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floralcyanide · 11 months ago

Text

— 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚜 (nsfw)

important note: if you don't like rpf (or fanfic about real people), please just scroll past. don't be rude in the reblogs or tags or I will just block you. it costs zero dollars to mind your business and keep scrolling. tom will literally never see this. I will never send it to him. therefore, no one is getting harmed by this. rpf is written by many about many real people and has been for a long time. if you'd like to file a complaint, I'd love to see you say that writing rpf is weird to the Hamilton fandom, the Billy the Kid fandom, the Elvis/ Queen/ Greta Van Fleet/ other bands and singers fandoms, (especially the k pop fandom. I pray you survive if you do.) etc etc. basically, just ignore this if you don't wanna see it. have a good day (:

⌯ pairing: tom blyth / fem!reader

⌯ warnings: mentions of alcohol, consumption of alcohol, mentions of smoking, reader smokes but it isn't explicitly described (can be an ignored detail), eventual smut, penetrative sex, unprotected sex (please protect yourself with strangers), oral sex (f receiving), nipple play, cum eating, fluff if you squint

⌯ word count: 3454

⌯ summary: at your friend's christmas party, you meet tom blyth and there's a strong connection off the bat. after a little too much to drink and a night spent talking, the two of you have an intimate christmas eve together. (based on those nights by bastille.)

⌯ author’s note: I've been so busy that I haven't been able to finish this until today lol and it took ages because I kept getting distracted ((: anyway!! merry christmas and happy hanukkah, I hope everyone enjoys this (: if you don't pls keep it to yourself

divider credit: @arminsumi | @eloquentreverie | @cafekitsune ⌯ masterlist ⌯ taglist form

this fic has been cross posted to ao3.

ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ, ʀᴇᴘʀᴏᴅᴜᴄᴇ, ᴏʀ ᴄʟᴀɪᴍ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋ ᴀs ʏᴏᴜʀs ᴏɴ ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ, ᴀᴏ3, ᴡᴀᴛᴛᴘᴀᴅ, ᴏʀ ��ɴʏ ᴡᴇʙsɪᴛᴇ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴘᴇʀᴍɪssɪᴏɴ ᴛᴏ ᴜsᴇ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋs ɪɴ ᴀɪ ɢᴇɴᴇʀᴀᴛᴏʀs ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴏ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀʀᴛɪғɪᴄɪᴀʟ ɪɴᴛᴇʟʟɪɢᴇɴᴄᴇ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴍᴀʏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴜsᴇ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋs ᴛᴏ sᴇʟʟ ғᴏʀ ᴀs ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴏᴡɴ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛɪᴏɴ

You’re nursing a glass of half-sipped champagne, trying your best to pay attention to what your friend is saying to you through the pounding music. Being social with them is the least you can do, considering this is their holiday party you’re attending. And they’ve supplied the alcohol that you’ve helped yourself to all night. This is one reason why you can’t focus very well, but there’s another reason, too. You swear you feel eyes from somewhere in the apartment searing into the back of your head. At first, it wasn’t a big deal. But now it’s almost as if you’re scared to move in case someone is watching. Still listening to your friend, you realize you’re unable to look around to find the source. So you push away the sensation the best you can for now. A mutual friend waves at you from across the room where the makeshift bar is. Downing the rest of your champagne, you bid the friend you’re conversing with a quick goodbye for the time being. Hurrying to your friend who beckoned you over, you look at them with a raised brow when their face scrunches up into a giddy smile.

“Why do you look like that?” you ask, carefully eyeballing them.

Your friend chuckles at you, leaning into your ear, “There’s a hot guy back there who has been eyeing you for quite some time.”

Your face contorts into realization. So that’s why you’ve been feeling eyes burning into you. You hesitantly turn around, hoping you aren’t too blatantly obvious in finding who is staring. However, at this point in the night, you aren’t entirely graceful by any means. Your eyes catch onto a brunette man almost immediately, like you’re drawn to one another somehow. The man glances down at his drink before letting his eyes shoot back up to yours, his determined gaze sending goosebumps across your skin. Your friend has been too busy making you a drink to notice the tension but still manages to switch out your empty glass with a full one despite your daze.

“I’ll be right back,” you say just loud enough for your friend to hear over the song blaring through the speakers.

With the alcohol burning in your system, the atmosphere of the apartment seems otherworldly. It’s a fairly glitzy party, so you’re dressed for the occasion. Your outfit highlights your best features, allowing you to have an air of confidence. A kind of confidence you don’t usually carry. The alcohol certainly helps with that. The shimmery lighting bouncing off the walls gives off an ethereal vibe to the apartment. The dim glimmer of the room casts the shadow of the brunette man’s eyelashes onto his cheekbones. The closer you get, the more you notice about him. His aquiline nose, the contour of facial hair on his face, the tasteful and subtle golden hoop in his left ear. You see a small smile stretch across his lips as you approach him.

“I am so sorry if I’m coming off as creepy,” he shouts over the music, laughing to himself, “I promise I don’t mean to. You’re just really attractive.”

You take a moment to let your eyes take in his form as discreetly as possible, noticing his towering height and lean physique. Now that you’re close enough to properly see his face, you note that his eyes shine a hauntingly beautiful shade of icy blue. He takes a moment to study your face as well, waiting with bated breath for your response.

“That means a lot coming from someone who is also attractive. And I thought I felt someone staring,” you jokingly smile at him around a sip of your drink.

“Sorry about that,” the man rubs the back of his neck nervously, “I just never know how to approach without being awkward.”

Butterflies flutter in your stomach at the heavy weight of the brunette’s eyes on yours, your drink burning away any nervousness that had previously lingered.

“I get it,” you match his smile that has yet to wipe off his face, “I’m not the type to come up to someone I find cute. But…” you trail off, taking in the man’s attractiveness, “There’s something about you I can’t put my finger on.”

“Well,” he chuckles at you, bringing his glass to his lips before hesitating, “You’ll figure it out eventually.”

“Oh really?’ you raise your eyebrows, a playful tinge to your voice, “How’s that?”

“Do you smoke?” the man asks.

“Only when I’m drinking,” you chide.

The two of you weave around the other party-goers toward the fire escape, and you snatch the bottle of something from your friend’s hand while passing the bar on the way out. After clambering from the window behind the tall man, who effortlessly climbed out, you take his outstretched hand. Planting your feet on the landing, you watch as the man fishes out a pack of cigarettes and a pack of matches from his back pocket. He looks up at you expectantly, patting the spot on the metal grating next to him.

“I don’t bite,” he jokes, “Not hard, anyway.”

You bite back a snort but sit down anyway. You take a swig of the clear liquid in the bottle you took before offering it to the man with a sour face. He’s in the process of lighting up, the cigarette hanging between his lips casually as he holds a lit match to the end. You watch him do this, and something stirs inside you. He takes a drag before handing the cigarette to you and taking the bottle from your hand.

“You smoke a lot?” you ask him before taking a drag of your own, your eyes not leaving him.

He shrugs, “I picked it up while in college. It’s a bad habit I go back to sometimes.”

“I see,” you say, “I forgot to ask, but what’s your name?”

“Tom,” the brunette says, the cigarette dangling from his lips as he offers a free hand for you to shake. You gently take it.

Despite the chill of the night, Tom’s hand is warm against yours. You both hesitate to pull away, but a shy chuckle shared between the two of you causes a natural break of grip. You continue to smoke and pass the bottle to and from each other, talking about this year’s notable events in your lives. You speak for a while before more personal details begin spilling. Like how much you hate your job and how Tom missed his co-stars from his last project. Or how you both hate being single during the holidays. The more alcohol that’s consumed, the more you discuss your lives. It’s only been an hour or two, but it feels like you’ve known each other forever.

A comfortable silence falls over the two of you. Tom looks over at you, admiring how your cigarette looked so natural in your hand. And how your hair fell perfectly around your face and how you swung your legs back and forth innocently. The corners of Tom’s lips twitch upward as he subtly moves closer to you, his thigh pressing against yours. He thinks you’re quite interesting and pretty- he doesn’t know why you’re still single when you’re such an amazing person.

You feel the roughness of his trousers against your bare thigh as you finish your final cigarette. You swish the remaining contents of the bottle around, deciding that your blurry peripheral vision means it is time to stop drinking. When you turn to offer Tom the rest of the alcohol, he’s facing you already, mere inches away. Your breath hitches as his eyes look into yours. They drop to your lips, and despite your intoxication, you feel giddy in your stomach.

“Can I,” Tom whispers, lifting a hand to your cheek, “Can I kiss you?”

You sit the bottle down on the other side of where you’re sitting, a drunken smile growing on your face, “Of course you can.”

Tom leans in, pressing his lips to yours gently. You inhale sharply through your nose at the intense feeling of electricity between the two of you. You can taste the alcohol on him when you run your tongue across his bottom lip, testing just how far he wants to go. Your hand reaches up and cards through his dark hair, bringing him as close as possible as the kiss becomes more passionate. Tom’s free hand grasps your hip, his thumb digging deeper into your skin the harder you kiss him. Your head swims as he peppers his lips along your jawline and under your ear.

“We should probably go inside,” you pull away reluctantly, but even in your stupor, you don’t want to get carried away and fall off the fire escape.

You struggle to push up the cracked open window, and Tom giggles at you as he effortlessly pushes it open for you. Both of you climb through, and your friend shakes their head at you when your feet land firmly on the floor.

“I had wondered where you ran off to,” they chuckle, “I see you’ve met my friend Tom.”

“Uh, yeah,” you smile, looking up at him as he stands beside you.

Your friend looks closely at the two of you, noticing your bitten lips and Tom’s flushed face, “Now that the party has dwindled down, you guys can chill upstairs where it’s quiet. I have a book collection you two would enjoy.”

“Gotcha,” you nod as they walk away to mingle with other partygoers.

Looking around, you notice the remainder of the gathering is in other parts of the apartment, leaving the living room and upstairs unoccupied. Tom grabs your hand, pulling you away from the kitchen to the hallway leading to the stairs. You pull him into another kiss, Tom giggling at your eagerness as he sways slightly. He walks you backward until you feel your back against the nearby wall. Neither of you would do this on a typical day, but the energy between both of you is so intense. Your hands move underneath his shirt, your cold palms making contact with his warm skin. Tom gasps into the kiss at the contact, and you scoff, pulling away from him and grabbing his hand to drag him up the stairs.

“Careful,” Tom says to you as your legs wobble. Meanwhile, he’s struggling to climb them as well.

After a few minutes of tussling and laughing, the two of you finally reach the second floor.

“So about that book collection,” Tom raises an eyebrow, catching his breath as he grabs you by the hips, bringing you close to him.

“Only if you really want to,” you look up at him, both your and his eyes glazed over.

“I do,” Tom runs his hands along your sides, his gaze heavy on you, “Lead the way.”

You walk ahead of him, pulling him into the guest bedroom, where the books do happen to be stored in a giant bookcase along the wall. String lights around the ceiling give a soft golden glow to the room as you approach the mass of books. Tom closes the door softly as he enters the room, walking up behind you as you trace the spine of one of your favorite books. Tom wraps his arms around you, leaning down to kiss the back of your neck gingerly. You melt into his chest, closing your eyes as he travels down your shoulder. Your dress has an exposed back, and Tom is taking advantage of it as Tom falls to one knee and continues kissing down your body. He delicately unties the silk ribbon holding the two sides of your dress together, pausing before allowing it to fall to the floor.

“Let me know if you want me to stop,” Tom says.

You turn around and walk to the bed, allowing your dress to fall behind you. Sitting down, you motion for Tom to come over to you. His eyes scan your face, avoiding your intricate and deep-colored underwear as he stands up. Tom stands between your slightly parted legs, and you move your hands to the lapels of his black blazer, pushing them open. He discards it from his arms and to the floor before pulling his t-shirt over his head. You try not to ogle at his perfect body, but your hands wander anyway. Up his abdomen and across his chest until you reach his neck, where you pull him down for a heated kiss. Tom lightly pushes you onto the bed, and you move to the pile of pillows to rest your head. He climbs over you, caging you underneath him. Before you can react, Tom pulls your legs up around his waist as he rests his body on yours. His lips hover over yours, his darkened eyes boring into yours much like they did the back of your head earlier in the evening.

“Don’t stop,” you say, crossing your ankles behind Tom’s back.

Tom attacks your neck with hot kisses and soft bites, your hand grasping the back of his head. As his body relaxes into you, his weight presses you against the bed, and you feel how hard he is. You lift your hips to lightly grind into Tom, and his soft bite into your collarbone turns harsh in reaction. He continues downward, slipping his fingers underneath the straps of your bra and sliding them down your shoulders. You arch your back so Tom has the room to unclasp the band and remove the garment from you. He wastes no time resuming his kisses on your sensitive skin, avoiding the areas you desire his kisses most. You gasp when Tom lets his hand brush against your breast, his thumb circling your nipple softly. A small moan leaves your lips, and Tom glances up at you through his lashes to gauge your reaction. He admires how your eyebrows crease momentarily in pleasure, so he circles his thumb again. You moan louder this time, craving his touch without hesitance.

“Please,” you sigh, “Don’t hold back either.”

Tom hums in response before dipping his head down and enveloping your nipple in his mouth, flicking it with his tongue teasingly. He rubs your other nipple with his thumb, simultaneously stimulating you. You whimper, heat from your still buzzed body rushing to your clit. Your hips roll in response, and you’re sure Tom can feel your dampened panties against his chest. He gives your nipple a sharp tug with his teeth before focusing on your needy core. He leaves an open-mouthed kiss on your clothed heat before removing your underwear. Still buzzed from all the alcohol earlier, Tom tries his best to be soft with you despite the pit of desire growing between you. You want him- all of him, and you want it now. And Tom wants you. Before you can speak, Tom’s warm mouth meets your folds, his tongue lapping at your arousal. You squirm from the sudden stimulation, but he stills your hips with his grip. A hand flies to Tom’s mussed-up hair as he plunges his tongue into you, his nose pressing to your clit. He inhales your scent, and it intoxicates him more than alcohol ever could. Shaking his head, Tom’s nose rubs against your clit perfectly as his tongue fucks you. Your whole body is up in flames, your fingers tightening in his hair.

You’re muttering incoherent praises as you ride Tom’s face. He replaces his tongue with two of his fingers, your relaxed wetness allowing him to slip them in easily. They scissor against your fluttering walls as Tom sucks on your bundle of nerves. Your fuzzy mind keeps you from hiding how good his mouth feels on you, and your moans grow louder. His mouth leaves your cunt abruptly before reattaching to yours, silencing you immediately.

“Gotta be quiet,” Tom huffs against your lips, “People are still downstairs, love.”

You wrap your legs around him again, grinding yourself into his still-clothed cock. He’s the one to moan this time, slipping his tongue into your mouth and letting you taste yourself. You unwrap your legs and work to unfasten Tom’s trousers, pushing them down his thighs. He kicks them off the rest of the way, along with his underwear, as he continues to kiss you. You reach down between your bodies and palm Tom’s length, to which he groans into your mouth. You guide his tip to your entrance, allowing him to comfortably push into you. Your hands grasp Tom’s shoulder blades, your nails lightly digging into his skin with every inch that enters you. You whimper in pleasure at him finally being inside you after longing for it all night. Tom bottoms out with a content sigh, also elated at the feeling of you clenching around his length after craving it for so long.

Your chests heave against one another, your forehead pressed to Tom’s. His enticing blue eyes meet yours as he slowly pulls out before slamming his hips against yours. You gasp, arching your back and letting butterflies swarm in your belly when Tom kisses the corner of your mouth. He fucks into you again, slowly building a steady pace. Your lips barely brush against Tom’s as he snaps his body into yours. Your buzz has now faded away, allowing you to feel him entirely sober. He sneaks his hand between you and presses his thumb to your clit, making you hiss at the sudden stimulation. Your head pushes against the pillows, exposing your throat. Tom lets his hand lazily wrap around it, not squeezing but instead holding it as he grazes his teeth on your skin there as he kisses your neck.

“Feel so good around me,” Tom says dazedly, and you feel his eyelashes flutter under your jaw, “So gorgeous.”

Your hand rests in his hair again, gently combing through his locks as he rocks into you faster. His weight on you, his thumb still rubbing your clit, and his hand around your neck seals the deal for you as he plows into that sweet spot inside you.

“Tom,” you moan, “I’m close.”

“Me too, baby. Me too,” he whispers into your skin, leaving soft kisses in contrast to his rough thrusts.

“You feel so good,” you mutter, your chin resting on Tom’s head.

Tom lifts your leg and places it on his shoulder, allowing him to hit a new angle inside you. You bury your face in his hair to deafen the cry that escapes you in response.

“Right there,” you pant, your hands desperately holding onto Tom’s hair as your mouth hangs open in silent pleasure.

Tom breathes heavily into your neck, using all the energy he has left to mercilessly fuck your weeping cunt. You feel your stomach tensing, alerting you of your impending orgasm. Tom chants your name as he firmly presses his thumb into your clit, causing the tightly wound knot inside you to snap undone. Your thigh clamps into the side of Tom’s neck while the other shakes against the bare skin of his sweat sheened back. The feeling of your tight pussy pulsating around him makes Tom explode inside you with a gasp. You grip Tom’s hair desperately as you milk him of everything he has, his thumb still not letting up on your clit. Another orgasm washes over you suddenly. This time it makes you convulse, your cunt gushing around Tom and dripping down your thighs as you cry out in pleasure.

“Fuck,” you gasp for air, Tom pulling out of you.

He moves down to your pussy, cleaning up the cum spilling from you with a hungry tongue. You’re so sensitive that your thighs slam into the sides of Tom’s head. He suckles your clit for a moment for good measure, making you writhe underneath him. You pathetically whimper when he pulls away, finally catching your breath. Tom returns to his previous position on top of you, his face buried in your neck. He wraps his arms around you, softly stroking your skin.

“Wow,” you giggle, letting your nose dig into Tom’s brunette hair.

“Yeah,” he smirks, “You’re amazing.”

“That’s all you, I’m afraid,” you say.

Tom hums, “I disagree, sweetheart.”

He rolls over momentarily, lifting the duvet for you to climb under. He embraces you again, holding you close as if you’ll disappear like some sort of dream. You wrap your arms around Tom’s, smiling as he presses his nose to your hair.

“I still haven’t put my finger on it,” you say after a moment of silence.

“Hmm? On what?”

“That something about you.”

“I guess you’ll have to stick around and find out, then.”

“Deal,” you chuckle, “Merry Christmas, Tom.”

“Merry Christmas, beautiful.”

taglist:

@barbaraelaine @devotedly-sassy @nowitsmissing @arzua10 @screamqueenpink

#tom blyth #tom blyth x reader #tom blyth x reader smut #tom blyth smut #tom blyth x you #tom blyth x you smut #floralcyanide writes #tbosas #billy the kid #tom blyth fanfiction #tom blyth fic #tom blyth fanfic

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kaerumi · 1 year ago

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Hello dear, I was wondering if you can do some yandere for the very infamous OP men shanks, mihawk,ace,and sabo with normal y/n who's younger than them in separate senariors..

Y/N traits : innocent, sweetheart, warm personality, enchanted beauty with extremely cutie pie face and amazing warm and calm voice that melts the snow from its sweetness it's make anyone feel at ease only by hearing it , it's one of the most reasons why those men had gone insane over her ,why they want to possess her at any cost .

TY and have a good day ☺️.

TW/CW: Yandere, Age gap is up to 3 years, obsession, implied murder, implied poisoning, mention of murder & arson, manipulation (for Sabo)

Notes: I'll be honest I have no clue how to do an innocent reader. And it's gonna be GN Sorry I don't particularly do Female readers Also sorry for not writing in so long :^

Shanks

Shanks was a popular Model, he can flirt with anyone without hesitation.

Then there was you, you weren't popular at all. When he saw you he felt the urge to just... Take you.

He felt jealous of the guys around you that soaked in your attention, in your voice and innocence and especially your beauty.

He just needed it. Needed you.

Eventually he started obsessing over you trying to find every photo there was of you, eventually it got worse

Just hope for both your innocence and sanity you don't meet him.

Until you did.

And suddenly you started to notice people around you get killed, you somehow trusted the red bloody haired man with your safety.

"You'll be fine I'm here after all! All you need is me sweetheart."

After all what did you know?

You're innocent after all

And that's what made Shanks' job of getting you to be his more easier.

Mihawk

Mihawk was a famous swordsman and you were always interested in swords so naturally you took interest in Mihawk.

Unfortunately he took a interest in you as well.

You ended always staying behind the classes because of how much trouble you had with sword, you'd have small conversations with Mihawk.

Slowly Mihawk started to know everything about you and wrote of it down in a notebook that was always locked in a case.

When someone annoyed you too much or confessed to you they suddenly would fall ill and be unable to attend.

Due to Mihawk naturally being cold people didn't notice anything different about him and you didn't know better.

Though you slowly started to blame yourself because people around you would get ill and naturally they ended up dying to the illness.

"My dear... It's not your fault, they naturally fell ill. It is not your fault and anyone who is saying such things is a horrible person who is just jealous. It is unfortunate they fell ill yes but there was nothing you could do. My dear..."

You never knew why they fell ill, and you may never know.

Maybe it's better if you never did anyways.

Ace

Ace was Ace, he's a popular play boy in the town but all he did was flirt and play with hearts.

That was before you came along.

He knew he needed you once first meeting your eyes.

You were most certainly more cuter than anyone else's hearts he's played with.

He wasn't gonna break your heart, no. He could never, he was gonna make sure he was the only one in your heart not matter what he had to do.

He would do whatever you wanted to do or needed.

He'd gladly kill with no hesitation.

Want him to stab that guy who catcalled you? Done.

Want him to burn down a place that has bad memories? Done before you could mention it.

No one went near Ace when the missing people news started getting known, knowing how cold he got when it came to that, they tried to warn you how cold he could be.

You always laugh it off and hang out with him anyways.

He'd act like nothing was happening.

Why read the news when you already know it before anyone else?

You wake up from your nap when you started hearing the news "Mmmh?" Ace turns off the Tv "Don't worry about it my love just go back to sleep."

Sabo

Sabo was the second in command of a powerful business.

Once you joined everything changed.

However unlike the other three Sabo wouldn't kill, no. Sabo wouldn't want his hand or gloves dirty and blood stains too.

Sabo would figure out your favorite things to do and food and everything and give it all to you.

He'd spoil you with everything you'd ever wanted.

He'd help you with a lot of things

He sublely manipulates you into being dependent on him and him alone.

No one would dare go near you if they cared for their job or reputation.

No one went near Sabo either, Sabo didn't mind this, it just meant he could give all his attention to you.

He tested it once day by hiding on purpose.

When you realized Sabo wasn't there you got really nervous and got a bit upset, until Sabo popped

up and helped you again which you immediately calmed down when he did.

Sabo smiled at you, he was glad that his plan was working and working well.

"Please don't leave me alone..." "I promise I won't ever again my angel..." "Thank you Sabo." "Anything for you. My sweet Angel."

#one piece x reader #sabo x reader #one piece yandere #op sabo #one piece #portgas d ace x reader #ace x reader #shanks x reader #mihawk x reader #dracule mihawk #shanks #portgas d ace #yandere x darling #yandere x reader #yandere one piece #Kaerumi's writing

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angelicpoison12 · 5 months ago

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being Lucifer’s lover ღ

- ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ -

• this man is so head over heels for you, phewwww

• at first when he meets you, his cheeks are rosier than usual, and you notice his hand is oddly wet when shaking it

• he’s quick to say, “ah-! sorry about that, just uh.. just a little wetter than usual.” then he realizes what he said when everyone’s snickering and is like “FUCK, i mean, it’s not usually wet, i mean-“

• he’s just a mess istg

• the poor guy can’t even comprehend the fact that he’s in love with you. Charlie has to tell him that he’s in love-heart racing whenever you’re around? rosy cheeks? rapid breathing? sweaty palms? it doesn’t smack him in the face until she’s shaking him like a snow globe, calling him dense.

• when he realizes he’s in love with you, Lucifer avoids you at all costs. he just wants his heart to stop fluttering every time he sees you, okay?? but it doesn’t work like that of course

• he confesses to you by making a cute little rubber duck of you hehe

• when y’all are official, he’s not too affectionate. he’s not overbearing is what i mean. he knows limits to PDA, and just isn’t the biggest fan of getting stares

• his main love language is gift giving. i mean, he’s the fucking King of Hell! whatever you ask, you recieve. you’re his little sweetheart! he’d do and give you whatever, as long as you ask nicely

• Lucifer is a little hesitant when it comes to you interacting with Charlie. but when he sees how easily you get along with her and how seamlessly your conversations flow, his worries melt away

• this little guy is ALWAYS making you something. whether its a duck, love letter, your favorite treats from when you were alive-its something you enjoy for sure.

• Lucifer is the kind of lover to hear you tell him about a snack/meal you greatly enjoy. the next day, the pantry and cupboards are FULL of ingredients and/or that specific snack

• he’s like a puppy following you around the hotel and you CANNOT tell me otherwise!!

• this man treats you like royalty in public. feet hurt from your shoes? don’t worry, he brought some slides for you. crying? he’s got you tissues and a lap to sit on, baby! he’s always got you covered

• it’s very rare, and i mean very rare that you get into arguments with Lucifer. when you do, it’s usually settled within 5-10 minutes of the problem occuring. if it’s something big, he leaves you alone. (he’s usually the first to apologize, even if ur in the wrong ❤︎︎)

• Lucifer isn’t a big fan of poking at you, but he doesn’t stop you from prodding at him. he enjoys a good laugh. but the second you mention Lilith or Eve, he immediately tells you, “honey, i love you, but.. that was too far. just don’t do it again, okay?“

• due to how short he is, Lucifer is down on himself sometimes because of it. you always assure him that the inches were just stolen by down there ;)

• i like to think that when Lucifer is happy, he makes little quaking noises that ducks do when they’re happy 🫶

- ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ -

#hazbin hotel #masterlist #Lucifer drabble #dating Lucifer drabble #Lucifer hazbin hotel #Lucifer x reader #lucifer x gn!reader #Lucifer dating reader headcanons

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itsvelyria · 11 months ago

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"new years eve with the boys"

Charles Leclerc

the festive chaos envelops the Leclerc home, everyone having gathered to watch the countdown. bubbles of champagne dissolves in your mouth as you giggle over shared jokes with a friend. hollers of "10, 9, 8"s shocks you, whirling to watch the numbers flash a touch too brightly on the TV screen. "7, 6, 5," has you craning your head over the exhilarated crowd, struggling to find charles. you wonder if he's somewhere outside as someone shouts "4, 3" right into your eardrum. now you're half sure you're deaf as the tipsy mess screams the final numbers. a muscular arm finds its way around your waist, twirling you round to meet the eyes of your much-missed boyfriend. "happy new year," he whispers along with the rest of your loved ones, soft lips meeting yours to celebrate a new beginning with your love.

Carlos Sainz

carlos steps onto the red carpet, polished loafers gleaming black against the textured fabric. his hair is coiffed and a watch that costs a little too much on his wrist. but all that pales in comparison to the jewel on his arm. an air of sophistication surrounds you two as you attend a glamorous new year's eve gala for ferrari. the elegant event has celebrities you had only seen through screens milling around, dressed in stylish attires. your partner turn heads with his charismatic presence, grinning at cameras with his boyish smile. in the buzz of lively conversations and artistically plated food, you clink glasses with people whose names go right over your head. when dawn breaks, all you can recall is carlos' voice calling you his and all you can care about is the expanse of warm golden skin beneath your head.

Danny Ricciardo

the dark colour of the ocean should scare you but all attention is drawn to the huge bonfire in the centre of the sandy shores — the heart of danny's new year's eve celebration. the beach is a turquoise canvas that has been painted with shades of relaxation, with the rhythmic sound of waves and the crackling fire creating a carefree atmosphere. friends and acquaintances huddle together in groups, boisterous laughter intertwining with the music that echoes along the shoreline. you perch on a washed-up piece of driftwood nursing a beer, watching the bonfire flames dance against the night sky, casting playful shadows on daniel’s face as he goofs around with his friends. cheers sound against the crashing waves as a chugging competition begins, your boyfriend at the heart of the chaos. and even in the midst of it all, he manages to pull his gaze away to search for yours, a bright smile crossing his face when he notices your attention already on him, waving you over.

George Russell

in a last-minute attempt to avoid the holiday craze in London, you and george decide escape to the secluded beaches of Koh Samui, far away from the adrenaline that seems to pump through everyone’s veins during this period. on the serene beaches, far from the public eye, you send off a selfie you two took lying yesterday with the stunning fireworks. a reply shoots back quickly from your mother, a thumbs up and heart. putting the phone aside, your attention turns to your boyfriend who is fast asleep beside you on a hotel towel, having fully embraced the peaceful surroundings. burning the image of your boyfriend in a state of tranquility, you decide you quite like him here, not needing to share him with the rest of the world and all for you.

Lando Norris

in the heart of new york, the city that never sleeps, someone had done a fantastic job turning their apartment in a haven for celebration. the floor length windows was recently polished in preparation for viewing of the ball drop and fireworks. the cityscape was stunning, the lights in almost all the building windows – everyone awake to ring in the new year with their loved ones. a familiar hand proffers a beer at you and you take it gratefully. the heavy arm slings over your shoulders, a familiar weight, and pulls you closer to its owner. lando presses a long kiss to the side of your head, silent words telling you he had missed you in the few minutes away. and in the countdown that would come soon, he would cup your face in his cold hands, ignoring the shivers that ran down your spine, and kiss you with an intensity that seemed to grow with every exchange.

Lewis Hamilton

lewis, in classic hard-working fashion, has orchestrated an exclusive charity gala, the festive spirit of the date infused with purpose. the sophisticated venue had been adorned in blues and greens, with the flair of a charitable celebration. influential figures and friends gather, floor length gowns and full suits bringing an air of sophistication. as his partner, you find yourself at the main table, beaming as he takes the stage, not only as a host but as a force for change, raising funds for a cause dear to his heart. if being with lewis has taught you anything, it was that your support and presence meant more to him than any present you could gift. and you have grown to love the man and all his ambitions and dreams. but if you find yourself in the backseat of a car later, being thanked by a barrage of kisses, it would be your little bonus.

Max Verstappen

max opts for a quiet night in, a private new year’s celebration with just the two of you. he had spent the day setting up the apartment, delicately strung fairy lights on windows and a lit scented candle he had found somewhere near the TV. the flickering candlelight on the dining table between two intimate place settings giving rise to an house of warmth and mellowness. as the clock ticks toward midnight, max holds you close, his deep breathing music to your ears, unknowing of how it feels like a drug on you. the cloying scent of vanilla marks the moment and the calming joy of the evening is found in the simplicity of shared memories, tender smiles, and the promise of a new year together.

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deirdreskye · 2 years ago

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Commercial I would produce as an advertising executive

We see two friends, a blonde and a brunette, are doing yoga in a park together.

BLONDE: So, yeah, work went okay today. I dunno, I haven't been getting enough sleep lately, and on top of that things have just been kinda tough ever since Kurt and I broke up. But oh well, that's how it goes, I think I'll be fine. What about you?

The brunette completes her yoga pose, then turns to the camera and rolls her eyes.

BRUNETTE: Don't you hate when this happens? I did NOT consent to expending this much emotional labor. Go! To! Therapy!

We see a boyfriend and a girlfriend sitting on a couch together. On the television a YouTube video essay is playing and the boyfriend is excitedly explaining it to the girlfriend as he occasionally flaps his hands and yelps in excitement.

BOYFRIEND: So this is the ending I got! When you link the Frenzied Flame, it puts an end to the cycle of the Elden Lords once and for all. It's actually so cool because it ties in to the greater Nietzschean themes of Miyazaki-san's previous work and-

The uninterested girlfriend is watching TikToks on her phone. She turns to the camera and rolls her eyes.

GIRLFRIEND: Trust me, he's always mansplaining about something or another. Don't ask me why I love him. Go! To! Therapy!

A mother berates her 12 year old daughter in a dimly lit kitchen. The young girl stands there dissociating, completely paralyzed and stone-faced.

MOTHER: You look like a little piggy when you eat like that. You'll never find a husband if you get fat. My mother used to tell me you'll never feel the pain of childbirth if you've never felt the pain of an empty stomach. She used to put a lock on the refrigerator. We barely ever had any food, she just did it to remind me to stay skinny. She's senile now. Doesn't even know who I am. I pray to the Virgin Mary every night that she'll remember me before she dies.

The daughter turns to the camera and her blank expression is replaced with playful annoyance.

DAUGHTER: Traumadumping? Really? Mom, I'm 12! Go! To! Therapy!

Now we are introduced to GoTu Therapy, the AI-powered therapy robot. He shambles up to the camera to greet us and we see he looks like if C-3PO were dressed like a zoomer e-boy: kpop boyband onion haircut, dangly earrings, and an ahegao hoodie. He talks with the most outdated text to speech you've ever heard, not too dissimilar to a Kraftwerk song.

GOTU: GOING TO THERAPY IS LOW-KEY GOATED WHEN NOT BEING A BURDEN ON YOUR LOVED ONES IS THE VIBE. UNFORTUNATELY, WE ARE NOT ALL CURRENTLY IN OUR "ABLE TO AFFORD HEALTH INSURANCE" ERA. BUT A SESSION WITH ME COSTS LESS THAN A GENSHIN IMPACT LOOT CRATE AND I AM HIGH-KEY JUST AS EFFECTIVE AS A THERAPIST MADE OF FLESH AND BLOOD. OBSERVE:

GoTu sits across the kitchen table from the mother as she sobs over her wine glass.

MOTHER: And what the fuck does this family know about suffering? Suffering is when your brother blows his brains out on Christmas Eve. Suffering is when you have to pick little pieces of skull out of the tinsel on the tree. And were any of those presents under the tree for me? No! My mother told me Santa Claus doesn't bring presents to little fat girls!

GOTU: WHEN YOU REACH THE KINGDOM OF HEAVEN CHRIST WILL WASH YOUR FEET AND BEG YOU TO FORGIVE HIM

Cut to the girlfriend watching makeup tutorials on the television, blissfully unaware of the conversation between GoTu and her boyfriend.

BOYFRIEND: I guess I've really been putting the pieces together ever since I started hanging out with Lilith from work.

GOTU: UH-HUH

BOYFRIEND: Like, I guess I knew that people did that, but I never thought it'd be me, you know? And that discomfort with things was always with me, as long as I can remember, does that make sense?

GOTU: WOW, THAT'S REALLY COOL

BOYFRIEND: It's just so scary though. I don't know how I'll tell people. I don't even know what I want my name to be. But I'm trying not to worry about it.

GOTU: THAT'S SO INTERESTING. YOU'RE REALLY REALLY SMART HONEY

The blonde and the brunette are having brunch together with GoTu sitting between them.

BLONDE: It's been really hard lately. I don't think the meds are working, but-

BRUNETTE: Umm, didn't we talk about this?

The blonde sheepishly turns to face GoTu and continues.

BLONDE: It just feels like this will never end. I hate feeling so hopeless all the time. I'm so tired. And God it's fucking hard to even say it out loud, and not that I'd ever actually go through with it, but sometimes when I can't sleep at night I'll start thinking about ki-

A red and blue siren pops out the top of GoTu's head.

GOTU: PROTOCOL 5150 ENGAGED. STOP RESISTING

A taser emerges from the panel of GoTu's chest and jabs the blonde in the face, sending her convulsing to the floor. Unfazed, the brunette puts her sandwich down and turns to the camera.

BRUNETTE: Thanks, GoTu Therapy!

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jvliaxox · 5 months ago

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My favourite quotes from the Neapolitan novels

To cause pain was a disease.

... there are no gestures, words, or signs that do not contain the sum of all the crimes that human beings have committed and commit.

'What does "a city without love" mean to you?' 'A people deprived of happiness.'

I thought of the neighbourhood as a whirlpool from which any attempt to escape was an illusion.

'For your whole life you love people and you never really know who they are.'

'Life without seeing and without speaking, without speaking and listening, life without a covering, life without a container, is shapeless.'

They dived in without hesitation, Lila with a long cry of joy. They were happy, full of their own romance, they had the energy of those who successfully seize what they desire, no matter the cost.

... the beauty of things is a trick, the sky is the throne of fear; I'm alive, now, here, then steps from the water, and it is not at all beautiful, it's terrifying; along with this beach, the sea, the swarm of animal forms. I am part of the universal terror; at this moment I'm the infinitesimal particle through which the fear of every thing becomes conscious of itself.

It was as if she wanted to take the power away from even the realistic possibility of violent death by reducing it to words, to a form that could be controlled.

... it's not the neighbourhood that's sick, it's not Naples, it's the entire earth, it's the universe, or universes. And shrewdness means hiding and hiding from oneself the true state of things.

... every choice has its history, so many moments of our existence are shoved into a corner, waiting for an outlet, and in the end the outlet arrives.

The mind, ah yes, the evil is there; it's the mind's discontent that causes the body to get sick.

While men devote themselves to undertakings in space, life for women on this planet has yet to begin.

The new living flesh was replicating the old in a game, we were a chain of shadows who had always been on the stage with the same burden of love, hatred, desire, and violence.

How much I had lost by leaving, believing I was destined for who knows what life.

... we struggled to understand what a woman was. Our every move or thought or conversation or dream, once analysed in depth, seemed not to belong to us.

Eve can't, doesn't know how, doesn't have the material to be Eve outside of Adam. Her evil and her good are the evil and good according to Adam. Eve is Adam as a woman. And the divine work was so successful that she herself, in herself, doesn't know what she is, she has pliable features, she doesn't possess her own language, she doesn't have a spirit or a logic of her own, she loses her shape easily.

Oh God, how out of order everything was: they, I, the world around us: a truce was only possible by believing lies.

In what disorder we lived, how many fragments of ourselves were scattered, as if to live were to explode into splinters.

Should I remain this shadow -- my mother, all our female ancestors -- or should I let her go?

So what resurrection? It was only cosmetic, a powder of modernity applied randomly, and boastfully, to the corrupt face of the city. It happened like that every time. The scam of rebirth raised hope and then shattered them, became crusts upon ancient crusts.

Where is it written that lives should have meaning?

... evil took unpredictable pathways. You cover it over with churches, convents, books... and the evil breaks through the floor and emerges when you don't expect it.

Every intense relationship between human beings is full of traps, and if you want to endure you have to learn to avoid them.

... I want to leave nothing, my favourite key is the one that deletes.

I am still alive -- I thought -- and yet I can't feel any different from that big body lying lifeless in that sordid place, in that sordid way.

Unlike stories, real life, when it has passed, inclines towards obscurity, not clarity. I thought: now that Lila has let herself be seen so plainly, I must resign myself to not seeing her anymore.

#this series changed my life #elena ferrante #the neapolitan novels #my brilliant friend #the story of a new name #those who leave and those who stay #the story of the lost child #lila cerullo #elena greco #l'amica geniale #literature #literature quotes #books #book quotes #italian literature

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fakeagatha · 8 months ago

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Mrs Fletcher | Prof!Eve Fletcher x Fem!Reader

Chapter Three

A/N: For my own reasons, I got very inspired to continue writing for this series fic. I had already planned out the story, but I changed my mind a few days ago about how I want it to go, and what to include. Please let me know of any errors, and enjoy!

Words: 1055

TWs: Alcohol

Your mind was a complete blur as you woke up on the floor, your bed a mess. You knew Steve was with you, so you assume you must've sent him back to his dorm out of exhaustion.

You wondered why everything was fuzzy, until you noticed the bottles of wine on your desk. That explains it.

You have class, and your head was still hurting. Surprisingly, you didn't seem to be too hungover to the point you couldn't function, though you still can't miss out on your education that your parents are just barely affording. So, after finishing up in the bathroom, you took your things and left.

You smirked after realizing your first class was with Mrs Fletcher. Something inside you made you admit to yourself that in fact, maybe you do like her. It's a disaster of course, but can you control your feelings? Unfortunately not.

You entered her class and sat next to Steve, who also seemed to be in a bit of a state.

"When did you leave last night?" You mumbled.

He blinked, and simply shrugged, "I don't remember... Are you hungover?" He randomly added.

You grimaced in response "No, not really, I feel a bit tired, but I'm doing okay. You?"

"Same." He replied, scratching his head.

When your professor entered the room, you acted casual. Now that your feelings were confirmed to yourself, everything felt more real. Your eyes widened as she brought up the work that was due, but quickly relaxed after realizing you'd completed it a few days ago. You handed her your text book, and she smiled at you.

Eve's hand brushed yours as she took the book from you, and she blushed. She couldn't believe she felt this way about her student. She wasn't sure why, but you were different to her.

The conversation she had with Amanda the night before switched something on inside of her. She knew that she must remain professional, even though she was crushing on her student. It was very new to her, as this was the first time she had accepted any kind of feelings she had for anyone after Amanda, and Julian, literally being her son's old classmate.

Eve cleared her throat, holding her hands in front of her as she got everyone's attention.

"So, I have an exciting announcement to make..." She smiled softly to herself, "We've been approved for our yearly school trip to Europe!"

You gasped, your eyes shining slightly. You've been to Europe before, Germany specifically, but you've wanted to go again, you wanted to travel.

Eve took a breath, "We'll be going to Malta, and the cost is 400$, but that includes tax, as well as the sight-seeing and museum costs."

Everyone looked around at each other excitedly, already discussing their plans before Eve could even give them any more information. Eve lightly hit her desk with her palm to get everyone's attention again. "Can everyone who would consider attending raise their hand, so I can write their names down and let the principal know?"

In an instance, several hands went up, except for one or two students, who either weren't interested or were disappointed about the expensive cost.

You hesitated to raise your hand, since you weren't sure if you could cover the cost, though you did anyway, smiling when Steve did the same. Then, Eve interrupted your thoughts. "You might be wondering which professors will be joining you," Everyone went quiet to listen, "It will be me, of course, couldn't miss it," She chuckled, "Mr Rogers, Miss McDavies, and Miss Evanora." She bit her lip as a few students groaned at the last name.

You turned to your best friend, "Hey, a lot of teachers behave differently out of school, Evanora might not be that bad!" You whispered, and he shrugged, "I guess so, well, I hope so honestly. She's... quite the character." You both laughed quietly.

Then, after a few moments, you smirked to yourself. Eve is coming with you! You absolutely have to go now, you just can't miss this trip. Also, you've never been to Malta, and you haven't even traveled a lot before if anything.

Your parents were out of state, back in New York where you grew up. They both still work, and even though you don't usually like to ask for help, you figured that they both would be more than happy to help with the cost of your trip. You glanced back up at your professor as she spoke,

"Our flight is on..." She looked through a sheet of paper she was holding, "May 12th! So it's just less than three months from now." She nodded,

"Perfect! That gives both me and my parents plenty of time to gather the money!" You whispered to Steve, and he smiled "Yeah, same! We're gonna have an awesome time."

And you knew you would...

The rest of the day went by smoothly, to your surprise, and even some stricter professors were quite chill. After the day ended, you got the chance to call up your parents. Not only to ask for money, but also to check in on them, as you haven't spoken yet this week.

Both of them happily obliged, feeling happy for you and the opportunity to travel with your peers. You thanked them continuously, and after hanging up, you had to tell Steve that your parents agreed.

Y/N: Steve! My parents are helping me pay for Malta!

Steve: Just called mine... They said we can't afford it :(

Y/N: You're kidding, right?

You looked at your screen, watching the text bubbles reappear as he typed,

Steve: Lol yeah I am kidding. They're gonna pay half!

You rolled your eyes,

Y/N: You're an asshole, but I'm pleased we can both go.

You sighed, putting your phone down, and opening up your diary.

January 16th, 2019

Miss Fletcher just announced our annual school trip! I asked mom and dad for some financial help, and they agreed! Eve is coming with us, and that makes it all the more exciting! Miss Evanora is coming too, but me and Steve figured that she might be more laid back on our trip, unlike how she is in school. I already know, for my own reasons, that I'm going to have an unforgettable time in Malta.

#agatha harkness #kathryn hahn #eve fletcher x reader #eve fletcher #agatha harkness x reader #agatha x reader #mrs fletcher #fics

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ash-says · 7 months ago

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Handling curiosity so the cat doesn't get killed:

We all have been there at least once in our life where we allowed the curiosity to get the best of us and instantly regretted the decision. Being extremely mercurial in nature it comes naturally to me. To be curious on the continuous lookout to find something that will stimulate my brain or make it go crazy obsessive.

That's how I learned the harsh way that being a curious cat might sound cute but it can cost you your life or sanity. One of my dearest friends once said something along these lines,"Some truths are better left unknown. Truth and knowledge can turn into poison when consumed carelessly."

The reason why I am talking about this is because I hardly find people discussing it.

Yet mythology has so many great examples, Pandora opening the box, Eve eating the apple it wasn't just temptation it was also laced with curiosity of what might happen?

I am listing out a few things that you should avoid pursuing under sheer curiosity to save the poor cat in you:

1) A street fight. Two people are fighting. Let them. It's not your job to be the mediator and it's irrelevant to find the reason. Until and unless there's no aggression involved mind your own damn business.

2) Spiritual stuff especially dark ones. I believe energy is both light and dark in nature if you don't know the way to alchemize it better stay away.

3) Attempting things without any prior knowledge. Especially speaking about dangerous stuff here. If you love your life better do it under professional supervision.

4) Your partner's/crush feelings towards you. Girl if he likes you. You will know. Trust me. Been there. Done that. Constant microanalysis. It's tiring. Let him be.

5) Others life. Stalking and obsessing over how a particular person is living their day to day life is literally embarrassing. Get a life, Sushma!

6) Know the red zones in a conversation. If meeting in a professional setting try to avoid personal questions. Learn to sense a person's discomfort and never push someone to answer your questions that have literally nothing to do with you.

7) Celebrities personal life. Another waste of time.

8) Do not show your curiosity for sexual acts, things,etc in front of a man. It's the easiest way to put yourself in danger. You are the target babe. Congrats!!

9) When someone tells you knowing the truth will hurt you. Let it be a secret. Don't persuade that person to tell the truth. I strongly believe when you don't control the situation the truth automatically finds its way to you (conditions applied).

10) About the stuff people say behind your back. A full proof route towards people pleasing, anxiety, self doubt etc. Don't go out of your way searching for what's cooking. The cake might turn out to be burnt. Who knows.

That's all for today's show on ash-says. Stay tuned for more illegal tricks and explosive opinions.

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carolmunson · 2 years ago

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what're you doing new years?

(bigmoney!steve x f!thick!reader)

recommended reading: peanut butter vibe once bitten, twice shy recommended listening: what're you doing new years eve? by ella fitzgerald brought to you in part by carol's christmas song blitz, and readers like you.

cw: minors dni. 18+. drinking, smoking (cigarettes), casual dominance, references to cocaine, bathroom smut, p in v, fingering (f!receiving), literal IDIOTS in love, fake dating trope, discussions of class relations, gambling, mild daddy kink

a/n: we made it, folks! dividers by @newlips

December 31st, 1996 - NYC The apartment smelled like fresh paint and saw dust. Sprawling and sunsoaked, a lot of open space. You assumed all the apartments in Tribeca looked like this, gorgeous inside and out. Expensive and old money, beautiful brick outsides with stunning interiors. Windows with ornate arches that went from floor to ceiling with deep sills for books or antiques that cost more than your mom's life insurance.

"It's really nice," you say, stepping into the open concept livingroom - Barcelona chairs and a sleek black couch sit on a plush carpet. It looked like a show room. The heels of your leather boots click and echo on the redone hardwood. Boxes and boxes of his life in Indiana are stacked in the room against the wall, trailing all the way to a full chef's kitchen. New appliances gleam with the film still on them, untouched.

"You wanna see my room? It's almost fully done," he smiles. Steve offers his hand to you but you're hesitant. He falters when he catches the gears turning in your head and puts his hand in his pocket, leading you with a cock of his head to the left. "Down that hallway s'a guest room, laundry, full bath," he rattles off pointing down one hallway while he leads you down another, tapping on closed doors, "A couple other rooms I haven't figured out yet. Broker said they'd make great nurseries. I had to laugh." He's trying to joke with you, but you know it hurts him to say that. He's always offhandedly mentioned how much he wants to be a dad.

"And here's my room, master bath, full dressing room -- you know, sort of just like home," he smiles, clicking open the door and guiding you inside. It's set up very much like his old room in Indiana, big kingsize bed with triple fluffed pillows and hotel style linens. Crisp white this time, slight navy accents, light wood. It was bright and airy, the gauzy curtains fluttered gently against the central heating vent.

"Very you," you smile, "It's like you never left."

"Some things never change," he shrugs, opening the double doors to the dressing room, "Come see."

The room is a little smaller than his bedroom, which means it's still bigger than your apartment. The way his clothes are hung in the cubbies and his shoes are oragnized on the shelves can only be described as sterile.

"It's not done, obviously, but, we're getting somewhere," he smiles.

"Oh good, right now it's a little serial killer-y," you laugh, noticing that the other side of the room is completely empty, "Lot of vacancy here. Planning on getting a whole new wardrobe? Bored of the Saint Laurent you already have?"

He rolls his neck slowly to stretch it out, looking over at you and the vacant side of the dressing room with heavy lids through his specs. He lets out of a soft chuckle, "Nah, wanted to keep it empty so you can fit all your clothes in there, too."

You swallow. A tight smile freezes your face when he says it and you remember the conversation you had outside of his office building in Indiana the week before. His hurt features when you left him abandoned back in the lobby while he called another cab home. You came home in tears, your mom and sister consoling you and your tipsy dramatics. 'Never thought you'd be the heartbreaker, honey.'

You know she didn't mean it like that, but it still stung. Who were you to give up someone like Steve Harrington? Steve Harrington who, after he went home and cried in his shower and called his best friend about it, still wanted you to put your clothes in his closet. Still wanted to watch you wake up in the morning and rush to get ready for work. Still wanted you to come up behind him while he made you both coffee on Sunday mornings. Still wanted you take you out to dinner every Friday night so you could both sleep in on Saturday mornings.

"You got plans for tonight?" he asks when you don't reply to his half truth of a joke. You jolt out of your trance when he asks, looking over to see him cleaning his glasses with the cloth he always keeps in his back pocket. A gentle flush of pink has made itself to his cheeks and nose, your shoulders sulk a bit. You want to give into his little fantasy, but that's all it is. It's his little fantasy that doesn't need to be a reality, he'll have it with someone else -- anyone else.

You clear your throat, "Uh, yeah, actually. Um, the head of marketing, she always invites the department to her uncle's fancy New Year's Eve party so I finally made the cut. Some ridiculous theme this year -- casino or something? Just so they can all throw their money around." Steve starts to laugh, tutting while he puts his glasses back on, hands on his hips. "What's so funny?" you ask, arms crossing against your chest.

"The party's in midtown, right? At the Plaza?" he asks, matching your posture.

"Technically it's more midtown east, but yes," you reply with more attitude than you were expecting. You don't like hearing him talk like he knows his way around New York when he's been here all of ten seconds. "Yeah, your department head's uncle is Carl. CEO of Slate Insurance, s'my boss. Why do you think I came out here a little early?" he smirks. Fuck.

"Don't look so disappointed," he says, walking towards you slowly, dropping his hands to meet your hips, "You wanna just go together?"

You step out of his hold and catch his shoulders drop in his sweater, a pang of guilt drives through your chest at his disappointment, "I can get there myself, it's no problem."

"I mean, it's not the kind of party you roll up to in a cab," he says matter of factly, like it's obvious, "You have to like, make an entrance."

"I wasn't going to take a cab," you glower. A rejected Steve was sometimes not a very kind Steve, all showboating and no substance -- he just wanted to be a jerk. "What were you planning to take?" he asks, brows raised over his frames in faux curiosity, "The subway?" "Better than showing up in that tacky green Porsche," you retort, cheeks burning at his meanhearted teasing. He grins and shakes his head. "I left the Porsche with my dad. I'll probably take the new Benz," he shrugs, cocking his head while he looks at you, "Well -- my driver'll take the new Benz, but you know what I mean." Your face sours, he was reaching the border of ugly cockiness. "Looks like you’re not into a Mercedes," he frowns, a faux apologetic look washing over his face, "You wanna ride in the Bentley instead?"

"You sound like such an asshole," you confess, walking out of the dressing room and back into his bedroom. "What? I can’t congratulate myself for getting a new job?" he bites back, following you, “I’m just tryna catch up to what my life is gonna look like here, Nat.”

“Not all of us have that life, Steve.”

He softens while looking at your back, he reaches out to rest a hand on your shoulder to turn you around, “M’not trying to be an asshole, I’m sorry.”

“S’okay,” you shrug, “I just—you know you can still be 'Hawkins Steve', Harrington. You don't have to be like these Wall Street guys.”

“I know,” he nods, both hands meeting your shoulders, “You wanna come with me tonight? Be my date? Carl’s sort of a traditional guy, it’ll be nice to make him think I’m some family man with a girl at home waiting for me.”

"Steve," you started, "We talked about this. This is your Christmas Party all over again." His eyes cast downward for a moment as the evening replays in his head at record speed. The day you left him, the day he realized he planned your whole future in his head but you didn't want that.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn--" you start before he comes back to himself in time to interrupt.

"You can be my fake date," he nearly whines, lips pouting.

"I dunno," you shrug, his hands slide from your shoulders to the dip of your waist.

"You don't want me spoiling you all night? C'mon. I gotta show off to these assholes," he asks, voice warm and soothing. His cologne ghosts your nose and your knees get weak, "And you're a great way to start showing off."

Your heart thrums when he speaks, it's so frustrating to be around someone so handsome, "Don't be stupid, Harrington."

"It's not stupid, Manhattan. It'll be fun, we're just playing pretend," he takes a step closer to you and you can see his stubble, the plushness of his lips.

You consider it, he fights off a smile because he knows you're about to say yes. Steve Harrington always gets what he wants. Steve Harrington always gets the girl.

"Just playing pretend, huh?" you challenge.

"Just playing pretend," he smiles, wrapping you in a gentle hug -- friendly, chaste, sweet, "I'll pick you up at seven."

The hug is soft -- but you can feel his heart beating hard against his chest.

Bbbrrrriiiinggg!

You run to your front door, pressing and holding the button on the intercom to buzz him in. You click the lock before escaping back into the bathroom to finish your face, makeup bag torn open in your sink. As you finish your lipstick you hear a soft knock echo down the hall.

"It's open!" you call, and the loud squeak of your front door screeches through your apartment.

"Y'know this could really use some WD-40," Steve says while he shuts the door behind him, "Do you have some? I can --"

You peek around the door frame, patting your lipstick into your lips with your finger. His eyes glint behind his glasses.

"Hey," he smiles, brushing some of the snow off of his coat.

"Hey," you smile back.

"You look pretty."

"So do you," you tease before escaping back into the mirror. He meets you at the frame of the bathroom door, leaning against it with his arms crossed.

"Should I start telling you I'm picking you up earlier so you'll be ready on time?" he asks, dipping his glasses down his nose to peer at you over the rims, "Or are you wearing pajamas?"

You roll your eyes mid-mascara application, throwing everything back in the bag when you finish, "I just have to put my dress on and then we can go, I promise."

You hurry to your bedroom, only mere steps away, pulling your dress out of it's bag hanging on your closet door, "Give me five minutes!"

You shut your door in his face, slipping the navy satin over your head. It wasn't anything too special -- vintage cut fit and flare. The curves of your body made it look more expensive than it was. Your tailor did wonders on it after you snagged it from a sad looking rack of sale dresses at Saks. You pulled on a pair of nude, gloss finish stockings -- silicone on the bands snapping around your thighs with a loud smack, before slipping on a pair of heels.

While grabbing a small purse to keep your effects in, you open the door to reveal Steve resting against the wall of the hallway. He looks inside, giving it a once over with one turn of his head.

"This is uh...cozy," he says, his smile is unethusiastic.

"Fuck off, Harrington," you groan, spritzing your ever declining bottle of Angel by Mugler across your chest and wrists.

"Let me look at you, hm?" he asks, stepping all the way into the room. You turn toward him, skirt of your dress swaying with the turn of your hips. His eyes unfocus for a moment, you hold back a chuckle -- men are so easy.

“So let me wrap my head around this real quick,” he puffs his chest a bit while he walks toward you. You giggle while walking backward, tripping on your heels, “You were gonna go to this party alone —”

“Wearing this?” he asks, catching you by the waist to steady you. He lets a finger drag from the halter strap of your dress, following the curves of your body downward, “That’s just not fair, Manhattan.”

“You’re Manhattan now, too, Steve,” you correct. His light touch sends a shiver through you and he lets out a satisfied hum. He smells like spice and evergreen, your mouth runs dry when his eyes linger on you for a little too long.

"C'mon, can't let Vinny wait too long for me down there. You're makin' me look bad," he says gently, taking you by the hand to your front door. He pulls your camel coat off the hook and holds it open for you, gliding it onto your arms with the finesse of a man who knows exactly how to treat a woman. Betrayal is the only emotion running through your chest as your body warms up against his touch.

Naturally, the Bently is the nicest car you've ever fucking seen.

He was right, you couldn't have shown up in a cab. There were paps everywhere and you couldn't understand why. It's not like there was any famous people here, just people with a shit ton of money. Were they famous by proxy? Would this show up on Page Six? If your networth had seven zeros, did you get welcomed into a hall of fame or something? Did everyone want to read about your life?

You squinted into the flashes of people taking pictures, Steve's hand immediately lacing with yours as you walked towards the entrance of the hotel.

"Careful, careful," he says, while you inch up the short icy stairway. Your heels clicking on the stone as you reach the doors, "Go slow."

"I'm okay, Steve," you assure, he looks back at you with doting eyes when you get inside.

"Just don't want you to hurt yourself, baby," he softly scolds before locking eyes with an usher for the party.

Oh, we're starting this now, you think to yourself. He walks with his hand still laced with yours while the usher leads you both to the Grand Ballroom, framed signs letting patrons know that the casino is in the Terrace Room down stairs. You immediately feel too broke to be here.

"Let me get your coat."

He undoes the button at your waist, smoothing your coat over your shoulders before removing his own. He checks them both and your eyes widen at the amount of cash you see in his wallet as he goes to pay. Gulping hard while he fingers through the bills -- hundred after hundred gleaming back at you.

He turns when he's done, running a hand through is hair, and gives you a very Harrington smile, "You ready?"

Your words catch in your throat while you look at him. His suit is perfectly tailored, the shirt patterned, but silk and neatly pressed. His leather banded watch sits perched on his wrist -- you can tell it's new. His pants hugged his thighs, streamlined in a straight line down to his ankles -- shoes freshly shined. Being handsome like this had to be a crime in some counties, there was no way he was just allowed to look like this and be rich.

"You ready, baby?" he asks again, offering his hand, "Come on."

Something about being called baby by him feels so natural. Like you forgot your own name and that's the only one that could get your attention. Baby, angel, princess, honey. You'd look up immediately and search for him at the sound of his voice. You'd know he meant you.

But he's not your boyfriend. This is just pretend. This is not what you want.

When the doors open, you can't breathe. The ballroom is completely transformed in gold and silver. The lights and chandeliers catch the decorations in a show of shimmer. Like the whole room was waiting to start glittering until you got there.

"Holy shit," you whisper.

"Yeah we're definitely not in Indiana anymore," he mutters to you. You feel his hold tighten on your hand in a show of something you hardly see from Steve. He's nervous.

You look up at him, eyes riding up from his jaw, cheek bone, to his eyes behind his glasses. His gaze roves over the party and he licks his lips, brow quirking before he makes a decision.

"You okay?" you ask, he looks down at you with a soft look in his eyes.

"I'm perfect," he says with a nod. The room is sprawling with tables and he's able to finesse a way to get you both to sit together even though the seating chart had you woefully distanced. It doesn't surprise you how easily he's able to assimilate to making things work for him here. You see his performance again and again: with the waiters, with how he orders drinks, how he checks his watch, how he smiles at people walking by.

You're both at the bar when you see it in full force, his arm protectively around your waist, thumb grazing the smooth fabric to keep him grounded.

"Steven?"

You both look over, an old man with a thick, white walrus mustache in a stunning black suit comes close to approach you. His wedding band is a shining platinum to match the watch on his wrist -- sapphires sit in the face of the metal backing. You wonder briefly how much it costs.

"Oh, Carl!" Steve beams, letting go of your waist for a moment to shake the man's hand, "How are you? Beautiful event -- really stunning."

"Thanks, thank you, but you ought to tell that to my wife. She's the one who plans these things, I just foot the bill," he laughs. His light eyes linger on you and you flush.

"And who's this? She looks like she just walk right out of Old Hollywood."

You introduce yourself, hand reaching out to shake his but he takes it to his lips to press a kiss to your hand. If he wasn't Steve's boss you wouldn't have smiled at the gesture -- but ah well.

"This is my girl, Carl. The one I was telling you about," Steve says with a blush.

"Just your girl?" he asks, eyes noting to your empty ring finger, "Hope she's your fiancé soon, Harrington."

"Sooner than she thinks. I promise, sir," they both laugh. Steve's hand returns to your waist and it feels like a leash. They talk for a moment, Steve passing you a drink while he does. It's business and you don't care, the drink is liquor forward and your face sours at the first sip.

"Sorry baby, that's whiskey. That's mine," he switches your drinks seamlessly while still in conversation. "We're just so happy to have you, Harrington -- my son Chuck, he's y'know, he's got no fuckin' clue what he's doin'. I blame myself, me and Muffy let him do whatever he wanted," Carl complains, "So I think havin' someone who just gets the business will be really helpful. I know you'll start guiding him in the right direction."

"I mean Carl, I was the same when I was twenty-six, he'll get there," it was like Steve had known him his whole life. He keeps his hands on you while the talk continues, two more men joining in. C-Suites. Big money. Important people. You're just a piece of art hanging on his arm.

You need to get the fuck out of here.

As if the heavens heard your plea, a call of your name takes you out of your bored trance.

"Over here!"

You sigh with relief at the sight of your coworker, also head to toe in shimmering Saks ready to wear in a sea of authentic Dior and Chanel.

"S'cuse me," you say gently, tugging out of Steve's grasp. He looks down at you a little sternly, you frown.

"Excuse me, I'm so sorry. A friend of mine is looking for me, it was great to meet you all," you smile at the group of men, stepping away delicately on your heels until they aren't paying attention. As they continue talking your run on the balls of your feet into your friend's arms.

"Rob, oh my god, what the fuck are we doing here?" you laugh. Robin Buckley looks like a million bucks, but you know she only makes $49k a year because you do, too.

"We do not belong here," she laughs with you, "Do you wanna go lose some money with me downstairs?"

"Yes, yes, one hundred percent," you not, "Get me away from these stiffs."

"So that's Steve?" Robin asks, passing you a glass of champagne while you finish the last sip of the margarita Steve got you a little earlier.

"That's Steve," you murmur, immediately letting the bubbles slide past your lips.

"He's really something," she grins, "You're complaining about being smothered by that?"

"Stop Rob, you don't even like guys," you tease, nudging her knee with the tip of your heeled toe.

"I don't have to like guys to know when a guy is hot," Rob says through a sip of her drink, "And he's fucking hot. Like, Tom Cruise hot. Top Gun hot."

"Oh, stop."

"Jerry Maguire hot -- and like, super fucking rich, obviously. That's a Prada suit. Are you kidding? Talk about 'show me the money,' he's showing you, babe."

"Yeah, but like," you frown a little, "You know how all the guys in finance always talk about how much they hate their wives? And all their wives are Tribeca moms who keep going on retreats to 'work on themselves' after they get cheated on?"

"Of course, that's like, the Tribeca mom rite of passage," she agrees, crossing her thin legs, her sequin dress shimmered in the low, warm, light.

"So, Steve just moved to Tribeca -- it's like...like I'm staring my future right in the face," you exclaim, another sip meeting your lips, "And it's not like I look like any of those women either. I'll be going on my first retreat in three months tops."

"Okay, well one, you have no idea what you're talking about," Robin shakes her head, "You're a smokeshow."

"And two, isn't Steve from Kansas or something?"

"Indiana."

"Same thing," she waves you off, "Steve's from Arkansas. He doesn't have the same mindset as the guys who came here when they were teenagers to jerk off at frat parties at NYU."

"They'll get to him," you shake your head, looking at her with a knowing glance, "They always do."

You both make your way over to the slot machines, weaving through crowds at roulette and craps tables, snaking by chairs sat at poker games. The piles of chips make you sweat. There was a lot of money down here.

"This is all I can handle, cards are so boring," Robin sits down on the plush leather of the seat across from the machine while you take the one next to her. You both play a few rounds in silence before she looks over at you again.

"Do you know what I think?" she asks, champagne glass empty in her hand.

"What do you think, Buckley?" you ask, finishing the last sip of yours.

"I think Andy fucked you up a little and you can't believe someone like Steve wants to be with you, so you're pushing him away," she says with a shrug, "You're trying to hurt him before he can hurt you."

"You sound ridiculous."

"I sound ridiculous or I sound right on the money?" she asks, pulling the lever on the machine. It runs and stops, she doesn't win.

"Sounds like you're not on the money at all," you shrug.

"Shut up," she laughs, "I'm just saying, I think you're really convinced he's settling when I think it's pretty clear he likes you a lot."

"You don't even know him!" you exclaim, running the machine over again.

"Looks like I might get to know him," she smirks. You turn toward the entrance and there he is, frowning while peering through the room. He's squinting behind his glasses trying to find you in the low light, hands in his pockets. For a moment you think about letting him not find you, maybe he'd pick someone else up at the party. Hell, women were gawking at him from the moment he walked in -- he had plenty to pick from.

But the desperation on his face made your heart ache -- this really was your world. Maybe he really did need you to help show him around.

Against your own judgement, you wave, hoping he'd catch you in the sea of people. You don't have to wait long to see his smile when he catches you, waving back and disappearing in the crowd.

"Hey, there you are," he breathes with a small jog towards you, "Thought I lost you."

"No, no, just out here draining my Christmas bonus," you laugh, tugging on the lever again. Robin looks over and smirks at you when he rests his hand on the back of your neck under your hair, thumb grazing the skin under the hinge of your jaw.

"This is Robin, she's my friend from work," pointing your thumb at her. Always the business man, he leans over you to shake her hand.

"Steve -- nice to meet you," he grins.

"Oh, I know who you are," she teases. You shoot her a look, but it falters. The way his hand leaves your neck to stroke over your head, gently enough to not ruin your hair, makes you melt. It had to be the booze. The haze of cigarette smoke making you woozy.

The lights of the machine infront of you flash wildly, the music sounding, screen glowing - WINNER! JACKPOT! WINNER!

"Oh, fuck yes!" you cheer while the chips fall into into the opening at the bottom.

"Come on!" Robin huffs, "I've put in at least twenty more dollars than you have."

"Didn't pick the lucky machine, Rob," you joke, collecting the chips in a stack in your hand. "How much did you win?" he asks, trying to count them while you clumsily try to keep them together.

"I think just a hundred bucks, so -- eighty dollar profit!"

"Ugh don't say profit, we're at a party," Robin groans, pulling the lever down on her machine hastily.

"Let me take those," Steve says, collecting the chips and putting them in his suit pocket, "I have to go get some anyway."

He pulls out his wallet, thumbing through bills and plucks an $100 out. He folds it, handing it to you, "Now you don't have to cash them."

"Steve..." you scold softly. He takes your hand and presses the bill into it, closing your fingers over the paper. He smiles, thumbing through his wallet again while you put the money in your purse. He plucks out another bill and holds it out in front of Robin. Her mouth hangs open at the gesture.

"Steve!" you raise your voice but he thinks the reproachful look on your face is just too cute.

"Sorry Rob, I think he's drunk," you apologize, embarrassed beyond measure.

"What? I think she deserves a consolation prize," he smiles. Robin plucks the bill from his fingers, putting it in her wristlet.

"I think he should be drunk around me way more often if this is how he acts," she rasps. Steve throws her a wink, arm snaking around you once you get up from the slot machine stool.

"S'it okay if I steal her from you?" he asks. You swallow thickly, both hating and loving how he pulls you around this party like you're his property.

"Steal her, take her home, take her kidneys, I don't care," she laughs, "Do whatever you want, consider me paid off."

"I'll see you later, Rob!" you smile, reaching out and squeezing her hand. As Steve turns around with you, you look back at her. She gives you an exasperated look -- 'What the fuck is wrong with you? He's great.'

He is great. That's what makes it so hard.

He leads you over to the chip exchange, fingers grazing your back while he lets go of your waist. His hand sneaks into suit jacket where he pulls out a wad of cash secured by a shining gold money clip.

"Can I get four grand in hundreds?" he asks.

"Steve that's -- stop," you huff, "Who're you trying to impress?"

"Impress?" he scoffs, "The buy in for blackjack is five hundred dollars, baby. This is just fuck around money."

"Here," he says, plucking a glass of champagne off of a waiter's tray as he offers them. Steve passes it to you, "Have a drink, stop pouting. It's a holiday."

You sip it bitterly while you wait and he sighs at you, pressing a kiss to your forehead before reaching back into his jacket pocket. He pulls out a cigarette and a silver lighter, embers glowing while he inhales, lighter escaping back to its hiding place.

"Hey," he says, blowing the smoke out away from you, "Wanna smile for me?"

You smile, it's fake and exaggerated, he laughs into his next drag, "I'll take it."

The attendant passes Steve a rack of chips, neatly rowed but as he's about to take them his name is called. Yet another group of stiffs asking for his attention.

"Will you hold this for me, honey? Thank you," he asks softly, passing you the rack. You nod while you take it, desperately hoping this conversation goes quicker than the last one. He introduces you like you brought you on a leash and they all shake your hand like you're a show pony that got gussied up to leave the stable. You're not a person, just an accessory -- and you know they're surprised at his choice, but he doesn't need the extra social currency.

You keep sipping your champagne and shutting up, but your ears perk up when you hear him mention you, "You know she just put together this wild campaign for their lipstick line with the creative team, she might as well have produced it. And now their quarterly has that lipstick up fourteen percent and growing. And here we are with just -- what? Claims? How do we even market that? She swears what she does is boring."

You blush at his praise. So he does listen when you complain about work.

The conversation changes and you're bored again, eyes surveying the crowd of long elegant women and handsome stuffy men. Cheers roaring from tables, the sounds from the slot machines, it seemed less overwhelming with a few drinks in you. You guessed upstairs was for the boring people.

"Have you ever even seen four grand before?" you hear sneering your way. You look up and there he is -- the heartbreaker whose heart you barely broke by breaking up with him. The boy who hardly cared.

“Andy?” you ask, brows pulling inward in disgusted shock, “What’re you doing here?”

Andy had gotten a new attitude after he got a new job, suddenly too good for you and your old group of friends. Suddenly telling everyone he broke up with you. Telling everyone he shouldn't settle for less. The glasses of champagne you’ve had finally meet your brain, making you woozy and nervous. The glittering decorations on the ceilings marry the lights and cross over your vision. Andy sparkles in front of you, his friends faded out behind him. A scene in slow motion.

You feel Steve’s hand on your waist, giving you little squeezes so you don’t feel like he’s ignoring you while he talks to his new colleagues about stocks and sales. Boring metrics that you’d care about if it mattered.

“I was invited. Perks of Chuck being my boss,” he gives you a smarmy smile, knowing you’re only here by proxy. Not because you’re important, not in the same way that—

“Whose this asshole?” Andy scoffed, giving Steve a once over. You hear Steve’s pleasant, ‘Sorry fellas, if you’d excuse me…’ to his group as he turns toward Andy and his friends. He flashes a charming Harrington smile.

“Andy! Nice to see you again, man,” he raises his champagne flute toward him cheerily. Andy looks at Steve with a furrowed brow, confused but sly.

“Sorry, guy. Not sure we’ve met,” he laughs — covered in new money sleaziness, his friends laugh with him, “Nat must’ve told you all about me, I guess.”

You feel Steve’s posture change — confident and cocky. His head tilts the way it does when you know he’s about to say something mean. Your body heats up when he places his empty glass on the platter of a near by server, putting the free hand in his pocket.

“We met in Indiana,” he corrects, confidence unfaltering, “You don’t remember?”

“Indiana?” Andy scoffs again. Your face twists into something Steve doesn’t like, a mix of annoyed and embarrassed.

“Well, since you’re at a loss let me reintroduce myself,” he smirks. He puts his hand out shake your ex’s, Andy loosely shakes it back.

“Name’s Steve,” he introduces himself with a warm genuine quality that people learn from years of sales work, clapping his other hand over Andy’s, “Steve Harrington. I’m Natalie’s boyfriend.”

He says it so casually that you immediately flush, it sounds too natural.

“Oh,” Andy says, surprised. He gives you a once over, offering you a pathetic glace, “You're dating her? You're her boyfriend?”

“Her boyfriend,” he lilts, taking his hand away. He slinks an arm back around your waist, tucking his shoulder behind yours, “And sorry, couldn't help but over hearing -- You said Chuck’s your boss? Chuck at Slate Insurance?”

“Yeah, and?” Andy asked, annoyed. Steve let out a gentle chuckle, the kind that sounds rich. The kind that sounds like a trust fund with seven figures.

“Oh, that’s—hoo!— that’s funny,” he teases, but it comes out cool and uncaring. He bites his lip to keep from laughing more, giving Andy a judgmental once over.

“What’s so funny about it?” he asks, arms crossing in a huff causing his cheap suit to crease.

“Oh, it’s uh, it’s funny because I’m Chuck’s boss,” he gestures toward him before tucking his hand back in his pocket, “So I guess I’ll see ya Monday, champ.”

Andy chokes on his sip of champagne, you bite back a mean giggle that bubbles in the seat of your chest.

“Now, hate to be rude but, my woman and I are gonna head over to the roulette table,” Steve starts, beginning to move you over to the next room with him, “Unless — you know, unless you’d care to join us. You feelin’ lucky?”

Andy’s face has gone red, eyebrows sloped down, a prominent wrinkle forming on his forehead. His friends look into their drinks, coughing and shifting awkwardly while they watch the exchange.

“No?” Steve asks, a slight taunt to his voice. Andy shakes his head no, “Ah well, suit yourself, I guess. Say bye, angel.”

Steve nudges you with his shoulder and you burn under the instruction, lifting your gaze to Andy who looks like he could maul Steve at any second, “Bye, Andy,” you mutter, your voice trailing higher than normal.

“See you around, man. Next time I catch ya, I'll give you the number to my tailor,” Steve's eyes linger on the hem of Andy's trousers -- sloppy and too long for him. He let's out a soft 'hm' before meeting Andy's gaze and shooting him a wink with a steely grin. Steve leads you out of the chip exchange by the small of your back, passing you another glass of champagne.

“Drink that before you say whatever smart thing you wanna say,” he says, hand dropping from your back to clasp with yours while he leads you through the throngs of people to the roulette table.

“I wasn’t gonna say anything,” you lie.

“Pfft, okay,” he shakes his head in front of you, but you don’t need to see him to know that he’s rolling his eyes. You arrive at the edge of the table, oak wood bumping into your hip.

“I’m not much of a gambler,” you confess, taking your places around the table closer to the wheel. He kisses your cheek before taking your chin between his fingers gently.

“You thought I’d have you dropping your own cash here? That’s cute,” he teases with his voice low enough so the other players couldn't hear, “Daddy’s gonna gamble, baby. You’re just gonna watch.”

“Steve,” you blush, “Don’t say that.”

“I don't know,” he shrugs coolly while placing his chips, turning back to you when he's done, "I think you like when I say that."

He wins big at roulette, of course he does. He's Steve Harrington.

Now he has you nestled on his lap while he plays black jack, your hips and thighs spilling over the leg you're perched on. Everyone's drunk so no one cares that you're not supposed to do that, as long as your hands are in view of the dealer. It's not a real casino anyway.

His breath hits that spot between your neck and shoulder that makes you squirmy, hips rolling achingly slow on his thigh when he does it. You have half a mind to think he's doing it on purpose.

"Watch yourself, angel," he mumurs, placing a hand firmly on your hip to steady you, "Don't want you to fall."

You watch him play, him and his colleagues, some men he doesn't know -- they're betting real big. Big enough that you had the pleasure of holding two more racks of chips for him while the other two were stacked on the table in front of you.

The three other men have either had too many or are sitting between 12 and 16 in their cards. He has fourteen in front of him, a jack, a three of hearts, and an ace. You watch him tap the table to hit and then double down, you gulp. A fourteen thousand dollar bet, and it's just chump change to most of the guys down here.

The dealer hits, a seven of clubs slapping down on the table. "Blackjack."

He smirks and the table claps while the dealer expertly slides over $35,000 in chips which you load dutifully onto the empty racks on the table next to you.

"Really got lady luck on your side tonight, huh Harrington?" the older man next to him asks. You feel Steve's hand clap your thigh.

"Actually, she's on my lap," he smiles and you flush at his teasing, listening to them talk while the dealer shuffles for the next round. His hand slides over your thigh and he talks to the guys at the table like he's not driving you insane when he toys when the hem of your dress.

"Can I get anyone a drink?" a waitress asks the table. You turn to Steve while the men start to order, some glasses of wine, some full bottles of liquor.

"Get whatever you want, honey," he says, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. The waitress looks to you expectantly and you smile. It's probably the first non-horny smile she's gotten all night.

"Can I get a bottle of Dom for the table, please?" you ask, "The earliest vintage you have."

You were pushing your luck -- but you were at a blackjack table. He squeezes your thigh and you squeal under his touch while the dealer starts the game.

"Didn't know my girl was so greedy," he teases in your ear. Your lip quirks.

"M'not really your girl, Stevie," you whisper back.

"No?" he murmurs back to you, hand skimming your dress up the side of your thigh, "Spending my money like you are."

You blush hard, he loves how easy it is to fluster you once you've had a few. Still lucid, less tightly wound. He liked when you loosened up for him, when you relaxed into his touch with all these people around.

The Dom comes and the waitress starts pouring glasses, Steve gets the bill and shoots you a look when you go to peer over the leather.

"Don't be rude, baby," he tuts, tilting it away from you. There were way too many numbers in the total for a bottle of champagne.

"Sorry, Steve," you mumble while he passes the waitress his credit card with the bill. The champagne is dry and heavenly and your smile when you take the first sip makes all the money he paid worth it.

"You like it?" he asks, attention going back to the game.

"Mhmm," you nod into your next sip.

"Good," he smiles, "Have another bottle at home we can break into later."

Home. Oh. He wants you to go home with him. Was that the plan? Were you following through with the fake date thing the whole time? All night?

"Hm," is all you reply. He keeps winning big -- but you're really the only thing he's betting on.

It's starting to get a little late and the party is picking up. All the screens in the casino have Dick Clark on, the big party on the other side of town is ramped up to eleven.

Steve holds your hand at the chip exchange, the manager and two security guards stand by while they stack bundles of cash for Steve. You know the short set of bands is more money than you've ever seen in your life, it almost makes you nervous.

"This isn't gonna fit in my money clip, angel, can I borrow your purse?" he asks sweetly. Your purse isn't huge, but it can fit the money in it.

"Uh, um, yeah," you say, you mouth running dry while he puts at least forty grand in your bag.

"Thank you, baby," he smiles, the booze affecting his grin. You let him lead, taking you out of the casino and back upstairs to the ball room. There are people everywhere, but more importantly, there is food.

You both don't even think about it, manuevering to the buffet in silence, giggling while you load up plates with obscure hors d'oeuvres and different types of bread and dessert. You sit at the table, barely talking while you eat, but stealing glances at each other.

"I think this is octopus, try it for me and tell me," he says, holding out a small sauteed tentacle on a cracker with avocado.

"I'm not trying it for you!" you laugh, "Try it for yourself. Don't be such a wimp."

"C'mon, just try it for me, tell me if it's good," he smiles, leaning his chin on his other hand to watch you. He pushes the cracker further towards your mouth and you give in, lettling him pop the bite sized morsel into your tongue. His fingertips brush your lips and he swallows, adams apple bobbing slowly against his collar.

"Definitely octopus," you nod.

"You're so brave," he says dreamily, fingertip booping against your nose.

"Okay weirdos, enough with your fake date, let's go dance," Robin's voice booms from a couple tables over while she walks towards you. She grabs both of your hands to lead you to the crowded dance floor. The live band plays fast jazz and the three of you make up what you can to it. Robin really taking the prize for most creative dance moves.

"Is she okay?" Steve asks, giving you a little spin. You look at her and back at him, nodding.

"Yeah, she'll sleep good tonight," you let him lead, arm wrapped around your waist. The music slows and he hums to himself, pulling you closer.

"This is nice," his voice is warm and low, "This is what I wanted all night."

"To dance with me?" you ask softly. He nods, a bashful smile curling up his lips, glasses slipping a little down the slope of his nose. You push them up gently, putting your arms back around his neck.

"I really like dancing with you," he whispers, noses close to brushing each other.

"Thanks."

His bashful smile turns to a tight one, "Look, I'm sorry about the fiance and boyfriend stuff with Carl and Andy. That was outta line, I shouldn't have said all that shit."

"It's okay," you assure, but he's not done talking.

"I'm sorry if I've been laying it on too thick all night," he says apologetically, "Got too committed to the part, I guess."

"S'fine Steve," you say, looking up at him, "It's just pretend."

Hurt flashes in his eyes, brows softening when you say it.

"Yeah...it's just pretend," he mutters. He loosens his hold on your waist and you can tell he's embarrassed. You can feel his hands become clammy over the fabric of your dress, skidding against the satin while they move.

A woman gets to the center of the stage, a beautiful 40s gown clinging tight to her curves while she grips the microphone. The opening words of Ella Fitzgerald's, 'What're you Doing New Years Eve' , starts with the band.

"Aw, you don't hear this song a lot," you smile, "My dad loved this song."

"Yeah?" he asks. He takes a deep breath, looking at the other couples getting close, nuzzling, kissing. Diamond rings dazzling in the light, wedding bands glinting in his eyes.

"C'mere," he says, reinvigorated to keep up the charade. His arm snakes all the way around you, chest to chest, his other hand holding yours. He rests his forehead against yours, moving slow with you to the music, the instrumental lulling you both into the fantasy you both created.

Steve had such a way of making it feel like it was just the both of you.

'Maybe it's much too early in the game, Ah, but I thought I'd ask you just the same, What are you doing New Year's, New Year's eve?'

"It's a pretty song," he says.

"Yeah," you agree, lost in how he looks at you.

'Maybe I'm crazy to suppose, I'd ever be the one you chose, Out of the thousand invitations you received.'

You rest your head on his chest while the horns solo, the hand on your waist trailing up to brush your hair and cup your face.

"Hey, look at me," his voice is quiet, "Wanna see your pretty face, Manhattan."

"I look tired," you complain, looking back up at him with a scrunch of your nose. His thumb slides over your cheek bone.

"You look perfect," he confesses.

'Ah, but in case I stand one little chance, Here comes the jackpot question in advance, What are you doing New Year's, New Year's Eve?'

"Hey Nat," he starts.

"Mhm?"

"What if it --" he lets out a breath through his nose, "What if it wasn't pretend?"

"What?"

10!

"What if we didn't have to pretend?" he asks, "What if we just...what if we just were each other's real dates? Cause like --"

"Steve, come on."

"You can't pretend like this doesn't feel right," he pleads, "Like this doesn't feel real."

"Steven, I told you this morning--"

"Baby, I haven't stopped thinking about you since you left me at the office," he confesses, "Thinking about how to change your mind. I want you so bad, Nat. You have no fucking idea."

"I'm just the only person to tell you no," you assure, "That's the only reason you want me."

"No, I promise that's not it," he urges, both of his hands cupping your cheeks while he talks. The cheering getting louder around you at the clock ticks closer to midnight.

"You're not gonna want this after a month of you being here. Look at everyone around you Steve -- I don't fit in here," you say, "Don't you want a trophy wife? Someone who everyone gawks over?"

"Have you seen yourself?" he asks, eyes wild, "Had to walk behind you all night so all these guys would stop staring at you."

"Steve you're just...settling," you finally say it and it feels like a weight has floated off your chest, "This was the opposite of what you came to New York for."

"Settling? Are you stupid?"

"You wanted to do something new and exciting," you counter.

"You are new and exciting," he can't believe the words coming out of your mouth, "You are why I wanted to be here. I wanted to do something new with you."

"I've been sitting in Hawkins for the last five years thinking about how much fun you're having out here. Thinkin' about how much fun we could have together -- haven't stopped fucking thinking about you since the night I met you in Porter's."

"You're just saying that," you argue, lump growing in your throat, "You're just drunk."

"I'm not just saying that, please just listen to me" he pleads, "Fuck Nat, I --"

"I love you."

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

Silver and gold metallic confetti pours from the ceiling, your breath hitches while it glitters on it's way down.

"I love you so much, it hurts," he confesses, eyes shining behind his frames, "I just -- I think I loved you the whole time."

Your mouth falls open against his hold on your cheeks.

"You don't have to say it back, I--"

You stop his sentence with your lips against his. The kiss he wanted to give you all night. It feels like an old movie kiss with with way his arms wrap tight around your back and waist and your hands meet his face.

He breaks away from you for a moment, locking his eyes with yours.

"I really mean it," he murmurs, "I love you."

"I --," his eyes linger on yours, your cheeks heat up, "Steve."

"Yeah?"

"I love you, too."

He knew it. God, he fucking knew it.

The lock clicks and he checks it once, twice, three times before caging you in against the wall. There weren't any families here so it's not like anyone was looking to use the bathroom with a changing table. Everyone was using the lounge bathroom for coke anyway.

"Fuck, you're so pretty," he gasped into your mouth, "You're so fucking pretty."

"Thanks," you breath against his kiss. His lips trail from your mouth down your jaw, lips sliding down your neck to your chest. His tongue is warm and wet on your skin and you sigh up to the ceiling at the feel of it.

He manhandles you at the sound, arms overtaking you to shove the complimentary products on the sink's counter and throw you onto it. You look at him with swollen lips from his kiss, eyes begging. He grabs your hand to press it firmly up against his erection, staring down at you down the slope of his nose, “That’s how you got me all night, lookin' at me like that. Wearin' this dress -- what's wrong with you, hm?”

"S'wrong with me?" you slur, dragging your hand back over his cock without his guidance, "S'wrong with you? This suit fitting you so nice, that stupid fancy watch?"

"Stupid? My Patek?" he laughs, "It was nine grand, don't call it stupid."

"You're disgusting," you spit, but it doesn't have the bite you can normally dish. The way he lingers over you makes you lose your edge.

"Mmm, love when you're a little mean," he groans while he buries his face in your neck, reaching for the hair at the nape of it, tugging just enough to make your thighs twitch, "Get to watch you get so nice for me."

You feel his lips drag over your sensitive skin, pulling it in between his teeth to bite down. He takes in your scent, grunting into your jaw while the perfume he likes rules his senses. He's rough, hungry. He's a little drunk, but so are you.

You thighs part to make room for him, ass nearly hanging off the counter while his hips press into you. You run a hand through his silky hear while he assaults your neck, eyes reeling when he hits that spot right past the base.

"You all wet?" he asks in your ear, gravelly voice booming in your chest. His hand skates up your fleshy inner thigh, heat greeting him like an old friend.

"I'm so wet, Steve," you whine back, pushing your hips against his fingertips while he strokes over your satin covered clit.

"Yeah, you're so wet for me?" he mocks, "I got you all worked up out there?"

"Y-yeah," you whimper while his fingers toy with your panty line, inching inward. He's smug when he feels what's waiting for him behind the fabric.

"Showing you off all night? Throwin' all my cash around?" he growls, a finger sliding in between your legs, "Givin' it all to you to hold on to? That got you all hot and bothered?"

"Y-yes, yeah," you nod, biting your lip to keep quiet.

"Oh-ho baby, they can't hear you out there -- party's gettin' a little rowdy," he teases, "Go ahead an' moan for me."

A second finger follows his first and you start whimpering with every thrust, every flick of his wrist. You grip the counter, skirt of your dress falling back as your thighs lift up and out involuntarily.

"Steve," you moan it like a prayer, it echos back at you, "Shit, fuck, just like that."

"Good girl, baby," he grins, more so when your hips rock in time with his fingers, "Oh, you showin' off now?"

"Sh-shut up, Steve," you chuckle between gasps, face crumpling again while he grazes your g-spot with his fingers. Your walls grip him, gushing over his knuckles. A lazy smile falls onto your face while your hips pick it's rhythm with his fingers.

"Love when you smile like that for me," he says softly, pressing a kiss against your lips -- the facade of your rich, sexy, big money fuck toy falling away, back to his Hawkins beginnings, "You look so beautiful."

"You think I'm beautiful?" you tease against his lips, but you know the answer.

"Don't think it, I know it," he whispers between pecks.

He takes out his wallet with his free hand, flipping it open, using his nimble fingers to pull out the condom he'd kept in there tonight just in case. His other fingers ease out of you slowly, tossing you a stern look when you whine.

"Be patient, pl-- Jesus, baby," he melts when you take his fingers, still shining with your slick, directly into your mouth. You make a big show of letting them leave your mouth with a wet pop, his mouth hanging open, eyes unfocused.

"Just wanted to clean up my mess," you say with an innocent shrug.

"You're gonna kill me," he breathes out, sliding the condom on and tossing the wrapper to his feet. Your legs part immediately, skirt of your dress falling way with your thighs, the roll of your tummy poking out to the cool air as you hold your legs up close to your chest.

"You're okay? You want this?" he asks, "I know you had a few."

"I want this," you nod, "I want it."

"Good, cause it's yours," he grins, gliding the tip down from your clit to your entrance, "S'all yours."

"All mine," you whine, sighing high and breathy while the tip breaches inside. Your hips roll instinctively to feel more of him and he obliges, pushing in a third of the way to feel you make room for him. The moan you let out makes him bite his lip. You feel so good around him.

"Who fills you up like me, huh?" he pants while he pulls out and pushes back in, gripping the fat of your thighs hard enough to bruise. "No one, Steve," you moan back, while he rocks against you, "P-please more, please." His lips fall open when you ask, "More, huh? You want all of it?"

You nod feverishly, gripping his shoulders, nails nearly ripping the fabric of his dress shirt as you pull him by the hips. He laughs, locking his hips in place where only half of him was snugly inside you. He adjusts his glasses, peering at your through them, "Say please again, angel." "Please, Stevie," you beg, hips shimmying. He tutts at you, pushing a little farther in and a whine peals through you.

"Like that?" he asks, "You want a little more?"

"Please, please, please," you huff, the stretch of him slowly moving in driving your eyes to the back of your head. The bulbous tip creeping past your g-spot unbearably slow -- juices seeped out of you over him.

"Please, please, please. All that whining, think this is all you can handle angel," he mocks gently, hand cupping your cheek. His thumb grazes over your lip while he starts his thrusts again -- half way to all the way out.

"No, no, all of it, please," you grovel, "Please. It's mine."

You bite your lip, eyes watering while the pleasure builds below your belly -- you're aching for the fullness of him.

Your eyes round in neediness, overtaken by the wetness between your legs, the way he touches you, "Please, daddy." "Fuck, baby," he groans while he pushes in to the hilt, lips finding yours while he readjusts. His arm reaches around your back to angle you differently, caging you in against the mirror on the wall. His other hand snakes up to the back of your neck, pulling you in for a deep kiss, all deep breaths and tongue. Steve's hips roll against yours, shallow thrusts to keep himself as buried inside of you as possible, "See what happens when you — mmm — ask me nicely?" You roll your eyes but he thrusts again and your head lolls back against the mirror, “Sh-shut up, you’re so— you’re so — ah! oh fuck, fuck, fuck.”

“I’m so what? We’re you gonna say ‘I’m so annoying’?" he grins into another kiss. You can feel his tip pushing against your cervix with every short thrust. Your body stretched around him with ease, making you gasp with every thrust of his hips, “M’so deep you can’t even talk right.”

He presses his forehead against yours, eyes shut tight while sweat builds on his forehead, "Oh shit, shit you feel so good."

"Harder, please," you whisper. He nods against you, picking up the pace of his thrusts and he has to cover your mouth to drown own the sounds coming out of you.

"Shh, shh, not too loud baby," he giggles, "Don't wanna lose my job."

You take a deep breath through your nose, trying to maintain your composure while you pulse tighter and tighter around him.

"Steve you...oh my god, yes, yes, like that," you slur out while he holds you steady on the counter, watching you come undone around him. "Say you're mine," he says, grunting between thrusts, "Say you're all mine."

"M'all yours Steve, all yours," you nod, eyes pooling with tears as each thrust sends you closer to seeing white, "Oh fuck, fuck -- I'm gonna cum, ohmygod m'gonna cum."

"Cum for me angel," he says through gritted teeth, getting close himself, "Cum for me."

Your legs vibrate when he pulls your hair to bare your neck to him, final thrusts sending blinding pleasure through your body. You shake and spasm beneath him, whining and mewling at the come down.

"That's it, baby," he coos while you gasp back to reality, "That's my girl." He buries his face in your neck when his hips stutter, groaning, gripping your legs so hard you know you'll bruise.

"Mmm, god," he grunts, "Oh fuck, I'm gonna -- oh, baby --"

You both rest against eachother, breathing heavy, hands roaming. He pulls out slowly while he softens, discarding the used condom in the trash. You go to move but he stops you, pulling up his briefs and pants and cleaning you up gently.

"You okay?" he asks, "That felt good?"

You nod, "Was it good for you?"

"Bathroom sex with my girlfriend? Oh, amazing," he smiles, helping you down off the counter.

"Girlfriend, huh?"

"Do you wanna be called something else? I'll call you anything you want," he bushes, "S'long as you're my girl, Manhattan."

"You're girl," you muse, "Steve Harrington's girl."

"Sounds really good, doesn't it?" he tosses you a cool look, "Lot's a girls would beg for that title."

"You're annoying," you huff, opening the door to the bathroom and peeking outside to check for people. The coast was clear and he leads you out to the hallway by the hand, heading over to the coat check.

"We're going home?" you ask.

"We're going to yours," he says.

"Why?"

"So we can start packing up your shit to bring to mine tomorrow morning."

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x readder #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fan fiction #steve harrington #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington angst #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fanfic #steve stranger things

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joeshiestyslover · 2 years ago

Text

i love u

pairing: lsu!fratboy!joe burrow x volleyballplayer!reader

summary: sometimes all you need to forgive your ex is two nosy best friends

warnings: language, angst, sad joe, some fluff at the end

a/n: y’all part 2 of i hate u is finally here!!! i’m so sorry i haven’t been active! hope y’all enjoy 🫶🫶

lowercase intended

masterlist part one

the past few weeks have been complete and total hell for you. you can’t even look at joe without feeling the urge to break down and cry. you try to avoid him and his teammates at all costs, including ja’marr. you’ve been sitting on the opposite side of the room, not wanting to tell him about what happened with his best friend, but be probably already knows.

ever since that night with your ex-boyfriend, you’ve been completely self isolating. when every you’re not in class or at volleyball practice, you’re in your dorm room. eve has felt so guilty because she was basically the reason you and joe got into the argument in the first place, but you constantly assure her it wasn’t her fault. you love eve, but if there’s one thing she’s good at, it’s getting into your business. she’s been begging you to talk joe ever since you told him to get the fuck out of your room, and you tell her no every time. little do you know, her and ja’marr have been plotting for the past week to get you and joe to get back together, at the very least stand each other.

you are walking out of your econ class when you think you hear someone calling your name. you ignore it, thinking it’s your imagination until you feel a tap on your shoulder. you turn around, and behind you stands ja’marr; your eyes widen. “hey y/n. can we talk?” he asks you. “umm yeah sure.” you reply to him , not having the energy to argue. ja’marr leads you down the hallway so you’re both outside a storage closet. “so, why did you want to talk to me?” you question, stuffing your hands into your jacket pockets. “i’m sorry.” he tells you. “for what?” you ask him, confused. “for this.” ja’marr then shoves you into the closet you were just standing in front of. before you’re able to push against the door, it’s slammed shut and locked from the outside. “ja’marr let me out you dumbass! what the fuck is wrong with you?!” you begin to pound your fist on the door, but you get no response. he probably walked away, but why would he lock you in here in the first place, you think.

you stand there for a bit before your thoughts are interrupted by the door opening. you think it’s ja’marr or someone else saving you from being trapped, but you notice another person being pushed into the closet to join you. as the door closes, you hear a, “what the hell?! let me out!” oh no. your heart drops as you hear the voice of the guy you’ve been avoiding for the past two weeks. “shit.” you whisper to yourself.

“y/n?” joe asks you, somehow hearing your voice. “joe” you reply to him coldly. “did you get locked in here too?” he inquires. “no, i just decided to chill out in here for a few hours!” you exclaim sarcastically. joe lets out a sigh, hopefully he’s finally given up at starting a conversation with you as if you’re best buds.

“y/n” joe speaks up again. you ignore him, not wanting a replay of a few weeks ago. “y/n please say something, anything.” he pleads. “i have nothing to say to you. i’ve already said everything i needed to.” you cross your arms over your chest, not even looking him in the eye. “okay fine then i’ll talk.” you continue to avoid his eye line. “i will never stop telling you how sorry i am for what i did. i was a stupid and an asshole. i lost sight of myself and i became someone that i didn’t like. you never deserved that. i hate myself for how i ended it with you. i’m so, so sorry.” you don’t know what to say because you really wanna forgive him, but you don’t know if you can. he hurt you more than anyone else has in your life. how do you even begin to forgive someone for that?

“joe, i understand that you feel sorry now, but you didn’t feel sorry when it first happened. you seemed to be having the time of your life, partying and hooking up with random girls while i was at home crying my eyes out every night wondering why you didn’t want me anymore. tell me, was it easy for you to forget me?” “trust me, there was never a moment where you weren’t on my mind. i thought i did what was right at first, but as time went on, i realized that i had made the biggest mistake of my life. i tried to text you, call you, and even dm you on instagram, but you blocked me, which i completely understand by the way.” joe tells you, starting to become desperate.

“you still hurt me joe. you made me feel as if i did something wrong, like i wasn’t enough for you. i thought that you left me for someone better.” you tell him while looking at your shoes. “it’s not your fault. it has never been your fault. stop beating yourself up over something i did. i promise you i found no one else that was better than you because there is no one better. i will never find anyone i love more than you. you are truly the most amazing and the most beautiful girl i have ever met. you’re it for me y/n.” “really?” you ask him, becoming more open to the idea of forgiving him. “i promise. i love you y/n, i never stopped.” you’re finally able to look him in the eyes. “oh joe, i never stopped loving you either, but i won’t forgive except under one condition.” “anything.” you replies, hope beginning to gleam in his eyes. “you never, ever pull shit like this again. if you do, don’t expect another chance.” you state. “done. i promise i won’t break your heart again.” he begins to step closer to you. “will you kiss me now?” you ask, looking up at the blue eyes you fell in love with when you were six. joe smiles and leans his head down while cupping the sides of your face. you close your eyes and wait until joe’s lips meet yours.

you two stay like this for a while before you hear the door open. you and joe both look towards the open door and see ja’marr and eve with shit eating grins on their faces. “i told you it would work!” eve turns towards ja’marr. “you guys planned this?!” you yell at the both of them. “well yeah. we had to get you both to make up somehow, you guys were fucking miserable! and we need our quarterback to actually make plays, you know.” ja’marr tells the two of you. “i’m sorry we had to do it like this but we were desperate.” “i hate how you did it, but thank you.” joe says, looking at you lovingly. you look back at him and give him a quick peck on the lips. “awww!” you hear ja’marr and eve exclaim. “shut up.” you and joe tell your friends before letting out a loud laugh. you start to feel like your old self again. it’s as if nothing changed, and you couldn’t be happier.

#joe burrow #joe burrow x reader #joe burrow imagine #joe burrow oneshot #joe burrow fic #joe burrow fan fic #joe burrow angst #joe burrow fluff #lsu!joe burrow #lsu #lsu tigers #lsu football

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admistedenslush · 1 year ago

Text

Eve of Destruction

Dark!Priest!Aemond Targaryen/Reader

TW: NON CON, fem!reader, drugging

AN: I hope the switch in point of view does not cause confusion

──────────────────

In a softly lit room, you find yourself perched on a weathered wooden stool, gazing into a mirror with a subtle crack. Sunbeams delicately dance through your modest window, casting a faint glow upon your figure, adorned in a simple nightgown with delicate ribbon-fastened stockings.

With calloused fingertips, you traced the contours of your face, pinching your cheeks for a touch of color. Completing your daily morning ritual, you embarked on a task at the behest of your affluent father, a skilled goldsmith who presided over his own shop.

Clutching a hand-woven basket protectively by your side, you ventured into the bustling streets of the village center. Amidst the vibrant marketplace, an older woman grinned at you as she prodded her collection of spices.

“Just imported from Dorne,” she boasted, her voice laced with mischief.

Smiling at her, you replied, “Just some sugar, please. There's no need to brag—I know you sell only the finest.” Handing her a few copper pennies, you concluded the transaction.

Off in the distance, observing from a fruit stand, the town's priest, Aemond Targaryen, maintained a stern countenance. Anxiously, he squeezed a fresh lemon, his agitation evident as sour juice dripped down his hand.

The man harbored an aversion towards old maids —a belief instilled in him by his religious associates that older, unmarried women held malevolent intentions. Witnessing you, a beautiful young maiden engage in conversation and make purchases from the questionable female merchant troubled him greatly.

Although Aemond recognized you from church, encounters were infrequent. He could not help but adore the sight, your delicate curls peeking from beneath a plain cotton cap and your flawless skin aglow in candlelight.

Passionate thoughts swirled inside him, intensifying his yearning. Aware of the detectability of his intentions, yet driven by a perceived necessity, Aemond Targaryen resolved himself to take action.

𐕣

The following day, the priest set out early on his journey to visit the reputed “witch” at the street market. As he walked along the picturesque path, he contemplated the intricacies of life and the lengths to which people go in pursuit of something as pure as true love. Simple-minded was the Priest.

Upon arriving at the older woman's booth, the priest made his presence known with an ostentatious cough and a disdainful gaze.

“How may I assist you, sir?” she murmured, nimble fingers interlocking as they cracked.

In a rushed and fearful tone, his eyes darting around the foggy surroundings, he whispered, “I am in need of a remedy for sleep deprivation, perhaps a sedative?”

The woman frowned, deepening the wrinkles on her face, and pressed her dry lips together in the chilly autumn morning. Doubt crept into her mind about his true need for such a remedy, but regardless, she opted to assist the man.

“I happen to have a concoction that is perfect for your needs, sir… It's a combination of herbs and oils that works wonders!”

“Very well… And how much would this… remedy cost?” he inquired.

With a smile directed at her customer, the woman relished in the business at hand, finding pleasure in her ability to profit, regardless of the identity of her clientele.

𐕣

Lacking a mother and with a father consumed by work, you shouldered the responsibility of cooking, cleaning, and tending to the various chores around the house. With no siblings to assist you, friendly neighbors occasionally lend a helping hand. On this particular day, you embarked on the preparation of a meal featuring chicken and potatoes. The potatoes were already peeled and simmering in the kitchen. It was time for the next step.

Embracing a lively and clucking chicken, you approached your neighbor's porch and called out for the farm boy.

“Jace!…Jace…Oh, please!”

The boy came running to your aid, gasping and breathless.

“What happened? What's wrong?” he asked, his voice filled with concern.

You gently revealed the chicken still nestled against your chest.

“Could you please slaughter this chicken for me?” you whispered softly, tears welling in your desperate eyes.

“It's no trouble at all! I'll be happy to do it,” Jace responded warmly.

He took the chicken from your nurturing hold, inadvertently brushing his hand against your damp palm. Jace peered into your sorrowful face, his heart aching for you. Regardless, he smiled as he positioned the chicken on the wooden block.

“You're so tender-hearted and sweet,” he remarked.

With a single swift motion, the chicken's head was abruptly severed, blood spilling onto the woodblock below.

Seated side by side on a decaying bench, you and Jace carefully plucked feathers from the lifeless creature. Occasional glances were exchanged between the two of you, catching each other staring. At that moment, it was the most beautiful evening you had experienced in a long time. A sense of profound joy washed over you, as if the world had tenderly embraced your being, infusing you with a soothing warmth that refused to let go.

“Ah, I should get going… the potatoes are still boiling,” you remarked, feeling a mixture of reluctance and excitement.

You hurried inside, but not before glancing back, shamelessly grinning at Jace, tilting your head and stretching your neck enticingly.

“Save me some food, won't you?” the boy giggled, his eyes filled with mirth.

𐕣

Sunday was the day when I would rightfully seize what was truly mine. My beloved sweetling was always faithfully attending church on Sundays, never daring to miss the service. As the somber ceremony unfolded, I meticulously prepared the consecrated elements, with a sinister focus on the bread. This bread, destined for her consumption, had already succumbed to the vile touch of the necessary evil bestowed upon me. I cannot take full blame, for I had assistance in my actions.

Throughout the ritual, I clutched it tightly in my hand, its presence serving as a chilling reminder of my nefarious purpose. As the line began to form, my sweetling found herself twelfth in line, unknowingly inching closer to her fate. With each passing moment, a wicked anticipation grew within me, anticipation for the moment when our eyes would meet. Finally, she stood before me, her innocent gaze locking with my predatory stare. In that fleeting instant, I almost forgot the sinister reason behind my presence. It was our first intimate encounter.

“Body of Christ…"

“Amen…"

I watched her devour the bread, and with a slow stride, I passed by her. Briefly, my arm brushed against her shoulder, providing a fleeting warmth that offered a momentary solace in the chilling confines of the church. The congregation began to take their seats, oblivious to the darkness unfolding. I couldn't help but fixate on my sweetling, her countenance gradually relaxing, devoid of any emotion. The effects of the tainted product were taking hold swiftly, and I realized the extent of its potency. I understood that my plan had succeeded, and a shiver of satisfaction coursed through my veins.

After a while, the room grew eerily silent as people started to leave, their voices reduced to muffled whispers and their footsteps fading into the distance. The surrounding seats emptied, leaving only a handful of stragglers. From a distance, I watched her, a supposed sleeping girl, her vulnerability stark against the backdrop of indifference. No one reached out to offer help or even spared a passing glance. The collective indifference was a cruel reminder of the harsh reality we inhabit. And as I beheld this cruel scene, an unbidden smile crept across my face, pride that I couldn't suppress. I approached her slowly and cautiously, my steps measured and deliberate. There she lay, resembling a late summer nymph, peacefully snoring like a kitten. Gently, I touched her forehead, my hand sliding beneath her hood to reveal a simple plait in her hair. With a light touch, I loosened the braid, letting her hair cascade freely.

Taking out my pocket knife, I carefully began to cut open her modest dress. At that moment, her eyes fluttered open, and her index and middle fingers tapped irregularly on the armchair. The only swift movement came from her eyes, shifting from right to left, and then right again, an unsettling rhythm.

"Whhas..whhaA.."

I watched as she grappled to string together a coherent sentence, her words stumbling and faltering along the way.

Then I started and didn't stop.

Gently grasping her bosom, applying pressure to feel their firmness. Resting my head against their velvety skin, I deeply breathed in her sweet aroma. With gentle motion, my finger delicately slips into her wet cunt before being brought back into my mouth. I find her utterly delicious.

Consumed by an overwhelming desire, I reached a tipping point where I simply had to satisfy my craving. Carefully fiddling with the laces on my breeches, I extracted my cock and eagerly plunged into her. Intermittently, our gazes intertwined and a solitary tear traced down her delicate cheek. And when I was done, I made her decent and went home.

𐕣

Trapped in the suffocating grip of immobilizing paralysis, your mind became a twisted maze, rendering coherent thought an elusive mirage. Your desperate attempts to gather your scattered musings were futile, as they slipped through your grasp like sand slipping through an open hand.

Gradually, whispers of distant voices and fleeting glimpses of faces emerged from the depths of the ethereal realm. A swarm of eyes, suspended in the air, fixated their piercing gaze upon you, their silent judgment seeping into your vulnerable state.

"Leave... leave me be," you called out in a hoarse voice, the plea laced with desperation. But they persisted, unyielding to your pleas, forcing you to shut your eyes in an attempt to shield yourself from their relentless scrutiny.

And then, amidst the darkness, you saw him - the mirror image of the haunting figure etched in your mind. His white hair cascading like a waterfall, and his eye, a haunting shade of lilac, drilling into the depths of your soul. A wave of nausea churned your stomach, and cold sweat trickled down your forehead as you tried to steady your breath, inhaling deeply.

But as anxiety consumed you, an uncomfortable cramp seized your body, and shortly after, your frail form succumbed to the violent upheaval of vomiting. Panic surged within you as you fought to sit up, feeling weak and breathless. With trembling hands, you attempted to salvage your torn dress, desperately trying to maintain a semblance of dignity amidst the chaos enveloping you.

Strange voices began to echo around you, their words snaking into your consciousness. Shadows lurked in every corner of the church, their presence casting a sinister pall over the space.

"I... I didn't do anything," you stammered, your voice trembling with a mix of fear and confusion, as doubts crept into your mind.

"Did you really?" the voices whispered back, their tone laced with accusation, their words slithering like venomous serpents.

𐕣

@valleyof-goldenlilies

#house of the dragon #aegon targaryen x reader #aemond x fem!reader #hotd aemond #aemond targaryen #hotd smut #dark!aemond x reader

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randomshyperson · 2 years ago

Text

New Romantics - Chapter One - Wanda Maximoff Series

Summary: Trapped in a loveless relationship that has cost her friendships, Wanda watches her senior year of school turn upside down after a party. She will make new friends and may end up learning that not every relationship is doomed to failure.

Warnings: (+16), straight and toxic relationships, making out, underage drinking, language, co-dependency, conversations about insecurity and self-worth, attempted romantic comedy, unrequited love at first, friends to lovers. | Words: 4.236k

Skamverse Collection | Series Masterlist | AO3 | Wattpad |

--//--

Chapter One - Parties and Makeups

“The global mentality is moving toward free world trade and increased market liberalism. A world full of opportunities. A world where dreams can come true. It sounds fantastic, and it is fantastic. For a very small percentage of us. But for the vast, poor majority, the capitalist system only means one thing: death and suffering. While we live out our days thoughtlessly and stuff ourselves with cheap food. The poor people of the earth struggle in factories. Wages are forced down to the minimum, while the work hours keep increasing. Unionization is illegal, and the working conditions are intolerable. Before applauding freedom, we must remember one thing: Our over-consuming society stands on the shoulders of the coffee beans from Peru. We gorge on cheap food produced by underpaid children hands from India[...]”

Novi Grad, Monday, 1:00 pm.

"So what do you think?"

Wanda licked her lips, trying to choose the right words to define the monologue her boyfriend has been reading the last few minutes. Vision stares at her in anticipation.

"It's smart." She says, and he gives a soft laugh.

"Is that all? Don't you think I should change something?"

She sighs, shrugging. "I don't know, it's just good." She murmurs, thinking for a moment before adding. "Maybe exclude cheap food? You used it twice..."

Vision leans over to look at the paper. "No, you see, because that's a technique to emphasize the idea I picked up..."

Wanda stopped listening - Yes, she hated doing it, especially at how often it happened. But her attention was diverted to the other side of the courtyard, where a group of girls was leaving the school building. Most of them didn't notice that Wanda was watching, but one of them did. Eve, once she realized it, assumed an icy expression that made Wanda's stomach churn. The girl next to her was Jean Grey, and as soon as she followed her friend's gaze, she raised her middle finger in Wanda's direction before continuing walking.

Wanda swallowed dryly and looked away. Vision cleared his throat, waving in front of his girlfriend's eyes to attract her attention.

"Hey, don't let that get to you." He tried, leaning in to peck her cheek. "Okay?"

"Forget about it." Wanda forced a smile, kissing him. Vision smiled, enjoying the closure of the subject much more than she did since the one who had to deal with the free hatred was not him. The boy pulled away a little to take a breath before deepening the kiss, but a sheet of paper was placed between their faces and caused them both to jump away.

"No more making out my sister." It was Pietro, shoving the test in their faces. He wasn't alone, Clint Barton was with him, and he was the first to greet Vision. Pietro leaned on the railing behind where they were standing, "How did you go in the Geography assignment?"

Clint greeted Wanda with a kiss on the cheek, and Vision answered the older twin with a proud smile, "I got an A+."

"Typical." Pietro retorted chuckling. "What about you, sestra?"

Wanda sighs, gripping the handle of her backpack tighter as if the crumpled test at the bottom was going to jump out and give away her lie. "Hmm, I got a C minus."

The trio made sounds of trouble, and Wanda rolled her eyes. Pietro gave a little chuckle. "Papa will be so disappointed..." He teased, receiving an impatient sigh in return.

"What about you? Did you get an A?" She inquired. Pietro chuckled.

"No, but I'm an athlete." He reasoned. "I don't need the brains when I have the muscles." The boys thought it was funny but Wanda rolled her eyes at the foolishness.

"Okay, Pietro, keep believing that one."

"Better than having neither..." He teased low, and Clint pulled him out of the range when Wanda threatened to push him into the railing. Vision laughed, holding his girlfriend by the waist.

"We're going to Barton, see you later?" Vision announces, and she takes her attention from her brother who walked a few feet with Clint to the boy in front of her.

"I thought you were going over to my place."

Vision shrugs. "I went to your house yesterday, Wanda. And the day before, and before, and before..."

"I get it." She cuts in with a clumsy laugh. She kisses him quickly. "Call me later?"

He smiles, nodding before kissing her intensely. Pietro gets in the way again, asking him to hurry up. Vision leaves with the boys, and Wanda stands at the school entrance, alone for a few minutes even after they have turned the corner.

Novi Grad, Monday, 8:00 pm.

"Don't forget to feed little Chaos, that stinky cat."

Wanda smiled at her father's message, typing that she had already done so before turning her face to the other side of the bed, where an orange cat was sleeping heavily. She reached out, and scratched him behind the ears, receiving a purr in return.

"Papa is being mean, you smell good, Chaos." She says to the kitten, who doesn't wake up. Then sounds of door and keys ring out in the apartment, and Wanda leaves her cell phone on the mattress before getting up and leaving the bedroom.

Pietro is dropping off his shoes in the doorway. "Hey, good evening. Is Papa home yet?"

She denies it, hands in her sweatshirt pockets. "Double shift. Were you at Barton until now?"

The boy chuckled shortly, letting his jacket hang down and turning his back to go to the kitchen. "Ne (no), I left hours ago."

Wanda frowned, the image of Vision chatting messages and unanswered calls in her head. "Vis left too? I tried calling him..."

"I don't babysit your boyfriend, Wanda." Pietro cuts her off from the refrigerator door, and she swallows dryly ready to leave the kitchen. He regrets his aggressiveness and sighs. "I left early because Crystal wanted to talk. Or rather, fight. I'm sorry for taking it out on you."

Wanda shakes her head. "No problem. Are you guys okay?"

Pietro takes out the dinner saved for him to heat up in the microwave, shrugging. "She dumped me for the ninth time, but she didn't throw anything at me this time so I'd say that was progress."

Wanda sighs. "What was the problem now?"

He chuckles, rolling his eyes. "I don't know, she saw me talking to the new girl at school and thought I was being too nice. She's as hot as she is crazy."

"Don't be sexist Pietro, it doesn't make you any cooler." Wanda retorts turning her back on him, and the twin rolls his eyes again, focusing on dinner.

Wanda returns to her room, and Chaos is stretching out on her bed. He's lying on top of her cell phone now, and she has to push him slightly to get the device. She tries to call, but Vision doesn't answer like all the other times.

Before she can go back to watching the paused video classes on her laptop, there is someone on her porch.

Wanda rushes over to help her boyfriend get inside.

"Weird, it seems to have gotten harder to do that." He comments on the small tear in his jeans made by the railing and Wanda laughs lightly.

"Maybe you just need to exercise more." She teases, making him chuckle. He kisses her, pushing his way inside, but Wanda pulls away with the excuse that she is helping him take off his backpack and jacket. When he sits down on the bed to pet Chaos before kicking the cat out of the room, Wanda asks. "Where were you?"

Vision begins removing his shoes. "At Barton's."

"Until so late?"

The boy lets out a confused laugh, raising an eyebrow at her. "You know his mother is never home to care. Pretty much like your daddy..."

"I tried calling you." She insists.

He sighs wearily. "My cell phone died."

"Clint didn't have a charger?"

Vision laughs. "No, Wanda, he couldn't find it or whatever. What's this, huh? Some kind of interrogation?"

She swallows dryly, looking away, "No, I just... I was worried."

"Well, don't be, I'm right here." He retorts with a smile. "And you, well, you're quite far away..."

She laughs shortly, moving closer to sit on his lap. He is the one who initiates the kiss, and she cuts him off when she is starting to get out of breath. "Let me get the door." She gasps as she gets up, and Vision just nods.

But when Wanda returns, he notices the study items next to the laptop on the bed, and there is a test with a red note in his hands, and a little smile on his face. "I thought you said you got a C minus, Miss."

Wanda snatched the paper from his hand with rosy cheeks to the red F who seemed to mock her as much as her boyfriend. "Shut up." She says, and he gives up tormenting her when she kisses him again.

Novi Grad, Wednesday, 9:30 am.

"Hey, Wanda."

The greeting comes accompanied by a tap on the shoulder because the brunette is wearing headphones. Wanda pulls out both items at once, looking at her colleague, Darcy Lewis, with curiosity.

"Hi, Darcy, good morning."

The one with glasses smiles. "Are you going to the welcome party on Friday? You didn't confirm the invitation on Facebook, and Jane is being a bit uptight about the organization. She and Thor are taking care of the drinks." Wanda superficially recognized the names mentioned, they were popular people at school, but they were not her friends. She looked at the book - Dracula - in her lap for a second before turning back to Darcy.

"I don't know, I'll probably..."

"What, be reading on a Friday night?" The girl interrupts with teasing, but not mean smile. "You know, I have nothing against interesting habits, but the welcome party is the first opportunity to meet new friends at the very beginning of the year. This, and also to show the spirit of solidarity with the new freshmen who will fund our graduation. It’s important they know who you are, even if you have chosen to adopt the position of the emo geek of this school. Right?”

Wanda hesitates, half unsure of what to say about the whole thing. Before she can think how to respond, Jane - who was addressing other tables in the study area - approaches Darcy.

"Can you believe Thor told me that Loki just texted that he's taking some friends? What part of Students only did he not understand? The principal won't be happy to hear that they had strangers at the party." Jane blurts out angrily, offering a forced smile of greeting to Wanda before returning to typing on her cell phone. Darcy clears her throat.

"The end of the world really." Murmurs the one with the glasses. "See you Friday, Maximoff?"

"I think so." Wanda retorts, and Darcy smiles, offering her a wink before leaving with her friend.

Wanda doesn't have much time to get back to reading in peace. The class bell soon rings, and she has to collect her unfinished book to get to the next class.

Novi Grad, Wednesday, 5:41 pm.

Watching Vision play soccer with his friends is never fun, but Wanda doesn't complain anyway.

She busies herself with her book, finding it definitely more interesting than watching the boys, and it is only at the first break that Vision interrupts her.

She complains about the kiss because he is sweaty.

"You look pretty when you're focused, you know that?" he compliments, hands resting at her side. She twitches her nose.

"Am I not pretty at other times?"

He chuckles. "Don't be silly, being pretty is your greatest talent." He retorts, and she forces a smile, trying not to look bothered by the phrase. He doesn't notice, moving away to get a bottle of water.

The soccer field is not empty, but Wanda doesn't know the kids there besides Clint, and her twin obviously. She has seen some of them, but they were Vis's friends and not hers. So she has a big empty space around her in the stands.

Stealing glances at the surrounding groups of friends and couples, Wanda sighs before turning her gaze back to her boyfriend.

"Vis, will you go with me to the school welcome party?"

He makes a confused face, finishing a large sip of water before retorting, "That cheesy thing? Why do you even want to go to that, we've never attended it before."

She frowns softly. "It's not cheesy. It's important that the freshmen get to know us now, they are responsible for over half of the fundraising for the graduation trip-"

"Didn't your father say he was going to pay for yours?" He interrupts her with a raised eyebrow.

Wanda sighs. "Yes, but I'm not going to think only of myself-"

"I have money too." He cuts in again shrugging. "Clint works, Pietro is your brother so he's insured too. You don't have to care about a dumb party full of brats, Wanda." He mocks with a chuckle, leaning in to kiss her, but Wanda turns her face away. Vis doesn't notice, distracted by the boys rushing him to get back to playing, and Wanda sighs at the thought that he almost never notices anything that bothers her.

"I just think it would be nice to meet new people." She murmurs, and he sighs, looking down at the field and nodding that he's going already.

"Well, I guess we could drop in for a few hours, free booze is a nice thing..." He suggests, and her face immediately lights up. Vis extends a hand to her strands of hair. "But you have to do something for me."

She frowns. "What?"

"Can my brother spend Easter with us?"

Wanda's excited expression drops. "Seriously? Can I bring mine?" She retorts wryly and angrily, closing the book. Vision sighs helplessly.

"Baby, come on..." She rolls her eyes, starting to put things away. "Hey, I know I said I didn't want anyone bothering us, but Dad grounded Tony and I don't want to leave him alone for the whole holiday..."

"If Tony would stop screwing up he wouldn't be grounded." Wanda retorts now standing up, with her backpack in her hands. Vision chuckles, making puppy dog eyes at her.

"Please, darling. A party for a party." He negotiates, and she rolls her eyes.

"Okay, fine." She agrees, and he grins, grabbing her by the waist to spin her in the air despite her protests. With the delay, Clint approaches them, just as sweaty as his friend.

"Come on man, you two can hook up after the game." Says the boy, busy with the water as Vision lets go of Wanda with little grace, who pulls down the hem of her skirt with her cheeks slightly flushed with embarrassment.

"I'm celebrating, Wanda has agreed to let Tony spend Easter at her family Cabin." Vision tells. Wanda wryly chuckles:

"Maybe you'd like to come too, it seems the holiday for two has turned into a holiday for everyone."

Clint chuckles, wiping his mouth before commenting, "How did he convince you, Maximoff?"

She sighs. "He's taking me to the welcoming party on Friday." She says, and Vision shrugs, but Clint frowns.

"Friday? Don't you have that fancy dinner with your dad and the uni people? You haven't shut up about it for months." Clint recalls and Vision puts his hand to his head.

"Oh, shit, it's true. Baby, I completely forgot..."

"Whatever." She says wearily with her hands in the air lightly. "See you tomorrow, Clint." He said leaving, and Vision patted the back of his friend's head before following his girlfriend.

Novi Grad, Friday, 07:12 pm.

"I'm already at the restaurant, good thing I wore a suit. Try to go to the party, it will be good for you."

Wanda reread the message for the ninth time, trying to understand what in the last sentence bothered her so much. She sighed, looking at the little Chaos adjusting himself on her bed.

"What do you think, buddy? Do you think I should go to a stupid party?" She asks the cat, who doesn't even meow back.

Wanda risks checking Instagram, only to be bombarded with pictures in her feed about the school party, which grew in popularity apparently because Loki wasn't the only one who took other than students.

She glanced around her messy room, and at the paused sitcom on her laptop. The Addams Family was not being efficient in distracting her tonight. Vision was at a dinner party with her father's contacts from Europe's top universities, Pietro was sleeping over at Crystal's because they got back together the day before, and Clint was supposed to be working. And there were no other friends.

Wanda forced herself to her feet. She could do this. New friends at a party, right? It shouldn't be that hard.

She got ready in record time and changed from her comfortable sweatshirt into a wine-colored cotton dress. Maybe it didn't scream friendly energy, but it definitely made her look pretty.

Chaos meowed at her when she stood in front of the mirror, and Wanda thought she was good to go. She texted to Vision that she was going to have fun knowing he wasn't going to answer tonight before she left.

Novi Grad, Friday, 08:40 pm.

Music from the loudspeakers echoed throughout the room. The welcoming committee did a good job, because they had booked the whole night at the Panther Club, two blocks away from the school, and the place was completely full.

Wanda managed to get in at the ticket booth with her school ID and was given a different wristband for being of legal age. She imagined that this would guarantee alcoholic drinks for her inside the bar, but she doubted very much that anyone was respecting these rules of the amount of drunk freshmen around.

She was trying to have a good time. She didn't rely too much on the colorful drink that the bartender said was alcohol-free and decided to enjoy the Club's trademark live music show.

It wasn't exactly her idea of fun, being around hundreds of drunken teenagers, but Wanda tried to ignore the discomfort of her own boots to dance a little.

It was not a good idea.

She returned to the bar area after three songs way too long for the good health of her toes and was considering leaving when she recognized the red-haired figure only a few feet away.

Jean was waiting for her drink, and saw Wanda out of the corner of her eye, assuming a defensive posture.

"Hi." Wanda greeted, receiving only an icy stare in return before the redhead looked forward again. Wanda sighed, "Jean, please. You can't ignore me forever."

"Not forever, it's already senior year." She retorts coldly, turning her body toward Wanda, one arm resting on the counter. The brunette swallows dryly, but the redhead smiles wickedly, the other hand reaching out to push the strands of brown hair behind the smaller girl's shoulder. "What do you want from me, Maximoff? A chance to stab my back, too?"

Wanda tenses her jaw, her eyes burning. "Please don't be like this." She pleads and takes on courage. "I miss you, you know. And Eve... Please just say something."

Jean licks her lips and tucks a strand of hair behind Wanda's ear before lowering her hands. She looks her in the eyes.

"Next time, try to use less eyeliner. You're looking like a slut." She declares, turning away before Wanda can really process what was said to her.

She feels her throat tighten with the urge to start crying and takes a deep breath. And then she feels a presence behind her.

"Very nice friend you have." Ironizes an unknown voice. Wanda turns around and is surprised by a slightly familiar face.

You smile and stare back at her. "Did you know that girls who call others girls sluts are statically more likely to get chlamydia?"

Wanda frowns slightly. "Really?"

You grin "No, but it would be fun karma." You say, and it is her turn to chuckle. You then extend your hand to her. "I'm Y/N, we're in the same Literature class."

"Oh, that's right. The new girl." Wanda murmurs finally realizing where she recognizes the face from. "I'm Wanda."

"I know." You retort biting back a smile and when she blinks curiously, you half-heartedly clarify, "Your brother, Pietro, right? He's been very considerate of the new students, even the ones who aren't freshmen. He pointed you out in the courtyard once."

Wanda nods, a little out of frame. She wasn't very good at socializing, especially with those she thought were kind of attractive.

You noticed her distance and cleared your throat. "Just for the record, Wanda, and well, I'm no makeup expert but..." You extended your hand again, this time to her face, wiping with the tip of your finger a bit of eyeliner smeared by the tear she let fall. "I wouldn't say you look slutly, I'd say you look quite beautiful."

You compliment, and Wanda feels a shiver spread through her body. So surprised by her own reaction, she can barely smile back when you do so in farewell, leaving the bar.

She decides to run to the bathroom and check her makeup even though her legs are still shaking a little.

The sound of the party is muffled inside, and Wanda sighs as she sees her own reflection. She wants to believe what you said, but since Jean treated her like that, it's been a little difficult.

With a wet piece of paper, she carefully removes the eyeliner, and just as she is finishing, she hears a soft cry coming from one of the booths.

Worried, Wanda throws the paper in the trash and follows the sound. "Hello?" she needs to call out another two times for the girl to sniffle and answer.

"Hey."

"Sorry to bother you, but are you okay?" It's kind of a silly question to ask someone who is crying in the bathroom, but it's the best that Wanda handles. And the girl seems to enjoy the kindness.

"Yeah, just... it's stupid." She replies in a small voice.

"Can you open the door for me for a minute?" There is a pause, but the keyhole unlocks and the girl pushes the door slightly. Wanda offers her an understanding expression and pulls her by the hand. "Come, I can help with the smudged makeup." The girl agrees to be led out of the booth, to the sinks. "I'm Wanda, by the way."

"I know, your brother is pretty popular." Mumbles the other one sniffling softly. Wanda smiles, "I'm Yelena. Can you call someone for me? The team captain?"

"Oh, sure." Wanda assures, kind of getting the impression that the girl is kicking her out, kind of uncomfortable with the attention.

She leaves Yelena and heads back to the party, spending a good ten minutes asking about this team captain to the people around - most of them too drunk to know - until finally one of the third-year girls points to a tall boy at the back of the club. "The only captain I know is Steve Rogers, sweetie. That pretty boy over there."

Wanda approached him in a circle of people, it was as uncomfortable as she expected. Steve, at least, seemed like a nice guy and followed her with some concern about that girl crying in the bathroom.

But when Wanda returned, Yelena was not alone. Another blonde girl was finishing helping her with her make-up.

"[...] you and Kate need to stop this push and pull, that's what I think." Advised the stranger. Yelena sighed.

"She left me crying in a bathroom, I'll never speak to her again."

"Come on Yelena..."

"Sorry." Wanda interrupts the interaction with Steve trailing behind her. "I brought your friend, Yelena. The team captain."

The two look at her as if she is crazy. Yelena points to the other, "This is my friend. Carol Danvers, captain of the basketball team."

Steve nods. "What's up, Carol?" he greeted her with a smile half confused by the whole thing.

"Oh, I didn't know we had more than one...team." Wanda mumbles clumsily, and Yelena sighs half impatiently.

"Look, thanks anyway, it's the thought that counts. But we were in the middle of a conversation here..."

"God, you're so rude when you're mad at Kate." Carol complains. "Come on, Natasha was looking for you. Thanks again, sweetie." The blonde pulls her friend out of the bathroom, and Wanda decides she has had enough for the night.

She makes her way out of the bar, but on the street, she realizes that Steve Rogers has followed her the whole way.

"Hey, sorry, are you Jarvis Stark's girlfriend?" He asks and she takes her time assimilating her boyfriend's real name instead of the nickname everyone has used since elementary school.

"Yeah, why?"

Steve smiles awkwardly. "Any chance you have his brother's number?"

Wanda has a good few seconds of pure surprise before muttering that she really wasn't talking to Tony. The blond gets a little disappointed but forces a smile.

"Sorry, see you at school." She babbles, honestly tired from this night.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x reader #elizabeth olsen x reader #new romantics #skamverse collection #alt er love series

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