#Right about the most scandalous thing I’ve ever drawn | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

pedgito · 2 years

Text

alone, in my mind ✧ ˚ · . eddie munson x afab!reader.

summary: so what if eddie munson had a really pretty face, it was just too good not to admire. so what if you liked to draw him in your free time, he definitely didn't mind. yet somehow, tutoring him still felt like the most scandalous thing you've ever done.

cw: 18+ content (minors, shoo!) afab!reader, virgin!reader, graphic smut (including p in v, oral, fingering, and all that jazz), orgasms, this is v dirty i'm sorry.

word count: almost 14k! don't judge me pls, i've been sitting on this for a few weeks.

prompt requests are always open!

alternate ao3 link

There was something therapeutic about sitting alone during lunch, watching chaos take place in front of you; from kids running around the cafeteria, traveling from table to table, conversing among themselves, yelling to each other from across the room, even standing up on tables like a stage and yelling out to the entire high school class. Eddie Munson was an enigma. You couldn’t figure him out. Other than him dealing you weed under the table and the occasional class you had with him, you hadn’t spoken more than ten words to him at one time.

So, he might find it slightly weird that you’ve drawn him in your sketchbook more than a few times. You couldn’t help it, that hair was just too glorious not to draw. But to be fair, you’ve drawn up a lot of the other students without speaking to them. A lot of it was pure observation—a student focused on a book they were reading, a group of the cheerleaders circled up and giggling among themselves, Jason Carver pictured in his actual form, the true evil of Hawkins. Sometimes you liked to draw devil horns on him for fun. No harm, no foul, you didn’t actually mean anything by it—you just hated how much he bolstered himself up at school, despite still paying you to write for his English homework. But hey, you gotta hustle where you can. He left you alone for the most part, anyways.

Once the bell rang and the last few stragglers were leaving the lunch room, you finally gathered your own things. Shoving the last minute homework into your bag and clutching the sketchbook to your chest, you leisurely walked your way to the exit. The sound of your pencil clanging to the floor beneath you had you pausing in your tracks.

Part of you just wanted to leave it, you had enough in your bag that it wouldn’t really matter anyways.

“Hey, this yours?” The voice asked.

You turned slowly, scanning the floor, stopping on the dirtied-up white sneakers that squeaked against the floor as they turned toward you. Of course it has to be Eddie.

“Yeah. Yeah, sorry.” You said softly, reaching forward to grab the pencil from him. The silence was apparent now, only the two of you left in the cafeteria.

“No problem.” He laughs slightly, “Oh hey, I’ve been meaning to tell you,” He leans in, lowering his voice—not that it really mattered since it was only you two, “I got a couple new strains in, if you want to meet up at the usual spot.”

Against your own rational thinking, your mouth spoke before your brain could process. “Sure.” You hadn’t even smoked the last bit of weed he’d sold to you yet.

He smiled, leaving wordlessly.

Sometimes it felt like life was happening around you and you weren’t even present, your body just did and said what it wanted.

“Oh, you fucking idiot.�� You spoke to yourself.

⋆·˚ ༘ *

Four o’clock. The woods just west of Hawkins High. Picnic table. That’s how you’d set up your meetings from the start. And of course, you were always right on time. Eddie however, he’d get here eventually. At least you hoped. Your shift at the Family Video started in a half hour and not that Keith would even take the chance to fire you, you just hated the idea of being late.

“Come on, Munson.” You grumble to yourself, checking the watch around your wrist. You sigh, sitting your bag on the table to grab your sketchbook, scribbling down a rough version of the wide expanse of trees in front of you.

“I’m late, I know.” A voice startles you from behind. The scream that leaves your mouth is involuntary, but you quickly cover it in an attempt to compose yourself.

“Jesus Christ, Eddie.” You tell him, pulling your hand from your mouth. “You can’t sneak up on people like that!”

“You okay?” He asks, chuckling lightheartedly. The question was genuine, though. The way his eyes connected with yours assured you of so.

“Sure, one tiny heart attack later.” You reply sarcastically.

“Hey, I was loud as fuck walking up.” Eddie says like he's trying to prove it to himself, pointing behind himself briefly. “You completely forget other things exist when you shove your head into that thing.”

You glance down at your book before promptly snapping it shut. “Shut up.” You say, no real bite behind it.

He threw his hands up in defeat. “Hey, just a harmless observation.” Not that you were bothered by him observing, but the fact that he had—it was surprising. He only ever talked about two things, Hellfire Club and D&D, which went hand in hand. But so much so, that he was almost hyper fixated on it.

“Anyways,” you say, shifting the subject. “I’ve got work in thirty—well, about twenty now,”

“Yadda, yadda, yeah—make it quick, I know.” He grins, placing his small chest of goodies on the table. You roll your eyes in annoyance, even if you weren’t really that annoyed in the first place. He slaps two baggies on the table, presenting them like prized possessions.

“Colombian Gold, Northern Lights.” He says, pointing them out individually. “Pick your poison.”

You tilted your head, deciding on which sounded better. Eddie interjects thoughtfully, “Personally, I’m a fan of that sweet, sweet Colombian Gold.”

You laugh quietly, nodding in agreement. “Fine then.”

“Twenty for the ounce.” He says, shoving the leftovers back into the metal chest.

You swing your bag around to dig for the pocket change, shoving your hand inside to grab for your wallet. But, there’s nothing there. Not the familiar chain or zipper that sticks out, nothing.

“Shit, shit.” You say suddenly, beginning to panic. You close your eyes shut, trying to retrace your steps. But it dawns on you, your wallet is probably sitting on your bedside shelf where you left it the night prior, coming back from your late night run to the store after leaving work. “I think I left my wallet at home.”

Eddie ponders for a moment, then shrugs. “Get me when you can, I know you’re good for it.”

You hated the idea of not paying him the money you owed, “I swear I’ll pay today. I can meet up with you after I get out of work or—“

Eddie snorts, walking forward and grabbing a pen that had fallen out of my bag during my wild search. He opens my palm, holding it firmly. He pulls off the cap of the pen, holding it between his teeth as he scribbles something on my hand.

You inspect it closely. It was an address. Eddie caps the pen and hands it back to you. “Can you stop there after work?”

You were apprehensive for a moment, but figured there couldn’t be much harm in it. “Yeah, I can try. I don’t get out until nine, though.”

“Works for me.” He tells you, shoving his hand in his back pocket to adjust the black handkerchief that was shoved in haphazardly. You snorted softly, shoving your things back into your bag as quickly as you could.

“Okay, well—I’ll see you then, I guess—“ You swung back around, coming directly in contact with Eddie’s chest, who hadn’t moved from his spot. Why hadn’t he moved? More importantly, why was he reaching down?

Fuck. You looked down to notice some of the papers from your sketchbook had sprawled out on the ground. You scrambled to gather the drawings back into the pocket of the book, hoping you could avoid another awkward encounter with Eddie today.

But, as luck would have it—“Damn, these are good.” Eddie says suddenly, holding up one drawing in particular, an offhand drawing off Steve while you had some downtime at work.

“Make sure you do my hair justice.” He’d told you. You laughed and smacked him in the back of the head softly.

“Is that Harrington?” He asks.

“…yeah.” You answer, trying not to die of embarrassment.

He glances at you, noticing your discomfort. “Shit, I’m sorry. Here.” Eddie hands the paper over, realizing he may have overstepped.

“Thanks.” You answer, taking the paper from his hand.

“Oh, hey-“ He interrupts, reaching down to grab another page that had fallen under the picnic table seat. “You forgot,” He pauses, looking at it closely, “one.” His voice is soft, thoughtful.

You curse inwardly, trying not to physically facepalm yourself.

“Is that me?” He asks, the smallest smile forming in his face. “Well, at least—-the back of me?”

You stutter for words, your brain suddenly lacking the English language entirely.

“Does my hair really look like that from the back?” He asks playfully, head tilted in curiosity.

“Ms. McNally’s class gets really boring.” You tell him, snatching the paper back. “Like, really boring.”

But no, his head definitely looked like that from the back, despite the unruly curls in his hair, there wasn’t a piece out of place.

“Glad to know the back of my head gives you some entertainment then.” It’s a lame attempt to lighten the mood, but it works. Your thankful his immediate reaction isn’t to find it odd or make fun of you, he almost seemed amused.

“Here.” He finally hands the page over. “No more peeking, I swear.”

You place the page back into your sketchbook carefully. Looking up, Eddie’s still standing there, though looking around aimlessly.

“Eddie, what are you still doing here?” You ask.

“Got another deal going on soon.” He tells you. “Top secret.” And if the wink didn’t make you blush, it was the grin that spread over his features, you shook your head and laughed it off.

“See you at nine, Munson.” You tell him, backpack slung over your right shoulder.

“Can’t wait.” He says playfully.

⋆·˚ ༘ *

Your bike squealed to a stop outside of Family Video, nearly burning rubber. Clocking in with thirty seconds to spare, you breath a sigh of relief.

“What’s got you riled up?” Steve asks, organizing the Horror section of movies from a few feet away.

“Nothing.” You grumble, setting your bag down and throwing the god awful work vest over your sweater.

“You just missed Keith, by the way.” He adds, shooting you a knowing but amused look.

“Thank god.” Keith had a small obsession with you, not that you were creeped out about it. He was just so hopelessly in love with you, which blinded his ability to see that you had no interest in returning the sentiment. “That’s the last thing I need.”

“It’s the undeniable charm you’ve got.” Steve jokes, shrugging casually. “The ladies and gents love it—right, Robin?”

Like a jack in the box, Robin pops up from where she’s squatted behind the counter.

“Stop teasing her.” Robin warms, throwing a VHS case at Steve’s head. It promptly smacks him in the forehead.

“Ow, what the hell?” Steve shouts, fingers touching his forehead for any sign of injury. Not that there would be any, Robin had barely hit him in the process and Steve was kind of dramatizing things. You’d still consider it one of his more positive traits, even if it did serve as more entertainment to you and Robin than anything.

“No, he’s right.” You play along. “It’s a blessing and a curse.”

There’s a beat of silence and then you finally speak up.

“What do you guys make of Eddie Munson?” You asked, grabbing the stack of returned rentals to be checked through.

“The dude who’s been held back twice? Doesn’t he have that weird after school group thing he does?” Steve asks, looking between you and Robin.

“Yes.” You nod. “It’s a D&D club, Steve. Not a cult.”

Steve shrugs nonchalantly. “He always seemed off to me.”

“Yeah and you were prancing around with Tommy and Carol most of junior year.” You reminded him. “Don’t you remember when Tommy hit me on my bike with his car during Spring Break? During that giant party he had at his house?”

Steve immediately looked regretful at judging Eddie.

“Thank god you found Robin.” You tell him, trying to make Steve feel less guilty about it all. Tommy had always been jealous of Steve, but Carol and her constant snarky remarks always egged Tommy on.

“Yeah!” Steve cheers, reaching over to high five Robin. She scoffs in annoyance, leave Steve’s unanswered high five hanging in the air.

“We both love chicks and boobies, it works out great.” Steve adds, returning hand to his side.

“He’s still learning.” Robin says quietly, leaning over toward you. “Why are you asking about Eddie anyways? Doesn’t he deal weed to the students?”

You shot Robin a knowing look.

“Oh. Oh.” She catches on. “Well, did something happen between you two?”

“No. Nothing, really. I just have to meet up with him after work and was wondering if I should be worried.” Robin didn’t seem to question as to why you would need to meet up with, which made you grateful.

“He doesn’t seem like that type of guy. Not to me, at least.” Robin assures, lowering her voice as the entrance bell jingled, signaling a customer. “But, you could always take your pocket knife with you.”

Your mouth dropped open at the suggestion, but to be fair, Robin just wanted to make sure you felt safe.

“Yeah—murder first, ask questions later.” You retort playfully.

“You’ve been watching too many scary movies with Steve.” Robin tells you.

“Hey, don’t knock ‘em til you try ‘em!” Steve says, greeting the customer as they walk by.

⋆·˚ ༘ *

You locked up for the night as soon as you could, making the short trek to your bike behind the back of the Family Video store. You pulled the small piece of paper you had scribbled on earlier, the address Eddie had left earlier started to smudge about an hour into your shift and you didn’t want to take any chances that it could last. And luckily, your mother had dropped your wallet off in the process of making her way to work that night, which was a lifesaver. The idea of biking home and then to Eddie’s made your legs hurt at the very possibility.

It was a ten minute bike ride away from the store, leading you down a long road that led to a dimly lit trailer park. The uneasiness set in immediately.

As if on cue, one of the poorly lit lamps sprinkled throughout the residence flickered a couple times before going out completely.

“Great. This is how I die.” You say to yourself, double checking the number on the paper so it matched with the trailer you were riding up to.

Everything seemed normal, the lights were on inside. Aside from the totally barren mobile home and Eddie’s truck parked in the driveway, nothing felt too grim about the whole situation. Normally, you’d be in a rush to get home and relax, but you knew your parents didn’t care one way or another, as long as you came home in one piece.

You sighed, stepping off and leaning your bike against the deck. If it wasn’t for the muffled music playing inside the trailer, you would assume whoever was there had left but forgot to turn their lights off. You reach forward to knock tentatively on the flimsy screen door.

There’s a rustling from the back of the home, the sudden silence of music being turned off, then a twisting of the doorknob as the door creaked open.

“Well, well, well.” Eddie says, grinning at you through the screen door. “I didn’t think you’d ever show.”

“It’s only five after nine, Eddie.” You tell him, reaching around into your bag to make things quick.

“It was just a—nevermind,” He mumbles quietly to himself, “Whatcha got for me, princess?”

You curled your head to the side subtly, but didn’t think anything of the harmless and playful endearment. Save it, bookmark it, stow it away for later. You slide him the twenty, he eyes it for a moment. “You know,” he begins, arm resting against the trim of the door, “I’d take that drawing of me over the twenty if you’re willing to fork it over.”

“Are you serious?” You ask, hand frozen in place from where Eddie was hanging onto the bill.

“Deadly.” He tells you, tongue smoothing over the teeth that showed through his grin.

You debated, not sure why he was so interested in the first place.

“Why don’t you want the money?” You ask.

“You’ve bought enough from me, I think that warrants a little discount.” He shrugs, like it wasn’t a big deal at all.

“You’re so weird, Munson.” You reply, pulling out the sketchbook and handing the drawing over.

“Got anymore?” He asks jokingly, albeit a little curious.

“I’ll let that remain a mystery, thank you.” You tell him, snapping the book closed. He holds the drawing up to the light, watching him scan over it admiringly.

“It’s really good, you know. You probably draw a lot of kids at school, don’t you?” He asks and you’re not sure where his sudden interest in conversation with you is coming from. Both of you didn’t interact outside of deals—this reality almost didn’t feel tangible.

“Sometimes.” You answer skeptically, “Not all the time, though.”

“We’ll, I’m honored.” He says, noting one of the small details in the background. “Did you make Ms. McNally resembles a hobbit on purpose?”

You snorted at that. It was something, in hindsight, that you’d completely forgotten about. “She was really pissing me off that day.”

“Nice.” He laughs to himself, finally setting the drawing down on a table out of view. “Anyways, don’t worry about the twenty. You’re covered.”

“You really don’t have to do that, Eddie. I can pay.” You felt guilty at the thought, but Eddie seemed pretty serious about the whole ordeal.

“Nope. We’re good.” He tells you, flashing you his trademark smile. He still hadn’t changed his school earlier, brandishing his Hellfire Club tee proudly.

“Okay,” You draw out, dragging the last letter a bit. “Well, I’ll see you at school tomorrow then.”

“Aye, aye.” He replied in mock salute, coming to stand at attention.

You couldn’t help but laugh aloud at the act, it was undeniably goofy, but adorable in its own right. He shut the door slowly, waving you a sweet goodbye as he finally disappeared.

And despite all efforts, there was one giant fucking elephant in the room that you couldn’t ignore–because not only was Eddie devastatingly beautiful, he was charming as hell, which was something you had overlooked for far too long.

⋆·˚ ༘ *

“Stupid. Fucking. Lockers.” You grumble to yourself, slamming the locker shut with every word. It was as if the world was setting you up for the shittiest day possible. It started with you sleeping through your alarm, burning the toast you’d made for breakfast, and somehow managing to spill orange juice all over your jeans in the small span of an hour–so not only were you on your second pair of jeans, you were ready to slam your head against the locker in defeat, ready to be put out of this complete, utter misery that had been your Friday morning.

“Woah, woah.” The voice carried down the hall, you peeked behind you.

Eddie Munson was heading right for you. You turned and sighed, slamming the locker again for good measure.

“Lucky for you, I’ve got just the touch.” Eddie assures you, wiggling his fingers in your face.

You tried to ignore every flipping feeling in your stomach at the sight of it.

It took him a second, but he swiftly lifted the locker door in a quick motion and slammed it close, that time for good. He’s smiling down at you–again, with that annoying, shit-eating grin.

“No. Don’t even start.” You tell him, finger pointing accusingly. “My morning has been horrible. I don’t need jokes, right now.”

“I was just going to ask if you wanted to walk to English together?” He replied, looking slightly defeated. “If that’s okay?”

“Oh.” You frowned. It still didn’t feel right to be conversing in front of your peers, like it was almost illegal. “I mean, I don’t see why not. But, Eddie–”

“Yep?” He asks, turning on his heels. You both had English together, which most of the time, was spent staring directly at the back of his head because you couldn’t be bothered to listen to Ms. McNally’s grating voice for more than a few minutes at a time.

“Why are you talking to me?” You ask, genuine and honest. There had never been any reason not to before, but why now?

“You seemed a little scary–well, not scary, scary–but like, she could definitely break my fingers if I said the wrong thing to her–that type of scary.” He explains in one breath, fiddling with the rings on his right hand.

Fair enough, considering the pocket knife you did carry in your bag for instances like that. There were too many assholes and you had plenty of ways to deal with them.

“Ah.” You replied, as if it all made sense. “Well, the jury's still out.”

“I’ll try and remember that.” He tells you, laughing slightly. “I also just wasn’t sure you liked talking to anyone from school–I mean I get that, but I just wanted to make sure you knew that you don’t have to sit alone at lunch like you do–”

“I don’t mind it–” You interject.

“I know. I’m just saying. Our table wouldn’t mind. The guys usually don’t know how to talk to girls, so most of them don’t say anything anyways.” He assures you.

The friendliness caught you off-guard. It seemed genuine, but you were also waiting for the catch.

⋆·˚ ༘ *

The teacher slaps the graded test onto your desk, brandishing a bright red A. You quickly shove it under your textbook, glancing up as you hear the rustling of Eddie swiveling around to face you from his seat.

“All good?” You ask, mostly in an attempt to be friendly. But, you can’t help but notice the giant circled F on his paper. You’d heard lots of stories about Eddie and his inability to pass, being held back, and every lousy nickname that came along with that. People liked to pick on Eddie because he was different, he didn’t fit in with anyone at Hawkins, and while you might be able to get away with slipping under the radar–Eddie couldn’t.

“I could tutor you, you know.” You suggest, instantly regretting the words the moment they leave your mouth.

“Seriously?” He asks, looking caught off guard. “I appreciate it but–”

“Seriously.” You say, “English is my best subject and as long as you put in the same effort I am, I could at least get you up to a C.” In for a penny, in for a pound…I guess.

“That’s–yeah, that’s cool. I’m kinda busy with Hellfire most days though–” He starts, rolling the paper up in his hands. It was a small detail, but you noticed how often he used his hands when he liked to fidget, whether it be his rings or a poor piece of paper being strangled to death.

“Weekends are good.” You assure him. “I work a lot during that week so I wouldn’t have time anyways.”

Eddie nods slowly. He seemed apprehensive, like he didn’t really deserve the help you were offering. His jaw was clenched, eyes downcast.

“Eddie, I don’t mind.” You told him, offering a small smile to ease whatever worry he was feeling. “It's just–we’ll have to study at your place though, not mine.”

You didn’t even want to begin to explain the ordeal to your parents, as understanding as they may be–any site of a boy and your parents would be seething at the idea.

“My uncle is gone most of the time, so I guess that works out.” He shrugs.

The sound of the teacher clearing her throat from a few rows over interrupts you both. You roll your eyes inconspicuously, turning in your chair.

Eddie taps your leg softly, having already turned around in his chair. You look underneath the desk to find a small piece of paper between his thumb and middle finger. Prying it from his fingers.

You unfold it quietly, fingers smoothing over the creases in the paper. 'Tmrw at 4?' It read it dark blue ink. His handwriting wasn’t as messy as you expected, you quickly scribbles a ‘Yep :)’ adding the smiley face for fun. Maybe this was a good thing, you could make it a good thing. Helping someone bump their grade and maybe make a friend in the process—what’s the worst thing that could happen?

You slid the paper over his shoulder, ignoring the way his fingertips brushed against yours. You didn’t see him unfold the paper, but the way his shoulder shook with silent laughter was a good sign. He pocketed the paper for safekeeping.

You couldn’t help but smile to yourself, but what you couldn’t see was the same smile that Eddie shared with you.

⋆·˚ ༘ *

The cafeteria was already packed by the time you had arrived, the hustle and bustle of kids grabbing their food and chit chatting like it was musical chairs was enough to drive you insane. You quickly ducked your head, attempting to make your way to your usual spot in the corner of the lunch room.

The hand that grabs your wrist stops you in your tracks. There’s a moment where you’re ready to swing back in retaliation.

“Hey, want to sit with us?” He asks. He was really starting to throw you off.

The idea of going from speaking in short, clipped—and sometimes one word answers, to full fledged conversations was not something you were used to. The only two people you talked to that much, outside of your parents, was Robin and Steve. And maybe Steve was a cop out, you two practically grew up together, toppling over each other as babies.

“Uh, I don’t know—“ You begin, but the bellowing, boisterous voice of Dustin Henderson overpowers your own.

“Steve graduated already, you gotta make new friends eventually.”

That little fucking twerp. Him and Steve together in one place was a nightmare.

“I will murder you, Henderson. Don’t try me.” You threatened.

“You wouldn’t.” He counters.

“Try me.” You quirk your eyebrow. “Remember what Steve told you about summer of ‘84?”

Your voice was lowered, but it didn’t seem like anyone was paying any attention, aside from the people sitting at Eddie’s table. It was like they had front row tickets to the most talked about movie in town. Dustin’s eyes widened in fear.

“He also told me about that time you two—“ You quickly shoved your hand over his mouth, stopping him from saying what was possibly the most embarrassing thing you’ve ever done. He muffled the rest of whatever he was saying into your hand.

“Don’t you dare.” You say seriously, fingers pinching the tip of his ear. His hands fly up, signaling his white flag of defeat.

“You’re so mean sometimes.” He whines, rubbing his tender ear.

“You’ll live, Henderson.” You assure him, bumping him aside with your hip to take a seat.

Eddie had been watching with intrigued amusement the entire time, not sure how well you and Dustin actually knew each other until now. And apparently, it was entirely too much.

“Not gonna eat?” Eddie asks, noticing your lack of a lunch tray.

“I hate big crowds. I usually just wait until everyone sits down.” You say softly, setting your bag on your knees to rest your arms on.

“Here.” Eddie says, sliding his uneaten apple and bag of carrots over like it was a game of poker and he was dividing up his chips. “For now, at least.”

“I’m fine, honestly.” You laugh lightheartedly, but take the fresh fruit and vegetable anyway.

⋆·˚ ༘ *

Your halfway through lunch when you lock eyes with Jason, who’s practically burning eyes into your skull. He motions toward the door leading to the back of the school, hoping you’d get the signal.

It made him look ridiculous more than anything. You’d already planned to meet up with after lunch earlier on in the week, but Jason never seemed like he was focused on anything other than basketball or Chrissy—which fair, Chrissy was a great girl.

You leave without much of a word, other than a smile and a pat on Dustin’s shoulder, hoping he’d get the message. He knew just as much as Steve did about your arrangement with Jason, considering Dustin and Steve were practically conjoined twins, at this point. He clears his throat, distracting Eddie with something about their meeting tonight so you could sneak away without worry.

When you’re finally outside, Jason is pacing, not nervously, but definitely impatiently. “You got it?” He asks.

You pause, “…Yeah.” You answer him, pulling the midterm paper out of your bag and handing it over, he quickly snatches it away and slides you over the money he promised.

“Jesus, Jason. This isn’t a drug deal. Chill out.” You finally find the courage to say.

“If anyone finds out about this, I could lose my chance at any type of scholarship, you know?” He tells you, and you don’t even want to begin to hear his sob story. His parents could buy his way into any school he wanted, though you appreciated his poor attempt to manage it himself.

“Hmm, well maybe—just maybe, you shouldn’t be asking people to write your papers for you then.” You snark back, zipping your backpack closed aggressively for good measure. “Figure this shit out yourself, Jason. I’ve got work, my own school stuff, and plenty of other shit to worry about. I don’t need you hounding me for a paper that you could finish on your own in a night if you actually took the time.”

“But basketball is my priority.” He tells you, you join in to mock him at the same time.

“Fuck off, Jason.” Enough was enough. Jason was nothing but a problem, even after all the pain and embarrassment he’d put you through a couple years prior. “Ask your perfect, pretty little girlfriend to do the work for you.”

And for once, he finally looked defeated. But, he was smart in not responding. He shoved his way past you, making his way back inside. You don’t remember how the arrangement between you two started initially, or why you fell pity to him after the stunt he pulled a couple years ago—you figured you were more desperate for the money at the time, sacrificing and swallowing your pride in the process. But now? Fuck that.

You could just ditch the rest of the day, which didn’t sound entirely too awful, but it was rash and you didn’t like to act on impulse, which you’d been doing entirely too much of lately.

“Pull it together.” You remind yourself before forcing yourself through the rest of what was already a horrible day.

⋆·˚ ༘ *

Steve tagged along to lock up with you tonight, considering you two had plans to hang out tonight and he had picked you up from school that evening as a favor.

“What’s got you so tense?” He asks, swinging his keys around his pointer finger.

“Everything.” You sigh through clenched teeth, outwardly groaning as you take a seat in Steve’s car. “God, my feet are killing me.” You quickly toe your shoes off on the floorboard of his car and curl your legs up criss cross.

“Care to elaborate?” He pushes, backing out of the parking lot to pull out on the main road. “Everything is just like a blanket statement, you know. You know I’m never gonna repeat anything you tell me to anyone, ever.”

“Except Dustin.” You remind him.

“Okay, that was fair game. You told him some embarrassing stuff about me. I couldn’t just stand there and watch.” He laughs, you try to hold back your own laughter but it bubbles out soon after.

“It’s just—the shit with Jason, trying to keep up with school, my parents hounding me all the time, and then I promised Eddie I would help him with English—which, you know how my motor mouth works, once I get an idea it just comes out, it’s impossible to stop it.” And god was that a fucking breath of relief to finally let out.

“You’re still doing Jason’s schoolwork?” He asks, slightly disappointed in you. It was understandable, he hated him just as much as you.

“Only the important stuff. Essays, the higher graded stuff, you know. It’s easy money.” You tell him, but it sounds like a lousy excuse.

“Let’s not forget he embarrassed you in front of the entire basketball team and cheerleaders last year.”

“Which was partly your responsibility, Steve.” You remind him. But, it was so far in the past that you couldn’t be mad at him. Holding a grudge against Steve was like hating your own brother and you couldn’t do it. Your gut was pointing to every possible sign to say no to Jason, but Steve gave you the push you’d needed that night.

“I thought it was genuine. I’m sorry.” Steve tells you, you could see the way he paused, swallowed, thinking back on the memory.

“Anyways. I’m just stressed. Not that I can’t handle it, but Eddie’s been acting unnaturally friendly with me and it’s kind of giving me weird vibes.” You admit, like trusting Eddie was just too good to be true. Not weird in the way that made you want to run in the opposite direction, but the way that made your stomach clench in anticipation—and occasionally your thighs. Eddie had always been attractive, but only from a distance.

“Just keep your guard up, that’s always the best option.” He says honestly. “Not that you don’t already have the personality of a brick wall.”

You promptly hit Steve in the shoulder, watching him yell and reach for the spot where you’d landed the blow. “Ouch!”

“I'm not that boring you pompous ass!” You replied in playful disbelief. Steve slowly pulled into the driveway of his home, gradually letting the car come to a stop.

“Have you ever heard yourself talk?” He asks, voice teasing.

“And I sound like I have the voice of a thousand fucking angels, Harrington.” You assure him, shoving him to the side as you both raced to the front door.

“You mean a thousand fucking gremlins.”

You gasped outwardly, caught entirely off guard by his response. “Steve!”

⋆·˚ ༘ *

You wake up Saturday morning with everything Steve had told you fresh in your mind.

No getting too close. Don’t talk about anything personal. Take the arrangement for what it was. Studying, that was it. You rarely got nervous around boys, but Eddie, you just couldn’t put your finger on it.

Which was exactly why your heart was pounding out of your chest as you knocked on his front door. You silently prayed he’d answer the door quickly, the sweltering sun doing nothing to help your pale skin. You pulled your shorts down where they had ridden up on the bike ride here, the unnecessary sweater covering your plain tee proving to be nothing but a giant heat trap.

“Princess.” There it was again, the soft tone in his voice and the teasing smile that painted his face. “Welcome to the Munson residence, once again.”

“I’m dying out here.” You deadpan, hiking your bag up higher over your shoulder.

“Oh yeah,” Eddie fumbles with the door knob, swinging the door open. “Come in.”

You quickly step inside, watching as he closes the door behind you. It wasn’t much cooler, but it was definitely a welcomed change from the heat outside.

“You know, the sweater might be your problem.” He says as he makes his way beside you, leading you toward the back room. “Not that I’m judging, I’m just sure you’d suffer from heatstroke if I left you out there another five minutes.”

“And then I’d come back and haunt the shit out of you.” It was a lame attempt at a joke, but the response from Eddie has you snapping back into defense mode.

“Promise?” Your cheeks burn a dark shade of crimson, which you lamely attempt to hide by turning to dig into your bag and fish out some of your English notes and one of the books the class was currently focusing on.

“I figure we should probably go over the paper from the other day, so I could explain what you got wrong and why, if you don’t mind?” You change the subject entirely, taking a seat on his bed. It smelt like fresh linen, it was made neatly, you weren’t sure what you were expecting but it wasn’t that. Even you didn’t take as much time to make your bed that often, at least not as neatly as this. To each their own though—maybe Eddie was a bit of a neat freak, not that you minded.

“Sure.” He agrees, taking a seat on his bed beside you, although a comfortable distance away. You could appreciate him respecting boundaries, even if you could still smell the cologne he was wearing, not that it was distracting…at all.

His interest is genuine as you explain through the test, even if much of it isn’t sticking with him, he’s still asking questions and staying engaged more than you anticipated. Even you were ready for a break after an hour of endless talk of metaphors in literature and the re-explaining of Macbeth in detail.

“My fucking brain hurts.” Eddie sighs, laying down, hands crossed over his stomach. You try not to stare at the small patch of hair at the end of his stomach, leading down just past the tip of his belt. Or the way his surprisingly toned stomach stretches against the shirt he’s wearing—which was just a plain, black shirt, surprisingly enough. You couldn’t remember the last time you’ve seen him without any type of Hellfire or metal band shirt on his body. Not that you noticed. Not at all.

Your brain finally stutters back awake at the feeling of his finger poking your thigh. “Huh?” You asks.

“I said, if you’re hot you can take off the sweater—that really can’t be comfortable.”

He was right, it wasn’t. But part of it was because it was like a safety blanket. Also, it was just one of your favorites. You let your brain run on autopilot, slipping it over your head. You tried not to think much of it, thankful your shirt was baggy enough that it didn’t reveal to much of you. Even if your shorts were scandalous in their own right. You had to pick and chose your battles.

You toss the sweater onto his nightstand, noting the paper that falls to the floor as a result. Your drawing, he’s moved into his room, at least. Which was both comforting and odd. You couldn’t understand the interest he’d had in it in the first place, but you weren’t really in a place to question it.

“I’ve been meaning to tape it up somewhere.” He mentions, noticing the way you stared at the lonely piece of a paper. “Not that my wall isn’t already covered in stuff.”

It was the first time you’d actually found the chance to take it all in. Posters, an amp—Eddie definitely came across as a guitar guy, so there wasn’t much surprise there, nightstands littered with random crap—your eyes immediately snapped toward the cuffs on the wall and quickly glanced over. There was no way you were touching on that topic, no fucking way.

“I’d be honored.” You joke, tapping your pencil against your notebook.

“Do you take it with you everywhere?” He asks curiously. “That sketchbook, I mean. I’ve never seen you without it until now.” He laughs innocently, adjusting himself to lean up and back onto his outstretched arms.

“It’s…in my bag.” You say quietly, almost embarrassed at the fact that he read through you so well.

“Can I see some other stuff?”

If there was a way to make you go into cardiac arrest with one sentence, Eddie Munson had found it.

“It’s cool if you don’t want to. I just think it’s cool. At least, from what I’ve seen.” He says openly, gesturing toward the drawing you had given him.

“They’re really not that good, a lot of them are just rough sketches and—I mean, you might find this weird but—“ Don’t mention that fact that you totally draw him a lot—like he won’t notice it the second he opens the book. You had a valid excuse, you just didn’t want to come across as a total creep.

“Just show me.” He smiles, nudging your leg again.

You reach for the book buried in your bag and hand it over. There wasn’t any shame behind the stuff in there, but the way everyone perceives art is so different that the idea of any type of comment or criticism was your worst nightmare.

He flips through slowly, landing on the particular one of Jason you drew from a few days prior. “Now that one’s spot fucking on.” He chuckles to himself, the tiny little devil horns was a nice detail, he seemed to enjoy it just as much as you did in the process of drawing it out.

He flips through the next few pages, nodding silently. The anticipation driving a hole through your chest, you couldn’t even comprehend why you were doing this right now. Every single thing that Steve told you flew right out of the window.

He flips another page and you interrupt quickly, “Before you say anything. You have a great hair for drawing, I don’t mean for it to come off as weird but it’s honestly helped me improve a lot.”

“No, no.” He shrugs, “I dig it. I guess I’m kinda your muse, in a way.”

That’s definitely not where you expected that to go. Actually, it was completely left field. So many miles away from where you planned.

“Not exactly.” You assure him. “I just—your hair is really distracting in class. And your side profile is really nice—“ You can feel yourself starting to ramble, the giant Cheshire grin on Eddie’s face only making things worse. “I’m just going to shut up before I embarrass myself more.”

Eddie closes the book and hands it over gingerly, “I really don’t mind. I’m serious.” He means it, you know that. “It’s fucking ridiculous how detailed you are.”

“I-“ You laugh softly, “nevermind. Thank you. Just…thanks, Eddie.”

You were so pleased in the fact that if there was anyone to see your work, someone you considered more of a stranger than a friend, like Robin or Steve, that it was Eddie.

“Anyways, we should probably, you know, get back to work.” You interject after a while of awkward silence, not sure how to move on from the topic.

“Cool with me.” He nods.

The next couple hours pass quickly, finally packing up your stuff after the long tangent Eddie went off on about D&D and the inner workings of it, which was a lot more interesting than you expected.

“Oh hey, you ever get to try out the weed I gave you the other day? It’s pretty damn sweet, right?” He says handing you the pencil you’d lended him.

“Actually, I haven’t.” You admitted. “I’ve been so busy with work that I completely forgot.”

He holds the joint between his fingers like he’d been keeping it stowed away for safekeeping, waiting for the right moment.

“My parents are going to ground me for life if I come home high.” Okay, it was a bit of an over exaggeration, but still buried in truth, nonetheless. “Let alone even smelling like weed.”

“Do you not realize who you’re talking to?” Eddie asks, he tried to seem offended, but it definitely came off as more of a joke. “Come on, miss perfect. We can just smoke it outside.”

You scoff in annoyance, knowing you were far from any type of perfect. “I have to be home in an hour, Eddie. If you get me in trouble with my parents, I swear to god.”

“I know—you’ll murder me and bury me in your backyard.” He jokes, knowing it’s all mostly playful. “Then I’ll come back to haunt your ass.”

You chuckle, your own words coming back to bite you. “Promise?” You ask, in an attempt to one up him.

You weren’t really expecting a response, but he gave you one anyway. “Someone’s gotta keep you out of trouble.” Eddie teases, bumping his shoulder against yours.

You smiled to yourself, adoring the way that Eddie charmed himself out of any situation with ease. He lit up the joint on the short walk to the wooded area away from his home, safe from any random bystanders that may decide to wander by.

“First hit?” He asks, handing it over to you,

“Such a gentleman.” You reply, hand over your heart. You took a long hit, inhaling until your lungs couldn’t take it and the slight burn lingered in the back of your throat, breathing out slowly through your nose.

For the first time, the silence is comforting. You pass the joint back and forth wordlessly until there’s practically nothing left.

“The stars are so pretty here.”

“Yeah.” Eddie answered after a while, staring directly at you.

You tried to ignore it, the heat of his gaze burning into the side of your face.

“The deeper you get into the city, the less you can really see.”

He hummed to himself, “Totally.”

He hadn’t heard a word you said, too focused on the way you were mindless focused on the sky, mesmerized by something so simple.

“God, I don’t think I’ve ever been this high.” You sigh to yourself, feeling like you were having an out of body experience. Your body didn’t feel like you own, even these clothes felt foreign, the way you ran your fingertips over them. “You’re a really bad influence, Eddie.”

You finally lock eyes with him after a few minutes. He was in a complete daze, high out of his mind–you weren’t even sure if he was still on the same planet as you, which obviously, but there was no way he was leaving this picnic table without some assistance. You take a quick glance at your watch, feeling yourself jump back into reality almost immediately.

“Shit, I’m so dead.” You panic, clumsily placing your feet on the ground–any faster and you probably would’ve twisted your ankle. “I have to go, right now.”

“I can give you a ride, if you need it.” Eddie suggests, but it’s far, far–literally a galaxy away, from the safer option of biking home high.

“I need to ride off the smell anyway, I’ll manage.” You tell him, rather than declining his offer outright. You hesitate for a moment before lending your hand out, gripping his in an effort to pull him up.

“No smoke sessions tomorrow, Eddie. I’m serious.” You point an accusing finger at him, watching as he follows it, then looks up at you with his stupid, dopey smile. “I’m fucking serious.”

Super duper serious. Strictly business from this point forward.

“Fine.” He agrees in defeat, finding his own footing. “But, I’ll definitely feel like an ass if you don’t let me drive you home.”

There was no way Eddie could even put a coherent thought together right now.

“I’ll be fine. I swear.” You tell him, smiling sweetly. He didn’t seem like the type to push back thankfully and dropped the argument there. “See you tomorrow, Munson.”

You leave in a rush, blinded by the idea of having to explain any of this to your parents, and only once you’re home, after a very bumpy, sobering ride–you realize the one very important thing you left behind–your school bag.

⋆·˚ ༘ *

It shouldn’t be something you were worried about, Eddie had already looked through the one possession you were most insecure about–but still, the idea of being thrown so far off your game that you would leave your bag behind was enough to have you showing up at Eddie’s trailer bright and early, the morning dew still stuck to the grass and the birds chirping away at nothing.

You should have figured Eddie wouldn’t be fully dressed when he answered the door, but you weren’t really sure what you were expecting exactly. Still, the door creaking open and revealing a half naked Eddie, boxer-briefs leaving little to imagine–your eyes immediately snap back from where they’d lingered, because nothing about Eddie seemed little, not in the way he was towering over you, right now. Was he really that tall? Huh.

“What can I do for you on this fine–” He begins, voice still fighting through sleep, a yawn escaping him.

“I left my bag last night.” You blurt out. “I just need it back.”

It all seemed ridiculous, in hindsight—showing up like this.

“Uh, yeah–” He looks around, trying to gain his bearings. “It’s on my bed–I think.”

He nods in the direction of said bedroom, swinging the door open to welcome you inside. You side-stepped wide enough to avoid his shirtless chest, trying to ignore the fact that it felt like you were literally going to burst into flames at the slightest touch. Whatever high you had last night was gone, but you couldn’t ignore the fact that you still found Eddie attractive, sober or not.

You move around silently, flipping his blankets around to dig for your bag. He’s standing in the hallway now, just outside the doorway that leads to his room. His arms crossed over his chest tightly, still desperately attempting to rub the sleep out of his eyes. Eddie Munson was nowhere near a morning person, but that made perfect sense in hindsight.

“Gotcha!” You celebrate quietly, throwing the strap of your bag over your shoulder.

“Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask—” His voice startles you, “how do you know Henderson?”

It was a weird way to start a conversation, but Eddie wasn’t one to dwell on semantics on proper conversation starting.

“Him and Steve are a package deal.” You explain, like it was the cure all.

“Oh.” You can see the gears turning in his head. “Yeah, that makes a lot of sense.”

“I’ve known Steve since I was in diapers.” You admit, finally catching his gaze. “We’ve been friends for a really long time.”

“So that stuff at lunch the other day–” You had managed to push that so far out of your mind that you were surprised Eddie had even remembered. He was a curious person, you couldn’t really blame him, but the thought of explaining any of it to him was the last thing on your mind.

“Long story.” You laugh it off, feeling eager to escape now. “Anyways, I’ll be over at four. Is that still good for you?” You ask.

He nods silently, angling his body to let you through–because god, why was this hallway so fucking tiny? You clear your throat and quickly move past him, practically jogging toward the door. The faster you escape, the better.

“Later, Princess.” He adds–and you bite down on nothing but air, teeth clenched. He was trying to be coy and you knew it.

“Bye, Eddie.” You reply, lamely attempting to force the nervousness out of your voice. You’ve never forced your legs to pedal so fast in your life, feeling like jello by the time you arrived home.

⋆·˚ ༘ *

“Why the fuck do they talk like that?” Eddie asks, looking up at you from where he was stretched out on his bed, legs kicked up lazily behind. The soft sound of a random rock song you don’t know the name of playing on the radio to fill in as ambient noise.

“It’s archaic and prose.” You answer simply. “It makes a lot more sense the more you read it.”

“Well, I needeth a break, M’lady.” He jokes, forced accent and all.

“That actually wasn’t bad.” You admit, closing the book that you’d place between you both.

At some point, you’d ended up in a similar position, sprawled out beside Eddie, head resting in the palm of your hand.

“Not to boost your ego or anything, but you’re a pretty good tutor.” Eddie says, twirling the pencil between his fingers slowly.

“Whatever.” You shrug off lightheartedly.

And you can feel the impending question before it even leaves his mouth–blame it on your amazing intuition, but Eddie was also incredibly predictable sometimes.

“You want to know what Dustin and I were talking about during lunch, don’t you?” You ask, eyeing him carefully.

He shrugs, “I’m just a little curious, I guess.”

Fair enough. It might feel good to get off your chest anyways–not to mention half the school already knew about the instance.

“Jason asked me to meet up with him during that back to school bonfire they were having, right before Junior year–you remember? Anyways, I talked to Steve about it. He kinda pushed me toward it initially, he was the only reason I even went–I used to have a huge crush on Jason–horrible, now that I think about it. To make a long story short, he made this whole elaborate show about how he liked him and I ended up half naked in front of him, standing on the dock at his parent’s lake house, but the entire basketball and cheer team watched the entire thing happen. I didn’t realize until I heard them laughing from the bushes. There’s a picture, somewhere, I’m sure–I just try to block it out of my memory.” You explain slowly, enough time had passed that you could think about it without bursting into tears from embarrassment, but it was still terrifying to say out loud. “Steve felt really bad about all of it. I know he didn’t know any of that was going to happen, but I just took a lot of my frustration out on him.”

Eddie was eerily quiet, like he was attempting to soak all the information in. You tried not to gauge his reaction too much, knowing that pity was a normal reaction from most people.

“And then,” You say on a deep breath, “Steve and I got really drunk and made out and it was fucking weird. We joke about it now, but it was just…a lot of mistakes in one night, so I try to forget about it.”

“Good to know that Jason’s still a total dick.” He adds, not like that wasn’t already obvious. “I can’t believe you made out with Harrington.”

You want to gag at the long, distanced memory. “It wasn’t my best moment.” You agree.

“So, yeah–Dustin knows a couple secrets about me. And now you do–but if you tell anyone–Eddie–”

“I won’t.” You can see the seriousness on his face, coming from his voice.

“Swear?” You ask

“Pinky swear.” He answers, holding up his ringed pinky finger. You hesitate for a second before wrapping your own pinky finger around his.

He doesn’t let go. But to be fair, neither do you. He’s looking at you, not ogling, but admiring–although, it definitely could’ve been interpreted as him checking you out. You avert your attention to the intricate design of the ring on his finger, making some attempt to break the heavy, thick blanket of tension that had fallen over the both of you. It wasn’t like you’d never laid in bed with a boy before–you could lay and talk with Steve for hours, but Steve didn’t look at you the way Eddie did, not ever.

You clear your throat softly, twisting the ring with the few fingers that weren’t interlocked with his, both of your hands now resting against the soft duvet. “Is that a pig?” You ask lightheartedly. The answer never comes.

Instead, “Can I kiss you?” Eddie asks, almost too timid to be his own voice.

Your mouth hangs open for a half second, before you force yourself to pull it together. And you’re pretty sure your heart was making a desperate attempt at beating its way out of your chest. You nod slowly, leaning forward before you can even think about stopping yourself.

His lips were soft, gentle–but firm in the way they pressed against yours. You only had a couple other experiences to compare this too, but it was obvious that Eddie had confidence in his own abilities. You pulled back after a few seconds, wetting your lips nervously. Eddie followed the way the tip of your tongue dragged over them, the heat from the breathy exhale he let out fanning over your face.

“You never answered my question.” You say softly, eyes flicking up to look at him. His gaze still locked on your lips, you repeat yourself once more, this time calling him out directly. “Eddie, you never answered my question.”

“Yeah, yeah. It’s a pig.” He says, eyes finally locking with yours. “It’s a stupid fucking pig.” His voice is strained, breathy–and you’re just as sure as he is in the fact that you can’t believe this is even happening.

And even if you may end up regretting the decision later, you decide to put him out of his misery. Letting go of his hand completely, hand settling and finding a place to call home against the back of his neck, you pull him forward. He grunts slightly, almost inaudible as you press your lips against his own, more delicate than he had. In the way that he was entirely too sure of himself, you had restraint, hesitance. You let a long, breathy sigh and try to ignore the way your body shivers with nervousness and anticipation.

Eddie takes the opportunity to find his way past your lips, teasingly dragging his tongue against your own. Your brain could literally short circuit at the thought of his mouth being anywhere else on your body, even now you could feel yourself screaming internally and if you weren’t so goddamn turned on, you probably would just scream out loud.

His hand found your waist at some point, playing with the frayed fabric attached to the bottom of your shirt, kissing you fervently, playfully–and like the tease he’s proven to be, he bites down on your bottom lip gently, for good measure.

“Eddie,” You breath out, pulling back. You can’t even bring yourself to look at him, only following the way his hand is massaging the dip in your waist, “studying, remember?”

“Shit.” He curses to himself, allowing himself to drop back into reality. “Yeah, sorry.”

“It’s fine.” You assure him, knowing that studying was the last thing you were hoping to focus on now.

“I didn’t mean to overstep, I’m sorry if–” Eddie starts, and you can’t help but feel like a sucker for the way his voice stutters over the apology. And studying be-fucking-damned, you had plenty of other time to help him out. You had to allow yourself to self-indulge, at least once, and regret it later.

“Fuck it.” You sigh, shoving your belongings out of the way and pulling him toward you again.

He immediately takes the advantage of being above you, slotting his own legs between yours, still remaining enough distance that you both wouldn’t simultaneously combust from the idea of grinding against each other, though you weren't sure how long that would actually last.

He delves into your mouth like you’re the last meal he’s ever going to have and Jesus Christ–-no one’s ever kissed you this way. You sigh openly, letting Eddie deepen the kiss further. You try to find every reason to pull away, but you’re drawing the biggest fucking blank, gasping softly when Eddie’s hands dip behind your lower back, grasping onto your ass and bring you closer. And there’s no way to ignore the feeling of Eddie’s groin pressed against you, dick straining against the material of his jeans. His openly sighs into your mouth, switching from sweet, closed mouth kisses to dirty, deep open mouthed kisses that leave you both begging for more. His hand slips between you both, palm coming to rest against your clothed mound. He stops for a moment, like he wants to ask permission.

“Eddie,” You say softly, almost startled by how spent you sound, “I don’t know if we should–”

You wanted to keep going–god did you want to, but there was a lot of shit you needed to figure out first. And luckily, this didn’t feel like a one off experience, the way Eddie looked up at you with his wide eyed gaze, lips still obscenely wet and puffy.

“I’ve never–you know,” You struggle to find the words, “I’m a virgin. You should probably know that.”

You had enough common sense to know that Eddie wasn’t, judging by the pack of condoms he never bothered to put in his nightstand drawer, it seemed likely enough that he’s probably fucked a girl or two before, not that you cared. You just weren’t sure if this was the right time to be delving into uncharted territory.

“Fuck, I-” He replies, slightly breathless, “We totally don’t have to. I didn’t really expect–I just wanted to kiss you at first but Jesus–you’re fucking amazing.”

You laugh openly, falling back against the mattress. The look on Eddie’s face was priceless, something you wanted to take a picture of and remember forever. But, the way his fingers accidentally drag against you from where they were now resting against your inner thigh are enough to shake you back into reality.

“Sorry.” He says sheepishly, dragging his fingers back.

You stop him on a whim. The whim being the fact that you’re just incredibly to horny to leave with the state you were in. Fucked out, without even being fucked properly.

“We can…if you want.” You suggest tentatively. “Just for a little.”

Teenage hormones were a hell of hard thing to overcome and you were desperately losing that battle.

“If you don’t want to it’s fine–I get that you’ve never–” Eddie starts, but you emphasize by dragging his finger up your thigh and right about the waistband of your shorts–similar to the one from the day before, short and just as scandalous.

“It’s not like I’ve never touched myself before, Eddie.” You assure him, feeling the way his fingers played with the fabric teasingly. “I’m a virgin, not a puritan.”

“God, you’re so fucking hot.” He sighs, forehead resting against your shoulder. You jump at the first touch of his fingers against your bare cunt, and part of you wants to feel embarrassed about the wetness that had collected there, but you were way too horny to give a shit. “And so wet.” It comes out as a moan. A fucking moan.

It should be criminal how attractive Eddie sounds right now, fingers exploring a part of you that only you’ve ever known. He drags a single digit from bottom to top, collecting the wetness. The tightness of your shorts left little room for him to move his hand around and the contact was almost earth-shattering. He hesitates, taking a moment to circle around your clit. You sigh quietly, which he takes as a good sign, testing the motion out again, and again, until you’re practically keening from the pressure building there. The way his finger slips into you is jarring, how easily he moves past your folds, starting a slow, steady motion of guiding his fingers in and out of you, occasionally stopping to drag his fingers against the most sensitive part of your body, the only place you wanted him to be.

“Oh,” You moan softly, “fuck, please.”

Eddie could come at the sound of you, the way your voice squeaks in desperation. He chuckles softly, using his thumb to circle your clit, teasing and slow. You could get yourself there just fine, but the foreign feeling of a hand that wasn’t yours, knowing your body almost as well as you did, it was enough to have you squeezing down on his fingers in pleasure.

“More?” He asks softly, looking from his face had been resting against the middle of your chest, watching as his fingers disappeared into your shorts.

“Please.” You beg, almost desperate. His second finger joins the first, adding a nice stretch that you’ve never really felt like this. His fingers were so much bigger than your own, so much more filling. You gasp loudly at the sudden change in pace, closing your eyes in a bid to hide your own embarrassment at the sound of your own voice. When you finally pry your eyes open, Eddie is staring at you. You weren’t sure how long he had been, but his gaze is dark, hot–you want to disappear.

“I want to hear you.” He assures you, emphasizing his words by working his finger against your clit quickly, causing you to mewl in response, back arching off the bed. “You sound so pretty, princess.”

And if there was any other way to die, this is exactly how you wanted to go out.

The pressure builds and builds, Eddie finding every way to pull sounds out of you, some you didn’t even know you were capable of. You can feel the way he’s absently, but still gently, grinding against your leg, where he’d maneuvered himself after a while, in hopes of relieving some of the pressure off of his own issue. You could tell he was holding back, which made you feel slightly guilty.

The thought is immediately interrupted by your orgasm washing over you out of the blue, fast, nearly knocking you out from the feeling that spreads throughout your entire body. Eddie works you through the end, even when your body is oversensitive and tingling.

“Jesus Christ.” You sigh, staring up at the ceiling.

“Nah, just me.” He says cheekily, grinning.

You reach for the clasp on his belt on instinct, but he stops you with a hand on your wrist. “It’s fine.” He laughs softly, “Besides, the second you touch my dick, I’m done for.”

It’s absurd, but it makes you giggle to yourself.

“I’ll take care of it later.” He admits, adjusting the front of his jeans to provide relief. The thought of him in bed, dick in hand, had you squeezing your thighs together shamelessly.

“O-Okay.” You reply, pushing yourself up as he moved off of you. “Well, thanks—I guess?”

You both fall into a fit of laughter immediately, not finding any reason to ignore how ridiculous you felt. Not to mention that way your heart twisted at the way Eddie’s grin reached from ear to ear. It wasn’t a new thing exactly, Eddie smiled a lot, but you knew this one was reserved for both of you, and that had your stomach doing back flips.

“My pleasure.” He replies, putting on a fancy, pretentious accent. “Princess.”

“Why princess?” You ask curiously, wondering where the name fits in for you.

“I don’t know,” Eddie shrugs, sitting back on his heels, “You've always been little miss ‘pretty and perfect’ to me—smart, and you don’t really put up with anyone’s shit—I almost didn’t believe it when you asked me to sell weed to you that first time.”

“Thought I was gonna rat you out, huh?” You ask teasingly.

“Maybe just a little.” He admits, holding his thumb and pointer finger an inch from each other. You toss a pillow at his head, he takes the hit like a champ, throwing it softly back at you.

⋆·˚ ༘ *

You two spend the next couple weeks studying off and on, not really bothering to avoid hanging out at school. Dustin actually enjoyed it; since he practically worshiped Eddie and you were another friend he had to talk to, not that Mike Wheeler wasn’t sufficient enough, his mind was just flooded with girls and Dustin was so far from the precipice of females.

Even if you spent half of your study sessions making out, you still managed to get enough work done that Eddie was making a little improvement—not to mention the look on Ms. McNally’s face when she called him out in class and he answered her question correct—you would’ve thought hell had finally froze over. Study sessions went from a weekend basis, to Eddie showing up to your shift at Family Video to ask about a question on the homework on any given day, not trying to hide the fact that he wanted another reason to talk to you outside of school.

“If you manage to help him graduate, it will be a miracle.” Steve says one day, leaning in as Eddie left the store.

You show up at his door that night, ready for another one of your tedious study sessions. But he’s answering the door before you have a chance to think.

“My uncle’s home.” He tells, looking back over his shoulder. You’d gotten lucky with the past couple of weeks, timing your visits almost perfectly, so that they aligned with his uncle’s work schedule. But, you weren’t sure what to do now.

“Well, we can just study—it’s fine.” You tell him quietly, “or I can come over tomorrow?”

“No.” He all but blurts out, “Sorry—we, we can just take my van. I know a spot where we can go.”

You’re hesitant at first, but you agree—it’s Eddie, you knew it would be fine.

His van is incredibly spacey, to your surprise. It made a lot of sense, though. You could tell he’d had more than a few smoke sessions based on how it practically reeked of weed and his cologne. When you’re stopped at the spot—a wide expanse of trees covering a large area and a giant skull shaped rock in the middle, he swings the back doors open, giving you a better view of his setup.

“Skull rock, Eddie? Seriously?” You deadpan, climbing out of the passenger seat and to the back of his van.

“What?” He asks innocently, hands flying out to his side in question. “It’s a great spot.”

You could point out every surface that Steve had made out with a girl on that rock, from memory—despite wanting to know, Steve just hated keeping his sexcapades to himself sometimes. Either way, you couldn’t complain. It was quiet, secluded, you didn’t have to worry about anyone finding Eddie toking up in the back if he so decided, even if you didn’t plan to partake. And part of you knew, not much study was going to take place anyways.

“Can I draw you?” You ask randomly, Eddie peering at you from where he’s perched on the edge of his van. “Sorry, that was really forward—I just—“

“Sure.” He agrees, moving deeper inside the van, the night sky nearly swallowing the van whole. If it weren’t for the overhead lights, you wouldn’t be able to see more than a couple inches in front of your face, luckily they lit the interior up well enough.

“How do you want me, Picasso?” He asks, flaring his jacket out.

“Just sit—and, what are you doing?” You laugh, watching as he knelt down, chin on his fist, a goofy attempt at a heroic pose.

“Too much?” He asks, but he doesn’t need the answer. He can tell by the amused look on your face, so he shifts onto his backside, legs spread out slightly, one lifted up so his foot was planted in the floor.

“Act like we’re in your room, talking—just be comfortable.” You remind him, letting the pencil feel out the paper.

And you don’t think you’ve ever heard Eddie stay so quiet, for so long. But he’s watching you, just as much you had been watching him, fiddling with his rings occasionally.

“Something on your mind?” You ask curiously, about halfway through the sketch, “I can see the gears turning in your head.”

“Just thinking.” He says quietly, eyes still locked on yours. “I don’t want to distract you, though.”

Though, that was really the plan all along—so you took the bait.

“No, tell me.” You demand, setting the pencil and book down.

He chuckles to himself, “I’m just thinking about how I wanna kiss you right now.”

You smile knowingly, a little shy now by how intently he’s looking at you. “Then why don’t you?”

And like a dam breaking, he’s on you instantly, hands gripping under your thighs to lay you down on the blanket that was covering the expanse of the back of his van.

“Wait, the doors.” You tell him through quick kisses. “Close the doors.”

And you’re right. The last thing you need is someone walking up on two high school students getting hot and heavy in the back of a van. The doors slam shut and he’s finding his way back to you, eyeing your mouth greedily. Eddie had gotten more and more comfortable with maneuvering you around how he wanted, knowing just how to have you begging for more and more.

His mouth leaves yours, kissing the underside of your chin, your neck, the small part of your chest that was exposed to him. He wanted to worship you in every way and form possible. He’s got his dick pressed against your core, still jailed by the confines of his jeans, the coldness of the chain he had attached to his pants, the one bearing factor that was keeping you grounded. Otherwise, you probably would have left the planet already.

“Wanna taste you so bad.” He groans against your neck, free hand coming up to rest against your cheek, stroking the delicate skin. “Please?”

“Yeah,” You rush out, licking your suddenly too dry lips, “only if you let me taste you too.” You slip your hands in the waistband of your sweatpants, pushing them and your underwear down in one go. You definitely want to feel ashamed, but you can’t help yourself. He freaking out at the thought of your mouth around him, you could say the same for yourself.

You expect him to delve right in, devour you immediately, but he stills himself. He mumbled something into the inside of your thigh, you try not to think about it too much, opening your legs a little wider. He’s nipping and biting at the most sensitive parts of your skin, watching you squirm in anticipation.

And when the flat of his tongue finally makes contact with your core, you moan unabashedly, reveling in the feeling. His nose nudges at your clit, and the sounds—god, the sounds. You blushed a particular shade of red, ashamed at how well your body was responding to his touch.

“So pretty and perfect.” He says against your cunt, “Just like I suspected.”

You laugh at the absurdity of it all, moaning when he sneaks a finger up to join with the work his mouth couldn’t cover. He was working you up, he wanted you to come, but the fact that he already had you 1-0 was a crime and that just wouldn’t suffice.

He grabbed your hands, which had been laying useless at your side, and guided them to the beautiful mane of hair attached to him. You wrapped your fingers around the hair at tugged, ever so softly. The look on his face as he pulled back was something you’d never soon forget, mouth covered in your clear slick, his tongue reaching out to lick his bottom lip.

“Wanna suck your dick, Eddie.” You begged. “Please.”

The look of pleading you gave him had him melting in your hands. He wordlessly lifted himself to his knees, wasting no time to undo the buckle of his belt. You helped him along the way, unzipping and pulling at the waistband of his jeans. When you finally found the chance to switch positions, he was already pulling the top of his underwear underneath his ass, but you couldn’t be bothered to wait any longer. You moved on instinct, grabbing his dick in your hand and tugging on the shaft gently, testing his body out.

Even though you didn’t have much to compare it to, Eddie Munson still had the prettiest dick you’ve ever seen.

“Shit, say that again.” He groans, watching you lean forward to kiss at the tip. You hadn’t realized you even said that aloud until he was staring down at you, completely wrecked by the idea of you finding his dick pretty.

“It’s so pretty and perfect.” You tease, licking the underside of his dick in one, long stripe.

He curses audibly, head banging against the metal of the van.

You take him carefully, slowly. Maybe you’re doing everything wrong, but the moan that escapes him proves otherwise. His hand curls around the back of your head gently, guiding and setting a pace. He’s showing you what he likes, so you give it to him. You’re careful not to scrape against his shaft with your teeth, using your tongue to trace slow circles around the tip before swallowing him down in one go, it was a lot more than you could initially handle, it makes your eyes water and you pull back for a moment to catch your breath.

“Sorry, too much.” You apologize halfheartedly and Eddie gives you an incredulous look, both mesmerized and completely caught off guard.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” He breaths out, eyes searching yours for a moment. “I don’t want to sound forward but I really wanna fuck you.”

If it was anyone else, they’d probably be dead. But, the way Eddie sounds almost desperate is the entire reason you’re nodding your head in earnest.

“Yeah. Yeah, we can do that.” You agree, despite how terrified the thought made you feel.

“We can stop if it’s too much for you.” Eddie tells you, sincerity ringing through. “I’m serious.”

You nod, “I’m good, I swear.”

⋆·˚ ༘ *

Eddie has you wedged in between the makeshift pillow he made and himself, laid out comfortably on your side, naked from head to toe, and you try not to linger on the way he’s staring at your breasts, or the hand that’s running between your legs, dipping into your folds again. You adjust yourself slightly, legs widening at the touch. He’s gentle and you want to cry at the thought that someone would want to take so much care with you. He fingers you open slowly, swallowing your moans throat deep, lingering kisses that you never want to end. You can hear the wrapper crinkle between you, watching as pulls away to rip it open with his teeth.

Mesmerized as he rolls the condom down his shaft, you clench at the idea of him being inside. You didn’t want to think anymore, letting your body run on autopilot.

“We can go slow. Just tell me what feels good.” He reminds you, hiking your leg up against his hip, positioning himself at your entrance. You nod silently, bracing yourself. Your hand wraps around his wrist where he’s caressing your head, letting the slow, stretching feeling of him pushing inside take over your body. It stings, but barely—you nod again, looking up to let him know that this was okay, that you were okay.

He gradually picks the pace up, once he’s finally seated inside you and you’re accustomed to the feeling of him. It wasn’t until then that you realized just how noisy Eddie could be—moaning every obscenity under the sun into mouth as you swallowed up everyone with a kiss, gasping for air when he grazed your clit with his thumb from where it had been resting against your hip bone.

You can feel the way he’s holding back, not sure how much you could take. He’s gripping you tight, and you attempt to break him from whatever daze he’s locked himself into.

“Eddie, it’s fine.” You say breathlessly, “I can take it.”

And like that, he releases you, maneuvering you onto your back to adjust himself over you, pulling himself out to adjust before he’s careful thrusting back in, hand tucked under the soft skin at the back of your knee, bearing the weight you couldn’t bother to hold up.

He leans forward and mouths at your breasts, taking the time to graze his teeth against the tip of the the soft bud of your nipple, causing a gasp to bubble out of your chest. “Do that again.” You beg.

He laughs quietly, showing the other breast the same care, then switching back to the other. Fuck, it was so good. You’d almost been too distracted to realize the pace he’d picked up, more consistent as the sound your bodies coming together filled up the silence. That and the moans you couldn’t bother to keep quiet, mixing in with his own.

“Feel so good, princess.” He groans, mouth tucked away into your neck, mouthing at the skin there. “Squeezing my dick just right.”

Eddie has a filthy mouth, obviously. You were definitely bookmarking that for later.

“Wanna come, Eddie. Please.” You gasp, trying desperately to push back to meet the more desperate pace Eddie had set.

“Here,” He’s grabbing your hand, guiding it between the both of you, “wanna see you touch yourself, see if you can make yourself come as good as I can.”

Part of you doesn’t know how to respond, so you don’t, but you mindlessly obey the request at hand, circling your clit with your own two fingers, gasping at how sensitive you were. Fingers were one thing, but Eddie’s dick—that was something else entirely. You’re trying desperately to keep up, but Eddie can tell you’re overwhelmed, overworked, so he slips his hand against yours, helping you through the motion.

“You’re almost there, I can tell.” He murmurs against your ear, the hotness of his breath sending tingles down your entire body. “I got you.”

He moved your fingers with his, hips shaking sloppily, thrusting himself through his own climax, watching as your mouth dropped open in a wordless shout, orgasm hitting you in a flash of white, leaving you panting for breath when you came back to earth.

Eddie gives you a few minutes to settle, brushing your wild hair behind your ears and out of your face—he pulls out slowly, removing and tying the condom, discarding it in the front of the van inside of the tiny trash can nestled underneath the passenger side dash. He seems worried.

“It was good.” You assure him, hoping he wasn’t stressing over the idea of ruining anything for you. “I don’t really have anything to compare it to but if it’s anything like that, it was pretty damn good.”

He chuckles gently, his chest shaking at the motion. You finally have a clear view of some of the tattoos you never really noticed until now. Eddie had slipped his underwear back on in the process, helping you search through the flurry of mixed clothes to find your own.

“I guess I just wasn’t sure how we’d handle things after.” He says quietly, taking a seat next to. You see him reach for the pre-rolled blunt sitting in the ashtray and you grab his wrist, pulling it toward you.

“Well, do you want me to leave?” It wasn’t meant to sound harsh, Eddie didn’t seem to take it that way either.

“No.” He replies sheepishly, hands resting in his lap.

“Then stop worrying. Stop acting like you just scandalized me.” You laugh, poking his stomach. “I think we’re way past that.”

“God, because the sounds you make should be illegal and I don’t like being a one and done type of guy—“ Eddie would have gone on a tangent had you let him, but the gentle reminder you offered was enough to shut him up.

“Well, next time—“

“Next time?” He quirks up, eyebrows raised.

“Next time,” You repeat, feeling a little silly, “we’ll find out just how long the both of us can get. But, first—you gotta pass English.”

The exasperated sigh that Eddie let out was enough to have you curling forward in laughter.

“You’re gonna be the death of me, princess.” He smiles, reaching forward to kiss you, chaste and sweet.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x afab reader #i sat on this for too long and i'm starting to hate it GOODBYE #my writing #1kfic

3K notes · View notes

lady-literature · 4 years

Text

Accidental Crime Boss Marinette

Okay so,, I have this AU in my head, right? (not surprised) and I’m lacking any real direction for it (still not surprised) but it basically goes like this:

Marinette moves to Gotham.

She’s drawn there for whatever reason and the kwami are saying something about balance and being a Guardian and her sacred duty and something but Marinette isn’t really listening. She’s too busy trying to find a shop front where she can open a bakery without having to worry about getting mugged every time she steps outside.

Chloé comes with her, obviously, because they’re friends and Chloé has a business degree she puts to good use actually running Mari’s bakery and online boutique while Mari gets to bake and fuck around basically. Adrien, Luka and Kagami are not there, but that’s mostly because they travel too much to settle down and keeping an empty apartment in Gotham is just asking for trouble.

Kagami is a world-renowned fencer and Luka travels the world for his music company. Not touring, but soaking up cultures and ways of life so he can make soundtracks to movies and tv shows. Providing the background and life to a film is more his style than touring the world ala his father, Jagged Stone.

Adrien is having the time of his life being Kagami’s trophy husband. He has no pressing responsibilities he doesn’t take on for himself and he gets to fuck with the world’s elite with little to no consequences. He spends most of his days donating far too much money to charities and orphanages and then causing minor scandals that land him on the cover of magazines.

He has much the same kind of ‘dumbass with a heart of gold’ persona to the media as Bruce Wayne does, only without the playboy bits.

(There is a wall in the back of the bakery, where Chloé and Mari carefully cut out and frame every headline and ridiculous picture Adrien has. He is very much delighted when he learns about his ‘wall of fame’.)

Anyway, Marinette finds herself with a bakery not overly far from crime alley, much to Chloé’s chagrin.

(“What do you mean it ‘just felt right’?! I swear to kwami, DC, you’re going to get us robbed and sold into slavery.”)

They do not get sold into salvery.

In fact, despite their less than stellar choice of locale, they do pretty well for themselves. The only problems they have (according to Chloé) is the army of children Marinette accidentally attracted.

When asked, Marinette tells everyone that it was an accident. Meanwhile, Chloé, standing behind her, will shake her head and insist there was literally never any other option for them the moment that first kid came in looking to nab some cash and a few pastries.

Mari lives by the phrases, ‘kindness breeds more kindness’ and ‘do unto others’ and all that other nice person shit. Chloé just lets Mari pseudo-adopt her strays and makes sure that they don’t steal anything too important in the time it takes her to gain their loyalty.

The kwami stay staunchly out of any arguments involving the kids (and eventually the homeless all along their street and every working girl in a five-block radius). They do so with a special brand of amusement that never means good things for either of them. (After all, the last time the kwami looked that amused, they moved to Gotham.)

The first kid is named Serrure, as Marinette comes to learn over the next month after he returns again and again, getting closer and closer like a feral cat. Other kids come during that time, all of them too small and too thin and too guarded for Mari's tastes. She wants to wrap them all up and tuck them into bed but she can’t. She has to be patient, has to be gentle. These kids are just as likely to bite her hand as they are to accept help.

Serrure becomes an almost permanent fixture at the bakery after that first month. Mari’s not quite sure what she did to get through to him, but she did, she supposes. He can’t be much older than eleven and looks nine, but after getting settled, she and Chloé discover this little slip of a boy is just as mischievous as Trixx and has all the dramatics of their favorite black cat.

The kwami, when talking about him, only refer to Serrure as Loki, even after Marinette scolds them for it. She eventually gives up trying to correct them, it’s not like Serrure talks to them anyway(yet)((that she knows of)).

There’s an apartment above the bakery, which is where Chloé and Mari and all her strays that grow to trust her enough live. It’s three bedrooms, and at first, Mari just buys as many bunk beds as she can fit into the spare room and calls it a day. The kids feel safe in her home, which isn’t too surprising. Everyone thinks the bakery feels safe, feels like home or comfort or whatever else eases their minds.

And Marinette should hopes so. She certainly put enough time and effort and magic and energy into the wards around this place for that to happen. To protect her and the children and all her strays that no one else will help.

But, she eventually amasses too many kids to fit into the one room. Chloé throws a fit about having to share with Mari again—“I had enough of that in university thank you very much”—but she relinquishes easily enough.

Mari buys more bunk beds, and Serrure has taken to sneaking into her room to curl up in her bed anyway, and sometimes the smaller kids who have nightmares will come in and pile on as well.

(There are only a few that Chloé will allow to do the same with her. It is considered a high honor and breeds a playful kind of jealousy that Chloé finds amusing. Mari scolds her for pitting the kids against each other.)

That only lasts them another two months.

“This is getting ridiculous,” Chloé tells her one day before the kids wake up. Mari is at the stove, cooking and baking for a small army while Chloé balances the books. “There’s not enough room for us all, DC, and the only reason someone hasn’t come barrelling down on us about the abundance of children is by the grace of your absurd amount of luck.”

“Well I can’t just kick them out, Queenie! What do you want from me?”

“Either we need to buy more real estate in this city—which I’d rather not do—or you open up the grimoire and start building pocket dimensions. I know you can. I’ve read the chapter.”

Marinette looks at her. “That is such a bad idea.”

They do the idea.

And then Mari adds about a thousand more wards to the bakery, carved into the wood and counter and anything that’s a permanent fixture. Doorways become particularly ward heavy, what with them being the entrances and exits to the hidden realms and children’s’ rooms.

The apartment above the bakery isn’t quite infinite but it gets pretty damn close some days.

This also means, of course, that all the kids definitely know about magic now. Some of them—Serrure—have known about it for a while she knows, but it’s different now. The kwami followed her around most of the time and she doesn’t keep them trapped in the Miracle Box like Fu did, but now that the kids know, they don’t bother staying hidden.

The children, at least, love them and the kwami adore them with all the ferocity a god can give. After Chloé gets over her ‘ew children’ phase, she throws herself into their education (on top of actually running the businesses Mari keeps, mind you). She has the help of the kwami, who act as personal tutors to the children, and it’s not long before the kids start to joke about her being the Principal.

(Some tried to call her Warden, but that joke didn’t last long.)

Marinette has also been telling the kids bedtime stories ever since this started. Old stories of the Guardian and Chosens who fought back the darkness, she shares all she knows of the Orders history with these kids and it’s not until Wayzz points it out to her does she realize what she’s doing.

“Ladybugs are known for renewal. It is no surprise that you are rebuilding what was lost.”

Rebuilding the Order using children was certainly not her intention but, well. She supposes there’s no place safer for her kids than what is shaping up to be the new Miracle Temple. It’s the only haven where they can learn to harness their Gifts and powers, it’s the only place where they can be surrounded by others like them without being thrust into superhero-dom.

Context: about a month into this whole circus, Marinette had realized there was a significant—almost all of them really—amount of metas and Gifted in her little hoard of strays. Which is… odd. Especially with how few metas there are in Gotham.

She had asked the kwami about it, and they have that amused look again. “You are their guardian.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re their guardian. True, you are the Guardian of us, of the ancient ways, but you are a guardian at your soul too. You protect what is yours, and they are yours whether you realise it or not. The children can sense that, so they flock to you.”

And, huh. She supposes that makes sense but that’s also really kind of strange and weird and she doesn't want to think about that anymore actually.

So things are… fine, Marinette supposes. The bakery is doing well, and she has about two dozen-plus helpers running around underfoot to help tend to the customers or run to the store or help in the back with the baking. And every kid of hers has new clothes, their street things thrown out for being too ragged and replaced with something fresh made by Marinette’s own hands.

She embroiders little fairy wings into the clothes normally, because that’s what her cloaked wards look like most times and the kids like it and its technically the logo for the bakery and there’s a million reasons she does it.

It is, perhaps, her first mistake.

(“It was certainly not your first,” Chloé will snark one dayin the future.)

Because now Marinette has an army of magical children learning to wield their powers and not fear them and they’re all wearing what can be considered her insignia and uh oh, it looks a lot like Mari is some sort of up and coming mob boss who uses kids and prostitutes and the homeless as runners. People on the street start calling her the Pixie, start referring to Chloé—her second in all things just as Chat had been her equal—as Wasp, as Yellowjacket, as the Unseelie.

(They cannot seem to pick a name for her, but Pixie is all but engraved in stone. Mari is not sure who coined it, and she doesn't think she wants to know.)

The first time the whole situation is brought to her attention, she punches the idiot who dared even imply such a thing so hard she knocks him out.

Because look. The kids are hers right? And she watches out for the people near her, makes sure the working girls are treated as well as they can be and offers the homeless extra food and a dry place to wait out the storm. She offers her hand and gives them all a place to rest, to eat, to exist without expectations or consequences.

She does that because she’s kind, because it hurts her to see people in need, to see them suffer, not because she’s hoping to gain something from it.

The fact that most of them repay her in gossip or information or bend her ear about the newest goings on in the corrupt elite or filthy underworld is strange, yes, but it’s nice to know what’s going on in the city, she supposes. And one time, Kathy, who works on the corner of Brookes and Gilmore, warned her of a drug raid that saved her an unnecessary trip to the police station so it’s not like it doesn't have it’s uses.

But mostly, Mari doesn't really think about all the information that’s unintentionally or otherwise passed onto her. She remembers it all, because it’s rude not to listen when people talk to her, but nothing comes of normally.

Not until Serrure—now twelve and well versed in the magic of illusions and glamors and knows almost as much about this city as her or the Bats—bursts into the bakery one day and grabs Mari away from the front counter right in the middle of a customer ordering. She should, perhaps, be a little angry at that but Tony, one of the older boys and just shy of sixteen, steps into her place almost immediately, so.

And then Serrure speaks and everything is pushed aside in favour of the next words to fall from his lips.

“Someone took Sophie,” he says and she nearly sees red.

After Serrure, Sophie has been here the longest. She is the youngest of them all, only seven, but oh so clever and kind and while she looks nothing like her, everyone calls her Mini-Mari. If Serrure is her beloved first son, Sophie is her treasured daughter.

She’s out the door in the next moment, storming her way to their base. She has Sophie and a handful of extra kids back by sunset, a little frightened, but no worse for wear. She doesn’t make a big deal out of it, besides making sure that the idiots who dared cross her never do so again, but word gets out.

Soon, her kids and teens and adults begin giving her more than just information, they begin giving her problems. Ones she’s meant to fix because she’s Pixie. She’s safety, she’s protection, she’s the one the people start to turn to for help.

And enter stage left, one Jason Todd who’s all snark and charm and smiles wrapped up in a nice leather bow and tall enough that Mari likely could climb him like a tree. If that was something she wanted, she guesses.

(She wants. She just won’t admit.)

He becomes a regular at the bakery and befriends most of her kids.

Mari’s wary when he first takes an interest in them. They’ve been hurt and a lot of them are still adjusting to being safe and it doesn't matter that this man is hot enough to burn, if he steps even a toe out of line with her kids she’ll make him wish he was never even born.

But, she stops worrying eventually. The kwami like him well enough, but seem to think something’s odd about him—but its Gotham, who isn’t strange?—and both Serrure and Sophie take to him like ducks to water and they’re both good judges of character.

There’s a certain intuition they both have that reminds Marinette just a bit too much about herself and pure magic. Not for the first time does she wonder if they got such strong magic from their parents or if it cropped up in them randomly, fostered by fortune and chance and the magic that’s so deeply seeped into the bones of her bakery it’ll be here long after she’s gone.

And, okay, so she was a little right to be wary because Jason was mostly there to investigate her. Far too many people respect her and are loyal to her and she has a veritable orphanage in her pocket and also Harley and Ivy like her and it just- it doesn’t look good right?

But Jason’s a good detective and it doesn't take him long at all to see that Mari is just as sweet and kind and loving as she appears to be. Not long after that, Red Hood declares Pixie and all of hers, under his protection. She, of course, is more than capable of taking care of her and hers, and the underworld knows this, has seen it, but he does it anyway.

The news, of course, gets back to Mari and she is… confused. Why would the Red Hood do something like that? She’s heard talk of him being sweet on kids, but to claim her? They’ve never even met.

Bonus points for Jason being there when she’s told about it. He kind of raises his eyebrow at her because, huh, that was fast, and then spends the next few minutes talking up the Red Hood to her much to her utter bafflement.

He actually keeps doing that too, talking up the Red Hood. Mari thinks he has a crush on the man for the longest time because of it. Until he reveals he is Red Hood, then she just wants to punch his stupidly handsome face for being such an idiot.

Shit happens from there and things go down and the two spend a couple of months dancing around each other and intentionally and unintentionally ruling the criminal underworld and at one point Marinette definitely punches Bruce and Batman in the face—separately, much to Jason’s unending joy—and she also definitely adopts Duke/Signal as well because that poor boy needs to know he’s not alone.

And it’s just them being domestic and badass and lowkey raising an army of children and falling in love while the kwami and the kids and Chloé are all in the background just yelling at them to get together already!

Which, they do. Eventually. After all the secrets come out and Jason knows about the magic and Order and meets Mari’s other friends, ie Kagami, Luka and Adrien who are all intimidating for wildly different reasons. And Mari finds out that Jason died and came back (which earns him the nickname firebird btw) and that he was a Robin once upon a time but is now Red Hood and oh my kwami it all makes sense now.

Jason confesses like three times via classic Victorian romance novel quotes because he’s a fucking literature nerd but it’s not until he basically spells it out for Mari does she really understand. it’s all very sweet and heartwarming and then the pair duck into one of the empty pocket dimensions they have lying around and aren’t seen for three days.

(No one really goes to look for them tbh)

Chloé definitely teases them about early honeymoons and things but besides the two being even more ridiculously lovey-dovey than usual, life goes back to normal. Or as normal as it gets for them.

And they all live happily ever after the end.

#maribat #jasonette #my typewriter #batfam #crime boss mari #miraculous ladybug #dc #mlb x dc #i was possessed by the need to write this all down #i have so many random ass moments from this au #just scenes taht barely fit together #zero coherency #let me know if yall want that ig #?

3K notes · View notes

dongofthewolf · 3 years

Note

Hello! May I request a number 8 or number 11? She/her pronouns are preferred :) thx!!

I Despise That I Adore You

Abby Anderson X Reader

Prompt: 8. Hands brushing unexpectedly 11. Secret relationship

Warnings: swearing, fluff

Link to the prompt list here

A/N: I kind of decided last minute to write like 1.5k more words for this fic because uhhhh idk but I hope you enjoy (especially if you requested it) !!

A/N: I also didn’t realize you only requested one of the two prompts so I accidentally wrote both LOL but thanks for the request(s) !!

You have always had a very dichotomous view on life; you believed that you either liked a person, or you didn’t. It was a simple notion and a digestible one at that, but never did you think that a touch—a single accidental touch from someone you most definitely didn’t like, could wreck your world this way.

You were at a briefing for an upcoming mission. It was a long, drawn out process that you dreaded, but what made it even worse was Abby. Okay, maybe not Abby specifically, but the fact that she could sit there at six in the morning and look so effortlessly beautiful, annoyed you more than you could say. Her outfit was the same as it almost always was; a simple grey tank top with green cargo pants and boots. Nothing extraordinary or outstanding, but you still couldn’t help but find it annoyingly attractive when she crossed her fucking enormous arms over her chest like that. God, she wasn’t even trying and you were losing it.

You didn’t like Abby—you couldn’t like her. How could you possibly like her when every single sign told you not to? She was stubborn and closed off, always shielding herself from the world with some serious facade you knew was bullshit. Maybe Abby did flirt with you occasionally and perhaps you did participate in it sometimes, but that all meant nothing. And anyways, even if you did like Abby (which you obviously didn’t) it would hurt you too much when she inevitably left you for someone prettier or cooler or smarter, and you didn’t need that right now.

Abby was all types of wrong and you knew that, which is why you were so utterly puzzled by this small, electric touch. It wasn’t even longer than a second, but as soon as it happened your heart felt like it had just been squeezed like a fucking lemon.

The briefing was finally over and you were quick to leave so you could actually get some sustenance for your body, and then it happened. You hadn’t even noticed that Abby was there when you dashed out the small exit of the military tent until you felt the smallest brush of her hand against yours. You paused to look back at Abby and she was looking at you too, and you swear it would’ve taken a damn machete to cut through the tension between those few, fleeting seconds of stillness.

Your hand burned from where it had grazed Abby’s and you clenched your fingers into a fist to try and relieve yourself from the sensation. Promptly shoving your hand behind your back to hide it from Abby’s inquisitive gaze, you slowly backed away with your eyes still fixed to hers. And though there was a great amount of distance between the two of you, you noticed something in her stare. You weren’t sure if it was just your brain being stupid or manipulative, but you could’ve sworn you saw the slightest hint of endearment in Abby’s eyes.

You tried to back away quicker but nearly fell over because of a stray root in the ground that you definitely weren’t looking at, and you could see Abby snort as she tried to hold back her laughter. Smiling nervously, you turned around and bolted towards the cafeteria. It was way too early for this.

Hoping to find some solace in a burrito, you practically ran to the cafeteria, but before you could even smell that lovely tortilla blanket, someone caught you. Abby was breathing slightly heavier than usual when she pulled you aside, practically trapping you against the wall behind you.

“Why are you running from me?”

Abby’s arm was leaning on the wall next to your head and it took every ounce of willpower not to stare at her massive biceps. “I’m not running from you.”

“Um, I think the fact that I literally just sprinted after you, says something slightly different.” Abby used her other hand to brush a strand of hair away from her face. “So are we going to talk about it, or are you just going to run again?”

You crossed your arms in front of your chest. “Talk about what?”

Abby gestured her hands awkwardly between the two of you. “Us—this. Whatever this is.”

“Abby, I honestly have no idea what you’re talking about, but even if I did, it wouldn’t matter. So if you’ll excuse me, I need to grab some food now.” You ducked under Abby’s arm and began walking away but her next words stopped you in your tracks.

“I don’t understand you, I really don’t.” Abby was pacing now, her hands moving wildly as she spoke. “It’s like… sometimes you’re cold and distant and running away from me, and I just kind of accept it. I mean, even though it’s not like I’ve ever done anything to make you hate me this much, it obviously won’t help my situation if I continue to flirt with you. But then the next day I’ll catch you looking at me in that way and-”

“In what way?” You interrupted.

“Seriously?” Abby cocked her eyebrow, her mouth curled into an annoyed smirk as she rolled her eyes. “You look at me like you’re not sure whether you want to pounce me or punch me in the face.”

She said it so plainly that you were speechless for a second, was it seriously that obvious? There was so much going through your head right now, but the one thing that stuck with you was the fact that you agreed with her. Though it’s not like you could ever admit it, so instead you opted for some good ol’ denial. “I do not.”

Abby was quick to respond, like she had anticipated your answer. “You do, and you know what? I honestly have no problem with it. In fact, I encourage it! I mean if you weren’t so confusing, I’d have asked you out by now. You’re gorgeous and smart and a major badass on the field, but I just have no idea what you want from me.”

The last sentence threw you for a loop and before you knew it, your heart was doing the squeezing thing again. Did she truly think you were all those things?

Thinking about it, perhaps your problem wasn’t that you hated Abby. After all, it’s not like the reasons you disliked her were of any merit anyways. In fact, you kind of admired Abby when she wasn’t being a cocky bastard, but that still didn’t mean you could date her. Sure, she was kind of hot, and maybe you found her just the slightest bit charming, but you couldn’t possibly put yourself on the spot like that. Not only was she all types of wrong, Abby was also your superior, and Lord knows the scandal that dating her would transpire.

Finally finding some semblance of composure, you spoke hesitantly. “Abby you’re my superior and if people found out I- we just can’t, okay? I’m sorry.” You internally cringed at your words. It was such a stupid excuse but you still couldn’t help but fear the backlash you would receive for this.

Abby took a second to think before speaking. “Can I ask you a question?”

You didn’t say anything, just nodded your head slightly.

“Do you like me?” Abby’s eyes were sort of wide and almost hopeful, and you felt a slight tinge of remorse because you weren’t sure you could give her an answer. It was a simple question, but something inside you just couldn’t manage to form a proper response.

“Whether I like you or not doesn’t matter Abby, we can’t be together. I’ve worked so hard to get here and I’m not going to be belittled or ridiculed because I can’t keep my emotions in check.”

“So what you’re saying is… there are emotions to keep in check?” There was a hint of mischief in her tone and a smile on her face. You don’t think you’ve ever groaned so loudly.

“I did not say that.”

“It was implied.”

Abby chuckled to herself, taking a step towards you with every punctuated word. “Okay, let’s say that hypothetically you do have feelings for me, and that hypothetically I could make sure no one knew we were dating. Would you go out with me then?

You scoffed as you took a step towards her, your bodies now just inches from each other. “Oh yeah? And hypothetically, how would you do that?”

“It's simple, we date in secret.” Abby said it so nonchalantly that you thought she was joking. It took a few moments of awkward silence before you realized that she was serious.

“You’re kidding? That would never work.”

“Um first of all, I’m always serious, and second of all, did you forget that we are literally trained to be stealthy? I think if we can handle clickers, we can handle a secret relationship. Honestly Y/N, it seems like the only problem here is that you’re scared of going out with me because…” Abby took another step towards you, backing you against the wall with her arms crossed in front of her chest. “you’re afraid you’ll fall for me.”

You were utterly speechless. You wanted so badly to respond with a snarky comeback or a cheap insult, but as much as you hated to admit it, you were totally afraid of going out with her. Commitment is horrifying and complicated and you’ve gone your whole life trying to avoid it. But now? Abby was offering you a simple solution and before your mind could begin to consider the downsides to this, you answered.

“Fine. But if we get caught, it’s on you.”

And just like that, your secret relationship with Abby began.

It only took the first two dates for you to warm up to Abby—though you were incredibly apprehensive about all of it at first—it wasn't long before she had successfully charmed her way to your heart. And though you’d never admit it out loud, you’d be lying if you said you weren’t having at least a little bit of fun. It was thrilling running around with Abby like this; late-night dates, stolen looks during briefings, clandestine touches while passing each other in the halls, the way she seemed to be just a little bit more protective of you during patrols. You revelled in the way she held you when no one was around, when it was just the two of you.

It had almost been two months, and hiding a secret relationship with Abby was getting surprisingly more difficult. You figured it was likely a product of the fact that after your first kiss, Abby couldn’t seem to keep her hands off of you. It seemed as though someone was somehow lurking around every corner of this damn stadium, and the amount of times Abby had to sneak out of your room in the morning before your roommate woke up was honestly getting kind of absurd.

However, one major upside that’s come out of this deal is that you no longer despised briefings. In fact—now that you and Abby had this strange arrangement—you almost looked forward to mission briefings. The fondness for them was partly because you got to stare at Abby with adoration rather than anger, but mostly it was because you got to tease her like there was no tomorrow during them.

It was another early briefing and Isaac was droning on about… patrols? Or maybe it was borders, you weren’t really sure. Instead of focusing on his dull rambles, your mind was wandering elsewhere.

Abby was sitting in the seat next to you, her legs spread out while she leaned her toned forearms on the table in front of her. Keeping your eyes focused on Isaac, you brushed your knee against Abby’s just slightly before letting your hand slowly creep closer to her leg. Abby immediately knew what you were doing, quickly turning her attention towards you with a small tilt of her head. And though your eyes were fixed on the man in front of you, you knew she had a cautious look on her face.

A small smirk crept onto your lips as you let your hands make their way higher and higher till it was resting on her thigh. Letting it linger there, you traced little circles with your fingers, noting the way Abby covered her face with her hand to hide her expression before you gave her leg the smallest squeeze. Abby jumped in her seat and the whole room immediately turned their attention to her. Trying to hide her obvious freak-out Abby cleared her throat before asking some stupid question about intercepting the target while you did your best not to laugh next to her. When she finally finished rambling and the focus was off of her, Abby snuck you the smallest look, the kind of look that said “I’m totally going to get you for that later”.

At the end of the briefing, you noticed Abby making conversation with Manny near the exit of the military tent and an idea popped into your head. You made sure to look straight ahead as you nonchalantly walked out the exit before letting your hand brush up against Abby’s while you passed by. It still shocked you sometimes; somehow after nearly two months of hiding your relationship, her touch still managed to send you soaring. The familiar burn against your fingertips from your not-so-accidental accidental touch still lingering on your hand like an imprint—her imprint.

You looked back at her with a mischievous smirk on her face and she rolled her eyes before whispering something to Manny. Walking away knowingly, you were unsurprised when she cornered you behind a cement pillar with her hands on your hips and her mouth hungrily on yours. Abby spoke with her mouth still against yours, refusing to break the kiss.

“You know, for someone who was so adamant about having a secret relationship, you sure seem to enjoy attracting attention to us.”

You smiled into the kiss, your fingers moving to play with the end of her braid before giving it the smallest tug. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Abby groaned and you chuckled at her expression when you pulled away from her lips, causing Abby to nearly face-plant into the pillar behind you. You giggled, smiling at Abby teasingly before feigning an annoyed tone as you turned away from her with your arms crossed. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to grab some food now.”

#abby anderson x reader #abby anderson imagine #the last of us imagine #abby anderson #abby tlou #tlou2 #the last of us 2 #fluff #secret relationship #yes this was an excuse to openly express my desire to be cornered by a buff lady so she can make out with me in secret #no i will not be apologizing

216 notes · View notes

more-stuff-of-pi · 3 years

Text

Fair Trade

a/n: just in time to make it for the fic trade @heatwave2021 which is my first ever event/collab so i am v nervous! written for @blushinggray :) hope this lives up to your expectations uwu. this prompt was the one i was most immediately drawn to and who else to write in other than our resident lovable asshole

notes: check out all the other fics over on @heatwave2021! check out the jjk inumaki fic that @ara-mitsue wrote for me and check out the midoriya fic @blushinggray wrote! find my masterlist here

pairing: bakugou katsuki x gn!reader | genre: fluff | warnings: none :) | word count: 998

“You have got to be kidding me.”

The dingy little laundromat that you frequented rarely had more than one machine open at a time. Not because it was busy, no, but rather due to the fact that over half of the washers and dryers were ‘out of order’ and had been that way since long before you began your desperate patronage. As such, an open machine was a coveted thing among the few regulars who either visited out of convenience rather than quality like you or to get rid of sketchy stains from less than legal activities.

At this point you honestly wouldn’t be surprised if the laundromat was a front for some grander scheming operation. Frankly, you didn’t care. As long as it stayed convenient and relatively cheap, you certainly weren't going to say anything.

You had just barely tossed all of your things into a dryer that you had almost quite literally wrestled for, retreating to the vending machines for a well-earned snack and returning only to find that in that minuscule time frame, some shithead had taken your things out and shoveled theirs in. With an elbow supporting his weight as he leaned onto the machine and one hand drumming away at his leg, he seemed impatient and heavily annoyed at the situation. He was dressed in a way that begged to be inconspicuous and while it succeeded in covering key features, it failed to slide under the radar. You wish you could see his face so you could glare at him with direct eye contact as opposed to trying to burn holes through his sweatshirt.

“Hey, asshat! Wait your turn like everyone else here.”

The man whipped around an irritated “Huh?” sneering. You were disappointed to see the dark sunglasses adding yet another obstacle to the direct eye contact death glare goal you had set.

Unperturbed, you crossed your arms. “What, you don’t think you’re special, do you? Can’t believe you would just take someone’s stuff out of the machine they paid for, by the way, with their own hard earned money.” You move to open the washer when a big hand wraps around your wrist, lightly yanking you to a stop.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

You stare up at the stranger, eyebrows skyrocketing in disbelief. “You’re kidding, right?”

“No.”

A short, startled laugh escapes you as you shake off the stranger’s hand. “You took my laundry out of the machine I paid for and you’re mad that I’m setting it right?”

“I’m in a hurry, okay? Just let me have the damn machine.”

“With my money? Absolutely not. I’ve been waiting for the last forty-five minutes, you can at least have the decency to do the same.”

He huffs, fingers going to pinch at the bridge of his nose, aggressively pushing up the sunglasses he was wearing.

And suddenly you know why something about him seemed so familiar as unique vermilion eyes blink back at you. “Aren’t you that kid they chained up at the UA sports festival a few years ago? Bakugou something.”

“Katsuki. If I say yes will you let me wash my damn clothes?”

You cross your arms. “No, but it’ll explain why you’re so talented at being a dick.”

“Tch. How’d you even know it was me?”

“Besides your assholeish nature and your bright ass eyes?” Bakugou rolls said eyes as you carry on. “Your ‘don’t-notice-me’ outfit was a little obvious. Didn’t they ever teach you good ‘when-in-public’ disguises in that hero school of yours?” You wag a finger up and down at his miserable outfit, hoping that even he’s able to notice how cringey it is.

It seems like he understands when he grimaces as he follows your finger. “Point taken. Listen, that Midnight hag lectured on it once. It was supposed to be a three part lecture but they shut it down when they saw what she was showing us.”

Unfortunately, that startles a laugh out of you at the image of the X-rated hero scandalizing a group of teenage hopefuls. Bakugou smirks a little at that, giving the impression that he’s won something.

“You really should work on that outfit, you know. People will probably recognize you. I would say fans, but I’m assuming you don’t have any.”

“Huh?! I’m a hero, y’know, ‘course I have fans.”

You quirk your brow, the corner of your lips doing the same. “With that attitude?”

He frowns at you. “It’s not like I bite.”

“Really? That’s a shame,” you say automatically, face flushing at the realization of the horribly flirtatious subtext underlying.

Bakugou’s eyes widen, surprised at the turn this has taken but the wicked smile that quickly graces his features says it’s not unpleasant. “If you ask nicely I’m sure we can work you-- sorry, something out.”

Caught in a trap of your own making and hotter than hot, you push past the infuriatingly handsome smile to once again open the door of the washer. Again, Bakugou stops you, slamming his hand a little too hard against the door.

“Look,” he sighs, “if you let me take you out to coffee, will you let me wash my fuc--, my clothes? I’ve really gotta get back to the agency soon and I just need to clean my costume.”

“The agency doesn’t have their own laundromat? Or like a dry cleaning service?”

Bakugou glances away, mumbling something you don’t quite catch.

“What?”

“They do, just not for… interns.” When you laugh this time, Bakugou isn’t so quick to smirk. “But I’m still a hero, okay? I just have to work through the residency bullshit first.”

“Mhmm,” you smirk, biting back another laugh. “Dinner.”

He raises his brow. “What?”

“Agree to take me out to a nice dinner and then you can wash your clothes.”

Bakugou grins, sharp and intense accompanying the cutest, smallest blush that makes his eyes seem just a bit brighter. “Dinner, then. A nice one. And then maybe you can help me out with dessert.”

taglist: @samwrights, @mayaoliviee, @luluwiie

#heatwave2021 #this obv was not beta read #lord knows it's not great but i'm a little rusty but well meaning lmao #i hope y'all like it!!!#i feel like idk how to write bkg ajhidhaih but i love him sm #bakugou katsuki #bakugou katsuki x reader #bnha #bnha x reader #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #fair trade #gn!reader #bnha x gn!reader

103 notes · View notes

seasonofthewicth · 4 years

Text

next to you

I’ve wanted to write this exact scenario for rowaelin for so long and today I was supposed to write for agkol so obviously this came out. Rowaelin - 2.4k

part 2

“It’s totally fine,” Aedion says, his broad arm a warm weight around her shoulders as they both take in the room before them. And the bed. Aelin doesn’t move to take a step any further than their perch in the doorway. “He’s away for the weekend, he won’t know.”

A more sober Aelin would probably protest, but as it is she’s had a couple too many glasses of wine and she really doesn’t fancy having to order an Uber back to her own place.

She had come over to Aedion’s under the pretence of watching a movie with her cousin and his girlfriend, but she had made the first mistake of inviting Dorian who had made the second mistake of bringing the wine.

One thing had led to another which had led to the four of them lying around in various states of non-sobriety in the roof garden of Aedion’s building. At one point she’d slung on his fleece for extra warmth as she curled into Lysandra’s side as they watched the stars. Aedion and Dorian had stood at the railings looking over the city, sharing a smoke as they spoke in voices too low for Aelin to hear.

All in all, a good night.

The view from the roof terrace catches her breath each time she visits, it’s high enough to capture the lines of the city in all directions and being so high up, at such a step back, always feels like a breath of fresh air.

Aedion has a cool apartment, one she wishes she could afford, with it’s basement gym, the scenic garden and it’s unfailing hot water system. It’s a shame she doesn’t spend more time here.

She chews her lip as she takes in the tidy bedroom before her, the crisp green sheets on the bed, the orderly desk in the corner with only a laptop and a lamp atop it, the laundry hamper in the corner surely holding the dirty clothes that in Aelin’s place live on the floor until she can bring herself to wash them.

It wouldn’t be the worst idea in the world to crash in Aedion’s roommate’s bed for the night. Like Aedion says, he’s away for the weekend and she can change the sheets afterwards so he'll never know she was there.

She can’t believe she’s actually considering it but the wine is wearing off slightly now leaving her feeling like she wants to collapse into the giant bed and bury herself beneath the covers.

“Well,” Aedion says from her side, his voice only slightly slurred. “It’s here if you want it. I’m going to hit the hay. Whatever you decide, don’t walk home. I can call you a cab.”

“You’re sure he’s away for the weekend?” Aelin says as she shrugs out from underneath his arm.

“Hundred percent,” Aedion nods as she steps closer towards the welcoming bed.

Well, it’s decided then.

“Ah,” Aelin moans as she finally collapses onto the bed. She can’t believe she ever considered getting a taxi home, the sheets beneath her cheek are luxuriously soft and the mattress - gods the mattress. She could sink into it and stay here forever, it cups and moulds around each of her curves and she can’t help the sigh of satisfaction that slips out of her.

Aedion’s laugh sounds from behind her as he shuts the door. “Night, Ae.”

Her own response is muffled into the brushed cotton beneath her. She lies still for a moment, resting her eyes as the buzz of the booze settles into her. There’s a thrumming beneath her skin, and the room spins somewhat as she lays still with her eyes shut gently against the sensations. Her fingertips are definitely tingling, a sign that she knows she’ll feel rotten in the morning, but for now the bliss of a dark room and a soft bed beneath her are all that her mind can care to contemplate.

It’s been a while since she’s hung out with her cousin, both of them just busy, and she’s missed him. She’s missed the easy companionship they have and the slick conversations they have, only aided tonight by the presence of Dorian and Lysandra and the wine.

She snorts a laugh into the sheets and the movement causes the button of her jeans to dig into her stomach. She forces herself up with a groan and just manages to tug off the stiff denim, slinging the offending item across the room somewhere.

She laughs to herself at the thought of her already messing up such a clean room.

She doesn’t know Aedion’s roommate that well. She knows he’s called Rowan, and that he’s twenty-eight and now she knows that he has a disgustingly tidy room. Or he did, she adds to herself as she throws her top to the other side of the room.

Rowan only moved in with her cousin a couple of months ago, but from his room she can guess he’s uptight and quite possibly deathly boring. How Aedion lives with someone like that she doesn’t know, Aelin’s own roommates - Manon and Elide - are the perfect level of chaos with just enough order to function.

Aelin considers her options as she slumps on the corner of his bed, clad only in her underwear. Sleeping in a bra is uncomfortable but would she want to be naked in this stranger’s bed? Whether or not she changes the sheets afterwards he could be sweaty or gross or worse. He could have had guests in this bed before her.

Her gaze lands on a chest of drawers tucked against the wall on the far side of the room and before she knows she’s tiptoeing across and tugging open a drawer. Bingo. In-keeping with the rest of the room there are rows and rows of neatly folded t-shirts and before she can second guess herself she tugs out a black one, tugging it over herself before slipping off her bra and dropping it to the floor.

Another thing she’s learning tonight about Aedion’s mysterious roommate? He’s absolutely huge.

Aelin is far above average height for a woman and still, Rowan’s t-shirt hits mid thigh. She feels somewhat scandalous, in his room and wearing his clothes without his knowledge. A thought pops into her mind before she can help it - she hopes he doesn’t have a girlfriend.

Aelin launches herself back at the bed, sliding into the sleek sheets before flicking off the light at her side. She nestles in tightly, burrowing into the deliciously inviting bed and takes a deep breath. Gods this Rowan person smells good too.

She relaxes into the softness of the sheets and the euphoria that is lying on his mattress. In combination with the wine it doesn’t take her long at all to drift off.

When she wakes Aelin is aware of two things.

Firstly, her mouth tastes like shit. That would be the wine and not brushing her teeth the night before.

Secondly, she’s not alone.

It takes her a few beats to realise, but there’s a strong arm slung around her waist, tucking her into a broad chest. A puff of breath dashes across her neck as the man takes each slow, deep breath as he slumbers behind her.

Aelin lays still for a moment, her brain not yet fully turned on.

She definitely went to bed alone, but maybe-

“Dorian?” She whispers into the dark, trying to roll over to see him, but the strong arm around her waist is clamped too tightly for her to get anything more than a glance. She has no idea where Dorian ended up last night but it wouldn’t be the first time they had ended up in bed together.

“Dorian?” She tries again and the man behind her shifts allowing her an eyeful of the top of the head tucked into the crook of her neck.

Well, the man with the silver hair is definitely not Dorian, and as he shifts he tugs her tighter against him and shit. The pressure of morning wood against her backside is unmistakable.

Aelin’s mouth goes dry as her traitorous body grinds back into it, her ass rubbing against the hard length.

Nope.

“Hey,” She whispers, louder this time as she tries to pry his hand from her waist. “Wake up.”

The man shifts, rolling back slightly away from her, his hand sliding up from her waist to sit on her hip. A low moan sounds from the back of his throat as he begins to wake and damn if Aelin doesn’t clamp her thighs together at the sound.

She finally manages to wrestle herself up onto her elbows and she twists around to get a look at the man she definitely did not share a bed with last night when she went to sleep.

Yet another thing she’s learning about Aedion’s roommate Rowan? He’s fucking gorgeous.

In the dim light of the morning she can make out the sharp line of his jaw and the full curve of his lips, even as they twist into a slight frown. His silver brows are drawn together as he shifts and as his eyes flutter open she’s greeted by the most striking green eyes she’s ever seen.

“What the fuck?” Even his voice is sexy, the low rasp sending shivers down her spine, heat sparking from the hand still resting on her hip.

As though they remember that point of contact at the same time he jerks his hand back and repeats his earlier question. “Who are you?” He hisses.

“I’m Aelin.” She says as though it’s the most obvious answer. “What are you doing in here?”

He lets out a disbelieving laugh and Aelin curses herself for how hot she finds it. Objectively, she is in the wrong, but she’s going to blame Aedion.

“What am I doing here?” He says. “This is my bed. What are you doing here?”

Aelin shrugs as if this is a regular occurrence, “Aedion said I could crash here.”

Rowan lifts his hand to draw it across his face, letting out another dark curl of laughter as he rolls onto his back, seemingly needing a minute to process the situation he has found himself in. Aelin catches the shadows of dark ink down his arm and curses her cousin for not introducing them earlier, she’s quite enjoying her morning.

“Did he now?”

She’s very much aware that she’s still tucked into his side, his right arm curled beneath her pillow as he lays back. She drops herself down from her elbows, her head is aching and Rowan doesn’t seem to be making sense of this any time soon so she may as well get comfortable.

He doesn’t shy away from her, in fact his thumb brushes against the cotton of his t-shirt covering her shoulder.

Rowan pulls his hand away from his face and tilts his head to face her fully.

Those green eyes make her feel like she’s caught in the most enticing of traps. She couldn’t look away if she tried.

“Are you wearing my shirt?” He asks, and Aelin shrugs as she glances down at herself.

It’s a glance that allows her the knowledge that Rowan himself is not wearing a shirt and the broad, muscular planes of his chest start her heart beating quickly. The ink on his arm stretches onto his upper chest and Aelin wants to touch.

“You should be thankful,” She says. “I almost didn’t.”

Rowan opens his mouth to say something, but then seems to change his mind. Instead he shifts up onto an elbow and rolls over so that he’s leaning towards her. Aelin can’t stop her brain from imagining how it would feel if he slipped his thigh between hers. How she could shuffle down slightly to press his leg right where she wants it, and the darkening of Rowan’s eyes tells her he’s contemplating giving her exactly what she wants.

When his eyes flick to her lips Aelin wishes she’d bothered to brush her teeth last night.

This is not where she saw her morning going when she was too lazy to call a cab last night but she’s far from complaining.

The cocky smile that slips onto his lips has her mouth dropping open. Short, sharp breaths draw her chest up and down and Rowan glances down to where she’s not wearing a bra beneath his t-shirt and the sleepy but still predatory smile grows.

Aelin can’t draw her eyes away from that smile, away from the wicked curve of his lips as his leg shifts closer to her beneath the covers.

“Aelin, are you-” The burst of light that fills the room as Aedion barges in burns her eyes and Aelin squeezes her eyes shut tight against it.

“Um, I… Rowan?” Her cousin manages, still frozen in the doorway.

Aelin knows what this looks like, Rowan is almost on top of her and she knows she’s flushed from his proximity.

He clears his throat as he eases back away from her, the cool air that fills the space between them clears her head enough for her eyes to flicker open.

“Yeah, I decided to come home last night instead.” His voice is tight, Aelin notes with a hint of pride. “Didn’t know you were offering out my bed while I was gone.”

Aelin can only bite her lip in what she hopes in a not-guilty expression. From the pure bewilderment clouding Aedion’s expression she’s not sure she achieves it.

“You weren’t supposed to be back until later,” Aedion says, his voice still sounding strangled. “I wasn’t expecting this to happen.”

Aelin snorts, tugging herself up to sit against the headboard, her thigh pressing against Rowan’s bare shoulder. His green eyes dart to the point of contact before locking onto her own and that gaze makes Aelin blush all over again.

Rowan huffs a laugh as Aelin says, “Yeah, me neither.”

She can’t draw her eyes away from Rowan’s face. She doesn’t care that he’s probably boring or uptight as she guessed in her snooping through his bedroom last night as long as he keeps on looking at her like that.

“Aedion,” She says in a low voice as she manages to draw her gaze from Rowan, who’s firm shoulder is brushing against her thigh beneath the duvet. “Get out.”

#rowaelin #rowan x aelin #aelin x rowan #throne of glass #rowan whitethorn #aelin ashryver galathynius #the first draft of this was so much hornier #but i'm tempted to make this a prompt fic so held back

243 notes · View notes

lightsovermonaco · 3 years

Text

His Good Sweater: Chapter 12

Masterlist

Winding down from the frenzy of the last chapter... Thanks to @acollectionofficsandshit for being my bestie and beta reading! This would have never happened without her ❤

Word Count: 5.9k

Recommended song: "I Don't Care" by Fall Out Boy

“Mon amour, wake up.”

Pierre’s sleep-heavy voice rouses you from the best sleep you’d had in a long time. You’d fallen asleep to the sounds of his even breathing under the soothing touch of his thumb tracing patterns on your side.

You crack your eyes open to see him silhouetted by the white light of the waning moon, his bare chest left uncovered by the blanket slung low over his hips. The sight alone has your mind instantly jumping into overdrive, fighting the need to sleep with the need to continue ogling the bare skin a foot from your face.

“I let you sleep as long as I could,” he says softly, reaching behind him for his phone. “We have to be on the M1 in about half an hour.”

“Mmmph,” you groan, snuggling back under the blanket and closer to him, chasing the warmth radiating from him. “The sun isn’t even out.”

His chuckle shakes the bed. “I figured you would say that which is why I made you breakfast and picked out your clothes. All you have to do is brush your teeth and get dressed.”

You hum appreciatively and press a kiss to his bare sternum. “Is this how you’re going out today? Because I won’t complain but you might cause a few heart attacks.” A kiss to your temple is a small reward for your comment, as well as a concession.

"Don't worry, this is reserved only for you." He stretches an arm above his head, grinning when your eyes immediately are drawn to the way the muscles ripple and pull under his skin. You stare shamelessly as he flexes a little for your benefit, the action going straight to your head.

"As it should be." You bite your lip and let your fingertips dance over his chest, memorizing the way it rises and falls so predictably with each deep breath. Against your better judgement you trail kisses up over his pectoral and spot them along his shoulder, dragging another light chuckle from him.

"My love," he warns, voice tinted with mischief, "we don't have time."

"Oh I think we do." You continue your path over his collarbone and to the hollow of his throat. Taking advantage of his biggest weakness, you flick your tongue over his prominent adam’s apple. The move has his hand engulfing your upper arm, giving you a warning squeeze.

"As wonderful as this is" -he sucks in a sharp breath when your teeth graze his neck- "if I'm late Horner will kill me."

"What's new?" You say, but draw back. The mere mention of his name made you see red and shattered the moment. "Do you really want to go back to Red Bull after how they treated you?"

"No," he admits, slipping an arm around you and tugging you up and into a sitting position, taking advantage of the momentary lapse of lust. "But if I want a shot with a top team when my contract is up, I don’t have much choice."

"Where do you see yourself going?"

Pierre studies you as you slip into the clothes he had selected for you. Nothing fancy, just an AlphaTauri branded navy and white hoodie and some light wash jeans. You don't miss the way his lips twitch upward when you notice it's his hoodie, his last name embroidered in block font on the cuff a dead giveaway even if the hoodie hadn't been ridiculously oversized on you.

Cheeky bastard.

"I think I would look good in sunshine yellow," he remarks. You make a show of looking him up and down under the pretense of imagining him in a Renault branded hoodie or their signature black race suit. Truthfully it was just another excuse to drink him in like the fine wine he was and recall how he had tasted on your tongue last night.

He would look good in any color on the grid but you don't grant him the satisfaction of pointing that out. Instead, you lean forward to toy with the waistband of the jeans he had hastily buttoned seconds earlier. "You and Daniel get along just fine." You snag him by the belt loops and yank him forward back onto the bed. "I think you should go to McLaren.”

“I’d still look good in orange.”

You wind your fingers under his waistband. “I think you’d look best wearing nothing at all, actually.”

“The time,” Pierre protests lightly when you pop open the button and undo the zipper. He groans when you yank the denim down around his thighs, finally submitting to your touch and lacing his fingers in your hair. Your lips explore the planes of his abdomen, any and all thoughts of speed abandoned on your end. "If you don't hurry up we're gonna be late."

"Maybe you'll just have to drive fast. I hear you’re good at that."

**********

"So how is it that they got your car all the way to London?"

"It's got its own private jet."

You roll your eyes and smack the hand resting on your thigh. His response is a light squeeze and a chuckle before he continues, "They've got a few spares they keep around for when drivers come to town. I can't be seen in a Mini or it would cause a scandal."

"Oh yes it would be quite tragic." His hand charts a dangerous path along your thigh. He knows exactly what he's doing as he slots a thumb between your legs and presses it tight to the apex of your thighs.

You snap your knees shut, effectively trapping his hand "Now you're just being cruel."

"Only dishing out what you did this morning," he points out and wiggles his hand free to rest on your knee instead. The message was clear: he had shaken you well enough for his liking and was perfectly content to leave you frustrated until he could get you home.

“So catch me up on what I’ve missed,” you say, determined to distract yourself from Pierre’s slight teasing. “What’s new in the life of the rising star in Formula 1?”

“Rising star,” Pierre mumbles and rolls his eyes. “Not yet, my love. Getting there, but not yet.”

“Please, you’re too modest. Last night when you fell asleep- you were out like a light as soon as your head hit the pillow, don't give me that look!” Pierre picks his jaw up off the floor and shakes his head as you continue, “I read plenty of articles that called you the next big thing, right up there with Max.”

The comparison didn't seem to sit right with him. He shifts in his seat, rolling words over on his tongue. “I’m sure you’re caught up then. I haven’t done anything really besides train and race.”

“I did notice you’ve beefed up a bit.”

“Yet another reason to thank Pyry.”

“At this point I should send him a fruit basket for his trouble.”

“Maybe you should.” Pierre grins, hand leaving your thigh for a split second to upshift. “What about you? How’s year four treating you?”

“Ugh, don’t get me started,” you groan. “My senior project is already killing me and I’ve only just started it. We have to design a building from the ground up- I mean I like architecture but I’m trying to be an engineer, not an architect. I dunno why I have to be the one to design a building! At this point it’s just a brick box.”

“Sounds challenging,” Pierre notes, flooring it when he merges onto the highway. Though the speed makes your stomach flip, you don’t miss a beat.

“My team doesn’t do much either, I’ve been doing most of it. I could rant for hours about it.”

Pierre glances at the clock, then back to you. The blue of his eyes is blocked by his signature purple tinted sunglasses, shielding them from the rising sun that casts him in a warm orange glow. “Humor me. We’ve got time.”

The hour and a half drive was by no means dull with Pierre's teasing touches and endless string of questioning along the way. He asked after every aspect of your life that had transpired in the last four months, only stopping you once in a while to interject with an opinion or anecdote. He didn't stop at your life either, even asking after Ben's relationship. You'd been happy to report that he had indeed wooed his crush and had officially asked him to be his boyfriend.

"Those secret French lessons paid off," Pierre jokes as he pulls up to the imposing glass fronted building that served as Red Bull Racing's headquarters. The sweeping curve of the entrance was flanked on either side by two-story red and yellow bulls; proof that the team's dramatics extended far past the track. Anyone approaching for the first time would have been intimidated by the sheer size of them that suggested they were ready to stomp on their competition at a moment’s notice.

“Guess it’s time.” You sigh and undo your seatbelt and fiddle with the buckle, doing your best to stall. There was no reason to be this nervous. You were no one to these people; the focus would be entirely on Pierre. You would be an afterthought, not that you minded because it made it easier to fade into the background.

Pierre picks up on your hesitation in a heartbeat. “I’ll keep them off your back,” he promises and you nod, the single sentence taking the edge off. “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.” You reach for the door handle but Pierre tsks and you pause.

"You know better." You bite your lip to keep back the grin fighting its way to the surface as he comes around to open your door. He offers you his hand and you gladly take it and are pleasantly surprised when he threads his fingers through yours and heads for the entrance.

The atrium serving as the lobby is breathtakingly gorgeous. You had to hand it to the interior designer; they knew what they were doing. Sleek white marble floors are accented by red and yellow leather chairs scattered in small groups throughout the grand space. A tiered circular modern interpretation of a chandelier hangs above to offer guidance to the accountants, engineers and artists that weave through the lobby on their way to their respective wings or offices.

A waist high, glass front cabinet of drivers helmets serves as the reception desk. The unmistakable scent of a fresh cup of coffee hits you as you approach and the secretary hands a steaming paper cup to someone before they scurry off, presumably to a private office if they were important enough to warrant special attention. The first rays of morning sunlight glint off the silver Red Bull logo inlaid in the black marble behind the woman at the counter, making you squint.

"Bonjour Monsieur Gasly," she says in perfect French. "Ça va?"

"Bien," he says simply and switches to English for your benefit. "Has Christian come through yet?"

"He has," the woman says, glancing sidelong at you. Whatever conclusions she draws about you are insignificant enough that she writes you off immediately, angling her body towards Pierre and resting her chin in her hand. The posturing puts her ample chest on display, nearly spilling out of her billowing blouse, but Pierre's eyes don't wander. "He's not expecting you yet. Voulez-vous un cafe?"

"I'm good." The woman may have been determined to alienate you but Pierre was having none of it. Pierre turns to you, a grin playing on his face. This was your first test as an official couple and he intended to see how you handled it. "How about you, my love? Coffee?"

The woman's eyes slip to where your hand remains clasped in his. She cocks her head so slightly you think you might be imagining it until Pierre's grip tightens, a silent encouragement. Your confidence soars. If this was how Daniel's girlfriend felt when the two of them were out, you finally understood why they didn't hide. It was a rush knowing that everyone wanted Pierre but he only wanted you. No matter how blatantly women threw themselves at him, there was no doubt in your mind that he would never give a single one of them the light of day.

It was about damn time you afforded him the same unwavering commitment as he had shown you.

"No thank you," you reply sweetly with a mocking smile directed to the woman. You lean in and drop your voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "You might want to fix your shirt though, it’s… slipped. I know I'd hate for that to happen to me and no one tell me, especially at work. I don't think I'd ever recover from it."

Her face immediately turns scarlet as she stands straight and folds her arms over her chest. "If I were you-"

"Let Horner know I'm here," Pierre interrupts and it's somehow the hottest thing he's ever said. His purely commanding tone leaves no room for argument.

"Of course," she replies with a sharp smile in your direction that makes your spine stiffen. "Good luck. Christian is in rare form this morning."

"Just ignore it," Pierre murmurs and sweeps his thumb over the back of your hand as he leads you across the cold marble and down a carpeted hall. "You handled that well.”

“I may have gotten a few pointers from Daniel’s lover.” Your soft smile doesn’t quite reach your eyes. The short interaction had sapped most of your confidence, leaving you on uneven footing. “I would rather not have to deal with that again soon though.”

“I can handle the women easy enough when I know I’ve got you to come home to.”

The tightness in your chest eases further when the hall opens into another startlingly white space, this time packed with rows and rows of navy cubicles. But that's not where your attention is drawn- instead, your gaze is immediately snagged by the case of trophies towering high along the back wall. Cups of every shape and size shine within, each one representing a different podium for the team achieved in various years and tracks.

"There must be over a hundred," you breathe, mesmerized by the glinting silver and intricate craftsmanship. The case was easily thirty feet tall and you had to crane your neck to catch a glimpse of the ones in the top row. Each one told a story of blood, sweat and tears, each one earned by a driver who had made countless sacrifices to be where they were and finish on a podium.

"A hundred and eighty five to be exact," he counters, laughing at your amusement. "Your inner architect is screaming isn't it?"

"Only a little."

Pierre laughs outright at your white lie and tugs you along. "You can stare on the way out. I'll even show you which ones were Max's."

"Did you memorize what all his trophies look like?"

"Hey, meetings with engineers get boring. It's one of the more interesting ways to occupy your time when they are going on and on about fluid mechanics and thermodynamics- you know, stuff you understand but not me."

"Oh whatever, you enjoy those meetings and you know it."

"Only a little," he quotes.

People recognize him as you pass and some nod or give a simple greeting as they go about their morning but no one stops him to chat. The air feels a bit hostile, like no one knows what to do with him now that he's walking through the building after a nearly two year absence.

"Do you miss it?" You ask after he smiles at someone for the millionth time.

"I miss the team," he admits, "but not the management culture. My team was great- they supported me any way they could but it didn't help that Horner didn't exactly encourage them to believe in me. It's hard to crank out results when there's no one on your side."

"I'm on your side," you point out, nudging him with your hip. "You've got me forever, no takesies backsies."

"I'm grateful for it," he murmurs and gives your hand a squeeze. He hadn't let go once; not when he had to open a door or the two of you had to walk single file to let people pass.

The building was a labyrinth and if it wasn't for Pierre you'd have been lost the moment you set foot inside. He navigates the twisting halls with ease, having no need for the countless signs posted along the way.

He leads you up a set of steel stairs after what seems like ages. When he knocks on a heavy oak door, his grip on your hand turns possessive like he suspects the office’s occupant would try to rip you away from him.

“Morning.”

God, even the one word makes rage simmer in your veins. The voice precedes the man and Christian Horner swings open the door, a plastic smile splitting his face. He doesn't bother acknowledging you with a greeting, instead addressing his driver directly.

“I wasn’t expecting you to bring a guest.”

“A pretty face was needed around here,” Pierre snaps back without missing a beat. You bristle, free hand curling into a fist. If there was one person you didn’t mind teaching a lesson to, it was Horner. He had little respect for anyone he viewed as disposable- up to and including “underperforming” drivers.

Christian raises an eyebrow. “Sure. She can wait out here- you and I have terms to discuss.”

Fine, Horner wanted to play dirty? So could you. When it came to staring him down, you became fearless. He was the one person you refused to let intimidate you.

Drawing on your newly minted confidence you smile up at Pierre and silence the protest forming on his tongue with a grin. “Gimme a kiss, race winner.”

Pierre doesn’t hesitate to press his lips to yours. Cupping a hand to the back of his neck you draw him in and nip at his lower lip. The hand on your hip tightens at Christian's scoff but Pierre makes no move to break away. You linger a moment longer than necessary to drive your point home: you didn’t care what Horner had to say about you, you were here to stay and he would have to get used to it.

Pierre gives you a small, blissed out smile before dropping your hand and following Horner inside. The door clicks but doesn't shut all the way, Pierre leaving it cracked for your benefit.

Uninterested in eavesdropping on small talk, you lean on the metal railing to observe the research and development garage coming to life on the floor below. Hybrid engines in various stages of disassembly dot the space, small teams of mechanics and engineers tweaking components to reduce weight or increase horsepower. Pistons and valves are scrutinized and exchanged before being placed under stress to test their strength.

An FIA official in a red jacket wove through the garage to observe and jot notes down on a clipboard. He looks over the shoulder of an engineer pouring over formulas on a whiteboard, startling him when the official asks a question. Someone calls your name from below and you search for the origin, finally spotting the woman and waving back at her.

Management may have their qualms with Pierre but it was clear there were still some within the team that had his back. They were likely the same ones that knew he would have to leave the Red Bull umbrella to find any semblance of success. They may not have possessed the guts to stick their necks out for him when Horner had cut him but they were at least happy to see him back around headquarters.

"You sure you'll rise to the challenge?" Horner's question drags you back to the mezzanine.

"I'll take seventh. I'm only a few points away and we have plenty of races left."

He had five races to catch up to be exact. Pierre currently was comfortably ahead of the pack in ninth, Sainz was only three points ahead in eighth, and Norris ten points beyond in seventh. It would only take a DNF or two from his rivals and a few podiums to pass them up.

"Right," Horner starts. "There's a reason you've done so well this season and it's not luck. You've been racing exceptionally well and I don't want that to change."

"If there's something on your mind just get on with it." Pierre's voice is calm and collected in a way yours wouldn't be if you had been in his shoes. You've been dying to rip into Horner since the day he wrote Pierre off.

"There's been a fire in you the past few months since she has been gone-"

"Leave her out of this."

The tone sends a chill down your spine. It maintains the same level headedness that Pierre had perfected over the years and you had come to expect when he was backed against a wall, but it was laced with an unspoken threat. The intent was clear: he would walk out and abandon his chance for a seat at Red Bull if it meant protecting you.

You creep to the door to peer through the crack. Horner crosses his arms, a sly smile on his face. "You would sacrifice your chance at a championship winning seat for her? Everything you've worked so hard for, gone in a flash, because of her?"

"Without question," Pierre answers immediately. The conviction and commitment behind it nearly makes you stumble. "I'm sure there's plenty of other teams that would love to have me after the season I've had. She’s not going anywhere, so either you stop disrespecting her or I walk out."

You clench your fists, ready to burst in and demand Pierre stop being a fucking idiot. His long term plan saw him at another top team that would take care of him and nurture his skill- a long stint at Red Bull Racing was never in the cards. It wasn't an environment for everyone. Some people like Max thrived in it, letting the toxicity roll off their backs but for Pierre it was a cruel form of punishment. However, a seat at Red Bull for the 2022 season could mean the difference between an offer from Alpine and an offer from Haas when his contract was up for renewal.

The idea of seeing his number stickered to the floor in a Red Bull garage excites and intimidates you. Last time he hadn't been given the chance to prove himself. Would they still hold that against him? Knowing Christian, he probably would. On the other hand, it meant that they admitted their mistake in cutting him mid-season, whether they said it outright or not.

Pierre's redemption day was on the horizon and you couldn't wait to see the look on Horner's face when he finally won. And the longer Christian stays silent, the more potent the urge to throttle him grows.

Christian gives a slow clap. "Now there's the unwavering commitment that was missing during round one."

Your heart hammers in the dead silence as papers are shuffled. "Here's the contract. Terms are as discussed, you secure seventh in the world championship in 2021 and the second seat at Red Bull Racing is yours for the entire calendar in 2022. No demotions, substitutions, or shuffling of drivers unless medically necessary or mutually agreed upon by all affected parties."

"And the same spec car as the number one seat," Pierre insists, spine straight. "Same strategy."

Christian waves a hand. "Yes, that's in there too. Feel free to take a moment and read it over."

He does, allowing Christian time to pour a knuckle of whiskey and set the glass before Pierre. He pours himself an identical glass and waits until Pierre signs and initials all the boxes before raising it in acknowledgement.

"Congratulations. Welcome back to Red Bull- conditionally."

Pierre leaves the glass untouched and remains silent, staring his potential future team principal down. He gives the man no margin to question his abilities further, conveying all he needs to with a look that would have had you shaking at the knees. Even if you can't see his face, wrath radiates from him in waves and you wouldn't want to be on the receiving end of it when it explodes.

"Right then." Christian lowers the glass, his fake smile vanishing. "I look forward to seeing what you can do."

"Don't worry. I'll deliver."

You step back and allow him to set the mood as he exits the office and slams the door behind him. Pierre sighs and scrubs a hand over his face. "You heard all of that right?"

You nod. "You wouldn't have really walked out, right?"

"I almost did."

He says it like it's the most obvious thing in the world. Like you should know that he would choose you over all of this, that all of his dreams and everything he had sacrificed to achieve them thus far meant less to him than you did. How many times did he have to prove his unwavering commitment before you realized it was true?

Pierre laces his fingers through yours, the heat welcomed by your ice cold skin. It was as much a comfort to you as it was to him. "I just have to grab some things from Max's office and then we can head out."

His jaw is still set after his stand off with Christian and you want nothing more than to ease his mind. Publicly comforting him with a touch to his chest or a kiss to his neck was out of the question so you settle on temporary distraction.

"Hey, you know what I want to see?"

"What's that?"

"That room full of all the old chassis. You know, the one that they hold all the fancy virtual events in? I wanna see those."

"I think I should be able to get you back there." He veers down a hall and you yelp, pulled along by his momentum. His attitude brightens a little at your laugh. The grin he throws your way is your own personal sun, warming your soul.

"Hey- hold on." You pull him to a stop and lead him into an alcove. The inch of space between your chests is charged with electricity, begging to jump from one to the other.

"Can I help you?" He asks and grins down at you.

"No," you say nonchalantly. "Just wanted to be selfish for a second."

You rise up on your tiptoes to press a kiss to his lips. He melts into you, one hand coming up to cup your jaw while the other finds the small of your back. You side your tongue over his lower lip and he presses you against the door leading to who knew where and opens his mouth to you. You sigh into the kiss, arms winding around his neck and losing yourself in him.

Now that you had gotten over your anxiety, everything was so much easier. You know there's press roaming about the building and any number of them could pass by at any moment but you genuinely couldn't care less. Let them talk; you were over caring what anyone thought or said.

All that mattered was the man beneath your fingertips. You would endure a lifetime of insults if he was the one to soothe the wounds afterwards. As long as you both were happy, no one could come between you ever again.

Pierre pulls away when someone passes by and coughs quietly. "You're trouble," he murmurs, leaving an arm propped next to your head and effectively caging you in.

"And you're dangerous," you tease, tugging on his hair and exposing his throat enough to nip at it once. "Together we're the perfect pair."

He groans and leans away. "Keep that up and I might have to stay in London an extra week."

You slip out of his grasp and give him an unrestrained grin. "Don't threaten me with a good time." You spin on your heel and set off down the hall, swaying your hips a little more than necessary.

"You know where you're going?" He calls after you.

"Someone will point me in the right direction, I'm sure."

"Someone like me." He catches up to you and once again takes your hand in his. He was enjoying showing you off almost as much as you enjoyed hanging on him.

"Maybe we should head right to Max's office and hurry home, huh?"

"Maybe-"

"Pierre, there you are."

You both turn to a woman hustling up the hall after you. She’s slight and her brown curls bounce as she jogs to where the two of you pause at a bend. You glance up to Pierre to see if he's just as confused as you are.

"Hey Mary," he says cheerily. "How are you? Sorry I didn't check in with you when I got here."

"Oh it's fine- why aren't you in the Alpha samples I sent?” The woman props a fist on her hip and tips her head to the side. “I think I got your size right now that I’ve laid eyes on you. I was hoping for a shoot today since you've finally come by."

It takes you a moment to register that she's addressing you. You shoot Pierre a look and he offers you a tentative, closed off smile. "Um, what Alpha gear?"

The woman's chocolate brown eyes go wide. "The ones I've been sending to Pierre. Hoodies, dresses, jackets. All the stuff from the new line. They have been sending the samples to you, right?"

"Um, yeah I've gotten them," Pierre says, rubbing his neck. "I haven't given them to her though."

"Oh, I see!” Pink tinges Mary’s cheeks. “I must have missed a memo. I just thought that you'd want to do a shoot with her today, since we already had a quick one planned for you. After all, you talk about her all the time."

"He does?"

Mary nods. "Oh yes, we've all heard plenty about you. You're lucky to have someone so enamored with you. I just dropped off some more samples in Max's office as a little thank you for letting us steal him so often-"

"Okay, thank you Mary," Pierre says abruptly. "I'll get back to you on that."

Pierre steers you away and down the hall. "What was she talking about? Why would they want me to come by for a photo shoot?"

Pierre runs a hand through his hair and pauses outside Max's office. The Dutchman must have been away because Pierre pulls out his key and fits it in the lock. "I just- come on."

He waves you inside and you obey, letting him close the door and grant you some semblance of privacy before continuing.

"I never formally told anyone that we broke up. Most people came to their own conclusions once they didn't see you around for a while. Some people didn't get the message. Obviously Mary was one of them. I would still talk about you, I couldn't help myself. There was one shoot where Yuki and I were together and he mentioned off hand that you'd be a good brand ambassador. I tried to explain that it wouldn't work but Mary wouldn't hear it and she just kept sending me more and more samples.”

You draw a breath and interrupt his rambling. “But where-”

"I had it all in a box in my office but I struggled to concentrate with a reminder of you hanging over my head. I sent it over here to Max and that's where it's sat ever since. I used the excuse that Max was in town more often than I was and no one read too far into it."

"Why didn't you tell me?" You whisper. "I would've taken them. I'm sure you got an earful from Mary."

"Would you have?” Pierre pauses, your silence in the face of his frustration speaking volumes. “I waited four months to hear from you. Tell me that sending you thousands of dollars in unreleased merch wouldn't have made you even more hesitant to come back to me."

Not knowing what else to say, you let your gaze fall to the carpet. Sending you expensive things would have felt something like a bribe, like he was trying to influence you with fancy clothes.

Pierre shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter, it’s in the past now. We can take it home today and you can wear it when I take you for dinner and Alpha will get the press they’re after. Everyone will be happy.”

He wasn’t happy. That much was plain to see. He hadn’t been able to stomach seeing something intended for you, even that minute of a reminder had been too much for him to bear. God, you had thoroughly wrecked him. You were lucky that there were still enough pieces of him left to heal.

“I didn’t realize you were hurting so bad,” you say, voice barely above a whisper as you cross the cramped space to him, stepping over piles of strewn paperwork carefully so as to not disturb whatever random order they were placed in. You don’t dare reach out to touch him as his shoulders slump, any and all forward momentum he’d gathered suddenly sapped.

“It’s one of the worst things I’ve ever gone through.”

Unable to let him suffer alone with his thoughts, you wrap your arms around his middle and let your cheek rest between his shoulders. “I didn’t mean to alienate you. I was waiting for you, too.”

“You needed space and I gave it to you.” His hand rests on your arm with a gentleness you’ve come to expect when he lays himself bare like this. “There were so many times I almost gave in to the impulse and just messaged you but I made myself wait. I didn’t want to rush it and make things worse. You always need time to think things through- I knew you would come around eventually. It didn’t make it any easier though.”

You rub soothing circles on his side as you blink back the tears that spring to your eyes. “I’m sorry I put you through that. I’m sorry I took so long and I’m sorry I made you wait. It had to have been torture-”

He turns in your embrace and cups your chin, forcing you to look up at him. The pad of his thumb sweeps across your cheek, the metal of the ring on his middle finger biting into your flushed skin. “It’s alright. You had a lot to sort through and I had to respect that.”

“We lost so much time-”

“Hey,” he says softly, ducking his head to meet your eyes. “We’re together now. If there’s one thing I’m sure of it’s that you can’t let missed opportunities control you or else you’ll never be happy.”

You nod, swiping your sleeve under your eyes. “What did they send?” you ask, nodding towards the box overflowing with tan and navy threads.

“Pull up a chair,” Pierre suggests, “there’s a lot.”

You roll over Max’s desk chair and tug on Pierre’s arm. Once he gets the picture and sits, you settle in his lap. He winds an arm around your middle, the close contact already soothing your frazzled nerves.

“That better?” he murmurs.

“Much better.”

@seasidetom @flashcal @limp-wrist-max @sunshinesewis @lifeofzoemichael @ninuffi @perfectfantasies22 @lamboleglerg @ladyperceval @0forgottenparadise0 @evie-pr @avsensio @ninuffi @ricciartodododo

If you have asked to be tagged in the past and I missed you I apologize! Just comment below and I’ll get you added for future updates. Thanks for reading ❤

#my writing #pierre gasly #pierre gasly imagine #formula 1 #formula 1 fanfiction #formula 1 fantasy #formula 1 fanfic #pierre gasly x reader #f1 #f1 fanfic #f1 fanfiction #f1 fic #f1 fantasy #f1 imagine #formula 1 fic #formula 1 imagine #f1 rpf #formula 1 rpf #pierre gasly fanfiction

127 notes · View notes

hermannsthumb · 3 years

Note

As per our convo, Newt getting set up with Hermann via Hermann’s father’s binder full of pre-approved suitors for his son...

(from @k-sci-janitor 👀) easily one of our funniest concepts yet. I was going to end on newt coming over for dinner scenario but I like the ominous open ending. I'm not actually sure when kaiju attacks fall in the PR timeline so excuse my handwaveyness, LOL

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hermann’s relationship with his father is what one would call strenuous at best, but—Hermann must admit, to the man’s credit, and in spite of his many flaws—he took the news of Hermann’s sexual orientation as unflinchingly as if Hermann had told him the day’s weather. It was a bit annoying, in fact. Hermann had agonized over the proper way to breach the subject for months, certain it spoke to some sort of personal ruin (whether ostracization from the Gottliebs or being forbade following through on any attraction he may feel whilst still living under the family roof, he wasn't sure), before finally simply announcing it one day at the breakfast table on a whim.

It had been a long-standing tradition that Hermann’s parents compile a binder—effectively of dossiers—on all the most eligible bachelors (for their daughter) and bachelorettes (for their sons) to aid in the choice of the latest Gottlieb mate. It was easiest this way, or so Hermann and his siblings were told. Parental approval was already secured. The histories of each were already secured, which bypassed any nasty shocks that might emerge in the courtship stage. Most of them were children of his father's colleagues or bright minds in their own rights: surgeons, and dentists, and mathematicians. Poets were strictly forbidden.

The occasion of Hermann’s breakfast table announcement had also been the day Hermann’s father presented him with his very first binder of prospective mates—a few days after his eighteenth birthday, and shortly before he was to go off to begin work on his PhD. His father had slid him a hand-written binder of names, no more than a dozen, and all with accompanying photographs. “All are accomplished young women,” he assured Hermann. “We can arrange any meetings of your choice over your winter holidays.”

Hermann glared down at the row of frozen smiles. He stabbed his fork into his cooked tomato wedge. “I don’t want to marry any of these women,” he said, and turned his glare on his father. He still had a rebellious streak in him at that point, something nurtured by a charismatic young man he used to trail after in boarding school, who pierced Hermann’s ear with a sewing needle in the boys’ toilets and listened to songs about setting things on fire. In late this streak had manifested itself in Hermann in nicking packets of cigarettes from his father’s study, one of which was in his pocket now. The weight of it made Hermann feel bolder. “I don’t want to marry any woman,” he continued. “I like men.”

The binder was drawn away in silence, and Hermann was free to eat his toast and tomatoes. The next morning a binder of young men was in its place.

(In a way the acceptance infuriated Hermann. It meant he could not blame his father’s obvious dislike for him on an unfounded, homophobic prejudice; rather, it was a result of Hermann’s own personal failings.)

The binder was placed at Hermann’s breakfast plate every day until he left for his studies. It was placed at his plate when he returned from them five years later. Not even the emergence of the kaiju from the bottom of the ocean shortly after Hermann turned twenty-four dampened his father’s hopes, nor turning all their scientific efforts towards the new jaeger program: some names were removed from the binder (the reasoning Hermann shudders to think at), more still were added, though Hermann is expected only to consider it once a week now on account of his busy schedule. This was one of such days.

“Your brother is very happy with his wife,” Hermann’s father reminds him. “She was one of my first suggestions for him, in fact.”

Hermann is not fond of his sister-in-law. Too rude—too cold. Though perhaps that makes her perfect for Hermann’s brother. “Haven’t we got bigger things to worry about these days than whether or not I’m going to marry?” Hermann says. He adds milk to his tea. “I’m sure they’re all, er, marvelous selections, only—”

“Your sister, too, with her husband,” father says.

Hermann sighs. He hasn’t got much of the rebellious streak he used to in him anymore—too stressed. Not fancying a fight before they’ve even begun today’s coding work, he picks up the binder and begins flipping through it. Sons of engineers working on the jaeger program with them, prominent young chemists, many of whom Hermann has been presented with since he was eighteen. Plenty of them are even handsome. Half of Hermann wonders if he should just pick the least-unappealing one of the bunch and be done with it already. He turns the page over and freezes. “Oh,” he says. “This one is—new.”

“Hm?” father says.

Hermann holds up the binder, tapping at a new entry. “Newton Geiszler.”

“Dr. Geiszler,” father says, nodding. “A child prodigy from Berlin—he’s made tremendous strides in kaiju science in such little time. And,” he adds, “three PhDs. Two of them before he even turned twenty.” The unspoken implication was that Dr. Geiszler far surpassed Hermann in intelligence and Hermann should feel ashamed for not skipping as many grades as Dr. Geiszler.

Hermann feels he ought to resent Dr. Geiszler for it, but he's finding it difficult to summon up any animosity towards him. It's likely because Hermann finds Dr. Geiszler to be strikingly handsome in his photograph: cheeks which haven’t quite lost their baby fat (giving him the appearance of being a scruffy hamster), large, thick glasses, tousled hair, an easy grin. Three PhDs, and German at that. And a child prodigy? “I’m surprised you haven’t mentioned him to me before,” Hermann says. He seems precisely the sort father would. Geiszler’s photograph is black-and-white and a bit grainy, but Hermann swears he could make out the lightest bit of freckles across his cheeks.

“I’d not heard of him until he published an article last week on kaiju biology,” father says. “Besides—he’s moved to America.”

Geiszler has three piercings up the side of his left ear. “I am going to write to him,” Hermann declares.

Father nods, and picks up his newspaper, clearly already disinterested. They speak no more of it that day.

It is not hard to find Dr. Geiszler online (his name is not the most common, and his field of study certainly isn’t), nor is it hard to match his photograph to his faculty page on MIT’s website. From there, Hermann retrieves Dr. Geiszler’s email address. He takes the evening to read over Geiszler’s publications spanning back to 2003 before he gathers up the courage to type out an actual email.

Dear Dr. Geiszler,

You do not know me, but I have recently been made acquaintance with your work and find it—Hermann pauses—scintillating. My father and I are—Hermann backspaces this—I am currently working on the development of the jaeger program…

There’s a response waiting for him the next morning. It’s as enthusiastic as it is brief. Dr. Gottlieb- That’s so awesome!! Believe it or not I’ve been following your work too. I have a million questions for you about the jaegers. If it’s classified info I promise I won’t tell. -Newt

It makes Hermann smile like nothing ever has before.

Hermann’s correspondence with Dr. Geiszler does not transgress beyond the professional until the following January. By that time, Hermann and his father have successfully completed the coding for their first jaeger prototype, and Hermann has been offered his fair share of tenured university positions to pick from as he likes. He finds himself oddly disappointed that none of them are in America with Dr. Geiezler. This, which leads to the realization that he’s grown rather fond of Dr. Geiszler, is perhaps what drives Hermann to uncharacteristic sentimental extremes on January 19th: he orders Dr. Geiszler a birthday present. The first email Dr. Geiszler sends him after that addresses him as Hermann. The first email Hermann sends Dr. Geiszler after that addresses him as Newton. Things move rapidly after that.

“Are you still writing to that young biologist?” Hermann’s father asks him in March. Hermann has spent the last two months devouring every bit of information Newton has seen fit to divulge about his personal life: his dexterity with no less than three different instruments, his favorite loud monster movies, how he’d love to get a kaiju tattooed on him one day. Hermann suspects he might be falling in love with Newton. In hardly five months! These are war times, Hermann supposes, so it would make sense. People are meant to do such extreme things.

“I am,” Hermann says.

“I’ve asked around about him,” Hermann’s father says. His expression is stern—unimpressed. “About his character. I’m not sure it’s wise to continue your correspondence.”

The reasons are this. Dr. Geiszler’s methods are unorthodox. Dr. Geiszler is loud and uncouth, and has little respect for his intellectual superiors. Dr. Geiszler was thrown out of a convention once for storming up on stage and stealing a microphone from an engineer to shout about the destruction coral reefs. Dr. Geiszler was in a distasteful band for several years. Dr. Geiszler was once arrested for egging a politician’s house. Dr. Geiszler has gone on record as describing the kaiju as “kinda cool”. Almost none of this is news to Hermann; in fact, that which is only causes Hermann’s affection for Newton to grow. “I will consider your advice,” Hermann says, knowing he won’t. Besides, it's not as if his father really has Hermann's interests at heart—Hermann knows he merely wishes to preempt any scandal Newton Geiszler could possibly bring upon the Gottlieb name.

In April Newton goes on television and declares that he’s sure the kaiju are extraterrestrial in origin, on account of their great size and his brief examination of a sample from the second kaiju to make landfall. He’s laughed off by his older peers before he can get another word out. The email he writes to Hermann afterwards is furious, capslock-heavy, and expresses that Hermann is the only one who takes him seriously in the whole world. It leaves Hermann certain that he is in love with Newton.

“Dr. Geiszler was interviewed on some American television program,” Hermann’s father says a few days later.

“I know,” Hermann says, proudly. Newton was on television. “I watched it.”

“He made some extraordinary claims,” Hermann’s father says.

But Hermann is thinking only of the outfit Newton wore (skinny jeans and an oversized leather jacket, so out of place compared to the suited other scientists sitting around him), the shade of his eyes (hazel), his short stature (hardly taller than Hermann), and the cadence of his voice (high, but not unappealing). He’d been so confident, and carried himself with a self-assurance that was foreign to Hermann. It was marvelously attractive. “I’m sure they're correct,” Hermann says. "Every single one. Newton is a terribly brilliant scientist." All bold claims are met with derision at first, are they not?

Newton’s theory is proven correct after the next kaiju attack, when experts other than him get their hands on kaiju samples and validate his claims. The general consensus after that is that the kaiju are not of this world. And Newton was the first to propose the theory! Hermann sends Newton an email full of congratulations, and Newton responds with a heart emoticon in his sign-off. Newton isn't just a brilliant scientist. “Newton is a genius,” Hermann tells his father, dreamily.

The binder reappears on Hermann’s work desk a few months later, Newton’s page torn conspicuously from it. Hermann tips the whole thing straight into his trash can. He has more important things to worry about—arranging a meeting with Newton, perhaps. Hermann ought to have him over for dinner.

#newmann #maria's fanfiction tag #Anonymous #the new post editor is weird but I like that I can make things pink

104 notes · View notes

hyenahunt · 3 years

Text

Conquest - Prologue

Writer: Akira

Season: Spring

Proofreading: royalquintet (JP & ENG)

Translation: hyenahunt

Hiyori: But the problem is, we're not enemies at all. We're allies, aren't we?

[Location: ES Breakroom]

[One day in late spring...]

Hiyori: "Eden Breaks Up?! The decisive battle fans have all been waiting for: Adam VS Eve —"

—Or so says this ridiculous performance plan I just received over HoldHands.

I'd greatly appreciate a detailed explanation of just what is going on. Depending on your answer, chances are I won't let you off.

Nagisa: ...Wow, Hiyori-kun, your expression is frightening.

Ibara: Aye-aye! Allow me to offer you an explanation. After all, it is my job to see to it that this incomprehensible world is dissected, cooked up and arranged for serving.

That being said, however, this appetising proposal came from the higher-ups themselves, and as such I myself am not too clear on how it came to be.

All the same, I do have some grasp of the overall outline.

Nagisa: ...I had no idea about this. While I did receive it on HoldHands, I leave all administrative matters to Ibara.

Hiyori: Nagisa-kun, you're pretty much the leader of both Eden and Adam, aren't you?

I do feel it would be for the best if you managed such things yourself, but well, everyone has their individual strengths and weaknesses, I suppose?

Nagisa: ...Yes. I'd rather not concern myself with the everyday world. It's troublesome.

...And having Ibara look over it results in a more accurate understanding. He's the right person for this.

Ibara: Ahahaha! Receiving such praise and trust from you is truly an honour, Your Excellency!

Nagisa: ...I simply state the truth. By the way, Jun, did you know about this proposal?

Jun: Ugh, please don't drag me into this, Nagi-senpai. Ohii-san's been in such a crazy awful mood all morning and I wanna have nothing to do with it, y'know~?

In situations like these, I'm the one who usually ends up as his stress outlet, after all —

But whatever, I guess. What'd that proposal say again...?

It sounds like something only the unit leaders receive, so there's no way an underling like myself would know anything about it, yeah~?

Nagisa: ...Ahh, it does seem like that's how it works.

...It's set up so that all messages I receive are immediately forwarded to Ibara, so it doesn't concern me, though.

Hiyori: Nagisa-kun, are you alright with that?

If you leave every little thing to Ibara like that — or grow dependent on him, I should say—then aren't you going to have trouble living on if he randomly drops dead one day?

Ibara: Worry not! I won't be dying any time soon — I cannot allow myself to die when we've gotten this far already!

Hiyori: Well, even if Ibara does kick the bucket, I can look after Nagisa-kun like how I used to so everything will be just fine.

Ibara: Indeed, should such a situation ever arise, I will leave him in Your Highness' capable hands.

...Anyway, to return to the topic at hand, I do believe the current proposal isn't completely devoid of points worth considering.

Hiyori: ... In what way, may I ask?

Jun: (Woah. Ohii-san's face is seeeriously scary as hell right now. He's usually all silly laughs and smiles, so when he's got a serious face on you know shit's gonna go down.)

(This time he seems kinda actually really upset about things, huh?)

Ibara: Right. Firstly, it is essential to note that this proposal is by the restructured top brass of CosPro, after the majority of its executives were fired due to the scandal at the end of last year.

They're all most eager to repair their damaged reputations — money is no object in their quest to prove their innocence and competence.

So in short, they intend to create something of great extravagance with this proposal. They'll pull out all the stops, no matter what it takes.

And since this comes right on the heels of the scandal, even the higher-ups will be careful not to attempt anything dubious behind the scenes — so everything should be safe.

Nagisa: ...Well, true fools tend to repeat the same mistakes over and over, though.

Ibara: All the same, it's common knowledge that after the last scandal, we as Eden collectively denounced and drove out the top brass.

Taking that into account, the fact that they've put out a proposal means that they're prepared to face such a situation once more.

This is a proposal of great importance—one that puts their lives on the line, if you will.

At the same time, if we were to reject this proposal, which is composed of the desperate desires of these higher-ups, they'll simply shrink away and believe anything they do or say will be pointless.

I'd greatly prefer to have some clumsy fools bumbling about their jobs rather than frightened figureheads cowering in a corner.

To be frozen in place is no different from being dead, after all. And corpses certainly can't be mobilised for war.

Simultaneously, always saying anything and everything is out of the question will never allow for growth in us humans.

...Well, such overprotective and motherly behavior seems to be a favorite of His Highness Hiyori.

Hiyori: ...In what sense? I certainly feel as though you're mocking me right now, you know?

Ibara: Of course not, I would never do such a thing... It is but a misunderstanding.

But in any case, for the sake of the top brass gaining experience, and to grant them that sense of self-confidence and achievement, I would dearly like for us to accept their proposal.

Nagisa: ...It's actually an interesting proposal, too.

...A confrontation between Adam and Eve... I've never considered such a thing before.

Jun: Well, it kinda feels like something guys would be pretty into. It's almost like pro-wrestling.

Seeing who'd win if Adam and Eve faced off... that might really catch our fans' interest, actually~

Hiyori: Ngh... A lion is still the king of beasts even if he doesn't go around proclaiming it, right?

Ibara: Certainly. That being said, a performance is essential in allowing the masses to actually understand this, as they are rather slow on the uptake.

And it is for that purpose that we now have this current plan: "Conquest".

For us of Eden, who were regrettably only the runner-ups for the idol world's greatest festival, Winter Live, at the end of last year...

Perhaps it's a rather ambitious event, to try and realise that domination that once slipped through our grasp —

That world domination, thwarted by Trickstar, or rather obstructed by traitors within our own camp.

Now is the time to see it through — that, I feel, is the current sentiment borne by the higher-ups of CosPro.

Conquer all, and we shall seize the world within our hands.

Hiyori: Well, in all honesty, I do have faint regrets that we weren't able to conquer the nation at the end of last year.

But we'd still be able to make the world ours just by doing things as we always have. Why make a show out of something so unsightly as an internal quarrel—

Ibara: That's not the case. ES has now been established, and in this new era of oligarchy between the four agencies, it'll prove difficult to stand out if we simply go about our days without aim.

If we are to use a single showpiece to launch ourselves to the top, then it is essential for it to be explosive in nature.

In that sense, I believe Conquest is the ideal plan for it. Since the earliest times, people have always been drawn to showdowns of destiny, after all.

Such as Holmes and Moriarty, Godzilla and King Ghidora, Goku and Vegeta... Would you understand those examples, Your Highness?

Jun: Oh, I totally get you.

Ibara: Good. Let's see... it would be something akin to the War of the Roses — does that make sense?

Hiyori: Mm... I can't deny that a showdown between age-old enemies would be exciting, of course.

But the problem is, we're not enemies at all. We're allies, aren't we?

No... I consider Eden a family, but am I the only one who feels that way?

Nagisa: ......

✦✦✦✦✦

✦ all ✦ next →

#hiyori tomoe #jun sazanami #nagisa ran #ibara saegusa #enstars #ensemble stars #enstars translation #type: event #s: conquest #era: !!#status: complete #hyenahunttl

52 notes · View notes

dakotacrisis · 3 years

Text

Topsy Turvy (3)

By popular demand and my current Ladrien fixation I bring to you part 3 of this fluff fest. Enjoy!

---

Plagg was this close to throwing an extra large wheel of cheese at Adrien’s head. After Ladybug left last night he had been skipping around his room with the biggest, dorkiest grin imaginable. Every once in a while he would stop to contemplate how hurt his friend Marinette would be about this before he perked up again. Now he was standing in a pile of clothes trying to pick out an outfit for the movies tonight.

"What about this?" Adrien held up a black button up. "It's nice but understated and it would match Ladybug’s costume. Or is it weird to coordinate? Or maybe too fancy for a movie date? I have a black v-neck that may be better. What do you think?"

"It all looks the same to me," Plagg answered, not bothering to look up from the comic book he was reading.

"Plagg! Come on! Just give me an opinion. This is a big deal for me!"

Plagg grinned, a wicked thought entering his brain. "Oh I just don't know, Adrien. I don't wear clothes so I don't have the best source of judgement. Why don't you ask the designer friend of yours? I'm sure she would love to help you."

"That's actually a great idea--hey, wait a second--Plagg!" Adrien torn the comic out from under him like a tablecloth, "I can't ask Marinette for help regarding my date with Ladybug! Are you mad? Did you forget that she's the one that I need to reject after this?"

"Oh? Is she?" Plagg feigned ignorance. This was just too good to pass up. If only this poor little kitten of his knew the truth. He was rejecting the same girl he was going on a date with. He had to mess with him a little.

"Yes, Plagg, I have gone over this at length already." Adrien sighed, with a shake of his head, "Just work with me here and say button up or v-neck."

"Nude,"

Adrien tossed the comic back down. "You’re not funny."

"Really? I'm pretty sure I'm hilarious. You are just too young to appreciate my humor."

"Yeah, sure, that's the problem." Adrien looked between the two shirts he had before tossing the one aside. "V-neck. Definitely the v-neck."

He cradled the shirt close to him and Plagg had a moment of sincerity. Adrien was really happy about this date. He had never seen him so excited before. For decades Plagg had watched humans fall in love over and over. He could never really understand it since kwamis were incapable of the romantic love humans felt but he knew what familial love felt like. He knew that he loved Adrien as his chosen. If romantic love was anything like that then he wouldn't spoil the experience for Adrien anymore today. Tease him about any funny slip ups he may experience later, yes. But for today he would let the boy be. He deserved it.

---

"You really didn't have to see me off for my date, Alya." Marinette said, "I'm fine."

"You know I had to come. It's your first date with Adrien. No way was I gonna miss this." Alya kicked her feet excitedly, "I wanna hear all about it when you get back."

"What? Are you just gonna hang out here until I get home? Are you that interested in how my date goes that you’re going to wait up for me?"

"Duh, was that not obvious?"

"Well then," Marinette transformed, "how do I look?"

"You look like Ladybug."

"Right…" Ladybug looked at herself in the mirror before pulling the ribbons out of her hair to let it loose. "There, a little more casual. Right?"

"Sure, girl, a superhero wearing her hair down. Casual to the max." Alya rolled her eyes. "Now get going or you'll be late."

"Okay, see you later." She jumped through the trapdoor of her balcony and was off. Her heart was thundering loud in her chest the closer she got to the theater. She stopped at the building across from it and searched the faces heading inside. Then like a beacon under the neon lights she saw him. Adrien.

Okay. Be cool. Don't do anything stupid.

She fixed her hair and jumped off the building. She landed in her best hero pose across the street from him. When she looked up he was staring at her in awe.

Nailed it!

She then promptly tripped on the curb crossing the street.

"Watch it!" Adrien caught her by the arms before she could collide with the concrete, "You okay?"

"Yeah! Thanks! I've taken much worse tumbles than that." she laughed it off. "Guess you saved me this time."

"Uh yeah, I guess," Adrien fidgeted with his ring, "You look really nice. You're wearing your hair differently."

"Heroes gotta let their hair down sometimes, huh?" she chuckled to herself. "Consider it my unofficial off-duty look. Not that I'm ever really off-duty but you get what I mean."

"I get what you mean." They stood for a moment just staring at one another in mutual lovestruck awe before either of them remembered they were here for a date.

“Should we head in?” Adrien pointed back to the theater.

“Right, yes, we should do that.” they wandered inside and immediately gazes were drawn as they made their way to purchase their tickets. Despite her arguing that she could buy her own ticket Adrien insisted on getting it for her. She played truce and bought the snacks instead.

They followed the crowd into the theater. A few people stopped Ladybug to get some pictures or an autograph. Adrien patiently waited with the snacks as he scanned the room for good seats. It was surprisingly packed for such a late showing. “Uh Ladybug,” Adrien called for her attention, “I’m gonna go save us some seats so you come by whenever you’re done.”

“I’ll be right there. Thanks.” she gave him a thumbs up before going back to her fans. She really didn’t mind when fans came up to her, she was always honored, but she was here for a date. It didn’t feel right to let him go off on his own so she could take pictures.

The lights started to go down and she used that as her excuse to take her seat. She edged past the other theater goers and sat down in the chair next to Adrien. “Sorry about all that,” she whispered as the movie started, “You have my attention for the rest of the night. Promise.”

“Don’t worry. I totally get it. People stop me when I’m out with friends from time to time.” Adrien assured her. “I’m just glad to be here with you at all.”

Marinette blushed red hot and she found herself thankful for the dark theater. “I’m happy to be here with you too.”

The movie started in ernest and they drew their attention to it. Every once in a while she would catch him watching her instead of the movie or he would spot her staring at him. They’d quickly look away and smile, trying to keep their attention on what was happening on the screen. At one point she went to put her arm on the arm rest between them and nearly jumped out of her seat when she fully laid her hand overtop Adrien’s without noticing.

“Sorry,” Adrien blurted out but was quickly shushed by the audience, “sorry,” he whispered in a quieter voice, “you can have it.”

“No, no, you can have it--I just--”

“No. Really, I’ve been hogging it all night. You take it.”

“I don’t need it. Please, just take it--”

“One of you had better take it and shut up already.” someone behind them hissed.

“Sorry,” Ladybug squeaked. She moved to put her arm back and bumped into Adrien who was doing the same thing. They giggled for a moment. Then Adrien rested his arm on it with his palm facing up.

His eyes met hers with a shy, expectant smile. Oh! She bit her lip and laid her arm on top of his and interlaced their fingers together. Tonight was the best night ever just for this!

They stayed holding hands for the rest of the movie and when they got up to leave they were still interlocked. Neither wanted to let the connection break just yet. They walked out of the theater and into the cool night air.

“This was a lot of fun.” Ladybug said, “I’m glad you agreed to come out with me.”

“I’m still surprised you asked me out in the first place.” Adrien said, his gaze traveled down to their interlaced hands, “This was really nice.”

“Do you have a ride home?” Ladybug asked.

“No chauffeur tonight,” Adrien looked down the street then back at her, his voice dropping low to a whisper, “Between you and me, I’m not supposed to be out here.”

“How rebellious!” Ladybug scoffed, with a mock scandalized face, “Did you sneak out to come here tonight? I don’t know, Adrien. That’s top tier felon behaviour. I may have to turn you in.”

“Oh please, Ladybug, have mercy.” he pleaded with the same level of theatrics, “I meant no harm! Don’t send me to the slammer!”

“Oh alright,” Ladybug giggled, “I can’t throw a pretty face like yours in jail. You wouldn’t last ten minutes with all those other big bads. All those jaywalkers and litterbugs, they’d tear you apart.”

“You underestimate me, I could have control of the yard in five.”

“I bet you could.” she shook her head. “So since you don’t have a ride home did you need a lift? I can get you back lickety split.”

“How about instead of a lift you give me an escort.” Adrien asked, his big green puppy dog eyes blinking down at her, “As fun as the movie was I didn’t really get to talk to you which is the one thing I wanted to do most tonight.”

“How can I say no to that?” she squeezed his hand tighter, “I want to get to know you better too.”

They left the theater on foot back towards Adrien’s house. Neither had anywhere to be and no rush to end their date just yet so they kept the pace slow and let themselves take the long way around.

“Let me start simple,” Adrien said, “What is your favorite color?”

“Pink. But not like a hot neon pink, more of a soft sunset pink. What about you?”

“Blue. It’s just so relaxing to look at in almost all its forms. I think my favorite shade would have to be a soft sky blue though.”

“That’s nice. Alright, my question.” Ladybug pondered it for a moment, “What is your most treasured memory?”

“Wow. Starting off strong huh? I feel kinda ridiculous with my color question.”

“Don’t be. Sorry. I should have said something a little simpler, shouldn’t I?”

“No. I like your question. I just need to think about it. Gimme a second.” Adrien said as he started to think. He was really thinking this through. “I think my most treasured memory would be Christmas Eve when I was six.”

“Not Christmas morning?”

“The morning was great but I’ll never forget the night prior.” Adrien’s eyes took on a far away look, “It was as basic as Christmas Eve’s go. I wanted to stay up so I could meet Santa. My parents said that he wouldn’t come if I stayed up though and sent me off to bed. It was around midnight and I heard a noise coming from downstairs. I assumed it was Santa so I swung out of bed and raced out of my room to catch him before he could leave.

“I got down there and I found presents under the tree but no Santa. There was a light on in the kitchen and I figured he must be getting his milk and cookies. I go up to the door and push it open. There’s no Santa in the kitchen but there are my parents. My mom is sitting on the island munching on a gingerbread cookie, father is looking in the fridge, there’s quiet Christmas music playing on the radio next to them.

“My father closes the fridge and holds up a piece of mistletoe he must have hidden in there. Mom laughs and when he went in to kiss her she held up the gingerbread man so he kissed that instead. Father looked grumpy and bit the head off. Mom gasped and was all like, “I cannot believe you decapitated Mister Gingy! He had three kids you monster!” which made me laugh. Of course now they know I’m there and father picks me up and tells me I should be in bed and all that stuff. I wasn’t listening and instead I grabbed the mistletoe and held it up to mom. I meant it so my parents could kiss but instead they both kissed my cheeks instead. We stayed up for at least another hour eating cookies and drinking warm milk and hot coco before I fell asleep and they put me back to bed.”

“That is so cute!” Ladybug gushed, “I can see it all in my head. Squishy faced kiddie Adrien sneaking out of bed and eating cookies with his parents. That’s a really sweet memory.”

“I’ll never forget it.” Adrien sighed. For a moment he looked so sad and Marinette wondered if maybe she shouldn’t have asked him. The memory of his mom probably hurt to think about. “What about you? What’s your most treasured memory?”

Now that was a tough one. She couldn’t really go into childhood stories since it would give away too much as to her identity. It was then she thought of the perfect story. “There is one memory I hold really close to my heart.” she said.

“I was on patrol one evening by myself. It was raining but I didn’t want to go home cause I was going through some stuff emotionally and I didn’t want to be cooped up. So I’m running and running and I almost slip off the roof. I realize I should take a break so I huddle under this awning of this closed cafe to catch my breath and see if the rain lets up. I’m waiting for maybe five minutes and because I’m not moving my emotions from before I starting to catch up to me. I’m on the verge of breaking down when out of nowhere Chat Noir lands on the sidewalk in front of me. I say land but he more or less faceplanted. He has a box covered in a plastic bag to keep it dry that he’s holding off the ground. He pulls himself up like he didn’t just have an intimate meeting with the concrete and walks over to me like it is the most casual thing in the world. Now mind you, I was not expecting to see him. I didn’t tell him I was coming out here nor did he have any idea where I was but he found me nonetheless.

“He huddles under the awning with me and takes the plastic bag off the box. I realize at this point it is a wrapped present. I ask him what this is supposed to be for and he tells me that since we don’t know when each other’s birthdays are he was going to pick a random day to give me a birthday present. And apparently this rainy evening was that day. I tried telling he didn’t need to but he insisted so I take the present and unwrap it. When I tell you, this idiot actually gifted me a black cat onesie with a cat ear hood and little toe beans on the feet. I started laughing and asked if he had a matching ladybug onesie and he told me he did. I start laughing harder and I can tell he thinks that I’m laughing at him so I quickly assure him I’m not. I tell him I really love the gift and I give him a hug. To him he probably thinks that he just gave me a nice present but in reality he pulled me back from a really sad place without even knowing it.

“Of course the second I got home I put the onesie on and started thinking of a birthday present I could get for him. I wanted it to be perfect as a sort of thank you for cheering me up when I was in a really bad mood. I never told him just how much that one little present, that one encounter, helped me but it did. I like to think about it whenever I get in a bad mood. Remembering his mop of drenched hair and that big expectant smile never fails to cheer me up.”

When she looked back at Adrien he looked close to tears. “Oh hey, are you okay? Did I say something? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he wiped at his eyes with his free hand, “It’s just, your friendship with him is great. I think that the next time you see him you should tell him how much that meant to you. I’m sure it would make him really happy.”

“I think I will,”

They got to Adrien’s house and they both stood frozen on the sidewalk. “Guess it’s time to say goodbye now.”

“Guess so,” Adrien stared up at the tall stone walls. “All good thinks must come to an end.”

“There are always more good times to come though.” Ladybug said, “Speaking of which, would you be interested in going on a second date sometime?”

“I would love to.” Adrien answered with a bright smile. “How do I get a hold of you?”

“I’ll come to you.” she let go of his hand to wrap around his waist. With a flick of her wrist she sent her yo-yo up and pulled them off the ground. They swung into his room and she deposited him back down safely. “Goodnight, Adrien. I had a wonderful time and I’ll be by to see you again soon.”

“Goodbye Ladybug. Tonight was...it was perfect.” He leaned in closer or maybe it was Marinette that leaned in but one of them leaned in. Then just as quickly they withdrew. Arms hugged close to their sides.

“I should get going,” Ladybug stumbled back towards the window. She poised to throw her yo-yo but she made the mistake of taking one final look back at Adrien. He was watching her with such a soft and loving expression. She couldn’t just end it like this.

She rushed back to him and kissed his cheek. “See you later, bye!” she fully vaulted herself out the window the next instant and booked it as fast as she could back home. She dropped down onto her balcony. Her heart was beating fast and her face ached from how hard she was smiling.

---

(Part 1) (Previous) (Probably another part cause I know no self control and you people enable me)

#long post #miraculous ladybug #marinette dupain cheng #adrien agreste #plagg #alya cesaire #ladrien #topsy turvy #writing

36 notes · View notes

notbecauseofvictories · 4 years

Note

oh I'm interested in the tag novel on how fan spaces becoming more meat spacey benefits the producers!! also happy Halloween! 🖤🧡🖤🧡

It’s not a particularly academic argument---I don’t have sources to back this up, I haven’t done research. I’m also wary of painting a picture of “fandom” as anything more than a lot of weasels in a trenchcoat, because that word means a lot of things to a lot of different people, some of whom hate each other. But as long as everybody understands that this is the ethnographical equivalent of drunkenly throwing darts at a copy of the AJS...sure.

[under a cut because it’s long and baseless, and also I had a lot of thoughts and feelings. Sorry.]

My basic premise is that fandom occupies “fanspace.” Fanspace is not solely online, since fanzines and conventions are fanspace too, but since the 90s it has become increasingly and primarily internet based. While some websites are designated fanspace (e.g., AO3, ff.net, stand-alone fansites) fanspace is not necessarily contiguous with a hosting site (e.g., there is fanspace on tumblr, but tumblr is not a fanspace). Fanspace is really just those urls, message boards, threads, blogs, accounts, etc. designated for fandom and/or where fannish activity takes place.

Its deeply-rooted internet presence has allowed fanspace and what I call “meatspace” to operate on different rules. Meatspace has always informed fan spaces, of course---disclaimers on fic to ward off accusations of copyright infringement, for example, or asking readers to attest that they’re over 13 before reading an R-rated fic. But traditionally, fandom has accepted as norm things that don’t apply to meatspace: fake names and anonymous posts, pictures of someone else’s characters, lengthy self-published stories featuring violence, explicit sex, sometimes even gay people. Fanspace is in many ways an artificial carve out from meatspace, where fewer of its rules apply; fanspace supplements these with its own norms.

The division between fanspace and meatspace is not and has never been a clear, settled line, however. Debates on how much meatspace should inform fan spaces have been raging for as long as I’ve been on the internet, and to be fair to meatspace, it has made good points. (I’m not sure if “don’t be racist,” counts as a meatspace rule given...racism, but fandom frequently reacts to it like a meatspace intrusion so I think it should count.)

However, what used to be intra-fandom conversations have become increasingly more public, for a few reasons:

Part of this is just the natural development of the internet---it’s not like fanspace was ever hidden, but there just weren’t as many people online, and stuff was harder to find in a pre-google, pre-algorithmic promotion world.

Part of it is the changing architecture of fanspace---websites shutting down, Strikethrough, and the tumblr porn ban have all, in their own ways, served to alter fanspace and move towards more and more public-facing sites.

But part of it---and this is the biggest factor, I think---is that over the last two decades, we’ve seen content-producers** increasingly willing to engage with fandom.

On its face, this sounds good! After all, fans like people who make things, people who make things want fans. What could possibly be wrong about both sides recognizing their mutualism?

I think this works when the most interaction you could expect with a creator was showing up a bookstore to ask Tamora Pierce a question, or writing fanmail to Paul Gross. But it falls apart when you consider just how public-facing fanspaces have become, and just how much interest content-producers have taken in cultivating the fannish audience. Content-producers engaging directly with fandom are a thumb on the scales of mutualism, and a heavy one. After all, one side of the relationship is a loosely collected anarchic cult, migrating along a series of websites they mostly don’t control, making do with nothing but ongoing wank and general obsessive tendencies.

The other side has D*sney, Harper Collins, and Comcast.

That thumb on the scale has paid off, more than I think even the content-producers could have anticipated. Fandom is good at loving what it loves and talking loudly about it, but capitalism is way better at doing what it does---turning everything into profit. So now people pay $100 a pop to go to Harry Potter World. Conventions are well-produced extensions of their parent companies, raking in money and providing a blitz of publicity---directly to the source most likely to take your messaging and amplify it. Make a superhero movie and the minute the trailer drops you conjure up thousands of online fans will be your de facto, unpaid publicists---generating interest via fan art, fic, and controversy with minimal corporate effort. Of course fic writers who have established online presence are the darlings of the publishing world---what publisher wouldn’t want a built-in hype machine for a new author?

And, just coincidentally, of course, fanspace and meatspace are drawn closer together, that line further blurred by this new and very, very interested third party.

I’m not saying this is some big conspiracy. No tv exec is out there rubbing their hands together and cackling evilly about how they’re going ruin fandom. But in exchange for meatspace validation and an endless stream of new content, I think fandom has ceded important ground. And I think it’s changing fanspaces, even now:

One of the founding rules of fanspace is that it does not generate money---you risk real copyright infringement that way. (This isn’t to say that money hasn’t been involved in a few massive fandom scandals, but it’s not typical.) Increasingly, however, the grumblings about getting paid for fan art and fic have gotten louder, probably due to meatspace’s general emphasis on the side-hustle, and seeing content-producers churn out more and more fan-like things for a profit.

(It seems unimaginable now, but once upon a time the HP Lexicon was an invaluable resource, a rare unicorn in a pre-wikipedia age. Now, D*sney wouldn’t even think of releasing a tentpole movie without a novelization, a picture dictionary, and a tie-in novel.)

Also, those calls for fan art that “might be featured” by a content-producer are (rightfully) scorned for asking for work pro bono. But the takeaway seems to be “we deserve to be paid for our fan art!” rather than “how dare the content-producer intrude on our fanspace and its activities!”

Fanspaces have never expected or required legal ID, permitting anonymous or pseudonymous activity in order to protect individual privacy. And while there’s still no expectation you link your legal ID with your online/fan ID, the norm has shifted---it’s no longer considered gauche to go by your legal ID, even necessary when turning mutuals and followers into an “audience.” We’re not anonymous fans, engaged in our mutual hobby anymore---some people are doing that, and others are potential content-creators.

I’d argue that even purity wank if an example of this new blurring, classic “don’t like don’t read” arguments taking on new life now that meatspace is so nearby---we wouldn’t want to offend the neighbors!

Even these things benefit the content-producers: the more fan-like stuff they churn out, the less fanspaces will create on their own; the more fanspaces that emphasize linking legal ID to online ID, the less people will be able to engage in fan activities privately; the more meatspace rules assert themselves on fanspaces, the less fanspace we’ll have.

Now, maybe this is just...evolution. As I said before, there is a porous and shifting border between fanspace and meatspace. I remember angry threads about whether m/m fics should be rated higher than a het equivalent; I remember the tagging debates, the incredible resistance to accurately describing what happens in your fic. Maybe in a few years, my longing to return to a more separate fanspace will seem equally as embarrassing, incorrect, and unnecessary.

But right now, it feels more like an erosion---one fandom is about as willing or able to resist as the tide.

** “Content maker” is a term that’s come to mean “anyone who makes something” which is sheer nonsense. There’s a difference between publishers/television producers/movie studios and someone recording a podcast in their bathroom. There’s even a difference between D*sney, a vast undead creative monopoly animated by copyright protections, and someone like James Patterson, who uses a stable of ghostwriters to churn out “his” works. We shouldn’t be scrutinizing all these things them the same way, it’s lazy, and intellectually dishonest.

#long post #long post for ts #........this is a whole honest to god essay what the hell #nonsense. malarky. ridiculousness and speculation.#guys I'm so sorry this is A Lot #(ps is it election terror driven towards sometime I can maybe describe without vomiting and panic attacks? I mean MAYBE)#either way here I am coming up with fun intricate theories as the world burns #transannecarson #celestial emporium of benevolent knowledge

171 notes · View notes

29-pieces · 3 years

Text

A Spot of Breakfast -- Good Omens fanfiction

From the current WIP chapter of my fluffy piece Softly, Gently

~*~

For at least those first few moments, everything else faded from Crowley’s mind as he watched Aziraphale, his own pinched expression smoothing into a soft smile. Aziraphale’s hair was mussed, which would never be permitted normally. An errant curl dangled over one eyebrow and all the worry lines were, for the moment, gone. The angel was curled into a loose ball, the quilt still drawn halfway up his shoulders, and the couch was positioned just so to allow a beam of morning sunlight to cast its glow across Aziraphale’s face and hair.

In short, he was once again, quite literally, radiant. Crowley didn’t know if he could possibly love anything in all of creation more than this, right here, right now.

Not wanting to get up and risk making too much noise, potentially waking the angel when he desperately needed real rest, Crowley ignored the cramping in his long limbs. It was a small price to pay to let Aziraphale sleep, for a change.

Thusly, by the time Aziraphale finally stirred, the crick in Crowley’s back was enough that the resulting POP when he moved drew a sleepy “Good lord!” from the angel.

Crowley grimaced as Aziraphale blinked endearingly sleepy eyes open and looked over at him in half awake alarm.

“Are you alright, Crowley?”

“Ngk. Sorry.” Crowley shifted again, this time his bones settling back into his hip sockets with a satisfying CRACK. He smirked. “Must be getting old.”

Aziraphale’s sleep-dazed face eased into the softest, dopiest smile Crowley had ever seen, bursting with so much affection that every niggling fear he’d been harboring was banished far, far away.

“Never you, dear boy,” Aziraphale replied fondly, pushing himself up to sitting and stretching his arms as though Crowley wasn’t internally flailing at the simple knowledge of being loved. “Heavens, how long was I asleep?”

“All night,” Crowley said. “How’s it feel?”

“Smashing,” Aziraphale decided after a moment. “I can see why you enjoy it so much, Crowley. I’ve never slept like that before.”

“Yeah, well, there’s a lot of firsts going on now.”

He regretted it immediately, chagrined as Aziraphale bashfully looked away. Crowley didn’t want to push too hard. After all, even if Aziraphale’s feelings were positive ones, he very obviously wasn’t used them being out in the open.

But Aziraphale showed no hint of imminent anxiety. Instead, he took a deep breath and nodded. “Yes, I suppose there are. And I don’t want you to think for one second that last night was just wine and jocularity, my dear. I meant every word I said. I do love you, so you musn’t go worrying yourself that I was just being nice, or that I said something I wished I didn’t, or whatever else you might be over-thinking.”

“What are you on about? I don’t over-think!” Crowley protested, immediately starting to over-think last night’s conversation and if he’d given away any of those precise nerves Aziraphale had mentioned.

The look Aziraphale returned with was both knowing and fond and left Crowley to grumble under his breath as he felt his cheeks heat.

“I do know you, after all. Though I must confess, I, er… well, I don’t know quite what to do now.”

“Ngk, know what you mean,” Crowley agreed. “It’s a bit hard to find your footing, isn’t it?”

“I’ll tell you what let’s do,” the angel decided abruptly, getting to his feet. “I’ve a hankering for pastries. Tempt you to some breakfast?”

Crowley smirked. “Alright then, yeah.”

Outside, the world looked much the same as it ever had. Crowley drank it all in with the same relish Aziraphale was drinking in his Danish. The bistro the angel had selected was one of his regulars, the kind that had patio tables outside with striped umbrellas and cushions that were always just shy of being fully dry from an earlier rain. Crowley pulled up a touch of hellfire, half to steam the moisture out of the cushion, and half to see if he even still could.

“Ah, marvelous,” Aziraphale sighed happily. “Dear me, that’s much better.”

It took Crowley a second to realize the angel was talking about his pastry, and not the fact that Crowley’s bum was now dry again. He turned his attention from the world passing them by to zero in on the world that was sitting next to him with a bit of jam on his lip.

Aziraphale was, as always when eating something delightful, entirely enraptured. Crowley could probably drop a stack of books behind the angel and he wouldn’t even notice.

It was times like this, Crowley reflected, that he was left to wonder how Aziraphale actually had hid his feelings for so long. When Aziraphale loved a thing, he was not exactly subtle.

Yet he’d somehow managed to keep his feelings about Crowley as under wraps as he was able. Probably because Crowley would be just as easy for an archangel to squish under his foot as that Danish would be.

“Absolutely scrumptious,” Aziraphale hummed, eyes closing against the decadence as he popped the remainder of the pastry into his mouth with a scandalous sigh. “Now then, it’s much easier to ‘find your footing’ as you would say once you’ve had a spot of breakfast. Do you suppose we ought to—”

He trailed off as he opened his eyes, regarding Crowley. It took the demon a second to realize it was because he was staring at Aziraphale with rather intense focus, leaning in a bit with his chin propped up on his hand.

“It’s nice,” Crowley said.

“Erm… what is, dear boy?”

“Watching you enjoy things. Missed a bit, though.”

Without planning, without thinking much at all, else he might not have done it, Crowley reached out and thumbed away the speck of jam still on Aziraphale’s lip. Aziraphale didn’t move, seemingly transfixed. It was perhaps the most bald-faced physical contact they’d made. For the last several thousand years he’d been too afraid to actually touch the angel, lest anyone else in Heaven be able to smell it on him later.

Touches were careful, never more than absolutely necessary, never when it couldn’t be excused away by a fight or feud between mortal enemies, and never, ever for the pure and simple joy of being able to. Crowley felt something in his chest close up. A lump grew in his throat and he knew he ought to pull his hand away, but…

A hand reached up to catch his own, Aziraphale gently guiding his arm to rest on the table instead, not letting go; the soft, somewhat sad smile seemed to agree with precisely what Crowley was feeling. After all, Heaven wasn’t known for doling out warm hugs, and Aziraphale was a creature who craved warmth and contact and love but had been given none of it.

#good omens #crowley #aziraphale #ineffable husbands #crowley x aziraphale #fanfiction #alloromantic asexuals #fluff #just... soft and gentle fluff #because i can

22 notes · View notes

mostlycompetentwriter · 4 years

Text

Congratulations

F/M Pairing: Fem!Reader x Kim Seungmin

Warnings: minor smut scene; language; lots of alcohol (the reader and Seungmin are wine aficionados)

Word Count: 8K

Genre: Married AU!!

Summary: It’s with great reluctance that you leave behind the tropical paradise that you had been sharing with Seungmin for your honeymoon of pure bliss. It’s time to return to the real world with your husband and finally finish renovating your new home. Unfortunately, the real world is never ideal, and you can’t help but feel immensely jealous when Seungmin’s secretary (and ex-girlfriend) temporarily shares your apartment after a break-up with her previous boyfriend.

A/N: I've done it, everyone! So, like, happy Seungmin day! As you can probably tell, the title was inspired by Seungmin and Han’s Day6 cover!

For two luxurious weeks, you were allowed to partake in a celebration of perfection.

It all started with your grand arrival, checking in to a Five-Star hotel that included access to an enormous wave pool, complimentary refreshments, and an alcohol selection that sent your liver into a frenzy. But neither you nor Seungmin were that interested in the hotel amenities because you had both resigned yourselves to the comfort of a glorious king-sized bed. Of course, the prospect of a bed had never restricted Seungmin from testing the limits of your coupling, and you were certain that he had bent you over every piece of furniture in the hotel room at this point.

There was even one occasion when he pressed your body up against the cool glass of the sliding door that lead out to the balcony - allowing anyone who was so inclined to simply look up and discover the unforgettable image of your new husband fucking you in plain sight. But you were both insatiable - taking advantage of your ample free time to thoroughly map out each other’s bodies. Testing your desire to experiment with new things while taking full advantage of Seungmin’s rather impressive recovery time.

But in between passionate rounds of lovemaking, you also found the time to eat gourmet dinners at the finest restaurants while also pulling away from one another long enough to explore the warm beaches downtown. Your vacation resort was a total dream, and it was the greatest 336 hours of your life. Everything had been perfect, and maybe that’s why you were feeling rather downcast on the final morning of your honeymoon together, glancing at the alarm clock which informed you that it was already mid-afternoon.

But you struggled to move your sore limbs, wincing at the dull ache between your thighs. Last night had been the culmination of Seungmin’s uncanny ability to leave you thoroughly shaken after sex. And tt had involved an entire bottle of whipped cream that was brought with your room service request and a messy combination of fruit and chocolate.

You shivered just thinking about it, stretching out your legs beneath the sheets, and you looked over at Seungmin who was still lying face-down in the pillows while snoring softly. His appearance was entirely innocent (unlike the previous evening), and it reflected the youthful features that had drawn you to him in the first place.

Seungmin was several years younger than you - a recent college graduate who had attained his veterinary license. He worked as an assistant at the same place where you had once been forced to interview because of an assignment from your company - a piece your head writer was working on that involved pet safety and the 10 warning signs that your dog might be suffering from an allergic itch.

But since the actual vet refused to meet with you (time constraints or whatever), the office secretary called out Seungmin who answered all of your questions with admirable patience and an attitude that immediately attracted your attention. He was just so good, hands folded neatly in his lap, and his smile was nothing short of professional as he spoke with you about anything your heart desired. Of course, you were intrigued - curious because you wondered if someone could really be that sweet and naive, or maybe it was just his general work attitude which he had learned to perfect during his residency.

Regardless, you were incredibly grateful that he had agreed to go on a date with you since the circumstances surrounding your meeting were entirely coincidental. From there, your relational was inevitable, and you learned that Seungmin was the epitome of the perfect student who never drank on the weekends and spent any free time with a book in hand. And it was around your third or fourth date when he had shyly admitted to you that he was very inexperienced when it came to dating.

“Seungmin,” you remembered saying to him. “Are you trying to tell me that you’re a virgin?”

His entire face turned as red as a tomato, spluttering around his words as he tried to justify his status, but you quickly assured him that it was perfectly fine. After all, one of the things that you liked best about Seungmin was his lack of a exhaustive dating profile. Because it told you that he was responsible, and he knew when to prioritize what really mattered to him. You also had a very small corruption kink, and the idea of teaching Seungmin everything that you knew about sex was exhilarating.

Of course, not everyone in your lives agreed with your relationship. For example, when you met his parents for the first time, you could tell that they disapproved of you and your work habits. Despite your attempts at conversation, you were met with short replies or dismissive rebuttals. But maybe it was because, at least according to Seungmin, they had initially tried to set him up with the daughter of one of their friends who Seungmin had met in grade school. And you were as far from that idealized persona as one could get.

But you also knew that his parents could never send you away because you had slowly fallen in love with Seungmin. Likewise, you were certain that nothing would ever pull the two of you apart, especially after he asked you to marry him - eager to start your new life together. Of course, you never expected for someone like Seungmin (normally patient to a fault) to immediately jump into wedding planning and do his very best to fast-track your ceremony date. He even put down a deposit on a new house in the suburbs. Plus, you knew that things had gotten serious when you both adopted a dog together....

You chuckled at the memory, rising from the comfortable bed in your hotel room to walk into the adjoining en-suite and assess last night’s damage. In the full-length mirror, you winced at the scattered bruises on your neck and shoulders (courtesy of a very eager Seungmin), and hissed when you pressed down too hard against a rather scandalous love-bite on your collarbone. It was safe to say that Seungmin was certainly no longer the innocent virgin you had met almost an entire year ago - he probably loved sex just as much as you did. Plus, his alcohol tolerance was almost as good as your own.

Still, it was almost amusing to watch him learn during your time together - like you were the hot teacher that he lusted after - listening with wide eye when you described some of your more explicit fantasies to him. After a while, Seungmin was no longer hesitant to reveal his own desires to you - including the food disaster from the previous evening.

But in the meantime, you tried to run a wet cloth along your exposed chest where there was a suspicious chocolate stain, catching sight of Seungmin in the mirror when the bathroom door reopened. “There you are,” you said, turning around to savor the image of a sleepy Seungmin walking inside wearing nothing but boxer shorts and a tired smile. You immediately walked up to him, quietly attempting to make some sort of style out of his messy bed-hair. “Hmmm, maybe we should just shower instead,” you suggested, taking his hand to guide him closer to the luxurious walk-in bath. “Would you like that, baby? I can wash your hair for you.”

Seungmin nodded eagerly, and you were perfectly endeared as the two of you enjoyed your final day together away from the real world.

Consequently, it was both a jarring, and deeply unappreciated, wake-up call to return to work the following Monday morning. You could barely pull yourself out of bed, and the only reason you managed to retain some semblance of sanity was because of the breakfast that Seungmin had prepared for you. But you were also slightly envious that he was handling everything in stride while you could barely lift your fork.

“Don’t forget that you’re meeting with the architect after work,” Seungmin reminded you as he sipped at his coffee.

“Oh, right,” you muttered. “Him.”

“Yes, him,” Seungmin concurred with a touch of amusement.

But who could blame you for harboring those feelings of resentment towards the arrogant and conceited man in charge of planning the infrastructure for your new house? He was constantly bothering you on the phone with the most trivial of details, and you were tired of hearing him describe the reasons why all of your ideas could never work with his grand scheme.

Sadly, it was tragically much too late to change your plans, and you and Seungmin were stuck with the pretentious prick until everything was done. Which might be next year if you’re lucky at the pace in which the whole project was progressing. It was slow-motion at best, like these men were trying to drain your savings account for the outrageous hourly rate they expected you to pay for them to stand around outside your house and joke about their wives.

It was one of the things that you hated the most about returning from your honeymoon, but the prospect of your office job was just as unappealing. Especially when you walked inside the newspaper’s main building and greeted your boss as he hovered near your desk - ready to hand out your first assignment without even giving you a moment to breathe.

“Good morning, Y/N,” Chan said.

“Yeah, yeah,” you grumbled while moving around Chan to sit down behind your desk. “What do you want?”

“Is that the way to greet your boss?” Chan asked. “You’ve been gone for two weeks!”

“I know,” you retorted. “And I wish it had lasted even longer.”

“Well,” Chan huffed. “I need you to have a better attitude.”

“I’ll do my best, sir,” you snarked, and Chan rolled his eyes.

“I’ve prepared several assignments,” Chan said. “But you need to go out with Minho and Hyunjin this afternoon because the mayor’s delivering a speech today concerning his resignation.”

“I have to go to City Hall!” you complained because you knew that there would be thousands of journalists and reporters waiting to hear from the mayor, and you hated dealing with crowds.

“You can handle it,” Chan said, and he was already slinking away to bother your neighbor in the next cubicle.

Honestly speaking, it shouldn’t have been surprising because Chan often entrusted you with these more important pieces since you had worked at the paper for a long time, but since he already had Hyunjin and Minho working on the assignment, why was it also necessary to include you? Because maybe Chan had forgotten that this year marked your 10th anniversary with the newspaper, and perhaps you deserved a bit more leniency in regard to the assignments you chose for yourself. Especially after returning from a two-week vacation!

Unfortunately, your brain wasn’t quite in work-mode, and it had taken you half an hour just to remember all of your passwords!

“This isn’t fair,” you muttered to yourself as you smashed the elevator button.

Hyunjin had already sent you an email detailing information regarding the Uber that he had reserved to drive the three of you down to City Hall. Of course, why you couldn’t just use one of your cars was a mystery for another time, but Hyunjin often went above and beyond when he thought too deeply about a situation.

“There you are!” Minho said when you found them waiting together in the main lobby.

“Let’s get this over with,” you said. “Don’t forget your camera!”

“We’ve organized everything, Y/N,” Hyunjin reassured you as he threw a casual arm over your shoulders before you stepped outside together.

“What’s the big deal with this story?” you griped. “The mayor cheated on his wife with an intern and he’s being forced to resign. It’s not like he’s gonna come out and talk about it in front of the whole city!”

“But we’re still prepared for that!” Hyunjin said, and he waited until you were situated in the backseat of the Uber, squashed between him and Minho, before revealing his tape recorder. “Isn’t it great?”

“You could just whip out your cell phone,” you said, and Hyunjin paused for a moment as he considered your response.

“But this is a throwback, Y/N!”

“Save it for your Instagram stories, Hyunjin,” you said while scrolling through the home feed of your Twitter account. “Look at these videos! There’s already like a whole mob outside the building.”

“It won’t last very long, Y/N,” Minho said. “I’ll even treat everyone to some coffee when we’re finished.”

You tried to find some solace from Minho’s words, but your mind was wiped clean when the Uber paused at the edge of the sidewalk because the entire road was blocked by traffic. “Great, we’ll have to walk,” you said, and you should’ve known better than to expect anything less than optimal.

But it was still unnecessarily difficult to find a good spot when it seemed like the entire population had showed up to this press conference. “I’ll get some shots from the side,” Minho said, and you nodded while glancing back at Hyunjin.

“You’re tall enough to see over everybody,” you said. “Can you tell what’s happening?”

Hyunjin shrugged, and he attempted to balance himself on the very edge of his toes as he perused the crowd of onlookers. “I’m not sure...”

You sighed in frustration.

But what else should you expect?

“Welcome back to the real world, Y/N,” you grumbled, wincing when someone’s elbow connected with the back of your head.

It was already 6:00 by the time you arrived at the construction site of your future home, and you groaned when you realized that the front lawn was still nothing but mud and several piles of dirt.

For whatever reason, the project continued to encounter numerous and unanticipated obstacles that constantly delayed everything. You had seen setbacks from natural disasters to plumbing issues that forced you to reconsider the idea of renovating a dream home. But the biggest issue was definitely the architect in charge of the renovations, and he barely glanced up at you from over his stupid clipboard when you found him in the backyard.

“Mr. Park,” you greeted him, grimacing because you could’ve never imagined that the genteel man you had met several months ago, who seemed to understand everything you wanted, could be this foul person screaming at the workers. “Do you have an update?”

“Oh, Y/N,” Mr. Park grumbled. “How was your vacation?”

“Fine,” you said. “So nice of you to ask, but what about my house?”

“There’s been some issues with the foundation,” Mr. Park replied, and you could feel your patience thinning. “You might want to consider another delay in the schedule.”

“We’re supposed to move in at the end of the month,” you growled.

“Yeah, I know,” Mr. Park responded while scrolling through his phone - not even bothering to look at you. “But I think we need to check on some things, and the extra time would help..”

“Again!” you exclaimed because this would make the third instance of having to deal with another push-back.

“These things happen,” Mr. Park replied - like it wasn’t a big deal and you were the one who was overreacting!

But you didn’t quite see it as a minor inconvenience that everyone might face now and then. What you saw was a blatant misuse of the budget that you had set for the project, and you were certain that nobody else on the planet had ever suffered this much over simple renovations.

“We gave you several extensions,” you pointed out. “What’s wrong with the foundation?”

“It needs an inspection,” Mr. Park replied.

“We have someone coming over tomorrow,” you said.

“Good! They can see exactly what I’m talking about,” Mr. Park said. “But if you;ll excuse me for one moment...”

You groaned when Mr. Park walked around you to speak with the same electrician who had refused to return your greeting when you first walked onto the premises.

But maybe there was some kind of conspiracy against you?

In the meantime, you were relieved when your phone started ringing and you instantly recognized Seungmin’s number. “Hey,” you said into the receiver, turning around to glare at one of the construction workers.

“Y/N,” Seungmin said from the other end. “How's it going?”

“Horrible,” you muttered, and you took another step away when you realized that someone was actually working for once, but making far too much noise.

“Why?” Seungmin asked.

“They said we’ll need to expect another delay,” you said. “But I’m about to lose my mind, Seungmin. These guys are clearly taking advantage of us!”

“Y/N,” Seungmin said. “I need you to take a deep breath for me, okay? I’ll come by in the morning and talk to everyone.”

“It’s not enough,” you retorted. “We’re obviously dealing with amateurs!”

“Y/N, darling,” Seungmin chuckled. “Can you just come home for me? I bought us a bottle of wine.”

You paused for a second, looking around before clearing your throat. “What kind?”

“The kind where you can get shitfaced if you want and forget about the project,” Seungmin said. “I’ll deal with everything from now on.”

It was too good of an offer to pass up, and you found yourself nodding enthusiastically even though holograms hadn’t been invented yet and Seungmin couldn’t possibly see you.

But those rude construction workers were observing every motion, and you resisted the urge to throw up your hands at them while you returned to your car. “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

There were no feelings to describe your relief upon shaking off your heels and skipping into the kitchen where you found Seungmin attempting to balance two of your finest wine glasses and a bottle of pinot-noir between his hands.

“Let me help,” you said, taking the glasses from him as he shot you a grateful smile. “We can sit in the living room.

It was a fairly modest space, but you liked how cozy it felt during the winter - snuggling up next to Seungmin as the faux fireplace provided some semblance of the real thing. The decorations were also to your taste, and the deceiving simplicity served as a reminder of your personality itself. Someone who looked like an average reporter, but was full of surprises and ample fondness for her husband and alcohol.

You removed the cork on the bottle with care before pouring both yourself and Seungmin a glass. “Here,” you said, and he took it from you as your fingers brushed together.

“It had a good year on it,” Seungmin remarked, and you brought the rim of your own glass to your lips as you observed him from the corner of your eye. “Tell me about the renovations? What’s causing us so much trouble?”

“It’s not so much the problems, but the ones who need to fix them,” you said, and you grimaced at the reminder of the electrician’s attitude and Mr. Park’s dismissive tone.

“The inspector should be checking on things soon,” Seungmin said, and he quietly moved closer to you on the couch. “Are you excited?”

“Of course I am,” you said, and it was a true statement in spite of the issues you had with the construction men.

“I can’t wait to end our lease with his place,” Seungmin said, and you were amused when he finished off the remainder of his glass. “Lyric will be happier in a bigger space.”

You glanced over at your Pomeranian as she raised her head at the sound of her name. “Can we get a cat too?”

Seungmin grinned as he poured himself another glass of wine - he was well on his way to becoming the version of Seungmin who was extremely affectionate after a few too many glasses. “Whatever you want.”

“I’m holding you accountable for what you just said,” you remarked - noting how his eyes had grown glossy from the wine. “You look like you’re having a good time, darling.”

Seungmin grinned, and you reached out to take his glass before setting it aside on the coffee table. Because there was something else that you wanted, and it was far sweeter than your alcoholic selection. “Y/N,” Seungmin groaned once you settled in his lap - thighs spreading on either side of his own. His hands instantly found your waist, and you shivered at his touch before connecting your lips in a sloppy kiss.

But this was more than acceptable to you - settled on Seungmin’s lap as you made-out and savored the feeling of his tongue wrestling with yours as you exchanged heavy breaths. And in-between long, sensual kisses, the two of you took enough breaks to recover your lungs while finishing he entire bottle of wine.

The atmosphere between you was much more relaxed, but there was a slight tension that only heightened when Seungmin started brazenly touching every inch of bare skin that his fingers could find. But you didn’t mind his touchiness, and you welcomed an easy conversation as you leaned your head against his shoulder.

“You know my secretary at work?” Seungmin asked, holding you close as he fingered the edges of your shorts.

“Hmmm,” you acknowledged him vacantly, but you were far too busy marking colorful bruises along his collarbones.

“She broke up with her boyfriend,” Seungmin said, and he moaned when you rolled your tongue across a sensitive spot.

“Oh? Weren’t they together for a while?” you asked.

“Three years,” Seungmin confirmed. “They had even moved in together, but now she doesn’t have anywhere to stay.”

“Really?” you questioned, and Seungmin chuckled because it was obvious that you weren’t really listening to him.

“Y/N, I thought she could stay with us for a while,” Seungmin continued, and this time you did freeze in the middle of grazing your teeth along his collarbone - jerking back away from him in alarm.

“You want her to stay with us?”

“Just until she finds a new place,” Seungmin said, and he tried to pull you back closer to him, but you had been effectively pulled out of your prior ministrations.

“This is the same secretary that your parents tried to hook you up with, right?” you asked him, and Seungmin rolled his eyes.

“Claire’s always been a good friend,” Seungmin said. “My parents weren’t expecting us to get together.”

“Uh-huh, sure,” you said, and you frowned at the empty bottle of wine because you could really use some more alcohol for this conversation. “Were you ever going to talk to me about this?”

Seungmin narrowed his eyes, clearly taking offense at the accusation. “Aren’t we talking right now?”

“Yeah,” you said with a firm nod. “I guess we are talking about it, and I’m not comfortable with the idea of Claire staying with us.”

“She’s my friend, Y/N,” Seungmin insisted, and you knew that you had already lost this fight because Seungmin could never turn down someone in need. It’s why he made such an empathetic caregiver while you were sometimes considered the cold and abrasive type who fought large crowds at press conferences and wrote scolding reviews in the newspaper.

“Fine,” you huffed, and you stood up from Seungmin’s lap. “She can stay here since you insist.”

“Y/N-” Seungmin sighed, but you were already marching towards the bedroom where you intended to sleep off your hangover headache.

Nevertheless, you still woke-up with a start the following Saturday morning while a feeling of dread settled into the pit of your empty stomach.

There was every opportunity for you to throw the world’s biggest tantrum and refuse to leave your bed, but you were nearly 30-years-old and that sort of behavior was reprehensible. But you allowed yourself another moment or two while stewing over the argument that you had with Seungmin before you forced yourself to confront the inevitable.

Because Claire was moving in today, and she was lucky that you had a soft spot for Seungmin and hated to fight with him. Otherwise, she would still be in-between places, and you would still be staring at your husband’s back while he refused to cuddle with you in bed. It was nightmarish concept, and you shivered at the mere idea of furthering any sort of argument with Seungmin to the point where intimacy and affection were thrown out the back door.

But you also had to remind yourself that it was a good thing to be the bigger person when your husband felt like he was doing something nice for someone else, and you were still older and more mature than him under most circumstances. Even if you both agreed that the age-gap separating the two of you was nothing insurmountable.

You sighed as you dressed yourself in jeans and a t-shirt before following the familiar smell of coffee into the kitchen where Seungmin was already sitting at the table while reading the newspaper. He watched you carefully as you moved around the kitchen to fill up your coffee mug with the delicious-smelling beverage. It was a necessity when you first woke-up, and if you were going to get through this day, then plenty of coffee would need to remain in your system.

“You don’t have to stare,” you said after taking your first sip. “I’m not going to argue with you anymore.”

“I wasn’t expecting you to argue with me,” Seungmin said, and you heard the sound of his chair scraping against the floor as he moved it back.

And his arms felt nice around your waist, fitting his face between your neck and shoulder. “She’s your friend,” you said. “And it’s only temporary.”

“Thank you, Y/N,” Seungmin said, and he pressed a gentle kiss to the side of your temple.

“Should I keep Lyric in our room?” you asked while finishing the remainder of your coffee.

“Claire won’t mind,” Seungmin said as he stepped away from you to check his phone. “She’ll be here soon.”

“Is the guestroom ready?”

“I made sure there were fresh linens last night,” Seungmin said. “She’ll be comfortable.”

“Well,” you chirped while placing your empty mug in the sink. “This should be interesting.”

“Claire is really grateful,” Seungmin said. “And she’s glad that you agreed.”

“After some convincing,” you murmured, but Seungmin hadn’t heard your unnecessary comment. Instead, he was busy talking about some of his next appointments, perching himself on the edge of the counter to talk while you cleaned the rest of the dishes.

These were the moments that you cherished the most, but extraneous circumstances were against you on this particular day, and you couldn’t help the way your heart sunk when the doorbell rang. “Oh?” Seungmin said, hopping down from the counter. “She’s early.”

“I noticed,” you remarked, and you followed Seungmin into the next room as he opened the door and smiled when Claire popped her head inside.

“Minnie!” she squealed, and you held your tongue when Claire pulled Seungmin into a close embrace.

Weren’t her arms just a little too low around his waist?

“How are you, Claire?” Seungmin asked as they pulled apart.

“Oh, I’m better with you here,” Claire said, and her smile wavered when she spotted you standing off to the side. “It’s great to see you, Y/N.”

“You too, Claire,” you said with a forced smile as Seungmin reached down to take her bags like the gentleman that he insisted on being.

“You can just take the guest room,” Seungmin said, and you watched as they retreated further into the house as you shut the door behind them, breathing out a sigh as you prayed for the strength to endure whatever might happen next.

It was hardly tolerable, watching Claire move about the house as if she had been living here for her entire life.

She never asked permission to take food from the kitchen, and she deleted several episodes of your favorite show to make rooms for hers. Plus, she was unusually messy, and Seungmin insisted that the two of you should become glorified maids and pick up after her. But you could not afford to argue over this girl again, and you tried so hard to be on your best behavior, even when Claire insisted in sitting next to Seungmin when the three of you ate dinner or watched Netflix.

But the last thing in the world that you needed to add to your existing pressures was a phone call from Seungmin’s mother (who hated you with unprecedented distaste) telling you that she and Seungmin’s father would be joining you for dinner. “You should think about letting Claire take over in the kitchen,” she had said. “The potatoes last time were atrocious.”

In return, you gritted your teeth together and promised to do better before hanging up the phone. Then, you stormed off into your bedroom for the rest of the afternoon, burying your face against the pillows and trying your hardest not to scream. And it was where Seungmin found you when he got home from an emergency appointment - sprawled across the bed like you had given up on the world.

“Y/N,” Seungmin said, and he sat down at the edge of the bed. “Are you okay?”

“Stressed,” you muttered. “And I have a deadline tomorrow night for the stupid mayor article.”

“Darling,” Seungmin said, and you felt his fingers smooth across the bare skin of your thigh. “Isn’t it too early to start planning another vacation?”

“I wish we had never left the hotel,” you groaned. “Tropical paradise is a lot better than whatever the hell is going on in this apartment.”

Seungmin chuckled at your complaints. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Now I feel bad for inviting my parents over for dinner. Because I know that you and my mother have your...disagreements.”

“That’s an understatement,” you said, lifting your head from the pillow to look back over your shoulder at Seungmin. “Tell her I'm sick, and I have strict orders to stay in here all night.”

Seungmin scoffed at my appeal. “It’s only one dinner, Y/N,” Seungmin said. “I won’t even make you cook. Claire and I can take care of everything.”

But despite his polite sentiment, you recoiled at the idea of Seungmin and Claire cooking together - like a domestic scene out of a Hallmark film. That was supposed to be your job! Cooking with Seungmin while singing his favorite Day6 songs was a privilege that was only reserved for you!

“Okay,” you reluctantly agreed because you hated to sound petty.

But Seungmin still made you greet his parents at the door after nearly two hours of listening to him and Claire giggling together in the kitchen while making so much noise that your headache only worsened.

“Coming,” you shouted, and you reached over to take another Advil before forcing yourself to answer the insistent knocking.

Seungmin met you at the door with a smile, offering you a gentle kiss and a reassuring squeeze to your shoulder before you allowed the devil incarnate herself to walk inside with an exaggerated scream.

“SEUNGMIN!” his mother exploded, and you smirked when Seungmin ducked his head in embarrassment while his mother made a whole ordeal about fixing his hair and squeezing the plump arches of his cheekbones. “You look too skinny,” she said, frowning as she gave her son a quick once-over.

“Mom, I’m fine,” Seungmin said, and he gently pushed her hands away. “Was the traffic bad on the way over?”

“Oh, the usual,” his mother said, glancing back over her shoulder. “Your father is being unusually slow!”

Mr. Kim rolled his eyes, releasing a grunt as some kind of greeting before pushing his way inside the apartment. “Dad’s in a good mood,” Seungmin remarked, taking a step back while his mother made a big show of removing her outrageously enormous coat.

“Y/N, you can handle this right?” his mother asked while shoving her coat in your direction.

“Yeah, sure,” you muttered, watching as Seungmin’s mother squealed when she saw Claire coming out of the kitchen.

“What a delight!” Mrs. Kim said, and she embraced Claire like she was her long-lost daughter who had finally returned home. “You look ravishing, dear!”

“Thank you, Mrs. Kim,” Claire said with a smile. “Dinner should be ready soon.”

You swallowed hard around the bitter taste of jealousy as you hung up the coat in your hands.

“How are you, Claire?” Mr. Kim asked as he offered an affectionate squeeze to Claire’s arm - a complete 180 from his earlier attitude. “Seungmin told us you were having problems.”

“Oh, yeah,” Claire said with a sigh. “Boyfriend troubles.”

“Again?” Mrs. Kim asked with a sympathetic frown. “Poor dear.”

Yeah, she just has the worst life! Feeling up your husband all the time while taking advantage of your hospitality!

“We’ll have lots of time to talk over dinner,” Mrs. Kim said, and she followed Claire into the kitchen while chatting away about something that probably wasn’t even that important.

“I’m sorry,” Seungmin whispered to you, but you simply shook your head.

“I know how to handle your mother,” you said. “I’ve had lots of practice.”

Seungmin chuckled as he brushed his nose against yours. “I told them we have plans after dinner, so hopefully they won’t stay long.”

“It’s fine,” you assured him. “Let me set the table.”

Seungmin nodded and allowed you to leave the safety of his arms for the perilous Lion’s Den of the kitchen. Thankfully, both Claire and Mrs. Kim were far too occupied with themselves to notice while you gathered a stack of plates and silverware for the table. But it wasn’t necessarily Mrs. Kim’s dismissal that bothered you because the woman had been your biggest detractor ever since you had first met.

Instead, you were bothered by her seemingly endless affection for Claire. Especially when you remembered an occasion where you had overheard a conversation between Seungmin and his mother that wasn’t meant for your ears. Because the older woman had the audacity to ask her son why he couldn’t have settled for Claire. “She’d be so much better for you, Seungmin,” Mrs. Kim had said, and somehow you managed to hold it together because the last thing you had wanted was to have some kind of breakdown and expose yourself.

But you had never forgotten the encounter, and you could feel yourself growing more and more irritated as you watched Mrs. Kim stumble into the dining room with Claire who dropped down an enormous pot at the center of the table. “Enjoy!” Claire said. “I made Seungmin’s favorite”

And despite the presence of your husband’s hand on your thigh, you couldn’t help the stirrings of genuine anger ruining whatever appetite you might’ve had. “It looks amazing!” Mrs. Kim said. “What do you think, honey?”

Mr. Kim nodded while loading his plate with enough food to feed everyone sitting around the table. “Eat as much as you want!” Claire said.

“Especially you, Seungmin,” Mrs. Kim said. “Why, you’re just skin and bones these days! Is Y/N not taking care of my son?”

“Mom!” Seungmin grimaced, and he shot me a worried look. “It’s my fault! I’ve been really busy with work.”

“Well, Y/N should make sure that you don’t overwork yourself,” Mrs. Kim remarked. “Claire was just telling me how she had to drag Seungmin out of his office for lunch the other day.”

Your fingers tightened around your fork, and there was a sharp retort waiting on the edge of your tongue, but marriage must’ve taught you a great deal about patience because you managed to exhale and smile. “I’m glad someone can look out for Seungmin while I’m not around,” you said, and there was subtle twitch in Mrs. Kim’s eye that told you she wasn’t happy that you were still in control.

“Y/N always takes care of me,” Seungmin said, and you practically preened under his touch as his fingers started to lightly massage the back of your neck.

“Well, I’m very glad to hear that,” Mrs. Kim said. “What do you think, Mr. Kim?”

But Seungmins’ father merely grunted around his food again, clearly disinterested in the conversation, and your husband leaned in to press a sweet kiss to your lips that you returned with as much passion as possible to remind everyone at the table that you weren’t going anywhere.

But once Seungmin’s parents had left, you trudged into your bathroom to take a much-needed shower, savoring the scalding water on your skin.

It was everything you needed, and you were so lost in your own mind that you barely heard the sound of the door opening. In fact, the husk trill of Seungmin’s voice startled you when he raised his voice to be heard over the noise: “Do you mind if I join?”

“Like, without your clothes on?!”

“That’s the idea,” Seungmin said with a laugh, and you were groaning because your husband always had an uncanny ability to discombobulate you.

“Okay,” you eventually said, and you could hear him shuffling around from behind the curtain before he was moving himself in behind you while running his fingers against your sides.

“This is better,” Seungmin said, and his lips mimicked the effects of the water droplets as he pressed dozens of kisses against your shoulder. “I’m sorry about my parents.”

“Well, I’m used to it,” you said, moaning around the words when his teeth dug into the flesh of your neck.

“You’re so good to me,” Seungmin said. “Should I reward you?”

“I don’t know... you trailed off, turning around in his arms to press your lips together. “I kinda feel like rewarding you instead.”

Seungmin’s cock hardened in interest against your thigh, and you reached down between your bodies to give his erection several strokes of your hand. “What kind of reward?” Seungmin asked, and you took your lower lip between your teeth as you concentrated on digging your thumb into the sensitive slit of his cock.

“I really want this in my mouth,” you said, and Seungmin groaned while his gaze grew darker.

“What are you waiting for?”

His voice was several octaves deeper, and you felt the heavy rumbles against your chest as you lowered yourself onto your knees. Your hands reached out to grab his thighs as support, leaning in close to leave a gentle kiss to the base of his cock. “Is this what you want?”

“Do it before I lose my patience,” Seungmin said, and his fingers quickly tangled themselves in your hair.

“Oh, really?” you smirked - leaning in close to run your tongue along the prominent vein of his erection.

“Please,” Seungmin added, almost as an afterthought when the warm cavern of your mouth enveloped his cock, taking in as much as you could until you felt him at the back of your throat.

“Shit, Y/N,” Seungmin gasped, and his fingers kept a harsh hold in your hair as you bobbed your head up and down his length.

For the most part, you allowed him to control the pace, letting him take over your movements and roughly thrust his hips while forcing his cock down further into the back of your throat. Thankfully, you never had much of a gag reflex, and Seungmin took full advantage of this as he all but fucked your mouth with barely restrained grinds of his hips.

You were on cloud nine, lost in a submissive head-space, until the sudden entrance of an unexpected visitor had you choking around his erection. “Excuse, me!” Claire said, and she was shameless as she strolled inside. “Don’t mind my intrusion!” Claire exclaimed, and you sat back on your ass with a disgruntled sigh. “I didn’t have enough shampoo in the other bathroom.”

“You’re fine,” Seungmin said, and he gave you an apologetic stare that you ignored with a frown.

“Oh, Seungmin!” Claire giggled. “I thought Y/N was in here?”

“Did you find what you needed?” Seungmin grimaced, and Claire had enough decency to respond with an affirmative before closing the door again. “Y/N,” Seungmin said, and he looked mortified even though his cock was still hard. “Darling, I-”

“Save it,” you snapped, standing up from the shower while slapping away his outstretched hand. “You can take care of that yourself!”

“Y/N,” Seungmin tried again, but you were fed up with this entire night, wrapping a towel around your body as you left him behind for the familiar darkness of your bedroom.

You could barely concentrate the next day at work, and you were starting to grow annoyed with your colleagues. For whatever reason, everyone needed your help, and you were beyond annoyed with the situation. But you reached your tipping point in the middle of the afternoon, and you surrendered the metaphorical white flag to leave work early after experiencing one of the worst headaches known to mankind.

“You’re leaving?” Chan had exclaimed while messing around with a bunch of files on his desk. “But the deadlines-”

“Chan,” you interrupted him with a scowl. “Everything’s taken care of, okay? Please let me go before I fall over in the middle of your office.”

“Fine, but it’s coming out of your paycheck,” Chan grumbled, and you shook your head because he was an asshole sometimes.

Originally, you thought to have lunch with Seungmin in your newfound spare time, but when you arrived at the vet’s office, you were informed that Seungmin was in the middle of an emergency surgery.

“Do you want have lunch together instead?” Claire asked with a pleasant smile.

“Uh, sure,” you said, even though you weren’t exactly thrilled by the idea.

But you were trying to be nice for the sake of your husband, and it was with great reluctance that you trailed after Claire into a small diner near the main office where you perused the menu with a disinterested sigh.

“Everything is fresh here,” Claire informed you.

“Oh, good,” you said in a half-hearted effort at conversation.

But Claire must’ve caught on to your bad mood because she suddenly put down her menu and regarded you with a curious look. “Is something wrong?”

“Not really,” you said. “I actually have no reason to be unhappy.”

“It’s because of me, isn’t it?”

You froze when she posed the question, refusing to look up from the table. “What do you mean?”

“Y/N, I’m not blind,” Claire said. “I know you aren’t entirely accepting of me barging in your domestic life with Seungmin and ruining everything.”

“T-that’s not true,” you spluttered.

“I’m not offended,” Claire assured you. “But after what Mrs. Kim said last night, you deserve to feel pissed off or upset or whatever you want because that woman is a lot to handle.”

You were stunned by her casual words because this was the last thing you expected to hear from Claire. “I guess all mothers are overbearing.”

“But Seungmin’s is the worst,” Claire said. “When we were in college, Seungmin’s mother forced him to come home every weekend just to make sure he wasn’t involved with any parties.”

“Really?”

“But she’s done much worse,” Claire said, and her gaze shifted. “It must make you uncomfortable to hear her talking about me and Seungmin, but I want you to know that you have no reason to worry.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, there was a time when I did have a crush on Seungmin, and his parents were always encouraging me to take him out,” Claire said. “But then he told me about this mystery girl he met at the office...”

Claire broke off with a sigh, and you swallowed hard. “Claire...”

But she fixed you a meaningful look. “Y/N, I knew I was a goner when I took Seungmin out for lunch and all he talked about was you.”

It was a powerful statement, even if you hadn’t been expecting the confession, and there was a lightness somewhere inside of you that was comparable to the delicate feeling of butterflies in one’s stomach. “I didn’t know about that.”

“Yeah, well, I was the only one treating it like a date,” Claire said. “But, seriously, Y/N, you make Seungmin incredibly happy, and I support you guys 100% because he’ll always be the friend I want to protect.”

She offered your hand a reassuring squeeze. “Thank you, Claire.”

“I meant every word,” she said. “And please don’t trouble yourself anymore because I have plans to move out with some friends in the near future. You and Seungmin can have as much shower sex as you want after I’m gone.”

You immediately started choking on the very oxygen that you needed to breath, and Claire laughed at the predicament before flagging down your waiter for a necessary glass of water.

It was late when Seungmin came home from work, and Claire had already slipped out to be with some friends for the evening.

“Y/N?”

“Bathroom,” you called back to him, checking over your surprise with a satisfied nod.

“Y/N,” Seungmin said, and he smiled at you as he walked inside before widening his eyes in surprise. “Did you do this?”

“Of course,” you said, and you walked over to close the door before cornering him against the sink, fingers working rapidly over his buttons. “It’s necessary for your clothes to be off, darling.”

It was a cheeky call-back to his comment from your intimate moment the night before, and Seungmin smirked before taking over from you. “Handle yourself,” he said, and you reached down for the hem of your t-shirt while the both of you worked to remove all your layers.

“Better,” you said, leaning against him as you allowed one hand to trail all the way down from his chest before skimming his cock which twitched in interest at your familiar touch. “So handsome,” you assured him, connecting your lips in a passionate kiss while reaching around to give his ass a little squeeze. “Get in the water,” you said, and he obeyed while a trail of saliva fell between your swollen lips.

And once Seungmin was settled beneath the steaming surface, you lowered yourself down in front of him, leaning back against his chest with a pleasant sigh. “This is perfect, Y/N,” Seungmin said while his arms wrapped around you.

“We have wine as well,” you said, reaching over for the bottle.

“God, you’re amazing,” Seungmin said, and he took a glass from you once you managed to pour the sparkling alcohol without spilling it all over the floor.

“But what’s this all about?” Seungmin asked, tipping back his wine glass while his other hand trailed across your stomach.

“I thought I would spoil you.”

“Well, I’m not complaining,” Seungmin said. “I love doing these things with you.”

“Mhmm,” you agreed while drinking your wine. “It’s been a hectic week.”

“It’ll be over soon,” Seungmin said, and he set aside his wine glass to free his hands so that his fingers could massage across your breasts. “I also spoke to Mr. Park about the house, and I think I convinced him to see reason with our original deadline.”

“Really?” you questioned. “How did you manage that?”

“I may have raised my voice,” Seungmin said. “There were also some unpleasant words exchanged.”

“Seungmin!” you gasped, and he scoffed at your mock sarcasm.

“Not even a thank you?” Seungmin pouted, and you made sure to whisper one against his lips.

“I’m gonna treat you in return later on, darling,” Seungmin said, and you shivered when one of his fingers delicately penetrated the tight walls of your cunt while his erection dug into your lower back.

“I love you so much,” you moaned, leaning your head back even further to accept another passionate kiss.

#stayverse #skzsmutnetwork #skzwriternet #skz fanfic #stray kids fanfic #skz imagines #skz oneshots #skz scenarios #stray kids oneshot #stray kids seungmin #skz seungmin fanfic #stray kids seungmin fanfic #kim seungmin #kim seungmin fanfic #seungmin fanfic #kim seungmin oneshots #seungmin oneshot #mostlycompetent #requested

180 notes · View notes