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kookslastbutton · 3 months

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what love feels like ༓ myg (m)

✑ Summary: Being a mother to a beautiful baby girl and wife to an adoring husband is the most rewarding feeling in the world. But you also work a full-time job, are overtired most of the time, stressed, don't have any alone time, look very different than eight years ago, and sex? Well, that hasn’t happened in weeks. The gravity of the situation weighs on you until one day, all of your deepest insecurities rear their ugly head–that your husband might not love you as much anymore and someone could take him away from you.

Pairing: husband!yoongi x reader

AU/genre: angst, fluff, smut, marriage au

Rating: M, 18+

Word Count: 6.7k+

Warnings: swearing, both Yoongi and oc are in their 30s, mom and full-time worker!oc, reserved!dad!yoongi, lack of intimacy, mentions of body insecurities post-pregnancy, mentions of fear of abandonment, mentions of jealousy. irrational worries, built-up stress, light fighting, silent treatment, stubbornness, lots of reassurance, nightmares, cute backstory of how they met, a lot of ily, Yoongi and oc being good parents 🥹, Yoongi calls oc doll, and explicit sexual content

sexual warnings: swearing, kissing, neck kisses, pleading, banter, dirty talk, doll petname, asking for consent, b**b squeezing & sucking, hair threading, penetration, f*ngering, big d*ck!yoongi, growling, missi*nary, eye contact, tearing up, c*ming together

Now Playing: Breathing by Anne Marie

a/n: Okay this was for Yoon's bday. Based on the poll, husband!Yoon won. Was intended to be a Drabble but well...heh 😅 Anyway, I had a lot of fun writing this fic and Yoon is just such a good hubby for responding well to these very relatable insecurities. (Low-key love this couple...) I'm sorry for any typos or warnings i missed! I checked and double checked but a few might have slipped. Enjoy! Anyway please enjoy! 🥰

“So, you're Jia's father, huh? I don’t think I've seen you here before, and I’m sure I would have recognized you.”

With his back straight and arms folded, Yoongi gives the woman in front of him a quick once-over. Mid-40s, freshly single, and definitely in need of some companionship. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out; she’s been talking his ear off for the past twenty minutes like he’s some kind of remedy to all her problems.

Honestly, he just swung by to pick up his four-year-old from daycare after another grueling day at work. But the moment he walked in, it was as if all the single moms latched onto him like a flock of hungry geese. This one’s name is Sandra in particular.

It reminds him of his college basketball days, how the cheerleaders all too eagerly swarmed around him after sinking the winning shot at the championship game. Shame he was too busy eyeing the girl in the stands to care, her face buried behind a book twice as big as her head. Who reads an 800-page novel during the playoffs anyway?

Fate, as one may call it, intervened about a week later when his best friend became said girl’s lab partner. Yoongi didn’t make any sudden moves at first, but well, he did make her his wife three years later.

“It’s just so nice to finally meet the father of such a sweet child. Especially considering how many dads tend to take a backseat in their child's early years.” Is she still going on? Yoongi does his best to stay present, though it’s proving unsuccessful. “And Jia truly is an angel! It’s clear you’re doing a wonderful job raising her, even with a full-time job and all.”

Yoongi’s eyebrows knit together at the somewhat odd choice of words. “Thanks,” he drawls out, noticing her pupils dilating with every breath. “Most of the credit goes to my wife though. She’s a great mom to Jia.”

“Jia’s m-mom?” Sandra stutters, her mouth slightly agape. Yoongi senses the gears turning in her head as she struggles to process the unexpected presence of his wife. Tempting as it is, he holds down a smirk. Of course, he’s a happily married man–for nearly eight years now.

“Yeah,” he replies simply. “She’s usually the one to pick up our daughter from daycare, but she’s been working a lot of overtime lately. I thought I'd come instead so she can get some rest."

“Oh, well that’s very–“

“Daddy! Daddy, you’re here!” The sound of a familiar high-pitched voice, along with a light pattering of feet, diverts both adult’s attention.

“Hey kid.” Yoongi effortlessly lifts the small child once in front of him, securing her in his arms. “Have fun today?”

Jia gives an enthusiastic nod, bright red ribbons in her hair bouncing cutely as she does. Proudly, she shows him the drawing she made.

“See? It’s me, you, and mommy!” She makes sure to point to each part of the picture with her pointer finger.

Yoongi gently takes the artwork from his daughter’s hand and lets out a soft chuckle. “Now this is what I call a masterpiece! Mommy’s gonna love hanging this one on the fridge. How about I hold onto this and you go grab your backpack, okay?”

As soon as Jia’s feet touch the carpeted floor again, she races off to her cubby in the far corner of the room. Yoongi shoots Sandra a final glance before slowly following behind. “We got to get going, but nice meeting you.”

“You…too.” Sandra’s response is more than disappointed as she watches the father-daughter duo make their way out of the building. Evidently, Min Yoongi isn’t the single dad she originally assumed. Funny, she swore there wasn’t a wedding band in sight. Maybe she missed it.

“No, I’m sorry but I’m certain we haven’t used any of your services in the last six months. My husband canceled it in late October.”

With one hand, you grip your cell phone up to an ear while the other pops open the dishwasher. You’ve been on the phone with the cable company for half an hour, trying to make sense of an unexpected charge that appeared on your bank account this morning. You consider yourself more patient than most, yet after working all day, a pile of laundry waiting to be washed, and dinner threatening to burn on the stove, the last thing you have time for is arguing with your old service provider.

“I understand, ma’am, and I apologize for any confusion. I’m taking a look at my records and they’re all showing me that—oh wait a second.”

The young man on the opposite end of the line interrupts his own thought, piquing your concern in the process.

“What did you say your last name is?”

You answer and in an instant, you’re met with a thousand rushed apologies; something about getting the account names mixed up in their system. It’s difficult to decipher everything you hear with the front door being thrust open that very moment.

“Mommy, where are you? We’re home!” Your daughter not so subtly announces her presence from the foyer. She kicks off her shoes, hangs her backpack on the designated wall hook, and then rushes to the kitchen upon catching a brief glimpse of your shirt.

“It’s alright, these mistakes happen.” You hang up the call and turn around to find Jia only steps away, a big goofy grin on her face. Infectious, you break out into a smile yourself and swoop her up.

“Hey honey, I missed you so much!” You kiss the side of your daughter’s head as she wraps her small arms around your neck. “You look so pretty with all these ribbons in your hair! Daddy did a good job, didn’t he?”

Being that you were called into work earlier than usual this morning, Yoongi was the one who got Jia dressed and ready for daycare. You’re delightfully surprised by the results.

“Mmhm,” Jia nods, twirling a couple of strands of hair between her thumb and forefinger. “But Daddy pulls too much!”

“Maybe if someone had listened and stopped fussing when I told her, I wouldn’t have accidentally yanked on her hair when I was reaching for her favorite Hello Kitty scrunchie.” Yoongi joins you both in the kitchen, walking over to press a quick peck on your lips while tenderly caressing the small of your back. The gesture soothes you of your earlier frustrations. “Who was that on the phone? Cable company?”

“Yeah, they canceled the charge. Wrong account.” As you reiterate the entire mix-up, your eyes wander all over your husband. He’s especially handsome tonight, given his perfectly tousled black hair and navy blue blazer flowing over his body. It’s tastefully oversized with a clean, white top paired underneath. You, on the other hand, are sporting a raggedy old t-shirt and stained sweatpants.

There was a time when you used to put a shit ton more effort into your appearance. It was before you got pregnant with Jia, back when you and Yoongi were going out on weekly dates. Neither of you has that kind of time anymore, or energy for that matter. You didn’t believe the other moms when they told you the romance takes a nose dive after you have your first kid. Yet here you are, proven wrong again.

Being parents to a beautiful baby girl is likely the most rewarding feeling in the world for you and Yoongi. You don’t remember the last time the two of you got real quality alone time though. And sex? Well, that hasn’t happened in weeks. The gravity of the situation weighs more on you with each passing day to be honest. Sure, you’re not the same person you used to be eight years ago, but shouldn’t you and Yoongi still make time for at least a little intimacy?

“How was picking up Jia by the way?” You look at Yoongi who merely shrugs nonchalantly in response.

“It was fine. Nothing too out of the ordinary,” Yoong gives you another peck before heading up the stairs to your bedroom. “I’m gonna go get changed. Why don’t you show Mommy the drawing you did Jia?”

“A drawing?” You shift your attention to your daughter whose eyes sparkle like diamonds upon mention. “We should put it up on the fridge then. Let’s take a look hmm?”

“It’s in my backpack! My new friend and I were drawing together. Her name is Mi-Sun.” Jia continues telling you all about her friend Mi-Sun as you make your way to the front door where her backpack hangs. You’re fully engaged until the very end. “Daddy made a new friend too!” she joyously claps her hands together, not realizing the depth of her remark.

“Oh, who’s Daddy’s new friend honey?” You ask, staying as calm as possible.

“Ms. Cho! They were talking for a really long time today.”

Ms. Cho? You think back to all the moms you’ve met at daycare. Somehow you can’t recall ever hearing or meeting a Ms. Cho. She must be a single mom, you deduce. Was she new? What did she look like? And why didn’t Yoongi mention her when you asked?

This has to be nothing but a little small talk, an acquaintance at most. Besides, the moms at Jia’s daycare are quite a chatty bunch and Yoongi wouldn’t dare overstep any boundaries.

“Do you know what they were talking about?” You don’t enjoy asking your child for details about your husband, yet you can’t seem to help it this time.

“I dunno,” she shrugs her shoulders. "Daddy was laughing a lot."

Suddenly, the self-assurance you gave yourself earlier slips away; seemingly useless given the queasy feeling building in the pit of your stomach.

For the remainder of the night, you purposely dodge every attempt your husband makes to kiss, touch, and hold you. You’ve even begun responding to his questions in one-word answers and at times, with nothing at all.

Yes, you’re being petty; more than usual. The silent treatment frustrates Yoongi to no end and it isn’t very mature of you, but neither is refusing to tell your wife that some single mom was flirting with you in front of your kid! Okay, so maybe that's an exaggeration. Maybe it all sums up to a harmless conversation, but it’s not like you know either way with Yoongi being as reserved as he is. It brings you back to your early dating days when he wouldn’t think to tell you about various aspects of his day; who he ate breakfast with that morning or the one classmate of his that wouldn’t leave him alone for two semesters.

Truth be told, you're simply hoping that your husband will bring up the topic first, without having to be the classic nagging wife. You’re a jealous person by nature so it’s not a simple task. Even now as you fold the first batch of laundry on your shared bed, him on the other side doing the same, you struggle to keep from blurting everything out.

“So,” Yoongi fluffs up a clean pillowcase before sliding it onto one of the bed pillows. “How was work?”

What a basic question, you grumble internally. Is that all he’s got? “Was okay,” you reply. “The usual.”

“You must be tired from the day. Did you get to lie down at all?” Yoongi picks up another pillowcase, repeating the process as before. When he glances your way, it’s clear something’s on your mind. You’ve started pairing Jia’s socks far more aggressively than normal and you’re holding back your responses. “Did you hear me, doll? Or am I going deaf here?” The sarcastic chuckle distracts you from your task, forcing your attention.

You’re about to respond when your eyes briefly flicker down to his hands, his left one in particular. Where's his wedding ring? Yoongi always wears it no matter what. The same sick feeling from before returns tenfold. No wonder that Ms. Cho was all over him–she must have thought he was single.

“No, I didn’t get to lie down Yoongi. I worked all day, came home and made dinner, called the cable guy to get that stupid bill figured out, and now I’m doing the second load of laundry. I’m really just not in the mood to chat.” It comes out a blur as you snatch the empty laundry basket and head for your washer and dryer, your eyes welling up with tears.

“__, wait.” Yoongi tosses the last pillow near the headboard and stops you in your tracks, his hand firmly gripping one end of the laundry basket. The intensity of his stare softens as he speaks. “I'm sorry if it seems like I'm forcing you to talk. I know you've been losing a lot of sleep recently between work, Jia, and upkeeping the house. We just don't get a lot of time to see each other anymore and I miss you…I miss talking to you."

With every ounce of self-control remaining, you hold back any tears that risk spilling out. You don't know why you're acting like this, why you're crying over something that seems so small and insignificant to the rest of the world. Yoongi loves you. He's said it a million times and proven it to you over and over again, for eight years now. He wouldn’t cheat on you, yet you still get so worked up about the idea that someone could take him away from you. Someone half your age, more attractive, or hell even the opposite sex if it means fewer dark circles under their eyes.

"Why- why aren't you wearing your ring?" Your naturally confident voice dwindles to the whisper of a mouse. It's completely out of character, nevertheless, here you are.

"I..." Your husband's voice wavers. His gaze flickers to his left hand, where his ring should be, but isn't. "Shit...I took it off in the shower this morning," he confesses, frustrated by his forgetfulness. "I was in such a rush to get Jia to daycare, and me to work, that it completely slipped my mind. I'm sorry—I fully intended to put it back on." He pauses, then perks up. "It's still in the bathroom. I'll be right back, okay?"

You watch as he makes a beeline for the master bathroom, eager to rectify the situation as soon as possible. You should have kept silent what you say next, but you don't.

"No wonder the moms at Jia's daycare were so drawn to you."

"What?" Yoongi stops in his tracks. The dumbfounded expression on his face tells you that you've caught him off guard again.

"Jia told me about someone named Ms. Cho," you reluctantly continue. "The two of you were laughing and talking and–"

"Baby, don't worry about that." Seizing his chance, your husband walks back over to you and sneakily pulls the laundry basket from under your arm. He sets it on the ground after, then reaches to take your hand in his, but stubbornly you cross your arms.

"Her name's Sandra," he starts explaining. "She's a new mom at the daycare and she didn't know anyone, so she started talking to me. I got the sense she was a little overly friendly but it was all small talk, nothing more."

Still largely unsatisfied, you remain unmoved. "If it wasn't a big deal then why didn't you tell me earlier?"

"Because nothing serious happened. The majority of the conversation was her venting about her ex-husband and me wishing you were right there next to me. Please believe me. All I could think about was finally being able to come home to you after a long week with Jia in our arms."

"Really?" Well, now you're feeling guilty for avoiding him in nearly every way tonight. Guilty for believing such wild assumptions that he'd leave you for someone else over one measly conversation. Guilty for letting yourself get so worked up over a situation you, quite frankly, knew few details about.

"I mean it doll." This time, when he reaches out to grasp your wrist, he succeeds. He intertwines his fingers with yours and leads you to the edge of your bed, gently pulling you down to sit on his lap. "Do you really think I could look at anyone else the way I look at you? Or think about you the way I have for the last eight-plus years we've been married and known each other?"

You hesitate your answer, averting his eye contact. "I know but…"

"No, don't finish that. Look at me," he intercepts. "You and our daughter are the only women on my mind–24/7. I can't get either of you out of my head and I don't want to. I'm so sorry I forgot to put my wedding band back on this morning, and again tonight. I feel awful about it and I'll be more careful from now on. And another thing, when Sandra and I were talking I mentioned you multiple times. So, it's clear to her that I'm a happily married man."

The last bit of information manages to perk your ears. "You talked about me?" Your eyes widen as you finally shift your full attention to him. Yoongi eyes widen with you, amused by your sudden change of heart to look at him.

"I said my wife is an amazing mother, works too hard for her own good, and needed to rest today. Give or take a few words."

That's all? You huff to yourself. Would it been nice if your husband also thrown in that you were beautiful or stunning in that mix of compliments? Yes, yes it would have–again, you're pettiness clouds your better judgment. You're not as pissed off as before, but rather semi-irritated.

"Okay…well I guess it's fine then. I'm sorry for being short with you earlier. I shouldn't have made those rash conclusions about the ring and that woman from the daycare. It wasn't reasonable of me." You get up from his lap, yet Yoongi isn't entirely convinced that you're okay.

"There's still something you're not telling me. I can tell."

"No, there's nothing else." You waive him off, placing your hand on your bedroom doorknob "You told her you had a wife so it's fine. I need to switch the second load of laundry.”

"Come on, doll. Let's not leave things unsaid now."

Sighing at his plead, you find yourself giving into all your repressed thoughts and emotions. It swallows you up, like a tidal wave you can't stop. "Look at me Yoon. I'm sweaty, I have dark circles under my eyes, stretch marks, love handles, my hair's a mess, and all I wear are old sweats covered in stains. I'm nothing like I used to be! No wonder we aren't intimate anymore."

Yoongi rises from the bed at once, offended by the sudden digression. "Is that what this is all about? It’s not even about that single mom from daycare is it?" The truth of the matter sinks in as he speaks.

"I guess maybe so…though I'm still annoyed about that too." Great, you're back to square one again.

"Come with me, I need to show you something." Your husband gestures you to follow him, which you slowly concede to.

"What are you doing Yoon?" You both walk into the master bathroom, stopping in front of the large mirror above the sink.

"I'm showing you the woman I'm in love with and have been in love with for nearly eight years now. Sweats and all." Yoongi makes you face the mirror directly, hands around your shoulders. You have trouble stomaching the sight.

"Yoongi please, I can't. The laundry ringing off." You avoid looking into the mirror and make a move to leave the bathroom.

"Just stay with me a minute, please?" Your husband refuses to loosen his hold on you, turning your body so you're looking eye to eye. "No, you're not the same person as you were and neither am I. We're parents to a beautiful daughter now, who we love and adore. We're also overtired 90% of the time, juggling a million things at once. But there's one thing you can count on to always stay the same–my loyalty to you. I'll always be in love with you __, no matter what age you are or however way you look. There's nothing you can do to change that, so why fight it?"

Dammit. A single tear rolls down your cheek as you take in his heart-melting speech. It's not his words alone, it's the sincerity behind them. How he's repeated similar countless times before throughout your entire relationship.

"I love you, Yoon..." you choke out the words, composure fleeting.

"I love you so much, doll." He wipes the wetness of your tear with his thumb. "As far as us not being as intimate anymore, that's my fault. I don't ever want you to feel like I don't desire you every day. Why don't we send the kid to my parents this weekend and let me start making things right hmm?"

"I don't know if we can this weekend. Jia has a playdate on Saturday."

"So, I'll ask Mom to take her. She'll be happy to, trust me. We can finally watch that movie you've been dying to show me since what? December?"

"You're serious?" Your eyes light up at the mention of what is essentially a movie date. The show Yoongi's referring to is one you've been craving to see for months, yet neither of you has found the time to watch. "I've been talking about it for so long, Yoon."

"I know you have, it's why I suggested it. I've been wanting to watch it too with all the trailers you keep sending me. Plus, I'll be able to keep my beautiful wife in my arms for over two hours. That's a lot for us, especially with you being such a busy bee. I can never get you to light in one place! What's up with that, huh?"

Feeling your natural self re-emerging, you throw a playful swat to his arm and scowl at his teasing comment. "You're one to talk! You're basically a workaholic! Besides, you knew who you were marrying when you met me."

Yoongi chuckles and brings both hands to cup your cheeks, squishing them slightly. "A cutie who reads 800-page novels at a basketball game?"

"Stop babying me!" You pull his hands off your cheeks and rub them, trying to regain some composure. "I don't regret my choices, I like books. It's why I'm such a boss at work!"

"Okay, boss," he laughs. "What about what I suggested before then? I can call Mom tomorrow and ask her if she could watch Jia for the day. She'll take her to her playdate, then they can spend the rest of the day together."

It does sound nice, having the whole day with your husband.

"Okay," you agree. "Let's try."

"Good." Yoongi slides his hands down to your hips and pulls you flush against his chest. "How about we seal it with a kiss now?" You nod and he leans his head down, pressing an amazing, tender kiss to your lips. It makes you both giddy on queue.

"Read one more story, Daddy!" Jia leaps off her small, twin bed and bounds for her bookshelf. She lets out a series of giggles when a large pair of hands catch her, lifting her high into the air.

"I already read you three books kid," Yoongi says, planting a kiss on her cheek. "Bedtime." He then tucks her into her fluffy comforter, plugs in her teddy bear nightlight, and closes her bedroom door.

The next second, Jia comes running out of her room, latching onto his right leg. "I don't wanna go to bed. I wanna play!" Figures she'd be hyper at this hour.

Yoongi sighs and picks her up. "Daddy told you to go to sleep, it's not playtime. You'll have lots of time for that tomorrow when you get to see your friend." He then carries her into her room, yet she fusses in his arms; thumping her tiny fists into his chest.

"No, no, no, Daddy. I want to play!"

Sighing, Yoongi looks at his child with sharp eyes. "Jia–"

"Hey," you interrupt, entering your daughter's bedroom upon hearing the commotion down the hall. "What's going on?"

"Kid doesn't want to go to bed."

You give an empathetic look and saunter over to the pair, gently taking Jia into your arms. Yoongi places his hands on his hips as he watches you reason with your daughter.

"Jia, you know tomorrow's a big day right? You and Sana are going to go to the playground together." The child nods. "You don't want to be tired when you're playing do you?"

"No..." She shakes her head. "I want to be awake!"

"Then you need to listen to Daddy and go to sleep. That way you'll be full of energy tomorrow when you and Sana go on the swings or slide down all the big slides." You smile as Jia starts rubbing her drowsy eyes, yawning in the process.

"But I...okay," she slowly concedes, eyes fluttering shut as she gives into her sleepy state. Unsurprising to you and Yoongi, she was tired all along. But like most kids, hated going to bed.

"See?" You lay Jia in her bed and pull the covers up near her chin, giving her a light kiss on the side of her head. Yoongi bends down and does the same after you. "You just gotta talk to her a little, she'll typically fall asleep on her own."

"But I read her three of her favorite books." Yoongi shuts off the overhead light, along with the door to Jia's room, and follows you to your bedroom.

"That's different Yoon," you argue back. "Books excite her."

"She takes after you that way then." Yoongi pulls his t-shirt off, leaving him bare-chested, and climbs onto his side of the bed. You join him shortly after with your head resting on his chest and an arm thrown around his waist.

"I'm so exhausted," you yawn.

"Go to sleep, baby. I'm right here." Your husband places a hand over your wrapped arm, sending you off into a deep slumber.

Well this is just ironic. Almost 2 A.M. and you're wide awake.

What initially started as a nice, relaxing dream quickly turned into a terrible nightmare. In the dream, you woke up alone. Yoongi was gone. Jia was gone too. You can't exactly make sense of it, except for a vague memory of Jia calling another woman 'Mom'. You couldn't see her face very well, so it could've been anyone. You couldn't speak either, so even when you tried approaching the three, they couldn't hear you. You've had nightmares plenty of times, but this one is new. It's a clear projection of all the underlying concerns upheaved from earlier; insecurities, abandonment, loss, and it has you unsettled.

You glance over to your husband's side of the bed. He's fast asleep, no longer cuddling you due to you both flip-flopping in your sleep. You decide to slide closer to him, needing to watch him for a while. It might sound weird, but you love watching him sleep. He's so handsome and you feel a great deal of comfort doing so. Maybe if he was awake, you'd tell him about what you dreamt. Then again...maybe not.

"I love you Yoon," you whisper as quietly as you can, tracing his every facial feature with your eyes.

"'m, I love you too."

Is he-was he awake? As if caught red-handed, you quickly flit your face away in favor of the blank ceiling above. You weren't expecting him to answer at all, and in such a hoarse voice too. You're a little turned on by it to be honest.

"Can't sleep?" he speaks up again, eyes still closed.

"No, I''ll be okay though. You can go back to sleep. Don't worry."

He grunts, a tad unhappy with your dismissal of him. "Do you want to talk about it? Your dream?"

You whip your head in his direction. "How–" You pause, seeing his eyes blink open.

"I didn't meet you just yesterday, doll. I know they keep you up. Just know, I'm always here okay? Always." He reaches for you with delicate fingers as he continues. "Now, come here. Seems we got separated in our sleep."

You accept the offer and cuddle into him again. This time your noses nearly touch and his arm wraps around your lower waist. You feel the growing urge to kiss him, wanting to forget your nightmare entirely. But perhaps silly, you ask permission first, seeing as he's close to drifting off again.

"Yoon?"

"Mm."

"Can we kiss?" Your cheeks flush a little at the request. Why are you acting like this? You've been married for years.

"Sure, 'm tired but I could go for a make-out right now." A small smirk graces his lips as he teases you. You give him a classic 'Yoongi!' in reply. "I'm kidding. You don't ever have to ask me that," he finishes.

"Hmm, maybe I don't want a kiss anymore." You feign stubbornness, just to see his response. And a response he gives you, more than you're prepared for.

"You're ridiculous," he grumbles, capturing your lips in one fell swoop. He moves his lips against yours as the hand on your waist grips tighter. The tiniest of moans escapes your lips.

You attempt to break the kiss first, thinking it will only last for a few seconds. Yet Yoongi slips a hand behind your neck to bring you into another kiss. One that's deeper than the last. You feel your breath being taken away little by little, especially when his tongue licks into your mouth. God, you haven't kissed like this in an eternity. A wetness soon gathers between your thighs.

"'m, Yoon," you gasp when his cool fingers sneakily make their way under your shirt, tickling your bare skin. They travel the expanse of your waist, stomach, and up along your back. "So cold."

Yoongi pulls away from the kiss and retracts his fingers. He then lazily moves his body until his chest hovers over your own, rolling you on your back in the process. He's a bit of a blur due to the dimness of the room, yet you can see the whites of his eyes a bit better than before.

"Help me warm them then," he says, folding his hands on top of yours from where they rest on your stomach. "You're really burning up, doll."

His observation is right. Ever since you woke up, you're body's been hotter than normal. The stress is clear and it's only increasing due to the unexpected turn of tonight's events; your husband seemingly wanting to make love to you in the middle of the night.

"So I am," you reply, staring straight into his eyes. "Must be because of all the sudden surprises today. My body's finally responding to it all."

Yoongi nods, following your implication. "Well let's do something to calm it down, shall we?" He waits for your final go before making any abrupt movements.

"But...you haven't seen me–"

"Naked in a while?" he predicts your next words, unfazed. "I've seen it all, each time better than the last because I love you. You're beautiful to me, no matter what. Let me love you __. I've missed you. I've missed us."

"Okay...please," you sigh, desperately needing his touch. "It's been so long since we've been this close."

Neither of you has it in you to delay another second as you dive into another fiery kiss, your hands wandering up and down each other's bodies. You love his hair the most, so you run your fingers through it repeatedly. Your husband's soft grunts remind you that it's as pleasurable for him as it is for you, and as if to counter, he latches his lips to the curve of your neck.

"Yoon," you moan, shivering at the feeling of being peppered in open-mouth kisses. Your eyes automatically roll up as well.

Yoongi nips at your jaw next, featherlike, yet deadly to you nevertheless. He doesn't allow himself to linger more than a second, though, preferring to keep you on your toes. So with careful fingers, he begins lifting the bottom of your shirt.

"Can I?"

You hum in approval and lean forward for him to remove it.

With your nipples now exposed to the brisk air, stiffening due to arousal, Yoongi brings both his hands up to caress your boobs. He's incredibly gentle, telling you how beautiful you are once again until his thumbs start circling your peaked nipples. A rush of sensation shoots up your spine as he rolls them harder, flicking them once in a while.

"Fuck," you swear.

"Feeling good?"

All you do is nod fervently in response, which Yoongi takes as his signal to lower his head to your chest. He squeezes both breasts in his hand before wrapping his mouth around a nipple, licking and sucking relentlessly. He repeats the same to the other.

"Yoongi, I need you. Please." You're core tightens, thighs struggling not to rub together, as you plead with your husband to relieve you. You are so wet and getting wetter.

"I'm here, doll, I got you. Fingers first hm?"

He pushes part of the comforter towards the foot of the bed, then gestures for you to raise your butt. Any shred of mystery of how worked up he's gotten you slip away as he pulls your underwear and pants down your legs. They both get tossed on the floor, per usual.

Bare pussy exposed, Yoongi guides your legs further apart and brings a hand down to your entrance. One of his long, slender fingers traces up your folds so smoothly that you buck your hips upon the touch. He smiles lightly at the subtle response, pleased that you're finally enjoying yourself; too often you put your needs last. His finger slowly sinks into your well-lubricated pussy, velvety walls clenching around it.

"Oh, g-god," you give a shaky moan as his finger pumps and curls in you, stimulating your g-spot. "Need you now, Yoon, so bad."

"Mm not yet, we need to stretch you out. You haven't taken me for a good three or four weeks," he smirks at your eagerness, sliding a second finger next to the first. "This pussy is drenched but not enough. I need you to come. Can you do that for me?"

Fast, quick movements follow suit as your husband works you up to an orgasm. Oh fuck, oh fuck, you chant in near whines. Your pussy is spasming around him, walls tightening with each push and pull. You know when he draws his hand out that it's covered with your come. Messy, sex is messy and both of you are too far gone to care; the pleasure sweeping over you.

Finally, in what feels like an endless tease, you have your first orgasm of the night. You feel your body relaxing into the mattress again, yet your breath remains short. Yoongi, on the other hand, groans seeing your release dripping down your thighs and onto the sheets. For a split second, there's a slight darkening in his eyes while he takes in your post-orgasmic form. The two fingers that had been inside you are sensually brought to his lips, slipping between the seam before being cleaned off.

You're taken aback by the action, though you've witnessed it before. Something about watching your husband willingly follow through with a gesture so lewd makes your head spin–you want him to fuck you right this instant. He must share the same feeling because you don't even need to sound the words due to his hands already making quick work of his pants.

"You drive me mad, you know that? Can never get a break with how sweet you taste. Your lips, your come. All of it makes me go mad." His full length comes in view, hard and tip leaking with pre-cum. You try not to let yourself stare at the thickness but hell, you must've forgotten the extent of your husband's size. You don't remember it being this big before.

"Well," you gulp. "You're not making it easy on me either, looking like this."

Yoongi climbs over to you again, settling into a straddled position, and looks deep into your eyes. "Who's fault do you think that is?"

"It's your fault." You bend your legs and wrap them around his mid-section. You can feel the tip of his cock tease at your entrance. The anticipation is beyond grueling.

"No," he says, aligning himself up to your weeping hole. "it's yours." He then thrusts his hips forward, his length sinking into you so perfectly it has you completely satisfied.

"Y-Yours," you whimper out, unable to form a steady sentence.

"Fine." He picks up his pace. "Let's just agree we both fuck each other up on a daily---ah fuck!" Yoongi growls and gives you a suspicious look when he feels your pussy suddenly clench around his length.

"I didn't do it on purpose this time! You're fucking me too good is all."

"Really? You're not just teasing me?"

Yoongi is slow to believe since you've purposefully clenched countless times before, simply out of playfulness. Tonight is different than those nights though because you're telling the truth–he's truly fucking you so good.

"What the hell," he concedes. "You feel so fucking fantastic, I don't even care." He continues his movements, thrusting into you with deep groans and labored breaths. His fingers grip the mattress harder with the veins in his neck bulging out.

Both your bodies move in sync as the familiar sound of skin slapping on skin echoes off the walls of your bedroom. You do your best to keep your moans low, not wanting to risk waking up your daughter.

"Yoon, fuck! I need to come, it's gonna-fuck-happen soon," you swear, pussy throbbing at the feeling of being so full after weeks of abstinence. You can tell you're reaching your high with the bundle of nerves in your core threatening to snap at any given moment.

Of course, you're wet too, extremely wet.

"I'm. Nearly. There." He barely sounds the words out, jaw clenching. "Just another minute, and we can finish together."

Your eyes, which haven't left his since he entered you, begin to glass over with tears. It's overwhelming; his love for you. No matter the doubts that tell you the opposite, you can't give in to their ugly lies. You'll continue to struggle, naturally, but you won't ever let them win. Yoongi's never once given up on you, and neither should you.

"I love you, Yoon...I love you with all my soul," you choke the words, falling apart all at once. "I'm sorry for today. How jealous and irrational I got."

"Don't apologize, doll. I shouldn't have let it go so far, our lack of intimacy and alone time. I promise we're going to make it all right okay?"

Giving you one last thrust, you both have your release at the same time. Yoongi helps ride your orgasm out by lazily continuing to grind into you. Yeah, you might need to shower and switch out the sheets after tonight, but you don't regret it one bit.

"In all seriousness baby," Yoongi speaks up, guiding your legs back on the soft mattress until you’re comfortable. "Don't feel like you have to apologize for everything. I understand your feelings and where you were coming from. I will say, the silent treatment kills me though. I'd rather you yell at me than not talk to me at all."

"It's not easy for me to raise my voice like that, Yoon." You throw your arms around his neck and sigh softly. "But I can try talking to you more, or at least tell you I need some time to process before I'm ready to have a conversation. I don't know, am I making sense?"

"Plenty of sense. I'll share more about my day with you and who I'm talking to as well. We'll also carve out time to have together. I love our daughter, but I don't see the harm in reaching out to our friends and family to babysit once in a while."

"Well, this sounds good to me," you hum.

"Me too." Yoongi smiles wide and goes in for another warm kiss. Your eyes flutter shut in unison.

This is what love feels like.

a/n: LMK what you think 🥰

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#yoongi smut #yoongi fluff #yoongi angst #yoongi x reader #yoongi fanfic #bts imagine #bts smut #bts fluff #bts x reader #bts fanfic #bts scenarios #bts au #fic:whatlovefeelslike #kookslastbutton

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fairyysoup · 11 months

Text

i can see you

♫︎ i can see you - taylor swift ♫︎

pairing(s): steve harrington x fem!reader

summary: The secret history of your long and arduous relationship with Steve Harrington.

aka: the 5 times you pined over each other, and the time you actually did something about it

words: 17.6k (we're NOT gonna talk about it lol)

cw: explicit, smut, piv sex, flirting, making out, heavy petting, slight exhibitionism, oral (f receiving), fingering, marking, biting, steve harrington has a big dick, themes of infidelity/cheating (sort of), skipping out on dates, bad dates, steve steal-your-girl harrington, almost-kisses, jealous!steve, jealous!reader, possessive behavior, smoking, alcohol consumption, allusions to marriage but it's never actually mentioned, canon compliant, reader and steve are the same age, 5+1 things, songfic, angst, fluff, humor, hurt/comfort, pining, mutual crush, slow burn one shot, mild twist ending, begins in season two (1984) and ends in the 90s, high school, scoops ahoy era, family video era, waiter!steve, steve harrington (the eras tour), vignette, one instance of billy hargrove slander, original characters created for plot, inspired by i can see you by taylor swift, other taylor song inspo throughout bc i'm insane like miss swift

a/n: hi and welcome to ✨rose's mental breakdown✨ yes this song will be my number one on spotify wrapped bc i listened to it on a loop for five days straight while writing this. idk. anyways this is So Much and i'm tired of looking at it so if there are any mistakes i apologize. anyways whoever can point out the most taylor song references aside from the obvious titular one gets a doubloon

ALL OF MY WORKS ARE 18+ MINORS DNI

You brush past me in the hallway, and you don’t think I can see you, do you? I’ve been watchin’ you for ages, and I spend my time trying not to feel it…

Hawkins High, September 1984

He’s so pretty sometimes that it’s disgusting.

That’s really the only thing you think when you watch Steve Harrington sneak up on his girlfriend, Nancy Wheeler, and swoop her off the ground in front of her locker. From across the hall, your locker hangs open, your body turned halfway toward them so that you can pretend that you’re not staring.

You stare a lot.

It’s not exactly the hair, you think- everyone shits a brick about his hair, for some reason that you don’t understand. Yeah, it’s nice… but you like everything else about him, too. You like how sweet he looks when he laughs. You like the way that he holds himself and the way that he looks when he puts his hands on his hips and stands around like he’s directing the traffic around him. You like how much of a prince charming he is, really. It would surprise you if he doesn’t win prom king at the end of the year. They already call him King Steve, it’s not too far of a stretch.

You close your locker just as Steve kisses Nancy, in front of god and everybody in the C Corridor hallway. Steve’s arms wrap around Nancy’s petite frame and he dips her, like they’re in some sort of George Peck and Audrey Hepburn movie. Not that the place is much of a cinematic setting, though. Down the hall, the science rooms are doing their dissection units, so the whole place smells like formaldehyde and disinfectant, and you sort of feel like curling up into one of those dissection pans and dying, yourself.

That should be me, your brain screams. Me!!

It’s always been like this. You’ve had a crush on Steve since freshman year- the fact that he’s dating Nancy, who’s a year younger than him, doesn’t escape your jealous mind. You’ve been in classes with him for four years, you’ve admired him quietly, you’ve hoped and prayed that he somehow noticed you noticing him.

You don’t think he knows you exist. Four years- and now you’re both seniors, about to graduate, and he still doesn’t notice you. You should really stop caring, or stop trying, or stop… pining. Or something.

You hike your bag up onto your shoulder and juggle your books in your arms. The bell rings, and quite suddenly the entire hallway erupts into pandemonium (predictable, sure, considering everyone loiters around instead of actually getting to class on time). Kids fly around you in all directions to get to their next classroom. Nancy Wheeler ducks away from Steve Harrington, avoiding yet another kiss.

God, you wish you could kiss him.

Someone slams into your shoulder from behind, muscling past you to get to science lab 5, rat central. Your binder slips out of the stack of books in your arms and clatters loudly to the ground, just as someone walks past and kicks it across the floor.

“Fuck,” you spit, chasing after it. The back of your neck feels hot. For the first time in four years, you hope to god that Steve Harrington doesn’t notice you.

You duck around people’s legs, trying to grab at your binder, while not trying to drop any more of the books in your arms. Loose papers are starting to fall out of the binder as it skitters across the floor, and this is becoming more and more of a comedy of errors by the minute.

Your fingers just brush the corner of it before someone kicks it again.

“Do you mind?” you snap as they walk away, not even looking in your direction. Crouched close to the floor, you don’t matter. Maybe you could count that as a blessing, considering you don’t want to be perceived right now.

You finally just throw away all dignity and crawl across the tile floor- disgusting and dirty and covered in sandy grit, as though it hasn’t been cleaned all year- to get to your binder.

And you come face to face with a pair of white Nike’s. Ones that you know way too well, because you’ve stared at them every time they’ve passed you in the hallway.

Nonononono- You clench your jaw and then look up, way up, to find Steve Harrington towering over you.

He looks like he was about to just step around you, but then he notices you gazing up at him from all fours, and his hazel eyes lock on yours. You blink at each other for a second before he flushes, a pink blush breaking out on his cheeks and crawling up his neck, and he looks away quickly, but crouches down to grab your binder before your hand can land on it.

“Sorry,” Steve says quietly, gathering up the couple papers that had started to slide out of the folders inside. You sit back on your heels, your blood rushing in your ears, mortified. His big hands gently poke the papers back into the folder as they should be before he hands it to you. “Looks like you’re gonna be late to class.”

You scoff. “Look who’s talking.”

Steve’s eyes find yours again, and he’s finally so close to you that you can admire the little bit of green in them. You’ve never been close enough to notice before.

He cracks a lopsided smile, one that he uses to charm people, you know- you’ve seen him use it on teachers and cute girls alike. “I’m always late to the party. But I get there, eventually.”

“I hope so.” He cocks his head at you. He doesn’t know the real meaning to your words- or, at least, you don’t think he does.

I hope you don’t stay oblivious forever, Steve Harrington. I hope you get there, eventually.

You take your binder from him, but you pull your eyes away from his a bit later than you properly should. “Thanks, Steve.”

You get up and take off toward your next class, walking quickly so that you don’t come off like you’re lingering too long. But, halfway down the hall, you look over your shoulder at him.

Steve hasn’t moved, still crouched down close to the floor, with his head bent like he’s deep in thought. With his back to you, you can still see the pink flush on the back of his neck, peeking out above his collared shirt.

‘Cause I can see you, waiting down the hall from me, and I can see you up against the wall with me. What would you do? Baby, if you only knew that I can see you…

Hawkins High, April 1985

Prom season sucks. Always has, and always will.

Maybe it was your fault for hoping that Logan Sawyer, popular prick extraordinaire, was serious about wanting to take you to prom. He seemed serious enough, stopping by your locker during passing period and leaning over you as he asked you, his mega-watt smile making you blush. You’d counted yourself lucky- you didn’t think anyone was going to ask you, and people aren’t allowed to go to prom stag.

It took Logan two weeks to find a prettier girl to go with, though. You don’t know why it hurts so much. Maybe it’s because you wanted to believe that you were someone’s first choice, but it never quite seems to turn out that way.

You wipe your tears in the mirror, scowling at your puffy, bloodshot eyes. The bathroom next to the girls’ locker room in the sports wing is completely deserted at this time- the boys’ gym class is in session now, and you’re cutting into your lunch time, but you really don’t want to have to go and cry at a lunch table, in front of a bunch of your bitchy peers, who will inevitably make fun of you for it.

Sniffling, but slightly more composed, you head out of the bathroom. The sports wing is ridiculously bigger than any other wing of the school (typical of American public schools, to prioritize sports over every other department). The wing boasts weight training rooms, dance rooms, three separate gymnasiums, and a door directly to the football field, with the locker rooms on the farthest end to allow for easy access to the field. Connecting all of these rooms is the longest corridor in the building, which seems to run for half a fucking mile.

You’ll have to walk that half mile, because in order to get to the cafeteria, you’re gonna have to traverse the entire building. You might not get to eat much today, but it was a sacrifice you were willing to make. Maybe Mrs. Marshall will be kind enough to let you snack on a granola bar in your next class period.

Halfway down the long hallway, you feel the angry sting of tears behind your eyes again, and your face screws up in frustration. You stop, turning halfway back toward the girls’ bathroom, wondering if you should just go back in and allow yourself to cry some more.

Suck it up, you think to yourself, smacking at your tear stained cheeks. He’s not the guy you really want to ask you to prom, anyways.

You press your fingertips into your eyes to relieve the sting of tears, taking a deep breath. Being in high school is driving you crazy. At this point in the year, the teachers have given up teaching, the students have given up learning, and you’re basically just biding your time in a glorified babysitting service until you can inevitably grab your diploma and get out of here. You can’t wait for that time to arrive.

A door opens further down the hallway, in the direction of the cafeteria. You wipe your nose once and keep moving in the direction you were going, not wanting to draw attention to yourself, standing in the middle of the hallway having a breakdown.

Moving forwards, you keep your eyes on the ground. Once you hear the door that had been opened slam shut again, you figure that whoever it was has moved on down the hallway, and you lift your eyes again.

They have not, in fact, moved on. And you suddenly have the urge to turn and fucking run back into the girls’ bathroom, because Steve Harrington is bent over at the drinking fountain, directly outside the boys’ weight room.

What the fuck, what the fuck. You suck on your teeth, trying not to falter in your stride. Maybe he hasn’t seen you, and you can just pass him up. It’s fine, he hasn’t seen you crying.

Your mind backtracks to the beginning of the year, you fumbling your binder all the way across the hallway and ending up right in front of him, crawling toward him. Looking up at him and probably, most definitely, making him really uncomfortable.

You have English class together, where you sit at the desk closest to the door. He comes in late almost every day, so he passes by you every time. Some days he looks at your desk. On good days, he meets your eye. But he hasn’t spoken to you since that day in September, and you really shouldn’t hold out hope that he will.

You definitely don’t want him to notice you when you’ve been crying, your face is a mess, your hair is limp and you look bedraggled. You just want to fade into the background of your next class with whatever snack you can get from the cafeteria snuck into your bag, so you can stress eat it without any guff from a teacher (like you aren’t 18 and capable of deciding when you are and aren’t allowed to eat).

You keep your eyes down. If you don’t look at him, he doesn’t exist.

Except, Steve Harrington always exists, in the back of your mind, and in your periphery. He is impossible not to notice, as per usual. He really just draws the eye like a magnet. Try as you might, your eyes keep flicking up to take stock of him.

He’s wearing a uniform gray P.E. shirt and gym shorts that don’t leave a lot to the imagination, and you fixate on his thighs more than you should. He has sweat dripping down his neck, wetting his hair on the sides of his face and the seam of his shirt. It shouldn’t be attractive. He shouldn’t be attractive. With his face a mess. And his hair limp, and looking bedraggled. Truly, you make a priceless pair, being the only two people in the hallway.

We’re perfect for each other, a voice says in your head. And you manage, for the first time in an hour, to crack a smile down at your shoes.

He finishes getting his drink at the fountain, and you figure that he’ll just go back into the weight room and not see you. But, of course, luck is not on your side.

Steve Harrington looks at you. And you look away, quickly, acting like you hadn’t been staring at him. And in your periphery, again, you see him stretch his arms over his head, and then turn and lean against the cinderblock wall beside the door to the weight room, with his hands on his knees as though he’s catching his breath.

You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.

He does it so casually, and with the way he’s sweating and his face is flushed, you’re sure that he probably does just want to take a break before going in and lifting more weights. But something in the back of your mind says that the maneuver was too purposeful, immediately after he laid eyes on you.

It could just be wishful thinking on your part. You heard through the grapevine that Steve and Nancy Wheeler broke up in a nasty way just before winter break, and it doesn’t seem like he’s been interested in anyone since. He hasn’t dated anyone, hasn’t flirted with any girls or showed up at any parties. Nancy must have really broken his heart.

You know too well what that feels like, right now.

Nearing where he leans against the wall, you keep your head down and you plan on just passing by without any acknowledgement from him, same as it ever was. If he’s still carrying a torch for Nancy, you’re sure that he doesn’t want anything to do with you. You’ve nearly convinced yourself of it.

But then you hear your name called quietly, and it nearly makes you jump. You look over at him, thinking you’re just hearing things, but you look directly into a pair of hazel eyes again, and you feel yourself rocketing back in time to September.

You didn’t even think he knew your name.

You slow to a stop. It would be rude not to stop, right? “Uh… hi, Steve. You good?”

Steve Harrington looks you up and down, while he leans against the wall and breathes a bit heavily, like he’s out of breath. He peers at you through long eyelashes, looking impossibly inviting despite everything; the setting, your appearances, the way that you feel like dissolving into a puddle right in front of him. “Yeah, great. You?”

He’s scrutinizing your face now. You shrug, since he’s already seen you, and there’s no way to pretend you weren’t crying thirty seconds ago. “I’m fine. Just being dramatic, don’t worry about me.”

“When people say not to worry about them, it usually means that you should,” Steve muses. He looks coy, like he’s speaking from experience.

You sigh, stepping forward to get your own drink from the drinking fountain. “Logan Sawyer called off our date for prom.”

“Oh.” Steve pauses for a few seconds, watching as you bend down and take your drink, more silent than he usually is. “I mean… that really sucks. I’m sorry. But… Logan Sawyer?”

“Yeah.” You wipe your mouth, and then wet the ends of your fingers and use the cool water to rub at your stinging eyes again. When you’re done, you lean up against the wall beside him, letting your back settle into the cinderblock.

“The guy’s a fucking douche.”

“Tell me about it.”

“No, I mean it, I think it’s a good thing you’re not going to prom with him. He’s really shitty to girls.” You look up at Steve, who’s watching you with his arms crossed, with the most serious expression you’ve ever seen him wear. “I mean, the only guy worse than Logan is probably… I dunno…”

“Billy Hargrove?”

Steve laughs. Actually laughs. You’ve wanted to make him laugh like that for four years. His cheeks turn crimson and he grins down at his shoes, snickering like there’s way more to the joke he’s laughing at than you even know about. “Yeah. Yeah, he’s gotta be the worst.”

You chuckle, albeit with a sadder tone than he has. “Well, I’m not going to prom with either of them. So, I can count my blessings. I guess.”

Steve frowns, and he looks like he’s going to say something else, but you’re already turning away, not wanting to continue the depressing conversation about your lack of dates. Especially not from the one guy who you desperately want to go on a date with.

You get a few steps away before he takes a step after you, saying, “Wait. You, uh-”

You stop, and look back at him. He looks dumbfounded, his arm outstretched like he was going to try to grab you if you didn’t listen to him. When you frown, he steps back against the wall, bringing his hand up to run through his hair.

Oh . That’s a nervous tick. You know it, because you’ve watched him do it more than once in English, in front of the class during a presentation.

Steve looks down at his shoes, his brow scrunched in thought. He looks like he’s really trying to find the right words to say. In your head, a hopeful part of you imagines what those words could be. ‘Will you go to prom with me?’

Finally, he looks up at you resolutely. “You’ll find someone to take you to prom. I’m sure of it.” He nods a little, like he’s reassuring himself that he said the right thing.

You can’t help the smile that springs onto your face. It’s incredulous, of course, but he can’t know that. Keep trying, baby. You’ll get there, eventually.

“Thanks, Steve.” It’s the second time you thank him in the course of the year.

But what would you do if I went to touch you now? What would you do if they never found us out? What would you do if we never made a sound?

Prom Night, May 1985

The dress you’re wearing is sleek and a lot simpler than some of the more popular styles on the dance floor, but you like it more than you care to admit. You’d just grabbed it off the rack at Macy’s, and beyond that you didn’t want to go all-out for prom. It turns out that your lab partner, Gavin Connelly, needed a date, too. So, you’re here with him, because you knew that if you missed prom, you would probably regret it.

Except, well.

Gavin, stoned out of his fucking mind, is sitting at one of the tables, nursing a cup of punch, looking like he’s two seconds from falling asleep. You’ve taken to making the rounds and saying hi to anyone you can call a ‘friend,’ because you’re tired of just loitering next to him. Something tells you he didn’t want to even be here.

The speakers are playing ‘Total Eclipse of the Heart,’ and couples are swaying on the dance floor in a Bonnie Tyler-induced haze. At a loss for people to bother, you wander back over to your date to find his head plastered to the white table cloth.

You glance to the guy sitting next to him, a kid with glasses who you don’t recognize but who seems to know your date, because he’s just patting Gavin’s back. “Is he okay?”

“Oh, no, he’s dying.” The kid shoots you a sarcastic smile.

You nod, pressing your tongue hard to the roof of your mouth. “Well, if he wakes up, tell him I’m getting some air.”

Fuck this. Fuck prom. Fuck high school boys.

Your heels, which are killing your feet already, click loudly on the tile hallway floor as you exit the gym. The table where you can check your bag and coat are located at the other end of the hall, where everyone is supposed to enter through the door to the football field.

You can hear voices from the far end of the hall, and Bonnie Tyler’s voice fading out the further you get from the gym. You might never be able to hear that song again without thinking of your ruined slow dance opportunity.

As you pass by, someone coughs off to the left and you turn your head to see Steve Harrington, black tie and all, loitering in the shadows. You stop a few feet from him and squint into the dark.

You can’t believe it. He always seems to show up at the worst times. “What are you doing, skulking around?”

“I’m not sulking.”

You snort, stepping into the shadows with him. “No, skulk- like, sneaking around?”

“Well, I didn’t mean to sneak-” he looks over his shoulder at the gym entrance. “I’m just getting some air.”

“Funny,” you murmur. “I was just about to do the same thing.”

He eyes you, a lot like he did a few weeks ago in this same hallway, further up toward the other end of it. He takes in your hair, styled painstakingly to ‘perfection,’ or as close as you could approximate it, and your off-the-rack department store dress. You suddenly feel like you aren’t as pretty as you thought you were at the beginning of the night.

But then he meets your eye, and all those insecurities fade into the back of your mind. He’s smiling at you, and that can only be a good thing.

“So, uh…” Steve leans back against the wall, his hands in his pockets, “You found someone to take you?”

You press your lips into a tight line. You don’t really want to think about your date right now, but- “Gavin Connelly.”

“Who?”

You laugh, kicking the heel of your shoe against the ground with a soft clack. “Yeah. God, I wish I didn’t know him right now.”

“Why, what’d he do?” Steve sounds perturbed. You look up to find him scowling already.

“Oh, he just ate a pot brownie before he picked me up and passed out at one of the tables.” You finish with a tired giggle, shrugging at Steve as he peers at you with an annoyed expression. “Who did you bring?”

“Kelly Palmer.”

You know Kelly. She doesn’t say much, but she’s gotten a scholarship to a big art school. “Do you like her?”

“Yeah, she’s nice,” he says mildly. Unconvincingly.

You can understand the subtext. She’s not Nancy. When you look at his face, he seems tortured in the low light coming from down the hall.

“Guess I’m oh-for-two,” Steve adds after a pause. “Last year’s prom, Nance and I didn’t have such a good time, either.”

You nod. It seems like there’s more he wants to say, but he doesn’t. “I’m sorry,” you offer. You don’t know the ins-and-outs of Steve and Nancy’s relationship, aside from watching them suck face in the hallway five paces from you for a year and a half. “Prom sucks. High school sucks. These can’t be the best years of our lives, trust me.”

“Yeah, I hope not.”

“I just can’t wait to get out of here, you know,” you grumble, allowing your sour mood to come out a little more than normal. It seems like Steve is just really good at getting you to let your guard down. “I’m planning to go to Chicago for college. This is all just… you know, it’s just the starting point. What about you, any big plans?”

“Dunno. I didn’t get accepted to any schools, so I’ll just be getting a job here in town until something better comes along.” Steve shifts, his heel hitting the wall behind him. He looks disappointed when he says, “I think I made too many mistakes.”

You frown, chewing on your lip. “What do you mean?”

He gives you a heavy look, like he’s gearing up to say something important, something game changing- and then his gaze softens.

“You’ve got an eyelash.” He gestures to his own eye, like it’ll make you understand exactly where the loose one is on your face.

“Oh.” You falter, lifting your manicured hands and wiping at your undereyes. “Did I get it?”

“No, uh- here, I can-” Steve tentatively reaches forward, and you step toward him to let him touch your face.

Steve Harrington is touching your face.

His fingertip brushes your cheekbone, so featherlight you would barely feel it if you weren’t hyper aware of everything that he said or did. His touch glides across your cheek and toward your temple, and then he seems to keep it there, his hand hovering just over your skin.

Reflexively, your hand comes up to rest on his shoulder. You’re inches from Steve’s face, your eyes falling to his lips.

You could kiss him. You could live your fantasy, right now.

Steve’s gaze lingers on your face for a moment, and then he says, “You’re so beautiful.”

Your heart lurches in your chest. He doesn’t say that you look beautiful. He doesn’t say it conditionally, like it’s just for tonight. You are beautiful. Even when you’re crawling on all fours after your binder. Even when you’re crying, and your hair is limp, and you look bedraggled.

“Steve…” you whisper, inching closer to him.

“STEVE??!”

You jump away from him like he’s burned you, and peek around the hall corner to see Kelly Palmer standing outside the gym looking up and down the hall, searching for him. She looks lost, and sad, like he must have ditched.

She looks an awful lot like you just did, coming out of that gym.

You feel Steve’s hand where it had fallen to your wrist, dragging your attention gently back to him. You take his hand and squeeze it once, giving him a tight smile.

“You brought her here for a good time,” you say with your bravest smile. “Just don’t pass out at one of the tables on her, okay?”

Don’t be a douche. Don’t be like Logan Sawyer.

Steve swallows, and gives you a short nod. You think he finally got there.

You give a soft pat to the lapel of his suit jacket. “Go get ‘em, tiger.”

He touches your arm one final time before he slips around the corner, just as Kelly turns to go back into the gym. You watch him walk away, and you think to yourself, That’s the last time I chase after Steve Harrington.

Wherever there is, it’s not with you.

Steve loops his arms around Kelly’s waist and lifts her, earning a thrilled squeal as the silver taffeta of her dress glints blue in the light from the gym. You wait until they’ve disappeared back into it before you turn and high-tail it toward the coat check table.

And we kept everything professional, but something’s changed, it’s something I like. They keep watchful eyes on us, so it’s best if we move fast and keep quiet…

Starcourt Mall, June 1985

“Come on, it’s ridiculously hot outside,” your best friend, Shelly, groans as she pulls you along by the wrist. “I can’t believe they only have one ice cream place here.”

“I’m sure they have slushies at the-”

“Ice. Cream.” You know better than to argue with her.

Scoops Ahoy has a novelty nautical theme that makes you want to both laugh and break down in tears when you see it. The PA is playing a cutesy rendition of Drunken Sailor on accordion, and you think that if you keep looking at the striped wallpaper behind the counter, you might get literally seasick. In the mall. In landlocked Indiana.

Or�� is it landlocked if it fronts Lake Michigan? It doesn’t matter. You’ll be in Chicago in two days, anyways.

You let Shelly drag you along until you look towards the front counter, and you see something that nearly makes you trip and face plant into Shelly’s fresh perm.

Even Shelly pauses. “Is that who I think it is?”

It’s something about the stupid little sailor’s cap and shorts, and that he’s so, so pretty in it, you think. It’s also something about how you have the perfect vantage point to watch him try and fail to flirt with the girl that approaches the counter to order. You’re enamored with him. There’s no other way to describe it.

You have half a mind to run away, after what you promised yourself on prom night over a month ago. You’d done good, you didn’t search for him in the halls, you ignored him in your last couple of class periods with him. You’d even been in the bathroom when his name was called at graduation.

But, here he is. Steve Harrington, absolutely obliterating his chances of getting a date with the girl ordering a sundae ahead of you.

Honestly, you don’t know what you’re waiting for. Maybe an invitation? A sign from god that today’s the day that you’ll make a move? Or maybe this is just a test of will.

You stop resisting Shelly’s attempts to drag you along, and straighten your spine. You can do this. Four years’ worth of pining won’t make a difference in whether or not you order a strawberry ice cream cone.

He’s even prettier up close, his rosy cheeks framed by sunkissed, wavy hair. When he sees you he stalls, going a bit wide-eyed and then seeming to realize he’s supposed to do his job. He leans heavily against the counter. “Ahoy, ladies! Would you like to set sail on this ocean of flavor with me? I’ll be your captain, Steve Harrington.”

“Uh-huh.” You stare at each other for a long moment. “How much do they pay you to recite that script?”

“Absolutely nothing, I do this for pure enjoyment.” You’re almost sure that he doesn’t. He pauses, a hand poised on his hip. “Too much?”

“I’d dial it back just a smidge. Maybe keep the ahoy and the captain thing and toss the rest.”

“Noted.” He nods slowly, his eyes fixed on you. “I thought you were going to Chicago?”

“I leave the day after tomorrow,” you shrug. “Still time for me to burn the place down, you know.”

“Well, I’m glad you stopped by,” Steve chuckles. “I could show you where the gas line is, then we’d all be in trouble.”

“Oookay.” Shelly gives you a curious side-eye, and then turns back to Steve. “Well, I’ll have a U.S.S. Butterscotch with a chocolate dipped waffle bowl, if you don’t mind.”

Steve tears his eyes away from you long enough to grin at Shelly. “Coming right up. And for you?”

You freeze, glancing up at the menu. It’s written in an infuriatingly cutesy code-language that you have to decipher. “Um. I’m still deciding.”

“All right, then. Just let me know, when you’re ready.”

Steve slips away to make Shelly her sundae, a heaping pile of ice cream and butterscotch syrup that looks like the fast track to a heart attack. You alternate between trying to comprehend the menu and being distracted by Steve in that stupid sailor’s uniform.

The script on the menu may as well be written in a foreign language. Blackbeard’s Delight. Treasure Island Turtle. U.S.S. Sherbet. The sizes are even harder to understand. Fathom. League. Nautical Mile. You don’t have the capacity to decipher it- your eyes are seeing the words, but your mind is traveling back to prom night, and feeling Steve’s finger on your cheek as you gear up to kiss him.

“Are you ready?”

“Mhm…” It takes you a second to zone back into the present moment, where Steve is standing in front of you, on the other side of the counter, waiting to take your order. He waits, with a patient smile on his face, while you blink dumbly at him.

What did you say? What did he say?

“I… um.” You’re sure you look completely out of it. Your eyes flick nervously up at the menu, that you still can’t fucking read. Shelly’s already gone to sit down with her sundae, the traitor.

“It’s kind of hard to understand, isn’t it?” Steve says quietly after a moment, dropping the phony customer service charade. “I hate it. I think we should just be able to say what our favorite ice cream flavor is and be done with it.”

“Yeah,” you murmur, still squinting up at the menu. Blackbeard’s Delight: blackberry swirl with blueberry syrup and a gold doubloon. “The fuck is a doubloon?”

Steve snorts, and reaches under the counter before bringing back a handful of gold foil-covered chocolate coins, which he dumps into your outstretched hand. “You want more? We get them wholesale.”

“I’m good,” you giggle, juggling the chocolate coins before they go cascading to the floor. “I think… I don’t… I don’t understand a thing on that menu.”

“What’s your favorite flavor of ice cream?” He leans forward to ask you, like it's a secret. Just between the two of you. His head bent a little to peer at you closely, so close that you can count the freckles on his skin.

You glance over your shoulder. Shelly is seated by the far wall, under a painting of a kraken, giving you an indignant look. When she notices you looking, she mouths an emphatic, ‘LET’S GO!’

“Don’t tell anyone,” you whisper, and Steve affects his gravest expression as he nods. “Strawberry.”

“A classic,” he grins. “Fan of sprinkles?”

“I can dig a few sprinkles.”

“Perfect. I think we have something up your alley.” He grabs a scooper out of the bin and twirls it once, just to show off. “Sex on the Beach.”

“What?” You don’t remember seeing anything about that on the menu.

He glances up to smirk at you before shrugging. “It’s strawberry ice cream with peach syrup. You’ll see.”

You keep an eye on his hands behind the glass partition, watching them put two scoops of strawberry into a medium sized carton. Completely unable to rein in your thoughts before they get away from you, you’re thinking about how good they would feel under your shirt. You follow a treasure map of freckles trailing up his arms, disappearing under the blue sailor’s shirt he wears. You want to kiss every single one of them.

You finally reply, “I guess I have to put my faith in your professional ice cream slinging abilities.”

“Oh, haven’t you heard?” Steve mutters sardonically as he squirts peach syrup across the two scoops of ice cream, giving it a golden sheen. “I’m the king of cream.”

You purse your lips as it takes Steve a second to realize what he just said. When he does, he snaps his head up to meet your eye in horror.

He opens his mouth to take it back, but you shake your head, holding back laughter. “Don’t ruin it.”

“I think it’s pretty much ruined already.” He turns crimson, blushing down at the half-made sundae as he rapidly shakes yellow sprinkles onto it. “I was doing so good, too.”

“Who says you aren’t still?” You give him a cute smile when he looks up through his lashes at you, still arranging toppings on the sundae. You’re not sure what happened between prom and now to change him so much, but it’s almost as if he’s… goofy. He’s less concerned with appearances, he’s more laid back and willing to make fun of himself.

You like it a lot.

You watch him plop two maraschinos onto one ice cream mound, and wedge a candied orange slice into the other, inverted, to look like a setting sun. As he passes it over the counter to you, he says, “Here you go, one Sex on the Beach. On the house.”

“What? No, I couldn’t-”

“I mean it. For overlooking my stupidity,” Steve insists. He gives you a meaningful look when he adds, “A million times over.”

“I’m not overlooking anything when it comes to you, Steve,” you tell him fondly, and drop one of the doubloons into the tip jar. It’s gaudy, gleaming artificially gold in the middle of the crumpled up dollar bills. “Hang onto that. You might be able to cash it in for a kiss someday.”

Steve blinks rapidly, leaning across the counter as you walk away. “After you come back from Chicago, right?”

You look over your shoulder, and you wink at him.

When you finally stop in front of Shelly, and you use your plastic spoon to dig into the adorable sundae that Steve crafted for you, you remember that you’d gone up to the counter with every intention of ignoring Steve and acting like you didn’t even know him.

You winked at Steve Harrington. You said you’d kiss him. You think back to the girl who was so afraid of Steve even noticing her, almost a year ago, and wonder where she went.

You look down at Shelly. She’d graduated a year before you, so she wasn’t there to witness every blunderous interaction you’d had with Steve in school. You never told her how in love you were with him.

Now, she looks up at you coyly. “So. Steve Harrington, huh?”

“Shut up,” you grunt, looking up and out at the food court outside of the Scoops Ahoy storefront. “As if you know everything.”

“Are you gonna try to make something out of that…” she gestures vaguely with her spoon toward the counter, “before school starts?”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” you say honestly, still poking at your sundae. “Anyways, I leave too soon for anything to really happen. What- I screw him tomorrow and then fuck off forever? It’s just wishful thinking, probably.” You finally take a bite of the ice cream, just to punctuate your sentence.

“Hm. Probably. How is that?” Shelly nods at the ice cream in your hand. “Looks pretty.”

“It’s the best thing I’ve ever tasted.” You’re being honest. Something about the peach syrup with the strawberry base literally evokes the flavor of a sunset. “They should give him a raise.”

Humming, Shelly stands and takes her half-eaten sundae. She nudges you in the direction of the door. “C’mon. We’ve gotta eat these before the next showing of The Breakfast Club.”

Steve watches you and your friend leave, with the wistful gaze of someone who just watched their greatest opportunity walk away from them. He never knew that it was possible to hate an entire geographic location, but he really wishes Chicago would get blown off the map in the next 24 hours.

The wooden partition doors slam open, and Robin’s head appears in the window to the kitchen. “The cream king? Do you want me to actually hurl?”

“I said, ‘the king of cream,’” he groans, digging his knuckles into his eye sockets. “Kill me, Robin. Load me into the freezer. Bury me at the fairground.”

“You think you’re valuable enough to displace that much ice cream?” Robin rolls her eyes, and with another loud thwack, her white board appears in the space behind her. “We don’t make anything called Sex on the Beach. This is a family establishment.”

“I made it up.”

Robin coos, “Aww. Be still my heart. You love her to the point of invention.”

Steve whirls around. “Love? Who said anything about love?”

“I did.” Robin uncaps her dry-erase marker and draws a tally mark under the side that reads, you rule.

“Uh, Robin,” Steve snaps, pointing at the board condescendingly. “I think you put that on the wrong side. I fucked it up.”

“Dingus. Please. As much as it makes me gag- and you know I gain immense pleasure from counting how often you screw up- I could practically hear her heart eyes.” She sets the white board down, begrudgingly. “I think you found the only girl alive who’ll find all this-” she waves her hand at him, “endearing. Who was she? Some ex of yours?”

“If only,” Steve sighs, shaking his head. When he turns back to the counter, his eyes land on the single chocolate coin glinting in the tip jar.

He scoops it up with two fingers and pockets it.

You won’t believe half the things I see inside my head. Wait ‘til you see half the things that haven’t happened yet…

Family Video, March 1986

The air conditioning nearly blasts you backwards into the parking lot. You don’t know why they need it blasting so hard at 7pm, in the middle of March. It’s not like it’s the height of summer- your spring break takes place earlier than the local school’s, but it just means that you get to beat the crowds when you come home to visit your family.

Of course, they love to send you to run errands. You end up picking up the groceries, and the housewares, and, on this occasion, the choices for family movie night.

This Family Video’s selection isn’t necessarily as extensive as the ones in Chicago, but it’s good enough. You enter the store, and it dumps you directly in front of a cardboard cutout of Phoebe Cates about to flash you. Family friendly entertainment, and all.

The TV in the corner is running the final scene of The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly- Ennio Morricone’s score plays dramatically into the empty store. There’s no one behind the counter currently, so you pull the list of videos your extended family members had all requested. The Breakfast Club. Camelot. The Birds. Pretty general selections for your family, but it seems like you’ll have to hunt them up on your own.

You’re wandering down the romance aisle, since The Breakfast Club was nowhere on the new releases or comedy shelves, when someone finally emerges from the back room. You see a flash of a head moving toward the front counter from over the top of a rack, and you take it as your chance to ask for help.

“Excuse me? Do you guys have any copies of The Breakfast Club, or-”

You stop short, choking on your words. Steve Harrington turns around to look at you, carrying a stack of VHS tapes perched under his chin, and holding a folded up piece of paper between his teeth.

You stare each other down for a second, before Steve gracefully spits the paper over his shoulder and onto the counter. “Hey, um… long time, no see?”

“I’d say.” You tilt your head. Funny how quickly your eyes will hone in on his lips, like searching for a target every time. “We always seem to run into each other like this. What happened to the ice cream gig?”

“Starcourt burned down,” Steve says, plopping the stack of VHS tapes down on the counter beside the paper he spit out. “Right around the Fourth of July, last summer.”

“So, right after I last saw you?”

Steve smirks to himself before he turns back to you. “Yeah. Like, a week or so after. Did you manage to burn the place down, after all?”

“I wish.”

You pause, taking the time to size him up. It’s amazing what the better part of a year will do to someone, inside and out. With a striped shirt and green vest, he looks much more relaxed and casual than he had at Scoops Ahoy. His hair’s a little longer, his eyes a little darker as they rake over you, in return.

You’re a little bit desperate to see what’s going on in his head, if it’s anything like what’s happening in yours.

You wish you could say that you tried to seek him out when you got back to town- a year ago, maybe you would have. But you’d pretty much given up on the idea of him, moving up to dating college boys who don’t string you along, who don’t wait until the last minute to finally try their hand at flirting with you. If he ever passed through your mind, it was with the attached hope that he’d found greener pastures than Hawkins, Indiana. Foolishly, you hoped that as long as you told yourself that he’d moved on, it would be true. And then maybe what could have been wouldn’t matter anymore.

You’d stepped back into Hawkins after half a year of college, the graveyard of all hope in your happily ever after, and you hadn’t even thought of Steve Harrington. Except, seeing him now, everything comes flooding back. All the days spent pining over him. All the close brushes you’d had with finally getting the ending you wanted.

You have to be honest. “You look good, Steve. You always do.”

Steve chuckles, tilting his chin down as he shoves his hands into the pockets of his light wash jeans. “Better without the sailor costume, right?”

“Aww, I liked the sailor costume.” You step closer so you can whisper, “I thought it was sexy.”

Steve peers down his nose at you, drawing himself up to tower above you at his full height. He tries to look unaffected, but you can see his ears glowing pink beneath wisps of golden highlights. “Watch it. You’re gonna give me an ego.”

“We don’t want that, do we?” You unfold the list of movies you’re here to collect, holding it up to him between two fingers. “Got any of these movies?”

Steve reads the short list, and nods to himself. “I know we have Camelot, but I’m not sure about The Breakfast Club. Let me check in the back?”

“I’ll be here.”

“All right- don’t get up to any trouble, though. I’ve got my eye on you.” He points at you coolly, feigning an authoritative expression. He tries to hide his smile, but the creases around his eyes give him away.

“I hope you do.” You try to appear casual as you breeze past him, but you have to fiddle with your jacket collar to hide their shaking. Still, you feel the sweep of his gaze on you like rays of sun on your skin. It frightens you how easily you can fall back into the old back-and-forth routine you established in high school- how he gets you to say things you never meant to voice, but that live in your head effortlessly.

Steve watches you disappear down the drama aisle before he takes in a huge breath of air and bolts toward the back room. Any and all coolness he was performing disappears like so much smoke. Slamming open the door, he nearly shouts, “Do you have a doubloon?!”

Robin startles, swinging around in her seat, looking away from her computer screen. “A what? Why are you yelling?”

“A doubloon, a f-fucking-” Steve looks quickly over his shoulder, out the door, and starts hunching over as he whispers, “a chocolate coin. Like one of those ones we had at Scoops, remember?”

“Why do you want a chocolate coin?” Robin squints at him. “Stop crouching like that, you look like Nosferatu.”

Steve hisses through his teeth, and he’s got a frantic edge to his expression that Robin doesn’t like. “Okay- remember that girl, the one who showed up at Scoops that time, and you gave me my one and only ‘You Rule’ tally?”

“No.”

“Great. Well, she’s here, and she told me if I gave her one of those chocolate coins she’d kiss me.” Steve shoves his hands through his hair, mussing up the already disheveled style. “Please, Rob, I can’t let her get away again. I’ve done it, like, a thousand times already.”

“Okay, Romeo,” Robin humors him, turning around in her seat. “So you’re saying this babe, who I very much don’t remember because you always struck out while we worked at Scoops, told you that if you bribed her with chocolate she’d kiss you?”

“Yes.”

“And you don’t think she was maybe joking?”

Steve opens and closes his mouth like a fish out of water. Truthfully, he hadn’t. He’d overlooked the idea that, after everything that had happened between you, you might just be joking about kissing him.

“You know you could use your actual charm to get a girl to kiss you?” Robin dips her chin, shaking her head like it’s obvious.

Steve frowns. As if he hasn’t already tried that. “Do you have any chocolate coins or not?”

Robin sighs exasperatedly. “I don’t think I’ve seen one of those things since we worked at Scoops. Sorry, bud. You’re out of luck.”

“FUCK!” Steve’s hand smacks the door as he heads out of the back room, making Robin scowl after him. She shakes her head as she turns back to her work.

Back out on the sales floor, the credits to The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly have finished, and white noise fills the empty space. Steve turns in a circle by the checkout counter, searching for you among the aisles.

Where did you disappear to, this time? A part of him dreads the answer. He was the one who fucked everything up- he shouldn’t have chickened out when he had the chance. He should have asked you to that fucking prom, but he was too scared to commit after what happened with Nancy.

If this is his last chance, he needs to make it count.

He coughs into the dead air, and says, “Looks like we’re all out of The Breakfast Club.” There’s a disconcerting amount of silence that leaves him cold, almost certain that you’ve left already, for the last time.

Then, you appear from behind the red curtain to the adult videos section.

Oh.

“Everything okay?” you ask sweetly as you approach, holding a couple tapes that you must have picked up while you shopped around. “I heard some yelling back there.”

“Oh, yeah. Just, uh… shelving issues.” Steve backs his way behind the counter. He repeats, “Sorry, I couldn’t find the movie for you.”

“I heard. I’m not worried about it.” You plop the tapes that you did find on the counter. “It was nice of you to look for me. Thanks, Steve.”

“Always.” Steve starts scanning your tapes; it looks like you managed to find the other films on your list, along with one for yourself. From the adult section.

You watch in amusement as you can see the cogs visibly turning in Steve’s head, while he stares at the front of the porn video you picked. Spring Break Sex Party II. Not that you’d ever seen the first one, but the cover of this one was suggestive enough- a bunch of drunk people naked on a beach, lying in a great big pile. Looks like fun, in your opinion.

You always love seeing Steve blush. The prettiest shade of pink colors his cheeks before he glances up at you. “Should I ask…?”

“It’s the closest thing to getting a Sex on the Beach, here.”

Steve chokes, and he scrambles for a response to that. “I- I was gonna ask for an I.D.”

“You know we’re the same age,” you deadpan.

“Y-yeah. I, uh- I know… I know that.” He hangs his head and pinches the bridge of his nose, his eyes tightly shut.

You wonder if this is what you looked like to him, that time in the hallway when he loitered by the fountain to talk to you. “Breathe, Steve.”

A blast of laughter leaves his mouth before he can swallow it. If only you knew how hard it actually is, to act like he’s not just fucking melting right in front of you. When he hangs on every word you say, and every other thought he has is about how badly he wants to tell Robin to get lost and take you in the back room. You don’t know how much he’s fixating on your curves and how they’d feel against him, how much he wants to taste every inch of your body. He’s practically vibrating in place with all his pent up frustration, and you’re here buying porn, like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

Steve clears his throat, shakes his head. Christ. “Okay, well. You know that this is a sale item, it’s not for rent. You can return it within 10 days as long as the packaging hasn’t been opened.”

“I know.”

“Okay.” He’s still nodding as he puts it into the bag with the rest of your rentals.

“Are you always this affected by people buying from the adult section?” you ask mildly.

“Nah, usually I don’t care,” he replies without thinking.

“Good to know that you care about my taste in pornography,” you tell him with the most shit eating grin on your face, taking the bag from him. “I’m flattered.”

He makes a clumsy noise in the back of his throat, somewhere between a laugh and a grunt. He’s right back to working at Scoops Ahoy, fumbling every attempt at flirting, losing his cool at the sight of a pretty girl. It’s… humbling.

He’s sure Robin would say that he can always use more humility.

“It was good to see you again, Steve.” And just like that, you’re sand slipping through the cracks in his fingers.

Desperately, he tries to block the flow, closing his fingers around you in an attempt to keep you in his grasp. “Do you- uh-” He lurches forward, white-knuckling the counter like his life depends on it. You turn back towards him, an eyebrow raised at his sudden outburst.

You’re back in the school hallway, senior year. Crying over Logan Sawyer. Harrington is up against the wall by the drinking fountain. You want him to just say the words and ask you to prom.

“I mean… if you have the time, while you’re in town… do you want to go for a cup of coffee? With me?”

“Oh, Steve.” You sigh, and it’s the most heartbreaking noise he’s ever heard in his life. Soft sand, falling through his fingers, disappearing back the way you came. He already dreads your answer before it comes. “I wish… you know, if I had come in here and met you about a week ago, I would have said yes in a heartbeat. But I have to catch the train back to Chicago tomorrow. My break’s almost up.” You offer him a reassuring smile. “I’m just glad that you didn’t completely miss me, at least.”

“Right, of course.” Steve smiles back at you, feeling more like an idiot the longer this drags on. He’s like Sisyphus rolling that rock up the fucking hill. “I… I’m glad I got to see you, too. Maybe next time.”

Oh, it hurts. It hurts way more than you thought it would, to have to turn Steve down- after all the years pining for him through high school, after the time you turned him away when he would have kissed you. You think about kissing him, now. He would let you do it- he’s asking you out, and he looks so sad that you’re saying no.

You could. But wouldn’t it make saying goodbye this time even harder than it already is?

“Yeah. Maybe next time,” you tell him. You don’t want this to hurt more than it does. You truly hope there’s a next time, another year down the line when you run into him over winter break. Maybe you’ll find him at the Radio Shack.

Steve watches you leave, once again. Fumbling his chance, again. When the door swings shut behind you, Steve bends at the waist and drops his head against the countertop.

Typical Harrington. Late to the party, miss the girl.

“Well. That was… really painful to listen to.” Robin emerges from behind one of the shelves, crossing her arms. Gently, she adds, “On the bright side, I don’t think the chocolate coin would have mattered.”

Steve picks his head up, and he thwacks his forehead back down onto the counter.

And again.

And I can see you being my addiction, you can see me as a secret mission. Hide away, and I will start behaving myself…

Sur La Table Restaurant, Chicago, April 1991

You shake your umbrella out as you step into the warm foyer of, quite possibly, the most upscale restaurant you’ve ever set foot in. The carpet is deep, blood red, the walls a dark chestnut wood. The white covered tables are each spotlit within the otherwise dark dining room, and the atmosphere is flavored by soft piano and the quiet din of hushed voices.

You had been hesitant to accept Theo’s invitation to dinner- he seemed too stuck up for your taste, but when Shelly introduced you to him, you had to admit that the name of the restaurant piqued your interest. Sur La Table. Chicago’s premiere Michelin Star restaurant.

As you hand your umbrella over to the coat check clerk, you’re greeted by a smiling hostess. “What’s the name for the reservation?”

“Um… Theo Bowman. I believe he’s already here?”

“Yes, ma’am. Right this way.”

Theo stands as you’re shown to the table. Tall, with dark hair and a wide smile, he reminds you of someone you knew once, but you just can’t seem to place it. Then, when he towers over you to shake your hand, standing far closer than necessary, you’re able to pick it out from the recesses of your mind.

Logan Sawyer.

“You look nice,” Theo says pleasantly, and you chalk up your initial comparison to nerves, on your part. You don’t often let friends set you up on dates, so you’re a little bit out of your element as it is.

As you go to sit down, you admit, “I was so glad when you picked this place, I’ve always wanted to eat here, since I moved to Chicago.”

“It’s not the nicest place I’ve been,” Theo shrugs, taking the seat across from you.

Your smile falters, for a second. “Oh, no?” The water has already been brought to the table, you guess while he was waiting for you. You take a long drink.

“Nah, I’ve been to Le Bernardin, in New York. That’s fine dining.” Theo waves his hand at the upscale dining room. “This is… okay.”

“I see.” You lift your menu, hoping that he’ll do the same.

“Yeah, New York is so much nicer than Chicago, in my opinion,” Theo continues, fiddling with his napkin as he talks. “There’s a lot more to do. Have you ever been?”

You hope this is just his nerves talking. “No.”

Theo keeps talking as you stare at the menu in front of you, at a loss. It’s an a la carte menu, clearly, but extensive and all in french. Salade de poires pochées. Coquilles Saint-Jacques Gratineés. Filet au poivre vert. You’re scrutinizing the fine print of what all the dishes include when your waiter steps up to the table. You know when it happens, because Theo finally stops blathering about New York.

You break your eyes away from the menu to glance at the server’s waistline, at eye level with you. He wears a crisply pressed suit and tie, his hands clasped in front of his belt.

“Good evening sir, ma’am,” the server says in a hushed tone, to keep the volume of the dining room down. “Welcome to Sur La Table. I’m Steven, I’ll be serving you this evening. Before we begin, are there any questions about the menu?”

You peer up into the darkness to try to see Steven’s face. He’s standing just outside of the spotlight over the table, only able to be dimly lit from the indirect light reflecting from the tablecloth. Once your eyes adjust, they lock onto a pair of familiar hazel ones.

Oh my fucking god.

It’s got to be fate, or kismet, or some force of nature that keeps bringing you together like this. Steve Harrington’s face hasn’t changed in five years. Maybe he looks just slightly older, a little more filled out in his suit and tie. His hair is a bit shorter at the back but still that same shade of golden brown, neatly groomed and tidy for the formal atmosphere- but you can see it being tousled on his off days, still flopping across his eyes in waves. And those are the same lips you dreamt about kissing, the same eyes you admired in the school hallway, the same nose that you always wanted to grind o-

“No, I think we’re ready to order,” Theo announces, louder than necessary. You throw your gaze at him, your eyebrows raising despite your best efforts to remain calm.

Is he really going to order for you? Just like that?

“Well, I was going to ask-” you begin, wanting to get a little more specification on how the filet is made, when Theo cuts you off.

“It’s okay, I speak French,” he insists. Not that it makes a difference to what your question was.

You press your lips together in irritation and glance at Steve, who looks back at you stoically. You wonder if he recognizes you like you do him- it’s been long enough, and you’re sure that you look a bit different than you did the last time you saw him. And then you notice the creases around his eyes.

He’s playing it off well enough, sure. But Steve is doing that same look that he did there in the Family Video five years ago, trying to pretend that he’s not affected by you, swallowing back his smile. He sends you a knowing look that says, What a fucking douchebag, am I right?

Suddenly, this date just got way more entertaining. You give Steve a minute roll of your eyes, only enough for him to notice. Tell me about it.

“We’ll start with the Bordeaux,” Theo is already reciting to Steve as you settle back in your seat. Steve pulls a little notepad out of his jacket pocket and begins writing. “For an appetizer, the coquilles. Then for the main, I’ll have the canard montmorency, and she’ll have the mignons de veau.”

You watch Steve’s hand pause as he’s writing, and he looks to you. He raises his eyebrow, saying everything he needs to with the one gesture. Is that what you really want? “The veal?”

“No,” you say, digging your thumbnail into your palm, where it rests on your lap. “Actually, I wanted to ask about the filet. What brandy is the sauce made with?”

Steve smiles, leaning a little bit closer to you. “We use Courvoisier.”

“Great. I’ll have that, please.”

Steve nods encouragingly at you. As he jots down the order, he says, “Wonderful. I’ll get this to the kitchen for you, but before I can bring you the wine, I’ll just need to see the lady’s I.D.”

“Are you serious?” Theo snaps.

“It’s all right,” you murmur, hiding your face as you dip your head to fish your I.D. out of your clutch. “He’s just doing his job. Right, Steven?”

Steve meets your eye as he takes the card from your hand. “You can never be too careful.” You watch him smirk as he looks over your I.D., his eyes lingering on your name for a second before he hands it back to you. If there was any doubt in his mind that you are who he thought, it’s gone now. “Interesting. We’re the same age.”

You laugh. Probably a little louder than is respectable, but you can’t help it. Leave it to Steve Harrington to remind you of the time you bought porn from him, while you’re on a date.

You watch Steve write something else on his notepad, and rip the page out before folding it up. He tucks his notepad into his pocket as he says, “I’ll get this started for you. I hope you enjoy your evening.”

“Thank you, Steven,” you offer just as he starts to walk away.

Steve shoots you a sideways glance. “Always.”

Your heartbeat pounds in your chest as you turn back to your date. Theo looks disgruntled, but he just lifts his water to his lips.

“So,” you begin, “what do you do?”

“Marketing manager,” Theo says, with a click of his tongue. “For Bowman Wine & Spirits.”

“Oh,” you nod. “No relation, I suppose?”

“My father owns the company.”

“Right.” God, help me.

Across the dining room, Steve watches you over his shoulder. His jaw sets as he sees you, the girl of his literal dreams, sitting across from some idiot who doesn’t even know that you don’t order for your date without asking her what she wants first, you fucking weasel.

That’s all right. You seem to have the situation under control, for now. Steve watches you calmly sip your water, staring at your date but not listening to a thing he’s saying.

Steve sighs. He’s never been much of a schemer, but he’ll just make sure that you won’t leave with this guy if you don’t want to.

His fingers brush the note in his pocket, and he pinches it just as he passes the front of house manager, Taryn. Without breaking stride, he slips the note into her hand, heading toward the back hallway and down to the wine cellar.

As Steve passes by, Taryn unfolds the note he slips her, and raises one eyebrow at the request he’s written.

I can see you in your suit and your necktie, pass me a note saying, “Meet me tonight.” Then we kissed and you know I won’t ever tell…

Overall, you enjoy Sur La Table immensely. The restaurant itself, anyways. The wine is wonderful. The atmosphere is great. The food is exquisite.

You’re about to jump the waiter’s bones.

Theo got his second wind sometime after the scallops arrived, and you think he hasn’t paused for breath since. You’ve been calmly eating your food, while Theo tells you literally everything about himself. It’s the best case scenario you can see happening on this date. You enjoy the food, mumble a non-committal acknowledgement now and then, and Theo entertains himself with his own voice the rest of the time.

You’re gonna kill Shelly for setting you up with him, but that’s tomorrow’s problem.

Right now, you’re focused on finishing your glass of wine while he talks about camping, of all things.

“So we got up into the Rockies,” he’s telling you, gesturing with his hands like it’ll make you more engaged. “We ended up freezing our keisters off. No joke, I have frostbite scars.”

“That’s, um… that sounds like fun.”

“No, are you listening? I mean, it was terrible. We couldn’t move for, like, two days. And when the snow stopped we were so tired and cold, we almost died.”

You knock back the rest of your wine with one gulp, and say with a sticky voice, “Wow. A near death experience must have been really scary, I’m sorry.”

Theo frowns. “No- I mean… It wasn’t… it wasn’t near death-”

“You just said-”

“It was more like a serious inconvenience, you know. But we pulled through. I wasn’t scared. A little snow isn’t gonna kill me,” he laughs incredulously. “It was just-”

Theo stops as Steve approaches the table. You catch him giving the back of Theo’s head the most murderous look imaginable before slowing to a stop and plastering an easy customer service smile in its place. “How did you find everything this evening?”

“It was fine.”

“The food was wonderful,” you tell Steve reassuringly. Your date, on the other hand…

“Yeeeah, could we get the check, please?” Theo asks, finally looking up at Steve.

You watch Steve’s brow twitch, such a small movement you could have imagined it. “Certainly. But first-” from behind his back, he reveals two white gift boxes and places them on the table in front of you and your date, respectively. “We like to give each of our customers a signature chocolate truffle, as a token of our appreciation.”

Everything in you aches. “Oh, that’s nice. Thank you so much.” You look down at the box in adoration, thinking for a second that it might be the only time in your life that Steve Harrington gives you something similar to a ring box.

“I’ll be sure to have our hostess come through with the check,” Steve adds delicately, making a gracious exit. His finger just slightly brushes your arm as he passes by- a dangerous move, but one that nearly electrifies your entire body at the single touch. You shiver as he says, “Have a lovely night.”

You watch Steve walk away from you, and your heart sinks into your stomach. You want to chase after him. The 18 year old you, who almost kissed him on prom night, is trying to claw its way out of your skin and bolt after him.

When Steve disappears from view, you have nowhere to look but at your date. Theo opens the white box in front of him and pops a neapolitan colored truffle into his mouth. “Well, that was underwhelming.”

You don’t want to watch him chewing anymore, like a cow gnawing on grass. You sigh, running a frustrated hand across your forehead, and flip open the box in front of you. The top of it rears up like a clam shell, and you freeze, your fingertips suddenly sticking to the sweat beading on your brow.

You don’t have a neapolitan truffle- you have a single golden chocolate coin. You stare at it in shock for a second before you even notice the note pasted to the lid of the box.

Meet me outside- the door past the bathrooms.

“Aren’t you gonna eat yours?” Theo asks suddenly, as the hostess approaches holding the check.

Your eyes snap up just as your heart shoots back up into your chest. “I think I’m gonna save it for later.” You flash him a smile as you close the box swiftly and shove it into your clutch. “Do you mind if I hit the bathroom real quick?”

“No, go ahead. I’ve got it.” Honestly, it’s the kindest thing he’s done for you all night. You might have to thank him some day.

Once you’re out of your seat, you chase after Steve like a shot. Around a block of tables and into a tiled corridor, you walk past the kitchen doorway just as another server comes backing out, carrying a tray of dishes.

There’s a door at the end of the hall, labeled exit. You never actually thought you’d be escaping a bad date through the back door; the notion was too clichéed, you thought that sort of thing only happened in movies. But you find yourself nearly running past the men’s and women’s bathrooms, until your hands slam down on the bar of the back door and thrust it open into the wind.

The rain has picked up, more of a downpour than a light drizzle now. In your haste, you’d left your umbrella and coat with the coat check. Not that it would have been at all discrete if you’d gone to collect it before running towards the bathrooms.

The door clicks shut behind you, and you gaze around in the dark. The alley behind the restaurant is only partially lit by a yellow street lamp, making it even more difficult to find him than it was in the dining room. “Steve?”

You catch movement in the corner of your eye, and turn in the direction of the street lamp. Steve stands up from where he’d been sitting on an overturned crate- apparently the only accommodations the restaurant staff gets during a smoke break. The rain has already soaked into his hair, messing up the tidy style and turning it stringy, falling across his forehead, shining gold in the yellow light. He takes one last puff of the cigarette in his mouth before tossing it into the gutter, and he looks at you.

He sees you. And it’s all you’ve wanted since the day he first walked into your geography class, freshman year of high school. There’s been some kind of a magnetic pull between you two for years. Something keeps bringing you together, it’s just never been the right time. Until now.

Finally, you’re running towards him, and Steve’s arms finally come around you, pulling you against his body. Your hands find the back of his neck just in time for his lips to crash against yours.

You had lost count of the amount of times you watched him kiss other girls in the hallway in high school- not just Nancy, but any and every girl he attached himself to (for a while, it seemed like he couldn’t make up his mind who he was dating at any given moment). All you knew was that it was never you, and you wanted it to be so desperately that it consumed your mind half the time. He looked like a good kisser, and you fantasized about going up to him and testing that theory for yourself.

But you never expected that his lips would slide over yours with an urgency that you could feel through to your very core, probably even more desperate for your kiss than you are for his. Steve’s fingertips press into your body through the thin fabric of your dress, holding you firmly to him like he’s afraid you might disappear on him again if he doesn’t absorb you completely. Your mouth opens with a soft gasp, and Steve’s tongue against yours tastes like tobacco.

It happens so fast that you can’t even think- and you don’t really want to. You’re tired of thinking everything through, finding reasons upon reasons why it’s not a good time, why it’s a bad idea, why it won’t work. He moans into you, grabbing the side of your face as he stumbles with you to the wall, pressing you up against the side of the brick building.

You meet his moan with a whimper of your own as his hand slides down over the curve of your ass, and he hikes up the skirt of your dress to grab at your skin with abandon. There’s a ferocity in Steve’s kiss that you don’t know what to do with, like he’s trying to stake a claim to you right there in the rain, with no one around to see it happen but the moths in the street light overhead. Not that he needs to- he’s already got you. You already chose him.

Steve gives you room to breathe with a soft sigh, his forehead resting against yours. “Been wanting to do that since high school,” he admits, just loud enough for you to hear, before pressing a featherlight kiss just beside your mouth, and again to your cheek.

“Y-you fffucking-?” you gasp when he latches his lips around a sweet spot on your neck and sucks. “I had such a huge crush on you, Steve.”

“I know. I- I should have- I should…” Steve drops his head against your shoulder and groans when your nails rake against his scalp. “Fuck.”

He grinds his hips up against yours, biting your lip as the hard length of his cock presses up against your core. “Gonna fuck me in this alleyway, Harrington?”

“I’m seriously considering it,” he growls into your ear. His lips find yours again with a passion, his hand holding your jaw still. A hot breath escapes him, pouring over your skin and making you shiver. You’re lightheaded, so close to just letting him do it, too, when the back door of the restaurant swings open.

Steve still takes a second to pull away, a little too absorbed in kissing you to really care who sees him do it. If he had his way, he’d have everyone see that you’re his- that you belong with him, and have for a long time. He finally glances over his shoulder to see one of the cooks, Liam, walking off in the direction of the employee parking lot.

“Where did you get the fucking doubloon?” you whisper into his ear, sounding so fucking adorable that Steve can’t help the lovesick look he gives you.

He brushes his nose against yours. “I sent my manager on a treasure hunt.” You giggle, pressing your forehead up against his, and he can’t help but chuckle along with you. “I wanted to give you one at Family Video, that time.”

“I know,” you say, and he pulls back to look at your face. “I heard you yelling at your coworker in the back room.”

Steve snickers and turns red with embarrassment, hiding his face in the crook of your neck. You run your fingers through his rain-soaked hair, a content smile on your face as you feel him grin against your skin and shake with laughter. “Take me home, Steve.”

You don’t have to ask him twice.

What would you do, baby, if you only knew? That I can see you throw your jacket on the floor, I can see you make me want you even more…

The drive to Steve’s apartment downtown is made with light conversation and the heavy, heavy weight of his hand on your thigh, creeping up further with each mile. But aside from the implication of sex hanging in the air, it’s as easy as breathing, chatting about the night with him. Shitting on Theo.

“Did you notice the way he said coquilles,” Steve murmurs to you at a red light. “I thought he was gagging on something. He was just trying to impress you, you know.”

You grunt. Could’ve tried a little harder. “He didn’t even like them. He said he didn’t like shellfish,” you laugh in return as you lace your fingers through Steve’s. “Why the fuck would you order scallops, then?”

“The price.”

It’s sweet, talking to him all the way to his apartment building, just catching up like old friends. He tells you that he’s going to culinary school now, and he’s been working at the restaurant for a little over a year, just to pay the bills.

“Culinary school? Really?” you say, with a note of awe in your voice.

“Turns out I’m really fucking good at cooking,” Steve chuckles. “Who’d have thought? Maybe someday I’ll stop waiting tables and work back there in the kitchen.”

“I can see it,” you tell him softly. “I can see you being the world’s best chef. Three stars and everything.”

He scoffs, but a pink blush creeps up the back of his neck. “You have too much faith in me.”

“Those are fighting words, Harrington.” You wag your finger at him. “Throwing down the gauntlet?”

“You just want me to cook you something,” Steve tuts.

“Absolutely, I do.” You consider him for a moment, in the passing light of a streetlamp. “Am I that transparent?”

Steve tilts his head to eye you meaningfully, and he smirks. “Always have been, honey.” His thumb rubs a little circle on your thigh that has you squirming in your seat.

The first thing you see of Steve’s apartment is the kitchen, and beyond that the dormant living room, but you don’t get that far before you’re sidetracked. Steve throws his keys onto a drop station by the door, and pins you up against the refrigerator before you can even think to ask where to put your shoes.

Your clothes are still damp, your hair still pasted to your clammy skin. Steve’s lips are attacking yours and his hands are grabbing at everything he can touch, but it’s still not enough. He’s not able to feel all of you at once, and it’s driving him insane with every passing moment.

Steve roughly yanks his suit jacket off, throwing it onto the tile floor beside the kitchen island. “Lay down.”

“What?” you whisper to him as he kisses your neck, guiding you away from the side of the fridge. “Here?”

“Right here,” Steve states, not joking in the slightest. You wobble on your feet as you kick off your heels, but his hands on your hips keep you steady. “Been waiting too long for this- can’t wait anymore.”

“I- wwhuh-?” you gasp as Steve kneels in front of you, and your knees buckle involuntarily as he lays you down across his discarded jacket. Your hands grab his shoulders as you tumble backward, taking him with you.

He face-plants into your stomach with a noisy, “Oof.” Cackling, you run your fingers through his damp hair, as he laughs and shoves his blushing face further against your torso. Steve litters your stomach with kisses, giggling against you with a note of nervous energy. He’s adorable.

You pet your fingers down the side of his face and he leans into the touch. “Can’t even wait long enough to take me to the bedroom?”

“Well, I would have fucked you in the alley,” Steve points out as his fingers breach the hem of your skirt and find your panties. He tugs as he says, “Be thankful I even got you home.”

Your cheeks burn hot. You fidget, trying to press your thighs together to abate the throbbing ache between them. “Careful, baby. You’re starting to sound desperate.”

Steve pauses, his hazel eyes lighting up when they lock on yours. “Call me that again,” he requests, pressing a kiss to your ankle as he pulls your panties off your feet. He tosses them over his shoulder, but you don’t see where they land as he continues peppering kisses down your calf.

You hold his gaze. “Baby?” His eyes flutter, his lips parting as they drag up toward your knee. “You like when I call you that?”

“I like when you call me anything,” Steve admits. “But as long as you call me that, it means I’m yours.”

Your breath stutters in your chest. Steve Harrington is yours. It doesn’t matter if it’s just for tonight- what matters is that you have him now, and he wants you just as badly.

“You’re mine, aren’t you?” he murmurs quietly against your skin, his voice crackling with brimming need. He’s flushed, his cheeks pink and his hair drying in tousled waves over his forehead the longer he drags this out.

Nodding your head, you reach down to lace your fingers through his, where they’re bunching your skirt up around your hips. “Yes, Steve.” Always have been.

He turns his head and sucks a spot on your calf, just below your knee, resting your ankle over his shoulder. Still, despite your desperation, you nervously keep your thighs pinched together.

Steve tuts, “C’mon, baby, you’ve gotta spread your legs for me. You wanna let me see that pretty pussy, right?”

Still clammy and cold with rain, the air on your exposed skin makes you shiver almost as much as his sweeping hands do when they gently part your thighs. You let go, let him take control as you still and keep your eyes focused on his face, because looking anywhere else would remind you that this is real, and not a dream.

Steve sighs, “There she is. Y’gonna let me taste you, sweetheart?” He bats his pretty eyes at you in a way that makes your heart stop dead in your chest. He can’t keep his mouth off of you, even for a moment, his lips and slight stubble dragging across your skin as he says, “Been wanting to forever, you won’t even believe-”

“Please, Steve,” you start to beg before he even finishes his sentence. “Please, my god, I- I just- I just want you so much-”

“Sh-sh-sh-shh.” His tongue licks wet and hot against your inner thigh before he whispers, “I’ve got you, baby. M’not going anywhere, I’m staying right here ‘til you cum.”

You’re instantly hot all over, your blood fucking boiling beneath your skin and your wet dinner dress. Steve’s fingers dig into the meat of your thighs as he yanks you toward his face, the fabric of his jacket beneath you audibly zipping along the kitchen floor.

Steve dips his head, and his mouth closes over your cunt right at the same moment that yours falls open with a moan that won’t come out, because you’ve suddenly forgotten how to breathe. The noise stalls right at the beginning- your lungs stop working and you can’t seem to get them to start again, because Steve’s tongue is everywhere, dripping wet and gentle on skin that’s way too sensitive to handle it right now. Your hips try to jerk away from him in resistance, but he slams his hand down on them, holding you hard and still against the tile floor, his shoulders pushed up against the backs of your thighs to keep them open.

Steve takes a break just long enough to grin evilly up at you, because he’s been waiting for five years to tell you to, “Breathe, sweetheart.”

“Fffffuck,” you manage to spit out finally, your voice cracking on the word like it didn’t even really want to put in the work to make it happen. Your breath comes back into your lungs all at once, rapid firing with a dozen moans for punctuation. Steve’s lips quirk against you, and he rumbles a noise of satisfaction against your pussy that makes you jolt in his hold again. “Steve…”

He pulls off of you with a slow, slow stroke of his tongue over your clit, making you whimper high and tight in your throat. “That’s it, baby,” Steve whispers, his breath fanning across your slick cunt, his left hand leaving your hip so that he can drag his knuckles teasingly through your swollen folds. “Feels good, doesn’t it? Feels so right.”

Two long fingers sink into you with ease, stirring the need in you to have him just simply destroy you. You moan loud, your hand shooting out and wrapping around the leg of a bar stool for the kitchen island beside you.

“Poor thing’s just so sensitive, huh?” Your head arches backwards against the floor, your pussy clenching tight around his fingers as he curves them with practiced accuracy. Steve’s voice is a deep murmur, distant thunder rolling over your nerves, “Relax for me, honey. You’ve waited long enough, just let it happen. Let me give you what you want.”

His lips shine when you look down at him, your hand reaching to run through his hair. Stifling a whine that threatens to come out when he kisses your clit and bends his fingers within you, you stutter out, “J-just want… I- ha-ah! Just want you.”

Steve purrs. “I know.” The crisp white fabric of his shirt scrapes against your thighs, almost rough in comparison to his tongue flat on your pussy. You can hear the wet, salacious sound of his fingers pumping into you, pulling you toward the edge of oblivion. He hisses through his teeth, shaking his head slightly. “God, I’m so fuckin’ lucky.”

“Y-you-?” you manage a laugh, scraping your nails along his scalp lightly. “You’re lucky? You have n-no… fffucking idea-” You cut off with a sob when Steve wraps his lips around your clit, sucking long and hard enough that your leg twitches, your heel dragging up the back of his pristine white blouse. Your breathing picks up just as all your muscles lock down tight. “Jesus Christ-”

“There you go,” Steve praises as your orgasm shakes your body, your hand gripping his hair so hard that he groans softly into your damp skin. He doesn’t stop moving his fingers, lewd wet noises picking up and echoing through the quiet kitchen. “That’s a good girl. Mmm , felt so nice to let go, didn’t it?”

You don’t know if he really wants you to answer that- you’re still twitching, coming down from your high as he pulls his fingers from your spasming cunt and sucks them into his mouth. The pause gives you a gentle reprieve, sinking back onto his suit jacket beneath you. Then, his mouth finds your pussy again, his tongue delving deep into your entrance and laving up to your sensitive clit.

You gasp, throwing your hands down into his hair. “Steve-?!”

He moans in response. “Just needed to taste you some more, honey. Taste so fuckin’ sweet, I can’t get enough.” Steve relents, crawling up your body to hover his face over yours. “Still wanna see the bedroom?”

You nod excitedly, your hands finding his smiling face and stroking the hair away from his eyes. With a gentle kiss of his wet lips to yours, Steve gathers your still-wrecked body into his arms and carries you into his bedroom.

He’s struck by how blissful you are as he sets you down on his bed, so soft and inviting. He encourages your arms up, his hands finding the zipper of your wet dress and finally, finally, pulling it over your head so that he can see you. All your curves and edges on display for him, after all this time imagining what he couldn’t see with the naked eye.

“You’re so beautiful.” Steve repeats what he told you all those years ago at prom- he meant it then, and he means it now. Maybe even more this time, now that he’s not a stupid teenager, now that he finally has his head on his shoulders.

You shiver against him when he unclips your bra- black lace that matches the underwear sitting in his entryway. A possessive part of him rears up, knowing that you’d worn them to a date with some asshole who couldn’t treat you right, even for one hour of the guy’s miserable life. Steve dips his head and kisses your breast, so much softer now than he was before, feeling your heartbeat against his lips.

“Hey.” You gently tug him by his tie, loosening it and his collar. You look into his eyes, and his heart melts. “Where’d you go just now, sailor?”

Steve blushes, his eyes flicking down as you remove his tie and start unbuttoning his blouse. “Just thinking...” he trails off, eyeing you thoughtfully. “Just thinking I could have missed you again if I wasn’t careful.”

“Mmm,” you hum, your hands smoothing up his chest and over his shoulders to get his shirt off of him. It drops to the floor with a whisper. “I don’t think so. I think this was meant to happen, eventually.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You scrunch your nose cutely, in a way that makes Steve’s pants tighten even more uncomfortably across his hips. “We’ve run into each other too many fuckin’ times, baby. Karma’s on our side.”

He laughs. “Karma.” He shakes his head as he undoes his belt.

You quirk your brow at him as your hands fiddle with the fly of his suit pants. “Don’t believe me?”

Steve grunts, shifting to lean over you. “I’ll believe anything you say when you’re taking my pants off, honey. I’m easy that way.”

Your nails rake through the hair on his chest- you can’t keep your hands off of him now that they’ve got him. You trace over two blotchy scars, one on either side of his torso that mirror each other. “What happened here?”

He blows a puff of air out of his mouth, rounding his cheeks as he shrugs. “Some… animals decided I looked really tasty, at one point. I know, they aren’t very pretty.”

Steve’s brushing over it like it’s nothing. You search his face, and you decide to do the same. “Actually, I think it’s kind of hot.” You drag your hand up to lay flat over his chest. You whisper conspiratorially, “Plus, I think you look really tasty, too.”

Steve quirks an eyebrow. “Y’gonna bite me about it?”

“Probably.” You wink. “Most likely.”

Your gaze falls indiscreetly to his cock, hard and flushed, glistening with precum and curving up toward his stomach. Girls talk, especially when they’re all trying to one-up each other; you knew that he was big. You’d heard the rumors. You’d seen him wearing those tight fucking jeans all the time, and you didn’t have to have much of an imagination to figure it out.

Still. It’s… a little overwhelming. You reach out a tentative hand, lightly wrapping your fingers around his base. They barely meet. Jesus Christ.

He groans, and kisses you until you can’t speak, resting his weight on top of you until you sink gleefully into the mattress. There’s a smile on your lips that transfers onto his, happiness and ease still flowing between you even as he grinds his hips up against yours.

“Ready?” Steve murmurs softly into your mouth, stealing your breath when you feel his cock slide through your folds, hot and fat.

“Dunno,” you tell him teasingly, but there’s an edge of reason to your words. Your hips squirm and you feel him even worse, slippery with your arousal. You whine. “I think you might kill me with that thing, Harrington.”

“I’ll go slow,” he whispers, hoarse in the back of his throat, his voice already shaking. “I’ll make sure you feel every bit of it, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you agree as you reach to line him up properly. “I’m all yours.”

Steve gives a relieved sigh as he slides into you, his head falling heavily to your shoulder. His cock aches, his torso shaking as he tries to steady himself. “Oh my god.”

“Baby,” you coo, choking on a moan when he bottoms out. He’s so thick- your nails dig into his shoulder blades as you try to remember how to breathe. It’s certainly a big stretch to try to fit him, but you can’t help wanting more just as soon as he comes to a stop. You can feel him trying to hold steady, holding himself back as though it’s the hardest thing in the world for him to do.

Because it is. You can’t see it, the way that his brow is furrowed in concentration, his eyes screwed shut. He didn’t know it would be like this- that he’d be in danger of blowing it just as soon as he started.

Your heel digs into his ass, and he doesn’t know if you do it purposefully, but he almost whimpers.

You take a shuddering breath. “Please- please move, Steve, I can’t take it.”

Oh, you can’t take it? “You know what,” Steve says with a hint of strain in his voice, picking his head up to nuzzle his nose with yours, “I think you like me.”

You snort, and kiss him lightly. “What gave you that impression?”

“Y’so fucking cute.” Steve hums and sloooowly pulls his hips back, dragging his cock through your walls so deliciously that your toes curl. “Could be all those times you stared at me in class-” He watches your face as he pushes forward, until his hips are flush with yours and your head arches backwards against his sheets. “Could be when you nearly let me kiss you at prom-” Out. In. Steve runs his tongue up the length of your throat, and bites at your earlobe. He whispers, “Could be that you came on my tongue ten minutes ago.”

He picks up his pace, just a bit. Just enough to have the bed creaking under you with the rhythm, to have you moaning in tandem with him- needy and high pitched, leaping from your throat into the hot, sex-charged air.

Steve’s lips latch onto your neck, and he sucks hard. He eases up after just a couple seconds, dragging his tongue over the sensitive spot, but you know what he’s just done- he’s marked you, right where you won’t be able to hide it in the morning.

You want him to do it all over your body.

Your jaw goes slack and you’re losing all integrity. He’s even better than you imagined- sleepless nights wanting, hoping endlessly that you’d find yourself here, under him, couldn’t have prepared you for how perfect it feels. His hand finds yours and laces your fingers together, pinning it to the mattress beside your head, squeezing with every slow and purposeful thrust of his hips.

Steve’s cock finds your g-spot like it’s nothing, like he’s known your body for ages. He barely even has to try before you’re whimpering, raking your nails up his back and leaving long red trails behind.

Your teeth latch onto his shoulder and you bite, probably harder than you should, but you just can’t refuse the urge to mark him the way that he’s left his mark on you. He moans, a deep and boyish sound in your ear, as you drag your tongue along his shoulder, soothing the bite, tasting his sweat. The salt and the sweetness of his skin, mixed with the heady smell of sex in the room, have you losing yourself in him.

“Biter.” You hear him chuckle dangerously, rumbling along your skin while his nose skirts your jawline.

“You’re so good, Stevie-” you whine, hot pleasure rearing up in you like a tidal wave. “Oh, you feel so fucking good, I love- love how you feel inside me.”

Steve groans loudly into your shoulder, his teeth grazing your collarbone. You think he has a mind to bite you back- maybe he’d do it harder. You can see Steve drawing blood, when the mood suits him.

But his hand squeezes yours, his other sweeping broadly up your thigh and hitching your leg up further over his hip. “Yeah?” His voice is rough, bordering on a growl, “What’d’ya say we stay like this forever, huh? Just like this?”

His pelvis grinds up against yours, his pubes crushing against your clit making you gasp. Everything’s wet- your skin, his skin, the sheets. Sweaty bodies sticking and sliding against each other, your hips meeting his in the middle.

“Like this?” you gasp, your head reeling. His forehead presses against yours, and it’s just about the only thing bringing you back into focus. Steve doesn’t falter, keeping the same pace and rhythm while he watches you try to form a coherent reply. “Mm- I- I, hhuh-”

“C’mon, babygirl,” he breathes against your damp skin, “you can do better than that. You love my cock so much, you wanna keep it warm all the time? Wanna stay in bed with me forever, is that it?”

You nod fervently, your hands grabbing at his neck, his hair, his shoulder- anywhere you can touch. “Yes, yes. God, Steve, I- you’re gonna make me cum, shit-”

“I know it,” Steve murmurs, tugging your lip between his teeth and making you whine again. Your cunt pulses around him, and he hisses, his hand slipping on your thigh. “Love seein’ you all drunk on my cock- shit, you’re so gorgeous like this.” He pauses to kiss you, making you lightheaded, making you tug at his hair. “Y’look so pretty under me, baby. Pussy feels so good, I wanna stay here, too. I can see us doin’ this for the rest of our lives, huh? How’s that sound?”

How does it sound? You and Steve Harrington, together forever? Intertwined, knotted up with no way to lose each other, no disappearing and then reappearing years down the line?

“S’that a challenge?” you whimper shakily at him. “Throwing down the gauntlet?”

“I don’t think I could let you go, now,” Steve tells you firmly, his hand leaving your thigh so that he can grab your jaw possessively, his tongue darting out to trace gently across your bottom lip. “I’m never gonna let you go, baby.”

You wrap your legs around his waist. “I don’t want you to.”

“I hope so,” he whispers, his breath mingling with yours.

Steve kisses you long and slow when you cum. You swallow his moans when he does.

What would you? Baby, if you only knew that I can see you, oh, I can see you…

You almost think it’s a dream. When you rouse in the morning, you feel like you imagined it. But you’re surrounded by the scent of Steve, of musky cologne and sweat and sex, and maybe just a little bit of hair gel stuck to his pillows.

You flop over and stare at the ceiling. You’re alone in a king size bed, fitted with gray sheets and a few too many pillows. The other side of the bed is still warm, but your paramour is nowhere to be found. His bedroom is fairly stark, with a few little things arranged on the dresser top and clothes thrown around the floor. It doesn’t feel like a room he spends much time in, aside from sleeping and dressing in the morning.

You immediately think about what this all means for you. Whether he really meant what he said in the heat of the moment, if he really wants this to be a long-term thing or if it was just pillow talk. It doesn’t take you long to determine which one you want it to be.

There’s commotion on the other side of the closed door. You lean over the side of the bed, searching for something to put on before you just waltz out there naked. Ultimately, you pull on his blouse from last night.

You emerge from the bedroom squinting against the light in the room. The blinds in the living room are open, casting bright sunlight across the room and into the kitchen. You find Steve in front of the stove.

“Hey, there she is!” he announces happily. “Just in time for breakfast.”

Steve looks so comfortable in the kitchen, moving around quickly and efficiently, whereas you tend to blunder about. When you wander over to the island, you notice he’s already picked up his suit jacket, and laid it across the bar stool next to the one you choose.

Your underwear is nowhere to be seen.

You grin at his back, plopping down onto the bar stool. The metal is cold against your bare ass, nearly making you squeal and jump back up. “Is it a Sex on the Beach?”

He laughs gleefully. “Nah, if only. How was that, by the way?”

“The ice cream, or the porn?”

He turns to grin at you over his shoulder. “Both.”

He’s wearing glasses. Round wire frames that complement his face perfectly, making him look distinguished in his gray sweats and black t-shirt. Just like that, you’re spiraling. Suddenly, you’re picturing yourself being here, with him cooking breakfast in his glasses and PJ’s every morning, on and on into the future. Doing domestic shit, grocery shopping, dancing around in the kitchen at 3 am, kissing in the rain- well, you’ve already done that one.

But you can see it. That future, with him by your side, it’s right there. You just don’t know if it’s the one that he wants. You don’t really know how deep this runs for him.

Funny what just an accessory can do to your train of thought.

“Um.” You swallow. What was the question? “The ice cream was great. Still the best sundae I’ve ever had, by the way. The porn was bullshit, I didn’t get through twenty minutes. I just wanted to make you blush.”

“Brat.” He spins around, and plates an omelet right in front of you. You watch his face, tracing the easy smile he wears. “I hope you like it- but if you don’t, you better not say anything. I don’t think I could handle the pain of your rejection.” He looks up at you, hazel eyes shining gold in the sunlight. “You’re staring.”

“I-” you blink at him. You don’t fucking say. You open your mouth to ask- you want to ask what this is, what he feels, did he mean it. Do you want to do this again? Is this serious for you? Because it is for me, if you want it. You just don’t get that far.

“You’ve been staring since we were fourteen,” he chuckles, sliding you a fork.

That startles you. “Well,” you click your tongue. “I didn’t realize you were looking so closely.”

“Oh,” Steve shrugs, turning to place the pan in the sink. “Just since freshman year. When you read Juliet’s monologue in English class. Remember?”

You tilt your head. Vaguely. It was just a class project, where each person had to choose a Shakespearean monologue to recite in front of the class. You thought he only even became aware of you senior year.

Romeo, doff thy name, And for that name which is no part of thee, Take all myself.

“Are you telling me,” you say, palms flat on the counter as you peer at him incredulously, “you’ve liked me just as long as I’ve liked you?”

“Told you I’d get there, eventually.”

Your brain refuses to compute. You stare at his back, his tousled hair, and want to yank him toward you and squeeze him like one of those fucking squeaky toys that you get at the pet store. The ones the eyes pop out of.

Steve turns to you with a smirk, leaning across the counter to mirror you. He reaches forward to trace the mark he made on your neck, still tender, while mocking your pout back at you. His eyes crease at the corners, like they always do when he’s trying to be coy.

“Eat your breakfast, baby. We’ve got a lot to talk about.”

(I see you, I see you, baby.)

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fanfiction #stranger things #roses*

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c0wb0yenthusiast · 1 month

Text

My Lady

Feyd Rautha x Fem!Reader

Word count : 6.5k

Warnings : SMUT! let me know in the comments if I’ve missed anything

Summary : You’re being married off to the mysterious Na-Baron of Giedi Prime. Feyd Rautha is a strange man, but his confusing mannerisms frustrate you throughout his stay in your planet. However, how do you supposed he feels about you?

Feyd Rautha is a leader.

Feyd Rautha is a prince.

He has a whole nation willing to submit to his every request. He does not have time to be waiting for his alleged ‘bride’.

So why is he standing in the hallway like a lost child? It only heightens his anger, his frustration.

You must be making him wait out of spite, since it’s so obvious you harbour no reason to appreciate this marital alliance. He’s already drafting up wicked ideas of what his witch for a wife will look like; clearly you haven’t shown yourself until the last moment to be spared from any chances of spending time with your new husband.

Of course, it’s no secret that the Reverend Mothers’ breeding program may seem ‘unfair’ to some. Like pairing such a worthy, well-bred prince such as Feyd with a young woman who hasn’t been raised right - this must only benefit the alliance of nations and different species.

His posture can only be described as perfection. His shoulders drawn and broad, hands tucked behind his back in an orderly manner to appear more powerful - after all, first impressions are important for alliances.

Even in thought, he cannot call this a marriage. The very thought of it leaves a bitter taste in his mouth, one that he desires to get rid of as quickly as possible.

However, with perfection comes sacrifices. Since the moment he stepped foot onto your land - your territory - Feyd braced himself as if he were walking straight into an ambush and you were the enemy. His muscles strained against the plain, dark cloths he’d adorned today instead of his usual armour. He was vulnerable to his surroundings now, unshielded and alone.

He pays close attention to the hallway he finds himself dawdling in. It’s dim, built with smooth bricks that are cool to the touch. But that is no distraction for what is to come any moment now.

In mere moments, the two of you were to meet for the first time and officiate your marriage. You were to be his wife, provide him with children and continue the Harkonnen lineage. That is what a successful alliance was, as well as what was expected of by the Reverend Mothers who set up this marriage in the first place.

Feyd forces any kind of hesitation out of his mind, why should he be unwilling? All you needed to do was perform your marital duties and live with him. You don’t even need to be in the same room with him after that. It was simple enough for Feyd to understand after it had been instilled in his head ever since he’d been born.

Feyd was ready to commit to making this alliance work out for both of your nations. As for his own martial duties? It would be as easy as his fights in the arena, entertaining even. You’re just another enemy he needs to fight off in another way.

He doesn’t flinch when the door next to him opens slowly and your father comes out, inviting him in to meet his newly wed.

Then he saw you.

He cannot begin to explain the flood of unfamiliar emotions that crashed once he caught sight of you. He knew you wouldn’t look like his own kind - but this is something entirely different. You are unlike his Darlings back in Giedi Prime, unlike any kind of princess or woman who has come to witness his battles. His feelings towards you deviate from the usual ones he’s been indoctrinated to feel. You’re beautiful in a way that aches.

You are the beginning of his newfound hunger for something new, something he simply doesn’t want to understand.

Feyd Rautha is smitten. So profoundly smitten, it causes him pain that he doesn’t enjoy for once. It gnaws at his bones as he continues to glare at you while entering the room.

“Please, My Lord, have a seat.” You sound mostly unaffected, he isn’t able to piece together what is forming inside your mind. But he can already tell. You’ve probably studied him before this, obvious from your lack of surprise which surprisingly pains him. He wants to know what you’re thinking.

Deep down, he craves to know if you’re experiencing the same feelings as he is now.

Even if he can’t decipher them.

He opts to stand by the chair you’d gestured to, but it only brings a small hint of confusion as you rise out of your chair to greet him.

“Feyd Rautha Harkonnen, you are a mighty warrior and prince. I am glad to become your wife and unite our nations.” You’re dressed for the occasion; your pure white gown flows while you move, practically making your face glow as if you were the only significant thing in the room. And you were to Feyd.

You were his bride.

You were his and that is what mattered to him. Having possession over the finest woman in all the land, it was like a blessing in his honour.

He ignores your suspiciously dull tone, overcome by the sheer beauty that he is currently facing instead.

“As am I.” Feyd struggles to force these words out, he could almost choke on them. His raspy tone seems to shock you, your eyes widen for a split second.

But then you relax just as quick, crossing your hands over one another as you look up at him to talk.

“In my culture, we commemorate marriage with rings. A symbol of our union. We took the time to forge a pair for the occasion.”

He’s too busy watching your lips to pay attention to the servant holding out the rings, but quickly takes one and entraps it inside his fist.

“My Lord? Will you not wear your ring now?”

He almost felt himself falter at the sight of your concern - it seems genuine. The gentle frown on your lips as you wait for an answer tugs at his chest. You wanted him to honour your nation, you wanted him to honour his own marriage.

Feyd doesn’t answer, only unclenching his fist slowly and then sliding the ring onto his finger. It fits perfectly, prompting him to examine it for a couple of moments before being interrupted by you again.

“I made sure to choose the most special designs for us. We both have a gem sacred to our culture in the centre of the ring. Look.” You guide your hand towards his cautiously, observing his reaction for any kind of surprise or aggression.

Feyd stays as still as a stone, allowing your tender hand to gesture to the gem encrusted in his wedding band. Although the jewel is a deep, crimson colour it has a small glint that catches his eye. It looks rather simple compared to his Harkonnen style ring, symbolising his lineage and loyalty to his own nation.

Now he had to balance two kinds of priorities: his marriage and his clan.

“When will the ceremony take place?” He finally manages to muster up something showing any kind of intelligence, but it doesn’t phase you. You’re probably already thinking about the rest of your life with a cold, barbaric sadist.

“Well, right now we have just officially married. This was represented by the rings. Tomorrow, we plan on hosting a dinner before I leave for Geidi Prime. Is that all?” Your question isn’t intimidating or full of anger, rather more curious. He’d like to think that you wanted to know more, but now Feyd is mentally batting this newfound want to please you, have you smile or praise him. He is too busy to consider what your true intentions could be.

“Yes. I want to be shown to my chambers.” He nods, placing his hands behind his back once more. To you it looks polite, whereas Feyd sees it as restraining himself. He can’t shake the urge to touch you, claim you properly as his own and see if you’re any different from his own kind. Is your skin softer? What does your hair feel like? All of these questions rush through his mind continuously, pushing his boundaries further and further.

You have no time to respond since Feyd has already left the room, practically charging out with a servant trailing behind him. He cannot bear to look at your face any longer.

It will only feed his delusions of the possibility of love in this alliance.

Feyd is no stranger to the nighttime, but the peace that comes with the loneliness is new to him. When he usually stalked the halls in Giedi Prime, tension was thick in the atmosphere, so thick it could’ve choked him. But that wouldn’t have deterred Feyd’s other senses. There was always some reason to have his guard up.

Yet, as he stared up at the moon from the courtyard, there was only the sound of his quiet, quick breaths. He was still dressed in his cloths from earlier, hesitant towards the idea of becoming any more vulnerable if he let himself adorn his nightclothes. The breeze presses against his face gently, gliding off of his skin and clothes as he absorbs the new sensation of the cool air. Your planet was almost as mysterious as you, so many things unexplained that he surprisingly cannot say a bad word about.

The soft patter of gentle footsteps on the cool stones disrupt his solace, prompting Feyd to whip his head in your direction. You’re making your way towards him slowly, holding up the hem of your nightgown to prevent it from getting any stains from the damp grass of the courtyard. His eyes glaze over your figure highlighted in the moonlight, but only more dramatised from the thin, white fabric of your gown. He quickly averts his gaze before you’re able to get close enough to notice, pretending that he hasn’t even bothered to look at you.

You don’t say anything as you approach. Your hands lie limply by your sides once you stand beside him, tilting your head up to look at the moon.

“Do you not have a moon in Geidi Prime?” It’s soft and cautious, as if you’re treading water and trying to see if you’ll sink.

“We do. It isn’t like your planet at all. Hardly anything is similar.” His sentences are short and unintentionally as sharp as his posture.

“That is why we’re married, is it not? To bring together two nations who could benefit from each other.”

He nods in agreement and watches you out of the corner of his eye; he can see the subtle curve of your lips and how it changes your entire face tremendously. Feyd can’t tear his attention away from you.

“I’m glad that you came to my planet, my lord. I’m sorry if this isn’t how a princess should speak… but it will help my people and that is my sworn duty. Thank you.” You add, bowing your head to him shortly. It’s an embarrassment for a princess to be acting so informally when unchaperoned, you scold yourself.

He nods again, and you can feel a hint of amusement bubbling within your chest.

“You don’t talk a lot, do you? Are all Harkonnens like this?” You’re trying not to faint at the possibility of getting shut down or even attacked, yet it hasn’t unnerved you entirely. You don’t know enough about your husband to know what to expect for your honeymoon in Giedi Prime - which can have consequences for the better or worse.

Finally, he tilts his head in your direction. His eyes linger on your face as his mouth opens to respond.

“No.”

You chuckle, putting a hand to your mouth as you smile and look up at him with those bright eyes that Feyd is beginning to grow some kinds of strange feelings for.

“One of my warriors was sent to Giedi Prime when I found out who I was to marry, so I could understand who I would spend my future with. He saw you fighting in the arena - you were much more talkative then.” Your tone is playful as you wait for an answer, shifting closer to him.

Feyd is biting his tongue, letting the molars press deep to the point he feels some kind of pain that brings pleasure. His usual way to cope with complex feelings.

But he’s not even sure of what these current feelings are.

Feyd usually categorises ‘complex’ as a mix of emotions he’s used to. As if it’s a formula. For example, anger and confusion can lead to frustration, which is something he’s been feeling a lot since he’s laid eyes on you.

But that is not the case this time. He is having an irregular formula that could lead to disaster.

One part of his mind is primal, downright carnal as his gaze flickers to the low neckline of your dress. The way your collarbone is illuminated in the moonlight, how little of your body is covered by this ‘gown’ as his eyes roam your shoulders and neck.

The other is unknown. He cannot piece together why you’re like this, why you’re doing these horrible things to his mind and body. What they could cause him to do if these games go on for too long.

“I am very excited on the battlefield. Like a little boy.” He scolds himself, crossing his arms as he reflects on his last time in the arena.

“Well, I don’t think that’s a bad thing. You are just enjoying yourself.”

“So you understand the pleasure of winning battle?”

You’re a taken aback at his direct question, almost shrinking as he peers deep into your eyes.

“I am not usually involved in warfare, but I do find there are other ways to seek this kind of pleasure you speak of.” You’re a little flushed now, nervous of where this topic of ‘pleasure’ could lead to. It’s midnight and you’re alone in the courtyard with your newly wedded husband - what could go wrong?

“I am no child. I understand what you speak of when using the term ‘other ways’.” He’s much closer now, glaring down at you with such an intensity that you feel as if he’s searing marks into your skin from his gaze.

“I am so sorry, Na-Baron. I- I should not have brought this topic up! It is very shameful, so I must depart now.” You turn to leave, about to grasp onto your nightgown when his sudden grip on your wrist makes you gasp.

“Why did you call me Na-Baron?” His tone is low, intimidating and sending sparks down your spine that shouldn’t be there.

“Because… because…” you find yourself at a loss for words, too nervous to attempt to form a response.

“You say that I am your lord, so you are my lady.” His voice comes out raspier, every word has an edge to it as he speaks. You cannot help but feel as if this is a command.

As you’re about to retort, state that he’s never called you ‘his lady’ so far, he leans in closer. His plump lips are parted, allowing his hot breath to fan over your skin. It spreads a sweet, hot sensation that brings up a fever in your mind. Suddenly, your judgement is a little more clouded, intoxicated by his presence.

“You have not said that I am your lady yet.” You whisper, exhaling shaky breaths as your eyes dart from his gaze to his lips. Then again. It’s a battle that you’re losing as you’re too focused on the subtle movement on his lips as he lets out shallow breaths.

“Tomorrow. Tomorrow, at the meal, I will make sure everyone knows you are mine. My lady.” He adds, letting go gently and backing away. His expression remains stern, but there is some kind of mischievous glint in his eyes. A warning of the true nature of this prince.

You try to make out any kind of smirk now spread across his lips, but he’s completely blank. You’re unable to figure out if he’s teasing you or genuinely took your word. You can only assume the best of your husband and what he seems to be planning as you trudge back to your room confused.

Your father knows how to celebrate - whether it is marriage, birthday, or even a funeral he has never failed to plan the most suitable occasions.

You are hitched into a tight, colourful gown that was made specially for you. This explains why you don’t complain when the strings are pulled in a slightly painful way, when the emergency embroidering needle pokes you a couple of times or even when you’re beginning to feel a little self conscious. What will Feyd think?

At that moment, you catch a glimpse of your reflection - why are you so concerned about him? At the beginning of the union, you were so well versed in how to be a good wife and princess that you had no time to consider your own feelings. You could only follow the schedule. Yet in such a short time he’s managed to chip you down into the scared little girl that you’ve always been and can never deny. It’s embarrassing. You’re embarrassed for yourself.

He’s given you too many different kinds of signals to allow you to consider his true motives, which completely throws you off after the short encounters from yesterday.

This morning, he greeted you swiftly before going to prepare as if last night never happened.

You scoff, looking down at your ring and brushing your thumb over the jewel now. He’s playing with your feelings. Clearly this is just a honeymoon stage for him: prepare you to continue the Harkonnen line, and then leave you in Giedi Prime to fend for yourself with a whole new nation awaiting you.

You’re just a prize to him.

“Your Royal Highness?”

You turn around hastily. Your handmaiden awaits with shoes in her hands, looking up at you with concern.

“Are you okay?” She continues, handing you the shoes gently.

“I am content. Why shouldn’t I be? I am married to the Na-Baron and joining our nations in the process, which will benefit everyone.” You can’t see how hasty your answer was, how automatic it seemed. It was the only feasible reason to marry the Na-Baron, since true love was not a possible idea anymore in the Reverend Mothers’ breeding program.

Your handmaiden nods feebly, allowing you to sit down and hand the shoes back to her. She’s slipping them onto your feet before a much more quieter question hastily escapes her mouth.

“Are you sure that’s all?”

You blink.

You’re about to open your mouth to speak, to try and organise your emotions with someone who isn’t your unpredictable newlywed.

The door opens and your father strides in cheerily, much to your frustration.

“Come on, dear. The table is set and everybody will be seated soon.”

You don’t say anything. You don’t do anything but what you’re told.

Right now, you just need to listen to your previous training and avoid Feyd Rautha. He’s only trying to follow his own rules too.

You walk with your father, arms linked firmly as the two of you approach the large dining hall. It has been decorated top to bottom in lavish jewels that shine, ribbons that wrap around the entire room and lanterns hanging in corners, feebly illuminating the already bright room. However, when it darkens, they will provide a dim light for a more relaxed atmosphere. You’re not phased by any of this, your father has been planning this ceremony since you could walk. Even though some believe your planet is more ‘backwards’, there is still one similar goal - providing heirs to the throne. You shouldn’t be standing alone once your reign starts, as believed by all the Reverend Mothers who have also instilled this idea into your father.

Along comes Feyd Rautha, the Na-Baron, looking for a suitable wife to continue the Harkonnen lineage and help him rule - it’s almost too perfect. The Reverend Mothers’ were onto this completely.

You only look around, a blank expression pasted onto your face. It’s clear as day how bored you are, which prompts a remark from your father.

“Has he said anything to you?” His tone is deep with suspicion. He eyes you carefully, his brows furrowed in concern.

“What?”

“The Na-Baron. Has he upset you, my dear?” You abruptly stop in your footsteps, meeting your father’s gaze.

“No, father. It’s fine. It’s nothing at all.” You shake your head dismissively, sighing and wringing your hands together now.

“You will get used to it - that’s the part that strengthens your marriage. Getting through the hardships and coming to face your situation with a heart of gold, the one that I’ve raised you to have.” He smiles at you fondly, pinching your cheek gently.

Although his words don’t seem to comfort you, you still smile back and nod goodbye as you walk down the long hall to reach your seat.

In the traditional manner of your nation, the bride and groom sit on opposite ends of the large, winding table that stretches from one end of the room to the other. This gives you plenty of time to enjoy the lack of the Na-Baron’s presence, as he seems to trick your mind everytime he is near you.

You take your seat, sitting upright in the grand, wooden chair. It’s hard to get comfortable, forcing you into position for the entirety of the dinner.

Feyd has now entered the room. His stride is intimidating, emitting solidity and power. He’s dressed in an all black uniform once more, but his ring is clear on his finger as he pulls his chair out from across the hall. You’re able to see the subtle glint, which almost makes you want to change your mind. Maybe you’re just assuming the worst.

However, you never knew what to expect with the Reverend Mothers and their underlying sinister motives. For now, you choose to avoid him and carry on with your marriage as calmly as possible. As if it were simply just a business negotiation.

He acknowledges you carefully, nodding towards you before settling himself in his own chair. You only nod back clumsily and cease all contact from there.

Guests arrive slowly. Friends from aristocratic families and governors are the majority, but there are still many people who were invited due to their hard work and contributions to society recorded recently. You make sure to greet them all grandly, smiling and allowing them to shower you with compliments. The Na-Baron stood beside you, watching you intently as you interact with everyone in sight. He doesn’t say a word, his jaw tense and teeth grind together as he watches with lidded eyes.

You falter under his gaze for a moment, but stiffen and keep your composure. If this is how he was going to play, then you were just going to trap him in your own game.

For the rest of the celebration, you avert your gaze away from the Na-Baron. Right now, your main focus is the people and celebrating your nation as well as the marriage.

The meal goes swimmingly - empty courses and platters of food now litter the grand table after such a long feast. So long that by the time you’d finished, the sun had set. You focus on swallowing oddly shaped lumps of food, trying not to choke on even the smallest crumb from the searing gaze of Feyd Rautha.

Although, even when you turn to the most obscure corners, seats and groups of people - Feyd’s eyes are glued to you. His dark eyes blend with his pupils, creating some kind of animalistic glint when the lights reflect in his enlarged pupils. You can almost feel two bruises forming into your back from the intensity of his glare.

Feyd isn’t hurt, he’s not injured or scratched - but he’s been cut deep. So deep that he’s been searching from the origin of this seething pain since this morning; he almost destroyed his room with the pure frustration bubbling within. He knows it has to do with you. You’re the only woman who’s managed to sway him so strongly that his defences have been drawn back in hopes of some sort of victory.

However, tonight is leaving him with anything but victory as he can’t psychically tear his eyes away from you without feeling tortured. Even if you seem to feel the opposite.

You’re so carefree; you talk to the guests with ease and float around the hall in your gorgeous gown that he just wants to rip to shreds. He can’t bear with his facade of yours.

That’s when he decides he’s going to end it. Right here, right now.

You’re in the middle of a conversation when, over the chatter and laughter, you hear it.

Charging footsteps across the hall. You cannot deny who it is, and you’re grasping for any idea of what to say when he now stands beside you.

“My wife.” He declares, unbothered by the concerning throttle filled charge from seconds ago. His voice is sudden, hoarse like usual and rough around the edges.

You’re at a loss for words, smiling timidly at the couple you were just talking to as he now takes your arm firmly and links it around his own. When you finally look up at him, he’s not smiling. He’s unreadable right now.

The cool fabric of his black cloths rub against your skin, barely covered by the sheer fabric of your sleeves.

“My husband.” You nod at the couple, who hastily bow to him.

For the rest of the night, he’s attached to you like a bodyguard. He doesn’t talk, doesn’t smile and does not look at you once. The only sense of security seems to be the arm still linked with yours.

“Why did you do that?”

He pauses when you tear your arm away from him, staying still in his position as you create distance between the two of you.

“Who do you think you are? Do you think you can- can give me so many different ideas about you? Is that okay? Is it, my lord?” Your voice trips and stumbles as you struggle to even consider what you’re saying as the words fall out of your mouth with no regard for the Na-Baron.

“I don’t understand you! I know it’s been such a short time- and you cannot seem to talk to me- but I just need to know what your intentions are! I am married to you! I deserve to know!” You continue, pausing to gasp for air and let your shaky breaths fill the large, empty room of yours.

The celebrations had died down and the Na-Baron had decided to walk you to your room. Yet on the way there, your tears seemed to form and burst the minute the two of you were locked away in your room.

“My lady..” he murmurs, approaching you slowly. You’re crying, sniffling and backing away with every step he takes.

You’re so desperate to get away from him, but at the same time you’re dying to just throw something at him.

With too many thoughts rushing through your head, the thought never occurs to you of where you were actually going with your unsteady backwards footsteps.

“My lady.” He’s much closer than you realised. You attempt to back up further, but meet resistance with your wardrobe. A strong arm now blocks your last method of escape, caging you against the wardrobe.

He has you cornered. His eyes watch you intently, plush lips parted slightly as he breathes hard.

“You have bewitched me, changed me for what I am. I am no longer a warrior, no longer the Na-Baron since the moment I saw you. I knew that I was to be your husband, but I also knew that as a woman so capable and beautiful - I did not deserve you.”

His face has contorted and twisted into something entirely different; jaw tense with anticipation, eyes soft and pleading as they look at you directly. He’s waiting for you to say something, anything.

You’re in utter shock. This must be the most words he’s said since meeting you, but you’re hanging on to every word. Looking up at him with so many emotions swimming through your eyes that it’s like a turbulent sea.

He exhales, before continuing to speak.

“But I want you. I want you to be mine - my wife.” He sucks in a breath after saying this, as if it pains him somehow to spill such a secret. His brow line furrows in frustration as he attempts to explain, “We barely know each other, but all I know is that there’s been something about you that I ache for. Do you understand? You play with my feelings, my lady. You confuse me, anger me and entice me all at once. A warrior like I shouldn’t feel this way, he shouldn’t let his guard down for a woman. But that is what I’m willing to do right now in order to make my intentions clear.”

As he whispers this, he offers a hand to you carefully. Feyd now watches you intently, waiting for your response.

The room is dim, slithers of moonlight drag across the room in strange rays, casting a glow on the Na-Baron. He’s utterly pitiful in this moment, the moon now bringing to light his vulnerability.

You let out a jagged breath, desperately searching for words to say. When you can’t seem to find any, you bring your hand to his slowly. Your fingers intertwine and clasp each other firmly - an invitation. His hand is cold, calloused and engulfs your own.

You look up to him only to find that another layer has seemed to vanish, his dark eyes now gaze at you longingly. They trail over your dress, and you can almost hear the cogs ticking in his mind.

You swallow thickly, before letting out a hushed murmur, “Are you attempting to undress me with your eyes, my Lord?” There’s a bit of humour to it as a ghost of a smile graces your lips, but it’s overcome by that suddenly dry feeling in your throat and newfound, carnal want for Feyd Rautha.

“If I wanted to, your dress would be in ruins by now, my Lady.” He may banter with you, but there’s also some concern hidden beneath. Do you want him to touch you? What if you don’t like it?

Yet, with a small shrug, you respond.

“I won’t stop you, if that seems to be what we both want.”

His eyes widen slightly, the rush of giddiness that he would usually feel after winning a battle seems to flood his senses. It’s shameful how he now lets go of your hand to run both of them down your waist. It’s deliberately slow. Teasing, even.

“The ties are in the back, Feyd.” You urge, prompting him to move his hands to your back and begin to remove your dress. He’s still lightheaded from the rush of sensations encapsulating his mind, but he’s able to force out his question.

With his arms wrapped around your waist to reach your back, his face is buried in the crook of your neck now. His hot breath sends shivers down your spine as he speaks.

“Do you like this dress?” You can feel his lips against your neck now as he talks, but sense him holding back. He’s waiting for the right moment.

You shake your head.

He instantly rips the drawstring of your corset, it’s deliciously animalistic as he tugs it off and allows himself to get a good look at you. His eyes wander hungrily across your body, glancing up at your face as he searches for any reaction.

You’re completely frozen, overwhelmed by the different sensations rushing through your mind: the cold air on your bare skin, his warm, shallow breaths as they leave patches of heat on your body and his intense, unrelenting gaze.

“Do you want this?”

There’s a pause as you attempt to muster any words out of your dry throat. You finally swallow any anxiety, before answering in a whisper.

“Yes, I do.”

His lips are so soft as they push against yours, plush and comforting in contrast to his rough grip on your waist and back to pull you in as close as possible. You don’t retort, arching yourself into him and reaching a desperate arm to wrap around his neck. His hands are large, calloused and cool to the touch as they press into your skin hard. It only pushes you further into him, moaning into the kiss at the pleasurable pain.

Suddenly, you pull away to gasp for air only to be met with dark, pleading eyes that seem to beg you to stay.

“I.. I want to..” you’re a little out of breath, flushed and nervous as you place both hands on his firm chest. Your fingertips trace over the cloth lightly, but ultimately reach his buttons and claw at them hungrily. Your efforts are futile as you’re too enveloped by lust to register how to unbutton his clothes, leading him to place a hand on yours to guide you slowly. Button by button, he reveals himself to you.

His skin is pale, smooth as you run a tentative hand over his chest. His heartbeat is rapid, his breathing is strained as his gaze is fixed on you. He’s got a chiseled body, unscathed and untouched for a warrior. You can only let out a shaky breath as he begins to guide you to the bed, a hand cupping your face.

You’re not thinking straight, your mind finally coming to a halt when you realise your situation. He’s on top of you now, on both knees as he leans over to stroke your face, which has been frozen with shock.

“My lady..” Feyd murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead. He’s surprisingly gentle, but you can feel is erection pressing against your stomach as he’s worshipping your beauty.

You squirm under his grip, strong hands gliding over your neck and shoulders attempting to make you wait. But you’re becoming greedy, you want him now.

A small whine escapes your lips as you try to create some kind of friction, which causes him to smile. It’s a smirk. Cocky and teasing as it spreads across his lips.

“You’re desperate, my lady, aren’t you?” His voice is still low, hoarse as he tries to not lose his focus from the slight tingles of pleasure the friction is providing him. He wants to engross himself in the moment before ravishing you, no woman has been so vulnerable in his grip like this before.

He leans in, his gaze trailing along your features as he searches his prey for weak spots. His mouth lands on your neck, sucking on the delicate skin hungrily. You can’t remember what he’d said before, plagued by the newfound sensation of his wet saliva cooling the hickey tainting your skin.

You don’t even want to answer, a sigh escaping your lips at the pop of his mouth as he pulls away from your neck. A small, desperate whisper is all you can force out before you try to move your hand down to your thighs. It’s grabbed by his own and pinned back into the mattress.

“Don’t over-exert yourself, my lady.” He’s still smirking as he begins to steady himself at your entrance, but is just as desperate as you are to get his fill.

Your thighs are pushed apart with his spare hand, allowing him to let out a satisfied groan at the sight of you. Without warning, his hand lets go of your wrist to find your clit. His fingers brush against it softly, caressing a soft moan out of you which only prompts him to continue much harsher. The sounds are obscene as he toys and teases you, only aiding his own pleasure as he watches you clench around nothing.

The tip of his dick presses against your entrance, forcing you to attempt to push out your hips in hopes of fulfilment. You’re unable to move properly, his cold hands tighten around your body. As you writhe in his grip, your gaze flickers up to meet his. There’s a suspicious glint in his dark pupils, paired with the subtle upturn of his parted lips.

Suddenly, sharp sensation erupts within your body, one that tries to push your thighs together to only have them wrap around his firm waist. You can feel the pleasurable stretch as Feyd only savours you inch by inch as he pushes himself in as far as he can. Your skin prickles with heat, spreading across your body like a rash as you find yourself flushed and gasping for air as he pulls out suddenly.

It’s not for long, pushing his dick inside quickly again just to hear your staggered cries. Your body seems to move on its own, rocking yourself against him as he pushes in and out. He’s intoxicating, altering your mind to primal instincts.

His movements become sloppier, his climax becoming more inevitable with every thrust. Feyd begins to lose composure, plump lips parted and panting as his thumb still rubs your clit forcefully. You’re both growing impatient, his begging now becoming audible as the words stumble out of his mouth.

“Please.. please…” you’d never known the Na-Baron to be the kind of warrior to say ‘please’, but you’d driven him over the edge.

You’re also growing louder, whimpering and whining for your climax to come quick and hard. You want it, and you want it now.

You’re the first to come, crying as your eyes roll into the back of your head. Your back arches into him as an explosion of pleasure races through your body, tingling through your lower abdomen. However, as the waves of climax subside, you become increasingly more vulnerable to Feyd Rautha still pounding into you.

It only takes him a few more thrusts, but your arm is released from his grip as you cling onto his back. Your nails tear at his skin, the pangs of borderline pain bringing tears to your eyes at the sheer ecstasy of it all.

You hear his breath hitch in your ear, his mouth opens with a gasp as he buries himself inside you for his release. His cum is searing hot, filling your insides hastily as his chest rises up and down rapidly. Feyd doesn’t move for a moment, processing what just happened. But after a few seconds, when your hands loosen and droop down his spine as they’re overcome by fatigue, his arms wrap around you slowly.

He’s embracing you.

You’re both hot to touch, skin slick with sweat as your bodies press against each other. Yet, both of you don’t find any disgust in this. Instead, it’s replaced by a sense of comfort. The certainty that you’re his Lady, as he is your Lord.

#feyd rautha fanfic #feyd rautha #feyd rautha harkonnen #feyd x reader #austin butler #smut #dune 2 #dune 2024 #dune part two #dune part 2 #dune fanfiction

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yesimwriting · 1 year

Text

Pulling Away

A/n did i write smut for once? yeah. also timeline wise is this perfectly accurate? it’s iffy,, but this fic isn’t about the plot too much so it’s okay

Summary: You’re not the only one that’s feeling a little territorial thanks to the influx of people you’re around in Jackson.

warnings: 18+, implied age gap, no condom, a tiny bit manipulative if you squint, brief mention of losing virginity.

----

He’s not a force of nature, no matter how hard he might pretend to be for the sake of those around him. Joel can’t actually change anything. So the shift in temperature you feel as Joel stills has to be a byproduct of what’s in your head.

The kind of burning cold that better fits a fever runs through you and you hate yourself for it. This isn’t the first time you’ve been delusional when it comes to him.

You’re working off of a quarter of his face against low lighting. It doesn’t make sense for you to be able to feel so much from the little of him that you can see. It’s not anger. Or at least, not just that. There’s definitely a subdued rage radiating from him, but it’s undercut by something that punches you straight in the gut.

Maybe you’re being a little unfair, but you have a right to it at this point. You can’t follow him around blindly like some kind of puppy forever. Especially now that you’re both settled enough to be able to think of things outside of pure survival.

“Ellie’s asleep.” A flat observation that you can’t explain. Maybe it’s the need to break the silence, or maybe it’s a genuine attempt at making things feel normal. You two should still be able to talk. You never wanted that to end. “Swore she wasn’t tired, but passed out as soon as her head touched the mattress.”

Joel lets out a small sound from the back of his throat. It’s a spike in the atmosphere. “Think I’m gonna go to bed, too.” You don’t understand your awkwardness or the urge to create distance. It’s not like Joel would hurt you, but then again, the buzz of adrenaline doesn’t seem to be coming from a place of fear. It’s an uneasy burning that worsens when you raise your eyes enough to meet his. “Night.”

The one word is a little better and somehow so much worse. Not aggressive or trying to make things better. It’s just there. Civil.

When he says nothing, you take it as your sign to call it a night. Tomorrow could be better. Sure, your rocky dynamic might be going through growing pains while you set boundaries that should have been established long ago, but you’ll likely survive this. You’re all staying together in the same house in Jackson for the time being and you both care too much about Ellie to separate over something small.

Even if Joel won’t directly admit to it, the part of your relationship that feels like co-parenting is sacred. That’s part of the reason why the feelings you’ve been fighting with yourself to dismantle are so complicated. He cares about Ellie more than he wants to admit and the last thing you need right now is to tear away the little stability she’s finally been given. Not over a few awkward conversations and stiff moments.

The weird irony that vaguely reflects the issues of the world before isn’t lost on you. If someone were to squint at the situation, you’d seem like a wife trapped in a marriage for the sake of her children. Maybe if it was happening to someone else you’d have enough energy to find it funny.

You turn carefully, like a too loud squeak of your shoes could be what snaps the thinning thread tying you two to a hint of casualness. You don’t need to pass him to get to where you’re sleeping. The three of you had been set up in a space that allowed for each person to have their own room. It’s like that in theory, but in practice it’s more like Ellie’s room, Joel’s room, and the spare.

A comfortable enough bedroom that you’ve maybe spent the entire night alone in twice in the weeks you’ve been here. You can’t even pretend that you keep the few things you own in there either. Joel’s an even lighter traveler than you, so slowly your items made their way into the drawers in his room. Now, your room is basically just where you go to change into and out of sleepwear.

You’ll get used to it, used to the draft that originally led to you giving up on rocky sleep the first night you ended up sleeping next to Joel. Your dreams kept you up even more than the cold, but when Joel’s drowsy voice called out to you in the dark, asking why you were awake, you blamed the night’s chill. That’s how it first happened.

It was a mistake you should have never let turn into habit. You’re correcting it now. Setting boundaries to prevent heartbreak. It’s only a matter of time considering the way the women here look at him.

“Since when do you sleep in there?”

His voice is so gruff it instinctually freezes you. Any sarcastic comment at the back of your throat vanishes immediately. The both of you are fully aware of how you end up each night, but it’s a boundary in itself not to mention it. You’re not sure if it’s more him or you, but what happens at night and early in the morning is never mentioned.

It’s a dip into another reality. A space where Joel’s a little lighter, almost more open. Sometimes he’ll drag your arm with him when he moves onto his side, a silent way of asking you to stay close. On the best nights, he’ll joke about it, letting your limbs meld together under a blanket and swear he’s just trying to keep you warm out of the kindness of his heart.

His humor is the worst. The kind that some might justify as a result of years of it being at a stalemate for years considering the tragic state of the world, but you know better. They’re the kind of jokes that take a second to settle because of his general exterior, but are meant to be so dumb they force out a smile. In another life, the little comments are dad jokes.

The peace bleeds into the mornings now, he’ll keep the closeness and remind you that you don’t have to get up immediately by mumbling something about Ellie still being asleep. Like she’s the only thing significant enough to get you two to return to reality.

You’re convinced that these moments exist because neither of you mention them. He’s crossing a line you didn’t realize meant so much to you and he’s being dramatic it, too. It’s not the rarest thing for you to ‘attempt’ to sleep in your own bed. Sure, you’re more likely to lay in that room for a few hours on nights where Ellie stays up a little later, but this isn’t the strangest thing you’ve done.

He’s ripping any chance of returning to that separate world away from you. It stings more than it should. “Thought I’d give it a try,” you voice is too low, too defensive, “It’s not a big deal.”

The defense sounds so weak in your own ears, you don’t even want to imagine what he took from it. “Bullshit.”

His voice comes out in such a low huff you feel it more than hear it. If the sound had felt any less dangerous, you would have pretended to mistake it for another wordless grunt. Your lips part slowly as your mind struggles to create any kind of logical response.

Pretending is clearly getting you nowhere. The only reason you ever pretended it would was pure delusion. Joel has always been able to see through you, through any shift in mood. Even when your lies are better, his ability to sense them is uncanny.

He turns with no warning. Joel crosses the space between you before you can even fully register his steps. Your body tenses as heat rushes to your face in result of an oddly charged parody of fight or flight. You almost step back, one heel shifting back, but then you meet his gaze and the determined glint behind his eye is enough to melt you into place.

There’s something else there, too. A focus that pins you into place even further. Holds you there better than the barrel of a pistol could.

The absurdity of the warmth rooted in your chest should be enough to make the feeling go away. It doesn’t, so you force your lips to part again. You need to say something. Anything. “Joel?” Not that. Not just his name in a voice that feels violently small.

“You’re pullin’ away.”

The accusation in his voice leaves no room for argument. You try anyways, “No.” The rest of your thoughts can’t come out while you’re looking at him at the same time. There’s shame in dropping your gaze to focus on your shoes and the little space between you. “It’s not like that.”

Joel lets out a low sound. The creak of the floor as he steps forward again snaps you out of your trance. You step back in a desperate attempt to keep the space between the two of you equal. Your back hits the wall before you can come close to achieving your goal. It’s a knee jerk reaction that leaves your face feeling even warmer than before. A part of you expects Joel to laugh at the sound or at least comment on it. He doesn’t. He continues forward until his mouth is so close to your ear the warmth of his breath lingers when he exhales.

He takes a second there, relishing in your stillness. “Don’t lie to me.” Joel pulls away just enough to look you in the eye. “You don’t want to talk to me, you’re talkin’ about leavin’.” The southern drawl of his voice is increasing with his frustration. It’s distracting in a way that feels too convenient. Like he’s doing this on purpose.

You swallow once. “You found your brother. I have a sister out there, I’d--I think now that things are more settled with Ellie it wouldn’t be the worst thing for me to look for her.”

“And you don’t want us goin’ with you, but you’re more than willing to let the guy that’s always lookin’ at you--”

“Oh my god, is that what this is about?” You are insane. Of course his issue is who mentioned it. John knows travel, leaves Jackson and comes back in one piece when he needs to. He wouldn’t be the worst person to have with you if you did want to start a rudimentary search for your sister. “I didn’t make any plans with John, it just came up.”

“You don’t want us goin’ with you.”

Your throat feels dry. The thought of it makes you feel cold. You haven’t seen your sister in a few years and so much has changed. You’re no longer in the QZ and your sister has no way of knowing that. She can’t reach out if there’s trouble or good news and she has no reason to assume that you’re safe. You know where she lives, and if she’s not there, you know a few of her usual spots. She doesn’t typically stray too far from her bubble. It wouldn’t be a long trip, just long enough.

Long enough to give you some space. Long enough to remember what it’s like to not be around Joel all the time. Long enough to feel less about him.

And you’d come back. You wouldn’t just walk out of his life and Ellie’s forever. The little bit of space you’re trying to get would make it easier for you to stick around in the long run because it’s the only way you can think to get rid of the feelings that are trying to ruin everything.

“We haven’t been here that long and Ellie’s finally starting to feel settled. I don’t want to drag her out of that yet and make her feel like her entire life is just going to be her being dragged around the country.”

Your words are a jumble, rushed together in a way that makes the honesty of them less effective. It’s a good point. Ellie just called her room hers the other day and even asked about moving the bed against a different wall.

Joel lets out a low breath, eyes hardening. “You’re right. She’s settlin’ and she needs you.” He knows he’s hit his mark when you don’t respond. “How do you think she’s gonna take the news that you’re leaving?”

“Leaving to visit my sister.” You struggle to swallow. “Temporarily. It’ll take less than two weeks.”

His lips pull into a frown as his eyebrows together. Moody and brooding. The look you’ve openly referred to as his old man scowl. “With John.”

Ugh. This again. Why does it matter? Yes, John will be there, but it’s not like it’s just you and John. Your sister isn’t that far and she has access to supplies that aren’t common, she has an understanding with people that have easy access to medical supplies.

But even if it was just you and John, it doesn’t matter. There are a lot of areas in which you factor in Joel’s opinion, but this is definitely not one of them. You two aren’t together and with the way he does nothing to show any discontent when the girls here start to look at him, he definitely doesn’t need you keeping his bed warm at night.

“If I go, he wouldn’t be the only one there.” The fact that you’re trying to justify John’s presence leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. You’re a grown woman, free to associate with whoever you want. You might jokingly call him your old man from time to time, but he has no right. “And if even if he was, what does it matter?”

His jaw locks and the downwards tilt of his chin erases the little bit of confidence you’ve managed to build. “You’ve seen the way that boy looks at you.”

You have to bite your tongue to avoid from blurting out that he’s also seen the way majority of the women you see on a daily basis look at him. Joel’s also exaggerating. John does not have any feelings for you, and if he did, it wouldn’t matter. It’s not like you see John as anything more than a friend. But even if you did--it is not his business. At all.

“He doesn’t.” There’s little point in saying that, Joel’s not one to have his mind so easily swayed and he’s been wary of John since the beginning. Sometimes it even feels like the more you insist that he’s a good friend, the more Joel seems to dislike him. “And if he did, it doesn’t matter.”

Your words feel like a retreat they shouldn’t need to be. Small, the meaning of the sentence compacted and straining against the limited syllables. A part of you expects Joel to understand what you do mean. That it doesn’t matter because it takes two interested parties to form any kind of relationship. That your mind isn’t even there in terms of feeling safe...that the only person who has ever made you feel safe enough to imagine anything beyond friendship is right in front of you.

For the first time, Joel doesn’t pick up on the relevance of what isn’t said. You can feel his lack of understanding in the way he moves, placing one hand on the wall, near your head. You blink, trying in vain to explain the motion, explain his proximity. He’s caging you in.

The heat of his body is practically inescapable, amplified by the way he smells. Joel showered a little earlier, his natural scent combining pleasantly with that of plain soap. After so many nights next to him, you would think you would have developed a tolerance. You haven’t. And even if you did, you doubt it’d matter...this is different. Dizzying.

“Doesn’t matter?”

He’s somehow even closer and somehow not touching you. The realization that that’s the worst part of this leaves your stomach fluttering. You need the feeling gone, so you force out the first words that come to mind, “It matters as much as all the girls that look at you like that.”

It feels more bitter than it comes out, leaving a metallic taste on your tongue. You need out. You need space. You need sleep. Joel’s silence feels like opportunity, so as subtly as you can you try to shift away from the wall. Your back is off the wall for less than a second before you’re pushed back against it.

Your body hits the wall before you can realize that Joel’s hand is on your hip. There’s too much surprise for that fact to settle, so you look up at him almost bewildered. You expect him to let go or at least look somewhat apologetic. He does the opposite, moving the hand on the wall under your jaw and closing the distance between you in a motion so quick you can barely register it.

His mouth is on yours before your mind can catch up. It makes no difference to him. He’s rabid in his patience, taking what he wants without forcing your lips to part. His hand squeezes your hip and all at once it connects. You gasp and Joel pins you to the wall even more securely, deepening the kiss with an expert’s ease.

It lasts until you can’t breathe and ends with his teeth grazing against your bottom lip as he pulls away. “All of this,” the words are exhaled lowly, “’Cause you’re jealous.”

The kiss left you so light headed your first instinct is to just agree. To not think and do or say whatever you need to in order to get him that close again. But his tone is too sure, too teasing, and the implication isn’t something he can just get away with. “Jealous?” His smugness is hard to take with him holding you against the wall like this. It’s too vulnerable, like this might be some kind of game to him. It makes you feel transparent. Hollow. “Fuck whoever you want, I don’t care.”

It’s like you’ve said nothing until Joel has the audacity to squeeze your hip. “Whoever I want?” His hand shifts up your hip, your shirt moving with him. “Hm.” His hum settles beneath your skin, effectively silencing you as his eyes take their time raking over your face and down your body. “Those were some big words from you.”

Heat rushes to your face. It’s ridiculous--you curse more than that on a regular basis. He’s playing into context, too aware of what he’s doing. The urge to push burns twice as hard as buzzing in your chest. “They’re true. We’re not--we’re not anything, so if I want to go with--”

“I’m not losin’ you.” There’s a desperation in there that comes out so hard it circles back to vulnerable. “You wanna go see your sister, we go see your sister. That’s how we got through everything else.” The hand on your hip moves down, his fingers dipping beneath the elastic waistband of your shorts. You hate yourself a little for the way your breath audibly catches. “Understand?”

His hand lowers even further, long fingers pressing against the fabric of your underwear. You’re not breathing right and you can’t bring yourself to care. The only thing you can think of is closer. “Y-yes.”

“’Yes’ what?” No sympathy in his voice or anything that would give away that he has a hand shoed down your pants.

His touch picks up pace, rubbing against you until a whimper escapes your lips. “Yes, sir.”

Joel moves his hand away with no warning. The whine that escapes your lips doesn’t feel like your own. He’s barely touched you and you’re already like this. “Barely touched you and you’re already listening.” He hooks two fingers in between the band of your underwear. “Should’ve done this awhile again, then.”

You’re burning all over, the only thing you can manage is a quick, “Shut up.” It lacks any bite.

He pulls at the band of our underwear, letting it snap back into place. If you didn’t know any better, you’d consider the flash of something softer across his face as amusement. “If you want me to stop, you’ve gotta tell me.”

Your nod feels desperate. Your entire body feels desperate. For the way he kissed you, the way he touched you. “I-I’ll tell you.” He’s still not moving, not doing anything. It’s some sort of punishment. It has to be. “Joel...”

“You going to say ‘please’?”

You have half a mind to tell him to fuck off, but then his fingers hook around your underwear again. A promise. “Please, Joel.” This is all unfamiliar but you trust Joel to get what you want, what you need. “Need you.”

With no warning, he yanks down your shorts and underwear. They fall down your legs and you blindly kick them to the side. “Need me?” He tilts his head down, pressing an open mouthed kiss against your cheek, then two to your jaw. “Need me where, sweetheart?”

God. Anywhere. Everywhere. Your desperation reminds you of how incredibly unfair it is that you’re already down to just our t-shirt and Joel’s still fully dressed. You move your hand slowly, carefully tugging at whatever piece of clothing on him you can reach.

He’s unimpressed. “C’mon, use your big girl words.” His hand is in between your thighs, his fingers teasing at your entrance in a way that makes it impossible to focus on anything else. “You were usin’ them just fine a second ago.”

“Joel,” he kisses your jaw again, forcing away all train of thought. It has to be intentional. “Joel,” again, too soft.

“I know,” he exhales the words against your neck, “I know, sweetheart. Need me to take care of you.” Joel doesn’t wait for a reaction, just pushes his fingers fully into you. You gasp too loudly, Joel moves his free hand over your mouth. “Be a good girl and be quiet. Can’t wake up Ellie.”

Shit. How did you not think of that? “You’ll be good and quiet for me? Let me stretch you out a bit first?” There’s a knot in your stomach that’s slowly taking over all of your senses. As long as Joel keeps working at it, you could promise him anything. You nod against the palm of his hand.

You bite your tongue to keep from whimpering too loudly. “Need you to relax,” he presses into you even more firmly, “Get you ready for me.”

He slowly eases his hand off of your face. “Joel, please.” You’re not even sure what you’re asking for, you just know you need more. You want him to consume you entirely. Feel him until he’s all there is.

You hear the sound of a belt buckle and his jeans shifting. Instinctually, you move a hand towards him, wanting to help, wanting to feel him. “There’ll be time for that, right now it’s about you.” You’re about to argue when he skillfully adds another finger. Fuck. “You’re tight,” he breathes, “No one’s ever touched you here?”

His fingers curl inside of you and you have to burry your face into the fabric of his shirt to keep from crying out. “Only you.”

“Look who’s found her manners.” He’s picking up the pace and smoothing down your hair as you squirm against him. “Should’ve done this sooner.” Just as the coil in your lower stomach tightens, Joel takes his hand back.

You push yourself off of him, staring at him with an expression you know he’ll consider pouting. “Why’d you--”

“Because I want you to remember this.” He pushes you back to the wall, pressing his body against you. The head of his cock brushes against your entrance. With no warning, he pushes into you. Your sharp gasp overlaps with Joel’s low groan. “Y’need a man to fuck the attitude out of you.” He moves slowly, the friction unbelievably overwhelming and somehow not enough. “That boy wouldn’t know what to do with you.”

Joel presses you further into the wall, sinking into you as deep as possible before pulling out just to sink back in. His pace is even until his breathing picks up. You’re a mess against him, hiding your face in his chest when he starts fucking you with full force.

“You’re squeezing me so good.” Joel practically pants the words into your skin. “Fuck, ‘m going to--you gonna finish with me, sweetheart?”

Your mind is mush, you can barely nod against him as his thrusts start to lose their focus. You’re pushed over the edge as Joel’s teeth graze against your neck. He pulls at your orgasm, dragging it along until your legs are jelly and he’s pulling out in order to not finish inside you.

The two of you stay holding onto each other for what feels like a long time and not enough. “You’re not goin’ anywhere, okay?”

You pull your head off of him enough to look him in the eye. “Not without you.”

He smiles, lines that you can imagine kissing forever etching themselves into his skin. “That’s my girl.” Joel runs a hand up and down your back fondly. “Let’s go to bed,” he presses a kiss against your jaw, “Give me the space to properly appreciate you.”

The thought makes your body burn all over again. “You sure you aren’t tired out, old man?”

Joel huffs out what’s almost a laugh, “We’ll see who’s tiring who out, sweetheart.”

#joel miller x you #joel miller imagine #joel miller x reader #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #tlou fanfic #tlou x reader #the last of us x reader #pedro pascal x reader

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helluvapoison · 4 months

Note

how would the overlords propose?

Say Yes

how the overlords would propose

ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ

˚✧₊⁎ Carmilla Carmine ⁎⁺˳✧༚

Romance isn’t an afterthought to her, as hard as that is to believe. Carmilla is a very passionate woman… it just comes after logic. Whether you knew it or not, you’ve been put to the test much earlier on. (How you treat her daughters and how they like you is the most important part, if you didn’t pass you wouldn’t have made it this far)

By now she knows you’re worthy and she’ll bring you into her world permanently. Carmilla plans something intimate. She surprises you in her office for a candlelit dinner, courtesy of her private chef! She is a businesswoman first so she gets straight to the point and asks for your hand, literally, slipping the band into your finger.

“Marry me,” Carmilla says, uncharacteristically soft, “With you at my side, I will be complete.”

˚✧₊⁎ Zestial ⁎⁺˳✧༚

Telling himself there’s no rush, that he could wait a thousand more lifetimes to make you completely his, doesn’t cure the urgency to do it anyways. He’s seen any ounce of goodness down here nabbed before anyone else can take it for themselves. Zestial never claimed to be unselfish, only patient. He tests the question to himself first very early on. Then he phrases it differently to you or refers to himself as your husband to others. You mistake it for a slip up and smile anyways. A delightful sign in his eyes.

Zestial is pleased that you don’t suspect it. How could you when he’s merely being his usual, charming self? He takes you strolling down the same path you took when he first began courting you. Ever the gentleman, he pauses before the bridge over the river of magma and actually kneels.

“Would thou spend the rest of this infernal afterlife beside thyself? Say yes and I swear never to stray and never to allow harm to befall thee. Thou shall only know happiness from this moment on.”

˚✧₊⁎ Alastor ⁎⁺˳✧༚

Love at first sight doesn’t exist so do not twist his words when he says he knew you belonged to him the moment you met. Feelings were bothersome and you flooded his entire being with them with a simple gaze. Lingering between the emotions was always pain, which he was familiar with. Unfortunately for him, the cure for his ailment was always you. Marriage was not in the cards for either of you. Alastor thought he had no intention of going through such hassle until he couldn’t stop staring at the vacant spot on your ring finger. Bothersome.

Truly you had no idea what he was plotting. It wasn’t uncommon for him to bring you to his radio tower, going over notes with him or just quietly hanging about while he worked. He told you there would be a guest on his next show and he wanted to rehearse the questions. Simple enough. Before you even read the last one Alastor stopped you with a finger to the lips,

“Pardon my dear, you’ve been a wonderful co host— utterly indispensable these past few years— but that’s my line!” There’s a flicker of hesitation before his smile takes a slightly gentler form, a side of Alastor only you’re privy to, “Will you marry me?”

˚✧₊⁎ Rosie ⁎⁺˳✧༚

Since she was married a few times already, you thought Rosie would be over the whole thing by now. Well you couldn’t be more wrong if you tried! She adores weddings, from organizing them to being in them; the whole shabang is right up her alley! There was a reason her ex husbands didn’t work out but you don’t have to worry about the whys and whatnots. You’re oh so very special to Rosie, she couldn’t bear the thought of losing you!

The fact you think marriage is off the table has her giddy. She loves having the element of surprise! Cannibal’s left and right are in on the plot, making sure you’re exactly where you need to be all day long until you reach the town square at sunset. Crimson rose petals lead you to the gazebo where candles are lit all around your Radiant Rosie. She smiles so fondly at you it makes your knees weak as you climb the steps to reach her. She poured her love into two pages, prepared to make it her best speech ever but the second you were in front of her everything went out the window!

“Oh! I can’t wait another minute! Marry me, won’t you?”

╰(*´︶`*)╯♡ the vees might get their own part cause, i feel, they’re particular about marriage

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel imagine #hazbin hotel headcanons #hazbin hotel headcanon #hazbin hotel x you #carmilla carmine imagine #carmilla carmine x reader #zestial imagine #zestial x reader #alastor hazbin hotel x reader #alastor imagine #hazbin hotel rosie imagine #hazbin hotel rosie x reader

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blushweddinggowns · 6 months

Text

“So let me get this straight. You met a hot guy, conned him into a date with you, lied about who you were to get into his pants and still failed. Then kept going, bought a new phone and rented a fake apartment, fell in love him, continued this elaborate ruse for four months, and now you want me to figure out a way for you to get out of it?”

“...yes?”

“Oh my fucking god,” Chrissy nearly screeched into his ear, “That is what you have been doing? Have you lost your damn mind?!”

“Obviously, yes!” Eddie yelled right back, feeling fraught as hell. He was pacing back and forth, a cigarette in hand as he spoke, “I never planned on ending up here!”

“Really? Because this whole shit show seemed to need a lot of planning. Is this really what happens when I leave you unsupervised? I am never letting you out of the house again.”

Eddie was well aware he deserved the ribbing. He deserved much worse, but that didn’t change the fact that he was desperate, “Chris, I’m serious. I need help.”

“Eddie, I love you but come on. You need a plane ticket and an apology muffin basket and to move on. This guy doesn’t even know you.”

“It’s not like that,” Eddie said as he ran a frustrated hand through his hair, “It’s-okay. I’m still me with him. It’s like…I’m acting like who I would have been if I was never famous. I don’t know how else to describe it.”

“Have you tried delusional? Also, can I get a picture of this guy? How hot can one dude be to drive you-”

“I’m serious,” Eddie interupted, irritation coloring his voice, “I told him everything. The shit about my parents, Wayne, the drugs, you, everything.”

“You realize that everything would include your real name right? And again, a picture for the love of god would really help put this in perspective-”

“You know what I mean,” Eddie sighed. She still wasn’t getting it, “I’m in love with him. Like Chris, he was made for me. And if I had just stuck to tattooing instead of doing the music shit then I’m pretty sure he’d think the same of me.”

He could hear a small intake of breath on her end, her voice coming out a bit more concerned than before, “Eds, are you serious?”

“Dead. I… I think he’s the one,” No, that was another lie. Eddie took a deep breathe before admitting the truth, “He is the one. And… I don’t want to lose him. I can’t lose him.”

“Honey, it’s an infatuation. A really, really strong one, but still-”

“Chrissy. Listen to me. I want to marry him. Do you understand me now?”

If that didn’t get through to her nothing else would. Because Chrissy Cunningham had spent hours upon hours of listening to Eddie complain about the institution of marriage since fucking highschool. How it was all a farce, just some bullshit people pulled for tax reasons and patriarchal idealism. And now here he was, fucking day dreaming about the perfect happily ever after with the love of his life.

“Oh Jesus,” Chrissy groaned, the sineritcy Eddie was looking for finally creeping into her voice, “Sweetie, I’m so sorry… but I think you might have fucked yourself too big on this one.”

“Isn’t there something I can do?” Eddie pleaded into the phone, like Chrissy actually had all the power in the world to fix this, “What if I just lead a double life? Couldn’t that work?”

He had seen a movie about that once or twice. It was a thing. Or if it wasn’t then he could make it one.

But Chrissy didn’t seem too convinced, “Eddie, honey, you’re describing the plot of Hannah Montana like it can actually be a solution. Do you realize how insane that is? Do you not get how far you’ve fallen?”

from the next chapter of this fic

#steddie #steddie fic #steddie ficlet #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #alternate universe #famous eddie munson #damn your love damn your lies

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gh0stsp1d3r · 1 year

Note

I have an idea for a tangerine x fem!reader, i was thinking a Mr and Mrs smith idea. So reader is married to tan and is also a contact killer/assassin but he doesn’t know this until he finds her on the train holding the briefcase

Then yanno the usual sexual tension and witty remarks 🤩

Thank youuuu

Unexpected

THE MR AND MRS SMITH REFRENVE IS EVEN MORE FUNNY WHEN YOU KNOW THAT BRAD PITT PLAYED JOHN LMFAOO

Tangerine tried his best to keep his job away from you, it was hard but he did it.

You also tried to keep your job away from him, you both usually called and sometimes maybe on a weekend if you both weren’t busy.

You both lived busy lives, sure. But you still found time for each other, and still loved each other very much.

So it was very, extremely unexpected to see each other on the train.

You and your partner Ladybug walked around.

You noticed someone, and recognized him. As you guys were about to leave the train, A familiar face stopped you.

You both quickly ran onto the train.

“That’s my husbands brother!” You whispered.

“What? He shot me, like.. twice!” He whisper yelled back, and you both quickly ran away.

“So, let me get this straight, your husbands brother is just coincidentally on this train, and he’s also a contract killer. What the fuck does your husband do?”

“He said he just works in an office job!”

“So uh, you can’t really like freak out or anything because this is just a guess, but I’m pretty sure that he and his brother were the two who did that one Bolivia job.”

“You mean the one where they wiped out the white deaths crew?”

“Yeah..”

“Oh my god. I’ve been lied to my whole marriage.”

“Technically you’ve been lying too. Y’Know it would really help to process this-“

“Shut up!” You said, and pushed ladybug aside as you saw your husband walking towards you both.

“Right, right, sorry.” He said as you both hid.

“He doesn’t know. Holy shit. Holy shit. I’m about to be divorced.”

“No you won’t. Just talk it out-“ he hid in a storage area. You flicked him off and hid against a wall, hoping he wouldn’t notice.

He walked in, and he immediately saw you. It wasn’t exactly subtle.

He said your name, confused. You opened your eyes.

“Ta-da…” you said.

“What the hell are you doing here?” He asked.

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“Work trip.”

“Me too.”

You both stared in silence as his phone rang. He answered it, still looking at you. You couldn’t hear what the other guy was saying.

After he hung up, he put his phone back in his pocket.

“I’m glad to see you, I haven’t seen you in a few days. But… seriously, what are you doing here?” He cleared his throat after a while.

“Like you said, work trip.”

He narrowed his eyes, and ladybug swore he could cut the tension with a knife. He felt as if he was watching some weird romantic action movie.

“Right, well, you should probably get off next stop. Lotta traffic after next stop…” he said.

You sighed and looked at ladybug for a second then back to him.

“I know you’re an assassin.” You said.

“Love, that is ridiculous-“ he said, way too quickly.

“Before you say anything- I am too. And I’m sorry for lying.”

“I’m not-“

“Seriously? You’re still lying?”

He felt guilty now.

“Fine. Yeah. I’m sorry for lying too.”

“So… you did the Bolivia job?”

“Yeah.”

You sighed, maybe he wouldn’t notice ladybug in the back.

“Well, uh, just- be careful, alright? We’ll talk when we get home.” You said.

“Yeah… you here for the case?” He asked.

“No. I came here to kill the wolf.” You lied.

“Alright.” He sighed, and fixed his mustache in the mirror, still not noticing ladybug.

“Love you.” He said, giving you a quick kiss on the cheek and leaving.

“Love you too.”

Ladybug groaned and moved. He stood in front of you now.

“Well, now we’re fucked.”

“Yup.”

“Y’Know, there was a lotta sexual tension there. It was so weird-“

“Shut it.”

“Yup, yup, sorry.”

#bullet train #tangerine x reader #aaron taylor johnson #bullet train x reader #tangerine #tangerine bullet train #aaron taylor johnson x reader

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twiisted-king · 1 year

Text

♢ Spider-Man Noir BF HC’S ♢

➟ Spider-Man Noir / GN!Reader 🕸️

➟ SFW / NSFW

➟ TW : 1930’s Attitudes, The Great Depression, Injuries/Blood, Sexual Content, & Smoking.

————————————————————————

— Let’s set one thing straight, he is husband material.

— The moment y’all start dating is when he starts thinking of marriage. Obviously he’s from the 1930’s so he probably thinks more in terms of “ I Man, I Husband “. I don’t think it’s to the point of being toxic though :)

— Peter has a gun, yes a gun, that he is not afraid to use especially when it comes to you. He’s always clutching you close to him whenever y’all go outside and keeping a close eye on the environment around him. He already lost Uncle Ben, he is NOT losing you too.

— A total gentleman : flowers, taking your coat, kissing your hand, he goes the whole nine yards.

— It’s hard for him to just be comfortable sometimes. Experience the Great Depression and being Spider-Man has left him a nervous wreck who just can’t calm down. He’s always expecting the worse. In other words, please treat this man like he’s the best thing in the whole world, he needs it.

— A music lover who would be even more smitten if you danced with him. He’ll hum to the tune and spin you around the livingroom with this big, goofy smile on his face.

— Peter runs off of coffee, cigarettes, and adrenaline. He doesn’t have the easiest line of even as a civilian and often works late into the night. He’s always exhausted when he gets home and just wants to fall into bed beside you.

— Is pretty always big spoon. It’s just easier since he’s more then a likely taller than you plus he likes taking on the protector role.

— A decent chef. He can definitely make a mean dinner and has learned a few tips/tricks from Aunt May.

— Patch up his wounds! He’s a good patient who just sits there with this glint of admiration in his eyes as you clean up any blood or stitch close a deeper cut. He’ll absolutely tease you by asking if you can “ kiss it better “.

— He writes sappy poetry. It’s mostly just for kicks and giggles though he can definitely whip out something that really touches your heart. He gets flustered if you thank him for the poetry and just hides his red face behind his hat Jotaro style.

— Peter wants to eventually move away from New York to somewhere much quieter. He wants to marry you and have a big house. If you want kids that’s more than okay with him and if you don’t he’s content on settling for a dog. He absolutely loves dogs.

♢ NSFW ♢

— While not the most experienced person sexually he still knows how to have a good time.

— Peter’s libido isn’t the highest and sex is more of a celebratory/occasional thing. You got a job promotion? Cool! Peter wants to bang you on the couch until the walls are white and the multiverse rips apart.

— I think Peter definitely gets aroused a lot he just doesn’t act on his feelings. He doesn’t exactly have time to take an hour away for some much needed love making.

— But when he does get that hour away? Oh boy howdy prepare yourself.

— I already discussed that there is more than likely a height difference and he takes that to his advantage. It’s easy to just scoop you up no matter how heavy you are and have sex with you right against the kitchen wall.

— Like he’ll rip your clothes off in the heat of the moment then promise to buy your another shirt later.

— RIDE 👏🏻 THIS 👏🏻 MAN 👏🏻 - He doesn’t mind just kicking back and letting you take control for a bit. He lets out the hottest noises and when you’re thighs are aching from bouncing on him? He just manually fucks you on his cock all while telling you about how nice you feel tensing around him.

— No surface in your place is safe. Kitchen counter, bed, couch .. you’ve been banged on all of them.

— Wants to stuff you full of as much of his cum as possible. He’ll cum into over and over again until your stomach is bloated with his release.

— He’s big! It can be an adjustment taking his dick and he’s fully aware of his size. He’s always whispering encouragements to you, telling you about how good you look taking him like this. His balls are big too lmao.

#Spider-Man Noir #into the spider verse #across the spiderverse x reader #atsv x reader #spider-man noir X reader #spider-noir X reader #it’s like 1 am help me #nsft concept #smut #fluff #Peter Parker X reader #itsv X reader #headcanons #spiderverse

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rafedaddy01 · 11 days

Text

Warnings: here it is, smut

Rafe can’t believe his ears. She wants an open marriage? Why? Has he not done everything for her? Bought her anything she’s wanted? Given her everything she’s ever dreamed about? Ok, sometimes he’s absent. But that’s only because he works so hard to support their lifestyle, to give her the world.

“But why baby?” Rafes voice is broken as he try’s not to show emotion.

“Rafe, trust me. This will work, we just need to broaden our horizons. We’ve only been with each other, I’ve never slept with anyone besides you.” She takes a seat next to her husband, placing her hand on top of hers soothingly but Rafe pulls away, standing from the bed and rushing out of the room.

He’s angry. How could she? After everything they’ve been through. She’s gonna throw that away just to get some fresh dick. Hell no. He can’t stand for this, he won’t.

You’re setting the final touches to your apartment when your doorbell rings.

You open it to find your handsome brother-in jaw standing there with some flowers and takeout.

“Rafe! What are you doing here?”

“Heard you finally moved out, just wanted to bring you a housewarming gift” Rafe smiles warmly at you.

You and rafe have always been close. Ever since he married your sister the two of you have become like best friends.

True, he was a lot older than you but you considered him one of your closest friends.

“Thank you. Come in, come in, please” you take the flowers from him as he places the takeout on the table.

“Nice place you got here”

“Thanks, daddy’s helping me pay for it until I find a stable enough job to support myself”

Rafes crotch tightens at the term you used, ‘daddy’. He images what that would sound like when your under him begging to cum.

Rafe shakes his head, pushing those kind of thoughts out. He can’t fantasize about his sister-in law like that. Your way too innocent, he can’t tell if your actually ditzy or if you put on an act to make those around you worship you.

You bend down to fish out a vase from under the sink, your shirt riding up and exposing your lower back. Rafe try’s not to stare, he really does, but something catches his eye. A tattoo, right there, on your lower back is a pair of angel wings. He smirks, maybe you’re not so innocent.

After eating the takeout rafe brought the two of you are settled on the couch, watching a cheesy romcom you obviously picked.

“Can you massage my feet?” You place your legs over his lap, wiggling your toes to entice him. “Pretty please? My feet are killing me from shopping all day”

He smiles warmly, “sure”

Rafe starts massage your toes and moves lower to the pads of your feet. He hits a particularly good spot and you moan, “right there, oh god!”

Rafe pants tighten more, his hard on becoming more and more visible

You pull your feet away, “thanks so much” Rafe prays that you didn’t notice his erection as you stand. “You cold? It’s freezing in here” you walk over to the closet and pull out a blanket.

You sit back on the couch, covering the both of you with the blanket. You continue watching the movie, but it’s pretty boring and you have other things in mind.

Your hand rakes up and down Rafes thigh, inching higher and higher until you reach his zipper, he doesn’t mutter a word. His eyes looking straight ahead. You continue unbuttoning his pants and pulling his cock out under the blanket. “Y/n..” he swallows hard. “What are you doing?”

“Shh” you move the blanket and get on your knees, licking a stripe up his length.

“Oh fuck” rafe head falls back, his hands coming to your hair, creating a makeshift pony tail. “So good” he groans.

You take more of him in, moaning around his cock and you start bobbing.

“Fuck it” Rafe pulls you off his cock and lifts you up, seating you in his lap so you’re straddling him. He tears your shift off, noticing that you’re not wearing a bra and he groans. “You naughty girl”

“What can I say? You’re just so hot” you kiss him, sucking on his tongue and biting his lip as you pull back.

“And here I thought you were innocent” Rafe pulls your shorts and panties down, helping kick them off your feet before lifting you up and taking his pants and boxers off. “I’m anything but” you help him out of his shirt before pressing kisses on his chest and nipping at his nipple, causing him to hiss.

You take his cock in your hand and position it at your entrance. Looking deep into his blue eyes you push down, filling your pussy to the hilt. Both of you moan, the stretch too good. Your pussy so tight it’s gripping around him like it’s afraid to let him out.

“Holy shit” rafe groans as his head falls back and his eyes shut.

You start lifting your and slamming back down, feeling his tip probe your cervix with each bounce. You knew rafe was carrying but you never imaged him to feel this good.

“Call me daddy” Rafe moans as one hand grips your hip and the other massages your breast.

Your insides flutter from his request. “Fuck daddy, you feel so good inside me” you move up and down faster, nails raking and clawing at his chest.

“Shit” Rafes lost in pleasure. Feeling your warm pussy around his cock making his head dizzy. He knows this is wrong, but fuck why does it feel so good.

He wraps both hands around your hips, stopping your bounces and thrusting up into you.

You give in as your back arches and moans fall from your lips. “Fuck, daddy. Right there. Oh!” You moan and moan until you feel your core tighten.

“Fuck, close”

“I know baby, I know. I can feel you” Rafes lips suck on your neck and he keeps thrusting into you, you slowly bouncing to help him.

Rafe groans loud as his cock throbs and your pussy squeezes him.

As both of you come down from your high, you keep him seated inside you as you lay on his sweaty chest.

“Mmm, that was amazing” you hum and look up at his exhausted face.

“Yeah” he chuckles breathlessly. “It was”

You caress his cheek as you peck his lips.

“Your sister obviously can never know about this. She asked for an open marriage yesterday, but if she finds out I slept with her little sister I don’t know what she’ll-“ rafe rambles on and you kiss him to shut him up.

“Rafe, relax. Who do you think gave her the idea to an open marriage”

Taglist

@f4ll-for-you @rafeysworldim19 @baby19sthings @sevenwivesofrafecameron @rxfecameronsslut @findapenny @r1vrsefx @spencerreidsrealgf @rafescokenostril @thievin-stealing @rafemotherfuckingcameron @dilvcv @starkeysheart

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angelyuji · 1 year

Text

yandere headcanons :0

across the spiderverse characters: peter b parker, miles, gwen, miguel, hobie, pavitr

warnings: the usual yandere stuff (kidnapping, manipulation, stalking)

(imagine miles, gwen, pavitr like college age) (gender neutral reader)

peter b

literally so in love with you

he’s not the type to sit and stalk you from a far, but he’s also not straight up kidnapping you

he’ll watch you, find out your interests, find your social media, everything he needs to figure out how to be your perfect lover <3

he becomes your friend and integrates himself into your life

if you like him, he has no reason to separate you from your family or friends becuz he’s the perfect boyfriend. no one has anything negative to say abt him

if you don’t… he’ll do anything to make you like him.

convince you your whole family is evil and he’s the only one really looking out for you

he’s awkward and sweet and kind and so funny and it’s hard not to believe him

wants the American dream life: white picket fence, house in the suburbs, marriage, kids

that’s his dream for the both of you and he doesn’t really care if you don’t have the same dream

“you’re my dream, (y/n). everything i do, it’s always been for you.”

miles (aged up!)

miles is similar to peter b but like also not

very stalker but like without knowing, he’d pass your place over and over during his patrols around the city without realizing

he’d never kidnap you or do anything reallyyy morally wrong

howeverrr he’s absolutely in love with you, so like small little things

stalking, stealing small things from you, finding out the shampoos or different things you use or eat.

he feels closer to you, knowing he knows you better than anyone else.

after a long time, he’ll work up the courage to talk to you (“accidently” bumping into you at a coffee shop or a place you visit frequently) miles (albeit awkward) is a charmer, so you’re instantly smitten.

plus! he loves all the things you do, so you’re a match made in heaven :)

“hey, (y/n)! we meet again!”

gwen (aged up!)

gwen doesn’t try to interact with you much

she’s definitely afraid of putting you in danger or losing you just because you got close

she’ll watch over you and protect you from danger tbh like

for example, sayyy someone was harassing you at work and/or school, you’d probably successfully get that off your ass or at least they leave you alone for the day, butttt gwen would not feel satisfied.

gwen would find where they live and absolutely beat the living shit out of them

seeing someone bother you makes her vision go red like

basically your guardian angel

she would never bother you really just protecting you from afar

you’ll never notice tbh

unless some big bad guy found out that ghost-spider has been following around a random civilian…

well then, she’ll have to keep you safe

she’ll keep you safe in her apartment, whether you want to be there or not.

“every single thing i do, i do it to keep you safe.”

miguel (won’t be writing in spanish cause i don’t know spanish srry guys) (but he def calls you cute nicknames in spanish)

HEHHEHEHEE (my bad im just literally in love)

gwen but like 10000000 times more intense

the moment he lays eyes on you, babes you’re FUCKED

he’s snatching you up

however! the first thing he’ll check is if you’re super important to the “safety” of the timeline

no offense but ur not at all important saurrr FREE GAMEE

he’s definitely kidnapping you and keeping you hostage at HQ

he doesn’t bother with the whole stalking thing or becoming friends or anything like that

he doesn’t care if you don’t want to come with him, your opinions do not matter to him at all

he believes that he’s your protector, that everything that he’s doing is for your own good

you don’t know what’s best for yourself, only miguel knows what’s best for you (at least that’s what he thinks)

his only goal is to keep you with him, he wants a family and he believes that with you… he can achieve his dreams

if you’re a part of the Spider Society, Miguel can’t really do anything to you without other people noticing or disrupting the timeline

but yk… it’s better to be a rando from whatever universe to have miguel’s attention (but that’s just my opinion i suppose)

“you are mine. you will never leave me.”

hobie (will not be writing his british accent sorry im bad at accents)

i love him he’s so funny

you’ve been friends for a long time, he was in a band with you before he quit

he doesn’t really stay in one place for long

he’s a lot like a mix of gwen and miles

he believes keeping you safe is by staying close to you, but he also watches over you when you’re alone

he falls for you because of how positive you are, you never talk badly about anyone, but you’re always down to do anything.

you always join him for every protest, at his every show

he flirts with you constantly, loving how you blush away at the attention

constantly giving you attention and love, but a little manipulative about it at the same time

he never wants to kidnap you or keep you hostage, it’s against everything he stands for

he knows that if you didn’t like him, you’d never be by his side

so he believes that keeping you free is what keeps you near him

“we’re free birds, (y/n). with you by my side, we’re unstoppable.”

pavitr (aged up!) (this is gonna be very non-yandere tbh) (ILOVEHIM)

my little cutie pie i love him

i can’t really imagine being a yandere type character but he would be similar in miles and hobie

no kidnapping or stealing tho

slight stalking, just watching over you all the time, making sure you’re safe

he’s my little cutie pie moroenfakds

he’s flirty and funny

you’d be classmates when you meet him

you’d click very quickly tbh he’s just so easy to get along with

he’s absolutely terrified of your parents, very respectful tho so your parents love him

very passionate about how much he likes you, would quite literally shout it from the rooftops (and he does every day)

ugh i love him

"you're my world, (y/n). i love you so much."

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saintsenara · 9 months

Note

Thoughts on Ron and Hermione as a ship?

thank you very much for the ask, @thesilverstarling!

i’ll state my position straight away: book ron and hermione are the best of the canon couples.

they will have a long and extremely happy marriage made rich by great and stalwart love, lust, fun, and faithfulness, rather than held together by duty and couples’ therapy like so many readers and authors (including jkr, who seems to have decided to spend the years since the conclusion of the series failing to understand anything about her own characters) tend to think.

i will state another position straight away: lest i seem like i’m just a fan with blinkers on, i think this even though hermione is, by far, my least favourite member of the trio. if she were real i would detest her, and i dislike how she is treated by the narrative as always justified in her negative characteristics. i like fanon hermione - perfect and preternaturally good - even less.

as a result, i think that it’s ridiculous that jkr has said that she thought ron needed to ‘become worthy’ of hermione. they belong together as equals - which is what they’re set up in the narrative as being from the off - and i hate seeing that undermined.

because ronald weasley? he’s an icon. and he doesn’t get anywhere near the respect he deserves in fandom.

there are multiple reasons for this - ron’s narrative purpose is to be the everyman sidekick, and so he is able to be less special than harry or hermione (the helper-figure); the amount of aristocracy wank in this fandom means that the weasleys’ ordinariness is less appealing to writers than making harry have twenty different lordships and call himself hadrian; the narrative interrogates ron’s flaws - especially his capacity for jealousy - much more intensively than it interrogates either hermione’s (cruel, inflexible, meddling) or harry’s (reckless, self-absorbed, judgemental) - but one i feel is particularly significant is that ron is such a british character that many of his traits are not understood as intended by non-british readers.

in particular - as is outlined in this excellent meta by @whinlatter - ron’s sense of humour isn’t indicative of immaturity or a lack of seriousness, but is, in fact, evidence that he’s the most emotionally aware of the trio.

ron is shown throughout the series to understand how both harry and hermione need to have their emotions approached - and i think there is no piece of writing which says this better than crocodile heart by @floreatcastellumposts:

That was what she liked most about Ron, she thought vaguely. He was very good at being suitably outraged on your behalf. For Harry, for her, for Neville. That sort of thing mattered, when you were hurt or embarrassed or wronged in some way. You needed to have someone else on your side, to be as emotional as you felt, maybe even more so, so that you might feel a bit more normal. It was very decent of him, and she was not sure he realised he did it.

ron’s inherent emotional awareness is an enormous source of comfort to other people. he does the work which isn’t flashy or special - he makes tea and tells jokes and is just there - but which is needed in healthy human relationships far more frequently than a willingness to fight to the death for the other person.

[as an aside, this normality - even though i think it is assumed rather than justified by the text - is also what ginny provides for harry. if you believe that hinny are a good couple but romione aren’t… i can’t help you.]

but let’s look at some specific reasons why ron and hermione belong together:

their communication styles mesh perfectly. ron is the only person hermione knows who feeds her love of being challenged and debated, and who is able to engage in this way of communicating without becoming irate when she refuses to back down. ron is good at picking his battles, but he’s also good at recognising that hermione’s tendency to argue isn’t intended to be confrontational a lot of the time - it’s just the way she works through feelings and problems. he’s far more easy-going about her tendency to nag, interrupt, try to provoke arguments, or speak condescendingly than he’s given credit for - and hermione evidently respects this, since when he does tell her not to push a situation (above all, when she’s trying to needle harry into talking about sirius), she listens to him.

that ron and hermione’s tendency to bicker is taken by fans to be a bad thing is because it’s something harry - from whose perspective the narrative is written - doesn’t understand. harry is extremely conflict-avoidant - he tends to take being pushed on views and opinions he has to be insulting; and he has a tendency to assume that he is right which is just as profound as hermione’s. he and ginny communicate not by debating, but by ginny having no time for his rigidity and refusing to indulge it - but ron and hermione bickering about everything is not a negative thing within their specific emotional dynamic.

[as another aside, this glaring chasm in communication styles is why harry and hermione would be a disaster as a couple.]

they each provide validation the other needs. it’s clear - reading between the lines - that hermione is a tremendously lonely person. the friendlessness of her initial few weeks at hogwarts seems to be a continuation of her experience as a child, and - outside of ron and harry - that friendlessness endures through her schooldays. i’m always struck, for example, by the fact that, when she falls out with ron in prisoner of azkaban, she has no-one else to spend time with, and that this is only avoided in half-blood prince because harry decides not to freeze her out. i don’t think her friendship with ginny is anywhere near as close as fanon seems to imply (ginny has no interest in being nagged either), nor do i think that she’s anywhere near as close to neville (not least because she is so condescending to him) as she’s often written to be.

and this loneliness seems to stretch beyond hogwarts. the absence of hermione’s parents’ from the narrative is - in a doylist sense - clearly just a device to maximise time with the trio all together, but the watsonian reading is that she doesn’t have a particularly good relationship with them. hermione’s obviously upper-middle-class background - the name! the skiing! the holidays in the south of france! - can be presumed, i think, to come with a series of expectations from her parents which she feels constantly that she’s not entirely meeting, particularly expectations attached to academic success.

[for example, the grangers - were she a muggle child - would undoubtedly have ambitions for her to attend an elite university and then go into a prestigious career. tertiary education of the type that they’re familiar with doesn’t seem to exist in the wizarding world - most careers seem to be taught by apprenticeship - and this, alongside all the other divides between the magical and muggle worlds which contribute to the distance between them, would be one very obvious area in which she felt the need to prove herself to them.]

ron, too, has quite a difficult relationship with his position in the family - voldemort’s locket is not wrong to point out that he seems to receive considerably less of his mother’s emotional attention than ginny or the rest of his brothers - and he too is constrained by expectations which he doesn’t know how to explain he has no interest in - above all, molly’s desire for her sons to achieve top grades and go into the ministry.

he also suffers while at hogwarts from being ‘harry potter’s best friend’, something which harry never appreciates. but hermione does. she recognises ron’s jealousy and never allows harry to minimise it (and she and ron are very much aligned on having no respect for harry’s saviour and martyr complexes). she appreciates ron’s strengths - above all his kindness and his sense of humour - and makes him feel as though he’s achieved things with them. and ron does the same for her; he is hugely observant when it comes to her, and he challenges and defends her.

the two of them clearly spend a lot of time together one-on-one while harry’s involved in his various shenanigans (including outside of school - hermione has often arrived at the burrow days or even weeks before harry, and they seem to write to each other frequently when apart). they do this within a relationship which is fundamentally equal. one issue with hinny is that, post-war, harry is going to have to get used to seeing ginny as a peer, rather than as someone he has to protect. but ron and hermione never have that issue - equality is baked into their relationship from the off.

because, to be quite frank, fandom overstates the role that jealousy plays in their relationship. it’s true that ron certainly doesn’t acquit himself brilliantly when it comes to hermione’s relationship with viktor krum (it’s because he’s bi and doesn’t know it yet), and a tendency to externalise his insecurity into trying to make others also feel insecure is one of his primary negative traits (hermione does this too, via her patented lofty voice when she’s trying to condescend to people). but this is often taken as the initial red flag for how the relationship would crash and burn, and ron’s toxic jealousy is often used in fan-fiction as the trigger for emotional and physical violence towards hermione which, frequently, seems to drive her into the arms of either draco malfoy or severus snape… who are, of course, the first people we think of when we hear the words ‘not prone to jealousy’...

but i think it’s important to point out several things in defence of ron’s jealousy over krum. firstly, hermione evidently regards his jealousy as ridiculous - she’s upset by it, yes, but her upset must be understood as being caused by the fact that she wanted him to ask her out. she doesn’t think he’s being possessive, she thinks he’s being stupid. secondly, hermione is equally as jealous over ron’s crush on fleur delacour and relationship with lavender brown. she behaves just as cruelly when it comes to lavender as ron does when it comes to krum - and the narrative only treats her actions as more sympathetic or justified both because harry dislikes lavender too, and because, by that point in the series, jkr has dispensed with any inclination to ever criticise her.

but, outside of this teenage pettiness, ron is never jealous of hermione over things which matter. he is never jealous of her intelligence or competence or ambition or success (indeed, he defends her constantly from attacks designed to undermine her in these areas). for someone who struggles with being overshadowed by harry, he is never upset at being overshadowed by her. he is clearly going to be happy to support her in any of the career ambitions she can be written as having post-war.

and, on this point, i think it’s worth interrogating why so many readers still seem to feel uncomfortable with the idea of ron and hermione having a dynamic where she is the more ‘powerful’ one. [it’s always a bit trite to say ‘but what if the genders were reversed?’, but actually that’s not irrelevant here]. if hermione ends up taking the ministry by storm and ron becomes a stay-at-home father or has a job which is just to pay the bills, what, precisely, is wrong with that? why, precisely, should hermione regard ron making that choice for himself as a negative thing? hermione so often seems to leave ron in fan-fiction because of a lack of ambition - something which seems to be particularly common in dramione - but, in canon, she is shown to not particularly care if ron and harry do the bare minimum when it comes to studying etc. she nags them to do their work so they don’t get in trouble. she doesn’t nag them to do it to the same standard that she would.

and, actually, i think that ron being less ambitious than hermione is something which is key to how well they work. because ron provides not only emotional support, but emotional clarity.

hermione is shown throughout canon to - just as harry does - have a tendency to become obsessive to the detriment of her own health. she is also often - as harry is - emotionally or intellectually inflexible, and finds it hard to move on when what she feels or believes is proven to be wrong. both she and harry are micro-thinkers, who lean towards knee-jerk assumptions and stubborn convictions (and, indeed, hermione has a remarkably hagrid-ish tendency towards blind loyalty).

ron is none of these things. ron is a big-picture thinker (it’s why he’s so good at chess). he’s a pragmatist. he’s the least righteous of the three. he understands that faith and loyalty are choices, and that sometimes these choices will lead to outcomes which are bad or hard. he is the one of the three most willing to own up to having made mistakes. he is the one least likely to act on gut instinct (and, therefore, the hardest to fool - i think it’s worth emphasising that he clocks that tom riddle is tricking harry immediately, the only one of the trio to do so). he understands that things are a marathon, not a sprint. he is the least obsessive.

and these traits contribute to aspects of his character which are underappreciated. ron worries about hermione making herself ill during exams, or when she is using the time-turner, and makes an effort to get her to set healthy boundaries and redirect her anxiety. ron stands on a broken leg in front of sirius or goes into the forest to fight aragog not out of righteousness, but out of choice. ron takes over the burden of preparing buckbeak’s defence when it is clear that hermione is approaching burnout. ron is completely right that harry hasn’t done any long-term planning for the horcrux hunt, and his anger does force harry to tighten up after he leaves the trio. ron has a clear head in the middle of battle. ron makes harry and hermione laugh. ron is unafraid of human emotion. ron arrests harry’s tendency to brood over the little things by looking at the bigger picture. ron will always come back.

ron is bringing his politician wife regular cups of tea and making sure she doesn’t work all night. he is helping his lawyer wife to feel less upset over losing one case by reminding her that she’s won ten others. he is noticing stress creeping in and whirling her off for a dirty weekend, or even just a takeaway on the sofa. he is teaching his daughter to be proud of her ambition and his son to treat women as equals and both of his children that all you can do when you fuck up is apologise and try to do better. he is making hermione smile on the worst days of her life. he is helping her strategise her long-term goals when she gets stuck on the short-term ones. he is telling her straight when she needs to get it together. he is seeing a misogynistic head of department call hermione a ‘silly little girl’ and choosing to tell him exactly what he thinks of that.

ron is the ultimate wife guy. hermione is a very, very lucky lady.

#asks answered #asenora's opinions on ships #romione #ron weasley #hermione granger #ron is a wife guy #also may i be clear #ron is evidently unbelievably hot #the text says he looks like bill #who is so fit that harry can barely see when in his company #hermione you lucky thing

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chahnniesroom · 7 months

Text

for better, for worse

pairing: lee minho x female reader

summary: an arranged marriage is anything but ideal. minho knows that when it comes to his role as a husband, he's lacking, but you haven't exactly been the perfect wife either. a phone call from you leads to a shift in priorities.

word count: 1.5k

warnings: angst, mention of a car accident, mentioned death of a minor character

a/n: originally this was going to be part of a longer fic, but i will never write that longer fic, so i decided to post it! the name of this fic is what inspired me to create the till death do us part collection. i hope you enjoy!

part 2 | till death do us part collection | read it on ao3 | masterlist

Minho had never really thought that he’d be married before the age of 30. Sure, he knew that his parents would likely expect it of him, but he prioritised work far too much to have a meaningful relationship with anyone. So it’s not exactly a surprise that when his parents announce that they’ve arranged a marriage with you, Minho doesn’t suddenly become an attentive and doting partner. In fact, even a year later, he still hasn’t gotten very close to you.

Minho knows that when it comes to his role as a husband, he’s lacking, but you haven’t exactly been the perfect wife either. Behind closed doors, you seem openly resentful of this whole situation and do your best to avoid Minho altogether.

Honestly, Minho doesn’t blame you. If he thinks about it, which he tries not to, you have it even worse off than him. You’re younger by a couple years and had been in the process of rising through the ranks of your family’s company when you’d been forced into becoming a dutiful housewife instead of an executive.

You had tried at first, texting him good morning, staying up late to wait for him to get home from work, and making sure the staff always had fresh and healthy meals prepared. Minho feels guilty thinking of how often he had brushed you off, but he had just been promoted and a lot of the executives, your father included, were just waiting to see him make a mistake. The overwhelming pressure had led him to spend more nights than not at the office and when he did go home, his thoughts still revolved on the work he had left to do.

You haven’t done anything drastic to express your dissatisfaction yet, but it feels like it’s only a matter of time.

Tonight would be the perfect way to do so. The two of you are expected to be present for an event, one that Minho has been invited to speak at. His assistant, Jiyu, tells him that it’s the opportunity of a lifetime and stresses how important it is for everything to go according to plan.

Minho heads to the event straight from the office and isn’t surprised that you’re not there before him. Even 30 minutes after the event has officially started, he still doesn’t mind since it’s just been mingling so far, something that he knows you detest. It’s when they sit everybody down to start serving the meal that he starts getting impatient, his temper starting to make itself known.

You know that this night is important for Minho and he’s told you multiple times that he expects you to be there. He knew that you had been picked up on time since he’d even sent his personal driver, Jeonghoon, to get you and Jeonghoon had sent assurances that the two of you were on your way.

You're frustratingly convincing though, Minho has never been able to say no to you and he knows that you've charmed all the household staff as well.

He'd texted Jeonghoon once to check where you were, but hadn't gotten a reply and he just hopes that it's because traffic is bad and not because you're plotting something.

When Jiyu pesters Minho about the lack of your presence, he gives in and calls your cell phone. It rings for a while, and Minho is about to hang up when you finally answer.

“Minho!” you say, sounding delighted. Minho is instantly suspicious. “You’re calling me.”

“Where are you?” he demands coldly. “It’s late.”

“I-I tried to call,” you continue to babble. “This time, I was good, really. I remem-remembered to call Jiyu-ssi instead of your phone. She said you were busy and not to bother you. But they needed someone to come help and I couldn’t think of anyone else.”

“Y/n, are you- are you drunk?” he asks in disbelief. If he sounded cold before, his voice is absolutely frigid now. Someone happens to walk by and they look frightened by whatever expression is on his face based on the way that they scurry past while trying to avoid eye contact.

“No!” you deny vehemently, even though there’s still something odd about the tone of your voice. “I didn’t drink anything! They didn’t let me. They won’t let me do anything. They just gave me this thing and-”

“Where are you.”

“I’m at the hospital,” you say plainly.

“What?” Minho stands up from the table, uncaring of the way that everyone swivels to look at him. He had stayed quiet enough before to prevent eavesdropping, but forgets to keep his voice down reacting to your matter-of-fact response. “What happened?”

“We were driving to the hotel,” you say in a small voice. “I didn’t want to be late. I- I don’t know what happened. There was another car- they were in a rush too.” You stop to hiccup.

“Y/n-” Minho is at the entrance to the ballroom and doesn’t even wait for the staff to heave the doors open, opting to push through them himself. He knows he's making a scene, but he couldn’t care less about anybody else in the room at the moment.

“He’s gone,” you interrupt, sounding hollow. “Jeonghoon. They couldn’t even get him out of the car. I saw it. Him. What was left. There was so much blood.”

It feels like Minho’s stomach drops right to the floor.

“Y/n-”

He can barely hear your reply, instead the rush of his pulse in his ears drowns out any other sound. He's suddenly aware of how shaky his breathing has gotten, shallow gasps that barely provide any oxygen to his lungs.

“It doesn’t feel real,” you say, subdued. “They keep saying that I was really lucky, but it doesn’t feel like it.”

“Are you hurt?” Minho’s almost afraid to ask.

“Oh,” you sound surprised. “Me? I- Don’t worry about me.”

“Don’t worry? Never mind, just tell me what hospital you’re at. I’m on my way.” Minho has forgotten that you're particularly skilled at deflecting questions, even ones that are direct.

“What? No! You can’t leave, you have your speech-”

“Y/n,” Minho says gently. You're starting to sound panicked and since he still doesn't know what your condition is, he doesn't want you to be any more stressed than you already are. “It’s okay, I’ve already excused myself.”

“I know tonight was really important to you,” you say miserably. “I ruined it. I’m sorry. Oh I- Someone’s here, I have to go now. Don't come, please. I’m fine, really. Stay at the event.”

The call ends abruptly and Minho is left staring at his phone.

“Minho-ssi,” Jiyu hisses from beside him. Her heels clack as she tries to keep up with him. Minho's already halfway across the lobby, but he can still see into the ballroom where a number of people are still staring after him. They must think he’s gone crazy. There’s a smile on Jiyu's face, but the tone of her voice is anything but friendly. “What are you doing? They're not finished serving dinner and you have to be on stage soon.”

Minho doesn’t even bother to answer, starting to dial for a car to come pick him up before he realises, dismayed, that he’s pulled up Jeonghoon’s number. He shakes his head for a moment before calling someone else.

Jiyu grabs at his elbow, pulling him to a stop. Even through the layers of his clothes, her nails are sharp pin pricks that dig into the flesh of his arm.

“Minho-ssi, you can’t just leave!”

Minho wrenches himself from her grasp and turns to scowl at her. She stumbles back at the force of his glare for a moment before reaching out again.

“Y/n’s in the hospital,” he explains. That should be enough explanation, but it still doesn’t seem to affect her. "I have to go."

“Tonight is critical if you want to win over enough people for the contract that you’re negotiating. Don’t waste any time worrying about her. If she's at the hospital, there’s nothing that you can do to help Y/n, she’s already being taken care of,” Jiyu says coolly. “Some things are more important.”

Minho stares at her for a long moment.

Jiyu has worked with Minho for a significant portion of his career. Her analytical and no-nonsense way of handling things is part of the reason that he’s been able to make it as far as he has. For the longest time, he had admired her ability to set aside her emotions to make logical, objective decisions.

Now he wonders if she’s just heartless.

Out of the corner of his eye, Minho can see a car pull up to the doors and he makes his own decision.

“Yes," he agrees. Jiyu lets out a sigh of relief and reaches out to tug him back to the ballroom. Minho steps away to avoid her hand. "Some things- some people are more important. I didn't see that before and I won't make that mistake again. Jiyu-ssi, give everybody my apologies that I was not able to stay and then you may go home. Thank you for your service all these years, but I will not be needing you as my assistant any longer."

He doesn't look back.

part 2 | till death do us part collection | read it on ao3 | masterlist

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sparrowssally · 6 months

Text

Okay I lied that last rant wasn’t over

YET ANOTHER THING: I’ve seen a LOT of the blogs on here who ship David and Michael romantically talk about how David is “secretly” queer and how they’re going to be “safe spaces” for him when he’s ready to come out publicly.

Y’all. There is so, so much wrong with this for so many reasons. First of all, aside from a few rumors to the contrary that I’ve never seen any basis for, David has always been straight-presenting. He’s only dated women and is currently married to a woman, with whom he has several children. Yes, one of his kids is non-binary and he is an ardent supporter of them and an ally for the LGBTQ+ community as whole. This is GREAT. It shows he’s an engaged parent and a wonderful ally to the community. However, there is nothing pointing to the fact that that David is queer himself. Him wearing pride pins and wearing the “queer is here” sweatshirt is zero indication of his own sexuality. For all we know, he’s just supporting his kid. Also, all the “better halves” and “work wives” jokes made between the Tennant and Sheen families are clearly that: jokes. They’re all clearly in on the gag and think it’s funny, so they keep using it. There’s been no real life basis for them actually all being in love with each other and in some kind of swingers situation.

Second, labeling David as “queer” when he hasn’t specifically said he is himself is just plain wrong. There’s nothing “safe space” about that. Y’all just want to label him that because you want to fit him into your special little mold, so that your ship of Michael/David can set sail IRL, or so you can feel better represented. If it’s the latter, I encourage you to look at how David is an outspoken ally for the LBGTQ+ community. He’s made his voice known for years about how passionate he is about that community’s rights, and is a great high-profile ally to have. He doesn’t NEED to be queer himself if that’s not truly who he is.

Point is: Don’t label someone with a sexuality they’ve never publicly used themselves just because you want to see them that way.

If for some reason David wants to come out in the future, that’s great and I’ll support him wholeheartedly if it ever happens. But…there is NOTHING WRONG with letting him be in a happy, straight-presenting marriage with his wife. Both of them seem very happy, and both of them continue to be strong advocates for the LBGTQ+ community. Let them live their lives.

#I stg eventually I will stop having to make posts like these #david tennant #georgia tennant #michael sheen #david x michael #good omens #good omens fandom

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saerins · 6 months

Text

⋆୨ chapter five ୧˚ if not for this love of mine

⋆୨ if not for you (masterlist) ⋆୨ previous: chapter four - behind a box of reasons why <> next: chapter six - redefines in every way what love is ୧˚

⋆୨ synopsis ୧˚ neither of you want this. both you and sae reluctantly agree to this marriage, although sae’s dissatisfaction far outweighs your own. with hidden agendas and old flames, will this ever work out between the two of you, or will your forced spark be doomed to fail?

ೀ series: sae x f!reader | wc 5k | ೀ content warnings: fluff/angst, modern au, arranged marriage, rich!sae and rich!reader, jealousy/paranoia, third parties, manipulation, slightly suggestive | notes: since mirin is everyone’s favourite , i decided to give her a little more screen time ^_< hehehe

It’s a pain. It’s torture.

You’re not sure why you’re like this, but you wish you weren’t. If only you weren’t so wishy washy. If only you could confront Sae like a normal person would then maybe this would all be simpler. But sadly, you don’t do normal—you do stupid and you do idiotic because that night, after you’ve just found out that Mirin of all people had been in your house (because you’d recognise that table anywhere), you don’t ask Sae straight up.

Eggshells. You’re walking on eggshells around the topic, trying to get Sae to cough it up himself.

After all, she didn’t just post that one story apparently. She posted a few more after that, conspicuously typing some white hearts over it, or other things like days like this are the best >>> or just like the old days 🤍 which makes you want to punch her through the phone.

“So, what’d you do today?” You are always genuinely curious about his day, but having a hidden agenda for the question tonight makes you feel a little guilty.

On Sae’s part, he’s generally disinterested in talking about himself, as usual, which is now not quite working in your favour. He shrugs, wiping the countertop since he accidentally spilled some water on it beforehand.

“Nothing much, stayed home, still feel like shit.”

Right, because that morning he’d told you he seemed to have gone down with a cold. To be fair, his nose was running and he had puffy eyes. His nose is still kind of red now but then you wonder if he’d intended to invite Mirin over, then.

“Oh, so… nothing interesting happened?”

Your tone seems a little off, and Sae picks up on it, turning around with his brows furrowed. “Yeah, why do you ask?”

If you were smart, you’d cough it up yourself. But no, you aren’t because you’d been over this—you’re stupid and idiotic and dumb, so dumb. So instead, you force a smile and shake your head.

“Just curious, that’s all,” you brush it off, effectively losing your chance to ask Sae about it anymore (for now).

Nothing really escapes Sae, though, because he knows something is off, but he’s not a mind reader. And maybe it’s because despite getting so much closer recently, neither of you have actually spoken about your actual deep feelings that there’s uncertainty in the air between the two of you.

He takes a seat across from you, dinner already finished, nothing else but the sound of the television playing the news in the background. Sae doesn’t really do anything but look you in the eyes, as though he’s searching for answers to his unspoken question.

“What is it?” You ask, shirking slightly under his innocent stare.

This time, Sae’s the one shaking his head, though he’s still looking into your eyes. “You can tell me anything if you ever need to, okay?”

Sae’s given you permission. He doesn’t know what it is, for sure, but he has. So then you start wondering to yourself: why are you so scared?

“You are so dumb.”

“I know!” You have your head in your hands, groaning as you feel Reo’s deathly judgey stare upon you.

It’s been a week since you found out about Mirin being over at your house, and you still haven’t found the guts to ask Sae about it straight. And thanks to Sumi, you’ll be the first to know if Mirin ever posts about being inside your house again. (So far there’s nothing.)

Reo’s been busy the past week, but now that he’s heard your predicament, he’s cursing himself for not making time. He didn’t think it was this bad. Knowing you, you must’ve been overthinking yourself to sleep, even if Sae is right there beside you.

He sighs, pensive as he watches you spiral. You’re whining incoherently and babbling on about being stupid and hating this Mirin girl. You’re definitely head over heels for Sae by now and there’s a bittersweet feeling building up inside Reo. But he’s nothing if not the best friend ever so he shoves his personal feelings aside.

“But really, if Sae told me that, I’d ‘fess up straight away. I don’t think he’d care if you told him you stalked Mirin’s story,” Reo tells you, hoping it’ll give you the small push you need to just talk to him.

Sighing, you look up at Reo, eyes hidden behind your hair and got you looking straight out of a horror film. Reo would usually tease you for this, but considering your emotions right now, he spares you the agony of having to listen to him poke fun at you.

“I don’t know,” you groan, dragging out the last syllable.

It’s an entire mix of reasons, honestly.

One, you’re too scared to ask him because you’re afraid it’s true. It’s a stupid reason, but you’re beginning to feel like this marriage is hopeful (ironically) and you want this to work so bad that you don’t want anything to ruin this. If you could just make the problem go away silently, wouldn’t it work too? You don’t want to risk having one single argument with Sae that would lead you back to square one.

Two, every instance of communication that you’ve brought up since you were young convinces you otherwise. Nothing you’ve ever raised to your parents has given you the safety that you so sought. All you ever got in return for telling on someone who bullied you or complaining that the tea is too hot and it burns your tongue or confiding in your mum that their business partner seems shady was a tight slap on the cheek or public humiliation. Sae is neither of your parents, but that’s the interesting thing about being raised that way—it’s hard to snap out of it.

There are probably more excuses you can offer, but you’re too tired to think about them. It’s been too many sleepless nights, ending only with you waking up for work like a zombie. Sumi’s been trying her best to keep your energy up, always getting you coffee and perking you up in between tasks but it’s hard to get your mind off it.

Sensing that you’re going off the deep edge, Reo sucks in a deep breath.

“You mentioned that everything was going well with him, right?” Reo asks you, and you nod, albeit like a sad little puppy. “You said that the honeymoon ended in a rocky way, but then in the end, Sae made you feel comfortable, didn’t he? Like you could feel that it could work?”

Those are all things you mentioned to him today during the catch up, yeah.

“What are you getting at, Reo?”

He averts his gaze, hesitant. “Y/N, why’d you ask to meet at my place? Why not our usual hangout?”

You’d planned to keep your lips sealed about that, but looks like it doesn’t escape Reo’s notice. Giving up, you confess.

“Remember the last time we met? Apparently, someone snapped a pic of us in a misleading angle and, well, my parents confronted me about it—I don’t even know how they fucking got it, maybe they have a PI on me or something but urgh,” you say in one breath, sidetracking. “But yeah, anyway, Sae didn’t see the picture and I guess… I just wanted to avoid any misunderstandings.”

Reo listens to you, a full face of seriousness, before leaning back against his chair, facepalming himself. “Oh god the two of you are just two idiots.”

Straightening up, you look at your best friend, wide-eyed. “Okay you need to tell me what’s going on.”

“Okay look, I don’t know what’s going on with this Mirin chick, okay? But what I do know is…” Reo trails off, knowing that he’s absolutely pushing you to Sae, losing his own chance forever. But then again, he’s already lost. “Sae really cares about you.”

You stay silent, wondering what on earth led Reo to that conclusion when he barely knows your husband.

“Remember that night you called when you were in Korea?” Reo asks, and you recall that he was too busy to pick up. Not entirely out of pocket. You nod. “Actually… I was talking to Sae.”

“Huh?”

That was not the information you’d expected, so you can only stare at Reo dumbly, waiting for him to elaborate.

“That night, he called me, saying that you had been acting weird and he thinks you’re upset and especially that night in particular.” You’re not sure why hearing that sounds surreal to you. “He was asking me how best to comfort you.”

There’s a lot of things you want Reo to elaborate on, but all you can keep thinking of is the fact that Sae made that much effort to try and console you, even when he didn’t know what was going on. It’s a far cry from the guy who initially told you you essentially meant nothing to him.

You didn’t even notice it, but Reo’s already shifted himself, sitting beside you, his hands on your shoulders.

“Listen, I don’t know if he’s over his ex or not, I really don’t,” Reo tells you honestly, but his grip is firm on you, “but I really don’t think his feelings for you are fake.”

It sounds funny hearing this from Reo, somehow.

“I just think… maybe you should try to talk to him?” Reo suggests, although you knew that. He only serves to further convince you. “Otherwise, are you sure you want to send this marriage to its end like this?”

Reo’s words sit with you the whole ride home.

The worst part is he’s right. If you don’t talk to Sae, then you’ll just end up gradually drifting apart from him. Then where would the marriage go? You doubt Sae would’ve ever thought that you saw Mirin’s story and started acting cold because of it.

Besides, if you’re letting yourself be hopeful, maybe Sae didn’t tell you about it because it was insignificant. (You know it’s a stupid excuse especially when your husband invited his ex over to the house but you’re trying to hold on to hope.)

Relenting to fate, you text Reo.

you’re right, i’ll try talking to him…

You immediately get a text back.

you can do it! lmk if you need anything ok?

You just give his message a thumbs up because you’re too nervous to form any more sentences. At the very least, there’s comfort in knowing that your best friend will always be here for you.

Judging by the time, half past eight at night, you’re sure Sae’s already home, probably flipping through the channels because there never seems to be anything that he wants to watch. It’s just the way he is; you like the intimacy of knowing that. That means you need to figure out what to say before you even get there. Preparation is key—because you don’t want to space out when it’s time to talk to him.

So that’s exactly what you do.

By the time you reach your front door, you’ve rehearsed your opening line a hundred times, and your heart’s pounding out of your chest.

But of course, none of that means anything when you open the door and still space out because now, guess what’s the only thing you can think about?

Why the fuck did you open the door to see Mirin at your bedroom entrance?

There it is—the blank. It’s creating a gaping hole in your head. Because not only is Mirin here in the flesh, dressed head to toe in designer labels and looking like a model out of a magazine, she’s noticed you too now, and she’s looking at you without an ounce of guilt. All she’s doing right now is staring back at you, her listless face forming into a smile.

That’s not the worst thing, though. You notice her lips: smudged mauve lipstick in the corners, looking heavily like she just made out with someone.

“Oh hi! You must be Y/N, right?” She greets, holding out her hand that you really just want to slap away but you don’t—best not to fuck with the iceberg, or tip the boat or whatever that phrase is because you can’t think properly at all right now. “I’m Seto Mirin,” she introduces as you shake her hand.

You can’t even say hi before you hear the familiar click open of your bathroom doors, inside the master bedroom where Mirin has just been waiting outside of.

Out comes Sae, as though he’d been rushing, his collar a mess and his hair slightly wet. Has he been washing his face? When he comes face to face with you, you nearly scoff because he’s missed a spot: on his neck. Because he’s slightly taller than her. It checks out.

His usual nonchalance is replaced with perplexity, like he’s unsure what to say to you. It’s fine though, because you’re not sure if you can take what he wants to tell you.

“Should we go, babe?” Mirin asks Sae, and all you see is red. Sae turns to her to speak but she cuts him off, turning her attention to you. “It’s nice meeting you!” Her fingers wrap around Sae’s wrist, pulling him with her to the door before either of you know it.

You’re stuck staring into your bedroom at nothing, too stunned to even speak. Is this really happening right now? Just when you resolve to speak to Sae about it, the problem shows up right underneath your nose. It sucks even more that just looking at her face makes you think back to all those photos he kept of the two of them, kept safe wherever it is now because evidently, he’s moved it away from its original hiding place since he asked you to sleep in the same room with him.

A hand on the back of your neck brings you back to the present, and you realise that he’s here, looking at you apologetically that you’re halfway expecting him to say sorry and that he’s leaving you.

He doesn’t.

What he does do is look you in the eyes, and you’re not even sure you recognise those teal hues of his anymore. Maybe you don’t want to.

“Hey it’s nothing okay, this is nothing, so wait for me to come back?” Sae is genuinely asking because for the first time since you met him, you can feel the worry and tension in his voice. As if he sort of expects you to already think of running.

When you don’t say anything, Sae’s grip on you loosens, and he asks, softly, like a whisper, “do you trust me?”

Part of you would like to scream at him, to ask him how dare he ask you that when all of this is happening right now. When he’s never once given you any sort of warning about Mirin? When, if you’d never happened to see that little black box in the first place that you’d be caught completely off guard right now?

“I don’t know, Sae. Can I?”

Sae swallows the lump in his throat. For once, you’re the one who sounds cold. But he supposes that he deserves that. “Look, I’ll explain everything when I get back later okay? Please, just- I know I haven’t earned it after today, but just trust me, okay?”

You don’t offer any assurance or answers. You don’t move at all. Not until Sae hesitantly leaves, the ding of the elevator all you hear until it closes, and their pair of footsteps disappear and that’s when you get to the closet, grab a bag full of essentials and don your leather coat, turn off your phone and then leave.

This is all way too much for one day.

You should really count your blessings that you have money handy. The amount in your joint account is untouched, because you don’t want Sae figuring out where you are. At least you have your own credit card.

What you need now is time. Some time to yourself to figure all of this out; what exactly is left for you here, whether you can circumnavigate out of the sticky situation with your parents if you do end up calling this off.

As you toss your bag onto the bed, you look out at the expensive view below you. It’s not so beautiful when you’re in a bad mood.

There’s a knock on your door, and you find a dark-haired man dressed in a tailor-made suit at your door.

“Is there anything I can offer you, ma’am? Perhaps a glass of wine or anything from our restaurant?”

He looks familiar but you see a lot of faces everyday so you don’t even bother. You shake your head. “No that’s fine, I’d just like to be left alone tonight, so.”

Seemingly understanding, he nods curtly. “Very well, have a good night, Mrs Itoshi.”

Mrs Itoshi. You’re not even sure why it’s become a habit to sign off as Mrs Itoshi. Considering the projectile at which your marriage is at danger of crumbling down from, you really need to kick the habit.

Sighing, you plop yourself down on the bed, looking around at the suite you booked for yourself. It’s petty of you, you know that, to book yourself the most expensive suite available at the last minute, at one of the most expensive hotels in all of Japan. But you’re heartbroken, so you give yourself a pass.

At the very least, you’d thought that being alone tonight would give you some peace of mind, but all it does is make your head swim with thoughts about what Sae and Mirin must be up to. Are they kissing each other right now? Because that must’ve been interrupted earlier when you waltzed back into your own home right? Or maybe they’re just like you, in an expensive suite somewhere else, getting ready to do—

You shake your head, irritated at yourself and your inability to stop thinking about Sae. Fuck, maybe a walk around the park downstairs would take your mind off it. You’ve always liked nice sceneries, especially up close—maybe that’ll work.

And it does, to a certain extent.

With the chilly air blowing in your face, the cold of the night somehow so much more inviting than the warmth of the empty hotel room. All you could think about in there was the fact that the last time you’d been to a hotel was during your little honeymoon trip.

It’s a nice park right outside the hotel, one of the most touristy areas in the city, where couples like to take pictures together against the backdrop of the giant heart in the middle of the vicinity, or where schoolgirls like to frequent after school armed with their cup noodles and their girlfriends.

An hour later, maybe two, you find yourself sitting on one of the benches facing the river, enjoying your time thinking about nothing at all. It’s the most peaceful your mind’s been in a while. In a long time, actually. Maybe comparable to before the news of having to get married was ever broken to you.

You miss it, somehow. The absence of problems. Especially ones that relate to a third party. Sure, you had your parents to deal with, but you always had that problem. Come to think of it, you don’t think you’ve ever had anyone stand up to them for you like Sae did. Not even Reo, only because he thought it would just make matters worse if he did. Still, Sae’s exceeded your expectations many times.

It all seems like such a waste now.

You stare at your lifeless phone. You can’t even switch it on even if you wanted to because it’s properly dead. Not that it’s any use anyway. You don’t want to speak to anyone. Not even Reo. But you wonder if Sae even bothers enough to check in with you while he’s out doing god knows what with you know who.

There is something you feel like you urgently need to do, though.

So you borrow a phone from a nice stranger, seems like a couple who’s on vacation from Hokkaido. You dial the number you’d been trained since a kid to remember.

“Mr Ishiro? This is Y/N.”

Mr Ishiro, your ever trusty family lawyer who would be able to get you out of any sticky situation you ever needed. God knows what went through your parents’ minds when they asked you to memorise his number. Did they think you would somehow do some illegal shit in the future that needed some bailing out of?

“I know this isn’t typically what you do, but um, I need help with some divorce papers and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell my parents yet—”

“Do you mean your parents—”

“Haven’t approved of it? No, of course not,” you cut him off, just wanting his agreement to it more than anything. Everything else can be discussed once he has it drafted.

“Y/N, I don’t know—”

“Please, I just need those divorce papers drafted—”

But the phone is swiftly taken from you, and you’re about to apologise for taking too long, except you realise the one who took it from you isn’t even the owner but your husband.

Your husband. Itoshi Sae. Right in front of you, face red and panting as though he’s been running in the cold.

He hands the phone back to the kind strangers, thanking them and waiting for them to go before he turns back to you, his face utterly devoid of emotions. You’re not sure why he’s here, and you’re not sure why it seems like he’s been running all the way over here to find you.

“Divorce?” He asks, and there’s a smidget of incredulity in his tone.

It doesn’t make you back down.

“You don’t have to explain anything. I’ll get my lawyer to draft out the papers and—”

“He’s not going to draft out anything,” Sae interjects, keeping his voice down. At this time of night, there are still lots of people around, and you guess he wants to spare both of you the humiliation of being caught in a public argument.

You have to avoid looking him in the eyes; if you catch even a sliver of concern in them then you might waver and that’s the opposite of your desired effect.

“Look, I’m sorry but you’re going to have to work it out with your parents or something because I’m not cut out for this, okay?”

Sae doesn’t move, and he doesn’t speak too soon. He lets your words sink in before asking, “not cut out for what, exactly?”

You think it’s cruel how he wants to make you spell it out.

This time, you look him in the eyes. He’s inching closer to you, and his cold facade is breaking. He still looks very much like the person you fell in love with.

“I just think that…” God, it hurts to say it out. “I get that neither of us wanted this. That we both had no other options. But… I can’t just go about everyday pretending I’m fine if my on-paper husband is out everyday dating his ex that he can’t get over.”

Sae’s brows furrow for a second before he heaves a deep sigh, moving towards you, one of his hands extending to the top of your head, gently placing it there before he pulls you in for a hug.

“I’m sorry,” he says, softly, relief easing his shoulders when you don’t pull away in retaliation.

While there’s no more anger left in you, something that’s much too easily seeped away with his mere hug, what’s left is confusion. Confusion, because you’re not sure what he’s apologising for.

“I’m sorry but you’re stuck with me.”

Still. Only. Confusion.

Is this Sae’s way of refusing you? Is this his way of being a tyrant?

You pull yourself away, pushing him back in the process.

“So what? You wanna continue this charade? Fool our parents and have me cover for you while you keep a mistress on the down-low?” Sae’s mouth opens but you don’t give him the time of day to speak. “Look, I get I’ll never be her but that’s too much, Sae. It’s too much to ask of me.”

There are no words to describe how you feel; it’s everything all at once. Disappointment, confusion, surprise, and worst of all is that there’s still that little speck of optimism inside you that wants to wish for the best. But you know best that all that is is an excuse for disappointment to work its way back around again.

That’s why you don’t even let him finish calling out your name before you run back towards the hotel, where you came from. Yeah, that should be a good plan—just run back, get to your suite and lock the doors. Maybe on a little television to drown out your thoughts.

Behind you, you hear the sound of boots clacking against the cobblestone path, and you know that it’s Sae because… you just know. You’d know him by any sound and any scent—you’ve fallen hopelessly for Sae and you were an idiot to think that he could’ve possibly felt it too because this is the real world, the world outside your head, and in this world, Itoshi Sae is in love with someone else who’s infinitely prettier, probably smarter too, and who’s had so much history with him that you can never even dream of replacing.

A thousand more winters with Sae would probably never replace his youth with her.

And just when you think your night can’t get any worse, you’re barely back at the hotel entrance when you spot the familiar wavy hair, the familiar pair of eyes that haunt you whenever you remember their pictures together.

But there’s something that renders you speechless, a sight you never expected to see—there are tears in her eyes.

Mirin is in front of you, just a few steps away, puffy red eyes and contorted facial expression, yoghourt in hand, half open and nothing makes sense to you right now, because the next thing you know, she’s flung the pack of half-eaten yoghurt at you, the whites staining your coat.

“You… you bitch!”

It reflects so much of what you’re thinking that you nearly thought you were the one saying it. But it’s Mirin. And she’s angry and upset and crying and you’re utterly, completely confused.

“Wait, what are—”

The next thing you know, Mirin is storming towards you, her hands grabbing your coat collar, yanking at it while she’s hurling profanities at you.

“It’s all your fucking fault, I wish you’d just disappear already!” Mirin’s crying and sobbing between her words and usually you’d feel bad for someone who’s in this state but you’re not. Not when she’s painting you a bitch, a whore, a slut and whatever else she’s calling you.

Sae stands in front of you when he gets there, and you recall him telling you about how he got hurt and there’s a little bit of guilt there. He pushes Mirin away from you, his first course of action being to assess whether you’re hurt.

“Hey, are you okay?”

This all hurts, though not in the way that he’s looking at.

You just nod. Your head’s in a mess, you don’t really know what else to do.

As everyone around you stares at the scene, the hotel manager from earlier strolls out, hands in his pockets, an unbothered aura surrounding him. He merely bows and apologises to everyone, urging them to move on and that this is just a small disturbance, nothing worth their time.

Before you can even thank him, he gives Sae a look that seemingly says yikes before turning to Mirin, opening his mouth before realising that she’s still glaring at you, and then deciding to avert his initial plan to speak to her. This time, he chooses to look at you next. The calmer of the two.

“Hey Mrs Itoshi, you alright?”

“She’s fine, Karasu,” Sae answers for you, holding you close, even if some of the yoghurt is getting on his coat.

Karasu shoots you a grin—this must be why Sae’s here. He must’ve tipped him off. And now you finally remember where you’ve seen him, among Oliver’s instagram pictures as the nameless friend you’d yet to meet.

Sae only needs to nod at him for him to understand what he needs to do, namely, be a distraction for Mirin or to take her away—either way, it’s to leave the two of you alone with each other.

Once Karasu forcefully drags Mirin away, Sae fully turns to you, putting his own coat around your own.

“It’s fine, the hotel’s right there so I can—”

“Don’t leave,” Sae blurts out, and you don’t think you’ve ever heard him be so gentle, so genuine. You think he probably means not to leave him, but you don’t want to get ahead of yourself.

“Sae, what’s going on?” You ask, sighing, your head pounding after an inconceivable few hours.

He hesitates for a while before ultimately proposing a compromise. “If I tell you everything you want to know, could you reconsider the whole divorce thing?”

It’s not that hard for you to agree to this time, because there’s so much more that you want answers to than you initially thought, and besides—Sae said to reconsider, not that you still couldn't flat out do it anyway. It’s a win-win, at least for you.

But just when you think you have your emotions under control, all it takes is a simple kiss on your temple and the words that Sae whispers in your ear to catch you off guard.

“Good, because I’m in love with my wife, and I don’t want her to leave me.”

taglist: @kimvmarvel @mxplesyrvp @yuzurins @futuristicxie @kiopanxp @k0z3me @y-sabell-a @sae1toshilover @xoxojisu @karmatiz @sagejin @minnieminnie00-got7 @hearts4heidi @shiinobu-x @n1uh @prepchuu @leeyzhuo @shidouryusm @tsukishiro-yue2402 @kaiserkisser @pookiebearcave @dcvilxswish @saeskiss @whtflrr @arminseas @raphsimp @saharei @danibxe @lectris00 @comet-kun @ishitam67 @gskill @sweet2wthsblog @astruoise @scaraslover @beaniedoodz @bersuadikotatua @idk-bro-gay @etoiile @sanzu-sanzu-sanzu @yourstrulyharu @noimnotttt @tinyfurytaco @bxddiebloss @biaonww **bolded: means i can’t tag you guys because of your settings >_<

#okay this is scheduled so !! shorter chapter for this week :)#bllk x reader #blue lock x reader #sae x reader #itoshi sae x reader #bllk x you #bllk x y/n #sae x y/n #itoshi sae #sae x you #itoshi sae x y/n #sae imagines #sae itoshi x reader #sae itoshi #bllk sae x reader #૪ aeri’s fics !

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