#I love a specific ass situation song | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ahgasegotarmy116 · 4 months ago

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Playlist Love | Jungkook | Slow Down | Chase Atlantic

Play it again...and again and again and again.

Summary: Jungkook's party isn't exactly how he had envisioned spending his birthday so sneaking out with you was the only way he wanted to end his night. Based off of Chase Atlantic's discography. Specifically 'Slow Down', 'OHMAMI', 'HEAVEN AND BACK', 'Meddle About', 'Friends', 'Now' and I think that's it 😅 Pairing: Sunshine f!reader x Grumpy Jungkook established relationship (Written in Jungkook's pov) Word Count: 4k~ Warnings: Smut smut and more smut and explicit language ofc cuz it's Chase Atlantic. Jungkook is low-key a dick and hates everyone but has a very soft spot for the reader.

The music that seemed deafening on arrival has become nothing but a hum in the back of my mind, vision focused only on her. Watching the way she speaks, the way she smiles and specifically how tempting she looks in that dress.

"Aye birthday boy, you wanna beer?" one of the many guys who suddenly thinks they're my best friend tonight asks yet again. "Nah man I'm good" I say, scooting over when he goes to sit on the couch next to me, now stuck between him and the couple who have been sucking face for the past ten minutes.

This party although for me hasn't entertained me in the slightest. It's harsh to say but when my best friend is the one who decides to throw it it's more or less just another one of his usual ragers that have become less and less my style since I left college.

"That your girl?" the guy who's name I haven't bothered to learn asks, following my line of sight to her, dancing in a circle of girls that are just as intoxicated as she is, if not more.

"Yeah, she's mine" I mumble, loving the way those words taste on my tongue. "Nice" he drags out, clearly overcompensating for guy talk. He's drunk though so I guess I can't expect an original or coherent thought to come out of him.

As I tune out whatever else he's saying I opt to listen to the lyrics of a familiar song I've heard her play ad nauseam when we're together and I realize I had never fully digested what they're saying.

I don't know if you already know how But girl, I got the feeling that you know now You're buried in the pillow, yeah, you're so loud But I'm about to show you, baby, slow down

Visions of her with her face buried in a pillow entertain me. Back arched and ass up, the pleasure too much yet not enough, begging me to go faster but all I do is slow down. Pressing down between her shoulder blades to muffle her cries of protest since she's being way too fucking loud. Nothing stoping me from keeping a slow stroke going, denying her her release again and again until she's broken.

"Aye Jungkook" the guy calls out, knocking me out of my fantasy and bringing me back to reality.

"What?" I answer curtly, already sexually frustrated from those thoughts alone, leaving me ticked off. "That guy is trying to make a move on your girl" he say. My eyes although hadn't left her, fogged over with the illusion my twisted mind had created leaving me blind to the pitiful interaction in front of me.

I get up from the couch wordlessly and stalk towards the dance floor, weaving through the crowd haphazardly just to get to her and once I do I grab her wrist and pull on it a bit, making her stumble, her back now pressed up against my chest.

"Who's this?" I whisper in her ear, showing a sense of intimacy enough to make the man who had clear plans with her in mind uncomfortable.

She giggles at the ticklish feeling and leans into me once she's realize who it is. "Oh um, I dunno" her speech cutely slurred making me laugh at how much she actually didn't care to learn anything about him.

"Oh! Um what's your name?" she asks, no doubt feeling a little embarrassed and asking just to clumsily remedy the situation. "Jake" he replies dryly, sizing me up now instead of paying attention to her, knowing that he's lost the battle and the war.

"Well Jake, I suggest you find another girl" I say, turning her around so her focus is on me but in true drunk y/n fashion she never wants anyone to be left on a bad note. "It was nice meeting you" she says over her shoulder, his eyes going between her and I, my eyes in response wordlessly telling him to walk away and he does, eyeing the crowd to find another girl who might bother giving him the time of day.

"Hi Koo" she say happily, running her hands up my biceps and shoulders before locking her fingers behind my neck, trapping me in her hold. "Hi baby" I say softly, caressing her face for a second and noticing how warm she's gotten.

"You wanna come sit?" I nod my head towards the area I just came from, the couple from before gone, no doubt getting that room they should've gotten half an hour ago. "No, dance with me" she slurs, dragging out the first word, pulling me closer to make a point. My hands now placed on her hips while she gets lost in the music again.

Girl, just scream it out Tell me what you're thinking No, I wanna see you undress now I wanna hear you confess now

"You having fun" I ask, amused at how adorable she's acting, a dazed giggly mess. "Mhm so much fun. Are you?" she asks, not wanting to be the only one of us enjoying ourselves since technically it is still my party. "I am but I'd rather get outta here" I confess, having had fun at the beginning but this past hour or two has been excruciating, nursing my water to make sure I'm good to drive us home while watching her tease me without even knowing it.

"But my friends just got here" she says, gesturing to some people who had been here for long enough. "All of your friends have been here for so long. Which means we've been here for way too long " I argue and she shakes her head before realizing how bad of an idea that is, clearly having made herself dizzy from the way she stumbled, resigning to a pout instead.

"Don't look at me like that" I chuckle, kissing her pouty lips which she responds to right away, her clumsy kisses tasting like the many drinks she's had tonight. "What are my friends gonna think if we leave so early? It's your birthday" she asks, not realizing it's well past two am.

"I'm sorry to say this babe but I don't give a fuck about your friends right now" I whisper in her ear, my words making her shiver. "I'm sure what I've got to offer you tonight is a lot better than what they can give" I say, kissing her neck to prove my point leaving her humming in contentment.

"Lemme finish up my bottle then we'll g-go" she says and I chuckle while pulling back to look at her. "Do you even know where it is?" I cock a brow and when she opens her mouth to respond her brows soon furrow in confusion. "That's what I thought" I say and when she goes to protest I cut her off.

"You're not drinking what's in that fucking bottle y/n even if you did find it" and she closes her mouth, her pupils dilating just the slightest bit telling me that she's fully ready to listen now.

"Go get your stuff" I say patting her ass twice before spinning her around and encouraging her to lead the way. She refused to give me her things at the beginning of the night, claiming she needed her lipstick or whatever so she better know where it is or we're leaving without it.

I don't have time to fuck around right now when I notice how high her dress had ridden up her thighs, leaving me following very close behind.

She finds her purse and double checks for her phone that's luckily in there too and before she can start saying goodbye to anyone I'm dragging her out of the house. "You guys sneaking out of your own party?" one of the guys who's smoking a cigarette by the front door asks.

"Yeah can you tell everyone we left? If they even bother to notice" I ask, helping her clumsily walk down the front porch steps. "I'll tell em, Happy Birthday dude" he says and at that we're walking to my car with y/n slurring out a goodbye for the both of us.

"Why do you wanna go home early?" she pouts, dragging out the last syllable while I help her down into the passenger seat. "I don't like partying like that anymore. Plus it's already two am so I'm pretty sure we've stayed long enough" I inform her but she's still not one hundred percent convinced.

"But it's your birthday! I thought we were gonna take an Uber home?" she asks, now confused and a little concerned. "I stopped drinking a couple hours ago so I'm fine. I'd never put my girl in danger like that" I assure her, caressing her cheek for a second when she leans into my touch, retracting it and putting her seatbelt on a moment later.

"You okay?" I ask, checking her out...for safety reasons of course, but those bare thighs are making it so much harder to keep my thoughts to myself. "I should've let you have fun" she sighs, regretting not offering to be the DD this time.

"It's okay baby, let's just get home yeah?" I say and she nods, her lips still very much pouted in remorse for her choices. "Better suck that lip back into your mouth or I'll make you suck something else" I warn and she listens right away, knowing I'll make good on my promise and I smile when I see her rubbing her thighs together. "Good girl" I rasp and close her door before rounding the car to my side.

~~~~~

"Did you have a good birthday?" she asks after we've been driving on the highway for a while, taking sips from the water I bought her. "It's not over yet" I smile, looking over and seeing she's starting to sober up...barely. "But it's past midnight" she says and I shake my head. "It's not over yet since I still haven't gotten to unwrap my gift yet" I say scanning her body but she tilts her head at me.

"But I already gave you your present" she says, brows furrowed and completely oblivious to what I'm thinking. "Yes you did baby and it was a very nice gift but I'm not talking about that" I say, thinking she'll understand this time but with her still coming out of her drunken state she's not the sharpest tool in the shed just yet.

"What do yo-" she starts but cuts herself off when she feels my hand that's been on her thigh slide just the slightest bit higher and she flutters her lashes, sobering up just a bit more at the implications of my action.

"Is that okay with you" I ask, rubbing circles on her inner thigh to reassure her that it's her decision. We're both comfortable having drunk sex together but she knows she can always say no.

She stares down at my hand for a while, no doubt lost in a similar daze I had been in at the party not too long ago. "It's okay you don't have to answer now. Drink some more water and you can decide when we get home" I say, sliding my hand to rest just above her knee so she don't feel too much pressure.

After a couple of minutes of her contemplative silence I glance over and see that she's smiling to herself, a clear sign that we're both getting what we want tonight but I decide to take my hand off of her leg, opting to grab my phone and put on her playlist, the one that I've realized leaves nothing to the imagination.

Once we hit the first chorus I realized that this is the perfect one to get her to realize what I've been thinking about since we got in the car. From the way she changes her posture and glances over at me I know it's only a matter of time and when the second verse hits she's rubbing her thighs together again.

Bend it over slow 'cause daddy I know how you like it Backseat of the 'Rari pullin' over just to ride it

"You okay?" I ask her, noticing how she's bouncing one of her legs up and down, a usual nervous habit of hers but in this case it's to give herself some stimulation and we both know that. She nods and clears her throat to get rid of any nervous tone that no doubt would've come out of her and opts to nod.

"Okay" I smirk, going back to driving but I place my hand on her thigh again, stopping her ministrations and making her just as impatient as I've felt since that fucking song at the party...literally.

Hit one-fifty on the dash, I bent the corner Then she bent it for me sideways, uh I might have to fuck her on the highway, yeah

"Pull over" she mumbles and I smirk, thanking the artists on this song but making her say it again. "What was that? I couldn't hear you baby" I taunt, sliding my hand further up her thigh and squeezing it to reassure her since I know she's embarrassed.

"I said pull over" she commands which takes me by surprise but I do as she says, opting to take the next exit instead of the very reckless suggestion from the lyrics.

Once I get off the highway I find a secluded parking space in an otherwise completely vacant lot and turn off the car.

"What was it that you wanted to talk about?" I tease, turning my whole body to face her and the next second she's unbuckling her seatbelt and yanking on my collar to smash her lips against mine. Lips, teeth and tongue clashing, kissing each other breathless until she has to pull away, chest heaving and her bottom lip already starting to swell.

"We can wait until we get ho-" "No!" she interrupts me, her eyes opening with a glazed over look from arousal and her slightly intoxicated state. "No I wanna do this. Here. Now" she says, pulling me in for another kiss and I reciprocate it, my hands feeling for my own seatbelt to get it off of me.

I hold her face in place with one hand while the other is grabbing onto her forearm, pulling her over to to sit in my lap and when she gets the message I start pushing my seat back to make room for her but she still ends up landing her ass on the horn, making her bite my lip in surprise.

"Shhh" I chuckle, guiding her hips to sit on my lap instead, "You sure you're okay?" I tease, sliding my hands up her bare thighs, my fingers just barely slipping under the hem of her dress in case she says no.

She wanna fuck me, okay? She wanna know how it tastes

"Yes" she groans, clearly frustrated with me asking her again, shutting up any questions of doubt when she starts to unbuckle my belt.

"Someone's extremely impatient huh?" I say while she unbuttons my jeans, leaning back in my seat and lifting my hips for her so she can slide my jeans and boxers down, spitting on her hand afterwards and wrapping her hand around my dick, stroking it up and down at a lazy pace and taking control.

I hum and lay back, my eye half lidded and watching her as she takes special care to pay attention to what she's doing. "Feel so good" I encourage her, wanting to get her attention so she'll look at me, her lashes fluttering before she does, her bottom lip between her teeth from concentrating too hard.

"Come here" I say, caressing her face and tugging her lip free before kissing her, this time at a slower more sensual pace that matches the way her hand is stroking my length up and down, up and down.

"Fuck you're so good to me" I curse when her thumb runs along my tip, pulling away from her lips and kissing down her jaw to pepper kisses along the column of her neck, sucking marks into her skin when her hand tightens on my length and starts picking up the pace.

I groan against her skin and bite down to muffle the sound of any others coming after that but once I get too close I tell her to stop. "S-shit wait, wait" I say and she does, taking her hand off and looking at me, concern written on her face but I clear my throat and answer the question that's clearly written all over her face.

"Wanna fuck you" I say and slide my hand all the way up her dress, going to press against her clit and realizing there's no barrier. "You're not wearing anything under this?" I ask, raising my brow and getting the answer myself when I'm able to put a finger inside her.

I pump it in and out until she starts to ride my fingers, adding another one but making her do the work. She shakes her head, resting both of her hands on my shoulders to keep her balance.

"T-took them off when you got me the w-water" she stutters, admitting to what she did when I went inside of the gas station. "You little minx" I chuckle, adding another finger and making her clench around them, a yelp coming out of her when she sinks back down, not expecting the stretch just yet.

"Thought it would be easier for when we got h-home" she explains, the innocence in her tone contradicting the way she's using my fingers to get off. "You we're trying to make it easier for me to fuck this pussy as soon as we got home. Didn't know you were as eager to get fucked as I was to fuck you" I hum, loving the way I've trained my girl.

I take my fingers out of her and she whimpers in protest. "Patience Princess" I scold, grabbing her hips so she'll hover over my length, taking one hand off to help line up with her entrance. She looks at me and my eyes flicker down to where she's hovering and when she starts to lower herself down she rests her forehead against mine, squeezing her eyes shut while her nails dig into my shoulders.

She lets out a whine and I can tell that the stretch is starting to burn from the way her walls are sucking me in. I hiss when she clenches around me, sensitive from denying myself of an orgasm in favor of prepping her to fuck sooner.

"It's okay baby, s-slow down" I stutter, nudging my nose against hers and grabbing her hips to stabilize her, gripping them so hard that my fingers will have left bruises for her to see in the morning. Her breathing is shaky when she takes in more, her pussy wrapped around my dick like it was made for me.

"Just like that, doing so good for me" I say, brows pinched together when she clenches around me again, praise always having this effect on her. "Gonna be good and ride me on your own or you want me to help you?" I ask, tilting her chin up since her eyes have been focused on where we're connected, me being balls deep inside of her while she controls her breathing until she's comfortable.

"Wanna be g-good" she stutter, her hands bracing herself on my shoulders before lifting her hips a bit, sinking back down on me before repeating the motion, her movements getting more bold as she finds her rhythm.

Her tits bounce in front of me, adding another layer to this erotic scene but I need to get this dress off of her so I can see them, the top part basically slipping off already because of the strapless nature and the rumbled state it's in from not having more space to move around.

I slide it down and immediately place my mouth on one of her tits, grabbing the other one and toying with her nipple making her yelp in surprise, her mind focused on keeping a steady rhythm and forgetting that I'm able to explore her body while she does so.

"It's okay baby keep going. Doing such a good job riding me" I coach her, placing a kiss on her open mouth, her face looking so fucked out already. "Fuck you're gorgeous" I groan, pulling her back into a deeper kiss, her gasping against my lips when I buck my hips into her.

"J-jungkook" she stutters, my name sounding so forbidden on her lips, little sounds of pleasure following, soon replaced with sounds of frustration. "Does baby want some help now?" I ask, running my thumb along her bottom lip, her lip gloss replaced with the swollen color sucked into it.

She nods her head and shyly admits her need for me to take over, the sight endearing if she didn't have my cock buried deep inside her.

Gripping her hips again and urging her to move I lend my strength to keep the momentum going leaving both of us unable to hold back sounds of ecstasy. The squelching sound from the way her dripping wall suck me in making it hard for me to keep going.

The thoughts of my cum dripping out of her and making an even bigger mess as she rides me being too close...too attainable to hold back for much longer.

"Just like that, you're doing so well. Riding me and giving me such a pretty view. The only gift I fucking care about" I curse, the sight of her with her mascara running and her lashes damp from the pleasure being too much for her, mouth letting out unrestrained moans as she gets closer being just enough for me to hit that climax.

"Baby you c-close? Fuck" I groan feeling her clench again, the sensation almost being my undoing. She nods her head and smashes her lips against mine, bringing me into a sloppy uncoordinated kiss, making me swallow her moans as the both of us finally come undone. Pleasure washing over us in waves as her walls flutter around me, the feeling of my cum dripping out of her being so disgustingly forbidden it's making me want more of her again.

"Did so good for me" I soothe while rubbing her back as she lays against my chest, her mind no doubt still up on cloud nine from the way I felt her body reacting to me. "Made me feel so good" I whisper, kissing her temple and waiting for her to come back down to earth.

"Baby?" I ask while feeling her relax into me, nuzzling her face into my neck. She hums in response before sitting up, making me hiss from the sensation, still sensitive from how well she rode me, my dick still very much buried inside of her.

"You ready to go home?" I ask, wiping off some of the black tears that have almost slowed to a stop off her cheeks. She hum again and starts to fix her dress, getting off my lap and making herself whine from the loss of feeling full.

I tuck myself back into my jeans and then reach into the backseat and grab the hoodie I had back there and place it on her lap. She smiles sheepishly and slips it over her head, her body now enveloped in my scent with hers still very much all over me.

"Drink some more water" I say, picking up the bottle I got her so she can hydrate some more after the number she did on me. I put her seatbelt on her while she does as I ask, making sure she's fully secure before I fix my seat and put mine on as well.

"How do you feel about your birthday now?" she rasps once we've gotten back on the highway, a lazy smile on her face while she admires me. "Like I said...it's not over yet"

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sonotpattismith · 1 day ago

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while i'm here writing songs for you

pairing: musician!choso x childhood friend!reader word count: 10.6k content: childhood friends to lovers, everyone knows they're in love except them, jealousy, mentions of virginity loss, dying on the grunge choso hill, lil angst, fluff, smut, 18+ inspired by: bless the telephone by labi siffre

“Hah! Your old man’s gonna kill me.”

Through shut eyes, a freshly eighteen-year-old Choso bit back an amused grin as best he could as to avoid disrupting his uncle’s work against his face.

“Nah, he caught Yuji at a casino this week, so I’m the golden boy for the foreseeable future while he’s grounded.” The boy muttered with a small smirk. He did feel for his little brother, often sneaking into his room with his console to entertain him for at least a short while in the midst of his prison sentence. Still, he had to admit that his timing was impeccable— giving the older sibling the perfect cushion to fall back to when Jin sees what his son had done to celebrate his birthday.

“Shit, yeah, I almost forgot.” Sukuna mumbled with a tickled shake of his head as he gripped at his nephew’s forehead in concentration. “Let the brat know I’ve still got his money whenever my boring ass brother lets him off house arrest.”

“Choso!”

The boy was eternally grateful that his uncle wasn’t as jumpy as he was, the man tightening his grip around his head in preparation for his jolt of surprise at the sudden shout.

“Ohhh, I’d be more scared of your girl than your dad, punk.”

You had burst through the doors of the tattoo parlor like a bat out of hell, your breath heaving slightly with the expended effort of hauling ass all the way over here from the restaurant you worked part time at. After receiving a cryptic picture from your best friend of him sat in his uncle’s tattoo chair with that deceivingly sheepish smile on his face, you could barely concentrate on taking orders correctly the remainder of your shift. Huffing out a sigh, you spotted those familiar, black combat boots hanging off the end of one of the leather seats.

Choso didn’t bother to correct Sukuna’s labeling of you as his girl, as it was proven a wasted effort after years of telling him that wasn’t the case. It also didn’t hurt that the title made his stomach flip excitedly each time he heard it.

“Oh my god.” You gaped once you finally reached the chair he was laid at. Half of the deep burgundy, nearly black mark that was being tattooed across his nose was already finished, and you could already picture the crash out Jin Itadori would have when he laid his eyes on his eldest son.

Cracking one eye open, the birthday boy took in the sight of you, cheeks still red and puffing from the run you took to get to him. Underneath that first layer of shock though, he could see the barely disguised wonder in your eyes as you assessed the situation at hand. Sukuna paused his ministrations to give his nephew a break, and so that you could see the progress.

“What the fuck! Your dad is gonna kill you.” You laughed incredulously, stepping closer to get a better look. Choso was just glad that his face was already tinged red from the irritation of the needle so you wouldn’t notice how he flushed insecurely under your gaze.

It was his main reasoning behind the oddly placed tattoo, actually. Since he was little he could remember his face growing noticeably hot over the tiniest of compliments, looks, or touches. Maybe it was far-fetched, but he hoped the imposing mark across his nose and cheeks would draw the attention away from that little quirk of his. It also didn’t hurt that the stencil looked cool as fuck.

“Not if you’re with me, he won’t.” Choso suggested with a sly, hopeful smile on his face, and you quickly shook your head at him. His face fell into that pout he had mastered to use specifically on you. “C’mon, he��ll take it easy on me if you’re there, please!”

“It was bad enough having to be your human shield when you got your nose pierced, Cho— no way.”

“I’ll let you check my back for blackheads.”

It fell silent for a moment as you contemplated his offer.

“You two are fuckin’ freaks.” Sukuna scoffed in disgust beside you before dragging his nephew’s chin back to face forward to continue working. You winced watching the needle begin to pierce at his already irritated skin, and you found yourself instinctively slipping your hand into his to squeeze it.

“Does it hurt?” You grimaced, leaning a bit closer to watch.

Choso almost said no, because, truthfully, he had gotten used to the pain about half an hour ago, but he took note of the way you clutched at his hand to comfort him. His lips twitched nervously at the feeling as he closed his eyes once again.

“Uh— yeah, kind of.” He mumbled, taking the opportunity to lace his fingers through yours under the guise of having something to squeeze onto when he was in pain. His uncle watched the interaction with a deadpan expression, knowing full well that the kid hadn’t so much as flinched once since he’d sat down. Shaking his head with a quiet tut, he barely tried to conceal his amused smirk.

“What about you, birthday girl, huh? You getting some celebratory ink too?” Sukuna questioned, wiping at the side of Choso’s nose that he’d just filled in. You cringed as you watched the tiniest amount of blood trickle at the bridge of his nose.

“Don’t know, I think Cho took all the balls in this friendship.” You admitted with a defeated smile.

“Don’t be such a wimp.” Your best friend teased with a careful smile as he stretched his lower half against the stiff chair. The black sweater he was wearing rode up a bit, practically commanding the attention of your wandering eyes. There was a barely noticeable trail of dark hair leading down into the band of his joggers, and your lips parted as you tried to recall when the fuck that had happened.

The last couple of months in your friendship with Choso had been… getting a little difficult. You two had been practically joined at the hip since you were six years old and yelled at a group of first graders for not singing happy birthday to him as well after having overheard his dad wishing him a happy birthday that morning during drop off. For a while, the two of you would tell people at school that you were twins even though it was so clearly not the case, but six-year-old you and Cho were sure that you had everyone convinced.

He had always been a bit of an introvert, so you had been the greatest birthday gift he could have ever hoped for. So, the awkward boy stuck to your side from that day on. Wherever one was, the other was never too far behind, and this would now be the twelfth birthday you two would be spending together.

Choso had certainly been… changing though from that lanky little boy who would sniffle and cry each time you two parted for the day (as if you didn’t attend the same school). He had grown taller, his voice had dropped a few octaves, and these days you were finding yourself worrying about the timeline of your best friend’s happy trail. For a while you blamed it on the raging hormones that came along with puberty, but you were eighteen now and weren’t sure how much longer that excuse would hold up in your denial-filled brain.

This was just one more way he was changing, you convinced yourself as you anxiously waited for him to unlock the front door of his house, his nose and cheeks still glistening with the antibiotic ointment Sukuna had slathered onto his fresh tattoo. He would have never had the courage to do something so bold even just a couple years ago. You had to admit though, the odd choice of tattoo did suit him, emphasizing those tired, chocolate eyes of his so nicely.

It was silent in the Itadori house as you two crept in, scanning the area apprehensively with each step you took. You clutched at the back of his shirt, tugging him to lean down as you whispered into his black-studded ear.

“I don’t think anyone’s—”

“Happy birthday you—” Poor, sweet Jin Itadori’s shout of celebration got stuck right in the back of his throat as his eyes fell upon his eldest son, a lit up birthday cake still clutched in his hands. He blinked a few times as though there was possibly just something in his eyes, but the wide-eyed expression of anxiety on the boy’s face gave him away. “What in god’s name did you do to your face? Was this your uncle? Did he tell you this was a good idea because I—”

“It was my idea.” Choso corrected, not-so-subtly attempting to nudge you forward as if you would soften the blow of his father’s wrath, who’s honey eyes fell frantically upon you.

“Did you know about this? Please tell me you two are punking me or something.”

“She didn’t know.” He quickly defended despite the fact that it would have been a lot easier to share the blame. Rubbing at the back of his neck, he attempted a light-hearted smile. “C’mon, don’t I look—”

“You look like you’re about to be stuck working in that tattoo shop with your uncle the rest of your life because no one is going to hire you with that thing!” The man had begun pacing the length of the kitchen with the cake still in tow, shaking his head in disbelief before stopping to gape at his son in horror once again. “You couldn’t have at least waited until after prom? Graduation? All your photos— ruined! Oh god, I think I’m going to pass out—”

“Calm down, it’s not that big a deal— not like I did anything illegal, y’know like sneaking into a casino while underaged.” Choso attempted to distract him with a sheepish smile, stepping forward to take the cake out of his hands lest he really pass out. With his now free hands, Jin was tearing at the roots of his hair as he continued his frantic pacing, mumbling about not reminding him of Yuji’s recent run in with the law. “Besides, I’m not going to prom anyway.”

Now it was your turn to gape at the freshly-tattooed birthday boy.

“You’re not?” You questioned, desperately trying not to sound as dejected as you felt. Though you two had never talked about it, you had just assumed that you’d be going to prom together given all the other important milestone events that you had completed hand in hand. Hell, you had even been putting off an offer from a fellow classmate of yours with the impression that Choso would be asking you to be his date— platonically, of course.

“You’re not?” Jin echoed in horror, finally looking up from where his face had been shoved into his hands. The man didn’t miss the disheartened expression that flashed across your face despite your best efforts to conceal it. “Why not? You’re only a high-schooler once, Choso, don’t be silly.”

Perhaps his nervous convincing was a bit overkill, but damn it how he was tired of watching his clearly love-sick son grow older and older without growing any wits about him on what was going on right under his nose. After hosting years worth of playdates for you two as mere children, to encouraging his son to be a little gentler with you as you began going through those awkward years that plagued every pre-teen girl, all the way to having to watch with barely concealed frustration at the way you two fell into one another’s ebb and flow so gracefully without any semblance of self-awareness— Jin was sure that he was more excited than the actual seniors for prom to come around, eager to force you two into the most obvious of couple’s poses for photos before sending you off for the night.

“Why would I go to prom? You know I hate that kind of stuff.” He explained obviously before turning to see the settling shock lingering on your face. It made him blink a few times, brows furrowing in confusion. “I-I mean, are you going?”

“Um…” You stammered over your words, trying to suppress the flush of embarrassment that you felt creeping up your neck for having assumed that Choso would ask you to prom. He felt his heart in his throat, breath hitching in slight anticipation, because he was sure he wouldn’t have too terrible of a time if it was you he was going with, but the last thing he wanted to do was make things weird by asking you to be his date. “Y-Yeah, I was planning to go. Geto had asked me a few days ago, so—”

“You’re going with Geto?” It felt like his heart had fallen straight through his ass, and it took every inch of restraint in him to not begin banging his head against the dry-wall in a bitter rage, because why did he not think to ask you first? “I didn’t know you two talked like that.”

Jin wasn’t sure how much more of this he could stand to watch before he wrung his son’s neck out. He cleared his throat in an attempt to subtly get Choso’s attention and hopefully send some sort of telepathic communication to him, but he was far too focused on this Geto character that you had mentioned to get his head out of his own ass.

“We don’t really, but… he asked me, and I wanted to go.”

My god, does she have to spell it out for him? Did I fail somewhere along the way as a father that my son turned out such an oblivious hard head? Just ask her— ask her!

“Oh. Well… that’s good, I guess.”

Jin hoped to god that as Choso blew out half the candles on you two’s shared birthday cake that he was wishing for some common sense.

You two did the best you could to shake off the sudden awkwardness following the conversation about prom. At the very least, you two still had to give each other your gifts, so you figured that would cushion the tension. You followed him up the familiar path to his room where you had had Yuji drop off his gift for you so it’d be here when you two got back, biting down an excited smile.

“No way.” Choso gaped just seconds after opening the door. Stepping in to get a closer look, he quickly turned on his heels to stare incredulously at you. “No way— this is too much. I-I can’t take this.”

There leaned upon the side of his bed was a sleek black electric guitar— one he’d been keening over since the acoustic guitar his dad had gotten him damn near nine years ago now had mysteriously snapped at the neck. Okay, maybe it wasn’t so mysterious because you did tell Choso that climbing up onto his shoulders to get the spider that had been terrorizing his ceiling wasn’t a good idea, because sure enough as soon as the wretched thing moved an inch, you jolted back, sending both of you tumbling to the ground with only his poor guitar to break the fall.

“After all the fake flirting I had to do to rack up enough tip money for it? You sure as hell can take it.”

“Please, I can’t—”

“You can, and you will.”

His face was burning with the guilt of how much you had spent on him, but the glimmering shine of the fresh guitar in his peripheral was helping to soften the blow a bit. The boy’s fingers were practically twitching with the anticipation of getting his hands on the thing, but he stopped himself. With a shy smile shot your way, he crouched down to pull out a box that had since been hiding under his bed. You smiled eagerly before sinking down to sit criss-crossed straight across from him, your present filling the small gap left between you.

He laughed affectionately as he watched you struggle to pry the box open, deciding to put you out of your misery after a minute or so and tearing the cardboard apart for you. The first thing that caught your eye was a vinyl record— your favorite album that you had introduced Choso to a few years back. It held a tender spot in both of your hearts for that very reason, and its lead single had consequently been the first song he learned to play on his guitar all those years ago.

Even all these years later he could still feel the sting in his fingers that had yet to callous protectively against the instrument’s strings as he stayed up until the sun rose that next morning trying to perfect each chord so that he could play it for you when you came over. It was choppy at best, what with all the scrapes on his irritated fingers and the lack of sleep, but the dewey eyed look on your face made him feel like he was Jimi fucking Hendrix, only fueling his motivation to get better— to impress you. So, despite how his fingers began to bleed, he played it for you over and over again until you were satisfied.

The sight of the nostalgic album nearly made you tear up pathetially, but you pulled yourself together to beam up at him with all the light of a thousand suns. He flushed under your gaze, quickly looking down to push the box toward you again with a jut of his chin.

“There’s still something in there.”

Tearing your eyes from him, you pushed back the flaps of the box to get a better look, finding a far too expensive looking record player sitting at the bottom of the large box that he’d definitely been begging neighbors to let him clean their car or mow their lawn in order to afford. Gasping softly, an incredulous laugh bubbled up your chest as you shifted onto your knees.

“Cho, this is so cool!” You guffawed, fingers struggling to wrangle the turntable out of the damned box to no avail. Unable to fight back his smile, he moved to brush your hands away and grab it for you, setting it down atop his black comforter. Running your fingers down the glossy box, you looked up at him with raised brows. “You’re gonna come back to my house to help me set it up, right?”

“You putting me to work on my birthday?” He quipped with a smirk as he fell back against the bed, hoisting up his new guitar to rest on his stomach.

“I’ll give you the day.” You caved in mock resignation as you laid beside him, head shifted to observe the way he fiddled with the tuners. “New face tattoo, new guitar— your rockstar look is really coming together.”

“Yeah?”

“For sure— just missing some guyliner.”

His nimble fingers paused against the strings, lips pursing as he peered over at you. It was dead silent as a slow smile spread across your face— because you could practically hear the wheels turning in his head. It was only a mere five minutes later that you found yourself digging your fingers into his jaw to stop him from flinching away each time the eyeliner pencil drew a little too close to his iris.

“Sit still, dude.” You grumbled, stepping closer between his spread legs as he sat impatiently in his desk chair.

Huffing out a sigh, he tried not to squirm at your burning proximity. Your tongue was creeping out the corner of your mouth in concentration, and the hand that had since been on his jaw moved to brush the hair away from his forehead. He could feel the warm puffs of your breath fanning against his face, driving his legs to squirm against the floor, which seemed to be the final straw for your patience.

Choso thought his heart would leap out of his chest when you planted yourself firmly on his lap, your legs hanging over the side of his chair. His arms quickly fell to his sides as though weighed down by bricks, dangling limply as his fingers flexed apprehensively. Gulping anxiously, he tried not to focus on the way the fat of your thighs squished against him.

“Close your eyes, Cho.” You murmured quietly as you began working on his lids. He did so swiftly, eager to not have to worry about where to place his gaze.

“So, um…” The boy cleared his throat, trying desperately to get his mind anywhere else before he created a problem that would be embarrassing for the both of you. “You’re really going to prom with Geto?”

“Mhm.” You hummed simply, chewing on your bottom lip as you smudged the freshly placed liner with the edge of your thumb. Perhaps you should have said more, but you weren’t sure that you trusted your voice if you were to speak right now.

“Do you… I mean are you—”

“Look up for me.”

Cursing himself mentally to just get it the fuck together, he tried again as he did as he was told, warm eyes glancing up at the ceiling.

“I just didn’t know you liked him is all.” He finally got out as his pulse pounded against the fingers you had pressed against his jaw and neck once again. “You’ve always told me about stuff like that.”

With a tickled smile, you leaned back in his lap to narrow your eyes knowingly at him. Upon noting your silence paired with the way you had stopped your work against his eyes, he finally looked back down, and you had to bite back the delighted gasp from seeing the way the smudged, dark liner paired so beautifully with the rest of him, making his already mysteriously dark eyes that much more sultry.

“You’re jealous, Choso!”

“What? N-No, I was just—”

“You are so jealous that I didn’t tell you about Geto.”

“I’m not jealous!”

“You are!”

“Am not!”

He was so jealous, Choso determined as he stared up at his ceiling the dreaded night of prom. His fingers idly strummed at the new guitar that laid across his stomach, trying to get his mind off of the fact that you hadn’t even bothered to send him a picture of your dress. It had always been him that was the first to see your new haircuts, fresh manicures, and imaginative outfits, and it was eating him alive that for the first time in twelve years, another guy was going to get to witness that little spin of display you did each time you wore something you felt particularly pretty in.

It didn’t help that he’d already gotten an earful from his dad when he got home from school that day about the fact that he still hadn’t righted his wrong and asked you instead. Jin must have gone on for at least an hour about what a shame it was that of all the experiences you two had shared, one as important to you as this one would be hand in hand with someone else. For the first time since the start of your long-winded friendship, he was sharing you with someone, and Choso was quickly realizing that he was selfish— and unashamedly so.

The event had already been going on for about two hours now, and he was coming to terms with the fact that he wouldn’t hear from you tonight. The familiar notes of that favorite song of yours that he had learned all those years ago filled his ears as he began absentmindedly plucking at the strings under his fingertips. Ever so slowly, the melody began shifting into one he’d never heard before, taking its own shape as it filled his melancholy room with feelings of you, and how much he’d taken it for granted all those times he had you laying beside him as he toyed with the notes, telling him what sounded nice and what he needed to work on.

The notes suddenly screeched awkwardly as his phone began buzzing in his back pocket, yanking him from his pensive sulking with its imposing tune. Blinking a few times, he frantically tossed his hips up to wrangle his phone out from behind him, the head of his guitar smacking him in the face with the sudden movements.

He shot up out of bed pathetically upon seeing your name lighting up his screen along with a picture he’d taken of the two of you in the mirror a few months ago when you tried to give him red highlights. There was dye nearly everywhere except where it was supposed to be, yet you still beamed up at the mirror despite the red streaks covering your face and arms, gloved hands still tangled into his hair.

Clearing his throat, he quickly swiped to answer the call before it went to voicemail.

“Did someone spike the punch or—”

“Choso?” Your voice sounded hushed, but it still wavered ever-so-slightly against the sound of music blaring in the distance. The smile quickly fell from his face. “Do you think you could… come get me?”

“Y-Yeah, yeah, I’m coming. What’s going on?” He was barrelling through his hectic room to find any pair of shoes to shove on, nearly tripping over himself as he hopped toward the front door on one foot.

“Um… nothing, I just… really wanna go home.”

There wasn’t even the tiniest part of him that was convinced, but that would just have to be a conversation for later because there was a timid vulnerability and tremor in your sweet voice that he’d never heard before. Snatching his dad’s keys from the hook by the door, he was requesting your location before racing down the street. There was a slight possibility that he had run more than a few red lights on his way to the hotel that was hosting your school’s prom in the banquet hall. The car had barely come to a stop when he was flinging the door open to rush toward the bench you were sitting at out front.

“What are you doing out here by yourself? Where’s Geto?”

But your eyes were fluttering around you cautiously, scoping the surrounding area with a shake of your head as your best friend pulled you up by your arm.

“Please, can we just go? I don’t—”

“Right— yeah, okay, come on.”

It was silent on the ride home save for your hushed request that he take you back to his house for the night instead. Cautionary side long glances were continuously tossed your way throughout the drive, and you could practically feel the concerned curiosity eating alive at him as your body faced the passenger side door. You were eternally grateful for the fact that the other two residents of the Itadori household had already turned in for the night when you two arrived.

Choso flipped the lights on in his room, carefully inching the door of his room closed so as not to wake anyone up. When he turned, he was finally able to get his first good look at you, and he was absolutely bursting at the seams to know what Geto must have done to fuck up a night with you as his date looking as ethereal as you did standing in the middle of his room.

You were sighing dejectedly as you tugged open his drawers to fish out something to change into, but Choso was still stuck by the door, eyes taking in each detail of your glittering makeup and intricately lined lips.

“You…” His words drifted as you turned your back toward him so he’d undo your zipper. “You look beautiful.”

You paused, head slowly turning to look over your shoulder at him with misty eyes.

“Thanks, Cho.”

Quickly working your zipper down, he turned to face the door as you stepped out of your dress to shrug on a pair of his sweatpants and a crewneck. His leg swayed anxiously while he listened to the gentle rustling of clothes behind him.

“Did… did something happen?”

Upon hearing the subtle creak of his bed as you sank down onto it, he carefully turned around. The bed dipped by your head where he sat himself, and you felt him absentmindedly begin pulling the myriad of pins from your hair. Flushing red, you covered your face with your hands as you recalled how your night had progressed, not caring how you were smudging your makeup against your hands.

“He… he just wanted to have sex with me.”

Choso felt his heart crack at your shaky explanation, the guilt he had been experiencing for not having asked you to prom himself returning tenfold. The bobby pin in his grasp bent between his fingers as he thought about how Geto had ruined what was meant to be a special night for you.

“That guy’s a loser, he’ll probably die a virgin anyway.” He attempted to lighten the mood with a hesitant, breathy laugh, but it died in his throat when you slowly sat up to look at him, your now loose hair falling messily in your face and tears brimming your eyes. His stomach dropped at the mortified expression scrunching up your typically cheerful face, and he gulped down the bile rising in his throat. “Oh.”

A sob racked your body as you moved to curl into a tight ball, your head resting against his tense thighs. His hands hovered over you uncertainly before slowly coming down to brush at the hair invading your face.

“So, you…” He couldn’t even bring himself to say it, the words tasting bitter on his tongue.

“I feel like an idiot.” You cried, fisting at his pajama pants. “I stopped him right after he— he put it… in, but—”

“It’s okay.” Choso cut off your embarrassed rambles, pulling you up to wrap you in a tight embrace. He wasn’t sure if he could handle listening to the details. “Did he stop when you asked him to?”

A heavy sigh of relief left him when you nodded against his shoulder. It was silent for a few minutes, your soft cries soaking into the fabric of his tattered, band t-shirt.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered dejectedly, trying desperately to get the image out of his head of you underneath of Geto with your makeup done up so prettily for someone who didn’t deserve it. He thought about how none of it would have happened had he just grown a pair. “I’m sorry I didn’t ask you to prom. I should’ve taken you, none of this would have—”

“It’s not your fault.” You interrupted, finally lifting your head from where it had burrowed into his neck to look up at him, your lip still trembling as your once pristine makeup smeared down your red cheeks.

As you stared into his dewey, warm eyes, you allowed your thoughts to wander to how your night might have ended had Choso been your date, how you had stopped Geto after the gruelling realization hit you that no hands felt as right against your skin without the gruffness of guitar-string callouses. Your stomach churned nervously, and you laid back down against his lap, unable to face him as the words came tumbling from your lips.

“I wish it would have been you, Cho.”

Choso’s heart sputtered to an abrupt halt— at least that’s what it felt like as your words sunk in. Slowly, he laid back against his pillow, careful not to jostle you in your spot against his thighs. Staring up at the ceiling, his mouth opened and closed a few times.

“Y-You mean as a prom date, right?” The question came out apprehensively, because, deep down, you both already knew the answer. You closed your eyes nonetheless, a final tear slipping down your cheek.

“Yeah, as a prom date.” Your lie came out barely a whisper as he chewed on his bottom lip.

“I wish it would’ve been me too. Y’know, your… prom date.”

It was the first time both of you knew that something had shifted in your relationship, though neither of you were brave enough to mention it the next morning when you woke.

That fateful night was two years ago now, and you had had ample time to come to the realization that perhaps you should have been more upfront with him, because Choso was now hundreds of miles away at an arts school with only a telephone keeping you two together.

It had been a difficult conversation with shifting eyes and unnecessarily guilty frowns, but when your best friend had broken the news to you that he’d been accepted into a different university than the one you’d be attending, you couldn’t have been happier that he was pursuing his passion for music. When he dropped the bomb that it was nearly six hours away— that was a tougher pill to swallow.

You two had been doing the best you could though— calling each other every other night and texting in between to make sure to keep up to date on everything university life had to offer you. Still, things would get busy sometimes, what with Choso’s occasional shows that he’d been playing with a local band in his college town, and your downright diabolical class and exam schedule. Things certainly weren’t the same anymore, but you desperately tried to cling onto him.

Additionally, in your absence Choso was reminded of just how much of a clutch you had been for him. He had never been the best at talking to others, relating to the types of casual niceties that seemed to connect people, but he had never had to until now because you had always been just enough for him. Sure, he had warmed up enough to his bandmates, but it was never the same— not when he sat alone in his room at night strumming melodies he only wished he would have played for you earlier when he still had the chance to do something about these things he was feeling.

On your end of the world, it certainly didn’t help that his band had grown a modest following, and it seemed that for the first time, the rest of the world was also beginning to notice Choso.

Choso, the one boys and girls alike used to veer away from in the halls at school because of his terrifyingly blunt, resting bitch face.

Choso, the one who spent the majority of highschool with limbs that seemed too long for his body until he grew into his own.

Choso, the one who, unless you were beside him, often took jokes too literally and ended up embarrassing himself each time he opened his mouth.

Choso, the one who you had stuck beside throughout each awkward phase and experimental hairstyle until he landed on the shag cut that suited him so nicely.

Choso, the one who had been receiving the nastiest of thirst comments under each of his band’s social media posts as the rest of the world caught onto what you had known all along.

And, god, how it stung to scroll through each one, but it was like you couldn’t look away, wondering with each username if he was enjoying all the new attention he was getting. You wondered how far he had leaned into this rockstar persona he had been dreaming of his whole life, if he snuck girls backstage and pocketed their bras as evidence of his conquests.

I mean, the guy had gone damn near his entire life without so much as a second glance from any girl he’d come in contact with— except for you, of course, and you underestimated just how deep his loyalty ran and how much he remembered who it was that had been with him through it all.

So, to hell with every creatively intricate thirst comment under photos that even had you contemplating starting a burner account to appreciate with the masses, none of them mattered despite all the nights you’d spent chewing at your fingernails with thoughts of what he might be up to. Each fan account could burn in hell though— because it was you he called as soon as he’d received the news that his band would be touring, opening for an indie band that you two had actually been fans of for quite some time.

“I wanna fly you out.” Choso insisted breathlessly, still winded from the sheer velocity at which he raced for his phone upon hearing the news. It made your heart stutter, because it had been now going on three years since you last saw him, your schedules never having seemed to line up just right. There were a few times when you had contemplated flying out to surprise him at one of his local, bar shows, but with your building mountain of school work, you’d had little to no time to get a job that could afford you the extra change at the end of each month to buy a plane ticket. At your silence, he huffed, and you could practically hear that damned pout from over the phone. “C’mon, our birthday is coming up. We used to spend all our birthdays together.”

Smiling wistfully at the memories of how easy you two once had it, you shook your head.

“Well that was before you became some heart-throb rock star, Cho.” You teased, fiddling with the hem of your shirt as you wondered if he still blushed so easily at little comments like that, and, if so, what shade his cheeks were at the moment.

“How am I supposed to be a rock star with no groupies? That’s just lame.”

“Oh, trust me, I’m sure you have a long list of contenders waiting in line. Have you been checking your instagram comments lately?”

This made him pause, the tiniest of knowing smiles creeping onto his face.

“No, but it sounds like you have.”

For once, it was you flushing that burning shade of red that once graced his cheeks so frequently, and you wondered when he’d begun reciprocating your teasing banter instead of just stammering through his responses while trying not to look you in the eyes. Shaking his head with a nearly silent chuckle, he decided to put you out of your misery, clutching his phone tighter against his ears.

“Let me fly you out, please? I know you’ve gotta break coming up. I wanna see you.”

So just three months later, though truthfully it felt like a year as you and Choso counted down the days until you would see each other again, you were on a flight courtesy of his now modest earnings from his band. And sure, it was no fancy seat with the luxury accommodations he just knew you deserved, but he felt so proud to know that he was able to do something for you. He had been waiting at the airport nearly two hours before your flight was actually supposed to land, flowers clutched in his clammy hands as he checked the time repeatedly.

Much to his frustration, your flight kept getting delayed, and, after the third push back, he had to begrudgingly resign himself to the fact that he wouldn’t get to be there when you landed, having to get back for sound check for the show tonight. After sending a long winded explanation text, he insisted that you text him as soon as you land as well as as soon as you got to the hotel and as soon as you made it to the venue, and— well, you got the point.

With all the sudden delays, you only had time to drop your luggage off at the front desk of the hotel, who assured you they’d get it to your room for you before you had to haul ass to the venue before you missed any second of Choso’s band opening. He had given your name to security, who had your pass waiting for you when you arrived and quickly led you toward a less crowded section reserved for the talents’ guests.

You were slightly winded from the nonstop moving you had been doing since you woke up this morning, but even with how spent you felt, you weren’t sure anything could have woken you up faster than the sight of your best friend on that stage after three years of not seeing him. Sure, the two of you had been keeping up with pictures and the occasional video call, but none of it did him justice— not with the way the boy you once knew had grown into such a… man.

The once lanky limbs that hung awkwardly at his sides had certainly filled out, emphasized nicely by the gaping muscle shirt he currently had on. His biceps flexed with each rip of his guitar as his grown out hair fell into his chiseled face. To your surprise, he had a mic situated in front of him and was occasionally offering back-up vocals that you were straining with everything in you to pinpoint amongst the rest of the music.

His eyes swept across the designated guest area, and you and your poor, weak heart nearly gave out upon realizing that he had begun lining them just as you did for him all those years ago, smudged out across his lids and adding a spine-tingling depth as they spotted you in the crowd. That earth-shattering smile lit up his face as he took in the sight of you looking up at him, because none of this success and fulfillment of lifelong dreams felt nearly as sweet without you being in the audience for him to impress.

Choso was breath-taking on that stage, commanding it with a confidence you had never seen on him before. It was a blur as the set went on, your shouting out the lyrics to the songs of theirs that you’d kept up with over the year, your already spent body expending the fumes of energy it had left to thrash around to the eardrum-crushing beat.

You found yourself anxiously checking your phone when his band finished their set and disappeared backstage, not knowing if you were going to have to wait until the end of the show to see him. Thinking back to the phone conversation you two had had months prior, and how you really were starting to feel like his groupie. The thought made you smile in amusement, shoving your phone back into your pocket as the main band came out on stage.

Your questions were answered just one song in when a pair of nearly steaming, sweat clung arms wrapped around your shoulders and chest from behind, squeezing you into an equally sweaty chest.

“Ew, Cho, get off! You’re soaked!” You tried to sound disgusted, but your delighted laugh deceived you, because you were sure that he could have been covered head to toe in blood right now and you’d still allow him to latch onto you as he was doing so ardently.

“What happened to being my groupie?” He shouted over the blasting music, surprising you when his lips met your cheek in a sloppy kiss. Even he wasn’t sure where he’d worked up the gall to kiss you, but maybe it was the fact that he’d spent the last three years regretting his inaction, and he’d be damned if he was going to let you board that flight back home without at least trying.

Hoping he didn’t see the way your cheeks flushed at the little stunt, you took note of the fact that he had yet to release you.

“Your groupie is gonna need a few drinks if she has to deal with your stench for the next hour.”

In typical Choso fashion, he quickly obliged your request, planting yet another kiss against your temple before disappearing in the blur of security and venue workers to find you something to drink. You felt like your head was spinning with his sudden forward shift in behavior, but you chalked it up to the fact that you two hadn’t seen each other in so long.

So, you didn’t question it when he came back with two vodka Red Bulls and continued to cling onto you the remainder of the show. He hoisted you up on his back when the crowd around you began to grow so you could get a better view of the band and didn’t care that you were screaming along to the songs right into his ear because you were finally here with him, and he could buy you drinks and give you front row seats to one of your favorite bands, and for once he thought that maybe he was brave enough to admit that he wanted something more with you after all these years of convincing himself that there was nothing he could offer you that’d be worth your while.

He was riding on the high of your giddy smile the entire taxi ride back to the hotel, unable to wipe that lovesick grin off of his face even when you asked him if there was something on your face that was warranting all the staring.

“I’m just gonna shower really quick, and then I’ll come to your room so we can order some food, ‘kay?” You explained while fishing out the room key that you’d received from the front desk earlier that day.

Choso’s brows furrowed as he pushed the respective button on the elevator and adjusted his guitar case over his shoulder.

“What do you mean? We’re going to the same room.”

Looking up from the inside of your bag, you stared at him with a slightly dumbfounded expression.

“You only booked one room?” You questioned with a fluttering gaze.

“We’ve always shared a room.” He explained obviously, making his way down the hall once the elevator doors opened. You could hardly argue with him on that logic, because you two had been sharing a room, hell— sharing a bed since you were kids. As you followed close behind him, butterflies churning in your stomach, you came to the conclusion that Choso had neglected to account for the fact that you two weren’t kids anymore.

Still, he had flown you all this way, and you had missed the endless nights you two would spend together watching horror movies until Jin would stumble into the room, exasperated as he asked you two to please turn down the volume or, better yet, watch anything else that didn’t have him jolting awake from the incessant sounds of blood-curdling screams emanating from his son’s room at ungodly hours of the night. Bonus points if you two had snuck Yuji in to watch them with you and had to shove him under the bed until their dad left the room lest he find out his youngest was watching movies far too mature for his age.

Yuji and Jin weren’t there to interrupt though, and you were currently hyping yourself up in the bathroom mirror to go out and spend the night with the man you’d known for fifteen years now. Looking down at yourself, you cursed at your choice of sleep wear that you’d clearly chosen before you knew Choso would be sleeping beside you. His old Metallica t-shirt had tiny holes in the shoulders and was discolored from so many years of wash cycles, but it was just so perfectly worn in, and it was a little reminder of him each time you went to sleep.

The tattered hem fell just above your mid-thigh, and you were once again punching yourself in the leg because why would you not pack any pajama shorts? Pants? A longer shirt? Literally anything other than your fucking jeans that you’d rather bear the humiliation for than wear to bed? Huffing out a final sigh, you hung up your towel before exiting the steam-filled bathroom outwardly displaying far more confidence than was actually present in your muddled mind at the moment.

“Shower’s open, Cho.” You informed with your eyes cast downward, shoving your dirty clothes into the respective section of your suitcase.

He looked up from the room service menu he’d been studying for the past few minutes, his heart nearly leaping out of his chest at the sight of your bare thighs that still glistened from whatever lotion you had slathered on after your shower, and oh god was that his shirt? His brain was short-circuiting on the spot, and he was so grateful that he was jumping into the shower now, knowing that knob was about to be turned to the coldest setting he could manage.

You sighed in quiet relief when the bathroom door shut behind him, thanking your lucky stars that he hadn’t mentioned anything about your choice of sleepwear— or lack thereof, hoping it meant that he didn’t notice.

Finally allowing some of the tension to fall from your shoulders, you looked around the slightly bougie hotel room, smiling at the sight of his guitar leaning against the wall. Taking the opportunity to be a little nosy for nostalgia’s sake, you unzipped the case and carefully pulled the beloved instrument out. It was hardly recognizable now, what with all the decals and stickers he’d adorned it with over the years, but it was that same electric guitar you had scraped up all your tip money to buy for him.

Humming fondly, you sat crisscrossed in the middle of the plush bed to fiddle with the strings, recalling all the nights Choso had spent desperately trying to teach you how to play, but you never could make good on his diligent efforts. You could only vaguely recall the chords to that first song he’d ever learned to play, the one you’d watched him strum what must have been hundreds of times for you. Pursing your lip, you tried to angle your fingers just right along the neck as you dug into the far corners of your memory.

“Your hand is too far up the neck.”

In your fierce concentration, you hadn’t even heard Choso exiting the bathroom. Not looking up at him lest you break your focus, you shifted your hand as he’d instructed.

“Here?”

He tutted softly, though you could practically hear the fond amusement oozing from him. After a moment, you felt the bed dip behind you, and your breath hitched as you felt his chest press against your back, and you suddenly didn’t feel as embarrassed at your lack of clothing since he hadn’t bothered to put a shirt on following his shower. His hands soon came up to close around yours, guiding them to the proper placement.

“Try now.” He instructed softly, tucking his chin over your shoulder to watch your movements.

Trying to control the way your fingers trembled with the feeling of the muscles he never used to have pressed right up against you, you tried again. When he let out a quiet hum of disapproval, you didn’t have the chance to ask what you had done wrong before he was scooching you back to sit in his lap for better access to the instrument.

“You’ve gotta spread out your fingers a little more.” Choso’s tips were falling on deaf ears, because his scent was enveloping you like a warm blanket, he was so warm pressed right up against you, and his cheek was brushing against yours as he adjusted your fingers.

As he had been telling himself since he saw you in the audience earlier for the first time in three years, he wasn’t that awkward boy anymore who was too scared to be honest with himself, and he knew better than to believe that the flush in your cheeks right now was from your shower. Smiling softly, he eased up his hands as you began to get the hang of it, only occasionally reaching up to correct your placements. You gradually allowed yourself to relax against him, your shoulders drifting back to fall along his broad chest.

“Do you ever think about that night of prom?” Out of all the ways he could have eased into this conversation, he wasn’t sure why that was what had come out of his mouth, but he was relieved when you scoffed out a light laugh.

“You mean the night I lost my virginity to Suguru Geto?” You shook your head at the once damn near traumatic memory, a bitter smile gracing your lips. “I try not to.”

It was silent for a moment, and just as he thought you had all but forgotten what you had said to him that night, you spoke up hesitantly.

“Do you? Y’know— think about it?”

“All the time.”

Your fingers paused against the strings, but a hushed whisper in your ear to keep playing had you jolting back into action, but your subtle squirming against his lap gave you away.

“Why the hell would you be thinking about that?” You mumbled, keeping your voice low as you desperately tried to maintain your composure.

“Because I can’t stop thinking about what would’ve happened if it was me instead.”

His hand came up to tighten your grip around the neck of the guitar that had loosened with the implications of his words, and you heard those familiar words falling from your lips just as they had from his three years ago.

“You mean as my prom date, right, Cho?”

His head shifted ever so slightly, and you shivered as his nose grazed against your temple. The hand that had been guiding your fingers over the strings drifted down to ghost over your bare thigh.

“Yeah, as your prom date.” He lied, just as you had that night. The pads of his fingers dug into the fat of your thigh momentarily, giving you the opportunity to push him away should he have been reading all the signs wrong. You didn’t though, you only held back the softest of whimpers when the metaphorical green light prompted him to run his hand further up, brushing back your already maddeningly ridden up shirt. “I think about how much of an idiot he was, what I would’ve done different.”

The way your comparably smaller frame was expanding and deflating against him in tandem with your labored breaths was making it hard for him to think, and he was sure his body was acting purely on autopilot.

“Like what?” You dared to whisper, not even quite sure that you were ready to hear his answer, but oh was he willing to give it to you.

“I would’ve told you how pretty you looked that night— because you did. You looked like an angel.” Choso rasped out against your ear, and his fingers were curling around the warmth of your inner thigh, just barely grazing against your rapidly heating core. Your fingers stuttered once again against the strings, and his other hand quickly came up to grip at the column of your neck, pressing you back against him. “Keep playing for me, angel.”

And you tried, hands trembling as they fumbled to find the right chords again.

“Did he touch you like this before he ruined your night?”

“No!” You gasped out desperately, arching against him as he pushed your panties to the side to collect the pooling slick at your entrance, using it to aid in the tentative circles he began working against your clit. “H-He didn’t touch me at all— ah!”

With a vexed tut of disapproval, Choso’s fingers dipped down to plunge into your sopping heat. His movements were choppy, and it was clear that he wasn’t sure what exactly you would like, but his focused gaze on your side profile as he studied each of your reactions told you that he was going to figure it the fuck out.

“I would have taken the time for you— I would’ve made sure you were ready.” His regrets were spilling past his frantic lips in a manner teetering on a whine as your head fell back against his shoulder. “Keep playing.”

“I can’t— I can’t, Cho.” You cried deliriously as his fingers began curling up in response to your frantic reaction. You were soaking through the underwear that had been pushed haphazardly to the side, and if you were more lucid you would have been embarrassed at the way it pooled onto the sheets below you.

At once, he had released the firm grip he had on your neck to push his guitar off the bed.

“Then come up here and let me show you how I would have taken care of you.”

Choso, with his eagerness to please and this newfound Herculean strength of his, didn’t give you the chance to comply with his request, because he was ripping at your flimsy underwear and shifting you around to face him. It was enough to give you whiplash, but the bruising grip he had around your waist assured that your balance wouldn’t fail you as he laid back against the unsuspecting hotel sheets and yanked you up to hover over his crazed face.

“Choso, y-you don’t have to—”

“I want to.” He pleaded, his lips glistening with an anticipatory drool as those puppy-dog eyes of his locked onto your core, and he was once again reminded of the fact that Suguru Geto had to be the dumbest man on this fucking planet. Craning his neck up, he couldn’t help himself as he dragged his hot tongue up the length of your folds, his strangled moan vibrating against you. “Mmph, sit— please.”

Leave it to Choso to not forget about his manners as he begged you to suffocate him between your trembling thighs. You complied, moving ever-so-slowly to lower yourself against him before he dug his fingers into your thighs and made you sit. Hunching forward, your forehead fell against the plush headboard with a choked cry as he all but unhinged his jaw around your core.

He watched through dazed eyes at the way your face crumpled with each symphony of pleasure that slipped past your bitten lips. There was no sense in dwelling on the past now, but he couldn’t help but feel so utterly idiotic for having been so blind all this time. It had always been there— in the lingering touches and the intimacy of trust that had forged between you two over fifteen years of falling back on one another.

Choso’s eyes rolled back as you rolled your hips against his tongue, momentarily blocking any passage of air through his mouth and nose, but, even with the clenching in his lungs that told him that he needed to breathe paired with the ringing in his ears, he thought he’d much rather have your weeping pleasure as the cause of death on his obituary, because any life where he hindered that impending high you were cravenly grinding toward wasn’t a life worth living.

His tongue dipped into your entrance for an exasperatingly brief tour before its pointed tip was dancing up to swoop under the hood of your already painfully sensitive clit. You squeaked out a pitched moan, nearly tumbling down if one of his hands hadn’t shot up to press against your sternum to keep you upright. A choked sob of pleasure shook your shoulders, and your hand flew down to tangle into the very haircut he maintained for so long just because you said it looked cute on him.

There was a sharp sting on his scalp as you yanked at the roots, the subtle pain at the hands of you nearly sending him to an early grave as his hips bucked up against the air. He was only met by the infuriatingly gentle friction of his sweatpants brushing against his leaking tip, but you were crying out his name and using him so sweetly with every craven thrust of your hips, and it was enough for him after all the sleepless nights he’d spent wishing he could have changed the past.

Evidence of you was dripping grotesquely down his face, dragging as far up as his nose that glistened proudly in the wake of your sloppy thrusts against him. His eyes were barely open by the time you timidly glanced down at him, half-lidded to match the dopey smile you felt morphing against your folds.

“Stop looking at me like that.” You murmured through burning cheeks as he leaned you back to sit on his chest.

“I’ve waited fifteen years to look at you like this.” His words were damn near slurred, but the sentiment remained the same. Brushing the dishevled hair from his forehead, you slid down slowly to straddle his waist, gasping tenderly at the feeling of his abs brushing against your sensitive clit, though your eyes never once left his.

With wanton eyes drifting down his pink-tinted face, his eyes drifted shut as he leaned up to meet the kiss he was sure he was finally about to get, but it instead landed tenderly on his forehead. A warmth spread down his spine, making his fingers curl tighter around your waist.

“Put me out of my misery already.” Choso whispered, but his actions deceived him as he reached up to keep you pressed against his forehead. Just as you slipped out of his grasp, lips dragging down the bridge of his nose until they ghosted over his. With a clouded gaze, he whispered against your lips, “Did he tell you he loved you?”

With a delirious shake of your head, you crashed through the tiniest of barriers that had been left between you.

“I love you.” He mumbled desperately against your kiss, hands sneaking up under your baggy shirt to graze along your spine. “More than just a— ah— a prom date. I love you.”

“I love you, too— more than just a friend.” You confirmed as you snuck your hand down between you to creep into his waistband.

He flinched away from you with a quick, hissing breath, reaching down to grip at your hand in record timing. Pulling away from him with a start, you blinked down owlishly at him.

“Oh— I-I’m sorry, I just thought you wanted to…”

“I do!” He sat up faster than you could blink to miss it. With that signature flush of his cheeks, he cast his gaze to the side. “Just… give me a little bit, okay?”

Raising a brow at his sudden timidness, you decided not to make it known that you had already felt the tacky wet splotch currently making a mess of his sweatpants. Saving him the wallowing self-pity you just knew he’d fall into for the rest of the night, you opted to lay beside him, tracing the tattoo that lined his nose absentmindedly as he looked anywhere but you. With a soft laugh, he finally turned his head to face you again after a moment of silence, smiling sheepishly down at you.

“Happy birthday, angel.”

Glancing over at the bedside clock, you noted with a cacooning warmth that it read 12:02 AM.

“Happy birthday, Cho.”

masterlist | requests | talk to me ❤︎

I love hearing everyone's thoughts! ◝⠀(ᵔᵕᵔ)⠀◜

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allthesmutl0vers · 3 months ago

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I’ll hope on the train! Draco x Reader!

Yes!! I love some Draco smut. You didn't specifically request smut or any kind of situation, but I will do my best!🫡

A/N: PSA to everyone sending me requests, please tell me if you want Angst, Smut, or Fluff (Or a mix). Otherwise, I'm just going to assume Smut because it's like 98% of what I write. 🫠🫶

MDNI, NSFW, 18+.

Requests: OPEN

Masterlist

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x F!Reader

Summary: Draco has been your arch-enemy since the first year. He was always running his mouth, calling you 'mud blood' or calling your friends 'blood traitors.' But damn, if he didn't soak your fucking panties at the same time. It was your own personal Hell, and frankly, you were burning. How could he be anything besides cruel? How could you possibly want him and hate him at the same time? It should be a felony how much he can turn you on and piss you off in the same breath.

TW: Angst, Hate Sex, Taunting, Teasing, Smut (P! in V! -you're on birth control), Hair pulling, Choking, Name calling, Cursing, Ends with fluff.

Song Inspo: Click here. (Take me back To Eden: Sleep Token)

"Come on, just bloody admit it," Ginny groans across the train car. "You know he's into you, so what's the holdup?" She asks for the millionth time.

I roll my eyes, annoyed by her constant nagging of the subject, and sigh. "I told you, he's vile. I wouldn't touch him if he was one of the last men on the planet," I try not to snap back at her, but do anyway.

"But he's in our house, and he's hot. Who cares if he's a player?" She asks as she tosses more Bertie Bott's Beans into her mouth. I sigh and look out of the window. How can I possibly explain to her that I'm not interested in Cormac because all I can think of is one particularly vile Slytherin?

"I need some air," I brush off her question as I stand up from my seat. I exit the train car and head to the bathroom to splash some water on my face. The cool water does very little to douse the flames under my skin. "Get your shit together," I mutter to myself in the mirror, gripping the edge of the sink so hard my knuckles turn white.

I sigh and stand up to straighten my tie when the bathroom door opens. Bloody hell, Ginny. I turn to snap at her, but instead, I'm greeted by the one person I swore to myself to avoid at all possible costs. "Great," I huff and roll my eyes.

"Now, is that any way to greet your superior?" Draco quips as his eyes narrow down at me.

I can't help but laugh. "Superior? Don't flatter yourself, Malfoy. Now, move," I tell him firmly, clenching my jaw so I don't clench my thighs. Honestly, how could someone this hot be so damn infuriating?

Instead of stepping back, he steps forward, coming into the bathroom and closing the door behind him. "No. Don't think I will," he seethes, looking down at me.

I reach for my wand, only to realize I left it in the cabin. Great. Draco tsks and shakes his head with a smirk. "Forget something?" He quips.

I straighten my back. "No. I don't need a wand to kick your ass. Slytherin trash," I spit back at him with venom lacing my voice.

"Mm," Draco hums in response, taking another step closer. "Give it your best shot, mud blood," he says with a brow raised in curiosity.

I clench my fists, bringing one up and back and throwing it right at his face. Draco catches my fist with no effort at all, enclosing it in his ringed hand. "Nasty are we?" He taunts. "Too bad I was feeling generous today," he quips with a smirk and closes the space between us, his chest flush with mine. My heart pounds so hard I can hear it in my ears, and I pray he can't feel it through our clothes.

"What's wrong, love? Dementor got your tongue?" He teases as my mouth hangs open mike a fish. I mentally kick myself in the ass for it.

"Piss off, Malfoy," I spit back at him. I look at my hand, still encapsulated in his, as he smirks. His tongue dips out to lick his bottom lip, and I hate my traitorous pussy for getting wet as he does it.

Draco chuckles and smiles for just a moment before he presses me against the wall of the bathroom, grabbing my other wrist and pinning both above my head. "I do hate it when we fight. Why don't we call a truce?" He says, looking down at me, his free hand trailing my jaw and gripping my chin, forcing me to look up at him. "Hmm?"

"Thought you didn't fuck mud bloods?" I taunt, instantly wanting to take it back, when I realize I didn't say no. Which doesn't go unnoticed.

Draco's grip on my wrists tightens. "I think I can make an exception just once. I didn't hear you say no," he teases. My thighs clench together, and I fight the whimper that wants to break free from my throat.

"And if I do say no?" I swallow hard.

Draco's jaw ticks, and his eyes narrow down at me. "Then I'd say you're lying," he says, leaning into my ear. "Not just to me, I don't care about that. But lying to yourself, and that's just pathetic," he whispers in my ear, his warm breath a stark contrast from the coolness of his fingertips as they glide down my body to the end of my skirt. "You're a lot of things, love. But I never pegged you as pathetic."

My breath hitches in my chest as his fingers dance around the hem of my skirt, only fueling the fire inside of me. "So. you have two choices," he says firmly as he looks into my eyes. "You can walk out that door," he leans closer, our noses brushing. "Or, you can let me give you the best fucking sex of your life. And maybe we stop hating each other so much."

He releases me, taking a step back as my hands fall to my sides. "You have to the count of three. Otherwise, you surrender the choice to me. One," he starts to count.

God, what am I doing?

"Two," he says in a slightly deeper voice. I should run, I should run, and never look back. I should leave him hanging just as he's left me before.

"Last chance, love," Draco says darkly, starting to undo his tie. It's now or never. I swallow hard, and in the last instant, I decide to let him keep me. For now.

"Three," Draco counts, placing his tie on the counter and pulling out his wand. He does a hurried enchantment, soundproofing the bathroom and locking the door magically before he sets his wand down, too. "You're all mine, now."

I open my mouth to speak but am quickly silenced by Draco's mouth, landing on mine in a fevered kiss. His hands grip my waist, pulling me closer, and I can't stop my hands from draping around his neck, pulling him closer and deepening the kiss.

Draco groans into my mouth as I part my lips, allowing his tongue to enter for the first time. Sparks erupt under my skin as he licks the roof of my mouth. My hands run through his hair, pulling the silky stands and breaking our kiss as we gasp. "Merlin, I need you," Draco groans as he grips my thighs, lifting me off of the floor and sitting me down on the bathroom counter.

"I need you too," I moan softly. "God, I hate you so much," I pant as his lips land on my neck, kissing and nipping the sensitive skin behind my ear.

"Hate, love, I really don't see the difference. Nor do I care," Draco pants as he pulls back and reaches under my skirt, pulling my panties down and off. "All I care about is fucking you so hard you can't say anything besides my name," he huffs as he undoes his pants, pulling them down and pumping his cock in his hand.

"Then fucking do it," I taunt him, my wetness practically dripping down my thighs.

A low growl escapes Draco's throat as he pulls me off of the counter and spins me, pushing me so I'm bent over the bathroom counter. "As you wish, love," he teases as he thrusts into me, giving me no time to adjust to his large size.

I gasp as he thrusts into me, white-knuckling the edge of the sink. "Fuck, give me some time to adjust; why don't you?" I spit over my shoulder.

Draco wraps my hair in his hand and yanks my head back to look at me in the mirror. "You fucking love it," he spits back. His free hand lands on my hip with a bruising grip. He pulls back and thrusts into me again with a moan. "Fucking tight. Guess you're not as much of a slut as I thought," he taunts.

Draco slams into me with a bruising force, making my eyes roll back as he pulls my hair tighter. "Draco," I moan, unable to stop myself.

"That's it, love. Scream my name," he moans as his thrusts quicken. "Let me hear how much you love it."

I thrust back onto him, forcing myself to take him deeper. Draco lifts one of my thighs, putting it on the edge of the counter and hitting that sweet, spongy part inside of me. "Fuck, yes!" I moan loudly. "God, Draco, yes!"

"Mm, never heard my name next to 'God,'" he chuckles darkly as his grip on my hip tightens.

I groan and moan at his audacity. "Shut up and fuck me, you fucking snake," I spew with venom.

Draco's hand leaves my hip, reaching around me, and his fingers start to circle my clit in fast circles. "Then cum for a fucking snake," he fires back.

I feel myself clench around him as my orgasm starts to crest. "Fuck, yes! Draco!" I cry out as my eyes close.

Draco's hand leaves my hair to grip my throat. "Open your fucking eyes," he demands. I obey and meet his eyes in the mirror, mascara falling down my cheeks. "Look at how pretty you look. Watch me fucking ruin you."

I keep my eyes locked with his as he repeatedly impales me with his stupid, delicious, devil fucking cock. And my God, is he right. I look beautiful, like an angel after they fell from grace. Draco leans forward, nipping my shoulder as he pulls down the collar of my shirt. He pulls me back by my throat, sucking a hickey onto my neck, right where it's the most visible. "Fucking mine," he growls. "Mine to fuck, mine to ruin, mine."

His words throw me off the edge. The possessiveness, the sucking, the stolen kisses, the brutal way he's fucking me all send me spiraling down to where? I have no idea. All I know is it isn't heaven. "Draco!" I cum with an Earth-shattering cry. Draco thrusts into me once, twice, three more times before he spills himself inside of me, filling me impossibly full as he cums with my name on his lips and his head tilted back.

After we both finally come down from our highs, we clean ourselves up and re-dress. "You're on birth control, right?" Draco asks me, breaking the silence.

"Yeah," I nod. "Don't worry, you won't have any mud-blood kids coming," I bite as I move toward the bathroom door.

Draco stops me, grabbing my arm and turning me to look up at him. "I'm tired of fighting," he admits, taking me aback with his sincerity. "I don't want to fight with you anymore. I just want..." his voice falters.

I bite my lower lip. "You really mean that?" I ask cautiously. Sure, he just plowed me, but how can I know it's not just afterglow?

Draco nods and pulls me closer. "My parents be damned," he sighs. "I just want you. It's always been you."

I nod looking down, unable to believe what I'm hearing from his mouth. Did Hell freeze over when I wasn't paying attention?

Draco tips my head back up to his face with a gentle finger under my chin. "I mean it. Whatever I need to do to prove it to you, I will."

"I suppose an apology to my friends would be a good first step."

Draco nods without hesitation. "Lead the way, love," he says, grabbing his wand and undoing the magic on the door. I exit first, and he actually follows me, taking my hand in his. When we get back to the car I share with Harry, Ginny, Hermione, and Ron, he follows me inside. "Hey, guys," I say nervously as their eyes widen in shock. "Look who came to apologize," I say with a smile as Draco steps into the car with me.

"Bloody fucking hell," Ron grumbles.

"You owe me a galleon," Harry chuckles and nudges Ron.

#draco x reader #draco malfoy smut #draco malfoy #harry potter smut #draco malfoy fanart

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frenchtwistresistance · 1 year ago

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My Man Is Cheating and I Might Have a Homoerotic Interest in the Tramp He’s Seeing, as Well Songs

Jolene Dolly Parton

Angel in Your Arms Barbara Mandrell

One of a Kind Pair of Fools Barbara Mandrell

Woman to Woman Barbara Mandrell

Girl Crush Little Big Town

The Other Woman Lana Del Rey

The Bed You Made for Me Highway 101

It’s My Party/ (and the rare sequel song) Judy’s Turn to Cry Lesley Gore

Cathy’s Clown Reba McEntire

Avril Lavigne Girlfirend

You Belong with Me Taylor Swift

Lipstick on Your Collar Connie Francis

Dark Lady Cher

Any iteration of Tennessee Waltz

Bonus Boy Version:

Forget You CeeLo Green

#as with any list of my fave cheating songs #Barbara Mandrell #is a little statistically over represented 💁‍♀️#the woman is just so good at really sexy cheating songs!#music #the way ceelo keeps alternating between addressing his ex and her new man is … 👀#not like the definitive list or anything just something I’ve been thinking about lately #I love a specific ass situation song

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aimedis · 3 months ago

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milo & sweetheart headcanons 🐺🫥

"i'm ever at your service, baby.."

milo definitely gives sweetheart princess treatment (gender neutral)

milo likes resting his head on sweetheart’s stomach in between their legs

they're the only ones who can reign each other in from being the assholes they are

when sweetheart is overheated, they get really mean and milo has to apologize to everyone for them

in general, sweetheart's attitude to everyone they're close to is just mean. they get mad pissy with milo too but he gives them shit back

they're the takes himself too seriously x doesn't take themself seriously trope

they wear each other’s clothes all the time and have the audacity to get mad at the other for it

“is that mine? take it off.” "whose hoodie is that, huh?" "..." "exactly"

they play fight so often it's not even funny, even around other people

sometimes sweetheart tells milo “don’t touch me i have a mate” when he tries to kiss them. milo threatens to beat him (the mate) up

sweetheart calls milo "aggro's handsome dad"

they both speak spanish fairly fluently and they use it whenever they're arguing in front of others or talking shit about people

sweetheart is kind of the therapist friend and tries to be the support system for all of their loved ones even if it burns them out. milo is their support system for when it gets to be too much

milo worries about sweetheart constantly over-working and burning themself out but he knows he can't stop them. so he just remains as the person they can fall back on when they can't do it anymore

they have fake arguments about literally nothing for fun

when sweetheart got to take milo home after the inversion, they kept their hand on his chest as often as possible to remind themself that he was still alive

they will argue about literally everything and anything

it only gets super bad when they're both stressed out and only then does it make them say things they don't really mean. but they're both pretty good at accepting blame and communicating afterwards

arguments always end in cuddles and movie nights with warm blankets

there was a time when an argument was entirely milo's fault and he refused to apologize so sweetheart put him on a physical contact ban. no touching, kissing, hugging, cuddling, hair ruffles, no nothing for a whole two days

milo was so distraught after he got home on the second day and they were practically ignoring him so he started compulsively apologizing

sweetheart made him beg for forgiveness on his knees for 10 minutes before they let him touch them again

darlin flirts with sweetheart sometimes and it makes milo crazy jealous

sweetheart is constantly looking at and touching milo's chest

milo slaps sweetheart's ass every chance he gets

they're insanely competitive with each other and milo's a sore loser (“…milo I don’t know what you want me say cause if I say anything it feels like I’m gloating” “because you’re a cheater!”)

milo always has an arm around sweetheart's shoulder/on the back of their chair

their song is ho hey by the lumineers

milo gets really cold on the summer solstice and sweetheart gets really hot. milo clings onto sweetheart the whole day and sweetheart let’s him no matter how sweaty and agitated they are

sweetheart and milo make playlists together as quality time (they 88 playlists with extremely specific moods and titles)

in serious situations, they cannot look at each other without laugh at absolutely nothing

sweetheart went to the same empowered high school the wolf bois did (they never crossed paths, it was a really big school) and when they told milo he flipped his shit

sweetheart is constantly bothering and harassing milo and he thinks it's the most amusing thing in the world

they have matching necklaces with the other's name on

milo definetly has a nickname for sweetheart that's based on their actual name (shortened version of it, elongated version, a rhyme, etc.)

they're the couple that, after being together for so long, have basically turned into the same person (adopting the other’s speech patterns, clothing styles and acting the same way, acting in sync)

milo is an absolute baby when sick, sweetheart babies him the entire time until he's 100% healthy again

sweetheart likes to pretend they're not sick until they collapse which is why milo is always cautiously watching them once he notices (because they have fainted before)

milo and sweetheart love playing the chapstick challenge because sweetheart has an egregious amount of chapsticks and lip balms and it’s an excuse to kiss each other

milo and sweetheart sometimes recite (love) song lyrics with a completely straight face and not singing it. they think it’s the funniest thing ever

they will also just randomly start singing out loud together from a phrase that happens to be in a song

they do each other's hair whenever they have the extra time in the morning because it takes so much longer (it's the extended make-outs)

milo is sweetheart's alarm clock because he wakes up at the same time every day and he cannot, for the life of him, leave bed quietly (sweetheart is also a light sleeper)

whenever sweetheart is extra tired and doesn't feel like doing their whole after-work care routine when they get home, milo does it for them

if sweetheart wears makeup, milo loves watching them put it on

occasionally, sweetheart makes tiktoks (thirst traps) to their favourite/trending songs and posts them on their private socials (only the pack/close friends are on there)

milo is always first in their comments, spamming at least 20 interactions before he texts them letting them know he saw it

they also do tiktok dances (the old actually cool ones not the garbage ones bitches do these days) and milo goes crazy for those

sweetheart's parents were very neglectful so having marie in their life means a lot. milo reminds them often that she's their mother now as well (fuck you colm)

sweetheart paints whenever they need to calm down or stop thinking and they always add a little bit of milo to their paintings (his favourite flowers, a shirt he owns, adding his freckles onto every one of their characters, etc.) ((they also paint aggro all the time))

milo has definetly threatened to kill someone for sweetheart

sweetheart didn't think milo was an overly possessive boyfriend at first because he really doesn't show it that often but they mentioned a coworker flirting with them and he straight up growled

milo gets more jealous than sweetheart does because wolf shifters are generally more possessive than others but sweetheart can also get crazy jealous

they're both really possessive in a "touch my mate and you're dead" way

sweetheart hates throwing up (it's kind of a fear but not quite a phobia) so whenever they do, milo is always sitting next to them to hold them and he dotes on them until they feel better

they both worry over each other all the time over everything

neither of them know how to be subtle or how to keep their hands off of each other

milo loves telling sweetheart they’re gorgeous every damn chance he gets

sweetheart slides their cold hands up milo's shirt just to make him flinch

#redacted audio #redacted asmr #redactedverse #redacted milo #redacted sweetheart #redacted asmr headcanons #redacted headcanons #kae's headcanons #milo and sweetheart are js so sexy to me #like i want them both #lasko and dear are next i think

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sea-lanterns · 3 months ago

Note

After seeing Xilonen's recent trailer I can't help but imagine that she makes a whole playlist just for fucking you,,, Like, imagine that she matches her thrusts with the beat. A song is droning and slow? She'll drag her cock in and out of your hole slowly but with purpose, making sure you feel every inch. But if a song has a fast beat? Better hold on because she's going to play drums with how fast your ass is clapping back on her hips!! God I love women who make sex playlists!!

Playing drums with how fast your ass claps 😭. What a very interesting description anon…

Anywho, Xilonen definitely makes sex playlists. She has multiple in fact, all for different vibes and different situations. Rough and fast sex, slow and intimate sex, shower sex, kitchen sex, she has a playlist for any situation and it always fits the mood.

I don’t really have any specific songs in mind that she’d fuck you too, but I like to think she prefers the upbeat songs, solely because she gets to go fast and enjoys the way your ass smacks against her hips. It gets her blood pumping and just fucking you to the beat of her favorite songs is enough of a workout for her. The only exception to this preference is when you two do slow and intimate sex or shower sex. Those times she chooses more slower songs, lazily dragging her cock in and out and letting you feel the closeness of her body while you listen to the music she picked out.

Oh how hot it would be to be fucked by Xilonen and listen to someone like Chase Atlantic while in the shower 😊

#🫧feeding the fishes

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bookshelf-dust · 1 year ago

Text

pouring out the sun

billy hargrove x fem!reader

word count: 6,988

warnings: swearing, chubby!reader, reader deals with specific body insecurities, swimsuit wearing, brief mention of blood?, post-starcourt billy, slight sexual innuendos (let me know if i missed anything)

a/n: well, um, it’s been a little over a month since you got a fic from me. i took a break from writing, but my mental health only got worse, so clearly it didn’t work too well. this fic was meant to be a way for me to work through some things, so beware of that. i thought maybe someone else might need it too, or might even understand, in some way. i know i don’t usually do specifics regarding reader, but this is really for me. also, the title is a reference to the song of achilles, but it seemed fitting. i hope this turned out okay. i know it’s a lot, but it’s something. <33

————

The wall behind you is starting to make your back ache. The chill you’d felt through your shirt when you’d first situated yourself against it is long gone. You pull your knees up as close as you can get them and wrap your arms around your calves.

Billy has pressed himself into the footboard of your bed. He’s staring at you and your obstinance makes you stare right back. He crosses his arms, and your gaze flickers to the way his biceps shift with the movement. He’d tease you if he weren't so determined to challenge your stubbornness with his own.

“How long?” you question, pressing your cheek into the skin of your knee and letting your eyes flutter closed.

“A week. Maybe two,” he answers.

You scoff and roll your neck so that your forehead can take the place of your cheek. “Oh, holy shit,” you say, voice muffled by your legs. “Yeah, that’s a no.”

Billy rolls his eyes, and even if you can’t see him, you can feel it. He runs a hand down his face. You have your moments, where you can be incredibly difficult, but this is something different. It’s almost like you’re frustrated in some way, and it frustrates Billy that he can’t pinpoint why.

“You sound like Harrington.” He pushes off the bed and lands a playful slap to the side of your calf before walking out of the room, hoping a bit of pacing might help him figure out what to do.

Billy has wanted to go back to California since he got to Hawkins, though now he seems to be content with a simple vacation, rather than being in a rush to move back. When he brought it up again today, telling you firmly that he is going, you thought it sounded lovely. That it’d be good for him, that maybe he’d take Max and they’d do some family bonding or something. But that’s not what he’d said.

He wants you to go with him.

And you hate the beach. With a burning, fiery passion.

Despite this, there’s a voice in the back of your head that tells you you’ll end up going anyway–just for him. But right now, the idea of going to California makes you nauseous.

Sitting in a hot car for the length of that trip, sweating your ass off, baking in the sun, being trapped on the beach for hours? What’s so fun about all of that? And then there’s the matter of a swimsuit. Billy has certainly never seen you in one, and he definitely doesn’t know that you got rid of the ones that were once in your possession.

He traipses back into the room, making you look up. It’s as if he’s somehow sensed that you were lost in thought, that you were being unkind to yourself. He doesn’t like it when you shit on his girl.

“Look,” Billy starts, leaning against the doorframe. “If you really don’t want to go, I’m not gonna force you or anything.”

He pauses, and you slide further down the wall until your back rests firmly against the mattress. You force yourself to make eye contact with him–only for a moment.

“I just thought it might be nice to have you with me. I wanted to take you home.” His mouth tips up in a grin at that last bit. He’s guilt tripping you.

“Goddamnit, William.” You slap your hands over your eyes, shielding yourself from him like he might up and turn you to stone. You’ve never fancied being a garden statue.

“I just…I don’t know, Billy. There’s a lot for me to think about.” You pull your hands back and his face is inches from yours. It makes you jump, but makes his mouth twist into a Cheshire cat grin. Contrary to the way his boots usually announce his presence, he’s partial to moving like a cat when no one else is around. “Jesus.”

He presses his palms into the bed on either side of you and sits so that his thighs bracket your own. This way you can’t run when he asks you why you’re so insistent about not going to California with him.

“You mean there’s a lot for you to overthink about.” His hands find your sides, thumbs sweeping over the soft of your belly. Your mind jumps to the pudge you know lies underneath your shirt, the very thing that prevents you from wearing the teeny bikinis Heather Holloway runs around in. Right now you can’t bear to have him touch you, and you push his hands off.

You give him an agitated look, and again that feeling, that he can’t quite pinpoint what’s going on, crawls up Billy’s abdomen and prods at his throat. “What? Like that’s not what you were doing when I came back in here?”

He goes to rest his hands on your thighs, the bare skin calling to him, skin he wants to grasp, knowing how pliant it will be, how it might move under his fingertips, but he stops himself. He thinks that you’ll just push him off again, so he settles for planting them back against the mattress, though close enough that he can feel the warmth of you–close enough that you’re still tangible.

You sigh. He mocks the sound, pitching his voice up just that little bit higher. You cover your face with your palms once more.

“Look,” Billy starts, “I’ll take care of everything. There’s really nothing for you to worry about. You know I’ve been saving for this since I got here.”

You nod behind your hands, and Billy recognizes it as a gesture you make when you’re about to cry. He swears his heart drops out of his ass.

“Hey, hey, hey–what’s going on in there?” He pulls at your wrists, a gentle grip, but more than enough to be firm. You let him move your hands away, and he sets them on your belly, but even that seems to be wrong. You’re quick to remove them, not being able to stand the squish of your own flesh.

You aren’t crying, but your eyes are a little glassy. Billy thinks whatever tears might’ve been about to spill, you’ve willed away. You inhale.

“Billy, I can’t just go to the beach.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because I don’t look like you.”

If you could manage to look at him, you’d see the way Billy’s brows meet, maybe even catch the way his breath hitches in his throat. He connects the dots, all at once. Suddenly he knows what you mean.

Last summer, when you were still just friends, you’d come and eat lunch with him on his break. But never once did you actually go swimming, always just taking off when he had to continue his shift. Billy had secretly hoped you’d stay and lounge, at least, during one of the many times you dropped Max or Dustin off. You never did.

He’s not even sure he ever saw you in something other than jeans then. Hell, you’re wearing shorts right now, in the comfort of your own home, but you don’t ever leave the house in them. Why hadn’t he seen it before? Why hadn’t the thought at least occurred to him?

He thinks about all the times you avoid mirrors, or looking at other people. How you never want to go shopping, how all of your clothes are just that little bit too big. He realizes it’s serving you a purpose. You’re trying to hide–from Hawkins, from him, from yourself.

Billy feels like he’s been punched, or maybe like someone’s poured ice water down the back of his shirt. Still he teases. He needs to.

“Well, contrary to popular belief, I'm really not that into myself. So I’m actually pretty damn grateful that you don’t look like me.”

He tracks your shaky inhale. The teasing has failed him, and he doesn’t want to see you cry.

Billy moves off of your lap in hopes that it might help pull you out of your head for a moment. “You wanna talk to me?” he ventures. You sit up, nodding. The movement allows the tears you’d been holding back to slip free, gliding down the apples of your cheeks.

Billy’s thumbs are against your skin in a moment, wiping them away. “Yeah?” He reciprocates your nod, more reassuring, supportive, than mocking. Billy holds out his hand for you to take. You bring it into your lap, tracing the many creases on his palm. It gives you something steady to focus on, grounds you enough that you can concentrate on getting your words out.

“I know it’s stupid,” you mumble, voice thick with emotion. Billy flicks his fingers upward to tickle your own, and it gets your lips to tick up just that little bit.

“It’s not stupid,” he says, tone dead serious. “What’s that shit you always tell me?” He raises his other hand, waving it around. “This is a safe space to share your feelings.” He says the words playfully, as if it might pain him, though he’s just trying to help you like you do for him. Your heart warms at the effort.

“It’s my body, Billy. I can’t just go to the beach because the beach means a swimsuit, it means people seeing me in a swimsuit, you seeing me, but I can’t wear one, and I—” You pause, drawing in a breath. Your eyes squeeze shut for just a second, another tear falling down, but you catch it before he can.

“I hate my body, okay? And I love that you want to take me with you to California, really it means so much to me, but I-I know that means tagging along with you, being out in hot weather, and I’m just going to ruin it all for you looking like this. Really you should be taking someone else. Someone who can maybe put on clothes without sobbing.”

When you finish and look up at him, Billy looks heartbroken. It immediately makes you want to take it all back. You never meant to tell him any of this.

“You sob when you have to get dressed?” he asks, almost tentatively. The way he says it tells you he’s not picking on you, but instead trying to understand. He’s picturing it, you struggling to simply get ready for the day, and it kills him. You shouldn’t have to feel that way.

“I have before, yeah. And Billy you’re hot. I know you know that. You should be with someone who’s equally as attractive. Not someone like me.”

You hiccup and release Billy’s hand. You start playing with a string on the hem of your worn-out shorts. Billy’s thumb finds your forearm, dragging up to press against the inside of your elbow. “Baby.”

You shake your head, forcing a sad smile to form on your face. “It’s alright. I told you it was silly.”

“Are you shitting me right now?” His grip tightens ever so slightly. He’s begging for you to listen to him without ever saying so. You meet his eyes, and he’s looking at you with so much concern, so much love, that you wish you hadn’t looked at all. This isn’t silly. Not to him.

“What is it about your body that you don’t like? Can you tell me that much?”

More understanding. More compassion. You can’t take it.

You bite the inside of your lip so hard that you draw blood. You press your tongue against the spot, hoping it will stop. You’re getting angry with yourself. For making this situation about you, for telling him about your stupid feelings, for thinking that you could ever make this work when clearly you’re not meant to even be in a relationship, especially not with him, and definitely not when you look like this–

“Stop. Take a deep breath, and talk to me.” Billy’s tone is unyielding. You’re working this out right now, and he’s made that decision for you. He knows if you don’t, you’ll just shove it right back under the rug and keep fighting this internal battle with yourself all while he’s right here.

You do as he said, and start again.

“I don’t like my tummy, or my hips, o-or my boobs. My arms are wrong too, and I’ve got all these rolls, and nothing is shaped right. I hate everything, and I can’t even look in the mirror anymore, and I want to go on this trip with you, really I do, but all of this is overwhelming me, and I-I’m just going to ruin it for you.”

“Look at me,” Billy says. You hadn’t even noticed you’d stopped, eyes glued to your bedsheets. You start crying again, warm tears spilling over your lashes. You can’t get them to stop, can’t get your thoughts to stop. It makes you want to press your hands to your ears, like that would help, but really it’s just you. You in your own head.

Billy takes your face in his hands. “There is nothing wrong with your body. This is just your mind fuckin’ with you. I know that every part of you is perfect, just as it is, and you don’t have to look like anyone else to be good enough.”

You shake your head and grab hold of his wrists. “See, but you can’t really say that. You don’t actually know what my body looks like because I don’t have it in me to let you see it. I know that if you did, you’d be grossed out, Billy. There’s so much fat, and pudge, and I–”

“Why are you saying that like it’s a bad thing? Because it isn’t and I don’t wanna hear you say that again, you understand?” You sniffle. He takes that as a yes.

“Baby, I know I haven’t seen shit. But I fucking swear that I’d be a goner for it. You think I mind having a little extra to squeeze on? ‘Cause I don’t.”

You’re trying so hard to believe him, but every cell, every nerve in your body is screaming in protest. He’s lying. He’s lying, he’s lying, he’s lying. But there’s a part of your brain that knows he isn’t. That he wouldn’t dare lie to you.

“My body is…it’s disappointing.” You sit up on your knees and wipe your nose. “Because I-I know what the world wants me to look like, and I don’t look like that.” You squeeze your eyes shut, and more tears slip out. He can’t stand to see you like this, and it’s killing him to know that this is what you’ve been dealing with for who knows how long.

“It’s not fair,” you cry. “It’s not fair because I don’t get to walk around with this amazing body, the kind of body that men clearly want, and I think now I want it too. I sit in my room at night and I think about how I’d love myself more if I had a different body.”

Now that the floodgates have opened, you can’t force them closed.

“Because I don’t have porn star tits, Billy. They’re sad looking, and they definitely don’t look like the chick’s on your bedroom wall, or the ones in your bedside drawer.

He lets out a scoff of a laugh. It’s not malicious, not even at all. It’s simply due to the fact that your mind, and the world around you, has led you to hating the body you were given. He laughs because he agrees with you that it isn’t fair. It isn’t fair that you’re feeling like this. But he has to make sure you recognize that you can’t compare yourself to fucking models.

“You know all of their tits are fake, right? Or strapped in somehow to get ‘em that high.”

You rub your nose, drag a hand down your throat. “Well, yeah but I’m sure there are lots of other women around here with better boobs than me. I know you like boobs, Billy. And mine are gross.”

“Yeah, that’s bullshit. They aren’t gross, and you shouldn’t talk about your girls like that.” He holds up a finger to prevent you from fussing about that comment. “I don’t care if they’re a little droopy or if they aren’t these round balloons, or if they aren’t porn star tits, or whatever it is about them you don’t like. And I know it’s only because you’ve been comparing your tits with some stranger’s, and that’s bullshit too.” You stare at Billy blankly, but he’s still not done.

“I wouldn’t care about any of those things. Because they’re your boobies, and that makes them my favorites.”

“Please don’t say boobies, Billy.” He grins and leans in until his mouth hovers above the shell of your ear.

“And I always end up thinkin’ about you anyway.” Your face starts to burn and you fight the urge to abort right then and there. “Not even Elvira can keep me from thinking about you, baby.”

Your face is burning. “What is wrong with you?”

“Oh, there’s a lot wrong with me,” he says, rubbing his nose against yours. “But there’s not a damn thing wrong with your body, and I’m gonna be right here until you think the same.” He gives you one chaste kiss and pulls back.

“But Billy, my ass is–”

“Amazing? I’ve seen it in those jeans you wear all the time. Shit is mind boggling, baby.”

“Jesus fucking christ.”

His giggles taper out, and then he’s looking at you all gently again, like you’re the most precious thing in the entire goddamn universe. “You gotta quit comparing yourself to other people, okay? Doesn’t do you any good, and I know that. This is the only body you’re gonna get, and you deserve to love on it a little.”

You run your hands down your face. “I just wish I believed that.”

Billy leans down and smacks a kiss to your knee.

“Hate seein’ you like this, you know? You’re the prettiest fucking thing I’ve ever laid eyes on. The way you’re told you should look? It’s all idealized and stereotypical bullshit, and it isn’t fair for you to look at yourself and pick every little thing apart because it doesn’t look like some chick in a porno mag or a comic book drawn by some horny, middle-aged man.”

He’s fired up now, genuinely hurting for you, and he’s talking with his hands. That gets you every time.

You might be snotty, your cheeks might feel tight from where the tears have dried, but seeing him be so passionate about making you feel better gets a little grin out of you.

Billy catches it, that itty bitty quirk of your lips, and he moves in until his face is inches from yours. It’s supposed to be intimidating.

“The fuck are you grinning about?”

Your grin turns into a full, teary smile.

“You expecting a kiss or something?” he teases, thumb dragging over your lashes, separating them where they’d clumped together with moisture.

“I was gonna give you one, actually.” Your eyes start to prickle again. “Because I don’t deserve you—”

Billy covers your mouth with his hand. “Listen, if there’s anyone who doesn’t deserve someone, it’s me—”

You do the same to him in an instant, only he smacks his lips against your palm, winking just for good measure. You roll your eyes.

Both of you remove your hands at the same time, and then you really do kiss him. A sweet press of your mouth that tells him…everything.

You pull away, and he’s still looking at you like you hung the fucking stars.

“I’m sorry for keeping all of this in, Billy. It’s so suffocating sometimes, and I get so angry with myself for looking like this. I just imagine that I’d be so much happier with someone else’s body.”

“But if you had someone else’s body, you wouldn’t be you anymore. You wouldn’t be my girl.”

You nod, trying not to let the voices win. Trying not to think about how you look in the mirror versus how you wish you looked. How if you had different features it might be better.

“Just can’t help thinkin’ you should be with someone that looks nicer than I do.”

“But I want you, okay? I love you exactly the way that you are.”

“Okay,” you respond, voice shaky.

“Can I hug you?” Billy asks.

“Yeah. Yeah.”

Billy pulls you into his arms, squeezing you tightly against him. He has this way of getting you out of your head, of making you feel like the two of you are all that matter.

You’ve both risen up onto your knees, the mattress dipping around you. Billy’s hands are rubbing all over your back.

He leans his head back a little, making sure he catches your attention before he dips his chin down to gesture at where the both of your chests meet.

“They don’t feel gross to me.”

You heave a sigh, pulling away from him completely, and trying to ignore how proud he looks of himself.

“We’re gonna keep workin’ on this, alright? I’m not letting you hate on yourself so much anymore.”

“Yes, sir.”

Billy rolls his eyes, but you give him a hopeful, yet sad, smile, all the confirmation he’s looking for. That you’ll try.

“So what else about the beach is it that you’re worried about? I’ll buy you a fucking umbrella, I swear. And if you go, I’ll let you drive.”

Your eyes widen, and Billy knows he’s just won you over. He knows that you have a soft spot for his car, and he’ll do anything to keep you happy.

————

“You aren’t upset that you’re not going?”

“No, not really. I mean, I like it there, but I’ve never had the same attachment to it as Billy has.”

Max slings another swimsuit over her arm. You decided that you really wanted to try and find one you might be comfortable in. Billy said you didn’t have to swim, even if he didn’t want you to overheat, but you’re determined to find something. And Max had happily offered to help you while Billy worked on finding you both a place to stay.

Every once in a while, Max will hold one up to you, as if contemplating the color, and then decide she wants you to try it on without asking, knowing you’ll argue with her.

“Do you miss it?”

She shrugs her shoulders, nodding towards the dressing rooms and leading the way. She’s holding substantially more swimsuits than you are, and you know you’ll be trying on every single one.

“Sometimes? I miss my family. And I think even for Billy it’s mostly about his mom. California was the last place he was sort of…happy. But I like Hawkins, you know? And even if he likes it better now too, I’ve never been as determined to go back as he is.”

You pause outside the dressing room, clutching the slippery fabric harder than necessary. “I understand. Anything you want me to bring back for you?”

Max opens the door for you and starts hanging up suits on the hooks provided. She grins. “I’ll never say no to a prize. Now stop stalling, and get in here.”

You do as she says, and make her choose which one to try first, just to make it easier on yourself.

Max closes her eyes while you change, but when she hears the shuffling stop and a sniffling replaces it, she moves her hands.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” She stands up next to you.

You’re crying, but you’re trying so, so hard not to let the tears slip out. “I’m sorry,” you say, pressing the heels of your hands against your eyes. “I just haven’t seen my body like this in a long time, and I feel like I look so ugly.”

She grabs your wrists and gently pulls them away from your face.

“You don’t look ugly. You look great.”

Max turns you so that you’re facing the mirror again. Your hands fly to your stomach, and you start to poke at it. She watches you pull at the skin of your hips, trying to see what it’d look like if there was less of it.

“Don’t do that,” she scolds you. You let your hands fall to your sides, and she catches the stray tear before it can slide down your cheek. She’s being much too nice to you.

“You don’t think that’s gross?” you question, criticizing your body in the mirror, comparing it to the stockpile of other bodies you’ve got in your brain.

Max puts her hands on her hips. “No, I don’t think it’s gross. I think you look hot.”

You scoff, pulling at one of the straps. It’s a one- piece, in a color you really like, because you’re too scared to show your tummy right now. There’s a voice in the back of your head that says it looks just fine, but you ignore it.

“You can’t really think that, Max.”

“Oh, but I can, and I do. So, you’re just gonna have to live with that. And Billy told me about your problems with your body—he’s got a big mouth, you know that? But I wanted to tell you that my hips look like that too. It’s normal.”

She’s standing like Steve, determined to have you believe her. Determined to be there for you.

“I think you should get this one,” she continues. “I know you like it.”

“I don’t know, Max.”

“Then try on a few more, okay? Don’t let your thoughts stop you from picking out something you like. As long as it’s comfortable, that’s all that matters. You have a great body, and you deserve to go to the beach with your boyfriend and wear a swimsuit.”

She flops down on the bench, an encouraging smile gracing her face when she reaches up and shoves another bathing suit into your hands.

Max Mayfield is very convincing when she wants to be. Not only do you keep the tears at bay for the rest of the trip, you also end up getting the first one, as well as one she slipped in your basket at the last second because it “Looked too kickass not to buy.”

————

“You make a very pretty passenger princess, you know.”

Billy rolls his eyes, and even if you can’t exactly see the gesture with your own glued to the road, you feel the disturbance. He smacks his hand against your bare thigh and leaves it there, even if it is too hot for skin-to-skin contact. You know if it weren’t for the air conditioning blasting your face, you might’ve shoved him out of the car.

“Turn up here, you little shit.”

You’ve made it off of all the main roads, now driving through beach town after beach town. Billy can’t even complain about your driving because well…you’re a good driver. He watches you eye the swankier resorts, the ones with pools and valet parking. He hopes you’ll be happy with the little house he found. It’s not too far from where he grew up, and he’d been pleased about being somewhat familiar with the area.

The sound of gravel under the tires makes you feel safe. Billy directs you towards your destination, and when you park the car, you feel like you might cry.

The house is small, sure, but it’s welcoming. The neighborhood isn’t suffocatingly full, either. Sure, there are other homes, some larger than others with their big balconies and wrap-around porches, but it feels…nice.

You turn off the engine and get out. Billy walks around the other side of the car and wraps his arms around your waist. “You wanna go look around? I’ll come back and get our shit in a minute.”

You spin around and smack a kiss to his forehead. If his cheeks weren’t already red from the heat, he knows they would be simply from your affection. You nod, and Billy takes your hand, leading up the little set of stairs to the door.

He bends over. “The lady on the phone said the key was under the mat.” He comes back up with the metal in hand.

“The lady on the phone?” you wonder.

Billy pushes the door open. “Yeah, it’s like an old ass couple renting this place out. She practically told me her whole life story the other day.” You grin and hook your fingers in his belt loops, letting him pull you around inside the house.

It really is cozy. One bedroom, two and a half bathrooms. Comfy little barstools and a sweet couch. The part you’re really excited about is the porch. Excited enough that you separate from Billy and pull the sliding glass doors open to step outside.

You can see the beach. It might take a little bit to walk down there, but you can see it. Which means you can watch the sunset.

“You like it?” Billy leans against the doorframe behind you. You can hear the smile in his voice.

“I really do.”

He pulls you in for a kiss then, lips warm and a little chapped against yours.

“So, I have this plan.” You raise an eyebrow, clearly a little frightened by that idea. He grins, and kisses you again, trying to shut you up, you know. “There’s a board shop not far from here that closes in…” He pauses, looking at his watch. “An hour and a half. I was gonna rent one so that I can surf tomorrow. Do you wanna go with me or stay here?”

You look over at the bench tucked into the corner of the porch. The cushion looks very comfortable, and you did bring a book. He knows what you’re doing to say before you even say it.

“I think I’ll stay here.”

“That’s cool, baby. I can pick up dinner?” He squeezes at your hips.

“That would be nice.”

You reach around and slip your hands into his back pockets. He won’t say it, but you seem a little lighter now that you’re here. Like you aren’t so panicked about the prospect of vacation, but rather content to be there with him. It’s as if you know he’s going to take real good care of you–which he is.

“That way you can explore, right?” he teases. You’re like a cat that way. You have to check everything out first before you really settle down.

“Right.” You press a kiss to the tip of his nose, and he pats around on your ass, looking for his keys. When he secures them, he gives it a firm smack, just while he can get away with it, and then he’s moving away from you.

But he’s right. You do feel a little more content. Maybe even comfortable.

————

“Be fucking still, William.”

“It’s cold,” he bites back.

You’re rubbing sunscreen all over his back, and even if you’ve already covered the rest of him in it, and helped him tie his hair up into a sweet little bun, he’s destined to be the whiniest man in all of existence. You know for a fact that it isn’t that cold, considering he’d put it on you minutes before.

“There.” You push your hand into the skin of his neck, making sure you’ve got every spot. You refuse to listen to him fuss about a sunburn. “I’m all done.”

Billy turns around to face you, placing his sunglasses up on the top of his head. “Ready to get going then?”

“If by ready to watch you eat shit, then yes.”

Billy aligns his face with yours, locking eyes and everything. “I’m not gonna eat shit.”

“Eh,” you shrug, slinging your bag over your shoulder. “I bet you will.”

He kisses your shoulder over the t-shirt you’re wearing. He still hasn’t seen the swimsuit you’ve put on, and you’re trying to postpone it for as long as possible. It’s a miracle you didn’t cry getting it on, but you tried to remember what Max had said, how sweet Billy had been when you’d come clean about your insecurities. It is comfortable, at least. You just feel all sorts of wrong wearing it. But you can’t let that ruin this whole trip. It’s not worth it.

“Come on, grumpy pants. Get a move on.”

When you finally make it to the beach, you’re so hot and sticky you could beat the shit out of him right then and there. There’s no way this is actually enjoyable for people. Definitely not in this heat.

Billy has left to retrieve an umbrella and a chair for you, insisting he can just sit on a towel. By the time he gets back, you’re full on pouting. It makes him laugh. You cross your arms and watch him work the umbrella into the sand.

He finishes and reaches a hand out to pull you up from where you’d plopped on top of the towel bag. “It’s so hot,” you whine, faking tears.

He just keeps laughing. “I know. That’s why you’re gonna come in the water with me, and then you’ll cool off and you can come sit here and watch me eat shit.”

He pulls his shirt off over his head. Your eyes wander all over his torso, soaking in every inch of skin, every freckle and scar. “I thought you weren’t gonna eat shit,” you argue, leaning in to kiss the raised patch on his chest.

You wish you could be as confident about your body as he is sometimes. Things got really hard for Billy after Starcourt, but at some point something just snapped, and he decided he should show off the messy scars. He takes care of them as best as he can, much better care than he ever thought he would, and they are looking better.

You even wish that you could love on your own the way you do his. But that’s just not the case.

“Yeah, well I probably will eat shit, so.” He gestures towards your shirt. “You gonna swim in that?” His eyes drop to your bare thighs. No one should be allowed to look that sweet.

“Um…no.” You tentatively grab the hem of your shirt and pull it off quickly, trying to rip off the bandaid. When you’re done, Billy has to remember to keep his mouth closed, his jaw having legitimately dropped.

“Holy shit. This is the body you’ve been so mean to?”

“If you don’t stop, I’m gonna put the shirt back on.”

He steps closer to you. He’s gawking. “No! Please don’t. You look hot, baby.”

You’re not sure anyone has ever called you hot before. Certainly not whilst in an item of clothing that doesn’t leave much to the imagination, even if you are pretty damn covered. It’s a little bit higher cut on the sides than you’re used to, but it holds everything in well. You feel exposed. If you think about it for too long you’ll probably just throw up.

You put your hands over your belly and tilt your head, smushing your cheek into your shoulder. “Billy,” you fuss.

He removes your hands and instead takes them in him, pulling you down the beach with him. When you get to the water, Billy watches you wade out until it’s knee deep, trying to keep his eyes away from your ass.

He thinks you look fucking radiant like this. And he’s never actually even said that word. You’re looking down, probably for sand dollars or little fish. Billy takes this opportunity to look at your body. Not in a judgemental way by any means, but simply because he’s never gotten to see it like this. You’re being vulnerable with him, and that means more than anything else could.

Billy wades out a little further than you and disappears beneath the waves for just a moment. When he emerges you think this is what people must have thought about Achilles. He is breathtakingly gorgeous, and it simply isn’t fair. You can’t believe that you have him.

Billy walks you back to your umbrella and gets you nice and shielded from the sun before he heads back out to attempt surfing. He might’ve been messing with you, but it has been a few years, and he really might get his ass handed to him by the ocean.

You’re eating a popsicle when he finally catches a wave, after having tried and failed for a little while. It’s impressive to see him up there like that, especially when you can’t even comprehend how he does it.

You might hate the heat, and you might hate the fact that there’s sand up your ass, but you think you could sit here and watch Billy surf for hours with no complaint. It’s like he’s in his element, way more than when he played basketball. You can tell that he knows what he’s doing, that he sort of listens to the water and obeys.

You allow yourself to imagine a future like this. One where maybe you can come back during the summers, just the two of you or maybe with Max and a friend of hers. You could never give up snow, so it couldn’t be permanent, but you could do it for Billy.

You could do anything if it meant getting to see him so happy. If it meant getting to feel so loved and so safe. It is your greatest honor to be loved by Billy Hargrove, a boy that everyone thought was incapable of loving.

————

“Motherfucker.”

Billy’s voice echoes in the bathroom, reaching you where you lay in the bed. You can’t see him from where you are.

It’s been a few days, and it’s gotten easier to put on that swimsuit. To look at yourself in the mirror. You’ve done a lot of thinking, a lot of listening. You might even say you’ve learned from Billy during this trip. Not that you’d boost his ego by telling him so.

He rushes out of the bathroom and flops down in front of you, holding his hand aloft. “Baby, I need help. I got a splinter from your goddamn umbrella. I can’t get it out.”

“What do you say, Hargrove?” You sit up, taking the tweezers from him with an evil grin on your face.

“Pretty please?”

“That’s it.”

The second you get your eyes on the splinter, you know he just wanted attention from you. It’s big, and he could’ve just pulled it out with his fingernails. But you’re touched he wanted your help. That says a lot more than he probably realizes.

You grip the edge of the teeny wood piece and gently pull it out from under his skin. You place it in the palm of his hand. “Ta-da.”

He snorts, and you kiss the tip of his finger. “All better now?”

“Yep.”

He slips into bed with you soon after, and you can’t help but sit up on your knees, just so you can get a good look at him.

The freckles under his eyes have become loads more prominent, and they spread over his shoulders and collarbones like someone’s dumped glitter all over him.

He lets you look at him, too, just admiring you in the moment. You look sleepy, beat from being out all day, from driving around to see where Billy grew up, but he thinks you’ve never looked prettier. He tells you so and you use his hand to shield your face.

It makes Billy laugh, and he pushes your head gently, knowing you’ll go all dramatic and fall back, and when you do you end up in his lap.

You curl up like a cat, wrapping your arms around him so you can rest your head on his tummy and splay your fingers out over his warm back. You change positions quickly though, propping your chin up with your hands.

“Thank you for coming with me,” Billy says, swiping a thumb over the apple of your cheek. It’s a light enough touch that it tickles.

“Don’t have to thank me. I wanted to.”

He exhales. “I know, but I also know it’s been hard for you, being in your head all the time.”

“It’s okay. You’re helping.”

He smirks. “Oh yeah?”

“Mhm.” You scoot up and tuck yourself into his side. You might not even need a blanket with all the heat he radiates. “Much too good to me,” you mutter, kissing his chest.

“You deserve it.”

He feels you grin against his skin, bashful as ever no matter how long you’ve known each other.

Billy moves onto his side and entangles himself with you, holding you tight to his chest.

You reciprocate the hold, squeezing a little to tell him you love him. “Thank you for bringing me home. I can see how happy you are here.”

“I’d be happy anywhere as long as you were there too.”

You snort. “That’s so cheesy.”

“It’s true, though.”

“I know it is.” You’re silent for a minute before you remember. “We gotta get Max a prize before we leave.”

“Oh yeah, bring the little shit a gift.”

“She deserves a prize for having helped me pick out a bathing suit.”

Billy contemplates your statement. “Hm. Yeah, that works. So what do I get then, huh?”

“My eternal love.”

“Oh. I was hoping you’d like, take me to dinner or something.”

“Talk about being a little shit,” you mumble, sleep taking over. For the first time, you aren’t worried about going to the beach tomorrow. You aren’t worried about what squish Billy might be able to feel, holding you like this. You feel comfortable. Maybe you’re not completely in love with yourself, but with Billy around, you might get there one day. For now, that’s enough. It’s more than enough.

“Eternal love it is then.”

————

please let me know if you liked this! feedback is always appreciated!! comments and reblogs mean more than you know. <33

#savannah’s fics #billy hargrove #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove x fem!reader #billy hargrove x you #billy hargrove x chubby!reader #billy hargrove x chubby!fem!reader #billy hargrove fic #billy hargrove fanfic #billy hargrove one shot #billy hargrove comfort #billy hargrove angst #billy hargrove imagine #billy hargrove fanfiction #billy hargrove x y/n #max mayfield #billy stranger things #billy hargrove x female reader

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charlietheepicwriter7 · 1 year ago

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Why is it always Hellva Boss earworms that make me come up with ideas?

So, during the whole Freakshow thing, it wasn't true mind control. Danny was definitely affected, but it messed with his self esteem and emotions to the point where he damaged all of his relationships and is considering running away. Freakshow, who was a little bit smarter in this, then reveals that he knows Danny's a halfa and hey, why don't you join my ghost circus while you figure some things out.

So Danny becomes a clown because he's always liked clowns, and if you've seen the new episode, you know what happens next

and over the course of a few years, Freakshow isolates Danny from his family and friends, indoctrinates him into the crime side of business, and gaslights Danny into thinking he's nothing without him. Danny loves performing, but is so beaten down that he thinks he can't leave even if that's what he wants. Danny's a famous performer at this point, even if no one knows his real identity. The other ghosts aren't really a comfort since they're mind controlled.

The Justice League, specifically Young Justice, already know that Circus Gothica is a crime ring, but have no evidence to get them arrested bc the ghosts (who they think are just metas) are too good. The leader during the thefts (Danny) is the only one they've ever been able to get close to. Maybe at some point, Tim!Robin and Danny get trapped and Danny has a panic attack for failing Freakshow? Something happens that makes Tim convinced Danny isn't a criminal willingly, but he can't convince the others.

Danny and Klarion somehow end up dating. Freakshow joins the light, probably, and the two work really well together. Klarion asks Danny out, and Danny was really reluctant since he hasn't had... anyone, in years, but they date and it's just another thing for Freakshow to hold over his head.

Eventually, Freakshow gets the inkling that Danny isn't working as hard as he should be so he puts "Greatest Clown in the World" contest, and tells Danny that all the clowns who don't win will be immediately killed.

Danny is horrified, but he can only care about himself right now, so he's working his ass off.

(Meanwhile, in Gotham, the Joker tried to join, but the Batman broke in, stole all his bones, and left him in the hospital for a few months)

So Danny's putting his all into this performance, but Young Justice finds out about the murder bit and infiltrates with, IDK, disguised Nightwing? Klarion is also there to support his man.

Danny ends up tying with Nightwing, and the tie-breaker is a three minute performance and whoever's more entertaining wins. Danny has a panic attack during Nightwing's performance and Tim and Klarion team up to talk to Danny.

Danny's convinced he will be nothing without Freakshow (literally, he might fully die), so while Klarion helps him feel better about his skills, Tim finally gets the deets about Danny's whole situation. Tim logics that Freakshow mindcontrolling this other dimensional species + Danny is half this species = Danny is being mind controlled, pissing off Klarion while Danny thinks back to what happened when Circus Gothica first came to town.

His irrational anger at family and friends, his desperate need for approval from Freakshow, how he never even considered going independent, how he thought he was immune to the mind control staff despite being half ghost.... He's pissed. He wants to quit.

So he tells Tim that YJ needs to get the staff during his performance; without it, Freakshow wouldn't be able to mind control anyone. And he goes on to give his performance.

As for that... look, 2 Minute Notice is an amazing song with amazing choreography. the only thing i would add would be a quad somersault during the trapzee part.

Danny proves himself as an amazing clown, Freakshow gets arrested since Danny is willing to testify against him, the ghosts are free, and Klarion later murders Freakshow in a cell because that's his boyfriend, you pathetic excuse of a warlock.

"Freakshow, you sad sack of shit! Fuck you!"

#chaotic spirits #dc x dp #dcxdp #dpxdc #dp x dc #c: danny fenton #c: freakshow #c: klarion the witch boy #c: tim drake #c: nightwing #cw swearing #cw attempted murder #did i imply that danny was actually a grayson in the end?#yes i did and both tim and nightwing are having a little freakout over that #i'm tired of people saying danny's afraid of clowns bc freakshow isn't a clown! it's just circus trauma #now i gave him DOUBLE circus trauma #klarion loves his silly clown boyfriend #danny loves his scary magic boyfriend #tim loves having his theories validated and lords the fact that he was right about Danny over YJ for weeks

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amethystarachnid · 3 months ago

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MRS. STARK

⤷ ANTHONY “TONY” E. STARK

ᯓ★ Pairing: Anthony “Tony” E. Stark x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: romance, fluff

ᯓ★ Request from: MARVEL bingo

ᯓ★ Story type: one shot

ᯓ★ Word count: 8k

ᯓ★ TW(s): mentions of kids, mentions of pregnancy (only at the end), paparazzis are a pain in the ass

ᯓ★ Timeline: not in a defined timeline, more like an AU

ᯓ★ Request: Tony stark × marriage of convenience au Tony loses his company reputation because of his playboy reputation. The board of directors demands that he fix this. Pepper suggests an arranged marriage for this. At that moment, he meets reader who is evicted from her home and needs money and proposes. In time, love develops between them. (@binsan)

ᯓ★ Comment if you want to be added to the taglist (specify if you want the everything taglist or for a specific character)

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo (requests open)

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

You pace the small, dingy room you’ve called home for the past few years, the weight of eviction papers heavy in your hand. The landlord's voice echoes in your mind—“You’ve got two weeks. I can’t do this anymore.” It’s not as though you didn’t see this coming. The bills have piled up, and opportunities have been scarce. With no family to turn to and nowhere to go, you wonder how much lower things can get.

As you sit on the fraying edge of your sofa, rubbing your temples, you wonder what your next move could be. The clock ticks steadily, matching the racing thoughts in your mind. I need a miracle, you think, feeling the weight of your situation press down on you.

Meanwhile, across the city, Tony Stark is having his own personal crisis.

Tony lounges in a sleek leather chair in his office at Stark Industries, the weight of the boardroom conversation still lingering in the air. His playboy reputation, once charming and even beneficial to his image, has started to backfire. The board of directors is growing impatient—no, they’re furious—and they’ve made it crystal clear that his antics are ruining the company’s reputation. Something needs to change. Immediately.

Pepper Potts, his ever-practical assistant, stands across from him, arms crossed as she regards him with a mixture of sympathy and exasperation.

“We need damage control,” she says, her voice steady but firm. “The media is eating up every single party, every single fling. They don’t take you seriously anymore, and frankly, neither does the board.”

Tony raises an eyebrow, taking a casual sip of whiskey. “What’s your plan, Potts? A heartfelt apology tour? I’ll have to fit that between saving the world and engineering cutting-edge tech, you know.”

Pepper doesn’t flinch. “You need stability. Something solid, responsible. The kind of image that reassures people you’re not just a billionaire playboy. You need…” She hesitates, as if weighing her next words carefully. “…a wife.”

Tony nearly chokes on his drink, coughing out a laugh. “A wife? Are you serious?”

“Dead serious, Tony.” Pepper’s eyes narrow. “The board will back off if they see you’ve settled down. It shows commitment. That you're thinking long-term. And if the right woman is involved—someone respectable—then maybe people will start seeing you as the man behind the genius, not just the man at the party.”

Tony leans back, considering her words more seriously than he expected to. Marriage had never been on his radar—it’s never even been a blip. But this is different. A strategic move. A necessary one.

“Alright, say I’m interested,” he says slowly. “Where do you propose I find a wife willing to marry me for show?”

Pepper sighs. “There are plenty of women—”

“I’m not interested in one of those society climbers, Pepper. I don’t need anyone looking for a fifteen-minute spotlight or a big payout.”

Just as Tony is about to dismiss the entire conversation, the door to his office swings open. You stand there, slightly out of breath, a bundle of papers clutched to your chest.

Pepper blinks in surprise, but Tony just arches an eyebrow. “And you are?”

“I’m—” You pause, taking a breath. “I need to talk to someone. My home—” you stammer, fumbling with the words, "—I was told to come here. You helped my mother years ago. She said—if I ever needed anything—”

Tony watches you, his expression unreadable, though his eyes flicker with curiosity.

“Well, you’ve certainly come to the right place for help,” he says, his tone shifting from mild annoyance to sudden interest. “Why don’t you sit down? Let’s talk.”

You cautiously take a seat across from him, feeling out of place in his luxurious office. You’ve heard the stories about Tony Stark—the genius, the billionaire, the womanizer. But in this moment, you can’t afford to care about any of that. You need help, and he’s your last shot.

“Let me guess,” Tony says, leaning forward. “You’re about to lose your home. You need money. And you have nowhere to turn.”

You glance at Pepper, who looks back at you with quiet understanding, then back at Tony. “Yes,” you whisper, feeling the weight of it all pressing down on you.

He leans back again, studying you for a long moment before something shifts in his expression. A thought flickers across his mind—a spark of an idea. And then, he smiles.

“Let’s make a deal,” Tony says suddenly. His voice is calm, calculated. “I need a wife. You need a home. How do you feel about an arrangement that benefits both of us?”

Your heart stutters in your chest. “A wife?”

Tony nods. “It’s purely business. You marry me, I’ll make sure you never have to worry about money again. You’ll have everything you need—home, security, whatever. And in return, I get the board off my back. Simple.”

You blink at him, trying to process the whirlwind offer that’s just been thrown at you. It sounds insane. But then again, your whole life has become a series of impossible situations lately. And this one…well, this one comes with a solution, even if it’s wrapped in the strangest of packages.

Tony leans in, eyes locked with yours, a hint of a challenge in his voice. “What do you say?”

You sit there, staring at him as though he’s just suggested you rob a bank together. His words hang heavy in the air, and your mind races to catch up. A wife? Marry Tony Stark? The idea sounds absurd, but as your thoughts turn back to your eviction notice, you realize you might not have a choice. Desperation has a way of forcing your hand, and this—this could be your way out.

Tony watches you, his expression still unreadable, though there’s a glint in his eyes that makes you wonder if he’s enjoying your discomfort a little too much. He’s waiting for your answer, clearly expecting you to be as quick and sharp as he is.

“You’re serious?” you manage to say, your voice barely more than a whisper.

“Dead serious,” Tony replies, the smirk on his face both charming and infuriating at the same time. “It’s a win-win situation. You get stability, I get a new image. We play the part for the public, keep the board happy, and in a year or two, we go our separate ways. Clean and simple.”

You stare at him, searching for any sign that this is some kind of joke, some twisted billionaire’s game. But there’s nothing playful about his gaze now. Tony Stark might be a lot of things—reckless, arrogant, brilliant—but he’s not someone who wastes time.

“What’s in it for you, really?” you ask, folding your arms defensively. “Why me? You could marry anyone—some model or socialite who would be more than happy to play the part. Why pick a random woman off the street?”

“Because you’re not a model or a socialite,” he says simply, his voice dropping a little lower. “I don’t need someone who’s after the spotlight or my bank account. I need someone who won’t get in my way. Someone who’ll keep this business.”

He pauses, watching your reaction carefully. “You don’t seem like the type to get tangled in the drama. You just need help. And that’s the kind of deal I can work with.”

You feel a lump form in your throat. It’s true—he's offering you a way out of a sinking ship. A home. Security. All the things that have been slipping through your fingers, one by one. But still, the idea of entering into a fake marriage with Tony Stark? You’d be lying if you said the thought didn’t terrify you. You’ve seen the headlines, the rumors about his womanizing ways. Could you really trust him? Could you even pull this off?

And yet, the alternative is worse. A life of uncertainty.

“Why would anyone believe it?” you ask, biting your lip as you try to find holes in the plan. “I mean…we just met. People will see through it.”

Tony chuckles softly, leaning back in his chair, a picture of relaxed confidence. “Oh, believe me, people will believe it. I’ve built an entire career on controlling the narrative. I know how to spin a story. We’ll have a whirlwind romance, some well-placed public appearances, maybe a dramatic proposal. Before you know it, the world will be eating out of our hands.”

You inhale sharply, your mind still racing. Everything about this feels so…surreal. And yet, as crazy as it sounds, it’s starting to make sense. At least from a practical standpoint.

Tony watches you closely, as though sensing the shift in your thoughts. “Look, I’m not asking you to love me, or even like me,” he says, his voice taking on a more serious tone. “This is just an arrangement. You get what you need, I get what I need. And once it’s done, you walk away with enough money to start a new life, debt-free. No strings attached.”

The words no strings attached seem to echo in your mind. You swallow hard, looking down at your hands as you twist them nervously in your lap. It’s a cold, transactional proposal. And yet…you can’t deny that it makes sense.

“What’s the catch?” you ask quietly. There has to be one. With someone like Tony Stark, there’s always a catch.

He tilts his head slightly, considering your question before shrugging. “The only catch is that for a while, you’ll be living in my world. That means the media, the attention, and probably some uncomfortable dinners with people who think they’re more important than they are. It won’t be easy.”

Your heart pounds in your chest as you weigh your options. It’s not like you have many left. The thought of staying in this small, cramped room, waiting for the inevitable eviction, is unbearable. And as much as the idea of marrying Tony Stark terrifies you, it also feels like a lifeline being thrown at the last possible second.

“So?” Tony leans forward, his gaze steady on yours. “What do you say?”

You bite your lip, the papers in your hand crinkling slightly under your grip. This might be your last chance. Your final way out.

“Alright,” you whisper, barely believing the words coming out of your mouth. “I’ll do it.”

A slow, satisfied smile spreads across Tony’s face, and he extends his hand across the desk. “Then we’ve got a deal.”

You stare at his hand for a moment before slowly reaching out to shake it, sealing the arrangement that’s about to change your life in ways you can’t even begin to imagine.

As your hand clasps his, the weight of what you've just agreed to settles in. You're about to become Mrs. Stark — at least for the world to see. And as daunting as that may be, it’s still better than the alternative.

You meet his gaze, feeling a strange mix of fear, excitement, and something else you can’t quite name.

This is only the beginning.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

The next few weeks unfold in a blur of public appearances, carefully crafted smiles, and whispered conversations behind closed doors. You and Tony play the parts well, slipping into the roles of an unexpected, whirlwind romance. The media eats it up.

The first date is a public affair—dinner at a five-star restaurant in downtown Manhattan. The paparazzi are already outside when you arrive, cameras flashing like fireworks as Tony steps out of his sleek black car, offering you a hand. You take it, the warmth of his touch feeling almost foreign despite the fact you’ve grown used to his presence.

You force a smile, heart racing as you hear the shouts of photographers calling out for a picture, for a smile, for a kiss. Tony leans down, whispering in your ear, "You’re doing great. Just breathe."

It’s strange—how natural he makes it seem, how easy it is for him to slip into this version of himself, the attentive, doting boyfriend. To the world, Tony Stark is charming, smooth, and infatuated with you. And you? You’re the mystery woman who somehow captured the billionaire’s heart.

Inside the restaurant, things are a little less chaotic. You sit across from Tony, the intimate lighting making the scene feel more private than it really is. But the cameras are still there, outside the windows, snapping away.

“So,” Tony says, his voice low as he leans in, folding his hands casually on the table. “How’s the food? Pretending to enjoy yourself yet?”

You smirk, rolling your eyes as you push a piece of food around your plate. “Oh, I’m absolutely swooning. Can’t believe how lucky I am to be here with you.”

Tony chuckles, leaning back in his chair, his eyes glinting with amusement. “Good. Keep it up. The more they buy this, the less we have to deal with later.”

It’s a game. A performance. One that you both know the rules to. But as the weeks pass and the dates pile up, something shifts.

The next outing is a stroll through Central Park, and the one after that is a charity gala where Tony's hand rests on the small of your back, guiding you through a sea of high-society types who eye you curiously, wondering what you did to catch the elusive Tony Stark. And despite how staged everything is, there are moments where Tony seems less like the playboy billionaire and more…human. Moments where he cracks a joke, and you find yourself laughing a little too genuinely, or when he holds a door for you, and you catch the briefest flicker of something unguarded in his eyes.

But you’re careful to remind yourself: this is all business. You’re not here to fall for Tony Stark. You’re here to save yourself.

After weeks of these public outings, the media frenzy reaches its peak when Tony finally sets the stage for the proposal. You’ve both discussed it already—how it has to be big, dramatic, a spectacle that leaves no room for doubt.

You're dressed in a stunning gown, attending yet another high-profile charity event. The ballroom is packed, every face in the room belonging to someone rich or influential. The press is buzzing, and you can feel the weight of a thousand eyes on you.

Tony has been his usual charming self all evening, but there’s something different in the way he looks at you tonight. Almost as if this moment means something more to him. You push the thought aside, focusing on playing your part.

Just as the night seems to be winding down, Tony stands, clinking his glass to get everyone’s attention. The room falls silent, and your heart starts to pound. This is it.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Tony’s voice is smooth, his gaze never leaving yours. “I’m not usually one for speeches, but tonight, I need to break that habit. Because I have something important to say.”

The crowd watches, captivated, as Tony walks toward you, his steps slow and deliberate. Your breath catches in your throat as he stops in front of you, taking your hand.

“I’ve spent my life building things,” he says, his voice echoing through the room. “My company. My legacy. But in all that time, I never thought I’d find someone who’d make me want to build something else. Something personal. Something real.”

He drops to one knee, and for a second, the world around you seems to freeze. The gasps from the audience are barely audible over the sound of your own heartbeat. He pulls out a ring, the diamond glittering under the chandeliers.

“I’m asking you, right here, in front of everyone, to make this official. Will you marry me?”

It’s all a show, of course. The practiced speech, the perfectly timed down-on-one-knee moment. But as you stare down at him, ring in hand, something about it feels too real. His eyes meet yours, and for a brief moment, you forget that this is all a charade.

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to remember the contract, the deal you made in private. This isn’t real. It never was. It’s just for the cameras, for the board, for the company. But still, you manage to smile as you nod.

“Yes,” you say softly, the word slipping from your lips like it belongs to another version of you. “I’ll marry you.”

The room erupts into applause, but you barely hear it. Tony slips the ring onto your finger, standing to pull you into an embrace. His arms wrap around you, his breath warm against your ear as he whispers, “Perfect. Now they’ll back off.”

Behind closed doors, things are starkly different. The moment you leave the public eye, Tony is already in his office, the papers spread out on his desk. You stand beside him, the diamond ring on your finger suddenly feeling heavy, reminding you of the weight of the bargain you’ve struck.

Tony flips through the pages with a calm, focused expression, glancing at you briefly. “Three years,” he says, tapping the contract. “That’s the timeline. We stay married, let the public eat it up, and after three years, we go our separate ways.”

You nod, staring at the paperwork. Your eyes catch the clause that’s been added in bold: Upon the dissolution of the marriage, Y/N will receive a sum sufficient to cover all debts and ensure financial stability for the foreseeable future.

“Once the board sees I’ve settled down, they’ll loosen their grip. By the time we’re done, you’ll have more than enough to start fresh,” Tony continues, his voice businesslike. “No strings attached. Clean break.”

You sign the papers without hesitation, feeling a strange mix of relief and something else—something you can’t quite name—as your pen scratches across the line. This is what you agreed to. It’s what you need.

But as you set the pen down, you catch Tony’s gaze, and for a brief moment, you wonder if he feels it too. The tension between what’s real and what’s part of the arrangement. The way his touch lingers a little longer than necessary when the cameras aren’t around. The way his eyes sometimes soften when they meet yours.

But before you can dwell on it, he stands, slipping the contract into a folder. “We’re good to go,” he says, his tone brisk again. “Now let’s give them the show of a lifetime.”

And so, with the contract signed and the terms laid out, you walk back into the world together—Tony Stark’s fiancée, destined for a picture-perfect marriage that will end exactly when it’s supposed to. Three years from now, you’ll walk away with everything you need.

Or at least, that’s what you keep telling yourself.

The galas become routine, a swirl of elegant gowns, expensive champagne, and the murmur of voices in rooms filled with wealth and influence. You’ve perfected the role by now—Tony’s perfect fiancée, charming, poised, always ready with a smile and the practiced story of how you two “met.”

The backstory you and Tony crafted is flawless, and it’s become second nature to you. You met at a charity event, of course. Something respectable, something that would explain why a billionaire like Tony Stark would fall for a woman like you—someone who wasn’t already a fixture of his high-society world.

Tonight’s gala is no different. The room is packed with the usual mix of celebrities, business moguls, and old-money aristocrats. You stand beside Tony, your arm linked through his as you make your way through the crowd, the warm glow of chandeliers overhead. Tony’s hand rests on the small of your back, and even though it’s all part of the act, you can’t ignore the comfort of his presence anymore.

“Y/N!” A familiar voice draws your attention, and you turn to see a woman with a dazzling smile approaching. She’s dripping in diamonds, her manicured hand clutching a flute of champagne. “You two look amazing tonight. I swear, every time I see you, you just glow more. It’s like you were made to be by Tony’s side.”

You smile graciously, the practiced ease of it making you feel a little guilty. “Thank you, that’s so kind.”

She leans in, eyes twinkling. “I just love your story. It’s so romantic! I mean, meeting at a charity gala and then falling in love like that? It’s like something out of a movie. How lucky are you?”

Lucky. You bite back the irony of that word, nodding instead. “It was unexpected, but…fate works in mysterious ways, right?”

“Oh, definitely! Tony must’ve been swept off his feet the moment he saw you,” she says with a conspiratorial wink, clearly enjoying the idea of the elusive Tony Stark being anything but untouchable.

You glance at Tony, who’s deep in conversation with some business associates nearby, the cool confidence never leaving his face. You know the truth behind that first meeting—how he found you when you were at your lowest, desperate and vulnerable. But none of these people will ever know that. To them, this is a fairy tale. And you? You’re the lucky girl who got to marry the prince.

Another couple approaches, and the cycle begins again. Compliments, questions about the wedding, and endless retellings of your "love story." You smile through it all, playing your part perfectly, while Tony occasionally sends a reassuring glance your way. He knows how exhausting these events can be, but it’s all part of the plan. You keep up the charade for the media, the board, and everyone else who needs to believe this romance is real.

The wedding comes faster than you expected. After months of public appearances, interviews, and carefully orchestrated photo ops, the big day is finally here. It’s everything the world expects it to be—grand, lavish, and utterly flawless.

The ceremony takes place in a sprawling estate, the gardens decorated with flowers that seem to stretch on for miles. The guest list is as exclusive as it gets—celebrities, politicians, business moguls. The kind of wedding that would dominate headlines for weeks, exactly as planned.

You stand in front of a full-length mirror, staring at yourself in the wedding gown. It’s breathtaking, really. The lace and silk hug your body perfectly, the veil trailing behind you like something out of a dream. It should feel like a fantasy, but there’s something surreal about the whole thing.

Pepper walks in, smiling softly at you as she adjusts your veil. “You look beautiful,” she says, her voice gentle. “Everything’s set. The press is buzzing already.”

You nod, taking a deep breath as you stare at your reflection, trying to ignore the knot in your stomach. This is it. The moment where you and Tony take your fake relationship to the next level in the eyes of the world.

Pepper gives you a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder before stepping out, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

The ceremony begins, and you make your way down the aisle, each step feeling heavier than the last. Your heart pounds in your chest as you see Tony standing at the altar, looking impossibly dashing in his tailored suit. His eyes meet yours, and for a brief moment, the world around you fades.

You force a smile, reminding yourself this is all part of the plan. But as you approach him, something changes. The look in his eyes is different—there’s a softness there, a vulnerability you haven’t seen before. It throws you off guard, and suddenly, you’re not so sure if this is just an act anymore.

The officiant begins, and you stand there, hand in hand with Tony, reciting the vows you both know are meant to be temporary. But with each word spoken, the lines between what’s real and what’s pretend blur just a little more.

“I, Anthony, take you, Y/N, to be my lawfully wedded wife…”

His voice is steady, but there’s something in his tone that makes your breath catch. You stare at him, searching his face for any sign that he’s just playing the part like you are. But in this moment, with the whole world watching, it almost feels like something else.

“I, Y/N, take you, Anthony, to be my lawfully wedded husband…”

The words slip from your lips, and as you say them, they feel heavier than you expected. Your heart beats faster as Tony’s thumb brushes lightly over the back of your hand. The gesture is so small, so intimate, that for a moment you forget everything—the contract, the deal, the carefully planned charade.

The officiant asks if there are any objections, and the crowd is silent, holding their collective breath. You can feel Tony’s eyes on you, and when he lifts your veil, the world seems to slow.

He leans in, his lips brushing yours, and for that brief, fleeting moment, it feels real. The kiss is soft, hesitant, as if neither of you are sure where the line between pretend and reality is anymore. The applause erupts, but all you can hear is the pounding of your own heartbeat.

You pull away, your eyes locking with his, and for just a second, there’s something unspoken between you. Something that neither of you are willing to admit.

But then the moment passes, and Tony’s signature smirk returns as he lifts your hand, showing off the ring to the crowd. The cameras flash, the guests cheer, and just like that, you’re Mrs. Stark—at least in the eyes of the world.

As the reception begins, you can’t shake the feeling that something changed between you two at that altar. Something neither of you expected. But before you can dwell on it too much, Tony is by your side, his arm slipping around your waist as he leans down to whisper in your ear.

“Congratulations, Mrs. Stark. You’ve officially survived the hardest part.” His tone is playful, but when you glance up at him, there’s a flicker of something deeper in his gaze.

You force a smile, nodding as you look out over the sea of guests. You’ve done it. You’ve played your part perfectly.

But deep down, you can’t help but wonder: Was it all still just an act? Or did something real happen between you and Tony in that brief, unguarded moment?

You push the thought aside, reminding yourself of the contract, of the plan. In three years, this will all be over, and you’ll walk away debt-free, just as promised.

But for now, you’re Mrs. Stark. And for better or for worse, that’s the role you have to play.

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The first few months of marriage pass in a delicate dance of closeness and distance. You and Tony keep up appearances for the press and the public, playing your parts to perfection. The media can't get enough of the two of you—the glamorous, whirlwind couple that keeps everyone talking. But behind closed doors, things are changing. Slowly, almost imperceptibly at first, the boundaries of your arrangement begin to blur.

At home, away from the cameras and prying eyes, Tony is different. It starts with small gestures. He brings you coffee in the mornings, just the way you like it, without you ever asking. You catch him looking at you when he thinks you’re not paying attention, his expression softer than the public version of Tony Stark. It’s in the way he lingers when you pass each other in the hallway, his hand brushing yours just a little longer than necessary, his gaze lingering a little too long.

The nights spent in the massive Stark Tower feel less like a performance and more like something genuine. You find yourselves talking late into the night—about everything, about nothing. Sometimes it’s about work, other times it’s about things neither of you have shared with anyone else. Tony talks about his parents, about how lonely it was growing up despite all the wealth and success. You open up about your life before all of this, the struggles, the dreams you gave up on, and the ones you still hope for.

There are moments when it almost feels real—like you’re not playing a part anymore. Moments when Tony’s laugh is so genuine, so unguarded, that you forget this is all temporary. There are nights when he falls asleep next to you on the couch after watching some terrible movie you both made fun of the entire time, his arm slung over the back of the sofa, just barely touching you. And when he stirs in his sleep and pulls you a little closer, you don’t pull away.

You tell yourself it’s still part of the arrangement—that none of this changes the contract or the plan. But deep down, you know better. This isn’t just about saving his reputation anymore. Somewhere along the line, things got complicated.

But as the months pass, the press starts to ask questions. At first, they’re subtle—tiny, whispered headlines about the perfect couple, alluding to the next big story. “Stark Wedding Still the Talk of the Town,” they say. But then, the speculation begins to shift.

“When are the Starks Starting a Family?” The headline is plastered on the front of every tabloid, and soon it’s the only thing people want to know.

You notice it at the galas, in the way people casually ask about your future plans with a knowing smile, as if it’s only a matter of time before you announce a pregnancy.

“Any little Starks running around soon?” A woman asks you one night at an event, her voice dripping with curiosity as she sips her champagne. You force a smile, your practiced response already prepared.

“Oh, we’re just enjoying married life for now,” you say, deflecting the question as you’ve done a hundred times before. But it’s getting harder to avoid. The press is relentless, constantly speculating about why you and Tony haven’t started a family yet.

And then one night, during a quiet dinner at home, Tony brings it up.

“We need to address this,” he says, setting down his wine glass and looking at you seriously. “The whole ‘when are you having kids’ thing. It’s becoming an issue.”

You raise an eyebrow, feeling a knot of tension forming in your chest. “What do you mean?”

“The press. The board. Hell, even Pepper has been asking me about it.” He leans back in his chair, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “They think if we don’t at least make it look like we’re planning to have kids, the whole marriage thing starts looking fake.”

You swallow, the weight of his words settling in. You’ve known this day would come—that eventually, people would start to question the validity of your marriage if they didn’t see the next logical step. But you didn’t expect it to happen so soon. Or to feel so…complicated.

“And what do you want to do about it?” you ask, your voice quieter than you intended.

Tony looks at you, his expression unreadable for a moment. “We can’t have kids. Not under this arrangement,” he says, his voice careful, measured. “That’s too far. We’ve been keeping everything business, and that… that’s different.”

You nod, relief and something else—something like disappointment—washing over you. The idea of having a child with Tony never even crossed your mind. It would complicate everything, not just the contract but your own tangled feelings.

“But,” Tony continues, his tone shifting as if he’s trying to solve one of his impossible engineering problems, “we could make it look like we’re…trying. Just enough to keep people off our backs.”

You stare at him, feeling a strange tightness in your chest. The idea of pretending to try for a family seems too intimate, too close to something real. But you understand what he’s saying. It’s part of the performance. Just like everything else.

“And what does that look like?” you ask, trying to keep your voice steady.

Tony shrugs, but there’s an edge of discomfort to his usually confident demeanor. “We drop a few hints. Let the media speculate. Maybe mention something in an interview about how we’re not ruling it out. We don’t have to do anything drastic, just… give them something to talk about.”

You nod, knowing that it’s the logical next step. But as you sit there, staring at him across the table, you can’t shake the feeling that pretending to plan a family feels more dangerous than anything else you’ve done so far. Because even though the idea of kids has never been part of the equation, the thought of what that implies—what it means for the two of you—makes your heart race.

The truth is, things have changed between you and Tony. You’re not just business partners playing a role anymore. Somewhere along the way, you’ve become…something else. And the thought of what that might mean, of what you could become, scares you more than anything.

Tony watches you carefully, as if he’s trying to gauge your reaction. For a moment, there’s silence between you, thick with unspoken things. And then he says, almost too softly, “This isn’t what either of us signed up for. I know that. But… I don’t want to push you into anything you’re not comfortable with.”

You look at him, surprised by the vulnerability in his voice. It’s the closest either of you has come to acknowledging that things between you have become more complicated than just a contract.

“I’m okay with it,” you say quietly, though you’re not sure if that’s entirely true. But it’s the only answer you can give right now. “We can give them something to talk about. We’ve handled worse, right?”

Tony’s smile is small, almost sad, and for a brief moment, you wonder what would happen if things were different—if this weren’t just an arrangement. If the feelings that had started to bloom between you weren’t confined by the terms of a contract set to expire in three years.

But you push the thought away, telling yourself that none of this can be real. Not the lingering touches, not the late-night conversations, not the way your heart skips a beat when Tony’s gaze lingers on you a little too long.

Because it’s all still part of the plan. Isn’t it?

The press will get their story about you and Tony “trying for a family,” and you’ll continue to play your part. But behind closed doors, where the cameras can’t reach, the lines between performance and reality are growing more and more blurred.

And neither of you seems quite sure where one ends and the other begins anymore.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

The media frenzy never really stops. Every event, every gala, every time you and Tony are seen in public, the question of starting a family hangs in the air like a cloud, waiting to burst. At first, you both handle it with practiced ease—hinting at possibilities, making vague remarks about enjoying married life for now. The press eats it up, but as the months drag on, the whispers grow louder.

“Are the Starks having trouble conceiving?” “Is there tension in the Stark household?”

The headlines shift from speculation about when you’ll have children to rumors about why you haven’t yet. It’s a delicate dance, one that requires both you and Tony to show the right amount of affection in public, but with subtle hints of strain.

You both knew this would happen. The plan was to invent a story, an excuse that would explain why the perfect couple—the marriage that saved Tony’s reputation—was struggling to take that next step. And so, the story was crafted. You and Tony were “trying,” but it wasn’t working out. The media took the bait, sympathy replacing the pressure, as reporters switched from prying into your marriage to speculating about the emotional toll of fertility struggles.

It’s a brilliant strategy, really. The public buys it, the board of directors remains satisfied that Tony’s personal life is still under control, and you keep the illusion alive. But behind closed doors, things are different. The tension between you and Tony isn’t from some fabricated difficulty of trying for children—it’s from the unspoken truth neither of you can fully face.

Time is running out.

Three years. That was the deal.

You and Tony sit in front of the fireplace in the penthouse one night, the crackling warmth filling the space as the two of you remain lost in your own thoughts. The contract’s expiration date is approaching, looming over both of you like a shadow.

Tony leans back in his chair, his drink untouched beside him. He’s been quieter lately, more thoughtful, but you chalk it up to the usual pressures of running Stark Industries. Or at least, you tell yourself that’s all it is. But deep down, you know something has shifted. It’s been building slowly, a subtle tension, one you can’t quite place but feel all the same.

“You know,” Tony says suddenly, breaking the silence, “we’ve been doing a hell of a job keeping this thing going.” His voice is casual, but there’s an edge to it, a seriousness that pulls at something inside you.

You nod, turning to face him. “Yeah, we have.”

“And the press,” he continues, his eyes flicking up to meet yours. “They’ve got their story. We’ve given them everything they need. Sympathy, speculation, the whole package.”

You know where this is going, and the weight in your chest tightens. He’s bringing it up—the end. The divorce. The part of the plan that always seemed so far away, until now. You’ve kept the charade alive for years, and now it’s time to walk away, just like you agreed.

“Right,” you say softly, your voice catching in your throat.

But Tony doesn’t stop there. He stands, pacing slightly, his hands shoved in his pockets. His brow is furrowed, his face caught in that thoughtful expression he gets when he’s working through something complicated.

“Look, we’ve played this game long enough. And you’ve held up your end. More than held up your end, actually.” He pauses, glancing at you. “So, we could, you know…call it.”

You stare at him, feeling the weight of the conversation settle heavily on your shoulders. This is it. The moment where everything unravels, where you go back to being two people with separate lives.

But Tony isn’t looking at you with the same confidence he usually has when he’s broaching a difficult subject. He seems…uncertain. As if he’s weighing something deeper, something he hasn’t fully admitted yet.

You take a breath, trying to keep your voice steady. “Yeah. That’s what we agreed on, right?”

There’s a pause. Tony walks over to the window, staring out at the city below. His reflection is visible in the glass, but his expression is unreadable.

“We did,” he says, but the conviction in his voice is missing.

You watch him, waiting for him to say something more, to tell you what’s really on his mind. The silence between you stretches, the unspoken things hanging heavy in the air. It’s as if both of you are waiting for the other to say what neither of you is ready to admit.

“Tony…” you start, but he cuts you off, turning to face you, his eyes more serious than you’ve ever seen them.

“Y/N, I don’t think I can do this.”

Your heart skips a beat. For a moment, you’re not sure what he means. “Do what?”

He steps closer, his gaze locking onto yours, intense and raw. “Divorce you. Let you go. Walk away and pretend like none of this ever happened.”

The air between you shifts, charged with a tension that’s been building for months, maybe longer. Tony’s words hang there, vulnerable and exposed, and it hits you all at once—this isn’t just about the deal anymore.

“Tony…” Your voice is barely above a whisper, your heart pounding in your chest.

He closes the distance between you, his hands reaching for yours, his grip warm and strong. “I know this wasn’t part of the plan. I know we were supposed to walk away after three years and never look back, but…” He pauses, swallowing hard. “But I don’t want that.”

Your breath catches in your throat. Tony’s eyes search yours, his expression raw in a way you’ve never seen before. The walls he always keeps up, the armor he wears in public, are completely gone now.

“This thing between us, it’s not just for show anymore. I thought I could keep it separate—business and personal—but I can’t. I care about you. And I know we agreed that this was temporary, but it doesn’t feel temporary to me anymore.”

The truth you’ve been avoiding, denying to yourself for so long, crashes over you. It’s not just him. It’s you, too. Somewhere along the way, between the public dates and the private moments, the late-night conversations and the quiet mornings, you’ve fallen for him. Despite all your attempts to keep this arrangement strictly professional, you’ve found yourself caring more than you ever thought possible.

You stare at him, your heart racing. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying…” He exhales, his voice softening. “I don’t want to lose you, Y/N. I don’t want to walk away from this. From us.” He pauses, his gaze never leaving yours. “I love you.”

It feels like the world stops for a moment. His words hang in the air between you, and you can’t believe what you’re hearing.

Your hand tightens around his, your voice trembling slightly as you reply, “I love you too, Tony.”

It’s the first time either of you has admitted it, the first time you’ve said it out loud. And suddenly, everything clicks into place. This was never just an arrangement, not for either of you. Somewhere along the way, it became real.

Tony steps closer, cupping your face with his hands, his eyes soft and full of emotion. “Then let’s forget the contract. Forget the plan. Let’s do this for real.”

You nod, tears welling up in your eyes as you lean into him, his lips brushing yours in a tender, genuine kiss. The kiss feels like a promise, like the beginning of something you’ve both been building toward without even realizing it.

The contract, the public charade, the expectations—it all falls away. This isn’t about saving Tony’s reputation anymore. It’s about the two of you, finally being honest with yourselves, and with each other.

You pull back slightly, smiling through the tears. “No more pretending.”

“No more pretending,” Tony agrees, his smile mirroring yours as he kisses you again, this time with the weight of everything left unsaid now spoken. The future no longer feels like a ticking clock or an obligation to a deal. It feels like a life you’ve both chosen—together.

The night Tony confesses his love changes everything. The walls that once separated the two of you—the boundaries of your arrangement—come crashing down. That night, for the first time, everything feels real, not just in your hearts but in the way you move together, shedding the last vestiges of the deal that brought you into each other's lives.

After Tony’s confession, the two of you barely make it to the bedroom, too consumed by the need to be closer, to feel each other in a way that wasn’t hidden behind performance or pretense. His lips trace over your skin, soft but insistent, as if he’s trying to memorize every inch of you. You respond with equal intensity, your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as your bodies mold together effortlessly. The chemistry that’s been building for so long, simmering beneath the surface, finally explodes into something overwhelming, passionate, and real.

That night is unlike anything you’ve experienced with Tony before. It’s not about appearances or duty—it’s about desire, love, and the raw, unspoken connection you’ve always felt but never fully acknowledged. In every kiss, every touch, there’s an unspoken promise of a future you both want—a future no longer bound by a contract.

You spend the night wrapped in each other’s arms, the lines between where you end and Tony begins blurred in a way that makes you feel whole.

Months later, everything feels different. The weight of the contract, the looming deadline—it’s all gone now. You and Tony are free, not just from the obligations of your arrangement, but from the barriers you put up to protect yourselves. And it feels good. Better than good.

The press still follows your every move, but now, when you’re photographed together, it’s not an act. You’re truly in love, and it shows in every stolen glance, every casual touch.

And then, something else shifts. A few months after that unforgettable night, you notice something’s changed—within you. At first, you dismiss it, but as the signs become more obvious, the truth hits you like a tidal wave. You’re pregnant.

Telling Tony is a moment you’ll never forget. He’s in his workshop when you find him, hunched over some new project, completely immersed in his work. You’re nervous, but when you say the words, his reaction is everything you could have hoped for. He freezes for a moment, blinking as if he didn’t hear you correctly.

“Wait, what?” He straightens up, his eyes wide, his face a mixture of shock and awe. “Are you serious?”

You nod, unable to keep the smile from spreading across your face. “Yeah. We’re having a baby.”

For the first time since you’ve known him, Tony Stark is speechless. He just stares at you, his expression softening before he breaks into a grin. And then he crosses the room in two strides, scooping you up into his arms, spinning you around as he laughs—really, genuinely laughs.

“We’re having a baby,” he repeats, his voice filled with wonder.

The night of the gala is perfect. The two of you arrive hand in hand, the press buzzing around you as always, but this time there’s something different in the air. You haven’t made the announcement yet, but tonight is the night.

You wear a stunning dress, custom-made to skim over the subtle curve of your belly. It’s not obvious yet, but you know the media will spot the signs—sharp eyes never miss a detail. And when you and Tony take the stage, everyone’s watching.

Tony steps up to the microphone, his usual swagger in full effect. “So, I know you’ve all been wondering,” he starts, flashing that charming grin of his, “about when the Starks are finally going to have some big news to share.”

The crowd murmurs in anticipation, cameras flashing as the press leans in, hanging on his every word.

He turns to you, his gaze softening as he reaches for your hand. “Well, the wait’s over. Y/N and I are expecting our first child.”

The room erupts in applause, gasps and cheers filling the air as the cameras go wild. Tony pulls you into his side, kissing your temple as you both beam at the crowd, the love between you palpable.

After the announcement, the two of you make your rounds, mingling with the guests, accepting congratulations, and soaking in the joy of the moment. But later, when the two of you finally find a quiet corner, away from the crowd, Tony’s hand rests on your belly, his thumb tracing slow circles over the fabric of your dress.

“So,” he says, his voice low, filled with affection, “what do you think? Boy or girl?”

You laugh, leaning into him. “I don’t know. But I have a feeling they’re going to have your charm and your appetite for chaos.”

Tony grins, his hand moving to cradle your face. “Lucky for them, they’ll have your heart and patience to balance it out.”

You roll your eyes playfully. “Let’s just hope they don’t inherit your knack for getting into trouble.”

He chuckles, pulling you closer. “Hey, trouble is part of the Stark legacy.”

You smirk, resting your hand on top of his. “Well, as long as they don’t inherit your driving skills, we’ll be fine.”

Tony gasps dramatically, pressing a hand to his chest. “My driving skills are impeccable! You love my driving.”

You give him a look, raising an eyebrow. “I love you, Tony. Your driving… not so much.”

He laughs, leaning in to kiss you softly, and for a moment, the world outside fades away. It’s just the two of you—together, happy, and ready for whatever comes next.

As the night winds down, Tony pulls you aside once more, his lips close to your ear as he whispers, “I can’t believe this is our life now. I can’t believe we’re doing this—for real.”

You smile, your heart swelling with love as you whisper back, “Neither can I. But I wouldn’t want to do it with anyone else.”

And with that, Tony leans down, pressing a playful kiss to your belly before looking up at you with a mischievous grin. “Just so you know, the kid’s first words are totally going to be ‘Iron Man.’”

You burst out laughing, swatting his arm. “Not if I have anything to say about it!”

Tony winks, pulling you into his arms. “We’ll see about that, Mrs. Stark. We’ll see.”

I hope you liked this story! <3

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