nod, sighing and swallowing despite your parched mouth. Your hands rest atop your chest, curled up into each other meekly as you try to regain any semblance of strength in your extremities. You bump your lips into him again briefly.

"You're a remarkably fast learner, Steve Harrington," you mumble, voice hoarse. He chuckles.

"It's easy when I have such an incredible teacher.”

It takes a few minutes to clean you - and the car - up. Steve digs around in his glove box for some old fast food napkins and gingerly sops as much of your cum out of his seats as he can while you lay on your side, curled up and heavy-lidded as the adrenaline slowly dribbles out of your system. He dabs the sweat from your brow, following the rough, cheap napkin with gentle kisses to soothe your flushed skin. Afterward, he bunches the napkins and shoves them in his passenger side door before rejoining you in the backseat.

He hoists you up onto his lap and guides your head onto his shoulder, allowing you to nuzzle your face into his neck and inhale his scent as he rubs your back.

"Any more pointers?" he asks just before you've dozed off. You smile and shake your head.

"None whatsoever. You've exceeded my greatest expectations, dear pupil." He laughs and thumps your back appreciatively. It's not until you're readjusting slightly to get more comfortable that you realize something - Steve is still hard. Achingly so, it would seem, as you can feel the rigid denim stretched over his bulge so tightly you're surprised the zipper hasn't popped clean off. Heat stirs in your belly, and you make a soft, serene noise in your throat as you grind your bare pussy into his lap.

His hips stutter upward just enough for you to bounce slightly, and you giggle into the crook of his neck. "We still haven't taken care of you yet." "We don't have to if you're too tired," he assures you, voice little more than a deep hum against the shell of your ear. "I'm happy just makin' you feel good."

You consider it. You know you'll be sore tomorrow, regardless of if you choose to have more of Steve Harrington stuffed inside you, and your clit is throbbing and achy to the touch. You could fall asleep on his chest right now; he could keep you in this beautiful, dreamlike space for the rest of time if he wanted to. But there's a part of you, a part much, much louder than the part complaining about your sore slit or exhausted body, that is dying to know what Steve's dick looks like.

You leave a trail of kisses up from the hollow of his neck to the curve of his jaw and blink at him happily. Once your faces are close enough that his eyelashes are nearly tickling your cheekbones, you snake one hand between your bodies and trail a finger over the cold metal teeth of his zipper.

"Just 'cause my cunt is sore doesn't mean I'm totally out of commission," you purr. "And since you did so well with your mouth on me… don't you think it's fair I return the favor?"

You feel, rather than hear, the low moan that rumbles through Steve’s chest at the insinuation. You hook your nail through the eye of his zipper and give an experimental tug.

"Can I suck your cock, Steve?"

His lips are on yours almost before the question rolls off your tongue. His fingers tangle in your hair, keeping you still as his tongue explores inside your mouth. Steve's natural taste mixes with the taste of your slick in an intoxicating way, but just before your head starts spinning, he breaks the kiss enough to breathe, "You're gonna have to move, baby."

Of all the lewd, downright filthy things Steve Harrington has done and said tonight, the way he slurs the word "baby" against your swollen lips is the thing that makes you blush the hottest.

He reaches behind you and opens the car door, and you both shiver slightly as the cold air rushes in from the forest and cools your sweat-soaked skin. He pats your thigh and juts his chin forward, so you awkwardly clamber out of the BMW despite your wobbling legs. You lean one hand on the car's roof while Steve scoots to sit on the edge of the backseat and swings his legs onto the ground.

He brushes past you as he emerges from the car, planting a quick kiss on the top of your head before he pops the trunk and struggles with something inside for a moment. With a victorious smile, Steve waves the same raggedy blue towel that had been wrapped around "Lucille" before assuming his spot in the backseat again. He folds it in half once and lays it out between his spread legs atop the mud and sparse grass you're standing on.

"So you don't get your legs all dirty," he explains, observing your mildly confused expression.

"My legs?"

"It'd be killer on your back, sucking my dick while you're bent at the waist, wouldn't it?" Steve laughs, undoing his belt with deft fingers while he watches the realization dawn on you. "The least I can do is make you more comfortable and keep the mud and crap off your legs, right?"

“Yeah…totally…”

Words escape you as you watch the metal of Steve's belt buckle glitter in the moonlight while he slips the leather out of the loop. His shirt is riding up just far enough onto his stomach that you can see a dark thatch of hair leading upward from the hem of his jeans, and at that moment, you are determined to follow Steve's happy trail with your tongue at some point. As he pops the button on his pants, you release your grip on the car and collapse to your knees. You grab his hands and pull them out of the way, splaying your fingers across his thighs and squeezing.

"Let me," you say, eyes darting between his mostly undone jeans and his face. He chuckles at you, and you try to commit his crooked, sweet smile and warm brown eyes to memory. He's beyond handsome, drop-dead fucking gorgeous - and he's letting you suck his cock. You take a moment to thank whatever deity or greater cosmic force that's brought you to this exact moment in your life.

"Be my guest," Steve says, leaning back on his palms and staring down the bridge of his nose at you. You lean forward, using the grip on his legs to keep balance and capture the end of his zipper between your teeth. You drag it down agonizingly slowly while keeping complete eye contact with him. You can't look away from his amazed and steadfastly aroused face. Pants fully unzipped, you think you can make out that Steve is wearing dark red boxer briefs.

Very normal, all things considered, but you know in the back of your head that this particular shade of red will always make you horny now - Pavlov's dogs had their bell, and you drool at the sight of Steve Harrington's underwear.

Steve lifts his ass off the backseat just enough for you to tug his pants and boxers down to his knees. You could pull his cock out through his underwear, but no, you want to see all of him, every last inch. Fair is fair, right?

Steve is…fuck, he's big. Bigger than you ever even fantasized about.

His cock springs upright fully after you've freed it from his boxers, and with a hard swallow and a fluttery feeling in your gut, you realize it's big enough to touch his navel. It curves toward his belly, an angle so perfect it's impossible not to imagine how it'll feel inside you once you can handle it. The head is flushed a dark red and slick with precum, and you watch in reverence as a milky bead forms at the slit. It's all you can do to not surge forward immediately and lick it off. The hair covering the base of Steve's dick and balls is dark, nearly black, and unexpectedly curly compared to the other hair on his body.

You reach a tentative hand out and wrap it around his shaft. He's so thick your fingers barely touch once you've made a fist. Steve hisses at the feeling and drops his head back a little.

"You're…so fucking big," you say breathlessly. Steve laughs and cards a hand through your hair, brushing sweaty strands away from your forehead.

"You think you're gonna be able to handle it?" His voice drips with fake sympathy, so you nod your head despite being unsure. The head is so big you worry you won't be able to fit it in your mouth without your back teeth accidentally scraping it, let alone have it go down your throat. But the cocky, smug look he wears makes you want to suck his dick until he cries, just like you did.

You nudge his shirt further up his torso, noting how solid his abdominal muscles feel beneath your palm, and dip your head down to his happy trail. You lay soft kisses amongst the thick, coarse hair, and Steve subtly squirms.

"Ticklish?" you ask. He narrows his eyes.

"Don't even think about it."

You chuckle, sorely tempted.

You copy his actions from earlier and lick a long, hot stripe with your flattened tongue up the entire length of his cock, stopping only to swirl around the head and lap up his precum. The salty taste blooms across your tongue and your mouth embarrassingly floods with drool as you suck and lick more of the flavor into it. You inch carefully down his shaft, opening your jaw as wide as possible to avoid an encounter between his dick and your molars and twirl your tongue around the length in your mouth to make up for what you can't wholly swallow yet. One hand wraps around the base to make up the difference, stroking up and down slowly as you bob your head.

It's an interesting, intricate dance, trying to fit Steve Harrington's monster cock in your mouth without outright biting it. You persuade your gag reflex to let him go down your throat a bit more, your quick strokes getting slicker and slicker with the drool that pours freely down Steve's dick and wets his pubic hair. Breathing through your nose proves difficult when his massive cockhead obstructs the back of your throat entirely, but you manage well enough.

Steve is absolutely beside himself. He's moaning unabashedly, and it's like music to your ears. He's the first man you've ever been with who makes noises outside of oddly paced-out grunts or a random curse word here or there, and it's having more of an effect on you than you ever could have imagined. You press your thighs together as more slickness drips from your throbbing cunt, free to gush almost to your knees without the interference of your panties.

"Fuck, baby, fucking shit…fuck yeah, just like that… you're sucking my cock so good, you look so fucking hot right now, oh my God," Steve babbles, eyes fluttering and head lolled over to one side. He bucks his hips, probably involuntarily, and his cock bumps the back of your throat just hard enough that it makes you gag.

You cough and pull off him far enough to take a breath, your hand still firmly locked around his base and wet with spit. He laughs breathily and caresses your cheek as you pant.

“Sorry…sorry…I didn't mean to choke you. You're just… you're so good…."

"You can, uh…like, do that again if you want," you say shyly. Steve cocks an eyebrow.

"Do what?"

"That. What you just did. Again."

"You want me to gag you like that again?" It's said with genuine surprise, not judgment, and you smile sheepishly at him.

"Kinda, yeah…only if you're okay with it too, I just…I can handle it…."

He considers it, absently twirling a few strands of your hair around his fingers as he mulls your request over. Then, both hands slide to the back of your head and gather your hair into one large, tight handful that makes you sit up straighter. Cold air gusts against your freshly exposed skin, and you shiver as Steve leans forward and kisses your forehead. He uses his other hand to pull his jacket tighter around your body, tucking the collar against your throat.

"If you can handle it," he says, and with one smooth push, he's shoved you back down on his cock. The head bumps the back of your throat hard, and though your entire body jerks forward as you gag, Steve doesn't relent. He seems as determined as you were to fit the daunting length of his dick down your throat, and the fact you practically begged him to facefuck you appears to have dissolved any lingering inhibitions he may have had. He keeps one hand securely fisted in your hair, and the other moves to feel where his length is bulging through your throat. He hums lowly and strokes his fingers over your taut flesh.

"You can take more than that, can't you?"

You haven't even begun to respond before he thrusts his hips forward, forcing his way past your uvula, and you can only gag and shudder as your nose gets buried in the thick curls at the base of his cock. He guides you back by your hair only far enough that his head isn't bullying into your airway anymore, then pushes you back down - he does this over and over, hardly letting you have a moment to breathe while he chases his pleasure. You moan as you realize you've essentially become a means to an end, a method of reaching an orgasm, a warm, wet hole for Steve to fuck his cock into, and your fingers sneak down between your thighs to rub your aching clit.

Though you try to be discreet, you're soaked, and you can't do a thing to hide the obscene squelching sounds your pussy makes as you grind into your hand. Steve, with sweaty hair plastered to his forehead and drunk on lust, laughs.

"You're so fuckin' cute. You like bein' my cocksleeve that much, pretty girl?" You attempt a nod and a noise that leans toward acquiescence, and it's good enough.

Steve sets a rigorous pace, bringing you down far enough to kiss his pelvis every time, moaning a little louder when the muscles of your throat contract around his thick shaft as you gag. You are, admittedly, worried you'll puke at some point, and the thought of having arguably the best sexual experience of your life ruined by you blowing chunks all over Steve Harrington's penis does, unfortunately, cross your mind. But before you can dwell too long on it - and before the building nausea becomes too much for you to handle - Steve pulls you off his cock.

Your lips pop wetly as they leave his shaft, and you gasp shakily, the sudden influx of oxygen almost dizzying. Drool drips freely from your aching jaw and the thick strand of saliva that connects your mouth to the head of his dick glints in the moonlight overhead. Your fingers never stop working your clit, though your orgasm ebbs away after your throat ceases to be utterly abused.

"Why'd you stop?" you rasp.

"Was gonna cum too soon," he chuckles. You whine and surge forward, but you're stopped by the firm hand still ensnared in your hair. You crave the taste of Steve's cum on your tongue so intensely, and the fact he isn't letting you have it right away fills you with tantrum-level frustration.

"What, you want it?"

"Yes, Jesus Christ, please."

"Aww. You can beg much better than that." His fingers curl, tugging your hair at the root and jostling you back and forth a little.

Tears prick the corners of your eyes as he starts dragging you further away from his shining, dark-red cock. Drool and precum ooze from the tip and you can see it twitching every few seconds, and though your throat feels raw and sore, your jaw aches, and your legs are alight with pins and needles, you need it back in your mouth. You could kneel here all night, and you would swear you were in heaven. The brazen fire in your belly has been snuffed, replaced with the most thrilling need you've ever experienced, so you can't think of anything snarky to say in response. Instead, you do as Steve says, and you fucking beg.

"Please, please give it back, Steve."

"Give what back, baby?" he purrs.

"Your cock."

"What about my cock?"

"Please give me back your cock, Steve. Pretty please, I need it."

He clicks his tongue at you, giving your head a little shake again while your eyes are helplessly fixed on his glistening shaft. "Hmm, I still don't believe you."

A broken sob falls from your mouth before you can help it, and you paw helplessly at his thighs. "Please, please, please, fuck my face, Steve, please. I need it so badly. Please give it to me. I'll do anything, just please...."

He smiles and coos at you, bending down slightly to kiss your forehead softly. "You sound so pretty and pathetic for me, baby," he hums.

Your mouth is full again in a flash, and this time, it's evident that Steve has surpassed any pretense of being gentle with you. That clumsy, nervous boy from earlier has melted away, leaving this commanding, exceedingly bold, and surprisingly dominant man in his wake. His voice has lowered to just above a growl, rough with lust. The way he's reclining back and fucking your mouth like he's pumping into his fist, the way he teases and mocks you and eggs you on - it's fucking intoxicating. You can't get enough. You want him to go further; you want more, more, more.

"Fuck, fuck, 'm cumming, I'm fucking cumming, fuck Y/N," Steve gasps, placing both hands on the sides of your head and driving his cock down your battered throat. The heat of your impending orgasm begins to pool between your hips, and you rub your clit furiously as you gaze up at Steve, trails of mascara-riddled tears tracked down your spit-wet cheeks.

The exact moment his cock pulses and the first hot, thick rope of cum shoots down your throat, you push yourself over the edge of your third orgasm of the night.

You moan as much as you can around his dick, body spasming uncontrollably, and the vibrations from your noises make him grip the seats beneath him so hard you think he’ll shred the upholstery. You try to swallow as best you can, and Steve does mercifully pull out just enough that the head of his cock rests against the middle of your tongue, allowing you room to breathe. His cum is salty and heady, and you're immediately addicted to it, and you hollow your cheeks to greedily suck more of it into your mouth. He looks at you with worshipful adoration, like you are the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. Your hand drops from your overstimulated clit as your orgasm abates, and you use it to hold onto Steve's thigh for balance. You distantly feel embarrassed about smearing slick on his jeans.

When Steve pulls his spent cock from your mouth and releases your bunched-up hair, you fall forward unceremoniously into his lap. You pant raggedly into the fabric clustered around his upper legs, trembling like you've been tossed in the snow. He praises you under his breath, almost like he's not entirely cognizant of what he's saying.

"You did such a good job, God, that was amazing…you did so well, baby…fuck…."

You smile dreamily, glowing under his praise. He pets your hair absentmindedly, and after a while, he gingerly guides you back so you're sitting on your haunches, the rough terrycloth of the towel digging into your knees. He looks beautiful in the bluish light of the evening, hair mussed and sticking out at odd angles, cheeks still dusted a light pink, lips swollen and red and wet with his spit. Steve cradles your face in his hands and rubs at the greyish tear tracks streaking your cheeks, almost embarrassed of their presence.

"Are you okay?"

You nod sluggishly, nuzzling your cheek into Steve's surprisingly rough palm. He smooths the frazzled hair he'd been tugging on so enthusiastically back away from your damp forehead, fluffing it apologetically once he realizes the style you'd sought to achieve is thoroughly ruined. You're sure you look destroyed, to be fair - most of your lipstick is smeared messily on the lower half of Steve's softening cock, so you imagine the rest of it is smudged down your chin and across your cheeks. When you wipe the back of your hand beneath your jaw to catch a few stray tears, your skin is stained blackish from the mascara-laden liquid. Definitely not Harrington-proof, you note amusedly.

"Lemme help you up," Steve says, scooting forward off the backseat and bending toward you. One arm snakes around your waist and tightens against the small of your back; the other hand knits itself against your right hand, and when Steve pulls you to your feet, you're pressed flush against his chest, bodies entwined like partners gliding across a dance floor. Despite everything that's happened in the last hour, you still giggle nervously at the lack of distance between your face and Steve's. He smiles sweetly, and his tongue darts out to wet his lips.

The hand clasped in Steve's twitches toward your lips reflexively. Your mouth still tastes like his cum, and while you certainly don't mind, you aren't sure if he will. He notices your hesitance, and after a moment, the reason seems to click for him. His smile grows imperceptibly.

Steve takes your face in both hands and kisses you deeply, licking your bottom lip before sliding his tongue against yours. Your already weakened knees wobble, threatening to let you drop like a ton of bricks right back to the rumpled towel beneath your feet. The tangy taste of your cunt still lingers on his tongue and mixes with the salty flavor coating your mouth; it's addictive, and for a moment, it tricks you into thinking you could go just one more round. The way your clit throbs painfully at the mere insinuation, however, quickly dispels that idea.

Steve presses a final, sweet kiss to the tip of your nose after he pulls away from your lips, and the way his eyes sparkle at you in the moonlight dashed across his face makes your stomach flip excitedly, a sensation you're almost embarrassed to feel. It seems too innocent, too chaste after everything you've done tonight, but your cheeks flush hotly regardless.

"You…are something else," Steve says quietly, affectionately rubbing his thumb over your cheek.

"You're one to talk."

You turn your head toward his palm, kissing his warm skin. The yellow-green light of his watch glows out of the corner of your eye, and when he twists his wrist a bit to the side, you catch a glimpse of the numbers.

No. No, that can't be right.

Steve makes a discordant sound as you yank his arm back toward your face, pushing his sleeve up to his elbow. You must've read the time wrong; it can't be that late.

But there it is, clear as day, in blocky electric numbers. Your curfew, which you've never broken, passed almost half an hour ago.

Your heart plummets down through your stomach, and you swear you hear it plop into the dirt at your feet.

"I'm so dead," you murmur, and Steve cocks his head quizzically.

"What?"

"I'm dead!"

You scramble toward the rearview mirror and tug it upward. You look absolutely wrecked. How will you explain why ninety percent of your makeup is gone? Why your hair looks like you've just gone through a tornado? Steve huffs out a confused laugh.

"Am I…missing something?" he asks, leaning casually against the side of the car. You tug the collar of your shirt up and scrub at your mouth - it makes your lipstick look worse and stains the inside of one of your favorite tops. Shit. You frenziedly try to work the buttons on Steve’s jacket closed, desperately tugging the collar up in an attempt to conceal the rapidly deepening red blotches he’s sucked into your skin. They’ll bruise by tomorrow, and if you weren’t in a blind panic, the thought would turn you on. Admittedly, it still does.

"I'm so, so late. My mom is gonna kill me," you say frantically. Maybe it'll be dark enough that no one will notice your lipstick…but they'll definitely see the black trenches carved into your cheeks. Shit.

You turn to the side, trying to tame your hair into a halfway decent shape. It doesn’t work, and you exhale roughly through your nose; the scrunchie you always wear around your wrist is snatched off, and you twist your hair into possibly the sloppiest, worst bun you’ve ever created, but it’ll have to do. Every single aspect of your appearance is like a bright red, flaring neon sign blinking above your head, ready to announce I HAD HOT SEX, AND THAT’S WHY I’M SO INCREDIBLY LATE.

You know it shouldn't matter; she doesn’t have much recourse since you're an adult, but fear still pangs in your gut so hard it makes you nauseous. You can picture it now, tiptoeing into the living room just to have the lamp in the living room flicker to life, your enraged and concerned mother silhouetted in the dim yellow light. You're sure you'll be able to see the steam rolling off her body in waves from where you'll be standing at the landing of the stairs. You'll be lucky if she lets you leave for the supermarket after this, let alone on another date.

"Shit, is it really that late?" Steve asks, and how his voice pitches up in genuine confusion only aids your panic. He bounds to the driver's side of the car, almost tripping over his feet as he fumbles the keys from his pocket and slams them into the ignition. Your butt barely touches the passenger side seat before the engine roars to life, and Steve slams on the gas.

Apologies tumble freely from his mouth as you clumsily clip your seatbelt into place, and you assure him it's alright as best you can while licking your fingers and scouring the mascara stripes off your cheeks. It doesn't work and tastes weird, but it's all you've got.

~~~

When Steve screeches up your driveway, you are an hour past curfew, and that’s only by the grace of God and Steve’s disregard for speed limits.

You sling your purse strap over one shoulder and almost kick the passenger side door off its hinges as you get out of the car, but just before you're about to bolt up your driveway, you pause.

It wouldn't kill you to be just a little later, right?

You whip back around, and Steve stares up at you, a little breathless, flushed, and still so beautiful. You grip the edge of the window and bend down, poking your head inside the car.

"I had an amazing time," you say, and you wish Steve wouldn't smile at you the way he does because it makes you want to say, "Fuck it," and hop back in the car. But he does, and you don't, and he nods.

"You wanna do it again sometime? I mean, not, not it, like a date - well, we can do it again if you want to. I'm just saying we don't have to…."

He sighs, and you pretend not to notice the flexing and unflexing of his hands on the steering wheel. It's endlessly endearing how nervous he is when he isn't jamming his cock down your throat or eating you out like a starving man. Something in your mind wants to see how flustered you can make him, but you silence it.

"Such a way with words," you tease, and you cup his cheek in your hand. You kiss him tenderly, hoping it encapsulates everything you want to say but don't have time for right now. Fingers slide up the nape of your neck and ensnare themselves in your hair, keeping your lips locked for a few moments longer. Your mouth is swollen and chapped, but you'd kiss him all night if he'd let you. Maybe one day he will.

"I'd love to do this again, by the way," you hum against the corner of his mouth. "Assuming I live past tonight, that is."

"Looking forward to it, Y/N. Oh, and, by the way…."

He grips your hair, not too hard, but just enough to where you stiffen and let out a soft moan. He peppers kisses along your cheek, to your temple, to the shell of your ear.

"I'm keeping your panties. Maybe next time I'll shove 'em in your mouth if you try to play the quiet game again with me."

He releases his grip on your hair, and his hand purposefully slides along the curve of your jaw until it reaches your chin. He pinches it between thumb and forefinger and kisses the bewildered, now painfully aroused look off your face before leaning back, giving you a wink, and revving the car's engine.

"See you soon, baby," he calls. His car crunches back down your driveway, and you're left standing there, brain short-circuiting and threatening to melt out of your ears, hyperaware of the cold night air nudging against your bare pussy under your skirt. You press your thighs together and jam fabric between them self-consciously, hoping against hope that you won't flash your poor, unsuspecting mother, who is undoubtedly waiting for you to chew you out.

You turn unsteadily, gazing up at your house. The living room light is already on, and you can see a lithe shadow flitting anxiously from within the windows. You're going to get an earful.

It was so. Fucking. Worth it.

#steve harrington #steve harrington x y/n smut #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington smut #stranger things #stranger things smut #steve harrington / reader #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #fem!reader #f!reader #smut #my writing #somebody to love series

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talaok · 1 year

Note

Hello!

I was thinking about this a little too much today. I often read fics / drabbles about Pedro being all sweet and flirty or him being very confident and flirty … I just want to read a fic about him being the worst flirt ever 😅 I know he’s a flirt in his interviews , but what if he’s really bad at it when it’s time to really seduce someone. Like he messes up what he wants to say , he makes stupid jokes that don’t land.

Do you think you could write that?

summary: Pedro is a bad flirt

A/n: I'm genuinely sorry this took so long, but I had to study like a bastard just for my professor to be an asshole

"please introduce me to her"

"why don't you go there and do it yourself?"

"because I can't"

"why?"

"please"

"fine"

__ __ __

It was a relatively small party, just a few friends and some friend’s friends, nothing huge.

Vanessa, your best friend, had insisted on throwing it, encouraging you to “live a little now that that asshole isn’t in the picture anymore”.

“That asshole”, was indeed your, as of two weeks, ex-boyfriend.

Neither of them had ever been fans of each other, and thinking back at it now, that should have probably been if not red, at least some kind of colored flag.

Anyway, as always, when it was V talking you into something, you had accepted, with a few conditions of course.

Hence, the small party and your playlist playing in the background.

“Y/n, did you know that?”

right, you should have probably been listening to the conversation.

“Uh, no, it’s news to me” you topped with an awkward laugh you hoped would go unnoticed.

“that’s crazy, you learn something new every day” Ryan commented, making you wonder for a sec if perhaps you had actually missed something interesting.

Just as you turned to Claire beside you to investigate, everyone’s attention moved to Vanessa as she strolled toward you.

Not unusual, you thought, she wasn’t a woman that got unnoticed.

What you found when you turned too, however, did pique your interest.

A man walked beside her, Pedro Pascal.

He fell into the friend-of-friends category.

He was one of Vanessa’s oldest friends from back when she studied in New York. She talked about him sometimes, but you had never actually met him, which, thinking about it, why was that?

"hi there, how's it going?" V asked

"very well, Pyke here was telling us that sharks do not have bones"

There it was, mystery solved.

V raised her brows clearly unimpressed "Wow, well that's great" she patted his shoulder, as everyone made space for the pair.

Pedro still hadn't spoken, and a match of awkwardness lighted as you all came to the same realization.

"Alright then, I think I'm gonna get another drink" The shark expert spoke, and all of a sudden Claire and Ryan both got really thirsty too as they followed him to the kitchen.

A strange smile pulled at V's lips

"Anyway, Y/n, this is Pedro" she gestured "Pedro, this is Y/n"

You felt like one of those women in period dramas when their mothers introduce them to a man they think they should marry.

"Hi, it's nice to meet you" You shook his hand "V has told me about you"

"H-hi" he cleared his throat "it's very nice to meet you too"

" Pedro's here to film a movie"

"are you?" you asked, interested

"yes, I- Uhm- I am"

He looked nervous, and you had no idea why.

"Can I know which, or is it like one of those secret Marvel things?" you joked.

"Oh, no, of course" he laughed, "It's Weapons, it's like a horror movie"

"oh" you winced "Well that's lovely, but you'll have to forgive me if I'm not going to watch it. I hate horror movies"

"Oh, why?" he asked looking genuinely perplexed

"I get scared very easily, and... I'll sound like a 5-year-old, but every time I watch one I have troubles sleeping"

"oh that's fine" he laughed " I get it" he nodded "You don't look like a five-year-old at all" he blurted out, his eyes instantly widening as his brain realized what he had just said "Sound! I meant sound like a 5-year-old" he breathed "you look- you look extremely beautiful, not like-" he stopped himself before he could talk again, and just let out a small "oh god"

You shot Vanessa a glance.

"it's fine" you laughed "I got it," you reassured him, placing a hand on his bicep.

"so, since I'm not going to watch it, why don't you tell me what's about?"

His eyes found yours again, something sparking inside of them at the question.

"Oh you know, it's about guns and swords and rifles," he said with a smile.

You couldn't hide your confusion

"I'm sorry?" you asked, half-laughing

"y'know, because it's called weapons" he explained, his voice getting smaller as he realized the joke had bombed.

"Oh" you laughed, actually laughed "Of course! I'm sorry!"

"No, no don't be sorry it was a stupid joke"

"it was funny, I'm just..." You mimicked something with your hands.

"Y/n!" a shout from across the room caught your attention.

Mary was waving desperately at you, which could only mean that she had either broken another piece of furniture or wanted to do shots.

Neither of those options seemed particularly interesting, for some reason you wanted to know more about the man in front of you.

However, you also couldn't ignore one of your best friends.

"I'll be back in a second, I just need to make sure she hasn't broken another vase" you joked with a grin.

"o-ok" he nodded, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down as he swallowed harshly.

"get ready to tell me about all those weapons!" you called out, already walking to the kitchen.

Once you disappeared, Vanessa raised an eyebrow at him, her expression an open book.

"Don't say anything"

"I'm not"

"good"

there was a brief moment of silence before Vanessa couldn't hold it anymore.

She busted out laughing

"Guns and swords!?" she laughed, recalling his joke

"Shut up"

"And the five-year-old thing!?" she kept going "Dude you've been drooling over her for two years and that's what you go for the moment you finally get to talk to her?"

He couldn't do anything but sigh "I need a drink," he said "And I thought it was funny"

"Yeah, you were the only one, my friend"

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flowerandblood · 18 days

Text

The Fall from the Heavens (26)

[ canon • Aemond x Strong • niece female ]

[ warnings: mention of sex, incest, smut, angst, swearing ]

[ description: A cool distance turns into friendship and more when two children see that they can find refuge and understanding in each other. However, naïve dreams collide with the reality in which every event has consequences and what once could have been love becomes a dark, newly painful obsession. Angst, sexual tension, obsession, violence, madness, very dark Aemond. ]

The story in this series is an alternate reality from the oneshot Stay and love, leave and die, in which Aemond reads the letters his niece has sent to him over the years. They are the same characters and it shows what would have happened between them − I have changed the background story from their childhood slightly for the sake of the plot.

Characters & Series Moodboard Lady Strong Moodboard Aemond & Lady Strong Moodboard Aemond & Lady Strong Childhood

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

Jace remembered perfectly the day his little sister was born. Laenor had led him into his mother's chamber that day, holding his hand, saying that she was very tired and they couldn't spend much time with her − he had insisted on seeing her because he was delighted to finally have a sibling, a brother to play with and be friends with.

His mother, the future queen, smiled softly at the sight of him, her white hair loose and in disarray, her face red from sweat and exertion.

She held out her hand to him and he hugged her, peering curiously at the infant she held clutched to her chest.

"He's so tiny." He said in disbelief, brushing the baby's finger with his own − he smiled when he saw the baby's hand clench into a small fist with its quiet purr.

"She. You have a little sister." He heard his mother's amused voice; he furrowed his brow at her words and rose, angry and disappointed.

"− wait, comrade −" Laenor called out after him, but he refused to look at her.

She was a disappointment to him.

For the first few months, he had pretended not to hear her cries or squeals from their mother's chamber − even though Rheanyra had spoken to him and encouraged him to meet her, he had refused to do so, recognising that no little girl interested him.

"It was supposed to be a boy." He muttered regretfully while playing with his large, wooden, black dragon, pretending that the stacks of books were the great hills over which he flew on Balerion. His mother smiled at his words and combed her hand through his dark curls.

"That is what the gods have decided. She may be your future wife."

Jace put down his toy, looking at her in surprise, not understanding what she meant.

"Am I going to have to kiss her?" He asked in disgust, recalling the stories Laenor sometimes read to him before bed, in which great knights freed beautiful women from the paws of monsters, only to fall in love with them later and be bestowed a kiss by them.

His mother smiled involuntarily.

"Don't think about such things until you're a grown man. No kissing for now." She giggled, pinching his cheek. He smiled lazily seeing her warm expression, the motherly love that beat from her.

That night he went to the chamber where she slept for the first time; he leaned over the cradle, glancing at her plump little figure wrapped in a white robe and a small headpiece. Her eyes opened suddenly and he was terrified that she would burst into tears − she, however, merely clutched her small feet and began to rock from side to side, looking at him curiously.

He smiled involuntarily at this sight and tickled her belly with his finger. Her squeal and loud giggle answered him, her eyes lit up in joy, her little body all the way up in euphoria. He laughed seeing this, repeating his gesture, thinking she was like a small animal, a puppy or a kitten.

He decided that at the end of the day she wasn't so bad and stopped pretending she didn't exist.

Until Luke was born he had treated her as if she were a boy, driving their mother to despair every time they both returned sodden with mud and sand after another battle with Aegon and Aemond.

He had always felt that his uncles disliked him, and even though they were of a similar age to him, he did not feel comfortable in their company − nor could he hide his jealousy at the sight of their snow-white hair, proof of who they were.

Looking at his father and mother, he could not comprehend why his hair was not that shade.

Rhaenyra explained to him that it was surely because of the Baratheon blood that also flowed through their veins, and although he was disappointed, the sight that he was not the only one, that his sister and Luke looked similar to him, comforted him.

The first time Aegon laughed sincerely at what he said occurred when he called his sister a hamster. The comparison came to his mind when she took air in her mouth and furrowed her brow − he uttered it thoughtlessly, and his uncle burst out laughing and patted him on the back.

"− gods, you're right − and those big eyes of hers −" He sneered, and although he saw that his sister lowered her gaze, embarrassed, he continued, eager to hear more words of praise from his lips.

"− she has just as much sense too −" He added, seeing his uncle throw him an amused, mocking look suggesting that he agreed with him.

He felt a squeeze in his heart when he noticed out of the corner of his eye that his sister had turned and walked away, passing through the cloisters towards their quarters without even giving him another glance.

He turned around and noticed to his surprise that he was not the only person to notice her leaving − his other uncle, Aemond, led her away with his eyes and then threw him a look full of despise, from which he felt discomfort.

He pressed his lips together at the thought that he was the heir to the throne and, unlike him, had his own dragon.

Who was he to look down on him with such superiority?

He decided to remind him of that and share that thought with his brother.

Aegon's involvement in their little joke surprised even him − his uncle thought it was an excellent idea. He argued that his younger brother was too sullen and serious for his age, that he was sapient and could use a little lesson.

As he listened to Aegon convince him that they had found a dragon for him, as he saw the hint of hope and the shy, embarrassed smile of excitement on his uncle's face, he felt for a moment that perhaps they should not do this.

However, it was too late to retreat − Luke ran deeper into the cave, and came out a moment later, leading by a rope a large pig to which they had attached self-made wooden wings early on.

"Behold! The Pink Dread!"

He saw that his uncle froze and turned pale as they burst out laughing, swallowing this humiliation with difficulty − his eyes glazed over and reddened, his gaze again blank and distant.

He knew they had broken him.

That same day he mentioned it to his sister, and her reaction angered him.

"You are cruel." She said resentfully.

Which side was she on?

"He's forever looking down on us because he has white hair. He's constantly making excuses and bragging about what he's read in those silly dusty books of his." He snorted, playing between his fingers with the gold coin their grandfather had brought him from another of his trips overseas.

He blinked when his sister simply rose from her seat and walked out, leaving him in a state of shock and displeasure − he decided, however, that these were just normal female emotions and would surely pass her until supper.

He loved his father, but he also greatly valued and respected Ser Harwin Strong. He was a stocky, tall, handsome man who could fight very well. He often spoke to him or helped him practice by sharing stories of his duels in tournaments and hunts.

He thought then that he would like to be like him one day.

He knew that he was a close confidant of his mother and often saw them together, however, his father seemed not to mind, so he considered this condition perfectly normal and did not bother.

After a few weeks, the will of their King fell upon them like a bolt from the heavens, and their mother informed them of it during one of their suppers together.

"− your grandfather and our King has decided today that, to strengthen our lineage, we will betroth your sister to your uncle, Prince Aemond − let us raise our cups for this −" She said, glancing towards her daughter, his sister smiling broadly at her words, happy.

What?

"− what do you mean? − why? −" He asked, feeling discomfort in his stomach and a cold sweat on his back.

They wanted to gift him his sister as a consolation because he didn't have a dragon of his own?

"− your grandfather wants peace to reign in the kingdom after his death − such a marriage in his eyes will strengthen our family and our bonds between each other − of course, the marriage will only happen when your sister is of the right age −" She said calmly, looking at her daughter with tenderness, taking an unruly strand of her dark hair from her face.

"− did you agree? −" He asked his little sister in disbelief, and she nodded quickly, as if it was the happiest day of her life.

"− yes − I'm very pleased − I'm fond of our uncle −" She said quickly, putting a piece of roast on her plate, describing how worried she was that she would have to marry someone much older than herself.

He stared blankly ahead, clenching his hands into fists, bitter and disappointed.

Had she really never considered him as her husband?

After all, he was her elder brother; in their lineage such marriages were obvious.

He dared not, however, defy the will of the King himself.

His resentment towards his uncle increased with each passing week seeing that, against his wishes, he was not being harsh and unpleasant to his sister − on the contrary, he seemed to have softened in her company, his face, though still pathetically proud, also expressing curiosity and affection.

He felt rage in his heart at the thought that they could really have wished to bring about this marriage.

However, the cup of bitterness overflowed the moment he saw his sister kiss him.

They were both too certain that no one could see them − he watched them from the corridor through a window overlooking the library.

His sister was standing by the bookcase, saying something to him, and he stood up and walked lazily over to her. He rose on his tiptoes and apparently reached for a book that stood too high for her. She smiled broadly as he handed it to her, her hand traveling to his shoulder.

He swallowed hard as her lips pressed against his, and as soon as she pulled away, her uncle grasped her cheeks in his hands and kissed her again, deeper and longer.

He fled to his chamber and burst into tears with rage, dropping all the objects standing on his table, disappointed and humiliated that although he was to become King in the future, someone else was taking away something that in his mind was his right.

He never wondered what kind of love he had bestowed upon her and whether it was the form of affection that usually bound married couples; he knew that he would care for her and be good to her and that was enough for him.

She was his sister and he would never hurt her.

She, however, looked only to her uncle and it was to him that she gave her heart and mind.

He didn't know what he felt when Luke slashed his face that night when their uncle stole Vhagar − horror, shame, satisfaction and relief all mingled in his mind into one.

On the one hand, he was overjoyed that he had taken back what in his mind should have been his, on the other he was embarrassed and distraught at the confirmation of his fears that had long smouldered in his mind.

It was Harwin Strong who was their father.

To his seed he owed his dark curls.

He was a bastard.

He tried to turn his thoughts away from considering what this meant for them, focusing on the fact that his sister would surely no longer want her uncle for a husband, and their paths would part.

This is exactly what happened.

Still, what he had planned did not happen, and his mother decided to change her plan and marry her off to their cousin, Lord Arryn's son, to strengthen her support in the North of the kingdom. Again, he felt a wave of disappointment, however, this time he was not so jealous − he knew that she had no love for their cousin and that he was certainly no threat to her.

"What's my little sister doing?" He asked with amusement, startling her completely, sitting bent over her desk − she quickly grabbed the parchment she had just been writing something on and tucked it under the table, looking up at him with wide eyes.

"Are you writing a letter to someone?" He sneered, raising an eyebrow, standing over her with a smile. She swallowed hard and looked down, thoughtful.

"I write poetry. But I don't want anyone to read it." She muttered, and he sighed quietly and nodded, acknowledging that he wasn't going to force her to do anything.

"Would you like to go for a walk along the beach? It's beautiful weather." He encouraged her; she, however, shook her head, no longer bestowing a single glance on him.

"No, forgive me. I'm tired."

He pressed his lips together at her rejection, which he had faced again and again since they had moved to Dragonstone.

Even though he tried to get close to her, to understand her and comfort her, she still didn't want him.

He was ashamed to speak of his feelings with his mother or stepfather, much less Luke, however, to his surprise, his closest confidant turned out to be Baela.

"I don't understand her. It seems to me that she still misses him, even though he has certainly forgotten her by now. I have heard that he is a cold, vain, self-obsessed man. He's always been that way, treating her only as an object, a consolation prize. Now that he has a dragon he doesn't need her." He said angrily − his cousin sighed heavily at his words, looking at him with understanding.

"When people part in anger and don't close a chapter, it's hard for them to move on. Perhaps she knew him in a way that is unknown to us. He's always been withdrawn into himself." She muttered disapprovingly, fiddling with the wine cup in her hand, gazing thoughtfully into the blazing fire.

He smiled at the thought that he was certain she recalled the impetuosity with which her uncle had punched her in the face with his fist that night when he lost an eye. Baela looked at him, raising her eyebrows.

"What's that look?" She asked and kicked him under the table with her foot. He giggled at her reaction and shook his head, lowering his gaze to her fingers.

"I would have been better for her. I would have really cared for her. Maybe I wouldn't have given her everything she needed, but at least with me she would have been safe." He said with a tiredness from which his companion sighed heavily. He lifted his gaze to her as her hand grasped his and squeezed it.

"I know." She replied softly.

He swallowed hard, feeling a pleasant warmth in his lower abdomen as he saw her soft, misty gaze, feeling her warm thumb stroke his palm. He grunted as he felt his manhood pulsate in his breeches at the thought that, indeed, his cousin was a very fine woman.

He had always liked her sharp tongue and confidence.

"Have you ever lain in bed with a woman?" She asked him suddenly, and he drew in the air loudly, shocked, feeling that his cheeks had certainly turned red with shame.

He didn't know what to answer.

He didn't want to humiliate himself with words that he had absolutely no experience in these matters knowing that she had a more liberated approach to these affairs.

Daemon, as her father, had expressed no dissent, so who was he to lecture her?

She sighed quietly, seeing his reaction, or rather lack thereof, and rose from her seat, turning her back to him, gripping the ties of her bodice with her hands.

"I need you to help me."

Baela was a calm and patient teacher − it seemed to him that she took great satisfaction in his lack of understanding of what she was actually doing to him as she sank down on his swollen manhood again and again with a moan of delight − her brown naked skin glistened wonderfully in the light of the blazing fire, her white curls falling over her shoulders in disarray, her full lips parted in obvious desire from which he felt his fulfilment approaching embarrassingly fast.

She made sure he didn't fill her with his seed, letting him instead come down on her abdomen with his low moan of pleasure, his length pulsating and twitching in her hand for a while longer. He licked his lower lip dry with emotion, looking at her in disbelief, a soft, shy smile on her face.

"− you're beautiful −" He whispered, and she giggled under her breath and kissed him in a way from which he felt hot in his heart.

She made him forget, at least for a moment, what was happening around them, finding in her both friend and lover, the confidante of all his secrets.

She was not jealous of his sister − on the contrary, he had the impression that she understood the source of his anger and disappointment, herself having no intention of explaining to him what she was doing and with whom.

It seemed to him that their relationship and its freedom suited them both.

Of course, they both knew that in the end they would experience a marriage that would inevitably be purely political, and they understood what that entailed.

Then their grandfather was injured on one of his expeditions, and Vaemond Velaryon challenged his younger brother's rights to the throne of Driftmark.

Knowing the truth about his parentage and at the same time refusing to accept it, he became enraged, sad and depressed at the same time − Baela's words of comfort that they would find a solution and not allow themselves to be intimidated did not reassure him.

Once again, his uncle and his family were trying to take their inheritance from them.

His return to King's Landing was a shock to him; to his disappointment, he felt like an intruder there, and it seemed to him that was exactly how he was perceived by everyone.

He felt a drop of cold sweat run down his neck, his stomach twisting with discomfort when he saw his uncle in the distance, wielding his sword as if it weighed nothing, easily defeating Criston Cole, pressing its blade against his neck.

He was tall, muscular, his long white hair, proof that he was in fact a Targaryen partly tied at the back of his head with a black ribbon, his jaw long and sharply defined, his gaze wild and cold, terrifying.

He smiled mockingly at the sight of them, playing with the hilt of his sword between his fingers as if he wanted to devour them.

He felt ashamed at the thought that he was terrified.

And then his uncle spotted their sister in the distance − his heart beat harder at the sight of their expressions.

It seemed to him that this reunion years later had caused them pain, as they both froze, breathing heavily, looking at each other as if there was no one else around.

His uncle hummed under his breath and turned away, nodding at Ser Criston, taking another swing with his sword.

Even though he hadn't cared what happened to her for so many years, even though he had humiliated her at supper by calling her Lady Strong, she had confessed in front of everyone that her place was with him.

He looked at her in disbelief, wondering what she was doing, why she had stooped to courting him when it was obvious that her uncle had neither respect nor affection for her.

After a moment, he heard his uncle's cold, trembling, deep voice.

"So it is decided, father. We will marry."

"How could our mother agree to this? How could she let her stay there?" He asked furiously, circling around his chamber in Dragonstone; Baela sighed heavily, turning her head away. She looked at him finally, hesitation in her gaze.

"I didn't tell you because I knew it would only enrage you and you wouldn't leave her alone." She said tiredly − he halted in half-step, looking at her over his shoulder, feeling his heart pounding like mad.

"You didn't tell me about what?" He asked dryly, frustrated and concerned.

Baela let out a loud breath, shaking her head. They were now betrothed, and although he thought they both seemed to have accepted their families' decisions with relief, he couldn't rejoice.

"My father told me that she had been sending him letters all these years. That the same night we arrived in the Red Keep she spent the night in his chamber."

He stared at her dully, feeling that it made him sick to his stomach, as if he were about to vomit, his face taking on an expression of disgust.

So she didn't write any poetry then, he thought with regret and pain.

"− how could she do this − expose our mother to humiliation and gossip −"

"Jace. She never stopped loving him. I think she's naive too, but you'd have to be blind not to see that she never really accepted it all. I don't know what I think about it myself." She admitted, running her hand over her face.

"You don't know what you think about it? I'll tell you. Our uncle will play with her and take advantage of her, and then he will put her up to ridicule and hand her over to us. He won't marry her." He growled angrily, burying his face in his hands, wondering how she could be so foolish, how she could believe that he had sincere intentions about her.

"The matter of succession is on a knife-edge. Perhaps our grandfather is right? A union between our mother and the Queen could really ease the situation." She muttered, clearly looking for anything comforting in the situation, which he completely failed to understand.

Had everyone around him lost their minds?

"My uncle who thinks we are bastards is supposed to alleviate the situation? He will never agree to let me sit on the throne and I am supposed to give him my sister?" He asked in disbelief; Baela tightened her lips at his words, frustrated.

"You speak of her as if she were an object. It's always been that way."

He felt an unpleasant shiver run down his spine at her words, every muscle in his body tensing like a string.

"What do you mean?" He asked coolly.

Baela sighed heavily, clearly trying not to explode and form her thoughts so as to be honest but not cruel.

"You think she was born to fulfil your whims? That the fact that you are her eldest brother gives you precedence to lie in bed with her?"

He felt himself blush with shame at her question, shocked.

Discomfort and arousal surged through his lower abdomen at the thought.

"Do you think that's what I mean? I'm just trying to…"

"Yes, Jace. I've never witnessed you ask her how she feels, what she needs. I am fond of you, but you are a selfish boy, not a man."

He felt ashamed at the thought as tears gathered under his eyelids at her words, a terrible, cold shudder shook his body, his heart began to pound like mad.

You are a selfish boy, not a man.

Her words so offended him that he stopped speaking to her despite her pleas, and then the thing he feared most happened.

The King was dead, Aegon had stolen her mother's throne and his uncle had imprisoned his sister.

They had made a mockery of them.

He had been right all along, but no one listened to him.

"Forgive me, Jace." Baela muttered, placing her hand on his shoulder. She knelt beside him, sighing heavily, laying her head on his thigh, and he involuntarily stroked her hair, feeling superiority, feeling strength.

He was going to fight for his mother's crown and bring his sister home.

In order to do so, at the behest of their mother, he flew to Winterfell to ask Cregan Stark for his support in this cause, reminding him of the oath his father had taken before her.

The North seemed to him a beautiful and wild place, so far from what he knew − the snow-covered hills, the austere fortresses of dark stone, the robes that looked only grey, black or brown around him gave him a sense of modesty and space.

Lord Stark's nature appeared to be similar to his, and the few days he had spent in his company hunting and riding horses had actually made him feel good − he felt like someone worthy with him, a true heir to the throne, not a bastard.

It was this feeling that, seeing the young Lady Snow from afar, he allowed himself to be enchanted by her charms and lay in bed with her.

Like a real man.

When he arrived back in Dragonstone he learned that Luke had just returned from Storm's End and that he had seen their sister.

"You flew after him? You flew after him knowing he could imprison you, use you as your mother's weakness? Fucking fool." Growled Daemon, shocked and horrified by his naivety, burying his face in his hands, unable to look at him.

"Daemon." Their mother rebuked him, all pale, her hand clenched on her womb. "What happened next?"

"He brought her. Someone hit her, mother, and I think she tried to take her own life. There were cut marks on her wrists." His brother muttered, and he felt his heart stop, he and Baela looked at each other quickly.

She had tried to take her own life.

Because of this bastard, his sister could be dead.

His hands clenched into fists at that thought.

"And then?" Pressed Daemon in an impatient voice.

"I told her to run away with me, but she didn't agree. She told me to tell you that she loves you and that she remains faithful to you, mother." He mumbled and he slammed his fist on the table, feeling fury and rage boiling up inside him.

"That fucking bastard purposely made her stay. He planned this, he never had any intention of marrying her!" He growled red with anger − Daemon threw him a single, drawn-out look.

"And then what? He let you just walk away? No one else saw you?" He continued, pretending not to have heard his outburst.

"N-no, I was surprised, but no. Forgive me, I had to see her, make sure that she is still alive." Luke said. Daemon sighed heavily and leaned over, placing his hands on the top of the stone table, thoughtful.

"Bring me a parchment and a quill. I need to speak with my nephew."

Baela followed him into his chamber in an attempt to calm him down.

"How can he want to pact with that fucking traitor? His brother stole my mother and his wife's throne!" He shouted in her face − his betrothed dropped her hands in a gesture of helplessness.

"Since he let them meet, maybe there is something to it. My father knows what he's doing, I trust him. I believe he will bring her home."

"You're naive. You always have been."

"And you're vain. You always have been."

He pressed his lips together at her words, feeling his heart pounding like mad, feeling like something was about to explode inside him.

"I met a woman in Winterfell who I took to my bed." He muttered finally, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye.

Part of him wanted to hurt her, and part of him wanted to be honest with her.

That was what they had promised each other.

Baela laughed at his words in disbelief and shook her head − he had a feeling he saw a shadow of regret in her gaze, but he wasn't sure if it was because of his confession or because she understood why he said it now.

"If you wish, I'll relate to you how I spent my time in your absence, but I'm not sure you'll be able to look into this guard's face afterwards." She sneered, lifting her chin high, looking at him defiantly. He felt a wave of hot shame and anger surge through his body.

"After we're married…are you going to continue this?" He asked uncertainly and she cocked her head to the side.

"If you are not faithful to me, I will not remain faithful to you. You are dear to me, but don't think I will cry for you. Certainly not like your sister cried for her uncle. Part of me has always envied her that she experienced such a deep feeling in her life even if it burned her from the inside for so many years." She said with a kind of regret from which he felt a squeeze in his stomach, but he answered nothing to her words.

He knew that they did not love each other.

They were close and felt comfortable together, but they weren't mad about each other.

He believed it just had to be this way.

He waited impatiently along with his mother and the others gathered for Daemon to return from his meeting with their uncle, simultaneously terrified and angry that they were speaking with traitors instead of fighting.

When they heard the squeal of Caraxes in the distance his mother stood up, pale, holding her hand on her womb again, as if remembering the time when she had carried her only daughter under her heart.

His other sister had died before she was even truly born.

When Daemon stepped into the main hall everyone was already waiting for him; he sighed heavily, placing his Dark Sister on the table top, folding his hands in front of him, straightening.

"Your daughter married her uncle of her own free will. My nephew has conveyed to me that his brother-cunt will relinquish the throne he stole from you if it is your daughter's children and his who become heirs to the throne or, in the event they do not conceive a son, ours − Viserys and Aegon. He demands the exclusion of Jace, Luke and Joffrey from the succession." He said dispassionately. He looked at his mother seeing that she had run out of words.

"− mother − this is −"

"− leave us − all of you −" She ordered.

"− mother − this is my inheritance − mine −" He began, but felt Baela's grip on his arm.

"− Jace − that's enough −"

He sat in his chamber thinking only of the fact that his mother was just contemplating whether or not to agree to deprive him of his inheritance, to acknowledge that he was her bastard despite the fact that he was her firstborn son, despite the fact that Laenor Velaryon had acknowledged him as his heir.

"− Jace −" Baela muttered, seeing his condition.

"− leave −" He said. He heard her sigh heavily as she approached him with a rustle of her gown, kneeling at his feet.

"− Jace − I'm on your side − I always have been − don't you see me as your companion? − your friend? − your lover? −" She asked with a pained expression that startled him. He lowered his hands and looked at her − his palm rose to her cheek, which he stroked with a tender, slow gesture.

"− you resent me − you don't see me as a man, but as a child −"

"− that is not true −"

"− I don't want your pity −"

"− Jace −"

"− you were right − I don't want to frustrate you and I understand all the accusations about me that you've made − my whole life I've been trying to be someone I'm not −" He finally replied, his betrothed's fingers grasping his hand and squeezing it.

"− that's what I mean − stop pretending − be honest with yourself −"

"− do you want me to be honest? − very well then − my mother has never asked my opinion on any important matters − Daemon treats me as if I am an imbecile and mocks me − I am both a first-born son and a bastard − my uncle wants to deprive me of everything, he wants me to be a nobody and why? − because when I was a child I gave him a pig? − god, I regret it, it was a cruel joke − I regret that he lost an eye, I regret that a dragon didn't hatch from his egg − but even if I had said that, what good would it have done − he would have laughed at me saying I am a weak cunt −" He muttered and burst out sobbing like a small child, hiding his face in his hands. Baela embraced him and cuddled his face into her oil-scented neck, stroking his hair.

"− I am grateful to you − I am grateful to you that you are honest with me − I am grateful to you that you have never lied to me −" She whispered and he wept softly, tightening his hands on the material of her gown feeling that the closeness of her body brought him solace.

"− I am grateful to you too − forgive me for not being what you deserve −" He mumbled, sniffling loudly, trying to calm the convulsions of his body and his ragged breathing.

"− I forgive you − I forgive you and ask for your forgiveness −"

When his mother came to his chamber that evening, he knew what decision she had made even before she opened her mouth.

"− Jace −" She began, and he turned his head away, panting with rage, burning tears of humiliation under his eyelids.

"− after all this − after all you've sacrificed − are you going to let them win? −"

"− how would I be a just Queen if I thought only of myself instead of the good of the kingdom? − any other solution will mean war with our own kin − is there anything else more displeasing to the gods? −" She muttered in a breaking voice in which he could clearly hear that she herself was suffering immensely.

"− you let them dictate their terms −" He said in disbelief, looking at her at last. His mother pressed her lips together at his question.

"− no − I intend to impose my own demands on them – none of them will be allowed to sit on the throne − none of them will wear the crown − they will be rulers-regents until their son, the rightful heir, is born −" She replied, forcing herself to be calm.

"− and if no son is born to them? − will you exclude me from the succession then? − your first-born son? −" He mumbled in pain, hitting his chest with his palm. Rhaenyra drew in air loudly, her eyes red from tears of pain and grief.

"− it's my fault − not yours − me and Laenor really tried, but −"

"− I don't want to hear it − I won't listen to it − why did you let me come into the world? −"

"− Jace −" She mumbled − he heard the rustling of her gown as she took a step towards him, but he held up his hand showing that he didn't want her to come near him.

"− I will leave Dragonstone to you − it belongs to me and I can give it to whomever I wish − no one will challenge your rights in this case, you will finally be able to live the life you deserve −"

"− I was meant to be King −" He hissed, and she swallowed hard.

"− as was I − but perhaps we are not meant to be − pride steps before a fall −" She said drily, her chin lifted high.

"− what does Daemon have to say in the matter? −" He asked lowly.

"− he is furious, but he will do as I command − just as you −"

219 notes · View notes

slasherscream · 2 months

Text

Wash Day

pairing: jordan li x fem black!reader

"You wanna go out to dinner tonight? Know I've been busy this week. Feel like I've barely seen you." Jordan mutters against the shell of your ear. You shiver as he gives the skin a teasing kiss.

Already you're pouting, knowing what your answer has to be even though you wish so desperately that you could give a different response. "Wish I could, Jordan. But my night is already spoken for."

You're spun around by a hand on your hip, playful and fast so that you can't stop yourself from falling into his chest. Your hands grip his jacket for balance, and he reaches up to hold one of them with his own. "You got plans? With who? Cate? Cancel them."

"Brat." You laugh.

How demanding Jordan is would be less cute if they ever asked you to do something they themselves wouldn't. As it stands, with the way they do anything you ask at the drop of a hat, all you can do is roll your eyes and pretend to be exasperated instead of smitten.

"Fine, don't cancel. I'll just come with." Jordan sighs, as if seeing his best friend is a great tragedy (Which it is. Cate being there means you'll smack Jordan's hand away when he tries to sneak it up your skirt at dinner.)

"What if we want a girls' night?" You shoot back, grinning.

Jordan shifts. The hands on your waist are smaller now, but pull you in closer, "You're the one who's feeling bratty. Really have been neglecting you this week, huh baby?" Jordan smirks, in that condescending way she does when she realizes you're trying to get a certain reaction out of her.

"The plans aren't with Cate, and they aren't cancellable." You sigh, deciding not to rise to the bait of her tone, smirk, or the little circles she's rubbing into your skin.

"What are these oh so important plans?" Jordan asks.

"Do you know how many white boys have complimented my hair today, Jordan?" You ask.

"Pardon?" Jordan blinks at what seems to be a completely unrelated topic.

"Six! Six white boys complimented my braids today. I'm about to kill myself, if we're being honest. I must looked fucked up, and you didn't even say anything." You pout.

You've been having a bit of a rough day, to say the least.

"You look beautiful. What are you talking about?" Jordan asks, confused but nonetheless, wanting to make you feel better. "If you didn't look good I'd very politely... have Cate tell you. But you look great! You've been getting compliments all day, you just said it yourself!"

"Wow, you'd throw Cate under the bus, huh coward?"

"Cate isn't interested in making out with you every spare second of the day. I am. You can be mad at her. I've got stuff I wanna do." Jordan's grin is downright salacious. You smack her arm, trying not to smile.

"Ah. You are operating under the same delusions of the white man. I see that now, I'll let go of the anger." You say, sighing and kissing Jordan on the cheek.

"First of all, don't you ever fucking insult me like that again.... Second of all, what particular delusion am I sharing with the white man?" Jordan asks.

"White men only compliment a black woman's hairstyle at two points in time. When it's brand spanking, fresh off the lot new. Or when it's started to look like shit. I've had these braids in for longer than... is your business. So guess which compliment I'm getting right now?"

"I fucking refuse to say your hair looks like shit, and this conversation feels like a trap. You're always beautiful to me." Jordan says.

"Thank you, baby. But we live on a campus where the diversity win photographers lurk around every corner trying to get pictures of 'The Diversity Win Couple' in our most natural state. I need to take out my braids tonight before I talk crazy in the group chat, and Andre sends me a 'this you?' pic that will devastate my argument." You shake your head somberly, already imagining the fate that lies before you.

"You could stop talking crazy in the group chat." Jordan teases.

"You know damn well I'm not capable of that."

The two of you burst into laughter, unable to keep it together. Jordan has always been obsessed with how easy it is for you to make them laugh.

"Is that gonna take up your whole night, though, baby? We don't have to go to dinner early! We'll go wherever you want." Jordan insists, tone bordering on begging.

Whenever they come out of a particularly busy week, they spend the next two weeks glued to you. As if to make up for it. The clinginess is a stark difference from how they acted before you made things official.

"Jordan, look at the braids on my head."

"I'm looking at them."

"Are you seeing them with your eyes?"

"Yes, and my eyes are sending the image to my brain, which I assure you is working. What's your point here, baby?"

"How long do you think it will take me to undo these, detangle my hair, wash it, deep condition it, and then wash it again?"

Jordan squints at you for a long moment, analyzing your hairstyle and the utter displeasure on your face. "I dunno? Maybe... four hours?"

"I should fucking murder you. Just for that, you're helping me with wash day now."

Jordan's face breaks into a grin like sunlight breaking through clouds, "So I do get to spend the day with you, is what you're saying?"

"Yeah, baby, you get to spend the day with me." You click your tongue at them. Pitying them for the ache in their fingers they're about to feel. They complain about curling their God damn hair a couple of times a week. You suspect you'll be ready to kill one another by hour two.

But you also missed them a lot. Or whatever.

"Don't cut too high up, Jordie. " You whine, shifting his grip lower on your braid, to an acceptable cutting length of the hair extension.

"Baby... can I ask you a very serious question right now?" Jordan hums, obediently cutting where you instructed.

"What?" You ask, already starting to unbraid the piece.

"How... long... do you think your hair is?" Jordan, to be fair to him, does ask the question quietly and with the proper amount of hesitation.

"How dare you! Are you calling me bald?" You gasp, stifling a laugh.

"Don't do this to me. You are prolonging the process. We can cut these braids at least four inches higher than what we're doing right now." Jordan says, you can't see his face but you can tell he's also trying not to laugh. Bastard.

"My hair grew!"

"From the top of your head. It did not magically lower itself further into the fucking braid extension." Jordan loses the battle and laughs.

"Jordan Li do not fucking cut off any of my hair or I'll cry and then blow up this school."

"Of course, princess." Jordan kisses the top of your head and gives in to your terrorist demands because you're cute.

"So how am I supposed to do it, baby?" Jordan claps her hands and you smile at how eager she sounds to help.

"You're gonna want to section it off. Do like... eight parts of hair. That'll make literally every step after this easier. Then you're gonna comb the hair from the bottom, 'kay?"

"Got it."

Jordan starts the process of parting your hair, careful and slow. Fingers sectioning off eight chunks of hair that she keeps apart with the silky hair ties you hand her over your shoulder.

"You sure you don't want me to comb it, Jordie?" You ask Jordan.

"I'll be gentle, don't worry. You always say your shoulders hurt at the end of wash day. Which is crazy, because I've seen what you can bench. I've got you, baby." She spritzes extra detangler spray on each of the parts she just made.

You move around slightly, a little sore already from sitting still between her legs for so long, but smiling to yourself nonetheless. A pillow is suddenly shoved into your face and you lean away, confused.

"Sit on this one instead. It'll be better." Jordan says.

You switch out the pillows and tilt your head back to look at her. "Why're you always right? Is that your kink?"

"No, my kink is bossing you around." Jordan smirks and leans down to give you a kiss. Despite the awkward angle you can't help trying to deepen the contact. The feeling of her soft lips sliding against yours, firm but gentle, is always irresistible.

She hums and gives you a playful nip before pulling away. "Don't start something we can't finish."

"Who says we can't?" You shoot back, staring up at her.

"You will be pissed an hour from now if you glance at your phone and we haven't made any progress." Jordan runs her thumb along your bottom lip before pushing your head forward.

"Who says it will take an hour?"

"I do. If we start, I'm not stopping." Jordan's voice dips seductively and a line of tension runs up the length of your spine.

You smack her thigh for teasing you, "Shut up."

"Is this comfortable?" Jordan frowns, staring at the angle your head has to be at to fit in the bowl of the sink.

"No, but this is the best angle this chair can get me to." You say. Usually you just wash in the shower, but since Jordan is helping the sink makes more sense.

Jordan stands, scowling at how uncomfortable you seem. Suddenly he grins, "Baby! Make a chair with your shields. Something that leans."

You were getting a lot better with being able to make complex shapes, with less concentration. You stand up from the chair you'd dragged from the common room. Jordan pulls it out of the way and gives you an encouraging thumbs up.

It takes you a minute, but you conjure a shield that resembles a salon chair and the both of you let out identical cries of delight.

Jordan pushes you to sit down with a kiss on your forehead. "That's my fucking girl. Tell me if the temperature is too hot."

Jordan washes your hair with the perfect amount of pressure and thoroughness. He's nearly rhythmic in his methodical cleaning. You didn't realize your eyes had fluttered closed until you hear him laugh. You open one eye to glare at him playfully, knowing he won't get soap in them.

"What's so funny?"

"You're like a cat. You gonna purr for me, baby?" He smirks.

"If you keep going like that, yeah. Or I'll fall asleep. Please don't make me fall asleep. I'll fall on my ass." You say.

"I'll endeavor to make the rest of the wash as unpleasant as possible."

He does not do that. And at one point you do fall asleep. Jordan catches you before you can actually fall. 'Thank God for Supe reflexes', you both think. You spend the rest of the wash with your eyes wide open and Jordan laughing at you.

"Did we put too much?" Jordan asks, dabbing at another drip of oil and conditioner down your brow.

"No, this is typical. The hair has to be saturated. It's dripping because the oil is you know... getting hot and even more liquid-y." You say, eyeing the episode of Property Brother's you'd both decided on. "Hm. I think that woman should be put to death."

Jordan was keeping vigilant about dabbing at the sides of your face. You'd been in charge of one side, at first. But Jordan seemed to have a sixth sense for when the other side was dripping as well, and kept interrupting you before you could get to any trickles of oil. You'd given up and just started narrating the show for her as she wasn't taking her eyes off the line of your brow.

"Why? What did she do?" Jordan dabs again.

"She wants to put up a fence that blocks the view of the historical house that she did not have to buy if she wanted a fence so bad." You roll your eyes.

"Is the city gonna let her?"

"No."

"Haha. 500k down the drain." Jordan cackles.

"Anti-gentrification win!" You hold out your fist for a fist-bump and Jordan obediently obliges, oil soaked rag still held in her fist.

A comfortable silence falls over you two, besides the noise of the portable hair dryer.

"I really think we put too much, baby." Jordan mutters, dabbing again.

"I have been doing this since I was twelve, Jordan!"

"Play the video again, one speed slower this time." Jordan's eyes are glued to your phone.

You're sitting between his legs again, cushioned by the (superior) pillow of his choosing. You were trying to decide on a simple hair style when Jordan saw a picture of Mini Twists and got excited to see you in them.

("You've already seen me in mini twists, Jordie. What are you talking about?"

"You weren't my girlfriend the last time you wore them though! Now you are, and I get to look at you as much as I want."

So that had decided that.)

"Okay, I think I got it. 'M gonna start with a braid base, without making the parts too big, then start twisting the hair with two strands, and that will make it last longer, right?"

"Right." You smile at how focused Jordan sounds.

They're hot when they're in the zone. You just didn't think they'd get so into helping you with your hair. But you should have known, really. Acts of service paired with their inner perfectionist? You're completely relaxed at this point. You know Jordan won't have you walking out of your room looking crazy, come hell or high water.

"Is this okay?" Jordan shows you a picture of the back of your head, three rows of twists done.

You gasp, snatching the phone, "That's my head?"

"Uh... yes?" Jordan answers slowly.

"The back of my head? The head on my body?"

"Should I start over?"

"Fuck you! These are almost better than mine. Who's hair are you playing around in when I'm not here, Jordan LI?"

"Stop using my fucking government name." Jordan tilts your head back to look at him with a gentle grip on your neck, grinning down at you. "You play too fucking much. You sure they're good, princess? It's okay if I need to redo them."

"I'm gonna give you orgasms that will make you lose brain cells."

"Baby!" Jordan laughs, rolling his eyes. "I'm serious. Do any of them need redoing?"

"The first row is really fucking good for a beginner but the second row is damn near perfect." You say.

"I'll redo the first row then." Jordan kisses your temple before moving you to face forward again.

"I said they were good!" You protest.

"But the second row is better. I want the whole thing to look good. Don't want you feeling self conscious cause I fucked up the style, y'know." Jordan mumbles.

You tilt your head back to look at him, ignoring him sucking his teeth (a habit he picked up from you) at you moving.

"I love you, Jordie. Thank you for helping me today." You coo.

You watch his face go red with a grin. He grins back, leaning down to give you a gentle kiss. When he tries to pull away too soon you whine, holding him close by the hair at the nape of his neck.

"Wanna kiss you. You're sweet." You breathe the words against his lips, insistently continuing the caress.

He sighs, smitten, and let's you lead for a moment. Hand finding it's way back to your neck and tightening just enough to make you gasp. Still, he pulls away too quickly.

"I'm gonna fuck you up." You scowl at him.

"The only thing you're gonna fuck up is your neck, brat. This is a horrible angle for you." Jordan's smile is so soft at the edges it's your turn to blush.

"Speak for yourself."

"No, I'm too busy speaking on behalf of your neck."

"Well, I'm speaking on behalf of my-"

"Pussy?"

"I was going to say raging hormones but that's a lot more to the point, yeah. Or maybe I was going to say something romantic. You ever think of that, Jordie? Huh?"

"Were you going to say something romantic?" Jordan hums.

"No."

"Let me do your hair in peace." Jordan turns you forward again with a laugh.

"Turn this way." Jordan instructs, snapping another picture.

"I don't know whether you're worse than an Instagram hair stylist or a Mom." You ponder, words barely audible because your girlfriend is scary.

"Shut up and smile." Jordan scowls.

As if engraved into your genetic code the words make you do just that. You suffer through another 20 pictures being taken before you say enough is enough.

Jordan happily shows you the pictures, as if you hadn't seen yourself in the mirror just a minute ago. Or ever. The grin on her face so wide it looks like it hurts.

"You like it, baby?" Jordan asks again.

"It looks so good, Jordie. It looks like I paid someone honestly."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." You drape your arms around her shoulders. "How's this angle?"

"For what?" Jordan tilts her head to the side, puzzled.

"For kissing. Since you were so worried about the angle before."

Jordan scoffs, but she's the one to pull you in. She doesn't pull away this time.

A/N: i needed reader to have a goofball vibe because i have a goofball vibe. if you enjoyed this fic consider reblogging, leaving a reply, or an anonymous ask saying you enjoyed it! a writers fuel is engagement. xoxoxo

#jordan li x reader #jordan li imagine #jordan li #black!reader #black reader #IVE WORKED ON THIS ONE TOO LONG FUCK IT WE BALL #last few jordan li readers i've written have not had a reader who is a goofball #and if someone acted like this around me (hot brooding and scowling)#i suffer from jester syndrome. i would need to make them laugh

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vitzi9 · 1 year

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Pretty when you cry

Ethan Landry x GN!Reader

Masterlist if you want to read my other things.

content warning: manipulative ethan; stalking; obsessive; maybe sub!Ethan; mention of murder; he's still ghostface; guilt trapping; worshiping; knife

English is not my first language sorry guys, if i did any grammatical mistakes lmk !

2924 words (7/05/2023)

"Hi" he said simply. As if we were speaking to each other for the first time, but in the same tone with which one greets an old friend. It was ironic how I wished for weeks for him to come and talk to me and when he finally did, all I thought about was running away. He hadn't changed. And so much the better. He was still so handsome. Today, he wore a white shirt and a kind of jeans in a shade between dark gray and black. After taking a brief tour of his outfit, I look up at his face: the most beautiful part of his person. His frizzy curls looked fresh, as if he had just washed them. This thought was confirmed by the smell of shampoo that came to me on a light breeze. His cheeks were tinged with a pale pink that highlighted the small and discreet freckles that sported his cheeks. His gaze escaped mine, watching the floor with a strange and sudden interest as he pressed his lips together in a thin line. He was embarrassed, no, dead of shame. After all, I still hadn't answered him. I've only watched him so far. And I surely would have continued if I hadn't noticed his shaking hands.

What am I supposed to say to him? I greet him too, I compliment him? I ask him directly why he came to talk to me? After all, the only times we had spoken was to get him to tutor me. Are we even friends? After he stood me up without any explanation, approximately two weeks ago now, we haven't spoken to each other since.

“Hi” I simply replied. Ethan scratches his cheek as he smiles nervously at me, his gaze flicking briefly above me to look behind me. The redness on his cheeks getting worse.

“You uh… Your classes, how are you doing ? I… Like, you're good ?”

To be honest, it wasn't. Which is the main reason as to why I was asking him for lessons, by the way. So he knows all about those four out of twenty that I love so much. (Wrong, I hate them, I just don't have the IQ to have more) How handsome he was. Earlier this year, I had this fantasy where Ethan, who I hadn't spoken to at the time, came up to me and asked me out. Later, having learned about his shyness, I dreamed of seeing him overcome his bashfulness to come and declare his love for me while stuttering.

"I manage. And you ? Are you able to follow the program?

Of course he did. We are talking about Ethan Landry, the best student in the whole establishment. He succeeds in everything. Except talking to people, it seems. For the umpteenth time now, he glances over my shoulder. His eyes alternated with bewildering speed between my face and what was behind my back. Finally, I turn to see the only person in the hallway besides us, Chad, watching us with a big smile on his face and thumbs up. He lowers his arms the second my eyes notice him and he puts his hands in his pockets, pretending to turn around.

"Isn't that Chad?" I knew it was him, Ethan's best friend. But I just wanted confirmation.

-N-no aha, it’s… I don’t know who… It’s not Chad.” His laugh was forced and it showed. He was staring at the ceiling, shrugging and laughing nervously. Too smiley to be true. If he weren't already incredibly uncomfortable and flushed, his friend's intervention would have caused him to be.

"Why did you come talk to me Ethan?"

Our last discussion was two weeks ago. We had seen each other on Tuesday for my private lessons and it had gone incredibly well. He had scheduled a session for Thursday, of which I was counting every second until D-Day. I was smiling just reading our messages over and over again. Then Thursday arrived after an endless wait. I headed for the library, as usual. My smile glued to my lips, impossible to remove. I was on cloud nine. But Ethan was late, yet he had never been with me. I waited and waited and waited but after an hour and a half I left. He hadn't sent a message, nothing. Since then, not a word has been exchanged. In the hallways, not even a single look had been shared. We walked ignoring each other, like strangers.

"I'm sorry.

-For what ?"

I had some idea why he was sorry but I didn't want to get my hopes up. His eyes water, he opens his mouth but no sound comes out. Ethan extends his hand towards me which I grab by reflex. To be honest, he was starting to worry me. Was he really going to cry? Was it because of me?

“Ethan, are you okay? I forgive you if this is what bothers you so much but please don't put yourself in such a state. Do you want me to walk you home? I'll tell the teacher that you are not feeling well.” As I said that, I adopted the softest voice I could muster.

The curly man holds my hand, he intertwines our fingers together. His tears finally running down his cheeks. A few tears escape him.

“No… he almost sighs.

-'no' what ? I ask, worried.

-I'm not feeling well…"

My concern increases considerably. Forget him which stood me up. His state is much more worrying. Without really thinking about it, my hand rests on his shoulder. I start guiding him to the exit but he seems to realize it. He plants his feet on the ground, shakes his head, then grabs my hand resting on his shoulder.

Ethan was keeping me here.

He raises his angel eyes to me. He was so handsome. His pupils were glowing. The boy opens his mouth but nothing comes out. Frustrated, his tears seem to intensify. He lowers his head, his beautiful curls falling in front of his eyes that I love so much.

"Ethan, you can tell me anything."

I was hoping he would open up to me a bit more. We were close, certainly not like best friends, but I considered myself loyal enough not to snitch his problems to everybody. Plus, I wasn't lying. He could tell me anything, I will help him as best I can. Ethan runs his thumbs over the backs of my hands, a slight smile on his lips. For a second, he seemed at peace.

“My love… he whispers and I almost thought I was dreaming.

But this peace does not last

-What ?

"I..." His lips quivered.

Did he really call me 'my love'? My heart was beating wildly. He sniffles and tries to swallow back his tears, to no avail. Finally, Ethan snaps.

“I…I can't sleep anymore, I can't do it anymore! he exclaims between two cries. Every time I close my eyes, I see your face. I miss you, I want to continue to give you private lessons, even my homework if necessary. I'lldo them for you. Everything, I'll do everything for you…” he had spoken so quickly that he was out of breath. His tears had not stopped, quite the contrary. He had let go.

His sudden outbusrt make me retreat for a split second. The curly man's hands squeeze mine tightly, as if to keep me from moving further away. I don't understand, my absence has affected him so much? Why didn't he come talk to me sooner, then? And since when does he feel that way about me? His words were excessive and I thought he was going a little too fast. He was so desperate that he saw my face all the time? That he was willing to do 'everything' for me? I thought that my crush was not reciprocated, worse, than he considered me as a simple classmate. If I expected that! But where does this outburst come from?

“Breathe Ethan, breathe.”

Like a child, Ethan nods. He tried to calm his breathing while I tried to slow my heartbeat. I knew Ethan hadn't had a lot of conquests in his life, but I never would have imagined him to be so dependent.

"I'm sorry, really sorry...

-Why are you apologizing?

-I left you alone, I swear I haven't forgotten you. I've been thinking about you all the while i was doing it...

So he was really apologizing for that. But why is he making a fuss about it? I had already imagined this scenario and honestly, I expected an apology, a justification and that was it. Why was he so affected? That guilty? His words got mixed up and in the end, I lost track.

- It's okay Ethan, it's not that important. Is that what stresses you out so much?

- What can I do to make you forgive me?

-Ethan, I already told you, I forgive you, it doesn't matter.

-No, he shakes his head, tell me.

Feeling that if I didn't take matters into my own hands the situation was never going to end, I decided to ask for a simple favor.

-Where were you that day? I ask, alluding to the day he stood me up.

-That's stupid." Despite his words, I give a nod encouraging him to continue. Promise me not to be afraid.

-Why would I be afraid of you Ethan? I ask, laughing softly. He's an angel, how can you be afraid of him?

-Promise me."

His fingers gripped my wrist tightly. It almost hurt me. For a moment, the thought that indeed Ethan could scare me crossed my mind. However, I thought of it too late.

-I was supposed to be only ten minutes late, and I apologize for that, but you had to be outside your room for me to get in it.

-What ? I ask laughing, not understanding where he was coming from.

-When I got in your room, there was a perfume that was not yours. But I had already felt it somewhere, on someone. And… I-I'm sorry that pissed me off and… I-I thought you were cheating on me and I was scared and… I cried but I kept smelling the perfume of that-

-Ethan, stop here, I don't understand anything. What are you talking about? I was no longer laughing, the strange details he gave me seemed too precise.

His tears flow, without warning, he takes me in his arms and presses me to his chest. He hugged me tightly, I almost couldn't breathe. His face plunges into my neck, which he was soaking with his tears. He kept saying he was sorry over and over while I tried to understand. Was he telling the truth?

-I felt so guilty for hurting them that I didn't dare come and talk to you. I was terrified that you would run away from me when you eventually find out. It was horrible. Never again. Never part from me again, I beg you. I'll die of it.

I felt his every word knock against the skin of my neck. He was whispering, as if telling me a secret. And maybe it was. I was praying that another student would come down the hall and see us but the odds were low, very low. Ethan had cornered me at the end of my class, everyone had left. The sun was already falling asleep outside the window. Panic quickly set in within me.

-Ethan you're crushing me! I wasn't even sure he heard me since buried in his chest, my voice was muffled.

-I thought you were cheating on me b-but… I’m sorry for thinking that, sorry sorry sorry sorry...

What did he do ? Who was he talking about when he said “having hurt them”? Where is the shy Ethan who softened my heart? Unconsciously, I start to shake. My arms try to tear themselves away from the grip he had on them but he was crushing me too hard; I couldn't move. His arms clung to mine along my body.

-I should never be mad at you again, ever again. Do you forgive me ?

That's when it comes back to me; the framework. Coming home the evening of the day Ethan and I ended our relationship, my frame was splintered to the ground. The shards of glass had been flying all over my room. The photo remained intact; a picture of me and my roommate, but the frame was dead. I hadn't given more importance than that to the situation itself, my window was open and then said roommate was at home during the day. I just thought that a draft had knocked it down or that my friend was clumsy: it happens after all.

No, it was him.

-Ethan, I speak in a shaky voice, please let me go.

-No ! he yells. You promised me ! You promised me you wouldn't be afraid of me!

-E-Ethan please….

- I'm sorry, i'm sorry !

Ethan, six feet tall, collapses to his knees in front of me. He buries his face in my stomach, his arms wrapping around my waist. He speaks in my skin, muttering countless excuses and promises. Immediately seizing the opportunity, I grab him by the shoulders and push him with all my might to the ground. Surprised, he let me go. His back hits the floor, he lets out a plaintive moan mixed with his cries. Without thinking, I turn my back to flee. But Ethan is strangely fast. He gives me a powerful kick in the shin which in turn makes me fall on my stomach.

Ethan is crying. His cheeks are drowned in tears and red. I don't find him as handsome as before when he slightly pulls up his t-shirt to pull a knife out of his pants.

"Why are you doing this to me ?" he growled, his face lowered to the ground. So far, he's let it go. But there, his energy had changed. He was a murderer.

I crawl on the ground, moving away from him, my eyes filled with terror. I'm gonna die. I'm going to die here, alone, killed by the boy I loved. Ethan towered over me, taking small steps towards me.

“I'm begging you…” I cried.

I was desperate, there were no more solutions. I thought, as I disappeared, maybe Chad would figure out who my killer was, since he was the last one to see me other than Ethan.

"You told me you wouldn't be scared..." he pouted as he crouched down on top of me. Afterwards, his actions keep surprising me as he sits on my pelvis. He had fun bringing his knife to my neck and caressing me with it. The coldness of the metal makes my hair stand on and shivers appear all over my body.

"Ethan, please take that away from me... yelling at him wouldn't get me anywhere, so I was begging.

- No, don't be afraid. You know very well that I would never hurt you.”

His promises, I wanted no more. I wanted him to leave me alone, forever. My hands were free, yet I no longer controlled them. They were completely flat on the ground. I couldn't lift a single finger.

“Do you want me to prove my devotion to you? the curly boy points the knife at him.

The sharp tip of the weapon is now to his throat. Ethan looks at me and smiles. His free hand lay comfortably flat on my chest, holding me firmly to the floor. The vision unfolding in front of me was horrific. I was praying that he wouldn't be able to take his own life in front of me, on top of me! I didn't want to see it though, my eyes refused to look away. I was terrified that he would plunge his knife in me without warning.

- You love me too, right? he asks, stroking my cheek with his thumb. Tell me that you love me. You love me so much, my love. You love me so much you're ready to die for it.

-Ethan listen…

-Answer." he orders.

The roles had switched. He had given me a position of superiority, adoring me, throwing himself at my feet for even a pardon, but he was sick of it. And now not even my pleas will reach him.

“Imagine how romantic that would be, huh? May the students meet us tomorrow morning, both dead and entwined. It would be wonderful.” His smile was that of a sick man. What more do you need, my death? You want me to stick this pretty little knife in my heart for you? That I tear it down and give it to you as an offering? Come on, tell me you love me. I know you do.”

Finally, I manage to close my eyes. His description had managed to repel me enough to allow my brain to kick in the survival instinct. Ethan laughs mischievously. I feel him move, all his weight crushing my body. His lips settle on my neck for a second.

“You want me to kill myself, huh? I'll kill myself because of you. All because you don't love me. How can you be so selfish? he kisses my cheek. Tell me you love me, my love. I need it. His thumb passes over my eyelid gently, making me open my eyes.

I knew I was stuck. He was one step ahead of me, physically and mentally speaking. He had me stuck. My eyes were red and swollen.

-I… I love you… I whisper, choked cries leaving my mouth at the same time.

-Where is my first name, pretty ?

And to think that I was dreaming of saying those words to him a few minutes earlier.

-I… I love you Ethan… The curly man's face lights up, a gaping smile erasing his crazed expression.

- There, it wasn't so complicated now, was it?"

That was my first story in english. please do not hesitate to gives me advices whatsoever, like if you think that the plot was too quick, ethan too out of character, not enough details, everything ! I hope you liked reading it anyways.

#ethan landry x reader #ethan landry oneshot #ethan landry x y/n #ethan landry x you #ethan landry #scream 6 #yandere x y/n #yandere ethan landry #yandere boy #ghostface #ethan landry fanfiction #sub ethan landry #ethan landry imagine #ethan landry x gn reader #vitzi9writings

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junowritings · 6 months

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Hi! Can I rqs for a platonic Malleus x Fem!reader imagine please? During their NRC days,reader jokingly asked Malleus to be her maid of honour if she ever got married. Then,years later, on her wedding day, Malleus shows up,fully intending to keep his promise.

Thx!

I AM SO IN LOVE WITH THIS IDEA YOU HAVE NO IDEA. Listen this started off jokey but ended up kinda wholesome like he would be so touched??? and take it so seriously???

Also I'm thinking about the whole Fae living longer than humans but this didn't fit into the drabble so can I just say you can absolutely bet that decades/centuries after your wedding he is telling EVERYONE he meets about his fav child of man and that whole thing bc he'd think the world would be poorer off if he didn't tell everybody about his friend and the happiness they wanted him to play such an important part in.

BUT YEAH I hope you enjoy how this turned out!

=====

“If I ever get married, you’ll be my maid of honor, won’t you, Mal?”

Such a simple request, spoken so boldly from one he considered his true confidant. How could he have ever refused?

To you it was made in jest, on a quiet walk out on your dorm’s grounds as you had done for so many months now. It was easy to fill the silence with idle chatter on the nights where you found Daisomnia’s dorm leader meandering through Ramshackle’s old bones; a comforting routine that had fallen into place merely by being in the right place, at the right time. Often you would coax the odd memory from the fae of his life before Night Raven College; but Malleus was far more interested to learn of your affairs. Of friends, of family, of the many wonderful experiences crammed into such a short existence as your mortal life.

You had become such an invaluable part of his life, it would be only natural to bask in your every word and commit it to memory, would it not? If only to ensure that not a single memory of his dear friend became lost to the flow of time that followed after you.

So when you had turned to him, expression alight with a grin that made your eyes sparkle and the corners of your mouth crinkle with well-meant mischief, your question gave Malleus pause.

To anyone else, your joke would have earned a playful nudge or a flat out refusal. But to Malleus, the man who you so earnestly called your friend even after everything that had transpired since your arrival?

That small request is bound to his heart, with every intention to see it through simply because you asked.

The days from that single night trickle into months, and then years. Faces change and friends part ways between that time, though the close bond is never lost.. A blink of an eye for your fae friend, but almost a lifetime for yourself. The moment is lost within the recesses of your fond memories, as you find a life of your own and find a love who makes your heart race and brightens the very world in their wake. Lost, but always lingering somewhere in the peripheral of your mind each time you’d looked down at your hand, now decorated with an engagement ring - a promise for the life to come.

Even as you stand now before your mirror, donned in fine fabrics of beautiful colors that makes your smile shine and your heart feel full you reminisce. It brings a chuckle to your lips, shaking your head at how easily you had joked back then about getting married, only to find yourself now doing what seemed like a distant ‘what if’ scenario just years ago. Your eyes close for a moment, your wedding attire bunched in your hands as the memory flickers briefly through your mind.

And then your eyes open, and suddenly that very memory is standing in the reflection of your mirror.

But it’s not just a reflection. You feel a hand on your shoulder and you know that it’s real as you spin around to face your old friend, face breaking out into that same telltale grin Malleus had seen such a short time ago.

“Malleus!”

The years have changed Malleus so very little, but you see it in his face. His smile is softer at the edges as he regards you with a warmness once shielded behind the result of decades of isolation. It’s a welcome sight, and you’re only pulled away when you spot the envelope in his free hand, your own writing scrawled on the cover. You recognize it immediately, and your heart swells with relief.

He’d received your invitation. He’d actually made it.

There is no hesitation as you throw your arms around the fae’s shoulders, no doubt making a mess of the pristine finery he’s wearing but too elated to care. You can’t resist a joke about how Sebek would have your hide for almost bringing the ruler of Briar Valley crashing down into the bridal suite mirror. The comment is met with a hearty chuckle from Malleus who returns your embrace eagerly, though unlike you he is careful to avoid creasing your clothes; he wouldn’t want it to impede on one of the happiest days of your life, after all.

There are so many things to catch up on. So much time to fill in on every little detail that couldn’t be expressed through letters and calls. But that will have to wait, especially as a knock at the door just moments later brings you back to the present, the wedding planner peeking their head in to ask if you and your maid of honor are ready for the ceremony. Now that gets your attention, and Malleus fails to hide the amusement that glints in his eyes watching your eyes widen, eyebrows raised in surprise as your gaze darts from the planner to your friend.

He can see the gears turning in your head, piecing together that carefully hidden fragment that Malleus had kept close to his thoughts all of these years. And then he sees that smile again, now wobbly at the corners as your misty eyes blink back the emotions you feel welling up in your chest, and he feels pride in knowing just what his presence here on your wedding day now means to you.

Standing tall, Malleus moves to stand by your side and offers his arm. Today he is not the king of Briar valley. Today, he is your friend, confidant, and the best maid of honor you could have asked for on one of the happiest days of your life.

“Come now, I Believe I made a promise to you, child of man.” he speaks warmly as you hook your arm over his. “I hope you didn’t think I’d forget so soon.”

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland imagines #imagines #twst imagines #twisted wonderland x reader #platonic #twst x reader #twst x platonic reader #twst malleus #malleus draconia #malleus x reader

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arcanesea · 5 months

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cat cafe | lee minho x reader | 721 w.

Co-owning a cat cafe has been a successful attempt to make a side income for Minho. Plus point because he gets to see them more frequently than his actual cats.

Another plus point because you're his co-owner.

"We really need to talk about the interior design. I feel like it's too dull and need more color or something," you said on the phone. You admit the location of this cafe is a bit... secluded. But with the power of social media, you believe this place can thrive.

On the other line, Minho was looking through his laptop screen. Scrolling through countless pictures about "Cat cafe interior designs." He knows absolutely nothing about interior design, but if you say so, he'll find a way to make it work. You talk more about changing this and that, what's the most important thing to do according to you and the internet.

"I hope you're actually listening," you said quietly. You realize that he hasn't spoken any words since he picked up the phone 5 minutes ago.

"I am!" Minho assured. He had already texted his friends for recommendations.

"M'kay, well, let's talk about this more when you have free time," you proposed.

"How about tomorrow?" he asks. "I'll make appointments with an interior designer so we can talk about it."

You open your mouth to protest, Minho is a responsible co-owner. Sometimes too responsible that he immediately agrees to everything you say. Of course, you're not complaining, but it never failed to fluster you.

"Are you free around lunch?" Minho asks again. You confirmed your free schedule for tomorrow before writing down some of your ideas.

"How did you even find an interior designer that quick?" you asked Minho when he walked into the cafe the next morning. He decided that it would be best if both of you talked first and sort out some things.

"Let's say I have... friends... who have connections..." he drawled. Your eyes widen at the confession. "It'll be great, trust me," Minho adds.

Around lunch, a middle-aged woman walked inside the cafe, looking around the place. You quickly notice this and nudge Minho's elbow. He stood up instantly, approaching the woman before guiding her to where you were sitting.

After exchanging names, she took out a catalog. Colors drained from Minho's face, a grave mistake that prompted you to look at him in confusion.

"Sorry," you said softly, "uh... I think there's a misunderstanding here." You smiled thinly. The words on the cover of the catalog look both funny and scary at the same time.

"Newlyweds Home: Interior Strategies"

Minho gulps down, mentally cursing himself.

"Oh?" the designer questioned. Looking as confused as you are. "Well, yesterday Minho said he and his partner need a consultation for a co-owned space, wouldn't that be your new home?" she continues.

"It's the cafe," Minho answered. Although his hands are itchy to snatch the catalog and look at the details of each page. He's looking at your expression, wondering if you're interested. Like he is.

"Oh!" she exclaims. Laughing awkwardly. "Well, you see, I'm actually specialized in residential interior design, not commercial ones, though I can do it as well, but I'd rather refer you to someone I know if that's okay..."

Minho inhales sharply, a smile formed on his lips. "That would be amazing, thanks!"

And just like that, the woman quickly put back the catalog in her bag, took out a name card, and slid it over to Minho. All three of you talk for a moment before Minho escorts her out.

For a split second, you were actually thinking about what it's like to actually have your own home. Build your own family. With Minho.

"Well that was awkward," Minho said when he came back in. You punched his shoulder playfully. Unable to get over the silliness. "How would I know if residential and commercial interior design is different?" he tried to defend himself. Following you to the back room.

"Well, maybe next time we'll do the research together, dummy," you said, taking a glass of water. Your cheeks feel hot for no particular reason.

"Agree," Minho answered.

Maybe next time, both of you will still consider the residential interior design too. Maybe when both of you had the courage to actually let the heart lead for once.

a/n. minho is such a "whatever you say, beautiful" typa person i just know it in my heart. also mutual pining!! isn't it frustrating to read? ((bcs it is frustrating to write...)) my reader self was like "kiss already!" but no... for this one you get to decide what happens next ((or should i make a second installation? lmk heheh<3))

#stray kids au #stray kids imagines #stray kids fic #stray kids scenarios #stray kids drabbles #stray kids fluff #skz au #skz imagines #skz fic #skz scenarios #skz drabbles #skz fluff #lee know fic #lee know au #lee know imagines #lee know x reader #lee know fluff #cafe au

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violetrainbow412-blog · 7 months

Text

Day 22: apology fic

Based directly on S2E17

Masterlist flufftober 🎀

tw: Reid's addiction, withdrawal symptoms, it's more like hurt/comfort but I think that was the point of this prompt, haha

You hugged your pillow tighter as you looked out the jet window, feeling too sad to try to fall asleep, but tired enough to do anything else.

You felt hurt by the argument you had had with your friend, with whom you had previously sat in an armchair to sleep together, but who was now sleeping alone on one of the longest seats.

Spencer had been weird, and with good reason, since Tobias Hankel had deprived him of his freedom and you honestly didn't know how to help him anymore. You had tried approaching him to chat and constantly asking him if he was okay, always getting the same fake response from him. During cases you would offer to accompany him wherever Gideon sent him in an attempt to monitor his mood, but he always looked just as sad, quiet and tired.

However, things changed drastically when you heard the presentation of the case the day before and you saw Spencer arriving late, staggering and with a look that no longer seemed sad at all, but angry. There was something about the way he slurred his words that worried you and his dark stained eyes around him didn't help much.

It made you feel a little better that he offered to visit certain places when you were discussing responsibilities on the jet and you thought that if you accompanied him you could find time to talk to him, but you were taken by surprise by the cruel rejection he showed to your idea. Hotch noticed it too and forced your friend to accept your help, which he didn't seem too pleased with.

What you didn't expect was to see his ruthless and unconscious attitude when you visited the homeless shelter, hinting to the manager that literally anyone who entered could be a murderer and then just walking out of there.

“Okay, what the hell is happening?”

“What's happening with what?” XXX

“With you,” you murmured, frowning at your friend “You've been so strange lately and now you're upset and… what's going on?”

"What's going on?" he asked, sounding almost offended “I don't know Y/N, what do you think? Did you want me to be happy and smiling like a little child after everything that happened?”

“Spencer, I know, but…”

“No, you don't” he interrupted you, with a reprimanding tone that took you by surprise. Since you had started in the unit, he had never spoken to you that way, as if you were incapable of understanding things and that irritated him “You don't know anything and I ask you please not to get involved in things that don't concern you.”

“Things that don't concern me? You... I'm worried about you. We are friends, of course I am going to care about your well-being” XXX

“Do you care about me or do you care that I don't screw up the case?” he spat. No matter how much you tried to make him see reason, he was still locked around that black cloud that had been following him for weeks “Don't be a hypocrite.”

“I am not a hypocrite, it isn’t my fault that you believe that you only deserve good treatment when there is an interest involved”

Things had started to escalate, because if you weren't angry before, now you had started to feel that way.

“It's my damn problem whatever’s happening, not yours. You just mind your business and leave me alone, will you?”

He walked away and you stood there, contemplating for a moment what had just happened and feeling hurt. For the rest of the case you didn't speak and on the trip back you made sure to sit far enough away from him so you wouldn't have to face him. Only you and Hotch were awake that night and the man's voice asking if you were okay brought you out of your thoughts.

“I talked to Reid to find out what's going on and he told me to go to hell,” you responded, shrugging your shoulder and with a tone that denoted that you didn't want to talk more about the matter. Aaron just nodded and offered you a polite sorry, concentrating on the paperwork he had to fill out. XXX

You didn't talk about the incident with anyone else, but as the days passed the whole team noticed the barrier that had been installed between the two of you and that you were not willing to repair, after all you had been the one who had offended after trying to show him to your friend your concern. At the same time, while you felt the resentment brewing in your belly, Spencer was freeing himself from the suffocating effect of the drugs and with each moment of clarity that came to his mind he became more aware of the mistake he had made.

A week passed before the silence became unbearable. He wanted to get closer to you, but he didn't know how to do it and he didn't know if you would agree to talk to him after the way he had treated you. It was a Friday when he gathered his courage, so when he observed that you were about to go home he decided to cut you off by standing in front of you.

"Can I talk to you?"

“You're doing it,” you responded, looking at him from your seat seriously. Spencer noticed Morgan and JJ whispering in the distance, probably about the two of you, so he turned his eyes to you.

“Can we talk in private?” he rephrased, with a cautious tone that bordered on pleading. You didn't respond verbally, just nodded and he followed you towards the elevator. You went down in silence and once you were at the reception you continued walking to the parking lot, stopping next to your car.

Spencer didn't want to be the first to say something, almost like he was afraid of you.

"And then? What do you need?"

“I want to apologize to you,” he said quickly “For what happened the other day in Houston. I shouldn't have told you what I told you, I'm very sorry."

You were a little surprised because, although you assumed it was about it, you didn't expect him to tell you so directly, but rather you thought that he would try to justify his actions in some way. Still, you seemed a little reluctant to answer and Reid noticed that.

“It's okay, it doesn't matter.”

“It does,” he insisted and the parallel with your argument added a certain sensitivity to the moment “I was very rude to you and you didn't deserve it.”

“Reid, I think I should have respected that you don't want to talk about it.”

“Don't apologize, I'm the one apologizing here,” he murmured, not sounding annoyed, but desperate. He ran both hands through his hair and then thought that if he wanted his apology to be worth it, he would have to be honest with you “Listen, I haven't been having a good time since… that day” He swallowed, refusing to call the event a kidnapping “And when Tobias… when he…”

“Don't tell me,” you said softly, breaking the physical and emotional distance between you by taking a step forward “If you don't want to talk about it, I'm not going to make you.”

“I want to do it, but I don't know how. I’ve never known how to ask for help,” he sobbed. Suddenly his grumpiness in Texas seemed like nothing compared to seeing him this sore, which made your chest hurt “I feel like I'm falling into a bottomless pit and the only way to keep those I love safe is to keep them out of my own misery and thus free them of my burden.”

“You're not a burden,” you murmured, your voice shaking slightly at the thought of him feeling so worthless. “You were kidnapped, Spencer. You said it yourself, how can we expect you to be as if nothing had happened? I didn't want you to think I was pressuring you to be okay, I just… I wanted to know if there was anything he could do to help you. Because I want to do it, but only if you want me to do it”

“I'm sorry for telling you to leave me alone, I don't want that,” he cried and nothing more was needed for you to wrap him in a hug that he gladly accepted.

You could feel his silent tears on your shoulder and with every drop he let fall he felt more and more guilty, because he never intended for things to end like this. He was supposed to apologize to you and now you were comforting him.

He felt so selfish.

“Please don't be angry with me anymore.”

"No, no. I'm not angry," you reassured him, raising your hand to the back of his neck to caress his hair "Why don't I take you home instead? And I'm staying with you today, what do you say?

"Would you do it?"

“Of course,” you replied gently.

He accepted your offer and you drove the entire way without exchanging a word. Only once you were in the safety of his home he dared to tell you everything that needed to be said, still with a hint of guilt. But when you listened to him, forgave him, and hugged him he knew that he had chosen the right person to trust. And he also knew that he would treasure your friendship for all that remained of his life.

taglist: @navs-bhat@reidwritings@tricia-shifting14@spencerslove@vivian-555 @r-3dlips @rhiannonhippiegirl @taygrls @simp4f1 @sdddoobydoobydoo @taintedstranger @missabsey

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #dr spencer reid #matthew gray gubler #spencer reid x you #flufftober 2023 #prompt list #writing challenge #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid drabble

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maraschinomerry · 1 month

Text

Rock Paper Scissors

Pairings: George Karim x gn!reader, background Locklyle

Summary: George is your best friend, Lucy's convinced there's more to it but he's not your type... is he?

Content: friends to lovers, oblivious flirting, misunderstanding, light swearing and suggestive thoughts, kisses

A/N: it's officially 1 year since I posted my first Lockwood & Co fic!! Thank you all for making it such an incredible year and continuing to support my writing, it means the world to me ❤️ and thank you to the Multiverse of George for fuelling the buff!George fire 🔥 I've even made a montage so everyone can see the vision, plus the gif above of George swinging the chains he's definitely strong 💪

Word count: 4.2k

Taglist: @neewtmas @marinalor @ettadear @honey-with-tea @mischiefmanaged71 (let me know if you want adding or removing!)

Ever since you'd started working for Lockwood & Co, you and George had had the most playful rivalry.

It had started on the very first day, when you came for your interview. Lucy had welcomed you into the living room while George went to fetch the biscuits. After breezing through the tests, Lockwood gestured to the plate still being clutched by the other boy.

“Biscuit?”

You frowned at the boy in the armchair, who looked like the last thing he wanted to do was to share. “Am I supposed to fight you for them or something?”

George had the audacity to snort. “In your dreams.” But then he did offer you the plate, albeit reluctantly.

Once you got used to one another, you found that you actually got on really well and gradually he became your best friend, but by then you'd set a precedent that neither of you wanted to drop.

“We're heading out soon,” Lucy informed you both as she slid cups of tea across the table. She and Lockwood had an appointment with a client, leaving you and George behind to keep working. “Can one of you oil the chains ready for tonight?”

You turned to George; he was already looking at you. A gleam came to his eye.

“Rock paper scissors?”

“You bet,” you grinned, already raising your hand. It took a few attempts, as you'd done it so many times by now that the two of you knew what each other was planning before it happened, but eventually you lost. Sticking your tongue out, you picked up your cup and headed towards the basement. Lucy followed you down.

“Can I ask you something?” she began cautiously.

“Course you can.” It wasn't like Lucy to not just ask straight out. This was odd.

“What's going on with you and George?” This was definitely odd. “It feels like you've gone past teasing, you're almost flirting with each other.”

Your gaze flew to your friend, who had lingered on the stairs. Was she being serious? “It's not like that, Luce,” you replied, wondering if it was warm in the basement or if it was just you. “I love him to bits, but the same way I love all of you. He's just not my type.”

Her eyebrow quirked up at that. “You have a type?”

“Don't say that like you don't,” you hit back. “You and Lockwood are made for each other! And George is great, really, but I prefer guys a bit more… buff?”

Lucy nodded. “Interesting.” It was spoken with the air of someone who knew exactly why it was interesting and someone who was absolutely not going to explain why. “Well… just don't rule anything out, but please be careful. I love you both too and I'd hate to see either of you get hurt.”

It was touching to hear her so candid about her feelings for you both. “I won't, I promise.”

—

You always forgot how ridiculously heavy the chains were. Just trying to hoist them up to make sure you'd oiled all the way round each joint was a workout. It was only adrenaline that carried you through working with them on cases. Thank goodness you were almost finished - your arms were beginning to ache and you were sure you were coated in sweat.

“Need a hand?” George's voice drifted from the stairs. You hadn't heard him come down, probably drowned out by the clanking links and your strained grunts, but there he was, sitting on one of the lower steps and watching you in amusement.

“You mean you want me to dishonour the sacred pact of rock paper scissors?” You mimed fainting in shock, taking the opportunity to slump back on the pile of chains and let the tension dissipate from your shoulders.

He chuckled, climbing down the final few steps and holding out his hand. “Will the sacred pact allow a lunch break? I made soup.” He'd got you there and he knew it. You loved his soup. Grinning, you accepted his hand and he pulled you away from the cold, hard metal.

There were two steaming bowls already set out on the table when you got back to the kitchen, and beside yours was a plate of sandwiches, cut exactly how you liked them.

“You're the best.”

“I know,” George smirked. He was eating with one hand, the other scribbling away on the Thinking Cloth. As he became more engrossed, he leant further forwards, his dark curls flopping over his brow. It was fascinating watching him get so engrossed in his work, the whole world melting away around him. Once you finished eating, you glanced across and took his empty bowl from in front of him. He looked up sharply, snapped from wherever his thoughts had taken him.

“Sorry, didn't mean to disturb you,” you mumbled.

“No, it's fine. We should probably get packed.”

You followed him down to the basement and pulled your kit bags from the shelf. Set side by side on the table, you both began to load up.

“You can carry the chains,” you told him over your shoulder as you picked up a half-empty box of flares and emptied it into your bag.

“Hey, you're the one who lost!”

“Only for cleaning them, I've done my bit.”

He huffed, but gave you a smile as he made his way over to the mound of chains. Your eyes widened as he scooped up a whole length in one easy movement and gave them a quick shake loose. You'd spent nearly quarter of an hour trying to manoeuvre that section earlier.

“How the hell did you do that?”

“They're not that heavy,” he shrugged, then added with a cheeky raised eyebrow, “or at least only when you’re trying to clean them.”

You threw the empty cardboard box at his head with a laugh.

—

A week later, the four of you were nestled in the living room. Outside, rain battered against the windows, which were almost being shaken out of their frames by the driving wind. You'd never have guessed it was June; it felt more like January. The fire was lit in the hearth, the occasional crackle of wood splitting the only other sound.

Eventually, Lockwood broke the silence. “I hate to say it, but someone's going to have to go out. We've got no tea left and barely enough food to last until tonight. We can draw straws to make it fair.”

He needn't have bothered. You and George already had your fists raised. One, two, three, paper. One, two, three, rock. Scissors. Paper. Scissors. Rock. Round and round you went, the symmetry only fuelling your competitive natures.

“This is ridiculous,” Lucy muttered. She was right, of course.

You raised your fist higher, leaning forward in an offered challenge. “Right. Arm wrestle. Loser goes.”

George leaned in, resting his elbow on the table. Lockwood and Lucy exchanged wide-eyed glances.

“Y/n…” Lucy began, but you weren't listening. Your elbow was already mirroring George's, hand in his. You weren't sure why you'd expected the easy, flexible grip of holding a rapier, but his fingers were clenched firmly around the back of your hand. Lockwood moved closer and counted you down.

Your hand hit the table almost immediately.

It felt like all the air had left the room. You stared in shock at the boy opposite, the triumphant toothy grin that crinkled his eyes, the unexpected tightness of his shirt sleeve around his arm. The similar tightness in your chest. Interesting.

Some sort of realisation hit you, and your attention shifted to Lucy. The look she was giving you was almost as satisfied as George's. Warmth flooded your cheeks. You drew in a shaky breath as you struggled to drag your eyes away from George's arm, which was still pinning yours to the table. After a moment, you felt his fingers loosen and with some reluctance pulled your hand away. The silence in the room was palpable. Lucy was still watching you in amusement. Lockwood was watching Lucy, trying to figure out why she had that “I know something you don't” look again over a simple arm wrestle. George was watching you too, his expression slowly shifting from victory to concern.

“Y/n? You okay?” he asked quietly. Your thoughts rushed back into your body, snapping your attention into the real world.

“All good,” you mumbled. “Just preparing to get drenched. If I'm not back in 20 minutes, assume I've been blown to the other end of the country.” At least that got a laugh out of Lockwood. Hurriedly, you stood and made your way to the front door. Why had you agreed to this? It was your own fault, of course, for continuing this whole competitive thing with George, but how were you to know he was that strong? A flash of bicep clouded your vision again, and you reached for the door handle before you did something regrettable.

“Hold on,” a voice came behind you. It was him. Keep it together, you told yourself.

“If you're about to volunteer to take my place, go ahead,” you forced yourself to stay casual.

George moved closer, and you swallowed a lump in your throat. “I was actually going to question why you looked like you were about to leave without a coat.” He reached to the rack over your shoulder, lifting yours from its hook.

“That might help.” You knew you were blushing again, but prayed he thought it was just from embarrassment at being so forgetful. Definitely not how close he was, how he was holding your coat in the same hand that had been holding yours moments ago.

—

By the time you made it back to the house, you were soaked to the bone and almost shivering. It seemed like the storm wasn't going to let up until at least the next day, so you'd decided to stock up on plenty of food which had seemed like a great idea until you tried to carry it all home. You'd had to stop several times on the way, ducking into doorways and bus shelters to escape the weather as you swapped hands, flexed your shoulders or relieved your fingers from where the handles of the bags had started to make dents. When you finally made it, you held the door open with one foot as you negotiated the bags in and dropped them unceremoniously on the hall floor. George emerged from the living room, alone this time; Lockwood and Lucy must have gone upstairs or down to the basement.

“You look awful.”

“Aww thanks, you're not so bad yourself,” you joked dryly. Oh god, Lucy was right, you were almost flirting. A shiver ran through you and this time you hoped it was from the cold.

For a second, you thought you saw George's eyelids flutter. “Well, I uh… I ran you a bath to warm you back up. I'll put this away.” He hauled up the bags of shopping with barely a huff, and you tried to reason that he hadn't just carried them through a storm.

The water was soothingly warm and scented with lavender salts, the smell wafting up in delicate bursts as it swirled around, relaxing all the tension in your aching muscles. As you lay peacefully, you reflected on what had happened earlier. You weren't sure you'd ever felt… You couldn't even identify what feelings you'd experienced during the arm wrestle. Shock? Embarrassment? No. It was something else, something that Lucy had noticed immediately and had been trying to get through to your oblivious self. But she was wrong, wasn't she? You said it yourself, you weren't into George, even if he did now fulfil your main criteria. Then again, so did plenty of other guys you'd met. Kipps was quite well built, definitely had muscles, but that didn't mean you'd considered dating him. He wasn't like George though - smart, funny, thoughtful George. You couldn't imagine Kipps running you a bath or making your favourite lunch, or doing any number of the things that with George felt so natural. And there were all the little things you did for him that you'd never do for anyone else. No, there were no two ways about it: you were a pair in whatever capacity that meant.

Still didn't mean you fancied him, you told yourself.

You volunteered to help George with the dishes after dinner that night. It was always nice to be able to spend time just the two of you in sync, but tonight especially you figured it was a good idea to be around him in perfectly normal circumstances. You'd chat or enjoy the companionable quiet, you'd both be at ease; nothing could possibly happen, which would give you time to prove your feelings were a fluke.

George picked up his blue rubber gloves and tossed you a tea towel. He was dressed casually, in sweatpants and an oversized T-shirt (so large that the sleeves almost met his gloves at the elbow). The radio was playing quietly in the background, giving you a welcome distraction. Whenever a song you recognised came on, you'd start humming along or singing under your breath, and George would smile at you, sometimes even joining in. Your heart leapt a bit when he did, but that was nothing, you were just happy to be sharing this moment with your friend. He stuck an arm deeper into the sink to grab something at the bottom and made a small noise. Water had splashed up onto the cuff of his sleeve. You giggled at the look of disgust he made at the wet fabric sticking to his skin. The sound died in your throat when he took off his gloves, draped them on the side of the sink and rolled his sleeves up out of the way. You were so used to him being hidden behind his giant tops, or at the very least being in longer sleeved shirts, that seeing his bicep completely exposed was a shock in more ways than one. It wasn't much wonder he'd beaten you so easily at arm wrestling with muscles like that. You wondered whether it was just his arms that were so toned, or was the rest of him the same? Was he hiding a set of abs under that T-shirt too? Were his thighs-

“You okay?” George nudged you, and you hastily looked away.

“I was just…” Come on, come on, find an excuse, your brain urged. “...thinking how this means we both got wet clothes today, if you want me to put that top in with my washing after this?” God that was lame. Not much wonder he wasn't interested in you. That wasn't the point, you reminded yourself.

“Oh,” he smiled. “That'd be great, thanks.” He leant over to put a chopping board on the draining rack, and his bicep brushed against yours. A shockwave of warmth resonated through your whole body. Oh.

“Tell you what,” you forced yourself not to stammer, “are you okay to finish up here and I'll go and grab the laundry basket?” He nodded, and you tried not to fall over your own feet as you retreated to the hallway and sucked in a breath to calm your racing heart. Oh.

—

You cursed yourself for ever starting this. No, this was Lucy's fault for pointing it out. No, still your fault.

Being around George was becoming unbearable. Not for anything he'd done, rather the things he wasn't doing. He was carrying on exactly as he always had, that inimitable blend of playful and caring, and it was driving you mad not knowing whether he meant any of it in the way you wanted him to. You couldn't say anything, of course. If you were wrong, it would mess up the whole dynamic of the group. That would hurt almost as much as any rejection. But the more things went on, the more you took notice of the little moments between you, the more your feelings grew until it felt like they would crawl out of your chest.

“What the hell were you thinking?” George snapped at Lockwood. He and Lucy had been out on a case which went badly, and now the four of you were sitting at the dining table in the early hours, George applying butterfly stitches to a cut on Lockwood's arm and you cleaning a couple of scratches on Lucy's face. The misty gloom of the night outside the window reflected the atmosphere within.

“I was thinking,” Lockwood snapped back, “that we only had to handle a couple of Type Ones, according to your notes.”

“I told you those weren't finished!”

“Well maybe next time, don't get distracted.” Was it your imagination, or had his gaze flickered to you?

“Maybe next time,” George replied darkly, “do your own research.”

“Fine.” Lockwood pushed his chair back and stalked from the room. Lucy shot you both an apologetic grimace and followed.

George began pacing round the kitchen, hands twitching angrily. You stayed at the table, knowing it was best to give him the space to say or do whatever he needed to let his feelings out. You were there if he needed you.

“Can you believe him?” It was rhetorical, you'd heard him say it enough to know, so you waited for him to continue. “We end up in this situation almost every week, because he's too reckless to wait! I know he'd rather be in the action, but he'd be able to do all that more if he'd let me give him the right information first.”

You gently waded in, trying to be reassuring. “We all know how useful your research is; he just gets overeager, especially when Lucy's involved.”

“I know you know how important it is,” his words sent butterflies through you, “but Lockwood just…” He gave a frustrated huff. “Maybe I should make him do all the legwork for a change.” You tried very hard not to think about whether George's legs were as muscular as his arms.

“I'll support whatever you decide, but for what it's worth I think you should just talk to him.”

He sighed heavily, placing his hands flat on the table and allowing his head to drop. “You're right. Thanks, y/n.” The sincerity in his voice caught you off guard, as did his deep brown eyes as he raised his head to look at you. You were already distracted by the tension which lingered in his shoulders, the rigidity of his arms as they supported his weight, the way he had leaned into the pose so much that now when he looked up his face was so close it almost filled your vision. You swallowed nervously.

“Any time. I- I have to go.” You stumbled up from your chair, ignoring George's confused stare and sounds of protest as you practically bolted from the room.

—

You lay on your bed in the attic, tears slowly soaking into the pillow you'd buried your face in. This was the end; it had to be. You couldn't carry on working for the agency like this. If George had shown any interest it would be okay - Lockwood and Lucy managed to balance being a couple who worked and lived together, there was no reason you two couldn't do the same, but it could never work being so one-sided. You'd just keep being weird, struggling to hold your nerve around the boy until it would start bleeding into cases and Lockwood would have no choice but to fire you for everyone's safety, if you hadn't already got one of you hurt by then. Not to mention the emotional hurt. It would happen either way, but at least if you walked away now you could control it.

“Y/n?” Lucy's voice came tentatively from the bottom of the steps. “George said you ran off, is everything okay?”

You flipped onto your back, drawing in shuddering breaths to recover from almost suffocating in the pillow. “You were right, Luce.” There was movement on the steps, but you kept your eyes on the ceiling. You couldn't bear to look at anyone right now. “I tried so hard to make sure neither of us got hurt, but George doesn't love me back and now I feel like even if I stay I'm going to lose him.”

The silence that followed dragged on longer than you could bear. Why wasn't she saying anything? You forced yourself to sit up.

George stood at the entrance to your room, eyes wide and lips parted.

You scrambled to your feet. “Shit! I mean, hi, um… how long have you been there?”

George continued to stare.

“I'm so sorry,” the words were rushing out of you now, “I just panicked but I don't want to make things weird so can we just pretend-”

“What do you mean, ‘doesn't love me back'?” he interrupted quietly.

You froze. There was no mistaking it: he'd heard you basically say you loved him and now there he was looking like the mere concept was so unbelievable, like the option hadn't even crossed his mind. Why would it? Time stretched on as you fought the urge to run again, as far as the ever-widening space between you would allow. Neither of you had moved, but you could feel the room expanding around you to make room for the bottomless pit you wanted to crawl into. “I…” you drew in a slow, deep breath, “I was fine just being friends but Lucy got in my head about you being exactly my type and now I think I'm actually flirting while you're still just pretending and I'm sorry…” Tears were pricking at the corners of your eyes and you hurriedly looked away, hoping he wouldn't see.

George stepped closer, and you shrunk even further into yourself. Your heart skipped a beat when he gently tilted your chin up to meet his surprisingly soft gaze. “I meant, why do you think I don't love you back?”

You faltered. Was he saying what you thought he was? “Well, I mean, I thought I'd made things super obvious and awkward but you didn't change so I thought you weren't interested.”

George's hand was still on your chin and his thumb rubbed soothingly across your cheek, wiping away the single tear that had spilled. “I thought you weren't interested! You normally go for those muscly gym guys so I figured I'd take whatever I could get with the arm wrestles and stuff, but then you started avoiding me so I thought you were done with it.”

A small laugh escaped you, and he looked at you in confusion. “Have you seen yourself?” Hesitantly, you raised a hand to his bicep, marvelling at finally being able to feel the muscle instead of just staring at it, and more amazed at the way the boy responded to your touch, drifting closer until you were barely inches apart.

“So then why did you run?” His voice was whisper soft against your face, eyes gazing down at you with an overwhelming blend of sincerity, bewilderment and something like longing. His cheeks were tinted as pink as you knew yours were.

“Got flustered.”

“Flustered? You? I don't believe you.” A smile tugged at the edge of his lips, the playfulness you were used to creeping back into his voice. It was such a relief to feel the tension dissipating from the room, to have your George back, that you buried your head in his shoulder with a giggle. He laughed too, wrapping an arm around your waist. “Oh, I see, you really want to do this? Okay, let's see ‘flustered y/n’ at their best.”

You yelped in surprise as his other arm hooked under your legs and swept you off your feet, your arms flying up round his neck for support. His arm was tense across your back but he looked the most relaxed he'd been since he walked in, and he shifted you closer to press a quick kiss to your lips before setting you down on the bed and sitting beside you.

“Lucy's going to be very smug about this, you know,” he nudged you.

“I know,” you whined, burying your face in your hands. “Rock paper scissors for who has to tell her.” George laughed again and placed his arm around your shoulder, pulling you closer as you leant into the embrace.

“Is this just a ploy to get more hugs?”

“Is it working?”

In response, he brought his other arm around your waist and kissed your forehead. You smiled, leaning up to kiss him properly, and he reciprocated eagerly.

—

Lucy had left George alone on the steps to your room once you started your confession, giving you both a bit of privacy, and decided when he didn't come back downstairs immediately that things had either gone very badly or very well. She believed, and hoped, that it was the latter. Her suspicions were confirmed when she came to tell you she'd made breakfast and found you fast asleep, wrapped in George's arms.

#george karim x reader #lockwood & co #lockwood and co fanfiction #george karim #gn!reader #multiverse of george #buff!george

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perpetuelledaydreaming · 2 years

Text

Ivy | Prologue

summary: rooster and you break-up, you run back to san diego and you run into a pretty blonde at the Hard Deck. What could happen?

listen to: ivy - taylor swift | summer time sadness -lana del rey (playlist here)

warnings: smut!!!

word count: 6.2k

series masterlist + read the next chapter early on my ko-fi!!

It had been a really bad breakup.

It wasn’t the type of breakup in the movies when the main character and their love interest just face a challenge and then they reconnect, say how much they love each other, and live happily ever after. No, this wasn’t that type of breakup.

This was the type of breakup where you move out the same night, the type of breakup where you tell your friends to pick up your stuff when he’s not there, and the type of breakup where you haven’t spoken in person since it happened.

It was the type of breakup that you’d never thought you’d experience with Bradley Bradshaw, Rooster, your Rooster.

“What games are you playing?” your eyes narrowed in annoyance as you poured some water while Rooster groaned automatically as he laid on the couch.

You’d been out to the bar near the base. Since you two had been stationed temporarily on Whidbey Island it had been a bit hard to adjust. Usually, you were always in San Diego or at least in any base in California but with your Ice gone, you didn’t particularly want to spend too much time in San Diego, the presence of your father lingered in those hallways in ways that still made your skin crawl.

“What are you talking about?” Rooster huffed as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

The fact that he still didn’t want to acknowledge it made your blood burn as you glared at him.

“Do you think I’m stupid? Or blind?” you said nonchalantly before sipping the water, hoping that it would make you feel soberer, more in control when you were about to have this conversation.

“Brat, not in the mood for another fight”

You bit your cheek, and the grip on the glass got a little bit tighter as you fought the urge to simply walk away. You were never too thrilled about having hard conversations with your significant others, which part of you believed, was the reason you’d let his attitude go on for so long.

“Do you think I am?” you asked while you passed a hand through your hair, glaring at Rooster from the kitchen. “You want a meek little girlfriend that doesn’t call you out on your bullshit and I’m not it, Bradley,” you grumbled.

He let out a snarky chuckle. “You don’t let me forget that right?” he asked as he raised from the couch.

“Fuck you, Bradshaw,”

Rooster and you had known each other since you were kids. Growing up with parents in the Navy meant also knowing other kids in the Navy but with Ice and Mav being so close along with the fact that basically, Carol became even more like family after Goose passed away, you practically were attached to the hip since Rooster was five and you were one.

When you were younger, you didn’t get along too well. Rooster often picked on you and as Ice called it, the Navy Brat that you were, you didn’t stand for it. Your younger sister and brother loved Rooster and he got along with them better, maybe because he was a lot older than them, they looked at him as being cooler and more fun than you. Although, there were small moments when you would get along, after school when Rooster would often come to your home for homework and he helped you, when you convinced him to play fighter pilots with you and when you would watch movies together.

The bickering and small fighting only died down when you were a teenager and even older, you were 18 while Rooster was twenty-three when you started to get along. Carole and your mother often joked that you should be dating, that it was meant to be since you knew each other so well.

Rooster mockingly refused, saying that you weren’t that pretty while you would bite back saying that he wished he could take you out. Both of you apparently were hurt by the other statements, you would later find out.

So, it just stayed like that. Graduating high school, all through college, then on the Naval Academy where you and Rooster went together since Mav had pulled his papers, and finally at Top Gun.

Nothing had changed until you were called back a few years later, the uranium mission being the catalyst of it all.

“Why are you being so hysterical?” Rooster yelled back, now in the other corner of the table.

“Oh, I’m sorry I should be laughing and playing nice when I see my boyfriend flirting with another girl when we’re out?”

Rooster looked away, avoiding your gaze as he now poured water too. “I wasn’t flirting, I was being nice,”

He was a bit drunk too, you wondered if you both had tried to drink your feelings down.

“You’re always being nice to every girl, except me,” you answered with a stern look.

You’d noticed it. You wondered if it was because you’d always known each other but you also knew there was a clear cut in his attitude when you’d told him over a month ago about your plans for the future. The fight lasted over a week, and it became insufferable and ended up with both of you in bed but it was truly never closed.

“That’s bullshit,” he snapped at you.

There it is, you’d thought.

Rooster wasn’t good with hard conversations and he’d rather avoid them. Part of him thought because he usually was never raised to be a confrontational type but he also knew it was because he’d been angry most of his life, at everything, and he was always afraid that he would snap like he usually did when he was younger, a stupid teenager.

But that had been a long time ago. He liked to think his anger was in check, that he didn’t have any bad specific outbursts. Sure, there were moments he knew he was near to losing it -like when Hangman had mentioned Goose- but he tried hard to never let his anger get the best of him enough to hurt people he cared about. For you, Rooster had always been kind, soft, and perfect.

Especially when he was fighting with you, he always tried to keep his rage from spilling over, but lately, it’d become harder.

“It’s not and you know it,” you pressed.

Rooster rolled his eyes and he took a deep breath; so much for not liking hard conversations, he thought.

“What do you want me to say?”

“I want you to tell me the truth,” you insisted but Rooster remained quiet, his silence saying so much more. You took a deep breath. “Do you want out of this relationship?”

Rooster frowned deeply. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about the fact that we haven’t had a real discussion since I told you that I didn’t want to get married yet or have children,”

It had been a month since it’d happened. You were celebrating your anniversary, it had been a one-year and a half since the uranium mission and since Rooster confessed his feelings for you. He’d felt called to do it since he’d almost died, he’d always loved you and you’d always loved him.

It had been a dream kiss and confession, followed by the most perfect night someone could’ve spent together. Sarah, your mother had been so happy while insisting that Carole would’ve loved it if she was still with you and Ice too.

In the last part, you didn’t know if it was true.

“Don’t bring up that,” Rooster bit back, features hard and serious. “We’re talking about how I flirted with a girl, right?”

You rolled your eyes while you glared at him.

“It’s all the same. You want a wife and kids and I’m not going to give you that, and you would rather do things that hurt me rather than break up with me!”

“Do you want to break up? You don’t love me anymore?” Rooster’s jaw clenched as he got closer to you, stomping the glass of water so hard on the counter that you flinched slightly, thinking it would break.

You sighed as you stepped closer to him.

“Of course, I love you,” you scolded him, attempting to take his hand before he swatted it away.

“Not enough apparently,”

You groaned.

You now wondered if you should’ve said it, but you knew it was the right thing to do. You’d never wanted the traditional life like your mother, you never felt ready for it. The only thing that you’d ever wanted in life was to be like your father. Maybe it was an older daughter thing and the fact that you were the only one of your siblings to choose the same life as your father, maybe it was the desperation of being recognized by something more, of doing more with the path that everyone wanted you to take.

“See?”

“Okay, fine!” Rooster screamed as he paced back and forth in the kitchen and then walked to the living room, his steps being a bit unstable because of the alcohol previously consumed. “I want a family and you know it, you’ve known it since we were friends that I wanted that, that I wanted to get married, I”

“And you’ve also known that I don’t want that since I can remember, you know that I’ve only talked about flying. I’m not ready for anything like that yet,” you screamed back, following him.

“Yet, see?” Rooster retorted while you grumbled under your breath.“I just don’t get why you don’t want to give that to me?” he insisted.

“Am I denying you something, Bradley?” you scoffed. “You can go back to the girl in the bar, you want someone, anyone, just not me,” you hissed.

“That’s not true,”

“But it is! You want the house, the stay-at-home wife, and the kids but not the person, not me!” you insisted, as tears began to spill from your eyes, he refused to look at you. “And I get it, I get why you want that after everything you lost, Goose and Carole, and I get it darling but I can’t be the one that’s going live with your trauma, you can’t step all over m-”

“Fuck you,” Rooster roared.

It was a split-second, involuntary reaction.

One second he was looking away from you, trying to keep his anger at bay but the grip on his anger went loose when you mentioned Goose and Carole, his trauma, the most painful experience, and his biggest loss.

The next, his fist was rammed into the wall next to your head.

Silence reigned between the two of you, breathing heavy and jilted as your lip trembled while you looked at him wide-eyed and then to the right of your head, staring in shock at his hand wedge into the wall, white powder, debris, and white paint drifting down innocuously to your clothes and floor. Rooster pried his hand out from the wall, staring at the red and raw knuckles of his shaking fist.

“Brat, I-”

You flinched.

It was over after that. You knew that Rooster would never hurt you, you were aware of his anger issues but never to the point of him expressing it so clearly against you. Both of you had cried, he begged you not to go but you also knew you simply couldn’t stay.

That’s why you were back in San Diego, it had been three months since it had happened and it had taken almost a month to be stationed back to your home town but thankfully the Kazansky name still worked for something, you decided right there to take some time off. You hadn’t used the time that was given to you to grieve your father the prior year and you barely remember taking any type of vacation since you graduated but you surely needed it now.

You hadn't told your friends that you were back and you’d managed to stay hidden at the guest house at your parent's place for the remaining two months, only Sarah and Maverick knowing that you’d returned and why, while you actively avoided any place where you might run into them until that night. You were due to start the following week and you decided that you needed a drink.

You found yourself at the Hard Deck, you left your bike in the front and asked for the bartender of the night to pour you some tequila. Thankfully, Penny was out with Maverick that night, you realized, and you didn’t need to talk about it.

At least, until you heard that thick southern accent.

“Brat?”

You refused to turn around immediately, mentally cursing the universe for being so cruel to you.

“Hangman,” you finally breathed out as you turned around with a small smile to find him.

There he was, it should’ve been illegal how pretty he could look sometimes. Tall, knee-buckling handsome, his sea-foam-colored eyes stared at you softly, and the million-dollar smug smile accompanied with the dimples that you’d made fun of while you first met was wide as he took you in.

“You’re a sight for sore eyes, sweetheart,” he teased as he opened his arms, you climbed down off the chair to hug him.

He was happy to see you, you could tell by the way he was holding you, he was always happy to see you. The scent of lemon and wood wrapping around you as you bury your head in his chest.

“A shame that I cannot say the same thing to you,” you replied teasingly as you pulled away, Hangman chuckled softly.

The thing was that you knew that under that smug face and cocky attitude, there was a loyal friend. He could be a hard head sometimes, which was how you’d come to know each other; you were always butting heads at the academy but as time passed you’d come to find that Hangman was not so bad. He became a good friend, he also saved your best friend and uncle from being killed by an enemy jet.

That definitely promoted him from a good friend to one of the closest people in your life, even though you didn’t enjoy admitting it.

“Sweet as always,” he muttered while shaking his head. “What are you doing here?” he asked as he leaned into the bar, sitting next to you.

“Drinking,” you replied dully.

Hangman's lips parted for a second before they closed again, he nodded slightly. “You know what I mean,” he replied while taking a sip of his beer.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” you muttered, not daring to look at him.

“Something happened with Rooster?” he asked.

Were you that transparent?

You stared at him, hoping that the melancholy on your features wasn’t visible to Hangman, but you knew that he could see right through. He stared at you softly, eyes gleaming with certain knowledge.

“Tell me about you, how was Hawaii?” you asked, quickly changing the topic as you gazed back at your drink.

Jake chose not to pry but he could already guess that something had happened between Rooster and you, he knew you well enough to know that you were not okay. He knew it was about Rooster too because he could recall every time you had a bad day at Top Gun, you would run to Bradley almost as if he was your safety blanket.

Now, you just seemed doleful and he was nowhere to be seen.

He got the clue though, he didn’t press you to tell him and choose to lighten the mood. You talked for hours and hours on end while you sipped on Moscow mules and tequila while he only nursed on a couple of beers and watched you softly, amusement toying on his lips as you talked about your mission in Virginia and then he went on to tell you about the missions he carried out with Phoenix, who had apparently grown tired of him and then how he spent the last three months with Fanboy in Hawaii.

It was around 2:00 am when you both realized that the bar was closing and you were one of the last ones in the whole place. It wasn’t until you stood up from the chair that you realized how much alcohol you’d consumed. Jake saw how you stumbled slightly and immediately placed his hand on the exposed skin of your waist. Goosebumps erupted on your skin and your breath hitched as you felt his featherlight touch on you, he didn’t seem to think it was a problem but you quickly tried your best to walk along, brushing his hand off from you knowing that feeling like that about Jake touching you wasn’t a good sign.

Not that it mattered now when he insisted that you should go to his place and ask for a cab from there, there was no way he was going to let you ride your bike in such a state and you knew that it would be irresponsible as well. Hangman’s place wasn’t far away from the Hard Deck, a lovely small house in front of the beach, one you’d been to many times before for dinners and parties with the Dagger team.

It was a familiar setting, but as your gaze followed Jake in the kitchen as he poured some glasses of water for both of you, you realized that something was shifting. When Jake gazed back at you with that smug smirk you rolled your eyes as you took the glass of water and sipped slightly while still watching him talk.

“God, I forgot how annoying you were,” you teased with a smile.

“The girl whose literal call sign is Brat, is talking about annoying?” he replied.

You elbowed him playfully as you both leaned into the table in his kitchen while you laughed softly. He smiled coyly at you, his eyes gleaming as your laughter died down, just enough to realize the way he was gaping at you. It was strange, to see that look in Hangman’s, he was always playful with you, he always had something to say but just now it seemed like he was at a loss for words.

There was a beat of silence and something compelled you to speak.

“We broke up,” you whispered as you played with the water that remained on your glass, not daring to look back at Hangman.

“What?”

“Me and Rooster, we broke up,” you explained, again not daring to look at him.

Hangman stared at you, he could feel the bitter taste of your words as you told him. It must’ve been hard to even bring it up, he knew that you were never a fan of talking about feelings just as much as he was.

“Oh, sweetheart. I’m so sorry,” he cooed softly as he brushed some hair away from your face and you turned back to him.

“I know but I feel like it’s for the best,” you concluded.

Hangman nodded as you looked at your water in silence, recalling the last time you’d spoken to Rooster, which ended up with angry hot tears falling from your eyes. You hated it, you hated all the crying, hated all the discussions with Rooster that never ended right, and you hated that you didn’t even know who you were now. A part of you lost between the friendship, the love, the fights, and everything else.

“Are you really okay?” he asked after a couple of seconds, your mind snapped back to reality as you turned to Hangman.

“What do you mean?”

“I know you, Brat,” he muttered affectionally. “You always act so strong, like nothing’s wrong but I know that you’re hurting, it’s okay if you’re not okay,”

You sighed, he wasn’t wrong.

“I’m better than before and the important thing is that I’ll be okay,” you answered him softly, although you didn’t think the last part was completely true.

“Well, you know that I get along with Rooster but I’m always going to be on your team,” Jake said, leaning back at first as if he was trying to see all of you at once while before he leaned closer to you nudging your body softly against his.

You snicker softly but then you realized how close he was, his hot warm skin from his arms flushed against yours as he cocked his head towards you smiling, as if he was seeing you for the first time. The air suddenly shifted slightly as you smiled at the other, you’d smiled at Jake so many times before in all the years that you’d known the other but this felt unknown, there was an intimacy in the way that you were talking, that you were staring at each other that was enough to make your heart feel like it was going to burst from your chest.

“Thank you, Jake,” you replied.

You stared up at him silently, your heart hammering on your chest as both of you turned to the other, it was so slow that for a second you thought that you were imagining it yourself but then you realized how his eyes flickered to your lips, the same way yours did a second before.

Jake pressed his forehead against yours as your breathing hitched, his jaw clenched slightly as he stared at you with those sea-foam eyes swirling with so many emotions that you weren’t sure how to feel about it at first. The tension crackling between both of you.

But you weren’t afraid anymore of what happened, you were suddenly overcome by the fear of what if?

So, you took a leap of faith.

You closed the gap between your lips, his hand went to cup your face softly as you placed your hand on his neck as you straightened yourself while Jake looped his arms around your waist pushing you against him. Stumbling through the kitchen you continued to kiss him, it was soft at first, it was new and it was tender and it stole your breath away. His palm brushed off some of your hair to get at your jaw as he pulled away suddenly.

You gasped softly at the sudden loss of contact but your eyes looked up at him, willing to continue, begging him to continue. Yet, he didn’t for a second, he looked at you as if you were a precious stone that he had to take care of. He placed his thumb against your lips and passed it softly over them as he looked at you, you knew that he was weighing his options, knowing that this might be something that was wrong because you were friends and you were Rooster’s ex but as he looked at you, Jake couldn’t let it go.

It was Rooster’s loss, it wouldn’t be Jake’s too.

He leaned down and pressed his lips against yours more urgently than before, stumbling against the wall as he nudge your neck and began to press kisses on your neck as his hand began to play with the buttons of the breezy silky black shirt that you’d worn, exposing your chest. He stopped for a second as he looked down, you weren’t wearing a bra that night and you felt your body sizzle by the lustful expression those sea-foam eyes gave you.

Jake began to kiss you again, you collapse into him as Jake’s tongue started to explore your mouth, deepening the kiss as he reached down your hips, cupping your bum and suddenly turning you against the wall. One of your hands was pressed against the wall, as Jake’s lips were kissing, licking, and biting on your neck your breath hitched, your body sizzling with anticipation as his hands reached down and began to pull down your pants before he pressed his hand over the one you had at the wall.

He suddenly pressed his length against your bum, you could feel him pressing insistently against you and you bit down a whimper while he kissed the length of your neck again and your shoulders as your shirt began to fall from them.

It was feverishly, the way that you were touching, passionate to the point that it was frightening. You wondered where it all came from, the burning desire for Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin, the way that he was tenderly but fervently touching you. If you thought about it, it was always there but you’d never allowed yourself to see it.

You turned around, your trousers on your ankles, and the oversize black silk shirt slipped to the point that your breast were somehow out whilst Jake couldn’t help but pry a bit as you stared at him. His blonde hair was out of place which was strange for him, his lips taken apart as he looked at you, a dusky pink color in the slated light of the kitchen, a pale blush tinting his cheeks.

You couldn’t have wished for more.

You pulled him back harshly to kiss his lips, Jake breathed a sigh of relief, as if he was waiting for you to stop him, and this at any moment but just the fact that you hadn’t had made his breathing normal again. His right hand came to cup your cheek as your tongue caressed his while you focused on the feeling of his thumb running softly across your cheekbone.

Jake quickly looped his other arm around your torso and quickly placed you on the counter of the kitchen, you squeaked out as your bare ass pressed against the cold marble, and Jake couldn’t help but smile at you as he began to kiss his way down your body. A flash of heat ran down your body as Jake began to pull your legs apart, his sea-foam eyes always on you as you gasped with anticipation.

There was nothing, Jake decided at that moment, more breathtaking than your face when flushed with desire.

He yanked your pants off from your ankles as he pushed the lace to the side in one swift movement, diving in, he pressed a kiss to your clit, your hands flew to his hair, clutching handfuls of his blonde curls as you felt Jake’s tongue starting to move as he brushed a finger against your clit. You closed your eyes, a moan falling from your lips as your body couldn’t take the way how his mouth expertly move against your core. Then he slid his fingers inside of you, curling them against your g-spot while he pressed his lips against your clit, an unexpectedly loud moan fell from your lips and you felt like you couldn’t hold yourself anymore. Your back fell to the marble as you began to moan louder, grinding your hips up against Jake’s mouth, you could hear the glasses breaking against the floor, while one of your hands fell to your side as you gripped the table, a bowl of fruit falling too as you whimpered.

You could feel your orgasm building, your pussy clenching Jake’s fingers and tongue as he worked on you. It was too much, your back arching as you mewled in desperation at the way he was putting all the attention on you, all of his efforts on your pleasure. He was too good, Jake’s eyes flickered up at you and he couldn’t help but smirk at the way he had you already. You moaned one final time so loud that Jake thought that his neighbors might’ve heard you, your walls clenched around his tongue as you were shaking and withering, as you squeezed your eyes shut while the waves of pleasure washed over you.

“I want you,” Jake whispered as he climbed up and pushed you up against him.

His chest flushed with yours as he studied your features softly; Jake had been with many girls in his life but he was sure he’d never felt such pleasure in gazing at a woman he was with, sex for him had always been about touching and taste and fire, and yet with you, it was tender but passionate.

You were so utterly beautiful to him.

“Open your eyes,” he murmured against your lip, your thighs still trembling from the orgasm he gave you. “Come on, doll,” he said again softly.

Your eyes fluttered open, cheeks blushed as you place a lazy kiss against his lips. Your pulse seemed to be so slow in comparison to a few minutes before, it felt as if you were drunk, intoxicated by him.

“I want you too,” you breathed out as you pressed his lips against yours, you tasted yourself on his tongue feeling how he was smiling, really smiling as he took your bum off the counter and took you to his room while you wrapped your legs around his waist.

Jake sat on the edge of his bed, while you laid on top of him, kissing him hard. You tugged his shirt upward and then worked on his jeans, Jake yanked his clothes off him without much trouble as you held into his shoulders for leverage while you continued to press kisses in whatever skin you could find.

And then, Jake pulled down his boxers. You looked down at it and your heart began to thump harder as you realized what you were about to do. Jake pulled away for a second, looking up at you and smiling, Jake was so hard already and you could feel him pressing against your stomach, hard, thick. You touched him softly as you breathed heavily while watching him, Jake let out a soft growl as you work on him and you smirk smugly while licking your lips. Jake’s hands flew to your hips before you pause for a moment.

“It’s okay,” you muttered as you understand the unspoken question.

It’s okay that we’re friends and we’re doing this. It’s okay that even if you are a close friend of my ex-boyfriend we’re doing this. It’s okay that we don’t have a condom, we’re doing this. It’s okay if you are you and I’m me, we’re still doing this.

Jake then pulled you down and kissed you, hot and unrelenting, kissing you with intent. You adjusted yourself a bit and soon Jake was pushing your hips so you were sinking down on him, burying himself as deeply as he could possibly go inside of you. Both of you let out strangled moans, the feeling of being filled and the absolute warmth overtaking both of you almost completely. He feels so good, so good that you didn’t know if you were just going to come there and then by the way he was pulsing inside of you.

You moaned gently into his shoulder, nails sinking into his skin as Jake struggled for a second before he got a grip and started to move your hips provocatively slow as he swallowed hard and looked at you, he loved the fucked out look on your face. You were unable to help your sharp intake of breath as Jake thrusted up sharply, when you opened your eyes you saw the smug smirk on his face. You frown before you pressed your lips against him, claiming his mount in a vulgar, tongue-filled kiss. It was sloppy and hot as you sucked his lower lip between your teeth, eliciting a soft groan from Jake before you release it.

Now, you gave him a smug smirk before you started to move your hips up and down as your hands braced your body against his broad shoulders. Jake kept pounding into you. Jake pressed his lips against your throat, rutting his hips upward to meet yours, he sucked different purple marks into your skin as your eyes squeeze shut by how good you were feeling, by how good his cock felt as he drove up against your g-spot with each movement. Jake marked you up, a purple mark on your neck, then one on your chest, then one under your boob as he continued to snap his hips against yours.

“F-fuck,” his voice hoarse, sounding a little choked after a particular roll of your hips. “You’re so good, you’re so lovely, sweetheart,”

You whimpered at the nickname as you felt how your body began to burn as he slammed harshly into you, his heavy breaths against your upper chest. The rhythm steadily increased the tempo, bodies rocking together, both finding their release. You ride him with everything you got, mewling in pleasure as your nails rake his shoulders and then his chest, sweat running between the two of you, dripping from your slick bodies as you rocked against each other. Jake gritted his teeth, hissing in pleasure as you slightly shifted your hips and everything becomes tighter. It’s intoxicating, the way that your breathless pants and gasps feel against his ears, his ragged breathing as you kiss him one more time, it’s slower than the other kisses but with a frenzy filling up your chest. The rhythm grows quickly out of control before your throw your head back as you feel the fire pooling on your lower belly, Jake knows you’re there, you just need a little push, he slid one hand between the two of you and pinches your clit with his finger.

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head and you clenched around him. It was too much and not enough, you gasp for breath as you quickly surrender to the shockwaves of pleasure cursing through your veins as he thrust deep inside of you. Soon, your mind was spiraling, growing hazy from the intoxicating feeling of Jake’s cock hitting the right spot, your legs begin to tremble but Jake didn’t stop, relentlessly pounding into you with a barely animalistic growl as ecstasy burst through you as Jake’s thrust became sloppy and soon, he reached his own release.

You barely heard Jake yelling out your name as he spilled into you, filling you up completely.

Jake just holds you there as you both try to catch your breaths, bodies still overheated and chest heaving. Jake’s head falls back softly as he chuckles lightly. You don’t want to move for a second, still too dizzy and weak to do it, you kiss his shoulder softly, his collarbone, and then placed a chaste kiss over his lips. Jake smiled at you and you smiled at him, your fingers playing gently with the soft hairs of the nape of his neck as Jake’s fingers trace small circles on your back.

By the morning, your muscles are so sore that you could’ve sworn you’d done aquatic training the day before but not, but you didn’t. Still, in the haze of your sleep, your mind didn't seem alarmed as you feel the warmth of a body tangled with yours, your mind didn't register the gravity of the fact that that body belong to anyone other than Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin.

The only thing you could think about was a loud and lousy ringtone that was making your head hurt, maybe it was the alcohol that was making your head hurt but you didn’t want to take the blame.

“Oh my god,”

You mutter before you press your face back into the comfort of the pillow you’d slept on that night, pulling a bit away from Jake, maybe the loss of heat would wake him up but after a minute you realize that it didn’t. You push his bicep unceremoniously, waking him up suddenly.

“What?” he asked alarmed as he began to move but still too sleepy to realize where the sound was coming from.

You groaned. “Fuck Hangman, are you deaf? Why is that thing so loud?” you grumbled although it was hard to hear you with how your face was pressed up against the pillow.

Jake’s mind finally snapped and looked down at his pants on the floor, where his phone probably was. He leaned down a bit too slow as you whimpered loudly, tacitly asking him to stop the sound.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” Jake mumbles before he answered the phone and walked out of the room.

The silence is finally comforting as you take a deep breath and try to get yourself back to sleep. Unfortunately, another ringtone starts to fill the room and you cursed mentally as you recognize that it’s your phone. Jake, before everything had happened, had placed it in his room so you could charge it before you left.

You groaned as you pull yourself out of the comfortable position you were in before you reached for it on the bedside table, you don’t even mind looking at the number, you don’t find yourself caring or thinking too much about who it is.

You just wanted to go back to sleep.

“Hello?” you asked.

“Lt. Kazansky,” you recognized Warlock’s voice immediately and your eyes snapped open as you raise from the bed. You don’t answer, holding your breath as you wait for Warlock to speak, he seemed to take the hint and continued. “I’m to inform you that you’ve been called for a mission. The dagger team has to return.”

Suddenly, Jake opened the door as he gazes back at you, the same concerned expression painted on his features.

Shit.

***

taglist: @laracrofted @double-j @inky-sun @alanadetigy

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author's note: so this took a while, I'm so sorry. I just really had this idea about the prologue and it took me a while to think about the smut lol anyway, I really hope this is up to your expectations. as always thank you for reading.

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feedback is always welcomed!!!

donate: help me pls with a glass of wine?

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daniyummy · 1 month

Text

I'm sorry for this being late! I was sick all week and just had zero motivation, but here's the fanfic from my voting, and they have spoken, they want a Colby fanfic! Genuinely excited for this!

I want an angsty story, so, here I am!

Part 1 | Part 2

Use of Y/N and cussing

Happy reading!

—————

Sure, Colby had hooked up with plenty of girls, but never a long term relationship. And, yeah, he's had a few girls that stayed for maybe two months but he got bored of just sex and them begging to go public after barely two months. How was he supposed to react when he got a woman?

"Girls and women are the same thing, brother. Just another girl after your fame." His friends would tell him, and as much as he knew that his precious woman would never treat him like the girls in the past did, he was still scared. How could he not be? He's never had a real woman. He didn't know how to act. It was just different. Naturally, he started acting like a douche. staying out late with no clear answer on when he'll be back, and most nights be won't even come back until the next morning.

You, obviously, were getting tired of this behaviour.

"Colby, what the fuck? Where were you all last night?" You look at him in frustration, so close to screaming at him. "Calm the fuck down, jesus christ. I was with Sam and a few friends." He replied, not sounding the least bit interested in having this talk again. "Do not tell me to calm down. You could've at least texted! I was worried!" You're voice on the brink of raising. You were fucking pissed. Nearly five months of this shit.

"Does it really matter that much? I'm safe." Colby replys, he groans, his head pounding from the hangover. "That doesn't mean I don't deserve a fucking text. You're treating me like I'm just an annoyance to you at this point." You huff and cross your arms. He snorts. "Not wrong there." He mumbles and your eyes widen, you laugh. "You know what? Fuck you, Colby Brock. I'm done with this shit. We've been dating for nearly five months, and you still treat me like a hookup! We're done. Get out of fucking house, now." You demand. Colby sits up and looks at you. "Over a text, Y/N? Grow up." He chuckles, yet in a condescending manner. What a prick. Did he think he was too good to be broken up with?

"No, Colby, not over a text. Over your lack of commitment. I get it, you've haven't had healthy relationships in the past but you can't just assume the worst." You look at him in anger. "Don't raise your voice at me, Y/N." Colby ordered, you laughed. "Shut the fuck up, Brock. Do not tell me what to do. And get out of my apartment." You yell, he rolls his eyes and stands up, grabbing his phone and walking out of your room to grab his backpack, not realizing the gravity of his actions. "Leave the key." You cross your arms. "What?" His eyes widen.

"You heard me, leave my key." Those words pull him back to reality as he reaches in his pocket for your spare apartment key you gave him. He sets it on your counter and leaves your apartment, his shoulders slump as he heard the door lock and he walks downstairs, taking his phone out and calling his friend, Sam. "What's up?" Sam asks, Colby sighs. "Can you pick me up?" Colby sighs. "Thought you were with Y/N until we leave tomorrow?" Sam questions confused. "Yeah, well, she broke up with me.." He mutters, shame and sadness in his voice. "Oh, shit..why?" Sam's concern evident in his tone. "I don't want to talk about it right now, too hungover. Just please come get me, man.." He rubs his eyes. "Yeah, of course, send your location."

After a long 15 minutes, Sam's car slows down in front of Colby and Colby gets in, Sam looks at him with a raised eyebrow. "I was a dick. I rarely told her when I'd get home, where I was and who I was with. I messed up, man.." Colby voice breaks and he covers his faces, trying not to cry. Sam looks at him in pure shock, he's never seen him nearly cry over a girl, hell Colby barely cries in front of same. "Shit, brother..you must've really liked her.." Colby looks at Sam. "I loved her.." He mumbles, love is not a word he throws around a lot.

They arrive home and Colby immediately goes to his room, he lays in his bed and holds back tears. How could be be such an idiot? He lost an amazing girl. He grabbed his phone and went to check social media, his eyes starting to water as he noticed that you blocked him in everything, besides Instagram. You didn't use it much, so you most likely forgot. He was quick to make a post, he posted a picture of you two, you cuddle into his chest as he smiled and took pictures, he typed a caption explaining how he was a douche and how much he was sorry, asking you to talk to him and ending it with a "I love you, Y/N. That's not a word I say to everyone, you're the first girl that treated me good and I took advantage of that, and I'm sorry. Truly."

He posted it and it got over a a million likes and hundreds of thousands of comments tagging your account and asking him if he's okay.

He just hopes you see it.

—————

The end! Yes, there will be a part two and I'm happy with how this turned out, let me know if you have any suggestions for part two and feel free to send requests as well, tell me something I could do better for future fanfics! Reblogs, comments and likes are appreciated!

Thanks for reading!

-★⋆Dani⋆★-

#colby brock #colby x reader #colby brock angst #sam and colby #sam golbach #daniyummy

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kiame-sama · 5 months

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Lonely- (Platonic yandere! Ozzie x Syren)

Warnings; lonely imp, rules of hell, unfair treatment, real talk, Ozzie actually cares quite a lot, Ozzie is more of a platonic yandere in this,

~~~~~~~~

"Come in, Ren. Take a seat, relax, okay?"

The pink imp did as she was told, already ready for whatever assignment her King may have for her. Such was the way of the bloodline imp. Should the sin they serve require anything, it will be retrieved in their name by their bloodline imp.

"Thank you, Ozzie."

The King of lust had noticed that his faithful bloodline imp seemed more down than usual and he wanted to know how to help. Though Syren was an imp and of far lower station than Ozzie, he cared about her more than he likely should. She had been his loyal confidant for so long that he felt there should be no secrets kept between them as she had helped him at his worst and hyped him up at his best.

"Ren, you know you can tell me anything, right?"

"... Yes, Sir."

"I'm being serious."

"... I know, Sir."

Ozzie let out a sigh, already knowing that getting information from the lovely imp was going to be a process. She was trained to serve Him and His needs, not have needs of her own. It was looked down upon for a bloodline imp to concern themselves with anything other than their master, even when it came to their own feelings.

"Ren, Fizzy and I have been worried about you. You're not acting like yourself and we want to help you."

"There is nothing wrong with me, your Highness."

"Okay, let me rephrase. I have noticed you are more withdrawn and sad. I don't want you to be sad, so I want to help you fix it. I want to know what is bothering you so I can help. I need you to tell me what is upsetting you."

There was a long moment of silence as the bloodline imp slightly curled her lip into a grimace, seeming like even she did not want to talk about whatever was bothering her. Perhaps it was a difficult topic and perhaps it was the way she was raised, but it was clear to Ozzie that Syren was not going to give the information he wanted easily. It was so unusual to every other time he had spoken to her, as she was always forthcoming with information and thoughts. Odds are, Syren was so uncomfortable because she was the topic at hand and rarely ever spoke of herself.

"I... Am lonely. Not in the sense that I want the company of a friend, but in the sense that I long for... Companionship. Courtship."

"Is that all? Ren, honey, you could have just told me. You have my permission to find someone for you to cuddle up to whenever you want."

"It isn't that easy, Highness."

"How so?"

"I- Blood-line imps are untouchables. No imp, human-born demon, succubus, Hell-hound, Goetia, or any other denizen of Hell would touch a blood-line imp. We are not imps the same way others may be. We are royal servants, and others wouldn't dare approach or try to seduce one without fear of the sin relating."

Syren sighed, her eyes seeming glassy as she firmly kept her emotions contained, trying to find the proper words to speak with her King. Ozzie, on the other hand, knew that Syren was right and saw the way his own demons avoided her like a plague.

"Until you choose another blood-line imp for me to breed my replacement, It is likely I will remain 'lonely'. We are born into service, my King, not chosen for it. We are bred to be what our sin wants and we are expected to have no wants of our own. The only creature to show interest in me is highness Fizzarolli's kidnapper, and I refuse to let such a rufian anywhere near either of you. To be alone until presented with a chosen breeding partner of your choice is my burden to bear, not yours, Highness. I'll be fine."

Ozzie felt honest pain at the resignation in his dear friend's voice, wanting to tell her she was wrong and someone was out there waiting for her. The truth was that she was right, and other demons avoided her because of her ties to Him.

"... I'm going to contact the other Sins, see if there is a good match for you out there. Even if there isn't, I will find someone to meet your approval. Lust shouldn't be about force, but something to be earned and enjoyed, and I want you to have someone in your life you can enjoy."

#kiame-sama #yandere #tw yandere #my oc #platonic yandere #helluva boss oc

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jimmy-dipthong · 2 months

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Really good anime translation: コタローは一人暮らし

I complained in a post a while ago about how I mostly think english translations of anime aren’t very good, and @japanwords asked me if there were any anime I know of that have good translations. I don’t actually watch that much anime so I didn’t have a good answer, but recently I found one that really fit the bill: 『コタローは一人暮らし』or “Kotaro lives alone”

For those who haven’t seen it, it’s a show about a 5 year old kid who lives alone without any parents or guardians, and makes friends with his neighbours in the apartment complex (a lazy manga artist, a woman who’s a hostess at a local nightclub, and a scary yakuza who finds Kotaro unbelievably cute). These friends end up helping Kotaro when he needs someone to act as a guardian, such as when he enrols at the local kindergarten.

The other thing you have to know about Kotaro is he speaks like a Japanese feudal lord.

This really is the crux of what makes the translation so good, because how the hell do you translate that?! The way they chose to do it is by using archaic english phrases. He kinda speaks like a Victorian era gentleman, and he sometimes even verges on sounding like a stereotypical medieval knight. This works perfectly, because Kotaro is actually imitating a character from his favourite cartoon: a samurai hero/feudal lord. Let’s look at some examples:

「放すである」 "Unhand me!"

A simple example to start with, I thought it might be interesting to compare how a 5 year old might actually say this, and how I would translate that:

「放してー！😭"」 "Let goooo! 😭"

Even though the japanese uses the same verb (放す), the english translation is completely different. The choice here to make it “unhand me” (much more evocative of a time period) instead of just “let go of me” (simply a longer way of saying it) is a perfect example of the care this anime puts into its translation.

狩野：「美月さん、アイス食べます？…… あれ？」 “Hey, Mizuki. Would you like an ice cream cone? …… Hello?” 美月：「アイスをもらうけど私、狩野くん誘ってないんだよなぁ」 “While I appreciate the ice cream, you know you weren’t actually invited, Karino.” コタロー：「お邪魔である」 “Interloper.”

邪魔 is a notoriously difficult word to translate, and the natural-sounding corresponding english phrase will vary quite wildly depending on the situation. In non-feudal lord speech, it usually gets translated to something like “you’re getting in my way” or “get out of here” or even “you’re a burden” (my least favourite).

Here, it’s creatively translated as “interloper”! A great way of sneaking in some archaic english while deftly handling a classically difficult-to-translate word.

コタロー：「わらわは写真が大の苦手なのだ」 “I am ill-disposed to having my picture taken!”

Here we have a slightly longer sentence which shows us a bit more of Kotaro’s unusual speech pattern. He uses the archaic first-person pronoun わらわ（妾）and often ends his sentences in なのだ. なのだ is not a particularly odd grammar structure to use, but it is unusual to use it unabbreviated (i.e. not shortening it to なんだ and/or adding よ to the end) especially when using it in speech rather than in writing. Not abbreviating it (as would be expected in a formal situation), but immediately contrasting that formality with the informal だ rather than です causes the speech to sound archaic without actually using any archaic vocabulary.

Now, if this show only translated the old-timey speech pattern well, I’d still call it a good translation. But the attention to detail and focus on natural sounding language extends to the other characters too!

Let’s take a look at an example of Karino’s speech. This is from ep 3; we already know a fair bit about who he is - a manga artist who doesn’t leave the house much (mostly works from home), usually wears comfortable clothes around, leaves things til the last minute and is generally a pretty lazy guy. I say this because the following translation doesn’t “work” (that is, the english and japanese wouldn’t mean the same thing) if it was spoken by a different kind of character.

phone rings 狩野：「担当さんかー」 “Oh great, it’s my editor” 狩野：「お疲れ様です、狩野です。… はい … 今日原稿を？はい、わかりました。じゃあ、後で」 “Hello, this is Karino. How may I help you? … Yes … Wait. Now, now? … Uh-huh, yes. Okay, thank you, I’ll be there soon.” コタロー：「どこか行くのか？」 “Do you need to go somewhere?” 狩野：「仕事。出版社に行く。今回もダメ出しされんのかな？」 “Yeah, I gotta go to work. There goes my day. … I’m sure he’ll just rip it apart like he always does.” 狩野：「あの人結構グサグサ刺さる事言うんだよなぁ」 “The way he criticises, it’s actually pretty hurtful.”

I really like this translation, it feels very clever and results in very natural sounding english. I said this wouldn’t work for a different character, but I think even for the same character, this translation wouldn’t work on ep 1 - the audience wouldn’t have the context for the translation to omit the specific words it does and get away with it.

For example, the line 「今日原稿を？」 directly refers to a manga draft, but the draft isn’t directly referred to in the english. But it ends up being ok, because we can infer that he’s handing in some sort of draft for review from a later line (”I’m sure he’ll just rip it apart…”). Also, 「出版社に行く」 directly states that he’s going to the publishing house, but the english simply refers to it as “work”. But we can infer this too - he’s going to see his editor, and since most of his work is drawing and writing, which he does at home, we know that when he says he’s “going to work”, he’s actually going to the publishing offices.

Prioritising the natural sound of the script over the specific details is a bold choice that really pays off, imo. This is some of the most natural english I’ve ever seen in an anime translation. I recommend checking it out if you’re interested!

#langblr #japanese #japanese language #language #translation #learning japanese #essay #jimmy blogthong

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betweenbreaths · 1 year

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something to get used to (zoro x reader)

Summary: Both you and Zoro are afraid to lose each other and take too long to finally admit it.

Rating: G

AO3 link is in the replies to this post! I am a complete sucker for character A getting angry and avoiding character B at all costs, so here is an entirely self-indulgent fic and I hope you enjoy :)

***

Zoro had screwed up. Royally.

It wasn’t exactly new for him, but this time, even he could tell it was a big one, seeing as it had been days since she had last spoken to him.

At some point, Nami, who usually kept her nose out of things like this, had snapped at him for being an “insensitive ass”. While he certainly hadn’t appreciated the brutal honesty or choice of words, he knew she was right. Even Robin had intervened, telling him in that usual nonchalant tone of hers that he should probably do something about it soon.

The thing was, he was trying, okay? It wasn’t like he was sitting on his ass and doing absolutely nothing. He had been trying to approach said crewmate for days now, but each time he tried, she would deliberately avoid eye contact, ignore his calls of her name and would be out of his sight within seconds of him spotting her. How big was this ship, anyway? It was starting to get ridiculous, the fact that it was this difficult to track down a single person, even if she didn’t want to be found.

Frankly, the whole thing was starting to grate on his nerves too. How was he supposed to apologise to someone who was clearly not interested in being in the same room as him? Just this morning, he had spotted her in the kitchen talking to Sanji, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t get annoyed at how she was chuckling at the love cook’s shitty jokes and bad pick-up lines. He’d tried to approach her, but before he could even get close it seemed she had sensed that he was there, and before he knew it, she was already on her feet and scuttling out of the room with her head down. Sanji could only stand there, stunned by the abrupt end to their conversation.

The cook had promptly shot a glare in Zoro’s direction, which the swordsman returned evenly.

All in all, Zoro was at his wit’s end here, and he was running out of ideas. And patience.

A sudden jerk on the boat had him nearly losing his balance, and shouts coming from the deck snapped Zoro out of his thoughts. From the crow’s nest he looked out the window, where a huge fleet of navy ships had gathered and which were quickly approaching the Sunny. Looking down, he noticed that the entire crew was gathering on the deck, including her.

Without a moment’s hesitation, he rushed out of the crow’s nest and leaped down, landing smoothly on the deck with the rest of the crew, right next to her. Again, she didn’t acknowledge his presence, her eyes fixated stubbornly on the enemy in front of them.

A small sigh escaped him as he readied himself for what was coming. He supposed the apology would have to wait for now.

***

You were being petty, and you knew it.

You should have already known the kind of person Zoro was by now: strong, fiercely loyal, and brave in the face of danger. He may be rough around the edges, his words often curt and harsh, but otherwise you knew that he was really a softie at heart and would do anything for his crew.

And it was precisely that part of him that worried you to no end. If it came down to it, you knew Zoro was prepared to sacrifice anything, including himself, as long as his friends were safe.

That was why you had ended up losing your temper at him, after the crew barely managed to get away from Kizaru and Akainu after a recent brush with them. He had suffered severe burns in his attempt to help the crew escape, and because you hadn’t managed to duck out of the way in time. You should have been the one to suffer those injuries, but instead Zoro’s right arm had nearly been burned all the way through. It would have been worse than that if Franky hadn’t managed to refuel the ship just in time for a coup de burst then, that allowed all of you to narrowly escape.

Thankfully, Chopper was able to save Zoro and fix his arm — the little reindeer had told everyone that if the injury had been any deeper, he wouldn’t have been able to use his arm like before.

You had stayed behind in the men’s quarters to wait for Zoro to wake up. You had thought carefully about what you wanted to say, to ask if he was doing okay, to thank him for saving you or you might have been dead.

But when he woke up and relief flooded you, your thoughts went haywire and the only thing you blurted out was:

“Why did you save me? You shouldn’t have done that.”

You hadn’t meant for it to come out that way, or to sound that angry or frustrated with him. Zoro had done you a huge favour, but you were reacting as if he had wronged you somehow.

It was no wonder the swordsman had responded the way he had: frowning, his tone frigid as he snapped at you to leave him alone and that he could do whatever the hell he wanted.

By then you weren’t thinking anymore, moving and speaking entirely based on the emotions you felt: a storm of worry, regret, frustration, anger coursing through your veins. You had never been one to be able to hide your emotions well, and it all showed in your voice and tightly clenched fists that shook by your sides.

The argument rapidly escalated, and it didn’t take long for the crew outside to hear the raised voices. By then the both of you were going at each other without restraint, and Usopp and Chopper had to hold you back while you yelled at Zoro for being stupid and senseless in battle, for thinking that he could protect the crew all by himself.

That seemed to trigger something in him, and you could see his eyes turn dark as he went livid. You knew you had gone too far then, and you were about to apologise, except that you were swiftly interrupted by his next words:

“That’s my business, not yours. Just stay out of my way.”

Silence. A deep, heavy silence filled the room.

You knew that it was just Zoro mouthing off in the heat of the moment, but it didn’t change the fact that the words had cut you deeper than any blade could. The inexplicable pain that bubbled up deep within your chest had you flinching, your words dying instantly on your tongue. You knew what was coming when you felt a familiar lump in your throat and moisture gathering in the back of your eyes.

At that moment, you didn’t really know what else you could do, other than run. So without another word, you had shrugged Usopp’s grip off your arms and fled the room, the sound of the closing door cutting off the cries of your crewmates for you to wait.

A few days had passed since then, but you still couldn’t bring yourself to look him in the eye, or even be anywhere near him. It felt like you might burst into tears if you did, and crying was the last thing you wanted to do in front of him.

Deep down, you knew that Zoro was right. What happened to him wasn’t your business at all, and if he wanted to protect his crew at the cost of his own body, it was his choice and you couldn’t change that. Nor was it your place to tell him what he could or couldn’t do.

The rest of the crew obviously had their share of concerns for him as well, but it seemed they had already come to accept that Zoro wouldn’t change. The stubborn swordsman had his own set of values that were pretty much set in stone and he wouldn’t budge on them.

So fine. You would stop caring. You would stay in your lane and not give a shit about what he did with his life. After all, that was what he wanted, right?

Except, you couldn’t, and you knew damn well the reason why.

Zoro may be dense, but you were no fool. You knew what those butterflies stirring in your abdomen meant whenever you saw that trademark, cocky smirk of his. You knew why you would find yourself breathless and lightheaded when you got a bit too close while training with him in the crow’s nest. And you knew perfectly well the reason you had been so deeply hurt by his words, by the implication that he wanted nothing to do with you, or you with him:

You had fallen hopelessly for this man.

…and you didn’t know what the hell you should do with these feelings.

For now, burying it was the only answer you could come up with. It was clear enough that romance was far from Zoro’s mind. From what you could observe, it looked like the only things he really had any interest in was training, getting stronger, protecting his friends, and his ambition to become the strongest swordsman there was. That, and drinking lots of booze.

Romance? It would only slow him down, no doubt. Serve as nothing more than a distraction from his dream. And even if romance was on the cards, Zoro clearly felt nothing for you; that much had been made clear by what he said to you a few days ago.

In any case, you had no time to dwell on these things. It was only distracting you from the huge fight at hand. A whole fleet of navy ships had finally caught up to the Sunny, and from what you could tell, Kizaru and Akainu were back, fully intent on achieving their goal of nabbing the crew after failing once already.

You were occupied with fending off a whole crowd of marines. While they were lower-ranked, their numbers were slowly but surely pushing you back, and before long they had already encircled you, trapping you in.

No one else was free enough to help, each of them engaged in their own battles at the moment. From the corner of your eye you could see Zoro, struggling to keep up with the pace of Kizaru’s attacks. His movements were duller than usual, no doubt because he still hadn’t fully recovered from the last battle. It was clear that Zoro was losing ground, however, and all you could think of was that you had to back him up as soon as possible.

Just as you fought off another few dozen marines, sending them flying into the sea with your sword, a bright gleam of light caught your attention.

You turned in that direction, and instantly the colour drained from your face when you saw Zoro on his knees, bleeding out and his swords nowhere in sight. Kizaru loomed over him, his raised foot glowing with a blinding yellow light.

Time seemed to move in slow motion then, and the cries of your crewmates of Zoro’s name faded into the background, muffled as if you were underwater. Mustering strength you didn’t know you possessed, you knocked back the rest of the marines in your way, clearing the path towards Zoro.

Your body acted on instinct, moving before you could even think or register what you were doing. All you knew was that you had to get to him, before it was too late. You couldn’t lose him. You just couldn’t.

Even the thought of it was too much to bear.

Zoro was the only person in your line of sight as you surged forward, bolting through the air with such speed that the wind fiercely resisted in your face. You dove for the floor then, shoving Zoro out of the way as far as you could. He was heavy, but you managed somehow.

The next thing you knew, you felt a sharp pain in your abdomen, which quickly spread to the rest of your body and you couldn’t hold back the scream that tore from your lips. You had been hit, your body breaking through the wood of the deck and the sheer weight of the force knocking the wind out of you.

It felt like an eternity before you finally took in a sharp gasp of air, and when you did, a white hot pain surged through your body and you had to bite down on your lip to keep from screaming again.

You couldn’t muster any strength to move, only able to let out a pained whimper when you felt a pair of strong arms grabbing you, dragging you out of the broken wood and holding you against a warm chest.

Your vision was blurry now, everything a haze, but you could still make out green hair, and that annoying face that had occupied your mind for days now. It looked like he was shouting something at you, but you couldn’t really hear him. Your consciousness was fading, and you tasted the metallic tang of blood before spitting a mouthful out onto your shirt.

There was a hand on your cheek now, and Zoro was shaking you to keep you awake. The jerk was only making the pain worse. Still, it worked for a few seconds.

Then the exhaustion came like a tidal wave, and you found yourself rapidly succumbing to it.

Just before your eyes slipped close, through the small slit of light left you kept your gaze on him, offering an upward twitch of your lips — hopefully that would make things right with him, after you had chickened out of a talk with him for so long. He deserved better than this, but this was all you could offer.

A final cry of your name rang in your ears, and then your world turned black.

***

It had been two days. Two days since they managed to get away from the navy, and she was still in a coma, showing no signs of waking up. Chopper had to do a blood transfusion for her seeing as she had lost a lot of blood, but for some reason she still hadn’t woken up.

Zoro was practically losing his mind from worry, and resentment at the fact that he had been stupid enough to give Kizaru the chance to attack him like that, and that she had nearly been killed while trying to save him.

For all that training, he was still too weak to protect the people he cared about. All he could do was stay by her side while she rested in the women’s quarters, hoping that she would wake up soon. The rest of the crew was worried too of course, but they seemed hopeful enough that she would recover in no time. One by one, they had taken turns to tell him the same thing, and while it quelled his anxiety just slightly, it didn’t take away the heavy, suffocating weight on his chest each time he looked at her sleeping face.

“Staying here and not eating isn’t going to make her wake up faster.” Nami’s voice came from the doorway, and Zoro frowned in her direction.

“Later. I’m not hungry.”

He heard her sigh, and then the sound of her approaching footsteps.

“She’ll be worried if she sees you like this too, you know.” She stopped by the other side of the bed, placing her palm on the sleeping woman’s forehead. “I’ll watch her for now. Go get some air, and take a bath. You stink,” she added as an afterthought.

Any other day he would have barked right back at her for that, but Zoro didn’t have the energy to argue with Nami right then. Knowing there was no way he could out-argue her, he got up and left the room, but not before casting a lingering stare at the sleeping woman over his shoulder.

He supposed he would have to wait a while before making things right with her. He just hoped it wouldn’t take too long.

***

When you woke up, you were greeted with the familiar sight of the ceiling of the women’s quarters. Your head throbbed with a dull pain, and you winced, trying to recall what had happened.

The last thing you remembered was passing out in Zoro’s arms after taking one of Kizaru’s hits. How long had it been since then? Were the rest of your friends okay?

Was Zoro safe?

Remembering the state that Zoro had been in just before you dove and pushed him out of the way, panic seized you and you rushed to sit up. You weren’t able to get up all the way though, pausing when you realised your hand was caught in something.

Your eyes dropped down, widening in surprise when you realised that your fingers were interlaced with someone else’s fingers. Your gaze trailed upwards, and found Zoro resting his head on the bed, sound asleep while seated in a chair that he had placed next to your side.

What… What was he doing here? And why the heck was he holding your hand?

You tried pulling your hand out of his grasp, but found that his grip was a little too tight. Had Chopper assigned him here to make sure you didn’t get out of bed?

You didn’t want to wake the man though; suddenly your bravado from before had vanished. Without the adrenaline, you were back to your pathetic, cowardly self who was too afraid to talk to him, in fear that he might discover your feelings for him. Not to mention, you didn’t want to cry; at least not in front of him. It would only make him feel bad for something that wasn’t his fault.

Carefully and gingerly, you tried to lift his fingers and extracted your fingers from his hold, one by one. With each finger that you lifted you noticed how calloused and rough his skin had become, no doubt from the countless battles and hours of gruelling training he would subject himself to every day. You were already smiling to yourself without realising it, chest swelling with the hope that he would one day be able to achieve his dream. If it was Zoro, you knew he could do it.

It took a few minutes, but you were eventually able to get most of your hand free without waking the swordsman. He looked exhausted, and was probably recovering from his own set of injuries as well.

It was just when you were about to get your last finger free that his hand suddenly grabbed yours again, and then you found yourself staring into a pair of piercing brown eyes.

Your breath caught, and you practically forgot how to breathe when Zoro sprang up, the sleepiness completely gone from his eyes. His eyes were on you, and his grip on your hand had become tighter.

“Zoro—” You could barely get a word out, before you felt his arms encircling you, and crashing your body to his chest.

He was warm. Big. And everything felt right.

His hold on you was tight, caging you in completely and leaving no room for you to wriggle away. Your hands were on his chest right next to either side of your face, and against your palm you felt his strong pulse, beating about as rapidly as yours was.

“I’m sorry,” was the first thing he said, and it was the first time you had ever heard his voice waver. Zoro, the man who was always confident, sure and brazen, had never sounded more raw, more vulnerable to you in that moment, and for a while you didn’t know how to react other than to stay still and listen to his shaky breaths.

“I didn’t understand until you took that blow for me,” he went on, and as he did you felt his arms tighten around you, pressing you closer to him. “I shouldn’t have said that to you. I’m sorry.”

“It’s… It’s not your fault,” you replied, as tears gathered in your eyes. Damn it, this was why you didn’t want to talk; you just knew this would happen. Thankfully, him holding you meant he couldn’t see your face, but it did mean that he would easily feel your tears through his shirt. It took every fibre of your being to hold them in.

“I overstepped, and I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have reacted that way when you just wanted to protect us, and I didn’t have the guts to talk to you about it until now, even though I know you were trying. Sorry.”

“Quit saying that. I’m trying to apologise to you here.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle at that. Zoro was just as grumpy as ever.

“Why’d you do that? I could have taken it.” He was referring to Kizaru’s kick.

You could only shrug in response. “I don’t know. My body was moving before I could think. I just… didn’t want you to get hurt.”

“The same goes for me, you know,” he said, and those words filled you with some kind of hope. Hope that maybe he had the same feelings for you. But that was instantly crushed when he followed up with, “We’re nakama. I don’t want you getting hurt for me either.”

It was like getting a bucket of cold water to the face. Of course, you had known it all along: Zoro only saw you as a friend. Nothing more, nothing less. At least now you knew, so your feelings could stay buried until they eventually disappeared with time.

“But, it’s not just that.”

You felt him pull away then, to hold you by your arms and look you in the eye. His expression was serious, and you felt your face begin to heat up under his intense stare. Instinctively, you looked away.

“Look at me.”

His words were commanding, and you obeyed, meeting his gaze once more. They were burning with an emotion that you couldn’t quite identify.

“That day, when I saw you nearly get cut down, I… was afraid.” His fingers dug into your arms, and he looked downwards briefly. “I was afraid of losing you.”

You swallowed, not quite sure where this was going. In your head, this was easy enough to rationalise. “Well, that’s because we’re nakama.”

Zoro shook his head, the skin on his forehead crinkling with a frown. “I’ve been with the crew for a while now, and each time we had a close shave like that, I was afraid of losing them too. But this time, it was different.” His eyes returned to yours, locking onto your gaze and your parted lips. “It was different, because it was you.”

You didn’t know what to make of that. Or rather, you knew, but you were afraid to draw that conclusion on your own, lest you get disappointed once more.

“What… are you saying?”

“What I’m saying is,” he responded, his lips turning up into a gentle smile, one so tender that it made your heart melt, “I have feelings for you.”

Your heart may as well have stopped then. You blinked at him, doing a double take as you tried to register his words. Feelings? You? But what about nakama—

“I don’t expect you to return them, so don’t overthink things,” Zoro continued, cutting off your frenzied train of thought. He must have been able to tell from the confusion written all over your face. “Nothing’s going to change.”

A beat of silence passed, with neither of you saying anything.

Eventually, Zoro found it awkward enough to clear his throat and to release your arms from his grip. “Anyway, I should get Chopper in here. He told me to let him know when you woke up.”

The sound of the chair legs scraping against wood was the only sound in the room as he got up to leave, but he was swiftly halted in his tracks as your hand grabbed his wrist to hold him back.

He watched wordlessly as you got off the bed, and you held back a grimace at the pain throbbing in your abdomen. You’d be an idiot if you allowed him to walk away after saying all that. His confession had been short and straight to the point, exactly the way Zoro was.

And, just like Zoro tended to do, it had also pissed you off a little, and that anger was stirring up in you a boldness that you couldn’t muster before.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?”

He seemed to be taken aback at the sudden ferocity in your tone, and didn’t seem to expect to be manhandled when you grabbed him by the collar without warning and yanked him towards you, until your noses were barely touching. His eyes were blown wide, and you could see his face begin to turn red from the proximity. Up close like this, you could feel his warm breaths on your face.

“You didn’t ask me what I think,” you told him in an almost-whisper, and you watched as he swallowed, uncertainty swimming in his eyes.

“What do you—”

You pressed your lips to his then, cutting off whatever stupid excuse he had to say in his defence. He always did this, assuming things on his own and jumping to his own conclusions.

Then again, you had gone ahead and done the exact same thing, so you were probably being a hypocrite.

Not that you really cared; all that you could focus on then was his lips against yours, gentle and tender and soft. You had released your grip on his collar by then, instead resting your one hand on his hard chest while the other wrapped around his neck to pull him closer.

Zoro didn’t show any resistance; in fact, he quite eagerly leaned into you, arms snaking around your waist to press your curves against his body and to deepen the kiss. Things slowly grew bolder, more daring as you felt his tongue sweep across the seam of your lips. You obliged, parting your lips for him and your knees nearly buckled when his tongue entered your mouth, sliding against your tongue and swallowing the soft moan that had unwittingly escaped you.

“Zoro…”

You felt his fingers in your hair then, and with a soft pull he tipped your head back, angling your face so that he could deepen the kiss with renewed vigour. You couldn’t help but be swept along with his pace, allowing him to kiss you over and over and over, each kiss an affirmation that his confession was real, that he had wanted you just as much as you had wanted him all this time.

The realisation had your chest swelling with joy, and there was no stopping the big smile that your lips spread into, which forced him to pull away from the kiss. Breathing heavily, Zoro rested his forehead against your head, allowing your noses to touch.

“So tell me again, nothing’s going to change?” you taunted, licking your lips and smirking at the man.

“Heh.” With a chuckle and a devilish grin that made you almost forget how to breathe, Zoro lowered his lips towards yours once more.

“I guess this is something I could get used to.”

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