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fairyysoup · 1 year ago

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i can see you

♫︎ i can see you - taylor swift ♫︎

pairing(s): steve harrington x fem!reader

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

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

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

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

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

ALL OF MY WORKS ARE 18+ MINORS DNI

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

Hawkins High, September 1984

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

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

You stare a lot.

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

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

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

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

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

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

God, you wish you could kiss him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You scoff. “Look who’s talking.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hawkins High, April 1985

Prom season sucks. Always has, and always will.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.

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

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

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

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

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

You didn’t even think he knew your name.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The guy’s a fucking douche.”

“Tell me about it.”

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

“Billy Hargrove?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Prom Night, May 1985

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

Except, well.

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck this. Fuck prom. Fuck high school boys.

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

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

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

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

“I’m not sulking.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Who?”

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

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

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

“Kelly Palmer.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, I hope not.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Steve Harrington is touching your face.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“STEVE??!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wherever there is, it’s not with you.

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

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

Starcourt Mall, June 1985

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

“I’m sure they have slushies at the-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you ready?”

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

What did you say? What did he say?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I can dig a few sprinkles.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You like it a lot.

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

“What? No, I couldn’t-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I made it up.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

He scoops it up with two fingers and pockets it.

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

Family Video, March 1986

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So, right after I last saw you?”

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

“I wish.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll be here.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No.”

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

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

“Yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And again.

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

Sur La Table Restaurant, Chicago, April 1991

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

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

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

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

“Yes, ma’am. Right this way.”

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

Logan Sawyer.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh my fucking god.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Great. I’ll have that, please.”

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

“Are you serious?” Theo snaps.

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

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

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

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

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

Steve shoots you a sideways glance. “Always.”

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

“So,” you begin, “what do you do?”

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

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

“My father owns the company.”

“Right.” God, help me.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s, um… that sounds like fun.”

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

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

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

“You just said-”

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

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

“It was fine.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Meet me outside- the door past the bathrooms.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You don’t have to ask him twice.

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

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

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

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

“The price.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Probably.” You wink. “Most likely.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You want him to do it all over your body.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your underwear is nowhere to be seen.

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

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

“The ice cream, or the porn?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Told you I’d get there, eventually.”

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

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

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

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

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

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darlingofvalyria · 1 year ago

Text

❝I am not a Valyrian Sex God.❞

part 03 | pucker up, buttercup

chapter summary:

[ The line of friendship dances in uncertain waters when you and Aemond play the fake dating game a little too well. Helaena reveals much more than meets the eye to Aegon, and vice versa. Oh, and Alys. Hi Alys! ]

[ 5,399 ] [ series masterlist ] | best friend's brother!aemond targaryen x f!reader, ft. cregan stark x f!reader & aemond targaryen x alys rivers,

contains— mostly fluff, a wee bit angsty, a little smutty - profanity, i swear a lot sorry too shhshs - no use of y/n - no gods, no kings, no betas.

a/n— thank you so much for the love this little fic is getting so far!! it truly warms my heart that you people enjoy my twisty, crackpot humour and my version of a modern au for these characters!! as much as i am grateful for george for making these characters and these stories, i have to say what propelled me to write is the beautiful community i found. truly, from the bottom of my heart. ❥ fandom is built on community. i would not have had the courage to start writing fanfiction again if not for ya'll. so thank you so much. for the consumers and the creators. you, us, are the beating heart of fandom. please take care of each other. + comment, reblog & like at will, mwa ♡

"Please tell me I haven't inhaled so much drugs in my system that I am hallucinating our— and I say this with a lot love, okay you know what? No. Our Nasty Little Bitch of A Grudge Holder we call, lovingly, a brother, is not dating the hottest friend you have? Hel? The hottest friend you told me if I ever came anywhere near, you'd rip me a new asshole? How is Aemond's asshole still intact?? Or does our brother just have a gaping fun-house slide down there? Hello? Hellooo, pay attention to meee. This is so rude, why didn't I call Daeron?"

"Because Daeron knows nothing and I know everything?" Hel snorts, finishing up re-naming Aemond's contact from CURRENT DUMB BRO to NASTY LITTLE BITCH OF A GRUDGE HOLDER, before turning to Aegon on her laptop.

Like she predicted, Aegon is already pouting, leaning back on what Helaena remembers is their grandfather's rum-coloured leather office chair. In his office. In Oldtown.

After a quick stint in Ibiza, it seems Helaena's brother had found himself back in the country, and worse— back in their grandfather's office. Without him in it.

"Grandpa's going to kill you." Helaena snorts. "How'd you even get inside his house?"

"This is not the first time I have been faced with a locked door, baby sister."

"You broke a window didn't you?"

"I really, really had to piss."

She rolls her eyes. Hard. "You are a boy. You can literally just pee anywhere."

Aegon flutters a gasp and a hand over his chest. "Excuse me? I may have a penis, but that does not mean I have to be uncouth. For shame, Helaena. Also disgusting. But that's not why I called." He steeples his fingers as he leans forward, pressing his elbows against the nice mahogany desk. "What the fuck is happening over there? I'll be there by tomorrow and I'd like to know what the fuck is happening before I start—" he wiggles his eyebrows salaciously, " — shaking things up."

A dark look crosses Helaena's usually amiable pretty face that has Aegon leaning back. "If you do anything— and I mean anything — to ruin what I have going on, Mother may help you for I certainly won't. The Stranger will look like an old friend, Egg, don't you fucking dare."

"What the fuck," Aegon exhales, wide-eyed and horrified. "Have you been watching M. Night Shyamalan movies again?"

"No," she lies. "I'm doing this for my OTP."

"Oh my god, you're the one who roped them together?" Aegon strangles a sigh. "Lae-lae, we've talked about this. No matter how much you think they're cute, Aemond—"

"— Aemond and Alys broke up."

"Then they'll be together again before the weekend's out." Aegon rolls his eyes. "It's Aemond."

"Not like this." Hel shakes her head. "I got her to agree, Egg. And they're like... Gods, the pictures don't do them justice. They're magnetic. They make plans at the apartment, Aemond is there all the time— my OTP is happening."

"You are playing god between two people you care about."

"What else am I supposed to do?! They're obviously so hot for each other, and now that Alys is out of the picture, and she's there, right in front of him, Egg, you should see how it is between them. The energy. It's crackling. They have inside jokes, they're so comfortable with each other, and I will have the most beautiful nephew and niece—"

"—Helaena Targaryen," Aegon admonishes with finality. Hel quiets. Often times, the siblings forget Aegon is quintessentially the oldest sibling. They had never been close to their father's actual firstborn— the age gap is wide and there's just... too much complicated family fissures in between that it feels awkward, even when they're relationship is okay, to interact or consider Rhaenyra anything past a cousin you see every other holiday because you have to, much less now that their father's dead — so Aegon is their big brother.

And though they see it in bits, in flung comet pieces that you see preciously once every few hundred years— the vibe of big brother grasps the edges and reminds the younger siblings.

Sure, he's a dick. Sure, he's a whore. Sure, he's their mother's least and most favourite headache— but Aegon is their big brother.

"You cannot play puppeteer like this. This can blow up in their faces. And they care for each other. Their friends. If this blows up in their faces, it is going to hurt."

"I know that," Helaena says quietly, pout pinched but face mostly cleared. "You don't think I don't know?"

"I think you've already outweighed your chances and your choosing a possibility."

Helaena looks truly scolded at that point, and it juts a guilt down Aegon's stomach. But Aegon likes you. Maybe not like in the way that his brother likes you— in that intense, possessive way he gets with people and things he care about because there are so few of them — but he likes you. And he loves Aemond on a bad day, and likes him on a good one.

And Aegon knows, as a superior power about crashing and burning, that this is going to hurt both of you in ways that he truly doesn't think Helaena understands.

Because he isn't blind (as his brother) (bad joke?) (probably) to what he sees in Aemond's gaze when it looks at you. Sure it's possessive, sure it's the same way he looks at most people he keeps close to his heart.

But he was the one who saw how Aemond looked at you before Alys came into the picture. Before it morphed into nothing but platonic; morphed close to how he looks at Helaena. In that soft, I'm So Glad This Person Exists I Would Kill Literally Everyone For Them.

Aegon always thought he looked at you like he wanted to devour you. Etch you into his skin until your shape is in red marks across white plane. He looked at you like I Would Kill Myself If You Asked.

It was the possibility of devotion dipped in insanity. Aemond had so few things, much less people, who so vocally, physically, and emotionally cared for him without addendums.

The only real reason he never did anything before was because you were Helaena's best friend. Helaena loved you. And he couldn't destroy that alongside the fact that you might leave his side.

And then Alys happened and that focal point moved.

Aegon knew his brother. Not as intensely, and maybe that's the reason he could see it. To see clearly past the intensity and recognise its edges. Aegon knew his brother in his marrow.

"When this crashes and burns—"

"If!" Helaena quips stubbornly. "If it crashes and burns. Come home. You'll see, Egg. Aemond just needs to see."

"And what if she doesn't reciprocate, Lae-lae? She's not hard to love, and this is Aemond." Even Helaena knows his feelings, once taken root in whatever form, can blossom.

Helaena smiles softly. "Come home. You'll see. I can see it. I've seen it. The possibility of them, and it's so pretty, Egg."

It's really not all that pretty, fake dating.

Maybe it could be, but Aemond Targaryen is such an ass.

"This is not like The Devil Wears Prada fashion montage," you grumble, pinching off the big, 60s, yellow sunglasses off your nose to glare pointedly at the man sat on lounge chair. "All the zippers and tugging— this is not as pretty! And I look ridiculous! I don't wear dresses like these, Aemy!"

"You don't look ridiculous, you look like my girlfriend." He makes his emphasis with an inch raised eyebrow and pouty lips twitching not to laugh. "That's the point, is it not?"

You make a drawl huff. It's not just that his words were right— that's what the past hour has been, roaming around all these big named fashion brands where the staff just knows Aemond Targaryen, if not just by him sauntering in with all the swagger of an asshole you'd walk the other side of the street to ignore, then by the flash of his black card (or three, 'cause what the fuck is money to Targaryens holy shit) — but the way he's sitting as he appraises every look he's chosen for you.

He's lax, as could be in his usually perfect posture, with his hips in the middle, and one leg braced down whilst the other is raised to his other thigh. A confident man's sitting position, with an arm over the length of the sofa, balancing a champagne a trying-to-suppress-her-giddiness staff gave him.

At your disapproved glare— down on your nose at him because you're standing over him, lording over him, as he's sitting down — and he's smirking up at you. As if the power dynamics don't shift by whoever is looming over the other.

Aemond doesn't need to stand to make you feel all fluttery with a smirk and a strong gaze against your body. His eyes gaze from the bottom of your heeled toes, slow, slow, slow, until it reached the top of your head.

Surely you've only imagined his gaze lingering on certain parts of you that now felt hot and tingly.

Surely.

"Plus," he continues with a hum. A sip of champagne. "Isn't this your idea?"

"Yes, but—"

"Didn't you tell me that I should prepare the kind of outfits that Aemond Targaryen's girlfriend would wear—"

"Yes, but I—"

He leans forward, taking pleasure in arguing with you, as he settles his elbows on his knees, pressing both of his feet flat on the tile. He's looking up, still, but his eyes are intense and the corner of his mouth is twitching from a grin he's trying to fight.

"And even when I told you that didn't matter, that whatever you wore would be fine, you insisted?"

"Because I thought it'd be fun!" you growl and he falls in faint, amused laughter. His eye is sparkling and there's a joy to him that makes you giddy. You truly have missed Aemond as you know him. "Because I wanted a fun dress-up montage, but nothing about this is fun! Why are you choosing so many goddamned zippers, and they're all so fucking tight?"

You plop beside him, stealing his champagne. Staff look away, trying not to ogle too much between you two. As you take sips of his drink, his hand, still over the sofa's arm, begin drawing idle circles on your exposed shoulders. It warms you and calms you down, melting further in the seat beside him.

"I liked the dresses," he finally murmurs. "The ones before this. The flowy fabric ones."

"Those are summer dresses," you say though don't know why.

"Hm," he hums. "You look pretty in them."

You look up at him and he's looking at you, a small smile on his face. The proximity is too near to be proper but not near enough if you're fake dating. You study his silver lashes and the scarred flesh.

"Thanks."

"We'll get them. Is that alright with you?"

You snort softly. "You're paying, Aemy. You can do whatever you want. Can't believe this is how your dates with Alys usually went."

Hatching plans meant unloading information about his former relationship with her. Going through their relationship so you could understand it better, better proportioned the good and the bad, and secretly, make him see the red flags that should jump out in clear, plastic red.

"Not at first." He's looking away now, but his finger is still drawing circles. There's a wistful tone to his voice, like seeing through a dream and a memory. "But when it got... bad, it seemed like the only time we weren't fighting was when we were in public. Almost subconsciously, whenever things got tensed, I'd offer to take us out. Do anything outside of our bubble. Money isn't an issue, and before Alys said she felt like a... cheap whore than a girlfriend, buying things for her, spending time looking through things to wear, to match almost, was safe."

"Gift Giving," you mutter with a nod. He turns.

"What was that?"

"A love language." He cocks his head. You sigh. "I mean it's stupid and not really theoretically accurate, but for fun, there's five types of love languages. People do this test thing and sort of box up the kind of love language you want to receive and what you give— but truly, in my opinion, a true kind of love demands all five for it to work."

He hums, intrigued. "And what are the five?"

"Words of Affirmation, Quality Time, Physical Touch, Acts of Service, Gift Giving. But, you know, all of those should be given by a partner, in increments they can do for you. There shouldn't be a boxed fixture of what your relationship could be."

You shrug, standing up and stretching. You don't see him looking at you in the way that he has been for the past few days, and he doesn't know the tingles and feelings you keep between a smile and a sigh.

"Love looks different for everyone but it should have the same concept."

"And what concept is that?"

You turn to him, smiling. "That if you truly love someone, you can try anything. Love doesn't demand things that you do for the simple reason that you love the person enough."

"Love can be complicated," he says, and he's not arguing, not really. He isn't begging for you to understand. He is simply saying.

"Love can," you agree. "As most things are complicated. But it doesn't have to hurt."

It's a boundary line, the way he blinks, remembering why you're here together, why he gets to touch you in intimate ways, why he gets to pay for clothes, why you spend this time with him. A jolt. A shock.

You don't press and he doesn't retreat. The line exists not just to remind, but to stabilise any projections. Any dangerous tones.

You simply smile, nodding at the time. "Dinner date, babycakes. We can't be late for reservations."

"We can be late for a few minutes," he says, remembering echoes of how Alys sometimes got late. It isn't really her fault; there are days when she's too busy at the law firm, too busy with a meeting or two, or still finishing up her makeup because she doesn't like going to dinner in her work clothes.

"Sure, but we're here together and I know how much you hate being late." You snort.

"I don't hate it."

"Sure, but you got that eye twitch you do when you're annoyed," you tease, tapping your own eye before you wink at him and skip away.

For the past few days since the bar incident, by your suggestion, you and Aemond had pour out the intricacies of how Aemond and Alys' relationship worked whilst hiding your true intention of making him see its faults and corners, and at the same time, continue on with the charade of dating him.

It's been a packed week or so, going to your shifts at the bar, meeting with Cregan once and a while (boy had been busy, and he found the entire thing with Aemond incredibly hilarious).

You answered no question mark in regards on who the hand was, only sent a winky face or a kiss blowing emoji. You continue to post minute representations of your no-longer-single status in brief intervals, making sure that you never name him. You never publicly give him a recognisable body.

But for those that knew, knew.

It really wasn't that hard. There were only so much pale, toned hands, so much body builds you can hide with your hand covering his general face that you can hide without people making smart guesses. There wasn't a lot of pale, toned people around you after all.

But in your refusal to name him, the question continues, and so does Alys silent observation of every post. The only story she had liked had been the very first one.

You often wonder what she thinks, before your mind is devoured once again with everything else.

To be fair, as often as you had both been seeing each other lately— and it has been the most often you have been seeing of him — there were still things outside of Aemond and Helaena plans. And Aemond still had UNI to focus on.

"You know, I often forget you're still in university," you say now, comfortably warm in Aemond's car. All fresh leather seat and crisp new car smell despite knowing that Aemond's had this unit now for at least a year. He maybe rich, but he knew what he liked and took care of them.

He shoots you a quizzical look before looking back at the road. The city is bathed in a gorgeous stream of oranges and pinks, tie-dying glass buildings and bustle of city roads. When you look at him, you smile softly at how pretty the light hits him.

"Why is that? Do I look that young?"

"Your vibe is so old man on a nine to three, cigar breaks by four, and whiskey sours by seven pm."

He makes a disgruntled sound at the back of his throat. You laugh. "I would like to think it's my altruistic classicism. A timeless endeavour."

"Sure, old man," you tease then sigh. "Reality is, I'm so much older than you. I'm hanging out with a child. On my free day. Is this what it means to reach low status?"

"I am not a child." His reply is sharp, cutting, almost offended.

"You're in college."

"And of legal age? You're only four years older."

"Oh, right."

"What?"

You smirk at his dark look. "You like 'em way older."

His face, much like his gaze, heats up. You're imaging it when the ride turns red, the car slows to a stop, and he is looking at your lips. Surely it was, because you got transfixed with the way his tongue darts out to wet his lips. A slow, tantalising movement.

It feels like an eternity stretched within three seconds. The light turns green and both of you turn away.

Well, there's been that. A few times. But it doesn't mean anything. Aemond is in that transition of trying to rid himself of bad habits, of being freshly single once again, and you know he and Alys get in on frequently. This had been a conversation a few days back, on a couch, smell of grease and pizza around the room while Murder She Wrote played in the background.

"Wait, wait, wait." You sat up, folding your legs underneath your butt, and giving Aemond your full attention with a little 'o' in your mouth.

"Wait!" Helaena calls playfully from her sway to the bathroom. "Imma pee!"

"Take care, my beloved!" you call back, before turning to Aemond with a big, Cheshire grin.

"Can we not dwell on it?" He's flustered but is trying not to show it, looking back to the TV as if he understood why there's a body on the plane.

But wine has been had, spilled and shared, and it's enough for you to grab that fluster and the topic, and smirked.

"No, no, we will talk about it. We shall! We must! Do you mean to tell me that by the end of it, most of the time, you two were just boning? Is Aemy, one of my favourite people in the world, a Valyrian Sex God?? Oh my god??"

"I am not a Valyrian Sex God."

"Okay, girly pop, please." You raised a hand in a 'talk to the hand' motion and he was smiling at you, entranced and frustrated. "Women talk, Aemy!"

There was a flush and Helaena came back. Wine did things to Helaena, and she was stumbling and giggling as she flopped behind you, turning around and encasing you in a koala hug.

"Women talk, baby bro." Helaena nodded sagely. "Even I try not to listen, they talk, alas."

"And Alys has said those hips—" You pointed a j'accuse finger at his hips, then his mouth. "—and that tongue has done things that can make the Maiden blush."

Helaena groaned behind you're back, a slew of 'ew's escaping her mouth. And you were still being playful, teasing, but Aemond was looking at you, though scarlet, with a deepened expression.

And at that moment, both of you were thinking the same thing.

His chin brushing your thighs, your sighs like music to his ears, and his tongue making you scream.

Warmth pooled, twin expressions share a gaze. Hunger, desire, shame.

The connection was destroyed when Helaena abruptly jolted and fell down the carpet. Because she was holding onto you, you got pulled with her.

"Are you okay??" Aemond asked.

Hel gasped. "I thought I saw Bobby. I think I squished Bobby."

You shook your head. "You didn't. Bobby is spry. Bobby knows to move away."

Aemond's confused face peered down at both of you. "Who's Bobby?"

"The local spider that lives here."

"Of course." And he smiled.

You smiled back.

Helaena giggled beside you but when you ask her, she only shook her head.

And the silence that lulls in the car is like both of you reaching the very same memory and having to sit through the stifle of that drunken interaction about his sex life. He coughs, you let out a breathy giggle.

"I should admit something," he says, parking the car in front of the restaurant. Dusk is settling, sunset in bright red and orange turning to a cool blue and pretty lavender— and when you turn to him after getting out of the car, coddling your jacket close to your body, he looks nervy. Apologetic, almost.

"What? What'd you do?"

He bites his bottom lip. "I know something about this restaurant."

"I would assume. You chose it." Your eyes narrow, giving the black-out floor to ceiling windows a look. The Painted Table is lit up in a scrawled font on top of it.

You step inside, not bothering to turn to his call of your name, and is submerged by the restaurant's vibe. It's a darkened place with meaningful lighting but a casual air, a bar on the side, and an upbeat jazzy music dancing in the air — it looks good. The place smelled delicious.

Nothing about it sparked familiarity to you, but the anticipation from that look of guilt on his face brought you to a high-strung, so when he calls your name again, just behind you, you turn.

"Is this where you had your first date with Alys?"

He shakes his head. "No. No, but—"

"Aemond?"

The voice is familiar, and you don't stop enough to think before you're turning to the low, clear voice that's just a hint of husky, and Alys' green eyes go wide at your appearance.

She's dressed nice, dressed to go out in a black dress dipping low and fabric tangled around her body to show off her curves. Her inky hair was swept to one side and her mouth was bloodred.

Alys Rivers, owner of Aemond's firsts. The woman he seemingly can't let go off.

You smile. It feels fake. "Oh. Hi Alys."

Her shock staves off into a genuine smile that makes you guilty. "Hi, my love. I see you two are together. Always attached at the hip. Dinner?"

Before you nod— or maybe strangle Aemond — he comes forward, taking your hand in the process and lacing it. He's looking at her as if he's setting a challenge when Alys' eyes fall on your intertwined hands.

"Yes," he says. "We are."

"Well... that's good. This place is great. I—" Someone calls her name, she turns back. You shoot Aemond a withering glare you hope conveys how much you're going to beat his ass after this. She turns back, smiling still. There's a pinch between her eyes but it's gone by the third blink. "Well, I have to go. I'll see you both soon, okay?" She turns to you, stepping forward, not minding the Targaryen beside you. "Especially you. We haven't hung out in a while."

"That's true, I've missed you, you crazy witch." And she laughs and you smile, because you genuinely consider Alys to be one of your friends. Not maybe as deeply as Helaena's, or as close, but Alys was an amazing person and you enjoy her company.

Plus, right now the one you're angry about it solely the man holding your hand.

Alys turns to Aemond, and he stiffens. Between them is a complicated look. So many things unsaid, before her smirk softens. "It's nice to see you too, Aemond."

And she turns away, walking back to her table, to her date, when you tug him with you to the bar. As you order a dry martini, he speaks. Calm and soft.

"You're mad at me."

"You knew she was going to be here." You turn to him, arching an eyebrow, hating the way your chest pangs. "You stalked her and brought us here because you wanted to use me."

He shifts, face crumples at the word 'use' and calls your name in a plead. "It's not like that."

You snort, taking a sip of your drink when it arrives. "Don't lie."

"Okay. Yes, I did. I... I made an impulsive decision because I wanted to see how she could go on a date as if we were nothing." Bitterness cripples his words, the smirk on his lips is ironic and darkened in hurt. Your heart hurts for him, but you can't give him a pass just like that. He hurt you too.

"You could've told me."

He raises an eyebrow. "You would be okay with this?"

Your own smile is ironic and darkened by hurt. "You're already using me, Aemy. That was the deal I agreed, for Hel. It would at least lick the wound to have been in the know, and not, you know, got shot in the face with it."

At the first part of your tirade, he looked like he wanted to argue with the using part, but the realisation weighs him because it is true. To him, he is using you. And it's a cheap shot on your part because you were also doing this for him, out of your own free will.

You sigh when he turns away, guilt dipping low.

"You're such a dumbass."

He hums in agreement.

You're aware of a gaze from the tables, somewhere in the ocean of jazz music and chatter, Alys is looking, and you kinda wanna make this good for him. You were already here after all.

Your hand reaches his jaw, sliding across his neck until you reach his nape and fingers tangle with the baby hairs there. His hair had been wrapped into a bun. Sleek and fluffy.

He turns to you, to your touch, in shock. "What are you—"

"Try not to look so surprised," you whisper, stepping close to him until your noses are bumping. "We're supposed to be dating."

And then you slant your mouth against his.

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#aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen #aemond fluff #aemond smut #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond x you #aemond x reader #hotd x reader #hotd smut #hotd fluff #elle writes !! ꒱ ↷˗ˏˋ🍒#hotd fanfic #aemond one eye #tshbft ༊*·˚ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ

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lillypad910 · 2 months ago

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So I just read your fic with Big Dick!Billy and I were wondering if you could do something like this with reader being a Cheerleader and a Queen Bee (pretty much like Regina George) and he just put her in her place in public… >///<

Queen Bee

Pairing: King Billy! Billy Hargrove x Queen Bee! f! Reader

Warning: references sex (oral specifically), but doesn't have any smut. Sexual tension is STRONG; very much enemies with benefits vibe. Reader is dating Tommy (helped with the Regina vibe, ok).

Summary: You're the Queen Bee of Hawkins and everyone loves you, except one certain King of the school, Billy Hargrove.

A/n: You didn't specify if you wanted smut or not so I didn't write it for it, HOWEVER, I'm open to writing it if you want me to, Anon! So please let me know!!

You are the Queen of Hawkins High, from your attitude to the way you dress. Every girl wants to be you, every boy wants to fuck you. You are everything.

You smile wide as you finish out the routine, raising your pompoms up into the air for the final pose. You have been practicing all morning with the rest of the girls, well, almost. Nicole hasn't shown up, and practice is already ending.

"Alright! Good job, everyone! You've all done amazing!" Coach Lively smiles at all of you. "You are dismissed for the day, enjoy your weekend!" The lot of you step away, but you stay put, requiring Tina and Carol to come to you.

"Oh! Bev!" You turn to your fellow cheerleader, her red hair tied in a high pony, "that skirt is so cute! Where did you get it? I might have to ask Coach about getting them for the Spring Uniforms!" You smile at her.

Beverly's cheeks go red, the corners of her lips pull up into a smile. "Oh! Thank you! I actually got it from my mom's closet..." She gives a small twirl, which your posy giggle at.

"Ooh, vintage! Love it!" You watch her walk away and turn to the two girls behind you, "That skirt is so ugly. Why would her mom own that?" They snicker.

You step out of Tommy's passenger seat, him following shortly after you, throwing his arm around your waist. Carol steps up beside you, glancing away at the show of affection as her recent ex-boyfriend clings to you like a lost puppy. You all step into the house party, Tina walking up to you and smiling.

"Tommy, could you go get us a drink?" You turn to your boyfriend, hoping to make the boy feel useful.

"Of course!" He gets everyone's drink orders before going to walk off, but someone stops him.

Billy Hargrove blocks his path, making the poor guy knock right into him.

"Sorry, Billy." Tommy recoils a bit before glancing back at you. You try desperately not to roll your eyes.

"Tommy, Baby..." You bat your eyelashes at him, "Our drinks?" Carol glances at him then you, before looking away again, obviously uncomfortable with the name calling but too scared to say anything.

"On it!" Tommy perks up, but Billy once again steps in his way. This time you don't bother hiding your eyeroll.

"Ugh, Billy, let him pass. Jesus, you're such a nuisance." Your comment makes Tina giggle. "Don't you torture him enough with your stench during practice?"

"Do you always have to be such a bitch?" He counters.

"I just speak truth."

"Truth? While fucking your friend's ex-boyfriend? Please, you're just a whore who doesn't know how to behave." Billy steps closer to you, getting too close for your comfort. His comment get's the attention of some people nearby.

"Excuse you?" You scoff. No one had ever talked to you like that, and they weren't gonna start now.

"You heard me, Bitch. You bite the hand that feeds you enough times it's gonna bite back." He looks you up and down, looking at every curve of your body.

The things he could teach you...

"All high and mighty for a dick with legs." You snicker, "What? Nicole didn't give good enough head today?" You notice the girl behind him look at you, the fear in her eyes fuels you.

"You know, from what I hear, Nicole isn't the only one on her knees regularly... Even the good old King Steve," He lifts his arms, getting the attention of even more on-lookers, "used to shove his cock down your throat. So why don't you get down there and show me just what a good whore you are."

You glare at him, your blood practically boiling. "You're an ass, Billy."

"And you're just a good lay, Queen Bee."

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#stranger things #x reader #billy hargrove #billy hargrove x female reader #billy hargrove x f!reader #billy hargrove x reader #billy stranger things #fanfic #fic request #request #requests open

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baronessvonglitter · 6 months ago

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Cherry, Cherry 🍒 Chapter 2 🍒

“Coffee & Garth Brooks”

pre-outbreak! AU!Joel Miller x f!Reader

Word count: 1,247

Summary: Joel visits you at work and during some innocent flirting, you reveal something that you probably should have just kept quiet about.

WARNINGS: 18+ Only! Mature and Explicit, however this chapter is pretty tame, age gap (reader is 18, Joel is 35), reader is tomboyish but otherwise no race mentioned and will not be throughout the series, until specified this story takes place in the summer of 2003 and is AU with no outbreak, flirting, reader has mild fantasies about Joel, no use of y/n

Series Masterlist

Mondays at the cafe are hectic. So as eager as you are to see if Joel will show up, you're also swamped with orders. It's not until the crowd begins to clear that you see him. He's smiling at you and you can't ignore the way your heart does a little backflip.

"Hey!" You greet him with a smile.

He approaches the counter. Today he's wearing a heather-gray t shirt and jeans. His hair is tousled, beard neatly trimmed, and you catch a whiff of clean-scented shower gel coming off him. "I remember you," he says, a playful glint in his dark eyes.

"I remember you too. . and I remember I owe you a coffee for helping me yesterday."

"Hang on there. Where's that ring I labored so arduously to free from your kitchen drain?"

You smile at his wordiness. "Why, it's right here." You extend your left hand to show off the ring, a lot cleaner and shinier than the last time he saw it.

He surprises you by taking your hand with a delicate touch. "It would've been a shame to lose somethin' so pretty." His eyes move up to yours, as if to gauge your reaction. "That offer still on the table?"

This small yet meaningful gesture mesmerizes you. "The… offer?" you mumble. "Oh! The coffee." Crimson, you fix his coffee, giving him a bigger size than you're supposed to. "Are you on your way to a site?" You ask as you hand him his drink.

"Thank you. Yeah, I've gotta check in on a site before noon." He sips his coffee, leaning against the counter. You try not to stare but you give a quick glance - his body, even when at rest, seems powerful.

"What's it like, being a contractor? Do you like it?" Before the words come out of your mouth you realize how immature you sound. Of course he likes it. He wouldn't be in that business if he didn't.

You feel a little relief when he smiles. "It depends on the day. You get plenty of sun, and you have to deal with a lot of bullshit, deadlines.. but it pays. So I don't mind it all that much. What about you? You enjoy bein' a barista?" Joel smirks and you wonder if he's enjoying your exchange as much as you are.

"It's thrilling," you say in a deadpan voice. "Wanna trade places for a day?"

"I'll pass," he laughs. "Sounds like you're tryin' to get out of work right now," he teases you, leaning over the counter. He places his elbows down and rests his chin on his clasped palms.

"Can you blame me? At least you get your choice of music in your truck, not whatever this is," you roll your eyes at the indie jazz playing over the speakers.

"I'm in charge of the radio in my truck. Just the way I like it."

"What do you listen to?" You also lean against the counter, subconsciously angling yourself towards him. You're only vaguely aware of the cafe, of your surroundings. As you talk with him it just feels good.

"I'll listen to almost anything: rock, oldies, anything really. I guess I don't like anything too artsy and pretentious-soundin'," he answers.

"You strike me as a country music lover," you give him a little bit of teasing.

He tilts his head to the side. "You got a read on me already, huh? Well I won't lie, I listen to some country, but only the old stuff. Not this new, pop-py, overproduced stuff."

"Do you like Garth Brooks? George Strait? They're the greats. You have to like them."

"Girl, you're too young to tell me who the greats are," he grins. "George is the king of country music. Garth's a given. He's kinda cheesy sometimes, but his songwriting is great, no denyin' that."

"When I was a kid I used to go around singing his songs to anyone who would listen. I would put on a show, sing at the top of my lungs.. I was a pretty rambunctious kid," you laugh at the memory.

"Bet you're just as rambunctious as an adult too," he says playfully.

You smirk. Joel's flirting with you, there's nothing more obvious. "I'm a college girl. I'm supposed to be rambunctious."

He gives a low chuckle and an intrusive thought slides into your brain: you want to know what that low rumble in his chest sounds like, with your ear pressed against him… When you come back to your senses you catch his eyes scanning your face. "Fair enough. I'm sure you've got all the boys chasin' ya, huh?"

There it is: the question you thought was only ever asked in books, in movies, and Joel is the one to ask it about you. "Oh.. not really.."

"I find that hard to believe."

You look away a moment, wiping an invisible spot on the counter with a cloth. "Truth is, I kind of have someone.. back home in Houston." You dare a peek at him only to see something like relief cross his face.

"That's great," he says, maintaining a smile.

You regret saying something like that. Trevor isn't someone worth bringing up to Joel, yet you have used him almost as a shield, and you don't know why. "It's, uh.. kind of uh.. ambiguous," you add. "He's going to university there. I guess we're still figuring things out."

Joel nodded slowly. "So.. it's complicated, is what you're sayin'?"

"A little.. I don't really, you know, want to talk about it." You smile and shrug as if it's a minor thing.

"Of course." He puts his hands up, then he looks like he wants to say something but he stays quiet. Looking at his watch he says, "I gotta get to the site."

"Yeah.. I should also get back to work." You turn your back for a moment then turn again to say something else to him but he's already outside going to his truck.

The rest of your shift goes by smoothly and you pocket your tips and start home. Once you're comfortable in the house you allow yourself to think about your interaction with Joel. Of course the first friend you make in Austin would be the ruggedly handsome, middle-aged man next door. A man with a daughter only a few years younger than yourself.

You've never really been in this position before. You don't really recognize your own feelings. You've had crushes on older guys before: teachers, coaches.. so why is this time different? And why are you struggling with it?

Joel, meanwhile, feels himself in almost the same predicament. He doesn't want to admit it to himself but he really likes you. The age difference is too much for him to even consider, but your presence.. it's getting to him. He likes talking to you, wants to be close to you.. but he can't. He doesn't want to mess up his life, and it will only cause problems if he doesn't keep his distance. He worries he won't be able to fully shake you off his mind.

A few days later he spots a paper on his truck windshield. It's a handwritten note from you:

pool party at our place this Saturday @ 2 pm

and your name signed underneath. Joel smiles and gets a pen from inside his truck to write a reply.

We'll be there, he writes beneath your message and he leaves the paper on your car windshield.

<- prev chapter

next chapter ->

divider by @saradika-graphics 👑

#pedro pascal #joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller au #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #ao3 fanfic #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #pedro boys #pedro pascal character smut #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal characters fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal cinematic universe

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emeritusemeritus · 11 months ago

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No Good Deed [George Weasley x Reader]

Part 9 (final)

Part 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9

Pairing: {George Weasley x Reader} mentions of previous Fred Weasley x Reader.

Timeline: Set a few years after DH, loosely following Canon.

Summary: A few years after Fred’s death, the investors of Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes demand changes to the name. All it would take is two years of a fake marriage to fix the issues, but no good deed goes unpunished.

Warnings: Fake marriage trope because we love the cliché. Mentions of death (Fred). Friends to lovers. Slow burn but mentions of kissing and eventual smut. Swearing. George calls us Angel. Drinking. SMUT. The smut has arrived! P in V, oral (both). Angst, sadness, grief. Mentions of cheating, infidelity. Tags will be updated with each chapter. Not Beta-read or spell checked.

The final chapter of this whirlwind story 🖤

In complete contrast to the bustling crowd and noisy room of chattering people, Diagon Alley was practically deserted at this late hour, the shops king since closed with only the hospitality locations open. Looking up at the familiar orange building, you pulled out your wand and cast the series of spells to unlock the protective enchantments before stepping inside and locking back up. You slipped out of your heels by clinging onto the stair rail before scooping them up in your hands and carrying them with you as you ascended the stairs, for once knowing exactly what you needed.

You knew if you returned to the flat George would immediately find you before you could have the chance to clear your head, to work out what you wanted and what you needed to say. There was only one thing that would bring you comfort now and as if you were completely on autopilot, you climbed the stairs and entered the flat above the shop.

It was different to how you remembered it, much emptier now then how it had been so many years ago, of course due to most of George's practical things being at your flat. You paused, standing outside the first door on the left after the little closer and hovered your hand across the doorknob, taking a deep breath to stabilise yourself before you slowly opened the door. Fred's room.

It was almost exactly as you remembered it though it was lifeless and the air was a little stale, a natural consequence of it being shut up for so long. Paperwork, scattered notes still littered the desk, along with a myriad of bits and bobs that he used whilst working on his new projects. The bed was made, the mismatch of random sheets and covers making you smile as they looked so perfectly Fred, so much so that you couldn't help but walk over and run your hand over the soft fabric, remembering how it had felt against your skin so long ago. Just like George, he had a large dresser against the back wall, almost like a complete mirror of George's room layout in reverse and you found yourself drawn to it almost immediately.

You opened a drawer and reached inside, feeling tears welling up in your eyes at the sight. His green 'F' jumper, knitted so many years ago by Molly, folded neatly into the drawer, right on top. You pulled it out and held it up to your face, desperately searching for the smell you remembered. It still smelt like him, though it was faint. The sugary sweet smell mixed with a natural musk and a side note of smoke, like a marshmallow that had been toasted a little too long. It mixed deliciously with the scent of Molly's washing powder concoction and blended all together to create the exact smell of Fred. Sweet and smoky, warm and comforting, just like him.

Tears streamed silently down your face as you held the jumper up to your face, never wanting to stop smelling the scent that filled your nose and your mind, so desperately wanting to feel him surround you. You took a seat on the creaky chair at his desk, still clutching the jumper tightly as you allowed yourself a little cry, though you weren't quite sure what you were crying for. Was it Freddie? A longing for simpler times when it was just the three of you without any complications. Was it George, and the events that had happened? Seeing him with someone else or his declaration of love that had felt so vividly real? Either way, your mind was a complete mush of emotion and memories, everything seeming to haunt you in that moment.

"I'm so sorry Freddie," you said out loud, tears still streaming down your face. "I just wanted to help. I couldn't let them take this away from George, not when he'd already lost so much. We both have."

You knew it was pointless to have a conversation with him, to speak to him as if he was there, as if he'd reply to you but in that moment, it helped. There was so much you needed to say to him that it seemed like the perfect time to unload your feelings.

"It's ridiculous isn't it, I'm completely pathetic. You'd tell me wouldn't you? Tell me I was being a prat, to just talk to him, 'it's not like he's going to petrify you'," you laughed through your tears, imagining the words coming out of Fred's mouth. "I miss you so much." More tears flowed as you spoke the words out loud, the silence of the room only highlighting your loss.

You were about to speak again when a picture on the desk caught your eye, one you'd never seen before. It was taken on Christmas Day at Grimmauld Place, just after Arthur had gotten home from St Mungo's. It was you, Fred and George, all dressed in your Christmas gifts from Molly and Arthur, the matching scarves for the twins and your own though yours was slightly darker in colour with your initial stitched into the flowing bit at the bottom. You were all smiling and laughing together, though you couldn't remember what about, huddled together around the fire in the lounge. You were looking at Fred and belly laughing, hunched over a little and resting your head against his shoulder. Fred looked completely elated, eyes almost closed in laughter, from the looks of it he was the instigator, as per usual. George was looking at you, openly cracking up with laughter but his eyes were focused in on you, his hand on your shoulder.

That one photo alone had seemed to give you complete clarity. It had cleared your head of all complications and all the events of the night, the good and the bad, and had transported you back to the time you were happiest, forcing you to realise what was truly important.

"How the bloody hell do you always know how to get me?" You mumbled with a smirk, speaking to Fred again as you tore yourself away from the photo. You knew what had to be done now, the time spent amongst Fred's things giving you the adjustment you needed to realise what your priorities should be. You stood up and walked over to the drawer, folding up the jumper and pressing a kiss to the embroidered F on the front before you placed it back into the drawer.

Closing the door behind you felt like closing another chapter in your life, a parting of ways of your old self as you prepared for what needed to be done. You walked out of the shop, stopping to place your heels on and locked up before apparating away back to your flat.

"Angel?" You heard almost as soon as your feet touched the ground. He sounded a mixture of relieved and panicked as he stepped into view, calling out for you. "Angel, I was so worried."

He reaches out as if he's going to pull you in to his arms but stops himself, knowing that you might not want him anywhere near you after the events earlier. He sees the messed up makeup on your face, no doubt fat tear marks littering your cheeks and his face immediately drops.

"I'm so sorry, I know you saw everything and I can't tell you how sorry I am. I never should have been up there with her, I realise it was stupid now but I really believed her little tale about the thestral thrashers- not that that's important now." He cuts himself off, realising he was waffling but you could hardly listen to him, too occupied by the genuinely remorseful look in his eyes. He looked more devastated than you did, and that was saying something. "I know our marriage is... complicated... but I would never do anything like that to you, I just couldn't."

His words hang in the air for a few moments as you'd process them, believing his every word.

"I know," you say quietly, the first time you'd spoken since arriving home.

"I know you might not believe me and- wait," he says, realising what you said. "You really believe me?"

"Yes George," you say stepping forward to reach out for him. Like an involuntary response, he pulls you in to his arms, never once taking his eyes off your face. There's a few moments that pass as you hold on to each other in comfortable silence and it's like the tension, the hurt and the distance between you had disappeared instantly in that moment. Water under the bridge, you thought.

"I'm sorry I haven't been around much, I've barely had time to sleep in between running the shop, sorting the new lines and getting the investors off my back," he admits with a bashful smile, stroking your hair as you hold on to each other.

"I could have helped you," you say, enjoying the soft material of his suit against your bare arms.

"I already ask too much of you," he says with a dismissive shrug, though his tone is light.

"I'm your wife," you say with your own shrug, and a smile, as if it was the most natural excuse in the word.

"Yeah, you are," he replies with a wide smile, still stroking your hair, as if the information had slowly sunk in, making him realise that you'd do anything for him.

"I have to ask," you say softly, gently pulling away and walking him over to the sofa by your joined hands until you're seated with your legs grazing one another.

"Anything," he says honestly.

"What happened?" You ask quietly, trying to keep the emotions out of your voice but some slipped through. "The honeymoon was, well it was perfect but then everything stopped. You didn't touch me anymore, hardly looked at me, what did I do?"

He looks up at you with a look of complete heartbreak at your final question and he scoots across the sofa to grab your legs, making sure you were focused on him as his right hand comes up to cup your face and jaw.

"You didn't do anything Angel, it was perfect but I was being selfish," he explains, his eyes imploring yours as if he needs you to know that it wasn't your fault. "When I accidentally called you, that, well I realised how insensitive I was being, how I'd let myself get carried away with the whole thing. You agreed to marry me for the sake of the business, it was never meant to be more but I couldn't help myself. I'd gone too far and I'd not considered your feelings, so I pulled away to make things less complicated."

"Which complicated things," you retort, a slight smirk tugging at your mouth. He snorts and nods as he takes in your words.

"I realise now that it was a stupid idea," he answers truthfully, still gently nodding. "I just didn't want you to feel any pressure to you know... with me. The last thing I'd ever want was to feel like an obligation, especially if you weren't into me."

You can't help but let out a little snort through your nose at his words, realising how completely wrong he'd got it.

"Yeah because I don't want to have sex with the boy I've fancied since fourth year," you sarcastically retort with a slight roll of your eyes and a smirk.

You wished you could have recorded George's reaction to your words so that you could replay it over and over again for the rest of your life. He chokes on nothing, eyes bulging as he stares at you in complete shock.

"You.. what?"

"What?" You ask, not sure what part he was questioning.

"We've been married for nearly six months, friends for well over a decade and this is the first time I'm hearing about this?" He looks utterly bewildered and it's all you can do not to chuckle, though that would probably not be the right reaction for this moment. "That would have been very helpful to know six months ago," he says, slowly becoming less shocked and more smiley. You smile back at him and nod, realising that you should have just told him, even if you ran the risk of losing him like you'd always feared.

"I was terrified of losing you, or making things awkward," you admit, "the last thing I ever wanted was to make things uncomfortable between us."

"Wait, what about Fred?" He asks, suddenly remembering your past situation-ship with his twin.

This time, you reach out for George's leg, trying to force the words out that you knew needed to be said after taking a big breath.

"Fred knew I liked you, he used to tease me about it incessantly, he figured it out just before fifth year," you say with a smile, memories of his teasing flashing in your mind as he realised not long after their trip to Egypt just how hung up on his twin you were. "But you never seemed to notice me, at least not like that. But then you asked Angelina to the ball and I was so upset, I knew then that you'd never look at me like that. Fred came to comfort me and we ended up drinking this huge bottle of fire whiskey and he asked me to the ball, though I always knew it was more of a pity date he always insisted that it wasn't." You paused, thinking of the picture in your memory box of you all at the Yule Ball. "Watching you dance with Angelina, you just looked so happy and it killed me."

You paused to take a breath, trying not to cry as you thought back to that night and how painful it had been to see him look so happy with someone else.

"Fred kissed me that night, told me I was beautiful. He knew he wasn't a replacement for you but he was the 'next best thing'," you air quoted him, hearing his voice so clearly, a chuckle falling from your lips. "It was never really supposed to go anywhere past that one night together but I guess we became friends with benefits and though I did have feelings for him, it was always you. He knew that, it's why we were never truly together. But then you found out about us and we realised that it had pushed you further away, I'd never get a chance with you after that so we tried to make the most of it but we could never really be together. I always wanted you."

He was silent as he listened to you, which only made you want to fill the somewhat awkward gaps in the conversation but you don't, knowing nothing more needed to be said.

George surprises you by pulling you in for a steaming hot kiss, without a single ounce of hesitation as you'd laid yourself bare before him, finally admitting everything you should have said at the beginning.

He pulls away suddenly with a look of pure mischief in his eyes.

"If you wanted to date me you could have just asked, didn't need to trick me into marrying you," he snarks and you instantly gasp and hit him in the chest as he laughs at you.

"I didn't trick you! You needed me to marry you for the business!"

"Hmmmm sure," he says, still smiling as he kisses you again, his hand cupping your jaw as the kiss heats up once again, though this time it's much more playful and teasing. "I'll let you tell our grandkids that."

"Pppft tell them yourself," you snark as he pulls you closer to him, identical grins on both of your faces.

"Oh I will," he smirks once he's got you pretty much in his lap, an impressive feat considering your rather restrictive dress. "Wait."

He shifts you slightly until you're beside him on the sofa again and he moves to stand up from the couch before kneeling down in front of you, on one knee.

"I realise we've done this completely out of sync here but I have loved you for so long, never thinking I'd ever get to be with you in my wildest dreams. Would you do me the honour of being my wife, wholly and completely?"

You surge forward even before he'd finished talking and sweep him into a breathtaking kiss, your hands reaching up into his hair and across his shoulders as he clutches at your waist. When you pull away, you're both in complete bliss, smiling at each other like fools as you catch your breath.

"I'm so glad, because I couldn't keep my hands off you for one more minute, look at you baby, so beautiful," he says, voice dropping lower as his eyes wash over you and your slightly dishevelled dress. His hands sneak back around your waist and around your jaw after pulling your hair away from your shoulder, lips crashing down onto yours, ready to claim you anew as his wife.

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#emeritusemeritus #emeritusemerituswrites #harry potter #george weasley masterlist #George Weasley #George Weasley x you #George Weasley x reader #George Weasley fluff #George Weasley smut #George Weasley angst #no good deeds

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theidiotwhowritesthings · 2 years ago

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A FRESH START [19]

Din Djarin x F!Reader

Warnings: violence, blood, injuries, mild non descriptive torture, indirect homicide(?), but also fluff. mixed in with all that.

Word Count: 5,514

Updates every Thursday

Summary: When you made plans for your future they never involved being hired by a Mandalorian to baby-sit his adorable, green gremlin of a child. However, after your life fell apart in the span of one disastrous night, you found it to be the only feasible option you had left. Nevarro was a far cry from Coruscant, but the thriving community turned out to be exactly what you needed. Every day you spend in Nevarro you fall more and more in love with your new life, but when your past rears its ugly head you find that perhaps peace wasn’t meant for everyone.

#19: MY BOYS NEEDED ME

"i will hurt you for this. i don't know how yet, but give me time. a day will come when you think yourself safe and happy, and suddenly your joy will turn to ashes in your mouth, and you'll know the debt is paid."

-George RR Martin (A Clash of Kings)

Grogu was an overall well behaved kid in the grand scheme of things. Was he mischievous? Yes. A menace to any local wildlife? Absolutely. However, he was always very good about listening to Din. Well, mostly. That being said, Grogu was still a young kid mentally, and he was not immune to having complete and total toddler sized meltdowns when he felt slighted. The biggest temper tantrum Din had been witness to was ages ago when a sleep deprived Grogu lost his snack while Din was running on a hunt, and they had left the planet before Din could replace the cookies.

Today beat that in a landslide.

“Ma! Ma! Ma!” Grogu beat his silver ball against the glass repeatedly with each cry for you. The first twenty minutes of the flight had just been the child screeching in frustration, and had dissolved to this tactic when Grogu was too tired to cry. “Ma! Ma! Ma⏤”

“Grogu, stop.” Din called back.

“No! Ma!”

“Ad’ika, please⏤”

“No! Ma!” Grogu began to rapidly slap the metal ball against the glass. “Buir, digur Ma!”

“I didn’t forget her, ad’ika.” Din sighed and tried to calm him for the hundredth time. “She had to stay behind. She’ll be there when we get⏤”

Grogu swapped back to screaming angrily. Din huffed and leaned forward to activate a holocall. The child paused in his tantrum when he saw the screen pop up and began to crawl down from his perch in the droid’s seat. The call was answered and your pretty features filled his screen. Despite his frustration of having to hear his child howl and beat glass for the last half hour, his lips spread into a broad smile at the sight of you.

You grinned. “Do you miss me already, Djarin?”

“Yes.” Din blurted. Grogu crawled out onto Din’s lap and began to cry in blubbering sobs while holding his arms up as if you’d be able to scoop him up through the screen. Your eyes widened, and Din wrapped an arm around his son and rubbed his back soothingly. “He didn’t realize we were saying bye to you on the tarmac. He’s been throwing a tantrum since we left.”

“Ma!” Grogu hiccuped in his sobs.

Din watched your own lip quiver as you shook your head. “Oh, baby, I’m so sorry. It’s okay.”

He leaned back in his seat and watched in admiration as you remotely calmed the kid down. It looked like you were in the clinic right now based on the white coat you wore, and things must not have been too busy since you didn’t seem in a rush. Din stayed silent for the next fifteen minutes, scratching Grogu’s back, while you spoke to him and sang him songs. Eventually, Grogu fell asleep⏤ exhausted from his tantrum.

“Thank you.” Din sighed. “He was miserable.”

“I feel so terrible.” You set your hands on your cheeks with a frown. “I didn’t realize he didn’t know. I just assumed⏤”

“Not your fault.” Din replied. “I think we all just assumed, and he assumed you’d be coming along.”

“I didn’t think…” The words left your lips in a breath and the way you bit them back made him think you hadn’t meant to let them slip at all. “Never mind.”

Din shook his head, adjusting Grogu so his head could rest on his shoulder more comfortably, and connected the dots. “Of course he’d be upset to part from you. You’re important to him. He loves you.” Like I do, the thought drifted through his mind involuntarily but not unwelcome. Din chuckled, “You’re Ma.”

“I know. I love him too.” You mumbled and something about hearing you declare your love for his son so blatantly and without pause stroked the domestic part of him making him preen in pride. “But, he was so excited to fly again and the two of you used to do this all the time without me…”

Din wondered if you truly didn’t know how important you had come to be to him and Grogu or if an anxiety of some kind kept you from fully accepting it. Din didn’t mind reminding you every single day if he had to. He’d take on that job happily. He hummed. “Before, you didn’t exist in our lives. You changed everything when you came, ner kar’ta.”

He saw your lips twitch up into a soft smile and he let out a comfortable sigh. You shook your head. “You’re more of a sweet talker than I ever would’ve guessed, Din Djarin.” Din chuckled. Your eyes left the screen momentarily and you pushed out an annoyed grumble. “I have four patients waiting for me. There was a small collision on the tarmac after you left. Nothing too serious, but⏤”

“I didn’t know you were busy.” Din stiffened. You had been on the call with him for nearing twenty minutes now. “I didn’t mean to drag you from work. You could’ve told me⏤”

“Relax.” You replied soothingly. The smile you wore took a mischievous edge and you winked at him. “My boys needed me.” It was embarrassing the way Din’s heart pounded in his chest like he was a small child experiencing attention from his school yard crush. The stupid, silly grin he had to have been wearing was at least hidden from view. “I’ll talk to you later?”

“Of course. Have a good day, ner kar’ta.”

“Stay safe.”

Din ended the call and slumped back in his seat while rubbing Grogu’s back. Every other breath or so his small body would be racked with a shuddering sigh from all the sobbing he had gone through. Din blamed himself for this meltdown. He should’ve realized the toll this would have taken on his son. Grogu was young for his kind, but he had already seen so much loss in his life.

“Ni ceta, ad’ika.” Din murmured softly.

Three days had passed since Din had left with Grogu. The worst part of it, other than just missing them as badly as you did, was living in that house alone. That’s what it felt like with them gone. Just a house, not a home. It was bad enough that you nearly caved and asked to stay with Nima for the time being. You hated getting back from work and not hearing Grogu giggle mischievously while you made dinner or hearing Din murmuring a lullaby to get the boy to sleep. It was painfully quiet and empty. Considering Nima was already worried about you though, you didn’t ask to stay with her. Instead, you had settled on sleeping in Din’s room. At least there, nestled in his sheets with his smell enveloping you, you found some mild relief. You had even dragged Grogu’s stuffed blue frog to rest with you. It was pathetic, you knew, and you were embarrassed to even mention it to Din during your calls with him.

For that reason, work had become your favorite time of day. Luckily, you had actually been a bit more busy lately than usual. Well, lucky for you. Not so lucky for the poor souls wandering in with injuries.

“I kind of thought you’d be using a cautery.” Your newest patient of the day, a man who worked with the local fire department, chuckled. He was younger than you by a few years if you had to guess. The man, named Hale, was good looking, you couldn’t deny it, but his messy, slightly curled brown hair only made your heart ache as you thought of Din. “Figured I’d end up with a gnarly scar.”

“Nope.” You chirped and continued suturing the gash across his abdomen. It wasn’t too deep, he didn’t lose enough blood to require replacement, but it definitely needed attention. “You still might scar, but it won’t be very impressive I don’t think.”

“Shame. I was hoping it’d make me look a little bit cooler. Women like guys with some macho scars, right?”

Your mind drifted to Din’s skin. The various scars that littered his torso and arms. A sigh left your lips, “Yeah. I guess we do.”

Hale nodded once. He shifted in pain, wincing, and you reassured him that you were nearly done. Just a few more stitches. He cleared his throat. “So, is there trouble brewing that we should know about at the fire department?”

“Hmm?”

“Well,” Hale titled his head across the room, “The entire security force of Nevarro is in the clinic with Peli’s best mechanic and our only doctor. Sounds like trouble.”

His words made you glance over your shoulder to see Vanth and Mayfeld arguing over maker knows what while Nima texted away on her communicator. You rolled your eyes with a shake of your head. “No. No trouble. Apparently there’s just nothing better to do in this city than annoy me.”

Hale chuckled at your reply. A lot of people seemed to linger around you as if you were a ticking time bomb. These three were the worst of them. When you asked Din about it, he said he asked a few people to just keep a close eye on you. By a 'few people' he must mean all of Nevarro. You finished your work and bandaged over the sutures before helping him sit up. Hale pulled his shirt back on then cleared his throat while you began to clean up your supplies.

“So, uh, hey,” He gave you a nervous smile, “I was wondering if you wanted to go out and get a⏤”

“Whoa!” Nima cut in before the poor guy could even finish his sentence. Despite having been clear across the room, she was suddenly at your side and fully attentive. You resisted the urge to palm your face in exhaustion. Nima pointed in his face as if her next words were a threat. “Don’t you know nothing? She’s taken, big boy. She’s dating the marshal!”

The patient’s eyes glanced over at Vanth who had paused in his argument at Nima’s outburst. Him and Mayfeld were only a few steps away. Hale raised an eyebrow, “Isn’t he a little old to be dating her?”

Vanth’s eyes widened and he stormed over while Mayfeld howled in laughter. Vanth threw his arm around your shoulder then motioned to his face. “I am not too old to be dating her, kid.”

“We’re not dating!” You threw your hands up in disbelief.

“Not because I’m too old though.” Vanth argued.

“Calm down, grandpa.” Mayfeld snickered. “You’re gonna stroke out.”

“I’m not old.” Vanth argued once more and you caved and allowed your face to fall into your hands.

Mayfeld smirked. “Your gray hair says otherwise.”

“At least, I have hair.”

“Hey!” Mayfeld’s laughs turned to outrage. “I’m not bald. This is a shaved look, is all.”

“Out!” You snapped and pointed to the door. All three of your guests shuffled to the door and you shot Hale, still sitting on the cot with wide and confused eyes, a sympathetic smile. “Give me one moment, and I’ll be back.” He nodded and you turned on your heel. Vanth, Mayfeld, and now Nima had picked up the argument out in the hall, but when you stepped out with your hands on your hips they all grew quiet. At least they had the decency to look ashamed. “What the kriff is going on?”

Nima shrugged. “What do you mean?”

“What do I⏤” You motioned to her. “I cleared you for light work in the garage, and yet you’re here hovering over my every step. And, you two,” You pointed at Vanth and Mayfeld who flinched at the end of your finger, “You two have an entire city to protect. Why the hell are you in my clinic?”

All three of them mumbled out an apologetic answer while not meeting your eyes. Nima crossed her arms and shot you a sheepish smile finally. “We just wanted to make sure you were doing okay. Keep you company!”

“And make sure no one makes a move on the marshal’s girl.” Mayfeld winked at you. Vanth added a grin at his words and offered you a cheerful thumbs up. Of course this would be the one thing these two agree on.

You pinched the bridge of your nose. “Get out of my clinic so I can get back to work.”

“You’re just gonna go back in there? He was flirting with you!” Nima argued.

“Yeah, and I think I’m gonna go in there and say yes to getting a drink.” You said and their eyes widened. You followed it up with a mocking grin. “Then, when Mando gets back and asks why I’m dating a random man from the fire department I’ll tell him it’s because you three pushed me to insanity.” Vanth winced, Nima shifted awkwardly, and Mayfeld grimaced. “How’s that?”

Mayfeld cleared his throat. “Would really love it if you didn’t do that. I don’t want Mando to try and kill me. Again.”

“Out.” You replied. The three of them rushed away and you rolled your eyes in response. It was sweet of them to care, but their lingering presence was going to drive you up a kriffing wall. You hurried back to the main room and shot Ren another apologetic smile. “I’m sorry about them. They mean well.”

He chuckled. “It’s alright. So, if not the cowboy, then the other Marshal? The Mandalorian. You’re dating him?”

“I…” You shrugged. “It’s⏤ Not officially.”

“Alright,” Hale nodded, “That means I have a chance then? Maybe?”

Thoughts of Din rolled over you in waves, as if your body was trying to remind you of who you had⏤ as if you even needed a reminder. You could hear his voice in the back of your head murmuring soft words of care. The promise that when he returned he’d be making you his in every sense of the word ringing clear. You smiled at the thought and shook your head. “No. I’m sorry.”

“That’s alright. I figured I had to try.” Hale shrugged and slid off the cot.

You instructed him on care for his injury and when to be back for you to remove the sutures. Aalya came in after he left and began to ask you questions about supplies and an injury somebody was calling the clinic about to see if they needed to come in. You found it hard to focus. Maker, you hoped they’d be back soon.

The city Daelar had run to was in a rural region of an already rural Outer Rim world named Thyreps. Din had never been here before, barely even heard of it, and from the looks he didn’t plan on making a return trip here⏤ ever. It was a dry, barren place. Hot as Tatooine, but cracked, dead ground versus rolling hills of sand. The city was moderate in size, it must have been the main population on this desolate word, but it was still small enough that if he parked the N1 on the local tarmac he’d be noticed. Din didn’t want to give Daelar the chance to run. He had places to be after all. Din wasn’t looking to drag this trip out any longer than he needed.

So, Din parked the N1 out in the middle of nowhere and hiked into the city. There was an inn on the outskirts where he rented a room. It was times like this he missed the Razor Crest. More than usual, he should say. He was laying on the bed, helmet off, and while Grogu slept in his sealed pram in the corner of the room. Daelar liked to go from his workplace to a brothel. Din planned on catching the man on his way home. Which left him with hours to kill.

Din sat up, ran a hand through his hair, and weighed the pros and cons of calling you. It was late. You were probably getting ready for bed if you weren’t sleeping already. He only hesitated a moment before grabbing his helmet. Worse case scenario, you didn't answer. Best case scenario, he got to see you and hear your voice. Two things he was missing immensely.

He made the video call and it rang for longer than usual. Din was a second away from disconnecting when your line activated. It took a second for his eyes to adjust to the dim view he had of you. From the looks of it, the holo call was being projected from your communicator which was sitting on the night stand beside the bed. The only light in the room coming from the glow the holocall gave off.

“Din?” You mumbled. Your eyes still heavy with sleep. “Is everything alright?”

“Yes, ner kar’ta. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have woken you up.” Din tried to soak in as much of your features as he could. Maker, you were gorgeous. His mind couldn’t help but drift off and think of a future where he’d get to lay next to you in bed. A future where all he’d have to do is reach out and you’d be there. “Go back to sleep.”

You shook your head. “No. I’m awake. Don’t go.”

Din chuckled, but he could tell you were coming to a bit more. Your eyes growing more focused on him. He watched you sit up enough to readjust your pillow before laying back down. Din’s eyes narrowed at the color of the sheets cocooning you. “Are you… Are you in my bed?”

Your eyes widened, truly awake now, and mumbled, “Uh… yes? I’ve been sleeping in your bed since you left. Sorry.”

“Don’t⏤” Din began, his voice firm. The thought of you simply sleeping in his bed should not be as arousing as it was, but his thoughts were running wild and the crotch of his flight suit’s pants were growing tight. “Don’t apologize.” He breathed out. “There is literally nothing you could say that I would like more, ner kar’ta.”

“Hmm.” Your lips curled into a grin. “I don’t know about that. I think there are a few other things I could say that you’d like. Want an example?” Din couldn’t find his voice, and you took that as the only approval you needed. “I’m wearing one of your shirts to sleep in. Just your shirt.”

Din let out an audible groan. His head fell back, lighting clanking against the headboard he was sitting up against, and his hand shifted down to readjust himself⏤ it didn’t help. Meanwhile, you were quietly laughing and the sound had him smiling under his helmet despite the sexual frustration grabbing hold of him.

“You’re trouble.” He shook his head.

“The sooner you get back, the sooner you can punish me for it.”

“Dank farrik.” Din groaned. One hand fisting the bed sheet to keep from touching himself. He blew out a ragged breath of air. “You’re doing this on purpose.”

“Of course, I am.” You chuckled. “I have to tempt you into coming back as fast as possible.”

“There is nothing you have to do in order to tempt me.” Din scoffed. “Just knowing you’re waiting for me in Nevarro is enough.”

“Sweet talker.” You teased. “How far are you from Mandalore? I see you stopped somewhere.” The question was a splash of ice water because he technically hadn’t explained the whole Daelar side mission to you yet. Obviously, you needed to know. For the length that he had known you though, you only knew him as the Marshal. Sure, you were aware of his past as a bounty hunter, but you hadn’t been directly exposed to that side of him yet. If there was anything that could scare you away⏤ it’d be that. “Din?”

“To be honest,” Din hesitated only for a moment, “I’m on Thyreps.”

“I’ve never even heard of that world.” Your brow furrowed.

Din nodded. “It’s pretty remote.” He knew what your next question would be and continued without you speaking up. “Daelar is here.” Your eyes widened and he watched as you slowly sat up. Revealing more of the shirt you had on⏤ his shirt. “Karga and I tracked him down. I’m planning to... make things right.” Din paused. His jaw locked and he had to force himself to relax. “Is… Is that alright?”

You stayed quiet for a moment and Din could feel his nerves fraying by the second. Finally, you nodded and there was a fire in your eyes. “Good. Make him pay.”

It was the most bloodthirsty thing he had ever heard you say, and Din felt a chill run down his spine. The start of this conversation may have dampened his mood briefly, but he was even hotter under the collar now. Maker, he wished he could touch you. The temptation to touch himself while on call with you was overwhelming. The only thing halting him being the thought that the first time he’d come undone in your actual presence he didn’t just want your eyes on him⏤ Din wanted your hands on him. He wanted you close enough that he could actually feel your skin. He’s made it this long, he supposed.

“You should get back to sleep.” Din said. It was true. You had work in the morning, and he had work in just a few hours. Your eyes softened as you mumbled for him to be careful and Din sighed before ending the call. First things first, he needed an ice cold shower. Then, skira.

The sun was only just beginning to rise when Din spotted Daelar leaving the brothel. Stumbling out, more specifically. Din leaned against a wall across the street and just watched for a moment. Just the sight of the man made his skin bristle in anger. His hands balled into fists. As Daelar began to wander down the street, Din crossed the street and followed after him slowly. The side of him that enjoyed the thrill of a hunt was disappointed. This was much too easy. It wanted a challenge. However, the other side of him reminded Din that the sooner he got this done the sooner him and Grogu got home to you.

“Him.” Grogu huffed from the pram floating beside him “Him, don’t like.”

“Don’t like him.” Din corrected the order of his son’s words. “Good job, ad’ika.” Daelar turned a corner into an alley and Din sighed. Too easy. “Close your pram.”

Grogu grumbled a few words before hitting the front of the pram and letting the metal walls close over him. Din rounded the corner after the man, but came to a halt when he was greeted by three blasters. Daeler a step behind the ones holding the blasters wearing a smug grin.

“Hey, Marshal.” Daelar chuckled. “Funny seeing you in these parts.”

Din locked his jaw in irritation and shifted so Grogu’s pram hid behind him. Of the three people holding the weapons, there were two men, one human the other Rodian, and the third was a human woman. Din strategized in his head, studying the scene, and it suddenly dawned on him. He recognized that woman. Why did he recognize her? Her dark hair was tied up messily and there was an amused chaos in her blue eyes⏤ like she enjoyed that her day was starting with violence. It hit him then. Ari. The last time he had been dropping her off in Jakku. Why anyone would want to go to Jakku, Din didn’t know.

She had been a quarry initially, but the price she was willing to pay him to forgo the bounty and help her out could not be refused. Ari had given him an ingot of beskar. Karga liked to joke that Din had a bad habit of accidentally making allies across the galaxy, something he thought was far-fetched, but this was damning evidence. Helpful though.

He set his hands on his hips and tilted his head. “I see you’re still trouble.”

Ari’s eyes narrowed briefly before snapping open in shock. She lowered her blaster with a laugh and bright grin. “Mando! How the hell are ya?” Din could swear that Daelar’s face lost all color. “Dank farrik, man. Last time I saw you, your armor was shades of red, brown, and broken. Look at you now. Shiny.” Daelar, obviously able to see he was losing his ally, turned and began to sprint away. Ari snapped her fingers. “No.”

At the single, simple word, both men turned and ran after Daelar. Din hummed, mildly impressed. The woman drifted closer, holstering her blister, and pointed at him. “What’re you doing out in my corner of the galaxy? Please don’t tell me I’m on another puck.”

“Knowing you, you probably are, but I’m not here for you.”

Ari thumbed over her shoulder just as her guys dragged Daelar back kicking and screaming. “You after that guy? He’s got a bounty on him?”

“Yes, but I don’t plan on turning him in.” Din replied. His jaw locked again. He glared at Daelar and the way the man’s poor attempts to escape became more frenzied it was clear Din’s rage was understood. Helmet or not. “It’s personal.”

Ari let out a low whistle and glanced back at the man. “Shit. I knew he was dumb, but I didn’t know he was ‘piss off a Mandalorian’ dumb.”

“You’re supposed to protect me!” Daelar screamed at her. “It’s in my contract!”

Din snorted. “You hired him? You should know he’s a medical fraud⏤”

“I am not! I was the best in my field, I’ll have you know!” Daelar howled.

Ari nodded. “Oh, yeah. I know. He’s a fucking idiot.” The man stopped in his temper tantrum to stare at her with wide eyes. She shook her head at him. “Why else would I have you working in my rival’s clinic, you dumbass? I’m hoping you accidentally kill some of his crew.” Ari glanced back at Din and waved her hand at him. “I’m in the middle of a terf war. It’s a whole thing. Would take a while to explain.”

“Yeah. I don’t care.” Din replied.

“So?” Ari clapped her hands. “What do you want him for? He insult ‘The Way’?”

Din shook his head. “He tried to kill my son.”

Ari’s eyes widened in surprise then hardened into irritation. Daelar cried out. “Liar! He was fine when I left! Your wife is a dramatic bitch. She has no idea what she's talking about!” Din didn’t realize his anger could possibly worsen, but somehow it did. Daelar was digging himself deeper into a grave and Din was eager to bury him. “It was a little viral illness, the common cold⏤”

“He spiked a fever. You left him for dead. You left her to deal with it.” Din growled. That night could have ended so tragically. He nearly lost Grogu. Din hadn’t even been there as it happened. Grogu could have slipped away, gone from him forever, and Din would’ve been miles away⏤ useless to him. That loss would have destroyed him. It would have destroyed you. Din can still clearly remember the tremble in your body as you cried that night. The fear so overwhelming, wafting off you in waves, that it nearly drown him just from being near.

“I⏤I didn’t know!” Daelar tried to excuse himself.

Ari drew her blaster again and pointed it at Daelar’s face. “Want me to kill him then?”

Daelar was sobbing now, pleading, and Din shook his head. “No. He’s mine.”

“Fair.” Ari holstered her blaster again then nodded. “Mandalorian’s gonna take him to go.” The men shoved Daelar to the ground, he thrashed against them uselessly, and Din watched one of Ari’s men pull out a pair of binders. Ari drifted closer once more and crossed her arms. “Look at us. I got a crew, and you got a wife and kid. Aw.”

“She’s not actually my wife.” Din admitted.

Ari smirked. “Yeah, but I hear the word you’re leaving off that sentence, Mando. ‘Yet’, huh?”

Din grinned under his helmet and chuckled. “What are you doing out here? Jakku then Thyreps? What’s your obsession with deserted and dirty worlds?”

“I got my reasons.” Ari winked. The men dragged Daelar over and Ari nodded. “Anything else I can do for you? This is the favor I owe you so you might as well make it count.”

“Can you watch my kid?”

“Huh??”

Din stepped to the side and the pram popped open as if on cue. Grogu babbling and upset that he had been in the pram for so long. Ari cooed, “Aw. He looks just like you.” Din tilted his head at her, exasperated at the joke, and she laughed. “Yeah, alright. He’s safe with me. Be back soon though, I got places to be.”

Without another word, Din grabbed Daelar by the collar and glared down at him. Ari gave him her frequency number before disappearing with Grogu and her men. When the alley was empty, Din bared his teeth and hissed out a threat, “Ni cuy' olar par skira.”

Din slammed his fist into Daelar’s face making him crumple to the ground with a groan. He grabbed the man again and began to drag. Every time the bastard tried to slip out of his grip or yell out, Din hit him again. By the time they made it to the edge of the city, Daelar’s face was bloody and the man was limp in his hand. The sun was in the sky now and the temperature was beginning to rise. Din used his whipcord to wrap around the man’s ankle and began to drag Daelar across the cracked and hard ground.

It took thirty minutes to get Daelar out into the middle of nowhere. He stopped next to the N1 and released his whipcord. Daelar laid on the ground moaning pathetically. Din stalked over and stomped his boot on top of Daelar’s chest, he heard a crack of bone even with Daelar’s screams filling the air, and Din pressed down to keep him pinned.

“I almost lost my family because of you.” Din snapped. “That’s why this is happening.”

“It’s not my fault.” Daelar cough and Din pressed harder. The man cried, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Please don’t kill me. Your son is alive isn’t he? He’s fine! Don’t kill me!”

Din pulled his foot back and then knelt down beside him. He released the binders then roughly grabbed the man by the collar, dragging him up, and hissed. “He’s alive because of my wife’s quick thinking. She’s brilliant, an actual doctor unlike you, and she saved his life. Because of her, he had a chance.” Din chuckled. “So, no. I’m not going to kill you right now, Daelar.” Briefly, Din could see a flash of relief on the man’s bruised and bloodied features. “I’m going to give you a chance to save yourself. You’re a doctor. Best in your field. You should be able to do it no problem, right?”

Daelar’s eyebrows furrowed and, without preamble, his vibroblade was drawn and Din stabbed it between two of Daelar’s ribs on the right side. The man screamed and Din pulled the blade out and stood. Daelar grasped his side, blood pooling out onto the ground under him, and his breaths were growing shallow.

“You⏤ You said⏤”

“I said I wouldn’t kill you. I didn't.” Din tucked his blade away. He motioned in the direction they came from. “City is that way. Save yourself.”

Daelar shook his head, trying to grab his boots, “It’s too far. It’s⏤ I’ll bleed to death. I’ll⏤ I’ll drown in my own blood in twenty minutes. Sooner if my⏤ my lung collapses.” His breaths were shallow and panicked. “What would you⏤ you have me do?”

Din tilted his head. “Well, if I were you, I’d get to crawling.”

Daelar screamed and sobbed as Din marched to the N1 and boarded. Even with the engines going, Din could still hear the man’s cries but it did nothing but make him nod in assurance. Considering Daelar nearly took his family from him, Din felt like he was showing mercy. He gave the man a chance. Granted, it was a piss poor chance and his odds were in a very low percentile, but you had been stuck in a similar scenario. The N1 took off, angling toward the city’s tarmac so he could pick up Grogu, and Din felt relief at a job being done. More than likely, Daelar was going to die in the desert, and in Din’s opinion that was still more than he deserved.

mando'a translations:

Buir: father (parent) Ad’ika: little one Digur: Forget Her Kar’ta: My heart Ni ceta: I’m sorry Skira: Settle a score, revenge Ni cuy' olar par skira: I’m here to settle a score.

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tieronecrush · 1 year ago

Text

hot & heavy

chapter twelve: sunshine baby

neighbor!joel x f!reader

series masterlist

series rating: E (18+ MDNI)

series summary:

over the course of three summers, joel miller becomes woven into your life. the first summer is spent falling for him; nannying his daughter and sneaking around with him in a burning love affair. you know how you feel about joel, he isn’t so sure about how it all is gonna work. the second summer is brief. a month spent at home after graduation and before you move to boston for your dream job. one look at you, one time hearing your voice, and joel is hooked again. he pines over you for that month, but you think — how is long distance of over a thousand miles going to work for a single dad? the third summer, you return home burnt out and pride bruised from your post-grad life. you need time to feel at home again, like your complete self, so you’ve come back home with no return ticket booked. it’s only a matter of time before joel seeks you out, slowly spending more time with you. without an inevitable end to the summer looming over you both, what chances are you willing to take?

word count: 6.7k

warnings: NO OUTBREAK (don’t need to worry about the mushies), no use of y/n, inexperienced reader, age gap (joel is 30/31, reader is 22), canon-divergent (sarah is 7 y/o), nanny au, pet names (sweetheart, darling, sweet girl, mariposa, etc.), feeling familial and self-pressure, established relationship, spanish cause joel is latino, oral (m receiving), dirty talkkk king joel miller, soft joel, possessive joel, mentions of depression and symptoms, struggling with self, discussion of parenting, angst, arguing, i'm sorry </3

a/n: everyone go give @northernbluess all the love for always helping me with beta-ing AND cause we are gonna be writing a fic together :)))) more info on her monthly recap posted the other day xx love ya bestie! y'all enjoy this chapter (i have a feeling it will be RIP to my notifs)

Mid-week, your usual nanny family lets you know that they won’t need you for the day and to take the day off. With no other plans, you decide to visit Joel at his work site for the day to bring him lunch. You throw something together and head out from the neighborhood, calling him on speakerphone. It rings a few times before the line clicks and his voice projects from the small speakers on your cell phone.

“Hi, Mari baby. What’s going on? Is something wrong? You never call when you’re working.” Joel’s side of the line is filled with background noise, men shouting, and construction sounds of hammers, saws, and machinery.

“Hey, J. Nothing’s wrong, I actually have the day off. Kristie called this morning after you left to say she was staying home for the day so I’ve got nothing to do,” you hold up your phone as you come to a stoplight, “So I thought I would come to visit you for a little bit. I made you some lunch. Where are you at today?”

Joel’s smile is evident throughout his response, his voice getting louder to be heard over all the noise, “We’re at the Maple Avenue site. Right at the corner of Lake St. Not too far from home, so I guess I’ll see you soon?”

“I will see you in, like, ten minutes. Already on my way.” The two of you make a bit more conversation before Joel has to hang up, saying that he has to go tell someone ‘how to correctly install a support beam’.

“Alright, gotta go, sweetheart. Love you.”

“Love you too, J. See you soon.”

Exactly ten minutes later, you’re pulling up outside of the work site, confronted with the vague shape of a house with the framing up. You grab the cooler bag from your passenger side and climb out of the car, crossing the road and walking up to the younger of the two Miller brothers that you see standing in front of a table of plans and chatting with an employee.

Tommy looks up and grins when he sees you, clapping the other guy on the back to grab his attention, “Look who it is! Y’know, George, you better tell the guys that they better thank this woman right here — she’s the one who’s made Joel less insufferable.”

With a roll of your eyes, you stride up to Tommy and give him a hug in greeting before stretching out your hand to introduce yourself to George. He excuses himself to get back to his task at hand, leaving you with Tommy and waiting for Joel.

“So what d’ya bring me, sis? If you bring a treat, better have enough to share with the class.” He grins mischievously and reaches for the cooler in your hand.

“Eh, none of that, Tommy! If you ask nicely, I’ll give you the food I so graciously brought for you.” You smile and set the bag on the makeshift table of folding saw horses and a plank of composite. Unzipping the bag, you pull out the extra food you made for Tommy and pass it over, laughing when he pulls you in for a squeezing hug.

“God bless you, Posey, I was gonna have to have a gas station lunch today with the amount of shit we have to get done.”

“Quit squeezin’ the shit out of my girl, Tommy.” Joel’s voice fills your ears and you laugh when Tommy pulls away, happily picking up his sandwich and unwrapping it to take a large bite out of it.

“Hey, just thanking her for feeding me, too. Also, this is good as fuck.” He points to the food in his hand while Joel sidles up next to you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and kissing the top of your head.

“You’re welcome, Tommy,” you reply, grinning before turning to your side while Joel gently squeezes your shoulder. “Do you have some time for lunch now? Or should I wait around for a bit?”

Joel shakes his head and smiles, leaning down to press a chaste kiss on your lips, “I’ll make time for you whenever, darlin’. Think everyone can survive for a bit without me.”

“Y’all are too much. I’ve never seen my brother like this, Posey. Please continue to keep him happy cause he’s a much better boss these days.” Tommy laughs loudly when Joel shoots him a look of annoyance, the younger Miller turning to head into the framed home to check in on the rest of the work being done. Joel picks up the cooler bag from the table and takes your hand, nodding toward the street.

“C’mon, Mari, we can eat in the truck bed. Probably better than a construction site.”

The two of you sit on the edge of the truck bed, eat, and chat about the day. Joel mentions how much work he has left for the day, clearly stressed about getting enough done before he has to leave to get Sarah. You offer to pick her up from camp and bring her home, planning to make dinner so Joel can stay longer to get some extra tasks checked off his to-do list before the weekend.

After finishing up your meal, the two of you walk back up to the site, Joel taking you on a tour through the bones of the house. He explains the vision for each room and the finishes he’s going to propose to the family building it. You follow along with him, smiling at his enthusiasm as he gestures about bay windows and oak flooring.

When the two of you are standing alone in what will at one point become a bedroom with a view of the tree-lined backyard, Joel pauses and turns to you. Taking your hands in his, he looks down at them as he laces your fingers together before meeting your eyes with a tender smile.

“Y’know, I could build somethin’ like this for us one day. We could find a piece of land we love, maybe a little bit further out of the city to get some more space. Really make it our own…”

A squeeze of his hands reassures him in the moment, matching his sweet smile with your own, “That sounds wonderful, J. But I have to say, I like our house now.”

Your smile grows wider when Joel’s does, his brown eyes catching the midday sunlight and creases at their outer corners deepening along with his dimple. He pulls you into a tighter embrace, kissing you gently before nudging his nose against yours.

“Te amo, mi Mariposa.”

“I love you too, J.”

Music is playing from the CD player when Joel walks through the door later than he usually does. His shoulders are tense, his back is aching, and all he wants to do is sink down onto the couch and relax with you and Sarah. Toeing off his work boots and tossing his keys onto the entryway table, he bites back a smile hearing the slight commotion that is you cooking — some of that noise contributed by Sarah messing around with everything, too.

The next song clicks over on the tracklist, the beginning notes of ‘Sara’ by Fleetwood Mac, a favorite in the Miller home since his little girl was born. He remembers singing it to her when she was an infant, letting her dance on his toes when she was younger. It’s been a while since he heard it, and walking to the doorway into the kitchen, a wide grin stretches across his face. The deep, dull ache in his muscles lightens at the sight of you dancing with Sarah, singing all of the words to her and her singing along with what she knows.

“Said Sara, you're the poet in my heart…Never change, never stop…” your voice carries over the stereo, Sarah’s popping in on the last two lines. Joel stands to the side, crossing his arms over his chest as he watches the two of you twirl around the island. At one moment, you catch his eyes and beam brightly at him, waving him closer and reaching out a hand for him to join.

He does just that, scooping up Sarah with a grunt to hold her in his arms while you rest a hand on his shoulder and one on Sarah’s back. The three of you move and sing together, the butterfly in Joel’s chest rapidly pounding its wings and bouncing against his rib cage.

This is all that matters, this is what he envisions for his future. Small moments like this, altogether, his girls — and maybe another baby or two.

A simple life.

The next couple of weeks are packed with nights spent between all three of you, weaving your unit tighter together. Board game night with Sorry and Monopoly, and a sore loser Joel who insisted that the official rules be read aloud, even in the instance that his own daughter was the game winner — only just pushing him out of the top spot.

There was another evening spent at the arcade and bowling alley, a rainy day that washed beyond sunset. All of you ran from the truck into the building, shaking off the droplets before weaving your way through the games until the bag of quarters you and Sarah had gathered dwindled completely. A round of bowling was played, Joel being ‘generous’ (his words) to allow the bumpers to be put up for Sarah…and you.

The latest evening, Friday night, was spent alone with Joel while Sarah was at a sleepover. Your parents were out of town with friends for the weekend, and Chris was out with some college buddies who were visiting Austin, leaving the house free for you. Joel came over, crawling into bed with you after another long day at work, and the two of you languidly spent the evening shifting between random conversations, lying together quietly, running ghostly touches over each other until the tension snapped. Intermittently, the air between the two of you would heat up, leading gentle touches to be filled with more pressure and building up until the room was filled with breathy moans and begging.

Joel unravels you once with his hands, another with his mouth; the third time he reaches for you, soft and low pleadings to fill you up, you flip him around onto his back. Trailing kisses down his bare torso, you stop at his waistband and peel away the cotton of his boxers from his sweat-sheened skin. A long sigh deflates his chest when you take him into your mouth, his precum and your saliva mixing in slick as you work your head up and down at a steady pace. He’s propped against your headboard, pillows shifted behind him, and a mesmerized, open-mouthed, and heavy-breathed look on his face as he watches you. His voice hits your ears in your focus on his pleasure, the things he’s compelled to say flooding between your legs all over again.

“Fuck, Mari…”

“Tu puta boca perfecta…(Your perfect fucking mouth…)”

“Such a good girl, a perfect fucking girl. Bet you love this, don’t you, mi zorrita? Love sucking my cock and makin’ me feel so good.”

“Gonna come — oh fuck, sweet girl, gonna let me come down your throat? Let me see you swallow it all, Mari baby?”

Your name leaves his lips in a breathless moan, his come shooting in thick ropes and spilling onto your tongue as he finishes. Lifting your head off of him, you show off the pool of it on your tongue before swallowing it and giggling as he quickly pulls you up for a sloppy kiss.

At the stroke of midnight, the two of you are treading water in your pool, only illuminated by the bulb string lights running across the pool deck. The water is warm from the sunlight simmering over it all day, the perfect bath temperature surrounding your bare bodies as you mess around. Evading Joel’s arms, teasing him as you swim away before he corners you, a satisfied smirk on his face when he stalks up to you and towers over you, tilting your head back with a dripping wet hand. He leans down to kiss you deeply, stealing the air from your lungs with its delicate intensity.

The light bounces off the surface of the water, reflecting in his eyes as you hold his gaze and silence falls over the two of you for a handful of heartbeats.

He speaks in a hushed voice as if any louder would shatter the moment, “M’gonna marry you. Gonna give you whatever kind of life you want — a house, babies, I’d move across the world with you if you wanted. Middle of nowhere. Whatever you want, Mari.”

A smile grows on your face, droplets littering your face as you match his volume, “The only life I want is one with yours.”

It’s morning on a Saturday and you’re rushing around the kitchen, sloshing coffee in your half-full mug and waiting for your toast to pop out. You have only about twenty minutes until you had promised to meet Joel and Sarah at his truck in his driveway, the time counting pressuring you, especially considering you’re still wearing your pajamas and have a bad case of bedhead.

There’s a brief moment to breathe as you take your finished toast out of the toaster and stand in front of the island to butter it, reaching for the jam as your mom walks in from the living room. You glance up at her before continuing your task, passing her a greeting that she returns while refilling her coffee mug.

“Oh, sweetie, I’ve been meaning to ask you about something.” Your mom turns toward you, leaning back against the counter. Your stomach flips at the statement, nerves at the ready to start to hear something along the lines of ‘So you and Joel…’ But that doesn’t come; instead, your mom continues with a different line of questioning. “You know Sherri’s son that was about a year older than you all throughout school?”

“Um, yeah, I think so. Isn’t his name Ollie?”

“Well, he goes by Oliver now, according to his mother, but yeah that’s him.”

Another look is exchanged when you glance up at her, picking up a piece of your quick breakfast and taking a bite. You speak with a mouthful, “Okay, so what about Oliver?”

There’s a look that your mother has given you over the years of being her daughter. It’s a smile, but not any old smile that she gives out willy-nilly. No, this is a smile for specific situations. When she really wants you to hear her out, to do what she’s suggesting — if you can even call it that. Most of the times she’s used it on you, it’s left you no choice but to follow through on what she wanted.

The look on her face is exactly that right now.

Along with that persuasive face, she stands from her place at the counter, striding over to you and resting a hand on your shoulder while she looks you in the eyes.

“Well, sweetie, you have been home for nearly the entire summer and I haven’t seen you with anyone but your college friends a couple of times or Joel and Sarah. And I mean, they’re lovely people, but you probably shouldn’t be spending your entire free time with a nearly ten-year-old girl and her dad…”

Inside, you find yourself flipping straight to anger, ready to defend those two with your life, to defend your actions by telling your mother everything. How Joel isn’t only Sarah’s dad, how he’s the man you’re in love with and have been in love with for the last few years. How Sarah isn’t your ten-year-old next-door neighbor, how she isn’t only a little girl you nannied for a summer. She’s a light in your life, a wonderful addition that you’ve received on top of your love for Joel. Sarah’s become like — like a daughter to you.

All of these words die in your throat, fearing the outcome — disappointment, possibly resentment from Joel, and confusion and likely anger from your parents for keeping such a secret. Instead, you continue to listen to your mother’s request.

“I was talking to Sherri about you, and she said that Oliver moved back from Chicago to Austin this summer, about a month ago, and he’s been looking for some people his age to hang out with — is that what y’all young people call it now? Basically, she said he’s been looking for a girlfriend. I thought, knowing he’s a sweet boy, that maybe you would be interested in meeting up with him?”

“Uh—um, I don’t—” you ramble, feeling your cheeks heat up in the scramble for a legitimate excuse.

“I mean, you don’t have to say anything now. But I got his number from Sherri so I’ve got it if you want to reach out to him. She said she chatted to Ollie—I mean, Oliver, and he said he remembered you and would absolutely be interested in gettin’ reacquainted.”

That same smile paints your mom’s face, tilting you in the direction of simply agreeing to get her to stop. But then your mind flashes you an image of Joel, laying next to him a few nights ago in bed with his boyish grin, giddy like a schoolgirl when you casually said ‘I love you’ to him before going to sleep. That is what you’re thinking of when you address your mother again, a smile of your own on your face from imagining your man.

“I’ll think about it, Mom,” you say, a flat out lie to appease her. You finish up your breakfast and down the rest of your now lukewarm coffee, rushing around her to the basement door leading to your studio. The answer is enough to satiate your mother, her returning with her filled coffee mug to the living room and leaving you to finish your mad dash to get ready for the day.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry! I woke up late and then I was trying to eat breakfast quick and my mom came in and was trying to talk to me and I still had to get ready—” you ramble as you rush across your yard to Joel’s driveway where he is awaiting next to his truck with Sarah already seatbelted in the back row. Joel holds his hands up and laughs, interrupting your train of explanation.

“Woah, woah, slow down, Mariposa. You’re like a minute late, we’ll still make it on time.” He nods to the truck, leading you around to the passenger side and opening the door for you, lending a hand for you to get up. While Joel rounds the front of the car again, you turn around in your seat after belting yourself in, smiling at Sarah.

“Hey, sweet pea. Excited about your softball game?”

“Hi, Posey! I’m excited, but also I know that Daddy’s gonna get annoyed about something the umpire does or the other team, so I’m sure he’ll get yelled at again.” Your head snaps to Joel when he climbs in, guilt all over his face as he cringes. The engine rumbles to life as it turns over, and the three of you start the drive across town to the tournament fields.

You shake your head and roll your eyes, turning back to Sarah. “Don’t worry about him today, I’ll keep him in line so y’all can have one game without him gettin’ too competitive for you all. You just have fun with your teammates and do your best.”

“Hey, I always want her to jus’ do her best. And I want the other team and the umps to do their best and not make poor calls or crappy plays.”

Sarah laughs at your playful back and forth, the two of you resigning the conversation to listen to the radio. Joel reaches across to take your hand in his, resting them both in your lap while the breeze from the open windows blows your hair around.

Before you know it, Joel is pulling into a parking spot at a park district site, the screams and laughter of children melding with the clink of metal bats and soft thuds of softballs landing in leather gloves. It pulls you back to your childhood, endless summer weekends spent across the state of Texas for your younger brother’s baseball tournaments.

Sarah whips off her seatbelt and scurries out of the car, running across the grass to meet her teammates at the dugout of their assigned field. Joel chuckles to himself and shakes his head, cutting the engine and turning to you.

“Ready to witness some riveting sportsmanship?”

“Well, from what Sarah said, I think I’ll have to keep an eye on you for your sportsmanship. Are you really one of those dads?” You lift an eyebrow, a smirk held back on your face.

“Maybe…”

With a shake of your head, you reach over and pat his thigh, warning him, “Be a good boy, and we’ll get some ice cream after. Deal?”

His thigh tenses under your touch, a quiet puff of a sigh leaving his parted lips. He shakes himself out of the daze, licking his lips and holding your eyes, “Do I get something else if I’m a good boy?”

“Maybe…” You throw his response back at him, peeling your hand from his leg with a satisfied smirk, and climb out of the truck to follow him toward the bleachers. Joel makes a detour to drop Sarah’s bag at the dugout, wishing her luck while you send her a wave from the seating area.

Climbing up a few rows, you shoot a friendly smile to the other parents there, all of them giving you a curious look. Settling on the bench, you rest your hands on either side of you, gripping the bleacher out of anxiety. The sun is beating down on you this afternoon, but it is nothing compared to the scorching stares you can feel from everyone around you, especially the mothers. A cool relief only comes when Joel makes his way over, stopping halfway up to you to chat with a couple that greet him cheerfully. You watch the umpires prepare the field, popping the rubber bases into place. The next moment, you hear your name called, following the sound to see Joel waving you over with a grin.

Carefully climbing down, Joel reaches out a hand when you’re close, helping you down to stand on the aluminum beam in front of him.

Introducing you to the couple seated in front of you, you share a smile with them while Joel’s hand rests on your waist, “This is Adam and Maria, they’re the parents of Sarah’s friend, Katie. Adam and Maria, this is my partner…”

You tune out the rest of the quick introduction when Joel uses your name, feeling a flip of your stomach when he drops the title so nonchalantly. You haven’t heard him say anything but ‘girlfriend’ in a lighthearted manner to Sarah or Tommy, and this feels way different. The word is definite, solid, and much more committed than the flippant terminology.

Getting out of your distraction, you make light small talk with Adam and Maria before Joel excuses the two of you as the game is about to start. He follows you up to the same spot you were holding before, sitting down next to you and tuning into the game immediately. Nothing more is said about how he introduced you, the tiny, one-word difference saying much more to you than any explanation could.

As Sarah’s team takes the field, Joel raises his hands and claps loudly, calling out encouragement, “Let’s go, Comets! Y’all got this!”

Sarah’s positioned at third base, with an ideal view of her from where you’re at on the bleachers. The game’s start is delayed from a change in the other team’s lineup being sorted, the pause in the fanfare causing Joel to turn to you and wrap his arm around your lower back. Wordlessly, he leans in for a chaste kiss, smiling sweetly when he pulls away and pushes his sunglasses back down on his nose.

“Didn’t get to give you a kiss when I first saw you.”

Instead of responding, you lean into his side when the umps break from the circle with the two head coaches and both of your focuses turn to the field with the first batter up.

It’s a fairly standard game until the top of the fifth inning. The field umpire called a batter safe at third after Sarah tagged her first, Joel standing up immediately and gesturing wildly as he yelled toward the field.

“What are you blind, ump? She clearly landed the tag before number twelve’s foot was on the bag. I could see it clear as day from here and I’m way older than you are, kid!”

The umpire crosses his arms, giving Joel a warning look as he strides over. Sarah stands at her base, shifting her weight back and forth uncomfortably as the girl running the bases gives her a glare. You can tell Sarah’s turning into herself, the unwanted attention making her second-guess in the moment. Every young girl has been there before, and it makes your stomach turn knowing the feeling she’s having.

“Sir, I’d appreciate it if you keep your thoughts to yourself and take them up with the head coach at the end of the game. We’re all trying to play a fun and fair game, and I’m calling everything how I see it.” The umpire stands at the fence in front of the bleachers, projecting his voice up to Joel. He can’t be any older than nineteen years old, likely a college kid with a summer job. And definitely not one that pays enough to fight with a man like Joel.

“Calling ‘em how you ‘em? You really must not have great eyesight then, son, ‘cause that was a horrible call. I’ve got reading glasses in my car, d’you think you need ‘em?” The last line gets a few laughs from surrounding parents, and one glance over to Sarah again and you see her talking to her coach, shoulders slumped and arms limp. Her face tells you she’s asking for something, a gesture toward her father standing on the bleachers.

“Sir, if you keep this up, I’m going to have to eject you from the field area.”

Reaching up next to you, you wrap your fingers around Joel’s wrist and tug harshly enough to draw his attention. One look into his eyes with a subtle glare — invisible to most bystanders but communicating everything it needs to in the moment to Joel. He resigns with a sigh, waving his hand up in understanding as he takes his seat again.

Speaking only loud enough for him to hear, you give him a playful pinch and roll your eyes, “We’re leavin’ if you pull shit like that again, ‘cause you’re mortifying your daughter and it’s not a good look to be kicked out of your kid’s little league softball game, J.”

He rolls his eyes in return, the reprimand getting him riled up again, “But that was such a bullshit call, Mari. I couldn’t let the ump—“

“You can and you will. Sarah’s here to have fun, and you’re here to watch her have fun. If she gets serious about wanting to play softball and wants to join a league outside of the park district, have at it arguing with umpires and coaches. Cause you’ll be surrounded with other parents doin’ the same shit.”

“And how d’you know that?”

“I was a witness to the dramas of travel baseball for, like, seven years of my life. Dragged to tournaments for Chris every weekend over the summer. And saw plenty of dads like you.”

Joel laughs and shakes his head, leaning closer to speak low in your ear, “Sweetheart, I don’t think there’s a dad out there who’s like me…At least I hope there isn’t, ‘cause then what’s my appeal to you?”

You snort out a quiet laugh, shoving him away lightly before jesting, “Convenience. Barely had to walk fifty feet to find a hot dad. Didn’t need to prowl the baseball games anymore.”

“Convenience? Is that all it was?” He fakes shock and disappointment, a slow shake of his head until he breaks out into a cheeky grin, “Should’ve moved sooner.”

“Well, not that much earlier, manther.”

“Manther? Enlighten me, Mari.” Joel gives you a curious stare while his arm makes its way around your back again, resting at your lower side next to your ass.

“The male equivalent of a cougar. You’re a manther.” Beaming up at him, you laugh as he pinches your side, acting offended all the while he presses a kiss to the side of your head.

“Only for you, Mari baby, only for you.”

The Comets, Sarah’s team, won the game 6-4. To celebrate, the team agreed to meet at the Tastee-Freez nearby to hang out and get some ice cream. The drive there was filled with Sarah and Joel recapping her plays, and a strong scold from the younger Miller about the older��s argument. You kept to yourself, smiling along with the jokes shot between them, sitting back to admire the two of them.

You never could have expected this kind of life with them when you saw their small family moving in from your front living room window.

Joel reaches over, takes your hand, and links your fingers together with a soft squeeze. When you turn to him, attention focusing away the road in front of you while the truck rolls to a stop at the red light, Joel meets your eyes with a tender look. His mouth lifts at the corners, pursing his lips as he brings your hands up to kiss the back of yours. The small gesture and the glint in his eyes fill your chest with a warm rush of syrupy ooze, enough heat to spread to the rest of your body and between your ribs, and leave you with tingling nerves.

The parking lot is packed when you arrive, Joel opting to park along the side of the road in the mix of grass and gravel. Hopping out of the car, Joel is quick to get around and take your hand again, pressing his lips to the top of your head as the pair of you walk behind Sarah up to the snaking line filled with her teammates and their families.

“Remember our first date here?” Joel inquires, tilting his head with a growing smile.

Chuckling, you nod and reciprocate his smile, “How could I forget? You got a butterscotch-dipped cone, weirdo.”

“Hey, if I remember correctly, you’re the one who polished off my cone and I took yours. So quit knockin’ the butterscotch dip, Mari,” Joel’s voice is dripping with nostalgia, the date you two had two years ago feeling like a lifetime ago. While the line moves forward, you lean back against his chest, and his hands find your sides, skating up and down along the fabric of your sundress. In front of you, you reach out and rest your hands on Sarah’s shoulders, smiling when she leans back into your touch. Her tiny frame sways drowsily in your arms, one of your hands reaching up to play with her curls gently.

“Feelin’ tired, Sare Bear?” Your chin tucks into your neck to look down at her and she looks up, nodding slowly and stretching her arms in front of her. Reaching your arms around her shoulders, you hold her comfortably against her chest, the three of you in a tight-knit row in line. “Well, you’ll get a sugar high from the ice cream and then you can crash at home after you hang with your friends. You just give us the word and we’ll head home, yeah?”

Joel orders for the three of you at the front of the line, refusing your offer to pay and shooing you off to find a spot to sit. Sarah eyes a table of her friends and you nudge her side, nodding and telling her to go sit with them, “I’ll survive with your dad myself, I promise.”

Sarah giggles and jogs off, leaving you to find a spot at a small table for you and Joel. He drops off Sarah’s sundae to her before he makes his way over to you, handing off your chocolate-dipped twist while he keeps his butterscotch cone. It’s always easy conversation for the two of you, discussing plans for the next morning about when to leave to take Sarah to the aquarium and what to do for dinner when you’re home.

Things are simple. Reminiscing on old memories while making new ones, watching Sarah laugh and smile with her friends.

“So, what are you gonna do when she’s a teenager?” You inquire, taking your attention away from Sarah’s posse and focusing back on Joel.

“What am I gonna do? I think you mean what are we gonna do? I’m gonna need all the help I can get, and well, you’re the one who’s been a teenage girl before.” He gestures to your cone with his, and you reach it out to switch with him. Continuing to snack on his vanilla and butterscotch, the two of you talk about what you were like as a teenager and what you think Sarah will be like.

Before you know it, your cones are completely gone and you’re left with a pile of sticky paper napkins. Sarah walks over, plopping down next to Joel on the bench of the picnic table. The three of you chat for a bit longer before heading back to the car, en route to home for the evening.

Sarah’s tucked upstairs in bed, Joel’s sock-covered feet bouncing down the stairs that you hear from your place in the kitchen, finishing up your wipe-down from cleaning up dinner. Joel plops down on the couch as you walk back into the living room, greeting you with a sleepy smile and an arm-lifted to invite you in.

Happily, you cuddle into his side, giggling quietly as he pepper kisses across your profile while you flick on the TV. Mindlessly channel searching, you’re reminded of the conversation with your mother from this morning, and remember how you wanted to tell Joel all about it.

Sitting up and turning to him, you laugh quietly as you start to recollect, “Guess what I forgot to tell you this morning?”

“Hm, what, baby?” Joel answers, trailing his fingers along the bare skin exposed from your camisole.

“My mom came into the kitchen as I was makin’ breakfast and she told me about this kid, well, I guess he’s not a kid anymore, but anyways, this kid from high school that was a year older than me and is my mom’s friend’s son. And she was saying how good he’s doing, how he just moved back here from Chicago and is looking for people to hang out with, and then she gave me this look — oh my god, if you could see this look she does, it’s like she’ll completely shatter if you don’t do what she’s asking of you — and she tells me that she got his number. For me,” you guffaw, shaking your head before continuing, “And I mean, that look, I just couldn’t say no and so I told her I would think about it—”

“You would think about it?” Joel interrupts, sitting up straighter and brow knitting together as his voice grows half a decibel louder.

You squirm in your seat, cringing at the harshness in his voice and inching away to look him in the eyes, “Um, yeah. I mean I couldn’t just come right out and say ‘no’, she would ask me a million questions why.”

“Okay? And?” Joel removes his arm from around your shoulder and tilts his head in disbelief, exhaling out a laugh as he shakes his head.

“And what, Joel? Was I just supposed to tell my mother about us?”

“Well, no, but you could have said somethin’, Mari. That’s not very fair to me—”

“What would you have wanted me to say? You aren’t ready, Joel, or at least that’s what you said, and I have been more than willing to wait but I know my mom and I know she would have picked up on something if I said no.”

“What am I supposed to think when you’re telling me this, too? Like it’s some joke, ‘Ha ha. Isn’t so great and funny my mom tried to set me up with some other guy?’ That’s not funny to me.”

“Oh my god, are you serious right now? It’s not like we’re a joke to me, I just thought it would have been a little bit of a chuckle for us. I don’t want anyone else, Joel, and I thought you would have known that by now. If anything, I should be the one feeling some type of way about having to lie to my mom about my relationship status cause you don’t want to tell them yet.”

“I’m sorry I don’t have the capacity to deal with your parents right now, I’ve got my own business to run and my daughter to take care of and you've got your own shit—”

“Don’t. Don’t even start with that, Joel. You’ve had the same business and daughter for the last two years and you’re still not ready when I’ve fully committed myself to you and been as vulnerable as I possibly can with you. I am trying really fucking hard to get better for you, going to therapy and possibly starting medication. I don’t know what else would make you feel ready. Us being married? We kind of need to tell them before that point. And also, you seem more than ready to tell everyone else in the world. Your daughter knows, your brother knows, random parents at Sarah’s softball game know. Why can’t I share you with the people in my life?”

Joel groans and leans his head back, reaching his hands up to press the heels of his palms against his eyes. You can’t help but roll your eyes, standing up and crossing your arms over your chest as you look down at him on the couch. After a moment of silence, he drops his hands and opens his eyes, looking up at you with a dead stare.

“I can’t do this anymore. Not right now.”

“And when are we supposed to do it?”

“I don’t know, Mari! I. Don’t. Know. But I do know that I can’t do it right now, and I don’t want to do all this right now.”

“Oh, so everything in our relationship is operating on the basis of ‘when you’re ready’.”

“Quit bein’ ugly, this isn’t like us.”

“It doesn’t feel like it right now. I don’t know what else you need to be ready to be fully a part of my life, Joel. We're always going to have shit going on, life is never going to get to a perfect place.”

“Mariposa, I love you, but I don’t want to do this right now. I’m going to bed.” Joel shakes his head to himself again, pushing up from the couch and rounding the coffee table. He brushes against you, hand bracing on your side while he gets past you and heads up the stairs, leaving you in the dark.

Only the glow of the television illuminates the room, tightness in your chest as you glance around the otherwise empty room. Tears fill your eyes, a trembling hand reaching for the remote to turn off the screen and the sound, punishing yourself in the lonely silence for a few minutes before tiptoeing up the stairs. At his open doorway, you tentatively linger within the threshold, Joel’s form slumped on his side but adjusting its position and breathing unsteady — still awake.

Without a sound, he sees you standing there before he lifts the covers, a normally welcoming invitation with a smile and a ‘C’mere, Mari baby.’ Instead, you walk on eggshells to the bed, slipping under the covers before he drops them on top of you, his arm tucking against his side. When you open your mouth to speak, he rolls over, back facing you. As you fall asleep, you study his broad shoulders and the curls at the nape of his neck, itching to reach out and touch him, show him your care, tell him about your love. Apologize for everything, promise to continue the seemingly endless wait until he’s ready. But you tell yourself you have to stand your ground on this and just discuss everything later like he wants.

Later. Always later.

taglist:

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#joel #writing #joel miller x reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x y/n #joel miller au #joel miller smut #joel miller fluff #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfic #joel miller angst #joel miller series #tlou fanfic #tlou fic #tlou fanfiction

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ar4chn333 · 9 months ago

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Michael Bluth x fem reader

“The First Time”

Pre established relationship, p in v, f!ngering, he’s highkey sweet

This is my first time writing smût so lmk what you think & leave suggestions 💕💕💕

The anticipation–like the silence just before a clap of thunder so loud it reverberates in your chest. Michael pushes open the ornate door for you, trailing no more than a foot behind you. A tingly sensation races across your back, hairs standing delightfully on end, skin buzzing as if it somehow knew that tonight was the night. He’d finally allowed himself a day off from work and his tireless struggle to manage his siblings–the practical equivalent of herding cats. On this particular day, he decided to take you to a vintage, beautifully ornate hotel, every wall, curtain, and piece of furniture reminiscent of old Hollywood. Bluth Company had been performing very well recently, so Michael didn’t mind spoiling you a bit, though he would never tell Lindsay, her response surely one accusing Michael of hypocrisy for indulging in luxuries. You two had just gotten home from a relaxing dinner–heart and head buzzing with the lightness of two glasses of wine, generating a gentle heat in your lower abdomen.

Delicately lit, the entire hotel room took on a yellow-orange hue, decorating your surroundings with a golden tint. The door shuts behind you, and Michael gently places his hand on your lower back, guiding you to the back of the suite.

“I loved dinner,” you say softly.

“Me too. You know, I’m still nervous about leaving George Michael with Gob. Hopefully, none of his ‘Gobness’ will rub off,” he says.

“George Michael’s got a good head on his shoulders. I’m sure he’ll prove immune to a small dosage of ‘Gobness.’” You chuckle.

You catch a glimpse of him as he lets out a small laugh, his shoulders relaxing a bit. You had that effect on him–when his world became chaotic, you created a peaceful bubble for him to retreat into. You had a job, but Michael was juggling being a parent, business president, and defacto keeper of his siblings–a much heavier load that you bore. Michael knew it was trite to refer to one’s partner as their “peace,” but it really was true.

You’d started dating him three months earlier and had decided to wait to get intimate–until now. You both knew what was about to happen. He trails after you into the bedroom, a king-size not ten feet from you two; you feel his arm snake around to the front of your torso as your bodies stop in front of the bed frame. With his right hand on your lower stomach, dangerously close to the band of your underwear, he uses his left hand to sweep your hair apart from your neck, breathing softly onto your skin–an action that sends electricity down your spine and directly into your panties. Pressing your body into him with the back of your head draped over his shoulder, you invite him to kiss the tender skin of your neck. His soft lips make contact, making their way up and down the length of your neck, your hand reaching up to grab a fistful of his brown hair. He lets out an ever-so-soft sound–almost that of a purr, and his kissing grows deeper, the texture of his stubble grazes along your skin as his mouth opens and closes to savor your taste.

You feel him through his pants as your back arches, hips pressing into his. Unable to hold off any longer, you spin around, lips crashing into his, their pace accelerating quickly. Pulling your lower back towards his torso, he slips a leg between your thighs, causing you to let out an airy moan directly into his mouth. He carefully unzips your dress at the sound, slowly reaching up to the spaghetti straps before pulling back briefly and looking at you directly–eyes glazed with desire. You nod, giving him permission to go further. He pulls the straps off, and you shimmy the dress to the floor. Michael takes a moment to admire you.

“You’re absolutely gorgeous, y/n. You know that?”

The compliment, though appreciated, causes a wave of shyness to wash over you, your arms sliding up to cover your bare chest. Gently pulling your hands away, Michael pulls you into another kiss, his right hand caressing your breast, an action that sends a chill down the front of your abdomen. Feeling a bit exposed at the loss of your dress, your heart began to pound faster, feelings of giddy nervousness compounding the heat building between your legs.

God, he wanted you. He’d waited three agonizing months, and now you were his. Your soft skin radiating with heat, he felt like a fucking animal–every cell in his body urging him to devour you whole. But he knew he had to be gentle, mirroring your pace exactly as to make sure you knew you were safe.

He pulls your hips up onto him hungrily; you jump and wrap your legs around his body, one hand occupied with a tuft of hair and the other sliding against the stubble on his jaw, holding his face close as he slips his tongue into your mouth.

Leaning over you, he drops you carefully on the bed, your thighs still splayed around his hips, your calves pulling his body delightfully closer to yours. The sheer weight of him pressing against you is enough to make you moan softly into his mouth, legs beginning to tremble ever so slightly at the taste of him. As he sits up to unbutton his shirt, you follow. “Let me,” you coo, shakily undoing the buttons, a painfully slow process. You catch him looking at you as you peel his shirt off, quickly lifting up his white undershirt. Crawling on top of you, the bare skin of his chest makes contact with yours, igniting a tingling heat in your clit as you feel the hardness of his manhood directly over the fabric of your panties. Sliding down, his mouth latches onto your nipple, sucking as you moan, gently scratching his back. You hold his head against your chest, immersed in the feeling of his warm mouth on your breasts and hands running up and down your ribs. Waves of icy, tingly heat pulse through your midsection, so intense Michael can practically feel them through your skin–a testament to your want for him. Impatient and ready for more, “I’m ready for you,” you sigh. His blue eyes make contact with yours, and without hesitation, his hand reaches down to cup your mound as you buck into the pressure. He watches as your jaw drops, making way for a sharp inhale in reaction to his touch. Letting out a shuddering breath, he slides your panties to the side and slowly swipes a finger through your folds, causing you to let out a small yelp–you weren't usually this sensitive, and you couldn’t help but express the pleasure he brought you. Loving every sound you make, his middle and ring finger make their way to circle your clit, the space between your thighs raging with heat. You don’t care who hears your rugged breaths and cries of pleasure; your world only consists of him right now–he makes sure of it. Hands occupied, his mouth makes its way back to your neck, leaving a trail of sloppy kisses as you writhe beneath him. Your moans follow the rhythm of his fingers, hearing the sounds of his fingers against your folds, a damp spot on the sheets forming underneath you. “You’re so wet for me, beautiful,” he whispers, pushing with more force onto your clit. A knot forms in your stomach–a ball of heat that causes you to call out his name, nails digging forcefully into the flesh of his back, his panting and soft moans in your ears, making you feel as though you’d merged bodies. Though your eyes close, you feel him looking at you as pulses of electricity overtake your body, legs shaking violently on either side of his arm, yelps ringing through the room, chants of his name devolving into unintelligible noises.

He doesn’t leave you much time to recover. Still in a haze, you hear the clinking of his belt as he unfastens his pants, which soon crash onto the floor. Climbing on top of you once more, you pull his hips closer to yours with your ankles, feeling his tip at your entrance. Grabbing him like a python, you trace his head to your clit and back to your entrance. “Fuck, you feel good,” he growls, arms settling around you. Aligning with your entrance, his hips begin their descent toward yours, his tip pushing inside you; he inhales sharply, gasping at the sensation of your walls against his member. The pitch of your moans heighten as he fills the space inside of you. You fucking love the feeling of his body inside of yours. His delicious guttural moans fill the room while his hips rock against yours. Desperately holding his body against you, you look down as he begins to push deeper and harder inside of you. Feeling a knot return to your abdomen, you lock eyes with him. “Let me ride you,” you coo into his ear. Thrusting your hips up, you push him over onto his back and waste no time in mounting his hips again, watching his breathless expression as you push his cock inside of you. Bouncing, you take every inch of him. “y/n, I’m gonna cum,” he moans, brows furrowed as you pick up the pace. Legs burning, you lean towards him, soaking in every carnal sound you elicit from him as he begins to come undone. The knot in your stomach once again unravels, sending waves of heat coursing through your body, your moans colliding with his in the air around you.

Laying limp on top of him, you regain your wits, smiling and letting out a giggle as he does the same. “Holy shit,” he says as you roll off of him. “Holy shit,” you repeat with another giggle, basking in the afterglow. Wordless, you look at each other for a moment, oxytocin running rampant in your headspaces at the sight. “I’m really glad you took the day off,” you say sweetly. “Me too,” he whispers, kissing your forehead.

#michael bluth x reader #michael bluth #arrested development #arrested development x reader #fem reader #spicy arrested development

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lolahaurisfw · 8 months ago

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✎ Introduction ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Reqs are always open like usual too, and you can request as much as you want and as detailed as you want! i just get to things when i can/want to.

Anon's: None Yet

Other Accounts: @lolas-favfics @lolamultifandom @lolahauri @chowderpop 🔞

AO3: Here

BlueSky: Here

-> MASTERLIST <-

DNI: Map, Zoo, Pro-Para, Pro-Ana, TERF, Zionist, Bigots, Discourse Blogs. Block me if you don't agree. ❤️🖤🤍💚

What I Won't Write:

Smut. (Go to my other blog)

What I'm Willing To Write:

Reader Who Is: Tall, Short, Fat, Chubby, Curvy, Buff. Trans/NB.

Reader Who Has: Depression, Anxiety, DPDR, ADD.

Fluff, angst, platonic, hurt/comfort.

HC's, one shots, short multi-chapter fics, imagines/drabbles.

Canon-friendly, AU's, Canon Divergence, Out of Character.

Ch x Ch / Ch x Reader / Ch x OC / Poly Ships of any kind.

F/F, M/M, F/M, GN/F, GN/M, Poly Ships of any kind.

Now that that's out of the way, here's the list of fandoms and characters i'm familiar with and will happily take requests on!

Adventure Time/Fiona & Cake: PB, Marceline, Marshall Lee, Winter King, Candy Queen, Simon, Ice King, Fiona.

Attack On Titan: Armin, Eren, Mikasa, Sasha, Levi, Hanji, Annie, Historia, Reiner, Erwin, Ymir.

Avatar: Jake, Neytiri.

Batman Begins Trilogy: Batman, Catwoman, Bane, Joker, Scarecrow.

Beauty & The Beast: Belle, Beast/Adam, Gaston.

Bee & Puppycat: Bee, Deckard, Cass, Toast.

BigBang Theory: Raj, Leonard, Penny, Amy.

Bistro Huddy: All Staff Members.

Black Dynamite: Honeybee, Black Dynamite.

BNA: Michiru, Shirou.

Bob’s Burgers: Bob, Linda.

Breaking Bad: Jesse, Skylar.

Call of Duty: Konig, Ghost, Mace, Keegan, Krueger, Valeria, Farah.

Creepypasta: Jeff, Jane, Ben, Toby, EJ, LJ, Slenderman, Splendorman, Clockwork, Kate, Masky, Hoodie,

Desperate Housewives: Bree, Gabi, Edie, Lynette, Carlos, John.

Dirty Dancing: Johnny, Baby.

Earth Girls Are Easy: Mac, Zeebo, Wiploc, Valerie.

Elemental: Wade, Ember.

Encanto: Isabela, Bruno, Dolores, Julieta.

FNAF Movie: Vanessa, Mike, William/Steve.

Frozen: Elsa, Anna, Kristoff.

Futurama: Leela, Fry, Amy, Bender.

Good Pizza, Great Pizza: Alicante, Octavia, Dr. Keh, Nasir, Flash, Cicero, Kimmy Slice, Dr. Price.

Grandma's Boy: J.P, Samantha.

Gravity Falls: Ford, Stan, Soos, Melody, Giffany, Bill.

Jane The Virgin: Jane, Michael, Petra, Luisa, Rose, Rogelio, Xiomara.

Jurassic Park (1993): Ian Malcolm, Ellie Sattler.

Jujutsu Kaisen: Gojo, Choso, Nanami, Sukuna, Toji, Shoko, Geto, Yaga Masamichi, Utahime, Uraume.

King of the Hill: Hank, Peggy, Luane, Nancy, Dale, Khan, Min, John Redcorn.

Life Is Strange (2015): Maxine, Chloe.

Lisa Frankenstein: Lisa, Creature, Taffy.

Little Mermaid (2022): Ariel, Eric.

MHA: Dabi, Hawks, Aizawa, Shigaraki.

Miller's Girl: Cairo, Johnathon.

Moon Knight: Moon System, Layla, Khonshu.

Mulan: Mulan, Li Shang.

National Treasure: Benjamin, Riley.

Nintendo: Link, Zelda, Peach, Daisy, Rosalina, Luigi, Bowser, Waluigi.

Norbit: Rasputia, Norbit.

Princess & The Frog: Tiana, Lottie, Naveen, Shadow Man.

Ratatouille: Colette, Linguini.

Regular Show: Mordecai, Margret, Eileen, CJ, Benson.

Resident Evil: Karl Heisenberg, Carlos Oiliveria, Lady Dimitrescu.

Rick and Morty: Rick, Jerry, Beth, Doofus Rick.

Riverdale: FP Jones, Hiram.

Scott Pilgrim vs. The World: Kim, Ramona, Gideon, Wallace.

Scream 5: Amber, Tara, Sam.

Serial Mom: Chip, Beverly.

Silverado: Slick, Rae, Mal, Paden.

Shallow Hal: Rosemary, Hal.

Shameless: Lip, Fiona, Kev, V.

SheRa (2018): All Adults.

Sherlock (2010): Sherlock, John Watson.

Slashers & DBD: Brahms, Ghostface, Michael Myers, Jason Vorhees, Pyramid Head, The Spirit, Huntress, Trapper, Wraith, Trickster, Pearl, Jennifer Check, Stu Matcher, Billy Loomis, Tiffany Valentine, Patrick Batmeman, Thomas Hewitt, Vincent Sinclair, Eric Draven, The Artist, Amanda Young.

Spiderverse: Miguel, Jessica Drew.

Spongebob: Dennis, Man Ray.

Squid Games: Gi-Hun, Sae-Byeok, Ali, Sang Woo.

Stardew Valley: All Adult Humans (Except George & Evelyn)

Steven Universe: Garnet, Amethyst, Peridot, Lapis, Jasper, Blue Diamond, Rose, Greg.

Stranger Things: Robin, Billy Eddie, Chrissy, Hopper.

Supernatural: Sam, Dean, Castiel.

Super Store: Amy, Jonah, Dina, Garrett, Cheyenne.

Tangled: Flynn, Rapunzel, Mother Gothell.

The Batman (2022): Batman, Riddler.

The Breakfast Club: John Bender, Allison Reynolds.

The Nanny: C.C, Fran, Maxwell.

Total Drama Island: S1 Contestants, Chris, Chef, Blainley.

Triple Frontier: Frankie, Santiago.

Turning Red: Ming Lee, Jin Lee.

Twilight: Edward, Carlisle, Alice, Charlie.

YOU: Beck, Joe, Peach, Love.

Young Sheldon: Mary, Connie.

Abel Morales (A Most Violent Year)

Astarion (Baulder’s Gate 3)

Babbo Natale (Violent Night)

Barbie (Barbie 2023)

Basil Stitt (Lightning Face)

Beverly Goldberg (The Goldbergs)

Bruce (Beyond Therapy)

Charles Ingalls (Little House on the Praire)

Charlie Dompler (Smiling Friends)

Chel (Road to El Dorado)

Dale Kobble (Longlegs)

Dan Conner (Rosanne)

David Levinson (Independence Day)

Din Djarin (The Mandalorian)

Doug Remer (Baseketball)

Duke Leto Atreides (Dune)

Fezzik (Princess Bride)

Francine (American Dad)

Fujimoto (Ponyo)

Georgia Miller (Ginny & Georgia)

Jack Harrison (Translyvania 6-5000)

Jackson Rippner (Red Eye)

Jon Arbuckle (Garfield 2024)

John Doe (John Doe Game)

Jonathan Levy (Scenes from a Marriage)

John Wick (John Wick 4)

King Baldwin (Kingdom of Heaven)

Kitten (Breakfast on Pluto)

Laurent LeClaire (In Secret)

Linda Gunderson (Rio)

Llewyn Davis (Inside Lleywn Davis)

Master Chief (Halo)

Mike (5lbs of Pressure)

Moe Doodle (Doodle Bops)

Nani Palekai (Lilo & Stitch)

Nathan Bateman (Ex Machina)

Outcome-3 (The Bourne Legacy)

Orestes (Agora)

Paul Blart (Paul Blart: Mall Cop)

Paul Cable (Last Stand at Saber River)

Peggy Bundy (Married With Children)

Peter Mitchell (3 Men & A Baby)

Poe Dameron (Star Wars)

Prince John (Robin Hood 2010)

Robert ‘Bob’ Floyd (Top Gun: Maverick)

Rose Tyler (Doctor Who)

Shiv (Pu-239)

Stanley Ipkiss (The Mask)

Star-Lord (Guardians of the Galaxy)

Summer Field (Time Cut)

Tate Langdon (AHS: Murder House)

The Janitor (Willy’s Wonderland)

Thomas Magnum (Magnum, P.I 1980)

William Tell (The Card Counter)

#intro post #pinned post #fic writing #fluff #angst #x reader #profiction

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daughterofyore · 2 years ago

Text

George and the Pond.

King George x f!reader

[[Queen Charlotte (Netflix)]]

category; heavy smut, fluff, angst (lil bit)

wc; 2,249

music inspired;- apocalypse

a/n:: George has a manic episode by the pond, you manage to calm him and he’s so thankful for you he fucks you to show it :)

TW!: NSFW, George porphyria episode (Venus), heavy smut, breeding kink, Good ol fast sex

Venus begged George to find her. She pleaded with him to search, to save her. She was his one true love. She needed him! He ran through the palace grounds, in the distance behind him there was a cacophony of shouts, someone begging for him to turn around. It was Venus’ ex lovers, surely. They didn’t understand the love they shared, the adoration of their coupling. Her beautiful, pale skin and blemished face. Glowing like a fading star against the ebony blanket of the night sky. An infinite amount of white blazing stars surrounding her like a halo in all her glory. Oh, how he longed to be by her side. How he dared to get closer to her. He needed to feel her glow upon his skin, so without a moments hesitation he ripped his clothes from his skin. Silk pyjamas made of the finest lapis lazuli blue discarded into the mud of the pond. He raised his arms to her, crying for her to join him on this mortal plane. For the goddess of love to bless him with her prowess. He could feel her compassionate deposition seep into his very pores, touching his bare, sculpted body. Casting shadows along the dips and ridges of his muscles.

“George!” You cried out to him, watching as he bared his body to the entire garden. Reynolds raced ahead of you, reaching before you could. You were still adorned in your glittering evening gown. Made of a deep fiery scarlet, as if it was made of the last embers of a great fire. Silver lining cascaded down its centre and bodice, elaborate lace adorning the contrasting peachy cream underskirt. It flew around you as you gathered the skirt into your arms, heels clicking off the cobbles and then sinking into the finely kept lawns. You stumbled and struggled to reach your husband, you could see his eyes glistening as he stared at the planet Venus. He cried of his love to her, his devotion. How is it I don’t receive that love? You scoffed, a moment of clarity as you were still unsure as to why he acted this way. You had suspected it for some time now, his comings and goings from Kew. The secrecy surrounding him and the protectiveness of not only Reynolds but his mother too.

Your voice was like an arrow through the fog, piercing the hazy clouds in his peripherals. Venus seemed to fade into the background as he spun to look at you. You weren’t Venus, you were you. Shining brighter than she ever could. As he watched you approach, the sparkles glittering from your dress enraptured him. He felt himself falling in your direction, before a voice called him to turn around. Venus, competitive as always. She challenged you for his attention. He laughed incredulously, how lucky was he to be fought over by the Goddess of Love and her rival? Reynolds stood at his side, begging helplessly for him to return to the castle. He gathered his clothes in his hand, looking at him with a pleading gaze. Continuously he requested for the King to go inside, tried to reason with him. You knew you had never seen this before but maybe, just maybe he would recognise you.

You reached his side, letting go of your dress. It fell on his feet and pressed into his calves. He turned to you, eyes wide, hyperventilating. “You won-“ He whispered looking at you, as if it was the first time he truly saw you. He turned towards the sky, laughing. “You lost Venus! Imagine that!” He returned to face you but upon seeing your worried expression, his celebrations halted. “How come you are not happy? You have won, have you not?”

“George, it’s time we go inside now.”

“What, why? The night is beautiful we-“

“George, Venus has lost this game but I would prefer to celebrate with you indoors.” He stood very still for a moment, dark brows scrunching together as he tried to concentrate and discern exactly what you were implying. His brain felt jumbled, mixed and confused. Like he wasn’t allowed to understand, as if there was a black alabaster wall separating from the here and there.

“I wish to stay here. Let’s celebrate here.” You paused and gazed at him, studying him carefully. You spun to Reynolds.

“Cover the windows and leave his clothes here. Ensure nobody enters these grounds or can see us.” Reynolds pressed his lips into a thin line before muttering a ‘Yes, your majesty.’ He left, grabbing Brimsley by the elbow and guiding him indoors. You turned back to George, your husband. Your king. You rested a gentle hand on his chest, and he stilled. He sucked in a devastating shaky breath before raising his arms to hold your shoulders.

“You, you saw- oh, wife I- oh I am so sorry.” His eyes began to water, a new clarity crossing them. His face slackened, now an evident frown replacing his once maniacal smile. You hushed him, gently guiding him to your chest as you snaked comforting arms around him. You held him in your embrace, rubbing soothing circles on his back as he let silent sobs escape him. He sniffled, clutching onto the fabric of your dress as he eventually sunk to his knees. “My dear I am so sorry, I am sorry I have avoided you. That I have tried to hide I-“ He couldn’t get his words out but you put a comforting hand on his head. Intertwining your fingers with his brown locks, you gently massaged his scalp.

“Do not apologise George. I understand you. I am here for you. Come, let us lie and look at the stars together.” You smiled at him, holding his hand and laying on the lawn. He tentatively lay beside you, he finally noticed his nakedness and his hands rushed to cover himself. You once again shushed him, grabbing the many layers of your skirts and draping them across his waist. “No need to worry about what I have seen before darling.” You chuckled, trying to lighten the mood. He smiled, sucking in a breath after as he looked to the sky.

“I could be married to a pompous wench right now, who wouldn’t give a damn about me. Who would run in the opposite direction if she saw what I did tonight..” he turned his head, gazing at you. You met his eyes and smiled. “Yet you stay, you lie with me. Why?”

“I believe I see myself in you. Trapped, misunderstood.” You took a shivering breath. “Sometimes all we need is a little kindness and a show of stability. I wish to be that for you.” His eyes began to glaze, he sucked in his bottom lip as it began to quiver.

He turned on his side, a new light coming to his eyes. Slowly he raised a leg to bend at an angle across your thighs. Bracing himself on an elbow he gazed at you. His face inches from you. “I do not know what I have done to deserve a woman such as you.” Slowly he lowered his lips to yours, kissing you softly. You reciprocated it, lips merely mingling before he slipped his tongue across them, asking for entry. You obliged, parting your lips as his tongue slipped by. He licked the bottom of your teeth, before dancing around your tongue with his. He sucked on your lip, biting it gently and sucking the sting away. You gasped, a hand travelling up his side. You could feel his muscles shiver at your touch, he manoeuvred over you, straddling your hips. His cock pressed against your stomach, hardening. His hands travelled up your sides before reaching your breasts. They were secured behind the corset of your evening gown, yet he managed to push a hand down its front and grope one. He massaged it in his hand, loving the mass and softness of it. His kiss deepened, he peppered them along your jaw and to your collarbone. Reaching your cleavage he looked at you mischievously, recalling his hand and replacing its absence with long, sensuous licks across the top of your breasts. His tongue travelled over them, then between. He licked up from your cleavage to your throat, to your lips. Kissing you again before he backed down, grabbing your skirts.

“And I you, my queen.”

You were breathing heavy, barely able to control the growing heat intensifying between your legs. A steady throb as it begged for attention. Your core tightening in angst of what was to come. This was what your wedding night should’ve been, but you didn’t care. This, this was better. Laying on the cool grass beneath a bright moon and stars that reflected off of a still pond. This was bliss. George hiked your skirts up, laying them across your midriff. He bowed down again, grabbing your pantyhose and pulling them down to expose bare thighs. He looked at you over the mound of skirts, smirking. “Are you alright my love, may I continue?” You nod, breath escaping you. You peered up at the stars between the foliage of the cherry blossom tree. George dipped his head between your thighs, gently pushing them apart. He kissed and nipped at the sensitive skin, licking the sting away again once more.

Agonisingly slow he made his way to your centre, licking over the underwear covering you. He raised a hand, rubbing a finger between your folds and feeling the wetness seep the fabric. He grinned, pushing a finger into you and watching you arch your back. He kept the underwear on, watching you squirm as he teased you. Ever so slowly he retracted the finger, dragging it up and pressing it to your clit. Your juices soaked the fabric now, it clung to your very shape. You jolted at the contact, the pressure on your clit making you pull away. He grabbed your left leg, putting it over his shoulder and gripping your thigh to hold you in place. He spread you with a knee, continuously exploring you over the whimsy barrier of your panties. You moaned, trying to move but he held you firmly in place. “Are you ready wife? Ready for me to take you?” You nod feverishly, his ministrations have built a fiery ache in your core. Begging for his attention. Your cunt wept as it pleaded for him to enter it, to give it attention. George smirked, gently taking your hands and pulling you up. He stepped behind you and made short work of the lace up your back. He quickly pulled the dress off, then the undergarments until finally you were bare before him. He smiled, standing back and admiring you. “My beautiful wife, in all her glory.” His eyes were ravenous, without a moments hesitation he was back between your legs. He kneeled, grabbing your hips he hoisted you into an awkward position, your legs dangled above his shoulders while you lay only on your shoulders and head. He held you in his grip, his lips placing tender kisses across your cunt. He licked, slow as of tasting your every essence. His tongue slipped into you, to which he began to lick inside you. He left it begging for more and turned his attention to your clit again. It throbbed for him, and he knew it did. He wrapped an arm around your leg, balancing your ass against his chest as he spread you with two fingers. He began to taste you, sucking on your clit. He nipped it, sucking it better straight after. You squirmed in his grasp but he still held you firmly, refusing to let you move. He lapped at your pussy like a thirsty dog, drinking you up. He turned his attention back to your clit, sucking intensely on it. You moaned, cried out his name. He seemed to only grow more excited and you could feel his length pressing into the small of your back. He sucked, and sucked, and sucked until finally the growing tension ruptured. You screamed his name, yet he continued to suck and lick you through the orgasm. You were trembling at the end, and he lay you down, kissing your stomach. He looked up at you as you threaded fingers through his hair. “I’m going to put a baby in you, my queen.” He smirked and you swore it nearly undid you again. He sat back on his knees, his cock long and hard as it stood. He grabbed your hips, pulling you towards him. He grabbed his dick, rubbing it’s tip along your slit. He pressed a firm hand down on your stomach as he slowly pushed his way in without any warning. You stretched, moaning around him. His sheer size pushing you close to ecstasy.

Once he was in he let loose a shivering sigh, looking back to you. “Are you alright my love?” You nodded, placing a hand on his as it pressed into your stomach. He could feel the faint mass of his cock in you, it turned him on even more. Slowly, he pulled out and pushed back in again. Keeping a slow and steady rhythm till you had adjusted. Once he could feel you relax, he began to pound into you. Growing in intensity. Gasps of air escapes him each time he fucks you. You were a moaning mess, barely able to breathe. Your breasts bounced up and down at the ferocity he pounded into you. His balls clapped off your ass, sounding through the garden. You felt like you were in heaven. He looked up at you and grabbed one of your breasts, squeezing it. He pinched your nipple, pulling it slightly as he fucked you. You were in ecstasy. Every inch of your being burning, yearning for his touch. He grabbed your hips, spinning you around to be on all fours as he stayed inside you. He gripped your hips and continued his merciless fucking. “George! Oh fuck George-“ You screamed for him, moaning his name.

“I’m going to cum inside you pretty queen-“ He moaned your name, deep and guttural. “And watch you grow with our child, our heir.” You cried out for him again, and it was all he needed to slam himself into without mercy, he reached a hand around you, rubbing your clit with no remorse. It was so intense you couldn’t think straight.

“George I- George I’m going to cum!”

“Do it, do it for me my queen. Do it together.” He moaned above you, continuing his ministrations. The pair of you cried out, heads thrown back in ecstasy. You orgasmed, and he spilled his seed into you. It’s warmth spreading through your core. He stayed in you for a moment, breathing deeply. You were gasping for air below him. Eventually he slid out, pulling you down to lay beside him. He held you close, running a lazy hand up and down your side.

“My beautiful Queen, fucked by the garden pond.”

#king george iii #king george bridgerton #king george x reader #king george x f!reader #queen Charlotte #queen Charlotte x reader #king George smut #bridgerton #bridgerton smut #bridgerton series #bridgerton spoilers #bridgerton fanfiction #queen charlotte fanfiction

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uramilf · 2 years ago

Note

Can you write car sex with Matty

Absolutely I can 🫶

Backseat

Matty Healy x fem!reader smut

Warnings: SMUT. Oral (f&m receiving), p in v, unprotected sex, spanking, spit, fingering, handjob

You and Matty were heading home from a small get-together at George’s house after the boys had played live on the radio that day, as a kind of going away party for them going back on tour. You were so proud of your boys, and you hugged them all tightly on your way out. “Bye lads,” Matty called as you finished saying goodbye to Adam and Carly. He placed a hand on the small of your back and guided you to the car, opening your door before jogging round the other side and getting in. He looked gorgeous with his hair falling in its natural curls around his eyes, and he was wearing blue jeans, his Harley Davidson sweatshirt and red converse high-tops. As he reversed out of George’s drive, you looked over at him and sighed contentedly. He was so beautiful without even trying.

Matty noticed you staring and smirked. “What are you looking at love?”

“I’m just looking at my pretty boyfriend,” you replied reaching over to touch his soft hair. He took one hand off the wheel and offered it to you, and you took hold of it. His thumb gently rubbed over the back of your hand as you hummed along to the radio. Matty stole glances at you as he drove, smiling every time. His hand let go of yours and fell to your thigh instead, only moving every so often to switch gear before returning to the same spot. His hand crept a little higher, pushing the hem of your black skirt up.

“Do you know how sexy you look tonight darling?” he smiled.

“Shut up Matty,” you replied.

“I’m serious baby, you look beautiful. Always look so beautiful.”

You scoffed at him, replying with “as if. You’re the beautiful one, Matty. Half the girls in the world are going crazy for you right now. And when you go back on tour it’s just gonna get worse, because they’re gonna get to see your shows and I’m not even gonna be able to touch my boyfriend for months.”

Matty looked at you, an almost hurt expression forming on his face. He couldn’t believe you felt that way, as if he wouldn’t be thinking about you every minute of every day on tour.

Matty pulled over into a small, secluded car park beside a picnic site. It was abandoned entirely as it was nearly 1 in the morning. “What are you doing?” You smirked. Matty’s expression darkened slightly. “Get in the back.”

You clambered into the back seat of the car, knowing exactly what was to come. You were already getting wet just thinking about what he was going to do to you. Matty climbed in beside you and crashed his lips onto yours. Your head was tilted back against the window and he was hovering above you, one hand in your hair, controlling the kiss. His tongue slipped into your mouth, making you moan. He swallowed every sound you made eagerly until he decided he could wait no longer. He kissed down your collarbone and yanked your top over your head, exposing your braless tits. He swirled his tongue around your nipple. “Baby, don’t you ever think that you’re not good enough. I love you more than anything else in the world. I need you, darling.”

With that you decided to take control over your beautiful boy, pushing him back until he was the one resting his head against the window. There was a bulge in his jeans and you ran your hand over it, making him cry out. “Darling, please! Touch me.” You helped him to pull his sweatshirt over his head, pressing a kiss to the area of his “We Are Kings” tattoo that was revealed above his jeans. You unbuttoned his jeans and slid them over his hips, along with his black boxers. His cock sprung out, hitting his stomach, hard and already dripping precum. You leaned down to take his tip into your mouth, sucking it for a few minutes. He was moaning, crying out your name, telling you how much he needed you. He fucked up into your mouth without warning, hitting the back of your throat. You gagged slightly, however this just spurred him on. He began a steady rhythm of fucking your mouth, making you gag every so often. Every sound you made caused him to let out a moan. He wasn’t holding back, as no one could hear him out here in the middle of nowhere. You pulled away from sucking his thick cock, pressing a kiss to his soft lips. You pulled your short black skirt up around your waist, revealing your lack of underwear to Matty, leaking him groan. He started to kiss him again, tongues fighting against each other. Meanwhile, you took his cock into your hand and began stroking up and down. He reached down and swiped a finger up your slit, collecting your wetness before using it to circle your clit. You cried out, covering your mouth quickly and looking around.

“Don’t worry baby, no one can hear us out here. I want you to be as loud as you can for me.”

You continued to touch each other, his fingers eventually pushing into your dripping cunt and fucking you harshly, hitting your g-spot perfectly. You were both crying out each other’s names, nearing our releases. Just as you came hard, seeing stars and feeling white hot pleasure throughout your entire body, Matty came too. Spurts of cum now decorated his tattooed stomach and chest. He was whimpering, his legs shaking as the last few drops of cum dripped down the side of his cock slowly. You tan your finger up his shaft, collecting his thick, warm fluid and sucking on the end of your finger. You used your fingers to scoop up the rest of the cum on his chest, raising your hand to his mouth where he opened obediently and swirled his tongue round your finger, tasting his own salty cum. He couldn’t wait to taste you later, but now he just needed to be inside you.

Matty pulled you by your hips closer to him, already hardening again. He lifted you up to straddle his hips, and you began sliding back and forward over his dick, causing him to throw his head back and groan. Finally you slowed, lifting your hips to line up with his hard cock. You slid down onto him, both of you moaning obscenely as he bottomed out. He took hold of your hands and looked in your eyes. “Are you ok, baby?”

You nodded, panting.

“Good girl, let me feel you darling.” You started to grind on his cock, lifting up before dropping back down, feeling him fill you up again and again. “Fuck, Matty, you’re so big,” you whimpered, leaning forward to kiss him anywhere and everywhere you could reach. You pressed kisses to his neck, his jaw, his cheeks and his gorgeous soft lips; and all the while he was grunting softly as he fucked up into you roughly. Matty let go of your hands, one hand falling to your waist and the other grabbing a handful of your ass, squeezing and occasionally slapping, making you yelp in pleasure.

You continued to ride Matty’s cock, feeling every ridge of him as you moved up and down. You decided to switch things up, climbing off him and turning around before sinking back down onto his cock and bouncing up and down, giving him the prefect view of your ass bouncing on him. He kept slapping your ass every couple of minutes, leaving red hand marks on you, branding you.

You were getting closer and closer to your second orgasm, and so was Matty. He twitched inside you and yelled out your name as he came, his warm cum filling you up and pushing you to your own orgasm. You came with a loud moan, clenching around him. “Fuck Matty, I’m cumming,” you gasped. His hands caressed your waist, guiding you through your high. You lifted yourself off his cock and he pushed you down on the seat before burying himself between your thighs and licking through your wet folds. You cried out, sensitive from your orgasm. He was determined to catch every drop of his own cum from your cunt. He brought himself back up to meet your lips, spitting his cum into your mouth. You swallowed obediently and he kissed you hard.

“You’re perfect, darling.”

—————

A/N: Thanks for reading 😃 going to listen to Matty on radio1 now bye

#matty healy smut #matty #the 1975 smut #the 1975 #matty healy #matty healy x reader #smut #ross macdonald #george daniel #adam hann

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justanamesstuff · 1 year ago

Text

If I could, I'd choose you (Royal!au)

Matty Healy x f!reader (and a bit of Prince!George)

A/N: Hiii guys, i come back with a royal!au i wrote AGES ago! I hope you like it...let me know!! <333

Warnings: hurt feelings, mention of death, typos.

Word count: 3.3 K

MASTERLIST

One year ago the kingdom went to war with a long life enemy. The kingdom won the war and

brought back home many treasures, but sadly they lost many people as well. The victory was bittersweet.

Among those brave men and women, the king gave his own life for the sake of the better good. With the supreme gone for good, the heir to the throne had to step in. Problem was, the king had three daughters: Y/n, Victoria and Angelica. Before Y/n was born the first the king and his helpers decided what would happen if he decided to decline or in the other case died.

During her entire life Y/n lived with the idea that someday she will be queen. At the very beginning, she felt lost and insecure. Since Y/n was only a little girl, running around the castle with her sister, she was far from sure about her being a good ruler or if she could do it without her father along her side. Time went by, and the little girl turned out to be a very confident woman, ready to rule since the first minute someone told her.

Duty called and Y/n answered for her people right away. Although she was still a young girl who suffered the loss of her father with her little sisters. On the contrary when they lost their mother, they were alone in the world except for the company of each other and most of the decisions– not to say all– fell on Y/n’s shoulders.

One of the many decisions she had to make was to find a husband. One of the big rules her father insisted was that when Y/n became queen she had to marry a wealthy man. Y/n hated her father for that, because she felt very capable of ruling on her own without a partner. Also, she didn’t have the time or energy for courtship, she had a lot of important matters to deal with instead of wasting her time.

Y/n tried to delay the choice as long as she could, although the time was ticking and her advisors -a couple of old men very old-fashioned- insisted on the matter every day a little more. So, despite her complaints the royal ball for Y/n to choose a husband was in the making.

She felt bad because, despite her opinions about it, the whole kingdom woke up. After a difficult war, with many losses and suffering, there wasn’t a single soul unhappy for this. The news about the influential men and princes that will come travelled fast and cheered everyone up. All of them were happy except Y/n.

………………..

The morning of the ball, Y/n woke up sensing her body vibrating with anxiety and wishing she could run away from this madness. But the sense of responsibility and duty keep her in place. Well, not in place exactly because she started to walk around the throne room from one side to the other.

“Why are you huffing now?” Victoria, her sister, came in, interrupting Y/n’s thoughts.

Y/n turned to look at her, with an annoying face,“You know why!”

“The marring stuff?” she walked closer to her, while her velvet dress flew between her feet.

“Yes” she simply stated.

Victoria rolled her eyes visibly, “You’re making a big deal out of it…”

“Excuse me?” Y/n exclaimed.

“You heard me.”

“Yes, but watch out. I am…” the queen went to scold her, but Victoria interrupted.

“Yeah, yeah…the Queen. You still have to wait for the coronation to say that…” Y/n’s sister reminded her.

“Victoria!” Y/n warned her.

The girl was unbothered by her sisters words, she continued walking away from her going to sit at the throne. “As I was saying…”

Y/n stopped her this time, “I’m not making a big deal. I don’t understand why I have to marry someone I don’t know at all, just to claim my right of birth.”

“Because that’s the rule!”

“I know that part, but still…”

“Y/n, just do it and live your happy life as the Queen.”

“I can’t.” Y/n said looking down.

Victoria stood up, coming closer. “You can, and you will!” Victoria said, lower, reaching for her sister’s hand. “You’ll be the best Queen this fucking- “

“Victoria, watch your mouth!” Y/n interrupted.

“This place would ever have, and no matter which asshole-” Y/n huffed again. “Which man you marry, you’ll rule! Not your husband, not me, not the servants…you! It’s just like a procedure, okay?”

Deep down she was thankful for her sister’s words, even though her mind was foggy with thoughts about her father and the future. And more importantly…who would be the man she married? What if she ended up hating him?

“It’s easy for you to say.” Y/n walked away.

“Do you want to marry for love?” she inquired.

“That would be very idealistic, unrealistic of me to expect a love…” Y/n said trying to convince herself.

Who didn’t want to marry for love and not because of an arrangement? Maybe somebody, but not her. At the same time, she had no choice.

“Yeah, but…” Victoria tried once more.

“It doesn’t matter.” Y/n shook her head, stopping her sister. “I’ll choose somebody suitable today and that will be the end of this nonsense.” she stated, stretching the wrinkles of her dress while walking away.

Y/n didn’t look a way, or she would’ve seen her sister's empathy filing her eyes.

………………………………………

The party was in its highest peak. Y/n didn’t know how many men she greeted, and her face was hurting for all the smiling. The soon-to-be Queen was beyond exhausted and frustrated too.

No one, not a single soul seems suitable or slightly good for the place they’ll have to fill.

In line awaited three more princes. One of the servants was in charge of announcing the names one by one to later approach her presence.

“Prince George Bedford Daniel, Kingdom of Ocaton.” the loyal servant shout for everyone to hear.

The prince walked forward without dropping the eye contact. Those hazelnut piercing eyes playing a battle with hers, made Y/n felt observed and insecure for a minute.

“Princess Y/n, it’s a pleasure to meet your highness.” the tall blonde said while he bowed.

Y/n extended her hand, which George answered kissing her rings. “The pleasure it’s all mine.” the princess didn’t know how many times she said the same sentence.

“It is?” he crocked an eyebrow.

“Excuse me?” she was shocked by his abrupt answer.

“Pardon me, your highness. I can tell you met more eloquent men this night.” he said, smiling with sarcasm.

“Sir!” one of her advisors tried to warn him about his attitude.

“Don’t worry, Philip.” she turned to look at him, and then returned her sight to George. “I can manage him.” she gifted the old man a smile. “Replying to you, Prince…” Y/n inquired him, faking not remembering his name.

“George, my princess.”

Y/n didn’t acknowledge the possessive pronoun. “Right. Well, I’m happy about meeting all of them…all of you, my guests.“

“Yes, I can perfectly tell.” George kept the amused tone, surprising Y/n once more. “Can I tell you how stunning you look in that dress, princess?” he asked, cheekily gaining a smile from Y/n

After many boring candidates George was a breeze of something different she found quite interesting and seductive. Y/n still have two more candidates waiting for her attention, so he would have to wait.

“Thank you. You look adequate for the situation, Prince.” she teased him.

George found it amusing, replying, “It was what I was aiming for, your highness. ” Y/n tried to hide her chuckle, but the man noticed it.

Containing her laugh, Y/n ended the conversation with a simple, “Hope you enjoy the evening, my prince.” finally dispatching him.

“Until next time, Y/n.” he lined down kissing her hand once more before leaving without looking back at her.

****

The next candidate was pretty much the same as the previous before Matty. Hence why, Y/n didn’t spend more than a minute talking with him, listening to the stupid speech the advisors of the prince –with a flat personality– made him memorize probably.

“Sir Matthew Timothy Healy.” the servant screamed the name of the last men.

Since the first moment Y/n placed her eyes on him, her entire body tingled and burned. She was shocked by this unknown causing a reaction on her. Y/n couldn’t keep her eyes away from him. He was shorter than George but not for much. His eyes were brown, like hers, but shined brighter than any others. His brown locks were perfectly and imperfectly at the same time arranged in the top of her head.

As if he knew what colour her dress would be, Thomas wore a blue suit which defined his body in the most beautiful way. Physically, he was perfect. The definition of the prince her father always talked about for her.

“It is a great pleasure to meet such a beautiful Queen.” he said, looking directly into her eyes.

“Princess. Soon to be Queen.” she replied.

“Pardon me, your highness?”

“It’s my pleasure to meet you.” she continued the conversation.

Y/n wanted to listen to his voice forever, she was very sure she would never get tired of it, of him. His voice was mellow and rhythmic, inviting her to drown into his beautiful melody. He captivated her.

“Are you satisfied with the candidates?” he dared to ask.

“Watch your place, Matthew.” she said sternly but sweet.

“I only want to know if I have a proper competitor or if I’m winning already.” he smirked. From sweet, he turned to a little bit cocky and that was another refreshing moment during the boring night.

“You’ll have to wait for my answer…as the rest of the men.” Y/n answered.

“I’m looking forward to it.” he lined down and kissed her cheek.

Y/n froze on her place even though before she could acknowledge the action or even say something, Matty was gone and out of her sight. Her heart was pounding so loud in her chest that probably everyone could hear it above the music.

The princess had to decide, although between all the people she met that night she had only two options.

……………………………….

Y/n was talking with her advisors and letting them know what she thought about the men they chose for her when Victoria stumbled in her private conference room.

“Princess Victoria, you have to wait outside until we finished!” Philip reprimanded her.

“I want to speak with my sister.” the young princess demanded in her place anxiously. Probably the men in the room didn’t notice her bubbly feelings but Y/n knew her sister as the back of her hand.

“It’s all right. I already finished expressing my opinions and heard yours, when I have a final decision I’ll go out and speak to the waiting room.” all of them moved their heads in agreement, proceeding to leave the room.

Victoria couldn’t contain herself and started talking. “I meet the love of my life!” she screamed, sitting down abruptly in a chair near Y/n’s.

“Oh, really?” Y/n said suspiciously. Victoria tended to fall in love with many men along the way and never truly persuade a relationship.

“Yes, he’s perfect. He’s handsome and dresses very nicely. He’s a gentleman and…I love him.” she sighed romantically.

“That’s quick.” Y/n bitterly said.

Victoria turned looking at her older sister, stunned, “You don’t believe me.”

“Who is this prince?” Y/n decided to ignore her words because she knew it was useless to tell her sister anything involving love and feelings.

“He’s not a prince. He’s a Sir.” Victoria looked at her, waiting for a reaction. Y/n didn’t show a single change on her face, but her body got warm again. Sir Matthew was around the castle, and she wanted to talk to him again.

“And that’s fine for you?” Y/n asked.

“Yes, he’s the love of my life!” Y/n admire the self-confidence she had to say that so easily.

“Do you know his name?”

“Yes!” Victoria smiled even more widely if that was possible.

“And?” Y/n grew anxious.

“His name is Matthew.” with that sentence Y/n’s world fell apart.

She knew they were talking about the same man that captivated her half an hour ago. Right away, Y/n understood why her sister was so sure about it, and she knew very well that her desires couldn’t be fulfilled.

Y/n needed, had to make the better decision not for her heart but for the kingdom and for her family. Matty was a Sir and George was a Prince, she couldn’t pass above that fact. And with the information of her sister wanting Matthew for herself, the decision was already made.

“Tell me more.” Y/n said absently, letting her sister rambling about this new man while her heart broke bit by bit.

…………………………………………

The night of the ball ended with Y/n’s assistance, Philip, announcing that George was the choosing one by the soon-to-be Queen. After that, Y/n gave a short speech thanking all the candidates and promising George her willingness to build a good and prosper alliance.

During her turn to speak, Y/n couldn’t look at Matty. Although, she felt his sight on her. Y/n would’ve to live with the pain weighing in her heart.

Matty understood right away why Y/n chose George, but it hurt him deeply. Sir Matthew felt his heart settle down for Y/n since the moment he saw her standing, listening to boring men without a single grimace of annoyance. He admired her and felt very fond of Y/n.

Healy decided that no matter what he wouldn’t run away like a wounded animal. He would be close to her and help in everything he could, or she asked him.

Matty wasn’t ready to walk away, so he decided to turn all his love and caring to Victoria who was obviously whiling to accept whatever he offered. He proposed to her right away after Y/n’s engagement and Victoria accepted without skipping a beat. Since their father was gone, Matthew had to ask Y/n for Victoria’s hand, and he would never forget the pain on her face when she muttered her approval.

It was so frustrating for both of them because they only had the chance to properly talk only once, and they never shared a proper kiss, but the love was there. Matty and Y/n could feel it, even though they’ll never tell anyone…or the other. They weren’t selfish people. He was sure of it. Both of them knew that it was a better option for everyone.

****

Even though the day of the ceremony something itched him thinking about what he was going to witness, what the whole kingdom would. The ceremony would declare Y/n and Harrison as a married couple, as the new rulers, Queen and King. Matthew’s heart felt heavy.

During the morning of Y/n’s wedding, Matty felt the need to find Y/n and tell her about his feelings, or do something. He didn’t want to live his life letting this opportunity slip through his fingers.

He ran around the castle looking for her. Matty thought numerous people would be surrounding her although to his surprise, two guards await at her door and not a single sound could be heard. Even the clicking of his shoes was louder than anything else.

“I wish to see Princess Y/n.” he told the guard.

“You’ll have to wait for after the ceremony, she didn’t want to see anyone.”

“I need to speak to her.” he urged the guard.

“Sir, please.” the other one alerted him.

In the middle, one of her personal stylists opened the door and Matty took the opportunity running inside. The guards followed him, stumbling till the three men stood in front of the future queen.

Quickly the guards rearranged their posture and the senior one started talking, “We’re deeply sorry to interrupt this way, Princess Y/n. Your brother-in-law…” he continued, making her heart sank. “We warned him you didn’t want to see anyone.“

“It’s fine. Leave us alone.”

“But Princess- “

“Leave us alone! It’s an order!” she half shouted. The guards obeyed and until the door made a noise letting Y/n and Matty know they were in fact alone, they just stared into each other’s eyes.

“What do you need, Sir Matthew?”

“Please, don’t do it!” he said directly.

“What are you talking about?”

“Please, don’t marry George!” he walked closer, but Y/n moved backwards.

“I don’t understand.”

“I know you do.” Thomas grabbed her hands carefully.

She warned him, “Matty- “

“Y/n, please.” he begged. “I know you, as well as me, felt it…” he leaned forward and touched her forehead with his.

“Please don’t do this now.” she closed her eyes, feeling pain and happiness having him so close to her. “You have Victoria, and I have Harrison now…You’ll be happy.”

“Every time I tried to convince myself of that I instantly think that I’ll be miserable for the rest of my life without you.”

“You have me forever.” she stated low. “You have my heart, although you know this is better for everyone.”

“Think of me. Think of you. Us. What we want…not what is best for- “

“I have to- “

“Screw that!” he startled her with his high tone, leaning slight backwards.

“This it’s not easy for me either…” she looked down. Y/n was as hurt as he felt. Matty took her chin, making her look up.

“My angel…” he whispered, making Y/n sob quietly. “Shh, shh, don’t.” he cleaned her tears. “I love you.”

“Matty” she looked up to his eyes. She saw the love for her.

“I love you, I’ll never stop but… I do understand that’s why I’ll leave my selfish heart here when I leave. I’ll marry your sister, watch you marry another man…and no matter what I’ll be close to you because I can’t live without you in my life, my eternal love. We’ll be close…because you’re my moon, and I’m the stars. I’ll be by your side watching you become the best Queen this twisted world would ever have the privilege to have. I’ll be close, supporting you…but I’ll love you from afar…I’ll love you till my last breath, Y/n.” Matty leaned forward, catching her lips on a slow kiss.

The kiss was bittersweet. They shared in that simple but meaningful act all the love and care, as well the pain and frustration they felt.

“Please go.” she said, closing her eyes while crying.

“Of course, my Queen.” Matty reluctantly walked backwards.

“I’m not- “

“You’re…for me.” he smiled at Y/n.

Y/n watched Matty walked around her room going directly to the double door. She had her heart in her hand at the same time she held the tears from falling.

“Matty!” she exclaimed, desperately. He didn’t turn around completely, he gave her a side look.

“Yes?”

“I- “she tried to say it.

After a couple of seconds in silence, Matthew asked. “Yes, my Queen?”

“I lo- Damn it!” she exclaimed, and he chuckled a little, turning around fully.

“I know, my love. I know.” he gifted her a sweet smile and then he left for good.

…………………………………………….

After the ceremony, the newly-wed couple step outside on the balcony, greeting the people that happily cheered for them. Some of them cried, some laughed, even though the entire kingdom was alive again in spirit.

Y/n turned around making her sight land on Matty.

No matter how much the people, her people, would be happy for her and her new husband she would never felt the same as them. The only reassurance was thinking Matthew would be there, by her side, forever. Their love would last until their last breath and beyond.

#royal!au #matty healy #matty healy fic #matty healy x reader #matty healy x y/n #matty healy x you #matty healy fanfic #matty the 1975 #george daniel #george daniel x you #george daniel x y/n

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tetsunabouquet · 3 months ago

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Alright, now that I have hit 250 followers, I decided to let the fandoms I've written for decide on a one-shot. From NSFW to wholesome child-friendly one-shots, my list contains it all. Go wild and vote! If stories end up tied, you're lucky because then I will be writing everyone who's tied for the number one spot.

#knb #kuroko's basketball #shadowhunters #shadowhunter chronicles #the shadowhunter chronicles #diabolik lovers #mlb #cdf #darren shan saga #aot #attack on titan #vampire knight #shaman king #free!#free! anime #free! iwatobi swim club #free! the final stroke #free! eternal summer

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miloformula123fan · 11 months ago

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100 FOLLOWERS CELEBRATION

well i think the first thing I need to say is thank you so much :). i love all of you and all the love you've shown all my work so far, so if anything this is a thank you to you.

Rules:

Pick 2 letters, one for the driver and one for the reader - i will then make a moodboard

my guidelines are here

i am only writing for the drivers listed

this is only for moodboards, however my requests will remain open through the celebration so if you're inspired by this but want something else instead feel free to head to my inbox :)

please be patient - it may take me a few hours to do yours, but depending on how many requests I get, it could take a few days

please specify gender, else i'll probably make it gender neutral

for now no limit on how many requests 1 person can submit, but if i get overwhelmed I will

the event will either close 29th of feb or when i hit 200 followers :)

NOW TO THE CELEBRATION:

PICK 2 LETTERS - ONE FOR DRIVER AND 1 FOR READER

---

drivers!

A - Alex Albon

B - Ollie Bearman

C - Charles Leclerc

D - Mick Schumacher

E - Esteban Ocon

F - Fernando Alonso

G - George Russell

H - Liam Lawson

I - Arthur Leclerc

J - Jack Doohan

K - Kimi Raikkonen

L - Lewis Hamilton

M - Max Verstappen

N - Lando Norris

O - Oscar piastri

P - Pierre Gasly

Q - Logan Sargeant

R - Daniel Ricciardo

S - Carlos Sainz

T - Yuki Tsunoda

U - Lance Stroll

V - Sebastian Vettel

W - Mark Webber

X - Paul Aron

Y - Nico Rosberg

Z - Jenson Button

---

Readers -

A - actor/actress!reader

B - baker!reader

C - ceo!reader

D - director!reader

E - engineer!reader

F - florist!reader

G - pageant!queen/king!reader

H - Heir/Heiress!reader

I - influencer!reader

J - Parent!reader

K - figure skater!reader

L - lawyer!reader

M - model!reader

N - musician!reader

O - animal shelter worker!reader

P - photographer!reader

Q - f1 driver!reader

R - rockstar!reader

S - sports!reader

T - teacher!reader

U - tattoo artist!reader

V - idol!reader

W - author!reader

X - artist!reader

Y - bodyguard!reader

Z - spouse!reader

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aquietlifesblog · 2 years ago

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Hungry Eyes (Dio x F!Reader) 5/6

He’d met Lord Pendleton before—he’d come once to visit the Joestar estate. The man took one look at Dio and decided he wasn’t worth acknowledging.

Your features may have been darker, but you carried his face.

Dio Brando knows what it's like to be hungry, to reach for more in life. He can use your ambition to destroy the man who slighted him and discard you just as easily.

He never planned to like you.

Read the Full Story on AO3

Note: This chapter contains implied sexual content and characters being weirdos.

First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Masterlist |

Chapter 5: Like the Sun Loves the Earth

He woke in the dark, his back flush against the lining of the casket. He clawed at the velvet and the metal all around him but would find no reprieve there; the overwhelming force of the ocean weighed the casket shut. He had no choice but to wait.

He slept for years at a time of time, only waking when the casket shook or a ship ported overheated, and during those years he dreamed. His weary mind conjured images of life: his father, Jonathan, George Joestar, and you. He dreamt of power, of wealth, of women and men. And he dreamt of the world he'd find outside his prison. And in those quiet moments, when he felt as though time itself stood still, he allowed himself to dream of his Mother.

'Dio, no matter what happens, live nobly and with pride. If you do that, you'll surely be able to go to Heaven.'

His Mother spoke of Heaven often, as though it was the only thing that mattered.

'Was it worth it,' he wondered, 'was her suffering in life worth the heaven she sought so desperately?' Her generous heart earned her nothing but scorn, suffering, and an early grave. His neighbors laughed at her, the woman who gave away what little food or clothing she had to others.

'There are others less fortunate than we are, Dio. Charity is a good thing.' She would say, and it was nothing short of cruelty. He hated her for taking even the smallest luxuries away from him.

Did she find the heaven she sought so desperately? And it not, would her demeanor have changed had she known her fate from the beginning? Would she still have endured Dario's abuse? Still have given away their food and money? Or would she have been a wicked woman, one who prioritized happiness and pleasure?

And what of Jonathan? Had he known his fate, he may not have been so foolish.

And what of you? It was Dio who stoked the fires of your rage. He was happy to watch your resentment grow and fester, eager to place the poison in your hand, and he smiled as you committed the ultimate sin.

He used to think he molded you, that you were Galatea come to life beneath his skillful hand. But was that truly the case? Would you have taken the same path regardless? What was it that brought you both together? Fate? Gravity? Divine Providence?

Those were the thoughts that kept him going, that kept his hunger at bay.

And when a fishing boat happened upon his casket and pulled it up from the depths of the ocean deep, it was those thoughts that brought him back to you.

The year was 1983.

Months passed and Dio became accustomed to the world he'd woken up to; he acquired clothes in the latest fashions, visited the library, and indulged himself with men, women, and those who found themselves in between. He claimed their lives, of course, and took whatever money they possessed before moving on to another. Dio moved slowly through the Canary Islands before traveling north to Morocco (where he proceeded to do the same things). In Agadir, a city famous for its beautiful resorts, he himself found a wealthy lover. The man was handsome, with smooth skin and deep brown eyes, and more than eager to spend a month with Dio in his arms. He lived like a king. And as he did so, Dio plotted his next move.

He could feel you. From the moment he woke above the surface of the water, Dio knew you were alive. Your pull on his psyche was a siren's song, a low pitch that beckoned him closer.

'All in due time,' He thought. He would find you when the time was right. Because Dio's body was rejecting him. No matter how much blood he took, his left side felt weaker and the scar around his neck refused to fade. So for days, he toyed with new methods of hypnosis and charm—just in case.

He had half the resort under his control by the time he discovered the most measure: flesh buds. By implanting a bit of his flesh into another's brain, Dio found he could manipulate their minds and kill them just as quickly. That is how he 'convinced' his hoard of lovers to give their lives and funds to him, DIO.

He had a new casket made, new clothes tailored, and custom jewelry fitted for his trip to England. The paved country roads were unfamiliar to him then, but Dio knew which way to go.

***

Your siren song led him to an extravagant gate and the car could go no further. The driver his lover hired began to sweat, but Dio felt no need to kill him. He was exactly where he needed to be.

He sensed a community through the fog and slipped through the gate to find large houses, each evenly spaced with neutral-colored shingles. It was quiet, though people still walked the streets at night, greeting one another with placid smiles stretched across their faces. They had no worries, felt no fear, and each and every one of them was dressed in shades of black and red.

'Cute.'

Your house, he figured, was the one that stood alone—a massive brick structure surrounded by a thicket of trees. So he took the only path available to him and slipped into your house through a window near the balcony. The halls were lined with dark red runners, and a grand marble staircase lead him to your open door.

There was a maid in your chamber, a pretty girl with dark curls and thick lashes. She stood before you at the foot of the bed, her tawny skin flushed with heat, her hair impossibly glossy. She gazed upon your face with such fanatical devotion, Dio thought the girl would faint. As such, she failed to notice his intrusion—but you did.

You said nothing of his presence there, choosing instead to nudge the young man at your feet. Like the maid, he was quite beautiful—with skin and eyes that glistened by your candle's golden glow. You'd taken their blood just moments before his arrival, and though it seemed that was all you'd done, their expressions bordered on erotic.

"Go on now," you told them both. They obeyed your words without question, but their disappointment was clear. They wanted your attention, in whatever form it came. So neither you nor Dio spoke a word till the door shut with a soft click.

"You've done well for yourself," he said, taking note of the expensive art and the ornate shelves that lined the walls.

"What do you want?"

"Such a look—a far cry from the adoring gaze you once offered me. You looked much like that young maid, in fact, like a priestess eager to pour libations for her God." You said nothing as Dio moved forward, stepping into the flickering light. "By the way, how did you manage to escape my influence? I thought you were dead, killed in the street by some hamon-wielding monk. Yet here you are—alive, with a town of simpering sycophants willing to slit their throats at your command."

"Did you mourn for me, Dio?" You asked, the beginning of a song in your voice. You leaned back, pushing your weight to a single arm as he continued his approach.

"But of course," he lied. Though he did feel a sense of loss without your presence, his growing hunger and isolation were far more pressing concerns. "After all, you are my most treasured friend." Slowly, Dio reached forward and brushed his thumb across your cheek.

You were the same.

The entire world changed around him, moving on its destined path, yet you remained the same—the sole constant in his life. There might have been some comfort there, had he allowed it to be. But instead, Dio took note of your behavior: the defiant gaze you fixed him with, your refusal to answer his question, and your preparation to attack, and thought he should put you in your place.

So when the air around him grew colder, so much so that frost formed around his fingers. He twisted the flesh beneath his hair to form the bud he needed. His hair shifted and gathered, twisting together like a needle. He'd infect you quickly, like a snake in a burrow.

'Wat a waste,' He thought, 'I always admired her spirit.'

But then he saw your body disappear—no, you didn't vanish—you turned your body into mist and appeared behind him. He dared you to move closer, to attack him from behind, to make the choice to possess you easy—

But the attack never came.

"You've acquired the power of a Stone Mask," he spoke, turning to meet the smug expression in your eyes.

"Say I did, what does it matter to you?" It was clear you had no intention to fight him, that your little display was just that: a demonstration of your newfound strength.

Instead, you found a seat at a table near the mantlepiece, a table set for two.

Dio scoffed at your antics, though his curiosity outweighed his annoyance.

"Jonathan's accursed associate destroyed the sole mask in my possession. Are you saying there are more?" Your shelves were filled with odds and ends, countless antiques, and expensive-looking jewelry, yet there was no mask in sight.

"The masks were destroyed long ago," you waved a hand dismissively, "the Speedwagon Foundation made sure of that."

'Speedwagon?' Dio thought, watching you lift your glass kettle and tilt it just so. A warm red liquid flowed freely from the sprout and into the cup that sat before you.

"And yet you came to possess one? How advantageous." Dio didn't sit, but he did stand down. His hair resumed its typical shape, the flesh bud he prepared melted back into his body, and he tapped his nail, long and sharp, against the back of the hair facing opposite your own. He supposed it was meant for him, that you felt him approaching from far across the sea.

"It was all I could do to purge myself of you. Though it seems my peace was temporary—as you've managed to slither your way into my home." You took a long drink, draining your entire cup. "I'll ask you this once more, Dio. What do you want?" All traces of humor left your voice as your eyes narrowed down into a glare that could pierce a lesser man.

"You wound me, my friend." He placed a hand flat against his chest, over the place where his heart should beat. "Have you not opened your door to those far more lowly than me?"

"You would be a wolf amongst my flock."

"Thus saith the ravening wolf."

The corners of your mouth lifted in a movement so slight, anyone else might have missed it. You moved to fill your cup again and he let his gaze drop lower, to the delicate chain clasped around your neck and the ruby pendant that sat there. It matched the shade of the gown you wore and most of your antique furnishings. It was the color of the cult outside as well.

Red, he thought, the color he chose for you all those years ago.

He could have laughed.

"I am but a simple shepherd," you said, with all the false humility you could muster.

He scoffed.

"I never claimed to be a prophet," you continued, "nor do I seek to be their God. Their reverence is welcome, but I demand nothing short of secrecy. I'm not like you."

Ah, there it was; the vitriol he long knew was coming. Like an adult child unable to forgive the punishments she received as a girl, you let your anger fester and boil—but Dio would not be guilted.

"You say that you are different, yet that is far from the case. You may not have stolen their will completely, but you've done something far more terrifying: you've presented your 'flock' with the illusion of choice."

It was your turn to scoff then, but he continued talking. "They give you their blood in offering, lay their bodies at your feet, and include you in their prayers at night not because they love you, no. But because you've made them dependent. You may not call yourself their God but you've taken the place of one. You've trapped these people in a delusion, one where you've led them to the promised land, where their every whim is met so long as they fall to their knees before you. What happens to the ones who disobey, I wonder? The ones you have no use for? I've noticed no sick, nor elderly amongst those you claim to care for. Why is that?"

You were no shepherd, but a wolf the same as he.

"I may have forced my will upon you that night, but the choice between me and a life of poverty would not have yielded a different result—so turns the wheel of fate."

"...fate?" You stood, and the table shook as though it felt your rage. "You believe it was my fate to be enslaved to you? To have become this?" You stood before him, forced to tilt your head to meet his gaze. Your eyes flashed red, but it was then you seemed to notice how much bigger he was, how much more of him there was. But despite your surprise, you never stopped glaring.

And he smirked.

Those were the eyes, he thought, the same eyes that intrigued him all those years ago: Angry. Prideful. Beautiful. Hungry.

"Did you not find the freedom you sought so badly? Are you not powerful? Wealthy? So concerned are you with the setbacks that you fail to consider what even a child might grasp. Had I not made you better you would have wasted away, spent the whole of your life on your knees scrubbing filth from your father's floor!"

Your hands curled into fists, and the temperature of the room dropped again but you didn't attack. Dio stared back at you, secure in his superiority, he looked down upon you with sharp, narrow eyes.

The silence between you was a tangible thing, heavy and frozen in the air.

"You're incorrigible," you said eventually, falling back into your chair with a loud, undignified thump. Predictably, your resolve was nothing compared to his own. He knew you would falter. "Is that what you truly believe? Or are you simply going on about nothing?"

Dio looked down his nose at you. You'd tested his patience enough as it is, and he hoped you'd understand without lecture. He rolled his eyes but decided to explain himself. Because you, of all people, should understand him.

So Dio sat across from you, poured himself a cup (though it was no longer hot,) and explained his ideologies.

***

Dawn appeared behind your heavy velvet curtains, but he continued to converse with you. You argued, of course, and even doubted his mental facilities ("you spent far too much time in isolation")—but when understanding fully dawned upon you, you looked as though you had something more to say.

"What is it?"

"...the Speedwagon Foundation I told you about… I've embedded spies amongst them— call it self-preservation." You moved the conversation down to the library at some point after noon. The room had no exterior windows, but the doors were adorned with stained glass paneling. You sat beside him on a chaise, glass of wine swirling in hand. "They've reported a number of strange occurrences. There may be something that could help you obtain heaven."

"Something?" Amused, rather than offended, Dio pressed for more. He moved closer to you on the chaise, sliding over till your bodies touched. "Tell me, what is it that you know?"

You shrugged and looked away nonchalantly.

"It's just as I said."

"Then," he began, sucking air through his teeth—his patience only spread so thin. "Perhaps you could provide me with an example."

"The Red Stone of Aja," you continued, swirling around your wine. "Though all of my sources relegated it to a myth, not particularly worthy of mention."

You took a drink, and Dio placed a hand against your thigh. You opted for trousers that day, red ones with flared bottoms that, otherwise, left little to the imagination. (You mentioned something about the 1970s and different trends in style when you put them on that morning, but he stopped paying attention the moment he laid his eyes upon you.)

"Surely there must be something else to it." You leaned away from him, removing his hand from your person as you placed your glass beside his on the table. There was a book already open there, something by some American playwright.

"It's said to grant extraordinary power to its wielder. The details weren't specific, but it's believed to have been destroyed during the second great war."

"Is that so?" he leaned closer. "Tell me more."

"The Speedwagon Foundation heavily redacted records during that era so my knowledge isn't particularly insightful. But there was this group, the Pillar Men, said to be the originators of the Stone Masks. They weren't quite vampires but rather something...more. However, all four were eventually defeated by the hand of Joseph Joestar, so if the stone truly did exist and could do all that it was rumored, I can't imagine how such beings could lose to a mere man."

The mention of another Joestar disturbed him, but that wasn't important now. He would deal with the last of their line if the situation deemed it necessary.

"Perhaps it is merely a fable," he said, taking his glass from the table. "But I find it worth looking into."

***

He traveled the world, meeting all manner of fascinating people with fascinating stories. He found others to imbue with his flesh buds and acquired more influence and wealth.

And when he tired of traveling, he returned to you.

Sometimes you spoke at length for hours, long into the day. You'd recommend books for him to read, films to view, and art to study, and you'd occasionally show him reports sent by your spies in the Speedwagon Foundation, now on the search for the Red Stone of Aja.

And on other days you wouldn't speak at all. You'd simply occupy the same space, content to pursue your own interests.

And other days, days that gradually increased in frequency, he'd take you to bed.

It took a bit of seduction on his part: clever words, subtle touches, and quiet whispers in the darkness of the night. But when he succeeded, when you finally succumbed to the pleasure of his touch, he took you with surprising vigor.

He could, and had, seduced many into his bed with little more than a sideways glance. But you weren't swayed so easily. And something about that excited him—you excited him.

You always had. Though you weren't his first lover by any means, you were the only one who understood his true nature.

The others had been cautious experiments, youthful indulgence, a way to pass the time. He'd shown those people what they wanted to see and told them what they wanted to hear. To them, he was a curious student, a suave noble, a troublemaker looking for a bit of fun.

But to you he was Dio. You saw who he was, who he truly was, and wanted him anyway.

'I…I've always wondered if…'

That was the exact moment he knew you were his, that you wanted to stay with him. Neither of you spoke of love or marriage, as he could never offer those things to a woman of your station. (And he never much cared for those things besides.) So instead, you spoke of the future and created a plan where you could remain together, where you would be his.

You were still his, he realized when he told you the truth about his body and you seemed intrigued as opposed to disgusted.

"This is the body of Jonathan Joestar? Erina's husband?" You asked, sitting close to him on a sofa in the parlor.

He laughed. You had no significant relationship with Jonathan, but Erina was your sister, the one who lived the life you so desired. You hated Erina, but she earned your respect as well.

"The very same." He smirked, admiring the twisted curiosity that overtook your features when he moved his finger down the curve of your neck. Your eyes met.

The hands that once hurt you weren't the ones that touched you then, and he supposed you found relief in that. You'd slowly opened up to his seductions, secure in the fact that you were once again 'friends,' but there was something else there then, a more pressing matter, something that unearthed your darkest impulses: the need to take what belonged to her and fulfill some twisted form of justice.

"Why his?" You asked, your voice strained.

"Why do you think?"

No one else would ever understand.

So when he took your hand and led you to your bed later that night, for the first time in nearly 100 years, he took you as any man would take the woman he...the woman who excited him, intrigued him, shared his sense of wicked curiosity, fueled his hunger and belonged to him.

He took you the same way he'd take any such person who elicited such emotions from him: with such vigor and passion it broke your bed in two.

"You may as well order several more," he mused, lounging shirtless on a sofa as malcontented servants carried the mess away. The envy in their eyes was palpable.

"That was antique," you chided, though you couldn't hide the smile that darkened your cheeks and bloomed across your face like a flower.

You were his.

***

The year was 1986 and he found himself a home in Egypt. Because there lived a woman called Enya, a terrible who possessed several magical arrows. These arrows had the power to grant certain individuals with abilities, which is how he acquired his stand, The World, along with another power Enya called Hermit Purple, the stand of Jonathan's body.

Unlike The World, Jonathan's stand was weak—but it came with a useful ability to divine information. He would use it to locate those with the potential to gain stands in his travels and bring them to his side (though it seemed stand users were drawn together anyway, as if by gravity.)

***

Dio traveled far and wide gathering wealth, influence, and an abundance of lovers. He took his pleasure wherever he wanted and sometimes, when he found a particularly wicked woman to indulge himself with, Dio didn't consume them. Because as ideals of Heaven became more concrete and he began to realize what it was he truly needed: a friend. He needed someone he trusted above all others.

Perhaps a child could help him obtain heaven.

Dio toyed with the idea of making a child with you, but he doubted a union between two vampires could result in the creation of life. Had it been possible, you would have already conceived.

Still, there would be no need for a child if he knew for certain he could use you. You would be the easy choice, the safe choice. But you were too similar to himself, unable to control your urges. Anger, frustration, desire—you felt each of those emotions fiercely. He needed someone with no interest in power, fame, wealth, or sex.

Despite that, he decided to make his way to England to imbue you with a stand.

If gravity brought stand users together, he reasoned, then it stands to reason those with potential are drawn together as well, and there was no one he felt drawn to more than you.

***

"I was hoping you'd return."

Your servants scurried about the hall, though a stopped to few gawked at him, swooning as they peeked behind pillars and doors. A pair of handsome muscular men were busy moving a piano in the parlor and you called yourself 'supervising.' He rolled his eyes.

"Did you? It seems as though you're preoccupied." He scowled.

You tilted your head, and he hated how quickly your neck drew his gaze.

"We'll, it isn't as though you left me with a way to contact you. If you had a telephone, I would have called."

"I'll be sure to procure one expeditiously. " He walked around you, sliding an arm around your waist and pulling you roughly to his side. At the same time, one of the men looked toward you for approval after having set the piano near the corner of the room.

"That's fine," he dismissed the man, waving them away before you could speak. "Go."

The men furrowed their brows in confusion, unsure what to do. You were their mistress, their Goddess, yet each of your servants came to understand that he was the same type of being as you.

"Leave it there for now," you sighed a long-suffering sigh, and the men left in a hurry. "You don't get to tell my people what to do," you huffed, but Dio didn't care. The sight of you ogling those workers was irritating enough—was in no mood to be lectured.

"What was it you wanted to speak to me about?" He asked. Dio released you from his hold, folded his arms, and leaned back against a marble pillar.

"I hoped you could tell me what this thing is." The atmosphere in the room shifted, as though another person was brought into being. He sensed the change before he saw it— your stand.

It stood as a ghostly presence behind you, the very nature of your soul. But how?

"When did you acquire a stand?" He eyed the tall feminine figure warily. Its 'skin' was a deep shade of purple, but the rest of it, the scant 'armor' molded to its body, was gold. Red hearts adorned its chest, hands, and forehead, each of which glowed, as though to indicate utility. It wore a sort of belt, one fashioned like a cuff that clung to its waist from behind. There were four packs affixed to it, each with a letter and tube that connected to the back of its shiny gold helmet. CMYK, the packs read together. He had no idea what that meant.

"So you can see it then? Is that what it's called, a stand?"

"When?" He pressed.

"Around three or four months ago," you dismissed his impatience with a wave of your hand. "I was bathing when she suddenly appeared beside me. None of my servants could see her so I knew either I'd gone mad, or you'd done something to me again."

"I see…" Did your stand appear when his had? The blood he gave you still flowed through your veins, but was such a trivial connection enough to grant you stand abilities? And if that's true, what of Jonathan's descendants? He decided he would allow them to live, to carry on with their pathetic lives so long as none stepped forward to oppose him. But if they possessed stands as well, they may prove to be annoying.

"What abilities does your stand possess?"

"She shows me memories," you explained. "We'll, 'show' isn't exactly accurate. I watch the events unfold as though I'm there. I've been able to speak and interact with everything around me, but once it's over no one I've tested it on remembers a thing. They say that I've helped them re-live certain events but can't speak of my involvement."

"And how long can you function within these 'memories'?"

"No more than a minute or so."

He nodded. An interesting ability, but not particularly useful in combat. It was well suited for espionage, however, and Dio could always use more spies. Perhaps if you trained, you could walk amongst memories for a longer period of time.

"Have you observed any particular weaknesses, a short-range perhaps?"

"Weakness? Well…hm." You tilted your head to the side and Dio's eyes followed suit. "Although I'm seeing memories, anything that would present danger to me in the real world continues to be of danger. I hoped I could use it to see the sun again, but I was nearly burned to a crisp. The ill effects persisted even after I returned to consciousness."

"So if you find yourself in a perilous situation, the danger it presents is real?"

"That's what it seems... And there's something else as well: I can take things." You gestured toward your stand and the heart on its chest began to glow. It made a sound reminiscent of an office printer as its arms extended outward.

Dio cringed at the grating noise and opened his mouth to complain, but stopped once he realized what was going on. Bit by bit, a rotary telephone began to appear. The process was slow and jerky, but once it finished, your stand placed the object in your hands, wires, and all.

"What a curious ability." He began, pushing himself from the pillar. Your stand made no movement as he circled around it. "The objects you take from these 'memories,' are they functional?"

"As far as I'm aware. That piano was taken from my butler's memory and it plays just as it should."

"I assume larger objects take far more time to retrieve?"

"That's exactly right."

"And what occurs when the items are removed from these memories?"

"That I'm not entirely sure of myself," you confessed. "Nothing about their memories seems to change, though they'd have no way of knowing whether or not something was missing from their memory."

"...say,” he said after a while, “why don't you use your stand on me?"

"You want me traversing through your memories?" You folded your arms and your stand did the same. Amusing.

"And why not? We grew up together, did we not? Why don't you go back to the day I took the mask from Jonathan? There's something I'd like to see."

"The Stone Mask? Dio…I don't know what might happen if you forget it. I'm not sure if I could even put it back if you can't-"

"I won't forget." He waved his hand impatiently. "The mask is integral to the person I am, so don't concern yourself with such trivial things—just do it."

“Fine.”

He didn’t know what it was he had expected—he certainly didn’t believe your stand attack would involve blowing kisses. But the heart that appeared from this action shot out like a laser that burned into his skull and the next thing he knew, he was angry...

...so angry, both at himself and that damnable father of his. He shouldn't have used the same method, but he had been so certain it would work! Why, why did Dario Brando write his symptoms in that letter? Even now, that man continued to haunt him. Sharing the same blood as that man brought Dio nothing but disgust.

Something needed to be done.

Jonathan left for London, where he hoped to find evidence of Dio's misdeeds. Thus, Dio had no choice but to break the lock of Jonathan's study and take a knife to the drawer.

The study was neat, yet sparsely decorated. There was a portrait of his Mother on the mantlepiece. He'd never met the woman, but he assumed she was a simple-minded fool like her husband and son. Books ranging from etiquette, archeology, and even law, lined the shelves of the bookcase. Dio scoffed. There was nothing there of interest—nothing of true literary merit, nothing remotely thought-provoking, and, certainly nothing salacious.

'So predictable and boring,' he thought. 'Much like Jonathan himself.'

Dio jimmied the lock, opened the drawer with no problem, and grinned as he took the mask into his hand.

"Seven years ago this mask reacted to my blood," he recalled, flipping through the pages of Jonathan's research. He'd drawn the mask in detail, taken notes on its functions, and theorized about its history. "If the bones pierce his brain it will look as though he died from his own research. The investigation will be closed." This was the answer, this is what he should have done in the first place; Jonathan's death would be a perfect crime, one with no evidence left behind!

Though, as he turned to leave the room and prepare his own coach to London, he saw something hiding in the shadows.

"Whose there! Is it you, Jojo?" No. It couldn't be; he confirmed Jonathan's departure himself!

"Do you always monologue to yourself while scheming? How very cute." You stepped out from the shadows and Dio scoffed indignantly.

"You. What on earth are you doing here?" Had something happened? You didn't seem hurt. In fact, you looked...more attractive to him somehow, though he shook those thoughts away. He didn't have time for you, so he narrowed his eyes, wrinkled his nose, and gave you a once-over. "And what exactly are you wearing?"

"You'll understand when you're older," you say, appearing before him at blinding speed. "For now, I need to borrow this." You took hold of the mask, and as you did, your stand's hand appeared above your own.

"Don't you dare! You have no idea-" You were gone before he finished. You simply vanished.

And just like that, Dio began to regain his sense of self...

...No longer was he at the Joestar Manor. He wasn't standing on deep green floors, and the room no longer smelt of cedar. Instead, he was where he started; standing right in front of you. Your stand made that noise again, that horrible printing sound and he finally turned to look at you. You were watching him closely, concern etched across your features.

Dio blinked, his memories seemed to splice themselves back together, and a few moments later, your stand held the mask for you to take.

"Here." You gave it to him without protest.

Dio held the mask between his hands, testing its weight, and texture. Was something like this truly created from his memory? Or was there something else at play?

He lifted one arm, clenched his fist tight enough to break the skin, and allowed his blood to drip across the surface of the mask. It shook for just a moment before the bone spikes released.

"My friend," he stepped forward, bringing his own stand forward. "We have much to discuss in regard to our future…”

***

Déjà Vu was a powerful stand. Though limited by its short range, it had far more potential than you seemed to realize. With training, he expected you to produce items quicker, remain within memories for much longer, and learn to extract organic life.

You accomplished 2 of those things. For some reason, when it came to organic life, you could only take things in parts—leaves instead of a plant, a finger instead of a body.

'A shame,' he thought, 'But useful for her own purposes.'

So, once he figured you could grasp the concepts on your own, Dio left to continue his travels. He took to gathering more powerful stand users to serve as his assassins or eyes around the globe. Though a spare few, those with stands he had no use for, he sent to you. He even called you on the telephone to confirm their arrival.

You nagged him, of course, saying something about unexpected arrivals and love-sick fools following you around like puppies. He could only laugh.

"Allow them to assist you; one can never have too many friends."

Speaking of which, Dio eventually found the friend he needed: a young priest named Enrico Pucci. He was polite and soft-spoken, but his resolve was unwavering. You would have a special place in heaven, but Pucci would help him get there.

However, Pucci didn't come with him to Egypt (at least not to stay.) Much like you he had his own affairs, and that suited Dio just fine.

He stayed in America for quite some time, as Pucci's company was enjoyable. They spoke of many things like religion, philosophy, and art. Dio once asked his opinion on false prophets and how certain types of people came to lead cults. Pucci had many opinions on the matter and Dio was eager to introduce you both someday.

"My other friend is similar to myself, though she thinks herself different, kinder perhaps. Despite these delusions, I do hope you can be friends as well" He said, working on his model ship.

"You're quite fond of her, aren't you?" Pucci smiled behind his hand. "This is the third time you've mentioned her unprompted today."

"Is that so? I suppose you're just easy to talk to." He seemed pleased at that, happy to be useful in any way.

Pucci wasn't like the others, he wasn't a servant motivated by lust or greed. No, Pucci loved him as he loved God, and that was what Dio needed.

"You haven't yet answered my question."

"Yes, I am very fond of her indeed." Pucci had another question, but he decided not to ask; everyone deserved their secrets and it would be rude of him to pry.

Dio was thankful for that decision because he knew what that question was.

'Do you love her?'

And the answer was yes. Dio loved you as the Sun loves the Earth.

***

When Dio returned to his own mansion, he was greeted at the door by Terrance D'Arby, a handsome man with a curious hobby.

Enya was there as well, as usual. She was quite sprightly for a woman of her age and was quick to appear underfoot.

"Was your trip abroad a success, Lord DIO?" He ignored her.

With so much on his mind, Dio wanted nothing more than to be alone, so he used The World's ability to reach the top of the stairs undisturbed.

Vanilla Ice was exactly where he left him, guarding his door. Despite the man's stoic disposition, Vanilla Ice's endless devotion brought to mind the piety of your supplicants. He would do anything for Dio, anything at all.

"Lord DIO." Vanilla Ice was quick to bow, falling to a single knee, his fist anchored to the floor.

"You may go now," Dio told him, brushing a hand across his favorite servant's cheek. It was the faintest touch, the barest hint of affection, yet to Vanilla Ice his touch was an endless feast. "Though try not to wander, I may be in need of your services later." Vanilla Ice nodded once, his expression rarely changed but Dio learned to read the subtle hints. He was excited when he shut the door.

The room itself had no windows, lines of books adorned the walls and a large golden mirror stood across from the bed. Most important, however, was the mask and arrow mounted on the wall. His gaze drifted toward them, as if by instinct. Those were his most prized possession, worth more than anything in the world.

He moved toward his desk with a hum, pulled out a chair, and unlocked the drawer where his diary was kept.

It is a curious coincidence, he wrote, that those I count amongst my friends possess stands that affect memory. Though, as I shared with Pucci last we spoke, I believe that her ability may stretch beyond that.

From her account, the memories she enters include events far beyond what her opponent could know with any certainty. Simply stated, I believe her stand may use a person's memory as a means to fully reconstruct a moment in time. This reconstruction exists within the mind of her opponent, functioning separately from the rest of the world. Pucci suggested the space be referred to as a 'pocket dimension.'

If this is the case, her stand's resemblance to my own may be a result of its influence over time in addition to our similar natures.

Could those with deeper connections possess similar stands? I've heard many speak of 'soul mates,' but what does that truly mean?

***

One day in 1988, Dio called you on the telephone. A maid picked up on the fourth ring and brought the phone to you quickly.

"Mister DIO wishes you speak with you, my lady." He heard a whisper on the other side.

"Yes?"

"No 'hello' for me? I'm wounded."

"My deepest apologies, Lord Dio, how might I serve you from my humble corner of the world?" You mocked. He smiled but decided to get to the point quickly.

"The Joestars are aware of my existence," he confessed, "Joseph Joestar has a stand similar to my Hermit Purple and has used that in an attempt to divine my presence. Though he and his associate, Muhammad Avdol, have yet to figure out I am in Egypt, it's only a matter of time."

"And what happens when they arrive?"

"Concerned for Erina’s descendants, are you?" An easy smirk eased its way across his elegant features. "Worry not, they will be disposed of quickly. Though I may spare Joseph, albeit temporarily."

"Feeling merciful Lord Dio? Please don't worry yourself on my behalf; Erina’s family is of little consequence to me. I have little desire to participate in your blood feud."

"Well, my pet, I'm sure you've come to realize that your aging nephew may be the only living person to have witnessed the power of the Red Stone. You may find it pertinent to access his memories using Déjà Vu."

The Stone would mean little once he gained the ultimate stand, but his heaven plan was not yet complete. Still, stone's power may still be of use to him and, at the very least, he could ensure no one else could wield its power against him.

"You make a compelling point," you reply after a moment. "What would you have me do?"

"You will find me in Egypt. I will let you know when the time arrives."

Nevertheless, mere months after that conversation occurred, Dio received a report: Holly Kujo, the first child of Joseph Joestar, fell ill. She was too weak-willed to handle the emergence of her own stand—it was killing her.

From there unfolded a series of unfortunate events that culminated in his complete annihilation. The time for you to go to Eygpt never arrived.

And in 1989, Jotaro Kujo stood in his room, read his diary, and burned it to a crisp. There was a box inside the drawer where he found the diary. He might have had Star Platinum smash it to pieces had it not already been opened.

'Carless.' He thought though it didn't seem like Dio to leave such a thing unguarded.

There were two things inside the box: a small, leather-bound Bible and a gaudy gold ring with a ruby at the center. Jotaro didn't know the significance of either, so he left them for the Speedwagon Foundation to figure out. He has more important things to worry about.

Dio mentioned having friends. Though he doubted either would be more troublesome than Dio himself, he would hunt the world over for anyone who threatened his family and friends...

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#dio brando #dio brando x reader #dio x reader #jojos bizarre adventure #jjba #stardust crusaders

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