#So I will just keep day dreaming about it | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

gracieheartspedro · 3 days ago

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Lessons in Art History

my main masterlist - eddie munson masterlist

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader

word count: 10.5k (tehe sorry not sorry)

description: eddie needs to graduate. a stupid summer art class is getting in his way. luckily for him, his neighbor and childhood crush is an art history major. and you're ready to make a deal.

warnings: 18+ content, MDNI, no use of y/n, reader is in college, both parties are 18+, mention of abusive parents, drug use, consumption of alcohol, mentions of relying on alcohol, mentions of body mutilation, eddie is a doesn't understand art and you really do, smut, lots of tension, no mention of specific body type, dubcon (both are under the influence, they are tipsy/high), oral (f recieving) unprotected p in v, body worship, dirty talk, eddie cums 'quickly', eddie finishes inside. eddie just really loves your body. aftercare.

authors note: this has been sitting in my docs forever. i finally finished it on a whim. enjoy me combining two things i really love! art history and eddie munson <3 if you guys want to see more of these two, pls don't hesitate to pop in my asks. also thank you to my beta's aka @pedgito and @amanitacowboy! kisses to the both of you! MUAHHH!!

how to help palestine ~ dividers by @cafekitsune

Eddie did not understand art.

The fact that he even had to take the stupid art history course in summer school aggravated him. When the teacher would blab on and on about different mediums and their importance to history, he found himself almost dozing off. Sure some of the paintings they were studying were cool, but it seemed very… pretentious.

But he’s failing and he can not be failing.

As soon as he saw your old Chevy pull into the driveway across from his, he knew he was in for a treat this summer. Seeing you again would only send his heart racing, he knew that for sure. When he sees you in passing, mainly when he’s heading to the school in the morning, you always offered a passive wave and pleasant smile. You had only gotten more beautiful since you left for college.

Luckily for him, his childhood crush and next door neighbor was in college studying Fine Arts and she was home for the summer. Finally.

You had just concluded your freshman year at Indiana State University. It had been a dream of yours since you were a kid to go to school for art. Saving all your money made from the diner downtown helped with a good chunk of your first semester and your second semester was proudly sponsored by your rich aunt. Lucky you.

You had plans to spend your summer working on some art pieces to build your resume. Your preferred medium was watercolors and oil paints, so your small bedroom was littered with canvases and cold-pressed sheets. You have lived in this trailer your entire life and it was by far the messiest it’s ever been. Not just from you, but from your mom and younger sister. You spent most mornings picking up after them, and you soon realize that’s all you have ever done your entire life. The reason the house was this bad was because you were now gone and not slaving to keep the base boards dusted.

You needed to get out of the house.

So you started spending time outside, occupying some lawn chairs on your back porch. The shade was limited to one corner of the broken down rotted wood, so you positioned the chair there and set up your easel.

There had been a couple occasions in the time you have been home where you had seen your neighbors and had very basic conversations with them. You said hello to Max Mayfield when she skateboarded past your driveway, but you do not believe she actually heard you. Wayne Munson had waved to you one day when he was leaving for work. And then of course the moments you saw Eddie.

He had not changed one bit, that boy. You had a sneaky small crush on him when you two shared a couple classes together your senior year. You had lived right across from him for practically your whole life, yet when he sat next to you in English class, you felt yourself stealing glances and sharing hushed jokes together. You were not sure if the crush was loosely based because you two were always in close proximity to each other, but he was cute.

One particularly hot afternoon, you hear the crunching of your dying grass on the side of the house. You glance up from your canvas only to see him.

Eddie was supposed to graduate alongside you but between all his absences, bad grades, and mischievous behaviors, he failed. Twice.

You put your paint down on a rusted out table, wiping the excess colors on your shirt with your elementary school mascot on it.

“Hey,” You say lightly, shooting him a gentle smile. You could not lie that your stomach did a bit of a flip when his eyes locked with yours. And just like that, Eddie is reminded why he used to like you so damn much.

Your smile was enough to make a man halt in place, and that’s exactly what he did.

You seemed disheveled, which Eddie found oddly attractive. Your shirt was covered in dry and wet paint, looking like you just wipe whatever paint you’re not using on yourself. It was an array of colors, but mainly different hues of blues and yellows.

He quickly starts to regret his initial plan. Originally he was going to catch you leaving your house one day, asking how college was going, and see if you were interested in helping him study for his next test. But you never left your house at the same time, and he could not just casually hang out outside 24/7 waiting for you. That would be weird. Stalkerish.

So after one particularly bad quiz, he worked up enough courage to walk straight up to you while you sat and worked magic. Problem was, he did not plan what to say, only thinking of it as he approached you. And of course, when you say ‘hello’, he quickly realizes you stole his voice with your gaze.

You just look at him, sensing he must be lost or something.

He finally finds his voice after clearing away some phlegm, “I need your help.”

Your eyes flicker to your canvas, inspecting your work from another angle as you hop off the edge of your deck. Eddie starts to get nervous as you approach him, your eyes still firmly planted on your art.

Eddie used to ask you for the dumbest favors when you two were kids. He used to knock on your door and ask for random ingredients, to walk with him to the mini mart down the street, just anything to get you out of your house and talking to him.

Looking back now, it was kind of sweet he even thought to invite you, but you were not interested in helping with housework or walking along the back roads of Hawkins with him.

You finally look at him, pursing your lips in faux contemplation, “Eddie… I’m not helping you mow the grass-” He waves his hands in the air, halting you from talking. “No… it’s not that. I am in summer school-”

It was your turn to cut him off, planting your hands on your hips, “Again!?”

He exhales, bringing his ringed fingers over his face and dragging his lower lids down in frustration.

Eddie was a lot of things, but he was not stupid. You knew he was smart if he applied himself. Problem was that he was bad about caring about school. You remember the days of sitting behind him in 10th grade Algebra and you almost failed with how much he interrupted class to laugh with some friends in the last row. He was the very opposite of yourself.

He crosses his arms over his Metallica shirt that he’s been wearing for two years, using his fingers to fold his lower lip as you stand like a scolding mother.

“I need to pass this Art History class and I failed the first quiz already. I need it to finish out my credits. Please-” You roll your eyes, matching his stance by crossing your arms. Art History was the easiest subject to you and you adored learning more about it. And Eddie knew that, too. You realize you’ll have wet paint all over your arms as soon as your arm sticks to the front of your shirt.

“What’s in it for me?”

Eddie’s eyebrows raise, surprised that you are open to tutoring him so quickly. You watch him nod his head, dreaming up how he can repay you. “I’ll smoke you up whenever you want. And… whatever else you want, I guess.”

“Smoking me up whenever I want?”

You like the sound of that. You were just like every other art student at your college. Using substances to get you through each day. Lately, it’s been wine you get from the gas station down the road. But drunk painting is not as productive, so you mainly use it to numb all the other depressing things in your life at night.

You missed smoking weed, but you have not had the budget to buy.

But if tutoring Eddie Munson in your favorite subject would get you free weed, you could not say no.

Eddie nods quickly at your response, desperate to pass. And if it meant hanging out with you, too, it was a win-win-win all around. “Yeah, I just need to pass this class-” You cut him off again, “Okay, fine. But we have to do it at your house.”

You did not need him seeing your hoard of paintings and messy house. And now you had an actual excuse to leave your house.

Eddie shakes his head, blinking at you curiously.

“Yeah, no problem,” He claps his hands in front of his body, twisting his foot a bit like a child would, “When can we start?” The wind picks up, and you watch his hair fly across his face. You giggle, watching him brush his locks away from his mouth. You could not deny how cute and endearing he could be occasionally. “What days do you have class?”

“Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays.”

This would be a breeze, you think to yourself. You assume immediately that you would only need to see him two days a week. No big deal.

You head back up to your deck, taking your canvas off the easel, “Then I’ll see you on Tuesdays and Thursdays.” You stop in movements as he simply states, “Today is Tuesday, sweetheart.”

Your head shoots around, seeing the cheeky smirk playing on his lips. The nickname he called you sends a slight shiver down your spine. It sounded nice coming from him.

You roll your eyes, though, assuming he means you had to start today.

“Let me grab my notes and change,” His face brightens up at your words. “I’ll be over in 15 minutes.”

You soon realize two days a week was not going to help Eddie. You added Monday evenings to the equation pretty quickly when you realized he did not even have the proper textbook.

“Emerson gave it to me! He told me it was the one he used last year!”

You just rolled your eyes and read his syllables to him, out loud, obnoxiously. He giggled the entire time, commenting about how you should have been a school teacher.

You two would sit in his bedroom from five in the evening until 8 at night, mainly on his unmade bed, going over different texts and art pieces. Around 7, he would offer you to smoke, which you always agreed to. By 8:30, you were high as a kite and ready to go home. He would send you off with a ‘goodnight, sweetheart’ and watch you walk back over to your front door.

You notice pretty quickly he was always fiddling with his hands, tapping his pencils, biting his fingernails. He could not sit still and it drove you insane. You gave him one of your stress balls one day, hoping the silent squishing would ease his jitters, but instead he started throwing it up and the air. You took it from him soon after, scolding him.

He was virtually impossible to teach.

You finally get him on track when they start studying Van Gogh. You would simply help Eddie interpret the art, as well as give him the basics information on the artist.

He thinks it’s funny when you explain how Van Gogh cut off his ear, laughing hysterically when you show him the self portrait.

“Look at his goofy little hat! And the bandage around his head?”

You could not help yourself today. You roll your eyes and sit back against the edge of his bed, trying to redeem your resting easygoing expression. It was becoming too hard, but you distort your smile back on and pivot to him. His face is twisted in amusement, knowing his comment has you reeling.

It was only Monday and you had two more evenings explaining art to him. You could not get him to love the subject, but you try to place the ideas into his day to day life. It seems to stick better when you put it in those terms. It’s hard to do with Van Gogh, sadly, so you just listen to him cracking jokes until it’s time to smoke.

He hands you the joint, his lips pursed in contemplation as you take the hit. You are sitting back against his wall, crossing your legs vertically across his bed. You look more relaxed on his bed than he does.

You exhale, handing him back back the roll. You really needed this high to bring the tension away from your shoulders.

“So, what did you learn today?” You probe, seeing if he actually learned anything. You would not be surprised if he said something about Van Gogh’s ear again. Instead, he just smirks at you, tilting his head back on his wooden headboard.

He takes a drag of the joint, his jaw ticking as he blows out the smoke. “That you’re very patient with me.”

You bite your cheek, preventing yourself for smiling. He could see right through you, no matter how hard you tried to disguise your annoyance with him.

“You’re giving me free weed and all I have to do is explain basic concepts to you,” you explain, reaching over to him, brushing your arm across his knee and thigh. The physical touch leaves goosebumps all over your arm.

“Like 40 times, over and over again.”

You smirk at that, “Again. Free weed.”

“And the company, of course,” He says as he leans forward, poking your thigh with his pointer finger.

The comment makes your stomach flip, butterflies sprouting as you watch his smile get wider.

You honestly would not have done this if it was any other guy from Hawkins High. You hated most of the people you graduated with, knowing they were all assholes or weird. Or both.

And while Eddie was an oddball, he had manners and knew where to draw the line with you. He never made you feel unsafe or awkward. He was just so shamelessly himself and somehow that meshed well with your personality.

“Yeah, you’re alright I guess,” You sneer, trying to act as coy as possible. You could feel the heat burning your cheeks and Eddie noticed it, too. He would not say anything though, just trying to rid his mind of the feeling of your arm brushing across his leg earlier.

“I just don’t get the point of big red squares on big black canvas.”

Week 4 proved to be the week where they throw high school summer school students into the deep end. You curse the teacher as soon as Eddie comes home with print outs of Mark Rothko’s abstract paintings.

You really enjoyed Rothko’s work, having seen it in person in Chicago on a school trip. You almost felt protective over his art.

So when Eddie goes on his normal rambles about how silly art really is, you cannot help yourself.

You grab the print out of the unnamed yellow orange piece, “There’s nothing to get Eddie, it’s just…”

“You said this Rothko guy was this infamous artist and all he does is paint shapes,” He looks at the paper over your shoulder. He’s currently sprawled across his bed, while you sit on his floor with all the dust bunnies. His head is right next to yours and you can feel his curls laying on your bare shoulder.

Why did you wear a tank top today?

You huff, sitting forward a bit, “Eddie, it’s not about what he wanted it to be, it’s what you interpret it as.” “Well it’s squares. That’s all I interpret, sweetheart.”

You inhale a deep breath, the anger rising within you turning quickly into how you could break down the kind-of pretentious pieces. You had to admit that Rothko’s ideas were pretty out there. You also knew that they seemed very grandiose to an average person, but he had his intentions in the right place.

“Can I explain it to you,” You look up at him, your faces inches away. It causes your breath to hitch in your throat. “Cause you’re just… so wrong.”

A smile crosses his face, waiting for you to go into detail. “Go on, princess.”

You look back at the print, cocking your head to the side. You had explained his art to other people before but you knew you would have to phase it down a bit for Eddie.

“Rothko is not telling you to feel one way or another,” You point at the orange part of the pieces, “You may see those squares, but it’s more about the colors. The paint strokes. You see them in person and they are like… all consuming. His point was not to make something for himself, it was so that observer could reflect inward and use his art to their advantage. To grieve. To be happy. To reminisce. So it’s not about the squares. It’s about what the colors evoke.”

His finger points right beside where yours sits on the page, “What does this one say to you?”

You smile as you reflect on the painting. It’s not exactly where it needs to be. Rothko does not need to be a printed flimsy piece of paper, it needs a huge canvas, but it still evokes something in you. With Eddie over your shoulder, the ideas flowing within you sends goosebumps across your neck and back. His closeness only adds to the slowing of your heart rate.

“The yellow and salmon color make me hopeful. Like I can actually get somewhere and be something. It reminds me of some beautiful sunrises I’ve had the privilege of watching. Makes me feel like I’ll be alright.”

Eddie’s eyes search your face, watching your lips twitch as you observe the piece. It kind of spilled out of you. You try not to get too into your perceptions of art with him, simply just giving him information and making him write and conclude his own opinions. But art is the only thing in the world you felt held by and on rare occasions, you had to bare your soul. Eddie was just the unlucky bastard to hear about it.

The gentle way you describe things, every word sounding so precious, made Eddie’s whole head explode with adoration. He spent so many evenings watching you, quietly admiring the way you moved, the way you spoke, and while he knew the crush he harbored was major, it only got worse spending these last few weeks with you. He got to see your little unique quirks up close and he was hopelessly in love with you.

“You’re so beautiful,” He whispers, his voice a bit strained. You glance up at him, completely whiplashed by his response.

The way he’s looking at you makes you believe he does not even realize he said that out loud. His eyes soften, as you scan his face. Your gaze falls to his lips before you finally speak up, your heartbeat in your ears.

“What?”

His eyes widened, realizing his mistake. He sits back and snaps his gaze away from you. Your cheeks heat up as you come to realize you had read the situation correctly. He rubs his hand over his face in embarrassment, trying to gain his bearings.

“I’m.. I didn’t mean to… say that out loud.”

He’s fumbling over his words, which makes a smile creep across your face. You knew what it was to blunder like this, having done it one too many times with guys you liked. You wanted to reassure him without making it seem like too big of a deal. But boy, was it a big deal.

“It’s okay,” You manage to say, trying not to giggle. You cannot help yourself, though. As soon as the breath leaves your mouth, he groans.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”

He is standing up now, rolling off his bed. His tall frame starts to pace his bedroom, his hands never leaving his face. He could not bear to look at you.

You pull your knees into your chest, trying to ease his nerves with a simple, “Don’t be sorry, it’s completely okay.”

He stops in his tracks, placing his hands on his hips. You cannot help but find him charming, his face all red, his hair untidy, his shirt twisted from the way he was laying. You had to admit, in a not-out-loud-way, that he was beautiful, too.

“You just got on that whole tangent and the passion you had for the art put me in a trance and…” He starts to pace again when he sees your lips curve up, “I just… yeah.”

You giggle, his words sending your heart racing even more, “I put you in a trance, huh?”

He slaps his hand over his forehead, realizing he can not stop saying stupid things. “Studying session over. ‘M rolling a joint.”

It was final day.

The last couple weeks with Eddie consisted of a lot of him really diving in head first into the topics they were discussing in class. While he still needed your guidance on dissecting certain pieces and how they related back to the artists, he was coming home with quizzes that had red scribbled ‘B’s’ on the top of the paper. That’s all he needed to pass.

You had settled with the fact that Eddie was never going to bring up what he said to you again. After that evening, he was hesitant to even sit a foot away from you, always residing on the opposite side of the room.

It hurt a bit. You do not know if he actually meant it or not, and the mystery of it all was eating you alive. When you would let your eyes linger on him for longer than usual, you wanted to crawl out of your skin when he would intentionally look away from you. He was avoiding it, and you knew it.

But Eddie was not avoiding it. God, he wanted to. You were consuming every thought in his head. When he was in class he was thinking about you, because you were teaching him even more than the teacher was. When he was driving home, a song would play and he would somehow relate it to the way your eyes twinkled at him or how your smooth voice would send tingles down his spine. When he was home, trying to have some down time, he would catch himself staring out his bedroom window, wondering what you were doing in your room across the street.

He was officially losing it.

On final day, he got in his car, his fingers nervously tapping his steering wheel, hoping to the heavens and angels that he would pass so he could race over to your front door and leap into your arms in excitement. He just wanted to be near you, always.

When he gets the bubble sheet back and sees a 89/100, he jumps up out of his chair and hoots like a banshee. He could not believe his eyes as he gripped the paper with an iron fist, waving it around to all 4 of his classmates. “I’m graduating, fuckers!”

He could not get home fast enough. With the paper sitting on his dash, he flew over curbs, unable to maintain his excitement at passing the stupid class.

When he pulls into Forest Hills and fails to see your car in your driveway, his heart skips.

Had you left to go back to school early? Without saying goodbye? Were you just out? Maybe you had just gone to the grocery store?

As he parks the van, he snatches the sheet up and takes his time getting in the house. He glances back at your place a couple times, failing to see any signs of life through the slightly drawn open windows. His mind was spinning with all the possibilities, all of them equally making him spiral. He places his test down his record player, swipes up his rolling tray and starts to get as high as he possibly could. He would check your driveway practically every fice seconds, willing you to appear, but after an hour, he ashes out a joint and lays back on his bed, defeated.

You pulled into your driveway, noticing Eddie’s van haphazardly parked in his driveway. You were tempted to pull in front of his house and knock on his front door to ask how the test went, but you were up all night getting drunk and wallowing. A fight with your mother really took everything out of you and you had next-to-no energy.

You waste no time getting inside and throwing on your comfiest pajamas. You cuddle up in your bed, soaking up the quietness of your trailer as you have it completely to yourself tonight. Sleep eventually finds you after a bit, only to be interrupted by a knock at the door. You take your time getting up, wandering through the house to the front door. On your way there, you stop and grab the half drunk wine glass on the counter. You had left your current self a little gift last night, it seems.

You get to the front door, slamming the wine before you turn the handle. As you open it, you see his curls first. You wipe the dribble of red liquid away from the side of your mouth, puckering your lips.

“Hey,” You say simply, trying to hide the wine glass behind your back. He knew you drank, but you did not want to look completely disheveled in his presence. You already had bed head. “Hey, uh… I passed,” Eddie mutters, his hands gripping onto his test sheet. He holds it up, a small smile expanding across his face, “I got a B on my final, so… I’m on track to graduate this year.”

He looks nervous, but your heart jumps in excitement for him. This is the best news you have heard all day. You put the wine glass down on the wooden entry table and fly out the door. You wrap your arms around his neck, jumping up and down as you congratulate him. “That’s awesome, Eddie!”

His hand gently graces your waist, shifting your oversized t-shirt up a bit, revealing that there are shorts underneath. You hear a small chuckle escape his throat, almost reflecting some sort of relief.

You really knew how to make him feel special, practically throwing yourself at him. “All thanks to you,” He whispers as you pull away from his grasp. You still have your hand on his neck, pressing your fingers into the collar of his jean vest. “Oh please…” You shift back, dropping your arm to your side. You giggle, watching him crumble the test paper and stuff it into his pocket. You move back a step, “I’m happy though. Truly. You earned it.”

There’s a pause between you two, both just staring at one another. You want him to say something back, unsure if your celebration was a bit too much. His face drops as if he’s remembering something. He digs in his jean’s pocket, hissing as he searches for something. He pulls out a small joint, the rings on his fingers sparkling in the sun’s rays. The sun is finally going down, shadowing a golden hue over Forest Lawn. “I uh.. Have a celebratory joint.. Do you want to smoke?”

Your smile gives away your answer. You push your elbow into the door, opening it wider for Eddie. Having the whole place to yourself would serve you some good tonight, but Eddie was not much of a bother. Plus, free weed.

“Yeah, I actually have the house to myself, if you want to hang here?”

His eyes light up, surprised that you are allowing him in your space, “Are you sure?”

You nod, gesturing him to join you inside, “Yeah, it’s cool. Mom’s working overnight, sister’s at Max’s.”

“Sure, yeah.”

Initially you decide to just hangout in the living room, but then you realize your mother would somehow smell the remnants of marijuana, so you offer Eddie the space of your room. He nods timidly, walking behind you through the kitchen. On your way through, you grab the already half drank wine bottle and walk to the end of the hallway. You push open your door, showing off your messy and cluttered room to Eddie.

“My room’s a mess, just a warning.”

You crack open the nearest window, before settling on your bed. Eddie stands there, taking in your room and art pieces. Stacked canvases take up most of the floor space, as well as a peeling easel. You pat your unmade bed, trying to get him to sit. He toes off his sneakers and plops down on your full-sized bed.

He places the joint between his lips, something you hyperfixate on for a moment. Watching his mouth wrap around something so small makes you pause. His perfectly symmetrical pink lips were something that caught your attention often.

You uncork your wine as he flicks his lighter and pulls some smoke.

“You are gonna smoke, too, right,” He asks, handing over the rolled weed. You take a swig of the bottle, letting the cheap alcohol slide down your throat.

You gesture him the bottle, offering him some of your own vice. He’s a guest, after all. “Yeah, I am. Want some?”

He shakes his head, scrunching his nose at the idea of drinking. “Not a wine guy. Thanks, though.”

You two sit there in a comfortable silence, passing the joint back and forth. When you feel enough of a buzz throughout your body, you stand up and decide to show off your newest pieces.

You had never been one to show off your work. You did not mind if people looked or admired, but you’d rather not be in the room when it was happening. You were more afraid of failure, which to you, was someone not liking your work. Criticism. Such a scary thought.

You grab a painting you created of the woods at the entrance of Forest Hills, a densely packed row of trees with the sun only slightly beaming through some breaks in the leaves. It took you a week to complete it, having spent most of your free time in the evenings with Eddie.

You turn the canvas over with one hand as you grip your wine bottle at the same time. Eddie shifts on your bed, laying on his side and propping his body weight up on his elbow.

The moment his eyes find the canvas, his jaw drops.

“Holy shit, sweetheart. That is incredible,” He sits up on his butt, his dark curls shifting around his shoulders as he does. “You could fill an entire museum with the amount of canvases in here.”

You beam at his words, a sense of unnerving weight that you carry around, suddenly lifting off your shoulders. You felt pride swirl in your stomach, watching him stand and approach one older stack of paintings.

You place the piece of art down, feeling the tackiness of the clear coat on your fingertips.

“That’s the dream, one day.”

He shifts some watercolors you did around, staring at them with the joint between his lips. He looks so focused and enamored with your work. It’s endearing seeing him able to admire art after dealing with him for weeks just poking fun at it. “Oh, you’ll get there,” he states with confidence, the bud wiggling between his teeth with his words. He takes it out of his mouth, finally looking back over to you. The rush of heat to your cheeks could be attributed to the alcohol, but he is sure it is because of his praise. “You’re incredible.”

And you can tell he means it. What you don’t know is he means it in every sense. Your artistic ability is just the tip of the iceberg.

He swallows, letting the tension rise a bit as you muster up the courage to step closer to him. The joint is burnt out, now just a roach between his fingers. You place the almost empty wine bottle on your desk, practically invading Eddie’s space as you step one foot closer.

The weed has loosened him up a bit. His body feels weightless and his mouth is one of the muscles that has relaxed with the rest of his limbs.

“You’re so beautiful,” He whispers, looking down at you with a lopsided grin. The moment is reminiscent of the first time he told you that, but the energy in the room is more charged than last time.

The whites of his eyes are red, his lids drooping a bit more. You can feel the heat flush your cheeks as his gaze falls down over your face and to your lips.

“Thanks, Eds,” your voice not crawling over a whisper. This time when you acknowledge his compliment, he does not backpedal. His eyes don’t stray away, nervously finding a way to bring up a new conversation. No, this time, he’s confident and sure fire about telling you how he felt.

He had been holding onto it for so long, and soon, you would be back at school. He knew your mind would stray to other places, other things, other guys. And he knew he would not be able to live with himself if he did not express his feelings for you.

“Truly, I mean it,” He mutters, shifting on his other leg. You can tell by the way he’s fiddling with his rings, he is nervous. The only thing you can think of is his lips, especially when he licks them, “You are… probably the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.”

The statement catches you off guard at first. Maybe it’s the alcohol distorting your confidence, or maybe it’s the nerves of him getting an inch closer. You clear your throat, finally darting your eyes away from his mouth. “You are high.”

A smile spreads across his face which warms your skin, prickling tiny bumps scattering down your arms. “And right,” He emphasizes, placing the roach down by your wine bottle. Instead of putting his arm down, his hand inches towards the curve of your cheek. There’s a glint in his eye, something hinting at you to lean towards him. And you do. “You don’t think you’re beautiful?”

Your eyes flicker away, your vision falling onto your bedroom door. You had hung up a mirror there when you were 12 and became hyper aware of your appearance. Your mom was very good at making you feel inferior, so you would spend hours sitting on your bed and staring into your mirror with contempt. You had learned how to love yourself a bit more since you were not living at home, but coming back has only reminded you of all the things you hate about yourself. But the characteristics you did like about yourself seemed to shine a bit more as you stood next to Eddie.

“I think I have pretty traits,” You muster up, looking away from your own reflection. Eddie does not accept that. The moment your head snaps back in his direction, his fingers drifting down to your jawline, “No, baby, you are the whole package. Not just a couple things. You’re perfect.”

Perfect. You had never been appreciated by any guy like this. You did not know Eddie had it in him.

“Eddie, you’re just saying that-” He somehow forces you to look in his eyes. He levels with you, his eyes looking serious and bloodshot, “I’m truly not just saying it to say it. I… I have thought like this since like 8th grade, sweetheart.”

It feels like all the air has been pushed out of your chest. You choke out two words, “You what?”

And then Eddie cannot help himself. It’s like he had been gearing up his entire life for this moment. He just needed the push. And the way you are looking at him right now is enough for him.

“The moment I realized I was completely beside myself into you was when you pushed that girl on the school bus for saying I was a freak for having longer hair. You literally pushed her into the aisle and stepped over her to get off the bus with me. I knew then I was a goner. You were all I could see.”

The day is so vivid in your mind. You even remember the t-shirt you were wearing that day. It was a memory that stuck with you, too. You did not realize you had made such an impact on him. It’s endearing to know he thought about you in that way. Endearing and… reassuring?

You try to break the tension, clearing your throat, “Well, she was being a bitch.” But he does not laugh, he just stares down at you. The rise and fall of his chest insinuates that he’s on the verge of panicking if you do not respond positively. “Yeah, she was.”

The silence eats away at you. The last part of his statement bounces around in your brain.

“A goner?”

Your nose wiggles and Eddie cannot deny how much he just wants to lift you off your feet and ravish you in that moment. You did not know the effect you had on him just by changing your facial impression to something so disgustingly cute. But it was the way you shifted under his gaze, your hand trailing up to his side, toying with the hem of his raggedy band t-shirt.

He returns the touch, his other hand propping up on your waist. The warmth moves around to your lower back, pulling you closer to him.

“Yes, princess. A goner.”

His eyes droop and his mouth stays ajar as you too creep closer and closer together. The energy is surging off the ways, striking you in the back and leaving goosebumps in their wake. His hand trails down to your neck, the coldness of his rings shocking your system further the moment they touch your collarbones.

You lick your lips, slowly. It’s enough to make Eddie groan.

“You still feel that way?”

He shakes his head, almost to say ‘duh’. “Abso-fuckin’-lutely. You sticking by me all summer and puttin’ up with me only confirmed that I am practically in love with you.”

Your heart could hammer out of your chest at any moment. You feel the chills only further drive your nerves. You shake your head, your hand now balling up his shirt. It’s almost like a threat. “I don’t believe you-” He cuts you off before you can continue. “Let me prove it to you.”

You watch his hands carefully drift down your chest, his fingers resting right on your breast bone. Your breath hitches and you slowly release the fabric between your fingers. You cannot help but trail your eyes back up to his lips, watching him teasingly lick them before leaning in further to you.

His pupils are huge and you are almost positive it’s because of the weed.

But it is not just that. Your scent alone is enough to make his cock swell in his tight black jeans. You have yet to notice, but once you do, Eddie knows his cheeks will go bright red.

The smell of weed is slowly being pulled out of your room by the crisp evening air pouring in from your window. It brings in a chill that has you shifting closer to feel his hot breath on your face. He is suddenly your heat source.

His head cowers down, his wet lips pressing hesitantly against your jaw. Your voice quivers as he drags his lips all the way to your chin. Your lips are so close, he could just press them together. But somehow that seems more intimate.

“Is this okay?” He ponders, millimeters from your mouth. You swallow back a hasty hum.

“Mhm.”

You were never shy of making the first move in situations like this, but your body has completely locked up. You are at his mercy and you are almost positive you would let him do anything to you right now.

His hands move quickly, sliding down your curves and committing them to memory.

You just close your eyes and wait. You feel it coming and seeing him get closer is going to send your heart beating out of your chest. When his lips finally grace yours, you two move slowly. Dragging out each movement, tongues slowly slipping past teeth.

Your brain draws a blank for a beat, not fully digesting the fact that you are kissing him. After weeks of getting high with him, teaching him about a subject you're passionate about, and that slight tension in the air. Especially after he first called you beautiful. That night you went home and tossed and turned in your bed.

Now he’s gently backing you up to the edge of the mattress, causing you to drop onto your bed with a bounce. He does not waste any time, connecting lips again and giggling as you lay on your back.

Eddie cannot believe you are below him, so willing to do something like this with him. The moment he starts to get in his head about it, he slowly pulls away from you, almost not to alarm you in any way.

But the way you look at him. He feels this pull in his chest, like a gravitational drift back to you. He hovers above you, eyes searching your face.

“God, you couldn’t get any more perfect.”

The heat returns to your entire body. “Stop.”

“Never, sweetheart.”

It seems like he’s going back in for another kiss, but instead he’s pressing his lips against your cheeks. You cannot help the smile that takes over your face. Your hands find a good spot, raking your nails gently through his scalp. The groans that escape him send pulsating need to your core.

The moment you wrap your leg around his, it’s like a signal for him to further his exploration. His mouth drags across your skin, leaving his saliva in its wake. When he stops at the base of your throat, your hips jolt forward. You feel his jeans straining to keep his cock in one spot.

“More,” You mewl, your shorts riding up with your t-shirt, revealing your thighs and hips to him. He cannot help the strangled chuckling that comes out when you start to beg for him. As if he could not get any harder.

“More, huh?” His digits spread out, dragging up your oversized shirt and kneading your flesh. The motion has you grinding against his leg even more. He’s dragging it out and it’s so painful. You wish he would just rip the bandaid off and completely unravel you.

He spares you the pleading and pushes up the fabric to reveal your bare chest. You had not planned to have guests and to be quite frank, you completely forgot you had no bra on. You thought he would have to fumble around to get the full display. He puts his weight on his one knee, admiring you for a moment. You get a bit nervous when he pulls away, only to quickly realize he’s brushing his hair up into a bun.

It gives you a better look at the beautiful smile on his face and his lust blown brown eyes.

“Can’t let the hair get in the way of all the things I’m about to do to you,” He admits, pecking you over and over again until you are laughing. “I can’t believe we are doing this.”

“I can,” You quip up, watching him unhinge his jaw right above your right nipple, “I see the way you look at me.”

Eddie shakes his head, his stubble brushing your flesh. His giggles subsiding the moment his lips wrap around your areola. You knew you were sensitive but you never felt so overstimulated in your life. The way his hands feel scooping your flesh. The way he is practically trying to fit your entire tit in his mouth. His guttural groans bouncing off your walls and canvases.

He consumes every one of your senses.

“Been dying to see you like this. You have the prettiest titties I’ve ever seen,” His voice is so gravelly and dripping with desire. Eddie needs to break the tension in his jeans, so while you are slipping your shirt off entirely, he pops the button on his pants. The zipper practically unfastens itself when he presses into you again, ravishing every inch of your chest. One hand on your waist, the other kneading your boob, all the while your hips are gyrating against his thigh.

“Need more of you, Eds,” You plead, hoping to whatever god existed that he would litter your floor with all of his clothes. You watch him free his hand from fondling you to pull his t-shirt off from the collar, only briefly coming up for air from feasting on your chest. “Take off my shorts.”

The moment you say that, his eyes bore into yours. “You sure?”

“Eddie,” You press, pushing stray hairs away from his face, “I need you so bad, I may explode.”

“Jesus, say that again.”

You cannot help but scoff, your reaction making your boobs jiggle in front of his face. You lean up to his level, pressing a long drawn out kiss to his neck before bringing your lips to his earlobe, “I need you. So bad.”

The animalistic groan that leaves his throat even takes him by surprise. He stands up, grabbing the waistband of your shorts and practically ripping them in half. You squeak, adjusting how your panties sit on your hips.

“Listen here, pretty girl, I am going to eat your pussy until you cum at least two times. And I’m gonna take my time. Then, if I don’t cum from doing that alone, I’m filling you up and fucking you exactly how I’ve wanted to for the last… I don’t know how many years.”

His game plan makes your stomach do gymnastics. His confidence in his words is simply derived from his primal need to please you.

Sure, he wants to get his rocks off, but he could live the rest of his days with blue balls, if it meant seeing you cum all over his mouth over and over again.

The creak of the bed makes Eddie giggle. You have had this bed since you were 11, it has seen better days.

He positions himself on his stomach, throwing your legs over his shoulder. Your panties were perfectly disguising the wetness that’s been pooling since Eddie started touching you. It was the only article of clothing left on your body. You want to feel insecure, but all of Eddie’s reassuring words wash over you. He sucks in a deep inhale, taking in your essence.

“Can I take these off?” He tuts, pressing his fingers perfectly between your fabric-covered folds. The pressure is almost enough to send you over the edge. The craving you have for him is borderline embarrassing.

“Please,” You whimper, shifting your hips a bit trying to feel any friction you can. He pulls his fingers away, lacing them around the hem of your blue panties. Instead of locking his eyes on your glistening core, his gaze follows the panties being pulled from your legs. Once they are discarded, he presses wet kisses against the inner part of your legs.

“You look like a dream, all spread out for me,” He admits, his face now hovering over your core, “You know I dreamt this before?”

He had. Countless times. Last summer when he watched you pack up your car for college, you were wearing these dangerously short daisy dukes and he stroked his cock about it for two months straight. Late at night, when he needed a release, he thought of you. He did not get much actual action in his day-to-day life, so his mind was consumed by his soul shattering crush on you.

“Eddie, I need you to do something.”

He ignores your pleas, dragging his lips across the skin right above your slit. He slowly drifts down, running his tongue through your folds, tasting every bit of you.

“Just me having my face buried between your thighs,” He slaps them gently before digging his nails into the meat of your thighs. “God, these thighs… just so perfect.”

You jut your hips down, practically forcing his mouth on you. As much as you loved his dirty talk, you needed action. “Eddie.”

He chuckles, pulling his arm from underneath you. He takes his own fingers in his mouth, lacing his own spit between his digits, “You are so pretty when you say my name, baby. You want me to touch this beautiful pussy, hm? She’s just leaking for me, huh?”

You grit your teeth, watching him spread your pussy lips apart and drag his fingers all along your weeping hole. “I swear to God-” “I’m gonna fuck you with my tongue, don’t worry baby,” He pushes your thighs open wider, “Just painting my own little picture first.”

Truth be told, he was trying to drag this out so he could commit everything to memory. You would be leaving for school again soon, so who knows if this will ever happen again?

In your head, with the way he’s treating your body like a canvas in the finest art museum in New York City, he would be packed in your suitcase and dragged back to school with you. You needed this, always.

You are pulled out of your thoughts when his mouth returns to your pussy, his tongue vibrating against your swollen clit. His fingers make work at fucking your hole, all the while his loose-lips occupy themselves making you feel good. Sure, you got head by guys before, but Eddie creates a whole different category in your brain. Maybe it is because you liked him so much and your body moved in sync with his. You were consumed by his very being.

His hips grind against his underwear and your bed sheets with every movement of his mouth. As he’s dragging your first orgasm out of you, he completely halts his lower body before he’s cumming in his jeans watching your body jolt forward and thighs clench around his ears. The sounds that pour out of you is music to his ears. Just enough to send him so close to the edge.

The mixture of your cum and his saliva on his lips is something you wish to harness in a painting one day. His loose curls falling around his profile as his tongue sweeps across his lips to gather everything onto his taste buds.

“God, this pussy is heaven. Fuckin’ divine.” He rubs his fingers up and down your slit, giving it a quick swat before he peppers some kitten licks across your already sensitive clit.

“You are so good at that, my God,” You breathe out, your hands raking down the sides of your body, meeting his right hand on your thigh.

“Yeah?” he giggles, shifting up onto his elbows to get a better view of your body from above, “I really want to make you cum again.”

You don’t hide how desperate you are, “Can you just fuck me already?”

He laughs even harder, crawling up onto your lower stomach. He kisses right below your belly button, “Can I be honest?”

“No, I want you to lie to me,” You joke, your nails drifting around his forearm. His eyebrows raise, questioning your response silently. You roll your eyes, swatting him, “Yes, of course.”

“If I fuck you right now, I will cum almost immediately,” He admits, his voice gravelly.

“Well, we can go another round if you do.”

It’s like all the air leaves his lungs when you say that. He did not expect you to want to do this again. As much as he wanted to, he did not truly know where your mind was. You just drove the nail right into the coffin.

He pulls himself further up your body, his hand shifting to cup your mound as his mouth latched on your nipple. Your body instantly reacts to him, practically holding onto him for dear life, moaning his name like it was the only word you knew.

“Fine, I’ll fuck you now,” He mocks, dragging his lower lip up to your neck, “Since you’re just begging.”

You scoff, your hands finally reaching the waist of his jeans and yanking them down with his boxers. You would ignore the fact that he’s wearing Batman boxers. It was fitting, but also hilarious. You are more focused on the fact that he was huge.

Definitely the biggest you’ve ever held in your hand.

He looks between your bodies, smiling at the way your hand cradles his length. “Are you sure I’m not dreaming right now?”

This only happened in his dreams. It was about to consume your dreams, too, when you were done.

“All real,” You say, languidly pumping him, “I’m not sure how you’re gonna make it fit.”

You are feeding his ego. You knew that.

You are one of the prettiest girls to come out of Hawkins and you are saying he’s too big. He’s never going to shut up to Gareth and the guys about it. With your permission of course.

“Don’t you worry about that, princess. I’ll make sure it fits.”

He shifts onto his knees, propping your knees up on his waist. You gawk at it for a moment longer. His tip is glistening with precum, which only adds to the silkiness of it's appearance. You also have the perfect angle to feel up his chest, touching each of his tattoos with your pointer finger, as if to map each of them out. You offer a cheeky grin as he appreciates the swell of your breasts.

“Do you need me to get a condom?” He whispers, his cock probing at your inner thigh.

“I’m on the pill. And I’m… I haven’t slept with any guys without one.”

His jaw drops a bit, “And you are okay with me going in raw?”

You are not sure why you are so sure about Eddie, but you just are. All of this felt just right.

“Yeah. Only if you want to.”

Air escapes his nose dramatically as he uses his thumb to press down his shaft closer to your weeping hole. “Have I mentioned that you are perfect?”

“A million times now.”

“Gonna make it a hundred million by the end of this,” He sinks closer to you, his dripping tip diving between your lips, “And a trillion more times after.”

He drags himself over you, propping himself up right beside your head. The stretch starts to get more intense the more he slides into you. It is not a bad feeling, just something you would have to adjust to.

And he would have to adjust, too. The way your spongy walls squeeze him is so overwhelming, before he’s half way in, he twitches. “You’re squeezing me so good.”

“I’ll try to relax,” You manage, the quick snap forward he does taking you off guard, “Fuck, Eddie!”

“I’m sorry! I-” He tries to explain, but you shut him up by propping yourself up to meet his lips. He stills inside you, filling you to the brim but not moving. You were eager to shut him up before he made things awkward, because they simply did not need to be. He felt incredible. And with his lips slotted between yours, you feel as if you may have died and gone to heaven. You take his bottom lip between your teeth playfully as you pull away, eyes locked onto his, “Do it again.”

He experimentally pulls back, the lack of resistance as he fucks into you only possible because of how soaked you are. He repositions himself so he’s back on his knees, eyes locked on the way your pussy just sucks him in.

“Sweetheart, I’m not gonna last,” He reminds you, pushing himself in deeper. He throws his head back, staring at the ceiling for a bit. You cannot help but smirk at him, looking down as his hips snap to yours sluggishly.

“Yeah? Pussy’s too good for you?” You pose, trying your very best to drive him even more insane. There was something about his eyes when he got all worked up. They become this deeper shade of brown that causes chills to spread over your arms. When he finally looks back at you, a cheshire grin spreading across his face, you knew you were in for it.

He picks up his pace a bit, holding your upper thighs down. If he looks down at what’s happening below the waist, he will surely lose it. So instead, his almost carbon-black eyes bore into yours. With every moan and jolt against the bed, you are inching towards your own climax. “Yes, don’t stop. Don’t stop, please.”

His smile droops a bit, his teeth clenching as the pace he’s at is causing the headboard to slam against your wall, “Yeah? I want to hear you. Tell me how good it feels, sweetheart. You know how much I love hearing you talk.”

The words send you babbling. Your pussy is practically gushing around him, but your body has yet to explode. “You feel so fuckin’ good, Eddie. Why didn’t we do this sooner? Knew you’d treat me good. So fuckin’ good.”

“I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you, baby. Gonna fuck you every day just to make it up to you. I promise,” He accidentally steals a glance at your messy cunt and his dick twitches, “Ah shit, fuck.”

He knows he’s a goner. The way you squeeze him when he says that makes him take action to put you out of your pleasurable misery. He presses his thumb against your practically pulsating clit. The mixture of his pistoning hips and his frantic fingers makes your orgasm slam into you like a freight train. You grab onto whatever is close and curl your fingers around it. It just happens to be his t-shirt and your bed comforter.

With your mouth wide open, you keen endless curse words, trying your best not to alarm the nearby neighbors.

As your come down starts to soothe your buzzing nerves, Eddie’s hips still completely inside you.

You had never seen him so ethereal. His curls wild, his brow furrowed in concentration, his pale stomach muscles tense, jaw slack. He was surely your next muse.

“My god, princess,” He sighs, his body practically going limp over yours.

His hair falls around your mouth and nose as his head rests perfectly between your boobs. The curls tickle your nostrils, causing you to blow out aggressively.

“I love you, but please get your little hairs out of my nose,” You joke, pushing his hair down. The bun he put at the base of his head is practically completely undone, leaving his dark locks pooling all around you.

While you are too focused on his hair, Eddie’s ears are ringing at the first half of the sentence. His head slowly shifts to look up at you, his eyes now that beautiful warm hue. “You love me?”

His voice is shaking, nervous over the possibility you did not mean to say that. But it was one of those things. Instinctual. You knew you did love Eddie, so those words leaving your mouth seemed natural. You felt no need to retract them.

You nod, pushing some bangs away from his view, “Is that surprising? I don’t spend my precious summers with people I hate. I especially do not let them into my bedroom and let them look at all my paintings.”

The revelation is enough to make Eddie crawl up to your lips, pressing a chaste, eager kiss. His hand cradles your cheek as he pulls away, “I’m just that special.”

“You could say that.”

He laughs softly, “For the record, and I know we are keeping one, I love you, too.”

The goodbye always sucks.

You did not love being home, but this trailer was truly all you knew. You secretly did not despise Hawkins. It was home.

And now it was even more like home because it’s where Eddie was. So this goodbye is even worse than it was before.

He pulls your last suitcase into your Ford, closing the hitch for you as you hug your sister goodbye at the door. You walk down your creaking steps, eyes glued to the way Eddie stands at the back of your car. You practically fall into his arms, squeezing him so tight that you swear he may just mold to your body.

His hands do not want to leave your waist as his nose tucks into your neck.

“I’ll come visit you in a few weeks, I promise,” He hums, kissing the spot right below your ear. A slight chill runs up your spine. You will never get sick of his kisses. You have gotten very familiar with them lately.

“And I’ll come to visit in October for that Battle of the Bands,” You say as you pull away to get a good look at his face. His sweet, blushing face. “I’ll join your hoard of groupies.”

He scoffs, shifting back as if he’s appalled, “Hoard? That’s a bit dramatic. We have like… maybe 2.”

You roll your eyes, pinching his bicep. “Yeah, me and that girl Jeff drags around.”

“Jennifer is his cousin.”

You shake your head, completely dumbfounded, “Even worse.”

He laughs dryly in his throat, “I think she has a crush on Gareth or something.”

From the few times you have hung out with his group of friends in the last two weeks of your summer vacation, you did not get that impression from the girl. She seems very into her cousin.

“Right on,” You laugh, pulling him towards the driver’s side so you can get in, “Give me a grand kiss in front of the neighbors and let me go on my merry way.”

His hands lace around your back, groping your ass, “I’ll give ‘em an even better show if you want.”

You bring him down to your height, pressing a longing kiss to his lips. He deepens it, his groping now turning into him kneading your ass cheeks. You pull away the moment he does that, knowing your mom is probably watching from the kitchen window.

“You are a devious one, Munson,” You snicker, weaving your way out of his arms and into your driver’s seat. You start the car, letting it warm up as Eddie leans his hands on the very top of the car doorframe. His entire body blocks out the blistering sunlight, his shadow casting over your eyes.

“Yeah, maybe, but you love me.”

Your eyes flicker back up to him. God, you really did love him.

He slants more towards you, placing one more kiss on your mouth. Your stomach starts to roll when it hits you that you will not get to see him for the next few weeks. It makes your chest tighten the more you thought about it.

“I sure do.”

His nose crinkles, his eyes getting weepy, “I love you, too, sweetheart. Now, get on the road and call me sometime tonight? Let me know you made it safely?”

You lift your hand in a salute, “Of course, my art apprentice.”

np tags (love u guys and i gotta tag some of my fav eddie/steve writers): @mediocredreams @hockeyhughes @votel4dybird @minamoomoo @disabilitymissunderstood @the-unforgivenn @punkrockmlchael @keeryhours

#eddie munson #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson au #eddie stranger things #gracieheartspedro #stranger things #stranger things 4 #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fic

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officialytwisted · 2 days ago

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Twisted Wonderland – Dorm Leaders with an S/O [gender-neutral] who's their "dream partner" [ Basically everything he wants in a significant other]

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆‧₊˚𓆉ོ༘₊⁺☀︎₊⁺⋆.˚ོ༘₊⁺☀︎₊⁺⋆⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

Riddle Rosehearts:

Riddle doesn’t fall in love easily. He respects discipline, dedication, and intellect above all, so the idea of having a “dream partner” feels abstract—until he meets you.

You aren’t loud or reckless like Ace and Deuce, but you aren’t a pushover either. You challenge him without being combative. You’re graceful in your logic and gentle in your words, and he finds it disarming.

You never mock him for following the Queen’s rules. Instead, you ask thoughtful questions: “Why is this one important to you?” and he finds himself wanting to explain. He feels seen.

You remember his mother’s influence on him and subtly help him forge his own identity—one cup of strawberry tea at a time, one soft rebellion at a time.

You don’t demand his time, but your presence becomes the only calm in his rigid schedule. He starts clearing his calendar just to study beside you or walk you back to Ramshackle.

You help him unlearn guilt. Riddle always thought love was earned through perfection. With you, he learns that love can be freely given, even when he’s not “perfect.”

---

It starts with tea. It always does.

The heartslabyul garden is unusually quiet—no clattering saucers, no scolding of rule-breakers, just the hush of an early afternoon, and Riddle carefully measuring the temperature of the pot.

You’re curled up in the corner of the lounge, a book half-open in your lap, but you’re not reading. You’re watching him—softly, with the kind of patience that makes Riddle feel safe.

He pours two cups. One for you, one for himself. He stirs precisely three times clockwise.

“Riddle,” you say gently, “you can stop counting. It’s already perfect.”

He pauses.

Something shifts.

He sets the spoon down.

“I know,” he says, a little quieter than usual. “But… it’s hard to stop doing something you were told mattered your whole life.”

You nod. “I know. I’m not asking you to stop. Just… to breathe.”

Riddle sits beside you, spine straight, like he’s bracing for judgment—but you only lean into him, head on his shoulder, warmth threading between the two of you like summer.

“I was always terrified,” he confesses suddenly, voice barely audible over the garden breeze. “That no one would love me if I made a mistake.”

You reach for his hand. No flinching, no trembling. Just certainty.

“I’ll love you even if you burn the tea.”

A soft silence falls between you.

Then Riddle laughs.

Really laughs—not the polite smile he shows at Dorm meetings, not the tight-lipped smirk when Ace screws up. But something bright and boyish, something free.

He turns to you, gray eyes glassy with a kind of awe.

“You make me feel like I don’t have to be perfect to be worthy,” he says.

You kiss the back of his hand, tenderly.

“You are worthy, Riddle. Just as you are.”

He thinks about that for days afterward.

Every time he breaks a rule that never made sense to him, every time he smiles without checking if it’s appropriate, every time he reaches for your hand and lets his fingers intertwine with yours—

—he thinks of that moment in the garden.

And he smiles.

Because for once in his life…

…he’s in love, and it doesn’t hurt.

꒰ঌ°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･.ೃ࿔*:･໒꒱

Leona Kingscholar:

Leona is someone who’s used to being either dismissed or feared—so when you treat him with neither, he’s immediately intrigued.

You’re unshaken by his sharp tongue or lazy exterior. In fact, you challenge him just enough to be interesting, but not enough to be disrespectful.

You call him out without humiliating him. You respect his pride but never let it run unchecked. It keeps him grounded—and makes him feel safe in a way he didn’t realize he needed.

You’re smart. Not in the “look at my grades” way, but in the “I noticed you hide behind sarcasm when you’re actually anxious” way. And that kind of emotional intelligence? That’s rare—and it hits Leona right in the chest.

You never try to “fix” him. You just stay. That alone feels like a miracle to someone who’s always been compared, second-best, cast aside.

He loves that you don’t idolize him. You see the worst in him and still choose to be close. That’s love, to him. That’s real.

---

He thinks he’s alone in the botanical garden.

Leona’s sprawled out on the grass, arm thrown over his eyes, the faint scent of chamomile brushing past with the wind. The sun is warm, the air quiet.

Until you sit beside him with your legs crossed and your voice casual as anything.

“You skipped class again.”

He grunts, not even opening his eyes. “Wasn’t worth going.”

You hum. “Professor Crewel said that if you miss one more alchemy lab, you’re going to owe him a week of extra assignments.”

Still, no movement. Just a lazy exhale. “Let him bark.”

You don’t press. You never do. Instead, you pull a tupperware out of your bag and pop the lid. The faint scent of spicy, savory meat wafts out.

“Brought lunch.”

One green-gold eye peeks open.

His ears twitch.

“…That kefta?”

“Mmhm.”

He’s sitting up within seconds.

You hand it over with a grin. “You’re so predictable.”

“Shut up.” He takes a bite, eyes fluttering closed. “Damn, you really do know what I like.”

“Wouldn’t be a good partner if I didn't"

That makes him pause mid-chew. He looks at you—really looks at you. You’re not teasing. Not fishing for compliments. Just saying it plainly, like it’s already fact.

And somehow, that messes him up more than any flowery confession.

“…Tch. I should hate how smug you sound,” he mutters.

You smirk. “But you don’t.”

“No.” He huffs. “I really don’t.”

He leans against your shoulder, kefta still in hand, warmth pooling between you like a sleepy lion in the sun.

After a while, he speaks again, quieter this time.

“I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

You blink. “What do you mean?”

He swallows. “This. You. You make it too easy to believe someone like me could be enough.”

You nudge his leg gently. “You are enough, Leona. Even when you don’t want to get out of bed. Even when you’re grumpy. Even when you’re too proud to ask for help.”

He doesn’t respond right away. Just finishes the kefta, licks the sauce off his thumb, and leans his head fully against your chest now.

“…Thanks for sticking around,” he murmurs.

“I always will.”

And for the first time in years, Leona lets himself nap—not to escape the world, but because he feels safe enough to stay in it.

꒰ঌ°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･.ೃ࿔*:･໒꒱

Azul Ashengrotto:

Azul’s ideal partner isn’t someone loud or flashy—it’s someone attentive. Someone who listens between the lines, notices when he’s fidgeting with his cufflinks, and knows that’s his subtle tell for anxiety.

You treat his ambitions with respect, not mockery. When others joke about his contracts or his “scheming,” you’re the one who says, “He’s smart. Strategic. There’s nothing wrong with wanting to build something.”

You’re calm where he’s stormy. Thoughtful where he’s impulsive. You remind him that success doesn’t always have to be won with claws out. It can be slow. Gentle. Honest.

You’re curious about his world—not for leverage, not to manipulate him, but because you care. He’s so used to people wanting pieces of him. You want all of him, with nothing hidden behind ink.

He adores how you never flinch away when he shows vulnerability. When he unbuttons his sleeves and admits to the pain of his past—his appearance, the bullying, the loneliness—you don’t pity him. You just stay.

You’re his anchor. His confidant. The person who reminds him that he doesn’t need to wear a mask to be loved.

---

You find him in the Mostro Lounge after hours, the soft glow of enchanted lanterns casting gentle shadows across the polished marble floor.

He’s seated at his desk, paperwork spread before him, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. His glasses lie forgotten on the side. The café is empty, the atmosphere uncharacteristically quiet.

“Azul?” you call softly.

He jumps.

Then exhales. “Ah… my pearl. Forgive me. I lost track of time.”

You smile as you walk closer. “It’s past midnight.”

“I know. These balance sheets aren’t going to organize themselves.”

You glance at the piles of parchment. “Azul, your handwriting is too neat for anyone to believe you were stressed about this.”

A soft, weary laugh escapes him. “I suppose that’s true.”

You reach over, gently pulling the quill from his hand. “Come on. You need a break.”

“I can’t,” he says too quickly. “I have to finish before the weekly close. If I fall behind—”

“Then you’ll do what you always do. Catch up. Adapt. Thrive.”

His eyes flick to yours. “You say that like it’s easy.”

“It’s not,” you say, brushing a lock of silver-blond hair from his brow. “But you’ve never been alone in it. Not since you met me.”

That hits something deep.

His shoulders sag.

“…You mean that?” he asks quietly.

“Of course I do.”

He reaches for your hand without thinking, threads his fingers through yours.

“I used to believe people only valued what I could give them. That if I wasn’t useful, I wasn’t wanted.”

“You are wanted, Azul. Not for your potions. Not for your profits. Just for being… you.”

His voice shakes. “But I’m—”

“Brilliant. Ambitious. Kind, even if you hide it.”

He looks down, voice barely a whisper. “Ugly.”

“Never.”

You kneel in front of him, so he can’t look anywhere else.

“You’re beautiful,” you say. Not just to comfort him, but because it’s true. “Because you care. Because you try. Because you fight for your dreams.”

He bites his lip.

Then leans down to kiss you—slow, hesitant, like he’s still not sure he deserves it.

When he pulls back, his eyes glisten, but he’s smiling.

“You’re dangerous,” he says softly.

You grin. “Because I saw the best in you?”

“Because now I never want to let you go.”

You squeeze his hand.

“Good. I’m not planning on leaving.”

Azul’s hand tightens in yours.

And for once, he doesn’t feel like the outcast. Doesn’t feel like the overlooked octomer in the shadows of others.

He feels like someone loved.

Someone enough.

꒰ঌ°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･.ೃ࿔*:･໒꒱

Kalim Al-Asim:

Kalim doesn’t dream of luxury—he was born into it. What he craves is emotional security. Someone who sees him, stays for him, and loves him, not his family name.

You’re patient with him. You don’t laugh when he forgets things or when he gets too excited and trips over his own feet. You just hold his hand and laugh with him.

Your grounding energy keeps him steady. You help him organize his chaotic thoughts. You understand when he’s overwhelmed and don’t expect him to hide it behind his usual cheer.

He loves how thoughtful you are. You remember little things—his favorite sweets, the song he hums under his breath, how he cries when he hears someone sing from the heart.

You always believe the best of him. Even when others say he’s naïve or too trusting, you know that Kalim’s optimism is a choice—a courageous, beautiful one.

You’re his safe place. The first person he doesn’t feel the need to entertain or impress. With you, Kalim gets to just be.

---

Kalim is buzzing with energy the moment he sees you.

“There you are!” he exclaims, bounding down the dormitory steps of Scarabia like the sun itself had grown legs. “I was looking everywhere!”

You smile as he skids to a stop in front of you, catching his breath.

“I was just in the garden.”

“I know, I checked! Then Jamil told me I should wait instead of chasing you like a sandstorm, but—” He pauses, eyes lighting up. “Wait, never mind. You’re here!”

He doesn’t hesitate to throw his arms around you, warm and full of laughter, like he’s never once doubted your place in his life.

“Did something happen?” you ask softly, gently brushing back his hair.

He leans into your touch, his voice suddenly softer. “Yeah. I was thinking again. About my family. About all the stuff people say behind my back.”

You blink. “What kind of stuff?”

He shrugs, smile thinning. “That I don’t deserve to be dorm leader. That I only got here because of money. That I’m not smart enough, or serious enough…”

Your heart tightens.

“I mean, maybe they’re right?” he says too brightly. “I do forget things a lot. I talk too much. And I always need Jamil to remind me of—”

“Kalim.”

He stops rambling.

Your hands cup his face, thumbs brushing his cheeks with care.

“You’re the kindest, most sincere person I’ve ever met.”

His breath hitches.

“You don’t lead Scarabia with force or fear—you lead with love. And that’s rare. That’s real.”

Tears gather in his eyes.

You pull him into a hug, one that wraps around his heart more than his body.

“You don’t have to prove anything to me. I know your worth. Every silly, sunshine-drenched, forgetful, beautiful piece of you.”

Kalim sniffles against your shoulder. “You really mean that?”

You press a kiss to his temple. “Every word.”

And then he’s crying, not from sadness—but from relief. Because for the first time, someone doesn’t want him to shrink or tone himself down.

You let him shine. And more importantly… you stay.

After a moment, he laughs, wiping his eyes on his sleeve. “Okay, okay! Now you’re gonna make me write a song or something.”

You grin. “I’d love that.”

“Then I’ll name it after you. And make it the happiest, most sparkly love song in Twisted Wonderland!”

You shake your head, but your smile is helplessly fond.

That’s Kalim. Loud. Passionate. Open-hearted.

And completely, unmistakably yours.

꒰ঌ°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･.ೃ࿔*:･໒꒱

Vil Schoenheit:

Vil’s ideal partner is someone who sees him beyond the spotlight—beyond the roles, the poise, the crushing weight of others’ expectations.

You’re the only person who never treats his beauty like a pedestal or a weapon. You treat it with tenderness—admiration, yes, but not obsession.

You’re unafraid to tell him when he’s overworking himself. You bring him water when he forgets to hydrate. You quietly close his laptop at midnight and remind him that rest is just as important as routine.

You respect his standards. You never mock his skincare rituals or his intensity about health and elegance. Instead, you join him. You ask questions. You try. You show you care about what matters to him.

He doesn’t have to hide when he’s vulnerable. You’re there when he breaks—when he crumbles under the pressure, when he questions if he's enough, if he’s still beautiful, still relevant.

Vil never imagined he could find a partner who wouldn't just tolerate his discipline and ambition—but match it with devotion and quiet strength.

---

You find him on the balcony after a long day of class and filming—his posture perfect, his silhouette outlined in the pale lavender of twilight. His hair is still pinned from the shoot, lips lightly stained, but his eyes…

They’re tired.

He doesn’t turn when you approach, only speaks with that low, velvet voice.

“I stayed in character for ten hours. Not once did the director say, ‘Good job.’ Only: ‘Again.’”

You step beside him, your presence quiet but solid.

“They expect you to be flawless,” you say. “But that doesn’t mean you have to become the expectation.”

Vil doesn’t answer right away. He just exhales, long and soft. “If I let it slip, even once, they’ll eat me alive.”

“Then let me be your shield tonight.”

He turns to look at you then, something unguarded in his gaze.

“I don’t want you to see me like this,” he murmurs. “Frustrated. Insecure. I’m supposed to be—”

“Human?” you interrupt gently.

Vil stiffens. Then softens. “Cruel of you.”

You take his hand, elegant fingers still slightly trembling from the stress he hides so well.

“I love you when you’re poised and powerful,” you say. “But I love you just as much when you’re raw. Tired. Even hurting.”

He doesn’t speak.

You reach up, slowly removing one of the pins from his hair. He doesn’t stop you. You continue, unpinning him piece by piece until his long blonde strands tumble around his shoulders.

It’s only then that he rests his forehead against yours.

“You make me feel… safe,” he whispers. “Even when everything else demands I be untouchable.”

You smile. “You don’t have to earn my love, Vil. You already have it.”

He kisses you—soft, deliberate. Not a performance. Not a statement. Just a truth.

When he pulls back, there’s something new in his eyes.

“Stay the night,” he says, not with demand, but hope.

You nod. “Always.”

And that’s the moment Vil realizes—

He doesn’t need the world’s approval when yours is the only gaze that makes him feel seen.

꒰ঌ°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･.ೃ࿔*:･໒꒱

Idia Shroud:

Idia’s ideal partner isn’t flashy or extroverted. You don’t overwhelm him. You respect his space. And more than that—you understand it.

You never mock his interests. In fact, you ask to play co-op with him, or you watch his favorite streams and ask about his builds like they matter. Because they do—to him.

You’re one of the only people who makes him feel like being himself isn’t something to apologize for. You don’t treat him like a problem to fix.

Your presence is comforting. You don’t force him to leave his room on bad days, but you bring him snacks, or sit on the floor playing handheld games while he works.

He adores how you notice the little things. You never make him feel guilty for being awkward or overthinking; you notice when he’s overwhelmed and gently guide him out of it with quiet affirmations or a squeeze of his hand.

You’re the only one who makes Ortho comment, “You make Nii-san’s emotional meters go up faster than any system I’ve ever seen!”

---

The only light in the room comes from three monitors, casting a bluish glow on Idia’s hunched figure. He’s got headphones on, lost in code and lo-fi beats.

You knock, softly.

He jumps, flailing slightly, before turning to see it’s you.

“Oh. Uh. H-Hey.”

You smile. “Ortho let me in. Hope it’s okay.”

“Y-Yeah, yeah! Totally fine! Super fine! The finest fine that ever—uh, yeah. You can come in.”

You sit on the edge of his bed, folding your legs beneath you. “You’ve been in here all day.”

“I was just… debugging stuff. One of my AIs went feral again. Named itself King of Salt and tried to delete Ortho’s playlists.”

You blink. “King of Salt?”

“Long story.”

You nod. “You forget to eat again?”

He shrinks slightly. “…Possibly.”

You wordlessly open the bag you brought and reveal a neatly packed bento box.

His eyes widen. “Wait, you made this?”

You nod. “You said you liked tamagoyaki. And strawberry milk.”

His face flushes immediately—fiery pink at the tips of his ears.

“Y-You remembered that?! I only said it once… like three months ago…”

You grin, handing it over. “I always remember.”

He stares at it for a moment, before mumbling, “You’re like… a max-level NPC with the best side quests.”

You chuckle. “And you’re my favorite protagonist.”

He goes absolutely still, like his system just crashed.

You lean back on your hands. “You’re allowed to be quiet, Idia. To be awkward. To not have all the right words. I’m not here because I need anything from you.”

His head jerks up.

“I’m here because I like you. Just the way you are.”

He opens his mouth. Closes it. Then whispers:

“That… might be the rarest drop I’ve ever gotten.”

And in that dim room, with glowing screens and buzzing silence, you’ve never seen someone look more loved than Idia does—bento box in hand, cheeks red, fingers trembling around your name like it’s his first save file in a game he never thought he’d get to play.

꒰ঌ°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･.ೃ࿔*:･໒꒱

Malleus Draconia:

Malleus’s ideal partner is someone who doesn’t treat him like a prince, a relic, or a threat. You speak to him like he’s just Malleus—and that’s more precious than any jewel in his hoard.

You’re never scared of his magic. You’re calm in the presence of his power. That trust? It humbles him. He’s not used to that kind of faith.

You make time for him. Even when no one else invites him to events or includes him in casual plans—you do. And you never make it feel like charity.

You listen to his long-winded thoughts about gargoyles, history, and ancient spells with genuine curiosity. You love that he thinks deeply, speaks slowly, and feels things profoundly.

When he asks you to walk under the moonlight, you say yes. When he offers his arm like a knight from centuries past, you take it without hesitation.

You bring humanity into his immortal world. You show him the warmth of shared meals, casual laughter, quiet mornings. He learns gentleness from you, and falls harder for it than he ever expected.

---

It starts with the soft knock of clawed fingers against your window.

You open it without question.

“Malleus,” you say, voice sleepy but fond.

The tall figure stands there beneath a moon-drenched sky, pale light catching in his green eyes.

“I did not wake you, did I?”

“No,” you lie gently. “Come in.”

He steps through the window like a ghost of old, the air shimmering faintly with his presence. You sit at the edge of your bed while he stands tall, fingers twitching slightly.

You tilt your head. “Is something wrong?”

“No. Not wrong. Simply… I wished to see you.”

There’s a pause.

“May I stay for a moment?” he adds.

You pat the bed beside you.

He sits, hands resting properly on his knees, posture so formal it makes you smile.

“I passed by a gathering earlier,” he says quietly. “A celebration of sorts near the dormitories. There were many lights. And laughter. Yet, no one extended an invitation.”

You don’t say “I’m sorry.” Because he’s not looking for pity. You say:

“They don’t know what they’re missing.”

His gaze sharpens, just for a moment. “You would have asked me to join?”

“Of course,” you say. “You’d be the first person I’d ask.”

He breathes in, slow and deep, like your words are incense curling around his ribs.

“You always speak so plainly. So kindly.” A beat. “Are you not afraid of what I am?”

You reach out, placing your hand over his. His fingers twitch—then wrap around yours gently.

“I know who you are, Malleus. Not just what.”

That’s the difference. That’s the thread of fate that ties you to him so tightly it aches.

He closes his eyes, lashes long against his cheekbones.

“I have lived centuries, but I never imagined I could feel this way.” His voice cracks like frost under sunlight. “This… fragile hope.”

You lean into his shoulder. “You’re not alone anymore.”

“I know.” He turns slightly, resting his head against yours. “Because you are here. Because you choose me.”

The silence that follows is not empty—it is sacred.

And in the dark, ancient heart of Malleus Draconia, something blooms where once there was only frost and solitude.

Something brave.

Something called love.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆‧₊˚𓆉ོ༘₊⁺☀︎₊⁺⋆.˚ོ༘₊⁺☀︎₊⁺⋆⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

check out my masterlist for more

Twisted wonderland masterlist

#twisted wonderland x reader #riddle rosehearts x reader #twst riddle x reader #leona kingscholar x reader #twst leona x reader #azul ashengrotto x reader #twst azul x reader #kalim al asim x reader #twst kalim x reader #vil schoenheit x reader #twst vil x reader #idia shroud x reader #twst idia x reader #malleus draconia x reader #twst malleus x reader #twisted wonderland

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papercranesandinkstains · 2 days ago

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Midnights

Summary: You guys never could get your timing right. Or could you?

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Reader

Word Count: 2.2k

AN: This is the first time I have ever published a written fic, so please please please be kind. I don't know if I will leave this up or if I will do more, but I just wanted to try it out... Thank you for reading!

Masterlist

The two of you had been playing this game for long enough. The back and forth. Committing your hearts to one another, then jumping and running the second the rain started. Waiting for the storm to subside and then your phone would light up late at night, sending you right back down the rabbit hole that always seemed to land you right back in his bed, skin pressed together and air filled with unspoken promises that the two of you had finally gotten it right.

You never had.

But the idea was warm, like most dreams are. Tangled up through years of almost confessions and jealous rages, but by the time the stars settled in the sky, the two of you would be right back where you always were. In love, but not. Together, but alone. Committed to keeping the other for yourselves, but not willing to take the final plunge.

That’s how you found yourself tonight, red cup pressed into the palm of your hand as your lips curl up into a small smile while you pretend you are listening to the very animated story John B is giving you by the fire. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to listen. You found John B quite entertaining under normal circumstances and with the little comments sprinkled in from JJ and the warmth from the beer in your hand, you would normally be a giggling fool tripping over your feet to hear more.

Maybe you would have been if you hadn’t seen him walk in, all smug smiles and blue eyes as he makes his way around the party. He’s careful to move around your group. Not that you notice. Okay, you do notice. You always do. That’s his plan all along. After yet another argument about him not knowing how to actually apologize with his words instead of the ghost of his lips in the middle of the night, you had sworn you were done.

You were done.

He’s the one who showed up in the stupid blue button up you had gotten him for his birthday lifetimes ago, sleeves rolled up to his elbows and buttons undone knowing how you felt about how it made his eyes stand out. You’d have to be blind to not catch the watch wrapped snugly around his wrist, silver and flickering by the firelight with the unmistakable carving of your initials on the side of it. He was doing it on purpose. You knew he would play dirty. He always did. Avoiding you so that you would have to be the one to make the first move no matter who was in the wrong- even if it was almost always him.

So, you were ignoring him back. The glances you snuck in his direction were because you were still a girl at the end of the day. Enjoying the sight of him and caving were two very different things. Rafe Cameron is beautiful. He knows it. To make it worse, he knows you know it. You can’t let him win. Not this time. The longest the two of you have held out is three days.

Tonight is day four.

Your eyes leave his face again, turning your sight back to John B who just rolls his eyes playfully and dodges a stick that Kiara throws at him for some obscene comment he made when you were too busy staring at your- When you were busy staring at Rafe.

The beer is warm on your tongue, a little gross but just enough to keep your attention off of the way Rafe throws his head back to laugh at something Topper is saying to him, hand finding his shoulder. After the time you have spent away from each other, watching his fingers land on anybody else drops a stone in your stomach. He’s like a drug and you never really noticed how addicted you are until his hands aren’t on you. The cup in your hand is drained in an instant, earning you a cheer from JJ, who nudges your shoulder and effectively drops your cup right out of your hand.

“JJ, what the fuck. I was-”

“If you need another drink, baby, I’d be more than willing to help you out.”

You straighten up as the deep voice pops up from behind you, pressed so closely behind you that you can almost feel the words rattling around in his chest. You don’t turn around. Instead, you stand and watch as JJ makes a not-so apologetic face before he is shaking his head and grabbing John B, promises of keg stands and staying out of “relationship drama”.

As if you could even call it that.

Still, your chest floods with a warmth only he can give you. Not that you would let him know that. Especially not when you are still trying to prove a point. You’re stronger than him. Rafe Cameron is used to batting his eyelashes and getting what he wants. It’s no surprise when you finally turn yourself around and meet his eyes that what he has decided he wants is you.

“I’m all good,” you say quickly with the flash of a polite smile.

He smirks at you, tilting his head in that stupidly arrogant way that makes you unsure if you want to strangle him or marry him. He holds out a wine cooler to you, glass bottle extended out like a peace offering. It’s his way of apologizing. Coming over to you at a party is a first, but this isn’t. Gifts instead of him actually admitting that he was wrong. You won’t fall for it. No matter how nicely the light of the fire catches his face or how good he smells.

You just raise an eyebrow at him, crossing your arms over your chest. It’s a challenge. You both know that, and usually he would be ticking his jaw and throwing you over his shoulder. He hadn’t exactly made his affections for you a secret in public, one too many punches landing on the bodies of boys who hadn’t quite gotten the memo you were spoken for. Not that you could blame them. You never got one either.

Instead, he puts the bottle down on the log your friends had abandoned to give you space and wipes his hands off on his jeans. The two of you stand like that for a moment, ignoring the curious glances and quiet whispers of the crowds around you. You two weren’t strangers to the occasional public standoff, but those usually entailed the two of you just yelling at each other. Neither of you says anything. Just a staredown to see who is going to break first.

It’s always you. You had a weakness for pretty boys with soft smiles reserved just for you. Danger wrapped up in selective kindness that only found itself extended to you. You fell for it every time, and everyone knows you’ll fall for it again this time. It’s just a matter of when.

For the first time, he beats you to the punch.

“Tell me what you want,” he says, “I’ll give it to you. You know I will.”

The scoff is slipping through your lips before he finishes his sentence, partially in disbelief at him actually making the first move and the rest because he is standing in front of you again beating around the bush and not just owning his shit.

“There’s nothing you have that I want.”

The smile that breaks across is genuine, blue eyes shining in the darkness, and it makes your heart stop for just a second. Just a second. You won’t be broken by a pretty smile. Plenty of people smile. Your face flushing is because of the heat crackling beside you, not because of your- whatever he is.

“I’d say lying isn’t cute on you, but then I would be lying. Everything looks good on you. I would look even better-”

You shove at his chest, giving him a glare as you glance around at the ears that have perked up around you. You flip the first set of eyes you catch off, middle finger lingering in the air and earning a chuckle from the boy in front of you when the stranger turns away in embarrassment.

“What do you want, Rafe?”

You're tired of it now. The back and forth. He is doing exactly what he always does, and the space hasn’t changed anything. You know this isn’t how things should be. You need to get out of this before your resolve crumbles. You aren’t asking for a miracle, but the longer you stand this close to him, a miracle would be what they need to get you off of him.

“You.”

Quick. Simple. Said without thinking, and in a breath that sounds so sure that your heart soars. You allow it a second before you are snatching it back, shaking your head as you continue to stare at him.

“You’ve had me long enough.”

Your shoulder knocks into his as you brush past him, finally tearing your eyes away and setting your sights on the parking lot. You came to have a nice night, and you are about two seconds away from jumping his bones or jumping off a bridge.

Warm fingers wrap around your wrist, touch feather-light but grounding. You don’t turn around to look at him. Your resolve is breaking fast, and if you look at him for a second longer, you will forget about the apology you are wanting. He has a way of bringing you in, and you always let him.

“What do you want me to say?” he asks, giving your wrist a slight tug. He wants you to look at him, but you don’t give in. “That I’m sorry? I am. I’m sorry. I never wanted to make you feel like I’m not in this.”

Your shoulders drop, teeth biting into the inside of your lip. Tears are burning in your eyes, cheeks burning as the alcohol and his words both settle into your being. It’s an apology. Not a good one, but a first. Are firsts ever really good? You aren’t too sure as your mind focuses on the way his thumb traces a circle over your wrist.

“Or do you want me to say that I love you?”

You are stumbling away from him, snatching your wrist back against your chest, cradling it like his words sliced it somehow. Your eyes find him, searching for the punchline. He just looks back at you, eyes soft in a way that they only ever are for you in the safety of his bed. Never in public.

“Because I do,” he says.

You just stare at him, mouth open as you try to find something to say. You want to scream at him. Your palms itch to reach down and throw the sand underneath your feet at him. He can’t just meet your radio silence with his own for four days after the two of you have gone back and forth for so long and then stand here and confess at a party full of people you don’t even really know.

“You’re being mean.”

He shakes his head at your words, taking a step towards you. It’s just a little one, but when you allow it, suddenly he is standing inches from you. Blue eyes are staring down at you and suddenly the rest of the party is gone.

“I love you,” he says the words this time, “I’m tired of not saying it. Calling this what it is.”

“And what exactly do you think this is?”

The tone of your voice cuts through all of the warmth you are feeling. It’s too warm. You are going to melt standing here and you aren’t even standing next to the fire anymore. He’s too close. You two don’t do this. Feelings? Barely when you are alone. In public? Not happening.

Well, maybe not before. Tonight is different.

“You’re mine,” his voice is firm. “You just have to let yourself be.”

His hand finds yours again, pulling your wrist out of your palm and entangling your hands together. His fingers slide into yours like they have a million times. Maybe they have. He’s let it slip before that you were made for him, but it’s moments like these where you think maybe he could be made for you.

He’s right. You are his. You always have been. The two of you have run from each other for so long that you aren’t sure you actually know how to stop. He is standing in front of you, holding your hand and offering you exactly what you have always wanted. The ache in your chest is deep, heart rate thundering in your ears, but for the first time, your feet are planted underneath you.

“You can’t take it back.”

His laugh floods you with warmth, the ache in your chest settling as he tugs you forward, free hand coming to rest on the back of your neck. You are surrounded by him, his forehead touching yours as he breathes you in for what feels like the first time in a lifetime and you find that you aren’t dreading the morning already.

For the first time, the two of you are really standing together and nobody is walking away.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

And when your lips touch his, you find yourself thinking that maybe this is what forever can feel like.

#rafe cameron x reader #obx #obx rafe cameron #rafe cameron fic #rafe cameron #rafe obx #rafe cameron outer banks #rafe x reader #rafe x you #rafe x y/n #rafe cameron angst #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe outer banks #outerbanks rafe #outerbanks #outer banks

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screamlet · 3 days ago

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fic: road to nowhere (8x18 spec)

buck and tommy trapped under some concrete and dreaming of other places. 1.2k.

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Tommy came to rescue them, Buck and Ravi, about an hour ago. That's about as long as Tommy and Buck have been trapped under a concrete slab that collapsed on Ravi's way out.

"Help is on the way," Ravi called through the gaps letting them breathe.

"Are they actually gonna be any help, though," Buck wonders, and realizes he said it out loud.

"I can't believe you'd doubt them over a little building collapse," Tommy says, wheezing more than Buck likes to hear. "That's your team, they've got your back."

Buck's smiling to himself and, for some reason, that catches Tommy's attention.

"Don't they?"

"Everyone deals with grief differently," Buck says.

There's a beat, then Tommy says, "Fuck them. Whatever they did. Or haven't done."

Buck shakes his head. "It's fine, I'm just." And he doesn't have a way to end that sentence. "Ignore me, okay? I'm—I'm being a snitch."

"A snitch? What are you, 12?" Buck smiles to himself again, and Tommy grumbles. "Never thought I'd see the day when I hated to see you smile."

Buck glances at him. "You hate it?"

Tommy's being too honest for how not-hurt he claims to be. "Those smiles don't reach your eyes." He didn't think Tommy would notice. "What are you thinking about? What are you gonna do when you get out of here?"

"We." Buck sends him the most threatening look he can manage.

Tommy acquiesces. "When we get out of here," he repeats.

"I'm thinking of going on a road trip, actually," Buck says. "Getting out of LA for a while. I've got the PTO for it and even if I don't—"

"You'd leave? The 118?"

"I need some space," Buck says slowly. "And Eddie got a job offer in El Paso, but he's thinking of not taking it and moving back, so I'd have to give up the house."

"Uh, no you wouldn't."

Buck makes a face. "Tommy, I'm not gonna let Chris be homeless."

"Do you think firefighter and former Army medic Eddie Diaz, a tax-paying adult with a child, is incapable of fucking apartment hunting?"

"Look, it just makes sense," Buck says.

"It doesn't, but keep talking." Tommy stifles a wince. "The rage will keep me from going into the light."

"It's all lining up, Tommy, honestly," Buck says. "They can take the place off my hands and I can do what I did when I dropped out of college: get in my Jeep and go see the country again."

"What do you mean again?"

Buck smiles at him; it looks like Tommy still hates it. "I got kicked out of college, then out of community college, then Maddie gave me some cash and her Jeep and I ran away from home. Well, I was like, 21, I don't think you can run away from home at that age."

"I don't think there's a statute of limitations on running away from home," Tommy says dryly. "As long as you have a home. Which you do."

Buck looks away, bites the inside of his lower lip. "I did. I don't know if it made it out of the lab, though. I think Bobby took it with him."

Buck whips his head around when Tommy doesn't respond. He's awake, though, but staring at Buck with his lips in a fine, frustrated line. "If losing Bobby means losing your home—losing them—then I don't think you really had it after all."

"Don't say that," Buck says softly. Tommy looks away. Agree to disagree.

"I haven't seen the Milky Way in like, 10 years," Buck says. "I should fix that."

"You think it's changed much?"

"I'm sure it has, even if we can't see the changes. Earth is moving, our solar system is moving, space is moving—"

"Is it?"

"Well, it's expanding, as far as we know," Buck says. "Maybe it doesn't look any different but—but I'm different. So."

Tommy's quiet, then says, "It's been 20 for me. Years. Since I've seen the Milky Way. I'm outdoorsy, but I don't get out to those really remote areas. Haven't for a while."

"It sounds like a good idea, right?"

"It does." Tommy clears his throat, shifts as much as he can under the rubble. "You're going alone, huh?"

"Yeah," Buck says, then pauses so he can look at Tommy. "I—I was planning on it."

Now Tommy smiles, a small thing that lights up the darkness in Buck. "No room for a co-pilot? Someone with awesome taste in music who can help out with the driving sometimes? If—" Tommy motions to the slab. "Provided I've still got a body and everything."

Buck feels sharp pinpricks behind his eyes, at the edges, emotion swelling in his throat. "I keep thinking: this isn't it. This—is this what I wanted? I'd have a home, but I could never leave again?"

"From a homeowner's perspective," Tommy says, always making him laugh. "It's not much of a home if it crumbles the moment you step outside. You can't be the only thing holding it together." He hesitates. "Bobby couldn't be the only thing holding it together."

"Yeah," Buck agrees. "And you?"

"What about me?"

"What are you running from?" Buck knows his smile is too mean, too slick. "If not me, I mean."

Tommy makes a little ha fucking ha face at him, nose crinkling because he can't help being amused. "I wouldn't be running. I'd be coming with you."

"Oh."

"If you wanted the company," Tommy repeats. "Gas money, too. Gas gets expensive."

"Why now?" Buck looks down at his hands. "What's changed? Besides I said something really shitty to you and—and I didn't get to apologize."

"I know you didn't mean it," Tommy says. "And I didn't mean to leave."

"So you want to test out your staying power by trapping yourself in a Jeep with me?"

"Yes, Evan, that's exactly it. You saw right through me."

"Around you," Buck says. "I've gotta shift a little to see past the slab that's gonna suffocate us."

"So it's all hypothetical anyway," Tommy replies.

Buck wonders if Ravi's eavesdropping or if maybe they've been left to die, buried alive. Maybe they're not worth the effort. That sucks; Buck would think Tommy was worth the effort, at least. He has a pilot's license and the people at Harbor probably like him a lot more than the 118 likes Buck right now. In any case: it's quiet and the glimmer of a road trip, taking a breath outside the city limits, feels like it's slipping away.

"Think we're running out of oxygen," Buck comments. "I'm kinda losing the will to live? Is that science? Less oxygen, more hopelessness?"

"Evan," Tommy sighs. "We're gonna get out of here, and then we're gonna get out of here."

Buck takes the hand Tommy reaches out. He's not sure either of them believe that, or each other, or that they'll go anywhere together or apart, or that things will get better but—but for now they can keep each other awake, thinking of other ways and places to be.

#911 fic #bucktommy #bucktommy fic #tevan #tevan fic #my writing #my fic #evan buckley #tommy kinard #911 spec fic

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crowsofdarkness · 2 days ago

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The Void: One

-gif not mine. credit to owners-

Pairings: Thunderbolts!Bucky Barnes x BlackWidow!Enhanced!Reader

Content Warnings: violence, language, blood, angst, and 18+ smut.

Summary: Hydra used her as a weapon, then, becoming one of the original widows, Zima was ready to live the rest of her days in hiding. When someone from her Red Room past comes looking to cash in on a favor, she has no choice but to strap up to face this new enemy threatening New York. Even if one of the people asking for her help was the one who trained her in Hydra, the one whom she swore she would kill the next time she saw him. The Winter Soldier. The only problem? Bucky doesn't remember her.

Authors Note: this series will take place during Thunderbolts*, so I don't think it will be a long series. It is a reader insert, but "Zima" is the name she went by in the Red Room and Hydra due to her white hair. according to Google Translate, Zima means winter. tags are open!

Tags: @lisiliely @muchwita @tellybearryyyy @fries11 @multifandomgirl2018

Bucky let out a long sigh while pinching his eyes shut, the background chatter nearly grating on his ears. This was supposed to be a quick pick up and then he could bring this group of people back home so he could use them against Val in her trial. The jet was set to land in about five minutes but part of him feared he wouldn’t make it that long with all the chattering. Not to mention, his phone conversation with Mel and what Yelena had just finished telling him, Bucky’s mind was heavy with a new plan.

“Alright, so explain this plan again,” Bucky said after freeing everyone.

“Val has plans on using Bob as a new weapon. You didn’t see what we did, Bucky,” Yelena said with a voice thick of regret. “We need to stop Val and save Bob.”

It was evident that she felt this need to protect Bob which is why Bucky ended up agreeing to this. Out of everyone in this new group, he only knew Walker and even then he was a bit hesitant to work with him. But he couldn’t simply walk away from this. Unfortunately for all of them, they were a group of rejects compared to the other heroes that had been attempting to save the world since The Avengers went their separate ways. At the thought of Steve, Bucky’s heart sank knowing that he would never see nor talk to his best friend again.

It had been nearly five years since Steve left him and it was something Bucky was still dealing with. Yes, he had Sam but with him busy being the new Captain America, Bucky always found himself alone. He’d go home to his nice house in the quiet suburbs, stay in an empty house, and try not to let the past memories drag him down to the darkness.

Bucky was so tired of being alone. So fucking tired of walking into an empty house with no one to talk with about his day. The cold bed and even colder atmosphere often reminded him of when Hydra would keep him frozen for long periods of time. Bucky wouldn’t admit this to anyone, let alone the Thunderbolts, but he was exhausted from pretending to be okay when the past began haunting him whenever he slept.

For a long time, the nightmares of what he did in Hydra stopped. Until recently. About a month ago, they started up again only this time it wasn't what he did but more so, who he was with during that. Never once did he see a face, the only thing he saw was a shadow figure with white hair and piercing eyes. Every time he dreamed of this figure, their name would be on the tip of his tongue only never getting the chance to utter it because he woke up right before. There was this feeling of familiarity filling his heart whenever he awoke from one of those nightmares but whenever he tried to remember who this figure was, it was as if the memories locked themselves up into a vault.

“How sure are you that we can stop Val and this Sentry?” Bucky asked with his hands low on hips, forcing himself not to think more of his lonely life at home.

“Bob,” Yelena corrected.

He rolled his eyes with a sigh. “Bob.”

“He’s strong,” Ava said, everyone agreeing with her. “It’s going to be hard for all of us. If I’m being honest, I don’t think we’ll be able to do it with the five of us.”

“What do you mean? This is a team of super soldiers,” Walker said with a smug smile.

Ava rolled her eyes. “Oh don’t flatter yourself.”

As those two bickered with each other, Alexi couldn’t stop hiding his grin while he stared at everyone in this makeshift team. Yelena on the other hand, wore a frown so deep Bucky was afraid it would etch into her skin. She was pacing the length of the abandoned gas station garage while running a hand through her hair.

“What’s wrong?” Bucky questioned.

“We need someone else, someone that can help us to save Bob,” she held up a finger, not stopping her pacing.

“Do you know anyone? Maybe an old Avenger or something?” Walker asked, joining the conversation after bickering with Ava.

Yelena shook her head. “No, not an old Avenger. But someone else.”

Everyone waited for her to say who but Yelena kept pacing while muttering something under her breath.

“The thing is, I haven’t spoken to her in years, not since I was in the Red Room. She was the only one of the widows that were enhanced which made her useful in certain situations. Not only that, she was the original widow. Dreykov brought her in after her old organization threw her out.”

Something inside of Bucky fluttered but he quickly pushed down the unknown feeling as Alexi and Yelena shared a look, making Bucky shift on his feet.

“What is it? What was her old organization?”

Alexi ran a hand over his beard with a long sigh. “Maybe you should sit down, Bucky.”

“Who was her old organization?” He asked again, this time staring directly at Yelena.

“Hydra,” she answered with zero hesitation.

Bucky’s body went rigid as his vibranium arm began to burn at where the old, matted scars were on his shoulder. Granted some of his memories during his time in Hydra were still a jumbled mess inside of his head, he couldn’t ever recall someone else being held there with him so it had to have been on another Hydra base. One he wasn’t held at.

Everyone fell silent for a moment before Alexi broke the silence. “Yelena, we’d be wasting time chasing a ghost. Zima has not been seen in over ten years, not since Dreykov died.”

Zima.

Bucky flinched at hearing the name, flash images of the shadow figure with white hair appeared in his line of vision, nearly knocking him on his ass. He held out a hand against the wall to his left to steady himself. He’d never heard of this name before so why did it feel like someone had been repeatedly stabbing his brain over and over again? With clenched teeth, Bucky rubbed his temples hoping that would ease away the growing headache. But the burning didn’t go away, it only got stronger the more they talked about Zima.

“What’s to say this Zima chick will even help us?” Walker raised a good point, placing his shield over his back.

“She owes me a favor,” Yelena shrugged as if she already knew this Zima would agree.

When the burning finally subsided for a moment, Bucky slowly opened his eyes. “Do you even know where to find her?”

“According to another widow, they saw her in a market square three weeks ago. Seems like she traded being a serial assassin for being a gardener.”

Just then, their attention had been pulled to the large jet that landed right in the middle of the desert about twenty feet away from their hideout. Bucky chewed on the inside of his cheek, debating on if this plan was a good idea. Even though he didn’t know who this Zima was, there was a pestering voice in his head telling him not to do it.

“Do we even have time for a side quest?” Walker asked.

“We have to make time if we want to stop Val and save Bob,” Yelena said as if we didn’t really have a choice.

Opening the garage door, Bucky and the others gathered all of their things before walking towards the jet.

“Back to D.C, Congressmen Barnes?” The pilot asked as he opened the ramp of the jet, allowing them inside.

Bucky glanced over to Yelena who simply patted the pilot's chest. “Change of plans. We’re headed to Greece.”

READER A.K.A ZIMA

On a remote part of Gavdos island, south of Crete, Greece.

I hummed a soft tune to myself as I worked tirelessly in my garden, the setting sun burning against my bare shoulders. My skin and clothes were covered in dirt and sweat. Thankfully I’d tied my long white hair back in a tight braid so it stayed out of my face, albeit a few strands had fallen free due to my constant work all day. The idea of washing away today’s filth and then sitting in front of the fireplace with my kindle brought a smile to my tired face.

It’s the same thing I’ve done almost every day since I moved here about two years ago. Work on my small cottage style home on this hidden part of the island then reward myself with a good book. Every so often, I would venture out to the town whether it be to buy groceries or get a cup of coffee. But given where I came from and who I was, I opted not to be seen in public unless absolutely necessary.

I’d been in hiding for the last ten years, moving every two so I wasn’t in the same place for long. I had a very heavy past, I hurt and killed many due to Dreykov’s orders, so I was sure someone would want revenge. Not to mention I’d run from Hydra before my time in the Red Room but with Dreykov, I’d been protected. When he died, that wasn’t the case anymore so I knew I needed to hide. I knew Hydra fell years ago but I couldn’t be too sure.

By now, I would have moved to a different country to start a new life but as time went on here, I found myself building a life and a home. Something I hadn’t done in previous places.

Rising from my garden, my old bones popped back into place as I stretched my tired limbs. Staring off into the distance, I could see the waves of the ocean lapping up against the beach that was just below the cliffs edge at my property. I was the only one living on this part of the island which while it did make for some lonely times, it was a peaceful solace.

“Maybe I’ll go for a swim tomorrow,” I told myself before dusting my dirty hands on my grey overalls and began packing up all of my gardening tools.

As I stepped out of my shed, something in the air felt off causing me to stiffen, the tips of my fingers burnings. Electricity charged then sparked to life creating lightning at my fingertips as I whirled around on my heels, coming face to face with someone I hadn’t seen in a very long time.

“Well, good to know those still work.”

I blinked with parted lips, trying to gather if the person in front of me was actually here.

“Yelena?” I asked, still unsure.

The blonde, with much shorter hair since I saw her last, smiled brightly at me. “Long time no see, Zima. How are things?”

I shrugged, still letting the lightning charge my finger tips. “Can’t complain.”

“Oh, I love fresh bread!”

Snapping my head to the right, I glared at the person who stalked out of my house with a mouthful of fresh bread, the red leather suit three sizes too small for him.

“The Red Guardian,” I clicked my tongue. “I didn’t realize this was a Red Room reunion. 10 years goes by so fast, huh?”

Alexi sat down on one of the chairs on the front porch while Yelena took a tentative step closer towards me. She looked like she’d been through absolute hell and the exhaustion weighed heavy on her shoulders.

“We need your help,” she said.

The lightning charged even more now in my finger tips, crackling into the air. “Why the fuck would I help you?”

“You owe me a favor and you were always good at returning those favors,” she stated matter of factly.

I cursed, knowing exactly what she was talking about. Back when we were in the Red Room together, Yelena helped me with something I refused to talk about even to this day. I told her if she ever needed my help, I’d be there no questions asked.

I just didn’t think it would take her ten years to cash in on that favor. I thought she’d forgotten by now, given everything that happened with Natasha. Even though I’d been in hiding, I still kept up to date with current events like her sister dying and the snap. Thankfully, I’d been one who survived the snap.

Letting out a breath, I curtly nodded, ready to agree but halted for a moment. “You said we. As in you and Alexi?”

“No,” Alexi chuckled, wiping the crumbs off his lap. “We as in the Thunderbolts.”

I raised a brow, looking back at Yelena, who was trying her hardest not to hide her face behind her hands.

"The Thunderbolts?” I questioned.

All of a sudden, the lightning at my fingertips seemed to have intensified when an all too familiar presence loomed behind me. I knew this presence anywhere. I’d spent countless nights with this presence during my time in Hydra. My powers were created in order to bring this presence his deepest pain. This presence was the sole reason why I ran from Hydra.

Turning swiftly on my heels, I locked eyes with the familiar pair of blue ones that belonged to The Winter Soldier.

“Hi,” he gave me a small smile. “I’m Bucky-.”

Before he could finish his sentence, I shot him with a large strip of lightning, it bouncing off of his vibranium arm and lighting up the now dark skies.

#crow calls #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #sebastian stan #bucky barnes and reader #james buchanan barnes #marvel #james barnes #the winter soldier #Bucky Barnes angst #Bucky Barnes blurbs #thunderbolts!bucky #thunderbolts!bucky barnes x reader #thunderbolts*#the void buck barnes

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arkhamsknightz · 2 days ago

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STARLIGHT // SUPERMAN HEADCANONS. CLARK KENT & JOURNALIST!READER.

content: just fluff, pure pure fluff. It's the biggest vomit of love lmao im sorry but i'm in love at this time so deal with it. I don't dare to write smut yet (i'm very rusty lol), + we don't accept snyder fans!clark here — sorry not sorry — this is the clark who would rescue a kitten from a tree so....

word count: 0,4k (almost 500 words)

notes: i'm testing the waters in the dc fandom, even though it's been too long since I've written in it, but the superman trailer is my new obsession and I can't wait for july. the brat summer hits hard, but the superman summer hits harder.

divider: @bernardsbendystraws

☆ You keep pretending not to notice when he leaves your apartment, and five minutes later "Superman" shows up to make sure you got home safe from your late assignment.

☆ Clark literally melts whenever you call him "Superman" in a teasing tone. like—he’s supposed to be the man of steel, but his knees go weak the second you smirk and say, “What’s the plan now, Superman?"

☆ You learned pretty quickly that dating the man of tomorrow comes with random date night interruptions. But he always makes it up to you. Like one time he flew in from stopping a train derailment with pastries from Paris and an "I'm sorry I missed our dinner" post-it stuck to your laptop".

☆ He’s so soft for you. Like, he’ll listen to you rant about Lex Luthor and his stupid company for an hour and then say, “You’re incredible. Do you know that?” with the most adoring look in his eyes.

☆ He's ridiculously good at remembering everything. birthdays, deadlines, how you take your coffee, and your favourite quote. He once quoted your own article back to you when you were doubting yourself, and you cried. He freaked out. tried to fly to get flowers or something.

☆ One time you tried to surprise him by bringing him lunch to the Daily Planet, and he got so flustered he nearly knocked over his desk. “You... you brought me food?” He blinked like krypto when he acts like never been fed before. Now he talks about it like it was a grand romantic gesture and not just an stupid sandwich.

☆ You once told him, half-asleep, that flying with him felt like dreaming while awake. Now he always asks, “Wanna go dream?” before lifting you into the sky.

☆ He sometimes reads over your drafts while you're out cold on the couch. leaves little notes in the margins like “love this part,” “so proud of you,” or “you spelt ‘crimes’ wrong, but you’re still my favourite reporter.”

☆ He lives for when you adjust his glasses or fix his tie before a press conference. It’s the only time he lets the whole “Clark Kent” act drop just a little and looks at you like you’re his whole world.

☆ Sometimes when you’re deep into writing, completely zoned out, he lands silently on your balcony and just watches you work for a minute—arms crossed, head tilted, that soft “I can’t believe she’s mine” smile on his face. When you finally notice him, he acts like he hasn’t been standing there like a lovesick puppy for the last five minutes.

☆ On your worst days at the paper, when deadlines crush you and the world feels heavy, he wordlessly picks you up and flies you above the clouds. No noise, no pressure—just the two of you, floating in golden light. “All of that can wait,” he whispers. “You can’t.”

#dc comics #dc universe #dcu #david corenswet #superman #superman x reader #superman x you #superman fluff #clark kent #clark kent x reader #clark kent fluff #superman summer

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devilish-cherry · 2 days ago

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ᨳ♡₊➳ how they help during your period

ᨳ♡₊➳ feat. gojo, geto, nanami, choso, toji, higuruma, shiu

ᨳ♡₊➳ crack, fluff, slight nsfw but nothing serious

ᨳ♡₊➳ a/n: request from this ask! currently being held hostage by my own period so this felt like the perfect time to tackle this request. tried to keep the symptoms general bc we all suffer in our own special ways. hope you all enjoy 🙂‍↕️

₊⊹. Satoru Gojo

₊⊹. Gojo will buy you the dumbest heating pads on the internet: one's shaped like Gudetama, another is a buff Jigglypuff. You're exasperated. But also using them.

₊⊹. He googled "how to help partner on period" and then mansplained it to you like a TED Talk. "So apparently prostaglandins are to blame for your cramps. Isn't that such a loser name for a hormone?"

₊⊹. Gojo, after seeing you curled up and wincing from cramps, throws himself face-first on the bed next to you and goes, "I think I can feel them too. Empathic link. It's the Six Eyes. I'm basically menstruating." You slap him with a pillow and he dramatically yells, "DOMESTIC VIOLENCE?! WHILE I BLEED IN SPIRIT?!"

₊⊹. You groan and double over. He instantly teleports behind you and drops to his knees. "Get on. Backpack mode." He piggybacks you around the apartment while muttering dramatic anime OST lyrics. He stops at the fridge. "Want strawberries?" You tell him yes. He proceeds to spoon-feed them to you while making airplane noises.

₊⊹. He will 100% insist on period sex 'for science.' He genuinely looks curious. "So, like. If I activate Infinity... does that mean I technically never touch the blood?" He is forcibly removed from the bedroom.

₊⊹. When you sigh heavily from discomfort, he'll dramatically fall onto the bed beside you, matching your sigh with exaggerated flair and groaning, "The burdens we hot people bear, huh?"

₊⊹. When you can't sleep from pain, he lies awake beside you, rambling about obscure Digimon trivia from his youth as he draws little hearts on your back with his fingertip until you drift off. He's proud his niche knowledge is finally useful.

₊⊹. Suguru Geto

₊⊹. Geto somehow knows your cycle better than you. Not because he tracks it obsessively but because he's that terrifyingly observant, "You're due in three days. I've already stocked the soba, heat packs, and I have chamomile ready." You look at him like he's some sort of mystic. He just smirks and continues slicing green onions.

₊⊹. He's unfazed by blood. You bled through your pants once and panicked. He just looked down calmly. "Blood is natural. You are sacred. I've killed 112 villagers in one night, this is fine."

₊⊹. If you want affection, he’s all over it. If you want to be left alone, he disappears like mist. Only to reappear 20 minutes later with a warm drink, just in case you changed your mind.

₊⊹. If you get clingy, like full-on emotional barnacle, he lets you. Doesn't even blink when you insist on lying directly on top of him like a heated blanket burrito. He'll just mutter, "Guess I'm immobilized now," and carry on reading with one hand resting lightly on your back like it's the most natural thing.

₊⊹. Geto keeps a hidden stash of menstrual supplies in the bathroom, meticulously organized. When you discover his stockpile, he smirks, "Preparation level: Dad of Teenage Girls. Amateur hour ended a decade ago."

₊⊹. If you're out at work or something and he knows you're in pain, you start receiving cryptic but oddly soothing texts like, "Drink something warm. Don't argue. I'm watching." You have no idea how. But he is watching.

₊⊹. When you fall asleep from exhaustion, he adjusts your limbs so you won't cramp further and he stays beside you. Occasionally brushing hair from your face with a faint smile like you're a fleeting dream he doesn't want to wake.

₊⊹. Kento Nanami

₊⊹. "You're not dying. It just feels like you are." Delivers this line in a deadpan tone with tea and a heat pack because he genuinely wants to help. But he refuses to sugarcoat it.

₊⊹. He noticed you wincing once and now tracks your cycle better than you do like a sentient calendar. "Your period should start tomorrow. You want me to stop for anything on the way home?"

₊⊹. Nanami is your domestic god. He doesn't joke, he just executes. Heating pad? Done. Soup? Simmering. Ibuprofen? Already in your hand. You're curled up on the couch and he just tucks you in like a burrito, sits beside you, opens a book, and radiates quiet husband energy.

₊⊹. He always carries extra pads in his bag. When asked about them, he replies, "Emergency preparedness is a fundamental adult skill."

₊⊹. He refuses to let you do chores while you're cramping. Once you tried to clean and he stared at you so long in silence you actually got scared. "Stop." he said, simply. "You are not allowed to suffer and vacuum."

₊⊹. You once mentioned your back hurt. He cracked his knuckles like a shonen protagonist and said, "I read a Swedish study on pressure point relief." then gave you the most life-altering massage of your existence. You almost cried. He muttered, "It's basic muscle care."

₊⊹. Nanami holds your hand during the worst moments. Always gently. Always like it’s the easiest thing in the world to make you feel safer. Sometimes he just rubs his thumb across your knuckles and says nothing. Like he’s anchoring you in place.

₊⊹. Choso Kamo

₊⊹. Choso learned about periods in great detail via one of those god-awful health class pamphlets left on a table at Jujutsu High. He read it cover to cover. When you complain about cramps, he nods gravely and says, "Yes. I have read about the uterine lining." You genuinely don't know whether to laugh or cry.

₊⊹. When you mention mood swings, he nods solemnly and places a comforting hand on your shoulder, quietly stating, "We will defeat them together." utterly serious, making you laugh despite yourself.

₊⊹. He's very careful not to overstep, because despite having his vessel's memories, he's still constantly second-guessing human behavior. So you'll catch him hovering awkwardly outside the bathroom door like, "... Should I get you a clean pair of pants? Is that considered offensive?"

₊⊹. Choso cries with you when you cry from hormonal swings. You're sobbing and he's sobbing and now you're crying because he's crying and it's just a puddle of emotions on the couch.

₊⊹. He doesn't flinch when you bleed through your sheets. Zero ick factor. If anything, he's kind of like, "I thought the iron scent was familiar. It's very... cozy." You're horrified. He's content.

₊⊹. He tried to cook you miso soup once to help soothe your cramps but forgot to turn off the burner. You both ended up with slightly burnt soup and an open window to get the smoke out. "I failed." he muttered. You told him it was still good. He looked at you like you'd just declared everlasting love. He's been trying new recipes every cycle since.

₊⊹. When you're sore and sluggish, he doesn't push you to do anything. He just follows you around the apartment quietly doing everything before you have the chance to. You reach for a mug? It's already full of hot tea. You try to stand up? He's already placed a fuzzy blanket on your lap. "Rest," he says, softly. "You're leaking." Thank you, boyfriend of the year.

₊⊹. Toji Fushiguro

₊⊹. The second he notices you curled up like a dying shrimp on the bed, face down, blanket over your head like you're trying to cease existing, he doesn't ask, he just knows. The man's been through two marriages and several long-term flings. Your monthly suffering isn't new territory for him. His first reaction? A sharp, "You good?" but it's Toji-speak for "Do I need to go kill someone or is this just cramps?"

₊⊹. Toji will 100% eat all of your snacks. But then he buys you twice as much to make up for it and drops the bags in front of you saying, "Eat. Or don't. I dunno. Up to you."

₊⊹. He does not understand hot water bottle covers. "Why the hell does it have a face?" he mutters while staring down your Sanrio-themed cover like it insulted his bloodline. Still warms it up for you every night.

₊⊹. Toji somehow acquires random knowledge about menstrual products, casually mentioning, "They have organic ones now, whatever the hell that means. Do you care or is that bullshit?"

₊⊹. He brings home food for you even when you said "I'm not hungry." Because he knows. He knows you'll sniff it and change your mind in 3.2 seconds.

₊⊹. He insists on carrying you bridal-style up the stairs when your cramps are peak awful. "Romantic, huh?" he smirks. Then slams his knee into the doorframe and nearly drops you. "Fuck—romance canceled."

₊⊹. He starts stockpiling comfort items a week in advance. Not because he's sentimental. Just because "it's easier than dealing with you on edge and empty-handed."

₊⊹. Hiromi Higuruma

₊⊹. Higuruma doesn't flinch when you groan and dramatically announce, "I am perishing. This is the end." He glances up from his book, deadpan. "We should draft your will. I assume I inherit the heated blanket?" No smile. Just pure monotone. But he's already tucking the blanket around you like a human burrito.

₊⊹. One particularly bad day, you tell him you feel gross. He immediately pauses whatever he's doing, cups your face like you're the last honest witness in a corrupt trial, and says very seriously, "Don't do that. You're experiencing a biological function. You wouldn't call someone disgusting for sneezing."

₊⊹. When your cramps hit so hard you start walking like a villain with a backstory, he matches your pace down the hallway like it's totally normal to be power-walking with someone who looks like they're about to start monologuing about vengeance. He doesn't say a word, just keeps pace.

₊⊹. He never says a thing about your oversized pajamas or the nest of snacks around you. In fact, he once brought you more Pocky and placed it on the bed with reverence. "Your altar of comfort appears understocked."

₊⊹. He sends you detailed texts updating the progression of menstrual leave legislation in Japan. "See? Soon, your uterus's tyranny will be punishable by paid leave."

₊⊹. You once fell asleep half-sobbing and woke up with him spooning you from behind, hand on your stomach like he's attempting to telepathically cancel the uterus subscription. He murmured, "I'd take your pain if I could." He meant it. No theatrics. Just quiet, intense sincerity because when Hiromi Higuruma commits to caring about someone, he doesn't do it halfway.

₊⊹. During your period, your appetite gets weird. Sometimes it's one grape and you're full. Sometimes it's 8,000 calories of pure evil. You texted him once, "I want fries. And mochi. And pickles. Also maybe… curry?" 35 minutes later he showed up with all of it. Didn't say a word. Just set the bags down and kissed your forehead.

₊⊹. Shiu Kong

₊⊹. When you lie dramatically across the bed claiming your death is imminent, he responds with, "Should I call the morgue or just put on that one drama you pretend not to cry at?" You throw a pillow.

₊⊹. He never complains about you turning the air conditioner to "Arctic Tundra" because your internal body temperature is currently set to Satan's front porch. He just silently adds another blanket onto himself like a polite boyfriend-turned-snowman.

₊⊹. You once bled through your pants in public. Shiu wordlessly shrugged off his coat and tied it around your waist, his face unreadable. "Happens. Don't let it ruin your evening. I've seen worse. Like Toji's parenting skills."

₊⊹. You ask for a massage offhandedly, not expecting anything, but Shiu responds with alarming seriousness. "I've studied torture—I mean pressure points, professionally. Let's see how transferable these skills are." You have the best massage of your existence.

₊⊹. When you finally fall asleep during a painwave, he goes full ghost mode. Doesn't talk. Stays in place. He opens a bag of chips slower than a bomb diffusal expert and chews like he's being held hostage.

₊⊹. You've learned not to hide your discomfort from him because Shiu notices anyway. He'll raise an eyebrow and announce dramatically, "We've reached crisis levels. You're walking like an elderly penguin. Come here."

₊⊹. He subtly adjusts his smoking habits around you during menstruation, stepping outside to light up without a word. When questioned, he deflects smoothly, "Trying to avoid becoming collateral damage to your heightened sense of smell."

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never-rxne · 3 days ago

Text

─── all the quiet nights you bear

content warning(s): hurt/comfort, sickfic (mentions of fever dreams), fluff, light angst, no defined or established relationship, hint of yearning, gn reader (cishet men dni...obviously)

wc: 1.6k

note: this is just shameless fluff i wrote because i’m sick and miserable and why not project that onto sevika ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

"and all the quiet nights you bear seal them up with care no one needs to know they're there for i will hold them for you." —Mitski, “I Will”

At first, the symptoms don't show in normal ways. In fact, they barely show at all.

She’ll smother her coughs in the folds of her cloak, wave it off as a speck of dust in her throat, cigar ash. She was always good at that. Feigning strength. Covering up weaknesses. Like second nature.

The fever that was ripping through the Lanes, a new virus of some sort, was on the radar of everyone who called Zaun home. But it was next to impossible to imagine Sevika falling victim to it. She had an immune system like steel. In all the years you had known her, you had never seen her catch so much as a passing cold.

This time it’s different. Something is wrong. She’ll try her best to conceal it, but you know her too well to let even the smallest of hints escape you. The way she stumbles over her feet, catching herself on the doorframe, pausing briefly to catch her breath before she goes on with her work. The thin sheen of sweat along her hairline. Her labored breathing as the two of you walk up the steps into an airship.

You know the worst way to confront her is to tell her point-blank to take a break. She’ll just scoff, mutter something about you overreacting, walk away before you can get another word out.

Even worse would be to call her out within the earshot of any of the lackeys. They weren’t exactly devoted to each other, and certainly weren’t on friendly terms with Silco’s closest enforcer. They remembered their little “meetings” with her whenever they tried to sneak themselves a higher cut of the profits. A hint of a weak spot—the smallest of openings—they’d be on her like hounds.

So you wait until you have her alone in Silco’s empty office. He’s out for the day on a business trip down the other districts of Zaun. As Sevika goes through the shipment records, you can see her hand trembling with exhaustion.

Slowly, you walk over to where she stands hunched over the desk. You set a glass of water down on the table. She doesn’t look at you, doesn’t give a word or a nod of thanks. But she puts down the papers and drains the water like she’s been parched for days.

“What’re you trying to do—infect the whole company?” You ask, keeping your tone casual.

She snaps her gaze at you. “The hell are you talking about?”

There it is. The tell-tale rasp in her voice.

You reach up to press the back of your hand against her forehead. Irritably, she swats your hand away. You slap her back, reaching up again to feel her skin. She’s burning up.

“How long have you been walking around like a living corpse?”

Sevika turns away. “It’s not that bad. I can handle it.”

“‘Handle it’, my ass. You just marked all these shipment records as fulfilled.”

Sevika looks down at the faulty manifests. She lets out a heavy sigh of frustration, swearing under her breath.

“Go home, Sevika.”

She tries to scoff, but it catches in her throat and turns into a coughing fit.

“I’ll put it this way,” you say, laying a hand on her arm, “you stay, and you'll double the work by messing everything up. Best thing you could do for anybody right now is rest.”

She opens her mouth to argue. You know exactly what she’s about to say, so you beat her to the punch. Gathering the papers into your arms, you push her toward the door. “I’ll cover for you. I’ll fix these forms up. You just try to stay upright on the walk home.”

She snorts. “Nothing’s wrong with me.”

“Sevika.”

She ignores you, reaches for the papers in your hands. You shake your head. If she thinks she’s the only stubborn ass in this room, she’s forgetting who she’s standing in front of.

Standing. Well. Barely. The woman’s ready to topple over any second.

“Right,” you say. You march over to the corner of the room, shoving the papers into your satchel. “Then I’m taking you home myself.”

“What?”

You hook your arm through hers, shepherding her toward the door. You can feel the heat radiating through her sleeve. “You’re in no damn condition to be working up here.”

꩜

Once you’ve wrestled her into bed, she falls asleep almost immediately. Brows creased with the remnants of her resistance to the limitations of her own body.

She’s out cold for seventeen straight hours.

In the meantime, you straighten things up. Clean the bottles off the floor of her dimly lit apartment. Open the windows in the kitchen to let some of the stale air out, the smell of cigarette smoke hanging thick. For all the time you’ve known her, it’s been ages since you’ve last seen her place. It’s just the same as you remember. Minus the deck of cards that always used to sit at the corner of the kitchen table. It’s been replaced by several used-up lighters, which you throw away.

She wakes up at intervals, blinking slowly at you as if she’s only half-processing you’re there. You have the papers laid out in front of you on the table, signing off all the reports of Shimmer shipments.

You don’t notice her watching you at first.

“Need something?” You’re already getting up, reaching for the jug of water nearby. “What is it?”

Sevika parts her dry lips. In a voice scraped raw, so weak you need to lean in to hear her, she says, “you don’t…you don’t have to do this.”

“What do you mean?”

“You don’t have to…look after me like this.”

You huff impatiently. “Don’t waste your strength talking nonsense.” You feel her forehead again, pull the blanket closer to her chin. “Want me to make you tea?”

Sevika searches your face, her grey eyes darting, before her lids close again. She turns over, pulling the blanket around her. “It’s fuckin’ cold,” she mutters, and drifts off again.

꩜

The illness stays for days.

You’ve moved in temporarily, your clothes hang haphazardly from the furniture, and dirty bowls and cups litter the kitchen. You’ve bribed everyone you knew at the Last Drop to keep things hushed about Sevika’s condition. As far as you know, only Silco knows the truth.

You do everything you can to quell the fever. Bathe her face and body with cold compresses, stripping off her clothes and drawing the cloth over her skin to bring down the temperature. Murmuring softly to her as she flinched from the cold, muttering indecipherable things in her sleep. You wrap her in every blanket you can find in the apartment. You wake her up intermittently to get her to drink some water, feed her some soup, but nothing stays down for long.

It’s worse late at night, when she has the fever dreams, when she thrashes in bed and drenches the sheets with sweat, crying out names of people you’ve never heard of before. When she wakes up and stares at you but doesn’t seem to recognize you, grey eyes glassy and bloodshot.

“You here to finish me off?” She asks you in a wild, hoarse voice, over and over. “Huh? You here to watch me go?”

You don’t know who she thinks you are. You wipe the sweat from her face. You climb into bed and press your body to her burning skin, holding her close until she stops tossing and turning, until you can feel her fall back into troubled sleep.

You try not to let yourself get scared. Try to keep the fears at bay, try to keep your wits about you. By now you’ve heard the rumors of the spreading fever taking the lives of the weaker ones—a new infection, cross-contamination—something to do with the waste waters from Topside. People are dropping like flies. Rumors of new symptoms start to circulate.

Not Sevika. It won’t happen to Sevika.

She’s too strong. She’s fought for too long.

You don’t let yourself think about the worst that could happen. Sevika had always been in your life, an unstoppable force…you’re realizing now you had taken her strength for granted. Never, never for a moment would you have dreamed of a possibility that you might lose her.

Don’t think about it. Don’t think about a life where she isn’t there.

You don’t think you could handle it.

꩜

Around midnight at the end of a long, hellish week, her fever breaks. You could have cried out of relief. Her pulse finally drops to a normal rate. She wakes up briefly to drink some water and for the first time, her eyes are lucid when she looks at you.

“Hey,” she says. “You look like hell.”

“You look worse,” you retort, wiping a trickle of water that runs down her chin.

A small smile. The sight feels better than the high of any drug.

You don’t need to watch over her that night. You watch the gentle rise and fall of her chest for several minutes, and feel a strange twist in your heart. Like the softest of wounds has opened up in your soul. Then you go back out to the living room, and promptly pass out on the couch.

When you check on her in the morning, she’s already sitting up in bed, rubbing a hand over her eyes.

“Hey, you,” you say softly, brushing the sweaty strands of hair out of her face. “Welcome back.”

“I feel like shit,” she grumbles. Her peevish tone makes you smile.

“As long as you’re alive.”

#today in “rune will regret her use of time management”#i needed something like this for a long time tho #rune's fics #all the quiet nights you bear #sevika #sevika x reader #sevika fluff #sevika angst #sevika fanfic

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literaryslapshot · 15 hours ago

Note

OHHHHHMG a first look with jack 🥹🥹🥹

now y'all i normally don't write fluff but this was too cute!!

"i dunno if i can do this, i think i'll pass out up there," jack rambled on and on to robby, his best man. he had been a ball of nerves all day long. from the moment he woke up, started to get ready for the day he felt anxiety creep into his veins. he tried everything his therapist gave him, but nothing seemed to work.

he came to the conclusion that it was because he hadn't seen you yet.

it's because he hasn't seen you all day, the one thing that keeps him breathing and moving. what helps calm the chaotic storm that is his world, you. he had sent you a paragraph the minute he woke up, how he couldn't wait to see you walk down the aisle and marry you officially. the text alone was so sweet, you couldn't imagine what his vows were going to be like.

"well c'mon, you gotta go see your bride now." jack took a few deep breaths before walking outside the venue with just the photographer.

you were waiting for the cue, holding your bouquet with your maid of honor walking behind you. you were also a bundle of nerves, hands shaking as you walked up behind him.

it was decided early on that the two of you in private would exchange your personal vows to each other, only wanting them to stay between the two of you. you could tell he was just as nervous as you were; his shoulders were up high and he kept moving his head to the right and left, trying to crack the bones he's already cracked.

he heard the click of your heels and he couldn't stop the grin from forming on his lips. he chuckled and lowered his head, taking a couple more deep breaths. as you stepped closer you saw him trying to cheat a little by turning his head, but you quickly scolded him for it.

you rested your hand on his shoulder, and he immediately relaxed under your touch. "hey," you spoke, "you ready?" he mumbled his response, taking another breath before turning around.

he took a step forward before turning around to see you. he busted out in laughter from pure joy, bringing his hands up to his face. tears began to form in his eyes as he saw you- he finally saw you- standing in the most gorgeous white wedding dress he could have imagined. you had given him hints of what it would look like, but he could have never thought of this.

"baby," he stepped closer to you, putting his hands on your hips and smiling, "you look like a dream." he then cupped your face, slowly leaning in to give you a soft kiss. "i think i am dreaming, actually."

"no, this is real," you responded through a smile. he stepped back, hands on your hips still, taking in the wonderful sight before him. he grinned, shaking his head. he never could have imagined any of this. the beautiful woman standing before him, in just a few moments about to become his wife.

"you ready for vows?" you asked, he shook his head. you handed your bouquet off to your bridesmaid as she gave you both the vow books for you and jack. he agreed to go first, taking the pressure off of you a little bit.

"my love," he held onto your hand while he read out loud, "i never thought i would get this lucky to love again. i thought i already had my chance, that my story was written, but then you came along. you changed my entire life for the better- you gave me a reason to keep living again, and for that i am grateful."

you squeezed his hand as he spoke every word, tears starting to fall but you never once took away your gaze from him.

"i vow to always, be your husband. i give myself completely to you. i vow to always love you, protect you, put you first, and stand by your side. i will never go to places where you are not welcome, i will never sit at a table where you can't sit next to me. i vow to love you on the bad days, love you even better on the good days. i vow to be yours."

he looks up at you from the book, putting a hand on your cheek and wiping a couple tears away, "you are the best thing that has ever been mine, and i vow to protect it until my dying breaths."

you cannot wait to marry this man.

#my asks #j's writing #jack abbot #jack abbot imagine #jack abbot x reader #the pitt #the pitt imagine #jack abbot blurb

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partygirlpiastri · 2 days ago

Text

GIRL, SO CONFUSING! ; OP81 + LN4.

synopsis: A combination of a fic and SMAU (Social Media Alternate Universe), following new F1 teammates Oscar Piastri and Lando Norris. . . and Oscar’s childhood best friend, Y/N L/N.

trigger warnings: Use of Y/N; Use of feminine pronouns from the reader’s perspective; Use of swear words in English; Descriptions of romantic acts and behaviors; Suggestive remarks; Depiction of a love triangle and polyamorous relationship (MMF)

a message from the author: My first hybrid post! I really love this idea – Landoscar is one of my favorite driver pairings – and I hope you all do as well 🥰 This took me forever to make, but I think it’s worth it.

yourusername: Summer went away, still, the yearning stays ☀️

tagged oscarpiastri

comments 2.1k

user1 How are you real??? You’re so beautiful

user2 This belongs on a postcard, fr 💌

user3 HAHAHA Oscar

user4 Hair tut when?

user5 Model, muse, icon, legend

oscarpiastri Thanks for including me 😁

user6 You look absolutely devious

comments 8.3k

user7 NO WAYYYY

user8 Is this how I find this out?

user9 Oscar is my GOAT 🐐

user10 Future WDC incoming. . .

user11 Poor Lando, he’s going to get demolished

user12 I’m excited to see this pairing!

user13 They’re complete opposites, it will be funny to see how this works out 😅

When Oscar didn’t think you were paying attention, he loved to tuck a strand of your hair behind your ears. You had a bad habit of having loose curls flying around, which is why you straightened your hair to an inch of its life almost every day. Oscar had been pestering you about this habit of yours for weeks now, bribing you with sweets and threatening to steal the iron. He said that your bright red hair reminded him of blood, of the invisible bond the two of you shared. You waved him off, calling him creepy, but secretly? You found it kind of poetic.

We’ve known each other since we were six. When would I lie to you? If your hair looked bad, I’d tell you.

You hated letting him win. The few arguments the two of you had never been resolved by direct confrontations. For Oscar, it was a nightmare: he was an introvert, through and through. Even if you were angry, it didn’t mean you were going to cross his boundaries. Instead, your arguments had been settled like icebreakers. A silly joke cracked by either one of you, and the tension dissolved. Neither one of you had ever conceded, but maybe it would be worth it this time.

Because Oscar Piastri, your best mate since childhood, had reached his insurmountable dream of entering Formula 1. He had signed with McLaren – a mid level team, but one with massive potential. The one thing that he could never stop talking about and spent ages fighting for, had finally happened.

So, yeah. You were willing to make some sacrifices to make Oscar happy. Never let it be said you didn’t do anything for him.

When you had found out, the notification from the official Formula 1 Instagram page appearing on your phone, you had screamed so loudly your mother had rushed into your bedroom, clutching her heart like she’d suffered a heart attack. “OSCAR MADE IT INTO FORMULA ONE!” you shrieked, tears flowing down your face. You were deliriously overwhelmed.

“Oh my God, I thought somebody killed you!” Your mum had scolded you. “Tell Oscar I said congratulations. That’s amazing. But don’t do that again to me, you understand, Y/N?”

You nodded, immediately going to the text chain for Oscar and typing up a series of messages to him. It was incredible how fast the trajectory of someone’s life could change for the better.

In the blink of an eye, your best friend was suddenly thrust into the public sphere. Now, he wasn’t just yours to admire, to love, to keep. He was everyone’s.

And suddenly, his newfound fame didn’t seem so wonderful anymore.

In the twenty years that spanned your life, you never believed that you would fall for the “sexy” British accent trap. Lots of the girls in your year – when you were at school – adored it, swooning over actors’ voices in the cinema, but personally? It wasn’t something you were fond of. You rather liked Oscar’s Australian accent: clipped, quiet. Familiar.

But then you met Lando Norris.

You were at McLaren Headquarters in Woking, touring alongside Oscar. You hadn’t asked to join him – your company and consoling presence was just an unspoken rule, especially when Oscar was forced out of his comfort zone. The building and grounds were sprawling, with a sleek modern design and blinding white lights. The raw power and the faded glory emanating from within disoriented you. You couldn’t believe that you were here, walking through halls haunted by the memories of legends.

The Brit was two years older, and a veteran in Formula 1. He was waiting for the three of you in a meeting room, and didn’t wait for the tour guide (a young woman named Shelley) to introduce himself. Lando was cocky and sure of himself, cracking jokes like it paid the bills. He was the complete opposite of Oscar, and typically, you avoided men who were outgoing.

Yet. . . something about Lando lured you in.

When Oscar was in the garage, getting to know the pit crew, you stayed behind, telling him you were tired – which was the truth. Lando waited with you, pretending like he was relaxing, scrolling through his Instagram feed.

“So. . .” he finally said, looking up from the glowing screen. “Can you believe it?”

You shrugged, as casually as you could muster. “Not really, no.”

“I’m sure Oscar is thrilled,” Lando continued. You could tell he was pushing for details, eager to know more details about his new teammate. Oscar hadn’t revealed many things about himself, one of the many reasons why you were so loyal to him. He would die before telling anyone else the secrets you told him.

You looked down at your hands, unsure of what to respond. Lando was being nice, but you felt like there was something else he wanted to know. You decided to be courteous, in case your gut was overanalyzing the situation. It did have the tendency to do that. “Yeah. In his own way.”

Lando cocked his head, searching your face for clues. “Not a very emotional guy?”

“He is, but only when he gets to know the other person. It takes time.” You swallowed, plastering on a bright smile. “He’ll warm up to you, don’t worry.”

“OK.” Lando hummed appreciatively. “Turn up the charm. I can do that.”

You chuckled, imagining Oscar’s reaction to Lando’s nearly insufferable charisma. It would be absolutely hilarious to witness it. Poor Osc.“Mhm. Good luck.”

“Thanks!” Lando grinned, obviously not detecting the sarcasm lacing your words. Then, in a serious tone, he questioned, “Could I potentially. . . have your number? I understand if not.”

“Of course,” you answered, after a beat. “Here’s my phone. You can put in your contact details here.”

A few moments later, Oscar returned to the meeting room, immediately standing by your side like a protective guard dog. You could feel the tension radiating from him, as if he were aware that you’d given Lando your cell number. “How was everything?” you asked, twisting around to look at him.

“Great,” he said, staring at Lando with a shrewd expression. “Ready to go?”

You nodded, rising from your seat. “Just about.”

“Thanks for tagging along,” Oscar said calmly, but you saw something flicker in his eyes. Was it jealousy?

You had no idea, but you were sure that it was a matter of time. Not even Oscar could keep his cards hidden for too long.

oscarpiastri replied to the Snap

Interesting song choice 🤔

You had never kept a secret before from Oscar. It wasn’t something the two of you did. You knew each other like the back of your hand, and sometimes, you really did question whether he was psychic, so there was no point to it.

Except. . . now you were hiding the biggest bombshell ever from him. OK, maybe not the largest scandal ever, but it would hurt Oscar when he found out. Which is why you were sure to act as normally as possible, so he couldn’t sniff it out.

Because you were talking to Lando Norris, his teammate, behind his back.

And you were falling for him. Hard.

He was witty. Smarter than you’d first thought, with a tongue that could send heat sparking through your skin with only a few words. So what if he wasn’t the brightest bulb in the bunch when it came to geography or maths? Lando had a sweet, genuine soul.

He resembled Oscar in that way – trying to conceal the vulnerability that you admired so much. Everyone thought that F1 drivers had an ego, believing they were invincible. Lando disputed that, whole-heartedly, and you adored him for it.

Meanwhile, Oscar was extremely hostile to Lando. You had never seen him so distraught before, resisting cordiality despite all your efforts. It gave you an extra reason to be guarded; if he found out, there was no doubt that he would seek revenge on the track.

You couldn’t risk it.

Especially since you knew – if it came down to it – you could not choose between the two of them.

Time skip (March 2023)

f1 And that’s a wrap! Bahrain Grand Prix, the opener for the 2023 season, is completed! Astounding performance by Red Bull’s Max Verstappen and Sergio Perez.

comments 27.3k

user14 Du Du Du Max Verstappen

user15 I can already tell this season’s going to be Verstappen domination

user16 Lwk want him to dominate me

user17 Mega

redbullracing 🎉🎉

user18 Awesome start to the season!

It had been six months since you had met Lando Norris for the first time. Six months, you had been harboring a crush on Oscar’s teammate.

Six months, and you still hadn’t told Oscar.

Your heart was torn in two; part of you wanted to stay loyal to Oscar. You’d known him for ages, and you felt like dating his teammate was a betrayal.

After you confided in your mum, she had gotten so frustrated with the situation that she forbade you from talking about it anymore.

“Either do something, or don’t complain,” she said, throwing her hands up in the air.

But was more complicated than it seemed.

Because the memory of that December night was still imprinted in your mind, as if it had only transpired mere days ago. Your family had gone on a trip with Oscar’s, heading to Byron Bay for a nice summer getaway. It was almost ten p.m., and you wouldn’t have been able to see anything, if it hadn’t been for the bonfire Oscar had set up. It crackled merrily, illuminating the dark stretch of sand you were lounging on.

You were talking to Oscar, mindlessly passing the time, waiting until your parents shooed you off to bed. And then, without any warning, Oscar had kissed you, cutting you off in the middle of your sentence. You couldn’t remember now what you were talking about. The only thing your brain could comprehend was Oscar’s lips on yours. He was chaste, gentle, but when you pulled yourself closer to him, he had deepened it, ferociously clinging to you like you were his saving grace.

Oscar didn’t mention it ever again, and sometimes, you truly believed you had imagined it.

Now, three years later, you waited outside of Oscar’s driver’s room, still unsure of where you stood with him.

And you weren’t sure you’d ever know.

f1gossip Rumors are making the rounds that McLaren driver Lando Norris is dating Y/N L/N — yes, Oscar Piastri’s childhood best friend! What’s the verdict? Could there be some truth to this?

tagged yourusername, landonorris, oscarpiastri

comments 136

user19 This seems like a plot to a book 😭

user20 Oh, how I wish I were Y/N L/N

user21 Two hot eligible bachelors pining over her. . . 💔

user22 I like Lando, but Oscar suits her much better

user23 What in the ever loving rom-com is happening right now at McLaren?

user24 Yeah, no. Stick to the racing PLEASE.

user25 The papaya boys are fighting 😡

“We’re going to tell Oscar about us.”

Lando’s head tilted to the side as he absorbed your words. “What do you mean?”

You tapped your foot impatiently. “You heard me. I want to tell Oscar that we’ve been. . .You know. Talking.”

“And we’re suddenly not worried he’s going to kill me on track?”

You bit your lip. “I hate keeping secrets.”

Lando huffed, irritated. “But you don’t care that I could die?”

With an aggrieved sigh, you looked at Lando, silently imploring him to just shut up and go along with your plan. The plan that you’d quickly assembled after caving to the immense pressure of the secret you were keeping from Oscar. “Please don’t be dramatic.”

“It’s hard not to be! He’s terrifying! Like a silent serial killer. Do you have it out for me?” Lando followed you as you headed to the kitchen, brewing yourself a cup of mint tea to soothe your stomach. “Are you being serious?”

“He’s going to be here any minute now,” you murmured under your breath. “So. . .It’s a bit too late to back out now.”

Lando gasped. “Any minute now?” he repeated, disbelieving. “No fucking way.”

“Look, I know you’re nervous, but you need to calm down.” You stepped closer to Lando, cradling his face in the palm of your hands.

He tugged himself free of your grip. “Nervous is the understatement of the year.”

The doorbell rang, and Lando yelped. You rolled your eyes, walking back to the living room to unlock the door and let Oscar in.

“Is everything OK?” he immediately questioned.

You nodded, mouth going dry. “Yep,” you managed.

“You’re pale. What’s going on?” Oscar narrowed his eyes, scanning you for the reason why you were acting so strangely. “You texted me, saying there was something urgent you needed to talk to me about. So? What is it?”

You gave him a shaky smile. “Um, yeah. About that. So. . .”

“Aw, come on. Spit it out, Y/N.”

You lowered your head, avoiding eye contact. “Lando, come out of the kitchen.”

Lando edged himself out of his hiding space, ears blazing red. “Hey, mate. How are you doing?”

Oscar looked at you, then at Lando, absolutely dumbfounded. You could see the cogs in his mind whirring as he made sense of the situation. “I knew it,” he said, realization dawning on his face. “I knew you were together. Fuck.”

You glanced over at Lando, who was just as confused as you were. “Pardon?”

“This isn’t the right thing to say. I shouldn’t say this, but I’m going to.” Oscar paused, fumbling for the proper words. “Y/N, I’ve been in love with you for what feels like an eternity, and I can’t watch you date my teammate without wanting you for myself.”

A small gasp left your mouth. “What?” you whispered.

“I love you, Y/N. I always have.” Oscar closed the gap between the two of you. “Call me selfish, but I want you too.”

Lando scoffed. “So, we’re going to share her or something?”

You blushed. “I mean, I wouldn’t mind.”

Oscar blinked, then smiled broadly. “That’s exactly what we’ll do.”

yourusername, oscarpiastri, and landonorris So maybe the rumors were, in fact, true. . .? 🤭

comments 7.2k

user26 I predicted it.

user27 Knew it since day one as well. There was just no way it wouldn’t happen. Y/N’s too hot.

user28 Girlboss 💖

user29 That’s my icon

user30 Now that’s a throuple I’d like to join

user31 AWWWW 🥹

mclaren Our papaya boys

user32 Oscar finally confessed. No freaking way

user33 Yeah, is the world ending? 😲

user34 Y/N is winning at life

user35 I 100% support this. They’re iconic.

Credits: Dividers — @saradika-graphics; Photos — Pinterest

#f1 #formula one #formula 1 #f1blr #f1 fic #f1 fics #f1 smau #f1 romance #f1 fluff #f1 x reader #oscar piastri #oscar piastri x reader #op81 #lando norris #lando norris x reader #ln4 #landoscar #landoscar x reader

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meanderingwistera · 21 hours ago

Text

The Empress

Summary - You have prepared for years to take over your Father’s kingdom. You have studied everything from politics to mathematics to philosophy for your future role as Queen.

But when a proposal too good to pass up crosses your Father’s desk your wishes are pushed aside. You are sent off to marry a King from a larger neighbouring kingdom, despite your protests.

Now you have to navigate a new land, people and a Husband who keeps his secrets far from your reach.

Pairing - King!Satoru Gojo x Queen!Reader

Content - Angst, a tiny bit of fluff if you squint, afab!reader, arranged marriage, court politics, historical setting, depressive symptoms, mentions of death, Gojo is down bad, reader is oblivious to Gojo’s feelings, it’s just a hot mess tbh

Word Count - 4.9k

A/N - your dad sucks, sorry about that

Chapter 1 - Marriage

“You are to be married in a month.”

The heavy history book falls from your hand onto the stone floor.

It is the only sound in the quiet sanctuary of the library. The sound echoes back from the shelves as you process the words just spoken to you. Staring at the cover of the book on the floor you try to grasp what was just said to you.

“Did-“ You suck in a deep shuddering breath, “-the King approve this?”

The servant looks at you with something akin to pity in his eyes. It swirls in the edges of his face and you hate it.

You don’t want this man’s pity.

You want this to be a mistake.

“Yes, your Highness.” His voice is soft and apologetic.

With a wave of your hand you send him away so you can properly break down. Only when you hear his footsteps receding, do you pick up the book you were wanting to read. Holding back tears you walk back through the book shelves.

You had been raised with intention, you were raised to inherit your Father’s kingdom.

It had been an almost unspoken promise. You were the first born and already did everything a Crown Prince would. You have studied history, military tactics, politics for years hoping for the day that your father would name you heir.

He was supposed to name you heir.

But now you are getting married to a man you don’t know and don’t want to know. All of your dreams shattered on the floor next to the dropped history book. You feel the tears prick your eyes. Grief for a future you will never get bubbles in your chest hot and thick like tar.

Sitting on a plush chair in between two bookshelves. You had always felt safe here even as a child. Your mother had always read here and after her death you had taken up her habit to cope. Now you wouldn’t have access to this place anymore.

Hot tears pour down your cheeks as you look out the small window to the courtyard. The beautiful wisteria garden that covers the whole left side of the castle looks so beautiful over here. Now it seems to not look as beautiful as before.

The edges of your vision twinge with grey at the thought of your impending wedding.

In the carriage, that feels more like a jail cell, you gaze out the window. It is a day before you walk to your new lifelong shackle. Your future husband will keep you here for the rest of your life.

The rain is most fitting, you think, for this. As the people rejoice at your upcoming wedding you hope that lightening hits your future husband multiple times so he is dead by the time you get there. That would be a thing to rejoice about.

“You are very quiet, My Lady.” Pierre, your personal guard, says. He looks sad as he watches your gloomy expression.

“I have nothing to say.” You say with a bite you didn’t mean. But don’t see any resentment for your remark, only sorrow, which you think is worse.

The both of you know that this is the last time you will see each other. Once you enter the palace you will be the future Queen of another kingdom and no longer tied to your homeland. So he cannot come with you. The man who has watched over you since you were five now has to watch you leave your home in rage and despair.

Far too soon the carriage comes to a stop. You breathe in deeply as the end is near.

This may not be your death but it is an end of some kind

A knock is heard at the door. Pierre opens the carriage door and you see a guard with the colors of your new home. A quiet conversation goes on between both guards as you are helped out of the carriage. It is raining lightly but you don’t mind it. You let the rain splatter on your hair, face and dress. It is cleansing in a way for you.

Your bags, which is not much, are taken into the large castle in front of you. The architecture is beautiful, sweeping arches and towers give it character. It is bigger than your home, maybe it will be more isolated that way.

“My Lady.” A male voice says from just up ahead.

A man walks over to you with a kind smile. His clothes suggest high status and you resist the urge to bow in greeting. Many times you met nobles with almost the same rank with respect but as the future Queen you bow to no one but the King. His long black hair is tied up in a bun at the nape of his neck.

“Hello.” You greet him as he bows at the waist.

“I am Duke Suguru Geto, I have been ordered by the King to show you around the grounds before the wedding.” He explains with an analysing glance.

You can tell that this man is trying to decide if you are a threat or not. Whether he was sent here or not, he is checking you out first before the King. But you know this all too well from your previous dealings with nobles. They send someone of lesser status out first to test the person on how they react.

But if you are right, the King should be watching you as well. Looking up into the many windows you see a figure of a man staring down at you. He moves when you look but you see him nonetheless.

“Lead the way.” You say after returning your eyes to Geto. He just smiles pleasantly and ushers you into the castle.

Because of the sprinkle that soon turns into a downpour, Geto just shows you the inside of the castle, which is beautiful but so different then your old home. This place feels hollow, the blue and white scheme gives it a cold feel. It feels devoid of any warmth and love until your home.

You miss the vibrant gold colors of your homeland.

Once the tour is over he leads you to the set of rooms intended to be yours. They are even barer than the rest of the castle. No tapestries or decorations of any kind.

“We wanted to let you choose how you want the Queen’s hall to look like.” Geto says to you, sensing your discontent with the blank sheet in front of you.

“Thank you.” You utter, it is quiet and you don’t even know if you mean it.

The sound of heels clicking against marble floors gets your attention. A girl of about 18 walks over to Geto and bows to you.

“This is Riko Amanai, a personal maid for you. Once you are married you will have free reign to choose your own staff but for now she will be helping you.” Geto explains to you, the same analysing gaze in his eyes as you nod.

“Nice to meet you, Your Majesty!” She chirps cheerfully as she stands up.

You give her a small smile, “Nice to meet you as well and thank you.”

She blinks at you, confused, “There is no need to thank me! I am happy to serve you!”

“Can you show me to my room?” You say, relenting.

She smiles and leads you to the room given to you. You both leave Geto behind but you don’t feel too bad since you have seen ever other part of this place except for where you sleep. It has been a long day and you want to relax in the comfort of your own room.

The room is fully furnished and the colors that fill it are gold and green. It reminds you of home. The room is bigger than yours at home, you could fit at least two lengths of your previous room in here and still have room. A grand fire place is on the far wall and a set of chairs and a couch surround it.

“Is it to your liking?” Riko asks you at the door as you explore the room.

“Yes.” You say, trying to tamp down the anger rising in your gut.

It isn’t the room and she doesn’t deserve your anger. None of the staff deserve your rage at your situation so you keep your biting remarks to yourself. Your anger you will reserve for your future husband.

The day of the wedding you are woken up at 5 am to begin to get ready. You think it is ridiculous as the numerous maids fuss and fawn over you for hours. They rub lavender and rose scented oils into your skin and hair. Each of them have big smiles on their faces as they congratulate you on your wedding. But your blank expression doesn’t escape their eyes so they change their tune, telling that at least your husband will be kind to you and is handsome.

Multiple times you send them outside so you can cry in peace. When they come back each time they don’t acknowledge your tear stained face, only give you looks of concern.

Riko is surprisingly helpful despite her young age. She commands the maids with authority and lets you have a break when you need it. You thank her multiple times for it. That seems to make her uncomfortable but you do it anyway. If you are forced to stay here for the rest of your life then you might as well have a few good people next to you.

They help you into the wedding dress, which is too much for you. It has too much fabric, four maids have to hold the train. The shape and style is beautiful but you know that if people weren’t helping you you would have been lost in trying to get it on. You feel like a child in her mother’s clothes.

When they are done you stare at your reflection in the mirror. You look like a completely different person. They have done their job well, the makeup brings out your best features and in any other situation you would marvel at it. Your hair is styled up and away from your face in an intricate style.

But the make up, hair and dress don’t hide the dread in your eyes or the deep set frown on your lips.

Walking down the long cathedral is the hardest thing you have ever done. People line the path with bright smiles. If you could you would have run back up the aisle, you would have kept running until you could breathe again.

You try to calm yourself down as you near the altar you spot your family. They have neutral expressions on their faces. For a moment you lock eyes with your Father. His eyes are cold and distant as he stares back at you. You beg him to stop this with your eyes. He could call this off and take you home. But he looks on like he never saw your expression.

All the sadness thick in your chest turns into molten rage. How dare he sell you off to a man you don’t know for a few trade routes and some coal. You can’t stand to look at him, after years of looking up to him and his silent promises to let you rule he has finally shown his true colors.

When your eyes look ahead again you are at the altar.

Your future husband stands with his hands clasped in front of him. He looks almost nervous as he watches you ascend the stairs. Even when you are at the altar you still have to look up at him. He is as handsome as the maids said.

You have only truly met Satoru Gojo once.

It had been at a ball years before he became King. You were only sixteen at the time. He, of course, had attracted attention with his looks and the young daughters of the nobles all vied for his attention. No matter where he went a trail of young ladies followed him. You had thought that it was hilarious to watch him try to get away from them.

Later you wanted some air and went out on one of the balconies. You saw him out there, leaning against the balcony, the moon shone on his white hair as he looked out. He looked beautiful then, not having to play the act of the flippant Crown Prince. Noticing you he turns around quickly. You watch as the mask that just a moment ago was gone returns in full force.

“Oh! I didn’t know anyone would be out here.” You said, trying to let him know that you didn’t follow him out there.

“It is alright My Lady. I am just taking a break from the festivities.” He said as you approached him. Gojo watched you carefully as you leaned on the railing and looked out.

“I am doing the same,” You admitted turning to look at him, “And don’t worry, I am not going to beg you for a dance.”

Gojo basically slumped over in relief and you giggled at him. He resumed his position a second later, leaned on the rail next to you. But this time he was staring at you.

“Has anyone told you that it is rude to stare?” You teased him and he blinked in surprise.

“Actually, no one has before.” He admitted sheepishly.

“Well I am honoured to be the first Prince Gojo.” You said with a smile.

You both had talked for a while about everything and nothing. Eventually you had to go but you promised him that you would help him avoid the women at the next ball. He had laughed and said that he would take you up on the offer.

Now years later you don’t know him now, well you never really knew him before. You can only just hope that he will be kind to you.

After the vows are said the festivities start. A big party is thrown to celebrate your wedding. Because both of your kingdoms are bigger than most, the ballroom is crowded with all types of people. You don’t really participate, sitting in your throne next to Gojo’s. Not many approach you, too scared off by your cold expression. It feels so isolating to see everyone laugh and talk amongst themselves as you stare from the dias.

Gojo tries to make conversation with you a few times but each time it is cut off swiftly. You give him short, blunt answers to each question. He looks confused at your mood and that makes you even more angry than before. Of course he doesn’t understand how you feel, he has a choice in this, you didn’t. He eventually gives up and goes to mingle with the others.

At one point during the party your father walks up to the dais. It is bold for how he has treated you for the past month since he sold you. You glare down at him coldly as he bows to you.

“My beloved daughter, how happy I am to see you on this blessed day.” He says as he stands back up.

“I am happy that you find today joyful.” You return, practically spitting out the word joyful.

He doesn’t even flinch or show any other emotion, just pure apathy.

“Now, please remember your new status daughter. It is not one easily won.” He states the threat plain in his voice.

‘I got you this position. Don’t mess this up for me.’

“I hope you enjoy the rest of your night.” You dismiss him. There is a flicker of rage in his eyes as you dismiss him. He turns on his heel and storms away.

Halfway through the night your maids get you and get you ready for your wedding night. You feel so tired as they attend to you. The day has drained you. You just want to sleep and not think about what will happen next. You have heard about wedding nights and how hard they are. But you know that you won’t be able to avoid this.

They put you in a short blue dress and a long white robe. You wrap the robe around yourself, trying to find some semblance of warmth in the large unfamiliar room. Sitting on the bed you dismiss the maids. They look at one another with looks of pity for you.

Over the course of the day they have grasped the situation and try to make this as easy for you emotionally as possible. You can’t thank them enough for all of their help and companionship. Back home you had preferred to do everything yourself, it was easier that way and you liked it that way. But maybe their help would not be so bad here.

The door creaks open slowly as Gojo slips into the room. His legs are a bit wobbly as he enters, most likely from the wine. Carefully he shuts the door behind him as stares at you. His blue eyes trace your face gently, almost reverently.

“Let’s get this over with.” You say and shift so you are sitting on the bed.

Gojo blinks at you in confusion, “What?”

You close your eyes with a sigh.

“The consummation. I am tired and want to sleep.” You say, letting the unspoken emotions slip into your voice.

“If you are tired we don’t have-“ He starts but you cut him off.

“No, you paid for this so let’s just do this so I can sleep. Unless you want me to beg for it.” You say, irritated that he wants to drag this out.

“Paid for? I didn’t pay for you.” He says with a furrow to his brows.

“The trade routes on the border between our countries, the coal and iron you gave us were the bride price or do you not remember what deal you made?” You explain to him as if you were explaining it to a child.

“I made a deal with your Father for your hand but I didn’t buy you.” Gojo says and walks closer to the bed.

“Oh really? If you didn’t buy me then why didn’t I have a say in this?” You ask him and he flinches hard.

All of the anger and frustration you had built up over the past month comes bubbling to the surface.

“Do you know how hard it is to be told that you are going to be married to someone you hardly know? To have your whole plan for your life thrown out because your father found a man’s offer better than your own opinion?”

Tears stream down your face as you let him have all the pent up emotions you have felt for a month now.

Gojo just stares blankly at you as you rage and that only enrages you more.

“Maybe you should take other people’s opinions into the matter instead of just yours!”

Gojo watches as you cry on the bed. He looks almost lost, like he doesn’t know where to begin with you. But you see genuine remorse and sorrow in his eyes. That hurts more than what he has done. It makes your empathy kick in and makes you want to apologise for your outburst.

“I- I will go.” He says and rushes out of the room leaving you alone with your guilt and despair.

Satoru Gojo walks through the walls of his castle quickly. He doesn’t know where he is going but he is outrunning his suffocating guilt. The look on your face will haunt him for the rest of his days. He never wanted to do that to you.

When he first became king he had wanted to improve the relations his country had with others. His father had been a conqueror. He had pushed the borders and boundaries of other countries and even overthrown a few. So Satoru’s goal was to attend to his people instead of trying to push outside of his borders

And after a year he wanted to have a partner to help him with his goal. His mind kept drifting back to you and that night all those years ago. He does go back to that night a lot but even more so around that time. The way you treated him as a person and not a sparkly prop for someone’s day dream, the way you handled your subjects have always caught his eye. If he could envision anyone by his side it would be you.

It had taken him a couple days to gather the courage to write to your Father. A response came within the week and they began talking about the bride price. Gojo had asked in his letter if you had been okay with this but your father had assured him that you were okay with it.

So when you had told him that he bought you it felt like his world was crashing down. He now sees why you were the way you were all night. He had chalked it up to you being nervous and tired but he should have known better.

Gojo opens the door to his office and walks into the dark room. Walking up to the desk he just decides to sleep here tonight so that he doesn’t bother you. He turns on the lamp with a sigh and stares at the paperwork he had put off since it was his wedding day.

“What are you doing in here?” Suguru says from the doorway, leaning in the doorway. His jacket is slightly askew and Satoru can see the wine induced flush to his cheeks.

“She didn’t agree to the marriage.” Satoru says plainly, taking his head into his hands.

“What?” Suguru says, disbelief in his voice.

“I have trapped her into this marriage and she is miserable here.” He says.

They sit there in silence for a while.

“I will make sure that she doesn’t see me.” Satoru says, lifting his head up to look Suguru in the eyes. “Make sure she has anything she needs- no matter how expensive.”

The morning after no one comes to wake you up at eight so you sleep in. You curl around a pillow in the too large bed and think about last night. At first you were angry, now you feel depressed. You feel like Atlas holding the sky, you can’t get out of this bed.

Around noon a knock comes at the door. You don’t want to answer but Riko’s voice talks softly to you through the door.

“My Lady? It is almost midday and I wanted to see if you needed anything.” She says but it is muffled through the door.

When you don’t answer she opens the door and walks in. You lift your head to look at her. Riko’s face immediately turns to concern. She walks to you and puts a hand on your cheek, running a thumb under your red eyes. You lean into the touch.

“I need you to eat My Lady. Is there anything in particular you would like?” She asks you, her concerned eyes searching yours for any reason as to why you were like this.

“No.” You say and your voice is hoarse from not being used and not drinking water. She just nods and walks out to get you food.

About half an hour later she is back with food. You only pick at it for a while, taking a small bite here and there. Riko watches you carefully, trying to gauge whether you just don’t like the dish or if it is something else.

“Is there anything else you would like, My Lady?” She says when she takes your empty plate.

An idea comes to your mind, “Do you have a library here?”

Her face lights up.

“Yes! We have a huge library.” She says excitedly, “Would you like to go?”

“That would be wonderful Riko.” You say and get out of bed. She helps you into a dress. It feels so restrictive but you bear with it.

The walk to the library is long but Riko’s idle conversation fills the space between you. She tells you about her life and asks you questions about yours to get you out of your shell. You tell her about the large wisteria garden that your mother helped to cultivate. She nods a bit wide eyed as you tell her how large it is.

When you get to the door Riko opens it to reveal the biggest library you have ever seen. The library back home was large but this one is two stories full of books. Large windows illuminate the space and give it a bigger feel. Riko leads you through the shelves.

You have lived most of your life in the library back home and you still miss it but this is a beautiful place. You will use this place often.

“What books do you like?” She asks as you look around.

“Almost any. I have read books about any subject that I can get my hands on.” You tell her, some light returning to your face for a moment.

“Amazing!” Riko says with childlike enthusiasm.

The two of you walk over to the section that has history books in it.

“Well, since I live here I should know your history.” You say and reach for a history book. You also grab a few more by different authors so you get an unbiased account.

Next you walk to the romance section. A good romance book will balance out the pile of history books you have. You run your hands over the covers, relishing in the textures of the spines. Your eye catches on a smaller book with a light purple spine. There is not the regular gold lettering on the spine so it peaks your interest.

Carefully you pull it out and study the blank purple cover. Usually there is a title or something but it is completely blank. When you open the cover you see two initials on the inside left side.

H.G.

The handwriting is elegant and loopy. You run your hand over it, trying to decipher the letters. Shutting the book you put it on the pile that you have in your arms.

“Do you need me to hold those, My Lady?” Riko says, a bit frantic.

“I got them!” You reassure her and put a romance novel on the pile.

It looks interesting, a knight falling in love with a princess after escorting her to her betrothed. You have always been a sucker for a good love story.

Over the next week you settle in. It is easier than you had imagined. You had imagined that you would be too depressed and angry to do anything but that isn’t true.

In this last week you have studying the history and the geography of your new country. Even if you don’t want to be here you don’t want to take it out on the people. You want to do a good job in your new role.

Riko is a big help. She helps you decorate the Queen’s chambers and the hall. You both decided on bright greens and silvers for the color scheme. It makes you feel at home and Riko seems to adore the color silver so you slip some in to make her happy.

The head maid had asked if you wanted another personal maid but you had turned her down. You were far too attached to her to have someone else take her place.

One problem is that not once this week have you seen Gojo. You want to apologise for your outburst but you haven’t heard a whisper of the man all week. It would be impressive if it wasn’t infuriating. You don’t want to ask after him in case he doesn’t want to see you.

But as the first ball of the season approaches you can’t sit idly by.

When a Queen is not approved of by a King, rumours spread like wildfire. The people will try to discredit anything you do and for you to rule successfully you need to be able to do your job. So you need to make a truce with your Husband so that this can work.

You walk down the halls of the west wing of the castle with Riko behind you. She looks nervous as you approach Gojo’s office. You give her a reassuring smile which doesn’t really work because she still fiddles with her sleeves. Knocking on the door you breathe deeply.

“Come in!” A voice says from inside the room and you open the door.

Gojo looks startled behind his desk as you breeze into the room, the image of composed. He blinks in surprise as you approach his desk. You almost want to laugh at his dumbfounded expression but hold in your laughter.

“Husband.” You say in greeting.

If you looked closer you would have noticed the hitch in his breath as you called out to him.

“Wife.” Gojo responds to you, looking you over.

A tense air falls over the room as the two of you stare at one another. The other people in the room seem to find the floors very interesting at the moment and you don’t blame them. Taking a deep breath you speak,

“I would like to speak to you alone.”

Gojo looks like he would be more comfortable if you set him on fire.

He looks so wildly uncomfortable that you feel maybe you should just leave but he dismisses the other people in the room. You hear at least two sighs of relief as they exit, leaving you two alone for the first time since your wedding night.

“What would you-“ He clears his throat nervously, “-like to talk to me about?”

“The first ball of the season is coming up. I need us to put aside our differences and act like we are at least on good terms.” You explain to him, not bothering with small talk. “Your approval will be necessary for me to do my job as Queen.”

He contemplates this for a moment before nodding, “I can do that.”

“Good!” You say, happy to get that off of your mind. “I will see you in two days then.”

Gojo nods and you lose the motivation to say anything else. His quietness has all the words you wish to say die on your tongue.

“I will leave you then.” You say goodbye and walk out of the room.

Shutting the door behind you you sigh in relief. Riko is waiting for you outside and rushes over after you begin to walk from the door. She gently asks questions about your conversation, trying to understand the situation but you keep it under wraps.

As much as you trust and enjoy her company, you can risk putting your situation in jeopardy.

Tag list - @tenaciousavenueavenue @hyori2 @joyfulweaselbananapanda

#You are pissed off and Gojo is confused in this one lol #I love him but he is a bit dense at times #don’t worry he will get there!#The Tarot Deck #blue’s fics <3 #gojo satoru x reader #satoru gojo x reader #gojo x reader #gojo satoru #jjk gojo

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